II.
Don’t you just love it when things go your way?
Barely I have my court set up, or the Lord of Aragon proposes a royal marriage. Because he is such a charming lad, and this holy matrimony will open the doors for further diplomatic intercourse, I am only too happy to agree. Before the honeymoon is over, an alliance is signed. This world is our oyster. But let's not bask in glory too soon: decisions need to be made.
Nay I say! Our future lies beyond the seas: we will rule the waves, and paddle our feet on distant shores.
Important as the decision may be, there is little time for fret or regret. Aragon comes knocking on our door, requesting aid against Navarra. Frankly, I couldn’t care less about Navarra, but it turns out the tiny mountain kingdom is also at war with Castile, and we don’t want
them to become bigger, do we? Hence, we dutifully stand by our ally.
The ensuing stability drop sends our realm into chaos and upheaval. Colonial infighting on the Azores is soon followed by an all-out Tuareg revolt in Arguin. My small expeditionary force there is quickly defeated, and sent fleeing into the jungle.
Undeterred, I embrace the idea of Colonial Ventures and dispatch 3,000 troops as a reinforcement to Arguin. In September, my combined expeditionary force marches against the African natives, and a ferocious battle ensues.
Our soldiers, their legs still a bit wobbly from the arduous sea voyage (or could it be the weight of the white man’s burden?) barely manage to stand their ground. But they prevail in the end. Yay for us! Aragon, in the meantime, has managed to grab Navarra. Yay for them! There will be peace and honour in our time once again.
But then fate catches up: Aragon and Castile sign a military alliance after all. One doesn’t need to be much of a genius to predict which side Aragon will support, when it comes to the crunch. Disappointed by the failure of my Iberian politics, I decide to focus on colonial exploits for the time being. In the following years, settlers are sent to the Azores and Arguin for colonization – which apparently comes down to chopping down all the trees.
By October 1459, our two colonies have turned into fledgling Portugese towns.
The following week, a foreign guest suddenly drops dead at one of our candlelight suppers. Now, the vintage had indeed been bad the previous year, but in this case we clearly have been framed. Trying to limit the damage to our reputation, I hastily finance an investigation – which turns out to be inconclusive. Our old king, broken and abashed, decides to die the next day.
To add insult to injury, the Portugese nobility refuses to acknowledge the new king and once more the air reeks of rebellion.
Then France re-declares war on England and we, being the silly sea dogs we are, rise to the occasion.
Yep, don’t you love it when things go your way?