Links to EA SHWI postings
(some of these will go to the google groups thread, rather than directly to the Part itself)
Here is Part 1, AKA The Unambitious False Start, from 8/15/03:
It was (justifiably) poorly received.
So I began again:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
we move from the Norse to the Welsh:
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8:
and the Domstollanders settle accounts with the Knights of Ultima Thule and the denizens of Niwe Wessex in:
Part 9
a brief survey of the state of Ultima Thule, circa 1200 a.d. in:
Part 10a
I dispense with the demographic crap and skip straight to Niccolo da Conti "discovering" Fjararaland and the Ursulines in:
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Epilogue to the Venetian project in the Ursulines, the prologue to the Mongol project in Europe, and Enrico Pescatore's troubles in Mu-lan-P'i begin in:
Part 15
Part 16
More about the Mongols and Mu-lan-P'i in:
Part 17
A brief intermission, and the origin of the Fjaraland League in:
Part 18
Back into Mongol Conquest Action, and the beginnings of Spiritine Christianity, in:
Part 19
Part 20
The One-Eyed Wanderer enlists in the Khan's service, and the Fate of the West is decided at the Battle of Ghent in:
Part 21
Italian is on the Mongol menu in:
Part 22
Back to Domstolland with the Jews expelled from England in:
Part 23
And back to Vinland in:
Part 24
More Mu-lan-P'i (including the invention of cannon) in:
Part 25
A bit on the Ursulines in:
Part 26
Niwe Wessex finally reappears, along with a number of the other Thulian settlements in:
Part 27
Another little intermission, in which we catch up with Roger Bacon and Enrico Pescatore in Mu-lan-P'i in:
Part 28
The printing press is a Muslim invention in:
Part 29
Religious matters abound in:
Part 30
The sadly unfinished adventure of Reynart the Fox, interspersed with a survey of the Khanate of the Franks:
Part 31
where's Parts 32 and 33 on SHWI? A search of Google Groups does not find them.
Here's the (unedited) originals:
Part 32:
Empty America: Part 32 - Fox on the Run (Part II)
[Kingdom of Foix, Spring, 1292]
"I'm going to kill him," Chantecler groaned, stomping along the dirt road on the outskirts of Cuidat Bandadas, his head splitting and squinting painfully into the bright sunlight.
"If you are going to do it dressed like that," Hermeline laughed, a quiet little laugh, "be sure to let me know, because I want to watch."
Lu Yau, leading the way, chortles from underneath a long fake beard and big floppy hat and looks back.
It would be something to see, because Chantecler was wearing a wig, gaudy jewelry, heavy makeup and long dress, and looks every inch the high-priced prostitute. In fact, he looks like a somewhat slighter version of Hermeline, who is similarly made up, but who is shorter and of sturdier build, with more convincing curves.
It is a simple plan, really. Well, at least it started out that way ...
***
This is not what Chantecler signed up for. He figured that being a pirate would be a laugh, you know. Beat the hell out of clerking for the government of Domstolland, which was the life his father had laid out for him. The Norse always needed more literate men to do their records, but Chantecler had no intention of spending his life chained to a desk. So, in the middle of one of his father's interminable lectures about how the Folkhagi needed them, and what a great debt the Jews owed to Domstolland, and how a fifteen-year-old boy did not know how hard it was out in the world, Chantecler just stuffed his things into a bag and stormed on out. Then, to his great surprise, as he stomped his way down the street, cursing, his father chased him down and, weeping, hugged him fiercely and gave him his blessing. His son was off to stick it to the Christians, he should be angry?
There were always a few corsair ships in Tivrhofn, and before he knew it, Chantecler was a bona-fide pirate. He earned his spurs the hard way - in the long-running and extremely dangerous skirmishing over the cod fisheries off Markland [Newfoundland]. He wasn't a big lad, but he was quick and focused. He soon discovered that he was handy with a wheelbow and he practiced non-stop until he was hot, really hot. Fast and accurate and nervy, dropping enemy archers one-two-three while arrows whistled around him and ice-cold salt-spray soaked him to the bone. But he didn't become a pirate to risk his neck over cargoes of torsk [salted fish], and so he found his way south. Domstollander pirates did not venture into the Ursulines in any numbers, but they did work the coastlines and inlets of the Fjaraland League states, although League ships and fortifications could make it pretty hairy, and the Sail Brothers, as the seagoing contingents of the Knights of Ultima Thule are informally known, are merciless in hunting them down. Chantecler, who had been at sea for five years, was at loose ends at the time, met Reynart in Fjaraland. The two hit it off immediately. Reynart was Chantecler's idea of a pirate - flamboyant and daring, with an eye for the best of everything. Reynart had an eye for talent, and the deal was done. It was also in Fjaraland that Chantecler picked up his repeating crossbow - a Norse craftsman had gotten his hands on one of the Cathayan models and was turning out knock-offs. Chantecler felt lust in his heart when he saw it - now there was a pirate's weapon! He saw himself leaping onto the deck of an Italian merchantman, spraying bolts left and right. It cost a fortune, but Chantecler could swing it.
But it only took him a few months of filching merchandise from waterfront warehouses with Reynart and his men to figure out that the Fox's extravagent demeanor was really just a cover. He was a common thief playing at dashing corsair. But Chantecler did not care - he was having great fun and living high, whether in and out of every port in the Ursulines or laying low, relaxing in Maupertuis.
***
Tramping along a dusty road, dressed up as a prostitute, with a Cathayan policeman laughing at him was not what he would call the high point of his career. It really did start off as a simple enough plan. Reynart, Isengrin and Lu Yau huddled, and Chantecler hung around, half listening, half fooling around with the other crewmen.
They needed to get into the Catalan's camp and find out what their next move was, where they were going. But how? Reynart suggested that they should send a couple of men in, offering to sign up with the Company.
"No," said Lu Yau, "they will recognize your men from the tavern."
"And they would not want to take such formidable fighters into their service?" Reynart smiled.
Isengrin shook his head. "That fracas probably cost the Company the peace bond they posted with the King. Although I imagine that Raymond Roger let 'em go double or nothing. Even if they don't care that we carved up a bunch of their men, they wouldn't be happy to see us."
"We would have to proceed in disguise." said Lu. "But disguised as what?"
It was Isengrin who thought of it. "A whoremonger and his whores. No way they will get turned back."
Lu raised his eyebrows, and Isengrin explained. "The Cathars. They preach among the whores in the waterfront, bring them in, make nuns out of them [FN32.01]. Next thing you know, they are spinning and weaving and praising God. It is actually tough to find a whore in Ciudat Bandadas." He snorted. "Probably why the sailors drink so much. No way the Catalans would send a couple of prostitutes away."
The Cathayan policeman nodded. "I can pose as the prostitutes' master, and -"
Reynart interjected. "But they will certainly recognize you from the tavern!"
"I am adept at disguise and will not seem the least bit familiar. There are any number of men of Mu-lan-P'i in the islands and," he broke into a slight smile as he fished a long-stemmed clay pipe, leather pouch and little red lacquer cylinder out of his robes, "it has been my experience that we all look alike to you."
The cylinder caught Chantecler's eye - he had a thing for Cathayan crafts and lacquer goods fascinated him. He watched Lu yau carefully as the policeman filled his pipe.
"Hermeline will pretend to be one of the prostitutes," Reynart said.
Isengrin looked startled. "She will? Even after -"
"Truth she will, Wolf! She has been ship-board too long and craves action! But we will need a second. A whoremonger with just one girl will look suspicious."
Lu tucked the pouch back into his robe, popped the cap off of the little red cylinder, pulled out what looked to Chantecler like a small stick, which he then struck against a rough iron ring that encircled the mainmast. Chantecler felt his jaw drop as the end of the little stick burst into flame, which the Cathayan promptly used to light his pipe. Everyone on the La Tiberon stood frozen, looking at Lu Yau.
The Cathayan looked up from his pipe. To Chantecler, he seemed genuinely puzzled by his new comrades' reaction. "Fire inch-sticks. Fifty for a copper in Ti-chu Shih" [FN32.02]. And then, just like that, they all applauded, Chantecler included.
Reynart, who wiped the astonishment off his face quicker than the others, clapped Lu on the back. "A doughty fighter and a conjurer, too! Save some tricks for later in the show, Tibert, lest you lose your audience!"
For everyone else, the novelty of Lu's fire stick seemed to wear off quickly, and they went back to discussing the plan. But Chantecler was still fascinated by the trick. How do the Cathayans do all these things? It seems like every time he encountered one of them, they have some amazing new device. He was lost in thought and when he looked up, he saw that Lu, Reynart and Isengrin were all looking right at him.
