The Sons in Splendor Vol IV: The Eclipse of the Sons

20 years of the TL to go, lots could happen, how much detail would you like?


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So for Sunset Kingdoms you can play as Walter Raleigh or Henry Tudor, the crap one that is.
Interesting, sounds like this Henry Tudor will not be as successful as the previous one
Thomas Sweeney, he’s one of the legendary agents you get access to, this guy can take out the docks in Goughton with a 75% chance of success, such a huge asset
This person sounds like an interesting character
At game start your leader is Chief Councillor Levi Slusky, he is not a fighter, but you get the cunning and trader traits.
As does this guy
And then just when the Gaelland campaign seems like its flagging. BAM, there she is. Oh Gosh, another Gaelic name, I’m so sorry. Gray-Knee-O-Ma-Halley? Oh gosh, Grace, Grace is the English version of that name. Anyway the pirate queen! I mean we’ve been asking for playable pirates. They gave us playable pirates. Now Grace isn’t strong of course, don’t be launching her into any doom-stack fleets, but through raiding and piracy she can really start racking up a lot of loot. Use her to secure 6 or more islands in the Colombia Sea and you get the Pirates of Colombia achievement!
I cannot believe I completely forgot about Gráinne Mhaol! Wow, if she's around in the Americas, yeah, shit could get really serious for the British.

Really enjoyed this new format as well, can't wait to see what's going to happen next. I predict a lot of problems in the Americas (though no actual secession or real loss), and eventual religious war in England, which probably kind of spreads across the Empire. On the other hand, while this would weaken Brittania in the 1600s, it might lead to a revitalized and fully unified Brittania dominating the 1700s as it did OTL.
 
Narrative 2: Connections
Goughton, County of Goughton, Norland 19th October 1582.

Thomas Sweeney was cold. Really cold. The waters of Goughton Harbour were nothing on the Cold Deep Atlantic out east in his native Kerry, but they were cold enough. The dark night didn’t help either. Thank God it wasn’t raining, or that windy. In fact the dark harbour was rather still, there were only a few boats moving around, mostly fishermen but a couple of early morning traders stirring.

Sweeney was clinging to a pier just above the water-line. This was a crazy idea, but the Irishman had been in crazier places. He had been one of the 100 who had taken Limerick on the night of blood, now that had been a night to forget. This was tame by comparison: get into Goughton’s shipyard and arsenal, and blow both of them. Easy. Well not quite.

Sweeney had been in Goughton for two weeks, and had got a job as a labourer on the wharf gutting fish. It was an awful job, but not as bad as what he was used to gutting. And it gave him time to assess the shipyard and plan his way in. Walter Raleigh had protected his investment well. Goughton was one of only 3 places in Norland building ships and casting cannon. This made the shipyard incredibly valuable and profitable. Accordingly the Duke of Goughton had made security water-tight. There was one land entrance and this was heavily guarded. The wall around the yard was over 20 feet tall and crenellated, patrolled day and night. Raleigh had thought of everything.

Ostensibly Goughton wasn’t really in danger. The border patrols kept the natives well away, and the White Fleet deterred Pirates, but the Shipyard was Raleigh’s pride and joy. It was the main source of his wealth and, along with his military record, a major part of his prestige. Which is why Henry Tudor had sent Thomas Sweeney to destroy it.

Sweeney didn’t really like his master. Tudor was far too cautious and dumb to actually contest with Raleigh for the Viceroyalty of the whole Colombias, but his standing and his grandfather dictated that he at least try. The long dead Henry Tudor, Lord Hampton, had more or less built Britannia’s New World Empire, and Tudor would be damned long before he let it be run by a cut throat like Sir Walter Raleigh. And so Sweeney was here; destroy the shipyard, and with it Raleigh’s reputation, Emperor Edward would have no choice to make Henry Tudor the Viceroy. At least that was the plan. Thomas thought it was ambitious and that it would take more to damage the hero of Rouen’s reputation, but he was being well paid, and Tudor had promised to search for Sweeney’s enslaved family and cousins in Bradbury, buying their freedom, if he succeeded. That was enough for the Irish saboueter; Tudor had saved him from the hells of slavery, he could save his family too.

And so Thomas Sweeney was here. Freezing his balls off. Smeared in tar just like Seamus O’Neill had taught him. Submerged in the black water of Goughton harbour awaiting his prey. He saw it. The patrol boat coming back in from the outer harbour. Its sail was furled and the crew were hard at the oars beating for the sea-gate of the shipyard. It was a chain really, not a gate, but the vertical chains hanging from it made it impossible to swim through, unless it was being lowered to allow an incoming ship to pass.

It had taken Sweeney a week to spot this weakness, and another four days to realise that the only hope was the nightly patrol boat returning just ahead of dawn, otherwise the sentries would spot him. But tonight the harbour was as dark as the void of space, no-one would see him, especially not covered in tar. Thomas began taking deep breaths, sucking oxygen deep into his lungs. The patrol boat was slowly gliding towards him. Another deep breath, his heart was calm. The boat was coming almost level now, just 6 metres away. NOW!

With a final deep breath the black-clad Irishman ducked into the water and swam. Fast. His father had taught him to swim in the lochs and bays at home. He was long gone, but his legacy allowed Thomas to make it across the harbour. The water was dark. But the shadow under the patrol was darker. Thomas was still kicking smoothly as he pulled the boat hook from where he had lashed it to his ribs. One swing at the patrol boat’s hull. The hook glanced off with a dull thud. Missed. Another swing, the boat was pulling away. This one slid off the hull with a long scrape. Dammit Tom, focus. His lungs were starting to ache, his legs still madly kicking at the black water. Another swing. The hook snagged a knot in the wood.

He was there. But was he too far to the rear? Would they see his feet? With a glance behind him, he saw nothing, that would have to do. As for the noise of the hook - had they heard it? It was hard to tell, the boat was moving even quicker now, thank God, the men at the oars would be panting now as they neared home and a warm bed, he hoped that would be enough to make them ignore the dull scrapes.

Thomas clung on and focused on his lungs. How long had he been in the water? Too long. He wasn’t going to make it. His lungs would give out before he was through the sea-gate. Then in the distance he heard the muted clanging of chains. The gate. He couldn’t be far. Just hold on Tom.

The boat passed over something which looked like snakes gleaming in the moon-light. He was through the sea gate. Go Tom. Dropping the boat hook and letting it sink to the bottom he powered his legs as quietly as he could and went left. He had seen a recessed staircase which he hoped he could use. His chest hurt. His vision was dulling. It may be blackening, but everything was so dark he couldn’t tell. Then ahead he felt a firmness in the gloom. The harbour wall. He was there. Slowly he worked onto his back and poked his mouth above the water.

Cold air flooded in. He took a breath and then moved backwards in the direction of the wall. He was in. He couldn’t believe it. The patrol boat continued to pull away from him in the dark. The dock near him was still. Reaching to his leg, Thomas Sweeney pulled the long knife from its sheath. It was his only weapon. Other than the tar only a small loin cloth covered him. But he was in the shipyard. That’s what mattered. Now he just had to cause damage.

He slunk up the steps, carefully looking around. Raleigh had made a mistake. The external defence was so good, that there was no one in the yard itself. Especially at this hour. Ahead of him he saw a ship - The Lady of Grace - a Norland Trading Company ship. He knew she had been in port a week or so, they had loaded cargo just this morning. A perfect target. Thomas slipped back into the water and swam carefully to the Lady of Grace’s anchor chain on her starboard side. This was easy. Knife clenched in his teeth he climbed up the chain and tested the first porthole he came to. It was unlocked. Perfect.

The hinges of the shutter creaked a little, but Thomas was able to peer into the cabin. Weak moonlight creep in from above. It was a wide cabin - it covered the whole width of the ship. There was a cot in the far corner with a lump under the blankets. In the centre of the room was a large table with charts and maps laid out across it, the remains of a meal of hard bread and cheese scattered next to it. On the far side from him was a tall partition creating a cabinet in which was hung a deep red coat with ornate trim. The Captain’s Cabin. Perfect.

Closing the window behind him, Thomas stalked across the room towards the Captain’s Cot. Above his head he heard footsteps. He froze. Had he missed a sentry? Two sets of footsteps. Three sets. He went for the cabinet. Quickly but silently. The steps were coming down the stairs. Fast and heavy. Oh shit. Thomas pressed himself into the back of the cabinet pushing the coat and other clothes in front of him.

Bang. The sound of the door being kicked inwards. Light. Shouting ‘Where is the bastard?’ The table was flipped. A shape moved in front of the cabinet. Thomas did the only thing he could. With a guttural roar he leapt from the cabinet knife bared. Covered head to toe in tar he must have looked like a demon from the lowest circles of hell. He saw a back plate towards him, sword in hand. ‘There!’ Another voice yelled. A gunshot. And Thomas Sweeney’s world went side ways



He woke suddenly. Dripping wet. They had flung water over him. He was still in the Captain’s cabin, lying down, his hands were bound. Where once had been dark there was now only light. A crowd of soldiers filled the room. At their front stood another man, clab in black, his beard close cropped. He was methodically reloading a pistol. Thomas saw that he was bleeding from the shoulder. He closed his eyes in shame.

‘Well that was a good shot even if I do say so myself.’ The man in black said. Glancing at the pistol he continued ‘Mr Knock surely knows his business, think yourself lucking Foley, and let that teach you a lesson about turning your back to a possible hiding spot.’ This last line was spoken to a glum looking youngman at the end of the crowd of soldiers. A clatter of footsteps and another soldier appeared at the door ‘He’s here sir’ He said to the man in black. ‘Good’ he replied. ‘Show him in thank you Perkins.’

The soldier disappeared. The crowd of men in the room shuffled away from the door and stood stiff to attention. The man in black considered his pistol once more before placing it in his belt, as steps approached. The man called Perkins came into the Cabin followed by a tall man in a brown surcoat. He had tight brown hair and his beard was sculpted into a point at his chin. He wore a red cloak about his shoulders and down his left cheek was a long scar, which he liked to say had been caused by an Irish Brigand in the wilds of Mayo. Even without the scar, Thomas would have known Walter Raleigh easily.

Raleigh turned to consider the line of soldiers in the corner. ‘Thank you gentlemen, dismissed’ With a glance at the man in black they began to file out of the room. Raleigh turned to the man in black ‘Fine work Mr Gibbons, I take it he was alone as we suspected?’

‘Yes sir’ Gibbons replied ‘We found these items on him’ indicating Thomas’ knife and his wax pouch of flint and match lying on the re-righted table, they must have broken it open to reveal the contents. Raleigh considered them distastefully, and then his face broke into a weak smile. He finally turned to look Thomas up and down. ‘Mr Sweeney I presume?’ he said.

Thomas was silent. How did he know his name? ‘Well I must say that we enjoyed your little spectacle’ Raleigh continued. ‘How long was he under Gibbons, 90 seconds? 2 minutes?’

The man in black said ‘1 minute, 47 sir’

Raleigh gasped and clapped his hands theatrically ‘1 minutes, 47, you are quite something aren’t you?’ He considered and dropped into a crouch, his eyes only a few inches above Thomas’.

‘Well I’m sorry it was all for nought, Thomas Sweeney.’

Thomas tried to stop himself, but he knew his eyes had gone wide. He stayed silent though, bleeding and dripping water onto the deck.

Raleigh looked tired, but he continued to smile politely ‘Yes I know who you are. It really was too easy you know. Oh you are a skilled man that’s for sure, but you were dead the moment you arrived in Goughton 2 weeks ago. I have friends in Hampton, you see.’

The bottom fell from Thomas’ stomach. He had been betrayed. All that work. That swim. For nothing.

'It seems that fat oaf Tudor underestimates me. I have him under surveillance. No man shall be Viceroy save me.' Raleigh waved his hand around the cabin. ‘This is what we call a bait and switch Mr Sweeney. Mr Gibbons?’

The man in black strolled across the cabin to the captain’s cot. The lump was still there. Gibbons reached under the blanket, and slung a sack across the room. It was stuffed with feathers.

Thomas had failed. Tudor had failed. Raleigh had outsmarted them all.

Raleigh continued ‘Well I am sorry old boy. All that effort for nothing. We’ve been following you of course, and the lady here was a good bit of bait for you. And you bit on it HARD.’ It would have been nice to retain you myself, but of course you know what happens now.’

Without a glance Raleigh turned to leave. Sweeney kept his silence. Gibbons stepped over and roughly picked Sweeney up onto his feet. Neither Gibbons or Raleigh looked back at the Irishman. If they had then they would have seen his only reaction. Not a word. Not a look. Just a single tear running down his dark tar-stained cheek.

Chattahoochee River, West of Bradbury County, Norland. 20th November 1582

The river curved wide and lazy to the north, cutting a swathe through the green vegetation. Watching the bank closely for loose rocks and snakes, Lukas Darida allowed his horse to trot forwards and drink from the cool water. It was a warm day, even for late in the year, and Lukas had never quite seen a country like it.

Even in Bradbury, 3 days ride behind him in the east, the air was cooler and the ground tamer. Here it was hot and broken. Heaven help those travelling through here in Summer he thought. As the horse took her fill, Lukas looked across the river to the next part of their journey. All he could see was vegetation. Some low hills rose in the distance but that was all. Before him lay a wall of trees stretching as far as he could see. These forests were not like those in the Republic further north; whilst they were dark and closed, these were a lighter green with space to ride under the trees. Across the river lay the land of the Gaels.

The horse, a chestnut mare, had drank enough and rose her head staring across the river too. Darida took that as his cue to return to the party. They were a little way up the bank, all 14 of them; 4 native guides, including their own Pequot companion from the Republic, and 10 soldiers, diplomats and traders from the Republic itself. Darida was the 11th. There had been 12, but old Ben had caught a fever before they had even left Bradbury and had to be left behind.

As always with the New Canaan Republic, a careful balance had been assured: the 12 men were equally divided between the Jewish, Czech and Anglo communities of the Republic, though Lukas was the nominal leader now that Ben had left them. It was Lukas who carried the letters from Chief Counsellor Levi to the O’Neill ruler. And the one they’d used with the Prince of Conde to transit Bradbury.

Lukas gave a nod of recognition to the party, and in his broken English said ‘looks clear I say we cross now and make a few leagues before camping for the night, no sense to wait.’ Tehapa, their Pequot guide translated this for their Creek guides and there were nods all around. The Republican contingent all spoke English to varying degrees, it was the only language they had in common.

As the party began to move once more, the natives in the lead, Lukas drew his horse up alongside William Bell. The short round man was a clerk, or an academic, or a polymath or whatever. But he spoke Irish, passably, and so he was the expedition’s translator. ‘How are the sores?’ Lukas asked him. Bell had barely ridden a horse a week ago, New Canaan wasn’t exactly coming down with Irish speakers, and so he had been thrust into action. His backside, along with the rest of him, hadn’t taken well to being ripped from his comfortable reading chair in the Colleges of New York.

‘Oh very well, thank you.’ Bell replied ‘Well I cant feel them anymore, but I don’t know if thats because the issue has abated, or because the skin is so dead as to be numb.’ He gave a sigh. ‘The things we do for unity eh?’

Lukas nodded ‘How likely do you think there will be someone near the river you can talk with?’ He asked simply.

‘Well I don’t know really, in the old country they would be watching every crossing, not to be seen mind you, but to just watch. Out here, with the generations of mixing with natives is anyone’s guess. Of course the question is how far from this Tearmann we truly are. It could be another week’s ride for all we know, I can’t imagine they would have someone that far out.’

‘I think we are about to find out.’ the old Czech soldier said.

