"To all true Christians, we are peaceful as doves, as gentle as lambs. But to the false and the pretenders we are like ravening lions, and we bear not peace, but the sword, for we shall scourge the moneylenders from the temple, and we shall break all idols. We defy all popery, whether its source be the bishop in Rome, or the king in London... God shall destroy all whom have usurped His authority, and we shall be His agents..."
Explanation of the True and Original Christian Church, As It Exists In Ireland, by "Christian Goodfellow" 1654
"Always remember Bloody November..."
--Anglo-Irish motto
1561--Part 2
--Charles Stuart, Earl of Lennox, and Pretender to the Thrones of Scotland and England, arrives in the Low Countries, where he is feted by the more fanatical English exiles--among them the Nevilles and the Darcys--and more or less ignored by everyone else. In a clandestine meeting, Cardinal Graneville, the de-facto governor, tells Lennox that while Philip is no hurry to have him arrested, this will happen if he makes a nuisance of himself. Simply put, the King of Spain may desire to needle the King of England somewhat--but not too much--and especially not for a lightweight royal pretender. Lennox and his quickly growing entourage of parasites and pretenders--among them, once again, the Nevilles and the Darcys--quickly realize that staying in Burgundy is not a long-term option. And so their eyes begin to stray afield for a new base of operations. France is briefly considered, then rejected--Lennox still lives in dread of rival claimant Antoinette Stuart, and Henri's hot and cold treatment of the young Princess does not exactly inspire confidence in his seeing the justice of the Earl's cause. But another state offers more hope--a state where an exiled Scotsman can live like... well, not a king, exactly, but a potentate. And so Charles Stuart and his "court" set their course to Poland... eventually.
--In Genoa, Doge Fieschi survives the latest asassination attempt from the Young Republicans thanks to the Savoyard Guard that Emanuel Philibert has been so kind as to give him. The Doge is so thankful that he grants the Duke of Savoie's eldest son, Charles Emanuel the position of Abbot of the People in the Republican government. This is largely a ceremonial role, devoid of any real power, but it still rankles--the young Savoie's appointment is against Genoa's tradition, flimsy as this has generally proven to the chaotic republic. The Genoese sigh and moan on the ongoing degradation of their great Republican tradition--Venetians chuckle and roll their eyes, as they continue to confirm to themselves that their eternal rival continues to NOT get how have an orderly constitution.
It is, on the whole, a bad time for the Ligurian city--the slow and steady loss of Spain's business is hurting its economy, especially as France is not exactly making up the difference. (Nor for that matter do they want it to, as opposed to the concientious Philip, Henri has a tendency to fall behind on payments. And not see how this is a problem.) Genoese aristocrat Giovanni Battista Lercari[1] speaks for many when he declares that 'Evil are the days of our Republic, once glorious and free, now the slave of the Savoyards who are themselves but slaves to the Valois..." Most Genoese take what distractions they can, and thus wind up savoring the story of Duke Samperu Corfu d'Alando, Corsica's de facto sovereign. His young French wife has died under mysterious circumstances with numerous rumours that he strangled her to death after discovering she had been unfaithful.[2] The Genoese, the Savoyards and the French all share a hearty laugh about those kooky Corsicans, and get on with their lives.
--The results of Willhelm von Grumbach's death are starting to become clear throughout the Empire, and Emperor Ferdinand I is... less than happy about them. Alive, Grumbach was an old scoundrel who, despite the backing of the Elector of Saxony, was viewed as less than reputable by his fellow Knights, and indeed, most everyone else. Dead, he is a martyr, whose letter to the Knights has just become the cornerstone of the Revolt of the Knights and Bishops, as Imperial Knights everywhere rise up to force the Empire to take them seriously. Knights shall have their due rights! Freedom of religion! A place on the Reichstag! Equality and justice! (For the Knights, of course. Peasants shall continue to trust in their feudal overlords, because, there's no reason to get carried away with all this liberty stuff. I mean, no one wants to get crazy here.) Down with the Catholic Emperor! And his Catholic Prince-Bishops! And anyone else who annoys the Knights! Like those shifty, usuring Jews, for example! Hail Luther!
Needless to say, much of this rebellion is rather ineffectual, or even counter-productive--little more than random riots and sporadic acts of violence. Some of these are rather dramatic--for example the small group of Knights that attempt to accost the Archduke Ferdinand II on his way to visit his mistress--but ultimately ineffectual. (The aforementioned unfortunates are quickly dispatched by the small group of bodyguards the Archduke keeps with him for just such cases.) And yet the very breadth of these activities make them a threat, with some startling "victories" occuring--for example, the last remaining Catholic Spiritual Elector, John von der Leyen, Archbishop of Trier, is killed by a petard hurled into his palace, along with a sundry assortment of innocent bystanders. [3] Further, the election of a new Bishop is so disrupted by the violence, and the armed groups of Protestants and Catholics that start appearing on the streets, by the year's end there are essentially two claiments running around--Kaspar Olevanius and Jacob von Eltz-Rubenach--neither of whom Rome recognizes, or, for that matter, particularly likes. [4] All of this is only increasing the completely understandable impression that Austria is losing its control of the Empire, which is making the problems worse, which is increasing the impression that Austria is losing its control, which is etc. etc. etc. Ferdinand I needs to make a successful show of force against some of his opponents soon. He decides on a hammer blow against what he views as his primary foe--the Elector of Saxony. Even with the League split, this will be a major undertaking. And so the Emperor continues to marshall his forces, and even sends a letter to his nephew, Philip, asking the King of Spain to send what help he can spare.
