Her(?)Story - Savoy MMP2.15

merrick: Barbary Pirates are definitely fun (much funnier when you sponsor or support them, though), as for the common people paying the price, let me quote: white & sea
and you're right we're heading for France...

aldriq: huh! now that you've explained it to me, it's finally clear, it's no magic Sardinia was relatively pirate-free;
u r right about Charles, and to his dwelling and -as you pointed it out- charmingly 'modern' family (or commune?) of his women and children the next update will take us

Winner: Long time no see! Are you going to finish your Hussite project or are you planning sth new? Well, you're right i've yet to play England, France, Castile or even Muscovy in MM, tried OE once, thogh. I do prefer medium powers or minors. Not that overwhelming
My goals are much more modest; and i'm not planning to play past 17th century.

House of Women

I​

Cognac, 03 February 1490​

It made me stop. Out of the blue, stumbling over her own feet Louise rushed into the common room. And sure she was terrified. Just in her night gown, she was screaming and sobbing interchangeably, ‘I’m dying! I’m dying!’ Her face was contorted, she obviously was in pain. She was pressing the gown to her crotch, patches of red spread over the white fabric from under her clasped hands. She was acutely disturbed, her shoulders twitching, her whole body shivering. She threw herself at Antoinette, than stopped, seeing Antoinette’s pursed lips, raised eyebrow and stern expression. Louise went silent for a while and than gave such an agonising wail I just couldn’t stand there still and watch the child suffer.

I went to her, hugged her and tried to comfort her. While I was stroking her sweaty face and dishevelled hair I looked at Antoinette. She saw reproach in my eyes and noticeably started to melt. True. They were rivals. We all were rivals. It’d been difficult three years. Louise was a threat. But now she was just a little girl. Rigid with fear. Lost and confused. Trembling in my arms. Antoinette put down her embroidery hoop and came up to us. She gave a wan smile and patted Louise’s head. ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,' she said with this air of authority she always had. ‘Am I going to die?’ sobbed Louise. ‘Of course not!’ I retorted. ‘Am I… am I possessed?’ she asked even more hesitantly. ‘Come here,’ said Antoinette. I let the girl slip out of my embrace and I felt a pang of jealousy seeing her regain her composure in Antoinette’s arms.

We took Louise up, had some water, towels and new sheet fetched. And as soon as the girl calmed down, we had a talk with her. Well, it was Antoinette who did the talking. She was surprisingly gentle. First she initiated Louise into the cycle of a woman’s bleeding. Than she asked Louise about her mother; whether and why she hadn’t explained it to her. The girl told us how her mother died when she was seven, that her father loved her but had to marry again. She didn’t get on well with her stepmother and soon ended up here. Antoinette must have touched a sensitive spot. Louise, after a moment of hesitation, showed us a piece of amber, not even a brooch or pendant, just an irregular piece of crystal-clear amber with some pieces of dirt inside. ‘It’s from my mother,’ Louise said. ‘When she gave this to me, she said it reminded her of her happiest moments and that she could see herself, my father, me, and my little brothers inside.’ She pointed at little indefinable bits, probably fragments of sticks, pine needles or dead insects, inside. We exchanged glances with Antoinette, I saw her roll her eyes, but neither of us stopped the girl, relieved her mind was off the thoughts of dying or being possessed.

This was inevitable. Neither me, nor Antoinette are happy with this, as one of us will have to tell our lord, Charles, that Louise is a woman now. He was away, hunting.

The beginning of His Holiness's exile​

II​

From the Journal of Antoinette de Polignac​

Cognac, 11 April 1492​

Louise delivered a healthy girl. It took ten hours, but she was indeed brave. Jeane, on the other hand, almost fainted at several occasions but I don’t know if I’d’ve pulled it off if she hadn’t been there. Or if anything else would have stopped me from smothering the baby. When asked what she wished to call the baby, Louise said, ‘Marguerite, like my mother.’

Charles was away, hunting. I suspect there’s yet another woman. At least I’d made him promise to provide for our daughters.

The Pope has friends still​

III​

From the Journal of Jeane Le Conte​

Cognac, 04 January 1496​

I looked around the church and was astonished to see there were mostly women inside. Of course the three of us, our daughters, and, well, François, the only boy. But we were also honoured with the presence of Anne of France, Louise’s aunt and King’s sister, with her baby daughter, Suzanne; the Duchess of Savoy, Joanna; and the Queen of Navarre, Blanca; rumour has it, it was the first time she’d left the Pau Castle since she’d got married. Antoinette claimed none of the gathered really regretted Charles’ demise; I think I overheard her saying, ‘Serves him right.’ I suppose she’s growing bitter. He wasn’t that bad. I’ll cherish some good but scant memories of him. He adored his children and he loved us in his peculiar way. He simply too often was away. Hunting. And got killed in a hunting accident.

