"...Like almost every great disaster, the collapse of the Austrian position in 1562 was the result of years of neglect colliding with immediate misfortune. Despite appearances, the Imperial dignity had really never recovered from the First Schmalkaldic War--instead, a feeling had grown in the Empire that the Hapsburgs ruled by the sufferance of the League's Protestant Princes. While Ferdinand had possessed that sufferance, things had run smoothly, and allowed him to believe that the damage was repairing itself. But it hadn't been--the power of Vienna had rotted from within the entire time, and throwing Protestant support away revealed this weakness...
"...The tortured family dynamics of the Austrian Hapsburgs (so often overshadowed in popular accounts by the high Greek drama of their Spanish cousins, especially King Philip and Prince Charles) played another decisive part. Emperor Ferdinand had been the rock on which the family based its strength--and that rock had been an aging man hiding indifferent health from the world. With his death, his beloved son and heir Ferdinand II was nominal head of the family--and despite his father's hope, he was not up to the task. Quiet, retreating, self-indulgent by nature, Ferdinand II was a follower forced by circumstance to be a leader. He was not up to this pressure, and knew it--indeed, he had reportedly worried about just such a psychic collapse[1] as occurred at Pilsen for years, though had never had the heart to let his father know. Now, it was too late. The hopes of Vienna rested on this slender reed. Others would try to take it up from time to time, but in the end it would all come back to Ferdinand...
"And yet, the "King of the Romans by Necessity" cannot be blamed for all of Vienna's problems. For in 1562, a great many issues in Europe came to a head, amplified by the Second Schmakaldic War, and amplifying it in turn. Religious strife in France--the First Originalist Revolt of Ireland--the Baltic Wars--these events were not dependent on each other--but they interacted, creating an atmosphere of chaos and instability. Some monarchs, like Ferdinand or Henri Valois, floundered in this--others, such as Philip of Spain, or Henry and Mary of Britain[2], simply tightened their grip..."
--From "A Very Bad Year for Vienna--How the Year 1562 Changed the German Reich and the World, by Felix Gauss (1984)"
1562
Part 2
--In France, the anti-Huguenot riots that have rocked the nation are starting to subside. It is proving sobering not only to Huguenots, but to reactionaries--in quite a few places, the Huguenots fight back, and do so fairly well. Most notable is the city of Rouen in Normandy, where the local Cathar confraternity makes the unpleasant discovery that instead of being a weak, defenseless minority, the Huguenots are a powerful, well-armed majority. Once they're done killing the people who were hoping to kill them, the Rouen Huguenots celebrate with a rousing bit of iconoclasm, and burning down the local tax collector's house on the grounds that he's a filthy, Papist Italian--indeed, one working for the Pope's nephew no less.[3] The fact that said unfortunate is IN the house when they burn it down is another good example of why if there's any moral high ground in France's religious disputes, it's at the bottom of a very deep trench.
Henri II, seeing that Paris is quieting down, finishes the job by returning to the city with his Scottish Guard in tow, and beseeching the people to end the violence as they love him. Whatever his many, many, MANY flaws as a king, Henri most certainly looks the part, and that's enough to get most Parisians to stop their urgent business smashing up the houses of those they don't like. Indeed, in a short while, they are cheering him on as he returns to the Louvre, and agreeing that things got a little out of hand. The King declares to all and sundry that he hopes everyone can put these regrettable incidents behind them, especially the Huguenots who really, really shouldn't have been so flagrantly heretical in public. When you tart yourself up in Calvinist colors, you should expect the worst, most Catholics agree.
As risible as this may seem to modern eyes, even some Huguenots feel it's a charge with some basis in fact--they argue Louis de Conde's actions were provocative in the extreme, and tore down an emerging compromise simply so the Prince and his fellows could flaunt their faith. A few people--among them Gaspard de Coligny and Cardinal de Lorraine--suspect that Louis more or less just manufactured a crisis so that he could once again stand at the head of the Huguenot party, and they do so for good reason. Indeed, Cardinal de Lorraine on several occasions muses how... remarkable it was that Prince Henri just happened to have escaped from his tutor on the very day that all this went down. Catherine de Medici, who has been looking for someone to blame that isn't her husband for the entire matter of her darling son's heresy, acquires a venomous dislike for the Prince of Conde, and insists that he's been behind it from the very start, somehow. Indeed, she even starts looking into having him assassinated, though Cardinal de Lorraine gets her to let that plan go, declaring that the Prince would likely prove a greater nuisance dead than alive.
Of course, Catherine is not the only person looking for a scapegoat for all her problems--most Huguenots and Catholics in France are as well. Amazingly, they seize on the same person--the Cardinal de Lorraine. Conservative French Catholics (and Cathar members, which is not ALWAYS the same thing) are quickly declaring him a crypto-Protestant--even worse a GERMAN crypto-Protestant---who's been gnawing at roots of the Holy Gallic Church this entire time. Hasn't he been leading the call for 'toleration'? Isn't his NIECE a Protestant Queen? Married to the MOST Protestant king in Europe? Didn't he set King Henri up with a Protestant hussy--who is HIS COUSIN? Can anyone look at this and not see--A PROTESTANT? In contrast, Huguenots see him as a vile slave of the Pope, who's been working to lure folks away from the True Faith, and whose efforts at toleration have all been a ruse meant to set them up for the chopping block. Didn't he work to suppress the Protestant Church in Scotland? Oh, sure, he SAYS it was to keep Scotland from drifting into England's orbit--but come on--he's a Cardinal! And look at him with all his... humanism. You know who came up with that, right? Those damned Burgundians! Can anyone say--'Spanish Intrigue', hmmm?[4] And so most Frenchmen unite in the belief that the man Michel le d'Hopital will dub 'the truest, wisest, most faithful man in France, whose greatest wish was to see his fellows live in peace with one another' [5] is a dirty foreign subversive here to destroy the True Faith (take your pick) and see its practioners killed or lead into error.
And that is only the beginning of what they're saying. For Cardinal de Lorraine's visits to the queen have been noted by the French, and they have responded in the time-honored tradition of declaring that the pair are having an affair. 'Oh ho, Henri, you great silly' declares one particularly scandalous broadsheet, 'watch your stables with great care/for as you mount your fine Gascon filly/the German priest rides your old Italian mare.' Catherine, who by this time is used to EVERYTHING the French have thrown at her, including constant insults about her face, her background and her intelligence, takes this latest iteration in her usual stride (though the fact that several printer shops suffer mysterious fires in the following months suggest she is upset by it underneath it all). Cardinal de Lorraine takes it... less well. At least one reason insults gather around Charles de Guise is that, for all his good qualities, he is a somewhat arrogant, prickly man, proud of his dignity, his intelligence and his austerity. Thus, he's the perfect target for mockery. People have long been convinced that the wealthy and severe Cardinal is secretly a debauched retrobrate, like his late uncle Jean, the previous Cardinal de Lorraine or his not late at all brother Louis, the present Cardinal de Guise (aka 'the Cardinal of the Bottles'), and have been throwing around accusations of drunkeness, carousing, and of course, sodomy, for years. Imagining him in the throes of passion for Catherine de Medici of all people is simply too much fun for anyone to resist. And whenever de Lorraine hears of it, he loses his temper, on one famous occasion tossing his Cardinal's hat to the floor, boxing the ears of the page who recites that salacious ditty, and then declaring that he did not do that for himself but for Henri, who is the boy's king, and Catherine, 'that great lady who is your queen'.
Needless to say, this only further convinces people they've hit on something.
In many ways, this whole situation is somewhat heartbreaking for Cardinal de Lorraine. Like every good humanist, he believes in a benign, good-natured God who loves people, and wants them to be happy. And he believes that men were made in the image of this God, and that if we are only decent, reasonable, and understanding towards each other, we can the world a pretty nice place, on the whole. This is the sort of thing that makes him wonder if the Calvinists and Catholic reactionaries are onto something in their ironically mutual belief of God as an implaccable taskmaster, who takes pleasure in smiting the unworthy. He sincerely hopes not, but he still wonders. Still, in the face of such hostility, there is little he can do. Cardinal de Lorraine resigns his post in government, and retires to Reims, to minister to his 'little flock' as he calls them. Huguenots widely applaud the loss of their highest ranking, most dedicated ally in the government, in what will be an ongoing policy of alienating everyone in France who's not a Huguenot, and imagining that somehow this is helping them.
--The Second Schmakaldic War continues its descent into clusterfu-dge, when the Hessians, who've been preparing for an assault on Brunswick, finding that to be unnecessary decide to instead attack the NEW enemy, Austria and its supporters, in the form of Archbishop Wolfgang Schutzbar genannt Milchling. Of course, in this case, the new enemy happens to be the old enemy, and not only because Archbishop Wolfgang is almost eighty--the House of Hesse has, again long hoped to annex the ancient Teutonic Knight's abbey of Fulda. And so Hessian soldiers descend on Franconia, where they loot, pillage, and raise hell, following which, they sack Wursburg, in revenge for its previous sacking by Archbishop Wolfgang last year. Needless to say, this makes the entire struggle between the Archbishop's forces and the Knights even bloodier, but hey--that's war for you.
Meanwhile, Brunswick continues to see the entire struggle completely rearranged, as Eric von Calenberg is cheerfully hiring as many mercenaries as were formerly working for his cousin as will serve him. And that is quite a lot, as with Julius gone, there's very little hope of getting money from the rest of the Guelphs, who are, once again, pretty poor. While there is a tendency to overrate the fickleness of mercenaries--renenging on contracts is ultimately bad for business, especially when that business is with men and women who have the right to execute people--the Duke of Wolfenbuttel's death is the sort of perfect storm that makes these sort of mass defections likely. What army the Bond Guelphs have is largely that of their ally, the Bishop of Munster, suplemented with their own local militias. Any hopes they had of taking Grubenhagen back for Duke Ernest have fallen to the wayside--indeed, with such a force they may prove hard-pressed to defend their own lands. Calenberg's armies swiftly occupy Wolfenbuttel, and prepare for their next target. And this causes another party to panic.
The city of Brunswick is the prize of the Duchy--and it is presently held by none of the men calling themselves Duke of Brunswick. Proud of their independence, they have long held the various Guelph princes at bay since the death of Henry the Lion. This war has long worried them--they have held the justifiable fear that the victorious faction would take the chance to assault the city, solving their problems by force of arms. And now, it looks like not only is there a good chance of that happening, but that the Duke who leads the charge will be the one they absolutely, positively don't want as their overlord--Eric von Calenberg, cryptoPapist, intriguer, and all-around bastard. No, Brunswick does not want Eric, and that means they're going to have to swallow their pride and get a Guelph protector. But who? Francis Otto of Luneberg-Celle is the obvious choice--but he's a weak reed, who continues to waver between Leipzig Bond and Heidelberg Compact as each new bit of news reaches him. His younger brother, Henry of Dannenberg is more able--but young and unproven, as well as likely to pull the city into disputes with his brothers when this is over. Ernest von Grubenhagen--HA HA HA! Yeah, just had to list him. But Francis von Gifhorn--well, he's just what they need--a veteran of the First Schmalkaldic War, who rules a nice little bit of territory convienantly nearby Brunswick, with an able young son waiting in the wings. And so, a group of notables from the city come to Castle Gifhorn, where they meet Duke Francis in Gifhorn Chapel, right next to the lifesize statue of Duke Francis at prayer.[6] There, they humbly ask the Duke to be Brunswick's protector. After some musing and praying next to the statue of him praying, he humbly accepts. The notables leave, and remind themselves of the other great thing about Duke Francis--he should be easy to get rid of after all this is over.
