Formatted to Fit This Screen and Edited for Content

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A Game of Thrones, A Song of Ice and Fire, Alexander the Great, Battle of Gaugamela, Cibola Burn, George R. R. Martin, mars, Nemesis Games, The Expanse, zombie

Looking back through history, there are a lot more men who thought they were Alexander the Great then men who actually were.

It is catch-up time for some of my long-running shows. Over the past week or two, I finished up the final season of the Game of Thrones TV series. At more-or-less the same time I’ve been watching Season 4 of The Expanse. This time, however, I decided to lead with the book version of the story, reading Cibola Burn and Nemesis Games so as to stay ahead of the TV version of the story.

I compare these two experiences because both of these shows started out in the most promising way possible. After watching Season 1 of Game of Thrones, I was of the opinion that this was perhaps the best conversions of a novel I had ever seen. After a single season of The Expanse, I thought it was possibly the best science fiction TV series I had seen. Recall, I had yet to read any of the books at that point, but my positive opinion of the television series held up well after reading the source material.

In both of these cases, however, they could not fulfill the promise of their first impression. At first, HBO’s problem was more of a cumulative effects of small changes. The first season alternations seemed well chosen to aid the conversion from book to screen and, as I pointed out, many I didn’t even catch until a second viewing. As the seasons progressed, changes began to impact the story. An altered character or event could no longer contribute to the narrative in future episodes and seasons. Finally, the story begin to run up against the end of the source material, meaning the screenwriters were on their own. As a result, the final seasons depart from both the word and the spirit of the novels in many ways. The last season* of Game of Thrones, when the screenwriters were entirely on their own and under pressure to wrap up the story, nearly fell apart altogether.

One kudo I’ll give to both of these series as they’ve aged is their lesser reliance on T&A. For the HBO series, weekly, gratuitous sex was almost a hallmark of the program and yet it has been all but omitted from the final season. The Expanse, if you’ve never seen it or don’t remember so far back, opened up with a zero-G sex scene. Come to think of it, maybe that wasn’t quite as gratuitous as I initially thought. I still miss Kristen Hager’s character despite only a few fleeting minutes of screen time in a single, opening episode. Maybe that was the point.

Other than that, though, the quality of the TV versions relative to the written material seems to go steadily downhill. The Game of Thrones final season has been thrashed around plenty, and I’m not sure if I can really add to the pile-on. If you take out the ponderous shots of each of the main characters emoting and the stock “epic battle” footage, I’m not sure if there is all that much left to make up a season*. It’s better than the ending from the internet joke, “Everybody dies. The end.” But not by much.

The Expanse hasn’t quite dug the hole that Game of Thrones found itself in and it could still go either way. Like with Game of Thrones, changes that seemed reasonable and clever in Season 1 didn’t look so good as the books developed. I’m guessing the writers had no idea Dmitri Havelock (Miller’s partner) was going to be Cibola Burn‘s major protagonist when they decided to have him die rather than just ship-off midway through the first season. My biggest gripes with Season 4 perhaps are similar decisions, ones that perhaps were necessary to compress the book into a TV series and make it suitable for the screen. For example, mid-Season 4, Amos Burton goes all weepy and suicidal when his eyesight starts to fail. For me, this is entirely contrary to the character of Amos, a man who isn’t afraid of death but will be the last one to go. I realize, though, that this is the equivalent of the books’ Burton feeling pangs of remorse, guilt, and sorrow and being unable to understand what is happening to him. It’s an exploration of character that can only work in a novel. Screenwriters needed to substitute something that could be seen rather than explained. I still don’t like their choice, but it is a solution.

Similarly, the choices being made to compress Season 4 may turn out looking reasonable or stupid, once I’ve read a few more novels. Some of the alterations bother me but many of them, I acknowledge, needed some kind of adaptation. Beyond that, though, I feel that (these days) I’m always in danger of being manipulated by writers with a PC agenda. One change is to transform reluctant terrorist Basia Merton** into a simpering milquetoast. Instead his wife, who in the book was the key character of Dr. Lucia Merton, assumes his role. Lucia also needs to fill the shoes of Naomi and the implications of Naomi being captured and then liberated from Havelock and the corporate security – all of which was removed in the TV story. So instead of a natural tension between husband and wife, rebel and physician (Basia kills Earthers and Lucia saves them), we merely have a pitifully weak husband who doesn’t appreciate his wife’s boldness. Part of the reason it bothers me is I suspect a reason for the change is, with the removal of Naomi’s heroics, the writers felt they had a gender imbalance. Lucia is transformed into a tough, blue-collar freedom fighter to show that women can be spunky and fierce. It doesn’t help, though, that she doesn’t show much of either. Except for reluctant role in blowing the landing pad, she mostly seems to whine about how she wants to die. I feel cheated.

The book also has some hints of the political coming to the fore in Nemesis Games that I hadn’t picked up on before. Burton’s encounter with a “prepper” ends so badly for the latter that I can’t help but take it as a commentary on the pointlessness of the survival movement. I’m not sure it is necessarily political, though. There is a thoughtful discussion to be had about the value of organization, official or otherwise, in the face of disaster. Even preppers, themselves, ridicule the idea that to prepare is to buy lots of “gear.” It reminds me of a story (with that point) about how possessing a single, 9mm bullet would be sufficient “preparation” given the skill and attitude to act. Amos’ character prefers to be well armed and armored but we read how his ability to survive is independent of all that.

Another political commentary of sorts pops up in that same book. As Fred Johnson (the ex-military head of the Outer Planets Alliance) and Jim Holden (pivotal hero) attempt to analyze the threat posed by Naomi’s baby-daddy (see how good writing weaves this all together?), Johnson explains that he thought him unlikely to have committed a rogue surprise attack on, well, pretty much everyone. Johnson goes on that Marco Inaros leads a “group of high-poverty Belters. The kind of people who live in leaky ships and post screeds about taxation being theft.” Although Naomi was, at least in her younger days, one of those “kind of people,” from the context it is clear that these are the villains of the story. More allegory?

