Agreed, your health comes first, we'll all be here waiting for the next update, whenever it may be.
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797, Paris, Francia
When Emperor Karloman and his heir Crown Prince Pepin rode back home to the preferred capital of the Empire, Paris, all around them they could see the changes that had been wrought to the city by the coming of Empire. The once dirt-track roads were now paved and shining, the buildings, once dilapidated and in need of repair were now restored and gleaming. The marketplace in the square, once one of just many such small places from which local traders gathered to hawk wares and farmers sold produce, was now one of the principle nexuses of commerce throughout the Empire, with traders arriving by boat down the river Seine day-by-day, especially when the Emperor and the Crown Prince were in town.
When they returned, Karloman settled in to dictate resolutions to disputes and petitions that demanded the throne’s attention, which meant Pepin was dismissed to his own chambers. He was eager to see his wife and growing family.
Elodie had taken to the role of mother easily, and her two eldest boys, Renaud and Maurice, were clearly devoted to her. Renaud was clearly the leader of the pack, the strongest and biggest of the two boys, and younger brother Maurice gazed up at him in adulation when he spoke. Pepin’s heart swelled at the sight of the boys playing games together, confident that with two such strong sons with such loyalty to one another, the future boded well for the dynasty after he was gone as well.
As for Elodie… well, Pepin had his spies as well and had their been any whiff of impropriety or improper conduct on her part, he’d have heard of it. But no such word had reached his ears, no strange bastard children were coming out of the woodworks, and she herself greeted him with a simple, undisguised pleasure, for she missed him in his abscences as much as she gloried in his presence when he did return. In that respect, he had been luckier than his father, he hadn’t needed any changes to his marital arrangements.
And perhaps what he had almost given up helped as well. Elodie had never been told the story directly of what he had gone through to marry her, but there were rumors no doubt, and she had doubtless heard them. If she did, she neither mentioned nor gave any outward notion that she cared. She was simple, politically passive, and not bothered with the outright realm of politicking and warring. But that worked well for Pepin. He was involved in enough of that with his father. That his home life was free of such things and that his five sons were well-reared was her main concern, in his view, and in that regard, she performed well.
The revolt in Eirene’s empire had been crushed recently, so poor Nikolaos was sent back home to his mother, glowering and scowling at the barbarian Westerners, as he saw them, as the cart took he and his sister back to Constantinople. With their mother’s throne secure, Eirene had written requesting that her children be returned to Constantinople now the city was safe, or as safe as that nest of vipers was ever likely to be… Given her son with Christophoros was long-dead, it seemed that Nikolaos was the sole surviving dynastic heir to the Roman throne in the east.
But the daughter, his half-sister Mafalda, she had enjoyed her time in Paris and had tears at the thought of leaving. It was clear which of Pepin’s youngest half-siblings had enjoyed their time in Francia the most… The poor girl was only comforted when Pepin himself was summoned and calmly reassured her that, when she was big and strong like him, she was welcome to come back whenever she wanted. This dried her tears and calmed her temper, so when she was loaded into the cart with her scowling brother to be sent back east she was chattering away as excitedly as ever, already making plans for her return trip to Paris.
But Karloman’s mind was turning east as well, not to Byzantium, but to Bohemia. He still had unfinished business with the heathen barbarians whom had sought to usurp Bavaria and threaten the borders of his empire, but word had now arisen that there was a new gathering of the tribes forming. Bohemian chieftains banding together, and summoning hosts from across the Pagan lands to join them. Imperial scouts had not confirmed the nature of the threat, but Karloman was loathe to allow any challenge to the Empire to exist without crushing it.
So it was in February when the winter snows had melted that he finally began to summon his retinue, and put out a call to arms to his bannerlords and their levies for another general muster to the east. And if anybody was inclined to complain about the swiftness of this campaign being planned so soon after the last, they did not voice it openly. For all knew the fate that followed those who incurred the Emperor’s real displeasure.
For Pepin, this meant once again leaving his wife and now five sons very soon after having seen them again. But he shrugged off the feeling of sadness of how much of their young lives he had missed and girded himself for yet more battles to come regardless.
Praha, Chiefdom of Bohemia, 797.
Vratislav, High Chief of Bohemia who took over after the sudden death of his nephew Unislav, knew full well he could not stand up to the Augustus of the West alone
Many different peoples from across the east had gathered in Praha, different faiths, different gods, tribes, peoples. All had representatives here at the grand conclave that had been mustered at Vratislav’s request. All had felt the encroachments of the new, Christian faith upon their lands, spread by Francian missionaries and occasionally, aided by Francian swords.
But no longer. Vratislav’s hope was that by uniting them together in the face of this common threat, the overwhelming supremacy of Frankish arms might be brought down by many peoples in concert doing what one alone could not.
There were other major leaders of various Pagan peoples present, including,
High Chief Budziwuj of Greater Poland.
High Chief Svetimir of Moravia.
Branislav of Nisani
The good news was, from the barely three thousand Vratislav would’ve been able to muster on his own, almost ten thousand warriors now gathered beneath his banners. In fact, so many had come to answer his call for support that the land around Praha could not feed them all, forcing others to encamp in Plzen or north in Nisani on the west bank of the Elbe.
But the question of how to take this mighty host into their battle against the Franks proved a much thornier one. Vratislav, the host, had determined his strategy would be predominately defensive, using the Elbe as the anchor of their defenses, building up their strength in the east while harassing and ruining the supply lines of the Franks who marched from the west. Farmland and villages could be rebuilt, he reasoned, but even with reinforcements, the Christians could muster a host far greater than he and his allies.’
Svetimir of Moravia did not agree. Unlike Vratislav, he was an experienced and capable military ruler, who had consolidated his powers within his own realm, and had designs on a much grander domain, encompassing territories now belonging to Bohemia and Poland. Indeed, until recently, Vratislav’s own strategems had been concentrated on protecting his eastern flank against Moravian assault.
But the rise of Karloman’s ambitions and his new turn towards Bohemia had prompted them both to re-assess old enmities, at least for the present. But Svetimir did not agree to the defensive strategy favoured by Vratislav.
“My men are here under my command,” he insisted stubbornly. “I do not consent to your wasting them through your cowardice. They came here to fight your Frankish invader, that’s what I intend they will do.”
Vratislav argued with him, but Svetimir just shook his head and called him a military imbecile. He had nowhere near Svetimir’s own experience of war, he said, so he should sit down and let the veterans plan the campaign for him.
Eastern Francia, February 797
Karloman waited several weeks till his musters had arrived in sufficient numbers that he felt confident sending his scouting parties east, into enemy territory. Initial reports revealed big gatherings of the tribes, not all of them Bohemian, and Karloman believed it was vital to acquire good military intelligence on enemy movements before he marched his army far enough east to strike directly at Bohemia.
So he encamped himself in position in early February and waited for his scouts to report back to him, all the while his ranks swelled, from six thousands… to eight… to ten…
OOC: Thanks everyone for your patience and well-wishes while I was ill. The good news is I am free and totally clear of illness so all's well! Will be back to updating regularly twice a week or so as is the usual plan.
The next post will begin the first engagements of the Bohemian War.
When Emperor Karloman and his heir Crown Prince Pepin rode back home to the preferred capital of the Empire, Paris, all around them they could see the changes that had been wrought to the city by the coming of Empire. The once dirt-track roads were now paved and shining, the buildings, once dilapidated and in need of repair were now restored and gleaming. The marketplace in the square, once one of just many such small places from which local traders gathered to hawk wares and farmers sold produce, was now one of the principle nexuses of commerce throughout the Empire, with traders arriving by boat down the river Seine day-by-day, especially when the Emperor and the Crown Prince were in town.
When they returned, Karloman settled in to dictate resolutions to disputes and petitions that demanded the throne’s attention, which meant Pepin was dismissed to his own chambers. He was eager to see his wife and growing family.
Elodie had taken to the role of mother easily, and her two eldest boys, Renaud and Maurice, were clearly devoted to her. Renaud was clearly the leader of the pack, the strongest and biggest of the two boys, and younger brother Maurice gazed up at him in adulation when he spoke. Pepin’s heart swelled at the sight of the boys playing games together, confident that with two such strong sons with such loyalty to one another, the future boded well for the dynasty after he was gone as well.
