A Matter of Faith, or We're Not On A Mission From God.
Lombardia
May 5th, 1082
And hello again. I brought you some more blankets. And a chair! So you and your little brood of children can--sit. On occasion.
Ah. Neda. Well--it was a boy. Salvatore. And--we've had another one since then. Also a boy. Anselmo. They're really quite lovely children. I look into their little faces, and I want to make them proud. And Neda--happy. Even if she continues to insist that life is meaningless slog through bleak circumstances, punctuated by death.
I'm thinking--flowers. Lots, and lots, and lots of flowers.
But on the whole things have been fairly quiet here. The biggest news is that the Pope has called on the forces of Catholic Christendom to do a favor for the Byzantine Emperors--yes, it's still plural. Actually--that's rather an interesting story, and I rather get the impression that Father never did give it to you.
It all starts with Michael Dukas, and his father, Konstantinos. Konstantinos Dukas was a very poor Emperor who managed to alienate his nobles at the same time that he managed to get the Empire in a life and death struggle with the Seljuk Turks. He then proceeded to die, leaving the whole mess to Michael. Michael was, perhaps, not the ideal candidate to handle a tottering Empire whose nobles were rising in revolt as it was being invaded by marauding Turks--he was a man of little ability, and a stutterer to boot.
But damn it, he almost managed to pull it off.
You see, Michael had one simple difference from his father--Constantine Dukas had considered himself a great thinker and born leader, and alienated everyone. Michael knew he was a man placed in circumstances well beyond his own abilities, and acted accordingly. He gathered men and women of ability to him, and ruled with their advice. Crushing rebellious nobles, he placed loyal men of merit in their place. Then he turned his attention to the Turk, fighting them off when he could, and eventually taking the battle to them.
At which point, he took a spear in the gut, and died in horrible agony. He reigned for all of two years.
And yet, all was not lost. Michael had designated as his heir a man of ability and merit--a warrior who would continue his work--Bartolomeos Choumas!
Who was he? Good question. All the Princes of the Empire were asking the same thing. Choumas was a new man who'd risen in Michael's favor for his competence, with nothing but a vague connection to the old ruling class in his favor. The older families didn't appreciate having to bow to a nobody, especially the Phokasi, the Princes of the Aegean Isles, who rose in revolt. They probably would have been crushed like bugs, but remember, there was an ongoing war with the Turks. Long story short--Bartolomeos was defeated in a surprise attack by the Phokas' forces, and signed a humiliating treaty where he handed over the Empire to them. He then rushed back to Byzantion, and announced to all the world that he'd been lying, as he slammed down the gates. Normally, the Phokasi would have probably gone after him, but now they were the ones dealing with the war, and the various uprisings going on. Which got worse when people discovered that instead of the old elective throne, the Phokasi planned on keeping the Empire in the family.
And so the Turks have continued to rampage in the Anatolia unhindered, seizing such valuable territories as Antioch, the gateway to the Holy Land. Both Emperors wrote to the Pope asking for assistance, and he's responded by calling on the crowned heads of Catholic Europe to go retake Antioch. And he's sort of hinted that if a few more provinces in the Holy Land were to happen to find themselves conquered by Christians, why, that would be lovely. After which, I'm told, he coughed, and it sounded like 'Jerusalem'.
In many ways, this is the perfect time to go fighting against the Mohammedeans--the Kingdom of Egypt has collapsed into civil war, turning what had been a large, more or less unassailable nation into a buch of squabbling, little states. Unfortunately Catholic Europe isn't doing much better. The nation of Germany is recovering, but still rather fragile. In England, William the Bastard's luck has run out--there's been an uprising in the North, and I've heard he's taken a nasty wound quelling it. To put it simply, the Heathen is hurting, but so are we.
The Pope's having none of this, of course. He's put a lot on the line, declaring this war, and he's doing all he can to make it irresistable. This war, he says, is not like most wars, even the other justifiable wars. It's not only good and just, but holy, a war for God, and those who go on it will be pardoned their sins. No Pope has ever said anything like this before--not even when the Mohammedeans nearly captured Rome. Still--people like the idea. The Germans are even calling it a Crus Rade--a War of the Cross. Personally, I think the thing will end in failure, and people will shrug and forget about it. But--that's just me. I'm sensible like that.
No, we're not getting involved. We don't have the funds to go abroad, especially to fight the Turks, who I will remind you are very large, and quite terrifying. Valerio loves the idea though, I have to admit. He's running around the castle construction site, waving his practice sword around, attacking imaginary Turks and Arabs, and calling himself the Knight of Christ. Of course, he listened to my explanation of why we couldn't--join in this one. And he accepted it. "Next time," he declared brightly. "Next time." And then he went back to killing imaginary Turks and Arabs while that little white cat of his--Tybalt Junior--tagged along.
And one day, he shall rule this Duchy for real. I hope some of what I've tried to impart to him... sinks in. I really do.
Well, it's been pleasant talking to you. Thank you for your time, and... what? Oh! Well of course, you can name him after me! I'm honored. Let me see the little fellow...
Ahhh! He smiled at me! Best of fortune, little Hugues. And don't gorge yourself on rat.
