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Will Lüneburg join in with the insult spam whenever your crusade ends, I wonder. There is only so much bribing and hiring that the Oldenburg economy can sustain, and you're pushing the limits as it is. Does forming a PU give the same tax and forcelimit benefits that vassals give? I've not been in a situation that sees me give something about that recently...
The writing is very good and characterisation is clear, with a bit of levity interspersed just right - the "I need more of those scepters" scene comes to mind. You use the non-gameplay pictures quite well as well, and some are anachronistic enough that they're amusing as well - the ragtag band of soldiers in the second post was just nicely timed and it fit the writing perfectly.Hope to see more of this.
No, PUs don't provide any income boosts, yet are harder to maintain than vassals. It provides its own unique challenge. Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion of Christian VI von Oldenburg in "Where the Hell Am I" Land! Rest assured that the good duke has a long-term solution up his sleeve.
And I'm glad you're enjoying it. This is my first AAR, so all feedback is awesome.
Thanks. What implications could you be talking about? The complete loss of Oldenburg's manpower reserves? No well, sort of a biggie. Even though, realistically, losing 1,200 soldiers from a populace of 2,100 would lead to the extinction of the country. >_>
Thanks.
Writing's always been my strong suit, but I tended to stick to essays and journalism until fairly recently. I've dabbled in narrative before, but this is my first serious project. Odds are this AAR will still be running by the time of the next ACAs, so maybe by then I'll have a solid following.>_>
<_<
True. Thank Paradox this game isn't 100% realistic, or else Oldenburg would be set back for about a century.
For those of you waiting for an update, I don't have one ready just yet, for two reasons. One, I've been busy trying to make the most of my summer vacation, so I haven't been able to work constantly on this.
Two, and really more importantly, I'm pacing myself. I don't want to burn myself out by pumping out update after update...plus, if I take my time, I can deliver a higher quality AAR than if I released an update a day. I got nothing going on today, so I'm going to go out, have a cigarette, and get down to business. I've played through to 1430 so far, so I have a good 25 years to go through...many of them being interesting years. Never a dull moment in Oldenburg-Saxe-Lauenburg-Lüneburg.
Oh, and as my audience, if you have any recommendations or criticism for anything I post, don't be shy. Post 'em! If you have a good idea or a valid point, I'll take it into consideration; if it's a ridiculous point, I'll ignore it.
I really like this AAR, and the characters are deep. In my opinion, the Duke should leave his brother to rot. I think it fits his character and logic process well.
just been reading through to catch up. I really like both the quality of the writing and the basic game play approach you have adopted. Add to that some brilliant characters and you are on to a winner with this one (imho )
)
Chapter 6:Don't Stop Believing
The ragtag retreating Oldenburgian army was a sorry sight, to be sure. Less than half of their number remained, and those who did were bloodied and weary. Morale was at an all-time low as the German infantry began to question the reasoning they’d been given to die in these God-forsaken lands, so far from home. The apparent death of the Crown Prince had done nothing to improve the mood, and even the duke seemed to be suffering from severe melancholy. The weight of the last battle had hit him after he was well away from the heat of combat, and he didn’t like it one bit; he had lost Oldenburg’s first military engagement, not just a bit, but spectacularly, and he’d lost his brother and heir in the process…meaning that the thrones of Oldenburg, Saxe-Lauenburg, and Lüneburg would all be in jeopardy if he didn’t find a suitable heir, and this whole effort to unite his country through a Crusade would be entirely in vain.
After the defeat, Christian VI had regrouped his army at their camp from that morning, but stayed only long enough to load up the wagons, salvage their supplies, and patch up some of the wounded before heading east to the Castillian city of Almeria. Over the course of two weeks, they marched, resting for just a few hours at night to keep distance between the Crusaders and any pursuers. Several dozen wounded men were killed, despite the efforts of a few Castillian priests who had joined with them on the way through the Iberian heartland.
On May 13, 1404, the ducal army arrived at the city of Almeria, and although the ruling Castillian nobles were more than willing to admit the crusading duke and a small consort, they requested that the Oldenburgian army remain outside the walls on account of limited barrack space. Duke Christian VI was given a chamber in the local palace, welcomed by the newly-anointed Count of Almeria, Leonardo de Asturias, who happened to be an admirer of the Holy Roman Empire- mainly because of his interest in provincial autonomy. Even though the ruling noble was a Castillian, the rest of the city still showed its Andalusian roots, in terms of architecture, culture, and religion, and so cast Duke Christian VI sullen glares as he passed by on the way to the palace. With the Crown of Castille focusing its efforts on Algiers rather than the Crusade target of Morocco, Count Leonardo was more than willing to donate troops to the Oldenburgers’ cause, so as to receive God’s favor without actually risking his own well-being.
Despite Count Leonardo’s hospitality, Christian decided to return to his pavilion in the camp that he had ordered to be set around a hill to the northwest of town. He did spend the first night in Count Leonardo’s palace, as it would have been rude to refuse the Spaniard’s generosity, but he decided that, after the faux pas at the Battle of Granada, he owed it to his men to personally oversee the reorganization of the army and integration of the Almerian levies…and he didn’t really feel he deserved the luxuries provided by palace life after such a magnificent failure on a Crusade.
By May 16, 1405, Christian VI had begun sending patrols out to the west of Almeria to keep an eye on the Granadan border; he doubted that the Muslims would cross the Castillian border, so soon after a crippling war with the Crown. That same day, some of his scouts returned bearing news of a small Granadan cavalry detachment bearing the banner of truce.
Granada, Emirate of Granada
Early May, 1405
Two weeks previously, Crown Prince Dietrich von Oldenburg had awoken, not in a dungeon cell, but in a lavishly decorated bedchamber, sprawled on a soft, round featherbed laden with pillows. The blankets and curtains were covered with ornate Arabic designs, and the floor was covered with plush rugs. He had no idea where he was, but he did know that his armor, sword, and shield were gone, and all he wore now was his pair of black breeches. The prince sat up and winced, feeling his side; a bandage had been wrapped around his lower torso, but it looked fresh and clean rather than bloody.
Dietrich ran his hand through his hair as he leaned against a stack of pillows. He remembered holding the ridge with his unit of archers while his brother had made to go after Joachim Freiherr von Delmenhorst, and then, out of nowhere, the Muslims had been everywhere, flooding the valley and storming the ridgeline. He’d been caught by surprise, and even though he’d been fighting alongside one of Christian’s guards and a group of his archers, the ferocious nature of the Granadans allowed them to overrun the position. Dietrich had taken a war axe to his right side while fending off another foe on the left, and in his pain, it took little effort for the Granadans to unhorse him. They hadn’t killed him, though; he supposed that they knew that the few mounted men were of some sort of importance, and they may well have made a connection between the livery on his shield and the banners carried by his troops.
The door to the room opened, and two women and a man walked inside his room in rather unusual attire. The man wore a long, white robe under a black vest trimmed with gold, and his hair and neck were covered by a black kaffiyeh. His face was obscured by a thick, black mustache and beard; it was rather short, but it was clear that it had never been trimmed. He had an air of authority about him, but the young Oldenburgian heir was much more interested in the women behind him.
Contrary to what he had been told about the notoriously-modest Muslim women, these two were clad in a cyan top and skirt that left their abdomens uncovered, and there was a gap in the skirt gave Dietrich a glimpse of their legs. Transparent silk veils of the same color as their clothes obscured their faces, but even so, their beauty was evident. One carried a silver pitcher, the other a covered platter. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties, while the women, Dietrich guessed, were no older than twenty-five.