As for Elodie… well, Pepin had his spies as well and had their been any whiff of impropriety or improper conduct on her part, he’d have heard of it. But no such word had reached his ears, no strange bastard children were coming out of the woodworks, and she herself greeted him with a simple, undisguised pleasure, for she missed him in his abscences as much as she gloried in his presence when he did return. In that respect, he had been luckier than his father, he hadn’t needed any changes to his marital arrangements.
And perhaps what he had almost given up helped as well. Elodie had never been told the story directly of what he had gone through to marry her, but there were rumors no doubt, and she had doubtless heard them. If she did, she neither mentioned nor gave any outward notion that she cared. She was simple, politically passive, and not bothered with the outright realm of politicking and warring. But that worked well for Pepin. He was involved in enough of that with his father. That his home life was free of such things and that his five sons were well-reared was her main concern, in his view, and in that regard, she performed well.
The revolt in Eirene’s empire had been crushed recently, so poor Nikolaos was sent back home to his mother, glowering and scowling at the barbarian Westerners, as he saw them, as the cart took he and his sister back to Constantinople. With their mother’s throne secure, Eirene had written requesting that her children be returned to Constantinople now the city was safe, or as safe as that nest of vipers was ever likely to be… Given her son with Christophoros was long-dead, it seemed that Nikolaos was the sole surviving dynastic heir to the Roman throne in the east.
But the daughter, his half-sister Mafalda, she had enjoyed her time in Paris and had tears at the thought of leaving. It was clear which of Pepin’s youngest half-siblings had enjoyed their time in Francia the most… The poor girl was only comforted when Pepin himself was summoned and calmly reassured her that, when she was big and strong like him, she was welcome to come back whenever she wanted. This dried her tears and calmed her temper, so when she was loaded into the cart with her scowling brother to be sent back east she was chattering away as excitedly as ever, already making plans for her return trip to Paris.
But Karloman’s mind was turning east as well, not to Byzantium, but to Bohemia. He still had unfinished business with the heathen barbarians whom had sought to usurp Bavaria and threaten the borders of his empire, but word had now arisen that there was a new gathering of the tribes forming. Bohemian chieftains banding together, and summoning hosts from across the Pagan lands to join them. Imperial scouts had not confirmed the nature of the threat, but Karloman was loathe to allow any challenge to the Empire to exist without crushing it.
So it was in February when the winter snows had melted that he finally began to summon his retinue, and put out a call to arms to his bannerlords and their levies for another general muster to the east. And if anybody was inclined to complain about the swiftness of this campaign being planned so soon after the last, they did not voice it openly. For all knew the fate that followed those who incurred the Emperor’s real displeasure.
For Pepin, this meant once again leaving his wife and now five sons very soon after having seen them again. But he shrugged off the feeling of sadness of how much of their young lives he had missed and girded himself for yet more battles to come regardless.
Praha, Chiefdom of Bohemia, 797.
Vratislav, High Chief of Bohemia who took over after the sudden death of his nephew Unislav, knew full well he could not stand up to the Augustus of the West alone
Many different peoples from across the east had gathered in Praha, different faiths, different gods, tribes, peoples. All had representatives here at the grand conclave that had been mustered at Vratislav’s request. All had felt the encroachments of the new, Christian faith upon their lands, spread by Francian missionaries and occasionally, aided by Francian swords.
But no longer. Vratislav’s hope was that by uniting them together in the face of this common threat, the overwhelming supremacy of Frankish arms might be brought down by many peoples in concert doing what one alone could not.
There were other major leaders of various Pagan peoples present, including,
High Chief Budziwuj of Greater Poland.
High Chief Svetimir of Moravia.
Branislav of Nisani
The good news was, from the barely three thousand Vratislav would’ve been able to muster on his own, almost ten thousand warriors now gathered beneath his banners. In fact, so many had come to answer his call for support that the land around Praha could not feed them all, forcing others to encamp in Plzen or north in Nisani on the west bank of the Elbe.
But the question of how to take this mighty host into their battle against the Franks proved a much thornier one. Vratislav, the host, had determined his strategy would be predominately defensive, using the Elbe as the anchor of their defenses, building up their strength in the east while harassing and ruining the supply lines of the Franks who marched from the west. Farmland and villages could be rebuilt, he reasoned, but even with reinforcements, the Christians could muster a host far greater than he and his allies.’
Svetimir of Moravia did not agree. Unlike Vratislav, he was an experienced and capable military ruler, who had consolidated his powers within his own realm, and had designs on a much grander domain, encompassing territories now belonging to Bohemia and Poland. Indeed, until recently, Vratislav’s own strategems had been concentrated on protecting his eastern flank against Moravian assault.
But the rise of Karloman’s ambitions and his new turn towards Bohemia had prompted them both to re-assess old enmities, at least for the present. But Svetimir did not agree to the defensive strategy favoured by Vratislav.
“My men are here under my command,” he insisted stubbornly. “I do not consent to your wasting them through your cowardice. They came here to fight your Frankish invader, that’s what I intend they will do.”
Vratislav argued with him, but Svetimir just shook his head and called him a military imbecile. He had nowhere near Svetimir’s own experience of war, he said, so he should sit down and let the veterans plan the campaign for him.
Eastern Francia, February 797
Karloman waited several weeks till his musters had arrived in sufficient numbers that he felt confident sending his scouting parties east, into enemy territory. Initial reports revealed big gatherings of the tribes, not all of them Bohemian, and Karloman believed it was vital to acquire good military intelligence on enemy movements before he marched his army far enough east to strike directly at Bohemia.
So he encamped himself in position in early February and waited for his scouts to report back to him, all the while his ranks swelled, from six thousands… to eight… to ten…
OOC: Thanks everyone for your patience and well-wishes while I was ill. The good news is I am free and totally clear of illness so all's well! Will be back to updating regularly twice a week or so as is the usual plan.
The next post will begin the first engagements of the Bohemian War.
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Another rumble in the East huh, let's see if this Coalition's unity can last under the onslaught of the Franks. I don't like that scowl Nikolaos gave to his half-siblings to be honest, me thinks that's a sign of how relations between the East and West Empires will deteriorate in the far future.
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Greek Emperors tend to think the Franks are posturing barbarians, so it wouldn't shock me if Nik did inherit that attitude, and if not him, then perhaps some future ruler. But relations will hold so long as Eirene and Karloman are around at least. After that we'll see
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Alas poor Mantova, your leaders should have known not to cross Karloman. I can't see this bringing about much harmony after the war.
I'm curious to see what Nikolaos' relationship with Pepin will be. He doesn't seem overly fond of the Franks.
And so begins the Bohemian war, I expect that it will be a brutal thing. Karloman has soured in his old age if such a thing is even possible.
I'm curious to see what Nikolaos' relationship with Pepin will be. He doesn't seem overly fond of the Franks.
And so begins the Bohemian war, I expect that it will be a brutal thing. Karloman has soured in his old age if such a thing is even possible.
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Eastern Francia, February 797
…But Karloman’s forces were advancing quickly, and it was when they reached the western most reaches of the Elbe that Karloman’s scouts brought him the news that decided his battle plan for the coming campaign.
“They’ve split their forces into three.” Karloman briskly informed his war council that afternoon, “Which is a mistake, but I suppose that’s what happens when barbarians try to consolidate multiple peoples into one, they all fall away to make their own plans.” A satisfied grimace crossed his face at this remark, and a hint of bloodlust. Pepin realised with a start that his father might just enjoy this campaign.
“The smallest force has hooked around to the north, and is presently trying to mount raids on the villages between here Meissen. While barely a thousand men, they are experienced and hardy, so we’ll have to be cautious tackling them.”
“Any notion of where Vratislav is?” Pepin broke in.
Karloman gave a brief, nasty smile. “He’s with the centre force, on the eastern bank of the Elbe so far, but scouts report they’re attempting to ford the crossing there, and march on one of our local settlements, probably Nurnberg, which is the most fortified target they’ll need to take if they intend to launch an assault.”
“Can Nurnberg hold?”
“It can if we march to reinforce it,” Karloman did not even look at Duke Alois, who had made the interruption. He did not consider his views of much import, and did little to conceal that fact. “Which is the first thing I intend to do before we march.. With Vratislav in charge of the largest portion of the barbarians, close to four thousand men by our scout’s count, we’ll be in a good position to wipe the strongest of their armies from the face of the world before we cut down the smaller ones, piecemeal.”
