Hawkwood's Sword

by Frank Payton

  “Do as Sir John says,” added Albrecht. “I’ll have no more of this nonsense over a girl. We are all comrades in arms here, not dogs fighting over a bone.”

  I made a sign to Giles and the half-dozen or so archers who had crowded into the room. They nocked arrow to string, and bent their bows to shoot. The Almain men-at-arms stirred uneasily. Von Felsingen slammed his sword back into its scabbard, spun on his heel and stalked from the room, and so down the stairs. Harzmann was the last to leave. His cold blue eyes met mine as he passed, though he was smiling.

  “Good night to you, Sir John, and to you Albrecht. We will all be better for rest after this night’s work. Perhaps we are a little over-wrought.” He pointed to Marco. “Our young friend appears to be the victor for the present. To him the spoils.” His glance passed briefly over the girl. He pushed through the knot of archers, and moved silently down the stairs. It felt easier to breathe when he had gone.

  Marco helped the girl to her feet. She stood close to him, supported by his arm. “This is Genevra, Sir John, daughter of the merchant Paolo da Lucca, who lies there on the floor. I fear he may be dead,” he said.

  I started at the mention of the name, but said nothing.

  “Let me have a look at him.” Giles pushed forward, and knelt by the motionless body. He felt the man’s chest, and held his polished vambrace near to his lips. “He yet lives. See, there is a faint mist on the steel. The young lady is in luck. With proper care, her father may yet recover.”

  He beckoned to two of his men and together they lifted da Lucca and placed him in a large chair near to the fireplace. Genevra hurried to kneel beside him, and chafed his hands between her own, and rubbed his cheeks until some colour returned. Taking a white scarf from her shoulders, she staunched the blood running from the cut upon his head. Giles fetched a cup of wine from the table, poured some over the cloth, and applied it to the cut. This helped to stem the flow, and the sharpness of the wine made da Lucca wince. His eyes opened, and he stared about the room. He whispered a few words to Genevra, then closed his eyes again.

  “He recovers,” said Albrecht. “I suggest we leave the girl to tend her father, together with Marco and Ralph. A few of the archers can stay for good measure. We will return to our own duties, and I shall have further words with Master Werner in the morning.” He lowered his voice. “I shall also want to find out more concerning the German you slew out there.”

  So it was. Giles told off five of his men to stay and guard the house. I also told Marco I would send one of the healers from the camp, who would bring herbs and simples to help Genevra’s father.

  As we made to leave, Genevra came up to Albrecht and myself. I thought her to be about eighteen years old, dark and comely, with a mass of long black hair. She had long-lashed brown eyes, tawny skin, and full red lips. Shyly and gracefully, she put out a hand to each of us.

  “Thank you, Sir Gianni, and you Messer Sterz. I am truly grateful to you both, and to your men for all you have done to save me from that dreadful man,” she shuddered, “And from his companion. Marco and his friends will look after us now.”

  She raised our hands and kissed them lightly, her dark eyes looking at each of us in turn. The touch of her lips was no more than the settling of a summer butterfly, her fragrance was of Spring flowers. We both bowed and took our leave.

  As we emerged into the square once more, Albrecht turned to me and said in his serious way, “You have a problem, Jack, or at least young Marco has. Your problem springs from his. That girl is smitten with him, and he with her. Will he follow you now?”

  I shrugged. “We’ve all been young and impetuous in our time,” I said. “We shall have to wait and see how things fall out. But now I’m for my bed. The guards are posted. There is naught else for us to do this night.”

  “You are right. As far as I am concerned Werner can wait until morning.” He slapped my shoulder and smiled. “We can sleep soundly tonight, Jack, after this success.”

  I bade him goodnight, and took Boy’s reins from the page who had brought him to me. As I rode back to camp with my guard, I marvelled how Fate had brought me to a position where I could call on da Lucca for assistance, for Genevra’s father was one of the agents of Francisco Datini, with whom I had done so much business in Avignon. Datini was a shrewd and hard bargainer on his own side, but honourable in all things, and we had both known we could help each other. I had kept this knowledge from Albrecht, and indeed all others, except John Brise, who was worn to secrecy. There was no need to broadcast the matter, as I did not know how things might fall out in the future—whether the Company would remain as one, or not. It is the nature of mercenaries to shift allegiances, to split up and reform in search of more congenial employment, more pay for less effort. It was ever thus.

