January 2, 1076. Bohemia holds a one-man referendum and unilaterally declares its independence from the Holy Roman Empire, backed by Holland, Vienne, Verona, Bourgogne, and Montferrat (yes, again).
Now, this isn't just any normal run-of-the-mill rebellion we're talking about. Duke Vratislav II of Bohemia is no ordinary man.
He's one of the most skilled battlefield commanders in all Christendom, and reigns over a realm vast enough that few would object if he were to call himself king.
If that weren't already troublesome enough, his wife is the sister of King Boleslaw II of Poland, called “the Bold,” himself an equally skilled leader of men.
Sure, he's lazy, essentially illiterate, doesn't give one whit about the law, and has terrible table manners, but hey, nobody's perfect, right?
If he wins his independence, that's going to be a royal punch to the Kaiser's nose, so hard it might just shatter the glue that holds the Holy Roman Empire together entirely.
If
that happens, it'll be open season on everything from Brunswick to Spoleto, and Tuscany will be as safe as a turkey dinner on Thanksgiving.
And we can't have that, now, can we?
See, Vratislav's peculiar combination of traits make him a great guy to have on your side if you need a heathen brought to heel or a misbehaving vassal housebroken, but he's not all that great at actually ruling.
Truthfully, he kind of sucks at it.
Big time.
His younger brother (and spymaster), Jaromir, agrees. Jaromir's wife agrees. His other younger brother (and marshal), Ota, also agrees.
Four mayors and a bishop walk into a bar, and
they agree.
His nephew's wife agrees.
Yeah, pretty much everyone agrees.
One less threat to the establishment.
November 17, 1076. Matilda is with child again. The warm and fuzzy feelings last slightly less than a day.
Matilda sure knows how to pick them, doesn't she?
As it turns out, Hugues has this whole fairytale, wicked stepfather thing going on in the background. Sadly, no matter how hard he tries, he's just never going to be the fairest of them all.
Word of advice: when you marry a woman who treats torture as a hobby, don't try to have her firstborn son killed. Take it from me. It never ends well.
I wouldn't exactly say “safely.” Not for him, anyways.
Not when he persists in making the situation worse for himself.
Seriously, for your own good: just shut up.
A grieving widow, Matilda is not.
It's husband-hunting time again.
Meet Diego de Oca. Unlanded, claimless, with three children and three grandchildren from previous relationships. Friendly and charming with no obvious signs of mental instability or hints of a fascination with the occult.
Likelihood of becoming a homicidal maniac or a possessed lunatic: moderate.
Elsewhere...
Vratislav's brother and successor makes his play for the throne. Since he's more or less incompetent at everything, nobody really cares.
June 18, 1077. Hugues di Canossa, son of Matilda and Hugues, is born in good health. Named after his deceased father. Isn't that sweet?
Almost makes you forget about the part where he died in his wife's dungeon before she had the chance to torture him to death.
Ain't love grand?
December 24, 1077. Kaiser Heinrich wanders a bit too far from his minders on the battlefield, and ends up with his brain turned to jelly. Lombardy, left unsupervised, decides to play with matches.
Bad idea, Ugo.
Bad idea.
But we'll get back to you in a bit.
October 8, 1078. Aldobrandino di Canossa is born in good health.
March 15, 1080. Kaiser Heinrich IV Salian dies comatose in bed, aged 30. He's succeeded by his shy, cowardly cousin, Bruno I Salian, aged 20, which turns out about as well as you'd probably expect.
Abruptly reversing the balance of power in what was mere days earlier a one-sided Bohemian beatdown by the Kaiser.
Now, Matilda hasn't been completely idle in the years since Lombardy declared war. They've been besieging Brescia, keeping it locked up tighter than a church in prayer on Sunday.
Until now.
See, now that the Kaiser is dead and Bohemia is actually a threat, Lombardy can't afford to be caught sticking its greasy little hand in the cookie jar while there's work to be done. They've got obligations to meet, and a liege who isn't a vegetable.
Brescia is left virtually undefended, with only an insignificant token force left behind to hold it while waiting for Matilda to roll over and give up.
She's not going to roll over and give up.
She's spent the last three years collecting taxes from her vassals and building her assets while waiting for just such a moment.
While on his way north through the mountains to meet up with the Kaiser's forces, Duke Ugo perishes in an unfortunate carriage accident. Truly a terrible tragedy.
His younger brother, Folco I, succeeds him and pledges to finish the war that his brother started.
Noble, but stupid.
The Lombards are no match for the famed
condottieri group, the Company of St. George. Ignore the fact that they haven't been founded yet.
To top off the victory, Bonaventura di Canossa is soon after born in good health. In case you haven't been keeping track, he's the sixth son and eighth child.
There comes a time in every person's life when they have to make a choice.
To side with an inept buffoon, or to side with another inept buffoon.
When in doubt, always choose the inept buffoon who's winning.
In this case, that inept buffoon is Konrád.
March 4, 1082. Diego passes away from natural causes. Seeing as he didn't go insane or try to murder his stepchildren, as marriages go, it was a pretty good one.
February 13, 1083. Konrád turns out to be an even bigger idiot than anyone thought.
His head inflated by his recent successes and no doubt perceiving himself to be Charlemagne reborn, he personally rides out into battle to command his forces against the Kaiser's legions.
And gets captured.
Single-handedly losing the war he was, up in this moment, winning.
That's a one-way trip to Kaiser Bruno's dungeon for the losers: do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
Luckily for Matilda, she's rich. Really, really rich. Scrooge McDuck, goes-swimming-in-a-pool-of-gold-coins rich.
Which is good. Because freedom sure isn't cheap when the Holy Roman Emperor is selling it.
Now, Matilda's spent her golden get-out-of-jail-free card, but she's not quite out of the woods yet. Bruno isn't wasting any time in revoking the titles of traitors and leaving them to die in his dungeons, and there's no guarantee he still won't come after her.
She'd been toying with the idea of not marrying again after Diego's death, but it seems that's going to have to take a back seat to more practical, immediate concerns.
Like not getting steamrolled by angry Germans.
She needs an ally, someone young and strong with enough influence to keep Matilda from becoming an easy target for the Kaiser's retaliatory measures.
Someone like Robert II van Vlaanderen, Duke of Flanders and Steward of France. Half her age (which
certainly did not play any part in her decision), cousin to the Dukes of Oxford, Normandy, and Kent, and half-brother of the Duke of Holland.
Just in case that's not enough, though, Matilda betroths her youngest son, Bonaventura, to the only daughter of Kaiser Bruno, Reginland.
And her eldest son, Buoso, to the eldest daughter of the King of France, Melisende.
And her eldest daughter, Beatrice, to the third son of the King of France, Henri.
And the second son, Bruto, to Beatrix, the daughter of the deceased Kaiser Heinrich IV.
What?
She covers all her bases.
May 8, 1085. Béatrice van Vlaaderen is born in good health.
I told you Matilda wasn't good with girls' names.
