Hawkwood's Sword

by Frank Payton

  “Giovanni dei Pepoli at your service, Signores,” said the emissary, with a sweeping bow. “I am delighted to see that you are fully recovered from the contagion, Signore Alberto. Perhaps you will present to me your distinguished comrade, who is unfortunately not known to me.”

  “This is my friend Sir John Hawkwood, an English knight, with whom I have had a long and and successful association.”

  Dei Pepoli swept off his hat and made an exaggerated bow in my direction. I inclined my head slightly.

  “The Signore Giovanni H..H..Haccuud,” he intoned, my name clearly being beyond his powers of speech, “I am honoured to meet you. All Italy marvels at your deeds.”

  “You are too kind, Signore,” I managed to say, and bowed in turn. “Perhaps we can offer some refreshment to these fine gentles, Albrecht?”

  “Yes, indeed. Signore dei Pepoli, will you bring your principal companions into the pavilion, where we can conduct our discussions in more comfort?”

  Albrecht and I seated ourselves at the head of the long table, and dei Pepoli and his half-dozen companions seated themselves in their order of rank. Wolf and the other pages poured wine for us all, and set out silver dishes of fruits and nuts together with sugared comfits for our refreshment. I had been observing our chief guest closely. He reminded me too much of Lamberti, although this man was slim where Lamberti had been fat, and had in addition a lofty air which he sought to conceal, for the time being, behind flowery phrases and gestures. I decided, as Albrecht had warned me, that he was not to be trusted.

  “Well, what does your master, the Lord of Pavia, wish of us?” said Albrecht, cracking two walnuts between his strong fingers the while. “How may we please him?”

  “My master hopes that good relationships may be established between us, and in token of that offers gifts of treasure, and other advantages which might persuade you to turn aside from your present course. It is most distressing to him, a peaceful, scholarly man, that this war should continue,” dei Pepoli said with a smile, which served only to increase my distrust of him.

  “The war is continuing because the forces of Count Landau will invade Monferrato if we do not deny him the way,” said Albrecht. “He is aware, I hope, that our Father the Pope is equally distressed by the current state of affairs."

  “Perhaps we may be able to come to some friendly agreement which will put the minds of both our patrons at rest?” came the silky reply from our foxy guest. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “My master’s settlement of your account would be most generous. You would then be free to offer your redoubtable services elsewhere.”

  Albrecht glanced at me and raised his eyebrows in question. I took up the point in question.

  “We need to know what is being offered, before we can arrive at a decision,” I said. “The sum offered must recognise our considerable expenses in conducting this campaign, and of course there is no guarantee that we will succeed in finding a new patron. In that event we would have little alternative but to levy contributions from the citizens of Milan and Pavia in order to maintain ourselves.”

  Dei Pepoli’s face paled somewhat, and he took a quick gulp from his wine cup. “I am able to offer you six thousand silver florins per month for six months, and a payment of fifty thousand florins of gold to be paid at once. More I cannot, whether this suffices or no.”

  Albrecht spoke again. “I think we should be allowed time to consider your offer. We will send you our answer within the next few days. More we cannot do.” He smiled slightly at this last, and stood up to signify that the meeting was over.

  Dei Pepoli sprang to his feet, quickly followed by his group of companions. They departed from the camp with many protestations of friendship, bowings and scrapings, and hand-waving. The escort of men-at-arms cantered after them a little more soberly.

  As they were lost to our view, Albrecht’s eyes met mine. I shook my head. He smiled and nodded his head in agreement.

  *****

  With all this in our minds Albrecht and I, and our lieutenants, sat late over the wine after an evening meal a few days later. We sat easily after the good food, warmed both by the wine and by several charcoal braziers placed around the interior of Albrecht’s pavilion.

  It was von Felsingen who began the serious discussion. “My friends, I think that we should regard our work for Monferrato at an end. After all, Savoy is in no state to make warlike noises against us, and Galeazzo would not make overtures of peace from a position of strength. We should state our price for ceasing operations in this Lombardy and move to fresh fields.” He leaned back with a satisfied air, and took a deep draught from his cup.

