Postcards From Eternity: a Megacampaign AAR

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ORIGINS: AD 1066, the First Journal
​

The Great Plague of the mid-11th century deeply damaged the sophisticated political landscape of the Italian peninsula. In the absence of legitimate Imperial power, local warlords and petty nobility were able to carve out entirely new local fiefdoms - in places centralizing previously fragmentary area, in others then fragmenting what had been larger and more cohesive powers. The end result was a chaotic no-man's-land, where any man or woman who gathered enough followers could seize power and legitimize their authority by pure force of arms. Of course, many such fledgling dynasties sought justifications from more esoteric sources as well; descent from legendary rulers, forged deeds to titles and estates, or even stranger, mystical sources of illumination, claiming grandiose deeds and destinies...

-From 'Chaos, the Mountain: Times of Crisis And What They Can Teach Us', by Giovanni Montefeltro (Napoli: 1967)​

Journal, collected fragments, dated approx. Nov 1066:

I write these words knowing they are to be the confessions of a lunatic. To whoever comes to find this journal, be assured that I believe in the truth of my account with absolute certainty. Yet how could you, my reader? These pages offer nothing but blasphemy and madness, by my reckoning, but it is my honest recollection of all that has come to pass in these strange days. If there is a beginning to this tale, I must trace it to the plague fields of Toscana.

It was a bitter, cruel summer, bearing more of the autumn chill than it had any right to. Little rain fell on cracked-dry soil in all the months we struggled to live through. There was no autumn harvest to be had, no respite from the bleakness. Hungry people scoured the countryside and dragged the lords out of their castles to feast on their fat. Is it any surprise that the plague returned? We were too weak to resist, and our sins were beyond counting. Thousands and thousands died in endless columns of doomed souls. I walked with them until the days and months blurred into a nightmare without end. What family and friends I still had, I left behind on those fields of rot and decay.

I should have died with them. The plague fields claimed the strongest man and the smallest babe alike. I walked with the dwindling river of filthy, sick, dying souls until the river drained to a stream, then a mere trickle. And then there were none to walk with me.

I know now; I was delirious, hot with fever, weaker than a newborn babe, so doubt my faculties if you like. But I swear this is what came to pass. I stood alone on that corpse-laden stretch of road and saw Death.

He - it - they took the form of a great faceless giant shrouded in grey and ragged robes. This apparition faced me on that desperate field, rising high above the barren treetops. It made no sound and had nothing for the senses to make out, save for that terrible visage. It appeared to me they were surveying their handiwork in a state of displeasure. I fell to my knees there and called out to God, but it was the monstrous figure that answered.

YOU WILL NOT BE HEARD.

I cried out in fear, for that voice seemed to echo in the very confines of my mind. My emotions overwhelmed me and I awaited whatever unbearable fate this being had in store for me. Yet time passed and it did not slay me. I found the courage to address it, though I cannot say how.

'Are you Death?'

ONE OF MANY.

The answer made little sense to me, but I continued: 'Why, oh lord? Why have you taken so many?'

THEY ARE NOT MINE.

'I do not understand.'

IT MATTERS NOT. WHY ARE YOU HERE?

'My lord,' I said, 'surely you have brought me here? For some cause you have spared me, out of so many.'

NO. A terrible, heavy pause. SO BE IT. YOU WILL SERVE.

'Serve, my lord?'

TO UPHOLD WHAT REMAINS OF THE BALANCE. TO OBSERVE. TO STRIVE. HEED ME. YOU ARE DEAD, YET YOU STILL LIVE. WITNESS! THE GATE IS SHUT. DEATH SHALL ESCAPE YOU. NO RELIEF WILL BE THERE FROM THE BURDEN. GO NOW AND LIVE.

It is then that I died. And then, much later, that I came back to life. I cannot begin to describe the sensation that took me then. I lived - but why, when all that mattered to me was gone? When the world was surely ending? I wandered empty fields and death-claimed villages in vain hope of seeing another living soul, but no-one came out to meet me. Wherever I went, that terrible apparition - or something very like it - had passed there before me. I fell into despair, then, and sought to end the pain. I drowned myself in the Arno, felt the cold, choking waters take me, hoped that it would end it all. I died there a second time. And there I returned to life once more, hale and hearty as I'd ever been, a man in the prime of his life.

I shall spare you the months of turmoil and despair that held me then. Only when autumn arrived in full, and I came to understand that the hellish plague had passed at last and people still lived to know it - only then did I begin to think of what my future would hold.

***

Toscana, AD 1066.​

 

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MARIO I GUERRA, AD 1066-1116​

Journal of Mario I Guerra, Duke of Tuscany, collected fragments:

29 SEPT 1066 AD

On this day, I was crowned the rightful Duke of Tuscany. The local lords bowed down and kissed my ring; the Papal legate anointed my head and placed a crown upon my brow. It has all come to pass in such little time. Do not think that I crave power for its own sake. I only seek to bring peace and order back to this scarred land. It must be why I have been spared. The apparition spoke of balance. O God, let this be your will, not the devilry of that creature.

Any rivals to this throne lie dead or cowed into obedience. I have no illusions on the nature of power. I know they merely bide their time. If I am to keep this throne, if I am to fulfill the task set upon me by the Lord - then I must hold to my power through any means necessary. If I am ever to leave this mortal plane, O God, be merciful on my soul for the wrongs committed in your name.

I have taken a wife from among my followers. She is a common girl of Florence, Micaela, a shepherd's daughter. My advisors protest my choice - they would see me wed to a woman of noble blood. Yet I am fond of Micaela; her keen mind, her drive to power, her crafty advice. She has little interest in men or unions of the flesh, but I do not think myself repulsive to her, and it is for the best. I find myself reluctant to father sons or daughters into this world. Are they to inherit my deathless existence? If not, must I then watch them grow old and pass where I shall always return? I do not share these thoughts with Micaela. She sleeps by my side even now... So very young, so full of life. I see the twitch of her lips as she dreams, the drift of her locks across her brow through the night. I seek to commit these details to memory, knowing I will have to lose her, knowing I will live on, forget. How many years am I to have with her? Can there ever be enough? How long until even these intricate peculiarities of her body and character are but dust, fading from me as everything fades but I?

Strange, guilty thoughts. A woman deserves a man who will care for her with the true love that knowledge of one's temporality brings. But are my feelings not love, just the same?

5 JAN 1067 AD

Tuscany is at peace. I write these words on the road to Rome, where I hope to receive an audience by His Holiness. The Holy Father has promised me wealth and favors for the restoration of Tuscany. I have many uses for such gold. Mine is a green and virtuous land, but the scars of the past ten years are deep. Castles lie abandoned ruins; once-thriving villages only hold the unburied remains of their inhabitants. Fields go untilled and orchards overgrow with none to pick their fruit. I have written to the Holy Father of these things, and in his Compassion he has offered to throw open the gates of his treasuries. Christendom is fortunate for such a leader.

Equally I desire to speak of God and Christ. The things I have seen leave me troubled, but the Holy- (fragment ends; incomplete)

***​

Excerpt of Scene III, Act I, from 'The Lady of Firenze', a 1556 play by Tuscan playwright Giovanni Piccioni; the play deals with the tragic feud between Count Stefano of Orbetello and the Duke of Tuscany

(an arrow comes from off-stage; THE DUKE and THE LADY turn about)

THE DUKE: Hold! Who goes there?

ORBETELLO (enters): It is I, my Lord.

THE DUKE: So it is. How do thine arrows come to fly so carelessly near our lady wife, Sir?

ORBETELLO: It is not thy woman they seek, my Lord, but a boar. Yet the resemblance leads them astray.

THE DUKE: Guard thy tongue, Sir!

ORBETELLO: I guard it as ardently as the wench guards her virtue.

(THE DUKE draws a sword; THE PAGEBOYS seize ORBETELLO)

THE DUKE: My belt shall draw an apology from thine lips!

***​

Excerpt of Scene V, Act I, from 'The Lady of Firenze'

(ORBETELLO kneels studying a stag ahead; enter THE DUKE, armed with bow)

THE DUKE (to himself): Is this not the Count Orbetello, the author of our every misfortune? And all alone; he has lost his companions. My arm aches to loose an arrow. Yet what is this but lust for base murder? I cannot. I must not. Hear me, O God! Is it thy hand that so places this turbulent count across our path? If we are to stay our wrath, lend us some sign.

(THE DUKE waits)

THE DUKE: Be gone then, wretched Orbetello!

(THE DUKE looses an arrow and misses; ORBETELLO laughs)

ORBETELLO: The stag is fortunate for thine aim, my Lord.

THE DUKE: More fortunate than it knows.

***​

Journal of Mario I Guerra, Duke of Tuscany, collected fragments:

29 JULY 1071 AD

I have returned from the fighting in Pisa to a blissful sight. My beloved wife Micaela has given birth to a daughter. We are to name her Fausta. I thought I would dread this day, yet I feel nothing but joy and pride. A child! She is a strange, tiny, mewling thing now, but the midwives tell me such a lively babe will be a strong one. I marvel at her daily. She is so fragile, so beautiful. So mortal - but surely she will live for many years yet. I seek not to think of such things, not in this happy time.

With any luck this will silence the fools who cast doubt upon our union. The consolidation of the city of Pisa has strengthened my rule, and now I have an heir. Shall Fausta in some distant time rule Tuscany at my side? If so, I shall have to prepare her with all the learning at my disposal. And are there my children on the way? Micaela no longer shies from my touch as she once did, but I am content with what we have. Fausta, my love - if you should ever read these pages, know that I would give all my power over death to you if I only could.

​

6 AUGUST 1074 AD

Little Fausta shows such spirit that she exasperates her tutors. She has a knack for sneaking off to commit some mischief or to battle imaginary demons in the treetops. Micaela disapproves, but I cannot help but to discreetly encourage such adventures. How could I deny my daughter what gives her joy?

Lately I have been ill, sick with fever. The concern of my wife and court is misguided. Even if this illness took me, I know I would return, as young and hale as the day I first met my death. But I do not desire to return in such a manner. They would not understand. I am young yet - this sickness will pass and I shall live this life for as long as I am needed. For Tuscany, and for my daughter.

***​

Excerpt of Scene I, Act II, from 'The Lady of Firenze'

(THE DUKE and THE LADY hold court; ORBETELLO enters)

THE DUKE: We welcome thee, Sir. Take thine place at the table.

ORBETELLO: Dost thou lady not bid me welcome, my Lord?

THE DUKE: Our wife desires to speak only to our closest companions, Sir.

ORBETELLO: Why dost thou scorn our friendship, my Lord?

THE DUKE: Had only the frog thought to scorn the friendship of the scorpion so!

***​

Journal of Mario I Guerra, Duke of Tuscany, collected fragments:

​

20 FEBRUARY 1085 AD

My Micaela has delivered another child. How strange the turns of Fate! My Fausta is almost a woman, and now she is to have a sister. We have named her Sofia. My wife's age seems no hindrance to bearing children - and she is ever more eager to consummate our love in the carnal sense. The distance between us is all gone, for better or worse. I pray that she will live to see them all grow as I shall.

As her maturity grows, I see more and more of myself in my dear Fausta. She is sharp, restless, of changeling temper; and as adept in matters of battle as any of my knights. It is curious how much she takes after her father. Perhaps my children are to live forever as well... but I shall not test it, out of fear of finding out the answer. My wife speaks of finding a husband for Fausta, now. I will make certain she is found a suitable match, so that her union may be as blessed as ours has been.


4 OCTOBER 1087 AD

A son! I rejoice, but it is an unexpected blessing. I have groomed Fausta to be my heir and successor, but the laws of this realm would see my infant son as Duke after me. She tells me it is all for the best. Fausta has never craved power - perhaps she is even relieved to be spared such a burden. We have named the boy Galeazzo. He is a healthy, curious child; God willing, he will live to see manhood.

***​

Excerpt of Scene V, Act II, from 'The Lady of Firenze'

​

(THE BANDITS enter, dragging ORBETELLO, hooded; they lead him to THE DUKE)

THE DUKE: Present thy gift.

BANDIT: Hold, great Lord! What of our coin?

THE DUKE: Thou shalt receive thine rightful reward. Fear not. Unmask him!

(THE BANDITS pull ORBETELLO'S hood and exit)

THE DUKE: He is silent. The poisoned tongue sleeps at last.

ORBETELLO: Thou hast done us great injustice, my Lord.

THE DUKE: So it is.

ORBETELLO: Willst thou not release us?

THE DUKE: Be silent. Long have we wished to slay thee. Shall today be the day?

ORBETELLO: I beg thee, my Lord, let not this feud cloud thy judgement! Can thou even name its cause?

THE DUKE: We cannot. Yet it burns in our chest. There is no end to it but in death.

ORBETELLO: This is the work of thy madness. Thou cannot so violate our noble person.

THE DUKE: Thou art not a lord; we strip thee of thy rank. Die now as a nameless wretch!

ORBETELLO: Tyrant! Thou may slay me, but God shall take His in turn!

(THE DUKE draws his sword and strikes down ORBETELLO; end of Act II)

***​

Journal of Mario I Guerra, Duke of Tuscany, collected fragments:

6 APRIL 1093 AD

Fausta is dead. My victory over the Count is ash in my mouth now. What justice is this, O God? She has borne a healthy child, but that child has killed her. I thought to grew old with her by my side. Why am I granted this everlasting life, when those far more deserving do not live to see two and twenty summers? Micaela tells me to care for those of our children who yet live. I cannot even bear to look upon them. They will die in time all the same. What good is there in love, if it only makes the passing of those dear to me so much harder to see?

I do not believe I will write in some time. I wished for Fausta to read these journals when she was old enough to know the truth. They appear vain, worthless scribblings now, and I have more important matters to tend to.

6 OCTOBER 1104 AD

Galeazzo has come of age. He is a spitting image of his father in youth, as bold and bright as I ever was. I have made certain his upbringing was a scholarly one. It comforts me to hear him speak of God and philosophy when I feel lost and adrift. I have had the boy seek audience in Rome; the Holy Father himself commended his intelligence and learning. The boy will make a fine Duke after I am gone. The years begin to weigh on me. I do not wish to take my own life, but it is a temptation I fight every day as my eyesight grows weaker and my limbs frailer. A quick death, and I would be young once more - or so I believe. Perhaps I have lost my immortal nature during these long years. I have not tested the curse in decades. How long shall I live yet?

There is talk of preparations for a great war in Rome, Galeazzo says. A crusade to reclaim the Holy Land for Christendom. The thought of it thrills me. I have lingered here too long; the restlessness is deep in my bones. I heard tales of Jerusalem when we besieged Modena; I ache to see such a holy place. Perhaps it will make clear the fears and doubts in my mind. This righteous war will purify my soul once more.

***

Excerpt from 'The First Crusade: the Disaster of Christendom', by Georges de Bourbon (Paris: 1952)

(...) The so-called First Crusade was ill-planned, underfunded, poorly led and effortlessly repulsed; a catastrophe in every way. Of the thousands of zealous knights and land-hungry noble sons who descended on the Holy Land, only a handful returned. The rosters of captives by the Mahommetian emirs sport myriad renowned names and titles, including the famed Duke of Tuscany, who appears to have suffered some manner of crisis of faith in the aftermath of this disastrous holy war. Reactions across the Christian world were often similar. Indeed, it is said that Pope Nicolaus, the ill-omened mastermind of the crusade, suffered a heart attack and died on the spot when told of the abject failure of his efforts. (...)

***​

Journal of Mario I Guerra, Duke of Tuscany, collected fragments:

19 JANUARY 1110 AD

The days are blurs. I look upon the latest pages and cannot say for certain that I wrote them. I abuse the hashish daily now, hoping to catch a glimpse, any glimpse, of those powers I fear dwell beyond the visible world. Once I sought to see God, but my doubts grow with every passing month. If God did not deliver us in Jerusalem, perhaps He is simply not there. My bishop begs me to cease my communions, but I scarcely listen. That creature that slew me and in doing so gave me eternal life - I see it, sometimes, in the haze and the smoke. And I see others, all of them similar grotesque, terrible disposition. What is the truth of Creation? I pursue it, but the answers remain always just out of reach...

I feel ancient. Every movement of my abused body brings with new pains and regrets. Death comes soon, I am certain. I can only hope I can leave the realm stable and safe for my son when I am gone. Even if I do return, and I believe I shall, my next life shall not be here. I must go. The restlessness consumes me entirely, worse than the pains. I must leave, and soon. I hope to see some opportunity present itself within the year...

***

Excerpt from 'Phoenix of Toscana: a Portrait of Duke Galeazzo I Guerra', by Maria Visconti (Firenze: 1905)

(...) What persuaded the 71-year-old, mentally addled Duke to ride off to war once more has been lost to history. The conflict was no great crusade for Christendom; merely a struggle over the lordship of the city of Luni, then the fiefdom of the Duke of Emilia. The Duke chose to support his vassal, the Count of Lucca, in his claim for that modest piece of land. It appears that he took sole command of the Tuscan forces in this war. The chronicles state that he fought with reckless zeal, often outriding his retinue and caring little for his own life. It is no surprise, then, that in the Battle of Prato, the Duke was severely wounded after being pulled down from his horse by Emilian pikemen.

Despite the best efforts of his physician, the old Duke's wounds soon grew inflamed. It appears infection set in. The first Duke of Tuscany would not live through these wounds. He died in July of the year 1116, leaving the Duchy in a state of war and under the rule of his son, Galeazzo of Tuscany. In the years following his death, a variety of increasingly strange and imaginative rumors began to spread of the old Duke's true fate, (...)

***

Excerpt of an additional scene in Act III of 'The Lady of Firenze'; found only in the earliest manuscripts of the play and not retained in any later printing

(THE PRINCE prays; THE MESSENGER enters)

THE MESSENGER: My Lord, I bring grave tidings.

THE PRINCE: Who art thou? Why dost thou wear a mask?

THE MESSENGER: I am a mere messenger; and my scars make our visage an unsettling one. I beg thee, ask not us to unmask.

THE PRINCE: Very well. What is thy message?

THE MESSENGER: Only this; thy father is dead. He has succumbed to his wounds.

THE PRINCE: Thou art certain? Thou hast seen it?

THE MESSENGER: It is so. We were there.

THE PRINCE: Then it is as I have feared. I thank thee, friend messenger.

THE MESSENGER (bows): With thy leave, I withdraw.

THE PRINCE: Hold! Willst thou not take off thine mask?

THE MESSENGER: Nay; thou could not bear to see it.

THE PRINCE: Mask, or no mask, it matters not. How could we not know the voice of our father?

***​

 

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Excerpt from 'Phoenix of Toscana: a Portrait of Duke Galeazzo I Guerra', by Maria Visconti (Firenze: 1905)

(...) The realm held its breath. The grand old man of Tuscany was dead at last - could the fragile porcelain of the young duchy survive his passing, or was it doomed to shatter and fragment like so many of its peers? Little did commentators of the time know that the son would prove a far greater sovereign than his father ever was. In the summer of Anno Domini 1116, 28-year-old Galeazzo Guerra stepped forward to take his rightful place as Duke of Tuscany, and the history of all Italia was forever changed.

The Duke was, by all accounts, a virtuous, handsome man; fearless on the battlefield, a learned scholar and a known polymath, a true Renaissance Man before his time. His bravery and notable skill as a battle commander had seen him fight at the age of 16 in the First Crusade, then in all of his father's wars thereafter. At the time of his ascension, he had suffered significant injuries in the very same battle that slew his father. Some concern existed at the time that he would not live to take the throne, but Galeazzo was not so easily felled. He would recover, take the reins of the Genoan campaign and prosecute it to a swift and successful end.

​

Young Galeazzo had been married to a Bavarian noblewoman, Elisabeth, and the union had produced two children at the time of his coronation. Baptismal records from Florence name them Elio and Federigo. The brothers were only separated by one year, and by all accounts - including the somewhat lurid chivalric romance The Two Sons of Tuscany, which serves as a fascinating primary source on the period despite its evident historical liberties - were much alike in temperament and looks. It is said they competed daily for their father's favor from a very young age, each seeking to outdo the virtues of the other.

Elisabeth is noted in one court document to engage in 'Undue Mortification of the Flesh', likely a reference to the habit of religious self-flagellation popular in Bavarian religious orders at this time. The marriage appears to have been a cordial one, with Elisabeth known as a trusted, pious and dutiful mother and wife. Though perhaps dissimilar in their natures, both spouses worked studiously to uphold the union - likely in reaction to the spurious and ill-spirited claims that had dogged his father's marriage to the countrywoman Micaela.

Of the old Duke's children, three others still lived. Galeazzo was quite fond of his sister Sofia, as their well-preserved correspondence goes to show, but relations with his brother Azzone were much more strained. The resentment of Azzone - an ambitious, strong man who had inherited his father's claim to infamous Orbetello - would boil over in the most dramatic way in the years that followed. Galeazzo's younger sister, Lucrezia, was a more distant presence in his life. His letters indicate the Duke felt a powerful sense of responsibility over Lucrezia, who had been married to a French count and thus rarely found the time to visit Tuscany.

Their mother Micaela would not outlive her husband for long. Writing in March 1117, shortly after her death, Galeazzo expresses unusual doubt on whether his mother would be reunited with their father in the hereafter. This can be perhaps taken to indicate a certain ambivalence felt by the children towards their common-born mother, though the evidence does not fully support this. Regardless, with both parents dead, there was no-one remaining to mediate between the four siblings. The consequences of this would rear their vicious head soon enough. (...)

***​

Letter dated April 12, 1117, from the correspondence of Galeazzo Guerra, Duke of Tuscany and Sofia Guerra (trans.)

To the most noble Sofia,

We write to you from the apartments the Holy Father has kindly prepared for our use. We arrived in Rome two days past but have been far too busy to sit down & pen letters until this day of the 12th. We have spoken at length with His Holiness about our father & learned certain curious things which I will not commit to these pages. Likewise we have conversed on favors bestowed & our sacred position as champion of Rome. We believe that the fruitful relationship which began under our father will be able to continue as before, God willing. Already the Holy Father has issued a great deal of coin unto my keeping for the construction of temples & the like.

We thank you for the kind words of the letter we received this day. We assure you all is well with our health & happiness. We equally wish good fortune & well-being to our dear sister and all her household. Give our love also to our sons & lady wife & those of our court we most love. God keep you and see us reunited soon.

Your brother and servant,
Galeazzo Guerra, Dux Tuscani et al.

Undated latter, winter 1119 (?), from the correspondence of Galeazzo Guerra, Duke of Tuscany and Sofia Guerra (trans.)

To our esteemed sister Sofia,

We pen this letter in a state of some anxiety. Our friend & servant V. has just given unto us news of a conspiracy against our life concocted within the realm. Though she could not name such conspirators yet, she assured us they may be found & soon, God willing. We do no fear for our life but confess some concern over that of our children, who would certainly be in danger if we were to pass. Be sure to keep safe for our sake, dear sister, if these criminals should be after you also. May the Lord see it is not so.

We regret the shortness of our favor this day. Our brother invites us for a hunt & we cannot deny him again. Forgive us for not feeling the same concern for him as we do for our sisters, for he has been most unkind to us in the past. Good health & prosperity to you & the children. May God see this danger past before too long.

Your brother and servant,
Galeazzo Guerra, Dux Tuscani et al.

Letter dated Feb 14, 1120, from the correspondence of Galeazzo Guerra, Duke of Tuscany and Sofia Guerra (trans.)

To the loyal Sofia,

We write to you well-recovered from our injuries & thank you for the concern of the favor we received one day past. Of our brother we wish not to write any further, but for love we will oblige your request & honest curiosity. We have confined Azzone to his quarters & do not think we should ever release him. We cannot look upon him now with any of the love we may have once felt. To see him gives us great fear that our children may once treat one another so. Our mother would weep to see us now. We find ourselves at a loss on how to move forward & beg you to write your good honest advice as before. We have never seen eye to eye with our brother but we have always treated him with the utmost courtesy. To see him driven to kinslaying & so consign his soul to the fires of Hell, we are most appalled & shaken. If we are to blame for any of this, we are greatly pained & regret any offences given. May God reveal the right of it to us.

We have guaranteed the passing of our brother's title to our niece when her time comes. We wish to avoid further grievance within our family if it be at all to be done. That is all we shall write of the matter. At the least V. assures us this conspiracy is to die with our brother. We give thanks to God for that.

Fare thee well always, and pray for me, most honoured and virtuous sister.

Your brother and servant,
Galeazzo Guerra, Dux Tuscani et al.

***​

Excerpt from 'Phoenix of Toscana: a Portrait of Duke Galeazzo I Guerra', by Maria Visconti (Firenze: 1905)

(...) A more happier event in the Duke's family life would come the following year with the birth of Adriana, the Duke's first daughter. A third son - named Mario after his grandfather - would soon follow. With the shock of Azzone's treachery fading, the Duke's letters take on a happier tone once more. The imprisoned brother effectively disappears from the written record until his somewhat suspicious death in his cell many years later. It appears that the Guerra family chose to pretend their sibling no longer existed, and perhaps never had - at least as far as our surviving sources are concerned.

