Part XXVIII: The War of the Lithuanian Succession (1498-1501)
Upon the death of Kazimierz IV, his empire shattered. His eldest son, Vladislaus, had been co-king of Bohemia alongside Matthew the Raven for a decade and a half[1], but he was unwilling to assume complete control over his father’s vast realm, preferring to remain with his subjects in Prague. As such, the many crowns of King Kazimierz were divided between his other sons. His second son, Jan Olbracht, was crowned as King of Poland, while his third son, Aleksandras, became Grand Duke of Lithuania. Finally, the youngest son, Sigismund, became Duke of Pomeralia and Lord of the Prussian Confederation, effectively ruling the lands which his father had seized from the Teutons.
This sudden division caused a myriad of problems. Vadislaus and Sigismund were alright, but Poland and Lithuania, the former heartlands of the Jagiellon dynasty, were soon facing dozens of brewing conflicts. Kazimierz had kept taxes in Poland almost ridiculously low to mollify the local nobility, drawing most of his funds from his possessions in Lithuania. With no Lithuanian reserves to draw upon, Jan Olbracht was forced to raise taxes, which made the szlachta thoroughly despise him. In fact, even raising the taxes was a hard-fought battle, as the sejm blocked every attempted reform he made for three entire years before finally granting concessions. However, this came with a price; the sejm would have the ability to veto any appointment made by the king. Jan Olbracht chafed at this, but eventually agreed, relieved to be able to finally pay back the Italian money-lenders who were circling him like sharks. He soon realized his error in 1495, when the sejm refused to allow him to appoint a general to lead a relief expedition to Lithuania, and so he was forced to watch impotently as his brother’s kingdom burned.
The chief problem facing Lithuania was not internal disputes, as was the case in Poland, although this was still a major concern, as many of the Lithuanian nobles despised Aleksandras. Instead, Lithuania was beset on all sides by hostile neighbors. To the east, the Russian states eyed the increasingly weak state as a bank whose stolen wealth could be used to finance their wars, and to the north the Teutons and Livonians were smarting for revenge against the dynasts who had driven them out of Prussia. However, the gravest threat was to the east, where Ahmed Sultan had recovered his control of the Golden Horde and was eying up Lithuania as a route for expansion. In 1498, after recovering from the disaster in Georgia, Ahmed led an army across the Dnieper and ravaged the lands across the river, going as far west as the Tylihul before returning to his pastures, a great train of slaves of other such loot following him home. Aleksandras marshalled an army and marched to meet him, intercepting the Mongol army at Yavkyne. The resulting battle was a massacre, the Lithuanian army being encircled by the mounted archers and ground to a pulp. Aleksandras barely escaped with his life, he and a few other knights managing to escape on a river barge. This was the spark that lit the powder keg, and within a few months all of Lithuania was aflame.
With the king revealed to be fully incompetent, the nobility of Lithuania rose in revolt. Mykolas Glinskis[2], a magnate whose lands occupied the heavily-raided eastern frontier, was the first to revolt in late 1498, raising the standard of Jan Olbracht, whom he formally invited to take the throne a few weeks later. He was quickly joined by much of the eastern nobility, who hoped for a strong ruler to help defend their lands from Russian and Tartar incursions. The irony of trying to install the weak king of Poland to fulfill this desire was apparently lost upon them. Within a few months, Glinkis’ rebellion had spread across all the east of Lithuania, with most of the nobility either defecting or declaring their neutrality. A handful of nobles stayed loyal, however, led by Konstanty Ostrogiškis[3], who was able to muster some 5,000 men against Glinskis’ 8,000. Lithuania, like Poland was also deeply in debt, and so neither side was able to bolster their strength with mercenary hosts, although Glinskis was able to rally a few Tartar light horsemen to supplement his knights. The winter of 1498-1499 saw negotiations between the two parties fail, and in the spring the two armies began probing each other’s positions.
Meanwhile, over in Poland, Jan Olbracht was attempting to join his supporters in Lithuania. However, he was being held up by obstructionists in both the sejm and in the eastern duchies. Many of the Polish nobles thought that having a weak king and thus being able to exercise however many ‘rights’ they wished, was more important the geopolitical power that would be brought by the annexation of Lithuania, and so were opposed to Jan Olbracht’s desire to intervene. Chief among these was Konrad the Rudy, the Duke of Mazovia. In the much-reduced Polish kingdom, Konrad had become a king-maker, with his support needed for any faction hoping to enact anything major. However, in a reunified Poland-Lithuania, his power would be significantly reduced, and thus he was vehemently opposed to any plans of reunification. He succeeded in stalling Jan Olbracht for a year and a half until, with the king even going so far as to threaten to assassinate Konrad if he did not give in. During this time, Jan Olbracht could do little but send funds--very limited funds--to his Lithuanian supporters, with which they could hire mercenaries. Finally, in mid-1501, Konrad relented in exchange for the promise of vast tracts of land in Lithuania, and the Polish army was joined by a sizable number of Mazovians.
