Guardia: A Novel of Renaissance Italy

by Crews, Michael

  "I'm sorry to hear of your bad fortune," said the soldier. "This is the camp of Gattamelata. Now, if you please, carry on."

  My heart surged and I could not believe what I had heard. Against all odds we had stumbled across the camp of the one man who could actually help us.

  25

  "You're an agent of the Bargello?" said the guard, studying my note. He had taken it apprehensively. I didn't blame him, I would not have trusted my own sudden appearance in the middle of a remote swamp in the dead of night.

  "I am," I said. "I am actually investigating a case involving a former associate of yours. Rodrigo Vasquez."

  He blinked with the recognition of that name. "And you've spoken to Gattamelata before about this?"

  "I have. We met more than a week ago at the estate near Pisa. I was accompanied by Jacopo Orsini, the comandatore of the Bargello." My tone became more urgent. "Please, you must bring us to your general at once. We've found Vasquez and need his help to capture him."

  The guard did not hesitate any further. He marched us straight to the commander's tent, which was located at the rear of the massive encampment. As we made our way through, I noticed that this was the style of camp I had expected to see when we had first met the condottiere, with clusters of tents bunched together and temporary pens erected in the far corners, pages fast asleep and shoulder to shoulder with the beasts.

  Gattamelata had been sleeping, but when the guard explained the situation to his chamberlain he was roused right away. A few short moments later the general appeared before us.

  "Mercurio! What a surprise to see you out here of all places. We've been on the road to Aquila almost since we last spoke. You say you've found Vasquez?"

  I asked for a seat for Pietro and I and he obliged. Then he ordered us refreshments and food.

  "You look like you've seen tough times. How did you find us without horses or any supplies?"

  I laughed, ignoring the pain in my sides. "Let's just say that it must have been a trick of fortune. Yes, we've located Vasquez and his employer, a goldsmith from Florence that is wanted in connection with several murders and fraud. We were on their trail when we were ambushed."

  "Ambushed?" The condottiere's face turned grave. "By whom?"

  "By Milanese forces. It turns out that they've been colluding with the duke all along. We were ambushed by more than a dozen men. I lost two of my own. We barely escaped and were on our way to Reggello when we came across your camp."

  He sat still, processing my wild story. "I had you pegged for a fighter, Mercurio, but I never would have thought you could have stood your own against a small army and lived."

  "Pietro was a savior," I said, smiling at my young partner. "His knowledge of hunting and survival in these wild lands kept us from feeding the duke's hounds."

  "Incredible!" roared Gattamelata, pouring us more wine. "So where are these two traitors holed up now?"

  "They're at a homestead up in the mountains near Pratomagno. It's an old family villa of the goldsmith, Bartolomeo Neri."

  Our host nearly choked. "You hiked all the way from Pratomagno in the dark without any supplies? Are you mad?"

  "No, but the trip nearly drove us to it. Our horses were already gone when I realized the trap had been sprung. I had to watch as my own men were murdered in front of me." My thoughts drifted back to Lauro and Francesco, and the looks on their faces.

  Gattamelata shook me back to the present. "You'll find that sending men to their deaths never becomes easy. There was nothing you could do. My advice is to learn from it, let it make you stronger. But don't ever forget. In the meantime, you two are safe now."

  I shook my head. "No. We need to go back tonight. They are sending a shipment of counterfeit florins back to Florence this morning. The entire thing was a plot to destroy the Medici and weaken Florence."

  "How are they intending to do that?"

  "I don't quite know, which is why we need to stop them before they make it to the city. I fear that once that delivery is on its way then Vasquez and Neri will flee again since they know that they've been found."

  "Do they know who you and your men work for?"

  "No. My men refused to talk. But it doesn't matter. Even if we were simple bandits they would not remain there since they've been discovered."

  "Okay." Gattamelata rose. "You men relax for now and enjoy your rest while you can. I will arrange a squadron of my finest infantry to join us and we will find this villa." He called for the guard outside and ordered for his lieutenants to be brought at once. To them, he ordered for men and horses to be prepared immediately.

