Ethnikoi: Tales from the world of Isaac's Empire

The world I have tried to create with Isaac's Empire is a pretty large one. As an AH writer I like to encourage wherever I can others to help with the project, and to contribute their own ideas (which in many cases are far better than anything I could come up with!) about the developments of the world beyond the Constantinople-centric narrative of the main TL. That then, is the main purpose of this thread: to tell the story of other parts of the IE universe. The title refers to the term most commonly used by OTL Byzantines to describe foreigners: one I thought was apt for a thread about the foreigners of a very Byzantine world.

First up: the begins of the IE Swedish state, by Ares96...

I hope you all enjoy! :)
 
Before we get to that, here's a map of the area as it appears around the latter half of the 12th century AD. We're going to be starting out quite a while before that, but the borders shown here remain virtually unchanged during the interval.

ogGMkxY.png
 
And here's the update. Many of you will probably find this very confusing (not to say byzantine), and I apologise for that, but we need to cover this before we can get to the good stuff.

[The following is a transcribed lecture by Professor Artur Espenson [1], decanus of the Faculty of Middle-Epoch Studies, University of Trollesund-in-Vinland]

Medieval Sverike [2] is, for the most part, a society that defies our preconceptions of the era. Where the average person is likely to imagine stratified feudal societies, large, authoritarian courts and bureaucracies wracked by more or less constant infighting, and cataphracts and knights standing on vigil against the Jušen threat, in Sverike we find none of those things. Indeed, as I'm sure some of you students will be aware, it has been held up by the as a model for how a society can be built according to the Sjalfrætti [3] doctrine. Traditionalist historians used to look at medieval Sverike with somewhat tinted glasses. This produced an image of a proto-Germanic society, beyond church and government, ruled only by spoken agreements between honourable men and by the ancient oral tradition as passed on by the lawspeakers, that was shaped as much by the historians’ own preconceptions as it was by the actual research. Well, as I’m going to tell you over the course of this term, this image does have some tiny shreds of truth to it, but for the most part, medieval Sverike was as much a part of the world around it as was Germany, or Francia, or Rhomania.

The most important thing to note about Sverike at this time is that it was not what we’d ordinarily call a unified state. Indeed, until the early 11th century AD there was no sort of central authority whatsoever, and it took another two centuries before anything we'd identify as a stable system of government was to be found on the western shore of the Baltic. We have no way of knowing what petty rulers and states were in existence before the kingship came about around the year 1000, but from what little information we have it's plausible to guess that these units would have been based on fickle personal and tribal allegiances rather than control over land areas, and consequently it's hard to picture them as states in the modern sense [4].

We do possess large amounts of information on the different countries [5] and their laws and customs, thanks to the country laws that were written down in the mid-13th century, having been passed down through the oral tradition for a long time before that [6]. There were eleven different laws, each one different from all of the others, and they applied only within its own lagsaga [7]. The lagsagor were for the most part identical to the countries, but some of the smaller countries followed the same laws as a larger one nearby. Dalsland, for instance, followed the same law as Västergötland.

The main judicial and administrative instance in any individual country – for the most part the ancient Norse made precious little difference between those two spheres – was the landsting, a general assembly of free men which any head of a household who wasn't excommunicated or held in outlawry was allowed to participate in. At the landsting, which customarily met once a year at a site specifically set aside for it, decisions were made concerning the entire country, and disputes were settled as prescribed by the country law. The landsting was chaired by a lawspeaker [8], who was normally chosen for life at the landsting immediately following the death of his predecessor. The lawspeaker's office was by far and wide the most important of any country office, and as the title hints, the main requirement for the job was to be versed in the country law. His task at the landsting was to hear out the disputes and accusations brought forth against men under his jurisdiction, and using his knowledge of the law, explain how they were to work out their disagreements peacefully, or how a criminal should pay penance [9]. The lawspeaker would also suggest revisions to the laws where he thought them necessary, but all such changes would need the approval of the landsting at-large. In practice, the main task of the landsting was to make such decisions, as most disputes and criminal proceedings were settled at lower-level ting in the different hundreds.

Before we proceed any further, however, let's briefly go over the different countries, because I know that while many of you are of Swedish stock, few of you are actually familiar with the realm itself.

The country traditionally held as the most important was Uppland, which is located north of Lake Mälaren, south of Ödmården [10] and west of the Sea of Åland. This country, unlike all of the others, did not have a unified landsting, as the three folkland of Tiunda, Attunda and Fjädrunda [12] each had their own folklandsting with its own lawspeaker. However, the folkland all used the same law, and from what little information we have, their inhabitants tended to view themselves as citizens of Uppland rather than their own folkland. The Uppland country law is among the oldest preserved ones, and among other things it contains a detailed description of how the king was to be elected, which we'll go deeper into later in the term, but which rather enigmatically stipulated that “the svear alone have the right to choose a king”. What the word svear refers to in this context is lost to history, and since the word is known to have meant radically different things at different times, it's hard for us to tell who exactly the law gave power to elect a king. The interpretation of the word as meaning the peoples around Lake Mälaren, which is the customary meaning of it today, was used by past historians as proof of Uppland's precedence over the other countries, along with the fact that Birka and Sigtuna, the oldest cities in the realm, were both in Uppland, but this theory has been mostly debunked by recent historical research.

