Parts 24-37           

Prince of Peace 24
"New"

"O but to rest, like Robin Hood, beneath some forest-green,
Where the wild-flowers of the coming spring on my mouldering heart may lean;
Where heaven is seen,
And the smile serene
Of heavenliest liberty."-W. J. Linton, An Hour of Robin Hood

Norfolk, July, 1230

Alexander paced about the walls of the castle. He was being treated well by
Robin, but, by God, this was getting absurd. Robin Fitz Odo, he had been
told, was coming to see him, but for what?

He saw Robin approach through the gates, followed by men in armor. He
clenched his fists, and briefly was afraid that he was going to suffer the
same fate as Arthur almost had.

Arthur came up behind him, with the banner of England. He walked up on the
wall, and, amazingly calm, said, "How would you like to be the King of
England?"

Alexander raised an eyebrow. "What?"

It turned out that it was quite simple, actually. The notion of a Republic
was less than popular, among many of the nobles. After all, the Trojans had
had kings, not Consuls; and there were many who feared it was but an attempt
by Robin to take power. Alexander had a claim, going back to a king before
the Plantagenets; he would do nicely.

Robin, however, still commanded a great following, and in an effort to avoid
another round of civil war, Robin had arrived here.

Alexander could not help gloating a little. "So your Republic has failed,
has it? I wonder why you ever expected it to succeed. You could not make up
your mind on how to rule? Too many people trying to sway you, until you bent
in the wind like a blade of grass?"

Robin rubbed his temple. "I am as constant as the north star. I know what
must be done. It is everyone else who cannot decide how to govern." He
motioned for a parchment to be brought over.

"These are the Provisions by which you shall rule, if you are the King of
England."

Alexander read the document; a council of fourteen, with six nobles, three
minor knights, three burghers, and the two consuls. Parliament was to meet
three times a year, and would control the vast majority of taxation. The two
houses would each be led by he consuls, and unlike in the Empire, "law rules
the royal dignity, for law is right and rules the world."

Alexander put it down, and thought. Finally, he said, "Well, what choice do
I have? Of course I'll be the King."

London, January, 1231

London was decked in color and finery once more. They had not seen, it was
said, an English king crowned here in a generation. Alexander's goal was to
make up for the lack of gaity. And yet, despite it all, he could see Robin
vying for prestige as well.

Alexander had paraded with knights through the city; Robin had men carry
banners captured from the Germans. Robin gave wine to the people; Alexander
gave wine in gold cups. It went on like this throughout the day, and to much
of the populace, who was blissfully unaware of the tension between the two
men, it seemed as if it was a magnificent spectacle.

But it would all be worth it. As Alexander knelt before the English bishop,
in Westminster.

"Grant thou all rightful laws and customs to behold and that thou wilt
defend and strengthen them to the worship if God to his might and powers
which shall choos, " said the Bishop.

Alexander answered, carefully, "I grant it."

The bishop placed the crown upon his head, and turned to the people. "Do you
call this prince the rightful heir of the realm, and swear to obey his
commandments?"

The people who had packed the church, and the streets around it, cheered.
"We grant it! We grant it!" [82]

The bishop placed the crown upon the head of Alexander, and declared, "By
the Grace of God, I anoint thee, Alexander, Imperator totus Britannia."

Robin Fitz Odo stepped forth. "Long may he reign!"

Nuremberg, October, 1232

Robin ran a hand through his hair and sighed. God, in Nuremberg. There was a
time, once, when he would have rejoiced at being here, of seeing the glories
of Rome. That time had long since past.

He had come here to make peace; the news from France meant that Frederick
could focus on England and Italy, and the Emperor of the Hellenes was busy
elsewhere. Alexander had chosen him as the best example of England's
capacity to resist another invasion.

He walked into the Emperor's court, and bowed. He did not, however,
prostrate himself, which, to some, was a mistake.

Frederick glared. "You dare not prostate yourself before your Emperor?"
demanded Frederick?

Robin made a pretense of looking around. "I do not see my Emperor, and I do
not prostrate before him."

Frederick sighed. He would savor this, very much. "We shall see. From the
rebels of England we demand your surrender, and your submission to the
Emperor."

"Submission?" cried Robin. "Robin smiled at him. "Submission, Frederick, tis
a mere German word. We English warriors know not what it means!" Robin
smiled. "As your soldiers found out."

Frederick leaned back. "Is that so? We shall see." He clapped his hands, and
the guards came down upon Robin.

Robin, wearing no armor, could not resist. "You promised me safe conduct,"
he said.

The Emperor laughed. "I can promise many things. I've schemed and plotted
all my life. There's no other way to be an Emperor, forty, and alive all at
once."

Robin was brought before the Emperor. "Kneel," commanded a chamberlain.
Robin did so, and as he did, went for a knife in his boot. He tried to stab
Frederick, but the guards caught him.

Some one screamed. "He has a knife!"

Robin laughed, bitterly. "Of course I have a knife. It's 1232 in the year of
our Lord and you're all barbarians. Did you think I would trust you?"

Frederick pretended to sigh, upset. "This is yet another offense against
your Emperor. Regicide, after all, is a crime against the Emperor and God."

"For that you shall die."

Robin was schedule to die on December 26. He wondered, in his time of
confinement, if he would receive any visitors before then. He did, and,
frankly, it was the one he had expected.

Frederick was in a rather jovial mood. "So this is Robin Fitz Odo, the
terror of England." He looked Robin over, who was half starved. "I would
have expected better from the hero of England." He paused for a moment, and
said, "Do you know that your Alexander sent you here knowing you would die?"

Robin shrugged. "I doubt it. I know you would say that, you know that I know
you would say that, and you know that I knew that you would say that.
Alexander probably knows that I know that you know that I know that you
would say that." He laughed. "We're quite a knowledgeable set of
Christians."

Frederick laughed. "It's a pity, you know, that I have to kill you."

"It's a pity that I can't kill you."

Frederick's gaze grew cold once more. "If you acknowledge that you have been
in error, if you acknowledge that I am the Emperor, then you will be spared.
If you do not, you will be torn apart, and your limbs scattered to the
corners of the Empire. You will be drawn and quartered.

December 26, the Emperor's birthday, came, and, in due course, Robin was
tortured. He was burned, as was proper.

But as the flames roared higher, Robin screamed over them. "Frederick, you
will meet me in judgement before the decade is out! A curse on the Staufens,
a curse on the Empire! For England!"

Robin's last thought, as he descended into a world of pain, was that he
hoped he had lived a good enough life to meet Marion in heaven. He thought
he could glimpse her, with her strawberry hair, in the crowd, but he knew
that God would not be so kind as to give him one last view of her.

To the north, across a cold sea, Hubert de Burgh looked up from the letter
from Nuremberg of Robin's imprisonment. He could have sworn he had heard
something off the wind, blowing south. Something strange and wonderful.

When Robin's body has finished burning, and all that was left were charred
remains, some one, it was recorded, a young woman, perhaps almost twenty,
with hair the color of strawberries, picked up what was left of his heart,
and placed it in her silk handkerchief. She would return the heart to
England, saving some small piece of Robin.


London, April, 1233

Alexander spoke before Parliament, his voice deep and sorrowful. He had not
liked the man much; so why did he miss Robin so?

"Gentle men of England," he cried. "I come not to bury Robin, but to praise
him. Robin was not just a man; he was a hero. He could have supped with
Aeneas or Arthur and been their equals. He fought against the tyranny of the
Antichrist when no one else would. When," said Alexander," even I would
not."

The speech continued, it was said, for an hour. "This is why Robin Fitz Odo,
a knight of Loxley, shall be buried with the Kings of England." He ordered
the artisans to pull the cloth off of the tomb. It was made of green marble,
and showed Marion and Robin, together in death, as they could not be in
life.

"Here," said Alexander, as a tomb was unveiled, "is the glory of Robin. He
fought for Maid Marion, and for England," said Alexander. "The Emperor
sought to keep him from both by burning his body in Germany, but by the
Grace of God we have recovered his heart."

"It will be buried here with his Marion, in the soil of Westminster, so that
he can be with both of his loves for all eternity."



[82] For those who are going to say that this is too farfetched, I'd like to
state that this is exactly what happened in Late Middle Ages coronations in
England.

And Imperator is such a nice way to say "Expletive you" to the Emperor, isn' t? Granted there's no papal consent, but in a world where this era is
referred to as his "captivity in babylon", this isn't as great a deal.
Actually, given that the old pope died in 1228, I have to flesh out what's
going on with the Imperial church, as well as the ideology of the concept of
empire.

I will say that just like Clement V, the new pope is afraid to travel to
Italy.

-----------------

Prince of Peace 25
"New"

"You say the moon is strewn with seas;
The nightingale is singing.
I'd rather lie with wine at ease,
And hear the goblets ringing.

You say the earth dances round the sun;
That the Pisans have reached Cathay.
I'd rather dance and have some fun,
And while away the day.

They cut up Cathars in Languedoc;
Heretics exile the Pope.
The Emperor is hard as rock,
In the name of God how does one cope?"-Poem attributed to Simon, Troubadour
in the Kingdom of Aragon


Ibiza, July, 1222

James, Prince of Aragon, listened carefully, straining to hear the call to
prayer from the Muslim city echo out across the lines. Ibiza was the last
city in the Balearics to oppose him, and with it gone, he would have taken
the last islands in the Mediterranean from the Muslims.

The city, some said, was unconquerable. Its walls were massive, and who knew
how long it could hold out?

But for the son of the man who took Toulouse and defeated the Almohads,
nothing was impossible. Indeed, it appeared that God had given him a way to
enter the city.

The Muslim lord of Ibiza had a brother, Ibrahim, with whom he often
fought.Ibrahim and his brother often fought over one of the woman in the
harem, who Ibrahim considered his own. When his brother took her, Ibrahim
attempted to kill him. The Emir had triumphed, and attempted to imprison his
brother.

Now Ibrahim stood before him, clothed in the armor of his people. "I will
show you a way into the city," said Ibrahim, but on two conditions.

James nodded. "Go on."

"First," said Ibrahim, "you will let the people of the city keep their
faith." Peter nodded; that was the way you did things, provided the city did
not resist.

"Secondly," said Ibrahim, "you will kill my brother."

James smiled. "I would be happy to oblige you."

The next night, Ibrahim led the army of Aragon into the city. The Muslim
lord would wake up the next morning to find the armies of the prince
encamped in his courtyard; and the city of Ibiza passed into the hands of
the King of Aragon [83].

And yet, the victory of James would prove to be a depressing one, for, a
mere week later, he would receive word of the death of his father, Peter the
Conqueror.

James grew up in the rich and cosmopolitan culture of The Kingdom of Aragon
and the County of Toulouse. Aragon had been, for the last fifty years,
undergoing an explosion of commerce and culture. Jewish funds and slave
trading with the Moors had funded the growth of Barcelona, establishing a
patrician class loyal to the king.

Moreover, the conquest of Valencia had changed the Muslims from becoming the
king's enemies to his valued subjects. Not because James or his father were
fond of infidels, but they had turned Valencia into a garden. They had
turned, over the centuries, a barren wasteland into a paradise of figs,
olives, flax, and wine.

James had also been raised in Languedoc, the hotbed of the Cathar heresy,
which for some reason Peter II had never quite gotten around to rooting out,
especially in towns that paid their taxes. This trend was continued by
James the Wise, who was known for saying that if the Muslim were expelled,
there would be no one to farm the land.

James's relationship with the Emperor was. ambiguous. He and his father had
acknowledged the Emperor as his overlord, but the Emperor, to them, had no
real political power over them. He was their lord, but did that not mean he
had obligations to James?

It is in this light that James's actions, as he fought from Corsica to
Tunis, over the next several decades, must be seen.

August, Corsica, 1226

When Frederick had "summoned the hosts of the world", as Francis had called
it, to subdue Italy, it was only natural for him to call on the Kingdom of
Aragon.

Aragon, by this point, had built up a mighty navy, so strong that King James
could boast that "there was not a fish in the sea who did not know of the
banner of Aragon." It was believed by many that, if pressed, Aragon was
easily a match for the city of Pisa, especially with support of the navy
from Sicily. In return Arago would gain Corsica and Sardinia, expanding its
naval supremacy across the entire Mediterranean. Roger de Lluria, from
Barcelona, had been sent by James to command the fleet.

Roger looked out across the sea, and nodded grimly. He stood on the bow of
the flagship of Aragon, the Braulio [84]. Behind him were seventy galleys
and escorts, and before him were fifty galleys of Pisa. In addition, there
were thirty Sicilian galleys swimming towards the Pisans as well.

"Forward!" urged Roger. "We are here to conquer or die!"

The Pisans, for their part, viewed the war as a crusade to defend their
homeland. Each Pisan ship was adorned with a crucifix and the banner of the
League of Italy, as well as that of Pisa. [85]

The battle was soon joined, with Roger himself, branding a broad sword,
leading the charge against the crew of a galley. Once engaged, the
formations quickly broke down into a melee of individual battles on the
decks of the galleys. They were scenes of chaos, with blood spilling across
the decks, turning the water into a sea of blood.


Meanwhile, Giacomo Tiepolo, citizen of Venice, looked off of the brow of his
ship, the Fortuna, and gave a look that would not look out of place on one
of the crocodiles of the Kingdom of Egypt. Frederick had called for them to
join the war in Italy. The Doge had promised to send his fleet to meet up
with the navy of Aragon, if only they knew where they were to be.

Giacomo inhaled, taking in the scents of sea and war. Today they would pay
back the enemies who had tried to destroy the republic. Today was the day to
repay the bastard whose father had made their proud republic his pawn. "Once
more to war," yelled Giacomo. "For God, for Venice, and for San Marco!"
With a swift cut, he knocked off the banners of the Emperor, and watched as
the banner of Italy replaced it, side by side with the Lion of Saint. Mark.

The Venetian fleet swept into the battle, tearing into the Sicilian galleys.
Caught by surprise, Roger had no choice but to withdraw, leaving half of his
fleet behind him as wreckage.

"O, Fickle Fortuna," thought Roger, as he looked at the Venetian galleys
which were chasing him. "How could you betray us so?"



Montpellier, November, 1228

There were times, thought Geoffrey, as he cut into the corpse's chest, when
he thanked God that the Cathars were all doomed to hell.

"Within the body, it appears that it is divided into several cavities. There
is the skull, which contains the brain. Within it nerves connect it to the
rest of the body. However, the nerves appear to move across the body, and as
Galen said, control it."

"Who are you talking to, sir?" said his servant, Ibrahim of Valencia. Damned
Moor, but useful.

"You," said Geoffrey. "Aren't you getting all this?" He sighed and resumed
speaking. "The center of the body, however, is the heart. Upon opening it
up, it appears that there are four chambers; two on the right side and two
on the left. It is my belief that the one on the left, having thicker walls,
must be the one that pumps blood throughout the body, for it has the
inevitably more difficult task."

"This means," he said, "that the right chambers pump blood to the lungs,
where the imbalance of humors is restored. For it is clear to me that air,
corresponding to the humor of blood, is exchanged in the lungs and replaces
the impurities of black bile that reside in blood after it has gone through
the body."

Ibrahim spoke up. "Are you sure it is a humor, sir? Perhaps it is something
else?"

Geoffrey shook his head. "Nonsense! What else could it be?" He looked
contemptibly at his servant. "You consistently come up with absurd notions,
such as the idea that the humors might not exist. If you keep believing
that, you'll never be a scholar." Geoffrey bent back over the body, and
continued lecturing. "Based on these observations, it is the mind which
makes the body rich; for it controls the body, like a king over his kingdom.
The heart is like his merchants, spreading throughout the body to keep it
healthy, and the muscles are like his peasants, weak individually, but
together crucial for the well being of the realm."

Geoffrey looked at the body in amazement. So much waited to be done!


While Frankfurt might boast of its discovery of classics, and its scholars
who seemed to discover new things each day, or Constantinople of its
development of weapons for war, the Kingdom of Aragon would acquire fame for
something rather different.

For centuries, the Church had forbidden dissection. After all, if the body
was to be eventually resurrected, then dissecting it into pieces was the
ultimate crime, for it denied them immortality. The Church's policy against
dissection also dated back to the Crusading practice of sending the bodies
of Crusaders home in pieces, to save on the cost of shipping. This is not to
say that the church opposed all surgeries; it actually supported attempts at
Caesarean sections, to save the unborn babies. But it did make things rather
difficult.

For the Cathars, however, this was not a problem. The Cathar heresy, with
its nihilistic belief in the ultimate evil of the mortal world, merely saw
the human body as a vessel for the soul, to be discarded like worn out
clothing. For them, what happened to their bodies was irrelevant.

And for Catholics, well, the Cathars were all going to hell anyway, so it
hardly mattered what happened to their bodies, did it? Thus had begun, with
consent from the Emperor and King, dissection of bodies at the medical
school of Montpellier.

Thus, Langeudoc and Aragon play their own role in the explosion of science
and learning in the 13th century, the era known as the Rinascere by the
Imperial propagandist Pierro della Vigna.



Barcelona, May, 1227

Pedro Fernandez, Lord of Albaraccin, stood before the cortes. "Why," he
said, "should we support the war against the Lombards? What have they done
to us to cause us to war with them?"

James stood up. "They are heretics, who are spreading like a plague. If we
do not cure it now, how long will it be before it overwhelms the body of
Christendom?"

"So?" demanded Pedro. "That is the Emperor's duty, not ours!" His response
was greeted with cheers.

The Kingdom of Aragon was, in many ways, a kingdom divided. The cities of
Languedoc and Provence allied with Barcelona, in favor of a policy of
maritime expansion. With the defeat of the Almohads in Iberia, and the
victories of the Kings of Egypt and Jerusalem to the East, there was a
feeling that the time was ripe to roll up the Muslim states of North Africa
and turn the western Mediterranean into an Aragonese lake.

On the other hand, the nobles of Aragon were in favor of landward expansion,
towards Seville and Murcia. This had actually caused great difficulties for
James's father, who had wisely decided to pursue both goals, with the
knights of Aragon invading Valencia while the Catalans and sailors of
Marseilles took the Baleares.

Unfortunately, this meant that both sides were somewhat dissatisfied with
the defeat off of Corsica.
"My duty," said James, "is to ensure the strength of Aragon endures. If we
but try again, we will triumph. God has defended us; our cause is just, and
our spirit willing. We will succeed."

"Would it not be better," said Pedro, "to bring the heathens the sword of
God? If you truly believe in the Emperor," said Pedro, "then there is no
reason to doubt his success. If you do doubt his success, then you doubt the
Emperor, and hence God."

"Therefore," said Pedro, "I put it before you, men of Aragon. Let us put
away our quarrel with the Lombards, and focus on the infidel.Let us take the
city from which we can command the entire Mediterranean."

"To Tunis!"

[83] It really helps when your king doesn't die supporting heretics in
Languedoc, as Peter II did in 1213. This, as well as the gold of Toulouse,
have moved up the conquest of Valencia and the Balearic Islands.

[84] Braulio is one of the patron saints of Aragon, who opposed heresy in
Spain and converted the Visigoths to the true faith.

[85] The banner of Italy, incidentally, is much like the one of the
Florentine coalition against the Pope in the late 14th century: A red banner
with the word Libertas in gold.

Prince of Peace 26

"The first question, then, is whether Temporal Monarchy is necessary for the
welfare of the world; and that it is necessary can, I think, be shown by the
strongest and most manifest arguments; for nothing, either of reason or of
authority, opposes me."-Dante, De Monarchia

It is impossible, of course, to bring up the Renascere without mentioning
the book by Piero Della Vigna, Foundations of Empire. In it, Piero, a
Sicilian, argues emphatically in favor of the empire.

He argues that the emperor is necessary to promote justitia. This does not
mean merely justice. Rather, it means that law-making should be conducted
according to the principles enshrined in God's teachings; indeed, justitia,
in this context, means the very ordering of the world.

Man, holds Piero, is inherently wicked and sinful, since his fall from the
Garden of Eden. Rulers are the flagellum, the scourge, appointed by God to
cleanse the world and restore justitia. The Emperor, as the basis of good
government, is the source of the world's ordering, and without a strong
emperor, there can only be chaos. Piero points out in the historical record
the fate of the chaotic kingdoms of the Germanic tribes, leading to
weakness, heresy, and ultimately conquest by pagans. "For who today," he is
famous for saying, "can imagine the Empire of Rome falling to Muslims as the
Visigoths did?"

More, mankind, it is argued, perennially seeks conquest after conquest,
leading to war between various kingdoms. "Such things are the tribulations
of kingdoms, of cities, and of households, so that happiness is hindered."
Thus, the only logical action, according to Piero, is to appoint the Emperor
above.

"Consequently, in order to do away with these wars and their causes, it is
necessary that the whole earth, and all that is given to the human race to
possess, should be a Monarchy--that is, a single principality, having one
prince who, possessing all things and being unable to desire anything else,
would keep the kings content within the boundaries of their kingdoms and
preserve among them the peace in which the cities might rest. Through this
peace the communities would come to love one another, and by this love all
households would provide for their needs, which when provided would bring
man happiness, for this is the end for which he is born." [86]

It is, actually, Vigna who coins the term Renascere, or rebirth, for the
Empire's recovery of extensive power. He holds that only when the Empire has
been restored to its true splendor can the third Age of Man, the Age of the
Spirit, truly begin. Ironically, this term will be used rather more by the
Empire's enemies than by the Empire itself.