Louise, well, I should say the Countess, Louise of Savoy, the Countess of Angoulême; not even twenty and widowed, looked dignified in black. She gave a short eulogy which she concluded with an extract from a poem by Chrisitine de Pizan:

Alone and in great suffering in this
Deserted world full of sadness has my
Sweet lover left me. He possessed my
Heart, in greatest joy, without grief.
Now he is dead; I’m weighted down by
Grievous mourning and such sadness has
Gripped my heart that I will always weep
For his death​

Not much of this was true, of course, and I doubt anyone in the church really believed it, but keeping up appearances was everything now. Louise played her act splendidly. I watched the Countess reciting her lines, and a picture of a chick hatching came to my mind. She is a Countess now. And not just any countess. Our lord’s demise put little François third in line to the throne. I could read the apprehension even in Antoinette’s eyes, she covered it with grumbling over finances, how this sumptuous funeral will cripple our savings, how many debts Charles left us with. But I sensed uncertainty in her. Nothing seems certain now. We shared the same lord, but shall we share common future. Won’t the Countess dismiss us now? Antoinette is the chatelaine, so she could prove difficult to remove. But me?

Siena's claims were not recognised​

IV​

From the Journal of Antoinette de Polignac​

Cognac, 29 November 1498​

The King is dead, long live the king! What would we care, here in this forsaken place if not for François advancing the inheritance line and becoming the heir-presumptive. And more and more people from the wider world visiting us. We didn’t have to wait long for both Anne of France and Anne of Brittany offering to send noble girls as wards to our provincial court. Huh! Cheeky! But this invitation is a serious matter. The new King, Louis XII invited the Countess to his court. She was even granted Amboise as her residence.

I made Jeane, restless since our lord’s death, approach the Countess this morning and ask if she’s accepting the invitation. ‘But of course,’ she said. ‘I plan to move as soon as possible.’ Naturally, this silly cow, Jeane, didn’t ask her what about us. So I had to do it. I chose the moment carefully. The Countess was playing with the children, all five of them, and was evidently in a good mood; I’d instructed my girls to be extra polite. I’ve noticed that earlier, she loves to play the role of a mother, carer or tutor. And she insists on being called 'Madame'. Well, each to their own. I’ll let her have it her way.

I asked her casually what her plans are as to me, Jeane and our daughters. And she gave me such a stern look, with pursed lips and raised eyebrow, I was startled; I recognised my facial expressions. I swear I felt as if I was looking into a mirror. ‘Don’t play daft, Antoinette,’ she said, ‘I prefer to have you all near, you’re going with me. I’ll need eyes and ears.’

Amboise, 06 January 1499​

I​

‘I can’t believe she’s so gullible!’ said Louise. ‘Is she really going to proclaim she’ll agree to marry Louis XII if he obtains an annulment of his marriage within a year?’ ‘Yes, Madame,’ said Justine, who’d been put in the widowed queen’s retinue by Louise with this very aim: to spy on Anne of Brittany. ‘Is this good news?’ Jeane asked hesitantly. ‘But of course, it gives us some time. And we definitely want to see Anne a happy bride again,’ replied Louise, waving at Justine to leave the three of them alone. ‘But why? Isn’t Anne your rival? Why would you want to advance her? Anyway, not only she, but also your aunt, Anne of France, is against this marriage,’ Jeane kept asking. Louise rolled her eyes. ‘She picked this up from me,’ thought Antoinette. And it was her who answered. ‘I know from certain sources in the King’s court, Anne of France’s influence is fading. Louis XII needs this marriage to hold on Brittany. Queen Joan, Anne’s sisters will never consent, though.’

Louise smartened up and came to a large mirror; she hadn’t stopped wearing her mourning black even for a day since her husband’s death. Looking in the mirror she said, ‘That’s why, to earn the King’s gratitude, we have to arrange that darned annulment. And make Anne of Brittany the white queen again. Anyway, I’d be much happier to see her than Joan as Louis’s wife; the poor girl proved she’s incapable of giving birth to a healthy child. How many times was she pregnant with Charles?’ ‘Seven or eight, all her reign actually,’ prompted Antoinette. ‘Well, and none of her children survived infancy, right?’ continued Louise. ‘True, my Lady, mostly miscarriages or stillborn babies,’ added Antoinette. ‘So,’ concluded Louise, ‘she appears a no-threat to François’s succession chances. Ironic, isn’t it? You remember a show she made of herself when she ostensibly came to Paris with two separate beds, one for her, one for King Charles. Hmm… wasn’t she in the way, I might even feel sorry for her.’

‘But how are you going to get the annulment?’ asked Jeane. ‘Also, antagonising your aunt would be highly unadvisable, Madame,’ added Antoinette. Louise looked at her most trusted ladies-in-waiting, ‘More faith, my dears. The King needs to marry Anne of Brittany, he also questions the outcome of the Burgundy inheritance. What he lacks is support of his nobles and the Pope’s indecision. His Holiness would love to relocate back to Siena-held Rome. If Louis attacks Siena, Alexander VI will surely grant the annulment and support France against Emperor Phillip, who so far, bar his promises, had done nothing to bring Rome back to the Papal States. A war with Siena, in view of Emperor’s involvement, will not be popular with the French nobility though, my aunt including, and thus it might be hazardous for the freshly-enthroned King. But here’s us, the Mother Church’s support, printing press and slander spreading to change it.'