Across Lake Mälaren from Uppland was Södermanland, which is dominated by forests and lakes that make it very picturesque, but hardly able to support large amounts of agriculture. Consequently, Södermanland was one of the less populous countries in the early middle epoch, but thanks to having prime access to waterways and roads, it became one of the most urbanised countries as time went on and cities sprang up.

Västmanland and Närke, west of Uppland and Södermanland respectively, were relatively unimportant until the mid-13th century, when the growth of mining and the founding of royal estates at Nordvik and Ön propelled them into the centre of the realm's affairs. They each had their own laws and landsting, but Närke did not and does not have its own bishop, being subordinate to the bishop of Strängnäs in Södermanland. Västmanland is very heavily forested, particularly in the northern parts, whereas Närke is dominated by a fertile, relatively treeless plain.

Västergötland, which is the area between Lakes Vänern and Vättern, was by all accounts the most populous country, and until the 12th century it was also the most important ecclesiastically, being home to the oldest bishopric in the realm at Skara. Being home to the bishopric, and in close proximity to the meeting field of the common landsting of Västergötland and Dal, pompously named alla götars ting [13], Skara grew into one of the first cities in Sweden, and at the turn of the 13th century, only it, Lödöse and Sigtuna existed as cities in the regular sense. Another important location in Västergötland was the Cistercian monastery of Varnhem, one of the largest monastic communities in Sweden at this time, which served as the main power base of the Erikar [14].

Östergötland, across Lake Vättern from Västergötland, was and is Västergötland's bitter rival. This country is home to some of the best agricultural land in the realm, and this was quickly taken advantage of by both the peasantry and the Church – the bishopric of Linköping was the richest in Sweden, even before being elevated [15]. Östergötland was also home to the Cistercian monastery of Alvastra, also one of the oldest and largest in Sweden, which is associated heavily with the Sverkrar.

South of Östergötland, in what we now know as Syland [16], were a large number of small countries that followed Östergötland's law but were otherwise independent of it. The number of these little countries, and which of them were to be considered part of Sweden, was highly fluid throughout the early middle epoch, but by the 14th century everything north of Scania and Halland was firmly tied to the Swedish realm.

Finally, there was Gotland, which was among the most developed of the countries, having a large city in Visby, but although ecclesiastically subordinate to Linköping it only intermittently held any temporal allegiance to the Swedish king. Seen through a modern lens, this was a fairly natural state of affairs, seeing as how the island spoke a completely different language, had different laws and customs, and was even subdivided differently from all of the mainland countries.

As mentioned, the countries were all completely independent of one another until the kingship arose, and apart from the judicial power of the landsting and the ting in the hundreds that were subservient to it, they had no form of government. What, then, compelled them to unite under the rule of a common kingship, and embrace the feudal power structure that had already taken over the continent? How could the kings assert their power, and what were their powers and duties in a time when there was no government for them to lead? Well, that's what we're going to talk about next week.


***

[1] If you recognise this name, you're a certified IE junkie.
[2] As per OTL the “I” is silent, so that's pronounced something like “SVAIR-kuh”.
[3] Pronounced “SHALL-fre-tee” literally meaning “self-rule”, this word is used to denote basically the IE equivalent of anarcho-capitalism, insofar as that exists in this world.
[4] A bit like what Scotland was at the time. Based on my experience researching this, you'll probably find as we go along that medieval Sweden was more or less roughly equal parts Scotland, Iceland and the Wild West, with bits of Westeros slipping in once royal power is established.
[5] These units, which are called landskap in Swedish, are customarily known in English as “provinces”, but I regard this translation as rather unhelpful, since the word “province”, to me, connotes a unit created by a central government to administrate an area, whereas these are self-ruling units that gradually came together to form the more-or-less centralised state we know as Sweden. For this reason I will use “countries” as a translation convention in these updates. To avoid confusion, I shall also refer to Sweden as a whole using the word “realm”.
[6] IOTL, the laws were written down much later than that, generally around the turn of the 14th century, so consider this a rather sneaky bit of foreshadowing.
[7] This word, which can be very roughly translated as “jurisdiction”, simply denotes the area in which each law applied, so technically Espenson is making a tautology here.
[8] In Swedish, lagman.
[9] Of course, there was absolutely no way for the landsting to enforce its jurisdiction, but men of honour were supposed to heed its decisions, and in any case, repeat offenders risked increased penalties culminating in being held in outlawry, which suffice it to say is something you do not want happening to you.
[10] IOTL, the area between Dalälven and Ödmården is considered to be a separate country called Gästrikland, but this was not generally the case before the 17th century, and for whatever reason the split is never made ITTL.
[11] The units termed folkland were actually little different from the countries themselves, but for some reason we use different terms. In Viking Age terminology Västmanland, Södermanland etc. are also known as folkland, but historiography switches to calling them countries around the time of the Christianisation.
[12] These names originally stem from words meaning ten hundreds, eight hundreds and four hundreds, respectively, so it would presumably come as some surprise that Tiunda was comprised of eleven hundreds, Attunda nine, and Fjädrunda five.
[13] Something like “Assembly of All the Geats” in English.
[14] The Erikar and Sverkrar were the two main claimants to the kingship for much of the 12th century, and we shall be finding out a good deal more about them as we go along.
[15] Everything up to here has been OTL, but now we're starting to notice some differences. IOTL it was Uppsala that became an archbishopric.
[16] IOTL, the area is known as Småland, and the reason for this change will be apparent later on.
 
