With twelve other brothers and sisters, i managed to keep my head down for much of my childhood and it was easy to resist the natty, fashionable clothes and preferring the hard bedroom floor to my invitingly comfortable royal bed but it all came to a head one day when i was 13 and my father, noticing i wasn't as big on the whole invading thing as he preferred, sent me as head of an army to take over the throne of Hungary.
I tried to make my excuses but he played the Dad trump card of 'You're going and that's it' so i agreed to go but didn't want to and as it turned out, the soldiers didn't want to go either and when Pope Sixtus announced that he was against it also, the soldiers started deserting and i was only too glad to listen to the advice of the officers suggesting we turn tail and go back home.
My Father though was not quite so happy about it and banished me to a castle and i even rejected a marriage alliance my father tried to form but my main concern was a hacking cough which seemed to get worse so i went to see a doctor who suggested sexual relations with a woman would cure my illness and if you live in an age during which most medicine is just positive thinking and flushing the toilet means throwing a bucket out the window, a lot of stuff seems entirely more plausible to you but i said thanks but no thanks and i would stick to praying and studying.
They say the greatest tragedy is when a father outlives his son but if you are the father than frankly i can see see an up-side to it so my cough got worse and i died before i reached my 25th birthday but every March 4th the residents of Poland and Lithuania raise a glass to me, a man who refused to go to war and then refused doctors orders to have sex to try and cure his cough.
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