Returning to the quote at the top of this page, this spoken to Holden by Fred Johnson commenting on Inaros as a leader. He compares the recent attack to Alexander’s charge in the Battle of Guagamela, a defining battle for Western Civilization and, in the future world of The Expanse, of Earth itself (at least to a military-trained mind). Holden is not familiar with the battle, and Johnson describes it to him. Part of Johnson’s insight is that while Alexander’s audacity, leadership, and bold attack did win him the battle and the war, it was also Darius’ decision to flee the field of battle rather than fight that lost it. In other words, even if you are facing a true Alexander, you should at least try not to be Darius.

*Season? Its six [expletive deleted] episodes!!! Remember when a season used to mean 22 shows, intended to fill one-half of a year, followed by a second “seasons” of reruns? I do, and I’m not pleased with the new normal.

**Basia is also connected to the events of earlier novels. The connecting tissue was deemed superfluous when paring down Season 2. It is an important part of what holds the narrative of the novels together. Important for the TV show? Maybe not.

Æ is for Æthelred, Ælfrǣd, and Æscesdūn

Tags

Alfred the Great, Bernard Cornwell, England, Field of Glory, Field of Glory II, George R. R. Martin, The Battle of Ashdown, The Last Kingdom, Wolves from the Sea

When I bought my copy of The Last Kingdom, the “series” consisted of only two books. That must have made it, roughly, 2006. At the time, the second book in the series, The Pale Horseman, was only out in hardcover so I kind of lost track of it all before I was ready to buy it. Fast forward a number of years when I picked up Sword Song from a bookstore. Not realizing The Saxon Chronicals was now a series, I didn’t imagine that Sword Song was part of that series and, worse yet, Book #4 in that series. I read a bit into the book before it dawned on me I had skipped over two books. At that point, I bought The Pale Horseman and tried to get into the series in proper order. At some point, as I told you earlier, I put the whole series on hold to wait until I was in the mood to immerse myself in the Viking era.

I’ve always been a pretty big fan of Cornwell in general. In particular, I loved the King Arthur trilogy (also known as the Warlord Chronicles). The Last Kingdom is similar in many ways to the Arthur stories and while I still think the former did it better, I’m pretty pleased with the latter as well. Naturally, I was pretty excited when the TV series The Last Kingdom came out. It was at a time when I was pretty ambivalent about the Vikings series. I had stopped watching Vikings, mostly because I had lost track of the episodes as they were coming out. I was less an outright rejection and more of being overcome by apathy. Nonetheless, it seemed like an adaptation of Cornwell’s work would stand a real chance to get it right. I managed to find BBC America in my cable subscription and watched the opening episode. Unfortunately, the opening show wasn’t enthralling enough to overcome the difficulty of trying to get to the TV as the show came on. I lost track of The Last Kingdom too.

Now that I’m revisiting this all, I’ve decided the right way to do it, rather than figure out how to pick up where I’ve left off, is to go back and re-read The Saxon Chronicles from the beginning. Then, when I get far enough that I’m well ahead of where the TV series sits, I can give the show another chance. Rereading an old book can be an interesting experience. I’ve mostly forgotten what I read some 13 years ago. However, reading it again means it all comes back to me; the story is neither new nor old. I think this is a necessary exercise to successfully “get back into the groove,” as it were.

My older copy of The Last Kingdom (the book, this time) has a blurb from George R. R. Martin about how “Bernard Cornwell does the best battles scenes of any writer I’ve ever read…” That may even be true. His descriptions are illustrative as to historical details of the era’s fighting. For one example, in the book he describes the movement of an “army” through England, eventually revealing that it was three-ships’ worth of soldiers or about 100 warriors. To our main character, 100 warriors is a sizeable army. To a Renaissance scholar, who imagines the armies of classical literature, it is easy to get the impression that there are a lot more people fighting than there actually were. Cornwell is instructive without being instructional.

The book also features the Battle of Ashdown and the first failure of the Great Army to subdue and English kingdom (hence the title of the book). In this, Cornwell is light on the battle’s details. Perhaps this is because this is one event where he could contradict accounts of others. Other who think they’d know better what happened. For example, Cornwell (speaking through the main character) discounts the narrative where Æthelred is late to the battle because of his prayer. Instead, he attributes the splitting of the forces to a Viking plan,born from hubris about the Danish invincibility when fighting the English. Facing a split force, the Wessex army responds by splitting their own force.

Of special note to me, the Battle of Ashdown is one Heathen Army battle which I can find represented in games.

Alfred’s forces are first on the field and meet the Viking lines.

I’ve told you how disappointed I was when Field of Glory released its Wolves from the Sea package and it did not have any scenarios for the Great Heathen Army. Fortunately, this is not the case with Field of Glory II. An “Epic Battle” of Wolves from the Sea is the victory over the Vikings at Ashdown by Prince Alfred and King Æthelred in 871. The design of the scenario is structured around Æthelred’s hesitance to fight before he had finished his prayer. The game begins with Alfred’s wing, on the English left, several turns closer to engagement than Æthelred’s, on the right.

Better late than never. The shield walls begin chipping away at each other and the forces begin to waiver.