The fate of Burgundy, French Crown never fully accepted​

II​

'Jeane, get us the ballad your sister wrote.’ Jeane left the room for a while, than she came back with the letter. ‘I think, I know it by heart anyway, Madame,’ she said and started reading.’

When tide is high and starry night
To the bay come to see the sight.
Behind the damp rock if you hide
You’ll see her come from sea and stride
Up and down up and down church steps.
She creeps and weeps; she crept and wept
Like this before. Why? Let me tell
The story sad of Ysabelle.​

From Siena a Lady she was
Not rose nor lily could surpass
Her beauty when they bloom in May.
Rich and noble she was they say.
Her face, her neck, her bosom
Showed whiter than the hawthorn blossom.
To Villa Franca Lord she came
To be his bride, lovely and tame.​

‘Hmm,’ mused Louise, ‘she may remain fine-looking but definitely not tame. Just change the last line to:’

To play on him her vicious game.​

Jeane jotted down the new version and continued reading:

‘My Lord, fair Gian, for you I’ve come,
For you I’ve travelled far from home.
Be my husband, lord, count and king
For I love you over everything.’
Her loveliness transfixed his gaze.
Love pierced his eyes with its bright rays,
Set fire to and scorched his heart.
He gave fair answer on his part.​

‘Lady,’ he said ‘if this should be
Your wish (and such joy meant for me),
To have me for your paramour,
There’s no command, you may be sure,
Wise or foolish, what you will,
Which I don’t promise to fulfil.
In village church there by the sea
Hope you’ll agree to marry me.’​

‘We need to add one more verse here.’ said Louise, ‘Something that will show clearly that our protagonist, Siena-born Ysabelle has made a crown of her vices and her conduct was like ticking the list of seven deadly sins. Maybe something along these lines.’ And she recited:

When the lady heard him say
That he would love her in this way,
She bestowed on him her heart
And her body, every part.
And very skilled at this was she
And did it with much expertise.​

‘And something about Siena itself, as worse than Sodom and Gomorrah, how about:’

As it was Siena her home place
The site of smut, filth and disgrace.​

‘Aren’t you exaggerating, Madame?’ asked Antoinette. ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Louise. ‘Than there’s a passage on how Ysabelle tended her Lord with love and care,’ said Jeane. ‘I remember,’ retorted Louise, ‘let’s make use of it, something along these lines. You can give it more polish later.’

She served many special dishes
That the knight found most delicious.
And many times the gallant knight
Kissed his love and held her tight,
Not knowing what he’d just eaten
Was poisoned; so was he smitten.
With each devious bite his love grew,
Weaker’n’weaker got his mind too.​

‘If I remember right, there’s then mention of how she did charitable work in the nearby fishing village,’ said Antoinette. ‘How are we going to use this?’ ‘We aren’t. Let her roam the village with completely different goals in mind,’ mused Louise:

A true Sienese was this Ysabelle
From city of depravity and sham.
She wrapped her lord round her finger
Locked him up and didn’t linger
For the sake of her diversion
To the village make excursions.
With her charms she freely favoured
There all willing men of labour.​

‘What about the meeting with the monk who warns her against her, in our version indecent, mingling with the common people?’ asked Jeane. ‘We shall keep the monk. But as an epitome of Christian virtues and the power of Mother Church, as a pillar and anchor of righteousness.’ ‘I see,’ said Jeane. She thought for a while and than went on, asking, ‘What do you think of this retelling?’

When mounted she rides one fine day
To the village, along the bay,
A local monk praying she sees
A youth in prayer on his knees.
When she perceives him there alone,
Intrigued, straightway to him she’s gone
To sit beside him and reveal
All the passion that she feels​

For boy so lank, so out of reach.
‘Let me show you love, let me teach.
All my love is at your disposal
What do you say to my proposal?
Your mistress I consent to be:
You should receive much joy from me.’
‘Lady,’ he said, ‘hold me excused
Because your love must be refused.​

I have served God for all my days
My faith to Him I won’t betray.
Never for love, and not for you,
Would I be to my Lord untrue.’​

‘What now?’ wondered Antoinette. ‘Something to do with witchcraft and heresy would be most fitting,’ suggested Louise. ‘Also, she can’t be bemoaning her lost son, she must be doing something most unchristian.’ ‘What about this?’ asked Jeane and carried on until the end as evidently she’d just been overwhelmed with creative inspiration:

Offended she rides for castle
She throws herself into hustle.
The book on witchcraft rites she finds,
Recipe seeks the monk to bind.​

She sketches heretic symbols
And demonic forces she calls,
Mixes mixtures, mumbles wishes.
A vile demon she unleashes.
From the sea approach evil hordes
viciously strike the village port.
The huge tide within just hours
The whole settlement devours.​

Those who would drown in her eyes, those
Who sailed in her arms; they down go
to the sea bed. The tide rises,
spares no one, no compromises.
Until it reaches the church steps.
In the door frame the young monk stands
His hand outstretched, his gaze so stern:
Tide retreats to from where it came.​