​

The Duke's fame as a physician and scholar of the body is clear from several letters and treatises written in this time. It appears that he was often assisted by his niece Sofia the Younger, daughter of his sister Sofia, and the two formed a close, inseparable bond. Among their written works are the 1125 On the Use of Certain Herbs, the 1127 Insights On the Practice of Surgery and the lost 1133 treatise The Wisdom and Secret Learning of the Sages, which appears to have been formally censured by the Pope and destroyed. The latter work hints at a shift towards mysticism and occult practice for the Duke, much like his addled father before him.

***

Excerpt from 'The New Traveler's Guidebook to Italy: Toscana & Lombardia', by Marius van Assen (Utrecht: 1970); a best-selling tourist's guidebook

(...) Here we may also pay a visit to the San Fortunato, a peculiar little church tucked away in the back alleys of Lucca. If one looks closely, they can spot the faded image of a naked man and woman over the door. The story of the church is a fascinating and entertaining one. It was built by the so-called Adamites, an unorthodox Christian sect that briefly held sway among the city's nobility in the early 12th century. The Count of Lucca, one Fortunato Ramberti, proclaimed this movement a return to true Christianity and named himself its prophet.

What were the beliefs of these Adamites, then? Chiefly, they abhorred clothing and pranced around entirely naked, at least within their churches. Members claimed to live as Adam and Eve had in the Garden, when they did not yet know shame. One can only imagine what these bizarre cultists looked like to the ordinary folk of Lucca at the time. The movement was quickly declared heretical and expunged, with the church returned to the Catholic clergy. The Count himself was subsequently arrested, stripped of his title and put to death by an angry mob incited by the outraged Duke of Tuscany, Galeazzo Guerra. Don't tell that story at your local nudist beach! Want to learn more? Visit the eponymous beach down on the coast for a chance to relive the Adamist lifestyle (see Viareggio).

***​

Letter dated April 6, 1127, from the correspondence of Galeazzo Guerra, Duke of Tuscany and Sofia Guerra (trans.)

To our dear Sofia,

We choose to write to tell of the most amusing development among the children this past week. They have begun to compete even in acts of valor and virtue. We have caught both young Elio & young Federigo brawling with other children within days of one another. Both times the reason has been the same. Our brave boys have moved to defend their younger siblings most admirably & taught their lessers some important lessons. It entertains us greatly to see them carry themselves off so. The Guerra blood lacks not in boldness. We have greatly praised & encouraged our sons for these acts of theirs. We only regret that it so much has the aspect of competition for them. We love both greatly & wish they did not fight for our approval so. We will not happily accept discord between brothers. For now it remains a friendly rivalry. May God keep it so.

​

There is another matter that we write to you about. We have found a journal belonging to our father in the old tower rooms. It makes many disquieting claims & offers new insight into our father that we intend show to you at the soonest. We do not think these journals suitable for the eyes of the world & hesitate to copy their contents here. For one they describe some untoward and pagan rituals & practices which our father indulged in. We must confess we have sought to follow his example. There are certain herbs and substances which allow one to rise above this material world & see some of God's truth made plain. We have spent some nights now attempting these communions. There are no clear answers, but we assure you they have been most illuminating for us.

Our chaplain has caught some wind of what we are engaged in & warned us against such practices. God forgive us, we cannot so easily put these things aside. We have taken the liberty of writing to our niece also for the aid of her learning in this matter. Pray do not hold this quest of ours against us, for we pursue it out of true, pious wish to learn only.

We have witnessed beauty in our communions, but frightful things also. Our father writes here of an apparition he saw, that he names Death. We fear we have witnessed some of the same horror. Yet this does not persuade us to desist. Forgive us for this also.

God send you health & unto all yours also. We give our love to you & to your good daughter.

Your brother and servant,
Galeazzo Guerra, Dux Tuscani et al.

Letter dated July 28, 1130, from the correspondence of Galeazzo Guerra, Duke of Tuscany and Sofia Guerra (trans.)

To our honorable sister,

Our son Elio is of age. We ask again for your council on the matter of his marriage. We have been appraised of worthy wives by our court but we wish your opinion also. Please respond with all haste if only you are able.

Will you not forgive us for our lapses? We are most anxious to call our sister friend as we once did. We beg you to tell us of your joys and sorrows & let us know if there is anything we may do for you. We suffer most terribly from this rift between us. We would like nothing better to mend it before God. Only ask if there is something we may do for you, dear sister.

Your brother and servant,
Galeazzo Guerra, Dux Tuscani et al.

***​

Undated letter of summer 1130 (?), author unknown, addressed to Galeazzo Guerra, Duke of Tuscany (trans.)

To the most eminent lord Galeazzo, by the grace of God Duke of Tuscany, et al,

We greatly desire for this letter to find Your Lordship in good health and prosperity. As of two days ago, we have come to be in the lands of the Vlachi as per Your orders.

We report that this place You have sent us to is in a state of chaos. All over these lands it is the same. The common folk speak many languages and hold to many faiths, many of which we do not know or recognize. The guides we have employed with Your generous gifts speak of Kristjani, Bogomils, Paulicians and Cainites all; and then there are good Catholic souls and those of the Eastern persuasion. Heresy and blasphemy is rife in these people even where they claim to keep the ways of the Church. Here among the Vlachi we find mad preachers of this Cult of Cain. They call for men and women to sin in most abhorrent ways and are surely agents of Satan. We are most uncomfortable in their company and hope to be through with Your mission soon.

Of Your esteemed father, there is no sign. We beg Your Lordship to consider that Your learning may have misguided You. We cannot see how he might still live after all these years. Even so we will keep searching as long as You command us. Our guides are taking us now to a place called Transylvania, where there are tales of an Italian prince held in an evil king's keep, or so they tell us. We do not wish to give Your Lordship false hope, as we have pursued many such rumors before now and come out with nothing. We shall seek to write again upon our arrival.

Your most humble and devoted servant,
Sir Niccolò Albizzi

***

Where has the path of the late father of the Duke taken him?​

Cutting this into two parts, since I ended up with a whole lot of images.

 

[Cycle]

An interlude of sorts before we finish with Galeazzo.

An Account Of Our Ill-Omened Journey In The Lands Of The Vlachi, by an unknown author, allegedly c. 1146; generally considered a hoax or work of fiction by mainstream historians

This tale is written to serve as a warning to those who may come after. May you heed the many mishaps and errors of its protagonist, who I confess is in fact myself, the author of this tale, and avoid such tragedies that unfolded from there on. To begin with, allow me to illuminate you, my reader, as to my identity. It may astound you to learn that I am Mario Guerra, first of his name, the late Duke of Tuscany. I do not deny the fact of my death, which I believe to be widely known at this time. Such a Duke did, indeed, die, but in doing so gave way to a being I shall name the Wanderer. I write "being", for I can scarcely be counted among the ranks of humanity any longer. To be brief - I return from death as our savior once did, though I do not claim the means are as holy. As any man, I age, I hurt, I am injured, I fall ill - but each time my Death would take me, I am carried back to the place of my first, strangest death, to live a new life as a young man once more.

That is the truth of it, and I shall dwell no more upon the matter. This account begins where that of the Duke Guerra ends. Having expired from my grievous wounds - a most painful and upsetting death, at the time the worst I had known - I found myself living once more in the countryside of my beloved Tuscany. The place of my death had transformed from a barren field into fertile farmland, which I pridefully account to the peace and prosperity of my rule as Duke. I did not arouse any great suspicion from the local farmers, who would not have known the face of their Duke, certainly not as a young man. My condition and mind were greatly improved by my rebirth. The burdens of old age are a heavy weight to bear, and they sneak most cunningly upon you in the slow passing of years. I did not realize the depths of my infirmity until I was once more young and in my prime.

The restless spirit that had long plagued me still remained, however, and I now understood its purpose. I was not placed upon this world for comfort and convenience. My legs ached to roam and my senses to know new, unknown shores. It is with this in mind that I left my stay in beautiful Tuscany short, lingering only so long as to know for certain that my son Galeazzo had lived to claim his birthright. From Firenze - disguised as a peasant-boy of simple mind - I sought passage with a caravan headed for the city of Venice.

The Great Plague had not been kind to the Venetian Republic, but it endured still. I remember hearing of the merchant city's wealth and glory in the innocence of my youth. This Venice was a shadow of its past, stripped of the greater part of its continental possessions and much reduced in population. Even so, it proved a lively settlement, vibrant with voices and tongues from all corners of the Mediterranean. I conversed with Croats, Germans, Arabs, Greeks, Catalans and many others, to say nothing of Italians from all reaches of our native land. It was my intention to take passage to the Levant here - hoping, I confess, to witness the glory of Jerusalem as a pilgrim with my dreams of taking it as a crusader long since crushed. However, a dreadful twist of fate intervened. I happened to overhear a Greek sailor's tale of an undying lord reigning high in the Transylvanian Alps, in the lands of the Vlachs.

With less wine on my mind and a greater deal of caution, I might have stopped myself there. But I craved to learn more of my strange condition, and to hear of another like myself, however unlikely this story was? It caught me in its web in an instant. I pressed the sailor for more and in the morrow departed overland for the land the ancient Romans had called Dacia.

There is not much to say of the journey itself. It was at times arduous, but I was once more a man in my prime, strong and tireless, and so its obstacles challenged me little. I passed through the Croatian banates and into the tumultuous Hungarian lands, where I first heard of the vile Cult of Cain. The Magyars were good Catholics and held much hatred for the heretical movements they said abounded in the south. I admit many failings where it comes to my faith, nor am I so eagerly given to dismiss the beliefs of others with all that I have seen, but the stories of these Cainites appalled even me. They were said to delight in sin and vice - naming modesty and temperance evils, shamelessness and overindulgence worthy virtues. They copulated freely in maddened orgies and abused man, woman and child to sate their lust. They gorged themselves on food and overindulged in drink with little care for the example they set. This sprung from some troubling belief that the good earth was false and imperfect, a prison built by some cruel deity that kept us from reaching true Creation. From this they somehow postulated that only by experience even the most wicked things might they ascend to this higher place.

These tales would prove to be exaggerations, but what truth there was to them still troubles me. Perhaps it is not their gleeful wickedness that haunts me, though. Indeed, it may be their strange vision of the world. If this is indeed a flawed, terrible prison - what does it mean for me that I cannot escape from its grasp? Shall those around me pass into a purer kind of Creation where I am to be forever trapped in this world?

Forgive me. I have lost the thrust of this tale. Let it only be said that when I at last encountered these disciples of Cain, I was predisposed to greatly dislike them. It was with great shock, then, that I learned where the origin of this cult lay. It had sprung forth many years ago among the mountain peoples of the Transylvanian Alps, the very place I was seeking. Moreover, the people named it the work of someone they named the Lord Dragon - the Dracul, in the Wallachian tongue. The more they spoke of this man, who was said to never age and to be most strange in his manner and power, the more I was convinced that they spoke of another immortal like myself. Naive and hopeful as I was, I discounted the more evil rumors attached to his name. Had only I believed and departed then, I would have been spared much anguish.

Winter had come by the time I reached the mountains. It was an unkind, bitter season, with cold that bit into your bones and drained out any warmth you gained from fire or meat. I often heard wolves prowling the night, though I was far too strong and healthy for them to take an interest in me. I pitied even the wolf on those black nights. I had set out to travel alone, but regretted it greatly in the vicious solitude of the darkness. When I at last caught sight of the keep this 'Lord Dragon' was said to dwell, I would have accepted any degradation if it meant shelter and company.

In fact, as the grim-faced guards at the door told me, I would have more company than I could have expected. There was to be a wedding that night - all the high lords and ladies of the realm were in attendance and a great feast expected. I passed myself off as a poor knight errant in search of employ and was welcomed within with open arms. In retrospect, the eagerness of the guards to see me inside should have concerned me, but I was merely glad for the warmth and shelter.

I did not expect much from the lonely mountain keep, and so the richness and finery of its furnishings left me quite impressed. There was something from every corner of the world, or so it seemed. I caught sight of Persian rugs that would have fetched kingly sums at the Venetian markets; fine arms of Damascus steel that I would gladly have wielded myself; amber from the north-lands; the furs of enormous beasts from the lands of the Rus; masks and works of art from the lands of the Nubians; golden idols from a land beyond the Pillars of Hercules; even ornaments of finest jade and ivory from some far distant shore. Evidently the family that held this keep was astonishingly well-traveled. I was seized by the need to follow in their footsteps then, the restless spirit making itself known. I fought the most powerful urge to leave at once and travel for these exotic lands. I wish I had done so, but I suspect I would never have been allowed out of the castle.

I had arrived just in time for the wedding ceremony itself. The household staff - dour, thin, dark-eyed fellows all - shepherded me most insistently to the castle's great hall where the happy event was to take place. The high chamber was packed full when I entered, though so captivated I was by the sight of the lord of this place that I scarcely noticed anyone else.

He was a tall man, of strong build, yet with a terrible pale cast to his skin that left me uneasy. I thought instantly of the pallid cadavers of the plague fields and wondered if he were perhaps afflicted with some terrible disease. I discounted this possibly when I glimpsed many other such faces in the crowd, with an undeniable familiar likeness between them. I thought then they were an unfortunate lot, to be cursed with such sickly appearance from their bloodline. All waited intently on the lord, who I took to be their patriarch of his House. Others in the crowd were of much more ordinary disposition, though there was a nervous energy in the air that put to mind a cornered animal seeking escape. It was unlike any wedding I had myself witnessed. Yet there was nothing to do but to take my place in the crowd.

I remember still the cruel amusement in the voice of their master when he spoke. It was him, Ioan, Lord of Transylvania, that the common folk had named the Lord Dragon. He spoke in perfect Latin, which I followed with some difficulty. I do not know how many of my fellow guests understood half as much as I did.

'I am delighted that so many could be here for our feast,' the Dragon spoke. 'So many given to our care this night. Such loyalty in my subjects, for them to send their own sons and daughters, wives and mothers, cousins and wards... to enjoy my hospitality.'

It was then that I noticed the bareness of the tables laid out across the great hall. If this was a feast, it was a poor one. A guest should not be made to wait for their meal and drink. I could see I was not the only one so troubled. My stomach growled after my long journey and poor fare.

'It is not every day that one sees their son wed,' the lord of the keep said. 'And to such a young and vital bride.'

From behind him stepped forth a young man and a woman. The man had the wretched pallor of his father and a tight grip on the arm of his wife-to-be. The bride I could see little of under the rich dress she wore for the occasion. They joined the father before the crowd to the laughter and applause of their kinsmen. The reactions of the rest of the crowd were much more muted. The unhinged merriment seemed very out of place for such a sacred occasion.

I was feeling increasingly on edge at this stage. By my side was a scarred old knight who caught my eye and, to my astonishment, grinned and lifted his cloak to reveal two short swords strapped to his back. The guards had disarmed me at the gates - I had acquiesced, trusting in the guarantee of my host's hospitality. This man evidently had not.

I intended to question him about the weapons, but at that moment events began to outpace me.

'Enough talk. I see my children grow hungry. Let it not be said I am a poor host. We are all gathered. Waste not the opportunity,' the Lord Dragon said, his powerful voice stilling all attempt at conversation. 'Let us feast!'

At those words... The horror of it haunts my dreams still. In such nightmares I know very well what is to happen, but I am powerless to stop it. The scene is burned into my mind.

The son moved first. With inhuman alacrity, he snaked his hand into his bride's hair and pulled her head back with painful force. She cried out, but the sound was cut short. The groom seized her face in one hand and plunged his teeth into her bare, exposed neck.

We watched in mute horror. When his head came back up again, the pale face was red with blood, and gore-drenched fangs gleamed in the light. The lifeless form of the bride toppled to the ground, her fine silks stained black with her life.

The others descended upon us then. The cadaver-white sons and daughters of Dracul unveiled their true natures and fell upon the crowd. Monstrous fangs and taloned hands bit and cut into flesh, each of the terrible creatures seizing their prey and yelping with animal glee as they drained them dry. Blood sprayed high into the air and covered the plain high tables. They fell into a killing frenzy, driving the panicked crowd towards the middle of the hall from all sides. There would be no mercy for man, woman or child there. Those that evaded the encircling horrors scrambled for the entrances, but were seized from behind as they banged uselessly on the shut and locked doors. Others sought shelter under the tables only for the creatures to drag them out laughing and tear into them there on the floor.

For my own part, I recovered swiftly from the shock. I took a step towards the nearest door but got no further. One of the murderers leapt for my back and tore at my shoulder with her bestial fangs. I am not a weak man - indeed I am stronger and hardier than most - but the strength of the woman took me by surprise. She moved with preternatural speed and agility to stay on me. It took me a great effort to at last regain my footing and throw her off me. She bounced back almost at once, snarling in a manner that had nothing human in it.

It was the old knight that came to my rescue then. He was, I understand, a Serb in the service to the Duke of Rashka, though given the circumstances we had little time to exchange pleasantries. I was later told his name was Sir Mihajlo and that he had been sent to investigate rumors of Lord Dracul's infernal nature. He was a renowned knight, a master swordsman and the guardian of the Duke in his childhood. When I met him, he was a fresh widow, with five living children and a modest estate by the sea. That is all I have been able to learn of him. I write these things here as a memorial for a good, fearless soul who did not deserve the fate waiting for him.

Mihajlo stepped in the monster's path and slashed his blade for its throat. The sword cut pallid flesh but drew no blood. It was the sudden resistance than any true harm that sent the creature scurrying backwards, I believe, but what it accomplished was to give us a moment's respite from their attacks. Mihajlo placed his other sword in my hands and inclined his head towards the figure of Duke Ioan at the other end of the hall. He had not joined in on the slaughter - instead, the Lord Dragon surveyed the scene with an air of cool satisfaction. To this day I wonder if he truly expected to reach the master of the keep there and single-handedly strike him down.

'What are these things?' I asked, though it soon became apparent we did not share a language. He understood the thrust of my question regardless.

'Vampir,' the knight said, in his native tongue, gesturing wide with his sword, 'Dracul.'

Then they were upon us once more, now in greater numbers. We turned back to back and began a stalwart, desperate defence. My long life had allowed me to master the sword, but Mihajlo performed just as well, and he evidently had some experience with these monsters. I am sorry to say it did not help us a great deal. These things felt the pain of our blows, but they did not tire and they would not die however grave the wounds we inflicted upon them were. Only when we struck them through the heart did they cease their struggles, but some dark power reanimated them as soon as we withdrew the blades. In short, it was a battle doomed to failure.

I tell you we fought to the end. The other guests, unarmed and helpless as they were, dwindled as the moments drew on, slaughtered so much like cattle in an abattoir. As they ran out of prey, they congregated more and more upon us. Soon we were the only living men still standing in the hall. It did not appear we would stay that way for long. I had the certainty of my resurrection, but I wept for Mihajlo, who would surely die a final death.

I was wrong on both counts, as it turned out. The vampires began to grow bolder, cutting and bleeding us more and more, and I could tell we were only moments from death. At that moment, the master of the keep rose and called out for his children to stop.

They did so at once, snarling and whining like cowed hounds. Dracul strode across the hall and came to study us with his bloodless lips stretched in a cold smile.

'He has fought well,' the lord said, pointing at my companion. 'He is not prey.'

The vampires wailed and hissed. I began to feel hope that Mihajlo might yet live through this.

'Would you care to live forever, sir knight?' Dracul said instead, his smile spreading, revealing those wicked fangs. 'Would you care to join my family?'

Sir Mihajlo spat blood on the floor in response. He hefted his sword with wavering, exhausted arms. I felt such admiration and love for the man then, to see him choose certain death with no hesitation. Alas, Dracul would not give him even that. The immortal lord moved so fast I could scarcely follow. He darted forward, slipped inside Mihajlo's guard and plunged his fangs into the old man's neck. The knight turned limp in his grip at once, his blade crashing to the ground. I leapt to his rescue then and swung for the inhuman Duke's neck - but he turned aside the blow with his arm only - flesh and threw me flat on my back with a mocking jab of his hand.

'And what do we have here?' the lord said, letting the body of my companion fall to the floor. 'I smell your blood, little cousin. I smell your gift. Oh, the joy you have brought me...'

I should have taken the sword and cut my own throat then. I do not know why I did not. Perhaps I thought, foolishly, that I might yet escape. I did not fight when they seized my arms and carried me away, down into the lightless cell of the castle dungeons where I would spend many years to come...

***​

 

[Cycle]

Excerpt from 'Phoenix of Toscana: a Portrait of Duke Galeazzo I Guerra', by Maria Visconti (Firenze: 1905)

(...) The 1130s began a peaceful decade for Tuscany. Heir to the throne, Elio Guerra, had become a man and found a match in a Greek noblewoman by the name of Dionysia; Azzone, the treacherous brother, had been discreetly put to death by the ducal spymaster (evidently, without his lord knowing, but it does not appear that Galeazzo minded either); taxation records show consistent increase and harvest yields remain stable; and the Duke had finally found the time to undertake a pilgrimage to blessed Jerusalem, an experience of great importance to him. All in all, the only troubles facing the aging Duke were of a personal kind. His relationship with his sister had become strained after the Duke's mystic turn, and the Duke's young sons had grown to be notorious in the realm for their competitions in all manner of things, from horse racing to displays of Christian generosity.

The Duke had never been close with his young sister, Lucrezia. Some correspondence survives, revealing a polite, formal relationship that at least shows Galeazzo's sense of responsibility over his sister. Her well-being was a matter of honor and pride to him. This goes on to explain why his reaction was as it was when news arrived of Lucrezia's death at the hands of a French noblewoman, Anne Bellegarde of Saumur. The motives of the ambitious countess have not survived in historical record, and we can only speculate. It appears to have been a personal quarrel of some kind, finding a bloody end through Anne's vindictive nature.

Galeazzo was not known to be a particularly wrathful man, but his letters at this time reveal a terrible fury and the planning of an elaborate, total scheme of revenge. Strangely enough, the tragedy appears to have served to bring Galeazzo and Sofia back closer together. From the fact that none of the subsequent letters mention Galeazzo's still-ongoing study of the mystic arts, one can presume that the siblings came to some sort of spoken or unspoken agreement that the matter would simply be ignored. The two focused all their energies into avenging their younger sister; their letters are equal parts mutual grief and commiseration, as well as intricate plotting of degradation and murder.

Duke Galeazzo had styled himself from the beginning of his reign as 'Champion of Rome'. This title served to indicate House Guerra's close relationship with the Papal authorities. In return for their services as guardians of Catholicism and the Pope's material interests, they had been blessed with regular funds and favors that aided in the reconstruction of the realm. Now that relationship took on an even tighter, active form. Galeazzo persuaded the Pope to excommunicate Countess Anne as a traitor to her faith, an act that shook the French aristocracy to its core. Not content with this disgrace, Galeazzo and Sofia ordered the shamed lady's assassination with the tacit approval of the Holy Father.

Anne of Saumur may never have understood the cause of her death. By all accounts, it was swift, humiliating and brutal, with the woman's head sent in a dung cart to the court at Florence. Though the killers were never directly connected to the Duke of Tuscany, the message was clear. Hurt the family, and suffer the consequences.

The entire affair worked in the favor of the Guerras, but also served to discredit the institution of the Papacy. Enemies of the Duke spread discontent among the common people and stoked fires of resentment towards the authority of the Church. Blatant displays of favoritism and corruption by Pope Callistus did not help matters. The Guerras would step up to defend their patron, whatever new scandal rocked the Seat of St. Peter. In the eyes of the Duke's rivals, the Holy Father served at his beck and call. The conquest of Spoleto by a Tuscan army bearing the papal flag proved the last straw for many lords of Italy. A fair number turned openly against the Catholic Church, declaring their support for the Waldensian movement - the so-called Poor Men of Lyon - which advocated apostolic poverty and reform of the clergy. No doubt many of these lords saw an opportunity to seize church property for themselves, but there is evidence for true believers as well.

The worst outbreak took place in the Duchy of Piedmonte and on the island of Corsica. At the behest of the Pope, Duke Galeazzo would launch a campaign to seize the Piedmontese lands for his own family. Wary of an united front against Tuscany, he made the prudent choice to apportion the lands to a loyal cousin instead of incorporating them directly into the Duchy. Popular support for the Waldensian cause would continue to dominate in the region for many years to come, but the point had been made. Heresy and disloyalty to the Church would not be allowed to survive in Italy.

The close relationship seemed to be on solid ground. To strengthen Catholic legitimacy, Pope Callistus would declare a new crusade to liberate the Holy Land and put it in the hands of a Catholic monarch. Here, however, Duke Galeazzo's mystic interest intervened.

Letter dated June 7, 1143, to Pope Callistus from Galeazzo Guerra, Duke of Tuscany

To my most reverend and divinely beloved lord and bishop,

We have received word of the Crusade to come from Your servants & are greatly pleased at such an endeavour. It would be a great victory indeed for all Christendom if blessed Jerusalem were to be freed from the heathen yoke. God willing, Your Holiness will surely come to see such a triumph. All faithful Christians will surely see Your wisdom & righteousness. Only our Lord can have inspired such just acts & it will soon be clear across Christendom.

As for the support of Tuscan arms and gold for this campaign that Your Holiness has requested, we must with great regret decline. We have lately witnessed all manner of dire omen in the firmament & the bones & consulted seers who are all in agreement. Great tragedy will follow if we are to join Your Holiness in this battle. With infinite sadness & reluctance, we must remain in Tuscany until such wicked portents cease.

Your eternal servant,
Galeazzo Guerra, Dux Tuscani et al.

