"The salvation of Sweden shall spring from the child of greatness."
--alleged old Swedish prophecy, first recorded 1638
1564
--The Second Schmalkaldic War has now entered its third year of all-out combat--and the Reich shall shortly enter its second year of interregnum. This last situation is causing a great deal of quiet instability, to go along with the loud instability caused by large groups of people trying to kill each other. It is not that the Reich is completely incapable of dealing with interregnums--there are rules for this sort of thing, of course--but even they aren't extensive enough to cover 'what do you do when the two vicars insist that the other has lost any claim to rightful authority, there's a third guy with a nebulous position who may or may not have any say in things, and all three of them are fighting each other?' The biggest problem--believe it or not, no matter how loose-knit the Empire might seem to a casual onlooker, the Emperor actually does do things in it. With no Emperor, and all the stopgap positions squabbling with each other--well, you see the problem.
The result has been an incredible legal backlog building up for when there's an Emperor again, because even war doesn't stop German princes from suing one another. (In fact it makes them do it more often.) A backlog so incredible that many bureaucrats have said 'screw it', and started forwarding things to whoever they figure should get it. As a result, King Ferdinand (and yes, he can more or less legitimately call himself a king now for reasons that will be explained shortly), Elector John Frederick, and Elector-Palatinate Frederick have each found themselves being treated as the ultimate authority on quite a few cases, and have acted accordingly. Now, sometimes things are surprisingly unambiguous--there's very little doubt that John Frederick deciding a case in Saxon territory is going to stand, backed as it is by both the de facto situation on the ground, and the de jure tradition. But--what about Westphalia, largely controlled by an ally of Saxony, but traditionally part of the Count-Palatinate's Imperial vicarage, AND with a few Catholic holdouts who insist on sending things to Vienna? And for that matter, what about all the people in Austria sending things by necessity up to Ferdinand, a man whose position in the Empire is exceedingly ambiguous, and may even cease to exist? And what about the fact that Maria is answering a lot of her husband's mail, so to speak? And that's not even going into those cases where different parties have appealed to different authorities--there are matters where three distinct "final decisions" have been made.
Needless to say, the Empire's lawyers are preparing for one HELL of an adjudication when this war finally ends and they get around to signing the peace treaty. A treaty they suspect will be in the vincity of five hundred pages long. (They are wrong, by the way. It'll be just over eight hundred.) For now, the law continues on a very tangled course, with everyone working how to get it to work for them. (To their credit, John Frederick, Ferdinand and yes, even Frederick von Simmern try to be fair and impartial. But they're only human, and naturally inclined to favor their own supporters--and Maria of Spain tends to see justice as quite naturally coming down on her side.)
Of course, legal wrangling is just one of many facets of life during wartime. There are plenty of others. For example, the bad harvests in many areas, frequently made worse by troops tearing through and living off the land. Or the plague, which has once again chosen to break out in a time of strife[1]. All of these things are adding to the death toll, arguably outstripping 'getting shot', 'getting stabbed by something pointy and sharp', and that oldie but goody, 'getting trampled to death by horses.'. And as usual, while being poor ups your death chances considerably for these things, being rich doesn't automatically help--old George von Guelph, Archbishop of Bremen and Bishop of Vinden, a distant cousin to all the family members slugging it out in Brunswick, perishes of the plague early in the year[2].
But it isn't all bad things. The war is proving a valuable cultural stimulant, making people consider religion, the proper relationship of man to authority, their own mortality... well, you know, the usual things. AND, aside from a lot of woodcuts of skeletons dancing and the like, it's started something else. The city of Strasbourg, shining jewel of the Reformed Church ("Like Geneva! Only nicer, and more German!") has always been famous for its intellectual independence, its printing presses, and indeed, its intelligensia in general. And all those things combine when some bright soul decides that someone should be writing all these things that are happening down, while they're happening, and printing it in large quantities. The result is the "Chronicle of Noteworthy Events Occuring in the Present Struggle", which will generally be referred to as the Strasbourg Chronicle. The first three volumes do a rundown of the war from its buildup to the present day--they sell like hotcakes, inspiring the publishers to just keep at it, publishing new volumes that continue the stellar story of the war that is going on as people read about it![3] And like any profitable idea, there are imitators--and not just people publishing their own pirated versions of the Strasbourg Chronicle. Because that's the thing--the Strasbourg Chronicle doesn't just tell what's happening, it has its own spin on it, and one lots of people disagree with it. And not just the people you'd think--while Vienna is naturally hostile to the Chronicle, which paints them as a bunch of bloodthirsty, incompetent idiots who are the puppets of Spanish and Papal interests, Heidelberg Compact leader Frederick von Simmern isn't happy with the Chronicle's version, which depicts him as too scheming for his own good, despite the fact that Strasbourg is PART of the Compact. Or John Frederick, who is depicted as talented, but also vain, and rather inflexible, or his wife Elizabeth, painted as--well, an English female version of her husband who makes him worse.
None of this should be taken to mean that the Strasbourg Chronicle is an objective source of information--it's the 16th century, and people likely wouldn't understand that concept unless you gave them a detailed explanation of it, at which point they would still scratch their heads. The Chronicle is resolutely Pro-Lutheran, and especially biased towards Reformed Lutheranism. But it also depicts the struggle as the tragic interplay between a bunch of strong and weak personalities in positions of authority rather than a glorious battle for the Faith. And so, while its Wittenburg, Heidelberg and Vienna equivalents are often seen as propaganda, the Strasbourg is seen as... something more, even in its own day. (Indeed, in Vienna there is a preference for the Strasbourg Chronicle over its Austrian equivalent so sharp, it winds up being recorded in verse--the Hapsburg version isn't just seen as propaganda, it's seen as BAD propaganda.) And so the Second Schmalkaldic War kickstarts the newspaper business.
Of course not all business is helped by the war, especially the business of funding it. Ironically, the Heidelberg Compact and the Leipzig Bond are both doing all right at this as a whole (though individual princes are frequently feeling the pinch) finding it surprisingly easy to get loans. (Including, in the Bond's case, from Venice, which Catholic republic or no, can't help but be encouraged by the discomfort of the Hapsburgs.) Which isn't to say this is not a burden, simply not a crushing one. As yet. Austria, in contrast, is having an especially difficult time, relying on money from Spain and the Papacy, who it must be remembered are already supplying a good portion of the troops Austria is fighting its war with as well. Needless to say, none of this is exactly helping Austria's reputation and dignity. Nor is the state of the man it says is de facto Emperor.
In Vienna, King Ferdinand remains locked in his apartments with only his illegitimate children, the occasional visitor (art dealer Jacopo Strado the most frequent among them) and a few servants for company. His brother, the Archduke Charles Francis, visits in an attempt to bring Ferdinand to his senses--at least long enough to get him to name Charles' Regent so Maria can't keep lording it over everybody. The visit is, the Archduke of Tyrol notes to his wife later, the most miserable event in Charles Francis' life, which, given who we're talking about here, is really saying something. Met at the door by his brother's seven year old bastard, young Ferdinand of Austria, the child first demands that his uncle 'not make daddy sad'. Once the Archduke gives his sworn word to try and avoid that, he is allowed in, though young Ferdinand remains at his side the entire time.
Once there, he sees that young Ferdinand's little sisters Catherine and Veronica are running around half-wild, their elder brother the closest thing to an authority figure there. (Little Leopold is heard crying in a distant chamber, but not seen.) Their father is most certainly not up to such a role--in the pair's conversation, Charles Francis' finds his brother either unwilling or unable to conduct any lengthy discussion on the war. Indeed, Ferdinand seems largely unable to conduct any lengthy conversations whatsoever--he is willing to exchange pleasantries and chat about his latest art purchases, but little else. Any effort to engage him in detailed conversation sees the "King of the Romans by Necessity" either trailing off or simply ceasing to talk all together. The only time Charles Francis gets a heated reaction from his brother comes when he suggests that the children be taken to a more 'joyful' place. The Archduke of Inner Austria becomes distraught--indeed, he comes close to accusing his brother of plotting a kidnapping. As Charles Francis assures him that this isn't the case, young Ferdinand demands his uncle leave. The Archduke of Tyrol returns to his pregnant wife and his lantern-jawed baby daughter[4] stating he fears his brother's wits are utterly gone. Fortunately for the Hapsburgs, Charles Francis is wrong about this, as he is about so many things--but Ferdinand II IS in a bad way, at the moment.
Aside from this, the war has shifted into a fairly static state. Saxon forces remain in control of Bohemia, Austria has relieved much of the hideous immediate pressure it was under, while the Heidelberg Compact remains checked in Westphalia and has lost what hold it had in Franconia, but has gained control of Alsace and most of Swabia. Of course, several developments may change this--for example, will Bavaria renew its truce with Austria after a year, as Vienna hopes? Will Ercole d'Este's planned assault in Swabia be a success? Still, all agree that the war is going to take longer than they thought, one reason the Electress Elizabeth is heading back to Wittenburg with her young son, John Casimir. (Her eldest boy, Frederick Henry, remains at his father's side, learning the ins and outs of war and government.)
Transylvania's sudden declaration that it will dispute the Hungarian succession is seen as a fairly minor matter with no real Turkish support to back it (though Sultan Selim does indicate that he respects Prince Zapolya's claim to the throne). Transylvania's famed light calvarly forces are justifiably respected, but their numbers are hardly overwhelming, and they tend to limit their campaigning times. Barring something dramatic occuring, Janos Sigismund will in all likelihood prove little more than nuisance. Austria has more important things to worry about, like the fact that many Austrians are deeply unhappy about the war, and all the foreign troops it's brought to Austria. (And honestly, it probably doesn't worry about that as much as it should.) Indeed, Maria notes delightedly that the Croatian Estates have gotten sick of waiting for the Hungarian Estates to reach a decision and elected Ferdinand King of Croatia independently, which gives Vienna something to twist the Diet's metaphorical arm with. (Mind you this is still much less impressive than it sounds. What with all the Turkish and Venetian conquest, Croatia isn't very big at the moment.) All they'll have to do is swat down Janos Sigismund, and Hungary will fall into place.
--In England, plans for Parliament's next meeting collide with the deepening Dispute of the Hymnals in a most spectacular fashion when a crowd of unruly young men lead by a figure calling himself "John Do-Good" burst into Westminster Palace and wreak havoc. The plan--in as much as there is one--is to seize the Speaker's Mace and Great Seal, thus preventing Parliament from going into session, and giving them leverage to make the Crown listen to their demands. The foremost of these--dismiss Trilby! The second most important--solve the Dispute of the Hymnals immediately! The third--something about Ireland. The fourth--well, they really haven't thought things out that far ahead--or really done anything but the most general gloss of the previous three articles--but the general agreement is that if the Crown would just listen to them, a bunch of guys desperate enough to do this, things would sort themselves out. Somehow.
Unfortunately for this... brilliant plan, the Mace and Seal aren't in the Palace at the moment, instead being secured in another location in case of an outbreak of just this sort of lunacy. The realization that their plans have been derailed causes the men to panic, which results in the Palace being smashed up as they flee. And also, set on fire.
Needless to say, Henry is quite put out about this--Westminster Palace is technically a royal residence, albeit one he doesn't actually live in, or spend much time in at all if he can help it. (Look, it's old and dingy and surrounded by Westminster, a city that is sort of London, but not quite. He has tons of nicer palaces. Hell, quite a few of his nobles have nicer palaces that he and Mary regularly crash at to save the costs of running Court and to make the bastards squirm.[5]) Further, tradition mandates that Parliament meets there[6], though this misfortune has proved the topper of a general feeling that it might be a good idea to move the meeting to a place where roving mobs are NOT raising trouble. And so, as Henry has his people get to work stopping this problem and quick, the question becomes--where shall they move Parliament to, for this present session?
And lo and behold, a man named Cromwell brings the answer. The Hon. Thomas Cromwell is very happy to be a Member of Parliament, especially since his transformation from 'that precocious sprat whose brother bought him a seat' to 'the English Demosthenes' and 'the Cicero of the Commons'. He really likes speaking there, as he's very, very good at it. And so he offers a deal--the Cromwells happen to have a very large palace in a relatively isolated area that they don't use very often--Nonsuch. (Their primary use for it since big brother Gregory bought and finished it has been to host the King there twice, and to throw a few very large parties so they can remind people, 'yes, we're upstarts--but we're also obscenely wealthy upstarts, so tread very carefully'.) He and his family are willing--nay, EAGER--to be of service to the throne by offering the use of this very elaborate domicile to them for the present Parliament. And so, despite some grumbling, the 1564 Parliament assembles in Nonsuch.
On the whole, the incident serves to fix the Dispute of the Hymnals in the minds of many as a dreadful problem for the nation, even as a few souls--most notably Mary, Queen of Scots--note that it's just singing in church, people. Of course, the Disputants know that these people need to get their heads examined. (Well, metaphorically, as psychiatric care doesn't exist yet.) JUST singing in church? This is about the very fundamentals of worship! The Puritans see themselves as fighting for an inclusive communal style of worship that a seperate choir singing elaborate harmonies would destroy, while the Libertines see it as fighting to maintain beauty and excellence in church. The Dispute divides families--Arthur Fitzroy, a dedicated Libertine who in fact wrote several of the hymns that have caught on in that side of the Dispute, finds relations with his Puritan wife getting just a tad frosty--and sometimes people's own consciences. Edward Tudor, Duke of York, for example, is split between his dedication to the Reformed Church, and his poetic nature--like his nephew, several of his compositions have become quite popular with the Libertines. Indeed, Edward even wrote the musical settings for these, so he finds their becoming popular, well, flattering. But York being York, he quickly starts asking if he is pleased because others consider his work worthy of the LORD, or if he is pleased because of unjustifiable personal vanity, a terrible sin, if he... (Look, you get the picture. It's Edward Tudor, Duke of York. This guy can torment himself about whether his outfit is sufficiently "godly" after spending several intimate hours with his mistress.) The point remains--this is effecting people.
In other English news, the occasional casualties caused by the Dispute see an interesting one added to the list. (Or DO THEY? *dramatic music sting*) Nils Sturre, still hanging around England since Erik started indicating he'd like to see the man in a cell or possibly worse, is at a tavern when a loud argument breaks out between Puritans and Libertines. (Or DOES IT? *dramatic music sting*) In the resulting fight, he is stabbed to death, apparently by accident. (Or... yeah, you get the drill.) Sturre's death is a historical mystery--an accident is possible, but seems somewhat unlikely given how much easier Nils Sturre's death makes life for quite a few people. Erik denies responsibility, but does not deny his satisfaction at it, claiming that Sturre was plotting a bid on his throne. Still, it is questionable that he has the reach or the funds for an assassination. England has been tilting towards Sweden in the Northern War, but only subtly--many would argue hardly enough to commit murder. However, it cannot be denied that this makes dealing with the nation infinitely easier. Still, the exact whos and whys don't matter--the important thing is, Nils Sturre is dead. Erik Vasa breathes a bit easier, though given A) who he is, and b) the other things he has to worry about, that only does so much.
