It looks like victory is within reach before the war has really begun, thanks to Papal assistance. Still, one shouldn't celebrate too early.
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Chronicles of Conradin: A Hohenstaufen Resurgence
- Thread starter Tyler96
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Looks like he'll have to, with the Hungarians content to wander aimlessly about southern Italy.
Which is why we've gone the blatantly opportunistic route of swooping in on a weakened enemy.
It's a dejure war for the Papal holdings in Benevento.
Aye, we don't want to get too ahead of ourselves...
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The Battle of Teano
Sorry for the paucity of updates, I've been doing an intensive summer course at uni over the past few weeks.
The Battle of Teano
Count Bertrand of Taranto surveyed the field. It had been a slog, but eventually the Pope’s mercenaries had been routed. The Captain of the Papal Guard was, even now, being led south in chains.
Yet, the troops remained demoralised. Many were uneasy at fighting Christ’s Vicar on Earth, or just disgruntled at the always unpleasant battlefield clean-up. More had been dismayed that King Charles himself had withdrawn from the front. Those in the know were further dismayed that the King had almost been captured by a band of marauding Maygars on his journey south.
Would've been really nice if they'd captured Charlie here.
Bertrand was a new man, he owed everything he had to the King, and would never openly speak ill of him. But his withdrawal from the front was a mistake. Ostensibly the King was attempt to drum up further support from some of his more recalcitrant vassals, but most knew he was attending to the health of his eldest son, Duke Charles of Provence.
The child had been frail all his life, and had developed a hunched back. The King’s tendency to dote on him had increased exponentially after the family tragedies of recent years- a younger son, Robert, had died in 1265, and the Queen, Beatriz of Provence, had passed in 1267.
His ruminations would be interrupted by news of yet another army on the horizon, this one belonging to the Swabian pretender.
For the most part, it was a mass of indistinct noise- a conglomeration of thundering hooves, clanging metal, and the screams, shouts, and grunts of men in distress. The whiff of death was omnipresent, too, a fact not helped by their proximity to the battle between the Angevins and the Pope.
In truth, though, Konrad’s primary feeling was frustration. Despite their exhaustion the Angevins had held up remarkably well. Expertly deployed pikemen had blunted Napoleone’s increasingly frantic cavalry charges, whilst the schemes of the wily Babenbergers on the flank had been deftly counteracted.
It had devolved into an endless slog, with Konrad left to sit impotently on his hill as tens of thousands of men slammed into each other, over and over again. Numbers should win out, but-
I don't know why this guy gets his own dynasty of di Cuma rather than just being a plain old della Torre.
‘’Look!’’ Pointed Corrado di Cuma, who had ‘’selflessly’’ volunteered to accompany Konrad throughout the battle and absent himself from the action, and been roundly mocked for it by his kin Napoleone and Guido.
A horseman approached, and tore off his helmet as he approached, revealing himself as the infante Enrique, though crusty, dried, blood obscured much of his face. ‘’They’re withdrawing, cousin!’’
‘’Why?’’ asked Corrado.
‘’The Bavarians?’’ Konrad was squinting at the horizon, where men bearing the von Wittelsbach standard could be vaguely made out.
‘’About damn time!’’ cackled Enrique maniacally. How much blood has he lost?
This one victory ensures nothing. ‘’Can we pursue them?’’
Corrado shook his head. ‘’Doubtful. The horsemen under my brother would be exhausted.’’
‘’What about the Bavarians? They should be fresh.’’
‘’We don’t know how far they marched to get here’’ cautioned Enrique.
‘’Send a messenger anyway, see what they can do.’’
Corrado nodded, and rode off to converse with one of the entourage.
A nice victory, to be sure, but unfortunately it was far from a rout.
Konrad had spent several minutes massaging his temples as the meeting had devolved into recriminations. Enrique had his head in his hands, his face smothered in bandages, and was probably suffering a hell of a headache.
‘’We could’ve annihilated them! The damn Bavarians- when they finally showed up- could have cut them off.’’ Erich may have been the most skilled commander Swabia had available, but he’d never possessed much in the way of tact.
