The Rise of the White Huns

[Hobelhouse]

Without further ado, I present the first installment of the Voyages of Marcelo Paulici!

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As the Mauri Maiden approached, Marcelo Paulici could one by one distinguish the familiar sights of Genova… of home. Proudly standing on most westward point of the great convoluted mass of the red-roofed, beige-bodied stucco city was the square tower of La Lanterna[1], the lighthouse that stood guard on the rock at the harbor entrance. Sliding past La Lanterna between the southern seawall and into the bay, the city laid itself out to the eye, and king on the horizon was San Cristoforo’s Basilica, also known as Il Duomo for its three-tiered dome[2], whose tiled roof, installed in the flush times after the last Votive War, could still dazzle from across the bay. Finally as the dock came closer, he could make out the Palace of the Visconti[3] on its hill; a brick-walled, sheer, boxy structure, but Marcelo knew from personal experience that the sparsely windowed walls it presented to the outside world belied the serene cloisters of its interior garden courtyards. His eye caught a red-and-gold banner on the nearby Torre d’Essarca… so the Exarch himself must be visiting Genova, as well!

As the Mauri Maiden slid in place in dock at the Old Harbor, Marcelo Paulici could not help but smile. After months at sea it was finally good to be at home. It had been a frustrating series of months, after all…. While, in the belly of the Mauri Maiden and her three sister ships, there were crates full of the finest silks to be found in Alexandria, these silks were hardly as fine as they might have been, once upon a time. Marcelo had found that since his last visit, half of his Egyptian contacts had either gone missing, gone broke, or gone into retirement. That heathen clod of a Satrap, Sepandiar, seemed determined to send everything in Egypt that was not nailed down in a carriage to Khardistan… but no matter, he thought, in spite of strife and the Khardish tolls, the dregs of the Eastern trade could still fetch a pretty penny from many of the wholesalers whose warehouses lined the Porto Antico.

As he began directing the unloading, Marcelo suddenly smiled as he noticed his brother, Lorenzo, walking down the dock towards the Maiden. That was not unusual… Lorenzo minded the Paulici warehouses while Marcelo was away and would want to tell the longshoremen exactly where to go. What WAS unusual was the trio of armed and armored guardsmen dressed in the Exarch’s colors who followed shortly behind.

As the two men came within shouting distance, Marcelo called out, “Hello, Lorenzo! Glad to see you again!” Lorenzo came closer and Marcelo could see he looked intensely worried. Coming down the gangplank to where Lorenzo stood, he said, “You look in good health, Lorenzo, but what is the trouble? And who are your… friends?” – gesturing to the armed and scowling guards behind him.

“Oh my dear brother,” said Lorenzo, “I am glad to see you have returned from Egypt, but it grieves me to have to give you such a miserable welcome. Exarch Ottocaro left standing orders that you should be brought to him at once on your return.”

“Ottocaro?” Marcelo repeated. Exarch Ottocaro d’Boso had been a patron of several of his voyages, and his magistrate was an old colleague of his. “Why does the Exarch demand my presence? He was not an investor in this voyage, and I have no quarrel with him.”

“Ah, yes, you have been at sea,” said Lorenzo. “Two months ago, there was a terrible bout of food poisoning during the Feast of Saint Julius. A pestilent batch of butter, it would seem… most of the feastgoers at the Exarch’s palace became ill… the Exarch himself, and his son Antonio… they…”

“Oh,” said Marcelo, dumbfounded.

“It wasn’t just Ottocaro and Antonio… the Exarch’s brother Aloysio also passed away. The Bishop of Genova and a dozen more were taken by God as well. So the Exarch’s father’s line passed away, and that left Ottocaro of the Nisa d’Bosos….”

Suddenly Marcelo realized what that meant, and he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“The new Exarch Ottocaro demanded you be escorted to a cell in the Torre d’Essarca upon your return to the city. And he is here in the city, now, for the appointment of the new Bishop. God be with you, I just don’t know what you could have done to anger him so, Marcelo…” said Lorenzo, plaintively.

But Marcelo did…


[1] A shorter structure than OTL’s lighthouse, but still a good 75 meters tall when seen from sea level.

[2] Imagine the Duomo of Florence and the Hagia Sophia had a baby. With the Greek diaspora, Byzantine-style architecture has had an even heavier influence on Italian styles…

[3] Genova is officially ruled by a hereditary Viscount, who may or may not have more de facto authority than the elected First Citizen of Genova depending on the relative personalities and talents of the two, but in any case is charged with enforcing the Exarch's policy on tolls, levies etc in the city and running the country hinterlands, while the First Citizen guarantees law and order within the city walls. An appointed Magistrate makes rounds between the major cities of the Exarchate and has similar, overlapping authority, which can cause conflicts at times, but such is the nature of the semi-feudal system that has developed TTL…

 

[Salvador79]

Okayyyyy...... so alt-Christopher Columbus is also from Genoa? At least that´s what I can`t help but think. But it´s a totally different Genoa of course, a different Europe, and he can`t be sailing for the Spanish crown (in the absence of one). Also, looks like he`s more likely to have to flee from Europe, not conquer and colonise... or maybe I´m totally wrong.

 

[Hobelhouse]

Okayyyyy...... so alt-Christopher Columbus is also from Genoa? At least that´s what I can`t help but think. But it´s a totally different Genoa of course, a different Europe, and he can`t be sailing for the Spanish crown (in the absence of one). Also, looks like he`s more likely to have to flee from Europe, not conquer and colonise... or maybe I´m totally wrong.

Not alt-Columbus... Alt Marco Polo.

 

[Practical Lobster]

Yay, nice to see the beginning of your side-project here, Hobelhouse.

I've been busy at work but the finished updates to the main project might come as early as this weekend, rounding out the known world and propelling us towards the new.

 

[Hobelhouse]

And now for Chapter 2...

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The Torre d’Essarca was a small but ornate fortress used as the residence of the Exarch’s magistrate on his monthly rounds of the cities of Provence, and, when the occasion warranted, was the residence of the Exarch himself on his visits to Genova. As Marcelo Paulici felt his arm wrenched again by the jailer leading him from its dungeon to the Exarch’s chambers, he reflected on what cursed luck had brought this particular man to power, and had put Marcelo at odds, in turn, with this particular man.