Frankfurt, March, 1228

Frederick looked at the contraption. Strange that it worked so well, but he
could hardly be surprised. If Cathay could discover silk, surely they could
invent this. The man pressed down on a bar, and a box containing letters
were pressed down on a page. The man raised the bar, and Frederick picked up
the paper. He read it. "By the order of the Lord Emperor, Frederick
Augustus, I hereby decree." Frederick paused. "Again."The man pressed down
again, and the same words appeared on a different sheet of paper [87].

"Again," ordered Frederick, who stared. "My God," he thought. "With a
machine such as this, I can send copies of proclamations and orders to every
one of my servants in the Empire!"

Meanwhile, outside, Frederick could hear the sound of the ball of stone
smashing into the wall.

In the days before the Empire, when Rome was but a republic, there had been,
Frederick had read, a wise man known as Archimedes. He had defended the city
of Syracuse against the Romans, and had invented many clever inventions.

He reminded Frederick, actually, of William and the other scholars of
Frankfurt.

In any case, Archimedes had discovered how to use steam to launch rocks at
the Roman fleet. Realizing the potential, some of the scholars at the
University had developed it. The Architronito, as it was called, was deadly.
It could smash the walls of Milan as God had smote the walls of Sodom [88]

"Nothing, nothing. I was merely thinking about how the heretics will soon
face the wrath of God."

William nodded. He took the opportunity to speak up, which was risky, around
the Emperor, but necessary. "My Lord Emperor, have you considered that some
of the rebel complaints are justified?"

"Careful, William," said Frederick. "You tread too far. They are heretics
and rebels in the eye's of God."

William licked his lips, and spoke again. "Oh, surely, many of them are
wrong. But some of their complaints," he hesitated as Frederick looked up,
and continued, "have some justification. The war in France, for instance."

Frederick's almost growled. "Enough. You may be a friend, but you are not my
advisor." Frederick visibly calmed himself, and resumed speaking. "Show me
that device you wrote of."

William took them out, and spoke. "The wonders of refracted vision are still
greater, for it is easily shown that large objects can appear small, and the
reverse. We know that distant objects will seem very close at hand, and
thus, I realized that we could shape glasses in such a manner that they bent
light to let one see better."[89]

Frederick took these.. glasses, he decided. "Excellent!" he said. "They will
be most useful when I hunt."

William felt queasy, despite his loyalty to the Emperor. Just what was the
man going to hunt?


May, Trent, 1229

The cannons boomed yet again, for the third time that day. Frederick looked
through the spyglass at the wall, and nodded. The cannons were proving to be
effective. They weren't knocking down the walls as quickly as he'd hoped,
but the job was going, slowly but surely.

Frederick had attacked Trent because the city could threaten the passes
through the Alps, and it was too weak to oppose him, as the other cities
could.

The cities of the League of Italy had sent one of their leaders, a Ludovico
of Milan, to parley. The man entered, and bowed. He did not, however,
prostrate himself before the Emperor, as he should have. Frederick glared
but remained calm.

"Here are our terms," said Frederick. "First, disband the League. Second,
you will pay an indemnity of not less than-"

Ludovico cut him off. "Here are our terms, now. You will leave Italy. You
will call your Sicilians back, and leave Rome. You will acknowledge that
Italy is not subject to the Empire."

Frederick almost ran the man through, here and now, but that would be, to
put it mildly, undiplomatic. "So it's to be war, then?" Frederick tried to
look amused. "No matter. Italy will soon quarrel with itself, and the cities
that are loyal will return to the fold. Francis will burn yet."

Ludovico gave a wry grin. "I think you are mistaken, King of Germany. The
cities of Italy are united against you, this time."

Frederick laughed. "Italians will be united when pigs get wings."

Ludovico looked up at the sky. "There'll be pork on the treetops come
morning, I suppose."

Frederick reached for his sword. "Know this, Ludovico of Milan. I will take
this city. I will take Milan. I will take Italy. And there is nothing that
any one of you can do to stop me."

Trent would fall by the end of the month, leaving the way open for Frederick
to march into Lombardy itself in 1230. Around that time, actually, he would
receive an interesting letter from William.


Frankfurt, April, 1229

William looked over the information. There had to be, somewhere, a mistake.
His observations must be off, surely. According to what he had seen, Venus
would occasionally become a crescent. It had phases of its own, but that
could only be explained if it rotated about the Venus changed size! And that
could only mean it was moving farther away and closer at different times!

The ancient Greek writer Aristarchus had written that the sun was the center
of the universe, but who would have believed him? But. William thought. If
bodies could circle Saturn, could not the Earth circle the sun? And what did
that mean?

They lived in a world in which the sun had spots, the moon seas, men
crossed between the Mediterranean and the seas of the east, and the Milky
Way was a band of stars beyond count. If Earth was not the center of the
universe, what did God intend for them?

It was a warm night, in Frankfurt. Despite that, William shivered. He had
never felt quite so small.


July, Nuremberg, 1230

"This is madness!" yelled Frederick.

William stood firm against Frederick, for perhaps the first time in their
long friendship. "It may be madness, but there is method in it! Think,
Frederick. I have always admired you for that. What is wrong with it being a
theory?"


"You may pull that shit with your students, William, but I'm the Emperor.
You can't fool me," roared Frederick. "What is wrong? I'm at war with
heretics in England and Italy, and schismatics in Constantinople. I'm the
defender of the church, and you expect me to let you teach this? By God, we'
ve only had a university for thirty years and it's being used for heresy."
Frederick ran his hands through his thinning hair and sighed. "I wish we had
never built it, but it's too late [81]."

William shook his head. "It is the truth, Emperor. You know it. Does it not
explain things in a much simpler fashion? You cannot deny that. To do so
would be monstrous."

Frederick laughed. "Who are you to call what I say monstrous. I'm the
Emperor. What I say is just is just."

William paced around the room. Frederick was acting very odd. "Let us say,"
said William , "that this is merely a set of observations. It is not the
truth, but what we are seeing. If some one can disprove it, good for them;
but until then, we shall treat it as the most likely rationale."

Frederick thought about it. He could silence William now. This idea would
never be spoken of; his role as defender of the orthodoxy would be
sustained, and this would never, surely, be considered again. People would
continue to be secure in their knowledge that they were the center of God's
creation.

And yet, in some ways, there was never a chance of that. This was the
Emperor who sought knowledge in China, who was the patron of scholars, the
man who had had moons named after his father.

Frederick would be called many things by future generations. He could be a
despot, or a tyrant. He would be called the man who burned heretics and
ambassadors for amusement, who held himself to be God's viceregent on Earth,
full of pompous and terrible pride.

But he was more than that. He was a man beloved by his subjects in Germany,
devoted to their wellbeing. He was a patron of arts and the sciences, of
commerce and cities.

It was that man, the one who burned rebels while building telescopes, who
ran his hands through his hair and nodded. "Well," he said, "God knows that
if I had been around at Creation, I would have set up the universe like
that. You may teach it, as a theory."


London, November, 1228

Robin looked over the map carefully. England, to be blunt, had a problem.

So long as Normandy was under the rule of England, England had had no need
for a navy, as the channel was under one monarch. Transportation had been
provided by the Cinque ports, who had provided transportation. But the
Cinque ports had not proved capable of providing a fleet to defend the
island from the Germans. Why could that not happen again? England, bereft of
its continental holdings, would need a way to defend itself. Castles of
stone would not be enough against the Emperor.

"No," said Robin Fitz Odo, "England's best walls will be walls of wood."

Thus began the formation of the British navy. It was, compared to the
standards of Pisa or Aragon, quite small. Robin's plan involved, in due
course, the formation of the Admiralty, commanded by Richard of Kent,, a
merchantmen from said region. Robin also took care to provide a dockyard in
Portsmouth, and ordered a strong wall built around them for stores and
tackle. The navy was small, true, but it was designed to be so.

It was merely the nucleus for a larger fleet, which would be built of
English merchantmen. He would even hire several Genoese captains, to help
train the crews of the English ships. This, combined with efforts to
encourage shipbuilding, would transform England, within a mere generation,
into a major naval power.

The beast that the Germans faced in 1232 was rather different from that of
John's era.


Nuremberg, December, 1232

Frederick, as he looked at Robin as he burned, from the balcony of his
palace, was in a rather pleasant mood. Of course, his wife, Maria came in,
looking rather upset. "Husband, are you sure that you will not reconsider
what is to be done with Eleanor?"

Frederick groaned. "I can't get away with one day without you complaining
about it. No, I will not. That whore spread her legs for the wrong man."

Maria raised her voice. "She was no whore! She did what she thought was
right."

"Oh, don't give me that. She's like a democratic drawbridge, going down for
everyone. Everyone who testified before the Inquisition acknowledged that.
At least my son by you knows what's right."

Maria walked away in a huff. She said one last thing to Frederick. "He may
be your son, but he is of my blood as well."

Frederick's son, Henry, stood by him. "Are you sure this is necessary
father?" Henry looked almost disgusted. "He was an ambassador."

"From who?" asked Frederick. "From rebels and heretics in England, nothing
more."

Henry looked unconvinced. "Perhaps they have a point, father. We have been a
bit harsh."

Frederick shook his head. What a foolish child. "Oh, nonsense. People said
that about France, you know. I expect that a quick show of force will settle
them. They sail in August, you know."

Robin, the flames rising up around him, screamed something about some woman
named Marion. Frederick took a sip from his cup of Pisa and smiled. "Oh, but
I do love being Emperor!"


The North Sea, August, 1233

Cecil Forest peered through his telescope across the sea, standing on the
deck of his ship the Hotspur. Out there, somewhere, lay the German armada,
ready to invade England. He still remembered when they had marched through
his hometown of Plymouth, when they had broken into his family's house, and
stolen his father's gold. He remembered when they had walked through the
streets as if they owned the entire world, confident that the English were
inferior to them.

His grip tightened. It would not happen again.

"Let the tyrants of the Empire fear!" he called. "They are the enemies of
God, of our kingdom, of our people. They were the ones who burned Robin
alive. We do this," he cried, "for Robin!"

The German fleet was led by Eustace the Monk, a rich pirate from Flanders.
Confident of victory, he had loaded his ships down so heavily that water
washed over the gunwales, and had placed a trebuchet on board his flagship,
as well as a dozen horses. There were twelve other warships, so loaded with
knights and men at arms that they swerved erratically in the wind. Following
behind them were seventy smaller craft carrying supplies and men..

Cecil's plan was really quite simple. They did not sortie out until after
the French armada had passed Sandwich, where they had moored. Eustace,
standing on his deck, smiled, as he saw the English sailing towards
Flanders. As if they could take a Flemish port. His smile turned into a look
of horror when he realized what was happening.

The English were not heading towards Flanders. They were swinging about, and
going after the French transports! Moreover, the English had gained the
windward position and were chasing after the Germans with a brisk breeze
filling his sails.

Eustace swore. "Good god," he said. Satan himself must be blowing wind into
the sails of the English, for they pounded after his fleet.

"My lord," said one of the sailors, "perhaps we should try to withdraw? They
will be on us if we keep heading for England."

"Withdraw? And run back to the Emperor, telling him how we were beaten by
English sailors?" said Eustace. "English! It's like losing to toddlers!"

"But sir, there's no shame in withdrawing to preserve the fleet. The
greatest part of valor is discretion. Would you rather be known as the man
who fled from the English, or the man who was slain by them?"

Eustace punched the Captain. God, but that felt good. He turned to the men.
"We will keep on sailing. When will we reach England?"

The captain, staggering from the blow, looked at the coast. "Soon enough, I
think."

"That's not soon enough! Row faster!"

Meanwhile, Cecil nodded to the archers. "Fire!"

Eustace cursed as the arrows knocked into his fleet. The wind must be
helping them with their range, for they easily reached the ships. "Turn
about," he said. "We'll face the English and dispose of them.

Cecil smiled as the Germans turned about to engage. As they came abreast,
English sailors opened pots of powdered lime and let the wind carry it into
the eyes of the Emperor's army, blinding them.

"Have at them!" yelled Cecil, as he clambered onto Eustace's ship. The
struggle was short and the slaughter tremendous, for the Germans, harried by
arrows, their eyes stinging from he lime, could not put up a strong front.

Eustace, wisely, fled below, and did the only reasonable thing. He hid in
the ballast sand and bilge water of the hold.

Unfortunately, his hiding place was safe for only a short while, for
eventually, he was found by an archer looking for plunder. The archer
noticed something moving in the sand.

"Get out of there," he said. He didn't get a response, as Eustace thought he
was safe. The archer, reasonably, walked over and kicked Eustace. The moan
convinced him that something was indeed there, and he drew a short sword.

"Pax, Pax!" cried Eustace. "Take me to your leader. I seek ransom."

He was brought back over to the English flagship, where Cecil was waiting.
He looked Eustace over, and nodded. "Are you the commander of what was the
invasion fleet?"

"Was?" replied Eustace. He looked around, and noticed that the victory was
essentially complete. He cursed a few times in German, and then resumed
speaking in French. "Yes, I suppose I was."

"Then," said Cecil, "you are Eustace, the pirate who Frederick hired to
command his fleet."

"Well, I'm really more of a merchant adventurer," replied Eustace, looking
at the blades. "I can afford a hefty ransom."

"Oh, I have no doubt you could," replied Cecil. "I daresay you could pay ten
thousand marks. However, you see, Britons don't approve of having their
leaders kidnapped and burned alive by Germans."

"That wasn't my doing!" replied Eustace, as he realized just how many blades
were drawn by people standing around him.

"You gave that man your services freely," said Cecil. "Besides, we could
hang you as a pirate even if you were not serving the Emperor." He gestured
to two of the men at arms, who carried him below.

"You will hang in London. But cheer up," said Cecil, as Eustace was dragged
into the bowels of the ship. "If the Emperor is right, and this is a
crusade, then you will go to heaven. If it is not," called Cecil, as Eustace
vanished, "then you already have much to answer for when you meet God."

August 24, St. Bartholemew's Day, was the beginning of a proud tradition for
The British Empire. A tradition based on the walls of wood, which were, as a
playwright in the 16th century, "all that stood between the Emperor and
dominion of the world."


London, December, 1233

Douglas Hoff stood before the Emperor's council, explaining to them why it
was important for England to be able to build whatever Frederick built. As
they finished their discussion, something crossed his mind. Douglas said,
"My Emperor, I have a question for you and for the Admiral."

Alexander's looked up from what he was reading. Reports from Germany,
judging by the way he hid them from Douglas. "We are always happy to hear
from the scholar who discovered the wheel bow. What is it?"

"Well, this was actually brought to my attention by a student of mine, at
Oxford. Baccen, his name is."

"And?" said Alexander.

"Well, it's just that, as we know, the world is round. And the Italians are
traveling east via their canal to reach the Orient. But," said Douglas,
"Baccen proposed that if the Earth is round, you could travel around it the
other way to reach the same point."

Cecil nodded. "Oh, I see where you're going. That's clever, actually. But it
wouldn't work."

Douglas gave Cecil a look. "Why not?"

Cecil gestured, vaguely. "Oh, lots of reasons. There must be thousands of
miles of oceans. How would you ever cross it? And how would you know where
you're going. You'd be out of sight from land. And how would you find your
way back? Who's to say you wouldn't end up stranded on some Godforsaken
shore?"

Douglas sighed. "I suppose you're right," he said. "Men shall never cross
the ocean to reach the Orient."

"Still," said Cecil, "best to keep an eye on that lad."




Kakorum, May, 1235

Odegei, Ruler of all the world, Khan of Khans, looked at the impudent Greek.
"Who are you," he said, "to defy me?"

Basily Arygos bowed before the khan, speaking fluent Arabic. "I am a servant
of Emperor Alexander of Hellas. And I come to you warning you not to invade
the Empire."

Odegei laughed. "You will pay tribute then? How much gold will you give?"

Basil spoke, slowly and carefully, so that Odegei would understand them. "We
will give you no gold, only iron from our blades. Come to us in peace, and
we welcome you as comrades. Come to us for war, and I promise you a warm
welcome."

Odegei replied, in perfect Greek, "And I assure you a cold greeting." [90]



[86] Of course everyone can recognize the words of a certain Italian writer,
I hope.

[87] Paper entered earlier use in Southern Germany as this was what the
books from Constantinople were copied on.

[88] It's as powerful as a trebuchet, but on a flatter trajectory. Credit
goes to Demetrios for pointing out what an enterprising tinkerer might find
in records of in Constantinople.

[89] I'm paraphrasing Bacon himself here, actually.

[90] The Mongol intelligence system is good. Very, very, good. So good that
they were negotiating with Venice two decades before taking Kiev.

But, we should remember that they are facing the people who gave the name tointrigue and backstabbing.

Prince of Peace 27

People have asked, worriedly, what has happened to Eleanor and Charles. I
shall tell them, for there was never a tale of more woe, than this of
Eleanor and her Romeo.


Tours, April, 1228

Charles looked at Eleanor, who was, as always, riding behind him in full
hunting gear. He stared, marveling at her beauty. "The April's in her eyes,"
he said. "She rejoices in spring as much as any flower."

"Sir?" said his follower, Robert de Sobron.

"Oh, nothing," said Charles. "I was merely admiring my wife."

Said wife rode up beside her husband. "And, why, pray tell, are we doing
this?"

"Because," said Charles. "It's a distraction. While we're hunting, we'll
also be meeting some one."

Eleanor raised her eyebrow. "Who, pray tell?"

Charles smiled. "You shall see," he said, as they rode off into the woods.

Sure enough, they soon came upon a wagon, much like that used by some
merchants, with a cross painted on the side of it.

Charles called out. "I have heard that you are a purveyor of fish sauce. How
much is it for three barrels?"

Basil Arygos stepped out of the wagon. "A ducat per barrel, of course."
Basil eyed the two of them. "So you are the Kings and Queens of France?"

Eleanor tried calming herself down, and gave up after about five seconds.
"Will somebody," she said, "tell me why in God's name we are here in the
woods haggling over the price of fish sauce with a Greek!"

Basil looked somewhat surprised. "You mean you did not tell her?"

"No, he didn't," replied Eleanor. "So why don't you?" She placed her hand on
her knife. "Now."

Basil smirked. "Milady, you protest too much, methinks." He bowed. "I am
Basil Arygos, of Constantinople, servant of the Emperor of Hellas,
Alexandrus. He does not wish for his activities to be known by the Emperor."
He whistled, and another man began carrying sacks of gold out of the wagon.
"These are gifts from the Emperor, who hopes that you will enjoy using them
in the quest to reclaim your throne."

Eleanor pursed her lips. "I don't know," she whispered to Charles. "Isn't
there a saying about Greeks bearing gifts?"

"Nonsense," said her husband. "The Emperor merely seeks to help us in our
fight so that we keep Frederick busy. He uses us, we use him, and Frederick,
if he wins, will use everyone."

Eleanor glanced at Basil again. "I dislike him. He has a lean and hungry
look, and thinks too much. He's a spy, for God's sake. Such men are
dangerous."

"Oh, absolutely," said Charles, nodding as the sacks were laid down. "But to
whom?"

Before Basil rode away, he came over to Charles. "I must warn you of one
thing more." Basil leaned in close, and said, "Beware of March."

"Why?" said Charles. "What's going to happen?"

"I cannot say more, for we do not know more. But Frederick is up to
something." He bowed. "And now, I must be off. I have more garum to sell in
London."

Charles shivered. He would have to talk with Eleanor, and make sure certain
precautions were taken for their son.

God alone knew what Frederick was capable of.


Dreux, November, 1229

Pierre Mauclerc, count of Dreux, read her niece's letter [89]. Charles
wished to bring him over to their side, did he? He could see why. His
county was in the center of France, and he could very well turn the tide of
the war to Charles. But, there was no doubt about it, it was risky.
Frederick had promised him much, already.

Pierre smiled. Yes, there was risk in this. But, sometimes, the prize made
the risk worth taking.


Dreux, March, 1230

Charles shivered inside the great church. "God, but it's cold."

Pierre stepped in through the door. "indeed. The Ides always are, this far
north. It's not like sunny Gascony."

Charles stepped forward and clasped his hand. "You are willing to discuss an
alliance?"

Pierre nodded. "This has gone on too long. Fields lie fallow, cities are
burned, land is ruined."

Charles heard the pounding of boots behind him. "Yes," said Pierre, "this
has gone on far enough indeed."

Men wearing the Imperial livery stormed into the church, brandishing swords.

"What!" said Charles. "What is this?"

"This," said Pierre, "Is justice. You are a rebel against the Emperor. As
such, you are to be put on trial in Nuremberg."

"But. why?" asked Charles. "What did he promise you?"

"Normandy, Brittany, perhaps. I shall be," said Pierre, his eyes almost
glowing, "a duke!"

Charles snarled. "How now? I will be dead, you rat? Dead for your dukedom?
Dead!"

Pierre, the future Duke of Brittany, nodded. "Yes, you will be." He turned
to the Imperial guards. "You may take him away, now."

Charles drew a knife, and slashed at Pierre. The blade cut against the chain
he was wearing under his clothes, and the Imperial troops cut Charles down.

"No you fools!" said Pierre. "He was to be taken alive! He's worth more that
way!"

One of the guards shrugged. "Dead is dead," he said, in slow, careful
French. "Better than going to Nuremberg, ja?"


Morhiban, August, 1230

Eleanor kissed her little Phillip on the head. She tried not to cry. She
must be strong, she knew. "Remember, be a good boy, mind your tutors, and
make sure you study what the English are doing to run their kingdom. And
what are you going to be when you grow up?"

Phillip waved his small sword. "The King of France!"

Eleanor held her child, one last time. "That's a good boy."

