“Then we must conclude that this document is a genuine communication from King Kyprianos iii,” the grand vizier intoned.
“What shall we do with it, councilors?” he inquired.
“Record it!” came the universal reply.
With a flourish, Doctor Melanthrix took pen in hand, and very carefully listed the parchment in the official register for the Year of Our Lord One Thousand Two Hundred and Five. Then he pointedly drew a straight line across the page, and wrote in a new header. He held the book up so the people could see, and again revolved in a slow circle.
“The document having been recorded,” he stated, “we do declare that the reign of our illustrious King, His Majesty Kyprianos iii, has ended in its forty-first year, yesterday being the final day of his rule; and that today, the Twenty-Second of July, shall mark the beginning of the Accession Year of his eldest son and successor, King Arkadios ii.
“Vive le Roi!” he shouted.
“Vive Arcadie iie!” boomed the councilmen.
“Vive la Córynthe!” yelled the crowds.
“All hail our noble King-to-Be, Arkadios ii!” Melanthrix shouted again.
The cheering went on for half an hour, and spread into the streets of Paltyrrha. The cathedral bells began to ring in celebration, followed by all the bells of the city and Job’s Complaint in Kórynthály. There the former king of Kórynthia awoke from his rest and cursed both the new king and the new patriarch.
Finally the commotion in the Great Hall quieted enough so that business could proceed.
“Lord Fértö,” the new king ordered, “please call the council to order.”
“Yes, sire,” Melanthrix obeyed, rapping on the table with his gavel.
“What is the next order of business?” he inquired.
King Arkády rose in his seat.
“The former King of Kórynthia having retired,” he stated, “it is our desire that he have sufficient means to make his way in the world. Therefore, we do create him Duke of Tighris, and give unto him an estate of five thousand acres situate near our residence of Kórynthály. Grand Vizier, please prepare the letters patent and deeds.
“Further,” Arkády continued, “the title of Arkádiya having become vacant by the unfortunate passing of our beloved brother, the Prince Nikolaí, we do hereby grant unto the Prince Kiríll, our second surviving brother, the County of Arkádiya, with all of the rights, incomes, and appurtenances attached thereto. Grand Vizier, please prepare the letters patent.
“Further,” he added, “we do hereby create and declare our beloved eldest son and heir, the Prince Arión, Hereditary Prince-to-Be, and we cancel the orders of our predecessor removing him to Saint Svyatosláv’s Monastery.”
Then he sat down, as general applause and thumpings of the chest greeted his announcements.
“Do we have any other business?” the grand vizier inquired. “Yes, Locum Tenens Athanasios?”
The secretary of the Royal Council arose in his place next to the new king.
“Your majesty,” he said, “the sad circumstances whereby I was appointed to the office of Locum Tenens of the Holy Church of Kórynthia having been eclipsed by events, I therefore petition the crown to relieve me of this burden, and to restore the Patriarch Timotheos to his proper position.”
Arkády smiled.
“We do gladly grant thy request, Archpriest Athanasios,” he said, “thanking thee for thy good and faithful service, and we restore the recognition of the crown to the legitimate Patriarch of Paltyrrha and All Kórynthia. Let the patriarch come forward,” he boomed.
Timotheos slowly made his way out of the cheering throng, and approached his new king, bowing low to him.
“I welcome you back to the Royal Council,” Arkády intoned, “and I hope you will give me your personal blessing in this, our time of trials.”
The patriarch came forward and embraced the king, kissing him on both cheeks. Then, grabbing the monarch’s right hand, he held it on high, saying to the multitudes: “Witness here the true king now come home to his people!”
Again the crowds roared their approval, shaking the very rafters of the heavens.
Then Doctor Melanthrix spoke softly.
“Sire,” he said, “we believe that the Duke of Tighris has need of our services in his new home, and we therefore ask to be relieved of our several offices.”
King Arkády nodded his head in agreement.
“You have served us well,” he intoned, “and therefore we grant thee thy request, and confirm thee in thy peerage of Fértö. Thou art excused, milord.”
Melanthrix removed his chain of office, and stepped around to the other side of the table to tender it to his monarch. Then he bowed, and walked quietly away.
“The office of grand vizier having become vacant,” the king stated, “we do hereby appoint Attila Lord Vydór as successor to Lord Fértö.”
Vydór made his way to the head of the table, dipped his head, and received the great chain. Then he returned to the end of the table, and took up pen and register, making his first act the recording of his own appointment.
“Sire,” the new grand vizier stated, “several seats on the council have now become empty. If it please your majesty, I wish to commend the Dowager Queen Brisquayne to fill one of them.”
“So ordered,” the king commanded. “Queen Brisquayne, please approach the council table and be sworn.”
Arkády administered the oath himself, beaming all the while, and then kissed his step-grandmother on the forehead.
Also nominated were Sir Reszö Rössvald, Prince Andruin, Dowager Queen Polyxena, and several others, all of them approved by the new king.
Finally, the public session was adjourned by King Arkády, being recessed until the private meeting to be held that afternoon. Again, cheers followed the king and the royal family as they made their way out of the hall.