“You are awake,” the man observed in surprisingly fluent Low German, walking slowly across the room, the two girls trailing behind him. “Good. As-salamu, Crusader. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
Dietrich nodded uncertainly, eying the two women as they stepped forward; the one with the pitcher poured some water into a clay cup for him, while the other removed the cover from the silver platter and held it out before him. The plate bore a pile of small, brown fruits, half a loaf of bread, and what looked to be half of a roasted chicken. The crown prince guzzled the water immediately and reached for the chicken, but the girl moved it away at the last second.
“Uh-uh,” the man said wagging his finger and shaking his head. “Join me at the table, so that we may eat together as civilized men. Can you stand?”
“I think so,” Dietrich said, swinging his legs off of the bed and planting his feet on the floor. With a grunt, he heaved himself up and hobbled over to a small wooden table by the window on one side of the room; the bearded man took a seat across from him and nodded to the women, who placed the pitcher and the platter on the table before the prince. Dietrich tore off the leg of the chicken and sank his teeth into the hot meat. The man across from him popped a few of the fruits into his mouth as he watched the German quickly pick the leg clean. As he swallowed the last bite and his hunger was sated, the prince finally decided to indulge his curiosity. “So…where am I? Who are you?”
“You are in Granada, young prince,” the robed man replied. “The last stronghold of Islam in al-Andalus. And I am your host. Muhammad VII Nasrid, Emir of Granada.”
Dietrich almost groaned; he was in the belly of the beast, held captive by Muslims on a Crusade. He wondered if it was the norm for the Granadans to treat their prisoners well on the first day before condemning them to the dungeons…or death. “And I suppose you already know who I am?”
“To a certain extent,” Muhammad nodded. “I know you are the heir of a prince of the so-called ‘Holy Roman Empire,’ which is neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire. I do not know, however, your name, or even where you come from.”
His tone indicated that he wanted this information, and as his hostage, Dietrich had no way out of it. “Dietrich von Oldenburg, Crown Prince of the Duchy of Oldenburg-Saxe-Lauenburg-Lüneburg.”
The Emir snorted. “That’s a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it? Where exactly is that?”
Dietrich flushed angrily; he was going to inherit a country that no one outside of the Empire even knew existed. “The northern part of the Empire. Near Denmark.”
“So you’re a Viking?” Muhammad asked, raising an eyebrow.
“What? No. I’m just a German prince. And for the record, it’s more the Norwegians than the Danes that were Vikings.”
The Granadan waved his hand dismissively. “Details.” He picked up another of the fruits and popped it in his mouth. “Try one of the dates. They’re most excellent; you imperials are missing out.”
Tentatively, Dietrich took one of the fruits and took a small bite; it was crunchy, and sweet, too. He finished the first one and took a second from the plate, but before he ate it, he dared to ask a question. “So…why are you treating me so well? I’m not only an enemy, but a Crusader, fighting a holy war against your kin. Why not throw me into a dungeon to rot?”
Muhammad VII raised his eyebrow again. “Would you prefer I did so?”
“No,” Dietrich said hurriedly. “I’m just curious.”
The emir chuckled and stood up to walk over to the window. “You know the history of my people; while we once ruled over all of Iberia, we are now reduced to this last stronghold on the southern coast, isolated from our religious brethren by the superior Castilian armada. Just in the last few years, the Spaniards marched across our lands and stole Gibraltar and Almeria from us. And now, you and your so-called Crusaders come marching against us…and we are tired. We don’t want to fight a war to defend Morocco against a small collection of German cities.”
“And the fact that this is a holy war doesn’t anger your people?” Dietrich asked.
Muhammad barked with laughter. “Hah! The Crusades are dead, Dietrich. It has been over a century since Edward Longshanks embarked on the last true Crusade…that the late Boniface IX would even attempt to rekindle that spirit is foolhardy and transparent. This is no Holy War; your holy wars were fought to take control of Jerusalem. No, this war with Morocco is naught more than political maneuvering by Enrique III of Castille, an effort to mobilize his people for an unjust war by attaching a religious meaning to it.” He looked back at the Oldenburgian prince and smirked. “And unless I’m mistaken, you and your ilk aren’t here on solely pious purposes.”
Dietrich smiled weakly. “I can’t speak for my elder brother’s hidden intentions.”
“Of course not. Now, young prince, I know Granada is not your objective. I also know you have very limited resources available to continue this effort, so far from home. I dealt a rather decisive blow against your forces the other day, but I have no interest in continuing this war further, as an extended conflict would only make my emirate more vulnerable to Castille. As such, it is in my best interests to end this war expediently. Are you following me?”
“I think so.”
“Good.” Muhammad turned back away from the window to eye his German guest. “I would be well within my rights to demand reparations for this incursion, you know. But I saw the battlefield after your kin fled; I think you have paid more than enough tribute in blood. Plus…” He smirked again. “…judging from the way your men were equipped, you probably don’t have much money to spare.”
Dietrich bit his tongue, not wanting to test his host’s tolerance with a smartass response, and also not wanting to admit to the dire state of his brother’s economy. “So what do you propose?”
“Simple. Once you have recovered from that wound, you will go under escort to your duke, whom I believe fled toward Almeria. Tell him that the Emirate of Granada is willing to end the war with the Imperial states and restore the status quo ante bellum. If he accepts, then he may continue his foolish endeavors against the Moroccan regents, for all I care. And I…well, I just might forget to share the invasion plans I found in that martyred noble’s saddlebags with that puffed up Council of Regents.” Muhammad VII tapped the side of his nose and winked. “Understand me?”
“Before I agree,” Dietrich said, slowly, “can you tell me exactly how the battle ended?”
“You mean the casualties?” The prince nodded. “It took us a little over a day to count the bodies. My army suffered one hundred dead and wounded, give or take. Yours? Over a thousand.”
Dietrich held back a surprised choking noise; the number of dead from this one battle was equal to at least half of the civilian populace of Oldenburg. He could only hope that most of the casualties were the foreign conscripts snatched from Münster and Friesland.
“So do we have a deal?” the emir pressed.
“Yeah, of course,” the young prince nodded.
“Good. I’ll leave you be.” Muhammad Nasrid began to walk towards the door, and as he reached for the handle, he turned about and said, “Oh, and Daniyah and Arwa will remain here to provide you with some, ah, effective succor, should you need it. They don’t speak your language, so…take it easy.” With that, he gave the German prince a sly wink and exited the room.
Dietrich blinked, momentarily lost, until one of the two Andalusian women took him by the arm, smiling, helped him from his chair, and led him over to the bed. It became very clear in the next few minutes what the emir had meant. These Muslims aren’t quite so bad, after all, the teenage heir couldn’t help but think.
It had been something of a hassle for Yusuf, the Granadan heir, to actually rouse Dietrich from bed about two days later. No one besides Daniyah and Arwa had even seen him, and they only emerged to retrieve meals and water for the prince, under orders from Muhammad. The German was entirely unwilling to get up, forcing Yusuf to order the two girls out of the room, then have two of his guards drag Dietrich out of bed and throw breeches and a tunic at him.
Sierra Nevada Mountains
While he was a bit sullen at first, Dietrich’s mood improved after about a day of traveling. His escort, which included Yusuf and about a dozen Granadan noble sons, could, for the most part, speak some form of German, allowing them to converse about all manners of things, from religion and politics to recent events and rumors. The most difficult part of the journey was the two-day traversal of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, in which one of the Granadans came close to falling from a mountain pass. It took just under two weeks to reach Almeria, and as they crossed the Castillian-Granadan border, the Granadan rose was gingerly taken down, and a banner of truce was raised. Yusuf confirmed the location of the Oldenburgian army by questioning a number of Almerian peasants, most of whom still spoke Arabic, having had little time to be assimilated into the Castilian culture.
