All in all a rather bleak update. Seems the good Duke has been more fruitful than his progeny.
Vann
PS: I shudder at the memory of Liidia.
Vann
PS: I shudder at the memory of Liidia.
A Nice Case Of Burgundy
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After an unacceptably long gap, I am back. The tale continues and the game is still going strong even if I have not been able to update for many months for which I apologise Herewith the latest chapter and there is more to come. Vivat Burgundy!!
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“Excellent. Have this sent immediately.” Duke Henri hands the document to chancellor Irmeltrud. It is a declaration of war addressed to Ulrich, Count of Neuchatel. It is a year since Ulrich refused Henri’s generous offer to become his vassal. The duke has decided to teach him a lesson. He knows it will cost him dear in the esteem and prestige with which he is held and he is unsure what view his liege King Phillippe will take.
But he is determined, not least because it will take his mind off the sad death of his new born daughter Ide.
Thanks to the work undertaken by marshal Robert a year ago, the duke’s soldiers are in a good state of readiness. Eudes, Count of Auxerre, Henri’s son and heir to the duchy, has also promised his support for the forthcoming campaign. And then a week or so later comes news from Paris that King Phillippe supports Henri’s actions and will send men. Just as well for Count Ulrich can count on the support of the King of Navarre and the duchies of Franconia and Alsace.
It is 14 April 1086 and from his vantage point at the rear of his army duke Henri watches with not a little pride as the weak spring sunshine glints off the arms and armour of his men. The Burgundians are lined up in 3 battles. Count Eudes leads the vanguard, being his own men from Auxerre. Marshal Robert commands the main body, with Duke Henri, seated on a fine white charger, at the head of the reserve. Henri catches the usual masculine battle smells of sweat and yes fear that he has encountered in every battle he has witnessed. He has known supposedly brave men soil themselves at the prospect of battle, and now he wonders if similar embarrassment awaits any of his men today.
He has watched with increasing impatience as Count Ulrich’s forces draw themselves into battle order on the gentle slope opposite. Neither side can claim any topographical advantage, for each army occupies a slight rise, each of which slopes down gradually to a shallow valley through which flows a gently babbling brook. Its clear flowing water reflects the sunlight on this glorious spring morning.
All of a sudden a roar springs up from the opposing ranks, and a man, presumably Count Ulrich himself, stands high in his stirrups, raises his sword aloft and bellows some unintelligible message, irretrievably lost on the breeze that blows steadily from behind Henri’s back. The duke has already noted the slight advantage this affords his small group of archers.
And then in that beautiful pasture, all hell breaks loose.
An arrow storm is loosed by Ulrich’s archers, but due to the breeze they mostly fall short of the Burgundian lines. Eudes’ men reply in kind and Henri can see with satisfaction that his own arrows hit home. He can hear the anguished cries of wounded and dying men – a sound like no other on earth. The enemy closes ranks, to bring its archers into range. Henri watches with pride as his son and heir Count Eudes decides to negate the manoeuvre by ordering his men forward into the bitter hand to hand melee that will inevitably decide the battle. Eudes has dismounted as is still the custom, to fight alongside his men, and Henri loses sight of him in the press of men now fighting to save themselves by killing strangers with whom they have no personal quarrel.
Until now the engagement has been largely between the two vanguards but now marshal Robert deploys his forces to support his brother’s endeavours. The battle is now one huge throng of seething humanity, man against man in a desperate bid for survival. The air is alive with the sounds of battle – sword on metal, sword on leather, sword on wood, sword on flesh, all mingled with anguished guttural cries as the horror of battle imposes its grim reality on all combatants.
After more than an hour of fierce hand to hand fighting, a break appears in Count Ulrich’s line. Seeing this, duke Henri presses his reserve into action, and the shock of fresh troops hitting the enemy at their weakest spot utterly breaks their resolve. Men start to flee, and despite their captains’ best endeavours, the flight quickly becomes a rout. Some men are slaughtered whilst fleeing – others are more lucky, notably those whose dress marks them out as individuals who may command a ransom. Count Ulrich himself is captured, easily recognised by his eagle banner and his rich, well oiled chain mail. He kneels before the duke in submission and hope. Henri stares into his adversary’s eyes and accepts the surrender with and almost imperceptible nod.
He turns at the sound of his son’s voice.
“Father, father!” It is Robert who speaks. “Come quickly.”
The marshal turns quickly on his heel and leads the duke towards the centre of the action just concluded where the bodies lie thickest. He stops astride the fallen figure of a well-armoured man who lies inert, face-down in the mangled turf. It is Count Eudes. Robert turns his brother’s body over. The face of the corpse is serene in death despite the violent nature of the event. Duke Henri sighs and turns away from his son’s body.
“Bring him with you” orders Robert to a handful of his retinue, and the body of the dead count is slung over the back of the nearest horse and led slowly away. The duke steps absent-mindedly over the by now blood red waters of the brook and starts to reflect on the high price he has paid for the victory over Count Ulrich.
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“Excellent. Have this sent immediately.” Duke Henri hands the document to chancellor Irmeltrud. It is a declaration of war addressed to Ulrich, Count of Neuchatel. It is a year since Ulrich refused Henri’s generous offer to become his vassal. The duke has decided to teach him a lesson. He knows it will cost him dear in the esteem and prestige with which he is held and he is unsure what view his liege King Phillippe will take.
But he is determined, not least because it will take his mind off the sad death of his new born daughter Ide.
Thanks to the work undertaken by marshal Robert a year ago, the duke’s soldiers are in a good state of readiness. Eudes, Count of Auxerre, Henri’s son and heir to the duchy, has also promised his support for the forthcoming campaign. And then a week or so later comes news from Paris that King Phillippe supports Henri’s actions and will send men. Just as well for Count Ulrich can count on the support of the King of Navarre and the duchies of Franconia and Alsace.
It is 14 April 1086 and from his vantage point at the rear of his army duke Henri watches with not a little pride as the weak spring sunshine glints off the arms and armour of his men. The Burgundians are lined up in 3 battles. Count Eudes leads the vanguard, being his own men from Auxerre. Marshal Robert commands the main body, with Duke Henri, seated on a fine white charger, at the head of the reserve. Henri catches the usual masculine battle smells of sweat and yes fear that he has encountered in every battle he has witnessed. He has known supposedly brave men soil themselves at the prospect of battle, and now he wonders if similar embarrassment awaits any of his men today.
He has watched with increasing impatience as Count Ulrich’s forces draw themselves into battle order on the gentle slope opposite. Neither side can claim any topographical advantage, for each army occupies a slight rise, each of which slopes down gradually to a shallow valley through which flows a gently babbling brook. Its clear flowing water reflects the sunlight on this glorious spring morning.
All of a sudden a roar springs up from the opposing ranks, and a man, presumably Count Ulrich himself, stands high in his stirrups, raises his sword aloft and bellows some unintelligible message, irretrievably lost on the breeze that blows steadily from behind Henri’s back. The duke has already noted the slight advantage this affords his small group of archers.
And then in that beautiful pasture, all hell breaks loose.