--In Sweden, Johan Vasa sits in Stockholm, waiting for Erik to strike, while Erik sits in Kalmar, preparing to do just that. At which point a third party enters the picture--Frederick II of Denmark declares war on Sweden for their provocative actions, with hopes of retaking some territory (such as, for example, Sweden) while the Vasas fight among themselves. [5] This damages a major plank of Johan's kingship, that a more reasonable man on the throne could ease tensions between Sweden and Denmark. Indeed, now, instead of looking insane, Erik looks rather... prescient. Frederick's little pretensions were EXACTLY the prelude to attack that Erik thought they were. And Erik proceeds to assist in his own rehabilitation by having the army he's been assembling in Kalmar defend the border instead of attacking Stockholm, commenting to his dear cousin, Magnus von Ascania, Duke of Saxe-Lauenberg[6] and his new bestest buddy, Scottish mercenary Patrick Liddisdale that is better for Swedes to be killing Danes than Swedes. The result is an astonishing Swedish victory, where the small Danish advance force headed by one Daniel Rantzau is turned back when that poor unfortunate takes a cannonball to the head.[7]
Further, that letter that Johan writ to his wife turns up, and for many inhabitants of Stockholm, it is rather... disconcerting. Johan, amid sundry pleasantries, notes to Catherine that soon 'God shall grant us victory in all things, and allows us to secure our faith'. And this is alarming, because Catherine is a Catholic, and Johan is a suspected Catholic-sympathiser. Johan is quickly cornered by his supporters, and asked to explain all this. His first effort is to lie, and deny the letter is his. This does not work. And here, an interesting facet of Johan's personality comes into play. It's been said that all of Gustav I Vasa's sons are mad, but that each is mad in his own unique way. Johan's madness involves an utter inability to handle pressure. Before his erstwhile supporters eyes', the determined man they knew vanishes, replaced by dithering, mumbling mooncalf who spends much of the time staring inanely at the floor, and when he can muster up the energy, the window. When the meeting is over, Johan recovers enough presence of mind to get going while the going is good--he flees that very night, troops in tow, leaving the now ex-rebels feeling that they have dodged a fairly sizable bullet indeed.
Johan's "reign" has been just over a month. And his troops have a nasty little surprise as they rush back to Finland--they stumble into an ambush laid by his brother, Magnus of Ostergotland. Magnus, you see, has been in contact with Erik, and while the King of Sweden views Magnus as ultimately even less reliable than Johan, the facts are a) Magnus isn't rebelling at the moment, and b) he isn't suddenly swearing absolute loyalty either. No, Magnus has offered his services in exchange for a reward, and that is an action Erik can provisionally trust. And as Johan watches his troops get cut down, he makes the nasty discovery of just what Magnus was doing by calling Ostergotland's militia up on the slightest pretext--the Duke of Ostergotland has been training his men. While they are not quite professional, Magnus' levies are at the moment one of the most formidable sections of the Swedish military. Johan's troops are badly mauled--Johan himself barely escapes with his life, and once reunited with his wife, flees to his strongholds in Polish Livonia.
Erik returns to Stockholm to a hero's welcome, followed shortly by his brother Magnus. Erik announces to the crowd of apologetic nobles that greet him that he told them that they would be sorry, and now, they are going to be sorrier. Haviing said that, he has the whole lot, including his brother Carl, arrested for treason. With that out of the way, Erik fulfills his deal with Magnus--his brother is made Duke of Estonia, and charged with securing the Swedish situation there. It is, he notes to Joran Persson, the man who quietly engineered much of this behind the scenes, not ideal--but at least it gets Magnus out of Sweden proper. Indeed, despite these apparent triumphs, the nation's situation is grim. Erik's triumph on land has been coupled with defeats at sea, placing Sweden under a virtual blockade from Western trade--including the vital salt trade. Sweden's access to the rest of Europe is by a single port--the slenderest of threads. Erik must pit his nation against the might of Denmark, whose king's immense wealth allows him to field formidable mercenary armies virtually at will. Further, while Johan is down, he is not out--Finland is littered with his supporters, who remain at arms. Erik may have kept the throne for now, but the road before him is long and tricky... and as Erik has proven, he's the sort of man who makes such roads trickier.
--In scenic Transylvania, Princess Margaret has good news for her husband--she's pregnant. Janos Sigismund is overjoyed at the promise of a continuation of the Zapolya line. He swiftly hires one Giorgio Biandrata, an Italian doctor newly arrived from Poland, to serve as his wife's personal physician during her pregnancy. This will all prove very historically important. In ways that aren't immediately obvious.
Meanwhile, Janos is not the only member of his family seeing his family increase--his maternal uncle, Sigismund Augustus of Poland and his wife Barbara Radizwell are astonished by a surprise pregnancy. Indeed, considering Barbara's age, it's a veritible miracle. Sigismund publicly thanks God for securing the succession, his young son Kasimir Sigismund by his side. It is most ambassadors first good look at the Polish Prince and they are impressed--'a handsome, young Prince, with a fair complexion," notes an Imperial ambassador. Still, many worry that young Kasimir is far, FAR too close to his Radizwell relations in politics--and even more worryingly religion. But all this is background murmuring at the moment. He's the Jagellion heir to Poland, and his people love him for that.
--Ivan IV's court has been in a uproar since the death of his wife, as Ivan mourns as only he can, in a flood of parties, masquerades, and sodomy, to the great discomfort of the boyars, and pretty much anyone else who sees them. None of these things are exactly condoned by the Orthodox Church, who are especially offended by Ivan's flouting of Orthodox mores with his compulsive, public masquerading. (They don't like the sodomy either, but at least Ivan keeps that partially under wraps.) Needless to say, Ivan picks up on this hostility, and becomes convinced that everyone is plotting against him, a belief that the dust-up in Sweden only furthers. [8] (Indeed, sensing a kindred spirit in Erik, he actually invites the King of Sweden to take sanctuary in Russia, should the rebellion get nasty, an offer Erik actually reciprocates.) It is in this rather tense background that Ivan surprises everyone by marrying again. His choice of wife is one Princess Kucheney, a fifteen year old Tatar, and daughter of Ivan's vassal the Khan of Kharbada. This goes against the late Anastasia's wish that Ivan avoid marrying 'a pagan', but hey--the Tsar of All Russia doesn't let mere sentimentality get in the way of things. (In Ivan's admitedly lackluster defense, there are political issues here.) Kucheney is baptisized before the wedding, and takes the name "Maria". Among those witnessing the marriage is one Sir Jerome Horsey, representative of England's Moscovy Company, who declares in a letter that it is 'strange, solemn and in truth, quite heathen," though he fails to elaborate upon this. [9] Ivan Grozny has--once again--demonstrated his talent for making tense situations tenser. And then the axe drops.
With all of his opponents in Livonia getting distracted, Ivan has drawn down his troops, and shifted the command from such formidable figures as Mikhail Vorontynksy, Prince Andrei Kurbsky and Simeon Bekbulatovitch to a broad selection of nonentities. The primary force in Livonia is in fact left to two Russian noblemen who quickly start a lawsuit against each other to determine who should hold seniority.[10] Chaotic, but Gotthard Kettler, alone with no real allies, has no way of taking advantage of this situation--the Russians outnumber Livonian forces by a broad margin--some accounts even suggest ten to one, though that's probably an exaggeration. However, someone apparently forgets to tell the Duke of Courland that the situation's hopeless, as he attacks the squabbling Russians. And wins. Big. And so the Russian position in Livonia collapses--as they shift from holding most of the region with plentiful forces to having a few small, scattered bands that Kettler is picking off at leisure.
