The Jaguar's Roar - An Aztec Timeline
- Thread starter Vinization
- Start date
Word of a powerful empire filled up to its neck with precious metals will inevitably get around, but it would be extremely difficult for other European kingdoms to get even a small cut of the trade at first. The Caribbean is a Spanish lake and will remain so for at least a few more decades, especially now that places like Cuba and Jamaica are a lot more important to Madrid ITTL.
As for Mesoamerican knowledge of Europe, they are aware there are more countries there than just Spain, but they know very little about them since all the information they have comes exclusively from Spanish sources. For now, at least.
I'm guessing the Aztecs build up their navy and have a falling-out with the Spanish? That allows the English or Portuguese to squeeze their way in.
Let's not put the cart ahead of the horse (that's the saying, right?) just yet, building oceangoing vessels is a completely different task from building ones suited for sailing in lakes. Still a big leap from canoes, of course.
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I'd say the latter is more likely to happen before the former. The Aztecs don't need to rely on the Spanish, especially when the relationship starts to become less beneficial for the Tlatoani.
Part 9: Meanwhile, in Italy (I)
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Part 9: Meanwhile, in Italy (I)
While his westernmost subjects were busy exploring, settling and often plundering an ever-growing part of the New World, back in Spain (and practically half of Europe) king Charles was mired in the latest episode of a struggle that began years before his birth. This struggle, now known as the Italian Wars, pitted Spain and the Holy Roman Empire against the kingdom of France for control of Italy, whose states devolved from being some of the wealthiest in Europe during the 14th and 15th centuries to becoming mere prizes to be fought over by foreign powers by dawn of the 16th century. By the time hostilities broke out once again, in 1521, the French controlled the Duchy of Milan and the Republic of Genoa, and were allied with the Republic of Venice, while their Habsburg opponents ruled the southern half of the peninsula (Naples and Sicily) and were allied with the Papal States, which wished to take over the parts of Milan south of the Po river (Parma and Piacenza).
While this war was, on the greater scheme of things, merely yet another flare-up of a rivalry that would last for centuries to come, for Charles and his French counterpart, Francis I, it also had a personal aspect: both men ran for the title of Holy Roman Emperor in 1519, and while the former was elected unanimously thanks to his deeper pockets the race was still long and bitter.
Part 9: Meanwhile, in Italy (I)
While his westernmost subjects were busy exploring, settling and often plundering an ever-growing part of the New World, back in Spain (and practically half of Europe) king Charles was mired in the latest episode of a struggle that began years before his birth. This struggle, now known as the Italian Wars, pitted Spain and the Holy Roman Empire against the kingdom of France for control of Italy, whose states devolved from being some of the wealthiest in Europe during the 14th and 15th centuries to becoming mere prizes to be fought over by foreign powers by dawn of the 16th century. By the time hostilities broke out once again, in 1521, the French controlled the Duchy of Milan and the Republic of Genoa, and were allied with the Republic of Venice, while their Habsburg opponents ruled the southern half of the peninsula (Naples and Sicily) and were allied with the Papal States, which wished to take over the parts of Milan south of the Po river (Parma and Piacenza).
While this war was, on the greater scheme of things, merely yet another flare-up of a rivalry that would last for centuries to come, for Charles and his French counterpart, Francis I, it also had a personal aspect: both men ran for the title of Holy Roman Emperor in 1519, and while the former was elected unanimously thanks to his deeper pockets the race was still long and bitter.
Italy at the dawn of the 16th century.
By 1521 the northern third of the peninsula was ruled by France and its allies, while the south was controlled by the Habsburgs.
The war got off to a promising start for the Habsburgs, with a combined Imperial-Papal army commanded by the veteran condottiero Prospero Colonna invading Lombardy in November 1521 and forcing the outnumbered forces of the French governor, Odet de Foix, Viscount of Lautrec, to retreat without a single battle. They were aided in this endeavor by the local populace, who rose up in revolt against the hated French occupiers and their taxes, so that by early 1522 nearly all of the duchy's territory was under Habsburg control, save for the Castello Sforzesco in Milan itself, where the city's French garrison fled to after the rest of it fell. Still, they too would be forced to capitulate if help didn't come soon, and with Colonna's army receiving fresh reinforcements from Germany under the command of Francesco Sforza (whose dynasty ruled the duchy before its conquest by France in 1499), this became an increasingly likely possibility.
Of course, Lautrec had no intention of allowing this to happen. Having retreated in mostly good order despite the success of the Imperial offensive, his once meagre ranks were swelled by a powerful force of 16.000 Swiss pikemen and additional reinforcements from Venice, so that his army may have numbered as many as 30.000 men (though most estimates put its size as somewhere ranging from 20 to 25.000 troops) by the time it left winter quarters. However, Lautrec was unwilling to go on the attack, since Colonna's soldiers spent the winter months erecting formidable defenses in Milan and its outskirts, which meant that a direct assault would be either very costly at best or disastrous at worst. Thus, he attempted to lure the Imperials out of their stronghold, first by attacking the cities of Pavia and Novara, and, once that plan failed to achieve its objective, by cutting their lines of communication. Unfortunately, his Swiss mercenaries, who had not yet received any of the money they were promised after their entry into Lombardy, had other ideas: they demanded an immediate attack, otherwise they would return to their cantons. Forced to choose between fighting a battle on a field chosen by his opponent and losing the bulk of his infantry, Lautrec chose the first option.
The two armies met at Bicocca, a manor park protected on three sides by a marsh to the west, a deep ditch to the east that could only be crossed by a single bridge, and a sunken road to the north, directly in front of the only path the French army could take. This position, already very defensible, was turned into a true fortress by the Imperial soldiers, who built a rampart south of the road (effectively making it even deeper) and several redoubts housing their cannons. Behind the rampart were four rows of arquebusiers, ready to greet their attackers with a shower of lead, and behind them were blocks of battle-hardened pikemen and landsknechts, led by Georg von Frundsberg. A frontal assault was suicide, and yet that was exactly what Lautrec had to do. But in spite of the daunting task ahead of him and his army, the French commander had one crucial advantage: artillery. Not only did he have more cannons than the enemy, but the skill of his country's gunners was famous in all of Europe, and it was on them that he put his hopes.
The Battle of Bicocca began on the dawn of April 27. Two columns of Swiss pikemen, led by Anne de Montmorency, marched toward the entrenched Imperials and stopped just outside the range of the enemy artillery, while their own guns were put in place (1). Said guns unleashed a merciless bombardment as soon as they were ready, and Colonna could do little more than watch as more and more of his heavy cannons were knocked out of commission by the French barrage, the only consolation being that they couldn't hit all of his troops from their current position, only the forwardmost ones. By the time the Swiss were at last ordered to attack, the response to their advance was far less ferocious than it could have been, thanks to the losses their enemies suffered. Even so, the battle was just beginning: once the pikemen reached the sunken road, they were greeted by a hail of bullets fired by the surviving Habsburg arquebusiers, one they couldn't respond to properly since their pikes were shorter than the combined depth of the road and the height of the rampart right behind it. Still, despite their growing casualties, a number of them reached the top of the rampart, where they locked swords and pikes with the enemy landsknechts.