Reynart smiles. "Cantecler, how would you like to do some thing very heroic?"
Oh, no.
Oh, yes.
***
Making his way down the dirt road, Chantecler says, "I don't know why they didn't pick the Raven. He looks more like a woman than I do."
"They didn't pick Tiecelen because he gave Reynart that look," Hermeline snorts.
Chantecler knows that look, that "I know what you are thinking about doing, and I will kill you if you do it" look. Chantecler thought the Raven, despite his lean build and clean-shaven, vaguely feminine features, was one scary dude. Couple years back, he just showed up, out of nowhere, and attached himself to Reynart's crew. As far as Chantecler knew, he did not even ask to join, he just did it. He even gave himself his nom du corsair. Nobody knew where came from or what he was doing before he boarded La Tiberon, but he was good: crafty, quiet and utterly ruthless. The Raven wasn't someone Chantecler would chose to drink with - in fact he did not know if Tiecelen drank or not - but he never minded having him at his back in a fracas.
"Damn," says Chantecler. "I wish I could give people that look."
Hermeline shoots him a smile. "I'm glad you can't. One Raven in this crew is more than enough."
Chantecler remembers why everyone likes Hermeline.
***
Back on La Tiberon, Chantecler protested. "Dress up like a woman, like a whore?"
Reynart nodded. "Tibert will bring you and Hermeline into the Cathayan camp." He laughed. "A 'special surprise' just for the Captain of the Company, courtesy of some local merchants. Once you are inside, you can find out where the Company is going."
Chantecler shook his head. "What if, you know, before we make it to where the Captain is, some of the soldiers, you know, want to ..."
"You are special, Chantecler, a special treat for the Captain," Reynart said. "They won't touch you, or Hermeline."
Chantecler was skeptical. "You don't know much about soldiers, do you Reynart?"
Reynart laughed. "I know more than you ever will, young Rooster! When I fought in France alongside the Templars, during the great Battles of the Frontiers, I learned a thing or two about soldiering. And ..."
A dagger whipped by Reynart's ear, whirring end over end and - Chantecler saw it, but did not believe it - made a curving arc in mid-air to thunk into the side of the aft mast, where it stuck, visibly vibrating. Lu Yau walked casually past Reynart, whose eyes were bulging, and retrieved the dagger. Chantecler caught a glimpse of the weapon - it was a simple thing, no hilt, a blade with a cleaver-point, twice as long as its handle, which was just a round bit of wood wrapped in what looked like twine.
"Chantecler," said Lu Yau, "I will not allow anything untoward or dishonorable befall you or Hermeline while you are in my charge."
Chantecler believed him.
For his part, Reynart was a firm believer in not doing anything you had decided sober until you have discussed it drunk - a practice that Chantecler heartily agreed with - so Hermeline and two other crewmembers who hadn't been in on the brawl slipped back to La Ocell and shagged a couple kegs of Thunderbird. Hermeline reported that Antonio the bartender was none the worse for wear (and still cleaning up the damage) and there were a lot of Company soldiers lurking about town.
So they tapped the first keg and set to it. Before the evening was out, Chantecler was enthusiastically modeling various outfits for his undercover mission, to the hoots and cat-calls of his fellows. Bernart the Donkey brayed with piercing laughther and proclaimed that if there is anything more funny than an Englishman in a dress, he hadn't seen it. Reynart repeated toasts to "the freedom of the New World!" with anyone who will join in. By the time the doughty crew of La Tiberon was halfway through the second keg, Isengrin and Lu Yauhad were engaged in a mock (although it was a close thing as far as Chantecler was concerned) duel, the Cathayan with his staff and Isengrin with his sheathed sword. Chantecler couldn't tell who got the better of whom, because during the middle of the struggle, he had sat down heavily on the deck, still clad in his hooker togs. He let himself fall backwards and stared up at the sky, watching the stars spin in their courses ...
and awoke the next day with his piercing headache and wondering blearily why the hell he had agreed to this lunatic scheme.
***
The Catalans were encamped at the plantation of a local magnate, and it was close to dusk Lu Yau, Hermeline and Chantecler encountered Company pickets stationed on the road. That struck Chantecler as odd. He did not have a lot of experience with soldiers in his travels, but what he did know was that when they weren't actually fighting someone, they tended to be either slouching about camp or out carousing. But here these two were standing guard, and were fairly smart about it, even though they were hardly in enemy territory. Lu Yau presents the guards with the carefully-forged letter from the Cuidat Bandadas Salt-Panners Guild, offering the Grand Marshal of the Company these two "comely and skilled wenches" as a gesture of friendship and in consideration of future business. The Cathayan had not said what they would do if the guards decided to escort them straight to the Marshall - who could just want to get straight to business, as it were - instead of just letting them pass and make their own way through.
"What, whores for the Marshall?" the bigger one snorted. "I dunno what 'the Friar' is gonna think of that. Not the kind of swordplay he's interested in, from what I've heard." Both of the guards roared with laughter.
The smaller one leered at Chantecler, "She's a pretty one, isn't she? Be a shame if she went to waste up at the big house. How much for a taste?"
Oh, merde.
Lu bowed deeply. Chantecler noticed that one of his hands had, ever so inconspicuously, disappeared inside his robes. He remembered the daggers and tensed, ready to hit the dirt. He glaced over at Hermeline. One of her hands was behind her back.
Oh, merde, this was going to be over before it even started.
"Many pardons, esteemed sir. But my directions were very specific - bring them to the Grand Marshal untouched. Perhaps if he is disinclined to partake, as you suggest, he will reward your diligent service appropriately."
The guards laughed again. "Nay, most like he will hand them over to the quality at the big house! A little gratuity for the Count's hospitality. But still, on your way back, be sure to remember the fellows who pointed you the way."
"Most assuredly." Chantecler glares at Lu, who winks.
And then they were on their way. There were any number of tents pitched in the parkland surrounding the Count's villa. Reynart had detailed Hermeline to get an idea of the Company's troop strength, so Chantecler lets her do the counting. The thing that startles Chantecler was that not only were there soldiers milling about outside the tents in the warm evening breeze, but there are also women taking laundry off the lines and children scrambling about underfoot. Not at all what he expected from a troop of hard-bitten professional soldiers halfway around the world from home, on their way to some desperate enterprise that he could only guess at.
I mean, he had heard about camp followers, but this looks like an entire community on the march. What the hell was going on here?
TO BE CONTINUTED
[FN32.01] Not exactly nuns, but credentes - lay adherants.
[FN3202] Based upon an Chinese invention circa 6th Century B.C. The original fire inch-sticks merely had to be lit via flame. The friction match is a fortuitous offshoot of the aggressive experimentation with gunpowder in Jen Men. The Chinese had been working with iron phosphate to lower melting temperatures in the making of cast iron for some time, so it does not seem implausible that they could stumble across phosphorous for matches.
Part 33:
Empty America: Part 33 - Desolation Angels (Part I)
[I am going to be getting back to Fox on the Run later this month. For the moment, it is time to advance the Mongol portion of the timeline a bit.]
(Europe, SouthWest Asia and North Africa, 1256-1263)
Allright Cairo, put your hands together and make some noise for your hometown Eeeeeegyptian Mamluuuuuuuks!
[cue stadium crowd cheering]
The Egyptian Mamluks! The slave soldier elite of Dar al-Islam in the thirteenth century. Cuman boys, sold into slavery in Kaffa on the Black Sea, brought to Cairo to be converted to Islam and rigorously trained in the arts of war. And I mean _rigorously_ trained - all day, every day. The surviving drill manuals emphasize swordsmanship, use of the lance and archery. In their off hours, they get to train some more - polo and a great hunt similar to that practiced by the Mongols, in essence a massive war game.
The Mamluks are formidable bowmen - a Mamluk warrior was expected to hit a 95 centimeter target from 75 yards, and get three arrows into the air in 1.5 seconds. In ATL, they are, of course, equipped with wheelbows, the design of which they have obtained from the Byzantines.
The Mamluks' weaponry and armor tends to be similar that of the European knight - helmet, chainmail coat and double-edged, straight-bladed sword. Their kit and tactics are not designed for the head-on collision in the Western style, but rather more fluid warfare. (Depending upon who you ask, they could are could not withstand a charge of Western knights.)
The Mamluks are tough, highly-skilled and disciplined, and are also fanatical defenders of the Faith, although they are not particularly austere, a fact which occasionally scandalizes more conventional Muslims.
But, when it is all said and done, you have some seriously badass horse-soldiers. If anyone can halt the Mongol march to world conquest, it is the Mamluks.