--Turning to the English news that isn't happening in England, in Poland, the young man who Henry Tudor calls the "Great Pretender" and who his wife calls the "Great Dunce", Charles Stuart, Earl of Lennox (attainted--so yes, even his actual title is a pretense by this point) keeps a watchful eye on the going on in England. And Scotland. And Ireland. And Fr--look, everywhere there are Tudors and Stewarts, Lennox is watching, while also trying to steeple his hands menacingly. Lennox is certain that if his time has not come, it is coming--indeed, he has even sent John Darcy, 'Baron Darcy de Darcy' to Ireland to try and recruit the Fitzgeralds and a few other Catholic lords to his cause, arguing that the present horror is the Tudors' fault for encouraging these 'ruffians', and that if they will just accept him as overlord, he's certain his allies will help them end this hideous bloodshed. As usual for Charles Stuart, he is remarkably optimistic on his chances in this affair, brushing aside Lord Darcy's quiet doubts. True this may not look like much, but with it, he'll have a base, and once he has a base, then the Catholic monarchs he's been courting will jump on board, especially Henri II of France who Charles is JUST CERTAIN is going to write back to him and acknowledge him as rightful King of England and Scotland SOON, now that the accursed Antoinette has ruined her chances. Yep. Any day now.
Lennox also recieves a few new followers, most notably one John Hawkins and his young cousin, Francis Drake. A pair of merchants/smugglers/pirates, they are there, they state, because of their dedication to the Catholic religion--and because King Henry ruined John's burgeoning new business. Hawkins, you see, hit on a brilliant smuggling trade of slaves to the New World--but when he went to the King for backing so that he could REALLY start raking in the profits, Henry shot him down, noting that he didn't need to be annoying Spain right now.[7] Well, John Hawkins doesn't take monarchs crushing his hopes and dreams well, which is why he's now on the Baltic, doing odd shipping jobs for the various parties involved in the Livonian War using his ship the Jesus of Lubeck. It's a decent business, but he still feels he needs to do something for his nation and his religon--hence, signing on with the TRUE king of the land, a king with blood in his veins, a king who will restore the True Church to England (and Scotland too, of course, but mostly England), and most importantly a king who will say yes to massive slave smuggling operations into the New World! Lennox winds up very enthusiastic about the whole thing, despite the fact that he's also begging Philip for support, and soon Hawkins and Drake are in the inner circle, despite many of the other members of the inner circle viewing them as a pair of scummy, baseborn criminals. But damn it, listening to them makes Lennox feel MANLY! And they keep hinting at connections to the small, exceptionally quiet faction--or 'collection' might be a better term--of crypto-Catholics at the English court--men like Henry Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, a prominent landowner and member of the Privy Council, and his cousin and in-law, Norfolk's wealthy but alienated half-brother Viscount Thomas Howard of Binden. So they're in.
And so the Stuart cause continues! It's got a King! It's got a Queen! It's got a Prince! With all that, surely something has to come together, right? Charles Stuart certainly thinks so.
--Turning to matters affecting Poland proper, as well as the little matter of the vast war it's involved in, Polish-Lithuanian troops under the command of Russian turncoat Prince Andrei Kurbski win a significant victory against Russian forces, proving that his switching sides was a very ungood thing for the Russian war effort. News of this severe setback reaches Ivan at a very bad time--his beloved brother Iuri, who was most beloved by the Tsar because as a deaf-mute he was absolutely not a threat to Ivan, has died[8]. As usual for Ivan, the loss of someone he saw as belonging to him as made him exceptionally temperamental--Kurbski's actions only heighten his sense that everyone and everything is turning against him. And so Ivan does something nobody expects.
He quits.
Ivan Vasilyevitch Grozny declares he's abdicating--or at least, isn't going to be Tsar of Russia anymore--packs his family up, and heads to a monastery to... well, bother God, I suppose... accompanied by a force of soldiers.[9] And the government of Russia--freezes. While the role of Autocrat isn't exactly the arbitrary, absolute tyrant that Ivan tends to imagine to be, the fact is the Tsar stands at the center of virtually all government decisions in Russia. With him gone, there is literally no mechanism to keep things going, and while the boyars could probably juryrig something, they lack the confidence to do so. Further, the Tsar is a spiritual symbol for many Russians, especially the Muscovites--a few days of this and they are gathering in the streets to hold what we would consider 'Ivan come back rallies'. And so a gathering of boyars and priests set out to kindly ask Ivan to be tsar again.
When they reach Ivan, they find him to be an exceptionally foul mood--his wife Maria was still recovering from her pregnancy when he dragged her out on this little expedition, and as a result she has become quite ill--indeed, likely to die. Ivan blames the boyars for his wife's ill health--if they had not driven him to act against their treachery, Maria would be fine, he insists. Still, once the emissaries have taken Ivan's abuse, he explains the terms that would cause him to forgive their treachery and allow him to return home and be Tsar again. Ivan wants the right to handle treachery as he sees fit, with no interference from the Church and the gentry. The boyars, despite their misgivings, grant it to him. And so Ivan returns to Moscow, there to begin his plans to teach the boyars a lesson. And, just in case he should even consider lightening up--not that there's much chance of it, but even Ivan has the occasional change of heart--two things occur that make his foul mood fouler. First, Maria dies, leaving Ivan raging at the boyars who mistreated and rejected his darling little Tartar, as well as making him take to heart the surprising amount of advice she gave him during their marriage[10].
Second, he gets a letter from Andrei Kurbski, wherein the Prince lays out exactly why he has left Ivan's service. Andrei states that he had served the Tsar loyally for years, at great personal sacrifice--his reward has been to be treated with suspicion and to watch Ivan treat others who have made similar sacrifices with hideous cruelty. Andrei blasts the Tsar for his arbitrary punishments, and his abuse of "the Angelic Form"--that is to say his forcing men who have displeased him to join holy orders, frequently along with their entire family. Worse, even as Ivan does this to loyal subjects who are doing their best to serve him, he raises up flatterers and cronies who do nothing but tell him what he wants to hear and spur him on to new acts of drunkeness and cruelty. Kurbski declares that Ivan's behavior has been monstrous, and that he can stomach it no longer.[11]
Ivan is enraged, and decides to answer Kurbski's accusations with a letter of his own. And by even more arbitrary executions. Because he's Ivan Groznyi, and that's how he rolls. First for the block, Prince Alexander Gorbaty-Shuisky, who Ivan claims was plotting to seize the throne, which is news to everyone, along with Alexander's son and father-in-law. In a fine example of what awful scum they are, Alexander and his son both try to precede the other to the block--Alexander wins the right, embraces his dear boy, and goes bravely to his death.[12] With that out of the way, Ivan announces that he's granting himself an oprnicha, a slightly archaic term (even at this time) for a bit of land given to a widow on her husband's death. The boyars scratch their head and nod, convinced that this just some little bit of Ivan oddity.
It isn't. Oh, it isn't.
--The Duke of Alba leads a portion of his troops from Vienna to Calenberg. They are escorting Eric's price for aligning himself with the Hapsburgs--his new bride, Anne of Austria. A widower for nearly five years, Eric has written to the "Queen of the Romans" of his hopes--nay, his need--for a new wife, to serve as his helpmate and continue his line. Maria has recieved these missives with... mixed feelings--she knows the real reason for these hopes and needs are because Eric poisoned his previous wife[13], an act which she thinks was a bit much, even if said lady was Lutheran scum. But even with its recent successes, Austria is desperate, and has to take the help it can. While Maria tried to pass off one of her younger sister-in-laws, Calenberg was adamant--he wanted one of her daughters, most preferably her eldest. And so, even though Anne is betrothed to young Charles Emmanuel de Savoie, she has found herself sent off to the aging Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbuttel.
The party is received with a certain Spartan splendor by the Duke, who, after all, has a war to finance. (So, quick guess where Anne's dowry is going.) Anne manages to keep her dignity throughout the ceremony, and the 'getting to know you' part that follows, even when the Duke responds to her questions by noting that he expects the same virtues in a wife that he expects in a good horse--to keep quiet, and to be ridden when necessary. The Duke of Alba notes this with... disapproval, but is much too sensible to pick a fight with a man commanding an army that is presently surrounding him. The wisdom of this is demonstrated William of Gottingen, who attempts to do just that. William, remember, is the one dedicated Reform Lutheran in this body of True Lutherans and Catholics, and he's feeling used. He shouts challenges about Eric's treachery. Unfortunately for William, he's forgotten that not only has Eric gotten sick of having him around, but that the city of Gottingen that is his prized possession used to be Eric's. Calenberg, who has in fact been expecting this, has William seized, and sends a force to take Gottingen. This proves fairly easy, as Eric has been paying the garrison's salary for the last two years, and in fact soon the city's inhabitants are celebrating William's fall in the streets. (Their former Luneburg-Celle Guelph master was not particularly competent ruler, nor were his efforts at dragging the city into Reform Lutheranism appreciated.) And with that done, Eric can get on with the real business of the year--taking care of his rival to the west, the Archbishop of Cologne, then rooting out the last few holdings of his cousins, including the City of Brunswick, while perhaps assuring a properly Catholic Bishop is chosen in Bremen.
All in all, it's going to be a busy year in northwest Germany.
--Eric von Calenberg is not the only German Prince celebrating a new marriage in the midst of all this war. His new archrival Archbishop Salentin has decided to prove his newfound dedication to the Protestant Church in the most dramatic way possible, and has made some enquiries about getting a wife. His choices for prospective in-laws are careful--decent Protestant families high-ranking enough to be worthy of note, but low-ranking enough to be willing to tie themselves to a man who may or may not continue to be a mover and shaker in the Empire after the war is over. Of his choices, the House of Nassau has responded enthusiastically, with John of Nassau-Dillenburg handling the negotiations. And so, Salentin marries John's--and Louis' and William, Prince of Orange's--sister Juliana[14] in a glorious ceremony conducted by Philip von Waldeck, brother to the late Francis II, in Salentin's de facto capital of Greznau. (The Archbishop of Cologne is traditionally barred from the city of Cologne, as it is an imperial city. Holy Roman Empire, folks.) Salentin and his bride are cordial throughout, with both fairly certain that they will find the other an amiable enough spouse. It is, on the whole, a fairly typical arrangement for its day and age, aside from the whole Archbishop thing.
Of course, many expect Pius to make with the excommunicating, but he does not. Salentin, he notes, is not a priest, nor is he in truth Archbishop of Cologne, as Pius has not acknowledged him. Excommunicating him for breaking his vows would be tacitly acknowledging the man's claims--a very unwise move. At least, that's the Pope's stated reason--the unstated reason is Pius' tendency to avoid futile confrontations with people who are winning. In truth the aging pontiff is in low spirits, as the course the Second Schmalkaldic War is taking, the sudden collapse of Cardinal de Lorraine's career, and the recent misfortune against the Barbary Pirates have proven anathema to all his hopes. The Turk advances steadily, plundering Italy at will, the Protestant Princes show no interest in any sort of ecumenical settlement, and the one man who showed any ability of creating a peaceable way forward in France at the very least has been discredited. Despite these setbacks, Pius remains stubbornly sure of his own essential rightness--"No man who faced such tulmults as I have faced could have done better," he insists to his nephew and secretary Luigi d'Este.
The pontiff's grim mood is echoed in Rome and Mantua, across party lines. No less a reactionary than Abbot Peretti notes that it's no mystery why the Protestants defeat the Church at every turn, when they are represented by such splendid monarchs as King Henry of England and the Elector of Saxony[15]. The best that the Catholics have to call on is Philip of Spain which is... well, no comparison. Indeed, Peretti is even willing to compliment the Pope, noting that whatever his flaws, Pius has a great spirit, and would likely be making better headway if there was a Catholic monarch in the world that could equal him. There's a reason Peretti winds up being dubbed the 'Rosicrucian of the Cathars' by one German historian.
Another matter the Pope refuses to move on is the Cardinal de Lorraine, whose revealed theological stances dwell in a murky gray area. The only possible exception is his rejection of transubstiantion, and even that is... ambiguous. The Council has been all over the map on the doctrine, first, during Pope Paul's days, being fervantly for it, then backing away from it, then coming close to out and out repudiating it, then leaning towards it again, then backing away. The present stance is essentially "We generally support this, but are uncertain if it possesses a scriptural or traditional basis strong enough to be considered a core doctrine". This is frightfully ambiguous, obviously, but then transubstiation isn't exactly the clearest of matters. A popular story circulates that Pope Pius himself confessed on one occasion that he has never been able to make heads or tails of it--though that's probably just a story.
Overall, it highlights one of the weaknesses of Pius' approach, the tendency for murky gray areas to become grayer and murkier under it. On the plus side, it makes it easy for the Church to keep itself flexible--on the minus side... well, that should be obvious now.
--Spain sees a visitor from the Netherlands, here to sort out that whole messy petition of rights matter--the Count Egmont. Arriving at Madrid, he assures Philip that he had NO idea Brederode was planning that little stunt, which he most certainly would have squashed if he had. That said, the young count IS channelling a mood in Burgundy--people are, not to put too fine a point on it, sick of things as they now stand. What Egmont's hoping to do is assure the Spanish Court that the situation, bad as it is, is not as bad as people think, and if they'll just trust in the Burgundian gentry--especially the Count Egmont--things will work out all right. Philip nods, and smiles, and indicates that he understands perfectly. Meanwhile, he lets the Prince of the Asturias handle hosting the Count, something Charles takes to like a strange Spanish duck to water. (Philip does this because Charles actually speaks French fluently, and Philip does not, thus making his son better at putting the Count at ease. Of course, Egmont does speak Spanish, and Philip is very good at putting the Count out of ease when he wants him that way, so really he's got a perfect one-two punch here.) Egmont finds himself enjoying a series of banquets, fetes, and jousts, as Prince Charles assures him that he, of course, is a dedicated friend to the Seventeen Provinces, who desires peace and brotherhood with his likely future subjects. His grandfather the Emperor always, Charles notes, commended both he and his father to remember that they are of Burgundian blood and the Prince of the Asturias has remained true to this. Indeed, he even asks a question to his young son Infante Charles Maria--the Prince is a doting father who keeps his children close to him, if he can help it--"what are you, my lad?" "Je suis Bourguignon!" proclaims Charles Maria cheerfully, to Egmont's boundless delight. Charles states that he is certain that he will be pleased to bring peace and justice to the Netherlands if he is able, which delights Egmont even further, if that's possible.
Philip is a more austere presence than his bubbly, convivial son--but still exceptionally polite. He patiently listens to Egmont's complaints, and assures him that things are being done. Egmont leaves the King convinced that Philip has agreed to head off a rebellion by sharing more power with the nobles, Estates, and Councils of the Netherlands. In fact, he has done no such thing. He also leaves convinced that Prince Charles will soon be coming to the Low Countries himself to take over as Regent, when in fact Charles merely expressed a wish to do so, and can produce numerous witnesses to back that up. This is what happens when you're a bluff and cheerful military man dealing with two of the subtlest minds in Europe. Indeed, two months after Egmont leaves, his old enemy the Cardinal Granvelle arrives to take a place on the Council of State, a good sign of just how badly he's misjudged the mood in Spain.
--Turning to the place that Egmont's championing and Charles and son are claiming as their spiritual home--the Burgundian Netherlands remain on edge. Margaret of Parma fears her authority has dwindled beyond any hope of recall. "I cannot raise troops without it being whispered I mean to attack the people, or fight the Electors' leagues," she writes her brother, noting that Philip's policies have left her "ruined--utterly ruined". Philip's response to all this is to tut-tut her, insist she's exaggerating things, and then send instructions to the Burgundian Inquisition to keep up the persecutions behind her back. Harsh, but then, it's not like Margaret's one of his favorite family members, just an irritatingly independent bastard half-sister.
