Lords of the Danube: Story Thread
It was raining again, but rain was much more tolerable than snow. The King rode on his muscly, brown destrier, clad in plate and mail and with the royal coat of arms across his tabard. There was not much conversation going on between his loyal retinue and the nobility that followed him, in fact the drumming of raindrops across steel shoulder pads and vambraces was by far the most prolific sound to be heard. The horses bore the weather and their amroured riders stoically, only the occasional whinnying or snorting could be heard. The scenery was typically rural, with a muddy roadway leading trough sloped fields littered with patches of snow. Soon the cold rain would turn back to snow and the mud would freeze over, but the King was hoping to be besides a warm fireplace at that point.
King Pozsony was a handsome man, or so his wife would tell him, and even at the advanced age of thirty eight his robust stature and great health made him into a fierce warrior when needed. He towered over the other riders by at least half a head, and his armour gleamed with silver and gold etched along the edge of the collar. Deep inside, the King felt himself to be more of a scholar than a leader of soldiers, however he had been cunning enough to recognize Hungary's need for a strong military commander. Such were the times, that learned men scarcely became Kings, and if they happened to chance upon the crown, they soon had to learn the crafts of war or find themselves short of a head or a kingdom. Often both.
"What is Adelhaid doing right now?" he found himself thinking of his sister as Varad's walls appeared on the horizon. She was six years his elder and if not for her remarkable beauty she would have been sent to a nunnery long ago. She was at Bordeaux, on the other side of the world, speaking with the French on some minor matters the King himself had no time to discuss.
Maria, his wife, found less space in the King's thoughts. She had been instructed to go to Sofia, despite the province being occupied still by Orthodox Romans and Bulgarians. It was safer than the border cities and Constantinople had long been a den of vipers, deadlier than the plague itself. Before King Pozsony asserted his rule over the city it was as safe as keeping a rabid dog as a pet.
They passed by some serfs who were pushing an ox cart loaded with firewood, which had sank quite severely in the unpleasant mud, and threatened to tip over and spill the logs and sticks that filled it's entirety. The commoners cursed in some local mongrel tongue and their dirt covered faces and damp clothes made them seem wretched. The King signalled two of his knights to dismount and give them assistance. He would have to send them wine later tonight, least they mumbled curses under their breath fora weak - such things were best avoided when the absolute loyalty of his men was paramount to his success. They failed to understand that it was the serfs who worked the land and toiled to provide food, cloth and taxes. Not a single sword could be forged without someone working for it's price and a smith to craft it. And knights were neither smiths nor working men, though their service was unquestionably vital to the survival of Hungary and indeed any kingdom. He would need every mounted warrior of able body and appropriate age, if he was to push back these mongrels that called themselves Romans.
The Golden Bull had just passed, barely at that, but such was the price of peace. The King had no desire to slaughter his kinsmen and vassals, nor did he wish to vanquish families who had lineages ranging back to the time of Árpád and his Magyars. Still, while they had been bickering and squabbling over rights and taxes, Hungary had grown weak. Had it not been much weaker and divided by constant civil war and treachery, the Eastern Roman Empire would have stomped his nation under a steel boot, much the same as they had done with the Bulgarians.
Now, Hungary stood with weakened defenses, a sorry lot of impoverished Barons, with a horde of greedy Venetians in the east waiting to strike and an elite force of Romans reportedly prowling around Constantinople. Peace was tenuous at best, and only a fool trusted his neighbors. If said neighbors were the Republic of Venice and the so-called Eastern Roman Empire, then suspicion became as mandatory as breathing.
The wild, unwashed Cumans to the North poached and poked around Hungary's borders, and they too had to be taught a lesson. So many problems and so little ways to solve them, bar the extinguishing of yet more Hungarian lives. Mika had been an eager lad and a decent general. The Kng's hopes largely lied with him, but now he had to prepare for the meeting with the other nobles. "First among equals" he reminded himself. He still held absolute power, but such an attitude would win them to his side. He needed someone on his side besides one twenty eight year old general.
The horses hooves clattered as the riders went trough the gate and onto the slightly crooked cobblestone path that was leading towards the inner keep and the meeting hall. The rain made the locals miserable and they regarded the mail clad and richly dressed Hungarian nobles with suspicion and fear behind locks of drenched hair. "They need hope and stability, a means to survive the winter, sow in spring, reap in summer and marry their children in the autumn. I give them taxes, sieges and levies. And my blue eyes, as that is all I have left."
The serfs would have to bear it, just as everyone else did. The King had suffered so much ill fate, after all. It was time to change Hungary's fate however, and the first step was securing the earnest allegiance of proud and powerful men, whom only recently had raised armies against him.
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