An arrow storm is loosed by Ulrich’s archers, but due to the breeze they mostly fall short of the Burgundian lines. Eudes’ men reply in kind and Henri can see with satisfaction that his own arrows hit home. He can hear the anguished cries of wounded and dying men – a sound like no other on earth. The enemy closes ranks, to bring its archers into range. Henri watches with pride as his son and heir Count Eudes decides to negate the manoeuvre by ordering his men forward into the bitter hand to hand melee that will inevitably decide the battle. Eudes has dismounted as is still the custom, to fight alongside his men, and Henri loses sight of him in the press of men now fighting to save themselves by killing strangers with whom they have no personal quarrel.
Until now the engagement has been largely between the two vanguards but now marshal Robert deploys his forces to support his brother’s endeavours. The battle is now one huge throng of seething humanity, man against man in a desperate bid for survival. The air is alive with the sounds of battle – sword on metal, sword on leather, sword on wood, sword on flesh, all mingled with anguished guttural cries as the horror of battle imposes its grim reality on all combatants.
After more than an hour of fierce hand to hand fighting, a break appears in Count Ulrich’s line. Seeing this, duke Henri presses his reserve into action, and the shock of fresh troops hitting the enemy at their weakest spot utterly breaks their resolve. Men start to flee, and despite their captains’ best endeavours, the flight quickly becomes a rout. Some men are slaughtered whilst fleeing – others are more lucky, notably those whose dress marks them out as individuals who may command a ransom. Count Ulrich himself is captured, easily recognised by his eagle banner and his rich, well oiled chain mail. He kneels before the duke in submission and hope. Henri stares into his adversary’s eyes and accepts the surrender with and almost imperceptible nod.
He turns at the sound of his son’s voice.
“Father, father!” It is Robert who speaks. “Come quickly.”
The marshal turns quickly on his heel and leads the duke towards the centre of the action just concluded where the bodies lie thickest. He stops astride the fallen figure of a well-armoured man who lies inert, face-down in the mangled turf. It is Count Eudes. Robert turns his brother’s body over. The face of the corpse is serene in death despite the violent nature of the event. Duke Henri sighs and turns away from his son’s body.
“Bring him with you” orders Robert to a handful of his retinue, and the body of the dead count is slung over the back of the nearest horse and led slowly away. The duke steps absent-mindedly over the by now blood red waters of the brook and starts to reflect on the high price he has paid for the victory over Count Ulrich.
Exterminate the traitor!
I hope you might find a greater frequency what it comes to updating in the future.
I hope you might find a greater frequency what it comes to updating in the future.
Enewald, I certainly intend to update more frequently. I do miss it when I'm not writing and hope to get back into it with a vengeance.
Morrell8, Good to have you on board. The loss of Eudes was a major blow as he was a very promising future ruler and easily the strongest of Henri's sons. Henri has not had much luck with his sons, or with death in general, and, sad to say, there is more of the latter ahead......watch this space!
Morrell8, Good to have you on board. The loss of Eudes was a major blow as he was a very promising future ruler and easily the strongest of Henri's sons. Henri has not had much luck with his sons, or with death in general, and, sad to say, there is more of the latter ahead......watch this space!
Welcome back, Rex! You have been missed. I see Henri's luck with the succession holds true. Shame that. High price to be paid for putting a vassal in place.
Vann
Vann
Herewith another update. Apologies it's a bit short but I want to show my determination to resurrect tis tale rather than completing a normal length update. And there's still plent going on. Hope you enjoy it. RA
In the aftermath of the battle Eudes’ embalmed body is taken back to Dijon for burial alongside his brothers. Henri accepts Ulrich’s surrender and installs himself as Count of Neuchatel. Marshal Robert’s reward is to become the new Count of Auxerre.
The war however lingers on and Dijon itself comes under siege on two occasions. On the first, Henri’s vassal Guy, Count of Macon defeats the Tuscan invaders. But it is not until April 1087 when King Phillippe agrees terms with King Sancho of Navarre that peace finally descends on Dijon.
Meanwhile Henri has lost a grandchild, his namesake Henri, son of spymaster Adele and her murdered husband young Henri but gained a daughter Marguerite, born to Blodwen whilst the duke was campaigning in Neuchatel.
During the next two years Henri invests time and money in building up his infrastructure. New courts of justice are built in Dijon and Neuchatel to replace those destroyed in the war. And training grounds are commissioned in Neuchatel to consolidate Henri’s hold on his new county.
Duke Henri has encountered death on far too many occasions in his 54 years. He has lost three sons plus grandchildren and friends. But nothing prepares him for the succession of deaths that befall his court in the years 1089/90. First to succumb is Henri’s brother and marshal, Robert. For such a martial man his passing at the age of 49 is a quiet one, in his sleep, one balmy June night in 1089. Henri replaces him as marshal with his sister’s son, Hugues de Flandres.
The month after sees the death of Bishop Bouchard. The duke chooses his brother, the once simple Simon as his replacement. It is Lent 1090, St Cuthbert’s day to be precise, that is 20 March, when King Phillippe dies suddenly, aged just 38 years. He has ever been a good lord to Henri, and the duke wastes no time in pledging his allegiance to Phillippe’s successor, his eldest surviving son Jacques who is but 17 years old.
Then in April 1090 the Pope dies and Bishop Anselm of Lucca is chosen to ascend the Holy See.
In July 1090 the life of Henri’s oldest friend Baudouin of Hainault comes to a peaceful end. Henri is especially saddened by the death of his oldest confidant.
Next to die is steward Ermesinde – she has served the duke faithfully for many years but is called to glory aged just
50. She is replaced by the precociously talented Jean de Flandres, the marshal’s brother and another of Henri’s nephews.
And finally, young Eustace, Henri’s most promising grandchild, son of his hunchbacked son Renaud dies. This prompts Henri to announce a change to the succession law to Salic Primogeniture, and thus his eldest surviving son Robert becomes his heir.
Early in the new king’s reign war breaks out with England and duke Henri faithfully answers his liege lord’s request to send troops. But he does negotiate successfully that the king will bear the full cost of the Burgundian contingent. The duke however cannot avoid putting his hand into his pocket when marshal Hugues is captured by the English – 40 Burgundian florins ensure his release and a stern rebuke from the duke for being reckless in battle and allowing himself to be captured. This ransom is part of the peace between France and England that sees Henri’s troops returning home in April 1091.
It is Whitsunday 1092 and King Jacques is wearing his crown ceremonially, as is the custom at the Christmas, Easter and Whitsun courts. He is resplendent in his regalia – a heavier bejewelled crown replaces the gold circlet normally worn at formal court sessions; a light cloak of finest blue damask edged with fur and fastened at the neck with a fleur de lys clasp; the sword of Hugues Capet, founder of the dynasty lies at his feet; and he is surrounded by clerics, courtiers, sycophants. At 19 years of age the world is at his feet.
One by one his vassals are called forward to kneel before their liege lord in a symbolic renewal of their oaths of fealty. This starts with the youngest and least prestigious of the counts and builds towards the great duchies that owe fealty to France – Lorraine, Champagne, Brittany, Alsace, Lorraine and of course Burgundy. As he waits his turn Henri is aware that one of the youngest counts, he thinks it is Eudes the count of Boulogne, keeps muttering as each vassal presents themselves – the comments are invariably unflattering. At last it is Henri’s turn. As he approaches the king he stumbles and barely manages to avoid an undignified sprawl at his monarch’s feet. The king remains dignified and aloof but Henri can hear the taunting and mocking laughter from the Count of Boulogne. On his way back he confronts the young pup and in front of the whole court demands an apology and compensation. Duke Henri has a new and implacable rival.