  *****

  The next morning I rode back into Lanzo. As I passed through the gate, now manned with our own guards, I was pleased to see that the fires started during the night had been put out and some semblance of order restored. The Italian dead were being gathered together, stripped of their armour, weapons, and anything else of value, and laid out in rows. The stench of death was everywhere. I had no desire to invite a pestilence to strike us, and looked around for Matt Sayers, who had been left in charge by John Brise. I sent one or two men to seek him out, and soon saw his tall figure striding towards me.

  “Good Day, Sir John. I’m sorry I was not on hand when you arrived. Is there aught can I do?”

  “Good morning, Matt. After last night’s work, I am glad to see you unhurt. No one has yet reported any losses to me. There must have been some. Savoy’s men made a warm fight of it in the end.”

  “I’ll look into the matter when all the dead have been counted. Meanwhile, Master Turton is sending horse-loads of booty back to the main camp.”

  I laughed at that. “As is his way, Matt. He is ever the hoarder. It will all fetch a good price somewhere. No doubt the Almains are doing the same for their part. But go now to Master Preston, and say to him that I want all these dead Italians taken out and buried without delay. Our own can be dealt with separately, and Master Turton can return to his first calling and read something over them. It won’t do them any good now, but it will look better for the rest.”

  “Shall I list our dead by name?” he asked, and I nodded in reply, my attention being taken by activity on the tower. He followed my gaze, then swiftly caught at Boy’s bridle and pulled us both around a corner.

  “Crossbows, Sir John!” As he spoke there came a whine of bolts from the tower. Several struck the house and quivered in the timbers. There was a cry and one of our men skidded round the corner with a bolt in his arm, cursing lustily. I recognized him as Jenkin Cope, out of Suffolk, as he had said when he brought the message the previous day.

  “You goddamned fool, Jenkin! Can’t you keep your eyes open for trouble?” railed Matt. “Get yourself over to the healers, and let them tend to that arm. Here, you!” he called to another of his men who had rounded the corner to avoid the bolts. “See to Jenkin, will you? This’ll teach him to mind himself.”

  There were no more bolts from the tower, although the warning was there for all. I left Matt to his duties, ordering him to make a list of our dead for Will Turton. Turning Boy’s head I made off in the direction of da Lucca’s house. As I rode I wondered what his reaction would be when I showed him the letter I held from Datini. Would he trust me? Could I trust him? I shrugged off the thoughts of what might happen. Might was on my side, and I would use it if necessary.

  A knot of men stood at the house door. Sim Costean, a gnarled old archer, stepped forward.

  “Morning, Sir John. All’s well. Your lads have been around all night. The healer is here as well. The old man’s not much better yet.” Sim’s keen blue eyes, almost lost in the weather-seamed brown face, looked shrewdly into mine. We had known each other for many years. He lowered his voice. “This old Italian is of some value, is he? What about the maid?”

  Holding hi
s gaze in mine, I nodded slowly. “More gold in the pot for all of us, I hope. You know me, eh? The maid is gentle, and not for the likes of us, even freeborn English archers.”

  “Ah, but you’m a knight now, Jack. Well then?”

  I laughed. “Too young for an old dog like me, you rogue.”

  He grinned and stood back from Boy’s shoulder, taking the reins from me. I dismounted and went into the house. Ralph greeted me, a worried look on his face.

  “Hal Peasgood says Master da Lucca is like to die.”

  Inwardly I cursed this mischance. Damn Werner’s stupidity! Was this opportunity to be lost? I followed Ralph up the stairway. Marco stood at the top, his face set and glum. I passed him by and into the long room, thence into a small bedchamber. Paolo da Lucca lay pale and still upon the wide bed. It was canopied with rich hangings, replete with linen sheets and plump pillows against which the injured man lay propped up in a half-seated manner. Genevra sat by him, but as I approached she came forward to meet me.

