Chapter Eleven

 

The Vatican Wars

 

 

Pope Gregory VII was both revered and despised during his Papacy of 1073-1084, depending on one’s position in favor of or opposing reform within an abusive and corrupt Catholic Church. It is often forgotten that until Gregory’s tenure as Pope, it was the emperors of Europe who controlled the politics of God… and they twisted them to their fancy. Consequently the papacy itself was a most unstable proposition, popes generally being appointed by the most powerful reigning nobility of Italy. Many of these puppet popes were unqualified, impious, and some even insane. They were with frequency deposed, imprisoned, or assassinated by the power brokers of Europe according to their political whims. Indeed, between the short years of 872-904 there were twenty-four popes, and from the brief period of 896-904 there were nine popes.

One of the greatest illustrations of such political outrage took place in the year 897 when Pope Formosus was placed on trial by Pope Stephen VII on the orders of the Duchess Agiltrude who was still furious at Pope Formosus over past political conflict. Incredibly, when this trial occurred, Pope Formosus had been dead already for nine months. Pope Stephen and the Duchess, not to be deterred, had Formosus’ rotting corpse dug up, dressed in pope’s garments, and propped in the defendant’s stand at the trial that became known as the Synodus Horrenda. Formosus’ corpse was found guilty on all charges, of course. Furthermore, all the dead pope’s acts and ordinations were declared null and void, his corpse was stripped of papal vestments and re-clothed in ordinary garb, the three fingers of his right hand which he had used to issue his papal blessings were cut off, and his corpse was then deposited in an ordinary grave. Interestingly, Pope Stephen VII was deposed only eight months after this lurid mockery of a trial, stripped of his own papal vestments, and thrown into prison where he was soon thereafter strangled to death.

Having assended to the papacy in the year 1073, Pope Gregory VII began to issue a series of reforms considered radical and unacceptable by those prospering under Church corruption. These reforms included the prohibition of con-cubinage among clergy, prohibition of simony which per-mitted the sale of religious objects and office, and mandatory celibacy of priests and monks. His most controversial move was his resolute stand against investiture, the established practice in which kings and nobles could appoint priests and bishops to high Church office, thereby controlling them and the vast power and property that accompanied such positions.

This action by Pope Gregory outraged King Heinrich IV of Germany, the most powerful emperor of continental Europe, and war quickly ensued. This Investiture War was not a war over territory, but a war over principles, which is the very deadliest form of conflict, and far more visceral than other forms of war. As a result, a bitter schism occurred within the Roman Catholic Church as clerics in support of reform sided with Gregory, and clerics who opposed change sided with Heinrich. The nobility of Germany and Italy also divided, those thinking that Gregory had stripped them of power siding with Heinrich, and those who opposed Heinrich politically, siding with Gregory. In other words, the feud between pope and king resulted in a bloody and hopelessly complex civil war that pitted clergy against clergy, nobles against nobles, Germans against Germans, and Italians against Italians… all in the name of God.

After multiple unsuccessful attempts, Heinrich finally defeated Pope Gregory and captured Rome in 1084, which resulted in Gregory’s escape and self-exile into Lower Italy which was controlled by King Heinrich’s violent enemy, Duke Robert Guiscard the Wily.

After Heinrich’s victory in Rome, his first maneuver was to install his political Archbishop, Guibert of Ravenna, as his newly appointed Pope under the title of Pope Clement III. This, of course, created a new outrage amongst the supporters of Pope Gregory who became known as Gregorians. The infuriated Gregorians immediately denounced Heinrich’s puppet pope and referred to him as the false “anti-pope.”

Though Heinrich had succeeded in capturing most of Upper Italy and Rome, his German forces had never been able to defeat Pope Gregory’s most ardent supporter, Countess Mathilda of Tuscany in west-central Italy who also happened to be King Heinrich’s first cousin. By the year 1085 the two cousins were engaged in their fourth year of war, and though the Germans were winning, they had been unable to completely subdue the iron countess. Nevertheless, the war had taken a great toll on her wealth, resources, and vast territorial holdings, and for the most part her fate and the fortunes of her armies had been hanging by a thread as she struggled to hold back the invasive Germans year after year.