  “You forget, Werner, the small matter of Conrad Landau,” said Albrecht. “If we withdraw elsewhere, what employment would he have? His contract could be ended by the Visconti, and he might decide to attack Monferrato himself to keep his men occupied, or to seek booty, or be paid off. In that case, I feel that we would have failed in our duty to the Marquis.”

  “You care about that?” sneered Werner, a note of disbelief in his voice. “Well, I for one do not, and I am sure I am not the only one here in that mind. March off, say I, out of this Lombardy. There is nothing more for us here. There are the Pisan and Florentine lands to be exploited yet. Something easier. We have had a hard fight of it so far, not to mention the plague. The offer from Pavia should be accepted.”

  Oh, should it? I thought, and glanced covertly at Albrecht, but his face was impassive. I took up the discussion, saying, “Come now, Werner, you know that we cannot leave Landau in our rear. He is an active enemy even now. You do not turn your back on a charging bull, and that is what he would become, if only to exact revenge for our success against him in the past weeks. No, he and his army must be decisively beaten. There is no other sensible course of action for us.”

  Albrecht leaned forward. “Jack’s intention is to launch further attacks now, when Landau and his master least expect them. War is not carried on in winter in Italy. I’ve been here before, and everyone goes home when the weather turns cold. But to us from the north this is not cold weather, so we can continue and press our advantage, perhaps conclusively.”

  Werner shrugged his shoulders and looked glum. He drummed fingers on the table impatiently, looking the while across at Harzmann, who appeared to ignore him, but who spoke for the first time in his quiet voice.

  “When do you propose to set forth on this foray, Sir John? Are we in a good state of readiness for this? You know, many of the men are still suffering from the effects of the plague.” As he spoke he toyed with a hazel nut, rolling it on the table from one side to the other between his cupped hands. When I began to answer his questions he slapped the heel of his hand sharply on the nut, crushing it to small pieces. He looked up, expressionless.

  “We need only two-thirds of our strength for this, Conrad,” I said. “It will be needful in any event to leave a strong garrison here. There is too much of value stored here to leave unguarded. For my part, I shall leave Will Turton in command here, with Andrew Belmonte and all the plague survivors not yet up to full fighting ability. Some of your archers will have to remain behind. Giles, I leave that matter to you. We shall travel fast and hit hard. We shall catch Landau unawares, and be up to the gates of Milan with luck. Then we will have the Visconti at our feet, and our rewards will be great enough to fill all our pockets! How say you, Albrecht?”

  Albrecht’s eyes gleamed as he looked around at the assembly. He raised his cup. “To a hard ride, a swift victory, and more booty that each man can carry.”

  There was a roar of assent at this, and all joined in the toast to success. A buzz of talk broke out, and I knew I had them wholly at my back in the venture.

  “We ride on the second morn,” I shouted. “Be ready!” and in an aside to Albrecht, “Keep a close watch on Werner and Conrad. No word of this must get to Landau.” He nodded his assent.

  John Brise had caught this last few words and leaned over me, his breath re
eking of wine. “You suspect those two of some treachery, Jack?” he rumbled in my ear.

  I moved away slightly. “Not only me, but Albrecht is aware that all is not as it should be. We do but take care.”

  “You’ve only to say the word, and I’ll make them disappear.”

  “No, leave it,” I said. “They are not our men, and there is no proof of treachery.”

  “Hmm. Why are you leaving Belmonte with Turton? It ought to be Will Preston.”

  I nodded. “If you think so, John, then let it be so. Will Preston shall stay here in command, and Belmonte can come with us.”

  I pushed my chair back and stood up. Albrecht did likewise. We stood side by side and raised our cups, brimming with the good red wine.

  “To success in the field, and gold for all!”

