Reign of Theodoricus, Duke of Guelders
Section I - The Reformer
January 2nd, 1067
It was a gloomy winter's evening, sunken in darkness, as the short hours of daylight had passed. Theodoricus stood alone atop the gatehouse of his new Gueldrian manor, overlooking the town of Apeldoorn. He had arrived just the day before, on the day of the new year, to this, his new Capital. The Dukedom's original charter had named Geldern as the capital, but Theodoricus would not have it. He had been to Apeldoorn in his childhood, and had a certain attachment to the town.
A gust of wind came upon him, carrying icy flakes onto his face. He shivered, and pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders, stepping slowly back from the parapets. He thought it silly, that such an indefensible structure as this would have parapets. It was not a castle, but merely a former stateholder's house; a large and comfortable house, but still only a house from the hearth. In what sense would it be to besiege a house?
He thought no further of it, as his feet began to aggrieve him. Looking down, he could see that snow had completely soaked his boots, rendering their protection useless. He sighed, and turned and went down the stairs towards the courtyard. They were awkward stairs, pitched shallowly to the point where one step was two to three paces to clear. A thin blanket of snow made the journey down a bit unsure, but Theodoricus would manage.
Across the courtyard, in slow and sure steps he went. His strides weren't quick as the young men, but he carried himself along with enough haste that his wife, Hedwig, would joke that he was in some sort of perpetual rush. The crunching of January's snow beneath his feet was the only antagonist to the dreadful silence which gripped the manor. There were only four people present at the house: Himself, Hedwig, their son Gozewijn, and the former constable of Theodoricus' former estate, Marten van Lathum, and, more often than not, none of them were available to be bothered with his company. Gozewijn was in Marten's tutelage for arms training, and Hedwig would only complain about her back. Everyone was busy except Theodoricus.
The crunching of the snow beneath his feet was joined by another sound, the sound of hooves against the ground. Theodoricus turned back to the gatehouse, peering through the portcoulis to find that a horseman was approaching. Unthinkingly, he began marching back over to the gate, to see what sort of business this stranger had.
"I request to see his Lordship, the new Duke of Guelders!" announced the man, stopping his horse before the iron portcoulis. He had a rather high voice, almost annoying.
"I am he." said Theodoricus, ignoring his freezing feet and standing firm. He was not of high birth, but tried to sound noble. "Who are you, who shows up unannounced and expects an audience with me?"
"My name is Frits, and I come from over Deventer-way." He removed his hood to reveal his bald head. "You've probably heard of my family, my first cousin is the stateholder of Voorst."
"I've heard of you, alright." said Theodoricus, unmoving.
"Ah, good! Then, shall you allow me-" the stranger began.
"I said I've heard of you," said Theodoricus, cutting him off. "I can't say that what I've heard of your lot has been good."
"My lot?" asked the stranger, confused. To refer to a household as one's 'lot' was common-speak in South Guelders, but not so common in the Veluwe.
"The House of Voorst." said Theodoricus, slightly annoyed. "I've heard that your lot's gambled and drunk their way all the way down to the clay. What business have you to come before me?"
"Well, actually, my liege, I've come to offer my service in your court." said Frits. "Please, consider it, my liege. My situation is dire."
"What is so dire about your situation? You're wearing cloaks better than those of kings and bishops!" Theodoricus said, slightly annoyed at the percieved arrogance of this stranger.
"I've been cast out of my home, my liege. I only seek an honest posting worthy of my birth-right."
"Let it be considered, then." said Theodoricus. "There's three fine inns in town, you'll have a room for tonight whilst I do my considering, if you've got a silver ounce to spare."
"Thank you, for considering it." said Frits. "Or, considering to consider it." he continued to stammer.
"Don't make a fool of yourself, or I won't give it a second thought." said Theodoricus.
"Yes, my liege." said Frits, as he turned his horse about. "Thank you, once more."
