Chapitre 5: The Great Ducal Pissing Contest of 1451
“You told him he could build this.”
“I didn’t think he would actually go through with it!”
Grand Captain Benoit de Semur and Head-Diplomat-in-Charge Phillippe le Corgne are standing in front of the brand-new Ducal Treehouse, an elaborate two-story affair sprawling across the branches of three centuries-old oaks. A sign reading “No Kings or French People allowed!” is nailed to the front door.
“You’re a terrible babysitter.”
“That wasn’t in the job description when I applied here.”
“Whatever. You’re the diplomat. Negotiate his ass out of that tree and back into the cabinet room, we have a Grand Duchy to run.”
de Semur stalks back off to the manor, leaving le Corgne to walk around the base of the treehouse, trying to figure out which window Duke Louis is sitting by. After a few moments of walking and listening, he hears the sound of snoring coming from a window on the western side of the house/
“Mon Duc! Mon Duc, please wake up, it’s time for a cabinet meeting.”
“…*shnxx* Wha- Go away! DON’T MAKE ME THROW THESE ACORNS AT YOU!”
“Mon Duc, you’ve been in that treehouse for two weeks straight now. It’s time to come down and go back to work.”
“We beat France! What else is there to do?”
“There’s still a lot of France left, mon Duc. We need to figure out what part we’re going to liberate next.”
“Fine. Bring me a map, I’ll pick out the next part of France we’re conquering and then you and Benoit can take care of it.”
“Mon Duc…”
A bucket tied to a rope is lowered from the treehouse until it’s dangling right in front of Phillippe le Corgne’s face.
“Put the map in the bucket, Phillippe.”
*deep sigh*
“Oui, mon Duc.”
“It’s no use, Benoit. He IS Duke, he has several armed men up there, and a limitless supply of acorns.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, I just got some news that ought to shift that
christi connard out of his tree, see if it doesn’t.” Benoit grabbed a gilded piece of parchment, covered in eight colors of inks, off the table and strode towards the door. “If you look out the window, you should see the man who brought us this hoity-toity eyesore of a letter waddling towards Sundgau as fast as his chubby little legs can carry him.”
Phillippe pulled a chair away from the vast conference table to one of the windows that overlooked the front of the manor. A short fat man in expensive clothes was making his way through the market, with three guards clearing a path for him. Oddly enough, the Dijon city
gendarmes, who usually enjoyed trying to pick fights with merchants’ pet sellswords, were giving the man a wide berth, and actually helping to clear a path for the visitor.
The man was wearing red and white. And Benoit had mentioned someone running off to Sundgau, which nine times out of ten meant an Austrian. Was that man a messenger from…
“THE COJONES OF THOSE DEUTSCHBAGS!”
Ninety seconds later, Duke Louis had barged into the cabinet room, a beaming Benoit de Semur keeping pace a step and a half behind him.
“ARCHDUKES? ARCHDUKES? THIS MUST BE SOME KIND OF FORGERY!”
“Well, mon Duc, that’s quite possible, but without any real evidence it’s a question of he wrote, she wrote, so it’s doubtful that we’ll ever be able to disprove…”
“FINE. FINE! THEY CAN CALL THEMSELVES ARCHDUKES. THEY CAN CALL THEMSELVES HOLY ROMAN EMPERORS, IF THEY CAN DO THAT WITH A STRAIGHT FACE. THEY CAN YELL KAAAA-ME-HAAAAA-ME-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AND PRETEND TO SHOOT BLASTS OF PURE SPIRITUAL ENERGY OUT OF THEIR HANDS IF THAT’S WHAT FLOATS THEIR BOATS. WHAT WE NEED TO DO IS SEND THEM A MESSAGE. AND THAT MESSAGE IS THAT LUIS DE TRASTAMARA IS THE GRANDEST DUKE IN EUROPE AND THAT THEY CAN GO TAKE A LONG WALK OFF A SHORT ALP IF THEY DISAGREE.” Duke Louis took a deep breath to compose himself, and, as if nothing happened asked “What’s the best way to do that?”
de Semur spoke first: “Carve off a chunk of the HRE and make them watch.”