Mathilda, known as la Gran Contessa of Tuscany, was one of the most unusual and fascinating figures of her era. Her childhood included noble birth of the highest order, the early death of her father, and kidnapping of herself, mother, and brother by her German uncle, King Heinrich III, father of her cousin and current enemy, King Heinrich IV. This kidnapping was a terrible ordeal in which she was held hostage for several years, and resulted also in the death of her mother and brother. When she was released and returned to Italy as a young woman, she found herself inheriting her deceased father’s lands and vast riches in Tuscany, and thus immediately became the wealthiest, most powerful woman on the conti-nent. She was also by this time an educated woman of letters who spoke five languages, which was unusual for a woman of this era. Even more extraordinary was the fact that when she was released from captivity, she immediately began training in warfare and military strategy under the celebrated arms tutor, Arduino della Padule, and soon became adept at riding, carrying a lance and pike, and wielding a sword.

She had come to know her younger cousin Heinrich while being held hostage by Heinrich’s father, the German king, and the two actually shared an affectionate relationship during childhood. A devout Catholic and supporter of Pope Gregory, Mathilda severed all ties with Heinrich following the outbreak of the Investiture War, and the two quickly became bitter enemies.

And so it was one evening during Mathilda’s bleak period of this war that her adopted nephew, Guillaume de Saint-Germain, came to her camp with three men-at-arms, his armor stained with German blood, his pale grey eyes afire with passion despite having led two exhausting cavalry sorties against the Germans that very day. The men at his side were his kinsmen and members of the small, highly mobile cavalry unit Mathilda had placed in his charge even at seventeen years of age. This unit was referred to as the Dane Wing by Mathilda’s Italian troops because it was comprised of an odd collection of Normans who had refused to abandon the old traditions of their ancestors, Vikings from Denmark. Although other Normans had long since abandoned their Danish heritage and adopted French language and culture, this curious, tightly knit little clan of throw-backs still spoke Danish amongst themselves and refuted the dress of the southern Europeans in favor of their own ancestral attire.

“Contessa, it’s been a good day!” Guillaume cried to Mathilda. “A bit of news. We’ve detected a developing pattern in the German strategy, one they’re starting to use on a small scale now, but that we suspect will soon be put into play against your main forces.”

Mathilda, a stout woman of thirty-nine years, had herself returned from the front and was sitting on a camp stool removing her hauberk while in discussion with General Arduino della Padule, her former arms tutor when she was younger, who she had since elevated to commander of her military. Weary as she was, but upon hearing Guillaume’s voice, she sat erect and smiled with undeniable affection. “Be seated, Guillaume,” she said, “and tell me, where do you find such strength? Do you never tire?”

“Not when I fight the Germans.” Then he pointed to the men who had accompanied him to camp. “Nor do the Danes. They sent a score of Germans to their graves today.”

“Eccellente!” said General Padule, who had known and mentored Guillaume since the boy first appeared under Mathilda’s wing. “It’s been a good week for Tuscany, Guillaume, and your light horse contingent has made a fine showing, lad!”

“Indeed,” added Mathilda. Then pointing to his kins-men, she added, “And the Danes, such fearsome warriors.”

The three large men nodded respectfully. Had they been from Tuscany they would have bowed subserviently to the Countess and her general, but these rough-hewn men were formerly of Lady Asta’s private Danish Guard, and were not yet familiar with the etiquette of the Italian military, thereby lacked their graces.

“Yes,” Mathilda continued, “it’s my good fortune to have their services since their flight from England with your mother, Guillaume.” Then she motioned for them to be seated about the camp table.

“So, Guillaume,” said General Padule, “you say you’ve found out something?”

“Yes. Actually it was Guthroth the Quiet here who brought it to my attention. Guthroth, would you like to explain it, or shall I?”

“N-n-no,” Guthroth stammered, shaking his head vigorously. “Y-you do the t-talking.” Guthroth was the victim of a severe speech impediment at birth. This and merciless ridicule by his father over his stuttering had caused him to turn inward as a child. He shunned attention, and seldom spoke unless necessary. Nonetheless, he was extremely perceptive and far cleverer than others imagined, and absolutely ferocious in battle.

Guillaume continued. “As instructed, General, we of the Dane Wing have been harrying the German flanks with fight and flight tactics. This last week the Germans have twice come at us with small contingents, taking great care to make themselves appear vulnerable and isolated so we’ll think them an easy mark and attack with our light cavalry. We took the bait, but both times we attacked these easy marks, a concealed reserve appeared from nowhere and tried to encircle us. We managed to slip out of their snare due only to our swift horses. A larger force of heavy cavalry could not have escaped as handily.”

“A good thing then that I’ve given the Dane Wing my finest horseflesh,” said Mathilda. “Go on.”