Ivan is livid when the news of his reversal reaches him. His immediate reaction is to slake his anger on the two unfortunates who botched it--they are stripped naked before the court, beaten, and then publically urinated upon by the Tsar.[11] As usual, this fails to restore Ivan's good humor. And then more bad news arrives. Poland is starting to hint to Kettler that of COURSE they will back their loyal boy in the Baltic. Even worse, their response to years of Ivan's entreating them to join him against the Crimean Tatars has been to secretly contact the Tatars and try to work out an under the table alliance with them. [12] Ivan spends weeks cursing Polish treachery, Tatar treachery, and most of all, Russian treachery. He accuses his boyars of plotting against him with Sigismund Augustus, with Erik Vasa, with Frederick of Denmark, with Henry Tudor, with the Sultan, with Emperor Ferdinand, with the Pope. They seek to throw him off his throne and put his "weak" son Dmitri on it. Or his cousin, Prince Vladimir of Staritsa, because they hate him and all his line. Or Sigismund of Poland, because they're all secretly Catholics and want to betray sacred Orthodoxy. Or... well, Ivan has a hundred crazy theories of who they're betraying him to, and why. The boyars continue to take it, because they are better men then their Tsar gives them credit for--indeed, better men then their Tsar. Still, once he's gotten his ranting out of his system--for a little while, at least--Ivan starts assembling more armies to send into Livonia. To paraphrase a later Tsar--anyone who faces Russia in battle must remember it is a land rich in many resources--among them, people to hurl at their enemies.
--The Duke of Urbino has at last hit upon a way to... take care of the meddlesome problem of his layabout brother-in-law, by politely pointing Ercole towards Ferrante Gonzaga, Count of Guastalla and brother to the Duke of Mantua,[13] who is presently recruiting merceneries for the Emperor. A dedicated Hapsburg loyalist, in a time when such men are becoming rare, Ferrante is an accomplished, if rather antiquated, condottiere who's seen service in several Italian Wars. Ercole leaps at his brother-in-law's suggestion with enthusiasm--truth be told, he has been feeling that he's been idling away his time of late, and wants to accomplish something. Military service seems like just the thing--indeed, no sooner has Guibadio suggested it then Ercole has bought himself a stunning set of military gear, including some very elaborate armor, and as many books on military maneuvers he can get. And so, Ercole sets out, Machiavelli's Art of War in hand, and accompanied by young Francisco Maria della Rovere, who will serve as his squire. The young d'Este is now convinced that war is going to be the making of him.
--In England, the newly-expanded royal family arrives in London, to the cheers and plaudits of the citizens. The celebration at seeing their new queen and the young heir is so extensive that some sources suggest the city's dog population is cut in half as English men enjoy themselves in spontaneous bloodsports. And the enthusiasm only deepens after Mary is crowned (in a very fancy coronation that makes Edward's men Cecil and Bacon take very deep breaths to calm themselves) Queen Consort of England, Ireland, and France, as Henry decides to start emphasizing the old claim once again in a deliberate attempt to get Henri II's goat. Most of England's peerage and merchants are greatly amused at this, as well as Mary, who notes that the Valois had been telling her she'd be a Queen of France one of these days, and lo it has come to pass.
Queen Dowager Anne is less amused, and in her first meeting with her son since his marriage, tells him so. Henry responds by proclaiming that aside from the immense love he has for his wife, this marriage is one of the great successes--perhaps THE great success--of his reign--that he has won both the friendship of Scotland and its throne for his descendents with one act. Anne responds by taking out a map and gesturing to France and Scotland. How, she asks, is the anger of the large nation that is France worth the friendship of the small nation that is Scotland? Henry, to his credit, answers bluntly that with Scotland no longer able to invade from the north, he may invade France at his leisure a fact that he hopes France remembers. (Anne still manages to get the last word in, noting 'Aye, with a fortune in cod to pay your way.') Needless to say, matters between mother and son are tense, though Henry is certain his mother will come around thanks to the secret weapon that is his happy little baby son Arthur. There is no way Grandmother Anne is going to be able to resist that little angel. And he is correct, though Anne remains less than thrilled with the boy's mother.
Anne is not alone in that--much of the Privy Council is shocked when, on recovening it, Henry insists on including Mary on the meetings. Henry's response to the protests of his subordinates is chilly. Mary is his good and lawful wife, and--more importantly--a queen regnant in her own right. She is a figure to be treated with respect and deference, and as such well-deserving a place on the Council. Also, Henry wants it. And what Henry says goes. End of story. And so, Mary joins the Privy Council, establishing England in the European imagination as the nation of overwheening, meddlesome queens. (Future historians will speculate that the example of his formidable mother has conditioned Henry to be accepting of powerful women, thus making all this possible, but they haven't been born yet, so let's just move on.)
With that out of the way, Henry catches up with his court--while he's been doing his best to keep abreast of matters, the fact is, little things are bound to slip one's notice while one's away. He swiftly discovers something that has done just that--his cousin Catherine Grey has secretly eloped with one Henry Herbert, heir to the Barony of Cardiff.[14] The King does not take this... kindly. As Catherine is a lady of the blood royal, this is a rather significant breach of court rules. Whatsmore, Catherine was something of a royal favorite--many suspected her of being Henry's favored choice for a wife once he managed to get out of the French engagement. This makes it especially irritating for the King, who responds by banishing the pair from Court. Catherine and Herbert move into a country estate, and spend their time right piteous letters to people asking for help changing the King's mind, while recieving angry letters from their parents, especially her father, Henry Grey, Marquess of Dorset. Dorset has been trying to get the King to make him the new Duke of Suffolk for some time,[15] and he can't help but feel that his little dear has made things difficult for him. He has a very young son and heir--Thomas Grey--to think about here, after all. Catherine ALSO has a young son to think about--little William born this year--and so continues to beg for help where she can get it.
Henry is not the only person who is wroth on a certain subject--Mary is also rather vexed at her treacherous Catholic subjects, who seem to have gone out of their way to break their faith with her, after she was so good and kind to them, and did so much to try and keep the peace. Didn't she protect their papist masses, after all, just to give an example? (Pointing out that Mary was, technically, a Catholic herself when she did this is useless, as Mary Stewart is a proud scion of the lines that spawned her, and thus able to do a complete reversal of policy while insisting that this was ALWAYS what she meant while keeping an absolute straight face the entire time.) Well, that's done now! Scotland is a Protestant country, and it's time for people to get with the program. Notice is sent to her brothers to tell the Presbytereans that their old dream of making attending the Mass a crime is on the table--and, hey, why don't they dissolve some more monasteries while they're at it! Of course, Mary knows that this is likely to make affairs in Scotland a little... interesting--but she figures this will save her and her descendents headaches down the road. Besides, she has an in--after many years living there, Mary has noticed that the Scots are a slightly fractious breed. It is simplicity itself to encourage the Protestant nobles to... take care of the more intractable Catholics. And the best part is, if a few of them start getting too big for their britches, she may simply use THEIR rivals to reign them in. All from the safety of London, with the arms of England to back her up in case things get too ugly. Yep, after a lifetime of having to rule on her tiptoes, and curry favor, Mary's striking back!