‘’The Angevins withdrew in good order, we cannot fault-‘’ Duke Meinhard’s admirable attempt to defuse the tension was swiftly interrupted.
A lowborn Dwarf with stewardship education was apparently the best commander Bavaria could offer.
‘’I doubt your uncle would appreciate these insults, my lord of Swabia’’. They were lucky the Bavarian commanders- Peter and Helferich- were as lowborn as Erich was, else they’d be even more incensed at Erich’s reproachments.
Erich continued stalking around the table. ‘’Your uncle sent a dwarf to command his troops, he mocks you, lord.’’
Peter bristled at that. Erich glared at him. The Babenberger brothers tittered at the prospect of seeing Erich toss the dwarf out of the tent.
I suppose I’ll have to put an end to this.
‘’That’ll be all, Erich.’’
Erich turned plaintively towards him, but Konrad cut off his protest- ‘’that’ll be all, Erich’’.
He turned towards the rest of the tent. ‘’We’ll pursue them south, when the army is ready.’’
The Battle of Teano
Count Bertrand of Taranto surveyed the field. It had been a slog, but eventually the Pope’s mercenaries had been routed. The Captain of the Papal Guard was, even now, being led south in chains.
Yet, the troops remained demoralised. Many were uneasy at fighting Christ’s Vicar on Earth, or just disgruntled at the always unpleasant battlefield clean-up. More had been dismayed that King Charles himself had withdrawn from the front. Those in the know were further dismayed that the King had almost been captured by a band of marauding Maygars on his journey south.
Would've been really nice if they'd captured Charlie here.
Bertrand was a new man, he owed everything he had to the King, and would never openly speak ill of him. But his withdrawal from the front was a mistake. Ostensibly the King was attempt to drum up further support from some of his more recalcitrant vassals, but most knew he was attending to the health of his eldest son, Duke Charles of Provence.
The child had been frail all his life, and had developed a hunched back. The King’s tendency to dote on him had increased exponentially after the family tragedies of recent years- a younger son, Robert, had died in 1265, and the Queen, Beatriz of Provence, had passed in 1267.
His ruminations would be interrupted by news of yet another army on the horizon, this one belonging to the Swabian pretender.
***
Konrad had never seen real battle before. Even though he was not directly participating, leaving that to his allies and commanders, the experience was overpowering.
For the most part, it was a mass of indistinct noise- a conglomeration of thundering hooves, clanging metal, and the screams, shouts, and grunts of men in distress. The whiff of death was omnipresent, too, a fact not helped by their proximity to the battle between the Angevins and the Pope.
In truth, though, Konrad’s primary feeling was frustration. Despite their exhaustion the Angevins had held up remarkably well. Expertly deployed pikemen had blunted Napoleone’s increasingly frantic cavalry charges, whilst the schemes of the wily Babenbergers on the flank had been deftly counteracted.
It had devolved into an endless slog, with Konrad left to sit impotently on his hill as tens of thousands of men slammed into each other, over and over again. Numbers should win out, but-
I don't know why this guy gets his own dynasty of di Cuma rather than just being a plain old della Torre.
‘’Look!’’ Pointed Corrado di Cuma, who had ‘’selflessly’’ volunteered to accompany Konrad throughout the battle and absent himself from the action, and been roundly mocked for it by his kin Napoleone and Guido.
A horseman approached, and tore off his helmet as he approached, revealing himself as the infante Enrique, though crusty, dried, blood obscured much of his face. ‘’They’re withdrawing, cousin!’’
‘’Why?’’ asked Corrado.
‘’The Bavarians?’’ Konrad was squinting at the horizon, where men bearing the von Wittelsbach standard could be vaguely made out.
‘’About damn time!’’ cackled Enrique maniacally. How much blood has he lost?
This one victory ensures nothing. ‘’Can we pursue them?’’
Corrado shook his head. ‘’Doubtful. The horsemen under my brother would be exhausted.’’
‘’What about the Bavarians? They should be fresh.’’
‘’We don’t know how far they marched to get here’’ cautioned Enrique.
‘’Send a messenger anyway, see what they can do.’’
Corrado nodded, and rode off to converse with one of the entourage.
