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Random History Notes [Austritaria]

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Random History Notes [Austritaria]

Postby Igoria » Sat Jul 11, 2015 9:05 am

This thread is where I'll store historical notes that are too random or unrelated to include in other factbooks.

Biography

Basileus Zikhmerius IV "Silvermask" of Rivadis
Zikhmerius IV "Silvermask" is one of the more interesting Rivadi Emperors. He has been viewed as one of histories greatest villains by many historians in Igoria today, and there is great reason for him to be viewed as such. He was a cruel and savage tyrant who brutally executed anyone who opposed or questioned him. Yet at the same time, he was a skilled and determined ruler who prevented the Rivadis Empire's collapse in one of its darkest episodes in history. The aim of this brief biography is to introduce the ordinary reader to his life and doings.

Zikhmerius was born in 689 AD on his father's estate in the countryside surrounding the city of Sorsonopolis in the Rivadis Empire. He was the son of Nikephoros Coroilano, a blue-blooded nobleman with several rich estates scattered around the Empire. He was tutored by the historian and thinker Anathemes of Taractul, who taught him history, literature and the values that all Rivadi nobles had to uphold. Zikhmerius early life was spent in the twilight years of the Rivadis Empire's Silver Years, an age of prosperity and great power that was not to last. As a result, he lived a blessed childhood, never wanting for anything, and yet his father was cautious not to spoil him too much. When Zikhmerius came of age (16) in 705, his father set him to managing parts of his estates. For four years, Zikhmerius did just that. Aged 20, his father found him a wife, a lovely young lady called Evantia, whom Zikhmerius married. At Nikephoros' command, Zikhmerius moved to Katopsis and became a part of the complex Rivadi bureaucracy, within a few years becoming a secretary to the Master of Justice, Lysandros. However, Lysandros soon fell out of favour with Emperor Atikan VI, who had him executed, and Zikhmerius was sidelined to become what was the Rivadi equivalent of Secretary of Agriculture. Soon after, Nikephoron Coroilano died, and Zikhmerius inherited most of his estates, though some were left to his younger brother Theodore.
From the age of about 25 until the age of 28, Zikhmerius held the post equivalent to Secretary of Agriculture. All this while, as was not uncommon for many politicians and courtiers, he began to find allies and patrons in the capital, all for one reason: to be in a position to seize power when Basileus Atikan VI died. Atikan was in his fifties, past his prime, and childless. The Rivadis Empire had a strong belief in ability before blood when it came to their Emperors, so the squalling two-year-old niece of a deceased Emperor would be out of the question to inherit. Some successions were relatively bloodless, when the candidate ascended with mutual consent from all those holding positions of power, others would last for years and would see much bloodshed.
Zikhmerius was fairly lucky with his choice of allies. His greatest ally would be the Master of the Household Cavalry Eutropius, the commander of a part of the Emperor's elite bodyguard.

Then, in 717, the Emperor at last died. But he died in the midst of one of the greatest catastrophes in the history of the Rivadis Empire, which seemed to distract most people from the succession crisis that was developing.

In late 716, a trading ship landed in Denator. On board the ship were infected rats carrying a plague. By 717, this plague was ravaging the Empire, striking down people regardless of rank and status. The ageing Emperor fell victim too, as did a quarter of the population of Katopsis. All in all, it is estimated that 15-20% of the entire population of Rivadis perished in this plague in the next few years. But that was not all that befell the Empire in that fateful year, which was named the "Year of Sorrow" and "Year of Judgement" by many Rivadi historians writing about it. The Empire experienced floods in some parts, simultaneously to droughts in other parts. Hostile invasions from the north ravaged the northern provinces. All of this contributed to a state close to famine in many places, which was prevented only by Zikhmerius' successful management.

While the Empire was being ravaged and ruined by invaders, weather and pestilence, Zikhmerius remained in Katopsis plotting. The cavalry commander Eutropius was taken ill with the plague, but he would recover. In the meantime, Zikhmerius seized command of the elite cavalry force, and used it in turn to seize command of the Imperial Palace and proclaim himself Emperor. He sent a trusted eunuch, with a bribe, to the city garrison, who too went over to Zikhmerius and accepted him as their Emperor. With his post secure, Zikhmerius had the Patriarch of Katopsis crown him and set to remedying the Empire's problems. His first order of business was to dispatch the by now healthy Eutropius north with an army to confront the invasion. Eutropius was successful in doing so, crushing the invaders in several bloody battles. Zikhmerius also took steps to reduce the food and supply problems. He used his agronomical expertise as "Secretary of Agriculture" to personally inspect the dry/flooded farmland and had experts try and solve the problems to prevent this failed harvest from recurring. Zikhmerius also nigh on emptied the treasury to try and import food from abroad, but there was still not enough. Even despite his best efforts, the nation was still greatly weakened. Another invasion in 718 and then another in 720 and yet another in 723, which lasted until 726, prevented him from diverting the money that was necessary to pay troops to import food or try and combat the plague sweeping the Empire.
In order to increase the Empire's revenue to pay for food and soldiers, Zikhmerius doubled, then tripled taxes. He also cracked down hard on any corruption within the ranks of his tax collectors by hanging or enslaving any caught helping themselves to peoples' taxes.

In 719 came the first major rebellion, when hungry, disgruntled peasants marched on Katopsis demanding bread, a decrease in taxes and the sacking of corrupt officials. Emperor Zikhmerius was having none of it. The garrison of Katopsis marched out of the city and formed up for battle. Zikhmerius commanded them to charge, and the disciplined, heavily armed soldiers cut through the peasants like a knife through butter. Many threw down their weapons and yielded, but Zikhmerius had them slaughtered anyway. More than 20,000 people died that day.
Even though Zikhmerius did his best to solve the problems that ravaged the Empire, the living standard and general prosperity of the Rivadis Empire still steadily decreased. All the while, angry mutterings, dissent and anger among both the lower classes and the nobility were steadily increasing and Zikhmerius' enemies were getting all the more and more outspoken against him.
In 721, some of Zikhmerius' closest allies as well as fiercest enemies conspired to have him removed from power, following his brutal punishment (blinding) of a rich an powerful Senator who had been arrested for treason. But an informer let Zikhmerius know. He had the traitors dragged before him, and condemned them all. He was particularly shocked when among them he found a childhood friend, one of the men that had helped him rise to power in the first place. But Zikhmerius would offer no clemency. He had them all crucified or buried alive.
Zikhmerius wanted to be clear that no treason would be tolerated. He wanted people to simply tighten their belts and get on with the long and hard process of healing the nation. But his cruel treatment of those he convicted only resulted in more treasons and betrayals.
In the end, it made him crack. He had done the best he had to save the Empire, and indeed he had possibly saved it from collapse, but the constant treasons and rebellions were too much for him. In 721-23 there had been dozens of uprisings from angry client kings, governors and political rivals as well as simple aggravated peasants, all of which needed to be crushed at a great cost in both money and men. Yet the Emperor had toiled on to try and salvage the desperate situation the Empire remained in.

From 725 to 727, Zikhmerius had hundreds of people tortured and executed for opposing him, and did little and less to try and rule. His cruelty climaxed in ordering the arrest and execution of the Patriarch of Katopsis in 727, who had been preaching against him. He had the dead Patriarch's body displayed for all to see. It was enough to throw many people over the edge. His executions of nobles, senators and commoners had been bad enough, but this was an affront against the Ethreist God. A huge crowd gathered in the city centre. When Zikhmerius sent the city guard to suppress them, the city guard turned against the Emperor. They'd had not only their pay, but also their rations cut in order to provide for the frontline troops who were fighting against invaders. This crowd of townfolk and angry soldiers stormed the palace, overpowered those men still loyal to Zikhmerius, and seized the Emperor himself. Zikhmerius at this point had given up on life. He had become unusually pessimistic in the last few years of his reign, and he probably welcomed an end to it all. The crowd had been egged on by those nobles and senators who opposed and hated him. When Zikhmerius was seized, they proclaimed a young senator, Allis, to become the new Emperor Allis I.
Allis was the son of one Andronikos Malahion, who had been a popular senator whom Zikhmerius had executed on the charge of treason. Allis had Zikhmerius stripped of his crown and regalia, and gave him to the crowd to do with as they would. As expected, the mob dragged Zikhmerius down into his own dungeons and tortured him.
The vengeful plebs cut off the former Emperor's nose and cut out part of his tongue. They also tried to blind him. But before they could do so, one of Allis' representatives rescued him, bandaged him up and dragged him back up to face the new false Emperor. The Emperor decided to be "merciful" and had Zikhmerius exiled.

The next seven years Zikhmerius would spend in exile on the remote, stony and fairly bleak island of Dirnthir, the Empire's furthest outpost, pitched out in the Tyrophelian Ocean far from the mainland. The island had been unaffected by the tragedies that had befallen the metropolitan Empire, but it was bleak anyway. Trade was the main, well, trade of many of the islands inhabitants, as well as fishing. Any officials on the island expressed a desire to return to mainland Rivadis as soon as possible.
Anyway, as soon as the disgraced, exiled and mutilated Emperor arrived he was already planning a return to power. His first action was to seek out a renowned Britarian silversmith and have a full face mask made out of silver, which Zikhmerius would wear to the end of his days. This resulted in the island's governor, a man called Lysandrochon, calling him "Silvermask". The name stuck, and Zikhmerius would be called that by many of his enemies and what few friends he had.
Zikhmerius' life on Dirnthir is little known. But it is suspected that for the next seven years, from his exile in 727, he contacted mercenaries and found himself allies and pawns among the island's population. The Dirnthiri had little love or loyalty to the Rivadis Emperor in Katopsis, who they were certain cared little to nothing about them. Many of the islands officials felt like they had been sent to this island to die. As such Governor Lysandrochos threw his full weight behind Zikhmerius, laying his sword down at the ex-emperor's feet and swearing an oath of loyalty.

It is commonly said that Zikhmerius spent the next seven years sustaining himself on little more than bitter anger and a desire for revenge. Then at last in February 734, he took action. Zikhmerius was by now 45, fairly old for the time, but he still moved with vigour and grace. He crossed the Tyrophelian Ocean and landed in Centulas a month later, and marched on a northern provincial capital with a force of Dirnthiri soldiers and mercenaries. As luck would have it, who should be commanding that province's military forces but his old friend Eutropius? Eutropius was a skilled military commander, which had made him a valuable asset in this time of the Empire's weakness, but his support of Zikhmerius had lead to him being excluded from any political role under Allis I, and eventually lead to him being all but exiled to one of the northern provinces, where he was to far away from Katopsis to be a danger. In reality, it had the opposite effect. So far from Katopsis, Eutropius, had not been idle, gathering all those who opposed Allis. As it turned out, there were many. Zikhmerius may have been a cruel ruler, but he had been a skilled ruler. Allis was hardly so. He had gone back on his promise to lower taxes, realising that it was impossible given the Empire's precarious financial situation. Furthermore, Allis had sacked many of the officials appointed by Zikhmerius, many of whom owed their posts to their ability rather than their political loyalty or influence, and replaced them with lickspittles and those who had supported his ascension.
Anyhow, Eutropius gathered those who opposed Allis around himself. When Zikhmerius returned, it was like christmas had come early for Eutropius. He threw open the gates when he saw Zikhmerius approach, bearing his own banners, which Eutropius recognised, though he did not recognise the figure in white robes and a silver mask riding beneath them. He welcomed Zikhmerius, and when he truly recognised him, he fell on his knees, believing he saw a ghost. The reason for this was that Emperor Allis' men had often spread the tale that Zikhmerius was, in fact, dead. When he realised that Zikhmerius was alive, he ordered the governor of that province brought to him. That governor was corrupt, lazy and incompetent, but he was loyal to Allis. In front of Zikhmerius, he drew his sword and cut the governor's throat, then lay the bloody sword at Zikhmerius' feet, fell to his knees and swore his loyalty to Zikhmerius with the words, "Accept me, Undying One!"
Zikhmerius swept south toward Katopsis, taking every city that he came upon, and later on a very pro-Zikhmerius court historian described him at this time as being a "Hurricane of Justice". If so, than it was a cruel, savage sort of justice. Anyone who had supported Allis in the cities that he took, Zikhmerius executed, as well as anyone who had refused to bow before him and accept him as the rightful Emperor.
Within a few months, he had arrived right in the heart of the Empire, to Katopsis. The Garrison of Katopsis opened the gates, and the garrison commander personally knelt before Zikhmerius and begged for pity for his inability to control the garrison nearly 8 years earlier. In a rare stroke of mercy, Zikhmerius granted the man clemency, but instructed him to round up all those in the city that had betrayed him by that evening. Zikhmeriys lead his mean to the palace then, and found the gates open and Emperor Allis and several leading senators and noblemen in the forecourt on their knees, impeaching mercy. They received none.

Zikhmerius' second reign was even more despotic than the first. Zikhmerius neither forgave nor forgot, and all those that had cast him down were cast down in turn. Zikhmerius had been rendered unable to speak clearly as his voice was muffled by his mask as well as impeded by his mutilated tongue. As such, he spoke his guttural, unclear commands through a specially trained eunuch interpreter who would repeat his usually cruel orders to those for whom said orders were intended. A Britarian ambassador to the Imperial court described his throne room. "The braziers burning at either side, armoured guards lining the hall, the Emperor Zikherius sat on his throne, elevated above the rest of the hall by a pedestal, splendid and terrifying in his purple robes, crown and silver mask. The eunuch stood nearby, leaning in to his master's face, to hear and relay the Emperor's cruel commands." Zikhmerius' relations with the Britarian Kings was one of the key elements of his second reign.

Although the first few years of Zikhmerius' reign were peaceful, by 740 hostilities had broken out with the Kingdom of Britaria. This conflict was an escalation of a long line of slights and wrongs that the two nations did each other. The Rivadi were wary of the rapid rise and expansion of the Britarian nation, and were determined to reassert the Empire's position as the de facto rulers of the continent. Zikhmerius had long sought a casus belli against King Carathian III, and in 741, Carathian gave him the perfect reason: hedeclared war on Eranguard. Eranguard and Britaria had had a complex relationship worthy of its own article, but to put it in simple terms "Carathian wanted Erangard's clay". Tensions between the two states had been long building, but in 740 Carathian finally stormed across the border and began to occupy Eranguardian territory. Unfortunately for the Britarians, the Rivadis Empire had for the preceding 20-odd years had a treaty with Eranguard, granting the latter the Rivadis Empire's protection, and Zikhmerius was determined to uphold this treaty. However, Silvermask was none to eager to engage in a potentially destructive conflict with the small but strong Britaria.
Zikhmerius had been prepared to mediate some kind of settlement between Britaria and Erangard, but Carathian's incursion into a state under the Emperor's personal protection was too much for the prideful Emperor to tolerate. Silvermask raised his armies and marched to the relief of Eranguard. In the spring of 741, Emperor Zikhmerius met the King of Eranguard in a field somewhere, and before long received news of the Britarian army's approach. What was to come was Zikhmerius' only moment of military glory in his entire life.

Silvermask had with him some 30,000 Rivadi soldiers, nearly a third of them cavalry. He was joined by the battered, but nonetheless fairly numerous, Eranguardian army of thousands of men. Against them Carathian fielded 20-25,000 men. The numbers of this battle remain a controversy even today. Although primary sources listed Zikhmerius as commanding 30,000 troops, the accuracy of this boast in doubtful, as the Rivadis Army only payed wages for 118,432 men earlier that year. Taking a quarter of his men on campaign was too risky. Even so, there is evidence to suggest that Zikhmerius left a significant garrison at his crossing point across the River [name], which was essential for him to retreat safely should the battle go ill. Therefore, many historians assume that Zikhmerius fielded some 20-25,000 men, similar to the Britarians. The Eranguardian numbers are completely mysterious, but historians estimate several thousand men at most.
Although outnumbered, Carathian was a skilled commander who had defeated the Eranguardians several times previously, and knew their tactics as well as the Eranguardians themselves did. Zikhmerius was too cautious to risk engaging Carathian in a full frontal attack, even with his superiority in numbers. The Britarian king was an admirable leader whose men would fight to the death, and Zikhmerius was not nearly so inspiring. He could only enforce loyalty through fear. So Silvermask decided to play sneaky. He hid several thousand of his best and most mobile soldiers in a convenient nearby wood, and told them to lie in wait for battle to be joined. Then they were to take the Britarians from behind ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). Zikhmerius was also careful to keep back an ample reserve of his elite "Spatharioi tou Basileus" in case the Britarians broke his main lines. The remaining Rivadi and Eranguardian soldiers were formed in two lines of battle, the Eranguardians in the first line and the Rivadi in the second.
That afternoon, the ground quaked to the sound of advancing Britarian soldiers, their banners streaming in the wind. Carathian himself lead the centre, and he formed his battle lines opposite the Rivadi and Eranguardians. At the sound of a war-horn, the Britarians surged forward, spears bristling from behind a wall of studded shields, cavalry raising up a dust storm as they charged. After a fierce battle, the first line of the allied army, the Eranguardians, were broken, and the Rivadi troops marched forward, shield locked, swords drawn and faces grim, to face the Britarians. The momentum of the Britarian attack had slowed down, and a savage grind ensued. Many of the Eranguardians rallied and returned to the fight, but still the battle ground on. Just then, the Rivadi ambush force appeared in the Britarian rear. They charged with a savage roar into the back of the Britarian army. Even when they were encircled, the Britarians fought on valiantly. Then Silvermask threw his reserve at them, and the Britarian force was cut to bloody ribbons. At the battle's end, thousands of corpses lay on the field, among them that of King Carathian. A Rivadi Cataphract had cut his way through many of the king's bodyguards and killed the royal. Zikhmerius had his head hacked off and put in a chest, carting it off to Katopsis as a spoil of war.

Zikhmerius had one more notable accomplishment to his name. A few months after the brief conflict with Britaria, a barbarian king invaded the northern Rivadi provinces and sent a message to Zikhmerius, demanding payment of "Two chests, one filled with gold and one with silver".
Zikhmerius' reaction to this was recorded by Ingvar II's court eunuch and historian, Patronicus.
"The Emperor commanded that such chests be brought forth to the throne room, much to the delight of the king's envoys. Upon hearing this command, Silvermask's interpreter fell to his knees and begged the Emperor to reconsider. But the Emperor commanded again, and the interpreter translated the Emperor's garbled command. Two chests were brought forth, and the Emperor commanded his guards to empty the gold and silver. He then commanded his men to bring forth the heads to all those Zikhmerius had had killed, among them the heads of King Carathian, cleaned of all flesh by scarab beetles, a the heads of many nobles and generals. Zikhmerius commanded the heads to be put into one of the chests, and into the other he placed a great many masks of iron and silver, that had been forged for his own use."
The following events are not fully accurate, as they were only first recorded by the eunuch Patronicus in 870, over a century after they had taken place. Patronicus' source was according to rumour, "an serving girl whose sister had slept with a man who knew a guy who knew a guy who had heard from a guy whose great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather had been there."
"Silvermask lead an army north, and told them to hold a league from the barbarian camp, and commanded them to advance once the sun had reached its zenith. An hour before noon Zikhmerius rode into the barbarian camp under the banner of peace, and came to the king's tent with guards bearing the two chests. The king threw open the first one, eyes glowing with greed, and when he saw the contents he did stumbled back, as he was frightened, for within lay the severed heads. Zikhmerius spoke, and the interpreter translated his garbled speech, 'This is what befalls those that defy me.' Silvermask said. He raised one skull, and spoke, 'This is the head of Carathian, a king who dared challenge the Emperor and Autocrat of Rivadis, the Lord of Centulas.' He set aside the skull and threw open the second chest, the chest filled with silver masks. 'I brought you the silver,' said Silvermask, raising a mask, 'for you will need to wear these once I have finished with you.' The king spoke, 'And how do you mean to chastise me so? You have four score men, and I have a myriad.' Then Silvermask seized the king by his arm and threw him outside, where the sun had reached its zenith. The king did gaze upon the field, and beheld the armies of the Rivadis marching forth. 'I have a myriad,' said Silvermask, 'and half again as many.'"
The phrase "A myriad and half again as many" means "A myriad and a half," implying that Zikhmerius had at his disposal 15,000 men. Many have questioned the authenticity of this account, as they claim that the barbarian king would have slain Zikhmerius on the spot for this insult.
Yet one must remember that these were superstitious times. There was a strong superstition that Zikhmerius was a ghost or indeed a demon from the deepest circle of hell sent to punish mortal men for their sins. How else could he have survived such mutilations and torment? Even in the Rivadis Empire there was a rumour among the common folk that after Zikhmerius' return, a man loyal to Allis had snuck in to the sleeping Emperor's chambers and had cut off his head while he slept. Come morning, Zikhmerius simply woke up, stuck his head back on and had his guards hunt down the would be assassin.

Zikhmerius' second reign was fairly uneventful, except for the few brief conflicts. For the most part, it saw Zikhmerius continued his repression and attempt to further stabilise the Empire. Zikhmerius had become a very fearsome figure by the time of his death, and his image helped shield the weakened Rivadis Empire from further hostile attacks. Zikhmerius died in the spring of 749, aged 59. His death is considered natural, as there was no evidence otherwise. Yet there is always the possibility that at long last one of his numerous enemies had succeeded in bumping him off. He was buried wearing his iconic silver mask.
Zikhmerius would not rest in peace for too long, though. In the middle ages, his remains were dug up, and his silver mask pinched by some nobleman claiming to be a descendent. The mask passed from hands to hands, eventually ending up in the hands of an art collector in the 18th century, who proceeded to donate it to the Glopurg Imperial History Museum, where it is displayed to this day, although tarnished.
Last edited by Igoria on Wed Oct 07, 2015 1:41 pm, edited 8 times in total.
I'm a somewhat constitutional hereditary monarchy.

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Father Knows Best State

Postby Igoria » Fri Oct 23, 2015 4:36 am

The Seventy Years' War
Prologue: Igoria, 1205
December, 1205. The silence is pierced only by the soft clink of chainmail and the scrape of weapons in their scabbards, and the occasional grunt or muttered curse. Quietly and subtly, a dozen men slip through the postern gate of the Old Palace in Glopurg. These men are not hired assassins, however. They are gently born, with pedigree names and fearsome titles. Under normal circumstances, these men would be rivals, vying for Imperial patronage and support. Yet the circumstances in Igoria, and Centulas as a whole, had bound them all together.
They slip into the citadel, where a sympathetic steward had opened the gate. Within, the elite Palatinoi guard offers no resistance, though they are supposed to die in defence of the monarch. Yet why should they, when upon their chests the plotters wear both the silver boar badge of Malegorn Sathrus, the Prince Regent and Viceroy of Igoria (depending on whom you asked), and the arms of the House of Sathrus? Malegorn is trusted, respected and popular. Even if he had not been, it wouldn't have made a difference. Empress Theodora I was, after all, as foreign to the Igorian populace as her husband the King of Britaria, Fabien I. Malegorn, however, was well known for resisting the seemingly imminent Britarian dominance of Centulas.
The plotters quietly reach the Empress's chambers, where at last they are checked, yet not by the purple cloaks of the Imperial Guard, but by men of the Empress's own retinue, Britarians all. The plotters demand to be let in to see the Empress. The four Britarian knights guarding her door refuse, demanding that the plotters surrender their weapons first. Then, the foremost of the plotters, Constantine, the Margrave of Lemnis, a longtime ally of Malegorn's, draws his sword and slices the knight's throat. His fellows are speedily overwhelmed, and the plotters break into the Empress's chambers. Theodora is abed, naked. The plotters throw her a gown before yanking her out of bed. As one of the plotters makes for the door to the adjourning chamber, the Empress cries "Please! Do not wake my son!" The plotter stops.
The next morning, young Prince Adrien Antoine René Giraudin is woken not by his mother or one of her maids, but by the rough mailed fist of an Imperial soldier.

These dramatic events came at the climax of a decade and a half of political tension and instability for Igoria. All these events had their roots in one chilly November afternoon in 1190: That afternoon, November 24th, Emperor Illifer I died. His 39-year-long reign had seen stability and prosperity, and Igoria had flourished. When he died, both the nobility and the commons lamented his passing, a true testament to his ability to govern fairly and wisely. Yet for all his success, Illifer had failed on one major account: leaving behind a male heir to succeed him. In his sixty-three years, the Emperor had fathered only one daughter, Theodora, who was fifteen at the time of his death. This posed a problem.
Female rule was highly irregular. Indeed, Theodora would become the first ruling Empress of Igoria. Though the Rivadis Empire had seen its own Empresses, they had largely all ruled as regents for various underage sons, nephews and siblings, and a woman ruling in her own right was almost unprecedented.
Yet the Igorian elite was determined to make her rule work. And work it did, for a while.
As Theodora was underage at the time of her ascension, less than a fortnight after Illifer's death, during her coronation, she read out a speech prepared for her by the Senate that declared that her "beloved uncle would guide us until such a time as we are of age". This heralded the arrival of Illifer's 45-year-old brother Malegorn on the stage. For the preceding 20-odd years, Malegorn had been Illifer's strong right hand. He was also respected and well liked, though not on the scale that Illifer was. Upon Illifer's death, Malegorn had become the single most powerful man in the Empire; He was a wealthy private magnate holding rich lands as well as an authoritative public figure. As such, it is no surprise that the Senate and Council of Peers realised that forming any sort of government during the Empress's minority would require him to fulfill the leading role. And fulfill the leading role he did, as Malegorn's appointment as Prince Regent granted him virtually all of the Empress's powers, leaving Theodora as a figurehead. But, there was a catch to it. Less than six months later, Theodora turned sixteen, meaning she was legally eligible to rule in her own right.
Contrary to what many feared, Malegorn did not keep Theodora locked in a cupboard once she came of age. He stepped down, and was appointed the Empress's head advisor and principle lieutenant.