Of course, Lautrec had no intention of allowing this to happen. Having retreated in mostly good order despite the success of the Imperial offensive, his once meagre ranks were swelled by a powerful force of 16.000 Swiss pikemen and additional reinforcements from Venice, so that his army may have numbered as many as 30.000 men (though most estimates put its size as somewhere ranging from 20 to 25.000 troops) by the time it left winter quarters. However, Lautrec was unwilling to go on the attack, since Colonna's soldiers spent the winter months erecting formidable defenses in Milan and its outskirts, which meant that a direct assault would be either very costly at best or disastrous at worst. Thus, he attempted to lure the Imperials out of their stronghold, first by attacking the cities of Pavia and Novara, and, once that plan failed to achieve its objective, by cutting their lines of communication. Unfortunately, his Swiss mercenaries, who had not yet received any of the money they were promised after their entry into Lombardy, had other ideas: they demanded an immediate attack, otherwise they would return to their cantons. Forced to choose between fighting a battle on a field chosen by his opponent and losing the bulk of his infantry, Lautrec chose the first option.
The two armies met at Bicocca, a manor park protected on three sides by a marsh to the west, a deep ditch to the east that could only be crossed by a single bridge, and a sunken road to the north, directly in front of the only path the French army could take. This position, already very defensible, was turned into a true fortress by the Imperial soldiers, who built a rampart south of the road (effectively making it even deeper) and several redoubts housing their cannons. Behind the rampart were four rows of arquebusiers, ready to greet their attackers with a shower of lead, and behind them were blocks of battle-hardened pikemen and landsknechts, led by Georg von Frundsberg. A frontal assault was suicide, and yet that was exactly what Lautrec had to do. But in spite of the daunting task ahead of him and his army, the French commander had one crucial advantage: artillery. Not only did he have more cannons than the enemy, but the skill of his country's gunners was famous in all of Europe, and it was on them that he put his hopes.
The Battle of Bicocca began on the dawn of April 27. Two columns of Swiss pikemen, led by Anne de Montmorency, marched toward the entrenched Imperials and stopped just outside the range of the enemy artillery, while their own guns were put in place (1). Said guns unleashed a merciless bombardment as soon as they were ready, and Colonna could do little more than watch as more and more of his heavy cannons were knocked out of commission by the French barrage, the only consolation being that they couldn't hit all of his troops from their current position, only the forwardmost ones. By the time the Swiss were at last ordered to attack, the response to their advance was far less ferocious than it could have been, thanks to the losses their enemies suffered. Even so, the battle was just beginning: once the pikemen reached the sunken road, they were greeted by a hail of bullets fired by the surviving Habsburg arquebusiers, one they couldn't respond to properly since their pikes were shorter than the combined depth of the road and the height of the rampart right behind it. Still, despite their growing casualties, a number of them reached the top of the rampart, where they locked swords and pikes with the enemy landsknechts.
The opening moves of the Battle of Bicocca.
While the Swiss slowly ground their way through the Imperial fortifications, paying for every inch of ground they gained with a liter of blood, a small detachment of cavalry led by Thomas de Foix-Lescun attempted to cross the bridge south of the park and attack the Imperials from the rear. He succeeded at first, fighting his way to the enemy camp, before nearly being surrounded by a combined assault from two cavalry forces led by Antonio de Leyva, who struck out from the main Imperial position, and Sforza, who attempted to block the bridge, respectively. However, he managed to retreat back to the rest of the army, after which Lautrec sent him additional horsemen to prepare for a new attack. They would be joined in this endeavor by Montmorency and the Swiss, who despite being finally pushed back from the sunken road and suffering at least 2.000 casualties were still confident of victory (2).
The Imperial camp, on the other hand, was fiercely divided. The commander of the few surviving arquebusiers, Fernando d'Ávalos, Marquess of Pescara, called for a sortie to be made before the French recovered and unleashed a second bombardment, one that would be followed by an assault which would be far more likely to storm their position than the first one. Colonna, meanwhile, argued that such a move would be disastrous because the bulk of the enemy army - especially its artillery and cavalry - was still intact. Pescara's fears were ultimately proven correct, since the French cannons, now in much closer range than before thanks to the neutralization their Habsburg counterparts in the previous attack, let loose once more in the afternoon, their shots choking Bicocca's defenders in dust, gunpowder and blood. The park, once a fortress, was now a tomb: all that was left was to do was deliver the coup de grâce.
Lautrec left this task to the Swiss, who swarmed the rampart and held the landsknechts back long enough for a contingent of Venetian soldiers led by Francesco Maria della Rovere, duke of Urbino, to come to their aid. As the struggle for the main line of Imperial defenses devolved into a slogging match even more brutal than the one which took place in the morning, Lescun made a beeline for the bridge at the head of a cavalry force much larger than the one he led earlier, scattering his opposition and making it clear he wouldn't be caught on the back foot this time. Upon seeing that the only avenue of escape the Imperial army had was about to be cut off, Pescara immediately demanded that Colonna order a general retreat before they were all surrounded and annihilated. Since such a move would effectively lose him all of his hard won gains in the previous campaign - the French were far from the only people who had trouble finding money to pay for their mercenaries - the veteran condottiero decided against it and chose to give Lautrec as bloody a nose as possible. In his defense, by this point there was nothing he could do - the Imperial army would melt away sooner or later.
But Pescara had no intention of becoming a casualty, especially not in a battle he was sure would've had a different result had his advice been heeded. And so, while most of his peers were either killed or taken prisoner, he and a handful of soldiers slipped away in the mayhem, returning to Milan and reporting what had happened at Bicocca to the small Imperial contingent that was left behind to keep the pressure on the Castello Sforzesco. The flags of Lautrec's victorious army appeared on the horizon the next day, by which time the ducal capital was bereft of any Habsburg troops. Months worth of losses were reversed in a single day, in a battle whose winner didn't even want to fight in the first place. Though the Swiss returned to their homes in the Alps within a few weeks anyway, Lautrec was able to reassert French authority over Lombardy by mid-May, and could already imagine the promotions ahead of him and his lieutenants, especially Montmorency. Della Rovere wouldn't be there to see it, sadly, since he was grievously wounded during the final moments of the battle and died afterwards (3). The initiative was now in Paris' hands, and king Francis was determined to oversee his dynasty's final victory in this war in person.
Naturally, the mood in Madrid (and Brussels and Vienna) couldn't be more different. Though Charles' empire was powerful, certainly more than capable to stomach a single defeat, the reality was that it was a giant with feet of clay, one who was already under great strain thanks to the Protestant Reformation and the sheer enormity of the task that was administrating such a gigantic entity. Tens of thousands of ducats worth of men, weapons and armor were spent assembling the army lost at Bicocca, a precious sum of money which went down the drain for nothing (4). As if that weren't enough, he lost some of his most capable generals - Colonna was killed, Leyva and Frundsberg were taken prisoner, and Sforza only escaped the same fate because he played dead. Pescara was, seemingly, still a valuable asset at first, but he quickly fell from grace after an enraged Sforza blew the whistle on how he abandoned his post during the final moments of the battle. Charles could not reward "cowardice", no matter how hard the Neapolitan argued that Colonna ignored his desperate attempts to turn the situation around before it was too late.
