Duchy of Pommerania
2nd of January 1187, Greifenberg Castle
‘I, Piotr von Greifenberg, Duke of Pommern, Count of Wolgast and Stettin hereby vow upon this Holy Book that my allegiance is to the King of the Great Empire of Germany!’ said the Duke proudly. The mirror did not oppose… nor did it confirm the statement. The Duke sighed and placed the Bible on its shelf. ‘There must be a way for them to accept me’ he thought ‘It’s unnatural for such a strong Dukedom not to belong the Reich’. A sleepy soon-to-be-a-victim-of-the-returning-winter fly sat on his Ducal chair and gazed at his soon-to-be-German-duke stature.
‘Feats of War!’ he said impatiently. ‘That’s it! I will show them my prowess!’ he shouted running through the antechambers of his keep.
Duke Piotr von Greifenberg
4th of January 1187, somewhere near the Greifenberg Castle
‘You’ said the Duke pointing at an elderly bald man. He bowed his head and mumbled something. ‘What did he say?’ the Duke asked.
His young wife, steward and translator approached him and whispered to his ear ‘He says it will be an honour to fight for you’. The Duke looked again upon the bald man who tried to look as exquisite as it is possible. He proceeded forward along the straight line of knights and examined his brave warriors.
Duchess Anastazja Piast
‘Well then- it’s settled. You shall embark on a great crusade, men! A crusade that will grant you glory and wealth!’ he yelled with passion in his voice. The knights rose in their saddles and saluted with their swords. ‘Now that is what I have to offer to those cocky Germans!’ thought Piotr von Greifenberg at the beginning of his venture to victory.
‘Erm… Where are we going your Grace?’ the question struck him like lightning.
‘What did he say’ said the Duke.
Duchess Anastazja was again at her post to ease his conversational pains ‘He asked where are we going’. The Duke for a moment was amazed with the brilliance of this question.
‘Tell my Marshal… what is his name?’.
The bald man replied after the question was repeated by the Duchess in his native tongue ‘I am Kazimierz ze Szczecina your Grace.
‘What did he say?’ asked the Duke again.
‘He said he is Kazimierz ze Szczecina’.
Marshal Kazimierz ze Szczecina
‘Well then- tell my Marshal that we shall crush the pagans of Prussia. The catholic creed and German law shall straighten up that land!’ The bald man nodded again, bowed his head and mumbled something to the knights. Most of them came from Slavonic lands and did not understand the Poetic Niedersächsisch of the Duke. The Duke did not understand it fully either but he tried very hard.
‘You really should stop this nonsense, dear’ said the Duchess gently patting him on the shoulder. ‘What do you mean ‘nonsense’?’ he shouted angrily ‘I shan’t lower myself to such a level and speak their wretched tongue that sounds like a skeleton with iron shoes waltzing on rocks!’ he stated a bit quieter. ‘The fact that it’s my native tongue doesn’t mean I have to speak it, does it? And how can you treat a German Duke in a German way when he speaks a Slavonic language?’ His rhetoric was something not every mind could match with.
15th of February 1187, 20 miles south of Danzig, left bank of the Vistula River
The wide plain on which Vistula River released the tons of dirt it carried through the larger part of Poland was quite lively. Many ferries, boats and other contraption with the ability to float were busy transporting men-at-arms to the other shore. Upon the hill near an old oak tree sat Piotr von Greifenberg. Tired wet dirty and bitten by gnats.
‘So what he is trying to say is that my wise cousin Ratzibor informed my liege of MY plans?’ he articulated to the substitute of his wife and the only man he was able to communicate with Steward Ziemomysl z Wolina, whom he was forced to call Ziemo von Wollin as that articulation was just at the edge of his lexical loathing.
Steward Ziemomysl z Wolina aka Ziemo von Wollin
‘Yes your Grace’ Ziemo nodded eagerly ‘It appears though that it was not Lord Racibor but his trusty chancellor Gaudenty…’
The Duke turned his noble face to the skies and in the act of a true German heir started jumping up and down shouting many German words. Both Ziemo and the herald stood amazed and tried to take any action suitable to the Duke’s bahaviour but none seemed to be accurate.
‘You!’ shouted the Duke as his face slowly ceased to glow reddish ‘You brought me this excellent news- you shall announce those Prussians that the Reich wants their lands!’ as soon as von Wollin translated the order the young herald bowed his head and retreated with tears in his eyes.
‘And as for Gaudent…’ an earnest Slavonic smile lightened up von Greifenberg’s face.
'Death by old age' said the Bishop.
'But he was 23' said Racibor Count of Slupsk.
10th of April 1187, somewhere in Chelminskie
‘They have been crushed, your Grace’ said the Marshal wiping his forehead with a piece of cloth. He was covered in dirt and blood yet his face was gleaming with a smile. Victory. Prussians were retreating and the head of their commander was flowing down the quiet waters of Vistula.