Philip grew uncertain. "I will see you again, won't I, mother?"

Eleanor smiled. "Of course you will. I will meet you in Paris." She looked
at her son, and walked away. The boat vanished behind her, carrying Phillip
to a land where he would not die riding a horse, as so many other
inconvenient princes had done.


Morhiban, May, 1231

Theodore of Waldburg, Imperial master of the Household, smiled as he saw the
prisoner approaching through the rain.

"Well now," said Theodore . "Are you prepared to come beg for your uncle's
mercy?"

Eleanor, wearing black of mourning, held her head up high. "I have nothing
to be sorry for."

"The pope feels differently," said Theodore.

"The pope knows my opinion of him, I'm sure."

"Is that so?" said Theodore. He pushed Eleanor down into the mud, and placed
his boot on top of her. She lay there, covered in mud and rain, as the wind
howled around them.

"Let the world know the fate that awaits all rebels against God! This witch
had seduced the king of France, and let her now pay the price."

Eleanor spat at Theodore. "If I was a witch, I can assure you, I'd have
turned the Emperor into a pile of horse droppings." She looked at Eberhard.
"I can tell I need no such spell for you."

Theodore laughed. "We shall see. No wonder the nobles didn't support you,
with an attitude like that.'

"They did not support us," said Eleanor, "because they were fools. The
Emperor seduced them like Satan with sweet sounding lies. Coinage! Tax
breaks! As if they will keep those."

Theodore kicked her. "Get up, you."

"Oh," said Eleanor, holding her side. "Is it to be death, then?"

"No," said Theodore. "We'll get you to a nunnery. It wouldn't do to have one
of the Emperor's kin die."

As the men rode, Theodore heard strange, chilly music, coming from taverns
and houses.

Had Theodore or his men known Breton, he would have understood the
melancholy words that were floating from the towns.

"On a rock by the shores of the sea,
Little Eleanor wept bitterly..

The darkest hour, the king returns,
He will have his day!"

Eleanor, however, did understand it. "You know," she said. "There's one
thing Frederick doesn't understand."

"My family has a way of coming back."


Paris, August, 1232

Pierre knelt before the Emperor in the cathedral of Notre Dame. Assembled
here from across France were the great nobles of Burgundy, Flanders,
Champagne, and Guyenne.

"By the grace of God, I, Frederick Augustus, do appoint you," Frederick said
in Latin, "Duke of Brittany and Normandy."

"Let it be so!" cried the nobles. "We will it!" [90].

Frederick looked over the crowd of nobles, and at Thibaud, the imperial
provost of Paris. Let them think he had made them princes in the Kingdom of
France. To be sure, he had. The King would no longer have any real power.

But what mattered princes against an Emperor?

"For too long," said Frederick, "France and Germany have fought. Jealous of
one another, with envy of the other's happiness, we quarreled over who was
the heir of Rome."

"But," said Frederick in French, "was not Charlemagne French and German?
Look at what he, the product of the two peoples, accomplished. At this dear
conjunction, let us plant neighborhood and Christian-like accord, so that
war never advance between Germany and France."

"Amen!" cried the nobles.

"Thibaud has been a dear friend of Christendom. He opposed the tyrannical
ways of Phillip and Charles, and attempted to save France. He is the heir of
King Louis, before the throne was taken by the vile brood of Philip
Augustus."

"Do you," said Frederick, "wish him to be your king?"


London, May, 1233

Phillip's sword clanged against that of the warrior. He dodged a blow, and
slashed again, hitting the man on his chest.

The warrior took off his helmet. "Well done, King Phillip."

Phillip bowed. "Thank you, Alexander. You have done me a favor I can never
repay, by providing me with sanctuary until I am old enough."

Alexander looked a bit uncomfortable. To be honest, he sometimes regretted
it, because it could prove to complicate matters. A weak France would be
beneficial But then again.

"It was nothing. I just hope you can avenge your father. He was a good man,"
said Alexander.

"Do not worry," said Phillip. "If I feed nothing else, I will feed my
revenge. The Empire must be destroyed."



[89] Pierre is married to Alix, the half sister of the dead Plantagenet
Arthur. Therefore, he's actually Eleanor's uncle.

[90] This is new, and represents the. evolution of Frederick's policies. He'
s much more willing to use the carrot than the stick to win over those who
are disaffected. Let the nobles of France receive rights over their cities.
Let them receive the right to print coinage, even for the counts.

If France is divided and under his way, why, well, then his presence is
overwhelming. Anything that Frederick cares strongly about will be so, so
let the lords of France think they are great lords.

His web, as Eleanor would have said, will entangle them soon enough.

Initially I thought about having Frederick go for an elective French
monarchy, as the Capetians once claimed it was, but why bother? This suits
his purposes just as well, doesn't it?

Prince of Peace 28

Dusseldorf, July, 1232

Mark Schmidt of Hamburg looked around him at the bustle, and nodded. He had
made a wise decision, years ago, not to return to his home.

Mark had returned from campaigns with loot and plunder, having been a
captain of mercenaries for the Emperor. Some men attempted to buy land, but
not Mark. No, let them squat on their holdings, worried about the next
harvest. Mark had turned to producing one item that the Empire needed.
Paper.

With plunder from capturing John's treasury, he had set up a paper mill in
Dusseldorf. Demand for paper had grown, and he had prospered.

Now the Emperor had sold, for a nominal fee, the right for his subjects to
build a press to print books. Mark had bought the rights, and then, in
turn, bought the rights from William of Holland to print his notes on
science. His Opus was a bestseller, and he was sending merchants to the
fair of Champagne to sell it there.

He sat in his chair, smiling. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could see about
printing the works by the Emperor's expedition to China.

Frederick, after all, always liked to encourage his former ministeriales.



Ministeriales are a uniquely German tradition. Ministeriales are mostly of
servile origin, and carried out the routine and not so routine tasks of
government. They administered castles, served as estate managers, acted as
judged, or tutored noble children.

Other ministeriales were captains of military forces, knights in all but
name, and, indeed, commanded actual knights. All the powers of Germany were
dependent upon them.

There had been problems, of course. Outside of the Empire, they had
traditionally been looked down upon as peasants or other people of a common
sort. However, since the reign of Henry VI, this has changed [91]

Ministeriales served in his forces from Jerusalem to London. And, indeed,
they often performed better than the nobles, who were less willing to adapt
to the conditions in which they were fighting. This was noticed, and has
resulted in kings who are increasingly willing to encourage such men to
serve in their ranks. They are rewarded with lands and titles, and more
than one noble in England, briefly, had a last name such as Babenberg.

The other effect of the wars of conquest abroad has been the strengthening
of the Emperor in Germany. Imperial nobles were promised lands and titles
elsewhere, such as in the Levant. And when, like Hermann of Thuringia, they
died, their estates were confiscated by the Emperor. By 1230, the Imperial
demesne includes the remnants of the old Welf lands, Thuringia, and the
original Hohenstaufen estates. Conquest also helped the Kaiser acquire
wealth and power independent of the nobles. Sicily, it was said, was the
treasury of the Empire [92]. The net result is that by 1250, The Kingdom of
Germany is increasingly looking like a proper centralized kingdom.




Nuremberg, July, 1227

Frederick issued his decree. "It is clear to me," he said, "that the title
to the mill of Alfred of Erfurt belongs to his daughter, Katherine and not
to his brother Joseph."

Joseph spoke up. "How can you possibly say that?"

Frederick stared down Joseph. "Because I am your Emperor. I can see that you
lied to her, promising her a fair share of the mill. You tricked her into
signing a document in Latin, which she did not knew, which said that you
would gain control of it."

"And," said Frederick, cutting Joseph off, "if you press this matter further
I will give your property to her. I do not deal with liars who steal from
maidens."

The next women came before the Emperor and knelt. She came closer, and
attempted to stab the Emperor, who caught her weak arm in his hand.

His guards came running up, looking rather embarrassed and afraid. "Forgive
us, Lord Emperor," said one. "We did not think that she would be an
assassin. We will have her executed at once."

Frederick eyed the woman. Probably from a poor peasant family, she looked as
if she was ill. "No, do not harm her," he said. "The poor dear is merely
mad. See that she is sent to a nunnery, so that she can be assured a better
place to recover than the roads of the Empire."



Emperor Frederick also devotes his time toward justitia, which, as Emperor,
is his natural duty. The Landfriede of 1220 (Or in Latin, Cosntitutio Pacis)
is an attempt to bring order and peace to the Empire. The Emperor removed
unjust tolls throughout Germany, ending the reign of the bandits along the
Rhine, and eliminated all tolls along the river, save for those in Flanders.
Towns had their rights confirmed, and the Emperor set up a grand justiciar
to oversee crimes within the Empire as the final court of appeal.

The Emperor also appoints traveling justiciars to hear the cases, so that
all could receive justice. Invariably, they trusted the poor more than the
rich, women and widows more than husbands, children and orphans more than
their guardians. Little wonder, then, that Frederick was sometimes referred
to as Vater by his subjects [93]. The Emperor himself would sometimes hear
petitions for redress, and would devote time each Sunday to hear appeals
from the lower folk of the Empire.

The infusion of gold from the rest of Europe, the removal of the
interregnum, and strong Imperial authority have contributed to something
else which also explains the success of the Emperor: the explosion of the
German cities. As the Emperor lowered and removed tolls and abolished
banditry, he also encouraged efforts to promote trade north of the Alps,
helping to found glass industries in Nuremberg, for instance.

By itself, that would merely help the cities grow, but not expand. No, the
rise of the cities of the Kingdom of Germany is due in a large part to the
ministeriales. Returning home from the campaigns with wealth and plunder,
many of them find themselves with wealth but no land. Some use their money
and conquer estates along the Baltic; some acquire land in Germany, and
eventually become knights. But many more ministeriales do something else.
They settle in the cities.

After all, in a city, money is what matters, and none challenge their
origins. Ministeriales use their money to set up as papermakers, investors
in mines, and other mercantile activities. With their "new money", they
rapidly become important in the running of the town, and in turn give the
Emperor a strong group who supports him. The lowering of tolls on the Rhine
leads towards an explosion of trade, which knits the town together, as the
Rhine becomes the highway of Germany, and the Rhineland becomes one of the
most prosperous parts of Europe.

One of the other developments in Germany in this era is the water powered
blast furnace. It is not known how it originated. Some trace its origins to
China, others to Sweden, where they had been in operation for decades. One
of the more interesting arguments is that it simply arose to meet the demand
for iron in Germany.

The final development that was important for the Empire was the growth of
the Reichstag. When Henry began calling for Reichstags, and allowed towns to
sit in them, he set a standard. Whenever there was an important issue (and
the emperor was fairly certain that it would have support) he would call
the Reichstag. Divided into the first estate of churchmen, the second of
nobles, and the third of the towns, it helped the Emperor run Germany.

However, as the towns paid the most taxes [94], which leads to some
grumbling.


Rouen, August, 1233

Pierre stood before the gates of the city. "Open, I say! I shall be merciful
to you if you pay your taxes."

"Never!" came the cry from the city. "We will fight for the liberty of our
city!"

Pierre swore. This was exactly what he didn't want. He might be able to take
the city, but unless he razed it, he would still have problems ruling it.

"Damn all communards, anyway," he muttered. "The towns only claim these
rights because they hate me."

"Remember this, Rouen!" he yelled, as his trebuchets began firing. "Asses
were made to bear their lords, and so are you!" The rocks crashed into the
walls of Rouen.

"You will pay your taxes to me!"


Alas, France is a much darker place. It has been warred over incessantly
since 1197, with only minor breaks. Plantagenets, Capetians, and Staufens
all fought one another for the Empire. The lose, as always, is the peasant.
France's commercial growth is curtailed as highwaymen and mercenaries
plunder at will and vineyards are covered with the bodies of the dead. The
political authority of the Capetians slipped away, until finally, at
Frederick's instigation, it vanished to nothingness. The King of France,
Thibaud, is considered to be a foolish man trying to make the best of a bad
situation, or a schemer who had stabbed the patria in the back.

Pierre in particular bleeds his duchies white for his own gain, but all
across the countryside opposition to the lords takes shape, in the form of
peasant risings in the 1230's. A popular song from this era, "The King
Across the Water", promises that "when the king returns, we will string them
up, we will string them up, yes we will."



Barcelona, April, 1232

Pere looked at the clothing that the Genoese had brought to sell. It was.
odd. It looked like some kind of fustian. He fingered it, and gave it a
tug. It seemed rather durable. Probably useful for laborers. "What do you
call it again?" he asked. Pere looked at the other ships. It was important
not to appear that interested in what you were being sold.

"We call it Gian, after our native city," said the Genose merchant.

"Jean?" Pere rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It looked like a fustian of
cotton, linen, and wool. Probably quite comfortable, actually. And if you
died them with that blue ink from Pisa..

"I think I could arrange to buy a few bolts of it. Out of pity for you, you
understand."




And now we turn to Italy. Italy has prospered, actually. While it is true
the Emperor collected a great deal in taxes, the Imperial peace prevented
the outbreak of petty wars. There are winners and losers, as always. Pisa is
a winner; Venice, having not sacked Constantinople to carve out its own
empire, is a loser.

And, of course, there is Egypt. If Valencia is the garden of Spain, then
Egypt is the granary of the Mediterranean. Egypt produces sugar and cotton
for the growing markets of Italy, who turn the cotton into cloth. Sugar is
increasingly used by the rich as a confectionary and not as a medicine. It
also tastes quite well in Pisa.

This is not necessarily good, of course, for sugar and cotton production are
not conducive to good working conditions, even by medieval standards. But,
as all the serfs are Muslims anyway, few are concerned.

The other crop that has just been introduced, as of 1230, is indigo. Brought
back by Pisans from India, it is increasingly being grown all across the
delta. Consumers love the color, and it is a sign of pride for Pisans to
wear clothing made from it. Let the Emperor boast of the Imperial purple.
Pisans wear the color of the sea, which not even the Emperor can claim of
ruling.


The North Sea, May, 1235

Roger Baccen looked through his telescope, over the waters, oblivious to the
chill. He saw nothing, which was a pity. Capturing ships from the cities of
the Empire were full of plunder. He had taken a ship carrying Eastern goods
to Norway the year before, and he had done quite well off of it.

Well, he thought, one more look couldn't hurt, before they headed back to
port. He turned the telescope, and almost dropped it in amazement. "Oh, what
men dare do," he said. "What men do daily, not knowing what they do."

He had spotted an Imperial warship. But it was. different. It had three
masts, not just one. It was a large, heavy ship with a big spread of canvas,
with massive skeletal ribs framing his hull, and it had two decks. A castle
rose aloft off of the mast, with other castles off of the front of the boat.
[95]

Roger stared at it for a moment, and then realized something. That ship
could give the seas to the Germans! England would be prostrate before them,
unless they captured it. And the ship was heading towards him.

He turned to the crew on deck. "Gentlemen of England, you have been
observing this as I have. The German ship is faster than ours. It can carry
our men. It can," he said, observing the ship turning about, "apparently
sail across the wind."

"We must take that ship. England expects every man to do his duty." The
archers knocked their arrows, and waited for the German ship to close.

They waited until the German ship, actually, was capable of firing arrows at
them. Then the English responded. Arrows cut across the deck, killing the
German captain. There were more Germans, but more English archers on board
Roger's ship.

Unfortunately, this only caused the Germans to sail away as fast as they
could. "By Christ," said Roger. "They cannot get away!" He knelt down on the
deck and prayed.

"Robert, I know that you are watching us. We fight to avenge your death and
keep England safe. The German ship is superior to ours in every way. There
will be more of them. We must capture it if we are to survive."

The German ship's sail, meanwhile, became slack. The wind had shifted,
blowing Roger's warship towards it, and Robin Fitz Odo had acquired his
first miracle.

[91] Up to this point, the ministeriales are as OTL. They're really quite
interesting.

[92] Of course, this upsets the people of Sicily, for some strange reason.

[93] Needless to say, stating your opinion of Frederick at academic debates
in later times is the equivalent of stating you love Bonaparte.

[94] Of course, the church pays a tithe.

[95] This is of course inspired by the ideas from China.

Pisa, incidentally, will probably meet Chinese merchantmen in Indonesia.
That could be quite interesting. Both Europe and China are rather more open
to new ideas than they would be later on at this point.

Prince of Peace 29
London, February, 1215

Maria clenched her teeth. Even for a future empress, birth was not an easy
task. She pushed again, and her child came out. The newborn was immediately
taken by the midwife and swaddled in sheets of silk. The midwife looked at
the child and nodded. "My Emperor," called the midwife, "your son is born."

Frederick burst into the room. "Give him to me," he ordered. He held it in
his arms, oblivious to his wife, who was still finishing her delivery.

"Dear Henry," he said, cradling his child, "you will be the greatest of us
all."

Nuremberg, July, 1225

Henry and his tutor, William, stood on top of a hill near Nuremberg, were
they were staying at one of the Imperial castles so that Henry could
concentrate on his studies, while Frederick traveled across the Empire.

Henry looked through his telescope at the seas of the moon. "This is
wondrous strange," he said. "And to think that only a few generations ago no
one would have imagined this."

William nodded. Henry was a good pupil, actually. He had been tutoring him
for years now, and he could tell that Henry was definitely his father's son.

"Do you think that animals live on the moon?" said Henry. "I mean, if there
are seas, then surely there are fish and fowl there as on Earth.

William thought about that for a second. That was a new thought. "But how
did they get there, then? Was that what the tower of Babel was for?" he
said, jokingly.

Henry, on the other hand, took it seriously. "I doubt it, for how could
pagans have come up with such a clever idea? And such a tower would be
enormous. No, I find that hard to believe."

"I wonder, though," said Henry. "With telescopes, we can see light that is
far away." Henry pointed at a fire from shepherds. "And mirrors bounce back
light that is emitted from the eyes?"

William put his telescope down. A clever idea, but what else could one
expect from Frederick's son? "Perhaps, but it would be expensive. Why would
you use it?"

"To warn against raids, or invasions?" said Henry. "Although I guess you're
right. Who could invade Germany?"

Henry looked through his telescope again, and finally said something that
had been bothering him for a while. "William, what do you think of the wars
in Italy and England?"

"I think that that is best left for the Emperor to decide. And he has
precedent. Augustine himself said that the church should use force to compel
the wayward to return to the fold," said William. William hesitated.
"Myself, I am not so sure. In necesariis unitas in non-necessariis libertas,
in utrisque charitas. "

Henry translated it, briefly taking a moment to think about it. "In certain
things, unity, in uncertain things, liberty, and in both, charity?" He
smiled. "I like that motto."

William smiled, a bit relieved. He had been afraid that Henry would have
been horrified by such a view. "Remember that Augustine himself flirted with
the Mani heresy. Had we listened to him, he would have burned."

"But if we are wrong," said Henry, "will we not call down the wrath of God?"

William thought about this. "Is that necessarily the case? The Greeks are
still almost schismatic, the Cathars are clearly heretics, and the English
are following some absurd heresy that makes them the equal of the Empire.
Yet God has not called his wrath down upon them. They prosper"

William sighed. "Henry, you are a bright child. I ask you this. If we are
the righteous ones, why do the heretics prosper?"



Constance, May, 1229

Adolf, returning from Italy, was a changed man. He was still filled with the
fire that had brought him to Italy, but oh, it was different. He had studied
under Francis, and he had come to realize that he was quite right. There was
no justification for much of the Catholic doctrine. So he stood on a wagon
in Constance, bringing the word to the people.

"Were there a hundred popes and a hundred Emperors," he said to the crowd,
"their words would not matter unless they were founded upon scripture."

"The priests would have you buy indulgences, as if they could gain one
entrance into heaven. Yet why would God, who is already the lord of all
creation, care for money on Earth? Do they think that God cares for your
earthly wealth?"

The mob began grumbling. "That sounds like the talk of the Franciscans!"
shouted one person. "Are you going to try to destroy the Empire as well?"

Adolf shook his head vigorously. "Of course not. The Emperor is necessary
for ordering the Empire. But," he said, "the Emperor is not the absolute
ruler of the Earth. Perhaps the Muslims, who do not know the glory of
Christ, need a despot to rule them, but Christians can live by laws. In the
eyes of God, an Emperor equals a peasant, for both are the children of Adam.
The Emperor is above us to ensure that we do not sway from the path of God,
but he, as a human, could be in error. Why should an Emperor not be bound by
the laws of God, then?"

The Inquisitor Francois listened to Adolf speaking. He had been tracking
Adolf for months now, but he had always been one step behind him. He turned
to the guards, and ordered them to attack Adolf. The Mother church needed
warriors, after all. They rushed up and drew their swords on Adolf, who
stood there, continuing to speak.

"Now there are those who would silence me. They would claim that any dissent
is heresy, that only the Bishops and Pope know the truth. But I have been to
Italy, and I have seen these "heretics" who are supposedly in league with
Satan living righteous lives. Something is wrong, people of Constance, when
the heretics are the ones who are leading upright lives."

Francois lifted up his sword. "Well, then," said Francois, "you would not
mind letting me explain where the flaws in your theory are." [96]

"First, you argue that indulgences are merely a sham. This is not true.
Indulgences are not about giving money to god. Indulgences are a sign of
penance, which, by giving money to the Church, it is used to help the poor.
The money is not spent to buy your way into heaven; it is spent by the
church to make amends for your transgressions on Earth."

"Next, your argument about the Emperor is also false. For as there is one
Lord in Heaven, should there not be one on Earth?"

