To cheers and acclaim do you appear once more in the Sejm camp, crutches sinking into the mud, helped at the shoulders by Marszowski and another lieutenant. You smile graciously at the assembled nobles Crossing themselves and waving caps for Ajax, the Tatar-slayer, the maimed hero. Even men you recognize as rivals – pure Piasts or executionists – hail you, and you're showered with blessings and congratulations regarding your miraculous survival. All you do is thank them; you'll let others do the talking, and allow yourself to be an attraction. Specifically, a reminder to the Ruthenians that their bond with Lithuania was only recently terminated six years ago at the Union of Lublin, and that the men of the Grand Duchy are willing to kill and die for their erstwhile countrymen. And all this praise makes your head buzz, your heart swell – changed forever, yet finally, truly, respected. Almost makes me forget I'm an utter cripple! You frown briefly.
Before you go and take your back-bench seat at the Senat, you hobble your way over to the Baron von Dietrichstein's pavilion tent. You find him at a desk within, surrounded by his be-ruffed, trunk-hosed compatriots. "Lord Baron!" you hail him. "May I speak to you for a moment?"
"Well, of course, Your Serene Highness," he says, clearly trying to conceal surprise at your appearance. "Please, tell me what for?" He lifts a plaintive hand.
"I wanted to discuss some of the specifics of the concept of the Military Frontier, so that my peers will better understand what it is His Royal Highness the Archduke promises to do," you say. "Assuredly, everyone is overjoyed at the prospect, but… Paying for it? Staffing it?"
"Of course, Your Serene Highness," he nods, clasping his hands together and placing them to his chin. "The way things work in Hungary-Croatia is that certain soldiers are selected, regardless of faith or patrimony, and dealt land grants in exchange for staffing the forts and watchtowers," he explains, "that way, they'll protect their own villages. They're led by captains who also serve as mayors and governors. That way, we save a bit of money," he adds with a smile. "As for construction, hiring the engineers and architects – the soldiers can double as laborers – someone would have to pay for it. I have dispatched a request to His Imperial Majesty requesting funds for that and what will become a war effort, to be promised officially within the Archduke's proposed pacta."
"That's good, that's very good," you say, near-relieved. "But I'm not sure how the people would take to… colonists. Though I'm sure the presence of some Germans would be permissible." You hum. An idea! "We possess many destitute or landless nobles here within the Polish Crownlands – most of whom keep arms, perhaps a horse, and have some experience in battle. But they're unruly."
"Whatever Your Serene Highness thinks, we are willing to defer to it," replies the Baron.
Hmm, alright. Outside colonists: professional soldiers, reliable, but foreigners – Germans? Hungarians? Bohemians? Wallachians? – how would that gel? And what if they desire nobility? Who rules them? The local lords, a sort of captaincy system like they're Zaporozhians? Put them under one of the preexisting Crown Hetmans?
On the other hand, providing incentives to the gołota to pack their things and head south would staff the forts with half-soldier rabble, admittedly, but also keep things much more simple. It also could ingratiate the Habsburg faction to opportunistic lordlings. However, a new class of marcher lords would surely arise, and make their presence known at elections – neither Polish nor Ruthenian, they could upset the balance of power at Sejms such as these.
You finally decide to say:
[] "I recommend the settlement of outsiders, as commoners under one of the Crown Hetmans chosen by royal appointment."
This could make one Mikołaj Sieniawski – an important Podolian magnate – very happy or very jealous: he took up the defense of Ruthenia after your departure with great success for the remaining few months of the raiding season, and he's been at that kind of work for decades. The only reason he didn't join you at an earlier date was due to the paralysis of the quarter army. He's an obvious choice for a captaincy.
[] "Perhaps it would be best to resettle some of our Masovians, or lowly lords in general."
Egalitarian and generous, just the way the szlachta like. However, there would assuredly be some disorder in the borderlands, and the destitute lords would likely prove to be subpar – though not fully incompetent – fighters.
[] "This is a matter best put to a vote before the Sejm. We should ask them with haste."
Putting it to a vote is the safe thing to do. It also may have a mildly-deflecting effect on the accusation of looming Habsburg absolutism.
[] "This is a matter best put to a vote before Sejm upon the election of His Royal Highness. You should promise them such, lord Baron."
Keep the promises vague and hopeful, and let it be sorted out when the Archduke would (hopefully) sit the throne. Anything more is a liability.
[] write-in.
Framed as a verbal statement.
Meanwhile the Senat and Sejm meetings pass over the course of a near-week, yielding no surprises: the former supports the Habsburgs, and the latter are bitterly divided along the lines of class and country. Accusations are beginning to be leveled at the interference of the Papal Nuncio, Vincenzo Lauro, in favor of the Habsburgs. People are claiming that there's a plot for Archbishop Uchański to unilaterally declare the Archduke the victor. Meanwhile, the promises of spoils for the royal treasury and lords' pockets alike from the Habsburg camp ameliorate some of the worst fears. As of the 22nd of October, sixteen days remain until the start of the election Sejm proper. You keep a tight lip, but make sure to spend quality time with the sons of Konstanty Wasyl Ostrogski, those recent comrades of yours, to remind them of what you've given up in the defense of their homeland.
There's always time to arrange a meeting, though. Will you do so?
[] No, keep quiet. Sit back and watch, biding your time.
