A More Personal Union

Pirates of the Caribbean: Island Treasure

August 1571: Martin Frobisher’s two ships arrive in St. Brendan’s, bringing with them much needed supplies for the small colony: a transparent ruse to get in the good graces of the Glorianans. It works, although not on Lord Brendan, who is furious that his hard-won colony is becoming a haven for pirates. Frobisher and his crews spend money freely, and openly flatter the colonists with compliments on how well the new settlement is coming. The process of building a fortress at Cape Anne has begun, and many of the colonists are hard at work, quarrying limestone in the hot subtropical sun in preparation for the start of construction. While the privateers are amusing to many of the colonists, after a time they become wearying, and when Frobisher forms a fragile alliance with Le Testu and Jamie Alday and the little fleet sets sail, the colonists are glad to see them go. “Let them make their mischief elsewhere,” writes Francis Drake in his logbook.

Brendan, meanwhile, is less trusting that they’ve seen the back of the privateers. He orders cannon moved into strategic positions around the settlement, and doubles the drill of the local militias he’s organized.

September 1571: Frobisher, Alday, and Le Testu raid Santo Domingo, making off with thousands of pounds of treasure as well as numerous African slaves. Burning the Spanish ships at anchor, they flee north, only to encounter a small flotilla of vessels under the command of Martin de Bertendona, an experienced officer whose family boasts a long seafaring tradition. Although the privateers manage to avoid a stand-up fight, Bertendona pursues them north as they attempt to flee. Weighed down by treasure, the privateers must rely on their superior firepower to keep the Spanish at bay until they reach a friendly port, while the Spanish must keep their distance and pepper the English with cannon fire until they surrender and give up their cargo. The race is on.

The ocean is vast, and Frobisher hopes that by darting in and out of the various Bahamas, he can lose Bertendona. He is unsuccessful, and by the time they pass Grand Bahama, it is clear he cannot shake the Spaniard. His only hope is to press on to St. Brendan’s, where with luck Knollys and other privateers will be, who can add their guns to his.

The privateers just barely make it into St. Brendan harbor before the Spanish. Now safely docked and under the protection of the guns Lord Brendan has moved into place, Frobisher feels rather smug--until the Spanish send a longboat ashore under the flag of truce.

Bertendona, who has come into port under a white flag, meets with Brendan at Brendan’s small house. He is not particularly impressed by the standard of living among the English, but keeps that to himself. His position is simple: the privateers are pirates, and thus afforded no protection by law. Although they may claim to have letters of marque from Queen Elizabeth, undoubtedly these are forgeries, as no Christian monarch would encourage such lawlessness. Therefore Brendan, as the English Crown’s appointed representative in the New World, should turn over these criminals to Bertendona, the Spanish Crown’s appointed representative.

Brendan considers Bertendona’s proposal, and after some thought counters with one of his own: No. He admits the privateers are little more than pirates, but denies that the Spanish have jurisdiction over them. Since they are in an English port, they come under English jurisdiction. He, as magistrate, will try them as appropriate. While Frobisher and the rest are extremely unhappy to be called pirates, they nonetheless recognize that Brendan is doing what he must to defuse the situation. Their ships are trapped at port, and Brendan is not a friendly host to them. So they go along with it.

The Spanish commander is not pleased at all; the treasure and slaves the privateers have taken are property of the Spanish Crown, and must be returned. Frobisher isn’t too worried; undoubtedly Brendan will decline this offer, and besides, they’ve already managed to smuggle a lot of gold off the ships, and who’s to say how much they stole in the first place. He’s confident they’ll still make a profit. However, Brendan, smiling while Frobisher, Alday, and Le Testu fume, agrees with Bertendona: the treasure must be returned.

Dropping his smile, he informs Bertendona: the slaves stay.

According to the Queen’s decree of August 1570, “Let it be known that all who be imprisoned, save those who have done murder or treason, or bound fast in gaol by debt, or enchained in some other manner, should they accept transportation to the county of Brendanshire, in the realm of Gloriana which lies in the islands of the New World, shall have their sentences commuted”. As far as Brendan is concerned, this applies just as much to the slaves the privateers have brought back as it does to Englishmen. Having slapped the cheeks of both the Spanish and the pirates, he announces the new policy. Slavery is effectively illegal in Brendanshire, and since, for the moment, Brendanshire is the whole of English territory in the New World, slavery is illegal in English America. Slaves are just as subject to the Queen’s decree as anyone else, and thus become free upon setting foot in English territory. John Hawkyns, Lord Brendan, has absolutely no affection for Africans or natives of any kind; he’s doing this mainly to jab the Spanish in the eye. But he has set the policy: no slavery on Glorianan soil.