No, it was more than luck, he reflected, he knew he certainly had some blame. The new Exarch Ottocaro was known to be a capable but extremely petty and quarrelsome man, and the late Ottocaro had been happy enough to let his cousin tend his estates outside of the city of Nisa to keep him away from court for this very reason. Yet there were still occasions when the d’Boso cousins and their families would meet; and Marcelo distinctly remembered one such occasion, a Yuletide feast at the Exarchal Estate outside of Manosca just after his first successful voyage to Alexandria, nearly fifteen years ago…

The new Exarch Ottocaro had a large family, in stark contrast to the line of the late Ottocaro, who had had but one son and daughter and a childless brother. The new Exarch, on the other hand, could boast to all the world of a full set of seven sons and three daughters from his two marriages. But Marcelo knew that this would have been a false boast; the Exarch, in actuality, had only six sons. Marcelo knew why, and knew the Exarch knew it too. For both the Exarch, his wives, and nine of his children had been blonde of hair and blue of eye, yet his youngest son, Emilio, was a black-haired, brown-eyed youth… the spitting image, in fact, of Marcelo Paulici. It had been a very merry Christmas feast, and then-Count Ottocaro’s much younger second wife had been very… charming. And lonely. Their tryst had almost been discovered by the Count himself, but they had replaced their clothes before any incriminating acts could be witnessed. But Marcelo had looked in Ottocaro’s eyes and knew he knew, even if he had no proof. And then the boy was born. In his castle outside Nisa Ottocaro could do nothing but, presumably, fume, but now this man had him in his power….

He reassured himself that the Exarch could not do too much to him. He had no proof of any wrongdoing, only circumstantial (if correct) evidence. And the Exarchate had financed several new fortresses off the proceeds of Marcelo’s voyages and would want to do so in the future. And the Paulicis had powerful friends. Marcelo prayed that his good friend Areliu da Cartago, who was (hopefully still?) the magistrate of Provence, would be in attendance. It was June, so the magistrate should be in the city this month, on his regular cycle between Genova, Nisa, Marsela, and Manosca. Marcelo had saved the old Mauri’s life once from a band of Berber pirates, back in his sailing days, and Areliu still needed to repay that favor…

When the jailer hauled him into the Exarch’s audience chamber, the first thing that caught his eye was the Exarch on his throne. A balding, hawk-nosed man, he was squinting at a scroll he was holding up to his sight. Marcelo felt a flush of relief to see grey-bearded Areliu, wearing his magisterial sash, and standing next to the throne, pointing at something in the scroll. Also present, along with the guards, was the now-heir Valentinio d’Boso; next to him, another man who Marcelo did not recognize, but, from his vestments, must be the new Bishop of Genova; and, (his heart skipped a beat) Emilio d’Boso.

The Exarch deigned to notice him, and called out, “Well!” He placed the scroll on a small table next to the throne. “So nice to see you could make it on such short notice, Marcelo Paulici.”

Marcelo mustered his composure and bowed. “My congratulations and condolences on your ascension, my lord. But what is this all about?”

“I think you know what this is all about,” the Exarch replied, glancing at Emilio for just the briefest of moments. Yes, that was what it was about, thought Marcelo. “But truth be told, I’ve brought you here to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

“I… my lord, please explain.”

“Yes. Four months ago an agent of the heathen Boddists was apprehended breaking into the Guild of Glaziers, attempting to steal the recipe for Genovese Blue. It has come to my attention that this man entered the Frankish Empire under the transport of one Marcelo Paulici.”

“What?” said Marcelo. This was not how he expected this conversation to go. He wondered who the Exarch could be talking about… his ships usually ferried passengers, but never too many.

“Under the questioning[1] of the First Citizen’s watchmen, the man admitted that he was not a Greek refugee from Constantinople, as at first he claimed to be, but rather a Sahu spy by the name of Lasgha. And that he had been transported by boat from Constantinople. A city that a certain merchant captain has been known to visit, no?”

Certainly, him and every other captain in Genova. Marcelo replied, “My lord, if you are implying this man arrived with my knowledge or aid, I know nothing of this man, and he could have arrived on any of the hundred vessels that come and go to this city every week.”

“True!” replied the Exarch. “But the good Bishop Andre here has discovered something most grave. Under questioning by the church’s interrogators, it would appear that this spy, in addition to plotting to steal the formula that has made this city’s ceramics famed around Europe, was also part of a plot by the infernal Shah of the Chasars himself to bring down Christendom by spreading his vile religion among the faithful. And wouldn’t you know it, but among the cargo brought back from Constantinople by one Marcelo Paulici was a crate of books containing Boddist literature such as this scroll here,” pointing.

Marcelo looked at the scroll. It did seem to be written in the chicken-scratch Chasar script. And Marcelo had indeed brought several crates of books from his last voyage to Constantinople, works sent from Armenian monasteries to be kept safe from the turmoil of the latest Armenian rebellion [2]. Perhaps some Boddist works were among them, he did not know. But this was a trumped-up charge, based on the fantastical confession of a thief, taken from him by men who were overly fond of beatings. Even an Exarch would pay a price for punishing a distinguished citizen like himself (he had once been a Vice-censor, after all!) on such tenuous charges, especially one known to be a miser of slights and grievances like Ottocaro. There would be appeals. Long, drawn-out, miserable appeals, but ones the Exarch would probably not win. Marcelo told his lordship so, more diplomatically of course.

“Well, we can see about that,” said the Exarch. “But the good Bishop and my new magistrate Areliu have persuaded me that it might be such a better idea to make you an offer, instead.”

“Tell me,” said Marcelo.


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[1] Torture


[2] Not actually an ethnic Armenian revolt, but rather a revolt by the Khardishah’s other subjects the Caucasian Bajinaks. But most Europeans have a pretty fuzzy idea of where Armenia ends and Persia begins, and Armenian banditry has taken off as law-and-order has deteriorated in the area, so as far as Westerners would be concerned it’s a revolt in Armenia.

