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To my single digit readers, thank you all for dropping by, I appreciate the compliments. I'm still inundated with work, but I'm going to try to get an update out before the end of the week, if not sooner.

Thrashing Mad: Thanks for the praise, I'm not sure where we're heading next myself yet.

English Patriot: I've already played up until about 1230 or so, and things are interesting. I'm thinking that what I'll try to do is tell a bit of a story of each ruler- they're all very different, along with a historical summary of their life- with the former coming before the latter. Or something, we'll see.
 
To my single digit readers,
All right, well this isn't dead. I have another narrative update written even though we're due for your first history/gameplay update beyond the prologue, I know, a travesty. In any case, I wrote this because I was away from my CK computer at the time. I'll have another update tomorrow probably. I'm done with things for a while, so updates should come more regularly, at least twice a week, for another month or two. Hope you enjoy the update below. I'm not happy with the way it came out. As always, any and all feedback is appreciated. Tell me if I can't write. I need to hear it.
 
Azzo, the Forest, and the Wedding.

Well, Azzo thought to himself. That felt rather odd. The wedding had proceeded without a hitch, seamlessly even, but, and he could not quite place his finger precisely upon it, despite all his myriad gifts...but something he thought, something felt remiss about the entire affair, as though it lacked a peculiar element of just the right something to render it glorious.

Alberto had nearly fainted when he saw the girl, and with good reason. A vision in white, her gown dripping in opulence and refinement, strands of gossamer hair lingering upon her face, dancing here and there in the wind to frame it. Supple curves drew the eye, a classic beauty. No girl at all, truly, she carried herself with a steely resilience and a bearing more noble than her husbands. As a queen even. Alberto had lost his smile despite himself, breathtaken, clamoring forward to help her off the ship, awkwardly stumbling upon the ramp as he extended his hand to hers, a clear contrast. Unphased, a polite, benign smile, infinitely light and free crept across her face, excusing him. My god, Azzo thought, this Genoan girl possesses an ethereal calm, alien to this Island. Her husband certainly does not possess any such facilities.

Of course, Azzo thought, Alberto never troubled himself to operate on so high a level, no, affairs of state were hardly his province. He contented himself to allow Azzo to push papers already written across his desk with a pen in hand, oblivious to the words upon them. Most Lords would know to question at a minimum. The most diligent would insist upon authoring the documents themselves. Alberto never bothered with either. Others might consider it a failing in him, his father’s indolence manifest in him as an idle if amiable man, content to coast on the competency of those committed to him out of need, indebted to his station for their livelihood.

Azzo, however, did not count himself amongst them. Nor had he ever. Born to a local peasant, the youngest son of a youngest son who promptly died following his birth. Azzo counted himself a native of the hills around Ajaccio. He retained vivid memories of childhood, struggling to make the feeble patch given to his family to work make just that little bit extra for him, after his brothers took their share, always looking ahead for the next meal, aware it might not come. He became adept at traps of necessity, designing intricate devices of twigs, rock, and materials begged from neighbors to catch game in, ever expanding his range to increase their efficacy. He knew every inch of the Island, and reveled in each part. He grew extremely proficient, his devices marveled at by his peers and his reputation growing.

The Count’s personal forest ringed the Island, taunting the serfs with its exclusivity, its abundant game. Azzo hunted is sparingly, and only at night, concealing his traps in the brush. One day, inevitably perhaps, one of the Castle’s men had happened upon him and captured him. Drug to the citadel, he found he was not alone, but part of a small group of men rounded up as part of an Island-wide campaign. The master at arms, eager to impress his superior, the Lady Giuditta, Alberto’s mother and guardian of the Island in this his 13th year, brought them into keep to present.

