Be that as it might, Hawkwood recalled Donnina having spoken of her uncle Galeazzo in glowing terms as a generous patron of the arts and as a sponsor of the Florentine-born Francesco Petrarca, for whose Rime in vite di Laura and Rime in morte di Laura she professed unbridled admiration. Hawkwood had dutifully read some of the Canzioneri, but found the verses excessively sentimental, not to say self-indulgent – a verdict Donnina dismissed as ‘disappointing’ in the extreme and excusable only in the light of her husband’s vastly improved but still imperfect knowledge of Italian. Not so, Hawkwood had retorted: he admired the rigour and cadences of the Trionfi and had greatly enjoyed De viris illustribus, an early work which recounted the history of famous men through the ages.
To Hawkwood’s mind, the two Visconti brothers could not have been more dissimilar. Whereas Bernabò was thickset and pugnacious, Galeazzo was tall and graceful. Where Bernabò was deliberately outspoken, Galeazzo was a study in restrained elegance. Bernabò was tactless, Galeazzo was tact and diplomacy personified. Hawkwood found it exceedingly hard to believe that this was the Galeazzo Visconti who had devised the gruesome quaresima torture.
Bernabò had outstripped his elder brother in one way, however: Galeazzo had only two children. His daughter – yet another Violante – had briefly been married to the late Lionel, Duke of Clarence and son of King Edward of England. Lionel’s sudden demise (allegedly by poisoning) in 1368, four months into the marriage and while a guest of Galeazzo, had put paid to any aspirations the latter might have nurtured with regard to an enduring alliance with the English Crown. It had so enraged many English mercenaries serving in Italy at the time that they had made common cause, pooled their resources and turned on Galeazzo, inflicting on him a heavy and, in every sense, costly defeat at Alba later that year. Although Galeazzo had consistently denied allegations that he had been in some way instrumental in Lionel’s death – which, in all honesty, scarcely seemed in Visconti interests – and had formally sworn his innocence before God, suspicion still lingered.
His other child was a son, the twenty-year-old Gian Galeazzo, who had his father’s good looks and an air of quiet authority. In Hawkwood’s estimation, the young man would bear watching.
Hawkwood understood that, for better or worse, he had now been received into the Visconti family. That it might prove a viper’s nest did not trouble him unduly. He had his Donnina now, and that was enough.
Not wishing to cast a pall over the festivities, he thought it best not to disclose to her that he and his Company were leaving Milan in less than a month’s time to take to the field once more.
With the Viscontis.
Or, if need be, against them.
Volte-Face
And so it is in politics, each for himself
Avignon
21 April 1372
Gregory XI had good reason to fear the Viscontis of Milan.
Bernabò had openly moved against him in 1370, and Gregory had retaliated by excommunicating the Viscontis the following year. To little avail: the Visconti brothers continued to oppose and plot against the Papal States, retaining bands of mercenaries to challenge the papacy at every turn – in Mantua, in Bologna, in Padua, in Pavia, even on the fringes of Rome itself.
Devout man of the cloth he might be, but Gregory was far from unaware of the secular threat posed by Italy’s northern city states. What he feared most of all was an unholy alliance between those hitherto implacable enemies, Milan and Florence. Should they set aside their differences and make common cause against his pontificate, the earthly powers of the papacy would be at best greatly diminished and at worst completely extinguished.
Excommunication, traditionally regarded as the ultimate sanction against opponents of the Church, had failed. Gregory had had only one final option open to him: in early 1372, he had formally declared war against the Viscontis, extending the threat of excommunication to all who supported and abetted them. Despite the state of war that now formally existed between the Avignon Pope and Milan, little of note had occurred in the first six months of the year. The papal legate in Bologna, Pierre d’Estaing, had successfully conducted protracted negotiations with Bernabò Visconti and, for the present at least, a fragile truce held. It would prove of short duration, Gregory was sure. Bernabò would plot unceasingly against Avignon. Worse, papal spies reported that clandestine talks were now in progress between Milan and the Signoria of Florence.