It was fortuitous, because Polish force was needed to help the pro-Jan Olbracht faction’s numerous handicaps. Although Glinskis had the initial advantage in terms of numbers and general support, the fractious nature of his cause made it difficult for him to rally these resources, and he spent more time mediating between his subordinates than he did actually campaigning. Ostrogiškis, on the other hand, was more of an autocrat than Aleksandras was, able to order his followers about at will and was thus able to coordinate strategic maneuvers in a way Glinskis could not, which gave him a slight edge against the rebels. He could also completely withdraw from or march into areas without concern for the properties of his subordinates which, once again, was not something Glinski could do. Finally, he had control over the capital, Vilnius, and thus access to the state treasury and tax collection system, which allowed him to keep his army well-supplied, while Glinski had to beg, borrow and steal from the landowners whose regions he controlled.
The campaign season of 1499 saw fighting primarily around the northern Dnieper. As soon as the roads were navigable once again in late May[4], Ostrogiškis rushed eastward to try and seize the royal armory at Smolensk. However, he was beaten to the city by rebel forces, and the loyalists soon found themselves beating a hasty retreat back along the northern bank of the river. A force of over-eager cossacks rushed ahead of the main force and were shattered at the fords of the Drut north of Drutsk. This left the two armies at a rough status quo, but the strategic position had been changed. Ostrogiškis had planned to seize Smolensk and then use it to pin the rebels on the right bank of the Dnieper, eventually surrounding and crushing them. Now, however, he would be forced onto the defensive. However, the ever-active mind of the great general soon evolved a new plan. With hostile intervention from Poland a possibility at any time, he would use the broad and defensible Neman to anchor his flank, then deploy his forces along the roads eastward. He would draw the rebels in to the gap between the fortress cities of Minsk and Kreva, where they could be cut off and defeated. Glinskis, meanwhile, was hesitant to attack before support from Poland could arrive. As such, he was very cautious, and that year limited his advancement to assaults on the fortresses of Drutsk, in mid-July, then onward to the former royal residence at Barysaw in late August. However, he was mindful enough to send a sizeable force north-east to cut the roads to the fortresses of the northern frontier, where a large potential reserve force was waiting to be marshalled.
The standoff continued into the winter and spring of 1500. Deciding that he had to do something, Glinskis took the offensive, unknowingly doing so only a few weeks before Ostrogiškis would have yielded more ground. In late June, the rebels marched north-east from Barysaw, reaching the banks of the Nevis River, which flows directly into Vilnius itself, without a fight. With his forces caught out of position, Ostrogiškis rushed north with the left flank of his army to block their advance, while his right swung around to cut off their retreat. The resulting Battle of Smarhon was fought on 12 July, near the small fortress on the river banks. Both forces were tired, but the loyalists were able to form up quickly and were able to batter down the rebel vanguard before their cavalry could be deployed. The lines then joined ranks, fighting for over an hour before the rebels withdrew. Losses were light--less than 3,000, overall--but Glinskis was forced to withdraw by the arrival of the right flank in their rear, which forced a hasty withdrawal back to Barysaw. The two forces would remain in roughly the same position through the rest of the season, the rebel cause gradually shedding men as they failed to make headway.
Ostrogiškis was preparing for a final offensive to crush the rebels against the Dnieper the following spring. A number of fence-sitters had rallied to him after Smarhon, and he now saw an opportunity to crush the rebels against the banks of the Dnieper, hopefully breaking the back of the insurrection in one blow. However, this plan was scuppered by the arrival of a Polish army in mid-1501. Seeing his final opportunity for survival, Ostrogiškis immediately abandoned his defensive works and force-marched towards the approaching host. On 2 July, the two hosts spotted each other and the Poles rushed into battle formations. However, instead of attacking, the Lithuanian general rode out between the lines. He knelt before the king, explained that he was fighting out of loyalty to the throne not because of loyalty to Aleksandras, and that he now recognized him as Grand Duke. Recognizing it for what it was--an attempt to jump ship, but still an opportunity to pacify the Lithuanians--Jan Olbracht accepted his pledge of loyalty. The combined host then marched on Vilnius, where Jan Olbracht was crowned as Grand Duke of Lithuania, taking the first step to restoring his father’s empire.