 

[Practical Lobster]

The Life of Presbyter Savus is a work of 12th century epic poetry which concerns itself with the life of a great pious Christian king of the east, and his wars against the pagan Samirgulla. Savus is portrayed as the paragon of European kingship – wise, noble, just and above all pious. Skilled in arms and trusting of his companions, he is betrayed by his wife Ieva, who secretly keeps “demonic idols” and does black magic to ensure Savus’ defeat in battle.

Samirgulla, who is king of the “Sun City”, presides over a world of debauched sacrifice and unspeakable violence. His palace is at once described as a sensual paradise and a evil, scheming place filled with villainous councilors, and he is only capable of victories over Savus through trickery and sheer weight of numbers. Savus’ men, who are often equated with Syrians or Hellenes, are overrun by the cavalry of the east. His own soldiers fight “shield to shield” – evoking not the martial style of Frankish cavalry but rather the martial style of the wooded Polish frontier – speaking to the author’s education and travels but obviously not to historical accuracy.

The Apology of the Dancer isan early work of Iranian prose, thought to have been written by an Afghani aristocrat, Vartingin sometime in the late 11th or early 12th century. It was poorly regarded at the time, given that most notable writings at the time consumed for pleasure were done in complex poetic styles mirroring the fashions and fads of distant local courts. However, it would develop a following of sorts after being translated into Pajcanadan vernacular by a Takasashilan monk, and would eventually spread across India in various languages – despite never achieving recognition in its homeland. To the Indian audiences, this was the story of an exotic, strange land far beyond anything they might recognize. To the Afghan audiences who read it in the original vernacular, it was a fanciful tale with bizarre twists of plot and terrible prose.

It tells the story of a bored aristocrat who does not lack for possessions, but lusts after a beautiful dancing-girl in his employ and her continuous refusals of him. Finally, he wins her heart through persistence and a series of opulent gifts. The last gift, some two hundred Ferghanian horses, elevates her enormously above her station. However, almost immediately he suspects her of sleeping with another man, an earnest stableboy named Ravakh who does not seek to buy her affections but rather loves her simply and without reservation.

The protagonist hunts down Ravakh and challenges him to a duel. When the stableboy is inevitably overmatched and killed, the eponymous dancer, Anahita, gives a long monologue which forces the aristocrat to see the error of his ways. She then apologizes for her unfaithfulness, but in a moment of radical progressiveness (for the time) points out that Vartingin continued to sleep with his own wife. Vartingin is befuddled by these remarks and moves to strike her, but she is carried away by an immense stork and goes to dwell in the habitation of the gods. Vartingin curses his tragic flaws and starves to death a month later.

The Death of Suzaku is a famous Japanese novel of the mid 12th century. Detailing courtly life in the Fujiwara period, it deals with the ambitious social climber Suzaku and his intrigues with monks. Written by the second generation descendent of Chinese refugees, it provides a stunning and accurate look at courtly life in Japan, and when Suzaku is ultimately forced to flee for five years to China and then Srivijaya, it details those countries’ politics, climate, and architecture in exquisite detail.

The first third of the book is written as political intrigue – Suzaku, a low Bushi, arrives in the Imperial court and by hasty studying manages not to fatally embarrass himself in the first few months. However, eventually his social inexperience catches up with him, and he angers important officials. Forced to work with the Insei monks who control power behind the scenes, he survives and becomes a dangerous power in his own right, even marrying into the novel’s thinly-veiled analogue of the Fujiwara family.

Then he is forced into exile when he loses his usefulness to the Insei, and he travels the world with his wife and a small retinue of loyal friends. This portion takes on the style of a travelogue, and while insightful is widely considered to be the poorest section. Suzaku encounters minimal hardship and, quite truthfully to his status and the time period, is a distinguished guest from a mystical and little known country who is treated with respect and reverence. It often attempts a certain form of referential comedy which due to context is lost on modern audiences who are not well versed in the period.

The third section chronicles his return, and is an almost existential meditation on life and death. Suzaku’s arrival in Japan once more leads with almost mechanistic certainty to a position in which his only options are a hopeless fight or suicide. In between philosophical realizations and the darkly beautiful poetry of this section is a scathing critique of the Regency-era bureaucracy and the politics of the era. Rather than doom his allies, spouse, and children to a similar fate, Suzaku sacrifices himself that they might survive and indeed ultimately prosper. His last thoughts are a meditation on the ephemeral beauty of life.

[Edit, I don't have much time but I wanted to write something for this.]

 

[Hobelhouse]

LOL, way to beat me to the punch on Savus! (this post will explain the origin of that legend in more detail).

Is Afghanistan really that exotic to Indians TTL? Interesting.

Here's Chapter 3:

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“He wanted you to do what?” said Lorenzo Paulici, incredulously.

The Paulicis’ merchant compound was close enough to the harbor to smell the sea. At the corner of one of the Paulici’s warehouses was a small, three-story annex whose upper room overlooked the whole grounds. The Senate, as it were, of the Paulici trading empire was meeting in this room.

“You heard me,” said Marcelo Paulici, “He wants me to sail to Ethiopia!”

“Uncle, isn’t it true that one cannot sail to Ethiopia?” asked Lorenzo’s son, Ernesto.

“Of course it’s true,” said Marcelo. “Or at least, you can’t sail from Genova. They have this gimcrack plan to sail to Tamietha [1], cross the desert, and hire a crew of Arabs to take us the rest of the way!”

“Who is ‘us’?” asked Zimon da Buna. Zimon could be described as the Paulicis’ ‘head of security’ – he managed the warehouse staff and guards, kept in touch with the hired swords the Paulicis had on retainer, and hired more men on such occasions a voyage had need of them. Zimon had at times played a very direct role in security, which is the reason why the swarthy Mauri man had only one piercing blue eye.

“Us,” said Marcelo, “is myself, along with probably every man we have on retainer and more, along with one hundred of the Exarch’s least-missable swordsmen, and along with… I swear to God… a secret delegation from the Pope, including a papal emissary and fifty Anglish Guards! [2]”

“What? You must explain!” said Lorenzo.