With the steadfast Malegorn to assist her, Theodora demonstrated a real capacity to rule. She ably outmanoeuvred Eranguardian diplomats during a dispute, and by and large managed to secure her hold over the Imperial Government and her vassals, surprising all that had doubted her.
The real trouble came when she decided to find a husband. Malegorn and the majority of the Senate advised her to find some relatively minor and tractable noble with whom a matrilineal marriage could be secured, thus ensuring that the Sathruses remained on the throne. But, since no laws bound the monarch to listen to advice when it came to marriage, Theodora married for love.
The young, daring and handsome new King of Britaria, Fabien I, had enchanted her. They married in 1195, and within a year she gave birth to their first child, Adrien. Although Theodora was happy with her new husband and son, the Igorian elites understood that something much bigger had taken place. Igoria had entered a Personal Union under Britaria. Adrien Giraudin stood to inherit both countries when his parents died.
Malegorn began to plot. He remained in a position of great power and great trust, and he began to abuse this for the 'good of Igoria'. He hoped to get the marriage annulled by the Patriarch of Katopsis, or to have Fabien assassinated, thus freeing Igoria from an impeding Anschluss. He was even prepared to talk to Theodora about it, to try and convince her to abdicate and appoint somebody else (like him) as Emperor of Igoria. But before this could happen, Fabien moved. He moved faster than Malegorn had expected, dismissing him from all positions of power within the Igorian government. Malegorn was given a handsome pension, and retained his vast private estates, but he was decisively out of power.
Over the next to years, Fabien and Theodora purged the Igorian governmental machine. The Lord Chancellor, Imperial Steward, Imperial Chamberlain, the Megas Domestikos, and just about everyone else was replaced either with members of the Britarian aristocracy or Igorians prepared to accept Fabien's rule.
But there was one institution they couldn't purge: The Imperial Senate, for Senatorial status was not determined by appointment or Imperial favour.
For the next year and a half, political deadlock ensured. The Council of Peers and Senate fought Fabien's appointees to the government and Privy Council, and Igoria gradually slipped into chaos. There was slaughter within the city of Glopurg as Britarian knights and the Spatharioi tou Basileus made the gutters run red with blood. Rivalries and disputes between leading nobles spilled into active conflict more and more, and all the while the Imperial armies were inactive. 1197 saw a major revolt in the west, and in early 1198, a mob of commoners from in and around Glopurg rioted, protesting against the '"vile misrule of foreigners".
This was all enough to push the Senate to action. The Senate and Council of Peers of the Empire ordered the arrests of Theodora's puppet councilors on the grounds of treason. Though it was, perhaps, not entirely legal, the officers of the Imperial Guard went along with it willingly enough, and all of Fabien's viceroys were rounded up and imprisoned.
Some of the less important ones were beheaded for treason in Glopurg, but the others were held hostage for the inevitable showdown that would occur. Fabien, of course, could not take such an affront to his authority in Igoria. He ordered that additional Britarian troops reinforce his garrison already in Glopurg, which numbered some 250 knights and 400 common soldiers, who had been disarmed and locked up during the coup. Now, perhaps 2000 more were on their way, marching overland. When they did finally arrive, they found the gates of Glopurg locked and barred and the city prepared for a siege, the walls lined with soldiers. Bloodshed was only averted because Theodora intervened.
Whatever else she might have been, Theodora did posses the capacity to rule sensibly and well. This was one such instance. Putting on her Imperial regalia, she summoned a litter and went to the Senate, bravely taking an escort of not entirely reliable Palatinoi guardsmen rather than one of Fabien's Britarians, for she knew that that would provoke the Senate further. She then met with the leading Senators, who presented their demands, which basically demanded that she choose either Fabien or Igoria.
She chose both.
After negotiations that may have gone on for days, the Empress and her own Senate reached an agreement. Fabien and Theodora would allow the Senate to govern Igoria without Britarian intervention, and in return the Senate would agree to cooperate with Fabien, and release the men he had appointed to positions in the Igorian government. Though it was not explicitly stated or even demanded, this agreement between the Senate and Fabien effectively signalled the end of Theodora's rule over Igoria. Though the councillors would still ask for her signature and seal on documents and edicts, she nonetheless exercised no power of her own over her own government.
It seemed to work well, for a while. Free from the deadlock of 1196-98, the Senate attempted to swiftly restore order. Senatorial edicts were issued, granting the Strategi and Prefects of the various Themata extensive powers to keep order within their districts. But the greatest problem was the rebellion in the far west, which had been ravaging the western parts of the Empire for nearly a year. Margrave Constantine of Lemnis was ordered to march north and crush them, and on the way met up with men and archers raised from Malegorn's estates and lead personally by Malegorn and his seventeen-year-old son Theodore. Once they met up, the 25-year-old Constantine and the now ageing Malegorn found they had a lot in common. The two marched north, where the experienced Margrave crushed the rebellion and set about restoring order. In the meantime, he and Malegorn also began to conspire against that which they hated: Fabien and Theodora's rule. Although the two began to amass a substantial following, both in the Senate and from amongst the nobility, with the Duke of Numergrad and the Count of Litorio both pledging their support to Malegorn.
1199 was a peaceful year for Igoria. Though elections and various emerging factions rattled the Senate, the Senate and the Council of Peers governed well in Theodora's name. However, in December 1199, Malegorn and his clique arrived in Glopurg, bringing with them an impressive tail of men. The Senate had ordered the the gates be barred and the walls manned, but the garrison commanders went over to Malegorn and admitted him and his force to the city. The Senate urgently rallied a small force of town militia and barricaded themselves in the impressive Senate building. But Malegorn did not come here to spill blood and impose himself on the country by force. On the contrary, he came here to secure the Senate's backing. He politely rode to the Senate and asked that a session be called immediately. Once it had, he addressed the Senate and denounced the situation Igoria was in, and denounced the weakness and unreadiness of the government to properly confront Fabien.
It should be noted that this was not the same Senate as had arrested Fabien's viceroys. Senatorial elections had seen some of the ringleaders replaced, and in came more moderate and tractable men, who had played no part in the coup. Even those that had were by and large disappointed with the outcome. Malegorn offered them a chance to see through their unfinished business. As such, they were much easier to bluster into supporting him. That said, the Senate did not immediately give in. They spent nearly two months debating and discussing Malegorn's speech, and in the end, on February 2nd 1200, they acted, issuing an act that pretty much annulled the deal they'd struck with Fabien: The Senate and Council of Peers of the Empire both voted with overwhelming majority to reestablish Malegorn, now at the peak of his popularity, as Prince Regent. This was unheard of. A regent was only appointed when the monarch was underage or otherwise unfit to rule, and though Theodora had played no part in the governance of the realm for the past two years, she was sound of mind and body and there was no serious legal pretext to vest her powers in someone else. Nonetheless the Senate made up an excuse, citing that "the noble Prince Adrien's tutelage and upbringing is of greater concern to Her Majesty the Basilissa than the righteous governance of the Empire", claiming that Theodora was too preoccupied with her children to rule.
Whatever the excuse, it gave the Senate the perfect chance to strip Fabien of whatever authority he may have had over Igoria through Theodora, and Fabien knew this perfectly well.
As soon as word of this reached him, the politically savvy Fabien found himself facing a problem. He had several options: he could march on Glopurg and have Malegorn's head on a spike, but a war did not have a guaranteed outcome, and he could just as easily find his own head being impaled on a stick somewhere; he could otherwise fight Malegorn's appointment either legally or through Theodora, but this would be pouring oil in to the flames; finally, he could accept Malegorn's position, but on his own terms.
Fabien, whatever downsides he may have had, was a cunning and smart man. He knew that Malegorn was at the peak of his popularity, and that he enjoyed the support of most of Igoria's ruling elite. Fighting him was not an option if Fabien wanted to retain his, or rather, Theodora's, nominal control over Igoria. Instead, Fabien agreed to recognise Malegorn as the de facto ruler of Igoria, but on the condition that he be titled "Viceroy of Igoria" rather than Prince Regent and that he swear his oath to Theodora, Fabien and the Senate rather than just Theodora and the Senate. And Fabien managed to outmanoeuvre Malegorn in this. When the two met face to face in the Spring of 1200 in a luxuriously furnished castle belonging to none other than Malegorn, Fabien bluffed by making it perfectly clear that unless Malegorn agreed to his terms, he will fight him, while in reality Fabien could ill afford to.
Malegorn was, by this point, an old man in his mid-fifties. He could no longer move or act with the same vigour or determination as he had a decade earlier. He was no match for the young political juggernaut that was Fabien. He consented to Fabien’s demands.
By the summer of 1200 the political standoff between the two men was over. Malegorn took up residence in a luxurious manor a day’s ride from Glopurg, and, rather than travelling too Glopurg as befits a servant of the state, he demanded that Senators, nobles and counselors all come before him. This was a grand gesture of power and prestige, and showed the fact that by now, in truth, Malegorn’s authority in Igoria was unchallenged. Another event would soon take place, one that would cement Malegorn’s authority. In 1201, Empress Theodora permanently relocated to Britaria along with her family and her household. Since her marriage to Fabien in 1195, she had spent much of her time in Igoria, but after Malegorn’s appointment both her uncle and the Senate made it implicitly clear that she was no longer wanted or needed in the country. Thus, she left.
For the next few years Malegorn and the Senate ruled Igoria competently. There was still buzzing unrest in certain places. A tax rebellion took place in 1203, when thousands of hungry and angry Krillian peasants marched east, demanding bread. But the Margrave of Lemnis and the Duke of Petraven, leading an army commissioned by Malegorn, routed them. 1204 saw a major rebellion in the north, in the former Kingdom of Nazlac. The rebels stormed Sorsonopolis and began to ravage the northern provinces of Igoria, with a “fearsome force of many thousands”. Malegorn raised what was called “the greatest army ever seen”, numbering nearly 30,000 men, raised chiefly from the Themata around Glopurg and the lands owned by himself and his allies: Lemnis, Litorio, Petraven and Numergrad. Fabien himself was in Glopurg at the time, and Malegorn could not resist the temptation of showing off this military force, sending Fabien the unmistakable message of “You mess with me, you mess with all of them.” Fabien himself was, though perhaps not rattled, but rather unnerved by the ease with which Malegorn summoned and dispersed military power. He began to consider revoking Malegorn’s Viceroyalty or perhaps getting rid of him once and for all.
Malegorn was successful in putting down the rebellion, hanging many of those he captured along the roads as a warning to any future rebels. But during the time he spent with his close collaborators and allies, they began to fill his head with thoughts of Empire. They encouraged him to throw off his constitutional shackles and claim the throne for his own. Malegorn returned to the capital, triumphant, and was awarded the victor’s laurels by the Senate and a bemused and irritated Fabien, who praised him as “most noble prince and general, so naturally inclined to war and leadership as to arouse jealousy from lesser men.” It is possible that by this time Malegorn had already made up his mind to overthrow Theodora, but it was only several months later, when she arrived personally in Glopurg with her oldest son Adrien in tow (by this point Fabien had gone back to Britaria), that Malegorn decided to act. His allies and conspirators infiltrated the palace, and, taking advantage of the trust many had in Malegorn made it all the way to the Empress’s chambers without incident, where they easily overpowered the few guards and took her into custody, locking her up in a tower cell.
The next morning, a triumphant Malegorn strode into the new palace and, seating himself upon the throne, proclaimed himself Emperor. The assembled soldiers, senators, nobles and knights raised up a mighty cheer of “Long live the Emperor Malegorn! Long may he reign!”
Ironically, by this point Malegorn was sixty, an old, done man. In his youth, Malegorn had been tall, strong and broad of shoulder, and remained so well into his forties, though by that point he had also grown broad of stomach. But by the age of sixty Malegorn had been worn out by his long struggle for power and by four decades of political activity. And his reign would pose many more problems for him to overcome.

The immediate of these problems would be the captive Empress and her son and heir Adrien. Keeping them as hostages could prevent Fabien from taking any hostile action, but Malegorn was more pragmatic. He sought to normalise relations with the King as soon as possible, and so, in the spring of 1206, after five months in captivity, the new Emperor released his niece and grand-nephew under the condition that Fabien would renounce his claim to being the co-ruler of Igoria, and that Theodora would officially abdicate her crown in favour of Malegorn.
Malegorn’s next concern was the actual governance of the Empire. He was old, and unable to cope with the same amount of work as he had done during his tenure as Prince Regent. Governance fell more and more to his narrow clique of supporters, the very men who had brought him to power, who used it to reward themselves with lands and titles. This misrule was made ever more painful when Malegorn made the grave error of insulting the memory of his deceased brother Illifer I, who was still very much loved. In 1207, in an attempt to legitimize his usurpation of the throne, Malegorn referred to the old Rivadi tradition of “Born in the Purple”, which stated that children of the Emperor born during his reign were born to precedence over children born before their father’s ascension. Malegorn stated that Illifer was born before their father was Emperor, so by rights Malegorn was the rightful Emperor and Illifer and “all his line” were usurpers. Naturally, this was unpopular and highly disrespectful to his late brother’s memory.
Malegorn died in June 1214, aged 69. By the end of his nine-year reign Malegorn, who had started out very popular, had squandered all his popularity through misrule and poor judgment.

His son, Theodore IV, succeeded him. Theodore did much to heal the wounds his father’s cronies had inflicted on Igoria. He dismissed his father’s cronies, going as far as to execute the Duke of Petraven for treason. Theodore was a wise ruler, and he resorted to a highly centralised and efficient form of government that was tightly controlled by the Emperor himself, as well as a professional bureaucracy of the minor gentry, rather than relying on the support of the most powerful magnates as Malegorn had. For ten years the highly capable Theodore ruled the Empire wisely and ably. Under him, the Imperial Treasury flourished and he managed to repay most of the Empire’s debts. However, during the first decade of his reign Theodore did not once set foot on a battlefield, preferring to leave the fighting his wars to professional career soldiers. Theodore was an administrator and a diplomat, not a soldier. But in 1224 his son, Andronicus, came of age. He would go on to become the greatest soldier-Emperor since Atikan X. Andronicus would prove himself as a skilled warrior little later when in 1226, aged just 19, he lead an Imperial army to pacify the unhappy populace of the far West and deal with a rumored invasion. These rumors proved to be false, but Andronicus displayed great courage when the militia of a rebelling town in the west ambushed him and his small bodyguard, cutting down many. Andronicus, however, through ingenuity and personal skill cut through his attackers and escaped, leading them on a chase to a narrow gully, where half a dozen of them came at him, and died, one by one.
Though he became popular and renowned for personal valour and military skill, Andronicus was, nonetheless, at odds with his father more often than not. He criticised the less successful aspects of his father’s administration, and criticised Theodore’s lack of military reform or experience. Their relationship deteriorated to the point that Andronicus left Glopurg and set up his own household in Brightwater in 1233, and rumour had it that Theodore had even disinherited him. It may have been the case, but less than two years later, in 1235, circumstances would force the ageing Emperor and his wayward son to reconcile. For in 1235, the drums of war would sound as the two great powers of Centulas would tear at each other in a great conflict that spanned generations…
To be continued.
I'm a somewhat constitutional hereditary monarchy.

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Postby Igoria » Tue Nov 10, 2015 12:53 pm

The Seventy Years' War
Part 1: "Alas, what senseless, righteous slaughter."
The floor of the cell was covered in straw, and the cell itself had a musty smell to it. A half-eaten meal lay in the corner. The noble prisoner was given rich foods, lamprey pies, beef stews, a bit of roasted swan, wine from the Emperor's own cellars (albeit the poorer vintages), candles, paper to write on and ink, books to read and was generally kept in as much comfort as was possible. The Emperor's physicians tended his wounds, and the noble prisoner had made a speedy recovery from the wound he had suffered in the battle. Yet facts remained facts. He was a prisoner, for Viscount Benoit d'Amelin was among the hundreds, thousands perhaps, of Britarians who had fallen into the Emperor's hands after the failure of their campaign. Many were slaughtered in the aftermath, and only d'Amelin's noble status saved him from sharing the common soldiers' fate.

When we last left off, the Empire of Igoria and the Kingdom of Grand Britaria were on the brink of a massive conflict that would span generations and cause innumerable damage and casualties. The following sixty-five years contain instances of great valour, chivalry and villainy, and moments of humour and downright stupidity, and include a whole cast of badass, cruel, queer and crazy characters: kings, emperors, dukes, knights and commoners, all caught up in one of the greatest conflicts Centulas had ever seen.However, the prologue was focused largely on Igoria in the years preceding this war, and skipped over some events in Britaria, ones that are critical in understanding the origins of the war.

On the morning of May 28th, 1232, the Royal Palace in Illirea awoke to find King Fabien I dead in his bed. His body bore unmistakable signs of being strangled to death during the night, but no culprit was ever produced. But, then as now, the chief suspicion fell on he who stood to gain most from Fabien's death: the Crown Prince Adrien Antoine René Giraudin. Adrien was the son of King Fabien and Empress Theodora of Igoria, who had been deposed from her throne by her treacherous uncle Malegorn I nearly 30 years earlier. Malegorn was long dead, and Theodora was by now an old woman, but she had a long, bitter memory and was utterly devoted to her son's prosperity. In the last few years of her husband's life, Theodora had grown distant from Fabien, just as Fabien had grown distant from everyone else, shunning council meetings and his own court, preferring voluntary solitude in his own chambers. Perhaps it was Fabien's unwillingness to claim the Imperial Crown for Theodora that drove them apart. Perhaps it was this very unwillingness that provoked his son to (hypothetically) murder him, allowing Adrien, as king, to take action himself.
Adrien had spent several years of his childhood in Igoria, and was somewhat well acquainted with Igorian customs and traditions. Above all, he had been taught by his mother that the Imperial Crown was his birthright. Now he meant to claim it.
About a year into his reign Adrien began to prepare for his impending invasion in earnest. Over the next year and a half he spent vast sums of money on his future campaign, ordering a brand-new suit of armour for himself, contracting foreign mercenaries from Vanet, Geniocratics and the Noch lands, and commissioning the smithies and foundries of Britaria to churn out swords, helmets, halberds, spears, crossbows, scorpions, axes and other weaponry. According to some chroniclers, his men fletched 200,000 arrows and crossbow bolts in preparation for the campaign. In the autumn of 1234, he sent urgent letters to his nobles, demanding that they appear to him with all the men they could muster. And then, in March 1235, Adrien II sent a letter of demand to the Igorian Emperor, commanding him to step down and prepare Glopurg for the triumphant arrival and coronation of Adrien, the First of His Name, True Emperor of Igoria and Heir of Rivadis.

Igoria in 1235 was ruled by Emperor Theodore IV. Theodore was a serious, scholarly and capable ruler with a adept administrative mind. During his reign he had reinvigorated the Imperial Administration that had faltered under the inept rule of Malegorn I's cronies and favourites. The Empire's finances were secure and the treasury full to the brim. Theodore was, however, no military man, and preferred to leave the fighting to actual soldiers. One such soldier was his son, Andronicus. While Theodore was successful in ruling the Empire he was far less successful in his private life. He frequently quarrelled with his heir Andronicus, who criticised the Emperor for his lack of military reform and his policy of alienating some of Igoria's leading nobles in favour of the professional bureaucracy. This split between the two deepened until Andronicus exiled himself from court and relocated to Brightwater with his household in 1233, setting up an alternate court of sorts to which nobles and military men flocked. His son's impudence angered the Emperor who, according to rumour, disinherited him in favour of his younger brother Alexius. But Andronicus never knew about this, which meant that the two Sathruses reconciled much quicker when it was needed. In fact, the story of Theodore changing the succession act was first publicly proclaimed nearly a century later, in a different chapter of Igorian history altogether.
Theodore received the Britarian emissary bearing Adrien's demands on the 13th of March, 1235. According to the historian Polybius Pius, writing some time in the early 14th century, the Emperor "sat silently, holding the letter in his fist. Then, suddenly, with a fury unbeknown to anyone and unexpected in this small, slight man the Emperor rose up and tore the letter, then strode and smote the emissary 'bout the face with his hand, and said 'So you would have war?'"
The accuracy of this account is somewhat questionable, as Theodore was never a violent person, but it does convey the key point: Theodore was livid.

In spring 1235, Adrien's host stormed across the border into the Igorian possessions in South Nobique. His force is estimated at being around 35,000 men strong: a huge army by the standards of the time. By and large it was recruited from native Britarians in the form of feudal levies, by there was a sizeable contingent of foreign mercenaries from Geniocratics, Korouse, Eranguard and Kipaz. Apart from the combat troops, there were also thousands of craftsmen, labourers, stonemasons, carpenters, butchers, bakers, camp followers and the servants of the nobles, as well as other non-combatants that trailed after the army.

There was a fundamental difference between the Igorian and Britarian armies though. Britaria relied firmly on feudal levies, noble retinues and retainers for their armies, reinforced by mercenaries when on campaign. As such, armies would only be as large as the nobles were willing to commit to them. An army made up of unwilling nobles would logically be smaller than one of willing ones. These armies were also variable in quality. Noble retinues and retainers, as well as the knights that were the backbone of each army were well-trained and equipped. Indeed, knights only existed for one purpose, that being war. But the feudal levies, constituted of peasants, minor landowners and townsfolk, were of significantly poorer quality. They may have had some training and may have been given some equipment, but for the most part they would have been poorly trained and inexperienced. Some common soldiers, however, were paid for their service, much more than an ordinary labourer or farmhand would have been, and were better trained. They constituted the more skilled segment of the commoner army, such as the archers and pikes, who required more discipline.
What should be noted, however, is that these men were rarely unfree serfs, but rather free peasants and commoners. Arming and training the lowest dregs of society was a double-edged sword: once the war was over, they could just as easily turn their weapons and expertise on their masters.

The Igorian army was more sophisticated. Igoria had inherited the Prefecture System of the late Rivadis Empire; In Igoria, a huge proportion of the land was held directly by the crown, rather than its vassals, perhaps more than in any other state in Austritaria in the middle ages. This Crown land was subdivided into so-called Nomarchia (Prefectures) and Themata ("Themes"), which were administrative and military districts run by appointed Strategoi (Generals) and Nomarchii ("Prefects", chief magistrates and governors). These Themes also served as the primary source of men for the army. Each Theme would have settled within it several thousand part-time soldier-farmers that held crown land as payment for their service. In peacetime they trained, took turns garrisoning the local forts and farmed their plots of land, and in war they came when the Emperor called. Each soldier was, by regulation, required to have a spear, a sword or an axe or a mace, a tall kite shield and a helmet as well as some form of body armour, usually a form of padded armour or boiled leather, or, if the man was richer or luckier, chain mail. Prefectural soldiers were largely infantry.
The Thematic army had its drawbacks. The soldiers were part-time, and they received their grant of land (which reverted back to the crown upon the original holder's death, so was not hereditary) upon signing up for service, not once they'd served. As such, many were inexperienced. The Theme system was implemented into the Rivadis Empire under Zikhmerius IV, at a time when the Empire did not fight many offensive campaigns, and were intended to give local governors a force that could easily be mustered for the defence of their Nomarchia/Themata instead of waiting on a centralised Imperial army.
The Igorian army contained other elements as well. The Emperor's noble vassals were obliged to bring their feudal levies if asked, and they were virtually identical to the Britarian ones, but fewer in number. The Empire also maintained a significant standing army, known as the Imperial Tagmata ("Regiments"). This was a force of soldiers paid with coin, making them little more than full-time mercenaries. Indeed, they included many foreign troops, among them Britarians, as well as "native mercenaries"; Igorian soldiers. In terms of numbers, the entire Igorian army at this time is estimated at being around 80,000 Prefectural troops, 30,000 Tagmata and an unknown number of noble levies, out of a population of some 12,000,000.
Although Igorian forces at first glance massively outnumber Adrien's, it was not that one sided. Firstly, Adrien and his vassals could still raise thousands of additional men. Secondly, Igorian troops were spread thin across their various Themes and Prefectures, with significant numbers stationed in the far west and in the south to ward off invasions and pacify the unhappy populaces. And finally, even if Igoria did manage to marshal all their troops together in one massive army there was no easy way for them to feed them, supply them or even effectively command them on the field of battle. What one must keep in mind was that medieval pitched battles were generally directed by their generals through voice commands, that could only be heard by a few dozen men at most, or war horns, trumpets and banners, as well as simply trusting that their subordinate commanders knew the battle plan and stuck to it.

As Adrien's army swept into Igorian lands in present-day Nobique, they began to encounter the first Igorian defences in the form of castles and border forts. Many were weakly garrisoned, and others were hastily manned by freshly mobilised soldier-farmers. Many of these castles fell without a fight, realising it was hopeless to fend off such a massive army. By the middle of August 1235, Adrien's army had overwhelmed many of the strongholds in South Nobique and had pushed on into Igoria itself, where they ran into two keystones of the Igorian defence: the imposing fortress-town of Numergrad. Numergrad commanded both a key river crossing and the entrance to a valley, making it, effectively, one of the gateways to Igoria, and it was fittingly outfitted to fulfil this role, with thick, tall walls. Duke Isaac Batiatos of Numergrad had scourged the lands around it when he had heard of the impending invasion and fully reinforced the garrison with both his own levies and troops the nearby Prefect had sent his way. By the time the Britarian vanguard neared the city, it had an impressive garrison of roughly 5,000 men, and it was adequately supplied to withstand a prolonged siege. Numergrad posed a problem for Adrien, and he, although not a particularly good commander, knew that much. If he marched on, he left behind 5,000 men that sat squarely across whatever supply lines his enormous army had, starving him of badly needed supplies. With Autumn drawing near food would grow scarce, so there was no way his huge army could hope to live off the land without drawing in supplies from the homeland. So Adrien decided to take Numergrad. He and his lieutenants set up their siege lines and encamped their army. Adrien was not a patient man, however, and he ordered an assault before the Britarians could construct sufficient siege equipment. Unsurprisingly, the assault failed, as the Britarians tried to attack the walls with grapnels and ladders and the gates with rams. Many were killed by arrows and crossbow bolts, and others were killed as they scaled the walls and engaged the soldiers on top. The Britarians lost several hundred men, the defenders several dozen. It was not a desirable trade off.

Image
A modern artist's impression of the Britarians assaulting Numergrad. Clearly outlines the differences in equipment of the two armies.

The Emperor was not sitting by idly. Theodore had been gravely offended by Adrien's questioning of his legitimacy, and was determined to personally take charge of the army. This was a rash course of action for a man who was usually level-headed and smart. Theodore's last proper bit of campaigning had been nearly forty years earlier, when he, aged just seventeen, had ridden with his father Malegorn and the Margrave of Lemnis to subdue a rebellion. Since then, Theodore had been a man of peace and rulership. But now he was determined to revenge himself upon the impudent king who had offended him. Listening to words of caution from his more experienced military advisors he left behind a great part of the readily available Tagmata, and marched east with 6,000 men, half of them infantry and half of them cavalry.
Had he desired, Theodore could have raised thousands more from the Prefectures and Themes in Glopurg and the Igorian heartland. They were some of the largest in terms of population and nominal troop strength. But Theodore's shrewd administrative and financial mind understood that those part-time soldier-farmers were necessary to bring in the harvest (which had been underwhelming). With a long war ahead, Theodore thought it prudent to stock up on food and supplies to feed the eternally hungry armies. Theodore marched west with his army, and along the way he linked up with roughly 5-6,000 men of a western Nomarchia lead by the Strategos. This doubled the size of Theodore's army, and he, after conferring with his subordinates, decided to march to the relief of Numergrad. This was based on several factors, but the main one was that both sides lacked any reliable intelligence. Theodore and his forces assumed that the Britarian army numbered somewhere in the 20-25,000 man bracket, while in reality it was almost twice that large. Theodore and his captains believed that, given the element of surprise which they assumed they'd have, they would be able to rout the besieging Britarians with help from the garrison of Numergrad. Adrien, on the other hand, believed that the Igorian army was two or three times larger than it actually was, and feared that if they linked up with the garrison they would overwhelm him. It was this belief that lead him to dispatch Thierry Occasin, the Duke of Mariana, with 15,000 men under his command to hold the attacking Igorians for as long as possible for Adrien to finally finish of Numergrad and march to his aid with the main host. Little did the Duke know that he outnumbered the Imperial force. The Duke's army included one major character: Ser Hugh de Raville.