Adolf called to the crowd. "Oh, do you hear this? Because there is only one
God, supreme over all creation, we on Earth should have one human as our
ruler. Does this mean that the Church holds that, like God, the Emperor is
divine and infallible?"

Francois was getting rather nervous now. He couldn't very well stand up here
and decree that the Emperor was wrong, yet he couldn't' stand up there and
say he was infallible. The obvious answer was to arrest him. "We shall hear
no more of your heresy!"

A voice arose from the crowd. "Let the man speak!"

Francois stared at the crowd. "Do you hear that voice? Listen to the words
of another heretic."

"It is not heresy to hear a man who sees wrongs and wishes to correct him!"

Francois gestured to the guards. "Arrest that man too."

One of the guards looked at him. "But sir.."

"Do it!" ordered Francois.

Henry VII, King of the Romans, rode his horse through the crowd up to the
stage. "I highly doubt you have the authority to arrest me." [96]

Francois stared at Henry, and audibly gulped. "My King, I did not know."

"Well, now you do," said Henry, somewhat amused. "And release this man."
Henry's voice rose to carry over the crowd. 'I am most disappointed in the
servant of Christ, who died for our sins. Jesus opens his arms to redemption
and salvation for all who accept him, yet you instantly seek to arrest him.
Do you not know that mercy is twiced blessed? It blessed him that gives and
he that takes."

Francois appeared furious. "I know the Bible, my King. I have studied it
from when I joined the church, and---"

Henry cut him off. "I do not care how well you know the Bible. The Devil can
cite scriptures for his purpose, and so can you."

"Your father and the Pope will hear of this. You are," said Francois,
"making me wonder how much you love them."

Henry hit Francois with the blunt edge of his sword. "Know this. It is not
that I love them less, but that I love the truth more. And if you challenge
my faith again, you will die before nightfall!!. Henry knocked Francois into
a pile of mud. "Begone from here!"

The People of Constance, like most decent folk in the Empire, disliked the
inquisitors. They loved their Emperors, and some may have acknowledged that
the inquisition was necessary, but the inquisitors were despised. Seeking
heresy everywhere, always choosing smaller targets instead of some great
noble..

It was no wonder, then, that the people of Constance cried out "Long Live
the King!" [98].

Rome, December, 1229

Honorius III, Pope of the Catholic Church, lay dying. He had been here in a
nest of vipers for too long, he thought. He missed Worms, with its simple
matters. Nothing of great import had ever happened there.

But Rome was different. If it wasn't the Emperor it was the citizens of
Rome, or the towns of North Italy, or problems abroad. The Roman families,
perhaps, might have supported him at one point. But no, Frederick's decision
that his successor would be German meant that they all suddenly felt that
the Franciscan beliefs were justified.

And, of course, the damned Franciscans were marching on Rome. They had heard
he was ill, and were going to try to take advantage of it. Honorius lay on
his bed, exhausted. Maybe he would talk with this Francis. He had a point,
certainly. There had been talk of a council since Innocent's day. Maybe they
were due.

Honorius drifted off to sleep, confident that he would take care of it the
next day. Unfortunately for posterity, he did not live out the night.

Nuremberg, June, 1230

Frederick read the reports from Rome and, in the privacy of his chambers,
smiled. It was all going quite splendidly. The Conclave could not agree on a
successor, and the Fransicans were marching on the city. He would gladly
have sent Sicilians to defend the city, but, alas, they were needed lest the
King of Tunisia try to take Sicily [99].

"Perhaps," he said, "the Conclave should be moved to safety. All Imperial
delegates, at least, will meet in the safety of the Empire. Mainz, perhaps."
He looked over at his wife. "What do you think, Maria?"

Maria refrained from glaring at him. It wouldn't do to let him realize how
much she loathed him. "I think it would be best to move it to somewhere safe
and neutral. In southern France, perhaps. Avignon is church property, isn't
it?"

"Yes," said Frederick, "but it's all mine anyway."

"By what authority?" asked Maria.

"I have troops across Europe. That makes it mine."

"Yes, we're all aware of that," she said. "Armies, garrisons, castles, what
a wonderful Pax you've brought to us."

"You go too far, Empress," said Frederick. "I think you had best attend to
your knitting."

Maria walked out once again. "Women," muttered Frederick. "I could have
conquered all of Europe, but I had women in my life."

"My Lord Emperor," said one of his attendants, "you did conquer all of
Europe."

Frederick barked a laugh. "A point, a distinct point." He poured himself a
glass of that wine from Champagne.


Rome, August, 1230

Francis of Assisi walked into the chambers of the Vatican. Rome. At long
last, the heart of the Empire that had spanned Europe, the seat of the
church, was in the hands of the League of Italy. Frederick had withdrawn his
troops, and the College of Cardinals had fled across the Alps. [100]

Taking the city should not have mattered, what with Frederick's army in
Trent and no hope of recovering the city this year. But oh, it did.

Rome had once been the capital of an Empire that had spanned the continent.
Yet there could be no Empires, now.

Ludovico stood beside him. "It is as you say, Father. Start by doing what's
necessary, then what's possible, and you will find yourself doing the
impossible."

Francis smiled. "Well, I suppose that could be applied here. But I do not
know what to do with Rome. We do not need a Pope, after all. But Rome's
prosperity was built around the church. What else can we place in Rome?"

Ludovico put his arm around Francis. "You are undoubtedly blessed with the
wisdom of God, but I do not think you understand how to run a city. What are
you asking," said Ludovico, "is for something ostentatious, expensive, and
useless to occupy Rome."

Francis would die in 1231, but he would live long enough to see the first
meeting of the Senate of Italy, with Ludovico of Milan as the First Consul.
[100].


The Franciscan Heresy

The Band of Brothers that Ludovico spoke of has prospered in the time since
the beginning of the revolt against the Emperor. Venice became home to Italy
's first printing presses in 1232 when it captured a shipment of them bound
for Palermo from Marseilles, and soon set about printing the Bible. However,
Franciscans do not believe that Christians need a pope to mediate and
interpret the bible for them; they are capable of doing it themselves. The
bibles, then, are printed in Venice's peculiar dialect of Italian.

One of the key differences between the Franciscans and the nihilistic
Cathars is that the Franciscans are inherently more hopeful and optimistic.
Man has fallen, yes, but God's salvation is assured for all who earnestly
seek it. For as Francis said when he addressed the citizens of Bologna, "I
have been all things that are unholy. If God can redeem me, then he can
redeem anyone." It is by doing good works that one enters heaven, not by
buying indulgences.

Purgatory, not mentioned in the scriptures, is, of course, a foolish idea to
all Franciscans. Franciscans also reject the notion of the Pope, believing
that matters of faith should be decided by a council of peers. Franciscans
are firm believers in the notion of the Age of Spirit, in which "there will
be no Emperors, or tyrants, and the only government will be of Christian
men." They view Frederick II as one of the precursors to the Antichrist, and
predict that he will only be defeated by the Respublica Christiana


The Renascere in Italy
"But those who by force or fraud had seized sovereign power soon found that
their lives were exposed to the vengeance of their rivals, and were
compelled for their own safety to employ foreigners as a bodyguard, and to
build great fortresses as a refuge. Their upkeep then compelled them to levy
heavy taxes and imposts. Discovering nevertheless that their friends were
weak and their enemies powerful, they were prompted to put to death or to
banish the latter to enrich the former. The most abandoned ravished not only
goods, but also women and children. The consequence was that tyrants became
loathed and detested."[102]

If there are those who rush to defend the Empire, then there are those who
oppose it. Alighiero di Bellincioni, of Florence, is one such man. Drawing
upon the history of the Roman Empire, he argues that bestowing absolute
authority on one man can lead to tyranny, for even if the first tyrant means
well, if you give a tyrant absolute power, what is to stop his successors if
they do not?

Alighiero points out that most of Rome's conquests took place under the
Republic; "for the Senate of Rome conquered from Jerusalem to Brittany, and
the Emperors could not defeat unclean barbarians from Germany. If the
Emperors had faced the Muslims, we would all today be damned and pray
towards Mecca."

No, argues Alighiero, the ideal government is one in which those with a
vested stake in affairs, the merchants and nobles, reign over the land. For
such men have a vested interest in peace, and if no one man can usurp
power, such a system would ensure that "peace puts forth her olive
everywhere".

Alighiero is not a democrat in the sense that we would use it, however. "For
the true nature of a people is to seek unbridled liberty without restraint.
They would make all equal in goods, honours, punishments, and rewards,
without any respect whatsoever for noble birth, education, or virtue. As
Plutarch said in his Symposia, they want everything decided by lot or by
divination, without respect of persons. If the nobles or the wealthy show
any signs of wishing to make their influence felt, they hasten to massacre
or banish them, and divide their confiscated property among the poor."

Alighiero, however, is a believer in Respublica Christiana as the
replacement for the Empire. The hereditary monarchies: Aragon, Castille,
England, France, the Kingdom of Germany, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden would
be joined by the Republics of Flanders, the Rhineland, and Italy. Byzantium
would be kept out, but the Crusader states would join as well[103]. United
by their love of Christ, the states of Europe would defeat the infidel,
reclaim the Mediterranean, and usher in the age of spirit [104]. A court
would arbitrate all differences, and

It is a noble dream, this Respublica Christiana, and like most of them is
ignored by many in positions of power, although it sells thousands of
copies. However, Alighiero's idea does end up taking shape, partly as a
league against the power of the Emperor.
Alighiero also includes a warning to the people of Germany in his work,
Respublica. "This tyrant, whole sole name blisters our tongues, was once
thought honest; you have loved him well; He hath not touched you yet. But
beware, for his demands spring not from honest love, but from deceit, bred
by necessity. "


Nuremberg, December, 1234

Henry took a deep breath, and stepped into the chamber. He wished,
momentarily, that he had stayed back in Brunswick, where he wouldn't have to
deal with this, but the Emperor's son had to be with him for Christmas. He
stepped into the Imperial chambers.

Maria embraced her son. "Henry, it is so good to see you."

Henry smiled and sat down, pouring two cups of wine. "I hope you are well
this Christmas. How have you been?"

"Oh, fine," she said. "As well as I can be, given the circumstances." She
frowned.

Henry drained his wine cup without bothering to taste it. This was always a
difficult subject. "How often do you see the Emperor?"

"Oh, rare enough. He's always off with some whore or another in his bed."

Henry felt his face flush. "Should I talk with him about that?"

Maria laughed. "Frederick's bed is Frederick's province, and he may people
it with sheep if he wishes. Which, upon occasion, he has done."

Henry wondered if his mother had ever loved the Emperor. Maria, as if to
answer his question, talked about her feelings for him. . "There was a time,
you know, when I loved him. He had a mind like Aristotle and a form like
mortal sin. "His legs bestrode the world, and his voice was like sweet
music. But when he meant to shake the world, he was as rattling thunder. I
did love him, then."

"But that was before he became a fat balding tyrant."

Henry looked at his mother. She didn't seem drunk. "Indeed," he said. "How
is my half sister Eleanor?"

"Oh, well enough, well enough," Maria said. "Your sister Elizabeth visits
her, often." Maria hesitated before continuing, and said, "Some one tried to
assassinate her son in England, you know."

Henry almost gulped down his wine. "Surely you don't think the Emperor did
that?"

Maria held her wine and looked into the fire. "No, I don't think. I know."

Henry took another gulp of wine, and then put his cup down. "Maybe that
Florentine, Alighiero or whatever his name was, was right," he muttered.

Frederick came in soon enough, in a jovial mood. "Pope Innocent IV has
finally agreed that the war against the heretics is a crusade." He poured
himself some wine. "Not that he had a choice, being in Mainz, eh?"

Henry decided to interject before Maria started attacking him again. "Have
you given any thought towards calling a council?"

Frederick paused to order a servant to bring him some spiced wine before he
responded. "Oh, you've been talking to that priest Adolf again, haven't you?
No, I'm not pushing for a council, and neither should you." Frederick paused
to collect his thoughts.

"Councils are dangerous because they get out of hand. It's far too hard to
control them," said Frederick. "I mean, imagine if we called one now.
Instead of discussing whether or not priests can have concubines, they'd get
muddled up in minor matters like the relationship between the Emperor and
the Pope, or whether or not the Emperor can call for Crusades."

"Or whether or not the Emperor can assassinate his own family?" demanded
Maria.

Frederick looked down, as if ashamed. "I do what is necessary. I am sure the
child has done no harm, but he will in the future. Or do you doubt that he
won't sail to Bordeaux or Amiens or Morhiban one day, with a rebel army with
him?"

Henry almost dropped his cup. "So you did order him assassinated."

"I did what I had to do," said Frederick. "I wish it had not come to that,
but I will not hesitate to try again."

Henry stared at his father. "He is a child! That is murder, murder most
foul!"

Frederick stood up. "It has to be done. And you will not oppose me on this,
Henry. I am the Emperor."

"You imprison my daughter and try to kill my grandson," said Maria. "I could
carve you like a pear and God himself would call it justice."

"Oh, give me a little peace," said Frederick.

"A little? Why so modest? How about eternal peace? There's a thought,"
replied Maria.

"If you are that upset," said Frederick, clenching his teeth, "I will glady
send you to a nunnery with her."

"That's fine with me," said Maria. "I will go pack." She stormed off to her
own, seperate chambers.

"Please do," said Frederick. "And I am going to bed. But," he said
pointedly, "not to sleep."

As both of his parents stormed out of the room, Henry leaned back in his
chair and drained a glass of wine.

"I hate the holidays."




[96] Normally a simple arrest would be better, but to carry him off as he's
arguing persuasively implies that he must be silenced. And the Church does
teach that heretics must be given a chance to repent before being killed.

[97] The King of the Romans is the title given to the Emperor's successor.
Much like Prince of Wales would have been.

[98] Lang lebe der Konig, if you want to get technical.

[99] Not for nothing did Nietzsche call him "that magical, intangible fathom
of a man predestined for victory and betrayal."

[100] Yes, OTL Francis of Assisi died in 1226. I think that it's plausible
that without quite so much wandering around barefoot across Europe, he
survives a bit longer.

[101] The title, I daresay, makes sense in Italy, which had a tradition of
using it. First Consul is more appropriate, because Consul refers to the
rulers of cities.

[102] Who doesn't like Bodin?

[103] Italians, looking at the growth and unrest in Flanders, and the
explosion of the Rhineland, can't help but wonder why those places aren't
revolting against the Emperor.

[104] The Age of Spirit is a complex issue relating to Joachim of Calabria,
who foresaw an era starting around 1260 in which mankind would bring forth a new age of prosperity and peace. Monks would become the ruling power, Jews would be converted, and the gospels would be the only law.

Writers, naturally, drop references to monks as the ruling power.

Prince of Peace 30

Nuremberg, 1235

The one good thing about Christmas in Nuremberg, for Henry, were the passion
plays. Every year after Christmas, the Emperor's actors performed the Play
of the Antichrist. The scenery was so large that it was performed outside,
and it was attended by people from across the Emperor.

In the play, two towers, one in the east, and one in the west, flanked one
another. On the west side was the Emperor, with the Papacy as his vassal and
flanked by the Kings of France and the Greeks. To the east lay the King of
Babylon, and the Jews. The Emperor led his armies to the east, to do battle
with the hosts of hell, but was betrayed by the kings of France and Greece,
who support the King of Babylon and do homage. Amidst a stunning spectacle
in which men appear to do battle, and blood spurts from bodies, the King of
Babylon triumphs. The Emperor withdraws, and the king of Babylon holds the
field.

"And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, and dressed myself in such
humility that I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, loud shouts and
salutations from their mouths, even in the presence of the crowned emperor,"
cried the King of Babylon, in his most famous line. "Now is the time of the
beast!."

Then the scene switches to a church, where hypocrites prepare the way for
the antichrist. They claim that God has no love for a wealthy clergy, but
dress themselves in silk. This is complete when the Emperor lays down his
crown and scepter, and the King of France submits to the Antichrist and
accepts his gifts. The only resistance to the Antichrist comes from the
German people, who raise their swords against him. The German King (so
called because he is no longer emperor) sings the hymn of "Fatherland",
which treats of blood and honor and of the cunning and deceit of the enemy.

And, at the last battle, as the trumpets sound, the resurrected prophets
Enoch and Elijah, are slain by the antichrist. He stands before the King,
who is forced to witness the Antichrist's coronation as ruler of the world.

And then, as the King of Germany prays to God, being crucified like the
Savior, the Antichrist is smote by God. The King of Germany dies before
seeing the Second coming, not knowing what happens to Germany.

Henry fought to remain impassive. That scene was always so moving. To
imagine Germany in such straits.....

Henry looked to the East, and a chill came over him.


Karakorum, 1235

Ogadai, Khan of Khans, ruler of the world, loved nothing more than hunting.
Rounding up game, chasing them into a pen, and then slaughtering them. Could
there be anything better? Well, perhaps conquest. But he could have both.
For as Genghis Khan had once said, they were appointed to rule all nations.

That was why he had called together a meeting of the Mongol lords. There was
Batu, the Khan of what we would consider Turkestan and Siberia. Ogadai ruled
China and western Mongolia. Tului, the youngest, was Khan of the homeland of
the Mongols. Chagatai ruled Central Asia.

There had been days of drinking and hunting and of boasting. They had
recounted the tales of the great ruler Chingis, who had first united the
Mongols. But now it was time to get down to business.

"Let us go west!" said Batu. "The cities there are rich, the armies weak,
and the women comely."

"No!" said Chagatai. "The rich lands of the Arabs are there for the taking."

Tulu belched and stood up. "We must retake Korea!"

Ogadai thought about it. "Let us conquer it all. We will take the Song, we
will take the lands of the Arabs, we will take the west. We will take it
all."

"We will follow through with the wishes of the great Khan. Will rob them of
their wealth, and see their families bathed in tears, we will ride their
horses, and we will take their wives and daughters," said Ogadai. "And when
we are done, when there is not a man alive who does not pay us homage, only
then can we rest."

Batu pointed his sword upward. "I will lead us. I will march on the
Greeks!"[105]

(This, as Doug has put it, is bad).


Constantinople, May, 1236

Alexander looked over the crowd. He had called for the great princes of the
Rus, Suzdal, Kiev, Muscovy, to send men, and even for the Cuman. He had
showered them with gold and presents to bring them here.

"The thousand years have ended," he said. "For the hosts of hell advance.
Gog and Magog have been loosed, and their number is like the sand of the
sea". [106]

The Prince of Vladimir, laughed. [107]. "They will never invade my land. Why
should we help you? We have been comrades in the past, but this is your
quarrel, not mine. And I will be damned if I help the Prince of Galicia."

"Perhaps," said Alexander, "but you will be dead if you do not."

The meeting continued like that for days. In the end, though, no one
listened to Alexander. They would only realize the wisdom of his words when
it was too late.

For by March of 1238 , the banners of the Host of Hell flew over the ruins
of Sivas.


Armenia, August, 1237

Batu stroked his horse, and smiled. His family to the east had given him the
smallest part of the lands of the empire. They had taken the best parts of
the Empire that had been conquered for themselves, leaving him only the
lands in the west.

He laughed. So be it. He had raised an army of a hundred and twenty thousand
men, to sweep west. The lands of the Franks, of their Emperor in
Constantinople, and the other in Nuremberg, were rich. Cities with gates of
gold lay for the taking, if only he reached out and grabbed them. [90]

The Mongols swept westward, like the tide of the sea, irresistable. Behind
them they left a charred wasteland of death. Villages burned, women and
children were raped, cities burned, and the Turks fled west.

For some, it was the end of the world. For others, it was the apocalypse.

For a man in Constantinople, who had been training since Kalka to raise an
army
that could defeat the Turks and all other barbarians from the steppes, it
was the turning
point of his life.


Constantinople, January, 1239

Alexander refrained from wrinkling his nose at the stench of the Turks. God,
but they made Franks seem clean. Still, thought Alexander, better the
infidel you know than the devil you don't.

The Sultan of Rum stepped forward. "Why should we listen to you! You speak
of victories against the Tatars, but what have your men done but retreat?
Where are your armies? Why do you not fight, but run like the cowards that
all Greeks are? You hole up in cities and hide. Why should we trust you?"

Alexander thought to himself, and smiled. Heaven surely had a hand in these
events, for this was all coming together as he had hoped. "Your doubts are
traitors, Sultan. They will make us lose where we might win, by fearing to
do battle." Alexander had a map brought in, and placed on a table made of
wood from Taprobane.

"The Tatars live on what they take, and their horses require much fodder. We
have withdrawn into the walled cities along the coast, hiding all food, and
burning grass and corn. The Tatars grow hungry, and are heading west towards
Dorylaium."

Alexander pointed at the map. "There, we will cut them off at the pass."

(This, however, is good)

Dorylaium, August, 1239

The Mongol army had at last reached the pass. Thousands of soldiers,
equipped with the compound bows that had conquered Asia, were ready to
fight; for if they did not, they would starve, or be forced to withdraw.

The battle that followed was one of the greatest clashes in the history of
the Roman Empire.

Dorylaium, you see, is located near a depression. To travel westward, you
must travel out of it via a pass. The Emperor, by feint and quick
maneuvering, had managed to convince the Mongols attempt to travel through
the pass.

He looked at the battlefield through a telescope. "Now, Basil, our hopes are
answered. You said the enemy would not come down, but keep the hills and
upper regions. It proves not so, for their battles are at hand."

Alexander looked over his men. Grim, determined, and ready to fight, and
die. They were afraid, he knew. The Tatars had swept across the Empire like
vultures. They had not taken the coast, only ravishing the lands of the
Turks, but that could change. They had siege equipment, and could use it.
The Italians might even ferry them across the Hellespont to Constantinople.
If they failed here..