This is--to her, at least--one of the neatest things about her husband--Henry isn't scared of his nobles, they're scared of him! They spend hours trying to stay on his good side, competing for favor, interpeting his moods, and worrying about it when he frowns. That's a monarchy you can RESPECT! A monarchy where nobles know their place! Where crazy noblemen don't get to hide out after committing murder until they manage to kill your mother! Where your awful uncle can't hold you a prisoner 'for your own good' and try to send you to France, and your only hope is that someone nicer kidnaps you! And Scotland's going to get this sort of monarchy. In good time. Because that's one thing Mary's learned from her long apprenticeship--the art of ruling requires boundless patience. You sit, and you smile, and you wait, and then, when that moment comes, you take it, and you take it in such a way that the people who are doing what you want think you are doing them a favor. Unless you can afford to make the bastards suffer.
--Philip responds to his uncle's cry for aid with a rather snippy letter, wherein he promises to do what he can, but adds that won't be much. Having said that, he then proceeds to launch into a lengthy explanation of why Emperor Ferdinand has really made a mess of things by his efforts against the Elector of Saxony. (Philip, it must be remembered, rather LIKES John Frederick, despite the entire heresy issue.) While Philip understands that the Emperor must play a game of divide and conquer, focussing on containing the power of rival dukes, making an issue of Grumbach's claims was, he feels, a mistake--Ferdinand has essentially poked a stick in a hornet's nest, and is now dealing with the fallout of that.
Of course, Philip wouldn't mind that much, if that were the end of it--but it isn't. This is all spilling over into Philip's territories. The Cardinal Graneville tells his master that all of Burgundy is on edge with rumors that Philip is going to demand taxes for a grant to assist his uncle's war against a man that much of the Duchy views as a hero. Graneville even goes so far as to BEG Philip to undertake no such action--admiration of the Elector actually crosses religious lines in Burgundy, and the Cardinal is convinced such an act would prove the spark that sets the Provinces off. (Margaret of Parma, the ACTUAL governor also tells her brother this, though the letter in which she does is filled with the by now usual statements about how she knows Philip never listens to her and will not let her rule the Duchy as she'd like. And then she complains about Charles Stuart, who she states has 'had carnal knowledge' of several young women of good family and thus become something of an open scandal in the Netherlands.) Milan and Naples are ALSO a bit on edge, what with the mercenary troops moving up north and causing the occasional bit of trouble as they do so--just what is needed in a region already worried about the threat of Turkish piracy. Even the Spanish thrones are uneasy, as rumors of the chaos going on the Empire has many convinced that Philip is going to send troops from the Netherlands to support the Emperor--an act that has almost as many vocal supporters as it has determined foes.
Even worse, from Philip's point of view, is that this stands a good chance of endangering what he considers the magnum opus of his reign--a push against the Turks. Having spent a great deal of time and effort splitting up the Unholy Alliance, Philip worries that the always opportunistic and consistently feckless Henri might just start it up again in the face of Hapsburg weakness, making Philip's planned for action against the Barbary pirates impossible. "You have endangered all my undertakings--you have sowed rebellion and dissent into mine own lands--and even as you do this, you call for me to assist you with the troubles you have brought on your own head. Uncle, is this wisdom?"
Indeed, Philip is even skeptical of the one thing that has apparently fallen in the Emperor's favor, the splitting of the Schmalkaldic League. Yes, Ferdinand has divided the League in two. And yet, Philip is worried that this may not be the grand recipe for success that Ferdinand imagines it to be. The Reform and True Lutherans were uneasy allies, he notes--"when joined together, they were so profuse in their quarrels, that they each did act as a check on the other." Now, while each faction may be smaller, they are also more cohesive--and thus, far more likely to cause troubles down the road. And as for the Emperor's alliance with Frederick von Simmern, Philip is utterly dismissive. "All know him as an intriguer, a traitor, and a most improvident heretic, who despises and abuses the true Church without mercy. How can such a wretch be trusted?"
Ferdinand is, naturally, enfuriated by his nephew's letter, wherein the younger man scolds him as if he were a child. His reply is stormy--the Emperor not only upbraids Philip for his tone, but then states that Philip is blaming Ferdinand for problems that are entirely Philip's fault. Needless to say, his reply no more endears Ferdinand to his nephew than Philip's letter endeared him to his uncle. At heart, this is a crisis that has been a long time coming for the Hapsburgs--Philip and Ferdinand each consider themselves the unofficial head of the family, Philip based on his being Charles V's son and King of Spain, Ferdinand based on his being Archduke of Austria, and Holy Roman Emperor. Thus each expects a certain measure of respect from the other that they both feel is never delivered--this has created an ever-mounting tension between the pair that has at last exploded out into the open. And then a missive comes from the Prince of the Asturias that adds a wrinkle to the growing Austrian-Spanish Hapsburg spat.
Charles writes to his dear cousin Archduke Ferdinand II, apologizing for his father's rudeness to the Emperor, and assuring the Austrian Hapsburgs that they have a friend in Spain as long as he's there. Ferdinand II is of course deeply touched by all this--and also fairly convinced that the Prince of the Asturias is promising to champion Austrian causes as soon as he gets some actual power. Emperor Ferdinand, and the Archduke Charles Francis are... less convinced. As the Emperor notes, the letter is big on vagaries and good wishes, and very short on actual promises. While he's relatively certain that young Charles of Spain is seeking Austrian backing in preparation for a powerplay, the Emperor is still not sure exactly what form that will take. What exactly is the Prince of the Asturias planning?
Of course, there is also another, more immediate effect. Archduke Ferdinand's wife, Maria of Spain has been trying to get her darling little son Albert sent to the Spanish court, which she feels will give him a proper Hapsburg upbringing, away from all this distressing Protestantism, and--though she'd never admit--away from the husband she has come to hate. Naturally, this little spat puts an end to that plan. Maria settles for making sure her little heir to the Empire has a proper upbringing from the Theantines, just like his little cousin King Leander of Portugal. Why Leander is so fond of his tutors, he flees from all attempts by others to see him! And even though he's only six, Leander's so devout a Catholic that he's already swearing that he will lead his nation's troops against the Mahometian hordes as soon as he's able! Maria hopes that they will have a similiar effect on her dear little Albert. As for Albert--he files this one away with the half a hundred other injuries he feels his father has done him. While it will never quite reach the pathological levels of his cousin Charles' rivalry with King Philip, the young Imperial Hapsburg is just begining a very difficult relationship with Archduke Ferdinand.