Eventually Æthelred’s forces do come in to support Alfred’s right flank, and just in the nick of time too. As it was, the Viking left was poised to turn Alfred’s line and it is a struggle to get Æthelred’s wing into position to stop that. Having successfully engaged it becomes something of a race against the point tally. Simply leaving two armies fighting like this means a steady attrition of forces. With the Wessex army now fully engaged and having some luxury to extend its line beyond that of the Vikings, the advantage in that attrition goes to Wessex. However, Wessex started the race at a (11%, using the snapshot above) disadvantage. The question becomes, can Wessex catch up and overcome its deficit before the magical 60% number is hit?

As close as it gets. Both sides were at their breaking point, but only Wessex held.

As it turned out in my game, the drama continued right until the very end. Both armies first reached and then crossed over the game-ending 60% mark and, in both cases, pulled back from the brink with a timely rally of various routing units.

The actual losses at Ashdown were not recorded. This is my version.

Except for Cornwell’s book itself, it doesn’t look like I have any comparisons handy using other games. Even the book’s version doesn’t talk of the battle in terms of casualties; dead and wounded. More important, to the story and to history, is the aftermath. The Dane’s defeat on the battlefield prompted a negotiated truce and a lull in the Viking campaign.

I did scan around for other representations of the battle. It is a little too large for the Last Kingdom and, anyway, I wouldn’t want to take that on unless someone had already created the scenario. Likewise, I can’t find anything in the old Field of Glory. I did come across a reference that surprises me. A mod/expansion for the game Mount & Blade called Viking Conquest culminates at the battle. Apparently, the story-based campaign mode has your character seek revenge against a notorious Viking raider who, all things coming together as they should, you can meet on the field of battle at Ashdown. Presumably, you would endeavor to defeat your nemesis while winning the day for the Saxons.

I’ll not go into Mount & Blade, although I will probably want to do that another time. I haven’t played the game in a number of years and, while I actually had picked up the Viking Conquest expansion, I had never even installed it. If memory serves, I was after the Napoleonic Wars expansion and picked them up as a combo. Obviously since I haven’t even started, I’m not going to be fighting the “boss battle” any time soon. What I’ve read is that, fictional backstory aside, the representation of the historical battle is actually a pretty good one. It would be nice to be able to compare and contrast.

Maybe some day.

Back to The Last Kingdom, the book. If it doesn’t become obvious from reading, it is explicit in the afterward notes; the book is about the life and historical influence of Alfred the Great. As he has done in his other series, Cornwell uses an unknown and fictional main character to be a witness to the actions of the historical figure. Also, as before, that unknown and fictional character occasionally takes part in some key moments so as to change the course of history. The star of The Last Kingdom, a Saxon noble named Uhtred of Bebbanburg, throws us one more twist. Uhtred is named for the real Uhtred of Bebbanburg, who lived some 500 years later. Furthermore, according to Cornwell, the author himself is descended from this real Uhtred. While it may be obvious that Cornwell, in many ways, identifies with his heroes, this genealogical connection likely makes that more explicit. And even though the gap between the barely literate men of action that narrate Cornwell’s stories and the scholar, teacher, and writer of Cornwell’s reality looms large, the likes of Uhtred somehow seem less ridiculous adopted personae than what some other authors do.

We Two Kings of Albian Are

Tags

Dutch Republic, Emily Dickinson, Field of Glory, Field of Glory - Unity, George R. R. Martin, Humphrey Hare, Hundred Years War, Maurice Druon, Philip IV, right of revolution, Robert the Bruce, Scotland, Tennyson, The Accursed Kings, The Battle of Dupplin Moor, The Lily and the Lion, War of the Breton Succession

Maurice Drouon writes in The Lily and the Lion, as his introduction to the War of the Breton Succession (or, at least, Robert d’Artois’ part in it), that “there were two Kings of France, each with his own Duke of Brittany, as each already had his own King of Scotland.” The Scotland reference is to the succession to the Scottish throne after Robert I (The Bruce)’s death.

In May of 1328, Robert the Bruce and Edward III had signed the Treaty of Edingburgh-Northampton, which recognized Scotland’s independence from England, and Bruce as Scotland’s king, in exchange for a payment of £100,000. The treaty was unpopular, particularly with the group of English nobility whose lands were lost by Scottish decree during the wars. The Scottish Parliament, after the Battle of Bannockburn, had passed a law revoking Scottish titles from all those who continued to fight for the English. This group of malcontents, therefore, became known as “The Disinherited.”

When King Robert died, his throne was inherited by his son David who, at the time, was only five. Robert had willed that his friend and fellow commander, Sir Thomas Randolph, the Earl of Moray, be named regent for his young son. It was only a year after Robert’s passing that James “Black” Douglas, another friend and leading Scottish warlord, also died. The growing weakness in young David’s court emboldened those who thought that Robert’s claim to the throne was itself illegitimate and that Edward Balliol, son of Robert’s predecessor as Scottish King, was the true heir. Balliol found common cause with the Disinherited as well as support from Edward III (who had signed the treaty of Edingburgh-Northampton under pressure from Roger Mortimer, at the time Regent of England but since executed for treason). The “Disinherited” were led by Henry de Beaumont, who was Earl of Buchan through marriage to Alice Comyn, daughter to John Comyn. Beaumont was a veteran of the wars against the Scots, having fought on the side Edward I.

In late 1331, Beaumont began raising an army for a private invasion of Scotland, summoning Edward Balliol from France to ride with him. In July 1332, Beaumont and Balliol heard of the death of the Earl of Moray (the regent), and sailed forth with their army to Kinghorn in Scotland. The attack by sea is said to be a condition of Edward’s (of England, this time) support, as it technically avoided having an English army cross the Scottish border, which would have been in violation of the peace. After landing, Beaumont, Balliol, and their small army marched on Perth.

Camping just across the river Earn, to the south of Perth, Beaumont found himself caught between two Scots armies. Across the river to his north was an army under the new Regent of Scotland, Donald, the Earl of Mar. Advancing from the south was a second army commanded by the Earl of Dunbar. Both armies outnumbered his own. In a bold move, he seized the initiative by crossing the river during the night, forcing Mar’s army to attack him on ground of Beaumont’s choosing.