As for the Burgundians they themselves are likewise pretty nervous. The war is going on everywhere, and expanding all the time. Many fear it is only a matter of time before they are pulled into it. Philip, the Leipzig Bond, and the Heidelburg Compact are all taking great care to avoid this--Philip because he worries what the response might be, the alliances because they fear Spain truly entering the war, instead of their present 'one hand tied behind the back' involvement. While a dedicated few among Burgundy's Protestants feel they should be fighting for the Faith, most do not--indeed the Burgundian Netherlands remains majority Catholic, with even most Protestants loyal to the Platonic ideal of Philip at the very least, even if their feelings for the actual monarch are... conflicted. They do not want the war to spread to their land, or a revolt to start. Indeed, many breathe easier knowing that Count Brederode is out of the country, having left early in the year to fight the good Reformed Protestant fight in Swabia. They'd breathe less easy if they knew that he's trying to recruit assistance for "the Beggars" from the Heidelburg Compact in case things get worse. Brederode's position as acting head of the resistance has been taken by Louis of Nassau, in what his brother William is painting as a victory for the forces of moderation. In truth, it's fairly likely the Nassaus are quietly working to turn this political climate into a chance for dynastic aggrandisement, even if they are at least partially motivated by a genuine sense of religious devotion. But for the moment, the Nassau stance is 'we don't want to fight--unless we see our options whittled down. Then, it's a whole new ballgame'
And so Burgundy goes on, poised at the very threshhold of rebellion, waiting for that next little step...
--Turning to YET another little matter Spain's involved in, Philip begins his long-planned push against the Turk with an effort to recapture Tunis. Leading the charge--well, okay, it's a naval action, so there's no real charging--is Spanish aristocrat Juan de la Cerda, 4th Duke of Medinaceli, and let's just say it's a pity that there isn't going to be any real charging, because that's something he's actually good at, as opposed to naval engagements, where he is an almost complete naif. Fortunately, he has experienced assistance in the form of Giovanni Andrea Dorea, Viceroy of Sicily and Sardinia--unfortunately, he dislikes and distrusts the powerful Italian, viewing the Dorias as usurpers of roles that should be filled by Spaniards[16], and even yet more unfortunately, as the newly-created Admiral of the Mediterrarean, Medinaceli outranks Dorea on these matters. And so he sets out seeking a grand battle, despite Dorea's insistence that he's managed to keep the Barbary Pirates maneagable by a combination of increased escorts of merchant vessels and a careful use of retalitory raids striking where the Barbary Pirates are weak. (As well as, of course, that most effective secret weapon against the pirates--bribes.)
Medinaceli most certainly gets the grand battle he was looking for, though not the one he wanted--at the Battle of Djerbita, feared pirate lord Turgut Reis and his lieutenant, Italian convert Kiljic Ali, decimate the grand fleet assembled to decimate them[17]. With that done, they go on to commit various acts of plunder and ruin in the south of Naples before returning back home. Medinaceli would doubtless blame the Dorias for this, if he weren't dead as a result of the battle, so instead it's the Dorias' version that winds up circulating widely, where they more or less stopped a severe disaster from becoming a total, irrecoverable disaster, a version that is helped by being more or less the truth. And so, despite the Spanish nobility's resentment, and Philip's growing wariness of their power, the Dorias grow more entrenched in their island domains.
For Philip this is another personal humiliation--yet another one of his grand efforts to defend Christendom is faltering. Further, the cost of having to rebuild his Mediterrarean fleet AGAIN promises to be quite severe. Coupled with all the misfortunes, the death of his wife, and his ongoing feud with his eldest son, and life is not treating him well. About the only bright spot is the arrival of his beloved sister, Juanna, come from Portugal to discuss a proposal of Philip's--the marriage of his daughter, Isabella Clara Eugenia, to her son, King Leander of Portugal. Both brother and sister are very keen on having their offspring marry, a thing that is very, very creepy when you think about it. The Portuguese nobility are less eager for the match, but largely view it as perhaps the safest matter. You see, Leander's present heir presumptive is... his double cousin, Charles, Prince of the Asturias, who quite regularly writes to Portugal's best and brightest to assure them that he is their dear and true friend, and remind them that he is three-quarters Portuguese by blood, so really they should consider him one of them--spiritually at least. Oddly enough, these tactics have not reassured them--indeed they view the Spanish Prince with suspicion, not only because he is a Spanish Prince with a very good claim to the throne, if the worst should happen, but because Charles is, to Portuguese eyes, tainted with hints of political and religous radicalism, as well as a profound Francophilia that they dread. Marrying Leander to Philip's daughter, aside from being a proper match, is a good way of keeping the King of Spain happy and interested in his nephew's good fortune. Indeed, that he's willing to talk about a marriage at this stage suggests he shares their misgivings.
The Portuguese then recieve yet another encouraging sign--Philip is willing to suggest another, less exalted Spanish-Portuguese match which may happen in addition to the royal one, a marriage between Duarte, Duke of Guimaraes (brother to Archduke Charles Ferdinand's wife) and the Prince of Eboli's eldest daughter, Ana. The fact that he's willing to broach such a marriage is again, very encouraging, because Duarte is the most probable Portuguese heir to the throne should the Cortes of the kingdom decide not to grant the throne to Charles. While there's some grumbling at the King of Spain's upstart friend and said friend's scheming wife trying to get their(?) daughter close to the throne,[18] the fact the remains, the young girl would be an eligible and appropriate match. Both marriage proposals are thus sent back to Portugal, while Juanna decides to stick around Madrid for a little while, to try and turn her brother's frown upside down.
--The good news from Lorraine reaches Sweden--Renata is not only available once more, her brother now considers Erik a catch. All Erik has to do is agree, and the wedding will be on. And there's other good news--if Renata is too Catholic for Erik, well, one of his OTHER longtime prospective brides is now also up for grabs--Christine of Hesse. It's his call. The King is told--and blinks and informs his courtiers that while this would have been good news a couple of years ago, it is now merely ironic as he is already married. This comes as something of a shock to most of his fellow Swedes. It comes as MORE of a shock when he unveils his wife--the young Karrin Mannsdatter, a peasant who became Erik's mistress awhile back, after she caught his eye while working as a servant girl for one of his sisters[19]. Karrin, (who is pregnant AND has already born Erik a daughter named Sigrid[20]) has the good sense to find this all exceedingly embarassing. Meanwhile the rest of country is milling about in shock and muttering 'this is morganatic--this is morganatic, RIGHT?"
Needless to say, for many nobles this is enough to get them wondering if... maybe, their recent questioning of Erik's suitability for the throne was in fact quite justifiable. The problem is, they are now rather short on substitutes. Johan Vasa is dead, Karl Vasa is imprisoned, and Magnus Vasa is... Magnus Vasa. Turning to other families with a claim--no Swede wants the damned Oldenburgs back, no matter how bad Erik gets, and the Sturres suffer from the same 'dead or imprisoned' problem that most of Erik's male siblings are facing. The general consensus is regretable as all of this is, they'll just have to live with it for the moment, while waiting for Erik to come to his senses. After all, on the whole, he's proving to be a pretty good king most of the time. And this whole marriage thing is definitely morganatic, they're almost absolutely certain, and Erik will doubtless come to his senses and call the whole thing off when the magic fades.
One man however, most definitely does not join in this consensus--Magnus von Ascania, Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg. The ambitious mercenary duke has been feeling increasingly slighted by Erik, with his Scottish counterpart Liddisdale recieving plum assignments, while Magnus was sent to Finland to stop any troublemaking from Johan's supporters. Further, Erik has been dismissive about Magnus' attempts to get him to support Frederick von Simmern and the Heidelberg Compact. (Erik is pretty much a Philipist on the Reform Lutheran scale, and has nothing personal against the Elector of Saxony--thus, he's staying out of this one.) All of this has only deepened his alienation from his cousin. The Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg has been toying with betraying Erik in Finland, though had to give this vague scheme up when Magnus Vasa rather unsportingly killed the man he was planning on betraying Erik for. This latest folly has convinced von Ascania that Erik, no matter how promising he's looking at the moment, is in the long run a busted flush. (To borrow the parlance of a game that will never come to exist in this universe.) And so the Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg sends feelers out to the Danes, asking if they need any help.
Unfortunately for Magnus von Ascania, Joran Persson is keeping his beady little eyes on the Duke, and thus von Ascania's (rather amateurish) intrigues are discovered. The Duke winds up fleeing Sweden in disgrace, being barred from Denmark by the Riksdag, and then returning to his home where... well, as shall be revealed, things go further south for him. Erik meanwhile is quite bitter about his cousin's betrayal noting he was considering marrying his half-sister Sophia to him[21]. Still, that does free her up to marry her to someone else, quite possibly one of the Norwegian nobles that have joined the Swedes in coughing nervously about Erik. (Though must be pointed out, they are coughing less, as Eric recently restored the Council of Norway to them, something for which they'd forgive much graver sins then marrying a peasant.)
--Denmark's Riksdag meets to discuss King Frederick's plans to finance his two wars by raising some taxes. Frederick swears this will be a temporary measure, and most of them believe him but still... well, the Danes need reassurances from Frederick that he has a plan to win this besides "keep attacking Sweden until they get tired". Frederick swears that he does, and this is true. Indeed, he has many, many plans, most of which are of dubious practicality. This does not cheer the Riksdag, even when news of Erik's... odd little marriage gets out. After all, the King of Sweden may be a flake--but as yet he's a successful flake. (In fact some people worry that Frederick might use Erik's marriage as an excuse to finally go through with his long-time dream of marrying his mistress, the not-a-peasant Anne Hardenberg. Thankfully, he does not.) And indeed, the marriage flak causes an incident that only furthers the Riksdag's suspicions of their king--the entire Magnus von Ascania affair brings all their worries about Frederik to a fine point. The King of Denmark is simply too impulsive, grabbing at plots to aggrandise himself and his nation (two things which many feel he does not properly distinguish between) with no worries as to their chances of success. This impression is only furthered when it is discovered that Frederick is planning on leading his troops into Sweden personally. Frederick works to calm them down. And then two MORE things happen to shake their confidence.
The first thing involves the fallout of one Frederick's older zany schemes--his brother Magnus Oldenburg's embassy to the Russian Tsar has been a tremendous success--from Magnus' point of view. Ivan has not only agreed to an alliance against the OTHER Magnus in the Baltics, Magnus Vasa of Estonia, he's officially affiliated himself with the ambitious Dane, crowning Magnus Oldenburg King of Livonia, to serve Ivan as his vassal in the region. With a real crown and everything.[22] And so, Frederick's brother has set out with a combination of Danish mercenaries and Russian troops to bring Livonia under his rule, and Magnus Vasa to justice. (Ivan incidentally is willing to do this because the fighting in Livonia has become something of a sideshow in the Livonian War--at least from his viewpoint--and because Magnus Vasa has made him worry about controlling the area. Leaving it in the hands of a vassal might be his best option.)
This is deeply embrassing for Frederick--like Poland and the Hansa, for years he's been painting Ivan as the living embodiment of barbaric menace and criticizing England and Spain for trading with him. The revelation that after doing all that, he has not only dealt with the Tsar himself but allied with him is a blow to his credibility and prestige. Indeed, Magnus has GREATLY overstepped the boundaries Frederick ordered him to keep in his dealings with the Russian Tsar--the King of Denmark was hoping for a subtle under-the-table deal, not a public alliance, and that's not even mentioning Magnus' becoming Ivan's vassal[23]. Magnus Oldenburg has essentially undone Frederick's entire Baltic strategy in the selfish pursuit of his own goals--something that strangely enough makes Frederick rather mirror Erik's issues with HIS brother Magnus.
As bad as all this is from the Riksdag's point of view, it pales when compared to the next incident. The Riksdag is shocked to recieve a petition from John Christian of Schleswig-Holstein-Haderslav, wherein the King's cousin reveals a matter of grave importance. While in Bremen on business, the young lord was shocked when a troop of mercenaries descended on the neighboring territory of the Prince-Archbishopric of Bremen, acting under Frederick's name, and forced the local garrisons to accept their... assistance in keeping their lands secure. John Christian was then even more shocked when agents of the Danish King started bandying the young nobleman as a... wise candidate for the Prince-Archbishopric. Said agents then recieved a shock of their own when their proposed candidate revealed that he was on the scene, and squashed his own candidacy. Having returned to Denmark, John Christian has one simple question for his cousin... what the hell?
The answer is fairly simple. Frederick does not have the money to raise a force capable of a sustained offensive against Sweden. He does, however, have the funds to send a small troupe of mercenaries to a limited area to act as a "suplementary garrison", and to try and get his favored candidate elected to the recently-vacated Prince-Archbishopric. The Oldenburgs have long dreamed of getting Bremen under their sway, and Frederick has been increasingly frustrated at his inability to leave his mark in the Second Schmalkaldic War, especially as the increasingly not-fun Northern War sucks up his resources. This little project has seemed like the perfect chance to do both.
Needless to say, the Riksdag is as horrified as young John Christian. Having listened to the King promise that he would take note of their concerns, they now discover while he was doing this he was quite possibly getting them involved in the massive Second Schmalkaldic War without even asking their permission. Frederick assures them he has done no such thing--the small body of troops he has sent there will doubtless discourage all aggression, and further, Frederick is only acting as Duke of Holstein in this matter, not King of Denmark--but his promises prove less than impressive. (John Christian declares that when His Majesty next sees the Duke, he would appreciate it if the King would give him a slap for John Christian's sake.) The Riksdag continues to grumble among itself, and debate what's to be done. Frederick meanwhile, tries to find another relative to stand as Archbishop of Bremen. He's certain SOMEONE'S going to up for it, possibly his old uncle Adolf of Gottorp. As for John Christian, he retires to his estates in Haderslav, deciding that, having done his duty, it'd be best to keep a low profile for a while. Thus, the young nobleman enjoys some of his pastimes--touring his father's lands, reordering his sizable library, spending time with his wife and children, and of course, astronomic observances. (John Christian and his longtime friend Tyhe Brahe regularly fill their letters with each other with comments on the movements of planets, and observances of the night sky.)
--France tries recovers from its last Estates General, which laid bare the deep political divisions afflicting the nation, overthrew centuries-old precedent, ruined Cardinal de Lorraine's career, and used up an entire . King Henri orders a court procession to acquaint the nation with its new Dauphin, as his eldest surviving son spends his time in Navarre, being fretted over by Queen Jeanne, who finds him quite darling. (Her only surviving son, his similiary named cousin Henri de Bourbon, finds the Institute-reciting little prig--prince, he meant prince--considerably less adorable.) The procession includes many notables, among them all three surviving Bourbon brothers--Antoine of Navarre, Cardinal Charles, and Louis, Prince of Conde. Needless to say, the fallout has left three on very bad terms--especially the Cardinal and his heretic brothers. While Cardinal de Bourbon would like to say that this is more than made up for by his good standing with the King, it isn't--Henri II has been avoiding him of late, for a variety of reasons. First off, once again, the Cardinal is now on rather poor terms with the rest of his immediate family--among them, the niece who Henri is presently sleeping with. Further, he keeps bothering Henri about things the King doesn't want to think about. Like clearing out the little Protestant ministate that's sprung up in Rouen. Or arresting the Cardinal de Lorraine. And finally--the King doesn't need him at the moment. Henri got what he wanted--his eldest son tossed from the succession. While he might need Cardinal de Bourbon and his reactionaries again in the future, at the moment, they're just an annoyance.
