by Jack Ludlow
Hawkwood meanwhile, in a period of relative calm, was busy rebuilding his fortunes. Such was his reputation that the mere mention that he might ravage a territory was enough to have the Italian city states pay him to leave them in peace, and the florins flowed into his coffers to the tune of over two hundred thousand, doubly welcome since Galeazzo Visconti was again being tardy in his payments and he was bearing the cost of the company.
In addition, his support in Pisa, which had lasted since he had elevated Agnello to the dictatorship, was gone and new governance was in place. Agnello had always been a backstop for the White Company, Pisa a place where he could always recoup his losses in equipment as well as secure supplies of food and wine.
He tried to retake it with the aid of a group of exiles but that came to nought; the walls proved too strong for the mercenaries because the attempt at another coup was discovered, which meant they were well manned when the assault was in progress. This led to many casualties as men climbing ladders were either shot by arrow fire, burnt by boiling oil or tipped off them to break bones in such a quantity as to be fatal.
The Visconti were calling again; the new Pope Gregory XI had created yet another league against Milan and, given the assault was coming from the west, it fell to the Lord of Pavia to repulse them and at Asti the Galeazzo heir was to experience his first taste of battle. Tall, handsome and with his mother Bianca’s abundant auburn hair, Giangaleazzo Visconti was the hope of his house.
Galeazzo and Bianca sent with their son a pair of counsellors, given instructions that their beloved son was not to be put at risk, something that could hardly be guaranteed in a battle. But his father made sure the White Company was in support and John Hawkwood at hand to give sound advice.
‘Which is that we will prevail with a frontal assault on the walls, which are in poor repair and also badly manned.’
‘My uncle the Green Count will not give way easily, Sir John. He like you has a reputation he would scarce wish to see tarnished.’
If anything showed the tangle of the politics of Lombardy it was this. Bianca’s brother, Amadeus of Savoy, known as the Green Knight for his habit of wearing only that colour in the lists, was defending Asti. Famous throughout Europe, married to the daughter of a king of France, he was one of the most renowned men in Christendom.
While considering how this might affect what was required to be done, Hawkwood forbore to mention that he and Robert Knowles had once taken the Green Count prisoner and ransomed him for the princely sum of one hundred and eighty thousand florins, not that they had yet been paid the full amount; more than half was still outstanding after ten years. The debt was not a secret, but it would be tactless to bring it up.
‘Reputation would not serve me if I was weak and it will not serve your mother’s brother, puissant as he is. We hold the advantage if we press hard and here you have a chance to win your spurs in style by leading the assault.’
‘Leading the assault?’ asked one of Giangaleazzo’s custodians, his face pinched.
‘Of course.’
‘I cannot see that as wise, Sir John.’
‘It is not only wise, it is necessary. Giangaleazzo is in command. It is incumbent upon a leader to show his men the way.’
‘Assault the walls, with, I presume, ladders?’
The response was terse. ‘I cannot fly and neither can he.’
The two men sent by the young man’s mother angered Hawkwood by the way they moved away to confer without the courtesy of asking his permission to do so, this while the subject of the discussion looked vacantly at the roof of the tent. Much murmuring followed until they broke apart and the one who had asked the question spoke up.
‘I fear that is not acceptable, Sir John. We would be failing in the responsibilities we have been given if we were to agree to any action that exposes our charge to harm.’
‘I will be with him, exposing myself to harm.’
‘Which is your profession.’
‘I was under the impression that the Lord of Pavia wanted his son to take up that calling.’
‘Truly he would wish it, but not at the loss of his heir.’
‘Giangaleazzo, do you concur with this?’
‘I am obliged by my parents to listen to the counsellors they have provided for me.’
‘So we ask you, Sir John,’ came the interjection from the other one, ‘to formulate some plan that carries with it less risk.’
‘Change my plan?’ A pair of nods and again nothing from the object at the centre of the discussion. ‘Tell me, what do you know of fighting?’
‘I confess to no knowledge at all,’ said the one hitherto silent, ‘but I think I can speak for both.’
‘Then can I tell you the only way to find out is to take part. If your charge is to be the person who holds together his family patrimony he will have to risk his life to gain experience. And given his title, he has to be seen to do so by the men who will rely on his judgement to keep them whole.’
‘I fear we must insist on another way to proceed.’
‘Do you? A pair of scribblers telling me how to fight? Well, I will say this to your charge.’ A really angry Hawkwood turned to face Giangaleazzo. ‘Either you overrule this pair of dolts or—’
The young man did not respond himself, he left that to his custodians.
‘Only his mother and father can overrule us.’
‘Then I leave it to you to tell them that if he is to win his spurs he can do so without my aid.’
Hawkwood was out of the commander’s pavilion before anyone could respond. Within hours the White Company had struck its tents, loaded its waggons and was gone and if Hawkwood had any worries about how this would be received in Milan and Pavia it was not apparent.
‘Are we still in the employ of the Visconti?’
‘We will see, Christopher, we will see.’