Mar was blamed for allowing his army to be put at a disadvantage and was even accused of treason. To counter this claim, he attempted to charge forward with his men to demonstrate his leadership and enthusiasm. Unfortunately, this turned into a competition between the leaders of the Bruce’s army to see who could enter into battle the fastest.

Concordia res parvae crescent

Playing the battle of Dupplin Moor (as the site of the battle was known) in Field of Glory, I started with the Unity version (FoG(U)) and took the side of the smaller, rebel army. Although I knew they were victorious in the real battle, I assumed that the smaller army would put me at a disadvantage. Not so much, though.

Outnumbered, I wait for the Scottish charge. When it hits, I find that my English longbowmen are quite the warriors and quickly gain for me the advantage.

What I did realize is that playing as the rebels against a royalist AI closely matches the tactics of the historical battle. As I’ve stated before, the FoG(U) AI is considerably more aggressive than its predecessor. Like the competing commanders of old, the Scottish army charged forward while I attempted to maintain my advantageous position on the high ground. Beaumont had chosen to defend on hilly ground deployed in the shape of a crescent, placing his English longbowmen on his wings. These tactics, similar to those which brought victory at the Battle of Boroughbridge, honed the formations that would bring the English victory in the Hundred Years’ War in battles such as Crecy and Agincourt.

In the above screenshot, two out of the three Scottish formations became disorganized as they approached my lines – a historically accurate outcome. I also found my longbowmen to be exceptional at hand-to-hand combat. It’s another bone I have to pick with Field of Glory, although I don’t really know what the numbers are behind it or what would, indeed, make it more accurate. Archer formations aren’t particularly effective at ranged fire. Enemy formations can be picked at a few men at a time and, occasionally, the formation coming under fire deteriorates somewhat, but rarely does ranged combat seem to have a decisive effect on the battle overall. On the other hand, bowmen often seem pretty good once engaged in hand-to-hand combat against other foot formations. To top it off, I’ve often found that my ranged units have movement capabilities which exceed that of mounted troops. By contrast, the real deployment at Dupplin Moor of longbowmen forward and on the wings wound up driving the advancing Scots towards the center of the rebel trap, withdrawing as they went from the punishing fire of the English.

A solid victory for Beaumont and Balliol. It is not terribly off the historical mark.

In my game, once I started fending off the Scottish advance I rolled inevitably towards a victory. I didn’t quite match that oft-quoted 33 casualties suffered by the rebels but, then again, the “casualties” don’t differentiate between killed and wounded, so I can’t say how far off I really am. As satisfying as that might feel as a historical outcome, I didn’t feel so right as a player. Whupping an AI who can’t quite understand the battle which he is a part of is not so satisfying. Instead, I should have picked the Scottish side to play against the computer. It is, after all, the default set up by the scenario maker.

For a brief moment, it seemed that it could go either way, but then the Scottish lines began to break.

Unfortunately for the solo player, the game is almost as lopsided played from the other direction. You might see a little bit of my strategy from my minimap in the screenshot above. I could have tried to play historically, but remember I just saw that the advantage in this scenario was with the rebels. I therefore advanced cautiously, trying to keep my lines mostly intact with my army in echelon so that I hit what appeared to be the enemy’s stronger left wing first.

In this second version, there was some more back-and-forth initially. My own forces were breaking at least as fast as the enemies. Of course, I have more units to spare, so I’m not entirely displeased with this result. At some point, a few turns in, the lines settled into a shoving match and I wasn’t seeing units breaking from either side. For a brief moment, I though the AI might pull off something, but then his forces began to break again, while my own began to advance around, and then crumble, his flanks.

Switching sides, the lopsided victory switched sides with me. One interesting note is that, even in victory, my losses were more than double that of my enemy.

A Crescent Still Abides

A good part of the AI’s problem was its new-found aggressiveness. One of the keys to rebel victory was the fact that Beaumont held the high ground and forced the Scots to come to him. The FoG(U) AI, however, immediately charges down its hills and into the flat ground to engage me on my terms. I like to hold my formation until contact. The AI has no such desire. This, of course, begs the question – would the old FoG AI, being overall more timid, fare better with this scenario?

The AI, being more passive, did stick to his high ground. He didn’t like the feel of that crescent formation, however, and worked to straighten out his battle line before I engaged.

I replayed the scenario one final time using the original Field of Glory.  I tried to play my Scottish loyalists much the same as against the FoG(U) version of the AI. The screenshot shows that my far right formation got a bit disheveled during the advance. This was largely due to some UI mismanagement (a frequent problem with the original version of FoG) whereby portions of that formation went other than where I wanted them. Realizing I had a mess on my hands, I figure it is some approximation of that zeal of the loyalist commanders to be first into the fray.

In the end, the result was much the same. The rebels held out a little longer, likely explaining the higher casualties on both sides of the field.

In an obvious display of the preferences of that AI, my opponent holds his ground, but shuffles his units to form a straight defensive line. The move nullifies the historically-decisive position of the longbows, forward on the wings. As I said above, though, I’m not sure FoG adequately simulates the use of longbows anyway. The end tally was not dissimilar to the results versus FoG(U). The actual details of the battle reflected that very different AI strategy.