Which was exactly what Hulegu was concerned about. In 1250, the Mamluks overthrew the newly-elevated Sultan Turanshah and seized power for themselves [FN33.00], establishing a significant military power within striking distance of Syria [which, for our purposes, will include OTL's Syria, Lebanon, Israel, and Jordan]. Mamluk Sultan Sayf al-Din Qutiz can be expected to contest the Mongol advance. Strictly on the numbers, Hulegu does not have much to worry about. He has retired to Azerbaijan to refit and reorganize, and he has assembled a huge force - pushing 400,000, including allied troops. But his scouts have told him that Syria is not exactly ideal territory for a host of steppe cavalry - no adequate grasslands and the ground is so rocky and hard that the ponies' (unshod) hooves break. The shortage of grazing is particularly troubling - that means he will have to haul his supplies with him. But there is no way he can conjur up a camel-train big enough to supply his entire force. And before Hulegu can even come to grips with the Mamluks, he will have to go through the forces of the Ayyubid prince al-Nasir Yusif, of the House of Saladin, who rules much of Syria from Aleppo, who can reputedly field an army of 150,000 men.
Hulegu, because of logistic constraints, is going to have to move light and fast against al-Nasir, and that tilts the odds to something more like even. And, like any good commander, Hulegu doesn't like that at all.
So he decided that he would get some long-overdue assistance from his kinsman Sartak, Khan of the Franks. In the late 1250s, the Mongol World Empire has not yet fallen to fighting amongst its component pieces, which means that the holders of each major ulus within the Empire was still expected to carry out policy dictated from Karakorum and assist each other in doing so.
In ATL, Sartak, rather than OTL's Berke, is on the throne of the Jochid ulus. This produces a rather profound difference in Jochid policy in the late 1250s and early 1260s. A number of factors work into the different relationship between Sartak's Khanate of the Franks and the il-Khanate (proclaimed by Hulegu in Baghdad) than existed between the il-Khanate and the Golden Horde under Berke. Berke is a Moslem [FN33.01], and is quite put out by Hulegu's sack of Baghdad and murder of the Caliph. Sartak, a Christian, is fairly pleased with developments in Irak. He is particularly happy with the steps Hulegu takes to spare the Christian population of Baghdad, as well as their liberation under the Yasa from Moslem oppression.
Sartak is also (for the lack of a better word) rather Euro-centric, much moreso than a Khan who rules the Golden Horde from Sarai or New Sarai on the lower Volga. In OTL, the core of the dispute between the Golden Horde and the il-Khanate probably stemmed Hulegu's misappropriation of some territory in northern Persia that should have gone to Berke as his appanage. Sartak is simply less concerned about it than Berke was. He is not a Muslim and not angling to keep Muslims out of the hands of the pagan Hulegu, and the disputed territory is on the periphery of his ulus [FN33.02].
So Sartak is ready to deal.
In OTL 1259, the Great Khan Mongke dies of fever (or in combat, depending who you ask) outside the walls of Chongqing in 1259. This leads to a disputed succession between his sons Arik Boke and Khubilai. In OTL, this dispute had the Golden Horde and the il-Khanate on opposite sides. In ATL, Mongke's death is butterflied down the road a bit, so he is still alive and kicking in 1259 [FN33.02.01].
So, in ATL 1259, the Khanate of the Franks and the il-Khanate are deeply engaged in discussions for joint operations against the Mamluks and the subsequent disposition of the spoils.
That is where Sartak's request that Pope Gregory X authorize the preaching of a crusade comes in. Sartak, as absolute ruler of Central Europe, Eastern Europe, Italy, as well as overlord of the Rus' and the Lithuanians and many in Asia besides, could simply requisition all the troops he needed (and then some) for an offensive against the Mamluks. But the center of gravity in his Khanate is Europe, and Sartak is trying to work within that milleu. He not only wants to be a Khan, but a Christian Prince as well. He is walking that balance-beam between his Mongol heritage and his Christian dominion. His course is roughly parallell to what Khubilai will do in China, where he will be part nomad conqueror, part Confucian Emperor. Both Sartak and Khubilai are both steppe Khans and sedentary dynasts, and each of them is working to adapt.
Sartak knows that Christendom is in the throes of a popular religious upheaval with a strong millenarian current. Joachim of Fiore has predicted the end of Islam and pegged 1260 for the end of the 'Reign of the Son,' and commencement of the 'Reign of the Holy Spirit.' So, it seems like a good time for some fairly earth-shaking things to be happening. In Europe, the conquest of Baghdad - the greatest city in Dar al Islam - is greeted with jubilation. The sparing of the Christian population is widely known, as is the installation of the Christian patriarch in one of the Caliph's palaces. It is also fairly common knowledge that Hulegu's chief wife, Dokuz Khatun, is a Christian, as is Ked-Buka, one of Hulegu's top commanders. Rumors abound that Hulegu, if he has not already been secretly baptised, will accept Christianity in Jerusalem. The mood in Europe is electric - the fog of despair generated by the destructive Mongol conquest, the exile of the Pope from Rome, and the splintering of Christianity has been blown away by a new sense of possibility - this could be the final triumph of Christianity over Islam.
And the Christians of Europe want in, like they haven't wanted in 200 years.
In short, if Sartak had not requested the preaching of a Crusade to liberate the Holy Land from the Saracens, his Christian subjects would have simply demanded it.
Which puts him in a good negotiating position with Gregory. The Pope has a whole laundry-list of things he would like from Sartak (baptism as a Catholic, acknowledgement of Papal supremacy, restoration of confiscated Church property, return to Mongolia and so on), but he is smart enough not to push it too far in his discussions with Sartak's emissary.
Gregory would like the Kindom of Jerusalem to remain under a Christian sovereign.
Done.
He would like Batu's ban on mention of the Pope during Mass lifted.
Done.
He would like Papal control over ecclesiastical appointments returned.
Done.
He would like the restoration of Papal Church revenues, which had been withheld since the conquest [FN33.03].
Done.
This is the big one. Gregory would like Sartak to permit a Great Council of the Church, inside the Khanate. Representatives of all the denominations - Catholics and Reformed, Orthodox and Nestorian - will be required to attend. The Council is Gregory's big throw of the dice for reuniting Christendom. In the wake of a great triumph over Islam, brought abount under the banner of the Cross, maybe he can show the Reformed and Spiritines the error of their ways. He can prove to them that the Church has changed, that the Pope is now interested only in the spiritual salvation of all mankind. And he can guide the French, who are teetering on the brink of schism, back into the fold. The great conciliarists cannot resist a Great Council, now can they?
And Gregory can make his great announcement. In his chamber, he has a piece of paper, renouncing all claims to the Patrimony of Peter. It awaits only his seal. Gregory has been thinking and praying intently over this, and he feels the presence of Francis of Assissi at his shoulder. It is the Republic of St. Peter that brought Christendom low, the quest for temporal power that put the Papacy at odds with so many princes, kings and emperors. It is the mortal sin within Christendom that opened the door to the Tatars and caused the destruction of the unity of the Latin Church. With the Church reunited, he will renounce the temporal power of the papacy.
The heirs of Peter the fisherman will once again walk humbly before God and Man, and shall be exalted for it.
The Tatar emissary nods. Done.
*****
(Republic of Venice, February, 1259)
Doge Ranier Zeno has lived one hell of a life. He had been in the middle of whatever the Lion City had been up to for the better part of 20 years until his elevation to the ducal throne in 1253. He knows the sudden, lurching tilt of a galley deck as it was grappled and boarded. He knows what it was to have his life depending upon the strength and speed of his sword-arm.
And he can honestly say that he has never been genuinely, hair-on-the-back-of-his-neck-rising frightened until the Tatar emissary, looks at him, ever so cooly, and says,
"And then Heaven knows what will happen."
Zeno's mouth goes dry. Controlling his motions carefully so as not to betray any signs of fear, he reaches carefully for the cup of wine on the table next to his throne in the audience chamber. As he drinks, he tries to calm himself down through sure force of will.
This is wrong, this is all so very wrong.
***
First of all, there shouldn't even be a Mongol general standing in his audience chamber. For seventeen years, the Khan had been sending a variety of emissaries, all carefully inoffensive. Nestorian prelates, mostly. But now, out of nowhere, this stinking pagan bahadur in his brocade robe, leather armor, fur hat and felt boots shows up with a golden tablet from Sartak and a curt demand for an audience. Zeno, who was expecting the visit, but was stunned by the visitor, knew this was bad. So he had first played for time. The Doge convened an emergency session of the the Pregadi [Senate], who were the final authority in foreign affairs, and reswore his oath to report faithfully upon all that transpired between him and the Tatar, and to make no agreement binding the City of St. Mark unless the Pregadi approved. And then he had met with the Mongol.