Long story short, the Habsburg cause in Italy was in a bad spot by the end of 1522. Little did Charles know it was about to get much worse - thanks not to the French, but to an ally who was about to reveal where his loyalties truly lay.
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Notes:
(1) IOTL the Swiss refused to obey Lautrec's orders to stay put, and instead charged straight into the entrenched Imperial army before the French artillery had any chance to soften it up. Because of this, they were predictably slaughtered.
(2) IOTL the Swiss refused to fight after the failure of their initial assault. Since TTL's equivalent of it is much less costly and they get a bit further into the Habsburg fortifications, they're willing to attack a second time.
(3) Della Rovere died in 1538 IOTL, by which time his eldest surviving son Guidobaldo was 24 years old. Here he's just eight years of age, which will bring about some... let's just say interesting effects on Urbino. I'll do my best to avoid bloating this TL. My current plans regarding Europe are to write something about the Italian Wars (this update and the one after it), then France, Scandinavia and maaaaybe Russia if I really feel like it. Don't worry, these European "detours" will only be sprinkles on the top of an American (the continent) cake.
(4) Despite the many victories he scored against practically all of his enemies (Francis I, Suleiman the Magnificent, the dude who led the Schmalkaldic League, etc), Charles was plagued by financial problems throughout his entire reign. That was with all the wealth plundered from the colonies, by the way, a lot of which will stay there ITTL for obvious reasons.
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Now that's quite ominous. Not entirely sure who could it be but I'm thinking it might have to do with a power not in Europe but far to the West (*cough* the Aztecs *cough*).
Nope, this chapter actually takes place before Narváez contacts them.
Excellent chapter as always, I personally love the way the butterflies have been hitting Europe already. So does this means that France will have a permanent position in Italy alongside a more powerful Venice? Interesting, also really looking forward for the ally who will betray Charles, can't think of who it can be at the moment, but I know it's gonna be someone impactful given your words.
Not gonna lie, my biggest difficulty was finding a map that included Urbino. 😆
Most of the others showed it as a part of the Papal States, which is weird since it was only annexed in the 17th century.
Um, is anyone in this thread well-versed on 16th century Italy? I'm trying to use Google Scholar to look for stuff, but most of the articles are paywalled.
I KNEW there was something that could get around the paywalls, but I forgot the name. Thanks a lot!
I mainly use JSTOR for my research. You need to make a free account, but it gives you access to 100 free articles per month. If you’re a university student, there’s even the possibility that’s included as part of your enrollment.
Part 10: Meanwhile, in Italy (II)
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Part 10: Meanwhile, in Italy (II)
Few historical figures have as complicated a legacy as Giulio de' Medici, best known to us today as Pope Clement VII. During his lifetime and the first few years following his death, he was deemed a villain no different from the infamous Alexander VI, a corrupt pontiff who was more interested in playing worldly politics and enriching his family instead of tackling the various issues that allowed the Protestant Reformation to spread to practically every European country north of the Alps other than France. Then, as Italy was slowly unified in the 18th century, he began to be portrayed as a patriot and a brilliant, far-sighted statesman, one who laid the foundations over which the new kingdom was eventually built. Unsurprisingly, most of the historians who wrote the works that reframed his image from failed pope to "Grandfather of the Fatherland" were financed by the Italian state, whose monarchs just so happen to belong to the same dynasty as him (1).
Part 10: Meanwhile, in Italy (II)
Few historical figures have as complicated a legacy as Giulio de' Medici, best known to us today as Pope Clement VII. During his lifetime and the first few years following his death, he was deemed a villain no different from the infamous Alexander VI, a corrupt pontiff who was more interested in playing worldly politics and enriching his family instead of tackling the various issues that allowed the Protestant Reformation to spread to practically every European country north of the Alps other than France. Then, as Italy was slowly unified in the 18th century, he began to be portrayed as a patriot and a brilliant, far-sighted statesman, one who laid the foundations over which the new kingdom was eventually built. Unsurprisingly, most of the historians who wrote the works that reframed his image from failed pope to "Grandfather of the Fatherland" were financed by the Italian state, whose monarchs just so happen to belong to the same dynasty as him (1).
Clement VII.
The events surrounding Clement's election as pope, which happened in May 1522, were a reflection of the blow the Habsburg cause had suffered after their calamitous defeat at Bicocca, since his main opponent in the race, Adrian of Utrecht, was a close confidant of Charles V (2). Though this was an obvious sign of what was to come, the real split between pope and emperor was still many months away, and they remained allies for the moment - indeed, the former's predecessor, Leo X (another Medici), was one of the main instigators of the war, giving the Imperial side not only soldiers but also thousands of florins to finance their advance into Lombardy. But, as stated before, the winds shifted quite dramatically since then: France's control over Milan, Savoy and Genoa was stronger than ever now, as was its alliance with Venice, while the Habsburgs had just lost a massive army and couldn't muster a new one just yet thanks to their chronic financial problems (3). The stage, it seemed, was set for a French invasion of Naples, which possessed no means of defense other than its own garrison.
But it was not to be. Instead, an uneasy peace settled on the Italian Peninsula, one that would last almost a whole year. Paris had to get its own treasury in order too, after all, and they also had to make preparations to deal with the threat of a potential attack from England, since its king, Henry VIII, signed a secret treaty with Charles that called for a joint invasion of northern France by Imperial and English armies. While no English troops marched from Calais because it became clear their advance would not be supported the way they were promised, the mere possibility of something happening on that front forced Francis I to avert his attention from Italy for the time being (4). As if that weren't enough, the French ruler also had to deal with the betrayal of the Duke of Bourbon, Charles III, who defected to the Imperial side after a judicial dispute that ended with the confiscation of most of his lands in order to pay for the war effort.
Clement took advantage of the lull to engage in his own treachery. Starting in June 1522, barely a month after his election, he exchanged correspondence with Francis, promising his army safe passage over Papal territories (a must for any offensive against Naples) as long as he helped Florence conquer its eternal rival, Siena, a gambit which would strengthen the Medici family's position in Italy to a great extent if it succeeded. The French king replied by assembling a gargantuan army of roughly 40.000 men, led by him in person, who began their march from Lombardy in March 1523. Unfortunately for him and his new allies in Florence and Rome, things began to derail right from the get go, since the army, cumbered by its own size and the difficult terrain it had to cross, marched at a snail's pace, and supplying it wasn't an easy task either, with many soldiers plundering the Tuscan countryside as a result (5). It didn't take long for the Sienese to get word of what was happening, so that once the French came within sight of their capital, on May 19, Siena's already formidable fortifications were even more impressive than usual.
It was because of these preparations that the French, in spite of being reinforced by contingents from Florence and the Papal States, were unable to take the city in a single stroke. Though completely surrounded and without any hope of relief (the Imperials were busy strengthening their own defenses in Naples), the Sienese people resisted ferociously, forcing the invaders to settle in for a long siege. For almost three months they threw back attempt after attempt to storm their city, every failed assault costing the besiegers lives, money and, most importantly, time (6). In the end, however, Siena's heroic resistance was ultimately futile - their enemies had too many men and cannons to be kept at bay forever, and a large breach was opened near the Porta Camollia on June 11. French and Florentine soldiers poured through immediately after, and the Sienese, weakened by hunger and nonstop fighting, were unable to stop them, and surredendered the following day. From now on, the flag of the House of Medici would flutter over Siena's walls (7).