Since then Ysabelle walks about
The village, to church she’d dared flout.
She calls her lovers time and again,
But all her pleadings are in vain.
Sighs she utters and complaints,
And from time to time she faints.
Anguished to church steps she totters
She seems to hear voices call her.​

Her past lovers are summoning
Her from the sea, ‘Come, Belle! Come in!’
Her wit deserting her, she wails.
Every day further in the waves
She walks down the steps of the church.
She calls, goes deeper but returns -
Damp hair, eyes wild full of fear -
Till one day she disappears.​

In the sea, with fish, now she lives
In constant search of those who with
Her amorous encounters pleased
Her so gratly. She can be seen
Cling to and capsize the vessels
As a morgen. For her Messrs
She scours to never find them
Have pity on her soul. Amen.​

When tide is high and starry night
To the bay come to see the sight.
Behind the damp rock if you hide
You’ll see her come from sea and stride
Up and down up and down church steps.
She creeps and weeps; she crept and wept
Like this before. Heed from her fate.
I’ve nothing further to relate.​

‘Jean, refine it, please. Emphasise her Sienese origins again. Make her vile rather than pitiful. Than we’ll have it printed and circulated and performed all over France, even in the most remote French nobles’ courts. Of course the King’s one will be the first, we’ll have to figure out Louis’s attitude. As soon as we have his consent, we’ll get down to the annulment business. We’ll make sure a version will get to His Holiness and then I’ll go on a pilgrimage to Avignon to see Alexander VI in person.’

The power of propaganda and black pr​

Ok, the war started in 1498, but I preferred to wait for Charles VIII to meet his maker. My occupation of Aragon continues. Apart from the problem with taking the Pyrenean strongholds a new one emerged: rebels; it seems Amadeo is not unanimously acknowledged. (And I still have only 4k men to police the occupied Aragon as my 5k army has been trapped on Sardinia for years. I guess they hit it with the local women.)

By the time France (+ Portugal, Provence) attacked Siena + Austria (AL), Genoa, Cologne, the war with the Berber states had come to a close (thank you!). Austria at that time was in two more wars, against Naples which had dowed Urbino and against Holstein (Holsteinian-Mecklemburgen war, don’t ask me how it started). AI has a tendency to peace out from previous wars as soon as a new one starts, so did Austria. The war between Venice and other Italian states ended without land exchange. Tyronne attacked Connacht (no other parties involved).

Alliance leader assignement issue is a tad irritating. Serbia is in war with Bosnia + Montenegro + Moldavia (AL -?!-); Russia (+ Sweden) attacked the east and is in war with Crimea, Kazan, GH, Nogai, Transoxania and… the Mamluks (AL -?!-). With such weird alliance leaders I worry if these wars will lead anywhere.

The French attack seems to have been Ad Infinitum triggered, as France got ‘tales of valour’ thing. Within a year and a half Rome fell to …Umbrian Patriots. The extent of the French advance in the low lands can be seen here:

+ I wonder how Tyrrone – Connacht conflict will be resolved now.

Other curiosities: Poland ignores the Baltic, it vassalised Wallachia instead (OE lost this vassal pbly due to its climbing bb). Judea, within a year (nomadic warriors?), defected to Najd; there’s only one core on the province, and it’s ...Bohemian.

Intriguing AI tendencies: on one hand AI peaces out quickly when a new war starts, but on the other, it, especially the biggies, immediately starts a new one as soon as the old war comes to a close.


The previous poetry quiz answers:
The first one, the sonnet is by Veronica Gambara
The second one is an extract from Heptameron by Marguarite of Navarre

Louise of Savoy, the Madame​

New quiz: What very famous piece of poetry is the Ballad of Ysabelle shamelessly copied/half-plagiarised from?

Storey: glad to see you here! the quiz has been answered...

aldriq: ...and congrats go tu you, aldriq! well done!
the 'harem' story is apparently true, oh why aren't we taught such things in our history classes, and the women seem to have stuck together, with Francois' half-sisters being ultimately legitimised!

as for my interest in France: this war will have an impact on Europe, France is my big neighbour, Louise is 'of Savoy' after all (and a woman! ), and in this timeline i hope Savoy will, unlike in real life, suck up to France rather than HRE (to avoid rl disasters of the 16th century)

so you think Marie de France would be a tad shocked by this retelling of her(?)story?