On May 16, mounted scouts were spotted on the horizon, though they could not determine if they were Oldenburgers or Castillians. That question was answered a few hours later, when a detachment was sent out from the city of Almeria, under the banners of both Oldenburg and a truce. The red-and-yellow stripes of the duchy were a welcome sight, but Dietrich was a little disappointed to know that his time as a guest of the emir would soon be at an end.
Near Almeria, Crown of Castille
May 16, 1405
“Dear God, you’re alive!” Duke Christian VI proclaimed in surprise as he neared. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, brother,” Dietrich said.
“What do they want?” Christian asked, bluntly, eying Yusuf and his cohort distastefully, not expecting these savage Muslims to speak a civilized tongue.
“We want an end to the bloodshed, Honorable Duke,” Prince Yusuf replied, calmly, in Low German. “This is not our war to fight.”
Christian jumped in surprise and eyed Yusuf warily. “At what cost?” He was doubtful that the situation at home had improved enough to allow him to buy his way out of a war.
“No cost, Christian,” Dietrich interjected. “I spoke with the Granadan Emir, Muhammad VII. He wishes to restore the status quo ante bellum. If you agree, he will release me back to your custody and do nothing to hinder our efforts in Morocco. I’d say take the deal, since they captured our plans for the attack on Morocco from Joachim’s body.”
Christian cursed under his breath; even in death, the baron who had lost the battle for him was causing him trouble. And he wasn’t too thrilled about getting his brother back, either; sure, it would improve morale knowing that the heir to the duchy wasn’t dead, but Dietrich was one of the least inspired individuals Christian had ever met, and he wasn’t exactly the most intelligent, either. The duke saw no other alternative, however, took a breath, and said, “That seems fair. You have a deal, Prince…?”
“Yusuf,” the Granadan prince provided.
“Yusuf. There shall be peace in our time.” He urged his destrier forward to sit alongside Yusuf and extended his right hand to shake the Granadan’s hand.
Yusuf grasped the German duke’s hand and smiled. “Peace in our time,” he echoed. Releasing Christian’s hand, he turned to Dietrich. “You’re free to go. Ma'a Salaama, Dietrich von Oldenburg.”
“Auf Wiedersehen, Yusuf Nasrid,“ the prince replied, smiling.
With that, Yusuf barked an order to his guards and turned his horse about, riding back west towards what remained of his inheritance. Dietrich and Christian watched them go for a moment before the latter turned to the former. “So, brother, now that you have experienced the cruelty of the Muslims firsthand, perhaps you can deliver a speech to our remaining troops? Tell them of what horrors await us if we do not give our all to stopping the Islamic threat?”
Dietrich frowned. “No. I don’t think I can.”
Christian lifted an eyebrow. “What?”
“The Muslims are not savages, Christian,” the prince said calmly. “At least, not the Granadans. They’re just like us; they seek eternal life in God’s kingdom, and they value charity, devotion, and community. They aren’t, as we’ve been led to believe, barbarians whose sole purpose in life is to destroy all of Christendom.”
The duke blinked. Surely he was mishearing? He looked over his shoulder to make sure his guards were out of earshot and said, “You’ve got to be joking. The hell did they do, brainwash you?”
“No,” Dietrich said defensively. “They treated me as one of their own, and I was willing to listen to what they said. Rest assured, I won’t be converting to Islam anytime soon, but I won’t be spreading lies about them, either.”
Christian groaned; his heir was politically hopeless. He’d hoped the Crusade would instill some piety and martial prowess in his brother, but instead, he was entertaining notions of heresy and having second thoughts about the war. That would be horrible for morale, if he were allowed to spread his experience amongst the camp. He would have to deal with this somehow.
Duke Christian VI ultimately decided to send Dietrich back to Oldenburg to begin taking on responsibilities as an administrator and diplomat. This involved an elaborate ceremony of introduction, for which the sovereign was generally supposed to be present, but given the abnormal circumstances of the time, Christian gave his own daughter, Anna, leave to take care of it. Although there was a bit of resentment at a woman performing the ceremony, it was muted by a general acknowledgement that it was only fitting that a von Oldenburg did the honors.
Up until this point, it had been Viceroy Friedrich August Engel who had been handling the day-to-day operations of the duchy, but the stress of dealing with the Oldenburgian, Saxe-Lauenburgian, and Lüneburgian Estates together was too much for him. As such, he welcomed the return and introduction of Prince Dietrich, if only because it was someone else to deal with certain minutia of administration. He’d hoped that Duchess Anna would provide some assistance, but after the duke had embarked on his Crusade, she had returned to Saxe-Lauenburg to continue to, hopefully, direct the Council. Viceroy Engel decided to leave the matters of the local Oldenburg administration to Dietrich the Lucky, while he and Anna dealt with the more sensitive issues of the liaison with Saxe-Lauenburg and Lüneburg.
Oldenburg’s two cogs began to make their way to Almeria from their home port, but were intercepted by Morocco’s surviving navy in Finistere Bay, off the coast of Galicia. Sheer luck saved them from the Arabs, and they were able to escape to port in Galicia until a Hanseatic fleet came by and destroyed the Muslim fleet. The first land and naval confrontations of the Oldenburgian ducal military were both defeats; Christian VI, therefore, decided to suppress news of the minor naval engagement, so as to prevent any treasonous thoughts from popping up in any of his territories.
Meanwhile, news arrived from the Hanseatic Republic that Statthalter Wilfried Gossler had lost his bid for reelection to a bureaucrat by the name of Siegfried Kindt. Although the new sovereign wasn’t a military mastermind, he, too, understood the political value of the Crusade, and informed Viceroy Engel that he had no intention of ending Hanseatic involvement in Morocco.
In order to assure the other states of the Empire that Oldenburg was still active in Imperial politics, Viceroy Engel and Prince Dietrich set up a series of unilateral agreements with Gelre, Utrecht, Mecklenburg, Magdeburg, and Köln, in which the Duchy of Oldenburg-Saxe-Lauenburg-Lüneburg agreed to defend each of these states from the aggression of intra- or extra-Imperial nations. Although they were well aware that the duchy, alone, couldn’t hold off any sizable coalition, the two were confident that they could count on the support of other Imperial princes.
The next January, the face of northern Imperial politics changed with the Burgundian annexation of Luxembourg. Duke Jobst I von Luxemburg had attempted to flee to the Electorate of Brandenburg, where he had nominally held sovereignty since his ascension to the throne, but when he attempted to assert his authority over Brandenburg on a more direct level, he was promptly imprisoned. The Brandenburgian nobles denounced the rule of the von Luxemburgs, and instead raised Karl von Hannover to the position of Elector and Margrave of Brandenburg. Viceroy Engel promptly arranged the marriage of one of Christian VI’s cousins to the new Elector, hoping to avert any potential Brandenburgian claims on Saxe-Lauenburg or Lüneburg through good relations.
Duke Christian VI had hoped to prevent any compromise of his war effort by returning Dietrich to Oldenburg, after extracting a promise not to mention his experience with the Granadans to anyone. Although Dietrich had made good on his promise for almost a year, it wasn’t to last, and he eventually began sharing his story with friends. Coupled with his sudden passion for Arabic culture, it soon became obvious to Oldenburg’s rivals that one could find out just about anything they needed from the young prince simply by sharing an interest in Arabian literature.