The last gasp of Sienese independence.
Francis upheld his end of the bargain with Clement at a terrible cost: nearly a full quarter of his men were either dead, wounded or incapacitated by disease, and it would take weeks of rest for the remainder to be able to march at an acceptable pace. Money was not an issue for now, fortunately, thanks to the generous financial reward he received from the Medici for vanquishing one of their republic's most powerful enemies, so desertions were kept at a minimum. The French army got back up to speed in late June, and, as slowly as ever, reached the border between the Papal States and Naples in early September. Then everything went to hell.
Not only did the Neapolitan viceroy, Charles de Lannoy, have plenty of time to reinforce the kingdom's fortresses with new soldiers and supplies, he could also count on an extremely powerful ally: the peasantry. Naples was briefly conquered by France twice in the past (in 1495 and 1501), and the memory of those invasions was still so fresh in the minds of the population that they were extremely recepite to the viceroy's orders for them to burn their crops and granaries in order to keep even a single grain of wheat from falling into the hands of the invaders. It didn't take long for Lannoy's scorched earth policy to bear fruit, as Francis was forced to slow down even more so as to not outrun his supply train, which, to make matters worse, became the target of repeated hit-and-run attacks made by local peasants and brigands. By the time the French finally reached Gaeta, in late September, their army had dwindled to some 27.000 men, as they detached garrisons to protect their supply line. A fleet of Genoese galleys led by the veteran admiral Andrea Doria blockaded the coast, allowing the siege to begin.
Gaeta soon proved itself to be a much more difficult place to capture than Siena was. The city, a coveted military target since the days of the Byzantine Empire, was protected by one of the strongest castles in all of Europe, one that received many upgrades since it was first built in the 13th century, and its garrison stocked up several months' worth of food, water and ammunition. As if that weren't daunting enough, it was also situated on the tip of a peninsula, giving anyone who dared to try to take it only one possible route of attack. However, this also meant the French could concentrate all of their artillery to fire on a single spot, and they had many, many guns. Francis himself didn't take part in the siege much, leaving most of the planning in the hands of the hero of Bicocca, the Viscount of Lautrec. The general's plan for taking Gaeta was fairly simple, much like the one that let him vanquish Prospero Colonna's and his army more than a year before: a long bombardment, followed by an assault. But the castle's walls were sturdy, as was the will of its defenders - no large breaches were seen in spite of days and eventually weeks of shelling, the few noticeable ones being either too small to exploit or quickly patched up by the garrison.
Not only did the Neapolitan viceroy, Charles de Lannoy, have plenty of time to reinforce the kingdom's fortresses with new soldiers and supplies, he could also count on an extremely powerful ally: the peasantry. Naples was briefly conquered by France twice in the past (in 1495 and 1501), and the memory of those invasions was still so fresh in the minds of the population that they were extremely recepite to the viceroy's orders for them to burn their crops and granaries in order to keep even a single grain of wheat from falling into the hands of the invaders. It didn't take long for Lannoy's scorched earth policy to bear fruit, as Francis was forced to slow down even more so as to not outrun his supply train, which, to make matters worse, became the target of repeated hit-and-run attacks made by local peasants and brigands. By the time the French finally reached Gaeta, in late September, their army had dwindled to some 27.000 men, as they detached garrisons to protect their supply line. A fleet of Genoese galleys led by the veteran admiral Andrea Doria blockaded the coast, allowing the siege to begin.
Gaeta soon proved itself to be a much more difficult place to capture than Siena was. The city, a coveted military target since the days of the Byzantine Empire, was protected by one of the strongest castles in all of Europe, one that received many upgrades since it was first built in the 13th century, and its garrison stocked up several months' worth of food, water and ammunition. As if that weren't daunting enough, it was also situated on the tip of a peninsula, giving anyone who dared to try to take it only one possible route of attack. However, this also meant the French could concentrate all of their artillery to fire on a single spot, and they had many, many guns. Francis himself didn't take part in the siege much, leaving most of the planning in the hands of the hero of Bicocca, the Viscount of Lautrec. The general's plan for taking Gaeta was fairly simple, much like the one that let him vanquish Prospero Colonna's and his army more than a year before: a long bombardment, followed by an assault. But the castle's walls were sturdy, as was the will of its defenders - no large breaches were seen in spite of days and eventually weeks of shelling, the few noticeable ones being either too small to exploit or quickly patched up by the garrison.
A section of Gaeta's fortifications.
By the end of October it became clear that the besiegers' strategy wasn't leading them anywhere, and they were in fact in a worse position than their enemies were, despite their control of both land and sea. Lautrec called upon Pedro Navarro, one of Renaissance Europe's foremost military engineers, to come up with a solution, and he proposed the use of subterranean gunpowder charges to collapse a portion Gaeta's walls, a strategy the Ottomans used to great effect in their capture of Rhodes. French sappers worked for weeks on end, slowly digging their way toward the castle, while the Imperial soldiers sent out multiple sorties to stop them, but failed. Then, on November 7, a huge explosion shook the fortress to its very foundations, an entire section of its wall falling apart seconds later. Thousands of French soldiers poured through the breach soon after, and the battle that ensued lasted no less than five hours before they were driven back with heavy casualties. A second assault was made hours later, and though they got further into the Imperial defenses than before, they were still defeated by an enemy counterattack.
Lautrec was in big trouble now. He was low on both able men and ammunition, Francis was becoming increasingly displeased with his inability to take Gaeta, and worst of all, a Habsburg army commanded by Lannoy, numbering some 23.000 soldiers, was on its way to relieve the fortress' beleaguered defenders. He made one final attempt to capture the castle on November 26, which was a failure just like the ones before it, after which he was relieved of duty by his king. He argued, before his dismissal, for a retreat back to Papal territory, citing the danger of being pinned between the Imperial army and Gaeta, but Francis had none of it and crossed swords with Lannoy near the town of Formia on December 8, 1523.
The Battle of Formia was one of the worst defeats suffered by France in the Italian Wars. The exhausted French army, comprised mostly of Swiss pikemen and heavy cavalry, was torn apart by the well-drilled Imperial arquebusiers, and even their usually fearsome artillery was useless because not only did they not have enough time to position it properly, they had very little gunpowder left. Indeed, Francis himself was almost captured in the melee, and the only reason Lannoy didn't pursue his shattered force all the way to Rome to seize him and punish Clement, who Charles V now referred to as "that villain pope" in his letters (8), was the onset of winter, which made crossing the Appenines a fool's errand. But even if he couldn't bring his master a very unusual Christmas gift in the form of an imprisoned king, the viceroy had plenty of reason to celebrate - Naples was saved, and, if everything went right, there was a chance Milan could be taken next year.