Finally, in Cologne, Elector-Archbishop Gebhard von Mansfeld-Vorderort dies a mere six months after being excommunicated by Pope Pius. (The details of his death are somewhat shadowy, and draped in rumor--suffice to say the ones about him, the five prostitutes, the horse, and the vat of liquor are almost certainly false. Almost certainly.) Many of his fellows are spooked--indeed, it doesn't take long for people to start whispering either 'curse of God' or 'vile sorcery', depending on their loyalties. And so, even as the local church council gathers to elect their new archbishop, the search is on for von Mansfeld-Vorderort's supernatural killer. And it succeeds! Yes, before a month is up, thirty-four suspects have confessed to conspiring with the Pope to kill the Archbishop-Elector through witchcraft and sorcery. Of course, these are hardly the only--or even the first--witch trials going on in the Reich during the Second Schmalkaldic War--but they are the most visible. A Spanish priest passing through witnesses them with some disgust, and even writes an account, where he notes that this disgusting superstition is running rampant in Germany (and spreading to Northern Italy), held by both Protestants and Catholics. He blames it on the lack of a proper Inquisition to tell them who REALLY needs to get burned.
With that matter out of the way, the council chooses the NEW Elector-Archbishop of Cologne. In the end, the choice comes down to two men--Friedrich von Wied[7], and Salentin von Isenberg. Both are nominal Catholics, which should keep an excommunication at bay, and both are willing to remain members of the Leipzig Bond. While von Wied enjoys a certain sentimenal status as a relative of the late Hermann von Wied, in the end the fact that they are at war decides it--Salentin is a formidable soldier who's been helping in the defense of Cologne's territories, while Friedrich is a plump, rather indecisive little man who... well, obviously hasn't been. Further, Salentin has a reason to fight for the right of Protestant Prince-Bishophorics--the heir to the County of Isenberg, as a Catholic, he would have to step down to pursue the secular life. As a Protestant, he may keep the Electorate, and all its rich holdings--indeed, he may even marry as he holds it. And for a man like Salentin--a proud man, an ambitious man, and most of all, an able man--that is a siren song that's hard to resist, especially when the Protestants are so clearly winning. And so, Salentin is elected, and sworn in as Archbishop. Von Isenberg wears a full set of armor during the ceremony, securing his reputation as a military man, and all-around badass. Of course, Pope Pius refuses to recognize his election, but as Salentin notes, they're fighting to secure these rights by blood, sword and fire. If the Pope has something that can fight that beyond words and futile fist-shaking, he's welcome to try.
--James Stewart, Earl of Angus and Regent of Scotland, and Arthur Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond and Sommerset, Lord High Constable and Warden of the North, attend the wedding of James' half-brother John Stewart, the newly-minted Earl of Moray, to the attainted James Hepburn's sister, Jane Hepburn, the newly-minted Countess of Bothwell[9]. Yes, the cheerful reordering of Scottish society after years of civil war and intercine strife continues, and it's resulted in a lot of people named Stewart taking over titles that traditionally belonged to people with different last names. Much of this effort is the work of their young, ambitious queen, whose late mother Marie de Guise taught her the value of family before her passing. True, Marie was doubtless hoping her daughter would be working with the Guise--but Mary Stewart thinks the principles are the same. She will unite her surprisingly sizable clan into a weapon to make Scotland understand the new order--'Monarch calls the shots--nobles listen to monarch.' And she's chosen a nice little issue to get this idea across.
Writing to her lords, she explains that she'd like a slight reorganizing of the Scottish Kirk. Back when she signed it into law, the Kirk was set up as a Presbyter--and Mary of course is firmly behind that, Reformation all the way, and so forth--but, she'd also like an Epsicopal element added. After all, it's not like the old days, where she had to curry favor with the Catholics to keep the French at bay, and thus could not be trusted to maintain the Kirk in the True Faith. Nope! Not at all! She is free of fear of Papist intrigues, and thus wants to take her proper place as protector of the Scottish Kirk, so that she can grant it to her son in return. Henry attaches his own letter to his wife's, where he states that Mary's being very, very reasonable here, and that he shares her hopes. After all, his dear son shall one day stand at the head of two churches, and it would be dreadful if he felt that one of them was arraigning against him. Yes. Simply dreadful. Which is why it cannot be allowed to happen. At all. For the good of Scotland. Naturally.
The Stewarts upon getting this note begin to nod and agree at once that their dear sister and her good husband are absolutely correct. (The sole exception is Robert Stewart, newly-minted Duke of Orkney, who is his usual noncomital self.) Others, such as the Lord Ruthven and the Earl of Argyll, are initially worried but won over when Angus begins to offer them sweeteners--guarantees of certain sons being granted certain bishophorics, and the like. And so, as preparations are made to bring the matter up at the next Parliament, it's generally looking like this is going to happen.
Which has John Knox mad as hell. Knox is a dedicated Calvinist who sees the Presbyterian church structure as not only preferable but God-ordained, and is pissed at Mary for betraying his hopes like this, and Henry for helping her do that. Everything Calvin has ever said about the pair is, he now sees, completely true. And so John Knox takes his show on the road, talking to congregations and warning them of the upcoming LIBERTINE plot to destroy true religion in Scotland. Of course, Knox realizes that he's going to need more than an angry Scottish mob to block this--he'll need an angry Scottish mob and a reason to get the Lords to see that they should block this. And he thinks he got just the thing to do the job.
--Amazingly enough one man in France finds that the riots help his plans. De Villegaigon's efforts to gather more settlers for Bermuda and the ongoing France Antartique project are going amazingly well--lots of people want to get out of the country for some unfathomable reason. His new set of ships sail and return to Bermuda, where they are shocked to discover that the tiny settlement of Fort Coligny has become two tiny settlements--Fort Coligny, and another smaller fort that's been dubbed Fort Marie. It turns out French Catholics and Huguenots don't get along in the New World either, though the pair have avoided riots here. Instead, the Catholic members of the settlement have responded to their fellows' blasphemy by breaking away and forming their own Catholic fort. De Villegaigon finds this development.... worrying, and offers to take any Catholics who wish to come with him on the second part of his journey, to Brazil, where he's to get down to the important part of this--from the Crown's eyes, at least--and produce a colony that can help them get their hands on the valuable brazilwood. Many take him up on his offer--but some do not, keeping Fort Marie in existence, glaring at Fort Coligny. De Villegaigon supposedly declares that his fellows 'seem to carry France with them wherever they go'. He does not exactly mean that as a compliment.
The second leg of de Villegaigon's journey is, thankfully, uneventful, and so by the end of the year, he is setting up his new colony in the bay the Portuguese call "Rio de Janeiro", complete with a new fort dubbed "Fort St. Dominic" by the rather disgruntled Catholics who make up the bulk of the colony's population. De Villegaigon settles down to the busy work of gathering brazilwood, making trade deals with the local Indian tribes, and basically ensuring "St. Dominic" is a viable colony.
--Not all goings on in France are so peaceful--Jacques de Cleves ongoing watch on Calais is getting miserable for all involved; hot weather, a miserable climate--Calais' environs are swampy and wet--and of course, the mind-numbing boredom of glaring at Edward Tudor, Duke of York, who can't even be bothered to glare back. The Duke generally rises early in the morning, takes an exercise on the walls of the fort, occasionally glancing at the Frenchmen glaring at him, with mild interest on his part, before continuing on his way. Add to that, the money to pay the French force is running out, and one can understand why Jacques de Cleves decides he has to do something. And so St. Dennis--the cannon--is floated into position on a raft, as de Cleves and his men prepare their attack. That morning, as Edward Tudor walks the fort, St. Dennis fires. To the shock of both the Duke of York's bodyguards and his French assailants, Edward remains calm and unflinching, even as the cannonball sails inches past his face (or so later reports put it--whatever the actual distance, it is uncomfortably close)--he merely turns and orders the fort's battery to return a few warning shots to get the French to back off. The battery does so. Jacques de Cleves fails to handle this with the same equanamity as the Duke of York--while there's some debate what his plan was (ranging from the most demoralizing command decapitation ever, to a simple effort to humiliate Edward), getting fired upon by a completely calm Edward Tudor wasn't it. Losing control of his horse, the heavily armored French commander is sent tumbling into the swamp where he swiftly drowns[10], a fact that does not encourage his by now very nervous men to stick around. Edward Tudor issues forth to collect the poor Jacques de Cleves body, as well as the cannonballs the battery fired. Those damn things are expensive. St. Denis is also gathered, and quickly redubbed St. George, an appropriate name, Edward notes, as the cannon was forged in Genoa. (This comment recieves baffled stares from his soldiers, causing the Duke to wonder why no one ever gets his jokes.)
Needless to say, this entire misadventure, while greeted with cheers by the English and groans by the French, raises the tension between the two nations to the point where Henry IX and Henri II both realize something has to be done to lower them. Neither nation wants a war at this point, as both are dubious of their ability to fight one due to internal problems. Worse, both nations have their own hotheads calling for action against the other. (Henry IX had quite a few members of the Privy Council arguing that England should intercede in the anti-Huguenot riots, something even Henry had qualms about, as it was largely an internal matter, and made it tough to justify such a thing.) And so France, England (and Scotland) start having talks wherein the words 'horrible tragedy', 'hideous misunderstanding' and 'reasonable accomodation' are bandied about. Needless to say, soon everyone's agreeing that they've all let things get a little out of hand--that yes, Henry IX should have formally broken things off with Princess Elizabeth before marrying Mary, but hey, love and all that, and everything has turned out for the best, so everyone should be happy for each other, and there's no need for anybody to be threatening anybody right now, am I right?
Of course, there is a sticking point in the matter of Princess Antoinette, who the British monarchs would like returned, or somehow rendered suitably harmless. Henri II will not budge on that--handing Antoinette over, even if he is no longer planning on using her (indeed, even if he has come to find her extraordinarily obnoxious) will make him look weak and pathetic. And then, miraculously, things... sort of resolve themselves.