This was some interesting stuff, I never realized Sweden formed that late! So the main differences are that Blekinge is Swedish and Uppsala is not as important as in OTL? Keep up the good work.
 
This was some interesting stuff, I never realized Sweden formed that late! So the main differences are that Blekinge is Swedish and Uppsala is not as important as in OTL? Keep up the good work.

Pretty much, yes. There's a long and fascinating debate among Swedish historians as to exactly how and when the nation formed, and it mostly boils down to where the difference goes between a confederation and a state. The only thing we can say for sure is that there's no universally agreed upon date for the country's founding, which is why we celebrate the end of the Scandinavian personal union brought about by the Union of Kalmar (which helpfully coincides with the anniversary of the ratification of the Instrument of Government 1809) as our national day.
 
As someone who knows pretty much nothing about Scandinavian history this is very interesting, will we see much interaction with the rest of the IE world?
 

Huehuecoyotl

Monthly Donor
[belated]Nice start, Ares. It's interesting to see that Sweden was once such a fragmented entity. :)[/belated]
 
[belated]Nice start, Ares. It's interesting to see that Sweden was once such a fragmented entity. :)[/belated]

It's worth remembering as we go along (and this goes for everyone reading this) that Sweden went through some slightly different stages of development than did most of Continental Europe. Whereas the continent (or at least the southern and western parts of it) went through about a thousand years of antiquity, during which states, laws, standing armies, royal bloodlines, and eventually feudalism came to develop gradually, Sweden was still in the later stages of its Iron Age by the time of the Vikings. Then the church came around and the kingship grew in stature, and the realm spent the better part of the 12th and 13th centuries more or less getting dragged kicking and screaming into the Middle Ages without going through the very gradual changes seen in most of the countries to the south. This is why, when German-style feudalism came around in full force around the turn of the 14th century, there was such an obscene number of peasant rebellions - the Swedish peasantry had almost never had to deal with coercive rulers before.
 
The emergence of the Jušen Khanate of Kiev in the later years of the 1250s dramatically shifted the balance of power in Eastern Europe. Hitherto, the thirteenth century had been a relatively quiet one, marked largely by religious skirmishing between the King of Hungary, who accepted the authority of the Patriarch of Paris and his Polish counterpart, who did not. On the fringes sat the still pagan Lithuanians, and the loose Slavic kingdom of Halych. Their notional superior, the German Emperor (now, of course, once more a “Holy” Emperor thanks to Paris) meanwhile faced West, as he slowly absorbed the duchies and towns of what had been the eastern fringes of the old West Frankish kingdom.

It is impossible to predict the likely outcome had the region been left to its own devices. From the point of view of the historian, the early thirteenth century seems a period of relative calm, punctuated by occasional flare-ups of savage violence that rarely led anywhere concrete. This opinion, of course, is influenced by the fact that the majority of our records of the period were destroyed, and had to be re-written two or three generations later with the added benefit of hindsight. The reason for this is the storm from the east that descended.

The first Jušen embassies to the West may have arrived as early as 1248, but it would be another decade before active links were established by Supreme Prince Mieszko V “the Faithful” of Poland. Mieszko, perhaps inspired by the partially successful example set by his contemporary the Roman Regent Demetrios Simeopoulos, sent in 1259 an embassy to the court of Khan Jalāl, a heavily Persianized strongman who was in the process of subduing the princes of the Rhos. Mieszko sought to harness Jušen power to his own ends in a long running feud with King Stephen II of Hungary. Jalāl proved happy to help. The following year, a task force of two thousand elite Jušen warriors joined the Polish army in a routine campaign against a raiding Hungarian force led by King Stephen’s uncle Béla. The results were gratifyingly successful. Despite being a seasoned commander, Béla and all his men were wiped out at the Battle of Trenčín. That one summer, the Polish army seized more Hungarian border strongholds than they had in the past generation.

Unfortunately for the Supreme Prince, the price of Jušen support turned out to be a heavy one for Poland to bear. Encouraged by his men’s successes, Khan Jalāl personally marched into Poland in 1261 to accept the submission of Mieszko V as a subordinate ally of the Khanate of Kiev. When Mieszko attempted to refuse his benefactor, citing reluctance to subordinate a Christian kingdom to a man of uncertain faith, things quickly turned nasty. The summer ended with the Supreme Prince’s head upon a spike at the gates of Kraków, and Khan Jalāl’s sons Aaron (a Jewish convert) and Nurachi ruling Poland through Mieszko’s three year old daughter.

The raids began almost immediately, with Aaron and Nurhaci each tending to lead a separate army each campaigning season. In 1262, the Margrave of Meissen was the first German leader to feel the blow fall, but he would not suffer alone. In 1263 both Bohemia and Lusatia suffered Jušen attacks, and 1264 saw the enemy push as far into the Reich as the eastern fringes of Saxony. 1265 granted a brief respite, as the Jušen leaders turned to crush a revolt in Poland, but they returned with a vengeance in 1266, carrying off thousands of slaves as well as holy relics and plunder.

