And so we reach the third chapter of our exploration of potential gameplay improvements and verisimilitudinous additions in Crusader Kings III. Previously, we’ve looked at the arguments in favor of implementing plural homage and additional options for familial-marital interactions. Today we‘re going to look at something rather more sanguine in nature: feudal misbehavior and its consequences.
And, of course, because they go hand in hand, some of the differences between strong and weak royal authority, and the challenges of governing a realm full of hard-headed, bloody-minded warlords and their kin. The questions of the day: in just what ways did the magnates seek to subvert royal authority and assert their own dominance, how were they punished for their transgressions by their feudal superiors, and how can we follow in their footsteps to offer players more interesting opportunities to indulge in the traditional feudal pastimes of rapine, pillage, and plunder?
Something Wicked This Way Comes
You might characterize the bulk of the medieval nobility as, at worst, a silent majority, at least as far as detailed references to their personal reputations are concerned. Which is not to suggest by any means that your average feudal magnate was a milquetoast: simply that whatever vices he practiced were those practiced by his neighbors, and that if he can be said to be in possession of a certain hard-heartedness toward the suffering of others, then even so it remains unlikely that he is in the habit of flaying his prisoners as a form of entertainment. In fact, if we are to take nicknames into consideration, then you might find the scale weighted in favor of more positive monikers.
Consider, for example, the Babenberg dukes of Austria. In sequence: Leopold the Illustrious, Henry the Strong, Adalbert the Victorious, Ernest the Brave, Leopold the Fair, Leopold the Good, Adalbert the Devout, Leopold the Generous, Henry Jasomirgott (don’t ask), Leopold the Virtuous, Frederick the Catholic, Leopold the Glorious, and Frederick the Quarrelsome. Now, I’ll be the first to admit, some (if not most) of these nicknames were benevolently-but-retroactively bestowed by a motivated and presumably well-compensated 15th century historian-genealogist, Ladislaus Sunthaym, but we may consider it at least worthy of note that a man writing in much closer temporal proximity to his subjects than any of us apparently did not encounter anything in their personal histories to dim or tarnish the glittering sobriquets he assigned them. In fact, the impetus for Sunthaym’s genealogy of the family was the 1485 canonization of Leopold the Good as patron saint of Austria.
I could go on all day, but I you have the general idea by now: the creeping expansion of royal authority at the expense of the traditional privileges of the nobility was a process that took place over centuries, not without setbacks and reversals, and any attempt to rapidly accelerate that process was often violently rejected by those who stood to lose the most by it.
The necessary tools we already have at our disposal, and require little modification: I just want to make some modifications to how we use them. As things stand now in Crusader Kings II, every character has an education trait, which works on a scale from one to four, one being the worst, and four being the best at that particular skill set. You can be scarred, grievously scarred, or horrifically scarred. Viking gives way to Ravager, and Ravager to Sea King. You might have guessed by now where I’m going with this: I propose to apply this same system of progression to personality traits, as well.
A character would no longer merely be Lustful or Chaste, instead being Lustful_1, Lustful_2, or Lustful_3, Chaste_1, Chaste_2, or Chaste_3, etc. It’s a form of trait evolution that already exists to a degree in Crusader Kings II, and was memorably one of the best parts of the old school Total War games, which assigned characters traits with names like “Grotesquely Perverse,” “Ruled by Fear,” “Stunningly Incompetent,” and “Drooling Inbred Idiot.” And now that I’ve mentioned it, it comes to mind that this would also much better represent inbreeding as a progressive phenomenon, instead of going full Habsburg right off the bat.
The sort of repetitive events that come up from time to time that would have given us a trait, that instead do little because we already have it, that we tend to click through on autopilot after seeing them a few hundred times, might instead serve to graduate that trait to the next tier, stay its progress, or reverse course, increasing the player’s level of engagement with what was previously essentially a maintenance task. Furthermore, by this method we can distinguish those merely in possession of a short fuse from those likely to shoot the proverbial messenger in a fit of rage. The somewhat unstable from the stark raving mad lunatics. The lustful from indiscriminate womanizers from those to whom the nearest goat is sufficient.
Furthermore, a trait may present with certain benefits when practiced in moderation, but turn out to have hidden pitfalls when taken to extremes: a ruler too kind and soft-hearted may create more trouble for himself in the future by offering leniency with ruthlessness would be called for, and an overly ambitious ruler driven to reach beyond his means if his skills are not equal to his desire. Having a lustful wife may serve to fill your court with children, but the greater her lust, the greater the chance that they may not be yours. Ruler nicknames could be more logically distributed under such a system, as well, with a ruler not being named "the Kind" until his kindness is truly exceptional, and the same to be said for “the Cruel” or “the Good.”
How to Inherit the Earth: A Handbook for Feudal Lords
My chief proposition here is not to fundamentally change the existing mechanics pertaining to permanent territorial expansion, but rather to shift their focus toward claim wars based on blood relations and away from unjust wars of aggression, particularly those based on fabricated claims. From a historical standpoint, a piece of paper claiming that you are the legitimate inheritor of a particular title is an excuse that would have been considered less than even paper thin, considering that everyone involved would be quite capable of figuring out the bloodlines involved. If you wish to seize something by force that is not yours by right, then let it be done, and upon your head be the consequences. If the title history says that it has been seized by a claimant, then let that be a reasonable assurance that the claim was legitimate, even if the means by which it was pressed were violent.
From a gameplay perspective, fabricating claims is rarely the most effective use of a chancellor, unless you happen to get lucky with a claim for an entire duchy. Fabrications against the player are simply a means to pad out your kill list by order the assassinations of those annoyances, and having someone suddenly be deemed as a legitimate claimant to one of your titles who in truth is nothing of the sort is an unwelcome intrusion indeed. Much better that naked aggression is recognized for what it is, and let claim wars be rooted in legitimate inheritance disputes. This serves to somewhat moderate rapid expansion and dramatically escalates the importance of marital decision-making: the inclination to carefully check the stats of your wife, as the loading screen so often advises us, potentially being outweighed by her potential inheritance.
An imprisoned and deposed monarch should remain so, to be relieved of any remaining titles that are within the new king’s power to revoke, with a high likelihood of an untimely demise to follow. What we wish to avoid is any sort of scenario in which the defeated and deposed monarch of an independent kingdom is released again to serve as a vassal of his conqueror. Perpetual imprisonment, execution, banishment and exile, mostly the former two, any of these are more reasonable outcomes than that. Of course, if the player is an independent monarch, then this makes claim wars against them much more significant, being potentially dynasty-ending experiences, but that would also be as it should be. If someone is gunning for your throne, that's a matter of life or death. You don't take threats like that lightly.
It is a period of civil war. Rebel barons, striking from a hidden base...
Murder, Like Duct Tape, is the Answer to Everything
Need someone dead? Invite them hunting, and see your scheme seize the opportunity to arrange a “hunting accident.” Have them attend your feast, and watch them choke to death on a surfeit of lamprey eels (or just have them killed outright for great infamy – a Black Dinner indeed). Maybe someone’s lance rides a little bit too high in the joust, and someone ends up dead with a splinter in their eye. It happened to Henry II of France, after all. The mêlée is a confusing place: who knows who crushed that lad's skull? Another aspect of this that I would like to see implemented would make it so that not all murders are necessarily flagged as deaths by suspicious circumstances. Leave the player wondering: was it really a hunting accident, or was it a “hunting accident”? Include uncommon, but entirely mundane counterparts for some of these deaths, so that there's some mystery to the world.
