Chapter 3
Gundrada Galimani studied the intricate tapestries adorning the walls of her uncle’s quarters. Richly woven reds, golds, greens, and blues played out the story of conquests and proclamations. She always loved the tapestry of the
Andalusian Grant where Pope Julius III granted the Kingdom of Andalusia to King Valeran III of Orleans.
The beginning of our ascendancy. Gundrada thought to herself. She was trained from childhood in court politics. Well, they weren’t called politics when she was a child. They were simply “courtly matters.” She learned how to curtsy, when to curtsy, and how to wear the latest trends from Paris. The list could go on. When she came of age, she then graduated to the arena of actual court intrigue, whom was sleeping with whom, which courtier was the illegitimate bastard of such and such a nobleman, and on, and on. She became quite adept at intrigue and found herself, now at the prime age of 32, with a lesser nobleman as a husband, no children, two lovers, and the Heir-Elect to the Andalusian throne.
Her own rise to the right hand of the throne, so to speak, was one based solely on her courtly intrigue. Matrilineally marrying an unlanded noble from mixed Andalusian and French birth, she gained acceptance into the Galimani hierarchy, albeit as a nominal player. Yet, she had cultivated a great number of secrets on members of her House and deftly used such information to remove those who stood between her and the throne. When she first started to sell or trade information it was to better her standing in court, literally. She was not tall enough to see from behind and sought to move both closer to the throne and towards the front, where the important nobles were. She then began to realize, three years ago, that the nobles could be bought, seduced, and disgraced in such harmony as to render her the second among her house. She slept with many an aged cousin or powerbroker in the court to win favors or to hear those who speak too much in their sleep. There were some ladies in the court who called her a whore behind her back, but she was practical. She might be barren, for all she knew, so why not use her gifts to live a lifetime as queen of this realm?
Her uncle continued to drone on about mundane military affairs, troop movements and such along the Aquitaine border, that the sharp knock at the door shook her back to her senses. Lord Friednand Sifflaed entered the room looking almost impeccable, except for the sagging chaperon on the man’s head. Sifflaed, as she well knew, had peculiar tastes in partners which he was very skilled at keeping unknown from the great majority of the court. To her it was obvious and she wondered how others could not see it. Her uncle trusted the man and as an advisor, he did his job admirably enough.
“King-Elector Amaury. Heir-Elect Gundrada. Greetings.” Lord Sifflaed said as he genuflected. “Urgent news has arrived from the Barcelonian merchants asking for the king’s opinion regarding the Greeks recent events on the Black Sea.”
“Have they decided to engage the heathens again?” Amaury asked enthusiastically. Gundrada tried not to roll her eyes at her uncle. The writing had been on the wall for nearly five years regarding Byzantium’s begrudged reluctance of Venice’s growing borders along the Black Sea. However, she decided to play the contrite female Heir-Elect so as not to show her uncle as the fool.
“Perhaps, uncle, it has something to do with the merchants of Venice? I have heard reports from my handmaidens that Black Sea goods are harder to come by lately in the markets.” She tried to put as much innocent lilithine air into the words as she could.
“That is precisely the issue Lady Gundrada,” informed Sifflaed as he handed the king a rolled parchment.
“Plí̱ri̱s epanákti̱si̱?” Amaury asked with confusion in his voice.
“Complete reconquest--of the entire Venetian holdings along the Black Sea?” Gundrada answered with a questioning look towards Friednand.
“That would seem to be the case,” the advisor replied with a tug at his chaperon. “However, more troubling news now comes from Burgundy. The Duke of Alsace has died leaving naught an heir. Legal documents dictate the Duke of Toulouse was to be granted Alsace but your cousin, Emp- my apologies,
King Valeran II, has claimed the duke was too old and not of sound mind when crafting the document and has gone to war with Toulouse, disputing the succession.”
“Which reminds me, Lord Sifflaed,” Gundrada interrupted, “we must shore up our alliance and union with the Duke of Valladolid. My cousin has still not produced an heir and I believe the duke is approaching his 70th year.”
“Yes, my lady.” Lord Sifflaed replied.
“I do apologize uncle, I did not mean to overreach my station.” Gundrada meekly replied with bowed head.