In the aftermath of the battle Eudes’ embalmed body is taken back to Dijon for burial alongside his brothers. Henri accepts Ulrich’s surrender and installs himself as Count of Neuchatel. Marshal Robert’s reward is to become the new Count of Auxerre.
The war however lingers on and Dijon itself comes under siege on two occasions. On the first, Henri’s vassal Guy, Count of Macon defeats the Tuscan invaders. But it is not until April 1087 when King Phillippe agrees terms with King Sancho of Navarre that peace finally descends on Dijon.
Meanwhile Henri has lost a grandchild, his namesake Henri, son of spymaster Adele and her murdered husband young Henri but gained a daughter Marguerite, born to Blodwen whilst the duke was campaigning in Neuchatel.
During the next two years Henri invests time and money in building up his infrastructure. New courts of justice are built in Dijon and Neuchatel to replace those destroyed in the war. And training grounds are commissioned in Neuchatel to consolidate Henri’s hold on his new county.
Duke Henri has encountered death on far too many occasions in his 54 years. He has lost three sons plus grandchildren and friends. But nothing prepares him for the succession of deaths that befall his court in the years 1089/90. First to succumb is Henri’s brother and marshal, Robert. For such a martial man his passing at the age of 49 is a quiet one, in his sleep, one balmy June night in 1089. Henri replaces him as marshal with his sister’s son, Hugues de Flandres.
The month after sees the death of Bishop Bouchard. The duke chooses his brother, the once simple Simon as his replacement. It is Lent 1090, St Cuthbert’s day to be precise, that is 20 March, when King Phillippe dies suddenly, aged just 38 years. He has ever been a good lord to Henri, and the duke wastes no time in pledging his allegiance to Phillippe’s successor, his eldest surviving son Jacques who is but 17 years old.
Then in April 1090 the Pope dies and Bishop Anselm of Lucca is chosen to ascend the Holy See.
In July 1090 the life of Henri’s oldest friend Baudouin of Hainault comes to a peaceful end. Henri is especially saddened by the death of his oldest confidant.
Next to die is steward Ermesinde – she has served the duke faithfully for many years but is called to glory aged just
50. She is replaced by the precociously talented Jean de Flandres, the marshal’s brother and another of Henri’s nephews.
And finally, young Eustace, Henri’s most promising grandchild, son of his hunchbacked son Renaud dies. This prompts Henri to announce a change to the succession law to Salic Primogeniture, and thus his eldest surviving son Robert becomes his heir.
Early in the new king’s reign war breaks out with England and duke Henri faithfully answers his liege lord’s request to send troops. But he does negotiate successfully that the king will bear the full cost of the Burgundian contingent. The duke however cannot avoid putting his hand into his pocket when marshal Hugues is captured by the English – 40 Burgundian florins ensure his release and a stern rebuke from the duke for being reckless in battle and allowing himself to be captured. This ransom is part of the peace between France and England that sees Henri’s troops returning home in April 1091.
It is Whitsunday 1092 and King Jacques is wearing his crown ceremonially, as is the custom at the Christmas, Easter and Whitsun courts. He is resplendent in his regalia – a heavier bejewelled crown replaces the gold circlet normally worn at formal court sessions; a light cloak of finest blue damask edged with fur and fastened at the neck with a fleur de lys clasp; the sword of Hugues Capet, founder of the dynasty lies at his feet; and he is surrounded by clerics, courtiers, sycophants. At 19 years of age the world is at his feet.
One by one his vassals are called forward to kneel before their liege lord in a symbolic renewal of their oaths of fealty. This starts with the youngest and least prestigious of the counts and builds towards the great duchies that owe fealty to France – Lorraine, Champagne, Brittany, Alsace, Lorraine and of course Burgundy. As he waits his turn Henri is aware that one of the youngest counts, he thinks it is Eudes the count of Boulogne, keeps muttering as each vassal presents themselves – the comments are invariably unflattering. At last it is Henri’s turn. As he approaches the king he stumbles and barely manages to avoid an undignified sprawl at his monarch’s feet. The king remains dignified and aloof but Henri can hear the taunting and mocking laughter from the Count of Boulogne. On his way back he confronts the young pup and in front of the whole court demands an apology and compensation. Duke Henri has a new and implacable rival.
His last great friend died. Mabye it will lead to a change in friends dieing and now enemies?
Good to have your tale proceed. Henri needs a change in luck, badly. What are his strategic aims now?
Vann
Vann
Enewald, Strangely Henir does not have any other friends than the late Baudouin. He doesn't have that many rivals though either to be fair - it's always easier to make up a story line about a rival though than a friend.
Morrell8, Death has certainly hit Henri's family hard. In changing the succession laws (to preserve the game) to Salic Primo his successor is a crazed maniac, whcih should be fun.....if he succeeds of course......
Vann, Thanks. He does need some good luck. His strategic aims remain to consolidate Burgundy, expanding where he can by picking on weak neighbours without strong overlords. Oh, and he is disturbed by constant thoughts of crusading......
Morrell8, Death has certainly hit Henri's family hard. In changing the succession laws (to preserve the game) to Salic Primo his successor is a crazed maniac, whcih should be fun.....if he succeeds of course......
Vann, Thanks. He does need some good luck. His strategic aims remain to consolidate Burgundy, expanding where he can by picking on weak neighbours without strong overlords. Oh, and he is disturbed by constant thoughts of crusading......
Don't worry about expanding yet . Wait till the empire collapses and prey on the duchy of Forez.
. Wait till the empire collapses and prey on the duchy of Forez.
Just to say that I have the next update drafted and hope to publish it soon once it is polished up.
At last here is the latest instalment. Sorry for the longer than anticipated delay.
The fame of Henri’s court is known throughout Christendom. It is a large court and a placed alive with intrigue and opportunity. Towards the end of 1092 the duke grants an audience to a promising soldier of Germanic descent called Lambert von Hohenstaufen.
“Your Grace.” A bow. “Your fame and prowess are examples to us all, as is the fairness of your judgements. My Lord, I have a brother, a half-brother to be precise, who has usurped my rightful position as Count of St Gallen. With your leave, and with your assistance, I would wrest back my inheritance. Once I am installed as rightful count I will see to it that you are rewarded handsomely.”
The duke pauses before replying.
“Sir Knight, you flatter me. Truly I wish you good luck in your endeavour, but I will not be assisting. I will not use the resources of Burgundy to fight someone else’s private battles. Good day to you.”
The next year sees war break out between the kingdoms of France and Poland. King Jacques summons his vassals and duke Henri once again obliges but with the cost borne again by the royal treasury. Marshal Hugues, Henri’s young nephew, is despatched at the head of the Burgundian contingent.
It is later that year that news reaches Dijon of a splendid victory for King Jacques – but the message is tinged with sadness at news of the death in battle of marshal Hugues. The duke had already warned his nephew that his recklessness would be his undoing, and now he has to mourn yet another family member dead before his time. Henri feels every one of his 58 years. But there is some joy at the birth of his latest child, a daughter called Peronnelle. And Henri needs a new marshal so he summons Lambert von Hohenstaufen who agrees to become marshal on condition that he drops his ambitions towards St Gallen. Lambert, somewhat reluctantly, agrees.
“Adela my dear, what can I do for you?” asks Henri. It is mid-May 1094 and the duke is strolling in the inner bailey of his castle at Dijon, his favourite pair of dogs at his heels.