The Lady Giuditta inspired fear throughout the Island. Known to be bitter of her station, she had long deputized various ruffians to maximize the taxes, and cared for little else. Like her husband, she abhorred the ‘exile’ of Corsica, reflecting fondly upon the bright days of wealth and splendor in Genoa, her husband’s feasts and his father’s bountiful wealth. She married an Obertenghi thinking to enjoy that life forever, and faced the cruel disappointment, or so she thought, of now ruling for her son the least of Obert’s possessions, the product of a passing crusading fancy. Expanding the Count’s demesne in the forest had been the most recent of her fundraising ploys, seeking to thereby force the locals to pay for the privilege of hunting on it.

She appeared drunk when they brought the men before her, a cup dangling in her hand, a dismissive nod offered in response to the master of arms’ grandiloquent description of the heroic efforts his men had gone to in capturing these so called villains.

Alberto had emerged as if from nowhere. He was scarcely fifteen, though the stubble on his chin which he’d clearly neglected shaving in the hopes that it might develop into something more testified to his eagerness to grow up. “Lucio,” he addressed the master of arms, “ Why are these men being held?”

Lucio paused in his recitation to direct his words to the young Lord, “My Lord, they are thieves. They have stolen from your forest.”

“My forest? What did they take?” Alberto seemed incredulous about the prospect of such thieving, his mother could be seen visibly rolling her eyes with boredom.

“Why, my Lord, they viola-“ Here Azzo interjected. He still could not remember why to this day, other than he felt he must. “Your Lord, your people suffer. The forest is intolerably large. It suffocates your Island. I trap only that which I must take for myself and my family, no more.”

“You vil-“ Lucio moved to strike him.

“No” Alberto spoke. Stay your hand. His voice carried the calm, quiet confidence that seemed born to nobility, the kind of confidence that comes from knowing your word is law.

His mother roused herself from stupor at the hint of conflict. “Alberto, go back upstairs. We shall speak of this later” Her words were plaintive, calm even; Alberto’s brow began to relax, as though to delay this perhaps inevitable argument for another day.

Azzo hurried to steel the young Lord’s resolve intuitively sensing a moment of crisis. “With all due respect to your mother, my Lord. We starve. We starve so that she may entertain courtiers from Genoa and throw banquets finer than this Island has ever known. We starve my Lord, and starve we would for our Lord if we must, but we ought not starve so that your mother may be entertained. You are our Lord. I ask only that you judge us yourself, if we be in error, condemn us, but at least judge us.” The words lept from his mouth with the a fire of desperation, his fellow prisoners visibly stunned by his insolence.

Giuditta shrieked, her eyes widening as the last of the alcohol’s lingering effects left her. “Take them Lucio, take them all and hang them!” Alberto’s eyes caught Azzo’s for a moment, as if searching for truth, then his jaw hardened and he spoke.

“Lucio. You will do no such thing. Release these men. The forest is to be returned to its limits under my Grandfather, with license to all who may prove need to hunt freely upon it. Mother, to your rooms.” Again, he spoke with the quiet, earnest resolve he was born to. Lucio grudgingly complied and Giuditta, stunned, did the same. Thus without a proclamation or fanfare Alberto assumed his majority. The entire Island hailed him as a saint, forgiving him immediately for his mother’s trespasses, Giuditta herself, furious, left a week later on a boat for Parma; abandoning her son and Corsica, never to return.

Afterwards, Alberto sought Azzo out and the two spoke at length, the young Count thanking him for his candor, striking upon an idea which he voiced to the peasant, perhaps a decade his senior, Azzo showing him his traps, which impressed Alberto for the degree of skill they displayed. “Azzo. I am going to send you to Milan. There, I wish for you to learn the art of state. My mother’s people..I feel they do not understand Corsica…I wish someone trained in the world and Corsica…You will be that man.” Azzo opened his mouth to protest, but Alberto raised his hand and spoke in the same earnest tones. “You will.”

And so Azzo had gone to Milan, he excelled in his studies there at Alberto’s expense, in many ways the arts of state resembled his traps, there subtle intricacies and various devices of state coming together to catch a desired goal in their grasp, like any prey. Several lords offered him a positions at their courts, but he declined. Azzo could not deny Corsica. Upon his return Alberto appointed him chancellor, in truth delegating much of the business of running the Island to him.