No, Henri has a shiny new favorite--Gaspard de Coligny, Admiral of France. True, he's an evangelical, but the King forgives him that--Henri has finally joined almost every other monarch in Europe in accepting the fact that Protestantism and Church Reform are here to stay. Besides, it's not like Coligny is a dangerous Huguenot like the Prince of Conde or the Admiral's brother d'Andelot, merely a Gallican like the Cardinal de Lorraine, or Coligny's late other brother, the Cardinal de Chatillon. Yep, the Admiral is a man Henri II Valois can do business with, who like him shares an interest in UNITING the various warring ideologies in France instead of tearing the nation apart in one of their names. (At least, that's what Henri wants to do NOW. Whether that's his goal in a year or two is of course, variable.) And his proposal to do so is one the King finds very appealing. Admiral de Coligny thinks Henri should declare war on Spain.[24]
Henri likes this idea, especially when the Admiral starts explaining why it is a wonderful and good one. Spain is the old, traditional enemy of France, so the traditionalists will back it because of that. To the Huguenots it is the font of reactionary Catholicism, so they'll take it as a sign that the King is on their side. And of course, with the Second Schmalkaldic War, and the uneasiness in the Netherlands, Spain is in no shape to take on France if something starts. If Henri listens to the Admiral, Coligny swears that he'll be in a position to not only to reverse the losses of the last Italian War, but possibly make the gains he hoped for then.
The King finds it all very tempting, despite the fact that there are several practical deterrants to his starting a war right now, not the least of which being France is still broke (or close enough to it) from the last war, and is seen as a dodgy investment for the heavy loans he'd need to start one up. It'll be several years before the nation is prepared to fight. Further, quite a few people think this is a bad idea, including quite a few friends and allies of the Admiral, like his Montmorency cousins, and the Cardinal de Lorraine. But Gaspard is just as adamant that Spain is ripe for attack, and that war will solve all of France's problems, and with Henri, a combination of forcefulness and telling the King what he wants to hear tends to do the trick.
And so matters continue until the whole procession is marred by a very bloody scandal. Catherine de Medici has taken to encouraging her maids in waiting to take lovers among the prominent noblemen, and then to use their influence to get said noblemen to avoid trying to solve their problems by killing each other, or starting a feud or civil war. However, on occasion this approach fails.
It is about to have its most profound failure ever.
One night, in Dijon, Florimond Robertet bursts into what he believes is the chambers of his former beloved, Isabelle de la Tour, Lady de Limeuil, and finding her with another--as he rather expected--rushes forward, and stabs her companion several times as the lady screams. This commotion brings several people rushing to the scene, among them Louis de Bourbon, Prince of Conde, and his mistress... Isabelle de la Tour, lady de Limeuil. Florimond has stabbed the wrong man--specifically Conde's brother, Antoine de Bourbon, King of Navarre, as he was sleeping with HIS mistress, Louise de La Béraudière de l'Isle Rouhet. While the man might have had murder on his mind, regicide is another matter--Florimond stands there dumbfounded as the angered Conde rushes forward and stabs HIM to death, thus nicely reversing the entire plan. Then, after a brief talk with his dying brother, Conde and de Limeuil flee the city in the resulting confusion, heading back to the Prince's lands, where the recently widowed Prince decides to take the plunge, and turns his mistress into his wife.[25]
Back at Dijon, Antoine takes his time dying--indeed, doctors at various point over the next few days think he might survive, though the king of Navarre knows better. Antoine, who has been generally regarded as a man of little consequence, manages to impress everybody with his calm equanamity in the face of death. His efforts to get his wife to send his son to him fail--Jeanne is NOT letting her boy into the den of iniquity that is Henri II's court, even (perhaps especially) to see his dying father--so Antoine contents himself with sending Henri de Bourbon a bit of simple advise--'Be gallant in all things.' Louise stays by her lover's side throughout his suffering, at his request--his brother Charles attempts to, only to be told by Antoine that there is no one he'd rather not see while he was dying, reportedly stating 'If one wishes to get to Heaven, it is a bad idea to keep the Devil's company'. Of course, Charles de Bourbon isn't alone in this--Antoine refuses to see any priests and to take the Last Rites, proclaiming his intention to leave his soul in the hands of God. Thus, the man who everyone viewed as strictly a nominal Protestant becomes the Protestant exemplar of the Good Death[26], leaving the world with remarkable calm and poise for a man stabbed several times in the middle of the night.
Needless to say, a man can't die in such a manner without people seeing skullduggery and soon evidence comes up that they are right to see that. Conde and Isabelle start revealing some interesting wrinkles about that night--Isabelle was pressed into taking a particular chamber with such force that she became suspicious, and switched with fellow maid-in-waiting, young Renée de Rieux, who then apparently switched with Louise. Of course, Isabelle stresses she expected nothing more than an effort to create an embarrassing scandal, but that said--she thinks this was an attempted murder of her beloved. And she's pretty sure who plotted it--her former mistress, Catherine d'Medici, whose raging hate-on for the Prince of Conde has only worsened since the Estates General. The Queen's response to this is to deny that she planned any such thing--though naturally, she would take the death of Conde with utter delight, because really who doesn't want to see that troublemaker dead? Show of hands people! But, no, all this is the result of Isabelle's own wanton life, and what does it say about Conde that he's not only entangled with such a woman, but willing to marry her, eh? Eh? Catherine's spin on it doesn't quite take off--indeed for many this is simply proof that the Queen is a scheming murderous Machiavell. Meanwhile, Conde claims his killing of Florimond was simple, old-fashioned feudal blood justice and demands the King recognise it as such. Henri hems and haws, and promises to think it over, which the rest of France takes as a sign that, once the dust settles, Conde will be getting away with killing someone. Again.
Of course there is another effect--with Antoine's death, his wife no longer has to deal with his ongoing efforts to meddle with "their"--read "her"--kingdom. Further, all of Antoine's lands and titles pass to his son--and that is quite a lot. Rather more than Navarre, in point of fact. Of course, as young Henri is but a minor, this means for now his loving mother will handle things. Of course, one might argue that this merely allows Jeanne to reverse the direction the meddling goes in, and even do more than her husband ever dreamed--but she'd ignore you.
And so things go on in France, where the ongoing conflict between the various religious and court factions may have cooled off for the moment, but is preparing to cheerfully reignite at the next opportunity.
--On a cheerier note for France, the little colony of St. Dominic in France Antarctique is off to a surprisingly fine start, thanks in no small part to Brazil's colonial structure being in utter disarray at the moment. Brazil has always been the odd man out in Portugal's colonial empire, a strange little--okay, strange big--find that, decades later, the Portuguese are still figuring out what to do with. The colony's initial organization into fifteen Captaincies-General--well, thirteen actually, two of which were split into a pair of non-adjaecent landholdings each--failed miserably, with only two of the Captaincies-General making any money. (One and half if one wants to be more accurate.) Facing a near-utter disaster, the late, great King Manuel reorganized the colony, placing the Captains-General under the authority of a single Governor-General. This intially worked quite well, placing Brazil under the firm hand of Tome de Sousa, who not only founded the capital of Salvador, but brought enough organization and discipline to the colony to make it--well, not exactly profitable, but no longer a horrific loss. Unfortunately, after his return to Portugal, he was replaced by Duarte de Costa, whose heavy hand and terminal incompentence provoked wars with the Tupi, caused mass resentment among the colonists, and started official protests among Brazil's small collection of clergy. It was a series of protests lodged by Brazil's bishop that caused de Costa and that fine gentleman to head to Portugal to argue their case to the Regent, leaving de Costa's nephew Alavaro in charge in the colony[27]. It was at this point that things took a turn towards the strange, when the ship was wrecked in a storm, with crew and passengers being captured and devoured by cannibals.[28] (It's Brazil. These things happen on occasion.) Alavaro has thus seen his temporary comission stretching out, and as one of the things the Bishop was complaining about was Alavaro's behavior...
Well, things in Brazil have been getting quite bad. Quite bad indeed. Relations with the Tamoyo Confederation, which had actually been drifting towards peaceable, have exploded into out and out war once again, and, even worse, Alavaro has been using his authority to appropriate wealth, land and even more authority to himself, producing an astonishing amount of resentment among many colonists, those Captains-General actually in residence, and of course, the priests, all of whom, remember, were rather pissed at him to begin with. As a result, Brazil is simply too much of a mess to do anything about the French right now, even if they were aware they were there, which most of them are not--St. Dominic is quite a ways away from the nearest Portuguese settlements. And so, at the moment, the Portuguese are simply too absorbed by internal rivalries to fight off the French force that they are only partially aware of at best, and chalking up the increased Tamoyo aggression as the result of all the infighting, and Alavaro's oh-so-charming efforts to kick the slave trade up a notch[29].
From St. Dominic's point of view, this is giving them vital breathing space, allowing them to strengthen their ties with the Tamoyo, and discovered the same great benefits to dealing with Tupi that the Portuguese have been exploiting for decades now--you can marry multiple women, and have their brothers and cousins work for you. One can see the obvious appeal of such a business methodology, though it should be added the Tamoyo have wisened up and are now actually demanding a more reciprocal relationship. But as that reciprocity is often 'shoot the Portuguese for us' the French find it quite reasonable. And what is good for St. Dominic is good for Bermuda, though the planned refuge for Huguenots is having to deal with the fact that it's somewhat small, and it really needs something to make it... well, profitable. And some people imagine that they have the PERFECT scheme to get around that--using Bermuda as a stepping stone for seizing Spanish Florida. Of course, some killjoys (called sane people) might question the advisibility of that, but as far many French are concerned, they're on a roll here.
--Turning to another, more important section of the Portuguese colonial empire, Portuguese jurist turned colonial official turned interim-governor of Goa turned Viceroy of Portuguese India Mem de Sa[30] is hard at work making certain his charge is secure. The Viceroy is increasingly wary that the fearsome Islam Shah Suri is preparing for a military expedition in the south--one that may threaten not merely Portuguese Bombay, but Goa itself. This is a severe threat, he notes in a letter to Lisbon that stands a good chance of reaching home AFTER Islam Shah has left ruin and destruction his wake--Islam Shah has proven to be the premier warlord in India, and de Sa is uncertain that the Portuguese's native allies stand a chance against him. Even worse, a lifetime of waging war on Muslims has left Islam Shah with a need to prove his credentials as a member of the Faithful--something that, say, expelling the Portuguese from India might just do. Still the surprisingly formidable viceroy works to do what he can, with the aid of his equally formidable nephews, Estacio and Salvador Correia de Sa[31]. Estacio in particular has grand designs he'd like to try out in an effort to save Portuguese Indian Ocean trade routes, which have shifted from phenomenally profitable, to significantly less so, largely thanks to the efforts of the Ottoman Empire. But all of that must wait while the threat of Suris is measured.
Among the many individuals serving the de Sas in this matter is the great Portuguese poet Luiz Vaz de Camoes, though at this point he is merely the adequate civil servant who left Portugal after causing a civil disturbance[32]. Camoes shall emerge from his present employment with a big ol' mancrush on his superior and his nephews that will have a dramatic effect on all of their histories--or more exactly, how history regards them. But that's to come.
--John William, Duke of Saxe-Coburg sets out again to handle the Brunswick matter, where his little failure to arrive two years ago no longer looks like a minor error, and instead looks like a significant mistake. Having worked his darnedest to get back in his brother's good books--which isn't as hard you might think, as John Frederick can be a very soft touch at times, especially where family is involved--John William has gotten another chance, and promised that this time he will most certainly act to relieve the loyal Leipzig Bond Guelphs.
He then marches his troops to Saxe-Lauenburg, where his army, aided by the Duke's new best buddy, Francis II von Ascania, Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg, frighten off the garrisons of Magnus II von Ascania, Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg, and swiftly take possession of the area for Francis and his little brother Maurice, Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg. A quick degression is now in order to explain all this baffling Ascanian drama.
Almost a decade ago, John Frederick I, Elector of Saxony died fighting the good fight against the Turk in Hungary. He was not alone in this--Francis I von Ascania, Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg died as well[33], fighting not only the good fight against the Turk, but for the Ascanias the better fight against imminent bankruptcy that they've been fighting since being knocked down from being proper Dukes of Saxony by the Guelphs all those centuries ago. In Francis' case, this took many forms--seizing monasteries and cutting down their forests, looting cathedrals, mortgaging his lands, and of course, fighting as a mercenary in wars. And yet the wealth of the House of Ascania of Saxe-Lauenburg continued to circle the proverbial drain.
On his death, the people of Saxe-Lauenburg discovered that Francis, despite earlier considering a move to primogeniture, had decided instead, his sons all being minors, the lands would be held in condominium by all four of them--Magnus, Francis, Henry and Maurice. As the years went on, and Magnus and Francis grew to manhood, the flaws in this arrangement grew to rankle, especially in light of the still significant debts they all held. Fortunately, some relief came when their young brother Henry went to Cologne and became a prebend, thus granting his share in the land and property to his siblings--still this only did so much. Thus, when Magnus proposed a plan for relieving some debt, Francis was all ears. (Maurice was only a child at the time, and in all honesty, still is.) The plan was this--Magnus and Francis would mortgage some jointly-held property to help Magnus get the equipment he needed to work as a mercenary--Magnus would use the funds he got at this to pay back first this debt, then the other shared mortgages and debts. (Look if you think all this is complicated, just be glad that we're not dealing with their cousins, the House of Ascania of Anhalt.)
Unfortunately for Francis, Magnus did not precisely remain true to his word--he used the money he got by fighting for his cousin Erik to free up some of his personally-held lands. Then, when Francis complained, Magnus used his funds to hire mercenaries to evict his brother from the Duchy, and lawyers to argue that his father's will was invalid, and that the original plan of primogeniture should be stuck with. Francis, since then, has spent his time traipsing about the Empire with his younger brother in tow, trying to find someone willing to champion their rights, until of course, finding that gentleman in the form of John William of Saxe-Coburg.
Of course, one might ask why that fine gentleman is acting as as a champion for the downtrodden, something that he has shown little affinity for. And the answer is simple--LAND. The House of Ascania has an in with the church council of the recently-vacated Archbishopric of Bremen, and while Francis was planning on using this to get little brother Henry the seat, he's perfectly willing to give it up to John William's second son, Christian William. Young Christian William would of course need someone to look after his affairs, being ten, and obviously, his father is the man for the job. (Well, okay not so obviously for people who know John William of Saxe-Coburg well, but that clearly doesn't include the church council of the Archbishopric.)
Of course, this sounds like a case of history repeating itself--but this time everything goes according to plan. Magnus' forces flee, Francis is accepted in Lauenburg with cheers, and by the time John Frederick hears about it, John William's got a fait accompli. In fact, he's got something even better--the story of Magnus von Ascania's adventures in Sweden reaches the Empire, followed by Magnus himself, who is rather surprised to discover his forces fled, and his safe haven in the hands of an enemy who is very, very eager to capture him, and swiftly does. And given that part of the news that reaches the Elector includes Magnus von Ascania's relentless attempts to get his cousin Erik to act against the Bond--well, this actually makes John William look good. Especially as, from his new base in Lauenburg, the Duke of Saxe-Coburg handily threatens Calenberg's holdings, as well as the Duke's efforts to install his favored candidate for the Archbishopric. John Frederick is more than willing to accept all of his brother's actions as a wily and brilliant strategy, and to back John William's plan to make Christian William Archbishop of Bremen. Of course, as we are now all aware, there's one little catch on this.