“We outnumber them?” Pepin asked.
“Apparently so,” his father replied, “Which means the difficulty will be persuading them to do battle, but I think I have a notion of how to go about it… or rather, Shalom does.”
“Shalom?” Duke Alois was alarmed, “What does that Jew have to do with…” his protest was silenced by a sudden, deadly glare from the Emperor.
“He is my master of spies. And you shall not speak ill of him within my hearing.” Karloman’s voice was quiet, but a cold menace radiated from him that sent a shiver through everyone present. Alois mentally cursed himself for his folly. This was a dangerous man. He must learn to curb his tongue.”
“As for the third force, it is of little import, scavengers and vagabonds,” Karloman dismissed them, “But I suspect they shall be the ones who fall back and defend Bohemian villages once Vratislav is smashed.”
“So to Nurnberg it is?”
“So it is.” Karloman told Pepin with a grin.
As it turned out, the Emperor actually slowed down his advance as they neared their destination, encamping the army in a position over fifty miles away from where scouts said the enemy had presently gone to ground.
“Take two thousand of our men and start moving toward Nurnberg,” Karloman told Pepin.”
“Won’t Vratislav see us doing that?”
“Yes,” Karloman explained, keeping his temper contained, “That’s the point. He’ll see you and mistake you for an advance force, sent ahead of the main army. As soon as you catch sight of his army, send your fastest horseman back in this direction. We’ll advance along at a mild pace until I hear from your rider, and then I’ll crack things along to reach you as soon as you’ve made contact. We have to trick Vratislav into facing our whole army, or this won’t work as I planned. I intend to crush his largest force here, in one swift strike, lest the other armies regroup and combine with him.”
So Pepin did as bid, and within a few days, his horsemen had sighted Vratislav’s main force, raiding hamlets and farms around the village of Ellwangen, less than ten miles south of Nurnberg. Being sure to stir up as much dust and noise as possible, Pepin sent a rider back to Karloman while attempting to draw the Pagan forces.
But Vratislav was alone, and lacking the experience of some of the other Pagan rulers who had come to Bohemia’s defence. Sufficient military wisdom of that kind would have told him that the Francians were drawing a trap around his forces. But as it was, he stumbled right into it.
On February 14th, the Emperor’s army linked up with Pepin’s advance force and engaged in a full-scale pitched battle with a Bohemian Pagan army that found itself outnumbered, poorly-positioned and not expecting a fight.
The Battle of Ellwangen scarcely counted as such. A Francian force of over six thousand men utterly shattered the Bohemians and forced them back within their own borders, destroying the bulk of the Pagan army at the onset of the conflict…
As far as battles went, the tactics were straightforward, but they didn’t need to be much else. No complex manuoveres from Karloman or Pepin were required to bring victory, the Frankish heavy infantry simply smashed directly through the less experienced Pagan forces and Frankish horsemen pursued and slaughtered many of those who disintegrated into a rout.
Vratislav escaped, but his army and credibility both were shattered in a single day…
Excavation of the Battlefield of Ellwangen, 2006 CE, less than ten miles south of the city of Nurnberg.
“It’s not entirely clear why…” Professor Haidt mused, “But it seems as though the Bohemians and their allies who came to support them marched off to war separately, and that the Frankish Emperor tricked them into meeting the larger bulk of his forces here…”
Once an unknown site, the discovery of the battlefield of Ellwangen and the remaining archaeological evidence of that grisly victory had been a boon for archaeologists and scholars of the early Carolingian Period.
“We’ve found no records of any other kind of presence from non-Bohemian groups here,” his student, Alisha Tate replied, “We’d expect to see arrowheads, rusted weapons… horseshoes, coinage or little religious artefacts, anything that might indicate the presence of some of their Pagan allies. But none of the Slovene artefacts from the Germanic peoples surrounding Bohemia at this time have been found on this battlefield.”
“I agree,” Haidt mused, smiling at her. She was a perceptive and bright woman, with a strong future in the field ahead of her. “But I suppose it does explain the apparent ease of the Frankish victory. The few Frankish records tell us Karloman didn’t need to use any of the advanced military tactics he showed off during the Saxon Wars, or at the Siege of Constantinople. He basically just marched through and smashed their army to bits.”
They both stood in silence for a few long moments, staring down that windswept, empty plain, as though imagining the scene stretched before them in their minds eye, the fearsome Frankish pikemen and infantry marching forward, relentlessly grinding the Bohemian defenders down, then the pounding of the horse’s hooves as the cavalry cut down the stagglers who tried to flee during the rout but were too slow or too late.
“I suppose it makes sense, and it’s not really surprising that Bohemia’s allies didn’t do very much to come to her rescue after Ellwangen. They just marched in and seized Praha and the surrounding regions within a couple of months.”
“And so began the forced Christianisation of Bohemia as well,” Professor Haidt replied, a faint twist disgust playing about the tips of his mouth beneath his black moustache. “Not unlike what happened in Saxony as well.”
“The Carolingians were good at that,” Alisha replied, quietly. She knew her professors distaste for the subject of the forced conversions that had taken place throughout those years. He had written his honours thesis on it roughly twenty years ago.
“Indeed they were,” the Professor shook off his dark mood, and smiled slightly at his student. “Come then, let’s walk back to the dig-site before we move off to eat. I want to see if there’s any sign of the fortifications that the Frankish settlers dug near the village before the battle…”
OOC: I guess the CK2 AI never realised the importance of combining disparate armies together so you actually have a chance to win, because it never did that. Though I suppose Vratislav was not an inspiring figure and honestly, resistance pretty much collapses after Karloman wins at Ellawangen. I'll put up one more post finishing off the rest of the Bohemian War, but honestly, it's hardly worth the name after this, the Franks clobbered them.
Should be up at the end of the week Thanks for reading.
…But Karloman’s forces were advancing quickly, and it was when they reached the western most reaches of the Elbe that Karloman’s scouts brought him the news that decided his battle plan for the coming campaign.
“They’ve split their forces into three.” Karloman briskly informed his war council that afternoon, “Which is a mistake, but I suppose that’s what happens when barbarians try to consolidate multiple peoples into one, they all fall away to make their own plans.” A satisfied grimace crossed his face at this remark, and a hint of bloodlust. Pepin realised with a start that his father might just enjoy this campaign.
“The smallest force has hooked around to the north, and is presently trying to mount raids on the villages between here Meissen. While barely a thousand men, they are experienced and hardy, so we’ll have to be cautious tackling them.”
“Any notion of where Vratislav is?” Pepin broke in.
Karloman gave a brief, nasty smile. “He’s with the centre force, on the eastern bank of the Elbe so far, but scouts report they’re attempting to ford the crossing there, and march on one of our local settlements, probably Nurnberg, which is the most fortified target they’ll need to take if they intend to launch an assault.”
“Can Nurnberg hold?”
“It can if we march to reinforce it,” Karloman did not even look at Duke Alois, who had made the interruption. He did not consider his views of much import, and did little to conceal that fact. “Which is the first thing I intend to do before we march.. With Vratislav in charge of the largest portion of the barbarians, close to four thousand men by our scout’s count, we’ll be in a good position to wipe the strongest of their armies from the face of the world before we cut down the smaller ones, piecemeal.”
“We outnumber them?” Pepin asked.
“Apparently so,” his father replied, “Which means the difficulty will be persuading them to do battle, but I think I have a notion of how to go about it… or rather, Shalom does.”
“Shalom?” Duke Alois was alarmed, “What does that Jew have to do with…” his protest was silenced by a sudden, deadly glare from the Emperor.
“He is my master of spies. And you shall not speak ill of him within my hearing.” Karloman’s voice was quiet, but a cold menace radiated from him that sent a shiver through everyone present. Alois mentally cursed himself for his folly. This was a dangerous man. He must learn to curb his tongue.”
“As for the third force, it is of little import, scavengers and vagabonds,” Karloman dismissed them, “But I suspect they shall be the ones who fall back and defend Bohemian villages once Vratislav is smashed.”
“So to Nurnberg it is?”
“So it is.” Karloman told Pepin with a grin.
As it turned out, the Emperor actually slowed down his advance as they neared their destination, encamping the army in a position over fifty miles away from where scouts said the enemy had presently gone to ground.
“Take two thousand of our men and start moving toward Nurnberg,” Karloman told Pepin.”