Gregory’s own position was seriously undermined by the continuing presence of the pontifical court in Avignon. There was a degree of anti-papal sentiment even in the Papal States and in Rome itself, and the Viscontis were intent on exploiting it to the full. In that, they were not without success. To restore papal credibility and authority, Gregory had to make his intentions clear: he must return to Rome.
The letter that lay before him reinforced his determination to do so. It was the most recent in a series from Caterina Benincasa of Siena. Gregory found her epistolary style curiously disjointed and infuriatingly repetitive, but there was no doubting either her sincerity or her intuitive grasp of the political situation, not to mention what she expected of him personally. In substance, Caterina implored him to be ‘a good shepherd’:
I beg you on behalf of the Crucified to save that lost sheep, the human race, from the hands of demons.
Holy Father, I see no way for us to win back sheep which have left the fold. I pray therefore you do me the grace to overcome their malice with your goodnessy. They cannot excuse their crimes but it seems to them they could not do otherwise because of the sufferings and many injustices and iniquities they have endured from bad shepherds and governors. For they have breathed the stench of the lives of many rulers whom you yourself know to be demons incarnate. I beg you, Holy Father, show mercy. I say to you, dear Christ on Eearth on behalf of Christ in Heaven that they will come grieving for the wrongs they have wrought and will lay their heads upon your bosom.
Gregory by no means shared Caterina’s tortured optimism. He readily endorsed her enthusiastic plea for the sheep to be brought back into the fold and her simplistic conclusion that legitimate injustices and iniquities needed to be addressed, but he saw little immediate prospect of her ‘demons incarnate’ submitting meekly to his authority, never mind laying their heads upon his bosom. There was undoubtedly legitimate cause for grievances against the Church on account of the shortcomings of its administrators, but the issue was not so much how to correct those wrongs as how to bring to heel those who used such grievances to further their own overtly political ends and their crass aims of territorial gain. On that point Caterina was, for once, refreshingly specific:
I beseech you, resist no longer the Will of God that calls to you. Hungry sheep await your coming to secure the place of your predecessor and champion, the Apostle Peter. You, as The Vicar of Christ, must abide in your own place. Delay no more, and fear no consequence.
Gregory set the barely coherent letter aside. She was right, of course. As the Vicar of Christ, he should be in Rome, ‘his own place’. His absence from Rome and the excessive influence of France in papal administration were tearing his Church apart.
The following day, on the twenty-second day of April in the Year of Our Lord 1372, Pope Gregory XI announced in full consistory – at a meeting of the Papal Council and the cardinals – that he would return to Rome.
When?
Soon. But only when the time was right.
Milan
26 September 1372
Donnina Hawkwood paced the nursery, cradling her four month-old son in her arms.
To the great amusement of the ladies of the court, she had elected not to give him into the charge of a wet-nurse but to breastfeed him herself. Their amusement was compounded by her obstinate refusal to leave the daily care of John Hawkwood II to others, as most patrician mothers were more than ready to do, but instead to tend personally to his every need.
Donnina paid no heed to these criticisms. This was her first-born and she cherished every ho
ur she could spend with him. Labour had been mercifully short and, while she would scarcely describe it as enjoyable, she had found it strangely satisfying. After all, she had presented John Hawkwood with a son and heir.
Her joy was mitigated by the fact that her husband had not been present at the birth and that, for one reason or another, he had been precluded from returning to Milan in the weeks and months that followed. Donnina had long since despaired of keeping track of him and his movements. She was content to take enormous pride in his achievements and in the respect he enjoyed as a condottiere. He had his detractors, true enough, but few dared question his bravery or his prowess. Besides, Donnina loved her husband, whatever his real or imagined shortcomings.
She also loved her father – whatever his real or imagined shortcomings – and she was disturbed to see that his notorious bad temper had recently taken a turn for the worse. She attributed this in part to the frenzied comings and goings at the Palazzo Visconti. Much to her surprise, Bernabò and Galeazzo had played host to a delegation from Florence led by one Giancarlo Boninsegna, a man who had also found time to seek her out and congratulate her on her marriage to Hawkwood, for whom he expressed unqualified admiration.