Save Thy People

Segorbe, 02 January 1502​

I​

Jeremy Baffin: So it’s true; it is you.
Gian Maria Gioberti: I’m definitely not a ghost.
Jeremy Baffin: Sorry, I heard about your mother’s death. It must…
Gian Maria Gioberti: I’d rather not talk about it.
Jeremy Baffin: But why are you back here?
Gian Maria Gioberti: Nothing to do in Verres, you know. And after Giacomo Aymaville’s death I was blessed with his wife and children as my next of kin, who I have to provide for.
Jeremy Baffin: Ironic, isn’t it? Provide for strangers, more even, former enemies. So you’d rather be here quelling revolts and policing our occupation of the lands of Aragon than with them.
Gian Maria Gioberti: Drop it. I’m a knight, not a steward. And I am simply a loyal servant of the Duke.
Jeremy Baffin: Or of the Queen? But which one? Of Arborea or of Navarre?
Gian Maria Gioberti: How d’you mean?
Jeremy Baffin: It’s no secret it’s Beatrice who pulls the strings and is behind all the schemes, even this coronation business. And weren’t it you who took Blanca out of Pamplona all those years ago? She lived with your mother than, didn’t she?
Gian Maria Gioberti: I’d rather go over the security measures for the next week’s coronation.
Jeremy Baffin: The Duke is coming in five days’. He’ll bypass Barcelona, which is too turbulent still. He’ll get here from Castellón; Segorbe has been chosen as it’s the Bishop’s seat. We’ll have to support his escort here. But before we have to double-check the Cathedral, the Episcopal Palace, the Plaza and the surrounding area. And the guests, the loyal to the Duke Foralists, should be discretely screened and later frisked on the very day, you never know where treason lies in wait.
Gian Maria Gioberti: I see. So if there’s still so much time, what is this commotion in the town today about?
Jeremy Baffin: Ah! That’s politics and propaganda. The Duke asked the Bishop, his staunch supporter, to distribute food to the local people, who’d been impoverished due to the war and occupation. This is all an act for winning over the locals with the hope Barcelona and Valencia will follow Castellón and Segorbe.
Gian Maria Gioberti: I hear the Catalan Parliament had second thoughts and some of its members are loyal to Sanç again, apparently there was even talk of a new pretender.
Jeremy Baffin: That’s it. Amadeo’s applying the ancient, tried means of persuasion: the carrot and stick approach.
Gian Maria Gioberti: So why aren’t we securing the whole thing?
Jeremy Baffin: More carrot: the Duke and the Bishop decided to leave the safety measures to the local militia and the Bishop’s guards.

Castellon is far from peaceful​

One of many unsatisfactory Aragon's offers. The Baleares - a new pirate base​

II​

Remei was at the gate to the Bishop’s Palace. She and Mateu were waiting for bread to be distributed. She lifted and pushed her little son to her side, trying to maintain their place among the people who crowded the narrow street. It was a blessing that the good Bishop Arnau issued these alms. Without his generosity many of the poor of the city would die, Remei among them. Maybe this new ruler, Duke Amadeo was a change for the better after all.

Just then, the bell tolled out, and now she could hear the chain and latch being pulled. That meant the food for the poor had been brought. She’d be able to get something into her belly, with luck. But there were so many people about, she realised, glancing from side to side. Will there be enough to go around? What if there wasn’t enough food for her, for Mateu and her little Beatriu, whom she’d left alone at home. A monk appeared at the gate. ‘Move back! Move back, good Christians!’ he shouted.

The voices from the crowd answered back; Remei could discern, ‘Open the gate!’ and sensed rising uneasiness. Then she felt the others pushing her forwards from behind, she noticed that the ring of people before the gate was contracting: men and women were forcing their way towards the gate from either side. The crush on all sides was so tight that it was impossible to move her arms, and then her breasts were bruised as she was shoved painfully into the backs of those in front. They retaliated with elbows and backwards kicks, like the man in front of her, who shouted, ‘Folks, stop your infernal bloody shoving!’

Mateu was wailing already. He was terrified, and so was she as the mass of people pulled her inexorably on. She couldn’t pick him, though. And then the fellow in front wasn’t there. He simply disappeared from sight, and as her mind tried to absorb this, her feet were trapped. She almost stumbled when she stepped on something soft; she did not immediately realised that it was a person. The bodies began falling more and more often. Remei felt the weight of hundreds was at her back. She tripped over, swayed and with a scream of dread she felt herself topple; her son’s hand was ripped from her grasp, and she tumbled down.

Cathedral and Episcopal Palace complex​

III​

Gian Maria and Jeremy were at a nearby inn when the tumult began. First there was a clear, tinkling noise like a bell, and then they heard voices shouting. They went out into the street. The clatter was coming from the Bishop’s Palace. As they hurried up the street, they were joined by other people who had little better to do and had given in to their curiosity. Further up the street the crowd increased, and soon Gian Maria and Jeremy could hardly make out the Palace gate itself for the sheer number of men and women thronging the path. The screams were becoming louder and louder and made the blood run cold.

The people were suddenly melting away, Gian Maria and Jeremy scampered onwards. Later it became clear what must have happened, but at that moment, when they reached the Palace’s wall, they stopped short in shock as they found themselves confronted by the pile of bodies. So many, it was hard to believe. Some at the top were still twitching, but those beneath were still, their eyes open, blood dripping from scratches and scrapes, hands and feet mingled in a hideous mould of death. All about there was strange silence.