“Your Grace, it is more a question of what I can do for you” replies the spymaster. “There is a man I know, a specialist in his field of undercover work, who is also highly skilled in arms. I have been training him secretly for a number of years now. He is loyal and fearless and will do whatever he is bidden..
“Yes, yes, but get to the point” says the duke impatiently as the rain that has been threatening all morning starts to fall out of a leaden sky. “What interest is this to me?”
“Sire, I have it in mind to send him to Champagne to seek audience with duke Etienne Henri, your rival, and thereby to assassinate him.”
The duke stops dead in his tracks.
“Are you mad? What possible advantage would I gain? I have no claim on his title or lands and any foolhardy act such as this would lead either to war or more likely a like-minded act of retribution aimed at my court. Don’t you think I have seen enough death in recent times?”
“But my lord....”
“Enough Adela. I will hear no more of this nonsense.” And the duke strides away from his bloodthirsty spymaster, his dogs still in close attendance.
It is immediately after the funeral of Henri’s latest family member to be summoned by the grim reaper, the duke’s 9-year old grandson, Raymond, that Bishop Simon seeks out the duke as he sits alone in the great hall towards the end of the day.
“Brother, how fare you?”
“I am well, my brother, very well....if a little undervalued.” At this the duke sits bolt upright.
“Undervalued? Haven’t I raised you to your current office? You who everyone used to consider a simpleton.”
“That much is true, your Grace, but I have no land. I am the son of a duke, the brother of a duke, and yet I spend my time in this flea-bitten and God-forsaken corner of France, christening babies and then burying them within a decade. I need more and unless you can satisfy my needs then I will cease to be your bishop and leave Dijon for good.”
The duke is stunned and more than a little angry. He remains silent for quite a while.
“Your Grace, what say you?” prompts Simon. Henri pauses then stands up.
“What say I, my brother, what say I!? I say that once a simpleton always a simpleton. I have no lands or title to give you, surely you can see that. What I have is vested in my direct line as it must be. I have raised you to your current dignity and I shall be happy for you to continue in that role, but I have nothing else to offer. If you have any sense you will see that.”
“In that case, my Lord” (this said with heavy sarcasm) “you will need a new bishop. I shall be gone by the morning. My blessing I leave with you but I doubt we shall meet again in this life. Pax tecum, frater.” And with that Bishop Simon bows to the duke and leaves his brother in the gathering gloom.
Henri is now aged 60 but he is in rude good health with all his faculties and abilities – in July 1095 he becomes a father yet again, another daughter, named Sophie. The birth however is a difficult one for an already ill duchess Blodwen, and she never recovers fully from the ordeal. On 23 September 1095 Henri faces yet another death, this one making him a widower. The duchess was aged just 28 years.
In haste - and with hindsight, far too much haste – Henri decides to remarry. His new bride is the 17-year old Gaudemunda of Lithuania from the far away county of Galez. She is a prodigiously talented young woman who Henri appoints as his steward. Perhaps in response to the mutterings about the age gap though, he takes no marriage duty from his subjects.
The wedding takes place in the small wooden chapel within the castle of Dijon. The great wooden gates to the outer bailey are thrown open wide and the townsfolk allowed in to gawp at their duke and his child bride. The newly married couple are walking among the crowd – the duke, grey haired now, but still a striking figure of a man at 60 years of age, and his petite, attractive, surprisingly confident young bride. There are muted cheers – perhaps whipped up by paid sympathisers? – but most people are just curious to see their new teenage duchess. Suddenly a woman steps out of the crowd. She is of indeterminate age and nondescript appearance. She bows her knee before the duke and says in a quiet but firm voice.
“Your Grace, you are a great ruler and a fair lord, but this marriage is not right. Your wife is a witch, a harlot and a whore – cursed be her womb and cursed be your line. I foresee more death and disappointment and a bleak future for Burgundy unless you put her aside. It is not too late – repent! Repent I beg you....”
The duke has seen most things in his long life but nothing to compare with this. He is visibly shaken and it is left to spymaster Adela to order the woman’s arrest. She is dragged roughly away to be held securely pending the duke’s pleasure. Recovering himself the duke turns to his new wife.
“Gaudemunda, the woman is clearly mad. I will deal with her shortly; are you all right?”
The duchess does not reply but nods her head to indicate that all is well. Within her pretty young breast her heart pounds nervously. That night the duke takes his young bride to bed and possesses her utterly. Afterwards though he cannot quite pinpoint the unease he feels.
A month later Adela seeks a formal audience with the duke.
“Your Grace, I fear I must speak with you about a most delicate matter.”
“Go on Adela, you know me well enough to fear nothing.”
“Well, your Grace, it concerns the duchess. Forgive me but is all well between the two of you?”
“What do you mean?” asks a puzzled Henri. “It is true that I have found it difficult to, shall we say, engage with her in the most intimate way, if you know what I mean. But we get along fine; she is proving an excellent steward.”
Adela looks at the ground.
“What is it woman? Come on, out with it.”
“Sire, I must tell you that I fear your wife has been intimate with a young man of the court. She is certainly very friendly with Simon de Flandres. And she is also close it seems to your nephew Bouchard. I suggest you keep a very close eye on all of them.”
“Get out! Now!!” roars the duke. But in his head and his heart he knows the truth of what he has just heard.
It is a week before Christmas that duchess Gaudemunda informs her husband that she is with child. The duke is unmoved. He has not had carnal relations with his wide since the conversation with Adela over a month ago.
Christmas duly arrives, and at the great feast, held in the old great hall with smoke drifting aimlessly towards the ineffective hole in the roof, duke Henri sits in state surrounded by his court. On his right sits duchess Gaudemunda. On his left sits his heir apparent, Robert, Count of Auxerre and then his wife, Agnes. The meal is over and the servants have cleared the trenchers away. The air is thick with smoke and alive with the smell of unwashed bodies. The duke has been toying with a silver chalice containing his best Burgundy wine, but now, unexpectedly, he stands. A hush descends. He clears his voice and says:
“Know you all that what I am about to tell you is the result of many hours prayer and thought. I, Henri, duke of Burgundy, have decided to take the Cross. I shall take vows of chastity and obedience to Holy Mother Church. I have heard that the Doge of Venice is looking for a crusade to the Holy Land via Constantinople. I intend to offer my sword in his service. My son Robert will act as regent in my absence. I charge you all as you owe me loyalty and fealty to serve him as you would me. That is all.”
And to a stunned silence the duke resumes his seat, drains his cup, belches and calls for the minstrels to strike up a tune.
The fame of Henri’s court is known throughout Christendom. It is a large court and a placed alive with intrigue and opportunity. Towards the end of 1092 the duke grants an audience to a promising soldier of Germanic descent called Lambert von Hohenstaufen.
“Your Grace.” A bow. “Your fame and prowess are examples to us all, as is the fairness of your judgements. My Lord, I have a brother, a half-brother to be precise, who has usurped my rightful position as Count of St Gallen. With your leave, and with your assistance, I would wrest back my inheritance. Once I am installed as rightful count I will see to it that you are rewarded handsomely.”
The duke pauses before replying.
“Sir Knight, you flatter me. Truly I wish you good luck in your endeavour, but I will not be assisting. I will not use the resources of Burgundy to fight someone else’s private battles. Good day to you.”