"Be thou my witness that, against my will, as Leo the Isaurian was, am I
compelled to set upon one battle all our liberties," he cried. "Coming from
Hell, in these troubled times, the hosts of Satan fell, and there they lie
perched, gorging and feeding on our dear lands."

Alexander's men were fanning out, and sighting their arrows. The priests
were leading symbols and icons in front of the men, to shore up there
spirit. The dust from the Mongol army could be seen, like the cloud of the
four horsemen. "In peace there's nothing so becomes a man," said Alexander,
"as modest stillness and humility. But when the blast of war blows in our
ears, then imitate the action of the tiger." Alexander looked over his men,
and nodded. I see you stand like hounds in the slips, straining upon the
start. The game's afoot! Follow your spirit; and upon this charge, cry, "For
God, Hellas, and for Saint Mamas!"

The Mongol army could be seen now, fanning out in its traditional formation.
The trebuchets were ready, and there was nothing to do now but pray and
battle. "God today stand friendly that we may, lovers of peace, live on our
days and age. But, since the affairs of men rest still uncertain, let's
reason with the worst that may befall. If we do lose this battle, then is
this, the very last time we shall speak together. What are you then
determined to do? What, then, Romans, are you determined to do!"

And, in unison, across the Byzantine army, the men cried, "Fight, for God,
for Hellas, and for Saint Mamas!"

The battle of Dorylaium was joined.

Mongol armies were deadly killing machines. There were two types of
horsemen, light cavalry, who carried a double recurve bow, and heavier
cavalry, who used a lance. If an army had a great deal of light cavalry or
infantry, then charge it. If it had a great deal of heavy cavalry, let the a
rchers pick them off. It was an unbeatable combination. Unfortunately for
the Mongols, the Byzantine army had learned this tactic centuries ago.

The Mongol discipline was, to westerners, stunning. They obeyed orders, and
did as their commanders ordered. When all worked perfectly, they could move
like the fingers of hand, working in unison to entrap their enemy.
Unfortunately, this too the Byzantines had learned, centuries ago.

The Mongol horses were faster than those of the cataphracts, true, but the
Byzantines had better bows and telescopes for scouting. To engage the
Byzantines, the Mongols had to advance under fire.

Alexander had once sworn that there would be no more Manzikerts, and on that
bloody day, as the hosts of hell advanced on Europe while Christendom
slumbered, as thousands of arrows flew through the air, blocking out the
sun, as Turk, Mongol, Greek, and Armenian fell by the thousands, he kept his
oath.

The Mongols, true to form, advanced against the Byzantines, firing three
volleys. Unfortunately, the Byzantines fired five volleys, and the Mongols
withdrew, hoping that the Byzantines would follow.

Alexander refused to budge. The Mongols could not withdraw and try to attack
again, for they had already tried that earlier. The only option left was to
attack.

The Mongol line was arrayed like the horns of a bull, with the vassal tribes
in the center. The best troops were kept out on the wings, but they were
spotted by Alexander's scouts, who could see farther than the Mongols.
Alexander's position was impossible to flank, leaving the Mongols with no
option but attack. They bore down upon othe Byzantines, the very earth
shaking beneath their feet.

It was then that all hell broke loose, in the most literal sense of the
term. It had been a hot, dry summer on the plains. If a fire broke out, it
would spread rapidly.

The trebuchets of the Byzantines fired casks containing gunpowder with and
Greek fire all along the line. Some exploded too soon, scalding the Emperor'
s men; some did not burn until they hit the ground. But enough exploded in
the air over the Mongols, spreading flame across their army and the grasses
beneath it.

The fire spread through the Mongol army, causing the horses to panic. Men
caught on fire, and rolled screaming off of their horses to be trampled by
the horses following them. Some fled away, but many continued charging
towards the Byzantines. In the bloody battles there, the line buckled. But
it held. Trapped between the fire and the Byzantines, the Mongols died. And
died. And continued dying, indeed, until there were none left, two hours
later.

Much of the Mongol army lay unbeaten, of course. The Byzantines advanced,
cautiously, as did the Mongols. There, amidst the charred ashes grass, men,
and horses, the world's greatest military machines fought. Horses charged
and darted away as Mongol lancers attempted to break the Byzantine infantry.
Byzantine cavalry smashed into the Mongol horsemen, and the roar of battle
was horrific. Again the Mongols tried to flank, but Alexander prevented
them.

And then, as the Mongols withdrew, the Seljuks, seeking vengeance for the
rape and plunder of their lands by the Mongols, fell upon them. Trapped
between the two forces, the Mongols were devastated.

On the fields of Dorylaium, of the 130,000 men of the Empire, 20,000 died.
Thousands of Turks lay dead as well, the cream of their forces destroyed.
The center of Asia Minor was ravaged, and it would take years to recover.
But for Batu, it was far worse. Of the eighty thousand men he had gathered
there, more than half were dead. His dream of taking Constantinople was at
an end.

Alexander, at a stroke, had restored the Empire's position in Asia Minor in
1070. The Turks were broken in the initial conquests of the Khan and in the
battle of Dorylaium. The Sultanate was ravaged, its capital sacked. The
Emperor's overlordship, with his promises of respect for their faith, was
the best they could hope for.

Ever since Manzikert, Byzantium had been beset by invasion. Turks, Bulgars,
Sicilians, Germans (although that one wasn't talked about as much), and
Venetians. But now the long dark night was over. Byzantium, under the wise
reign of Alexander, entered into the Renascere.

[105] Why Constantinople and not Russia? Because Constantinople makes Kiev look like a peasant's hamlet.

[106] Revelations 20:6-10

[107] Vladimir was always a Byzantine ally amongst the Rus, and without the
sack of 1204, trade was greater. Vsevolod is able, with the support of the
merchants and commoners, to oppose the church and nobles and make
Vladimir-Suzdal hereditary in his line in TTL. There's also the handy
example of the Empire, of course.

Prince of Peace 30

“Real prayer needs no words, no gesture, no thoughts.
A real prayer only comes from the Lord.” -Maravaraman Kulasekaran, founder of the faith of Vipashyana


Madurai, July, 1240

In the year 1223, the Pandyans retook their ancient capital, Madurai, the city of Nectar, from the Cholans, thus restoring the Tamil to their rightful place in southern India. It is a proud and prosperous city, capital of an empire built on trade that looks out onto the Indian Ocean. Ships from as far as China and Italy are at the docks, and the wise king Maravarman Kulasekaran reigns over a prosperous kingdom. The docks are loaded with tea, ginger, cotton, and pepper, and the Pandyan Kingdom prospers. [108]

Maravarman is a troubled lord, in truth. He is a lover of learning, and converses with all, seeking knowledge. He is in love with new toys, and loves to read the books of Europe. He is a just king, promoting trade, and willing to try new ideas. For the Pisans, it is clear, are bringing a new age with them.

But it is a question of faith, for him. He was a Hindu of the south; and a follower of Bhakti [109]. But perhaps there was more to it than just his faith.

The Christians from the west brought tales of the miracles of Jesus, which of course was already known, for Christians had been living in India since time immemorial. But they rejected caste, and they held that there was only one God. These might be signs of a weak and barbaric people, and in some ways they were. But unlike Many of the Hindus of India, they had no problem defeating the Muslims.

The implications were… disturbing.

What role did Jesus, the son of God according to the Pisans, play in the ordering of the cosmos? What of Buddha? What did it all mean?

Carrying a Bible, translated into Tamil, a copy of the Tipitaka, and the Vedas, [110], Maravarman, King of the Pandyans, went into the jungle to pray. When he emerged, he would bring to India the faith of Vipashyana, the faith of Insight [112].

Vipashnyana holds that there is but one true God, who is the creator, the destroyer, and the sustainer. God does not take human form, but he can give his words to messengers, who do his bidding upon the Earth. Jesus, Rama, and Buddha were both such messengers, as was Maravarman. The goal of life is to break the cycle of life and death and merge with God. Or as he says, “ the soul shall merge in the Lord like the water in the sea and the wave in the stream. The soul will merge in God and like air I shall look upon all alike. Then why shall I come again? The coming and going is under the Will of the Lord and Realising This Will, I shall merge in the Lord”

There are five cardinal vices: Pride, Lust, Anger, Avaraice, and excessive attachment to worldly affairs. It rejects fasting, religious vegetarianism, and superstitions. Celibacy is not necessary to achieve salvation, to do so, according to Maravarman, one must be “a soldier, a saint, and a scholar.” There is no caste, for all men are created from the seed of God [112]. Honest labor, and not meditation and contemplation, are necessary for salvation. Women were to be respected as well, for if they can give birth to the messengers of God, then it is wrong to speak poorly of his messengers.

Maravarman would return to Madurai in 1241as a different man. So different, in fact, that his own servants did not recognize him, initially, when he walked up to greet them. He would soon spread his insight throughout the subcontinent.

"Real prayer needs no words, no gesture, no thoughts.A real prayer only
comes from the Lord."-Maravaraman Kulasekaran, founder of the faith of
Vipashyana.

Let us examine the religious set up. Crusaders have taken Egypt, Byzantium
is resurgent, and as in OTL the Almohads are collapsing. Pisans are leading
the way to the east, with interesting results in the Indies. It is, IMO,
entirely possible to have a timeline based off of this that has Christianity
be the world's major religion within a few hundred years and Islam and
Hinduism have ceased to be major world religions.

This, however, is not that timeline. Unlike He Who Must Not Be Named, I do
not view Islam as one of humanity's greater mistakes, and think that
Hinduism can have interesting things happen to it. So let us turn to India
in the first of several posts detailing the effects of a stronger Christian
presence in Outremer and in the Indian Ocean:

India is in a ferment, as Pisans lead the way to the East. The Kingdom of
Pandya is expanding, as in OTL, but faster, due to its emphasis on
mercantile activities and its position being ideal for Pisan traders
expanding. The Muslim control of the Indian Ocean is being heavily
contested, as Italians, Omanis, and even a few Hindu traders raid and trade
across the Ocean. The Cross and the Crescent wage a war at sea in an
entirely new theater, and a new player is about to enter the scene..

One of the results of the canal has been efforts to convert the peoples of
India. Heroes such as Peter of Romagna journey to Cape Comorin and minister
to pearl fishermen, converting twenty thousand natives. Some travel through
fearsome deserts and jungles, baptizing as they go. The effect on Hinduism
is dramatic, to say the least.

[Faeelin's post fills in this hole]

....When he returned to Madurai, he began preaching, in addition to his other
kingly duties. He derided caste, and openly clashed with the Brahmins. One
of his greatest sermons was the sermon outside the temple of Ahzgar Koil,
dedicated to Vishnu. There, sitting on the ground despite being a king, he
openly derided the caste system by explaining it in terms of pottery. . "God
used the same clay to make all of man, and though there the potter made many
vessels, all are of the same form, of the same clay, from the same potter."

Tanjore, 1247

The army of Pandya and Maravarman cheered as the catapault rocks smashed
into the walls. Archers on the wall poured down arrows, but to no effect.
The wall collapsed, and the army of Insight poured through.

Maravarman smiled as he looked on. "Glory to the creator, we have
triumphed," he cried. "Is this not pleasing, Peter of Romagna?"

The Franciscan priest looked on. "Perhaps to your, sire," he said in Tamil,
or a passable approximation.

Maravarman smiled and pointed at a flock of birds. "Do you see the vast
multitude? So many, so alike, yet so different. The flock changes, always,
but it is mostly the same."

Peter paused before responding. The Pandiyans never came out and said
something, so he thought about it. "But those who leave the flock are fated
to die," he said. "For there can be only one true path to arrive at their
destination."

Maravarman looked at him. "An odd thought. Do birds in Italy die if they
wander? In this land, they soar across the skies, and it matters not. For
they all will reach their destination, in time. "

[108] South India’s economic decline is tied into the rise of Muslim hegemony in the waters off of the shore. In TTL, with the addition of Christian pira… I mean, merchants, things are much more even.

[109] Bhakti was a belief that held that Brahmin sacrifices, and, indeed, the Brahmins, were not necessary, and frowned upon caste. Had a lot of fans amongst the poor. Bhakti also encouraged humility and encouraged women to participate. In OTL there were upper class devotees.

[110] Christian, Buddhist, and Hindu holy books. And in case anyone’s wondering, Hindus do have a history of hermits in the woods.

[111] So it’s Sanskrit. It’s still a prestigious tongue in his day and age.

[112] Any and all similarities between this and Sikhs is purely coincidental. *

Prince of Peace 31

“For some years I continued averse from mentioning this event, deeming it so horrible that I shrank from recording it and ever withdrawing one foot as I advanced the other. To whom, indeed, can it be easy to write the announcement of the death-blow of Islam and the Muslims, or who is he on whom the remembrance thereof can weigh lightly? O would that my mother had not born me or that I had died and become a forgotten thing ere this befell!

I say, therefore, that this thing involves the description of the greatest catastrophe and the most dire calamity (of the like of which days and nights are innocent) which befell all men generally, and the Muslims in particular; so that, should one say that the world, since God Almighty created Adam until now, has not been afflicted with the like thereof, he would but speak the truth. “-Ibn Al-Athir, 1220

Imagine, dear readers, the following. America has been locked in a protracted struggle with the Soviets for fifty years. They take China, Japan, and Persia. Then states close to America itself go communist; Cuba, Mexico, Nicaragua.

And then, the unthinkable happens. A Soviet army devastates America’s military and occupies our heartland. From Chicago to Dallas, the hammer and sickle replaces the Stars and Stripes. Darkness has fallen over the continent.

If you can imagine a worse scenario, you are beginning to get an idea of the magnitude of the events of the last fifty years for Dar al-Islam. The Almohads are defeated in Spain; the Byzantines manage to slowly push back the Turks. And in Egypt, the heartland of Islam, a Frankish King rules over millions of Muslims. Truly, these are dark times for the Faithful.

The blame, of course, falls upon the Seljuks. Or on the Almohads. Or on decadent caliphs. In short, Islam is tearing itself apart.

And it is onto this stage that al-Nasir, Deputy of God, Caliph, enters the scene. A student of all four schools of Islamic law [113], he is also a member of the futuwwah (guilds), hoping to make himself their grandmaster.

Therefore, let us present the response of the Abbasids to the Emperor of Firanj.

Baghdad, 1205

Fakhr al-Din al-Razi knelt to the southwest, praying in the direction of Mecca. The mosques of Baghdad were glorious, like the jewels of God, strung throughout the city. He was getting up from his prayers when he was interrupted.

The Caliph, apparently, wished to have a word with him. And when the Deputy of God on Earth wished to have a word with Fakhr, to discuss his famous work the Eastern Studies, you didn’t didn’t say no.

Al-Naser was, as always, a gracious host. He presented gifts of cold and silk, and asked of his latest work. They discussed Ibn-Sina’s Kitab, and whether or not God was indeed merely intellect. Eventually, however, the Caliph got to the point.

“Tell me,” said Al-Naser. “What do you think of the tidings from the west?”

Fakhr gulped down his cup of coffee, hoping it would steady him. (As you’d expect, it didn’t help). “It is terrible, most terrible. God has clearly sent the Firanji to punish us for our sins. To have Cairo and Alexandria in the hands of the Franks, to have pigs wander through the streets of our cities…. it is horrible.”

Al-Naser paused to eat a stuffed date, thinking as he chewed. “So you would argue that the Ayyubids are causing fitna?” [114]

Fakhr al-Din laughed. “Certainly they have done something to bring the wrath of God down upon them.”

”And, as the deputy of God, it is my duty to fight until there is no more fitna, correct?”

Fakhr nodded. “Well, yes, I suppose so.” He suddenly had a bad feeling about this.

“Well then!” said the Caliph, as he stood up. “What; you are saying is that I have a legal obligation to restore the authority of the Caliph to Damascus. Thank you for your wise counsel.”

Fakhr stood up. “But surely you are aware that there are many places where there are troubles in the House of Islam?”

Al-Naser’s smile was almost chilling. “And I shall fix them all.”

Damacus, 1206

Al-Adil looked out beyond the walls. It was enough to make a man weep. If only, he had united the lands of Saladin sooner. If only he could have beaten the Franks.

There was no choice, then. Damascus was low on provisions. If the city revolted, Al-Adil would certainly die. So his only option was parley.

He prostrated himself before the Caliph. “I am your loyal servant, the slave of God, the Defender of the faithful, the-“

Al-Nasir cut him off. “If you are our defender, god save us from our enemies. Under you and your family, the Franks have devastated Islam. Still,” said the Caliph, as he looked over to his scribes, “What’s gone is past help, and what is past help is past grief. I shall be merciful to you. You may retire to Baghdad, and live in the palace with your family. Let the world know that I, Al-Naser, servant of God, Defender of the Faithful, protector of the Holy Cities, am merciful towards those who deserve it not. “

Al-Adil almost sputtered. “I am a prince!”

“If you are a prince,” replied Al-Nasir, “there’s hope for every ape in Africa. You have an hour to ponder this, or I shall take Damascus by storm.”

The city would be his within the hour.

Antioch, 1212

Raymond Roupen, King of Armenia [115] , Duke of Antioch, was an uneasy man. As one would expect, frankly, given his position. He was caught between the Kings of Jerusalem, the Emperor in Byzantium, and the Seljuk Sultan. His kingdom was small but prosperous, with crops of cotton, oranges, olives, and grains, all growing in abundance. Situated along the great trade routes to the east, his kingdom was, to observers, a land of milk and honey.

Which, of course, meant that everyone wanted it. And now that the house of Staufen was helping to revive Byzantium’s fortunes, his kingdom, he was afraid, would be surrounded.

On the other hand, his lands all bordered the sea. The Pisans and Venetians were great maritime powers; the Muslims would never possess a fleet, and he could handle the Greeks on his own.

He turned to a scribe. “Dispatch this letter to the Doge of Venice: Knowing that your ancient and majestic city seeks a way to restore its lost glories, and that my kingdom seeks an ally against the enemies of Christ, I, King Raymond of Armenia…..”

The Yellow Palace, 1220

The Khan of Khans was not, to put it mildly, in a good mood. And one did not want to make the Great Khan angry. This was a man who would kill your entire family if you did so. Yet for some reason, the Sultan of Khwarizm had chosen to do just that.

The Khan of Khans had sent merchants to Otrar to trade. They had brought with them fine gifts such as white camel cloth, Chinese silk, silver bars, and raw jade. They had come in the hopes of making both sides rich with trade, hoping for trade so that “henceforth the abscess of evil thoughts may be lanced by the improvement of relations, and the pus of sedition and rebellion removed.”

And yet when the caravan had entered Khwarizm, the governor had seized the goods and killed the merchants. When the Khan had demanded justice, the sultan rebuked the Khan by killing his envoys.

Meanwhile, Al-Nasir had thought of something, upon hearing about the events at Otrar. He had immediately dispatched an emissary to the Khan of Khans.

“Great Khan, we of the Faithful know that honesty is vital to a good and pious life. When you lose your honor, your life is done. We hold this to be our way, based on the teachings of Mohammed, who received his revelation from God himself. Honor is the jewel of our souls, making all else look dirt. Yet the Sultan of Khwarizm does not hold to this. He is a deceitful wine-bibbing pig eating son of a whore, he is the father of a donkey, and the devil is his companion [116].”

“So we, on behalf of the Deputy of God, do invite you to join us in war against the Sultan of Khwarizm. Let us show the world what happens to those who have no honor.”

[113] The Sha’fi, Hanafi, Maliki, and Hanbali.

[114] Fitna is a term that is normally used for a movement which disrupts the religious, social and political order. The occupation of Egypt, I think, qualifies as such.

[115] Although Armenia, in this sense, is actually Cilicia along the Mediterranean coast.

[116] A bit blunt, but they are talking to what everyone views as barbarians.

Prince of Peace 31

Marrakesh, 1224

Yusuf II, Caliph of the Almohads, had been in many ways a weak man. He had never left Marrakesh, preferring to send his uncles and cousins to do fighting. He had stood by as the Christians of Spain stole land from the rightful rulers, the Faithful; and he had toyed with breeding cows in horses instead of training with swords. Many had agreed that his death, trampled by his own cows, was indeed fitting.

However, it left a problem. Yusuf had no children, and as the Almohads were ruled by a hereditary monarchy, this created problems. The vizier Uthman ibn Jami immediately gathered the Almohad laws, and they elected a senior member of the family, the great uncle of Yusuf, ‘Abd al-Wahid. He hoped to restore the fortunes of the Caliphate, and to put an end to the troubles in Al-Andalus. This upset, naturally, the governors there, who were afraid that he would take over their powers and replace them.

The lords of Al-andalus were led by Ibn Yujjan, and in the end of 1224 they took Seville. By the end of the year Abd al-Wahid was dead.

This in turn led to the replacement of the caliph with ‘Abd Allah, governor of Murcia. Which, of course, angered yet another faction in Al-Andalus. Abd Allah, former governor of Janen, moved to Baeza and made himself a vassal of Enrique I, King of Castille. Almohad attacks in 1225 are repulsed, and then things begin to get worse.

Seville, 1225

Yusuf the smith looked over the crowds outside the great mosque of Seville and knew what was at stake here. The Almohads had abandoned them. It was enough to make one drink wine! The Christians of Portugal were raiding the lands around Seville. The Almohad lords had betrayed them, leaving them to fend for themselves.

