"Damn the Pope."
-- Fernando Álvarez de Toledo y Pimentel, Duke of Alba (1567)
1567
--Philip II starts the year, destined to be judged by many as quite possibly the worst of his reign, cursing his eldest son and heir's shocking yet inevitable betrayal. Philip knew--KNEW--that Charles, once out in Burgundy would, instead of STOPPING the rebellion, join forces with and encourage it. Indeed, he knew it so certainly that he's now wondering why he even bothered listening to everybody who suggested he just let Charles go to Burgundy and sort things out. He of course forgets the fact that not sending Charles likely would have meant a complete collapse of Hapsburg authority in the Duchy, followed by a war that Spain could not afford, WHILE dealing with whatever trouble Charles would cook up IN Spain. Philip hates admitting that sometimes he must choose between bad options--it rather makes him wonder if God is as fond of him as he likes to think.
But, again Philip has little choice. He is skirting bankruptcy again, with outstanding loans to be paid with the prospective profits of New World specie for the next few years, which is really, really not a good place to be. He has just enough funds to keep his present projects going, so long as they don't hit any rough patches, and that's it. He's at least able to cut some expenses--his eldest son's allowances are discontinued, as well as the payments to the various offices of the Seventeen Provinces. All part of Philip's simple plan to deal with his rebellious son--let Burgundy stew in its own juices for awhile. Sure, they love the Prince of Asturias NOW, but give them a little while, and the bastards WILL turn on him. It's what they do. His son can wait, for the moment, until Philip gets a better chance to deal with him.
And of course, there is other black news--the Second Schmalkaldic War is going--well, badly. Spain is losing money by loaning it to Austria to pay for the "volunteers" it is sending to fight under Austrian banners, whose manpower is also being lost. And then there is the matter of his sister's death, which has hit Philip--and his young bride, Eleanore of Austria--quite hard. It is said that Philip snaps at his secretaries when they bring him the latest bad news about costs, "And we have done all this--why? To keep that fool Ferdinand on a throne he doesn't seem to care about?" The ascension of Charles of Tyrol to the reins of government is greeted with wariness, tempered with just a tinge of optimism--while he's recognized as more dedicated man than his elder brother, whose better attitude might JUST be able to turn things around, the fact is most people are aware that it's... well, Charles of Tyrol. Better attitude or not, his reputation as the Hapsburg family screwup is... fairly solid. "All", notes the Prince of Eboli, "rests on the faint hopes of God's good grace providing a miracle that has yet to appear."
Yes, Philip's in a bad spot. And sadly for him, it's going to get worse. Much worse.
--Last year, the Ming saw the death of an Emperor reawakening a potential for civil war that the Chinese thought was dead in their state. This year, Japan--a nation that needs no help in realizing its potential for civil war--sees the death of a significantly less important man setting off its own massive upheaval, albeit one that's been building since the assassination of the previous Shogun. Saito Dosan, alias Saito Toshimasa, alias Saito Dosan Toshimasa, alias Nishimura Hidemoto, alias Nishimura Kankuro Masatoshi, alias Nagai Norihide, alias--well, he's got a LOT of aliases[1]--finally dies at the age of seventy-two. Dosan rose from being an oil merchant and priest to being a daimyo the Odas respected and feared through a combination of military skill and sheer opportunistic bastardry that resulted in his gaining the nickname 'the Serpent of Mino'--he leaves his lands to his only surviving son Saito Nagatatsu, though technically Nagatatsu has been ruling them for ten years now, with his "retired" father merely assisting his son from his religious retreat. As Nagatatsu is all of twelve, this situation may be seen as less than ideal, and indeed, requires a bit of explanation. And by 'bit', I mean 'a heaping helping of'.
*Ahem* Many years ago, the now-late Saito Dosan "retired" and let his son Saito Yoshitatsu take over the family lands--which Dosan, incidentally, had acquired by betraying and killing his former masters Nagai Nagahiro and Toki Yoshinari. (Like the nickname says--the Serpent of Mino, folks[2].) As this arrangement was pretty much the same that his brother Nagatatsu has... enjoyed as daimyo for the last ten years, only with a significantly older son, one can understand how Yoshitatsu swiftly came to tire of it--and as Dosan's relationship with his eldest deteriorated, the fact that Yoshitatsu may not have even been his son likewise worsened things. (Yoshitatsu was born to a favored concubine that Dosan had acquired from his former master seven months prior, in a little story that gets more horrifying the longer one considers it.) Well, long story short, Yoshitatsu revealed that regardless of his blood he was most certainly the Serpent's spiritual son by seizing control, killing two of his brothers and forcing his father to wage war against him to survive. Things did not look good for Dosan--most of his old retainers were now signing up with Yoshitatsu, when suddenly his son's leprosy flared up[3], sending the young daimyo into the great beyond, and convincing more than a few people that Dosan had once again worked the old Serpent of Mino magic. (He probably hadn't, but hey, in the world of the samurai, you live by your rep.) Yoshitatsu had left a son of his own behind to inherit, Tatsuoki, but with Dosan scaring people again, most of his retainers agreed, that yes, yes, Nagatatsu was the new daimyo, leaving grandson--or not--Tatsuoki to flee to Kyoto with a few loyal followers and spend his time whining to the Miyoshis and anyone else who would listen about what a meanie granddad was. Tatsuoki's hope was to find a champion willing to take on the old man--needless to say, he was disappointed, winding up little more than an occasional object lesson for Matsunaga Hisehide to point to about how THE TAKEDA FACTION CANNOT BE TRUSTED.
At least--until now. For you see, Saito Dosan has performed certain actions that are going to make life in Japan very... interesting. The wily old daimyo of Mino knew that his twelve-year old son's chances of keeping his place by his lonesome once the formidable shadow of his father was removed were... low, which meant his son needed a patron. And fortunately, he had the perfect man for the job--Dosan's able son-in-law, Oda Nobunaga[4], who married the Serpent's daughter in a peace treaty many years ago. Nobunaga respected his father-in-law--hell, he even seemed to like the old man, which shows... well, the Fool of Owari's rather flexible sense of bushido. And the Odas have long looked on the Saitos' territory as... valuable. And so, when Nobunaga got the news that Dosan wanted him to look after his "younger brother" Lord Saito, he sprang into action. Oda troops enter Saito territory, and in a little while, Saito Nagatatsu is saluting Nobunaga as his "dear elder brother", as Nobunaga swears he will protect the young daimyo.
Needless to say, Matsunaga Hisehide pitches a fit to his pupp--bosses the so-called Miyoshi triumvirate, Iwanari Tomomichi, Miyoshi Masayasu, and Miyoshi Nagayuki, the three man clique that dominates young clan head Miyoshi Yoshitsugu. This, he proclaims, is EXACTLY what he's been talking about--the Takeda Faction using its military might to back highly dubious inheritances and expand its influence. The Miyoshi need to nip this in the bud, or they will find Takeda Shingen on their proverbial doorstep, looking to "save" the Shogun. (And speaking of which, Hisehide suggests they should look into actually getting Ashikaga Yoshihide officially named Shogun by Kyoto. The present situation is giving people ideas...) The Triumvirate after some discussion, agrees, and first send Nobunaga a message to get the hell out of Saito territory. Then they get to work assembling the army that will kick him out of Saito territory. Hisehide praises them for their wisdom and courage--and then discovers that they aren't going to have him lead the army. Instead, Iwanari Tomomichi will.
In fact, Hisehide is supposed to stay around the Kyoto area during the campaign, helping to keep the capital secure. The wily daimyo detects a plot to sideline him--and he is absolutely correct. The Miyoshi are tired of having a lowly upstart and outsider call the shots for their clan, especially as they suspect that ultimately the ambitious daimyo is more loyal to himself than to the Miyoshi. Of course, Hisehide is a cagey man, and realizes this. Indeed, it's already causing the cunning daimyo to take a good long look at his loyalties--or more or exactly, his alliance, as Hisehide doesn't really do 'loyalties'. After all, Hisehide backs the Miyoshi because it's to his advantage to. If it isn't--if they aren't going to reward him for the assistance that his cunning and ability give them--then why should he?
Iwanari Tomomichi's army takes to the field, with the triumvir getting an general outline of what the clan wishes to see him accomplish in the east. And so the Miyoshi forces head into Mino, as Japan's history prepares to enter a new era...
--France sees the publication of a pamphlet that will start a diplomatic controversy that will rock three kingdoms and cause titters in quite a few more--Details of the Great Britannic Babylon, Being a True and Accurate Account of the Court of Henry IX of England, and His Consort, Mary, Queen of Scots, which as the title suggests, is a massive collection of lies, half-truths (or perhaps quarter-truths would be more accurate) and 16th century pornography masquerading as an expose. Purporting to be a detailing of what Henry Tudor's court is REALLY like, it begins by insisting that Henry is in fact NOT Henry VIII's child, but... well, the author tosses out three different insane stories--Francois I's, the late George Boleyn's, and of course, Satan's--at different points in the pamphlet, while insisting that each is the real true story. (The author also insists that Henry's full siblings are also all not really Henry VIII's children, though he goes into less detail on this.) Having thus insisted that Henry is the wrongful King of England, it then details his court, which is depicted as a hideous decadent den of wickedness, under the rule of a man who rivals Caligula in perversity. Henry, it insists, has the sexual appetite of Jupiter--right down to the "also likes to screw guys and family members" part. Indeed, the pamphlet will declare almost casually that Henry has had the virginity of all his full-siblings, and yes, it includes Edward in that.
Of course, one is doubtless wondering how Mary is supposed to be taking all this, and the pamphlet's answer is "quite well, because she's just as much a decadent sex maniac as her husband". In fact, the pamphlet insists many of the same things about Mary as it does about her husband, including the 'not actually the child of her purported father' bit. (Which actually messes up some of the other charges, but, as you are all doubtless guessing, coherence isn't what this thing is aiming for.) Yes, Mary it declares is the "Queen of Whores", who has slept with all her brothers, and who regularly swaps lovers with her husband. And vice versa. And yes, once again, both genders are included in this.
This potpourri of charges of sexual impropriety is leavened with a mixture of English and Scottish court scandals, some real, some imagined, and all heightened to the point of ridiculousness. (The take on Edward of York's complicated household arrangements for example is... quite inspired, while the prominent, somewhat self-made court lady Elizabeth St. Loe, previously Cavendish, previously Barlow, nee Hardwick gets an equally imaginative treatment of her marriages, and how she got out of the messy matter of the debts her late second husband Sir William Cavendish left her with.[5]) The supposed purpose of all this, the author reveals at the end is to inspire his alleged countrymen to "rise up against the unnatural bondage to unnatural monarchs" though many later readers are left with the suspicion, based on the rather... detailed descriptions of certain acts that the author had more... prurient interests aside from slandering the British monarchy. Most versions of the pamphlet come with detailed woodcuts which frequently don't quite match the text, and also, rather frequently depict Henry, Mary, and assorted courtiers with tails. Because... you know. English.
Like most such charges, it can be argued that the strength of these crazy rumors--aside from the ever-present desire to believe in some corners--is that they are based, very loosely, on a certain truth. Henry IX and Mary are both rather flirtatious personalities, with a tendency to surround themselves with a great deal of charming, good-looking, young men and women, many of whom find themselves showered with favors. Indeed, it's not unknown for a favorite to be picked up by the husband or the wife, and then quickly become part of the spouse's retinue as well. More than a few historians will note about the general feeling of loneliness the pair can give off--the ever-shifting "inner" circles they keep, the tendency for what amount to substitute parental figures to climb to prominence only to be discarded as needed. It makes for often dramatic and frequently oddly intimate court, a place where the border between official and personal relationships is exceedingly hazy. This is hardly unique, of course, but it is... pronounced, and the mutual interest of husband and wife only underlines it further. None of which changes the fact that this is a horribly embarrassing and offensive piece of work.