Fortunately, despite the loose lips of the duchy’s heir, there was no way it could affect the ongoing Crusade. On March 26, 1406, Christian VI’s now-predominately Spanish-speaking army landed on the coast of the Moroccan province of Ifni and laid siege to the local fortress.
Ifni, Sultanate of Morocco
March 26, 1405
The duke yanked his halfhelm from his head and threw it to the ground, swearing profusely as he wiped sweat from his hairline. “Dear God,” he groaned, pulling off his surcoat and dropping it in the sand inside his tent. “How can people even live here?”
“Who knows?” his senior guard, a middle-aged knight by the name of Wilhelm, said, head bowed in exhaustion. “You have to grant the Muslims some respect, though. Living all their lives in this hellhole.”
Christian laughed weakly. “There is, indeed, a hell, Wilhelm. We’re standing in it…and the Moroccans are the demons, thriving inexplicably in these horrid conditions.”
“We’re going to wind up roasting in our own armor, at this rate,” Wilhelm muttered.
The Crusaders set up their siege out of bowshot from the walls of Ifni, so that the soldiers could afford to remove their armor, while still preventing any relief from entering the fort. As the sun began to sink, the temperature dropped, briefly reaching a tolerable level, but as the night came, so did the freezing temperatures. The Spaniards were able to deal with the temperatures a bit easier, but the Germans were utterly miserable.
“The deserts of Africa,” Duke Christian VI wrote in his journal, “embody the Hell of the Bible as well as the Hel of the pagans. This is truly a godforsaken land.”
Even as winter neared, there was little relief from the ungodly climate, and the Crusaders began to seriously doubt their own ability to survive this war. It wasn’t the Moroccans they feared, but the Moroccan desert. The levies began to speculate that the town of Ifni would outlast them, that they would all either burn or freeze before the garrison capitulated. Fortunately, this was not to be.
Ifni threw its gates open to the Crusaders, having run desperately short of fresh water, and the Oldenburgian army flooded the town, relieved to finally have shelter besides that of the stuffy tents they had pitched outside. Some of the civilians had feared a repeat of the atrocities committed in previous crusades in the Levant, but these particular Crusaders were far too exhausted to commence with any pillaging or raping. All they sought was shelter, which they seized from the garrison.
A messenger pigeon had arrived from the north of Morocco, reporting that Hanseatic forces had taken Melilla and Fez. The Regency Council of Morocco had been forced to recognize the Imperial Crusaders as a threat equal to that of the Castillians, and was eager to find peace. Surprisingly, one of the residents of occupied Ifni was actually a member of the Regency, and he had fled to the small town with the firm belief that no Crusaders would march that far south through the desert. In exchange for his life and freedom, this regent agreed to a peace offer put forth by the Oldenburgian duke.
Thanks. I aim to please, obviously.You're doing very well for a first AAR!
I'll probably never wind out pumping out AARs at the same rate as people like PrawnStar, but that'll be more because I have more interest in narration than reporting gameplay.Glad you like it! Unfortunately, the capture of Dietrich was more for flavor than any foreshadowing. With his horrible stats (and later failures, which are yet to come), I'd have welcomed his death, but the Granadans were not that kind.
just been reading through to catch up. I really like both the quality of the writing and the basic game play approach you have adopted. Add to that some brilliant characters and you are on to a winner with this one (imho
Gameplay approach? You mean throwing together plans as situations present themselves? :laugh: Good to know I've got some fans, though. Keep reading and stay interested; it's much easier to get motivated to keep going when people are actively interested in the writing.
I've added the Table of Contents to the first post, so now y'all can find your favorite scenes without having to sift through several pages.
Oh man. Sneaky province gain! Excellent work, as always.
Hopefully, it won't hurt your tech too bad.
Hopefully, it won't hurt your tech too bad.
...and that gold would cover the expenses of building a carrack I guess? - though I forgot what is actually produced in Ifni so probably doesn't worth it at all.
Fantastic update. I loved the interaction between the naive prince and the Sultan. Very nicely written.
Indeed, I agree with Ashantai, excellent dialogue. Too bad about Dietrich's naive nature (and later failures) but you got a province...far far from home with an insecure line of communication and troubled estates at home. This should be interesting...much like Tangier was for the English. But, hopefully not as bad for the poor Oldenburger's sake.
Congrats on winning the weekly AAR showcase!
I would leave this to the guy that chose you, but nothing was posted here.
Congrats again!
I would leave this to the guy that chose you, but nothing was posted here.
Congrats again!
Great AAR so far. I'm loving your style of writing. It's not as boring too read as so storybook AAR. I almost died laughing at the end of the Emir and Dietrech's conversation. Hopefully Dietrech won't start having harums of Andalusian women.
The tech is negligible, thanks to the results it achieved back home.
Danke.
Yeah, I enjoyed writing it. I considered making it longer, but sometimes you gotta know when to move onward.
It could, but that's not a priority right now. Ifni produces fish, so it isn't worth jack.
Thanks. Also, emir*.Fantastic update. I loved the interaction between the naive prince and the Sultan. Very nicely written.
I'm being quasi-historically-accurate, especially with the titles.Shall we say that the failures are probably not as you would expect? Ifni has been relatively well-behaved, though. In that heat, they're probably too tired to revolt. :closedeyes:
He let me know by PM, but I saw this first. Thanks!
Great AAR so far. I'm loving your style of writing. It's not as boring too read as so storybook AAR. I almost died laughing at the end of the Emir and Dietrech's conversation. Hopefully Dietrech won't start having harums of Andalusian women.
Heh, thanks. Let me know if you have any publisher friends?
And you'll find that Dietrich doesn't really get that opportunity.
Thanks.
Chapter 7:The Fruits of Victory
The results of the First Oldenburgian Crusade went a long way towards improving Oldenburg’s situation. News reached all of Duke Christian VI’s claims, as well as all of the Holy Roman Empire, of the unexpected success of his crusade; he’d seized an entire province from the great Moroccan Sultanate, and forced them to relinquish a huge portion of their treasury. The Pope sent a letter to Christian, praising him for his efforts in Morocco. Kaiser Vaclav IV had congratulated the duke, praising him for “showing the world the resolve of even the lesser constituents of the Empire.”
Christian wasn’t sure how to take the emperor’s message; he wasn’t too appreciative of being referred to as one of the “lesser constituents.” He was the duke of three different Imperial states and an African colony…who did Vaclav think he was, the Archbishop of Magdeburg or some other princeling? Hmph. It didn’t truly matter, though; he had brought great prestige to Oldenburg, once viewed as one of the backwoods fringe provinces of the Empire. The name of Christian VI, Duke of Oldenburg-Saxe-Lauenburg-Lüneburg was spoken often at the courts of the Holy Roman Empire, assisted somewhat by exaggerated details of Christian’s victory by supposedly-independent sources.
More satisfying still were the reactions of Saxe-Lauenburg and Lüneburg; many of the Lauenburg separatist nobles came forth to recant their previous statements and apologize to the duke for their conduct. The leading nobility of Lüneburg, which had not acted hostilely toward Christian, outright praised him, and they gladly accepted him as the rightful Duke of Lüneburg.
But there was a problem; although the large chunk of land in Africa looked impressive on a map, it was little more than a vast expanse of desert. The populace consisted of 1,500 resentful Muslim Berbers, and the only thing of note was a coastal fishing village and fortress. While the fish caught by the Arabs were enough to sustain the villagers and the garrison, there was little incentive to produce enough to trade with the Oldenburgers. Since the small Imperial duchy had no true navy beyond the two cogs that transported their forces, no Oldenburgers were inclined to set up trade in Ifni, either. They weren’t going to take the risks of such a long journey without a proper escort in the form of a warship.
