1411-1437: Part I: The First Burgundian-English War
The Frenchman takes a wild swing at a passing Briton.
Early in the year 1412, King Louis-Henri I of Burgundy convened a meeting of his Cabinet.
de Brachet, de Rochebarone, and Jules Arbelot, the new General of the Army of Charolais, sat on the western side of a long wooden table in some high room up on the east wall of the Royal Palace. It was very early morning and looking at the other side of the table was rather difficult without the rising sun searing their retinas. Louis-Henri, naturally, was on the eastern side of the table.
"Lord Brachet," Louis-Henri began, "I trust that you have finished the comprehensive analysis of Burgundy's state policy I asked you to compile?"
"Yes, m'lord. I had the clerks hold it to the highest standards of the Swedish Domestic Policy Analysis Chart."
"There's a
chart?"
"They've got charts for everything up in Sweden," de Brachet explained, "would you like to see a graphic of our relations with foreign nations assigned a numerical value?"
"...no thanks. General..."
"Sire," de Brachet interrupted, "if I could say something, sire, I have to say, sire, that I am not a fan of this 'National Bank' idea of yours. I was actually told by the clerks that it was
decreasing the inflation of our economy! The economy is
shrinking, Your Majesty!"
"...that's... that's not what inflation means."
"...oh. I see. Carry on then."
"
Right. General de Arbelot..."
"Er... That's General
Arbelot, sire."
Louis-Henri raised an eyebrow. "That's what I said, isn't it? General de Arbelot."
"There's no 'de,' sire. I hope to one day acquire one, but as it is..."
"...look, just give me a status report on the army."
"Of course, sire."
"As you can see, sire, the army is in much the same as it was in your father's day. We have recruited another regiment of infantry, but we are now at the limit of what Burgundy can comfortably support in peace time."
"...that's it? Seven thousand guys? That's the best we can do?"
"I'm afraid so, sire."
"Son of a
bitch. Does anybody have some good news?"
"The Duke of Flanders decided to join the Crusade again," de Rochebaron offered, "he defeated a Turkish fleet off of Crete and then landed in Edirne to engage the heathens."
"Excellent!" Louis-Henri cried, "How goes the battle?"
"Well... er... it turned out that the Duke's men were
not the first to arrive in Edirne and, it being the Turkish capital and Greek sounding an awful lot
like Turkish if you're not really paying attention and..."
Louis-Henri glared at de Rochebaron. "What happened?"
"Well... um..."
"It would seem, sire," de Brachet interrupted, "That the Duke of Flanders mistook several good Christian men who had risen up to overthrow the Turkish Sultan for the Turkish army."
Louis-Henri facepalmed. "Seriously.
No good news?"
"We're building a new cathedral in Nice!" de Rochebaron offered.
"..."
de Rochebaron continued to grin.
"...That's great, general. Really. Made my day."
"Pleasure to be of service, sire."
Louis-Henri leaned back in his chair, still annoyed, before mustering the will to go on. He leaned forward.
"Gentleman," he began, "We have a port."
"Er... yes?" de Rochebaron offered tenuously.
"But I am informed," Louis-Henri went on, "that, for some reason, we cannot actually build ships in that port."
"Oh, that," de Brachet said, "yeah, the Lombards are dicks."
"Correct. But the people of Calais are
not."
"Calais was taken from us only very recently, and has been occupied by the English ever since. It is our duty as patriotic Burgundians to rescue the good people of Calais from English oppression."
There was a moment of silence before Arbelot spoke up.
"Your Majesty, England is on an
island."
"I am well aware of that fact, General."
"And we have no navy."
"Yes, general, that's why we're invading Calais in the first place."
Arbelot gave Louis-Henri a look.
"...we're allied with Scotland," Louis-Henri explained.
"Ahhh."
* * *
Louis-Henri was doing paperwork in his study when a familiar-looking messenger came running in.
"Sire! Sire!"
Louis-Henri did not look up, as he was far too busy folding a report on the most recent subjugation of the Lombards into the shape of a crane, "Yes, Henri, what is it?"
"Scotland has declared war on England, sire! They call us to arms!"
"Oh," Louis-Henri said, folding up a corner of the paper so that it produced a wing, "We can't afford to get into a war right now, Henri. Tell them to go away."
"Er... sire... I..."
"I'm very busy, Henri."
Henri nodded. "Of course, sire. I will inform them at once." He left.