  While this was all happening, I turned to Pietro. "It looks as though we shall find justice tonight after all."

  "Indeed," Pietro said. "It does."

  Within a half an hour all the men had been roused and dressed, the squires looking dazed and exhausted from the work of dressing what looked like about thirty men in plate. When assembled, their steel helmets and pauldrons shined in the torchlight. It was a fearsome company of men to be sure.

  "If you men are to be joining us in battle, I'd say you'll need to be outfitted as well." Gattamelata's quartermaster took our measurements and sent a couple pages to scurry off and collect our equipment. I was still weary from our journey and dreaded the thought of riding in heavy armor but I did not argue. As my straps were being fastened and each piece secured I felt much safer.

  One of the squires led us to a couple of horses for ourselves. I had to clench my teeth as I swung my leg over, my muscles had grown completely stiff in the short amount of time we had already spent at the camp.

  "Mercurio, I believe we are all prepared. You lead the way. Hurry! Time is our enemy!"

  The gates were brought open and we dove into the night, hooves slamming into the hard clay of the road. Gattamelata rode at the front with Pietro and I. The rest of the men followed our lead.

  We took the old road back to Loro Ciuffenna. It was straight and long and skirted the mountains but since we had avoided the roads I had no idea how to find the villa going in the opposite direction. I could still vaguely remember the path that we had taken on the way up, and I prayed that the darkness would not be disorienting.

  "How many men did you say there were?"

  "About a dozen, a dozen and a half."

  "A small squad. And you said they were professional soldiers?"

  "Yes, they wore armor much like yours. They spoke Milanese."

  "But you saw Vasquez?"

  "I did. He killed one of my men himself."

  "I see. We shall definitely catch him, Mercurio. There will be justice, rest assured."

  Our squadron was making incredible time. Gattamelata's horses were strong and fast, even in spite of all our equipment. It was not long before we started the rise up to the mountains, and the first traces of the village began to appear.

  "We cross this bridge and then follow the main road through the town," I instructed. The streets were empty and dark. We echoed deafeningly as we passed through, and I caught glimpses of the townspeople looking down from their balconies, staring as though we were an invading horde.

  We were through the town in a blur and found ourselves by the inn that we had stayed at briefly. The road led up and up, and we followed it without hesitation. The horses balked but we pushed them ever harder. I felt a pang of remorse for the poor beasts who had nearly sprinted all this way. "You're almost there," I whispered into the ear of my steed.

  The familiar bowl-shaped depression welcomed us, as expansive as it had looked during the daytime. This is good, I told myself. We pushed around the bend, the road ours as there was not another soul out there. Our shadowy forms descended upon the countryside like a squadron of wraiths.

  Down the back of the hill we continued, the clearing wide open and the surrounding hills visible to us. The sky was becoming paler, like a milky film through which the stars still shone brightly. The moon had nearly traversed the dome of the sky overhead and sat perched atop Pra
tomagno's crooked forehead.

  Soon we arrived at the wooded area, the road twisting and branching chaotically. I tried to remember our way through but it was difficult, nothing seemed familiar in the overgrowth. Pietro's face was grim and I knew that he was also lost.

  "Which way, Mercurio?"

  "The road is as tangled as these trees, ser Erasmo. Let me try to get my bearings again."

  We rode onward a little more, then stopped again. My heart was pounding. The feeling of being lost was even worse now. I knew it was nearby, but where?

  Frustrated I turned to face the mountain, which was visible between the trees. The moon loomed overhead, and as I stared at it I noticed the long tendril of smoke that twisted up before it, thick and black like a serpent.

  "It's this way," I said, pointing the direction of the smoke. Where there is smoke there is fire, and Bartolomeo would be stoking the flames of his furnace to try to get the last batch of coins ready for delivery. We were not too late.

  The roads were still confusing but with a direction in sight we managed to finally find the road leading to the villa. We dismounted and prepped our gear.

