Prague, 1113 AD

Vaclav Premyslid was an old man now, slipping into his fifties, and since the Civil War he had relapsed into his old habits of ignoring politics in favor of hunting. This meant that the Duke of Bohemia had spent all his years in Prague and by now, all city officials in Prague thought of their lord as a nuisance regarding their duty. Indeed, his hands off approach coupled with his summary, unfair and expeditious ruling on any matter brought to him had not endeared him to the population of Prague. So when Friedhold Rochus, Chamberlain of Prague, heard that the Imperial Capital was threatened by a Polish Army, he saw an opportunity.

Vaclav was just returning from a most enjoyable hunt when a disheveled and panicking Friedhold ambushed him.

"What is the matter THIS time." Already annoyance crept into the Duke's voice.

"My Lord, my Lord, its the Poles..."

"What? They're coming here?" Vaclav was suddenly somewhat worried since he had no army to speak off.

"No my Lord, they are marching on the Imperial Capital."

The older man was immediately relieved. "Then why speak of it? The others will handle the Poles..." Already he was thinking of something else.

"That's the crux of the issue my Lord, there is no one else!" Friedhold told him urgently.

"That's no good... I wonder where the Kaiser will relocate..." Vaclav thought out loud as if Frankfurt had already fallen.

"My Lord, you could save the Imperial Capital." The Chamberlain suggested.

"Me? I don't have the men to face the Poles, everyone knows that."

"Perhaps not normally my Lord, but by some stroke of fortune, the Poles' numbers are few, I am certain a valorous man such as yourself will be able to defeat them."

Vaclav was thoughtful. "I suppose it is my duty to ride to Frankfurt's defense." There was a glimmer in his old eyes as he remembered his more martial days.

"There is no time to waste my Lord, I will write to the Diet to inform them of your most noble of decisions." The Duke of Bohemia was already leaving the room the assemble Prague's garrison. "Godspeed my Lord!" Friedhold cried out to him as he left, all the while hoping the Poles would kill him.