Stealing from the Collection Plate
The potential gains would be substantial, and many a feudal lord earned a dark reputation for his predations against prelates: Henry, count of Luxembourg and Namur warred with Albero, archbishop of Trier, which devastated the region for seven years, with the king of the Romans, Conrad, unwillin g or unable to intervene in favor of either side, a war which was ultimately resolved with a negotiated peace. The risk, of course, is excommunication, the enmity of the realm’s bishops, a significant loss of piety, and potentially a legitimate excuse for your liege to make war against you, but if the king’s power is weak or if he is otherwise occupied with rebellion and foreign wars, then it may be a path to swift and easy riches.
The Ants Go Marching One By One
His final roster for the campaign was likely in the realm of just shy of 15,000 Englishmen and slightly over 10,000 Welshmen. The Welsh, as you can see, were clearly much more enthusiastic about the prospect of invading Scotland than the English were. As it so happens, the Welsh were significant contributors to most of Edward's campaigns. This is a significant factor in the explanation of how smaller realms managed to survive beside a much larger, stronger, and potentially more aggressive neighbor - limited force projection, to borrow a more modern term.
For the other half, I suggest that wars themselves have an opinion score for each side, which is to say, the duke's contributions to your cause, and his availability for service as a commander, would also fluctuate depending on his opinion of the war and your part in it. You may perfectly well declare a war that your vassals disapprove of - just don't expect them to bend over backwards to help you. This would, of course, also be mitigated by things like crown authority and centralization, with a more powerful monarch obviously being able to exert more pressure on his vassals to supply him with a greater percentage of their troops.
This would also make mercenaries much, much more important than they are now, and give them a more meaningful role in the player's military strategy. Instead of simply augmenting your armies into an even more unstoppable doomstack than it already is, mercenaries would be the king's tool of choice to wage unpopular wars, or to persecute his own vassals, as the English King John did quite routinely. Rather than a luxury item for the medieval super-wealthy, mercenaries in this way become a necessity for unpopular monarchs fighting unpopular conflicts. Alliances take on a new level of significance, as well: if you can get a foreign ruler onboard with your plans, perhaps by planting a favored claimant on the throne, or by his being your loving brother-in-law, then he might provide you enough forces to make all the difference.
Logistically, you would then raise the remainder of the levies made available to you, and unite them with your forces already in the field. Declaring additional offensive wars without first resolving your existing conflicts would also incur additional opinion penalties, I think, to prevent someone initiating a second, theoretically more popular war to gain additional troops to fight their first unpopular war, and encouraging both the player and the AI to make peace with their rebellious vassals when more important considerations are at hand: not a few turbulent magnates escaped justice when their evil turned out to be the lesser one.
I'm quite aware that this is likely to be one of my more controversial recommendations, given how it would fundamentally alter the way war is waged from its form in Crusader Kings II, but I feel that it would bring with it substantial benefits and enrich the overall gameplay experience. It would slow the relentless, inexorable expansion of vast empires with seemingly endless legions at their disposal, add meaningful challenges to the later centuries of the game when troop numbers and income are both inflated, help shield and prolong the existence of smaller realms living in the shadow of a leviathan, protect vassals from their liege's depredations, encourage the use of mercenaries in a more strategic way, add another meaningful reason to increase crown authority and centralization, and incentivize rulers to work harder to appease their most powerful vassals.
Until Death Do Us Part
That's almost impossible to say: we can only ever know of those cases where those involved either chose or were forced to make the affairs public. A thousand such incidents could pass by without our ever knowing it. However, I’d place a fair wager on the odds that it was not anywhere near as common as in Crusader Kings II when you have the Seduction focus enabled for everyone. You’d need to fast-forward to the reigns of Louis XIV and XV in the 17th and 18th centuries to find lurid sexual intrigue on such a scale. So, how best to balance adultery so that it happens when it should happen, but not so frequently or absurdly that the player can never be certain whether their children are their own?
Two words: location and personality. Step one is making it so that a character’s location has a meaningful effect on their ability to interact with others. Conception, for example, ought to be impossible when the husband is imprisoned or away on campaign, there being certain logistical difficulties when it comes to impregnating your wife in Anjou from the Holy Land. This would also require the implementation of a sort of travel timer, similar to that employed when recalling a councilor, to prevent someone from commuting on crusade to fulfill his conjugal duties, so to speak.
As a beneficial side effect, this would likely also reduce overall birth rates and court overpopulation somewhat, given the sheer amount of time often spent on campaign. If a woman becomes pregnant while her husband is away on Crusade, then unless he is a pious simpleton and she can somehow convince him that the conception was immaculate in nature, odds are, he’s going to have certain reasonable suspicions when he returns. In that same vein, a woman is unlikely to be seduced by a man thousands of miles away, especially if he is in the company of her husband while on campaign!
If a woman is to take a lover, then there are certain considerations that must be taken into account. He is, for example, unlikely to be a one-eyed, octogenarian Jewish court physician, or a hunchbacked, clubfooted Quasimodo. Much more likely, he will be a courtier, a man of noble lineage, in possession of considerable personal charm or ability, if not both. If you discover that your wife has taken a lover, your first thought upon uncovering his identity should not be: is she insane?
Since this isn’t exactly the sort of phenomenon measurable by statistics, rather than continuing to speak in abstracts, let’s review a few historical examples. To start with a particularly famous one, the three daughters-in-law of Philip IV of France were accused of adultery, their lovers (knights, brothers, sons of a Norman baron) condemned, brutally tortured, and executed, and the ladies Blanche and Margaret were sentenced to life imprisonment. Joana of Portugal, queen of Castile, was said to have given birth to a daughter fathered not by her husband, called Enrique the Impotent for obvious reasons, but by the courtier Beltrán de la Cueva, and later had two further illegitimate children by another lover. The potential succession of Joana's daughter, called la Beltraneja, led to civil war, and Enrique was forced to name his sister, Isabel, as his heir.
Agnese Visconti, wife of the lord of Mantua, was executed alongside her supposed lover for adultery committed with a knight. Maria of Brabant, duchess of Bavaria, was beheaded. Beatrice di Tenda, duchess of Milan, was executed for adultery with a troubadour, although in this case (as with possibly quite a few others) the accusation was simply an expedient means of getting rid of her. Peter I, king of Cyprus, returned from his long travels abroad to discover his wife Eleanor’s infidelity, but was himself murdered soon after and succeeded by their son. Given what we’ve seen of Eleanor of Aragon’s character, one suspects these two facts are not unrelated. Louis VIII was also said to have been poisoned by his queen and her lover, the count of Champagne. Isabeau of Bavaria, queen to Charles the Mad of France, accurately described as widow to a living husband, was said to be the lover of her husband’s younger brother, Louis I, duke of Orleans.
Sibylle de Porcien (daughter of the count of Porcien), wife of Godfrey, count of Namur, was said to have left her husband for the much-older Enguerrand de Coucy, for Godfrey could not keep up with her “boundless sexual needs,” an act which started a long-lasting violent feud between the two men, but Sibylle later started an affair with another man much younger than her new husband, who Enguerrand betrothed to his daughter, perhaps to minimize the scandal. In a twist well worthy of any Crusader Kings player, the formidable lady Sibylle is also said to have conspired with her second husband in the murder of Gerard de Quierzy, another one of her lovers. Elisabeth, countess of Vermandois in her own right, wife of Philip, count of Flanders, who accused his wife of adultery with a knight named Walter de Fontaines, who he had beaten to death, and then seized control of his wife’s lands until her death with the king’s permission. Interestingly, the annals tell us that Walter’s sons rose up in revolt against Philip and laid waste to his lands, and “compelled him to give them satisfaction for the death of the said Walter of Fontaines.”
