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It's alive! ALIIIIVE!!! <Lightning flashes and thunder in the distance>
Very glad to hear it. Can't wait for new updates to comment on.
Very glad to hear it. Can't wait for new updates to comment on.
In the Gaming Area
Hitchcock breezed through the door of the Gaming Area and was almost run over by Ray and Barbara, who had clearly been waiting by the door for him to appear.
“We left you some notes and a video or three,” Barbara caroled over her shoulder. The two of them seemed so happy… he thought about the lonely evening that lay ahead and sighed.
First things first; he keyed up the climate control fans to get rid of a lingering odor of stale pizza. Then he visited the refrigerator, popped the top on a soda and thought wistfully of a cold beer… or six… He sighed again; not tonight. Somehow, the exciting life of a carefree bachelor wasn’t turning out as he expected.
He collapsed in a comfortable swivel chair and keyed up the message from Ray and Barbara that detailed the events of their session. He nodded appreciatively at the victory over Austria and pursed his lips in dismay when the casualty figures from the epidemic of rebellions came scrolling up.
His eyes skimmed down the page; he hated log-style print-outs, but he had to admit they packed a lot of information into a short space.
September, 1560 – Austria paid 10g for peace with France. Barbara had typed ‘Slackers!’ in the margin. In October, Austria gave up Carpathia to Poland for peace.
January, 1561 - France and Genoa DoW Auvergne and Savoy. The battle for control of northern Italy begins. Austria pays 12g for peace with Savoy. (If the Hapsburgs are bringing all these little wars to an end, there must be a reason.)
February, 1561 – England converts to the Protestant religion, then rejoins her alliance with Eire and Portugal.
March, 1561 – Spain pays 75g to the Aztecs for peace (Barbara noted, ‘How embarassing!’), promptly DoW’s Portugal. Spain’s allies Naples and Siena support her, England and Eire support Portugal.
December, 1561 – Portugal’s overseas empire is dismembered. They give up Parnaiba, Niteroi & Salvador to Spain. Eire, Portugal and England immediately go to war with Scotland.
March, 1562 – Poland pays Denmark 74g for peace; France has War of Religion and takes the Moderate position. Soon after, France pays 32g to get out of the war with Auvergne and Scotland buys peace for a whopping 175g to Eire, Portugal and England.
August, 1562 – The Empire advances to level 5 military tech. Hitchcock sets down his soda and applauds; being able to assault a fortress is no small achievement. Venice then pays out 20g for peace with Denmark and 90g for peace with Austria. He wonders if Austria is at war with anyone, still. A quick check shows that they are fighting a low-intensity war with Gelder.
There is a quiet space of about a year, but in August of 1563 the inevitable happens: the Poles declare war on the Empire. Holstein, Friesland and Courland forswear the alliance but Saxony and Venice support Poland. Serbia – ever loyal – comes in on the Imperial side.
He sat for a moment and looked at the screen; there is a button for a video. He tapped his fingers idly on the tabletop, then shrugged and clicked the icon.
Hitchcock breezed through the door of the Gaming Area and was almost run over by Ray and Barbara, who had clearly been waiting by the door for him to appear.
“We left you some notes and a video or three,” Barbara caroled over her shoulder. The two of them seemed so happy… he thought about the lonely evening that lay ahead and sighed.
First things first; he keyed up the climate control fans to get rid of a lingering odor of stale pizza. Then he visited the refrigerator, popped the top on a soda and thought wistfully of a cold beer… or six… He sighed again; not tonight. Somehow, the exciting life of a carefree bachelor wasn’t turning out as he expected.
He collapsed in a comfortable swivel chair and keyed up the message from Ray and Barbara that detailed the events of their session. He nodded appreciatively at the victory over Austria and pursed his lips in dismay when the casualty figures from the epidemic of rebellions came scrolling up.
His eyes skimmed down the page; he hated log-style print-outs, but he had to admit they packed a lot of information into a short space.
September, 1560 – Austria paid 10g for peace with France. Barbara had typed ‘Slackers!’ in the margin. In October, Austria gave up Carpathia to Poland for peace.
January, 1561 - France and Genoa DoW Auvergne and Savoy. The battle for control of northern Italy begins. Austria pays 12g for peace with Savoy. (If the Hapsburgs are bringing all these little wars to an end, there must be a reason.)
February, 1561 – England converts to the Protestant religion, then rejoins her alliance with Eire and Portugal.
March, 1561 – Spain pays 75g to the Aztecs for peace (Barbara noted, ‘How embarassing!’), promptly DoW’s Portugal. Spain’s allies Naples and Siena support her, England and Eire support Portugal.
December, 1561 – Portugal’s overseas empire is dismembered. They give up Parnaiba, Niteroi & Salvador to Spain. Eire, Portugal and England immediately go to war with Scotland.
March, 1562 – Poland pays Denmark 74g for peace; France has War of Religion and takes the Moderate position. Soon after, France pays 32g to get out of the war with Auvergne and Scotland buys peace for a whopping 175g to Eire, Portugal and England.
August, 1562 – The Empire advances to level 5 military tech. Hitchcock sets down his soda and applauds; being able to assault a fortress is no small achievement. Venice then pays out 20g for peace with Denmark and 90g for peace with Austria. He wonders if Austria is at war with anyone, still. A quick check shows that they are fighting a low-intensity war with Gelder.
There is a quiet space of about a year, but in August of 1563 the inevitable happens: the Poles declare war on the Empire. Holstein, Friesland and Courland forswear the alliance but Saxony and Venice support Poland. Serbia – ever loyal – comes in on the Imperial side.
He sat for a moment and looked at the screen; there is a button for a video. He tapped his fingers idly on the tabletop, then shrugged and clicked the icon.
Across the Bosphorus from The City
Vlad gave the messenger a silver bit and stood tapping the envelope in his open palm until the courier had mounted and gone. No need to wait for an answer, the young soldier had said.
The envelope was thick; not parcel-sized but large enough to be official. He’d have guessed that anyway, but the heavy, fine paper of the cover and the War Master’s massive seal of indigo wax on the fold made it all too clear.
He tapped it again in his open palm and let his eyes drift up and out to the horizon.
Even though Paulus had been properly handed over to the Imperial agent and escaped afterward, some of the blame had rubbed off on Vlad. Only fitting, he realized, as he had given the ex-general every possible assistance. The fall from grace had been swift and painful; his influence was with people who were themselves now regarded with suspicion and his military victories were discounted. His term as commander of the Army of Pest had been cut short, his requests for a new posting had gone unanswered.
So he had retreated into business, rebuilding his company now that the war was over and building a house worthy of his wealth and title. The eastern – Asian – shore of the Bosphorus was an unfashionable address for a villa, but he loved the uncluttered view of the water, and the solitude. He and Melina were only a short trip by boat from his residence in the City, and yet they were a world away.
She ghosted up beside him, hand shading her eyes as she looked at the fishing boats that dotted the channel. “I thought perhaps a ship of yours might have come in,” she said.
“No, love.” He raised the packet and showed her the seal. “This came. I suppose I’m dreading what it might say.”
She took his arm, not clinging but offering support. “You’ve been asking for a command. I know you want one, terribly. You must open it.”