Ser Hugh de Raville was a Britarian knight. His father was a minor landowner, and Ser Hugh had barely managed to scrape together enough funds to build himself a manor of his own, largely using his wife's rather generous dowry. Hugh de Raville was 25 years old at this point, but he had been fighting for the past 8 years of his life and was already an experienced soldier. Strong, good-looking and a good warrior, Hugh was what all men wanted to be, but also possessed what many men of his position lacked: tactical skill. Although a much more able soldier than most of his contemporaries, not least the King himself, Hugh de Raville was nonetheless sidelined because of his low social rank. He was, after all, a mere knight, and to command one of the flanks or three divisions in battle one had to be a prestigious aristocrat with many cumbersome titles and honours, or a rare exception. Being placed under Duke Thierry gave Hugh the chance to prove himself. The Duke was a good friend of his father and knew what a good soldier Hugh was, so he assigned Ser Hugh to command the vanguard of his army.
The smaller Britarian host marched until, at last, their scouts reported that the Igorian army was nearing. A few skirmishes between the mounted archers of both armies were fought. Hugh and the Duke found a suitable position: a bare hill, with a wood to either side. Ser Hugh positioned his vanguard on this hill. By the time the sun was setting, the Igorians came into view, marching slowly forward, banners streaming in the setting sun. A there was a light drizzle that seemed to get progressively heavier, until it was bordering on a monsoon. Ser Hugh commanded his archers to keep their bowstrings dry, and, with the battlefield now dark, both sides retired as there was no chance of fighting.
Early next morning, Theodore woke his men and, having fed them, formed them up for battle. But there was one grave miscalculation that really shows Theodore's inexperience: he assumed that the forces on the hill, them being de Raville's vanguard, were the only Britarian forces he had to face. The woods on either side of the hill obscured the Britarian flanks. Theodore didn't bother to check, and ordered an all-out assault on the hill.
To de Raville's credit, he did notice this almost at once. His keen soldier's eye picked up on the fact that the Igorians were formed up too tightly for a normal battle line and that they had their cavalry at the rear, rather than the flanks, as was the common Igorian formation. Hugh leapt on his horse and rode down the hill to the rear, where the Occasin held command. He urged the Duke not to go ahead with their original plan of engaging the Igorians in a linear battle, but rather to wait, trusting that Theodore's men would not notice the hidden Britarian troops, and to attack when the time was right.
But Hugh's withdrawal to the rear to treat with Mariana had had a negative effect on the morale of his men on the hill. They were cold, wet and tired after a night of sleeping rough in the rain. From their position they could not see their comrades on the flanks, but they could fully well see the Igorian army advancing towards them. To them, they appeared to be hugely outnumbered.
Once the Igorian soldiers reached the foot of the hill, they paused, and Theodore commanded his heavy foot to attack. The Igorian heavy infantry struggled up the hill in their heavy chainmail and lamellar armour, lugging their poleaxes, maces, swords, shields and various other heavy weapons. The slope of the hill was wet, muddy and slippery after a night of heavy rain, and the made slow progress up the hill. The Britarians let loose withering archer fire, and de Raville's decision to keep the bowstrings dry ensured that it was every bit as effective as in dry weather. As Igorian soldiers fell, their fellows were forced to step over their bodies to continue. But when the Igorians did make it up the hill, and there were sufficient numbers of them, they were a fearsome foe. These Igorian soldiers were Tagmata troops, well-trained and well-paid, and, brandishing their swords and longaxes they hurled themselves at the Britarian footsoldiers with blood-curdling war cries.
And Hugh de Raville was not yet back.
The Igorian soldiers on the hill, though outnumbered, were still pushing the Britarians hard. Their commander, a man called Manuel Laronios, fought manfully on foot in the midst of the melée, cutting his way into the enemy lines.
And then, finally, Ser Hugh de Raville arrived, bringing reinforcements of roughly 300 Britarian knights. Hugh lead the charge into the melee, inspiring his embattled troops and hurling the Igorians off the hill. As the Igorians began to regroup, de Raville lead a charge down the hill, praying to every god he knew that the Britarian flanks would follow suit. The gods were with him, and they did. Hugh's vanguard smashed into the Igorian lines, and, as the flanks emerged from the woods, Theodore at last saw his grave mistake in deployment. He tried in vain to redeploy his men adequately, but it was too late. Ferocious fighting ensured, but the Britarians decisively held the upper hand. Finally, at about 11 o'clock, the Igorian lines broke and their men fled, the Emperor at the head of the retreat, escorted by his elite cavalry Tagmata who had not even been committed to the fight. The Britarians might have been able to inflict graver losses on the Igorians had it not been for the tenacious rearguard action of Manuel Laronios, who, rallying about two thousand men, held the Britarians for a while, but long enough to exhaust their forces to the point where they could not give chase.
The Battle of Mika's Hill, as it became known, was a decisive defeat for Igoria. Of the 12,000 men Theodore had brought to bear, 2,500 lay dead on the field, with the 15,000 Britarians suffering fewer than 1,000 casualties. But that was not all. It took a lot of leadership and skill to keep a routed army from disintegrating, leadership and skill Theodore lacked. His host splintered. A decent chunk of the survivors, nearly 5,000 men, fled west, to Glopurg, in relatively good order. Another group fled south in the general direction of Old Cragdon and Litorio, where they would be reincorporated into a fresh host marshalled by the Count of Litorio and the Strategos of the Litoric Theme. Hundreds of men fled off in smaller bands, and either made their way to a larger Igoria host, or began to attack Britarian scouts, outriders and foraging parties. But others simply turned to banditry, terrorising the countryside.
The victorious outcome of this battle signalled Hugh de Raville's rise to prominence. Although the Duke of Mariana remained in official command of the smaller Britarian host, in practice nearly all decisions were made by Ser Hugh. Hugh de Raville, despite being an experienced soldier and excellent tactician, was not as adept at strategy. So he, against his better judgement, decided to lead his victorious force forwards and pursue the fleeing Igorian army.
This was a rash move. By the time he set out, autumn had begun. Food was becoming scarcer and scarcer for his army to forage. It was not helped by a new development in the Imperial capital. In the autumn of 1235 Theodore returned a morally crushed man. His army had been routed and he had suffered a great personal loss. In his desperation, finally recognising the dire straights the Empire was in, he was prepared to reconcile with his son. He sent Andronicus a letter, asking him to come to Glopurg with all haste, and come with haste he did. Andronicus arrived in Glopurg and was welcomed as a mix between a saviour and a messiah. The mayor, the Senate and the aldermen all turned out to greet him, and the city streets were lined with citizens cheering for the Prince. Andronicus brought with him a tail of some two thousand of his own retainers and other recruits from Brightwater to assist in the defence.
After a short and somewhat uneasy reunion with his father, Andronicus at leapt into action. He planned to immediately raise a large army and crush de Raville's force before moving on to fight Adrien himself and relieve Numergrad, which had been valiantly holding out. But Theodore forbade him from calling the Thematic armies to arms just yet, insisting that he wait 'till spring before embarking on campaign. Andronicus took pity on his ageing father and consented, but sent urgent messages to the Emperor's vassals and the Tagmatic forces stationed elsewhere, calling on them to come to Glopurg. But before the ink had dried on his letters he put together a force of 7,000 men, made up from the men he'd brought and the remnants of his father's army, and rode out to seek confrontation with Hugh de Raville.

Hugh de Raville, meanwhile, was making poor progress. He had sent a message to King Adrien, inviting him to join the march on Glopurg, but Adrien was less bold and, rather than marching at full pace to meet up with de Raville, hovered awkwardly between the forces still besieging Numergrad (around 10,000 men) and de Raville's men. It was not all futile, though, as disgruntled Igorian nobles began to flock to Adrien's banner, bringing with them several thousand additional men. Though the nobles were committed to Adrien's cause, be it because of opportunism and personal ambition, seeking to be rewarded with lands when Adrien won, or because of enmity with the Emperor, the common Igorian soldiers that rallied beneath their lords' banners when they joined Adrien were less confident. Many were unhappy at fighting their own.
But de Raville's progress was slowed by bad weather and lack of supplies, as well as his troops', both mercenaries and Britarian levies, tendency to pillage every town they came across. Andronicus had also decided to pick the land clear ahead of de Raville's advance, taking as much food as they could, at times forcibly. Though harsh, it was necessary to win time, as reinforcements gradually trickled towards Glopurg.
Hugh de Raville nonetheless drove his men on, sending out large numbers of foraging parties to find food and fodder. Andronicus, meanwhile, shadowed de Raville with his smaller force, never engaging, but rather picking off his scouts and raiding parties. At one point he even launched an audacious, but unsuccessful, raid on Ser Hugh's baggage train. As time went on, many of de Raville's troops, mainly mercenaries and feudal levies, began to slip away into the countryside, tired of long, hungry marches, and turned to banditry, at times colliding and clashing or, rarely, banding together with the Igorian deserters that had escaped the disastrous Battle of Mika's Hill.
As autumn drew on, Hugh de Raville's army began to suffer, losing more and more men to lack of supply, but Hugh was determined to keep going.
At last, on October 20th, 1235, Andronicus decided to strike and decapitate de Raville's host.
Ser Hugh, his vanguard and most of the noble commanders had quartered themselves in a small, wall-less town called Leibilene. The majority of the host was encamped just over a hill, setting up camp and sending out several parties to loot and pillage the surrounding countryside.
Leibilene had no walls, but de Raville posted guards on around the town before going off to his quarters in a charming two-story inn that he, the Duke and their knights had occupied. Many of his men went off to a nearby brothel, and others went off to alehouses and winesinks to get drunk.
Then, in the dead of night, Andronicus struck with a raiding force, determined to cut the head off the snake, so to speak, by killing Hugh de Raville and the Duke, as well as most of the leadership of de Raville's host. What should be noted is that the intelligence accuracy of the Igorian army had dramatically increased. Andronicus had sent and payed for spies and informers, had constantly scouted the Britarian host to check their progress and numbers and interrogated prisoners thoroughly for whatever few things they knew. This had given him a good idea of the Britarian leadership and dispositions.
Just as the sun had set, Igorian riders descended upon the Britarian sentries posted to watch the entrances to the city. They were hacked down in minutes, and the Igorian troops rushed into the town, with orders to find and kill one man: Ser Hugh de Raville.
Britarian resistance in the town stiffened, and a group of knights under one Ser Gaston "le Gros" ("the Fat"), a good friend of de Raville's, put up a fierce fight. However, they were eventually hacked down or captured. Ser Gaston was killed, having fought back a little too lustily instead of submitting. Elsewhere, Igorian soldiers reached the brothel where many of Ser Hugh's companions had gone to enjoy themselves. The heavily armoured Igorians burst in and began killing everyone they found, be it Britarians or Igorian patrons. Then, egged on by some local priest, they torched the place and moved on.
Andronicus himself rode in, heavily armoured in black chain mail, and began laying about him with sword and mace. But despite him best efforts, Andronicus could not kill or capture Hugh de Raville. He escaped. According to different stories, Ser Hugh either charmed the innkeeper of his tavern (whose gender remains unknown) and the innkeeper, out of love, showed him a secret tunnel that lead beyond the town limits to a little shed where the inn stored its booze. Another account, more believable, is that Hugh de Raville, put on his armour and charged out into the melee, sensibly leaving his surcoat with the de Raville sigil on it so as not to attract unwanted attention. Before long, Ser Hugh called the retreat and withdrew his men from the town, fleeing over the hill to the main body of the Britarian host, where the rattled de Raville organised his men into battle order. Just as the sun rose, the Britarian force took the hill, bristling with pikes and spears, to find that the Igorians had gone.
In the First Battle of Leibilene, as it became known, some 200 Britarians were killed to some 60 Igorians. Fairly low casualties, considering the fact that there could have been, potentially, thousands of men committed to the fight.
But although this battle may have resulted in little in terms of casualties, it did result in several more significant things. Andronicus captured several Britarian noblemen, who were taken back to Glopurg and put in comfortable, yet permanent, confinement as befit their status. Secondly, it damaged both Hugh de Raville's pride and his reputation. And finally, and perhaps most importantly, it forced Ser Hugh to pause, think, and understand that blundering through the hungry countryside seeking a confrontation with the Igorians was not going to end well. Ser Hugh turned his host about and marched back the way he came, determined to winter somewhere where he could find more food and supplies for his men. Hugh de Raville's march on Glopurg had ended with a dismal failure. Ser Hugh had failed to force a decisive engagement where he could use his superior numbers, he had lost several thousand men to attrition and desertion and military action along the way and inflicted insufficient Igorian losses, and he had gotten his nose bloodied by Andronicus at Leibilene.
The fighting settled down for late autumn and throughout the winter months. Andronicus steadily received reinforcements, though not as plentiful as he'd hoped, and Adrien and his lieutenants were preoccupied trying to feed their armies. It was this desperation for supplies that lead them to release their mercenaries on the Igorian countryside to find whatever food they could. Among those mercenaries was a particularly large contingent of Chidorians, who quickly became the most hated soldiers of Adrien's army in Igoria for their savagery and brutality in extracting supplies. Small skirmishes were fought between part-time soldiers who had been raised by their local commanders, reinforced by local militia and between Adrien II's mercenaries. But the main action of the winter was the siege of Numergrad which had been dragging on for several months now. Numergrad was well stocked with provisions, but, even so, the Duke took the necessary precaution of expelling certain "useless mouths", i.e. townspeople of Numergrad who could or would not fight. Many had nowhere to go, and, taking what little belongings they could, the set off west, where many were simply robbed by the besieging Britarians despite a gentleman's agreement of sorts between Isaac, Duke of Numergrad and the commander of the besiegers, a rather chivalrous Britarian nobleman. However, the Britarian general found himself unable to control the common soldiers of his army when it came to looting and pillaging. The besiegers of Numergrad outnumbered the defenders 2:1, with roughly 10,000 men sitting outside blockading the substantial garrison. The only exciting action of the siege that winter, apart from occasional Britarian assaults, was the daring sally by the Igorian defenders. At dawn on December 4th, 1235, a small band of men floated downstream on a river galley and a barge, tore down the boom that blocked the river and all traffic, killed the surprised defenders and opened the river. A handful of the Igorians, who had horses, raced downstream to Old Cragdon to inform whatever Igorian authorities were present there that it was possible to resupply the fortress by river now. The raid was almost flawless, had it not been for the fact that, on the way back, the galley struck a rock or a lump of ice and sank. The soldiers aboard either drowned, or paddled to the relative safety of the barge, the shore, or, going the extra mile, the fortress itself. But without a galley to tow it, the current drifted the barge downriver where the barge was caught on a sandbar, with the surviving fighters on board yielding to the Britarians.

As spring began, both armies prepared to fight. Andronicus had assembled a formidable force of 17,000 men, who had been relatively well fed for the duration of the winter. By contrast, the Britarians had suffered from lack of supplies. However, Adrien was determined to finish what Hugh de Raville had started and march on Glopurg. Adrien united his host and that of Ser Hugh, yielding a force of some 25,000 men, a substantial part of whom were mercenaries and Igorian rebels. Recognising Ser Hugh's ability, Adrien gave him command of the left flank, but took overall command himself. Adrien marched forward because he and his commanders, sensibly, feared that the Igorian armies could only get stronger if they left them. Andronicus, for his part, sought a decisive engagement because he knew that winter had been severe for the Britarians and he wanted to strike before they could fully recover. In particular, many of Adrien's knights, who were the pride and joy of the Britarian armies, had lost their mounts for lack of fodder or for need of fresh meat. As a result, the Britarian cavalry strength was rather lacking.
Both armies marched forward with determination, but Andronicus, wisely, marched slower. He didn't want to exhaust his men, and he knew that the closer the Britarians got to Glopurg, the further away they'd be from the besieging forces at Numergrad and the further they'd have to retreat.
Perhaps symbolically, or perhaps ironically, the two armies met on April 15th, 1236, in the very same place they'd fought months previously: near the town of Leibilene, for an engagement that would be known as the Second Battle of Leibilene. Unlike the first battle, however, this one was fought a few miles outside the town.
As the sun began to reach its zenith, the two massive armies drew up for battle opposite each other. Although not nearly as large as the armies that are fielded these days, seeing 42,000 men come together for a great reckoning was truly an epic event in those days.
The Britarian host was split into three battles, as most armies were. Ser Hugh de Raville, now deprived of his independent command, commanded the left. The centre was lead by King Adrien II himself, an inexperienced commander, yet prestige and custom demanded that he lead the army. The right flank was commanded by Adrien Beaumont, Duke of Argencol, a soldier of mild renown.
The Igorian army was arrayed in a similar pattern. Manuel Laronios, promoted to Strategos for his heroic part in the Battle of Mika’s Hill, commanded the Igorian left, opposing the Duke. The centre of the Igorian army was commanded by Andronicus, who also held overall command. The right was lead by John, Margrave of Lemnis, the son of the late Margrave Constantine of Lemnis, and a reliable soldier.
The Britarian deployment was more passive and defensive. Taught caution by Ser Hugh de Raville’s successes and failures, and further constrained by his lack of cavalry, Adrien heeded the knight’s advice and decided to hold his ground, deploying his men in tight clusters, and spreading them out evenly across the line.
This suited Andronicus well. He would use the passivity of the Britarian army and their lack of cavalry to maneuver his men into a desirable position. He also spread his men out more thinly, aiming to outflank the Britarians. But unlike his enemies, Andronicus did not spread his strength out evenly. Instead, he concentrated the majority of his heavy cavalry on the left flank, under Laronios, aiming to smash through the Britarian right and roll on down their line, routing their army.
The battle began as many battles did, with some skirmishing. Igorian archers and their Britarian counterparts loosed volley after volley at the opposing army. Luckily for both sides, it was not a windy day, or otherwise their arrows would have been swept off course and rendered completely ineffective. The arrows rattled off armour and stuck into shields as they came down, or, alternatively, found weak spots or soft flesh and brough down their victims. After around an hour of exchanging volleys, Andronicus ordered the attack. As warhorns and brazen trumpets sounded the charge, the Igorian Cataphracts thundered towards the Britarian right flank, kicking up a storm of dust, lances lowered and banners streaming. They crashed into the Britarian lines, impaling men on their lances and drawing their swords and maces for close work, ‘laying about them bloody execution’. Laronios’s infantry joined the fight, and, as they did, the two other divisions of the Igorian army met the Britarians. Ser Hugh de Raville, boldly, ordered a counter-charge, engaging the Margrave of Lemnis’s men as they came towards him, and a savage fight ensued. The melee ground on, men hacking at each other with sword and axe and Morningstar, and prodding with spears and pikes. But, under the repeated cavalry charges and infantry assaults of the Igorian left the Britarian right flank began to falter, Beaumont’s men drawing back and shieldwalls collapsing, until at last they broke, men flinging aside their weapons in order to run faster and escape certain death. The Igorians surged forward, hacking down scores of fleeing men and capturing those that yielded and were lucky enough to escape the frenzied bloodlust. With the right in tatters, the rest of the Britarian line began to crumble, with Adrien’s own centre fleeing, the King at their head. Only Ser Hugh de Raville’s men maintained order, encouraged by their charismatic commander. At last, seeing that the rest of the army had fled and the Igorian centre was coming around to engage them (the Igorian cavalry from the left flank were running down Britarian stragglers or looting the baggage train), the Britarians withdrew, having offered up ferocious resistance to their Igorian foes.
This battle was a decisive victory for Andronicus and Igoria. Of the 17,000 men deployed, the Igorians lost more than 2,000 men, while the 25,000 Britarians lost 9,000, many of them hacked down during the rout.
This truly crushing defeat for Britarian changed the tide of the war.

Taking no time to replenish his losses or rest his men, Andronicus pressed on, aiming to crush the disorganised Britarian host as they fled. But, in another example of his military skill, Hugh de Raville held Andronicus back in a battle that, though it ended with Hugh’s forces being driven off the field and failed to inflict significant losses to either side, slowed the Igorians down long enough for the Britarians to regroup and catch their breath. But there would be no second chance for Adrien. His army fled east, in the direction of Numergrad.
Andronicus was eager to pursue. He ordered Prokopios, Count of Litorio, who had marshaled an army in the east together with the Prefect of the Litoric Theme, to march west and join up with him. This army counted as many as ten thousand men in its ranks, who had spent the past several months drilling and training under the walls of Old Cragdon. They were a force to be reckoned with.
The two Igoria forces joined up by the beginning of the summer, and Andronicus assumed overall command. Although, perhaps, there were those that would have questioned his authority, none did so publicly. Andronicus was a hero. It was he who had, effectively, saved Igoria. He had won a decisive victory and had cemented his reputation as a talented and effective general. Moreover, Emperor Theodore had fallen ill. His illness was, most likely, linked with the stress and humiliation he had suffered following his defeat. Although he would recover and live for nearly two more years, Theodore was by now a broken old man who played a very limited role in the war. Andronicus now held the reins.

Andronicus had not yet formulated any kind of strategy, but already messengers were reaching him from Numergrad. Although the daring raid during the winter had allowed the fortress to establish some kind of contact with the outside world, the Britarian besiegers had tightened their siege lines around the fortress-town. Now, after nearly a year of siege, the fortress-town was in dire straights. Food was running low, and the Duke of Numergrad sent urgent requests for relief.
Andronicus would give him just that, and he had the perfect man for the job: A young man called Serapion who would go far.
Serapion was a commoner. He had no wealthy family members. He had become a mercenary at an early age, and, when given the chance, had re-enlisted in one of the Imperial Tagmata regiments and had risen to its command. His Tagmata had proven itself at Mika’s Hill and at both Battles of Leibilene. He was an exceptional duelist, and a bold leader, though by no means a tactical genius. But his service had earned him Andronicus’s trust and support. Andronicus put Serapion in charge of a special flying column, numbering 3,500 horsemen and 2,000 infantry. All these troops were comparatively lightly armed and equipped, and were not supported by the cumbersome supply trains that larger armies were. Serapion’s 2,000 infantry were so-called “Peltasts”. Though Peltasts in the ancient world were javelin-armed skirmishers, these medieval Peltasts were more like assault troops. These medieval Peltasts had proven themselves during the wars in Krill and Nazlac in the 10th, 11th and early 12th centuries, where they had been highly effective at storming enemy hillforts and wooden castles. Armed with javelins and various projectiles, just like their ancient cousins, they were fairly lightly armoured and equipped with spears, axes, dirks and kopis swords for close work.
Serapion’s mission was to reach Numergrad before Adrien and the remains of his army could. Serapion’s army set out, marching quickly overland.
Ser Hugh de Raville, meanwhile, had been elevated further in standing among the Britarian commanders. After all, his division was the only one to retreat in good order from the battlefield after the disastrous Second Leibilene. Hugh himself had learned the value of caution, and was keen to share it with the others. The King himself listened to his advice, something that the later Adrien II was not so keen on doing. A seed of doubt began to grow in the mind of the King. Ser Hugh’s success was arousing many uncomfortable feelings in Adrien. The first of these was jealousy, of the kind a mediocrity feels towards a genius (Mozart and Salieri). Adrien dreamed of military glory, yet the only success that had thus far been bestowed by the gods on his armies belonged to Hugh de Raville, not him. The second feeling was that of a slight fear. Britarian kings had a history of difficult relations with their nobility. Any powerful nobleman was a potential threat. And the third was suspicion that Hugh de Raville was in league with the Igorian Emperor. This was a baseless suspicion, yet one that would be typical of a later Adrien Giraudin.
Anyhow, Ser Hugh de Raville, perhaps, foresaw an attempt by the Igorians to cut off their army from reuniting with their reinforcements, and, instead of a headlong retreat eastwards, the Britarian army marched east cautiously, with Ser Hugh commanding the rearguard to hold off any attempt by Andronicus to catch up to them.
This cautious advance, though perhaps wise on the part of Ser Hugh from a certain point of view, unwittingly played right into Serapion’s hands.

By the time Serapion’s force was drawing close to the Britarian army besieging Numergrad, the tiring, boring routine of a prolonged siege was beginning to affect both the besiegers and the besieged. Soldiers spent their days dicing and drinking in their tents. Nobody manned the walls of the Fortress, save for a few tired archers who would still take potshots at any Britarian commander to emerge unarmoured. The Britarian sentries were, by this point, lazy and tired, and effectively blind. At any rate, they were more concerned with watching the fortress to spot any sorties by the defender, rather than watching for a relief force. The Britarian besiegers also outnumbered the Igorian relief force two to one. Most importantly, the Britarians had not fortified their camp.

Serapion’s plan for relieving the siege of the city was a cunning one. A trusted eunuch swam into the fortress-town, passing unseen under the boom and the portcullis, and delivered the message to the Duke of Numergrad, informing him to put the garrison on high alert and to sally forth at ‘the most opportune moment’.
That night, he sent his infantry in. The twenty-three hundred soldiers were instructed to make as much chaos as possible, rather than killing the Britarian soldiers quietly. They cut horse lines, set fire to tents and ran through the camp slaughtering all that they caught. Isaac, Duke of Numergrad, sleepless and stressed, saw the fires blazing, and, getting up on his horse, drawing his sword, lead his men out of the gates to attack the Britarian camp. The Britarians were not, however, entirely helpless. Though discipline and combat readiness had slowly dissipated over the course of the siege, they were, nonetheless, courageous fighters. The knights and commoners rallied, and fought with the Igorians amongst the flames of the burning tents, steel clashing with steel, leather, flesh and bone. Then, Serapion and the Igorian cavalry charged in, causing, if possible, even more havoc. With frightened Britarian horses running through the camp and savage Igorian horsemen riding alongside them, it was not long before the Britarians broke and began to run. Serapion’s men, victorious, did not pursue them through the night, as Serapion feared that his own army would lose cohesion, stumbling blindly after their fleeing enemies in the dark. This move allowed the Britarians to escape after losing a fairly modest 1000 men, though not as modest as the 300 or so Igorians.
Complete disaster for the Britarian invaders was averted because of Ser Hugh’s caution. Adrien’s army had sent plenty of scouts ahead, and they reported, fearfully, that the siege had been broken, the Britarian host scattered. Ser Hugh was no fool. He counseled Adrien to turn northwards instead, towards the smaller castle called Crotedon. A powerful castle in its own right, it had fallen to the Britarians at the beginning of their campaign. The castle’s owner, a baron, had fled and was presumably with Andronicus’s army. As fate would have it, Crotedon had been built and maintained by Malegorn I, the man the Britarian King viewed as a usurper and hated dearly. Ironically, it was this castle that Adrien chose as his new HQ, and it was there that Adrien rejoined with the remains of the besiegers of Numergrad. This combined Britarian army numbered well over 20,000, a formidable force, but their morale was at an all-time low. They had suffered two humiliating defeats in a year, and their leader was no closer to accomplishing his goal than he had been 2 years earlier.

Andronicus’s force marshaled similar numbers, but, contrary to the Britarians, their spirits were high. The defeats of 1235 seemed a distant memory, and, unlike the Britarians, they had full confidence in their leader, the Crown Prince Andronicus.
A showdown between the two armies was inevitable. Andronicus was eager for blood, and Adrien was eager for revenge. He made the big mistake of not listening to Ser Hugh and most of his other nobles, among them Duke Adrien Beaumont of Argencol and Duke Thierry Occasin of Mariana, two men whose word carried a lot of weight. They counseled him to avoid battle altogether. Seeing that the King was adamant, and, in fact, certain of victory, they begged him to at least find more favourable ground. But Adrien was certain that the gods were with him, and that his last defeat had merely been the gods’ way of humbling him (it did no such thing, and the lives of 9,000 men was an expensive way of humbling a deranged monarch indeed). So, on the 22nd of August 1236, the King of Britarian faced off against the Crown Prince (Basilisk) of Igoria for the second time. The commands held were the same. Except this time, neither side was planning on demonstrating any tactical genius. Andronicus personally lead a heavy cavalry charge; supported by an all-out advance of most of the Igorian forces, save for the reserve, commanded by Isaac, Duke of Numergrad. In a brutal, grinding fight the already fragile morale of the Britarian army shattered, and they retreated, many of the nobles withdrawing their own contingents independently of the King when they saw the battle go ill. Ser Hugh de Raville remained, having no contingent of his own, desperately attempting to rally the Britarian ranks, even leading what was effectively a suicidal last stand of 400 knights and a few hundred commoners before his comrades pulled him away to safety.

Another humiliating defeat saw the end of Adrien II’s first invasion of Igoria. The King and what remained of his host fled to Britaria, where he reinforced many of the border castles, fearing a swift Igorian counterattack. But no such attack occurred. The Igorians spent the next year taking back the castles and towns that remained in the hands of Britarian garrisons. Andronicus showed no mercy to those captured, summarily executing many. It was brutal, but such were the times. Though Igorian and Britaria remained at war, no major military action occurred until 1238. More on that in the next part!
Last edited by Igoria on Fri Aug 12, 2016 10:11 am, edited 5 times in total.
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Postby Igoria » Thu Dec 17, 2015 3:01 pm

The Seventy Years’ War
Part 2: “Loot ‘n’ burn, boys!”
March 1238. Banners flutter in the wind as two armies face off across a field. Rank upon rank of infantry stare sullenly at their foes across the field. Thousands of loyal Imperial troops face a smaller force of Adrien II’s remaining Igorian sympathisers. Then, as if by some prearranged signal, the Imperial lines surge forward, and the slaughter begins. Leading the vanguard in his black armour is none other than Andronicus Sathrus, son of the ailing Theodore IV. The battle ends in under an hour, with Andronicus’s foes dying, fleeing and yielding in their hundreds. A battle that would have turned the knees of any inexperienced participant to jelly, but even so, compared to the titanic clashes that had occurred 2 years earlier, it may just as well have been a water-balloon fight. Little over 5,000 men participated in this battle, compared to nearly 50,000 that had fought at Leibilene and Crotedon.

This small battle came at the end of a period of peace that lasted from 1236 to 1238. Following the Britarian King Adrien II’s retreat from Igoria in the summer of 1236, nothing much had taken place, and not by the choice of either of the military leaders. Adrien II was eager to try again, desperate to, for the third time, seek a decisive confrontation in which he could crush the Igorians and take his “birthright”. Andronicus was eager to pay the Britarians back for the suffering they had inflicted on the Igorian countryside.
But neither could carry out their ambitions. Adrien’s nobles had had enough of war. Many had lost their lives, or had lost sons and heirs. Several nobles had been captured, and had spent the years enjoying the hospitality of the ageing Emperor Theodore IV. Adrien’s army depended on his nobles’ commitments, so he spent the two years attempting to connive, bribe or bully his nobles into supporting another campaign.
Andronicus, however, was not constrained by low morale or defeatism. Igorian spirits were high. Andronicus had, after all, given them two stunning victories. But Theodore, the Emperor, was much less eager. There could have been a whole variety of factors as to why. Some believe that Theodore’s own failure in the field haunted him, others said that the peaceable, administrative-minded Emperor wanted to end the war altogether, in fact, he sent Adrien offers of peace and even offered some minor concessions. Others believed that the ageing Emperor had grown fearful of his son. Andronicus and Theodore had never had a loving relationship, and it is possible that in his last few months Theodore feared that Andronicus’s success and rising popularity would threaten the Emperor’s own hold on the country. There was some substance to these suspicions: many of Igoria’s foremost nobles and military leaders listened to Andronicus more readily than they did to Theodore.
Whatever the case, Theodore had kept Andronicus on a short leash from 1236 to 1238, restricting him to recapturing Igorian castles taken by the Britarians in 1235 and hunting down those nobles that had dared to betray the Emperor’s trust and side with King Adrien. It was Andronicus’s hunt for these nobles that had brought him to the frosty March field. He had scourged the country with a band of several thousand elite and trusted men, hunting down traitors. It was in this band that we could see the beginnings of his semi-legendary Black Army of later years. His men were not bound by class, religion or culture. They were, of course, predominantly Igorians, but there were also Crats, Krauts, Chidorians, Weltens and even Britarians fighting for him. All of them were bound by their love for war and plunder, and Andronicus provided them with plenty of both in those months.