Needless to say, Henry IX, presently playing the gracious host at York, is quite offended by this. So is his wife. So is virtually the entire court of England. And Scotland. And many Germans. And Hungarians. And quite a few Frenchmen--remember, Mary is a Guise on her mother's side, and in fact, the Cardinal of Lorraine and the Duke of Guise both suspect that this pamphlet is secretly aimed more at them then it is at the British royals. Indeed, Henri d'Orleans, Duke of Longueville is quite offended, badly enough to have yet another attack of his supposed disorder, as--well, remember, he's actually a half-brother of Queen Mary, and thus, naturally takes some parts a bit personally. Thus the King of France finds himself facing a lot of angry harumphing. Henri II of course insists that he is doing all that he can, but--you know how printers are. After all--the things they say about HIM! The English and Scots refuse to be placated, which so offends King Henri he evicts the ambassador Francis Walsingham, for, as Henri puts it, 'making most impertinent suggestions upon my honor'. Walsingham is not alone in this--many onlookers, and quite a few historians suspect the King of having had something to do with The Great Britannic Babylon, though others argue that it is in fact the work of independent ultra-Catholics, and Henri II is guilty of--at worst--a failure to perhaps prosecute the matter to its fullest, pointing to the utter lack of political advantage for the King, especially during a period where he is quietly courting British support--or at least, neutrality--for his upcoming war against Spain. But then again, poorly-thought out decisions that are against his better interests are hardly unusual for Henri.
Whatever the case, the entire diplomatic affair can be said to sum up the general atmosphere at the French court, a realm where odd rumors circulate, where armed factions feud on the streets, and where war preparations go on, even as the King insists that he has no plan to start a war. Adding to the tensions--a pair of marriages by the Bourbon-Montpensiers, the Catholic cousins to the Vendome branch who have watched their place in the line of succession rocket up from the rear thanks to the fear of a Huguenot Roi. Of course, the obvious one is the big, very elaborate marriage (complete with actors dressed as Brazilian "cannibals" to celebrate the latest addition to the Valois' empire[6]) of the twelve-year old Princess Margot to the twenty-five year old Francois de Bourbon-Montpensier, tying that branch of the Bourbons beyond a doubt to the royal family. But the slightly-smaller marriage of the young Dauphin of Auvergne's father, Louis, Duke of Montpensier to Louise de Lorraine[7], of the Mercouer Lorraines, is equally important, tying the conservative branch of the Bourbons to the ultraconservative branch of the Lorraines. Present at this marriage, the families' mutual distant cousin, Charles, Cardinal de Bourbon, who has served as the something of a go-between for the involved parties. This, he feels, will guarantee that he is going to be, if not king, the man behind the king in the future of France.
Cardinal de Bourbon thinks things like that rather regularly.
--Hungary sees the arrival of its king, Janos II, along with his Bohemian army, who hit the region like a big enthusiastic Bohemian wave, with flecks of other nationalities in the mix. The ever-dwindling number of Hapsburg loyalists respond to this latest pounding by dwindling even more--the northern sections of Royal Hungary are firmly in Zapolya hands, with Raab now standing as a virtual Hapsburg island in a Zapolya sea. Pressburg at least has support from Vienna, but also is an unwilling partner. The ailing Alba is desperately flailing around for some on-the-ground allies, but finding it difficult. Attempts to gain more aid from Vienna receive lackluster response--frankly, even Charles of Tyrol is writing off Hungary as lost by now, though obviously, he doesn't want to acknowledge that, as he needs to keep up the image of a cause on the verge of rebirth.
The battles fought at this stage of the war are few and far between, and generally quite small--though still frequently quite bloody. Young Christopher Hatton, for example, loses an eye during a skirmish with some Croatian cavalrymen. But this is not the great enemy of the Zapolya army at this point--much like their Spanish adversaries, they are discovering that campaigning in Hungary is bad for your health. Hatton is in some respects lucky--his companion the Viscount Hereford will perish of dysentery[8], and he is far from the only person of English descent to die of illness in Hungary this year. He's not even the most important one. The pregnant Queen Margaret of Hungary and Bohemia will go to bed one night, complaining of feeling warm. It will soon become clear she is ill with typhus. Within a week, she will be dead. She is only a few months shy of her twenty-seventh birthday.
The death of Margaret Tudor will come as a shock to many, but especially to her husband, her siblings, and of course, her mother. The baby of the family, Margaret was always indulged by Anne and simultaneously loved and tolerated by her sister and brothers. For all of them, her death is an unwelcome reminder of mortality. However the most profoundly effected is Janos Sigismund, who is at first cast into a profound sorrow, only to rouse and throw himself into his war plans with an almost manic intensity. Many who are close to the young King grow concerned for his equilibrium, and indeed his health. Janos, after all, is hardly the heartiest of men, and many were already worried that his determination to play the warrior king was going to ruin his constitution. Transylvanian Palatine Istvan Batory, Hungarian Palatine Imre Czobor, and Treasurer Gaspar Bekes may not agree on much, but they do agree on that. But Janos is adamant, talking constantly of his need to show his people they have a true king.
And perhaps he has a point. Hungary, it must be remembered, is not only fighting a war, but caught between two other, separate wars, each of which frequently bleed into its own struggle--Transylvania is seeing a steady stream of refugees from the terror going on in Moldavia, a stream that will be joined by more from Wallachia when the Turkish rebels send yet another puppet Voivoide, Alexandru II, who swiftly seizes control of the Principality, defeating his weak predecessor Petru the Child, and causing the young ruler's formidable mother Domina Chiajna to flee to the Wallachian hinterlands with as much of her fortune as she can carry. (And that is a lot.)[9] Turkish soldiers are leaving the former Ottoman/Hapsburg border to go fight the rebels--in their place, a series of local militias, mercenary bands, and sometimes out and out bandit chiefs are taking control. It is a chaotic time in Hungary, and indeed, in the entire Danube region--a chaotic time that will outlast the present wars.
And it is going to get more chaotic, as the Duke of Alba seizes an opportunity to send a small force under the command of his bastard son Fadrique out to raise hell, and ravage the countryside, in the hopes of gathering loyalists, and causing Zapolya forces trouble. They do so with gusto--such gusto that Janos Sigismund announces he will personally go after the Spanish troops, aided by a crew of loyal soldiers. Once again, people protest, but Janos takes to the field.
It will prove a memorable campaign.
--Even as he quietly gives up on one part of the Hapsburg holdings, Charles of Tyrol makes preparations for a strike to regain at least some of what's been lost in the war. His brother Ferdinand, though leaving the war in the hands of his younger brother, is hardly as divorced from government as he was during his previous "retirements" and makes preparations to move the capital to Innsbruck, as well as handling one more negotiation--his sister Joanna's wedding to young Victor Philibert de Savoie. The twenty-year-old daughter of the late Ferdinand I will be sent down to Milan from Tyrol, where she will make her way to Genoa. The trip will wind up being more exciting than is planned, and it should be mentioned that young Joanna will never see her brothers again. But that is in the future.
For now, after seeing his sister off, Ferdinand will immediately find himself distracted by another problem in Vienna--a smallpox epidemic, which will boil over in a city that has regularly shifted between being in a state of virtual siege, and being flooded by refugees. Plague outbreaks, and epidemics of various sorts have been a reality throughout the war--this is simply the latest one. The timing, however delays Ferdinand's plans to move and turn over the government of Vienna to its city council[10], keeping the Archduke there even as his brother gathers his forces in Tyrol.
Meanwhile, up in Dannenberg, acting headquarters of Leipzig Bond Guelphs in Brunswick--Brunswick proper won't let most of them in--Ernest III of Grubenhagen, the minor Duke whose dispute with his brothers helped kick off all the Guelphic struggles, dies suddenly. His title and claims are inherited by his son Ernest IV, a fiery young man who is going to be annoying all his relatives about them for YEARS to come, as well as fighting a lot for a scrap of territory roughly the size of a township[11]. But for now, he can do little but complain--the only Leipzig Guelph with the funds needed to field an army is Francis of Gifhorn, and he even he can only afford a very small one. Further, virtually everyone but his immediate family find Francis rather... difficult to take in large doses.
Thankfully, their opposite numbers are in the same boat--underfunded, with the leadership held by a rather difficult man. Eric von Calenberg is quite put out by circumstances, especially as Charles of Tyrol and Gunther von Schwartzburg keep bugging him for military support that he is in no position to give. His Guelph allies likewise are bothering him for funds and men that he can't afford--oh, yes and his wife recently gave birth to a son, who then was bothersome enough to die a few days later, something Eric finds quite irritating, a fact that he told his wife in no uncertain terms. The end result is that Brunswick will see a great deal of raiding and light fighting but no real campaigns.
--Portugal's colonial empire is seeing a lot of excitement--and not merely the ongoing de facto war with France in Brazil, though that one is sort of sucking the air out of the room at the moment. In truth, this has become something of a static conflict, with the Portuguese lacking the strength to dislodge the French in the south, and the French likewise lacking the strength to dislodge the Portuguese to the north, due to a lack of supplies and quite a bit of the Tamoyo coming down with illnesses. The result is a lot of desultory raiding and sneak attacks on both sides, as they wait for more support from Europe that never comes. Indeed, a good chunk of the "war" will wind up simply being winning over hearts and minds of natives and colonists, with a few minor engagements.
But not from a lack of effort on Portugal's part. Indeed an expedition consisting of twenty ships[12] will be ordered to handle the problem, starting with what the Portuguese have come to view as the source of all this Gallic meddling--the little colony of Bermuda, with the plan being to then establish a Portuguese base on the island. Which may be technically against the Treaty of Tordesillas, but as Spain is in no position to protest at the moment, and it would technically be doing both of them a favor, the Cardinal-Regent Enrique has decided to go ahead with it. King Leander is quite enthusiastic about this, and even insists on seeing the ships as they head out from Lisbon, blessing them with, the English ambassador states, "lusty cries and spirited wavings of his sword." Indeed, Leander, who is now attending meetings of state under the direction of his great-uncle--his regency will formally end next year--insists that every meeting begin with a prayer for the success of "the great and holy endeavor to free the New World of heretics".
Even as one Portuguese fleet sets out to cross the Atlantic, another fleet finishes its crossing of the Indian Ocean. With the Suris preoccupied by their invasion of Persia--and indeed, quite insistent of their good will towards the Portuguese--Mem de Sa has agreed to his nephew Estacio's request to send an expedition to assist the Ethiopians. Estacio sets off for Africa as soon as the winds let him, accompanied by a troop of soldiers and administrators--among them his brothers, Francisco de Sa and Salvador Correa de Sa, as well as the poet Luis de Camoes. Assisting Ethiopia in hopes of getting control of the Red Sea has been a longtime ambition of the Portuguese, and as Estacio sees it, they've been handed a rare opportunity. A small vessel will be sent to Zaila--under the command of de Camoes--to try and get in touch with Gelawdewos to tell him that the Portuguese are up for a try at Massawa if he is. Of course, this is a gamble--as the Portuguese could tell you from past experience, an awful lot can go wrong when you sail on the Red Sea--and that's even considering the extremely spotty ability of the Portuguese to contact Ethiopia at the present.
Finally, in far-off Malacca, Dom Antonio's life takes a startling turn. After some typical getting on the governor's nerves involving a mutual female acquaintance, the Bishop of Malacca is quietly persuaded to visit some of the most distant parishes of his diocese. After briefly spending time in Tentrefe, where he again winds up rubbing everyone the wrong way, his ship is attacked by pirates, and Dom Antonio captured, to be brought before the Sultan of Aceh. Legend has it the Sultan sends a message to the local Portuguese notifying them that he has their bishop, and that he receives the reply "And you may keep him".
And he most certainly will.
--The strange Ming civil war between the Chongshen Emperor and the Longqing Emperor will be fairly quiet this year--despite having won a great victory last year, the Chongshen court still finds itself scrambling for the funds to equip a new army. In contrast, the embarrassed Longqing court still has quite a bit of cash at hand, the ability to get quite a bit more easily, and most importantly, a cunning and resourceful minister in the form of Ma Qiu who, as he will demonstrate in the years ahead, will go to extraordinary lengths to see the Longqing cause furthered. Thus, even as he works to build a new army, one that will actually win battles, the Turkish eunuch quietly sends the message out to the more venal bureaucrats that the Longqing court is willing to make accommodations. Especially with those officials willing to... cause problems for the Chongshen court.