There was just enough hurt in the unsaid words – You want to go somewhere far away from me – that he could not look at her. He pulled a knife from his belt and slid the blade expertly through the seal. Inside the wrapper were several sheets covered with spidery black letters. He scanned the first, then reread a paragraph more closely. “They are offering me a command… and I am wondering if I should accept.”
“Haven’t you been writing to them, every week, for this very offer?”
“Yes… but. You know I’m out of favor with the new War Master. They would only be offering me a command if it was too sticky for any of their favorites. And a command in the north can only mean they suspect – or know – that there will be war with Poland.”
“Will you accept?” Her hand clung just a little tighter.
He smiled. “I don’t see how I can refuse, really, not that there will be any credit in it. If I do well, someone else will claim the glory. And if I lose, they’ll have a perfect scapegoat. Still and all, this is the best offer I can hope for, and if I turn it down I’ll never have another chance.”
She released him and half-turned to go back into the house. “I understand, love. Only… be careful.”
Vlad turned to gather her to his embrace, but she was gone into the deep, cool shadows of the house. He turned back to the sea and the horizon, tapping the letter in his hand. He said, “Once in command of the army…”, but softly so that none might hear.
Vlad gave the messenger a silver bit and stood tapping the envelope in his open palm until the courier had mounted and gone. No need to wait for an answer, the young soldier had said.
The envelope was thick; not parcel-sized but large enough to be official. He’d have guessed that anyway, but the heavy, fine paper of the cover and the War Master’s massive seal of indigo wax on the fold made it all too clear.
He tapped it again in his open palm and let his eyes drift up and out to the horizon.
Even though Paulus had been properly handed over to the Imperial agent and escaped afterward, some of the blame had rubbed off on Vlad. Only fitting, he realized, as he had given the ex-general every possible assistance. The fall from grace had been swift and painful; his influence was with people who were themselves now regarded with suspicion and his military victories were discounted. His term as commander of the Army of Pest had been cut short, his requests for a new posting had gone unanswered.
So he had retreated into business, rebuilding his company now that the war was over and building a house worthy of his wealth and title. The eastern – Asian – shore of the Bosphorus was an unfashionable address for a villa, but he loved the uncluttered view of the water, and the solitude. He and Melina were only a short trip by boat from his residence in the City, and yet they were a world away.
She ghosted up beside him, hand shading her eyes as she looked at the fishing boats that dotted the channel. “I thought perhaps a ship of yours might have come in,” she said.
“No, love.” He raised the packet and showed her the seal. “This came. I suppose I’m dreading what it might say.”
She took his arm, not clinging but offering support. “You’ve been asking for a command. I know you want one, terribly. You must open it.”
There was just enough hurt in the unsaid words – You want to go somewhere far away from me – that he could not look at her. He pulled a knife from his belt and slid the blade expertly through the seal. Inside the wrapper were several sheets covered with spidery black letters. He scanned the first, then reread a paragraph more closely. “They are offering me a command… and I am wondering if I should accept.”
“Haven’t you been writing to them, every week, for this very offer?”
“Yes… but. You know I’m out of favor with the new War Master. They would only be offering me a command if it was too sticky for any of their favorites. And a command in the north can only mean they suspect – or know – that there will be war with Poland.”
“Will you accept?” Her hand clung just a little tighter.
He smiled. “I don’t see how I can refuse, really, not that there will be any credit in it. If I do well, someone else will claim the glory. And if I lose, they’ll have a perfect scapegoat. Still and all, this is the best offer I can hope for, and if I turn it down I’ll never have another chance.”
She released him and half-turned to go back into the house. “I understand, love. Only… be careful.”
Vlad turned to gather her to his embrace, but she was gone into the deep, cool shadows of the house. He turned back to the sea and the horizon, tapping the letter in his hand. He said, “Once in command of the army…”, but softly so that none might hear.
So, Vlad begs to be put back in command, and when he gets it, he has second thoughts. I hope it turns out well for him.
Anyway, nice to see that you haven't lost your notes, and that we get to see the Wallachians again.
Anyway, nice to see that you haven't lost your notes, and that we get to see the Wallachians again.
In the House of the Dragon
The chamber was circular with rings of seats dropping row by row to the marble floor. Overhead was a great dome, so wide it would have seemed oppressive had it not been artfully painted a pale sky-blue. The center-point was a sunburst in gold leaf that blazed in reflected sunlight.
The Senate Chamber was crowded, busy and riotous with color. Most of these men had come early to see and be seen, to talk and to listen, and above all to deal. Old Radu had bribed the nobility by making them members of a reformed Senate, which he then largely ignored. Mircea had expanded its membership, adding members of the clergy and some of the wealthy but untitled merchants. He, too, treated it as a ceremonial body and expected it to loyally vote in favor of any measures he might propose.
“How the political tides have turned,” Count Vlad muttered, “that the Senate should have influence!”
A sidewise glance from a passing black-robed abbot told him he had spoken more loudly than he intended.
In fact, he should not have come here today, should have pressed north with all possible speed to assume his new command. The briefing from the new War Ministry staff had been discouraging and discouragingly brief: we may suspect war is coming, but we don’t know when or with what the Poles will strike. And no, you can’t have any reinforcements and please don’t ask for anything like ammunition, arms, uniforms or food. Haven’t you gone yet, don’t bother to thank us, no there isn’t any money for the payroll, just let yourself out!
Still, it was the first Senatorial session of the new regency, and the dowager Empress and her supporters were pushing hard to woo as many Senators as possible. The supporters of the regency were obviously aware of their unpopularity and scrambling for any covering of legitimacy. One of the toads had even greeted him and offered congratulations on his appointment! He could stay for the opening of the session and still take ship to the Black Sea tomorrow; he owned the ship and it would not leave without him. But he was nervous, unsettled, tantalized by a sense that something was familiar in this… this…
He looked about, eyes wide, as he realized why this scene seemed familiar. The last time he had seen such bobbing and preening, it had been a vast nesting flock of birds! He looked at the richly clothed Senators with new eyes, took in the black and crimson priestly robes, merchants garbed in blues and greens, high nobles in scarlet and white, lesser counts and barons in multi-colored raiment. It was a Parliament of Birds! A bobbing, cooing, pecking, jostling, brightly plumaged flock of birds!
He tucked his head to his chest to keep from laughing aloud and navigated through the arcs toward the lower levels. The family Boldu, despite their recent scandal, had retained the title and a Senatorial seat in the lower, more prestigious ranks. He settled himself, spared a glimpse for his scribe, and snacked on candied figs and dates while he waited for the session to begin.
Not long after, a bell sounded and a drum began to roll. Senators moved to their seats as the first of the Imperial officials marched through the doorway behind the dais, secretaries and lesser functionaries first. After a brief pause, the bell tolled and the drum rolled as a signal for all in attendance to rise. Petru cel Tinar – young Peter, Emperor-to-be – appeared in the doorway, his mother Maria, the dowager Empress and current Regent, on his arm.
I thought he was still a boy, somehow, Vlad mused. He’s grown to be a young man and he’ll be claiming his majority in a few years. And – God Almighty! – he seems every inch the Emperor! He looks… yes, that’s it! He looks like that bust of Alexander the Great! He must have already turned every female’s head at court, and maybe some of the men, too… there is no trace of Mircea’s homely features, here. If only he has the brains to match his looks, he might do well.