Letter dated June 15, 1143, to Galeazzo Guerra, Duke of Tuscany, from Pope Callistus

To the loyal and excellent Galeazzo, Duke of Tuscany,

Let all rejoice and exult in the Lord, and let those who are correct in heart glorify Him, who, to make known His power, does not make boast of horses and chariots, but has now gained glory for Himself, in the scarcity of His soldiers, that all may know and understand that He is glorious in His majesty, terrible in His magnificence, and wonderful in His plans on the sons of men, changing seasons at will, and bringing the hearts of different nations together. Let all be well with you and yours.

We are most appalled by the contents of your last letter. It has been through our grace that your past misdeeds have been allowed and your forays into practices forbidden by God and our most holy Church have gone unpunished. That you would indeed justify your craven acts with the very heretical practices we have grown to tolerate arouses great anger in our heart. Do not presume to deny the will of God that is the holy liberation of the land where our Lord Christ was born. We are greatly troubled and horrified that you continue to defy the authority given to Saint Peter by our Lord God.

We are most agitated and desire an answer forthwith. The full force of Tuscan arms is to be committed to the Crusade. We will not tolerate anything less. Our patience is at an end.

God make you right a good man, and send God's blessing and mine,
Ego N. Catholicae Ecclesiae Episcopus

Letter dated June 20, 1143, to Pope Callistus from Galeazzo Guerra, Duke of Tuscany

To the most holy and reverend bishop,

Because we have very frequently realized your faithfulness, proven in many trials, to us & to our house & in mind of the special friendship we enjoy, we are struck by immense grief & regret to once more refuse Your command. It cannot be God's will that we would join Your Holiness on this crusade. We pray for Your swift success & happiness to all Christendom. As for our sins, we will answer for them before God. Send us for any punishment & censure that Your Holiness desires. We can only hope our past work on behalf of Your Holiness may count once more in our favor.

Your eternal servant,
Galeazzo Guerra, Dux Tuscani et al.

***​

Excerpt from 'Phoenix of Toscana: a Portrait of Duke Galeazzo I Guerra', by Maria Visconti (Firenze: 1905)

(...) In the end, Pope Callistus appears to have erred on the side of caution and allowed Duke Galeazzo to offer only token support for the Crusade. Galeazzo's omens would prove correct, as far as the Crusade itself was concerned. Like its predecessor, it would end in humiliating defeat and the crushing loss of nearly the entire crusading force. The campaign - intended as a show of force to strengthen the Church - would instead plunge it into disarray, with Pope Callistus soon left a powerless figurehead in the Vatican.

While the fall of Callistus meant a disruption in the relationship between House Guerra and Rome, his successor would waste no time in renewing the ties that bound the two together. The union of the two would continue unbroken until (...)

(...) Matters of faith soon became secondary to the Tuscan court. The Duchess Elisabeth held claims to the duchies of Bavaria, Currezia and Lombardia, which had briefly united in a powerful alpine state to the north of Tuscany. To cripple a potential future rival and to assert his family's power, Duke Galeazzo would in 1154 launch a war to install his wife on the throne of Lombardy. This conflict would consume the two Duchies for many years with heavy casualties on both sides. The Tuscans would emerge victorious, but not without a significant - and for Galeazzo, a very personal - cost.

Epitaph on the grave of Federigo Guerra, allegedly by his brother Elio, c. 1155

Here lies Federigo, the mirror of our heart
Only in death do we know the depth of our love

***

Excerpt from 'Phoenix of Toscana: a Portrait of Duke Galeazzo I Guerra', by Maria Visconti (Firenze: 1905)

(...) The old Duke had almost fallen. Federigo was dead. Elio had retired from the war, overcome by his newfound grief for the brother he had competed with relentlessly since birth. The command of the army was a chaotic, contradictory mess that should have doomed the war effort. Only the total exhaustion of the Lombard forces allowed the Tuscan cause to triumph at last. Yet Fate had one last devious trick to play. On the morning of negotiations for Elisabeth's ascension for the crown, a messenger arrived with incredibly unwelcome news: the Duchess was dead.

The death did not perhaps come as a surprise. Elisabeth was 65 years old and had suffered her entire life from her habit of violent self-flagellation. Surprise or not, it came at the worst possible time for the negotiations. Hostilities were renewed for a short time, until a sensible alternative could be agreed upon. Elisabeth and Galeazzo's daughter Adriana would take the throne, thus ensuring a Guerra as the ruler of Lombardy. Finally, there was peace. The northern triple alliance of Tuscany, Piedmonte and Lombardy - an union of three Guerra rulers blessed by the Pope - had become the great power of southern Europe.

The final years of Duke Galeazzo's life were uneventful, in comparison. He had laid the foundations for the greatness of the Tuscan realm and of House Guerra. With the death of Sofia in November 1163, the old Duke appeared to at last accept his impending death. His writings increasingly refer to 'that terrible, faceless beast of my father's dreams' and other esoteric nightmares that he would soon have to face. In his last will and testament, he confirmed the sovereignty of Lombardy and Piedmonte, as well as the loss of Spoleto as an independent duchy under the rule of Federigo's young son. These acts were meant to reassure other rulers of Italy that the Dukes of Tuscany were not power-hungry tyrants, but only held what was rightfully theirs.

Duke Galeazzo Guerra, first of his name, the Phoenix of Tuscany, died in May 1164, in the midst of a campaign in support of the Banate of Istria in Croatia. His successor would be Duke Elio, already 49 years of age at the time of his coronation, and a man ruled by a powerful sense of ambition...

Southern Europe in 1164. Note the struggling but powerful Kingdom of Aragon and its rival Andalusian sultanate. Other powers remain fairly modest at this time.​

 

[Cycle]

Excerpt of Scene I, Act I of 'The Merry King of Tuscany', a 1848 banned anti-monarchist play by revolutionary author Giovanni di Canossa

(Curtain opens; we see DUKE GALEAZZO on his death-bed, accompanied by BONIZO, an advisor)

GALEAZZO: Oh God, verily do we feel the cold hand of Death upon our shoulder. Loyal Bonizo, how fares our noble Tuscany?

BONIZO: Well, Sire, it could hardly fare worse.

GALEAZZO (clutching chest): Oh Lord, They come for us. Only tell us we leave our young nation in safe hands, dear Bonizo. Where is our noble son, Elio?

BONIZO: Right there, Sire.

(ELIO rises drunkenly from behind the bed; GALEAZZO sees him)

GALEAZZO: Oh. (dies)

ELIO (shaking the body): Well, it was about time.

(ELIO pushes his father's corpse off the bed and lays on it; BONIZO kneels)

BONIZO: Long live Duke Elio of Tuscany.

ELIO: Longer than this one, I hope. Now, Bonizo, my happy little idiot. What's a Duke got to do to get a drink around here?

(BONIZO withdraws off-stage and returns with wine; others begin to enter: THE DUKE OF SPOLETO, DIONYSIA, NAWOJA, JACKANAPE, SERVANTS and SOLDIERS)

ELIO (emptying his cup): That does it. Bonizo, attend to me. Who is that boy?

BONIZO: I believe it is the Duke of Spoleto, Sire, son of your brother Federigo.

ELIO: Ah, Federigo! We loved him dearly. Were that he still lived to see this day.

BONIZO: Yes, Sire.

ELIO: What a handsome man my nephew is. (pause) Have him killed, won't you?

BONIZO: Of course, Sire.

ELIO: Dearly I also desire his lands. Oh, good God. More sweet wine to fend off ugly tomorrow. (drinks) And who is that, Bonizo?

BONIZO: Your son, Sire.

ELIO: My son? Why, so it is. What is he called?

BONIZO: Elio, Sire.

ELIO: Elio? Elio, like I, Elio? Stuff and nonsense. We cannot have two Elios. Let him now be Jackanape and Jackanape only.

BONIZO: As you say, Sire.

ELIO: Jackanape! Jackanape! Bonizo, why does he not heed the call of his father?

(BONIZO brings JACKANAPE to ELIO; with him come DIONYSIA and NAWOJA also)

DIONYSIA: How does the day find you, husband dear?

ELIO: It finds me a Duke, it does.

DIONYSIA: And I a Duchess.

ELIO: Ah! I suppose one has to follow from the other.

***

Excerpt from 'On The Virtue Of Cats', a treatise by Duke Elio Guerra of Tuscany, c. 1170

(...) The feline is an able companion; a scourge of vermin; an exemplar of cleanliness; cunning in its aspect, graceful in its form. It comforts us when we despair and delights us when we sit idle. What are these things if not the design of our Lord God, and how can the cat thus be anything but a godly creature? That there are wicked sides to the cat I do not deny. They may most cruelly torment their prey; hiss and scratch those who would only give them love and comfort; easily abandon one master for another. But these are the ways of nature, which God upholds for our education and benefit. The animal does not think or choose its actions. It merely follows the nature ordained upon it by God. Why then condemn beasts as we would men or name them wicked or impious?

I myself have always kept cats. Even as I write these words, I observe Paws the tomcat at rest. He lays by my side, purring in perfect contentment the like we me mortal men may only dream of. In his sleep, I believe, he hunts the mouse and teaches his kittens. I marvel at the unconscious delight in the kicking of his paws and the feline grin on his lips. He is of the most wondrous ebony shade, with his fur lustrous and clean. Before he was the most esteemed companion of my wise sister, Adriana of Lombardy, and she taught him a great sophistication of etiquette and affable behavior. All the lords and ladies of my realm are to have one of his little ones to guard their households in turn. This, I believe, is merely an expression of good and godly governance.

If we leave the common country cat behind, we may contemplate for a moment the lion and the leopard, those great felines of Africa and the Orient. It is not by happenstance that the King of Beasts adorns so many banners and coat of arms. One cannot praise the lion on one hand and scorn the housecat on the other. They are one and the same, only grown different by the peculiar weather and air of their native ranges. To show the truth of this, I present the spotted wild cat of Egypt -- (...)

(...) Lastly, I believe the cat teaches us of the necessity of cruelty. It stalks and hunts and pounces, leaving no chance for its prey to escape. It does not do this for the joy of it, as some ignorant commentators claim. Indeed, the kittens of the cat could very well starve if it did not practice its hunts and bring back its victim for their meal. In this manner, we men too must be ready to act decisively and ruthlessly when it is demanded of us. Only through merciless decisive action may we ensure the survival of our progeny and the prosperity of our line.

In this, as in all the good character I have presented, we may strive to be as the cat. God has placed all of nature upon this earth for our use and learning - indeed, it would be a grave fault indeed to turn one's eyes from the teachings of His creation, however fell they might seem at first glance. (...)

Excerpt of Scene IV, Act I of 'The Merry King of Tuscany', a 1848 banned anti-monarchist play by revolutionary author Giovanni di Canossa

(ELIO enters, returning home from the wars in Spoleto; DIONYSIA and a SOLDIER are roused from their bed)

SOLDIER: Do we satisfy our Lady?

DIONYSIA: You please us, but to satisfy - we would need a company's worth of you.

SOLDIER: That may yet be arranged, my Lady.

DIONYSIA (listens): Hold! What is this I hear? A cheer of the triumphant?

SOLDIER: I hear nothing. Come back under the covers, my little dove.

DIONYSIA: You fool! It is my husband, come back from the war! Hide, quickly!

(The SOLDIER hides underneath the sheets; DIONYSIA arranges the pillows to cover him)

ELIO: Ah, my wife.

DIONYSIA: Oh, my husband!

ELIO: Well, that's one more crown added to the pile. We are victorious.

DIONYSIA: Was it a mighty battle, my husband?

ELIO: As mighty as one might expect, when you are facing a six-year-old. Now move aside and allow me to rest my bruised backside upon these silk sheets, for the riding has left it quite tender.

DIONYSIA: By God! No, no. Allow me to embrace you first!

(DIONYSIA seizes ELIO in her arms; the SOLDIER rolls out of bed and crawls under it)

ELIO: What a queer smell there is upon you, my wife.

DIONYSIA: Merely a new perfume, my love, to please your senses.

ELIO: Well, it doesn't. Now, let me put my boots under mine bed and rest my weary feet for a while.

DIONYSIA: Oh dear Lord! Let me carry you instead!

(DIONYSIA hoists ELIO up in her arms unsteadily; the SOLDIER tries to avoid them as they turn and stagger around)

ELIO: Let me down! Let me down, you Greek wench!

DIONYSIA (holding tighter): First, tell me what news you bear!

ELIO: You are mad, woman!

(The SOLDIER manages to sneak off-stage; DIONYSIA drops ELIO on the bed)

DIONYSIA: Why must you call me such things, my husband?

ELIO: God loves an honest man.

ELIO: Well, enough prattle. What news? I tell you, we have met with His Holiness.

DIONYSIA: Oh, have you prayed together?

ELIO: Prayed, what nonsense! The man robbed me of my every last coin.

DIONYSIA: You received indulgence?

ELIO: I don't know what that is. We played dice.

DIONYSIA: Oh. What else?

ELIO: Ah, I made a profit in the end. Behold!

(ELIO pulls out a stained rag from his sack)

DIONYSIA: What is this vile thing?

ELIO: Ah, the papal standard. It has merely taken some wine. Will you clean it up for us, dearest?

DIONYSIA: For what purpose?

ELIO: We shall ride with it into Ancona. His Holiness has granted us claim to those lands.

DIONYSIA: More conquests, my husband?

ELIO: Idleness does not a kingdom make.

Excerpt of Scene II, Act II of 'The Merry King of Tuscany', a 1848 banned anti-monarchist play by revolutionary author Giovanni di Canossa

(BONIZO, JACKANAPE, NAWOJA, SERVANTS and SOLDIERS are gathered around a wounded ELIO on the battlefield)

ELIO: By God, by God, he has cloven my face right asunder. Be straight with it; how does it look?

BONIZO: In all truth, Sire, I cannot tell the difference.

JACKANAPE: But father, do scars not only refine a man?

ELIO: Oh Lord, what nonsense have I taught you!

NAWOJA: But Sire! Is true beauty in a man not found beneath the navel?

ELIO: For sure, at least I still have my sword.

BONIZO: It is a flesh wound only, Sire! Your nose shall grow back twice as mighty!

JACKANAPE: And it is no shame to lack so many teeth in your age, father!

DIONYSIA (enters, screams): Oh good God, what is that creature?

BONIZO: It is your lord husband, my Lady.

DIONYSIA: Oh, so it is. Was anything of value lost?

BONIZO: Well--

ELIO: To Hell with every last fool, harlot, charlatan and halfwit of you!

***

Excerpt from 'A National History of Tuscany', ed. Daniel Castaldi & Maria Visconti (Firenze: 1920)

(...) The new Kingdom was certainly born under inauspicious stars. The Duke had been grievously wounded and would spend the rest of his days with an iron mask holding his skull together. Years of war had exhausted Tuscany's levies and depopulated parts of the countryside. The golden age of Elio's father was for certain now over, but through this devastation a new, more powerful realm could be forged. In the year 1171, Elio I Guerra was crowned by the Pope in a grand ceremony as King of the Tuscans, elevating him greatly above his peers in Italy. While Elio had sought to be titled King of all Italy, the Holy Father was eventually persuaded into a compromise solution naming Elio King in Italy only. He would indeed not be the only such ruler so honored.

Scene IV, Act II of 'The Merry King of Tuscany', a 1848 banned anti-monarchist play by revolutionary author Giovanni di Canossa

(ELIO sits on his bed holding and kissing his crown; NAWOJA sleeps behind him; DIONYSIA enters with a SERVANT)

ELIO: Ah, it is good to be King.

DIONYSIA: And I your Queen.

ELIO: Mine and everyone else's, so I hear.

DIONYSIA: You lose me, husband.

ELIO: You make a cuckold of me, you wanton harlot!

NAWOJA (waking): You call for me, Milord?

ELIO: Not now, Nawoja!

DIONYSIA: Forget not it is I who has guided you here, oh King.

ELIO: She can guide herself out. Someone send for the Pope! I want a divorce!

(DIONYSIA storms off, taking the hand of the SERVANT; BONIZO enters)

BONIZO: I bring news, Your Grace.

ELIO: Ah, are the news good?

BONIZO: Why do you ask?

ELIO (searching for wine): You know I hate evil news on a dry throat.

BONIZO: I tell you now, Sire – His Holiness has declared the Duke of Verona a fellow King.

ELIO: What say you?

BONIZO: The Duke of Verona is now King, Sire.

ELIO: King of Verona? Absurd!

BONIZO: King of Romagna, Sire.

ELIO: But he does not rule in Romagna. I do. I think.

BONIZO: Perhaps he intends to some day.

ELIO (tossing away crown): Oh, dark day. What was the Holy Father thinking? It's no good. After all that I've done! He promised I'd be King in Italy and now He's gone and usurped me.

BONIZO: It is indeed very impertinent, Sire.

ELIO: And he owes me 50 ducats!

BONIZO: And a bottle of burgundy, Sire.

ELIO: And a bottle of burgundy. Oh, damnation. Have you no good news to give, dear Bonizo?

BONIZO: Well, no.

ELIO: Little use you are. How about a war or two?

BONIZO: I'm afraid not.

SERVANT (enters): Your Grace!

ELIO: Well, what is it?

SERVANT: Your sister Adriana calls you to arms, Your Grace. She is at war!

ELIO: Oh, splendid!

SERVANT: And here is a message from the Venetian Doge. He too goes to war!

ELIO: Ah, even better. Against whom?

SERVANT: The King of Romagna, Your Grace.

ELIO (standing): Aha! There we have it! I shall crush that usurper and bite his crown! Saddle my horse, Bonizo! To war!

***

Excerpt from 'A National History of Tuscany', ed. Daniel Castaldi & Maria Visconti (Firenze: 1920)

(...) Decades of expansion and easy victories had left the Tuscan leadership overconfident and complacent. The Romagnan War was expected to a short conflict, an easy victory against a numerically inferior enemy. This rosy picture was quickly shattered. The Venetians failed to open their promised eastern front, and well-trained and well-led Romagnan troops would triumph again and again over the Tuscan forces. King Elio's troops were hard-pressed to support both the Lombardians in the north and the Venetians at home.

Each new defeat would drive the King deeper into despair and desperation. Now the practice of leading from the front, common among the House of Guerra and the Tuscan nobility, would backfire in the most spectacular fashion...

Scene V, Act III of 'The Merry King of Tuscany', a 1848 banned anti-monarchist play by revolutionary author Giovanni di Canossa

(ELIO and the KING OF ROMAGNA face off with their SOLDIERS; the battle rages until only ELIO and the KING OF ROMAGNA are left on stage)

ELIO: Usurper!

KING OF ROMAGNA: Scoundrel!

ELIO: Thief!

KING OF ROMAGNA: Fornicator!

ELIO: Upstart!

KING OF ROMAGNA: Drunkard!

ELIO: Hold, now. What's so bad about being a drunkard?

(The KING OF ROMAGNA strikes at ELIO; the two battle, then fall down and crawl around chasing one another; THE KING OF ROMAGNA cuts off ELIO's leg and runs away with it)

ELIO: Damnation, that stings! What's this sort of business? In my time, kings and dukes didn't go around stealing one another's limbs. It's a wretchedly common thing to do.

BONIZO (enters running): Sire! Do you yet live?

ELIO: Seems like it.

BONIZO: Your leg!

ELIO: You are as insightful as ever, good Bonizo. How goes the battle?

BONIZO: Poorly, Sire. Our men are like wheat before the harvest-man.

ELIO: Do you suppose it'll turn around any time soon?

BONIZO: Sire! The earth is like rain-watered soil with the blood of Tuscan soldiers!

ELIO: Alright, what of the Venetians?

BONIZO: Sire, their mercenaries have switched sides, bereft of their pay. Truly have they sown the seeds of their own downfall.

ELIO: What a farmer the world loses in you, Bonizo!

BONIZO: Sire?

ELIO: Nevermind. Ooh, that hurts. I suppose it'll be King Jackanape, now.

(JACKANAPE staggers on-stage, pierced by arrows; he dies)

ELIO: Curses. At least we have a grandson somewhere.

(GEROLAMO enters, clutching his stomach; he dies)

ELIO: Typical. Who's that leave us with?

BONIZO: Sire, the next in line is young Marco.

ELIO: Young Marco? How young?

(The prop of a babe is conveyed on stage, i.e. dropped from overhead)

ELIO: Oh. (dies)

BONIZO: So passes Elio, great King of Tuscany. (to audience) And from these days has the noble house of Guerra ruled these fine lands with all the virtue, wisdom and valor of their ancestors. So shall they rule until the end of time, some say, which suits humble Bonizo just fine, since there'll always be a need for good council and honest bureaucracy. Perhaps the sons and daughters of happy Bonizo shall also live on through history to wait upon their beloved lords? It may be that there a Bonizo toils away even now at the right hand of the King.

(BONIZO picks up the babe and walks off-stage; curtain falls; end of play)

***

Some artistic liberties may have been taken by the play...

 

[Cycle]

Observations Of The Future King, a court record of the Kingdom of Tuscany, 1183-1193

Today King Marco, First of His Name, King of the Tuscans, Sovereign-in-Italy, Champion of Rome, Duke of Emilia and Tuscany ex. turned six years of age. His Grace is a healthy child of remarkable perception and intellect for one so young. On this auspicious day, our Liege received a portion of honey-cake and was witnessed giving thanks to the bees who had made his meal possible. His Grace further inquired after the possibility of compensating the creatures for their work and noted that he did not wish them to be paid in coin, for he did not think they would have much use for such things. After deliberations it was decreed that the hives would receive a gift of the royal sugar in thanks.

Our Liege is a deep thinker and often questions the court on matters of God and His Creation. He astounds visitors with the depth and sophistication of his knowledge. We have witnessed our Lord defeat the keeper of his hounds, a grown man, in the noble game of chess. This man confessed he had been striving to win, yet had not been able to triumph over his opponent. Let these things stand as testament to the great wisdom of His Grace. Recorded in the month of August in the Year of Our Lord 1183.

On this day King Marco, First of His Name, King of the Tuscans, Sovereign-in-Italy, Champion of Rome, Duke of Emilia and Tuscany ex. was promised in matrimony to the most noble Jusiana Rocó, sister of the King of Aragon. In this the Crown of Tuscany promises its friendship to the Crown of Aragon. His Grace has, after an explanation by the Council of Regents, agreed to commit Tuscan forces for the defense of the realm of Aragon against the Mohammetian enemy. He has expressed his profound desire to see peace return at the earliest possible instant however and we have assured him that we will see it done. Our Liege is most concerned with the prosperity and peace of the realm in all things, a sign of his strong moral character.

Furthermore, His Grace has met with his future wife, the princess Jusiana. He was witnessed conducting himself with the utmost chivalry and sophistication to the amazement of the Aragonese court. The princess Jusiana appeared much enamored with His Grace to the joy of all. A banquet was laid afterwards with the King expressing great pleasure in particular at the tamarind and orange fruit provided. Recorded in the month of May in the Year of Our Lord 1184.

In this day King Marco, First of His Name, King of the Tuscans, Sovereign-in-Italy, Champion of Rome, Duke of Emilia and Tuscany ex. intervened in an altercation of the other children during play. Our Liege most bravely came to the defense of his young uncle Saverio, who was most impiously set upon by ruffian children attempting to preach the word of God. His Grace could not bear to see such conduct and wished to break up the conflict. It was witnessed that His Grace settled the matter with words alone and did mediate between the children to everyone's satisfaction. The child Saverio is most grateful and awe-struck by his royal nephew's wisdom and has promised eternal friendship in turn. Afterwards the children enjoyed a meal of frittata and olives, pronouncing it a most exemplary effort.

Our Liege continues to grow in body and spirit. At the age of eight he is the equal of many men of adult years in conversation and has been recorded triumphing in his cherished game of chess against even learned men. Recorded in the month of December in the Year of Our Lord 1185.

On this day King Marco, First of His Name, King of the Tuscans, Sovereign-in-Italy, Champion of Rome, Duke of Emilia and Tuscany ex. was noted weeping after receiving news of the death of his aunt, Adriana of Lombardy. When receiving comfort, he astonished the court by claiming he did not grieve for his aunt, who was surely in Heaven, but indeed the succession of House Guerra in the northern Duchy. The court was inclined to agree with his assessment that a son of Duchess Adriana from her misjudged earlier marriage would inherit her throne, yielding the Duchy to a lowborn ruffian instead of a man of the family. His Grace would soon inquire his regents as to what this change meant for the trifold alliance of the north.

His Grace is possessed of remarkable strength for his ten short years. He was witnessed defeating a boy of thirteen years in a contest of wrestling two days past, later offering to teach his opponent on his mistakes and ill-judgements. The offer was accepted and today the two dined on risotto of Oriental rice and cuts of stuffed eel. His companion was most discomfited by the meal, but our Liege noted it as an inspired effort by the cooks. Recorded in the month of September in the Year of Our Lord 1187.

Today King Marco, First of His Name, King of the Tuscans, Sovereign-in-Italy, Champion of Rome, Duke of Emilia and Tuscany ex. expressed great shock and dismay at the conduct of his teacher, the Cardinal Józef. It became known to the court that the Cardinal possessed most untoward heathen inclinations and a grave overabundance of pleasure in the pain of others. His Grace had already desired the pardon of a lowly thief condemned to death some days ago, yet the Cardinal had instead insisted on the most cruel and unusual means of punishment. One day past His Grace witnessed the undeserved torture and mutilation of a servant boy in the Cardinal's quarters and informed the Council of Regents with all haste. The Cardinal has been relieved of his duties with a formal letter of complaint to be delivered to His Holiness the Pope. The queen mother has taken up such duties in his stead. The King has taken great interest in law and just rule, and it is recorded he spends much of his time reading books of judgement and philosophy on these matters.