The most prominent of these are the tusi, hereditary semi-tribal chieftains who rule over non-Han subjects in the fringe of the Empire, and are frequently used as a source of cheap soldiery. Needless to say, all these traits give the tusi a negative reputation among Ming scholars and bureaucrats, both thanks to the latter's Confucianist ethics, and the simple fact that these people tend to be troublemakers. All of which makes Ma Qiu's efforts to recruit them quite fruitful--especially as he more or less speaks their language. (The metaphorical one. The actual tusi speak multiple languages.) And so the Empire finds itself with a great many... well, basically empowered bandits roaming around and causing trouble in the name of the Longqing Emperor, in the start of what is going to be a very bad time.
Of course, doing this pisses off the more traditional Confucianist scholars in the Longqing court, but Ma Qiu has a surprisingly profitable plan to keep them happy--a little light Buddhist persecution, coupled with expelling Catholic missionaries from the capital. The Catholics will arrive in Macau at the end of the year, and begin spreading the news that the "evil Turkish minister of the Northern Emperor" is persecuting Christians due to his Muslim faith. Ironically, while the missionaries have CORRECTLY divined Ma Qiu's religious faith by sheer luck--they have simply assumed a "Turk" has to be a Muslim--they are utterly wrong on his motives. Ma Qiu has nothing personal against Christians--indeed, as opposed to many in the court, he actually holds the faith and its practitioners in decent regard, and in truth, has treated them fairly well for a man playing to the popular prejudice. He is only doing this to win over the conservatives.
Indeed, the missionaries should be glad they're not Buddhist--having the Longqing Emperor pass numerous edicts against 'unworthy monks' and 'wicked abbots', he lets loose his men on the temples and abbeys, in an orgy of looting and theft thinly disguised as reform. Numerous monks are beaten for accepting payment to say prayers for the death, which is declared 'impiety' and 'disrespect to the ancestors'. Many average Chinese are left baffled at something that has become long-standing practice now being trumpeted as evil and wrong. Indeed, it's a risky move--and one that appears to be personal. As opposed to Christians, Ma Qiu really does not like Buddhists, for reasons that remain rather mysterious. Some suspect it is a dislike he's picked up from the Confucianist scholars he's dealt with at the court--others insist it's the result of some childhood wrong that occurred when he was a homeless young eunuch tough roaming the streets of Beijing, with half a dozen popular (and suspiciously detailed) stories circulating. The truth will likely never be known, and indeed, may be some combination of the two.
All in all, it's the start of a real bad time for China.
--Selim II's ongoing war against the rebels starts well this year, with his army reaching a striking distance of Constantinople. As it becomes increasingly clear that the Sultan is going to win, Lala Mustafa arrives with more troops, as well as the ships necessary to besiege Constantinople. Selim welcomes his former tutor with open arms--the Sultan's always had a soft spot for the man, even if he is somewhat aware what a scheming double-dealer Lala Mustafa is[13], and this more or less guarantees the end of the crumbling rebels in the near future. To celebrate, Lala Mustafa brings out some fine Cypriot wine which the Sultan imbibes deeply of.
The next day, Selim is unable to rise from his bed for hours, left shivering, weak, and feverish.
What exactly happened remains a topic of debate for years afterwards--many suspect illness brought on by the months of hard campaigning and then quickened by the drinking bout--however, Grand Vizier Sokollu Mehmet doesn't waste any time debating, and seizes and executes his old rival and... uncle for poisoning the Sultan. Lala Mustafa protests his innocence the whole time, and perhaps he was, but as far as most everyone at the time is concerned, the old bastard has finally gotten what's coming to him[14]. Selim manages a partial recovery, but his health is still delicate--his doctors recommend bed rest, with the acknowledgement that even this may not prevent another attack carrying him away.
As soon as he is able, Selim prepares to move on Constantinople, noting that his life and his death are in the hands of Allah--but in so far as he as able, he is going to make sure that he dies in the jewel of cities.
--In the New World, Viceroy Falces has an interesting meeting with prominent local landowner Don Martin Cortes, the Marquis del Valle de Oaxaca, the Marquis' illegitimate half-brother, Don Martin 'el Mestizo'[15] Cortes, and his other illegitimate half-brother, Don Luis Cortes. El Mestizo, who may be a bastard, but is still seen as the unofficial senior Cortes brother, explains that they are quite tired of all the crazy orders coming from Madrid, especially the ones regarding treating the natives with respect and not making them into de facto slaves anymore. (He may be a mestizo, but he's Cortes' son first.) Their father did not smash the Aztecs under his heel only to see the King of Spain raise them back up again, damn it. Falces replies that while he'll try to keep things reasonable, Philip has made up his mind on this--the King's a BIG fan of Bartolome de Las Casas, and really thinks that he needs to be a fair and just ruler to the native subjects Fate--well, Fate assisted by gunpowder--has placed under his care, and rebalance the mistakes of the past[16]. The Corteses nod, produce the weapons they've secreted on themselves, and explain to the Viceroy that, no, this isn't really something they're going to negotiate about, and oh, yes, they're now imprisoning him. The Viceroy attempts to call his guards--at least according to his account, because there are disputes--only for them to essentially ask the Cortes brothers if they need anything. Being some of the wealthiest men in New Spain has its benefits, especially when many of the other wealthiest men thereabouts are backing you.
And so, shortly thereafter, the Marquis is crowned 'Emperor of Mexico and Anahuac' in a grand ceremony in Mexico City's cathedral by his brothers, who are clad as Mexican chieftains as they do it[17]. This has been a quiet plot of the Corteses and various other major landowners for some time now, and one that they've had plenty of time to consider. Madrid, as noted, has been getting intolerable--and it's not just the matter of being told no more enslaving the natives and working them to death anymore. All that gold and silver that Spain needs to balance its books--well, the constant demand for more and more is proving increasingly disruptive to the locals. Especially with the whole previously-mentioned 'let's not enslave the natives anymore' order. From their perspective, Philip wants them to produce MORE precious metals, while using less efficient means to do so. And also, he'd like the precious metals yesterday. If possible. And if not, he will be most put out. So really, from their viewpoint, this has been a long time coming.
Having started, the rebellion gets to work seizing control over the rest of continental New Spain, or as they're going to insist on calling it 'Mexico and Anahuac'. It is aided in this by the very nature of the colony--far-flung and rather sparsely inhabited, news travels slowly from one corner to the other. Having claimed the political center of the colony, sending men out to dominate the fringes is relatively easy--in one famous incident, the head of the garrison at Panama discredits as mad rumors a merchant telling them of the coup, and then gets arrested a week later by a small shipload of troops sent from the capital. Resistance to the Cortes' regime will appear almost from the start--but at first it is scattered, disorientated and ineffectual.
It is the West Indies that shall serve as the center of the first stiff resistance to the rebellion--when they finally patch together what is going on, and confirm, that yes, the Marquis del Valle de Oaxaca is now calling himself Emperor. However, even here, there's a simple problem--the New World, believe it or not, is not exactly overflowing with soldiers and military equipment. While many people agree that SOMETHING should be done, they are... somewhat at a loss to figure out what. For the moment, they're politely passing around the hat in hopes of getting enough troops to... well, do something. They also send the bad news home to Philip, who will hit the roof when he hears it. First the Netherlands--now this. What makes this especially painful (well, aside from the fact that Don Martin and his brothers are old friends of his) is that the rebels have a great deal of that lovely gold that Philip needs to pay his debts for things--you know--the soldiers he's got fighting Hungary. Or the garrisons he keeps in Italy. Or... well--pretty much everything.
Yes, Philip's in a bad spot. And sadly for him, it's going to get worse. Much worse.
--Even as a large chunk of their New World holdings attempt to tear away from Spain, another chunk gets more... firmly settled, thanks to Aviles. A man with big connections in the Leonese sections of Castile, he's brought hundreds of them to the New World to act as his own personal army and the core of any settlements he should found[18]. That's enough to make sure any settlement he creates doesn't immediately collapse inwards upon itself. And so, Aviles' exploration of the Rio de Espirito Sancto region of "La Florida" begins. Accompanying him are a few old survivors of the expedition of the previous Spanish conquistador to explore the region, Hernando de Soto, whose body in fact presently lies at the bottom of the Rio de Espirito Sancto in a weighted coffin. (His soul, Las Casas wrote, almost assuredly lies in even greater depths.[19]) They are astonished by the transformation of the region, which has gone from having a fairly sophisticated agricultural culture of small city-states linked together by trade to an anarchic no-man's land, filled with various small warring bands roving the devastated landscape. The veterans are mystified and can't help but wonder what happened.
The answer is "they did". De Soto's wanderings may not have found gold, or much to trade, or even established any lasting colonial presence--but they did succeed in almost completely gutting the region's culture, thanks to a combination of his rather brutal tactics for dealing with any resistance, perceived or real, his taking of native "servants" to assist the ongoing trek, and of course, that handy dandy European culture killer, disease. Simply put, the conquistadors are wandering a post-apocalyptic landscape they helped to create. Not that they even realize that. Or would feel an iota of guilt if they did.
Aviles' mapping of the mouth of the Rio de Espirito Sancto quickly confirms that it would be difficult to build a settlement there--which is a pity, because Aviles has become convinced that the location has great potential despite the difficulties, if only a spot could be found to do it on. But his group does not have the time needed to find such a spot. And so, turning away from that river, for the moment, Aviles heads towards what he has discovered is ANOTHER river in what has previously been the bay of Espirito Sancto[20], but which he is recommending be named the Bay of St. Rodrigo de Vivar. Yes, El Cid's getting a river named after him in the new world, as well as the fort being built near the river. While not as perfect a location as the bay of Rio de Espirito Sancto, it's a great deal more manageable. From here they shall build their base to strike at the French heretics, and also, explore more of La Florida! Soon, Spain shall stand supreme and unassailable in the New World once again!
At least, so Aviles hopes. Obviously, reality has other things planned, at least for the immediate future, something Aviles himself will accept when the news reaches him about the Cortes' rebellion... which admittedly, is going to be awhile. In many ways, it's a tragedy for the Spanish, as the French in what will come to be known as "Acadia"--as a result of colonial founder Jean Ribault's effort to name it "Arcadia", partially in homage of ANOTHER section of the New World the French explored, partially because it makes the region sound paradisaical, and partially because "Florida" is just too Spanish--will this year skirt quite close to utter destruction, thanks to a combination of disease, low supplies, bad weather, and the various games the colony's founding fathers are playing with the local natives coming to bite them the ass. But those Frenchmen in Fort (later "New") Orleans will pull through, helped--as they will continue to be helped in the years ahead--by a fresh infusion of Huguenots arriving from Bermuda, eager to try their fortune in a colony with more land available. Swampy, disease-ridden land filled with alligators and crocodiles--but still land. Of course, in the years ahead, plenty will head south and north, to die like vermin, but hey--that just leaves more room for the next batch of newcomers! Acadia! It will probably kill you!
--In Poland, the ongoing efforts of the Sejm to crown young Kasimir--he will be Kasimir V--move forward, as the young king-to-be is forced to agree to a Sejm-selected Regency council, which will make sure to include as many non-Radziwills as possible. The Regents immediately start negotiations with Ivan IV. Yes, it is a golden opportunity for the Russian Tsar to end the war, and possibly come out with a few gains. And Ivan blows it, as usual. Becoming convinced that this overture is a sign that the Poles are crumbling, he makes grandiose demands for the whole of Lithuania and asking for young Kasimir's sister Hedwig's hand for Tsarevitch Ivan Ivanovitch, and, oh, perhaps naming Ivan Ivanovitch Kasimir's heir in Poland if... anything should happen[21]. This manages to unite the Regents into a singular opinion--which as history will demonstrate is something of a minor miracle. Ivan is a threat to Poland, and must be bludgeoned into submission by Polish arms. And so Polish troops will return to the fray, beginning another swing of the pendulum against Ivan, who will swiftly start another round of purges and land seizures as he tries to apportion blame for this sudden unexpected ill fortune.