Book Learning

Back in the book, Druon obviously intended at the time he wrote it for The Lily and the Lion to be the final “chapter” in The Accursed Kings. We, the readers, rapidly advance from the main events of the series (the rapid demise of all the heirs to Philip the Fair’s throne) into the true beginnings of the Hundred Years War. One piece of the story is tied off with the death of Robert of Artois (with the author is obviously being anguished by this), having thrown the entire Western world into war for, in the end, nothing. Robert died of infection after a wound suffered in a fairly minor battle. He was still an exile and his family imprisoned in France. The other piece of the story ends with the death of Jean I the Posthumous. History itself records that he died in infancy. If once assumes, as the series does, that he actually survived, living in secrecy, then he becomes the last-to-go of the male heirs of Philip the Fair.

I plan to take a short break before moving on to the final book in the series. I am particularly interested in the change in translator for the final book. Will it still read the same, or is Mr. Humprey Hare’s (I do love that name) voice a critical part of what makes Druon a success in English?

Being, at the time, his final book, Druon seems to have made some extra effort in tying the narrative to modern themes. Early on in the book, he makes a defense (and to me, a surprising one) of individual sovereignty as the basis for the Divine Right of Kings. People struggled, he suggests, with the assassination of Edward II not only because he was ordained by God to be regent, but because if they (the politicos of the Middle Ages) choose to toss their kings aside willy-nilly, it is ultimately the people’s choice to accept the rule of a king in the first place. In other words, to challenge the rule of an individual king was to challenge the rule of all kings.

It is, perhaps, an even more interesting commentary today than it was when he wrote it. In 1960, when the book was published, individual sovereignty as a basis for democracy was hardly controversial. Even in Europe, where the authority of the democratic State often inherited the power of the monarchies which they replaced, the notion of the supremacy of the individual was held in contrast to tyranny.

What a difference a half-a-century makes.

Now, at least in America, a statement about the sovereignty of individuals is likely going to be interpreted as partisan, if not “extreme.” Assuming the appellation of a “sovereign citizen of the United States,” essentially what in 1960 would have been the basis of your rights as a voter, is now as-likely-as-not to get you put on a watch list from the Southern Poverty Law Center as some kind of – well, I’m not sure exactly. A racist, anti-Semite, I suppose.

The statement sourcing the divine right of kings from individual sovereignty is simply stated and, while it doesn’t quite fit with the modern conceptualization of the French, it was written before my time here on earth. It is even more surprising to me to have it stated, as it was so matter-of-factly, regarding the mentality Medieval Europeans. Some further reading showed me that this is a valid claim. Writings from this time do survive and demonstrate Medieval thinkers, themselves extending the principles of Aristotle and the philosophers of Rome, deriving imperial power from the will of the people. Concurrent with the events in these stories, for example, Marsilius of Padua was pushing society’s understand of sovereignty towards something like enlightenment-era republicanism, including concepts such as the right of revolution.

I still have to wonder whether the actual “people,” as opposed to merely those of sufficiently royal blood to actually challenge the authority of kings, really felt that kings ultimately answered to them. It seems more likely that these ideas would be confined to barons and such, outside of the occasional republican governments formed during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.

The other significant “modern” reference that got me thinking was Druon’s comparison of the massive French loss at Sluys to the French defeat by the Germans in 1940. In both cases, Druon argues, the French had an equivalent if not superior force to work with. In both cases, the French commanders were advised that their choice of strategy was an incorrect one. In both cases, hubris by French leadership resulted in a massive loss that would have a devastating impact on the French nation for years to come. In 1960, people still remembered the military power that France once had. Again, to the modern ear, talk of France’s military prowess often rings false.

The Thousand Wars of Old

With Druon drawing his series to an end, even if that end is a false one, I’ll reflect on one more item that I had mentioned up front. The current reprinting of this series comes with an endorsement from George R. R. Martin, where he calls it the “original Game of Thrones.” In that first article, I said that I was pleased that this series is available in a current print run, however that may have come about. The longer this has sat with me, though, the more it has soured a little.

Each book in the series has a forward written by Martin. In fact, it is the same forward in every book. As I read through successive books, I come to the realization that this story isn’t A Game of Thrones. Not really. Oh sure, there are parallels. It may even be clear that Martin got some of his inspiration from having read The Accursed Kings, even without his declaration in the forward. But this series is more than A Game of Throne‘s drama, it is historical fiction. While much of Druon’s fiction is speculative, it is strongly anchored in historical fact (supported further by his footnotes and postscripts). It is also a story that focuses on the theme of the small decisions and petty politics that plunged Europe into the Hundred Years War. At its heart, the story is much more of a personal one than the tales of Westeros.

There’s another kicker. While we know that in The Accursed Kings, just like in A Game of Thrones, everybody dies in the end, for The Accursed Kings we could find out at any time exactly when any particular character dies, and how, and under what circumstances. Even if you avoid referencing Wikipedia throughout, there really isn’t any question about who is the real heir to the Iron Throne, um, I mean throne of France. It’s only a question of how the argument plays out. There are no great reveals waiting for us in future episodes of The Accursed Kings.

So it is a very different experience and very different series, as well it should be. I’m glad that The Accursed Kings is so much more than the “original Game of Thrones.” Problem is, I feel a little bit cheapened that it took Martin and that provocative assertion to draw me in in the first place. Let’s be honest, I never would have purchased a 60-year-old series translated from a foreign language without George’s prodding. I wish I was the kind of person that I would have, but I’m not. I feel just a little bit bad about that.

I’m having a similar experience on Netflix at the moment, but I’ll save that unburdening for another day.

You See? Death Comes to Us All

Tags

A Game of Thrones, Braveheart, Crusader Kings, Crusader Kings 2, Field of Glory, Field of Glory - Unity, George R. R. Martin, Humphrey Hare, Isabella, Les Rois maudits, Maurice Druon, Neuchâtel, The Accursed Kings, The Iron King, Tour de Nesle

The title of this article is a line from Braveheart. It is delivered by soon-to-be Queen Isabella to the dying Edward I. While witnessing William Wallace’s execution, she tells him that her unborn child is not the offspring of her husband, Edward II, but is the result of a tryst with Wallace. She lets the King go to his grave knowing that his line will die with him.