Margaret of Anjou, queen to another mad king, Henry VI of England, was rumored to be the lover of Edmund Beaufort, duke of Somerset (and, similar to other cases mentioned, rumors spread at one point that she planned to poison her husband to marry her lover), who in turn was also said to have once been the lover of Catherine of Valois, Henry VI’s mother. Somerset’s son and heir, Henry, later boasted of having been the lover of Mary of Guelders, queen-regent of Scotland: it’s further said that she tried to have her lover, Patrick Hepburn (Lord Hailes) kill him for speaking thusly of her. After the death of Gian Galeazzo Visconti, duke of Milan, the widowed duchess Caterina was said to have taken another regent, Francesco Barbavara, as a lover, and made him count of Valsesia and of Pietre Gemelle. Joanna II, queen of Naples, showered titles and favor upon Sergianni Caracciolo, who she made grand seneschal of the kingdom, the point where he became ruler in all but name.
Having taken all this into account, I think there are a few significant conclusions that we can draw. Noblewomen seem most inclined to take lovers in cases where the husband is dead, incapable, absent, despised, or is otherwise unavailable to his wife. The likelihood would also appear to increase in cases where the lady rules in her own right, or as a regent. Most would seem to be women of strong character and formidable will, to put to mildly. When adultery is discovered or suspected, the husbands of dangerous women seem to meet a suspiciously convenient ends not long after.
Similarly, a husband’s own mistress and illegitimate children may not be safe in the presence of viperous virago. Most importantly, the likelihood of a wife’s adultery should depend quite heavily on her personal traits and circumstances, giving the player a much greater incentive to attend to their wife, her character traits, and her opinion of them. Perhaps it would be best not to embark on a lengthy campaign abroad this year, given the way your young, lustful wife has been eyeing that ambitious duke...
Crime and Punishment, Medieval Style
Enrique the Impotent, king of Castile, failed to punish his magnates’ defiance and rebellion, nor could he gain their loyalty and obedience, thus proving his sobriquet true on multiple levels. Theobald, count of Champagne and Blois, refused to provide military service to Louis VII of France, and later fought against him, but came out of the conflict relatively unscathed after a peace was brokered: one of the advantages of having the king of England as a brother. Roger II of Sicily faced several significant revolts from among his own comital nobility: the first one, at the dawn of his reign, was met with negotiation and leniency, the second and third with blinding, imprisonment, forfeiture, and hanging, thus demonstrating that the royal instruments of justice may vary heavily depending on the king’s position.
In addition, I would argue that there are compelling gameplay considerations that favor a more lenient approach. First, and perhaps most importantly, simply being identified as the leader of plot should be immediately treated as just and unobjectionable cause for imprisonment, especially if a vassal’s plot isn’t even directed against their liege or any of their immediate relatives. Furthermore, unless they’re a member of your immediate court, issuing an order for someone’s arrest is generally followed by them raising their banners in rebellion or otherwise fleeing into exile, more likely the former than the latter. As a player, I’m often informed that I have just cause for imprisonment because someone has acted dishonorably toward me, and I have no earthly idea why. This, I would like to see change. If I’m going to imprison someone, or aim to dispossess them, I should know exactly why I’m doing it.
As far as title revocation is concerned, most instances in which prominent magnates and personalities were deprived of their holdings involved first open rebellion (the Revolt of the Earls in England, for example), capture and imprisonment, and only then did the asset forfeiture proceedings usually begin. From a gameplay perspective, I don’t think anyone truly benefits from dynasties being dispossessed too easily or too frequently: far more interesting to exchange moves with a worthy nemesis or dynasty over the years, than to simply catch them out on a minor scheme and toss them into the oubliette. This would also add an interesting new dimension to scheming: it’s one thing to know that someone is plotting against you, another entirely to try and determine if you’re secure enough on your throne that you can call him out on it and throw down the proverbial gauntlet.
So, other than the means already discussed, by what methods can we punish these turbulent vassals for their crimes against the crown? The razing of castles is one of particular interest to me: not those held by your vassals who assisted you, to be certain, but if you happen to hold a few baronies as secondary or tertiary titles, then having one or two of those razed to the ground by your liege after a rebellion, now that we can have empty provinces, would be a great (and expensive) punishment. Indeed, this is the means by which Cardinal Richelieu broke the back of the remnants of the feudal nobility in the 17th century: he demolished their castles.
Imprisonment is another option, both in the long and short term. The contumacious Jean V, count of Armagnac, the same who took his own sister to wife, was besieged and killed by Louis XI’s forces, at which point his brother Charles was permitted to inherit the county, but was immediately imprisoned and not released until after Louis’ death ten years later (and was ultimately succeeded in the title by his grand-nephew, the duke of Alencon, whose own father was several times imprisoned and eventually died in prison). Apparently we did not, in fact, invent the strategy of imprisoning our enemies until their line dies off and their titles pass into our orbit.
The annals have it that King John stripped John de Courcy, earl of Ulster, of his title and sentenced him to perpetual imprisonment in the Tower of London, until he obtained his freedom by taking up the cause of crusade. James II, count of Urgell, was besieged and captured by the forces of Ferdinand I of Aragon (Urgell was a counter-claimant to the throne of Aragon, and one of his supporters had murdered an archbishop, of all things), stripped of his titles and imprisoned for twenty years until his death.
A particularly zealous ruler, in the vein of the pious Saint Louis IX, may insist that misbehaving vassals embark on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, raise a new church or monastery, or take up the cross on a crusade, if one is pending - or pledge to go on the next one, if one is not - (the first and last of those three being activities that are themselves often not without hazard, and the second a substantial expense) to earn forgiveness for their sins and a potential return to the royal graces. To touch upon the opposite side of the coin for a moment, a ruler renowned for his piety, now imprisoned, may find the realm's bishops or even the pope interceding on his behalf.
Malcolm Canmore, king of Scotland, did homage to William the Conqueror as his vassal, and gave him his son Duncan (the future Duncan II) as a hostage. The Deeds of Louis the Fat mention several occasions upon which the king’s (relative) trust was earned (back) by the offering of hostages. Many of King John’s barons offered him their sons, nephews, and even mothers as guarantors for their loyalty. A rebellious vassal may be pardoned for his crimes, but forced to surrender his children or brothers as proof against further treachery: would you rebel against your monarch a second time, knowing that your son may be imprisoned or executed for your crimes?
As we’ve touched upon crown authority a few times throughout this work, I’d like to make reference to it again one last time in terms of punishment and the retributive options available to the medieval monarch. A weak king may find himself forced to negotiate with his own vassals even after defeating them in the field, and accepting fines and hostages in lieu of more permanent punishments, lest he alienate his remaining magnates and trigger a second, more successful revolt. A stronger king may be able to make an example of some, to strip a few vassals of their titles or execute them, but perhaps must choose between the two options. Only a king of formidable ability and reputation with the utmost confidence in his royal authority, or a great and terrible tyrant, can likely get away with depriving the entire host of his enemies of their titles and beheading them in the process.
