by Jack Ludlow
‘And after?’
‘Never fear, Signor Agnello. You will be the ruler of your city and able to act to maintain that position in any way you choose. I will make sure it is so.’
‘Proper governance, no more elections and the babble of fools and placemen.’
‘Those who have slighted you in the past will be shaking in fear come dawn.’
Agnello looked like what he was: a man who put profit before all, except in his hankering for supremacy. Even in that Hawkwood had no doubt he would use his position to line his purse. With his stooped shoulders and mean-spirited features – hooded eyes, a split nose and thin lips that strained to smile – he was not choice company. One of the regular insults aimed at him was that with all his money he ate poor food, drank cheap sour wine and dressed in clothes bought in the market where the possessions of the dead were sold off.
Those who accompanied Hawkwood to his house when darkness fell were prepared to kill anyone who sought to prevent their passage, which was possible if the conspiracy had been uncovered. In urging Agnello to act, playing on his vanity, Hawkwood had never mentioned his own reserves, less full now because he had been obliged to pitch in much of a ransom money for Calvine and the others knights who had survived at Incisa.
Such a burden fell on every mercenary captain; their adherents expected to be supported if they were taken captive, for few had the funds to buy their freedom. Even if they had enjoyed prosperity in the hands of a freebooter it was not likely to last long. They were men who made their money quickly and spent it in the same fashion. What Hawkwood had left would be forfeit if his former confrères could enter the city, and that might not be all; there was a possibility Sterz, who must hate him mightily for the usurpation of his office, could string him up in the main piazza.
The streets were deserted. If anyone heard the mercenary boots outside their shutters the past behaviour of some of their number now played into Hawkwood’s hands, for wisdom dictated they stay indoors. Within the Signoria palace it was different; there the men who made decisions on behalf of their citizenry were in deep deliberation, some arguing that surrender was the only option for Pisa, with one or two havering over paying their mercenaries to continue the fight and hold on.
They heard the same studded boots on stone that had disturbed others in their slumbers. The heavy beat and rhythm attested to a purpose not in keeping with political deliberations and they must have wondered why the guards placed to keep them safe had done nothing to prevent entry to what must be strangers.
Had they looked from their chamber into the piazza below they would have seen those men, a dozen of their own citizens, being hustled away in nothing but their shirts, bereft of boots, breeches and weapons. The entry of John Hawkwood, sword in hand, with a strong body of spearmen at his heels, had them cowering away, all demanding to know by what right he had come to this place, to which his reply was brusque.
‘Your polity is no more. This Signoria is disbanded and Pisa has a new government. Signor Agnello, step forward.’
The merchant did so, the rare smile on his thin lips almost as threatening as the weapons Hawkwood controlled.
‘Pisa cannot fight Florence with a talking shop at its centre. The city requires a doge and I am here to ensure it has one and he is the right person.’
‘How much are you paying him, pig?’ asked one of the council, somewhat braver than his fellows.
‘He will pay only what is due and you will be thankful that he does so, for if he did not you would be led along the road to Florence with halters round your necks.’
The speed with which news spread was amazing. From without they could already hear yells and catcalls. A look showed the piazza filling up with irate torch-bearing citizens while before them, mounted and sitting in an unthreatening manner, was a line of Hawkwood’s cavalry. The mob could yell as much as they liked but the message was plain. Move forward and you will be cut down.
News of the coup reached Florentine ears quickly enough and caused much reflection. The men they would have to fight had been paid their dues and could not be tempted to desert; Pisa’s walls were as formidable as their own but they were seeking to besiege a port, so starvation was not possible for it could always be supplied by sea.
The choice was to invest Pisa for a year or more, to construct siege engines and trebuchets, pay for a massive increase in numbers as well as ships to seek to close off the channels that led to the Mediterranean, which with the time required meant more gold to keep their own mercenaries content.
It took a month before Malatesta was willing to concede he could not prevail and called for a truce. Hawkwood took no part in the talking: that was left to the new Doge of Pisa. Agnello, who had taken to the role as if born to rule and now dressed the part, was well used to hard bargaining and had the patience to wait for the concessions that were eventually forthcoming. In an elaborate ceremony, with Agnello now as glittering in his attire as any prince, a truce was signed that promised peace and amity.
‘What of us now, Sir John?’ asked Gold, as he watched the gaudily dressed envoys make great play of appending signatures and seals to the document. ‘Are we without employment once more?’
‘Never fear, lad,’ was the reply. ‘There is work enough in Italy to see us well provided for many years to come.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It had never been Hawkwood’s intention to get into conflict with his fellow mercenaries. It seemed perverse that men who fought for profit should so battle with each other, yet circumstances had brought that about and it was about to become increasingly the case. No sooner was peace secured between Pisa and Florence than he received an envoy asking him to attend upon Cardinal Albornoz.
The prelate had been given a huge sum of money by the new Pope Urban to check the continuing ambitions of those Italian states that refused to accept papal hegemony. The first question Hawkwood asked was why he had been chosen, especially given he was now leading a much weakened company.