For this reason Azzo did not disparage his Lord for not reading the forms, whatever Alberto’s failings, Azzo knew from experience his heart and desire were right, and that the man had an earnest, good faith desire to do the right thing and the confidence to believe he could. Azzo did not judge.

Perhaps this, he thought had been what struck him as remiss about the nuptials. Although bride and groom went together well, Alberto seemed lacking in confidence in comparison to her, unsure of himself in a way beyond the typical insecurities of his poverty which generally afflicted him. Perhaps Azzo thought, but whatever came of it, his master would not lose the quality of earnest lordship that Azzo and his people so admired of him, he could not lose his birthright. Corsica would endure the vision from Genoa, indeed, like the waves, the sea, and Alberto himself, Corsica, Azzo knew, would do its best to make her its own.
 
Ah I love a wedding! Good to see Alberto possesses a level head as well!
 
Thank you all for reading. The next update which I'll post immediately after this will be yet another narrative one. I've finished up the Screenshots for the first real history/gameplay update which will come on Monday, as I'm away for this weekend.

English Patriot: He has his moments here and there. Far more level-headed than someof his successors will be, certainly.

Thrashing Mad: He is a grey eminence as it turns out. His screenshot will be included in the update after the one below.

EmperorCoopinius: Thanks for dropping by, I played a little bit as the Count of Mide this morning for kicks after reading your Leinster AAR. Assassinated several Ui Mordha's unfortunately...Hope you continue to enjoy it.
 
Margherita and Alberto

The silence reverberated in the room, smothering even the thought of words. The two had never been alone before. Now, ushered into Alberto’s room by jubilant courtiers mere hours after their wedding, it seemed they were both at a loss for words. The wedding itself, a pleasant enough affair conducted by the local bishop, intruded on Alberto’s minds. He scarcely remembered the words he uttered, the vows he made. The entire ceremony he stood transfixed beside her, his eyes wandering from the bishop’s intonation of the mass to her beside him. If she did the same, he never noticed. Prior to seeing her, Alberto conceded he had given little thought to the specifics of his wife. The essential component of the match, to him, had been that she be his wife, and by virtue of that designation would enhance him. The details were muddled, insignificant even in his thoughts. He would grow as a result of the mere fact of marriage, the individual herself seemed somehow trivial in his calculations. Of course, all of those thoughts came before he saw her. Gorgeous, he thought to himself. The girl stunned him, left him bedazzled and gasping when he first saw her.

Alberto knew women in the casual way of a lord of course, accustomed from a young age to having his pick of the local girls. He’d even fathered a bastard upon one of them, a young boy born just a year ago. Corsica produced beautiful, comely women, fierce and sensual in their own earthy way. It was not that Margherita surpassed them in her physicality, that a particular feature set her apart and above from the rest. No, something far more essential distinguished her, an almost ethereal air of quiet, indomitable confidence which she seemed to exude, almost indifferently, without any apparent affectation or cultivation of such a bearing, a pretension he remembered all too well from his mother. Something altogether different set her apart. An alien quality, foreign to Corsica, confident, regal, poised. Alberto would have thought her a princess, and could hardly conceive of any relation between this being and the bloated creature he met who claimed to be her father. The wedding and subsequent reception had allowed only the most cordial of conversations to pass between them, the absent and empty banter of pleasantries focused intently upon the food at the subsequent banquet, or the relative quality of the weather, her voyage, subjects he faithfully clung to.He gleaned very little from these exchanges, aside from that which he already knew. From the moment he saw her, Alberto realized, he’d known that his previous thoughts of marriage were woefully inadequate. This woman was more than a mere passive fact.

The silence lingered, growing more palpable by the second. Well, he thought, we must speak eventually. The first words will be the hardest. Coughing a bit into his hand to provide her with some warning, he began to speak.