Second of all, the Tatars were Venice's _allies_. They should not be dealing with him this way. This Boroldai can't just walk in here and start telling him what to do. But that is what he did. Without anything in the way of the customary pleasantries, the Tatar general had informed him that Sartak was assembling a great army.
Zeno knew that. Every Venetian ortok in Europe doubled as an intelligence agent for the Republic.
Boroldai then told him that this army would be embarking for the Land of Sham.
Well, duh, thought Zeno. The Pope has proclaimed a _Crusade_.
Venice, said Boroldai, will transport the Khan's soldiers to the Land of Sham.
This, Zeno took from the general's tone, and the words chosen by his interpreter, was not a request. But he decides that he will play it off - he knew that Sartak would be asking for Venetian help.
Of course, said Zeno briskly, the Republic is willing to aid the Khan. There will, of course, be compensation. One-fourth of every town, exclusive status as ortoks within Hulegu's lands. This is the arrangement that the Pregadi approved. It is, in essence, a variation of the standing deal Venice had with Batu.
Boroldai shook his head. No.
Zeno almost lept from his throne and rounded on the man. No?!? What do you mean no?!? But he kept his cool. Surely, he said, the Khan does not expect Venice to offer its services without just compensation?
The Tatar blew up. compensation?!? You dare speak to me of compensation?!? Your wretched city has been growing fat from the Khan for years! It is not he who should be paying you, it is you who must do service for him!
Zeno was unfazed by display, but still bewildered that the Khan would turn on the City of St. Mark like this. But he was a Venetian, not unused to hard bargaining, and reassured himself that Sartak was merely attempting to get a good deal. He smiled. And if we decline?
Boroldai smiled back. Then the Khan will consider you to be a declared rebel, and meet out just punishment for rebels. You have no soldiers. Who will lift a finger to help you?
Zeno considered that for a moment. This Boroldai is a sharp one.
The Tatar must know.
Several weeks ago, Zeno got a response from King Alfonso X of Castille. Zeno had requested an alliance against Jaime I of Aragon, and thought that Alfonso might be willing to join Venice in a war against its primary Christian rival in Iberia. Alfonso's reply was blistering denounciation of Venetian collaboration with the Tatars and condemnation of "the insatiable rapacity of the Venetians and their thirst for power." It was not a diplomatic note - it was a manifesto calling for the destruction of Venice's maritime domination of the Mediterranean and its commercial supremacy in Europe. Just yesterday, Zeno learned that the newly-crowned King of France [Louis X just turned 16 and assumed the throne] had ordered it published throughout his realm.
Venice stood alone.
But Zeno had just smiled again at the Tatar commander. We are, as you no doubt noticed, in a lagoon, with miles of water between us an the shoreline -
Boroldai cut him off. The Khan has ships. He can bring them into your lagoon ...
And that's when the Tatar general said the words that made the hair on the back of Zeno's neck stand up.
This was no hardball negotiation.
This was cooperate or die.
***
Zeno takes Boroldai's ultimatim back to the Pregadi, which promptly erupts in anger and bewilderment. The Senators can't understand. Decades of friendship, now suddenly threats?
But there was one greybeard who stands to speak. "The Tatars, Christian or heathen, have no friends. They have enemies and slaves, that is all."
And everyone is silent.
They all know that Sartak would not have to invade to wreak great havok upon Venice. Simply revoking the Ortok franchise would cause significant hardship, and the Khan could rather easily divest Venetian podestas from the towns of Lombardy. And the Venetian terra firma, although not extensive, was highly vulnerable. By binding themselves to the Tatars, the men of the Pregadi now fully realize, they have made themselves dependant.
And this is not a particularly good time for the Republic to face mortal crisis. For years, wealth has poured into the Lion City from every quarter. Venice's trade with the East thrives within Pax Mongolica and its exclusive ortok status to the Khan is a huge cash cow. The Republic's colonies in the Ursulines are paying off handsomely - sugar, bhang and spices. Of the latter, we are still talking ginger [FN33.03.01], native peppers and allspice. Much to the frustration of everyone concerned, the effort to transplant spices from Malabar and the Spice Islands of the Indies have failed miserably. Anyone who heads out doesn't make it back, but the successful transplantation of ginger in the Ursulines has given new imeptus to the effort.
Virtually everyone in Venice is making money - lots of money. The loca system spearheads a great democratization of wealth, spreading money throughout the City - it seems like even the most humble Venetians have shares the innumerable business ventures. The shares are negotiable - out by the Pietra del Bando, a pilar near the basilica - a great open-air market in shares is set up, where they are bought, sold, bartered, traded discounted and pledged for security. Many of the shares are in one-off enterprises, trading expeditions of the usual sort. Others are more long term ventures - sugar plantations in the Ursulines are the most common. Initial outlays are big, but eventually the returns are bigger.
One would think that the spread of wealth throughout the population of the Lion City would be cause for celebration, but not everyone is happy. The older families, the "case vecchie," who are used to having a lock on power and prestige are profoundly threatened by the rise of the newly rich. In 1259, the old guard strikes, amending the fundamental law of the Republic to limit who can serve on the Maggior Consiglio ("Great Council"), which holds the reigns of power in Venice. It is the "serrata del Maggior Consiglio," the closing of the Great Council. Through a complex set of criteria [FN33.04], the Venetian aristocracy turns what was technically a democratic republic dependant upon the will of the people into an outright oligarchy.
This back-room maneuver goes down not at all well with the general populous. While most Venetians consider public service to be a distraction from making big ducats (something that dampens the outrage), there is a very sour mood in the city among those who suddenly find themselves demoted to second-class citizenship.
In other words, not the best time for everyone to find out that the government of Venice has a Tatar knife to its throat. So, the Senate decides they will recommend to the Maggior Consiglio that Venice "voluntarily" join the Crusade - something that will prove to be popular, and keep secret the exact circumstances of that particular decision.
The question is then put to the Maggior Consiglio. Cynical observers note that in the new, closed Venetian government, there is no consideration given to submitting the issue to the Arengo, the great gathering of the Venetian people, as was done with the Fourth Crusade. Venetians are typically reluctant crusaders. They are generally too hard-headed to be swept along by popular religious enthusiasms. But this is different - the fever that convulses Europe has even swept into the Lion City.
Venice is in.
The world's greatest land power - the Mongol Empire - is now formally allied with the West's greatest sea power - Venice - in a death struggle against Dar al-Islam. If there ever is to be a Clash of Civilizations, this is going to be it.
Of course, even a faithful and diligent slave can expect, if not compensation, then perhaps a reward ...
TO BE CONTINUED
[FN33.00] OTL, Louis IX's 1249-1250 crusade against Egypt figured into the Mamluks taking over Egypt. Of course, in ATL there was no such crusade and no Frankish defeat at . But by my thinking, having Baybars around Egypt was kind of like having Napoleon around France - he was going to take a stab at power no matter what happened.
[FN33.01] A fact that does not make him popular within his appanage in Poland in ATL.
[FN33.02] Some sources claim that the Jochid line actually had a claim to _all_ of what became the il-Khanate by grant of Genghis Khan, who granted Jochi the territory 'as far west as Mongol horses had trodden.' According to this thinking, much of Persia was actually Batu's by right before Hulegu showed up. Hulegu then 'rebelled' against Batu in setting up the il-Khanate. This will resurface later, but for now the claim is dormant.
[FN33.02.01] I know this is the fourth major Mongol figure whose death I have delayed - Ogedei, Batu, Sartak and now Mongke. I don't consider this putting the thumb on the scales too much, since most of them died from easily-avoidable causes, which could have been delayed a bit.
[FN33.03] The money that would have ordinarily gone to the Pope (Peter's Pence, etc) has been collected throughout Batu's reign, but it has been kept by local prelates. Some Mongol appenage holders have not been particularly Yasa-compliant and have confiscated the funds.
[FN33.03.01] The Europeans in the Ursulines have obtained live ginger from the Chinese in Mu-lan-P'i, who grew it in box-gardens on their ships to ward off scurvy, a practice the Europeans adopt, once ginger becomes common enough.
[FN33.04] Everything about the Venetian electoral system is torturously complex. Baffle your way to tyranny. We could do the 50kb explanation about how the Doge was elected, but that's a bit OT here. Imagine if the U.S. Electoral College elected other electors, who then put the names of the candidates into a hat, which was picked through by chimps, who then had to pray for two days. Those they selected had to play "spin the bottle" ... You get the idea.
