"So it comes to this once more. Sardinia and Corsica. Sardinia and Corsica. Tell me, how is it these two small islands keep causing so much mischief? One would think they were made of gold by the amount of blood that's been shed over them."
--King Carlo V di Napoli, 1643
1556
--Philip arrives in Spain. After briefly acknowledging the crowds in Barcelona, he heads up to Madrid, where he is reunited with his wife and finally meets his son. To say that the meeting is a disappointment is putting it mildly. Philip is confronted by a young boy who is short--even by Hapsburg standards, which is saying something--and to quote the greatest authority on young Charles--Charles--"crooked of limb, crooked of back, crooked of face, and crooked of wit." To the handsome, austere Philip his son seems almost a spiritual reproach--and Charles doesn't help matters by demonstrating his latest enthusiasm, playing the mouth-harp, almost immediately after meeting his father. Philip has the offending instrument snatched away, and then brusquely ends their meeting. Charles is left with the definite idea that his earlier suspicions that he is not high in his father's affections happen to be utterly correct.
Once Philip has enjoyed... some time in Queen Maria's company, he turns his attention once again to Charles, though this time, he is careful to do it in a manner that places a safe distance between him and the boy, so as to keep emotions out of it. Questioning the boy's tutors, he recieves a fairly consistent report--Charles is difficult, and perhaps, a bit slow. He refuses to learn, mocks his teachers, and cuts lessons to pursue whatever odd fancy has caught his interest at the moment. "A foolish, frantic boy," one puts it. But there is an exception. The Honorate Juan feels that Charles is perfectly intelligent--indeed, arguably exceptionally so. This is a great deal of the problem--Charles is bright enough to realize that he's going to be king one day, and thus to recognize that his teachers' ability to bring him to heel is... limited. And so, if he finds instruction tedious, he avoids it, and if he dislikes an instructor, he ignores him. "He learns all subjects readily and swiftly," says the Honorate, "if he desires to. But he cannot be forced to desire anything." The key to instructing Charles, the Honorate has found, is to earn his love and trust, present subjects in such a way as to hold his attention and finally, be willing to show a little flexibility and follow the Prince's latest interests when necessary. Philip's response to all this is simple--he fires the Honorate Juan, and puts Charles under the care of his friend, Ruy Gomez, the Prince of Eboli, who Philip is sure will straighten the boy out.[1]
Charles is... not happy with all this, especially the Honorate Juan's dismissal, as he loved the old man. Still, he takes one bit of comfort--as he notes to the Farnesse brothers, he is fairly certain that he will be made Prince of the Asturias soon. And that is a great consolation, being the recognized heir to the Castilian throne, instead of simply the presumed heir.
--In the Ottoman Empire, the second false Mustafa appears in the Balkans. (The first was a fairly minor incident back in 1554--indeed the most significant fallout was that the man found to be behind it, Prince Bayezid, had to flee to Persia.)[2] As opposed to his predecessor, this pretender gathers a sizable following among the local Janissaries, who are discontented by Suleiman's increasingly indirect rule, focused in Constantinople, the peace with Ausria and the Safavids (that war has been pretty damn successful, but to the Janissaries, more war is always a plus) and the loss of Esztergom, as well as the Janissaries' invariable complaints that they need more money, more land, and more everything, because they have swords and guns, and aren't afraid to use them. As the second false Mustafa proves to be an actual threat, Suleiman sends a force under Prince Selim and the formidable Sokulla Pasha to handle matters. The government's and the pretender's forces will clash throughout the year, and while things quickly go poorly for the pretender, he will avoid capture. Naturally, this puts many of Suleiman's more elaborate military plans on the backburner, and as they were definitely slow boilers to begin with, this means quite a significant delay. So it's down to the usual--supporting the Barbary Pirates, and waiting for some European prince to make some legalistic mess-up on their peace treaty, thus justifying an invasion.