Yes, it's King Frederick's mercenaries, who are still busily puttering about the Archbishopric, and his agents, trying to get the council to elect--well, some relative of Frederick's--his uncle Adolf of Holstein-Gottorp, his distant cousin the Count of Oldenburg--the important thing is, getting King Frederick's man in place. While some men might find this puts a crimp on his plan, John William is not one of them. He's on a winning streak, and anyway, Frederick's his brother-in-law. Surely the King of Denmark can accept a nephew for the position, right?
Frederick feels the answer to that is 'no'. And so communication between the pair becomes... strained. Then... tempermental. Then... stormy. We will jump ahead a few gradations to note that by the end of it, John William is demanding that Frederick abandon the territory--NOW--while the King of Denmark is digging in his heels, and suggesting that John William really doesn't want to force this issue.
Needless to say, the Riksdag is truly pissed about this--it's looking like Frederick's little adventure, instead of the quick knock-down he swore it'd be, has every chance of turning into out-and-out wars against two of the different sides in the Second Schmalkaldic War, one of which many Danes view as a proper ally. Of course, Frederick swears up and down that Denmark won't get involved with this little debacle, but let's be honest, his word is starting to hold less and less weight with the Riksdag. The conditions for his taxes keep going up--certain people who Frederick dismissed from his government at the start of his reign are going to come back. Frederick must call for truces in some of his conflicts, to give the land time to recover, and finally, he must wed. Frederick rages, swears at his feckless people, then agrees to all of it. Fortunately for this last one, fate has served up a choice morsel--fate and Erik Vasa's knack for offending dangerous people. While the Lorraines remain wary, the house of Hesse eagerly agrees to a marriage between Frederick and Christine of Hesse[34]. And so in late August, Christine begins the lengthy trip to Denmark--a trip that will involve going through France and catching a ship because of the whole 'Salentin von Isenburg holds most of Westphalia' thing. And Frederick agrees to hold off on the campaign against Sweden until his lovely bride arrives, and he has tied the knot.
This is news is taken very well in Sweden, which is still recovering from that whole 'let's invade Scania' thing, and really, really couldn't take an invasion from Denmark right now. This avoids that and keeps the war at sea, where Sweden is starting to have a real advantage against the Danes. And there is more good news--Sweden's getting loan offers! And not from just anybody--but the Hansa, who it turns out really don't like Frederick's strongarm tactics in Bremen. Yes, things are coming up rosy, including Queen Karrin's pregnancy which has given King Erik a healthy baby boy who he has christened Gustav. Well, Erik thinks it's a good thing, anyway. Everyone else is shutting there eyes and humming to themselves rather fervantly for some unfathomable reason.
--The great battle beween von Calenberg and von Isenburg begins when the Archbishop of Cologne's troops march on Minden. Eric marches forth himself--Minden is quite solidly Protestant, and quite solidly pissed to be under occupation by Eric von Calenberg, so he is thus very skeptical of his forces' ability to maintain a siege. Thus heading off Isenburg's forces before they get there is the order of the day. The two armies--neither of which, it must be stressed, is particularly large--clash in the Battle of Minden, which has the interesting distinction among Second Schmalkaldic War battles of being accurately named, occuring in the territory of the Bishopric, though not particularly near the city. Both Salentin and Eric are reasonably formidable generals, and so the battle quickly changes into a lengthy match of feint and counterfeint, when someone comes and tips the scales--Francis von Gifhorn takes to the field, his little army attempting to flank Calenberg's. While they fail to do this, they do succeed in luring some of Eric's lieutenants out after them, breaking Calenberg's line, and allowing Isenburg to seize the advantage. The Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbuttel retreats. In truth, this is as much from other threats than the loss of the battle--the combination of Frederick of Denmark's and John William of Saxe-Coburg's forces have caused his troops in Bremen to retreat, the Wettin Duke also has his men raiding the territory of Eric's cousin and ally Otto von Marburg, and Eric has it on good authority that the Hessians are planning an attack on Gottingen. Minden is quickly freed, repudiates the election of the Bishop of Paderborn, and instead declares Francis III von Waldek Bishop.
While the Leipzig Bond makes much of this victory, in truth, little has changed in Brunswick--Eric's armies remain in control of much of the Duchy. Francis von Gifhorn is saluted as a hero, though privately Salentin sees him as a fool. Still, even the Archbishop respects the Prince's courage and inner fortitude--Francis takes a wound in the left leg during the battle, and yet defiantly remains on his horse until it is over. Things like that are why men are as apt to raise their glasses to von Gifhorn as they are to roll their eyes at him.
--In another major front of the war, Ercole d'Este, Duke of Ferrara and Modena begins his campaign against the Heidelberg Compact forces in Swabia. Ercole is aware that the situation in Swabia is quite distinct from that in Franconia--as opposed to the latter area, the resistance in Swabia is united, skilled, and well-supplied, holding numerous cities and fortresses. This will be a more traditional war, of siege and raid and holding action. Ercole is not the fool he was when this war started, and so rather than making an ass of himself by pretending he knows what he's doing, he brings in some experts, among them his brother-in-law, Cesare Gonzaga. The resulting campaign is a well-oiled machine which, if it lacks for drama, makes up for it in results--by nibbling away at the Compact's holdings, and striking where they're weak, Ferrara's forces occupy just under half the region by the end of the year. Of course, the fact that it has happened with very little drama should not make people imagine that it was a cheery walk in the park--Swabia is, by the time Ercole and his troops are through with it, a region filled ruined cities, despoiled farmland, and significant numbers of corpses. When it's done for the year, Ercole is even less the callow young man he was at the start of it, and closer to the man who will say 'War is man's greatest glory, and man's greatest horror.'
Needless to say, the young Duke's fanboys continue to grow, including his stepnephew and squire Francesco Maria della Rovere, and past acquaintance Torquatto Tasso, who is soon writing worshipful sonnets in Ercole's honor. Ercole enjoys them very much, even as he plots his next move.
--Meanwhile, Guigelemo Gonzaga, Duke of Mantua (a distant--and significantly loftier--cousin of Ercole's brother-in-law Cesare's) sets out from Vienna with his own force, and a simple plan--try to get a chunk of Bohemia. Guigelemo has gone forth at the bidding of Maria of Spain, who's convinced that last year's campaign showed that Bohemia is far more vulnerable than it appears. Some might think this is a fool's errand, but not Guigelemo, who heads out accompanied by his own loyal troops and a collection of Spanish veterans of the last campaign. Unfortunately, Guigelemo isn't Alba--his forces are attacked by the Elector's with a rather startling speed in a battle that quickly becomes a rout. Gonzaga is captured by young George von Hohenzollern of Brandenburg-Kulmbach, who single-handedly sends most of the Duke's guards scurrying beforehand, causing the Elector to declare the young Margrave 'a true Diomedes'. And so George Diomedes von Hohenzollern gains his soquibret.
Of course, the Duke is not the only man captured--numerous others are, including Miguel Cervantes, who will spend much of his captivity playing card games with his captors and fellow prisoners. The overall effect is another black eye for Austria, even as the Duke of Ferrara is winning victories for them in Swabia. People begin to fume and sputter about Maria, including the Spaniards she imagines to be her ardent supporters. Someone must do something about her--the problem is they are somewhat short on someones. This very shortage after all, is what has brought Maria to the top of Austria's (admittedly small) heap. Further, Maria is Philip's beloved little sister, which means she has one very powerful supporter who's far enough from the action to see what he wants to see. All of this makes moving against her... difficult. But still, they decide, necessary. What is needed is someone expendable to make the move and absorb Philip's wrath, and they've got just the guy. Archduke Charles Francis is practically foaming at the mouth at a chance to become number one guy in Vienna, and if there's a man the war effort can afford to lose, it's Charles Francis. (Hell, it would probably be another advantage.) And so Charles Francis' months of effort finally begin to have some payoff. Frankly, it all happens so quickly as to get the Archduke a tad suspicious--Charles Francis isn't quite the fool his detractors imagine him to be. But not that suspicious--he still isn't half as bright as he imagines himself to be either. Soon people are preparing for their move.
--In Constantinople, Selim continues preparations for his Persian expedition, while simultaneously working to secure his hold on the unwieldy empire. The battle with Bayezid will require Selim to travel himself to the Persian front--something the Sultan is quite unhappy about. While some of this can chalked up to the Sultan's fairly easy-going nature, a lot more is due to the fact that the Ottoman Empire is an unwieldy beast that can turn on the man who stands at its head with startling ease. His grandfather and namesake Selim I came to power by deposing his own father, Bayezid II. The equally formidable Mehmet the Conqueror FIRST came to the throne in a similar act--only to be removed by said father after a two year reign. (One of the many reasons Mehmet, despite having managed to conquer Constantinople, has never been able to equal the prestige of Genghis Khan or Timur.) To leave the capital at a time like this is dangerous--but Selim has no choice. If he does not go to face Bayezid, his brother may indeed succeed in raising the frequently rebellious eastern provinces in revolt. Thus Selim works to make certain that he has loyal men serving in positions of authority throughout the Empire, making sure that everthing remains under control. While many are members of the sizable Sokullu clan, Selim is wary of putting too much power in the hands of any one faction and thus makes certain some are not. Most notably, the Albanian Sinan Pasha is sent to Egypt to serve as governor[35]. Sokullu Mehmet Pasha, while not pleased at the promotion of a man who is a determined political rival of his, is wise enough to give way on this--after all, he is still Grand Vizier. What's more, his wife Ismihan Sultan has born him a son, Ibrahim[36], making Selim a grandfather. Ties like that don't buy absolute job security in the Ottomans' empire--but they buy some.
Selim's desire to keep a tight grip on Egypt is only natural--not only is the province exceptionally wealthy, it is the base for the Turks' Red Sea fleet, who will be instrumental in maintaining stability on the fringes of the Empire. In the volatile province of Yemen, the Imam Al-Mutahhar, after years of quietude, has began once again to campaign against the Turks, exploiting both the internal unrest, and the increasing resentment many Yemeni feel for the Ottomans[37]. On the other side of the Red Sea, Gelawdewos, Emperor of the Ethiopians[38] has likewise heard rumors of the Sultan's demise. While he has yet to act on them, it has made the formidable warrior-king consider an effort to recover Massawa. This is quite important to the Ethopian Emperor, as aside from the personal embarrassment at having lost it, that port was his nation's primary source of firearms from the Portuguese. While the Ethopians have recently been able to get by with intermittantly using the port of Zaila, like much of the Harer region since Gelawdewos' defeat of Nur ibn Mujahid[39] the city is unstable, and their access to it unreliable. While Gelawdewos continues to work to solidify his hold on the region formerly covered by the now defunct Sultanate of Adal, as well as fighting off the encroachments of the Oromo, he makes certain to keep an eye open for a chance to regain one of the prizes of Ethiopia.
These are only a few of the many matters that engulf the newly-enthroned Sultan's time--the Ottoman Empire is vast, and frequently quite unstable at the edges at the best of times. And so Selim hears the news of the Spanish disaster at Djerba with a joyful heart. This not only means that Spain will not be a threat in the immediate future, it frees up his hands in the Mediterrarean. Selim immediately has people begin the work for an invasion of Cyprus. Aside from being a long-standing project of the Sultan's, it's a piece of low-hanging fruit whose capture will bolster Selim's claim to the throne, as well as allowing him to protect pilgrims to Mecca and Medina from Christian pirates, and being an excellent source of loot on top of all that. His former tutor, Lala Mustafa Pasha[40]--who is incidentally, Sokullu Mehmet Pasha's rival and also the Grand Vizier's uncle--is put on the job, as well as the newly named Duke of Naxos, Joseph Nasi. Nasi in particular is quite enthusiastic about this, as Selim has hinted that he might be willing to name Nasi the King of Cyprus. Further Nasi's long-standing efforts to settle his fellow Jews in the Holy Land have stalled, and he feels Cyprus might just prove a more successful location.[41] And so, even as Selim and his troops head east to go to war, another group prepare for war at sea.
But war isn't the only thing on Selim's mind--he's also setting in motion his extensive plans for internal improvement, ordering extensive rennovations of the Hagia Sophia--now the Ayasofya Mosque--as well as building his own mosque in Edirne and finishing his parents' mosques in Mecca. (Selim is probably one of the few people in the Muslim world to take his father's proclaiming himself Caliph seriously.) The work on the Ayasofya is quite controversial, with many feeling that spending funds a Christian holy place--even one that's been converted to a mosque--is wasteful, but Selim won't hear of it. He views the Ayasofya as a world treasure that must be preserved--indeed, he even heads out with royal architecht Sinan to inspect the site himself. Things like this are why some of the more conservative jurists dislike Selim--though his recent edict reopening Christian taverns is even more of a sore spot. That and the Sultan's well-known fondness for drink are why some have taken to calling him Selim Mest--'Selim the Sot', a nickname the Sultan resents. True he enjoys the occasional drink--or two, or even three, if it's been a bad night--but he's hardly some worthless drunk. He is in utter control and can stop drinking whenever he wants to. Admittedly, it's not quite Koran-approved, but neither is having your brother strangled to death by a bowstring. He's the Sultan--Allah makes allowances.
--England's Parliament, having gathered in Nonsuch, faces many problems--the Originalist Revolt, the Dispute of the Hymnals, the issue of the Borderers, the fact that they're meeting in Nonsuch--and has faced these issues by allowing themselves to get distracted by a small group of rogue members who fixating on an apparantly relatively minor issue, involving coinage. Of course, as is so often the case, there are other issues below the surface of the one men are disputing. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.
Recently, as a sort of present to each other, Henry and Mary each had their spouse's face added to their nation's coinage alongside their own. Needless to say, this act has resulted in a bit of grumbling from their subjects, as it is quite possibly the clearest indicator of the royal couple's "British" ambitions to date. A small group of MPs in the Commons--Robert Bell, the brothers Paul and Peter Wentworth, William Lambarde and James Dalton[42]--have taken to protesting this sudden move, especially the means used to produce it in England. Henry IX's father, Henry VIII took to handling matters of English law through a device called the Consilar Edict, which allowed him to get certain things done without the bother of summoning Parliament provided he could get the Privy Council to sign off on it. While first Anne and later Henry IX scaled back on this practice considerably, they didn't exactly stop it, and so this powerful backdoor remains open for the English monarch who wants to use it.[43] For several of the rogue MPs--most notably the Wentworth brothers--the real issue here isn't whose face is on the coin, it's shutting that door. This just happens to be an easy way of forcing that issue.
Or so they imagine. Unfortunately they are dealing with Henry IX, and Mary, Queen of Scots. After about a week of the quintet holding up business in Nonsuch, Henry grants them an audience, wherein the King listens to their complaints, and then announces that he is very, very unhappy. These men are making his beloved wife sad, and that... upsets him. Stories of insults to his lady rebounding in the halls of Castle Nonsuch have reached his ears, and his wife's ears, and that has made them both... upset. Indeed, it is all remarkably upsetting. Henry is now hoping that the MPs are willing to... reassure his wife that she is a beloved figure among her English subjects, as she is quite distressed by all this. The rogue MPs find all this... exceptionally off-putting, and, even as the Wentworth brothers sputter about members right of free speech, they are ushered into the presence of a teary Queen Mary, who they all wind up reassuring that they do not hate her, and in fact, hold her in high esteem. With that over, the audience ends, with only some of the MPs realizing that the King and Queen have in face side-stepped all the important issues, and indeed, most of the minor ones. The issue of the coins dies a quiet death, and Parliament gets back to work.
