Prologue: Matters of State
Hi everyone! This is my first AAR. I'm running a heavily modded playthrough as Count Ernst of Wien starting in 1066. I'm aiming for a slow-paced, narrative-heavy report, but that may change depending on the interest level and feedback.
I am neither a historian nor a professional writer, and in particular I'm still getting the hang of the finer points of dialogue. Feel free to make suggestions that would improve the clarity of the writing or that would add detail to the setting.
I can post the full modlist later if anyone is interested. The main ones I'm running are 1) More Bookmarks +, which imports title histories and starting characters from CK2's HIP mod, and 2) Fullscreen Barbershop which is just way too cool not to use.
With that, let's get started!
Edit: Better image quality and consistent formatting
Prologue: Matters of State
September, 1066— Wien, Austria
September, 1066— Wien, Austria
It was after dark but Count Ernst of Wien found himself seated behind a pile of papers at his desk. For years his mother pleaded with him to find matches for his two unwed nieces. His wife, Adelheid, pointed out that there were several unwed courtiers as well. That led to an unusual number of weddings in the spring, followed by a barrage of letters and well-wishes in the fall. He hated these frivolities but he had resigned himself to working on them most evenings. At least the weddings themselves were not a complete waste; Adelheid saw to it that the newlyweds were talented additions to the court rather than the typical sycophants.
He was roused from his self-pity by a knock at the door. He ignored it at first, but it returned accompanied by a hoarse voice:
"My liege, are you awake? It's Bishop Amalrich. Our delegation has returned."
Grunting, Ernst rose and unlatched the locks. Bishop Amalrich and Baron Poppo shuffled in and seated themselves next to the fireplace. The Count poured two goblets of wine from a decanter.
"You look parched. I imagine the roads were difficult this time of year."
Amalrich downed his cup and wiped the corners of his mouth "Not overly so. In fact, Poppo and I rather enjoyed the exercise."
The baron raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Amalrich’s complexion was pallid and his hands were still shaking from the cold. Ernst shook his head. He should have waited until after the spring thaw to send them. A snowstorm would be a greater threat to the bishop than any bandits on the road.
"Did the meetings go well? Will the other lords support our claim to Sankt Pölten?
The priest looked away. "They will not oppose us, I think."
"You think?" Ernst felt a sharp pressure between his eyes. "Amalrich..." he trailed off. "This is not the answer I was hoping for."
Amalrich opened his mouth, but Poppo interjected. "My liege, the other lords are preoccupied with their distaste for Duke Otto. Their indifference is almost as good as support."
"That may change if we declare war," the Count replied. "Otto is clever. He knows the key to his power lies in keeping the counts at each other’s throats. If we act, he will rally them against us for his own gain."
Poppo nodded. As chancellor, he almost admired Otto's skill at playing the counts against one another.
"So you understand, then, why I'm disappointed by your lack of progress." Ernst continued. "Did you meet with anyone from Count Markward's court?"
Amalrich cleared his throat. "Apologies, my lord, but they were away on business elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?"
The two men traded nervous glances. "They are currently in Count Wernher's court in Sankt Pölten," the bishop whispered.
Ernst gritted his teeth. "Sankt Pölten?!" Count Wernher had only a handful of soldiers, yet he continually thwarted any attempts to claim the county. It was a small miracle that Otto had not named him spymaster. At least, not yet.
Suddenly the pain in Ernst's head was more acute. He took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. "My apologies, friends. I'm afraid we won't find any legal or diplomatic insights at this hour. Get some rest. I will convene the small council before the end of the week."
Poppo bowed and showed himself out, but Amalrich was too exhausted to get up. God, he was pathetic. Over the years Ernst had become somewhat inured to the Church's hypocrisy. But Amalrich was the worst kind of sinner: he was useless. A less charitable man might even say he was borderline illiterate. Amalrich, to his credit, recognized this. At times the two of them treated his appointment by Pope Alexander as a sort of private joke.
Barron Poppo was a competent chancellor—nothing more, nothing less. He managed a small fief in Florisdorf that was only a short ride from the capital in Wien. This bothered Ernst to no end; he could easily run the castle on his own without delegating it to a baron. As far as he could tell, the appointment was a vestigial one, dating back to a time when his family held more lands.
The thought of these former holdings was so pleasant that, for a moment, Ernst forgot all about the drudgery of paperwork.
“Husband, you have a sour look on your face,” she grinned. “Either you have been talking with your councilors or else all the wine in your study has gone bad.”
Ernst stifled a laugh. “Am I that easy to read?”
“Like an open book. You have many talents but lying is not one of them." She clicked her tongue at him. "Twelve years of marriage and I still haven’t taught you a thing.”
“Bishop Amalrich and Baron Poppo stopped by to see me."
"And?"
"As best I can tell, they have nothing to show from their little diplomatic tour."
Adelheid waited, knowing there was more.
He sighed. "Count Wernher is hosting representatives from Markward's court."
"I see." She pursed her lips. "You think we've been beaten?"
"I think Wernher is running circles around my councilors."
"Dear, Wernher is just stalling. He has nothing to offer—only three hundred men and no eligible family to wed. Remember that Markward is not the oaf he appears to be. He will see through this charade soon enough."
"And when he does, what then?"
She moved closer to him. "Play the cards you've been dealt. We may not have land or men, but we have a good family name."