But there was one Imperial commander who was very unhappy with the battle's aftermath: the disgraced Marquess of Pescara, Fernando d'Ávalos. Grasping at every chance to redeem himself after the disaster at Bicocca, he was, like in that fateful clash, given command of a detachment of arquebusiers, but in spite of the bravery he showed at Formia, proven by how he was wounded in action, Lannoy got all the credit for the victory while his own contribution was ignored. Infuriated by this latest, undeserved slight, Ávalos returned to his estates in Pescara, writing a complaint about the way he was treated by his superior to the emperor. Before he received a reply from Vienna, however, he was approached by an agent of Clement VII, who promised to make him king of an independent Naples, one that was neither Habsburg nor French, if he betrayed his master. Though the details of his correspondence with the pope were sadly lost to the passage of time, it is known that he hesitated for some time before he received a letter from Charles which made it clear he was aware of his general's now-not-so-secret talks with Rome. Knowing he would likely be arrested if stayed in Imperial territory much longer, Ávalos fled, reaching his final destination, Milan, sometime in February 1524 and openly pledging himself to Francis' service (9).
Fernando d'Ávalos, Marquess of Pescara and king of Naples.
The French king was unaware of Clement's latest plot, and when he learned about it he was supposedly "unsure if he should've laughed or roared" at this blatant attempt to double cross him - the Neapolitan crown was a rightful possession of the House of Valois, he said. But deep down he knew directly ruling southern Italy from far-off Paris was extremely hard, if not impossible, to do, and Ávalos, a noble who was born in Naples itself and was married to a scioness of one of Rome's ruling families (the great poet Vittoria Colonna), would make a perfect proxy, far more acceptable to the locals than he or one of his sons. Besides, Francis was still bitter about Bourbon's defection to Charles, and helping Pescara gave him a perfect chance to return the favor (10). And so the army he had been gathering over the winter, a force which numbered around 28.000 troops once it reached full strength, fell under the rogue noble's command, though he did have plenty of French subordinates to keep him in line. They left Milan in March 1524 and marched at a much faster pace than the previous year, thanks to the army's smaller size and the lack of major obstacles - such as Siena - on the road to Naples this time.
Lannoy, meanwhile, was busy trying to bring Clement to heel. His army attacked Rome as soon as campaign season began, easily brushing aside the Swiss Guard and the pitiful militia the local authorities hurriedly organized to defend their home, and laid siege to the Castle of St. Angelo, where the pope and his entourage took refuge as the rest of the city fell. But then the general had to face with the bane of every Renaissance army: lack of funds. In a strange repeat of the events that led to the Battle of Bicocca, the Imperial soldiers complained that they had not yet received any of the pay they were promised ever since they took up arms several months before, except these men were occupying one of the richest cities in all of Italy, with several instances of looting being reported - indeed, it was only Lannoy's personal charisma, and that of Bourbon, that kept them from burning Rome to the ground (11). But their discipline suffered nevertheless, and at a critical time too.
Ávalos entered Latium in early May, and it didn't take long for his superior-turned-enemy to get word of it and, after much cajoling with his men, sally forth from the walls of the Eternal City to cross swords with him near the town of Bracciano in May 16, 1524. The army he led was a completely different beast from the one Lannoy trounced at Formia - it was well-rested, had many more firearms at its disposal than before and, last but not least, was commanded by a man who knew how its Habsburg counterpart worked from the inside out. Still, the Battle of Bracciano was a very close affair, with the Imperial landsknechts almost breaking the French infantry line before Pescara deployed his reserves - had they done so, they may well have carried the day. But they didn't.
In terms of casualties on both sides, and their percentage, Bracciano wasn't a particularly crushing victory. It wasn't an Agnadello, Cerignola, Marignano or Bicocca, but then again, it didn't have to be. In that time period, when armies which were often underpaid melted away after suffering a metaphorical scratch, a simple victory was enough. And that was exactly what happened to Lannoy's force - his soldiers packed their things and went home. The path to Naples was completely open now: by early July the French were at the gates of Gaeta, which was in no shape to resist them like it did the year before, and took it with little difficulty. Then came Naples itself, and with Andrea Doria's galleys patrolling the waters of the bay named after it, the city's defenders knew there was little hope of relief. So they surrendered on July 22, 1524, and as a reward were spared the bloody fate that would've awaited them had a siege taken place. Within a few more weeks the Habsburgs no longer controlled any territories in mainland Italy. Nor would they ever, at least not in a permanent basis, but they didn't know that yet.
Charles was, to put it mildly, enraged by this catastrophe, but there was nothing he could do about it - in fact, there was a good chance the French and their Genoese allies could also take Sicily if he kept fighting. So he sued for peace and sent out a delegation to negotiate a peace treaty, one whose terms were all but sure to be a complete humiliation for him.
This treaty, the Peace of Toulouse, stipulated, among other things:
Lannoy, meanwhile, was busy trying to bring Clement to heel. His army attacked Rome as soon as campaign season began, easily brushing aside the Swiss Guard and the pitiful militia the local authorities hurriedly organized to defend their home, and laid siege to the Castle of St. Angelo, where the pope and his entourage took refuge as the rest of the city fell. But then the general had to face with the bane of every Renaissance army: lack of funds. In a strange repeat of the events that led to the Battle of Bicocca, the Imperial soldiers complained that they had not yet received any of the pay they were promised ever since they took up arms several months before, except these men were occupying one of the richest cities in all of Italy, with several instances of looting being reported - indeed, it was only Lannoy's personal charisma, and that of Bourbon, that kept them from burning Rome to the ground (11). But their discipline suffered nevertheless, and at a critical time too.
Ávalos entered Latium in early May, and it didn't take long for his superior-turned-enemy to get word of it and, after much cajoling with his men, sally forth from the walls of the Eternal City to cross swords with him near the town of Bracciano in May 16, 1524. The army he led was a completely different beast from the one Lannoy trounced at Formia - it was well-rested, had many more firearms at its disposal than before and, last but not least, was commanded by a man who knew how its Habsburg counterpart worked from the inside out. Still, the Battle of Bracciano was a very close affair, with the Imperial landsknechts almost breaking the French infantry line before Pescara deployed his reserves - had they done so, they may well have carried the day. But they didn't.
In terms of casualties on both sides, and their percentage, Bracciano wasn't a particularly crushing victory. It wasn't an Agnadello, Cerignola, Marignano or Bicocca, but then again, it didn't have to be. In that time period, when armies which were often underpaid melted away after suffering a metaphorical scratch, a simple victory was enough. And that was exactly what happened to Lannoy's force - his soldiers packed their things and went home. The path to Naples was completely open now: by early July the French were at the gates of Gaeta, which was in no shape to resist them like it did the year before, and took it with little difficulty. Then came Naples itself, and with Andrea Doria's galleys patrolling the waters of the bay named after it, the city's defenders knew there was little hope of relief. So they surrendered on July 22, 1524, and as a reward were spared the bloody fate that would've awaited them had a siege taken place. Within a few more weeks the Habsburgs no longer controlled any territories in mainland Italy. Nor would they ever, at least not in a permanent basis, but they didn't know that yet.