The gold won from Morocco would’ve easily paid for a carrack, but Christian was unsure that the trade from Ifni would even be worthwhile. Instead, he resolved to attempt to even out the Oldenburgian budget by funding renewed trade efforts wherever possible. He was also careful to take advantage of the opportunities the Crusade had given him in the Holy Roman Empire, arranging marriages with several of the more important families of the Empire.
Oldenburg Citadel, Duchy of Oldenburg-Saxe-Lauenburg-Lüneburg
April 21, 1407
“The boy is useless!” Friedrich Engel proclaimed, throwing his hands in the air as he paced the room. “He’s lazy, uninspired, and dimmer than a backstreet brothel!”
“Yes, I took him out to do maneuvers with me yesterday,” Duke Christian VI said. He was sitting on his throne once more, tapping the iron scepter lightly against the inside of his boot. “He barely understands the basics of handling an army, and has absolutely no inclination to further his knowledge of the subject.” The duke himself wasn’t exactly an innovator, but he knew how to command his troops, at least.
“He has no patience to deal with administrative matters, either,” Engel continued. “He can’t negotiate production agreements with the guilds or merchants, and he possesses no innovation. When I ask him to propose any idea to better the administration of our duchy, he just shrugs and asks why we have to change tried and true methods.”
“To be fair, he’s not a terrible diplomat,” Christian offered. “His fascination with Arabic culture just rubs most nobles wrong.” Recently, Dietrich had acquired the complete works of the Kitab al-Aghani, the Book of Songs, and was in the process of learning Arabic. At a social gathering with some of the nobles from Lüneburg, he had attempted to demonstrate the writer’s eloquence by singing and reciting some of his favorites in original Arabic, leading several of the nobles to become concerned that the Prince was speaking tongues. No matter how well he got along with his peers, that fascination with the Arabs was going to hurt his reputation.
“Still…he’s going to run this country into the ground,” Engel groaned. “After all this effort we’ve put into laying a solid foundation for his generation.” He stopped pacing and looked up at the duke. “We have to do something, Your Grace.”
“Yes, I have a few ideas,” Christian said, nodding. “Thanks to our accomplishments in the Crusade, I’ve gotten the attention of the Kaiser, and, as you know, I’ve spent some time at the Imperial Court in Prague. Vaclav’s second wife, Sophie, has borne him four daughters and a son, and three of his daughters are yet unmarried.”
“How does this affect us, Your Grace?” the sometime-Viceroy asked impatiently.
“The Kaiser’s second daughter, Elisabeth, is a remarkable girl around Dietrich’s age,” Christian replied, equally impatiently. “Rather plain-looking, in truth, but very intelligent.”
“Ahhh,” Engel said, tapping the side of his nose knowingly. “I understand now. We get both a tie into the Imperial family and a smart duchess consort to keep Dietrich in check.”
“If you have to spell it out, yes,” Duke Christian said, smirking. “Kaiser Vaclav has agreed to the marriage of Dietrich and Elisabeth, and she should be arriving here within a few days.”
“Ah, very good, Your Grace,” Engel said, breaking into a grin. “Does the lucky Prince know yet?”
“Not yet, but I’d intended to tell him later today.”
“Ah. I suppose you’ll be wanting privacy for that, then?”
“Indeed.”
“You’re joking,” Prince Dietrich said, gaping at his elder brother. “I’m going to marry some Bohemian girl I’ve never even met before?”
“Of course,” Duke Christian VI replied, raising an eyebrow. “That’s how it’s generally done. I never met Petra before we were married.”
“That explains a lot,” Dietrich muttered. Petra von Holstein had been…ill-proportioned. Between looking lumpier than a sack of hams and her slight underbite…there was no surprise why Christian VI von Oldenburg had never had his own son. Her death at sea in 1397 would normally have aroused suspicion, but she’d also developed a reputation for her slow wits.
“What?” Christian asked suspiciously.
“Well, you’re obviously a man of refinement, brother,” Dietrich said slyly. “Petra never seemed to quite match your standards of etiquette, you know?”
“More than just etiquette,” the duke muttered, scowling. “But while our father agreed to marry me to a Holsteiner before even laying eyes on the girl, I have met her on several occasions in Prague. She’s smart, lively, funny, and not displeasing to the eyes…”
“’Not displeasing?’ That means she’s a toad, doesn’t it?”
“What? No.” Christian shook his head emphatically. “Olga looks like a frog, yes, but Elisabeth is a beautiful noblewoman.”
“Oh, now she’s beautiful?” Dietrich asked, eying his brother suspiciously.
“Ugh...” Christian rubbed his temples with his index fingers. “The point is, you’re going to be marrying Elisabeth von Luxemburg and you’re going to be happy about it. If I hear another complaint, I’m changing the arrangements and wedding you to Olga. You’ll still have an intelligent spouse, but you’ll suddenly find my marriage to Petra much less amusing.” With that, he turned to the doorway of his heir’s bedchambers to leave, but paused to add, “They left Prague about a week ago under an Imperial guard. Your wife-to-be should arrive within a couple of weeks.”
As the door closed behind Christian, Dietrich fell onto his back on his bed and rubbed his face with his hands. “Shit.”
“Friedrich, come here,” Christian ordered as he strode leisurely down the hall. The statesman, who had been speaking animatedly with Lord Treasurer Hinrichs (who himself looked a bit worse for wear), broke off what he’d been saying and excused himself to follow after the duke.
“What is your command, Your Grace?” he asked, matching his lord’s pace.
“I’ve received word that my younger sister, Agnes, has passed away,” the duke said.
“My condolences, Your Grace,” Friedrich said, bowing his head respectively. “I didn’t know you had two sisters?”
“Agnes spent most of her time away from Oldenburg,” Christian replied, turning a corner. “She married a man, Ludwig Graf von Winstorf, who, despite being of equal title with my father, was utterly insignificant. He, himself, died serving in the Imperial armies, though I can’t recall when or where.”
“With all due respect, Your Grace, why are you telling me this?” Friedrich asked, frowning.
“Agnes and Ludwig had a son, Christoph,” Christian continued. “He is half von Oldenburg, fourteen years of age, an orphan, and in dire straits. After Ludwig’s death, Agnes hit some hard times and was forced to sell off most of her noble lands, meaning that Christoph is set to inherit little more than a manse in Mecklenburg and a small yard.”
Christoph Graf von Winstorf
“So you wish to bring him here?” the statesman asked, nodding thoughtfully. “But what use could he be to us?”
“Christoph is a remarkable boy, Friedrich,” Christian said, turning to face the statesman. “I remember visiting Agnes and Ludwig a few months after he was born…the boy was 7 months old and already speaking, Friedrich. By the time he was 4, he spoke German, Dutch, and French, and when he was 9, he was writing essays on the benefits and flaws of the present system of Imperial administration. From what I understand, he’s now fluent in no less than six languages, he takes delight in organizing administrative functions, and has submitted several proposals to the Duke of Mecklenburg arguing against the present system of feudal levies- all of which have been ignored.”
“That’s incredible!” the statesman remarked, eyes wide.
“Indeed. Christoph is only three years younger than Dietrich, and should serve as an adequate companion for my little brother in future years. I intend to bring him to Oldenburg and adopt him fully into the family; he will give up the dead line of von Winstorfs and embrace his lineage with the prestigious von Oldenburgs. Between him and Elisabeth, there will be no shortage of intellectuals to guide my brother in the future.”