"Always mourning, seldom rejoicing" he recited.
Adelheid laughed. "Yes, the morbid family motto of House Babenberg."
"Morbid? I think it has a certain gravitas to it."
"That is does, dear. But more importantly, it's recognized everywhere from Poland to Calais."
He hesitated. "I'll send Markward a letter tomorrow."
"You will send him an invitation tomorrow."
"Adelheid, no..."
"Stop it. I hate hosting nobles just as much as you do, but these matters must be handled in person." She paused. "In. Person. What kind of gravitas do you plan to project with a letter?"
Ernst sulked. She was right, of course. "Fine, but I won't entrust Poppo with something this important."
"Then don't send him. Send Vilhelm. Markward is a fine soldier..."
"And Vilhelm is our best knight," he chuckled. "Built like an ox. They will get along splendidly."
She waited for him to say more. Ernst thought for a moment. He was missing something obvious.
"He's married to my niece, Justizia. I’ll send them both along with her sister, Oda. Maybe... maybe Markward will get the hint."
She smiled.
"I admit, it's a good plan." He paused, then laughed to himself. "Better than anything Poppo and that moron Amalrich could come up with."
Her smile faded. "Have you been quarreling with our bishop again?"
"Adelheid, you know I can't stand him."
“Ernst, listen to me. We have had many luxuries up until now. Time. Anonymity. But once plans are in motion, we will be beset by enemies on all sides. Amalrich will never be useful for our purposes, but it would be a disaster if someone turned him against us. We cannot afford these petty squabbles once…”
Her voice trailed off as he leaned in. “Once I am a Duke?”
She pulled him closer and kissed him. “Yes. Once you are a duke.”
The following day Ernst rose with the sun and enacted the first of his daily rituals: taking breakfast in his study. As he ate, his eyes fell on a well-worn map of Europe hanging from the wall. He unpinned it and spread it across the table.
In the center of the map sat the Holy Roman Empire. God, in His is Infinite Wisdom, had entrusted the Catholic world to two powers: a spiritual pope and a secular emperor. Ernst's opinion on this divine appointment was split. On the one hand, it was clearly a load of drivel. On the other, it was an ambitious load of drivel. The fact that the Empire persisted was proof that the popes and emperors were among the great conmen and grifters of the era. Since Ernst was a spymaster, he felt he owed such men a level of professional respect.
In reality, a divine coronation did little to prevent scheming in the Empire. It was a cauldron simmering with discontent, and at present it was in danger of boiling over. The Emperor, Henrich IV, had already ruffled the pope's tail feathers by raising the issue of investiture—that is, whether secular rulers could appoint their own bishops. Ernst thought of Bishop Amalrich, and he suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for young Heinrich. But he also remembered his wife's words on the topic. "Quarreling with the church was a dangerous game," she would say, "and clergymen can be as cunning and ruthless as any lord." Pope Alexander II was no exception in this regard. He had already begun to show favor to a young Italian Duchess, Matilda, and was likely fanning the flames of Italian independence to spite Heinrich.
Beneath the surface, the Empire consisted of a patchwork of states with borders that were, in a word, farcical. Ernst's own situation was a perfect example. His two counties, Wien and Hohenhau, were currently under the purview of the Duchy of Bavaria to the west. And the Duke of Bavaria was a Saxon lord named Duke Otto II. A Saxon! The man did not own a single holding south of Nordgau, let alone in Bavaria. Naturally, the proper Bavarian counts were livid with this state of affairs. But Ersnt was neither properly Bavarian nor bothered. The patchwork structure of the realm meant that there were plenty of wars, alliances, and backroom deals for an enterprising lord.
The count's eyes wandered over the map. To the north, in Osterland, was his sole ally: his father-in-law, Count Dedo. Dedo was a veteran of many wars, although at 56 his best fighting years were likely behind him. The old man knew this, and it was rumored that he had taken a recent interest in spiritual affairs. Ernst was baffled by this turn of events. Perhaps there was some substance to the rumors about Dedo's lecherous youth.
Finally, Ernst's eyes settled on his own borders. They had not changed in a decade—not since before he was count—and the longer-term trend had been one of steady decline. When he passed, his two sons, Leopold and Adelhard, would inherit a single county each. Pah! He would work himself into and early grave before he handed his children table scraps.
To the north lay Sankt Pölten, currently ruled by the Count Wernher, as well as Frestadt and Krens, ruled by Count Ulrich. Count Wernher was too vile to think on, and Ulrich was a wastrel who had squandered much of the family fortune. Miraculously, both had navigated duchy politics well enough to avoid outright invasion to this point. Ernst begrudgingly admitted to himself that Wehrner was a brilliant schemer, but Ulrich baffled him. He was entirely unremarkable.
Ernst sighed and walked over to the chess board in the corner of the room. He began the second half of his daily ritual: collecting the pieces and laying them on the map one by one. Each day he grabbed the same pieces, and put them in the same places, in the same order. But today was different. He paused on a piece he had never used before: a simple wooden knight.
Adelheird was right. Despite all the papers and missives and weddings in the spring, he still had one last card to play: the marriage of his niece, Oda. He took a long look at the knight, and then gently set it on the County of Osterland.
With that, he rose from his seat and smiled. He spent the rest of his morning seated at his desk composing a letter to Markward.
No, not a letter. An invitation.
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