The New Hero Volume 2
Page 6
Harried backward, Emanuele shouted, “Suitable advice from the weaker sex. Your weapon’s reach makes up for your shortfalls!”
Onorata’s eyes tightened with rage. From the ring’s edge, Bernhard called: “Son, you’re not fighting your mother with a switch, here!” and the men erupted into laughter once more. With the sound of the laughter, Onorata became calm again.
Regaining the center of the ring, she made a strike at Emanuele’s head, swinging the blade down in a long, powerful blow. Emanuele readied a parry but was staggered back by the impact of the axe. The momentum of the blade falling carried Onorata close to him and Emanuele saw an opening in her guard. But as he raised his sword to exploit it, Onorata stepped back, trapping his sword with the beak of the halberd. The momentum and leverage snapped it neatly out of his hand. She swung the pole up to his shoulder and gave a shove that sent him spinning face down in the dust.
To the sound of cheering, Onorata moved away, and handed the halberd back to Guilhem. “Let us move from Gioco Largoto Gioco Stretto, from the long game to the short game. I hope you don’t mind getting a bit closer to this poor member of the weaker sex.” She retrieved her own blade from Bernhard. Despite its length, she unsheathed it with a light and mobile movement. She held it in both hands, her fingers resting beyond the guard but protected by a ring of steel. She raised the sword to her forehead and saluted Emanuele.
Gathering his senses, he pulled himself to his knees and looked about for his sword. A shadow fell upon him and he saw the Frenchman extend his hand to him. Looking guarded, he hesitated, then took the hand.
“You will be looking for this, I think.” The fellow handed him his sword. “My name is Joseph. Don’t think you’re alone here.”
Heartened, Emanuele took his sword in hand again, and turned to face Onorata. “A second round then?”
“As you say. This time, you lead.” She took a defensive stance, her body facing to the left, sword held high, above her head, pointing toward him.
Emanuele stepped forward cautiously, feeling out her responses. As he made a thrust, she stepped to the side, letting him move past and struck his backside with a booted foot. Anticipating another sprawl on the ground, she glanced at the men and saw Joseph glower at her. She tipped her hat to him. While she was distracted, Emanuele rolled forward over his sword. He leapt to his feet and charged her.
As she fended off a series of furious blows, Onorata heard Joseph call Emanuele’s name, over the cries of the other men. Swords clashing, she blocked a slash. “Young man, you have made a conquest! Frère Joseph hates everyone, but the Monsieur cheers for you!” Emanuele looked confused. She dropped her leg beneath his, and grabbed at his shirt to pull him down again but this time, he saw it coming.
Before she could trip him, he broke free, circling slowly, looking for an opening. She matched his speed, moving toward him making lazy explorations of his reach. He held his free hand outstretched, looking for purchase on her clothes as she moved near.
“Yes, exactly. You are learning! Now, let’s show you the final lesson.” Dancing out of his reach, she tossed her sword to Guilhem who snatched it from the air. Now bare-handed, she approached Emanuele and matched him pace for pace. He hesitated, drawing back as she drew near.
“Don’t be alarmed. This is all part of the game.” Onorata maintained her aggressive movements, stalking him around the circle. “If you come with us, you’ll face knights on horseback with your sword lost, tangled in someone else’s ribs. They’ll not consider the dishonor of striking an unarmed man, they’ll be too busy killing you.”
Emanuele took a half-hearted swipe at her. She dodged easily.
Bernhard called out, “He Junge, mach das nicht! She hasn’t lost all her tricks!”
Closing quickly as Emanuele thrust his sword in earnest, Onorata pulled a short triangular blade from a sheath at her back. She parried a blow and moved into his guard. Snaking her left arm in and around his right, she trapped him. Emanuele fruitlessly attempted to bring his sword around to strike, but she stepped in closer, holding the long knife to his eyes.
“Do you yield?”
“If I do I cannot come with you, can I?” He held his face away from her blade.
“If you don’t, what will you lose, an eye? An ear?”
“What if I yield my share to you instead? I don’t need it, and you could use my help.” He gulped then took a deep breath and continued. “My family has influence in many places, Milan as well.”