And explain he did. Pope Innocent the Sixth was a man of a martial bent, who prayed every day for the return of Christian rule to Christian lands. The hated Khardishahs controlled both Egypt and the Holy Land, but it was known that there was a Christian empire in Ethiopia to the south of Egypt. Macuria was said to be a land ruled by an undying emperor known as Savus[3], gifted longevity by God for his faithfulness in the face of the Boddist ravagers. In Macuria, it was said, cathedrals were carved out of the mountains themselves, and the Ark of the Covenant was laid to rest in the tallest and grandest of these, guarded by an order of monks who, the stories told, had the teeth of lions and could run faster than horses. It was said that Macuria stretched far to the south, to an endless forest where diamonds grew like fruit on trees, unicorns roamed the meadows, and the rivers were silted up with gold dust [4].

Or so it was said. Marcelo had never been farther south than Memphis, but he had met Macurians once or twice, and they had seemed like ordinary people, though by far the swarthiest he had ever seen. They certainly had not had any diamonds, let alone ones the size of fruit.

Regardless, God had come to Pope Innocent in a dream: by His Providence, the time was ripe for a new Votive War, of a kind that had never been waged before. Unlike the Votive Wars of old, this one would be launched entirely by sea. A two-pronged attack was envisioned: while the fleets of Genova, Venizia, and Barcino transported thousands of the Empire’s bravest and most pious men to the shores of the Holy Land itself, the faithful Savus would mount an attack on the heathens and liberate the groaning masses of Egypt from the south. In turn, the Asian Hellenes would almost certainly be inspired to revolt in Kappadocia and Cilicia. God willing, the Khardi, currently fighting their Armenian rebellion[5], would be entirely overwhelmed, the Khardish Empire would be shattered, and from the Cataracts of the Nile to the mountains of the Caucasus, faithful Christian kings would reign once more. The new Bishop Andre of Genova was part of the martial faction in the Curia, and had been looking for an opportunity to find a man who knew Egypt… and both him and the Exarch would gain a good deal of favor from the Pope for finding a “volunteer”.

“So officially it is a trading expedition to Aden jointly financed by myself and the Exarch,” continued Marcelo, “But unofficially, half the Exarch’s share has been put up by the Pope, and his delegation will be travelling in disguise as the Exarch’s men, on a mission to re-establish relations with our Christian brothers and give them aid in this new Votive War.”

“Well…” said Lorenzo, “It is certainly an ambitious plan…”

“You can say that again!” interjected Zimon. “I can think of a dozen things that could go wrong, and that’s just before you get out of Egypt!”

“It’s not like I have much choice…” said Marcelo, “It is this or watch ourselves be ruined by this trumped-up charge and whatever future ones the Exarch cares to bring.”

“In truth, though, perhaps there would be an upside…” said a soft-voiced, gangly old man who had not spoken up yet. Bartolomeo di Ticino, or Barto as he was called, was the Paulici’s long-time treasurer. He continued: “Our last voyage to Alexandria pulled in less than half the profits of even the very first your father and I went on together, forty years ago. If the Khardi could be expelled from Egypt, if it had a government respectful of Christian traders, business might be as good as in even my grandfathers’ day… A trip to Macuria, too, could be a profitable one. What was supposed to be our share of the profits?”

“Half,” said Marcelo, “But the Exarch twisted my arm and demanded we transfer half the profits of silk carried on Paulici ships to him, in perpetuity, as ‘inducement’ for him to put forth his ‘generous investment’.”

“Robbery! Piracy!” said Zimon. “What does this man have against the Paulicis?”

“I confess I do not understand myself, brother,” said Lorenzo. “Why you? Why would the Exarch single you out for this mission? The Nisa d’Bosos have made a tidy profit off the Colombo family’s Egyptian ventures. Why you and not, say, Angelo Colombo? Do… do you know something we do not, brother?”

“Well…” began Marcelo. He started to tell them.

---

[1]OTL Damietta

[2]The Anglish Guards are perhaps Europe’s most respectable band of mercenaries; kept on permanent retainer by the Pope as his personal bodyguards and hatchet men, they are staffed by ambitious young Anglishmen, Danes, and Skots who are slightly more pious than average and looking to make a name for themselves in the soldiering business, which, given the general unity of the Frankish Empire, is never particularly great except when a Votive War is on.

[3]The deposed Heshanid Syavush, who was never even king of Makuria, has become something of a Prester John TTL.

[4] Optimistically, Westerners have decided that the garbled tales they hear of Kapudesa pertain to Makuria.

[5]As mentioned earlier, not actually an Armenian rebellion, but a Bajinak one.

 

[Practical Lobster]

To answer your question, India is a huge place and Afghanistan, being landlocked, is considered quite distant to some.

Also in my defense I thought you'd already posted this post.

 

[Practical Lobster]

Frankish Empire – The Frankish Empire is a strange and polyglot beast. At the turn of the century, millions of Europeans and the vast majority of Christendom live and die beneath the banner of the Frankish Emperors, all of whom, with the exception of Majorian, have borne the name of Aloysius. In 1100, the Frankish Empire is ruled by Aloysius X, a boy-king whose power and authority are severely curtailed by the rise of powerful factions both temporal and ecclesiastical within his dominion. Despite the geographical factors which would argue against a united Europe, and many particularist tendencies throughout the Empire, the Franks have manufactured an enduring dominion by combining their martial prowess with many elements Roman administration.

The great dukes and other high nobles of the realm are actually not the great holders of power within the Frankish Empire. The Frankish elite have a long memory of the anarchy of several centuries past, before succession was stabilized and when the landholders had all the power. Accordingly, only a select few vassals are actually powerful figures in their own right. Mostly, power is concentrated in the vast Imperial court, where there now reside thousands of Palatine counts and magistrates. These officials run the feudal bureaucracy of the Empire, travelling around local circuits dispensing justice and resolving disputes. Theirs is an essentially hereditary profession, and accordingly they have become an entrenched class, dependent on royal largesse for their salaries.