As another part of the Livonian War's diplomatic aspect, the Poles enter into talks with the Swedes, which will see a rather interesting side-effect. As Patrick Liddisdale arrives with the diplomatic party to begin the discussions, he is seen and recognized by Margaret Hamilton who is... exceedingly surprised to see the man she knew as James Hepburn, alive, well, and surprisingly enough, now a Protestant. Yes, the erstwhile Earl of Bothwell has not only been hiding out in Scandinavia as a mercenary captain, he's formally switched churches. Needless to say, Margaret and her fellows are quite offended about this--however, the Poles politely tell them to shove it. The fact is, most Poles can spot the losers and the winners, and it's pretty clear that the Lennox Stuarts are the former, and the Tudors and Marian Stewarts are the latter. Besides, English merchants are appearing en masse in the Baltic once again, and the Poles are only too happy to take their money.
This is only one of many unpleasant shocks for the pretender court, including, of course, the news of Lennox's imprisonment in England--their hopes of living off the largess of the Hamilton incomes come to an end when those incomes do, as the estates granted to them by Sigismund II revert to the crown on his death. While the family has some coin squirreled away to weather this turn, it is hardly enough to support the court of a royal pretender, even if the Hamiltons were inclined to do so, which, for the most part, they are not. Thus, the Stuart cause, aside from having its purported king a prisoner of the very people he is trying to usurp, must deal with being effectively rootless.
And then a miracle happens. The late Sigismund II's sisters, Catherine and Anna, take a shine to the Hamiltons, especially poor Elizabeth, and her darling young son, and allow them to be their guests in their own estates. And so, even if the pretender's cause isn't exactly setting the British Isles ablaze, it's not exactly homeless either.
As for poor Charles Stuart, he continues to enjoy English custody in the Tower of London, as England and Scotland quietly argue over who has the right to try him and then kill him. They want to be fair over this, after all.
--Turning to the other side of the Baltic, in Scandinavia, the Long Northern War continues, even if Sweden and Denmark are technically under a truce, and thus, there's no real fighting. (Though, it must be added, plenty of tiny skirmishes on the border, secret raids, and minor acts of banditry. Because Sweden and Denmark have a long-standing hate-on by this point that turns even periods of truce into periods of low-level warfare, and periods of peace into periods of undeclared low-level warfare.) Instead, both sides work to strengthen their position, with Sweden working to dig into Trondelag, something which involves a great deal of butting heads with the locals. In Denmark, on the other hand, John II more or less CREATES a new capital for Danish Norway, which he dubs Christiana, after his dear old dad[22]. Which likewise involves a great deal of butting heads with the locals, but then, the Danish tend not to care about these things, and are better positioned to get away with it.
It is a quiet time, and a tense one. In Sweden, Queen Karin is pregnant once again--the child, Erik's second legitimate son, will be born later in the year, and named Arnold, swiftly acquiring the title "Duke of Vastergotland", a title that will ironically become less well-known in Swedish history as his nickname "Arnold the Plough". (Trust me, it will make sense in time.) The King is delighted in his little son, and quite upset at the whispers against the boy, and his other children. How can Swedes whisper such things about his darlings, his heirs?, he is heard to wonder.
People start getting alarmed.
--In Devonshire, John Hawkins is hard at work assembling his ships, and more importantly, his sponsors for his grand slaving expedition. While Hawkins has put a good deal of his own capital into this, and yes, has the King's backing, the fact remains more money is needed. A lot more--Henry IX's unofficial motto on these things is "get some other poor bastard to pay for it". Fortunately, Hawkins has a plentiful supply of relatives and old associates who are willing to back what sounds like a very profitable endeavor indeed. By April, Hawkins and company are ready to set out in a large--okay, sizable--flotilla of ten ships. From these rather humble beginnings shall ultimately spring the English (later British) South Seas Company, that great endeavor that will join exploration, colonization, trade, ahem... piracy, and ahem, ahem... slavery into one big... thing. Because you have to start somewhere.
As his cousin takes care of the financial end of the voyage, Francis Drake takes care of the spiritual end--as he sees it--popping in on Archbishop Hooper and Bishop Foxe to enlist their prayers for the success of this undertaking[23]. Both have rather mixed feelings on this--they're as patriotic as the next Englishmen, after all, but selling blacks to Papists as slaves... well, it rubs them the wrong way. However, Drake does manage to convince him that he has grander ideas. Hawkins may look on this as a simple semi-legal slaving deal, but Francis Drake sees it as the opening stage of planting an English presence--a PROTESTANT English presence--in the New World. And possibly Africa as well. Slaving can be more than just a smash and grab, after all.
The flotilla will set out in late April, and find its plans altered by circumstances almost immediately when Hawkins gets word of the fleet Portugal is sending West to dislodge the French. Hawkins thus winds up sending his fleet further out than he'd initially planned to avoid an encounter with the Portuguese, which in turn winds up spoiling his plans for a quick smash and grab slave raid in the area of what we'd call Sierra Leone. Instead, thanks to combination of prevailing winds, and John Hawkins being John Hawkins, the English wind up going further south, to attempt a more daring project--opening the Kingdom of Kongo to English trade.
The trek will prove a somewhat lengthy one, and indeed, by the time they arrive at Kongo, the English are rather desperate for supplies. Things are complicated by the fact that the Manikongo isn't there when they arrive, meaning they have to deal with his regent and stepson, Alavaro. On the good side, Alavaro is intelligent and polite, and seems perfectly willing to listen to the English--but he swiftly proves to also be cagey and devious. For the next four months, Hawkins and company never get a yes or no on whether he thinks their terms are favorable--instead they get an endless succession of prevaricating replies and Alavaro and his people eating into the flotilla's supply of trade goods in return for supplies. Hawkins and the rest suspect that they are being given the runaround, and they are right, though Alavaro is also giving the runaround to the Portuguese in nearby Sao Tome, who are angrily demanding that the regent kick the English out as quickly as possible. Alavaro sees possibilities in this situation, as like many of the upper Kongo nobility, he's concerned that the Portuguese aren't really that interested in the welfare of Kongo. Having another group of Europeans to balance them out might prove... handy.
But that's his point of view. For the English, it's a nerve-wracking ordeal, where the regent nods pleasantly, and the local Portuguese missionaries whisper that the heretics should be thrown out of the Kongo. For the next four months.
Fun.
--In Persia, the Safavids' war to keep control of Persia is fast becoming a war of dynastic survival, not aided by the fact that the new Shah, Ismail II is nuttier than an almond tree. His cousin Ibrahim Mirza fights a series of desperate holding actions in the east against the Uzbeks, and astonishingly manages to win. His reward is to be starved of supplies by his cousin, so that when the main Suri army takes to the field against him, Ibrahim is forced to flee or have his forces annihilated. Castigating his cowardly kinsman for his lack of resolve, Ismail declares he will take to the field himself, and beat back Islam Shah.
He accomplishes the first, it must be admitted. Ismail's grand campaign does not, alas, begin well, from the perspective of most of his subjects, as his army spends its time plunging through Safavid territory, "requisitioning" supplies, and occasionally punishing subjects who the Shah suspects of being of questionable loyalty. As nasty as that is, it might be forgiven if Ismail then won against the Suris--but instead, Ismail receives a thorough defeat that is made more thorough when the Shah flees the field, and rushes all the way back to the capital. Once back, Ismail proceeds to spend his time writing missives to Islam Shah, Iskander Khan Beg, and Selim II, just in case the Ottomans might be interested in helping him out--wherein he states that he's willing to give up this whole "Shiite" thing, and possibly start paying tribute if they'll just leave him as Shah of Persia[24]. (In the case of Iskander, the letter is ironically addressed to a corpse, as the former head of the Uzbeks has died of an infected wound, leaving leadership to his son Abdullah.[25])
This is not exactly how you inspire your troops, especially when they are devout Shiites who got you the throne by cutting you a path to it. To be fair to Ismail, he's still has enough sense left in his deranged skull to try and keep this under wraps--unfortunately his men have their suspicions, spy on his letters, and then decide to nip this in the bud. Thus, one evening, Ismail is enjoying his nightly puff of opium, pauses in the middle of his explanation that it made sense to run from the Suri armies, as they were very mean, and slumps over dead, the result of a poisoned dose[26]. It's the sort of brutal, yet practical action that many Russian historians will sigh wistfully over when comparing their own people's strange loyalty to Ivan IV around the same period, no matter how badly he screws up. Ismail has ruled for almost a year. In that short time, he has managed to do massive damage to the Persian war effort, and indeed, to the Persian ruling class. The next Shah faces a daunting task--but the soldiers have an idea who it should be. Ibrahim Mirza will be sent the invitation to take the throne shortly thereafter, and, once he is sure that it isn't a trap, and that Ismail is really dead, he will go to the capital, and become Ibrahim Shah.
Ibrahim inherits a realm under siege, with battered armies, and large chunks of the elite dead either in the war or Ismail's purges. Many expect that the Suri and the Uzbeks will take Qazvin before the year is out.
They will not. Indeed, they will not even come close.
--News of the Mexican rebellion reaches Lima, where acting Governor Lope de Aguirre and the local Audencia Real are forced to consider the matter. There is little surprise when Aguirre calls an emergency session to do just this. There is however great surprise when he declares that, after reviewing the situation, he has decided to declare himself Emperor of Peru. Yes, much surprise, and much shouting, and then much wailing when Lope has his soldiers march in and arrest the Audencia. Once that's out of the way Aguirre gets his rebellion into overdrive, grabbing as much of Lima and its environs as he can, before attempting his own, rough imitation of the Marquis' coronation.
Aguirre's attempt to gain control of his Viceroyality is less successful than the Cortes' efforts in the north--New Granada's loyalists strenuously resist his efforts to impose his rule, as do the semi-autonomous Incas in Vilcabamba, whose ruler Titu Cusi, ironically, only recently was baptised a Roman Catholic, and agreed to swear a nominal vassalship to the King of Spain[27]. Further, some settlements, like remote Asunscion, aren't even aware of the rebellion, and won't learn about until it's finished. (Though Asunscion's new governor, Francisco Ortiz de Vergara, recently sent to Lima to get Spain to confirm his appointment, finds out quite quickly, as Aguirre promptly arrests him.[28]) But Lima is placed firmly under "the Emperor of Peru's" crazy Basque thumb, and indeed, Lope is sending the Marquis de Valle a message where he proposes marrying his daughter, "the Princess of Peru" to the "Emperor of Mexico and Anahuac", thus creating a marriage alliance between "these two great kingdoms". (The Marquis is married, with two children, and, to be frank, would not be likely to sign onto this even if he wasn't.)
Needless to say, when Philip hears about this one--well, actually, his situation is so bad that this is simply another bit of bad luck, by that point. But that's quite a ways a way, because, remember, the New World is... pretty isolated, with news often taking months--even years--to reach Europe. Yes, Philip's in a bad spot. And sadly for him, it's going to get worse. Much worse.
--Turning to the biggest ongoing problem Philip's facing at the moment, Charles of Asturias' Burgundian regime continues to consolidate itself, as the Prince travels the Seventeen Provinces, allowing them all to bask in the presence of their charismatic young governor/de facto monarch. It's the sort of genial pressing the flesh-style of royal rule that his father has never been good at, and the Burgundians lap it all up. Indeed, when halfway through his tour, during his stop in Breda, Charles has a turn of ill health, the sorrow spreads throughout the Provinces. Former English ambassador to France Francis Walshingham notes in his dispatches to England that the candles burnt in hopes of a speedy recovery are so great "they would blind the eye if all brought together"--likely only a mild exaggeration. Walshingham is also on hand to see the Prince's arrival at Spa, where he notes the young man is greeted by the populace in a manner befitting a monarch.