In April 1238 Theodore IV, Emperor and Autocrat of Igoria, Archduke of Ronar and Scion of Rivadis breathed his last, dying after a period of illness aged 57. Andronicus was away from Glopurg when his father died, and he hurried back, where he was crowned Emperor soon after. Theodore’s will, in which he supposedly disinherited Andronicus in favor of Andronicus’s uncle Illarion, if it ever existed, was never discovered.

Despite his earlier eagerness to take the fight to Adrien, Andronicus did not immediately raise an army and march on Britaria. Instead he waited, preferring instead to consult his advisors on boring administrative matters such as commercial regulations that the Patricians of Denator wanted to impose and the price of grain across the Empire. Indeed, there was a strong element of those that wished for peace and reconciliation with Britaria, lead by several nobles, senators and spearheaded by the Bishop of Brightwater, a man whom Andronicus had known for a long time and trusted. The Bishop was close counselor and trusted advisor, but this split on policy lead to their friendship deteriorating. Furthermore, Andronicus’s inaction allowed the initiative to slowly slip into Adrien’s hands once again.
Adrien took advantage of the new Emperor’s inaction and finally made his move. He expelled the emissaries that the late Emperor Theodore had desperately sent to seek a peace treaty, and, raising another army, invaded Igoria in the early summer of 1238. Once again, loyal retainers and vassals such as Ser Hugh de Raville, now made into a baron and a respected member of the Britarian nobility, accompanied him. But this time, Adrien’s army was much smaller, less than half of his previous invasion force, numbering only about 15,000 men, among them 4,000 cavalry. This can be attributed to two primary causes: the horrendous losses his last army had suffered and the unwillingness of his vassals to provide fresh levies for another suicidal campaign. But an army of 15,000 men was still an army.

Adrien’s army, lead by the King himself, took a different approach. He had learned the hard way the price of trying to take the easy road into Igoria via Numergrad. This time, Adrien meant to risk the mountain passes.
This time luck, or the gods, seemed to be on Adrien’s side. His army swept through the Igorian lands in Nobique without much resistance. The Strategos of the local Theme, a certain Adrastus Kalivas, raised the men of his Theme to oppose Adrien. His small, outnumbered army of 6,000 men met Adrien’s far larger force in battle. Adrien was an indifferent commander at best, but he had several fearsome subordinates. Thierry Occasin, Duke of Mariana, was a fairly decent commander. Adrien Beaumont, Duke of Argencol, was a good strategist and a man who knew how to find good ground. And last, but certainly not least, came Ser Hugh de Raville, a brilliant tactician, recently promoted to Viscount for his services to the Britarian crown. But, in order to feed his ego, Adrien assumed overall command in this battle.
No tactics were required. Though the Igorians had favourable ground, and had set up strong defensive ranks, Adrien’s heavy knights devastated the Igorian army, crashing into it with the force of a tidal wave and sending the smaller force reeling.
With his confidence boosted by the victory Adrien pressed on. Taking advantage of the benevolent summer weather to cross through the mountains without too much difficulty, storming the handful of forts that blocked his passage, he marched on, sights set on Sorsonopolis.
Sorsonopolis was, perhaps, the fourth most prosperous city of the Empire. It was referred to as the “jewel of the north”, and had been bitterly contested between the now-conquered Kingdom of Nazlac and the Empire of Igoria in the 9th and 10th centuries.
The Kingdom of Nazlac had occupied the area in between and to the north of Brightwater and Sorsonopolis, and had at one point included both those cities. But Nazlac had been gone since the 11th century, and was only kept alive through songs and tales. Though the populace of Nazlac had been as Rivadi as the Igorians, and could claim no cultural or religious differences, many members of the local nobility felt that they could stand to profit from a resurgent Nazlac.
As Adrien’s army made its way to Sorsonopolis in the late summer and autumn of 1239, a party of nobles went to meet him. At its head came a certain Laurentius Bothar, a nobleman who held lands in former Nazlac. Bothar’s family had ties and shared blood with the old rulers of Nazlac. Bothar offered to raise troops from Nazlac and aid Adrien if the latter would make him ruler of Nazlac once he seized the Igorian throne. Adrien agreed. To him, this deal did not imply a powerful potential future rival. To him, it meant free troops. In September 1238, just as Adrien’s army placed itself outside Sorsonopolis’ old, powerful, Rivadi walls, Bothar returned to Nazlac and began to recruit a following from the local populace, and finding noble allies. To the somewhat naïve Bothar’s surprise, the local nobility was none to eager to support him in return for vague future promises. Nonetheless, by the end of the autumn Bothar had managed to recruit a substantial force of several thousand men, paid for with Adrien’s gold and promises of more. Bothar’s main problem rested in the fact that he could not equip these recruits sufficiently, nor train them, nor was he qualified to lead them. But that did not bother Bothar (geddit?). He was drunk on the prospect of kingship.

At this point, there is, undoubtedly, a question arising: Where was Andronicus all this time? Andronicus had been caught by surprise at the audacity of Adrien’s advance. He had expected Adrien to go on the defensive. Even if Adrien was to attack, Andronicus expected him to be far more tempered and cautious. He disregarded the messengers who informed him of Adrien’s march to the mountain passes. He didn’t think Adrien would dare to risk the mountains. He was shocked, to put it mildly, when Adrien emerged from the mountains almost unscathed with his sights set on Sorsonopolis. Andronicus found himself without much of an army. But, fortunately for him, a large force was garrisoned near Old Cragdon, made up largely of Thematic troops, left over from the campaigning season of 1236. Andronicus took command of this force, reinforced it with troops levied from the surrounding countryside and a contingent that the Duke of Denator had scrambled together. Having assembled his army, he marched north. Adrien was eager for a confrontation with the Igorian Empire. He remembered all too fondly the hastily assembled force that Emperor Theodore had opposed his previous incursion, and hoped that, this time, the Igorians would mount a similarly reckless defence. But he would be sorely disappointed. Andronicus was no Theodore.
The two armies met in a field close to a small market town called Epara, in January 1239. Adrien’s force, augmented by Bothar’s levies, could have outnumbered Andronicus, but it could have just as easily been the other way around.
The Britarians opened with a mass cavalry charge. The Igorian infantry formed tight ranks and lowered their long menaulion spears, which were thick and had a long blade on the end, and braced for the charge. Many Britarian horsemen were brought down, but the charge was still powerful, and succeeded in driving the Igorians back temporarily. But after some more fighting the tide turned and the Britarian knights were broken. As the Britarian cavalry retreated in disarray, it collided with the infantry and caused confusion and panic within the ranks of the Britarian footsoldiers that were advancing to support their fellows. As the confused Britarians milled around aimlessly, much to their captains’ frustration, the Igorians attacked, as Andronicus threw his infantry at them in three columns. The Igorians attacked the Britarian infantry and began to drive them back.
As his allies were being attacked, Bothar and his levies watched from a kilometer away. Bothar ignored Adrien’s frantic orders for him to attack, preferring instead to sit and wait. Then, just as it seemed that the Britarian cavalry could be rallied, the ignominious turncoat Bothar ordered his men to attack the Britarian cavalry, commanded by the Duke Adrien Beaumont. As Bothar’s footsoldiers marched towards him, Beaumont thought that they were planning on combining forced for a fresh charge. Only when the Nazlacian infantry were among them, pulling knights off their horses and hacking them down did Beaumont realise what was happening. His men fought back, but were overwhelmed and once again forced to retreat, this time joined by Adrien’s foot.
Though the Igorians won the battle, both sides had suffered, and Andronicus’ lack of cavalry forced him to watch, passively, as the Britarians withdrew. For his treacherous, faithless part in the victory Bothar was made a Count, but he was effectively sidelined from all politics and never achieved the social breakthrough he had wanted, spending the rest of his life on his small, backwater estate in Nazlac.

Though he had scored another victory, Andronicus paused before attacking his enemy. Following a poor harvest, Glopurg and much of the surrounding country collapsed into riotous chaos, and Andronicus was forced to pacify the capital before he could think of doing anything more.

While he was busy governing his country and suppressing dissent, Andronicus dispatched his subordinates to take the fight to Britaria. Several thousand men, split up into smaller hosts lead by Andronicus’ captains crossed the border and embarked on chevauchées: mercilessly looting and pillaging the Britarian countryside of the borderlands, and burning that which they could not take with them. These smaller bands would evade larger Britarian forces and bypass well-fortified cities, castles and strongholds, preferring to strike at the vulnerable countryside. This annoyed the Britarian nobility to no end. Many of them, and many nobles in Igoria, felt that wars were a kind of sport for gentlemen; there was no need for hard feelings afterwards and no need to strike below the belt. To many of Adrien’s vassals, these Igorian tactics were little above banditry. One of them, a certain Duke of Nouvelle-Loira, even sent Andronicus a stern letter complaining about one of his chevauchée bands sacking a town under his protection, and asking Andronicus to pay compensation to the town merchants who had lost their wares. Needless to say Andronicus refused.
One could argue that the Britarians were not above looting themselves, as Adrien’s Chidorian and Cratic mercenaries, as well as his own, Britarian, knights and common soldiers, had left a trail of burning devastation on their march through Igoria. It was because of this, in part, that Andronicus wanted to get back at them. But whereas the Britarian looting and pillaging had merely been a side effect of a hungry, restless army on the march, Andronicus’ men had only two tasks: loot ‘n’ burn. His aim in this was to weaken Britaria through reducing the productivity of the raided regions. Funnily enough, he would sort of end up shooting himself in the foot later on. This looting, pillaging and minor skirmishing carried on through 1239 and into 1240. Adrien kept his armies close by, even as his nobles raged at being unable to defend their own lands. Adrien was certain that all this was prelude to a major Igorian invasion. Rather than strengthening the provincial garrisons and helping defend against the raiders, he kept bringing more and more men in from the countryside, mustering an army to defend himself against the perceived Igorian threat.

In 1240 Andronicus recalled his raiding parties and marshaled an army, estimated at about 18,000 men by historians. In the summer of 1240, he set out into Britarian territory and, as a first move, lay siege to the city of Antoisson. Antoisson, if not quite a Numergrad, was damn well close to being one. Well garrisoned and supplied, Andronicus saw no means of taking it save by starving it out. His army set itself up for a long, drawn out siege, setting up a fortified camp and getting down to the difficult business of simply waiting. As summer turned into autumn, the siege continued. Adrien had not shown up to relieve the city with an army. Andronicus’ men were becoming restless.
Then, on October 14th, 1240, Thierry Occasin, Duke of Mariana, showed up with 12,000 men and Ser Hugh de Raville in tow. They took the usually cunning Andronicus by surprise. Andronicus had not expected the Britarians to show up at all, much less with winter drawing near. But there they were.
Ser Hugh and the Duke devised a plan to break though to the city and relieve it. Andronicus’ men were surrounding it, and were naturally spread thin. Andronicus was, however, cautious enough to erect a fortified camp where he and his finest were located. Occasin and de Raville’s plan came in two stages. The first was an all-out assault on the troops watching the city’s northern gates, and the second was the attack on Andronicus’ camp.
On the morning of the 15th, just as the Igorian soldiers were changing watch or eating breakfast, unarmed and unarmoured, the Britarians attacked, trumpets and warhorns blaring. They slammed into the northern most section of the besiegers, sending them reeling in panic. The routed Igorians ran through the camp, spreading fear among the ranks. The Igorians wavered, and no effort was made to counterattack. Hugh de Raville manfully cut his way through to the gates, and, linking up with the Duke of Mariana and part of the garrison that had sallied out, rallied his men for an assault on the Igorian main camp, leading them around the city’s eastern wall; the shorter route to the camp. Only one thing saved the Igorians: luck. As the Britarian knights began to form up for an attack, Andronicus hastily tried to get his men into some sort of order. Thankfully most of them were armed and armoured by now. All the same, they were panicked and jittery, and not ready to fight off a Britarian assault.
And here is where luck, or divine providence, came in. The ground was rough and uneven, and de Raville’s horse stumbled and fell, crushing his leg. With their popular leader incapacitated and being dragged off to the rear, the Britarian lines halted and became confused, giving Andronicus crucial time to get his men together. As Duke Thierry Occasin rode through the Britarian ranks restoring order, John, the Margrave of Lemnis, rushed to Andronicus’ aid with some vital reinforcements; soldiers who had been watching the western wall. The Duke of Mariana did not known of this. As though nothing had happened, he led his men forward, crashing through the palisade into the Igorian camp. Vicious fighting ensured, as Igorians and Britarians, as well as the various foreign mercenaries, fought steel on steel; axes, swords and mace crashed with shields and spears were shattered by the weight of horses. Both sides’ leaders fought in the thick of it: Andronicus, having set aside his purple regalia, fought in the midst in black mail, setting upon his Britarian foes with a flurry of blows, driving the back. After half an hour of intense fighting, both sides began to wear down. Although neither side had lost a huge number of men, both sides’ soldiers were exhausted. Occasin, seeing this, called off the attack. The Britarians withdrew, having given the Igorians a savage mauling. That night, the two armies were encamped in sight of one another, and neither side slept. Under the cover of darkness, the Igorians had quietly packed up their siege engines and regrouped at the fortified camp, the experienced Andronicus fearing another attack. But none came.
Thierry Occasin, Duke of Mariana, was no towering battlefield colossus. Although he had won moderately high praise, both from his peers and the King, for his role as official commander in the battle against Theodore IV and the march on Glopurg in 1235, at the time his army had been all but hijacked by Hugh de Raville, and he had been more of a figurehead and unwilling passenger than a commander. Hugh de Raville’s fall had broken his leg, and Occasin had gone to consult with his subordinate and plan their next move. But de Raville’s wound had become inflamed and he was feverish and delirious, in no state to plan anything. It fell on Duke Thierry to come up with the most cunning plan he could. Acknowledging Andronicus’ superior numbers, he knew that it would be difficult to win, particularly against a superior general like Andronicus, who thus far had a 3-0 score against Adrien. Occasin decided to withdraw and live to fight another day. Under cover of night, he sent a messenger to the garrison of Antoisson, telling them to pack up and leave. Under the cover of darkness, the garrison joined up with the rest of the army and they slinked off, leaving the city in the hands of its populace and a handful of soldiers who had slept through the evacuation. The townsfolk surrendered on the 16th of October, seeing no point in resisting now that the relief force and the garrison had abandoned them. Andronicus’ troops entered the city, raising the Imperial flag over the gates. Unlike most other cases, Andronicus was merciful and spared Antoisson the fate of sacking, and in fact tried to maintain order between the citizens and the Igorian soldiers that had gone into town to drink and whore.
With winter nearing, Andronicus decided to wait it out in Antoisson. He judged that the Britarians wouldn’t make another move until spring.
In Illirea, Duke Thierry Occasin sweated and fidgeted. He had not done well to win Adrien’s favour with his inglorious retreat from Antoisson. He had lost men in battle and had failed to deliver any success, instead cravenly evacuating the city and leaving it to Emperor Andronicus. Adrien was growing increasingly paranoid. He had, after all, assassinated his own father, and now feared that the same fate could be visited upon him. Adrien took his vassals’ reluctance to fight as signs of cowardice and treason, and was livid. It was on poor Thierry Occasin that he vented this anger.
The Duke rode into the royal palace in Illirea, responding to Adrien’s summons. As he dismounted, and his horse was led away, a servant offered him a drink of water. Occasin, tired and thirsty, grasped it eagerly. Just then, Adrien’s guards rushed in, with cries of “treason!” The Duke of Mariana’s retainers are cut down where they stand, and Occasin himself is apprehended before he could draw his sword. He is dragged to a cell, somewhere in the bowels of the magnificent fortified palace, protesting his innocence and loyalty all the way. Before long he was brought before Adrien, who ranted and raged at him, before pronouncing him a traitor, stripping him of his lands, rights, titles and incomes and sentencing him to death. Thierry Occasin, Duke of Mariana, was beheaded the following day, and his head stuck above the gates of Illirea as a warning to all other perceived traitors. The execution of Duke Thierry caused a problem, though. Within the ranks of the Britarian army were several thousand men that had been raised by him, bearing both Occasin’s own banner and the banners of his vassals and retainers. With the Duke executed, and his heir captured by the Igorians at Leibilene, the fate of his troops was unknown. Adrien appointed Count Jean Verannes, Duke Thierry’s most powerful vassal, as overall commander of Mariana’s contingent as well as Steward and Constable of the Duchy. But Verannes’ leadership was disputed by his fellows, and the men bearing the Occasin badge refused to follow him at all. In fact, nearly 300 of Mariana’s former retainers simply rode off, never to return.
As Adrien executed his wrath on his vassals through the winter, the Igorians themselves weren’t doing too well. Though the Igorian army had a well-developed supply system inherited from the Rivadis Empire, the army would, at times, be forced to forage. Finding food in winter during the middle ages was hard. Even harder was feeding an army of thousands. Harder yet was feeding an army of thousands in winter after you yourself had burned all the crops and killed all the livestock. Over the course of his raiding in 1239 and 1240, Andronicus had made a grave mistake. He had failed to realise that, by burning all the food and slaughtering or scaring away all the peasants, he would end up sabotaging his own campaign. His supply system buckled. Theodore’s lack of military reform or progress, a point of clash between him and Andronicus, was finally taking its toll. The supply system was not adequately prepared, financed or organised to provide sufficient supply for an army of nearly 20,000 men, much less abroad. Through the winter of 1240-41, his army began to suffer from severe attrition, his men hungry and weak, with disease spreading. In their desperation, his men began to eye the relative wealth and comfort of the citizens of Atoisson with envy. In the final week of December 1240 Andronicus hanged a dozen Igorian soldiers for breaking into the homes of rich citizens and stealing from them, in the hope of finding food or money. Andronicus knew that if the entire populace of Antoisson turned against his tired, hungry and sick army they would pose a major threat. Appearing an impartial lawgiver was vital to appease the populace. But at the same time, Andronicus knew that his men were by no means pacified, and unless he managed to solve the supply problem the looting and rioting would continue. But there was very little he could do. In January 1241 he issued an edict ordering all citizens of Antoisson to pay a tribute consisting of food. In a show of force, he lined his finest men up in the central square, and ordered them to collect the food that was brought forth. All went smoothly for around an hour, but then, when the poorer citizens’ turn came, a tussle ensured. Within minutes a full-blown riot was in progress, both hungry Igorian soldiers and angry Britarian citizens fighting tooth and nail over the food that lay stacked in carts. Andronicus drew his sword, and aided his men in escorting the carts out of the city for distribution to his army.
Within the walls of the city the riot was still raging, and Andronicus threw more men in to help quell it. Somewhere in the chaos a fire began, and began to spread through the city. As if by some miracle this fire brought everyone to their senses, and both Britarian citizens and Igorian soldiers rushed to try and put it out. The Igorians were not about to let their only refuge go up in flames.
By winter’s end, Andronicus’ army was weakened severely. Supply had improved, and spring meant that there would be more food in the surrounding regions, but the quickest way to resupply would be to move on up the river Mariana, into the lands as of yet untouched by war. This was fertile, prosperous country, ripe for the taking.
In early April Andronicus’ army left Antoisson, but having left behind a substantial garrison to guard their supply lines. Andronicus’ host now numbered roughly around 13,000 men, down from the 18,000 that he had set out with. Battle and attrition had taken their toll. Furthermore, his men no longer had the same confidence or morale that they’d left Igoria with almost a year earlier. His own captains: (Ioannes) John, Margrave of Lemnis, Isaac, Duke of Numergrad, Strategos Manuel Laronios and Serapion, were beginning to lose their faith in the man they’d seen triumph time and time over the Britarians. Andronicus had been humbled slightly by his misfortune. His dangerous confidence in his own abilities was tempered. But he still intended to conduct a campaign against the Britarians. After Antoisson, his next target was Gentira, and after that making his way to the sea before looping around to Illirea.
Through the spring of 1241 the Igorian army lazily made its way through the fertile land, looting, raiding, rapping and pillaging their way through county after county.
However, this almost relaxed style of warfare did Andronicus no favours. His men were losing cohesion and discipline. His army was made up largely from Thematic soldiers. These men had been trained for battle, not campaign. After a year, or maybe more, away from home, many were growing homesick. Desertion was not a major problem at first, but as Andronicus progressed he began to lose men steadily to desertion. His march also ground down, as his army moved slowly, both his men and his subordinates preferring to pillage their way through the villages rather than march quickly to their objectives. His army sieged down several fortified castles and sacked several towns, but there was no major fighting until the autumn of that year.

The Britarians were not about to give Andronicus Gentira on a silver platter. As his army drew closer and closer, Adrien dispatched his army, which he had been building up steadily over the better part of a year. But the army was lead not by Adrien, but rather two Dukes: Corentin de Octavianeau, Duke of Nouvelle-Loira, to whom Antoisson belonged, and Duke Adrien Beaumont, who had recently been nominated Lord Protector of Mariana. The Dukes of Argenol and Nouvelle-Loira lead their army to seek battle with Andronicus. Their army numbered at least 10,000 men; Andronicus’s numbers had fallen further in the months between his departure from Antoisson and this battle, due to desertion, disease and military action. He commanded similar numbers to the two Dukes. The armies met in a field outside the village of Vilheuvel. The village peasants all turned up to watch the battle, and the battle itself is well documented thanks to the eyewitness account of one Faramond of Thrim, a Lockridge knight who fought with the Britarians to make a name for himself, and in later life retired and became a chronicler.
As Faramond of Thrim would have it, the two armies lined up and stretched out into the distance. On the morning of September 9th 1241, the warhorns sounded and the Igorians charged, their cavalry kicking up a storm of dust as they surged forward with savage war cries. The Britarian Dukes responded by counter-attacking, marching forward to meet the Igorians. Their cavalry formed a deadly fist in the center, the vanguard, whilst Andronicus positioned his cavalry on the flanks and attempted to execute a pincer movement. It seemed to be working. The Igorian cavalry “hurt the flanks right sore”, according to Faramond, and began to push them back, compacting them closer together. Andronicus was on the brink of another great victory.
But then it went downhill.
Andronicus had massively overestimated the combat efficiency of his infantry. His cavalry was made up of skilled professionals: either knights fulfilling their feudal obligation or regular soldiers paid with coin. His infantry, however, was of lower quality. Though there was a core of professional heavy infantry, part of the Empire’s Tagmata regiments, the majority of his infantry came from the Themata. The Themata’s main strength came from the fact that they provided large numbers of cheap part-time soldiers who were trained in what they did. They were intended to defend their Theme, not go on long, arduous campaigns. Many were homesick and tired, and it had been a long time since they’d seen proper battle.
Andronicus’ demoralised infantry broke under the full weight of the Britarian charge. As his center began to give way, Andronicus realised that the battle was lost. Breaking through the center, the Britarians, rather than turning on the flanks or pursuing the retreating Igorian infantry, fell upon the Igorian baggage train, where Andronicus’ army had kept the treasures they’d pillaged. Though the Igorians lost all their plunder, it was a blessing in disguise. With the majority of the Britarians occupied, Andronicus was able to regroup and make a somewhat orderly withdrawal from the field of battle, sacrificing his troops’ treasure to spare them the slaughter that came with a rout.
Andronicus and his army retreated to Evermonde Castle, which they’d taken from its owners that spring/summer. Evermonde was a modern, strong keep, but its stores were empty and Andronicus knew he could not fit his army in there to withstand a siege. Pausing for a while at Evermonde to catch his breath, Andronicus continued to retreat through the pillaged countryside until he arrived at Antoisson. By this point, winter was nearing, and Andronicus knew that he could not remain in Britaria much longer. He withdrew from Antoisson with the remains of his army and made his way back to Igoria.
Last edited by Igoria on Fri Dec 18, 2015 1:58 am, edited 3 times in total.
I'm a somewhat constitutional hereditary monarchy.

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Postby Igoria » Sat Feb 06, 2016 8:41 am

The Seventy Years’ War
Part 3: The Rise and Fall of Adrien Beaumont, or the Chronicles of the Black Army Vol. I

In the early moths of 1242, in the aftermath of Andronicus’ failed invasion, the two sides brokered a truce. But before we go further, a brief word about the situation in the Duchy of Mariana is in order.

The Duchy of Mariana had by now become a pain in the neck for Adrien and his government. After the execution of Thierry Occasin, the Duke, the Duchy should have passed to his oldest son and heir, Robert. Save for one slight problem: Robert had been languishing in Andronicus’s dungeons since the Second Battle of Leibilene. With the Duke dead and his heir captive, the Duchy’s future was uncertain. At first, Adrien had attempted to reestablish order by promoting one of the Duchy’s vassals, Count Jean Verannes, to the Stewardship of the Duchy. But it had not worked. Verannes’ fellow counts all clamoured for some other solution, and Thierry Occasin’s two remaining sons, Baldwin and Raymond, who despised each other, both claimed the Duchy for their own. Verannes seized control of Gentira, and the two Occasins tried to recruit support from among the Duchy’s nobility. A few skirmishes were fought between men loyal to either Baldwin or Raymond. To add more confusion to this mess, there were 13,000 Igorian soldiers pillaging their way through the Duchy as the two claimants fought. Baldwin and Raymond, as well as anyone of influence in the Duchy who was desperate for protection, went as far as to recruit Igorian deserters with promises of pay and a way home at war’s end. All this contributed to Mariana’s level of “what the fuck is going on” rising to astonishing heights.
In an attempt to both solve the crisis and pawn it off to someone else, the King appointed Adrien Beaumont, Duke of Argencol, as Protector of Mariana, giving him effective seniority over any and all in the Duchy. While intended to calm the situation, it had enraged many of the other Dukes and turned them against Beaumont, and caused resentment for the King. The Duke of Nouvelle-Loira, Beaumont’s co-commander, resented him because he had a claim to a part of the Duchy of Mariana. But Beaumont seemed genuinely committed to restoring order. In fact, before Beaumont and his army marched off to face Andronicus (see previous part), Beaumont was forced to retake Gentira from the impudent Jean Verannes.

Anyway, as part of the truce of 1242, an exchange of prisoners was agreed, and Andronicus agreed to relinquish control of whatever Britarian castles still remained in his hands. Crucially, Andronicus kept his hands on Robert Occasin, rightful Duke of Mariana, allowing the violence and unrest in the duchy to continue until Baldwin Occasin was killed in an ambush by men loyal to none other than Count Jean Verannes, who had thrown his lot in with Raymond in return for patronage and support. But by this point Andronicus had begun to bombard all those who would listen with cheerfully outrageous propaganda, sending King Adrien, Raymond Occasin and Count Jean letters that he claimed came from Robert Occasin’s own hand. These letters all marveled at Andronicus’ generosity and fair treatment, as well as his fairness and justness. This last point touched a sore note with many recipients of these most likely forged letters. By this time King Adrien II was beginning to show his despotic nature. His handling of the chaos in Mariana had been a savage as it had been incompetent, and his “justice” had seemed to many as arbitrary and cruel. His authority among Britarian nobility began to fade. Several prominent nobles were moving further into the limelight, despite Adrien’s fears and paranoia. Exhibit A was the Duke of Argencol and Protector of Mariana, Adrien Beaumont. His reputation had soared following his victory over Andronicus at the Battle of Vilheuvel. Titles, honours and offices were heaped on him. But Beaumont was becoming despised as quickly as he was becoming powerful. Part of his unpopularity lay in his power, which the other nobles feared, but it largely stemmed from his shameless bootlicking of the King, and his very “yesman” attitude to all the King’s decisions. In 1242, the King bestowed upon him Britaria’s highest honour: Primarque. This reflected the level of Beaumont’s power: he was unchallenged by anyone but the King.