They were soldiers after all, someone had to check if there were any survivors in this monstrous heap. Jeremy pulled at the bony ankles until a skinny boy of maybe nine fell on the cobbles before him. ‘Dead,’ pronounced Gian Maria, closing the boy’s eyes, the blueness of which seemed to express disbelief rather than terror. Other willing hands were soon at work, and they began hauling bodies aside. Some were still breathing and these they set apart, but the dead were the larger group, and it was easy to say why. They were all malnourished, their yellow or grey skin spoke of illnesses and hunger. ‘Oh Lord, save Thy people,’ moaned the monk who now finally opened the Bishop's Palace gate.

When Jeremy was carrying aside a half-alive young woman in his arms, she suddenly gave an intake of breath, followed by a low, animal moaning as she shook her head from side to side in frantic denial. ‘My boy, my boy!’ could be discerned in her unclear howl. She tried to tear apart from Baffin’s embrace as she watched Gian Maria pulling the body of the young boy towards the row of dead bodies. The boy’s arm was snapped cleanly in two places, and the blood dripped from the gash above his elbow where the bones were thrust through the thin flash. It took Jeremy some time and effort to pull the woman away from her trampled child.

A few days later the coronation went on as if nothing had happened. Amadeo was proclaimed the Prince of Catalonia. Aragon revolted.​

People of Barcelona didn't take to the new Prince​

Aragon recaptured​

Storywise, Gian Maria Gioberti is no longer my general (he’d be at least in his early sixties anyway), but I wanted him to make the last show before he exits the stage. There’s not that much going on save rebel chasing and long-wait waiting. As you could see I turned down Teruel, as I’m interested in the coastal provs or in other words the lands/titles Amadeo has the rightful claims to: Principality of Catalonia (by having been chosen the new pretender); and Kingdoms of Valencia and Mallorca and County of Roussillon – these by birthright.

Sneaky Siena peaced out quickly from the French war (Louise had obtained the annulment and Siena was an excuse all along). So it’s France + Provence against Austria + Genoa. France is clearly winning, now Liguria and Holland are also occupied. Funnily, Rome has been captured by Umbrian Patriots – AGAIN! But the City is being besieged (I guess the Sienese will retake it soon). More importantly, Messina has been held by Sicilian Nationalists for some time and as Aragon is busy with pirates and has nowhere to built new troops…

Other wars: Bosnia peaced out, so it’s Serbia against Montenegro + Moldavia (AL). I didn’t pay attention to Connacht : Tyrone thing but now Ulster is English.

Russia succeeded against Kazan:And is crushing Crimea. Will it diplomatically pull it off again? Remember, the Mamluks are the AL. Georgia + Moldavia joined in the fun against Crimea, with some success, but Transoxania is the AL(?!) – we shall see.

Poland still controls Alexander VI. Out of other oddities, Lithuania converted Polotsk and Kiev(!) to Catholicism, this time however they didn’t convert their lands en masse.

Now, I understand AI needs help, but isn’t this a tad excessive?
Just compare with same-base-tax value prov:


Quiz: There’s going to be a shift on the throne of Savoy, any guesses who’s the next Duke / Duchess going to be?

aldriq:

aldriq said:

sucking it up to France policy

Click to expand...

that's the way to go!

merrick:

merrick said:

You're determined to get Barcelona no matter what, aren't you?

Click to expand...

surprised?

merrick said:

And as for the quiz, Amadeo and Joanna don't appear to have any kids, so the logical guess would be one of Philip's sons.

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you're both right and wrong on this one

Maxa: welcome! glad you like it
i wish i could but that's out of the question; check the pics in my last update: i have 2 (two!) ships versus 20-odd strong Aragonese navy

i'm surprised no one commented on Austria's 200% tax bonus (which applies to all it's provs!)

aldriq: i guess it is, it looks excessive though, at first glance at least; but on the other hand even with this (and other boni) Austrian Emperor is unable to stop the French (at least in this game) - no no i don't want more boni it just shows how difficult it is to reach the balance

mountains near Delfino Castle, 02 October 1503​

Gian Maria Gobierti and his men were looking at a motley bunch of poorly dressed but worryingly well-armed crooks. ‘There are too many of them,’ thought Gian Maria, wondering whether to give an order for a desperate attack or a hasty retreat. But just than one of the bandits rode forward, signalling the will to negotiate. With a wave of his hand Gian Maria eased his men and moved forward himself. A few steps were enough for him to realise who the other man was. ‘Gian Maria!’ exclaimed joyfully Gaston as they got closer, but there was something in his voice that didn’t lessen Gioberti’s tension. ‘Why don’t you just let us pass, Gaston?’ asked Gioberti. ‘I’ve been dying to see you again,’ said Gaston, ignoring his question, and then, lowering his voice, added, ‘Haven’t you missed me?’ He was now circling round Gian Maria, who said simply yet firmly, ‘I’m in a hurry.’ Gaston stopped and replied, ‘I know.’ The two men looked into each other’s eyes from up close. ‘That’s why we’re detaining you and your men for a while. Besides in the winter the mountains are impassable. Listen. No one will get hurt. And… and you’ll have a chance to hear me play the lute, especially for you.’ The smile on Gaston’s face seemed genuine.