His Grace lacked an appetite after such events and declined his meal. Recorded in the month of June in the Year of Our Lord 1188.

On this day King Marco, First of His Name, King of the Tuscans, Sovereign-in-Italy, Champion of Rome, Duke of Emilia and Tuscany ex. demanded action to stem the terrible spread of the Waldensian heresy in Italy. This scourge of the mother Church has afflicted even lords of Tuscany, who have refused to abandon their heretical ways. Our Liege has met with the Count of Orbetello and the Duke of Spoleto but was unable to convince them to return to the light. To their complaints on the Church, His Grace offered to write to the Holy Father on their behalf, yet they refused in part due to the minority of the King. His Grace afterwards inquired whether the matter was justification enough to strip them off their titles and seize their fiefdoms for the Crown and was persuaded that it did provide just cause for such an action. The King then swore to do so if they persisted in their abhorrent ways.

His Grace was in fine spirits and requested a dinner of pasta with cheese and lamb. With regret he later announced he had overindulged in wine and could not honestly judge the quality of his meal. Recorded in the month of July in the Year of Our Lord 1189.

Today King Marco, First of His Name, King of the Tuscans, Sovereign-in-Italy, Champion of Rome, Duke of Emilia and Tuscany ex. was informed of the surrender of his foes at long last and peace in the realm. His Grace at once demanded the providence of festivities and royal aid to the peasantry in light of this victory. It was decreed that these festivities should take place on the King's thirteenth birthday in the following month. Our Liege is most concerned still over the spread of Waldensian beliefs among the common folk and has requested aid from His Holiness in bringing his flock back to the true church. Moreover, he is most agitated over the mounting royal debt incurred from his wars of faith. It was witnessed that the King prayed most ardently for now an enduring and good peace for all Christendom.

His Grace has informed the Council of Regents of his desire to grant the Duchy of Spoleto and all lands therein to his uncle Saverio, most treasured friend of our Liege. This was agreed to take place at the noble Saverio's maturity this year. Furthermore, it was decided to integrate Orbetello and its surroundings directly into the royal demesne. His Grace justified this action by describing the frequent troubles afflicting that place and his desire to pacify it with the rule of his own hand. It is the hope of this Council that this is the last dire news we shall hear of cursed Orbetello.

The King took only a modest meal of bread and ale this day after sundown in most pious observance of Lent. Recorded in the month of March in the Year of Our Lord 1190.

On this day King Marco, First of His Name, King of the Tuscans, Sovereign-in-Italy, Champion of Rome, Duke of Emilia and Tuscany ex. heard with the court a most lurid tale of a great pagan king of the eastern steppe, who was to conquer the world entire were he not stopped. His Grace reacted with most unusual anxiety over this tale and refuted his advisor's beliefs that it was merely rumor from distant lands. After consulting the royal cartographer, the King concluded that Christendom was in no danger of invasion, but that the court would do well to take such rumors seriously going onwards. Our Liege has requested we fund an expedition into this far realm to ascertain whether there is any truth to the rumors.

His Grace was noted to be in similarly ill mood for the entire day. It was later discovered that the King had made an amorous confession to the lady Marianna di Barletta of this court and been most cruelly rebuffed. Our Liege feels most humiliated and has expressed his desire to in some manner punish this flighty young woman. These wrothful emotions appear to confuse and distress His Grace most terribly. He displays a vindictive side that has escaped notice until now. He has been assured our Lord Christ forgives and absolves all, but remains a restless soul. The King consumed great quantities of cheese and sausage to soothe his soul in the evening. Recorded in the month of October in the Year of Our Lord 1192.

Today King Marco, First of His Name, King of the Tuscans, Sovereign-in-Italy, Champion of Rome, Duke of Emilia and Tuscany ex. turned sixteen years old and thus reached the age of his maturity. The realm rejoices at the ascension of such a great King. The purpose of this record is at an end. It is the hope of its humble authors that His Grace and his descendants may gain some value out of its knowledge and insights. Our Liege takes the throne as a young man of towering intellect, strong body, diligent and contemplative nature, and a most just and lawful manner of rule. The realm of Tuscany shall benefit greatly from His reign.

His Grace enjoyed a plain meal of porridge, bread and ale before his coronation, citing an anxiety of the stomach. Even so he pronounced it the best food of all his years. Recorded in the month of August in the Year of Our Lord 1193.

***​

Excerpt from 'Great Leaders of History: Vol III; Chapter V: Marco of Tuscany' by Johan Ragnarsson Goye (Kobenhavn: 1842)

(...) At last, he was King. What was the state of King Marco's realm, however? The wars at home and in defense of Aragon had incurred enormous debt for the royal treasury. Though Tuscany was perhaps the richest realm of its time - granted that status by Italy's great trading networks and by the prosperity of its fertile provinces - it also maintained a grand royal army and its wealth required constant investment through construction of keeps, sponsorship of towns and markets, expansion of port facilities and the funding of trading expeditions. King Marco did not have to look far for an answer to his prayers, however. The close alliance of Church and State in medieval Tuscany had ensured the Kingdom's ascension for many years. The new ruler, well-educated and dangerously intelligent as he was, sought to reaffirm that alliance. Fortunately, he was at once presented with a chance - the Third Crusade of 1190-1193, the latest in a suite of unsuccessful holy wars directed at Jerusalem.

The sixteen-year-old Marco thus embarked with a small force - not wishing to tax the indebted royal treasury greatly - and joined the crusading force across the Mediterranean. There has been enough written of the Miracle of 1193 in other works, so it suffices to say that for the first time, western Christendom witnessed a successful Crusade. The Muslim emirs of the region were forced to kneel and surrender their lands. The most eminent lords of the crusader force were granted fiefdoms in the new Kingdom of Jerusalem, but who was to be King?

It is here that Marco first proved his genius. Despite the small size of the Tuscan force, its sovereign managed to deliver it precisely to the battles and sieges where it most mattered. This brought great glory and acclaim to the Tuscans. From this foundation, Marco could use his position as Champion of Rome to persuade the Pope into supporting his candidate as King of Jerusalem. This did not mean the choice was accepted without complaint - indeed, many other lords felt they had contributed much more to the Crusade - but Papal authority would not be questioned. In November 1193, Marco's kinsman Pericle Guerra was crowned the first King of Jerusalem in a moment of great glory and fame for his house. For Marco himself, the Papal treasuries and gratitude provided him with the means to pay back the bankers of Tuscany and restore the health of his treasury for the moment.

Queen Jusiana had accompanied her new husband to Jerusalem at its conquest in the autumn of 1193. There they had found the chance to consummate their union - a coming together that would result in the birth of the King's firstborn, Vittorio, the following year. The marriage of Jusiana and Marco had thus begun with every appearance of affection and harmony. Few could have foreseen what was to come of it. For four years, the kingdom knew peace. A second son, Lazzaro, would be born in this time of calm. King Marco disliked war and the troubles it brought - a trait forged by the tragic deaths of his father, grandfather and great-grandfather in quick succession when he was a child, no doubt. He was also keenly aware of the political landscape of the Mediterranean, however. His wife was the King of Aragon's much younger sister, and so possessed some claim to the throne of that kingdom. When the Aragonese King died in 1196, Marco saw an opportunity to unite the two thrones and create a power to be reckoned with. If this meant war, it was a sacrifice Tuscany would have to make.

The war for the throne was launched in 1197. A child king, the Infante Lluis, ruled in Tarragona. Marco sought to make the war a swift and fairly bloodless one. He would successfully execute a plan of capturing the young king through a naval invasion of the Aragonese capital. The assault had the intended effect. The Infante Lluis was taken captive and forced to agree to his aunt's ascension as Queen of Aragon. The two young monarchs would rule over their separate kingdoms as sworn allies until their child could inherit both realms for the House of Guerra. With Tuscan strength guarding her, Aragon could stand up to its Islamic neighbors without fear. Or so it seemed. The fate of the kingdom would soon come to take a stranger, unexpected turn.

From the start, Jusiana's rule in Aragon was unsteady and unwanted. The local nobility saw her as a Tuscan puppet, who had spent years away from her homeland and thus knew little of its present situation. An attempted coup that would have led to the restoration of Lluis was followed by open rebellion by a heretical duke, who professed the obscene Messalian faith, tolerated under her predecessor. Tuscany would have to wage further expensive wars to maintain Jusiana's reign in Aragon, crushing resistance to the union with force. Queen Jusiana would prove a poor, indecisive ruler, unable to assert her authority without her husband's support. The distance between the two would have other consequences as well...

***

​

Letter dated November 12, 1203, from the correspondence of Marco Guerra, King of Tuscany, and Jusiana Guerra, Queen of Aragon

To the royal Jusiana,

Dear wife, much did we wonder of your desire to give the name of Marco to our youngest son, two years past, when he was born. It seemed to us then that you dearly wished to attach him to us in all things. Today we have learned why. You have deceived me with another man for three years now, the burgher Berenguer, who you know very well is no friend of ours. You have lain in carnal congress with this wretch and produced a child with him that you have allowed us to believe ours. For his sake, we will not speak to Bonaventura of the truth of his parentage, but by God, we cannot love him truly.

We cannot love you either, but our union is too important to simply allow to collapse. For this, we beseech you to break off your sinful ties to this man you choose to share your bed with. We cannot have our children afflicted by rumors of bastardry.

Yours,
Marco Guerra, Rex Tuscani et al.

Letter dated November 18, 1203, from the correspondence of Marco Guerra, King of Tuscany, and Jusiana Guerra, Queen of Aragon

To our most merciful and noble husband, who we love ardently, by the Grace of God King Marco of Tuscany,

We do not deserve your forgiveness, good husband, but we ask for it nevertheless. We have banished that hateful man from our court and purified ourselves before God as much as we are able. We swear to do everything in our power to restore our faithful union. We swear it upon our life and our love for you. We cannot justify or explain our actions, other than to write on how distance is a bane on virtue, and that wicked men can be most charming in their nature.

We shall travel to Florence at once to meet with you and beg for your forgiveness. Please receive us and allow us into your presence once more.

Your penitent wife and Queen,
Jusinia Guerra, Regina Aragoni et al.

Letter dated November 30, 1203, from the correspondence of Marco Guerra, King of Tuscany, and Jusiana Guerra, Queen of Aragon

To the royal Jusinia,

We have chosen to forgive you. All that we discussed in Florence still holds true, but we add to it this: if we are to ever lay eyes upon the man Berenguer once more, by God we shall slay him. Now let us work to restore our union. Do not seek our presence again, not for some time. We feel very low of spirit and wish to be alone. We shall write when we are able.

Your husband and King,
Marco Guerra, Rex Tuscani et al.

***​

Excerpt from 'Great Leaders of History: Vol III; Chapter V: Marco of Tuscany' by Johan Ragnarsson Goye (Kobenhavn: 1842)

(...) To say that the crisis of their marriage affected both parties gravely would be an understatement. King Marco would become increasingly reclusive and asocial - the 'Hermit of Tuscany' as contemporary poetry names him. Jusiana, on the other hand, would choose a far, far more radical course of action. Previous writers have generally considered it a canny act of realpolitik as Queen of a precarious, vulnerable realm in a region where such things were considerably more relaxed than elsewhere in Europe, but a closer study of the facts does not support this. The powerful Tuscan army stood ready to defend the Queen from any harm. From her writings, the act is presented more than anything as the desperate choice of a hysterical, guilt-gripped woman.

In late 1203, Queen Juliana would send out a pronouncement that shocked Christendom. The most Christian sovereign of Aragon had traveled to the court of the Andalusian sultan and accepted conversion into the Islamic faith.

No amount of pleading, threatening, cajoling or begging by her court or her husband could change Jusiana's mind. King Marco did the only thing left for him - he effectively cut off all contact between his children and his wife, hoping in this manner to keep them from being influenced by their heathen mother. The failure of Marco to bring Jusiana back to the Catholic Church would also sour his relationship with the Pope, though he would continue to style himself 'Champion of Rome' despite Papal disapproval. The King was forced to simply wait for his unstable wife to die and so pass the throne of Aragon to their son. There are few surviving letters from this period, likely perhaps they were never written - the King had locked himself within his keep and rarely reached out to anyone outside it.

Matters were not improved by the sudden death of the King's mother, Filomena, in a duel with another noblewoman at court. What brought about this bizarre battle between the two women is unknown, but it affected Marco greatly. The King had always been close with his mother. Only his strong sense of justice prevented him from executing the culprit, a deranged Greek woman by the name of Aigidia Pantechnes, instead simply banishing her from court. It had, indeed, been a legal duel, if between women - much as it pained the King, he could not take her life for it.

The unhappy event began to break down the King's hermit's existence, but decidedly it ended only after a mystical encounter on a hunt in 1206. The Hunt for the White Stag would consume the King for the rest of his life, as recounted in the medieval epic the Song of the Hunter Marco. (...)

***​

 

[Cycle]

An Account Of Our Ill-Omened Journey In The Lands Of The Vlachi, by an unknown author, allegedly c. 1146; generally considered a hoax or work of fiction by mainstream historians

The creature Dracul had me. The fight had gone out of me with the fall of my companion, and now the vampire lord's spawn conveyed me swiftly into the depths of his keep. In those dungeons I was to spend the years to come. They shackled me to the wall and bound my limbs most cruelly together so that every passing hour brought them more agony. It took some time for my host to descend below to find me.

The vampire lord studied me for some time before approaching. He did not speak as he drew a wicked blade across my chest. Much blood came forth, but the creature did not let one drop go to waste. The Lord Dragon was evidently learned in such methods. With it he began to draw a circle around my feet on the bottom of the cell. It became an intricate pattern that I would study in detail in the time that followed. At that moment I could not see; the loss of blood pushed me out of and into consciousness. If it had killed me, I would have known freedom in death, but he proved most careful in his work.

Then he was done. I heard the blood hiss and smoke beneath me, and when I looked I thought I saw my blood had etched into the stone as a dark fissure. The vampire surveyed his work with evident pleasure.

'We would not wish you to escape, little cousin,' he said at last. 'You are rooted to this place, now. As long as the circle stands, there will be no escape for you. You shall grow to know this place well indeed...'

It was then, I think, that he ran out of patience. A hunger came over his features and with a bestial snarl he fell upon me. I felt his fangs sink into my flesh and cut in deep. The bite paralyzed me; I could not scream, much less to fight. He drank deep and greedily until my vision grew dark and my body failed me. That was the first death - first of many.

What to say of those dark, long years? I knew nothing but that cell and the pain. Each night he would come to speak to me before draining me to sate his terrible thirst. Each night I would die, but there was no Tuscan sun to welcome me back to life. I returned each time to that cold, desolate place, where nothing but hopeless black death awaited me.

We did not truly converse. Sometimes he spoke to fill the silence, indifferent as to whether I heard him or not. Other times he questioned me - of my origin and the manner of my transformation into this undying state. I wish I could say I told him nothing, but with pain, with false hope and promises, with threats to those I had left behind, he soon dug out every detail from me that I could recall. Once he had exhausted my knowledge, he grew tired of questions. Evidently, I had not given him anything he thought of particular interest or curiosity.

Mostly, then, he monologued. Of evil, wicked things, which I do not care to repeat. Perhaps he thought to corrupt me so, or to drive me to madness, but it merely fostered a great hatred in me for him. Other times he revealed to me things that, I believe, he expected me to already know. I tell you now, reader: there are many such immortals like myself. He merely claimed to be the most potent and oldest of them. The origins of our immortal nature vary somewhat, but the means seem to be the same. He feasted upon the blood and flesh of others - not out of any true need, but for the pleasure it brought him. His children he had turned through some dark power to his kind, and others too not tied to him by blood.

He brought one such creature to me, once, for the pain it caused me. Though the color of his flesh had faded to a deathly pallor, I still recognized my brave companion, the knight Sir Mihajlo. Dracul had, indeed, given the man eternal life. I do not think there was anything of the noble knight remaining in him, however, not with the empty darkness that lay behind his eyes now. I have tried to forget the cruel lies that false-man spoke in that darkness.

I saw no more of him after that. I do no think he wished for anyone else to have access to me.

I once ventured to ask whether it had been the same apparition I encountered that had given birth to him also. This plunged him into a rage the likes I had never seen before.

'Do not think we are anything alike, wretch!' he screamed, fangs gleaming in the paltry light of the cell. 'You are a by-blow, the whim of an idle god. I am the favored of Hunger and Murder! What power can you claim to wield, you insolent child? You are an accident! History will not remember your name!'

It was through outbursts such as these that I began to develop some understanding of these 'gods' of his. There are seven of them, I believe, or seven that he knew of. They are terrible creatures; demons, I am sure, though I fear my faith in the scriptures and what they claim is true falters more daily. It is as good a name as any. These are the names with which they are called: Murder, Madness, Loss, Beast, Plague, Hunger, Mystery. It is also said that they will answer to these: the Sanguinary Knight, the Pallid Jester, the Unheard Page, the Drowned Maiden, the Plague Mother, the Starveling Child, and the Stranger.

It is the last of them that I once met, or so it seems. All of them exist as reflections of terror and death, whether of violence, insanity, isolation, the force of nature, the decay of disease, starvation and want, and the things we do not know. If there are more - and if all powers beyond Man are of such terrible countenance - I do not know. What they wish of us and why they touch our realm - such things also remain mysteries to me.

What more is there to say? In time he grew bored of talk. Each night then brought another torment as he indulged in the cruelty in his soul. He slew me with blade and arrow sometimes, other times with poison, with starvation, slow deaths and swift deaths, or simply allowed me to be eaten alive by rats. Most times he simply drank of me until I expired. There is a strange resistance that comes to one from such relentless horror. I grew indifferent to the pain and the cruelty. So the years passed, with myself entirely unaware of events outside the walls of my cell.

It was the Year of Our Lord 1127, in the early winter, that my imprisonment ended. I had then been a prisoner for more than ten years. In that time the rule of Dracul in the lands beyond his keep had began to weaken. The blood tithe of the nobility's sons and daughters that he demanded - the feast I had to my misfortune witnessed - amassed greater and greater forces against him. In 1127, then, a great alliance of the lords of the region formed to destroy his power once and for all. In bloody battles they forced their way into the lands of the Dragon and burned his monstrous children wherever they could be found. Finally, they came to the keep where he held court.

The castle was under siege, then, and I saw less and less of my immortal host. His power over his court was beginning to falter. Winter cold was beginning to seep through the stones of my cell when I was visited by Ruxandra, daughter of Lord Dracul. She was the first visitor I had received, with the sorry exception of the thing that wore Sir Mihajlo's face. Ruxandra shared her sire's look and wickedness, but she was to be my unlikely savior.

'Let us make a pact, you and I,' she spoke to me. There was an anxious note to her voice, and I did not think she was here with her father's approval. 'The dominion of my sire crumbles. The cattle will breach the keep soon. We shall be put to the torch and he will flee, as he always does. He has given orders that you are to be buried here under the earth... unless we help one another.'

I did not speak, only studied her from the darkness of my cell. She grew more nervous and continued.

'We are created imperfect,' she said, 'each spawn the lesser of its sire. We cannot walk in the light of day without turning sickly and weak. Fire kills us with no coming back. We cannot live without devouring the blood of men. But I have studied his precious books. They say that if we were to drink the blood of a true immortal, we might ascend to true eternal life, the privilege that only he enjoys.'

Another silence, though hope dared flicker to life in my chest. I had to temper it. Too many false promises and deceptions had led me astray before.

'I will break the circle that binds you,' she said. 'If you then allow me to drain you. Grant me your blood freely. It is your only chance at freedom.'

What did I have to lose? Even if she did not truly release me, giving her what she wished would surely be a blow against Dracul's authority among these monstrous children. Even if it was only that, it would be worth it.

I assented then. She broke the seal that held me here and released me from my bindings. Then she slew me - biting into my flesh, drinking me until that familiar darkness took me. There was something... almost tender in the manner of my murder, then. She was a monstrous creature, a beast caged in the flesh of a woman, but there was no unneeded pain, none of the torment of her father. Perhaps it is foolish of me to think of it as mercy, but after all I had suffered, I felt a great sense of gratitude to her.

If our paths cross again... Well, I should hope they do not. Nothing good would come out of another meeting with such cursed creatures. But I cannot help but feel some twisted affection towards my liberator, however terrible and selfish her motives might have been. Perhaps I have indeed lost my mind in that cell.

She held true to her promise. I died, and I woke not in the despair of my cell, but once more in happy Tuscany. I was free... and I would not eagerly return to that cursed land. My confinement has not helped that restless spirit within me. I write this tale as I begin my travel of this endless realm of our Creation. There is much to see in the world.

Finishing up that interlude. Marco Pt. 2 coming up!

 

[Cycle]

Excerpt from "The Song of the Hunter Marco", a 13th-century chivalric romance inspired by the life of King Marco I of Tuscany

Spake then the troubled king:
"Much has the Stag haunted my dreams;
Ever outrunning my spear and bow.
Give unto me now your wise council.
Lend my ears your learned words."

And the court answered:
"It is no stag that irks you so, great King.
It is the common man Berenguer;
Who it is known has disgraced the Queen;
And for great shame lives to know it."

​

Then did the king speak:
"Could it be thusly?
That the stag which haunts my dreams;
Ever outrunning my spear and bow --
Is merely the common Berenguer?
Let him be slain then, upon my crown."

But greatly did this evil act
Weigh on the troubled king.
For the crime of the just man
Is ever greater a sin to him
Than a hundred of the wicked.

​

Still the pale stag haunted
The nights of the troubled king
Ever outrunning his spear and bow.
No relief was there to have;
No rest for the restless heart.

(...)

***

​

Excerpt from 'Great Leaders of History: Vol III; Chapter V: Marco of Tuscany' by Johan Ragnarsson Goye (Kobenhavn: 1842)

(...) A careful study of the court records of the time reveals a truly staggering degree of time and effort expended in the feud against Mayor Berenguer. The cuckolded king had evidently come to the end of his patience with the man, whose presence he was forced to tolerate on visits to Tarragona. It appears the wealthy burgher was able to evade the assassins sent after him for several years. In the end his luck would run out - though the circumstances of his death were never linked directly back to King Marco, their feud had not escaped the notice of the twin realms. This, it appears, would become another cause of resistance to the rule of Guerra in Aragon.

​

(...) The King's two sons would reach maturity in this period. Vittorio, the firstborn, is described in the royal correspondence as a 'disappointment', a 'secretive boy without trust', 'a small man with a burgher's heart'. The King saw little potential in his troublesome eldest. Lazzaro, the second son, did not prove much better. Though mentions of the boy not groomed for rulership are fewer, a picture unfolds of small-minded scheming and cruel nature. The troubled family life of the kingdom in that most vulnerable age of the boys' childhood had clearly left its marks.

​

(...) Another indication of discord in the family was the crisis of the King's friend and uncle, Saverio of Spoleto. The ambitious duke had written to the Duke of Piedmonte, a fellow kinsman, for his assistance in an unknown plot against the King. Piedmonte has chosen loyalty to the head of his House and dutifully reported the plot. King Marco would eventually forgive Saverio and let him go with a warning of sorts, but the friendship and trust between the two men was gone for good. The King was plunging ever deeper into isolation and the mad hunt that now consumed him.

​

Matters were not helped by growing awareness of Prince Bonaventura's bastard blood. Where the King disliked Vittorio and Lazzaro, he was said to hold barely-concealed hatred for Bonaventura, almost certainly the child of another man. That Mayor Berenguer was dead by this time did not help matters. To escape his children and heathen wife, the King would spend more and more time hunting, pursuing enigmatic reports of 'the white stag' - a creature evidently given supernatural qualities in the King's mind. (...)

***

Excerpt from "The Song of the Hunter Marco", a 13th-century chivalric romance inspired by the life of King Marco I of Tuscany

​

So spake the king:
"O terrible spectre,
which haunts my dreams,
ever-escaping my spear and bow --
Will you not grant me peace?"

The white stag answered:
"I will not grant you peace,
O troubled king;
For there is only peace in death,
And She does not yet send for you."

And so also spake the stag:
"But know this, troubled king.
Oft have you in the night
Wished dead the son of your blood!
Yet soon shall you weep for the same."

​

Excerpt from 'Great Leaders of History: Vol III; Chapter V: Marco of Tuscany' by Johan Ragnarsson Goye (Kobenhavn: 1842)

(...) The death of Prince Vittorio in an unnamed skirmish in southern France left young Lazzaro as heir apparent. Now all doubts and complaints by the king would fade. His 'perfect son' was dead and the king, in the grip of his superstitions, blamed the white stag he sought to hunt. He had become convinced the apparition was a harbinger of death and indeed a servant of some infernal creature he named the Lady of Beasts. The King's isolation meant that these heresies would grow unchecked until they consumed him. More and more in his letters is devoted to the all-important hunt for this stag, which the aging king begins to consider the source of all his misfortunes. A divided family, a resurgence in royal debt and the looming problem of the Aragonese succession all weighed heavily on the King.