At Spa, even as he continues his work binding the Provinces to his own personal rule, Charles happens to bump into another royal guest--Queen Jeanne of Navarre, there for her own wavering health[29]. Of course, Jeanne has OTHER motives for heading into the Low Countries--speaking to the young Prince of Asturias, and seeing if the rumors of his Reform sympathies are true. And Charles likewise has things to discuss with the Queen of Navarre. For Jeanne, this is a risky, unpleasant meeting--the Prince of Asturias is a dynastic enemy many times over, and from various angles--but the fact is, she is desperate. And as so often happens, the young Spanish prince proceeds to convince a desperate suspicious habitual foe that he is on their side--or at least, considering an alliance with it. Jeanne will return home convinced that the Reformed Church in Navarre and France have a friend in Charles of the Asturias--and a man who is very, very concerned about changes in the succession laws of dubious legality.
And having thus managed to start what is going to be a lifelong habit of meddling with the French succession, Charles settles down to spend the next few months quietly running the Netherlands, and recovering his health.
--Even as many courtiers huff and puff about the Great Britannic Babylon matter, preparations for the Convocation begin in England--and many English Libertines grow increasingly alarmed as it becomes very clear that the Puritans have been preparing for this sort of a event for some time. They have plans, statements, carefully constructed theological arguments. The Libertines--well, it's not like they don't have any of these, but they're a great deal less organized than their rivals, and a sizable amount of Libertine theology runs towards the "oh, sure, you have a point, but really is it any real reason to buck tradition so thoroughly? Really?" end of things, which... well, isn't very inspiring. Even the Libertines' greatest theologian, John Jewell, Bishop of Salisbury, tends towards elaborate apologetics rather than passionate argument. For many Libertines, on many subjects, it's not that the Puritans are WRONG exactly, it's that they aren't so astonishingly right as to make throwing out age-old precedent worth it. The English Church has already made great strides in Reform, and while further improvements MAY be possible, they can wait. After all, some of these are more... matters of taste, than anything. None of which is... stirring.
Yes, it's clear to the Libertines they need an angle. And then John Jewell, in what he likes to chalk up to divine inspiration, gets an idea. And as his fellows hear it, they agree--this is a GREAT idea. And having agreed on this, they get to work on their arguments in favor this idea, which, they hope, will disarm the Puritans.
--In Geneva, the Catholic regime finds itself unceremoniously toppled from power when a bunch of armed Protestants sneak into the various places of official business one night and lock them. As the coup has always been a rather tepid enterprise that's been running more on nerves than overwhelming power, this quickly spooks them, and most of the leaders flee the city. The new Protestant regime quickly begins rounding up those that haven't, as well as people who it sees as collaborators, AND people living immoral lives, in an effort to remind people that Reformed Geneva isn't going to let people backslide. Indeed, soon the entire city finds itself occupied by the trial of two women accused of living in a sodomitical relation with each other.[30] Theodore Breda, still back in Strassburg recieves news of this epic victory, and though pleased, sends a letter suggesting they dial it down just a notch.
This advice will be ignored. Indeed, the new regime doubles down on the hardline by ordering the seizure of the Mantuan translation Bibles their Catholic predecessors distributed throughout the city. Breda will decide to hold off his return until the present bunch have burned off some of their present zeal, at which point he will come in the visage of a man reining in the excesses of the youngblood hawks presently throwing things out of balance.
It is a decision he will come to regret.
--Even as the Originalist Revolt goes on, the ailing Daniel O'Farrell finds himself meeting an old friend--exiled Scot Calvinist John Knox. Yes, as easy it is to forget, these two knew each other when they were a couple of young theology students grappling with the changes coming over the future Protestant Isles, and indeed were Anglicans, back before they started creating their own nationalistic brands of British Protestantism.
Knox's decision to visit O'Farrell is based in equal parts on desperation, nostalgia, and a conviction that someone that Henry and Mary hate so much can't be ALL bad. O'Farrell's decision to let him come visit is based on all of these, plus loneliness as well. It's hard being the religious prophet of an apocalyptic movement. People.... stop relating to you as a person, and start relating to you as an idea. Knox doesn't have that problem. Indeed, in their brief conversation sees Knox more or less convinced that O'Farrell is hopelessly lost, and O'Farrell convinced that Knox is "deaf to the true word of the LORD God." Knox leaves this meeting to vanish again from the historical record for a while.
But not Ireland. Nor is he the only Scot to be arriving in the Emerald Isle--a mass of exiled Borderers (some of whom are English) arrive, to be settled by the Duke of York into his proposed military colonies, resulting in a lot of places in Ireland called Yorkton. Yes, Henry and Mary see this as a brilliant way to kill TWO birds with one stone--the Borderers lose a lot of ruffians, and Ireland... well gets a lot of new ruffians, but ruffians with a vested interest in keeping the local ruffians down.
Yep. The British monarchs see no flaw whatsoever with this plan.
--Charles of Tyrol's forces take to the field in Swabia to the surprise of... well, everyone, who thought he'd start by attacking the Saxons. Indeed, the entire campaign is something of a surprise, largely because it starts out well--people tend to forget that Charles is a more competent commander than his rather dire reputation would suggest. The unsuspecting Heidelberg Compact forces are forced back, with significant casualties--most notably at the battle of Constance, where Christoph von Zahringen of Baden-Rodemachern dies making a desperate sortie against the Hapsburg troops, resulting in his cousin, Carl of Baden-Durlach, dying rushing to Christoph's rescue, and then Carl's brother-in-law Wolfgang of Zweibrucken (one of the lesser Wittelsbach branches) and Wolfgang's cousin, George of Veldenz dying rushing to Carl's rescue[31]. With their deaths the situation in Baden becomes quite frought indeed--the most senior member of the family is Christoph's elder brother Philibert, who is fighting for the Leipzig Bond, and whose title and lands Christoph was trying to usurp with Carl's help. Christoph has had no children which would make his obvious heir Philibert--but as that obviously wouldn't be cricket from a Heidelberg Compact viewpoint, Carl's widow, Anne of Veldenz, is trying to claim her younger son Jacob as the heir of Christoph's claimed holdings of Baden-Baden, her eldest son Ernest Frederick is to get the actual holdings of Baden-Rodemachern, while her stepson Albert will recieve Baden-Durlach in its entirety. This... rather ambitious-sounding plan is as much about giving her family a bargaining position as it is attempting a landgrab--possibly even more. The fact is, Anne realizes she's surrounded by scheming nobles who covet every bit of territory they can get, some of whom are her purported allies. Like Christoph of Wurttemberg, who has been emphasizing how the young Margraves of Baden can look to him for a protector. Really. If you don't take a tough stance with these people, they will eat you alive before the real fighting even starts.
Having roughed up Swabia, Charles Francis' forces head north into Franconia, where they hope to hook up with the forces of newly-elected Archbishop of Wurzburg Philip George Schenk zu Schweinsberg, a surprisingly spry member of the Fulda Monastery considering his age, though in this case, this means that he is mobile[32]. And here is where it all goes south for the Archduke of Tyrol--the forces of George Diomedes of Kulmbach take to the field, and Charles finds himself facing one of the most skilled and bloodthirsty commanders in the Germanies, with a larger and better army than his. The Battle of Nordinglen is the one of the last--arguably THE last--great battles of the Second Schmalkaldic War, and it is also one of the bloodiest. When it is over, the last Austrian army of note has been destroyed--its soldiers either dead or deserting. Among the slain--Charles Francis von Hapsburg, Archduke of Tyrol, whose trampled and broken body will be brought before the Margrave of Kulmbach and identified by his rich armor, Golden Fleece, and of course, rather formidable Hapsburg jaw. In some ways, death is a cruel mercy for the Archduke--he unknowingly goes to join his wife, son, and eldest daughter, all dead in the Viennese smallpox outbreak.
As for George Diomedes, his army goes on to rampage throughout Franconia, smashing the newly-elected Archbishop's forces, and sacking Wurzburg once again. Poor Philip George dies of a heart attack, while his slightly less aged secretary Wilhelm Hartmann von Klauer zu Wohra[33] dies of an axe-to-the-head attack, thus forcing yet another election with the obvious successor already having joined the choir invisible. Or at least, that's what'll happen when the chapter gathers together again at Fulda Abbey. Right now, most are much, much too busy running and hiding to worry about that.
It is the end of the Austrian cause as such. Archduke Ferdinand will, on hearing of what has occurred, bury his face in his hands, and weep for hours on end, before rising and ordering his people to get in contact with the Saxons. As usual, fate has insisted on rubbing lemon juice in Ferdinand's wounds--the smallpox epidemic that carried off most his brother's family has also taken one of his beloved illegitimate daughters, young Catherine. Ferdinand's melancholia has, it seems to most onlookers, reached a strange sort of plateau--constant disappointment and loss have convinced the Archduke and "King" that the only hope Austria has is to end the war, that the only way to end it is to make common cause with the Saxons, and that the only man who can do that is him. And so, he manages to keep himself from another collapse.
After all--he has a hot mistress again now. That counts for something.
--The Miyoshi assault on Mino begins under the leadership of Iwanari Tomomichi. Tomomichi, facing a formidable opponent who had demonstrated a talent for using small squadrons of skilled soldiers against larger, less coherent armies, throws a heaping huge army at the problem. The results are about what you'd expect. Tomomichi arguably redoubles his failure by believing the promises of Sato Tatsuoki and his hanger-ons that hordes of discontented Sato retainers would rise once THE TRUE daimyo returned to Mino, resulting in the huge army being burdened a lot of officers of dubious talent, as well as a tendency to notify Mino retainers of their intentions beforehand in the hopes of flipping them, granting Nobunaga an insight into his opponents' plans that most generals would kill for.
By the time the battle is over, it has become a rout, with Tomomichi most prominent among the slain. Nobunaga is thrilled by what truly is an epic victory, and being Oda Nobunaga, is already considering how to follow up on it. And, as fate would have it, he has been given the perfect opportunity, for on Tomomichi's body is a letter from his fellows giving him instructions on what to do after smashing the Odas. And it is a doozy. First off, the letter makes it clear that once the Odas are dealt with, the next targets are the Takedas, followed by any daimyos and abbots affiliated with them. Which is enough to get the frequently quarrelsome Takeda Faction to put any differences its members possess behind them for the nonce to concentrate on killing the Miyoshi. But there's more. Tomomichi's instructions go on to emphasize how, once the Takeda faction is gone, he will be free to deal with the other rebellious daimyos in the region.
A bit of background. As much as Matsunaga Hisehide loves to paint the Takedas as the greatest menace to Miyoshi hegemony in existance, for all practical purposes, the group has long had to worry about the Takeda Clan's two perrenial rivals, the Hojo clan, and Uesugi Kenshin, the Dragon of Echigo. Both have acted as a check on the faction, not only in their shared region, but in holding off an attack on Kyoto. The letter essentially gives them a reason to consider giving Takeda Shingen a free hand in this matter to be a reasonable choice. Especially Uesugi Kenshin, whose rivalry with the Tiger of Kai borders on the vaguely homoerotic, and who once reportedly sent his foe food when the Hojos were trying to starve him out. To Kenshin's mind, only he is allowed to finally kill Shingen, and that will only be in an epic, honorable battle, topped off by a bitching sword fight wherein they personally battle it out. (And if that sounds overly dramatic, realize they've actually had fights like that, though obviously, both have escaped getting killed.)
And so, in wake of the Miyoshi's disaster, Oda armies go on the move, followed by Takeda armies. The target--Kyoto. The plan--rock the Miyoshi's world. They'll hit the region next year.
And Japan will never be the same.
--At the opening of the latest session of the Council of Mantua, Pope Pius begins with a ringing denunciation of the man he declares the most awful prince in Christendom, a man who, despite his claims of loyalty to the Catholic Church, serves only himself--your friend and mine, Philip II of Spain. He notes that Philip has killed good Catholics without trial, and... oh, yes presently holds a Cardinal--hell, the Archbishop of Toledo, who is the PRIMATE OF SPAIN--in prison in the guise of serving the Inquisition, and has done so for three years. Given this, Pius feels that he has no choice but to excommunicate the King, and to deprive him of the titles Duke of Milan, King of Naples, King of Sicily, and of course, King of Sardinia. Can't leave that one off. Oh, yes. And to send the Papal army out to deprive him of his now illegally occupied territories.