--John Frederick and those members of the Schmalkaldic League who have decided to--if not stay loyal, then at least not immediately jump ship--meet in Leipzig. Despite the undeniably nervousness of much of the crowd, it is still a fairly impressive gathering. Among those meeting are John Albert, Duke of Mecklenberg, most of the Franconian House of Hohenzollern, including Elector Joachim II of Brandenburg and John Frederick's ward George of Brandenberg-Kulmbach; both Gryfta Dukes of the Pomerania; the Guelph Princes Henry of Dannenberg, his hapless elder brother Francis Otto of Luneberg-Celle (dragged once more to a meeting by the overwhelming personality of a sibling), Francis of Gifhorn, Ernest of Grubenhagen, and the biggest, baddest Guelph of them all, Julius of Brunswick-Wolfenbuttel; the Ascanian Princes of Anhalt, and their cousins Francis and Maurice of Saxe-Lauenberg [16]; representives from numerous Imperial cities, among them Nuremberg, Augsburg, and the Hanseatic cities of Hamburg and Lubeck; emissaries from various Protestant Prince-Bishops, most prominently among them the Elector of Cologne; Duke Albert of Bavaria, who thus, along with Francis Otto, manages to attend both historic meetings; and to top it all off, John Frederick's brother John William of Saxe-Coburg, and his cousin Augustus of Saxe-Weissenfals. That the latter shows up is considered something of a marvel--Leipzig USED to be Albertine Wettin property, and indeed, the Elector seems to have chosen to remind everyone just why they should back him--the last time people thought the Ernestine Wettins were vulnerable, the Imperial map was slightly redrawn. But Augustus is there.
Once the group has settled in, had a bit of prayer, and a nice stiff drink--these are GERMAN Princes, remember--John Frederick lays things out; the League is in trouble. The Emperor has been undermining the peace for years, until they've finally been brought to this desperate point. The treacherous "Calvinists" have been gnawing away at the concord that existed amongst the League after the glory days of the First Schmalkaldic War, and have now split off betraying the League in its hour of greatest need. They--the loyal few--those who remain true to Luther and the RIGHT SORT of Protestantism seem to be surrounded by enemies. And YET--not all is lost. Even now, Protestant Bishops are throwing off their shackles, while the Knights fight for their freedom and the true faith. The League's strength at this, its lowest moment in years, is still, he proclaims, so great it can break the Emperor should he test it. How can it not be, when they have God on their side, provided they keep their faith with Him! And yet--the League--the true League, not the Elector-Palinate's FAKE League for smelly Calvinist jerks--cannot get overconfident. They are in trouble. If they handle this as they've generally handled things in the past, by everyone flailing around randomly, doing their own thing while bitching about precedence then they will fail, as God removes His protection, much as He was fond of doing to the Israelites when they got uppity. No, the Elector needs to be in charge for this operation, and not in the vague respected figurehead manner he is now--John Frederick wants to be able to direct the war effort and have people follow his orders. And he's even had his people draft a nifty little oath that he wants them all to sign that will symbolize their recognition of this totally legitimate demand.
Needless to say, the assembled League members are... rather hesitant about all this, even though John Frederick's speech has filled most of them with a definite, if nebulous enthusiasm. Albert of Bavaria notes that what the Elector is asking sounds suspiciously like making himself a second Emperor in the Empire. John Frederick denies it--he asks only for limited powers to direct in war, nothing more--he will be 'a leader, not an Emperor', he explains, in a line that will wind up making all the Hapsburgs very nervous when Albert of Bavaria reports it to them out of context. (Yes, Albert is telling his in-laws what's going on in all these League meetings. Remember, people--Wittelsbach!) Things are on edge, and it almost looks like this meeting is going to be a failure. And then, one man stands up and declares he will sign the bond. Duke Augustus of Saxe-Weissenfals.
Augustus proclaims, as he strides forward, that everything the Elector said is 'clear and true sense'. Further, he adds, that he knows for a fact that the Emperor is even NOW plotting against the League in general and the Elector of Saxony in specific--FOR he has attempted to entangle Augustus in a dark conspiracy against the Elector, making "empty promises" in return for treachery. Not that Augustus considered them for a moment. And he really didn't. For you see, the Emperor Ferdinand has... made a miscalculation regarding the Duke of Saxe-Weissenfals. He assumes that Augustus sits in Weissenfals and broods at all his family has lost to the Ernestine Wettins. Well, Augustus DOES sit in Weissenfals and brood every now and then--but it's not about evening the score with the Elector. No, he sits and broods about the brother who died fighting the Hapsburgs after the accursed house of Austria got him to betray his faith AND lose a great deal of the family inheritance by attacking their cousin. And now--now the bastards have given him a weapon to wield against them, and Augustus is going to use it. For that is the OTHER thing about the Duke of Saxe-Weissenfals--he's not a hothead, like his brother, or John Frederick pere and fils. No, he is a calm, cold, collected man who always--ALWAYS--keeps his eye on the long game. And now--he's on his cousin's side. Augustus signs what history will declare 'the Leipzig Bond', stating as he does so 'we must smash Austria, or they will smash us'.
As Augustus' revelations and actions percolate among those gathered, John William also stands up and declares that he ALSO has been approached by the Emperor, for sinister, evil purposes, which he hasn't mentioned because, well, you know, it's the Emperor, and... anyway, just let him sign the bond. And so, one by one, people begin to head forward and affix their signature to the Bond. Of course, not everyone there does--for example, Albert of Bavaria notably abstains once again. (Francis Otto DOES, swept up in the moment, and with the enthusiastic Henry of Dannenberg at his shoulder, thus making himself the only man who can claim to be an initial member of BOTH the Heidelberg Compact and the Leipzig Bond.) And so, having forged the remains of the Schmakaldic League into a new, more refined form, the Elector calls together a war council. Its initial members are John William, Augustus, Elector Joachim, and Duke Julius of Brunswick. Plans are made. Messages are sent. And John Frederick prepares to take an army into Bohemia...