Yes, It's Finally Over
So, here we are. If you've managed to make it this far, then you have both my most sincere thanks and admiration. I hadn't intended anything quite approaching this volume when I started, but these things tend to take on a sort of life of their own once you get the ball rolling. Much of what's been discussed here today has been mechanical in nature, and would radically alter both the established balance of power and the conventional strategies for personal and dynastic success in Crusader Kings. The ideal is always to make the game more interesting to play, but today we've also discussed ways in which to make it more challenging, as well, especially as far as the late game is concerned.
Inevitability is something I wish to avoid, without arguing for total victory or total collapse. An empire, once established, need not either thrive or collapse and fragment like that of Alexander, for gradual decay and eventual revitalization are also options. Ways in which wars can be fought without resorting to a zero sum scenario in which one side must be annihilated for the other to be triumphant. The guiding principle of today's work, if I had to boil it down, would be enriching the means by which kingdoms and empires are maintained, as opposed to expanded. Making it so that internal politics matter just as much, if not more, than external politics, so that a modest kingdom by itself can offer the player an experience as rich as ruling over any great empire. Yes, for now, I think, that will do nicely.
And, of course, because they go hand in hand, some of the differences between strong and weak royal authority, and the challenges of governing a realm full of hard-headed, bloody-minded warlords and their kin. The questions of the day: in just what ways did the magnates seek to subvert royal authority and assert their own dominance, how were they punished for their transgressions by their feudal superiors, and how can we follow in their footsteps to offer players more interesting opportunities to indulge in the traditional feudal pastimes of rapine, pillage, and plunder?
Something Wicked This Way Comes
Every generation has its own cast of characters, its iconic heroes and villains, and in this the medieval period is no different from any other. For every Richard the Lionheart history has given us, there’s a Gilles de Rais or Peter the Cruel lurking somewhere in the shadows. Those whose names have come down to us through the ages renowned and reviled for their wicked and terrible ways (the potential political motivations of such accusations, we’ll refrain from addressing), however, are relatively few in number, especially when compared against a moral census of your average Crusader Kings campaign.
You might characterize the bulk of the medieval nobility as, at worst, a silent majority, at least as far as detailed references to their personal reputations are concerned. Which is not to suggest by any means that your average feudal magnate was a milquetoast: simply that whatever vices he practiced were those practiced by his neighbors, and that if he can be said to be in possession of a certain hard-heartedness toward the suffering of others, then even so it remains unlikely that he is in the habit of flaying his prisoners as a form of entertainment. In fact, if we are to take nicknames into consideration, then you might find the scale weighted in favor of more positive monikers.
Consider, for example, the Babenberg dukes of Austria. In sequence: Leopold the Illustrious, Henry the Strong, Adalbert the Victorious, Ernest the Brave, Leopold the Fair, Leopold the Good, Adalbert the Devout, Leopold the Generous, Henry Jasomirgott (don’t ask), Leopold the Virtuous, Frederick the Catholic, Leopold the Glorious, and Frederick the Quarrelsome. Now, I’ll be the first to admit, some (if not most) of these nicknames were benevolently-but-retroactively bestowed by a motivated and presumably well-compensated 15th century historian-genealogist, Ladislaus Sunthaym, but we may consider it at least worthy of note that a man writing in much closer temporal proximity to his subjects than any of us apparently did not encounter anything in their personal histories to dim or tarnish the glittering sobriquets he assigned them. In fact, the impetus for Sunthaym’s genealogy of the family was the 1485 canonization of Leopold the Good as patron saint of Austria.
Rare indeed were those who sought to rule over their vassals in the image of a decadent eastern potentate, keeping harems of concubines, beheading their close advisors, building a mountain out of the skulls of their enemies, and reigning despotically over the cowered masses. Those who sought to rule as tyrants, or more often, just too autocratically for their barons’ liking, often came to a bad end. Pedro the Cruel, King of Castile. Edward II and Richard II in England. James I of Scotland. Joanna I of Naples. Charles the Bad, King of Navarre.
I could go on all day, but I you have the general idea by now: the creeping expansion of royal authority at the expense of the traditional privileges of the nobility was a process that took place over centuries, not without setbacks and reversals, and any attempt to rapidly accelerate that process was often violently rejected by those who stood to lose the most by it.
Above all else, we must remember the teachings of Machiavelli: “Nevertheless a prince ought to inspire fear in such a way that, if he does not win love, he avoids hatred; because he can endure very well being feared whilst he is not hated, which will always be as long as he abstains from the property of his citizens and subjects and from their women. But when it is necessary for him to proceed against the life of someone, he must do it on proper justification and for manifest cause, but above all things he must keep his hands off the property of others, because men more quickly forget the death of their father than the loss of their patrimony.”
As fond as I am of the existing trait system, and as much as it sets Crusader Kings II apart from all other games in its genre, this is one area in which I feel it often falls somewhat short: it has great difficulty in representing the manifold shades of personality in anything other than stark, absolute black and white. So, how best to distinguish the flagrantly cruel from the merely ruthless? To separate the ruler who should be feared from one who should be feared and hated?
The necessary tools we already have at our disposal, and require little modification: I just want to make some modifications to how we use them. As things stand now in Crusader Kings II, every character has an education trait, which works on a scale from one to four, one being the worst, and four being the best at that particular skill set. You can be scarred, grievously scarred, or horrifically scarred. Viking gives way to Ravager, and Ravager to Sea King. You might have guessed by now where I’m going with this: I propose to apply this same system of progression to personality traits, as well.
A character would no longer merely be Lustful or Chaste, instead being Lustful_1, Lustful_2, or Lustful_3, Chaste_1, Chaste_2, or Chaste_3, etc. It’s a form of trait evolution that already exists to a degree in Crusader Kings II, and was memorably one of the best parts of the old school Total War games, which assigned characters traits with names like “Grotesquely Perverse,” “Ruled by Fear,” “Stunningly Incompetent,” and “Drooling Inbred Idiot.” And now that I’ve mentioned it, it comes to mind that this would also much better represent inbreeding as a progressive phenomenon, instead of going full Habsburg right off the bat.
The sort of repetitive events that come up from time to time that would have given us a trait, that instead do little because we already have it, that we tend to click through on autopilot after seeing them a few hundred times, might instead serve to graduate that trait to the next tier, stay its progress, or reverse course, increasing the player’s level of engagement with what was previously essentially a maintenance task. Furthermore, by this method we can distinguish those merely in possession of a short fuse from those likely to shoot the proverbial messenger in a fit of rage. The somewhat unstable from the stark raving mad lunatics. The lustful from indiscriminate womanizers from those to whom the nearest goat is sufficient.
There would be more nuanced and organic decision-making on the part of the AI, and freedom to design events for more extreme character traits without making them too applicable for the bulk of the game’s characters. A ruler of great cynicism, lust, and pride, with no respect for the laws of Man or God, might even take his own sister for a bride or lover, as the aforementioned John V, count of Armagnac, did. A very pious ruler might abandon this sinful world for retreat to a monastery and later achieve sainthood, and a retroactive examination of his traits would make clear his inclinations.
Furthermore, a trait may present with certain benefits when practiced in moderation, but turn out to have hidden pitfalls when taken to extremes: a ruler too kind and soft-hearted may create more trouble for himself in the future by offering leniency with ruthlessness would be called for, and an overly ambitious ruler driven to reach beyond his means if his skills are not equal to his desire. Having a lustful wife may serve to fill your court with children, but the greater her lust, the greater the chance that they may not be yours. Ruler nicknames could be more logically distributed under such a system, as well, with a ruler not being named "the Kind" until his kindness is truly exceptional, and the same to be said for “the Cruel” or “the Good.”
