KING TEDALDO THE MAD
Part I : A Hoarding of Crowns
Count Sinucello of Veglia, Chancellor of Italy and Croatia, wheezed and waddled up the winding staircase to the Royal Observatory. The Royal Observatory, hmphhh ! The royal attic, thought Sir Sinucello to himself for the umpteen hundredth time. A Spartan room with broad beams covered in two hundred years of cobwebs and a wind-swept terrace. Why the king chose to spend hours up there observing peasants going about their mind-numbing business down by the castle walls he could not fathom.
Three steps from the top, he paused to catch his breath. A moment later, the king’s stentorian voice filled the stairwell. “Enter !”
The Chancellor hauled himself up the last three steps and opened the door.
“What are you doing here ?” demanded the king by way of greeting.
“The Ambassador from Burgundy, Sire,” Sir Sinucello replied.
“Send him away. What does he want ?”
“With respect, Sire, he brings a reply. A demonstration of my lord’s magnanimity —”
In two strides the king was upon his Chancellor. “Give it to me !”
With a sigh, Sinucello reached into his vest and extracted a parchment which was immediately snatched away.
“Excellent ! Haha ! Excellent ! You are worth your weight in gold, good man !”
In spite of himself, the Chancellor smiled, more than a little gratified.
“What did I tell you ? A family of kings and queens, Lord Chancellor. I shall have a family of kings and queens, hahaha !”
Crowns, alliances, weddings and territorial acquisitions, thought Sinucello to himself. The king could think of nothing else. And every Court in Christendom seemed in haste to fulfill his dream. Princess Lavinia, the king’s feisty sister, now betrothed to the future king of Burgundy, was only the latest in a string of very enviable matches. Scarcely a month had passed since an Ambassador from the frozen north had arrived in Trento bearing a similar message. Prince Ugoccione, the king’s first-born son, was now promised as bride Princess Kamila, daughter of the king of Denmark.
Before that, it was the scheme involving Brindisium.
“I want more territory in Greece,” the king had informed his Chancellor one morning. “What shall I have ?”
“There is much to be had, my lord,” Sinucello had replied tactfully. “Might I suggest to my lord that, since the Basileius was only recently forced to accept my lord’s inheritance of Athens, he would most likely oppose ceding more of Greece to my lord ?”
“Nonsense ! The Basileius is too busy defending his lands in Mesopotamia.”
“Quite so, Sire. But Jihads are not eternal. The Basileius will not be amused.”
“Let him pout to his heart’s content ! I want more of Greece. You shall devise the stratagem.”
“At once, my Lord.”
He had then given the matter no more thought. Soon enough, as expected, the king had come up with his own solution. A rather obvious one, forsooth. Prince Fabrizio, one of the king’s uncles, had married a noble Greek lady, who was at present the Countess of Brindisium. Prince Fabrizio thought most highly of his royal nephew, and much less of his landed spouse. The king had invited his uncle to make Italy his home. The Prince had been only to happy to oblige. Whereupon the king had revoked the title to Benevento — its lord had, alas, sired no offspring — from one vassal to bestow it upon the Prince, together with a dukedom. Presto ! The heir to Brindisium was now also heir to an important Italian demesne. It meant that one day a new portion of Greek-owned Italy would pass under Italian control.
The next year, the king’s uncle Prince Maurizio came of age. No mention was made of any marriage whatsoever, which worried Sir Sinucello. But then, over the next four months, the king’s brother Prince Innocenzo passed away suddenly, and the late king’s second son, Prince Averado, married his betrothed, thus earning himself the title Petty King of East Anglia.
Then came the YMC : the Year of the Marital Crisis.
Queen Isabelle, the king’s young wife, had produced a daughter, the couple’s second child, not long after the coronation. Since then, Court gossip had it that the queen was wont not to accommodate the king’s manly desires. The truth, when it became known, surpassed everyone’s fantasies : the queen had taken a vow of celibacy.
An embassy had been quietly despatched to Rome. The king’s legate carried an armful of testimonials, and had been instructed to further enlighten His Holiness with any detail necessary to obtain the desired result : freedom from his marriage to Queen Isabelle and leave to marry anew.
The embassy returned unsuccessful.
“I shall have my divorce,” said the king.
Sir Sinucello took to wringing his hands absent-mindedly. The king’s tone was cool and collected. Uncannily so. It could only herald some dreadful unpleasantness.
“Stop wringing your hands, Chancellor ! Fetch me the Lord Marshal !”
The Lord Marshal was fetched.
“What the devil are those black infidels up to ?” the king demanded.
“Sire, Mauretania and Africa are at war. Africa’s fortune ceases not to whittle down. Egypt is putting Constantinople to flight, but the tables may yet turn.”
“Splendid. Marshal, prepare for a crusade against Egypt.”
“My lord,” breathed the Chancellor, trying desperately to steady his nerves, “might I suggest a reexamination of the Lord Marshal’s report ? According to the numbers —” He halted abruptly. The king was staring at him. If looks could kill....
“Might I suggest, Lord Chancellor, that you retire to your bed for a month or two ?” said the king in an icy whisper. “Rest would do you good, for you are being uncommonly obtuse.
I shall have my divorce.”
The Chancellor nodded his head, feigning to comprehend the royal train of thought. The king was not fooled for an instant.
“For heaven’s sake, stop feigning to comprehend. Africa is the weaker foe, the easier prey. What honour would there be in going after the weakling ? Would His Holiness be impressed ? No, obviously not.” Turning to the Marshal : ”I want honour and victory, my lord. I want you to earn it for me. A crusade against Egypt. You shall not fail me.”
The Lord Marshal executed a sharp salute and fled from the Royal Presence.
“You shall comprehend later, my dear Chancellor,” said the king, patting his servant’s shoulder. “We shall crush mighty Egypt, armed with the true faith. His Holiness will be most pleased. He will love us to pieces. And he shall grant me my divorce.”
“It was foolish of me not to see it, Sire,” replied the Chancellor.
God help us all !