Hello folks. Its a guest post! With the blessing of Soverihn of course, he wanted some gaps in the Bulgarian Empire filled before shit really hit the fan, so here it is. I hope y'all enjoy, I do apologize for any factual errors or anything I fucked up. Its not Soverihn's fault he got a sub-par author to help him with this.
Before you start, some music to help you along, make sure to listen to it while reading:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o90fJxfOkkg
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The clatter of hooves striving on the road made of stones was drowned in the noises of the city. Veliko Turnovo had changed massively since Ieremia was last here, for he was naught but a child when his father took him along to the capital of the Tsardom. The sights, sounds and smells had ingrained themselves into the young man as he rode through the streets of this city ten years ago. But it was nothing like it was now, the city was now two or three times bigger, the walls were expanded, the hills on which the city is built were filled with buildings.
The trip here had taken longer then expected, but that is because Ieremia had insisted that he bring his retinue and assistance. He wanted to make a good impression on the Tsar, and at the same time show off his own men who have been so successful in the fending off Magyar raiders and his own Vlach brethren who had refused to pledge themselves to the crown in Turnovo. Unfortunate, as it may be, he had become a master of slaying what he saw as rebellious horse-lords in the north, be them Magyar or Vlach, Cuman or Pecheneg.
Finally, Ieremia's group reached in the beginning of the walls, so far he had been riding through the outskirts, filled with scattered buildings and houses built on top the steep hills or on the banks of the Etar river that cut through the city. The royal residence however was nothing like that, the scattered houses gave way to a single, wide bridge, built out of cut stone and paved, it lead into a giant walled off settlement, deep at the center of Turnovo, surrounded on all sides by the river Etar, built on-top of a steep plateau that had been reinforced additionally with massive walls. They had reached that part of the city, which never changes, Ieremia smiled to himself as his forces stopped in-front of the chiseled lion statues that adorned the entrance of the bridge.
There was already a strong force of men waiting for the Ieremia. Their chainmail shined beyond perfection, with gold lions adorning their breasts and exquisite engravings on their shoulder plates and sword hilts. It wasn't hard to recognize the royal guardsmen, even if you strip away their expensive equipment, they would still easily tower over the short Vlach horsemen. Their leader, a blond, blue eyed Slav, who had removed his helmet and had tucked it under his arm, smiled and spoke first, in Greek, as was customary with Bulgarian aristocracy.
"Voevoda [1] Ieremia" He bowed, slowly "Chief Spătar[2] Klement. I serve the Tsar and his court and from now on my men will protect you."
The Voevoda responded with a short bow of the head and waved to his men. Soon enough the whole group was dismounted.
"What is there to be protected from, Spătar Klement?"
"It is customary, Voevoda, if anything would happen to your men, supplies or your animals, I will be held personally responsible for their safety. Come..." he smiled, a warm friendly smile and pointed with his giant hand towards the bridge. "...join me. My men will show your men where to station themselves and lead the horses to the stables."
-----
The Tsaritsa was in pain, she had given birth a few days ago and her body was tired. She was lying in her chamber, the only place where she could feel at home. She was born in Constantinople, she was used to the marble streets of the Capital of the Empire, the sprawling warm city filled with life. Turnovo was nothing like this, Turnovo was all made of cut stone, its streets were narrow and any climbing stairs on the almost vertical hills was a daily occurrence. But what she could never get used to, was that damned wind. Due to the elevation of the city, it was constantly blasted with winds, cold winds at that. It brought an eerily feeling of chill.
Perhaps because of that, the people were different as well. They were colder, their songs were always somehow melancholic. They preferred drums, rough male voices and they treated their women a lot harsher then any Roman would dare. She quickly embraced the idea of covering herself up, including her hair, as it was expected from a Bulgarian noblewoman, mainly because of the cold that reached all the way to her bones. There was only one reason she continued to live in this god forsaken place, her family.