Bertendona goes away from the meeting incensed. He has no choice but to accept Brendan’s settlement. He lacks the guns to take the colony, but as he watches his men loading up gold retrieved from the pirate ships, he swears that there will be a reckoning for this.

Frobisher and the other privateers are thinking the same thing.
 
Now you've really taken off in a new direction, and those butterflies are more like 747s.

I take it that there will not be a Union of Lublin ITTL?

Will Elizabeth 1 have her short infatuation with Francois, Duke of Anjou?

Keep up the good work.

Regards

R
 
Skipping ahead a little bit while I work on posts on the Ottoman-Hapsburg War, the Northern War, the Persian-Mughal War, and general Indian affairs (whew!)

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Royal Road Trip: 1572

March 1572: Henri III, Mary of Scotland, Madeleine Stanley, and their entourage arrive in Edinburgh after crossing the English Channel. Taking residence in Holyrood Palace after nearly a quarter century abroad, Queen Mary takes pains to make herself available to her subjects. Her brother, the Earl of Mar, she greets happily. His regency has gone well, from her point of view, barring a few...unpleasantnesses. However, she is rather miffed to see that in Holyrood Palace, which she rightly considers her close property, Mar carries himself as a king in his own right, decorating the palace with accoutrements that rival even those of the court at the Louvre, and accepting homage from the Scottish lords as any monarch might. Mary is beginning to wonder if Mar is getting above his station, and a serious break between seems imminent. Things are smoothed over, though, when Mary receives some good advice from her personal priest, Jean de Montluc, who is becoming a power in the Gallician Church. Mar, he points out, is a proud and ambitious man, but his ambition happens to run parallel to her own. Castigating him now would only serve to strain their relationship. If, in the future, Mar should prove less than able in his governance, then Mary will have ready-made an accusation against him. But until then, she should keep that arrow in its quiver. After much persuading, she agrees.

The Scots are eager to see their Queen, absent after twenty-four years, and as the royals make their progress, the Scots turn out in droves to see them pass. Mary, meanwhile, very quickly finds she has had her fill of Scotland, and of the Scots. “They are disagreeable and filthy, and their country cramped and heathenish,” she complains in a letter to her uncle, Charles of Lorraine. “In every manner, they are inferior to the French, and the Scottish countryside possesses a rough beauty, but I like it not.” Years in France have accustomed her to the finer things in life, and even now Scotland is a very poor country. When two nobles come to meet her near Stirling, she sends them away, complaining of their dirty, ragged clothes and their “noisome odors”. She can’t wait to get back to Paris.

Henri, on the other hand, is having the time of his life. His personality is already well developed for an eight-year-old, and he does not like life at court at all. The French court is comprised of “doddering old men and fawning young flatterers,” as one unsympathetic observer puts it, and the vigorous, adventuresome boy-king finds it stifling. The intrigues of the French courtiers, particularly those of the partisans of his mother and grandmother, strike him as being womanly and cowardly. Although as a matter of pure survival, he is becoming a talented intriguer himself, by temperament he is straightforward and blunt, and those are not traits much admired by either Catherine’s or Mary’s factions. Now, here in Scotland, free of the claustrophobic atmosphere of the Louvre, he feels, for the first time in his life, as if he is among his true people. The Scots, of course, have their own intrigues, but for Henri, their directness and “open honesty” is vastly preferable to the byzantine workings of the French. More to the point, they listen to him, something nobody does in Paris.

The Scottish nobility, initially greeting their French prince with trepidation, warm to him immensely, especially when they discover he speaks English quite well. “His English is very French,” writes one noble, but that only serves to charm the Scots, particularly when coupled with Henri’s boisterous personality. Here in Scotland, he has free reign to hunt and ride and fence and swim and do all the other sporty things he enjoys. The Scottish nobles find their future king to be a keen huntsman, and they accompany him on brawling, chaotic hunts across the Glenkens and the Grampians. He comes to adore the Scots, and they come to adore him.