Onorata changed her grip. She held his wrist with her free hand and moved her blade fractionally away from his eyes. “You mean you might be able to bring some…persuasion to the field?”
“Yes, there are more than one means to end a battle.”
“And many times in battle when the word can be more important than the blade.” She stepped away from him.
“Yes, young man, you may join us. You just may have in you what it takes to be a condottiere.”
*
Taking the winding road south from Venice, Onorata’s men traveled quickly. The fields of Lombardy gave way to the mountains of Tuscany and the hills above Anghiari. Waking early in the morning and riding far into the night, scouts led the way. They kept watch for Milanese troops laying in ambush or unexpected obstacles that could cause a costly delay.
As the group headed down the narrow mountain trail, silence followed them. The creak of saddles was all they could hear. Emanuele rode up alongside Bernhard at the head of the forces and asked him why they were traveling in the dark.
“Bernhard, what’s the use of this? Is the time so pressing? If they’ve hired us on, they must expect we can make it in time.”
“If we don’t it’s no pay, and the loss of all the money we’ve spent for provisions just getting us here. Son, you never get to a battle late unless you’re more concerned with keeping your skin intact than you are with eating. If we can make it in time, we can beat Piccinino and his force to Anghiari. The fortress there is the key to this valley. If they take it, Florence will be open to them next, and we’ll not be able to stop Milan from controlling the whole of Tuscany. They’ve the most men, the richest fields. Some think it’s just a matter of time—”
“And others think that’s only if we let them walk all over us.” Onorata reined her horse beside Emanuele, cutting off Bernhard’s words. “It’s been said that they’d take over their neighboring kingdoms since 1426, and they are still at it. I’ll believe Milan will rule the northern states the day I see a mercenary on the seat of the Viscontis. Wait—”
A figure came out of the gloom ahead of them. Guilhem’s face grew clearer as they approached. He held his hand before his mouth. Emanuele recognized the signal for caution and stillness he’d been taught on the first day of their journey. They stopped their horses, and Bernhard shot his arm out in a gesture that was passed back and brought the line of mercenaries to a halt.
Onorata spoke in a near inaudible whisper. “What news?”
Guilhem said, “A contingent of scouts. Camped at a bend in the road a thousand paces on. They haven’t heard us yet but we need to go cautiously. They’ve a guard at the ready, I believe, to report our presence to a larger force.”
Onorata and Bernhard traded a look that Emanuele could make nothing of. He saw Onorata nod to Guilhem, then she turned her horse’s head around to head back toward the other troops. “In bocca al lupo. Fortune go with you then.”
Before he could stop himself, Emanuele cried the response, “Crepi!” Guilhem and Onorata shushed him. Bernhard reached out and clapped a hand over his mouth, whispering, “Buben, do that again and we will feed you to the wolves.”
Quietly, Onorata said, “He’s not ready. Emanuele, follow me.” But Guilhem raised his hand. “I’ll vouch for him.” Looking at Emanuele, he said, “If you promise to keep your mouth shut, you’ll learn a lot, Buebä.”
Guilhem looked to Onorata for approval. She gave the young noble a long considering look, then nodded once more.
Bernhard and Emanuele followed Guilhem on foot down the track. The trees crowded over the road. The night deepened before Emanuele’s eyes. He tried to focus on Bernhard’s great sword in its sheath before him, but if he slackened his pace at all, his eyes lost the image of the blade. Bernhard stepped lightly, more quiet than Emanuele would have guessed he could. Guilhem was a silent shadow before them. Emanuele could catch no glimpse nor hear sound of his passing.
Bernhard stopped abruptly and raised a hand to Emanuele. Guilhem appeared near him and a silent council of gestures and nods took place. Emanuele stepped close to them. At first all he could see was the still form of trees before him, until he realized that that was no illusion. The road took an abrupt turn, a new switchback begun. Emanuele caught the sign “horse” and strained his senses to tell how the mountain-raised Swiss had realized there was danger ahead. In the silence he heard the muffled stamp of horse shifting far away. Guilhem nodded and mimed wrapping something around his hand. Cloth wrapped hooves. Emanuele stepped closer waiting for his orders.