“Na gut, meinen Herzog!” Friedrich proclaimed, clapping his hands together once. “Your foresight is truly astounding! Perhaps Oldenburg will survive the tests of time, after all.”
“One can hope,” the duke remarked. “One can only hope.”
Christoph Graf von Winstorf was unable to reach Oldenburg before Princess Elisabeth, so he would not be present at the wedding, which promised to be a spectacular event. Paid for by the Emperor’s personal treasury, it briefly turned Oldenburg into a bustling social center; the entire Administrative Councils of Saxe-Lauenburg and Lüneburg were there, including, of course, Duchesses Anna and Wilhelmina, as well as a few dozen representatives from leading families in the Empire. Several of Elisabeth von Luxemburg’s relatives were there, including Jobst I, Duke of Luxemburg and Elector of Brandenburg. A pair of von Wittelsbachs from the Palatinate and Bavaria was also present, and, of course, the lord of each of Oldenburg’s allied states: Statthalter Siegfried Kindt of the Hansa, Duke Adolf II von der Mark of Kleve, and Landgrave Hermann II von Hessen of Hesse all arrived personally in the days before the wedding.
Little was seen of Dietrich von Oldenburg in the days leading up to the wedding; the guards assigned to him by the duke reported that he had been spending his last days of ‘freedom’ in brothels, bars, and, for whatever reason, shops. At one point, he’d actually gone on an unannounced trip to the Hanseatic city of Bremen, and when he returned, his saddlebags had the smell of a weak skunk and his eyes were red and tired, but he seemed all around happier about his lot in life. Interrogations of his guards resulted only in shrugs and murmurs about some Arabic merchant and trade with something called a Ming. Christian didn’t know what the hell a Ming was, but he wasn’t going to aggravate his heir so soon before the wedding by laying into him about his trip.
It was on May 10 that the ceremony was finally held; Elisabeth had arrived almost a week before, but preparations had not yet been completed, lacking the approval of the bride-to-be’s consort, since the von Luxemburgs had graciously offered to pay for the whole event. Christian had begun to grow concerned about Dietrich; the impending marriage would often have him sullen, but when next he saw him, usually just an hour or so later, the prince would be laughing and joking with the guests. Christian put it down to wedding-related stress, but it still made him nervous. It was, therefore, a relief when the date finally arrived.
The ceremony was held in the Oldenburg Citadel’s (admittedly cramped) courtyard. Although not required, a priest was present to conduct the ceremony, mostly because of the bride’s status as a member of the ruling family of the “Holy” Roman Empire. The Citadel’s exterior had been elaborately redecorated in honor of the event; on the eastern side were red and white tapestries of Bohemia, centered around the rampant white Bohemian lion; on the north and south, the black and gold of the Reich centered around the Imperial Eagle; on the west, the busiest side, there were representations for each of Christian VI’s territories: the centerpiece was a large, quartered shield, featuring in the top left and bottom right the simple red-and-yellow Oldenburg horizontal stripes, in the top right, the lion-and-hearts of Lüneburg, and the yellow Saxe-Lauenburg eagle. (For the sake of simplicity, the rest of the Lauenburg coat of arms, including the Askanier common rue, was removed.) The tapestries on this side were all red and yellow, since trying to incorporate the colors of all three states resulted in a complete eyesore.
Dietrich was garbed in his finest court attire, a red-and-yellow velvet surcoat, studded with amethysts and garnets and embroidered with intricate black designs, and a fine black-and-gold cape covered his shoulders. He wore loose, black velvet breeches, having rejected the increasingly-common tight pants of his time, for a variety reasons, most of them practical. He wore polished, leather boots, and his head was capped with a relatively humble coronet, a golden ring with three deep blue sapphires and four tines.
When he first caught sight of Elisabeth von Luxemburg, he was enormously relieved; while she lacked the exotic look of the Granadan women, she was anything but unsightly. She had mousy brown hair that had been let down, falling as low as her shoulders, and high cheekbones, though her cheeks were somewhat hollow. Her nose was a bit pointy, and her lips just shy of being described as thin, but her dark brown eyes and how she carried herself relayed a sense of confidence. She wore a dark blue dress, a gold necklace inlaid with a ruby, and a golden circlet inlaid with another one. Her arm was laced around that of her brother, Ferdinand von Luxemburg, who had come to walk her down the aisle in the place of their father.
Duke Christian VI sat in the front row, along with the guests of honor, Landgrave Hermann II, Duke Adolf II, Elector Jobst I, Statthalter Siegfried, and, once his sister was at the altar, Prince Ferdinand. The duke was giving his brother a smug smirk that said, quite obviously, ‘told you.’
Prince Dietrich remembered relatively little of the actual ceremony; he could recall taking her hands in his, looking deep into her eyes as they recited the traditional wedding vows, all done in Low German rather than Czech, on account of the predominately-German nature of the Empire. He remembered the following banquet, mutely sitting side-by-side with his new wife, exchanging shy smiles once in a while as the wedding guests grew steadily more raucous. After a long, seven-course meal, several of the less distinguished guests had drank themselves into a stupor, and Duke Adolf II had actually performed a stunning recitation of one of Geoffrey Chaucer’s poems in the original English, though only a handful of those present actually understood what he was saying.
With the guests becoming increasingly impaired, Duke Christian VI had stood and announced that it was time for the ceremony to end, and for the new couple to become better acquainted. At this, Ferdinand had scowled and ordered one of the waiters to bring him another tankard of ale, though he said nothing. As the guests began to filter out of the courtyard to their accommodations, Dietrich nervously took Elisabeth by the hand and led her towards the citadel, noting with irritation that two Oldenburg palace guards and two Imperial guards were trailing them.
When they arrived at his quarters in the southeastern tower of the citadel, Dietrich held the door open for Elisabeth, casting an annoyed glare at the guards as they took up positions on either side of the portal. He closed the door behind him and bolted it shut before turning around. “Well…here we are,” he said lamely.
“Mhm,” Elisabeth murmured, fixing her eyes on him.
“Listen…I’m sorry if I seemed distant at the ceremony,” Dietrich said, taking a seat on the bed. “This is all just so sudden…it seems like just yesterday I was dodging curfew while my father was the count, and now I’m getting married…to the daughter of the Kaiser, no less.”
Elisabeth sat down beside him and took his hand in both of her own. “It’s fine, Dietrich,” she whispered, in slightly-accented German. “This is just as unsettling for me. I’ve never even been further west or north than Frankfurt before this week. You weren’t really distant, just shy.” She smiled, revealing remarkably white and straight teeth. “It was kind of cute.”
Dietrich wilted a little; ‘cute’ wasn’t the adjective he would’ve hoped for. “Elisabeth…”
“Call me Ilse,” the princess interjected.
“Ilse, I won’t lie to you. I’m not exactly the idyllic husband,” he continued. “I drink, I smoke, I read enough Arabic literature to be considered a potential heretic, and I prefer reading to socialization. If you ask my brother, or just about anyone at court, I’m lazy, uninspired, and stupid.”
Ilse von Oldenburg looked at the prince patiently. “Is that all?”
“Well…yes.”
“Dietrich, I really don’t care about your vices, reading, or reputation in the eyes of your brother,” she said firmly. “To be honest, he strikes me as a bit of an ass. What matters is that you’re honest and, I should hope, faithful. Despite the constant talks of chivalry, I’ve ceased to expect a perfect husband. We all have our flaws, and, in a sense, we are the better for them.”