How to Inherit the Earth: A Handbook for Feudal Lords
And now we come upon the meat and bones of feudal misbehavior: the inheritance dispute! Forget your fabricated claims, revocation plots, border disputes, and de jure claim wars: this was the primary means of legitimate or at least semi-legitimate medieval dynastic aggrandizement. If it wasn't a crusade, chances are it was one of these: even the Hundred Years' War, which started out essentially as a title revocation war, was transformed after Edward III took things one step further and claimed the throne of France in addition to his vast continental holdings.
My chief proposition here is not to fundamentally change the existing mechanics pertaining to permanent territorial expansion, but rather to shift their focus toward claim wars based on blood relations and away from unjust wars of aggression, particularly those based on fabricated claims. From a historical standpoint, a piece of paper claiming that you are the legitimate inheritor of a particular title is an excuse that would have been considered less than even paper thin, considering that everyone involved would be quite capable of figuring out the bloodlines involved. If you wish to seize something by force that is not yours by right, then let it be done, and upon your head be the consequences. If the title history says that it has been seized by a claimant, then let that be a reasonable assurance that the claim was legitimate, even if the means by which it was pressed were violent.
From a gameplay perspective, fabricating claims is rarely the most effective use of a chancellor, unless you happen to get lucky with a claim for an entire duchy. Fabrications against the player are simply a means to pad out your kill list by order the assassinations of those annoyances, and having someone suddenly be deemed as a legitimate claimant to one of your titles who in truth is nothing of the sort is an unwelcome intrusion indeed. Much better that naked aggression is recognized for what it is, and let claim wars be rooted in legitimate inheritance disputes. This serves to somewhat moderate rapid expansion and dramatically escalates the importance of marital decision-making: the inclination to carefully check the stats of your wife, as the loading screen so often advises us, potentially being outweighed by her potential inheritance.
I would also like to discuss a potential change to the way that claim wars are fought and won now, particularly for the throne of an independent kingdom (subnational claim wars would remain as they are, for the most part). In such cases where the incumbent is defeated, then it should either be in battle or siege and followed by his imprisonment, or if the odds simply prove to be too much, then by flight into exile, from which he (or his heirs) can plot and scheme and raise support for an invasion to retake his throne, as the sons of Harold Godwinson did, or when Peter the Cruel and Henry of Trastamara traded the throne of Castile back and forth. I should note, in relation to my earlier arguments in favor of plural homage, if implemented, a deposed king and his heirs would, of course, retain any titles held outside the realm proper, being outside the power of the victor to appropriate.
An imprisoned and deposed monarch should remain so, to be relieved of any remaining titles that are within the new king’s power to revoke, with a high likelihood of an untimely demise to follow. What we wish to avoid is any sort of scenario in which the defeated and deposed monarch of an independent kingdom is released again to serve as a vassal of his conqueror. Perpetual imprisonment, execution, banishment and exile, mostly the former two, any of these are more reasonable outcomes than that. Of course, if the player is an independent monarch, then this makes claim wars against them much more significant, being potentially dynasty-ending experiences, but that would also be as it should be. If someone is gunning for your throne, that's a matter of life or death. You don't take threats like that lightly.
It is a period of civil war. Rebel barons, striking from a hidden base...
The monopolization of the king’s favor was a surprisingly common cause for rebellion and murder, the driving impetus being to rid the king of his “evil councilors” or “bad advisors,” and to replace them with members of the offended party, who would then in turn monopolize the king’s favor (and the realm’s government) for their ambitions. Every ruler has his favorites, but must remember to be liberal with his generosity, and not restrict himself to a few close advisors, especially if they are not members of the upper echelons of the feudal nobility. In some cases, the realm even ends up being divided between factions, such as between the Armagnacs and the Burgundians in France, Lancaster and York in England, or the Beaumonts and Grammonts in Navarre.
Of course, in order to properly model this in Crusader Kings III, it would first require the implementation of court favorites as a measurable phenomenon: this is a subject I would like to discuss in much greater detail, but to do so here would to be to distract from a topic already growing to size significant even by my usual standards, and for the time being I think I shall reserve myself to the statement that rebellion should be a viable and common response to monopolization of the realm’s governments by a privileged few. A war waged to banish or execute the king's favorites and to install new councilors in their place. The means by which that privileged few obtained and maintained the king's favor will be a topic for another time.
Another common case which often goes hand-in-hand with the above is when the nobility might feel that their king has grown too autocratic in temperament, and is seeking to curb their traditional privileges, in which case they may rebel to enforce their will upon him or even to replace with a son or younger as a figurehead. The English barons of the Magna Carta and the League of the Public Weal would fall into this category. Similarly, a ruler’s son or sons may take it upon themselves to rebel against their father, either out of a desire to accelerate their inheritance, or because they’ve been poisoned against their fathers by the whispering of their own share of the evil councilors.
A land under occupation may see a rising of native lords, seeking to throw off the yoke of foreign domination, such as took place among the Welsh, Irish, and Scottish at various points throughout the medieval period. In such cases, rather than the randomly generated leaders of cultural revolts that take place now, I would place a princeling of the people in question, a culturally native ruler with a claim on a kingdom in need of reclaiming or restoration, or otherwise the legitimate heir of a conquered monarch's line, or else just a capable and bold leader chosen from among the available population. The exact method of calculation in this scenario, I'm not particularly concerned with, so long as liberation revolts select their anointed liberators from among the game's existing non-player characters instead of weaving them into existence from nothingness.
Another potential incentive to rebellion is a king who unjustly exploits his vassals for his own gain. For example, one who tries to press his own claims (or those of his close relatives) to his vassals’ titles, that he believes himself to have a better right to, and seeks to strip them of their patrimony to satisfy his own ambitions. Or, in another instance, a ruler who seduces the wives, sisters, and daughters of his vassals would be committing a grave crime indeed in the eyes of their husbands, fathers, and brothers (regardless of its veracity, this was one of the popular accusations made against King John, that he preyed upon the female relations of his barons). Vengeance, for a wife stolen, for a father hanged, for a brother dispossessed, is a powerful motivator, and a feudal lord may raise his banners in revolt to obtain satisfaction for his grievances.
Murder, Like Duct Tape, is the Answer to Everything
Murder plots: one of the core aspects of the Crusader Kings player’s experience. The world would be a less interesting place without them. We’ve participated in them, initiated them, and had them wielded against us. Bowmen on grassy knolls, poison, bombs. The serpent in the cradle. We’ve seen it all. The logic of them, though, has often left something to be desired. If you don’t check off the little box to automatically stop any discovered plots, then your realm will very shortly be awash with them and the funeral invitations endless. Have you ever observed an assassination plot in progress, and found yourself wondering: just what does she have against him, anyways?
In truth, almost all confirmed or widely suspected medieval murders were likely committed or arranged by someone who served to immediately gain from them: to inherit a title, to remove a rival, to eliminate a hated tyrant, etc. And those who participated or initiated these plots did so with true enmity: you’d be exceedingly unlikely to find anyone plotting to murder their king because their feelings toward him were merely lukewarm. Any conspiracy of murder should consist exclusively of those with tremendous, overwhelming grievances against the target, legitimate or perceived, or with some immediate form of gain on the line that would satisfy their deep, personal ambitions.