Charles was, to put it mildly, enraged by this catastrophe, but there was nothing he could do about it - in fact, there was a good chance the French and their Genoese allies could also take Sicily if he kept fighting. So he sued for peace and sent out a delegation to negotiate a peace treaty, one whose terms were all but sure to be a complete humiliation for him.
This treaty, the Peace of Toulouse, stipulated, among other things:
- That the Holy Roman Empire would recognize the Duchy of Milan as a rightful possession of the king of France;
- That the Republic of Siena and the Duchy of Urbino (effectively leaderless ever since the premature death of Francesco Maria della Rovere at Bicocca, and taken over by a Papal-Florentine alliance with little resistance) would be ruled by the Republic of Florence;
- That Fernando d'Ávalos would be recognized by all parties as the king of Naples, the first to rule it directly in more than twenty years;
- That the king of France had the right to station troops in the Duchy of Savoy, the marquisates of Saluzzo and Montferrat, the County of Asti and the Republic of Genoa;
- That the islands of Sicily and Sardinia would continue to belong to the House of Habsburg.
Peace returned to Italy, but the parties involved knew it wouldn't take long before the spectre of war reared its ugly head once more - such was the norm in modern Europe. As for king-emperor Charles and especially his younger brother Ferdinand, they found themselves agreeing with Martin Luther's ideas far more often than before, thanks in no small part to the scheming done by Clement VII. One can argue he was the true winner of the war, seeing as how he rid himself of a massive threat to his south and turned his beloved Florence into the center of a state which stretched from the shores of the Adriatic to the Tyrrhenian Sea. A consolation prize, another could retort, compared to the death of the Catholic Church in Germany (12).
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Notes:
(1) A very different reputation from OTL's, where he's seen as an incorruptible, enlightened pope (he accepted heliocentrism and sponsored many artists, for example) who nevertheless failed in every single one of his plans and got Rome sacked because of it.
(2) IOTL Leo X died rather suddenly in December 1521 and, in spite of Clement's early status as a frontrunner, was succeeded by Adrian VI. Here he dies a few months later, which means the conclave happens under a context much less favourable to the Habsburgs ITTL.
(3) This is a completely different environment from OTL's, where the French were kicked out of Italy and Venice signed a separate peace with the Habsburgs.
(4) IOTL an English army led by the Duke of Suffolk invaded northern France in September 1523, plundered the countryside and got within striking distance of Paris before it withdrew. They don't do that ITTL because France's position is much stronger here.
(5) Mercenary armies always had a tendency to do that back then, anyway.
(6) IOTL Siena resisted for over a year before surrendering to the Florentines in the siege that ended their independence (January 1554 - April 1555), so I think three months is a plausible amount of time for them to hold on ITTL.
(7) More than three decades earlier than IOTL. They did try to conquer it with Papal support in 1526, but failed miserably.
(8) This is OTL, which isn't really surprising considering how Clement plotted against Charles until the Sack of Rome in 1526.
(9) A similar conspiracy happened after the Battle of Pavia IOTL, but Ávalos rejected it.
(10) I admit I'm using some handwavium here, but then again Francis was a bit of a character. This is the guy who got himself captured at Pavia because he led a cavalry charge right in front of his artillery, after all.
(11) The mercenaries who sacked Rome IOTL hadn't been paid for three years. Their situation isn't as bad ITTL, which means the Eternal City doesn't lose four-fifths of its population after the Imperial army takes it.
(12) No, Charles won't convert to Lutheranism ITTL, but he'll have much less of a reason to suppress its spread in the HRE if he doesn't have the Papacy under his control.
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Notes:
(1) A very different reputation from OTL's, where he's seen as an incorruptible, enlightened pope (he accepted heliocentrism and sponsored many artists, for example) who nevertheless failed in every single one of his plans and got Rome sacked because of it.
(2) IOTL Leo X died rather suddenly in December 1521 and, in spite of Clement's early status as a frontrunner, was succeeded by Adrian VI. Here he dies a few months later, which means the conclave happens under a context much less favourable to the Habsburgs ITTL.
(3) This is a completely different environment from OTL's, where the French were kicked out of Italy and Venice signed a separate peace with the Habsburgs.
(4) IOTL an English army led by the Duke of Suffolk invaded northern France in September 1523, plundered the countryside and got within striking distance of Paris before it withdrew. They don't do that ITTL because France's position is much stronger here.
(5) Mercenary armies always had a tendency to do that back then, anyway.
(6) IOTL Siena resisted for over a year before surrendering to the Florentines in the siege that ended their independence (January 1554 - April 1555), so I think three months is a plausible amount of time for them to hold on ITTL.
(7) More than three decades earlier than IOTL. They did try to conquer it with Papal support in 1526, but failed miserably.
(8) This is OTL, which isn't really surprising considering how Clement plotted against Charles until the Sack of Rome in 1526.
(9) A similar conspiracy happened after the Battle of Pavia IOTL, but Ávalos rejected it.
(10) I admit I'm using some handwavium here, but then again Francis was a bit of a character. This is the guy who got himself captured at Pavia because he led a cavalry charge right in front of his artillery, after all.
(11) The mercenaries who sacked Rome IOTL hadn't been paid for three years. Their situation isn't as bad ITTL, which means the Eternal City doesn't lose four-fifths of its population after the Imperial army takes it.
(12) No, Charles won't convert to Lutheranism ITTL, but he'll have much less of a reason to suppress its spread in the HRE if he doesn't have the Papacy under his control.
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Protestant Habsburgs? Interesting------------------
Part 10: Meanwhile, in Italy (II)
Few historical figures have as complicated a legacy as Giulio de' Medici, best known to us today as Pope Clement VII. During his lifetime and the first few years following his death, he was deemed a villain no different from the infamous Alexander VI, a corrupt pontiff who was more interested in playing worldly politics and enriching his family instead of tackling the various issues that allowed the Protestant Reformation to spread to practically every European country north of the Alps other than France. Then, as Italy was slowly unified in the 18th century, he began to be portrayed as a patriot and a brilliant, far-sighted statesman, one who laid the foundations over which the new kingdom was eventually built. Unsurprisingly, most of the historians who wrote the works that reframed his image from failed pope to "Grandfather of the Fatherland" were financed by the Italian state, whose monarchs just so happen to belong to the same dynasty as him (1).
The events surrounding Clement's election as pope, which happened in May 1522, were a reflection of the blow the Habsburg cause had suffered after their calamitous defeat at Bicocca, since his main opponent in the race, Adrian of Utrecht, was a close confidant of Charles V (2). Though this was an obvious sign of what was to come, the real split between pope and emperor was still many months away, and they remained allies for the moment - indeed, the former's predecessor, Leo X (another Medici), was one of the main instigators of the war, giving the Imperial side not only soldiers but also thousands of florins to finance their advance into Lombardy. But, as stated before, the winds shifted quite dramatically since then: France's control over Milan, Savoy and Genoa was stronger than ever now, as was its alliance with Venice, while the Habsburgs had just lost a massive army and couldn't muster a new one just yet thanks to their chronic financial problems (3). The stage, it seemed, was set for a French invasion of Naples, which possessed no means of defense other than its own garrison.
