Parts 38-43           

"There are so many Muslims in Egypt, and so few Franks, that if all pissed
in the same direction, they would be drowned in a flood not seen since
Noah."-Ibn Ammar, Through the Looking Glass

No mention of the 13th century is complete without Ibn Ammar, a 13th century
historian and philosopher in Egypt. Born in Alexandria around 1207, he
entered the service of the King of Egypt as a physician in 1224, serving as
his ambassador in delegations to the Caliphs in Baghdad, the Muslims along
the Mediterranean coast, and even, in 1228, to the Italians. What he saw
horrified him.

The Nile, 1224

"I say," said Hugh, King of Egypt and Cyprus, "is that a crocodile?" He
smiled and pointed at it. "It is a crocodile." He pointed at it, laughing
from the deck of his barge.

Ibn Ammar frowned. "My King, it is said that one should never smile at a
crocodile."

"Why not?" asked The King of Egypt. "That's just superstitious Saracen
nonsense." He looked at the crocodile, and smiled again. "Today is a good
day to hunt, I think."

The barge pulled along the shores of the river, while the crocodile
continued sunning itself. Hugh and two of the other barons advanced on the
crocodile, wading through the reeds with spears held high. Hugh threw it,
and it went through the air.

Unfortunately, it missed. The crocodile awoke, and dove into the water.
"Christs blood!" cried Hugh. "It advances on us!"

Then the other crocodile, which no one had noticed, bit into the leg of the
King, who screamed. Ibn Ammar sighed. "That," he muttered to himself in
Arabic, "is why you never smile at a crocodile." He went to his room and
began taking out medical instruments, hearing another scream. It would be,
he decided, a busy day.

Ibn Ammar calmly walked back onto the barge's deck, where the King was still
fighting the crocodile. The King had suffered enough, he decided. "My King!"
he called. "Poke it in the eyes and it will go away!"

The king plunged his spear into the crocodile's eye. "What do you think I
was trying to do?" He had, Ibn Ammar realized, managed to keep his leg,
which was a good sign. The King, Ibn Ammar noted, was managing to maintain
quite calm, considering he had foolishly attacked a crocodile and was
bleeding profusely, ruining a wonderful carpet from Damascus. "Hurry up and
bandage this. I wish to stop in a village on the way to Cairo."


As the King, it was Hugh's duty to administer justice to all his subjects,
including the lowliest of the low, Muslim serfs. He would, thus,
periodically stop in a village along the Nile and issue judgments. A good
man, Ibn Ammar had long since decided, despite the fact that he was not a
Muslim.

The village they chose to stop at was one of many which was a part of the
king's demesne. While they were there there was a most disturbing
experience, in Ammar's view.

Ibn Ammar stood by the King as he sat in judgement over a case. A poor
farmer stood before the king, in awe of his majesty. "My Lord King," he
said, in Arabic, "the Imam of this village is also our headmaster."

Hugh raised his eyebrows. "And?" he said, picking up a date while he waited
for the peasant to continue.

"My King," said the farmer, "he taxes us most unjustly. He beats those who
do not obey him unmercifully, and treats us like swine. He takes our produce
and claims it for himself, yet he claims far more than he should in your
name."

Hugh looked at the Imam, whose name was Yusuf. He ate another date, and then
spoke. "What have you to say of this, Yusuf?"

The imam knelt on the ground before the King. "Oh, this is false and
horrible slander, as you know, Lord of Egypt. Surely you, who see with the
eyes of a hawk, and are as intelligent as Aristotle, can see the truth
here."

Hugh looked over the imam, who was wearing fine clothes made of Italian
cloth, silk, and was as fat as some of the eunuchs at the palace. He thought
for a moment. "Yes, I do see," said Hugh. The imam smiled, and gave the
peasant a look that scared even Ibn Ammar. But the king was still speaking.
"I see," said Hugh, "that you are a thief and brigand, who attacks my loyal
subjects."

"Guards!" called the king. "Arrest this Imam."

The Imam looked at the King and spat. "This is most unjust!" he cried. "You
will pay for this!" The Imam drew a dagger and ran towards the king.

He was struck down by a rock, thrown by one of the farmers in the village.