The group had come to a wide clearing with the river laid out broad before them. Tehapa took his horse halfway across and checked the depth, and then waved for the group to follow him. In single-file for the crossing, Lukas was alone with his thoughts. Chief Counsellor Levi’s aim had been a noble one. The NCR had lasted for almost 100 years, but it remained split into 3 peoples living together. Slusky sought something to unite the Republic together amongst a common cause and had found it in the foundation charter of the Republic: ‘let all who are persecuted, wearied and burdened find refuge here’.

That was the essence of the New Canaan Republic: sanctuary and safety from evil. Lukas’ Great Grandfather had left Bohemia 80 years ago to find that safety across the ocean, and his own father had fought at Euskirchen to make it a reality. And now word had reached New York of another people lost and weary, in need of protection: the Gaels. Ripped from their homes, some of them enslaved, and the rest scattered into this strange wilderness. The Republic had to do something, and this was the start: establish contact with the Gaels, and if possible a trade agreement. They were growing cotton down here, and Levi would much rather buy theirs than the French from Bradbury, they were arrogant and cruel, and they had slaves. There will come a day when they will be free too, he thought.

He was woken from his reveries as Tehapa reached the far bank and urged his horse up the steep slope. They were now in the land of the Gaels, not that there was a border post or anything. Their unofficial territory was vast and sparsely populated. As they reached the level ground under the trees Lukas felt eyes upon him, but could see nothing. Bell drew up beside him. ‘Do you see anything?’ He asked Lukas.

Taking a last glance around him he turned to the poor academic ‘I don’t think so, but it is so strange-’ An arrow hit the ground beside him. ‘Stop’ He yelled, first in English, then Pequothan. Tehapa had already half turned his horse and was glancing back. ‘Nobody move!’ Yelled Lukas, his hands tight on his saddle. There was still no one to be seen.

A voice in the forest. It bounced around the trees, as if it were everywhere. The silence. Lukas glared at Tehapa for a translation, he was rapidly communicating with their Creek guides, eventually he said ‘they ask our business’.

‘Tell them we come in peace and wish to speak to their chief’ he said.

Tehapa translated and one of the Creek yelled something into the foliage.

William Bell stirred nervously beside Lukas, glancing at the arrow stuck in the ground near him. ‘Well that was close.’ He said nervously glancing at Lukas ‘do you suppose they missed on purpose?’

‘If we shoot to kill you, ENGLISHMAN, you be dead’ said a voice from behind Lukas. He spun around to see a tall dark man. He had black paint under his eyes and carried a type of crossbow which Lukas didn’t recognise. Lukas reached for his sword, but even though he was fast, the man had the crossbow up quicker.

‘Stay still’ he said. It was English, but the accent was strong, and the language broken. The crossbow turned to Bell.

The podgy man had started at the threat to his life, but there was light in his eyes and he stammered a phrase in something Lukas guessed must be Gaellic. This took the crossbowman aback. He clearly hadnt expected William to speak Irish. There began a conversation of back and forth for a few minutes. The crossbow remained levelled at Bell, and Lukas’ hand remained frozen on the hilt of his sword, but he dare not draw it.

‘Bell, what’s he saying?’ Lukas hissed after a few minutes.

‘He says he does not believe us, he thinks we are Britannic spies.’ Bell said

‘Tell him I have proof if he will let me retrieve the letter, and ask if him if he looks English to him.’ Lukas pointed to Rabbi Scaligger at the back of the party who in his long beard, black cloak and hat looked about as English as the man wielding the crossbow did.

Bell spoke again and the man nodded. Lukas had the scroll out, before Bell had even translated. It was the second of Levi’s letters, not the one for O’Neill but for his men and patrols. But like the first it was sealed in golden wax with the solitary candle symbol of the Republic, and like the first it was written in English, Gaelic and Hebrew, as proof that they were not Britannic, they would never use Gaellic nor Hebrew.

The man held out his hand for the letter, caught it and flicked the seal off in one motion. He read briefly and turned to Bell. Again a flurry of Gaelic ensued. Eventually William Bell nodded, smiled and turned to Lukas. ‘He will take us to Tearmann’. He said. Lukas gave a nod of thanks and was in awe as the man announced his name to be Ruadhri and gave an owl-like whistle - over 20 men, Irish and native, emerged from the bushes around them. The Republic had successfully made contact with the Gaels.
 
1581-1583 Norland, Ottomans and Japan
The History of Norland: A Very Short Introduction by T Germaine (2006)

When Sir Walter returned from the war in Europe in summer 1581, he found that his father had died the previous autumn making him Duke of Goughton, and leaving the Viceroyalty of the whole of Colombia vacant. The news actually arrived in London a week after Raleigh arrived home.

Raleigh’s only realistic competition for the position was the grandson of Lord Hampton, Henry Tudor II. This Tudor though was unlike his grandfather, and was overweight, covetous, and dull-witted. Thus began the Game of Shadows; a series of plots and sabotage perpetrated by both sides in Hampton and Goughton. Within a year Raleigh apprehended the legendary Irish spy Thomas Sweeny in the attempt of destroying the Goughton shipyards, ‘extracted’ a confession from him under torture and sent the head back to Hampton as a gift.

In the end Emperor Edward was forced to sanction Hampton, though satisfying himself with Sweeney’s execution as justice, and awarded Raleigh the Viceroyalty of Colombia. So began the Golden Age of Goughton, and the decade’s long tenure of the Iron Viceroy.


By 1582, the legendary Chief Counsellor Levi Slusky, had realised that the New Canaan Republic was in danger of breaking up. The northern and eastern counties which were predominantly English speaking, resented the Republics lack of intervention in the Low Countries War, and were threatening to secede to New Avon. Slusky’s solution for unity was to turn the unofficial aim of the Republic of security and sanctuary into a foreign policy aim.

Slusky despatched the Darida expedition to Tearmann, the Gael capital in the interior [OTL Selma] and contact was established shortly before Christmas 1582. The Tearmann Treaty was the start of Gaelland’s rise to eventual hegemony along the Gulf coast: it agreed to trade Gaellish Cotton and other produce for manufactured goods from the Republic. To begin with, this would be through the port of Dundeirenach [OTL Mobile] but eventually the NCR would be so committed to this Treaty that they implemented other means of transport, and sought foreign support from Europe.

This momentous foreign policy decision on the part of Counsellor Slusky was both an internal political move, and the first humanitarian campaign in History. Outside of the border of the Britannic Empire, there was genuine revulsion at the actions of King Michael during the Black Summer, and the genocidal murder and enslavement of around 20% of Ireland’s population. Darida’s expedition was just one way that the Republic and others sought to re-balance the scales.

Feature History: Youtube Video ‘The Treaty of Constantinople 1583’ Transcript, 16th June 2018.

Welcome to Feature History and today we are looking at the Treaty of Constantinople which was signed between the Ottoman and Britannic Empires in 1583. For centuries the Ottoman Empire had been the scourge of Christian Europe, until Suleiman I died at the Battle of Kalocsa in 1545. Following 35 years of power struggles and minorites, the 38 year old Sultan Murad III sought to build his power base.

This led to the Treaty of Constantinople when the Sultan and the Duke of Oudenberg agree to a trade deal between the two Empires. The Ottomans would continue to supply spices to Europe and would not attack Britannic possessions or ships whilst the Britannic Empire would respect the Ottoman sphere of influence in the Middle East and trade with them in the Indian Ocean, circumventing the Portuguese blockades.

For the Ottoman’s this treaty gave them a new lease of life, and ended their period of isolation. It also gave Murad confidence to attack Persia knowing that his flanks would be protected by Britannic threats. For Britannia the Treaty was controversial. It helped the economic recovery after the Low Countries War, but it was seen by many in Europe as a further betrayal of Christendom, indirectly contributing to the formation of the Catholic Holy League in 1596.

Kings and Emperors Podcast: Shogun Imagawa Ujizane, 5th September 2017.

Ok first up on today’s podcast we are looking at Shogun Ujizane, who ruled Japan between 1575 and 1623, establishing many of the foundations of modern Japan and ending the Sengoku Jedai.

Ujizane’s father Yoshimoto was the first Imagawa Shogun after his victory at the Battle of Okehazama in 1560, which he achieved largely through aid from the Britannic East Asian Company in terms of weapons and limited numbers of mercenaries. Ujizane had to deal with the legacy of this when he became Shogun. In 1582 he passed a number of laws limiting the number of foreign soldiers allowed into Japan at 5,000 and allowing the EAC only to trade from their existing base at Shizuoka.

Ujizane also had to control the social mobility these new European weapons had brought to Japan. The Ashigaru had risen in value and prominence with the Samurai feeling threatened. The Shogun deliberately demobilised many of his non-Shogun forces and declared that they would not be re-mobilised save for foreign wars. These measures bought Ujizane some time, but the Tokugawa and their allies were already spoiling for a fight….
 
Wow. I did not expect Thomas Sweeney to end like that. That was amazing. I guess Raleigh is the way to go.

Nice to see the NCR flexing diplomatic muscles, I wonder how far it will go.
 
1584-1590 Religion
1584-1590: The turning of the screw
With Heaven in the Balance: Britannia 1581-1626, W O’Reilly (2003)

Edmund Grindal, Archbishop of Canterbury, died on the 2nd of February 1585 after a short illness. Grindal’s tenure as Archbishop had seen him desperately try to hold the Church in Britannia. His death threatened to tear it apart. As head of the Church, Emperor Edward had the crucial choice of who to nominate as Archbishop, and his decision has been debated for generations since.

Edward chose John Whitgift, and all hell broke loose. Whitgift was the attack dog of the ‘moderate’ party and had particularly fought further slides towards reform and, as he saw it, the abolition of Bishops and the disestablishment of the Church. Given Edward I’s earlier reformist tendencies, his choice of Whitgift may seem odd. The two men did not see eye to eye on all matters of doctrine, this is true, but they both agreed on the indivisibility of Church and State and the primacy of the Emperor over the Archbishop of Canterbury. In that regard Whitgift was the perfect choice to maintain Imperial jurisdiction over the Church.

Edward’s decision also came from a growing fear he may have had. In 1584 the murder of Matthew Boleyn in Calais, and the release of the Barrowe papers both undermined Imperial authority. Regardless of the motive for Boleyn’s assassination, he was a close friend of the Emperor, and Edward took this as a personal attack on him. Secondly Henry Barrowe was a clergy within Robert Brown’s congregation in East Anglia. His papers, originally published anonymously, but traced back to him by Walsingham’s agents, clearly and vociferously put forth the case for independent councils of elders over Churches Empire-wide based on evidence from Paul’s Letters to the Ephesians and Timothy. They called for the abolition of Bishops and the removal of the Emperor as head of the faith.

Grindal had declined to act against Barrowe, but Emperor Edward saw him as a threat to Royal authority. Without Grindal’s protection, and with Whitgift’s sanction, he could remove Barrowe and Brown from the equation and protect his authority. But Edward had not reckoned on his own Falcons. Seymour and Boleyn themselves launched into the attack on Whitgift. They used the Rochester Address as evidence that he was unstable, and that his rhetoric could easily spill over into violence. Seymour and Boleyn also claimed that the Jesuits were just the tip of a Catholic conspiracy, and that Whitgift would cause division at the wrong moment.

Remarkably, Edward relented. Before Whitgift could be consecrated, he was replaced by Edwin Sandys, the Bishop of Norwich who had tried to keep Brown's Congregations on side and win them back for the established Church. As a compromise, Sandys had Barrowe removed from Norfolk and he was exiled to Scotland, where he was welcomed as a martyr for the cause by Scottish Presbyterians.

In the final analysis, Sandys’ six year tenure as Archbishop was similar to Grindal’s in that he held the status quo and tried to maintain Church unity, to varying degrees of success. There has been furious debate over why Edward changed his mind; he was certainly influenced by his Lord Protector and Imperial Chancellor, but it is possible that he also saw the error of his ways in selecting Whitgift in the first place. The moderate faction were not too put out by this volte-face. Only a few Bishops knew that Whitgift had been selected to begin with, and those were happy enough with Sandys as a softer if still palatable choice. Of course Whitgift's bile-ridden attacks on Presbyterians could still be mobilised, and he remained in the wings when Sandys died in 1590.

In the intervening years of Sandys’ incumbency, the Catholic threat once again receded into the background. The new Archbishop realised that to unite the disparate Protestant factions, he could use the threat of Catholicism to achieve this. The Jesuits and Edmund Campion had proven his point and by the end of 1584 new legislation passed through Parliament, and was enacted across the Empire, which declared that the sentence for Jesuits would be death, and for those harboring them execution, or at least a severe fine. Understandably the number of Jesuits declined rapidly. Sandys’ also doubled the number of clergy and clerks making parochial visitations. These people of course checked the orthodoxy of individual Churches, but now they began querying the Church attendance of individuals. Intense research at Lambeth Palace has shown how the increased distribution of these people was mostly in the north and midlands, with Sandys limiting those in the south and east so as to protect Puritans/Presbyterians inadvertently running afoul of visitations.

Sandys’ actions, combined with the ever-vigilant Walsingham, meant that the 1580s were actually a remarkably quiet time for Catholic plots, before the storm of the late 1590s of course. In fact it now seems that those Catholics willing to oppose the Church and the Empire had gone deep underground, and all but given up communicating through familial links and even then clandestinely. We also suspect that it was around this time that the Stanley family unexpectedly moved towards Catholicism.

As the Catholic threat lay dormant, the Presbyterian one also diminished. The Barrowe Papers had actually caused a break within the extreme Puritan faction. Robert Brown remained on close personal terms with the now Archbishop, and actually quietly returned to the Anglican/Britannic communion in 1587. The remaining part of the Brownist congregations outside of the Church were extremely isolated and insular, posing little threat.

Only Barrowe himself continued to cause issues, publishing further writings from Scotland which were then smuggled into England via the waterways of East Anglia. This sparked the Marprelate Controversy in 1589 when Walsingham tracked down an illegal printer of Presbyterian writings in east London. This was then tied back to Robert Naunton, Dean of Colchester, and John Rainolds, MP for Essex. Both men were arrested but Sandys granted clemency to Naunton and Rainolds escaped with a fine and the loss of his position. Emperor Edward and his Archbishop remained committed to keeping the peace, and even for the use of illegal printing presses, were willing to be lenient, although Rainolds would be slapped with a bond and barred from office for the rest of his life.

As a whole, the 1580s were religiously rather quiet in the Britannic Empire, and there was little clue of the chaos that would soon ensue. However the issue of the Archbishopric would emerge once more upon Sandys’ death in 1590. This time Edward did not even attempt to nominate Whitgift. The intervening time had only intensified the rift between him and the radical reformists. In the end Edward chose another moderate/compromise in Edmund Scambler, Sandys’ successor in Norwich. Yet there was still a tense stand-off at Lambeth Palace between Whitgift and Lancelot Andrew, who had become the Puritan candidate. Thankfully no one was punched this time, but the Puritans had not seen the last of John Whitgift.
 
Narrative 3: Behind the Veil
Acton Burnell Castle, Shropshire, England, 5th June 1584.

The morning was warm as Lady Isabel Stanley, Dowager Countess of Derby, manoeuvred her skirts down the wide stairway of the main staircase of Acton Burnell Castle. The wooden boards creaked beneath her feet and her maidservants held up the hem either side of her so that she didn’t trip. The Oak panels of the main hall reflected the bright sunlight from the tall windows, giving a sense of brightness and breeze than the middle-aged Lady of the house did not feel. Damn this fashion, she thought.