"Move along." said Theodoricus, turning back to the empty courtyard. His feet were aching of the cold now, and he could not stand out here any longer if he had to, and so he marched back towards the door. He made a bit more haste this time, quickly traversing the entire space in almost no time at all. He opened the door, to be greeted with the dark room inside. The firepit lie in the centre of the room, its embery glow augmenting the shadows upon the walls. Marten had kept it going, in order to keep the sitting room warm. Theodoricus sat down in his large chair, and untied the leather straps which held his boots to his shins, setting his bare feet up upon the stone rim of the firepit. The sudden heat was at first uncomfortable, and he pulled them back away, but eased them back into place as the warmth began to seep into his flesh.
He thought for a while, and didn't notice as the hours past. The sky had fallen completely into the night, now. Theodoricus would not have noticed, if not for the fact that Gozewijn was now running around and exploring the new house, rather than studying military theory with Marten. He was always a fleet-footed boy, and traversed quickly from one side of the house to another with the constant clamour of his feet against the raised wooden floor (as the house had a small space between the floor and the earth, this was quite loud). It was only a short matter of time before the boy would come through the sitting room.
Gozewijn, son of Theodoricus
The boy came charging into the room with such energy, but upon seeing his father in gloomy meditation, he sat down in a chair by the fire, silently. His eyes wandered around the room as he sat in silence for a few minutes, and he could hardly sit still, and he rocked back and forth in his chair, as a boy with more energy than he knows what to do with does. Theodoricus thought a moment or two longer, and said, "What did you study with Sir Marten today?"
"The Macedonians" said the boy. "Do you know of Alexander the Great?"
"I have heard of him." said Theodoricus. "What have you learned of him?"
"Well, I learned that he was a great leader and he conquered the Persians. That's what I want to do someday. I want to be a King like him."
"I'm sure you would make a fine King." said Theodoricus.
"I would be the greatest King in the world." said Gozewijn. "I might even conquer Persia!"
"And they shall know you as 'Gozewijn de Grote' from Paris to Parthia?"
"Yes!" said Gozewijn, his bright eyes staring into the fire, imagining crowns and spears and changing of maps, and even the Pope's blessing as 'Emperor...' We'll see, Gozewijn, We'll see...
January 7th, 1067
"Scribe, take up your pen." said Theodoricus, to one of his newly hired house-servants. "I need to send a message to the Bishop of Sticht-Utrecht."
"Yes, my liege." said the scribe, as he took up his pen and a parchment.
"Write this down, scribe" began Theodoricus.
Most holy Bishop William, your services have been commendable and most honourable in the name of God; It is regrettable that I must deliver upon you this ill news.
The Sticht-Utrecht is to be disestablished, and all lands associated with the former Sticht shall be brought under the direct control of the Dukedom of Guelders on the first of Februarius, 1067 Anno Domini. The most holy Bishop shall be expected to depart for Rome before that date, and all of his canton disbanded.
Should the Bishop see fit to resist the dissolution of his canton, it shall be considered a crime against the Duke of Guelders and the King of Germany, and, in turn, against the Holy Roman Empire. Any resistance shall be met forcibly.
Signed, Theodoricus, Duke of Guelders.
"Sir, are you sure all this is wise?" said the scribe. "It would not be a good first legislation to have yourself excommunicated, should the pope not take kindly to this."
"I'm absolutely sure of this." said Theodoricus, standing and pacing around the room. "I am not blinded by the etiquette of high-birth. I'm a statesman, not a prince."
"Would it not be wise to place yourself on the wrong side of the King's favour, my liege."
"The King will understand." said Theodoricus, looking out the window to the west.
January 18th, 1067
This was the evening of the first real meeting of the legislation of the Dukedom of Guelders, merely a gathering of concerned Stateholders and Courtiers. They met in the sitting room of the manor house, most dressed uncomfortably, to discuss the terror of every landholder in Europe: Taxes. Theodoricus, only recently a stateholder himself, knew that the old land taxes were burdensome and inefficient, and sought to change things.