And he has a new role model. James Stewart, the Earl of Mar, swaggers onto Henri’s stage at just the time that he needs a grown man to model himself after. Compared to many of the weaklings and backstabbers at court, the king’s uncle Mar is a paragon of Renaissance princedom: a skilled politician, a cunning general, a generous benefactor to his men, a calm and sedate, confident presence at the helm of state. Vigorous and dynamic, Mar strikes Henri as being the very essence of masculinity. This is what it means to be a modern ruler, not men like Anne de Montmorency or Theodore-Agrippa d’Aubigne or Henry of Guise. And Mar takes to his nephew equally quickly. It’s hard not to be charmed by the ebullient, charismatic young king.

In April, Henri attends sessions of the Scottish Parliament, which fascinate him. “It is a very just and laudable institution,” he writes to Anne de Montmorency, “and by it, the land is well governed, and the Queen’s commands are well served.”

Mary, who has already sickened of Scotland, spends much of her time either hunting or with her lover d’Aubigne. She has little time for the process of government, which she leaves to Mar, who is tutoring her son on how to rule in Scotland while she plays. Henri sees his mother rarely, usually at church, and then always in the company of d’Aubigne. Despite her best efforts, Mary is beginning to be eclipsed by her son, at least in Scotland. Although thousands turn out to see her as she progresses, most are equally eager to see their future king, and Henri receives lusty huzzahs when he appears in public. In Perth, as they meet with the mayor and Henri waves to the crowd, a voice cries out “Remember ye old King Jamie!” which is greeted with raucous cheers. Henri grins even wider and calls back, “Without doubt he remembers unto you, my good man!” which only redoubles the cheering. Mary can only sulk, and upon retiring that night, orders that her son read aloud from a book of d’Aubigne’s sonnets to her. Henri flatly refuses, and enraged, Mary orders d’Aubigne to “thrash yon insolent whelp soundly.” As d’Aubigne beats the king around the head and shoulders, Henri socks him in the testicles and calls for his retainers to restrain his mother’s lover. The young king stalks off in a rage, sequestering himself in another part of the small manor house they share.

For the remainder of the spring, mother and son remain estranged. Over the years, Henri has felt many different emotions towards his mother: love, bafflement, hurt, fleeting anger, affection. Now he feels a new one: resentment. Although only eight years old, he has a keen awareness of the fact that he is the king. He is intelligent, forceful, and energetic by nature, and that he is consulted almost never on the governance of his kingdom infuriates him. He understands he is young, still a child, but by God, he is the king. They should at least consult him, involve him in the running of his country. How else is he to learn? The time he has spent with Mar has shown him a different way. Mar, although ruling in his mother’s name, never hesitates to explain to Henri what he is doing politically and why, and even asks Henri what he would do, given the chance. That Henri is not receiving the political education he thinks he should be only serves to further enrage and alienate him from his mother.

In July, an invitation arrives for “the King of France and his mother, the Queen of Scotland” to make a visit of state to England. The invitation is a formality; all the details have been worked out months in advance, and so at the beginning of September Henri, Mary, and four hundred of their retainers cross over the border at Berwick, and begin moving south towards London.

Elizabeth’s motives for inviting Henri to visit are straightforward. She is now thirty-nine, and while it is not impossible that she might marry and give birth to a child, it is increasingly unlikely. Her likely heir, therefore, is Henri le Cyclope. However, despite the increasing rapprochement between France and England as a result of the Franco-Spanish War, most Englishmen are probable to look askance on receiving a French overlord. Therefore the diplomatic and political ground must be laid carefully to prepare for the union of the two crowns. This progress is the first step in that process.

The Franco-Scottish party is met at York by Lord Robert Dudley, Elizabeth’s favorite, who is to escort them south. Dudley is pleased to present to the young French king a very fine Andalusian; like Dudley, Henri is a keen horseman, and after effusive thanks on the part of the king both he and Dudley spend many hours on the road discussing horses and horsekeeping.

Elizabeth meets them at Windsor. For the English queen, it is the first time she has met her bête noire, Mary of Scotland. The two women have been nemeses for almost fifteen years. Now, for the first time, they are face-to-face. To avoid a diplomatic incident, Elizabeth was forced to invite Mary, but did so with the mocking and insulting designation “the King of France’s mother, the Queen of Scotland”, rather than directly by her sovereign role. As the two women size each other up, Elizabeth is smug that she’s already managed to one-up her rival.