The next year sees war break out between the kingdoms of France and Poland. King Jacques summons his vassals and duke Henri once again obliges but with the cost borne again by the royal treasury. Marshal Hugues, Henri’s young nephew, is despatched at the head of the Burgundian contingent.
It is later that year that news reaches Dijon of a splendid victory for King Jacques – but the message is tinged with sadness at news of the death in battle of marshal Hugues. The duke had already warned his nephew that his recklessness would be his undoing, and now he has to mourn yet another family member dead before his time. Henri feels every one of his 58 years. But there is some joy at the birth of his latest child, a daughter called Peronnelle. And Henri needs a new marshal so he summons Lambert von Hohenstaufen who agrees to become marshal on condition that he drops his ambitions towards St Gallen. Lambert, somewhat reluctantly, agrees.
“Adela my dear, what can I do for you?” asks Henri. It is mid-May 1094 and the duke is strolling in the inner bailey of his castle at Dijon, his favourite pair of dogs at his heels.
“Your Grace, it is more a question of what I can do for you” replies the spymaster. “There is a man I know, a specialist in his field of undercover work, who is also highly skilled in arms. I have been training him secretly for a number of years now. He is loyal and fearless and will do whatever he is bidden..
“Yes, yes, but get to the point” says the duke impatiently as the rain that has been threatening all morning starts to fall out of a leaden sky. “What interest is this to me?”
“Sire, I have it in mind to send him to Champagne to seek audience with duke Etienne Henri, your rival, and thereby to assassinate him.”
The duke stops dead in his tracks.
“Are you mad? What possible advantage would I gain? I have no claim on his title or lands and any foolhardy act such as this would lead either to war or more likely a like-minded act of retribution aimed at my court. Don’t you think I have seen enough death in recent times?”
“But my lord....”
“Enough Adela. I will hear no more of this nonsense.” And the duke strides away from his bloodthirsty spymaster, his dogs still in close attendance.
It is immediately after the funeral of Henri’s latest family member to be summoned by the grim reaper, the duke’s 9-year old grandson, Raymond, that Bishop Simon seeks out the duke as he sits alone in the great hall towards the end of the day.
“Brother, how fare you?”
“I am well, my brother, very well....if a little undervalued.” At this the duke sits bolt upright.
“Undervalued? Haven’t I raised you to your current office? You who everyone used to consider a simpleton.”
“That much is true, your Grace, but I have no land. I am the son of a duke, the brother of a duke, and yet I spend my time in this flea-bitten and God-forsaken corner of France, christening babies and then burying them within a decade. I need more and unless you can satisfy my needs then I will cease to be your bishop and leave Dijon for good.”
The duke is stunned and more than a little angry. He remains silent for quite a while.
“Your Grace, what say you?” prompts Simon. Henri pauses then stands up.
“What say I, my brother, what say I!? I say that once a simpleton always a simpleton. I have no lands or title to give you, surely you can see that. What I have is vested in my direct line as it must be. I have raised you to your current dignity and I shall be happy for you to continue in that role, but I have nothing else to offer. If you have any sense you will see that.”
“In that case, my Lord” (this said with heavy sarcasm) “you will need a new bishop. I shall be gone by the morning. My blessing I leave with you but I doubt we shall meet again in this life. Pax tecum, frater.” And with that Bishop Simon bows to the duke and leaves his brother in the gathering gloom.
Henri is now aged 60 but he is in rude good health with all his faculties and abilities – in July 1095 he becomes a father yet again, another daughter, named Sophie. The birth however is a difficult one for an already ill duchess Blodwen, and she never recovers fully from the ordeal. On 23 September 1095 Henri faces yet another death, this one making him a widower. The duchess was aged just 28 years.
In haste - and with hindsight, far too much haste – Henri decides to remarry. His new bride is the 17-year old Gaudemunda of Lithuania from the far away county of Galez. She is a prodigiously talented young woman who Henri appoints as his steward. Perhaps in response to the mutterings about the age gap though, he takes no marriage duty from his subjects.
The wedding takes place in the small wooden chapel within the castle of Dijon. The great wooden gates to the outer bailey are thrown open wide and the townsfolk allowed in to gawp at their duke and his child bride. The newly married couple are walking among the crowd – the duke, grey haired now, but still a striking figure of a man at 60 years of age, and his petite, attractive, surprisingly confident young bride. There are muted cheers – perhaps whipped up by paid sympathisers? – but most people are just curious to see their new teenage duchess. Suddenly a woman steps out of the crowd. She is of indeterminate age and nondescript appearance. She bows her knee before the duke and says in a quiet but firm voice.
“Your Grace, you are a great ruler and a fair lord, but this marriage is not right. Your wife is a witch, a harlot and a whore – cursed be her womb and cursed be your line. I foresee more death and disappointment and a bleak future for Burgundy unless you put her aside. It is not too late – repent! Repent I beg you....”
The duke has seen most things in his long life but nothing to compare with this. He is visibly shaken and it is left to spymaster Adela to order the woman’s arrest. She is dragged roughly away to be held securely pending the duke’s pleasure. Recovering himself the duke turns to his new wife.
“Gaudemunda, the woman is clearly mad. I will deal with her shortly; are you all right?”
The duchess does not reply but nods her head to indicate that all is well. Within her pretty young breast her heart pounds nervously. That night the duke takes his young bride to bed and possesses her utterly. Afterwards though he cannot quite pinpoint the unease he feels.
A month later Adela seeks a formal audience with the duke.
“Your Grace, I fear I must speak with you about a most delicate matter.”
“Go on Adela, you know me well enough to fear nothing.”
“Well, your Grace, it concerns the duchess. Forgive me but is all well between the two of you?”
“What do you mean?” asks a puzzled Henri. “It is true that I have found it difficult to, shall we say, engage with her in the most intimate way, if you know what I mean. But we get along fine; she is proving an excellent steward.”
Adela looks at the ground.
“What is it woman? Come on, out with it.”
“Sire, I must tell you that I fear your wife has been intimate with a young man of the court. She is certainly very friendly with Simon de Flandres. And she is also close it seems to your nephew Bouchard. I suggest you keep a very close eye on all of them.”
“Get out! Now!!” roars the duke. But in his head and his heart he knows the truth of what he has just heard.
It is a week before Christmas that duchess Gaudemunda informs her husband that she is with child. The duke is unmoved. He has not had carnal relations with his wide since the conversation with Adela over a month ago.
Christmas duly arrives, and at the great feast, held in the old great hall with smoke drifting aimlessly towards the ineffective hole in the roof, duke Henri sits in state surrounded by his court. On his right sits duchess Gaudemunda. On his left sits his heir apparent, Robert, Count of Auxerre and then his wife, Agnes. The meal is over and the servants have cleared the trenchers away. The air is thick with smoke and alive with the smell of unwashed bodies. The duke has been toying with a silver chalice containing his best Burgundy wine, but now, unexpectedly, he stands. A hush descends. He clears his voice and says:
“Know you all that what I am about to tell you is the result of many hours prayer and thought. I, Henri, duke of Burgundy, have decided to take the Cross. I shall take vows of chastity and obedience to Holy Mother Church. I have heard that the Doge of Venice is looking for a crusade to the Holy Land via Constantinople. I intend to offer my sword in his service. My son Robert will act as regent in my absence. I charge you all as you owe me loyalty and fealty to serve him as you would me. That is all.”
And to a stunned silence the duke resumes his seat, drains his cup, belches and calls for the minstrels to strike up a tune.
