Just curious, does anyone have any suggestions for other TTL characters for me to attempt to draw? I'm attempting to practice drawing in general for its own sake, but if there is anyone who you guys would be interested in seeing, then I would consider adding to the TL to be an added bonus.
Update! This time with a heavy colonial focus.
1499
"On that day I died. Never again could life be simple, not after that."-Benedetto di Syracusa, speaking of the day he discovered Chichen Itza
Little military action takes place during 1499. In Georgia, King Alexander II dies in the Battle of Ahar, just short of his goal of taking the Azerbaijani capital of Tabriz. His death does not leave an empty throne, and his adult son George succeeds to the throne as King George IX. George is immediately left with a difficult decision, namely whether to press on against the Azerbaijanis or not following the defeat at Ahar. The battle was close, and George has more reserve troops than his opponent, but he is unsure if fighting his way into Tabriz is worth the cost, and in June peace terms are signed in Georgia’s favor, ultimately with the Azerbaijanis paying an annual tribute to Georgia and ceding some northern Territory along the Caspian, including Baku.
Despite the territorial losses, the Azerbaijanis have won a moral victory. Their leader, Yaqub ibn Hassan, has fought an uphill battle against his older brothers and the Georgians from the beginning, but with the victory at Ahar and subsequent peace treaty with Georgia he has finally managed to outlast all of the enemies that have stood against him. Together with his older brothers Ogurlu and Khalil he becomes the third and last of the seven sons of Uzun Hassan to form a lasting successor state from the remains of the Ak Koyunlu Sultanate. By 1499 three uneven states have been formed, a western Bagdad based successor under Ogurlu that retained the name and titles of the Ak Konyulu and contained all that remained of the Ak Konyulu under Uzun Hassan west of the Zagros mountains, a larger eastern Persian state run by Khalil and administrated from Isfahan, and Yaqub’s Azerbaijani Sultanate based around Tabriz. Although his was the smallest of the three, Yaqub’s Sultanate controlled his father’s capital, and his position as sultan was unmarred by internal disputes, unlike his brothers’ respective nations.
In France, Gaston Moreau de Foix returns home after five years in exile spent in England. His “Charlottean” movement has made some inroads in England, where clerical corruption is still relatively high, but rather than focus on his burgeoning community there he chooses to leave the English in the capable hands of his associate William Scrivener, while he returns to the land of his birth to further spread his spirit of reform. Although technically barred from reentry into France, Moreau is not considered an important threat, and his reentrance into the kingdom through Gascony in late October is neither recorded nor prevented by the local authorities. Surprisingly, Moreau fails to make a scene during his first few months back in France. He does proselytize, but in private indoor sessions in the homes of friends and local people of a like mind. Perhaps having been influenced by Scrivener, a man used to hiding his religious affiliation, Moreau’s movement becomes a largely underground one in France. That is not to say it lacked popularity. Particularly in Occitania, where the people had become both resentful of the domineering of the north and politically aroused by the Charlotte of Savoy’s insurrection, those people with any grievance against the church or its local representatives would flock to the Charlottean meeting places, though it is also noteworthy that the number of genuine converts paled in comparison to those caught up in the mob appeal of Moreau’s fiery preaching. Meanwhile, a lack of powerful authority figures in the south of France leaves the movement largely untouched, and for every local priest who condemns the movement another sympathizes with it.
In Anatolia, the homeward bound crusaders, having passed through Ottoman lands with minimal incidents, albeit at a terribly slow pace. Despite being the first to leave Outremer, with the Castilians not leaving until May, and many of the French and Italians electing to stay indefinitely, the crusaders still receive a warm welcome, especially compared to the fiasco that was the Milanese branch of the crusade. First travelling through Smyrna, King Matthias himself makes a rare return from Hungary to greet the victorious crusaders. After Smyrna, the crusaders pass through Roman Bithynia before being ferried across to Constantinople.