A nice victory, to be sure, but unfortunately it was far from a rout.
***
Konrad had spent several minutes massaging his temples as the meeting had devolved into recriminations. Enrique had his head in his hands, his face smothered in bandages, and was probably suffering a hell of a headache.
‘’We could’ve annihilated them! The damn Bavarians- when they finally showed up- could have cut them off.’’ Erich may have been the most skilled commander Swabia had available, but he’d never possessed much in the way of tact.
‘’The Angevins withdrew in good order, we cannot fault-‘’ Duke Meinhard’s admirable attempt to defuse the tension was swiftly interrupted.
A lowborn Dwarf with stewardship education was apparently the best commander Bavaria could offer.
‘’I doubt your uncle would appreciate these insults, my lord of Swabia’’. They were lucky the Bavarian commanders- Peter and Helferich- were as lowborn as Erich was, else they’d be even more incensed at Erich’s reproachments.
Erich continued stalking around the table. ‘’Your uncle sent a dwarf to command his troops, he mocks you, lord.’’
Peter bristled at that. Erich glared at him. The Babenberger brothers tittered at the prospect of seeing Erich toss the dwarf out of the tent.
I suppose I’ll have to put an end to this.
‘’That’ll be all, Erich.’’
Erich turned plaintively towards him, but Konrad cut off his protest- ‘’that’ll be all, Erich’’.
He turned towards the rest of the tent. ‘’We’ll pursue them south, when the army is ready.’’
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Yeah, I don't think that's an impressive lot of commanders at all. Might be time to invite some?
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With these numbers, the quality of the commanders isn't that important. As long as the Angevins aren't fought in mountains, Taranto's qualities aren't that much better anyway.
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I mean, without them I wouldn't have a hope in hell, so I can't really get too mad at them.
Maybe. I'd want it to make some sense in-universe though, rather than just inviting random steppe nomads and lowborn mercenary courtiers, which is what usually happens.
Yeah, the Angevins aren't very impressive in terms of commanders either (especially with Charles refusing to lead from the front), so my rather motley crew should do okay.
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More Victories
It was a dire retreat south for the Angevin army. They had extracted themselves from the battle in good order, but two defeats in quick succession had destroyed their morale. The fact that King Charles had recalled their commander, Count Bertrand of Taranto, did not help matters. Even the news that the Hungarians had departed Italy- to defend their heretical Bosnian tributary against Serbian aggression- had not revived their spirits.
So long, Hungary, thanks for all the help.
When Konrad’s forces caught up to them in Taranto, there wasn’t much of a fight.
‘’What’s the butcher’s bill, then?’’ asked Konrad as he surveyed the battlefield. Do you ever get used to the smell?
Count Ludwig of Ulm, Konrad’s erstwhile marshal, barely stirred at the question, and shied away when Konrad glared at him. Enrique was usually around to handle such matters, and whip the council into shape, but he’d aggravated his wound in the battle and was now laid up, trying to hold his face together as it oozed a black, foul-smelling pus.
Fortunately Albrecht von Hohenzollern, Baron of Hohenberg, had been conferring with the allied commanders. ‘’About a thousand of ours, your majesty.’’
‘’And theirs?’’
‘’I… don’t know’’ offered Albrecht apologetically.
Guido della Torre stepped to his aid. ‘’Impossible to know, really, with my uncle and the cavalry still hunting down stragglers’’.
‘’The prisoner says they brought about ten thousand to the field, I’d say they lost at least half that’’ this from Berthold Babenberger, who’d taken custody of Mayor Alain of Nocera.
‘’I still can’t believe that Charles is letting burghers command his troops whilst he hides’’. Duke Meinhard had a turbulent relationship with some of the Italian city-states to his south, and a practised disdain for cityfolk.
Konrad stifled an eye-roll. ‘’Did he have anything to say about the false king, Berthold?’’
The Babenberger shrugged. ‘’Said he was still back in Monreale, near as he knew.’’
‘’And do you think him this is the truth?’’
‘’He seems genuine. Was rather put out to be fighting the Pope, with a crusade on and all’’.