“Okay, M. le Corgne, there are, like, hundreds of tiny little blobs on the map in the HRE. We have to have a reason to smash one of them. Which one goes first?”
“Benoit, d’you remember when Duke Phillippe came in here and said he’d received a vision from God to go rescue our kinsfolk in Barrois?”
“Wait, the guy who was Duke before me had a vision from God? Why didn’t he act on it?”
“Because,” Benoit de Semur replied, “God didn’t warn him about the dangers of Medicuses.”
“So you can invade Provence pretty much whenever you feel like it,” said le Corgne in an effort to change the subject before anyone in the room could be accused of heresy, “Best of all, Barrois is a part of the HRE but Provence isn’t a member, so we can go to war and the Hapsburgs will have to grin and bear it. We can even vassalize Lorraine if you feel like it.”
“It feels good. Let’s do it!”
***********************************************************************************
Eustache de Damas and some random underling are sieging Barrois.
“Any sign of a relief column, their pikes and banners a fearsome darkling mass, emerging over the horizon to do battle?”
“Yet again the answer is
Non, mon general.”
“Any sign that the garrison is arming itself to the teeth before throwing the gates open and flinging themselves on our army in a desperate, all-or-nothing sortie?”
“Yet again the answer is
Non, mon general.”
“I swear I will die of boredom outside this Godforsaken city.”
“You say that every day,
mon general.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
*thud*
“General de Damas? GENERAL DE DAMAS! GENERAL DE DAMAS! Saints preserve us, he really did mean it this time!”
***********************************************************************************
"Well," said le Corgne. "We need to replace perhaps the most unique general in Burgundian history. How should we find our next general?"
"I have just the plan," said Duke Louis. He then explain it in detail to le Corgne and de Semur.
"That," said de Semur, "is the biggest
connerie I have heard in my long and distinguished career of being surrounded by
connards."
de Semur's opinion was ignored, and a month later Duke Louis had set up everything he needed to carry out his plan.
The lower tables of the grand banquet hall had been laboriously carried out and replaced with one solitary hard wooden chair. Duke Louis sat at his customary spot at the high table, flanked on either side by de Semur and le Corgne. Trophies of war, brightly polished arms and armor decorated the halls and an honor guard of twenty-four of Burgundy's most imposing knights stood at attention in level rows. Outside, five dozen candidates sat, stood, paced, or leaned on the walls in the foyer outside the banquet hall, waiting their turn to be called.
Duke Louis gave a sign to Nestor, who was standing by the door leading into the foyer, to let in the first candidate.
"Duke Phillippe bids you be seated!" barked de Semur in his yelling-at-hungover-infantrymen voice. Once the candidate had obeyed, Duke Louis cleared his throat.
"Welcome to...WHO WANTS TO BE A BURGUNDIAN GENERAL? Our first contestant is Julien de Bruges. Julien, are you ready to play WHO WANTS TO BE A BURGUNDIAN GENERAL?
Nervous nodding
"Julien, the founder of the Karling dynasty earned his famous nickname by defending West Francia from the Mahommadean scourge at the weeklong battle of Tours. What was his nickname? Was it:"
a) "The Hammer"
b) "The Axe"
c) "The Hacksaw"
d) "The Mouldboard Plow"
Two excruciatingly awkward minutes ensure before Julien finally responds:
"Mon duc, it was D, definitely D, that's my final answer."
Duke Louis, le Corgne and de Semur simultaneously facepalm.
"Maybe next lifetime. Okay, our next contestant is Simon Deslauriers. Simon, are you ready to play WHO WANTS TO BE A BURGUNDIAN GENERAL?"
"Absolutely, mon Duc!"
"That's what I like to hear!