We must backtrack. After her arrival in France, the Princess Antoinette was sent to her grandmother, the Former Dowager Duchess of Guise, Antoinette de Bourbon. Duchess Antoinette happens to be one of the most formidable women in France--so formidable she still gets called 'Dowager Duchess of Guise' despite the fact that her daughter-in-law Anne d'Este should be--and, as opposed to her various nieces and nephews, a dedicated Catholic. Needless to say, it did not take long for the two Antoinettes to get very tired of one another. Antoinette de Bourbon found her granddaughter to be a flighty, scheming twit--Antoinette Stuart found her grandmother to be relentlessly grim and pious--and surrounded by people just as grim and pious as her in the form of the Princess's aunts, the Abesses Renee and Francoise de Guise[11]. Even religion failed to unite the twain--Duchess Antoinette noted grimly that for all her talk of being a dedicated Catholic, the Princess has little idea of what that means--why, she even calls herself a "proud Papist", the silly fool! As for Antoinette Stuart, she was heard on several occasions to comment that she had no idea that Catholicism was so dull and time-consuming. She much preferred court, where, in between petitioning King Henri to recognize her as Queen of Scots and do something about her claims, she could spend her time partying, and enjoying the incredibly flattering attention of various young men. The Dowager Duchess, becoming concerned, wrote to the King, worrying that her granddaughter was... carrying on in an inappropriate manner with her suitors. Antoinette took to protesting these accusations...
And so, it should surprise no one that she's now pregnant. But, to those who are looking askance at her, Princess Antoinette says that she has not been indulging in hanky-panky--she is... wait for it... MARRIED! Yes, at the beginning of the year, in secret, to Gabriel de Lorges, Count of Montgommery, and Captain of the Scots Guard[12]. Montgommery, when questioned, confirms this to be the case--he is Antoinette's husband, and the father to her unborn child. When asked why, he merely points to the extremely attractive Scottish Princess. This is Montgommery's second marriage--his first, to Isabeau de la Touche ended a year later in her death during childbirth[13]
The British response to all this is relieved chortling--Antoinette has obligingly (and apparently obliviously) transformed herself from 'potential threat' to 'soiled laughingstock'. The French response is... well, complicated. On the one hand, most of them have quickly come to find the Princess as tiring as the English and Scots do, and thus, they join in the chortling. On the other--well, this is an embarrassment, after all. The question then shifts to what to do to Montgommery. There's talk of having him arrested--even executed--for marrying a Princess without leave but it gets nowhere, largely on the grounds that this would likely prove even MORE embarassing. (And more legalistically, it's questioned if Antoinette is even technically a Princess anymore, as both the English and Scottish Thrones declare that she and her issue have been removed from the succession.) Finally, it is declared that Montgommery shall be relieved of his post and exiled from Court. Antoinette follows her husband to his family estate, while still writing King Henri that he will, of course, help them reclaim their rightful place as Queen and King-Consort of Scots, right?
Henri II doesn't bother to reply to her missives any more, though he is glad that Henry IX and Mary see nothing wrong with... Countess Antoinette Stuart staying with her husband. And so, with that matter out of the way, France and the British Thrones move from actively heckling each other to merely glaring at one another in mutual dislike. At Calais, Prince Edward informs the unfortunate Jacques de Cleves' family that they are free to pick up the body--they reply that they would rather hold the service there, if the Duke of York wouldn't mind. He doesn't--frankly, he's rather interested in seeing what a Catholic funeral service would look like--and so, preparations are made for the funeral of the late French commander, who's about to get even more reasons to dislike the Duke of York.
--In Alsace, Charles III of Lorraine and his Guise cousins are quickly being reminded of a certain fact by Archduke Charles Francis--they really, really, REALLY hate the Hapsburgs. The House of Lorraine has, after all, spent DECADES fighting them--just under a century if you add in their Burgundian ancestor Charles the Bold to the mix--and while they've been willing to admit that the situation's changed since Charles V split up his holdings, habits are hard to break. While the Duke of Lorraine's official reasons are the grand fight for the Holy Church and loyalty to the Emperor, his real reasons are territorial--he wants to be granted the Elector of Saxony's Rhenish holdings of Julich, Cleves, and Berg. For a start. He also wants to be thanked for standing by the Hapsburgs in this situation, in light of their giving his family numerous reasons not to over the years. The late Emperor Ferdinand understood this combination of ambition and pride, and handled the Duke accordingly--whatever his flaws as a leader, Ferdinand II also understood this and probably would have handled the Duke of Lorraine quite well. Charles Francis does not, and operates by his own mixture of ambition and pride that can make the young Archduke a bit much to take at the best of times. Hot off difficult campaigning through Swabia and in light of his father's recent death is not the best of times. Worse, Charles Francis isn't a stupid man--stubborn, short-tempered, and prone to overestimating his abilities, but not stupid. He realises that there are... doubts as to his skills among the Lorraines, especially the Guise, and this rankles him. That makes his short-temper worse, which makes him blow up over very small matters, which makes the Lorraines like him less, which... well, you can see where this is heading. The Archduke is curt to the Duke and his Guise cousins, and refuses to make any more definite arrangements on the territorial issues, noting on one occasion that Lorraine will 'take what he is given and be satisfied with it'. And so the tension rises and rises and rises.
Things are brought to a head when, one morning, the Archduke sees that Lorraine is displaying his full coat of arms, including those of the King of Jerusalem. The Archduke loses his temper, storms into the Duke's quarters and demands he take down the offending arms--the title 'King of Jerusalem', he maintains, is properly a Hapsburg one. The Duke, in reply to this, loses HIS temper. The Hapsburg claim to Jerusalem is a farce, he replies, especially when compared to that of Lorraine, which traces itself back to Godfrey I. The argument continues at some length, getting ever more ridiculous, until the Duke storms out, announcing that he's finished with this. He came to serve the Emperor, and now, the Emperor is dead, so there's nothing keeping him here. The Archduke, now aware that he may have goofed here, tries to patch things up, but it's too little too late. Charles of Lorraine leaves, taking his cousins and his troops with him. The Archduke is left with a feeling that he has screwed up big.
And he most certainly has.
--Turning to Austria's other big screwup, "King" Ferdinand and his forces are settling in in Moravia, which with the collapse of the Austrian position in Bohemia, has become vital. As long as Moravia is held, Saxony's position in Bohemia can be threatened. While Ferdinand is fearful, he has reason to be confident--as opposed to Bohemia proper, Moravia still has a (thin) Catholic majority. On the other hand the local Hussites, the Moravian Brethern, are far more radical than the Ultraquists. Still--Ferdinand has every reason to think they can hold the area, and use it to regain Bohemia. And then the news comes from Vienna.
The Sultan has sent an ultimatum--Austria shall remove its troops from Hungary, so that the area may be returned to its lawful ruler, the Prince of Transylvania, and pay the tribute it owes to the Sultan or it shall face the wrath of the Turk. "Queen" Maria has of course answered this threat by telling the Sultan to bring it. She's half convinced this is just Suleyman playing one of his brinkmanship games, and as she sees it, if she's wrong, starting things off by bending over and asking the Turks to be gentle this time isn't going to help Austria very much. There's a reason Ercole d'Este will wind up dubbing her 'the only man in Vienna', and less complimentarily, the 'mad Spanish bitch'.
Ferdinand handles things as well as can be expected considering that it's--well, him. As soon as he's breathing normally again, he starts debating what the proper course of action is. This is a major threat, after all, but Moravia must be secured if they're to deal with that OTHER major threat, Saxony. (And that's not even counting the other other major threat, Frederick von Simmern declaring himself de facto head of the Empire.) Still, if he doesn't deal with this soon, word will get out, and that will cause problems--the Croats in particular are going to want to go home--so he has to do something. Ferdinand is trying to figure out what when the riots begin. The truth is, much of Moravia is on edge, both from the Austrian army's last time through and the war in general. The idea of having to host soldiers here indefinitely has even Catholics bristling, especially with news of the tarring Ferdinand took at Pilsen. No one knows what starts them off--popular stories suggest some random atrocity by a Croat, but the Croats attract such stories to themselves independently of events actually occurring, largely because of their flamboyant dress, abiding Hapsburg loyalty, and militant Catholicism. The riots are fairly bad, but still, not an insurmountable obstacle for the Austrians. Except for one tiny thing--Ferdinand has another failure of nerve. He orders the Austrian army to withdraw to Vienna, an order that actually unites Gunther von Schwarzberg and Cesare Gonzaga in opposition. But, peversely enough, Ferdinand's mind is made up. "They despise me, they curse me, they spit on me," says Ferdinand. "As all men despise me, curse me, spit on me. What choice have I? What choice? I am despised." As the still-shrinking army sets out for Vienna, the "King" collapses even further in himself, sometimes remaining silent for days on end. When he does speak, it is usually to mutter "They despise me, they curse me, they spit on me."
--In Prague, the Elector of Saxony arrives with family in tow to help his cousin with the ongoing negotiations with the Bohemian Estates--which are quickly added to negotiations with the Moravian Estates following Ferdinand's retreat. One of the dominant matters is the Bohemian succession. Many candidates are being considered--Frederick Piast of Legnica has put his name forward, while representatives of Janos Sigismund of Transyvania have been making comments on their liege's Jagellion blood.[13] Elizabeth thinks matters obvious--her husband must throw his hat into the ring, and, as Elector of Saxony AND Bohemia ensure his election as Holy Roman Emperor. John Frederick will hear none of it. He has sworn that this isn't just another squalid squabble over who gets to be the German Emperor, and he intends to stick by that promise. As horrifically naive as that sounds, his sensible cousin Augustus backs him up on it--Saxony is a very large, prosperous province of the Empire, as is the Kingdom of Bohemia. If John Frederick were to claim both, the resulting power-bloc would be such an obvious threat that many Leipzig Bond members would likely desert either to Archduke Ferdinand, or to Elector-Palinate Frederick. Further, it's questionable that his opponents would accept the legality of such an election. And so the Electress' plan goes on the shelf, a last resort to be used if their foes overstep themselves.
Of course, this still leaves the question of who will be King of Bohemia, and believe it or not, the Estates have a favorite candidate. He's well-liked by most of them, familiar with the laws and customs of their land, and he has a clear claim to the throne--he's our good friend, Ferdinand von Hapsburg of Austria. The two main objections to Ferdinand are, he's a Catholic, which will require MASSIVE assurances and promises to the Estates, especially considering the entire... Second Schmalkaldic War matter--and that he presently doesn't get along with one of Bohemia's most powerful neighbors--John Frederick, Elector of Saxony--which could drag the country into future conflicts. (Again, the Second Schmalkaldic War is proving a deal breaker here.) And believe it or not, John Frederick LIKES this stance. It gives him a bargaining chip with Austria, as well as a foot in the door of Bohemian politics. If Ferdinand will simply listen to reason, make a few adjustments in his policy, maybe gives up a little territory--Lusatia strikes the Elector as quite nice--then he can have Bohemia back. And to the nervous Bohemians, he offers this assurance--one of the adjustments in policy will be naming John Frederick the 'Friend and Protector of Bohemia', given the right to... intercede if Ferdinand go back on his word regarding the Estates, the Hussite faith, or... oh, any number of things. In other words, henceforth, Saxon troops will only be in Bohemia when the Bohemians want them there. (Duke Augustus has played a significant role in getting John Frederick's rather vague impulses to congeal into this stance, part of the Duke of Saxe-Weisenfals' ongoing climb into being his cousin's advisor and right hand.) All in all, it's looking like the Leipzig Bond has the advantage, especially when news about the Turks' ultimatum reaches Prague. And so Joachim von Hohenzollern, Elector of Brandenburg and his cousin, Albert, Duke of Prussia are sent to Vienna with the simple task of telling Austria that the Bond has great news for it, if it's willing to accept a few terms and conditions.