A few weeks after all this bother, Mary goes into labor. To the surprise of many she brings forth twins--two girls who will be christened Anne and Mary. Henry is of course ecstatic, and orders a full celebration--fireworks, bells ringing, feasts, jousts, and merriment throughout the realm. Some might question the wisdom of doing this in the face of the ongoing problems in Ireland, and the ongoing Dispute of the Hymnals, but Henry is convinced that his joy and happiness will be oil on the waters of these present difficulties, and if they are not, then he is going to be very put out. On the whole, he is right, though the celebrations are marred by sundry acts of violence between Puritans and Libertines. Still, that's not that big a difference in Renaissance England, where joyous celebration and hideous bloodshed have long walked hand in hand. On the whole, the good feelings do, as Henry has hoped, calm things down for a while. People are singing at each other in a slightly less menacing fashion, and the bishops and theologians are starting to minimize their insults in their printed disputes.
And so, Parliament gets back to work. The Dispute of the Hymnals seems to be resolving itself, so many want to focus on the Irish matter. (There are exceptions, among them Archbishop Hooper, who really feels that is the perfect opportunity to settle a few things about the English Church.) A few comments about keeping order, letting the sheriffs arrest some people, and they're pretty sure this will pass. Yep. Just typical Libertine/Puritan nuttiness. Not like Ireland, which is big and scary and very important. And so it's time to return to what they were doing before the rogues started that coin nonsense--castigating the late Lord Admiral, John Dudley, Duke of Buckingham. This they do with great passion and heat, with many MPs making it clear that in their minds, Buckingham was a dangerous scheming incompetent who should never have been in charge of a small country parish, much less a military operation. This version of events is not particularly liked by the late Duke's family members, most notably Commons member Guildford, who does what he can to salvage his father's reputation. Sadly, this is not very much. Thomas Cromwell is one of the few MPs to avoid this public skewering of Dudley, largely because he doesn't believe in permanently alienating political rivals if you can help it. The Dudleys, after all, have shown a remarkable talent for recovering from disgrace, and the King is still quite fond of the family. Getting a prominent place on their bad list is almost certainly a bad idea. No, Cromwell tends to focus on Irish perfidy and the Irish menace and how all Englishmen must come together against this threat in his speeches, and leaves attacking the late Lord Admiral to private chats with fellow members. And this strategy is working--despite having been the who sowed the ground for all this anti-Dudley sentiment, Guildford is convinced Cromwell is a decent, stand-up guy and one of his few allies in the Commons.
Still, despite all the Dudley-bashing, Parliament remains convinced that they can't let the situation in Ireland stand. And so funds for reinforcements are allocated, with a stern reminder that they expect results this time. And that means Ambrose Dudley, Duke of Buckingham must go, and a new leader take over--a man who's shown he can handle pressure, that he's got the skills needed to win. They are talking of course of the man, the mystery, the legend, Prince Edward of York. Edward is put rather off-balance by all this, and indeed, suggests they choose a more experienced commander--say, Norfolk, or George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, but the people--at least, the elected portion of them--have spoken. The Duke of York is to go to Ireland, and fix things there, as they have clearly gotten out of hand.
--In Ireland, the unofficial triumvirate of Essex, Wiltshire, and Sir Edward Stafford are in agreement--things are going pretty well. True, there've been setbacks--for example, the Duke of Buckingham, their nominal commander has become exceptionally nominal in his command since a woman poured boiling hot water on him from window as he passed by. Buckingham has been lying in his bed since then, suffering from burns that are not healing at all well, which is admittedly, a slight morale killer. But still, they're doing all right. They've managed to keep the hitherto relentless Originalist advance from making any gains through the simple strategy of avoiding battles with their forces when possible, and concentrating on securing what they hold. This alone has had remarkable success--but there's more good news. Thomas Butler, Earl of Ossory has gotten in touch with his semi-estranged English cousins, Wiltshire and Sir Stafford, and offered to serve as a middleman between the English forces and the Fitzgeralds. While Carey and Stafford were both suspicious--there's a long-standing dispute on the whole "Earl of Ormond" thing that has made both sides of the family rather... touchy, especially since Wiltshire's branch has won it rather decisively since first becoming the King's in-laws, and then becoming his first cousins. However, the 'getting killed by fanatics' issue has made the whole matter of secondary importance to Ossory, and indeed, made him willing to bury the hatchet with the Fitzgeralds, with whom he and his family ALSO have numerous disputes. (It's Ireland, okay?) The Fitzgeralds are willing to do this because they are REALLY in a bad way at the moment--both the Earls of Kildare and Desmond are now dead, with no clear heirs, leaving the leadership of the family in the hands of distant cousins. Frankly, the family's doing all it can to keep intercine warfare from breaking out--again, Ireland--and are so nervous about the Originalists that the English are looking... well, good might be a bit much, but acceptable. And so, negotiations begin, with the triumvirate looking to get Irish aid, while also seeing how much they can gouge the poor bastards, because England in Ireland. As a bit of a peace offering, the Fitzgeralds hand over poor John Darcy, whose mission to the family has... hit a bit of a snag.
Sir Gilbert Humphrey, meanwhile, is playing his part for the team by brutally repressing any local rebels he can find. Among his favorite tactics--mass decaptation of captured rebels, followed by mass placement of the heads on sharpened sticks[44]. He considers this a HIGHLY effective technique, as it brings home to the rebels that the English are not messing around--people go out, see what's left of their neigbors, and start realizing that the English will kill you if you try and start something. While some of his fellows find this just a tad extreme, Essex backs his buddy's methods, and even uses them himself, with some variations. Indeed, Essex's general policy to rebels is as follows--when he arrives, they are given an opportunity to surrender peacefully. If this is done, and they swear to never take arms against their lawful English government again, they are spared. If they do not surrender at this time, then they are all killed on capture, even if they surrender during this. All to spread a simple message--you get one chance. Just one.
And again it's working, not the least because, as per usual, success is proving the Irish's own undoing. Simply put, when this rebellion started O'Neill and O'Farrell stood at the head of a moderately group of what were generally dedicated partisans. Winning caused waves of opportunistic conversions--however these new members have generally proven far quicker to feather their own nests and strike at old enemies then to form a coherant resistance. Other sections of the uprising have been spontaneous, the result of English defeat, with little to no connection to the Originalists at all. As several historians will go on to note, at this stage many "Originalists" are just Irish operating on a vague understanding that God has called for them to defeat the English. And so, even as the English at last dig in their heels, Shane O'Neill finds himself having to spend his time getting his forces to act like... well, his forces.
And it's only going to get worse from here.
--In Geneva, John Calvin, one of the leading lights of the Reformed Church--to the minds of many future students of the Reformation, THE leading light--finally expires from consumption, and is buried, per his request, in an unmarked grave[45]. Calvin's place as leader of Geneva is taken by his disciple, Theodore Beza. His last known writing will be a letter to Cardinal de Lorraine, part of a lengthy debate on free will the pair have been having since last year. It's all been quite elaborate and surprisingly well-mannered, with both agreeing that whatever their differences, they still believe in a universal Church, and hold the other to be members of that august body, and hope that one day, all of Christendom can bury their differences and form one big happy family again. It's really very idealistic stuff, and the sort of things later generations will eat up with metaphorical spoons. Contemporaries will mostly take it as a sign that the Cardinal de Lorraine remains highly suspect. Indeed, Charles de Guise's own family are among those grumbling about him--in fact, even as he's been debating free will with Calvin, he's been debating transubstantiation with his sister the Abbess Francoise, who confesses privately to her mother that she fears her brother has 'gone far in error'.
Needless to say, Calvin's death is mourned throughout the various centers of the Reformed church, especially those in France. One of those Reformed centers is the city of Rouen--and it sees several surprising figures among the mourners, including one who is quite surprising indeed. Gabriel de Lorgues, Count of Montgommery attends Huguenot services in Rouen--accompanied by his wife Antoinette Stuart, and their young child, Jacques. Yes, Antoinette is a Protestant now. In fact, once word gets out, she starts boasting that she's even MORE of a Protestant than her sister now. (What you thought this might lead her to end their ridiculously one-sided feud? HA!) You see, being sent away from court gave Gabriel a chance to enjoy one of his hobbies--reading theological tracts. And this lead to Gabriel finally going through with something he'd been considering for awhile--officially breaking with the Catholic Church, and becoming a Huguenot.[46] Naturally, he was nervous about his newlywed wife's reaction, but to his surprise, Antoinette proved first receptive, and then even eager about his religious change.
The truth is, since coming to France, and getting to know some actually devout Catholics, Antoinette has found the religion she spent years claiming to champion a profound bore. Being a Huguenot is much more exciting! But this is not just the younger Stewart sister's typical impulsive behavior--in Scotland, religious faith was frequently fairly political in nature, and Antoinette's religious education was more about placating the various factions than any sort of detailed understanding of the faith. Antoinette never really had much interest about the beliefs she was opposing until now. Now that she's learnt them, she doesn't find them so terrible--indeed, she finds many of them quite sensible. Even appealing. (That bit about God's Chosen Elect seems QUITE fun.) Further--Antoinette may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she isn't utterly oblivious. As opposed to Charles Stuart--who is now more convinced than ever that Henri II's recognition is coming in the mail ANY DAY NOW--she's well aware that she's been thrown over, and that the Catholic monarchs have no intention of angering her sister, and her sister's fairly powerful husband, by supporting her. If she's not going to get anything by being the good Catholic sister, than why bother?
News of Antoinette Stuart's conversion soon circulates causing a cacophony of astonished gasps and frustrated groans in the all the courts of Europe. Henri II reportedly declares that he wishes he left the damned twit in Scotland (only the word he uses isn't 'twit'). Mary rolls her eyes and mutters that she'd long thought 'little Netty' couldn't get more insufferable, but Antoinette has once again proved her wrong. But one man takes the news very well indeed. John Knox has not been having a good time of it, in Scotland, where his efforts to take his concerns to the people have not been having the success he'd anticipated. Knox has badly misjudged the national mood, and managed to annoy not just the Crown, but most of his old comrades. His preaching is facing constant harassment--he's had to start carrying a greatsword again, and in one case, he and the newly appointed bishop nearly came to blows. And so the news that Antoinette Stuart has suddenly seen the light is very welcome indeed. And so, Knox decides to pay a little visit to the Continent...
--As the war continues, Heidelberg and Leipzig circle each other warily--at least, from a diplomatic standpoint. At the moment, the points of struggle between the two Protestant factions have largely receeded to the occasional minor battle around Julich and Cologne. Both sides would benefit by greatly by ending their quarrel and working together to finally defeat Austria. Indeed, many of the Strausbourg faction are arguing they should do just that. Unfortunately, the Marburg faction is arguing just as loudly that they should not. A major reason for this war was to check the Elector of Saxony's power and teach some humility--negotiating with him now is likely to make more powerful and more insufferable than ever. And there is another little factor standing in the way of reapprochement--John Frederick and Frederick von Simmern still hate each other, and would rather eat glass than make nice. And then, as so often happens in these cases, something occurs that changes it from a possibility to a wish.
Edzard II, Count of East Frisia has remained resolutely neutral in all this fighting, for reasons that are quite simple--while Edzard is a True Lutheran, most East Frisians are Reform Lutherans--indeed, in the city of Emden, radical Reform Lutherans who shade into out and out Calvinism. Edzard has been working constantly to keep East Frisia out of all this, hoping that people understanding that fighting is bad will help him. Sadly, this ploy has ultimately failed, thanks in part to Edzard's mother Anna Oldenburg (a relative of the Counts of Oldenburg) and his hateful brother Johan, both of whom are as fanatically pro-Reform as the average East Frisian. Anna in particular has always been suspicious of her eldest falling under the sway of the Swedes, thanks to his wife Catherine Vasa.
There's very little danger of that with Johan--you see when Edzard married Catherine, Johan managed to touch off a nasty little scandal by being caught in the chambers of Catherine's soon-to-be notorious sister Cecilia by her brothers--including the now King Erik. Then King Gustav was not pleased, and demonstrated his displeasure by beating Cecilia bloody, and then having Johan imprisoned, and it is rumored castrated[47]. Some people even say Gustav was considering having him executed, but pleas from foreign princes convinced him not to. Whatever the case, Johan is definitely not friendly with Swedes, and has a history of ruining things for his brother.
In this case, he does so by leading the city of Emden in revolt, declaring Edzard deposed, and aligning himself with the Heidelberg Compact.[48] Edzard is forced to flee, and winds up in the camp of John William, Duke of Saxe-Coburg, and presently the Leipzig Bond's semi-official Righter of Wrongs. He swears that of course he and his allies shall stand by Edzard in his hour of need, and so any chance of making nice with the Reform Lutherans vanishes for now, thanks in part to a scrap of territory they didn't even care about prior to this. Holy Roman Empire of the Germans. Still, John William is having a grand old time, enjoying people praising for once, as well as one of his favorite pastimes--drinking the happy better!
In other Germanic news, the wound on Francis von Gifhorn's left leg has failed to heal, and even stands a good chance of mortifying. The Prince of Gifhorn has it amputated below the knee, in the presence of his young son, Henry--who Francis hopes will pick up how a real man handles pain by witnessing this--and to the accompaniment of martial music. When it is over, Francis has a commemorative medal struck, with the words 'Altera restat'--roughly translated, 'I've still got the other one'--engraved on it.[49] Thus continues the legend of Francis von Gifhorn, whose life will be both shortened and prolonged by all this. Shortened by the simple fact that he's never going to completely recover from the operation, even though he's going to act like he has--lengthened because he's not going to be doing any fool maneuvers like the one that got him the wound in the first place for a couple years as he recovers.
--The Second War of the Hungarian Succession, after months of consisting of little more than angry letters from Transylvania, suddenly becomes an actual war when Janos' semiregular army finally assembles. In mid-July, Janos Sigismund sets out from Transylvania with his troops, a typical Transylvanian raising of light huzzars, and swiftly crosses into Upper Hungary. There they are met by an opposing army of Hungarian nobles, who seek to turn them back--at least, officially. The Prince of Transylvania bids them to parley with him, which they swiftly do. There Miklós Istvánffy, the force's leader, asks why Janos Sigismund has dared to break the peace. The Prince replies that he has done no such thing, but instead has come to press his case as lawful sovereign of Hungary, by both hereditary succession and election by the Diet. True, he abdicated the throne in the past, and while the Emperor Ferdinand lived he was willing to abide by previous agreements, and recognize him as King--but all of these were to spare Hungarians from the horrific intercine slaughter that so plagued the reign of his father, as well as the rather lengthy regency that dominated young Janos' early years. But now, the Emperor is dead, and Janos never agreed that he recognized Ferdinand as having any hereditary claim to the throne. And so Janos Sigismund Zapolya is resuming his rightful place on the Hungarian Throne, and he bids the lords to join him in travelling to Presburg, to recieve the blessing of "Royal" Hungary's rump Diet, after which they will travel to Buda for what will be Janos' SECOND coronation, and the first one that will actually see the Prince coronated himself. (The first time, it was his mother, Isabella Jagellia.) Yes, he's cleared it with the governor, Sokollu Mustafa Pasha--he will be crowned in the capital of his forebears, with... (and at this point he unleashes his secret weapon) the prized possession of the Zapolyas, the Crown of St. Stephen. And just as happened at the Transylvanian Diet when his wife carried it in, its display proves most potent.