Louis-Henri finished his paper crane, and placed it next to a letter from the Sultan accepting his offer of white peace.
As he pulled the next paper off a pile of them, his brain caught up with the rest of him.
"...wait, war with
who?"
* * *
Louis-Henri's accidental declination to enter into the War of Scottish Aggression was a huge scandal across Burgundy, one which the Burgundian King's only real chance to rectify was to declare war on Scotland himself.
Coming off strong from supporting traditional customs in Nice - in particular, the annual Lombard Revolution - General Arbelot moved his armies through Flanders to the border with Calais, where they linked up with the Duke of Flanders' men.
The First Burgundian-English War began on February 20th, 1413, with the Burgundian invasion of Calais.
It was a very brief invasion.
Unfortunately, the Burgundians had not taken into account the raging Hundred Years War, and therefore had not taken into account the English army in Provence.
Acting quickly, Arbelot left a small contingent of troops with the Flanders forces sieging Calais, and raced south to meet the English.
* * *
George and Edward were not entirely certain what they were doing in Nice. They had assumed they were at war with the French, but Nice definitely seemed to have more of an Italian thing going on.
At present, the two of them were sitting in a tavern in a small village outside the city, well away from the siege.
"Heh," George said, in a rather drunken tone of voice, "these folks are rather Nice, aren't they?"
"Yes, very Nice!"
The two laughed at their own jokes and sunk to the floor. The barkeep turned back to wiping down the bar with a oh-God-in-heaven-please-give-me-an-excuse-to-get-out-of-here expression. The rest of the tavern's patronage had already left.
George climbed to his feet and strode over to the bar before leaning over it. He opened his mouth to demand more beer, but was struck on the back of a head with a rock.
He spun furiously on his heel. "What the bloody hell was that for?" he demanded of the small squadron of peasants in funny-looking hats and carrying a big Savoyard banner.
"Viva la rivoluzione! Lombardi per l'Longobardi!"
Arbelot was still racing across the Alps when the siege of Nice finally ended in late 1413.
"I think I would've preferred the English," Louis-Henri muttered after learning the news. "How goes the war in England?"
"We... honestly have no idea, sire," de Brachet explained, "The Duke of Flanders has been sailing his navy up and down the British coast, but despite having proved himself to be capable of making an amphibious assault on a country on the other side of Europe, he insists that he cannot launch a land invasion of an island on the far side of the damn English Channel."
Louis-Henri rolled his eyes. "To be expected. Our best hope was always Scotland and their Irish allies. How have they been doing?"
"They signed a white peace, sire."
"..."
"Sire?" de Brachet asked. Louis-Henri's muscles twitched.
"I think you broke him," de Rochebaron said.
"Oh, there is one other thing, sire!" de Brachet said, "A messenger from Scotland came with an offer of alliance!"
"..."
"Please, sire."
Louis-Henri blinked a few times, then finally spoke. "I know I'm going to kill myself later over this, but we need all the help we can get. We.... we accept."
"Of course, sire," de Rochebaron said, "I shall deliver the message at once!"
"And get an alliance with King Drawing of Angerland or whoever he is! They seem reliable, at least!"
The First Burgundian-English War lasted for four years, but only 1413 saw any military action. For the next three years, the Burgundians sat in occupied Calais, making funny faces at the Cliffs of Dover in the hopes that some Englishman might laugh so hard he'd fall off and raise the warscore.
Finally, in early 1416, Louis-Henri signed a white peace with a giggling English diplomat, who then skipped out of the palace shouting, "Neener neener neener!"
As he left, Louis-Henri sank into the throne, wondering how things had managed to go so
wrong. The occupation of Calais had bought them time, at least. The people of the city would remember them when they came once again to free them from the cruel yoke of English oppression. But he obviously couldn't rely on the Scots as his only ally.
His other two logical allies were the Irish and the Danes, but the Irish could not support the army needed to invade Great Britain, and the Danes were apparently tied up in the Baltic killing Teutonic...
"Your Majesty!" Henri shouted, dashing into the throne room before stopping before the throne and panting.
"Yes, Henri, what is it?"
"Erik of Pommerania, King of Denmark, has been elected Holy Roman Emperor!"
"What?" Louis-Henri cried, rising to his feet. "Henri, get out there and offer an alliance
right now!"
"...well that quick."
"Yes, sire, I took the liberty of making the offer while I was there receiving the news."
To be continued...