Once the young Prince and the Regent took their places on the dais, everyone else sat, too. The business proceeded apace – that is to say slowly – but there were three developments before noon that made Count Vlad very happy that he had decided to attend.
The first was the Regent Maria’s opening speech, which included a very pious prayer in the Orthodox fashion. Much of the distrust and dislike aimed her way was rooted in the feeling that she, raised Catholic in Italy in the very shadow of the Pope, must be a secret Catholic still. Perhaps she had decided to make a public commitment to the Eastern faith; perhaps she was making a sham display. Only time would tell.
The second thing that caught his interest was a large allocation of funds, workmen and artisans for the rebuilding of the fire-ravaged City. There was a great deal of muttering over the men who would guide the project, but no debate over the details. And it was the details that fascinated Vlad – streets to be straightened and widened, great parks and plazas to be laid out. He nodded appreciatively: wide boulevards would be hard for mobs to barricade and troops could move quickly down wide, straight avenues. Those same troops could be mustered and quartered in parks. The cisterns and fountains that graced every plaza would be ideal for fire-pumps, and for watering horses. The redesigned City core would be more open, cleaner, more beautiful… and much less hospitable for rioters.
The third item was, he had to admit, a master-stroke of politics. Cleverly tucked into the rebuilding plans was a proposal to set up five monastic houses in the City, each a multi-story block that would house dozens of monks. The members of this new Order of Matthew the Apostle would be charged with maintaining sacred and secular law and order inside the City. In return, the War Master promised not to station troops in the City except in time of war; the city gates and fort-lets along the Bosphorus were excepted, but could not hold many troops in any case.
This looked to be a solution everyone could love: the City benefited from a security and fire-protection force that would not have to be paid. The Regency would benefit from being patrons to the men who would maintain order without having to take the political negative of posting troops in the City. And the Metropolitan of Constantinople would see the influence of the Church greatly enhanced.
The question, of course, was to whom the monks would give obedience if Church and State should differ. But in the short-term, at least, it was a brilliant proposal, and Vlad wondered who in the Regency had the brains to conceive of it.
He decided he would have to forego the excitement of the afternoon session, and when the Senate recessed for lunch he took a boat to his villa and finished his preparations for departure.
In the Gaming Area
Hitchcock blinked as the images faded from the holo-stage. He skimmed down the page to Barbara’s comments on the war.
August 1563 – Serbs invade Venetian Dalmatia. (Go Serbia! Our only ally.)
September 1563 – Unhappiness among the merchants. (We trade in Novgorod and in Mecklenburg when they aren’t embargoing us. Guess our traders don’t like this war).
October 1563 – We besiege Carpathia. (Late in the year; maybe we should pull south for the winter).
November and December 1563 – constant battles in Carpathia and Ruthenia. The Poles weren’t ready; they are trying to concentrate and Count Vlad is rampaging around the countryside breaking them up wherever they congregate. Seven battles in two months, and we win them all. Polish King Sigismund II is severely wounded (and disgraced) in Ruthenia.
January 1563 – the Saxons show up in Carpathia. Remember the Saxons who settled Transylvania? These newcomers are fertilizing Carpathia…
February 1563 – we whip the Venetian fleet in the Cretan Sea. (I knew they’d head for Crete. Suckers.) More battles in Ruthenia and Carpathia – we are still winning. No snow there, thank goodness. Waiting for winter to let up in Galicia.
March 1563 – We besiege Galicia (Galizien). Poles put up 11k infantry to match our 11k army. We bring up fresh troops; in April the Poles rout and we win.
May 1563 – Poland throws in the towel, pays 18g for peace.
Friesland and Brabant join Austria in warring on Gelder. Looks bad for Gelder.
Missionary succeeds! Banat converts!
1564 – Multiple rebellions in Pest, all put down by the army. Gelder converts to Protestant! Papal States join Austria, Friesland and Brabant in war on Gelder. Poor Gelder!
1565 – Austria says, ‘No Concessions! Duke of Alba issues Edict of Blood!’ France also goes with ‘No Concessions’. We press a boundary issue with Croatia, fail to convert Maros. Scotland declares war on Gelder! What is going on in Gelder!
1566 – Spain purges the Moriscos. Many wind up in the Jewish quarter of the City.
June – Temporary Insanity of Monarch; see video!
The chamber was circular with rings of seats dropping row by row to the marble floor. Overhead was a great dome, so wide it would have seemed oppressive had it not been artfully painted a pale sky-blue. The center-point was a sunburst in gold leaf that blazed in reflected sunlight.
The Senate Chamber was crowded, busy and riotous with color. Most of these men had come early to see and be seen, to talk and to listen, and above all to deal. Old Radu had bribed the nobility by making them members of a reformed Senate, which he then largely ignored. Mircea had expanded its membership, adding members of the clergy and some of the wealthy but untitled merchants. He, too, treated it as a ceremonial body and expected it to loyally vote in favor of any measures he might propose.
“How the political tides have turned,” Count Vlad muttered, “that the Senate should have influence!”
A sidewise glance from a passing black-robed abbot told him he had spoken more loudly than he intended.
In fact, he should not have come here today, should have pressed north with all possible speed to assume his new command. The briefing from the new War Ministry staff had been discouraging and discouragingly brief: we may suspect war is coming, but we don’t know when or with what the Poles will strike. And no, you can’t have any reinforcements and please don’t ask for anything like ammunition, arms, uniforms or food. Haven’t you gone yet, don’t bother to thank us, no there isn’t any money for the payroll, just let yourself out!
Still, it was the first Senatorial session of the new regency, and the dowager Empress and her supporters were pushing hard to woo as many Senators as possible. The supporters of the regency were obviously aware of their unpopularity and scrambling for any covering of legitimacy. One of the toads had even greeted him and offered congratulations on his appointment! He could stay for the opening of the session and still take ship to the Black Sea tomorrow; he owned the ship and it would not leave without him. But he was nervous, unsettled, tantalized by a sense that something was familiar in this… this…
He looked about, eyes wide, as he realized why this scene seemed familiar. The last time he had seen such bobbing and preening, it had been a vast nesting flock of birds! He looked at the richly clothed Senators with new eyes, took in the black and crimson priestly robes, merchants garbed in blues and greens, high nobles in scarlet and white, lesser counts and barons in multi-colored raiment. It was a Parliament of Birds! A bobbing, cooing, pecking, jostling, brightly plumaged flock of birds!
He tucked his head to his chest to keep from laughing aloud and navigated through the arcs toward the lower levels. The family Boldu, despite their recent scandal, had retained the title and a Senatorial seat in the lower, more prestigious ranks. He settled himself, spared a glimpse for his scribe, and snacked on candied figs and dates while he waited for the session to begin.
Not long after, a bell sounded and a drum began to roll. Senators moved to their seats as the first of the Imperial officials marched through the doorway behind the dais, secretaries and lesser functionaries first. After a brief pause, the bell tolled and the drum rolled as a signal for all in attendance to rise. Petru cel Tinar – young Peter, Emperor-to-be – appeared in the doorway, his mother Maria, the dowager Empress and current Regent, on his arm.
I thought he was still a boy, somehow, Vlad mused. He’s grown to be a young man and he’ll be claiming his majority in a few years. And – God Almighty! – he seems every inch the Emperor! He looks… yes, that’s it! He looks like that bust of Alexander the Great! He must have already turned every female’s head at court, and maybe some of the men, too… there is no trace of Mircea’s homely features, here. If only he has the brains to match his looks, he might do well.