Meinhard grunted at the idea of an honest burgher, but Konrad was content to trust Berthold’s judgement, he seemed to have a knack for these things.
Albrecht coughed. ‘’Will we be pushing towards there? Monreale, I mean.’’
Konrad put up a hand to stop a debate from breaking out. I have to take charge, sooner or later. ‘’Yes, we can leave the remnants to the Pope to finish off.’’
‘’Are you sure it is safe, to push on to Sicily and leave enemy territory behind us?’’ Meinhard was treading a fine line, abashed at his mishap early in the war, deferential to a putative king, and yet… reluctant to be ordered around by his teenaged stepson.
‘’I would like to put some distance between us and the Pope, we do not want us to accidentally come to blows. Additionally, there is little merit in unduly ravaging the lands of Apulia and Calabria. The Ruffos and Briennes were once vassals to my forebears, and I would encourage them to be so again. It makes more sense to target the crown lands in Sicily, they are Charles’ power base. And if we so happen to capture the man himself, so much the better.’’
Meinhard nodded in agreement, and Guido despatched messengers to recall his uncle and the cavalry.
***
Konrad kicked boredly at some rubble. He had spent six monotonous months camped in front of Monreale.
Berthold would probably have proposed all manner of schemes and tricks, but he was with the Wettin troops and Bavarians in Messina. Here, Meinhard and Napoleone opted for the boring, but practical, approach and starved the garrison into submission.
It had been the right thing to do, an assault would have been far too costly, but Konrad’s frustration had grown nevertheless.
Today, fortunately, it was over, and a white flag was raised over the fortress.
The first to process out of the gate, before the garrison, was a group of three women, a girl, and a baby.
Albrecht escorted them to Konrad’s position, with a scarcely concealed grin.
‘’May I present, Queen Gisele of Sicily, her step-daughters Blanche, Beatrice, and Elizabeth, and her step-granddaughter Denise.’’
They curtsied reluctantly, though Gisele and Beatrice refused to break eye contact.
‘’What will you do to us?’’ Beatrice spoke first. Her elder sister Blanche was too busy cooing over her baby and trying to comfort her cowering nine-year old sister, Elizabeth. The step-mother, Gisele, was of humble birth and seemed content to defer to her step-daughter.
‘’You will be confined to your rooms, under guard, until an opportune moment presents itself to convey you north of the Alps. There, you will be held in honourable confinement until such time as Charles the Usurper offers a suitable sum to ransom you or I, in my benevolence, decide to free you. Any attempts to escape from custody or contact the Usurper will be met with the requisite punishment.’’
Konrad waved them off, and Albrecht departed to organise a guard for them.
‘’You are letting them return to their rooms?’’ questioned Napoleone with a furrowed brow.
‘’They’re royalty, I can’t very well throw them in some muddy cage. I don’t want Europe chattering about my ignoble barbarity.’’
‘’But to leave them in their own home like this, they know the place better than we do’’.
‘’Their servants will be dismissed, their only connections to the outside world will be through people loyal to us.’’
Seeing the Duke of Milan was still unconvinced, Konrad offered a final concession. ‘’You may take whatever other precautions you wish.’’
Napoleone nodded appreciatively, but still looked concerned.
‘’Speak, Napoleone.’’
‘’I had hesitated to ruin your victory today, but Guido’s scouts have brought word from the west. A French fleet has been spotted near Trapani…’’
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If it is not one thing it is another. Nevertheless, things are going well. Maybe the Hohenstaufen will yet survive.
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Huh! This is a very interesting story, and I really like how you describe your characters' interactions. Good dialogues and I'm reaaally loving the coalition against Sicily. Marriage is a powerful tool in this world.
But french reinforcements? My, this may get bloody soon. Let's see what happens next!
But french reinforcements? My, this may get bloody soon. Let's see what happens next!
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How much does your war score go up for capturing Charles of Anjou's daughters and wife? He may not be too happy about that...
But I imagine Conradin has more pressing matters in the form of enemy reinforcements.
But I imagine Conradin has more pressing matters in the form of enemy reinforcements.
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Even if the commanders prove to be disunited in their opinions once again, they at least remain united in their goal - oh, the Hungarians went to Bosnia.
