A Squeaky Clean Renaissance

Chapter the First: Rightly to be Great

Cecil Goodytwoshoes has travelled back in time to improve the Middle Ages and to bring about a Renaissance of higher culture to as many civilizations as possible. One might describe this as Imperial Ambition, but it is only for the good of Simkind.

Having arrived in his new land, he declared himself Lord of Puritania.

The servants--

--the castle,

--

--and he himself seemed all that they ought to be.

He caused a formal declaration of his Princely authority to be drawn up, and read it himself from the throne room. “Be it known that I, Cecil, King of Puritania, dedicate myself to the improvement of the kingdom’s morality.”

And yet, King Cecil found the people to be slow to accept him as their monarch: insolent in their hearts, and occasionally openly so.

“We cannot have the people doubting our claim to the crown. One must establish authority.”

“It is a question of blood, your Majesty,” said the Royal Advisor. “The people will not accept a prince who is not of royal, or at least noble blood.” King Cecil was taken aback. “We are descended from Roman emperors.”

“May the Watcher forgive me for saying so, your Majesty, but can you prove that? We know nothing of you before you strode off the foreign ship and declared the Kingdom your own.”

.

“You might have dropped from the sky. And Holy Roman Emperor—I am afraid everyone says that. We’ve seen ‘em come, and we’ve seen ‘em go. No, what your Majesty needs is a professional relative: someone who can attest to the nobility of your descent.”

“This is outrageous,” said the King, coldly. “My brother has traced the family to—” “The eighteenth century,” he remembered suddenly. “Margery is my earliest relative. In any case, I have no means of communicating with Lytton, who will not be born for hundreds of years.”

King Cecil was quite certain that his blood could be nothing less than noble. Yet with no means of proof, a professional relative it would have to be, although privately the King thought it was a lack-witted notion, and sent a pigeon to the Duchess De Bonchassure, just in case.

Viewing the professional relative did nothing to allay the King’s suspicions. In fact, it redoubled them.

He was crude and vulgar, caring for nothing but meat and drink, and nothing would do but that the King join him in nightly revelry. King Cecil did not approve of revelry. He had not reveled in his previous existence, and he was not going to start now.

“And cutting purses, too? We will not bear you company. We will be nothing allied to your disorders.” “Will you not, coz?” sneered the professional relative. “Not when you have need of me.”

“Lady Fortune and my own wits, assist me to be King,” Cecil said to himself, “for nothing about this man possibly can. It would cut my very heart to fail, but better to fail than to be aided by a churl.”

And therefore trusting to his own wits and not those of his advisor, King Cecil consulted the foreign princes visiting the court. And lo, the Smithmistress of Crafthole confirmed that even such a villain had plagued her kingdom.

The Merchant Prince, Samuel of Tredony, agreed. “One sees at a glance, he is not accustomed to the horse,” he said. “One sees he is not wearing the sword from young days. One sees he is no prince and no gentleman. I love what you have done to this palace, by the way.”

“Lady Fortune and my own wits, then,” vowed the King. “I shall be monarch through merit rather than birthright.”

The professional relative had been so bold as to pilfer from the Royal Treasury and to order suits of velvet and cloth of gold.

“A missive, sire,” said the town crier. “From the Duchess De Bonchaussure. I recognize her hand.” King Cecil took the scroll from the town crier, who looked at him in wonder. “Forgive me, your Majesty, but why did you not say she was your cousin before? We know and respect her.”

The Duchess De Bonchaussure advised him that all noble houses earn their own crest. They must, after all, begin somewhere. “Is it even so?” mused the King. “The noble house of Goodytwoshoes must have begun somewhere. Aha.”

The King immediately confronted the ersatz relative. “You are presumptuous,” he informed him, “and your table manners are appalling.” “In your teeth, Sire,” the relative replied. There was only one possible course of action.

“The Pit? What have I done to deserve the Pit?”

“Har de har,” said the Constable. “Watcher’s spectacles, Bubbles, ‘e says ‘e doesn’t know.” Bubbles the Executioner prodded the man in his velvet clad nether parts. “Step lively,” he said. “I got my dinner in ten minutes.”

“I loves the sound of Ermintrude tuckin’ in, though. She got a good appetite, bless ‘er slimy little ‘eart.”

King Cecil had not yet seen the Pit of Judgment. “So this is the Pit,” he remarked thoughtfully. “Yup, yer Majesty, sir.”

