Hawkwood's Sword

by Frank Payton

  I turned again to my front, and found that the old commander of the crossbows had left his position amongst the councillors and now stood before me. He held out his right hand.

  “Signore Haccuud, I greet you as a fellow soldier, one true to his cause, in the highest traditions of chivalry. I add my own welcome to our great city to that already voiced by His Excellency. You have my support in the matter for discussion before us today. I am sure you also have the support of many another.”

  Grasping his hand, I thanked him as best I could in his own tongue. Suddenly, our small party was surrounded by a throng of other councillors, anxious to show their support for us by handclasp and loud acclaim. Even dour Jack Onsloe found himself the recipient of the most voluble and high flown protestations of friendship and loyalty. The pity was that he understood not a word of it.

  As this show of support slackened somewhat, the Doge’s voice cut through the noise. “Signori, please now restrain yourselves. It seems that the popular vote accords with my own feelings. This being so, I propose to meet Signore Haccuud and his own staff, to arrange the terms of the contract to lend a suitable number of crossbowmen to assist the English Company against the Visconti.”

  With that declaration it appeared that the first hurdle in our negotiations had been successfully passed. Ludovico beamed at me.

  “Well, Sir John, it appears that you have won the support of the Doge and the Signori by your own efforts. The blunt soldier triumphs over the diplomat. It remains now only to settle the details.”

  “It would seem so, but there could still be pitfalls ahead. There also remains a strong feeling against us from the other party. I would be foolish to ignore that.”

  “I agree. However, now that you have the majority with you, your opponents will not dare to go against the Captain General.”

  I had marked the approach of a tall figure in black as he made his way through the departing throng of councillors. He bowed in turn to Ludovico and myself.

  “Signore Giovanni, Count Ludovico, Signori: I am Pietro, Secretary to the Doge. If you will follow me please, his Excellency wishes to continue these discussions in private. He will also feel honoured if you will take some refreshment with him.”

  The talks continued over wine and an assortment of fruits and sweetmeats. The Doge was clearly a man of character. I had heard that his grandfather Guglielmo was more than half a pirate, a buccaneer. If true, then his blood had descended in a pure state to his grandson. The price for the hire of his men was very high. I despaired of success on that point alone. In addition there was the matter of clothes, weapons, items of armour, food, and much, much more. All these were items extra to the fee demanded and put forward by the councillors present.

  It was in my mind that some of them sought to profit themselves from the supply of these items. After a lengthy period of argument, I came to a decision, and spoke more directly to Boccanera.

  “Your Excellency, at this point I feel that it may be useful to have a short break in our talks. During that time I suggest that you and I together should walk in the very attractive garden which I see through yonder window. This will give us both an opportunity for informal conversation.”

  “That is an excellent idea, Signore Giovanni. We may clear our heads of wine, and perhaps come to know each others’ minds rather better. You might also be interested to see the leopard which I keep there.” To his councillors, the Doge said, “You hear, Signori; our meeting is now suspended, and Messer Pietro will inform you when shall meet again.”

  There were some dissenting voices, but it was clear to all that the matter was, for the present, closed. I spoke to my own people in similar vein, but on their side there were no protests.

  “I’ll be glad to get out of here for a spell,” said Jack. “Too much talk I don’t understand. Just warn this Doge that too high a price may have to be taken back, one way or another. Come, Giles lad, let you and I find a wineshop.” And with that they disappeared, together with Ludovico—who, however, was headed for his palazzo.

  Marco stood uncertainly, and looked at me. I waved him towards me. “Stay with me, Marco. I shall need your assistance, I’ve little doubt.”

  “Come then, Signore Giovanni—and you, Messer Bandini.” The Doge laughed at Marco’s evident surprise that he should know his family name. “I was acquainted with your late father, and your mother’s father. I have heard of your capture by Sir John’s Company. You have certainly risen above your fellows, but in an army of foreigners. That is good, but remember always that you are Genoese.”

  Marco was in some confusion at this, but answered stoutly. “I shall not forget, Excellency, but I shall also remember that Sir John saved my life. I am honoured by your attention.”