Savoyard messenger and his escort got disarmed and held hostage
(The rebels did win)​

outside Chambèry, 06 January 1504​

II​

Lady Beatrice on horseback was a different person from the grey-faced, burden-weighed-down woman in her sixties. Riding, she looked freed from her responsibility of running the country in the absence of her bellicose son and in place of her weak-willed daughter-in-law; even though she’d undertaken that escapade in the very business of state. She realised, she should have done it a few months before. Yolande Louise, her older granddaughter had passed away and something had to be done about the younger one, Alasia, and the whole succession thing. But until this day, due to urgent businesses, she appeared to have been needed in the capital. Lady Beatrice rode well. One hand in a worn glove on the bridle, the other waving to her small train, the colour blazing in her cheeks, a stray lock of grey hair escaping from her hat, her head up, her courage high, her weariness and uncertainty well-hidden; she sat well in the saddle, proud, swaying with the pace of the horse.

one of internal problems which delayed Beatrice's departure​

Saint Pontius Abbey, Nice 14 February 1504​

III​

Soeur Augustine, the abbess, refused to leave them alone despite Claudine’s pleading look; and, more importantly, despite clear instructions in the letters Claudine had brought, one from Jeane, Augustine’s sister and the other from Jeane’s protector, Madame herself. Augustine had discretely moved to the far end of the garth, so that she could not hear what the two women were talking about, still she kept observing them intently. The Countess of Geneva was the one who talked but evidently she felt awkward and uncertain, she repetitively sent glances sideways, as if to check if they were being eavesdropped, she also sent furtive glances her way, as if seeking reassurance. With each such glance Augustine le Conte heard the word ‘treason’ ring in the back of her mind. ‘It was me, who’d let her in, It was me who’d let her talk to Alasia,’ she thought. Alasia, her unruly ward, had given her nuns a rough ride. The lesson of modesty was the one she’d never learned, despite years here, in the convent, she never learned to keep her eyes on the ground before her feet, like any decent woman. No, Alasia held her head high and looked around with curiosity about and hunger for the world around her. And just now she was measuring Claudine with that bold look of her grandmother: a straight look that a man might have: scanning the face, reading the eyes.

Internationally, the Duchy had to diplomatically react to changes​

the southwards track, near Cavour, 17 February 1504​

IV​

Beatrice instantly recognized the man approaching her train and stopped. ‘Gioberti, any news from my son, the Duke?’ she asked. The man pleaded to speak to her privately. They stepped aside, the talk was very brief, their voices kept low. ‘Dead? How long for?’ asked Beatrice. ‘Over three months now, we decided to keep it secret and tell just you; but I had some problems getting this to you, and i'm afraid it seems to have leaked out,’ said Gian Maria, lowering his eyes. Lady Beatrice shouted for paper and penned a letter to Duchess Joanna. Than she picked six men, Gian Maria including, to escort her and raced southwards at top speed. It was a punishing ride. Each day they didn’t check until it was fully night and were back in the saddle by five in the morning, riding towards Nice.

Lady Beatrice & Gian Maria Gioberti​

the northwards track, near Mondovi, 20 February 1504​

V​

The carriage was heading north; mutual distrust was the only thing the two women sitting inside had in common. Alasia had no doubts whether she’d done the right thing. How could she have said no to this chance of breaking free from the convent, where her grandmother had locked her up? She watched Claudine fidget nervously with her handkerchief, with the laces at the hems of her sleeves. ‘She’s afraid,’ realised Alasia. ‘Why don’t I feel any fear?’ They didn’t talk. There was nothing more to say. Alasia saw Claudine take out a mirror from her purse; the countess applied some colouring to her lips and whitened her cheeks with some powder. Alasia watched her companion carefully, this was the art she hadn’t been taught by the nuns. As Claudine was putting the mirror away, in it Alasia caught a fleeting reflection of herself, of her ugly face.

The rumour about Amadeo's death stirred commotion in Catalonia​

in front of the Saint Pontius Abbey, Nice, 20 February 1504​

VI​

The monastery complex loomed into view like a promise fulfilled. Lady Beatrice in a brief moment of respite had a chance to mentally go over the list of unmarried princes of the Empire, potential grooms. She hadn’t had time to reach any final agreement with the Emperor’s envoys yet. She pondered over the pros and cons of each suitor and wondered which one will Alasia eventually end up with, feeling sorry for the lucky one. Meanwhile, her little company rode down to the entrance gate. The nun who answered the door looked askance at them. ‘Lady Beatrice, Queen of Arborea and the whole of Sardinia,’ Gioberti announced. ‘I want to see the abbess,’ butted in Beatrice. ‘Men are not allowed here,’ said the nun. An awkward silence followed. ‘The monks of our twin monastery will gladly let you rest,’ the nun said eventually looking at Beatrice’s escort. Beatrice exchanged glances with Gian Maria, nodded and smiled back at the nun. ‘Follow me, my Lady, I’ll take you to the abbess,’ the nun said.