Margherita wondered at this place. The cliffs soared overhead, marvelous and splendid. The ocean sparkled a crystal blue hue that she could not recall the Genoese harbor ever taking on. The people were a motley assortment of serfs, fishermen, and clergy. Indeed, the noble class of wealth she familiarized herself with all of her life seemed peculiarly absent. The entire thing, she thought, is Bizarre, nothing and no one she had ever known prepared her.

The Count- Her husband- she corrected herself, still stunned, she could not decide what to make of. Certainly he lacked the fire that drew her to Francesco, cooler flames stirred in this man. Still, he seemed honest. Earnest even. His questions about the voyage earlier had been almost relentless- she suspected he feared the alternative subjects of conversation. She appreciated that he chose to dress casually throughout. The quality of men who cared extensively for their wardrobe had never impressed her.

The pain that the thought of home hovered over the entire day, lurking in the corners of her mind. She guarded against it consciously, focusing intently upon each and every moment. During the ceremony her eyes never left the Bishop’s, as though if she focused enough it would be as if she were attending any other mass, not her wedding to a strange man in a strange, if beautiful place. Throughout the day she focused on remaining calm, on betraying not the slightest hint of any lingering sorrow, confidence she repeated to herself, confidence.

From his corner of the room she heard a cough…the silence hardly registered to her before, so intent was she on her own thoughts. “What do you think of Corsica? Your coming has caused great excitement over the last few weeks” His voice was crisp, clear, formal even.

“Well enough my Lord. Your people are most gracious and welcoming. Your Island beautiful.” She responded in kind.

Alberto laughed despite himself, “Our reception was modest, pedestrian even. We are peasants here, and I a beggar Lord. The Island, you will soon discover is remarkable for both its drought and its obscene quantity of fish, I do hope you enjoy this room. Your dowry proved… “ He paused, embarrassed by his slip of tongue, such talk, he thought, would not do for wooing. “..I insist you call me Alberto my Lady. I am pleased you found our hospitality accommodating.”

His candor stunned her, cutting through the surreal fog of the last week, Francesco retreating for a moment from thought. He mentioned the dowry aloud! She smiled despite herself. “Very well Alberto. On the contrary, I find your Island beautiful. Your people’s sincerity is refreshing. What, exactly, did you buy with the dowry might I ask?” She slipped the question in as though an afterthought, her tone more lively for a moment.

Alberto gasped aloud, cursing himself mentally, ‘You fool, she despises you!’ His eyes wandered the room, searching desperately for an appropriate distraction- then they caught hers. She was alive, he thought…the quiet confidence remained, but with it now he saw a fire, a spark in her eyes. She wanted to know out of interest, not insult, he realized. The woman cares. He grinned a bit…”Well. To begin, I repaired the keep. The Moors built it, and as you undoubtedly noticed, I am not a Moor. This is a problem. The I bought some wheat from a Genoese merchant..your father assures me the deal was most equitable, though I have my doubts. Next a gift for my D’Este cousins, as I am quite certain that if I keep reminding them I exist they’ll reward my diligence. The rest remains...do you have requests?” He spoke so openly to no one but Azzo, and then sparingly. The words invigorated him, and he could tell from the sudden and unexpected interest in her eyes, her as well.

Margherita laughed, for the first time since Genoa. “Yes! I’d like a minstrel to follow me at all times and compose a ballad…” She continued with various amusements, insisting upon each with comical certainly. Alberto replied she could make do with fish minstrels, and perhaps goats on Saturdays. The two spoke warmly throughout the night, Alberto reveling in her honesty, her complete lack of fear for either his station of her own. He’d never been able to share himself so before. Not merely stunning he realized, she hid beneath that imperial demeanor a vivid, bright personality, sharp and perceptive. Likewise she admired his honesty, his lack of pretension in his title, and his earnest, honest desire to improve himself. There were worse fates...she had loved, indeed, and lost, but perhaps she could love again. She allowed herself hope.

When Alberto, several nights later dared to touch her, her flesh electric beneath his fingers, he realized inwardly that whatever thoughts he had about marriage before today were flawed. He would become more than the sum of himself alone. He would not, and could not be content to be the Count of Corsica any longer. Margherita deserved more, and he resolved to give it to her.
 