As Adrien Beaumont rose to prominence in Britaria, Andronicus’ eyes were fixed on his own internal politics. In his absence, the governance of the realm had been less than perfect, and when he returned, Igoria was filled with “multitudes of men of riotous disposition”, according to the Patriarch of Katopsis.
You see, Andronicus had been forced to leave the governing of the Empire in the hands of the Senate and several powerful noblemen. This government had bickered and fought, as the conflicting views of the private magnates spilled into public affairs. The chief among these powerful nobles was Romanos Donavi, Duke of Taractul and Lord Chancellor. Though he had done little wrong, it was upon him, as the de jure leader of the temporary government, that the anger of those who had suffered from misgovernance and corruption fell. The loudest voices of unhappiness came from the educated lower gentry and well to do commoners. The Senate had imposed a highly unpopular tax on “all moveables”, claiming the need to strengthen the defences of Numergrad and Denator against a possible invasion. How much of this money went to repairing Numergrad’s walls after a long siege is unknown, but probably not much at all, as it soon lined the pockets of the Senators who had been charged with managing the collection of these funds.
Before long, the unhappy voices manifested themselves into an army, with a sizeable contingent of disaffected soldiers who had not received their pay. They marched on a manor belonging to Donavi, located not too far from Denator, and set fire to it, stripping it bare and killing or driving off his servants. Donavi himself had managed to flee on horseback into the countryside, accompanied by only a small guard. Evading the bands of rebels hunting him, he made his way to Glopurg and begged the Emperor to do something.
The rebels themselves had gone about their business protesting their loyalty to the Emperor. In fact, in many rebels’ minds, they were doing Andronicus a favour by hunting down and summarily executing those they saw as guilty of misrule. But when it became known that Andronicus had sided with Donavi and was rallying a force of his own to put them down their views changed. Lead by a minor nobleman called Andreas Rodis, the rebels issued a proclamation, declaring Andronicus a usurper, and proclaiming the son of Theodore IV’s brother Illarion, Valerian, Emperor. But their declaration rang hollow, seeing as Valerian rode beside Andronicus to crush them. Before battle was joined, many of the rebels slinked off into the countryside and tried to make their way back to their homes. Those that remained to take the field against Andronicus the next day stood no chance, and were slaughtered. Among those whose blood watered the earth was Andreas Rodis.
With this rebellion put down, Andronicus was able to return to Glopurg. Once there, his family greeted him; his eldest son and heir, Alexius, was now six, the age at which any young nobleman’s education would begin. Andronicus appointed his trusted ally John, Margrave of Lemnis as his son’s chief tutor, and appointed other trusted men to oversee other aspects of Alexius’ education.
Parallel to managing his household and court, Andronicus began to turn his mind to military reform. The specter of his defeat at Vilheuvel haunted him. He had no intention of peace with Britaria: Andronicus burned with a desire for revenge for the grave insult that Adrien had dealt him by claiming the throne. While Adrien maintained his pretenses, Andronicus would have no peace. But more frightening was the simple fact that Andronicus loved war. It was his natural element, more so than administration or diplomacy.
In order to finally impose his will on Adrien, Andronicus required the means to do so. His experiences had taught him the dangers of campaigning with the relatively inexperienced Thematic troops. He decided to form his own, new army. Andronicus remembered the success he had enjoyed while campaigning at the head of a force of several thousand hardened, professional soldiers. His new army would be based on the same principle. A force of several thousand professionals, paid with gold and bound together by their love of war, a passion they shared with their commander. Andronicus began the formation of this army in 1243, transferring several Tagmata regiments to it. Around this core he built up a force of mercenaries, adventurers and soldiers of fortune, as well as part-time Thematic soldiers that were willing to fight full-time. All were fighting for him on their own free will. None were fulfilling their feudal obligations or duty as Thematic troops.
Despite their often unsavoury backgrounds, Andronicus enforced strict discipline among his troops. Theft, desertion, or cowardice were capital offenses. Andronicus also introduced uniformity. He had his armouries and foundries in Glopurg and Sorsonopolis churn out vast quantities of black chainmail. The surcoats his troops wore were also black, and for the army’s banner he took his personal emblem: three apples arranged in a triangle on a black field; one apple green, one red and one gold. The gold apple was at the tip of the triangle, above the two others.
The troops of this new army were equipped and armoured in a different style to the more traditional Igorian armour. Usually, Igorian soldiers would wear kind of padded ‘soft armour’ called a kavadion, which was a textile construction that reached below the knees. The kavadion was often the only type of armour worn by lighter troops and skirmishers. But in heavier troops, both cavalry and infantry, it was warn as a sort of arming doubled under the klivanion lamellar armour or scale armour that was often used by the heavier troops.
The soldiers of Andronicus’ new army were equipped in a style more often seen on [continent A] and Britaria. The predominant type of armour would be chainmail, and troops would wear surcoats to identify their allegiance. Heavy cavalry in this new army would also wear the ‘coat of plates’ armour that was beginning to emerge elsewhere in the west.
Andronicus put an immense amount of time, care and dedication into training and equipping his army. However, producing all this equipment was incredibly costly. Fortunately for Andronicus, Theodore’s able administration had left Igoria with a full treasury prepared to uphold the burden of war.
This abundance of black clothing and armour gave the army its name: The Black Army of Igoria.
On paper, Andronicus intended to arm, train and command an army of 28,000 men. But when he presented his idea to his council of nobles and the Senate, they were shocked. Only the Ethreist god knew how they would pay for all those men, on top of the existing Themata and Tagmata. Andronicus would not be turned away, though. In 1244 he passed another military reform, and edict that reorganised the Themata, merging some of the smaller ones together and cutting down the number of Thematic troops from between 80,000 and 90,000 to around 65,000, hoping to cut costs. However, Andronicus’ reformation of the Themata was also a product of his own style of waging war. The Themata were perfect for defence and were suited to an Emperor disinterested in war, such as Theodore, because he could leave the commanding of these troops to subordinates. But for Andronicus, who commanded armies personally and waged war beyond his borders, these men, though large in number, were not the way to go. Andronicus was determined to reform the army into one with a larger central, mobile component better suited for campaigning, rather than one focused on garrisoning and defending the various parts of the Empire.
Large numbers of these now jobless Thematic troops were rehired into the Black Army or Tagmata, both of which were boosted in size, thus helping Andronicus increase his central armies.
But despite his best efforts, the Black Army would never reach its high target. Though Andronicus may have, at times, marched afield with 20,000 men, not all of them would have been soldiers of the Black Army. Feudal levies and Thematic troops would still constitute a significant part of any large army.

In early 1246, the fragile truce between Igoria and Britaria collapsed. In response to Britarian knights attacking an Igorian caravan (which they were doing in retaliation for an Igorian attack on one of theirs, but never mind all that), Andronicus declared himself free from upholding the terms of the truce and marched into Britarian lands once again with an army of some fifteen thousand men, his Black Army, off for their baptism of fire. Again, they took the Antoisson route. Parallel to this, another army, headed by Isaac duke of Numergrad and Strategos Manuel Laronios, marched into Eranguardian territory. Igoria enjoyed cordial relations with Eranguard. The Eranguardians were willing to let the Igorians pass through their lands on their way to attack Britaria, with who they were not on particularly good terms. The southern army arrived at Praetoria, and after resting for a few weeks and stocking up on supplies, marched north again.
The southern army under Numergrad and Laronios proceeded to loot and burn their way into Britaria. Their army was smaller than Andronicus’, but nonetheless fairly potent. They defeated a smaller Britarian force sent against them, and continued to pilfer, pillage and plunder their guts out.
Andronicus, meanwhile, sought a decisive confrontation with Primarque Adrien Beaumont, to get him back for the embarrassing defeat at Vilheuvel.

By this point in time, King Adrien II had become genuinely paranoid and deluded. He began to experience visions, in which he imagined himself crowned by the gods, anointed King and Emperor of Centulas. He imagined an Empire spanning across the Tyrophelian, and was convinced that he was its promised leader. He felt that his divine anointment could only mean one thing: his own divinity. He began to call himself the Son of Crusegeau, the God of the World. He was convinced that he was a demigod, and that his triumph was inevitable. After all, the gods willed it.
Adrien also became increasingly paranoid of everyone around him. Even Beaumont, his favourite, was beginning to attract the King’s suspicion. He began to get ideas, ideas that Beaumont planned to kill him or take the throne for his own. These ideas may have been the product of a madman’s imagination, but also of malicious rumors spread by the Primarque’s enemies. So, when the Igorians invaded, Adrien II commanded his namesake the Primarque to lead the army against Andronicus, thereby proving his loyalty, no, devotion, to his mad demigod sovereign.
Beaumont set out with an army of around seventeen or eighteen thousand men. As a result, he outnumbered either Andronicus of the duke of Numergrad on their own, but not the two of them combined. Beaumont was also forced to choose which army he would march against. He could have split his troops, but he decided against that. After all, his superior numbers gave him an advantage over one or the other Igorian army. After some significant consideration, Adrien Beaumont decided to march on Andronicus, whom he saw as the greater threat. Isaac duke of Numergrad was a tenacious commander, but he was no Andronicus. Beaumont also gambled on his own ability to repeat the success he had enjoyed against Andronicus the last time they’d faced each other on the field of battle, at Vilheuvel.
Andronicus, too, was looking forward to a confrontation. His defeat at the hands of the Dukes of Argencol and Nouvelle-Loira had made this war almost personal for him. He was the undisputed master of the field, not these clowns! At least that’s what he saw himself as, so it was not just Adrien who was prone to hubris.
Andronicus had also learned from his last campaign, and this time he made extensive reconnaissance and screening troops, determined that no-body would catch him off guard, the way he had been at Antoisson by the Duke of Mariana and Ser Hugh de Raville.

Speaking of Hugh de Raville, last time we saw him he was recovering from a broken leg. His injury and temporary removal from command had saved him from King Adrien’s wrath, and Thierry Occasin had suffered for it instead. Ser Hugh had taken a break from the war, and took that time to visit his estates and spend time with his family. Soon after the truce had been brokered with Andronicus, he had returned to arms and helped reestablish order in Mariana, riding alongside Duke Adrien Beaumont. By 1246, Ser Hugh de Raville was in his mid thirties, past the peak of his physique, but by no means old or fat. His injury had left him with a slight limp, and he preferred riding to walking, which suited him just fine as a knight. Now that the Igorians were back, Ser Hugh de Raville once again rode with Beaumont.

Anyhow, Andronicus’ scouts and spies were able to inform him in advance of Beaumont’s march against him. With a grim grin on his face, Andronicus gave the order for his troops to get in marching formation, and left Antoisson, which he had reoccupied earlier that year after a brief siege and promptly sacked, slaughtering thousands of the inhabitants. As he marched, Andronicus sent word south to Isaac duke of Numergrad and Strategos Laronios, telling them to take full advantage of the lack of a Britarian army marching on them. The two men promptly split their army in two, each taking half, and began sacking Britarian towns at twice the rate. Yet despite their pillaging of the countryside, they were yet to take a significant prize.
Further north, Andronicus once again marched into Mariana, which had prospered under the watchful Protectorship of Adrien Beaumont. The Primarque, Duke of Argencol and Protector of Mariana himself was marching to meet Andronicus.

Beaumont had a knack for choosing good ground, and the two armies met on a ground of his choosing in July 1246, in what would be known as the Battle of Mançon. A gentle slope allowed the Britarians to gain the high ground without impeding their cavalry’s ability to charge down on the Igorians and devastate their ranks. Andronicus, for his part, knew full well the devastation a heavy cavalry charge could wreak on his army. His best chance was avoiding it altogether. Andronicus decided to give his pincer tactic a second try. As the two armies lined up to face each other, Andronicus fed his men well and let them retire early, knowing well that they would need to rise early on the morrow to catch the Britarians off guard.
Just before the first cock had crown, Black Army struggled into their black armour and got to their battle formations. Again, the cavalry was concentrated on the two flanks and the center was largely infantry. Andronicus assumed that Beaumont’s men would deploy in the same way that all armies that relied on knights to deliver much of their force were wont to do: in a way that would maximise the devastation wreaked by their charge. This usually meant a strong fist of heavy cavalry to break the enemy lines. Andronicus was determined to counter this. At Vilheuvel, his center had remained quite static and was merely intended to hold back this charge. The weakness of his infantry in the face of this charge had lost him the battle. While his Black Army’s footsoldiers were far more disciplined and trained, he would not risk it. His infantry-heavy center would attack too, and try to engage the enemy cavalry before they could execute a proper charge. An hour after they had risen, the Igorians marched up the gentle slope to where the Britarians were. Andronicus behaved oddly chivalrously: he ordered his army to blow their horns to warn the Britarians of their coming; he wanted his victory to be one with honour, not one achieved through treachery. The Britarians struggled to get into battle formation as the Igorian advanced slowly. By the time the Britarians were ready the Igorians were uncomfortably close, still marching slowly. Once the Britarians looked ready, as the sun was rising, Andronicus gave the command to attack. His Cataphracts surged forward on the flanks, laces lowered or maces raised. The Britarians facing them were undoubtedly frightened. In the center, Ser Hugh de Raville, in command of the Britarian horse, faced the Igorian center under the command of Serapion. Serapion’s infantry surged forward, their front ranks brandishing their long menaulion spears, seeking to engage the Britarian knights before they could charge. Ser Hugh saw no choice but to meet them in battle. Lowering their lances, the Britarian knights must have looked like a giant hedgehog. They surged forward, lances bristling, and collided with the Igorians facing them. The long, thick Igorian spears with their longer blades served their purpose well. However, while de Raville’s charge did allow him to utilise some of his knights’ destructive charge, he was out of alignment with the rest of the army’s flanks, which had held their ground. Seeing this, Andronicus seized the moment and ordered his cavalry to swing about and attack the Britarian center in the back. Ser Hugh de Raville attempted desperately to cut his way through with as many of his men as he could, but he lost many in the process and his force’s cohesion evaporated. Andronicus quickly turned the full might of his troops on the Britarian flanks. After some fierce fighting they too were broken, fleeing and abandoning much of their equipment as they fled. The Igorians lost hundreds on that day. The Britarians lost thousands, many of them slaughtered or captured during the rout. It was another stunning victory for Andronicus, and an excellent baptism of fire for the Black Army. Faramond of Thrim, who had fought in the Britarian center and had witnessed the battle with his own eyes wrote, years later, that ‘no fewer than five Britarians were lost for every one Igorian. Never before have I seen such senseless, godless slaughter as these heathen savages inflicted on that day. Truly, the gods are cruel to strip us men of mercy in times as these.”
Following this victory, Andronicus had in his keeping large numbers of captives. Having these useless mouths did not appeal to him one bit. He commanded large numbers of commoners to be put to the sword, even as the priests of his army urged him not to do it. When he went ahead and did it anyway, one of the priests stood up, and, shouting angrily, declared him an “enemy of god”. According to legend, Andronicus took this as his personal motto, engraving on his breastplate and stitching on his banners the words: “Enemy of god, enemy of hope, enemy of mercy.”
Only the Britarian nobles and knights were spared and kept for ransom, and were sent back to Igoria in chains to a somewhat luxurious confinement, as befit their respective ranks.
The defeat signaled something other than the slaughter of hapless captives: it meant the effective end of Adrien Beaumont’s tenure as King Adrien’s number two. Beaumont must have realised this too, as his defeated army limped off the battlefield several thousand men short. Beaumont did owe his rise, in part, to another man’s downfall. He knew that his defeat was just the beginning of the destruction King Adrien would undoubtedly inflict upon him.
On the morning of the 22nd of July, a few days after their defeat, Beaumont called a war council. His captains and subordinates all attended. Among them were the Dukes of Nouvelle-Loira and Defaux, and Ser Hugh de Raville. Also present was Raymond Occasin, who styled himself the Duke of Mariana, and was a client and stooge of Beaumont. The Duke of Argencol did not reveal his own private concerns regarding the King’s displeasure, but nonetheless declared that it was his intention to remain in the field and seek another battle with the Igorians. Nouvelle-Loira opposed this vehemently. Ser Hugh de Raville was supportive, both seeking to help the man he had somewhat befriended, and trying to do his best to defend Igoria. Raymond Occasin supported his patron’s decision. The war council concluded that it was safer to march on the Igorian armies in the south than seek another fight with Andronicus.
But despite Beaumont’s attempts to escape Adrien’s wrath, he would not be so fortunate. When news of the defeat reached Adrien in Illirea, he ranted and raged. He stripped Beaumont of his Protectorship of Mariana and his title of Primarque in absentia, as well as of virtually ever office and title the Duke held outside of his own Duchy of Argencol. Ser Hugh de Raville did not escape Adrien’s wrath either. Ten years previously de Raville had invoked Adrien’s suspicions through his highly successful military record. Over the decade, as de Raville’s military prowess continued to shine, Adrien’s fears and suspicions continued to grow. Ser Hugh was not a shameless lickspittle who would have easily fit in Adrien’s circle. Despite his lack of landed power, his success on the battlefield had brought de Raville many powerful friends and patrons, and Adrien feared this. De Raville was stripped of his barony and relegated to a knight of the King’s household once again.
Adrien wrote to the army, summoning Beaumont to his presence. But, under the guise of his campaign, Beaumont refused the King’s summons, fearing the fate that awaited him should he return. He sent back a fawning reply, claiming he was serving “Defending the Realm and Your Most Noble, Royal and Imperial Majesty’s glory and interests, and protecting and serving your said Realm.”
Adrien would not be put off with sweet words, however. As summer drew to a close, with Beaumont still in the field and the Igorians ravaging the countryside, Adrien decided to take Beaumont by force. Sending out a certain Louis de Chypre, a loyal retainer, with a force of several hundred men, he commanded them to bring the Duke to him, dead or alive. As Beaumont and his army made their way south to confront Numergrad and Laronios, the smaller, faster party caught up with them. What happened then was recorded by Faramond of Thrim, who was there.

Louis de Chypre and his men rode into the camp at night, swords drawn, proclaimed that the King had commanded for “our great traitor, the Duke of Argencol, to surrender himself to our Most Noble, Royal and Imperial Majesty’s custody.” But could not be found. He had slipped out of the camp at night, accompanied by a handful of trusted servants and retainers, as well as, surprisingly, Ser Hugh de Raville.

The next morning, the Britarian army was in chaos. According to our delightfully helpful contemporary source, Faramond of Thrim, there was “great slaughter […] of the men raised by the Duke of Argencol.” The reason for this massacre was twofold: Louis de Chypre was not a particularly patient man, and he was certain that Beaumont’s men had helped him get away. He tortured and slaughtered many of the Duke’s retainers and levies to find out where he’d gone. In this the Duke of Nouvelle-Loira, who held a personal grudge against the Duke of Argencol, aided him. Nouvelle-Loira assumed command of the army, with the Duke of Defaux functioning as his second-in-command. As Beaumont fled south, Nouvelle-Loira lead the army back to Illirea.

A brief note on Corentin de Octavianeau, Duke of Nouvelle-Loira, before we continue: Nouvelle-Loira was in all accounts worse than Adrien Beaumont. Faramond of Thrim describes him as being “one lacking in grace, character, conduct and good sense”. Though Beaumont’s lust for power and prestige had been insatiable, and though he had been characterised by his often nakedly grasping ambition, the Duke of Argencol had, at the very least, demonstrated himself as an able administrator and politician during his tenure as Duke and his few years as Primarque. Nouvelle-Loira was a different man. He was the epitome of the stereotypically disdainful, snobbish and indifferent nobility that Britarian republicans would come to despise centuries later. He viewed peasants as his property and playthings, often forcing his serfs to entertain him in fights to the death, and he was a vigorous supporter and practitioner of Prima Nocta, despite the custom being illegal under the laws of the Britarian Crown. De Octavianeau also viewed war as being little more than a gentlemanly sport. Though he had been in battles, he did not take the very real fact of death or injury seriously. Peasants, de Octavianeau thought, were no more than the pieces the Game of War was played with. They were worse than expendable; they needed to be spent in order to fully enjoy the game. A commander with this attitude was bound to treat his soldiers poorly, and Nouvelle-Loira did just that. The morale of the Britarian host plummeted steadily under his command as 1247 began.

Adrien Beaumont was now ruined, both financially and politically. By evading Adrien’s justice, he had officially betrayed his liege lord. He was a traitor in practice, not just in Adrien’s rhetoric.
Ser Hugh de Raville did not see his aid to a friend as treason. He had seen Beaumont in action, and saw him as being a much more competent military leader than Adrien. As a soldier, de Raville thought that the only way to win the war was to replace the mad King with someone more competent, like his heir, Prince Fabien. Prince Fabien was a young man of 21 years, and had proven himself a stalwart fighter when he’d fought against Andronicus in Ser Hugh’s vanguard. As they rode south, the two exiles realised that their only hope of survival was to seek refuge abroad and formulate their plan of action there. Eranguard was the perfect choice: the court of the Most Noble Prince had grown used to accommodating Britarian exiles over the years of its existence, just as the Britarian Kings harboured Eranguardians who’d fallen out of favour.
But unfortunately for de Raville and Beaumont, as they rode towards the border with Eranguard, they were captured by a party of Igorian troops belonging to the Duke of Numergrad’s army in the south. They were taken prisoner, and brought before Isaac duke of Numergrad. The situation was tricky for both parties. Both Beaumont and de Raville “feared that for their lives”, according to an Igorian chronicler. But Beaumont was a smart and canny politician; being a feudal vassal himself, he understood the complexity of the relationship between any vassal and his liege - both the sovereign and subject were constantly in search of a stick with which to prod the other. Beaumont claimed that he and Ser Hugh had intended all along to surrender to the Duke and the Duke alone, trusting his mercy to spare them from the wrath of both the Britarian King and the Igorian Emperor. Just as Beaumont had predicted, Isaac duke of Numergrad saw his two new captives as a nice, sharp stick to prod Andronicus with. Beaumont had humiliated Andronicus by defeating him in battle, and Ser Hugh de Raville had crushed Theodore IV, and above that was a terrific commander whom Andronicus had been dying to both meet and incapacitate. Though the Duke of Numergrad and the Igorian Emperor were not in any fierce competition, and in fact were on quite good terms, Isaac duke of Numergrad realised that he now had a perfect bargaining chip to secure the Emperor’s aid in several property deals with other magnates, as well as incentivising the Emperor to pay for the repairs to the walls of the Fortress of Numergrad, instead of the Duke. Numergrad welcomed his two “honoured guests” and put them in luxurious confinement in some noble’s château, which he and his men had occupied. But Numergrad’s dreams of screwing Andronicus (figuratively, of course) were about to be challenged: Strategos Manuel Laronios arrived. Whereas the Duke was feudal vassal, Strategos Laronios was appointed to his position as commander of a Theme (which was roughly equal to a Duchy) by Imperial decree and could just as easily be removed. He had neither interest nor any prerogative to secure leverage over the Emperor, unlike the Duke. When Laronios arrived to meet with Numergrad, the two of them argued. Laronios urged the Duke to give the captives to the Emperor right away, to avoid his wrath and earn his good graces. But the Duke refused. The two men argued, and in the end the Duke used his ‘veto powers’ as the de jure commander of the southern army to overrule the general, who was unhappy. Fortunately for the Duke, the Strategos would not stay mad long, as he went off to die from an arrow to the throat during a siege soon after.
Andronicus acquiesced Numergrad’s demands, and the Duke dispatched a fairly large party of troops to see the captive Beaumont and de Raville safely to Andronicus.
While Adrien wreaked his vengeance on his vassals, and Beaumont and Ser Hugh de Raville fled south, Andronicus and his Black Army continued to ravage the north. Towns were sieged and sacked by Andronicus, their garrisons mercilessly put to the sword. The population suffered greatly as well, for even those that were not slaughtered in the blood-driven frenzy would lose many of their possessions to the marauding Igorian soldiers. In earlier battles, Andronicus had tried to contain the worst excesses of his men: but now, he lead an army largely consisting of soldiers of fortune. They needed their plunder, and Andronicus was happy to oblige them. While Nouvelle-Loira cholerically rushed back to Illirea and awaited Adrien’s orders, Andronicus’ army continued at a leisurely pace. It was no surprise that Beaumont and de Raville soon caught up with him.
The two captives were brought into the Imperial presence. While not as talented as his father or his successors at flaunting Imperial power and majesty, Andronicus could, nonetheless, put up a good show. Shortly after, Adrien called the former Primarque aside and the two struck up conversation in hushed tones. They found that they had one thing in common: their hatred of King Adrien II. And the two began to plot.

Andronicus was no master schemer. He preferred to settle disputes on the battlefield. But at the same time, he was a solid politician and he knew an excellent opportunity when he saw one. Adrien Beaumont, on the other hand, was a canny politician who did his best to twist everything into political gain. And this unholy alliance is a great reflection of the times: in our modern world, one of the leading figures of a country, albeit a disgraced one, would rarely ever deal with the enemy. But it was the middle ages. The nobility viewed the world not through nationality, but through vassalage, and had more in common with nobles speaking a different language than they were to peasants speaking their own. While cultural and religious differences did impede the dealings of Igorian and Britarian nobles to a greater degree than they did the dealings of Britarians and Eranguardians or Igorians and Vaastarnans, they did not stop them altogether. As such, this plotting was not at all out of the ordinary.

While Beaumont and Andronicus plotted, the Britarian King dispatched the Duke of Nouvelle-Loira south, to seek battle with Isaac duke of Numergrad. Nouvelle-Loira’s army, bolstered with thousands of Chidorian and Groznyjan mercenaries brought over from across the Tyrophelian, outnumbered the southern Igorian host nearly two to one. They were further aided by the fact that Numergrad did not expect them at all. His army, just like Andronicus’ was perfectly content with lazily sacking towns and sieging down stubborn castles. His scouts were not vigilant enough, and Nouvelle-Loira’s army was able to sneak up on them unnoticed.

On April 3rd, 1247, as Isaac duke of Numergrad led his army from one chateau to the next, his column came under attack. Igorian soldiers were surprised to see Britarian knights bursting through the hedges on their right and galloping towards them, lances lowered and banners streaming. A group of knights, lead by Nouvelle-Loira himself, aimed right for Numergrad’s own banner, where the duke sat on horseback, bewildered by this sudden squall of enemies. The Britarian knights crashed into the Duke and his bodyguard, and his banner was torn from the hands of the Igorian standard-bearer and thrown down. In any battle, the sight of one’s banner falling was disheartening. And indeed, Igorian soldiers, already panicked by this unexpected onslaught, began to break formation and run towards the woods, situated a few hundred meters from the main road. By then, Isaac duke of Numergrad cut his way through the Britarian attackers and rushed around, attempting to find his captains and rally his fleeing troops. However, the midst of this chaos, his horse was killed under him. The duke continued to fight manfully on foot before he was finally surrounded and forced to submit.

Isaac duke of Numergrad was lucky. As was mentioned earlier, his captor, the Corentin duke of Nouvelle-Loira, was the kind of noble that saw war as a sport, with no need for hard feelings afterwards. He treated Numergrad well, forcing him to swear an oath not to attempt to escape, and, in return, allowing him to live in comfort once they returned to Illirea.

While their leader languished in captivity, Numergard’s troops reformed under the leadership of the Count of Orealana. The army, which had been around about ten thousand men strong at the beginning of the campaign, was now reduced to between seven and eight thousand men, having taken casualties during the incessant siege warfare and the battle against Corentin de Octavianeau. Orealana was fearful of engaging in another battle, so he lead his army south, into Eranguard, abandoning most of their gains, much to Andronicus’ infuriation, who had been counting on Numergrad, and now Orealana, to secure Navassaro. However, the defeat and capture of Isaac duke of Numergrad not only tripped up his campaign, it also gave Adrien II dangerous political leverage.

A few weeks after the Britarian victory against Numergrad, Andronicus, who was encamped with his army at Chateau Evermonde, a castle in Mariana which he had taken a fancy to, received envoys from Adrien II. Andronicus was accompanied by many of his leading nobles - men like the Duke of Taractul, the Count of Litorio, Grand Dukes Hippolyte of Vaastarna and Simon of Krill – as well as certain members of the Britarian nobility around whom he was beginning to form something that resembled another royal court. Adrien Beaumont, Duke of Argencol, and Robert Occasin, “the rightful Duke of Mariana”, formed the nucleus of this court. Several disgruntled minor nobles had also flocked to Andronicus’ side. Together with his noble tail, both Igorian and Britarian, Andronicus received the emissaries from Adrien with the entire regal splendor the Emperor could muster. The emissaries brought terms; Adrien offered, first and foremost, an exchange of captives: the Duke of Numergrad for the Duke of Argencol, as well as an exchange of the various knights and soldiers captured, free of ransom; Adrien also offered a truce, and would allow Andronicus and his army to withdraw unharmed from his lands.
But these terms were not to Andronicus’ liking. Beaumont was his co-conspirator in a plot to end Adrien, and, though he wanted Isaac duke of Numergrad back, he needed Beaumont more. In stead, Andronicus offered to exchange Numergrad for Robert Occasin, who was the rightful heir to the Duchy of Mariana. Occasin was little more than a useless mouth, as he followed Andronicus limply and provided very little, aside from symbolic authority over the lands and castles in Mariana that the Igorians had occupied. Andronicus also proposed an immediate truce.

The emissaries galloped back to Illirea with Andronicus’ terms. Adrien rejected the proposed swap - he already had a Duke of Mariana, Robert’s brother Raymond. He accepted the truce, however, and over then next couple of months emissaries and messengers would ride between Evermonde and Illirea with offers and counter offers. Negotiations were broken off at one point, and Andronicus even threatened to resume his march. However, by the end of the summer, an agreement had been hammered out: Andronicus agreed to exchange the Duke of Argencol for the Duke of Numergrad, and agreed to sign a truce. However, Adrien had to agree to install Robert Occasin as Duke of Mariana, and the Igorian Count of Litoria was left as his steward and right hand man. The Count, with a significant force of men, occupied the Emperor’s beloved Chateau Evermonde, and ensured that Occasin knew precisely who to thank for his position. Andronicus also agreed to withdraw back into Igorian lands, in return for a hefty sum of 20,000 pounds of silver.