Yes, probably the best way to deal with being cuckolded. Maybe he'll have a use for that assassin after all.
Vann
Vann
This latest update is drawn from my contribution to a collaborative AAR that I was honoured to be invited to participate in. Sad to say that my effort fizzled out, but it was always my intention to utilise it as part of this main AAR. If you are intersted then what follows is entirely off game but I don't think this detracts from this chapter or from this AAR, which erst assured will continue. I have many more chapters drafted and the game continues - I am just off to play now in fact..... I hope you enjoy this diversion. RA
It was Advent Sunday 1095. It was cold. Cold and dark. Had it not been for the hundreds, nay thousands, of candles that illuminated the interior of the basilica the man would not have been able to see the spurts of breath that condensed before him as he knelt before the high altar in earnest supplication. Behind that altar lay the remains of the earliest evangelist, San Marco, in whose honour the splendid new cathedral was named. He was the city’s patron saint and it was already fast becoming the stuff of legend how his bones had been stolen from under the noses of the infidel in Alexandria by being hidden beneath a stash of pork carcasses that the Moslem customs men paid but scant regard to. The body had been brought back in triumph to the water city and interred with great ceremony in the old, wooden basilica. Now barely 12 months had passed since it had been translated with pomp to its new resting place in the holiest spot of all in the wonderful new basilica. This had been built to glorify God and the saint, and images of the evangelist’s symbol, the lion, were everywhere in the building. There were statues and carvings and above all wonderful mosaics portraying the wondrous beast. Some mosaics were still being finished. Workmen stood atop flimsy wooden scaffolding carefully placing tiny tessarae into place, scarce seeing themselves the effect of their work which was directed from far below in the nave of the cathedral by their master.
The clergy said that it was the will of God and the blessed saint himself that the bones should reside in Venice. Other more cynical and wordly wise minds knew that in the great gospel writer, Venice had acquired a relic to rival that of St Peter himself in Rome, for the Venetians were ever wont to cock a snook at the wordly grandeur of the Papacy.
The man stood up and wrapped his fur trimmed cloak tightly about his powerful frame. He shivered and stamped his feet on the paved floor to bring the circulation back to life. Immediately he was attended by servants who he gestured away impatiently. Obsequiously they melted back into the shadows and left the Doge of Venice alone as he strode down the nave and out of the great west door of the basilica and into the brightness of the piazza San Marco. He shivered again as the wind whipped in from the lagoon to his left. He turned into it and head down, strode off purposefully towards the grand palazzo, the home of the Doge that lay beside the basilica right on the waterfront where the Grand Canal finally emptied itself into the lagoon.
Doge Vital Michele had been elected earlier in the year from amongst those noble Venetian families who were eligible to be selected to lead the aristocratic oligarchy who ruled La Serenissima. He had been praying that God would guide him now in this the first test of his reign. Only last week a messenger dressed in the unmistakeable yellow and white livery of the Papal curia had arrived in Venice with a copy of Pope Urban’s bull Deus Vult, calling the faithful to arms. He was calling for a Crusade to rid the Holy Land of the infidel and he had written to all Christian rulers demanding that they raise whatever troops, munitions and money they could to support God’s war. The Doge had no love for the Papacy, but Urban was still the Holy Father and it was mortal sin to ignore such an imperious injunction from the Pope. Thus he had struggled with his conscience and sought God’s personal intervention to guide his decision. He had looked around the wondrous new basilica and in this he had found his answer. God had spoken to him through the beauty of art and architecture and the Doge had decided that he would call upon all able bodied men of the Republic to bear arms in the forthcoming Crusade. He would use that afternoon’s formal court session to announce his decision and send his nobles home to their palazzi, each to draw up a retinue according to his wealth and status.
He hoped to send at least 2500 men by sea down the Adriatic, hugging the coastlines of Dalmatia and Greece, then via Rhodes and onto Constantinople. The troops would be transported in the infamous Venetian war galleys. These fearsome fighting machines would guarantee safe passage, but they were not suited for the open sea and it was this that dictated the route they would take. They were biremes, long, narrow vessels powered by twin ranks of oars, capable of great speed and easily manoeuvred. A favoured tactic was to ram enemy vessels using the great spur that projected from the bow of the ship over its opponent’s sides, allowing the marines carried on its fighting platforms to storm aboard and take the enemy ship by force. The biggest threat would come not from the infidel, whose vessels did not threaten as far east or north as the route the Venetians would take, but from the pirates who used the many inlets of the Dalmatian coast as safe havens from which to attack any unsuspecting travellers.
Throughout the winter, the Venetians gathered their strength. Galleys were commandeered and provisioned, their number swelling daily, forming a huge nodding and bobbing fleet at anchor in the shallow waters of the Lido. Meanwhile, the nobility mustered their household men, and in some cases, notably the richer nobles, bolstered their number with foreign mercenaries, mainly from other Italian states, not all of whom had answered the Pope’s call to arms as assiduously as the Venetians had done.
The Doge had one unresolved problem though. Who would lead the Venetian contingent? There was no shortage of contenders but he feared that whoever he chose would cause resentment amongst other factions. He thought about leading the force in person but knew that his place was in Venice to rule the city shorn as it would be temporarily of its senior nobles. He had been back into the basilica to pray for further guidance, but was still no nearer making a decision.
And then, out of the blue came the answer to his prayers. It was a few days after Easter when a small band of travellers arrived in the Republic. At their head rode a tall well built man of around 60 years old. He was well dressed and clearly in command of the others who treated him with respect and deference due to one of high birth. The man led them through the Piazza San Marco past the basilica (which he regarded with open admiration) and down to the very waterfront and the grand entrance to the Doge’s palace. One of the group leant forward in his saddle and shouted at the Venetian guards who had materialised at the sound of the horses’ hooves. The man spoke in Latin.
“Greetings in the name of Christ! His Grace the Duke of Burgundy presents his compliments to Doge Vital Michele. He has heard that the Doge is raising a mighty army to fight the infidel, and having taken the cross himself, determined upon joining his brother in Christ in the solemn undertaking. Pray commend his Grace to the Doge and ask that he receive him as a fellow crusader.”
Henri de Bourgougne, Duke of Burgundy was a formidable and well known ruler. Although advanced in years, age had not dulled his martial prowess, and the Pope’s call to arms had come at just the right time for him. Unhappily married to his third wife, many years his junior, who he suspected of dalliances with some of his younger courtiers, the duke had decided upon a life of celibacy and to become a crusader. He had determined to make his own passage to Constantinople but having heard of the Venetian initiative, the duke had instead hastened across northern Italy to offer his sword to the Doge.
The two rulers met in private that afternoon. After a short while they emerged and the Doge summoned an immediate grand council to which all his vassals and captains were summoned.
“My prayers have been answered. God has sent us our Captain. Henri, Duke of Burgundy will lead the Venetian crusade. You will obey him in all things, military and otherwise. Any man who crosses him, crosses me. You will all swear to follow him to the death if necessary.”
A priest emerged with a bible and one by one each of the Venetian nobility and captains swore the required oath.
Exactly one week later, on St Mark’s day itself, the Venetian fleet set sail for Constantinople. The Doge sat under a huge canopy of state as one by one, led by La Dragonara, in which sailed Duke Henri, the galleys pulled smoothly across the lagoon, sweeping around in a massive arc to pass right in front of the Doge, each of them raising their oars in salute as they passed their sovereign.