Initially, the Emperor Otto V had been only too happy to see his rebellious subjects on the Eastern marches humbled: these were the men, after all, who had done their utmost to prevent his succession to the throne following the deaths in relatively rapid succession of his grandfather Frederick III (in 1232), father Otto IV (in 1238) and brother Charles IV (in 1242). The eastern dukes and counts had nothing but dislike for the reigning Salian dynasty and their perceived ignorance of the East. It was the Eastern lords who had the most to gain from the early death of the teenage Charles IV, and the Eastern lords who had twice attempted to topple Otto V as he had struggled to consolidate his power in his shaky first decade of rule. But despite all of this history of mistrust, the screams from the Eastern marches could no longer be ignored. In 1267, the Emperor Otto marched into battle.

The result was a conclusive victory: the first time a Jušen army had ever suffered such a humiliating defeat at Christian hands. Otto successfully managed to lure the foe onto unfamiliar ground at Havelburg with his light horsemen, and then smashed them against a wall of heavy spearmen before which the larger but far more lightly armed Jušen army was helpless. Khan Jalāl’s son Nurhaci was brought before the Emperor in chains and personally decapitated with a stroke of the Emperor’s enormous Zweihänder.

The impact of Havelburg was electric. Overnight, men who had once fought to topple Otto and his line were naming him the champion of Christendom. Blessings flowed from every bishop in the Reich, and in faraway Paris the Patriarch declared that any man who presumed to raise a sword against the Emperor for as long as he fought against the heathen would be doomed to an eternity of damnation. Otto, a man who had begun his reign as a frightened eight year old boy, abruptly found himself the strongest ruler Germany had seen in living memory.

It might have been hoped that Havelburg would mark a decisive turning of the tide in the war against the Jušen, but it was not to be. The fact relative peace descended upon the Reich in the three years following the battle owed more to the death of Khan Jalāl in 1268 and the consequent struggle of his sole surviving son, the Jewish Aaron, to establish himself as a leader. After a shaky start which saw a coalition of Rhos leaders liberate dozens of Christian cities and towns Aaron managed to decisively prove himself as a battle commander, wiping out the rebellion over the summer of 1270. The Khan’s victory was set in horror by his decision to crucify no less than forty bishops in the main square of Kiev, whilst tearing down the city’s churches and selling the gold and icons to buy mercenaries.

Against such a monster, the Reich could do little but quake, as well as indulging in a savage persecution of its native Jewish populations. This was, in the view of Khan Aaron, an ample pretext for war and in 1272 a Jušen army returned to Christendom, led by the Khan in person. This time there would be no Havelburg-style miracle: the Emperor Otto fell violently ill when gathering troops in the Rhineland and spent the campaigning season on the edge of death in his sickbed whilst the Jewish demons looted town after town.

Had Otto been an unlucky man, then the disasters of 1272 might have been used against him: but fortunately the magic of Havelburg continued to cling to him as did, perhaps even more fortunately, the support of his relative the Pope of Paris. The lesson the surprisingly secure Emperor took from the year was that his absence from the battlefield should not preclude the existence of a strong force to confront the enemy. An Imperial Diet was convened at the Emperor’s place of convalescence at Boppard in the Rhineland. There representatives of the Empire’s greatest lords agreed to create an elite new semi-professional fighting force of heavy horsemen, funded through general taxation that would last until the Papacy declared the crisis to be over. The name of this order was one that would reverberate down the centuries: the Diet of Boppard created the Teutonic Knights.

The Knights would owe their sole loyalty, it was agreed, to the Holy Empire itself and would be led notionally by the Emperor’s son Albert, a reassuringly un-threatening little boy of five years. The order quickly became a multi-ethnic fighting force made up of men from across Christendom attracted by the idea of secure pay and rations to fight in the name of Christ. Three squadrons of a thousand knights were in place on the frontier when Khan Aaron next marched out of Poland in 1274, and this time he was dealt a stinging defeat with his raiders cut off and killed by the mobile and motivated Knights. The Emperor Otto, meanwhile, led an army deep over the frontier into Poland where he proudly liberated the teenage queen Beata, who had grown up a puppet in Krakow ever since the death of her father Mieszko the Faithful a decade before.

Aaron attempted three more invasions before his death at the hands of his sons Mikhael and Igor in 1278. That of 1275 was a second disaster, with Otto V once more commanding from the front lines and defeating a large army made up largely of Jušen allies, notably Lithuanian pagans. In 1277, with the Emperor preoccupied in the west, another attempt was launched, which this time met with moderate success and set hearts in the Reich to fluttering once again: but the attempt of 1278 was Aaron’s greatest setback yet. Jušen armies melted away before the unstoppable advance of the Teutonic knights, and the unbridled humiliation of defeat was enough to seal the fate of Khan’s Aaron and his dream of a great Jewish empire dominating eastern Europe. Never again would Germany be placed under serious threat of Jušen invasion.

