| The Kings of the French - Louis IX (Tonto_Marechal) |
| Anno Domini 1293 - Paris, Ile de France |
| "The Empire needs peace. Peace shall be my legacy, a legacy
unlike that of my predecessors bent on bloodshed and wanton
conquest," the emperor faced a seated monk scribbling away. "You
are writing all this down, right?" "Of course, sire." "Splendid. Back to the subject at hand. So how do we go about obtaining this peace?" Louis IX turned sharply on his heel and looked down upon his seated councilors. The young prince had been ruling the Western Empire for four years now and was only twenty-seven years old with a young wife from the local nobility. "Treaty negotiations with our enemies?" offered an elderly nobleman at the far end of the table. "What is your name, pray tell?" Louis' eyebrows shot up. "I am Jean-Philippe, Marquis de Charleroi." "Ah. Guards, if you would be so kind, take the Marquis de Charleroi outside and behead him, please." "Aye, sire," two armored foot soldiers of the imperial bodyguard grabbed Jean-Philippe and dragged him out of the council room. "I ask again, gentlemen, how shall we obtain peace?" Silence greeted the emperor as his steely blue eyes darted from one face to the next. A minute passed by and all those assembled were reduced to staring at the imperial bees on the table cloth. "Much better, gentlemen," Louis smiled brightly and began pacing again. "We shall obtain peace through war. Simplest formula in the books, gentlemen. I want Iberia completely pacified. I want the waters of the world to fly only the banners of our empire. Then, we can begin showing the enemies of the West the bitter harvest of hatred they have sown in their wars of heretical aggression against our most sacred kingdom. All of our enemies shall submit or be smitten, and peace, gentlemen, true peace shall be ours. I want monies. Vaults and vaults of monies from which we can build this empire up. We cannot be the New Rome by squandering our monies on rebellions, traitors, and diplomacy. No! We must build churches and workshops and armories. We must build! And we shall have our peace, gentlemen. Mark my words," the emperor turned on his heels again and promptly left the room. |
| Anno Domini 1293 - Paris, Ile de France |
|
Church bells peeled throughout Paris as heralds rode their horses up and
down the narrow city streets proclaiming the birth of Prince Philippe, Dauphin
of France and heir to the western throne. General Jean le Brabant
threaded his white horse through the crowds as they congregated outside
the Paris Castle complex. Saluting the imperial guardsmen, le
Brabant dismounted in the cobblestone courtyard and handed the reigns to a
blonde-haired page. "Take good care of her, lad," the
general patted the horse's head and strode towards the main hall. "General?" Brabant turned to see Captain Desaix of the imperial bodyguard approach. The two soldiers had been friends since childhood, Brabant having only two dozen generations of nobility had to pursue foreign service abroad fighting for Louis VIII and Charles V. The younger Desaix had thirty generations of nobility and had spent his entire life in the service of the emperor's household, eventually being promoted to captain of the bodyguard by Louis IX at his coronation. "My God, it's good to see you, friend," Brabant clenched Desaix's hand and shook it vigorously. "Still alive, I see," Desaix beamed. "Still alive, yes. The sword that shall smite me has not yet been crafted," Brabant put his arm around Desaix's shoulder and the two began walking towards the hall again. "So tell me, old friend, how is His Majesty?" "The emperor is busy, busy, busy," Desaix waved his hands about. "You should see the palace rooms. Maps everywhere. And they're not war maps, like old Philippe III or even Louis VIII. No, no. These are all city maps, construction maps." "He's not much of a soldier, eh?" "Oh, but he is, he is. But he's also obsessed with peace and prosperity. He wants happy people. The past century has been spent in endless warfare. Provinces conquered and lost and reconquered. He hates turmoil." "He ever been on campaign?" "Not yet, but bear in mind his young age, my friend." "Ah yes, quite right," Brabant opened one of the hall doors and saluted the guards. The two took a right and began ascending a steep staircase. "He's planning something though. He's mustering some local French legions. The rumor is he plans on an Italian campaign." "Oh, Italy then? Papists and Sicilians?" "Aye, to be sure," Desaix swung open the door at the top of the staircase. The general and the captain tramped down a well lit but narrow hallway. They could dimly make out the hum of music several stories below them in one of the great banquet halls. "Here we are," the slim captain unbolted a door on the left and the two entered a small council room. Around a table in the center were seated a dozen generals in plain white silk robes. "Pardon, Your Majesty, General Jean le Brabant is here from Iberia." The emperor was, as usual, pacing from one end of the room to the other when they had entered. Louis eyed up Brabant and then approached the general, hands clasped behind his back. Brabant put his clenched right hand to his chest and bowed, "Sire." Louis stopped two paces in front of his top general in the Iberian Peninsula. "Hail, general. I see the Lord has chastised your flesh," the emperor smiled and the seated generals laughed softly. "Yes, sire," grinned Brabant. "'Twas a bit warm down there." "I'd imagine so," Louis nodded. "My fleet was of some assistance, I trust?" "Very much so, sire." "They were worth their money after all. Hrm. Perhaps I shouldn't have hanged de Lilles. Our fleet is quite impressive, you know. We've got the Sicilians bottled up. . ." Louis trailed off in thought for a minute. "The Portuguese defeated?" "Yes, sire. There shall be no more rebellions in Portugal, or Iberia, for that matter." "Praise God. These Hungarians, they must pay for their insolence. Bastards invaded Swabia. Hungarian cavalry penetrated as far as Franconia. If we aren't a bit more hasty, they'll be in Pfalz or the Palatinate. I'm sending ten battalions of infantry east. Ten more battalions are being summoned. Four thousand men are in Italy," the emperor waved his hands and began pacing again. "Summon Cardinal Cartier and the Lord Treasurer, de Sillery." |
| Anno Domini 1305 - Caligar, Sardinia |
|
The young lieutenant collapsed with an arrow protruding from his chest.
