Emperor Raynaud II of Francia, 1227-1238 AD

(Previously on Royal Dispatch.)

The Pope calls a new crusade for Syria, which once again I am happy to avoid by paying a bribe. Due to my relative wealth and imperial status, the cost of these bribes has gone up quite a bit—I have to pay a thousand gold, where it used to be a couple hundred. However it ends up being not too bad, because that payment brings my treasury down to to the level where I can petition the Pope for a sizeable grant of gold, which he immediately and graciously bestows since I’m such a generous Catholic. Good luck with that war your holiness! My son and heir Raynaud fully recovers from his bout with consumption, clearly because I am a virtuous emperor.

I’m also quite good with money, so in this year of peaceful downtime I spend it increasing my personal military of men-at-arms. This is an expensive force to maintain in wartime, but usually worth it. Plus it makes the threshold for rebellion higher. My heirs can always reduce the men-at-arms later if they’re not as financially astute as my august self.

My sister Étiennette—my parents’ late-in-life surprise baby—finally comes of age, and on something of a whim I marry her regular-style to Serene Doge Damiano Mestre of Venice. He has a nice size army, doesn’t often get in frivolous wars, and is already a 61-year-old lunatic. Probably won’t have kids, but who knows!

My vassals have calmed down from the West Franconian war, so it’s time to take that vulnerable English jewel of Mercia. On a lark I throw my archbishop into fabricating claims in the neighboring petty kingdom of Ease Seaxe. Highly unlikely I’ll get enough counties there to claim it before I go to my reward, but might as well give it a shot.

We roll into Mercia and swat away the army of Petty King Thurfrith Copsigeson Huntindgon and take his capital, splitting up for the usual multiple sieges and pursuit armies across this soon-to-be-French land. While that’s going on, a bonus!

Bon bon bon! Primogeniture is the succession law that allows my primary heir to get all my titles. No more divisions on death among various un-groomed kids. This not only makes heirs more powerful on succession (and thus less likely to be deposed), it also means I can hand out minor titles to other children without worrying they’ll inherit more on my death, creating a greater threat for the primary heir.

Incredibly, my fabricatin’ machine archbishop manages to land yet another duchy-level claim, this one for all of East Seaxe.

I guess I’ll be going for that one too! Now that’s enough though, really.

Mercia is teetering on collapse when my Venetian lunatic ally brother-in-law calls me to holy war versus Muwalladis on the island of Sardinia. Definitely not a priority, but sure! I do the usual dance of sending my private holy order to fight on my behalf without costing me anything.

As expected, Mercia falls after a few more sackings—and wonderfully, that gives me enough counties to create the kingdom of England under my empire. Glorious! Not so glorious is that holy war for Sardinia, where my brave Knights Templar arrive on island shores only to see the Venetians turn tail and run, leading to a 100% fatality rate among the knights when the Muwalladis attack. Oh well, I contributed!

With distractions thus out of the way, primogeniture becomes the law of Francia. Now to start racking up crowns!!

Speaking of crowns, my possession of the kingdom of England allows me to just bully the petty king of Easte Seaxe into becoming my vassal. I don’t need war, just gold and thousands of troops to stand menacingly on your border. Funny enough, all the rest of the land in England is held my Irish and Scottish nobles who have no interest in bending the knee to England. War it is then.

First, I pick on Petty King Ffriog III mab Iago Mallerslange-Edinburgh of Gododdin, who holds the English county of Lincolnshire in his cuddly 8-year-old hands.

My grand-heir Raynaud 4 gets the same exact bullying event I once did (though at least the bully is the same age as him this time). I figure it’s best if he ends up with the Lazy trait, which comes with minuses but no general opinion penalties.

The king of Sardegna e Corsica dies, splitting off that kingdom and the kingdom of Italy between his two daughters. My alliance stays with the new Italian Queen Sofia—coincidentally the wife of my son Ancel—who immediately calls me to help defend her in a succession rebellion. I wrap up the war in England with little trouble and dismiss all troops. I’ll help out in Italy but it’s easier to just let the soldiers go home and re-muster elsewhere in Europe rather than pay to ship them across the channel.

After a timeout, I begin to marshal my troops to aid in… whatever’s going on down in Italy. Annoyingly, my ward and grandheir Raynaud 4 gets yet another of these shitty childhood choice events, with three bad options for permanent traits gained. I elect to let him remain Shy, which lowers his diplomacy score but at least doesn’t come with opinion penalties.

I’m not doing so hot myself, as it turns out!

Well that’s not good at all. Best extricate myself from this Italian thing before the reaper’s cold hand grasps my imperial horcrux.

Trying to run out the clock in Italy, I spend my loyal troops’ lives chasing the enemies all over the peninsula. After doing lots of damage I withdraw back to Francia and let the levies replenish, so the armed forces are not too diminished when my son inherits the realm. My late-surprise daughter Judith finally comes of age, and she’s a real stunner—a genius holy warrior no less.

I decide not to marry her off yet though, as it’s possible the next emperor can make better use of a matrimonial alliance when the time comes.

With my help, the war in Italy wraps up favorably for my erstwhile daughter-in-law. And not a moment too soon, as a tiny peasant rebellion pops off in my English holdings, and is quickly crushed. I get a minor life event in recognition of my Catholic piety, where the stakes of the choices are negligible but I get to have a wardrobe face-off versus Pope Eugenus IV.

I think my fit stands up. A fit that most certainly does not stand up is sported by one of my vassals and kin, a Duke Sigismond III of the family seat of Poitou (of the Thouars cadet branch called Thouars-Thoaurs).

He’s another one of these always-nude Adamites. I send him a stern rebuke wrapped in a not so veiled threat about his imminent return to the Lord, one way or another.

Wise move. And nice shirt. Now what? I don’t want to get into any major wars, as my infirm status means I could die absolutely any second. I spend a little gold sprucing up the home counties. What happened to that sweet embrace of death that was coming up so rapidly?

Well it appears that since I did not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for my wife. Whom I did not love? Harsh. Rest in power Euphrasia, you were a real one anyway.

I don’t need a new wife, and I’ll likely be underground myself soon, so what to do here? Simultaneously I suddenly have a real factional threat on my hands from restless vassals, as King Ancel Karling-Montereau of West Francia throws his support behind the would-be rebels. I solve one problem with another by betrothing myself to Ancel’s 10-year-old daughter, which makes him ineligible to foment against me. The faction disbands, and it’s highly unlikely I’ll live long to actually wed this rather young lady. Almost certain that Ancel will be among the first to rebel against my successor though.

Speaking of which!

Finally! OK, time to try and cling to the throne long enough for the next Raynaud, and the next, and the next, Raynaud without end amen.

Next: Council rights and downcast lashes.