What the Florentines were doing in Milan was not Donnina’s concern: she was not one to meddle in affairs of state. From the occasional chance remark, however, she suspected that one reason behind her father’s black mood must certainly be that his new son-in-law, John Hawkwood, was now in the pay of Gregory XI.
Near Bologna
26 September 1372
Dante Alighieri, exiled from his native Florence in 1302 and still disdained by many of his compatriots as an outcast, had banished traitors and ‘sowers of discord’ to the lowest circles of his Inferno. Was it there, Hawkwood wondered, that he himself belonged? Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura que la diretta via era smarita. Had he, like Dante, strayed from the straight and narrow path and found himself in a dark and gloomy wood?
Such doubts had assailed him since the débâcle at Asti in the Piedmont some three months previously, when he had found himself nominally second-in-command to Galeazzo Visconti’s son, Gian Galeazzo. Hawkwood had last met Gian Galeazzo at his own wedding the previous year, and had thought then that the young man was someone who would bear watching. He had not expected to have an opportunity to observe Gian Galeazzo at close quarters – and find him wanting.
Asti lay at the confluence of the Borbera and Tanaro rivers south-east of Turin. It was best known for its excellent wines and for its architecture, notably its cathedral, the collegiate church of San Secondo and the imposing Torre Troiana tower. It was also a papal stronghold. Bernabò had ordered it taken, and Galeazzo had, albeit with some reluctance, furnished troops under the command of his son to do so.
Hawkwood had never been a forgiving man in the field. Prudence he could tolerate, but never timidity; caution but never cowardice. He had ridden forward to assess Asti’s defences and had found them poorly marshalled: the town would fall to a direct frontal assault, he concluded. His own officers were of the same opinion, but Gian Galeazzo procrastinated. It was too risky, he maintained; the Visconti forces at his disposal were insufficient.
Although he did not admit it at the time, Hawkwood bitterly resented being placed under the command of a beardless youth whose knowledge of battle was but theoretical.
‘I say we attack forthwith,’ Hawkwood had argued repeatedly.
‘And I say we shall hold station until more men arrive from Milan,’ Gian Galeazzo countered without fail until Hawkwood’s patience was eventually at an end. ‘I will have no truck with this,’ he announced. ‘We strike now or not at all.’
Gian Galeazzo: ‘I have command. And I say we wait.’
‘Yes, it is your command and yes, you are at liberty to remain here as long as you wish. I, for one, choose otherwise.’
With that, Hawkwood had called the White Company to order and force-marched them towards Bologna.
On hearing of Hawkwood’s departure, Bernabò Visconti had been severely disappointed, but had felt that Hawkwood was perhaps justified. His brother had foisted on him – and on Hawkwood – a callow youth with little or no experience in combat and, it would appear, precious little taste for it.
On learning of Hawkwood’s subsequent defection to the papal cause, however, Bernabò had been beside himself with rage. ‘Bastardo!’ he had screamed time and again, swearing that this vile turncoat would one day pay in full for his craven disloyalty.
As it happened, payment in full had been a major factor in Hawkwood’s decision to switch allegiance. Visconti had been generous to a fault when it came to celebrating his daughter’s marriage and settling a dowry on her. But Hawkwood had as yet received no payment whatsoever for condottiere services rendered, despite the fact that a substantial stipend had initially been agreed.
As captain-general, decided Hawkwood, I fight for pay, not promises; I have a Company to feed …
All the same, Hawkwood still had doubts: had he done the right thing? Pope Gregory had made clear his distaste for mercenaries in the services of the Viscontis, but apparently had no such reservations about mercenaries fighting in the papal cause. And, in Hawkwood, Gregory had now recruited arguably the most celebrated condottiere of all. Among the inducements offered, Gregory had promised Hawkwood an annuity even greater than that on which Visconti had defaulted. Provided the Pope kept his word, Hawkwood saw no reason to refuse him.