Guilhem took them slowly forward. Once past the bend, they heard the sentry, only perceptible from the shush of his mail. He was awake, but as blind as they in the night. Guilhem stationed them here, ready to run to the camp to rush the sleeping scouts once he accounted for the guard. As they waited, for a moment Emanuele felt the reassuring pressure of a hand on his shoulder. He counted the moments, waiting for the next signal, the low cry of a night bird, or the death cry of the guard which would pitch them pell mell into the fray. Twelve, thirteen. Bernhard’s slow breath beside him. Twenty-five, twenty-six. His own heart. Thirty-one, what was that? A sound as a branch breaking, a whump on the ground. Silence. Then the quiet whistle of a bird they’d heard a hundred times before, but not this close tonight.
Bernhard was moving before the whistling cry failed. His steps less quiet now, but with great strides. Emanuele followed behind holding his hands before him, his dagger in his right hand pointing down, to ward off trees, soldiers or to keep him from crashing into Guilhem or Bernhard. His heart now pounding, visions of himself riding a pack horse naked vied with the image of a soldier on the ground, with heart’s blood pooling at the base of a tree and Guilhem in the darkness above him. He came to a clearing and the first glimmers of moonrise showed two men running down the road beyond. He saw a man slumped against a rock, his arm at an angle that would have been strained and strange in life. Emanuele moved past, crossing himself, and followed, the hilt of his dagger digging into his palm.
*
Passing the great Lake of Montedoglio, the Red Mark arrived early the next day. Descending to the Tiber River Valley, they saw the town of Anghiari beyond, nestled in the folds of mountains. Dominating the town, the great Convent looked out over the city walls. The fortified place of God watched over the rich plain filled with fields and cattle.
Camp tents now dotted the plains. Everywhere flags were flying, cook fires roaring, and armed men crossing the fields. Onorata picked out Micheletto Attendolo’s colors and headed her group towards his position. They rode their horses between straggled camps. Florentine troops’ tents sprawled along the length of the road. Troops marked by the Papal keys abutted the town, camped in the shadow of the city walls. Onorata picked their course through fluttering flags with the three-leaved red lilies of Florence to Micheletto’s troops flying the red and gold winged lion, symbol of Saint Mark and Venice. Their smaller encampment was in good order. The neat rows of their tents contrasted starkly with the haphazard placement of the others.
Onorata sent Joseph to find provisions for their horses, and a place for her men to settle their own tents. She spoke to a village woman traveling back to town who said she would show the way to the well and livery yard. In the camps, sounds of merriment and cheers rang out, traveling raggedly across the plain. Onorata entered Attendolo’s encampment with Guilhem and bid the others wait at attention. “Bernhard, keep the men in good order. This hilarity before the battle is won seems misplaced.”
As she and Guilhem walked on toward Attendolo’s headquarters, Emanuele ran after them. Onorata allowed him to come, saying, “Your mouth stays shut, bambino. Your record is good so far. Don’t spoil it.”
Onorata headed toward a large tent, set centrally with a table placed before it and guards at attention. She strode purposefully toward them and spoke to one who ducked inside.
After some time, Micheletto Attendolo appeared. He was followed by a tall man with a round face, unprepossessing in his worn and battered red hat. But the way all eyes snapped to attention on him marked him out as Francesco Sforza, commander of the Florentine armies. “Micheletto, we have important issues to settle. The town is ours, but the position is one we must hold. The time for celebrating is over. We have the town but the battle has yet to begin. We expect Piccinino to reach here in the coming days. Give your troops their orders, then rejoin us to discuss strategies for our engagement.” Dismissing them with a glimmer of a nod, he strode back into the tent.
Attendolo took Onorata aside. “Your work starts now.”
“Damn well believe it. The troops are in disarray. No discipline in the ranks, with Piccinino arriving any time. The Florentines are too far from the city gates to make it inside if defense is needed.”
Emanuele’s eyes opened wide. “Will we be besieged?” Guilhem cuffed his ear.