‘You do not see yourself as singular?’
‘No, Eminence, I do not,’ was the necessary modest response.
‘Yet you stayed loyal to your contract with Pisa even when it would have been easy and more profitable to break it?’
It was easy to conjure up a look of humility at the mention of loyalty. Obviously Albornoz had no idea of how strained relations had become between himself and Sterz. Replacing the German as captain general had created a deep animosity, made obvious by the fact that Sterz had negotiated with the Florentines without bothering to include him.
Despite what Beaumont had hinted, Hawkwood doubted that even if he had been tempted to desert Pisa he would have been welcome in the new company. If he had acted honourably and been seen to do so, and such a way of behaving sat well with his own principles, he also had done so without much of an alternative.
‘I am bound to point out to you that the Company of the Star is stronger than the men I still lead.’
‘Which will matter not. I have the funds by which you can recruit many more.’
Which Hawkwood went on to do and in goodly numbers, even tempting back Andrew Beaumont to his side, necessity being the mother of forgiveness. He led men that matched the abilities of his own brigade, which was far from the case with the rest: quantity hid the lack of quality.
Though there were exceptions the best men generally came from beyond the borders of Italy, especially England, and none matched those who had fought under King Edward and his son against France. Too many of those remained with Sterz and resisted attempts to tempt them away.
If the intentions of Albornoz had been directed mostly at Milan a new threat had arisen in Perugia, suddenly aware of opportunity. There the commune, no doubt witnessing what could be achieved with mercenary armies, had employed the Company of the Star to promote their ambitions.
The cardinal was adamant that his long-term aim of the Holy Father’s safe return to Rome, which he had been given a fortune to bring about, cou
ld never be accomplished without powers like Milan being brought to heel. If smaller states like Perugia sought aggrandisement it would be ten times more difficult.
The temporal authority of the Pope must hold sway over all of northern Italy while his spiritual power should be acknowledged right down to Apulia, Calabria and Sicily. Thus Hawkwood found himself and the White Company two leagues from Perugia and in formal battle with Sterz and it went badly.
On another blisteringly hot day the two companies fought a bloody and unremitting battle in which no quarter was given. The point came when their captain general knew the White Company could not win and nor, that concluded, could they merely hope to hold the field until stalemate. Sterz had the preponderance of professionals; Hawkwood had too many lances lacking the necessary skills as well as the endurance that went with it.
To call for a retreat hurt badly, though the alternative was worse: ransom at the very least, death at worst, though he did manage to break off the engagement in fairly good order. The next surprise was unnerving; instead of being satisfied with taking the battlefield and giving himself time to regroup, Sterz launched an immediate pursuit. It was then that the dubious make up of his company caused Hawkwood real damage.
The battle had been fought on a dusty plain below a fortified town called San Mariano. Most of the White Company captains led their brigades towards the town in the hope that by occupying the citadel they could break their enemies’ desire to continue the fight. Given there could be no real meeting of leaders on the move, it was fragmented and difficult to properly exercise command.
Hawkwood and Knowles argued against entering San Mariano with those they could contact: to do so was to become trapped. Others they failed to persuade, such as Beaumont and Thornbury, were so desirous of even a specious security they would not listen, though perhaps the insistence came as much from the men they led as from their own fears.
Leading half his host beyond San Mariano definitely spared Hawkwood further humiliation. Sterz immediately besieged the citadel, trapping over two thousand men in a castle that had not been set up to withstand being invested. There were no supplies of food, the flow of water could be interrupted and the temperature soared for the few days it took to bring on a plea to be allowed to surrender, days in which men had drunk their own urine as well as the blood of their animals.
‘They came out without horses, weapons or armour and were led away like the Israelites.’
Christopher Gold, left as an observer, related the sad tale to a leader seriously downcast. Hawkwood had lost too much to even consider reviving his campaign against Perugia and that was made worse when Sterz, now a hero to that commune, set a high price to ransom the captains and marshals his enemy had led. These were costs Hawkwood was obliged to contribute to: his reputation and standing demanded it. If he got free the likes of Andrew Beaumont, the so-called Bastard of Woodstock now had no men for they were still incarcerated, Thornbury the same.
The German then set out to harry what remained of the White Company in a way that made no sense outside personal animus, not that he participated himself most of the time. Much feted in Perugia, he behaved as he had in Pisa, soaking up the praise and playing the great man. Pursuit was left to his underlings; only rarely did he lead them personally. It made little difference: there was no rest as wherever they headed the Company of the Star followed. The German made it plain he wanted Hawkwood’s head on a Perugian gate and was prepared to march over half of Italy to get it.
‘I will keep fighting, Eminence, but I cannot in all good faith hold out to you the hope that Perugia will be subdued. I am much reduced since San Mariano and it is only your gold that keeps the men I lead showing any semblance of loyalty.’