Once the young Prince and the Regent took their places on the dais, everyone else sat, too. The business proceeded apace – that is to say slowly – but there were three developments before noon that made Count Vlad very happy that he had decided to attend.
The first was the Regent Maria’s opening speech, which included a very pious prayer in the Orthodox fashion. Much of the distrust and dislike aimed her way was rooted in the feeling that she, raised Catholic in Italy in the very shadow of the Pope, must be a secret Catholic still. Perhaps she had decided to make a public commitment to the Eastern faith; perhaps she was making a sham display. Only time would tell.
The second thing that caught his interest was a large allocation of funds, workmen and artisans for the rebuilding of the fire-ravaged City. There was a great deal of muttering over the men who would guide the project, but no debate over the details. And it was the details that fascinated Vlad – streets to be straightened and widened, great parks and plazas to be laid out. He nodded appreciatively: wide boulevards would be hard for mobs to barricade and troops could move quickly down wide, straight avenues. Those same troops could be mustered and quartered in parks. The cisterns and fountains that graced every plaza would be ideal for fire-pumps, and for watering horses. The redesigned City core would be more open, cleaner, more beautiful… and much less hospitable for rioters.
The third item was, he had to admit, a master-stroke of politics. Cleverly tucked into the rebuilding plans was a proposal to set up five monastic houses in the City, each a multi-story block that would house dozens of monks. The members of this new Order of Matthew the Apostle would be charged with maintaining sacred and secular law and order inside the City. In return, the War Master promised not to station troops in the City except in time of war; the city gates and fort-lets along the Bosphorus were excepted, but could not hold many troops in any case.
This looked to be a solution everyone could love: the City benefited from a security and fire-protection force that would not have to be paid. The Regency would benefit from being patrons to the men who would maintain order without having to take the political negative of posting troops in the City. And the Metropolitan of Constantinople would see the influence of the Church greatly enhanced.
The question, of course, was to whom the monks would give obedience if Church and State should differ. But in the short-term, at least, it was a brilliant proposal, and Vlad wondered who in the Regency had the brains to conceive of it.
He decided he would have to forego the excitement of the afternoon session, and when the Senate recessed for lunch he took a boat to his villa and finished his preparations for departure.
In the Gaming Area
Hitchcock blinked as the images faded from the holo-stage. He skimmed down the page to Barbara’s comments on the war.
August 1563 – Serbs invade Venetian Dalmatia. (Go Serbia! Our only ally.)
September 1563 – Unhappiness among the merchants. (We trade in Novgorod and in Mecklenburg when they aren’t embargoing us. Guess our traders don’t like this war).
October 1563 – We besiege Carpathia. (Late in the year; maybe we should pull south for the winter).
November and December 1563 – constant battles in Carpathia and Ruthenia. The Poles weren’t ready; they are trying to concentrate and Count Vlad is rampaging around the countryside breaking them up wherever they congregate. Seven battles in two months, and we win them all. Polish King Sigismund II is severely wounded (and disgraced) in Ruthenia.
January 1563 – the Saxons show up in Carpathia. Remember the Saxons who settled Transylvania? These newcomers are fertilizing Carpathia…
February 1563 – we whip the Venetian fleet in the Cretan Sea. (I knew they’d head for Crete. Suckers.) More battles in Ruthenia and Carpathia – we are still winning. No snow there, thank goodness. Waiting for winter to let up in Galicia.
March 1563 – We besiege Galicia (Galizien). Poles put up 11k infantry to match our 11k army. We bring up fresh troops; in April the Poles rout and we win.
May 1563 – Poland throws in the towel, pays 18g for peace.
Friesland and Brabant join Austria in warring on Gelder. Looks bad for Gelder.
Missionary succeeds! Banat converts!
1564 – Multiple rebellions in Pest, all put down by the army. Gelder converts to Protestant! Papal States join Austria, Friesland and Brabant in war on Gelder. Poor Gelder!
1565 – Austria says, ‘No Concessions! Duke of Alba issues Edict of Blood!’ France also goes with ‘No Concessions’. We press a boundary issue with Croatia, fail to convert Maros. Scotland declares war on Gelder! What is going on in Gelder!
1566 – Spain purges the Moriscos. Many wind up in the Jewish quarter of the City.
June – Temporary Insanity of Monarch; see video!
Here's another reader very thankful your game and AAR are saved. I'll miss Paolo but Vlad appears to be a worthy substitute. I loved his take on the senatorial proceedings!
Your last line sounds ominous, though. And with the current Regency, who exactly is insane?
Your last line sounds ominous, though. And with the current Regency, who exactly is insane?
I was worried for a while that the game would have fallen due to computer problems. Fine updates indeed, I am glad that such was not the case. Poor Geldre.
Ahh... A good set of updates. Some game updates, some 'ingame' updates and a glimpse of the players currently playing the game. A nice package.
The first thing that caught my eye was this line:
No worries: used like this, it's short and to the point. And it makes it easier to follow the story, which is always helpful for people like me. AND I like the 'Barbara' embellishments. All sounds very true.
Then there's this quote by Vlad...
And then you introduce those two public programs, the rebuilding/riotproofing of the City and the installation of a City Watch. The urban renewal plan is borrowed from nineteenth century Paris, I think, but the City Watch/monastery order idea is one I hadn't heard before. I like 'em both: they are both believeable and they both offer plenty of potential for future intrigue.
Finally, about that temporary insanity bout your monarch suffered from: is the boy going to elect a horse to his Senate?
The first thing that caught my eye was this line:
Sooo... information and apology in one go?
No worries: used like this, it's short and to the point. And it makes it easier to follow the story, which is always helpful for people like me. AND I like the 'Barbara' embellishments. All sounds very true. Then there's this quote by Vlad...
which sounds rather ominous. Is he plotting rebellion? Or will he offer his 'help' to the young, unexperienced emperor, in such a way that offer couldn't be refused? Ah, the possibilities are endless...
And then you introduce those two public programs, the rebuilding/riotproofing of the City and the installation of a City Watch. The urban renewal plan is borrowed from nineteenth century Paris, I think, but the City Watch/monastery order idea is one I hadn't heard before. I like 'em both: they are both believeable and they both offer plenty of potential for future intrigue.
Finally, about that temporary insanity bout your monarch suffered from: is the boy going to elect a horse to his Senate?
Yes, it does sound like Vlad has a little something up his sleeve. And now I see what you mean about the uselessness of the Poles as a worthy foe. You could take the land easy, but it would be worthless to you.
Looking forward to more, especially how you work out a few of those problems.
Looking forward to more, especially how you work out a few of those problems.
Onward the Empire! No rest for the wicked, is there (why do I get the feeling Hitchcock sympathises with Vlad)?
The resurgence of the Senate was a nice touch - I hadn't expected that. Hmm... Ambitious nobles, an unpopular Regent, a constitution in flux - I hope the Empire doesn't get hit by any serious crises - for example, a mad Emperor (see video) - in the near future. Could get messy.
I liked Barbara's comments on the log - any EUII player will recognise most of them (How does Spain always manage to lose to the Aztecs?).