  We had now emerged from the shadows of the residence and blinked in the bright sunlight. I recall the garden was very prettily arranged with paved walks between small trees and colourful flowers. At intervals stood graceful figures carven in stone, and several sparkling fountains played, their fine spray relieving the heat. I complimented the Doge on this very pleasant place.

  “Thank you, Signore Giovanni. It is indeed a great solace to sit quietly and contemplate, away from the clamour of councillors, complainants, lawyers, and the like. No sound from the city can be heard here. But you must see my leopard. Come. You too, Messer Bandini.”

  We followed him to a shady corner of the garden where was placed a large cage of iron bars, inside which lay a huge spotted cat, far bigger than any hound I had ever seen. It gazed lazily at us from large green eyes and of a sudden yawned, showing shining white fangs and sharp teeth.

  “A fine and no doubt murderous beast, Your Excellency. You must hope it does not slip its cage and look for food elsewhere in the city.”

  The Doge smiled and replied, “It is chained as well as confined. But it is a quiet beast, having been born in captivity. It is possible to take it out on processions throughout the city, and if well fed beforehand it is content to walk along peaceably. The people love to see him.”

  We seated ourselves in a shaded arbor. A servant appeared with cool sherbet drinks, cold as ice. I commented on this wonder.

  “We bring ice down from the mountains in winter and early Spring, to be stored in deep cellars, where it remains frozen for months on end. It can be used to keep meats and fruit for long periods. It is a practice begun in ancient times, I am told. But now we should discuss certain matters more closely, I think.”

  “Gladly. You will realise, I know, that your price is very high, and is made more so by the suggestion that the cost of equipment, clothing and horses and so on should be added.” I paused.

  “I must admit to you, Signore Giovanni, that was myself surprised by this. It has not been usual in the past,” the Doge replied.

  “Perhaps the old enmities still rankle in some quarters?”

  “Perhaps, but we must rise above these paltry matters. I am anxious that Genoa should be able to increase trade with your country. Wool is an obvious commodity for you. In return, we can offer spices from the East, and many other rare and fine goods from as far afield as Cathay. Old enmities must fail before matters of moment such as these. Have you a proposal to which I can give consideration? It can then be presented to the Signori.”

  “I have, and it is this. You shall not ask for the extra payments, and in return I shall send word to people known to me in London, who will be eager and willing to work to increase trade between Genoa and England. This will expedite trade, and put profit in the hands of many merchants. Secondly, I shall pay but two thirds of the sum you demand, and in return I will undertake no hostilities on behalf of any other Italian power against Genoa and its possessions for the space of three years.

  “As one of my officers has observed, if we pay your full demands the excess will have to be taken back one way or another, at some time.”

  Boccanera looked at me gravely. “That is a hard bargain, Signore, and needs much thought. I see your mind more clearly n
ow. We should meet again on the morrow, when I hope to be able to come to a suitable accommodation with you.”

  Upon that we clasped hands and departed, leaving the Doge seated in his sunlit garden, gazing across at the caged leopard. Pietro escorted us to the Palazzo entrance, where our horses were waiting for us in the care of liveried grooms. We each swung up into the saddle, and began to make our way back to the Palazzo Lucanti.

  “Do you not wish to find Master Onsloe and Master Ashurst, Sir John?” asked Marco.

  “In a wine shop after this length of time? I think that might be unwise. Let them find their own way back. Jack will be wanting to go on to the camp, and Giles is the better one to keep a clear head. I have no doubt they will return in time for the evening meal, as I have instructed.”

  *****

  At the Palazzo Lucanti we found our host impatiently awaiting our arrival. Giulio, Ludovico’s secretary, conducted us to his master’s private salon, a fine chamber looking out over a garden in much the same fashion as that of Boccanera. This place was where much of family’s business was conducted. The walls were lined with books, and several iron-bound chests stood about. A long table was littered with documents.

