After concluding peace with Persia the previous year, the great sultan was eager to get back into the saddle, and strike at the battered kingdoms of the west. Accordingly, in 1555, he decided to personally decided to lead a massive invasion of what had always been a coveted target for the Ottoman Empire; Italy. Due to the ponderous nature of 16th century bureaucracy and communications, not to mention the vast size and sophistication of the Sublime State, it was 1556 before Suleiman was ready to set out from Constantinople at the head of his army.
News had reached Rome of the build up far earlier than this, thanks to the ceaseless observations of the Venetians, and, despite his manifest other faults, Pope Paul IV was no coward. Immediately, he sent orders to the Emperor in Vienna, demanding reinforcements of men and money with which to do battle with the infidel. Charles V, irritated by the Pope’s scuppering of his planned retirement, sent some thirty thousand soldiers, added to the ten thousand raised by the Pope himself in Italy. Small contingents slipped in from other parts of the Catholic world; the French and Polish each sent a few thousand men. The force Pope Paul IV commanded in the spring of 1556 cannot have numbered less than 50,000 soldiers.
But it was dwarfed in size and ferociousness by the forces of the Grand Turk. Suleiman had, as always, mobilised the full resources of the Ottoman Empire to terrify his enemies with the scale of his plans. Muslims, Jews and Orthodox Christians all made up the Ottoman army, and none were eager to reach any kind of agreement with Rome. Despite the fact that Suleiman’s army was largely made up of untrained levies, it must have outnumbered the Christians by at least three to one. In the circumstances, what happened next is surprising.
Suleiman and his force arrived on the Adriatic coast in early May, bullying the Venetians into allowing them access to their fortified harbours. There, in a brilliantly realised expedition, they were shipped across within a week, and had landed on the tip of the heel of Italy; in the ancient city of Otranto.
This was not Otranto’s first encounter with the Turks. Back in 1481, Suleiman’s great grandfather Mehmet the Conqueror’s forces had laid siege to the town, and violently sacked it. The citizens of Otranto, with no Papal help appearing forthcoming, simply opened the gates to the invaders. They had no wish to see their cathedrals despoiled and their children enslaved; and indeed the Turks behaved as well as could be expected in the circumstances. A couple of small churches were demanded for conversion to mosques, and several of the town’s more attractive girls were selected for Suleiman’s harem, but compared with the brutality meted out by the Ottomans to some enemy cities, Otranto got off extremely lightly.
But for Suleiman, Otranto could not be the end of the war. Accordingly, he spent the next few months consolidating his hold upon Apulia. Where resistance was met, as at Taranto, which held out for two weeks, it was crushed. Where the locals (who still retained a sizeable Greek speaking, Orthodox minority, a relic of five centuries of continued East Roman rule) surrendered voluntarily, the Turks made a great point of respecting their churches and communities.
While all this had been going on, Pope Paul IV had hardly been idle. Instead, he had been engaged in frantic diplomacy with the Venetians, hoping to tempt them to defy the Ottoman predator that held a stranglehold over their trade. Until the beginning of August, the Venetians continued to hedge, but finally, on the third, the Senate voted in favour of war. There was now no going back. The Venetians sent a hundred galleys and five thousand well trained men to join the Pope’s forces. The Catholic army then began to rumble southwards, towards Suleiman’s base at Potenza.
The Battle of Potenza was later hailed by Papal propagandists as proof of God’s protection of the Holy See. Sadly, this was not the case. After a few days of skirmishing, Suleiman received word that the Venetians had heavily defeated his fleet on the east coast, and he was desperately needed in Otranto to maintain public order. He began a slow retreat back into Apulia, harried all the way by the triumphant Pope, who stopped and proudly “liberated” towns abandoned by the Ottoman occupiers. This, it is generally agreed, cost Paul a great deal of his advantage, meaning that by the beginning of October, the Turks were comfortably entrenched in southern Apulia, and already raising troops and demanding provisions from there for a second year of campaigning. The Sultan himself had privately slipped back to Constantinople, travelling light, in order to publicise news of the new bridgehead in a foreign land. For the Pope and the Hapsburgs, it was far from a case of a decisive victory.
In England, 1556 had marked a tearful farewell. Elizabeth Tudor left the country of her birth, never to return. The eighteen year old King had reportedly been deeply touched by his sister’s passionate and defiant farewell, and they are said to have spent days together prior to the departure. But departure was inevitable. Elizabeth left England on April 5th, 1556, sailing north east. She reached the westernmost outmost of Muscovy, the aptly named Ivangorod, on July 12th of the same year, after three months travelling.