​

By now Queen Jusiana the Heathen had fallen to infirmity. Though only 47 years of age, her nervous disposition and propensity for wine had left her haggard before her years. These developments were received in the Tuscan court with a mix of concern and cheer. Though the death of the Queen would place young Lazzano on the throne, the royal advisors were increasingly troubled as to the sort of realm he would inherit. It appeared that the conversion efforts of the Queen were bearing much fruit - good Christian folk had either converted or fled the Kingdom, with Muslim settlers taking their place and lands.

While his wife most cruelly oppressed the Christian people of her realm, the Christian Kingdom of Leon in north-western Iberia fought against the Islamic sultanates of the land with the aid of Tuscany. This contradiction greatly troubled the King, who it is said chose for this reason to embark upon a new Crusade for the Syrian lands in the Levant.

​

The crusaders hoped for a repeat of the Third Crusade, which had produced the powerful and Guerra-ruled Kingdom of Jerusalem. Their forces naturally expected aid from Jerusalem - but King Pericle refused to join the holy war, citing the need to maintain good relations with his Islamic neighbors. Perhaps as a result, the Fourth Crusade ended in dismal failure, with the crusaders driven back to the sea.

​

Queen Jusiana would die in 1224. Lazarro was now King - an unforgiving, zealous Christian sovereign reigning over a majority-Muslim populace. Despite words of caution by his father, it would not take the short-sighted Lazarro long to spark rebellion among his subjects. Worse, some of Lazarro's siblings, now counts of their mother's old lands, joined the revolt against their brother. King Marco was soon in the very unwelcome position of waging war against some of his children on behalf of his eldest surviving son. The troubled family had turned to open conflict.

The supremacy of Tuscan forces seemed to promise a swift end to the rebellion, but it was not to be. Prince Giorgio, one of Marco's sons fighting on the rebel side, managed to capture Lazzaro in an ambush near the town of Tudela. The captive King was quick to assent to all and any demands made by his triumphant subjects. He would give up the throne of Aragon and his 6-year-old daughter, Giuseppa, would rule as Queen instead. It was a bizarre repeat of the beginning of King Marco's realm decades before, but with the state of Giuseppa's realm much less stable and eager to see her crowned.

This was the end for King Marco. The conflict that had broken the family and the troubles the war in Aragon had brought pushed the King over the edge at last. At 52 years of age, the King abandoned his court for one last hunt after the famed white stag - a hunt from which he would never return.

​

Now Lazzaro, at 33 years of age, having once already lost the throne of Aragon, was King of Tuscany. His young daughter ruled Aragon. The situation, unstable and dangerous as it was, did not bode well for this twin rule... (...)

Not very inspired for this part, oh well. Moving on to King Lazzaro the Mediocre! But first - a status update on the different parts of the world.

 

[Cycle]

The Wanderer's Atlas, a 1229 travelogue by an unknown author

These being the words of a Wandering Soul in the Year of Our Lord 1229; an honest account of our travels around the known world; and tales of many good peoples encountered upon God's green earth.

Francia, 1229.

1. In the lands of Francia there is yet a great confusion and many a fractious ruler; it is a rich realm, almost as fair as Italy; and the people therein happy and much given to wine.
2. By noble Italia there are the realms of Provence and Savoy; in Occitania the Duke of Languedoc rules, and also that of Toulouse and Armagnac, battling the infidels of Al-Andalus to the south.
3. Northwards we find many dukes and petty lords, who greatly quarrel over this green and fertile land.
4. On the coast there is to be found the Duke of Normandy, who it is said seeks to reforge the Kingdom of France; and the Breton realm also.
(...) 8. The Frenchman is a Catholic; save where he labors under the yoke of the Mohammetian; and also the mad heresy of the Adamites abounds in places.

Britannia, 1229.

9. Britannia lies still much sundered; the author finds it a bleak and rain-dampened place; but of an industrious people, who are well-known for the great Welsh bows they wield.
10. To the south are the people known as the Angles and Saxons; theirs are the kingdoms of Wessex and Kent, among others; though their crowns are not anointed by the Pope.
11. Also there are the petty realms of the Welsh and the Cornish.
12. To the north we find the Gaels, the Cumbrians and the Scots; and also the descendants of the Vikings who once invaded this place.
13. The island of Ireland there is also; though many of their lands are ruled by Scots or Cornishmen.
(...) 15. The peoples of these Isles are of the mother Church; though many are given to quaint forms of the faith; and the bishops much concerned about such pagan influences; but here the Adamites too have spread in small numbers.

Iberia and Maghreb, 1229.

16. Across the sea then, we find the lands of Iberia; here men and women are most careless with their faith, baptizing their sons as Christian or Mahommetian as the wind blows; and passionate are they in all things.
17. The Zannunids of Al-Andalus hold great power here; and also the Emir of Coimbra, the Sultan of Badajoz and the Emirs of Valencia; and the mighty Andalusian realm seeks to conquer all of Iberia and Francia, it is said.
18. The Crown of Aragon rules here also, now passing from the infidel Rocó to the most high house of Guerra; and the Kings of Galicia and Leon also.
19. Southwards into Africa we find a land of many Sultans, Emirs, Patriarchs and other heathen lords; they hold to their own affairs.
(...) 21. There are a great many practitioners of Islam in these lands; but Catholics also; for the people change faiths as they would change their garments.

West Africa, 1229.

22. Of fabled Africa the author may speak little of; for great ailments plagued him for his travels here.
23. There are very many chiefs and lords here; and peoples beyond counting; of most novel habits and names; vital and noble all.
(...) 26. Many of them are pagans who know not the word of God; though most learn the Islamic faith from the cradle in its many forms.

East Africa, 1229.

27. Conveyed eastwards from here, the author was most delighted to meet Christian souls; they hold to the Church in Alexandria and are known as Copts.
28. In these lands the mighty Kings of Nubia dominate; but also the Sultans of Ajuraan; and many petty lords and clans besides.
(...) 30. To the north and west the people are good Christians of the Alexandrian doctrine; to the east and south of the Islamic Ash'ari and Mu'tazili schools.

Levant, 1229.

31. In the north then, we find the Levant and Arabia; an ancient land of great wisdom and learning; of many peoples who have dwelt here since the time of Christ.
32. Many are the Mahommetian kings and lords there; in Egypt and Arabia; and in ancient Mesopotamia; and in Syria and Anatolia.
33. We also find Greeks of the Orthodox lineage here on the islands and the coast of Africa.
34. But here also is the blessed Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem, the most holy; a glorious realm rich in piety and land; and governed most expertly by Kings and Queens of the House of Guerra.
(...) 36. The people are of many faiths; faithful Catholics in Jerusalem; Orthodox Greeks; and Mahommetians in great force.

37. In the far east of Persia and Ind, there is a plethora of peoples and lands; of great sophistication and wisdom.
38. Many Rajas and Indian kings rule in those lands; and monastic kings in the mountains; but Persia is fallen almost entire to the terrible Mongol heathen.
39. Their numbers are without counting; the people here fear they will be submerged by the flood from the north as all else before it.
(...) 41. Islam is strong here in Persia and the north of India; but elsewhere dwell peoples of many curious eastern faiths; followers of Vishnu, Kali and others; disciples of the Buddha; pagans of the mountains; even Zurvanites of the fallen Zoroastrians.

Central Asia, 1229.

42. In the great steppe of the north lies the heart of this mighty empire of the Mongols; here rules their Emperor, the Jochi Khagan.
43. Their conquering ordas will not stop as long as he lives; even now they seek the vast realms of the Cumans, Bashkirs, Kurgans and others.
44. In faith they are pagans who worship the sky; but under their rule live a multitude of heathens and Christians of the East alike; for they are said to allow all to practice in peace so long as they pray for the Great Khan.

Eastern Europe, 1229.

(...) 46. On the periphery of Europe, we find all manner of primitive peoples; tribes of Bolghars, Rus, Veps, Finns, Letigallians and others.
47. The ancient Greeks knew them to be strong and able, but stunted by the cold of their climate; for sure they know little of the finer things of civilization, but wage war most fearsomely.
48. There are great kings among them; that of the Volga Bolghars; that of the Permians; that of Bjarmaland; and many lesser lords also.
49. In the south, the Vlachs of Levedia and Karachev subjugate the natives herein; and some Greeks live there also.
(...) 52. In faith, the land is in great confusion; some Catholics dwell here; and many of the Orthodox persuasion; then also Iconoclasts and Lollard heretics; and Islamic sects also; with many pagans besides in the great realms.

Northern Europe, 1229.

53. The North is a fragmented realm; the Norsemen have given up their pagan faith, but their fierceness is scarcely reduced.
54. In the far north, the King of Sapmi rules his hyperborean realm; they say every year the pagan ruler expands further into Christian land; he subjugates Finns, Swedes and Norwegians alike.
55. On the southern coast of the Baltic dwell Danes, Sorbs, Poles and Prussians, among others; no unity can be found here for them.
56. In the west there are lands of the Dutch people; a fine and well-mannered folk; with territories in Danemark also.
(...) 59. In the north the Sami and the Finns hold to pagan ways, but it is said they receive bishops of the mother Church for council; elsewhere the people are good Catholics; though sometimes given to the Lollard heresy; and Orthodox dukes rule in Sorbian lands also.

Central Europe, 1229.

60. In Germania we find many states of all sizes; a honest, ordered folk, of great cities.
61. The Kingdom of Hesse is foremost among these realms; but also strong Swabia and bold Bavaria; and the realm of the Czechs in Bohemia; and many others.
62. The Hessian King, it is said, intends to reclaim the throne of the Holy Roman Emperor, defunct these long dark years.
(...) 64. The mother Church reigns supreme here; but Adamite heresy also abounds in the borderlands of the Poles; in the lands of the Slovaks; and the strange followers of the Mandeans dwell in the west.

Balkans and Anatolia, 1229.

65. In old Illyria and Dacia, there are many small fiefdoms and many petty lords ruling; Croats, Serbs, Magyars and others.
66. In Wallachia, the Vlach have forged a great empire; casting down the tyrants and horrors who once plagued this land.
67. Many are the Greeks who dwell in the south and upon Anatolia; Despots of Pontus, Hellas and others reign there; and also in Crimea and the north they live.
68. In the Caucasian lands, there are also Georgians, Armenians and other people of the mountains; Kurds and Arabs; Persians also.
(...) 70. The Orthodox faith holds triumphant here; but so there are also Catholics; Mahommetians; and heretics of the Kristjani, the Waldensians, the Bogomilists and the Paulicians; and also some of the wretched Cult of Cain; but in the far east the Kurdish kingdom practices the Coptic faith of Alexandria once more; a great chaos of belief therein.
71. Here the author ends his tale; he continues his travels and seeks to write once more in a century's time.

And now, onwards to Lazzaro and his children.

 

[Cycle]

From Collected Letters to the Brethren of the Latin House of Saint Mary in Jerusalem, a series of theological and political missives to the Latin Order of Tuscany likely written by King Lazzaro Guerra in the period of 1261-1263

On Education

Salutations!

May the Lord God preserve and keep you. It is the duty of not only the holy Church, but also each of us to teach and guide children towards virtue and piety. The multitudes of sin we witness in these times are testament to countless failures of upbringing. Where mothers and fathers err, daughters and sons are soon to follow. This is universal law. Wickedness descends among bloodlines. A Christian son may seek to undo the wickedness of their father, but that same wickedness lurks within his soul also.

Let us consider King Marco of Tuscany. He was surely a great man, but his sins are known to be many. His greatest failing is certainly that of family. What are we to think of a wife so driven from her rightful spouse to seek solace in heathen faith? Of sons condemned and let to make their own way where the steady hand of a father was surely needed? Through his selfish and vindictive nature, he allowed his family to grow apart. The bonds that should tie all of blood together were allowed to crumble.

In this most unnatural state, brother would turn against brother. Take the Prince Bonaventura, so greatly ill-treated by his father. This rejection addled the mind of a good man and pushed him towards mad ambition. Such lust for power afflicted other sons of the King just the same. How else to explain their unjust act of rebellion against the child Queen Giuseppa of Aragon, their niece, throwing in their lot with infidels to go against their kinswoman? There is no natural wickedness in the hearts of men like Bonaventura. It is only from the failure of their education, of errors in parenting, that they are driven to evil deeds.

The child Queen was taught to love God and hate His foes. In this we may exalt her upbringing. But the absence of her father, who reigns in Tuscany, was a grave failing of unwelcome circumstance. It is not righteous for a child to grow so apart from her family. Perhaps with greater guidance she may have learned further virtue to aid her in governing her heathen subjects. Most terribly did they vex her and often rose against her just Christian rule. In her great mercy she did not put them all to the sword, as might have proved prudent. It is the regret and grief of the father that he has failed his firstborn daughter in such a manner. (...)

Nothing like mass murder and torture to destress.​

On Justice

God be with you!

May the Lord God preserve and keep you. We are taught to abhor murder and to treat our neighbor with kindness and mercy. But when one deals with the heathen, it is not only necessary, but indeed a good Christian's duty to treat with them with all the harshness and blood-lust that one may possess. The weeping and cries of our foes is a balm on the soul of a true Christian soldier. You ask if we should accept the surrender of heathen foe-men. This show of mercy is admirable, but misguided. All those who oppose the Church must be put to the sword, man, woman or child. Even those who accept the baptism and convert must be watched with care, and struck down at the first sign of heresy.

God grants us absolution for our sins when they are committed in pursuit of a just cause. Reject no tool in battling the heathen and the heretic. Torture of body and soul is to be practiced when necessary. Through this we may make an example of our foes and put the fear of God into those who think wicked thoughts. The Lord God demands we offer our foes naught but terror and death.

It is the belief of some that an overabundance of zeal and cruelty leads men to rebel against godly authority. This could not be more false. It is mercy and forgiveness that breeds discontent and allows our enemies to grow their strength. Fathers allowed to live will only poison the souls of their sons. It would be better to strangle the children in their cradles than to allow mothers to whisper heresy into their ears. It is the light hand of Queen Giuseppa that left her subjects so insubordinate and consumed by their heathen ways. Many were the revolts and hateful acts committed in her reign by her wicked subjects. (...)

On Weakness Of The Flesh

Greetings,

May the Lord God preserve and keep you. It is the will of God that some children do not live to see their maturity. Likewise, the Curse of Eve takes good Christian wives upon the birthing-bed often. I will speak of disease firstly. Disease and ailment are not the work of Nature, as some suppose, but in fact the work of terrible demons of plague and decay. So have learned men of my line concluded before me. Know that the mother of all such horrors greatly scourges the realm of creation. Perhaps it is the will of our Lord, to cull the unworthy when our numbers grow too great. Then one may suppose that only the best of us live to see a new dawn. In the Year of Our Lord 1239, the dread typhus much ravaged the court of Tuscany. The good daughter of the King, Bianca, was the first to die. This was certainly a warning sent from God on high to His subjects.

The weakness of women is known to all, so I will write little of it. Let it only be said that the noble Adelaida also passed in the Year 1241 in childbirth, with the unbaptized babe dead alongside its mother. But can such tragedy serve a greater purpose? The stillborn child was male. Had he lived, he would have broken the succession of great Tuscany - taking precedence over Giuseppa and so causing the loss of Aragon to another branch of the great house. Could Aragon then alone have stood against the heathen threat? No, certainly not. Thus it was necessary that the child die and its mother also.

There is another manner in which the weakness of flesh makes itself known. Unnatural lusts will drive men and women to sin time and time again. Beckoning harlots will corrupt even the most virtuous of men, and brazen seducers steal Christian wives or unwed maidens from their beds. Such fornication is a common sin of kings and queens. It cannot be avoided. They are a breed apart from the common man, chosen by God, and thus whatever wickedness they possess, God shall absolve them of it. Let no man fault them who cannot claim to never have borne a lustful thought in their heart.

Much has been made of the bastard daughter of Queen Giuseppa, but how could she be to blame? A young maiden is easily tempted by a worldly man of far more years than her. Yet here also the presence of the father might have kept the daughter from this evil congress. Alone she could not resist it. It is well that she was married soon after. In the sacred institution of marriage can such sinful follies be soon forgotten. In her goodness she loved that unwelcome daughter with all the affection given unto her lawful children.

On Rulership

God be with you also!

May the Lord God preserve and keep you. Great might alone does not make a good king. Let us contemplate the sorry example of the so-called Great Khan of the Mongols. That the heathen savage's empire was vast and powerful is denied by no-one. But for all his conquests he did not lay the foundation of good governance or lasting history. News of the east speak of a multitude of bickering steppe lords claiming the throne of that realm. It is known that the many peoples subjugated by these hordes, Christian or heathen, are now rising in open rebellion to tear down the remains of this empire.

Let us also consider the realm of Tuscany. Where the Mongol kingdom was built upon the backs of many strange peoples of wicked heathen faiths, the House of Guerra rules over an united land of obedient Christian subjects. The Kings of Tuscany are temperate rulers. They do not overtax or overreach, as many kings are wont to do. Theirs is a prosperous kingdom, where the tribes of Italy may live in peace and harmony. They do not hold power by mere force of arms and fear, but by the blessing of God also. For this, they are given the right to rule Italy forevermore.

But one does not need to look so far to know a tumultuous and discordant realm. The false kings of the House of Grasso, who rule north of the river Po, are an example in abject failure of governance. Today they style themselves King of Venice; before as Kings of Romagna. In their arrogance and greed they have squatted on the rich lands of the north and kept Tuscany from its rightful claims. Union under the House of Guerra is the only true future for these lands. Much given are the lords of Grasso to decadence and ill-government. (...)

(...) And when one speaks of consorts, the importance of good, dutiful conduct is paramount. It is the purpose of a ruler's wife to bear his children, tend to his family, and conduct herself with all Christian virtue; likewise the husband of a reigning Queen must council her, lead her armies and uphold her honor. Yet these tasks are to be practiced in moderation, always in support to their lord or lady. The tragedy of the death of King Beneset, husband to Queen Giuseppa, should be seen as a failure of his duties. To indulge in petty duels and to die in such a contest is the worst kind of behavior for a consort to show. It may be that with a husband of greater prudence and caution, much evil could have been avoided.

In this manner it is also the task of advisors and councillors to offer honest advice, but only so far as their lord desires it. Impertinent remarks and insinuations of infirmity or inability do not become a good servant. One should always remember their station in life and give their liege the respect they are due. It would only be right if the law of the land gave rulers free rein to punish their subjects as they saw fit for such defiance. The silence of the grave would teach fools to keep their tongue.


***

On War

Salutations!

May the Lord God preserve and keep you. When waging war, one must first consider these things. First, the disposition of your enemy. Consult learned men and send keen-eyed scouts into their lands. It is not enough to merely know the numbers your foe brings to bear. You must be intimately familiar with the manner they wage war in; the zeal with which they fight; the weapons they wield and the peculiar form of their war-garments. The fame of their leaders and the battle-cunning of their generals is also knowledge its worth in gold.

Second, the lay of the land in which the war is to be fought. Will you wage war in plains, hills, mountains, over rivers, on the coast? Each provides its own particular challenge. Are the people there welcoming, hostile, Christian or heathen? Will the cities provide for your armies, or shall you live off the land? How long shall travel take across the terrain? If you are invading the homeland of an enemy, you must know that they have learned the land and its intricacies from birth.

Third, it is prudent to know the disposition of the forces under your command. Blind faith in common soldiery will not suffice here. One must ascertain the condition and skill of your men through trusted lieutenants; and should they prove lackluster, you need drill and equip them into a capable force. Furthermore, soldiers fight for a just cause, but for coin also. Without the wealth to pay for their upkeep, the common-born soldier will not fight as eagerly as he can.

If one neglects these things, disaster will befall his armies. Numerical superiority will prove worthless. In a contest between courageous, drilled men and craven, unpracticed men, the brave soldiers will always triumph. Let us contemplate the Toledoan War of 1250. The armies of Tuscany and Aragon held a slight superiority of numbers. Yet they lost most terribly. The Zannunid heathens knew their land; their warriors fought with that terrible, mad zeal of the infidels; their commanders enjoyed a cruel and base cunning that served them well in battle. The Christian armies were underpaid and underfed, fighting in a strange land. The local populace proved hostile to the liberating forces. It is no surprise that the conflict ended in such catastrophe.

Let us then consider the War for Romagna in 1256. The armies of Tuscany sought to reclaim the duchy of Romagna, their rightful holding. This war was well-planned, generously funded, fought for a just cause, in a familiar land and against a close and well-known foe. The great superiority of numbers only strengthened these advantages. It was then a swift success that weighed little on the royal treasury. Had the Aragonese war been prepared and orchestrated with such wisdom, it could have ended in great victory also.

Another matter to consider is that of simple timing and opportunity. In 1260, the wicked Sultan of Valencia most cunningly chose to wage war upon Queen Giuseppa when all of Christendom was committed to the Fifth Crusade for the Holy Land. Such faithless opportunism served the heathens well. With Tuscan forces committed to the Crusade, they were in no position to assist those of Aragon. The indebted Aragonese crown could not muster a proper defense. News of the defeat in Aragon did not reach the Tuscan King in Jerusalem until it was far too late to provide support. Furthermore, the overtaxed state of the Tuscan treasury prevented even monetary aid from reaching the Aragonese.

Desperation should not be allowed to cloud the judgement of a commander. Leading from the front is not always prudent, especially when one is not well-versed in battlefield command or gifted with personal prowess. Certainly a reigning Queen with no adult sons should not enter such a conflict willingly. Yet this very thing happened in 1260, when Queen Giuseppa joined the fray in Aragon in an effort to inspire her men, and was there terribly wounded. She did not survive those wounds. So it was that young Queen Carla became ruler in Aragon, seeing that unfortunate war to its painful conclusion, the loss of the fiefdom of Valenciá. (...)

***​

The way I ended up writing King Lazzaro, I feel like he's going to become a symbol for some kind of fascist movement way down the line. How cheerful. Part 2 follows.

 

[Cycle]

From Collected Letters to the Brethren of the Latin House of Saint Mary in Jerusalem, a series of theological and political missives to the Latin Order of Tuscany likely written by King Lazzaro Guerra in the period of 1261-1263

On War (cont.)

(...) So it is that defeat costs us in men and arms, but in hope and will to fight also. The faith of a Christian soldier should not waver from setbacks, however dire they may seem at the time. Yet some prices are harder to bear than others. The loss of Valenciá in 1260 was also the loss of Queen Giuseppa, the firstborn daughter of the Tuscan King. No man should bury their children, but in this life it is only too common. Who dies and who dies has little to do with inherent goodness. It is the will of God that only the strongest and purest survive to carry on His will. The gentle Queen Giuseppa was not meant to live to rule Aragon a day further.

Where the Lord takes, He also gives. In the same year, the Fifth Crusade was seen to a triumphant end. The heathen lords of Syria surrendered in the face of the crusaders' might. So was the much-reduced Kingdom of Jerusalem restored. Once more did the Holy Father guarantee rulership of these lands for the great crusading House of Guerra. So does a wise leader reward those most worthy of favor. In the hands of another line, the Jerusalemite realm might soon have fallen once more to the infidel - but the Guerra have guided it to prosperity as a bulwark of the faith, as the Pope wisely predicted. (...)


On the Orders Martial (unfinished letter)

The Teutonic Order, in Italy? I'll be referring to it as the Latin Order in the narrative - pretend you see it too.​

Greetings!

May the Lord God preserve and keep you. Many have asked of the charter granted to your most eminent order. I shall now write of it. In the aftermath of the wars in Valenciá and Syria, it was clear to the lords of Tuscany that a new martial order of most holy Christian warriors was needed in the Mediterranean. So did the Tuscan King decree that the keep of Chiusi and its environs were to be consecrated for the use of a martial order. The noble Grandmaster Pietro thus accepted the most worthy task of waging war on the heathen and the heretic across Christendom. Without the patronage of great kings, the eminent knights of the faith could not perfect their purpose as they now may.

So were your foundations laid. You are the Brethren of the Latin House of Saint Mary in Jerusalem, a most worthy name for your soldiers of Christ. Let your great order in all its days strike down the heathen and the heretic wherever it may be found. Death to all opponents of Christendom! Let our guiding star be the Sanguinary Knight spoken of in heretical ravings! Now rise and (--, letter ends, unfinished)

***​

Excerpt from 'A Renaissance in the Sun: Tuscany-Aragon in the Time of Queen Carla the Great', by Niccolò Scribani (Monaco: 1989)

(...) The latter years of the Crusader King were perhaps less eventful. The conquest of Verona in 1261 seized the remaining Venetian holdings from the mainland, thus cementing the rule of Guerra in northern Italy. King Lazzaro was a distant figure in the life of the young Carla. He never visited the Aragon of his granddaughter in the last years of his life - perhaps finding it too painful a reminder of the daughter he had lost.

King Lazzaro would die in 1263, a haggard man inching towards infirmity. Queen Carla did not have the chance to attend his grandfather's funeral or indeed her coronation to the throne of Tuscany. The indebted Aragonese realm had barely survived years of war and Muslim uprisings. The vultures were circling. The death of the old King was, then, a great relief. The salvation of Tuscan money and arms had come to the Crown of Aragon at last.