Of course, there's also the matter of Frederick von Simmern and his... little offer, which the Elector of Saxony tells the Elector-Palatinate to stuff up his ass, albeit in a slightly more polite manner. But only slightly. Von Simmern is 'a villain and a traitor,' declares John Frederick, and he would rather deal with the Archduke, who is a man of honor, even if he is a Catholic. As for the Elector-Palatinate's claim to be empowered as an imperial vicar--well, John Frederick notes the College of Elector voted in favor of Emperor Ferdinand's proposal to keep him from holding just this sort of power, so... no. If Frederick von Simmern holds power in this interregnum it is in concert with the Elector of Saxony and the Archduke. He is certainly in NO position to be issuing ultimatums. Any attempt to do so will be exceeding his authority, something for which the Elector of Saxony will see him swatted down. And if the Elector-Paltinate hasn't noted--the Elector of Saxony is good at doing just that. He also informs von Simmern that he and the rest of the Heidelberg Compact are no longer members of the John Frederick's super-cool club for Protestant men, better known as the Order of the Rose and Cross.
And so, with that out of the way, the Elector of Saxony proceeds to start endearing himself to the Bohemians by attending Hussite services, with the Electress and his son in tow. He also works on soothing his wife's slightly hurt feelings at having her plan put on the backburner, by reminding her that she is the best damn wife in the entire Reich, as far he's concerned. Really, these are happy days for the Elector. He is fairly certain that things will be resolving themselves shortly, leaving him free to enjoy life, and maybe smash the Turk. John Frederick is at heart a man of small ambitions--he merely wants to be the greatest Protestant Prince in the Empire, the champion of Lutheranism, and the sword of God. Nothing to elaborate, when you get down to it.
--The de Cleves (with a few notable exceptions, such as Henrietta de Cleves and her husband) arrive in Calais, along with the widowed Diane de la Marck and a few of her family. Edward Tudor escorts them to the chapel to perform the service. There, Edward Tudor's hopes of seeing a Catholic funeral are dashed when the de Cleves and de la Marcks start holding a Huguenot one instead, as they happen to be... *cough, cough* Huguenots. (Indeed, in a good sign of just how far things are advancing, it's worth noting the "Great Mistress Competition" was in fact between an open Protestant and a closeted Protestant, though none of the schemers involved realized that at the time.) Edward finds himself guilt-ridden at having killed... more or less... a coreligionist... more or less... but old Francois de Cleves, Duke of Nevers[14] assures him that, well... that's war. He may be a Protestant, but he's also a Frenchman, and will proudly do his duty for his nation. The Duke of York should feel no shame at having done his. The old French and the young English Duke part with a certain mutual respect, even if they are aware they are enemies.
Of course, that is not the only connection with a French noble that Edward makes on this occasion...
--SCENE FROM THE TUDORS, SEASON 5 EPISODE 6 "IN THE BLOOD"--
SETTING: A small chapel.
Diane de la Marck, clad in mourning, is kneeling by her late husband's coffin. Edward Tudor enters, and watches her for a moment.
E. You remain.
Diane turns, visibly flustered.
DM. Your Grace... you... startled me. (gulps, then smiles.) Yes. Yes, I do. I have... much on my mind.
E. Your grief does you credit.
Diane sighs and shakes her head.
DM. I... you are mistaken, sir. What I think of does me... no credit at all. I... these are fraught times. Blood is shed in the streets, and it does not go well for those of our faith. And now... now my husband has left me alone, through his folly. (bites her lip.) That is why I am still here. To make sense of it all.
Edward steps towards her.
Y. God's reasons are His own, my lady, not ours to question. (smiles gently) Still--I would not imagine one such as you would long be alone...
Diane blushes and looks away from him.
D. I... thank you, Your Grace. Once again, you flatter me.
E. That was not my intent. (beat) So... you do not mourn him overmuch?
Diane chuckles bitterly.
D. How can you mourn a man you barely knew? (frowns, and shakes her head) No. Not a man. A boy. A boy who rushes off to play war like a child...
E. He did as his king bid him...
D. The king is a fool. And as much a boy as my husband, for all his years. (Her eyes narrow in anger.) My grandmother wished me to take her place at playing his nursemaid, but I would have none of it. Unlike her, I do not esteem myself so low as to sell myself to an ass for power. (She turns to Edward and stares at him intently.) I will have a man--a great man--for my lover.
Edward shifts nervously, and nods.
E. I... have no doubt this will be the case.
He coughs, and begins to back away. Suddenly, Diane reaches out, and grabs his thigh.
D. You... you are a man. A true man. A great man. That is why... why he is dead, and you live. (Breathlessly) I have heard you were fearless, during it. That you simply... did what had to be done...
Edward looks at her for a long time, then gently places a hand on hers, and pulls it away from his leg.
E. My lady... you are distraught from your husband's death. These things you say... they are the talk of a mind upset and askew. Nothing more.
Diane breaks into tears.
D. Oh... oh God help me, I am so ashamed... (pulls his hand to her face) I... what I said... they are killing us, butchering us like animals, and I'm so alone, and...
Edward squeezes her hands lightly.
E. You have no need to feel any shame as regards me, my lady. I have known you only for a short time, but it is enough for me to tell me you are woman of high spirit, and one who need explain herself to no man.
He pulls away, and begins to leave the chapel. Diane stands, watching him go.
E. Take as long as you need in here. God is the best cure for all griefs, a fact that I can attest to...
He exits the chapel, closing the door with a loud slam. Diane turns back to the coffin and begins to sob on it. Suddenly, the door opens again. Diane turns, blinking. Edward reenters the chapel, strides up to her, takes her by the shoulders, and pulls her in for a passionate kiss. The pair move backwards, with Diane winding up leaning on the coffin. There is a rustling of cloth and...
--FURTHER SCENE CENSORED FOR BROADCAST SHOWING--
--Of course, what actually happens between Edward Tudor, Duke of York, and Diane de la Marck at this juncture is pure conjecture on the part of historians, and a large amount of novelists, playwrights and historical romance writers. What is KNOWN is, when the other de Cleves and de la Marcks leave Calais, she stays, supposedly as a result of 'ill health'.
And so something noteworthy begins...
--Denmark launches its offensive. The main attack is into Sweden, Frederick having decided that his best option to defeat Erik is to occupy a Swedish province, thus humiliating the man. A secondary attack will occur in Trondelag--already, governor Eric Rosencrantz of Bergenhus gathers his troops and thousands of impressed peasants to attack the Swedish King's small force in Trondheim.
Frederick's goal is simple--capture Alvsburg, and with it, destroy Sweden's traditional link to the Atlantic, while Rosencrantz drives the outnumbered Swedes out of Trondelag. As Danish troops close in on the fortress, villagers burn their houses so as not to let them fall into Danish hands. The battle is long and hard fought, but eventually, Scottish mercenary Patrick Liddisdale leads his troops to victory--the fortress remains in Swedish hands.
And there is more bad news--Rosencrantz's attack, hoping to overwhelm Eric's forces through sheer numbers and the Swedes' weakened position finds that the small band has--somehow--been resupplied. His peasant levies flee under cannonfire, leaving Rosencrantz's army at a great disadvantage. While they keep the fight up valiantly, eventually they too retreat. Rosencrantz blames his poor performance on the Norwegians, who he claims are all "half in the Swede's party". Eric has done it--occupied and held another port, poor as it may be. A month later, in celebration, Eric is formally crowned "King of Norway" in Trondheim's Nidaros Cathedral. As ceremonies go, it isn't much--the Cathedral is still damaged from a fire it suffered over thirty years ago, the crowd is small, the priest is drunk and the crown is reportedly gilded wood. But it's a coronation. Back in Sweden, much of the imprisoned nobility is released as a sign of celebration, though not before being shown confessions by their fellows which show that their so-called friends were willing to throw them over in return for pardons. The exceptions are Prince Karl, and the Sturre brothers, who remain imprisoned. (Nils Sturre remains at large in England, begging for asylum.)
Frederick II's war is turning into a disaster--his intervention has in fact strengthened the Swedish King's hand in his nation's politics, and so far, seen Sweden gaining territory at the expense of Denmark, instead of the other way around. The Danish King's dreams of a speedy victory that saw the Vasas toppled and the Oldenburgs restored to the Swedish throne has collapsed. As Denmark and Sweden prepare for what will be known as 'the Long Northern War', Frederick takes what solace he can from a simple fact--Denmark is far richer than its foe, and should be able to outlast Sweden in any protracted struggle. Given time, he can doubtless reverse Eric's gains, and possibly make some of his own. Of course, there is the question of who resupplied Eric's little army in Norway... but that will get answered in due time. Truth be told, Frederick already has his suspicion who the Swede's under-the-table ally is, and he's already got a plan on how to deal with it.
As for Eric--in many ways, these are the happiest days of his life. He is, against all odds, secure on his throne and triumphant in war--to put it simply, a true successor to his father. Already, his mind is aglow with visions of sweeping the Danes out of Norway, and perhaps even Skane. Of breaking the Danes' stranglehold on the Baltic forever. Of leaving to his sons a Sweden as strong--or even stronger--as it was in the days of old. And why not? Has he not been victorious in all he has done? Surely God is with him in his undertakings! I mean--who could doubt it?
--Russian forces in Lithuania continue their relentless advance--Ivan even visits the front to direct the siege of Poltosk, stopping off to batter one of his commanders, Prince Ivan Shakhovsky, to death on the way. (Acts like these are becoming something of a habit for Ivan, who recently poured hot soup on a Prince, then stabbed the man to death, all because he dared insult Ivan's favorite catamite for being... well, Ivan's favorite catamite.)[15] Acommpaning him is his cousin, Prince Vladimir of Starisky, who reportedly once again proves his courage, and saves Ivan's life, though the exact details of this are vague, largely because Ivan doesn't like to remind people he's mortal. A few weeks after his arrival, the city falls. Ivan has guaranteed its leaders that he will be merciful and not seize Poltosk's wealth--but he quickly reveals that he was lying about that. Poltosk is sacked and looted, with various citizens being killed. Ivan's favorite targets are Jews and Lutherans, the latter whom he holds to be vile heretics.[16] After this, he recieves homage from a group of Lithuanian nobles who declare him Grand Duke of Lithuania. While this is rather premature, Ivan sees no reason to see it as unreasonable--his armies are sweeping through Lithuania unimpeded. King Sigismund is already approaching him for a truce. Kiev lies within his grasp. Why not all of Lithuania? Indeed... why not... Poland?
