25 October 2018

Crusader Kings 2: Stayin' alive

Northern Europe in CK2, 1189AD
I've started playing CK2 again after a long break, and in between bouts of Cities Skylines. Returning to my old save of the Empire of Britannia, I've played another 75 years or so to the year 1189, moving from Emperor Thoraed the Shadow to his son Eadfrith the Black (pesky excommunication, people will make a fuss over nothing), and now Thoraed's grandson, the aging Emperor Osmund, who lacks a cool nickname.

Thoraed managed to live to age 59 but met his end at the fangs of an irritated serpent, which found its way into the royal bed thanks to some unnamed ne'er-do-well. He was lucky to have finally secured a male heir after many years of trying, but it was a close-run thing: his first son Eadfrith only arrived after eight daughters.

Eadfrith, it's fair to say, was something of an opportunist. Not only was he excommunicated by the Pope a couple of times, but he racked up a total of four wives - consecutively, not simultaneously, mind - and to preserve his hold on the throne there was also the small matter of having his cousin Queen Mildrith of Greece assassinated. Well, she was trying to seize the imperial throne in a war of rebellion, so as a strictly impartial observer I think Eadfrith's subjects should just cut him some slack...

As for Osmund, most of his reign was hamstrung by a massive anti-British pact across the Christian kingdoms of Europe so he couldn't wage any perfectly sensible wars against his younger brother, the rebellious King of Scotland. A bigger problem manifested itself early, in that when he was the Crown Prince he and his Italian wife Cecilia only managed four daughters before Cecilia hit the game's age 45 childbirth cut-off. No male heirs, which is serious business in this game. And then to make matters worse the first two daughters died young, with Princess Wulfthryth dying of natural causes in 1175 aged only 28, and the unpronounceable Princess Beorhtflaed, Queen of Poland, dying in childbirth in 1182 aged 32. 

This left young Princess III, otherwise known as Wulfgyth, who was unmarried, as the main heir. Osmund adoped several tactics to address this pesky problem.

First, a matrilineal marriage for Wulfgyth to the unlanded commoner Aethelfrith Byrhtnothson of Werle (a forgettable German county somewhere near Mecklenberg), in the hope of giving her offspring with the 'proper' male chromosomes. Said commoner spouse promptly demanded to run off to devote his life to the Knights Hospitaller, which Osmund had to decline and take a 100 Piety hit. Make heirs not martyrs, Aethelfrith! This marriage eventually helped Osmund's predicament by producing four children in the royal line, including three sons, although one of these was a bastard.

Second, Osmund adopted the Seduction life-path in the hope of siring an bastard to legitimise. After plenty of trial and error, including a failed sally in the bed of the Countess of Slesvig (which was more in the hope of convincing her to become a Brittanic vassal, really), Osmund's long-standing mistress, the beautiful Aelfthryth Cenwulfsdohtor, finally produced a fine, ginger bastard of the male variety, Prince Eadfrith. Sorry, Wulfgyth! You're out of royal luck. Now Osmund has gone all pious and switched to the Religious focus to reap the rewards of the Health bonus, in the hope of staying alive long enough so the little bastard reaches his majority. Eadfrith is currently age 3 and counting, and with plenty of jealous older cousins by his father's mistress to complicate matters should he live long enough to become Emperor!

17 October 2018

The ferret, an electrician's best friend

Getting an electrical supply was only one half of the story. Not for nothing did an advertisement for a firm specialising in the installation of electrical equipment for country houses claim that its system 'can be carried out without damage to the fabric of the buildings or to the decorations'. An owner also had to have the building wired - easy enough in the case of a new house, or a major restoration, but not a task to be undertaken lightly if it involved chasing out rococo plasterwork or cutting a channel through a baroque mural. The guides at Stanford Hall in Leicestershire used to tell the story of how in the 1920s Lord and Lady Braye were baffled by the prospect of having to run cables through their long ballroom without wrecking its delicate eighteenth-century stuccowork. Then someone had a bright idea: they prised up a floorboard at one end and dropped a dead rabbit into the void; then they prised up a floorboard at the other end and unleashed a ferret, with a string tied to his collar. When the ferret had managed to negotiate the joists and reach the rabbit, the string was used to pull through a cable and hey presto! the problem was solved.

- Adrian Tinniswood, The Long Weekend: Life in the English Country House Between the Wars, London, 2016, p.151-2.

07 October 2018

Papatoetoe

Rangitoto Rd mural, Papatoetoe

05 October 2018

The Grand Vizier o' Kirkaldy

In 1739, the Russians and Turks, who had been at war, met to conclude terms of peace. The commissioners were Marshal Keith for the Russians and the Grand Vizier for the Turks. These two personages met, and carried on their negotiations by means of interpreters. When all was concluded they rose to separate, but just before leaving the Grand Vizier suddenly went to Marshal Keith, and, taking him cordially by the hand, declared in the broadest Scotch dialect that it made him 'unco' happy to meet a countryman in his exalted station'. As might be expected, Keith, who was himself a Scotsman in the service of Russia, stared with astonishment, and was eager for an explanation of the mystery. 'Dinna be surprised,' the Grand Vizier exclaimed; 'I'm o' the same country wi' yoursell, mon! I mind weel seein' you and your brother, when boys, passin' by to the school at Kirkaldy; my father, sir, was bellman o' Kirkaldy'.

James Settle, in Max Hastings (ed.), The Oxford Book of Military Anecdotes, London, 1985, p.153.