--Norfolk publishes the second part of Brutus. It is a sadder, more meditative piece then its predecessor--the war in Aquitaine ends in victory, but Brutus' dear friend dies during it, and Brutus realizes that he can conquer, but not hold the territory. And so, after parting with those who wish to stay there, he and the rest of his band continue on their journey, finally arriving at the isle of the giant Albion at the end, which Brutus realizes is 'the promised land' where he and his followers cand found their nation of free men.
It is a mirror for the public sentiment--the English and their king are now wary of Continental adventure, and look back on "the Long Peace" with nostalgia. (Even if it was really "the Long Peace except for a couple minor wars, and quite a few popular uprisings". Because again, nostalgia.) Henry in particular still wants to champion Protestantism, but in a way that involves some other poor sap taking most of the damage.
In other English Protestant news, Scotland's strongly Calvinistic Church makes England's Reformed Church enthusiasts more hopeful that they'll get King Henry to see the value of switching over to the Protestants that have it right. The "Puritans", as they are starting to be called, want to see the Church purged of what they see as its last Popish remnants. While they are a minority, they have many powerful allies, most notably Prince Edward. But they also have many notable opponents. While the majority of Englishmen are now quite used to seeing the Pope and the Catholic Church as unEnglish, the Puritans seem to want to take things a little too far. As yet this is more of vague bristling distaste, instead of united opposition--but that is going to change soon.
--Turning to Ireland, rumors of the activities of Fearghail and his fellow "Originalists" finally have reached their way to the upper ranks of the English administration, specifically, the Lord Deputy, Sir James Croft,[3] who notifies London. He is told to get ahold of the wandering preacher, and have a chat to see if they can't get to the bottom of this. He sends a few men out to do so. It takes them awhile, but they do find Fearghail, surrounded by quite a few of his followers. Accounts at this point become muddled. The surviving soldiers state that as they went to talk to Fearghail, several of his followers began to throw rocks--one hot-headed young soldier drew on the crowd, and then all hell broke loose. Originalist lore insists that the soldiers were heavy-handed from the begining, drew their weapons immediately, and insisted loudly that the 'archheretic' come with them. Whatever occurs, when it's done, most of the guards are dead, as well as a few Originalists--the fact that it goes down this way causes many to suspect that Fearghail's later claims to have been driven into rebellion are a sham, and that he was always turning the core of his followers into a private military force. But whatever exactly happened, one thing is now clear--Daniel O'Farrell is an outlaw to the English Throne. He and his most loyal followers head up to the wild and wooly North, where they will proceed to make history.
When Thomas Cramner hears of this, he will utter his famous sentiment that he should have hung the man when he had the chance. Thankfully, he will be dead before the Originalists REALLY get going, and thus not having to realize just what he has helped to unleash. But all that's in the future. Right now, the English see this as a mildly embarassing matter. After all--how big can this get, anyhow?
--In the Empire, the matter of the Esztergom is finally resolved--more or less--Janos Zapoloya has agreed to give up his title as King of Hungary, becoming merely the Prince of Transylvania, in return for be given ownership of the city[4]. The League, the Emperor (in his position as King of Hungary) and the Prince of Transylvania will each provide a few troops to protect it, with Zapoloya appointing a military governor. The young Prince's choice--or rather, his mother's--is the formidable Stefan Bathory[5]. Bathory is a talented general, a man of prestigious family, and best of all a Catholic, thus soothing the Emperor. It is not a perfect solution, but it is... acceptable to all involved.
In another matter, Friedrich von Wirsberg, the new Prince-Bishop of Wurzburg takes advantage of Grumbach's absence to seize his lands. From his exile in Denmark, Grumbach protests, but as yet, there is little he can do.[6]
As yet.