  “My father is very ill, Signore, and I fear for his life. What am I to do? We are only here by an ill chance on a journey to Milan.”

  I was at a loss, not knowing the ways of Italy, nor of a woman’s mind. In the years during which I had risen in the world to be a captain of soldiers I had encountered many women, of high degree and low. One, now gone to another, I had loved. Others I had enjoyed for a brief space, but none had I stayed with long enough to learn their minds, if indeed a man were able to do that.

  “Do not speak so,” I spoke gently to her, “My healers are well skilled in their arts. With proper care your father will recover. You must try to be of good cheer, and help to nurse him. Now, is he conscious, can he speak to me?”

  “Indeed yes,” said Genevra eagerly. “He wishes to do just that, but he is so very weak.” She led me to her father.

  Hal Peasgood, one of Will Turton’s band of healers, stepped out of my path. He was a small man, balding, with sharp grey eyes in a round face and a sharply projecting nose. I was reminded of a sparrow. He bobbed a little bow.

  “This man is sore stricken, Sir John,” he whispered in the manner of his brotherhood. “With your leave I will go back to camp and fetch more herbs from my store. Also, I will bring Simon Cheshunt for his opinion of this case.”

  I nodded my assent, and he slipped noiselessly away, twitching his worn brown robe about him.

  Da Lucca’s weak, hollow, voice greeted me. “So, you are that great Gianni Haccuud of whom I hear, who intervenes on my behalf whilst his army despoils poor Piedmont? What have you to do with me and mine?”

  I sat on the stool which Marco brought me, and leaned nearer to him. “My main business is with Monferrato,” I said, “And his cause against Milan. To you I come as the friend of a friend. I bring you this.” I opened the purse at my belt and took from it the sealed parchment given me by Datini. He took the letter from me and glanced at the seal before handing it to Genevra, who broke it open and read it over to him in a low voice. The effect of the contents seemed to buoy up his spirits, and he looked keenly at me. He spoke evenly, but his voice was weak.

  “Now I understand the reason for your concern. My old and valued friend, Francesco of Prato, with whom you have done business, tells me that you are a man of honour and are to be trusted. With his recommendation you may ask me for anything, or for any service I can reasonably provide for you. At a fair price, of course,” he added hastily, extending to me a rather shaky hand.

  I grasped it firmly—and thus was formed a bond which was only to end years later with his death.

  “You and Genevra shall stay in this house under my protection, guarded from all danger, for as long as it is necessary for you to regain your health. When you are able to leave, I will provide a suitable escort to see you safely to your home.”

  Genevra turned to him. “Is this not wonderful, Father? We are safe, and you will be made better.”

  He patted her hand. “So it seems, my child. But what does the Signore Haccuud want in return?”

  “Naught, save to ask you to sell for me the arms and armour taken from the dead of yesterday’s fighting. Datini deals in weapons. You may have the usual commission, of course. But all this can wait until you are returned to your place of business once more. Before then, I hope to see you and your daughter at my table as honoured guests.”

  He nodded his assent, and lay back on the pillows. The effort had tired him. As Genevra fussed over him, I took my leave. I sent Ralph on ahead to arrange a relief for the guards with Will Preston. I followed at a slower pace with Marco.

  “Well, and what have you to tell me, Master Marco di Stoldo Bandini?” I asked him in a bantering tone.

  “That Paolo da Lucca is a rich man, Sir John. He is from Florence, and has a house of business there, and an estate, and farms in the countryside.”

  “And?” I pressed him.

  “He trades through Venice to the East, and through Genoa to the West, and, of course, overland to Avignon where you met Datini—who I say is a rich man, but not as rich as he. He also trades with the Low Country and with your own England.”

  “Nothing else?” I was teasing him now.

  “He has a beautiful daughter, Sir John, but I am only a poor crossbowman.”

  I laughed. “As I was a poor archer at sixpence a day. I told you, in this trade a man can rise in the world, especially by loyal service to the right leader.”

