Chapter 34: The Empire of Italy and the Last Crusades*
*Sorry, I couldn't resist.
1 October 1637, Castle St. Maso, Rome
Francis II, the new Emperor of Italy, had a very unusual problem for an Emperor. He was incredibly shy. He was never happier than when he was corresponding with a friend from another country, which gave him practice in foreign languages. He was one of those rare sorts who liked doing paperwork, who liked everything very neat and organized.
Addressing a huge crowd, needless to say, filled him with terror. While his uncle had avoided a coronation day speech, Alexander I had been disfigured. There was nothing wrong with Francis apart from his own nervousness. He'd even tried to foist this duty on his father, but to no avail. He sighed and polished his glasses, before putting them back on to study the speech he'd written. It looked good to him, but he always knew he was a gifted writer. The trick was not sounding like a fool.
He cleared his throat, took a big gulp of wine, and walked on to the balcony.
"Good day, citizens of the Empire of Italy. I'm glad you all could make it to my coronation; it's really very kind of you to take the time out of your busy schedules."
The gathered crowd looked with disbelief at the round figure that addressed them. This was an Emperor? They all had a good laugh when he lost his notes, although they had the decorum to laugh quietly.
"Er, yes, ahem. Well, since I've lost my notes, I'll have to improvise. Oh, dear."
He mopped his brow and cleared his throat. He closed his eyes tightly for a few moments, took a deep breath, and continued from memory as best he could.
"With our war against the British over, and the British Isles well on their way to becoming a province of the Italian Empire, I pledge to support peace and stability against our brothers in Europe. We will turn our attention to the Muslims of North Africa. For too long, they have been pawns in the game of influence between the Europeans. We shall take them under our protection and help them flourish, as all citizens of the Empire do."
Many in the audience began to reconsider their initial impression of the Emperor. He might not look Imperial, but he certainly sounded like one.
"The Council of Ministers shall remain as it is currently situated. The recent illness of General Galilei has required Marshal Gentileschi to return to the field. His Chief of Staff, General Brutus Porcius Cato, will undertake the Marshal's duties in the meantime; please know that he speaks with my voice and he has the trust of the Marshal and me.
"I have one final bit of news. I've just learned that my dear wife, Julia, is pregnant, and all the doctors insist it shall be a boy. So take heart, citizens, that the House of Farnese shall continue to watch over you and your Empire. Glory to the Empire!"
Francis II bowed, turned, and left. As soon as he was out of sight of the crowd, he collapsed into the nearest chair. He'd done it! He made a mental note to hire a gifted speaker to deliver his speeches in the future, however. It was not a pleasant experience and he didn't care to repeat it.
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12 April 1638, Florence
The Timurids invaded Damascus on 9 November 1637. To the soldiers on the frontier, the attack came entirely without warning. It was later discovered that a junior diplomat buried the Timurid's declaration of war in a stack of other papers; his career in the Foreign Ministry was cut regrettably short. Thanks to some skillful tactics, the regions of Al Karak and later Badiyat Ash Sham were added to the Empire of Italy.
Some students in the region of Liguria used this new war to begin discussing some of the new religious trends outside the Empire. When a university administrator wanted to arrest them, the Emperor himself issued a decree guaranteeing the freedom of expression, at least within the confines of university walls. This locally unpopular decision was opposed by many Lutheran clergy throughout the Empire, but they could do little about it in the short term.
The most immediate event, however, was the death of General Galeazzo Galilei.
As was custom, the General's body was taken from Rome to the grounds of the Germanicus Academy for the Imperial Legions in Florence. As the procession moved north, a farmer and his young son watched.
"Father, what's going on?"
The farmer stood up and squinted at the caravan. "The flags say there's an important person in that caravan. A dead one, if I'm not mistaken."
The boy, no more than 11, looked on with curiosity. "Why do important people get caravans and we don't?"
The farmer chuckled. "Jacopo, my son, that's an excellent question. When you find an answer, you let me know. I'm just a simple farmer."
The son considered that. "Father, have you ever wanted to be more than a farmer?"
"Wanting has nothing to do with it. My father was a farmer, and his father was a farmer, and so on. Nothing wrong with that."
"I want to be important, though."