The Crown of St. Stephen has been in the Zapolyas' possession since it was given to Janos Zapolya the Elder by Suleiman, in an act that the Sultan saw as establishing vassalship, and which Janos I saw as the Sultan merely kindly returning the Hungarian crown jewels to their rightful owners. It was for years trumpeted by first the father, and then--well, not the son, but the regime that surrounded the young boy--as a symbol of the Zapolyas' status as lawful monarchs of Hungary. The Emperor Ferdinand long coveted it, and made numerous efforts to demand it from the Zapolyas at various peace negotiations--however, Queen-Dowager Isabella claimed it had been lost and possibly destroyed in one of the many Austrian-Turkish wars, and as Ferdinand was in no position to deny this tale, it became the official story.[50] However, that formidable lady was in fact, lying, and her son has kept up the pretense for years, waiting for the right moment to unveil the crown so that Hungarians far and wide could know that, lo after these many long years, the true king of Hungary returneth. And as Miklós kneels, weeping, Zapolya knows that it has paid off.
And so the news takes off, as the Transylvanians continue their ride towards Presburg accompanied by the very forces that were supposedly assembled to bar their way. Understand, much of this has been playacting--the Hungarian nobles have been prepped by Transylvanian envoys, which is why they knew exactly where to meet the Transylvanians in the first place, and while they didn't know about the Crown, they knew Janos Sigismund was going to do SOMETHING, and... well, many had their suspicions. Even so, many are surprised by how... emotional it is, to see that treasure restored. And it helps solidify an impression that's grown on the Hungarians that this IS THE MOMENT. The Hapsburgs' rule in "Royal Hungary" has always been rather grudgingly tolerated at best--the Emperor was respected, not loved by his Hungarian subjects. His son does not even rank that. As one notes to Istvan Bathory, they bowed to Vienna to protect them from the Turk--and now it's clear that Ferdinand II is going to be useless for that. Janos Sigismund at least offers the protection of being the Turks' man, as well as his connections to the Empire's Protestant Princes. All of that makes putting up with his religious eccentricities worthwhile.
Besides, he has THE CROWN, damn it. That COUNTS for something.
And so, as Janos Sigismund and his swelling army rush towards Presburg, the news spreads, and most of those full garrisons in Hungary that Maria was counting on to defend the land suddenly become Janos Sigismund Zapolya's full garrisons, in a wave of rabid Hungarian nationalism for the true King that hath returned, lo after these many long years, abetted by the fact that the Hapsburgs haven't paid them for several years running now[51]. Loyal Hapsburg officers find themselves being asked to leave, if they're lucky, being forcibly made to leave, if they're unlucky, and being bloodily killed if they're really unlucky. In Presburg, Cardinal Nicolaus Olahus, Archbishop of Estergozem and Royal Governor is told by Mihály Mérey, Palatinal Governor that if he is not willing to bend the knee to Janos II, he'd better be prepared to leave. Olahus does so, fleeing discreetly with his retinue to Raab, the one city in Royal Hungary proper that's garrison has not declared for Janos[52]. Janos arrives in Presburg by late August to discover a city with open gates and a populace that greets the Prince of Transylvania and his retinue with cheers. Once there, the Diet--after a brief showing of the Crown where they confirm that this is most certainly is it--confirms Janos Sigismund as 'sole King and paramount lord of Hungary'.
For young Janos, it is a dream come true. After a life spent under the thumb of a variety of advisors and regents, the boy who came to the throne of Hungary a few days old, and on several occasions had to flee to Poland has triumphed over the Hapsburg rivals that have hounded him his entire life--and he has done so virtually unaided by the Turk. "The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer," he writes to his wife, quoting the Bible as he is wont to do. "He reached down from on high, He took me; He drew me out of mighty waters. He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from those who hated me; for they were too mighty for me. They confronted me in the day of my calamity; but the LORD was my support. He brought me out into a broad place; He delivered me, because He delighted in me." Margaret is equally delighted, and writes back in a similar vein--"O come, let us sing to the LORD; let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation!"[53] True, more realistic heads realise that all of this could vanish in a puff of smoke, but Janos and Margaret are hearing none of it. This is proof that God loves them and stands behind what they're doing.
As for Vienna, the response to this is quite strong--utter panic. The Transylvanians have cut through Royal Hungary like a hot knife through butter, as Austria's grip on the land proved far weaker than imagined. They now sit in Presburg, a stone's throw away from Vienna, where they and the Saxons could easily squeeze the Hapsburgs like a vise. Maria of Spain takes it especially hard--while the "Queen of the Romans" has made her fair share of mistakes, this is the first time that even she has to acknowledge one. The weak, inconsequential Prince of Transylvania has proven to be neither, and torn away Royal Hungary. Something must be done before Vienna itself is attacked. But what? The Duke of Alba is in Brunswick--much of the Italian forces are in Swabia--those that aren't took part in the the Duke of Mantua's disastrous attack on Bohemia... Austria's options are low. How low?
Archduke Charles Francis and his brother-in-law Count Gunther von Schwarzburg are sent forth to lead the troops into Hungary.
Yep. That low.
The plan is to hook up with the remaining Hapsburg loyalists in Raab, and possibly serve as a rallying point for the other Hapsburg loyalists in Croatia. Needless to say, this swiftly turns into yet another debacle for Vienna and the Archduke. He and Count Gunther quarrel all the way into Hungary, where they are swiftly routed by a Transylvanian force lead by Istvan Bathory, who demonstrates that he is not someone you want to be facing on the other end of a battlefield. The pair flee back into Austrian territory, where Count Gunther manages one of his intermittant displays of borderline competence and burns the bridges behind him so the Transylvanians can't follow them back to Vienna. This proves to be unnecessary--the Transylvanians prefer plundering the baggage train to continuing the campaign into Austria--but still is a decent precaution, and so Count Gunther manages to look like he has some idea what he's doing. The Archduke on the other hand... well, boasting loudly that you will teach that Transylvanian rabble something, then getting your ass kicked by the afore-mentioned don't aid anybody's reputation. Sulking afterwards, and insisting that the whole affair is the fault of everyone else likewise only hastens the damage. Suddenly, the various people who were planning on using him to take care of Maria of Spain are recalling that, oh, yes, this is Charles of Tyrol they're talking about. If they try--he'll screw it up, somehow. Best to wait.
And then more bad news comes--the truce with Bavaria ends, and rather then renew, the Bavarians march again, as young William and Ferdinand realize their old man is one wily son of a bitch. Vienna hunkers down for a siege that never comes--instead, the Bavarians occupy Linz, and settle down there. No way is Albert letting himself overextend his forces again.
But that isn't obvious to the Hapsburgs who are initially convinced that this is it--the thunderbolt they dodged last year. Even when it becomes clear that it isn't quite, they're still certain it's coming, and they are not alone in that. The Duke of Alba, when he is called back to Vienna by a frantic Maria willing to admit he was right earlier, notes that between the Elector of Saxony, the Duke of Bavaria, and the Prince of Transylvania, the Protestant armies now have Austria clenched in their fist. (He also grumbles to his sons about how no one listens to him, and how Maria makes him ride over half the Empire as if he were a significantly younger man.)
Ironically, the Hapsburgs are seeing a cohesion between their foes that barely exists. The Duke of Bavaria is loosely affiliated with the Leipzig Bond, at best, which is why he so often makes peace on his own terms, and Janos Sigismund is completely independent of his brother-in-law. Indeed, John Frederick isn't quite sure what to make of the Prince of Transylvania's war--Janos is, remember a Unitarian, an anti-Trinitarian sect that most Lutherans see as rather out there. True, most Hungarians have proven willing to overlook that due to his being Hungarian, having the Crown, and being somewhat less useless than Ferdinand. But John Frederick is something of an outsider to this viewpoint, and to him, Zapolya's faith is somewhat vexing, as are his ties to the Turk. Nor is the Elector's wife helping matters--Elizabeth is, in truth, rather peeved that her little sister may beat her in having a king for a husband, and that is making her emphasize Janos' flaws. Even the sensible Augustus, a man who sees the benefits signing up the Prince into their alliance would bring, has to wonder if they can safely do business with a man so... unorthodox.
And so, despite having the theoretical means to drive the Hapsburgs to their knees, the three forces mostly sit around and continue to chase their own agendas, in another sterling demonstration of why this war isn't going to end any time soon.
--The ripples from the murder of Antoine de Bourbon reach the shores of England in a way no one was expecting. Queen Jeanne d'Albret is quietly reaching out to her fellow Protestant state, as Henri II has made it clear you never know just which way he'll jump next. Navarre needs a stronger protection than trusting that he'll continue to leave them alone, and Jeanne thinks she knows just the thing to get it. She's reviving an old project of her mother's--an English marriage for Navarre. And so Henry Tudor finds himself with a proposal--Jeanne's eldest child, her daughter Madeline[54] is of marrying age, and the Queen of Navarre would love to tie her family to the biggest names in Protestantism. Henry is interested right off the bat. He's always looking for ways to show how he's the Great Defender of the Faith which require minimal effort and funds, especially these days. Elizabeth has been indicating she'd like her brother to do something MORE in the Second Schmalkaldic War, like... maybe start acting against Spain, perhaps, and so Henry is somewhat put out. I mean, he and Philip have got the matter well in hand, writing stately letters of intent to each other. What more does she expect without risking turning this into an even more dangerous general war? Are he and the King of Spain the only people in Europe who understand the intricacies of international politics and foreign diplomacy? (And that's not even bringing up Margaret, with her weird religion, and her constant requests for money, which typically come in letters strewn with Biblic verses on generosity and charity.) So naturally, he's onboard with this idea. Admittedly, the heir to the throne is... a tad young, but his cousin, Edgar of York is... well, less young, so a quick betrothal and...
At which point Queen Jeanne's agents explain she doesn't want that. England's record on lengthy betrothals is... less than stellar, after all. No, her little Madeline is of marriageable age--why Jeanne was married herself when she was a year younger than her daughter is now, to a man she never met, and who in fact died before that could take place. True, she protested the match vigorously, but then, that was back when she was a silly willful child. Having the man you marry for love turn out to be a mistress-schtupping jelly-spined weasel who does things like beg favors from the King of Spain, or whine when you encourage his Protestant subjects to rampage through his beloved County of Vendomme--it makes you a bit cynical about things. And Jeanne has made damn sure that Madeline is a less wilful girl than she was. Madeline Bourbon is up for marriage now, to the most eligible bachelor in England... Edward Tudor, Duke of York.
Henry is... slightly put off by that, but agrees to talk to his brother about it. And so the King of England sets out to chat with the Duke of York, rather aware that this could turn into a conversation that he has been dreading for almost two years now. And sure enough, it does. Edward, after first noting his distaste with the whole 'marrying a child' part--he is almost old enough to be the poor girl's father, after all--points out how he's sort of involved. In fact, from Edward's point of view, he is pretty much engaged. To Diane de la Marck. The woman who is living with him. That he's been trying to get Henry's permission to wed. Her. Diane.
Henry, after some awkward fidgeting explains that while he's been willing to let his little brother have his fun, he still expects Edward to... put aside his toy and do his duty when his King demands him to. Edward points out how almost EVERYTHING he does is his duty, like the present plan for him to get sent over to Ireland to kill people on Henry's sayso, and that Henry is talking about the woman he loves, and how he didn't see Henry talking about duty when he decided to toss out his betrothal to Elizabeth Valois--you the one that resulted in a Hapsburg-Valois hookup that the entire purpose of English diplomacy was to avoid. Henry's response is to get lofty, and talk about the British Union, and the great Protestant cause of Albion, and so on, and so forth. The jist of it is, if Henry SEEMED to be an impulsive jerk on that matter, he really wasn't--he had a grand design he was following, for the good of the realm. That said grand design involved his marrying a gorgeous Scot was just good luck for him. Now, Edward must play his role in Henry's grand design, which involves marrying a... well, Henry isn't sure how Madeline Bourbon looks, but Jeanne's people assure him that she's very nice.
Edward doesn't exactly buy all this. As noted, he's starting to feel that... well, his big brother doesn't exactly appreciate him, and what he does, and instead views Edward as a sort of... servant. This latest event just puts a point on it--Edward has been dealing with Henry ignoring his advice when he doesn't like it for years now. He leaves this little chat with a few choice words on this. Henry meanwhile, is just as annoyed with Edward. He's always seen Edward as the sibling he can rely on, especially as Elizabeth and Margaret, once again, seem to longer be putting Tudor fortunes first. But now, even he seems to be getting... ideas. It's so... irritating. Henry gets how the family has to act like a coherent whole for their own good, as well as the good of their faith and their realm. Why don't his siblings understand that?
--Mid-October sees a bitter cold chill over much of Europe, as winter comes early this year. Farmers and peasants curse, then freeze and quite frequently, starve. Those forces still in the field start... requistioning supplies, thus increasing the whole starving thing for the peasants. Quite a few military forces disperse--this kills campaigning early, so, why bother sticking around and freezing? Among those who do this are Janos Sigismund's Transylvanians, cutting short their planned siege of Raab. This is pretty much the Transylvanian way--fight when you have spare time, then come back home to gather the harvest. Besides, most consider all the important stuff done. Their boy is now King of Hungary, at least, as far they're concerned, so again, why bother sticking around and freezing? Janos, despite what some would view as a setback, remains elated. After all, he still has his garrisons, a few members of which admittedly are starting to cough and ask about payment--but, hey no worries. Janos is sure that soon his rich brother-in-law, the Elector of Saxony, or his even richer brother-in-law, the King of England, will be making with the recognition and the loans. And then, things will be awesome. Yep.
Any day now.
But for the moment, outside of Hungary, nobody seems to be quite willing to admit that Janos Sigismund is well... King. Still, Janos isn't letting that WORRY him--in fact, he isn't letting ANYTHING worry him, and even if he was, he'd have his darling wife Margaret to convince him that he's wonderful and good and that God loves him. Janos and his wife are... blithe spirits. To put it mildly.
In Ireland, the change in weather has about the effect you'd think it have in a land that is being despoiled by soldiers and wandering bands of men--and remember that plague outbreak in Cork? Well, it's spread outside of Cork now, meaning that Ireland now has to deal with plague and famine, in addition to people roving around trying to kill you. While both sides are hurt, it is the Irish who get the lion's share of suffering, something that only increases when the English figure out that, hey, this is a GREAT way to kill the Irish without having to fight them. And so many begin to look around at their starving families, and their friends dying of plague and asking 'Are we so really certain God is on our side?'
O Fearghail supplies an answer--'yes, he is, but the Devil is against us'. This world is often a place of suffering and horror, and will be until Christ returns and ushers in the new Heaven and Earth. When that happens, the dead shall return, and the living shall be made anew in 'immortal flesh'. Until that joyous day, men must remain true to God, and steel themselves to suffer in His name. This has a personal element to Donal--the once robust man is suffering from an illness that has left him crippled and frequently bedridden. (Historian debate whether it is cancer, or lupus.) It is hard not to read his writings on this and not to get the image of a dying man, dreaming of his illness gone.
Another person who finds all this quite regrettable is Magnus Oldenburg "King of Livonia" who watches as his army finally disintegrates. He's been hunting for Magnus Vasa for the last few months, but the wily (not to mention crazy) Swede has always been too quick for his Danish foe. Of course, part of this is because while Magnus Oldenburg travels with a massive army of dubious training and loyalty, Magnus Vasa travels with various small bands of Estonians who know the land, and more importantly, have come to respond to his fierce but charismatic personality. It's easy for the latter to avoid the former, and even get a few blows in as that very large army slowly begins to fall apart. And then to quickly fall apart, thanks to the weather, and aided by Magnus Oldenburg's... charming personality.