"Alright, let's not be bothered with formalities. I've written up a new taxation policy that I think at least most of you shall be in favour of." said Theodoricus, unraveling a parchment. "Firstly and foremost is the census tax, which, in the policy, is reduced by five in every hundred denier. Excises on salt, flax, and medicinal items shall be reduced by ten in every hundred, with those on metals and textiles being reduced five in every hundred."
"That's all well and good for the peasantry" said one of the landholders, a great fat man with heaves of neck-flesh hanging over his collar. "But what about those of us who are of higher status? We are the legislators of our lands, should we not be allowed more... liberal control over our funds?"
"I've brought you here with the purpose of negotiating that with you." said Theodoricus. "Two out of every hundred denier?"
"One from every ten!" Shouted the great fat man. "Before we are reduced to usury!"
"Excuse me, but who exactly are you?" asked Theodoricus, to the fat man.
"I am Karls, stateholder of Steenderen." said the fat man.
"And, how many acres is Steenderen's reach?" questioned Theodoricus.
"No less than 19,842 acres." said Karls. "Which means that I put forth the value of 9,525 aurei each month. It surprises me that I don't starve."
"With all due respect, Mr. Steenderen, I doubt you shall starve." said Theodoricus. "The doctrine of these taxes feeding your purses shall not be tolerated any more. Ninety out of every hundred denier shall be put to the legislation of your estate, only ten shall be your manorial allowance. Is that understood?"
"Outrageous!" shouted Karls. Theodoricus thought very little of him by this point, and ignored his outburst.
"Does anybody aside from Mr. Steenderen see fit to argue this new legislation?" No person came forward. The stateholders were either afraid of negotiating with a nobleman, or were content. Either way, Theodoricus was becoming sore for lack of a good argument. "So, everybody is agreed, with the exception of Mr. Steenderen, on two from every hundred?"
"Eight from every hundred." said a tall man with a nose like a bird's beak. "Eight from every hundred, and exclude all the waters."
"Three from every hundred, excluding waters." argued Theodoricus.
"One from every ten" said another man. "One from every ten, include waters if you see fitting."
"Three from every hundred." repeated Theodoricus. "Including waters."
"Six from every hundred" said the man with the beak-like protrusion from his face. "Six from every hundred, excluding waters."
"You're keen to have the waters excluded" said Theodoricus. "I'm guessing you're on the Zuiderzee."
"That I am." said the beakish man. "Johan, stateholder of Ermelo."
"And, of course, you're the holder of all the surrounding lands?"
"Naturally."
"So, you've got something close to sixty-thousand acres?"
"65,472 acres, not counting all the waters." said Johan.
"Right then. How about one from every twenty, and I'll exclude waters?" said Theodoricus.
"That will be well and good." said Johan.
"Are at least half of us willing to settle on that?" shouted Theodoricus.
"Aye" the stateholdery said in unison.
"Right, then." said Theodoricus, penning down the 5% reduction, and the exclusion of sea property. "All of you are dismissed." The stateholders mumbled to each other as they shuffled out the door and into the cold, and off to wherever their horses may have been stabled. Karls, that great fat bastard he was, gave Theodoricus an awful look as he waddled out the door...
January 21st, 1067
Theodoricus stood atop the gatehouse, as he did often. No longer was he alone, however, as two guardsmen stood stationed there. It was a day without winds, and the banners of the young Dukedom hung lifelessly over the far side of the gatehouse. The two guardsmen, Floris and Ramund, weren't too chatty when Theodoricus was around. Occasionally, he could get a few words out of them, and every so often could even draw an entire conversation. Floris was originally a shepherd from Elburg-way, and was well into his 30's, although even he did not know the exact date of his birth. Ramund was still not much more than a boy, with golden hair and hazel eyes, and from Apeldoorn himself. He was 17, and working as a guard to support some merchant's daughter, who's trouble was of his seed.
"Look yonder." said Ramund, pointing to the road from the town to the manor house. "Horseman, there."