As for the gameplay consequences of this, I would suggest that the prospects of a particular murder plot (and the AI’s inclination to initiate one) should depend not only on those you recruit to it and your own abilities, but also much more than they do now on your proximity to the intended victim. Far easier to arrange someone’s demise when you’re in their very court, underneath their nose, rather than halfway across Europe. For additional flavor, I would also tie this into the mechanics of feasting, tournaments, and hunting, among others.
Need someone dead? Invite them hunting, and see your scheme seize the opportunity to arrange a “hunting accident.” Have them attend your feast, and watch them choke to death on a surfeit of lamprey eels (or just have them killed outright for great infamy – a Black Dinner indeed). Maybe someone’s lance rides a little bit too high in the joust, and someone ends up dead with a splinter in their eye. It happened to Henry II of France, after all. The mêlée is a confusing place: who knows who crushed that lad's skull? Another aspect of this that I would like to see implemented would make it so that not all murders are necessarily flagged as deaths by suspicious circumstances. Leave the player wondering: was it really a hunting accident, or was it a “hunting accident”? Include uncommon, but entirely mundane counterparts for some of these deaths, so that there's some mystery to the world.
Stealing from the Collection Plate
The Church has always been known for its wealth: this was no secret to the feudal nobility, and in times of great chaos and strife, the most rapacious of them would laugh in the face of eternal damnation and sack, plunder, and raze churches and monasteries for their riches as readily as any axe-wielding viking raider ever did. Prince-bishops with substantial holdings were eyed jealously by their secular neighbors. In this particularly sacrilegious form of pillaging, I see the potential for a new avenue to riches in Crusader Kings III.
When the authority of the crown is low, perhaps a child-king sits on the throne, held in the thrall of ambitious and self-serving regents, and the land is wracked by famine, bandits, and internecine warfare among the magnates, then perhaps a new casus belli will be available for those to whom Christ and his saints are asleep: the opportunity to raid temple holdings either in your own provinces or in those directly neighboring yours.
The potential gains would be substantial, and many a feudal lord earned a dark reputation for his predations against prelates: Henry, count of Luxembourg and Namur warred with Albero, archbishop of Trier, which devastated the region for seven years, with the king of the Romans, Conrad, unwillin g or unable to intervene in favor of either side, a war which was ultimately resolved with a negotiated peace. The risk, of course, is excommunication, the enmity of the realm’s bishops, a significant loss of piety, and potentially a legitimate excuse for your liege to make war against you, but if the king’s power is weak or if he is otherwise occupied with rebellion and foreign wars, then it may be a path to swift and easy riches.
The Ants Go Marching One By One
Medieval wars were not, generally speaking, total wars. The sheer logistics involved precluded kings marching off to war with the entire kingdom's chivalry: in practice, they normally only ever deployed a portion of their forces at any given time, because the realm would quickly find itself bankrupt otherwise. Inevitably, not all men summoned even necessarily showed up, and in some cases, recalcitrant magnates refused to serve at all, if they felt it outside the bounds of their feudal contract. For example, when Edward Longshanks summoned the might of his realm to crush the Scots in 1297, he cast his net for approximately 27,000 Englishmen and 12,000 or so Welshmen, a formidable number.
His final roster for the campaign was likely in the realm of just shy of 15,000 Englishmen and slightly over 10,000 Welshmen. The Welsh, as you can see, were clearly much more enthusiastic about the prospect of invading Scotland than the English were. As it so happens, the Welsh were significant contributors to most of Edward's campaigns. This is a significant factor in the explanation of how smaller realms managed to survive beside a much larger, stronger, and potentially more aggressive neighbor - limited force projection, to borrow a more modern term.
As such, I propose a change. Under certain laws, your council could have its say in declarations of war, incurring tyranny for the ruler who defied their will. I intend to capture a portion of this spirit, but in a far more organic form. As things stand now, the levies contributed by your vassals fluctuate depending on their personal opinion of you: this would remain so, and be half of the equation.
For the other half, I suggest that wars themselves have an opinion score for each side, which is to say, the duke's contributions to your cause, and his availability for service as a commander, would also fluctuate depending on his opinion of the war and your part in it. You may perfectly well declare a war that your vassals disapprove of - just don't expect them to bend over backwards to help you. This would, of course, also be mitigated by things like crown authority and centralization, with a more powerful monarch obviously being able to exert more pressure on his vassals to supply him with a greater percentage of their troops.
For example, holy wars and crusades would be very popular among zealous vassals, especially defensive wars against pagan and infidel invaders. Wars to press a claim would rank highly with the claimant, their relatives by blood and marriage, and their allies. Unjust wars against your own vassals would be poorly received, and as was historically the case would see the deployment of only a small portion of the forces normally available to you. Very distant wars would also be unpopular: the feudal nobility having no particular enthusiasm for campaigning far from home, potentially for years, with likely little gain for themselves. Civil wars where a vassal has a strong distaste for both you and your side of the war may see that vassal elect to switch sides: going down with a sinking ship was not a value the medieval nobility identified with.
This would also make mercenaries much, much more important than they are now, and give them a more meaningful role in the player's military strategy. Instead of simply augmenting your armies into an even more unstoppable doomstack than it already is, mercenaries would be the king's tool of choice to wage unpopular wars, or to persecute his own vassals, as the English King John did quite routinely. Rather than a luxury item for the medieval super-wealthy, mercenaries in this way become a necessity for unpopular monarchs fighting unpopular conflicts. Alliances take on a new level of significance, as well: if you can get a foreign ruler onboard with your plans, perhaps by planting a favored claimant on the throne, or by his being your loving brother-in-law, then he might provide you enough forces to make all the difference.
Now, obviously, there’s a catch here. How do we resolve these calculations when a realm is involved in multiple wars? It becomes a somewhat more complicated scenario, but the least frustrating resolution for the player, I think, would be to have the barons’ levies calculated per their opinion of the most popular war currently being waged. So, maybe you’re trying to revoke a county and nobody really wants to help with that, but then you’re invaded by a horde of expansionist Welshmen and their emperor, and now they’re ready to contribute with everything they’ve got.
Logistically, you would then raise the remainder of the levies made available to you, and unite them with your forces already in the field. Declaring additional offensive wars without first resolving your existing conflicts would also incur additional opinion penalties, I think, to prevent someone initiating a second, theoretically more popular war to gain additional troops to fight their first unpopular war, and encouraging both the player and the AI to make peace with their rebellious vassals when more important considerations are at hand: not a few turbulent magnates escaped justice when their evil turned out to be the lesser one.
I'm quite aware that this is likely to be one of my more controversial recommendations, given how it would fundamentally alter the way war is waged from its form in Crusader Kings II, but I feel that it would bring with it substantial benefits and enrich the overall gameplay experience. It would slow the relentless, inexorable expansion of vast empires with seemingly endless legions at their disposal, add meaningful challenges to the later centuries of the game when troop numbers and income are both inflated, help shield and prolong the existence of smaller realms living in the shadow of a leviathan, protect vassals from their liege's depredations, encourage the use of mercenaries in a more strategic way, add another meaningful reason to increase crown authority and centralization, and incentivize rulers to work harder to appease their most powerful vassals.
Until Death Do Us Part
I cannot help but adore the Lusignan kings of Cyprus: they’re just so delightfully medieval in everything that they do. They lived and died like most people play this game. Now, adultery. Specifically, today, as it pertains to wives (husbands and their mistresses will receive their own treatment in due time). Seeing as a thread simply titled Cuckolding made it to eight pages alone, I could hardly pass this one by. Did it happen? Yes. How common was it?