Keep an ear to the wall – or let people come to *you.*
[] Arrange a meeting with Jan Zamoyski.
Try to arrange contingencies for the victory of either side, to ensure a peaceful transfer of power. Tempers are running high, after all.
[] Introduce yourself to the sole pro-Batory Bishop, Stanisław Karnkowski.
What's the matter with him? We need the entirety of the Holy Church to back the Habsburgs – it would be a major increase to the legitimacy of their claim before God and the realm.
[] Conference discreetly with Archbishop Jakub Uchański.
See if this rumor about him and the Nuncio is true.
[] Hold a summit with some of the striver-families: the remnants of the mighty Tarnowscy, the Ruthenian Wiśniowieccy, Hetman Mikołaj Sieniawski, etc.
Remind them of the promises, the opportunities, the ease of manipulating the young Archduke: Mariana's web-weaving has perhaps planted the seeds.
[] write-in.
Do some research.
You retire to your quarters after a long and boring day down in the camp, nursing your pained stump by sipping gorzała; you catch a nice buzz. Mariana appears at your chamber door for her usual visit, except you don't let her approach your bedside: you scramble out of bed and hoist yourself up with your crutches – she stands watching, bemused – and you eagerly click-clack over to her. She turns her face and taps on her cheek; you plant a kiss loyally. "I deserve that because I've been doing some very good work," she says. "I've told many of the ladies – and some of the men, too – all about the Fugger banks and their Tyrol mines, the bestowment of Imperial titles as enjoyed by your father and his cousin and the Counts Chodkiewicz…"
"How do you know these things?"
She almost looks offended. "Because I read, Stanisław. I grew up with my nose in a book, you know," she says. "When your father's eighty-something he can't really tell you not to – and he's amassed quite an emporium over the years." They do call old Pawel "Nestor." Born in the last century!
You shake your head, slightly embarrassed by your underestimation. "Right, of course, I almost forgot that you know Latin…"
Mariana puts her hands on her hips and makes a face. "I'll have my vengeance: I'm about to make you very jealous. And angry!"
"Oh, no…"
"There's this pig of a man who wants me. Probably fifty, fifty-five, some Tworowski retainer, you wouldn't know him." Your stomach drops, while your chest begins to fire up. "Utter lech, the way he looks at me," she says, motioning to her breasts, her waist, her hips. "Of course, I find him repulsive. But I suppose since I'm a little mannish," she says, unashamed, "he mistook my confidence for flirtation. This was at the dance last night, the one you were too tired for."
You can feel your face getting red. Mariana chuckles. "So, I'm taking a walk without my ladies around dusk outside the Curia Maior, and guess what? The fellow walks up from behind, touches my back, and says: 'have you ever had an old bull, little girl?'"
"What?!" you roar. "What's his name? I'll kill him, I'll throw my glove down and challenge him!" you say, completely burning. You remember dimly that you're down a leg. "Or, or– I'll shoot him! Or I'll get Marszowski to stick him like swine and–"
She moves in close, hot breath on your face, grabbing the collar of your żupan. "Oh, so you'll kill for me, then?" she asks, voice honeyed. "Become a murderer? An infamis? That's really something."
No! No! Do not let her seduce you, not now! "Of course I'd– my honor! Your honor! MY wife!" You're almost yelling.
She smiles devilishly. "Well, what if I told you I made it all up?"
You make a wide variety of faces in a very short period of time. You start lightly smacking her leg with your crutch, forcing her to retreat, laughing involuntarily. "Not funny! That is not funny!"
She's cackling. "Oh, my God! May He forgive me for my lies, but – wow!"
You're tripping over words, but finally manage to say: "scare me! Fool me! Infuriate me!"
"You're handsome when you're angry, hussar!" she says, stifling further laughter. "You're fierce when you need to be!"
"Not funny! Not funny! Delilah!"
"Samson!"
"Delilah!"
"Samson!"
"So angry, so angry!" she says, closing the distance once more. "For me." Suddenly, you're downright attacking each other, biting lips and crossing tongues and growling with desire. She shoves you onto the bed, sending your crutches clattering, and climbs atop you.
Whew! You lay in bed, slightly sweaty, feeling fine (but still a pinch angry), Mariana curled up around you to your left and – oh, oh! You nearly forgot: she'll be twenty-one on the 22nd. Despite your wounded pride at the moment, you've never given her a proper gift before, not counting paying for her dresses and other customary things. It's a little too late to get her something bespoke, but you still want to show your affection. Something respectful, something that tells her you know of her strength – that she's a cut above the average woman…
[] An imported, Italian cameo necklace of Artemis, set in gold.
She *does* enjoy the outdoors. She's a bit of a huntress metaphorically speaking, too.
[] A gilded Orthodox icon of her favored Saint, Valentine.
She's not the most religious, that sweet, evil thing – but she does fear God at the end of the day. Leave it to a flirt like her to pick the Saint of love and matrimony!
[] A fine black hussar's horse – half-native and and the rest Turkish-Tatar.
A speedy and strong steed for a quick-witted, powerful young lady.
[] A set of Austrian-inspired dresses.
For when we win, of course. They compliment her trim-yet-shapely figure very well, and she's been reusing the one Western dress she owns. You reckon she'd look very pretty in a ruff and feathered cap – her face is angular enough for it.
[] write-in.
Give your love something special.