For Ibn Ammar, this was a disturbing concept. The people of Egypt loved the
infidel king. And Hugh, and the other lords, treated Muslim serfs better
than the former Muslims did. What sort of world was it where Christians
brought justice, and the faithful tyranny?

Venice, October 1228

Ibn Ammar stepped off of the Venetian galley, most disquieted. The journey
here, across what was becoming a Nazarene [138] sea on a Frankish ship, was
disquieting. He looked around, and blinked in amazement.

Venice, perhaps, would never be the equal of Alexandria. But it had a
splendor all its own. Ibn Ammar wrote his famous saying, observing the docks
bustling with goods from across the world. "The wines of the Greeks sparkle
in the glasses of the Venetians, and even the poorest wear boots of Andalusi
leather. There were dozens of ships at dock on the rialto, as merchants
dickered with one another over trade. For Christians, they were almost
civilized.

The citizens of the city had come out to greet the delegates. Great tents
had been set up, covered in silken cloth, and the square itself was covered
likewise. Fine ladies and maidens stood to watch him, and more watched
through the windows. Their leader came forth to meet him, sedately walking
in black robes.

The Doge began to greet him, firing off a barrage of words in some awful
tongue. Fortunately, there were translators. "I greet you," said the Doge
through an interpreter, "as I would a relative of the King himself."

The head of the delegates, Bohemond of Damietta, bowed in reply, in the
Frankish tongue. "Forgive me," he said, "but this is the only tongue I know,
aside from Arabic." He nudged Ibn Ammar. "Eh?"

Ibn Ammar greeted the Doge as well, saying, "Greetings and glory to the
virtuous followers of Jesus, the exalted, respected, honored, venerated, and
esteemed ruler, Giacomo Tiepolo, greata and glorious ruler of this city, and
to his honored council of elders, friend of kings and sultans."

Ibn Ammar was about to continue when Bohemond cut him off. "He greets you as
well."

The Doge continued speaking. "Come, feast with us, and enjoy this fair
tournament, put on for your arrival. There is much for us to discuss,
regarding the intercourse between our nations."

Bohemond smiled. "Excellent!" he said. "That is a great honor, of course.
But first, let me present you with several gifts." He whistled, causing Ibn
Ammar to cringe, and from the galley came an obelisk from Egypt.

"It is called," said Bohemond, "the needle of Cleopatra, who apparently was
an Egyptian ruler before the Christians conquered it."

Ibn Ammar frowned at the needle. It was a giant pagan tower. The other gifts
that Bohemon had brought were surely better. Tigers, Indian calicoes, gold,
rubies, and ivories piled up on the docks.

Generous gifts, to be sure, but also a reminder to the Venetians who they
were dealing with. Egypt possessed wealth and power of its own.

The Doge bowed before the gifts. "On behalf of the people of Venice, I am
most honored. Allow us to present some small gifts of our own." He said
something like that, anyway; Ibn Ammar only heard this through translators.

The gifts were typical barbarian trash, decided Ibn Ammar. Their own
attempts at making silk, swords and armor, which were always of a
depressingly high quality, falcons, and silver.

It was when they gave him a gift that Ibn Ammar was surprised. "For your
servant and doctor, we present this gift, invented in Germany."

Ibn Ammar almost laughed. The idea of the people of Alemaniya developing
something of value was comical, at best, and insulting to him at worst. So
when he received a small tube with glass on the ends, he did not know what
to do with it.

"No, no," said one of the Doge's servants, who adjusted it. "Look through
it."

After the hours of gift giving, feasting, tournaments, and more gift giving,
it was
Nightfall. Ibn Ammar held his telescope up to the heavens, and looked in
amazement. But he was also disturbed.

The Pig eaters had invented something that Muslims had not. This would
bother him for the rest of his sojourn in Venice.

"We have heard of late that in the lands of the Franks, the philosophic
sciences are thriving, their sessions of study increasing, their assemblies
comprehensive, and their students abundant. What is worse is that we do not
do likewise. Persia has fallen to infidels from the East, Al-Andalus is
under siege, the land of Egypt is occupied by the Franks, the Turks are
defeated by the Byzantines, and on all fronts, Dar Al-Harb is victorious. I
fear that if we do not change soon, we shall be swept from the World like
sand in the desert.