Now, we all know that fictionalization of history can be used to add character and depth to a series of historical facts. We can’t know what the kings and queens of the 11th and 12th century said to each other, so a film must create entirely fictional dialog. This is understandable. Often, we don’t mind a dramatization going even further afield, advancing a compelling drama that capture the flavor of the times, if not the details. But sometimes a situation goes beyond even the absurd.

When William Wallace was executed, in 1305, Isabella was ten-years-old and still living in France, as of yet still 2-3 year away from her marriage to Edward II. It is unlikely she ever met Wallace. But on the outside chance that she did (when he was visiting France seeking political support), she was probably closer to the age of 5. Although Edward I arranged the betrothal of his own son and the daughter of Philip IV of France, the father had passed on before the marriage ever took place and he, likely, never met his future daughter-in-law either.

Stuffing Isabella into the Braveheart story is entirely unnecessary. She makes an interesting subject on her own and has been the subject of dramatizations starting from Christopher Marlowe’s 1592 play The Troublesome Reign and Lamentable Death of Edward the Second, King of England, with the Tragical Fall of Proud Mortimer and continuing to the present day. It is one of those present-day accounts I will turn to now.

Lost in Translation

When I was young, I had a bad experience with foreign novels.

There is no language, except English, where I have the proficiency to read anything of complexity. So any non-English novel that I want to read, I must read a translation of it. The first problem is that relatively few books are translated. I don’t have a handy source for my speculations, but I think that the number of non-English books published each year, which are subsequently translated to English and made available in the American market, is in the single-digits (percentage-wise). I’m talking in general, not classic literature, where the scholarly treatment is considerably different. I would think 5% would be a reasonable figure to use.

Once a book is translated, there is then another factor. Not only is the quality of the writing important, but the quality of the translation as well. Again, with classical works, academics will, over generations, work on refining translations to capture various aspects of the original language. But for a popular work, there is likely one translator, hired by a publisher, to do the work. That leaves us, as English-only consumers, as dependent on the translator as we are on the original author for a quality read. A really good translator needs to be not only proficient in both languages, but also should be a skilled writer (of the translated genre, one might imagine) in his own right as well as something of a literary critic.

I honestly don’t remember what caused it, but for years I simply assumed all translated books were going to be tough reads, and avoided them wherever possible. This finally changed in college when I was assigned a rather nice translation of Stendhal’s Le Rouge et le Noir. But even with my prejudice lifted, there are still so many native language books to read that it is rare for me to take up a non-native work.

An Iron King for an Iron Throne?

I digress so because I was looking at some of the more modern dramatizations of the life of Isabella and I found that there are many. One that stood out for me was the author Maurice Druon and his series Les Rois maudits in that, despite being something like six decades old, the novels are receiving current attention. Most noticeable, the author and the series come recommended by George R. R. Martin, citing it as an inspiration for A Game of Thrones.

This last would seem to be more than just coincidental. As Martin discussed his appreciation for Druon and his works, the series was being re-released in English by Martin’s publisher. The “original Game of Thrones” line could be put on covers and sold to fans waiting, desperate and disappointed, for the next book in the actual Song of Fire and Ice series. Whatever the behind the scenes, it works out well for me. Instead of having to try to find used copies of translations from the 1960s, I can order a newly-printed, English version of The Iron King to be delivered to me two days’ hence and enjoy these books that were, until a couple of years ago, decades out of print.

The book is well written and an enjoyable read. This is a compliment not only to the author, but to the translator. The latter, Humphrey Hare, is the original translator of the book; it does not appear that the series was re-translated for the current printing, except that the final book in the series, which was never translated in the first place.

The opening book of the series ties together the execution of the last Grand Master of the Knights Templar (Jacques de Molay) with the crises of succession that began with the Tour de Nesle affair, the death of Philip IV of France, and the questions of inheritance that ultimate fueled the Hundred Years’ War. Historical events are convincingly, while also entertainingly, told. They are also almost certainly not accurate.

The relationship between Edward II and Isabella, as I said, has been developed over the centuries, creating a narrative of how the “She-wolf of France*” was ignored by her weak and homosexual husband, leading her to resent, hate, and ultimately kill him. While she did indeed play a major role in dethroning her own husband, there is plenty of evidence that their marriage was a happy and loving one. They had, together, four children and, when apart, addressed each other in  letters using affectionate pet names. Written signs of this affection extend even beyond the date when Edward had abdicated and was imprisoned. Isabella’s role in his death is by no means proven. More likely, established story of today is a combination of political rumor of the time combined with fanciful storytelling from future generations.

Even the titular “curse” may be a combination of a several different, yet similar events. There are even historians that doubt the veracity of the accusations of adultery. The proof of them are confessions obtained by torture, which is not the most reliable source of information.

As improbable as the narrative of Les Rois maudits matching the true events of the day may be, it is nevertheless impossible to prove that things did not take place in such a manner. The story fully fleshes out the tale in a way that is believable, compelling, and fun.

Agreed to Have a Battle

The Tour de Nesle was a political event which would not have counterparts in wargames. It is easy to trace the impact of what happened into the future of Europe. For example, with the parentage of the grandchildren of Phillip IV in doubt, French inheritance would come to emphasize the male relatives over closer relatives through the female relations. The difference in French and English interpretations led to Edward III’s claim to the French throne, a claim that led to the Hundred Years War. It is harder to find a companion game to share in the flavor and timeframe of The Iron King.

Instead, I’ll return to the alternate timeline that I had started earlier. My House Neuchâtel continues to rule Upper Burgundy with an eye to either independence or further prominence within the Holy Roman Empire. By this point we are obviously pretty far afield from any direct relation to historical events.