“Won’t Vratislav see us doing that?”
“Yes,” Karloman explained, keeping his temper contained, “That’s the point. He’ll see you and mistake you for an advance force, sent ahead of the main army. As soon as you catch sight of his army, send your fastest horseman back in this direction. We’ll advance along at a mild pace until I hear from your rider, and then I’ll crack things along to reach you as soon as you’ve made contact. We have to trick Vratislav into facing our whole army, or this won’t work as I planned. I intend to crush his largest force here, in one swift strike, lest the other armies regroup and combine with him.”
So Pepin did as bid, and within a few days, his horsemen had sighted Vratislav’s main force, raiding hamlets and farms around the village of Ellwangen, less than ten miles south of Nurnberg. Being sure to stir up as much dust and noise as possible, Pepin sent a rider back to Karloman while attempting to draw the Pagan forces.
But Vratislav was alone, and lacking the experience of some of the other Pagan rulers who had come to Bohemia’s defence. Sufficient military wisdom of that kind would have told him that the Francians were drawing a trap around his forces. But as it was, he stumbled right into it.
On February 14th, the Emperor’s army linked up with Pepin’s advance force and engaged in a full-scale pitched battle with a Bohemian Pagan army that found itself outnumbered, poorly-positioned and not expecting a fight.
The Battle of Ellwangen scarcely counted as such. A Francian force of over six thousand men utterly shattered the Bohemians and forced them back within their own borders, destroying the bulk of the Pagan army at the onset of the conflict…
As far as battles went, the tactics were straightforward, but they didn’t need to be much else. No complex manuoveres from Karloman or Pepin were required to bring victory, the Frankish heavy infantry simply smashed directly through the less experienced Pagan forces and Frankish horsemen pursued and slaughtered many of those who disintegrated into a rout.
Vratislav escaped, but his army and credibility both were shattered in a single day…
Excavation of the Battlefield of Ellwangen, 2006 CE, less than ten miles south of the city of Nurnberg.
“It’s not entirely clear why…” Professor Haidt mused, “But it seems as though the Bohemians and their allies who came to support them marched off to war separately, and that the Frankish Emperor tricked them into meeting the larger bulk of his forces here…”
Once an unknown site, the discovery of the battlefield of Ellwangen and the remaining archaeological evidence of that grisly victory had been a boon for archaeologists and scholars of the early Carolingian Period.
“We’ve found no records of any other kind of presence from non-Bohemian groups here,” his student, Alisha Tate replied, “We’d expect to see arrowheads, rusted weapons… horseshoes, coinage or little religious artefacts, anything that might indicate the presence of some of their Pagan allies. But none of the Slovene artefacts from the Germanic peoples surrounding Bohemia at this time have been found on this battlefield.”
“I agree,” Haidt mused, smiling at her. She was a perceptive and bright woman, with a strong future in the field ahead of her. “But I suppose it does explain the apparent ease of the Frankish victory. The few Frankish records tell us Karloman didn’t need to use any of the advanced military tactics he showed off during the Saxon Wars, or at the Siege of Constantinople. He basically just marched through and smashed their army to bits.”
They both stood in silence for a few long moments, staring down that windswept, empty plain, as though imagining the scene stretched before them in their minds eye, the fearsome Frankish pikemen and infantry marching forward, relentlessly grinding the Bohemian defenders down, then the pounding of the horse’s hooves as the cavalry cut down the stagglers who tried to flee during the rout but were too slow or too late.
“I suppose it makes sense, and it’s not really surprising that Bohemia’s allies didn’t do very much to come to her rescue after Ellwangen. They just marched in and seized Praha and the surrounding regions within a couple of months.”
“And so began the forced Christianisation of Bohemia as well,” Professor Haidt replied, a faint twist disgust playing about the tips of his mouth beneath his black moustache. “Not unlike what happened in Saxony as well.”
“The Carolingians were good at that,” Alisha replied, quietly. She knew her professors distaste for the subject of the forced conversions that had taken place throughout those years. He had written his honours thesis on it roughly twenty years ago.
“Indeed they were,” the Professor shook off his dark mood, and smiled slightly at his student. “Come then, let’s walk back to the dig-site before we move off to eat. I want to see if there’s any sign of the fortifications that the Frankish settlers dug near the village before the battle…”
OOC: I guess the CK2 AI never realised the importance of combining disparate armies together so you actually have a chance to win, because it never did that. Though I suppose Vratislav was not an inspiring figure and honestly, resistance pretty much collapses after Karloman wins at Ellawangen. I'll put up one more post finishing off the rest of the Bohemian War, but honestly, it's hardly worth the name after this, the Franks clobbered them.
Should be up at the end of the week
Thanks for reading.- 2
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And so Bohemia crumbles against the Frankish giant. Will Karloman get to “enjoy” peace for a while or are there more foolish pagans on the border willing to try their luck?
Also I enjoyed the modern scene. Theirs must be quite the alien world to us
Also I enjoyed the modern scene. Theirs must be quite the alien world to us
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Different in many ways yes! For sure! That's why I like the idea of little modern snippets. I won't do them very often, but it's just interesting when you're basically writing an alternative history to speculate and interpret in this way and how that affects the way the world turns out! If people like them I'll keep doing them occasionally, but it won't be a regular thing since I feel that might be subject to diminishing returns if I do it too much
Also I got sidetracked last week, but the next post is coming and I hope to have her all finished up and ready to post by tomorrow! Thanks for your forbearance and support, as always to my regular readers/commentors and thanks to everyone else who just pops on and lurks to read, even if you don't comment. I appreciate an audience, as all writers do, even amateurs, so that gives me the motive to keep going. Never underestimate the effect it has knowing that people are enjoying what you write to keep writing more.
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March-June 797
The Bohemian War did not long persist past Vratislav’s defeat. Within weeks Karloman’s forces were putting Bohemian villages to the torch. The slaughter was vicious and indiscriminate. The Emperor showed no restraint and no mercy. None of the Christian lords in his service objected to the violence visited against the heathen peoples of the region, and what little wealth they had was looted systematically.
The destruction of Praha was particularly remembered for it’s barbarity. The Emperor blitzed the town’s fortifications, tore down it’s town centre, had his men systematically round up the town’s leading inhabitants, and then had each and everyone of them beheaded in the square, in front of the remaining citizens. He then asked all present to renounce the worship of their false, heathen gods, and convert to the true Christian God under penalty of death. Perhaps unsurprisingly, most were not eager to pass to their eternal reward too quickly, and swore the oath as directed.
By June, the conquest of Bohemia was essentially completed, the region cleansed of all enemy resistance. Those who had volunteered to bring their retinues to do battle with Karloman either melted away back to their own lands once news of Vratislav’s defeat trickled through, or themselves were outmanuovered and destroyed in the months that followed, as no single enemy force could muster anything like the strength of the main Frankish army. The enemy’s only hope for victory had been to consolidate it’s forces, but this had not occurred. The Emperor remained until September, dictating plans for the construction of several new settlements, and ordering preparations for a cathedral to be constructed in the ashes of what used to be Praha, which would serve as the centre of the new, rebuilt, Christian city that was to emerge there.
So it was with a sense of grim triumph that Karloman and Pepin returned home with wagonloads of gold and a long string of captive prisoners marching behind them in chains, to be paraded for the amusement of Parisian citizens.
“An unedifying spectacle,” Elodie de Valois sniffed as her husband returned to his chambers, “Even father said so,”
Pepin gazed around the room nervously, as though worried one of Shalom’s spies would leap from the darkened walls to surprise them, “Please love, keep your voice low, and be careful of what comes out of your mouth,” he told her with a warning urgency. “Father doesn’t take well to criticism of his conduct, you know how he is.”
“Yes,” she sighed, “I know too well,” she eyed him warily. “Though if you ask me his temper’s gotten even worse in his age. Be careful of him, husband.”
“I know how to handle my father,” Pepin told her. “He’s already tried to bludgeon me into submission.” He remembered his father’s icy cold rage at the news of his defiance in the matter of his marriage, and the remnant of that cold fear sent an involuntary shiver up his spine. Until that day he had never understood why some men still whispered in the shadows that his father was a cruel and tyrannical figure. But that day he had understood, for he had seen the monster that could lurk beneath the man, the icy cold rage, the fury that dwelt within him when his designs were thwarted, the feeling of utter anger that still boiled within Karloman. In some ways, even after all these years, the Emperor still felt like the envious second son, chasing the approval and adulation reserved for his elder, more vigorous and charming sibling.