Asti, 23 February 1504​

VII​

The room was well-lit but hadn’t been aired for a long time. Claudine took the scene in from her place by the window. Oddly, she felt as if she was watching it through a glass pane indeed. Alasia, who like herself hadn’t even changed from her travelling clothes, and her son, Carlo had gathered at Filiberto’s bed. Filiberto, her step-son and heir presumptive was a shadow of former self. ‘How much longer?’ she was looking at this skinny man, ravaged by consumption, while ha was addressing the other two. ‘This is the only way, my Lady. My brother agrees with me,’ wheezed Filiberto, coughing up blood. ‘I agree to renounce my claims which I have through the marriage to your late sister. Your marriage. This union… I don’t have much time left and the country needs...’ he spluttered out blood again. Claudine stopped listening, stopped paying attention. Resignedly, she shifted her gaze from the deformed, hunch-backed, dwarfed figure of Princess Alasia to her handsome son, Carlo, ‘Well, if he wants it…’ Claudine withdrew. Her mission was complete. She had survived these few weeks of jumpiness and hustle which was so out of her character. The adventure of her lifetime was over. Now she could get her undisturbed life back.

Alasia, the soon-to-be Duchess of Savoy​

Saint Pontius Abbey, Nice, 20 February 1504​

VIII​

‘Gone? How do you mean gone? I entrusted her to you!’ Lady Beatrice, her voice coarse with fury and indignation, shouted at Soeur Augustine,. ‘So it's done,’ thought Augustine. ‘My Lady, there’s something else,’ she started. Lady Beatrice gave her a contemptuous look and made for the door. ‘I’m afraid,’ the abbess carried on, trying to control her voice, ‘I have to tell you, you’ll remain our guest for some time.’ Lady Beatrice pressed the handle; the door was locked. ‘You have no right…’ started Beatrice. ‘True,’ interrupted the reverend mother, ‘I have no right, but your granddaughter, Alasia, the Duchess of Savoy, has.’ ‘Alasia? She’s just a deformed girl with no powerbase,’ started Beatrice and than broke off, understanding glittering in her eyes. ‘Madame,’ she whispered in awe.

Will Catalonia recognise the new ruler?​

Gamewise, the coup/change on the throne livened up the occupation. Turning down Teruel repetitively has become the new ingredient in the rebel-chasing/pirate-headache, famine/scavengers stew, the occupation has turned into.
Also, you can nick-name me Sicily liberator; it’s my second aar (check Navarre) and I did it again!

The revolt risk before and after the coup​

Crimea lost Tambov to Russia and Lugansk to Georgia (which is still fighting the rest of the alliance). Now Crimea is split in 3. Serbian aggression war continues. OE is slowly coring its conquests.

France got Naval Provisioning (via a scripted event, I guess) as it’s 6th NI and is the only country with 6 NIs at present. It went for the Northern Passage too, but due to the war it might be slow at establishing and developing its colonial holdings.

As regards Fance : Austria war, the score is 49 to France; Friesland and Briesgau fell, Trent is under siege. I tagged them out of curiosity (having seen the Austrian bonus, I couldn’t resist) and I noticed some startling things. Compare:
France: prestige 100, war exhaustion 18, revolt risk in Martinique, Eriksfjord and one more prov in Canada: ~ 20%, in occupied provs: around 15%, and in core provs: around 10%
Austria: prestige 89 (-!- despite having lost so many provs and being beaten badly?!), war exhaustion 23 and… NO revolt risk -???-

Now, some call me a Habsburg hater, but really this is unfair, how can anyone, a human or an AI wage a war against this we-immune monster?

As I was at it I also tagged Bohemia, the usual defender of the Faith. They sit on 2.500d with 17k army and, save workshops, don’t build anything. Again. Sigh…

The ‘Scavengers!’ event showed you how poor I am. Nice population is below 8.500 and falling. I earn there a whooping 0.19 from production. A kind of consolation is that the Baleares bring Aragon -(minus!)1.97! Pbly due to 2(!) rebel negotiations flags, and being besieged. (the islands revolt, Aragon wants to settle the issues, the islands revolt again almost instantly

Quiz: Alasia (unlike Carlo) is a pure invention of mine. 1) She was however inspired by a historical character. Who was it? Think about her looks. 2) What will Carlos I (and Savoy) miss out on as a result of not marrying Beatrice of Portugal?

merrick:

merrick said:

Your description of Alasia rang a bell (...) - Lady Mary Grey, younger sister of the more famous Jane.

Oh, and as for your second question, I'll go for the obvious - a claim to the throne of Portugal?

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blazing! what fate has in store for Alasia? we shall see, though it seems her looks and upbringing won't make it easy for her

you're also right on the Portuguese claim (after Sebastiao's death) but the Portuguese infanta also brought, as her dowry, the rich and strategically important city of Asti to the possessions of House of Savoy

merrick said:

Philip seems to have won out posthumously, and was that Beatrice we saw being outmaneuvered in the game of thrones? She must be getting old.

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indeed she is! she's over 60 now; but i guess 1) she grew too over-confident 2) lost her powerbase suddenly, what with the death of her son, and had Madame as her rival

aldriq:

aldriq said:

That was an unexpected twist/coup, as merrick says, Philip would be laughing in his grave...

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it was pretty unexpexted for yours truly, too