The resurgence of the Senate was a nice touch - I hadn't expected that. Hmm... Ambitious nobles, an unpopular Regent, a constitution in flux - I hope the Empire doesn't get hit by any serious crises - for example, a mad Emperor (see video) - in the near future. Could get messy.
I liked Barbara's comments on the log - any EUII player will recognise most of them (How does Spain always manage to lose to the Aztecs?).
McHeinrich - Welcome! Glad to hear you are enjoying the ride! Now don't let that be your last post...
I always keep backups. Unfortunately, bad luck and clumsiness are my only talents. Worse yet, I'm very good at them!
The endangered files were not the save game, but the AAR document itself! Had that vanished into electronic static, I doubt I'd have had the heart to go on.
J. Passepartout - the mouse may fear the trap, but the cheese is still enticing...
jwolf - an answer to your question will be in the next post, which should be up Wednesday night (Central Daylight Time).
I've come back from our meeting in Washington and I'm fired up and eager to write!
machiavellian - just when it seems darkest, when everyone in Europe has piled on poor Gelder, guess what happens? They turn Protestant and become The Netherlands, emerging from their phone booth in full uniform to absorb all their nearby enemies like Friesland and Brabant!
Positively brilliant - certainly machiavellian, eh?
The longer Austria stays occupied in the Netherlands, the better for me!
Stuyvesant - apology, information and a temporary change of style - all in one go.
The 'idea' for rebuilding Constantinople I did borrow from Napoleon III's reconstruction of Paris. (N3 didn't have to burn it down, first. ) The idea for the monastic police force came from the Templars and the Jesuits. I'm glad you like it.
Funny you should mention the horse... wasn't Caligula the Emperor who did that?
stnylan - I ached to write out those battles, but at the moment I don't have time or space. I can tell you that Count Vlad was in top form, juggling two sieges and a cavalry field force. The Poles - as usual - set up a rally point that allowed the Imperial forces to beat them in detail as they marched south.
coz1 - Poland is fine for the Poles, but too hard for me to convert or hold. For the moment, my strategic plan is to allow the revolt risk in the newly-conquered provinces of Hungary to die, try to convert some of my four remaining religions, and build up my land tech.
Then, we'll see.
When I reach 1570 in the narrative, I'll include a screenie and details of sliders and such.
But first, we have this Temporary Insanity of Monarch to deal with...
I always keep backups. Unfortunately, bad luck and clumsiness are my only talents. Worse yet, I'm very good at them!
The endangered files were not the save game, but the AAR document itself! Had that vanished into electronic static, I doubt I'd have had the heart to go on.
J. Passepartout - the mouse may fear the trap, but the cheese is still enticing...
jwolf - an answer to your question will be in the next post, which should be up Wednesday night (Central Daylight Time).
I've come back from our meeting in Washington and I'm fired up and eager to write!
machiavellian - just when it seems darkest, when everyone in Europe has piled on poor Gelder, guess what happens? They turn Protestant and become The Netherlands, emerging from their phone booth in full uniform to absorb all their nearby enemies like Friesland and Brabant!
Positively brilliant - certainly machiavellian, eh?
The longer Austria stays occupied in the Netherlands, the better for me!
Stuyvesant - apology, information and a temporary change of style - all in one go.
The 'idea' for rebuilding Constantinople I did borrow from Napoleon III's reconstruction of Paris. (N3 didn't have to burn it down, first.
) The idea for the monastic police force came from the Templars and the Jesuits. I'm glad you like it.Funny you should mention the horse... wasn't Caligula the Emperor who did that?
stnylan - I ached to write out those battles, but at the moment I don't have time or space. I can tell you that Count Vlad was in top form, juggling two sieges and a cavalry field force. The Poles - as usual - set up a rally point that allowed the Imperial forces to beat them in detail as they marched south.
coz1 - Poland is fine for the Poles, but too hard for me to convert or hold. For the moment, my strategic plan is to allow the revolt risk in the newly-conquered provinces of Hungary to die, try to convert some of my four remaining religions, and build up my land tech.
Then, we'll see.
When I reach 1570 in the narrative, I'll include a screenie and details of sliders and such.
But first, we have this Temporary Insanity of Monarch to deal with...
Yes, Caligula. Also known for making his army wage war on the sea. And then having his legionaires collect sea shells as 'war booty'. Certainly putting the 'Mwuhaha' in 'mad'.Director said:
In the Gaming Area
Hitchcock sat, hand poised over the video replay button. Slowly he tilted his head to one side, considering… but it was going to be a long night, after all, and his curiosity would not let him pass it up. He tapped his finger on the touch-screen.
Scenes from the New Empire – Poland before the peace
The gray-haired old man knelt on the carpet, head down, eyes furtively flicking up from under tangled brows. The dim black shapes that stood motionless behind the torches gave him no reassurance, nor did the familiar pattern of the carpet. How many times, he wondered, had he seen this room, this carpet? Almost daily for years, he answered himself. But never had he seen his own carpet from this angle, from this posture of supplication.
He knew better than to speak; two swift blows had taught him that. Even in this extremity, his stubborn pride refused to let so much as a moan past his lips. His old knees might ache from the hard stone beneath the rug, his blood might well soon stain that miserable carpet, but he would not cry out.
“Count Tomasz,” Count Vlad intoned. “You may sit up, but do not stand. My men will bring you cushions, that you may sit comfortably… No, do not rise. My men would take that badly, and we don’t want that.”
Count Tomasz eased his ancient haunches back onto the pile of cushions and huffed into his moustaches. He drew in a deep breath… and felt the cold, cold sting of sharp steel under the folds of his chins. He eased the breath out past the constriction in his throat and said nothing.
“There. I believe we begin to understand each other. Allow me to answer some of the questions you doubtless have.” Vlad took a drink from a jeweled cup and set it idly on the desk.
“I am here tonight on a mission of mercy, Count. I am announcing, through you, that this war that Poland has forced upon the Empire is over. You seem surprised. Allow me to explain.”
“The Empire did not desire this war; it was Sigismund’s folly to begin it. He has paid, as have his supporters. Your knights and nobles lie rotting in the fields, your crops are burnt and your cities besieged. Oh, and your King has lost a leg. Someone really should have kept him out of that battle, don’t you think? He’ll have his hands full trying to hang onto his throne, now. Sigismund was stupid enough to believe the Empire would give up Ruthenia and foolish enough to resort to war. Now he is too stupid and stubborn to recognize defeat, so you and your fellow noblemen will have to convince him. If you don’t, I’ll kill you, one by one, until you succeed.”
“The fact that my men can enter your castle undetected, overcome your guards and pull you from your very bed, will tell you I can do as I say. These dark angels are very special, Count Tomasz. They are here – would you like a taste of steel to quell your doubts, convince you this is no dream? No? Ah, the beginning of wisdom!”
He drank from the cup again, pointedly not offering the Count any of his own wine.
“You will make a peace, Count. Or you will die, and your wife and children with you. And you will keep that peace, faithfully, or you and all of yours will die. For, um, shall we say five years? Such a nice, round number. So, five years of peace it is!”