“Guthroth seems to think it’s something they’re experimenting with on a small scale now,” said Guillaume, “but soon intend to spring into play against your main force. He also believes that we can reverse this tactic by appearing to take their bait, then when the German reserve unit springs their trap, we’ll unleash our own hidden reserve, thereby trumping their surprise with our own surprise.”

“I see,” said General Padule, cupping his chin thoughtfully, giving Guillaume’s words a moment of grave regard. “But the massing of a large reserve is a difficult thing to conceal. It might slow us down or betray our position. Mobility and concealment have been our strongest suits against the Germans. Guillaume, it’s a good concept you suggest here, but risky, and we can’t afford to gamble.”

At this, the largest of three Danes stepped to the camp table and poked at the terrain map with three distinct taps of his index finger. His name was Orla Bloodaxe, in reference to his skill with the war ax and in accordance with the Nordic tradition of awarding colorful monikers to all males. “Our reserves, General,” he said, “will not be massed in one location, but will be concealed in three smaller groups to maintain stealth and mobility. Each would be in a different location, allowing us to spring our attack from different flanks. This will cause confusion to the Germans, thereby spreading panic.”

“Ay,” said Ivar Crowbones, Orla’s younger brother. Slightly less massive than Orla, he was often mistaken as Orla’s twin. They possessed identical features, but his left arm had been severed in England by an enemy broadax during a vicious battle known as the Gamekeeper’s Revolt. “Unlike the Germans,” he continued, “when we hide our reserves we’ll not pitch tents and set up house, but sleep on the ground in our mantles and light no fires to avoid detection.” Then he drew his hand across his throat as though holding a razor. “If we do this thing right, we’ll enjoy a spring butchering just like on the old farm.”

Mathilda and Padule looked at the two brothers, then looked at Guthroth as light began to dawn between their brows. “Very clever,” said Padule.

“My compliments, Guthroth,” nodded Mathilda.

Guillaume pointed to the map and said, “We’ve already identified several potential holding areas, and I’d like to set the trap when next it appears that they are hiding a large reserve, which we suspect will be very soon. General, we’ll need to deploy three of your Tuscan units from the main force as our hidden reserve while you lead the main force. Do we have your blessing?”

“Yes, yes. We’ll put the wheel in motion as soon as you deem appropriate. It’s best that we not speak of it outside this table until such time arrives.”

Guillaume acknowledged Padule’s reply, but his eyes rested on Mathilda and narrowed in a look of reflection. There’s more, the look said.

“Yes, what is it?” said Mathilda, familiar with that expression.

“I wish to be placed in command of the three reserve units. Not permanently, of course, but just for this particular maneuver. Countess, I know that some of your Tuscan commanders resent me, especially Commander Balducci, but this plan is intricate and one person alone must coordinate and implement it, and I think that should be me.” Then he glanced at Padule and said, “I can make it work, General,”

Mathilda nodded, but Padule was less certain. His other commanders had grumbled amongst themselves about Guillaume: first that he was not Tuscan, then about his age, and finally of his status as Countess Mathilda’s adopted nephew. Padule knew this criticism to be unwarranted. Guillaume had been trained from the age of eight in weaponry, horsemanship, and strategy by Padule himself. Furthermore Guillaume possessed uncanny battle instincts as well as phenomenal physical prowess. More importantly, he was a natural leader and possessed no fear, yet remained judicious in making decisions. Nevertheless, the general was not enthusiastic about inflaming his commanders by making them subordinate to young Guillaume.

After an awkward silence, it was Mathilda who replied to Guillaume’s request. “Yes,” she said, looking at Padule, “if the Germans put together such a ploy as Guillaume suspects, then place him in command of the three hidden reserves.” Having said that, she then gazed at Guillaume and added, “It will only be temporary. Understood?”

“Yes, Countess.”

“Guillaume,” she continued, “Balducci will not be pleased, of course, and it’s Balducci who speaks for many of the Tuscan Knights. Best that we keep him under General Padule’s wing with the main force rather than place him under your temporary command. The maggot of vainglory has eaten into his brain and he would not easily abide by you telling him what to do.”

“But Countess,” Guillaume objected, “we’ll need our swiftest riders for the reserve, and he’s the best we have, or at least his horsemen are.”

“True, Countess,” said Padule, “his wealth has outfitted his contingent with fine horse and weaponry. For such a ploy as the Danes suggest, Balducci’s horses would be essential.”

“Very well,” Mathilda sighed. “Padule, you know how Balducci can be at times.”

“Indeed,” said Padule, “but he’s a soldier, so he’ll have to do as he’s told.”