Do not say that Allah would prevent this, for if He but wills it, He can do
away with you and make a new creation, for surely that is no great matter
for God" - Ibn Ammar

And so, while negotiations were conducted, Ibn Ammar remained in Venice. It
was in truth a city of majesty, built upon the waves. Its people were as
home in water as the fish of the sea, and they acted like it. Boats were
rowed between the islands, carrying everything from fish and fowl to silks
and satins. But it was the life of the Venetians that caught his eye.

There was a wedding procession, which he considered one of the most
beautiful spectacles of the world. Christians formed themselves into two
rows before the house of the bride. They played flutes and horns, and all
kind of musical instruments, until she came out, led by two men who held her
hands. She wore a dress of gold braided silk, with other women carrying a
train behind her. On her head she wore a gold band, and she stepped into a
boat.

She was thus ferried to a church, accompanied with music by all of her
family. The bride walked with grace and dignity, swaying her jewels and
adornments, stepping, indeed, like a dove. It was not, Ibn Ammar decided,
something that barbarians would do.


"Because the water and air in that land are so good, the women are
beautiful, of good height, and fine and fairylike creatures. Everywhere
there are girls without number as sweet, beautiful, graceful as the gleaming
sun, who enchant a man with every gesture and every movement, every word and
every act"- Through the Looking Glass

Alexandria, July 1231

Ibn Ammar looked at his camels and nodded. It was time, he had decided, to
leave. He was a bit surprised that the King had come to see him off, though.
"You are a good man, for an infidel," said the King, looking at the camel in
disdain. "Know that you are always welcome at my court."

Ibn Ammar looked around the courtyard of the King's palace. It was still
early, and the sun had barely risen. A quiet time, when none could hear the
words that were spoken. Ibn Ammar sighed. He would miss the palace, despite
everything. "I shall miss you, King of Egypt," said Ammar in the Firanji
tongue. "But there is something I must do."

Hugh looked at the camels again. Ibn Ammar had sold off most of his
possessions for ready coin. He was afraid that the doctor would not come
back, which would be a pity. "Your pilgrimage is that important to you, is
it?" The King thought, not for the first time, how seriously these Saracens
would persist in following their false faith. Something honorable in it, he
decided.

Ibn Ammar got on his camel and rode off. "I am afraid it is, King of Egypt.
It was the homeland of my family, and I do not wish to die until I have seen
Mecca."

Hugh laughed. "Perhaps," he called after Ibn Ammar's horse, "I will see you
there some day."

Ibn Ammar looked behind him at the King. Hugh was a good man, but he was a
threat to all that he held dear. Unless things changed, the king of Egypt
might very well sit in Mecca.


"A storm is coming. Our storm. And when it arrives it will shake the
world."-Sayings of Ibn Ammar, Mu'adib[139]

[138] Christian

[139] It means teacher in Arabic.

Drammen, May 1235

Henry sighed as he took in the fresh crisp air. It was good to be off of a boat, and on dry land again. Henry paused to look around at the mud. Well, mostly dry land.

He looked off in the distance at the rolling green hills. Quite impressive, actually. Norway was a green and pleasant land. He frowned as he thought of the Britannic army. If they had their way, it wouldn’t remain green and pleasant for much longer.

Henry had heard the English claim that they were lovers of liberty, which they claimed no good man would give up without his life. Yet here they were, invading Norway, fighting people who had done them no harm. Perhaps Imperial rule in England had been a bit harsh, but they were the ones who had invited Frederick to rule them! Of course there had been some injustice, but this was not Paradise. In the world of man, they were to be corrected. He tried to imagine what the King of Scotland [142] would do if some higherlander rebelled against him. Kill him, of course.

Henry’s musings were interrupted by Sigurd, the rightful king of Norway. “Hail and well met, brother!” said Sigurd, slapping Henry on the back. “It is good to see the son of the Emperor in Norway.”

Henry clasped Sigurd’s hand. “It is good to see you,” said Henry. Clearly this was his sort of king. “I, on behalf of the have come to aid you in your struggle against the tyrannical invaders from England.” The Norse and Germans alike cheered.

Henry inhaled and practiced the oratory arts which he had learned as a child. “The Norse and the Germans are both of the same ancestral people, linked by fraternal bonds since time immemorial. We have lived as brothers for centuries, held close by the love of Christ and ties of affection. We are the greatest peoples in Christendom, the shield and sword of Christ!” The Norse who could understand German, and the German army, cheered.