His generals are less sanguine. Poland's government is frequently chaotic--it is often slow to respond in the opening phases of a war--and this can lead to an underestimation of its strength. Its levies are large and formidable, especially the king's personal army, and its forces a far more professional force than their Russian counterparts. In a protracted struggle between the two nations, it is Russia that is at a disadvantage. Even now, many fear they may have overstretched themselves. These fears are proven true when forces under the able leadership of Prince Andrei Kurbsky face a Polish-Lithuanian force in Nevl'--it is a defeat, though Kurbsky's skill keeps it from being a rout And there is more bad news--the Tatars are raiding the south again--once again, skilled Russian generals Mikhail and Alexander Vorotynsky do their best to contain the damage, but with so much manpower off in the west, this only does so much--indeed, they are unable to force the Tatars into a battle. Ivan explodes into fury. Kurbsky finds himself transferred to a fortress in the rear, while the Vorotynsky brothers recieve more severe punishments--both are publically humiliated, then exiled into monasteries. Mikhail, a man who has won Ivan victories in the past, is allowed to have his family accompany him--his brother is more severely humiliated, and will die within a year of his "exile".[17]
Being a Russian commander is... not a very nice job.
With this done, Ivan returns home, stopping off to enjoy the hospitality of cousin Vladimir and his family. Shortly thereafter, Vladimir's formidable mother, Evfrosin'ya, is seized by Ivan's men, and held on suspicion of conspiracy and sorcery. Cause that's how the Tsar of All Russia rolls, baby. You only know just where you stand with him when he's having you escorted to your execution.[18]
--Magnus Vasa of Estonia and Ostergotland holds his meeting with the Germanic Estonian magnates, where he explains a few changes to the local law. To wit--the Estonian serfs are now free peasants, similar to their Swedish brethren. This will of course require a certain rearrangement in the property ownership of the Duchy, but don't worry--the Duke will take care of that. Magnus will also expect a certain number of able-bodied young men out of the peasantry to be sent to him to form Estonia's new milita. Needless to say, if the magnates have any objections to this reordering, they may bring it up with Magnus' Gothic Guard. Having thus completely thrown the social order in Estonia topsy-turvy, Magnus then adds that he wishes for the magnates to send him their children, so that he may have 'a good and suitable household'. Once again, all objections may be brought to the Gothic Guard. And with that done, Magnus retires to play his lute for the evening, while his guests discover that they aren't going to be allowed to return home until those children arrive.
As many will note, one mustn't imagine that Magnus' lack of sanity and decency is coupled with a lack of intelligence and guile.
--France is rocked by two deaths, one that is expected, and one that is not. First of course, the Dauphin at last dies, after lapsing into a coma. (A popular story claims that his last words while conscious are an apology to his father for causing such trouble.) As France begins to mourn, Henri II holds out for the hope that his son managed to seal the deal, and supply the kingdom with a shiny new heir to the throne. He did not--indeed, a cursory examination of Renatta de Lorraine suggests that he failed to even consumate his marriage. While this would appear to clear Henri de Orleans' way to the throne, the King proceeds to do several worrying things. First of all, he fails to name Orleans Dauphin, or even demand that Conde return him to court. As Louis and his cronies try to puzzle that one out, worrying thing # 2 occurs. Henri who has been having secret meetings with Nicholas de Lorraine, Prince of Mercouer, and Cardinal Charles de Bourbon, names the Prince of Mercouer the DUKE of Mercouer. And just as they're busy digesting that, worrying thing #3 happens--Henri announces he must consult with the Parlement of Paris.
Said Parlement assembles with all the speed it can muster. Once they have, Henri explains he has an edict he'd like them to record, but that he requires their advice on it first. His beloved son and heir is dead, he declares, and this has left him in a bit of a quandry. By tradition, Henri of Orleans is next in line for the throne--but he is a manifest heretic, clearly unworthy of being the Most Christian King of France. Thus Henri has decided to name his youngest son Ercule-Francois--soon to be known as simply Francois--Dauphin. This should be a simple matter, BUT he wishes to make sure that he is on sound legal ground here. Hence--a consultation with the Paris Parlement.
Said body takes this announcement with surprising good grace. While several of its members are closet Huguenots--or at least Protestants--the hideous rioting has got them spooked, and wondering if France is ready for a Huguenot King. After some debate, Parlement decides that this is probably legal, BUT that Henri should consult with the Estates General before taking such a step, which they emphasize is exceedingly momentous. Henri thanks them and proceeds to call for an Estates General next year so he can do just that. In the meantime, he starts referring to Ercule-Francois as the Dauphin. Just to get people... used to it. Also, he's engaging him to Renatta. So that he doesn't have to send Charles de Lorraine back the dowry.
Needless to say the reactions of Henri's declaration are... varied. Many Catholics take a deep breath of relief. Many Huguenots swear. D'Andelot is particularly angry, and starts considering crazy plans like kidnapping Henri II when he's out for a ride, though he gets talked out of these by Louis de Conde, who is less than keen on dying horribly at the moment. As Conde notes, the Estates General haven't met yet--they can still scotch this if they work hard enough. Catherine is quite angry with her husband for keeping her favorite son from the throne, and takes it out on the Countess de Enghien, who, she starts declaring to her new favorites, Louis Gonzaga and his wife Henriette de Cleves, has not proven a worthwhile investment. Francoise de Bourbon takes to avoiding the Queen when she can. She is also disappointed, but her darling Henri has assured her that this is for the best, and she believes him. Yes, she's fallen in love with the big sap. Henri, whatever his shortcomings, has that affect on women, even ones who should know better. Just ask his wife.
Another Catholic has an interesting reaction to all this--Cardinal de Lorraine writes King Henri begging him to reconsider. 'This thing you do, once done, cannot be easily undone,' he warns. 'You risk everything your ancestors fought for.' Henri ignores this--he has a new favorite Cardinal, Cardinal Charles de Bourbon, who applauds the king for taking a principled stance against heresy, even if it means moving against his own treacherous blood. Indeed, does not Cardinal de Bourbon know this very sting, for are not his brothers the accursed heretical Conde, and the slightly less-accursed heretical Antoine King of Navarre? That Henri's stance creates a precedent that moves the Cardinal from fifth in line to the throne to second if it is followed (and the Cardinal can get a release from his vows) is, of course, a coincidence, as Charles de Bourbon swears to Michel de l'Hopital when the latter points that out. The 'Scarlet Serpent', as English ambassador Throckmorton will dub him, is a very ambitious man, and one who is very good at seeing opportunities when they arise. One has arisen, and de Bourbon is taking it. The Cardinal de Lorraine has created an opening for him--and even better France's Cathars need a French leader, as Mercouer suffers from the same "German" ancestry as his Guise relations. A French leader who is a Prince of the Blood AND a Cardinal is the Cathar equivalent of a wet dream, only less icky. Of course, Charles really isn't the raving reactionary that Mercouer is--but he is somewhat uncomfortable with all this Reform stuff that so many people are talking about, and he's willing to pretend to be a fanatic if necessary.[19] True, it will pit him against his brothers, and his cousin de Lorraine, who has at various points sponsored his career. But Charles de Bourbon is a man with little of what most of us call 'affection' and even less of what we call 'gratitude'. Just the man you want around King Henri II, in other words, if you want horrible things to happen.
The other death that was mentioned occurs suddenly, and without warning. Francois de Montmorency, constable of Paris, has been trying very hard to keep his job after the whole 'losing control of the city to rioting mobs' thing, when suddenly the matter becomes immaterial. As he is leaving Mass one Sunday, a man appears, levels a pistol at him and fires, shouting (by the accounts of most witnesses) "Murdering bastard, see if your Mass can save you from this!". The shot strikes Francois in the stomach, on a day when the hot weather and increasing order in the city has lead to the constable not wearing the armor he'd taken to putting on under his clothes of late. The man is quickly apprehended, and revealed to be a chancery clerk named Caboche.[20] A dedicated Huguenot who has lost one brother to King Henri's heresy courts and the other to the riots, he is motivated by their deaths, and accounts of Francois' brother Damville's actions in Toulouse. Ironically, Francois was even more sympathetic to the Huguenots than his brother--during his long, slow, agonizing death, he refuses Last Rites, and even begs them to forgive his killer. His death alienates his cousin Gaspard de Coligny from the radical cause. In a sweep, the Huguenots have lost two potent allies in the government, at the hands of one of their own.
King Henri is needless to say, very concerned about this. Aside from the fact that now he needs to find a new husband for his natural daughter Diane de France--this is the SECOND one she's lost--he also needs a new Constable of Paris. True, he was planning on firing Francois, but having the man get killed is... well, disheartening. Fortunately, he has the perfect candidate in mind. After first offering the position to Henri de Montmorency--now the new Duke of Montmorency--who politely refuses, he gives it to this man--Jacques de Savoie, Duke of Nemours. Nemours is, again, the dream candidate. He's a conservative Catholic, so they won't freak out. BUT he's popular among the Huguenots for the actions he and his immediate family took during the riots, opening the Hotels Nemours and Guise to people in need of refuge.[21] His reasons? Part of it is a simple fact--Nemours may be a fairly conservative Catholic, but he's not a bigot, and he doesn't think God is best served by having Frenchmen kill Frenchmen like animals in the street. And another part of it is his wife, Anne d'Este, who was raised Protestant, which, while it didn't take, has left her fairly tolerant, much like her uncle the Pope. (It has also left her prone to skipping Masses, and dozing off during them when she does attend.) AND he keeps the Guise happy, as he's the Duke de Guise's beloved stepfather.[22] Indeed, even people who think Henri is screwing up the matter of the succession agree this is a solid choice.
Two deaths. One wishes one could say they are the last two to change the course of French history this year--but that would be a lie.
--A fairly minor, but intriguing event occurs in Bolgna, where banker, Cathar and plotter Roberto Ridolfi is found in the coutryard of the Cathedral of St. Peter, badly wounded, begging for sanctuary. As he recovers, Ridolfi explains his situation. Like many member of the Society for Purity and Correctness in Doctrine, he has long hated Henry IX--his recent marriage to Mary I of Scotland has made the pair reactionary Catholicism's nightmare couple. And so Ridolfi and the various cells of Cathars he's connected to gathered funds to bankroll an assassination attempt--they were thinking, maybe, blowing them up, somewhere, with a lot of gunpowder, but they were open to suggestions. Ridolfi even managed to find the perfect agent for his scheme--Catherine Howard, who assured them that her knowledge of the English scene was second-to-none, that she had various agents working for her there, and that if they wanted to plan an assassination, she was their girl. Thus, she was given the funds, which were then used to partially pay off her creditors, and partially to gamble, gamble, GAMBLE, following which Catherine skipped town and started lying low, as she is wont to do after blowing a lot of money. (In fact, there's some evidence that she actually tipped off the English intelligence service about the entire scheme, in return for more money.) Having thus wasted a great deal of the Society's funds, Ridolfi found himself on the outs with his former companions, who took to sending bands of armed thugs after the banker. It was one such encounter that lead to his being in the Cathedral of St. Peter, which is of course, where we came in.