“It is okay my young Gundrada. I am also reaching the time where I will depart this world. You need to learn how to handle these matters. Though I must admit, a personal union is a messy business that almost always results in one king warring with another. We have 24 regiments but I fear the wrong opponent may wound us deeply.”
“Thankfully the duke isn’t dead yet,” Gundrada answered, rising from her seat. “If you’ll excuse me Lord Sifflaed? My king?”
She gracefully exited the room to be greeted by her man-at-arms who fell into step slightly behind her, hand on the hilt of his sword. She knew the man she needed to see and speak with.
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Far’a’moque Chateau, Town of Malaga, Grenade - along the southern coast of Andalusia - April 1446
“Why have we not crossed the Strait after marching here two weeks ago?” The knight had been complaining loudly at General de Richemont’s table the entire meal. Frankly, de Richemont had heard enough.
“Lord Ambrough, will you simply eat and swallow your food instead of spraying the poor bishop with bits of ham every time you speak?” The jest elicited a laugh from the others around his table, but not the poor bishop, nor from Lord Ambrough.
“I come at your command to this rat-infested town and this is the thanks I get?”
“Lord Ambrough, you have asked the same question since the second meal you took with us. I will tell you again, the army moves whence commanded and if there ever was cause for questioning the orders, I will be the one to question them. I need you here for your military aptitude, not for your rudimentary reflections on our orders. Now eat, I have a private matter to attend to.”
“Oh? What’s her name now?” came a jest from behind de Richemont. As the general turned to see whom had spoken and offer a quick retort, his guests, except the bishop, all stood. “Lord General!” de Richemont exclaimed, jerking out of his chair.
“General de Richemont, a moment please.”
“Would you like anything to dine on before we meet? I was not expecting you or the cook would have prepared-”
“I will break bread with you after we discuss some matters.” Lord General Mélisande gestured for de Richemont and he to step outside of the dining room.
de Richemont obeyed his superior and walked to the kitchens where he ordered all of the servants out. When the kitchen was cleared he leaned against a small table. “What is it Lord General?”
“I have new orders for you. You are to take your nine regiments and march to Cuenca where you will then draw as close to the Aquitanian border as is lawful. You will then set up camp and await further orders.”
“Any town in particular as my destination?”
“Stay close to Valence and run your couriers back to the City of Cuenca to keep me abreast of your location. I expect updates as you near the border.”
“So we are going to war with Aquitaine?” de Richemont asked as he picked up an apple and tossed it in his hand.
“We are making necessary preparations, right now. Matters regarding the province in Teruel have come to a head with a raid by men wearing the livery of Aquitaine attacking a small town on our land. Now, if you will get something for me to eat.”
“Lord General, I believe we may have to prepare for more.”
“More?”
“I’ve heard word the Duke of Valladolid is not doing well and that the duke of Toulouse is casting about for help regarding the former emperor’s aggression.”
“I never knew you to play politics. From whom have you heard such interesting information?”
“Niallgus, my friend, I have many eyes lying about.”
“Then what was the scullery maid’s name? Or didn’t you catch that before you bedded her?”
de Richemont feigned shock. “You misjudge me Lord General. Why would I ever listen to scullery maids? They are good for two things, cleaning, and being bent over. No, this one was a lady privy to such information. And that is all I will tell you,” he finished with laugh. “But we must look beyond Andalusia’s local interests, we must prepare all of the armee’s to move.”
“I will take what you said into consideration. Just make sure your armee is on the move towards Cuenca within a day.”
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Tolède - Royal Palace - December 1446
Friednand Sifflaed knew something was amiss, or likely to go amiss, this day when he was disturbed from his work by a sharp rap at his door. While Friednand was happy to see the beautiful Imperial herald again, the man’s countenance did not promise any sort of future respite from his day’s work. No, the harried look about the herald’s face spoke only of frustration and bad news.
“Yes?” Friednand asked once the door had been shut.
“Lord Sifflaed, I apologize for entering without your leave but I have only just arrived with the Imperial Chancellor. He is demanding an audience with King-Elector Amaury Galimani immediately.”
“A chancellor
demands an audience with a king? While he may wear imperial finery, a king is still above a noble.” This response only produced a more distressed look from the herald. “So be it. Take me to this chancellor.”
Their short walk took them to the royal library. When they entered they found three guards and a very well dressed nobleman. “May I present Duke Bouchard Alachisling of Valois, Chancellor to our Imperial Majesty Emperor Enguerrand Alachisling,” the herald declared before moving out to the hallway.