  I remember the faces at that table, red and sweaty with much food and wine, the heady smell of it enough to stop a charge of French knights. The shouts of approval, the hammering of dagger-hafts upon the board resounded like rolling thunder.

  “Zum Wohl! Waes Hael! Drinc Hael! Gold for all!”

  I picked up my table knife and thrust it into the belt-sheath. I drew on my gloves as Albrecht walked with me to the pavilion entrance. Outside,the night air struck chill after the heat around the table. There was a steady wind from the west, which brought a smell of watch fires, and some of their fiery sparks hurried by. Huw was waiting with Boy. He handed me the reins, and I pulled myself up into the saddle. I leaned down to Albrecht, who stood wrapped in a cloak which Wolf had brought out to him.

  “Good night, old friend,” I said. “At the end, all will be well.”

  *****

  The second morning after the dinner in Albrecht’s pavilion broke clear and cloudless. A light frost dusted the grass, and the breath of both men and horses hung in the air. There was little wind. From the vantage point of Boy’s saddle, I looked over the ranks of mounted men drawn up in divisions under their leaders. Jack Onsloe’s black stallion was restless, and ready for the word to move off. Jack wrestled with the reins for control, and I could hear him cursing loudly. His men sat motionless; they were under his control at least, and dared not place a foot wrong. At my side John Brise chuckled into his beard.

  “I’ll wager Jack is furious. The horse lads must have given his mount some oats. I’d not be in their shoes for all the gold in Lombardy.”

  Giles’s archers looked as colourful as ever, yellow bows slung on their backs, the white fletching on the arrows showing atop the brown leather cases hanging at their belts. Giles was finding it hard to keep his composure as he looked across at Jack’s discomfort.

  “Yes, I suppose you to be right, but we must now begin this march, John, so let us get to it; no more delays. Jack will have to come along as best he can.”

  I shook the reins and urged Boy forward. At least he was a solid, biddable horse, and not inclined to tantrums such as Onsloe’s destrier. The whole column began to move, Almains and English alongside each other. Albrecht was away to my left, with von Felsingen and Harzmann following at the head of their divisions.

  We were fielding a force of two and a half thousand or so, including half the contingent from Genoa. They were led by Andrea da Varazzo, who rode with Giles. He had been careful to ensure that his men looked their best, and in his own appearance and demeanour I recognised the trained professional. I turned to John.

  “You’ve sent the foreriders out in front in twos this time, John, as I ordered? We can’t afford to be ambushed again without warning.”

  “Aye, Jack, there’s no mistake this time. If the enemy is lying in wait, we’ll hear about it. I’ve given clear orders what is to be done at the first glimmer of danger.”

  We passed through countryside already fought over twice. Ruined farms and villages marked our earlier actions against Landau, when we had driven him back to the Ticino and Trebbia rivers. Some life was stirring as the people crept back to shattered, roofless homes, and began to take up the threads of something like a normal existence again. In some of the villages makeshift markets had been set up, and farmers from outlying areas had begun to try and renew the supply of food to the population. Other traders from further afield appeared, anxious to resume normal commerce.

  Under a leaden sky, everything about us seemed dark and not a little menacing. There was no sign of an enemy. For three days we rode steadily eastwards, making night camps in the open, and sleeping under rough and ready shelters. Foreriders came and went out, with little to report.

  On the afternoon of the third day we came upon the ruins of a religious house. Hoping for a little better shelter from the poor weather, we halted and began to seek for places to rest amongst the remaining buildings. We dismounted, and I walked with John and Marco into a courtyard. In the middle of this stood an elderly monk at the head of a group of about thirty brown-clad brethren.

  “For pity’s sake, sirs,” he called out in a quavery voice, “We have nothing left for you to take. Everything has been taken by raiders such as you. Leave us in peace! There is nothing for you here.”

  He made a feeble gesture of dismissal, and, in turning away from us fell heavily against two of the brothers, who struggled to hold him upright. They led him away to a place where he could sit and rest.