And so, that is how Magnus Oldenburg finds himself chased hither and non by the man he was formerly chasing. Magnus Vasa and a few Estonians finally capture the Dane as he hides in a small hovel.[55] The "King of Livonia" is dragged out, crying and begging for mercy, and laid before Magnus Vasa, who amuses himself by swinging his sword over the man's head a few times. Noting the other Magnus' crown, he asks what that it is--Oldenburg sniffles and states that it is the crown of Livonia. Magnus Vasa has a hearty laugh. "That bauble?" He then slaps his helmet. "THIS is the crown of Livonia! Iron! Like its people!" And with that, kills his rival, then has him stripped of all valuables, including the the crown, which he has melted down to serve as a source of funds. (That and Magnus Vasa's famous quote serving as the source of the popular myth that he killed Magnus Oldenburg by forcing him to drink the scalded remains of his own crown.) With that done, he has the late "King's" body fed to his hounds, "so (he) may serve some use."
Once again, Magnus cheerfully sends news of his latest atrocity back to his brother. Erik finds it somewhat distressing--however, he is more distressed by Magnus' signature, which includes the title, "King of Livonia, by right of conquest".
His advisors agree this is worrisome.
--That November, an event occurs in Spain that NO ONE was expecting--at least, no one outside of certain rarified circles. Cardinal Bartolome Carranza, Archbishop of Toledo, is arrested by the Spanish Inquisition on suspicion of holding Protestant views. This is news to the Pope and the entire Council of Mantua, including Cardinal Ghislieri and Abbot Perretti, who consider Cardinal Carranza an exemplarary Catholic, one who hasn't even trafficked in anything remotely heretical. But the Spanish Inquistion is adamant, and the Cardinal is imprisoned, in Spain, with plans to try him, in Spain. Pope Pius sends his official admonation to Philip, demanding that Carranza be released--or at least transfered to the Council's custody so that THEY can determine the validity of these charges. Philip responds by telling Pius to sod off, only in the most polite and formal manner he can do so. He is the Most Catholic King of Spain, and the jurisdiction of the Holy Office is both his inheritance and his sacred duty, one which he will allow no mere Pope to weaken. It's all another sterling example of the unity of the Holy Catholic Church.[56]
Much of the impetuous for the arrest comes from Grand Inquisitor Fernando de Valdes y Salas, a political rival of Carranza's as well as a member of the Castilean elite that view the Archbishop of Toledo as their birthright--Carranza's true "crime" is rising farther than he should have in their eyes. Carranza is imprisoned, in fairly mild circumstance, protesting his innocence the entire time.
Of course, many Spaniards view this as a disgrace, including Prince Charles, who promises to support and aid the Archbishop in any way he can. At the moment, this appears to be limited to the afore-mentioned promise. In Charles' defense, he is busy--Elizabeth is pregnant again, and he is rushing around setting things up for her delivery, and the planned celebrations, which Charles hopes will make Henry's celebration of his daughters' birth look like a local festival. Henry IX, catching wind of this, declares the Prince of Asturias is welcome to try. So, they're two guys who have their priorities straight.
--Christmas in England sees a miraculous thing happen. As the Court is listening to the King play his latest musical compositon, and competing among themselves to praise him for it--not necessarily an onerous duty, as Henry IX is, like his father and brother, something of a musical virtuoso--they are shocked to see Catherine Grey and William Herbert appear. The couple humbly approach the King, who bids them forward, and then accepts their abject apology for daring to wed without his permission. Henry formally forgives them, and states that their marriage is now recognized. With that the pair return to Court--indeed, Catherine even enjoys a dance with Henry that very evening, for old time's sake--and shortly have returned to their old positions.
Much of the credit for getting out of their predicament goes to Catherine, who it must be recalled, thought there was a pretty good chance of her becoming 'QUEEN Catherine' one of these days, and thus planned accordingly. She knows Henry pretty well, and knows that when dealing with him in his wrath, your best bet is to avoid him for awhile, then start begging piteously. Also, recruiting others to plead your case is always a help--Catherine has managed to get some of her old friends to join in the 'forgive Catherine' project, and even managed to get Mary Stewart onboard with a few humble letters praising the Queen's many virtues. (Among those many virtues--knowing the value of a potential ally in the English court.)
There are other causes--Catherine's sister Mary Grey decided to top her sister's scandal by attempting to secretly wed one Thomas Keyes, serjeant porter to the King.[57] This was narrowly prevented, with Lady Mary being quietly detained by her father, and Thomas Keyes quietly being given new lodgings in the Tower. The match was seen as horrifically inappropriate, both due to the couples' differing ages--Keyes is a widower with two children--and heights--Keyes is quite tall, while Mary is, like her little brother Thomas, who the king dubbed 'Little Lord Imp' in a bit of levity[58], a hunchbacked dwarf. Henry rather likes the sisters' father Henry Grey, Marquess of Dorset--indeed, with John Dudley dead, he's moved up a space on the King's beloved surrogate uncle list. It seems a bit unfair for him to have two of his daughters disgraced in this matter, especially when the elder's folly is so much less than the younger's. Besides, Henry has a bit of a soft spot for Catherine, and he feels the lesson has been learnt. It has been demonstrated to her and to his court that Henry Tudor is your lord and master, and before him, you shall have no other God, but God. (And even then, you understand that Henry is a key representative of that fine gentleman on Earth.)
And Henry's had more good news. After his completely unwarranted bit of pique, Edward has come back and agreed to marry Princess Madeline. While the exact impetuous behind this about-face is mysterious, the Duke of York did pay a visit to his mother recently. Further, his dear Diane is recorded as having noted to Edward that such a marriage would be a great service to her fellow Huguenots. And that kings in her admittedly limited experience don't like getting thwarted on these matters. To Edward's relief, Henry has agreed to go back to ignoring Diane, a decision that Queen Mary can be thanked for. Mary Stewart knows the value of a loyal brother who'll stint for you, and she knows that loyalty is a thing that must be fed.
With that done, the night shall also see the unveiling of a new painting, which depicts Henry in the aspect of Mars, Mary in the aspect of Venus (a modestly clothed Venus, mind you), and little Prince Arthur as Cupid. It's a very large, symbolic work that will hang prominently in Hampton Court throughout Henry's reign, and then be suddenly shifted into a backroom when Arthur becomes king. Yes, at moment's like this, Henry Tudor is pretty pleased. He is King, and the land does what he wants. True, Ireland remains a problem, but next year, that will be dealt with. True, the Duke of Somerset and Richmond sits in a corner, drinking fitfully, complaining to anyone who will listen that his concerns about the Borderers have not been addressed. True, the Archbishop of Canterbury is telling him that the Dispute of the Hymnals is roaring back to life after a few quiet months, and that Edmund Grindal doesn't dare leave his house. True, the Privy Council are saying worrying things about the Baltic trade and the nation's finance. But... those are all ephemeral things. On a night like this what matters is--Henry is king.
And it's good to be King.
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[1] There was a plague outbreak in the Empire--and abroad--IOTL around this time as well. Needless to say, the war is making it worse.
[2] George died in 1566 IOTL.
[3] The Thirty Years War had a similar effect in popularizing newspapers IOTL.
[4] As opposed to his brothers, poor Charles seems to have gotten every famous recessive Hapsburg trait. And passed them on to his children. Guess whose line wound up surviving?
[5] Elizabeth was quite famous for this tactic IOTL. To be fair, it saved on costs, and Court really couldn't stay in one place for too long, or they'd find themselves buried in their own crap. Both figurative and literal.
[6] By this time IOTL, the Commons had even gotten St. Stephen's Chapel given to them as a meeting place. That hasn't happened here.
[7] IOTL, Elizabeth of course encouraged Hawkins, who managed several voyages before the Spanish caught on. I have to say, Hawkins and Drake are the sort of 'heroes' who don't hold up very well on examination--great naval men, but on the whole subpar human beings.
[8] He died in 1563 IOTL. Ivan's relationship with his brother is one of his rare human moments, though one should probably remember if Iuri hadn't been severely handicapped, Ivan probably would have treated the same way he treated his poor cousin Vladimir.
[9] This was more or less what he did IOTL.
[10] Maria lived until 1569 IOTL--it was heavily rumored on her death that Ivan had her poisoned. Several contemporaries believed she might have given Ivan the idea for his oprichniki. It's not impossible she was one of the several sources for the horrible, horrible ideas Ivan put into practice.
[11] Kurbski really did send such a letter to Ivan.
[12] This all happened IOTL. Ivan the Terrible sure knew how to pick his enemies, eh?
[13] IOTL, Eric merely attempted to poison his wife, something that became something of a scandal in the Empire. I should mention this started out a love match before the religious differences--and quite possibly the fact that she was quite a bit older than him--poisoned it.
[14] IOTL, Juliana married--at a somewhat later date--Count Albrecht of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt. Salentin married--at an even later date--Antonia Wilhemlna of Arenburg.
[15] Believe it or not, when he was Pope, Peretti was something of a Queen Elizabeth fanboy, reportedly stating 'If only we could have married--our children could have ruled the world!'
[16] Such as for example, Juan de la Cerda, who was a Viceroy of Sicily around this time IOTL.
[17] This about what happened when Barbary and Spanish forces met there IOTL. Keep your eye on Kiljic Ali, by the way, another cool guy that should be in more timelines.
[18] With some justification--the Princess wound up trying to marry a daughter into the Braganzas IOTL.
[19] IOTL, Erik seems to have begun his relationship with Karin around this time--here they've met earlier thanks to butterflies. (Well, and my refusal not to avoid a story this good.) IOTL, Erik's marriage is probably what finally destroyed his kingship--as his brother Johan's rule would prove the Swedes can handle a king killing prisoners and fighting a long drawn-out war, but marrying a peasant? That's just crazy.
[20] IOTL, Erik and Karin's eldest child was born in 1566--a daughter named Sigrid. Again, they've been together a bit longer TTL.
[21] IOTL, Sophia and Magnus were wed. It was not a happy marriage, I'm afraid.
[22] This happened at a later date IOTL.
[23] This was about the Danish reaction to Magnus' actions IOTL--it was a very ill-considered move on Magnus' part.
[24] Gaspard really was quite keen on the idea of attacking Spain when an opportunity presented itself IOTL, and actually maneuvered to have France support the Dutch rebels, one of the many, many things that lead to his assassination.
[25] IOTL, Isabelle got pregnant around this time, which resulted in Conde dropping her like a hot potato, claiming that the resulting child wasn't his, then Catherine dropping her like a hot potato. While she eventually landed on her feet and married, a certain bitterness resulted--when Conde died she reportedly declared 'Finally.'
[26] He did similar actions when he died IOTL, though the fact that he died fighting Huguenots in the Wars of Religion wound up overshadowing that fact.
[27] IOTL, Alavaro accompanied the Bishop back.
[28] This is what happened to the ship and its passengers IOTL. Early colonial Brazil could be a pretty tough place.
[29] Alavaro was doing this IOTL during his uncle's governorship. It really didn't help things.
[30] IOTL, Mem was governor of Brazil around this time. And one of the great ones.
[31] IOTL, they were in Brazil with their uncle, and helped him fight the French. Estacio even founded Rio de Janeiro before dying heroically in battle of an arrow to the eye.
[32] Camoes was in India at this time IOTL, and went on to write the epic Lusiads. Another neat guy who should be in more timelines.
[33] Francis I was actually alive around this time IOTL. Though he wasn't the Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg. It's complicated.
[34] IOTL, Christine married Frederick's uncle Adolf of Holstein-Gottorp around this time.
[35] Sinan Pasha was sent to Egypt at the start of Selim's reign IOTL, likely for similar reasons.
[36] Sokullu Mehmet and Ismihan had a son named Ibrahim IOTL though he was born in 1565. I should add it took me quite some time to find that date.
[37] Al-Mutahhar started something on Suleiman's death IOTL as well.
[38] IOTL, Gelawdewos was dead by this time, and his utterly inept brother Menas was Emperor of Ethiopia. This was not good for them.
[39] IOTL Nur ibn Mujahid was alive at this time, and kicking serious Ethiopian ass. While I'd like to say this helped his nation, in fact it was falling apart even as he racked up his military victories--the only real victors of the war were the Oromo tribes that were arriving around that time.
[40] 'Lala' is a Turkish honorific given to the former tutor of a Sultan.
[41] Nasi really did all this. The Venetians incidentally were convinced he was to blame for the invasion of Cyprus, having manipulated the impressionable Selim into it. Given that Nasi contributed funds, and intelligence work to the invasion, and even had a relative try and blow up the armory there, while getting exactly bumpkis for his efforts, I think they were reversing who used who in that matter.
[42] A similar group of MPs made an issue of Elizabeth's marriage in 1563. (Save for the Wentworth brothers, who circumstances have brought forward a tad earlier.) Elizabeth essentially promised them that she'd handle it. We all know how that went.
[43] IOTL, this fell out of use in Edward's reign, and neither Mary nor Elizabeth were ever in a position to bring it back.
[44] Gilbert Humphrey really used to do this. Yeah. Fun guy.
[45] This is about when he died IOTL, and what was done to his body on his request.
[46] He converted IOTL as well sometime after killing Henri II.
[47] Once again, all OTL. While it's impossible to verify the castration story, it's worth noting he never had any children...
[48] IOTL, Emden caused Edzard no end of grief, eventually revolting, and with Dutch support, expelling him from the city. On his death, he wasn't even allowed to be buried in the Cathedral there, due to his being a Lutheran.
[49] His distant cousin Christian of Younger did similar things when he had to have an arm amputated during the Thirty Years War IOTL.
[50] IOTL, being in a much worse position, Isabella sent Ferdinand the Crown--though she broke off the cross on the top, and had that incorporated into a new crown. The so-called Hungarian Crown eventually passed to her brother Sigismund Augustus, and was part of the Polish crown jewels for years. Until Frederick the Great of Prussia had it melted down when he was destroying those.
[51] This was a continuous problem for the Hapsburgs in Hungary--those garrisons were necessary, but expensive, and so they frequently didn't pay them. This often made their loyalty rather poor.
[52] IOTL, Raab was one of the few cities that didn't declare for Bethlen when invaded in a situation that was much, much more favorable to the Hapsburgs.
[53] Janos and Margaret are quoting Psalms at each other, if you're wondering.
[54] Madeline takes the place of Antoine and Jeanne's OTL eldest child, Henry--not the famous Henry, mind you, but his elder brother who died very young.
[55] While it's happening a bit faster here, Magnus' career in Livonia went badly IOTL as well--Ivan tired of him, his efforts of gaining the support of the Livonians failed, and he wound up on the run from his former patron.
[56] This all happened IOTL, albeit at an earlier date. Like his descendent Louis XIV, Philip's support for Catholicism was on the understanding that he'd be running his own brand.
[57] This occurred IOTL, though as the pair actually got married, things went... worse for them. Frankly, Lady Mary Grey's story is one of the saddest in Elizabeth's court.
[58] For those having Game of Thrones flashbacks, 'Lord Imp' was one of Elizabeth's nicknames for Robert Cecil, later 1st Earl of Salisbury and in my opinion, one of the models for Tyrion Lannister. Another was 'Pygmy'. She could be like that at times.