Eventually she was safe on the solid flagstones of the ground floor. Moving towards the library at the front of the house, she knew he would be there on a day like today. This part of the house was still, the kitchens and gardens were through the rear and the bustle was inaudible through the solid stone. Lady Isabel’s children were all out in the fine sun riding. This was a good time to see him.

The two ladies in waiting had followed her down the hallway and with a small nod backwards she dismissed them, thus she was alone when she arrived at the door to the library. Isabel opened the door slowly and entered without knocking, it was her library after all, Thomas had left everything to her in his will, and Thomas Jnr was still two years short of his majority. The library was lit by the large window at the far end, rows of books lining both walls; generations of knowledge of the Stanley family preserved and kept. There was only one person in the room, a man absurdly dressed in black robes despite the heat. He hadn’t looked up as she came in, his bald patch on his head still pointed at her as if an admission of guilt. Around the edges his dark hair was prematurely turning grey.

‘I thought I would find you here on a day as bright as this.’ Lady Isabel Stanley said. Her voice was stiff and proper, with a small hint of humour behind it. Only someone who knew her well would have detected it. The man knew her well.

‘Where else would I be waiting for such a fine Lady to come calling upon me?’ Robert Persons said as he lifted his head revealing his beard, also flecked with grey, the worn lines of his face and his bright, kind eyes. She loved those the most. Persons smiled and stood, bowing formally.

Isabel stepped forward slowly, extending her hand for him to kiss it ‘a little formal Robert are we not?’ she asked playfully.

Robert kissed her hand ‘of course my lady’ he said ‘the walls have ears, do you not know?’ he smiled too and she returned it. She had said that to him the first time she had kissed him. She had lain a delicate finger upon his gaping lower jaw, made a soft noise to shush him and whispered ‘the walls have ears.’

Isabel glanced at the dusty tomes laid out on the dark table in front of Robert. ‘What are you reading?’

‘Er, some works of Saint Augustine, a bit of Aquinas’ he replied. ‘I’m trying to work on a riposte to our dear Bishop of Rochester’s latest work.’ Robert lifted a small pamphlet which had arrived from Ludlow a few days ago. ‘He is quite the firebrand.’ He sighed, glancing down at his work.

Isabel placed a hand gently on his thick black woollen sleeve - how did the Jesuits wear such things, especially in this heat? ‘Would you take a turn about the grounds, clear the head?’ She smiled up at him.

Robert nodded. ‘Of course my dear, but first I have something to show you.’ He turned and studied the low table under the window where a few other books were laid out, and returned to her with a large brown volume. The gold leaf declared it to be ‘The Noble Houses of England’. With a soft thud he placed it on the table ‘1537 edition’ he said ‘to commemorate the coronation of our King Richard IV, she is in it.’

Isbael’s stomach tightened as she realised what Robert had found, she gave him a curt nod, and held her breath. Robert gently turned the pages gently. York-Oudenberg-Howard-Stanley, all the houses of England passed her by, until she was staring at a blue and yellow crest; House Percy. ‘I thought I might find her in here’ Robert said.

He ran his finger down a list of names to the bottom and then he tapped an entry, Isabel craned her neck to see ‘Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, born 1512, married to Cecily Fitzalan, issue William, born 1529, and Anne, born 1533’. Robert had found her. Her mother.

Isabel took a breath and removed the pendant from around her neck. She placed it on the page and opened it to reveal her mother’s likeness. A pale, fair face with long chestnut hair gazed back at her. ‘You found her’ She eventually said, resting a hand on the name ‘Anne’ and feeling the raised ink of the printing.

Isabel had never known her mother, she had died in the act of giving birth to her, aged 15. Anne Percy had been born into the most powerful family in the north of England, but her father’s death in the Ware Rebellion when she was 5 had brought her world crashing down. The Percies had been stripped of their land and titles and Anne had been married off to Robert Dudley, son of the new Earl. Anne had been Catholic, but she had been tossed adrift on the waves of politics and religious strife, an early grave had been the result.

Now almost 40 years later Anne’s daughter had forsaken the religion which persecuted her, and had returned to the old Catholic ways. In secret of course. Only Robert and her children knew. In fact it was the fugitive Jesuit who had led her back to the true faith. ‘I’m afraid that’s all I found’, Robert said ‘I will keep digging though.’

Isabel nodded and stroked the likeness of her mother. ‘Thank you Robert’ she kissed him on the cheek, his rough beard scratching her face. Isabel picked up her pendant as his face reddened and she replaced it around her neck. ‘Shall we go outside?’ she enquired.

As they stepped through the door into the bright sunshine Isabel took in the beautiful lawns and flowers in bloom. The garden stretched out before her and across the spinney on the far ridge she could see Thomas Jnr, William and Phillipa riding through the long grass, the pages and attendants rushing to keep up. Even at this distance she could hear Phillipa’s screams of glee as she clung onto Thomas’ waist. Her long chestnut hair was flowing behind her, just like her grandmothers had.

Isabel studied her daughter, the young innocence and excitement. She had no understanding of the cruel world beyond their lands, a world where she could be married off at the age of 12 to secure a dynasty, erode an ancient faith, or just acquire wealth like some brood mare. No, she decided. She did not want that for her daughter. The children saw their mother and waved enthusiastically. Robert waved back at them, he had become their tutor, and loved them as much as she did. Isabel grinned and waved madly back. Isabel Stanley was happy; with her family, her freedom, and her faith.

Rivers Street, Calais, Normandy-Picardy 16th November 1584

Matthew Boleyn turned his collar up and continued on through the rain. The squall had come in at sunset bringing strong winds and rain with it. It was a typical channel storm for this time of year, and Matthew had seen plenty of them in the last three years here. He hated them. He normally wouldn’t be out in this weather, but he needed a break from Calais and the Company. And it was good cover in the dark night for him, no one paid him any heed as he walked down the wide Avenue deeper into the city.

The rain was not the only thing Matthew Boleyn hated about Calais. The constant smell of fish, the screeching of seagulls, the provincial humour and tastes, but most of all the Calais Company itself. Those men. They were supposed to be the best in the whole Empire. He thought they were only good at disrespecting him. Since the first day Boleyn had arrived in Calais they had ignored his orders, refused to carry out duties and generally undermined him. Loach, his Captain, was the worst. The man was supposed to be the second in command but he often favoured his men over his commander.

Today had been the final straw. Boleyn had ordered Billings, one of the most insubordinate sons of bitches he had ever met, lashed 20 times for refusing to stand when his commander had entered the mess. Loach had argued with Boleyn constantly for clemency, and then had insisted on carrying out the punishment himself. He had gone easy on the man, as Boleyn knew he would. Loach was turning the company against him, he knew it. But Boleyn had to keep discipline. He had ordered another 20 lashes. Loach had stormed off rather than obey the order. Boleyn had carried out the punishment himself, it was the only way that Billings would learn his lesson. His back was in shreds by the time Boleyn had finished

Matthew Boleyn had hoped that meting justice out himself would have calmed his nerves. He had even taken to his chambers for the rest of the afternoon to recuperate. It hadn’t helped. Only Roena would help, he knew. And so he was here, trudging through another damned rain to meet his mistress. Boleyn turned abruptly right into a maze of alleyways near the western gate. He walked on and on through the rain and tight corners until he saw the green door. The small house he had bought for Roena, to keep her close, but not too close.

Pulling his hood tighter around his head to ensure he wasn’t seen, Boleyn edged close to the door and knocked softly three times. There was no response. He thought about knocking again and then he heard a shuffling behind the door. It opened and a crack of light fell on his face. He could make out the silhouette of Roena’s hair in the light behind her but little else. Before she could say anything, Matthew had pushed his way through the door, removed his hood and pushed the door shut behind him.

Then he saw her face. It was bruised. She had been crying. ‘I’m sorry!’ Roena wailed, her ears welling with tears once again. Before Boleyn could ask what was wrong a fist slammed into the side of his head, he went down, or at least he thought he did. He was being grabbed roughly by the shoulders and dragged deeper into the room. Light was coming from the lantern by the door, and the fire alone, leaving the room in almost total darkness. The long shadows moved as men emerged from them. There were five. Loach was amongst them.

Matthew couldnt focus. He was thrown to his knees. Roena landed next to him, a knife to her throat. A voice growled in his ears ‘move and the girl dies, shout for help and the girl dies, try anything and she dies. Nod if you understand.’ His head ached, but he nodded.

‘What do you want?’ He asked Loach, his eyes desperately trying to focus on him. The person behind him slapped him around the head ‘silent unless spoken to!’ he barked.

Loach considered his commander for a time. He stood above Matthew, arms folded, the light from the fire picking out the contours of his face, and his scars from many battles. Behind him stood two other men from the Calais Company but it was too dark to see them properly. Time dragged. Roena’s quiet sobs and the crackling of the fire were the only noises.

Boleyn managed to focus upon his subordinate’s glare. It was cold and furious. ‘1,374’ Loach said. ‘1,374’. Matthew thought he was still concussed. ‘That is how many men we lost at Rouen’ Loach continued. ‘1,374 men, friends all. But you wouldn’t know that would you SIR?’ The last word spat out as if an insult. ‘You wern’t there were you SIR? You were filling your face in London wern’t you SIR?’

Matthew hung his head. He knew where this was going. He stayed silent.

‘And then, you come to us with your high ideals of respect and nobility SIR. You have no idea! No idea SIR!’ Loach took a breath ‘Billings had an idea, Sir. He was at Rouen Sir. You aren’t worthy to clean the man’s boots let alone to deserve his respect. SIR.’ Loach was seething. He took a breath.

‘I’m sorry ok?!’ Matthew yelped. He flinched for a blow that did not come. Loach nodded above him and Matthew knew he could continue. ‘I’ve been hard on you all, I’m sorry, look leave now and I will forget this happened ok, thats my offer’

Loach just continued to stare at him. He took half a step forward. Silence again. The fire. The sobs. Silence. ‘No’ One word, low and final.

‘Please!’ Matthew pleaded, this time the blow landed on the back of his head and he pitched forward.

A fist grabbed his head and pulled it upwards. It was Loach. He had one hand on Boleyn’s head and the other held a dagger. Short and Sharp. Boleyn recoiled from it like a startled cat. ‘Pleeaase’ The man mocked, pulling Boleyn up to look him in the eye. ‘Did Billing’s plead? Did any of the good men you have punished? You’re pathetic SIR’. The last word hit him like a spear. Loach let his head go and he dropped forward again. It was then that he realised he had been stabbed. The pain hit him. He couldn’t breath. With great difficulty he looked at Roena. She was bleeding too, her open eyes were still. Boleyn tried to gasp, to call out, but he couldn’t.

He felt the dagger being pulled from him. The pain receded, the darkness grew. The last thing he saw was a stiff military boot as it stepped over him.
 
1584-1590 Politics and Military
Horrible Histories: Brutal Britannia by Terry Deary (2001)

WHODUNNIT!?

The slippery Matthew Boleyn was bumped off in 1584. His burnt body discovered in a house in Calais. But with manners like his, there were too many suspects! So Whodunnit? You decide!

Suspect 1: Catholics
The bogeyman of 16th century Britannia. Got food poisoning? The Catholics did it! Your cow died? Must have been Catholics! Your trousers were set on fire? Beware Catholics with naked flames! These guys got the blame for bumping off Boleyn, but no one was ever arrested and Calais was a pretty Catholic-free zone!

Suspect 2: His men
Matthew Boleyn was a harsh leader. He whipped his soldiers until their backs bled, and made them march for 12 hours in the rain! They certainly could get close to him, but would any of them be brave enough to snuff their boss?

Suspect 3: Earl of St Albans, Henry de la Pole
A rival to Boleyn, and took his job after he died. Henners was a soldier and a good one at that! They called him swift-foot. Just the man to get away with murder! But was he even in Calais at the time? We will never know…

Suspect 4: Viscount Don, Magnus the Red
Henry’s boss and a real nasty piece of work - his nickname wasn’t because he liked ketchup! Magnus certainly would have been happy to murder someone, but did he kill Boleyn? Magnus was also matey with Henry, so maybe he killed him so his chum got the job? The Red also moved into Calais afterwards, nothing like stealing a dead man’s house!

Suspect 5: Emperor Edward
A lifelong friend of Matthew's, but the Evil Emperor had been embarrassed too many times by his moronic mate. Ed sacked Boleyn off to Calais to get him out of London. Perhaps he had had enough of him once and for all?

Military History. (1998) by Ian Mortimer

The origins of the modern officer corps, the regimental system and musketry tactics all originated in the reforms of Magnus Plantagenet, known as ‘the Red’ in 1586 and 1589. Though disliked by the Emperor’s ‘falcon’ faction, Magnus had enough respect from Lord William Wells and Thomas Boleyn III to force through his reforms and establish an army which could fight the wars of the 17th century.

Magnus began with the Company system. Since the early 16th Century the Imperial army had been made up of Companies of 2,000 infantry and 1,000 cavalry, split 50:50 light and heavy. These were raised in urban areas and relied on gentry to lead and staff them. Instead Magnus implemented a tax on all landowners who possessed more than 10 acres and of 10% on imports. This ‘Regiment Tax’ then paid to sustain and equip the army of the Empire.

Yet Magnus’ biggest change came in unit organisation: gone were the single combined companies of infantry and cavalry and instead an infantry battalion would consist of 1000 soldiers and 6 light guns, with 2 battalions making a regiment which shared a further 6 heavy guns. There was little actual change from the Company system, but this allowed smaller and more flexible units on the battlefield. The cavalry was likewise divorced entirely from the infantry and consisted of squadrons of 500 men. Heavy squadrons still wore plate and carried lances and swords, but increasingly used pistols too. Light squadrons wore just a Cuirass and helm but would be armed with a range of weapons including Schragbus, Snelbus carbines, pistols and other weapons; they could skirmish, ambush, or carry out cavalry roles.

This new structure did not hugely change the number of soldiers in the Empire. After their implementation in 1586 there were approximately 12,000 infantry and 4,000 cavalry in Normandy-Picardy. 40,000 infantry and 10,000 cavalry in England and Wales, 8,000 and 3,000 in Ireland (including the Connacht Rangers) and a further 20,000 infantry and 5,000 cavalry across the New World. This total meant that the Emperor could call on 80,000 infantry and 22,000 cavalry in a war. Of course this was limited by garrison duties, but private retinues (though limited to royalty and small bodyguards for nobles) could perhaps add another 20,000, and not to mention the general mobilisation of yeomanry and militia which could bring anything from 350,000-700,000 soldiers from across the Empire.

The centre of these forces remained urban areas, Calais and London in particular. Magnus in particular favoured Calais. The city had always been a Citadel in English hands, but after 1586 it became the headquarters of the Britannic army with Magnus moving there permanently and placing his friend the Earl of St Albans in command of the Calais Division consisting of 3 regiments of infantry and 4 cavalry squadrons. The city was already the largest weapons foundry and armory in the Empire, but Magnus based his new project in the city too.

Magnus created the first officer corps in the modern era. Most commanders had either been nobility, gentry, or had fought their way up the ranks. Now Magnus required that all officers above the rank of Captain (in command of a battalion or squadron) must have attended one of his new Military colleges. The first was the Aprium College built in the hills south of Calais and named for the boar of Richard of Gloucester. By 1595 another five had been established or were under construction in Richmond on Thames, Cambridge, Kildare, Gloucester and Goughton. Within a decade all units in the Britannic army would be commanded by officers trained in one of these colleges and schooled in the art of war as Magnus and his ancestors had seen it.

Below is a list of units, their size and commander.