But it was not to be. Instead, an uneasy peace settled on the Italian Peninsula, one that would last almost a whole year. Paris had to get its own treasury in order too, after all, and they also had to make preparations to deal with the threat of a potential attack from England, since its king, Henry VIII, signed a secret treaty with Charles that called for a joint invasion of northern France by Imperial and English armies. While no English troops marched from Calais because it became clear their advance would not be supported the way they were promised, the mere possibility of something happening on that front forced Francis I to avert his attention from Italy for the time being (4). As if that weren't enough, the French ruler also had to deal with the betrayal of the Duke of Bourbon, Charles III, who defected to the Imperial side after a judicial dispute that ended with the confiscation of most of his lands in order to pay for the war effort.
Clement took advantage of the lull to engage in his own treachery. Starting in June 1522, barely a month after his election, he exchanged correspondence with Francis, promising his army safe passage over Papal territories (a must for any offensive against Naples) as long as he helped Florence conquer its eternal rival, Siena, a gambit which would strengthen the Medici family's position in Italy to a great extent if it succeeded. The French king replied by assembling a gargantuan army of roughly 40.000 men, led by him in person, who began their march from Lombardy in March 1523. Unfortunately for him and his new allies in Florence and Rome, things began to derail right from the get go, since the army, cumbered by its own size and the difficult terrain it had to cross, marched at a snail's pace, and supplying it wasn't an easy task either, with many soldiers plundering the Tuscan countryside as a result (5). It didn't take long for the Sienese to get word of what was happening, so that once the French came within sight of their capital, on May 19, Siena's already formidable fortifications were even more impressive than usual.
It was because of these preparations that the French, in spite of being reinforced by contingents from Florence and the Papal States, were unable to take the city in a single stroke. Though completely surrounded and without any hope of relief (the Imperials were busy strengthening their own defenses in Naples), the Sienese people resisted ferociously, forcing the invaders to settle in for a long siege. For almost three months they threw back attempt after attempt to storm their city, every failed assault costing the besiegers lives, money and, most importantly, time (6). In the end, however, Siena's heroic resistance was ultimately futile - their enemies had too many men and cannons to be kept at bay forever, and a large breach was opened near the Porta Camollia on June 11. French and Florentine soldiers poured through immediately after, and the Sienese, weakened by hunger and nonstop fighting, were unable to stop them, and surredendered the following day. From now on, the flag of the House of Medici would flutter over Siena's walls (7).
The last gasp of Sienese independence.
Francis upheld his end of the bargain with Clement at a terrible cost: nearly a full quarter of his men were either dead, wounded or incapacitated by disease, and it would take weeks of rest for the remainder to be able to march at an acceptable pace. Money was not an issue for now, fortunately, thanks to the generous financial reward he received from the Medici for vanquishing one of their republic's most powerful enemies, so desertions were kept at a minimum. The French army got back up to speed in late June, and, as slowly as ever, reached the border between the Papal States and Naples in early September. Then everything went to hell.
Not only did the Neapolitan viceroy, Charles de Lannoy, have plenty of time to reinforce the kingdom's fortresses with new soldiers and supplies, he could also count on an extremely powerful ally: the peasantry. Naples was briefly conquered by France twice in the past (in 1495 and 1501), and the memory of those invasions was still so fresh in the minds of the population that they were extremely recepite to the viceroy's orders for them to burn their crops and granaries in order to keep even a single grain of wheat from falling into the hands of the invaders. It didn't take long for Lannoy's scorched earth policy to bear fruit, as Francis was forced to slow down even more so as to not outrun his supply train, which, to make matters worse, became the target of repeated hit-and-run attacks made by local peasants and brigands. By the time the French finally reached Gaeta, in late September, their army had dwindled to some 27.000 men, as they detached garrisons to protect their supply line. A fleet of Genoese galleys led by the veteran admiral Andrea Doria blockaded the coast, allowing the siege to begin.
Gaeta soon proved itself to be a much more difficult place to capture than Siena was. The city, a coveted military target since the days of the Byzantine Empire, was protected by one of the strongest castles in all of Europe, one that received many upgrades since it was first built in the 13th century, and its garrison stocked up several months' worth of food, water and ammunition. As if that weren't daunting enough, it was also situated on the tip of a peninsula, giving anyone who dared to try to take it only one possible route of attack. However, this also meant the French could concentrate all of their artillery to fire on a single spot, and they had many, many guns. Francis himself didn't take part in the siege much, leaving most of the planning in the hands of the hero of Bicocca, the Viscount of Lautrec. The general's plan for taking Gaeta was fairly simple, much like the one that let him vanquish Prospero Colonna's and his army more than a year before: a long bombardment, followed by an assault. But the castle's walls were sturdy, as was the will of its defenders - no large breaches were seen in spite of days and eventually weeks of shelling, the few noticeable ones being either too small to exploit or quickly patched up by the garrison.
View attachment 736690
A section of Gaeta's fortifications.
By the end of October it became clear that the besiegers' strategy wasn't leading them anywhere, and they were in fact in a worse position than their enemies were, despite their control of both land and sea. Lautrec called upon Pedro Navarro, one of Renaissance Europe's foremost military engineers, to come up with a solution, and he proposed the use of subterranean gunpowder charges to collapse a portion Gaeta's walls, a strategy the Ottomans used to great effect in their capture of Rhodes. French sappers worked for weeks on end, slowly digging their way toward the castle, while the Imperial soldiers sent out multiple sorties to stop them, but failed. Then, on November 7, a huge explosion shook the fortress to its very foundations, an entire section of its wall falling apart seconds later. Thousands of French soldiers poured through the breach soon after, and the battle that ensued lasted no less than five hours before they were driven back with heavy casualties. A second assault was made hours later, and though they got further into the Imperial defenses than before, they were still defeated by an enemy counterattack.
Lautrec was in big trouble now. He was low on both able men and ammunition, Francis was becoming increasingly displeased with his inability to take Gaeta, and worst of all, a Habsburg army commanded by Lannoy, numbering some 23.000 soldiers, was on its way to relieve the fortress' beleaguered defenders. He made one final attempt to capture the castle on November 26, which was a failure just like the ones before it, after which he was relieved of duty by his king. He argued, before his dismissal, for a retreat back to Papal territory, citing the danger of being pinned between the Imperial army and Gaeta, but Francis had none of it and crossed swords with Lannoy near the town of Formia on December 8, 1523.
The Battle of Formia was one of the worst defeats suffered by France in the Italian Wars. The exhausted French army, comprised mostly of Swiss pikemen and heavy cavalry, was torn apart by the well-drilled Imperial arquebusiers, and even their usually fearsome artillery was useless because not only did they not have enough time to position it properly, they had very little gunpowder left. Indeed, Francis himself was almost captured in the melee, and the only reason Lannoy didn't pursue his shattered force all the way to Rome to seize him and punish Clement, who Charles V now referred to as "that villain pope" in his letters (8), was the onset of winter, which made crossing the Appenines a fool's errand. But even if he couldn't bring his master a very unusual Christmas gift in the form of an imprisoned king, the viceroy had plenty of reason to celebrate - Naples was saved, and, if everything went right, there was a chance Milan could be taken next year.