  “I will remember, Sir John. In any event, I shall not forget Genevra da Lucca. But here comes your man Peasgood, and another.”

  I reined in Boy as Hal Peasgood and Simon Cheshunt approached, and leaned down to them.

  “Both of you must do your very best to heal the old man. Use all your craft. This is important. I will reward you well an you succeed. I will say no more.”

  The two men of medicine looked at each other. Cheshunt hesitated, then said in his careful way, “We can do no more than our best, Sir John, and of that you may be assured.”

  I smiled at the pair. “Your best will be good enough for me, Simon.”

  I shook Boy’s reins to move him on, and looked across at Marco, who waited patiently. “Come then! To the camp with all haste.”

  We rode off, soon increasing our speed to a gallop, and so arrived at the gate in a flurry of dust and small stones, both horses snorting with the effort, and the gate guards shouting to urge us on.

  We dismounted at my pavilion. There was the usual knot of senior men at the entrance, all wanting my attention. I tossed Boy’s reins to Marco.

  “Take Boy and your own horse to the lines. Then get some rest. Find Ralph and tell him you are both relieved of duties until this evening, unless I am obliged to send for you.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “That was good work last night.”

  He grinned at that. “Perhaps I will be a better swordsman than crossbowman, Sir John?”

  “Perhaps, but for the present—off with you!” I turned aside to Will, who stood by impatiently, almost hopping from one foot to the other as would a small boy.

  “Now, Will Preston, what ails you?”

  “Naught, Sir John, naught. I’ve been waiting here upon your return. A word with you now, an you please.”

  “Very well, you first. The rest of you will have to wait. Come on inside, Will.”

  *****

  We seated ourselves at the table, well away from the entrance. “Now then, what is the problem?”

  “You will recall that after the ambush, when we left the mountains, you asked me to find out if any of our foreriders had told the Almains what had happened.”

  I nodded. “Keep your voice low. This must not be overheard. Go on.”

  “It was many days before I could come at the answer to your question. One of Belmonte’s Flemings was the culprit, one Niklaas Kortrijk, or some such name. It seems that he and one of the Almains were old comrades, and often rode together.”

  I frowned. “You say ‘were.’ Why so?”

  “Someone took
off his head last night. There is something else. Belmonte’s division was next to the Almains at the last gate. It looks to me as if Kortrijk was singled out to be silenced.” Will sat back with a satisfied air, and then. “There is yet more. We have a prisoner.”

  I sat up eagerly at that. This was becoming very interesting. We might discover more about our current situation with careful questioning.

  “We posted a guard on the secret door in the town wall, hoping to catch anyone who tried to escape. We were lucky. I’m told that well into the fight, after we’d taken the gates, the door opened—just a crack, and it was possible to see the light from a lanthorn. Then the light disappeared, and the door must have opened wider, for after a moment a man slipped out. He was in black clothing, and difficult to see by all accounts. The guards took him as he was crossing the ditch. It was easy. He hadn’t expected it to be full of water; it must have come as a bit of a shock. Anyway, he was brought here, and Will Turton has him under guard.”

  “Do we have any idea who he is?” I asked.

  “No, I suppose him to be an Italian. You’ll need Marco. We don’t understand his speech.”

  “Let him stew a while longer. I’ve sent Marco off to sleep. Later will do.” I took a swallow of wine from my cup to clear my mind.

  After Will came a succession of claims upon my time, from Will Turton wanting more packhorses to my cooks complaining about lack of supplies. I told Will to ask himself where the horses were to be found, and the cooks to complain to him. In between these two, I dealt with petty quarrels, complaints about pay, the men’s share of booty, and rations, until my head spun. In the end I lost patience, and sent them all packing, sitting alone at last to plan my next move. But before anything final could be decided, there was the matter of the as-yet-unknown prisoner to be resolved. To this end I sent a page to the Almain camp with a message.

  Thus, towards the end of the evening meal, Albrecht arrived, accompanied by Wolf and Hannes von Auerbach, the elder of his two principal lieutenants. von Felsingen was not present. I had asked that he should not be told of our meeting.