With that, in August 1247, the second truce of the war was finalised. But just like the last one, it would not last.
Last edited by Igoria on Sat Feb 06, 2016 9:16 am, edited 2 times in total.
I'm a somewhat constitutional hereditary monarchy.

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Postby Igoria » Fri Apr 08, 2016 3:48 pm

The Seventy Years’ War
Part 4: Peace?

Hello, beautiful people of an interweb viewership; when we last left off, in August 1247, Centulas hung in a strained and fragile truce between the Britarian Kingdom and Igorian Empire. While both sides had parted on fairly good terms, both King Adrien II and Emperor Andronicus I knew full well that the former had no intention of dropping his pretense to the Igorian throne any time soon. However, both sides had been exhausted by twelve years of war. Harvests went unsown or rotted in the fields, that is if they were not burned or requisitioned by a passing army. Both the Imperial and the Royal treasuries were buckling under the weight of supporting thousands of troops in the field (and thousands more in garrisons), and, with thousands of peasants killed or pressed off to war, revenues had also fallen. Both the Britarian government and Igorian bureaucracy had been forced to take action in their own way: Adrien levied a tax on noble property transfers, demanding a portion of any lands that changed hands between his nobles. Since actually giving away part of the land was impractical, all nobles preferred to pay the King “compensation”, for the perceived value of the land. This policy was widely despised and did not help the already unpopular Adrien one bit in coming to common ground with his nobility.
In Igoria, the Emperor’s well-oiled bureaucracy devised a scheme that imposed a hefty tax on the merchant classes of Denator, Old and New Cragdon, and the towns of Auchinlech and Reuthen on the Vaastarnan coast. While the merchants grumbled and complained, they seemingly lacked either the power and weight of the landed nobility, or the pure numbers of disgruntled peasantry.
However, while Adrien’s policies merely lead to him further offending his nobility, Andronicus’ bureaucracy ended up making him unnecessary enemies; for while the merchant guilds of Denator and the Vaastarnan coastlands did not have the same prestige and power of the nobles, they had gold – and plenty of it – and when pressed to part with it they could easily rise up in rebellion, using their great wealth to raise and outfit their own armies.

As early as 1246, with the campaigns in Britaria showing no signs of ending, the burghers of the Vaastarnan coast began making noise. Vaastarna, even under the Grand Prefects, had always been lacking in strong central authority – that is, until William IV broke the power of the estates. As such, the burghers of Reuthen and Auchinlech had not become accustomed to contributing to this same central authority in return for protection in the same way the merchants of Denator had in present-day Igoria. They had learned to fend for themselves in the divisive environment that existed in Vaastarna, and did not feel that they owed anything to the Emperor’s bureaucracy.
By early 1247 this disaffection of the merchant classes in Vaastarna was spiraling rapidly towards rebellion. Several of the wealthiest trading cities formed the so-called “League of Reuthen”, united around the titular city, to present a united front of opposition to the Grand Prefect and the Igorian garrisons. They resisted tax collectors, and barred the gates to the soldiers sent to enforce order.

The Grand Prefect of Vaastarna at the time was a man called Alvin Vatatzes, the head of a powerful Igorian noble family in Vaastarna. The Vatatzes family had held the Grand Prefectural title for generations, in effect rising to the same level of prestige as the two other Grand Dukes in the Empire. Alvin had gone on campaign with Andronicus, but had returned in 1247 to find himself faced with a complete loss of control over the cities that made up the League of Reuthen. Not only that, but these rebellious cities were also marshaling their citizen militias, outfitted by generous contributions from the burgher guilds, and fortifying themselves against any attempt by the Imperial government to re-impose their authority over them. They demanded an end to the unpopular taxes and the freedom to sell their goods to whosoever they pleased. Andronicus may have willing to hear them out. However, the Emperor was still away in Britaria. The only ear that their demands reached was that of the Grand Prefect, who was not in a very diplomatic mood, and determined to crush this uprising by force. Vatatzes’ position can be understood, and to an extent sympathised with. After all, he had been granted his title by Imperial decree, and his descendant’s inheritance depended on his ability to serve the Emperor. He enjoyed none of the security of the other Dukes, and while the Vatatzes family had established something akin to a dynasty this was due largely to oversight on the part of Emperors Malegorn I and Theodore IV. If Vatatzes made the mistake of failing Andronicus, he could easily find himself without a job, perhaps even a head.

Grand Prefect Vatatzes began assembling his men. However, he soon found himself shockingly lacking in troops: Adrien’s invasions, followed by Andronicus’ counter-attacks, had drawn off many of the Imperial troops stationed in the various provinces. Vaastarna, while at times turbulent, had been largely peaceful for the duration of the war and indeed for all of Theodore’s reign, so neither the late Emperor nor his son had seen any reason to keep thousands of troops in Vaastarna when they could be better applied in Nobique, the Igorian borderlands or even on campaign with Andronicus. Nonetheless, the Grand Prefect assembled 11,000 men - 8,000 infantry and 3,000 cavalry – and marched off to confront the League of Reuthen.

The League mustered roughly 9,000 men, largely infantry, provided for by the deep coffers and ample gold of the merchant guilds, who must have realised that, by rebelling against the Emperor, they had staked more than their wealth; their very lives now hung in the balance. Some tired old soldiers hastily drilled the League’s army, lead by Carolus of Auchinlech, a hoary old warrior.
In the meantime, the guild masters of the cities sent desperate messages to Vatatzes, offering to negotiate. But Vatatzes did not listen, and pressed on towards the coast with every intent to chastise the good burghers of Reuthen. Then, early in the morning of the 22nd of June, 1247, his army found itself on the banks of a river, their way blocked by the 9,000 soldiers of the League, who, having burned the only bridge for miles, had patiently set up on the opposite bank. Vatatzes raged and cursed in his tent that night. He had been counting on crossing this river unopposed. The Grand Prefect sent his archers forward the next morning to exchange volleys of arrows with the League’s own bows on the opposite shore, but he was all too certain that he could not force his way across the river here. Though it was narrow and not all that fast flowing, it was still far too deep for his men to cross in full armour. The only other alternative lay in building hundreds of rafts and attempting to cross the river under the cover of their archers, but that would force his cavalry to leave behind their horses and fight on foot. Besides, such an attempt at crossing would result in severe casualties.
Instead, our brave Prefect decided to send his cavalry south, to the nearest ford, about 15 miles away, with orders to force a crossing and make a bridgehead. Under the cover of darkness on the 23rd, his cavalry departed.
The next morning they arrived at the crossing, tired, hungry, to find a small force of around 200 militiamen guarding the crossing. With savage shrieks, the Igorian cavalry launched themselves across the ford. The militia fought tenaciously, and though they were cut down to the last man they had taken several hundred Igorian horsemen with them, and moreover had dispatched a rider to inform Carolus of Auchinlech of what had transpired. It should be noted at this point that the Igorian cavalry present in Vatatzes’ army were not nearly as well trained or as well equipped as the cavalry that campaigned alongside Andronicus. Vatatzes’ men were generally lighter equipped, and resembled an armed rabble in more ways than one.
Having broken through, the cavalry, tired and hungry, decided that they had fulfilled their orders (they had, after all, only been ordered to secure a foothold across the river), and set up camp, joyfully consuming the barrels of ale that they had found in the League’s militia camp. They assumed that the enemy had been destroyed, and they were not aware of the single rider’s escape north.
Unfortunately for the Igorians, the rider successfully arrived to Carolus’ camp, and by noon the entire army was on the march, with enough men to outnumber the Igorian cavalry three to one. Despite their relative combat inexperience, Carolus had trained his men well. They advanced rapidly and stealthily through the nearby woods, catching the Igorian cavalrymen, all dismounted, unawares. As trumpets blared, calling the men to saddle, it was already to late. The rebels were in amongst them, swinging daggers, swords and axes, cutting down surprised Igorians. In what seemed like half an hour’s fighting, the Igorians were utterly shattered – several hundred lay dead on the field of battle, and most of the others had yielded, with only the luckiest having been able to make their escape across the ford before the rebels had blocked it off.

The surviving Igorians fled north, coming face to face with the rest of Vatatzes’ army, the infantry, who had been marching south with none of the haste that Carolus of Auchinlech had.
As a result, when Vatatzes did arrive at sundown on the 23rd, he found himself facing the same rebel army across the same river, having won no ground and lost nearly all of his cavalry force.
It was plain to Carolus of Auchinlech that Vatatzes would not risk the crossing at this ford either. So, that night, the rebel general came up with a cunning ploy. He commanded his troops to sing any song they knew, as long as it was loud and bawdy. He commanded the cooks to bang their pots and pans, and commanded his scant few knights to hit sword against shield. All this culminated in a tuneless cacophony that echoed off into the night. At first Vatatzes and his soldiers were mildly curious, but then, as the rebel ruckus continued after sundown most of the Igorians retired for the night convinced that all they were witnessing was some Vaastarnan festival that had remained unknown to them. But there was a cause to Carolus’ blatant disturbance of the peace. While the rest of his army sang and stomped, he picked a hundred of his best men and had them cross on a handful of hastily made rafts, the sounds of their paddles and punts on the water masked by the noise from the rebel camp. These men, armoured lightly and armed with dirks and shortswords closed in on the Igorian sentries and hacked them down, any screams again drowned out by the noise. The men then made their way into the Igorian camp and began making as much chaos as possible. One of the commandos then swam back across and told Carolus that the way was clear.

At his command, the rebels stopped their clanging and made their way across the ford. In the dark, those that were unfortunate enough to be near the edges stood the risk of falling into the deep dark waters and drowning in their full mail armour. Those that did were ignored, and the rebels emerged on the other side, effortlessly breaking into the Igorian camp and joining the fun.

Vatatzes tried in vain to rally his men, but they were largely unarmoured, completely disorganised and scared witless by this sudden attack. Vatatzes soon joined his men in legging it away from the battlefield, throwing aside his Prefect’s badge and cloak in an attempt to disguise himself among the common soldiery. Somehow, he managed to restore order to the remains of his army and flee east, leaving the entire Grand Prefecture of Vaastarna effectively without any form of central defense, let alone central government. Vatatzes made his way to Glopurg by the end of the year, having dumped what remained of his army somewhere in Krill, in the care of some more competent Prefect.

Vatatzes arrived in Glopurg before the Emperor himself had returned. After departing Britaria in September 1247, Andronicus had enjoyed a lengthy sojourn in Nobique, overseeing his private estates and checking up on the repairs to some of the key castles ravaged by Adrien during his first invasion. After spending some weeks in southern Nobique, Andronicus had slowly meandered into the Igorian heartland, pausing at every crossroad to have a feast and to revel in the welcome praise of the local commons and gentry. The high aristocracy was more reserved. As he made his way into Igoria, Andronicus’ host gradually melted away too, as his noble vassals begged their leave and departed home with their contingents and the handful of Thematic troops made their way to their own Theme or Prefecture, until all that was left were his Black Army and Tagmata. When he did return to Glopurg in April 1248 Andronicus initially chose to ignore the sketchy news of an uprising in Vaastarna, despite being pestered almost daily by Alvin Vatatzes, who, desperate to retain his position or at the very least his life was certainly eager to give his account of the events before someone else gave a more truthful one. But Andronicus was seemingly unperturbed. He staged a grandiose Triumph in honour of his campaigns, granting honours and choice spoils of war to his foremost captains and generals, and definitely not scrimping on rewarding the soldiers of his Black Army.
He checked up on his son Alexius, now 12 years old, a bright, beaming and seemingly gifted boy who was beginning to show the first signs of a future Emperor’s resolve. Andronicus also checked up on the boy’s head guardian, John Margrave of Lemnis, an old, trusted friend and loyal servant from Andronicus’ own, seemingly recent, youth.
Indeed, Andronicus was now 42. Though not old by the standards of the Imperial and aristocratic circles, any peasant in Andronicus’ position would have been busy writing his last will and testament. And though Andronicus remained robust in health, it was evident, first and foremost to him, that he had passed the peak of his physique. Throughout his life Andronicus remained a large man, and even in his late fifties he would tower over many of his fellows.
Having rested and caught up with his family, Andronicus leapt back into action in May 1248. He had heard Vatatzes out, and while the Grand Prefect kept both his rank and his life, Andronicus had made it clear that Alvin’s son would not succeed his father unless he proved himself. Andronicus had toyed with the idea of granting the Grand Prefecture to some Vaastarnan count, but in the end decided that the Vaastarnans could not be trusted to rule themselves, particularly given the current situation with the League of Reuthen.
The thing that had sparked Andronicus off was the arrival in the closing days of April of an emissary from the League - a man so singularly tactless that a common peasant would’ve achieved better results. Upon arriving to the Imperial Court, the envoy had refused to bow, let alone kneel, before the Basileus kai Sebastokrator (“Emperor and August Ruler”), and, when presenting his terms, rather than sugarcoating them with sweet submission and titling them “the humble grievances of Your Imperial Majesty’s loyal subjects”, the envoy presented Andronicus with “demands for the Emperor of the Igorians”.

It is known that Ingvar II was a distant descendant of Zikhmerius IV of Rivadis (a brief biography of whom you can find at the beginning of this thread), and it would seem that Andronicus channeled his Silvermask genes when dealing with this envoy. The man was seized, his eyes put out and his head cut off. A bloody glove was nailed to his forehead - the traditional sign of war - and the insufferable terms were stuffed in his mouth. The head was then placed in a chest and sent of to Reuthen, with bits of the disemboweled body sent as a warning to all other major cities in Vaastarna, whether they’d rebelled or not. Andronicus made a clear point: no insubordination would be tolerated as long as he ruled. But at the same time, he had doomed his Empire to be drowned in blood before the end.

As Andronicus and his Black Army marched through Krill the picked up the remains of Vatatzes’ army, and outside Verbst they were met by more troops: local Thematic troops. These men, alongside the remains of Vatatzes’ force, were sent under Strategos Tetigus to besiege Auchinlech. Andronicus and the 7000 men of the Black Army would take on Reuthen. As his men advanced through the Vaastarnan countryside, cleaning up the mess that the League’s own troops had made during the few months they’d had to roam free, the Igorians were hit with devilishly unseasonable weather: though it was June, there were massive torrential rainstorms that turned roads to mud and made rivers and canals burst their banks and ravage the countryside. And yet Andronicus pressed on.
It was in one such torrential downpour that the Black Army would face the League’s militia. Seemingly by accident, Carolus of Auchinlech and his men blundered into Andronicus. Both sides’ scouts fought a few clashes before the two armies joined, their progress hampered by the severe rain. The sky was dark grey, according to chroniclers, and the rain lashed the faces of the men. The weather was so bad that even at midday it seemed to be night. In this weather, Andronicus’ numerically inferior forces annihilated the slightly bigger force. In this dark weather, the Black Army’s black surcoats and banners helped conceal their maneuvers from the enemy, leaving the rebels clueless. Andronicus’ cavalry swept the wings as the infantry clashed, and delivered the coup de grace as they emerged behind the enemy. While the muddy ground prevented them from charging into the back of the enemy, the shock of being encircled was enough to break the enemy’s will. Some rebels fought on desperately, others begged for clemency from the stone-faced mercenaries of the Black Army. Those men that looked like they were worth a decent ransom, and thus the time and bother that a prisoner consumed, were spared. The rest were slaughtered, and their bodies dumped into a nearby lake. A few lucky knights fled to a nearby manor and asked for sanctuary from some local squire, who bared his gates to the Igorians. Imperial soldiers assaulted the manor and dragged out the rebels, butchering some and sparing others. Such ruthlessness was a defining feature of the Black Army. However, whatever his own moral qualms may have been, Andronicus felt that their courage in battle and iron discipline more than covered their lack of compassion.

By the end of June Andronicus had reached Reuthen. The city was lightly defended, but the besieged held on for a month, and, consequently, when the city did fall, it was subjected to a violent sack, with homes and shops being torched and looted by the Igorian soldiers. The guilty guild members and merchants were spared, but they were brought before a court presided over by none other than Andronicus himself. Andronicus was not in a forgiving mood. The lightest punishment involved forfeiting half of one’s wealth to the Crown, and the worst punishment, bestowed upon a handful of ringleaders, was death. Several Imperial councilors decided that merchants were not posh enough to deserve a clean death by beheading, so they were hanged.
With the fall of Reuthen and the savage justice that followed, the League swiftly collapsed, with most of the cities preferring opening their gates to the Emperor and beginning for clemency to an almost certain sack. The Crown treated these cities with remarkable mercy, but, if anything, this was a wise enough move. The mercy that Andronicus showed these cities served as a carrot, and the memory of Reuthen served as a stick. Either way, Andronicus had proved himself to be capable of solving a major revolt. By the time he had finished stamping out the last embers of insurrection and returned to Glopurg, it could be said that Igoria was enjoying the first real period of peace – neither was there any war, nor were any preparations being made for further conflict, as had been the case with the previous truce. As the year of our lord 1249 began, Andronicus felt that his successes on the field of battle had finally warranted a period of peace.


Meanwhile, halfway across the continent, the King of Britaria was not sleeping. Adrien was haunted day and night by strange demons; visions of messengers he believed came from the god Crusegeau, angry at his son’s failure to secure the Igorian throne from the heathen Ethreist Sathruses. But Adrien was tormented by something else: the perceived specter of treason and dissent, which hovered, rotting and corrupted, through the halls of his palace whenever the King left his chambers. He was certain that his friends were no friends of his. He began to lash out suddenly, casting down those he had propelled to prominence mere months after he had dispatched of his last favourites. And all throughout this, the King was harrowed by one smirking face: Adrien Beaumont, Duke of Argencol.

Upon his extradition to Britaria following the truce in August 1247, Beaumont had expected certain death. But it seemed that Crusegeau, whose favour had abandoned King Adrien wished Duke Adrien to live (Beaumont’s large estate and still remaining somewhat powerful allies might have had something to with it too). Besides all that, Beaumont was also unscrupulously willing to thrown others under the bus, so to speak. He blamed everything the King could possibly accuse him of on Ser Hugh de Raville, a mere knight whose prowess on the battlefield had lead him to, however briefly, rise higher than any Duke could have ever dreamed. De Raville was languishing in Andronicus’ dungeons, and he only learned of his complete and utter ruin after Adrien’s death, and vowed never to return to the service of the Britarian Kings.
The King did not put Beaumont to death. Instead he was kept in court, an “honoured guest”, fed and watered with the finest dishes and served wine from the King’s own table, but a prisoner nonetheless, denied his freedom, but guaranteed his life through his landed power. The Duke was, essentially, too big to touch.

While this might at first appear shocking to the modern reader, in the age of strong central government, where individual tycoons are not permitted such an astonishing degree of power, it was not unheard of in the feudal societies of medieval Austritaria. Some, like Igoria, were blessed with an enduring tradition and heritage of overbearing central government that elevated the power of the monarch far beyond that of his noble vassals, with the help of a professional bureaucracy drawn from the lower gentry, and a centralised army largely independent of feudal levies. The second half of the 14th century clearly illustrated the chaos an absence of such central authority brought to Igoria.
Medieval Britaria, by contrast, was a classic feudal society, wherein a friendless monarch, who alienated virtually all of his vassals, as Adrien II had done by the end of his reign, was also virtually helpless to pursue any of them beyond breaking point. While earlier on Adrien had been able to execute Duke Thierry of Mariana, much had changed since then, and Adrien kept Beaumont alive out of fear for his own hold on the throne more than anything.
Despite this unexpected clemency, Beaumont would not forgive Adrien. The Duke, now in his early fifties, continued to grasp for power with every inch of his being. From behind the velvet walls of his comfortable prison, he issued instructions to his own allies and servants, to gather resources for use against the King. It was evident that Adrien had to go, and Beaumont intended this to be sooner rather than later. He appealed to Robert Occasin, Duke of Mariana, who resented the King for executing his father, and to Alexandre Arouete, Duke of Defaux, whom the King had angered by denying the Duke a certain prestigious office that had been in the Duke’s family for generations. Many of Adrien’s councilors, those that possessed common sense and at the same time had managed to avoid the King’s wrath, also supported Beaumont’s plot. There was only one hitch in Beaumont’s plan – Robert Occasin already had a patron – a certain Emperor right across the border, who ensured that Occasin remembered this by stationing a few thousand of his men, under the Count of Litorio, around Evermonde Castle within Mariana’s domain. As such, brining Occasin into the loop required Beaumont to work a few things out with his erstwhile captor, Andronicus. By communicating with the Count of Litorio, Beaumont managed to reach out to Andronicus and present him with an offer: in return for the Igorian Emperor’s assistance, Beaumont offered to do all in his power to undermine the Igorian Emperor’s greatest rival, who, by the middle of 1249, was showing signs of rekindling the flames of war, at long last to fulfill the will of Crusegeau and his still living mother, the Empress Theodora.
New armies were being marshaled and drilled in the shadow of Illirea’s walls. Fresh mercenaries from Eranguard, Vanet and Kipaz were contracted as shipped across the seas. War was coming again, and Andronicus was not yet ready. His finances were strained by the cost of supporting his increased army, and his Empire was still shaken by the recent tax rebellion in Vaastarna. He needed to avoid this war altogether, or at the very least, he needed time.

As the Emperor plotted, and his spies wormed their way into advantageous positions for when war inevitably, his plans were abruptly halted on the first of March 1250, when Adrien II was found dead in his bed, aged 54, strangled on the orders of the power-hungry Duke of Argencol and some of the King’s more sane councilors. Fate, it would seem, was not without a sense of irony, for the half-mad and certainly delusional king had met the same end he had (allegedly) arranged for his late father King Fabien I.
The succession was fairly smooth, and the new King, Fabien II, ascended with the support of many of the nobles. While this new King was seen as a relief, given the insane behavior of his father, he was also treated with suspicion for the selfsame reasons. But Fabien was young, aged only 24 at the time of his ascension to the throne, and many of his more warlike vassals, not least Duke Corentin de Octavianeau of Nouvelle-Loira, were hoping that he would commence his reign with the same vigour that Adrien had and continue the war against Igoria. More importantly, Fabien II had the confidence of a great number of his vassals, giving him more room to maneuver…
Last edited by Igoria on Fri Apr 08, 2016 3:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.
I'm a somewhat constitutional hereditary monarchy.

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Founded: Jun 20, 2013
Father Knows Best State

Postby Igoria » Tue Jul 05, 2016 6:54 am

The Seventy Years’ War
Part 5: “Le Roy est morte, vive le Roy!”

The old woman shuffled meekly about her chambers. Her skin had become as thin, white and papery as parchment with age, mottled besides with many spots, and her blotchy flesh was further augmented by gold, jewels and diamonds of innumerous carats, brought in at great cost from as far afield as North Vanet. Her form, slight even in her youth, had shriveled further with age, and her wise, old head was weighed down by the burden of a heavy tiara as much as by the burden of her troubled memories. Throughout her long, distinguished life, she had been a Queen Consort, a Queen Dowager, a Queen Mother, and now, in truth, she was a Queen Grandmother too. Lest we forget, fifty years earlier she had been an Empress, too, before she had made the mistake of marrying against the will of her kin. She was Theodora, rightful Empress of Igoria, Queen to the late and great Fabien I, mother of the late and not-so-great Adrien II and grandmother to His Most Noble and Royal Majesty, Fabien II, King of Britaria and Rightful Heir of Rivadis.

Life had not been kind to Theodora. After Malegorn had deposed her, she was left as Queen Consort of Britaria, stripped of any of the real power that she may have exercised as Empress, and watched her marriage grow lukewarm as Fabien refused to press her claim to the throne and stick the treacherous Malegorn’s head on a spike. She grew distant from Fabien, the man she had once loved, as he became ever more reclusive, but continued to dote on their son, Adrien II, filling his ears with the sweet poison of his rightful heritage, reminding him of all the wondrous things his ancestors, both Igorian and Britarian, had accomplished, and convincing him that it was his destiny to bring the two lines together. Perhaps it had been Theodora who had motivated Adrien to – allegedly – assassinate Fabien once the later had grown politically useless. After her son’s ascent to the throne, she continued to advise him, though he was a man grown, with children of his own. It was for this reason that she soon found that heads that wear crowns are seldom inclined to listen to their mothers. Despite this, she did all she could to help her increasingly mad and delusional son. She was cautious in her remarriage – in any medieval state, the remarriage of a deceased monarch’s widow was a matter of public interest, as it offered a window into the political inner circle that was best denied to some. Any number of great magnates could use a dowager queen to gain influence over the new king – something that was less of an issue if the monarch was a grown man in possession of all his faculties, but if the king was a child, mentally handicapped, a habitual military campaigner or merely a highly malleable adult, the danger to the stability of the realm and the safety of said realm’s subjects was palpable. It was for the safety of her son and the stability of Britaria that the Empress, (as she continued to style herself and be referred to in Britaria), married one Eldridge Woode, a very rich, but nonetheless relatively minor and sufficiently politically inanimate nobleman from Lockridge. Lord Woode was content to use his wealth to live a comfortable life on his estates, and, as long as it did not subtract from his own comfort, was perfectly happy for his wife to make use of his substantial wealth to her own ends and means. Theodora did just this, supporting her son financially during his campaigns against her cousin Theodore, and even financing a small force of several hundred Lockridge knights and mercenaries to augment Adrien’s forces when Andronicus came knocking. Among these men contracted to fight for Adrien was Ser Faramond of Thrim, knight-turned-chronicler, and one of our principal sources of the later years of Adrien’s reign, as well as much of Fabien II’s. Of Theodora, whom he met in person in 1240 or 1241, Faramond said this:

“A most noble and puissant lady, of slight stature and of fine parentage and lineage, possessing besides many excellent qualities of restless forcefulness and cunning, notwithstanding her age.”

Indeed, Theodora, who had been born in 1175, was by then sixty-five, very old by medieval standards.

Adrien II died in 1250, murdered in the same manner as his father, but not by his son. Rather, he had been disposed of on the orders of his councilors, whom he had perceived to be little more than “yes-men” and trained dogs licking his boots. He had been murdered in an attempt to bring an end to his tyrannical rule and the hopeless war he had waged, egged on by his mother. But, despite the nobility’s hopes, Fabien II turned out to share his father’s view that the war must continue.

Only twenty-four at the time of his father’s death and his ascension to the throne, Fabien was everything his father had not been – dashing, charismatic, and, above all, seemingly in possession of all his mental faculties. He was also a battle-hardened soldier and a captain of mild renown, having fought the Igorians since his teenage years. He had been too young to fight in Adrien’s offensive campaigns, and as such his military experience thus far consisted exclusively of defensive warfare in Britaria – a trend he was desperate to reverse.

But it would not be easy. His principal foe was no pushover. If Fabien II was an experienced fighter, his foe was a military god. Andronicus I, Basileus and Sebastokrator of Igoria, was still alive and well. In his forties, Andronicus made up for his diminished physique with unparalleled martial experience and an aptitude to match. While Andronicus had not infrequently displayed personal bravery and magnetic charisma in his campaigns, his real strength lay in his ability to combine insightful tactics with a bone-deep understanding of strategy. It was this that had allowed him to wage war for fifteen years with a single defeat to his name.

But Fabien meant to end this dominance Andronicus displayed. He had come to the conclusion that the root of Adrien II’s failure lay not in his military shortcomings half as much as it had lain in the political ineptitude with which he had sought to sell his claim to the Igorian and Britarian elites. A claim, much like a used car, needed to be sold to the public, and, much like a car, the older the claim, the harder it was to find people willing to buy it. Claims lost appeal with age – their legitimacy faded away, just as the legitimacy of the supposed usurpers grew with every passing year. Had Fabien I pressed his wife’s claim in 1205, he would have found no shortage of Igorian nobles and senators, much less commoners, ready to rise for their rightful Empress. By contrast, in 1240, Andronicus I was unmistakably Emperor by right of birth and blood, just as his father had been. Hence, he was no longer a usurper.

Fabien II had, to some degree, inherited his grandfather’s political astuteness. He sought to neutralise Igorian dominance on the field of battle by winning on the political and propaganda front, something his adversary, Andronicus, was relatively inexperienced at, despite having been Emperor for twelve years. Fabien had his court poets write verses in both Britarian and Igorian, outlaying his claim to rule the “worthy realms two”, and commissioned magnificent posters showing his dynastic ancestry, stretching back to the semi legendary ancestors of both the Giraudin and Sathrus dynasties – Aurelius I “Silvercrown” and Zikhmerius IV “Silvermask” respectively. The two lines then intertwined at Empress Theodora and King Fabien I, before leading down to Adrien II and Fabien II, completing the two lines with almost symmetric beauty. Fabien seemed to emphasise his own destiny as the inheritor of these two dynasties – he had enough wisdom to follow a saner narrative than his father’s illusions of divinity.