The Emperor Otto died at the relatively youthful age of forty five in the autumn of 1279: the illness that had brought him low seven years previously apparently returned with a vengeance and this time could not be held off. His death left a vacuum within a Reich that had grown accustomed to an unprecedented degree to its affairs revolving around the Imperial court, a vacuum with no obvious contender to fill it. The second stage of German unification would now begin.
 
Last edited:
It looks like Central Europe has done a lot better than OTL, interested in seeing how better off HGE and Hungary will change the power dynamics.
 
Great work Ares and BG. Glad to see some expansion of the I.E. world especially into areas about which I know little as it is.

One mistake though, unless it was deliberate:
The Emperor Otto, meanwhile, led an army deep over the frontier into Poland where he proudly liberated the teenage queen Beata, who had grown up a puppet in Krakow ever since the death of her father Mieszko the Faithful a century before.

I think that is impossible.
 
Keep it up, BG!:)

Thanks!

Awesome update, since Hungary hasn't been completely devastated like OTL it will be interesting to see if they can become a major power in Europe.

Well, Hungary has avoided outright conquest like that which befell Poland, sure, but (and perhaps I should have made this clearer) the attacks of the 1260s and 1270s also involved raiding and battles inside Hungary itself. Jurchen success also directly led to the collapse of the shaky reign of the weak king Stephen II in 1265 and the major bout of bloodletting that followed it in 1266 that eventually resulted in a very shaky regency council for Stephen's only surviving son Álmos I from 1266 onward.

To basically summarise the Hungarian situation very very roughly:

King Ladislaus (of Poszony) was adopted by the Regent of Hungary, Piroska, back in 1183, as detailed in Chapter Twelve of the main TL. Three years later, he ascended to the Hungarian throne after overthrowing Roman domination of Hungary. His only child Margit married Ivan I of Bulgaria and from her descended all future Bulgarian leaders. After the death of Margit's mother Erzsébet in 1197, Ladislaus remarried a young German princess named Matilda, a great-aunt of the Otto V this chapter focuses on. This second marriage produced four children: most importantly Andrew III (reigned 1216-43) and Béla "the Bloody", a very capable warrior.

Andrew III took power as an eighteen year old and is generally remembered as a decent enough king mostly due to the fact that his later years on the throne saw significant successes in wars against Croatia thanks to his brother's capable command. Andrew had two sons, the strong-willed Ladislaus and the much shyer and more retiring Stephen. Unfortunately for Hungary, Ladislaus predeceased his father by six months and Stephen unexpectedly came to power as Stephen II.

Stephen wasn't particularly interested in actually reigning, and after a number of defeats in 1245 and 1246 at Croatian hands he ceded power almost entirely to his uncle Béla the Bloody. Béla stabilised the Croatian situation in 1247 by seeking German assistance, and then campaigned energetically against Poland in the 1250s. His power was brought to an unexpected end when he was killed by the Jurchen prince Nurhaci at the Battle of Trenčín, as mentioned in the update.

After the fall of Béla the Bloody, power came to largely be exercised by Stephen's wife Queen Ibolya, but she was very unpopular, and the nobility agitated against her and her husband. In 1265 Stephen II died in mysterious circumstances (suicide was strongly rumoured) and his eldest son Ladislaus briefly took power as Ladislaus II, but both Ladislaus and his mother were killed in a major revolt of the Hungarian barons the following year, together with Ibolya's second son Prince Béla (Béla "the Beautiful", in contrast with the great-uncle he was named for). The rebels then placed the youngest and only surviving prince onto the throne as Álmos I. As Álmos was an eleven year old boy, it was hoped he could be controlled, but this was quickly undermined by divisions within the nobility and the young king's own increasing wilfulness.

Álmos I came into his majority in 1273 and quickly started to throw his weight around, leading an attack on Jurchen Poland in 1275. He married a Croatian princess and was deeply involved in the politics of the Balkans: but that's an issue for another time.

It looks like Central Europe has done a lot better than OTL, interested in seeing how better off HGE and Hungary will change the power dynamics.

I've provided the background now for it all: now to keep the story moving!

Great work Ares and BG. Glad to see some expansion of the I.E. world especially into areas about which I know little as it is.

One mistake though, unless it was deliberate:
The Emperor Otto, meanwhile, led an army deep over the frontier into Poland where he proudly liberated the teenage queen Beata, who had grown up a puppet in Krakow ever since the death of her father Mieszko the Faithful a century before.

I think that is impossible.

Ha, well spotted! Ares96 has it right though when he says...

I think he meant a decade.

I have edited the offending passage. :p
 
All this talk of Hungary has inspired me to write a good bit of stuff on my Wikia page about the kings mentioned above. The link is in my signature should anybody be interested!
 
And now further Hungarian stuff: I've written lots on Hungary lately, and I'm not sure why. Anyway, this stuff bridges the gap between the Hungary we saw back in Chapter Ten of IE and the "present day". This is part one of two: I hope it elicits some interest! :)

To make things clearer, as I'm aware it's a lot of names, a family tree is attached.