The eleventh century has been good to the Franks. Viking raids are almost unheard of, and peace has seen unprecedented amounts of riverine trade and the further growth of European cities. Prosperity has even reached the peasant classes, who enjoy better diets and greater safety than they have in centuries. There have been no Empire-wide wars, merely local border skirmishes, and even the Xasar marches enjoyed a relatively quiet century.

If there is any fear, it seems to be that this state of prosperity cannot last forever. The profound optimism of the eleventh century also hides serious divisions within the Frankish state. Tinanian heresy has grown unchecked since Aloysius VI unofficially put a stop to the show trials across Italy and Southern France. Many within the Imperial court themselves hold beliefs that could be considered Tinanian, and despite a fresh round of persecutions in the 1070s, the heresy has endured - although after the latest persecutions it is primarily an underground movement. The push for new Patriarchates across Europe has also caused uncertainty. Despite little progress being made, the Archbishops of Koln and Paris remain outspoken proponents of a reform of Church hierarchy.

(Francia) Francia itself is the beating heart of the Empire. The vast Imperial demesne supports a massive population and is wealthy enough on its own to support the Royal bureaucracy. The Franks themselves are the most loyal subjects, at least by reputation – they provide the heavily armored and mounted forces which are the vanguard of any Frankish war. For the bulk of European nobility, marrying into the Frankish elite is essential, as the Franks enjoy the most privileges. Their sons have the easiest time gaining prestigious court titles or spots in the clergy.

(Germania) The Germans tire of Frankish dominion. The story of the eleventh century might be seen by an uncharitable observer as the Frankish Emperors struggling to resolve administrative crises relating to the Germans. Perhaps, however, German rebelliousness is not unjustified. Italy and France continue to gain most of the favors, and Ispana enjoys benign neglect. It is the people of Germany who bear the burden of frontier defense and who receive little thanks.

The German Dukes are more powerful than their counterparts in most of the other regions – and they have clawed and scraped for every inch of that power. Under the exacting terms of the 1036 Concordant of Koln, Pope Innocent III and Aloysius VII agreed to give the German Dukes direct investiture within their territories, and to establish the Comitium Imperial (Landstag) – a regular assembly wherein their ambassadors could maintain a permanent voice in the politics of Aachen. However, these concessions emboldened the Germans, and allowed them to stack their bishoprics and monasteries with political creatures loyal to their agenda. The German Church is considerably more independent in doctrine and policy than its fellow Catholics. There has been talk of establishing a new patriarchate in some city, perhaps Koln, but this has been met by stern opposition.

There has also been talk of further compromises – of establishing a separate German kingdom with its own Palatine Assembly. In 1066, Aloysius VIII briefly considered such a measure, during one of his tours of the Empire, but he ultimately decided against such a measure.

(Ispana) Ispana often thinks of itself as a sister-kingdom, rather than a mere vassal of the Frankish Empire. The King of Ispana (who is also Duke of Tarragona) is influential by dint of being a cadet dynasty to the royal line. His is the only royal title not directly owned by the monarchy. In the over a hundred years since the “Spanish Troubles” as they are often euphemistically referred to, Ispana has become a relatively calm and settled place once more – more akin to the pastoral region of historical memory than the violent and troubled country it was more recently.

There are few major urban areas in Spain – the population is scattered across many sizable towns, and it has become a sort of breadbasket for the burgeoning cities of Italy, as well as being the chief source of high-quality iron for weaponmaking.

(Italia) Italia is the richest part of the Empire, and its northern half is by far and away the most urban. Here cities dominate, with town councils and local guilds holding more power than the rural lords who notionally rule. While trade fluctuates across the Mediterranean, the Italian cities have generally remained afloat through the highs and lows.

Italia benefits from certain Imperial traditions that its fellow regions have no access to. The coronation march on Rome is so formal and ritualized at this point that there is no tension or uncertainty, and accordingly it is merely an opportunity for powerful Italian grandees to bask in the generosity of a new Emperor.

Sklavenia – Sklavenia’s prime position along major avenues of European trade has brought wealth to a new urban artisanal and mercantile class, and some of the major cities of the region are approaching their population in Roman times once more. In one of the great ironies of history, the Italian architectural styles in vogue among the Sklaveni elite are themselves an evolution of imported Roman styles brought to Italy by Roman refugees fleeing the Sklaveni. Generally, high Sklaveni culture is an imitation of Frankish and Italian norms and customs – while the “low culture” of the common people still retains ancient Slavic folk traditions mixed with some Rhomaic customs.

The Sklavenians, however, are a people diplomatically isolated. Old hatreds die hard, and the Franks, Xasar, and the Asians all have their reasons for disliking and distrusting the Sklaveni. Wars against the Xasar have been mostly inconclusive or debacles for the Sklaveni – who are far more comfortable in the defense of strongholds in the hilly, wooded Balkans than they are marching across the plains to wage war against the armored horsemen of the Xasar. Great Achaia still remains lost to them as well, and in the hands of Italian Franks it is prosperous indeed.

At the turn of the century, King Simon Alos, residing in his capital of Salunicha pays tribute to the Franks and Xasar alike, and still finds himself squished between the two. This seems unlikely to change in the near future, as any war against either of the great powers on his doorstep is a major risk he cannot afford.

Votive Asia – Niketas did not long outlive his titanic wars. He was an old man when he ascended to the position of Protohypatos – long a senior official in the Nikaian regime. But before he died, he began acting as a Roman Emperor would. He named his daughter’s husband, Ioannes Laskaris[1] co-Emperor, and oversaw a relatively peaceable transition of power.

This did not solve Asia’s immediate problems. The Emperor had the loyalty of Nikaia and her allies, but Samos, Kibyra, Galatia, and other regions were less tractable. The only blessing was a mixed one. Alania and the central plateau were now owned directly by the Empire. In other times, this might have been a huge boon – a massive imperial demesne. However, Ikonion and her environs were vulnerable so long as the Iranians were at the doorstep.