"Farmers are important, son. Without us, who would feed those great big armies the Emperor's always so proud of?"
Jacopo looked up at his father. "I don't know if I want to be a farmer."
At that, the old farmer frowned. "Well, what else would you be?"
Jacopo thought very carefully, unusually for a young boy. "I think I want to be a soldier."
The farmer was so surprised that he dropped his hoe. "A soldier? That's an awfully dangerous job. Lots of soldiers die, and then what would we do?"
"Farming is dangerous too, Father. Remember cousin Michele? He was kicked in the head by a horse and now he can't feed or change himself. If I got to be a big shot in the army, I could send home my salary and you could hire some laborers to take my place."
The farmer admired his boy. "How long have you been thinking about this?"
Jacopo smiled shyly. "For a long time. Can I do it?"
His father tousled Jacopo's hair. "You have to be 14 to join the legions. If you still want to by then, we'll go up to the Academy together. Okay?"
"Okay!"
As Jacopo returned to work, his father was both very proud and very worried. Who knew what could happen to his only son?
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18 August 1640, Germanicus Academy, Florence
Chief of Staff General Brutus Porcius Cato looked at the new recruits with some measure of concern. This batch was to join the Legio VII 'Asia' in North Africa, which was already earmarked for the assault on Morocco.
With Marshal Gentileschi taking personal command of the attack, Brutus was inspecting both the Academy and the Van Dijk College of War. He didn't anticipate too many problems with planning; the Moroccans only had two African provinces, Atlas and Marrakesh. The word from the Emperor was that he greatly preferred Marrakesh. With Moroccan possessions overseas, that was probably as good as could be accepted.
As Brutus thought about the Emperor, he quickly said a prayer for young Pietro, the Emperor's son. Although the baby boy was happy and healthy, Francis II had forbidden any public look at his son. In fact, neither priest nor soothsayer had been able to shed any light on the boy; he was a complete mystery. [1]
As Brutus returned his attention to the task at hand, he noticed one of the recruits had taken to the marksmanship drills like a duck to water. In fact, he hadn't missed a single target on the range! The General knew he had to meet this lad.
"What is your name and rank, son?"
"Jacopo, General. I'm a new legionnaire."
The General frowned. "Jacopo? Don't you have a last name?"
The recruit shook his head. "No, sir. My father is a farmer a few miles south of here; he's always been called Giovanni the Farmer."
"Then we'll call you Jacopo Contadino. [2] And you have the wrong rank too, soldier."
Jacopo looked puzzled. "I'm sorry sir?"
"You're a Corporal, not a Legionnaire. Your marksmanship is phenomenal, better than mine if you want to know the truth. I need to know you can handle combat and leadership. If you distinguish yourself in Morocco, I will personally promote you to Sergeant and make your our firearms instructor. Does that sound acceptable, Corporal?"
Jacopo brightened and saluted. "Yes sir, General sir!"
"Very well. As you were!"
As the new Corporal hurried back to his training, the General smiled to himself. The one thing this new crop of soldiers had was pride. Some of the more vocal were arguing for the annexation of new land on "nationalist grounds," whatever that meant.
The General heard the bells ring 4 o' clock. He had to get back to Rome for a cabinet meeting the next day. The whole concept of a cabinet still confused him. It was apparently the same thing as a Council of Ministers, but for some reason the change in name made the rest of Europe look more kindly on Italian affairs. He shrugged his shoulders. He was just a soldier, what did he know about politics?
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1 May 1641, Marrakesh, Morocco
Corporal Jacopo Contadino stood as rigidly as he could. Even being at the peace negotiations was a considerable honor, but he had been given the incredible honor of being part of Marshal Gentileschi's escort. While the army and navy had been roughly in balance in the past, Francis II had started to strengthen the power of the army within the Imperial Cabinet. He even promised three new legions would be raised shortly, while the navy would have to make do with current resources.
As the Sultan of Morocco signed the treaty, the Corporal was nearly bursting with pride. Marrakesh was now a region of the Empire of Italy!
Jacopo had done very well in the brief war. With a specially modified musket that he designed himself, he'd killed ten enemy officers in a single battle, earning a commendation from Marshal Gentileschi.