The response from the Council is surprisingly positive--Philip's high-handed actions in the matter of Cardinal Bartolome Carranza has bred a resentment that has joined the already existing resentment for his other high-handed actions, and the equally already existing resentment for being a Spaniard and lording it over the Italians to essentially create a critical mass for most Cardinals. (Admittedly, most of the Spanish and Portuguese Cardinals aren't so keen on this--but most of them are in Iberia at the moment, so they aren't exactly an overwhelming voice.) Besides, war between France and Spain seems all but inevitable in the near future. Stealing a march on King Henri might be the best way to keep the gains in safe Italian hands, instead of untrustworthy French ones--further, it's Henri II. No one is saying it, but everyone is half-expecting him to have a failure of nerve at some inopportune moment and make a botch of it. Best get themselves into a good position before all that even starts. And so, after noting their approval, the Council wishes the Pope's nephew, young Ercole d'Este, Duke of Ferrara and Modena, Gonfalioner, Captain-General and Chief Rector of the Papal States a glorious victory as he sets out with the Papal Army that he happens to have conveniently had at the ready for the nominal purpose of stopping banditry and restoring order in the Papal States.
Luis de Requesens, the recently installed Spanish Governor of Milan, as well as a former classmate of King Philip's, and the man who once said that Italy couldn't be left to the Italians[34], will write to his king insisting that this threat is well-in-hand. He's studied the Duke of Ferrara's tactics, and it's shown him that facing a formidable opponent, Ercole likes to nibble at the edges rather than risking a dangerous head-on confrontation. Requesens is certain he can hold him off long enough for a fresh infusion of funds from the Crown to arrive and give him more troops.
Ercole starts his campaign by making a beeline for Milan from the territory of his ally, Ottavio Farnese, Duke of Parma (once again demonstrating that family isn't really one of Ottavio's strong motivations). While this would normally be quite dangerous, the fact is the Spanish forces in the Duchy are in a bad way--outnumbered, underpaid, and surrounded by angry Italians who hate them. Indeed, many garrisons refuse to march out unless they get their back pay, and as that doesn't happen, they don't march out. Further things in Milan swiftly come to a sharp point, as Governor Requesens' archnemesis, Milan's Archbishop, Cardinal Borremeo loudly denounces the Governor, and threatens him with excommunication, both for serving "an impious monarch" and "his own ungodly life"[35]. With this sort of internal tension, it really shouldn't be a surprise that the "siege" of Milan doesn't last too long before someone unlocks a gate, and Ercole's troops start pouring into the city--Requesens then falls back to Milan's rather formidable fortress where he will hold out for a month before his men essentially force him to surrender by protesting for back-pay. Requesens' speedy fall decapitates Spanish rule in Milan, as well as any attempt at resistance to the Duke of Ferrara. That said resistance was fairly lackluster to begin with--in Cremona, for example, the garrison reportedly refuses to even muster when Ercole's army approaches the city--is merely the icing on the cake. Ercole settles down to strengthen his hold, replenish his arms from Milan's famed forges, and sends young Joanna von Hapsburg on her way to Genoa, with his complements.
The Duchy of Milan is perhaps the most dramatic example of the sudden reversal in Italy for Spain, for obvious reasons--ill-treated, and passed back and forth between France and Spain over the last few decades, it has little institutional loyalty to the Spanish Crown to serve as a break in this sort of situation. But that hardly means that matters are incredibly better in Spain's other Italian holdings--even Sardinia sees a few angry remonstrances, while Naples and Sicily see riots and protests, with unruly crowds loudly declaring their undying loyalty to "Good King Charles". (It is a matter of debate--both then and among future historians--whether the crowds are referring to Charles V & I, or Charles, Prince of the Asturias. Or both.) In Sicily, Viceroy Doria manages to keep things under control, but Naples is a more volatile state--it has been suffering more heavily under the new taxes to keep the Spanish empire going, as well as constant rumors that the able and reasonably popular Viceroy Pedro Afan de Riberia, who has on numerous occasions stood up for the traditional rights of Naples, is going to be removed for the more pliable Inigo Lopez de Mendoza, a former ambassador to Rome. In the end order in the city is just barely kept by the Archbishop of Naples appearing with the relics of several local saints, and extorting the volatile citzenry to prayer.
This relief however, is only temporary. Rumors that a Papal army is at the border forces the Viceroy to send out his soldiers.... who almost immediately start shouting for their pay. When it does not come, they elect a leader, and declaring themselves the "Army of God", begin rampaging through the countryside, looting towns and holding them for ransom. De Riberia thus finds himself rather desperately summoning the Neapolitan militia--always a dicey maneuver--to keep the city safe as he tries to get another professional army together to fight the original professional army he had, something that will cause King Philip to rant most terribly when he hears of it. Yes, Philip's in a bad spot. And sadly for him, it's going to get worse. Much worse.
--Bermuda sees a particularly bad hurricane season this year--bad enough that little Fort Marie, the isle's Catholic bastion, is flattened. The Huguenots see in this hand of God--most later historians tend to see the hand of the Huguenots doing everything they can to make sure Fort Coligny gets the lion's share of supplies and reinforcement. But the later historians aren't there when the local Huguenot church holds its sermon--subject "They have sowed the wind, and shall reap the whirlwind,"--and WHEN one of the parishoners looks to the island's bay and sees six ships, flying Portuguese colors. And so, little Bermuda prepares for war--only to watch the ships batter to pieces on the reefs that surround the island. The congregation celebrates "the miracle"--and this celebration only increases when the handful of survivors reveal that the ships were a part of a much larger fleet. The surviving Portuguese tell a tale of their mighty fleet hitting a terrific storm that blew it apart, leaving only this tiny, battered remenant to make their way to the New World. The Huguenots naturally see the hand of God working to destroy their enemies. (Though, in point of fact, most of the fleet survived the storm and made it back to the Azores, where it was essentially decided to give up on the plan due to the damage the ships had taken--what reached Bermuda was a tiny squadron under a dedicated--and foolhardy--commander.) And so, as they celebrate and mark this date down, let's leave our little party of colonists to celebrate for the moment. Someone needs a happy ending this year.
--Turning to another island that is technically a French possession, Corsica sees the assassination of its governor Sampieru Corsu[36] as he prepares for the war that everybody knows is coming, even if they insist that peace shall doubtless reign between the great Catholic nations for all the days, etc. etc. The local gentry, whose distaste for Sampieru has only grown over the years of his reign, have finally had enough--Sampieru catches a knife at Ajaccio, though the local aristocrats will of course insist that the former governor perished at the hands of their hated rivals of the city of Bastia, who are already being chastened by the doughty men of Ajaccio in a campaign that happens to involve long-standing property disputes being settled to the satisfaction of the doughty men of Ajaccio and the discomfort of the treacherous men of Bastia. King Henri will be informed of this by a humble Corsican nobleman of small standing, Gabriele Buonaparte, sent largely because he's viewed as reputable enough not to be insulting to his majesty, but minor enough that he's not dangerous--further, his interests in Corsica are insignificant enough that he really isn't going to lose anything by heading off for France.
Needless to say, interest in this matter in France proper will be... minor, Corsica being in the ironic position of having become of relatively little value to the French at the very moment they got it. Indeed, the major focus of the upcoming war is gong to be significantly more... northernly.
--Selim's army makes it way to Constantinople, the Sultan at its head, though a rumor has it he is regularly tied to his horse to produce this effect. The Ottoman's capital remains a hard nut to crack, perhaps even virtually untakable if held with a spirited defense. Thus Selim and his allies are most fortunate that the local rebels are utterly collapsing when they arrive. Most of the leaders are either fled or dead--the one exception is young Suleiman, who is reportedly found huddling in a hallway of the palace, fearful of his father's reaction. As well he should be, for the Sultan discovers that his son has quietly ordered the assassination of his only surviving brother in a wretched attempt to prolong his life. Wretched, and ineffectual--whatever hopes Suleiman the Pathetic had of not getting executed died with young Mustafa. Of course, this creates the question who will succeed the ailing Selim, but for now that's a question that can wait. There remain numerous rebels in Rumelia, busily swearing loyalty to the Sultan Mustafa, Selim's late brother who hasn't even produced a physical pretender this time to make his brother miserable. As Selim settles down to die in Constantinople--a process that will drag on for many, many months, into yea, verily years--his armies head to crush what remains of the rebellion, a process that will drag on even longer.
Ironically, it is Moldavia that is most immediately affected by this change of affairs, when the Sultan's Jewish financier, Josef Nasi, newly-minted KING OF CYPRUS, arrives in Constantinople with funds and a few key suggestions, including for a new Voivode of Moldavia. His choice is a local Basarab merchant named Ioan... who also just happens to be the illegitimate son of a former Voivode[37]. Ioan is quite eager to take the job, and so in a short time is on his way to Crimea, where he hires a few Tatars, then makes his way to the Zaporizhian Cossacks on the Dneiper, to whom he just happens to have an in with. Soon, the desperate boyars of Moldavia find themselves meeting their new champion against Voivode Alexandru, who comes with official backing from the Sultan, and his own army. True, he's something of an outsider choice, but beggars can't be chooserss.
--The travels of Luis Camoes in Ethiopia, after many picturesque incidents, including a meal of raw beef that Camoes will state was more digestible than he would have thought, ends on the very beaches before Massawa, where the Ethiopian Emperor Gelawdewos has, to the Portuguese poet's infinite surprise, already gathered an army, motivated, later accounts will swear, by divine inspiration, though most suspect that inspiration was heavily influenced by rumors from merchants from India. Camoes thus arrives to find the Ethiopian army... sitting around, and menacing Massawa as best they can with no real ships, something that has left the sizable army increasingly on edge, with many suggesting that, you know, going home is an option. Camoes manages to calm things somewhat by revealing (through his interpreter the Ethiopian "Portuguese" Manuel de Gama) that the Portuguese are coming with ships, and when that happens, the Egyptian garrison in Massawa are in so much trouble. This gets the army to stay there for awhile longer, but the tensions are rising. Camoes will offer his opinion that a major factor in keeping the army from simply dissolving away is, oddly enough, the recent death of Gelawdewos' brother Menas during a campaign in the south. Something of a troublemaker, and rabidly anti-Portuguese to boot, Menas long-viewed action against Massawa as foolish and action against the interloping nomads in the south that have been appearing in greater numbers lately as the better course of action. His being dead both silences his voice on these matters, and makes it easier to suggest that no, no, God really wants the Ethiopians to invade Massawa again. Really.
God's will, however still seems baffling for many Ethiopians, who as they see it, are sitting around, waiting for ships that are probably not going to come. The wait goes on--and on--and then suddenly, they appear! The Portuguese ships, fresh from, they quickly explain, an epic battle with a Turkish fleet, doubtless on its way to reinforce Massawa. Needless to say, the Turkish ships aren't coming, the Portuguese ships have arrived, and the invasion of Massawa is on! As it becomes clear that their original plan of occasionally firing at the Ethiopians as they wait for them to get bored and leave won't work, the Egyptian garrison commander sends his son back to Cairo to inform the governor that this matter has suddenly become an issue.
Meanwhile, in Yemen, the Turkish forces there that have been fighting off the rebels lead by Al-Mutahhar find themselves in hot water as the reinforcements they were expecting don't arrive. The resulting victory greatly encourages the Yemeni Imam, who now hopes to liberate the Yemeni from the Turkish yoke within a year, and is even starting to get... bigger ideas.
Dangerously big ideas.
