Pics & History of your Empire

[bamff]

Nice write-up Derfasciti. I look forward to reading more of the Mercian expansion.

The Chronicles of Bamff’s English

Chapter 17 – The Setting of the Sun (1406 - 1424)
The reign of Doge Jacopo II of Italy came to an abrupt end as 1405 drew to a close. The self indulgent Jacopo had made numerous enemies in his own court as well as abroad, so it was no surprise to anyone when word reached Wessex of the untimely demise of the Italian ruler. His brother, Vitale, laid claim to the throne, and was duly coronated as Doge Vitale IV.
Unlike Jacopo, Vitale had always been close to his father Goivanni, and had long since burned with a desire to avenge him against those who had played a part in his death. Jacopo had now paid the price for his treachery, but the English had also been involved in Giovanni’s death, and with this in mind, Vitale gathered an army of 3,195 men and marched south to Sicily.
Vitale and his men had every reason to feel confident. Lord Holland, the commander of the English forces in Sicily could muster only some 1,468 men to meet them.
Lord Holland, for his own part, was quietly confident that he and his men could at the very least ensure that Vitale had to pay a very high price indeed for Sicily. The bulk of his force were men who had served with him for many a year. These hardened soldiers knew what was needed to win the day. Their quiet confidence did much to steady the nerves of Holland’s newer recruits.
Holland inhaled deeply as the gentle breeze carried the feint aroma of the ocean once more to his nostrils. He gazed across the valley below. Far away to his right, stood the port town of Siracusa. Directly to his front, the green of the valley gave way to the blue of the Gulf of Catania. He could spot gulls, sweeping and soaring, mere white dots against the pale blue sky, but could not hear their cries above the ever louder rattle of drums and blare of trumpets.
The Italian army was truly a sight to behold, stretched out in neat lines across the valley. Their distinctive gold and green tunics had, in the distance, blended somewhat with their surrounds, but not so now as they drew ever closer.
“Pretty, aren’t they? The Italians do dress well for battle,” he noted to his nearest lieutenant and then paused briefly to reflect. Milan and its various fashion houses had long been under English control - surely his own men should be more fashionably attired? He shrugged, then continued “But remember - ’tis one thing to look like a soldier – but altogether another to fight like a soldier.”
The Italian front ranks were comprised of several regiments of pikemen. They came within range of the English arbalesters and longbowmen while still faced with a long uphill march to reach the English line. 200 men had evaporated to just 105 by the time they had crossed half of this distance. One regiment had been reduced to just 42 men, and they withdrew. The other regiment pressed on, now feeling the full weight of English fire. Only 36 survived to reach the English line, where they were immediately set upon by Sir Henry Burnell’s Chivalric Men at Arms. A veritable giant of a man standing well over 6ft tall, the imposing figure of Burnell was in the van as the Englishmen ripped through the pikemen. Only 11 Italians survived to flee the onslaught.
The English archers continued to rain death upon the advancing Italians, but doggedly they continued to advance. With his casualties mounting, Doge Vitale was acutely aware that his men needed inspiration from their leader. To this end, he led his surviving knights in a charge against Stephen Bolingbroke’s billmen in the English centre. This decision proved a costly one. His steed was slashed across the shoulder and flank, and fell, throwing the Doge at the feet of the billmen. In the heat of battle, the billmen forgot all thoughts of ransome, and Vitale’s end was not a pretty one.
News of the death of Vitale is the final straw for the surviving Italian troops, and they flee the field with almost indecent haste.
At day’s end, the field is littered with the distinctive gold and green tunics of Italy. 767 of them lie scattered as far as the eye can see. 163 more Italians sit glumly under English guard. 61 Englishmen have perished.
Far to the west, further battles were also unfolding. King William IV, was continuing to revel in the role of the “warrior king”, and in 1406, he led a force of 1,785 men into Lithuania to meet the army of Khan Chagatai IV. At the same time, Lord Giffard led the English assault on Chernigov, held by Prince Mongke, Sir Henry Langton invaded Pereslavyl, Sir Morcar Mortimer invaded Prussia, and the English crusaders seized Volhynia. The Golden Horde retreat without giving battle in both Lithuania and Chernigov, and their losses in Prussia and Pereslavyl are crippling. With his empire ripped from beneath him, and trapped in a besieged castle, Chagatai takes his own life. The Golden Horde are but a memory.