JimboIX, I can already tell you're going to be a master of the narrative. I can see Corsica in my mind, and the contrast yet similarities between Albert and Margherita are interesting. Great job so far. I liked your historical discussion at the start too. It can be fun to jump into the alternate future and talk about what's happening back in the past, I've done that a few times in Knight-Mages.

Should be interesting to see how this develops.
 
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I'll echo anthonyp's commment, I love this AAR, Beautifully written and great characters!
 
Beautiful. Just beautiful. You have a long way ahead if you want to cover the entire game like this, but I sincerely hope you'll be able to keep going strong with it.
 
Thank you all for the comments, I appreciate it, although I think your estimations of my talent are exagerrated. There will be an update shortly following this, the first chapter of Pandulf dealing with the reign of Alberto. I tried a little different style with it thant he first Pandulf- it felt more natural to right it that way- it's farther away from Plutarch but more intellegible I think, let me know if you agree.

Anthonyp:Thanks for the praise, I'll have to read Knight-Mages, I know you at least appreciate the difficulty of trying to go anywhere with a dirt-poor Island. You'll like how I eventually deal with the Fatimids..though at the rate I'm going, we might not get there for another few months.

English Patriot: I appreciate it, it's sometimes hard to write both of them, but I want them to come across as somewhat similar in spirit- I'm glad that's come across some.

DKG:I do have a long way ahead, that's for certain. I'm glad you like the quality so far, I'll try not to disappoint.
 
Well you are definitely talented. I can honestly say that this, along with AAR of grayghost, is best narrative AAR I`ve read so far. Looking forward for more of this tasteful story. :)
 
Chapter I of Pandulf's Life of Alberto "Il Rufo" Obertenghi

dpmaur01.jpg

The Corsican Coat of Arms​


Of the first years of Alberto’s life little is said. His mother Giuditta reigned in his name as Lady of Corsica, a corpulent woman given over to the same excess which earlier claimed her husband, expressed little interest in the rearing of the young Count, entrusting his upbringing to local nannies and magistrates. Noted by his peers as an upright young man, Alberto came to his manhood steeped in the traditions of the Corsica of old, his nannies doting upon him with the tales of the Island’s history.

Giuditta’s rule succeeded in provoking the peasantry into an outright fury, intent as she was upon extracting from their lands all the available tax and squeezing from them the fruits of their labor. In Alberto’s fifteenth year, the young Lord, informed by his people of their displeasure dismissed his mother and assumed his the mantle of Count of Corsica in his own right, the heir of Obert and his wretched father Alberto before him. Lady Giuditta, incensed at her son’s presumption departed to her brother’s court in Parma, only to find herself destitute and without income, provoking little sympathy in her sibling. Compelled to retire to monastic life, no correspondence passed between her and her son until her death in the year of our lord one thousand and sixty.

isabella_of_france.jpg

Giuditta​

Celebrated for his scrupulous bearing and impeccable regard, Alberto possessed the grandiloquent desires of his Grandfather but judging himself a weaker or lesser being could not commit to his greatness, ashamed initially by the poverty of his station, inheriting as well his father’s somewhat placid lack of ambition, though in later years this defect was ameliorated by the influence of those nearest him.

The Lord’s assumption of his majority was preceded by the beginning of his association with the eminent master Azzo Terzi, a man several years his senior of no certain origin, although rumored to be the bastard son of Alberto’s father, whose education in Milan had been sponsored the young Count. Conniving and duplicitous, the assumption of Terzi of the post of chancellor marked the beginning of a drastic change in Corsican policy. Previously a restrained and placid Island state, Terzi instituted a number of policies to increase the Island’s influence abroad, including charging a tax upon merchant’s docking overnight in the harbor at Ajaccio, as well as putting up for bid the use of the Island’s facilities in time of war to various feuding Mediterranean states, as well as playing the two lords of Sardinia against one another, in hopes of eventually becoming master of either.

