Hawkwood's Sword

by Frank Payton

  “Carry on, straight ahead. I want to get up to the walls of Milan without delay, to give as little time as possible for any more resistance to be brought against us. Send a group with the wounded who’ll live back to the river, and get them across to the far bank. We can take them with us on the road back to Romagnano. Recover anything useful from the dead. Let the men who take the wounded back do that.”

  “As you say, Jack. I’ll see to it.”

  We’d lost six men in that action, and took time to bury them with some sort of dignity before we rode on.

  *****

  We rode on fast, for once English and Almains together. I had Jack on one side and Albrecht upon the other, followed closely by our usual close companions. Stopping at mid-day for rest and a quick morsel of food, we found ourselves at the approaches to Milan. It was, I supposed, in peaceful times a pleasant region of villages, estates, vineyards, and farms. The population were celebrating the New Year, but scattered in alarm as we rode through.

  Now we ignored the lesser people, and headed for the larger houses and small castles of the nobility and merchants. I had discussed strategy with Albrecht, and we had agreed that we should try to take hostages who could be held for substantial ransom.

  I called to Jack. “Pass the word to the men. Gather up those who appear to be wealthy, anyone with an air of nobility, landowners, merchants, and the like. We want hostages.”

  He grinned, showing his teeth. “What about my lads, and their empty purses, eh?”

  “If they want to fill their pockets they can, but we want ransom money, so tell them to get to it. And to leave the maids and the women alone. We have no time for pleasure.”

  He rode away, calling to his men, who hastened after him.

  *****

  I had a company of fifty with me, including Marco and Huw. We rode up to a large estate house where festivities were taking place. Many candles were burning in the house, and the light spilled out onto the paved terrace at the front through wide open shutters. The sound of stringed instruments followed it, and within the house a glittering throng of richly-dressed revellers paraded and danced in bejewelled costumes. The night air was heavy with perfume, and with tempting odours of wine and food. I suffered a fleeting moment of regret that all this pleasure would soon turn to grief. I also felt hungry. The men at my back murmured their own feelings in the matter of food and drink.

  “I know, I know. You’re all starving. You can fill your bellies as well as your pockets before we leave. But now I want half of you to go around the back of this house, and half to stay with me. Dismount, all of you, and let us get to this night’s work.”

  As I spoke I slid down from Boy’s saddle, and gave his reins to Huw. Marco followed suit, and Huw waited with the horses. “All of you, draw your swords, and follow me. When we’re inside, form a line abreast behind me. Walk with me, Marco.”

  We both raised our visors, and I waited until half of my small force had slid silently into the shadows. An owl screeched from somewhere in the trees: the signal.

  Marco walked alongside me into the light, and the men-at-arms lined up behind us. Suddenly, a woman screamed, and panic followed as the revellers realised what was happening. There was more screaming from the women, and their menfolk cursed their misfortune at being present at such a time. Panic reigned as the bright crowd surged about, looking for means of escape. Those who fled to the rear of the house found themselves herded back by grim men-at-arms with drawn swords.

  I waited until the surging and jostling ceased. An uneasy silence fell, apart from the sound of sobs and curses. An old man stepped forward. He was white haired and bearded, richly attired in a black and gold fur-trimmed robe. Despite his obvious fear his voice was calm.

  “Who are you, Sirs, to come into my house at this time with drawn swords? Do you seek to join our revels? If so, put up your swords and be welcome, at this New Year’s Tide.”

  I had schooled Marco as to his reply, and left him to speak for us. Marco began.

  “We are Il Campagnia Bianca. This is the Signore Giovanni Haucuud. I am Marco, his squire. We come for hostages for the good behaviour of your Dukes, Bernabo and Galeazzo. You would be foolish to resist. There are thousands of us nearby. Your protectors have fled.”

  “This is an outrage!” spluttered the elder. “By what right...?”