But there was one Imperial commander who was very unhappy with the battle's aftermath: the disgraced Marquess of Pescara, Fernando d'Ávalos. Grasping at every chance to redeem himself after the disaster at Bicocca, he was, like in that fateful clash, given command of a detachment of arquebusiers, but in spite of the bravery he showed at Formia, proven by how he was wounded in action, Lannoy got all the credit for the victory while his own contribution was ignored. Infuriated by this latest, undeserved slight, Ávalos returned to his estates in Pescara, writing a complaint about the way he was treated by his superior to the emperor. Before he received a reply from Vienna, however, he was approached by an agent of Clement VII, who promised to make him king of an independent Naples, one that was neither Habsburg nor French, if he betrayed his master. Though the details of his correspondence with the pope were sadly lost to the passage of time, it is known that he hesitated for some time before he received a letter from Charles which made it clear he was aware of his general's now-not-so-secret talks with Rome. Knowing he would likely be arrested if stayed in Imperial territory much longer, Ávalos fled, reaching his final destination, Milan, sometime in February 1524 and openly pledging himself to Francis' service (9).
Fernando d'Ávalos, Marquess of Pescara and king of Naples.
The French king was unaware of Clement's latest plot, and when he learned about it he was supposedly "unsure if he should've laughed or roared" at this blatant attempt to double cross him - the Neapolitan crown was a rightful possession of the House of Valois, he said. But deep down he knew directly ruling southern Italy from far-off Paris was extremely hard, if not impossible, to do, and Ávalos, a noble who was born in Naples itself and was married to a scioness of one of Rome's ruling families (the great poet Vittoria Colonna), would make a perfect proxy, far more acceptable to the locals than he or one of his sons. Besides, Francis was still bitter about Bourbon's defection to Charles, and helping Pescara gave him a perfect chance to return the favor (10). And so the army he had been gathering over the winter, a force which numbered around 28.000 troops once it reached full strength, fell under the rogue noble's command, though he did have plenty of French subordinates to keep him in line. They left Milan in March 1524 and marched at a much faster pace than the previous year, thanks to the army's smaller size and the lack of major obstacles - such as Siena - on the road to Naples this time.
Lannoy, meanwhile, was busy trying to bring Clement to heel. His army attacked Rome as soon as campaign season began, easily brushing aside the Swiss Guard and the pitiful militia the local authorities hurriedly organized to defend their home, and laid siege to the Castle of St. Angelo, where the pope and his entourage took refuge as the rest of the city fell. But then the general had to face with the bane of every Renaissance army: lack of funds. In a strange repeat of the events that led to the Battle of Bicocca, the Imperial soldiers complained that they had not yet received any of the pay they were promised ever since they took up arms several months before, except these men were occupying one of the richest cities in all of Italy, with several instances of looting being reported - indeed, it was only Lannoy's personal charisma, and that of Bourbon, that kept them from burning Rome to the ground (11). But their discipline suffered nevertheless, and at a critical time too.
Ávalos entered Latium in early May, and it didn't take long for his superior-turned-enemy to get word of it and, after much cajoling with his men, sally forth from the walls of the Eternal City to cross swords with him near the town of Bracciano in May 16, 1524. The army he led was a completely different beast from the one Lannoy trounced at Formia - it was well-rested, had many more firearms at its disposal than before and, last but not least, was commanded by a man who knew how its Habsburg counterpart worked from the inside out. Still, the Battle of Bracciano was a very close affair, with the Imperial landsknechts almost breaking the French infantry line before Pescara deployed his reserves - had they done so, they may well have carried the day. But they didn't.
In terms of casualties on both sides, and their percentage, Bracciano wasn't a particularly crushing victory. It wasn't an Agnadello, Cerignola, Marignano or Bicocca, but then again, it didn't have to be. In that time period, when armies which were often underpaid melted away after suffering a metaphorical scratch, a simple victory was enough. And that was exactly what happened to Lannoy's force - his soldiers packed their things and went home. The path to Naples was completely open now: by early July the French were at the gates of Gaeta, which was in no shape to resist them like it did the year before, and took it with little difficulty. Then came Naples itself, and with Andrea Doria's galleys patrolling the waters of the bay named after it, the city's defenders knew there was little hope of relief. So they surrendered on July 22, 1524, and as a reward were spared the bloody fate that would've awaited them had a siege taken place. Within a few more weeks the Habsburgs no longer controlled any territories in mainland Italy. Nor would they ever, at least not in a permanent basis, but they didn't know that yet.
Charles was, to put it mildly, enraged by this catastrophe, but there was nothing he could do about it - in fact, there was a good chance the French and their Genoese allies could also take Sicily if he kept fighting. So he sued for peace and sent out a delegation to negotiate a peace treaty, one whose terms were all but sure to be a complete humiliation for him.
This treaty, the Peace of Toulouse, stipulated, among other things:
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Notes:
(1) A very different reputation from OTL's, where he's seen as an incorruptible, enlightened pope (he accepted heliocentrism and sponsored many artists, for example) who nevertheless failed in every single one of his plans and got Rome sacked because of it.
(2) IOTL Leo X died rather suddenly in December 1521 and, in spite of Clement's early status as a frontrunner, was succeeded by Adrian VI. Here he dies a few months later, which means the conclave happens under a context much less favourable to the Habsburgs ITTL.
(3) This is a completely different environment from OTL's, where the French were kicked out of Italy and Venice signed a separate peace with the Habsburgs.
(4) IOTL an English army led by the Duke of Suffolk invaded northern France in September 1523, plundered the countryside and got within striking distance of Paris before it withdrew. They don't do that ITTL because France's position is much stronger here.
(5) Mercenary armies always had a tendency to do that back then, anyway.
(6) IOTL Siena resisted for over a year before surrendering to the Florentines in the siege that ended their independence (January 1554 - April 1555), so I think three months is a plausible amount of time for them to hold on ITTL.
(7) More than three decades earlier than IOTL. They did try to conquer it with Papal support in 1526, but failed miserably.
(8) This is OTL, which isn't really surprising considering how Clement plotted against Charles until the Sack of Rome in 1526.
(9) A similar conspiracy happened after the Battle of Pavia IOTL, but Ávalos rejected it.
(10) I admit I'm using some handwavium here, but then again Francis was a bit of a character. This is the guy who got himself captured at Pavia because he led a cavalry charge right in front of his artillery, after all.
(11) The mercenaries who sacked Rome IOTL hadn't been paid for three years. Their situation isn't as bad ITTL, which means the Eternal City doesn't lose four-fifths of its population after the Imperial army takes it.
(12) No, Charles won't convert to Lutheranism ITTL, but he'll have much less of a reason to suppress its spread in the HRE if he doesn't have the Papacy under his control.
Another excellent chapter, really enjoyed how the Aztec surviving here have impacted Italy so much: with the exception of the islands, the Habsburgs no longer rule it, the French basically control northern Italy alongside Venice and Naples is independent once again, also don't think I forgot that mention to Italian unification in the 18th century, super hyped for that.
Hopefully we get a chapter on the Aztecs soon, see what they're doing.
Hopefully we get a chapter on the Aztecs soon, see what they're doing.