Ridolfi's story begins to circulate. The Society for Purity and Correctness in Doctrine is a secret society, and like most such organizations is widely known about. Up till now, they've largely been viewed as a bunch of mostly harmless cranks. Ridolfi's tale suggests this is changing--that the Cathars, locked in their own mad conflicts are starting to... get very odd, and somewhat dangerous. England and Scotland have spontaneous celebrations of their monarchs' divine deliverance from this Papist plot, celebrations that see a Venetian ambassador hiding in his house to avoid a mob, and Catholic priest in Perth chased up a tree. Still, on the whole, no one but Ridolfi thinks this is very important.
--The Low Countries have been surprisingly quiet, as the Second Schmalkaldic War begins. But then ends in August, where demonstrations break out over rumors that Philip is raising tax money to pay his "volunteer force" to fight against the Leipzig Bond, rumors that the volunteer force will be sent to Flanders there to march over into France and help Henri II supress the Huguenots, rumors that the Spanish Inquisition are coming to Burgundy, and rumors that Cardinal Granvelle is going to try and arrest the Stadtholders. The results are demonstrations, petitions, and at least one suspected assassination attempt. And that is that for Granvelle, who flees the Seventeen Provinces for the Free County, where he writes an apologetic letter telling Philip that he tried, but HE CAN'T STAY IN THE DUCHY OF BURGUNDY. As this letter is accompanied by one by Margaret of Parma, explaining that Granvelle has to go and ANOTHER letter from the Stadtholders, explaining that Granvelle really has to go, Philip decides to bow before the inevitable. Cardinal Granvelle is leaving Burgundy--officially, so that he can visit his aged mother.[23] The Netherlands explode into celebration--at one party, Burgundian nobleman Count Brederode has a dwarf dressed as Cardinal Granvelle paraded out, so all can mock and jeer, following which another dwarf dressed as the devil is brought out to chase the former with a whip. A 'FOR SALE' sign is hung by some wag on the Cardinal's house. All agree the cause of their ancient liberties has won a great victory.[24]
In Madrid, Philip accepts all this with his usual combination of outward stoicism, and inward seething. The Seventeen Provinces have caused him too much embarassment he decides, and he will have to be dealt with. Orders are quietly sent to the Burgundian Inquisition to kick it up a notch--the King of Spain is through with turning a blind eye to heretics, just because they're quiet and well-behaved. After all, the Empire and France are both showing what happens when you let that happen too long. Philip's attitude towards Protestantism is complicated--it is easy to look at his many public pronouncements, and decide he's a bloodthirsty fanatic who won't rest until Catholicism covers the globe. It is just as easy to look at his general actions, and decide he's a pragmatist with no real objection to the Protestants at all, whose statements are all hypocritical flim-flam. The truth lies somewhere in between--while Philip intentionally overstates his orthodoxy, his loyalty to the Church, and his hatred of his heretic foe in Spanish propaganda, these things DO exist. While Philip can accept that Protestants aren't going away, and must be dealt with as people, he does not want them in his lands, Spanish or Burgundian. At all. While this isn't much of a problem in Spain, with its well-established Inquisition, and strong loyalty to the Church as an institution--even if quite a few don't like this present Pope--Burgundy is another matter. Philip has just never quite cottoned to the fact that the people of the Low Countries really don't like religious persecution. He remains convinced that if he just kills all the right people, they'll fall in line, and he'll be able to run the Netherlands just like he runs Spain, a belief that his distance from the lands only furthers. Margaret and the Stadtholders are somewhat aware of this--though both fail to realize the depths of Philip's feelings on the matter--and feel that Philip needs to come back to Brussels, to get a realistic grip of the problem. Granvelle likewise endorses this idea--indeed, he's been calling for Philip to return to Burgundy for the last few years. Philip begins to consider it, and indeed, soon the rumor starts that the King of Spain might be heading back to the Seventeen Provinces.
The rumor circulates and circulates, until for many, it becomes an accepted fact. And yet one man is just as convinced that King Philip will NOT be going to the Low Countries--his son, Prince Charles. Indeed, Charles has a standing wager, open to anyone, that Philip will, within a few months, produce a reason not to leave Madrid. His father, Charles notes to his cousin Carlo Farenze, believes in his heart that the world 'begins in Madrid, ends in Madrid, and that middle parts of it, also, are in Madrid', and that Philip thinks that 'the Emperor travelled enough for himself and the King of Spain, and so now the King of Spain must repose for both his leisure and the leisure of the Emperor'. Everyone else can work themselves into a tizzy waiting for Philip to move the court to Brussels--Charles knows his father isn't even going to move it as far as Toledo. As for the problems in Burgundy, "All shall be proclaimed, nothing shall be done, all shall be promised, nothing shall be performed, all shall be considered, nothing shall be attempted, and everything shall fall to wrack, to ruin, and to rust." It is, Charles notes, rather frustrating, but what can he do? He's only the heir to the throne, whose father barely lets him run the Castillian Cortes. Heaven (and King Philip) forbid he ever be allowed to try and... FIX things.
--Lord Admiral Dudley prepares to take off for the city of Cork, England's one remaining stronghold in Ireland. His army is well-equipped and fairly large for an expedition into Ireland--Dudley is fairly certain it will make quick work of Shane O'Neill's Irish rabble. King Henry arrives to see it off, and awards the Lord Admiral with a new title for 'his many great services to the crown'--henceforth, John Dudley shall be--in addition to his previous titles of Viscount Lisle and Earl of Westmorland and Leicester--the Duke of Buckingham. Many are rather shocked by this--Paulet in particular takes this... poorly, writing in his diary 'May he end as the LAST did'. He is not alone in his assessment--many are baffled by the favor Henry shows Dudley. Despite a fairly solid record as a servant of the Crown, people see him as an adventurer, a flatterer, and an upstart, with a bunch of flattering, upstart adventurers for children. They also whisper about Dudley's father, another flattering upstart adventurer who Henry VIII had hung, especially as the Lord Admiral has republished his father's old text on the English government, On The English Commonwealth, and presented copies to Henry IX. And with this, Dudley and his forces set sail.
The Lord Admiral's forces arrive in Cork late in the year, to find a city swollen with refugees, under the direction of Sir Henry Sydney[25], an experienced old hand at the Irish game, and his protege, Gilbert Humphrey. Leading what remains of English troops in Ireland, Sydney has been trying to keep Cork from dissolving into panic. It's a tough job, made tougher by the fact that, as Sydney tries to impart to the Lord Admiral, this Originalist Revolt is different then earlier revolts in Ireland--broader, and frequently breaking up old clan alliances and creating new ones. It may not be possible to solve it through the old standby of killing, capturing, or bribing a handful of leaders. Dudley has been expecting this, and has come up with a plan he thinks should do the trick--terrify the Irish into submission. Sydney was leaning in this direction himself, and it's a-go. The great army heads out--they really have to, Cork is filled to the brim, and people are starting to whisper about the Plague[26]--and heads out to Kildare, wrecking holy, Anglican havoc as they go on their way. The Earl of Essex, writing back to his uncle, the Hon. Thomas Cromwell, notes that many of the Irish nobles seem to fear the Originalists as much the English do--though as he notes, telling friend from foe seems all but impossible here. Shane's power is steadily growing--he has, Essex gathers, crushed the last remaining Catholic holdouts in the North, and soon will be able to concentrate on destroying the Fitzgeralds and the English. The young Earl hopes that he has the strength for what he holds to be 'the great task God has appointed (him) to'--his uncle replies that he has no doubt Essex has, and bids his 'dear Hal' to 'trust the wisdom of his elders'. (This last bit is something of a family joke--the Hon. Thomas Cromwell is in fact a few years YOUNGER than his nephew, a child of Thomas Cromwell the Elder's second marriage[27].) His nephew is a man of courage, Thomas writes, and he's certain the world will see that.
--The Council of Mantua is rocked by a scandal. Cardinal Odet Coligny de Chatillon has long been the dominant member of the French contingent, one of Pope Pius' inner circle. (In contrast, Cardinal de Lorraine tends to avoid the Council, partially due to the fact that he and Pius don't get along very well. The Cardinal is rather proud of his own intelligence, and has a way of making Pius realize that de Lorraine considers himself the better priest and reformer, with Pius occupying the seat due to the combination of his political skills, and more importantly, his being an Italian. And besides his issues with Pius, de Lorraine has other problems with the Council.) However, Felice Peretti, Abbot and founding father of the Confraternity of Sacred Blood, a splinter group of the Order for Purity and Correctness in Doctrine, has come forward with dramatic accusations about the Cardinal. (The Confraternity split, incidentally, because they view the Cathars' growing obsession with an unending crusade against Protestant rulers, lackluster Catholic rulers, Pope Pius and the Council of Mantua as counterproductive, favoring instead using the Council itself as a weapon to fight both the Catholic and Protestant Reformations.) De Chatillon has been, Peretti alleges, working on a heretical Mass. When questioned, the Cardinal denies this--his work, he explains, is to create a Mass that will be acceptable to, as he puts it, "those who tend towards the Reformed Church." Odet's Mass is in French, and includes communion of both kinds, as well as stripped down vestments. In other words, to Perretti, as well as Pope Pius' old enemy Cardinal Ghisleri, and his faction, the Mass is a mass of Lutheranism--and yes, Perretti uses that pun, or more exactly, its Latin equivalent.
Pius is both offended that Cardinal de Chatillon has been working on this on the sly, and put on an off foot by these revelations. While what Odet has done is in a murky grey area, it's a dark enough grey to make the Cardinal look bad, and make Pius look like a fool for trusting him. Pius sends the Cardinal back to France, while the matter of his "Reformed" Mass is... looked into, to see if he's done something punishable, and if so, what is the proper punishment. Cardinal Louis de Guise is sent with him, both so Odet has some company on the trip, and because Pius suspects the Cardinal of Bottles is spying for his brother. Pope Pius hopes that the matter will--for the immediate future--end here.
Sadly, it does not.
Odet and Louis arrive in Marseille, where the two Cardinals attend Mass together. The pair have, by all accounts, found each other horrible company, Odet seeing Louis as an empty-headed libertine, Louis seeing Odet as a vaguely heretical twit. Thus it is ironic that fate guarantees that they will be linked together forever. As the pair leave the cathedral, a group of five men swiftly surround them, and stab the Cardinals, shouting 'Will your masses save you now?" AND "Death to the Waldesians! Death to Guise! Death to Coligny!" at the same time. The group is swiftly apprehended--Cardinal de Chatillon has perished of his wounds, but Cardinal de Guise has been stabbed in the gut--his death is long, slow and painful. His elder brother, the Cardinal de Lorraine arrives at his brother's deathbed, but Louis' is delirious when he does so, and de Lorraine's efforts at a conversation fail. Louis' last words are the poor man screaming for someone to bring him a drink.