Later that night, feasting in the great hall, drinking the Norse beer, Henry and King Sigurd started talking. Sigurd was deep in his beer, and perhaps a bit depressed. “My friend,” he said in poor German, “I think that God may be against us.”

Henry slammed his cup on the table, spilling the foam all over. “Why do you say that?”

Sigurd continued drinking. Henry frowned at the sight of some one drinking so much beer when they should be fighting for their kingdom. “The English have sent many men over, and that rich bastard Skule thinks he owns this country.” Sigurd tossed his cup against the wall.

Henry sipped his beer and thought. The Empire was stretched on so many fronts. Italy, Norway, the rumblings in France, the Baltic… if it didn’t end soon Germany would be as poor as Castille. “These are hard times,” he said, wiping the foam off his mouth. “And the heretics and foes of Germany are ruthless. Unless we are ruthless,” said Henry, “nothing, nothing, will remain but heretics and traitors.”

Sigurd dropped his cup. “Assassination?”

Henry gave the famous Staufen smile, sending a chill down Sigurd’s spine. “it merely appears to me,” he said, draining his cup, “that as a rich and arrogant man, Skule Jarl has certainly made his share of enemies.”


Bergen, July 1235

“Prince Henry, Prince Henry,
He should have stayed at home.
Prince Henry, Prince Henry,
He’ll run away through sea foam.

Prince Henry, Prince Henry,
German through and through.
Prince Henry, Prince Henry,
Run or we shall run you through!”

Skule Jarl lied back and belched as he listened to the song. Life was good. He had vast tracts of land, vast piles of wealth, and vast numbers of women. Power would soon be his, as well. In time his sons might be kings. Perhaps, he thought, drinking beer, they would be Emperors, like the ones in Miklagard or Nuremberg. “More beer!” he called.

Hilda came up beside him and poured another beer. Hilda had been a woman he’d kept around for years, until he’d found one who was younger and better in bed. Now she remained around, to serve him in other, less demanding ways. He slapped her bum affectionaly as she poured. “This is good beer, not the stuff you give to the peasants, heya?”

“No,” said Hilda, smiling, “this is just for you.” Skule Jarl took a sip of it, and took a gulp. “I swear by Christ’s balls, Hilda, it’s to die for.”

Hilda leaned close, and whispered in his ear. “That is the idea, yes.” Skule Jarl felt his nose go numb. He tried to move his hand to feel it, but couldn’t. Strangely, he found himself not caring.

By the time anyone noticed Hilda was missing, it was far too late. Skule Jarl was dead, and she had had her revenge.

“Prince Henry, Prince Henry,
He should have stayed away,
Prince Henry, Prince Henry,
We will kill you on this day!

Prince Henry, Prince Henry,
Cold outside our wall,
Prince Henry, Prince Henry,
Know that you will fall!”

The months passed, and Norway became increasingly chaotic. With the death of Skule Jarl, men flocked to Sigurd the Just and his friend Henry the Crafty. The English, however, retained control of ports such as Bergen; there were occasional battles in the North Sea, but neither side could field anything like what we could consider a navy.

Bergen, in truth, was the key to Norway. If it could be taken back, it was agreed, the English would have no port in Norway. They would be forced to give up, and Sigurd would be restored. But if it wasn’t taken, the English could use it as a gateway into Norway, and invade as they pleased.

Thus, Henry the Crafty, looking upon how quickly some men moved on skis, developed an idea. He, Sigurd, and a few hundred of Norway’s finest warriors, had set out on skis in late December.

Henry shivered as he looked through his telescope at the walls of Bergen. He was wishing for the warm sunny days in Germany, something he would have never thought possible. But if this could work, it would all be worth it.

The English had been feasting for weeks in Bergen, celebrating the birth of Christ in their own damned ways. They had cut down on the number of guards, confident that no German could attack them in terrain such as this. They were correct.

The Norsemen continued gliding across the snow, approaching the gate of the city. The English, fools that they were, didn’t even have torches near the gates.

A Norseman, who Henry never knew, had been ready to open the gate at their approach. It went as had been planned.