“People of Seville,” he cried. “For centuries we have been here, since the warriors of the Prophet took this land for the faithful. We have turned a desert into a garden, and we have prospered here. We are living in the greatest land of Dar al-Islam. And it is our doing, and something that no one,” he said, looking at the Almohad warriors, “can take away from us.”

“But we have grown weak. We have turned into sheep, fat lambs to be ruled over by the wolves of Marrakesh. They promise protection and bring war; they promise government and bring impiety. They have failed us. ”

“We must,” he said, and corrected himself. “We shall make an attack on the enemy ourselves! Tomorrow!” he yelled.

“Tomorrow belongs to us!”

The next day, the people of Seville prepared themselves for war. They left through their grand gate, and all Sevillians, from nobles to potters, from weaponsmiths to tinkerers, left to fight and defend their cities. They marched on Tejada, where the Christians were in great numbers. And they attacked. It was a grand and glorious gesture, as the people of Seville fought heroically for their city. No longer would they rely upon anyone else for their defense. It was up to them.

As they marched to the battle, Abu Mohammed, commander of the Almohad troops, tried to stop them. “Do not do this!” he yelled. “They will cut through you like a scythe through wheat!”

Yusuf raised his sword in defiance. “They may do that to you, but not to us! This is our city. Leave it to us to defend, you pig eating son of a whore!”

Abu stopped his horse in front of them. “You will all die,” he said. “And frankly, it pleases me to know that. “

If history has taught the reader anything, it is that no matter how great and glorious one’s cause is, one might still lose. And this is, sadly, what happened. The Christians were trained warriors, armed with coats of mail and swords of German steel, with horses. The Muslims were armed with only short swords and daggers. They were not trained in fighting war; until this time, there was no need.

The people of Seville fought bravely, none would deny. More than twenty thousand died that dark day, as they were slaughtered by the invaders. Men between eight and eighty fought that day, trying to defend their homes against raiders. Men between eight and eighty died.

It is in this dark land, where the people will die to defend their homes as Caliphs watch their land slip away, as traitors pay homage to the conquerors while the only defenders are among the poor. The tragedy is not that none will fight; the tragedy is that they do, and die. God, as always, favors big battalions.

It is against this background that Mohammed ibn Yusuf appeared on the scene. A descendent of the Hudids who had been the last rulers of Zaragoza, he was a regular soldier in the jund (an army unit) of Murcia. He would be the last great warrior of Al-Andalus. He would be the last Al-Sayyad.

[117] This is bad. OTL Enrique died in 1217.

Ricote, Murcia, January 1225

Ibn Hud tossed his falcon into the sky, watching as it swooped down onto the hare. He looked at it, grimly. It was a bit like watching the Christians invading Al-Andalus. The hare ran and ran and ran, always trying to escape; but the hawk always caught it in the end.

Why should the Almohads rule Al-Andalus, anyway? What gave them the right to claim the title of caliph when it was clear that the true one resided in Baghdad? What was the point of making them lords of Al-Andalus if they couldn’t even beat the Christians? They were the ones who were ruining the garden of Islam. They were the ones who had let the Christians ride to Seville.

As Ibn Hud knelt down and prayed towards Mecca, he prayed, and decided to go on the hajj. When he returned, in the beginning of 1228, he was a changed man.

Murcia, May 1228

Abu ibn Abi Musa ibn Abd al-Mumin was lying in his harem with one of his concubines when word reached him. There was a revolt in the lands around the city, led by some fool claiming to be the last of the Hudids of Zaragoza.

”You interrupted me for this?” he demanded of the messenger. “It is likely a mere bandit with delusions of grandeur.”

“No,” said the messenger. “I have seen him with my own eyes, and he is more than that. He is coming for you, they say.” The messenger coughed discreetly. “Incidentally, I will soon be leaving this fair city to visit my family in Seville.”

Abu grumbled a bit, but returned to what he was doing. Priorities, he decided, were always important.

The next day was the market day in Murcia, when farmers from all around the city came to visit it. As usual, there was grumbling, when the Almohad guards helped themselves to some of the produce. They particularly gave one man, who was a bit embarrassed, a great deal of trouble.

Initially the man was treated with a great deal of respect, for he had gone on the Hajj. Surely, the guards reasoned, this was a pious man. “What are you selling?” demanded one of the Almohad guards, looking at the barrels.

“Oh, just olive oil,” said the merchant. “Nothing of great value. I, am a man of modest means, you see.”

The Almohad guards looked at one another. “Are you now? And yet you have completed the hajj? Commendable. Surely such a pious and honest man would not mind showing a bit of charity towards his protectors and share some of that oil with us?”

Suddenly the man became nervous. He stepped off of his wagon, and walked towards the guards. “I do not think this is necessary,” he said. “You see, I am selling something that the governor demands I bring him.”

The guard grunted. “We’ll see,” he said, as he opened the first jar.

“No!” said the merchant. “Get away!” he cried, as the guard looked twisted it open.

“Wine!” said the Almohad in shock. “Ah, I see. That pervert in the palace wanted wine, and forced you to bring it to him.” The guard made a sound of contempt. “Pass on, pass on.”

Ibn Hud rolled with his wagons into the city. It was indeed fortunate that they had not checked the other barrels, containing weapons and armor for his followers who were already in the city.

That night, they crept into the palace of the Almohad governor. The servants from the city told them were to find the governor, smiling as they saw the swords.

Yet again the governor was in his chambers with another of his women. Ibn Hud stormed in, causing the governor to pass out. Ibn Hud took the wine that lay beside him and splashed it on the governor’s face. One of the warriors behind him fiddled with the wheels on his bow, and then aimed it at the governor.

“Get up,” he told Abu. “You shame us all by your cowardice.” Abu did as he was told, and was then tossed over the wall of the palace. Through the night, the agents of Ibn Hud attacked the Almohad guards where they slept, tossing the bodies into the moat.

As dawn rose, Ibn Hud, the last of the Hudids, ruled Murcia. A new time was beginning for Al-Andalus. But how to let the people know? He smiled, and called for his Kamanjoar Kaman [118].

The Almohads had always foolishly thought that music was wrong, as if something so glorious could offend God [119]. They had opposed using gaudy clothing, preferring the dark black that they wore. They shut their wives up, even on feast days.

Ibn Hud had walked that path, as had his land. But that was done with. As dawn rose over Murcia, and the people awoke to a new day, they could hear, faintly, the sound of music from the palace of the governor, played by the Emir al-Muslimin, servant of the Deputy of God, al-Naser.

Cordoba, July, 1228

Abdul Rabi, governor of Cordoba, looked at the mob. He laughed. “You dare to challenge me?” he shouted. “I am the sayyid of Cordoba, appointed by the supreme Caliph to rule over you. Return to your homes, rebels, and disperse!”

A rock hit Abdul in the head, knocking him off of his horse. The mob surged forward, and yet another city joined the cause of Ibn Hud.

Cartagena, October, 1228

Giacomo Tiepolo, citizen of Venice, delegate of the Federation of Italy, stepped off of the boat and onto the dock. This muslim ruler, Al Sad, stepped off of his horse to meet him.

“I, Ibn Hud, Emir of the land you call Andalus, greet you,” said Ibn Hud in passable Cataln. “May your trade be profitable and safe.”

Giacomo bowed before the Emir. “I, Giacomo Tiepolo, delegate of the Italian Federation, come to you in friendship,” he replied in Arabic.

The other junior delegate on this voyage spoke up. “That’s their ruler?” he said. “I thought they were ruled by the Caliph.”

Giacomo muttered to him in Italian. “No, you fool, the Caliph is like the Pope to them. They honor him when it’s convenient. He looks like a king. Behold, his eye, as bright as the eagle's. I think we will be seeing more of this man.” He turned back to Ibn Hud. “We come seeking trade and offering our friendship.”

Ibn Hud looked at the ship and considered. “You are most welcome here. Please, come to my humble abode in this city, that we might talk of what must be done.”

Ibn Hud ordered his servants to retire and poured Giacomo a cup of wine and then poured himself one. Evidently this Moor was fond of wine, but that was no surprise. “It is always good to see ships not bearing the banner of Aragon,” he said.

Giacomo smiled. “I doubt you will see many of those for a long time to come,” he said, and told them of the great victory off of Sardinia.

Ibn Hud clapped his hands. “Praise be the High One! A pity their king did not join their fleet on the bottom of the bay. Word has it, you know, that they are going to sail against Tunis. Should a fleet happen to arrive there, it would be most unpleasant.”

Giacomo considered briefly. To ally against Christians with Muslims? Could they do it? He thought for a second, and smiled. If Frederick invaded Hell, he would at least give a few prayers for the devil. “That is most interesting. But that is not why I am here.”

Ibn Hud sipped his wine. “Trade is always welcome,” he said neutrally.

Giacomo nodded. “Of course. But we have, apparently, common enemies. The Kings of Castille, Leon, and Aragon are vassals of the Emperor of Rome, who seeks to enslave all Christians. To that end he has asked his subjects, the Franks, to join in the war against you.”

“This Emperor,” said Ibn Hud, “seems to love wars. He fights you, and us?”

”And the Greeks, and the English, and his wife, for good measure.”

Ibn Hud wasn’t quite sure who the English were, so he nodded. “And thus…”

”We offer you help,” said Giacomo. “Gold, swords, and armor.”

Ibn Hud nodded. He knew where this was going. “And I, of course, would be most happy to let your merchants, whose industriousness is known throughout the world, trade in the cities along the coast of Al-Andalus.”

Ibn Hud took a sip of the wine, and thought. Like most Andalusis, he thought himself a poet. “It seems to me that this Emperor attacks everyone around him, and thrashes about at all who anger him. He threatens us, yes. But you are a sailor, and know of fisherman. Think of us not as prey, but the fishmen with the net. We will trap him, in time.”

Seville, November, 1228

The Caliph of the Almohads had left only a month ago, and Seville was in chaos. The urban patricians, wealthy merchants, had taken control of the city, but everyone knew that they could not defend it.

It was then that Ibn Hud, on a white horse, had ridden to the city. There, in the Grand Mosque of Seville, he had called for a public debate to decide the future of the city [119].

“We have lived for too long under the shadow of the warriors from across the straits. The Almohads, the Almovarids, all of them, were a disaster to us. We turned to them for protection, instead of doing it ourselves, and we paid the price. They were upstarts who took over our lands and ruined our country. And because of that, the Christians are going to take over our lands.”

”But you would make alliances with them!” shouted a voice. “We will not be their puppets!”

“Of course I would!” said Ibn Hud. “Better that they kill each other than that we do. We fight their enemy, and they fight ours.”

There were mutters of agreement in the crowd. The argument went on through the night, but, by dawn of the next day, the men of Seville agreed.

Abu Ammar, a member of a long established families of qadis, spoke for them. “We who are as good as you, swear to you, who are no better than us, to accept you as our lord and representative, provided that you observe all our laws and ways. But, if not, then not.”

[117] Think a violin.

[118] Although to be fair, they have mellowed out by this point. But Andalusis really hated them by 1230.

[119] Note that all of this, aside from the Italians, of course, is OTL. I admit to dramatizing situations in which sources are sketchy, however

Mahdia, September, 1228

At long last, in July of 1228 the army of the kingdom of Aragon prepared to storm the beaches of Tunisia. Led by the king himself, a party of 800 knights supported by archers and foot soldiers set forth to claim the beach. The rowers pushed the landing craft over the calm sea towards the shore, and when they reached the shore, lowered the ramps. Off of each landing vessel came twenty horses, whose knights sallied forth with their lances in hand. It was a grand and glorious sight, all agreed, that would surely lead to a climactic battle against the Tunisians.

Unfortunately, no one had bothered to notify the Tunisians of the battle. The Berber ruler, the Hafsid emir, had wisely decided that it was better to let the hosts of Aragon die of disease than waste his time fighting them.
This was, of course, no problem for the warriors of Christ. They set up a city of tents for the army, with the King’s pavilion at the center. Mahdia was blockaded by the sea and by the land, but the city had access to fresh water and had stored provisions. The invaders were encamped in hot tents in the desert; the defenders had fresh water and did not always have to wear stifling armor.

On the fourth day a force of Berbers raided the camp, but were thrown back. This was declared to be a sign of the great victory to come by the priests, who of course remained in the center of the camp.

Ships from the Kingdom of Aragon were allowed to buy supplies from the Emperor’s Kingdom of Sicily, but they were irregular, and the ships were often harassed by pirates. Dysentery broke out, and, the heavy wine from Sicily led to fighting.

This could of course be tolerated. But when the king caught it, it was over.

Sore, exhausted, thirsty, and miserable, he told his council the new. “We’re going home,” he said. “ I have had enough of this foolish war in the desert for a worthless city, especially when Murcia awaits. And at least there I can get a Jewish doctor.”

The Lord of Albaraccin spoke up against the act. “Nonsense,” he said. “Our catapults are about to break down the walls. One more week, and if God has not given us the city by then, I agree that we shall leave.”

”No!” said the king. “I have spoken. I am the king. I….” he trailed off, and put his hand on his stomach. “I will…” he paused again, and finished his sentence. “I will be right back,” and with that, the King of Aragon fled the tent as fast as possible.

There was a long silence in the tent, as the leading nobles of Aragon waited for the King to finish with his duty. After about ten minutes, the Lord of Albaraccin cleared his throat, and said, “so, we are agreed, only one more week, yes?”

Five days later a fleet of Pisan and Genoese galleys arrived outside of the city and destroyed the fleet of Aragon. The King was trapped, and a prisoner of the Godless heretics of Italy.

As he was led onto the galley, James, King of Aragon, smiled innocently at Pedro. “Cheer up,” said James, as the Lord was brought below and slapped into chains. “it’s quite comfortable down there, I’m told, once you get past the rats, lice, and wastes.” The king himself closed the door on Pedro, as he said, “Mind the water. It might go bad, and I’m afraid there’s not enough wine for everyone.”

Pedro felt something nibble on his toe, and screamed.

Alange, March, 1230

Ibn Hud drank from a leather bag full of water, rinsed, and spat it out. This was a land of vast plains, of an endless blue sky that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was a desolate land, but the Faithful had carved a home here. The people here raised cows and sheep, and they had built canals to irrigate their crops. A hard life, but a good one.

Then the Christians had come from the north. The raiders had destroyed the canals and killed the farmers. Badajoz was a shadow of its former self, like an old woman who had once been beautiful.

He looked over the army of the King of Castile, Enrique, and nodded. It was as he expected; smaller, but with heavier armor and heavy cavalry. He only had the jinettes. They were useful for scouting, but he had heard about what had happened at Las Navas de Tolosa. The jinettes had charged the Christian knights, ready to fight and die for the faith.
When the battle was over, the bodies of the jinettes had lain trampled beneath the Christian horses.

Ibn Hud’s army was, of course, larger than that of the Christian King Henry. But they were farmers and townsmen, the people of the markets, not men trained for war as he was. They had been armed and trained, but they were afraid. He could almost smell it.

He had to do something to rally them, something to restore their confidence. He lifted up the banner he had chosen, the old Umayyad banner. On it, the words “There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet” lay on a field of white. Carrying this banner, he rode before his army.

He looked at the men before him. Farmers with short swords, men from the frontiers with the Christians with crossbows, merchants from the cities in armor they had never before worn. His heart swelled with pride to see them joining the jihad.

“They say,” yelled Ibn Hud, “that we are women. The Christians and the Almohad both call us that. They scorn our ways, saying we would do better to spend our time on swordfights than on poetry. They say our blood is weak, that we have forgotten our pride and dignity.”

The Christians were preparing to charge, he saw. Their King would come and kill and destroy, leaving nothing but a desert between here and Seville. “They call us women,” he continued. “But I know otherwise.”

”They call us women,” he repeated, “but know this. I, Ibn Hud, know that you are truly warriors of the prophet, and that he would have led men such as you with pride.” Ibn Hud lifted the banner high in the air, and roared to his army. “They shall not pass!”

Enrique, King of Castile and Leon [119] looked through his telescope at the Moors. “God,” he muttered. “Where’s the glory in beating peasants?”

“I’ll make this brief,” said Enrique, as he prepared to charge. “They’re Moors. We’ve beaten them before and we’ll do it again. Once they are defeated, Badajoz is ours. And remember,” he said, as he grabbed his horses reins, “if the Catalans ” he said, sneering, “could take Valencia, then we should have no problems at all.” Enrique and his knights lowered their lances, and they charged.

The battle began in the usual manner for battles in Spain. Jinettes from both army skirmished on the outskirts of the battle while the Christian knights charged the Moors’ line. Crossbowmen on both sides fired volleys into the enemy’s ranks, cutting down horses and men alike. The confused melee continued, as Andalusi spearmen ran through Castilian knights and Castilians trampled the Andalusis beneath their horses. [121]

There tales enough for both sides, that day. There was a Castilian knight who died with his sword in hand, taking down half a dozen Moors despite having an arrow through his chest. Ibn Hud himself slew a dozen Castilians, earning the respect of even the surviving Almohads.

But slowly, painfully, the Andalusis gained the upper hand. The Andalusis were better archers, and it was their home ground. As night fell, the Castilians withdrew, chastened. Ibn Hud felt for his bag of water and was shocked to realize it was empty. It was amazing what one didn’t realize in a battle. He looked over the field, and nodded. It was a victory. Not a great one, but a victory. They had bought some time.

That night, as the light from a crescent moon shone down upon his camp, as the people of the market celebrated their victory, Ibn Hud thought. The crossbowmen of Al-Andalus were famed throughout the Abode of Islam, but there was no way to defend them against the heavy cavalry of the Christians. As he poked a fire with a stick, he thought about this.

If only, thought Ibn Hud, as he drank a cup of coffee by the fire, there was a way to create a wall of spikes around the crossbowmen. One of the Italians had once told him of an English warrior, who had defeated an army of cavalry with archers. What had he done again? Ibn Hud took another sip, and then dropped his cup.

The next time the armies of Ibn Hud “The Victorious”, Emir of Al-Andalus, went off to battle, the Spaniards would realize that things had changed.

Valencia, May 1231

Valencia, according to some, was the land of flowers, where all sweet things blossomed and perfumed the air. The land consisted of a ribbon of fertile coastline surrounded by forbidding mountains. It was a land of bustling ports, prosperous villages, and well-traveled roads. Into this land, James, King of Aragon, had erupted.

James had taken the northern towns of Burriana and Puig, and had made Abu Zayd, the ruler of Valencia, his vassal [122]. But with the King of Aragon in captivity, the Moors of Valencia revolted against Abu Zayd, who had fled north to Catalonia for help. They appealed to Ibn Hud to come to their aid, and he had marched to the city with his army.

Ibn Hud himself had taken over the Abu Zayd’s palace, which was truly a marvel. In the courtyard, he had actually diverted a small steam to run through a garden, with the two sides connected by a bridge. Ibn Hud was standing on the bridge when he received word that the Catalans were on the march again.

Two months later, in July, the Catalans and Muslims did battle in the hills to the north of the city. The Catalan leader, Armengol, charged with his men towards the Moorish crossbowmen, whose arrows ran through horses and men alike. But as they got close, he attempted to wheel away.

For each crossbowmen, according to the wisdom of Ibn Hud, carried stakes to drive into the ground before him. If the knights hit them, their horses would die; if they turned away, they would crash into horses behind them. Both, of course, happened.

The next day, Ibn Hud, who had returned to the palace in Valencia, received word while eating one of the famous oranges of Valencia that a most important prisoner had been captured after the battle. That evening, Abu Zayd, the former ruler of Valencia, was brought before him.

Ibn Hud was playing his Kaman when Abu Zayd was brought in. “What do you think?” he asked, as Abu lay before Ibn Hud on his knees.

Abu Zayd sniveled and bowed obsequiously before Ibn Hud. “It is a glorious creation, my Emir. A marvel of the world.”

Ibn Hud considered this while he played. “And yet had the Christians taken this city, this instrument would have been destroyed, would it not?”

“Never!” said Abu, not daring to look up. “I would not have allowed it.”

Ibn Hud smiled as he stopped playing. “So you agree with the rumors that you are an apostate?” He put the instrument down, and drew his sword, cutting off Abu’s head, which rolled onto the floor.

Ibn Hud frowned, looking at the mess. That had been a perfectly good carpet, too. He shrugged. There would be more carpets made in Valencia. He had made certain of that.

[120] For he did not die in 1217 as in OTL. This is probably a bad thing for Castile, actually.

[121] One of the best descriptions of a typical army of Al-Andalus, without its Almohad contingents, is a Muslim army of Castile.

[122] This essentially follows the pattern of Aragon’s acquisition of Valencia OTL.

Nuremberg, July, 1227

In the Imperial Palace of Nuremberg, it was thought by many that the greatest room in the entire palace was the Court of Emperors. The Imperial throne sat on a dais, with the pieces of the Cross to the side of the Emperor. The Emperor himself sat on a throne based on the throne of Solomon, with six steps to represent the six cardinal virtues, ivory from Abyssnia the purity of the Emperor, and gold representing his divinity.

Unlike the throne of Solomon or the Byzantine Emperors, however, The Emperor’s throne was flanked by eagles instead of lions, representing the Roman heritage of the Empire and the insignia of the House of Staufen.

The halls of the court were decorated with frescoes painting the Emperors in their greatest scenes. Constantine stood in an awe as timeless as God himself, looking up at the cross in the sky. Henry VI charged towards the infidels in the deserts of the holy land, like the wrath of God himself [122].