So, on to:
Part 34
Part 35
Part 36
Here is Part 1, AKA The Unambitious False Start, from 8/15/03:
It was (justifiably) poorly received.
So I began again:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
we move from the Norse to the Welsh:
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8:
and the Domstollanders settle accounts with the Knights of Ultima Thule and the denizens of Niwe Wessex in:
Part 9
a brief survey of the state of Ultima Thule, circa 1200 a.d. in:
Part 10a
I dispense with the demographic crap and skip straight to Niccolo da Conti "discovering" Fjararaland and the Ursulines in:
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Epilogue to the Venetian project in the Ursulines, the prologue to the Mongol project in Europe, and Enrico Pescatore's troubles in Mu-lan-P'i begin in:
Part 15
Part 16
More about the Mongols and Mu-lan-P'i in:
Part 17
A brief intermission, and the origin of the Fjaraland League in:
Part 18
Back into Mongol Conquest Action, and the beginnings of Spiritine Christianity, in:
Part 19
Part 20
The One-Eyed Wanderer enlists in the Khan's service, and the Fate of the West is decided at the Battle of Ghent in:
Part 21
Italian is on the Mongol menu in:
Part 22
Back to Domstolland with the Jews expelled from England in:
Part 23
And back to Vinland in:
Part 24
More Mu-lan-P'i (including the invention of cannon) in:
Part 25
A bit on the Ursulines in:
Part 26
Niwe Wessex finally reappears, along with a number of the other Thulian settlements in:
Part 27
Another little intermission, in which we catch up with Roger Bacon and Enrico Pescatore in Mu-lan-P'i in:
Part 28
The printing press is a Muslim invention in:
Part 29
Religious matters abound in:
Part 30
The sadly unfinished adventure of Reynart the Fox, interspersed with a survey of the Khanate of the Franks:
Part 31
where's Parts 32 and 33 on SHWI? A search of Google Groups does not find them.
Here's the (unedited) originals:
Part 32:
Empty America: Part 32 - Fox on the Run (Part II)
[Kingdom of Foix, Spring, 1292]
"I'm going to kill him," Chantecler groaned, stomping along the dirt road on the outskirts of Cuidat Bandadas, his head splitting and squinting painfully into the bright sunlight.
"If you are going to do it dressed like that," Hermeline laughed, a quiet little laugh, "be sure to let me know, because I want to watch."
Lu Yau, leading the way, chortles from underneath a long fake beard and big floppy hat and looks back.
It would be something to see, because Chantecler was wearing a wig, gaudy jewelry, heavy makeup and long dress, and looks every inch the high-priced prostitute. In fact, he looks like a somewhat slighter version of Hermeline, who is similarly made up, but who is shorter and of sturdier build, with more convincing curves.
It is a simple plan, really. Well, at least it started out that way ...
***
This is not what Chantecler signed up for. He figured that being a pirate would be a laugh, you know. Beat the hell out of clerking for the government of Domstolland, which was the life his father had laid out for him. The Norse always needed more literate men to do their records, but Chantecler had no intention of spending his life chained to a desk. So, in the middle of one of his father's interminable lectures about how the Folkhagi needed them, and what a great debt the Jews owed to Domstolland, and how a fifteen-year-old boy did not know how hard it was out in the world, Chantecler just stuffed his things into a bag and stormed on out. Then, to his great surprise, as he stomped his way down the street, cursing, his father chased him down and, weeping, hugged him fiercely and gave him his blessing. His son was off to stick it to the Christians, he should be angry?
There were always a few corsair ships in Tivrhofn, and before he knew it, Chantecler was a bona-fide pirate. He earned his spurs the hard way - in the long-running and extremely dangerous skirmishing over the cod fisheries off Markland [Newfoundland]. He wasn't a big lad, but he was quick and focused. He soon discovered that he was handy with a wheelbow and he practiced non-stop until he was hot, really hot. Fast and accurate and nervy, dropping enemy archers one-two-three while arrows whistled around him and ice-cold salt-spray soaked him to the bone. But he didn't become a pirate to risk his neck over cargoes of torsk [salted fish], and so he found his way south. Domstollander pirates did not venture into the Ursulines in any numbers, but they did work the coastlines and inlets of the Fjaraland League states, although League ships and fortifications could make it pretty hairy, and the Sail Brothers, as the seagoing contingents of the Knights of Ultima Thule are informally known, are merciless in hunting them down. Chantecler, who had been at sea for five years, was at loose ends at the time, met Reynart in Fjaraland. The two hit it off immediately. Reynart was Chantecler's idea of a pirate - flamboyant and daring, with an eye for the best of everything. Reynart had an eye for talent, and the deal was done. It was also in Fjaraland that Chantecler picked up his repeating crossbow - a Norse craftsman had gotten his hands on one of the Cathayan models and was turning out knock-offs. Chantecler felt lust in his heart when he saw it - now there was a pirate's weapon! He saw himself leaping onto the deck of an Italian merchantman, spraying bolts left and right. It cost a fortune, but Chantecler could swing it.
But it only took him a few months of filching merchandise from waterfront warehouses with Reynart and his men to figure out that the Fox's extravagent demeanor was really just a cover. He was a common thief playing at dashing corsair. But Chantecler did not care - he was having great fun and living high, whether in and out of every port in the Ursulines or laying low, relaxing in Maupertuis.
***
Tramping along a dusty road, dressed up as a prostitute, with a Cathayan policeman laughing at him was not what he would call the high point of his career. It really did start off as a simple enough plan. Reynart, Isengrin and Lu Yau huddled, and Chantecler hung around, half listening, half fooling around with the other crewmen.
They needed to get into the Catalan's camp and find out what their next move was, where they were going. But how? Reynart suggested that they should send a couple of men in, offering to sign up with the Company.
"No," said Lu Yau, "they will recognize your men from the tavern."
"And they would not want to take such formidable fighters into their service?" Reynart smiled.
Isengrin shook his head. "That fracas probably cost the Company the peace bond they posted with the King. Although I imagine that Raymond Roger let 'em go double or nothing. Even if they don't care that we carved up a bunch of their men, they wouldn't be happy to see us."
"We would have to proceed in disguise." said Lu. "But disguised as what?"
It was Isengrin who thought of it. "A whoremonger and his whores. No way they will get turned back."
Lu raised his eyebrows, and Isengrin explained. "The Cathars. They preach among the whores in the waterfront, bring them in, make nuns out of them [FN32.01]. Next thing you know, they are spinning and weaving and praising God. It is actually tough to find a whore in Ciudat Bandadas." He snorted. "Probably why the sailors drink so much. No way the Catalans would send a couple of prostitutes away."
The Cathayan policeman nodded. "I can pose as the prostitutes' master, and -"
Reynart interjected. "But they will certainly recognize you from the tavern!"
"I am adept at disguise and will not seem the least bit familiar. There are any number of men of Mu-lan-P'i in the islands and," he broke into a slight smile as he fished a long-stemmed clay pipe, leather pouch and little red lacquer cylinder out of his robes, "it has been my experience that we all look alike to you."
The cylinder caught Chantecler's eye - he had a thing for Cathayan crafts and lacquer goods fascinated him. He watched Lu yau carefully as the policeman filled his pipe.
"Hermeline will pretend to be one of the prostitutes," Reynart said.
Isengrin looked startled. "She will? Even after -"
"Truth she will, Wolf! She has been ship-board too long and craves action! But we will need a second. A whoremonger with just one girl will look suspicious."
Lu tucked the pouch back into his robe, popped the cap off of the little red cylinder, pulled out what looked to Chantecler like a small stick, which he then struck against a rough iron ring that encircled the mainmast. Chantecler felt his jaw drop as the end of the little stick burst into flame, which the Cathayan promptly used to light his pipe. Everyone on the La Tiberon stood frozen, looking at Lu Yau.
The Cathayan looked up from his pipe. To Chantecler, he seemed genuinely puzzled by his new comrades' reaction. "Fire inch-sticks. Fifty for a copper in Ti-chu Shih" [FN32.02]. And then, just like that, they all applauded, Chantecler included.
Reynart, who wiped the astonishment off his face quicker than the others, clapped Lu on the back. "A doughty fighter and a conjurer, too! Save some tricks for later in the show, Tibert, lest you lose your audience!"
For everyone else, the novelty of Lu's fire stick seemed to wear off quickly, and they went back to discussing the plan. But Chantecler was still fascinated by the trick. How do the Cathayans do all these things? It seems like every time he encountered one of them, they have some amazing new device. He was lost in thought and when he looked up, he saw that Lu, Reynart and Isengrin were all looking right at him.
Reynart smiles. "Cantecler, how would you like to do some thing very heroic?"