More interestingly, he'd found he loved the soldier's life. As a farmer, he was hardly a stranger to manual labor, but now he could feel good that he was helping the Empire. His father could barely hide his pride when he returned home a newly promoted Corporal. Now he was going to be a Sergeant, and one of the youngest in the history of the legions, at 15 years of age. General Cato had already signed the paperwork, but he wouldn't get his promotion until he returned to Florence.
Lost in his own thoughts, Jacopo nearly missed the signal to depart the chamber. As he hurried to rejoin his friends, he couldn't help but smile.
Did anybody have a better life than a soldier?
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13 September 1643, office of the Foreign Minister
Pietro Leopoldo Farnese looked at his grandson fondly. Now four years old, he was getting very large already; Pietro thought he was sure to be taller than Francis, at the least, and maybe even his uncle Alexander. His fondness quickly turned to terror as little Pietro knocked over a pile of documents.
The Foreign Minister sighed, and began to pick up the documents. These were official deeds to the Imperial core territories in Egypt and Anatolia that the Chancellor had brought the day before. A purchase order for some materials for the new Fine Arts Academy in Napoli fell out of the stack, which Pietro Leopoldo signed. With the documents now placed in a file cabinet against the wall, he turned to a letter from General O'Connor.
Dear Foreign Minister Farnese,
As the oldest living member of the House of Farnese, it is my honor to present to you the legionary crest of our newest legion, the Legio XX 'Farnese'. It has been wrought of the finest British iron, to symbolize the eternal links between the British Isles and the Empire of Italy. May your family rule long over our glorious Italian Empire.
Sincerely,
Alexander O'Connor, Governor-General of Britannia
Pietro Leopoldo smiled. After the eighteenth legion was named after the Cato family and the nineteenth after Jupiter, he wondered if the Farnese family would get some recognition. He was pleased to see that it did. His good mood vanished when he saw the most recent dispatch.
That meant instability in North Africa, which would probably mean armed intervention by the Empire. Pietro Leopoldo sighed. He knew why his son was so aggressive towards the Muslims of North Africa, and didn't necessarily blame him for it, but he and Ambassador-at-Large Gian Carlo Buti had worked so hard to repair Italy's reputation that it was a little off putting to see another war so soon. It was even against a newly independent country -- Algiers. [3]
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9 February 1644, Castle St. Maso, Rome
Francis II, still unused to public appearances, had assigned his new Foreign Minister to the role of representative for the Empire in the treaty negotiations with Algiers.
Carlo Emanuele di Ferrari had originally been hired to replace the late Gian Carlo Buti, who legend had it died of a heart attack upon the declaration of war against Algiers. It wasn't true -- Buti had died of cholera -- but it was impossible to correct the "facts" that had already spread. di Ferrari had been the Praetor for the Proconsul of Egypt for about five years; his new job earned him the title of Count, something he was very pleased about. He hadn't expected to be promoted to Foreign Minister almost instantaneously, but Pietro Leopoldo had been working for far too long and welcomed the chance to retire with a capable hand at the reigns.
Another soon-to-be-promoted official looked on the proceedings with interest. Sergeant Jacopo Contadino had just been accepted into the Germanicus Academy's Officer Course, the first commoner to be granted that honor in a long time. Young Jacopo had made a strong impression on the Marshal and the Marshal's Chief of Staff, however, and his outstanding skills at marksmanship had done nothing to harm his candidacy. The course would be grueling and take the better part of a year, but in February 1645, the Sergeant would become a Lieutenant and earn a patent of nobility, at the tender age of 19.
The King of Algiers was probably the only unhappy person at the entire ceremony, which was certainly understandable. Not only was he being insulted by having a mere Foreign Minister sign the treaty, but his lands were being annexed to the province of North Africa. He himself had just recently become King; he'd had less than two years to enjoy his position.
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[1] Totally forgot to take a screenshot; there might be one in the next update, but I'm not sure.
[2] Supposedly, that means farmer in Italian, according to Google Translate. If I'm wrong, please let me know. I thought about calling him Agricola, but in the Empire I've envisioned, Latin is part of the educated upper class, of which Jacopo is not a part. Most people speak Italian and have Italian names.
[3] Born from the collapse of Morocco. I think Morocco still exists overseas, somewhere, but I won't swear to it.
I'll try to squeeze in an update early next week.