She smiled as she saw the Tsar enter the room. As always, he was surrounded by an array of Vatakhs [3] and his own personal Tainik [4], who he dismissed with a wave of his hand. The two guardsmen standing in-front of the heavy wooden door closed it behind his majesty, leaving him and his wife alone. When not in the presence of the rest of the court, Boril Asen, the second of his name, son of Michael Asen, changed dramatically. His harsh bearded face, always wearing a frown, suddenly lit up with a small smile. It was the closest thing this person had to a joyful expression, and it was something the Tsaritsa had grown to adore.
He walked to the small wooden crib that was build for his child, his flesh and blood and the smile remained unwavering. He picked up the child and held it in his large rough hands. This was the third child Agatha had gifted him with, and the second son. The first child, a daughter, Irina, had died after a prolonged sickness. His second child, Todor Asen [5] was frail and many of the court's own physicians, even those brought from Constantinople, were giving the boy a few years more before he passes away.
This child, Gavrail Asen, was what was going to secure the dynasty's continuation. The threat of the Shishman dynasty taking the crown continued to hang over the house of Asen. After Tsar Ivan Alexander, Boril's grandfather, divorced Theodora of Wallachia, forcing her to become a nun, and re-married Sarah-Theodora, a converted jew, producing more offspring, the dynastic conflict has been driving a wedge within the Bulgar aristocracy. Luckily, Mihail, Boril's father and Ivan Alexander's firstborn, had managed to outmaneuver the crafty Tsaritsa and keep the crown within the Asen line, but not before Mihail himself had had to put down a bloody rebellion following his father's death.
Thanks to military skill and diplomatic ingenuity, Mihail had forced a peace with the Shishman dynasty, demoting their head, Ivan Shishman, to a Knyaz, controlling the town of Ihtiman. Unfortunately, he was forced to show leniency, leaving Shishman alive and well. And while this ultimately proved to be a good decision, as Ivan Shishman would never rebel again, Fruzhin Shishman, his second son (the first was killed in one of the daring northern raids) on the other hand is proving to be problematic. With Mihail dead for a while now, and Boril refusing to continue his constant wars northwards, choosing instead to straighten the crown, the Bolyars are now chafing under his authority and looking for someone to lead the charge against the Tsar. Someone with royal legitimacy, a fact Fruzhin has been more then keen to display, as he has hosted elaborate feasts in Ihtiman, wearing royal colors and sending Nakhodniks [6] to rebellious Bolyars.
And all of this had threatened the Tsar and his authority. His majesty, of course, has planned his own response which would soon all come into play and decide if the Tsar will continue to hold Bulgaria in his hands, or will he lose it to the ambitious pretenders. Agatha could see all of that in the face of this man, wounds left over from many a battles and deep wrinkles all combined to give him that harsh expression that had been in a constant state of frowning for as long as she could remember.
Not today. The Tsar had a heir and with that, the deep wrinkles of discontent and pain were gone, and a smile that had rarely shown itself had covered his face. Leaving the child in the crib, he sat down next to the Tsaritsa, clasping her hand, and spoke in his own, slightly accented version of her native Greek. With his closest advisers and allies he used the harsh Bulgar tongue, insisting that his Bolyars used the language "god had given our people", but with her, he compromised.
"My love, we have been blessed." his smile remained, his large hand completely covering her small, white and frail hand. She smiled in response
"God has given us a child." she said, but the words were hard to come out
"Torture yourself not, my love." he said, as one of his hands slowly moved to stroke her hair. She smiled. "This will all be over soon, Agatha." he said in a voice that seemed almost joyful.
-----
"Your majesty... I... I cannot." Ieremia looked at the man with confusion. "... you ask of me so much."
"And you will be handsomely rewarded, Voevoda." he responded, the wrinkles under his yes tightening
"I fight not for a reward, my lord. I fight for the crown."
