by Frank Payton
“Come no closer, Sir John. We have plague here. Albrecht, John Brise, Thornbury, and others of your Company are struck down. I am told they will recover. Many have died however, perhaps four hundred, English and Almain alike. Your boy Ralph is dead. We buried him yesterday. Our healers and yours have worked day and night. Fortunately, only two of their number have died.”
These were grievous blows. Poor Ralph! If only I had taken him with me, as well as Huw, he would not have endured the agonies of the plague and death. I regretted this news deeply. Ralph had followed me for five years, and had grown from a boy to a man in our rough world. I knew I would miss his quiet, eager presence.
“What about the others?” I called. “Will Turton, Will Preston, Andrew Belmonte?”
“The pestilence has not touched them. They are well. Werner, and von Auerbach too, are well. Do you have supplies of food?”
“Yes, but not much. We shall have to forage. There are three hundred crossbowmen in our train now, so we shall be able to live off the land.”
“You would be well advised not to approach any villages or farms too closely,” said Conrad. We think we caught the plague from that source. Now we must return.”
He swept off his velvet cap in salute, wheeled his horse, and rode off, the rest of his men clattering behind. I called after him.
“We should meet here again on the morrow, Conrad.”
He half turned in the saddle and raised his hand in acknowledgement.
So it was. Our little camp became an outpost of the larger one. We organised defences and guards. Parties were sent out to forage for food and fuel. Water was a problem, but we were fortunate to find a stream which ran from a hillside towards Romagnano not far away, and we only took our supplies from its very source. This, I deemed, would ensure clean water both for men and horses.
It pleased me to have found such a spring, as it brought back to mind that enchanted day not so long past, when Proserpina and I first declared our love. When would I return to her, I wondered.
The silk scarf she had thrown down to me at our parting was now worn constantly about my neck beneath my shirt. Our time together had been so short, it seemed then a beautiful fleeting dream. The scarf which carried her fading perfume was all I had.
We fell into a camp routine, foraging, hunting, and practicing our weapon skills. Importantly, Giles and Andrea devised contests of bowmanship between archers and crossbowmen. Apart from keeping the men from idling aimlessly, it brought about a mutual respect for each other’s weapon. The young Italians were at first amazed by the speed at which our archers could loose showers of arrows. On the other hand, Giles and his small band had to admire the strength of the crossbow, and the accuracy with which the bowmen could place their bolts in the centre of the target.
Whilst all this was taking place, I spent much time meeting Conrad or some other to find out how matters were progressing at Romagnano.
“The number of deaths is falling daily, Sir John,” Conrad said to me on the ninth day. “We are told that as the weather grows colder, the pestilence will itself die away.”
Then, several days after that, Albrecht appeared with Conrad. We still remained a good distance apart, but I could see that my old friend was pale and drawn, and sat slackly in the saddle.
“It is good to see you again,” I called across to him. “Are you recovered?”
“I am much better, but still weak. It would seem that I have been spared once more from death, this time by the grace of God and the healer’s arts. We shall ride together once again, old friend. Conrad here has told me that there were no deaths yesterday, and the number sick of the plague has fallen. We look to have lost nigh on five hundred of our comrades, Jack—brave men all, taken by this pestilence.” He shook his head sadly.
These were sorry tidings, and I turned back to our camp with a heavy heart.
*****
Another month was to pass in this fashion, until Albrecht and I judged that the danger was over. It was then, with considerable relief, that on a fine day in early winter I and my small army passed between the gates of the main camp at Romagnano. The Company was once more complete. Our return was the occasion for great rejoicing and celebration. John Brise greeted me with John Thornbury at his side. Throwing his great arms about me like a huge bear, he thumped me on the back until I shook him off fearing I would never breathe again. He roared out his welcome.
“By the Rood, Jack, we thought never to see you and those you took with you ever again. John here was struck down with the foul pestilence before me, and was nigh to death before ever I caught the plague.”