"The Age of the Crusades was begun when Pope Urban II tasked a band of ambitious adventurers to undertake a armed journey to Jerusalem in a sermon outside this city. Was it:
A) Paris
B) Clermont
C) Nicaea
D) Rivendell"
Simon instantly responds:
"It was C! C! C! Final answer!"
"That's not what I like to hear."
Several hours of futility ensue before someone with two brain cells to rub together is seated in front of Duke Louis.
"Second to last question!"
"Thank God."
"Zip it, Benoit. See, my idea worked after all!"
"This otherwise unknown Roman wrote the famous textbook of Roman warfare,
Epitoma rei militaris. What was his name? Was it:
a) Lucius Vorenus
b) Vegetius
c) Virgil
d) Vegeta"
Isidore de Bourgeois, for the fifteenth time in a row, gave the correct answer without hesitating. "B, final answer."
"B) Vegetius is CORRECT! Now, for the final question, the category is 'Weapons.' Which of the following is a real polearm? Is it:
a) The Mazovian Spine Pulper
b) The Venetian Back Stabber
c) The Bohemian Ear Spoon
d) The Novgorodian Spleen Remover"
For the first time during the game, Isidore de Bourgeois hesistated. After a few seconds of running his fingers
through his bird's nest of dirty blond hair, he spoke: "I'd like to use my lifeline."
Benoit de Semur groaned.
"I'd like to send a fast courier to a friend."
"Okay," said Phillippe de Corgne. "Who would you like to ask?"
"My mother."
"That'll take two weeks!" shouted Duke Louis.
"I told you the lifeline was the stupidest part of this entire piece of tomfoolery!" Benoit shouted right back.
"Whoa," said Duke Louis, his voice returning to a conversational tone. "I never said I was wrong." He turned and shouted out the door: "Nestor! Have our fastest messenger send this note to Gladys de Bourgogne at her late-August-to-mid-October chateau in France-Comte."
Two weeks pass...
Duke Louis, his cabinet and young Isidore had reassembled in Duke Louis's private office immediately after the courier had returned. The courier was told to enter and hand his message to Isidore, after showing to one and all that Gladys de Bourgogne's seal was intact on the envelope.
Isidore tore it open, scanned it, and without a moment's hesitation announced: "C, Bohemian Ear Spoon, final answer!"
"Correct!" announced Duke Louis.
"No!" yelled Isidore. "How did she know that?!"
"Now what?" asked Benoit de Semur.
"Explain," said Phillippe le Corgne.
"My mother has been on me to uphold our family's glorious martial history," said Isidore. "She told me she'd have me tonsured and sent off to the strictest monastery she could find if I didn't show up here and at least give it my best shot. So I figured I'd make it to the final question, and just give the answer she handed to me, so it wouldn't be my fault when I lost. She doesn't know anything about history or weapons that doesn't involve dead family members. I figured she would just guess and I'd have an easy way out."
There were fifteen seconds of extremely awkward silence.
"Maybe," Isidore said, "that huge spear she used to threaten my dad with whenever he so much as spoke with one of the maids was a Bohemian Ear Spoon."
"You're hired," said Duke Louis. "Whether you like it or not. And my first order is that I never want to hear anything about your mother again."
“Me neither,” said de Bourgeois.
Isidore de Bourgeois has joined your party!
***********************************************************************************
A beaming Duke Louis has just been informed of the birth of his firstborn son and heir. He is clutching a wine goblet with “World’s #1 Dad” engraved on the front and has accosted Benoit de Semur in one of the hallways of the manor.
“I’m going to be a daddy!”
“The thought chills the blood,
mon duc.
“Do you think the people might be more willing to accept my son as legitimate if he had the same name as the last Duke?”
“…they might actually fall for that.”
“Cool! It’s time for Duke Phillippe the Good II - Duke Philippe the
better!”
***********************************************************************************
Phillippe le Corgne, five minutes late for a cabinet meeting, runs into the Cabinet room with a newly arrived dispatch
"Mon Duc! The Pope plots to provide Providence with the purloined province of Provence!"
"That pious predator!"