General le Brabant spat and called for another aide. This time
an older, portly captain came forward and stood before the general. Brabant
put his spyglass on the captain's right shoulder and squinted. Arrows
continued whistling past the cluster of officers all kneeling or ducking
behind their commander. Brabant turned around. "Send
Jacques' battalion to the east, over that ridge. Flank the town,
come in from the other side." One of the nobles saluted, took up his scabbard in one hand, and hurried down the hill to summon his men to arms. He quickly hurried through the line of trebuchets hurling great stones into the city of Caligar. The air was thick with smoke, fires slowly consuming the city before the French. Two green-feathered arrows slammed into the round captain whose body slumped over onto Brabant. The general lost his balance and dropped his spyglass as the dead captain crashed to the ground next to the dead lieutenant. "Damnit," Brabant cursed his broken spyglass. He watched the flanking battalion disappear over on the right behind the ridge as he surveyed his own lines. "Your orders, sir?" shouted up a cowering noblemen behind an abatis. "Center, forward, on the double!" Brabant shouted down to his officers as he drew his great sword from its gold-leaf sheath. "Prepare to charge!" The assembled regiments below could hear their commander's shouts and with the order to charge a great cry rose up from the assembled battalions. Brabant and his staff were soon overwhelmed as the great host of French infantry streamed over them screaming their war cries. A barrage of arrows brought down a great many, but could not dent the tide set against them. The crash of metal against metal echoed through the narrow streets of Caligar as the French invades met the Sicilian defenders in the streets. The poorly equipped and heavily outnumbered defenders were soon overrun and driven back through the cobblestone streets of medieval Caligar. The Sicilians looked eagerly to their stalwart fortress in the center of the city, only a few hundred meters before them. Their hearts sank suddenly before they could reach the safety of their fortress as Jacques' battalion of flanking infantry came hurrying pell-mell down the city streets in front of the retreating defenders and cut off their retreat to the fortress. Surrounded and without the chance of quarter, the Sicilians fought with ferocious desperation. While the main fight raged before the very gates of the Caligarian fortress, le Brabant and a select company of light infantry quickly made their way along the left flank of the defenders. With a half dozen great ladders they ran up to the side of the fortress and positioned themselves to scale the stone walls. The entire garrison of the fortress was over on the southern side at the main gate, trying to assist the cut off Sicilians. The fortress defenders had reason soon to regret their ignorance as Brabant and his company ascended the walls and began filing along the fortress walls. The alarm was raised too late and the archers along the main gate were hewn down by Brabant's frenzied volunteers. The general and his men poured into the gatehouse and raised the portcullis. The great wooden doors were then swung open and the French army poured into the fortress. The battle was over. Two weeks later, Brabant leaned back in a well cushioned oak chair. A map of Sardinia was studded with blue pins before him on the table. He smiled as he penned a letter to His Majesty, telling of the great victory at Caligar and the quick suppression of all of Sardinia by his army. The French banners flew from every post in Sardinia and the Sicilians were all slain or had fled. Brabant lauded with praise the French navy and its critical role in bringing together his army and landing it on Sardinia before placing the island under blockade. In the gutted central cathedral of Caligar a te Deum had been held in honor of the French conquest. Dispatches arrived from the emperor awarding Brabant with the title of Guidice of Sardinia. The emperor also outlined a massive construction program for Brabant to follow and allotting him two thousand florins to begin rebuilding Sardinia. The island nation was not the only imperial province receiving generous sums from Paris. Twenty thousand florins were being spent throughout the empire as part of the emperor's new construction program to rebuild and expand the infrastructure throughout the empire. The imperial treasurer, Lord de Sillery, was the emperor's chief lieutenant and councilor, orchestrating the emperor's immense demands for expenditure on internal improvements. Peace and stability was not to be just bywords on the ends of the local garrison's pikes, it was to be an actual program for all citizens of the empire. Such peace and prosperity had not been enjoyed by any living generation. |
| Anno Domini 1321 - Benevento, Naples |
|
Emperor Louis IX held out his hands in a sweeping gesture over the fields
surrounding the men around him. His imperial councilors, all his
Italian generals, and three of the princes were amongst the host of nobles
and officers gathered around their emperor. Strewn across the field