Whole Army, Master of Arms/Marshal, Magnus the Red
Army Group, 2 or more divisions, General
Army Division, 2 or more regiments, Colonel
Infantry Regiment/Cavalry Regiment 2000/1000 men, Major
Infantry Battalion, 1000 men, Captain
Cavalry Squadron, 500 men, Captain
Infantry/Cavalry Company, 100 men, Lieutenant (smaller groups commanded by Ensigns)

Later ranks of coronet, 2nd lieutenant, lieutenant colonel, major general and others would be added later, as would brigades. But what Magnus initially designed was an army with a clear command structure, which was led by competent officers and was composed of individual units with a degree of autonomy. Of course there were teething troubles, and a couple of commanders were shunted aside if they refused to undergo Officer training. The most famous of these was John Petrie who later died in mysterious circumstances.

All of these reforms were passed in 1586, but a second round in 1589 strengthened them as well as introduced new weapons and tactics. Having established himself at the Calais Citadel as his HQ, Magnus had brought a number of scientists and engineers, with the help of the Royal Society, across from England to work on improvements to existing weapons and develop new ones. By 1589 a new grade of gunpowder which was more efficient and potent had been discovered and utilised in the latest weapon; grenades. Designed for infantry and light cavalry use by specialised soldiers, these grenades were crude but could kill a number of enemy soldiers in one go. Early wheel-lock pistols began to be seen around this time too.

To these weapons came new tactics. The Hutton Square had been the de jure Britannic formation for almost 50 years. A mix of pike, Snelbus and polearm equipped soldiers, the Hutton Square was an incredibly effective defensive formation, but was difficult to maneuver. From 1589 Magnus began to experiment with pike-less formations, using the more powerful gunpowder and latest generation Snelbus to hold the enemy off with gunfire alone, but with polearm equipped heavy units waiting in the reserve line. Then came the addition of bayonets, and later the realisation that armour was becoming obsolete. These developments would continue for decades and throughout the ensuing wars, but Magnus had made a real dent in improvements.

Finally, Sir John Hawkins saw these improvements in the army and began to implement them in the navy and marines too. One huge change was the standardisation of naval cannon, as well as the establishment of a naval officer academy at Portsmouth and later Plymouth too. As a larger and more dispersed service, these reforms took longer to percolate, but by 1600 most ships in the Imperial Navy had identical cannon and competent officers.

The Twilight Years: Britannia 1581-1597 by J Franks (2017)

The murder of Matthew Boleyn in 1584 received a rather muted response at court. A friend of the King he may have been, but his failure as Lord Privy Seal had been compounded with a complete collapse in morale of the Calais Company. By the time of Boleyn’s death they were frequently placing behind their technical subordinates in the Marck Company in inter-Company competitions. All that said, Walsingham was scolded harshly for allowing such a thing to happen, and was sent to Calais himself to lead the investigation. A pair of Frenchmen, whom Walsingham claimed were Jesuits, were hanged for the crime, although their culpability has long been suspected by historians.

Instead the Falcons actually used Boleyn’s murder to palm of Henry de la Pole to the Calais Company, far enough away to not concern them. By all accounts, this was a role he greatly enjoyed, and he was soon joined by his friend Magnus after the 1586 military reforms established his HQ in the city.

Beyond this, the only major changes for the Falcons before 1590 were the disappearance of John Petrie and the elevation of Edward Coke to Imperial Justice. Petrie was a commander in the London Companies. His disappearance in autumn 1586 was the talk of London for a good while. Nor hide nor hair of him was ever discovered, and as was customary by now, Catholics were blamed for his disappearance. Darker theories have suggested that Magnus or the Earl of St Albans had him killed, but Petrie was one of the few Falcons both men were said to be on relatively good terms with.

Edward Coke became Imperial Justice a year later in 1587. Following the success of the Britannia Acts, he had entered Emperor Edward’s inner circle and was by this point a Falcon in all but name. Thus when Hugh Price died in 1587, Coke was a shoo-in to replace him. Thus the new Chief Justice would inadvertently watch over one of the most turbulent periods in Britannia’s History.
 
1584-1590 Imperialism
Imperialism: A Very Short Introduction (2005) by Saul David

The 16th and 17th Centuries may be seen as the Golden Age of Britannic Imperialism, but by the end of the 16th century, a number of other nations began their own Imperial adventures. Brittany is an intriguing case. For much of the early Britannic Empire, Breton sailors had served on Norland Trading Company, and the Imperial Navy, vessels and Breton flagged ships had played crucial roles in more sensitive areas. Brittany was unique in the Britannic Empire as being the only part of the Empire controlled by a majority of Catholics. Ireland, before 1580 at least, may have had a more Catholic population but its elites were mostly Protestant.

Brittany’s Catholic identity allowed her ships to go places where those of the wider Britannic Empire could not. Simply put, Breton ships were welcomed into Iberian, Italian and French ports where Britannic ships were not. Though part of the Empire, most of Europe saw Brittany as helplessly caught up in the Plantagenet-Yorkist dynasty and so were sympathetic towards them. It also helped that Breton ships often carried New World luxuries desired in Catholic Europe as much as in Protestant Europe. The Low Countries War actually elevated Brittany’s trading status even further. With Venezuela lost by Spain, and Portugal temporarily persona non grata under King Antonio I, the only real access to Tobacco, Sugar and Cotton for Spain, France and Italy became those Breton trading vessels.

Upon these foundations were laid the future Breton Empire and the Arvor de Breizh (Breton Maritime) Company, one of the largest shipping concerns of the 21st century. In 1584, CEO of the Norland Trading Company, Phillip Henslowe, devised the franchise model of shipping which would come to dominate the mercantilist Empires of the next 200 years. The NTC was becoming thinly stretched and the recent war had laid bare a large amount of risk and operating costs in the company. Therefore Henslowe issued writs of passage bearing NTC authority to any private Captain willing to give 10% (20% on Gold or Silver) of their earnings to the NTC. This franchise model allowed the NTC to dramatically increase their naval resources for minimal cost, and it opened the door for Breton trade. Of course the Grand Colombia Company and the Royal Barrow Company were quick to catch on to this and began their own schemes.

Between 1584 and 1588 around 25% of the new ships working under these new writs of passage were Breton in origin. When Breton sailors serving on other vessels are taken into account, Brittany was supporting almost a third of Trans-Atlantic Trade. Thus it was little surprise when Duke Edward II instituted the Kompagnunezh Konvers au Breizh (KKB) or Breton Trading Company. Duke Edward negotiated with the NTC to allow KKB ships to take on goods at their ports in exchange for the 10-20% tariffs on goods and charged an additional 5% for such vessels. In theory this made it more expensive for Breton ships to serve in their own Company, but in reality the higher prices for luxury goods in Italy, Spain or France more than paid for these higher costs and by 1590 the KKB was a thriving company in its own right.

The KKB also benefited from an unexpected source. Since the Darida expedition in 1582 had established contact between Tir na Gaeilge and the New Canaan Republic, Chief Counsellor Slusky had been seeking easier ways to conduct trade with the O’Neill realm. Given their special status, Slusky had already begun sub-contracting Breton ships to sail from Dundeirenach [Mobile, AL] to New York trading cotton for manufactured goods. As the KKB grew, they signed an official trade agreement with the New Canaan Republic to take on these routes. Despite the Britannic presence in Dundeirenach Harbour on Fort William, Breton flagged vessels were always welcomed as part of the Empire and so they were subjected to only the most cursory search.

Before long the KKB had become the main conduit between the Gaels, the NCR and Catholic Europe. Traders in Seville, La Rochelle, Genoa, Marseilles and elsewhere all preferred to buy their raw cotton from Tir na Gaeilge rather than the Protestant Huguenots enslaving Catholics in Bradbury.

Elsewhere the Dutch VOC continued to make ground in Asia with their own spice plantations in the Orange Islands [OTL Java and Sumatra] and through factories at Pulikat in India and Jaffna in Sri Lanka. These were enough to turn a profit for the VOC but they trod on English toes in Madras and Portuguese ones in Trincomalee respectively. However most auspicious were the actions of VOC Captain Willem Barentsz who in 1586 sailed up the Missizzippi River and later settled a smaller colony at its mouth. Barentsz hope that this small town would become a trading hub into the Norland interior, but the city which would become Nieu Amsterdam [New Orleans] would gain immediate significance in the decade to come.
 
1584-1590 Culture, Canals and Codes
Sorry for the long hiatus. This update, and life, really stumped me for a while. Hopefully there will be more recent updates coming soon - CC

‘The problem with Shakespeare AH’ Alternatehistory.com discussion January 2020

So there comes a time in every Early Modern TL when the author gets to the 1590s and William Shakespeare. This is a challenge. Most of the folk on AH.com are not - mostly - Shakespeare experts.

Shakespeare was a product of his time; the angst and uncertainty underpinning late Yorkist Britannia and its general prosperity. The House of York were arguably at the zenith of their power after the Low Countries War and Britannic society reflected that. Standard of Living across the entire Empire was the highest it had ever been, and especially in urban areas the appetite for theatre and new pastimes were certainly on the increase. However, the recent set backs in Calais and with rumbling Catholic opposition gave a sense of unease in certain areas.

Shakespeare provided both the means to escape these tensions and to analyse them. His York series of History Plays released throughout the 1590s were laced with patriotic fervour and carefully veiled cautionary tales over the dangers of Catholicism and political weakness. Edward IV, Edward V and Richard IV all chronicled the lives of the Yorkist Kings and their rise to power. However John of Ware in particular is seen as one of the more elaborate studies of a villain in History. Shakespeare was not entirely sold on the idea of Yorkist exceptionalism.

Following these plays Shakespeare began a series of comedies which reached an abrupt end in 1597.Midsummer Night’s Dream, Two Gentlemen of Piacenza and the Merry Wives of Limberg were all incredibly popular and packed out the Britannia theatre on the south bank of the Thames every night for weeks. Shakespeare’s language and storylines are inimitable and any attempt to work them into an AH are particularly difficult.

Beyond basic replacement of play titles based on different History, there is little the AH writer can do with Shakespeare. He is an enigma, a mastermind, and any attempt to copy and adapt him will always fall short of the man himself. And so most AH merely suggests that the History plays were about different Kings and replaces certain titles of plays to show the change.

Stevin, Simon: Profile in Encyclopaedia Britannica

(b1548) Born in Tillburg, Stevin’s family were landowners. When he was 15 Stevin witnessed a large land reclamation effort upon his fathers’ land. Already interested in Maths and Engineering, Stevin dedicated his life to driving back the tide and controlling the waterways of the low countries.

Enrolled in Gronigen University, Stevin graduated to work on the first Canal systems in Antwerp.Here he met his future wife Martha, of the house of Oudenberg. Their match was unusual for the time, but as a younger daughter Martha would have been less important to her father’s machinations. In any event Duke Edward was said to be impressed with Stevin and the potential of his work, approving the match for the sake of the family’s reach and influence in the Low Countries.

Following the Low Countries War, Stevin began work on one of his earlier masterpieces; the Zoom Canal. The need for a port at the mouth of the Rhine River was obvious after the war. The River was the main artery to the Protestant Princes in Germany, but there was no adequate port within easy reach of it. During the war, Antwerp had been used to unload Britannic soldiers, but these then had to be transferred to the Rhine. The Zoom Canal aimed to cut an 11 mile route from Antwerp to the Rhine to make this journey easier. Taking 6 years, and completed in 1588, the Canal changed the military landscape of Europe.

With the patronage of the Oudenberg family, and through them that of the Royal Family of the United Netherlands, Stevin had the resources to make his schemes reality. Aside from the docklands of Antwerp and the Zoom Canal, Stevin contributed to Canals and waterways in Amsterdam, Calais and London. Finally in 1589, Stevin received an offer from Chief Counsellor Levi Slusky to come to the New World and build a series of docks in New York.

Youtube Transcript: Gameplay Historian ‘Ninja’s Code: Historical Accuracy?’ March 2018

Ten years ago Breton Game Developer Disparsoft released a generation defining game. The Ninja’s Code was an open world action adventure game set in 16th century Japan. The game followed Ezo, a half Japanese and half English Ninja who slowly works his way up through the Shikazi fraternity of assassins only to discover that his Sensei was using him to assert his own power over the Imagawa Shogunate. The game was revolutionary for its visuals, crowd AI and gameplay. Ezo was equipped with a variety of swords, smoke bombs and missile weapons and these gave him multiple ways of achieving his objectives including deception, stealth and all out assault. The devs worked in a ‘4 limb’ system into the controls and a free running system which has since become a staple of all future Ninja’s Code games and the genre at large. But is it accurate? In this video I will analyse the story of Ninja’s Code and compare it to the real History of the Tokugawa Rebellion.

The game begins in 1586 in Shizuoka. We meet Ezo as he serves William Bentley, his father’s master and the main Britannic agent in Japan. The game begins with a few errands and tutorial missions until Ezo discovers that Bentley is in fact the Sensei of the Shikazi fraternity of assassins. From here Ezo is inducted into the society and begins an adventure across Japan - from Kyoto to Edo - eliminating targets at Bentley’s order. Within a year the Tokugawa Rebellion begins, introducing Tokugawa Ieyasu as the main antagonist of the game. Ieyasu is depicted as cunning and ruthless, seeking to eliminate all ‘Gaijin’ in Japan, kill Imagawa Ujizane and claim the Shogunate for himself.

Ezo and Bentley are arrayed against Tokugawa and his Hideyoshi allies, and the player slowly works his way through their ranks until they confront Ieyasu himself at the siege of Odawara in 1589 killing him. A nice touch of the game were the dying declarations of your targets, a few lines of dialogue after the killing blow has been landed. Through Ieyasu’s final words you learn that his motives were in fact pure; Bentley threatens the whole of Japan and seeks to manipulate the Imagawa into mere clients of the Britannic Empire. Enraged, Ezo returns to Shizuoka and murders Bentley.

So the major points of the game are historically accurate. The Tokugawa Rebellion did last from 1587 to 1589, and ended with it’s leader’s death at Odawara. William Bentley was a real person; he was the first Britsannic Ambassador to the Shogun, and he did die in 1589 too. However he died of natural causes (we think) and Ieyasu was killed in a night-time rout which broke his siege. There is no suggestion that Ninjas were involved.

The main setting was also pain-stakingly recreated in the game. The cities of Edo, Shizuoka, Nagoya and Kyoto have been painstakingly recreated from the historical record. Fashion, Architecture, music, food, and many other facets of life are as accurate as we know them from the late 16th century. Barring a few poetic licenses - poison and smoke bombs - weaponry and tactics are also entirely in keeping with the period.

Beyond these points though, the story is rather far-fetched and in fact came under scrutiny for its anti-Britannia message. Remember this came out in 2008 in the wake of the IRA campaigns in London and elsewhere. Despite the ‘multicultural team of various faiths and beliefs’ disclaimer, Disparsoft were forced to make a statement that their work of fiction was not intended to make a contemporary political message.

I mean, in hindsight, yeah, leaving aside the basis in History, a lot of Ninja’s Code fabricates fact in the name of a good story. There is no way a foreigner like William Bentley would have been included in a group of Ninja, let alone become their leader. Besides, the real Bentley was an Ambassador and Interpreter, he was not in any way an assassin! And while the timing of his death was suspiciously close to the end of the rebellion, there is little to suggest he was murdered.