And, of course, there was Charlemagne. The Imperial throne was set against the western wall, and above it was a stained glass picture of Charlemagne’s coronation. The painting centered on Charlemagne as he took a crown from the dais in Rome, while the Pope was delegated to a small figure off to the side. It was impressive enough at any time of the day, but towards dusk, when the sun shined directly through it, it was wonder of the world, reminding all who were there of the majesty of Rome.

Needless to say, Robin Hood was tried at dusk.

In any case, it was in this room that Frederick held court, where the assembled lords of the Empire were there to look at him in awe and majesty. And it was in this room that Frederick II was wont to listen to proposals regarding the new legions.

The problem was a relatively simple one, actually. Robin Fitz Odo, a heretic and rebel in the eyes of God, had shown repeatedly that the feudal levies of the Empire were insufficient in this brave new world of warfare, and Frederick had spies within the Greek army.

But more to the point, how could he claim to be the Emperor of Rome if his army consisted of feudal levies? Even the pagan Romans had possessed men who were always prepared for war, and how could he do less? The Emperor needed a standing army, like the one the Byzantines had [124]. He needed… legions.

Some proposals had seemed quite promising, initially. He had had such high hopes for a revival of the Roman legion. But the swords of the legion were incapable of stopping heavy cavalry, and Frederick saw no way around that.

On the other hand, Roman legions had adapted throughout the history of the Empire. Could they not do so today? And so the Emperor had sent out proclamations throughout the Empire, from the Pyrenees to Palermo, that whoever could succeed in convincing the Emperor how to establish a true Imperial army would be rewarded.

And thus William of Altdorf, a loyal ministeriale in the Emperor’s service, came before him.

“My Emperor,” he said, prostrating himself on the ground. “it seems to me that we, the heirs of Rome, would do best to look at how the ancients fought.”

Frederick leaned forward in his throne. “Indeed?” he said. “Oh, you may rise,” he said a moment later.

“However, as any man who commanded knows, a man on horse will easily defeat some one with a sword and shield on the ground. This made me wonder about if something like this had ever happened before,” said William. “And I thus inquired at the University of Frankfurt about whether or not there had ever been enormous armies of cavalry in the time before Christ. And, as it turns out, there was.”

Henry, who sat beside his father on a lower throne, caught on first. “The Greeks!”

William bowed before the King of the Romans. “Indeed, my King. The Greeks under Alexander used armies consisting of men like our knights, on heavy horse, and men carrying long spears. When used together,” said William, before he was cut off.

“They destroyed the armies of Persia, slaughtering thousands,” said Frederick, who was in a jovial mood.

“I shall keep my promise, William of Altdorf. I will grant you your reward, and do more. I,” declared Frederick, “By the Grace of God Defender of the Faith, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, King of Germany, King of Burgundy, King of Sicily, King of Italy, (and so on and so forth),” hereby declared William to be the new Legatus Legionus of the Imperial army. May the eagles be spread as far as they were in the days of Ceasar.”



Nuremberg, November, 1230

Frederick II, Emperor of Rome, held the bow from England in his hands as he stood in a clearing near Nuremberg. . He pulled it, was amazed to feel its resistance weaken as he pulled it farther away. “Marvelous,” he said, taking an arrow and preparing to aim. He shot it, and it landed at the edge of the clearing. “Marvelous,” he said Again. “Strange that such a weapon comes from the English. They never struck me, when I ruled there, as being that original.”

Frederick pulled the bow again, oblivious to the snow falling around him. “The wheels increase the force,” he muttered half to himself. He turned to Henry. “you see this, son? This is what paying attention in school will do for you.”

”Build new weapons to kill my enemies?”

Frederick smiled. “Exactly, son. Exactly.”

Frederick’s head turned when he heard a horse behind him. It was Elizabeth, of course, riding towards them, wearing furs from the lands of the Rus. “So you wanted to see what was going on?” he asked. He was never able to decide whether he was proud of his daughter for her curiosity and intelligence or to be disappointed that she didn’t listen to him.

She pulled off her riding hood. “Of course, father. I have no desire to spend my days needling.” Frederick realized, briefly, that she reminded him of what they had said about his mother Constance.

“Well, then,” he said. “The English have used learning to build a bow with a pulley. What should we do?” he asked his children.

Henry spoke up first. “ Copy the bow, of course. It’s unchivalrous, but it is well established that when it comes to fighting infidels and heretics, chivalry is unimportant.”

Frederick nodded. He was planning to do that, actually, with some Frisian archers. “Elisabeth, what say you?”

His daughter thought for a moment, biting her lip. “We have to make sure this does not happen again. If the English are making new weapons, and it cost us dearly. It seems to me that everyone else who opposes us shall copy their weapon. We have to make sure that we do likewise.”

She patted her horse absently, and then finished her thought. “We need a place designed for creating and building weapons of war. Imagine if men like our tutor William devised new weapons all the time. An arsenal, isn’t that the word?” She smiled for a moment, remembering his lectures.

Frederick dropped the bow in the snow, and smiled at his daughter. “That’s actually quite brilliant, you know. It warms my heart to know that you two will be here when I am gone, to provide firm hands to guide the Empire.”

Elisabeth laughed. “Oh father, that will never happen.”



Poiters, November, 1230

The rain poured down on Guillame des Bares’ visor, making him grunt. Bad enough that God had sent the Emperor against him, now he had sent the weather too? He rode his horse through the mud as he tried to make out the Imperial lines on the top of the hill. Quite a few of them were carrying columns with bronze eagles on the top, for some reason. Not so many knights, but lots of men carrying poleaxes. He nodded and flicked the reins of the horse.

William, Marshal of the Imperial Legions, nodded as he saw the Poitevins advance. “Remember,” he yelled, “We fight for God and the Emperor. Remember what your training and you will survive!”

Erlach of Freiburg rode up on his horse. A good man, thought William. A ministeriale, like him, and he knew how to use knights. “We await your command, Marshal William.”


William’s men waited, peering through the rain for their enemy. They could hear the French, but not see them. The hoof beats became louder, and suddenly the French appeared out of the rain.

“Fire!” yelled William, as the crossbowmen launched a volley into the French knights and their horses. Some tumbled and fell back down the hill, knocking down the other knights behind them. Some continued to charge, crashing into the Imperial line, where they were slaughtered.

But the main host of the knights continued to charge, with their swords drawn. They crashed into the line of pikes, creating a horrible wall of horse and iron [124]. But the Germans held. And then the pike men advanced [126].

The knights began to run down the hill, slipping as they fled. The Imperial legion pursued, killing any who fell. They were not just mercenaries in the pay of the Emperor. They were servants of God’s anointed ruler on the Earth, sworn to defend him and the Empire, and showed no mercy to his enemies. Serving the Emperor was an act of God, and therefore his enemies were enemies of God, who deserved no quarter.

In any other circumstance, perhaps, the knights could have escaped. But not this day. The cavalry under Erlach had reached the bottom of the hill, trapping the French between the legions and the German knights. It was said there was so much blood from the French that some of the legionaries were wetter from blood than the downpour.

The slaughter at the battle of Poiters was horrific. Over three thousand knights were slain, devastating Aquitaine’s nobility. Only five hundred Imperial legionaries were slain, and fifty knights. All of Aquitaine lay open to the Imperial army to ravage at will, and there was little to stop them.

The Imperial March had begun.

[123] Although a lot of the work displays heavy Byzantine and Sicilian influences, as befits the origin of the artists, and the Emperor’s view to being the Sovereign of all Christendom.

[124] Although, of course, the Byzantine army is partly based on the thematic system, there is a small professional core.

[125] Long spears are around by this point, as is a tradition of using heavy infantry (notably at Legnano). So I have no real qualms about having them use pikes, given that they’re stealing it from a classical general.

[126] Charging into knights with Pikes? The Swiss did it repeatedly and effectively.

One stamped at birth with valor by the stars,
So that his goodly deeds shall be renowned.
The nations are not yet aware of him
Because his age is tender;
These spheres have wheeled about him and no more….
For he will spurn both money and intrigue. “-Dante’s Paradiso

Verona, 1207

Ezzelino II read the Emperor’s letter and smiled. He had been the Lord of Bassano for years, and he had always been a loyal servant of Emperor Henry. He had led the Montague [126] family against the Guelphs in fair Verona, and in the process he had earned Henry’s favor.

And thus, Ezzelino II, a loyal and faithful servant of the Emperor, opened the letter from the Emperor himself, and smiled as he read it. “It seems,” he said, “that the Emperor wishes for me to take the heavy burden of being the Count of Verona and Vicenza.” Ezzelino looked at his son, Ezelino III, who was thirteen.

The count of Verona and Vicenza smiled at the boy, who was reading through a gift from the Emperor, a work by an ancient Greek known as Herodotus about wars with the Persians.

The Count of Vicenza and Verona smiled at his son. A good lad, really. Perhaps he would send him to visit Nuremberg, eventually.

Castle Hohenstaufen, November 1212

The doe ran through the forest, desperately trying to escape the hunters pursuing it. The hunter stopped chasing, and it seemed as if the doe had escaped.

Then an arrow from Ezzelino went through its eye. He ran up to the deer, and knelt beside it in the dirt.

“A good shot, Ezzelino!” cried Frederick II, who galloped up to him on his horse. “Pity there is no boar around today.”

Ezzelino pulled the arrow out of the deer, wiping it in the snow. “Thank you, your grace. A pity, indeed.” He shivered slightly. “Shall we return to the castle?”

Frederick laughed. “Cannot take the weather, can you? It’s fine German weather, you know, not like in Italy, where it’s always too damned hot.”

Ezzelino nodded dutifully. He had been sent by his father to the court of the Emperor in Nuremberg, and he had become a friend of the Emperor’s.
Ezzelino thought for a second and shook his head. No, Frederick did not have any friends, truly. He was too cold, too distant. Ezzelino was merely a companion. This was why he hunted on foot while the King of the Romans rode.

And as a companion, Ezzelino said, “It is as the King wishes, of course. No doubt he is certain that he will soon slay enough boar to litter the forests for generations to come. No doubt the reason that the boar are nowhere to be found, on this fine day, is because they are hiding in terror.”

Frederick agreed solemnly. “Certainly. If the Whore of Babylon, the sodomite, the heretic, Innocent fears me, why should not the creatures of the forest?”

Ezzelino coughed. “Indeed, my king.”

Just then, a horse galloped towards them. Ezzelino drew his bow, fearful of an assassin. Frederick saw him do so and nodded, while the King drew his sword. But he quickly lowered it when he saw the Staufen livery that the man wore.

“It is a message, my King,” said the man, who handed over a parchment to Frederick.

Frederick read it, and laughed. “Oh, that fool!”

Ezzelino was now intensely curious. “My King, if I may be so bold as to inquire as to who is the fool?”

Frederick waved the letter through the air. “It’s John, the King of England. He allied with the nobles to defeat Arthur, and then betrayed them after Arthur was defeated.”

Ezzelino was momentarily confused. “That seems wise to me, my King.”

Frederick laughed. “Does it, Ezzelino? Does it indeed?” Frederick handed him the letter, which Ezzelino read quickly, his eyes widening as he did so.

“Tell me, Ezzelino, how would you like to join me in an invasion of England, in order to restore the rights of its nobles?”

As Frederick laughed, Ezzelino shivered from more than the cold.


London, January 1215

Ezzelino yawned and rolled out of bed, taking care not to wake the woman next to him. The Emperor was carrying out an experiment which he wanted Ezzelino to see this morning, and he knew he should not be late. He stepped out of the Tower and crossed over to the King’s hall.

As he walked, he lay deep in thought. He longed for permission from the King to return home, but so far Frederick had refused. Perhaps, in a year or two, he could, but for now he was stranded in England.

Frederick, apparently, wished to know what helped with digestion. He had, the night before, pardoned two men who were to be killed, and given them an excellent dinner. He sent one to sleep, but had asked the other to stay up all night with him, listening to the music of the minnesangers. Frederick had a bet going with Ezzelino over which one would digest their food better. He wasn’t quite sure how Frederick would solve the problem of judging, but it was just a game.

Ezzelino entered the great hall just as Frederick was welcoming the two men. “Glad you are here,” he said in German, which the two men did not know. “We are just about to determine which one digested his food better.”

“That may be,” replied Ezzelino, “but I do not see how you could prove this.”

Frederick drew his sword. “You do not? What a pity,” he said, and in a flash, disemboweled both men. The contents of their stomach splattered onto the floor. Frederick looked at both of them, and nodded to Ezzelino. “It appears you were right,” he said. “You do digest your food better when you rest.” He gave Ezzelino a concerned look. “What, surely you do not pity these men?”

“Well, my King, it is just that, well,” said Ezzelino, repressing the urge to vomit. “It was just so sudden.”

“These men,” said Frederick, calmly and rationally, “were murderers. Surely you do not pity those who would kill for pleasure or profit?”

And with that, with the bodies of the two men still lying there, Frederick sat down for breakfast.



Salisbury Plains, May 1216

Frederick’s band of followers stopped at the ancient ruins near the town of Amesbury in England. He raised his hand.

”I wish to go and see the ruins of which the locals spoke.”

”Sire,” said Ezzelino in German, “perhaps we should continue riding. There are still a few barons who are revolting in the north.”

”Barons are always revolting,” said Frederick, with a wry smile. “It’s why they’re barons.” He stepped down off his horse and walked towards the stones. “In any case, they are almost subdued, and I wish to see the memorial of Arthur.”

Frederick II looked at the ring of stones impassively. “Interesting,” he said, as he walked up and felt one of the blue stones. He was not, frankly, impressed. Sure, they were large, but anyone could put large rocks together. Where was the gracefulness, the culture? Even Hamburg boasted sites more impressive.

“It is said,” said Ezzelino, “that these stones were placed here by King Arthur, to celebrate a victory over the Irish. It showed the superiority of Arthur over the lesser peoples of the isles around him.”

Frederick walked through the ring of stones, looking at them. There seemed to be something odd about the way they were oriented, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.

“They showed Arthur’s superiority, did they?” said Frederick, smiling. “I think that was a wise decision on his part.”

Frederick called out to all before him. “Let the word of the King of the Romans be known. It is our imperial will that these stones be broken up, and be transported to Nuremberg. Instead of wasting away in this desolate land, they will be used as a testament to the glory of Rome, for even the rocks of this land come to give homage!”

By 1218, all that would be left of Stonehenge were imprints in the earth.


Nuremberg, December 1217

Frederick grabbed Ezzelino by the shoulder. “Are you sure you will not stay?” he said. “Think of all that we could accomplish, here.”

Ezzelino bowed before the Emperor, trying to think of a reply while the hammers of carpenters drowned him out. “You honor me, Lord,” said Ezzelino. “But my place is in my homeland, in Verona. I will be a loyal servant of the Empire there, ensuring that your word is heard even there.”

Frederick nodded, grinning. “I’m quite certain that you will. In fact,” said the Emperor, “I am so certain that I wish to reward you.” The Emperor clapped his hands, and heralds brought in documents for Ezzelino, piling them on top of the other gifts from the Emperor.

Ezzelino knocked aside a robe of silk to open the document. “Your Grace,” said Ezzelino, stumbling over his words, “I, ah, don’t know what to say.”

Frederick drew his sword and placed it on Ezzelino’s shoulder. “Say that you will serve me well, Ezzelino, Duke of Padania.”

Verona, May, 1223

The years had passed, and Ezzelino had proved himself to be a just lord. Perhaps in reaction to Frederick’s attitude towards governing, Ezzelino had always taken a course of moderation and peace between the factions in his Duchy. He could often be seen riding through his cities, wearing a scarlet tunic and a gold chain given to him by the Emperor, stopping to inspect the wares of merchants, or the crops of farmers. If there was ever a problem, he was told about it, and he would dispense justice fairly, if harshly.

Because of this, he was immensely surprised when, from the ancient Roman Coliseum, he heard the cry “Alleluia!” over and over again. Ezzelino finished his business with his tax collectors and rode towards the Coliseum.

When he finally arrived there, Ezzelino saw a man, dressed in a simple woolen robe, barefoot, lecturing the crowd on morals in Italian.

“Where there is hatred,” shouted Francis, “sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is darkness, hope. This is what the Bible tells us. But the Emperor, despite his love of books, apparently forgot to read that one.”

The crowd cried Alleluia again.

“But has not the Emperor caused the House of God to fall into ruin? He spends the wealth of the world to glorify a city in his family’s honor. Nuremberg has become a new Babylon, where the notion of a Christian Empire is made a mockery by a man who seeks to rule the world. It is a new Babylon, where the Emperor receives the tribute of the world.”

“I am,” yelled Francis, as the crowd cheered, “the Herald of the Great King. I am the Herald of the King to whom the Emperor is a subject, though he knows it not. I seek to restore the Church to the faith of the fisherman of Galilee, nothing more. Hear my words, citizens of fair Verona, and realize the truth.”

The crowd began cheering, and stopped, growing silent. Francis heard footsteps in the dirt behind him, and he turned around. Ezzelino, the Duke of Padania, stood before him. He looked at Francis for a long, long time, and finally came to a conclusion.

“We have been deceived,” yelled Ezzelino, as the wind picked up, blowing clouds of dust through the Coliseum. “It appears that this is nothing more than a madman.” The crowd continued to watch the two of them silent, as Ezzelino walked around, imploring them.

“I will not deny that there have been great changes in Italy. Nor will I not deny that there are some I wish had not happened. But that is the way of the world, and as the wheel of fortune turns, we must take the good with the bad. And, I believe, we have had much more that was good.”

“Men speak of oppression from the Emperor, yet when did they speak when it was Milan whose armies ravaged Italy? Where were they when Guelphs and Ghibellines slew each other by the score? Where were they when the Pope Innocent held that he was the Lord of the world?” demanded Ezzelino. “Where were they then?”

“For the first time in centuries, Italy is at peace. Towns are not torn apart by feuding families, cities do not exhaust one another in fruitless wars, and the roads of Italy are safer than they have ever been.” Ezzelino looked over the crowd. “Do you honestly say that you prefer to have tyranny from a man a mile away than justice from one five hundred miles away?”

Francis laughed, the only sound, in a coliseum of thirty thousand people, beside the wind. “My good lord, I did not know that you were a coward.”

Ezzelino’s jaw dropped. “What?” he roared. “How dare you say this?”

“By listening to you,” replied Francis, who smiled. “Changes that you might have hoped to prevent. Italians have given up rights that we have had for centuries. That is worth safer roads to you?” Francis cast an accusing finger at Ezzelino. “We know, all know, that you served with the Emperor in England. What did you see there?” yelled Francis. “You call yourself a lord, but because of men such as you, the Emperor could crush you like an insect. An excommunication by a German Pope, perhaps, followed by an invasion by a Sicilian army. Perhaps he would even send a Greek fleet to attack as well?”

The Duke of Padania’s gaze hardened. “I saw,” said Ezzelino, “ a realm torn apart by civil war. And I saw what happened to such a realm.” He spat into the dirt. “Get out of my city now, or your head will hang from my walls before nightfall.”

[127] A real family in Verona, who were Ghibellines (that is to say, pro-Imperial). Ezzelino is in Verona as in OTL, but he has not been kicked out of Vicenza as in OTL. This is due, largely, to the stronger Imperial presence throughout much of Italy.

Castle Hohenstaufen, 1228

Frederick flicked his wrist, and the hawk flew off of his hand, soaring through the sky. The bird saw a target, a sparrow flying through the air, and dove towards it. The Emperor laughed as the bird returned with its prey.

William of Holland’s own bird failed to catch anything, returning empty handed. Frederick smiled. “Yet again your bird returns empty handed. You should just give it to your servants to eat. It’s not doing you any good?”

William put the hood back on his bird. “I suppose you are right, your grace.” William shook his head regretfully. “To be honest, I was hoping that by seeing the bird fly, I would discover how to build a flying machine. But no matter how many times it flaps its wings, it will not take off.” William kicked at a rock. “ I do not understand. Air should support objects like water does boats. And indeed, to an extent it does. A kite will fly, but not a machine for a man [131].”

Frederick smirked. “There are those who would say that if man was meant to fly, God would have given us wings like angels.”

William almost glared at Frederick, before remembering that that was inadvisable. “God did not give us explosive powder, silk, or ships. We built these. Would you say that God frowned upon those as well?”

Frederick thought for a moment and took the sparrow that his falcon had caught. He cracked it, took a knife, and cut it open. “Observe,” he said. “The bones are hollow, and not solid like our bones. These creatures were light.” Frederick thought for a second. “I do not think that flapping is the way to get off the ground, either.”

William nodded, thoughtfully. “Well, a kite rises when you run. It gets dragged behind you, does it not, and then it is carried up by the wind.” He gave the Emperor a look, in awe. “You are saying that they must reach a certain speed before taking off?”

The Emperor nodded thoughtfully. “it would make sense, would it not? So they must run fast, and then flap!”

William thought about this, for he too was caught up in the excitement of the moment. “No, there’s more to it than flapping.” He pointed at the Emperor’s hawk. “It does not flap often, yet it still flies. There must be something more to it.”

Frederick thought for a few minutes, paying no heed to his other courtiers, who were still falconing. He thought again of the kite. Something was pushing up against it, clearly. “We must built a kite for a man,” said the Emperor. “It will not flap. It will be pushed up, instead.” He thought again. “But we need to find a way to make a man move fast enough.”

Henry had joined over by this point, and although he had been largely silent, he spoke up now. “Run down a hill,” he said. “Or jump off a cliff. And we will then see if man was meant to fly.”