The irony was that there had been attempts to warn the English of the coming army. But the English commander, the Earl of Huntingdon, had not listened, as there was no reason to be afraid of Norweigans. The English, unlike the Germans, did not listen to their allies in Norway, and so they were doomed.

The English were still asleep, or drunk. It was not a battle, or even a skirmish. There were no tales of heroism, of men who fought against all odds. It was a slaughter of sleeping men. By dawn, the English were dead to a man, and Henry the Crafty had taken Bergen.

Drammen, May 1236

Sigurd embraced Henry. “I will miss you, you damned crafty, devious, pompous, trickster. Know that the House of Staufen shall always have a friend in the Kings of Norway, from now until the end of days. ”

Henry returned the affection. “For some reason,” said Henry, “I think I will miss you, despite your foolish actions in battle, and your inability to hold your own with beer.” Henry looked towards his boat. “I must go,” he said. “Thank you again for teaching me how to use the skis.”

Sigurd smiled. “I doubt you will find many places to use them in Germany. It’s all flat land there.”

Henry looked south across the sea. “Oh, perhaps along the North Sea and Baltic, but there are the Alps.” Henry thought for a moment and brightened. “Yes, I think using skis there would be better than hunting!”

[142] Yes, Alexander is also the King of England. But the Germans don’t see it that way.

Seville, May 1234

Ibn Ammar sniffed the air of the city. This was the city of oranges, he was told, and you could smell them, even approaching the city from the sea. He would stay in this city, he had decided, at least for a while.

Ibn Ammar had completed the Hajj in the Christian year of 1232. He had circled the Kaaba, eaten a goat in remembrance of God’s gift to Abraham, and there, he had met with some men from Al-Andalus, who were going on the hajj. He had talked with many of them, one known as Tashufin in particular.

It had been over a campfire one night, as they were eating goat, that the topic of Egypt had come up. Tashufin had been sympathetic. “By the prophet,” said Tashufin, “it is a wonder that the Franks occupy the heart of Islam, and yet none raise a hand against them. There must be a hundred Muslims for every one of the infidel in Egypt.”

Ibn Ammar had nodded agreement while chewing on a piece of goat. “But the truth is, my friend,” replied Ibn Ammar, “that the Franks are good rulers. People prefer them over the Fatimids, and over the sons of Salah ad-din. A sad world we live in, when people prefer the Franks over their own rulers.”

Tashufin disagreed, of course. “Sad, perhaps, but ineveitable. You yourself agree that the Franks, although they are infidels who trespass in the lands of Islam, can rule justly. The Fatimids and the Ayyubids could not. So you must ask what the Franks do differently, shouldn’t you?” Tashufin bit into his piece of goat as Ibn Ammar stared into the fire.

Tashufin had eventually convinced Ibn Ammar to come to Al-Andalus, for there was always a need for doctors there, and unlike North Africa, it was a civilized land. He still had wealth from his years serving the Kings of Egypt, and he had left, to seek his own promised land. Seville, he had decided. He had taken a Frankish ship from Ascalon to Seville in 1233, and had had a pleasant journey, given that the crew kept trying to serve him wine. Ibn Ammar stepped off of the ship and walked through the harbor.

The reaction of most of the Sevillans was a bit odd, actually. They seemed genuinely friendly towards the Pisans who sailed the ship he had been on, eager to trade with them. He recalled something being mentioned about how the Italians had helped save the peoples of Al-Andalus in their war against the barbarians to the north, but he wasn’t quite sure what had happened. Something to find out, later.

But first, he decided, some relaxation. He heard music drifting out of a doorway, something melodious and rich, yet melting at the same time. He entered the shop, and ordered a cup of the Sevillan orange juice and a plate of fruit, and watched an amazing sight.

In the center of the room were slave girls, singing and playing instruments. The music was so pleasant that Ibn Ammar found himself filled with joy and excitement. Then the lead singer began to sing, in a voice fresher than flowers after rain and sweeter than the embrace of a lover. Tamborines and flutes accompanied her as she sang, and Ibn Ammar listened while the others danced [143].

“The fire-a laughing dancer with whirling sleeves.
She laughs at the wood, whose blackness,
Her dancing transforms to gold.”

Ibn Ammar drained his cup. He would, he decided, like Seville.