“Duke Bouchard, I did not realize you had been chosen as the Imperial Chancellor. Have you been offered food and wine? You have put me at quite the disadvantage.” Friednand tried not to ramble on but he hated being caught off guard in such a way.
“You are?” was the duke’s reply curt reply.
“My apologies Chancellor, I am Lord Friednand Sifflaed, Royal Chancellor of Andalusia. Had I known a member of the imperial family was coming I would have called for our finest quarters to be drawn up and a feast prepared.” There he went, rambling again.
“Where is your elected king?” The words were filled with self-righteous condescension.
Friednand straightened, realizing that the Alachisling was every bit the embodiment of the pompous brutes the Galimani’s claimed their ancient rival House was. “The
King-Elector of Andalusia will be notified shortly. I will leave you here in his library and send a servant with wine and cheese to satisfy your travel hungers.” Before waiting for the duke’s reply, Friednand turned on his heels and walked out of the library.
He was incensed and quite forcefully told a servant to fetch wine and cheese for their guests in the library. Immediately he went to the king’s quarters. When the guard at the door informed him the king was busy with his niece, Sifflaed entered anyway. The king-elector stopped in mid-sentence while hunched over his desk with various documents strewn about while the heir-elect looked surprised at his intrusion. Friednand wondered if the heir-elect fell asleep while listening to her uncle.
“I am sorry your majesty, but the Imperial Chancellor has arrived unannounced.”
“Show him to one of the quarters, I will meet with him by nightfall.” the king replied, evidently pre-occupied.
“My king, the Imperial Chancellor is Duke Bouchard Alachisling of...of Valois.”
“Those dogs!” The king burst out. “First they overrun Galimani holdings in Paris a century ago, then destroy my house’s wealth in the Loire Valley 50 years ago, now they have usurped the duchy of my ancestors and give the title to one of their lapdogs?!”
“Uncle, please. Duke Bouchard is a guest in our chateau, we must treat him accordingly. More to the point, he is the Imperial Chancellor. I do question however,” Gundrada said as she turned to Friednand, “why he has come now, on the day the Italian chancellor was to arrive? Could the purpose of the Italian’s visit to our kingdom been secreted away? And to what purpose?”
“If I may, my lady,” Friednand broke in, “it is to France’s advantage to come now under the guise of the empire in order to watch events unfold in Valladolid, as the duke’s health is failing and he is all but on his deathbed. If the Italian’s chancellor’s visit was made known to them, perhaps they thought we were attempting to plot a war against their lands.”
“Astute, Lord Sifflaed,” the king replied, noticeably trying to regain his composure. “However, our recent alliance with Toulouse has no doubt upset the emperor. We now have almost a complete and unbroken line of travel and communication on the greater part of the Northern Mediterranean with our most powerful allies.” The king arose and motioned to his page. “Go ahead and see that the duke is moved to the throne room. We shall have the whole court hear him out.”
“Sir, I do not believe the whole court is here.” Lord Sifflaed said.
“Then find whichever nobles and courtiers are still within the palace. Sound the bells. Let us deal with this chancellor officially.”
After forty minutes, the throne room was filled with 30 nobles and courtiers. The Imperial Chancellor was waiting with another man who had to be of his retinue near the dais which held the throne. The king was announced and gracefully, but purposefully, sat down on the throne. His demeanor had not changed much from when Friednand had last left him.
“Greetings Duke Bouchard!” The king called out from the throne. “Why has the emperor seen fit to send you to our bountiful land?”
“You dare hold court while we are to discuss matters fit for high nobility?” the duke asked in subtle outrage.
“Does the
duke seek to imply that a king’s judgement for
his realm is not sufficient? We are not in Paris, we are in Tolède and you will act accordingly while under my roof. So I ask you again, why have you been sent?”
The chancellor opened his mouth but shut it just as quickly to contemplate his words. The other man with Bouchard, in robes almost as luxurious as the chancellor’s, whispered something to the chancellor. There was some titter from the court while their hushed conversation went on. Finally, the chancellor spoke up. “Very well, King-Elector Amaury. Our Imperial Majesty is concerned about your recent alliance with Toulouse and entrance into the Alsatian War of Succession. He would like reasons as to Andalusian interests in an Alpine war.”