Still, everything is going fine, Crotone was a great victory - are these French vessels? Though I doubt it's going to be reinforcements, and even if they are they wouldn't be enough.
Still, everything is going fine, Crotone was a great victory - are these French vessels? Though I doubt it's going to be reinforcements, and even if they are they wouldn't be enough.
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That's the hope.
Not much. It'd have to be his sons to be worth anything, but they're safely ensconced in Burgundy and Anjou.
Thanks for the kind words.
Yeah, the Hungarians just would not be wrangled into doing anything productive.
As for the matter of the French...
...I never said they were reinforcements. We must remember who is king of France at the moment, and why he might be passing through the Mediterranean.
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Mazara
Mazara
Berthold Babenberger was ushered into the grand hall in Mazara, a city brimming with thousands of French warriors.
Mayor Lothaire announced him, as Berthold bowed towards a makeshift throne.
‘’Berthold Babenberger, your majesty’’.
None of the lords had volunteered to stick their necks out for this endeavour, so Berthold had seized the opportunity.
Commanding his uncle’s armies had been a pleasant diversion, but when the war ended he would return to what he had always been- a mere nephew of the Duke of Meissen, with little prospect of inheriting lands of his own.
Berthold Babenberger's Hohenstaufen ancestry, via his mother Sophie Wettin.
Distinguishing himself in the service of a prospective king- a king who would have every incentive to root out the French nobility installed in the Kingdom of Sicily by the Angevins and replace them with loyal Germans- seemed like a smart move. He even had a sliver of Hohenstaufen ancestry- his great-great-grandmother Jutta was a sister of the famous Barbarossa. In any case, the sieges were getting boring, so a little fun was in order.
Ahead of him sat King Louis IX of France. Louis was 56 years old, but still in good health, and it was rumoured that he deeply desired to bring the holy city of Jerusalem back into the Christian orbit before his death, to atone for the failed Crusade of his youth.
King Louis IX Capet of France, brother to Charles I d'Anjou of Sicily.
It was the desperate hope of Berthold, and all supporters of Konrad, that Louis’ crusading vigour outweighed his desire to maintain his brother on the Sicilian throne.
Louis leaned forward. ‘’You are entitled to speak for the Lord of Swabia, Berthold?’’
Berthold cleared his throat. ‘’I am, your grace.’’
‘’And what would he have you say?’’
‘’Duke Konrad would inform you that he is also sworn to the Crusade, and hopes to earn your friendship, such that you might campaign together amicably in the Holy Land.’’
‘’And what of his… disagreement with my brother?’’
‘’Duke Konrad merely wishes to regain his rightful patrimony, and sincerely regrets that this entails conflict with a scion of the noble House of Capet.’’
‘’Yet he pursued it anyway, so he mustn’t regard my friendship that highly.’’
Berthold squirmed uncomfortably, he was a soldier, not a noted diplomat. ‘’And yet Charles wars not only with the Lord Konrad, but the Pope himself- on the eve of a Crusade, when all Christendom should be united in an effort to regain the Holy City.’’
Pope Clemens IV had a long association with the French royal family dating back to when he was plain old Gui Faucoi, secretary to Louis IX.
‘’Mmmm’’ nodded Louis appreciatively. ‘’I do not know what possessed him to turn so violently on the Pope, a man with whom he has such a long acquaintance, dating back to when his majesty Clemens IV was just a lawyer in my service. Ultimately, he must surely have known that my vows to God and loyalty to the Catholic Church eclipse my fraternal affections.’’
Yes! Berthold composed himself. ‘’You mean to say that your army will soon be departing to the Holy Land?’’
‘’It will, when it has taken on adequate provisions. However, I would caution Duke Konrad to be temperate in his war-making. Charles remains a Prince of France, for all that he has done, and should be treated as such. In addition, I would inform him that I possess great affection for my nieces. Any indignity inflicted upon them would be an insult to the dignity of France, and such an insult will not be tolerated.’’
‘’I will ensure Duke Konrad is made aware of this. Good luck in the Holy Land, your majesty’’.
Deus Vult!