Pepin had never understood the depth of the wound that brotherly feud had left on his father’s psyche when he was young. He had no brothers close in age to compare it too himself, but as he looked at his own children, in particular the elder two, Renault and Maurice, and the closeness of the bond they shared, he had begun to understand how much a younger sibling could idolise an elder, crave their approval, affection. Not hard to see how such desire could turn to bitter envy and resentment if the elder sibling received the glory and shared none with the younger. The scars of that hurt marked his father to his core, and it would never go away. Karloman never let go of a grudge. He was incapable of it.
But what an Empire he had forged! No matter his father’s personal failings, he had extended the domains of the Franks far beyond the wildest dreams of Pepin the Short, or even of Karl Martel, the great hammer of the infidel hordes who had crossed from Hispania to invade the lands of the Franks generations ago. None denied his father’s greatness, whatever their feelings on his personal failings.
So Pepin soothed his wife’s frayed temper on that subject, and instead let his mind drift to his family, now comprised of five strong, growing sons…
As for Karloman, his next few months of work concerned relations with the Church and his wife, the Empress of the east. Irene had finally crushed the last remains of the great revolt against her, and essentially snuffed out the last remaining political presence of the Iconoclast heresy. In gratitude for the support she had received from the Western Emperor, she wrote to Karloman a letter, dictated on beautiful Greek papyrus.
Husband and Augustus of the West.
The heresy of Iconoclasm is snuffed out at last. Our united Church is whole again in worship of the one true God. The Holy Spirit has guided our hand to victory, just as He has guided you in your victory over the heathen and the infidel.
I bear news that your children are well, though Mafalda misses Paris terribly and asks for news of her father whenever I see her. How fast they grow! Nikolaos is as sullen as ever, though becoming capable, fortunately, so he will do well in my stead now that I have secured for him the succession since I rid myself of that idiot boy of Leon’s years ago!
Please convey my regards to the Bishop of Rome and remember me in your prayers.
Eirene, Empress and Augusta of the East and West, Vice-Geraint of Christ on Earth.
But Karloman did not write to convey his wishes to Pope Honorius, he travelled directly to Rome instead, leaving court in late December, despite the chill of the winter.
Back in Paris, it was Pepin who arranged for the preparations for a new year feast, Pepin who got a chance to mingle with the lords. To the task of decorating the hall, he assigned Elodie, who threw herself into the role with enthusiasm. When the first night of the feasting arrived, all agreed her decorations had been the highlight.
“Warmed the hall up tremendously,” one lord gushed to Pepin, “Karloman always has it so cold and spartan.”
“Your father’s taste is in his arse,” another lord stated, more bluntly, “Good to see neither you nor your wife don’t have the same disease m'lord.”
And with that the Crown Prince began to win a small nucleas of loyal supporters amongst the higher nobility in his own right, out from under his father’s domineering thumb. Pepin was no fool, he understood his father wasn’t growing any younger, and his mood and temper growing more sour was a sign of his onrushing age.
No doubt he fully intended for his visit to Rome to be a chance for his son to shine in his own right outside of the battlefield. Karloman had never said so, of course, such issues bored him, but Pepin had grown accustomed to reading his father’s moods and wishes by now.
Yes, it had been quite a success…
Rome, February 798.
It was a wearied and bowed Pontiff of Rome who greeted Emperor Karloman as he arrived in the city of Rome. While age had not dulled his wits, the Pope’s physical condition had deteriorated.
“I shall see one other summer, maybe two, if God is merciful,” the Pope intoned as the Emperor helped him, with unusual tenderness, to his chair in the chamber in which they congregated.
Karloman had never known any God to be merciful, but he did not say so aloud. “I’m sure you have a long time to live yet, your Holiness,” he replied, a diplomatic smile playing about his mouth.
“A kind falsehood,” the Pope croaked as he settled himself gingerly into his head, “Yet a falsehood nonetheless my Emperor, the end of my time draws near, and when it ends, my successor shall need to be swiftly arranged.”
“Have you any thought to whom?”
“Aye, I have,” the Pope confirmed through a thin, reedy smile, “But you as Augustus of the West shall need to confirm the succession, of course, just as we here in Rome shall accede to your son after you.”
It was phrased carefully, not in a tone of asserting Papal authority over Karloman, but nevertheless stating, truthfully, that it was through Papal assent he wore the imperial title at all.
“I shall with happiness consent to the choice Your Holiness, provided your choice is reasonable. Based on our past meetings, I have no reason to doubt your reasonableness,” Karloman gave another grin.
Message received, I give you your preferred Pontifical successor, my son gets Papal blessing for his diadem as I receive for mine.
Honorius may have had a reputation for being a physical coward, but he was no fool. “I suspect you shall no cause to doubt it now either,” the Pope replied, that thin, sickly smile again emerging. “But for now let us cease our talk of such unpleasant and foreboding subjects such as death, tell me of the plans for the Cathedral in Bohemia…
March, Northern Francia, 798.
The small group of longships slipped up onto the cove in virtual silence, the men aboard, fearsome and bold to a man, understood the necessity of discretion and silence when it came to nighttime raids such as this,
Alfgeir had trained them carefully for this moment…
“Quiet,” he hissed loudly, as a loud plop! seemed to echo through the night, as though one of the men had dropped a particularly heavy piece of farm equipment over the side and into the ocean. Such sounds could travel for miles over silent and still water.
But they waited for several anxious, nerve-wracked minutes, and no alarm was raised, no sound or flicker of movement stirred from the small cluster of huts nestled along the shore up the top of the cove, and no shouts for weapons or defenses were raised. Satisfied, Arngeir signalled them forward again.
By the time the Norsemen were on the beach and halfway up the cove, the lone sentry who spotted them raised the alarm too late. The tiny hamlet was looted and burned, with captives seized and valuables taken back onto the beach.
The first target had been successfully struck.
Within two days, the small group of longships was sailing further south, out of the ocean and into the mouth of the river Seine, intent on raiding into Francia further inland. With over a thousand men in his raiding force, Arngeir was confident of a great plunder, a rich reward for his men for braving the late winter storms and getting a jump on the raiding season. The richest prizes would be theirs for the taking…
OOC: Did you say Karling-Viking fight? I say Karling-Viking fight! And with Karloman in the south, it might be up to our wonderful Crown Prince to handle this quite large raid.
I mentioned the Norsemen earlier for a reason, this is why. From this point on the raids become a more or less constant feature for... for quite a while, but I shan't spoil some of those encounters. Suffice it to say, we can see the shape of the Viking Age starting to emerge from here on out.
The first encounter between our POV characters and these fierce Northmen will be in the next post up
The Bohemian War did not long persist past Vratislav’s defeat. Within weeks Karloman’s forces were putting Bohemian villages to the torch. The slaughter was vicious and indiscriminate. The Emperor showed no restraint and no mercy. None of the Christian lords in his service objected to the violence visited against the heathen peoples of the region, and what little wealth they had was looted systematically.
The destruction of Praha was particularly remembered for it’s barbarity. The Emperor blitzed the town’s fortifications, tore down it’s town centre, had his men systematically round up the town’s leading inhabitants, and then had each and everyone of them beheaded in the square, in front of the remaining citizens. He then asked all present to renounce the worship of their false, heathen gods, and convert to the true Christian God under penalty of death. Perhaps unsurprisingly, most were not eager to pass to their eternal reward too quickly, and swore the oath as directed.
By June, the conquest of Bohemia was essentially completed, the region cleansed of all enemy resistance. Those who had volunteered to bring their retinues to do battle with Karloman either melted away back to their own lands once news of Vratislav’s defeat trickled through, or themselves were outmanuovered and destroyed in the months that followed, as no single enemy force could muster anything like the strength of the main Frankish army. The enemy’s only hope for victory had been to consolidate it’s forces, but this had not occurred. The Emperor remained until September, dictating plans for the construction of several new settlements, and ordering preparations for a cathedral to be constructed in the ashes of what used to be Praha, which would serve as the centre of the new, rebuilt, Christian city that was to emerge there.
So it was with a sense of grim triumph that Karloman and Pepin returned home with wagonloads of gold and a long string of captive prisoners marching behind them in chains, to be paraded for the amusement of Parisian citizens.