In fact, in this reality, we find ourselves with the Holy Roman Empire at war with England. King George (350 years too early) of England has managed to get himself excommunicated.  Holy Roman Emperor Bořivoj Přemyslid declared war on the Heretic, probably with good reason, but those reasons weren’t shared with me. I saw an opportunity to advance my position.

I managed to “discover” that I had a strong claim on the County of Auvergne, near enough to my coveted “Greater Burgundy,” but currently under the jurisdiction of King George. Having done so, I offered to send my forces in support of Emperor Boris. Now, as far as I know, my claim was rather irrelevant to the whole process. Unlike Europa Universalis, Crusader Kings does not allow a negotiated peace drawing from all sorts of potential concessions. The conclusion of a war results in exactly the peace conditions that were specified when the war was declared. However, I figured coming in on the side of the Emperor would improve my standing in his court, earn me some prestige from my victories, as well as smack England around making it easy to capture Auvergne in some future war. On top of that, the Emperor seemed like he could use the help.

August 1319. I have sent my armies into Auvergne to occupy the castle to which I claim title. While I got smacked around a bit at first, I managed to win a siege. The Emperor’s main army, besieging Toulouse, is about to face a larger English relief force.

This setup leads a to a battle that is interesting from a strategic perspective in that it engages the vast majority of the troops available to both sides. It is also interesting in that the outcome is by no means preordained. Because of the close match, I’m going to once again create a tactical version of the battle in Field of Glory.

The armies have engaged. The English have a slight advantage in numbers, but the Germans are operating from a semi-permanent siege camp.

Bringing my Burgundians into the battle gets the two armies very close to evenly-matched in numbers. As the main battle commences, my money was against the Empire. The English have a slight edge in numbers and in organization, although other factors work against them. Reconstructing this fight in FoG(U) creates an even bigger gap.

I array my army with the flanks anchored against two large hills. It proved to be sufficient to stop the English.

My first and obvious mistake was that I chose a map too big for the armies and the battle. It having been a while since I set up a random battle, I thought the two armies sounded really big. In fact, they are to the large end of medium. With the large battlefield, it took 7 turns for the two armies to move forward into a reasonable engagement distance. As we’ve seen before, the FoG(U) AI moves aggressively forward, without attempting to keep his armies in line. I, on the other hand, did my best to retain my formation until engagement. In addition to its size, this terrain is probably too flat and open for Southwestern France.  In FoG(U), random battle maps are not autogenerated. You must chose from a subset of the existing scenario library.

The last time I tried this, I thought the haphazard AI attack would be their undoing. It turned out not to be. In this case, my own line held together throughout the battle, and I was able to defeat the enemy as the waves came at me. In the end I won a solid victory.

The English line have broken, and the remnants of their armies flee the field. I cut them down with my pursuit.

Perhaps most surprisingly, the tactical result again matched the strategic result. Now, I’m not saying this is anything but dumb luck. While there may be factors that predicted a German win in Crusader Kings, there is nothing that translated those factors to the tactical battle. I just find it surprising that this exercise has worked, now, twice in a row.

Death Comes to Us All

In the end, everyone died. First King George, then the Emperor, and the my own Duke. The Emperor’s death, in particular, shook all of Europe. With the child heir now nominal Emperor, factions rose up across Europe trying to place a more capable successor on the imperial throne. Suddenly, the war with a now-dead excommunicated English king seemed like a minor worry. England’s armies had been beaten down enough that, while they were left to retake their lost castles rather unopposed, a truce was eventually declared with no clear winner (a White Peace in EU terms).

Somewhere in here, my aging Duke died leaving  his inheritance to his grandson. The claim on the English county died with the elder Duke, leaving the whole episode an exercise in pointlessness. Welcome to the twelfth century.

*The epithet was used by Shakespeare in History of Henry VI, Part III to describe Margaret of Anjou, but was reapplied to Isabella by Thomas Gray in 1757. Isabella is probably most associated with the term today.

Your Family Pushed You into Banking

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A Game of Thrones, A Song of Ice and Fire, actor's age, anachronisms, banking, George R. R. Martin, Kramer, Medici, Medici: Masters of Florence, netflix, Newman, renaissance, Seinfeld, The Borgias

Netflix continues to pile on to feed the appetite for period drama with their latest in Renaissance intrigue, Medici: Masters of Florence.

I admittedly don’t have my finger on the pulse of the media-consuming public, but I am assuming this is largely Game of Thrones fan-out.

I, myself, jumped on the Song of Ice and Fire bandwagon a couple of years before the HBO series. At the time, I thought it was an older series (having heard about it “around” for some time), and was really shocked when I realized the books weren’t all written yet. It took took me a few chapters to acclimatize myself to the the slightly-altered language, but once I got past that, I took to the series with a vengeance. I recall thinking from about 3/4s into the first book, A Game of Thrones, that what the book got right was a detailed portrayal of everyday life, assuming that your life is that of the nobility.

The TV series, of course, boosted the popularity of the novel to an audience by at least an order of magnitude. Sales of the books themselves roughly quadrupled after the series was released, and the number of TV viewers is more than double that again. Add in rentals and DVD buyers, and you’ve got quite an audience. Certainly the words “the next Game of Thrones” within a pitch would ring nicely in the ears of studio executives.

My first impressions of the TV series were very good. Just based on a cold watching without revisiting the source material first, here seemed to be an extremely high-fidelity adaptation of the script relative to the book. I must say, though, going back and re-reading the book after watching the series was a bit surprising. It became very clear where the cuts were made for the video treatment. But even this left me with a positive impression. Quite a few of the cuts were focused on downsizing the scale to make the story doable on TV. For example,scenes that should have dozens of guards facing off would have a dozen or so total. Notably, Tyrion was knocked out early on in his first battle, avoiding the difficulty of portraying a massive battle scene on screen. I also thought the casting was dead-on, with one complaint. Everyone in the TV show is just too damn old.