"I see, I see." said Theodoricus, informal as ever.
"I should wonder what this one wants." said Ramund. "Looks to be in some kind of rush."
"We'll know soon enough." said Theodoricus. "Open the gate for him if he requests to see me. I'll be in the common hall." Of course, in 'common hall,' he meant his modified sitting room. He made his way down those awkward stairs, and across the courtyard with some haste, and through the heavy door into the, as he called it, common hall. He took off his snow-covered boots and coarse cloak, and sat down in his big chair, overlooking the firepit. Now that all the servants were present at the manor, Marten no longer needed to take the time to tend the fire.
It was only a few minutes before somebody entered the hall. Theodoricus looked over at the door to see Frits, that bald Voorster that he had enlisted just a few weeks before. He had been sent to deliver the news to the Bishop of Sticht that his position was now defunct.
"My liege, I have some grave news." said Frits, looking more than a bit discomfited that his first mission in the name of his new liege was unsuccessful.
"Has the Bishop refused to comply?" asked Theodoricus, looking unsurprised. "I did not expect him to. Go fetch Marten from his study. We're at war with the Bishop."
"Right, sir." said Frits, darting out of the room. Theodoricus got up from his chair, and up the wide staircase, along the corridor, and to his sleeping chambre. He opened the door to find Hedwig, sitting in a chair by the window, reading some French or Latin text; he could not tell the difference. She did not look up to greet him, and he did not bother telling her he was off to war. Truth be told, they could not stand each other. He gathered up a heavy wooden crate and made his way out of the room. He went back down the stairs, sat the crate by the fire, and opened it up to reveal an iron hauberk and helm. He drew out the hauberk, its chain links clinking loudly as it took shape.
Hedwig, Theodoricus' wife
"Sir, you requested me?" said Marten, coming in from the other room.
"Aye, we're off to war." said Theodoricus, sliding on the sleeves of the hauberk, and beginning to fasten the breast of it with the three buckles affixed to it. "Sure up your armour, ready your steed. I need you to ride to Breda and raise any force you can from there. I shall bring whatever soldiers I can from here. When you've acquired enough forces, march to Utrecht. I shall join you there, and we shall engage the Bishop's forces there, if he can mobilize any. Do you understand my orders?"
"I understand them clearly." said Marten. "What about Gozewijn, though?"
"He's getting an education at arms, I shall allow him to observe what a real battle is like; he shall come with me."
"Right." said Marten. "I shall be off."
"Godspeed" said Theodoricus, picking up a pair of leather gauntlets from the crate and sliding them onto his arms. He walked over to the wall where his weaponry hung on racks, and took down a roundshield and a longspear. He hung the shield from his shoulder with a leather strap, holding the spear in one hand as he picked the helmet out of the crate with the other. A mail curtain hung from the back of the helm, and on the front was a large nasal guard. It was a fine piece of metalwork, and could deflect even the most ferocious of Norse spears.
"Gozewijn!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the better part of the house. The boy was quick to come rushing into the room.
"Yes, father?" he said, marveling at this armour his father was wearing.
"Let us continue your education on the field for the time being. Sure yourself up to travel, we must embark." The boy's eyes lit up, and he bolted out of the common hall with such haste that even Norsemen couldn't have caught him. He was back in a few minutes, dressed in sturdy Germanic trousers, tunic, and a coarse woolen cloak.
"Ready to go?"
"Aye, father" said the boy.
"Best you went upstairs and bid your mother goodbye." said Theodoricus. "We will be gone for some time."
"I will do that" said Gozewijn, rushing up the stairs. Theodoricus stepped out the door, and made way to the stable, spear in one hand and helm in the other. He stepped inside the stable, and was surrounded by the smells of dust and hay and manure all about; perhaps it was the horses, or perhaps it was Arnoud the stabler, who himself was not known for having a particularly pleasing odour. "Arnoud!"
"Yes, my liege?" said Arnoud, from inside the third stall on the left.