Dietrich raised an eyebrow; that was the last thing he’d expected to hear. He didn’t really know how to react to it, either. So, Ilse continued. “Besides, this is only our first night together. Before you start calling yourself a poor husband, let’s give it a shot, hm?” She met his eyes again and leaned closer to him; Dietrich met her halfway, and they kissed, tentatively at first, then with increased passion. Faster than he would’ve thought possible, Ilse was free of the cumbersome wedding gown and on top of him, first just kissing, then making her way down…
As the night went on, quiet moans gave way to cries of passion, and outside the door, the Bohemians and Oldenburgers exchanged looks. “I fucking hate my job,” one of the Imperials muttered resentfully.
Over the course of that year, Christian VI also arranged marriages of some lesser members of the von Oldenburg dynasties to other states of varying power: the Duchy of Bavaria, the Palatinate of the Rhine, the Principality of Ansbach, the Margraviate of Meissen, the County of Gelre, and the Margraviate of Baden. His nephew, Christoph, was unable to come to Oldenburg at first, having decided to make some last-ditch efforts to recover his family’s standing in Mecklenburg. With the assistance of Treasurer Hinrichs, he also made an effort to reestablish Oldenburgian trade, though he opted to take advantage of openings in the Castillian trade center of Andalusia, hard-hit by a long Castillian crusade, rather than attempting to push out well-funded Imperial merchants in Lübeck and Antwerpwen. Late 1407 saw a series of success as three Oldenburgian merchants were able to set up shop, but an attempt to further that success the following February ended in complete failure. Unable to punch in complete success, even in a smaller center of trade, the Oldenburgian crown was completely open to critical attacks by its own merchant class.
Ducal Citadel, Oldenburg, Duchy of Oldenburg-Saxe-Lauenburg-Lüneburg
March 13, 1408
“You’re a bold lot, I’ll grant you that,” Duke Christian VI mused, tapping his now-famous scepter against the floor as he looked down upon the three traders who had returned from Andalusia empty-handed. “You take ducal funds, fail to capitalize on them, and then have the audacity to come and demand concessions from me?”
“I wouldn’t call them concessions, Your Grace,” one of them, Wilhelm Altschuler, reasoned in his oily voice. “My colleagues and I would prefer to think of them as recommendations for the overall betterment of the economic situation of your great duchy.”
“Make your case, then,” the duke growled. “Or begone.”
“Well, like most states operating under a feudal system, we have a tendency to favor the aristocrat over the merchant,” Wilhelm said. “While this was all well and good in the days where each state kept to its own designs, it is, in my professional opinion, an old policy that is keeping us tied down, with great wealth beyond our reach. It is no coincidence that the Hansa, a state dominated by merchants, in turn dominates European trade. I wouldn’t go so far as to abolish the aristocracy and revoke their titles and privileges, but His Grace should consider some minor reforms if he wishes to set us on the road to economic dominance.”
Christian weighed his options; if he accepted and allowed a small amount of trade to fall more securely in the hands of the merchant class, it couldn’t hurt his economy too badly. If he refused, though, it would likely infuriate the guilds and the traders, and that would stall Oldenburgian advancement for months. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll grant the merchant class priority access to the port at Wilhelmshaven, and deal with any complaints from the local lord.” He fixed Wilhelm with a withering glare and pointed the scepter ominously in his direction. “Do not disappoint me.”
Unfortunately, this didn’t exactly translate into an immediate change, for there was little of note that happened the rest of the year. At first, Christian was unwilling to continue to fund potentially-failed enterprises in Andalusia and Lübeck, as Treasurer Hinrichs had analyzed the markets as ‘unfriendly to newcomers.’ As 1408 came to an end, though, the duke’s health began to deteriorate. It began in October with a minor cough, but he didn’t allow that to bother him, and he continued his work, mostly with Dietrich and Ilse, trying to inspire his brother to take on more interest in governance while showing Ilse the inner workings of his monarchy, hoping she would rule in Dietrich’s place.
Christoph Graf von Winstorf arrived, at long last, in Oldenburg, on October 29, 1408. Every possible aspect of the arrival was underwhelming; compared to Mecklenburg, Oldenburg was a slum, and disappointing to the already-disappointed Christoph; the young count’s own entourage was also small and relatively ragtag, consisting of just twenty-five people, a dozen of whom were guards, eight of whom were servants, and five of whom were just tagalong merchants and writers. He had no other family remaining, and so he alone rode at the head of their column. He’d made a point of visiting both Saxe-Lauenburg and Lüneburg, and wasn’t too let-down; having visited two fairly wealthy von Oldenburg holdings, he had, naturally, expected Oldenburg itself to be the grandest of them all.
It wasn’t, but Christoph had few other options available to him. His last efforts to get the ear of Duke Ulrich of Mecklenburg had met a brick wall; the duke had been utterly disinterested in the proposals of a fifteen-year-old, lowly noble. With that, Count Christoph had sold off his meager Estate and moved to Oldenburg. He was greeted in the citadel by Duke Christian VI, Prince Dietrich, Princess Elisabeth, and a handful of other men that he assumed were the ducal court. The duke was friendly enough, if a bit unrefined and obviously ill, though Dietrich and Elisabeth made up for that. After a brief meet-and-greet, he was taken into the citadel, where there was an even briefer ceremony in which Christian adopted him, and the von Winstorf family name forever lost as the young, former count took on the name Christoph von Oldenburg.
His guards were drafted into the city’s garrison, and his entourage given modest quarters within the city, while he took up residence within the citadel. He spent the first few days by himself, reading in his quarters or walking the city, reflecting on his newfound situation. While the small town had seemed rundown at first, he found that it grew on him, and all-in-all, he could be part of a worse dynasty. The von Oldenburgs had received a great reputation since their successful Crusade, and he could now claim a small part of that prestige, though he’d had naught to do with it.
About a week after he arrived, Christoph found himself in the southeast corner of the citadel, near the tower that housed Prince Dietrich. The latest addition to the von Oldenburg family realized that he hadn’t spoken with the heir apparent to the duchy since his first day there, and walked down towards the prince’s quarters. There were no guards by the door, which struck him as odd, but he knocked on the door anyway.
“Enter,” a dull voice called; Christoph did so. He found Prince Dietrich von Oldenburg sitting at his desk, alone, poring over a thick tome.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Christoph said, stiffly and formally.
Dietrich looked up. “Christoph? Dear God, man, you’re family, you don’t have to call me ‘Your Grace.’”
“Sorry, Uncle,” Christoph muttered, looking down.
The prince shook his head, laughing. “No, no, no. I’m, what, three years older than you? Don’t call me Uncle, either.”
“What do I call you, then?” Christoph asked.
“Well, my name is Dietrich, so you should call me Basileus Andronikos Trastamere von Rurikovich.”
Christoph blinked and then frowned at the odd assortment of cultural references. “What?”
“Jesus, Christian told me you were intelligent,” Dietrich snickered. “Call me Dietrich. What did you need?”
“I don’t really need anything,” Christoph admitted, looking at Dietrich’s book. “I just thought I’d stop by and check in on you…I can leave, if you’re busy.”
“Oh, not at all,” Dietrich said. “Take a seat.” He gestured toward a spare wooden chair by the wall near his desk, which Christoph took.
“What’re you reading?”
“Oh, uh,” Dietrich looked with a bit of embarrassment at the thick book. “It’s called The Treatise of Kamil on the Prophet's Biography by Ibn al-Nafis.”
“Isn’t that some sort of fantastical book about the end of days, the Muslim heaven, and resurrection?” Christoph asked, raising an eyebrow. “And isn’t it in Arabic?”