“Aye, and that’s the truth, Sir John,” said the other. “We lay side by side, and swallowed Hal Peasgood’s stinking potions day after day. Hardly a crust of bread or a sup of wine passed our lips for weeks.”
“But he rid you both of the plague,” I felt I had to point out to them.
“Yes, and many another, thank God!” said John Brise. “He and Simon Cheshunt have earned themselves a place in Heaven, with their work for us all. Twas a pity, though, that young Ralph died. Simon told us he was just not strong enough to withstand the fever. He was a good lad. Will Turton has scriven a list of all the dead. Many a good man gone, Jack. Old Sim Costean was one. Mind you, he was older than most, but he’ll draw the bowstring no more. God rest his soul!”
So Sim was gone to his Maker at last. He was a piece older than me, sixty years or more. I recalled what he told me years before about his training as an archer, when his grandfather, who had fought against the Scots with Edward the First, gave him a long stick to hold as if at were a bow. Sim had to stay with arm outstretched for lengthy periods, day after day, until the old man was satisfied. Next, a string was attached to the stick to make a crude bow. The task then was to draw the string to the ear and hold, only releasing the string slowly from time to time, and then drawing it again. Next came the arrow: how to nock it to the string, how to draw and loose. Week after week, month after month, this was young Sim’s exercise. With good food and rough play with the village boys, his body grew in strength. By the time he reached manhood, he had the barrel chest, the whipcord arm muscles, and the grace of a natural archer. In addition, he often carried off the golden prize for marksmanship at tournaments. Later, like many another, he took service under his lord, and fought for the King in nearly every campaign from Halidon Hill in Scotland to Crecy and Poitiers in France. His death was a great sorrow for me.
The two Johns babbled on, but I was hardly listening. At last I stopped the flow of words.
“Stop, stop! I’ve heard enough. We must look to the next part of this campaign. John, make sure our new recruits are settled in the camp. To begin with, give them a field of their own. In time I want to apportion them out to the different commands. Apart from that, for the present we should rest, eat and drink well, so that those who have been sick may recover their strength before we take the field again.” I paused. “This young knight here is Andrea da Varazzo, who is Captain of the Crossbows. He is reported to be a good man, and luckily he speaks some English.”
Andrea came out from the group about me, and solemnly clasped hands with John Brise and John Thornbury. They both towered over his slight figure, and he looked a little afeared, especially as John Brise slapped him on the back and bellowed one of his usual welcomes for newcomers. Andrea staggered, but recovered well, even managing a grin in return.
“I see that I would be foolish to anger you, Master Brise,” he said. “You might have a sword in your hand on such an occasion.”
“Nay, lad, you’ve nought to fear from me, as long as you and your men are loyal to Sir John and the White Company. Any traitor had better take heed of me then.”
*****
Albrecht settled back in his high chair and reached for the richly chased silver jug which stood on the table in front of him. He drew it towards him and slopped a generous amount into his silver wine cup. I noticed his hand shaking a little. Not a good sign, I tho
ught. He held out the jug towards me, eyebrows raised in question. I shook my head, and he replaced it in front of him.
“You’re still not yourself, old friend,” I said.
He sipped the wine. “Nein, no, I am not, but I am much better than I was.”
We two sat at the table in Albrecht’s pavilion for one of our private meetings. Only Wolf, his page, stood by the entrance, ready either to prevent anyone entering or to minister to his master’s needs.
“When you left for Genoa,” Albrecht began, “I sent a strong probing force under Werner towards Pavia. Initially, he had some success, and confined Landau to Tortona, then continued his progress through the country as far as Pavia.”
“What happened then?” I was eager for news after an absence of two months.
“A reverse. The Italian dal Verme appeared with a much stronger force. Werner, quite rightly to my mind, made a fighting withdrawal. To add to all this, Galeazzo Visconti sent over an envoy, in an effort to make peace.” Albrecht paused, and took a long draught from his cup.