“I thought our emperor was elected on the grounds of keeping his nose out of independent state politics? Why does he now care if we help our former duchy legally obtain what is theirs?”
“The emperor wants peace in the Empire,” the chancellor responded. “We have to think about what is best for all electors and princes of the realm.”
“He wants peace? Peace on
his terms. He wants what is best? Who determines the best course of action for the Empire? You Alachisling’s had your chance at leading the empire, that was several hundred years ago. Are you looking to strike while the iron is hottest and gain an advantage that will make your family’s hold on the imperial throne impregnable this time? If the emperor wishes what is best, then he had better call the Electors and Princes together in a conclave to help decide the course of action the empire is to take.”
“Come now, you cannot be serious, your majesty? Do you let your parliament make decisions for you?”
“The Andalusian parliament serves to help administer the realm, they do not serve to rule the realm. I am suggesting Emperor Enguerrand seek out counsel before acting for the empire as a whole. If he wishes greater control, then he should bring forth the proper laws and have imperial member states vote on said laws.”
“I will take that into consideration when I counsel the emperor.”
“Furthermore,
Duke Bouchard,” the king said as he stepped off his throne and down the dais. “The Andalusians will do what is in
our best interests. Do we ask why France continues to hold lands on the Italian peninsula which rightfully belong to the Italians?” The king reached the chancellor to stand face to face with him.
“Such matters are the prerogative of our liege,” Duke Bouchard answered, standing his ground.
“Then you have your answer. However,” Amaury gave the duke one of his disarming grandfatherly smiles, “please stay awhile, I do wish for you to dine at my table tonight. We have another guest arriving whom I’m sure you will be most interested in speaking with.”
“You...want me to stay? I thought we were to discuss this matter in front of your court?”
Friednand, from his position, could see that the duke was now uncomfortable having this more intimate conversation in front of the court, but he could also tell the damage to the Imperial Chancellor had been done. Amaury had stood up to him and had not yielded to France. As the king left the room in a flurry of robes, with the heir-elect following close behind, a herald reported that the Italian chancellor had arrived at the palace and was shown quarters to dry off from the snowstorm that had blown in.
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“Bravo! You see Bresi, a little wine and the chill leaves you!”
“How many times must I remind you that I am not to be treated like a child!” The door to the Italian chancellor’s quarters swung open and Friednand had to stop short before he tripped over the dwarf exiting the room. The dwarf looked up at Friednand with a scowl. “Watch it you fecking prick!”
“I beg your pardon?” Friednand replied as grandly as he could. “Whom might you believe you are to speak to the king’s chancellor in such a way?”
“I’m the bloody Queen of Bhreatain Bheag,” the man replied before turning his back and walking away.
“I’m afraid it’s no use Signore Sifflaed. Brescicco abhors this cold weather and the long ride we had to take to get here.” The Italian chancellor caught Friednand’s eye and motioned him into the room. The chancellor was in the act of being dressed, a pile of thick blankets were cluttered on the floor and Friednand caught the whiff of embers burning in a brazier somewhere in the room.
“Bresi has informed me that I am not the only honored guest here.” While a statement, the Italian made it sound as if he was asking a question.
Friednand looked at the two men dressing the chancellor and was trying to decide if he could answer on such a subject when the chancellor noticed his distress.
“Pay them no heed signore, they cannot speak. Our close neighbors the Greeks cut out their tongues during a past border skirmish near Romagna. They were then retrained for more discrete duties.”
“Yes, well...you have been asked to dine with King-Elector Amaury Galimani this evening.”
“Eccellente! I do approve of such private meetings to discuss delicate matters between allies.”
“My apologies Chancellor Rodrigo, I was not finished.” Chancellor Rodrigo gave a frown before a robe of brilliant scarlet with green accents was being placed over his head, obscuring his face from Friednand’s view. “Heir-Elect Gundrada Galimani will also be attending, as will Duke Bouchard Alachisling, Chancellor to the Emperor.”
Rodrigo Desarlé simply looked at Friednand with no expression on his face. Once his 12 rings were placed on his fingers, the chancellor sighed. “This is most displeasing.”
“My apologies Chancellor Rodrigo, it was my intention to bring this matter to your attention immediately upon your arrival. I understand how this information would have helped you form your plan of discussion for tonight’s dinner more thoroughly. I did come to you as soon as I was able.”