The weeks melted into months, and Ibn Ammar’s practice grew. He established a shop along a busy road in Seville, and many of the rich and wealthy in Seville came to see this doctor from the East. He made, if not a great living, a good one, healing the sick. He bought a house, wit rooms overlooking the courtyard, and a garden in the center. He dined with Tashufin often, and carved out a life for himself, far in the west. He was even able to, in his spare time, write.

One evening, he and Tashufin were walking along the bangs of the Guadalquivir. They were playing a game in which one person would toss out the opening lines of a poem, and the other would finish the stanza.

Ibn Ammar tossed out a line while looking at the river.

“The wind turns the river
Into a suit of chain mail.”

Tashufin thought about a response. Before he could give one, though, a girl walked by carrying a jar and finished the poem in the proper meter.

“What a fine suit indeed,
If the frost made it freeze.”

Ibn Ammar blinked, as impressed by her looks as by her poetry. “Most excellent,” he called after the woman. But she had vanished into the crowd of walkers along the river.

Ibn Ammar looked into that crowd. He would find that woman, he vowed, and make her his wife.

First, of course, he had to find her.

He did not see her for weeks, and almost gave up hope. But, as the story goes, one day, in the market, he was looking at a fine silk scarf. While haggling with the merchant, he felt something hit his rear. He turned and saw a train of mules. Ibn Ammar tried to brush it off, but was unsuccessful.

It kept on happening, and, distracted, he ended up paying more than he should have for the scarf. Finally he walked over to the woman driving the mules, furious.

”Watch where you drive those! You keep hitting people who walk by and distracting them!” yelled Ibn Ammar. Then he took another look at the woman, who looked most distraught.

“Forgive me, please,” she said. “The mules seem to be bothering only you, and I know not why. Please, sir, do not mention this to my master.” Her voice trailed off as she realized that Ibn Ammar was familiar.

“Are you married?” asked Ibn Ammar, who suddenly became courteous to her. When she replied no, Ibn Ammar smiled. “Good,” he said. “When I buy you free, I shall marry you.”

He bowed before her, a Frankish custom that seemed to impress their women. “But first, my good lady, who is as sweet as an orange on a summer morning, you must tell me your name.”

The woman was a bit taken aback. “My name,” she said at last, “is Shaqira.”

Seville, January 1236

Ibn Ammar strolled by the river, content in a way he had not been for years. His practice was thriving, there was peace in Al-Andalus, as the infidels of Aragon, Castille, and Leon warred with one another [144], and his wife was pregnant. Perhaps, he thought, he would buy some land, and acquire an estate of his own for his family.

Ibn Ammar’s ramblings were interrupted by a crash in front of him. Before he could see what was happening clearly, a man had been thrown from his horse.Ibn Ammar swore and ran over next to the man, who was surrounded by several other men on horseback.

One of the men was screaming into the crowd. “Is there a doctor! We need a doctor here now!” A crowd had quickly gathered around the fallen man.

Ibn Ammar pushed people aside, running forward. “I’m a doctor,” he said, panting. He turned to one of the crowd. “Go and fetch my equipment.” The man stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do.

Ibn Ammar knelt down and began treating the man, calling for cloth for bandages, and materials for splinting. If there was no fever, if God did not wish for this man to die, he should be fine. When he was finished, the man’s servants carried him away. “You must come to visit my office, so that I can ensure the bones are properly set,” he said, as the man was carried away. “Do you understand me?”

The man smiled, and nodded. “Know this, Ibn Ammar of Egypt,” said the man, breathing slowly. “You have earned my trust and friendship.”

Ibn Ammar became somewhat irritated. “I am a doctor. I would do this even if I hated the man.”

The patient smiled. “I hope that is not true of me.” And with that, he was carried away by his servants.

The crowd pressed around him. “Do you realize who that was?” said one of the men. Ibn Ammar shrugged, a Firanji gesture he had picked up. “That was Ibn Hud, the Emir of Al-Andalus.”

Ibn Ammar wished, briefly, for some wine. Good Cypriot wine, as the King of Egypt had enjoyed. Maybe with some wine, he could learn just why Allah kept making powerful men become sick or injured around him.

[143] Oddly, we don’t know much about the dances of Moorish Spain. Some have proposed that they’re like Persian dances, but it also seems likely that Moorish dancing was similar to the flamenco.