Taunus Mountains, 1232

Frederick looked at the criminal again, and nodded. “Be not afraid,” said the Emperor, as the criminal wet his pants in horror. The Emperor looked down the hill. “This is the ultimate test of God’s mercy. If you survive, you will be released. If you don’t, then you are clearly fated to die, as it is ordained by God.” He nodded to William’s student Wolfram, who was controlling the machine.

“Please, my Emperor, I was innocent, I didn’t kill that man, he came at me with a knife, it was dark, please don’t kill me!” whimpered the peasant, who was fastened in. “I have children!”

“So,” said the Emperor, “did the man you killed. Now we will push you down, and I suggest you pray instead of whine. Perhaps if you soar, so will your soul soar to heaven.” The servants began pushing him, and the man was sent rolling down the hill, screaming.

And then, for the first time in history, a man took flight. It was beautiful, and everyone who was there would remember it for the rest of their life. He soared down over the hill, over the field, screaming in terror as he went. He soared a good five hundred feet, which, naturally, caused everyone who was nearby to turn and look in amazement. The peasant began descending slowly towards the ground, and it looked as if he might make it.

“You see,” said William, “I knew it could work. We may need to adjust it, but we are witnessing the first time man has flown without divine intervention.”

For the poor criminal, alas, things were not so well. While William was talking, he was pushed, by a wind, off course, and landed in a tree. The man was trapped there, placed there carefully by providence, and was safe.

Then the tree broke, crashing him to the ground and breaking his neck. William turned pale, while Frederick made a sound of disgust. “We lose more criminals that way.”

William turned a sickly shade of green as Frederick thought to himself. If only there was some way to power the gliders. As his servants removed the wreckage and the body from the tree, an idea struck the Emperor. He thought about what he knew of that shot up into the sky.

“Rockets,” he muttered to himself. “Rockets.”

[131] Bacon was the one who proposed that something in air let something float, so there is precedent for it in the medieval era.

Assisi, March 1221

Peter Von Anweiler rode through the fields outside the city in a pleasant
mood. A fine day's hunting, although not of animals, and he had made
himself, and the Emperor, known to the Italian peasants.

As Peter rode back towards the city, he saw a man and a woman walking out of
the woods. He laughed, and then took another look at the woman. A comely
lass, indeed, with light blonde hair and green eyes. Probably the daughter
of an Imperial soldier who had come through here, years ago. He tossed aside
his first bag of wine, dismounted, and walked over, his sword clanging at
his side.

"Greetings!" cried Peter. The man and the woman both knelt before him. "It
is a beautiful day, is it not?" said Peter. "Almost as beautiful as you,
fair."

"Bianca," the girl answered kneeling before him. "I am known as Bianca."

The man interjected. "I, my Lord, am known as Lucentio, and a citizen of
Pisa. I hope to marry her soon, and we are to be wed shortly."

Peter laughed, and opened up his second bag of wine. "Oh, surely a woman
such as you, fair lady, can do much better than one such as he."

Lucentio raised his fist and tried to punch Peter in the face, but even
drunk, Peter was more than a match for him, and had a sword. With poor
Lucentio dying on the ground, he advanced on Bianca.

"Come no, do not be a wasp," said Peter as he advanced on her.

Bianca tried to walk backwards, away from Peter, but tripped and fell. "If I
be waspish, beware my sting," she said, trying to get away.

"Oh now," said Peter, "my remedy then, is to pluck it out. "

Bianca swore, and reached for something that Peter could not see. "Aye, if
you, fool, could find where it lies."

Peter laughed, as much from the wine as from anything else. ": Who knows not
where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail." He pressed himself on top of
her.

Bianca leaned close to him, and whispered in his ear. "No," she said, "in
her hand, actually," and plunged a knife into Peter's eye.

Getting up, soaked in blood, Bianca ran to Assisi to tell them of the death
of Peter, and what he had tried to do.

Milan, July 1222

Ezzelino looked over the vast tents of the imperial army and snorted
contemptuously. This is what the people of Assisi had brought to Italy by
revolting, he thought. Another army of conquest. The Emperor's Sicilians
were involved as well, besieging Spoleto, which had also risen up. Before
marching south, the Emperor had decided to address the delegates from the
cities of Italy, who each year sent delegates to Milan, garrisoned by the
Emperor and ruled by an Imperial podesta, to listen to the Emperor's viceroy
's demands.

Frederick looked over the army and nodded grimly. "Fear will keep the
Lombard cities in line. Fear of my armies."

Ezzelino coughed. "My Emperor, perhaps you are overreacting slightly? I
will grant you that rebellion against the Empire is a horrible act," he said
quickly, as Frederick turned his gaze on Ezzelino, "but perhaps they do have
just cause? Peter was a tyrant, who oppressed the cities you let him rule."

Ezzelino stared defiantly back at the Emperor. "And to be frank, if I saw
you raping a woman, I would cut you down myself [130]."

"You go too far, Duke of Padania," said Frederick. "This is not just a mere
revolt. They have attacked a servant of the Emperor, who is God's regent
upon this Earth. This is an attack upon God and the Christian faith, and it
is my duty to see that both are defended." He slammed his fist on the table.

"If we are merciful," said the Emperor, "then we will be so because it suits
our interests, not because the people of Assisi deserve it."

Ezzelino stormed off.

Assisi, November 1222

The people of Assisi had surrendered, at long last. The sight of the
Imperial army, and the Emperor's personal banner, had convinced them that
resistance was futile. The city's leading citizens had come before him,
begging for mercy.

Ezzelino looked on as they knelt before Frederick, who had been lecturing
them for hours while they listened in terror, as he talked of St. Augustine'
s view of heretics. He had ordered that that woman, Bianca, be brought as
well, and she was there.

"We have let you into the city," she said, speaking up when no one else
would. "We have accepted your surrendered. Is that not enough?"

Frederick nodded. "And now," he said, "I will show you what the fate of
those who resist is." He nodded to a servant, who blew a horn.

"What is going on?" said Ezzelino. "I do not understand." It was then he saw
the smoke rising from the city. "Jericho," he said, whispering.

Bianca dared to raise her head and look. "Why?" she demanded. "This was not
part of the deal!"

Frederick was unimpressed by her hysterics. "I am altering the deal," he
said. "Pray that I do not alter it any farther."

Bianca rushed at the Emperor, who laughed. "No, there's no knife this time,"
he said, and knocked her down. He smiled, and left the tent. He did,
however, say one last thing before leaving. "I have decided that your
prayers were in vain."

Ezzelino, however, remained, and watched as the Emperor's guards cut the
heads off of each and every citizen of Assisi in that room.

When the butchery was done, he walked out of the tent, his boots covered
with the blood of Assisi. He ran up to the Emperor, in shock. "Why?" he
asked.

Frederick was unconcerned. "They were rebels. Why is what I did any worse
than what any number of rulers in Italy have done? You of all people should
know that it is an Italian custom to tear down the towers and walls of your
enemy." Frederick looked at Ezzelino oddly. "I was merciful, I think. I let
the vast majority of citizens live, and it was not necessary for me to do
so. I could have turned my soldiers loose, to take and steal what they
wished. I could have had the citizens declared heretics, and as such fair
game for anything. "

Ezzelino switched from speaking German to Italian, so that the Italians who
were nearby could hear him as well. "But you are the Emperor!" Ezzelino
fought to keep his hand off of his sword hilt. "You are supposed to be
better than that. You are a Christian ruler, not one of the pagans who sat
in Rome and killed thousands for pleasure."

He did not kneel before Frederick as he continued to address him. "There are
two things in this life for which men are bound to labor, and that is to
keep faith with friends and to live with honor. Today, Frederick of the
Staufen, you have done neither."

"You forget yourself," said Frederick. In a rage he walked away. "See that
it does not happen again."

Ezzelino walked away, towards his tent. "No, my Emperor," whisphered
Ezzelino. "I remember well who I am. It is you who forget."

Verona, January 1223

Ezzelino lifted his glass of wine. "I did not think I would ever be
welcoming a Capuleti into Verona," he said.

Juliet laughed. "That was a long time ago," she said, taking a sip of the
wine. "My father bore you ill will for it, and, to be frank, so do I," she
said, "but the condotta [131] comes first."

Ezzelino took another sip. He was not quite accustomed to women who wore men
's clothing and served in armies. Oh, sure, it was done, but it did not make
it any less disturbing. Of course, it was her father who had started the
company, and she had merely become the captain when he had died. "So you
will do it?"

"Oh, of course," said Juliet. "I have men who can get things into cities
without anyone being the wiser. We'll get these weapons into Milan for you."

Verona, May 1225

"No," said Ezzelino.

The Emperor's herald seemed unused to hearing that word. "You are telling
the Emperor you will not join him in the Crusade against the Lombards?"

Ezzelino rubbed his temples. "No, actually. I am telling the Emperor that I
will not let his men pass through St. Brenner's. He will not march through
my Duchy to invade Italy."

The herald looked at Ezzelino as if he had grown horns. "This is treason!"
he said. "You are going to disobey the Emperor? Do you want to die?"

"Treason, is it?" said Ezzelino. "The Emperor, this tyrant, whole sole name
blisters my tongue, was once thought honest; I loved him well. But he claims
to be the Prince of Peace. He argues for the right ordering of the world,
and for prosperity and order. I see only the ruins of Assisi. Peace is not
made in deserts, despite what the Emperor believes. "

Nuremberg, October 1225

The herald cried out in the Court of Emperors. " A messenger from Ezzelino
of Verona!" There was murmuring, of course, as the courtiers realized that
his title was not mentioned. Nor did he prostrate himself before the
Emperor, merely bowing.

"How dare you come to me from that and of traitors?" demanded Frederick from
his throne.

"I am not a traitor," replied the messenger in flawless German, "nor do I
come from a land of traitors. I come urged on by conscience to warn these
nobles not to accompany your unjust arms. You have abandoned the people
committed by God to your charge. You have hardened your heart against
complaints and supplications. The people have avenged their wrongs. They
will fight, and they will die, for their holiest rights. The Duke of Padania
would hate to see you suffer the fate of the pharaoh."

Frederick grunted. "So that is how it is to be, is it?" he said. He thought
for a moment. "I have a gift for Ezzelino, that he might remember his proper
place in the world."

The messenger returned to Verona carrying a piece of Stonehenge.

Florence, December 1226

Ezzelino looked down at the theater. "A play?' he asked. "We are in a war
for the defense of the Church against the Antichrist, and you would have us
watch some Tuscan's play?"

Francis smiled. "I think you will enjoy this play, Duke of Padania. It is
about our esteemed Emperor."

Ezzelino nodded. Since the destruction of Assisi, Francis had become even
more Anti-Imperial, something that those who had heard him speak before
would not have thought possible. His thoughts were interrupted by the
beginning of the play.


Frederick appeared to be asleep in a bed when he suddenly sat up. "Who is
there?" he demanded.

Suddenly the ghost of his mother Constance arose on the stage. "Beware, my
child!" it said. "Your father seeks to ensnare you."

"What do you mean?" said Frederick. "Why are you here?"

Constance ignored the second question and answered the first.

"Oh shame!" cried the ghost of Constance. "I suffer an unknown adulterer."

"What sort of adulterer, Mother?"

"No less than a bull.
Curved horns arise from the shaggy neck,
And a mane of thick bristles crown him.
A bloody liquid streams from both eyes,
His nostrils vomit flame with frequent snorts,
Ashes rise from his spreading ears and spew forth from his mouth.
His mouth also belches a thin flame
And a constant fire licks his beard.
As this sort of adulterer gained his desires,
He filled my womb with the deadly seed of Venus. "

"My womb felt the terrible burden of you, Frederick.
You are the true offspring of your father." [132]

Frederick was unperturbed.

"What more do you wish, my mother? Should I be ashamed?
Madam, of so great a father? Should I deny my divine origin?
I am born of the gods. Romulus and Remus,
Whose father was Mars did not enjoy so exalted a lineage."

Ezzelino sighed as he watched the play. If only things were so simple. But
however much some might wish it, the Emperor was no more the antichrist than
Francis was a heretic.

[130] As he said to Frederick OTL in 1237

[131] Contract. And while medieval mercenarywomen in leadership positions is
rather rare, Petrarch knew of at least one, so I don't feel any qualms about
making a child of a Capuleti

[132] Credit for this goes to Albertino Mussato, a 14th century poet of
Padua.

Fulda, January 1228

Baruch ben Avraham had lived in Fulda for his entire life. And so far, his life had taught him one simple thing: stay away from Christians. No matter which way the wind blew, as the saying went, it rained upon the Jews. He had stuck to his business of moneylending, which, of course, hardly earned him any popularity amongst the Christians.

And, of course, he had to collect his debts. Which was, of course, why he was arguing with this smithy. “I told you, you were to pay me back by the Emperor’s birthday. You did not do so. Therefore the interest increased. You knew this,” said Baruch.

The smithy, Anselm, looked around his shop for a weapon. Then he looked at the two toughs hired by Baruch behind him. “I will not pay a man who slays Christian children!” he yelled defiantly.

Baruch blinked. “What?”

”Yes, that’s right,” said Anselm, recovering his confidence. “You and your ilk have been ritually murdering Christian children!” He looked at the two toughs. “You are Christian, and should not even work with him! How dare you consort with one who slays Christians?”

The toughs looked around, and Anselm began raising the cry so that all could hear him. “The Christkillers are taking our children! The Christkillers are taking our children! Baruch the moneylender is in charge of it! They crucify them to scorn the passion of Christ!”

As the crowd began to gather, Baruch looked around, and gulped as he saw the number of knives. “Wait!” he said. “As a serf of the Emperor himself, I appeal to him for judgement!” The crowd paused, and Baruch continued speaking. “That’s right, the Emperor of Germany does not look kindly on attacks against Jews!”

Anselm regretfully put down his hammer. “Oh, fine,” he said. “But do not think the Emperor will be anymore merciful.”

Nuremberg, September 1228

Frederick looked at the Bishop of Speyer, and contemplated slicing him apart. “You are saying, in other words, that you can not come to a consensus regarding whether or not Jews throughout Christendom crucify Christian children in secret ceremonies.”

When Beruch had reached Nuremberg, he had put his case before Frederick, as had the people of Fulda. Their accusation, by this point, regarded all Jews in the entire world. And since all Jews were technically the emperor’s serfs, this was a problem.

To solve the problem, the Emperor had appointed the Bishop of Speyer, the Bishop of Constance, the Duke of Upper Lorraine, and several of his officials to a committee to decide if Jewish religious practices demanded that Jews sacrifice Christian children. Regrettably, the committee had not come to a consensus.

The Bishop of Speyer nodded in agreement with the Emperor. “Indeed. I myself think that they should all be slain, but-“

The Emperor cut him off. “Get out, now,” he said. “You will not tell me how to deal with my subjects.”

“Oh come now,” said the Bishop. “Surely you do not think that your Jewish doctor is truly there to make you well?”

Frederick laughed. “Of course! That awful potion he has me drink is slowly killing me, not helping my bowels. Another century of it and I shall perish.” Frederick took a long, hard look at the Bishop. “I wonder,” he said, musingly, “if we will need a new Bishop in Speyer soon.”

The Bishop walked out of the room backwards as fast as he could.

“Father,” said Henry, “I do not understand. If you hate heretics, why do you permit the Jews to keep their faith and live in our land? Are they not both damned?”

”Because,” said Frederick, sitting himself down in a chair, “it’s not the same. You know your St. Augustine, don’t you? What does he say regarding heretics?”

Henry sat down as well. “Of course, father. He teaches that just as counterfeiters threaten the currency of the realm and so must be killed, heretics threaten the salvation of the realm’s inhabitants. But don’t Jews do the same thing?” asked Henry.

“Not at all,” replied Frederick. “Think hard on this, my boy. The Jews have not given up their religion in a millennium of persecution. They will not do so until the end of times and the return of Christ. More to the point, no Christian would ever convert to Judaism, for it is an inherently inferior faith, failing to recognize the word of Jesus. Even the Mohammedans, whatever their other, numerous faults,” said Frederick, “recognize him as a servant of God. Their fault is that they do not recognize him as God’s son, and hold to a false prophet Mohammed.”

Henry considered. “This isn’t about the supposed crucifixition of Christians, is it? All subjects deserve justice, just as the Romans dispensed it to Greek and Celt alike?”

Frederick’s gaze shifted out the window. “Yes, my son. This is a matter of principle”.

“Well then,” said Henry, “if you seek to prove that Jews are not crucifying Christians why not just ask the Jews?”

”Because,” said Frederick wearily, “no one would believe them. We would need some one who was Christian but knew of Jewish practices.” [133]

Frederick’s eyes gleamed. “Like a convert, of course,” he said. “Jesus, how could I have been so stupid?”

Nuremberg, July 1229

Burach and Anselm of Fulda both stood before the Emperor. “The time of judgment is at hand!” cried a chamberlain. “Prepare to hear the words of the Emperor!”

The Emperor, upon his throne of ivory, recited a speech he had memorized beforehand. “Thanks to the good efforts of two servants of the King of France, who were once Jews but converted to the right faith, it has been prove to us conclusively that Jewish law, which, “said the Emperor, loudly, “is founded upon the same commandments as the true faith, abhors human sacrifice. Repetition of such slander against serfs of our Imperial Chamber will be treated as an insult to the Emperor. ” He looked at Anselm. “Remember that.”

Baruch felt the urge to breathe out, but restrained himself. The Emperor continued speaking while Anselm turned red.

“It is also our view,” said the Emperor, “that Jews have the right to initiate suits against those who have wronged them, for we do not wish them to persecuted in their innocence simply because they are Jews.”


Frederick could hear his courtiers talking about this in amazement. “The justice of the Emperor is not merely for the rich or powerful. It extends to all, even those who have not yet taken the light of Christ.”

He continued speaking. “Persecution of Christians against the Jews is, at the present time, excessive. If men in the Empire wish to fight the enemies of Christ and Kaiser, let them join the Crusade against the Franciscans. If not, do no Jew harm simply for being Jewish, for there are far worse crimes in the Empire.”

“But my Emperor!” burst out Anselm. “He is a Jew!”

The Emperor continued speaking. “Aye, he is a Jew. Has not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Does he not resemble you, in that?”

“He’s an usurer!” said Anselm. “He charges extortionate rates for loans!”

The Emperor paused to consider this. “And as a Christian, you find usury wrong?” Anselm nodded. “Then perhaps, as penance for taking a loan from some one not of the Faith, you should make a pilgrimage to Aachen, and visit the tomb of Charlemagne.”

The Emperor paused to consider this. “Barefoot. Starting in November. In a robe of horsehair. If usury offends you as much as you say, then your penance for such a deed must also be high.”

London, July, 1233

Alexander grumbled. The damn parlement would not consent to giving him the money he needed to take Norway. His wife Inga[133], was now potentially a Queen of Norway, which would mean that their son, Frederick, would be king [134].

His estates simply lacked the money. “My Emperor,” said his servant, Geoffrey, “there simply isn’t any money. No one in England will give us the money we need.”

Alexander thought about what to do as he listened to a delegate from Canterbury. Apparently there were those in England who chafed at minor problems like papal excommunications. The Archbishop proposed that he, Emperor by the Grace of God, do something to display his piety.

Alexander smiled. “If we cannot find those who will give us the money, we will simply take it.” He gestured for a herald. “Let it be known throughout the Empire that I, Alexander I, Emperor of Britannia, do hereby decree that the Jews of the Empire shall pay a tax for their right to live in this Christian Empire. If they cannot pay it, they shall be expelled.”

The money began to pour in, as Jews paid their taxes. But not enough. It was then decreed that the property of those who could not pay would be forfeit to the crown. Alexander had received a decent sum for this, but it was not enough. Parlement refused to pay for an expedition to support Alexander only.

On December 25, 1234, The Emperor ordered the expulsion of all Jews and the confiscation of their property. Britannia would be a pure, Christian nation, unlike the German Kingdom, where Jews were permitted to infest Christian land like rats.

Queensborough, May 1235

“Mother, where are we going?” asked Hamo.

“Hush, child,” said his mother, Aureleta. “We are going on a trip.” She tried to smile. “Won’t that be fun?”

”Will Father be there?” asked Hamo.

Aureleta frowned. She hated to lie to Hamo, but given all that had happened before now, his father’s death would hit him hard, one of the many killed in the pogroms in London. “If you’re a good boy, yes.”

She thanked God that her husband had been a wealthy man. They’d been able to pay for passage to Germany aboard a decent ship, along with many other Jews. They would be crowded on the ship, but what choice was there?

She felt the boat stop, and took Hamo up on the deck. The captain of the ship was walking on an island in the Thames. “You may as well stretch your legs,” he called. “Last chance before Antwerp.”

Aureleta paused, but Hamo had already headed down the rope ladder. She climbed down as well. She could not bear to lose her son now.

The tide began to rise after a few hours, and the captain climbed up on the ship. Aureleta and the other Jews began to follow him. But then the captain pulled up the rope.

“What are you doing?” cried Aureleta as the anchor was drawn up. “You can’t leave us here! We’ll drown!”

The captain laughed as his ship began to move. “Cry to Moses, who parted the Red Sea for your ancestors!”

”Please! We cannot swim!” begged Aureleta. The captain merely laughed as his ship sailed away.

The water continued to rise.

[133] Hmm. Without the Lateran Council, does Frederick still make Jews wear items to mark them as distinct? Probably.

[134] Solves the problem of who Alexander married, after all. Haakon III of Norway did not die in 1204. Instead, he lived and had a daughter as well, Inga, in 1206.

[135] Frederick was born in 1221, and it was thought that it would be a good idea to name him Frederick in honor of the Emperor. This is, needless to say, embarrassing.