  So far there were no patrols in sight. A small group of men crossbowmen would stay behind to guard the horses while the rest of us were to approach the property.

  "We split into two groups, each taking one side of the house. Mercurio, the men are grouped around the stable?"

  "That's where the cottages are located. The house is a ruin. You could put men up top to get a clear shot though."

  "Good idea, investigatore." He addressed the rest of the men. "When the signal is given we shall converge upon the stables. Hold steady and do not break ranks.

  We split up and made our approach. Pietro was in the other group while I stayed in Gattamelata's so that each one would know the layout. "Good luck," I said as they went their own way. "In bocca al lupo."

  The condottiere's infantry were an assorted array seasoned warriors with an array of tools for battle. In addition to the crossbowmen we had full-plated men at arms as well as a squad of more nimble pikemen. In short, a small scale army equipped for siege.

  As we crept up we saw a small patrol of two men approaching from the top of the hill to our right. We stopped at once, finding cover behind some of the rubble behind the house.

  Gattamelata signaled to two of the crossbowmen, who half-crouched and made for the front door to the villa. They disappeared inside, and I heard not another sound for several minutes. Meanwhile, the guards wandered closer.

  "Any moment," said Gattamelata. Sure enough, I heard a couple distinct clicks from above and the soldiers went down. "Onward."

  We left the presumed safety of the house and hurried up the hill past where the patrol had come from. The soldiers were lying on the ground, hurt but still conscious. The shots had been intended to injure, not kill, and the fallen held up their hands in submission. I morbidly looked at Gattamelata. He shook his head and smiled. "Ransom."

  Ever the consummate professional, I thought. The duke's soldiers would fetch a lofty reward for their return. With that and the addition of helping to save the integrity of Florence's coin, Gattamelata stood to gain a considerable bonus. Surely his goal to punish Vasquez would have been at the bottom of reasons he was likely here, but as long as he fought at my side I could not care less the reason why.

  The area immediately surrounding us was dense with vegetation so there was plenty of cover for us all. We ducked and peered across. Pietro's group was on the far side from us, up the embankment already. Down in the middle, at the far end, were the stables and the cottages beside it. The wagon was parked where I had last seen it, and it was already half loaded with chests. We watched as the lackeys appeared at one point, carrying yet another chest and loading it gingerly with the others.

  A great column of smoke was still rising from the stables through a great hole in the roof. Bartolomeo would be inside finishing up his task. All our men were in position.

  Down in the basin there was a stir. Trumpets blared and at once there was a multitude of soldiers that appeared from the hills behind the stables. I could hear shouting and the clamor of armor while they poured out and rushed midfield. There was confusion written on their faces, as though whatever had triggered them had been vague.

  "They're disorganized," said Gattamelata. "We have the advantage." He turned to his trumpeter and held up his fist. The instrument roared in my ear, nearly deafening me, and we rose to charge. Shields were held aloft, and I could hear the clack-clack of crossbow bolts striking the steel barriers. Across from us, on the enemy's opposite flank, came Pietro's squadron from the western embankment.

  The Milanese had sunk to the ground, their shields anchored and braced for impact. When we slammed into them they were knocked back but held tight. The men at arms pushed ahead, plunging their swords into any gap they could find. Above there was a hail of crossbow fire from behind us, and I prayed Gattamelata's men would not fire short of their intended targets.

  Within seconds the fighting had descended into pure melee. Even more of the duke's men had joined from the hills, and I heard the snarling of dogs that had entered the fray. The intensity was dizzying and I could barely see past the fighting to the stables. When I tried to look, I was nearly rewarded with a vicious thrust intended for my face.

  The trumpets blasted again, and we shoved once more in one furious surge. Several of the Milanese were thrown off their feet, opening up the ranks. The men at arms flung themselves through the gaps, splitting the enemy up and battering the defenders. I felt my body get knocked violently about in spite of my armor, and the frenzy surrounding me made it impossible to stay focused on a single target for long. There was barely any space between us and simple movement was difficult. When I wasn't getting pummeled by enemy shields I was getting elbowed by my companions.