Albornoz received this unwelcome opinion in the Bishop’s Palace of Bologna, Hawkwood finding himself both surprised and encouraged by his response. He did not indulge in castigation or ask why he had expended so much papal gold to so little purpose. Indeed he did not say a word for quite a long time, instead sitting still, chin on fingertips, his joined hands in sort of a spire to support it.
‘Keep clear of the Company of the Star if you can.’
‘And Sterz?’
That got Hawkwood an intense look, which left his visitor wondering. Albornoz must know that as long as the German could lord it, with his successes under his belt and the gold of Perugia lining his pockets as well as that of his company, then there was no way to beat him. It implied the cleric was stupid and that was not the case.
‘There something must be done,’ was the enigmatic response when Albornoz finally spoke. ‘I will ponder on it.’
Reporting back to his captains Hawkwood felt it only fair to pass on to them what he thought the cardinal’s words meant, namely that the best way to nullify the threat to his aims for a papal return to Italy was to outbid Perugia and buy Sterz with papal gold.
‘And if he does?’ asked Knowles.
That got a wry smile. ‘Then I would best depart for England. Sterz will add my head to his price. But you and Thornbury he will employ if you are willing to serve under him.’
Beaumont was quick to refute that he might do so. ‘I came back to your banner because service with him was intolerable. He does not bother with councils now; whatever Emperor Sterz wishes must be obeyed.’
‘England is your home too.’
‘Not one in which I aspire to live.’
Whatever Albornoz had in mind made little difference to the present concerns of the White Company. Even pursued they had to live and that could only be done by plundering, which of necessity had to be carried out with haste. It was thus slim pickings, made worse by the continued harrying he was under from a much stronger force. If they took booty it was just as often lost to those pursuing them and that became so relentless as to drive Hawkwood away from Perugia. He headed north, passing between his old stamping grounds of Pisa and Florence until distance obliged Sterz to finally give up.
The remark Hawkwood had made to the young Gold about there being plenty of work for mercenaries in Italy was proven when an offer came from a surprising source, none other than the Visconti brothers of Milan and Pavia. If they had been previously checked and obliged to call a truce with the Imperial Vicar Monferrato, it had not dented their ambitions. Nor did they hold their loss against Hawkwood for they were pragmatists, so the invitation to return to Lombardy was taken with alacrity.
The Visconti had earned the soubriquet of ‘the Vipers’ from their own heraldic device, the biscione, which showed a coiled snake holding a struggling human in its jaws. On entering Milan, hitherto only seen from a distance, Hawkwood and his remaining brigades came into the orbit of the most powerful state in the north of Italy led jointly by a pair who, in their sybaritic way of life allied to cruelty, had no peers.
Galeazzo and Bernabò lived and acted like princes in what was purported to be a republic, being men who had ensured no check on either their way of life or their actions and that included conquest. Their rule came through the office of Imperial Vicars, given to a cardinal uncle, but they had scant regard for the Church. Still, being at peace with the papacy did not prevent them from eyeing parts of rich and fertile Tuscany as a possible area in which to make mischief.
Yet there were other reasons for hiring John Hawkwood: he was what was now being called a condottiere, and had a great deal of experience as well as a reputation that had spread throughout Italy and beyond, not least for being more honest than his peers. His employment would gloss over the involvement of a favoured Visconti bastard called Ambrogio, for whom this aim of plunder and possible conquest was to be a gift from his father Bernabò.
The details of this were passed back to England in another of the regular missives Hawkwood sent to his sovereign with passing pilgrims of noble birth, and this time it was of import. Edward was presently lodged in a dispute with the Pope over a marriage for Prince Edmund of Langley, one of his sons, to the widow of the Duke of Burgundy, a woman in possession of a great d
eal of land bordering northern France. With a Flemish wife and many of his children having been born in Flanders, Edward was eager to have such fiefs under the control of his family.
Such a match would be good for England but it was one that fell very much within the bounds of consanguinity, the proposed nuptials involving close relatives. Normally such a plea was granted without fuss, but Urban V was a child of France and open to the bidding of Paris, for whom the same match represented a setback and a danger. He was refusing to waive objections to the match.
When advising a monarch care had to be exercised, especially from a simple knight in a far off country and this one had ever been careful to not do much more than list his exploits and add matters he thought might be of concern to a court that had European interests. In this one Hawkwood had to trust Edward Plantagenet to read between the lines of the information he sent.
This would indicate to him that if he wished to put pressure on the Pope to agree to the proposed match, a subject well aired in Italy, then the easiest way to apply it was through an alliance with the Visconti. They were rich, ambitious for aristocratic unions to raise their house, long-standing enemies of the Pope and, with Urban talking of returning to the Eternal City, close enough to Rome to cause trouble in the papal backyard.
As much caution was necessary when it came to his prospective employers. Prickly regarding their relatively lowly status in the European monarchical firmament, any suggestion that they were unfit to aspire to a match with royalty was to invite the kind of blind rage for which they were famed. But they too could be influenced with subtlety, so the mention of a Plantagenet problem, plus the knowledge of a son at present a widower and available, hit fertile ground.