“And then?” I prompted.
“Then the plague struck us, and the envoy took to his heels in great haste.” He laughed out loud at the memory. “He left at such speed that he lost his hat at the gate, and did not tarry to retrieve it, even though it had a great ruby set in a brooch upon it. About the plague, you have already heard enough. Many good men gone. How shall we replace them?”
“Send Werner on another visit to Germany,” I suggested. “He came back with a company the last time. I will send word to certain persons in England who could raise more men for us. However, don’t forget that I have just brought three hundred crossbows back from Genoa.”
“I do not forget, Jack, but I had liefer have our own people with us.” Albrecht stared moodily into space.
I realised then that the plague which had struck him, personally, had also hit him hard with the loss of so many of his comrades, some of whom had fought side by side with him over many years.
He continued. “I feel at times that I am become too old for this trade, and it is time to realise my fortune and return to Germany.”
I scoffed at this. “To do what, Albrecht? Sit in a hilltop castle above the Rhine River and chew upon your nails, whilst your sword rusts upon the wall? Come, man, have some more wine. Be of good cheer. We have plans to make. We cannot kick our heels here much longer. Soon we must press forward to Milan and Pavia. Also, we must test this Galeazzo’s resolve for making peace. There could be much to reap there, through war or peace.”
“Of course you are right, Jack. I am a fool to lament so, but I suppose I am not yet fully recovered in mind. This feeling of melancholy sits on my shoulder and will not depart. I miss many of my former comrades. They were strong in battle, but had no strength against the pestilence, and many made a bad end. It is well that we cannot see our own end, Jack. For me, let it be by the sword, not some stinking plague which rots my body and soul at the last.”
I reached out and touched his arm. “I will say Amen to that. Now let us leave the plague in the past, and look to the future. I have more news to share with you, at which may be in amaze. On the road to Genoa we rescued a Genoese nobleman, his sister, and their retainers from a band of brigands intent on robbery at the least, with murder and rape of the young woman at the worst.”
“This is real knight errantry, as in old tales, Jack. I admire your selfless action. Now tell me what this availed you.” He grinned mischievously at me, more like his old self.
“What else could I have done? Anyway, the nobleman is Ludovico, the Count Savignone, and his sister the very lovely Lady Proserpina di Lucanti. Apart from offering us hospitality, the Count was very influential in gathering support for our cause. All this in return for the rescue, which he saw as laying a duty upon him.” I reached for the silver jug and poured more wine for myself. Albrecht placed his hand over his cup and shook his head.
“Hmm, and in return you fell for the flashing eyes and womanly wiles of the maid, I suppose?” said Albrecht with a knowing smile.
“In short, yes. She is a strong, high-spirited young woman, bold and wild, and a great beauty withal. Ludovico wishes her to be married and off his hands. I need and want a new wife, old friend. A wife to take back to England when the time is right. Also, she is not without means of her own, including an estate in Liguria.”
Albrecht looked at me and shook his head in disbelief. “You are really resolved on this? You truly wish for a wife, after all this time? How many lovers have you had? Many women of both high degree and low have fallen to your lance. You even had the pleasure of that witch, Joan of Kent, I think.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Who did not? Yes, Albrecht, I am resolved on this. With a wife, and an estate in England, one in Italy, and possibly more children, verily I shall be a successful soldier knight, and attract the King’s eye.”
“You are a sly fox, Jack. I wish you well of this ambition with all my heart. I have been wedded to the sword far too long to change my mistress. The Rhenish castle of which you speak was lost to my family many years ago. I am the last of my line. I chose the life of a soldier, and will doubtless die as one.”
I now deemed it timely to remind Albrecht of what Marco had told me of having seen Conrad Harzmann in the company of Pietro Lamberti, who had purported to be an envoy from Monferrato. As I had expected, my old comrade was reluctant to think ill of his companions.