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so, French armies moving to Jerusalem? even if they win, they won't be in any shape to keep fighting the Germans
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In an ideal world we'd complete the war and then join the French in the Holy Land to get a share of that sweet, sweet, crusader gold.
Yeah. Doesn't have a great deal of basis in terms of in-game stuff, but since I'd worried about the French backing Charles and saw them processing past for the crusade I figured I'd try and dramatise it or something.
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Mischievous Marshals
Mischievous Marshals
The war had settled into a monotonous series of sieges. Charles of Anjou, the Usurper, was still at large somewhere on the mainland trying to scrape together a fresh army. This was not a cause of undue concern, given he was still pressed by Papal forces to the north.
The time was slowly whittled away. Konrad had been tutored in falconry by Corrado di Cuma, and spent the nights gambling away with a small circle of companions. Chief among them was Berthold Babenberger, who was in high favour after treating with the French, and had not yet returned to the Wettin soldiery in Messina.
It was on one such occasion that Konrad’s revels were interrupted by a ruckus outside. As Konrad and the others ducked out of the tent they were met by the concerned face of Baron Albrecht of Hohenberg.
‘’Albrecht, is it a sally?’’
‘’No, my lord.’’
Albrecht eyed the others, ‘’there’s no cause for immediate concern’’, then stepped up and whispered in Konrad’s ear, ‘’the disturbance seems to be localised to the quarters of our men, my lord’’.
Ah. Konrad turned towards his companions. ‘’If this isn’t an enemy attack I see no need to interrupt your fun, go back to the table whilst I deal with this.’’
Berthold made to protest, but Konrad waved him off.
As they stalked towards the rising cacophony Albrecht continued speaking. ‘’It seems to have started as a punch up between a few men, drink was no doubt involved, but then it spiralled…’’
‘’Any sign of my erstwhile Marshal?’’
I guess I took 'lack of discipline in your ranks' to be something more general than merely Albrecht and Ludwig having a punch up.
‘’I’ve sent men to look for him’’. Albrecht didn’t bother to conceal the contempt in his voice.
The pair halted as they came across a clearing in the camp set aside for communal gatherings. Men were brawling and cursing, a few even had blades drawn. At Konrad’s feet someone was curled up, depositing blood-tinged vomit into the mud.
Erich, the most skilled of Konrad’s commanders, had waded into the mess, and was now tossing men aside and shouting orders, to little effect.
We need to handle this. ‘’Albrecht, assemble as many sober, level-headed men as you can, get them armed and-‘’
‘’I don’t think that’ll be necessary’’ interrupted Albrecht, pointing across the clearing. The Dukes Napoleone of Milan and Meinhard of Tyrol were conversing, and directing a group of armoured men into the melee.
***
‘’That was unseemly, Konrad.’’ Meinhard was playing the stern stepfather, with Napoleone nodding in approval.
Konrad didn’t mind the chastisement all that much, it was well-deserved. ‘’I agree, Meinhard. That is why I am stripping Count Ludwig of Ulm of his post as Marshal of Swabia, and he will departing northwards immediately.’’
They’d found him cowering under an upturned table. Apparently he’d tried to restore order, but then lost his nerve. Albrecht’s men had dragged him into this meeting, whereupon he’d blurted some excuses, and then deposited himself in the corner to try to stem the blood flowing from his nose.
Yeah, this was my Marshal. I think what happened was when I saw Charles at war with the Pope I got excited and charged off to war without optimising my council, or indeed, even bothering to check the stats of my councilors. This was a pretty major oversight on my part. It's kind of a miracle my troops even marched in the right direction with this guy in charge.
***
Ludwig was dispatched north the following morning. As a small measure of reconciliation Ludwig was given the responsibility of taking word of the infante Enrique's death from his infected wounds to his widow, Maria von Hohenstaufen, and their infant twins. Albrecht, meanwhile, was successful in whipping the soldiers back into shape, and after concluding the sieges in Palermo without further incident he departed south to deal with a small force of Angevins gathering in Girgenti.
Really?
***
Notes
Yeah, I had two ''marshals causing problems'' in about a four month period, though the first was admittedly entirely my fault.
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