“An unedifying spectacle,” Elodie de Valois sniffed as her husband returned to his chambers, “Even father said so,”
Pepin gazed around the room nervously, as though worried one of Shalom’s spies would leap from the darkened walls to surprise them, “Please love, keep your voice low, and be careful of what comes out of your mouth,” he told her with a warning urgency. “Father doesn’t take well to criticism of his conduct, you know how he is.”
“Yes,” she sighed, “I know too well,” she eyed him warily. “Though if you ask me his temper’s gotten even worse in his age. Be careful of him, husband.”
“I know how to handle my father,” Pepin told her. “He’s already tried to bludgeon me into submission.” He remembered his father’s icy cold rage at the news of his defiance in the matter of his marriage, and the remnant of that cold fear sent an involuntary shiver up his spine. Until that day he had never understood why some men still whispered in the shadows that his father was a cruel and tyrannical figure. But that day he had understood, for he had seen the monster that could lurk beneath the man, the icy cold rage, the fury that dwelt within him when his designs were thwarted, the feeling of utter anger that still boiled within Karloman. In some ways, even after all these years, the Emperor still felt like the envious second son, chasing the approval and adulation reserved for his elder, more vigorous and charming sibling.
Pepin had never understood the depth of the wound that brotherly feud had left on his father’s psyche when he was young. He had no brothers close in age to compare it too himself, but as he looked at his own children, in particular the elder two, Renault and Maurice, and the closeness of the bond they shared, he had begun to understand how much a younger sibling could idolise an elder, crave their approval, affection. Not hard to see how such desire could turn to bitter envy and resentment if the elder sibling received the glory and shared none with the younger. The scars of that hurt marked his father to his core, and it would never go away. Karloman never let go of a grudge. He was incapable of it.
But what an Empire he had forged! No matter his father’s personal failings, he had extended the domains of the Franks far beyond the wildest dreams of Pepin the Short, or even of Karl Martel, the great hammer of the infidel hordes who had crossed from Hispania to invade the lands of the Franks generations ago. None denied his father’s greatness, whatever their feelings on his personal failings.
So Pepin soothed his wife’s frayed temper on that subject, and instead let his mind drift to his family, now comprised of five strong, growing sons…
As for Karloman, his next few months of work concerned relations with the Church and his wife, the Empress of the east. Irene had finally crushed the last remains of the great revolt against her, and essentially snuffed out the last remaining political presence of the Iconoclast heresy. In gratitude for the support she had received from the Western Emperor, she wrote to Karloman a letter, dictated on beautiful Greek papyrus.
Husband and Augustus of the West.
The heresy of Iconoclasm is snuffed out at last. Our united Church is whole again in worship of the one true God. The Holy Spirit has guided our hand to victory, just as He has guided you in your victory over the heathen and the infidel.
I bear news that your children are well, though Mafalda misses Paris terribly and asks for news of her father whenever I see her. How fast they grow! Nikolaos is as sullen as ever, though becoming capable, fortunately, so he will do well in my stead now that I have secured for him the succession since I rid myself of that idiot boy of Leon’s years ago!
Please convey my regards to the Bishop of Rome and remember me in your prayers.
Eirene, Empress and Augusta of the East and West, Vice-Geraint of Christ on Earth.
But Karloman did not write to convey his wishes to Pope Honorius, he travelled directly to Rome instead, leaving court in late December, despite the chill of the winter.
Back in Paris, it was Pepin who arranged for the preparations for a new year feast, Pepin who got a chance to mingle with the lords. To the task of decorating the hall, he assigned Elodie, who threw herself into the role with enthusiasm. When the first night of the feasting arrived, all agreed her decorations had been the highlight.
“Warmed the hall up tremendously,” one lord gushed to Pepin, “Karloman always has it so cold and spartan.”
“Your father’s taste is in his arse,” another lord stated, more bluntly, “Good to see neither you nor your wife don’t have the same disease m'lord.”
And with that the Crown Prince began to win a small nucleas of loyal supporters amongst the higher nobility in his own right, out from under his father’s domineering thumb. Pepin was no fool, he understood his father wasn’t growing any younger, and his mood and temper growing more sour was a sign of his onrushing age.
No doubt he fully intended for his visit to Rome to be a chance for his son to shine in his own right outside of the battlefield. Karloman had never said so, of course, such issues bored him, but Pepin had grown accustomed to reading his father’s moods and wishes by now.
Yes, it had been quite a success…
Rome, February 798.
It was a wearied and bowed Pontiff of Rome who greeted Emperor Karloman as he arrived in the city of Rome. While age had not dulled his wits, the Pope’s physical condition had deteriorated.
“I shall see one other summer, maybe two, if God is merciful,” the Pope intoned as the Emperor helped him, with unusual tenderness, to his chair in the chamber in which they congregated.
Karloman had never known any God to be merciful, but he did not say so aloud. “I’m sure you have a long time to live yet, your Holiness,” he replied, a diplomatic smile playing about his mouth.
“A kind falsehood,” the Pope croaked as he settled himself gingerly into his head, “Yet a falsehood nonetheless my Emperor, the end of my time draws near, and when it ends, my successor shall need to be swiftly arranged.”
“Have you any thought to whom?”
“Aye, I have,” the Pope confirmed through a thin, reedy smile, “But you as Augustus of the West shall need to confirm the succession, of course, just as we here in Rome shall accede to your son after you.”
It was phrased carefully, not in a tone of asserting Papal authority over Karloman, but nevertheless stating, truthfully, that it was through Papal assent he wore the imperial title at all.
“I shall with happiness consent to the choice Your Holiness, provided your choice is reasonable. Based on our past meetings, I have no reason to doubt your reasonableness,” Karloman gave another grin.
Message received, I give you your preferred Pontifical successor, my son gets Papal blessing for his diadem as I receive for mine.
Honorius may have had a reputation for being a physical coward, but he was no fool. “I suspect you shall no cause to doubt it now either,” the Pope replied, that thin, sickly smile again emerging. “But for now let us cease our talk of such unpleasant and foreboding subjects such as death, tell me of the plans for the Cathedral in Bohemia…
March, Northern Francia, 798.
The small group of longships slipped up onto the cove in virtual silence, the men aboard, fearsome and bold to a man, understood the necessity of discretion and silence when it came to nighttime raids such as this,
Alfgeir had trained them carefully for this moment…
“Quiet,” he hissed loudly, as a loud plop! seemed to echo through the night, as though one of the men had dropped a particularly heavy piece of farm equipment over the side and into the ocean. Such sounds could travel for miles over silent and still water.
But they waited for several anxious, nerve-wracked minutes, and no alarm was raised, no sound or flicker of movement stirred from the small cluster of huts nestled along the shore up the top of the cove, and no shouts for weapons or defenses were raised. Satisfied, Arngeir signalled them forward again.
By the time the Norsemen were on the beach and halfway up the cove, the lone sentry who spotted them raised the alarm too late. The tiny hamlet was looted and burned, with captives seized and valuables taken back onto the beach.
The first target had been successfully struck.
Within two days, the small group of longships was sailing further south, out of the ocean and into the mouth of the river Seine, intent on raiding into Francia further inland. With over a thousand men in his raiding force, Arngeir was confident of a great plunder, a rich reward for his men for braving the late winter storms and getting a jump on the raiding season. The richest prizes would be theirs for the taking…
OOC: Did you say Karling-Viking fight? I say Karling-Viking fight! And with Karloman in the south, it might be up to our wonderful Crown Prince to handle this quite large raid.
I mentioned the Norsemen earlier for a reason, this is why. From this point on the raids become a more or less constant feature for... for quite a while, but I shan't spoil some of those encounters. Suffice it to say, we can see the shape of the Viking Age starting to emerge from here on out.
The first encounter between our POV characters and these fierce Northmen will be in the next post up
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Loved the modern bit! Sometimes moderns misinterpret as enough evidence is not available or there are differing theories. Thank you for the updates.
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Well Karloman are you ambitious enough to assemble large enough ships to go north and teach these northerner "vikings" a christian ways?
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Vikings! Just as Karloman is in his twilight years. Time to see if they are bold enough to raid Paris itself!
Harsh Irene, harsh, just like in OTL. I guess Constantine's (or the equivalent in this timeline) fate is always gonna be a cruel one.
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She didn't gouge out his eyes in this timeline at least...