terzi.jpg
Azzo Terzi​

In addition, Terzi arranged the marriage of Alberto Rufo to Margerita Gattilusio, the daughter of a Genoese merchant of considerable wealth. Stories of the Countess’s youth, including her lack of purity prior to her union with the Count, have often been attributed to Terzi, thought to be envious of the Countess’s subsequent influence with the Count, though the record reveals a potential inappropriate relationship with one Francesco Rinaldi, a man in her father’s employ. However, in fact most of these rumors may be attributed to Vittorio, the couple’s second surviving son who attempted to portray his brother as a bastard following the latter’s accession in the wake of their father’s death.

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Alberto and Margherita

While this suggests the rumors may easily be dismissed, I have obtained after diligent search in the records of her father, included in the Royal Library at Genoa, an entry referring to the payment to the Church of St. Stephen's a large sum by Margherita's father on behalf of the family of one Francesco Rinaldi, evidently to assure his burial there. It can be inferred from the size of the payment and its vagueness that this was made to assure payment following a suicide. The date is shortly after Margherita's departure, suggesting there may be some credence to the rumor.

Shortly following the marriage, Alberto took a new and active interest in affairs of state, insistent upon advancing his station, thus encouraged by Terzi and Margherita consented to become a vassal of the Lord of Pisa, the better to prosecute his claim upon the southern half of Sardinia in his bid to become a Duke. Although Alberto, noble and fiercely proud of his sovereignty, resented to submission, he resolved to consider it non-binding as the Pisan Republic, he reasoned could not Lord over a Count. Alberto possessed a claim upon he lordship of Cagliari derived from that Count’s debt to him, still unpaid. Alternative, voices in the court thought a crusade against the Zirid Kingdom might prove advantageous. However, in the year of our Lord one thousand sixty nine our Holy Father declared a crusade upon the Zirids, desiring the capture of Tunisia for the glory of the faith. It is said he was influenced by the fearsome Robert Guiscard in his choice of target, as the Duke of Apulia even then fought to liberate Sicily, part of which named the Zirid Lord as their liege, from the infidel. Alberto, surmising that the contributions of his meager force to the liberation of Tunis would amount to little more than a footnote, decided shrewdly with the advice of his wife and chancellor to prosecute his claim upon Cagliari, reasoning that the war would be less notable in light of the near distraction of the Zirid crusade.

pisa1.jpg

Alberto's Lord

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The prospective enemies of Corsica, the Count of Cagliari and the Zirid King​

Thus, with the Governor of Pisa following him shortly in declaration, Alberto issued a proclamation declaring himself Count of both Corsica and Cagliari and in the sacred prosecution of his noble rights declared war upon the bastard count Torcotore of Cagliari and set sail to put forth his claims to that Island. If Alberto could successfully prosecute this claim, he could declare himself the Duke of Sardinia, a title which would compel the Count of Arborea to pay homage to his status as Duke, rendering him master of both Corsica and Sardinia. Prior to embarking upon this journey he and the Countess Margherita welcomed their first child, made Lord of Ajaccio upon birth as a courtesy of his station as heir apparent to the County. In the next chapter, we will discuss the war and the Count’s progress in advancing his station.

me008.jpg

Alberto Voyaging to Cagliari​



Commentary by Harun Obertenghi:

The two most interesting and enduring legends which Pandulf stirs up in this chapter are that Margherita, Alberto's wife, had a liason in her youth with a young man in Genoa. The document which he cites has never been recovered by modern historians, although as many of Pandulf's papers were burned following his death by his heirs, fearing a scandal, this can not be known for certain. Interestingly, in recent times this assertion of Pandulf and a few contemporary sources has served as a rallying cry for feminists, who see the Countess, with all of the influence she exerted over both her husband and her court,as an inspirational figure. In this context, her liason is embraced as a humanizing detail demonstrative of her independence, and likewise bucking the traditional view of the sexual mores of the period.