The Doge and the assembled masses watched the last of the galleys as it slipped smoothly over the sunlit horizon on its way southeast towards its ultimate destination – Constantinople.
It was the third day out of Venice when the pirates struck. The fleet had spent the first two uneventful nights at Trieste and then Zara as they hugged the eastern coastline of the Adriatic. They made good progress and by taking on fresh water at each stopover, the oarsmen were able to operate at maximum efficiency. The fleet had left Zara on a bright sunny morning and had made excellent progress aided by a favourable wind from the north west that blew steadily all day. Their destination that night was Durazzo in Dalmatia and they were but a few hours out when a squadron of the feared Dalmatian pirates appeared on the horizon. The Venetians were tired having rowed all day, whereas the pirates were fresh. The Venetians upped the tempo and tried to outrun the pirates, but it soon became apparent that this was an impossible task. Duke Henri realised this and passed the word for the fleet to form up with the wind and the setting sun behind them and for the oarsmen to take extra fresh water rations and to take what little rest they could as the pirate fleet approached.
The fifteen Venetian vessels were drawn up in a crescent with the advantage of wind and sun in their favour. The pirates were used to tackling smaller merchant fleets and sailing ships not a more disciplined fleet led by an able commander. For although Duke Henri had no naval experience he was an able general and adapted land based tactics admirably. The pirates were unable to deploy their normal tactics of surrounding their victims and instead as they rowed towards the Venetians, the trap was sprung and the pirates found themselves surrounded by the fearsome galleys. They tried in vain to withdraw but the manoeuvrability of the Venetians was critical and they rammed several of the pirates and inflicted terminal damage to their opponents. Two vessels sank within minutes of being rammed. Three more were boarded and fierce hand to hand fighting ensued. At first the pirates seemed to have the upper hand, but the Venetians were able to get more men to the fight as they completed the encirclement of the boarded vessels. No quarter was given on either side, and the decks were soon awash with blood and gore and littered with a growing number or corpses. After about 30 minutes, the pirates yielded and Duke Henri, being a chivalrous knight, accepted their surrender. About 40 pirates were captured and quickly chained to oars in two galleys under the watchful eye of a warder chosen more for his brawn than his brain. The dead bodies, Venetians and pirates alike were dumped unceremoniously into the sea, including that of the Doge’s nephew who had died in the thick of the fray fighting valiantly.
The remnant of the pirate fleet managed to extricate itself without any further losses and aided by the fading daylight made good their escape and headed back to their lair. Meanwhile the Venetians having secured their captives made good their passage to Durazzo to lick their wounds and take a well earned rest.
The fleet then had an uneventful passage down to Corfu where they reprovisioned before setting off across the Aegean towards Rhodes and thence to Constantinople.
Duke Henri stood on the fighting platform of La Dragonara behind a priest who was saying daily mass, for religious observance was of course paramount to the crusading warriors. The fleet was at anchor in the wide harbour of Rhodes Town. Behind him the ancient Colossus of Rhodes rose majestically dominating the entire harbour, nay island. Two days out of Rhodes they had come through an intense storm which had cost them one galley and the lives of nearly 150 men including 20 of the captured pirates. The duke looked down into the well of the boat and surveyed the men now carefree and easy-going. He conjured a mental image of the same men retching over the side of the vessel and holding on for dear life as the vessel pitched and heaved in the mountainous swell of the torrid Aegean. The priest was saying prayers for the souls of those who had perished in the storm, and for a safe passage up the coast towards the Bosphorus and ultimately Constantinople. Surely no further mishaps could befall them? One thing worried Duke Henri however. They were part of a Christian army fighting under a papal banner, so why had they suffered so badly on the voyage? Henri hoped it was not a sign of things to come as the Crusader army came together.
Whether it was the efficacy of the prayers, or good luck but on leaving Rhodes, no further misfortune befell the Venetian fleet and two weeks later they pulled under the lee of Constantinople’s mighty ramparts and into the safe haven of its heavily guarded harbour.
It was Advent Sunday 1095. It was cold. Cold and dark. Had it not been for the hundreds, nay thousands, of candles that illuminated the interior of the basilica the man would not have been able to see the spurts of breath that condensed before him as he knelt before the high altar in earnest supplication. Behind that altar lay the remains of the earliest evangelist, San Marco, in whose honour the splendid new cathedral was named. He was the city’s patron saint and it was already fast becoming the stuff of legend how his bones had been stolen from under the noses of the infidel in Alexandria by being hidden beneath a stash of pork carcasses that the Moslem customs men paid but scant regard to. The body had been brought back in triumph to the water city and interred with great ceremony in the old, wooden basilica. Now barely 12 months had passed since it had been translated with pomp to its new resting place in the holiest spot of all in the wonderful new basilica. This had been built to glorify God and the saint, and images of the evangelist’s symbol, the lion, were everywhere in the building. There were statues and carvings and above all wonderful mosaics portraying the wondrous beast. Some mosaics were still being finished. Workmen stood atop flimsy wooden scaffolding carefully placing tiny tessarae into place, scarce seeing themselves the effect of their work which was directed from far below in the nave of the cathedral by their master.
The clergy said that it was the will of God and the blessed saint himself that the bones should reside in Venice. Other more cynical and wordly wise minds knew that in the great gospel writer, Venice had acquired a relic to rival that of St Peter himself in Rome, for the Venetians were ever wont to cock a snook at the wordly grandeur of the Papacy.
The man stood up and wrapped his fur trimmed cloak tightly about his powerful frame. He shivered and stamped his feet on the paved floor to bring the circulation back to life. Immediately he was attended by servants who he gestured away impatiently. Obsequiously they melted back into the shadows and left the Doge of Venice alone as he strode down the nave and out of the great west door of the basilica and into the brightness of the piazza San Marco. He shivered again as the wind whipped in from the lagoon to his left. He turned into it and head down, strode off purposefully towards the grand palazzo, the home of the Doge that lay beside the basilica right on the waterfront where the Grand Canal finally emptied itself into the lagoon.
Doge Vital Michele had been elected earlier in the year from amongst those noble Venetian families who were eligible to be selected to lead the aristocratic oligarchy who ruled La Serenissima. He had been praying that God would guide him now in this the first test of his reign. Only last week a messenger dressed in the unmistakeable yellow and white livery of the Papal curia had arrived in Venice with a copy of Pope Urban’s bull Deus Vult, calling the faithful to arms. He was calling for a Crusade to rid the Holy Land of the infidel and he had written to all Christian rulers demanding that they raise whatever troops, munitions and money they could to support God’s war. The Doge had no love for the Papacy, but Urban was still the Holy Father and it was mortal sin to ignore such an imperious injunction from the Pope. Thus he had struggled with his conscience and sought God’s personal intervention to guide his decision. He had looked around the wondrous new basilica and in this he had found his answer. God had spoken to him through the beauty of art and architecture and the Doge had decided that he would call upon all able bodied men of the Republic to bear arms in the forthcoming Crusade. He would use that afternoon’s formal court session to announce his decision and send his nobles home to their palazzi, each to draw up a retinue according to his wealth and status.