The Queens and the Princes
With the so called “Ladies War” of 1161, it was confidently expected inside Constantinople that the dangerous rising threat provided by the kingdom of Hungary had been well and truly laid to rest. The Empress Theodora of Hungary, herself a daughter and sister of Hungarian Kings, now hoped to be a mother to one too, with her infant son Alexander named King of the Magyars ahead of his elder cousin Piroska, who was forced to serve merely as Princess Regent for what was now fully understood to be a client state definitively within the imperial orbit. With the flower of the Hungarian nobility, the Előkelők, swept away by the invading armies of Theodora’s husband John II Komnenos there were few significant figures of power within the kingdom to challenge the status quo.

The best laid plans of the Empress held for a political generation. Piroska proved everything Constantinople wanted in a Regent: she was competent, gained increasing popularity amongst the local nobility and, most importantly, stayed loyal. When John II breathed his last in April 1180 it was Piroska who was the first to send gifts to the Emperor’s short-lived successor, his grandson Michael VIII. These were gratefully accepted in Constantinople, but when the ambassadors returned to Esztergom they brought with them a most unexpected dignitary: the young Alexander, King of the Magyars.

Alexander might have been the grandson of the Hungarian king, and he might have been the ceremonial figurehead for Piroska’s regime since its inception, but he totally failed to win acceptance amongst the now mostly recovered Előkelők. Alexander had been born and raised in Constantinople: he had never in his life set foot outside of Thrace, let alone north of the Danube. His Magyar was rudimentary, and his knowledge of Hungarian customs nearly nonexistent. Small wonder that he received a deeply frosty reception from the barons. Even the tactful retreat of his cousin Piroska to a monastery was spun as a violent deposition of the former Princess Regent. Increasing dissent in Esztergom, as well as the scent of blood in the water in Constantinople eventually led to Alexander making the rational decision to abandon Hungary in July 1181, after just under a year in the country. The Regency regime, it seemed, was restored.

Except the brief brush the Előkelők had had with the full implication of what being subsumed into the Empire entailed meant that they were increasingly unwilling to tolerate it any further. For a little while, some residual loyalty remained to the Empress Theodora, herself of course a “full” Hungarian, and an Hungarian contingent led by one Ladislaus of Pozsony answered Theodora’s summonses as she attempted to shore up her tottering powerbase in Constantinople in 1182. But a year later, opinion had decisively swung against Constantinople and the Empire, especially when it became clear that Theodora was going to be relegated to the background by her son’s new Anatolian favourites. When Ladislaus revolted and returned to Hungary, he was greeted as a hero, not as the traitor he most certainly was according to all of the treaties Hungary had in place with the Empire at this point. Whatever Piroska’s own feelings on the matter (and there’s not much indication her opinions had changed dramatically from those held during her previous loyalist Regency) she wisely acceded to the demands of her nobles which saw her crowned as Queen of Hungary in December 1183, with Ladislaus as her adopted son and heir.

Piroska (and the ruling Árpád dynasty) died at the age of fifty two in the autumn of 1186, and she was succeeded, after a minor scuffle, by her “son” Ladislaus. Ladislaus apparently did not plan to act immediately, perhaps fearing for his still shaky position, but events in Constantinople in the first year of his rule allowed him to act dramatically. The death of Theodora of Hungary which precipitated the “Great Bloodletting” in 1187 meant the new king could quickly adopt a nakedly anti-Roman policy, denouncing the Uniate Church and stirring up trouble wherever he could find it, all the while conveniently denouncing the murder of his “beloved kinswoman”. In 1190, for example, he successfully disrupted a marital alliance between Bulgaria and Rhomania by offering his only daughter Margit plus a handsome dowry to the Bulgarian Tsar Ivan. In 1201, perhaps emboldened by a new marriage of his own to a German princess, he went so far as to participate in a failed attack on Constantinople itself. Upon his death in 1216, he could look back on a successful reign of thirty years, and a dynasty that, despite its obscure roots, was seemingly now deeply rooted.

By his German wife, King Ladislaus I had four children: his heir Andrew, two other sons in the form of the rather rash and brash Ladislaus “the Younger” (and here things become confusing, as we shall see) and the more reserved but capable Béla and finally a daughter, Beatrice. It certainly says something about Ladislaus’ strength within Hungary that the seventeen year old Andrew III was accepted without question as King, although the strong support of the Holy German Emperors must have helped.

Andrew’s reign continued his father’s work in important areas. Although the new king lacked the fanatical distaste for Constantinople that had characterised Ladislaus’ reign he was nonetheless a strong supporter of the teachings of John of Florence and Parisian Orthodoxy more generally, and dealt with pro-Uniate dissenters firmly. There was, however, a noted element of pragmatism in Andrew that was perhaps lacking in his father, most notably in his choice of wife. Seeking to expand Hungary’s international influence beyond the traditional Bulgarian alliance he opted to marry a princess of the Slavic principality of Galicia, a broadly Uniate but also staunchly independent realm. Though Andrew’s intended bride died a replacement was on-hand in the form of a younger cousin, Wyszesława. The two were married in 1219, despite an age gap of a decade, and an alliance duly proclaimed.

