“Why did you do it?!” Laszlo’s voice rang out, echoing across the cold stone of the throne room. “Why make a drastic move so quickly?”

“I did what had to be done!” Geza fired back, elevating his tone to match. They had been arguing for nearly 10 minutes already, and his usually calm demeanor was beginning to crack. “For myself and my country!”

“Bullshit! Your rule is unmatched over the whole of Europe; what harm could a single county do?”

“I have to maintain order; I can’t abide by every backroom deal jotted down on a scrap of paper! I am the king-”

“I had everything under control, the situation was harmless! At least until you barged in and made a mess of things!”

“Do you realize how tenuous your hold was? How hard I had to work to convince the Duke of Pecs that you couldn’t just do whatever you wanted? You were in over your head, whether you realize it or not.”

“What, so you destroyed all my hard work just to flout your authority to some vassal?”

“I am the King! I do not answer to any duke, not to him and certainly not to you! Now be gone!”

Laszlo was shocked; Geza had given him orders before, but had never pulled rank in an argument like this. There was nothing to be done about it; he turned on his heel and marched out. Our paths diverge here, brother, he thought as he exited the room. From this point forward, he would have to act alone.

* * * * * * * *

Let us turn back the clock a bit.

By the summer of 1083, Germany had completely collapsed. Only a handful of counties remained faithful to their heretical king, and the rest had broken off into independent duchies. Two such dukes, feeling exposed without the resources of a kingdom to protect them, sought out Geza’s help. An accord was reached between the three leaders, and so it passed that Bavaria and Carinthia became a part of the Kingdom of Hungary. At this point in history, Hungary held more land than any nation in Europe.

Minor uprisings still occurred – the king deployed troops to Orava in June to depose its revolutionary count – but the transition was mostly fluid.

But the rebellion in Severin was still going strong. By March of 1085 the situation had degraded into open revolt, with an ultimatum delivered to Duke Laszlo’s proverbial doorstep saying that the population would acknowledge his authority no longer. In response he sent out almost 1,000 men under the command of his marshal, Baldazs. Tador accompanied the army as well. Together they easily dispatched a collection of armed peasants and quelled the insurrection. They also oversaw the training of additional loyalist troops, in the hopes that any future hostilities could be handled with local forces instead of the full might of the capitol. Armies are expensive, after all.

In September of the same year, Tador came of age. He was immediately married to his childhood friend, one Sara Poth of Vas (whose liege had been the duke’s staunch ally for nearly a decade). A lavish ceremony was held in Bihar, and before the revelries came to an end Tador had been named the new Count of Severin. Laszlo hoped that his son, the virtuous soldier, could succeed where he had failed and bring some measure of peace to the troubled region.

* * * * * * * *

1086 could not have dawned much brighter for Laszlo. By all accounts his son and daughter-in-law had acclimated to their duties quite well; Tador had (in addition to his military prowess) a gift for making money, and Sara was as erudite a speaker as he had ever seen for a woman of her few years. Best of all, Sara was pregnant!

What else could go right for the duke? What possible blessing could God see fit to bestow upon him? Well, in February he got his answer.

Anna was pregnant again.

While the lady had always been the picture of good health and strong stock, such an announcement from the 35-year-old nearly took the legs out from under Laszlo. How unbelievable! Now he had two children to anticipate, and from two different generations no less. Clearly the heavens smiled on him.

This run of good fortune may be what inspired Laszlo to make such a bold move in the spring. When the young and impetuous Count of Saris announced his intention to rule his people without the protection or control of the king, Laszlo seized the opportunity. He traveled north to visit the count at his home and, over a long night of talking and drinking, convinced the young man to re-swear oaths to the king – but to include ones to Laszlo as well. Saris would become a vassal of the Duchy of Wallachia, and in return all charges and internal declarations of war against the county would be dropped. A contract was hastily written up and signed by the two parties.

The duke sent news of this development to his brother and several other ranking nobles in the Hungarian court. The count was a prodigy, he explained, if a bit naive and headstrong. Laszlo felt that, with a bit of guidance, he could one day become a useful ally for the Arpads. But many were not amused by what they believed to be an insidious grasp for more power in the region. The king’s brother, they reasoned, should not be so willing to cut deals with upstart counts bearing rebellious thoughts. Nationalist fervor sprang up in several wealthy areas, and soon entire commissioned armies were marching into Saris.

Laszlo was furious. They had no claim of war with the count any longer, nor with his liege (Laszlo himself) or his liege (Geza). But the king offered no resistance, and the citizens of Saris soon saw their houses burned and lands invaded as if they were enemy combatants. After months of military action, the poor count was forced to hand his title over to Geza and escape into Poland, disgraced. It was as if Laszlo’s claim and title never existed. And when he traveled to Pressburg to air his grievances, his brother was as receptive as a stone wall.

“I had everything under control, the situation was harmless! At least until you barged in and made a mess of things!”

“Do you realize how tenuous your hold was? How hard I had to work to convince the Duke of Pecs that you couldn’t just do whatever you wanted? You were in over your head, whether you realize it or not.”

“What, so you destroyed all my hard work just to flout your authority to some duke?”

“I am the King! I do not answer to any duke, not to him and certainly not to you! Now be gone!”

And so it was that the two brothers parted ways. Laszlo lingered in the capital long enough to sign the pledge of loyalty drawn up by the County of Bereg in renewed support of their liege (to assuage any fears as to his own intentions), but avoided any public appearances.

In early October he began his return trip home. He was barely a day from Bihar when a messenger intercepted the royal caravan, urging them to return with all haste – Anna was experiencing complications with her impending delivery.

Laszlo took his fastest horse and raced home, arriving at first light the next morning. Abandoning all pretense he raced to his chambers, expecting to follow the bustling sounds of midwives and servants. But the only figure in the room when he arrived was Bishop Istvan, who simply stared out at the sunrise.

“Where is Anna? What’s happened?” he demanded.

The bishop stood and faced Laszlo, a somber expression on his face. “I’m so sorry, my liege. But they are with God now.”