That's almost impossible to say: we can only ever know of those cases where those involved either chose or were forced to make the affairs public. A thousand such incidents could pass by without our ever knowing it. However, I’d place a fair wager on the odds that it was not anywhere near as common as in Crusader Kings II when you have the Seduction focus enabled for everyone. You’d need to fast-forward to the reigns of Louis XIV and XV in the 17th and 18th centuries to find lurid sexual intrigue on such a scale. So, how best to balance adultery so that it happens when it should happen, but not so frequently or absurdly that the player can never be certain whether their children are their own?
Two words: location and personality. Step one is making it so that a character’s location has a meaningful effect on their ability to interact with others. Conception, for example, ought to be impossible when the husband is imprisoned or away on campaign, there being certain logistical difficulties when it comes to impregnating your wife in Anjou from the Holy Land. This would also require the implementation of a sort of travel timer, similar to that employed when recalling a councilor, to prevent someone from commuting on crusade to fulfill his conjugal duties, so to speak.
As a beneficial side effect, this would likely also reduce overall birth rates and court overpopulation somewhat, given the sheer amount of time often spent on campaign. If a woman becomes pregnant while her husband is away on Crusade, then unless he is a pious simpleton and she can somehow convince him that the conception was immaculate in nature, odds are, he’s going to have certain reasonable suspicions when he returns. In that same vein, a woman is unlikely to be seduced by a man thousands of miles away, especially if he is in the company of her husband while on campaign!
If a woman is going to take a lover, then traditionally it’s most likely to be someone within her immediate vicinity. Now, under what circumstances should or would she do so? This is where personality comes into play, and there are a number of fascinating options here that illustrate the potential depth of interaction in Crusader Kings III. A woman of insatiable lust, whose husband has been long away on campaign or in prison, may take a lover. A widow, for similar, more permanent reasons, obviously. A proud woman, insulted by a husband who flaunts his mistress and bastards at court, may take a lover in retaliation. A noblewoman with a childless marriage and an impotent husband may seek her satisfaction elsewhere.
If a woman is to take a lover, then there are certain considerations that must be taken into account. He is, for example, unlikely to be a one-eyed, octogenarian Jewish court physician, or a hunchbacked, clubfooted Quasimodo. Much more likely, he will be a courtier, a man of noble lineage, in possession of considerable personal charm or ability, if not both. If you discover that your wife has taken a lover, your first thought upon uncovering his identity should not be: is she insane?
Since this isn’t exactly the sort of phenomenon measurable by statistics, rather than continuing to speak in abstracts, let’s review a few historical examples. To start with a particularly famous one, the three daughters-in-law of Philip IV of France were accused of adultery, their lovers (knights, brothers, sons of a Norman baron) condemned, brutally tortured, and executed, and the ladies Blanche and Margaret were sentenced to life imprisonment. Joana of Portugal, queen of Castile, was said to have given birth to a daughter fathered not by her husband, called Enrique the Impotent for obvious reasons, but by the courtier Beltrán de la Cueva, and later had two further illegitimate children by another lover. The potential succession of Joana's daughter, called la Beltraneja, led to civil war, and Enrique was forced to name his sister, Isabel, as his heir.
Agnese Visconti, wife of the lord of Mantua, was executed alongside her supposed lover for adultery committed with a knight. Maria of Brabant, duchess of Bavaria, was beheaded. Beatrice di Tenda, duchess of Milan, was executed for adultery with a troubadour, although in this case (as with possibly quite a few others) the accusation was simply an expedient means of getting rid of her. Peter I, king of Cyprus, returned from his long travels abroad to discover his wife Eleanor’s infidelity, but was himself murdered soon after and succeeded by their son. Given what we’ve seen of Eleanor of Aragon’s character, one suspects these two facts are not unrelated. Louis VIII was also said to have been poisoned by his queen and her lover, the count of Champagne. Isabeau of Bavaria, queen to Charles the Mad of France, accurately described as widow to a living husband, was said to be the lover of her husband’s younger brother, Louis I, duke of Orleans.
Sibylle de Porcien (daughter of the count of Porcien), wife of Godfrey, count of Namur, was said to have left her husband for the much-older Enguerrand de Coucy, for Godfrey could not keep up with her “boundless sexual needs,” an act which started a long-lasting violent feud between the two men, but Sibylle later started an affair with another man much younger than her new husband, who Enguerrand betrothed to his daughter, perhaps to minimize the scandal. In a twist well worthy of any Crusader Kings player, the formidable lady Sibylle is also said to have conspired with her second husband in the murder of Gerard de Quierzy, another one of her lovers. Elisabeth, countess of Vermandois in her own right, wife of Philip, count of Flanders, who accused his wife of adultery with a knight named Walter de Fontaines, who he had beaten to death, and then seized control of his wife’s lands until her death with the king’s permission. Interestingly, the annals tell us that Walter’s sons rose up in revolt against Philip and laid waste to his lands, and “compelled him to give them satisfaction for the death of the said Walter of Fontaines.”
Similar in nature to the royal favorites mentioned earlier, a widowed regent or ruler in her own right might very well shower favors and titles upon her lovers. Leonor Teles, queen and later regent of Portugal, is said to have taken Juan Fernández de Andeiro as her lover, and her husband was rumored to have killed her child believed to be his. Like Peter of Cyprus, this Leonor’s husband also died soon afterwards, and Leonor raised Andeiro to the title of count of Ourem. Urraca, queen of Castile, Leon, and Galicia, took Pedro de Lara and Pedro de Gomez as lovers, and apparently quite openly had two illegitimate children by the former during her reign.
Margaret of Anjou, queen to another mad king, Henry VI of England, was rumored to be the lover of Edmund Beaufort, duke of Somerset (and, similar to other cases mentioned, rumors spread at one point that she planned to poison her husband to marry her lover), who in turn was also said to have once been the lover of Catherine of Valois, Henry VI’s mother. Somerset’s son and heir, Henry, later boasted of having been the lover of Mary of Guelders, queen-regent of Scotland: it’s further said that she tried to have her lover, Patrick Hepburn (Lord Hailes) kill him for speaking thusly of her. After the death of Gian Galeazzo Visconti, duke of Milan, the widowed duchess Caterina was said to have taken another regent, Francesco Barbavara, as a lover, and made him count of Valsesia and of Pietre Gemelle. Joanna II, queen of Naples, showered titles and favor upon Sergianni Caracciolo, who she made grand seneschal of the kingdom, the point where he became ruler in all but name.
Having taken all this into account, I think there are a few significant conclusions that we can draw. Noblewomen seem most inclined to take lovers in cases where the husband is dead, incapable, absent, despised, or is otherwise unavailable to his wife. The likelihood would also appear to increase in cases where the lady rules in her own right, or as a regent. Most would seem to be women of strong character and formidable will, to put to mildly. When adultery is discovered or suspected, the husbands of dangerous women seem to meet a suspiciously convenient ends not long after.
Similarly, a husband’s own mistress and illegitimate children may not be safe in the presence of viperous virago. Most importantly, the likelihood of a wife’s adultery should depend quite heavily on her personal traits and circumstances, giving the player a much greater incentive to attend to their wife, her character traits, and her opinion of them. Perhaps it would be best not to embark on a lengthy campaign abroad this year, given the way your young, lustful wife has been eyeing that ambitious duke...