Count Vlad reached behind the desk and hefted a small chest. “Here is a token of my esteem, Count. Open it… Ah, do not shrink so! Do you not recognize the head of your old friend, Count Szabor? Had we not been old friends, good sir, it might be you in that box! I will leave it here as a memento. Contemplate it! Show it to your neighbors, if you dare…”
“My time here is ended, good sir. My merry men and I will soon be gone. Speak to your King – or replace the one-legged fool, it matters not to me. But peace I want and peace you will deliver, or you will see my dark angels again! Briefly…”
The figures vanished into the gloomy corners of the room. Count Tomasz crept to his numbed feet, tottering to the door. He found a guard unconscious in the hallway beyond and realized that raising an alarm would only endanger himself and others. He turned back, only to flinch from the box and its grisly treasure. He would have hours yet to think of how to dispose of it, how to convince his King – there could be no thought of returning to sleep, this night.
He seized the cup and hurled it into the fireplace, where it rebounded with an awful clangor. No challenge, no startled shout arose. He stood, despair battling fury and the shame of impotence. At last, he reached down and closed the lid on his old friend’s leering visage.
He would have to do the bidding of those black-clad devils. He was brave enough for the battlefield, but not for this – not with his wife and sons and daughter added to the stakes. The humiliation of it choked his throat, brought tears to his eyes. At last the emotions ebbed, leaving behind one certainty. Tomorrow, he was going to have to burn that carpet.
Hitchcock sat, hand poised over the video replay button. Slowly he tilted his head to one side, considering… but it was going to be a long night, after all, and his curiosity would not let him pass it up. He tapped his finger on the touch-screen.
Scenes from the New Empire – Poland before the peace
The gray-haired old man knelt on the carpet, head down, eyes furtively flicking up from under tangled brows. The dim black shapes that stood motionless behind the torches gave him no reassurance, nor did the familiar pattern of the carpet. How many times, he wondered, had he seen this room, this carpet? Almost daily for years, he answered himself. But never had he seen his own carpet from this angle, from this posture of supplication.
He knew better than to speak; two swift blows had taught him that. Even in this extremity, his stubborn pride refused to let so much as a moan past his lips. His old knees might ache from the hard stone beneath the rug, his blood might well soon stain that miserable carpet, but he would not cry out.
“Count Tomasz,” Count Vlad intoned. “You may sit up, but do not stand. My men will bring you cushions, that you may sit comfortably… No, do not rise. My men would take that badly, and we don’t want that.”
Count Tomasz eased his ancient haunches back onto the pile of cushions and huffed into his moustaches. He drew in a deep breath… and felt the cold, cold sting of sharp steel under the folds of his chins. He eased the breath out past the constriction in his throat and said nothing.
“There. I believe we begin to understand each other. Allow me to answer some of the questions you doubtless have.” Vlad took a drink from a jeweled cup and set it idly on the desk.
“I am here tonight on a mission of mercy, Count. I am announcing, through you, that this war that Poland has forced upon the Empire is over. You seem surprised. Allow me to explain.”
“The Empire did not desire this war; it was Sigismund’s folly to begin it. He has paid, as have his supporters. Your knights and nobles lie rotting in the fields, your crops are burnt and your cities besieged. Oh, and your King has lost a leg. Someone really should have kept him out of that battle, don’t you think? He’ll have his hands full trying to hang onto his throne, now. Sigismund was stupid enough to believe the Empire would give up Ruthenia and foolish enough to resort to war. Now he is too stupid and stubborn to recognize defeat, so you and your fellow noblemen will have to convince him. If you don’t, I’ll kill you, one by one, until you succeed.”
“The fact that my men can enter your castle undetected, overcome your guards and pull you from your very bed, will tell you I can do as I say. These dark angels are very special, Count Tomasz. They are here – would you like a taste of steel to quell your doubts, convince you this is no dream? No? Ah, the beginning of wisdom!”
He drank from the cup again, pointedly not offering the Count any of his own wine.
“You will make a peace, Count. Or you will die, and your wife and children with you. And you will keep that peace, faithfully, or you and all of yours will die. For, um, shall we say five years? Such a nice, round number. So, five years of peace it is!”
Count Vlad reached behind the desk and hefted a small chest. “Here is a token of my esteem, Count. Open it… Ah, do not shrink so! Do you not recognize the head of your old friend, Count Szabor? Had we not been old friends, good sir, it might be you in that box! I will leave it here as a memento. Contemplate it! Show it to your neighbors, if you dare…”
“My time here is ended, good sir. My merry men and I will soon be gone. Speak to your King – or replace the one-legged fool, it matters not to me. But peace I want and peace you will deliver, or you will see my dark angels again! Briefly…”
The figures vanished into the gloomy corners of the room. Count Tomasz crept to his numbed feet, tottering to the door. He found a guard unconscious in the hallway beyond and realized that raising an alarm would only endanger himself and others. He turned back, only to flinch from the box and its grisly treasure. He would have hours yet to think of how to dispose of it, how to convince his King – there could be no thought of returning to sleep, this night.
He seized the cup and hurled it into the fireplace, where it rebounded with an awful clangor. No challenge, no startled shout arose. He stood, despair battling fury and the shame of impotence. At last, he reached down and closed the lid on his old friend’s leering visage.
He would have to do the bidding of those black-clad devils. He was brave enough for the battlefield, but not for this – not with his wife and sons and daughter added to the stakes. The humiliation of it choked his throat, brought tears to his eyes. At last the emotions ebbed, leaving behind one certainty. Tomorrow, he was going to have to burn that carpet.
Scenes from the New Empire – Richmond Palace
“You may deliver my regrets to Count Vlad. I am quite content, here.” Lucas was scarcely listening to the speaker, focused instead on the man who was so familiar and yet so strange. He had expected his old commander to be somehow the same… a foolish expectation, he knew, but if ever age could pass a man by it should have been this one.
Instead, Paolo’s face was lined and his hair brushed with gray. The flesh was tight on his hands and loose on his arms; his voice was husky. But his eyes were bright, and the wrinkles of his face fell naturally into place when he smiled, which was often, now.
“Our good Queen, Elizabeth of England, has very graciously allowed me a place at her court. I am grateful for it,” Paolo was saying. “I care very little for what may happen in the City or the Empire.”
“I wish Count Vlad well in all his endeavors,” he concluded. “What you have told me will remain with me. I hope you will attempt to dissuade him from this enterprise… I think it is most ill-advised.”
“The Empire cannot go on as it has,” Lucas countered. He had been very carefully briefed, then carried to London in one of Count Vlad’s trading ships. While that ship exchanged her pottery, glassware, spices and sugar for wool, tin, Baltic tar and timber, he had a few days to scull up the Thames to Richmond Palace and convince the old General to return home.
“The Dowager Regent was bad enough,” he said. “But she fed her son a sweet diet of corruption and excess, debauchery and indulgence. Grown sated, he threw off her yoke and had her beheaded, did you know? And all the court is given over to decadence. His favorites are rewarded with the estates of men accused of treason, they whose only treason is to be rich, or fail to bow and scrape eagerly enough. There has been no tyrant such as this since the old Empire suffered Caligula and Nero.”
Paolo smiled slightly. “Sorry I am to hear of it, Lucas, but my estates were confiscated long ago and I was lucky to escape with my life. I owe loyalty to a different Kingdom, now, and to a most puissant monarch.”
“But if you could see the Bacchanalia,” Lucas began, but Paolo only smiled and stood.
“Please give Count Vlad my warm regards… and tell him I urge him to give over this folly.”
And Lucas could only rise and embrace his old commander one last time.