Benoit de Semur was somewhat more pragmatic. "The Pope! How many divisions has he got?"
"About ten, according to the
Ministère des Livres du Grand-Duché de Bourgogne."
"And how many of them can he actually bring up through Savoy and the fruit salad of Italian minors between His Hifalutin High-Hatted Holiness and some kind of actual danger?"
"...he has 3000 men in Avignon."
"So..."
"The end result will not be pretty."
"Do we have any indisputable visual evidence of this?"
"Sadly, no."
***********************************************************************************
“
Mon duc, we have wrapped up the siege of Maine. Pacified Provence lies piteously prostrate before us!”
“You certainly know a lot of words that start with P, Phillippe. So what are the terms we could get from them?”
“We can seize Barrois and vassalize Lorraine, at the minor cost of having the entirety of the civilized world hate our guts.”
“Mmm…could we vassalize Provence?”
“One second, mon Duc…”
Phillippe furiously slides beads around on an abacus.
“We can! Only just, but they will kneel before you if you ask politely.”
“AWESOME! Phillippe, send them one of those…oh what are those things you’re always going on about?”
“Standard Vassalization Agreements.”
“Right! Get that sent over to Provence ASAP PDQ. This is a triumph!”
“Apparently God disagrees with me. Who knew he could be that literal?”
“Have you read the Old Testament, mon Duc?”
“It lost me at the word ‘Old.’”
“…figures.”
“Anyway, Calais ought to be much more lucrative. We can take all of England’s wool AND staples!”
************************************************** *********************************
Duke Louis and his cabinet are day drinking, erm, having a power lunch. A courier hands Duke Louis a message; as he begins to read it, he spit-takes fine Riesling across the table.
“We’re at war with France and the Papal State?! Since when?”
“Since we signed the Standard Vassalization Agreement, mon Duc. Section XXVI, Paragraph V is very clear about that.”
“Anyway,” Benoit de Semur added, not looking up from the wine he was pouring into his glass, “this ought to help a bit.”
“Okay then! Have Isidore march on Paris, let’s see if the French still really want to keep fighting Provence after that.”
“General de Bourgeois, every last Frenchman on the field threw their berets down and their hands up once our army got within 1000 feet. We are victorious! Glory to the Armee du Charolais, and glory to its commander!”
“I don’t know, I can’t help but feeling that was sort of…anticlimactic.”
“This still counts as beating France. Nobody can take that away from us!”
***********************************************************************************
“The Pope has surrendered, Mon Duc!”
“I had almost forgotten we were at war with him, to be honest.”
“He had no army in the area and no hope of bringing one up. His only hope, as far as I can tell, was for us to do his dirty work for him and chase the Provencials out of Avignon.”
“And since Provence is now my loyal and faithful vassal, and as their benevolent master I have taken up the sword to defend their rightful claims on the field of battle…”
“He’s done.”
“Yep. And that explains what happened earlier this morning.”
“What happened this morning, mon Duc?”
“After mass, my chaplain pulled out this 20-foot scroll and told me it was a letter from the Pope that he had been ordered to read to me.”
“Ah. So what was in the letter?”
“Beats me. The Pope didn’t order me to listen to it. I left an hour ago. For all I know, the chaplain’s still pontificating by proxy to an empty room.”
***********************************************************************************
“…and another 2000-man detachment of French mercenaries have been surrounded and scattered, in Poitou this time.”
“That makes, what, nine of them?”
“Eleven, mon duc.”
“And what about our army?”
“We’ve scraped our way right through the bottom of the barrel, reinforcement-wise.”
“Ah well, this war was getting kind of tedious anyway.” Duke Louis turned to face his diplomatic adviser. “Phillippe, what kind of terms can we get from the French?”
“Word is, they’re willing to turn Auvergne over to Provence.”
“I’d love to see the Duke of Auvergne’s face when he finds out I’m accepting that.”
“Well, there you have it, gentlemen. As they’ll be saying decades from now: Grand Dukes talk, Archdukes walk.”