--France's Estates General meet again, this time in Poissy. There, King Henri astounds everybody by announcing that he's suspending the Heresy Court for the time being, and would... appreciate it if his vassals would try to avoid making any undue trouble for the Huguenots. Responses vary. Huguenots (such as the Bourbons, and most of the Colignys) and Catholic liberals (such as Michel de Hopital and Cardinal Coligny) are overjoyed. Catholic moderates (such as Catherine de Medici and Cardinal de Lorraine) are simply happy to see what they saw as a damaging distraction to the realm's stability done away with. Catholic conservatives (such as young Henri de Guise and his stepfather Jacques de Savoie[17]) are annoyed, but can at least see that the moderates have a point here. Catholic reactionaries have a hissy, screaming and wailing and prophesying doom. While Claude and Rene de Guise can be counted among them, both actually manage to restrain themselves during the Estates. No, the grand banner-waver is their cousin, Nicholas de Lorraine, Baron of Mercoeur. Nicholas--who has served as Regent of Lorraine for his young cousin Duke Charles de Lorraine--is a dyed-in-the-wool reactionary, and indeed, the Grand Marshal of the Heavenly Virgin for the northern France/Lorraine region Society for Purity and Correctness in Doctrine. (He is also an excellent example of how tangled feudal overlordship can get, owing fealty both to Henri II of France, and Emperor Ferdinand I of the Holy Roman Emperor through different holdings.) Nicholas delivers magnificent harrangue after magnificent harrangue to the king, until Henri finally mollifies him by bumping up Mercoeur to an independent Principality. Of course, even if he is no longer yelling loudly at public meetings, Nicholas is still muttering quietly in the back corridors, making unpleasant comments about how the blasted Huguenots owe it all to the Countess de Engliehen's willingness to spread her legs for the king. This is, believe it or not, not completely accurate. The sudden collapse (to Henri's eyes, at least) of the Empire's cordial relationships with Lutherans and the increasing tensions in the Seventeen Provinces make pursuing reconciliation with the Reformed Church worthwhile. (Though having young Francoise de Bourbon warming his bed HAS made it easier for Henri to reach this conclusion.) Henri may not LIKE the Huguenots--but he dislikes the Hapsburgs more. Though in point of fact, there is another dynasty who is starting to rival them in gathering the King of France's distaste...
And indeed, with the Huguenot matter out of the way (for the nonce at least) and a few ordinances on taxation passed, Henri moves on to what he--and he alone--considers the meat and drink of this Estates-General. Arrogant England and its new partner-in-crime, traitorous Scotland, have insulted him, and France, horrifically, and continued to shower on the provocations. And even worse--they're planning SOMETHING. Henri doesn't know what, but he knows that they're planning it. Because if they weren't--WHY IS THE DUKE OF YORK SITTING IN CALAIS WITH TROOPS, EH? EHH?! EHHHHHHHH??!! As the only possible explanation is English malevolance, Henri calls on his subjects to support him--and France--in this dark moment. The Duke of York cannot be allowed to sit in Calais--OMINOUSLY!!!--with his garrison. No, there needs to be a French garrison, sitting--OMINOUSLY!!!--outside of Calais, just in case. Wink wink. That will show the English who's best at this sitting--OMINOUSLY!!!--thing. The French, obviously. Not the English.
Needless to state, many of the older, wiser heads attending the Estates roll their eyes at all this. Actually, many of the younger, wiser heads ALSO roll their eyes. But as always, there are enough... ahem, patriotic, enthusiastic Frenchmen of all ages willing to die for their country, or even better, make some poor English bastard die for his. And so, a small force, paid for by several towns heads is assembled to "keep an eye on Calais". Henri looks for a commander. Naturally, a Huguenot is right out--he may not want their blood anymore, but he'll be damned if he trusts the Calvinistic bastards for this sort of work, which means the Prince of Conde, already on his way back to Paris is out of the running. That would make a Guise or Lorraine the obvious choice--but sadly, they are all busily preparing to help their cousin Duke Charles, as he responds to his liege the Emperor's call to defend the Imperial order and the Catholic faith. (The fact that they are getting a chance to get back at those accursed Wettins only makes all this more appealing.) And so young Jacques de Cleves takes command, right after his father Francois and his father-in-law Robert de La Marck both politely beg off. (Jacques' wife is, incidentally, Diane de La Marck, the king's former prospective mistress.) Young Jacques sets off with a few hundred men, and a very large cannon that's been named St. Denis. Just in case those nice new walls Henry IX's been putting around Calais need to get knocked down.
--The exiled cathedral chapter of Wurzberg meet at Fulda Abbey, where their host, Prince-Abbot Wolfgang Schutzbar genannt Milchling is swiftly elected Bishop of Wurzberg. The chapter isn't happy about all this--the Abbey has been trying to entangle the Bishophoric in their affairs for some time in the interest of keeping the House of Hesse at bay, but they need someone with funds and a base of operations. The elderly Abbot and Teutonic Knight's FIRST order of business[18]--retake Wurzberg with the sizable mercenary army that's been assembled. Second order of business--nap.
--In Spain, they will call it the Year of the Prince--Charles is everywhere--attending his promised pilgrimage to Santiago, visiting his friends at Alcala, appearing with his wife and child at various celebrations held in their in honor. With the birth of his first son, people are starting to realize that, yes, the eccentric Prince of Asturias will probably be a king and almost certainly be a father to kings in his own right. And so, ever so subtly, there is a slight diplomatic adjustment, as courtiers, ambassadors and diplomats begin to curry favor with the young Hapsburg. Charles responds with a surprising wit and grace. French ambassador and poet Pierre Ronsard declares that though Charles is quite ugly, he possesses an indefinable charm all his own that more than makes up for it. The young Prince is energetic, enthusiastic and profoundly learned. "He speaks French as if it were his own language," notes Ronsard, "and writes verse in it, of some merit. He speaks several Spanish and Italian tongues as well, and keeps several Germans at hand so he may learn their tongue. He also has Latin and Greek. Some say he has Hebrew as well, but this I do not know." His library is the second largest in Spain, and contains volumes on "all things known to man, and many things dreamed by them." But Ronsard adds, Charles is no shrinking scholar, hiding in his books. Despite his physical deformity, he keeps a surprisingly active life, rising early in the morning to enjoy a ride, usually following it up with a bit of hunting later in the day. And this constant practice is paying off--in the recent chivalric display his father held to celebrate the Prince of the Asturias' joining the Order of the Golden Fleece, Charles surprised everyone by making a good account of himself, against such physical paragons as his uncle John of Austria and the Farnesse brothers, and even winning the marksmanship contest. (The latter isn't that much of a surprise--Charles is something of a gun nut, already owning several hundred pieces, including a few wheellock hunting pistols. Indeed, in his first letter to Henry IX Tudor, Charles inquires if any of Henry VIII's firearm collection is available for sale.) As for France, Charles continues to profess his love, respect and sincere wishes for friendship with his father-in-law's kingdom, despite the recent unpleasantness. As nice as all that sounds, Ronsard feels obliged to note that he has a hard time fathoming the young Prince. As opposed to his austere father, the Prince of the Asturias is pleasant and sociable and yet despite all this affability, it is impossible to know Charles' mind. "He says much, and at the same time, very little, seeming to promise all, and yet when what has been said is reviewed, one finds he has promised nothing."