She also takes the opportunity to size up Henri. The two monarchs have many qualities in common. Henri, like Elizabeth, is a notoriously finicky eater; so much so that Mary had to write to his steward and chastise him severely for not ensuring that the king ate after the boy turned up at court looking peaked.

Also like Elizabeth, Henri has learned at a very young age the value of keeping those around him off balance by doing startling or mildly offensive things. Like cursing. One of Henri’s favorite tactics, whenever debate in his council grows too heated, is to, from over the top of his studies, release a bellowed “Whoreson bastard jackanapes!” Upon receiving startled stares from his councilors, he then abashedly apologizes, claiming he just caught himself in a typographical error, at which point debate resumes, less tensely.

And both Elizabeth and Henri are very fond of shenanigans, of mischief made for its own sake. Pranks and jokes, jests and mockery, the two enjoy immensely cutting their courtiers and ambassadors down to size. All this is the result of their paradoxical powerlessness deriving from their particular divergence from the Renaissance ideal: Elizabeth as a woman, Henri as a child. Both are often dismissed or underestimated, and both hate and resent it intensely. Not surprisingly, upon meeting they get along very well.

Henri is made a Knight of the Garter, and is received by the English nobility, who are mollified to hear him speak in English and see him attend Anglican services. Perhaps, they think, if Henri is our king things won’t be too different. Or at a minimum, not so different as to be intolerable.
 
Scotland rings true; England feels off, though. Elizabeth's court is not Elizabeth; that the Queen likes the boy is good news, but Elizabeth always has more immediate problems - the courtiers who want to replace her themselves, or perhaps toss her off now for this boy, Mary of Scotland herself - Elizabeth may see that mother and son are estranged, but that isn't nearly the same thing as Mary being harmless.

Or do I need a refresher in English current events? I always seem to see Elizabeth's reign not as one of strength, but of very deftly ensuring that there was never a credible alternative to her no matter how much people resented her. Not unlike the Qing Dowager Empress. The very last thing she needs is to present a credible alternative to herself in the little cyclops.
 
Scotland rings true; England feels off, though. Elizabeth's court is not Elizabeth; that the Queen likes the boy is good news, but Elizabeth always has more immediate problems - the courtiers who want to replace her themselves, or perhaps toss her off now for this boy, Mary of Scotland herself - Elizabeth may see that mother and son are estranged, but that isn't nearly the same thing as Mary being harmless.

Or do I need a refresher in English current events? I always seem to see Elizabeth's reign not as one of strength, but of very deftly ensuring that there was never a credible alternative to her no matter how much people resented her. Not unlike the Qing Dowager Empress. The very last thing she needs is to present a credible alternative to herself in the little cyclops.

Elizabeth's primary problems were a) religion and b) the fact that she is a woman. Most of the plots, especially early in the reign, were by people who wanted to see either a Catholic or a man on the throne. Since Mary ( at least nominally) and Henri are not Catholics, it's hard to imagine what benefit any plotters would gain by putting another woman or a prepubescent boy on the throne, especially a Scot or a Frenchman.
 
Nice update.

He's not yet on the throne, but I already like the personnality of TTL Henri III of France. :)
 
I've been enjoying reading this. I like that you're covering a lot of ground, and yet you don't seem to be losing sight of any of your narrative threads.

It's nice to finally get a feel for Henri le Cyclope's personality. It's certainly good for England and Scotland that he seems to be their type. He's awfully precocious, too. I have to admit, for the first time since it became clear that Elizabeth would not be marrying and he was going to inherit, I actually have some optimism about his reign.

However far away that may be. After all, if Elizabeth dies on schedule, she's still got three decades ahead of her, and for all we know she could still predecease Mary, Queen of Scots. Now that would be interesting.

Keep up the good work.
 
That was a riveting installment, I love how you highlighted the incredible snideness and tension between Elizabeth and Mary for two people who had never even previously met. Did Henri happen to meet his betrothed during his visit to England? And how might the constant turmoil of which is Elizabethan Tudor dynastic politics come into play as the have finally met their future sovereign? Keep it coming Thespi:D
 
Hmmm... In way of a bump, just wondering, what is Ferdinand of Tyrol up to? IOTL, he's one of those quietly influential men with an effect on the course of history that far outweights his profile.
 