Scenes from the New Empire – The Senate Chamber
Emperor Petru was still ‘cel Tinar’, still ‘The Young’. Not many years had passed since he had first appeared before the Senate on his mother’s arm, but they had been years stuffed with indulgence in every vice. His face and body were now a dissipated parody of their former beauty, swollen with drink and leaden from fatigue.
The Senators – those who had been trapped by the unexpected Imperial entrance and who had not dared to risk being noticed if they left – were huddled quietly on their seat cushions. One white-haired ancient was holding forth on the merits of a proposal to enlarge the aqueducts. A few Senators were paying attention; the rest were fidgeting quietly and fearfully studying the Emperor’s bodyguard. Picked as in olden days from Northmen, these Varangians were chosen for their height, power, prowess with weapons and eagerness for atrocity.
They snapped to alert attention when the Emperor stood and hurled his wine-cup at the speaker. “You want me dead!” he screamed, fingers raking his own cheeks. “All of you! Worms! Worms! You all hate me! I’ll show… I’ll… You kill! Worms!”
Two of his bodyguard approached, along with old Delos the Chancellor. The Emperor, face flushed with rage and livid from claw-marks, turned to confront them. As one, the Senators bolted for the doors. As few of the braver ones risked a look over a shoulder to see the Emperor beating on one guard with a candlestick while poor Delos reeled back, face splashed with blood.
The Emperor was screaming incoherently when a tide of bodyguards bore him down.
The Imperial Physician patted the coverlet. “You’ll be fine, Lord Delos. Never had your nose broken before, I’ll wager. It does hurt, and it bleeds a great deal, but that is all.”
Delos shook his head gently and instantly regretted it.
“How is…” he wheezed.
“The Emperor? Um. Bruised, of course. Nothing broken.” The two men shared a look that said a few broken Imperial bones might not have been such a bad thing. “I gave him some tincture of the poppy and he’s quiet, now. He tried to fondle one of the Varangians, though. That didn’t go down well, but Harald and I managed to bribe the man and get him out of the palace.”
“How much did you give him?” Delos’ voice was thick and muffled by the rolls of linen in his nose.
“The Emperor or the Varangian?” The Physician laughed, a dry heh-heh-heh. “Quite a bit for both. I’m forced to give the Emperor more and more now, you know. The tincture is less effective each week.”
“Is he. Under. Guard.”
“Yes. Harald himself is at the door, and he will call if the Emperor wakens.”
Delos closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. Then he opened one eye and whispered, “How much of the tincture do you have left?”
The Physician fondled his golden necklace and medallion, a gift from Lord Delos. “Quite enough, My Lord. Quite enough… for anything.”
“You may deliver my regrets to Count Vlad. I am quite content, here.” Lucas was scarcely listening to the speaker, focused instead on the man who was so familiar and yet so strange. He had expected his old commander to be somehow the same… a foolish expectation, he knew, but if ever age could pass a man by it should have been this one.
Instead, Paolo’s face was lined and his hair brushed with gray. The flesh was tight on his hands and loose on his arms; his voice was husky. But his eyes were bright, and the wrinkles of his face fell naturally into place when he smiled, which was often, now.
“Our good Queen, Elizabeth of England, has very graciously allowed me a place at her court. I am grateful for it,” Paolo was saying. “I care very little for what may happen in the City or the Empire.”
“I wish Count Vlad well in all his endeavors,” he concluded. “What you have told me will remain with me. I hope you will attempt to dissuade him from this enterprise… I think it is most ill-advised.”
“The Empire cannot go on as it has,” Lucas countered. He had been very carefully briefed, then carried to London in one of Count Vlad’s trading ships. While that ship exchanged her pottery, glassware, spices and sugar for wool, tin, Baltic tar and timber, he had a few days to scull up the Thames to Richmond Palace and convince the old General to return home.
“The Dowager Regent was bad enough,” he said. “But she fed her son a sweet diet of corruption and excess, debauchery and indulgence. Grown sated, he threw off her yoke and had her beheaded, did you know? And all the court is given over to decadence. His favorites are rewarded with the estates of men accused of treason, they whose only treason is to be rich, or fail to bow and scrape eagerly enough. There has been no tyrant such as this since the old Empire suffered Caligula and Nero.”
Paolo smiled slightly. “Sorry I am to hear of it, Lucas, but my estates were confiscated long ago and I was lucky to escape with my life. I owe loyalty to a different Kingdom, now, and to a most puissant monarch.”
“But if you could see the Bacchanalia,” Lucas began, but Paolo only smiled and stood.
“Please give Count Vlad my warm regards… and tell him I urge him to give over this folly.”
And Lucas could only rise and embrace his old commander one last time.
Scenes from the New Empire – The Senate Chamber
Emperor Petru was still ‘cel Tinar’, still ‘The Young’. Not many years had passed since he had first appeared before the Senate on his mother’s arm, but they had been years stuffed with indulgence in every vice. His face and body were now a dissipated parody of their former beauty, swollen with drink and leaden from fatigue.
The Senators – those who had been trapped by the unexpected Imperial entrance and who had not dared to risk being noticed if they left – were huddled quietly on their seat cushions. One white-haired ancient was holding forth on the merits of a proposal to enlarge the aqueducts. A few Senators were paying attention; the rest were fidgeting quietly and fearfully studying the Emperor’s bodyguard. Picked as in olden days from Northmen, these Varangians were chosen for their height, power, prowess with weapons and eagerness for atrocity.
They snapped to alert attention when the Emperor stood and hurled his wine-cup at the speaker. “You want me dead!” he screamed, fingers raking his own cheeks. “All of you! Worms! Worms! You all hate me! I’ll show… I’ll… You kill! Worms!”
Two of his bodyguard approached, along with old Delos the Chancellor. The Emperor, face flushed with rage and livid from claw-marks, turned to confront them. As one, the Senators bolted for the doors. As few of the braver ones risked a look over a shoulder to see the Emperor beating on one guard with a candlestick while poor Delos reeled back, face splashed with blood.
The Emperor was screaming incoherently when a tide of bodyguards bore him down.
The Imperial Physician patted the coverlet. “You’ll be fine, Lord Delos. Never had your nose broken before, I’ll wager. It does hurt, and it bleeds a great deal, but that is all.”
Delos shook his head gently and instantly regretted it.
“How is…” he wheezed.
“The Emperor? Um. Bruised, of course. Nothing broken.” The two men shared a look that said a few broken Imperial bones might not have been such a bad thing. “I gave him some tincture of the poppy and he’s quiet, now. He tried to fondle one of the Varangians, though. That didn’t go down well, but Harald and I managed to bribe the man and get him out of the palace.”
“How much did you give him?” Delos’ voice was thick and muffled by the rolls of linen in his nose.
“The Emperor or the Varangian?” The Physician laughed, a dry heh-heh-heh. “Quite a bit for both. I’m forced to give the Emperor more and more now, you know. The tincture is less effective each week.”
“Is he. Under. Guard.”
“Yes. Harald himself is at the door, and he will call if the Emperor wakens.”
Delos closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. Then he opened one eye and whispered, “How much of the tincture do you have left?”
The Physician fondled his golden necklace and medallion, a gift from Lord Delos. “Quite enough, My Lord. Quite enough… for anything.”