He hoped to send at least 2500 men by sea down the Adriatic, hugging the coastlines of Dalmatia and Greece, then via Rhodes and onto Constantinople. The troops would be transported in the infamous Venetian war galleys. These fearsome fighting machines would guarantee safe passage, but they were not suited for the open sea and it was this that dictated the route they would take. They were biremes, long, narrow vessels powered by twin ranks of oars, capable of great speed and easily manoeuvred. A favoured tactic was to ram enemy vessels using the great spur that projected from the bow of the ship over its opponent’s sides, allowing the marines carried on its fighting platforms to storm aboard and take the enemy ship by force. The biggest threat would come not from the infidel, whose vessels did not threaten as far east or north as the route the Venetians would take, but from the pirates who used the many inlets of the Dalmatian coast as safe havens from which to attack any unsuspecting travellers.
Throughout the winter, the Venetians gathered their strength. Galleys were commandeered and provisioned, their number swelling daily, forming a huge nodding and bobbing fleet at anchor in the shallow waters of the Lido. Meanwhile, the nobility mustered their household men, and in some cases, notably the richer nobles, bolstered their number with foreign mercenaries, mainly from other Italian states, not all of whom had answered the Pope’s call to arms as assiduously as the Venetians had done.
The Doge had one unresolved problem though. Who would lead the Venetian contingent? There was no shortage of contenders but he feared that whoever he chose would cause resentment amongst other factions. He thought about leading the force in person but knew that his place was in Venice to rule the city shorn as it would be temporarily of its senior nobles. He had been back into the basilica to pray for further guidance, but was still no nearer making a decision.
And then, out of the blue came the answer to his prayers. It was a few days after Easter when a small band of travellers arrived in the Republic. At their head rode a tall well built man of around 60 years old. He was well dressed and clearly in command of the others who treated him with respect and deference due to one of high birth. The man led them through the Piazza San Marco past the basilica (which he regarded with open admiration) and down to the very waterfront and the grand entrance to the Doge’s palace. One of the group leant forward in his saddle and shouted at the Venetian guards who had materialised at the sound of the horses’ hooves. The man spoke in Latin.
“Greetings in the name of Christ! His Grace the Duke of Burgundy presents his compliments to Doge Vital Michele. He has heard that the Doge is raising a mighty army to fight the infidel, and having taken the cross himself, determined upon joining his brother in Christ in the solemn undertaking. Pray commend his Grace to the Doge and ask that he receive him as a fellow crusader.”
Henri de Bourgougne, Duke of Burgundy was a formidable and well known ruler. Although advanced in years, age had not dulled his martial prowess, and the Pope’s call to arms had come at just the right time for him. Unhappily married to his third wife, many years his junior, who he suspected of dalliances with some of his younger courtiers, the duke had decided upon a life of celibacy and to become a crusader. He had determined to make his own passage to Constantinople but having heard of the Venetian initiative, the duke had instead hastened across northern Italy to offer his sword to the Doge.
The two rulers met in private that afternoon. After a short while they emerged and the Doge summoned an immediate grand council to which all his vassals and captains were summoned.
“My prayers have been answered. God has sent us our Captain. Henri, Duke of Burgundy will lead the Venetian crusade. You will obey him in all things, military and otherwise. Any man who crosses him, crosses me. You will all swear to follow him to the death if necessary.”
A priest emerged with a bible and one by one each of the Venetian nobility and captains swore the required oath.
Exactly one week later, on St Mark’s day itself, the Venetian fleet set sail for Constantinople. The Doge sat under a huge canopy of state as one by one, led by La Dragonara, in which sailed Duke Henri, the galleys pulled smoothly across the lagoon, sweeping around in a massive arc to pass right in front of the Doge, each of them raising their oars in salute as they passed their sovereign.
The Doge and the assembled masses watched the last of the galleys as it slipped smoothly over the sunlit horizon on its way southeast towards its ultimate destination – Constantinople.
It was the third day out of Venice when the pirates struck. The fleet had spent the first two uneventful nights at Trieste and then Zara as they hugged the eastern coastline of the Adriatic. They made good progress and by taking on fresh water at each stopover, the oarsmen were able to operate at maximum efficiency. The fleet had left Zara on a bright sunny morning and had made excellent progress aided by a favourable wind from the north west that blew steadily all day. Their destination that night was Durazzo in Dalmatia and they were but a few hours out when a squadron of the feared Dalmatian pirates appeared on the horizon. The Venetians were tired having rowed all day, whereas the pirates were fresh. The Venetians upped the tempo and tried to outrun the pirates, but it soon became apparent that this was an impossible task. Duke Henri realised this and passed the word for the fleet to form up with the wind and the setting sun behind them and for the oarsmen to take extra fresh water rations and to take what little rest they could as the pirate fleet approached.
The fifteen Venetian vessels were drawn up in a crescent with the advantage of wind and sun in their favour. The pirates were used to tackling smaller merchant fleets and sailing ships not a more disciplined fleet led by an able commander. For although Duke Henri had no naval experience he was an able general and adapted land based tactics admirably. The pirates were unable to deploy their normal tactics of surrounding their victims and instead as they rowed towards the Venetians, the trap was sprung and the pirates found themselves surrounded by the fearsome galleys. They tried in vain to withdraw but the manoeuvrability of the Venetians was critical and they rammed several of the pirates and inflicted terminal damage to their opponents. Two vessels sank within minutes of being rammed. Three more were boarded and fierce hand to hand fighting ensued. At first the pirates seemed to have the upper hand, but the Venetians were able to get more men to the fight as they completed the encirclement of the boarded vessels. No quarter was given on either side, and the decks were soon awash with blood and gore and littered with a growing number or corpses. After about 30 minutes, the pirates yielded and Duke Henri, being a chivalrous knight, accepted their surrender. About 40 pirates were captured and quickly chained to oars in two galleys under the watchful eye of a warder chosen more for his brawn than his brain. The dead bodies, Venetians and pirates alike were dumped unceremoniously into the sea, including that of the Doge’s nephew who had died in the thick of the fray fighting valiantly.
The remnant of the pirate fleet managed to extricate itself without any further losses and aided by the fading daylight made good their escape and headed back to their lair. Meanwhile the Venetians having secured their captives made good their passage to Durazzo to lick their wounds and take a well earned rest.
The fleet then had an uneventful passage down to Corfu where they reprovisioned before setting off across the Aegean towards Rhodes and thence to Constantinople.
Duke Henri stood on the fighting platform of La Dragonara behind a priest who was saying daily mass, for religious observance was of course paramount to the crusading warriors. The fleet was at anchor in the wide harbour of Rhodes Town. Behind him the ancient Colossus of Rhodes rose majestically dominating the entire harbour, nay island. Two days out of Rhodes they had come through an intense storm which had cost them one galley and the lives of nearly 150 men including 20 of the captured pirates. The duke looked down into the well of the boat and surveyed the men now carefree and easy-going. He conjured a mental image of the same men retching over the side of the vessel and holding on for dear life as the vessel pitched and heaved in the mountainous swell of the torrid Aegean. The priest was saying prayers for the souls of those who had perished in the storm, and for a safe passage up the coast towards the Bosphorus and ultimately Constantinople. Surely no further mishaps could befall them? One thing worried Duke Henri however. They were part of a Christian army fighting under a papal banner, so why had they suffered so badly on the voyage? Henri hoped it was not a sign of things to come as the Crusader army came together.
Whether it was the efficacy of the prayers, or good luck but on leaving Rhodes, no further misfortune befell the Venetian fleet and two weeks later they pulled under the lee of Constantinople’s mighty ramparts and into the safe haven of its heavily guarded harbour.