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June 798
It was early June when word first reached the imperial court in Paris of the danger. Terrifying tales of savage sea raiders from the north, who descended upon the coastline like a thunderbolt, savaged and terrorised any local people in their path, and then retreated back out to the water, as swiftly as they had come.
But it was further down river that reports started emerging even closer to the capital. A thousand men they said, no two thousand! No three! Nobody seemed to know for sure, except that they were great bearded Norsemen with huge axes and worshipped Pagan devils and made sacrifices of live prisoners to them.
So it was these disturbing rumours that reached Crown Prince Pepin, along with the news that several local levies had been defeated after mustering to face the raiders.
“I’ll use the royal retinue, and a company of sellswords, roughly two thousand.” The Crown Prince told his wife as he was lacing up his boots, preparing to lead their forces out to confront the raiders.
“How long do you expect it will take?” she asked, her worry plain upon her face.
“Hopefully not long,” he gave her a gentle smile, “They say they’re not far from here, though with the panic the capital has descended into at news of their coming who knows how accurate they are. They’ve gotten everyone into a frightful state, that’s for sure!”
“Well God be with you in defeating them,” the long-suffering wife whispered as he left the room.
Aside from the small levy the Prince brought with him, roughly two thousand sellswords made up the bulk of the force. He had paid them well, but also offered them a small share of any spoils recovered from the raiders after they were defeated.
It took barely a few weeks to locate the raiders, moving hard and fast through villages along the Seine. They had been raiding hamlets, destroying farms, seizing slaves and livestock, which had apparently been butchered for meat along their way.
The faster-moving cavalry Pepin deployed ahead of his main column as scouts. It was they who saw the thick column of smoke rising above the camp the northmen had pitched one evening. They who reported back to Pepin that the elusive enemy had been located, and that they had not yet become aware of the Francian presence…
So it was that the Crown Prince seized the initiative, launching his attack just as the dim light of dusk gave way to night. The Norsemen’s first warning was the sound of thundering hooves and the shouts of their drowsy sentries as the horsemen rode into their camp, weapons drawn, cutting down those who couldn’t reach their weapons. A vast roar rose up from the trees and it sounded like thousands of warriors had emerged, as though like wraiths from barrows, or out of the ground. This had been Pepin’s intention, to stir up so much noise and dust that it seemed like his true force was even larger than it was.
Alfgeir rose to try and rally his forces, large battleaxe in hand. He took the head off one rider’s horse and caved in the fallen figure’s helmet, shouting in his thick Pagan tongue for his own men to rally.
But the enemy were more numerous and the Norsemen were surprised and many left without their weapons and armour. A slaughter followed, and the Francian casualties were minor.
The Prince felt the excitement of battle course through him, leading out a small detachment of horsemen. They slaughter dozens of Norsemen, and it was Pepin himself who led the charge into the centre of the Norsemen camp, Pepin who saw the raiders standard fall…
Alfgeir fought bravely against Pepin’s counter-attack to his raids in Northern Francia. But it was not enough to stem the tide.
By nightfall, most of the raiders were dead, captive or scattered. The leader of the force, Pepin discovered, named Alfgeir, had disgraced himself by fleeing rather than standing and fighting to the last, as was the apparent custom of these fearsome northmen who worshipped these demon gods and brought such hideous brutality to innocent Francians.
Pepin caught the raiders near the village of Laon, and wiped out the majority of them. It was here that the first major Norse incursion into the Empire ended. It would not be the last.
The quick triumph satisfied the Crown Prince, who found himself with enough loot from the captured treasures seized from the raiders to pay his sellswords and distribute a bonus to his own retinue. By the end of the next day, his name was cheered by his own soldiers.
For the Prince, a milestone moment, for he had handled a threat to the security of the Empire with no input from his father. And he made sure that on his return to Paris his prisoners were paraded ahead of the main column for every soul to see, in case any were to doubt who was the victor of Laon…
It was later in the year that Emperor Karloman returned, commissioned a new series of coins to commemorate his son’s triumph over the Norsemen raiders from the north. This was the first time coins were minted with the future Emperor’s face on them, though Karloman had ensured his own image had been spread far and wide throughout the years. With his only other son in Constantinopolis and no other legitimate successor in sight, very few doubted that it would one day be Pepin who stepped into Emperor Karloman’s shoes…
But the threats to the Empire were not yet finished.
OOC: The Snow People are gone for now, but they'll be back, and in greater numbers.
As for the next post, an old enemy will be the Empire's next target.
It was early June when word first reached the imperial court in Paris of the danger. Terrifying tales of savage sea raiders from the north, who descended upon the coastline like a thunderbolt, savaged and terrorised any local people in their path, and then retreated back out to the water, as swiftly as they had come.
But it was further down river that reports started emerging even closer to the capital. A thousand men they said, no two thousand! No three! Nobody seemed to know for sure, except that they were great bearded Norsemen with huge axes and worshipped Pagan devils and made sacrifices of live prisoners to them.
So it was these disturbing rumours that reached Crown Prince Pepin, along with the news that several local levies had been defeated after mustering to face the raiders.
“I’ll use the royal retinue, and a company of sellswords, roughly two thousand.” The Crown Prince told his wife as he was lacing up his boots, preparing to lead their forces out to confront the raiders.
“How long do you expect it will take?” she asked, her worry plain upon her face.
“Hopefully not long,” he gave her a gentle smile, “They say they’re not far from here, though with the panic the capital has descended into at news of their coming who knows how accurate they are. They’ve gotten everyone into a frightful state, that’s for sure!”
“Well God be with you in defeating them,” the long-suffering wife whispered as he left the room.
Aside from the small levy the Prince brought with him, roughly two thousand sellswords made up the bulk of the force. He had paid them well, but also offered them a small share of any spoils recovered from the raiders after they were defeated.
It took barely a few weeks to locate the raiders, moving hard and fast through villages along the Seine. They had been raiding hamlets, destroying farms, seizing slaves and livestock, which had apparently been butchered for meat along their way.
The faster-moving cavalry Pepin deployed ahead of his main column as scouts. It was they who saw the thick column of smoke rising above the camp the northmen had pitched one evening. They who reported back to Pepin that the elusive enemy had been located, and that they had not yet become aware of the Francian presence…
So it was that the Crown Prince seized the initiative, launching his attack just as the dim light of dusk gave way to night. The Norsemen’s first warning was the sound of thundering hooves and the shouts of their drowsy sentries as the horsemen rode into their camp, weapons drawn, cutting down those who couldn’t reach their weapons. A vast roar rose up from the trees and it sounded like thousands of warriors had emerged, as though like wraiths from barrows, or out of the ground. This had been Pepin’s intention, to stir up so much noise and dust that it seemed like his true force was even larger than it was.
Alfgeir rose to try and rally his forces, large battleaxe in hand. He took the head off one rider’s horse and caved in the fallen figure’s helmet, shouting in his thick Pagan tongue for his own men to rally.
But the enemy were more numerous and the Norsemen were surprised and many left without their weapons and armour. A slaughter followed, and the Francian casualties were minor.
The Prince felt the excitement of battle course through him, leading out a small detachment of horsemen. They slaughter dozens of Norsemen, and it was Pepin himself who led the charge into the centre of the Norsemen camp, Pepin who saw the raiders standard fall…
Alfgeir fought bravely against Pepin’s counter-attack to his raids in Northern Francia. But it was not enough to stem the tide.
By nightfall, most of the raiders were dead, captive or scattered. The leader of the force, Pepin discovered, named Alfgeir, had disgraced himself by fleeing rather than standing and fighting to the last, as was the apparent custom of these fearsome northmen who worshipped these demon gods and brought such hideous brutality to innocent Francians.
Pepin caught the raiders near the village of Laon, and wiped out the majority of them. It was here that the first major Norse incursion into the Empire ended. It would not be the last.
The quick triumph satisfied the Crown Prince, who found himself with enough loot from the captured treasures seized from the raiders to pay his sellswords and distribute a bonus to his own retinue. By the end of the next day, his name was cheered by his own soldiers.