As for the culprits, despite their (rather clumsy) initial efforts to paint themselves as Protestant extremists, they are quickly revealed as Cathars--actually, four of them are seminary students, while the fifth, one Claude Haton, is a Provencal priest[28]. Cardinal de Lorraine meets them in prison. There he discovers that Cardinal de Chatillon was slain for his Protestant ties and radical views, while Cardinal de Guise--was killed because they mistook him for his brother. Cardinal de Lorraine leaves the men, heartbroken. And also... very put off.
Needless to say, much like the death of Montmorency earlier, this changes everything. And much like the earlier rumors of the Ridolfi Plot, the Cathars find themselves placed in the spotlight once again. Even more than that earlier scandal, this changes the perception of the Society--they are now a clear threat and danger, not merely to Protestants, but to Catholics--indeed, to Princes of the Church. In France, in Spain, the Holy Roman Empire, many who once viewed the Cathars as harmless, or even allies now cast a jaundiced eye on the reactionaries. (Claude d'Aumale and Rene d' of the Guise are now particularly put out by the group.) Peretti finds himself forced to make himself scarce at Rome and Mantua, haunted as he is by rumors of murder and conspiracy. Pius once again seizes the initiative on the Council, which decides, that no, no, Cardinal de Chatillon didn't do anything so terrible after all, the poor martyred soul. Pius takes a deep breath and prays that this is the end of the matter.
It isn't.
--Ferdinand arrives in Vienna with the bedraggled remnants of his army, the worst part of its disintegration being that it's been mostly from desertion. Arriving, he rushes to his mistress, Philipinne Welser, and quickly secludes himself from the outside world in the apartments he's set aside for her. This leaves Maria of Spain running the show (her darling little son Prince Albert at her side, so he can learn how) and once again, she's a far more formidable individual than her husband--for example, her title 'Queen of the Romans' doesn't even technically EXIST, but people are still calling her that, because you don't want to make Maria von Hapsburg mad. As Maria is fond of noting, both she and her husband are the children of Emperors, but she's the one who inherited the fire necessary to rule. She demonstrates this 'fire' by dismissing the terms brought by Joachim of Brandenburg and Albert of Prussia out of hand. Austria has only begun to fight, she proclaims. The Pope and the King of Spain are both assembling Catholic armies to cast down these arrogant Protestant Princelings, and soon--soon they shall be ground down to nothing! She then follows it up by having both Hohenzollerns arrested as rebels and traitors. Yes, Maria definitely has that fire--however, it is not refined by a sense of political realities. She is, for example, baffled when instead of breaking the Hohenzollerns, the imprisonment gets them hopping mad--at the Hapsburgs! (Most famously, Albert's son Albert II[29] immediately gives the government of Prussia that his father left in his hands to his wife and his younger half-brother Frederick Albert[30], and rides out to join the Bond, while young George, Margrave of Brandenburg-Kulmbach reportedly vows that the Hapsburgs shall pay in blood for their insults to his family.) Indeed, even the loyal Swabian Hohenzollerns are rather put out by this--Count Carl, whose sons are out campaigning with Archduke Charles Francis even now, demands the right to pay surety for his kinsmen. In fact, her actions alarm everybody; one of the main reasons the Bond sent the Elector and the Duke was because that their high Imperial status--and the Duke's status as the nominal vassal of a foreign king--was supposed to prevent this sort of shenanigans. If Maria's willing to do this--well, who knows what she won't do?
The Hohenzollerns are not the only people suffering from Maria's rather overwheening sense of her own power--Ercole d'Este is ordered to give up his captive, John Albert of Mecklenburg. Ercole refuses--he's already negotiating with John Albert's brother, Duke Ulrich, for the price of ransom, and he's not letting that sweet, sweet money out of his hands. Besides which, John Albert was surrendered to HIM, by the laws of war--Maria has no right to take him from Ercole, especially not to hold him indefintely as a traitor. If the "Queen of the Romans" wants him, she'll have fight Ercole for him. (Popular legend has Maria grabbing a sword and preparing to do just that when she first gets Ercole's message before getting talked down by an advisor.) John Albert is, of course, thankful for the Italian's protection--the pair have even managed to strike up a friendship, spending their times debating the respective virtues of German and Italian wines and... well, German and Italian women. The Duke of Mecklenburg has decided Ercole d'Este is a grand fellow, and not at all like you'd expect a Papist to be. Why, he's fairly tolerant of Protestants--the result of having a Protestant mother--and doesn't really view this as a grand strike against heresy. John Albert actually wonders why Ercole is even here. "For the glory," answers Ercole. "For the glory."
--Turkish war preparations are now complete. Soon, Suleyman the Magnificent shall ride forth once again at the head of his armies. Only he won't ride forth, as he can no longer sit on a horse. Instead, he'll be carried forth, in a palaquin. And it won't be at the head of his armies, but at the rear. But the important thing is, he'll be there. In Hungary. Finishing what his father started. As was destined.
Prince Selim continues to be quietly horrified, even as his father moves him from the governorship of Konya to Edirne. One of Selim's favorite spots in the Empire--he loves the hunting--it is also conveniantly near Constantinople, thus making sure Selim will be able to pick up the reins of government with minimal incident if... something should happen. Selim finds all this less comforting than his father does. Not only is Suleyman risking his life as if he were a much younger man, but he's doing it for Hungary, or as Selim likes to call it, 'that damn place that bleeds money'. The Turks keep quite a few large garrisons in Hungary, largely so they can... continue to keep quite a few large garrisons in Hungary. The population is surly, and demands extensive privileges for putting up with having Turkish masters--about the only comfort for the Turks is that their Hapsburg counterparts are in the same boat. Suleyman's little vanity project is not only spending money to sink them even further in this hole, if it SUCCEEDS--it's set back Selim's plans for a naval invasion of Cyprus, a plan that is infinitely more profitable and practical[31]. And of course, this is happening WHILE Selim's brother Bayezid is still at large--and Tahmasp has taken to turning away Ottoman bribes to... ahem... return him. So one can understand why the Prince is upset about all this.
Of course, Selim is not alone in these feelings--his newly-made son-in-law Second Vizier Sokullu Mehmet Pasha quietly agrees about most of it, though even more than the Prince, he is an expert at knowing when to keep his disagreements with the Sultan to himself. True, Sokullu Pasha can understand the temptation to strike while the Hapsburgs are weak--but frankly, the situation in Hungary genuinely looks like it will resolve itself in the Turks' favor with very little action on their part. It'd be much, much wiser to use this opportunity to lean on the Persians, or as Selim is suggesting, further their naval control over the Mediterraean. (Sokullu's largest objection to Selim's plan for Cyprus is that it's too small. He's for something more dramatic--MALTA! That'll show the gaouers who's boss!) But Suleyman won't do that--Hungary is, again, something of an obsession for the man. And so Sokullu Pasha finds himself preparing to serve as the de facto leader for a military expedition he largely views as useless. But hey--serving the house of Osman has gotten him where he is today, heading one of the largest webs of patronage in the Turkish Sultanate, with many of his kin serving as his subordinates. He's not going to break that habit now.
Transylvania on the other hand is cautiously optimistic about all this. If Suleyman makes good on his promises, and ACTUALLY lets Prince Janos be King of Hungary--well, darn it, this war will be a pretty good thing. If on the other hand he pulls another stunt, like the one where he forced Janos Sigismund's father King Janos I to give up Budapest because the Sultan could "protect it better"--well, it will be less good. Arguably even... ungood. Still no reason to get weepy. They're Transylvanians--disappointment is practically part of the scenery.
Fans of the Despot Voivode DO have a reason to get weepy--a revolt is starting up in Moldavia, lead by the Hetman Stefa Tomsa. Many of the Transylvanian Saxons who moved into enjoy what they assumed was the rising tide of Lutheranism are fleeing back to Transylvania. Ioan Iacob Heraclid thinks they're being hasty. He's certain he can crush this uprising, no problems. True, his allies among the Turks haven't indicated they're going to help--but God surely won't let him fail.
--Hapsburg forces in Alsace prepare to move on the Heidelburg Compact, only to discover that the Heidelburg Compact forces are already moving on them. And it gets worse. Leading the way is the Hapsburgs' erstwhile ally, the Duke of Lorraine, now the Compact's latest--and only openly Catholic--member. As Lorraine forces tromp through their defenses, the Archduke Charles decides that his earlier appraisal of his error was, in fact, overly optimistic, and writes to inform his brother--he's not quite aware of the fact that Ferdinand's lost it, and his sister-in-law is now running the shop--that he doesn't think he can hold Alsace for very long. "Our power on the Rhine is broken beyond immediate repair," he confesses bitterly.
Charles de Lorraine meanwhile, is in very good spirits indeed. His change in allegiance is looking to be very profitable--he'll shortly be in possession of the Hapsburgs' Alsace holdings (to keep or ransom back as the situation requires) and Frederick von Simmern is promising him not only Julich, Cleves and Berg, but also the Electoral-Archbishophoric of Cologne. Of course, that's all a best case scenario, but as Lorraine notes to his dear young wife, Claude Valois, it's good to be appreciated. The young Duke's cunning is quickly becoming a watchword--indeed, Claude d'Aumale even wonders to his old war buddy, Christoph of Wurttemburg, if it really was chance that the Duke of Lorraine decided to display his full coat of arms that fateful day.
The Archduke's grim news eventually reaches Vienna, where Maria notes it, and quickly adds the Duke of Lorraine to her ever-growing list of 'people who are going to get what's coming to them when we win the war'. To the growing unease of virtually everyone around her, Maria seems not to care that Austria now has NO allies among the major hereditary nobles, it's only significant support being most of the ecclesiastic Princes. But Maria remains unconcerned. The Pope is sending troops, as is her dear brother, the King of Spain. With might such as that backing her--urr, 'them', she meant 'them', naturally--up Austria is certain to crush both the Leipzig Bond and the Heidelberg Compact, ushering in a new age of resurgent Catholicism in the Empire. And Maria knows that she's not alone in thinking this--the Duke of Bavaria has indicated to her that he shall soon intercede on the "Imperial" side, and even hinted he's willing to rejoin Holy Mother Church. His sons are now back from Wittenburg, which means the Saxons have no hold over him.
Thus she is unsurprised--even exultant when she first hears the armies of Bavaria are on the move. Yes, on the move into the Upper Palintate--and into Austria and the Tyrol. After months--arguably years--of dancing around which side he's on, Albert von Wittelsbach is joining forces with the Leipzig Bond. This is not simply opportunism on Albert's part--he's taken a rather clear-eyed view of the war, and it's clear to him that it will likely last a while, despite the optimism of all its parties. It's also clear to him that Austria will emerge from it badly weakened and compromised--this war has essentially demonstrated that resting the Imperial power on the old Catholic status quo is a fool's game. So, Albert's choices have boiled down to Frederick von Simmern, and John Frederick, and for the Duke of Bavaria, that's no choice at all. When you get down to it, the Bavarian Wittelbachs HATE their Palitinate cousins, and resent their having the Electoral status, the imperial vicar status, and... well, it's a long list.