The second assertion which drew criticism is Pandulf's frank explanation of Alberto's reasons for not initially embracing the crusade against Tunisia, and instead opting to go to war with the County of Cagliari. Defenders of the Count have long asserted this war to be one of necessity, dulyprovoked by Cagliari's debts, while more antagonistic commentators have cited this as the first of many examples of Obertenghi opportunism, eager to pounce upon an advantageous situation, with the chuch being more of an afterthought to the deliberation. It is my view that the Sardinian war must be viewed as neither, as both oversimplify the prevailing sentiments of the time, both that the Crusade itself was an opportunistic ploy by the Hautevilles, and that Alberto was due his satisfaction for the claim. Thus, an attempt to reduce the single incident into an explanation for generations of subsequent behavior of the Obertenghi's or to celebrate it despite its context seems untoward, although Pandulf, ever the fan of controversy, naturally leans towards opportunism to stir up more controversy.
 
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thrashing mad said:
Well you are definitely talented. I can honestly say that this, along with AAR of grayghost, is best narrative AAR I`ve read so far. Looking forward for more of this tasteful story. :)

Thanks very much. The next narrative update will hopefully be tomorrow. I'll have to get a primer in graphics from you some time, I'm not good at all with them.
 
The Siege

The walls of Cagliari trembled, visibly wavering beneath the pounding of the battering ram Alberto’s men applied to it. Despite himself, he felt the stirring of hope in his heart. Could this be it? He wondered, after all these interminable months…the sentiment barely registered before he realized how premature it had been. The men of Cagliari rained arrows down upon his men, hot ash and coal scorching their flesh, the screams echoed to him even at this distance, suddenly, one man began to flee. The others, at first as a trickle and then suddenly a wave fled after to join him, abandoning the crudely hacked tree converted into an impromptu ram only days earlier. Cheers rang out from the wooden battlements of the keep, the jeering taunts of the fortress’s defenders. Alberto hung his head sullenly, painfully conscious of this latest defeat.

Initially, the Corsicans held high hopes for the termination of the siege and a quick victory. Nearly a thousand men flocked to Alberto’s banner, lured by the promise of war, excited by the prospect of extending their Island’s dominion. Prior to Alberto’s sudden interest in affairs abroad, few contemplated leaving their village, let alone the Corsica. Boisterous and filled with optimism, they set sail upon the ‘fleet’ a broad assortment of fishing boats adapted to the purpose, commandeered merchant marine, and other assorted vessels. Paltry though it seemed, it represented the best Corsica possessed, indeed, Alberto knew that this motley assortment of peasants wielding pitchforks and the occasional pikeman represented all that the Island could muster. Corsica’s future lay mortgaged in the hands of these soldiers and this fleet. Every day they were away from their homes meant a day Alberto spent hemorrhaging gold, or to be more accurate, accruing debt. He assumed his long suffering steward might know what the sum stood at presently; the better to inform Azzo as he begged the creditors for a few more weeks, assuring them their investment was secured by Alberto’s word and Corsica’s bounty, meager though it be. For all his fathers excess and his mothers indulgence neither, he suspected, ever owed as much as he. Pisa, Genoa, Naples, Venice, Florence, all these nations and more now possessed a claim upon his honor, his land, and his title. Still the Pauper Count, these men whom he owed such debt to no doubt suspected soon that the administration of Corsica would be theirs, and all the better, the Pauper Count deserved no such honors they would reason, his demise would ensure a more effective administration of Corsica, at best the fool made for a preposterous middleman.

The eager, buoyant optimism of the voyage extended briefly into the landing. The Pisans, resplendent in their numbers and their equipment, arrived a few days prior and promptly routed the enemy into their keep, overawing them with their might. The siege appeared a mere formality to Alberto’s being vested with the lordship of the place, the scanty wooden walls of Cagliari’s motto and bailey surely could not withstand the onslaught of the Pisans, four thousand strong, armed with the confidence of veterans and the subtle assurance of victories past. Then abruptly, and without warning, the Governor of Pisa died. The fool, Alberto thought. Dead drunk on Sardinian wine and in the arms of a local peasant girl, a victim of his own overexertion. Her terrified screams awoke the camp, they found her shrieking, trapped beneath his corpse. The Pisan Marshal, eager to march home and assume victory and the governorship in the election now to be held, quickly departed with his thousands, indifferent to Alberto’s protests that the army at least remain to finish the siege.