  “I am glad to see you, Sir John. Have you concluded your talks with His Excellency? What is the outcome? Are you to get the men you require?” He rushed on, “I am very inhospitable. Please forgive me. Giulio! Some wine for Sir John, and for Messer Bandini.”

  I laughed at his eagerness. “No, no. Thank you. You are very kind, my friend.” I looked across at Marco in query, but he shook his head. “I have put certain proposals to the Doge, which he has undertaken to consider, but he seems to have been taken aback by their content.”

  “Then let us hope that the Signori agree. When do you meet the Doge again?”

  “As yet I know not, but I should think that if the Doge wishes to avail himself, and the city, of the benefits I have offered him, and can persuade his councillors to agree, then… perhaps on the morrow.”

  Ludovico sank back in his chair. “I am relieved to hear that, Sir John. It will surely be to the benefit of us all.”

  *****

  The negotiations continued. We argued back and forth for two more days, until I despaired of ever reaching an end. At the last however, and due to the intervention of the Doge, it was agreed that the city would not ask for the extra payments, and would accept three fourths of their original demand in gold and silver. In return I agreed to undertake no hostilities for five years, if ever.

  So it ended, and now, looking back over the years I see it was not such a poor bargain as I had at first thought. Thirty bands of crossbowmen marched out with us when we left Genoa. The service they later rendered us more than outweighed the cost.

  Before we left the city, however, there was the matter of my growing attachment to the Lady Proserpina, which could not be left unresolved. In accordance with Italian custom, Taddea was nearby in the garden when I recounted to her what I had heard from Ludovico, and said to him, concerning my love for her.

  “I am surprised that Ludovico has never told me that I must first be married in order to possess my inheritance,” she said. I could see her colour begin to rise, and her dark eyes flashed in the first stages of anger. “Is this true Taddea? Do you know of this condition upon my grandfather’s legacy?”

  “Yes, it is true, my dear, just as the Signore Giovanni says. I was present at your grandfather’s death, and heard his wishes, which were later set out in his will. He also said that you were a mischievous little mouse, but that he loved you dearly for it.” The old nurse smiled fondly at her wayward charge.

  Proserpina’s eyes filled with tears, and her anger gave way to grief. “I loved him too,” she whispered, “although he was so old and fierce.”

  I took both of her hands in mine. “My dearest girl! When this campaign is over, and the outcome cannot now be long delayed, I shall return as I have promised, and we shall be made man and wife.”

  “Gianni, my love, let it be now, before you leave. If you are slain I shall never see you more. That I could not bear.”

  I held her eyes with mine own, and saw her complete devotion in them. “I shall not be slain. It is not for nothing that I have fought over many battlefields in the past twenty years and more. One thing I have learnt is how to survive. You need have no fears, I shall return to you.”

  I opened the purse at my belt and took from it the gold ring with the lion’s mask bezel, which I had had from Will Turton. I had set it aside for just this purpose.

  “Take this ring as a token of my love, and also as a sign that I shall return.”

  She took the ring from me, and closed her long fingers over the massy gold of it. “I shall wear this as you say, my dear, but not on any of my fingers. It is too large even for my thumb. No, I shall wear it on a gold chain next to my heart, and think of you as it presses against my breast, as you did at our first embrace. It shall never leave me, my dear love. And now, kiss me before you leave, and I shall fly to my room and weep, as a foolish woman will do. But as you ride away, look back, and you will see me once more. Farewell!”

  We kissed, a lovers’ farewell kiss, which seemingly lingers into Eternity, and yet is as brief as life itself.

  So I left her, but as we rode away I looked back at the Palazzo Lucanti, and she leaned out from a balcony laughing through tears. I caught the thrown silken scarf which drifted down from her hand, and swiftly bound it about my left arm. I raised my hand in a last salute, and then turned my face to the north, and duty.

  Chapter 7

  A Delayed Campaign

  On a strange prompting I had chosen to ride ahead of the Company, with only a single forerider sent ahead to announce our immanent arrival to the camp. I wished to enjoy the quiet of the road as I pondered stratagems.

  I came to a halt when the sound of drumming hoofbeats reached my ear. The forerider, Jenkin Cope, the lad out of Suffolk, was returning.