The obvious question in all of this is where was Aleksandras? It was in his name that Ostrogiškis, and one would reason that he would join in to preserve his throne. However, he was nowhere to be found. After the disaster at Tylihul, the Grand Duke had fled to the Black Sea littoral of his realm. He holed up in the small maritime fortress of Ginestra, where he remained for the next few days. Nominally, this was because the continued Mongol raids required his presence to protect the region, but in fact it was cowardice. When word reached him of the surrender of Ostrogiškis, he lost any hope he had left of recovering the grand duchy and turned to flight. He gathered up a host of mercenaries and loyalists and fled from Ginestra, not entirely sure of his plan but confident that he could escape his brother’s coming wrath.
After a turbulent crossing of the Black Sea, the former Grand Duke made landfall near Sinope. It was an immense relief, as he and his followers had nearly been sunk several times on their crossing, but he did not have long to celebrate it. The sudden appearance of this strange force had caused the local bandons to be mustered out, and within a few hours Aleksandras was surrounded by several hundred militiamen. In probably the only moment of valor in his life, the Lithuanian rallied his men and tried to make a breakout, only to be utterly slaughtered as more and more bandons appeared. Aleksandras himself was clapped in chains and dragged to Trapezous, where he was thrown before the aftokrator. Alexandros had been distracted with an ongoing family dispute (more on that later), but the insolence of this Latin was infuriating to him. Disregarding his status and rank--well, actually, he did pay a great deal of attention to it, as it was the only thing keeping Aleksandras’ head on his shoulders--he had the noblemen stripped naked and beaten, then tied up outside the palace gate to be mocked by the poor while he figured out what to do with him.
Alexandros sent an embassy under his brother, Basileios Megalos Komnenos, to Krakow. Jan Olbracht was busy with the intricacies of bringing Poland and Lithuania together in formal, not just personal, union, but he was eager to get his hands on his idiot brother and thus remove one of the greatest threats to his rule. He offered the Trapezuntines twenty thousand pounds of gold[5] in exchange for Aleksandras, but this was rebuffed. The Trapezuntines did not want gold or coin, they had more than enough of both. Not that they would refuse it, to be sure, but there were still more important things. One of the chief demands of Alexandros was that the Poles and Lithuanians extend a former declaration of protection over his realm. There were few states that the Ottomans feared, and he would not pass up the opportunity to bring one of them to his defense. Jan Olbracht considered this fair, and was about to agree before Basileios inserted the final clause. The king’s closest brother, Fryderyk, would be taken to Trapezous as a hostage. Seeing this as an insult to his honor, Jan Olbracht had the Pont thrown out on his ear. A few weeks later, a second embassy arrived in Krakow, led by the aftokrator’s far more diplomatic half-brother, Basileios Mgeli. Mgeli flattered the King, telling him of how the insults which the previous embassy had been egregious and completely unsanctioned, and of how it was entirely right for him to expel him. Mgeli told Jan Olbracht that the Trapezuntines would greatly reduce their demands to apologize for this insolence. They would ask for only 15,000 pounds of gold and the fortress of Ginestra, which was the only formerly Genoese possession in the Black Sea the Trapezuntines hadn’t been able to con-- protect. Olbracht considered this acceptable, and promised to turn over Ginestra when his brother was given over to him. Mgeli also convinced him to enter into an anti-Ottoman defensive pact. After all, there was nothing for either of them to gain by allowing the Sublime Porte to increase in size and strength, and so they should act together, as Christian brothers, to stem the tide of the Islamic hordes which surrounded their beacons of light.
Aleksandras was returned to Lithuania in early 1503, and shortly afterwards a Trapezuntine garrison was installed in Ginestra. It would prove to be excellent timing, for only a few months later Trapezous would be plunged into a crisis similar to Lithuania’s…..
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[1] This is Matthais Hunyadi. ‘Matthew the Raven’ is just such a badass name that I find myself compelled to use it.
[2] Better known as Michael Glinski. Funnily enough, I actually killed him off in ‘Gog and Magog’ but accidently left it out, so he’s still alive and kicking.
[3] Better known as Konstanty Ostrogski, he is most notable in OTL for participating in a crusade against Muscovy in spite of being Orthodox himself.
[4] The same road-destroying rains that plagued Napoleon and Hitler effected the moving of the two factions.
[5] This is actually a surprisingly small ransom; the ransom for Richard I of England, whose realm was about as valuable as Lithuania, had a ransom of some 150,000 pounds of silver.