The success of the series would seem to expose an appetite for fantasy, particularly in the adult markets. But the hunt for similar material also can exploit the historical themes to which A Song of Fire and Ice alludes. The story is clearly inspired by history, with the kingdoms of Westeros and beyond having historic counterparts, both obvious and not so. Any effort to map, one-to-one, the events of the stories to, say, the War of the Roses will surely fail as author Martin tends to mix and match and make up as needed. Nonetheless, similarities between Game of Thrones and the actual succession of Henry VIII are going to help sell a series dramatizing the latter.

Getting back to the subject of this particular article, the connection between Medici: Masters of Florence and A Game of Thrones is aided by the selection of Robb Stark to be Cosimo de’ Medici (although, watching, I didn’t pick up the connection – I had to look up the actor afterwards). In stark (heh heh) contrast to the casting in Game of Thrones, the actor playing the lead role is more than 10 years younger than the character he plays. Of course, part of the issue here is the story is told through a series of flashbacks, and Madden (that’s Robb’s real name – who knew?) must be, on the same viewing night, both a dozen years older as well as some 8-10 years younger than his real age.

The series’ story starts with the death of patriarch Giovanni de’ Medici, and we follow forward with his sons’ reactions and struggles after their father’s death.

Oddly enough, the actor playing Cosimo’s brother looks considerably older than Madden. So much so, I was confused through the first several episodes – wondering why father Giovanni seemed to be grooming his younger son to take over the family business. As I write this, actor Stuart Martin (a Red Shirt from Game of Thrones – he played a nameless Lanister soldier) does not have his birth date recorded on line, so I can’t really comment on the relative actors’ ages.

Anyway, as the son’s struggle with their father’s death which, in a bit of highly speculative fiction, is something of a murder mystery, the groundwork is laid showing formative events between a young Cosimo at the time when his father was actively building the family’s wealth. A bit of gray-colored hair and a dose of gravitas are there to remind us that the actors have aged 20 years from one scene to the next.

To make matters even more difficult, both the 59 year old Giovanni and the 79 year old Giovanni are played by the same 80 year old Dustin Hoffman, and no amount of makeup can really help him bridge the gap to the former. Hoffman doesn’t really even try. Basically, if he is alive and talking, he must be closer to 60 than he is to 80.

While I’m on a roll, I’ll also say that I failed to recognize actor Anthony Howell (playing condottieri Francesco Sforza) whom I watched in the supporting role throughout the series Foyle’s War. I also failed to make the connection that Cosimo’s father-in-law was portrayed by GoT‘s Walter Frey. These oversights are considerably more understandable than missing Robb Stark/Cosimo, who on screen are essentially the same character.

The brooding young son has the weight of the world thrust upon his shoulders when his father dies, leaving him the keys to the kingdom. Despite all the brooding, he seems to make a success of himself in his new leadership role, although whatever greatness he displays is largely done off-screen. On screen he broods. Until he meets a woman who, while able to lift his spirits somewhat, can never fit into the grand scheme of things as King of the North(ern Italy’s Banking Empire). So, while he broods for a little less, he still must brood.

Then everyone dies.

OK. So it is not really that bad. In fact, my suspicion is that it is the popularity of The Borgias that was the immediate inspiration for this series. Take the same time period. Put a towering icon of the big screen in as the patriarch and fill in the family with younger, non-American actors. Success.

Medici doesn’t have quite the ambition of The Borgias, and therefore a few of the things I really enjoyed about the latter, I’m not going to find in the former. The lavish weddings, the (relatively) large scale battles; these things fit less into a tale of bankers than they do of popes and kings. I note that, even in The Borgias, the scenes where deals are negotiated with Florence aren’t particularly lavish. Of course, a big part of it is likely due the big difference in production costs between the two shows.

Beyond that, Medici, seems to go considerably further afield when it comes to creating fictional narrative to fill in the blanks of what is sometimes a rather sparse historical narrative. This is not, by any means, an analysis. It’s more of an impression. Neither show is meant to be a documentary, and both take opportunities to spice up the series for their viewing audiences. The Borgias just give me the impression that the spirit of the historical tale is adhered to more than Medici.

In the end, Medici is decently* entertaining as a television series. However, they seem to have left much potential on the table. Cosimo de’ Medici, assuming you do subscribe to this interpretation, reshaped the history of the world. While much of that influence was based upon his ability to spend money, whether on political influence or great works, there should be a more interesting side of the story when portraying the actual people. The ability to spend money depends on the ability to make even more money, and the scale to which Cosimo was able to profit from European trade suggests a man of great charisma, intelligence, and capabilities. In Medici‘s portrayals, we see virtually none of this, either from Madden’s Cosimo or Hoffman’s Giovanni. The occasional political intrigue aside, the wealth just seems to roll in on its own. The series can stand without it, but I think it missed an opportunity to put real personalities behind the historical figures.

*Like The Borgias, Medici seems to be spicing up the show with some gratuitous rock-n-roll per the HBO formula. Granted the sexual politics are part of the story – the arranged marriage of Cosimo and his illegitimate son from his relationship with a slave. But once again, the show goes beyond mere speculation into fantasy. Cosimo’s younger brother Lorenzo is portrayed as a perpetual bachelor, with titillating affairs spicing up the narrative and lending a little on-screen nooky. And yet, this is the Lorenzo who was married somewhere in the flashback portion of the show, inspiring the treatise on the importance of marriage to the health of the nation, De Re Uxoria.