--In Prague, Archduke Ferdinand II and his wife suffer a double tragedy--their fourth daughter, Margaret, dies of a fever, while Maria's latest pregnancy ends in a stillbirth. (The child would have been a son.) Ferdinand responds to this loss by avoiding his wife, and disappearing in seclusion, sometimes for days at a time. In the courts of Bohemia--and indeed, the Empire--courtiers whisper. Ferdinand's unhapiness with his marriage is obvious--even to casual observers. Most wonder how this will end. Some think they know, though Ferdinand is an exceedingly private man, and thus a hard man to track. Still--most figure he will get a mistress soon.
They are right. Though what they fancy to be a minor matter, will prove to be very significant indeed.
--At Mantua, Pope Pius begins the latest session by brandishing a privately printed Bible in Italian, and admonishing the Cardinals. "We have been sleeping, but now we must wake!" he proclaims--the Church has allowed the Protestants to stake out Bible translations as their position. And this is a popular position--indeed, setting themselves against it has proven to be something of a loser for the Papacy. Well, that's going to end. Pius is commissioning an official Catholic Italian Bible, to be followed by an official Catholic French Bible, Spanish Bible, German Bible, Polish Bible, etc, etc. Indeed, Pius states his hopes that the day might come when--under the wise auspices of the Catholic Church of course--men and women of all nations may read a Bible in their native tongue. The Council of course, is enthusiastic about it. The Protestant churches smell a sinister Papist plot. And the Catholic diehards, rallying around Carafa in his exile, start wailing that this is the end of the world! The Bible should stay in Latin, as was clearly God's intent when he allowed it to be translated from Hebrew and Greek.
--In Poland, Sigismund Augustus has been maneuvering for some time to support his cousin, William of Brandenburg, the Archbishop of Riga, in his efforts to turn the domains of the Livonian Order into a secular Duchy--thus duplicating the act which turned Prussia into a Polish vassal. However, this is proving difficult--the Livonian Order may be dwindling, but much of it is opposed to such a move. Further, Ivan of Russia has his own ambitions in the area, and thus Sigismund must be cautious. And so, when William asks Sigismund for troops to allow him to suppress his enemies, the King of Poland hesitates. This proves to be disasterous for William, whose enemy, William von Furstenburg, attacks and captures him. And so, Sigismund finds himself HAVING to do something. [7]
--The present truce between France and Spain has the hearty of endorsement of both nations, largely because they are too damn exhausted to fight anymore. Unfortunately many of their clients have plenty of disputes they still wish to iron out. Most notably, there's the Dorias, presently sitting out on Sardinia, and their neighbors Corsica and the Republic of Genoa. The Dorias feel that both of these are rightfully theirs. The Corsicans (especially their governor, Giordoan del Orsini) on the other hand don't like having the Dorias right next door, so to speak. Neither do the Genoans--or at least, Doge Fieschi's faction, which as it is the bunch running the show, is the important one. Fieschi worries about the Dorias reestabilishing their grip on the Republic--and Genoa also happens to have some old claims on Sardinia, which the Doge can't help but feel reclaiming would help shore up his popularity.
And so, halfway through the year, it happens. The Dorias move a small fleet of ships uncomfortably close to Corsica. The Corsicans say this is the prelude to an invasion--the Dorias say that they are merely trying to protect Sardinia from Corsican piracy, which has gotten quite bad of late. Thus, when the Corsicans attack the ships--which they say have wandered into Corsican waters--the Dorias state this is an act of aggression. The Corsicans state that the Dorias are the ones acting aggressively, and the Republic of Genoa backs them up. And so, as France and Spain watch in bewilderment, a Sardinian force invades Corsica as a Corsican/Genoese force invades Sardinia. Corsica, again, is now a French vassal, and Sardinia is Philip's demense as a subsidary of the Crown of Aragon. And so as they watch, peace--which seemed at hand--slips out of their grasp...