Crime and Punishment, Medieval Style
We’ve examined a number of forms of feudal misbehavior, but now we come to one of the most important questions: how should we punish them? Execution and title revocation are, of course, the classics, but were often used more sparingly than one might expect, and it was not unusual for medieval monarchs to practice clemency before vengeance. The Mad War against Charles VIII, for example, saw the leaders of the rebellion essentially continue as they were, despite a victory for the royalist forces, and Jaume the Conqueror, king of Aragon, was well-known in this time for his leniency with his turbulent vassals, despite frequently finding himself in conflict with them. Henry II of England relieved several prominent vassals of some of their lands and castles after they joined his sons in a revolt against him, but refrained from executing them or stripping them of their titles outright.
Enrique the Impotent, king of Castile, failed to punish his magnates’ defiance and rebellion, nor could he gain their loyalty and obedience, thus proving his sobriquet true on multiple levels. Theobald, count of Champagne and Blois, refused to provide military service to Louis VII of France, and later fought against him, but came out of the conflict relatively unscathed after a peace was brokered: one of the advantages of having the king of England as a brother. Roger II of Sicily faced several significant revolts from among his own comital nobility: the first one, at the dawn of his reign, was met with negotiation and leniency, the second and third with blinding, imprisonment, forfeiture, and hanging, thus demonstrating that the royal instruments of justice may vary heavily depending on the king’s position.
In addition, I would argue that there are compelling gameplay considerations that favor a more lenient approach. First, and perhaps most importantly, simply being identified as the leader of plot should be immediately treated as just and unobjectionable cause for imprisonment, especially if a vassal’s plot isn’t even directed against their liege or any of their immediate relatives. Furthermore, unless they’re a member of your immediate court, issuing an order for someone’s arrest is generally followed by them raising their banners in rebellion or otherwise fleeing into exile, more likely the former than the latter. As a player, I’m often informed that I have just cause for imprisonment because someone has acted dishonorably toward me, and I have no earthly idea why. This, I would like to see change. If I’m going to imprison someone, or aim to dispossess them, I should know exactly why I’m doing it.
As far as title revocation is concerned, most instances in which prominent magnates and personalities were deprived of their holdings involved first open rebellion (the Revolt of the Earls in England, for example), capture and imprisonment, and only then did the asset forfeiture proceedings usually begin. From a gameplay perspective, I don’t think anyone truly benefits from dynasties being dispossessed too easily or too frequently: far more interesting to exchange moves with a worthy nemesis or dynasty over the years, than to simply catch them out on a minor scheme and toss them into the oubliette. This would also add an interesting new dimension to scheming: it’s one thing to know that someone is plotting against you, another entirely to try and determine if you’re secure enough on your throne that you can call him out on it and throw down the proverbial gauntlet.
So, other than the means already discussed, by what methods can we punish these turbulent vassals for their crimes against the crown? The razing of castles is one of particular interest to me: not those held by your vassals who assisted you, to be certain, but if you happen to hold a few baronies as secondary or tertiary titles, then having one or two of those razed to the ground by your liege after a rebellion, now that we can have empty provinces, would be a great (and expensive) punishment. Indeed, this is the means by which Cardinal Richelieu broke the back of the remnants of the feudal nobility in the 17th century: he demolished their castles.
Imprisonment is another option, both in the long and short term. The contumacious Jean V, count of Armagnac, the same who took his own sister to wife, was besieged and killed by Louis XI’s forces, at which point his brother Charles was permitted to inherit the county, but was immediately imprisoned and not released until after Louis’ death ten years later (and was ultimately succeeded in the title by his grand-nephew, the duke of Alencon, whose own father was several times imprisoned and eventually died in prison). Apparently we did not, in fact, invent the strategy of imprisoning our enemies until their line dies off and their titles pass into our orbit.
The annals have it that King John stripped John de Courcy, earl of Ulster, of his title and sentenced him to perpetual imprisonment in the Tower of London, until he obtained his freedom by taking up the cause of crusade. James II, count of Urgell, was besieged and captured by the forces of Ferdinand I of Aragon (Urgell was a counter-claimant to the throne of Aragon, and one of his supporters had murdered an archbishop, of all things), stripped of his titles and imprisoned for twenty years until his death.
A particularly zealous ruler, in the vein of the pious Saint Louis IX, may insist that misbehaving vassals embark on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, raise a new church or monastery, or take up the cross on a crusade, if one is pending - or pledge to go on the next one, if one is not - (the first and last of those three being activities that are themselves often not without hazard, and the second a substantial expense) to earn forgiveness for their sins and a potential return to the royal graces. To touch upon the opposite side of the coin for a moment, a ruler renowned for his piety, now imprisoned, may find the realm's bishops or even the pope interceding on his behalf.
The medieval hostage is a creature distinct from a simple prisoner or prisoner of war, most importantly from our perspective, in that they cannot be redeemed for a ransom. Prisoners of war exist to be ransomed for their captors’ profit. Prisoners have been imprisoned as a form of punishment, or while awaiting judgment to be passed. The hostage is surety, a guarantor for good behavior, with the possibility of becoming a prisoner (or suffering a more dire fate) should the agreement be broken. They are a welcome guest in their "host's" court, until they aren't.
Malcolm Canmore, king of Scotland, did homage to William the Conqueror as his vassal, and gave him his son Duncan (the future Duncan II) as a hostage. The Deeds of Louis the Fat mention several occasions upon which the king’s (relative) trust was earned (back) by the offering of hostages. Many of King John’s barons offered him their sons, nephews, and even mothers as guarantors for their loyalty. A rebellious vassal may be pardoned for his crimes, but forced to surrender his children or brothers as proof against further treachery: would you rebel against your monarch a second time, knowing that your son may be imprisoned or executed for your crimes?
As we’ve touched upon crown authority a few times throughout this work, I’d like to make reference to it again one last time in terms of punishment and the retributive options available to the medieval monarch. A weak king may find himself forced to negotiate with his own vassals even after defeating them in the field, and accepting fines and hostages in lieu of more permanent punishments, lest he alienate his remaining magnates and trigger a second, more successful revolt. A stronger king may be able to make an example of some, to strip a few vassals of their titles or execute them, but perhaps must choose between the two options. Only a king of formidable ability and reputation with the utmost confidence in his royal authority, or a great and terrible tyrant, can likely get away with depriving the entire host of his enemies of their titles and beheading them in the process.
Yes, It's Finally Over
So, here we are. If you've managed to make it this far, then you have both my most sincere thanks and admiration. I hadn't intended anything quite approaching this volume when I started, but these things tend to take on a sort of life of their own once you get the ball rolling. Much of what's been discussed here today has been mechanical in nature, and would radically alter both the established balance of power and the conventional strategies for personal and dynastic success in Crusader Kings. The ideal is always to make the game more interesting to play, but today we've also discussed ways in which to make it more challenging, as well, especially as far as the late game is concerned.
Inevitability is something I wish to avoid, without arguing for total victory or total collapse. An empire, once established, need not either thrive or collapse and fragment like that of Alexander, for gradual decay and eventual revitalization are also options. Ways in which wars can be fought without resorting to a zero sum scenario in which one side must be annihilated for the other to be triumphant. The guiding principle of today's work, if I had to boil it down, would be enriching the means by which kingdoms and empires are maintained, as opposed to expanded. Making it so that internal politics matter just as much, if not more, than external politics, so that a modest kingdom by itself can offer the player an experience as rich as ruling over any great empire. Yes, for now, I think, that will do nicely.