on all sides of the imperial host were scattered the slain men from the
day's previous battle. The terrible wreckage of war, dead horses,
overturned wagons, broken weapons, flags, and other equipment, was mingled
with the bodies of over two thousand men stricken down during the great
battle. "Lord forgive us," the archbishop of Paris sadly nodded his bald head. " "A prayer, if you would, archbishop," the emperor bowed his head. The surrounding company removed their hats and helmets and bowed their heads with the emperor. "O Lord of Heaven and Earth, Hear our prayer this day, in the name of Christ Jesus, Our Lord. A great battle was fought on this cursed ground yesterday. Two thousand Christian men were sent to your blessed gates. Lord Father, in your infinite mercy, look down upon your children with pity and grant us your grace and forgiveness. We pray for the souls of the slain. Deliver us from evil, O Lord. Through Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, Amen." "Amen," echoed the crowd as they crossed themselves. "It is good, that we survey this scene, gentlemen," Louis made another sweeping gesture. "War is a terrible thing, but if we are to have peace, then we must be willing to bleed and die for it. Six hundred of our countrymen fell here, in Naples, fighting the tyranny of Rome. Lord willing, we shall not have to fight the tyrants again. Dismissed, gentlemen," Louis waved his hand at the assembled host which began to break up. "My sons, come to me. Brabant, generals, join me at the table here." The Princes Philippe, Jean, Louis, and Charles joined their father at his side. All three bore a striking resemblance to their father as they stood their in their matching white silk robes with ornate gold leaf patterns. Philippe stood out with several gold emblems suspended on silver chains around his neck. He had already personally directed several battles and as Dauphin he enjoyed additional responsibilities in the kingdom beyond those of his brothers. Louis had actually put him in charge of all the imperial armies in Italy in 1315. It was now a very formidable operation, one in which the emperor was personally involved in the campaigning with his bodyguard of heavy cavalry. In fact, there were over 5,000 imperial troops in Italy at the moment. The French navy patrolled all the waters off of the entire Italian Peninsula and kept the Sicilians bottled up. "What is it you now desire, father?" Charles turned to Louis. "Now, my son, I shall leave Italy. You, my intelligent and brave son, shall take three regiments across to Sicily and crush their remaining forces. Their great fortress at Messina will not fall quickly, however, such as the Caligar citadel. No, you will be there for some time, my son. Take care to pacify the countryside around you. I will leave an additional three regiments in Rome, for I fear Italy will not remain tranquil for long. Brabant, we have business with Hungary to finish." "Aye, sire. The Turks?" the general inquired. "Ah yes, the Turks. Send Charles Moreau to Georgia. Take the Army of the Cross of Edessa and drive the Turks into the Russian wastes around the Black Sea. The Turkish army is weak and their empire weaker." "Your Majesty, the funds?" asked de Sillery. "Ah yes, the bloody funds. Do what you must to balance the books, but I want Naples rebuilt within five years. And I want an additional three thousand florins spent on farming in the Middle East." "And North Africa?" "No, no funds. We shall maintain the four regiments there. Tax them, but not too much. No farming or infrastructure worth developing there." "Yes, Your Majesty," de Sillery scribbled down some notes on a piece of parchment. "Jean, Charles, and Louis, I want you to come with me to Austria. We've cut the Hungarian incursions in half and driven them into the Eastern Germanies. We shall muster the battalions from France and reform our legions on the frontier." The crown princes nodded as their eager, young eyes surveyed the intricate map of Europe with its myriad of names scattered across its breadth. They were still learning the apprenticeship of warfare and kingship at their father's side. Only the eldest, Philippe, could be trusted on his own as a lieutenant of the emperor abroad. He had proven himself in Italy. |
| Anno Domini 1328 - The Western Empire |
| The church bells tolled their mournful cry as the city of Paris went into mourning with the news that Louis IX had passed away at the ripe age of sixty-four. Messengers sped from one corner of the empire to the next with the news that Louis the Great was no more. The messengers passed by many of his achievements, great castles, fortresses, churches, and other buildings built from one end of the empire to the other. Philippe was lounging in the citadel of Messina, fresh from final victory over the Sicilians when he received word of his father's passing. He knew that he must finish, once and for all, the work begun by his forefathers, that of uniting all of Europe under the royal banners of France. He rose from his seat and went to the window. To the east, the sun was rising, its golden rays driving forth the pale darkness of dawn. God had given Philippe a mission. He would fulfill it. |