The last rays of sunlight bathed the Nest in their radiance. However, the warriors, clergy, and princely advisors summoned by the lord for an urgent meeting were not thinking of rest.
They all gathered in the main hall of the manor house where the ruler normally resided. They gazed with interest at the figure seated in the seat, towering over them. It was safe to say so. He was a man in the prime of life, almost 60 years old. His lush hair, both on his head and beard, was already beginning to gray. A huge, bushy mustache protruded far beyond the corners of his mouth. He was a powerful man. His appearance must have inspired both dignity and fear among his interlocutors, especially his enemies. Now, looking down on his advisors and friends, he first nodded to the boys. In the blink of an eye, food and all manner of beverages appeared on the massive oak tables. The lord, whose name was Bolesław, spoke:
"Sit down to supper, and then we will discuss urgent matters."
The guests didn't allow themselves to be told twice. Huge hunks of meat quickly began to disappear into wide-open mouths. After them came the copper goblets full of mead. Some were poured into mouths, others were placed on the robes of those seated. Delicious slurping, smacking, and, of course, loud belching echoed around, clearly indicating that food and drink were greatly appreciated by the guests. When the guests had first satisfied their hunger and their minds were brightened by the beverages, Bolesław raised his hand again. Silence fell. Everyone stared intently at his face. "
Listen to me again. You know that the first and most important thing for me is to win the royal crown." It's impossible for me, who chased that gloomy Henry through the forests, who persuaded that sly Otto to my plans, to fail to fulfill my intentions. This is destined for me by my father and God. It must be so. Because this is what I want. Whether anyone likes it or not.
As he spoke, he pierced those present with a menacing gaze. None of the invited guests was foolish enough to say "no" to their host. They knew perfectly well that he was a tough, despotic ruler who frowned on any kind of polemic. Besides, if he had been any different, he certainly wouldn't have achieved even half of what he managed to achieve. Such were the times, and such were the demands. No egghead democrat with idealized views on life had a chance of achieving anything. At most, he could be a jester at the ruler's court, making the invited guests laugh. At least until his views bored them so much that they rolled, along with his head, off the stump that would later be called the scaffold. Only a tough, even cruel, ruler with an exceptionally strong will and a tough character could achieve success in those times. Such was Bolesław, whom his subjects called "The Great" even during his lifetime. However, he knew how to pave his path not only with his sword. Everyone vividly remembered the example of how he persuaded young Otto to embrace his ideas. The emperor, who had come on a pilgrimage to the tomb of the martyr Adalbert, didn't stay sober for a single day of his stay. Efficiently fed and watered, he agreed to everything Bolesław, a seasoned drinker, proposed. He agreed to grant the Duchy of Polans an archbishopric and three bishoprics.
The climax, however, came when, completely intoxicated by the fumes of alcohol, he personally placed the diadem on Bolesław's head. Of course, the next day after sobering up, the emperor forgot about it, but the matter, duly publicized by princely propaganda, spread widely throughout Europe. If we add to this the winnings in a popular game, albeit not entirely dishonestly, of a nail from the Cross of Jesus Christ, and the spears of St. Maurice, it's easy to imagine this unprecedented success in the history of Polish diplomacy. Unfortunately, the young emperor's premature death prevented Bolesław from assuming power over the empire, which almost happened. Otto's successor, Henry II, along with the then-Pope Benedict VIII, led a fierce campaign against Bolesław. Between God and truth, it was hardly surprising that at the beginning of his reign, almost immediately after Henry's accession to the imperial throne, Bolesław brazenly attacked Milsko, Lusatia, and Meissen. The war continued through various stages and vicissitudes, but Bolesław emerged victorious, not always adhering to chivalric customs. Both Henry II and the pope who supported him died from grief.
Taking advantage of the confusion on the imperial throne, he sent an embassy to the new pope, John XIX, politely requesting the crown. Unfortunately, the embassies returned with a refusal, and therefore a furious Bolesław called for the current council. Seeing no objection, Bolesława continued:
- I do not intend to disobey the Pope's will... However, I do not know if I heard our envoys correctly...
As he spoke, he glared menacingly at the newcomers standing before him on trembling legs:
"The Holy Father has agreed to our request and has joyfully sent me his blessing... Isn't that right?"
At these words, those who brought the bad news trembled even more. Everyone in the hall trembled as well. They realized that in this way their ruler was trying to make a refusal into consent. No one could fathom how it could be interpreted that way. However, Bolesław wasn't going to worry about such trifles. He had decided that he would be king, and no gods or devils would stop him. Under the influence of his gaze, the envoys humbly nodded:
"Yes, Lord, we bring the Pope's consent to your coronation..."
Tremendous tension ebbed from everyone present. They couldn't even imagine what might happen if they had told the truth. The warriors surrounding the palace would surely have entered mercilessly, sparing no one their lives. And so? Everyone is happy, because they have a king, and there's going to be plenty of drink after the coronation.
The host, now completely at peace, announced:
"Tomorrow, Easter Day, when our Lord rose from the dead, we'll make it the day of my coronation. And now let's have some fun, because there's plenty to do."
As he spoke these words, he looked up gratefully, where he believed his father, Mestko, was watching his actions with pleasure.
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