  A young gallant launched himself from amongst the revellers, tugging at a belted dagger. Suddenly Marco’s sword was at his throat. The lad skidded to a halt and lifted his hands. Marco plucked the dagger from its sheath and threw it out of reach. He continued to speak in a quiet, calm voice.

  “If there is no trouble, and the hostages surrender peacefully, the Signore Giovanni will guarantee that no harm will come to your ladies, wives and daughters. Otherwise...”

  “We have no choice but to submit to you,” cried the old man, “but before God, I curse you and all your kind. Take me as your first hostage.”

  He came towards me, but I put up my hand.

  “No, old man. For your boldness, I absolve you from this indignity. Your young men, and others of lesser years than you, will suffice. Also, I tell you that your ruler Bernabo Visconti will pay before God for his injustices, both to his own people and to those whom he would enslave and bend to his will.”

  I reverted to English, and ordered my men forward. “Take them, and whatsoever you want, but mark this: I will hang any who harm the women.” I waved the men forward, and walked out with Marco to where Huw was waiting with the horses. I was about to take Boy’s reins when the old man appeared at my side. He clasped his hands before him in supplication. By now the tears were pouring down his face and into his beard.

  “Signore, Signore, they have taken my only son. I implore you to release him now, for mine and his dead mother’s sake.”

  I looked at him for a long moment. “I have not seen mine own family for eight years now. I know not if they yet live, or are dead. Which one is your son?”

  “He is the rash boy who tried to attack your squire, Signore. Please release him. He is all that I have now.”

  I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Have no fear, old man. He will not be harmed. However, you must ransom him. I can treat him no differently from the others, who will come to despise him if I release him now. Take heart: he is a brave lad, and will mayhap learn something of this hard world whilst he is with us at Romagnano. Tell your people we want two thousand florins for the return of each hostage, and no hostilities whilst they are in our care. Say that to your Duke Bernabo.”

  I put my foot into the stirrup, and thrust myself up into the saddle. I gathered the reins and touched my heels to Boy’s flanks, and he started forth into into the moonlit night. Marco and Huw followed, and thus we began the retreat to the Ticino.

  The sound of much weeping and cursing followed us into the night.

  The hostages were hurried along, their hands bound together, and each one fastened again to a long rope which passed along our ranks to form a long train in the midst of our men.

  The mansion had been plundered, but I had given orders that it should not be fired. All valuables had been gathered up, and the men’s saddlebags bulged with the booty. At least they would be satisfied with their night’s work. For our part Albrecht and I would have to wait to collect the ransom monies.

  *****

  My small squadron reached the Ticino without any further problems, just as a dull grey dawn was breaking. Albrecht met me at the crossing. “How have you fared Jack? We look to have made good haul of hostages. Some rich men are amongst them. We may have trouble getting them across the river, though.”

  I dismounted and went to stand beside him. “We’re not all here yet. Jack Onsloe is behind my lads. I guess we have about a hundred and fifty in our net.”

  The morning was cold with a bitter wind. The river was the colour of lead, and choppy with waves, save where the ford shoaled. The men who had been left to guard the boats sat about wrapped in cloaks against the
weather, and were not too happy at having been kept behind, thus missing the chance of booty. I knew I would have to give them more than their usual pay or there would be trouble.

  More and yet more of the Company arrived, English and Almain. Scores of hostages were dragged along by only one or two horsemen, and many looked the worse for wear; some older men were near to exhaustion.

  “We must take care of these people, Albrecht; they’re of no value to us dead.” I called to Marco. “Tell the men to give some food and drink to the hostages. They’ll take it if they hear you speak to them in Italian.”

  He set off with Huw, and they persuaded the men to give of their rations to the captives in their care. I knew that such a host of extra mouths to feed, and their very bodies to be given shelter, would cause problems. The question of providing guards would be simple beside that.

  My thoughts were broken by shouts from the guards and lookouts. We had begun to push the hostages, who had been freed from their bonds, into the boats we had taken from up and down river.

  “Sir John! Sir John! Attack! Attack! Herr Sterz! Herr Sterz! Angriff! Angriff!”