King Arkády and Queen Dúra immediately went up to the balcony overlooking the square, there to receive the accolades of the fifty thousand Paltyrrhi who filled the streets of the city for blocks in every direction.
“All hail King Arkády!” came the refrain, again and again, as the royal couple and their two elder children, Hereditary Prince Arión and Princess Grigorÿna, smiled and waved to the multitudes below.
“Wave, Rÿna, wave,” her father urged.
“Oh, Papá, this is so grand,” she yelled, barely making herself heard.
They stayed there until the children tired, and then returned to their apartments to rest.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“THE SILENT SOULS OF SAINT SVYATOSLÁV”
The Archpriest Athanasios took advantage of the break to do some further research into his own past in the official Church Archives at Saint Alexios’s House in Paltyrrha. Specifically, he was still searching for the date that Arik Rufímovich, now the Patriarch Timotheos, had officially joined the Silent Souls of Saint Svyatosláv.
Arik had not been recorded as a member in the year 1165, but had been listed on the membership roster of 1175. Somewhere in the interim he had left the service of the king and entered into the service of God.
On previous visits Athanasios had already read through the annual registers of the order for the years 1175 and 1174. Now he began working his way through the book for 1173, or ix Kyprianos iii. It was a tedious business, for the volume recorded a myriad of mostly financial data, intermingled with appointments, resignations, illnesses, and copies of official letters to and from the abbot. Athanasios had had no idea of how utterly mundane and boring such details could become. He yawned, and read further.
Wait! On May 14th, buried under a list of tax receipts, was the mention of two individuals petitioning Abbot Jován Csigály for entry into the Silent Souls:
Arix Roufim., ætat. xxxiii
Abagor Aleks., ætat. xxii
There was no question that this was the record he was seeking. It confirmed that Arik had remained in the service of th
e state for many years after delivering the child Afanásy to Saint Svyatosláv’s.
By inference, therefore, Arik had been officially employed by Kórynthia on that mission. It further followed that the subsequent obscuring of the records regarding that transferral had come from somewhere high in the bureaucracy of the government, perhaps from the regents themselves!
Athanasios knew from his previous visits to the archives that no matter how carefully the records had been censored, peripheral details would have remained untouched in some obscure volume. These registers that he had just been examining, for example, contained all kinds of materials that no one who wasn’t directly familiar with them would ever possibly imagine to find there. Financial data, for example. Expense claims, to cite another example.
The priest thought to himself for several long moments. There was something here of great importance, could he just grasp the idea.
If the soldier had been dispatched on a long trip to fetch the child Afanásy, and if, as the subsequent ledger entry in the annual of the monastery had indicated, Arik Rufímovich had been delayed en route, then perhaps he had filed a claim with the state treasury for his additional out-of-pocket expenses. And maybe, just maybe, whoever had systematically leafed through the records at a later date to expunge all those documents considered relevant to the expedition had not been aware of this particular reimbursement request.
The idea was certainly worth pursuing at some later date. Alas, Athanasios now had to return to the council chamber, so he packed up his things into a neat folder, and hurried out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“JUST LET ME TRY”
The second part of the accession council of King Arkády was held that same afternoon in the council chambers in Tighrishály Palace. Lord Vydór, the new grand vizier, called the meeting to order.
Then the king made an announcement.
“We have decided,” he said, “to cancel preparations for a second expedition into Pommerelia. General Lord Rónai, I charge you with the task of bringing our boys safely home. You’re to withdraw into the two southern citadels we now hold as quickly as possible, and establish secure and stable defenses around them. We should be able to maintain them indefinitely with minimal support. Lockenlöd Castle is another matter, however. Unless it can be relieved quickly, it must be evacuated. What’s your recommendation?”
“I think it’s irretrievable without a major new incursion on our part, sire,” the officer replied. “It’s too far away from the pass to be supplied easily, and the natural defenses of the place all fall back on the mountains behind it, while the actual access roads are spread across an open plain that’s extremely vulnerable to attack. I recommend that we abandon the place as quickly as possible, but occupy and block the Pommerelian side of the pass with new fortifications, just where it exits the highlands.”
Arkády considered the situation for a moment before replying.
“Very well,” he finally said. “Proceed with the removal.”
“What about the brigades already assembled at Myláßgorod?” the general asked.
“Hold them there for the time being,” the king ordered, “in case they’re needed as backup for the other troops. As soon as our soldiers secure the southern forts, send at least some of them home.”
“Yes, sire,” the officer stated. “And the prisoners we’ve captured?”
“I want you to arrange an exchange with the Pommerelians, their men for ours,” the king ordered. “The numbers should be about equal. Do it just before we evacuate the river plain in the south.”
Then Arkády turned to Prince Zakháry: “What news do we have of the political situation in Pommerelia and Mährenia?”
“Our scouts have heard nothing new from Pommerelia,” the prince noted, “except that things are just about as chaotic in Balíxira as they are here. In Mährenia, Duke Ferdinand’s body was never recovered from the battlefield, but he was declared dead nonetheless, and his eldest daughter, Rosanna, briefly succeeded him. She has now been deposed, but the circumstances remain unclear. Her sister, Rosalla, has been proclaimed the new duchess, under the ægis of her mother, the Duchess-Regent Johanna. Both girls are slightly underaged, but Rosalla’s succession will give Johanna another year of control. Otherwise, things seem to be settling down there again.