Much of the Rebellion itself was drawn out. Tokugawa and Hideyoshi did oppose the Imagawa and their followers, but aside from the siege of Odawara there was little military action. Their rebellion did have undertones of opposition to the English presence in Japan, but they mostly used this as a public justification to cover their own political schemes. Tokugawa was not as ruthless as the Ninja’s Code portrayed. He was certainly ambitious, but the sequence of him torturing captured prisoners not only has no basis in fact but would have been anathema at the time. In reality the Tokugawa Rebellion was not the real battle between globalisation and traditionalism which the game made it out to be. It was a political challenge to the established Shogun which Tokugawa was destined to lose, and he did.

One final point though. The furore over the Anti-Britannic message of the game belied the fact that Japan at the time was rather xenophobic. Just a few years before the rebellion Ujizane had been forced to limit the English to Shizuoka for trade amid popular discontent. In the wake of Ieyasu’s death and the end of the rebellion, the Shogun initiated a sword hunt and placed greater restrictions on Bentley’s replacement as ambassador William Adams. In recent years this reaction has become more popularly known, and so it could be said that the Ninja’s Code was groundbreaking in both gameplay and History.
 
So Britannia in this timeline was able to conquer/puppet or significantly influence Japan? Does it mean that the british colonial empire is way bigger?
 
Here comes my only "but" about this chapter. Having the Japanese accepting a Gaijin as their Sensei. The Yorks had done wonders in this TL, but changing Japon in that way...
Exactly, that's one of the issues with 'Ninja's Code' that no Gaijin would be a Sensei - sorry didn't make that clear. ITTL that didn't happen, but we will see what happens to Bentley soon
 
Narrative 4: Ebbs and Flows
Shimizu, Shizuoka, Japan 4th August 1590

William Bentley was tired. In the flickering candlelight the Japanese script danced and swirled into intricate patterns of gibberish. Even after almost 30 years the veteran ambassador still lost his letters when he was tired. The old man delicately removed his reading lenses - the latest fashion from London - and pinched the brow of his nose, screwing his eyes together. It was no use. He was too tired. He was getting too old for this.

William carefully stood from the wooden chair and stretched his back, the muscles in it protesting. He was definitely getting too old for this. Looking down at the low desk, and the papers strewn across them, he gave a deep sigh. These reports would have to wait until morning. These days it was getting harder and harder to juggle all his responsibilities as trader, diplomat, translator, scholar and priest. And of all his responsibilities it was the business he enjoyed the least. Of course that's what would take up the most of his time.

William shuffled the papers he had been reading - speculation on silk prices from Kyoto - together into a loose pile and turned to leave his small office. His estate in the hills above Shizuoka was not intended for work, but he had needed to include a small office a few summers ago. The days in his actual office down by the docks were not long enough to get everything done. At least this one overlooked the tea garden below and its small burbling stream. Not that Bentley could see that now in the dark rain outside.

He liked the rain here. It was softer, warmer, than back in Gloucestershire, it soothed him rather than agitated him. The Japanese really did appreciate the simplicity of nature, water in particular. It was one of the many things he had grown to admire about them since he had first arrived. The house was entirely Japanese in design; he had resisted any European touches. The tennis court in the garden had been the only one. The local daimyo were fascinated by this strange game. It amused them to watch William prance about, though they always refused to join. They preferred Katanas to racquets any day.

Gingerly working feeling into his stiff legs, William Bentley slowly padded across the wooden floor and slid the office door open onto the veranda. The man outside straightened as his master came into view. ‘Done for the night sir?’ He asked William, his London accent still faintly lurking behind his neutral tones even after all these years.

‘Yes, thank you Perkin’ Bentley replied ‘are the family still up?’

‘No sir’ the bodyguard replied ‘Mrs Bentley retired a few hours ago, and master Yoshi returned home soon after.’

Bentley nodded and gave a soft sigh. His eldest son only lived at the bottom of the hill closer to the city, but he knew better than to wait on his father and his papers. ‘Very well then, a brief sniff before bed I think.’ The locals had not taken to Tobacco, shipped across the Pacific from Goughton via the Isthmus at Westham, but Bentley still had a taste for it. Sometimes he could even convince Perkin to indulge too.

The bodyguard led the way around the veranda on the outside of the house. Perkin was born and bred in England. He was a man of home, and he fought like the Cheapside runt he had once been. Though now he wore the apparel of a local warrior; wooden padded armour and a pair of Katana upon his back. It was lighter than his usual plate and he preferred it for home duty.

The rain continued to sheet down to Bentley’s left, a wall of water obscuring all but the faintest outline of the stones in the garden. To his right, through the narrow walls, the family apartments lay dark and still. The floor gave a gentle creek as they walked, but beyond that and the hush of the rain, all was silent. They reached the smoking house across a covered walkway. It had a spectacular view of Shizuoka and the sea beyond, but not tonight. From this small den William Bentley had signed trade deals, forged alliances, and built a trade Empire. He had met the saltiest sailors from the homeland and the most serene representatives of the Emperor and his Shogun. But not tonight.

Tonight it was just him and his loyal bodyguard. And Reginald of course. The younger man was patrolling the perimeter with his new weapon; the latest model Snelbus from London. William had seen him hit a straw target at 100 yards, 3 times in 76 seconds. The man was deadly. ‘Evenin’ Reggie, any news?’ Asked Perkin as they passed.

Reginald nodded his head towards his superior ‘nothin’ boss, not in this ‘ere torrent, nothin’ movin out there save mice, and ducks o’ course.

‘No ducks out ‘ere Reggie’ Perkin said with a smile. His accent always reverted to its roots when he spoke to Reginald; the younger man had only left England five summers ago. His skill with gunpowder had quickly brought him into Bentley’s service. Perkin and Reginald were just two of the few Englishmen in Bentley’s direct service. Most of the household were local, but he only trusted his fellow countrymen to protect him. William Bentley had been quick to detect the ever-changing tide of Japanese politics and society. He knew Machiavelli would have been proud. And so he figured that Englishmen would always stick with him rather than betray their master as Japanese might.

Reginald disappeared around the veranda. Bentley approached the smoking house, gathered his pipe and tobacco and settled himself on one of the low cushions. Staring into the rain, he set about loading the pipe. ‘Can I tempt you Perkin?’

‘Not tonight thank you sir’ the bodyguard replied. He had placed himself off to William’s right, almost out of sight, but staring into the rain himself.

Suit yourself, William thought. He had smoked more of late he knew. The recent Tokugawa rebellion had not been a huge threat, but between it and the Shogun’s increasing reticence to publicly support the English traders, Bentley had enough on his mind. Tobacco helped to cloud that. And there he sat. Drawing deep on his pipe. Staring into the rain. Lost in the stream of the water, and his own thoughts. They caused the shapes to swirl in the rain, shifting and sliding in the dark. One of the shapes grew larger in his vision.

‘DOWN!’ Perkin launched himself across the small room. Bentley was knocked sideways; the pipe from his hand and the wind from his lungs. He was dazed. But he knew Perkin was atop him, flat on the floor. He heard the man groan. And then he was rising, a small black feather protruding from his side. It was an arrow. An Arrow. Bentley sat up. The dark shape in the rain was upon them, it was a man dressed in black.

Perkin drew his swords. ‘Stay down sir!’ he yelled. ‘Reggie! alarm!’ He lunged at the man in black - an assassin surely - but he was too fast and Perkin too slow. The bodyguard was dragging himself, and breathing heavily. The arrow must have hit something important. The black figure danced around him, a short blade in each hand, swiping at face and limbs, trying to get past Perkin towards his master. Bentley was frozen, he sat where he had fallen, watching his friend fight for his life.

Perkin swung again. This time he followed with his second sword and caught the figure upon his lower leg as he swirled away. There was a wrenching noise as the blade tore skin and bone. Perkin took a step forward. ‘Reggie! Alarm!’ he yelled again. The rest of the house was silent. Perkin glanced anxiously behind him. The figure saw his chance. He swept forward like a dark wave, one blade plunging between the slats of Perkin’s dark armour, right into his chest. The other swung at his bald head, but Perkin managed to duck and parry with his sword. The figure stayed on him. Perkin kneed him in the balls. Not exactly Bushido, but thats Cheapside for you.

The figure fell back, wrenching the knife free. A gush of blood flowed from Perkin’s chest, staining the wood dark red. Somehow the old warrior kept fighting. He swung again and again. The figure fell to his knees, his wounded leg crumpled from under him. Perkin took his head clean off with his final swing. It bounced and skittered towards Bentley, shaking him from his reverie. This final exertion felled the great warrior too. Perkin slumped down on his unwounded side, the arrow still protruding into the air like a mast.

On his hands and knees, through the blood, William Bentley crawled to his dying friend. Perkin coughed up blood. His breathing no longer rasped but came short sharp and low. Bentley lowered his loyal servant gently onto his back. ‘It’s ok my friend’ he whispered. ‘I am safe’. The old warrior’s eyes showed some recognition as they rolled closed. Bentley fell onto Perkin’s chest. The hard armour slick with blood. He wept for his dead friend, one of the few men from home he had in this strange land. He wept. His tears mixed with the blood. It covered his face, his hair, his hands, his fine silk robe.

It was there that Reginald found him. The footsteps rang loud and swift on the wood. Loud in the quiet whisper of the rain. Bentley glanced up at the younger man. His face must have been a mess. Reginald was out of breath, but only slightly, he still clutched the gun. Bentley just stared at him. Where was he when he needed him? Where was he when Perkin gave his life for him? That is what the old diplomat thought. But he said nothing. His mind was torn by grief and pain. He was just so tired.

Reginald surveyed the scene and gathered his breath. ‘I’m sorry’ he finally said, looking at Perkin’s body. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He stepped forward taking in the decapitated assassin, the head still seeping gore into the soft cushions, and his master cradling the bloodied corpse of his bodyguard. ‘I’m sorry sir’ He said again to Bentley who just stared at him dumbfounded. ‘It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I didn’t want to have to do it.’

Bentley stared. His brain was still locked in shock and grief. Have to do what? He asked himself. Reggie was mistaken, he needn’t have died too. The young englishman was raising his gun. Bentley stared at him, uncomprehending. ‘I’m sorry’ Reginald said again. ‘The money was too good’. The gun was pointing at Bentley now.

Then it hit him. Turns out Englishmen were not loyal at all.

Then the bullet hit him.

A sharp crack split the soft mutter of rain, like a cough in the night. There was a thud. Then the quiet whisper of rain continued, falling in warm soft sheets.

Warkworth Castle, Northumberland, England .29th September 1590

The service was over. The assembled Percy and Catesby families flowed from the small Chapel at the heart of Warkworth Castle. This venerable old Citadel, fortress against the Scots for centuries, now a dependable redoubt for the old ways of Rome. Warkworth may not have been the nicest property the Percies still owned, but it made them feel the safest. Sir Andrew knew it had only not been taken from him - as Alnwick had - because of its age and poor state of repair, but he loved it all the same.

As the women and younger members flowed back to the family’s chambers with baby Henry, Andrews’s latest grandchild, the head of the Percy clan made for the tower in the corner of the chapel courtyard. His brother-in-law Robert made to follow, and Andrew did not stop him. The tower steps were far past their prime; crumbling and broken, Percy had to watch his step. He was not past his prime, but so many hopes rested on him, it would not do to dash his brains out in a careless brooding walk.

Andrew reached the top and the battlements beyond. A stiff sea-breeze welcomed him, pushing the curls of his brown hair into his eyes. Brushing them aside he saw the sea stretch out before him. Only a mile away across dunes, the large blue expanse glistened in the midday sun. Andrew had always liked the sea; constant and wild, it both comforted and thrilled him in equal measure. He had grown up beside it. It told him he was home. It told him that there was a pattern to the world, a rise and fall, it gave him hope.

Robert Catesby appeared at Andrew’s elbow. He too stared out to sea as if he could make out what his brother-in-law was looking for. The two men may have been related by marriage but their common struggle; for justice, for righteousness, for the Pope, had made them like blood-brothers. Andrew Percy would have permitted few men breaking his reverie, but Catesby was one of them.

‘Nice service’ Andrew said to break the silence.

‘Hm yes, Father John is quite the priest, you are blessed to have him’ Catesby replied.

Percy just nodded, his eyes fixed on the rolling Ocean, it always helped him think.

‘Take a look at this’ Percy said reaching up his sleeve and producing a small rolled parchment. He unfurled it to Catesby, who took it and held it firm in the wind.

As he read his brow furrowed and darkened. A cloud tumbled across the sun, turning the world grey.

Catesby rolled up the scroll and looked up at his brother. ‘Thomas Stanley’ he finally said.

Andrew was still staring out to sea. The cloud tumbled on and the water gleamed once more. He turned to Robert and nodded.

The other man unfurled the parchment once more and read ‘I seek to restore the old faith for the sake of my grandmother, and her brother your father.’ Catesby’s eyebrow raised. ‘Quite the claim.’

‘Well that part is true at least’ Andrew Percy said, glancing out to sea again. The wide beach was slowly opening up as the tide receded. Even at this distance he could make out the gulleys and rivulets it left behind. The brief marks of History. ‘His Grandmother was Anne, my Aunt, she was married off to…’ Percy stumbled ‘that man’. He meant Robert Dudley but could never say the name.

‘And now her Grandson wishes to re join Rome’ Catesby said ‘do you think it genuine?’

Andrew tore his eyes away from the sea once more. ‘No way to tell. But Persons is interesting bait. We never did find out what happen to him when the Jesuits fell, but Shropshire would have been a good place for him to go to ground, apparently under Stanley’s floorboards.’

Percy turned back to sea, the breeze refreshed him, the sight helped him to think. He gripped the ancient battlements in both hands. The letter fluttered next to him. ‘I don’t know Rob’ he said, almost whispering into the breeze. He continued to stare at the ocean. Catseby stood next to him. ‘It could be a trap, though granted an odd one, I think it bears investigating.’

Catesby thought a moment, then hesitantly ‘I could....call by Shropshire on my way back to London...ascertain Stanley’s intentions.’ The words were lost to the sea breeze, but they lodged in Percy’s mind.

‘It’s too big a risk Rob, we can’t lose you. We need you down there for this plan to work.’

‘Well someone else then, Wintour maybe? I agree its an odd trap to set us, its so crazy it may actually be true. And Andrew, think of it, the Stanleys have actual power and influence, they could bring the entire north west into our cause, Wales maybe too. We need to see if Stanley is genuine.’

Another cloud blocked the sun as the brothers stood in silence staring into the blue horizon. Andrew Percy rubbed his hands across the Ancient stone, the guardian of his family for generations. He tapped the stone twice and took the letter from Catesby, reading it again. ‘Restore the old faith’? Now there was a dream. Restore the Percies and Catesbies too into the bargain? And if they could destroy those arrogant Yorks and their nest of heretics too, that would surely be a blessed Trinity.

Percy took one last look at the eternal tide, rolling back out to sea only to return again soon. Turning to Robert he clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Send Wintour, and may God go with him.’
 
1591-1596 England
1591-1596: The Spiral
The Twilight Years: Britannia 1581-1597 by J Franks (2017)

Lord Protector, John Seymour, died in the winter of 1591. For a change in recent years, there was no suggestion of murder or intrigue; he had been ailing for months and died peacefully in his bed. The decision on who would succeed him was fair less peaceful. By 1591 the position of Lord Protector had become a de facto ruler of Britannia, especially the Kingdom of England. Emperor Edward’s ‘hand’s off’ or rather ‘leave me alone’ approach to governance had conferred much more power upon the Lord Protector than Edward IV had envisaged back in 1485.