  “Plague! Sir John, plague! Scores, hundreds, dead or dying!” he cried out as he drew close. His eyes stared, his lips were white, and he seemed on the verge of fleeing.

  I caught his arm, nearly dragging him from his horse. It reared in alarm as the reins tightened the bit. The beast’s eyes rolled wildly.

  “Stand still, man. Control yourself. Speak low, and tell me what is happening at Romagnano. Quietly now, I don’t want a panic.”

  Jenkin recovered his composure, and patted his horse’s neck so that it stood quietly.

  “I’m sorry, Sir John, but it is bad tidings. When I came near to the camp I felt that something was not right. There were men-at-arms on guard to prevent anyone approaching nearer than a hundred yards. Between each one was an archer, arrow on string, ready to shoot any who tried to leave! I called out my name, and said you were nearby on your return from Genoa.”

  “And then? Did you speak to anyone in command? Who was there?”

  “No one, save one of the healers—a little man in a brown robe, Hal something, I can’t recall his other name.”

  “Peasgood,” I muttered absently, my mind in a whirl, trying to take in the news. What to do, what to do? Where was John Brise, where were Albrecht and the others?

  “Jenkin! Say no more now, to anyone. On pain of death, keep your mouth tight shut! Leave this to me.”

  He gulped at the threat. “I will, Sir John, never fear.”

  “Go back and fetch Master Onsloe, and Master Ashurst. Say that I wish them to halt the column and to join me here. Return with them, without delay.”

  Jenkin rode off at a gallop on the errand. I knew it was sheer luck that I had ridden ahead of the rest, accompanied only by Marco, who now came up alongside me.

  “Plague?” he asked.

  I nodded. “We will make camp here. I dare not advance further until I know more.”

  We two awaited the arrival of Jack and Giles. They rode up with Jenkin following. I told them what little we knew. Jack swore, Giles looked worried, and for once h
ad nothing to say. They all agreed with me that we should make camp where we stood, and so it was done.

  It was late afternoon, so it would not be thought unusual, and the men dropped gratefully from tired horses and turned them to graze. In a short time, the smoke from cooking fires began to drift upwards in the still air. Soon stews were bubbling in the pot, and the smell of meat roasting on the spit spread tempting invitations to the evening meal. On a cold autumn evening, hot stew would raise the men’s spirits.

  We gathered around the table in my pavilion and, as had become usual, were joined by Andrea da Varazzo, Captain of the Crossbows. He was a lean, dark young man then in his late twenties, hard-faced, but with a half-humourous glint in his eye. No crossbowman himself, he ranked as a junior knight. Marco had told me he was accounted an experienced officer. Seating himself at the table he looked around.

  “I see worried faces. Something is wrong, yes?”

  “Yes, Andrea, something is indeed wrong,” I replied. “There is plague in our camp at Romagnano. At present we know no more than that. Tonight we stay here. For the time being say nothing to your men. Tomorrow I will try to find out more.”

  To my surprise Andrea made little comment, and began to eat heartily. “We have outbreaks of plague here and there, now and then,” he said between mouthfuls. “Some die, most live. It is God’s will.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “What to you intend, Sir John?” asked Giles.

  “Tomorrow I will take a small party of those who will, and seek out someone who can tell me more than we know at present. I will go alone if must be. I must remain hopeful that John Brise, Albrecht, and many others are safe. If Hal Peasgood is still alive with his companions, then there is still some hope.”

  *****

  Early the next morning, with a heavy dew still on the ground, I rode out with Giles and Marco, leaving Jack Onsloe in command. There was a frosty bite in the air, which the early sun did little to chase away. Far to the north, the same sun twinkled on the snow-covered peaks of the mountains. We rode without speaking, and after a mile or two we espied a group of horsemen approaching us along the same track. We drew nearer to them, until their leader reined in his mount and raised his hand in a gesture for us to draw halt. I knew him by his yellow hair. It was Conrad Harzmann, Werner von Felsingen’s shadow.