"Let us not lie to each-other, Voevoda, you fight for yourself, as any man does. Infiltrate the conspirators for me, Voevoda Ieremia, and I will give you and your family the lands of the traitors. And I will make you a Great Boil [7]. Your father and you have shown your loyalty to the crown. And for this, I cannot even trust my own people. I need someone, who would be considered an outsider for the Bolyars." the Tsar clasped left his cup on the table and his brown eyes stared into those of Ieremia. The Voevoda stood there for a second, not moving, thinking. All the options were laid out in front of him. The rewards were just too good.
"When do I ride out?"
"In a week" the Tsar said, as he clasped his cup and lifted it up high.
-----
Fruzhin Shishman, or Tsar Fruzhin as he called himself, was riding out. He had gathered those who wish to oppose the Tsar in Ihtiman in the last few months. Including several new additions, a few of the southern Despots and a young Voevoda, Ieremia, with an array of Vlah men. He didn't know how Ieremia managed to slip through the Tsar's loyalists in the North, but was feeling confident in his retinue and had now set his sights on the Vratisa and eventually, Vidin.
Since many settlements in the North had refused to declare for him, he had to capture Vidin and its arrogant despot Ivan Sratsimir, the old and frail brother of former Tsar Mihail, so that he could extend his rule northwards, into the vast Danubian plain which was for all intents and purposes ran by Sratsimir.
Ieremia and his fast horsemen were a godsend for Fruzhin, as that allowed the would-be Tsar to scout faster and further then he would be able with his own men. The Voevoda's men ran ahead of the force and reported any enemy activity, with young Ieremia even volunteering himself to lead the men into dangerous scouting operations. Fruzhin had made a note to award the Vlach's bravery.
Sredets, having joined the revolt, let the men through rather quickly, and soon enough, after many days of riding, they had reached Vratitsa pass. It seems, surprisingly, that in his arrogance, Sratsimir had neglected the defenses of the pass, as the Voevoda reported a very small concentration of men.
This would ultimately be Fruzhin's undoing. Sratsimir did not neglect the defense of the pass. He had masterfully hidden his men, and Ieremia had known about this from the start. The Voevoda had led the would be Tsar by the nose, up until they finally reached the crossing of the river Iskar, close to the town of Vratsa. It is there, when the ambush sprang, as the Tsar was crossing the river, a massive force of men emerged form the woods, catching the force unawares. Ieremia's soldiers instantly turned back, blocking the Tsar's men from the front, while the back was closed off by Sratsimir loyal soldiers. The battle would rage for a while, but the overwhelmed Fruzhin, surprised over the betrayal would die, slain by a stray arrow.
While the rebellion of the Shishman Dynasty would continue to rage for another few years, as the Tsar's own men took every one of the southern fortresses held by the pretenders, it would ultimately be a failure. In the meanwhile however, the restless Serb despots would try and reassert their autonomy, leading to even more fighting, but at the end of it all, it would be all for naught. With history remembering the rule of Boil, with a far more overreaching conflict, one that shook the Balkans to its core.
[1]Medieval title of a ruler, Voevoda had changed over the years. While titles like Knyaz, which used to be the highest rank in the Bulgarian state more then 100 years ago, are now nothing more then a mayor or a ruler of lower stature, Voevoda, or the term for a leader of an army, is now equivalent to a Boil (the title most of the Bulgar aristocracy, or the Bolyars, carries).
[2] Initially the Spătar (from
Spatharioi) was the royal armorer, but over time TTL the title developed to mean the head of the royal guard.
[3]Financial and administrative advisers and clerks
[4] Tainik, from the slavic word of Taina (secret), the Tsar's own recorder/clerk. Literally translated to "secrets keeper"
[5] Bulgarian version of Greek given name of Theodore
[6] Messengers
[7] The closest aristocratic advisers to the Tsar, with the Ichirgu-boila (now known as Chargobilya) being the third in line after the Tsar and Sûtsar (if one is present).