Furthermore, Seymour’s partisan holding of the position, and his religious extremism against Catholics had shown just how lucrative the title could be. There were no less than four candidates for the position, the first time there had been open debates over who would occupy it. Previously, Emperors and Kings had swiftly selected new Lord Protectors, but out of laziness or indecision, three whole months passed before Edward I selected a new Protector. This left William Huntingdon, Lord Wells and Keeper of the Imperial Seal in de jure control of the realm. William, Lord Wells was the first candidate for Lord Protector, a close friend of the King and an experienced politician, Wells was by far the choice of the Court party and the elite aristocracy. The King’s Cousin, and a firm hand against Catholics, Wells was very much the continuity candidate, many saw him as heir presumptive.

The second candidate – Robert Dudley – must surely have only been a favourite in his own mind. Dudley was a fop and a narcissist, he dispatched his brother William to London to petition Edward for the Protectorship. By all accounts the unfortunate Dudley was hounded from court, and the Earl of Northumberland never received a straight answer. Nonetheless the precedent of advancing candidates had been set, and Parliament respectfully suggested their own candidate: Sir Michael Hicks. Though he was not chosen, Hicks has become famous in History as the first person to be suggested as Lord Protector by Parliament. The entire process was noteworthy: by Ascension Day, with no candidate forthcoming from the Royal Palace at Limberg, Parliament respectfully suggested Hicks’ name. This move has been hotly debated: was Parliament genuinely trying to exert political influence, or merely give the Emepror a nudge? Parliament promised to respect the Emperor’s decision either way and approve his choice Was Hicks a genuine candidate, or a stalking horse? A London Financier and MP, Hicks would have been an admirable choice for Lord Protector, and was invited to Limberg to meet the Emperor, but It seems Edward had another candidate in mind.

Though they failed to get their choice of candidate, Parliament did shake Edward into action; less than a week after his meeting with Michael Hicks – who would become Chancellor of the Exchequer a year later – Edward selected the Earl of Richmond, Henry Tudor as Lord Protector. True to their pledge, Parliament unanimously approved Tudor’s appointment. Henry Tudor would go on to become one of the most famous Lord Protectors of the Early-Modern Period, but at the time his appointment caused ripples in London society. Though an adept soldier, justice and administrator, Tudor was not steeped in the political culture of the time nor was her particularly familiar with the ways of court. However impressive work by Amanda Stubbs, who was granted unprecedented access to the Tudor family archive, has shown the close friendship between Henry and the Emperor. Furthermore, Henry Tudor was in favour of Church Reform, but in a limited manner, and was certainly more conciliatory than Wells or Seymour. Finally Tudor was also popular with the people. The death of his father in the Low Countries War, and Tudor’s own heroics, had turned the Earl into a national hero. Unlike Wells and Dudley, he was liked by the masses, and people had actually heard of him, unlike Hicks. Previous Protectors had of course enjoyed popular support, but Tudor’s was on another level, and it is possible that public opinion is what swung the decision in his favour. Regardless of his public approval in 1591, within the next five years Tudor’s star only rose as he confronted three separate crises.

Medicine Through Time: c1200-2000 GCSE Textbook, Woodrow and Wilkes (2017)

CASE STUDY: THE FLEMISH PLAGUE 1592-1596

The true test of Renaissance Medicine came in 1592 when the Flemish Plague arrived in Britannia. Thought to have originated in China, India or Indonesia, the Plague was very similar to the Black Death of 1348, so how did responses to it differ?

PRAYER AND POULTICE

The Plague was first reported in Amsterdam, Antwerp and Bruges – giving it the name The Flemish Plague. The first cases were reported in London in June 1592. Victims were struck down with fever, vomiting, and Buboes under the arms and chin, death usually occurred within 4 days. By September, it is estimated that 5,000 people (3% of London’s population) had died and Plague pits were opened on Hampstead Heath.

It is now known that the Plague was carried by fleas living on the backs of animals including rats, cats and dogs. In the previous 100 years the population of London had more than doubled meaning that living conditions were incredibly unclean and congested. This undoubtedly explains why the plague killed an estimated 25% of London’s population over 5 years. Elsewhere in Britannia the death toll was much lower; urban areas such as Calais and Bristol experienced death rates of between 10% and 15% while the countryside was even lower.

People tried many methods to prevent themselves from getting the disease; prayer, poultices of herbs including garlic tied around their necks, and killing any rats, cats or dogs they saw. However, Medicine had still not advanced to the point where people understood germs and so these were not very effective. The most common method of prevention used by the wealthy merchants and nobility was to escape London entirely to their homes in the countryside. This often helped to get away from the city, but in some cases caused outbreaks across England. In one incident in Glossop, Derbyshire a London merchant was killed and his family chased out of town after their point of origin was discovered.

These methods explain what people believed caused the disease. There were still many who believed that the Plague came from God, although Puritans were much less likely to use this reasoning. Instead people blamed Miasma and foreigners for causing the disease and sought to eradicate these wherever possible.

MEDICAL CARE AND CONSEQUENCES

The Flemish Plague represented one of the first examples of government responses to disease. Royal Physician Francis Anthony was sent into the streets of London by the Lord Protector, Henry Tudor, to identify the causes of the Plague and recommend responses. Although Anthony could not have known about germs, he nonetheless realised that the squalid conditions of Cheapside would not help to prevent the Plague. It was on his suggestion in the summer of 1593 that the Lord Protector and Lord Mayor of London organised a cull of all animals, save horses, inside the city and the burning of Lavender at street corners to purify the air. Lord Mayor, Thomas Harding, attempted to organise a clean up of street waste, but ultimately failed through lack of resources and support.

Francis Anthony also developed medical practices of diagnosis. Through careful study of Plague patients, he was able to note down the stages and symptoms of the disease and develop a method to guess how long ago a person had contracted the disease. Anthony’s methods would be passed down to his students William Harvey and Arthur Dee who would go on to make their own discoveries later in their careers.

Source A shows an extract from Francis Anthony’s notes on his treatment of Prince Edward of Lancaster, son of the Prince of Wales, aged 4 in 1594. Used with kind permission by the Royal College of Physicians.

26th June 1594: The Prince shows signs of a fever. Have treated with an ice bath in lieu of bleeding owing to his young age

27th June 1594: Fever persists. Attempted treatment with Quinine (a type of tree bark) and a poultice of fenugreek, garlic and sage.

28th June 1594: Patient showing signs of Buboes under the arms, bruising on the upper arms and torso. Fever persists and patient is now vomiting. Used Quinine and Saffron mixture.

29th June 1594: The Prince is clearly in terrible pain and continues with a fever. Attempted bleeding, had to restrain the patient. Used Quinine, Saffron and Garlic mixture.

30th 1594: Patient deceased

For all of his efforts, Francis Anthony was unable to cure the Prince. Eventually Anthony would die of the Plague himself in October 1595. In his honour a Royal College of Physicians was established by the Prince of Wales and Henry Tudor.

Britons: A Peoples’ History, EP Thompson (1959)

As the Flemish Plague ravaged the urban poor, so poor weather brought about rural famine. In 1594, global climate shifted; the Thames was still frozen in April, and accompanied by torrential rain throughout spring, this caused crops to fail across Ireland, Wales and England. In some places such as the Severn Valley as much as 70% of the crops were destroyed. The two following years’ harvests were also hit by adverse weather with 1595 and 1596 both being cooler and wetter.

This famine devastated rural communities. Wealthy peasants, especially in the south of England were able to weather the storm, although their standard of living would be curtailed for close to a decade. In the midlands and north, where marginal land and years of enclosure conspired to create a perfect storm, it is estimated that as many as 10% of populations in certain counties died. The Flemish Plague closed a usual avenue of relief, flight to the cities, and instead people sought refuge in the New World through the ports of Bristol, London and Liverpool.

Some older historians, those of a Britannic persuasion, have suggested that the New World Empire itself allowed for the alleviation of the famine in England. However these theories founder upon the reality of New World agriculture. In 1590 only some 5% of New Kent [OTL Florida] food agriculture was exported to Europe, with most of it being domestically consumed or traded with the other New World colonies. What grain was exported was prohibitively expensive, and would have only helped a small few.

Hardest hit was Ireland. With the most marginal soil, harshest landlords, and decades of harassment and neglect, the Irish-speaking peasantry were wide open to starvation and death. Best estimates suggest that 23% of these peasants died or emigrated to the New Canaan Republic or the Irish Republic by 1597. The English-speaking Irish fared rather better with death rates from starvation around 3% - the absorption of abandoned Irish farms alleviating much of the burden.
 
1591-1596 Scotland and Religion
Biography of Richard Hooker, Wikipedia
Overview
Richard Hooker (25 March, 1554 – 15th April 1597) was an English priest in the Church of England and an influential theologian. Born in Devon, Hooker became part of the Brownist movement within the Church of England to separate Church and State and reduce Episcopal oversight of individual Churches. In 1589 he became embroiled in the Marprelate Controversy and was forced to resign his incumbency as Rector of St Mary’s Corringham in Essex.

Following the controversy, Hooker led a number of Brownist congregations in East Anglia before departing for Scotland in 1591 at the invitation of Andrew Melville, the prominent Scottish Academic, Theologian and Presbyterian. It was from St Andrews in the winter of 1591 that Hooker wrote his most influential work ‘The Chosen Vessel’ in which Hooker advanced his ideas of Presbyterianism and Disestablishment. This work won him many supporters across the Protestant world especially in Scotland, the home counties, and the Netherlands but it also received much opposition from the established Church, in particular the newly crowned King Richard I of Scotland.

Following the ‘Iron Laws’ of King Richard passed in the Spring of 1592 Hooker and his Presbyterian brethren were forced to flee Scotland, first to London and then to Amsterdam where they established The Nord College for Presbyterian Clergy. From here Hooker continued to have great influence upon the Presbyterian cause, including his levying of Church and State leadership across Northern Europe. It was during one of these efforts to London that he was assassinated during the Red March of 1597.

Edinburgh Castle, January 22nd 1592

Lady Margaret Seymour stepped from the carriage into the shallow snow filling the Castle courtyard. Her long dark woollen gown was lined with fur, as was the hood which she raised to protect her face and ears. It had little effect, and the cold penetrated her bones serving to make her even more uncomfortable. One of her servants and a bodyguard rushed to grab her by the arms, and with their support she made it quickly inside the huge hallway which had been opened to greet them.

Out of the snow the Castle was little warmer. The grey stones which covered floor, walls and ceiling seemed to suck any warmth from the air as they disappeared into the bowels of the Castle. It was around noon, but torches were lit in the wide halls to give some light, though no heat. Margaret took a breath. She had made it. Two long weeks on the road in the depths of winter had not been pleasant. She had not wanted to come at all, let alone through the foul weather and rough roads, but her Emperor commanded and so she obeyed.

An array of servants and officials lined the sterile walls bowing as she passed, but all were silent, and none said a word. Finally a tall pale man with a thin moustache stepped to his front, turned and bowed at Margaret and her small party, who by now had backed off a respectable distance. ‘John Erskine, my lady’ the thin man said ‘Royal Steward, welcome to Edinburgh, his Grace has asked for you to be brought to his audience chamber upon your arrival.’

The address was curt, polite and formal. Erskine spoke with an almost cleanly English accent, and just a hint of Scot around the ‘r’s. Without waiting for a reply, the Steward turned and Margaret followed. The route through Edinburgh Castle’s underbelly turned and twisted, twice Erskine led them up stairs where Margaret had to pick up her gown, hurriedly aided by one of her maids. All the while Erskine remained silent and continued his steady unbroken pace barely glancing back. His silence unnerved Margaret. She had met polite, deferential servants for all of her short 13 years, but Erskine seemed almost rude with his polite silence. And he was a steward, didn’t the future Queen of Scotland warrant more than a household servant? These thoughts did nothing to settle the young Seymour as they arrived at two broad oak doors, flanked by a pair of soldiers equipped with firearms – surely English made.

With a brisk push John Erskine pushed open the doors and made to step inside the large hall beyond. At the last moment he turned half back to Margaret, the first time he had done so. ‘Wait here’ he said and strode into the hall. It was full of people; ladies in fine gowns, men in tight doublets and tights, servants wearing the blue and gold livery of Scotland, more soldiers with their English weapons. They chatted excitedly, paying no attention to the recent arrival, or the servant now scything through their midst. A wall of windows down one side brought light into the room, but it was absorbed by the sheer number of bodies, giving Erskine the look of a man walking down a narrow, dark chasm, as he strode to the front of the hall where his master was seated.

King Richard I of Scotland was seated on a large stone chair, adorned with blue and gold drapes and raised above the crowd by a couple of steps. In the space before him the crowd stood a respectable distance, leaving a wide expanse into which the Royal Steward now stepped. Erskine bowed deeply. Richard continued his conversation. To his right stood a man in a gold and white doublet, his black hair and beard, flecked with grey, close cropped under a hat which looked to be made of white silk. He and the King were talking furtively, leaning close to keep their words private. Occasionally the other man would wave his right hand in the air, and the King would nod in agreement.

Their conversation continued until the noise in the room died down. One by one people spotted the King’s new bride in the doorway in her black robes and turned to look. The men quickly glanced away, but a few women stared Margaret down, taking her in like a prize sow at a market. As the chatter dropped, King Richard seemed to see John Erskine for the first time, the thin man standing tall, stiff and straight in the centre of the space in front of his King; he gave the appearance of a scarecrow. Even from 70 or so yards Margaret saw King Richard glance at his steward, then behind to his future wife standing in the doorway, and back to the Steward. With a sigh Richard finally said ‘Well?’ He drew out every syllable, rolling the ‘l’s from his tongue like a disgusting taste.

Erskine bowed once more ‘the Lady Margaret Seymour your grace’ he said, then stepped to the side melting into the crowd. Every eye in the room turned to fix her once more. Anne Walker, Margaret’s governess, gave her a small push in the back, and before she knew it Margaret was slicing through the shadows of the narrow aisle down the centre of the hall. Every head and eyeball turned to follow her as she walked. She knew she was blushing, she couldn’t help it. All the work they’d put into her pale complexion would be ruined. She could feel her bottom lip twitching, and she fought to keep it still.

Finally, she reached the spot where Erskine had once stood. Carefully, she crouched into a curtsey keeping her back straight as Anne had taught her. ‘My Lord’ she said in greeting. For what seemed like an hour, but could have only been seconds, King Richard stared at her, like the farmer in the market wondering if the sow was maimed in some way. He leaned forward, his blue doublet tightening over the paunch of a man twice his 20 or so years. His face was tight, half-concealed beneath a straggle of brown and orange beard. His pale blue eyes pierced her own, the first person to actually make eye contact with her since she had arrived. Eventually the King slumped back into his chair ‘I wae told yer Da wae t come’ he said. The accent was thick like churned butter. Hadn't the King received elocution lessons? Or perhaps he was trying to unnerve her. If it was the latter, he was succeeding.

Margaret stared, keeping her back straight even as her future husband slouched in his chair, he seemed to be going into a sulk. Thinking quickly she replied ‘my father sends his apologies my Lord, the death of my grandfather has given him many duties at this difficult time’. She prayed she had heard the King correctly as she glanced at her own mourning dress. Nothing about this was right; she was in mourning, it was winter, the King himself had lost a wife and father in the last year but wasn’t in mourning she was still only a girl really, why was she here? Why was she marrying him?

King Richard hauled himself begrudgingly to his feet ‘Aye, a heard, m’sympathies’ he said in a flat, level delivery which conveyed anything but sympathy. Tugging his rich blue doublet tight and straight, Richard stepped down from his chair until he was level with Margaret. His eyes were still only level with the top of her head despite her young age and stature; the King was rather short. His blue eyes continued to search her expression for something: emotion? Fear? Any sign of weakness? The man in white and gold followed his King down the steps to Richard’s side, unbidden and took up the staring contest too. With a sharp motion like a viper Richard gripped Margaret’s hand and raised it to his mouth. His stare never wavered, remaining on a spot between her eyebrows the entire time. He kissed her hand gently. The kiss, like the grip of his hand, was cold, dry, and harsh. His eyes continued to stare at her.