  And so it was, as Albrecht had predicted. Several barge-like boats approached downriver. Others came upriver propelled by men with long oars. Volleys of crossbow bolts swept our ranks and for a short while all was confusion.

  “Get the hostages under cover!” I yelled. “Those in the boats must lie down. Up shields against those damned bolts!

  Luckily our own archers soon sized up the position and began to shoot, not in volleys, but each man choosing his own target. Giles appeared at my side with Alain Mawe. They began to shoot, and I could but admire their skill. Man after man in the boats went down and over into the waters. They wore only light armour, and soon they were taking heavy losses as the tempered shafts found their marks. Their efforts slackened and almost ceased, and the men cowered under cover as best they could behind their pavises and shields.

  Our main problem was with the mounted men-at-arms, and we had to engage them on both banks in the area of the ford. John Brise led some hundreds of our men across the river, which was churned into a muddy foam. I watched them fighting their way up, out onto the banks, heads down behind their shields, swords held straight out in front as a hedge of steel points. I shouted to Giles and pointed across the river.

  “Shoot over our men’s heads, and into the enemy ranks. Thin them down a bit.” He waved his bow, and ran over to the main body of his men, who turned their bows where he pointed and began to shoot with dropping shafts into the Italian men-at-arms.

  Jack Onsloe’s men joined mine, and together with Albrecht’s we turned our attention to our own side of the river. More men joined us under Will Preston and Andrew Belmont. Gradually their added weight gave us the superiority, and as the sun broke through our enemy gave way, broke, and fled. I forbade the chase, as there was no point. After such a night as we had had, I for one was glad to see them flee. I took off my helmet, and was joined by Albrecht and the others.

  “Well, let us hope there will be no more interruptions,” said Albrecht. He looked pale against his silver-and-black armour, and he swayed a little in the saddle. But he’d not been idle in the fight; his sword was bloody from point to pommel. I echoed his words. “Let us hope not."

  Chapter 8

  Reprisal

  As matters fell out, it had to be left to Albrecht to receive the ransom monies for the hostages. When we returned to Romagnano, I found myself beset by events which proved to be as perilous as any I had met before.

  The fifth day after our return was a cold day in early January. A chill wind swept down from the snow-bedecked mountains to the north. Icy puddles crackled underfoot as Giles Ashurst walked with me on my daily inspection of the camp. The two of us were wrapped in thick cloaks against the cold, but it still seeped through and chilled us to the bone. A pall of smoke from the men’s cooking fires spread over the ground. The smell of food was good, but we had had to forage for the fuel with which to cook and to warm our bodies. Supplies were hard to get, whether by fair means or foul.

  Tom Blount, the horsemaster, was worried too about the lack of fodder. “We’re in a bad state, Sir John. The poor beasts have got to eat, and they’ve cropped the grass for miles around. We shall have to buy or take some from somewhere before long.” His round red face was full of concern.

  “I know, Tom. I know, but there is little else we can do at present. We cannot move from here until we rid ourselves of the hostages. This is a good defensible place for us, and that is of even more importance. I shall speak to Master Sterz on the matter and see what can be done.”

  He grumbled on, but I had to leave him to his own affairs. In later years we were able to make better provision for our mounts, but in that first winter it was hard for both men and horses. We trudged on through the frozen mud, and found a warmer berth in the armourer’s quarters.

  “Tom’s worried,” said Giles, “And so am I. There’s a lot of campfire talk, and it’s not good. Many are complaining about food, lack of fuel, and no action. We should make a move before too long, before they take it out of our hands.”

  I sighed. “You heard what I told Tom. There’s nowhere to go at present, and Marco tells me the local people are almost as badly affected as we are by this wild weather. I sent him out the other day to see what the position is between here and Milan. He can mix with the people, where we cannot. The farming folk are in a parlous state, worse in fact than we are, as our horses have eaten most of their grass and hay crop. I… But who comes here? What is it, Roger?”