--The English slaving expedition to the Kongo sees an astonishing turn when, after several days of rather baffling goings-on, Alavaro summons Hawkins, Drake and Richard Eden, the writer and occasional alchemist they have working as their translator, to explain a sudden change in policy. You see, Alavaro's step-father, the King, has been waging war against the Yaro--which is something of a catch-all term for numerous tribes in the interior which the kings of Kongo have been quarrelling with practically as a form of business. Unfortunately, this time things went badly--the old king is dead in battle, Alavaro is the new king, and he's wondering if the English would care to help him kill a lot of Yaro, because they're coming this way[38]. After a brief discussion, the English decide that, yes, yes they would, and after some preparation, proceed to do so, with gusto. While the various accounts of what happens during the campaign are a bunch of unreliable exercises of self-promotion, written at best months, and frequently years after they happened, the end results are indisputable--the English have, after months of negotiation, an in with the Kongo court, and many holds full of slaves. A good haul--for them, at least. Indeed, King Alvaro is so thankful he gives enough rich gifts of ivory, furs and carvings to fill a ship, which will head back to England even as the rest of the flotilla heads to the New World, where Hawkins and company hope to start this whole international slave trade thing in earnest.
Fun times. Once again... for them.
--In Persia, Ibrahim Shah takes to the field against Islam Shah Suri. While Persia's armies are smaller than they were in the past, these are some of the best soldiers in the Shah's service following an able commander--and the Suri forces, though still impressive are facing increasing gaps in their supplies, especially as the Uzbeks under the command of young Abdullah Khan are forced to spend more time on internal matters. To add to it, Ibrahim is cagy enough to avoid a direct battle with the Suri armies, instead using a Fabian strategy of raids and ambushes to whittle their forces down, something that is worsened by the autumn storms closing the passes that many reinforcements arrive by. Islam Shah replies to this strategy by doing his best to lure Ibrahim into battle, while working to preserve what he has.
Things climax near Sari, where one of Ibrahim's ambushes fails to go off as planned, resulting in the pitched battle he'd been avoiding. And yet things go more in the Persian Shah's favor than he hoped--Islam Shah's army has been rather depleted and demoralized by his efforts, and thus for the first time in a while, the Persians are not simply wiped away by the Suri forces as has happened in the recent past. Still, the superior discipline and training of their foe continues to show for quite some time--and then it happens. The Suri Army suddenly breaks and retreats. Ibrahim Shah and his generals are mystified--until the news reaches them. Islam Shah Suri is dead--slain by an arrow to the eye. The Persians celebrate, confident between this and the death of Iskander Beg of the Uzbeks that God has lain low the enemies of the true revelation of His Will. True, Islam Shah has a son, but he is by all accounts an effeminate dilettante, more interested in song and the arts than battle, and quite skeptical of his father's great undertaking to boot. Ibrahim doubts that he will be able to keep his grip on the Suri Empire, much less the invasion.
In the Suri camp, young Firuz Khan Suri, after first seeing to his father's body, then girds his sword, and stages a quick yet impressive coronation. Like his father and grandfather, he takes a new name upon becoming Emperor, Firuz Khan Suri becoming Sikander Shah Suri. He then vows to his assembled troops that he shall avenge his father's death, and finish Islam Shah's great work.
This rather ominous news will only reach Ibrahim Shah next year, and he still won't take it as seriously as he properly should...
--Yes, Philip of Spain has had a pretty bad year, so far. Revolts fill his vast empire to its brim. But hey--for all that, Spain proper is fine, with no revolts of note...
Oh, hell, let's skip to the chase. A revolt starts up in Spain, amongst Philip's Granadine Morisco subjects, who have realized that the lack of any efforts to renew their privileges in the Cortes isn't an oversight but a plan on Philip to achieve what he failed to do by edict through simple inaction. The Moriscos are pissed about this weaselly plan, and they aren't taking it sitting down, especially when so many of Philip's other subjects aren't. After all--the Prince of Asturias is making common cause with the Netherland rebels, Italy and the New World colonies are in revolt, the Pope has declared war on him, France is certain to follow suit soon... In essence everyone is taking a piece out of the King of Spain. Why shouldn't they, in that case?
And so the Moriscos rise up, seizing control of Granada, and sending news of their demands. Their rights renewed! For an extra-long term, this time! Ohh, and lower taxes, while they're at it! The Moriscos are tired of getting hit up by the Spanish state for the money they make of the silk trade, on the pretext of being protected by the Spanish nobles doing the same thing to them! Also--fire some of the more ardently anti-Morisco councilors, who are evil, because they are anti-Morisco. Oh, and hurray for the Prince of Asturias! Huzzah! Indeed, the rebels insist often and loudly they are perfectly loyal to the Spanish throne, like most of the rebels--aside from those utterly treasonous wretches in the New World, who they of course, hope get it in the neck--just not happy with the present state of things. And also, good Christians. Very good Christians. Hurray for the Pope! Free the Archbishop of Toledo!
Of course, even as the majority of the rebels say this and believe it, a tiny group of wannabe ringleaders have grander, less pro-Spanish plans. In contact with the Sultan of Morocco and the Barbary pirates, and through these individuals, the Turks--at least, in theory--they dream of a free Granada, allied with the Mediterranean Muslims, and ruled by one of them. This is, it must be pointed out, a crazy pipe-dream--the Mediterranean Muslims do not have the muscle to back up an independent Granada, even with an assist from the Turkish empire. But then, what are logistics to crazed quasi-nationalistic plans, after all?
The response to this crisis is a good example that Spanish politics are a bit more complicated than the average non-Spaniard tends to imagine--the Marquis de Mondéjar, captain-general of Granada, essentially informs Philip that the best plan is to give in to at least some of the rebels' demands, "as we have neither troops, nor funds to fight them, and their complaints are not without merit". Philip responds by dismissing Mondejar, which makes the rebellion worse, as he is widely popular amongst the Moriscos, and appointing the fearsome Marquis de Los Velez, who manages to throw together a small, badly-disciplined army that spends its time as one historian will put it, "fighting the rebels to little effect, and greatly terrifying whatever region they happen to be in, with looting and violence." Within a month, Philip finds himself facing a near complete breakdown of the law in Granada that is threatening to engulf all of Spain.
Philip's response to this is less than ideal--he becomes gravely ill. The King of Spain has long suffered from "gout", and now he has his first truly significant attack, one that leaves him bedridden and in horrific agony for weeks[39]. Government devolves upon his ministers, who find themselves largely incapable of doing anything--an effort to get the Cortes to pass a tax that will let them get a real army to handle things and restore order, as well as pay some of the Crown's debts fails, as the hitherto compliant body declares that it is sick and tired of spending "gold like water". They swiftly join the ever-growing group of people trying to get something from the King, in this case the end to certain wasteful expenditures, like the entire Second Schmalkaldic War.
Yes, Philip's in a bad spot. But at least now he can say he's pretty much hit bottom.
More or less.
--The muddled sideshow to the Second Schmalkaldic War and the Ottoman crisis that is the Second War of the Hungarian Succession will continue through the year in... well, a muddle. As his bastard son Fadrique raises a ruckus to attract King Janos' attention, the Duke of Alba, despite being in truly horrible health (by some accounts, suffering from dysentery, typhus AND malaria) marches out to try and relieve the siege of Raab, only to wind up facing a force raised by his self-designated Magyar archnemesis, Transylvanian Palatine Istvan Batory. The Battle of Raab will wind up being painted as the climax of the war, largely out of a desperate need to give it one. To be fair, the battle does have plenty of dramatic moments, including Istvan's mortal wounding leading a charge against Alba's forces[40]. (The Palatine's last words will be recorded as "I die so Hungary may live"--but they will be recorded years after his passing by a man claiming to be relating them secondhand.) But ultimately it is a inconclusive draw, where the battered Spanish army despite having cleared the way to Raab for the moment decides to return to Pressburg rather than risk another, possibly ruinous, battle so quickly. Once there, Alba spends his time trying rather desperately trying to get Ferdinand to possibly send him more forces or at least funds, something the Archduke and "King" finds most irritating, as he doesn't have any of either at the moment. The result is that both become convinced the other is an insensitive oaf who has no understanding of the present difficulties he is suffering right now.
This state of affairs is ended by the news of the Pope's declaration of war against Spain and the disaster of Milan. While this not only ruins any hope of salvaging the situation Alba has, it does what all the campaigning and disease have not and destroys what little remains of his health. Alba takes to his bed, ranting about the Pope, Philip, Ferdinand, the Hapsburgs, the Zapolyas, and the bitter unfairness of life. "Kings use men like oranges," he famously tells his sons, "sucking all the juices, until only the rind remains."[41] His bitterness will only grow when Fadrique brings him the news from the east after being returned to his father as an emissary. After months of playing a game of cat and also-cat with the young King of Hungary, Fadrique is caught on the border of Transylvania and Wallachia by the Zapolya forces. King Janos sends him back to Buda with an escort that includes Christopher Hatton, who will regret being seperated from "that dear saintly man" for the rest of his life.
With this done, the King of Hungary then responds to reports of bandits crossing the border and causing trouble, despite the advice of virtually all his friends that he should really head back home, or at least to a more civilized area. But Janos has had enough of running, he declares to all and sundry, and so his tired little force heads out after the bandits, who turn out to be less bandits and more Voivode Alexandru's army of Turkish mercenaries. Once again, his companions declare that maybe it's best to retreat, but Janos channels his similarly named ancestor and declares that it is unseemly that a King of Bohemia retreat from a fight without striking a blow and charges the maurauders with a small force of hand-picked men, including the Earl of Surrey, by some accounts screaming battlecries in Turkish as he does so. By the time the affair is over, Janos Sigismund Zapolya, King of Hungary and Bohemia, is dead, along with most of the men who joined him in the charge[42]. The Earl of Surrey, one of the few survivors, will declare the entire thing one of the most gallant, and utterly useless things he had ever seen, blaming the entire thing on the deep "melancholia" that gripped the young king on the death of his wife. The Earl will be released by the Voivode along with the King's body--simply put, Alexandru sees this as an embarrassment, and one that might just bring the Hungarians at his doorstep. This is something you try to put behind you, and quick.
Of course, once the news of their charismatic young king's death reaches Buda, most of the nation is plunged into great mourning, save for a few Hapsburg loyalists who are hoping now that the Almighty has just managed to save them in their hour of need. They are destined to be disappointed in this--the Diet, once it's assured that yes, it's actually happened, swiftly recognizes Janos Henrik as the new king, and orders his coronation. By all accounts, the young five-year-old is both properly solemn and well-behaved during the whole affair. This is actually better than some of his ministers, many of whom attend the ceremony drunk, and two of whom get into a fistfight with each other towards the end. By the late king Janos II's will, Janos III's regency is taken by the royal treasurer, Gaspar Bekes, who is expecting the internal challenges to start... shortly.
In Bohemia, while the mourning is less intense, it is still present, and coupled with a sense of confusion--indeed, it will be only next year that most people accept the fact that yes, Janos Sigismund is really, really dead. (And even then, there will be some doubters.) As opposed to Hungary, there is no rush to crown young Janos Henrik--indeed, the Bohemians quickly settle down for some more intense debate on the subject. For Ferdinand II, it is another disappointment--he is not only losing outright to a five-year-old child in one country, but in a competive race with that same child in another, a fine example of how low his stock is right now.
And of course, the Archduke's disappointment is nothing to Alba's who is left cursing that an Amazing. Opportunity. Is. Slipping. Through. Their. Fingers. But it's no good. His army is not getting any better, the funds and supplies he needs aren't coming, and King Philip wants him--hell, needs him--to go and try to stop the burgeoning Italian crisis. And so the ailing Duke turns command over to his eldest legitimate son, and bids his offspring to serve the Crown of Castille with loyalty and distinction, and to please, please try to make sure their old man doesn't die in Hungary.
They will certainly achieve the latter--Alba will die in Graz around Christmastime. He is sixty[43]. Many will state that his passing marks the end of an era.
Exactly what era is harder to determine.
--It is grim times in Spain, where Philip has topped of this stellar year by declaring bankruptcy. The immediate result of this is to make many of those revolts plaguing the Spanish Empire worse, as remember, a key factor in many is the inability of the crown to pay the men hired to smash heads for it. The local Granada revolt sees the army of Marquis de Los Velez degenerate so badly that in the eyes of many the chief difference between it and the Morisco rebels is the Moriscos are better behaved. Philip, still recovering from his recent illness, is staring at the potential ruin of his entire empire, and takes what little consolation he can from the fact that at least things can't get worse.