For the Prince, a milestone moment, for he had handled a threat to the security of the Empire with no input from his father. And he made sure that on his return to Paris his prisoners were paraded ahead of the main column for every soul to see, in case any were to doubt who was the victor of Laon…
It was later in the year that Emperor Karloman returned, commissioned a new series of coins to commemorate his son’s triumph over the Norsemen raiders from the north. This was the first time coins were minted with the future Emperor’s face on them, though Karloman had ensured his own image had been spread far and wide throughout the years. With his only other son in Constantinopolis and no other legitimate successor in sight, very few doubted that it would one day be Pepin who stepped into Emperor Karloman’s shoes…
But the threats to the Empire were not yet finished.
OOC: The Snow People are gone for now, but they'll be back, and in greater numbers.
As for the next post, an old enemy will be the Empire's next target.
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Every time, he goes into battle, I expect tragedy to find Pepin. In Paradox land, the greatest victories often bring the greatest losses. Thank you for updating.
Man I was dreading if Pepin was gonna die in battle against any of the Vikings, had this happen to my heir when I decided to let him command a small force to beat back a couple of Berber raiders in my ERE game, he died there and it angered me to no end. Good to know Pepin survived through this ordeal, even gained some glory too. Though I expect we'd be seeing more of the Norsemen in later years, especially if they decide to invade England or any other small Christian realm.
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And so begins the plague from the North! Although Pepin behaved admirably during this first conflict.
As for an old enemy...I suspect we'll here more about the Umayyads
As for an old enemy...I suspect we'll here more about the Umayyads
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There's still time...
Whatever gave you that idea?
Thank you for reading and supporting, as always
I'm working on the next update, which I suspect shall be up this weekend. Thanks for your continued reading and feedback, as always
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Spend the weekend working on the next update Just finishing it off and editing the post now, so I'll have a good quality and solid post for everyone. Should be up by tomorrow
Just finishing it off and editing the post now, so I'll have a good quality and solid post for everyone. Should be up by tomorrow
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799-800, Paris
It was the return of his son in triumph that convinced the Emperor that his next campaign should be under Pepin’s command.
“We’ve beaten the Moors before,” he told Pepin when he had him summoned to discuss their plans for the next engagement. “But our lands across the mountains in Hispania will never be safe unless we establish a larger buffer region.”
Indeed, that was true. Pepin’s own technical lands, the Duchy of Aragon, were well-administered in his absence, but they remained compact and vulnerable to counter-attack by revanchist Moorish lords who sought to avenge previous military defeats. Now that the unrest within the Caliphate had resolved itself, Pepin and his father had determined that it was right to strike first, and carve out a further piece of the Infidel’s realm, lest the Infidel seize back the territories they had lost in previous wars.
“I agree Father,” Pepin had told him, “Never again must the heathens reach Francia itself the way they did during the reign of Karl Martel.”
For indeed, the Umayyad Sultan Zeyd, the young and vigorous ruler of his kingdom had imposed himself on his throne quite dramatically. Barely twenty years of age, he had defeated a rebellion led by one of his own uncles, who now rotted in a dungeon, and had vigorously reformed his kingdom’s taxation and finance systems. According to Frankish reports, he had been conquering the remnents of the old Kingdom of Tangiers in North Africa, busily absorbing the ruling Qutid Dynasty as vassals of his larger empire.
“Their domains in Africa can grow for all I care,” Karloman had made clear in response to Shalom bringing these reports, “It’s Iberia that concerns me, and the Christians living in it.”
And indeed, some disturbing rumors had crossed into Francia of late that Zeyd’s thugs had been attacking Christian civilians and robbing Churches throughout the border regions of the Umayyad kingdom.
Asturias, while still extant had been reduced to a mere shadow of itself over the year, and thus the Empire was the only power on the continent that had the military force required to credibly oppose any attacks by the infidel in Hispania.
The year was spent replenishing the Empire’s stockpiles and attending to domestic matters, long neglected by the constant wars of the recent years, Karloman and Pepin both threw themselves into their duties, though the son with more enthusiasm than the Emperor, who had no love for the minutiae of stewardship.
The young Sultan Zeyd revitalised the military and financial power of the Umayyad Caliphate in Hispania, forming a significant threat to the Kingdom of Asturias and the borders of the Carolingian Empire.
Pepin thus began planning his campaign in the summer of 800, moving from the capital with Elodie and his sons in tow towards Aragon, where he began to train his own retinue for the campaign, and put out a call across the Empire for the Emperor’s vassals to raise their own forces in support.
Pepin knew full well he had what it took to launch and conduct the campaign on his own merits now. No longer did he feel the lack of confidence he associated with his first, nervous forays into war. His father may have been the great master of the art, but Pepin had learned much at his feet, and learned it well. Karloman would not ride at the army’s head in this campaign, for though Karloman did not say it aloud, he knew his father had begun to feel increasingly wearied…
It was at the turn of the year 801 anno domini that Crown Prince Pepin formally mobilised his army for war and began to march towards the Emirate of Barcelona, hoping to conquer the region while the Sultan Zeyd was pre-occupied with his campaign across the sea in Africa.
Another war had begun…
OOC: Setting up the next major war, Pepin's leading this one!
Sultan Zeyd has done a good job getting the Umayyad treasuery and army into a good spot, as you will see from the screenshot. Let's see how Pepin handles it...
It was the return of his son in triumph that convinced the Emperor that his next campaign should be under Pepin’s command.
“We’ve beaten the Moors before,” he told Pepin when he had him summoned to discuss their plans for the next engagement. “But our lands across the mountains in Hispania will never be safe unless we establish a larger buffer region.”
Indeed, that was true. Pepin’s own technical lands, the Duchy of Aragon, were well-administered in his absence, but they remained compact and vulnerable to counter-attack by revanchist Moorish lords who sought to avenge previous military defeats. Now that the unrest within the Caliphate had resolved itself, Pepin and his father had determined that it was right to strike first, and carve out a further piece of the Infidel’s realm, lest the Infidel seize back the territories they had lost in previous wars.
“I agree Father,” Pepin had told him, “Never again must the heathens reach Francia itself the way they did during the reign of Karl Martel.”
For indeed, the Umayyad Sultan Zeyd, the young and vigorous ruler of his kingdom had imposed himself on his throne quite dramatically. Barely twenty years of age, he had defeated a rebellion led by one of his own uncles, who now rotted in a dungeon, and had vigorously reformed his kingdom’s taxation and finance systems. According to Frankish reports, he had been conquering the remnents of the old Kingdom of Tangiers in North Africa, busily absorbing the ruling Qutid Dynasty as vassals of his larger empire.
“Their domains in Africa can grow for all I care,” Karloman had made clear in response to Shalom bringing these reports, “It’s Iberia that concerns me, and the Christians living in it.”
And indeed, some disturbing rumors had crossed into Francia of late that Zeyd’s thugs had been attacking Christian civilians and robbing Churches throughout the border regions of the Umayyad kingdom.
Asturias, while still extant had been reduced to a mere shadow of itself over the year, and thus the Empire was the only power on the continent that had the military force required to credibly oppose any attacks by the infidel in Hispania.
The year was spent replenishing the Empire’s stockpiles and attending to domestic matters, long neglected by the constant wars of the recent years, Karloman and Pepin both threw themselves into their duties, though the son with more enthusiasm than the Emperor, who had no love for the minutiae of stewardship.
The young Sultan Zeyd revitalised the military and financial power of the Umayyad Caliphate in Hispania, forming a significant threat to the Kingdom of Asturias and the borders of the Carolingian Empire.
Pepin thus began planning his campaign in the summer of 800, moving from the capital with Elodie and his sons in tow towards Aragon, where he began to train his own retinue for the campaign, and put out a call across the Empire for the Emperor’s vassals to raise their own forces in support.
Pepin knew full well he had what it took to launch and conduct the campaign on his own merits now. No longer did he feel the lack of confidence he associated with his first, nervous forays into war. His father may have been the great master of the art, but Pepin had learned much at his feet, and learned it well. Karloman would not ride at the army’s head in this campaign, for though Karloman did not say it aloud, he knew his father had begun to feel increasingly wearied…
It was at the turn of the year 801 anno domini that Crown Prince Pepin formally mobilised his army for war and began to march towards the Emirate of Barcelona, hoping to conquer the region while the Sultan Zeyd was pre-occupied with his campaign across the sea in Africa.
Another war had begun…
OOC: Setting up the next major war, Pepin's leading this one!
Sultan Zeyd has done a good job getting the Umayyad treasuery and army into a good spot, as you will see from the screenshot. Let's see how Pepin handles it...
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