‘What did he say?’ asked the Duke.
‘He said they were crushed, your Grace’ answered steward Ziemo gazing eagerly at the warrior.
He always admired those types- earnest, strong and brave. He was a good leader too, well so said his mother, but he did not have the courage to ride into battle. You could get slashed by sword, smashed by axe or crushed by mace. He shivered.
‘Where’s the Viking?’ asked the Duke again. Ziemo unwrapped a whistle and gave a sharp sound. A young pale herald ran across the field.
‘Your Grace?’ he bowed his head.
‘Where is the King of Denmark?’ von Greifenberg examined his nails.
The herald gulped ‘His ships were seen anchoring near Danzig, your Grace’ he said.
‘His ships are where?!’ shouted the Duke forgetting to ask what was said. ‘Listen you fool’ he rose up and approached the herald ‘What I am about to reveal will become your holy errand, your sacred quest. You will swear on your life! That Viking bastard must never reach this land. Not before I claim it in the name of the Reich!’ he paced forward as the herald continued to retreat bowing his head. Ziemo accompanied them both translating passionately.
‘I do not care how it is done- it must be done!’ roared the Duke. The herald was on his knees and prayed to withstand this awesome display of power.
Von Greifenberg stopped and pointed at the river ‘That is the final frontier. Shall he cross it- your heart will be eaten by hawks!’ he said in a cold heartless manner.
The herald retreated covering his face not to show the tears soaking his cheeks.
King Knud of Denmark aka 'The Viking'
29th of June 1187, 5 miles south of soon-to-be Marienburg
The remains of a Prussian army were fleeing towards the town. Light summer rain started cleaning the blood-stained plain as the first crows sat on mounds of shattered bodies.
‘How many?’ asked the Duke. He felt very tired. The last four months of constant battling and marching had their toll on von Greifenberg’s health.
‘They are still counting your Grace’ answered Ziemo who’s face became increasingly green. ‘But the Marshal says about a thousand Prussian and two hundreds of our men’
The final battle of the Prussian War
The Duke frowned ‘That seems to be a good news. What about our dear King?’ his face was stern again. Sweat poured down Ziemo’s back.
‘His Highness Knud King of Denmark has reached Vistula’ he waited for the punishment. The Duke was silent- his royal profile was turned towards the field, as the last rays of the sun enlightened the field. Ziemo stood enchanted by this view for a while.
‘How is our herald doing?’ he asked as though he forgot about the previous question.
‘The messengers say he is devoted to two actions: shouting and crying but seems to be doing fine’.
17th of August 1187, lone hill near soon-to-be Marienburg
‘I claim this land in the name of Pommerania and the Glorious Kingdom of Germany!’ proclaimed Piotr von Greifenberg rising from his wooden chair. A group of Prussian nobles knelt in front of him. They were held by his knights.
‘Do you hear this you worthless pagan scum!’ he shouted again in the face of bearded man. Prussians treated him with reverence.
‘Ziemo! Tell my Marshal to join me’ The Duke was proud of his victory. This was the day his dream was near realization. The King of Germany was certainly informed of his glorious feat. Duke’s heart was about to explode with joy.
‘Your Grace?’ the Marshal interrupted his fantastic visions and brought him down to the plain again. He measured the Marshal with his royal glance.
‘My good man. Kaz… Kazimer see… von Stettin! You have done well. I am very glad with your deeds’. A pale smile gleamed on Marshal’s face. ‘We shall not forget your actions and reward them generously’ the Duke nodded at him and paced down to the prisoners of war.
He looked at the Prussian nobles ‘You are to be punished by the pain of death!’ he grinned malevolently ‘And you…’ he pointed at their leader.
The leader whispered something to his compatriots and they all chuckled. The Duke frowned and a speck of anger emerged on his face.
‘What did he say?’ he asked one of his Slavonic knights by means of Ziemo’s lips.
‘He said…’ started Ziemo but was immediately interrupted by the Prussian leader.
‘I said you can do whatever you want, you German bastard’ he said in somewhat German dialect. There was a silence. Long painful silence that made its way with shivers down the spine of Ziemo, the silence that turned the Marshal’s face into a mask of fury, the silence that made the knights realize they took part in some blasphemous act. The silence that was followed by the Duke’s sheer laughter. The Prussian leader gazed at his opponent and fear crawled in his heart. The worst was coming.
‘And you are free to go wherever you want’ the Duke burst out and kissed him on both cheeks to the amazement of the gathered.
‘You are all free to do whatever you want- assuming that you do not meddle in my reign’ he said smiling fresh as sunshine and hopping to his chair.
‘Did you notice how he called me?’ he asked Ziemo who was too shocked to say anything ‘He called me a “German bastard”, did you hear? “German bastard”!‘
Everything appeared so pure and simple now…
and decided to give it a try since the new BETAs give so much more opportunities. Please be gentle 