In 1072, Emperor Ioannes fought a war to retake Kappadocia, but he was vexed, managing to take several border towns but not make any significant incursions. The Votive enthusiasm of Europe was sapped, and state finances were always a perilous thing. To maintain what many of the Asian cities viewed as an informal league, Ioannes was often forced to make compromises. Protohypatos and Emperor he might have been, but the central administration was only responsible for directly ruled Imperial territories. To gain soldiers and coin from his subjects he had to bargain.

In 1100, Ioannes’ grandson Emmanuel Laskaris holds the throne. He is a famous poet and according to rumor has ambitions of retaking Konstantikert and a vast swathe of Xasar territory. It is unclear to what extent he actually has the talent and capacity to do this, and only time will tell if he can.

[1]His last name, which comes from the Iranian word Lashgari, meaning warrior, hints at origins among the Rhom Eftal.

 

[Practical Lobster]

Imagine the year is 1078.

Imagine you are tired and hungry. The hot sun beats down on your back and there is no surcease. You are out of water. You are near out of food. As Captain, you share the hardships of your men.

Prayers to the beneficent saints and God himself have not availed you. The sea, you now realize, goes on forever. This journey was madness. The Great Land the Norse claim lies to the utter West is false, a mad rumor. The brothers Ragnarssen are liars and con artists. You realize that now. The ocean, as far as you know or care, is as infinite as the vault of heaven.

The boat in which you sail draws tight the confines of your world. Beyond its wooden planks lies only infinite clear blue horizons. Whorls of distant clouds confirm only your heartbreaking isolation. Sometimes thunderheads rear like the fist of some pagan god across the darkening sky.

Your crew are weary, but still yoked together with a common aim. A fat golden coin with the cold ringlet-haired face of Aloysius VIII looks down upon all of you. It will go to the first man who sights land.

But there is no land. There is only the sea. Miles and miles of sprawling ocean and on the other side, China. But China is too far. The world is too wide.

Three days later, you are sprawled across the deck. The crew has killed your sister’s son. The deck is slick with his blood. The crossbow in his hands is still loaded. You crawl towards it. A boot comes down hard upon your neck and pain shoots through you, white hot.

At least you will not starve.

Then, the mutineers shout with something so unlike execration that at first you do not understand their meaning. Field birds! You rise slowly. Great flocks of birds wheel and turn in the distance. Land is near. Hope is renewed.

You get to live and die with the rest of them. Three days later, the thunderheads return. This time, they blot out the horizon. The men make their prayers. You mumble along with those who might well have murdered you, your tongue swollen and heavy. You are not the Captain anymore. There is no Captain.

The storm will leave naught but ruin.

The next morning, weak and confused, you first swim, then stumble through the muck of a white sand beach. The isle is clear and agonizingly bright. Colorful birds screech above you. Your head throbs with pain.

The swarthy women who find you will take you in. They will feed you. They will clothe you. You will drink their water and in time when you are healthy you will lay with them in sinful union. You will never see home again. On your deathbed, surrounded by children who call you father in the tongue of the Hatabey, you will barely even remember the great castles and many spired churches of your homeland. You will pray to the old gods of this island and you will not feel shame.

Over the long years of your fruitful life, you have forgotten why you set out. The quest for glory, for knowledge, for a new land with cities made of gold.

All that glory will go to another man. This era, and the great exchange of people, knowledge, and disease that follows will bear his name.

But you will die having lived in paradise.

 

[Jon the Numbat]

This is quite a wonderful timeline! The world and it's developments are well described and organic. One of my favorite aspects of this timeline is it's immense scope. Not only do we see what an Eftal-Iranian empire looks like, but also a world where their time is long gone and the repercussions stretch from West Africa to China. The vignettes are a joy to read and really put into perspective how much the White Huns of old have changed the Earth.

 

[Thinker1200]

So here is a question, does Buddhism get out-competed in India ITTL like it did OTL? What with no Islam to destroy the Monasteries of the Palas and i havent really seen the rise of anything like the Brahmani movement in this thread as of yet? Actually what does the religious makeup of India look like before the age of discovery? If i missed it i apologize but i havent seen any posts about the state of the Dharmic faiths on the subcontinent in particular.

 

[Practical Lobster]

The Indian religious world is much more pluralistic than OTL. Buddhism predominates in the north, particularly the Indus, Gandhara, and that region. Vanga/Bengal is also very Buddhist. However Buddhism and Hinduism also are intertwined and linked in the lives of many people. Hindu temples exist next to Buddhist sites and many attend both or make use of both for different purposes.

However overseas the distinction is more clear, as many of those Hindus who went abroad did so to avoid the attempts of the Maukhani to unify the two religions and those people tend to be more monotheistic in their observance of Hinduism. Kapudesan hinduism almost universally worships the great God Ishvara in several unique forms.

 

[B_Munro]

A bit more progress: the divisions of the Frankish Empire are taken from Hobelhouse's excellent map, although I am afraid I had trouble figuring out borders in the South German/Switzerland area.

(The Khardi Empire is left undone so far because I'm not sure which local subdivisions/areas weak central control I should mark. Any posts I should be specifically looking at?)

 

[Practical Lobster]

Um, it depends when this map is supposed to represent. As of 1104, all of the semi-autonomous vassals are eastern. Armenia and Cilicia could possibly be noted as their own autonomous regions, but they're no more independant that say, a border province of France.

It's really in the twelfth century that the Khardi Empire falls apart. It's weakness in the early stages of this era wouldn't be immediately apparent, I think, to a cartographer trying to capture the political situation.
Oghuz Khaganate can probably just be called "Afsar" for the purposes of this map, as the Kitai Empire can be called "Yaol." I enjoy the fact that the Vanga League is getting insulted on the map. They really are weak, and have been poorly represented so far in this history.

Generally, however, this map is absolutely amazing, even in an incomplete state. It's a shame though that its borders will cut off the Gardaveldi and the Scandinavian situation in the north and Srivijaya in the south.

 

[B_Munro]

Um, it depends when this map is supposed to represent. As of 1104, all of the semi-autonomous vassals are eastern. Armenia and Cilicia could possibly be noted as their own autonomous regions, but they're no more independant that say, a border province of France.