***

Queen Carla I Guerra, AD 1263-1276

***

Queen Carla had been raised an Italian of Toscana. Her rule over Catalan and Andalusian subjects had not been without issue, but the highly intelligent and learned Queen reportedly spoke Catalan with native fluency and patronized local traditions over introduced foreign ones to the satisfaction of her court. The threat of invasion from more powerful neighbors served as an unifying factor. Like her mother and grandfather before her, the Queen was militant in her faith. In the religiously tolerant and flexible Iberia of the time, this did not sit well with her Muslim subjects. Conflict and revolts remained a common occurrence, though the grand conversion of Aragon was in full swing by this time. With Muslims increasingly in the minority, insurrections were far less common.

The Queen was reportedly a guarded, prideful woman, perhaps understandably so. She had been blessed with enormous intellect and noted beauty. Her education had been comprehensive and the young woman personally managed the royal treasury, seeking to undo the economic damage of her mother's many wars.

The Queen's Tuscan inheritance could not have come at a better time. In 1262, forces loyal to the Emir of Mallorca had invaded Aragon with the intent of seizing the rich Barcelonan coast for themselves. At the same time, the Duke of Languedoc launched an opportunistic attack to claim the county of Foix across the Pyrenees, then a fief of the Crown. Without Tuscan aid, both invasions would likely have succeeded. In late 1263, however, the Tuscan armies landed in force and repulsed both invasions. The era of Aragonese weakness came to an end in a most dramatic fashion. Perhaps to cow her remaining Muslim subjects, the Queen would end the war by executing dozens of high-born Adhavid captives, earning her the title of 'the Bloody-Red Queen' across the sea in the Mallorcan court.

Reclaiming the Valencián territories lost in 1260 to the Adhavids - in the same bloody conflict that claimed the life of her mother - became the first priority of Queen Carla's ambitions. For now, however, it was time to build up the strength of the dual monarchy and consolidate her rule. The lords of Tuscany received their new Queen without much resistance, certainly after it became clear the young Queen intended to rule ifrom Firenze like her grandfather. Aragon would be consigned to the role of a junior partner, the weaker half of the Most Holy Monarchy. The first years of Carla's full rule were peaceful ones - she oversaw the expansion of Tuscan cities and the construction of new temples, castles and port facilities. The Tuscan nobility soon grew quite enamored with their intelligent and beautiful liege.

D'aww.​

The Queen's marriage to her husband King Benes, a nobleman of Catalonia, was by all accounts a happy and passionate one. As a Catalan, the king was able to effectively mediate between the Queen and her Aragonese subjects, sometimes essentially governing the Aragonese crown as regent. After the tumultuous family life of her mother, grandfather and great-grandfather, Carla reigned over an apparently content and cordial household. The royal couple's surviving love letters - a fascinating example of 13th-century romantic writing - reveal a strong and even shockingly carnal bond between the two. The pair's first child arrived in March 1266. He was named Alighiero, 'the noble warrior'.

In 1268, the preparations for the reclamation of the Valenciá holdings were complete. The overwhelming forces of the united kingdoms dealt swiftly with the Adhavid defenders. Already by 1269, hostilities were over, with the Crown of Aragon restored in full. The success of the Christian 'reconquista' would soon inspire the King of León to an even more ambitious campaign. In 1271, the Leónese ruler, a sworn ally of Carla, declared war upon the mighty Zannunid Sultanate of Andalusia and called upon his cousin queen to join him. Though the Queen's realm was hardly ready for another war so soon, Carla was quick to accept. The Great Andalusian War had begun.

For hundreds of years, the Zannunids had dominated Iberia. The Andalusian Sultanate held sway over the greater part of the peninsula, with a vast force of men and wealth to call upon in war. During the past century, it had driven the Christian Kings of Leon and Galicia into the north-west, enjoying an unquestionable supremacy over their fellow Muslim rulers in the region. Recent expansion had taken the Zannunids northwards into France to great alarm across Christendom. The Sultan seemed intent on restoring the pre-collapse Umayaad empire, perhaps going further than those conquerors ever had.

It was not to be. The downfall of Zannunid power seemed unthinkable to many contemporary observers. Queen Giuseppa and King Lazzaro's united armies had not been able to triumph over the elite Zannunid forces a decade earlier. But in 1271, the Sultanate was weakened by internal troubles and factional infighting which greatly hindered its defense. Its Christian neighbors were also riding the wave of success that Queen Carla's conquest of Valenciá had begun. Even so, the conflict was not going to be swift, or easy.

The armies of Tuscany-Aragon were well-equipped, highly trained and large, but they quickly proved also immensely expensive. The reserves of the royal treasury drained away into nothing. Bankruptcy, that old friend of the Guerra rulers, was knocking. Relief payments from the Pope in Rome could only carry the war effort for so long. With every missed payment of wages and every underequipped supply train, the morale of the Christian forces dwindled. Had the war gone on for longer, the invading armies may have collapsed entirely. But early victories and Zannunid disunity were showing their damage.

On the 22nd of August 1273, the exhausted belligerents met in Cordoba, the historical seat of Zannunid power. There the Sultan of Andalusia humiliated himself before the King of Leon by signing a devastating peace agreement. The Zannunids would cede the lands of the Crown of Andalusia to the King of Leon, and with it the greater part of their power. The destiny of Iberia had forever been changed. The modest Kingdom of Leon was now the great realm of Leon-Andalusia. Though the consolidation of these majority-Muslim provinces was not going to be swift or painless, Christendom had triumphed in Iberia. In the decades that followed, the remnants of the disunited Zannunid realm would be conquered by French and Iberian lords. Before long nothing remained of the once-mighty Sultanate.

With the Muslim threat well and truly neutralized, the latter years of Queen Carla's rule would take on a more peaceful aspect. Now was the time of happy marriage and healing from the scars of war. The golden years of Tuscany had begun. In her personal life, Carla endured a number of successful pregnancies and watched over a growing family. As Queen, she funded the founding of several universities. The foundation stone of the University of Siena, laid in 1274, bears an inscription honoring the Queen as 'Mother of Learning, Queen of Scholars'. As patron of scholars, theologians and philosophers, she is still prominently featured in the names of various scientific societies, in academia-originating drinking songs and in many books of famous quotations rightfully or wrongly attributing famous sayings to her.

The future King of Tuscany, Lazzarino I, was born in 1274 as well. The babe was not expected to live, but it is said that the love and close personal care of Queen Carla gave him the strength to live on. This difficult period would mark the end of the peaceful years where Aragon was concerned, as it happened. In 1275, a massive popular uprising shocked the new Kingdom of León-Andalusia as the King's Muslim subjects rose up across the new lands. In the interest of maintaining Christian rule in Iberia, Carla raised up her forces and aided the King in the bloody suppression of the rebellion. It would prove to be only the first of many, as the Leónese Crown sought to convert their subjects by force.

Carla would take the opportunity to seize the fiefdom of Albaraccin, de jure part of Aragon but for centuries ruled by the Zannunids, under the pretext of its emir supporting the Muslim rebellions. This would set the legal borders of the Aragonese crown, with minor changes in the years since. In a solemn agreement, the Crowns of León and Aragon agreed to divide the Iberian peninsula between them.

This triumph would prove bittersweet quickly. The Queen's beloved husband Benes had through complex dynastic inheritance arrangements become the Count of Parsberg in the Kingdom of Hesse. The couple's separation was not meant to be forever - Benes writes in the summer of 1276 of his intent to assign a regent and return to his wife's side. Fate had other plans. In unclear circumstances, King Benes was challenged to and killed in a duel with one of his courtiers. The union was over, and the child Alighiero now became Count of Parsberg in his own right.

Parsberg's ill fortunes were not over yet. Alighiero's arrival coincidence with an outbreak of virulent, deadly bubonic plague in the small German county. The young child died only days after contracting the deadly disease. The poem 'The Plague Mother', written in this period and dedicated to Queen Carla, depicts the boy's doomed struggle against the disease, personified as an evil pagan goddess. With the death of Alighiero, the infant Lazzarino was now heir to the throne.

Queen Carla was greatly distraught. The strong family ties forged under her now came to her aid. The Queen's sister, the Princess Adelaida, joined her sister at court and stayed for several years to support Carla through her widowhood. The Queen would remarry, but it is generally assumed that the new union was never consummated. She would remain a grieving widower to the end of her days. These dark days present a near-total halt in the writing of the Queen. The tragedies inflicted on Carla took a great toll on her - but like her realm, the Queen would return and continue to watch over the golden days of Tuscany. (...)

Image limit hit, part 2 in a bit.

 

[Cycle]

Excerpt from 'A Renaissance in the Sun: Tuscany-Aragon in the Time of Queen Carla the Great', by Niccolò Scribani (Monaco: 1989)

The twin tragedies of Benes and Alighiero weighed heavily on the Queen, but in the end, it was time to move on. Queen Carla would recover from her depressive period and turn her attentions to the proper ruling of her realm. She began to be known as a diplomat and stateswoman beyond compare. The Guerra position as Champion of Rome, damaged by King Lazzaro's wars against a fellow Catholic King for Romagna and Verona, was reinforced by the Queen's overtures towards the Seat of St. Peter.

The greatest triumphs would come in 1290 and 1291. The von Milano Duke of Lombardy and the Guerra Duke of Piedmonte enjoyed sovereign independence on the northern border of Tuscany. The expansion of Hesse in the north and the personal diplomacy of Queen Carla persuaded both lords to at last admit the precarious nature of their position and swear their allegiance to the Crown of Tuscany for protection. These rich, developed lands were thus joined to the realm in a masterful stroke of peaceful political maneuvering. The dominance of Tuscany in northern Italy was assured in full. In the absence of rivals, the Tuscan aristocracy would turn their attentions to the patronizing of art, construction of novel architecture and development of their lands - following the fashion of their liege, the Queen of Scholars.

The heir to the throne, Count Lazzarino, came of age in 1291 as well. He was a young man of keen mind, a noted knight and warrior, and interested chiefly in military matters. Like his mother, he is said to have been a prideful, guarded personality, though of a much more kindly disposition than his zealous forebears. (...)

(...) With Jerusalem once more safely in Christian hands, the Pope in Rome turned his attention to the Syrian domains north of the Holy Land. The Sixth Crusade was declared in 1294. Queen Carla offered her forces to the fight, eager to see Christian - and hopefully Guerra - rule expand across the Mediterranean. The crusading force survived numerous early setbacks to break the back of the Syrian Sultanate. Victory would come in some years. The Levant was now wholly in hands of Catholic rulers. At Carla's request, a son of the King of Jerusalem, Albino, was installed on the Syrian throne - thus ensuring rule by the House of Guerra in both crusader kingdoms.

Relics and assorted loot from the Crusade were brought back to Tuscany as spoils of war. The Queen granted these to her universities and bishoprics, where indeed many of them may still be found. The National Museum of History in Firenze still contains many of these relics, though a large number have been lost or purposefully destroyed since.

The end of the Crusade saw Queen Carla embark upon her most famous surviving work of scholarship - the family epic of the Tuscan Chronicle, finished in 1301. This somewhat fanciful tale of the dynasty's founder, the enigmatic figure of Mario Guerra, was reportedly censored and edited several times after its initial creation. The original manuscripts were thought lost for centuries, with scholars having to do with the 1502 printing housed today in a museum vault in Firenze as the closest thing to the original. Only two years ago, in 1987, was a rare, fragmented tome found in the ancestral tomb of the Guerras - a version of the Tuscan Chronicle believed to be the original, or at least as close to it as can be hoped to be found.

Contemporary sources from the Tuscan court do dutifully report on the actual process of collecting and writing the epic. The Queen appears to have been consumed with the need to finish the work in time, perhaps in light of her advancing years and failing health. One record claims that the Queen physically shackled the royal scribes to their desks when they dared complain about the demanding pace of the work. Several courtiers are reported to have been banished from Firenze for questioning some choices in the text. For her own part, Queen Carla resolutely swore that every event and claim in the Chronicle was true, passed down through generations from the 'Mad Wanderer' of Mario Guerra himself or discovered through more esoteric means.

The Queen contributed greatly to the text of the epic in person, but the work appears to have taken its toll on her. A concerned papal missive in 1300 appears to question the Queen over alleged forays into mystical and heretical practices in order to discover more of her ancestors' lives. This is somewhat surprising given the strict orthodox zealotry of the Queen, but the Guerra line had been noted for its interest in mystical matters for generations. It is perhaps no surprise that church authorities would end up censoring portions of the final product. There is a scene in the fragmented opening chapter of the newly discovered manuscript, which appears to say that an enigmatic, supernatural emperor from ancient times gifted the founder, Mario, with immortal life and preternatural powers. This kind of blasphemy could not be tolerated, now matter how prominent the Guerras were as champions of the Catholic faith. The Queen's response to the Pope, written in late 1300, does not help matters - in fact, Carla seems hell-bent on digging herself deeper where the accusations are concerned. (...)

***

Letter to the Pope, dated December 10, 1300, from the correspondence of Carla Guerra, Queen of Tuscany

To our most beloved and holy bishop,

We have received Your legate and heard of the concerns of Your Holiness in regards to the grand chronicle we write. We shall be most direct in our response. Authority is not given to you to deny the truth of God and Creation, which the ways of our fathers have revealed unto us. We are most disappointed in the arrogance that sees You dictate to us what we may or may not write of. The fears of fools such as You and Your wretched servants do not interest us. We are embarked upon a task far greater than You may ever understand. Let this be the end of Your meddling and the poisonous lies You spread among our servants and court. Do not feign ignorance over these accusations. It is well known to us that You seek our downfall. Greatly must You desire the temporal power of our House, where You would do best to be satisfied with spiritual matters.

The armies of Tuscany stand ready to destroy Your house and replace You with a more honest and humble soul at my first command. Trouble us further at your own peril.

Your friend and peer,
Carla Guerra, Regina Tuscani et al.

Letter to the Pope, dated January 1, 1301, from the correspondence of Carla Guerra, Queen of Tuscany

To the Whore of Babylon and Usurper of St. Peter,

We are in possession of Your most unwelcome letter. You dare question the state of our soul and offer aid that is both unwanted and unaided. Great fury is awoken in our heart at Your words of false friendship and concern. We are as clear of mind as we have ever been. It does not escape our notice that You continue to condemn the truth of our writings and the illuminated learning of Creation given to us. We have also intercepted Your letters to our son and heir, where You so proudly command him to attend to his mother. Your insinuations that we are struck by an illness of the mind will not be stomached. We have heard the devils You send to us in the night. Know that their whispers cannot confuse our thoughts as You clearly intend.

We shall not warn You again. The wrath we may visit upon Your mortal form is great and terrible. Leave us be. We are well and shall not listen to Your poison any longer.

Your Queen and mistress,
Carla Guerra, Regina Tuscani et al.

***

Excerpt from 'A Renaissance in the Sun: Tuscany-Aragon in the Time of Queen Carla the Great', by Niccolò Scribani (Monaco: 1989)

(...) Alas, even great men and women can meet pitiful ends. Few today speak of the latter years of Carla, the Queen of Scholars. Her increasingly erratic letters and reports from court paint a picture of an old woman with rapidly deteriorating mental health. Incoherent ravings about nightmarish horrors in the clouds and death in the shadows are the only writings produced by the Queen who was once the envy of her peers for her brilliant mind and great learning. By 1302, the court had quietly taken over the running of the realm's affairs. It is clear that she had become something of an embarrassment to the kingdom. At the request of the Pope, she was confined to her quarters for the final year of her life. The imprisonment did not help the state of Carla's mind - in her last writings, she speaks of shadows growing longer every day and begs for more candles to keep them at bay. In a rather chilling final entry, the Queen refers to not being able to sleep for the laughter of something called 'the Pallid Jester'. Curiously enough, various esoteric, occult writings have referred to a similar apparition, perhaps drawing from the same mystical tradition that had so addled the Queen's mind.

The exact cause of Queen Carla's death in 1303 is unclear. She passed shortly after being treated for unspecified illness. Her son, the future King Lazzarino I, would later claim that disloyal vassals had conspired to kill her with a poison administered by the royal physician. True or not, the mad Queen was now dead, leaving behind a glorious legacy marred only by its bleak ending. Regardless of her actions in her final years, she had overseen an unprecedented era of prosperity and learning in Tuscany - a Renaissance in the Sun before its time...

 

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Journal of Lazzarino I Guerra, King of Tuscany, collected fragments

29 JULY 1303

Mother is dead. She was a formidable woman, but this was an enemy she could not defeat. There was little of the queen I knew and loved in that tortured wretch locked away in her tower, towards the end. I suspect the court in Firenze chose at last to take matters into their own hands and speed her way out of this life. The possibility leaves me torn. She deserved a swift death and relief from these mortal torments, but such plotting and murder sets an ill precedent. I do not wish my vassals to think they may do away with their liege whenever they find it convenient.

I am King, then. King of Tuscany, which I have seen little of in the last twenty years, and King of Aragon, which I have never even set foot in. Twenty years as a lord in Germany, speaking the Bavarian tongue, living among these Hessians - I try to pen these words in the Italian of my subjects, but the quality of my prose pains me. I shall have to devote my efforts towards a better grasp of the language, or else remain a foreigner always in my own court.

Would Mother find us suitable for kingship? I have consulted my wife, and she has spoken most encouragingly of my kindness, our mastery of warfare and our skill with the blade. I fear there are aspects of my spirit that she does not wish to mention. I am averse to risk, I confess it; a craven soul, for all my skill at arms. I doubt others more than they perhaps deserve, but then again, it is a cold, untrustworthy world at times. I see no cause to give my trust without cause and consideration.

I cannot truly say whether she would approve or not. I can only hope. But I suppose it matters not. She is in Heaven - and I am King.


5 AUGUST 1307

Our son, Lazzarino, reached sixteen years of age today. Time flies by with the wings of a peregrine. He is a fine, upstanding boy. I dare say he takes greatly after his father - though he is far braver and confident for certain. He suffers from an unfortunate impediment of speech - a stutter - but has never allowed anyone to make him feel any less of a man for it. He is a capable knight and an insightful commander also. We are proud to call him our son and heir.

The realm remains at peace. We noted with some glee the news from Wallachia today. It appears that the King of Jerusalem, our kinsman, has maneuvered his son on the Wallachian throne. Guerra rules there too now. We shall endeavor to support our cousin with all the means in our possession. The Vlachs of that place shall surely benefit from the wise rule of our House.

5 AUGUST 1315

We are finished with our collection, though we dare say there shall always be room for more in our library. The pride and joy of the works in our possession is, of course, the great Caesar's Commentarii de Bello Gallico. We do not pretend to be the equal of that virtuous heathen, but we aspire to learn from regardless. Our son and we have spent many an afternoon in the library, studying his strategies and ingenuity. We note that our son is more an admirer of the noble Cincinnatus, who resisted the lure of power for its own sake.

There is little use for our learning in these times, of course, praise be to God. We entertain ourselves by staging war games with wooden pieces. In our mind they become great armies of old and we the generals of legend. It is a harmless pleasure, and we have seen the fashion for it take root among the rest of our court, always so eager to imitate their liege. We would be a poor Christian to wish for war, but we cannot help it. It would be pleasant to put our theories to the test on the battlefield some day.

10 FEBRUARY 1327

Praise be to God! The Holy Father decrees a holy crusade against the Lollard heretics of England. We have discussed the possibilities of this liberation with His Holiness and received assurances that a King of House Guerra could be granted the throne of that realm. We do not mean to say we will join the effort only because of this. But it certainly does not hurt. We would see our son Wenzel take that crown and so sate his ambitions.

The Lollard menace has been allowed to grow unchecked for too long. They defy the authority of the Holy Father in numerous nations now. The dukes of England are not the worst of them - we confess, we are uncertain of the Pope's decision to direct this crusade against them. No, far more dangerous are the King of Champagne and his allies in the Low Countries, who we suspect shall make up the great part of our enemy. We have understood the heresy has also seized lords and commoners among the Danes, Swedes, Pruthenians and others. And now there is talk of these 'Poor Men of Bavaria' in the north, preaching the heretical ravings of their long-dead master Waldes. We fear for the Church - let this crusade drive back the heretic scourge for good.

6 JUNE 1329

We write these words with haste in the camp of our army. Let the blood trickling onto these pages tell the truth of things. We did not foresee the nature of this war in full. The heretics are relentless and murderous in their zeal. However many we strike down, more rise to take their place. We confess, we fear to go into battle against them, but we do so time and time again. The tide begins to turn, perhaps. We have taken grave losses in these lands of Wessex, but each passing week sees more of their cities and keeps surrender to the Papal standard. We grow sick of the blood and death all around us. Our sons have no such complaints, or at the least they do not voice them. They are at home here, in the fury of battle, and Wenzel fights all the more fiercely knowing it is for his own throne that this crusade is waged.

His fervor does him credit, but we are somewhat fearful of it. He butchers heretics with no care to their age or sex, or whether they carry arms or not. He has expressed his joy at these killings on more than one occasion. He claims that the blood he sheds now shall water the fertile ground of England for his reign. Perhaps such zealotry is needed to tame this rebellious land and return it into the hands of the mother Church. The Lord God must absolve us all for our sins in this great cause. We have counciled Wenzel to pray for forgiveness, but he does not seem to understand the meaning of our words. So it is. Soon, if we shall have our victory, we must say our farewells to him. We can only hope his rule will be a long and peaceful one.

18 MAY 1332

Today we depart back for Tuscany. By God, we are all exhausted and done with the bloodshed. Except, we fear, our son Wenzel - Wenzel King, now the sovereign lord of England. His elevation to the position did not face any resistance. He has won the respect of our crusaders through his actions on these blood-drenched battlefields. We scarcely recognize our son. It is as if he has taken on the mantle of Death itself, so grim and bloody is his countenance. Lazzarino, our son, admits similar concerns. But it is done with. Peace shall do him good.

We have received news of rebellion in León, however. Our cousin King calls upon us for aid. It appears we will not enjoy peace ourselves for very long, though we hope our noble regent shall prosecute that war on our behalf. We have seen enough war for a lifetime.

The Holy Father has rewarded us greatly for our efforts in the Crusade. The treasures and gold of England lie in the belly of our ships now. We do not care to look at it. It is justly earned, for certain, but it brings to our mind memories of death and terror. Blood has dimmed the shine of these coins and stained the finest jewels. Perhaps we may give them to the poor, to atone for our sins in this war. The Holy Father promises us absolution, of course, but we would gladly offer some help along the way.

MARCH 27 1335

Our horse collapsed underneath us today when we sought to mount her. The stablemaster speaks of bad knees and other ailments, but we know the truth. We are fat and old - too corpulent, it seems, to even ride. It is inconceivable. We look back upon the past decades and cannot make out any clear turning point. It began after the war, certainly. We turned our wealth to the holding of feasts and festivities for our court and subjects. Perhaps we began to indulge too much then. But the seeds were surely sown much earlier. We have always loved food and drink - as a young man, such pleasures do not seem to carry any cost.

Life is no joy to live now. Our breath catches from a handful of stairs. We struggle to rise from our bedchamber in the mornings. Maidens look upon us with horror, we suspect, and the men with disgust. By God, Lazzarino, our son, if you should ever read these pages, take care not to fall into this most terrible trap!

***

King Lazzarino II Guerra, AD 1336-1354

***​

Excerpt from 'The Crisis of the Catholic Church in the 14th Century' by Wilburh Osmond & Ealdwine Cild (Lunden: 1942)

(...) The Italian peninsula had largely been safe from such unrest. In the Kingdom of Tuscany, the ascension of King Lazzarino II in 1336 proceeded without issue. The realm appeared to be at peace, as it had been for decades under the King's father. In universities and popular religious gatherings all around the realm, however, trouble was brewing. Erudition often proves the bane of petrified religious institutions. As religious scholars in Tuscany familiarized themselves with the words of the Holy Bible and grew increasingly aware of the vast differences between its teachings and Catholic doctrine, calls for reform began to grow. The presence of the Waldensian Duchy of Bavaria to the north galvanized these reformists.

If this 'revolt of faith' had remained only among narrow scholarly circles, it would have amounted to little. Unfortunately for the old Church, the temporal authorities of the Tuscan realm saw the allure of the religious revival as well. Their motives were likely not religious - the Waldensians preached a radical anti-clerical message and condemned the wielding of temporal power by bishops, even the Bishop of Rome. This offered secular rulers the justification needed to seize church property and holdings for their own use. The stage was set for a perfect storm.

This first wave of Waldensianism began in 1338 in the most dramatic fashion, as the Duke of Romagna declared himself in opposition to the 'Apostate of Rome' and spurred on a popular movement to seize temples and assault clergymen in his realm. It soon became clear that he was not alone. The nobility of Tuscany appear to have planned this move for some time. In a declaration sent to their liege - where they beg him to join them and stand against Rome - we can find the signature of almost every Tuscan lord of note. The Aragonese nobility did not join in on the uprising, but Tuscany was well and truly in the midst of a religious crisis.

This 'Righteous Union' clearly hoped for support by their liege, King Lazzarino II. He did not immediately act, much to the displeasure of the Papal legate. It may be that the King harbored some sympathies for the Waldensian movement. He had fought in the Crusade for England in the early 1330s, where he had certainly come in contact with the ideology of his Lollard foes. Both movements preached the abolition of the temporal power of the church and a return to apostolic poverty. The King was certainly aware of the opportunities presented by the Waldensian cause, like his lords before him - but just the same, he knew the importance of Catholic faith to the Guerra dynasty. Could a man styling himself 'Champion of Rome' so casually turn his back on his Roman masters?