“Dear, dear,” said Cecil. “That IS a long way down.” “We’m proud of our Pit, yer Majesty, sir.”

“We gets tourists an’ all. Turrible popular, our Pit. It’s Ermintrude, o’ course.”

“Lovely eyes, our Ermintrude.”

If King Cecil thought that perhaps his judgment had been too severe, he gave no sign of it. “Slandering a Prince deserves it.”

“One must temper mercy with justice.” A new prince, of all rulers, finds it impossible to avoid a reputation for cruelty, because of the abundant dangers inherent in a newly won state.

~~Machiavelli

“Having secured my claim, I may begin my larger mission. While I am about establishing a family crest, however—”

“I may as well create one. ‘I schall have virtue.’ Not ‘I will be good.’ There is a difference. Virtue means ‘strength,’ not ‘goodness.’ Margery must have gotten it wrong. And ‘death rather than uncleanliness.’ One must, after all, be neat.” “I seem to have created my own family crest. This must be one of those temporal anomalies Maximilian was talking about.” -________________ NB: The ermine signifies purity.

King Cecil lost no time putting his unique stamp upon his kingdom. There was, for example, the case of the young woman who wished to marry without her parents’ consent.

For other monarchs, this might have posed a dilemma.

Not for King Cecil.

“Absolutely not. We must begin as we mean to go on. If later ages have low moral standards, we cannot begin with them low. They will have no lower to go, and we shall be in a sorry state indeed.”

“I –I don’t understand your Majesty, but you have broken my heart.” “—nonsense, child. Go back to your duties.” Fortunately, most of his subjects absolutely agreed with King Cecil. He began to be be liked. In turn, he seemed to have found an appallingly repressive culture that suited him immensely.

He set an example of temperance and personal virtue that was greatly admired--

Though not exactly copied.

“Surely it is possible to reduce the revelry, at least within the very reception hall? We cannot hear ourselves think.”

Sparring with guards served the double purpose of improving his swordsmanship and subtly suggesting that his will was not to be thwarted.

“Do not spare me. Come at me with your uttermost.” “No worries, your Majesty.”

“Whoo, yeah. You got me, Sire. You’re gettin’ better all the time.”

King Cecil rejoiced in his victory--

Briefly. “Boo, hiss. The King won! I call shenanigans! Rematch! Rematch!”

“I would not be so discourteous if I were you, my good woman.” “You wouldn’t, my good man? What gives you the right, huh? Who died and made you the Watcher, huh?”

“Are you MAD, woman?”

“Behold! THERE is my right!”

Please leave me out of this.

“I will have you know that I am greatly favored by the Watcher.” “The W-watcher? I’m s-sorry, O Watcher. I didn’t know.” “In any case, I am the King, and you will respect me as such.”

“We cannot have insurrection. You must have a time out.”

“Are you sorry?” “Yes.” “You won’t do it again?” “No.”

“Very well. Then you are free to go.” “One hour? Really? Wow, the old King locked you up at least overnight. He was a right bastard, sire. Sorry, sire, language, I know, sire. Ok, thanks, sire.”

“Another victory. The people are learning not to use bad language. I must record this for posterity. Lytton will be so pleased, assuming the manuscript survives and he finds it.”

“Bringing about the Renaissance is a mere half of my ambition, however. I must strategize to spread culture and morality, and studying with figures on a map will not be sufficient. Neither will travel in my former life, as the world has changed so much, or rather, has not changed yet.”

“I must travel, incognito. This means leaving the kingdom in other hands, if only for a few days.” The King was reluctant to consign the safety of the kingdom to an advisor who had suggested a professional relative. It was necessary to choose a person absolutely dedicated and loyal.

One name sprang to mind: a person, moreover, who would work day and night without complaint.

Fortis Mulcibera, the Kingdom’s best—indeed, only— blacksmith. Perhaps it was fortunate King Cecil did not know that Fortis had a weakness at the gaming tables, but since her fiscal irresponsibility only extended to her own money, it did not matter.

Fortis surveyed the throne room from the King’s vantage for the first time in her life.

“It’s all mine for a few days,” she thought. “All that power, and all that responsibility.”

But she could not bear to let her forge grow cold and the mines unexplored. The new kingdom needed weapons for war, and tools for peace. More and better, and she wanted to know how to make them.

“Gramercy, Fortis,” said the guard, “I know my sword is better repaired by you than it was before it was broken. I can always trust you.”

“Everyone can trust me,” Fortis thought. “I’m so reliable. I’m so trustworthy.”