Though this alliance was successful in the short term, allowing Andrew to plausibly claim a high degree of hegemony over much of central and eastern Europe, its long term effects were disastrous for Hungary. Wyszesława was unpopular at court, especially with Andrew’s two brothers, who had grown up from insignificant teenage princelings to formidable political heavyweights in their own right. The fact that the new Queen delivered two healthy sons (confusingly, the elder was named Ladislaus for Andrew’s father but we already have a “Ladislaus the Younger” to deal with in the form of the boy’s uncle) did little to shield her from this hostility, which was particularly marked from the elder of the king’s brothers, the confident and popular playboy Ladislaus the Younger. The brothers claim to have seen the Queen’s religion as a betrayal of their father’s legacy, although a more prosaic reason might have been the simple fact that the arrival of Wyszesława created a new rival centre of patronage for the Előkelők within Esztergom.

The first attempted showdown came in 1233 when Ladislaus the Younger took the highly significant step of adopting as his son the young nephew of an extremely important nobleman. This was dangerous precisely because of the precedent set by Ladislaus the Elder back in 1183, when adoption by a minor royal had led to dynastic revolution. Andrew III’s patience with his brother at this stage finally snapped, and Ladislaus the Younger was sent scrambling into exile in Poland. Notably, the third brother, Prince Béla, was silent in all of this, and for the remainder of his brother’s reign was to remain a staunch loyalist. The decision of Béla, at this stage an eligible bachelor of twenty eight, not to marry should perhaps be understood in this context: threats to the inheritance of Andrew’s sons were not to be tolerated.

By the end of the decade, things had seemingly settled down, and Béla was busy making a reputation for himself as the foremost battle commander in the kingdom. Following a traditional royal practise, Andrew III in 1239 gave Béla a large appanage in the south of Hungary facing the frontier with Croatia, a kingdom that was flourishing at the time under its capable monarch Stephen III. Andrew seems to have seen Stephen as a subordinate king who owed him fealty due to support provided by Hungary in the early years of King Stephen’s reign as he sought to establish himself as an independent monarch from Constantinopolitan interference. In addition, the king greatly resented Stephen’s interference within Bulgarian matters: the Bulgarian royal family were after all Andrew’s nephews and nieces.

In 1240, Prince Béla struck. A number of devastating raids were launched on Croatian territory that even a monarch as energetic as Stephen III found very difficult to effectively counter. Although the following year brought some minor Croatian successes, 1242 marked something of an annus horibilils for the Croat king, who saw a very large Croatian army defeated in detail at the Battle of Zagreb. In the process, Prince Béla acquired the nickname which history has bestowed upon him: hitherto, he would be known as Béla the Bloody.

The Battle of Zagreb might have been expected to herald the beginning of a happy period with Esztergom, but unfortunately it did nothing of the sort. At games held to celebrate the victory, the kingdom’s heir, Prince Ladislaus (again, not to be confused with his uncle the exiled rebel) fell from a horse and died, to be followed a few months later by Andrew III himself. The new king was an inexperienced and untested fifteen year old who took power as Stephen II.

Despite the inauspicious circumstances of Stephen’s accession, one thing was clear: the Poszonian Dynasty was stabilising. There was never any serious effort to suggest that the throne should go to any other candidate, the only other serious one of whom was Béla the Bloody. Indeed, Béla once more displayed the tact that had probably saved him a decade previously, abandoning his semi-independent possessions and returning to court to attend upon his nephew the new king.

The dynasty was thus secure: but with that issue out of the way, a whole host of other matters now began to be called into question. Stephen II would reign, but who actually ruled was quite another matter that came sharply into question following the young king’s near breakdown following a defeat in battle against his namesake the formidable Croat monarch. In the event, despite a determined play for power by the Queen Mother, power eventually devolved on Prince Béla and his allies, a faction that came to be known as the “Princes”.

Opposing them were a faction known, with weary predictability, as the “Queens”. The core of these men were the few loyalists that Wyszesława had gathered around her during her time in Esztergom, but they gained a formidable group of reinforcements in the later 1240s and early 1250s as those alienated by the governance of Prince Béla gravitated towards the opposing faction. Doing so was no longer a matter of great religious importance, for a new and thoroughly Hungarian figurehead had emerged in the form of Stephen’s queen Ibolya of Pécs. Ibolya was the niece of one of Béla’s closest allies but he had died in the same Croatian battle that had so scarred King Stephen, and without his restraining influence Ibolya had begun to chart a distinctly independent path. After Stephen II divested himself of royal duties it was she who he turned to for support and happiness, and Ibolya happily obliged, delivering the king five children. The Princes thus controlled the kingdom: but the Queens controlled the King.

Naturally, this made governance difficult. As early as 1250 Ibolya was agitating against the regime of Béla, loudly calling for peace with Poland, which was at the time pushing for the return of Béla’s long-exiled brother Ladislaus the Younger and his new, Polish wife and daughters. Béla was intent on defending the kingdom from this naked act of Polish partisanship with war, but Ibolya went so far as to propose her newborn daughter as a potential marital match for the young son of Supreme Prince Miesko V. In the event, Miesko’s son died young and nothing more happened, but it was enough to see Ibolya’s brother arrested and hanged for treason, and the Queen Mother temporarily confined to a monastery by the furious Bloody Prince. Only the intercession of King Stephen himself stopped the complete removal of the Queens faction by Béla, and the following year Ibolya’s second son was named Béla as a peace offering to his uncle. Calm was restored: but it would not last.