Hawkwood’s decision was also opportune inasmuch as the tide of war appeared to be turning. He had been reliably informed that papal troops had penetrated as far as Galeazzo Visconti’s own headquarters in Pavia. The White Company had already been instrumental in forcing Visconti’s troops to raise their siege of Bologna, and Hawkwood was at present preparing to leave that city. He intended drive into the heart of Milanese territory and confront the Viscontis on their own ground.
He could not help wondering how news of his volte-face had been received in Milan. And he prayed that no retribution or harm would befall his cherished Donnina and the new-born son he had yet to hold in his arms.
Papal Fallibility
Robed in majesty and power
Palais des Papes
Avignon, 4 March 1373
Gregory XI was bitterly disappointed in John Hawkwood.
The Englishman had failed him. The war against Milan was at a virtual standstill and the city had not fallen. The Viscontis were bruised and battered, certainly, but not defeated or deposed. Worse, rumours had reached Gregory’s ears that Hawkwood and other mercenary captains in the papal service were once again secretly being wooed by Bernabò Visconti and his equally odious brother. Whether such rumours were true or not, only time would tell.
Gregory was bewildered. Hadn’t he repeatedly communicated to Hawkwood the eternal gratitude of the Holy Church? Hadn’t he lifted the ban of excommunication placed on the condottiere? Hadn’t he assured him of a place in Heaven as his just reward for his valiant services? He had done all this and more besides; including promising Hawkwood estates in the countryside north of Rome and a fine residence in Bologna should he secure a resounding victory over the Viscontis. Surely this was sufficient recompense? But it seemed this grasping Englishman did not think so. He had insisted on being paid his stipend as set out in their agreement, and had suspended military action in northern Italy until his demands were met.
The Papal Council tactfully refrained from pointing out to Gregory that Hawkwood’s attitude towards the Pope replicated his attitude to the Viscontis: no pay, no service. Besides, the council had other issues to ponder. The Black Death had stealthily crept back into Avignon. Several hundred had already died, among them a number of cardinals. Food supplies were running low and were proving difficult to replenish. Citizens were abandoning Avignon in droves. An air of foreboding hung over the city as the pestilence spread inexorably through its congested streets.
Even more disturbing were reports that Milan and Florence were – as
Gregory had long feared – on the point of setting aside their differences and uniting against the Papal States. Papal forces still nominally held Perugia, but the citizens made no secret of their distaste for Avignon’s rule. Disaffected Perugians were known to be privy to the negotiations between Milan and Florence, and anti-papal sentiment was growing throughout the north, notably in Urbino, Orvieto, Montefiascone and Sassoferrato, but also in almost every township and village throughout Lombardy and Tuscany.
Gregory decided to respond by attempting to enforce a grain embargo on Florence. He did so with the utmost discretion and subterfuge, working through the papal legate in Bologna and then officially and publicly reprimanding the latter for having taken such an intemperate and inhumane step. In turn, the legate formally charged Hawkwood with the task of starving Florence out by burning grain crops in Tuscan lands. Hawkwood complied up to a point, but then secretly negotiated with Boninsegna in Florence, offering to cease and desist in exchange for a very handsome payment. Florence paid and was confirmed in its determination to resist the legions of the absentee Pope in Avignon.
The anti-papal confederation was building, as Caterina of Siena did not hesitate to warn Gregory with monotonous regularity. She had even, she said, written to Hawkwood, begging him not to lay waste the lands around Siena, Lucca and Pisa and, above all, not to sell his sword to the highest bidder:
It would be a good thing if you would consider how great is the pains and anguish you endure by being in pay of the devil. My soul cries out for you and those companions who follow you to mend change your ways and serve once again the cross of Christ Crucified, so that, as Christ’s Company,you may march against the infidel dogs who possess our Holy Place. I beseech you, dearest brother in Christ, to remember the shortness of your time here on Earth and to remain in the Holy and Sweet Grace of God.
Condottiere: A Knight's Tale Page 21