It is worth noting the considerable ramifications of the Emperor David I inviting the crusaders into his capital. Although on a personal level David’s commitment to the ecclesiastic union with Rome is still a matter of debate, on a political level circumstances had forced him to become a zealous supporter of the union. The death of his father at the hands of the anti-unionist supporters of Manuel III and his subsequent need of Catholic aid to return to power had all but crystalized David’s political stance on the matter by the time he had returned to Constantinople. Having burned his bridges with the anti-unionists, David then threw himself wholeheartedly behind Alfonso XII’s crusade, even going so far as to send his heir presumptive to Jerusalem. All of this had cost him his ability to appear neutral, but the successful and positive outcome of the crusade had by and large vindicated David in his decision to support the crusade in the eyes of the masses. By inviting the crusaders into Constantinople, he could further remind the people that his support for the crusade had paid off. It also provided an excellent opportunity to show off in front of the young English Prince Thomas, in the hopes that he might remind the people in every country that he passed through that Constantinople was back on its feet.
Constantinople, February 9th, 1499
Thomas rode along down the streets lined with spectators. He was nervous. It wasn’t about meeting an emperor. He’d seen men more powerful than his father before, and they had universally failed to inspire awe in him. Rather it was the throngs of people. So many foreign voices, talking, cheering, yelling, roaring. It reminded him of battle, and each direction he looked he had to double check just to be sure that the crowd hadn’t suddenly turned into hostile soldiers. Suddenly he felt something shove his right arm, and he instinctively grasped his sword.
“You look like you going to throw up,” said a familiar voice in broken French.
Thomas relaxed his grip on his sword. Turning his head, he looked at Giorgios and said, “How do you deal with it? I still can’t get Jerusalem out of my thoughts.”
Giorgios looked around thoughtfully for a moment, idly waving to the crowds. Finally, in a voice that gave the impression of asking a question, he said, “Strong drink and strong women.”
Thomas smiled, but then said, “No seriously, I can hardly sleep. You’re younger than I am and you don’t even seem to care. Something is different about you.”
“It wasn’t a lie,” said Giorgios, “but maybe is not the whole truth. I’ve been fighting too long, maybe I’ve forgotten how to worry.”
“Well that’s no good for me, I can’t start a new war just to get used to fighting,” Thomas replied. “Figures that I can only forget good things.”
“Then try the drink and women,” said Giorgios smiling. “When used together they can be almost as frightening as war.”
“Alright, now I’m half expecting this woman of yours to be some kind of horrible monster,” said Thomas smirking.
A bemused look crossed Giorgios’ face as he said, “You won’t find it so funny when I tell her you said that.” The two laughed, and for the rest of the procession Thomas found it easier to avoid thinking of Jerusalem, as his thoughts turned towards the happier prospects of what entertainment might await him as a guest of the emperor.
* * * * *
Evidently Prince Thomas is quite impressed with his time in Constantinople, for he stays there for a solid two months before moving on, this time taking a return route through the Adriatic, which allows him to sightsee in Venice as well. Back in the British Isles, a marriage occurs between the twelve year old King James V of Scotland and Cecily of York, the youngest sister of King Edmund I of Ireland. Perhaps the most surprising of royal births is that of Leopold of Austria, only surviving child of Emperor Christoph I of the Holy Roman Empire and his wife Amalie of Brandenburg. His birth is surprising for a number of reasons, including the advanced age of his parents at thirty seven and thirty eight, the supposed infertility of his father, and the fact that his birth was preceded by only a single stillborn sibling almost a decade prior. Indeed, the emperor Christoph himself is remembered on this occasion for saying, “I can think of no one more surprised than myself, save perhaps my Amalie.”
The year 1499 plays host to a number of important colonial activities. First among these is the deployment by the Aragonese of the second expedition of Louis de Valois (son of Louis XI, not the son of King John II). Although officially barred from exploring the new world by the Treaty of Chambery, their interest in the west, by this point still thought to be just a stopping point on the road to China, is great. As an important ally of France in the Iberian Peninsula they are allowed the use of French ports on the Atlantic by King John II, who is not altogether pleased by the cozy relations between Portugal, Brittany, and Castile. By sponsoring Aragon, he hopes to create some serious competition for the Portuguese, in a place where he can far more closely influence events. Although working with a potential contender to the French throne is hardly John’s first choice, Louis has largely gone native in Aragon, and has shown little interest, and gained little support in France since his exile, instead preferring the exploration of new lands in the west to political pastimes.