  “Have no fear of us, old man,” I said. “We do but seek refuge for the night, a place to sleep and prepare our food. I am John Hawkwood, a knight of England, and you have my word that no harm shall come to you from us.”

  At these words there was a stir amongst the brethren, and a young monk pushed his way to the fore.

  “You are John Hawkwood from Essex? This is a miracle indeed! I am Brother Edmund, born Thomas of Halstead. I have heard of how you became a great man under the King, in the wars in France.”

  A miracle? It was certainly a great wonder to me also, that one born so near to my own village should appear before me in such a manner. The sound of his honest Essex voice carried my mind to England and home straightway.

  “I am pleased to hear your words, and in my own turn of speech, especially in this ruined place,” I told him. “Tell me, who is this old man, and how comes your house to be in such state?”

  I thrust out my hand which he took readily in his grasp. There were tears in his eyes which he hastily dashed away.

  “He is the Abbot; Marcellinus is his religious name. He was badly used by the men who sacked this place. We are left with nothing now. Everything of value has been stolen.”

  I placed my hand on his shoulder, and painfully thin it felt too.

  “At least you shall not want for food this night, and when we ride on we will leave you whatever we are able. But there are nigh on three thousand of us, so belike we shall disturb your prayers and orisons until we pass on. Tell the Abbot what I have said, and also that you and he shall eat at my table later. Your brethren shall be given food and drink from our store.”

  “Blessings on you, Sir John. We will accept the hospitality of your table with gratitude. I will go tell Father Marcellinus.”

  He turned away and went to speak to the abbot, who brightened visibly at his words. I noticed that Brother Edmund, or Thomas of Halstead, as with most religious folk, used Latin, and I wondered idly if he had any knowledge of the common speech of the country. I turned away from this scene to find Huw waiting at my side.

  “Go to Wat Spikings, Huw, and say that he is to provide food and drink for these holy brothers, and also he is to contrive to leave some further supplies when we depart. After that, they will have to provide for themselves as before.”

  Huw saluted and left.

  “It’s good to hear the Essex speech again,” said John Brise. “England seems very far away now.”

  “Aye, John, so it does. I often think so, and wonder what is passing there. It is long since any word came to us over the mountains. We know not if the King still sits upon his throne in London. There could be another war against France, and we would not to know of it. What has befa
llen the Prince of Wales in Spain?”

  “And all the bold lads who went with him,” echoed John. “We shall hear in time, Jack, I suppose. We have our own work to pursue here. That’s enough for me, now.”

  He was right, of course, but even in the midst of the turmoil of our lives in the field, and in spite of my ambition, there were times when I longed for the quiet of the English woods and fields, little streams and slow moving rivers. Brother Edmund had brought it all to mind again. Perhaps in time I would be there with Proserpina.

  We settled ourselves into such of the monastery buildings as could still be occupied, but the majority of the men had to sleep in their small tents. There had been a scramble for the better places, and not a few quarrels. Jack Onsloe had perforce to send in a few of his hardier followers to bring peace to a situation fast getting out of hand. As usual at such times, his tactics succeeded.

  That night, as I had promised, the Abbot, Brother Edmund and two senior brothers sat in our company at table. They were all vastly grateful for what appeared to be their first proper meal for some time.

  “What I do not understand, Signore Giovanni,” said the Abbot, “Is why these various bodies of armed men are constantly raging back and forth across our once peaceful countryside.”

  “The answer, Reverend Father, is that Bernabo Visconti, ruler of Lombardy, is not content with the lands he has, and wishes to annex to them those of the Marquis of Monferrato,” I replied. “The Marquis petitioned His Holiness the Pope in Avignon for aid, and for our sins we are that aid. We ride now on our way to engage once more the army of Conrad, Count Landau, who fights for the Visconti; and we shall win. Then, perhaps, peace will return.”

  Brother Edmund spoke for the first time since the meal began. “Perhaps, Father, we should tell Sir John who it was who sacked the Monastery. Usually we have been left in peace.”