Alberto wondered why he had succumbed to Margherita and Azzo’s suggestion of taking a Lord to aid him in asserting his rights. Margherita, now with child, urged him to embrace the world abroad, that their child would prosper in it. Her eyes radiant and inspiring, Alberto long accepted he could not deny her. Likewise, Azzo, ever candid, bluntly informed him that alone his might would suffice to defeat no power within his reach, including Torcotore of Cagliari. So Alberto shrugged of his pride and went to Pisa, kneeled before the recently departed Gentile, and pled his fealty as Count of Corsica. This distinction he considered of immense importance, as with Gentile’s assistance he intended to become a Duke, thoroughly beyond the reach of any republic’s domain. Now, even the advantage of that ceremony seemed moot, irrelevant in light of the late Gentile’s death.

And so Alberto languished in Cagliari, cut adrift from Corsica, Margherita, even the refreshing vision of the dawn in the morning, that most simple of the many pleasures of home. Of Margherita, only the lingering touch of her lips upon his the morning of departure remained, haunting him. He must not fail here. He could not. Too much rested upon his success, failure now would doom Corsica to another half a century in obscurity, his children to an even more demeaning poverty than his own. Yet he feared this now might be inevitable.

He caught his men casting sullen, bitter gazes in his direction; he could feel their derision, their frustration. The lark from Corsica abroad transformed into a nightmare of siege, lingering boredom intermixed with moments of terror when it came time to repel a sortie, or resist an attempted raid for food by the castles defenders, men as desperate as they. He attempted to assault the castle several times, using various means, yet his numbers were too few to attain that overwhelming force necessary to overwhelm its defenders. The ram itself but the most recent in a series of futile attempted to breach the gate, that the superior numbers which they had might be brought to bear more effectively against any enemy but the wall which stood before them. He must persevere he thougt, though in light of this most recent failure he knew not how.

Retiring to his tent, he reflected upon his options. The first was the peace Torcotore offered, repeatedly through messengers bearing the white flag of truce. Go home now, declare the war at end, Torcotore said, and the coffers of Cagliari would be open to him. The coffers of Cagliari, of course, contained no great treasures, and would scarcely begin to cover the debts he incurred in opening them. The second was to retire without peace, and assign his debt and his claim to the Pisans, that they might complete the work of defeating Torcotore. Alluring though it seemd at first glance, this option was rife with problems. It deprived him of the claim he needed to prosecute the war, to extend his power, and in addition left him vulnerable should Torcotore elect to pursue him to Corsica. Finally, he could simply remain and pray that victory came soon. A grim smile crept over his face at the thought of this final avenue, how much longer, he wondered, would the men continue to cast glances at him instead of causing his convenient death?

“My Lord..” He recognized the voice of his Marshal Secondotto, a priest turned soldier, and, Alberto lamented to himself, sadly inept at both tasks. Although the best available to him.

“Yes?” Alberto acknowledged him.

“My Lord, I bring news from the rebel Count Torcotore.” Alberto suddenly found himself rapt in attention, eager as always to hear what the enemy’s most recent missive would contain.

“Yes. What does he say?” Alberto asked, hoping above all that the long nightmare of Cagliari might at last be coming to an end.

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Another narrative update. I'm going to DC until Wednesday of next week, so this will be the last update at least until then. Enjoy.
 
Ah! Pity about the siege, I'm really interested to hear Cagliari has to say..

Great Work!
 
Great work so far - expansion at last ! I also liked history-book like part, with all those tasty references :). For resizing/editing/formatting graphics download freeware called Irfanview. If you want any kind of help/advice from me, just PM.