The second expedition of Louis de Valois gains its greatest historical significance from the fact that it is the first non-Venetian mission to the new world with settlement as its motivator. An excellent cartographer, Louis de Valois was able to learn quite a bit during his first new world expedition, and his maps of the area are the best of the area for at least twenty years to come, and far better than those owned by the Venetians, despite their holding of actual colonies in the area. One particular piece of information that Valois holds is the knowledge of the large continental landmass to the northwest of the Sugar Islands. Rather than squabbling over the islands, Valois thinks that the expedition and ultimately the Crown of Aragon would be served better served by staking a claim on the mainland. Choosing a sight on a peninsula to the north of Venetian San Marco (1), Valois and an expeditionary force of four hundred persons, including one hundred soldiers, forty women, nine priests, and the rest being a mix of artisans and unskilled workers, land on July 6th. A bay area on the peninsula’s eastern coast is chosen, and Valois christens the new settlement as New Valencia (2). The location is not unknown to Valois, who is aware of friendly natives in the region, and diplomatic relations are established with the Tequesta tribe early in the colony’s existence. Unlike the Venetian colonies, which are primarily built around plantation farming, New Valencia’s purpose is to keep the Venetians out of the mainland, and to establish a forward base for future colonial ventures. For this reason, the colony puts great emphasis on becoming self-sustaining, and cultivation of food crops and construction of earthen defenses are the primary focus of the colony in its first year.
In the Venetian colonies, a new exploratory mission is sent forth, this time under Francesco Colleoni, to explore the landmass to the west of the Sugar Islands. His expedition lands in Maya territory, in what is now simply known as the Maya Peninsula (3), and goes some ways inland, pillaging villages and taking captives along the way. The expedition will later be criticized by imperialists and native supporters alike for failing to establish or even attempt to establish diplomatic relations with the natives. When they are some ways inland, encamped in a thick jungle area, the locals strike back. In a night ambush, the natives take the expedition totally by surprise. Those who live long enough to get to their feet run for their lives, and while some escape and make it back to where the ship is anchored, most are captured. Among the captured are Colleoni himself, Giambattista Vasari, the expedition’s chaplain, and Benedetto di Syracusa, who after the failure of his career as a plantation owner on San Elmo chose to liquidate his remaining assets and set sail with the expedition when it passed.
Cenote Sacro, Chechen Itza March 23rd, 1499
Benedetto struggled against his bonds holding his hands. The rope was strong, but he could feel it weakening. If he could just break it before they got wherever they were going, he could escape. He’d tried his best to remember his way back towards the coast as they walked, and he reasoned that he had a fair chance of making good his escape in the huge expanse of jungle.
Just then one of the Cipans (4) guarding them looked in his direction, and Benedetto abandoned his attempt to break his rope and attempted to look frightened and confused like most of his comrades. The Cipan didn’t seem to buy his act, and Benedetto was sure that he was about to be punished for his feeble escape attempt, but then one of the Cipan’s near the front of the column yelled something, and the man who had been staring at him reluctantly disengaged from him. For just a second Benedetto felt relief, but he was quickly overwhelmed by something new. He smelled something peculiar, but unmistakable. Dirty water, he thought.
He looked to his right, and all of a sudden he could see it, a massive pool, not more than twenty feet from them, and surrounded by sheer cliffs on all sides. Here and there small manmade stone structures could be seen about the tops of the cliffs. Below, the water looked almost as green as the forest, but glassy smooth and reflective. As they trudged onwards, Benedetto realized that they were following the curve of the pool. After several minutes following the pool’s rim, they stopped abruptly, and new voices, one of them distinctly older than those of the men who had captured them. After a moment of discussing among the Cipans, Benedetto and his comrades found themselves brought closer to the pool.
When they had reached some stone ruins very near the edge of the cliffs, the Italians were lined up single file. About thirty had been captured, and looking down the line Benedetto recognized several of them. Most were fidgeting nervously, while the chaplain and a few others were silently mouthing words of prayer with their bound hands clasped tightly together. Most of them were still wearing some or all of their armor, although Benedetto himself and about half of them had lost their helmets. Around them a great multitude of Cipans had gathered, at least two hundred, but Benedetto guessed even more. Before them, several men stood. One, whom Benedetto assumed to be the leader, wore a large woven hat, and a large stone and wooden necklace. Hovering around him were four men, each partially colored in what Benedetto could only assume was some kind of blue paint.