King Richard dropped the hand and turned swiftly to his companion, his back to Margaret and they whispered for several minutes. Margaret only caught words like ‘dinnae’, ‘lass’ and ‘nae ken’ from her betrothed. She worked desperately to make sense of them, but it didn’t sound good. In the end the other man placed a hand on the King’s shoulder, whispered something and nodded twice, glancing over his shoulder at Margaret.

Abruptly Richard spun back around and re-acquired his cold stare. ‘Welcome’ he said, as if he were a bad actor reading a script. ‘John will show you to your chambers, and your new servants. Your own servants are dismissed and may return to England.' Margaret opened her mouth to protest, and she could feel Anne Walker about to do the same behind her. Anne and the rest were Margaret’s servants, Richard had no authority over them, especially before the wedding.

Margaret Seymour did not think it possible for her betrothed’s stare to harden anymore but somehow it did, and he brusquely raised a flat palm to the women before him to kill their riposte in their throats. ‘I regret this decision’ The King said without conveying any regret ‘but security in the castle is paramount, and I only trust my own servants. Your own household will be supplied. The Duke of Lennox here has kindly agreed to give you away at the ceremony.’ He indicated the man in white and gold behind him. ‘It will take place in four days time. You are to remain in your chambers before then. You are dismissed.’ And with that he turned his back on his wife to be and marched through a small door to the side of the stone chair.

Margaret’s mind was reeling. Four days until her wedding? Her entire household dismissed and thrown out of the Castle? A stranger, and a hostile one at that, to give her away? Nothing about this made any sense. But Richard had already gone and Erskine was returning. Without making eye contact, our slowing, he said ‘follow me my lady’ and marched past her to the exit.

There Margaret saw the initial signs of peril. For the first time Erskine had gotten close enough for her to see the tired look in his eyes, the red welts around his neck, and the stiff leather collar which undoubtedly caused them. Margaret had only seen such collars once before – around the necks of criminals being taken to Buckingham to be hanged – and this new fact hit her hardest of all.

As if caught in an inexorable current, Margaret Seymour, future Queen of Scotland, turned and followed her escort out of the door. Anne was trying to hiss something to her, but the young woman was lost in thought over her situation. What kind of place had she come to? And who was she about to marry? But worst of all, what if the rumours about Lady Elizabeth’s death were true?

‘Pocket Biographies: Tricky King Dickie – Scotland’s most infamous King’ J Forestall, 2019

It is a deep irony that the demise of Yorkist Britannia should be instigated by someone born wholly outside of it, and one who at his birth held such promise for that realm. King Richard I of Scotland was born in 1571 to James VI of Scotland and Anna Plantagenet, daughter to the Britannic Emperor, Edward I. Thus Richard was both the son of Scotland’s King and grandson to Britannia’s Emperor. In his birth lay the hopes for many south of the border to finally bring Scotland into the Empire.

At the time of Richard’s birth, Scotland had been under the Britannic (mostly English) yoke for almost a century. Although not part of the Empire, multiple wars, colonial disputes and trade embargoes demonstrated that Scotland was part of Britannia’s sphere of influence, if not politically allied with it. The realm was increasingly divided over this and other issues. The wealthy merchants desired Union for their own gain whilst most landowners and commoners, fiercely protective over Scottish independence, sought any meagre means to preserve their own autonomy.

However the issue of religion split this bloc down the middle. Scotland had long been impacted by the Reformation, although it had taken a different form to that in the Britannic Empire. Whereas the Church of England/Britannia retained its Bishops and Imperial oversight (such as appointing the Archbishop of Canterbury) Scotland under James VI had done away with Bishops and was fast becoming a Presbyterian stronghold. Presbyterianism in Scotland was characterised by anti-episcopalism, anti-ecclesiasticism and new-found autonomy. Theologians like Melville suggested that Bishops and other authority beyond the local Church was a Catholic invention and anathema to the original Church established by Christ. Presbyters, groups of elders, were a far more Biblical way to run a Church. Unsurprisingly the common folk and peasantry strongly supported these views but the nobility were generally opposed.

James VI, a popular King and one keen to win common acclaim, had consequently removed the use of Bishops and personally approved the Book of Discipline, an early Presbyterian manual and treatise. James had been able to swing the nobility to these plans with taxation cuts and an ideological appeal to Scottish independence (Bishops were a rather ‘Anglican’ idea). Richard I represented a complete U-turn from his fathers’ policies. To understand why we need to understand the man himself.

Richard I was a sickly boy who spent much of his childhood at Roxburgh Castle in the borders under the care of James Douglas, Earl of Morton. In many ways Morton was a surrogate father to the young Prince as James VI spent much of his time in Edinburgh and further north hunting or politicking. Richard’s mother Anna was also distant, although this was due to her care of Richard’s younger sister Anne who died in 1583 aged eight. This, combined with the stillbirth of Richard’s older sister Margaret in 1569 transpired to send Anna into a deep bout of depression and melancholy and she was rarely seen before her own death in 1587. Thus when Morton himself died in 1588 and James VI in 1591, Richard became King of Scotland at the age of 20 with all the family he had known in the world dead.

This sense of loss was only compounded by the death of Richard’s first wife in 1590, Lady Elizabeth Cavendish. James VI, with some Plantagenet prodding, had made an English match for his son and the two were married in 1586 when they were both 16. Unfortunately, two still-births then followed – both girls – before Elizabeth tragically died in a fire a few months before her husband became King. The circumstances surrounding Elizabeth Cavendish’s death have been hotly debated; she perished in a fire which consumed Linlithgow Castle in November 1590. Fires in such palaces were not uncommon, but almost immediately tales of foul play began to circulate with the finger of blame resting firmly on Duke Lennox.

With such loss in his life, and an English marriage that Richard resented, it is unsurprising that he sought stability and companionship elsewhere. Thus in 1579 when the Duke of Lennox returned from France he immediately fell into Richard’s circle. Lennox was a born Catholic and half French, but in the wake of the Huguenot expulsions and his own conversion he sought refuge in Scotland, the land of his father, and in the home of James Douglas a family friend. It was here that Lennox met Richard and an unlikely friendship formed. Given the distance in age, talk of a sexual relationship between the two (as suggested by countless TV series and films over the years) seems unlikely. Instead Lennox filled Morton’s shoes as the father figure Richard needed. Lennox, however, was deeply unliked in Scotland; the nobility disliked him for his proximity to Richard and his preening whilst the rest of the country despised his more conservative brand of Protestantism which tended against the Presbyterian trend.

When Richard became King of Scotland in 1591 he was a man confronted with loss in life, without an heir, and with only the Duke of Lennox whom he trusted. What we know of his early years tells us that Richard was an intensely private man, but soon his penchant for control freakery became clear. In a savage parody of the Yorkist Black and White Books, Richard I ordered strict rules for all Royal servants including punishing hours and harsh leather collars designed to enforce a stiff posture upon the wearer but in reality they inflicted terrible pain on the Royal staff.

In 2013 renovations to a scullery in Edinburgh Castle unearthed the unprecedented ‘scullery letters’. These fragments of paper and carved wood – early modern graffiti – concealed behind a brick wall are estimated to originate in the 1590s and read as a list of complaints about King Richard and his ‘diverse evil trickery’. The name ‘Tricky King Dickie’ stuck from there.

At this point it is worth addressing the elephant in the room; did Richard I suffer from mental health problems? 21st century History seems obsessed with diagnosing long-dead rulers with the latest mental malady. Richard himself has been diagnosed in recent years as schizophrenic, ADHD, manic depressive and Autistic. It is the belief of this author that all of these diagnoses are anachronistic and fall short of understanding the man Richard I was. True, he was not a nice man, but to ascribe this malice to mental health issues is offensive to those who genuinely suffer such problems. Richard was a man under pressure and suffering great loss, he saw threats to his rule and stuck by those he considered loyal to him. He was not insane, merely a product of his time and circumstances. In his later reign, Richard I would incur plenty of charges of tyranny, insanity and mental instability but in his early years his decisions can be characterised by self-preservation and genuine conviction, even if they were controversial.

Richard saw his Father’s policies towards the Presbyterians, and the laissez faire approach of Emperor Edward to Puritanism, and completely swung a 180 degree U-turn. Upon his death, James VI had been regularly meeting with Andrew Melville, Richard Hooker and others to continue the reform of the Church in Scotland. James VI had effectively surrendered all authority over religion to Melville and his clique, allowing for the selection of Presbyters to run individual Churches. The transition of Scotland to a Presbyterian nation was well under way. Richard stopped everything.

Richard’s temperament toward Presbyterians had been long known before 1591. In the few years before James VI’s death, Richard had staunchly opposed his father’s support for Presbyterians in Council and had to be removed during a debate over the repeal of Bishops after he threatened Melville personally. Any hopes that Richard would take a more conciliatory approach upon becoming King were dashed when his demands for his coronation were made clear. Traditionally the Archbishop of St Andrews had officiated the coronation, but with James VI having sacked the last Archbishop, the old King had laid out in his will that his personal Chaplain was to officiate the ceremony. Richard disregarded this and requested that Edmund Scambler, Archbishop of Canterbury, officiate instead. This caused a political uproar in Scotland who saw this as the King attempting to bring in English control of the Church. Scambler in the end declined but made a radical suggestion which was unbelievably accepted.

So it was that John Whitgift, the tub-thumper of the Anglican cause and scourge of the Presbyterians and Puritans, coronated King Richard I and went on to deliver a ‘sermon’ that was a not even veiled attack against Melville, Hooker and their ilk. The coronation not only established a long-term friendship between Whtigift and Richard but was a clarion call for the new King’s direction.

Over the next five years King Richard I made a number of harsh moves against Presbyterians in Scotland in attempt to re-establish Royal control over the Church. The 1592 Iron Laws included an Act of Supremacy similar to the one passed in England almost 50 years before making Richard head of the Church. They also included an outright ban on Presbyters and instead created Bishops and an Ecclesiastical hierarchy as in England. Finally, Richard directly attacked Presbyterians by banning the Book of Discipline which his father had championed and issuing orders of banishment on over 100 prominent Presbyterian clergy and academics including Melville and Hooker.

The Iron Laws met with some opposition in Scotland, the Montrose Abstinence to name just one, but this opposition was handicapped from the start. Without the prominent leadership, or many elites to coordinate the opposition, much of the backlash against the Iron Laws was sporadic and piecemeal, organised at a largely parish level. Much of the nobility actually supported these Laws, in particular the reinstatement of Bishops, and without their dissent there was little the Presbyterians could achieve.

Yet they had to try. In 1594 Andrew Melville brought the Petition of Amsterdam from his enclave in the city. It was signed by over 1000 prominent Scottish and English clergy including a few Dutch and German academics but most interesting the Prince of Orange. The petition asked Richard to lift the banishment orders of the Iron Laws and consider a dialogue with the Presbyterian leaders. Richard’s response was three-fold and demonstrates his commitment to the cause. First, Richard flatly rejected the petition and had Melville imprisoned for treason. Second, he passed the Articles of Perth which reaffirmed the Iron Laws but created a theological basis for the Scottish Church. Similar to the Anglican 39 articles, the Perth Articles lay the theological groundwork for a distinctly Scottish version of the Anglican Church and made express provision for those supporting the disestablishment of the Church and the creation of Presbyters. Finally, Richard dispatched a delegation to the United Netherlands demanding that King William apologise for his heir’s support of Melville and the immediate surrender of the entire Presbyterian enclave in Amsterdam.

This final action, and the ultimatum attached, was laughable in that Scotland had no resources with which to carry out the threatened war and raid on Amsterdam. Not only did the Dutch have the second largest navy in Europe at the time but they were supported by the Britannic Empire. In the end Emperor Edward intervened and agreed a £100,000 bond on the Netherlands to stay out of Scottish affairs. Richard’s plans had been challenged but they continued apace into 1597.

Why was Richard I so against Presbyterianism? Well, once the stock ‘because he was mad’ or ‘because he was a control freak’ answers have been discounted we are left with three major factors. First is the influence of Lennox, a man raised in Catholicism but converted to Protestantism; his religious tastes were far more ‘Anglican’ than Presbyterian. It stands to reason that this had some impact on the young King. Second was the out of control nature of Presbyterianism. This is not to say that the movement was anarchical but merely that it lacked the organised cohesion and leadership of Anglican, or even Lutheran, Churches. It was hard to understand and even harder to steer. Thirdly, Richard was clearly a man who desired control, an Anglican style Church gave that to him. Taken together, Richard I was someone who sought order and control and his religious policies reflect that.

Whilst the struggle for Church dominance rumbled along, Richard remarried and sought heirs. After the death of Elizabeth Cavendish, Richard sought his own choice of bride and began looking anywhere except the Britannic Empire. Agnes of Hesse and Christina Palatine were two options considered but again Emperor Edward intervened. Richard I was the great hope for uniting Scotland to the Britannic Empire, Edward felt entitled to arrange his marriage when Richard became King in late 1591. With all haste a match was arranged with Margaret Seymour, then aged 13, and she was sent to Scotland in January 1592 at an indecent pace so recently after the death of her Grandfather, the Lord Protector.

Edward played a shrewd political game in this match. Margaret’s father Richard, Earl Surrey, was keen to inherit his father’s position as Lord Protector. Edward strung him along to get him to agree to his daughter’s Scottish match only to award the role to Tudor once the marriage was concluded. Nonetheless Richard Seymour was indecently keen to marry his daughter off as a favour to his Emperor. To King Richard of Scotland, who wanted anything but another English bride, Edward sweetened the pot by offering a dowry of £50,000 and 100 of the latest Snelbus from the gunsmiths of London, with a further £10,000 and another 50 for each of the next 5 years. This was too desirable for Richard to pass up, and soon his own gunsmiths were cranking out imitations of the Snelbus, under Britannic license.

Margaret Seymour, or Poor Queen Maggie as the Scots know her, had no choice in this match and was said to be decidedly unhappy in her marriage, only alleviated after 1597. However, she performed her duties with a baby girl in 1593 and a boy in 1595 (named Anne and Richard respectively) who would both survive to adulthood. This latter birth was incredibly prescient. The death of Prince Edward of Lancaster in 1594 to the Flemish Plague left the Prince of Wales without an heir. This meant that Richard I was effectively second in line to the throne of Britannia through his mothers’ claim, and so the young Prince Richard would also be an heir to Scotland and the whole Empire.

Through the horror of plague, famine and religious strife, and with his own health starting to fail, Emperor Edward made a fateful choice. Together with his son Edward Prince of Wales he met King Richard of Scotland in Durham in September 1596 and drew up the Durham Accord. In the event that the Prince of Wales had no further legitimate male heirs (he had a number of bastards discreetly roaming the streets of London) then the throne of the entire Empire would pass to Richard of Scotland upon his death. The hope of the Yorkist dynasty, to bring Scotland into the Empire, seemed close at hand, but none of the signatories could anticipate the violent manner of this Union.
 
1591-1596 Sweden
‘The Battles of Kalmar and Nybro’ Generals and Kings Youtube Video, June 2018

Welcome back to the Generals and Kings Channel and our ongoing series on the religious wars of the 16th and 17th centuries. Today we look at the two major battles of the Swedish War of Independence in 1594 and 1595. This war was an important precursor to the Twenty Years War and heralded the rise of the Kingdom of Sweden under King Charles IX of the House of Vasa and his son, the legendary Gustavus Adolphus.