It's really in the twelfth century that the Khardi Empire falls apart. It's weakness in the early stages of this era wouldn't be immediately apparent, I think, to a cartographer trying to capture the political situation.
Oghuz Khaganate can probably just be called "Afsar" for the purposes of this map, as the Kitai Empire can be called "Yaol." I enjoy the fact that the Vanga League is getting insulted on the map. They really are weak, and have been poorly represented so far in this history.

Generally, however, this map is absolutely amazing, even in an incomplete state. It's a shame though that its borders will cut off the Gardaveldi and the Scandinavian situation in the north and Srivijaya in the south.

I am trying to keep it up to the date of your 1104 round-the-world trip: and it's just a piece cut from a bigger map so there wouldn't be too much pointless white space. I plan to get to the Slavs and Scandinavians in time.

Edit: oh, and some clarification on what states exist in the Tarim basin at this point would be peachy.

 

[Hobelhouse]

IIRC I think my city placement in the Alpine region was some of the fuzziest on my map, so don't feel too bad about being confused, just make borders that look reasonable. Narbo/Narbonne should be in the Imperial demesne though and Tarragona should have the actual city of Tarragona. I think you might be working off the older version of the map from before I fixed some issues. This the most recent version.

Also the New World vignette was pretty cool BTW PL. The sequel TL is gonna be pretty rad.

Anyway, Chapter 4!

----

There were no two cities quite like Messana and Rheghi. While Rheghi was more a city of Megele Hellas, and Messana was more a city of the Mauri, in truth they were two cities in one, with nearly as much of each in one as in the other. That was on top of the heavy population of Siculians[1], and the communities of Franks, Italians, and Hispaniards that dwelled there, along with the pockets of Berbers, Jews, and other Hellenes of more distant origin. Even the Sahu were grudgingly allowed to operate a trading post here. For, as the two cities stared at each other from across the Strait of Messana, they looked across the crossroads of the Mediterranean. Rheghi saw more trade heading north around the toe of Italy, and Messana handled more of the flow to and from more distant places such as Angland and the Black Sea, but both cities were nearly the size of Genova, and both saw an even more exotic and numerous fleet of visitors.

Both cities had seen better days, however, reflected Marcelo as he walked the streets of the run-down and shabby Egyptian Quarter in Messana. While, physically, both cities were nearly the size of Genova, the slow strangulation of the Egyptian grain trade had been an economic disaster for them, and many Siculians, Mauri and Hellenes had deserted the city for the countryside in the last few decades, leaving abandoned neighborhoods to decay. Like a pair of twin Romes, the arches and balconies were beginning to be given over to vegetation in certain outlying neighborhoods. The Egyptian Quarter was a perfect example. Empty warehouses that had once held grain barrels stacked to the ceiling were caved-in hulks on grassy grounds. The few people who still dwelled in the Egyptian Quarter, now, were a group of Egyptians and Kuptic Hellenes living around their church (by far the most well-maintained structure in the neighborhood) like a small village in the midst of a ruin.

Marcelo followed the Pope’s own emissary, Father Roderico, who in turn followed an Anglish Guard and wolf of a man, John of Brykstow, who in turn followed a bear of a man, Rolf of Osby, another Anglish guard, who followed his own sense of direction. They made their way into the church; it was dim inside, lit by candlelight and slivers of windows. The vault of the ceiling was adorned with a repeating cross motif, and its arches had alcoves containing statues of the Apostles. A canny observer, though, might notice that in addition to the usual Apostles like Peter, John, and Paul, there was also a statue of one Apostle Heshanos. It was late on a Wednesday afternoon, a good three months after Marcelo’s fateful arrival in Genvoa, and an aged priest stood lighting a hanging censer of incense, preparing for an early evening Mass. Seeing four men shadow the door of his church, he looked up from his task.

“Theophilos of Naucratis?” asked Father Roderico.

“Yes, that is I, though I must say I meet few who add the ‘of Naucratis’ nowadays.” replied the Priest. There were few indeed who lived in Naucratis nowadays, either, thanks the the Khardi.

“Well met, good Theophilos. I am Father Roderico of Amalfi and I am here to deliver a letter to you from his Holiness the Pope,” said Father Roderico.

“The Serene Pontiff has a letter for me? Show me,” replied Theophlios. Father Roderico presented the letter to him. The Hellene opened the wax Papal seal and scanned the letter for a few minutes. A smile immediately appeared on his face. With each minute that passed, his smile grew wider. Finally he set the letter down.

“Of course I accept,” said Theophilos. “I have only one question, however.”

“Ask me, brother,” said Father Roderico.

“What took him so long?”


[1] Old Romance ethnic group present before the Southern Romance Mauri overwhelmed most of the island after the Berber invasions. Speaks a language similar to OTL Sicilian, but heavily influenced by Mauri and Greek rather than Arabic. I imagine the Mauri language would be a Southern Romance language similar to Sardinian in sound; St. Augustine described the two as being alike to each other. The grammar and pronunciation will likely undergo rather more mutation and loaning than OTL Sardinian though, under the influence of Berber and Greek.

 

[Practical Lobster]

I'll mock up a quick map either when I get off work tonight or tomorrow for you. The state names however are generally as OTL before the uighurs came, since those city states had existed for quite some time. The only difference is I sometimes in the timeline refer to them by their ruling dynasties.

 

[Practical Lobster]

Practical Lobster's world tour circa 1104 continues!

Poland – the Poles are the thankless bastion of Buddhism beyond the Urals. By their strength of arms do German knights not range across the lands of Chernarus or sweep down from the north against the Xasar.

However, the Buddhist nations of Transuralic Asia do not have an equivalent to Christendom. Even when they were relatively united under a Khirichan Khagan, there was considerably less sense of shared identity. Accordingly, the Buddhists of Poland find that their neighbors are more likely to critique their doctrine than provide support or welcome aid. The Xasar have their own, southern priorities, and the Kundajid are not nearly as strong as their predecessors. There is no single great faith, and the notion of the Sangha, or community of believers, is split by sectarian divisions. Even those who might come to the aid of the Poles consider them heterodox and barbaric.