  “There’s a horseman at the gate, Sir John: a well set-up lad on a black horse. He says ever, ‘Signore Gianni, Signore Gianni’. Be that you?” His brow furrowed, and he shivered, holding his hands out to the armourer’s forge-fire.

  I laughed, “Yes, that’s me, Roger. Send him over. Is he armed?”

  “He has a sword and a dagger, but he doesn’t look a match for any of us.” He said no more, but turned on his heel and walked swiftly away.

  Despite Roger’s words I loosened my sword in its scabbard as I awaited the stranger’s arrival. I looked across to the gate, where the guards were having a fight to restrain the black horse, which reared, plunged, and curvetted. Whoever he was, the rider sat his mount like a centaur. Roger called out to the guards, who set the beast free, accompanied by a suitable curse or two. The horse cantered towards us and was pulled up with a rearing flourish. Its rider slid to the ground and bowed low before me, sweeping off his black velvet cap at the same time. He straightened and looked at me full face.

  “Signore Gianni, it is I, Niccolo della Sera, of Genoa, Ludovico’s nephew. Do you remember me?” He seemed to be nervous at our meeting, and only gave me a faint smile.

  I released my sword hilt, and reached out my hand to him in welcome. “But of course I remember you, Niccolo. How should I not? You are to me a reminder of some happier days than I have had of late. You may also remember Giles, the Captain of our Archers, who was with me at Genoa.”

  Niccolo smiled and swept Giles a bow, a courtesy which quite amused him. “I am glad to see you again, Signore Giles.”

  I waved our visitor in the direction of my pavilion. “Let us not stay here in this cold wind, Niccolo. I am sure you would be glad of a cup of hot spiced wine, and something to eat.”

  As I said this a bolt of some unknown, unlooked-for fear passed through my heart. Why had he sought me out here, in the dead of winter?

  I guided him to my pavilion, followed by Giles, who was no doubt as curious as I was to discover the reason for Niccolo’s visit. We seated ourselves at the table, I in my high chair, and the others on either side of me. At least inside, with several braziers glowing, we could talk in comfort. Huw brought us hot spiced wine and retired silently.

  “You are very welcome, Niccolo,” I began, “but this is a bad time of the year to be travelling the roads from Genoa. Are you seeking adventure with us, perhaps?”

  “No
, Signore,” he said with a sigh. “If only it were that simple, but I am the bearer of ill news. Ludovico has sent me to tell you that the Lady Proserpina has been abducted, taken away we know not where, nor by whom.”

  His dark eyes filled with tears, and he gulped at his wine to cover the emotion. My feeling at first seeing him had been right. I stared at him unbelieving, and then at Giles, who had a serious look on his face.

  “We must gather a small company together, Sir John, to go and seek the maid. Ten of my best archers under Alain Mawe, and some of Jack Onsloe’s trustier spirits should go.”

  “Thank you, Giles. I can do no better, but first we must learn more of this matter.” We had spoken in English, which I knew Niccolo did not understand. I began in his own tongue as well as I could, but knew I needed Marco’s help. I called for Huw.

  “Go and find Master Bandini, Huw, and say I need his help, but say no more.” He left at a run on the errand, and I turned my attention back to our guest.

  “Now, tell me, Niccolo, how did this happen, and when?”

  “It is five days, Signore, since the Lady Proserpina was taken. She and her brother, the Count, were riding in the country near the estate; you remember, where you stayed overnight with your men on your journey to Genoa. A band of armed men, wearing plain jupons over their armour and helmets with closed visors, surrounded the group which was the Count, the Lady Proserpina, and some of the estate stewards. Swords were drawn, and my uncle tried to defend his sister. The stewards were armed only with wooden staves, but fought as well as they could. Lady Proserpina reared her horse over one of the attackers, and the hooves felled him. She tried to ride off, but was overtaken, surrounded by the men and carried off. One of the stewards was killed, the other injured, and the Count received a thrust from a sword in his side, and still lies sore stricken in his bed. The healers attend him, but his condition is very poor.”