Of course, there's another motive--Duke Albert is a fairly subpar Lutheran who's only in it for the political benefits. His eldest son William, on the other hand, is an extremely pious Lutheran who keeps a portrait of Luther in a locket that he keeps turned to his chest 'so that (Luther) may always look into my heart," and while his second son Ferdinand is... well, still more religious than his father. Both of them have, since their return, been asking why their father isn't helping the Elector of Saxony. Even Albert of Bavaria wants his kids to think he's cool.
Maria sends what forces Austria has remaining to face the invading Bavarians--however, her supply of generals is quite low--Ercole d'Este is naturally out, and so is Cesare Gonzaga. But Count Gunther von Schwarzberg is MORE than ready to step to the plate and show the world what he can do without any Italians to hold him back. This turns out to be, 'lose handily', though the Count insists that Lutheran subversives are to blame. This is arguably the Hapsburgs' nadir in the Second Schmalkaldic War--while there will be reversals in the future, they will be more balanced out with triumphs. But at the moment, they stand defeated at all fronts, with virtually no allies, questionable authority and with enemy troops streaming into their holdings. And at this moment, the benefit of having Maria in charge while Ferdinand sobs into Philipinne's lap that he didn't MEAN to mess it all up demonstrates itself--while her husband would probably surrender to each and everyone, and possibly start offering them his daughters, Maria defiantly vows to fight even if they reach the gates of Vienna. (And in Ercole's mind, probably would have carried on if they'd reached her rooms.) Austria shall not surrender. Not while Maria's around. In the meantime--Duke Albert of Bavaria, and his whole family, including her sister-in-law, Anna, get added to the list.
--Christmas in Spain. The celebration is joyous this year, the Spanish House of Hapsburg has much to celebrate--Queen Maria and Princess Elizabeth are both pregnant again. Charles is jokingly suggesting he and his father serve as godparents to the others' child, a jest Philip does not appreciate. He does however, enjoy the Prince's gift of a book he has written that proves that Philip can matrilineally trace his descent back to Saint Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, El Cid. (Which also means Prince Charles can, so a gift that keeps on giving.) As Philip is the biggest El Cid fanboy there is--he's the reason it's SAINT Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar now, after all--he is VERY, VERY pleased with this.
Queen Maria and Princess Elizabeth decide to interpret this hopefully--maybe the King of Spain and the Prince of Asturias are finally burying their pointless lifelong quarrel. After all, as Maria notes to her dear daughter-in-law, they're so much more alike than they're willing to admit. For example, Charles owns the second-largest library in Spain--and his father owns the largest, including a selection of books that would get him arrested by the Inquisition if he weren't the King of Spain. If they'd just choose to acknowledge this, they might just come to appreciate each other.
Of course, Philip proceeds to demonstrate while this is futile hope by announcing that, naturally, with all these pregnancies in the family, he's going to have stay in Madrid. As Charles proceeds to win an awful lot of money, the attention turns to the Duke of Alba, who is pleased to announce he's gathered a large company of dedicated Spaniards, and is preparing to go to Naples, and gather an equally large company of dedicated Neapolitans, all to crush the heretics in the Empire. Philip is glad to hear it. True, things look bad for his family now--but they've bounced back before.
--Christmas in England. It's being celebrated at a much later date then Spain, because remember, they aren't buying this whole Pietian Calender thing. Edward, Duke of York, is back, his return having been celebrated with fetes and parades, and songs being sung of the 'Man of Marble', the 'Second Black Prince'. Henry is running with this theme, rewarding Edward with an elaborate suit of gold-embossed black armor. The Duke of York is rather annoyed at his brother throwing money around--but he does keep the armor, as well as the very nice sword that his sister-in-law gives him. Still, the Duke of York remains a surprisingly grim figure in all the Christmas celebrations, even when old Norfolk unveils a collection of hymns he's assembled under his aegis, several of which are poems of Edward's set to music. (The Duke's contribution to this is rather light--a pair of suprisingly dark psalm translations. Simply put, Norfolk's poetry is not as a rule, very singable--he's an epic verse man.) Everyone agrees it's a lovely hymnal, which will doubtless become a favorite at churches throughout England.
In the midst of all this praise, one subject does NOT come up--Diane de la Marck, who Edward has quietly installed in his apartments, and even introduced to his children. (Little Barbara is enchanted--little Edgar is... not.) Even though Edward considers Diane and himself to be spiritually married, he hasn't been so gauche to get... legally married--that would be a gross breach of his brother's trust, after all. (York has the example of the Herberts, still languishing in exile from the court, to keep him on the straight and narrow--not that he needs it that much.) No, no, Edward is certain that Henry will, given time and the right amount of prompting, see his way to letting his brother marry his French lady-love. After all, he owes Edward this much.
Mary and Henry meanwhile, are considering a rather strange letter from her uncle, Cardinal de Lorraine, wherein he speaks of his wishes to bury old quarrels with his niece and her 'most worthy husband'. After all, religious differences or not, they're family, and damn it, if there's one thing Guises and Lorraines do, it's stick together--it's actually the family motto. The King of England and Queen of Scots are left wondering what all this means.
--Christmas Eve, at the Cathedral of Rheims in France, which is being celebrated at the same time as in England. (France is also somewhat sceptical of the whole 'Pietian Calender', even if they are Catholic, though it is being implemented, theoretically.) Cardinal de Lorraine's flock has been adjusting to their chaplain's ongoing banishing of images from the Cathedral. Still, they are somewhat surprised at some of the people attending this mass--the Montmorencys, their cousin Gaspard de Coligny' Antoine de Bourbon, King juxe usuris of Navarre, and his son, Henri; the Duke of Guise, his mother, his stepfather, the Duke of Nemours, his many siblings and half-siblings, his uncles Claude and Rene, along with Duke Charles de Lorraine and his young wife Claude de Valois; and most of the de Cleves and the de la Marcks. Leaving aside this being a gathering of some of France's upper upper crust, there are quite a few family quarrels here--leaving aside the Bourbon/Guise feud, the Guise/Montmorency feud has been one of the most quietly intense in French politics. It's enough to get a person to wonder what's going on here.
This is answered when the Cardinal de Lorraine enters wearing a black vestment. He then proceeds to go through a mass in the venacular, following up with communion in both kinds, and ending it all with a nice French psalm.[32] The whole affair goes through with minimal trouble, allowing Charles de Guise to nod to himself in satisfaction when it's all done. The new Gallican Mass is A-GO. As noted, the Cardinal de Lorraine has issues with Mantua--but as opposed to the Cathars, to de Lorraine's mind the problem i, it's not moving fast enough. How can Protestants be blamed for not trusting the Pope when he does nothing more than throw them a few sops every now and then, while leaving the main body of their complaints unheard? No, the cause of internal Catholic Reform has to be jump-started, and the deaths of his brother and Cardinal de Chatillon have convinced de Lorraine that he's the one to do it. Further, Charles de Guise is convinced that this is the key to saving his beloved France--an alliance of Catholic and Protestant moderates creating a reasonable compromise they can all live with. Of course, he knows it won't be easy--those fanatical "Puritans", Catholic and Protestant won't be happy until they drown all the land in blood. Well, Cardinal de Lorraine is just going to let that happen.
They'll have to go through him first.
----------------------------------
[1] We would say 'nervous breakdown'.
[2] This terminology is of course incorrect--it should be Henry of England, and Mary, Queen of Scots, but it's a common mistake ITTL.
[3] IOTL and ITTL, Henri sold the tax rights in Normandy to the Duke of Ferrara for ten years to get a portion of his debt forgiven.
[4] De Lorraine faced the same sorts of accusations from BOTH sides of the French religious divide IOTL.
[5] If this seems a bit much, realize Michel l'Hopital started his career as de Lorraine's employee among whose many jobs were writing tributes to the Cardinal. (Of course, IOTL, the pair ultimately wound up political enemies.)
[6] Francis not only actually made such a statue IOTL, it's still extant.
[7] IOTL, the Elector of Cologne right after Gebhard.
[8] IOTL, the Elector of Cologne right after von Wied, who gave the title up upon inheriting the family County.
[9] IOTL, they married as well--their son inheriting James Hepburn's title.
[10] Poor Jacques died in 1564 IOTL. He simply doesn't seem to have been that lucky a man.
[11] IOTL, Francoise de Guise was... Francois de Guise, and served as Grand Prior of the Knights of Malta. (Yes, they named TWO of their sons Francois.)
[12] IOTL, famous as the man who killed Henri II.
[13] IOTL, she did not die at that point--in fact, she and Gabriel had a prolific little brood.
[14] Interestingly enough, he died this year IOTL.
[15] Both of these events occurred IOTL.
[16] The fall of Poltosk happened in 1563 IOTL.
[17] Both of these occurred more or less the same way IOTL.
[18] IOTL, Ivan likewise took action against his cousin--though it was aimed more directly at Vladimir.
[19] This was pretty much Cardinal de Bourbon's stance IOTL, where he was a founding member--arguably THE founding member--of the Catholic League.
[20] IOTL, Caboche, having lost both his brothers' to Henri's courts, tried to assassinate the King in 1558.
[21] Amazingly enough, the Guises took similar actions, most notably during--are you ready for it?--the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre.
[22] The details of Anne and her second husband, right down to his great relationship with his stepson, are all IOTL, though Jacques de Savoie was never Marshal of Paris, of course. (Well, okay, the 'dozing off during Masses' was probably simply a joke people told about Anne's rather lukewarm faith, but I couldn't leave something like that out.)
[23] IOTL, he managed to hold until 1564 until leaving in similar circumstances, but then, he wasn't dealing with mass religious strife in BOTH France and the HRE.
[24] Similar jests were made on Granvelle's departure IOTL. Right down to the "For Sale" sign.
[25] Several times Lord Deputy of Ireland, and father to the famous Sir Philip Sydney, whose TTL sibling is definitely not going to be named 'Philip', as he won't have King Philip II as a godfather.
[26] Cork faced similar problems during the OTL Desmond revolts.
[27] IOTL, of course, Thomas Cromwell was married only once.
[28] IOTL, a Catholic diarist, who also organized a Catholic militia in Provence.
[29] TTL's sibling of a child of Albert's first marriage born and dying in 1539.
[30] TTL's sibling of OTL Albert Frederick. And before people begin screaming about my lack of imagination, Duke Albert actually named his FIRST son this.
[31] Selim genuinely does seem to have been plotting an invasion of Cyprus for quite some time--indeed, many Venetians believed what would become the invasion of Malta was originally going to traget Cyprus.
[32] Cardinal de Lorraine was actually considering undertaking reforms of this nature IOTL, though he never got around to it, and in time, reconciled with the Council of Trent.
.