Oh, no.
Oh, yes.
***
Making his way down the dirt road, Chantecler says, "I don't know why they didn't pick the Raven. He looks more like a woman than I do."
"They didn't pick Tiecelen because he gave Reynart that look," Hermeline snorts.
Chantecler knows that look, that "I know what you are thinking about doing, and I will kill you if you do it" look. Chantecler thought the Raven, despite his lean build and clean-shaven, vaguely feminine features, was one scary dude. Couple years back, he just showed up, out of nowhere, and attached himself to Reynart's crew. As far as Chantecler knew, he did not even ask to join, he just did it. He even gave himself his nom du corsair. Nobody knew where came from or what he was doing before he boarded La Tiberon, but he was good: crafty, quiet and utterly ruthless. The Raven wasn't someone Chantecler would chose to drink with - in fact he did not know if Tiecelen drank or not - but he never minded having him at his back in a fracas.
"Damn," says Chantecler. "I wish I could give people that look."
Hermeline shoots him a smile. "I'm glad you can't. One Raven in this crew is more than enough."
Chantecler remembers why everyone likes Hermeline.
***
Back on La Tiberon, Chantecler protested. "Dress up like a woman, like a whore?"
Reynart nodded. "Tibert will bring you and Hermeline into the Cathayan camp." He laughed. "A 'special surprise' just for the Captain of the Company, courtesy of some local merchants. Once you are inside, you can find out where the Company is going."
Chantecler shook his head. "What if, you know, before we make it to where the Captain is, some of the soldiers, you know, want to ..."
"You are special, Chantecler, a special treat for the Captain," Reynart said. "They won't touch you, or Hermeline."
Chantecler was skeptical. "You don't know much about soldiers, do you Reynart?"
Reynart laughed. "I know more than you ever will, young Rooster! When I fought in France alongside the Templars, during the great Battles of the Frontiers, I learned a thing or two about soldiering. And ..."
A dagger whipped by Reynart's ear, whirring end over end and - Chantecler saw it, but did not believe it - made a curving arc in mid-air to thunk into the side of the aft mast, where it stuck, visibly vibrating. Lu Yau walked casually past Reynart, whose eyes were bulging, and retrieved the dagger. Chantecler caught a glimpse of the weapon - it was a simple thing, no hilt, a blade with a cleaver-point, twice as long as its handle, which was just a round bit of wood wrapped in what looked like twine.
"Chantecler," said Lu Yau, "I will not allow anything untoward or dishonorable befall you or Hermeline while you are in my charge."
Chantecler believed him.
For his part, Reynart was a firm believer in not doing anything you had decided sober until you have discussed it drunk - a practice that Chantecler heartily agreed with - so Hermeline and two other crewmembers who hadn't been in on the brawl slipped back to La Ocell and shagged a couple kegs of Thunderbird. Hermeline reported that Antonio the bartender was none the worse for wear (and still cleaning up the damage) and there were a lot of Company soldiers lurking about town.
So they tapped the first keg and set to it. Before the evening was out, Chantecler was enthusiastically modeling various outfits for his undercover mission, to the hoots and cat-calls of his fellows. Bernart the Donkey brayed with piercing laughther and proclaimed that if there is anything more funny than an Englishman in a dress, he hadn't seen it. Reynart repeated toasts to "the freedom of the New World!" with anyone who will join in. By the time the doughty crew of La Tiberon was halfway through the second keg, Isengrin and Lu Yauhad were engaged in a mock (although it was a close thing as far as Chantecler was concerned) duel, the Cathayan with his staff and Isengrin with his sheathed sword. Chantecler couldn't tell who got the better of whom, because during the middle of the struggle, he had sat down heavily on the deck, still clad in his hooker togs. He let himself fall backwards and stared up at the sky, watching the stars spin in their courses ...
and awoke the next day with his piercing headache and wondering blearily why the hell he had agreed to this lunatic scheme.
***
The Catalans were encamped at the plantation of a local magnate, and it was close to dusk Lu Yau, Hermeline and Chantecler encountered Company pickets stationed on the road. That struck Chantecler as odd. He did not have a lot of experience with soldiers in his travels, but what he did know was that when they weren't actually fighting someone, they tended to be either slouching about camp or out carousing. But here these two were standing guard, and were fairly smart about it, even though they were hardly in enemy territory. Lu Yau presents the guards with the carefully-forged letter from the Cuidat Bandadas Salt-Panners Guild, offering the Grand Marshal of the Company these two "comely and skilled wenches" as a gesture of friendship and in consideration of future business. The Cathayan had not said what they would do if the guards decided to escort them straight to the Marshall - who could just want to get straight to business, as it were - instead of just letting them pass and make their own way through.
"What, whores for the Marshall?" the bigger one snorted. "I dunno what 'the Friar' is gonna think of that. Not the kind of swordplay he's interested in, from what I've heard." Both of the guards roared with laughter.
The smaller one leered at Chantecler, "She's a pretty one, isn't she? Be a shame if she went to waste up at the big house. How much for a taste?"
Oh, merde.
Lu bowed deeply. Chantecler noticed that one of his hands had, ever so inconspicuously, disappeared inside his robes. He remembered the daggers and tensed, ready to hit the dirt. He glaced over at Hermeline. One of her hands was behind her back.
Oh, merde, this was going to be over before it even started.
"Many pardons, esteemed sir. But my directions were very specific - bring them to the Grand Marshal untouched. Perhaps if he is disinclined to partake, as you suggest, he will reward your diligent service appropriately."
The guards laughed again. "Nay, most like he will hand them over to the quality at the big house! A little gratuity for the Count's hospitality. But still, on your way back, be sure to remember the fellows who pointed you the way."
"Most assuredly." Chantecler glares at Lu, who winks.
And then they were on their way. There were any number of tents pitched in the parkland surrounding the Count's villa. Reynart had detailed Hermeline to get an idea of the Company's troop strength, so Chantecler lets her do the counting. The thing that startles Chantecler was that not only were there soldiers milling about outside the tents in the warm evening breeze, but there are also women taking laundry off the lines and children scrambling about underfoot. Not at all what he expected from a troop of hard-bitten professional soldiers halfway around the world from home, on their way to some desperate enterprise that he could only guess at.
I mean, he had heard about camp followers, but this looks like an entire community on the march. What the hell was going on here?
TO BE CONTINUTED
[FN32.01] Not exactly nuns, but credentes - lay adherants.
[FN3202] Based upon an Chinese invention circa 6th Century B.C. The original fire inch-sticks merely had to be lit via flame. The friction match is a fortuitous offshoot of the aggressive experimentation with gunpowder in Jen Men. The Chinese had been working with iron phosphate to lower melting temperatures in the making of cast iron for some time, so it does not seem implausible that they could stumble across phosphorous for matches.
Part 33:
Empty America: Part 33 - Desolation Angels (Part I)
[I am going to be getting back to Fox on the Run later this month. For the moment, it is time to advance the Mongol portion of the timeline a bit.]
(Europe, SouthWest Asia and North Africa, 1256-1263)
Allright Cairo, put your hands together and make some noise for your hometown Eeeeeegyptian Mamluuuuuuuks!
[cue stadium crowd cheering]
The Egyptian Mamluks! The slave soldier elite of Dar al-Islam in the thirteenth century. Cuman boys, sold into slavery in Kaffa on the Black Sea, brought to Cairo to be converted to Islam and rigorously trained in the arts of war. And I mean _rigorously_ trained - all day, every day. The surviving drill manuals emphasize swordsmanship, use of the lance and archery. In their off hours, they get to train some more - polo and a great hunt similar to that practiced by the Mongols, in essence a massive war game.
The Mamluks are formidable bowmen - a Mamluk warrior was expected to hit a 95 centimeter target from 75 yards, and get three arrows into the air in 1.5 seconds. In ATL, they are, of course, equipped with wheelbows, the design of which they have obtained from the Byzantines.
The Mamluks' weaponry and armor tends to be similar that of the European knight - helmet, chainmail coat and double-edged, straight-bladed sword. Their kit and tactics are not designed for the head-on collision in the Western style, but rather more fluid warfare. (Depending upon who you ask, they could are could not withstand a charge of Western knights.)
The Mamluks are tough, highly-skilled and disciplined, and are also fanatical defenders of the Faith, although they are not particularly austere, a fact which occasionally scandalizes more conventional Muslims.
But, when it is all said and done, you have some seriously badass horse-soldiers. If anyone can halt the Mongol march to world conquest, it is the Mamluks.