Philip's response to his son's spreading his wings is... mixed. While he is willing to admit that Charles may not be the absolute disaster Philip thought he was shaping into, he still finds his son... strange, and is left wondering how he could have fathered someone so... different from himself. (That HIS father might have wondered the same thing at times never occurs to Philip.) And worse, underneath the mask of somber majesty Philip wears, the Spanish King is a mass of insecurities and mixed emotions. A part of him can't help but feel threatened by his son's--his ugly, misshapen son--achieving the sort of charm that has escaped Philip his whole life, not to mention Charles' surprising success at tournaments. (Philip's jousting record is not merely poor, it is abysmal.) How can God grant to this stunted little thing those gifts he has withheld from Philip? Philip handles these complex feelings of personal inadequacy and jealousy as only he can, by burying them as deep within himself as possible and conducting the business of the realm. Charles is, in all likelihood, going to be the next King of Spain. Things must be done. He's had Charles join the Golden Fleece, and he arranges for him to take a seat on the Council of State. And finally--there's the matter of the Aragonese Succession.
Aragon is... complicated. For example--the actual kingdom of Aragon is... well, tiny--it's the CROWN of Aragon which matters, which compromises the kingdoms of Aragon, Majorca, and Valencia as well as the County of Barcelona, and to which the crowns of Sardinia, Sicily, and Naples have been attached over the years. This sort of feudal distinction is what Aragon THRIVES on. As opposed to the Castillian Cortes, which have been reduced to a PROPER state of servility, the Aragonese Cortes are prickly, independent and demand that procedure be followed. And so, even though Charles has been made heir to the throne of Castille, Aragon holds out, continuing to debate, pontificate, and delay. But that is about to end. Philip begins to pressure them to get on with it--and they do. Charles is to be recognized heir to the Crown of Aragon.
Charles, on hearing of it, asks if he may speak a few words of thanks to the Cortes in thanks for granting him this, the greatest honor they can bestow. Philip agrees to this, a request he finds rather odd--personally, he prefers to deal with the Aragonese Cortes as indirectly as possible. Charles soon meets with the Cortes and begins his thanks. It turns out to be a very LENGTHY thanks, where the Prince of the Asturias praises the Cortes--the grandest, oldest, worthiest institution in all of Spain--Barcelona--one of the two SPIRITUAL capitals of Spain, the other being of course, Santiago--and the doughty people of Aragon, who have long worked wonders in Iberia, Italy and the Mediterranean, and are now working wonders in the West Indes and the Americas. "Yours is the old glory of Spain," he proclaims, "children of the land where the sword of El Cid was last drawn, where the echoes of Roland's horn are still heard." Charles is proud--PROUD--to be an heir to this great crown, a scion, however indirectly, of its mighty house of kings. It's all very stirring stuff, and its even more stirring for the Cortes because Charles delivers this speech in Catalan. The Aragonese find it very encouraging. Finally, a PROPER Spanish king in view. Not another Castillean provincial--or even worse, a German! No, it seems that Spain is finally getting a ruler who understands that the country's more than the personal empire of Madrid.
Philip, on hearing of the speech is... less enthused. After all the very fact that the Aragonese are thrilling at the prospect of a king who gets them, is a reminder that for them, Philip is a king who does not. (And to be honest, he really doesn't. Oh, he intellectually understands where they're coming from, but emotionally, he just can't understand why they don't just do what he says whenever he says it.) This is Charles throwing down the gauntlet, albeit in a subtle way that Philip can do very little about. "Don't like the way my father runs things? Well guess what--neither do I. Care to help me change it?" Philip's known this fight's been coming for some time. And he's ready for it.
Or at least, he thinks he is.
--Ireland. Early November. Lord Lieutenant Cromwell and his allies Risdeárd an Iarainn Bourke and Matthew O'Neill approach Castlereagh where Shane O'Neill and several of his allies, among them the pirate "queen" Grace O'Malley are gathering their forces. This is it, the Earl of Essex feels. The definitive blow of a campaign that, as far as he can tell, has largely consisted of marching around pointlessly, always just missing Shane and his cronies.
Well, he's absolutely right about that. However, he most assuredly is NOT expecting the bit where his "allies" turn on his men and start slaughtering them, quickly to be joined by the army that they were supposedly going to attack. Yes, Gregory has been set up, and even worse, he's done exactly what they wanted him to--lead the primary English military force in Ireland into an ambush, miles away from any chance of support. Gregory watches his men get cut down around him, until somebody kills his horse and he winds up crawling on the ground with a broken leg, mewling pathetically and crying for help. Bourke finally puts the poor sap out of his misery with a spear to the back, followed by a bit of decapitation. As his fiancee, Grace O'Malley, notes, Iron Richard really has been putting a lot of effort into all this.[19]
Needless to say, when word of this atrocity reaches England, people are furious--however, that takes awhile. In fact, it only happens next year, by which point it is merely an addendum to the other horrible news coming out of Ireland...
--Ernest, Prince of Grubenhagen, returns home after the meeting in Leipzig, and a further Guelph-only meeting in Wolfenbuttel, where the Leipzig Bond members sat down and ironed out just what they are going to do about the other half of the family that have decided to join the Heidelberg Compact. The slightly--all right, very--inebriated Prince discovers that this conflict is closer to home than he realized when several armed men refuse him entry into Herzberg. It turns out that Ernest's brother Wolfgang has taken advantage of his brother's absence to borrow a few mercenaries from Eric von Calenberg, unofficial head of the Heidelberg Compact Guelphs and seize most of his brother's holdings. [20] Ernest, bitterly offended at his brother's treachery, goes off, drunkenly swearing vengeance. He reaches Wolfenbuttel two days later, where his cousin Julius swears that naturally, they will help him regain his Principality.
This comical little incident marks the beginning of a multigenerational conflict that will start by pitting brother against brother, and go on to turn a successful (if slightly diminished) Germanic family into a bunch of warring cliques that hate each other.