“But, Jack, do you believe the lad’s account? Could he be mistaken?”
“I doubt it. He is sharp-witted, and he described Lamberti to me in some detail. Also, he had noted the softness of Conrad’s voice. You know well that usually he speaks almost in a whisper.” I could see that Albrecht was sorely troubled by my words.
“But neither of them has yet done anything to give me reason to distrust them,” he protested. “They were always by my side after their return from Germany, and...” he stopped and frowned. “How long before the ambush did Marco say he saw Conrad?”
“I can’t be certain, but let us say seven days.”
“You had not rejoined us by that time,” Albrecht mused. “I told you that I had sent parties to the south as scouts. This would have been at about the same time. Now if Werner or Conrad, or both, had sent a messenger to Monferrato’s court as they set out from Germany with intention of arranging a meeting, then the whole thing is possible.”
“There is one other thing to remember,” I pointed out. “Werner makes no secret of his dislike and mistrust of Marco, and indeed, on two occasions has tried to kill him. He may not know that Marco actually saw Conrad, but he has tried to guard against that chance, in the only way he can.”
“But apart from the few instances of discontent told to me by Heinrich Steiner, and the killing of your man Kortrijk, nothing has happened.” Albrecht was puzzled, I could see.
“That is true, but you know that when one looks at a river it may seem to flow very calmly on the surface. Underneath there are often currents which can sweep away an unwary swimmer. I think we deal here with very deep currents. Let us suppose that we bring Landau to a final pitched battle. Imagine: we have committed ourselves, deployed our men and the battle has begun. What, then, if a sizeable body of our own men turned against their comrades and fought for Landau? You and I, and the White Company, could be lost. Something we do not wish to see!”
“I suppose you to be right, Jack,” said Albrecht. “I have always had doubts in my mind about Conrad. He is too silent and secretive for me, and besides, has too much of a hold on Werner. Werner at one time I would have trusted with my life, but now? How do we counter this?”
“Only by being vigilant, and by readying ourselves for the blow whenever it should come. We must each take some others into our confidence, but that itself is fraught with danger. For my part I am sure of John Brise, and of Jack and Giles, but will they be enough?”
Albrecht pursed his lips, and looked thoughtful. He spoke slowly, “I can certainly trust Hanne
s von Auerbach, Heinrich Steiner, and Klaus Wegener. Like you I think the fewer with knowledge is best.
“Woe betide the traitors, as and when their blow falls!” He yawned and stretched out his arms. “Now, Jack. I shall go to my bed. I am still weak from the plague, and must build up my strength once more.”
I had noted how pale and tired he was, how his eyes were unnaturally bright. He came to the entrance of his pavilion with me, and briefly surveyed the night sky. I laid my hand on his shoulder and wished him well. He returned me a wan smile.
“Bis morgen, Jack, until morning. I shall feel better then.”
I left him then and returned to my own pavilion, despite my former cheerfulness, with a grim foreboding.
*****
It was inevitable that at some time we would have to come to conclusions with Galeazzo Visconti. After my return from Genoa he tried to make a treaty of peace with us. However, we had information that our previous adversary at Lanzo, the Count of Savoy, had proposed just the opposite; in other words, he planned a major effort, an alliance with Galeazzo to drive us out of Lombardy for good and all. This news arrived by secret messenger from Paolo da Lucca, now fully recovered from his injuries at the hands of von Felsingen at Lanzo, and anxious to assist in any way as he had promised.
Gian Galeazzo’s emissary arrived just after the messenger from da Lucca. He appeared in a flurry of excitement with an escort of gaily dressed retainers and a band of men-at-arms. Albrecht and I went out to meet him at the front of Albrecht’s pavilion.
“Listen to this man,” Albrecht murmured aside to me, as a richly attired rider slid down from his horse. “I would not trust him with a soldi, let alone with a mission such as this.”