[144] For a reminder, check post 34, in which the King of Aragon is captured and held for ransom by Pisa. While he’s away, Leon and Castille are fighting one another; Enrique of Castille’s hold on the state is opposed by the King of Leon.

Henry VI's position as of 1196:

• In Lombardy, the cities were his vassals, and there were imperial castles at the exits of the Alpine passes and south on the Po.
• In the northeast, German nobles held all the imperial fiefs (Marches of Verona, Treviso, Friuli, & Istria) & corresponding castles. Aquileia & Cividale were held by Germans, and the other cities were his vassals.
• In the Piedmont, unlike Lombardy, much of the land was still owned by the feudal nobility, vassals owing military service. Generally-speaking, these nobles (Savoy, Montferrat, Biandrate, del Vasto, etc.) sided with the Emperor against the cities for fear they would absorb their lands as they had in Lombardy. The most powerful (Savoy & Montferrat) were related to the Staufen.
• Most important was the large Matildine inheritance, which gave the Emperor direct control of the old Counties of Emilia (Reggio & Modena) & Mantua astride the Po. The 3 cities were vassals, but the rest was imperial property.

Let us turn now to the east.

If you thought France was bad, wait until you read about Poland.

In 1138, Poland’s king, Boleslaw, a Piast, adopted a Kievan practice for succession. Political authority is invested in the princeps, the eldest of his five sons. Krakow and Sandomierz would form the basis of his power, but he would retain the right to make appointments to all major offices of the Piast patrimony. His brothers would be his viceroys.

This works about as well as you’d expect. In 1202 there were five Piast duchies. By 1250 OTL, there were 9.

And it gets better. Boleslaw IV submitted to Frederick Barbarossa in 1157. Nor was he the first Polish ruler to do so. Therefore, Poland is acknowledged to be an Imperial vassal.

Needless to say, Frederick I had better things to do than focus on a backwater like Poland. Henry VI did as well. However, by 1216, he was able to turn on Poland once more, demanding that the ruler, Leszek I, give him homage. Leszek refused.

And then Frederick II took over. To make a long story short, Leszek found himself missing the top foot of his body, and Ladislaus, son of Mieszko, Duke of Poznan and Gniezo, became the new ruler of Poland.

It is striking that Ladislaus does not adopt the title of King of Poland. The title had not been used for many years; and, alas, it would soon fade from history, just as Lotharingia did.

Ladislaus, in term, adopts German habits and traits. In the 12th century, Polish kings listened to tales of Polish myths; Ladislaus listened to minnesangers. Efforts were made to invite Germans to settle across his lands, as they were already moving into Silesia, Pomerania, and Prussia.

It is worth noting that this is not a violent conquest. The Germans were invited (although, alas, no punch and wine was served). “German” settlers, often Flemish, brought superior agricultural methods, such as iron ploughs and new methods to reclaim marshes and clear forests. The settlers come seeking a better life, and, by and large, most find it. Poles of course are not often so lucky, and most are forbidden from immigrating to cities, due to the fear of nobles of losing their manpower.

The other Eastern nation of note is Hungary. After the death of Bela III, a dispute over succession broke out.

Bela’s sons are known as Emeric and as Alexander. Emeric quarrels with Alexander, over succession. Henry is distracted, but by 1201, when Constantinople falls, he can turn his full attention to the issue. The treaty that is formed declares that in the event of Emeric’s death, Henry VI will take over as guardian for his son, Ladislas III, who was born in 1199. When Emeric dies conveniently in 1204, Ladislas is sent to Nuremberg, where he is raised.

Alexander himself claims the throne of Hungary in 1207, when it seems as if the Emperor will be distracted. And, it is true, Ladislas remains a pretender to the Hungarian throne.

In 1213, however, at the age of fourteen, Ladislas is sent east with an Imperial army. At Henry’s urging, he promises great rewards to the Hungarian nobility, and does homage for Hungary in exchange for support gaining his throne [145].

Croatia and Dalmatia are also passed to the Kingdom of Germany from the

Kingdom of Hungary [146]. This is done intentionally, so that Germany has its own ports in the Adriatic, independent of those of the Kingdom of Italy or Byzantium. Zara in particular is given great privileges, and many loyal Imperial subjects are encouraged to settle there.