In the Gaming Area
Hitchcock whistled soundlessly. Fortunately, the Empire had been able to wring a peace from Poland before the Emperor went mad, but the reduced administrative rating was costing dearly in reduced income and lost merchants.
He checked the log. Austria had joined Friesland in warring on Norway, Denmark and Hannover. So that menace was, for the moment, contained. But in March of 1567, Poland had enacted the Act of Union and inherited Lithuania. Immediately after, Gelder made peace with Austria, converted to Protestantism and annexed Friesland and Brabant into the Netherlands.
Ray and Barbara had accepted the cessation of Church functions to the Nobility in July of 1567. Hitchcock wasn’t entirely comfortable with that decision, but he wholeheartedly approved of their flooding merchants into the new Dutch Center of Trade.
October 1567 – France annexes Genoa.
May 1567 – One more video!
Scenes from the New Empire – The House of the Dragon
“You are not properly allowed in the City, my dear Count. Your place is with your army.” Delos seemed calm and cool, but Vlad felt the underlying tension. “Who knows what the King of Poland might get up to… what does he style himself, now? Is he an Emperor yet?”
“King of the Dual Monarchy of Poland and Lithuania, with four or five Ducal titles tacked on for show,” Vlad said dismissively. “Not that he actually rules anything outside his palace walls. We have nothing to fear from Poland, now or in the near future.”
“Your machinations have come to the attention of the Secret Legion, and thence to me. I fear you are about a work of treason,” Delos went on in the same cold, tired voice. He smiled faintly as Vlad stiffened. “That is, in fact, why I have asked you to meet with me. I believe we may have… interests in common.”
“The current situation is intolerable,” Vlad said bluntly. “Look at you! You’re exhausted, trying to keep the government running and the Emperor confined at the same time. Now there’s rebellion in the Magyar, we heard about it as we came south.”
“The situation is… fraught,” Delos admitted. “The Imperial Physician is uncertain whether the Emperor’s health will improve. Personally I think some of the drugs may have brought on the crisis, but…” He shrugged indifferently. “We must consider what to do if the Emperor remains… indisposed.”
“He must be replaced,” Vlad said flatly. He grinned as Delos reflexively looked around the little room. “Can you deny it?”
“It can’t be you on the throne,” Delos said, equally flatly. “Or I. Neither of us could be confirmed by the Senate. Your army is in Ruthenia – you’d have been targeted by the Secret Legion if you had tried to bring them south. Confirmation by the Senate is the only way to secure a succession.”
Vlad grinned mirthlessly. “I have some protection of my own, My Lord… but that is beside the point. I do not propose to mount a rebellion for the throne unless I must. Who is your preferred candidate?”
“There is a cousin… Prince Alexandru, of the eastern Basarabs. Do you know him?”
“Solid sort, but dull.” Vlad grinned with real humor this time. “Just the sort to leave the government to the professionals, eh? He’ll do, then.”
“You’ll want the War Office,” Delos said. It was only nominally a question.
“Right you are. And I’ll want an equal hand in making policy,” Vlad warned.
Delos hesitated fractionally. “Done. I’ll tell the Imperial Physician…”
“And I’ll send a detachment to fetch Alexandru from Moldavia.” Vlad smiled widely. “Don’t worry about the Varangians. I have some men who will take care of that little problem.”
The two men looked at each other warily, and then shook hands to seal the bargain.
Hitchcock whistled soundlessly. Fortunately, the Empire had been able to wring a peace from Poland before the Emperor went mad, but the reduced administrative rating was costing dearly in reduced income and lost merchants.
He checked the log. Austria had joined Friesland in warring on Norway, Denmark and Hannover. So that menace was, for the moment, contained. But in March of 1567, Poland had enacted the Act of Union and inherited Lithuania. Immediately after, Gelder made peace with Austria, converted to Protestantism and annexed Friesland and Brabant into the Netherlands.
Ray and Barbara had accepted the cessation of Church functions to the Nobility in July of 1567. Hitchcock wasn’t entirely comfortable with that decision, but he wholeheartedly approved of their flooding merchants into the new Dutch Center of Trade.
October 1567 – France annexes Genoa.
May 1567 – One more video!
Scenes from the New Empire – The House of the Dragon
“You are not properly allowed in the City, my dear Count. Your place is with your army.” Delos seemed calm and cool, but Vlad felt the underlying tension. “Who knows what the King of Poland might get up to… what does he style himself, now? Is he an Emperor yet?”
“King of the Dual Monarchy of Poland and Lithuania, with four or five Ducal titles tacked on for show,” Vlad said dismissively. “Not that he actually rules anything outside his palace walls. We have nothing to fear from Poland, now or in the near future.”
“Your machinations have come to the attention of the Secret Legion, and thence to me. I fear you are about a work of treason,” Delos went on in the same cold, tired voice. He smiled faintly as Vlad stiffened. “That is, in fact, why I have asked you to meet with me. I believe we may have… interests in common.”
“The current situation is intolerable,” Vlad said bluntly. “Look at you! You’re exhausted, trying to keep the government running and the Emperor confined at the same time. Now there’s rebellion in the Magyar, we heard about it as we came south.”
“The situation is… fraught,” Delos admitted. “The Imperial Physician is uncertain whether the Emperor’s health will improve. Personally I think some of the drugs may have brought on the crisis, but…” He shrugged indifferently. “We must consider what to do if the Emperor remains… indisposed.”
“He must be replaced,” Vlad said flatly. He grinned as Delos reflexively looked around the little room. “Can you deny it?”
“It can’t be you on the throne,” Delos said, equally flatly. “Or I. Neither of us could be confirmed by the Senate. Your army is in Ruthenia – you’d have been targeted by the Secret Legion if you had tried to bring them south. Confirmation by the Senate is the only way to secure a succession.”
Vlad grinned mirthlessly. “I have some protection of my own, My Lord… but that is beside the point. I do not propose to mount a rebellion for the throne unless I must. Who is your preferred candidate?”
“There is a cousin… Prince Alexandru, of the eastern Basarabs. Do you know him?”
“Solid sort, but dull.” Vlad grinned with real humor this time. “Just the sort to leave the government to the professionals, eh? He’ll do, then.”
“You’ll want the War Office,” Delos said. It was only nominally a question.
“Right you are. And I’ll want an equal hand in making policy,” Vlad warned.
Delos hesitated fractionally. “Done. I’ll tell the Imperial Physician…”
“And I’ll send a detachment to fetch Alexandru from Moldavia.” Vlad smiled widely. “Don’t worry about the Varangians. I have some men who will take care of that little problem.”
The two men looked at each other warily, and then shook hands to seal the bargain.
Don't ever dismiss the Varangians.. myth had it they were chosen due ot prowess in arms, homnour.. and most of all, a trait uncommom in native greek troops.. unbribable
ofc that was under the last true Byzantine Emporors up until the Fourth Crusade.. but if you hurt them I'll have Svend and Arn tear Transylvania apart
V
ofc that was under the last true Byzantine Emporors up until the Fourth Crusade.. but if you hurt them I'll have Svend and Arn tear Transylvania apart
V
Vlad comes off pretty rough with Count Tomasz, but I suppose that it is A. justified and B. redeemed by Vlad helping remove an incompetent Emperor.
This Vlad looks like a man of action. No beating around the bush, no half measures with him. Good man.