Her new husband was there to greet her, and it was the start of an immediate and passionate love affair. Matthew Parker, who would remain Elizabeth’s closest confidant in Russia for the next six years, reported confidently to Edward that his sister’s wedding had been a magnificent success, attended by representatives from all of the Protestant states of the north; states which up until now had been decidedly suspicious of Ivan’s grand Imperial ambitions. The marriage did not just symbolise the opening of relations between the Third Rome and London; it also began a new era in the history of the Baltic. Henceforth, Russia would no longer be seen as a heretical outsider, but a dynamic Christian power, which the Scandinavians and Prussians could rely on as a staunch ally against the Papacy. Within three months of the wedding, Elizabeth was pregnant. In 1557, she gave birth to a daughter, Anna.
For the young Tsar, Elizabeth was truly a delivery from God. With the death of his beloved first wife, Anastasia, in 1553, he had spent three years in misery, during which many of his boyars had begun to fear for his mental state. After 1556 however, the old Ivan returned with a vengeance. The next year, he set out for war against the Khanate of Astrakhan, a war in which he was magnificently successful. The largest slave market of the Volga was destroyed, and the slaves were freed to become peasant workers back in Russia. Meanwhile, Elizabeth was proving to be a more than capable Tsarina. Within two days of the birth of her daughter, and with her husband absent, she entertained the Swedish ambassador, who had already begun to sniff around baby Anna for a marital alliance. Elizabeth’s letters back to England and her brother show her enjoying a time of blissful marital paradise; in a faraway land where no-one dared question her legitimacy.
Back in England, Edward was finally ready to conduct a marriage of his own. Ever since the Treaty of Boulogne in 1550, he had been betrothed to the daughter of King Henry II of France, Elisabeth of Valois. This had resulted in a long sought peace between England and France, and had moreover provided a steady flow of French gold to support the Edwardian regime. Now, with Elisabeth having reached her 12th birthday, Edward was finally ready to make good on the deal he had signed seven years previously. On June 1st, 1557, the nineteen year old King of England sailed across to Calais, England’s bridgehead on the Continent. There, he met with Henry II, and continued the process of enduring Anglo-French alliance.
Firstly, there were religious matters to consider. Henry was a noted persecutor of Protestant Huguenots, something that Edward felt unable to reconcile with the alliance. Instead, he began a vigorous assault upon his nominal ally’s religious beliefs. Northumberland, attempting to intervene, was rebuffed by the King, who had continued to sideline him over the past year. Astonishingly, Edward got at least part of what he desired. Though his initial attempts to make Protestantism a favoured religion in France failed utterly, he did at least manage to persuade Henry to grant a grudging tolerance towards the Huguenots, for the good of the alliance. Though France would always remain officially a Catholic country, it now began the first steps towards the religious tolerance for which it would later be favourably noted.
Secondly there was the issue of foreign diplomacy. Since 1551, Henry had been involved in an on-off war with the Hapsburgs for control of Italy. With the Turkish invasion of Italy three years earlier though, he had both gained and lost. The Hapsburgs now had the infidel menace right on their doorstep; the Turks were in easy striking distance of Naples and Palermo, and were fully distracted by this problem. On the other hand, Henry’s alliance with the Turks had made him a pariah figure amongst the other Catholic states; he was renowned in Spain and Italy as being an ally of infidels and heretics. Though the French peasants themselves were little concerned by this, being devotedly attached to the Valois monarchy, in Italy it made mass resistance to Henry a real probability.
Edward’s response to this was to fully throw his weight behind his ally. The system built up by Henry was now beginning to bring together a new, powerful alliance block; one that could potentially shake Hapsburg dominance of Europe to its foundations. With both of his children now married, he could claim to be the dominant partner in a family that ruled France, England, and Scotland. Edward now had both of his flanks secure. Heretic he might have been, but there were clearly plenty of Catholic ready to support him.
So, when the marriage took place on the 20th of August, 1557, it was a happy occasion. Elisabeth was utterly entranced by the handsome young King of England, and many of the older members of the French court compared Edward to his father in his younger years, possibly the greatest compliment they could pay for him. As Edward returned to England that autumn, accompanied by his new bride, he could reflect back on two years of unbridled successes. Unfortunately for him, the next few years would not be so kind.