The answer was no. The King refused the requests of his vassals and demanded their return to the mother Church. Some of the rebels lost faith and agreed to the demand, but the majority did not. In early 1338, the King ordered the arrest of the Duke of Romagna as a leader of the Waldensian cause. Duke Callisto appears to have genuinely expected his liege-lord to join their side. He was seized by the Kingsguard in an emergency council meeting and confined to quarters.

News of their leader's arrest shook the remaining conspirators. The Duchess Argentina of Spoleto - by all accounts, a true believer in the Waldensian movement - raised her flags in rebellion rather than submit to the King's 'justice'. She would soon be joined by the Duke of Ancona and many others. The Venetian King, though still loyal to the Pope, joined the rebel side to support them against his Tuscan enemy. This opportunistic move shows the weakness of Papal authority in this period. Lords allied and fought between boundaries of faith as they liked, paying lip service to the Seat of Saint Peter at most.

The rebellion was doomed to failure. The supremacy of royal forces and the staunch Catholicism of the Aragonese nobility ensured that this Waldensian awakening was stillborn. In quick succession, the King imprisoned the remaining Waldensian nobles and seized their titles for loyal Catholic servants. The popular embrace of Waldensian beliefs in the cities and countryside would take much longer to stamp out. Indeed, it seems likely that Waldensian preachers continued their work in secret, building the foundations for the Great Awakening to come.

The Pope was quick to reward his champion, directing a trickle of his vast wealth for the restoration of Tuscan bishoprics and the founding of a Roman Inquisition to crush the remaining dissenters. The apparent success of these acts lulled Catholic Italy into a false sense of security. But the stormclouds had not yet dispersed. (...)

***

Letter to Ascanio Guerra from Lazzarino II Guerra, King of Tuscany, dated May 1348

To my dear son and knight,

The love of God to you and your companions. We pray for your happiness and hope to see you once more soon. It is with great regret that we must inform you, my son, of our decision in the matter discussed two nights past. A father's love is unconditional, but we are not simply your father, but equally King of Tuscany. Thus our responsibility is to the realm in full. We cannot in good conscience ignore the many faults and vices you possess already at such a young age. We have in vain sought to excise these faults with our love and our guidance. Our servants tell us of the terrible cruelties you have visited upon your friends and family; and of the harshness you present in dealing with the weak and unfortunate. Were that not enough, we also know of the disregard and indifference you have shown towards your kingly education. A sovereign of Guerra cannot be anything but supreme in all manner to ordinary men and women. You have squandered your great potential.

We have given you opportunity aplenty to find the righteous path. We would not do this if we had any other choice. Ascanio, my son, we hope you can some day forgive us. On this day we have decreed you disinherited and stripped of all your inheritance. Your brother Goffredo shall be our hope now. This is our last will and testament, as we fear we are not long for this world now. Go in grace and the Lord, my son, and serve your brother with the humility of a better man.

Your father,
Lazzarino Guerra, Rex Tuscani et al.

***

Two short, fairly uneventful reigns. Goffredo follows! We approach the end of CK3, oh dear.

 

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Aaaand a double post, since today has been a productive day.*

*Productive for AAR writing. Not productive for any of the work I'm supposed to be doing.

The Second Wanderer's Atlas, a 1354 travelogue by an unknown author

These being the words of a Wandering Soul in the Year of Our Lord 1354; an honest account of our travels around the known world; and tales of many good peoples encountered upon God's green earth.

Many things change, but just as many stay the same. From the tongues of mortals often comes that sad old refrain: there is nothing new under the sun. This is base foolishness. Nothing ever stays quite as it was before. The elderly look back upon imagined youths and cry out: it was better in our time, and who are you to change things so that have been so since time immemorial? So also cried their fathers before them. Stability and continuity are convenient illusions. Perhaps there is some truth to it, even so. The actors change, but the roles remain the same; the sets and garments become coarser or finer, but their purpose is the same.

Ten years ago I met a vagabond in Syracuse. A year after that, I saw him again in Athens. Two years from then, our paths crossed in Jerusalem, then on the island of Cyprus, then in the plague quarantine of Nizza. From the start I knew him to be as I am. He is far older than myself and claims to have lived his first life in the time of Solomon. He calls himself Elijah. He is a Jew - the Wandering Jew of legend? He scoffs at the thought. He has roamed these lands from long before the birth of Christ.

He is a solitary soul. Do not get attached, he says. Mortal lives are short and pointless. Even the greatest kings and queens are forgotten come a new century. I noted that Solomon, at least, is still remembered. He laughed at this. He says the Solomon of our reckoning has as much to do with the man behind the myth as a race horse has with a mewling ass. I get his meaning. Already in Tuscany they tell tales of myself that have little relation to any truth.

I have let the purpose of this tale escape me. I shall tell it plain. Together, we have seen every corner of the Mediterranean there is to see. What to write of first? Noble Tuscany, of course. My descendants rule there still. I have kept my distance, watching them from afar. At times I have been unable to resist the temptation of taking on the role of a nameless seer or messenger, nudging them this way or that. Most often they do not heed my advice. I do not think they would even if they knew who I was. From my loins has sprung a stubborn and arrogant line. The King of Venice, isolated in his lagoon refuge, is a Guerra also - allowed to rule there by the grace of his Tuscan neighbors and the guarantees of the Holy Father.

The Papacy endures. It's fate is tied to that of Tuscany for better or worse. The Holy Fathers amass vast wealth from every land kneeling before the Bishop of Rome. I admit the excess there disgusts me. The commoners toil in abject misery while the Pope dines on golden plates and seats himself upon the backs of slaves. It is no wonder that heresy abounds in this day and age.

In the south of Italia, there are the dukes of Salerno and Sicily, rural men devoted to simple rural lives, kings of peasants and huntsmen. Foreign lords are there also - the Greeks of Gabes and the Serbians of Benevento. I have recently learned that the Vrana of Serbia are descendants of my ill-fortuned acquaintance, Sir Mihajlo. I can only hope they meet fairer ends.

What of the spawn of Dracul, you ask? Patience. I shall write of them later.

In the lands where that monstrous creature once ruled now stands the Kingdom of Wallachia. I confess now that it was my whispers and threats that saw a son of Guerra rise to this throne also. The Vlachs have forged great realms here - in the lands of the Bulgarians, in Moldavia, even on the Ruthenians plains of Volhynia. The Magyars and the Croats, on the other hand, remain a fragmented and bickering lot. They have no need of kings, they say, happy enough in their little towns and tribes. To the south we find Greeks in their myriad realms. Of them the mightiest is the Despotate of Nikaea. Unlike their Orthodox brethren, the Greeks of that realm have adopted the ways of the Bogomils - a heretical lot, but every day I care less for such distinctions. We all strive for truth in our own way. No one church can claim knowledge of every mystery.

What else? Bohemia is growing greater each day. The Czech lords eye the lands of Bavaria and Poland with greed. In France, there is the Kingdom of Champagne, a realm sworn to the practice of Lollardy. South of it, Catholic Frenchmen in various realms. And in Iberia? The Crown of Aragon holds the east, another holding of the Guerra. León has emerged from its crusades and struggles against the Andalusians as a great power in its own right. The last holdout of the Mahommetians is in Valencia, where the Adhavids hold court - for now, at least. I have found it a place of music and art; I fear such things will fall to the crusader's sword and torch soon enough.

They shall flee south, I expect. The Abbasids, Battutas and Tayebids rule in the lands across the sea. They are threatened by Greeks in the east and Iberians in the north, but theirs are rich, proud realms. I do not think they will fall into Christian hands any time soon.

What of the North, then? Let me write of something else, first. I fought in the English Crusade in the armies of my descendant, taking on the role of a humble bow-man. I do not mean to make myself a braggart when I write that I am a master of arms and a fighter with few equals. I have had many lifetimes to learn these arts. War draws me to it often - an impious truth, but one I will not deny. The purity of battle allows one to lose themselves for a while. Regardless - I died even so on those bloody battlefields, more than once. Through that arcane practice of rooting myself, taught to me by my captor, I could return to the field of battle almost at once each time.

I was not the only wandering soul drawn by this conflict, as it turned out. On the charnel-fields of Wessex, I crossed paths with the immortal Alexander. He is no Greek of ancient times, to be sure. Indeed, I believe him to be a Frisian of the Low Countries, an ancestors of those who dwell there today. He serves the Sanguinary Knight, that terrible Horror of War. From the way he speaks of it, I wonder if service is the correct term. Can one serve a master who does not even acknowledge your presence? He worships the Knight, perhaps. That nightmarish entity created him, hundreds of years ago, for reasons Alexander either will not share or does not know.

He slew me when we first met, acting as a captain in the Lollard armies. I tracked him down later for vengeance and put an arrow through his eye. Imagine my surprise when he returned the very next day to kill me once more. After that gruesome end, I decided to talk to him instead. For all his battle-lust and fickle nature, the prospect of conversing with another immortal won him over, though he did manage to shear off an arm before we reached that point. To his credit he mended the injury also.

Alexander seeks to become like his namesake - a warrior and general without compare. He has fought in a thousand different wars and conflicts in his half a millennium of life, from village feuds to grand crusades like ours. There is no end to the depth of his knowledge - at least, when that knowledge deals with the killing of men. He spoke to me of many far lands and the violence he had inflicted in them. After this meeting, I would follow in his footsteps and travel to each of these lands, which I shall describe presently.

Also - I should note that he killed me once more at our parting. First he set a company of his men upon me; then, when I was exhausted and covered in their blood and filth, he moved in to crush my limbs into pulp and ground the marrow into some kind of apparently very enjoyable broth. A strange, unnerving man. I find I respect him even so.

There is Britannia - where the King of England rules now. He is a Guerra, known as Wenzel. He has claimed most of the island for himself. In the north, the clansmen of Alba stand against him, as well as the Norsemen of Northumbria and the Isles. In Wales and Ireland, petty lords rule, caring little for events on the mainland. Across the sea, the Lollard Flemings and Dutchmen of the Low Countries inhabit many small duchies and cities. Alexander confessed to me that he often visits the region to stir up trouble and prevent unity - his way of 'helping' the lands that were once his homeland. Further inland, we find the Hessian King. He seems intent on placing all of Germania under his banner, but lacks the strength to do so yet.

The Duchy of Ostfalen and the Kingdom of Lusatia stand on his northern border. They are realms of the Sorbs - in Lusatia, they swear to the Orthodox church; in Ostfalen to the Pope in Rome. Further north, the Danes and Norwegians live in divided realms. The Swedes have few lords of their own. Invaders from the Low Countries and Pommerania rule over the greater part of their people.

In the far north, the mighty Kingdom of Sápmi endures still. It is opposed in the east by the Kings of Bjarmaland and Estonia. The former are Mahommetians of some obscure sect, converted long ago by missionaries from the east. The Estonians hold to the Orthodox faith too. On the southern Baltic coast, there are three realms of note. The first is the Duchy of the Pomeranians, which has colonized the lands of Skane. Pruthenia is another - a Lollard realm isolated from its peers, but standing proud and bold regardless. To their south is Poland; a strong, bold young Kingdom; to the east lands of the Ruthenians and the Rus.

I left Europe behind after these travels. I bought passage on a ship headed for Jerusalem, but the vessel was waylaid at the Pillars of Hercules by Barbary reavers. They took us and sold us on into slavery in the Abbasid Sultanate. It is here that I met the curious woman I shall call the Alchemist. For what reason she held court here, I cannot say, but she had won the patronage of the Sultan, who relied on her for elixirs of eternal life. The man still died in the end, it has to be said, but he lived to a remarkable hundred years of age exactly.

As it turned out, we slaves were sold to the Alchemist. She is a thin, small woman, from somewhere in the Orient, adept in every tongue I can think to name. She treats human lives callously - a common trait with the fraternity of immortals I find myself part of, I admit. We were consigned to the role of vessels for her experiments and concoctions. My fellows died in horrible agony from various poisons and potions she claimed were intended to heal and prolong mortal lives. I had no exceptional resistance to these foul medicines either, but unlike my poor companions, I soon returned to exact our vengeance.

She was not surprised to see me, or much alarmed. Indeed, she had suspected I was an immortal - like she was. The Alchemist claims her immortality is born out of brews and elixirs, not through 'the whim of some vagrant Horror'. She will not share her knowledge with me, so I have no means to ascertain the truth of this. I have since learned what her business in Africa was, however. She sought some exotic herbs and substances from its deepest reaches. This appears to be common practice to her. She has seen much the world - which she tells me is a spherical globe, strange as that sounds - on these expeditions of hers. I would have learned more, but I then unwisely accepted a glass of wine from her and found my consciousness stolen from me. A foolish mistake I shall not repeat again. I believe she dissected me like some beast after I was out, stealing a no-doubt satisfying haul of an immortal's blood and guts.

I apologize. I thought I was over the encounter, but I find myself very much not so. I shall write of Africa instead.

You know of the Abbasids and their ilk by now. To the south are other, stranger realms. Since my last journeys in this area, the people here have accepted the Mahommetian faith in full, though the pagan ways seem to endure in isolated villages and the like. The strangeness of my pale skin among the locals and my foreign ways makes me stand out in these lands more than I would like. I did not linger for more than some few years before continuing eastwards. The Copts of the East retain their Christian ways and battle the Ajuuran Sultans in the south - in those lands it is as if the world has not changed in a hundred years, though I suspect I am simply not keen enough to notice the changes.

Northwards, then. Egypt is ruled by a Catholic Arab king, a close ally of the King of Jerusalem. The Crusader State has expanded greatly since its inception. The holy places of the Mahommetians have fallen under its sway in recent years. The Guerra allow them stewardship of their sacred places and guarantee them the right to make their pilgrimage - a wise policy, in my reckoning, for they will stop at nothing when these things are threatened. Syria flourishes also, equally the domain of a Guerra King. To the east are Arab realms of the desert Bedouins and the wealthy spice traders of Yemen. It is an interesting realm, in many ways. Here the West and the East meet - Christianity and Islam - the new world and the ancient.

I journeyed east from there, aching to once more see Persia, the Indian realms, perhaps even fabled Cathay. Of the Chinese I shall write a little of in this tome. Theirs is a most wondrous and vast empire of such order and sophistication it surely equals that of ancient Rome. A hundred years past they faced invasion from the Mongol hordes - from what I heard now, it appears that the Mongols triumphed, but their rule in the Middle Kingdom was short-lived. In time I hope to learn more of that majestic land and write further on its wonders.

In the mountains of Tibet, on my way to Cathay, I found the Green Mother. After all my experiences with my undying kin, I expected another tyrant and monster. I was beginning to believe cruelty and callousness are inevitable with the unending lives we live. She has proven me wrong. I was seeking a pass into China when I stumbled upon a wondrous green realm in the barren highlands. Trees and flowers of every kind sprouted here, and the air was rich with the scent of fruit and spices. They should not have been able to thrive as they did in the high, cold air. The monks who lived in this secluded paradise allowed me into their temple and escorted me to their mistress.

How to describe her? It feels all too common to speak of beauty, but she is beautiful. To say that she is wise would not do her justice. She calls all green things her own, beckoning them to grow from the touch of her fingers and the kiss of her lips. These wondrous powers are something I greatly crave for myself also, but they were not hers to share. She told me then that her nature and her power do not come from any of those seven Horrors I have come to know bitterly well. Instead she spoke of something else - an infant god, born of human thought and imagination.

It is the first evidence of such powers I have heard of that are not things of death and pain. I may only hope she speaks truly.

I spent the year there, in her home, in her bed, until my aching soul propelled me onwards to new lands. I hope to see her again. All things seem a touch greyer away from her marvels.

I shall write of these eastern lands. In old Mesopotamia, there are many realms. The Kurds of the Kayusid realm are devoted Christians of the Coptic church. They have resisted most admirably all the invasions and attacks of their Mahommetian neighbors. I fear it is not to last. The odds against them are great, and it only takes a singular moment of weakness for an empire to fall.

The people of the Bitlisid Shahdom are Kurds as well, but followers of Islam. There is no great hatred between these brother tribes, but all who spoke to me agreed that one day only one faith could rule supreme here. East of them is the Ilkhanate - one of the successors to the Empire of the Mongols. It crumbles further every year, isolated far from its brothers to the north. The Mongols have forsaken their pagan ways for the Ismai'li school dominant here and lost most of their nomadic ways.

In India, the Mahommetian invaders are gone, save for the Mongol remnant. Few here hold to the Islamic faith any longer. With them have gone the Zurvanites and other enclaves of different faiths, though India remains a land of many beliefs and gods. The Upadhyaya's are devoted to the philosophy they call Jainism, claiming pacifism and respect for all life in all they do. The might and size of their empire suggests not all such Jainists are given over to these ways of peace.

In Tibet, the Kingdom of Ü dominates. It shall perhaps one day restore the great Empire of Tibet and forge the mountain peoples as one. For now, it contends with many lesser realms, and the danger of the Mongol remnants to the north.

It is now that I must write of Dracul and his monstrous offspring. I had hoped they had all perished with the loss of their realm in Wallachia, but my journey through these steppes crushed that hope for good. They have spread across the barren lands of the north and grown their numbers since their exile from Europe. The locals speak of bloodless corpses found in the morning and pale-faced advisors whispering poisonous words into the ears of their khans and chieftains. I have called upon them to destroy the beasts wherever they can be found, but these vampires have proven elusive when cornered.

I am fortunate not to know where the father of these horrors reigns now. It is his daughter, Ruxandra, who found me there. She had been tracking me for some time, she claimed. I woke one morning in the lands of the Kazakhs to find myself in her care. My traveling companions were all bloodless husks, having sated her and her pack of vampires in the night.

I do not know what to write of Ruxandra. She sought me out then to warn me of a trap being laid for me north of that land. She told me many other things also. Ruxandra is immortal now, truly immortal. Whatever obscene rituals she performed with my blood, they have transformed her into an equal of her monstrous sire. I know she is a monster, a beast clad in human flesh - but of her kind, she is the least vile of them. Or am I simply too enthralled to see things clearly? She proved once more an ally of sorts.

No. I must be honest. A lover of sorts, as well. I am surely damned for partaking in that grotesque union, for allowing her to feast upon me once more. So! I cannot turn back time and refuse her. It is done.

I realize I have not written of my fellow immortals' thoughts on Dracul, Ruxandra and her kind. I will be brief. Elijah does all he can to stay away from them; Alexander desires to slay Dracul for good to honor his god; the Alchemist sees them as no different than the rest of us and deals with them often enough; and the Green Mother, to my astonishment, had no knowledge of such beings. I cannot say what they would say if they learned of my dalliance with one of their number.

My thoughts are confused. Forgive me. I shall write on the north now.

These lands are a tapestry of different peoples, clans and khanates. The descendants of the dread Genghis rule in many of these realms. The Khanate of Mongolia and that of the Chagatai still exist, though much reduced from their origins. The Mongolian Khanate has turned to Christianity - if a strange, Eastern doctrine. Many of them are still pagans. Practicioners of Islam are common also. In the west, the tribes follow a variety of faiths - Orthodox, Islamic and pagan.

I swear that this is the truth of my travels in these times. The world grows stranger, but perhaps that is another illusion. It has always been a place of wonders. I shall continue my travels... perhaps there are further lands to be seen, new and exotic shores to reach. My eyes turn time and time again to the west, and what might lie beyond the great Atlantic sea...

Written in the Year 1354; the Wanderer's Atlas.

 

[Cycle]

Excerpt from 'The Crisis of the Catholic Church in the 14th Century' by Wilburh Osmond & Ealdwine Cild (Lunden: 1942)

(...) The time had come for the most dramatic reign in the kingdom's history. King Goffredo I of Tuscany remains a divisive and contradictory figure with historians and religious writers. His disinterest towards church and worship was noted from an early age. The Catholic champions among his ancestors would have been shaken to see the 'young heathen' take the throne. Like his father and grandfather before him, Goffredo was a soldier and general before anything else. He was an intelligent, strong-willed young man - strong-willed to the point of stubbornness, with a great arrogance and certainty of his own righteousness. His father was an old crusader, but the old king had not brought back blind zealotry or militant faith from the wars - indeed, young Goffredo appears to have learned the very opposite lesson.

Writings from Goffredo's youth paint the portrait of a kind-hearted, compassionate man. Even so, he could be ruthless and vengeful when slighted. His pride suffered no insult, real or perceived, to his person or those close to him. The Holy Father is recorded as warning the young king that 'pride goeth before the fall'. The words proved to be something of a prophecy, but not for Goffredo.

Goffredo's marriage was a cordial one. He had wedded the daughter of the King of León, reinforcing the alliance between the two realms. Queen Ibtisam shared her husband's stubborness and likely helped keep him on his future path. Though a practicing Catholic, she appears to have concerned herself more with temporal rather than spiritual matters. This helps explain why events unfolded as they did.

Goffredo's father, King Lazzarino II, had stripped his eldest son Ascanio of his inheritance before his death. Ascanio would in time accept his inferior role and the relationship between brothers appears to have been a friendly one. The damage caused by this unusual succession was broader, however. With the legal line of succession so blatantly ignored, the vassals of the realm began to consider claimants from abroad. A prominent faction in court championed King Wenzel of England, Goffredo's uncle, as King in Tuscany. The distance to Wenzel's northern realm would have essentially meant him becoming a figurehead ruler in Tuscany, allowing the Tuscan court to wield power as they saw fit.

The faction appears to have slowly faded into irrelevance as Goffredo's reign advanced. The size of the royal guard and loyalist support meant that the planned coup faced an uphill climb. The conspirators appear to have quietly dropped the matter after some years. (...)

***​

From the Turin Codex, a 14th-century work of occult philosophy allegedly authored by King Goffredo I of Tuscany

Are you awake? Do you see?

Ours is an old family. Age brings its secrets. Do you know, my child, of that nameless library of this House? Find the standard of the three hands. Press your fingers to the stone. Listen for the faintest whisper of air. Let no-one see you enter. Bow before the image upon the wall, lest you wish to lose your head.

There are many books there you will wish to know. In time I shall leave this tome within as well.

My own awakening began in the year of 1356, when I first stumbled upon that hidden place. Certain clues had been left for me; signs to point the way. Know that the servants of our House have their own secrets. The ways and traditions they follow are just as old as ours. They descend, I believe, from the very same source. Do you know, my child, the legend of our founder - the Wandering Soul, the first of the Guerras? Consider the story. Consider the truths therein. His journals remain in this secret place also. They shall prove most enlightening.

My studies of the truth did not go unnoticed. Soon after in the night I awoke to a voice. The shadows spoke with the tongue of a crone. They beckoned me to follow. They called upon me to cast aside the lies of priest and tradition I had carried for so long like an unseen burden. A part of me had always known them for the falsehoods they were. Let them call us heretics, blasphemers, witches and worse. We deal with the true powers of this world. We are illuminated by the truth.

You will be frightened. The shackles of your past weigh heavy upon you. Be at ease. The fear is a passing thing. The truth will set you free.

Do you begin to see? It begins with a glimpse. A shadow crossing the courtyard. A figure in the flame. A vision in the grip of fever. Commit these words to memory. Seal them within your heart. There are no gods, but for the Seven-Headed God who we call the Horned One. Its secret names are seven upon seven, but I shall not write them here. To even think of them is to invite misfortune. We do not worship the Horned God. We placate it; we beseech; we draw upon its power, but we do not serve. Servitude is the foul sin of temples and courts. You must accept no master but yourself.

When I first learned the truth, I knew I was meant to share it. Our family is bound to the Seven-Faced One for all time. Its voices whisper in our blood. Our great father once looked upon the Seventh Face and lives eternal for it. My first disciple was my sister, Giuseppa. She did not question my teachings. In her heart, she already knew. We were joined, then, in a covenant of truth and blood. She was only the first many. The House of Guerra was awakening at last.

And many, many more...​

Ours is a secret path. We hide our knowledge from those would see it suppressed, silenced, destroyed. Is the woman at your side one of us? The child you carry in your arms? The servant by your bed, the knight in your guard, the huntsman on the path? The ways in which we reveal ourselves are small, subtle. It is only when you truly see that you will know us for who we are.

There are those, of course, who fear the truth. They refuse our blessings. They deny our kinship. Take great care, my child, not to put your faith in false friends or weak-blooded kin. Not all of our line is made equal. Should you induct them into the mysteries, move with caution. Some feign to accept, only to turn on you and use your secrets against you.

The Church hates us for the truth we know. The most learned of their kind are well aware of those mysteries you will come to know, but they admit it not. There are fragments in the scriptures - hints of wisdom in the teachings of the preachers. Why else would the priests guard their Bibles with such greed, rave in the Latin tongue, refuse us the word of God in the languages we speak? Perhaps you have seen this also. Another glimpse. Another stirring.

My child, for an age, I too lived with the Church. I tolerated their tithes, their lies, the poisonous work they carried out among my subjects. When I was young, my father crushed the Waldensian movement on the orders of the Charlatan of Rome. They sought to reveal the mysteries to the common man, to break the power of the temples. But the truth is not so easily eradicated.

Heed me now. They are fools like all of their kind, yet our goals are much alike. Use them, exploit them, take all they can give you. You answer to only your own soul.