The communication from Pope Gregory XI, another Frenchman, came as a surprise, not least in the way it thanked him for the way he had kept the peace throughout much of Piedmont, which was sophistry of the highest order. Yet it was an olive branch indicating a change of papal policy with the recent transition: Hawkwood was being wooed, and if normally indifferent to such supplications – they came too regularly from other city states seeking the services of the White Company – he saw this as dissimilar.
It was not just the interference of civilians in his decision-making that had made the Visconti less than perfect employers. Once more that came down to money, with two magnates who never seemed to grasp that if they were late in payment he could not apply the same to his men. If they were loyal, and they were exceptionally so by the standards of the trade they followed, they would not march and fight on empty purses and even more strained bellies, and giving property instead of coin was an imperfect way to compensate.
Much of the money he had received from those he had declined to harry was now gone and when he added up what he was owed it ran to a fortune, so his reply to Gregory was simple: make up that missing sum, provide a contract and keep to its terms, and the White Company will enter papal service.
‘That’s the way of it,’ Alard the Radish explained to a recently arrived recruit from England. ‘We fight for profit, and outside King Edward we acknowledge no lord and master.’
There was one other request John Hawkwood made to the Pope: a request that his bastard son, at present in London and coming into manhood, be made legitimate, an act that could only be granted by a papal dispensation and only after the expenditure of much gold.
Hawkwood got his for free and once he had secured his supplies set off to beard his one-time employers, leading an attack that took him close enough to the walls of the Lord of Pavia’s castle to pick and eat his pears. If he resisted the temptation to jeer at Giangaleazzo Visconti his men did not, even if he was known to be absent.
‘It is his mother who will hear this and wonder what business is it of hers to interfere in war.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
The
Lord of Pavia now being in extremis, it was left to his brother to come to his aid. As if to mock the White Company they put Giangaleazzo in command, but again he had someone to mind him: his bastard cousin and one-time Hawkwood ally Ambrogio. Meanwhile the White Company had been reinforced with a brigade of Frenchmen, armoured knights under the command of Enguerrand de Coucy, one of the richest men in France and the possessor of a huge and near impregnable donjon that secured the route from the north towards Paris.
As a fifteen-year-old he had fought in the campaign against Edward Prince of Wales and following on from Poitiers and the Treaty of Bretigny had been one of the hostage knights sent to London as a guarantor of the ransom for King Jean. He had impressed Edward Plantagenet enough to allow Enguerrand to marry his daughter Isabella, so he was now also Duke of Bedford in the English peerage.
Of stunning height and build he was imposing also by his manner, which was genial and attractive. It was easy to see how he had charmed Edward and his court, for he charmed everyone with his comely figure, superb conduct and grace of movement. He was said to be a fine dancer, which did not impress Hawkwood.
‘I will wait till I see him fight.’
Which he did and that was less impressive: de Coucy suffered from the French aristocratic disease of never granting any ability to his opponents, none of whom were titled enough to be considered worthy. The White Company came face-to-face with the Visconti host but the advantage lay with Hawkwood: he had chosen the field of battle and Ambrogio was no longer present, leaving the command to the inexperienced Giangaleazzo. As such, Hawkwood was prepared to wait for them to commit to the attack.
The Frenchman was not. Just as at all the battles they lost against the two Edwards, de Coucy charged the Milanese lines, which forced Hawkwood to support him and not in an organised way. It was therefore no surprise their attack failed and the horns had to call for a hasty retreat to get the company away from the risk of total destruction. If Enguerrand de Coucy had any regrets, once they retired to a nearby hill where the company and his brigade could regroup, he showed no evidence of it; indeed, he and his surviving knights seemed proud of their conduct and were loudly congratulating each other.
‘What do I say to the son-in-law of my sovereign, Christopher?’
‘Go and fight somewhere else, lest you wish to pay another ransom.’
‘I will seek to tell him of his error, but for all his charm I do not think it will penetrate. His skull is as thick as his breastplate.’
Hawkwood was trying as politely as possible to point out to de Coucy the error of his way of making war when Gold came to fetch him, interrupting the gentle lecture. His constable had spotted that the Milanese were in disarray, too busy sacking the White Company’s baggage train to mount a serious defence against a determined charge.
‘And it pains me to say, Sir John, the best people to accomplish that are your damned Frenchmen.’
‘Please do not call them mine,’ Hawkwood responded as he surveyed the scene. ‘But you are right. Call de Coucy.’
For once French eagerness and disregard for their foes worked in their favour. Sweeping down from the hill, banners flying on top of their deadly lances, armour flashing in the strong sunlight, they inflicted terror in the enemy ranks and the man in command lacked the skill or the presence to get them to form up for defence.
Hawkwood was not far behind, seeking to capture the scion of the Visconti who would command a ransom to rival the one demanded of King Jean. That very nearly came to pass; Giangaleazzo was unhorsed and had dropped his lance and was without his helmet, but his bodyguard rallied round, getting him remounted so he could flee.