“I am so tired.”

In addition to keeping the country running and her forge working, Fortis had to reassure the people that she had no ambition to overthrow King Cecil and rule herself. “That’s what they all say,” said the town crier skeptically. “Next thing, we know we’ve got a new by-the-Watcher monarch.” “I don’t,” said Fortis. “I really, really don’t.”

“My Lord Cecil left very clear instructions. He usually likes to survey the strategical map at this time of day,” said the Royal Advisor, “after a cold bath, writing several new laws, some military training and supervising the patrols. Then he studies political alliances for an hour or two before taking a frugal meal.” “When does he sleep?” “He doesn’t.”

“We’re havin’ a party.” “What, here? In the castle?”

“No, in the Pit, with Ermintrude. Of course, here. Usually King Cecil don’t hold with parties on account of his Lordship pisses ice, pardon, but you’re a good lass, eh? You won’t mind.”

“Yes I do mind, because it’s not my castle. We have to leave it the way he left it. You’re all loaded and smell like last year’s ale. Go home and take the minstrel with you before he sings another four hours about elven lore.” “Oooo, her Ladyship doesn’t like it. You just keep it up with that superior attitude, ‘cause you won’t have no friends.”

Fortunately, King Cecil returned the next day.

“Here are the keys to the castle, sire. I’ve kept them faithfully.” “And what do you wish for a reward?” “I want never, ever to be asked to do this again.”

Soon Fortis was happily in her forge again, refining ore and losing money, except when she was winning it from the hopelessly good-hearted and gullible. “And that makes forty golden moidores, Sir Redcrosse.” “By my faith in the Watcher, Mistress Fortis, I cannot tell how that card came to be in your possession. For look, I have it in my very hand.” “It’s a kind of magic. Oh, go on, you can owe me.”

“I shall leave you to your work, then. Would that there were a person as skillful in mending bodies as you are in mending swords.” “Word has it that the king is planning to bring a bonesetter in soon from the East. They’re good at it there. In fact, I hear they can fix arms and legs instead of just whacking them off.” “I know you to be honest, else I should suspect you of telling tales.”

Redcrosse himself had mysterious origins.

He was said to have come from the West, but none knew where. Redcrosse himself did not know, having been raised by a hermit from infancy, far from any other human being.

All he knew of his parents was that the sea had swallowed them up, eaten by a monstrous whale.

He had vowed eternal vengeance against whales, for the sake of his lost mother and father.

This was the one violent streak in Redcrosse’s nature, for he was naturally gentle and courteous. The hermit had raised him to stay far from human society, which he felt was corrupt beyond redemption, but yet somehow Redcrosse knew he had to be a knight,and indeed he was matchless. The years of loneliness drove Redcrosse to seek company, while at the same time it had made him a bit naïve and overly trusting.

And loyal. Loyal beyond all doubt and all question. “You wish me to attack Aarbyville?” “Pacify, Redcrosse, pacify.”

.”Aarbyville is a nation of cutthroats and pirates, and it is in a state of utter chaos. Its Pirate King began a battle with cutlasses in our very throne room. This is unacceptable.” “We will bring order, while at the same time elevating the people with our own Puritanian culture.”

“You will appreciate that we ourselves cannot sail to Aarbyville. We shall remain and forge political alliances here, although these are deep waters and we do not wish to burden you with matters you would not understand.”

“Just go to Aarbyville and bring order, there’s a good fellow.”

Although it required hiring mercenaries and using more brute force than Redcrosse liked, he was successful in his military mission. With King Cecil’s diplomacy at home, Aarbyville was annexed to Puritania. The Pirate King remained its nominal leader, but its practices became less violent and more Puritanian, to wit: their table manners improved.

What diplomacy could not do—and diplomacy could do a great deal— King Cecil knew might have to be resolved with arms. And while Redcrosse was indeed matchless, it is unwise to rely too heavily on the strength of one’s subordinates.

Skill with weapons, like languages, is difficult to acquire in adulthood. So King Cecil kept himself in continual practice.

He became very, very good at it, capable of challenging and of winning.

As he said himself, not winning was not an option. However, he looked forward to the day when disputes did not have to be resolved crudely, with handheld weaponry, but with something more definite and explosive. The sooner war ended, the sooner peace could begin, and only in a state of peace could culture thrive.

Yet his successes could not be attributed to cunning and feats of arms alone.

Lady Fortune herself seemed to smile on King Cecil. How else to explain the exploit of the ruffians who descended upon him in the marketplace?