--As Denmark and England have quite a bit to talk about--Frederick's marriage suit, the rather unstable Baltic situation (England is a trading partner with virtually every party involved, even Russia)--Denmark sends a diplomatic mission. Accompanying them is Henry's young nephew John Christian. His uncle, Christian II of Denmark and father, Duke John, hope the young man might prove to be an invaluable diplomatic link between the two nations. Sadly, this plan flounders on the temperment of John Christian, or as many of his fellows call him, "John Choler". The young Danish nobleman is rude, sullen, and so short-tempered that he gets into five fights during his stay. (This is actually good behavior for him.) Needless to say, Henry and the rest of the English court do not view his departure with too much sorrow. The talks accomplish little regarding the Baltic tangle, and nothing regarding Frederick's suit, though the latter is mostly because matters overtake it.
The Elector of Saxony, as noted, has been heavily involved in discussions with the Transylvanians over Esztergom--and as John Frederick is presently sitting in St. Quentin overseeing its defenses, that means his talented young wife has been handling much of this for him. And Elizabeth, in doing so, has wound up taking a look at young Janos Sigismund. The Prince of Transylvania happens to be of an age with her little sister--and is quite free. A marriage connection to the Transylvanians could be quite handy in the future for putting pressure on the Hapsburgs. Of course, there is the issue of getting her brother and mother to sign off on that, but Elizabeth figures she's up to it. She writes to both of them, explaining the value of gaining Transylvania as an ally, not just for Saxony, but for Protestantism. Henry, already looking for more... subtle ways to champion the faith, is naturally quite enthusiastic about it. Anne is more hesitant--but here Elizabeth pulls her trump card. She has kept up a correspondance with Margaret since her marriage, and she uses it to talk up the virtues and charms of Zapoloya. Soon Margaret is begging her mother to please, please let her marry the Prince of Transylvania. And so, Anne gives in. Margaret Tudor will be Princess of Transylvania. Elizabeth smiles to herself, pleased that her scheming has come off. This could lead to something big in the future. Possibly even the near future.
She has to admit, she rather likes the sound of "Emperor John Frederick, and Emperess Elizabeth".
--Turning to Sweden, Erik of Kalamar's brother, Johan is named Duke of Finland,by his father, and immediately sets to work centeralizing his power there. [8] Erik is highly suspicious of this, thinking that Johan is trying to create a personal powerbase to make a grab at the throne when Gustav finally dies--and while Erik is somewhat... unhinged, he knows his brother well. Johan is ambitious and treacherous, a man who will stop at nothing to achieve his ends, and he's ever so slightly--erratic, making him difficult to predict. In other words--he's a Vasa.
Younger brother Magnus, the one Vasa who's quirkier than Erik, is also annoyed. [9] If Erik--who he detests--and Johan--who he detests even more--are Dukes then he wants to be a Duke too. He begins to pester his father for a Duchy. Any Duchy. Gustav Vasa--ailing and tired--does so, granting Magnus the Duchy of Ostergotland.
--Philip is... annoyed. Just when he had that irritating little war almost wrapped up, it starts all over again. And for the stupidest reason imaginable, over a pair of islands that, while valuable, are not exactly worth this much trouble. And so he can get on this as soon as possible, he turns to the matter of Portugal. It is in many ways, a tangled little knot--while Johanna possesses a very strong traditional claim, she is politically isolated, especially as compared to her formidable mother-in-law. And yet, one cannot simply ignore a Dowager Queen in these matters, even if the King she was attached to reigned for a few weeks.[10] It is a matter that could take a long time to untangle, but Philip neither has the inclination--Philip is a cautious man, but not a particularly patient one--nor the freedom to do so. Aside from the entire Sardinian matter, this divisive situation is resulting in opportunistic "compromise" candidates for the Regency popping out of the woodwork, hoping to either attract national sympathy, or get whatever they can from the victors. The most notable (at least from the position of hindsight) is a young Portugese nobleman named Don Antonio, the Prior of Crato, who enjoys a royal descent--from the wrong side of the sheets, alas--a charismatic nature, and a complete lack of scruples.[11] This sort of "anything goes" situation is bad for Portugal, and by extention, Spain. And so Philip produces a hasty compromise--a joint regency, with Johanna in a more or less honorary position, with Catherine getting all the real power. It is classical Phillipine politics--a heavy-handed solution that satisfies nobody, and offends everybody. And yet, sometimes a mutual sense of being screwed over is the best thing you can achieve. Under this inauspicious beginning, the Double Regency comes to pass.