“Lord Sifflaed, you need not apologize to me. What other kingdom has the quaintness of Andalusia where a chancellor greets a chancellor without pomp and circumstance? I am merely taken aback at how boldly Emperor Enguerrand is moving his chess pieces recently. Wearing the White Crown will make men think more highly of themselves then necessary.”
“Thank you, Chancellor Rodrigo.”
“Come Lord Sifflaed, let us attend this meal together.” Chancellor Rodrigo confidently strode out of his room leaving Friednand to almost break into a run to catch up to the man.
“I was not invited, it would be improper for me to attend the dinner.” Friednand protested as they tramped down the hallway towards a small private room that was to be private dining quarters tonight. Rodrigo merely nodded but his smile began to grow as they reached the room, as if he had said a joke that no one heard. Friednand began to wonder if the man wasn’t going insane right before his eyes.
When they arrived, Rodrigo pushed Friednand into the room ahead of him and then gave a laugh. “You see Lord Sifflaed, chairs enough for everyone.”
They were into the fourth course when things began to unravel. Though it was amazing the conversation didn’t die before. Duke Bouchard felt gravely outnumbered and demanded the other nobleman accompanying him, Garraud Frience, be allowed to dine with them. After much blustering, the king allowed the man to be found and seated. Then, a stray remark regarding ladies roles in the palace from Duke Bouchard produced a twenty minute tirade from Lady Gundrada.
After the quail was served, Duke Bouchard and Chancellor Rodrigo began to banter back and forth about the merits of each country's cooking. A remark about traditional coq au vin tasting like
pene con il vino[1] caused an immediate angry reaction from the duke. When Desarlé tried to calm the duke down saying it was only in jest, the duke made a comment about the laughable state of Italian foreign affairs. This comment brought a new round of denouncement from the king, chancellor, and heir-elect.
The shouting was still going on when a slight tap of the shoulder roused Friednand from the hypnotizing spectacle before him. The herald handed him a note, which he could tell was hastily written. He broke the seal and read the missive.
“My lords.” Friednand reread the note. “My lords!” He raised his voice to try to be heard over the din, to no result. “My lords!” Friednand shouted as he stood up from his chair. Finally the arguing stopped.
“My apologies, your majesty. Most urgent news from Valladolid, the duke has died. Lord Mujica, the duke’s chancellor, has disclosed information subjugating themselves to you, my liege, under the terms laid out in the contract of personal union.”
“While unfortunate that an ally must lose their life, this Personal Union is very beneficial to our national concerns.” King Amaury said.
“Like hell.” Both Duke Bouchard and Garraud Frience stood up. “While the food was delicious, the company was base and uncouth. We have one final message to deliver before we leave. Emperor Enguerrand thought the duke’s death was imminent. If you proceed with this personal union, the emperor has no choice but to contend said contract on grounds that is was made under duress. Oh yes, we know about your agents in Valladolid. That land is rightly under the demense of the kingdom of France-”
“You have
no claims on that duchy anymore!” Amaury barked out.
“If that is your thoughts then we are at war. I pray that you will afford me the kindness of staying overnight rather than trying to traverse this winter storm at night?”
“Guards! Show the duke and Lord Frience to their quarters and put them, and the imperial guards, under watch and lock-and-key. They are to leave in the morning. No maids, no servants.” Amaury’s face had begun to turn a shade of bright red.
“Uncle! Please, you must relax.”
“I’ll relax when those dogs are brought to heel. What do you think your king would say about this declaration of war?” Amaury asked Chancellor Rodrigo once the Frenchmen were escorted out of the room.
“Why do you think I was sent here? We are allies, no? We will help you destroy these French.”
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[1] Which roughly translates to “penis with wine”
I have switched to calling the present Andalusian monarch the King/Queen-Elector, as it is used in game. To be honest, neither King-Elect or King-Elector make much sense to me. But the game wanted to differentiate the monarch’s title from that of a non-elective monarchy.
? I was thinking of adding what the Greeks have been up to in Chapter 2, but will wait for the next post. France gaining the Empire was TOTALLY my fault as well, as I forgot to vote for Burgundy. Now I'm stuck with the hated Alachisling's on the throne...the mortal and ancient enemy of the Galimani's.