While lecturing bands of robbers was very like him, such actions seldom come to good.

Yet such was the force of his disapproval, so clear was his imposition of High Standards and Moral Rectitude, that the ruffians departed, promising to write their mothers and to lead better lives in future, pausing only to leave a few tokens of their esteem. Was this owing to an upright nature, or the blind favor of Lady Fortune? Who could tell?

Was it natural prudence or the smile of Lady Fortune that favored King Cecil against the pirates?

The superstitious seamen swore it was both. “’E arches ‘is eyebrow at them and they just gives up. ‘E’s mad, but it works.”

He was beginning to be known as King Cecil the Great now.

“It is Rectitude. Posterity will show this. Posterity always says this of those who prevail.

Now to the next item of business:

To my lord, the Archdeacon Malachi, Supreme Arbiter-in-Chief of the Most Holy Jacoban Faith:

We understand one another precisely.

We accept and do not challenge the Proxy’s Authority on matters spiritual concerning the Jacoban Faith. Matters purely temporal, material, and military you may safely leave to Us.

-It really is regrettable that one cannot stuff the bird. In flight, cooked. . .ah, well.

As to His Lordship’s claim that the Watcher looks with favor on his claim to the Chair of Jacobus, We defer to his Lordship’s presumably better knowledge of the matter.

Cecil of Puritania His own hand A.C. 2* ____ *Anno Cecil.

“Sir Redcrosse. We have need of your services again. You must travel to Yacothia.” “I understand that the Yachothians already have a developed culture, my Lord. A most religious people.” “Precisely. Overrun with religious fanatics, and greatly in need of Peace, Reason, and Good Manners. The Yacothian Archdeacon Malachi has asked us to intervene in what may otherwise become a bloody conflict.” “I shall, my Lord.”

“After all, if I obey His Majesty and support the cause of religion, I can scarcely be committing wrong.”

“I am sure I have not seen this lady before.”

So pure an innocent, as that same lambe She was in life and every vertuous lore. - - -Faerie Queene 1.1. 5 1-2.

The humble but lovely lady laid her hand upon Redcrosse’s shoulder. “Brother, what troubles you?” “How did you know I was troubled?” “Your countenance betrays you. It is most open and easy to read.”

“Lady, I am a knight. Bloodshed is my profession. And yet— it troubles me, as you have gleaned.”

“And so you ought. No man ought to rejoice in bloodshed. You yourself best know if it is right and necessary. The Watcher has not sent me to judge you.”

“The Watcher has sent you? I have not seen you before. I am certain I would have remembered if I had. What is your name, Lady, and whence do you come?”

“I am Sister Una DeSpenser. I come to bring the Watcher’s Peace.” “Peace! I am to be sent to impose Peace.”

“And yet I do not feel Peace within,” Redcrosse admitted. “It is the old sorrow of your family that speaks. I am certain they would not wish you to be driven by grief.” Redcrosse gazed into her eyes with wonder. “Maiden, you know all about me, and yet I do not know you.”

“I am not important,” said Una. “I come to bring Peace. And Love.” “Love?” “Yes, Love.”

Duessa, the new Jacoban priest, might almost have heard from inside the cathedral. “Love is very important. One might say, all important. But it must be controlled, Sister Una. I am sure your Knight and his Majesty will agree.”

To be continued.

Wherin ye shall read of most marvelous things The conflict of the Jacoban and Peteran faiths and their representatives, to wit, Una DeSpenser and Duessa Error. Of the quest to aid Yacothia and what became of it, yea and the benefits thereunto— Of the most holy intent to eliminate Fur and its many uses, lo, even of the Dire Chinchilla which did so plague the Kingdom— Of the arrival of the most wise Robert the Physician--

--and many another such wonderful events, if ye will but please to read.

Quests completed: New Beginnings Family Crest New Gangs of Aarbyville King for a Day Royal Vacation

Territories Annexed: Aarbyville Yacothia (as you shall see)

Credits

Opening picture: Albrecht Durer, The Triumph of the Emperor Maximilian

Goodytwoshoes Family Crest adapted from Giovio’s Imprese Passages quoted from Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Prince, William Shakespeare, Hamlet,Twelfth Night, Measure for Measure, and from Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene Pigeons supplied by Cesare Borgia & Co. Printer’s mark, Sacrobosco

“You look awfully familiar.”

“REALLY? ONE TRIES TO FIT IN.”