--In Dublin, numerous street preachers launch into sermons about Joshua at Gibeon. The signal having been given, the Originalists gathered in the city set to work. Small bands gather, arm themselves, and begin their tasks,hopin to seize Dublin Castle, St. Patrick and Christ Church Cathedral, and other important buildings in the city. As Dublin's garrison is undermanned and poorly led this plan goes fairly well--in fact, by the time the English in the city realize that something is happening and start organizing some resistance, the Originalists have largely achieved their objectives. That stated, this weak resistance does succeed in getting some Originalists' dander up, thus adding a few more bodies to the casualty list. And there is quite a list--while both English and Irish have a way of moving the suspected numbers up or down as needed in the years (indeed, in the centuries) to follow, we are looking at hundreds dead here at the outset, largely due to the fact that the Originalists don't see much use for prisoners, and more importantly, are setting things on fire. Including, once they've gotten the Gaelic printing presses kept there out, Dublin Castle. St. Patrick's and Christ Church are also burned by the Originalists, though only after they go through an iconclastic spree, shouting 'Christ not the Cross' in Gaelic as they tear down crucifexes. The city still burns when the Originalists leave, most of the inhabitants already fleeing to places they hope will be safer. And 'hope' is a significant word here--the simple fact that they've gotten Dublin has many convinced the Originalists can do... anything. (Which is precisely what Donal o Fearghail was thinking when he plotted this out.) And the significance of what has happened here cannot be understated. With the destruction of Dublin, English power in Ireland has essentially been decapitated. The situation has become very, very grim.
--Lacking clear leadership with Grumbach gone (and with many of the mercenaries he brought with him already lighting out), the city of Wurzburg falls to Schutzer genannt Milchling's troops. Having achieved their objective, the troops then indulge in a bit of terror and bloodletting, both to collect their bonus and to teach a little lesson to these Protestant scum who thought they could get away with killing a bishop. With that done, Bishop Wolfgang sends to Rome for a confirmation of his seat. And then he enjoys a nice meal, and a nap.
The sack of Wurzburg is quite horrific and the Protestant propaganda will be going out of their way in the years ahead to make it sound even worse. For many historians, it counts as the definitive moment where the Revolt of the Bishops and the Knights becomes the Second Schmalkaldic War. Up till now, there's been a chance for the parties involved to step back, take a deep breath, and negotiate a peace. But now, every one involved is in too deep.
--Christmas celebrations in England are grim this year despite the new heir to the throne, as the news of "Bloody November" has by now reached the court and percolated a bit. While initial reports were dismissed as exaggerated, possibley even utterly false, it's now readily appararent that it's all true. English forces in Ireland have been slaughtered. The Lord Lieutenant is dead, as is most of the island's English government. Dublin is a smoldering ruin. Years of neglect, patchwork solutions and inconsistent approaches have finally born a horrible fruit. Henry and the Council debate, fret, and shout. Ireland must be dealt with. The rebels must be crushed. The English position in Ireland must be rescued. In Parliament, the Hon. Thomas Cromwell shouts and screams for his brother's blood to be AVENGED! And from where Henry stands a miracle occurs--that normally tight-fisted body goes above and beyond his requests for funds. The Irish may have won a great victory--but they've also made England--and its king--very, very mad.
In Castlereigh, Shane O'Neill gathers many of his supporters together for an important event--his baptism in the Originalist Faith by Donal o Fearghail himself. Whatever doubts he may have had--may still have--about Fearghail's faith are subdued by this clear and apparent sign of the Lord's favor. Shane recieves the annointing in water, and affirms his faith. And then, Fearghail does something surprising. He produces a small vial of olive oil, and sprinkles it on Shane's head, proclaiming as he does so that he names Shane King of all Irish, just as Samuel named Saul and then David King of all Israelites. "Rule as the latter did, and not the former," says the Prophet of Originalism. Shane, overcome with emotion, kisses Fearghail's hand.
It's image that's going to stay buried in the hearts and minds of many Irish, in the long, bitter years and centuries ahead.
-----------------------
[1] IOTL, he would become Doge of Genoa.
[2] Something similar occurred to Corfu IOTL--it's speculated he was one of the inspirations for Othello.
[3] He died in 1567, IOTL. But then again, that was in a much, much more peaceful HRE.
[4] Jacob von Eltz-Rubenach was the next Archbishop IOTL--Kaspar Olevanius was a Protestant reformer in Triers.
[5] Which is more or less what he did IOTL, thus kicking off the Northern Seven Years War. Here, the beginning of a civil war in Sweden just make it even more tempting.
[6] Rantzau reportedly died in this matter at a much later date IOTL.
[7] Magnus is, as noted, a member of the House of Ascania a rather diminished Germanic noble house. Saxe-Lauenberg is pretty much the only Saxon Duchy not held by a Wettin.
[8] Most of this is all very OTL. Ivan went to pieces after his first wife's death--and he wasn't all there to begin with.
[9] Again, pretty much OTL.
[10] A similiar incident occured IOTL, though it happened at the start of the war, instead of during a lull--here, having to worry about a more active Poland, Ivan brought his A-game to the early stages of the war, and is just now allowing it to slack off.
[11] Ivan tended to enjoy this sort of punishment. On one occasion he had several men strip naked, and lie in the mud, when a bit of official busiiness came up. So he left them there, and wound up forgetting about them.
[12] This was Poland's response to Ivan's entreaties for an alliance IOTL as well. Yes, they considered the Crimean Tatars more reliable neighbors than Ivan. Just mull that over.
[13] IOTL, he died in 1557 by falling off a horse.
[14] Interestingly enough, her first husband IOTL, a marriage that was annulled due to lack of consummation. I should add that TTL's Catherine and TTL's Edward Seymour have only a glancing knowledge of one another--they really don't travel in the same circles.
[15] IOTL, of course, he was made Duke of Suffolk by Edward VI. On the other hand, he was also dead by now, so really, he shouldn't complain.
[16] Maurice and Francis are Magnus' brothers. And also, Dukes of Saxe-Lauenberg. It's complicated. And part of the reason why I haven't listed out the various Princes of Anhalt, who are very fine example of how the Holy Roman Empire makes baby Jesus cry.
[17] This is earlier than his OTL marriage to Anna d'Este, but of course, she's become a widow much earlier here...
[18] Wolfgang was born in 1483. And his last name means "Schutzbar called Milchling". It's a Hessian thing.
[19] They were married in 1566 OTL. A popular legend says it lasted a year after which she divorced him and seized a casle.
[20] I feel obligated to note that this is possible because Grubenhagen is really quite small. Actually, aside from Duke Julius, most of the Guelphs are loudly proclaiming their rule over a handful of towns with a castle somewhere in the mix.