Hmmm... In way of a bump, just wondering, what is Ferdinand of Tyrol up to? IOTL, he's one of those quietly influential men with an effect on the course of history that far outweights his profile.

This TL's on a wee bit of a hiatus because I'm in the process of moving to a new apartment; hopefully I'll have an update sometime next week.
 
The Other Henry

April 1572: While Jeanne d’Albret, Queen of Navarre, is walking in her gardens, she suffers a debilitating stroke. Forty-four years old, she is already in late middle age by Renaissance standards, and her health quickly declines. She lingers for two weeks, but then suffers a second stroke that finally kills her. The suddenness of her death leads many Navarrese to conclude that the Spanish have poisoned her, hoping to take advantage of Navarre’s weakness. Her son, Henry, inherits the throne as Henri III. Although Jeanne’s husband Antoine hopes to maintain his position as king jure uxoris, the eighteen-year-old Henri is quick to put him in his place. Antoine will be a respected advisor, but his position came from Henri’s mother, not from his own right, and now Henri is king.

From the start, Henri “l’Autre” (“the other Henry”) is keen to put Navarre on the map. With the country now reunited, it has become a cat’s-paw in the interplay between France and Spain as they jockey for power in the Pyrenees. Balance-of-power politics means that increasing Navarre’s influence on land is right out of the question; France is an ally, and invading Spain is to court defeat.

Navarre’s future, therefore, lies at sea, Henri concludes. Spain, Portugal, and now England are carving empires for themselves out of strange, heathen lands across the oceans. If Navarre can only get a small slice of that trade, then she too can become rich.

There is, however, one problem. Navarre lacks a port. Surrounded by France and Spain, she is eternally in danger of being swallowed by either. The Bay of Biscay is within spitting distance of the country, but even that is too far away. Navarrese arms aren’t sufficient to conquer a port for her. But if she can’t conquer a port, perhaps she can buy one.

In this Henri is in luck. His neighbor with the same name is running into financial troubles; the Regency Council of France is so consumed by internal intrigue that they’ve allowed the taxation system and the royal purse to fall to rack and ruin. So when Henri l’Autre comes, asking to lease the port of Bayonne, Catherine d’Medici is eager and happy to rent. For a price equivalent to 10,000 English pounds a year, the Navarrese are able to secure a lease for Bayonne and the surrounding region for a term of one hundred years. Henri l’Autre has his port.
 
So Navarre gets to be the first minor power to jump into the colonial game! It'll be interesting to see how long they endure in the Americas. Even in the very likely event that a larger power eventually annexes their colonies, they might be able to leave a lasting impression, similar to the New Netherlands. Or they might be swept away and all but forgotten, like New Sweden...
 
Interesting update.

I'd like to point a minor fault regarding your French: Henri III of Navarra is more likely to be called L'Autre Henri rather than Henri l'Autre.
This is equivalent to English were you rather say The Other Henry rather than Henry The Other.
 
Interesting update.

I'd like to point a minor fault regarding your French: Henri III of Navarra is more likely to be called L'Autre Henri rather than Henri l'Autre.
This is equivalent to English were you rather say The Other Henry rather than Henry The Other.

Yes, I'm aware. But I wanted to parallel Henri le Cyclope with Henri l'Autre. Also, it keeps with the traditional naming scheme: Philip the Good, Charles the Bald, etc.

If this were a video game, we could call it A More Personal Union: Other H. :D
 
Interesting, although if I know renaissance politics then the Navarrese will start either defaulting or ignoring their payments for Bayonne within five years - Kings in this era simply didn't know how to set money aside, and always seemed to gamble on the other country simply forgetting about the debt (which actually might be because they usually did, or at least the vast majority failed to call debts in). Navarre winning riches from the colonial game will surely only increase their propensity for lavishly spending more money than they have, just like every other country in this era. My money therefore is on Navarre needing to win Bayonne - or another local port - by force within the decade, presumably funded by mercantile profits.

I'd like to point a minor fault regarding your French: Henri III of Navarra is more likely to be called L'Autre Henri rather than Henri l'Autre.
This is equivalent to English were you rather say The Other Henry rather than Henry The Other.

Not, I think, in French, in which the adjective always comes after the noun - especially when you want your prose to be flowery and poetic rather than practical (for that matter, that last rule also applies somewhat to English).
 
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