  Gattamelata's true strength showed in the melee and I wondered how he was able to process it all. Throughout the battle he was at the front and I could hear him shouting as he cut through the enemy. I struggled to find my mark in all the chaos, but Gattamelata's blade took down at least two men that I could clearly see and probably several more.

  Through the widening split of the ranks I could presently see the opening of the stable. Bartolomeo and his workers were still inside carrying chests of coin to the wagon as fast as they were able. The chestnut-haired man sat at the driver's seat, waiting anxiously as the men loaded.

  A loud, beastly cry seized my attention and I turned. Before me stood Rodrigo Vasquez, and in that instant he seemed like a towering giant of a man. As he stared at me I felt the hatred burning in his eyes. In an instant he was hurtling towards me, even throwing one of his own men out of his way as charged. His sword shimmered as it arced across the air and slammed down on my shield, denting it and causing my arm to throb. I rolled backwards as another blow struck the earth where I had been standing.

  At once the men at both my sides shifted and engaged him. He rushed them with the full force of his weight, slamming one down with his shoulder and throwing the other backwards with his free hand.

  The sudden gap in our ranks caused Gattamelata to shift his focus our way. He blinked with recognition at the sight of Vasquez' face, then his cool façade crumbled as his lips twisted into a mask of rage. In the blink of an eye, Gattamelata's sword was raised and he was upon the traitor, thrashing and ducking in a mechanical frenzy of death.

  Vasquez was slower but his reach was further, and he used this to his advantage. At one point his sword had swung so close to Gattamelata's head that I was sure the latter's throat had been slashed. But I was proven wrong when, the next instant, he countered with a spinning flurry of thrusts that no mortal should have been able to avoid.

  Around us the fight continued but it all seemed trivial compared to the fight between the two titans on the field. No words were exchanged, no taunts or threats. I watched as closely as possible in all the chaos, all the while holding the ranks as best I could whi
le we continued to press into the defenders who were, by now, growing sluggish and depleted.

  I winced as metal struck metal. The swords had collided with such force that both were left notched, and another blow like that would have shattered one or the other or both. Vasquez recoiled and swung hard. Gattamelata ducked, then sprung from the ground, hurling himself bodily at his adversary. The wind knocked out of him, Vasquez staggered backwards but caught himself just in time to keep himself upright.

  The Spaniard used his reach to keep Gattamelata at bay but the professional soldier proved too nimble. He spun past an outstretched arm and delivered a ferocious punch to Rodrigo's face that cut to the bone and caused blood to pour from a split above his eye. Enraged, he lunged and caught Gattamelata by the throat with both hands and began to squeeze tightly.

  "You may have been a better leader, comandante, but I was always the better fighter," Rodrigo hissed, his face hovering daringly close to the others.

  "You were always an opportunist," choked Gattamelata, "and a fool."

  Vasquez saw, a moment too late, as Gattamelata's hand reached around and seized his neck from behind while his other struck forth in a quick, forward snap. My line of sight was obscured, but I heard choking and a gurgled scream and the Spaniard's gripped slackened, releasing his captive. When Gattamelata fell out of the way, gasping for air, I saw the handle of the small blade pointing downwards from beneath Vasquez's jaw and I quickly turned from the macabre sight. As he fell backwards, his body made a sickening thud as it struck the ground.

  Immediately the morale of the Milanese troops collapsed and the fight descended into chaos. During the lull I was able to spot Pietro, who had just managed to disarm one of the enemy combatants.

  "We need to find Bartolomeo," I said. "Will you come with me?"

  "Of course, capo." He grinned. "Let's put an end to this."

  We made for the stable and Gattamelata called out to us. "Get your man, Mercurio. We will handle the rest of these Milanese!" His face was still red and his voice was hoarse but he was in high spirits. I bowed respectfully and we broke off from the battle. We rushed toward the stable which in contrast seemed eerily quiet but as we came nearer we heard voices inside.