Which was exactly what Hulegu was concerned about. In 1250, the Mamluks overthrew the newly-elevated Sultan Turanshah and seized power for themselves [FN33.00], establishing a significant military power within striking distance of Syria [which, for our purposes, will include OTL's Syria, Lebanon, Israel, and Jordan]. Mamluk Sultan Sayf al-Din Qutiz can be expected to contest the Mongol advance. Strictly on the numbers, Hulegu does not have much to worry about. He has retired to Azerbaijan to refit and reorganize, and he has assembled a huge force - pushing 400,000, including allied troops. But his scouts have told him that Syria is not exactly ideal territory for a host of steppe cavalry - no adequate grasslands and the ground is so rocky and hard that the ponies' (unshod) hooves break. The shortage of grazing is particularly troubling - that means he will have to haul his supplies with him. But there is no way he can conjur up a camel-train big enough to supply his entire force. And before Hulegu can even come to grips with the Mamluks, he will have to go through the forces of the Ayyubid prince al-Nasir Yusif, of the House of Saladin, who rules much of Syria from Aleppo, who can reputedly field an army of 150,000 men.
Hulegu, because of logistic constraints, is going to have to move light and fast against al-Nasir, and that tilts the odds to something more like even. And, like any good commander, Hulegu doesn't like that at all.
So he decided that he would get some long-overdue assistance from his kinsman Sartak, Khan of the Franks. In the late 1250s, the Mongol World Empire has not yet fallen to fighting amongst its component pieces, which means that the holders of each major ulus within the Empire was still expected to carry out policy dictated from Karakorum and assist each other in doing so.
In ATL, Sartak, rather than OTL's Berke, is on the throne of the Jochid ulus. This produces a rather profound difference in Jochid policy in the late 1250s and early 1260s. A number of factors work into the different relationship between Sartak's Khanate of the Franks and the il-Khanate (proclaimed by Hulegu in Baghdad) than existed between the il-Khanate and the Golden Horde under Berke. Berke is a Moslem [FN33.01], and is quite put out by Hulegu's sack of Baghdad and murder of the Caliph. Sartak, a Christian, is fairly pleased with developments in Irak. He is particularly happy with the steps Hulegu takes to spare the Christian population of Baghdad, as well as their liberation under the Yasa from Moslem oppression.
Sartak is also (for the lack of a better word) rather Euro-centric, much moreso than a Khan who rules the Golden Horde from Sarai or New Sarai on the lower Volga. In OTL, the core of the dispute between the Golden Horde and the il-Khanate probably stemmed Hulegu's misappropriation of some territory in northern Persia that should have gone to Berke as his appanage. Sartak is simply less concerned about it than Berke was. He is not a Muslim and not angling to keep Muslims out of the hands of the pagan Hulegu, and the disputed territory is on the periphery of his ulus [FN33.02].
So Sartak is ready to deal.
In OTL 1259, the Great Khan Mongke dies of fever (or in combat, depending who you ask) outside the walls of Chongqing in 1259. This leads to a disputed succession between his sons Arik Boke and Khubilai. In OTL, this dispute had the Golden Horde and the il-Khanate on opposite sides. In ATL, Mongke's death is butterflied down the road a bit, so he is still alive and kicking in 1259 [FN33.02.01].
So, in ATL 1259, the Khanate of the Franks and the il-Khanate are deeply engaged in discussions for joint operations against the Mamluks and the subsequent disposition of the spoils.
That is where Sartak's request that Pope Gregory X authorize the preaching of a crusade comes in. Sartak, as absolute ruler of Central Europe, Eastern Europe, Italy, as well as overlord of the Rus' and the Lithuanians and many in Asia besides, could simply requisition all the troops he needed (and then some) for an offensive against the Mamluks. But the center of gravity in his Khanate is Europe, and Sartak is trying to work within that milleu. He not only wants to be a Khan, but a Christian Prince as well. He is walking that balance-beam between his Mongol heritage and his Christian dominion. His course is roughly parallell to what Khubilai will do in China, where he will be part nomad conqueror, part Confucian Emperor. Both Sartak and Khubilai are both steppe Khans and sedentary dynasts, and each of them is working to adapt.
Sartak knows that Christendom is in the throes of a popular religious upheaval with a strong millenarian current. Joachim of Fiore has predicted the end of Islam and pegged 1260 for the end of the 'Reign of the Son,' and commencement of the 'Reign of the Holy Spirit.' So, it seems like a good time for some fairly earth-shaking things to be happening. In Europe, the conquest of Baghdad - the greatest city in Dar al Islam - is greeted with jubilation. The sparing of the Christian population is widely known, as is the installation of the Christian patriarch in one of the Caliph's palaces. It is also fairly common knowledge that Hulegu's chief wife, Dokuz Khatun, is a Christian, as is Ked-Buka, one of Hulegu's top commanders. Rumors abound that Hulegu, if he has not already been secretly baptised, will accept Christianity in Jerusalem. The mood in Europe is electric - the fog of despair generated by the destructive Mongol conquest, the exile of the Pope from Rome, and the splintering of Christianity has been blown away by a new sense of possibility - this could be the final triumph of Christianity over Islam.
And the Christians of Europe want in, like they haven't wanted in 200 years.
In short, if Sartak had not requested the preaching of a Crusade to liberate the Holy Land from the Saracens, his Christian subjects would have simply demanded it.
Which puts him in a good negotiating position with Gregory. The Pope has a whole laundry-list of things he would like from Sartak (baptism as a Catholic, acknowledgement of Papal supremacy, restoration of confiscated Church property, return to Mongolia and so on), but he is smart enough not to push it too far in his discussions with Sartak's emissary.
Gregory would like the Kindom of Jerusalem to remain under a Christian sovereign.
Done.
He would like Batu's ban on mention of the Pope during Mass lifted.
Done.
He would like Papal control over ecclesiastical appointments returned.
Done.
He would like the restoration of Papal Church revenues, which had been withheld since the conquest [FN33.03].
Done.
This is the big one. Gregory would like Sartak to permit a Great Council of the Church, inside the Khanate. Representatives of all the denominations - Catholics and Reformed, Orthodox and Nestorian - will be required to attend. The Council is Gregory's big throw of the dice for reuniting Christendom. In the wake of a great triumph over Islam, brought abount under the banner of the Cross, maybe he can show the Reformed and Spiritines the error of their ways. He can prove to them that the Church has changed, that the Pope is now interested only in the spiritual salvation of all mankind. And he can guide the French, who are teetering on the brink of schism, back into the fold. The great conciliarists cannot resist a Great Council, now can they?
And Gregory can make his great announcement. In his chamber, he has a piece of paper, renouncing all claims to the Patrimony of Peter. It awaits only his seal. Gregory has been thinking and praying intently over this, and he feels the presence of Francis of Assissi at his shoulder. It is the Republic of St. Peter that brought Christendom low, the quest for temporal power that put the Papacy at odds with so many princes, kings and emperors. It is the mortal sin within Christendom that opened the door to the Tatars and caused the destruction of the unity of the Latin Church. With the Church reunited, he will renounce the temporal power of the papacy.
The heirs of Peter the fisherman will once again walk humbly before God and Man, and shall be exalted for it.
The Tatar emissary nods. Done.
*****
(Republic of Venice, February, 1259)
Doge Ranier Zeno has lived one hell of a life. He had been in the middle of whatever the Lion City had been up to for the better part of 20 years until his elevation to the ducal throne in 1253. He knows the sudden, lurching tilt of a galley deck as it was grappled and boarded. He knows what it was to have his life depending upon the strength and speed of his sword-arm.
And he can honestly say that he has never been genuinely, hair-on-the-back-of-his-neck-rising frightened until the Tatar emissary, looks at him, ever so cooly, and says,
"And then Heaven knows what will happen."
Zeno's mouth goes dry. Controlling his motions carefully so as not to betray any signs of fear, he reaches carefully for the cup of wine on the table next to his throne in the audience chamber. As he drinks, he tries to calm himself down through sure force of will.
This is wrong, this is all so very wrong.
***
First of all, there shouldn't even be a Mongol general standing in his audience chamber. For seventeen years, the Khan had been sending a variety of emissaries, all carefully inoffensive. Nestorian prelates, mostly. But now, out of nowhere, this stinking pagan bahadur in his brocade robe, leather armor, fur hat and felt boots shows up with a golden tablet from Sartak and a curt demand for an audience. Zeno, who was expecting the visit, but was stunned by the visitor, knew this was bad. So he had first played for time. The Doge convened an emergency session of the the Pregadi [Senate], who were the final authority in foreign affairs, and reswore his oath to report faithfully upon all that transpired between him and the Tatar, and to make no agreement binding the City of St. Mark unless the Pregadi approved. And then he had met with the Mongol.