I thought I dealt so with the Church of Rome also. The Holy Father deigned to reward his wretched servant when it suited him. I took his stained gold and called it grace, never recognizing that it was the selfsame wealth that the Harlot of St. Peter and his bishops had stolen from us for centuries.

You grow restless. Patience. There is yet more of the truth to be revealed.

***​

Excerpt from 'The Crisis of the Catholic Church in the 14th Century' by Wilburh Osmond & Ealdwine Cild (Lunden: 1942)

(...) That is not to say that the Catholic faith waned everywhere. In 1368, in a solemn and tremendously expensive occasion, Pope Leo X placed a golden crown on the head of Abu I Nunez of León and proclaimed him as 'King of Great Portugal for all of time'. The unification of Iberia now seemed complete, and the vast majority of its population had been converted to the Catholic faith on sword-point. The mass exodus of Jews and Muslims who refused conversion would greatly enrich the realms of the Maghreb coast and the more tolerant heretical realms of Europe. The centuries-long intermixing of cultures and faiths had given birth to a new kind of people on the western coast of Iberia, a people who now called themselves the Portuguese.

Despite this apparent triumph of Catholic supremacy, the new realm of Portugal was far from religiously stable. In 1370, a wave of Priscillanist heresy swept the north of the Kingdom. Though suppressed, further uprisings would demand the attention of the Portuguese kings in the decades to come.

Perhaps alarmed by these growing cracks in the hegemony of the Church, the newly elected Pope Silvester IV decreed that another Crusade was to take place in 1371. This time, the Lollards of the Low Countries were the target. It is certainly in this moment that we see the inception of all that followed. When news of the coming war reached King Goffredo in Tuscany, there was none of the usual atmosphere of zealotry and cheer that had accompanied previous Crusades. The common people were still reeling from the suppression of the Waldensian cause. The lords of Tuscany eyed the wealth of Rome with resentful envy. As for the King - Goffredo's letters to the Pope survive. These give us tremendous insight into the mind of the Tuscan sovereign in this time. (...)

***​

Letter dated February 16, 1371, to Pope Silvester IV from Goffredo Guerra, King of Tuscany and Aragon

To our respectful lord and bishop,

May the Lord grant peace and goodwill to the earth. We are in possession of Your letter of the 10th, where You ask of our commitment to the Crusade to come. We regret to tell you that there will be no such commitment. We expect that Your Holiness understands well how tired Tuscany is of war and how greatly her people now love peace. You speak of duty and sacred oaths also. It is not our understanding that we are so sworn as King or as a servant of God. Surely there is no clause in the most Holy Bible that dictates we should wage war upon our fellow Christians? These Lollards are misguided souls, but we are certain that in Your wisdom you may think of other means to return them to the flock than the sword.

Furthermore, we know well how the House of Guerra has served Rome since the founding of our great realm. Our father was bound to slay and exile many of his good subjects in Your name. We have seized for Your Holiness the lands of Jerusalem, Syria and England. We have filled the treasuries of Rome with all the fruits of our labor and invention. We hope that You shall consider these services rendered and thus absolve us of our duty towards this war that You so desire.

Your good neighbor,
Goffredo I Guerra, Rex Tuscani et al.

Letter dated March 2, 1371, to Pope Silvester IV from Goffredo Guerra, King of Tuscany and Aragon

To the Bishop of Rome and most Holy Father,

Let all praise God and love his boundless Creation. To Your letter of the 27th, we reply thusly. You condemn us for what You refer to as our many faults and blasphemous words. Further You suggest we are only a servant of God and thus Your Holiness as His sole authority on Earth. We take this to imply that You expect us to jump to Your every whim and subject our people to misery and toil for the sake of Your ambitions. Perhaps Your Holiness should consider humility in turn. The Bishop of Rome is only one among many. You are far from infallible. We tell you this plain: the Crusade you ask of us would be a grave error and a worthless pursuit. We pray that You shall abandon it swiftly.

We say once more: Your war shall see none of our gold nor any soldier sworn to our service. Condemn and insult us as You wish, but it will change nothing. We have served often enough as Your Champion, so we are certain You will find it in Your endless grace and mercy the means to forgive us for this lapse.

Your humble servant,
Goffredo I Guerra, Rex Tuscani et al.

Letter dated April 20, 1371, to Pope Silvester IV from Goffredo Guerra, King of Tuscany and Aragon

To our lord and bishop,

May the light of God open the eyes of the blind. We have learned of the proclamation announced in Rome earlier this month. We fear you do not understand the grave error of your absurd decree. You claim you have placed us under interdict and deny us the presence of the Lord in excommunication. We are confounded by the rank foolishness you continue to demonstrate with your every action. We have committed no sin worthy of censure, nor do we intend to repent for these non-existent crimes. If there is anything we need atone for, it is tolerating Your unjust demands for so long.

We expect to hear of the end to this lunacy soon. Do not presume to place yourself higher than us. In the eyes of God, we are equals. We have sent our chaplain to Rome and await his return with word of our return to communion and all the rites of the Church.

Yours in faith,
Goffredo I Guerra, Rex Tuscani et al.

***​

Excerpt from 'The Crisis of the Catholic Church in the 14th Century' by Wilburh Osmond & Ealdwine Cild (Lunden: 1942)

(...) This collapse of the close alliance of three centuries between Guerra and Church was now complete. The Papal authorities perhaps hoped that the excommunication of the Tuscan King would lead his subjects to revolt or his vassals to seize the throne on behalf of a more pliable ruler. No such revolt was forthcoming, however. The realm held its breath. How would the King respond? No message of mercy was coming from Rome, but neither was Goffredo showing any signs of repentance. The proud King could admit no wrongdoing or kneel before an authority he considered an equal at most.

In this atmosphere, the birth of the King's heir, Prince Marco, went practically unnoticed. The newborn could not have known he had entered life at perhaps the most critical juncture in the history of the Tuscan nation.

The spark came at last in May 1372. In an official, vindictive papal bull, Silvester IV formally stripped the House of Guerra of their privileged position as 'Champions of Rome' and transferred it to their chief rivals, the von Orseln Kings of Hesse. This act is said to have thrown Goffredo into a rage never seen before in the kind-natured monarch - an event captured so expertly in the renowned 1492 Vasari painting The Righteous Fury of the Condemned.

There is no doubt that the bull was meant as a punishment for Goffredo's continuing defiance. The Holy Father did not perhaps anticipate the full consequences of his actions, however. As King of the Guerra homeland, Goffredo held great authority among his kinsmen. Within the family, the reaction to this shaming was one of outrage. Frenzied letters between the crowned heads and lesser nobility of the Guerra line traveled around Europe in the months that followed, assuring Goffredo of the loyalty of his cousins and their unity before the Seat of St. Peter. Papal records note a large amount of 'lost' tithes and other deniable acts of vengeance by insulted Guerras.

Perhaps emboldened by this support from his kinsmen, Goffredo was driven inexorably towards his final, most fateful act of defiance. In 1381, after receiving emissaries from the lords of Carinthia, Goffredo I Guerra, King of Tuscany and Aragon, once-Champion of Rome and the head of glorious House Guerra shook Christendom by announcing his conversion to the Waldensian faith.

The storm breaks.​

The paragon of Catholic nations had turned against the Church it had served for centuries. The fate of Italy was changed for all time, and the Catholic Church had well and truly plunged deep into the most severe crisis of its history...

A dramatic note to end this part on!

 

[Cycle]

Excerpt from 'The Crisis of the Catholic Church in the 14th Century' by Wilburh Osmond & Ealdwine Cild (Lunden: 1942)

If the Church authorities expected the Tuscan people to revolt against their heretic King, they would be sorely disappointed. With only a handful of exceptions, the aristocracy gleefully threw in their lot with their liege. After news of the King's conversion began to circulate, the Waldensian underground rose up and took matter into their own hands - an orgy of looting and destruction followed, with bishops dragged from their cathedrals and churches reduced to bare walls and empty sacristies in the hands of the peasantry. Local nobility often encouraged or led these acts to claim the greatest part of the treasures for themselves. In the aftermath, they seized clerical holdings and lands to add to their own domains - the common folk toiling on church soil soon found themselves merely exchanging one master for another. Still, under royal decree, the peasantry and the burghers in the cities received a 'godly share' of the seized property, an act that served to effectively placate any simmering unrest.

This did not mean that all of Tuscany embraced the Waldensian cause overnight. Indeed, crypto-Catholic holdouts would remain for over a century. The institution of the Papacy held great sway in the mind of the average peasant. It would not be dislodged easily. Early church fathers in this period write on the trouble of dealing with peasantry who happily listen to their anti-clerical sermon one moment, only to kneel before graven images of saints and shelter Papist priests the next. Anti-Catholic fervor appears to have been strongest in central Florence, Genoa, Istria, Milan, and the Catalan regions of Aragon. The cities with their urban poor were more keen to embrace the new faith than the landholding peasantry of the countryside, though if they expected the burghers of their cities to give away their wealth like the holy Waldo had done, they were bound to be disappointed.

The paradox of King Goffredo - a cynical agnostic, by all accounts - spearheading a dramatic religious awakening has not escaped the attention of scholars. The King's motives were undoubtedly political first and foremost, even petty, a kind of vengeance on the Pope who had so slighted him. Waldensian leaders have debated his role in this Tuscan Reformation for some time. Most tend to agree that 'God may work even through imperfect vessels', seeing Goffredo as an unknowing tool of the Almighty.

Regardless of how deep or heartfelt his new beliefs were, the King prosecuted the conversion of his realm with unwavering determination. The first order of business for Goffredo was persuading the Aragonese nobility to join his cause. Though the Waldensian movement had never gained a true foothold in Aragon, its lords and ladies saw the way the wind was blowing. With some promises of favors, bribes and other cajoling, King Goffredo convinced the Dukes of Aragon and Barcelona announce their conversion in late 1381. The Bishop of Valencía followed soon after, forsaking his spiritual title to rule as Duke Abbas from that moment on.

With his vassals dealt with, the King turned his attention to his immediate neighbors. The Duke of Transjurania to the north had been swept up in the religious frenzy and converted with his vassals, as had the lords of Carinthia under the Bavarian king. The Guerra King of Venice was easily convinced to follow suit. Catholic power was collapsing rapidly in the family after its disgrace at the hands of the Holy Father. Only the Kings of Jerusalem and Syria, well aware of their position as Crusader Kings and their reliance on Catholic goodwill, refused to heed the example of the head of their house.

The anger shared by the House of Guerra towards the Pope certainly helped carry this wave of conversions. King Wenzel of England, uncle to Goffredo, would put aside their differences and agree to accept the Waldensian faith himself. Though his vassals were not so easily convinced, the undeniable righteousness and God-granted rule of the Crusader King of England convinced them to gradually follow suit. The Greek and Vlach side of the family was not pressed to convert, as they already denied the authority of the Papacy as Orthodox and Bogomil rulers.

Some zealots remained in the Kingdom, choosing loyalty to the Pope rather than accept the new doctrine. King Goffredo spent some years seeking compromise and negotiating with these holdouts. By 1385, his patience had evidently ran out. Count Benedetto of Friuli would become a martyr for the Catholic faith after his arrest and execution late in that year for his continued fealty to the Catholic Church. He would later be beatified by Pope Leo XII as an exemplar of faith unto death. He was burned at the stake by local Waldensians at the King's behest. Rumors would later begin to abound of the apparent miracles around his passing, and ash from the pyre would be sold as holy relics around Catholic Italy.

In 1388, Marco, the heir to the throne, reached his maturity. Growing up in the chaos of the Tuscan Reformation had produced a cunning, ambitious young man of noted intellect and beauty. His father had seen fit to give him a materialistic education chiefly concerned with good stewardship and the upkeep of the royal treasury. While not particularly zealous, the influence of Waldensian preachers had ensured young Marco grew up a committed believer in the movement. As such, he is often named the first truly Waldensian King of Tuscany-Aragon.

Many Waldensians expected in the spirit of millennialism that the entire rotten Catholic Church would soon come crashing down and all nations would unite in the true Christian faith, with its ideals of apostolic poverty, right to lay preaching and opposition to the temporal power of the clergy. In truth, this First Reformation remained a local one, though it certainly emboldened the Lollards of the north in their own battles. Some ripple effects can be seen in the Catholic world, however. In Poland, a period of internal chaos, foreign invasions and religious upheaval saw a peculiar dwarf woman by the name of Zofia proclaim herself as both bishop and queen in Poland. This bizarre, clearly unorthodox institution was nevertheless formally sanctioned by a Catholic Church terrified of its own destruction.

Zofia's rule would not last long, but its very existence tells much about the chaotic nature of the times. In Portugal, the newly-minted 'most Catholic Kingdom' began its decline around the same time. Within a few decades, it would be plunged into a civil war it would never recover from. The crisis of the Church was nearing its apex.

***​

From the Turin Codex, a 14th-century work of occult philosophy allegedly authored by King Goffredo I of Tuscany

(...) In every corner of my realm, my name was praised with all the zeal of the blindly faithful. I treated them with the kindness one shows to children and animals. How could I not? They are allies in the great struggle, even if they know little of the truth. Still many in the kingdom resisted their liberation and called out to the Harlot of Rome in their daily prayers. There was grave concern among the preachers that the great work was stalling. The endurance of the Catholic faith threatened the foundations of my rule.

Did you believe me some grand zealot? I am not. I did what I did for many reasons. You will know by now that faith was never one of them. First, I wished to cast out the Pope from his city and show the zealots of the Church how weak and mortal their Holy Father truly was. Secondly, I knew of the great riches in the vaults of the Vatican. Mammon is the foundation of any rule and any religion. I desired the wealth of the Church for myself. Thirdly, I confess it was also a matter of vengeance. I held - I still hold - great hatred for the preening, self-righteous fool at the head of his Church. I hoped to take him captive and slay him, but I was content enough to see him merely humiliated.

None of these are the complete truth. Heed me now. The Church knows more of the mysteries of Creation than it wishes to reveal. There were secrets piled high in the secret archives of Rome. Indeed, then, I craved plunder - but not of coin and material things. I desired the things they had hidden away in those nameless vaults deep beneath their gilded temples. That, and that most of all, is the reason for what I have done.

***

Excerpt from 'The Crisis of the Catholic Church in the 14th Century' by Wilburh Osmond & Ealdwine Cild (Lunden: 1942)

The Waldensian Crusade of 1390-1392 perhaps does not deserve the name. Some Waldensian figures do appear to have preached for 'the liberation of Rome', but these were in the minority. The campaign to take the city was not launched from popular sentiment. The impetus for the invasion came chiefly from King Goffredo and a cadre of upper nobility. Their motives were likely material ones. Rome was the greatest and richest city in Europe. The opportunity to seize and sack it must have struck these 'political Waldensians' as an irresistible one.

Such an undertaking would not come easy or cheap. Despite his modest temporal holdings, the Pope held the purse-strings of every Catholic in Europe. The Papacy's immense wealth and influence drew thousands and thousands of mercenaries to its employ when rumors of an invasion began circulating. When the Tuscans struck, they found a massive army of veteran mercenaries arrayed against them.

Not shown: the endless mercenary stacks that bastard conjured out of thin air.​

King Goffredo had not left anything to chance, forever. He still held the sympathies and allegiance of his House, especially the many lords and sovereigns who had converted with him. At the King's request, Guerras from across Christendom sent their forces to assist in his efforts. That some of these allies were, on paper, Catholic rulers, shows just how deeply the House of Guerra was affected by the Pope's actions against them.

In the end, over 160 000 men had gathered around the Guerra banner. The Pope stood against them with perhaps eighty thousand. The odds were not as overwhelming as they might seem on paper. The Guerra forces trickled in over time from many distant realms and courts, while the Papal army was already gathered in Rome. Furthermore, Rome and it's environs were fortress cities, thick with castles and outposts that needed to be secured one at a time by the invading armies. The war would only last two years, but it would feature some of the largest and bloodiest battles seen in medieval Europe.

This kind of warfare was tremendously expensive. The King had perhaps hoped that the loot from the Sack of Rome would cover the costs, but this was not to be. The Tuscan crown had secured a great deal of gold and supplies in preparation for the campaign, but the sheer size of their armies and the difficulties of operating in the heart of the Catholic empire quickly drained this wealth away to nothing. The opposing side had no such issue. The war was so popular among mercenaries precisely because of the fortunes offered by the Pope for fighting. It is said that even the lowliest foot soldier in the Papal armies returned home as rich as a king - as long as they survived the grueling battles, of course.

The fortunes of war began, nevertheless, to slowly turn against the Pope. The mercenary armies had not been intended as anything more as a stopgap measure - a force to hold off the invaders long enough for all the might of Catholic Christendom to stir awake and come to the aid of their master. This desecration of the heart of the Church and one of the most holy sites of the faith should have brought Catholic kings and knights running to its defense from all over.

And yet - none came. The shortness of the war helps explains the lack of support somewhat, but not completely. There is plenty of evidence that nearby Catholic powers learned of the attack in time to respond. In any other time, the Catholics of the Mediterranean would no doubt have eagerly arrived to fight for their Church. Certainly this should have been expected from the King of Hesse, so recently named Champion of Rome by the very Pope who now stood facing disaster. Historians have long debated the matter, but there is only one coherent explanation. The Church had lost its moral authority and political influence after all the turmoil and disorder of the past decades - the Crisis of the Catholic Church was now fully in existence.

Rome was surrendered in 1392. It is said that Pope Silvester was still watching the horizon for the arrival of Hessian reinforcements when his council forced him aboard the last ship to leave the coast of Latium. He refused ardently to sign any agreement of surrender, but such legal fictions were no longer necessary. Rome was in Guerra hands, and the demoralized mercenaries were beginning to desert en masse with their new riches rather than stay to fight hopeless battles.

The Papacy in Rome had come to an end. The head of the Church fled to the Papal fiefdom in Sardinia, where the Church would in time assert its 'Kingdom of God in Exile'.

With Rome in the hands of the Waldensians, King Goffredo announced the formation of what has been called the 'Waldensian Papacy'. Guerra forces withdrew from Rome, leaving it in the hands of a local Waldensian preacher, Abelardo Pilloni. With the King's blessing, he was now the head of the Waldensian Church, replacing the 'Harlot of Rome' with purer, more faithful governance.

There was only one problem. The Waldensian movement was founded on principles of anti-clericalism and opposition to clergy holding any temporal power. Would they now follow an almighty Priest-King once more, when they had so fervently opposed the Catholic Pope? To make things worse, Abelardo was soon revealed to be in many ways the opposite of a good Waldensian Christian; a greedy, vindictive man given to many vices in spite of all his learning. King Goffredo's decree had little to do with faith and everything to do with politics. As such, many of his followers were disillusioned by this betrayal of the movement's values. The attempt to secure Waldensian supremacy in Italy ironically weakened conversion efforts, as sympathies to the deposed Pope seized much of the populace.

King Goffredo would not live to see these consequences. He died shortly after the proclamation of the new Papacy in 1393, leaving the throne and the religiously unstable realm in the hands of King Marco II. In many ways, it was the end of an age and the beginning of a new one. The world was rapidly changing; the exile of the Papacy from Rome had thrown many of the old rules and legalities of medieval Europe into question. The administration of Marco II was already starting its transition into a government of the early modern model...

The last CK3 ruler follows! I've already played some 60 years of EU4, so we'll get started on it right after.

 

[Cycle]

Excerpt from the Roman Letters, written by Marco II Guerra, King of Tuscany, after the death of the Waldensian Pope Abelardo in 1442

Now in the autumn of our years, we find ourselves dwelling on the beginning of our reign. In that time we did not yet know your friendship. We were but twenty years of old when we took the throne. Our father had left us a difficult inheritance. Today they call him the Redeemer King - he who broke the back of the false Church and restored Rome to the True Christians. How were we to equal his glory? We did not lack in ambition or will, certainly. We intended to do great things for the realm and the faith.

Perhaps we were too prideful. We are as cognizant of our failures as we are of our triumphs. Certainly the triumphs outnumber the failures; we shall go on as a great King and faithful Christian lord.

Then we knew you only as a sinner and a charlatan. Our tutors taught us to distrust your authority and your wisdom. It is true, you had your faults. Who among us does not? They demand more of holy men than they ever do of kings. The vices of a sovereign are dismissed where those same failings in a priest are not. We know you did not seek power for its own sake, but came to it through unhappy circumstance. Our father was most unkind to name you Pope in the Catholic mold when you only wished to teach and guide your people. You have been most ill-treated by the mass of the faithful. We pray that history shall remember you more kindly.

Was it wisdom, when you named yourself King in Romagna also? They say that the clergy cannot wield temporal power as kings do; but now you were a king and so entitled to all your power. We do not have the wisdom to solve questions of faith. Perhaps it matters not. They turned their face from your guidance, but they did not turn from the faith. We should be satisfied with that.

Our enemies sensed this division among us, we believe. In the year 1405 they struck for Rome and besieged your high house. The faithful did not abandon you as the Catholics abandoned their false Pope. We were there to fight back the invaders. Our warriors of the faith, the Guardians of the Shroud who you wisely granted the keep of Turin, came to the battle also. Do you remember us fighting side by side on the walls of the holy city? It was to be the first of many such struggles. The faithless Catholic hordes thought us weak and sought to assault us at every turn.

Our son was born then, in the year of 1407. Was he born under inauspicious stars? If so, we did not see it then. He seemed to us a healthy, normal child. Then again, did we see the corruption within our lady wife? We named him Marco, to follow in our footsteps. All was well for all those many years. Such a good, lively child. We weep to think of it now.

There is another kind of work we both know well, the nameless work, which our father left to us both. Do you remember those amusing incidents when we began to follow him in full? His reach had been longer than we had thought. Few were those souls in our family not already taught his wisdom.

I admit, dear reader, that I totally went and divided the wanna-be Burgundy on the top between its neighbors through cheating means.​

We regret that you never came to know our good friend, the King of Burgundy. Together we forged a great kingdom of the true faith in the north, to guard our border. The false Catholic usurper in France we helped crush also. But that was before we came to knew you, dear Abelardo. Had it not been for our good vassal, the Duchess Anna, who knew and loved you also, we would never have found the need to write to you. We are most glad that we did.

Good Abelardo, could we have saved our beloved Violante, had we only possessed your great wisdom and learning then? Perhaps not. The scourge of cancer is an insidious foe. Not even the greatest physician knows how to battle it. We certainly did not possess a great physician. The wretch Antonio did not die painfully enough. Without his devil's work, perhaps our daughter could have lived for longer. Perhaps we might have seen her grow another year. What we would give for another day with her, another moment. My darling Violante...

Why do some of us live and some of us die? No preacher of my court could tell me how it was just that Violante should so suffer and die. They spoke of it as the will of the Lord. Our God is not one to cause such pain, and besides, we know what is to blame. The name of that creature we will not commit to these pages, but it is spoken of enough in the secret wisdom we both share.

It was only you, good Abelardo, who knew not to accuse the Lord for such evil. It was then when we began to love your friendship and your advice.

We did not know what to believe then. To appease God, or so we thought, we warred against the Catholic lords of Croatia. There we founded a strong kingdom of the faithful under a Croat knight who had eagerly embraced the Waldensian cause. Were our motivations righteous or not, the work was for a just cause. The people of that land are now liberated from the Papist yoke. The Kingdom stands strong and proud. May it endure until the end of all time.

Do you recall, dear Abelardo? The wretched Papists sought to revolt against our just rule. We feared a vast rising then, did we not? A resurgence of the Catholic cause, their wicked hordes converging on your house from every side. But it was merely the last gasps of a false and dying institution. They were driven out of our lands then. The faithful rejoiced everywhere, and we knew peace.

We rejoiced, too, for the mighty kingdoms of the Catholics were plunging into their ruin. Portugal was breaking down. The faithless murder one another in endless wars now where they once stood united against us. May they turn to the true cause and know peace in it. Our mother was a princess of Portugal, but she was wise and turned to the faith. May all her kinsmen and people do so also in time.

Our son grew into a true believer. Did that zeal blind us to the wickedness in his heart? That he shall follow us as king frightens us. But there is nothing to be done for it now. We may only hope that no-one learns of the terrible things he has done.

Perhaps it should be our daughter, instead. She is adept in the secret work we share. We have asked her to watch over Tuscany when we are gone, to use her power to keep Marco from further evil.

It has only been some months, now, since we learned that terribly truth. You are gone, of course. You did not live to know of this wickedness. If only we were dead also and did not have to bear this cursed knowing. But we shall pass soon. Heaven shall salve this wound in our soul.

YIKES.​

Do you know, then, what came to be after your death? The lady of your court, Camilla di Vaticano - she is Pope and Queen now. The people of Rome wished her to take your place. She is a popular Queen, we take it, though she has little of your learning and wisdom. The world condemns her reign, but what of it? We of the true faith know that even laymen may preach the Holy Word. Why cannot a woman then serve as our Pope?

We shall follow you into the hereafter soon. A new age is dawning all across Europe, we think. Tuscany shall be the heart of that new age. Look upon the works of the House of Guerra and know they are the building stones the future will be built with!

Lesbian heretical pope, I see nothing unusual here.

​

And there we have it. Not the most creative part, but I'm eager to move on. CK3 is complete. A year before the 1444 start date of EU4, but I saw no reason to play for one year as the next guy. I shall be posting the status of the world in 1443 in a little bit!