The Rule of King Tomaz
(part 1)
My Father was a cruel man. Few loved him, and even fewer miss him. But there is no denying the legacy, and the expectations, he has left behind. In a single generation, all the lands of Poles were united under his banner... And I’m expected to keep them so. He always told me I'd die young, in a warcamp, leading a raid against the enemy of our people.
My father, always quick with his words, loved to draw attention to the fact that I was not as learned as he, nor as quick with words. I’ve always felt more comfortable on horseback, axe in hand and cold wind biting at my cheeks than in cold drafty halls, but if my father taught me one thing, it’s that a kingdom, for that is what I rule, cannot be ruled from the raider’s camp alone. I will be remembered, and not just for war.
I first held court from the muddy fields of Sambia - Though he had no faith in me for anything else, he trusted me with our wars, with our men. Certainly, none of my peers could say the same.
My father left a house in disorder, and sworn men champing at their bit. My father had declared himself both King and high-chief of all the lands of Poland, but I knew that if I didn't give some of my father's "friends" the illusion of power, they wouldn't follow me. And so, I split Poland into a number of High-chiefdoms and assigned them to my Father's, to my, most worthy followers. Mercy is also loved, and so I freed one of the chiefs of Poland, a man my father had imprisoned for some perceived insult or another.
This muddy field was also the site of my first victory as King. The Sambians fell to my sword, and their chief knelt before me, swearing eternal loyalty to me and my kind. I was a bit disgusted, to be honest. What kind of man surrenders? I was young, foolish, and I did not truly understand, yet, what this man knew of ruling.
Drunk on my victories, I turned my eyes northwards, to the stone halls and great cities of the Pommeranians, swearing to bring them under my rule.
The war was a short one: the Pommeranians lived up to the "Unready" nickname of their king.
During the course of the war, I received word that the woman I was betrothed to, some Norse woman from the north, the daughter of a man my father once met on some raid or another, had come of age, and was traveling to meet me for our wedding. I could not offer her a luxurious wedding, held as it was in the conquered halls of the Pommeranians instead of my ancestral home.
I fully admit, that, though now I love her, at first my wife reminded me all to much of my father. Ingjerdr had the same cruel wit as he did, and every word out of her mouth feels too much like a vicious joke. Over time, though, those insults grew directed less at me and, eventually, as our love grew over the many many years, she would include me in her witty attacks against my poor court. I remember, in particular, her good advice. A peasant was brought to me accused to having murdered his wife and children. My wife knew that it was best to execute him as the animal he was. Though the peasantry decried my rule as cruel, further evidence was brought forth indicating how this man had drunkenly premeditated the murder.
By early 892, in the counting of the Christians, the last Pomeranian stronghold was mine, and their king capitulated, swearing his lands to me and my children.
It was not long after, fueled as it was by our mutual joy at the massacre of the enemies of my, and now our, people, that my wife announced she was pregnant. I was going to have a son.
I took into our bed a Pomeranian concubine, and my wife and I shared the woman, weak as she was.
In August of 894, I was approached by a delegation from one of the northern cities, asking for Royal decree allowing them to establish a grand trading city, with royal protection. They argued their case well, and I acquiesced, knowing how easily coffers empty. I confess I had heard of the great southern cities of Venice and Genoa and Amalfi, and thought that perhaps we, here, in the north could emulate them.
My first child is a Daughter. No matter, I am still young, with an even younger wife, and I will have more children. I WILL have a son, and I will be a better father than my father was.
We have gone for too long without any hardship. The Men and Women of my court have grown soft and indolent. I will whip them back into shape, if it kills me! A training ground will allow the men to grow strong, and in turn keep their women silent.
In 898, the first in a long line of Christian Missionaries, walked through the doors of my court. He bowed, humbly, but looked about the room as if he were above it, and us. As if he were better. His attitude was no better: He demanded to be allowed to bring the word of his God to my people. I threw him in the dungeon. Perhaps, if he had shown humility, I would have allowed him to speak. I thought thier God-king taught his followers to be humble?