Second of all, the Tatars were Venice's _allies_. They should not be dealing with him this way. This Boroldai can't just walk in here and start telling him what to do. But that is what he did. Without anything in the way of the customary pleasantries, the Tatar general had informed him that Sartak was assembling a great army.
Zeno knew that. Every Venetian ortok in Europe doubled as an intelligence agent for the Republic.
Boroldai then told him that this army would be embarking for the Land of Sham.
Well, duh, thought Zeno. The Pope has proclaimed a _Crusade_.
Venice, said Boroldai, will transport the Khan's soldiers to the Land of Sham.
This, Zeno took from the general's tone, and the words chosen by his interpreter, was not a request. But he decides that he will play it off - he knew that Sartak would be asking for Venetian help.
Of course, said Zeno briskly, the Republic is willing to aid the Khan. There will, of course, be compensation. One-fourth of every town, exclusive status as ortoks within Hulegu's lands. This is the arrangement that the Pregadi approved. It is, in essence, a variation of the standing deal Venice had with Batu.
Boroldai shook his head. No.
Zeno almost lept from his throne and rounded on the man. No?!? What do you mean no?!? But he kept his cool. Surely, he said, the Khan does not expect Venice to offer its services without just compensation?
The Tatar blew up. compensation?!? You dare speak to me of compensation?!? Your wretched city has been growing fat from the Khan for years! It is not he who should be paying you, it is you who must do service for him!
Zeno was unfazed by display, but still bewildered that the Khan would turn on the City of St. Mark like this. But he was a Venetian, not unused to hard bargaining, and reassured himself that Sartak was merely attempting to get a good deal. He smiled. And if we decline?
Boroldai smiled back. Then the Khan will consider you to be a declared rebel, and meet out just punishment for rebels. You have no soldiers. Who will lift a finger to help you?
Zeno considered that for a moment. This Boroldai is a sharp one.
The Tatar must know.
Several weeks ago, Zeno got a response from King Alfonso X of Castille. Zeno had requested an alliance against Jaime I of Aragon, and thought that Alfonso might be willing to join Venice in a war against its primary Christian rival in Iberia. Alfonso's reply was blistering denounciation of Venetian collaboration with the Tatars and condemnation of "the insatiable rapacity of the Venetians and their thirst for power." It was not a diplomatic note - it was a manifesto calling for the destruction of Venice's maritime domination of the Mediterranean and its commercial supremacy in Europe. Just yesterday, Zeno learned that the newly-crowned King of France [Louis X just turned 16 and assumed the throne] had ordered it published throughout his realm.
Venice stood alone.
But Zeno had just smiled again at the Tatar commander. We are, as you no doubt noticed, in a lagoon, with miles of water between us an the shoreline -
Boroldai cut him off. The Khan has ships. He can bring them into your lagoon ...
And that's when the Tatar general said the words that made the hair on the back of Zeno's neck stand up.
This was no hardball negotiation.
This was cooperate or die.
***
Zeno takes Boroldai's ultimatim back to the Pregadi, which promptly erupts in anger and bewilderment. The Senators can't understand. Decades of friendship, now suddenly threats?
But there was one greybeard who stands to speak. "The Tatars, Christian or heathen, have no friends. They have enemies and slaves, that is all."
And everyone is silent.
They all know that Sartak would not have to invade to wreak great havok upon Venice. Simply revoking the Ortok franchise would cause significant hardship, and the Khan could rather easily divest Venetian podestas from the towns of Lombardy. And the Venetian terra firma, although not extensive, was highly vulnerable. By binding themselves to the Tatars, the men of the Pregadi now fully realize, they have made themselves dependant.
And this is not a particularly good time for the Republic to face mortal crisis. For years, wealth has poured into the Lion City from every quarter. Venice's trade with the East thrives within Pax Mongolica and its exclusive ortok status to the Khan is a huge cash cow. The Republic's colonies in the Ursulines are paying off handsomely - sugar, bhang and spices. Of the latter, we are still talking ginger [FN33.03.01], native peppers and allspice. Much to the frustration of everyone concerned, the effort to transplant spices from Malabar and the Spice Islands of the Indies have failed miserably. Anyone who heads out doesn't make it back, but the successful transplantation of ginger in the Ursulines has given new imeptus to the effort.
Virtually everyone in Venice is making money - lots of money. The loca system spearheads a great democratization of wealth, spreading money throughout the City - it seems like even the most humble Venetians have shares the innumerable business ventures. The shares are negotiable - out by the Pietra del Bando, a pilar near the basilica - a great open-air market in shares is set up, where they are bought, sold, bartered, traded discounted and pledged for security. Many of the shares are in one-off enterprises, trading expeditions of the usual sort. Others are more long term ventures - sugar plantations in the Ursulines are the most common. Initial outlays are big, but eventually the returns are bigger.
One would think that the spread of wealth throughout the population of the Lion City would be cause for celebration, but not everyone is happy. The older families, the "case vecchie," who are used to having a lock on power and prestige are profoundly threatened by the rise of the newly rich. In 1259, the old guard strikes, amending the fundamental law of the Republic to limit who can serve on the Maggior Consiglio ("Great Council"), which holds the reigns of power in Venice. It is the "serrata del Maggior Consiglio," the closing of the Great Council. Through a complex set of criteria [FN33.04], the Venetian aristocracy turns what was technically a democratic republic dependant upon the will of the people into an outright oligarchy.
This back-room maneuver goes down not at all well with the general populous. While most Venetians consider public service to be a distraction from making big ducats (something that dampens the outrage), there is a very sour mood in the city among those who suddenly find themselves demoted to second-class citizenship.
In other words, not the best time for everyone to find out that the government of Venice has a Tatar knife to its throat. So, the Senate decides they will recommend to the Maggior Consiglio that Venice "voluntarily" join the Crusade - something that will prove to be popular, and keep secret the exact circumstances of that particular decision.
The question is then put to the Maggior Consiglio. Cynical observers note that in the new, closed Venetian government, there is no consideration given to submitting the issue to the Arengo, the great gathering of the Venetian people, as was done with the Fourth Crusade. Venetians are typically reluctant crusaders. They are generally too hard-headed to be swept along by popular religious enthusiasms. But this is different - the fever that convulses Europe has even swept into the Lion City.
Venice is in.
The world's greatest land power - the Mongol Empire - is now formally allied with the West's greatest sea power - Venice - in a death struggle against Dar al-Islam. If there ever is to be a Clash of Civilizations, this is going to be it.
Of course, even a faithful and diligent slave can expect, if not compensation, then perhaps a reward ...
TO BE CONTINUED
[FN33.00] OTL, Louis IX's 1249-1250 crusade against Egypt figured into the Mamluks taking over Egypt. Of course, in ATL there was no such crusade and no Frankish defeat at . But by my thinking, having Baybars around Egypt was kind of like having Napoleon around France - he was going to take a stab at power no matter what happened.
[FN33.01] A fact that does not make him popular within his appanage in Poland in ATL.
[FN33.02] Some sources claim that the Jochid line actually had a claim to _all_ of what became the il-Khanate by grant of Genghis Khan, who granted Jochi the territory 'as far west as Mongol horses had trodden.' According to this thinking, much of Persia was actually Batu's by right before Hulegu showed up. Hulegu then 'rebelled' against Batu in setting up the il-Khanate. This will resurface later, but for now the claim is dormant.
[FN33.02.01] I know this is the fourth major Mongol figure whose death I have delayed - Ogedei, Batu, Sartak and now Mongke. I don't consider this putting the thumb on the scales too much, since most of them died from easily-avoidable causes, which could have been delayed a bit.
[FN33.03] The money that would have ordinarily gone to the Pope (Peter's Pence, etc) has been collected throughout Batu's reign, but it has been kept by local prelates. Some Mongol appenage holders have not been particularly Yasa-compliant and have confiscated the funds.
[FN33.03.01] The Europeans in the Ursulines have obtained live ginger from the Chinese in Mu-lan-P'i, who grew it in box-gardens on their ships to ward off scurvy, a practice the Europeans adopt, once ginger becomes common enough.
[FN33.04] Everything about the Venetian electoral system is torturously complex. Baffle your way to tyranny. We could do the 50kb explanation about how the Doge was elected, but that's a bit OT here. Imagine if the U.S. Electoral College elected other electors, who then put the names of the candidates into a hat, which was picked through by chimps, who then had to pray for two days. Those they selected had to play "spin the bottle" ... You get the idea.
So, on to:
Part 34
Part 35
Part 36
posted by Doug Hoff at 6:42 PM
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