And then his son and heir, Charles of Asturias, suddenly appears in Santiago. Exactly how Charles got there is something of a mystery--well, all right, everyone knows a boat entered the equation at some point, but still--but the fact remains that he appears in Spain, accompanied by some soldiers, and a few Burgundian grandees--among them William of Orange and Estermont--making grand annoucements of how he has arrived with fellow victims of the wicked and bad men who have misled his father so. Spain will be great again! Just like Burgundy is great again, which is why Charles has technically abandoned his post, leaving a motley coalition in charge in the Netherlands... but nevermind technicalities! Spain bleeds, and her Prince returns to her! To bind her wounds, and make her whole again, and also to banish most of his father's ministers, because... they are bad. Now--WHO WANTS TO WAVE A FLAG WITH A LION ON IT?
This message, repeated in numerous locations as the Prince makes his way to Madrid, wins him many followers, many of whom are not only suspiciously enthusiastic, but suspiciously well-armed. Philip would normally be answering this by arresting Charles, who has now after all, moved away from scheming to out and out treason, followed by all the Burgundian nobles he's brought along for the ride. Unfortunately for Philip, all the people who would actually be doing the arresting have reached the point where they are quite willing to listen to what Charles has to say. After all, he really has turned things around in the Low Countries, and... well, it's hard to avoid the feeling that Philip is, at the very least, listening to people giving him really, REALLY bad advice.
And so the King of Spain spends his time watching the remains of his government disintegrate around him, with many of his ministers quietly excusing themselves, as they rather expect that they don't want to be there when the Prince hits Madrid. Philip is left complaining bitterly to his secretaries and his wife about how no one is asking how it was Charles got here so quickly, and so quietly, muttering darkly about secret alliances with foreign powers. (He's not sure if it's France or England, but he knows it's one of them.) Antonio Perez claims many years later that Philip proclaims to him one night, "Oh, they love him now, this viper, as he sinks his fangs in me, but wait--when he is finished with me, they'll be the ones to feel his venom!" But then, it's Antonio Perez. Ironically, for all Philip's complaints, Charles' presence does actually lessen some of his more local problems--many rebels actually start calming down, as they are fairly certain someone on their side is going to be in power soon. Of course, Philip can't quite detect this right now and probably wouldn't be cheered if he could.
So... still a bad, bad year for Philip, who now feels his only consolation is that he's pretty sure that it's finally out of nasty surprises.
--The ship full of gifts from the Manikongo arrives in England, and then makes it way to the court of Henry IX, to the wonder of both court and country. Henry is quickly convinced all this trade with Africa and America is a very good idea, especially as the fearsome Iberian colonial empires are quite obviously paper tigers. Plenty of madcap schemes are going to enjoy a royal nod over the next years, as numerous "companies" form to pursue them, some of which will actually do something in the years ahead. On the whole, it's an optimistic time in England--Church reformation is on the rise! The situation in Ireland seems to be resolving itself. Oh, and Norfolk is almost finished with the last part of Brutus! Yep, good times in England.
At least, if you're one of the reasonably well-to-do. If not--well, it's less good, thanks to poorer harvests, colder weather, and policies at the very top that tend favor the aforementioned reasonably well-to-do. But hey--at least you're going to know how you should sing in church soon.
--Just as Philip imagines he's at last reached a new normal, France joins the ongoing dogpile against Spain in early fall, declaring war and sending troops pouring over the border with the Low Countries. The French armies advance with a startling speed, aided by a cold autumn that has frozen over many of the moats and rivers the Low Countries rely on for defense[44]. While there's obviously a certain sacrifice in manpower for sending your troops out in such miserable cold--well, it's France. They've got men to spare.
The Netherlands' efforts at defense prove to be of highly mixed efficacy, which makes sense as they are under the direction of several different commands. You see as the Beggars, the upper ranks of the Burgundian nobility, and the Spanish forces all distrust each other, Charles of Asturia essentially left each in control of their own areas when he left for Spain. The result is each does its own thing when the French arrive, with varying results. The Spanish are skilled and professional and have a skilled commander in the form of young Alessandro Farnese--however they don't have numbers, and thus essentially find themselves forced to concentrate on holding actions that are frequenly made difficult by collapses elsewhere. The Beggars are enthusiastic, and dedicated, at least, when things start, but they aren't very good, and thus the result is quite a few truly epic defeats that see many of their former chiefs killed, among them Brederode. The Burgundian nobles... vary greatly, from dedicated skilled defenders, to well-meaning hotheads, to those who jump ship and start working for the French after making a brief formal show of resistance.
Charles, on hearing the news, has a very public show of grief and anger, and declares that this yet another reason for the bad and wicked men that have so misled his father to go. His father notes in private to his advisors that this is all his son's fault, which while an exageration, isn't completely unmerited. (Though it must be mentioned, quite a few people will suggest that Charles has, once again, played the long game here. But the reasons they think that will only be come clear in the years ahead.) "But of course, none see it, none mention it," he snaps. "All love that little limping fool." It is for him a time of utter darkness, the only bright spot being that his dear Eleanore, with whom he has at last consumated his marriage, is pregnant.
Meanwhile, Philip's Frankish counterpart is over the moon. Henri II is seeing the ambitions of generations of Valois finally bearing fruit. The lands of Burgundy shall soon be his! And... given its state--Italy as well, perhaps! Why, he's already looking into maybe making a play for Naples. (Or, failing that, bribing young Ercole d'Este to take it, then accept Milan from him as payment for giving up the Valois claim to Naples. Henri's flexible on this.) Soon, Henri II will demonstrate to the world that he is a capable monarch who is even better than his father! And soon, the various religious difficulties he's facing will vanish in the sight of French triumph!
Yep, it's great to be him. He's sure of that.
--And so as the year ends, it is most assuredly an annus horriblis for the Hapsburgs, who have watched their last hopes for supremacy in Germany die, and now see their entire Spanish empire under threat, from Europe to the New World, even the recently pacified Netherlands. Even the usually optimistic Charles of Asturia admits that things look grim.
And yet, in many ways, the turning point has already been reached. In the New World, the Basque "Emperor of Peru" is watching various Captain-Generals under his nominal rule declare that they aren't buying this, and take up arms against him. Most notably, Diego de Losada, a conquistador operating in New Granada, leaves off his busy schedule of slaughtering natives in the name of Spain and Christ to lead his men to... Panama, where the newly-installed Cortez garrison gets itself killed a fairly short time after setting up shop there.
And this is only one problem the Mexican rebels face--various communities, especially in the North and the Yucatan, refuse to accept the Emperor's rule. A resistance led by priests, Spaniards not in line with the local elites backing the Cortez brothers, and native nobles who are justifiably nervous about how things may go for them in a Mexico without Spanish protection gathers together, choosing for a figurehead a native convert to Catholicism of impeccable lineage and significant wealth, one Tlacahuepan Ihualicahuaca, or as the Spanish know him, Pedro de Moctezuma, and yes, of those Moctezumas. Thus begins the strangest second round in a family feud imaginable...
But of course, that is yet to come.
-------------------
[1] Dosan was twelve years dead by this time IOTL. And yes, he really did have that many aliases.
[2] This is all IOTL. He really earned that nickname.
[3] Yoshitatsu really did have leprosy, which did ultimately kill him IOTL. Indeed, during the OTL's version of events he faked worsening health to draw out his father's supporters at one point.
[4] Said marriage also occurred IOTL, due to Dosan's demonstrating to the Odas that they really didn't want to mess with him.
[5] Elizabeth Hardwick, a particular favorite of Elizabeth's IOTL, had a rather storied marriage career that ended with her being the Countess of Shrewsbury. And involved in a bothersome feud with her husband involving among other things, Mary Stuart.
[6] Similar actors were present at Mary's marriage to Francis II IOTL.
[7] IOTL, the wife of Henri III.
[8] Walter Devereux, an astonishingly luckless man both ITTL and IOTL, even if he did become Earl of Essex in our universe, died of dysentery in Ireland in 1576 IOTL.
[9] Petru the Child--who is roughly twenty at this time, and acquired the nickname because he was crowned Voivode at thirteen--was deposed by Constantinople around this time IOTL, largely because he and his mother had been rather successful at the tax farmer portion of being ruler of Wallachia, and the Ottomans wanted his money.
[10] As the Reformation went on, the Hapsburgs frequently found themselves giving these rights to various Protestant cities in their realms. Which they would later renege during various internal struggles, but the fact remains, it was a sign of loss of control.
[11] IOTL, rather than a son, Ernest III had a daughter, Elizabeth.
[12] A similar force was sent to assist efforts to dislodge the French from Brazil IOTL.
[13] IOTL and ITTL, Lala Mustafa actually backed Bayezid in the early portions of his struggles with Selim, only to drop him like a hot potato when things turned.
[14] IOTL, Lala Mustafa would live until 1580, and die Grand Vizier.
[15] Yes, Cortez actually named his eldest illegitimate son, and his eldest legitimate son the same name (after his own father). El Mestizo is, by the way, also the son of La Malinche, his interpreter/concubine.
[16] This is actually OTL--Philip's support of native rights is one of his more positive traits.
[17] The Cortes brothers were involved in a similar situation IOTL, where they had a similar ceremony performed at a private ball. Following their arrest, they all swore it was just a masquerade, which the Spanish throne eventually bought. It really helps to be the King's childhood friends.
[18] IOTL, these were used for the core of his Florida settlement.
[19] That is actually how las Casas put it IOTL.
[20] For those wondering, Aviles' site is essentially the location of IOTL Mobile, Alabama.
[21] Ivan really was fond of making just these sort of ultimatums and suggestions during the Livonian War, one of the many reasons that despite frequently holding a favorable position in it, he wound up losing big.
[22] Frederick II similarly founded Christiana/Oslo IOTL.
[23] Drake really was in awe of Foxe IOTL, enlisting his prayers at various times in his life.
[24] Ismail wound up performing similar acts IOTL.
[25] IOTL, Iskander Beg died in 1583, and was likewise succeeded by Abudllah.
[26] This is reportedly how he died IOTL as well.
[27] IOTL, he reached a similar arrangement in 1568. Then died in 1571. His brother Tupac Amaru was less than fond of it. And so things... degenerated.
[28] Vergara's administration was only a few shades less troubled IOTL--elected by his fellows, he was demoted by the Audencia, and forced to go back to Spain to answer charges.
[29] Spa was a favored spot for French royals in need of a pick-me-up, during which they would quite frequently mix in a bit of diplomacy and/or espionage.
[30] A similar trial took place IOTL Geneva around this time.
[31] Needless to say, all of these men died at considerably later times IOTL.
[32] Historically, Philip was Prince-Abbot from 1567 to 1568.
[33] Wilhelm served after Philip from 1568 to 1570.
[34] Yes, Luis de Requesens actually said that IOTL.
[35] Borremeo and Requesens didn't get along that well IOTL as well.
[36] Sampieru was assassinated by Corsican nobles around this time IOTL as well, though they were much less devious about it.
[37] Ioan, who would become known as Ioan cel Cumplit IOTL--that means "John the Terrible" by the way, so yes, we had to concurrent John the Terribles in Eastern Europe in this era--served as Voivode from 1572 to 1574 OTL.
[38] Historically, Alavaro began his reign facing just such an invasion. It went very badly for him, at first.
[39] IOTL, Philip's first truly severe attack of gout--which it should be added seems to have been used as something of a catch-all term at this point, and thus could mean anything from gout, rheumatoid arthritis, or some other severe autoimmune disorder--came in 1568. However, all of the aforementioned are worsened by stress--which he was under quite a bit at that time as well.
[40] IOTL, Istvan died in 1586 as Prince of Transylvania--AND King of Poland-Lithuania. Yes, the world is short one badass.
[41] Alba reportedly said something similar near the end of his life IOTL as well.
[42] IOTL, he would die in 1571 of illness.
[43] IOTL, he would die in 1582. While serving Philip in obtaining the crown of Portugal. So, yes, the world is short another badass.
[44] Interestingly, a similar autumn attack was used to conquer Calais IOTL.