And with that--and a few other matters done--Philip prepares to head back to Antwerp. Accompanying him will be his half-sister, Margaret, and the young Archduke Charles Francis. (Charles Francis is quite happy to leave--his lengthy sojourn in Spain has been rather unpleasant, and marred by incidents like mysterious someones putting honey in his gloves. Or cutting off the legs of his pants. Things like that...) Staying in Spain will be Queen Maria, the Farnesse brothers, and Charles, who is rather miffed that his father still hasn't had the Cortes name him Prince of the Asturias. Philip is quite unhappy to leave his wife again--but this time there is good news. Maria is pregnant. The child will be delivered towards the end of the year--a reasonably healthy boy who will be named Ferdinand.
--In Genoa, a new wrinkle arises in the strange little conflict that future generations will view as the last stage of this Italian War. As usual, politics in the city have shifted into a factional muddle. When the war started, most saw Andrea Doria's championing of the Emperor against a clearly ascendent France as quixotic (a word that doesn't exist ITTL, by the way--the closest equivalent is, oddly enough, 'Rosicrucian'). However, with France looking--less dominant, some are wondering if this was as wise as they thought. Further, Genoa's resurgence in fortune of late has been based on Spanish gold in its banks--now Philip is looking to move at least some of his banking elsewhere. This all adds to make many of the more pragmatic citizens to wonder if their change of allegiance was so wise after all.
Of course, pragmatists are famously... well, pragmatic--they don't move unless they feel they have to. It takes idealists to light a fire--and would you believe it--Doge Fieschi's offending them as well. He came to power on promises to end Andrea Doria's more autocratic practices and to "restore the Republic to its ancient practices". While this started with matters like undoing Doria's highly unpopular Alberghi system [12] and actually being the doge, instead of having himself declared censor and ruling from the shadows, it has... moved on. Fieschi has undone the two year limit Doria imposed on the office, and is moving to make it more powerful, in the manner of its Venetian counterpart, instead of the weak largely ceremonial position it has become[13]. Many of his supporters feel they have been betrayed.
And so, with troops being sent to Sardinia, a few fiery young idealists feel their hour has come. They take to the streets, calling for a NEW new Genoan Republic, as it seems that the new boss is just like the old boss, and they won't get fooled again. (History will call these idealists the Young Republicans.) As Fieschi works to suppress them, a group of pragmatists invite the Dorias back in to "restore order". Obviously, the Dorias have quite a bit on their plate at the moment, so the amount of troops they can send is... limited, but still, by late August, Genoa is seeing a three-way fight between Fieschi, Doria, and Young Republican supporters. (Claude de Guise is among those fighting in support of the regime.) But then Fieschi pulls his trump card. He contacts the Duke of Savoie and the King of France, and asks them for a little support. Henri, as is usual for him when the crunch time comes, dithers impotently--Emmanuel Philibert, as is usual for him, acts swiftly and decisively. The Head of Iron, as he is called, comes to Genoa with his troops, and quickly crushes both sets of rebels. Both the pragmatists and idealists' efforts have backfired completely--if Fieschi was to close to France before, now he is tied to it, and if people thought he was getting a bit authoritarian, they get to discover what Ottobuono Fieschi going dictatorial REALLY means. (People getting hung from the city gates, for a start.) And so, with that out of the way, Doge Fieschi and his new bestest buddy, Duke Emmanuel, confer on beating the Doria menace...