In 1254, the Queen Mother Wyszesława returned to court, just in time for the arrival of her fourth grandchild, a sickly boy named Álmos who few expected to live long. The delivery of young Álmos had almost killed his mother Ibolya and she now ceded leadership of the Queens to her mother-in-law, who saw an opportunity to rid herself of Béla the Bloody once and for all by encouraging attacks from Galicia upon Hungary’s eastern flank when the prince was engaged in campaigning against Hungary. In the event, the Galicians had rather more pressing concerns in mind and only a small detachment of a few hundred men was sent to the Queen Mother, but even this was enough to spark a low-key civil war between Princes and Queens that simmered away for three years, in the process devastating large parts of the Kingdom. Once more, the Princes emerged largely triumphant, but Béla was prevented from fully pressing home his advantage by the King, who insisted his wife and mother be protected.

A third internal conflict was brewing in the spring of 1260, this time led by a prominent partisan of Béla’s named Count Géza of Eger, who actually went so far as to kidnap the sixteen year old Crown Prince (inevitably, another Ladislaus) and demand the withdrawal into monastic confinement of both Queens and a number of their partisans, notably Archbishop Michael of Esztergom. Whether Géza’s ploy could actually have succeeded is for academics and counterfactual historians to debate over: for the crisis was ended suddenly with the unexpected death of his patron at the hands of a Polish army reinforced by a terrifying new foe: the Jušen. Now fifty six years old, the Prince’s responses were dulled with age, and he failed to move quickly enough to avoid a crossbow bolt through the shoulder. Béla was knocked from his horse and set upon by a group of Jušen, who dismembered him alive and fed chunks of his body to the Supreme Prince of Poland’s tame lions while he watched. So perished Béla the Bloody, the greatest King Hungary never had.

With the Princes now (literally) decapitated, power shifted dramatically back to the Queens, with Géza of Eger and a group of allies sent scrambling into exile in Croatia where they were warmly welcomed by King Petar III. Wyszesława and Ibolya now had near total control over Stephen, but were immediately faced by the spectre of repeated savage attacks by the Jušen of Kiev, who had also overrun Wyszesława’s old Galician homeland. Deprived of its most senior commanders, Princes one and all, the Queens regime could only retreat to its fortifications and hope to ride out the Jušen storm. Not surprisingly, the regime came to be deeply unpopular, with the commoners going so far in 1262 to actively revolt (with Jušen encouragement) and call for the return of the Princes in Esztergom. The revolt was put down the following year, but the cost of doing so was massive: by the time of the death of the Queen Mother in 1264 the kingdom was effectively bankrupt and dependent upon loans from the old enemy in Constantinople.

The end was not long in coming. In January 1265 another member of the royal family was kidnapped by disgruntled Princes, this time King Stephen II himself. A few weeks later, he had died in mysterious circumstances- it was strongly rumoured at the time that the despairing and mentally unstable monarch had committed suicide, given the lack of immediate advantage the Princes would gain from his death. Certainly the immediate aftermath of Stephen’s death was not favourable to them, as his eldest son Ladislaus was crowned as Ladislaus II with the full support of all members of the Queens party.

Ladislaus II, however, was not his father. An intelligent young man of twenty one he was determined to bring to an end the conflict that had wracked his kingdom and to this end he was able to persuade a number of “moderate” Princes to reconcile with his government. To seal the deal he took as his queen one Sophia, the daughter of one of these moderates and for a few months it seemed as though the conflict would finally be becalmed. It was not to be, however. Géza of Eger, encouraged by Croatia and Constantinople alike refused point blank to accept the deal and was soon stirring up trouble. More ominously, a Polish revolt against the Jušen that summer, which Ladislaus had eagerly backed, collapsed utterly, and saw the barbarians openly stating that Hungary would be punished. The final failure of the peace came in early 1266 when Sophia failed to deliver a son, instead producing only a sickly and stunted daughter, Erzsébet.

Seeking to forestall the inevitable, Ibolya tried took matters into her own hands, seizing and killing two sons of wavering Princes who had been sent to court. If this act was meant to cow their fathers, it had precisely the opposite effect. Together with a ragtag band of Croatian adventurers and Jušen warriors, Géza of Eger captured Esztergom in April and subjected the city to a merciless sacking that saw almost all leading Queens in the vicinity purged either into monasteries or death. King Ladislaus II, in one last ditch attempt to mediate, was cut down by a Croat mercenary, and his young wife Sophia, it was darkly rumoured, was raped to within an inch of her life before being dumped in a convent. Ibolya, meanwhile, was dragged out of a church where she had taken refuge and hacked to pieces in the city’s main fish market, thereafter ever known as the “Queen’s Market”.

April of 1266 saw the decisive victory of the Princes over the Queens. Who would win the peace, however, within a broken and bleeding country, would be for another generation to find out.


Hungarian tree.png
 
Nice update! The actions of the nobility are very realistic and tipical of medieval Hungary.
By the way, if the word Előkelők means elite nobility, I would rather use nemes (plural nemesek), in latin nobilis, which they used at that time. The Előkelők I belive is much later.
 
Top