In 1592 King Sigismund III of Poland declared himself the King of Sweden upon the death of his father John III. At the time Sweden was a staunchly Protestant country, and a member of the League of Copenhagen – the Protestant Alliance which had dominated Europe’s battlefields since 1532. Sigismund attempted to restore Catholicism into Sweden, arresting Protestant leaders and inviting in the Inquisition to purge the country of the Reformation. Supported by Pope Clement VII, the Imperial Pope, Sigismund was able to withstand opposition from Swedish nobles including Duke Charles of Sudermania

Buoyed by the support he enjoyed from the Pope, and the Archduke of Austria, Sigismund rejected the Uppsala Synod in 1593, and remained in Sweden to ensure that Lutheranism continued to be eroded. This left Sigismund increasingly at odds with his Uncle Duke Charles. Charles had originally been selected as regent of Sweden to win Sigismund legitimacy with the Swedish elites. However, Charles’ support for Protestantism meant that Sigismund increasingly interfered in Swedish affairs and spent more time there than in Poland.

All of this came to a head in October of 1593 when Charles of Vasa declared himself King Charles IX of Sweden and expelled Polish and papal officials from the realm. Sigismund had made an ill-advised return to Poland at the time and given the Baltic Winter could do little to intervene. Sigismund did, however, spend the winter months gathering an invasion force. Sigismund would lead the army himself with Jan Karol Chodkiewicz and Stanislaw Zolkiewski in subordinate command. These two Generals were young during the Swedish War for Independence, but they were well on the way to becoming experienced commanders. The Polish contingent numbered some 25,000 men, including 4000 elite Hussars, but was augmented by a further 3,000 Austrian and Bavarian mercenaries and around 5,000 Swedish loyalists.

In April of 1594 this huge invasion force landed at Kalmar, protected by a combined Polish and loyalist Swede navy under the command of Klaus Erikson Fleming, High Admiral of Sweden, governor of Finland-Estonia and the most senior loyalist Swede, Fleming had some 15 larger ships under his command and a further dozen frigates and corvettes. Crucially, Sigismund had secured the tacit agreement of Christian IV of Denmark. Although it may seem strange that the Danes supported a Catholic against fellow Protestants, Christian IV sought to profit from the chaos ensuing on his eastern border; Sigismund promised to cede Halland and Skania in perpetuity to Denmark in exchange for their neutrality. With loyalist support, and Danish indifference, Sigimund’s landing at Kalmar was a success.

In Stockholm, Charles IX’s de facto capital, the events at Kalmar caused panic. Charles had only around 8,000 professional soldiers and limited cavalry, although he could make his numbers up through untrained peasant militia. In a rage, Charles sent angry messages to Copenhagen and dispatched the diplomat Nils Turesson Bilke to Amsterdam and London in search of aid.

Meanwhile, the Catholic forces marched north along the Baltic Coast seizing Norrkoping by the end of June. Sigismund met little resistance and the town surrendered without a fight, with scores of refugees fleeing north. The army had been supplied from the sea by Fleming’s fleet, and for security reasons briefings were often held aboard Fleming’s flagship the Kalmar. The only setback for Sigismund’s army had been constant harrying attacks along his land communications by Swedish partisans. These attacks were sporadic and weak, but given the broken nature of the coastline, were incredibly hard for even the elite Polish Cavalry to track down.

By midsummer, Sigismund had won control of the southern half of his Kingdom. This was by far the richer half, and he requested a parlay with Charles at Oxelsund on the 11th of July. However mid-way through negotiations, Admiral Fleming arrived with news of a surprising reversal from the south; the Battle of Kalmar had been fought and lost by Sigismund’s forces.

The Battle of Kalmar was fought on the 8th of July 1594. Sigismund had left a garrison of 4,000 men under Chodkiewicz in the city, along with much of the supplies required to feed his army. Furthermore, Fleming had sent 11 ships, around 40% of his strength back to the port to escort the next supply run. These ships, under the command of Polish Commodore Ernest Wejher, comprised 4 larger Galleons and 7 smaller vessels. It seems Wejher, complacent and not expecting an attack, had not posted picket ships, and his force was restricted by the 3 mile Kalmar straight. On the morning of the battle, a stiff north-easterly breeze prevented Wejher’s retreat back to his Admiral, but gave him the advantage of the weather gauge, something the Polish commander squandered.

Opposing the Catholic navy and army were an unlikely and cosmopolitan force. Turesson Bilke had struck Gold. The response in Amsterdam and London to Sigismund’s invasion, and Christian IV’s indifference, had been nothing short of apoplectic. Both Emperor Edward and the ailing King William were incensed to learn that their ally had allowed Sweden to fall and be invaded. To them this move threatened the security of the League of Copenhagen, and especially their ever precarious eastern flank. Edward immediately ordered that a relief force be sent and King William agreed. The issue was the Catholic control of the Baltic. The two Protestant rulers could not merely send weapons, supplies, and a few soldiers and hope that they made it to Charles. Instead they would have to commit with a full naval force.

Oliver van North was selected to leader the Britannic-Dutch fleet with Sir Thomas Shirley his second in command. Between them they had 7 larger Galleons and 15 smaller Caravels and Demi-Caravels – all that could be spared from the home fleets. Their great strength were the cargo vessels; over three dozen ships from the various Merchant Companies were requisitioned and packed with weapons, ammunition, and 10,000 men. Magnus the Red insisted on leading the army himself. The Master of Arms of the Britannic Empire was coming to rival Alexander for his daring desire to attack against all odds. King William sent Johan van Oldenbarnevelt with him to keep the ferocious commander in check. The 10,000 soldiers were mostly Britannic; the recent military reforms making it much easier for them to raise soldiers at short notice, these included two Calais Regiments and Magnus’ personal guard and 2,000 Cavalry under the Earl of St Albans. Operating at such a distance from their home bases, this force was on a knife-edge; surprise and aggression would be their main tools, and Magnus selected Kalmar as a target to secure his own supply lines.

The battle began at dawn on the 8th of July as van North completed a brilliant piece of seamanship. Leading a force of 6 ships, including 3 Galleons and his own flagship the Waakzaamheid, van North appeared in the Kalmar Straight from the north, behind the Catholic fleet and with the wind in his favour having sailed around Oland in the dark. To the south, and beating into the wind, Thomas Shirley brought another 8 ships. The Protestants had completely surrounded Ernest Wejher. The Polish commander, whose ships were at anchor in Kalmar, found it hard to respond into the wind, and only his 4 defensive ships were able to return fire, they were overwhelmed in a matter of minutes.

By mid-morning, van North had bottled up the majority of the Catholic navy in the harbour, putting them under suppressive fire from the Waakzaamheid’s massive guns. It was time for Shirley’s part of the plan to be put into action. Sailing under the guns of the Kalmar Castle, Shirley deployed his marines and his army regiments directly onto the harbour wall. In the shadow of the massive construction, the soldiers were safe from enfilading fire, but two ships were sunk as they withdrew. With Britannic soldiers on the ground inside the town, the fighting became desperate. Wejher tried to sail his vessels out of the harbour to avoid having them captured, but was annihilated as he tried to do so.

Jan Chodkiewicz, his defences arrayed to landward, could only send his infantry to repel the invaders. Here came Magnus the Red’s trump card. The Poles were utilising the Tercios or ‘Hutton Square’ with combined pike and musket to hold the narrow streets of Kalmar. They were surprised to see that the Britannic forces were without any kind of polearm or halberd to break their formations. Instead every man was armed with a sword, plate armour, and a model III Snelbus musket. Magnus had been experimenting with line infantry tactics for years, and in the maze of corridors which Kalmar had become, they received a baptism of fire. The elite soldiers of Magnus’ personal guard, the Scarlet Boars, could fire 5 shots for every 2 that the Poles could manage. Even the Marines and the Calais Regiments could manage 3 or 4 for every 2. The impact was devastating.

The new Snelbus, and Magnus’ drills with them, allowed the Protestant army to eviscerate their opponents. As the afternoon wore on, and with Wejher going down with his fleet, Chodkiewicz made the decision to abandon Kalmar. He was unable to fire any of the warehouses by the docks but did spike the guns on the walls. His 2,000 soldiers and further few hundred loyalist civilians, fled through the gates leaving Kalmar to the Protestants.

The League forces had between them lost 4 ships and around 300 soldiers. Crucially, they had successfully landed all of their supplies, and with Sigismund’s stores, had more than enough to pursue the war. The Polish King, in contrast, was dangerously exposed. He still had the larger army and Navy, but they were a long way from supply and he was forced to retreat. Norkoping was deemed too exposed, and so the 25,000 soldiers of the Catholic army were forced to winter in Vastervik whilst Admiral Fleming attempted to scrape up supplies from Estonia and Finland.

Throughout the winter of 1594-1595 both sides engaged a tense stand-off whenever the northern weather allowed. This was largely cavalry skirmishes with the Polish Hussars mostly on top, even in the face of St Albans’ light Lancers armed with Schragbus. Now improved to be even faster to reload, the deadly scattergun was still down to 2 shots every 90 seconds, more than enough time for the Poles to close down and kill the user. Meanwhile Magnus and van North used Shirley’s smaller Demi-Caravels to run weapons and supplies past the Catholic blockade to Charles in Stockholm. Come the spring, the Swedish King was ready.

Almost a year to the day after Sigismund’s invasion, Charles IX departed Stockholm only to find that his adversary had marched south. Sigismund’s army was lean, but not starving. However he knew that to get his campaign back on track he would have to re-take a deep water port like Kalmar. Thus in late May he and his army left Vastervik and marched on the city. Both armies had lacked in cannon the previous year, and both had stripped their fleets over the winter to provide them with artillery. Magnus had ten smaller cannon placed upon the walls of Kalmar, whilst his fleet patrolled the straits. Sigismund had more than 20 of the largest guns Fleming could give him, designed to break the relatively small walls of the city.

For his part, the Swedish Admiral opted not to fight, blocking the Kalmar strait from both ends by chaining his ships together. Van North, with three of Shirley’s boats absent, did not have the strength to force an exit and stayed in port. The fate of Sweden would be decided on land. The siege of Kalmar began well for the Poles. With the advantage of numbers but not time, Sigismund targetted all of his guns on the main gate of the town to the south, overwatched by the castle which had withstood the Protestants all winter and was relieved by Chodkiewicz at the start of the siege. By Easter Sunday the Catholics had made a serviceable breach in the walls of Kalmar, only for Charles to arrive and scotch their plans.

Charles IX, imbued with a sense of destiny, had covered the distance from Stockholm in a matter of days. His army by now numbered 18,000 though their quality was much below that of their opponents; around 4,000 had been equipped with the new Snelbus, and their training allowed them to better their Polish counterparts, but the majority of the army was militia with outdated weapons. The Polish Hussars attacked the Swedish vanguard at Ljungnas and Solberga forcing Charles to halt his advance and swing west into more wooded territory. The cavalry though was only buying time for their King to storm the walls of Kalmar. Marshall Zolkiewicz was desperate to lead an attack as soon as it became clear that their window of opportunity was closing.

Sigismund changed his mind or lost his nerve. He decided that a powerful thrust west into Charles’ weakened and outnumbered army would break them, and that the Hussars could defend his rear from Magnus and St Albans. Silently, on the night of the 29th of April, the Polish army slipped away from Kalmar. The next morning they were less than 5 miles away from Charles’ camp at Nybro where the decisive battle of the war would be fought.

Nybro sits on a flat plain with thick woodland north and south of the road running east towards Kalmar. Further east the woods are thinner, but on the site of the battle itself, Cavalry and Artillery would have been heavily curtailed. Instead Nybro would be a brutal infantry battle like those of old. Making the most of his initiative, Sigismund put his elite Guards in the front and arrayed a large column some 500 metres wide and over a kilometre long. This column had over 15,000 men, with smaller detachments covering the flanks and the Hussars to the rear. It was a bold, crude and brutal strategy, designed to break Charles’ army and force them from the field.

Sigismund wasted no time launching the attack, and the Polish column approached the centre of Charles’ hurried defensive line. The Swedes armed with Snelbus were here, and their withering fire slowed but could not stop the column. Less trained than the Calais Regiments and the Scarlet Boars, the Swedes could not produce enough fire to stop the human juggernaut from crashing over them. The first line broke but Charles himself steadied the army and reformed some 500 metres back within the picket of his own camp. This picket had dissuaded Charles from using it to anchor his line initially, the tangled branches and stakes made forming a line difficult, but it succeeded in stopping the Polish advance.

The Polish guards may have marching through open ground and a hail of gunfire, but they could not march over the wooden pickets, in stopping to remove them they lost momentum, and the column all but ground to a halt. All the while the flanks had been pelted by militia hidden in trees, and this fire continued. The Hussars held the rear, throwing back two attacks by the Earl of St Albans’ Cavalry which dispersed into the undergrowth.

By mid-afternoon the battle hung in the balance. The picket was finally cleared and the now exhausted Polish column continued its march into the Swedish lines. The reformed Protestant infantry again launched volley after volley into their opponents, but the column only slowed. Even the flanking fire seemed to have little effect. Eventually the British arrived. St Albans, who had carefully circled around the Hussar’s screen through the forest, fell upon the centre of the column with Schragbus volleys. Added to the weight of militia fire, they succeeded in severing the column, with the rear half beginning to retreat.

At the same time, the first Britannic infantry arrived on the field; Magnus and 5,000 men of the Scarlet Boars and the Calais Regiments went toe to hoof with the Hussars. Without long pikes Magnus was unable to form Hutton Square, and his 4-deep lines were penetrated by Hussars in numerous places with terrible losses. The Hussars themselves suffered grievously but once they were behind the Britannic line their job become easier. Only the trees saved Magnus. Ordering his lines to disperse, the infantry formed companies under the canopy of the woods where they could take pot-shots at massed clumps of Cavalry. This action broke neither side but successfully pinned down the Hussars whilst the Polish column bogged down.

Spotting their opportunity, Charles and St Albans led a lancer charge into the rear of the Polish column’s head. Exhausted despite their day’s success, the column shattered, and the Swedish militia’s charge finished the job. In the ensuing melee, as they tried to steady the army, both Zolkiewicz and Chodkiewicz were captured. Sigismund fled the battle with the remains of his cavalry and cut south to Karlskrona.

The battle of Nybro left 8,000 Catholics death and more than 10,000 captured. The remaining 6,000 or so rallied to their King to the south but his power was broken. Admiral Fleming was able to regroup and collect his leader, but the Protestants had won the day. Charles had lost almost 50% of his army, 9,000 men, in the battle and Magnus lost a further 2,000 out of the 7,000 he had committed.

The Treaty of Stralsund signed that Autumn confirmed Charles IX as King of Sweden, restored Lutheranism and removed Sigismund’s claim to the Swedish Crown. In exchange, the Polish captives, including the two Generals, were returned home. The Swedish War of Independence was a short and brutal affair resulting in over 50,000 deaths, but it was a mere side-show compared to what was to come. It nonetheless had significant repercussions for later wars. Sweden showed that the League of Copenhagen were not beyond intervening in foreign realms if their interests were threatened, it demonstrated the advantages of line tactics and it heralded the rise of the Swedish Empire. Sigismund would not forget or forgive, and he would join the Catholic Union when it formed a year later in order to get his revenge.

This is Generals and Kings, we hope that you have enjoyed this video, join us next time as we look at the French Civil War. See you on the next one.
 
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