“Well…yeah,” Dietrich said sheepishly. “I think it’s interesting,” he added, defensively.
Christoph shrugged. “It was decent. I think he was trying to do too much with it, really.”
The prince looked surprised. “You’ve read it?”
“Yeah, things like that started popping up a few years ago, after the Hanseatic Crusaders returned to Lübeck,” Christoph replied. “I’ve always preferred treatises and philosophies, though. I take it you’re a fan of Arab culture?”
“You could say that,” Dietrich said, cautiously. “Why?”
“Oh, I just happened to save most of my library from Mecklenburg,” Christoph said. “I have a few books you may be interested in. Al-Ghazali’s The Incoherence of Philosophers, Ibn Tufail’s Philosophus Autodidactus, and the vast majority of One Thousand and One Nights.
“Do you speak Arabic?” Dietrich asked.
“Oh, I like to think I’m a cut above your average scholar in terms of my linguistic abilities,” his nephew replied in perfect Arabic. “Though I tend to prefer to keep my studies of Arabic and Islam to myself, for obvious reasons.”
Dietrich laughed. “I really hadn’t expected that. You’re a unique individual, Christoph,” he said, also in Arabic.
“Uniqueness is a dangerous thing in these times, my friend,” Christoph warned. “For that reason, I ask that you not tell anyone of any of my own studies. I like my privacy, na?”
“Fair enough,” Dietrich acknowledged. “You said you had some Arabian texts?”
“I do. Would you like to peruse them?”
“If you don’t mind,” Dietrich said, an eager gleam in his eyes. “If you’re concerned about anyone finding them, I can keep them here, in my quarters. I’m already known for my love for Arab literature.”
“That might work,” Christoph nodded, standing up. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get them for you.”
Dietrich and Christoph von Oldenburg became fast friends, thanks to their similar age and interests. Within just a few months, they almost forgot that they were uncle and nephew; as far as they were concerned, they were long-lost brothers. The prince spent most of his time with his wife, Ilse, or training under Christian, but he and Christoph would meet and share their opinions on different pieces of literature whenever they could. They were so preoccupied that they paid no mind to Duke Christian VI’s worsening condition; by April of 1409, he was barely well enough to sign the order to repay the tiny 5-ducat loan to the Derfflinger family. It only truly struck Dietrich how old and sick his brother was in July, when he became utterly bedridden.
Ducal Citadel, Oldenburg, Duchy of Oldenburg-Saxe-Lauenburg-Lüneburg
July 23, 1409
His breathing had become hard and ragged, his chest rattling with every breath. His skin was gray, almost as much so as his hair, and his eyes were closed, though his eyeballs moved frantically beneath the lids. He lay on his bed, hands clasped on his chest, surrounded by servants, family, and a priest. There was a cold, dreadful realization in the air: Duke Christian VI “the Crusader” von Oldenburg was dying.
Ilse von Oldenburg kneeled by his side, head bowed in prayer as the aging, ailing duke fought for each breath. Dietrich and Christoph were not yet present, having gone out to the town to visit the townsfolk as an act of benevolence, but a messenger had been dispatched to find them, for the priest knew that he would not last much longer. Nobody spoke, and the only movement came from the duke’s chest and the candlelight.
Just moments later, the door to the ducal quarters was swung open as Dietrich rushed into the room, closely followed by Christoph and the messenger. The heir to the throne promptly kneeled beside his wife and took his brother’s hand in his. “Christian?” he whispered.
The duke opened his eyes and turned his head to his heir, a weak smile on his face. “Dietrich…you’re here. Good. I had thought you had forgotten about your old brother.” He paused to cough, a short, racking series of explosions that left everyone on edge; the priest offered the duke some water, and he took a small sip. “I had hoped to leave you more than this,” he said faintly. “A small series of disparate Imperial states and a chunk of African desert and a struggling economy…it is no empire, but it is all I have to offer you. That…and our legacy.” He reached up and touched his heir’s cheek gingerly. “Tis from these humble beginnings that great things come. I only hope that you can handle it.”
Dietrich couldn’t shake off the nagging suspicion that his brother suspected, on his deathbed, that he couldn’t handle it. “Don’t worry, Christian,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from the duke’s face. “Oldenburg shall prosper under my guidance.”
“Dietrich…” Christian took a deep breath and looked him square in the eye. “Regardless of the fate of our nation…I have just one thing that I want you to do.”
“What is it?” the prince asked urgently.
“Do not…allow the von Oldenburg dynasty to perish,” he whispered, his voice growing fainter. “I hope you have many children to your name, so that the von Oldenburgs might last throughout the ages. Promise me you will do this.”
That’s a weird last wish, Dietrich thought, but aloud, he said, “I swear, Christian. By my honor.”
The duke turned his gaze to Ilse, and Christoph, standing behind her. “Guide him…” he whispered, before returning his gaze to the ceiling. Without warning, the labored breathing stopped and the duke’s blue eyes closed for the last time.
And Duke Dietrich I von Oldenburg wept.
It's time for the first 10-Year Report of Oldenburg! Yaaay! We survived ten years!
Nothing super-weird going on around Europe, except Neapolitan Turkey, but I've seen that before. Wales and Cornwall have been released and both Scotland and Eire are intact. Savoy got Sardinia, which marks one of the few times I've seen anyone besides Aragon grab them.
We're the 2nd-most prestigious country in the world. That's pretty cool. Spy defense is still compromised, but that's no big deal at this point in the game.
The economy could be a lot better. Still taking +.21 inflation just to stay afloat, and it's already at 5% even.
Nothing new here. Still stuck with Latin Medieval Infantry and Latin Knights, neither of which are really worth a damn.
Castille is Defender of the Faith, and I have no ability or desire to enact any religious decisions right now.
Same-old same-old, it seems. The next slider move is within a couple of months, and we should have a new NI before long.
Historically, Dietrich von Oldenburg was known as Dietrich Fortunatus, or Dietrich the Lucky...more like Dietrich the Lazy. :| Still, 1 shock is better than 0.
Cultural tradition isn't doing too bad. That'll actually be a lifesaver later.
Nothing new. Bremen still has 2,000 soldiers, I still have 2,000.
Ain't this encouraging?
Nothing super-weird going on around Europe, except Neapolitan Turkey, but I've seen that before. Wales and Cornwall have been released and both Scotland and Eire are intact. Savoy got Sardinia, which marks one of the few times I've seen anyone besides Aragon grab them.
We're the 2nd-most prestigious country in the world. That's pretty cool. Spy defense is still compromised, but that's no big deal at this point in the game.
The economy could be a lot better. Still taking +.21 inflation just to stay afloat, and it's already at 5% even.
Nothing new here. Still stuck with Latin Medieval Infantry and Latin Knights, neither of which are really worth a damn.
Castille is Defender of the Faith, and I have no ability or desire to enact any religious decisions right now.
Same-old same-old, it seems. The next slider move is within a couple of months, and we should have a new NI before long.
Historically, Dietrich von Oldenburg was known as Dietrich Fortunatus, or Dietrich the Lucky...more like Dietrich the Lazy. :| Still, 1 shock is better than 0.
Cultural tradition isn't doing too bad. That'll actually be a lifesaver later.
Nothing new. Bremen still has 2,000 soldiers, I still have 2,000.
Ain't this encouraging?
your pie charts are soo ... neat?
good update, esp all the politiking and developments within the Empire as Christian made the most of his reputational gains from the war
good update, esp all the politiking and developments within the Empire as Christian made the most of his reputational gains from the war