Propaganda was not all that Fabien busied himself with. He needed an army. The faithful knights and retainers that had thus far borne the weight of the war on their shoulders would provide the core, but they would not be enough. He needed mercenaries and fresh levied troops to fill his ranks. And for that, he needed money. The war had not been kind to the Britarian finances, and although taxes had grown exponentially since peacetime there was never enough money to quite cover the Royal needs. Thus, Fabien II came up with a plan that was little short of lawful extortion.
In Britaria, as in many classic feudal states, the brunt of military service fell on three classes (as has been briefly explained in part 1): the feudal aristocracy, the mercenaries and the common folk. The feudal aristocracy were pretty self explanatory, as it can be argued that their entire raison d’etre was to provide military service for their lord. The mercenary companies would provide temporary, professional military service, perfect for campaigning season. The role of the common folk, however, had changed over the course of the middle ages. In the Early Middle Ages, they had formed virtually the entirety of an army, levied from the countryside in times of war, poorly equipped, poorly trained, and desiring above all else to return home in time for the harvest. However, by the High Middle Ages this had changed. Commoners were no longer pressed into service en mass, as armies raised in such manner proved to be inefficient during long campaigns (as the Igorians learned with their Thematic troops), and performed poorly against more elite mercenary armies. Instead peasants would now be paid for their services, and paid well – a semi-skilled foot soldier would make many times the amount a labourer or farmhand would. Besides, army life would provide excitement and a chance to “see the world”, as well as perceivably satisfying the violent instincts of criminals, who continued to be pressed into service. Yet there was one class of people of the wider “commoners” or “third estate” whom this system suited ill: the merchants, who, while wealthier than many nobles, were still classed as commoners.
While their lords would pay free peasants from the countryside for service, many cities and their authorities depended on militias for their own garrisons and contingents to the royal army. These town militias were far more forceful in their recruiting patterns. Thus, merchants would occasionally find serjeants-at-arms knocking on their doors. While military service would be highly profitable for an ordinary free peasant, this was not the case for a wealthy merchant. Thus, it was common practice for them to pay a poorer man to go in their stead. This practice was a grey area of the law – it was neither legal nor illegal, as nobody really cared.
Fabien did not care either, but what he did care about was money. Thus, he sought to play on the fears of the merchants to fill his coffers. He passed a law declaring it illegal for merchants to dodge militia service in their local town. However, he made an allowance. They would be able to pay what was called a “contribution” for avoiding military service, a sizeable lump sum, as well as paying for the full equipment of another common soldier. While a hefty sum, it was small enough to make it an attractive alternative to merchants anxious to avoid fighting.
This scheme relieved the pressure on the Britarian Crown’s finances enough for Fabien II to raise a sizeable host by 1252. However, war was not yet on his agenda.

Igorian domestic affairs had not been entirely peaceful. 1252 saw Crown Prince Alexius reach adulthood, to bathe in the attention lavished on him by everyone in the nation. His father officially proclaimed him his heir, bestowed upon him some honours and titles, and gave him his first real responsibility – overseeing the final pacification of Reuthel and the rebellious Vaastarnan cities. However, Alexius’ coming of age failed to put an end to a domestic crisis that had been developing behind Andronicus’ back since 1248.

In 1248, a stranger had arrived at court: Marquis Traianos of Orealana. Orealana was a tall, strong, handsome man, “possessed” as one chronicler put it “with many excellent faculties: broad shoulders, great strength and excellent looks”. Traianos came from an old family, formerly the Counts of Orealana, who had been elevated to a Marquisate by the generous favour of Malegorn I. However, Traianos’ father had squandered much of their wealth and prestige, having lost many of their finest lands to pay off debts and generally leading the estate to near ruin. The new Marquis was determined to reverse this by seeking favour with the new Emperor. However, Orealana convinced himself of one thing – that getting into the good graces of the future Emperor was more profitable than getting into the good graces of the current one who will, most likely, get himself killed in one of his wars.
It would seem that the new arrival was a great hit with the twelve-year-old Crown Prince, as well as his mother, who was soon rumoured to share a bed with the handsome young Marquis. The Crown Prince’s guardian, John, Margrave of Lemnis, did not like him at all, however. He was suspicious, and rightfully so. Of course, there was a certain element of jealousy in the Margrave’s dislike for Orealana. Lemnis was old, and Orealana young and dashing. Lemnis had enjoyed a courteous and formal relationship with Crown Prince Alexius, but they had never really liked one another. Orealana, on the other hand, won Alexius’ affections and trust almost instantly, and began to exploit this trust (and the trust of the Empress) to his advantage. Given that the Emperor was too busy either fighting his war or preparing for it, and was often absent from Glopurg, the real power lay in the hands of the Crown Prince, who, while still a minor, had reached the age at which he had began to demonstrate a will of his own and his decisions began to have weight with the Imperial bureaucrats that ran the Empire. Orealana used his influence to carve off some disputed lands for his own estates, and generally went about building up a power base in Glopurg. While never confirmed, it is not in the slightest impossible that the Marquis planned to assassinate Andronicus and replace him with the still young Alexius, to continue to influence the will of the Crown from behind the scenes for his own personal gain.

John, Margrave of Lemnis, felt that it was his duty to put an end to this. The Margrave’s agents either concocted or dug up some incriminating evidence and passed it on to Andronicus. The Emperor, without much second thought, forced Orealana to pay a hefty fine (given the already precarious situation of the man’s finances), forced him to make a groveling apology and banished him from Glopurg to his estates in 1250, on pain of further retribution. In so half-heartedly dealing with the Marquis, Andronicus won himself an enemy. He had another enemy at home: his own son.

Andronicus’ second son, Stephen, knew that life would not be easy for him. Though only about a year younger than Alexius, as Igorian custom would have it, the younger son stood to inherit nothing. Traditionally, sisters would almost invariably be parceled off to marry some noble or foreign monarch, while younger brothers, if proven to be loyal, would be put to work as Prefects and Viceroys, as well as generals in the Empire’s armies, serving their older brother. If younger brothers were even remotely suspected of disloyalty, they could expect no progress in life, spending it either in involuntary service to some holy order or in exile to some distant posting. If they were lucky, they would be rewarded for their service with some paltry lands. Stephen too, perhaps, may have accepted his fate, had it not been for his guardian, Carinus, Duke of Arausikon.

Andronicus, having himself been a less-than-perfect heir, had reason to be cautious about Alexius’ upbringing. His heir would stay in Glopurg, under the watchful eye of Andronicus’ trusted friend John, Margrave of Lemnis. A multitude of the Emperor’s spies would watch Lemnis just in case. However, Andronicus committed a major oversight in his younger son’s education. Perhaps, being an only son himself, Andronicus had never experienced sibling jealousy or rivalry, as his sisters had been pretty resigned to their future roles as glorified bed warmers. He had not watched Stephen as carefully, allowing much of his education to be spent in the Duchy of Arausikon. The Duke filled Stephen’s head with ambitions, and Fabien II provided just the opportunity for them to show themselves.

In the autumn of 1250 and all through 1251, Fabien’s agents and messengers raced across Igoria, putting up the poems and posters their master had commissioned. Igoria and Britaria were officially at war, but the fighting had died down, making their job all the easier. Particular attention was paid to ensuring some word reached Krill. While Krill in itself was never a bastion of pro-Britarian or pro-Theodoran sentiment, it was highly anti-Igorian. The Krilleans had lived, for nearly three centuries, under harsh punitive laws imposed by Atikan X in punishment for their defiance. No man of Krill was permitted to bear arms or amour except under express permission from the Emperor. Some Prefectures forbade Krilleans from riding on horseback in cities, forcing them to walk. Krilleans continued to occasionally rise up, but all the same, Igorian was gradually replacing the Krillean language and many of the Krilleans themselves became naturalized Igorian citizens with time. Fabien II rightfully gauged that Krillean resentment could be turned into open revolt if he could promise not only support but also subsequent autonomy for Krill.
Incidentally, Fabien’s propaganda also reached both the Marquis of Orealana and the Duke of Arausikon. In 1251, the two got together at Arausikon’s castle in the north of Igoria and began to plot, bringing in several other powerful nobles as well. The nobles that gathered there were all of the opinion that they stood to benefit from a Giraudin victory – that the Britarian kings would do away with the highly centralised government, reducing the power of the Crown and turning over more power to the nobles, as well as rewarding those that had helped win the war. The rebellious nobles formed an alternate court of sorts, centered around Prince Stephen, aged 14 in 1251, who was to be the symbol of the anti-Andronicus movement, providing them with some measure of legitimacy.
That same year, the Duke of Arausikon requested permission to take the Prince to one of his Nobiquan estates, professing that “His Highness ought to have knowledge of the outer provinces”. Andronicus allowed it. However, this was a cover, as in reality, the Prince and his puppeteer met with the Britarian King in person just over the Britarian border, wherein the young Prince swore to help Fabien in return for the latter granting him the Archduchy of Ronar, traditionally part of the Emperor’s private lands, once the King took the Imperial throne. The Archduchy would still be ruled from Glopurg, (as the capital of the joint realms would be Illirea), with Stephen acting as the King-Emperor’s Viceroy in Igoria. This was all planned with the assumption that Stephen would be old enough to rule by war’s end.

The Igorian plotters amassed significant finances, using them to bribe Imperial magistrates and several Domestikii and Tagmatarchii of the Imperial Tagmata, who were resentful that they had been supplanted from their role of main army by the Black Army, as well as assembling their own troops and mercenaries on the down-low.

Andronicus was not entirely blind or deaf, however. His officials reported the appearance of poems and posters trumpeting Fabien’s claim all over much of the Empire’s western territories. Enraged, the Emperor made owning one of these propaganda pieces a crime, punished by a hefty fine for the first offence, confiscation of all goods for a second, and death for a third. All posters and poems were to be taken down, away from the eyes of both the common peasantry and the nobility. But the damage had been done.
Furthermore, Andronicus and his officials had massively underestimated the effects of this propaganda. They did not even begin to suspect the amount of popular discontent they had tapped in to.

It was due to this ignorance that, in 1252, Andronicus sent a delegation, lead by Isaac, Duke of Numergrad, and a faithful court eunuch by the name of Salfisus, to Fabien’s court. They brought terms, demanding that Fabien renounce his claim to the Igorian crown, pay a crippling indemnity and cede several choice lands in Nobique to the Igorian Emperor. The delegation did not stay long in Illirea, as Fabien rejected the terms out of hand. In reality, the terms had been intended to provoke the Britarian King into rashly attacking. This ploy may have worked had Adrien II still sat on the throne, but a cooler head now wore the crown. Far from heedlessly rushing in, Fabien sat back, anticipating that Andronicus himself would go on the offensive when the Britarians did not. Luring Andronicus out was just what Fabien needed: he would be the anvil, and the Duke of Arausikon and Marquis of Orealana would provide the hammer, striking at Glopurg while Andronicus was off gallivanting around the Britarian and Nobiquan countryside.

In June 1252 Andronicus rode out of Glopurg with 12,000 men at his back. Roughly 8,000 of them were soldiers of his Black Army, with the remaining 4,000 consisting of soldiers from the Imperial Tagmata. His third Britarian campaign began just like all the others: upon leaving the Empire’s Nobiquan territories, he began sacking towns and storming castles, taking nearly a dozen fortified and garrisoned border towns and castles by the end of the year. Andronicus had learned a valuable lesson from his previous campaigns, and copious amounts of funding and time had been spent to ensure that the logistical and supply system of his army would be able to cope, more or less, with his army’s demands even in winter. By the end of the year, however, he ran into a town too well defended to take by storm, not without heavy casualties at any rate. It was the fort-town of Montfaucon, which was to be the site of a savage battle more than 650 years later, when Igorian once again faced Britarian in the Great Austritarian War. Montfaucon rested on a hill, and was surrounded from all sides by other hills. As December came to a close, Andronicus settled down for a lengthy siege, trusting his bureaucracy back home to provide him with sufficient supplies. Andronicus was certain in his belief that the young and brash Fabien would attempt to relieve the siege as soon as possible, and hope to drive the Igorians from his kingdom.
Andronicus made certain to set his siege lines in such a way as to deny any relief attempt the chance to take him unawares.
Two thirds of his men would encircle the town, making sure to dig deep trenches where they could, and plant stakes into the ground. A third of his men, however, were instructed to build a fortified camp up on one of the hills that overlooked the town and the surrounding countryside. More trenches and a wooden palisade surrounded this camp, which was large enough to hold the entirety of the Igorian host if the need was to arise. Unfortunately enough, it was not the incessant skirmishing with the town’s garrison, but rather the ground itself, that hampered the besiegers’ fortification attempts – the winter cold had caused it to become hard, ensuring that digging trenches and erecting palisades took up more time than was usually necessary. Nevertheless, the Igorians managed to fortify their position sufficiently.

While the opening months of Andronicus’ campaign proceeded without much bother, further north, in the Duchy of Mariana, things were not so simple for the Igorians. In August 1247, Andronicus had stationed roughly 3500 men under the Count of Litorio in Mariana to ensure that it quickly acclimatised to the rule of the new Duke, Robert Occasin, as well as to ensure that the Duke was well aware of the fact that he owed his position and gratitude to the Igorian Emperor, who had forced Adrien II to accept Robert’s claim to the Duchy. Five years later, the Igorian garrison had shrunk to around 1500 men in Gentira, 600 men in Evermonde Castle and a few hundred dispersed around the various other garrisons in the Duchy. Unfortunately for the Count of Litorio, Fabien II saw the continued presence of him and his men on Britarian soil as a personal slight, and thus, when Andronicus severed their truce by invading Britaria in the summer of 1252, Fabien directed his army to the Duchy of Mariana. The Duchy’s various towns and castles, manned principally by Britarians, largely went over to their King without a fight, with the few Igorian soldiers present either going into shameful captivity or being slaughtered for attempting to resist. The solely Igorian garrison of Evermonde Castle, however, refused to surrender despite repeated offers of honourable terms or challenges of single combat, with the garrison commander, one Tagmatarches Philip Toxiatos, stoically holding out even when a score of his men, who had surrendered, were hanged before the walls.

In Gentira itself, the Count of Litorio realised that his 1500 men stood no chance in open battle. Thus, he barred the gates, marched his men to the city’s stronghold, and effectively placed the Duke under arrest. With the Duke’s men now leaderless, they were quickly swept up under the Count’s command, despite outnumbering the Igorian troops almost two to one. The knights and soldiers who were considered unreliable were quickly thrown into cells, or simply put to the sword. Litorio was confident in his ability to hold the city, having positioned his own, reliable men at the gates and in the citadel.

Fabien II knew this too. His scouts and outriders had reported the city walls to be bristling with well-armed soldiers, and Fabien knew that taking the city would result either in a lengthy siege or in a bloody assault. Thus, he sought to take it by treachery, and for this, he turned to none other than Adrien Beaumont.
Beaumont was, by this point, in his late fifties, and while he no longer held the same level of power as he had, however briefly, under King Adrien II, he remained one of the more influential vassals of the new Britarian King. Fabien had restored Beaumont in rank and freedom, permitting him to leave Illirea and the imprisonment, however luxurious, in which Adrien II had kept him. Beaumont was grateful, and now Fabien sought to put that gratitude to use. He sent Beaumont ahead, with only soldiers from Argencol, and told him to bring him the city.

When, on the 2nd of October 1252, the Duke of Argencol did show up outside the city walls with thousands of men, the Count of Litorio could hardly believe his eyes. Beaumont came under his own banner, not the King’s, and called for Litorio to come out and meet him. Litorio did, and Beaumont claimed that he had come to aid Litorio in holding the city, and that he had received riders from Andronicus, claiming that the Emperor was coming as fast as he could to smash the Britarians once again, and to link up with the two Britarian Dukes and the Igorian Count. Beaumont was certainly lying, but Litorio had no way of knowing this; he knew that Beaumont had previously collaborated with Andronicus, and supposed that the power-hungry Duke could have been persuaded to turn his coat once again in return for some measure of advancement. Litorio immediately opened the gates to Beaumont, whose army poured in. The Duke’s soldiers were quartered in whichever places could be found, and the Duke himself went with Litorio to the city’s fortified stronghold. While nothing much occurred for the next few days, it is presumed that, during this time, Beaumont began negotiating with Robert Occasin, who was a captive in his own keep. But, several days after Beaumont’s arrival, the two Dukes suddenly ordered the arrests of the Count of Litorio and his men. Litorio was tipped off, and fled the citadel to the streets, where fierce fighting was beginning between Igorians and Britarians, the former force outnumbered five to one by the latter. Groups of Britarian soldiers launched attacks on the city gates and the surrounding towers, held resolutely by Igorian troops. At some point during the chaotic fighting, which went on for most of the day, the Count of Litorio was killed, presumably having fought back a little too heartily when ordered to surrender. By the evening of the 7th of October, the fighting had died down, with any surviving Igorians yielding. A week later, the triumphant King Fabien II entered the city of Gentira, and received an oath of loyalty from the Duke of Mariana. With all of Mariana, save for Evermonde Castle, back under his control, the King returned to Illirea for the winter, preferring to spend it in the comfort of his Palace rather than out in the cold, chasing down the Igorian Emperor further south.

But, outside Montfaucon, the Igorians were getting by fairly well. Andronicus had done much to improve the supply system of the army, having paid close attention to the logistical arrangements of the Rivadi, which were well-documented in Glopurg’s libraries. While these logistics were not quite on par with those of the ancient Rivadis Empire, they did ensure that, while not feasting, the Igorian troops were at the very least not starving and were not forced to subside purely off whatever food they could forage. While the Igorians were adequately supplied, they were not immune to the boredom that plagued any besieging army. After several weeks, the skirmishing and sortieing that characterised the early days of any siege had died down, and soldiers began to grow more and more complacent. Andronicus remained diligent, and demanded the same from his men, ensuring that, if not on sentry, forage, scouting, or some other duty, his men continued to drill with their weapons. The rigorous discipline Andronicus had imposed on his army remained in force. Every day, as the sun set, Montfaucon’s weary garrison would bid farewell do the sunlight to the sounds of spears colliding with shields. The garrison itself was beginning to lose heart. Supplies had dwindled by spring’s coming, and morale was at an all-time low. They had had no word from the King in Illirea, and were certain that they had been abandoned to their fate. Thus, on March 11th, the commander of Montfaucon’s garrison, a grizzled old knight by the name of Bohemond du Verre, rode out with the keys to the city gates and offered to surrender the town to Andronicus. The Emperor accepted. He knew full well that, if the town went untaken, the garrison, no matter how weakened, could make a difference in the upcoming struggle with the Britarian King. All the same, the besieger did not wish to become the besieged when the King did show up with an army. Thus, Andronicus garrisoned Montfaucon with a toke force and camped the rest of his army outside the walls, ready to move out at the first sight of the enemy.

A fortnight after Montfaucon’s surrender, the angered Fabien turned his army south. His army outnumbered the Igorians by several thousand men, and, as it left Illirea, was a handsome sight to behold. At the head of it all rode Fabien, his own banner borne before him. His efforts to flaunt his claim had not left his ancestral banner untouched either – rather than merely displaying the traditional Giraudin coat of arms, he had quartered the arms of his paternal grandfather with the arms of his paternal grandmother; as his army rode forth, all those that mattered would see it as an army of Fabien I’s union with Theodora. Just behind the King, in places of high honour, rode the various Dukes and other Peers: the Dukes of Nouvelle-Loira, Argencol, Defaux and Mariana were all in attendance, as well as several Counts. Behind the high nobility rode Britaria’s formidable mounted chivalry: knights on barded warhorses, their oiled mail and greathelms gleaming in the sun, their surcoats a riot of colours. Behind them came ranks upon ranks of common soldiery, bristling with spears and axes, looking fairly bland in boiled leather, padded gambesons, unpolished mail and kettle hats.
Fabien marched south with haste, driving his army hard, at times marching through the night, determined to catch Andronicus off guard. But the Emperor’s scouts and outriders caught sight of them in first days of April, and Andronicus marched to intercept. His own men looked positively drab compared to the Britarian chevaliers. The Black Army was, understandably, garbed in black where possible, and their banners were black. So, too, was the Emperor’s own banner, save for three apples, arranged like the three points of a triangle: one gold, one red and one green.
Fortunately for Andronicus, his scouts had not been idle. While the Emperor had sat encamped around Montfaucon they had ranged far afield, and found a location, near the village of Campet, where the Igorians could make a stand.
On the 22nd of April 1253, the two armies met just as the sun was setting. The bulk of Andronicus’ force rested upon a slight hill, bristling with spears and pikes. However, part of his force, around a thousand men, lay in wait in a small wood a mile away from the hill, under the command of Andronicus’ steadfast lieutenant, Serapion. The once lean swordsman had grown plump with age, but had retained his courage and astute mind.
As soon as the Britarian outriders had caught sight of the Igorians, they had raced back to inform their King. The Royal army had marched all day, and the men were tired and hungry. The Dukes of Defaux and Argencol counseled Fabien to make camp for the night and engage the Igorians on the morrow. However, Fabien feared that the Igorians, themselves well rested, would take advantage of the fact and attack during the night. Instead, he commanded his captains to get their men into battle formations. The 16,000-man strong Britarian army was split into three “battles”, as was commonplace. Adrien Beaumont, Duke of Argencol, who now faced Andronicus on the battlefield yet again, commanded the right. King Fabien II himself commanded the centre, and Corentin de Octavianeau, Duke of Nouvelle-Loira, took command of the Britarian left. Fabien placed many of his mounted knights in a reserve of sorts, commanded by Alexandre Arouet, Duke of Defaux, subordinate to the King’s own “centre” division.
As the sun set, the Britarians trudged into position opposite the Igorians, and awaited the trumpet call that would signal the attack. And then it came, and as trumpets all along the line picked up the call, the Britarians marched forward, buoyed by the brazen song, their weariness compensated for by the sudden burst of adrenaline. The knights charged forward, kicking up a storm of dust and shrieking savage war cries, couching their lances for savage impact. The Britarians crashed into their foes with the force of a tidal wave, and the Igorians held their ground with the fortitude of a rock. The footsoldiers of both armies clashed in a savage, bloody melee, and the Britarian knights charged again and again, unable to break the resolve of their foes. Andronicus had drilled his men well, for they now possessed the discipline and the resolve to withstand a cavalry charge. For over an hour the battle wore on, and Andronicus began to get nervous. While his men had weathered the initial impact well, they savage fighting would wear them down. Unless his hidden men joined the fray, Andronicus was not certain that the day could be carried.
Serapion, meanwhile, surveyed the battle from the woods. The sun had set, but in the light of the full it was still possible for one with keen eyes to make out the bright banners of the Britarians. Serapion patiently waited for the Britarian King to commit his reserve, knowing full well that, unless the two thousand-odd knights were not also embroiled in the melee, the ambushing troops would be cut to ribbons before they could do much more. At last, Serapion’s lieutenants could not take it any more, and they demanded that he join the fight. Reluctantly, the general ordered his men to advance, praying to the Ethreist god that the Britarians were too blind, or too stupid, to notice a thousand men sneaking up on them. God must have been in an indulgent mood that day, for the Britarian king took no notice – for in the dark, the Black Army’s black banners were nigh on impossible to make out, unlike the bright heraldry of the Britarians and the few thousand Tagmata troops that were with Andronicus. The Britarian king instead ordered his reserve into the fray, and began to steadily dislodge the Igorian Emperor and his men from the hilltop. But just as the battle appeared done for the Igorians, Serapion’s men crashed into the rear of the Britarians, driving many of the exhausted footsoldiers into blind panic, according to Faramond of Thrim. The Lockridge knight-turned-chronicler recounts that the Britarian infantry milled about in disarray as cries of “Ils sont derrière nous” (“They’re behind us”) raced through the ranks.
But Fabien and his knightly reserve retained their resolve. Ordering his more or less fresh reserve back, Fabien carved a path through Serapion’s men, leaving many dead in his wake, and allowing his routed army to retreat without the slaughter that would have otherwise ensued. As the Britarians fled, or withdrew, in various degrees of disarray, the Igorians, lacking both cavalry and energy, did not pursue. The next morning, Andronicus took stock. He had driven the Britarians back, certainly, but he had lost fifteen hundred men in the process, and while Britarian casualties had been moderately higher, the result of the Battle of Campet was by no means a resounding victory similar to the ones Andronicus had accomplished against Fabien’s father. In fact, the Igorian casualties were large enough to prevent Andronicus from following up his victory with another round of sieges and sacks. The Emperor, and his army of some 9500 men, were forced on the defensive.
Andronicus wasted no time in sending word to his trusted vassal, Isaac, Duke of Numergrad, and commanding him to marshal a fresh host, made up of soldiers from the Duke’s own lands and the surrounding Themata, to come to the Emperor’s aid. Andronicus had no intention for settling for yet another truce, regardless of the financial hardship yet another campaign season was putting his Empire through.

On his part, King Fabien II had no intentions of continuing the war on Britarian soil. He took it not only as a personal slight, but was also painfully aware that, with every day Emperor Andronicus spent on his land, his vassals’ faith in him dissipated. Upon his ascension he had been a welcome relief from his deluded father, and had brought hope of victory. After the Battle of Campet, however, the war seemed to be going as poorly as before, and the Britarian King’s determination to continue the fight seemed more and more like the lunacy that had possessed his father. It was both for reasons of prestige and for his own peace of mind that Fabien was determined to drive the Igorians out. And if Andronicus could not be defeated on the field of battle, he would have to be defeated through political maneuvering, as had been Fabien’s intention.
Shortly after the Battle of Campet, riders were dispatched from the Royal court to the Duke of Arausikon, the Marquis of Lemnis, Prince Stephen and the Krillean nobility. Each of the riders bore a message, which asked with no small deal of urgency for the Krilleans and the Igorian conspirators to honour their pact with the Britarian king. The riders raced through the Britarian countryside, avoiding Igorian patrols when crossing the border, and sped south, to deliver their messages and help relieve the precarious situation.
Last edited by Igoria on Tue Jul 05, 2016 7:37 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Postby Igoria » Sat Oct 22, 2016 1:43 am

The Seventy Years’ War
Part 6: “The Realm hung in the balance”

It is no easy thing to defy the wishes of a king, but harder still is it to defy the wishes of an emperor. This was the choice that faced Carinus, Duke of Arausikon, and dozens of other conspirators and would-be rebels, on some abnormally warm afternoon in May, 1253. As the crops were wilting in the fields, for lack of hands to work them, some of the great noblemen of Igoria, Krill and Vaastarna made their choice.

By the beginning of June 1253, alarmed messages from the various Imperial officials in Krill began to pile up in Glopurg. As of yet inexperienced in the ways of war, Crown Prince Alexius, left in charge during his father’s absence, sought the aid of his old friend the Marquis of Orealana. The Marquis was summoned to the Imperial Court, and yet all summons fell on deaf ears.
Before long, a full-fledged uprising flared up in Krill, and the Krilleans began to do what they did best: make a nuisance of themselves. Throughout the summer they overpowered various garrisons and stormed castles. While no pitch battles were fought at first there was incessant skirmishing throughout the Grand Duchy; the Krilleans fought in the same manner that they had for hundreds of years – striking quickly and retreating to their strongholds in the highlands whenever heavily armed Igorian reinforcements came their way. Constant ambushes prevented the local Prefects from amassing sufficient forces to assault the highland castles of the Krillean nobility, as columns of troops would be attacked while still on the march and often slaughtered to a man. And to give the Krillean rebels their due, they had completely and utterly outplayed the local Imperial officials. In late August, an army of thousands of Krillean rebels began to assemble, and in September they besieged Yugorscopolis.
The Imperial Court in Glopurg, under the leadership of Prince Alexius hastily diverted troops from Igoria and Vaastarna to help crush the uprising. Many of the Imperial Tagmata stationed around Glopurg were sent away under the command of the Megas Domestikos, Michael Stavrolis. Had they known what dangers lurked in the shadows, perhaps the somewhat overconfident Crown Prince and his advisors would not have been so swift in sending away the Empire’s foremost professional soldier and most of their available troops.