‘Well,’ Hawkwood opined, ‘I failed to teach him anything at Asti but here he has had a sound lesson in warfare.’
It came as no surprise to find later that in writing back to both London and Paris, Enguerrand de Coucy claimed the victory as his.
‘Let him do so,’ Hawkwood mused, when he was challenged about this by his most faithful followers, Ivor, Alard, Gold and Badger Brockston included, men who had served him for years. ‘I have enough glory to spare one encounter.’
‘Won’t say ’owt to upset Edward Plantagenet, will he now.’
Ever in receipt of ambassadors from somewhere, a Visconti embassy nevertheless came as a surprise, which only went to prove how dire was their situation. Pressed on all sides, with Piacenza besieged and the armies of the papal league under the Green Count pressing right to the heart of their patrimony, their situation looked increasingly bleak and that included leadership: Ambrogio had been killed by peasants, torn limb from limb. His father was both bereft for the loss and without his ability.
It was addressed to the court of the two puissant knights, Hawkwood and the Sire de Coucy, which was not music to the former’s ears. As far as he was concerned, even if the Frenchman did not believe it to be true, he was under Hawkwood’s command. The offer made was as high as it needed to be, for betrayal came at a high price. Enguerrand was tempted, Hawkwood not.
‘It will serve you ill,’ he explained to de Coucy, ‘if it is seen that you can be at any time bought.’
The story of Sterz was recounted, with the point made that the Perugians had believed he could be treacherous because he had been just that previously with Pisa.
‘I am tempted, I have been many times, but when I reflect on that I always draw back. If a contract is broken it is not by me but by those employing me. The Visconti did not pay as they should and now I fight for the Pope. We must send these ambassadors away without anything.’
The next question came with a stinging message from Gregory. The Pope wanted to know why Hawkwood was treating with his enemies instead of pressing the papal cause and finishing off the Visconti for good. They were now outcasts, he was informed, having been stripped of the Vicariate of Milan on which their power rested. God had seen fit to leave them at the mercy of his forces and a soaking dungeon would be their fate.
‘And that, sir, is another reason to hold to your contract. Nothing in Italy stays secret.’
Even with the Green Count at the gates of Milan it was disease and the weather that saved the Visconti this time. Amadeus of Savoy fell ill and without firm command of the several contingents a common policy was impossible to implement and that delayed action. The Visconti took advantage of this to score a couple of significant victories. Then the weather turned foul, the rain teeming down to flood the valleys of the Po and the Ticino, making fighting impossible, so the campaign was put on hold as the papal forces withdrew into winter quarters.
Enguerrand de Coucy had experienced enough of Italy, not least because he, like Hawkwood, was as yet unpaid; he had been away from his estates for two years and used that as an excuse to depart, mourned for the loss of his company if not his fighting skills. The Pope was no more forthcoming with what was due than Galeazzo and Bernabò and then the plague struck, spreading out from Siena to ravage the whole of north Italy. Instead of destroying the Visconti, Pope Gregory made peace.
Where the plague struck famine was sure to follow as those needed to till the soil and collect the harvests fell ill. This time the ravages lasted into the winter, with weather that made the situation many times worse. It began with torrential rainstorms that flooded fields, compounded by high winds and eventually snow that on the blast of such tempests created impassable drifts and practically stopped travel.
Italy was in the grip of something biblical in its proportions and those who penned comments on this saw it as a divine punishment for any number of transgressions, not least the way the city states allowed mercenaries to constantly ravage the lands of their neighbours. Such conditions put a check on war but not conspiracy and even if it was not sensed fully at the time, there was a move afoot to unshackle many polities from the grip of an avaricious papacy.
Temporarily, Pope Gregory was cut off from the usual flow of information that Avignon depended on to keep control of its interests. Usually in receipt of a constant stream of
mounted messengers, they were no longer able to use the network of post houses and changed horses to cover the distance to the River Rhone in two weeks, this while people in closer proximity to each other could correspond and plan.
Naturally those willing to fight for their freedom knew they needed mercenaries, which meant a stream of visitors to Hawkwood. Offers were made and assessed but it was not just florins that determined the way the captain general thought. He also had to assess the depth of purpose and the determination to sustain a campaign. None wooed him more assiduously than Florence, not least because he insisted his contract with Gregory had expired. Yet the Pope was not willing to lose his most successful condottiere and sent John Thornbury to plead the papacy’s case.
‘Florence has paid the last of my monies this very month.’
‘So you have no reason to support them.’
‘Except my pension.’
Hawkwood enjoyed the way that discomfited Thornbury. While he respected his fellow mercenary, they were and had been in competition for employment. If the host was considered shrewd he was in the presence of another who had that quality. Thornbury was not going to enquire once his initial surprise had abated. He waited silently, nursing his hot spiced wine for Hawkwood to explain.
‘To ensure that I leave them be I am to be in receipt of an annual stipend.’ The raised eyebrow asked how much, but it enquired in vain. ‘To maintain that, Thornbury, I must surely leave Florence be.’