Poland is by some definitions a strong kingdom, in that for several centuries it has remained remarkably unified in the face of outside pressure. Their identity is rooted in Slavic customs and traditions, and it stands deeply opposed to the Germanized Christian identity of their Moravian and German rivals. Under King Kazimirez, however, fissures have begun to develop – not the expected cultural ones, but rather a sense of exhaustion brought on by continuous low-intensity warfare. In another world, there might be compromise. The Poles might even have accepted the primacy of the Pope and perhaps the Emperor in Aachen.

However, the German settlers have been loathe to encourage conversion among the Poles. Overpopulation in Europe occurs in roughly generational waves. 1100 is a peak of sorts for the German region, and Germans are flooding into Poland, more often than not heavily armed. This colonialism is rewriting linguistic and cultural barriers, throwing the Polish world into chaos, in the name of a broader Votive expansionism. With expansion into the Balkans checked by stronger and more populous states, comparatively weak and tribal Poland is the only available target.

The future of Poland is filled with questions. The Germans would find it hard to justify their warfare if it was perpetrated against fellow Christians, but others in the Polish court suggest redoubling efforts to find a protector to the East. However, major defeats against Moravia suggest that time is running out for the peoples of the plain.

Baltic Tribes – Slowly opening up to the world is hard. One day, you think your hill-fort is the very navel of the world, what some distant scholars you’ve never heard of and don’t care about call the omphalos. You pray to the Great Thunderer and he has kept your family and your family’s family safe for generations. Slowly opening up to the world is painful. It is especially painful for those bright-eyed western missionaries who come to tell you about their dead God who returned from the dead and fed his body to lambs. They speak your language haltingly and with great uncertainty, and often they pay for it with their lives.

However, it is impossible to remain guarded from the world forever. The Balts, particularly in places such as Prussia have learned that the hard way. While the Lithuanians bend the knee to the long arm of the Han of Byalarus, and the northerners have fallen to the Wheel Realm, others, the Livonians and Prussians have begun to listen to those strange missionaries from Saxony and Denmark. They have begun to hear the word of the risen God.

In time, perhaps, even their Kings will throw off the shackles of the old Gods and pray to the new reborn god from the curly-haired kings of the south.

Xasar Shahdom – The solidification of the Xasar state came at a time when regional and local identities across Europe were also solidifying. But where the European world was diverging along local and often linguistic lines, the Xasar experienced unification and greater heights of political and cultural achievement than at any point in their often violent and tribal past. A sign of this was the Xasar ruler taking the title of Shah, evoking the Khardi monarchy and distancing himself from the Turkish past in favor of a largely mythologized Eftal-Iranian origin story, one reinforced by Konstantikert’s status as a dual capital of the new state alongside double-walled Shahidjan. One of the new Shah’s many titles is Shah of Rhom, emphasizing a false continuity with the relatively-short lived state.

Culturally, the Xasar language has come to dominate, displacing dying languages such as the Avar and Bulgar tongues, although Turkish and Slavic tongues still persist among large portions of the common people. The hill peoples, the Rumana of Kluch, have retained their traditional folk-Catholic religion and their language as well, and while they remain second class citizens to some degree, they are treasured as fierce auxiliary soldiers. The relative stability of the eleventh century has allowed interrelation between villages and regions, and a strong monarchy has engaged in many fortification projects – creating a sort of “defense in depth” which mirrors the fortification of the Frankish marches had has roughly solidified the borders of Christendom and the East. The Xasar themselves are not a nomadic people and have not really been for some time now. Their regime is defined by growing urbanism and steadily rising agricultural productivity.

The Xasar military has undergone significant changes. The chief element of the army is still the elite cavalry, a force which has proved its quality against European chivalry time and again. Despite a preference for lighter armor and mobility, the Xasar have adopted European martial innovations with readiness, and have pioneered the manufacture of the crossbow, a weapon whose bolts in the hands of skilled Bulgar or Rumanian archer (“Turtleback” for their distinctive shields) can kill a knight or armored footman with relative ease. The Xasar military track record has been exemplary, including several major victories against the Moravians – however its evolution is also massive. The horse archer of the new Xasar army, for example is no longer a tribesman part of a federated clan but an aristocrat practiced in a style of traditional warfare who is equally skilled with lance and long single-bladed sword.

The Xasar religious situation has if anything become more clear. The Mahayana Buddhism of the Sogdian school still predominates, with strong undercurrents of Sravakayana – even some small Nowbahar monasteries. The state’s main push has been towards a standardization of the various polytheist traditions. The nobility, starting in 1043 has been required to take an oath sworn at a holy fire temple to “Mihr, Protector of the Dharma” and the sangha as a whole. Actions such as this by the monarchy have provided a sense of shared religious ritual to complement their faith, and reinforced the prestige and status of the Shah.

Moravia – One of two Christian nations among the Slavs, Moravia is the stronger of the two. Modelled off of the Frankish monarchy, Moravia has at various times paid token tribute to the Emperor in Aachen. However, what Moravia refuses to do is kneel, and this is a position happily accepted by the large number of German settlers who are gradually transforming the country culturally.

Moravia’s has had seven kings over the course of the eleventh century, from Jaromir to Jan II. The greatest of these was Sobeslav, whose conquests nearly broke the back of the Polish crown in 1088, setting the stage for the massive onslaught of German marchers a decade later when Polish manpower was at its lowest ebb.

The intellectual and cultural tradition of Moravia is primarily preserved in German – and accordingly it is the stories of German settlers, artisans, and low nobles that history remembers. It is the rise of men like Otto of Barvaria to Chancellor that is remembered, while the history of Moravian gords is commonly forgotten. The intermarriage of the Moravian crown with German princesses did not help either – by 1100 German is as common a language at the Moravian court in Veligrad as any.

 

[Practical Lobster]

(substantially edited section on Poland. I'm personally uncertain what direction to take them in, and have been since roughly the beginning of their inclusion.)