Traianos, Marquis of Orealana had not idly ignored the Crown Prince’s summons. Orealana and the Duke of Arausikon began forming another army in the north – this army consisted of nobles and disgruntled Imperial officials – many of the most powerful magnates of northern and western Igoria (not including Krill) had assembled, foremost among them the Dukes of Arausikon and Petraven, and several Vaastarnan Counts had come over as well. As this army formed near Brightwater, they rallied around their figurehead, Prince Stephen, with each of the nobles swearing to do all in their power to aid him. When Alexius caught word of this unexpected assembly of nobles, he sent messengers to them, commanding them to proclaim their intent. The Marquis of Orealana responded with a sweet, sweet lie – why, they were only marshaling troops to aid in crushing the rebellion in Krill.
Whether Alexius fell for this ruse or not is unknown, but he certainly realised the truth when the rebels entered the city of Brightwater and raised Fabien II’s banner: the quartered arms of the Sathrus and Giraudin families. The city of Brightwater had yielded without a fight, as the local officials opened their gates for Stephen. The rebels now marched south unopposed, as many of the assembled nobles marched through their own lands – a fact that seemed to deter their own mercenaries from plundering but little. The Prefect of Sorsonopolis retreated behind his walls and refused to give battle, and wisely so; having sent a contingent of his troops to Krill, his resources were stretched thin trying to defend the various fortifications of his Prefecture. The fact that Sorsonopolis still flew Imperial colours seemed not to bother Carinus, Duke of Arausikon and Traianos, Marquis of Orealana at all – they had their eyes set on a far bigger prize.

The series of developments in the north caught Alexius unprepared, to say the least. He was no fool, but all the same his military experience were limited to the books and scrolls he had read during his education. The early signs of unrest in Krill had caught his attention, and he had dispatched virtually all the experienced generals found at the Imperial court to clamp down on the unrest, alongside many of the Tagmata stationed around Glopurg. Thus, when news reached him that the rebel army, marching under the banners of the man who had pretended to be his friend and his own brother, was making its way south to Glopurg, Alexius was at a loss. He frantically sent orders to the Tagmata dispatched to fight in Krill, but the plotting of Orealana and his co-conspirators was paying its dividends: some of the Tagmatarchi, embittered by Andronicus’ preference for the Black Army over them, mutinied and refused to obey Alexius’ summons.

Alexius found himself without an army. He was a young man, eager to prove himself to be his father’s son, and thus determined to crush the rebellion as fast as possible. However, he needed troops to do this, and thus he and the Margrave of Lemnis rushed about, pulling together an army from whatever forces were available to them, at the same time as sending mildly worded pleas for help to Andronicus, who remained in Eastern Nobique, resting and replenishing his army. By winter, Alexius had assembled some 14,000 men, largely troops from nearby Prefectures and hundreds of ill-equipped urban levies from Glopurg itself. And while he had succeeded in amassing a force roughly equivalent to that of the rebels, Alexius was also painfully aware of the fact that, with Yugorscopolis in their hands, the Krillean rebels were free to link up with their noble allies.

Though the messengers sent to Andronicus had returned, reassuring the Crown Prince that the Emperor was on his way, Alexius had no intention of waiting. Anxious to prove himself, and against the wise counsel of John, Margrave of Lemnis, Alexius left Glopurg with his army in December, seeking confrontation with his treacherous brother. He left behind some three thousand men – a large enough force, but nowhere near enough to hold a city the size of Glopurg was someone to attack it.

News of the unrest in the Igorian heartland had spread quickly, reaching both the Igorian Emperor and the Britarian King in a matter of weeks. Andronicus tarried, at first. According to one mild chronicler, “[Andronicus] was mightily irked” by news of the rebellion. Yet at the same time, Andronicus was too proud to admit defeat by abandoning his conquests in Britaria. There was also, perhaps, and element of paternal concern in him: he wanted to see his son prove himself.
Fabien, however, wasted no time in marching his army, bolstered by thousands of fresh mercenaries and levies, into Northern Nobique. He made quick progress through the unprepared border fortifications and sacked his way through the unspoiled countryside, nearing the present-day Igorian border by the end of the year. Andronicus lagged behind, and, receiving word from various officials in Nobique of Fabien’s march, commanded Isaac, Duke of Numergrad, to intercept him. Numergrad had been commanded by both the Emperor and the Crown Prince to raise troops, and both had commanded him to march his troops to their assistance. Torn between aiding the Emperor, his feudal overlord, and the Crown Prince, who clearly needed the help more, Isaac duke of Numergrad had hung about in his own lands, and was thus in the perfect position to intercept the Britarian King along his line of march. The Duke had at his command some 10,000 men: soldiers raised from his own lands, as well as part-time soldier-farmers from the nearby Prefecture and an Imperial Tagma. Numergrad was an experienced general, but, all the same, he would be desperately outnumbered by his foe.

On the cold morning of December 28th 1253, not far from the walled town of Gida, the King of Britaria awoke to find the commander of his scouts clamouring for an urgent audience outside his pavilion. The King received him in his nightclothes. The officer informed the King that he had spotted the Igorians a few miles away, holding their ground just across the small river. Fabien thanked him and armoured himself for battle. Knowing Emperor Andronicus I, this one was unlikely to be easy. When he arrived on the battlefield, Fabien II undoubtedly breathed a sigh of relief; it was not Andronicus he was to fight. While his foes flew Imperial banners alongside those of Numergrad, there was no sign of Andronicus’ personal banner, nor of the black standards of his personal army.

The Duke of Numergrad had lined his army, largely infantry, up on the opposite bank. His lines were stretched out thinner than Fabien’s, yet all the same they were only two-thirds of the length. In an attempt to guard his flanks further, Isaac duke of Numergard had attempted to dig trenches and plant stakes, but most of his field fortifications were unfinished, and the pits and trenches were too shallow to be much of a hindrance. The Duke’s greatest ally would be the river – anyone attempting to cross would have to wade through waist-deep cold water. But Fabien was unperturbed. He placed his faith in his numbers, and in the crushing power his mounted knights possessed on the charge. Shortly before noon, following a brief war council the Britarian trumpets once again called the men to attack. Thousands of Britarian footmen, clad in mail and bristling with swords, spears and axes, began to march steadily towards the Igorian lines, and began to wrap around their flanks. The Duke of Numergrad was an experienced soldier. Seeing the vastly superior enemy force march forward, he knew that holding his ground would allow even a downright average general to outflank him. Hoping to win the battle through decisive action, the Duke grimly ordered his trumpets and warhorns blown, signaling for his army to advance, pulling his cavalry into the centre in a desperate attempt to cleave through the Britarian lines and split the host in two. However, the Britarian infantry stood strong and began to turn Numergrad’s flanks. Furthermore, Fabien seized the opportunity to order his own cavalry, far more numerous than that of the Igorians, into the fray. As his knights and footsoldiers pushed the flanks, Fabien was certain that victory was assured – an assumption made all the more likely by the untimely death of Isaac, Duke of Numergard. It is not certain how he died: the most common theory is that a stray arrow wounded the mounted Duke in the leg, and as he bent down to check the wound, a crossbow quarrel hurtled through his throat. The death of the Duke left the host leaderless, and when word of this calamity spread through the ranks the Igorian soldiers began to flee, with panic-stricken men throwing aside their armour to run all the faster. The Britarians gave chase, hacking them down without pity. Afterwards, it was said that the King’s servants had trouble identifying the body of the unfortunate Duke, as marauding Britarian soldiers had stripped it bare. King Fabien, chivalrous even to his foes, commanded that the body be sent to the Duke’s family in Numergrad. The King, however, would not be following.


The Igorian defeat at Gida left the way into the Empire’s heartland open. Fabien was not so foolish as to repeat the mistakes of his father and attempt to break through the fortress-town of Numergrad. The late Duke Isaac had seen fit to repair the fortifications and leave it well provisioned and well garrisoned. Instead, Fabien led his army north, to the passes of the Sorson Mountains. He had been right in assuming that the Igorian Emperor had not thought to fortify them properly. Furthermore, the desperation of the Igorian Crown Prince had left many of the already poorly garrisoned forts virtually empty. Yet while the mountain passes did not pose much trouble for Fabien in the way of Igorian garrisons, they did in the way of winter attrition. In the snows of the Sorson Mountains, his army lost hundreds of men to hunger, disease and exposure, and the toll among the horses and pack animals was even higher. Nonetheless, the Britarian army besieged Sorsonopolis by February – the presence of a foreign army on core Igorian territory was a major blow to Andronicus, and when news of this calamity became widely known, panic spread like wildfire through the territories left to the Empire. Krill had largely been lost, as had Northern Nobique and much of Northern Igoria. Vaastarna and most of present-day Igoria remained in Imperial hands, as did the territories of Nobique located south of the mountains. To many contemporary chroniclers, it seemed that the Empire was soon to fall. “Not since the days of Ingvar II,” wrote one, “had a foreign army of heathens set foot on the pure and noble soil of Ronar.” This was not entirely true, but all the same such wild and frightful sentiment was typical of many in Igoria at the time. Some people began to prepare themselves, both morally and materially, for the anticipated regime change. One goldsmith in Sorsonopolis was beheaded for treason: he had submitted to the official in charge of one of the Empire’s mints his proposed design for the new coinage with Fabien II’s visage.

The news of Fabien’s arrival near Sorsonopolis hit Andronicus hard. Had a lesser man been in his place, he would have undoubtedly rushed headlong in an attempt to defend his lands. Andronicus, however, showed both wisdom and patience during the first few months of 1254. He recognised the necessity of gathering fresh forces and of resting his weary army, and convinced his lieutenants of the same. Elements of Numergrad’s shattered host regrouped under Andronicus’ command. Soldiers from the Themata of Nobique flocked to him, though not as many as he would have liked, for many were diverted to garrisoning castles and watching the passes through the mountains of Nobique, since the North had largely fallen to the Britarians. Several Tagmata had been stationed in Nobique; these found themselves swept up into the Emperor’s army quickly enough. Members of the local nobility found that the Emperor had a prodigious appetite for their levies and food supplies too. Andronicus prepared to sweep the invaders from his lands come spring. But before things could get better, they needed to get a lot worse.

While Fabien’s invasion of the Igorian heartland was enough to cause panic among the populace, another defeat would be more catastrophic still. In the same fateful month of February, the army of Crown Prince Alexius met the combined forces of the Krillean rebels and the forces loyal to the Marquis of Orealana and Prince Stephen. At first, Alexius, aged seventeen, sought to reason with his sixteen-year-old brother.
The two princes met in a large pavilion between the two armies, attended by their advisors and mentors. John, Margrave of Lemnis and Chremonides Chlorinios, an official of the Imperial Court, attended Alexius. Carinus, Duke of Arausikon and Traianos, Marquis of Orealana accompanied his brother. From their inception, it was evident that the negotiations would go nowhere. According to Chlorinios, when Stephen, Orealana and Arausikon arrived, instead of greeting them with the courtesy due to men of their status, Lemnis merely snarled, “Welcome, traitors,” to which Orealana replied that Lemnis was the traitor for backing “Malegorn the Usurper’s grandson, Andronicus the Usurper.” For the duration of the hour-long talks, any reasonable discussion was stifled by Orealana and Lemnis slinging insults at one another, for it was no secret that the two men loathed one another.



On February 15th, 14,000 men loyal to Emperor Andronicus I faced across a riverside field (near the village of Thyrillai) some 22,000 soldiers who had pledged their allegiance to King Fabien II. Negotiations had fallen through, and now the only option that remained open was pitched battle - cruel, bloody and chaotic. One would be right in stating that at first glance the forces fielded were greatly imbalanced – Alexius commanded a strong core of professional soldiers: the elite Spatharioi guards, who numbered some 4,000 men. The rest of his force, however, consisted largely of levies and militiamen – poorly trained and completely inexperienced, a few months earlier these men had held scythes and pitchforks in their hands, not spears.
His foes were better, but not as far as it seemed. While most of their host consisted of noble retainers and retinues as well as experienced mercenaries, the rebel army also included a sizeable contingent of Krilleans. While they were doughty fighters, the kind of warfare the Krilleans preferred to fight did not involve forming up in ranks to face down an enemy. The Krilleans lacked the discipline necessary to fight a pitched battle, and many of their troops were lightly armed and equipped. Furthermore, there were already quarrels breaking out between the two different nationalities present, for while both the Krilleans and the Igorian rebels had pledged their loyalties to King Fabien, neither group had any great love for the other.
Overall command of the rebel host was assumed by Prince Stephen. However, this command was purely nominal. Stephen himself sat on horseback amidst the reserve – Carinus, Duke of Arausikon, would handle the real commanding. The centre of the rebel battle line was commanded by Orealana, the right by Peter, Duke of Petraven, and the left “battle” - its flank guarded by the wide River Tell – was commanded by Theodore Pleustes, a Krillean nobleman and de facto leader of the Krillean rebels.
Alexius commanded the Imperial force. While his lieutenants had advised him to give the command to the Margrave of Lemnis, a hardened veteran of Andronicus’ campaigns who had proven himself at the Second Battle of Leibilene and at Crotedon, Alexius had felt that prestige and rank demanded that he, in his capacity as future Emperor, hold the overall command. The Margrave of Lemnis was instead given command of the loyalist right, where most of their heavy horse was concentrated – the loyalists had seized upon the fact that the rebel left flank – facing their own right – consisted of the undisciplined and ill-equipped Krilleans. Knowing that their best chance of victory was to seek a decisive conclusion, Alexius hoped to break the weak left flank, inflicting a severe morale shock, and roll on down the line with his precious few heavy cavalry. Most of his lieutenants had approved of this plan, though some had advised a more cautious approach, or avoiding battle altogether. But Alexius had come too far.

At first, the battle seemed to go as planned. Alexius’ outnumbered army surged forward, and when Lemnis’ men crashed into their foes they sent them reeling. Not long after, Alexius’ own men, the Spatharioi guards, joined the fray in the centre of the battlefield, demonstrating the veracity of their elite status as they set upon their foes ‘with relish’. However, it soon became clear that Arausikon had played the young Crown Prince like a deck of cards. As the Krilleans were driven back by the loyalist assault, the Duke of Arausikon and his reserve joined the fray, halting Lemnis in his tracks. And, as the trumpets blew the charge, the Marquis of Orealana’s central battle wheeled around to take Lemnis from the side. Within what seemed to be minutes the battle shifted dramatically, with Lemnis’ men now cut off from the rest of the host, their backs to the river. Panic began to spread through the ranks of the loyalist army. Petraven’s men also began to advance, forcing the loyalists back and driving an even deeper wedge between Alexius and Lemnis. Seeing that the battle was lost, Alexius ordered the retreat, but for the most part his men had begun without him. As his men were cut down around him, John, Margrave of Lemnis lead his heavy cavalry in a desperate charge to try and cut their way through the rebels, but to no avail. When his horse was killed under him, the Margrave yielded, expecting to be treated as befit a prisoner of his rank and title. But he would not be so lucky. As hit squads of mercenaries roamed the battlefield, finishing off the dying and looting the bodies, Lemnis was dragged before the leaders of the rebellion. Within half an hour, the blood of his decapitated body was congealing on the ground alongside that of some six thousand men, predominantly those that had fought beneath the banners of Emperor Andronicus.


The Battle of Thyrillai was a disaster for the Igorian Empire under all definitions of the word: several thousand men had been lost and an army routed, essentially giving the rebels freedom to march on Glopurg. Above all else, it was a huge blow to the personal prestige of the future Emperor. While Alexius was not one to seek glory on the battlefield, a decisive defeat was hardly a good way to start his adult life, particularly a defeat that resulted in the death of an experienced soldier and powerful nobleman – and as such an invaluable ally to the Emperor - such as John, Margrave of Lemnis. Though the late Margrave had ranked lower than a Duke on the feudal scale, he had nonetheless amassed an impressive amount of cash and ruled over wealthy lands – lands whose future was uncertain, since the Margrave’s son had also died childless in battle while fighting alongside the Emperor, and under Igorian laws his daughter Valeria could not inherit a Margraviate, due to the great martial duty that was required of any holder of a border region (which a Margraviate invariably was). Instead, the Margrave’s will nominated one Petrus (or Peter) Mandleborough, his daughter’s husband, as his heir. Petrus was a wealthy gentleman, a member of a minor noble family that had been exiled from Lockridge several generations ago. His marriage to the heiress of one of Igoria’s prominent noblemen marked a significant change in the family’s fortunes; indeed, the Mandleboroughs would continue to rise at a rapid rate for the best part of two centuries – but that is a story for another time.

The Battle of Thyrillai seemed to bolster Orealana’s prestige and standing within the rebellion, as his attack on Lemnis’ flank had won the battle. Nobody seemed to be concerned with the fact that Arausikon had come up with the plan. This only served to drive a wedge between the two men, who had previously been united in vision and purpose.
With the two most influential figures of the rebellion drawing apart, the rebellion began to suffer from infighting between the different factions that made constituted it. The Igorians and Vaastarnans could never really stomach the Krillean separatists, and the Krilleans too could not seem to understand why they were fighting alongside Igorians - the very same people they were fighting against in order to win their independence!
After the Battle of Thyrillai the rebel army remained perched by the field of battle – though far enough to be beyond the stink of thousands of decomposing corpses – with its leaders initially being perfectly happy to sit and wait for the Imperial government to make its next move. However, idleness seemed to be a catalyst for infighting, and the leaders agreed that they needed to march. But where to?
Carinus, Duke of Arausikon, alongside most of the Igorian noble rebels, advocated marching onwards to Glopurg. The Duke of Petraven, however, wanted to join the rebel army to that of the Fabien II, and follow his lead. Some of the Vaastarnan Counts supported marching to the aid of those Vaastarnan rebel strongholds that were coming under assault from the diligent Grand Prefect. The Krilleans, unsurprisingly, were all in favour of aiding the other Krillean rebels in crushing the remaining Igorian forces in the Grand Duchy. Surprisingly enough, Traianos, Marquis of Orealana added his voice to theirs.
After several days of debate, the silver-tongue Arausikon had succeeded in convincing all but the Krilleans, who were adamant to the extent that, on the 24th of February they decamped and marched off west, lead by the ubiquitous Orealana.

As the rebel army (or most of it, now stripped of its Krillean contingent) resumed its march south, Alexius and the remains of his army were well on their way to Glopurg, and were safe within its walls by the first week of March 1254. But just as he had seemingly salvaged his army’s position by withdrawing behind the walls of the capital, Alexius got word from the north: the garrison of Sorsonopolis had surrendered after little more than a month of siege. It ought not have been a surprise: the city was well fortified, but it had been ill prepared for a siege. No food or supplies had been stockpiled, and once the Britarians had succeeded in encircling it there was no way in or out. Undoubtedly, the Britarian king, buoyed by his success, had set his sights on Glopurg. Alexius, shaken by his defeat and by the seeming hopelessness of the situation, effectively relinquished command of the army and allowed more experienced men to prepare the city for a siege.

Medieval Glopurg was a magnificent and indeed majestic city, worthy of being the capital of an Empire. Its population numbered over half a million souls, truly colossal by the standards of the time. From it, roads snaked across the Empire – many of those roads were the same roads that had served as the veins of the Rivadis Empire, altered only slightly to connect at Glopurg, located some distance downriver from the old capital, Katopsis, which now lay in ruins. Glopurg was also the center of booming river traffic, as it sat on the place where the river Tell, flowing south from Lake Brightwater, met its tributary, the river Evras. The Old Quarters of Glopurg, dating back to the middle Rivadi period, were wedged in between the two rivers, and protected by their imposing Rivadi walls. Within the high walls of the Old City lay most of the key government institutions: the Senate House, the Chancellery, the squat, square building of the Imperial Treasury with its gilded roof, the barracks of the Palatinoi and Spatharioi Guards, and the Old Palace, a magnificent, fortified and luxurious complex that lorded over the rest of the city from atop the Palace Hill.
The New (or Young) City, built largely since the 9th century AD, was thrice as large as the city’s old quarters, and enveloped them, dissected into three parts by the rivers, and protected too by formidable curtain walls. These walls were lower and not as thick as those of the Old City, since Late Rivadi and Early Igorian stonemasons were rather less skilled than their earlier counterparts. As a result, to any trader or besieger approaching from the plains around the city, Glopurg appeared to be a layered cake, with the older walls rising above the new ones, and above all that the bright, burnished roofs of the Old Palace and the Basilica of St Mika and St Mylecles.

On April 2, 1254, the inhabitants of Glopurg awoke to the sound of trumpets and horns calling men to arms. Those that rushed to the walls beheld with shock and horror the sight of a terrific cloud of dust rising up on the horizon, and as time went on banners materialised from that cloud of dust, heralding the approach of the enemy. The rebel host, reduced somewhat by battle and internal divisions, had come south. With close to 15,000 men up at arms it was a highly potent force. By the end of the day they had set up camp and began preparing their siege lines – digging trenches, building ladders and a other siege equipment. They had not, as of yet, fully surrounded the city, and so the southern and eastern gates were still open. As the sun set on April 2nd, messenger upon messenger raced out of those gates, bound to wherever loyal Imperial forces yet remained, not least of all to find Emperor Andronicus.
By April 9th, the Igorian rebels had been joined by the army of King Fabien II. Together, they had more than 30,000 men, and used them to surround the city.

Understandably, the city’s defenders were panicked. They were outnumbered, and had half a million mouths to feed, something that would not be possible for much longer, since the city’s granaries had been depleted over the winter and no new harvest had yet been gathered. However, Crown Prince Alexius was not entirely lost to the world, and he recognised that Glopurg could be supplied by river. All that remained, then, was to keep the river open to traffic.
Fabien II and the Igorian rebels were also all too aware of this fact. They knew that they needed to put a boom across the river to ensure Glopurg’s swift capitulation. By the 10th, groups of workmen were already beginning to construct these booms, located far enough upriver to be out of range of the defenders’ trebuchets and bows, and protected from any sorties by several hundred well-armed soldiers.
In their desperation to keep the river open, Alexius and his fellow commanders turned to the most unlikely ally – Ser Hugh de Raville.

Time had not been to kind to Ser Hugh – he had spent the preceding few years languishing in the not altogether unpleasant captivity of the Igorian Emperor, and he had grown in girth. But he had maintained his decisive state of mind and tactical ability. According to chroniclers, Alexius came to see the captive knight in person, and offered him lands, a title, and the chance for revenge against the men who had supposedly betrayed him – Adrien II may have been dead and buried, but no-one in his court, least of all his son, had lifted a finger to defend de Raville’s honour when the knight had been unjustly denounced as a traitor.
Ser Hugh agreed, and was duly set free, given a more spacious suit of armour and told to do his worst.
On the night of the 11th, Ser Hugh de Raville and several hundred crack Igorian soldiers descended on the camps of the men charged with blocking the river. They had come upstream on river galleys and barges, taking the unsuspecting Britarians by surprise. Several dozen of them were killed, and the rest fled to the safety of the main camp while de Raville’s men burned down the boom and the camp itself, before returning safely to Glopurg. Over the next four days, Ser Hugh would launch a dozen such sorties, using Glopurg’s fleet of river galleys to strike suddenly at unsuspecting parties of rebels and Britarians, and to skirmish with the archers and knights invariably sent to drive him off. By the 15th of April, Hugh de Raville’s valiant efforts had successfully dissuaded Fabien II or any of his allies from attempting to block off the river.

The siege carried on into May, just as another event was unfolding to the west. In the city of Yugorscopolis, which had by then been under rebel rule for several months, a great gathering was held, made all the more meaningful by the fact that it was the first of its kind in close to three centuries. This was the great Conclave of Princes, a meeting in which the so-called Princes of Krill - counts, dukes, petty kings and whatever else they may have styled themselves – came together to elect the High King of Krill. Krillean kingship entailed a rather different balance of power between the rulers and the ruled than Igorian or even Britaria monarchy: under the founding laws of Krill, the nobility retained huge liberties, their only real obligation being the answering of the High King’s summons in wartime – and even then, it was intended as a means of collective security for the benefit of the Krillean Princes themselves. In the past, the Krillean nobility had come to rely on the Kings of Nazlac to provide this security. But now, Nazlac was gone, and many of the nobles wished for the Britarian crown to fill the spot.
The Princely Conclave drew on for a month and a bit before any progress was made, and when the Conclave finally announced its decision, it was not Fabien II whom they proclaimed High King, but Traianos, Marquis of Orealana. Orealana was crowned King Traianos I in a lavish ceremony on midsummers day, 1254.

Traianos had climbed much higher than he ever dared to hope, but his opportunism and ambition had forced him to pay a heavy price. His allies in the Igorian nobility rightly saw his elevation to the High Kingship as an act of naked ambition and turned away from him. Since he had won by the narrowest of majorities, his support among his newfound Krillean subjects was tenuous at best: the support that he did have came largely from promising lands in Igoria to Krillean nobles, which put him at further odds with the Igorian nobility. But, most of all, his ascension threatened his fragile alliance with the King of Britaria.

Fabien seemed to realise that he had greatly underestimated his allies in Igoria. His suspicions were further aroused by the fact that he had not been informed of the Princely Conclave until after Orealana’s proclamation as High King. This act of disloyalty by his prospective vassals certainly made him reconsider his alliance both with the Krilleans and the Igorian rebels as a whole.

After Orealana’s coronation, events began to move much more quickly. The new High King himself was forced to turn his attention to securing the rest of Krill, for, scarcely a week before his coronation, the rebels’ winning streak had been broken.
For close to a year the Imperial forces in Krill had been under the command of none other than Prefect Alvin Vatatzes. Vatatzes’ forces had suffered a series of setbacks in the summer of 1253, and while it had seemed for a time that the arrival of Megas Domestikos Michael Stavrolis and thousands of fresh troops might turn the tide, this hope quickly vanished after Stavrolis was killed in a Krillean ambush and his fresh troops were routed in a pitched battle once under Vatatzes’ (who was the next ranking official in Krill) typically incompetent command, and then proceeded to mutiny. Yugorscopolis fell by October of 1253, despite Vatatzes’ attempts to relieve the city – his army, despite substantial numerical superiority, was outmaneuvered by the Krilleans, who laid a clever trap for Vatatzes and his men just as they approached the city. From the autumn of 1253 onwards, Vatatzes was reduced to fleeing from stronghold to stronghold with an ever-dwindling band of supporters, all the time mismanaging the wider war effort in Krill. At last, in April 1254, he and what remained of the Igorian army in Krill gathered in Southwater, where Vatatzes officially washed his hands of the campaign. Since the foremost soldier in the Empire, the Megas Domestikos, was dead (no successor had been appointed), and since both the Emperor and Imperial court in Glopurg were a bit too preoccupied to really care, the officers of the Tagmata and Themata in Krill took matters of command into their own hands, raising one of their own to the command. The man they elevated was not the most immediate choice – for a start, he was young by the standards of the foodchain of the Imperial army and bureaucracy. But in the months of desperate and erratic skirmishing in Krill he had developed a reputation for cunning on the field of battle. His name was Eustachius Bonifacius, and he would go on to play a great role in the years of war to come.

In June 1254, just as the Princely Conclave was drawing to a close, an army of close to ten thousand Krillean rebels descended on the imposing fortress of Kermenis in southern Krill. The garrison was able to dispatch a rider to Southwater before they were encircled. The man raced south, covering close to 30 miles in just a single day, and immediately requested help from the regrouped Igorian forces under Bonifacius’ command.
The general wasted no time. He marched his army relentlessly, covering the 30 miles in less than two days. His troops were tired, but they had succeeded in taking the Krilleans by surprise.
The Krillean commander was the Count of Solloston. While he was certainly rich, Solloston was considered too junior a nobleman in terms of prestige to be counted among the Princes, and as such was not privy to the proceedings of the Princely Conclave. Unsurprisingly, the Count was unhappy about this, and thus spent more time sulking in his tent than paying attention to strategy. At any rate, Solloston had not expected a relief force to arrive so soon, and thus had not finished setting up a fortified encampment. This was also partially due to the fact that, being almost a year into a seemingly successful war, the Krilleans had grown highly lax.
As such, on the evening of the 16th of June 1254, Eustachius Bonifacius’ men neared the Krillean encampment. While the Igorians were outnumbered, Bonifacius had split his men into several groups and ordered them to attack the besiegers from all sides. He hoped that this would create the illusion of a larger force, one that was able to encircle the Krilleans from all sides.
It worked. As the trumpets blared and war-horns lowed, the Igorians launched their assault. The Krilleans were driven back and broken, thousands of them fleeing without bothering to collect their possessions from the camp or organise a rearguard. The Count of Solloston lost a prized set of silver dishes and jeweled goblets, as well as some of his finest silk and ermine garments, but he did, to his good credit, rally and preserve his army, as the Igorians were too tired after their long march and subsequent battle to pursue his panic-stricken men.

Almost simultaneously, many leagues to the east, King Fabien II received words of another setback: a band of mercenaries in his employ, largely Chidorians, had been all but annihilated by Andronicus’ army while sacking some market town. While the outcome of the battle itself was of no significance to the fate of Fabien’s campaign, the mere fact that there had been a battle was: it meant that Emperor Andronicus was finally on the march.
Last edited by Igoria on Sat Oct 22, 2016 1:43 am, edited 1 time in total.
I'm a somewhat constitutional hereditary monarchy.


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