"Bring out five horses, and sure them up to go." said Theodoricus. "Bring out a gentler one for Gozewijn."
"Aye, my liege." said Arnoud. Theodoricus did not wait around for him to visibly do something, he had other business to attend. He went back out of the stable, into the open courtyard once more, up the awkward stairs, to where Floris and Ramund were standing atop the gatehouse.
"My liege" they hailed him, as he came up the stairs.
"You two, you shall come with me to raise up some soldiers." said Theodoricus. "I shall double your payment for the entire course of this action, now let's move."
"Aye, sir." said Ramund, as the two followed Theodoricus back down the stairs, across the courtyard, and into the common hall. Just as they came through the door, Gozewijn came down the stairs.
"Are you ready to go, son?" asked Theodoricus.
"Aye, father." said Gozewijn. "Who are we going to conquer?" he asked, bright eyed as ever.
"We're off to conquer Utrecht. I want you to watch the battles as they progress, and learn from them."
"I will watch them closely, father." said Gozewijn.
"Good." said Theodoricus, and he turned back to the door. All of his party followed him intently back out to the courtyard, where Arnoud was leading out the horses. Marten had already mounted up one of them, and was on his way out through the open portcoulis, off to raise troops in Breda. "Everybody mount up. I shall raise whatever troops I can in Apeldoorn. Ramund, you go to Steenderen, Winterswijk, and Nijmegen. Floris, you go to Ermenlo, Elburg, and Voorst."
"Aye, sir." said the two guardsmen, and they mounted up and rode off. Now, they would march to battle...
Positions at the beginning of the Campaign in Sticht-Utrecht
February 4th, 1067
The Situation on the morning of February 4th
It was midday already. Marten had arrived first, with 604 men from Breda. Theodoricus had been able to raise 555 from all around Guelders, and arrived only shortly after. They had stayed the night, and positioned the men upon a low ridge that the locals called De Lange Tomas. The Bishop had about five-hundred men sitting at the bottom of the ridge; his army was outclassed in almost every respect. William of Sticht was no military theorist, not by far, and so he was to come anyway.
"We're ready for them, my liege." said Marten.
"Best we are, here they come." said Theodoricus, looking down at William's army, now advancing up the ridge.
"They're about four hundred paces off, I think." said Marten. "Shall I have the archers rain?"
"Go ahead. The worse we can hit him before he can hit us, the better off we will be."
"Right, then." said Marten. "Achers, sure up!" Every archer complied. "Arrows at the ready! Four hundred yards, and loose!" One hundred and fifty little missiles took flight, hanging in the air for a few seconds before falling squarely upon William's force. This was repeated every several seconds, until William's army began charging, and a melee broke out. It was short, however, and William's forces were nearly annihilated. William himself escaped, to run back to Utrecht. The fight was not over yet...
Post-Battle
By March 27th, the siege had carried on for over a month. Utrecht, however, was well fortified, and did not budge. William could sit there until he died of age, and Theodoricus knew that, and so he sent an ultimatum...
William, leader of the Utrecht Uprising and False Bishop:
Your situation is without hope. Your crime against the Dukedom of Gelre shall be punished, by any means necessary. Henry, King of the Germans, has expressed his aid for my situation. Ten-thousand Germans shall storm your city if you have not surrendered by the First of April. If you surrender, you shall be granted safe passage to asylum in Rome.
Theodoricus, Duke of Guelders
William himself would not surrender. The people of the city offered surrender for themselves, much to the disdain of William. With the reacquisition of Utrecht, the Dukedom of Gelre was divided between Theodoricus' own legislation, which he called the Landgraviate of Guelders, and a new establishment in Northern Brabant, which would be ruled by Emmo of Loon, to be known as the Landgraviate of Brabant. Now that Theodoricus had organized his realm the way he saw most fit, it was time to turn his attention to a larger conquest: the Dukedom of Holland...
Emmo van Loon, Landgrave of Brabant
, besides why give away a duchy which ends up in the hands of a french vassal; but OTOH it is your story