After speaking with the painted men for a moment, the leader pointed at one of the prisoners, and Benedetto looked down the line to his left to see who they were pointing at. Two of the painted men stepped forwards and grabbed the captain, Francesco, and roughly shoved him towards their leader. Dressed in a large cloak and a feathered helmet, Benedetto could see why Francesco would be singled out. No doubt they know his father is rich, you can smell the gold on his veins. They brought Francesco before their leader, and he said something in his strange language to Francesco.
Francesco himself was getting nervous, and he desperately tried to reason with the leader, despite knowing nothing of their language. “Stop this at once! You won’t receive any payment if I’m harmed! My family can make sure you never see sunlight again if you give them a reason to!” The Cipan leader predictably understood none of his words, and instead turned his attention to Francesco’s helmet and breastplate. One of the painted men curiously knocked on it, and was surprised by the sound of its metallic chink. For a few moments the painted men busied themselves with Francesco’s armor, evidently attempting to remove it, all the while ignoring Francesco’s frantic threats and pleas. At last they discovered the leather straps about the shoulders, and one of them produced a knife, which they used to cut away first his cloak, and then the leather bindings holding his armor in place. Then, more surprisingly, they began to cut away the rest of Francesco’s clothing as well, and Benedetto watched in fearful confusion as Francesco was stripped of every stitch of clothing, and Francesco began struggling with all of his strength against his captors. This reminded Benedetto of his own bindings, and he began to struggle with them again, biting at the ropes while keeping his eyes fixed on the macabre scene before him.
Despite his struggles, two of the painted men were able to force Francesco over to a stone slab near the edge of the pool, while another gathered up his clothing and armor. Upon reaching the edge of the pool, the painted man threw Francesco’s possessions into the pool, and then all four of them attempted to force Francesco to lie down on the stone slab. Although he struggled mightily, there was no way for Francesco to resist all four of them with bound hands, and soon they had him pinned to the table, with one painted man holding each leg down, one on each arm. Then their leader stepped forwards. He was holding the knife that had been used to cut off Francesco’s clothes, and he stepped up to the altar stone from Francesco’s left side, and slowly cut away the rope binding Francesco’s hands together. His hands free, Francesco made one last strong attempt to escape, and he managed to free his right leg and kick the face of the man who had been holding it before he was restrained again.
By this point Benedetto had forgotten his own attempt to escape, and was, like most of his comrades, staring mesmerized at the scene before him. Only Father Giambattista was still praying now, but his hoarsely whispered prayers added to the unreal trancelike feeling that had engulfed the Italians. The painted men and their leader began chanting, and many of the other Cipans joined them in doing so, and then Benedetto saw their leader raise his knife, silhouetted by the sinking sun, high over Francesco’s midsection, and an unearthly yell that slowly turned to a bloodcurdling scream came from Francesco as the knife was brought down. Benedetto now tried to run forwards, now filled with the realization that they had all been brought here to die, but his feet failed him, and he tripped on an uneven stone after only two steps. One of the Cipan warriors grabbed him and roughly stood him up, and he stared in horror as Francesco’s screams stopped, and the man with the knife raised something dripping and quivering up into the sky. He then walked over to the edge of the pool and dropped it in. After this, he returned to the unmoving form of Francesco and, taking a tool resembling a crude sword from one of the painted men, he decapitated Francesco with three blows. Where at first there was shock and horror, now screams and outrage came from the Italians, and one man made a more successful attempt than Benedetto to run to Francesco’s aid, only to be taken down by a warrior with a spear, killing him instantly with a blow to the head. The man with the knife took Francesco’s head, and once again reverently dropped it into the pool, while two of the painted men did the same with his body, and two more went for the corpse of the man who had run to Francesco’s aid, and did likewise.
Then Giambattista’s voice rose, crying, “Lord God in heaven, have mercy on us! Christ have mercy on us! Holy Ghost, have mercy on us!” Unnerved by his shouting, one of the Cipan warriors clubbed his head with the side of his spear, and the shocked priest stumbled before falling to his knees.
“We are alone,” Benedetto whispered to himself, “God isn’t coming for us.”
(1) In OTL, Florida.
(2) Appriximately where OTL Miami is.
(3) OTL's Yucatan, TTL named for the native tribes of the area.
(4) TTL Cipan (pronounced like the common English words sip and an) is the equivalent term to Indians in OTL, and is commo slang for all native Americans. It is based on the European name for Japan in the renaissance, Cipangu.