The Hungarians continue to resist all overtures of peace, and in 1409, King William’s patience is at an end. Lord Berkely leads the invasion of Carpathia, and Sir Henry Percy leads the invasion of Wallachia.
King Kalman II leads a most spirited defence of Wallachia, but ultimately, superior English numbers and arms carry the day. 463 Hungarians and 376 Englishmen have made the ultimate sacrifice. 189 Hungarians have placed themselves at the mercy of their conquerors. Kalman is amongst the Hungarian dead.
Never one to do things by halves, William has also ordered the invasion and annexure of Poland and Pomerania. Lord Greystoke and Lord Mobray respectively, are the English commanders of these assaults. In both provinces, the Poles retreat to their strongholds rather than give battle. Neither castle is prepared to play host to so many men, and with supplies rapidly dwindling, both castles surrender in 1410.
Most of Europe has now fallen under the English heel. In 1411, whilst enjoying an early morning ride in Kiev, the king’s horse steps in a rabbit hole, breaking its leg and throwing its rider. King William IV lands heavily, breaking his neck. Death is instantaneous. What a cruel twist of fate, that this great king, who had captured most of Europe and the middle east, and who had struck fear into the hearts of his enemies from Wessex to Volga-Bulgaria, should meet his end courtesy of a mere rabbit.
King Stephen III is crowned in Wessex. At 28 years of age, the new king is already widely known as a “great warrior” and a “hedonist”. Though little is recorded of Stephen’s early life, it would appear that the new monarch has already seen much action both on and off the field.
Stephen is anxious to continue what he calls his father’s “great work”, and to this end, he orders his armies in the east to invade the Byzantine provinces of Smolensk, Ryazan, and Volga-Bulgaria. The Byzantine armies are but a shadow of what they once were, and surrender all 3 provinces meekly, without so much as loosing an arrow.
In 1413, Stephen’s army pushes on into Muscovy, determined to meet Emperor Alexius III in the field. They are sorely disappointed. The Byzantine Emperor has gathered all of his available forces and marched south to liberate Ryazan. The garrison of Muscovy is reduced to a solitary Ballista crewman. This hapless soul surrenders as quickly as he can.
Emperor Alexius’ army numbers some 1,736 men. Lord Greystoke’s forces in Ryazan total 1,222. Greystoke is a master at defensive warfare, and duly wins the day. 661 sons of Byzantium have perished, 270 are captured, including the Emperor himself. He fetches a fine ransom indeed – 17,304 fl. In return for this gold, the Emperor is returned to his loyal followers on Crete. Greystoke’s losses on this memorable day number only 207.
King Stephen is anxious for further personal glory, and in 1414 he leads an army to subdue the rebel Vladimir Maksimov and his followers in Lithuania. The English king succeeds in this endeavour, and Lithuania falls under the English banner. At the same time as Stephen’s army crossed the Lithuanian border, Lord Cromwell leads a second army into Novgorod, seizing the province for the English crown.
Two years later, Stephen’s eye shifts to the rebel province of Naples. Lord Holland marches north, and brutally crushes the rebels. 1,080 Neapolitans die, 278 surrender. Holland loses only 151 men.
The success is dizzying for the English king. In 1417, his armies assault and seize the island of Crete. Just when it appears that all is going to plan, The Papacy launch a surprise attack on the English Navy in the Adriatic Sea. The attack is ill-conceived and poorly executed, and the entire Papal Navy is soon resting on the floor of the Adriatic. Stephen’s rage is terrible to behold. He orders the immediate invasion of all Papal lands, with strict orders to auto-calc, given the overwhelming numerical superiority of the English forces. The Papacy is shattered, and by 1420, all remaining resistance is crushed in the Papal States and Rome.
In 1421, the English invade the last remaining non-English province, Malta. The Sicilians are routed, and the survivors flee to the sanctuary of Valetta Castle. They continue to resist the English until 1424.
King Stephen III stood on the western wall of Wessex castle, calmly surveying the clouds now painted in glorious fashion by the sun as it dipped towards the western horizon. His Chamberlain approached rapidly, carrying the latest despatch from the east.
"News from Malta, my liege." he bowed as he offered the parchment bearing Lord Holland's seal.
King Stephen read the proffered note "The Sicilians have relinquished Valetta Castle, and the survivors have sworn allegiance to England."
His voice trailed off for a moment, before he continued "I am victorious. All of Europe has fallen."
He thought of his father William and all of those who had gone before, and then turned once more to view the richly painted western sky. Never had a sunset seemed so beautiful to his eyes. All of Europe was his. His place in history was assured.