“Our ambassador in Loíza has just forwarded a letter from the duchess-regent to the king”—he held it up so everyone could see—“which I’ll read to you now.”
“Johanna, Duchess-Regent and Guardian of the Throne of Mährenia and Ptolemaïs and the Prüffenmark, sends greetings unto her brother, Kyprianos iii King of Kórynthia.
“We regret to inform you that our dear husband, Duke Ferdinand of blessèd memory, has entered into his eternal reward, and has been succeeded on the throne by our daughter, the Duchess Rosalla, under the regency of her mother, the Duchess Johanna, until she shall reach her xviiith year.
“Circumstances beyond our control have forced us temporarily to cease hostilities against the Kingdom of Pommerelia. However, we very much fear an invasion from that country in the future, and we therefore call upon the Kingdom of Kórynthia to honor its treaty of mutual aid and defense with the Duchy of Mährenia, and to send reinforcements at once to assist us.
“We further propose that the Duchess Rosalla be betrothed to one of your younger sons, and that the marriage be consummated as quickly as possible to strengthen our cousinly ties.
“Johanna DR.
“Given at our Palace of Loíza on the xvith day of July in this, the ist year of our Regency.”
Zakháry added: “There’s also a note attached from Ambassador Tamburín stating that Duchess Rosanna, who is not mentioned in the letter, seems to have disappeared from Loíza. No one knows where she’s gone, or if they do, they’re not saying anything. He suspects foul play.”
“Any comments?” asked Vydór.
“I’m willing to go to Mährenia, if my brother isn’t,” Prince Zakháry commented. “I’m not proposing that we send anyone other than trainers there, but it would be an inexpensive way to outflank the Walküri.”
“There’s been enough killing,” Patriarch Timotheos interjected. “I’m opposed to any further involvement in the area.”
“So am I,” said Dowager Queen Brisquayne. “We’ve just been through a bloody war that wiped out the heart of our nobility, not to mention thousands of freeholders and tradesmen nationwide. This should be a time of rebuilding, not foreign adventurism.”
“Lord Rónai,” the king inquired, “what do you say?”
“All the reports that I’ve had,” the officer noted, “have indicated immense difficulties in getting the Mährenian commanders and their soldiers to work together. They’re very independent, and not used to fighting together in large numbers. They tend to revert to form under the least bit of pressure. We could put an awful lot of time and money into this training with very little result.”
“That’s pretty much what I thought, too,” Arkády agreed.
“May I speak?” Zakháry asked.
When the king nodded his aquiescence, the prince continued: “I understand all of the potential problems with the Mährenians, but I still think that the alliance is worth the risk, and I’m personally willing to undertake that risk. I ask for no support from you, my brother, although I will gladly receive whatever you might offer me in the way of monetary or military assistance.
“We have struggled mightily this year on the battlefield. Our men and officers have sacrificed their lives willingly for church and state. Let not their sacrifice be in vain, sire. Grant me this boon. Give me my chance. If I fail, you’ve lost one wayward prince, who’s of little use to you otherwise. But if I win, you’ve gained an important ally. Just let me try, please.”
King Arkády frowned and looked around the table. There was no consensus that he could see.
“Very well,” he finally stated, “this is
our judgment. The amended treaty of mutual assistance specified as one of its terms that the Duchess Rosanna was to be married to a Tighrishi royal prince, and since that agreement has not been upheld, the pact has already been abrogated by Mährenia, and we are not bound by it. However, we do see an advantage to Kórynthia if we can forge an alliance of blood with their royal family. Therefore, Prince Zakháry, we will grant your request, and allow you to proceed forthwith to Mährenia, there to marry Duchess Rosalla. Father Athanasios,” he ordered, turning to the priest, “please prepare a letter of response to the duchess-regent giving our assent.
“Let’s move on to the next item on our agenda,” the king added. “I’ve decided to call for a conference of reconciliation and reconstruction, starting in the first week of September here in Paltyrrha, to begin the process of mending the divisions left by the recent war. I ask all of you to think seriously about what needs to be done in Kórynthia in future years, and to forward those suggestions to Lord Vydór, whom I charge with organizing the meeting.
“Some of the problems,” he continued, “are obvious to anyone: a need to reform the laws of property rights and inheritance, the absence of sufficient manpower to bring in the crops and to perform other necessary functions, the necessity of changing the succession laws governing transmission of titles of nobility to avoid the problem of too many noble houses becoming extinct due to the depredations of the recent war, and much more.
“I am also determined to erect a memorial to the brave men of Killingford—and yes, that is the name we will use, to remind us of what happened there—somewhere in Paltyrrha or Kórynthály, as well as one to honor my brother, the Prince Nikolaí, late Count of Arkádiya.”
Then the king sat down. Prince Kiríll raised his hand.
“I again charge Doctor Melanthrix with high treason,” the prince intoned.
The king sighed.
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