--In France, Henri is not so much caught unprepared by the Sardinian conflict as he is completely walloped by it--France loses its chance to affect the outcome for several months as its King sputters that this is not HAPPENING. Once he finally decides that it is, several more months are lost as Henri tries to ineffectually make peace, all while ignoring the fact that there are Sardinian troops in Corsica and Corsican troops in Sardinia. But eventually, Henri is forced to admit that the war is starting up again. And that's when everybody's favorite warmonger, Francois, Duke de Guise, comes to him with a plan. St. Quentin remains in the hands of their enemies for the moment, a guarantee of good behavior until a peace treaty is formally signed. But with a peace treaty so clearly on the way, and expenses being what they are, Philip has discharged nearly all his troops there. What remains is a token force headed by de Guise bete noire, John Frederick, Elector of Saxony. A swift attack now could dislodge them, and thus mean that once this affair is over, and both sides return to the table, France can negotiate from a position of strength.
Henri is wary of this plan. France is still broke, after all, and as hard as he makes it to believe at times, Henri Valois is not stupid--merely weak, and pliable. He knows that if this fails, France will be, even in the best case scenario, left even weaker in the negotations--in the worst case scenario, he might be facing an invasion by resurging Imperial/Spanish forces. This is a plan so audacious, that even de Guise can't get Henri to quite buy it.
But de Guise has a secret weapon--Diane de Poiters. Henri has always been under her thrall, and this has only increased of late. Queen Catherine's latest--and last--pregnancy turned into a hideous ordeal when she gave birth to twin daughters--one however was dead in the womb, and had to have its arm broken to be pulled out. (The other, Victoria, is extant, and indeed, doing fine.)[14] The doctors recommended that Catherine avoid pregnancy in the future, and Henri has helped with that advice by forsaking his wife's bed completely for Diane's. Diane uses their pillow talk as a chance to plant the idea in Henri's head that he must be decisive--that this is the moment to rise to the challenge and at last eclipse his father. And so, after several months of prodding, Henri signs off on the attack. Next year, Duke Francois shall force the Saxons out of St. Quentin, showing the world that the might of French arms are not to be trifled with.
At least, that's the plan...
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[1] Philip did something similar IOTL. While ITTL's Charles is a great deal less troubled than his counterpart, this is still a rather... heavy-handed approach to parenting.
[2] This is somewhat different than the situation IOTL, which saw one Mustafa impersonator in 1555.
[3] IOTL, he was Lord Deputy from 1551 to 1552--here, he's serving at a different time thanks to butterflies.
[4] IOTL, he did this in 1570--here the negotiations lead to it happening earlier.
[5] Yes, that Stefan Bathory.
[6] IOTL, Grumbach had his land seized by Zoebel as a result of the Margrave Wars.
[7] This is all pretty much IOTL. The Livonian War is a remarkably complicated affair, and it actually hasn't even started yet.
[8] Again, IOTL. TTL Johan is not quite OTL Johan, but he's fairly close.
[9] IOTL, Magnus was the one Vasa brother so crazy he never wound up King of Sweden--which is saying something. TTL's Magnus is more functional--and a great deal more dangerous. He's also a year younger than his OTL counterpart.
[10] IOTL, of course, Johanna could be ignored--further, it was her father and not her brother doing the judging.
[11] Yes, THAT Prior of Crato. Also, just to be clear, he's the most significant in hindsight--at the time he is something of a longshot, and a good example of just how unpredictable things are getting.
[12] The Alberghi system was Andrea Doria's effort to end factional wrangling between families by grouping everyone into really big families. It didn't work, and IOTL, the whole system was dissolved iin 1597.
[13] With the possible exception of the first Doge, Simon Boccanegra, the position of Doge never developed much power in Genoa.
[14] This is all pretty much what happened IOTL, though Victoria Valois died a few months after her birth there.
]. Relations between Pope Pius and both the Hapsburg's and some of his cardinals. Between the various German Protestant groups and each other plus their Hapsburg masters. Between Francois and large groups in France - although I think you have hinted the lid will stay on this pot until after his death. I avoid mentioning Ireland as I know that is going to go critical.