Onorata said, “Only if we want to suffer a long slow death. Though the Milanese would be far from home, the Florentines could supply us only if they could make it through the surrounding troops.”
Micheletto nodded. “We’re looking to avoid that. We’ll pick our place of engagement carefully.”
“We can scout for you. We will set up a perimeter and give advance warning so you can bring the troops into formation at the strongest sites.”
Micheletto said, “I’m sorry to send your men out immediately after their arrival. I will free up some of my men when I can to aid you.”
“Just look for our banner. If we see anything we’ll send a fast rider to you. The rest will be up to you.”
*
“You did well last night.” Onorata addressed Emanuele as they headed toward the river. “Guilhem tells me you helped him catch a scout who woke and leapt on his horse to flee.”
“If scaring the horse by appearing under its feet so that it dropped him from the saddle is helping, then yes. I did my utmost.”
“You are learning! Humility is a proper start.”
Bernhard said quietly, “We are all walking in the footsteps of giants here, you realize. The river we cross is the great Tiber, who birthed Mother Rome herself. ”
The river rushed beneath their feet. Before them the plains dotted with brush and shrubs transitioned into neat rows of crops belonging to the nearby town Sansepolcro. Riding forward, Onorata turned her horse to contemplate the dark hills in the distance that sheltered Anghiari. She watched the river drifting between its banks.
“Ah! I can see it now. Brescia had a river running by it, too. It affected the flow of battle. I can still incorporate the river in the fresco, if the Doge will let me return to finish it.”
Emanuele pointed toward Sansepolcro. A shadow stretched across the horizon, dark in the daylight.“Is there a storm rising?”
Onorata looked at the trees, calm in the morning air. She looked back at the cloud, then abruptly pulled her mount’s head in, making him rear up and whinny. “Look where it’s rising from. That is no cloud. It’s Piccinino heading this way!” Turning to the others, she assessed the riders. “Joseph, take a banner and ride to Micheletto. When you are in sight, fire to alert him and he’ll spread the alarm to the others. Our men who went to
the south and west will hear the shot and ride back to join us. We’ll stay here and see if we can buy you all some time.”
Joseph, sprang to his mount’s saddle but stayed. “Twenty men against an army? You’re mad! You’ll never hold them off!”
“All we need to do is to give the main force time to arrive. Get to Attendolo tout de suite, and we’ll do our part. Now go!” As he hesitated, she struck his horse’s haunch with her whip. “Go!”
The stallion pounded over the bridge, leaving a wake of dust behind. Onorata watched them go, then turned to the others. “Follow me.” She lead the way away from the river, towards the cloud.
The sun climbed in the sky. The crickets keeping time gave way to the thunder of horse’s hooves. Onorata arranged her men, a dozen on horseback in a line behind her, Emanuele holding the red banner of the Mark. Two groups of horse swept toward them. A call rang out and the riders halted. The white banners held over their heads settled in the calm air, the snake of the Visconti family eternally swallowing the child in its mouth. A trio of riders broke from the ranks and approached them, one a small round man with grey hair, wheezing and blinking at the dust in his eyes. The second, long-limbed his dark hair tied back beneath his helm. The third, holding the flag of Milan, looked to the others.
The tall warrior said something to the standard bearer and laughed. Onorata saw Emanuele watch them closely, but she watched the older man. He kept quiet, his eyes calm as he held a handkerchief over his mouth while the dust settled.
“Piccinino, you are an uninvited guest,” Onorata said. Emanuele started as the older man replied, “Rodiana, you do not hold the keys to Anghiari. You speak for your betters. Though I am sure you speak true.”
The young man with dark hair spoke. “Father, do we fight women and children here? There is no glory for kingdom and Emperor in such conquest. The cause of Milan will be shamed if we strike down such as these. They had better take cover in the convent beyond.”
Piccinino’s head tilted back. He gave a long bellowing laugh. “Francisco, have I taught you nothing? You have the honor to meet Onorata Rodiana. If you can call her troops children after meeting them in battle, I will join this lady and cower with them in the house of God that you suggest.”