Hawkwood

by Jack Ludlow

  Pisa thus had a strong inkling of Hawkwood’s stunning victory before he and his men, carrying the Florentine standards and dragging in waggons full of booty and prisoners, rode through the city gates to the raucous cheers of their grateful paymasters.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  If there was initial exuberance at this triumph, there was, in sober reflection, a question to answer. If less than one-fifth of the strength of the White Company could inflict such a defeat on Pisa’s enemies, what could have been achieved had the whole host been present to follow up on the initial success? Florence had lost a battle and badly; they had been checked, but many had survived and were now securely back behind their walls.

  Surely there had existed a chance for total subjugation. That naturally led to enquiries as to why the main body had sat idle in Pisa, not just torpid in their presence but difficult in their conduct. The city fathers, the elected Signoria had seen in their chambers endless supplicants complaining about the behaviour of mercenaries who plagued the citizenry, not it seemed the city’s enemies.

  John Hawkwood was received by his fellow captains with a degree of reserve – only Thornbury was open in his praise, his deprecating claims that luck and Florentine stupidity had played as much a part at Incisa as any skill taken as mere flummery, as was his insistence that without the backing of Robert Knowles and his three hundred lances his truncated campaign would have failed.

  He was more closely questioned regarding the ransoms he had garnered, for many a Florentine noble had been captured. They were now harassing their relatives to come up with the means to buy their freedom, selling land and possessions to meet the cost. Unlike that which he had taken from the Florentine encampment, and that had produced a stunning bounty for the company, these were not shared but taken as personal profit. The sums gained were remarked on with what sounded like commendation, but seemed just as much prompted by jealousy.

  All the captains, Albert Sterz certainly being one, sensed a shifting of the balance of authority: not all had been happy to be stuck in Pisa. If not acting against Florence they should at least have been out plundering bountiful Tuscany and equalling Hawkwood in his acquisitions. Added to that, the contract was coming to an end; would the Pisans renew it and where would that leave the mercenaries if they did not?

  The White Company leaders naturally mixed with the leading citizens of the city and many conversations were about mercenary transgressions – women being troubled so much that many were sent away to other towns for safety, taverns being wrecked by drunken mobs, their owners badly beaten as well as the citizens being subjected to rude public behaviour.

  Since that victory, expressions of disquiet as to the way the company was operating, up until Incisa mere gentle hints, had become openly expressed dissatisfaction. Meanwhile unbeknown to Hawkwood, Robert Knowles and John Thornbury were quietly canvassing their confrères, and in particular two of his fellow countrymen, to make a case for change. One was Andrew Beaumont, who liked to claim himself a bastard of Prince Edward of Woodstock, the other William Brise, another of those men who had fought in the English army under both Edwards.

  Was the way the White Company had been run hitherto a success? Had a certain person grown too big for his bleached surcoat and that damned baton? Was the right man in place to ensure more Pisan florins came their way with a renewed contract? If it was insidious it was effective and Robert Knowles, being wily, made sure that when the question was publicly raised, it was done by another.

  ‘Who is satisfied with the way we have acted?’ Brise, ever a man to walk towards confrontation, did not wait for his confrères to reply, adding, ‘Our paymasters certainly are not, if what they say to me represents the mood.’

  That set up a buzz of mumbled opinion. Sterz tried to sound unconcerned in his response, yet those he was addressing must have noticed the tightened grip he took on his baton, or the way he laid it across his chest so that the symbol of command was very evident.

  ‘I have been negotiating for weeks and have sensed no inclination not to renew.’

  Looking around those he led must have induced concern. He barked that the chamber be cleared of anyone not part of the discussion. As usual that meant servants, but also scribes and some of the men appointed as marshals come to witness the deliberations, hitherto not a problem. Once they had shuffled out and the chamber door was banged shut, Sterz indicated that his factotum, Cunradus, should address the assembly, which he did in a barely audible voice.

  ‘The game we play is a delicate one. To extract from the Pisans enough to keep us in their service without acting so forcibly that we do ourselves out of employment. That happened against the Visconti, did it not?’

  ‘Hardly honourable,’ Hawkwood said.

  Sterz barked his reply. ‘Since when was honour the basis of our trade?’

  ‘We are sustained by profit,’ was the opinion of Andrew Beaumont: handsome, well set up and some ten years younger than his contemporaries.

  Hawkwood produced a frown. ‘I would contend that much is to be gained by acting with honest intent. Will Pisa continue to drain its treasury to support a campaign that is never-ending?’

  ‘What choice do they have?’ Cunradus hissed. ‘With our help they have so fired Florence that it will become a fight to the death. Given they lack the means to fend off that, who will do it for them if not us?’

  Robert Knowles spoke up, but without much thrust; he seemed to be musing more than challenging. ‘There is much to be gained in this region, I would propose, by being seen to have fulfilled any contract signed. It would be a poor notion to entirely disdain the advantage of a good reputation.’

  ‘Ferocity is our reputation.’

  The number of shaking heads must have told Sterz his declaration was not going to carry the room. It was his fellow German, Baldwin, who by trying to bring matters to a head and very likely aid him, inadvertently stuck in the spike.

  ‘We are ever boasting that we are a republic not a tyranny.’

  ‘Are you demanding a vote for captain general?’ asked Beaumont, quietly.

  Did Baldwin realise he had gone too far in using the word republic? It certainly looked that way as his reply was somewhat stammered. ‘Why no. We have not required such a thing since coming to Italy. What we did on arriving in Pisa was mere show.’

  Brise was the man to respond; he had taken part in the election mentioned by Baldwin, as had everyone and all had known it was meaningless; no one then would have stood against Sterz.

  ‘A month ago I would have scoffed at any who said there was a requirement for it. Now we need to know our future and I for one think that the person dealing with Pisa should be the one best qualified to get for us a good result. That has to be the man who stands highest in their regard.’

  Baldwin was not looking at Hawkwood, his eyes were on Sterz, but no one in the chamber had any doubt who Brise meant. Sterz acted as if he had been stung; he was being told the man who had humbled Florence already stood a better chance of renewal. The work Knowles and Thornbury had been doing to undermine Sterz paid off in a sort of mumbled agreement which, if it was not unanimous, was so strong that there was no alternative but to proceed.

  ‘I wish to retain my post,’ Sterz growled. ‘And I have a right to it. So I stand to remain your captain general.’

  He accompanied that statement with a ferocious look designed to intimidate any waverers. It was a stupid ploy, for if these men were inclined to indulge his fantasies when the florins were pouring in, they were less willing to do so when that same flow was threatened. Nor were they the type to be silenced by an angry visage.

  Andrew Beaumont immediately proposed John Hawkwood.

  ‘On what grounds?’ asked Cunradus.

  ‘He will get us better terms than Sterz. He stands high in their esteem and as of this day, from what has been said to me by those who must agree our terms, he who at present commands does not.’

  ‘Ever greedy, Beaumont?’

  Th
e younger man was avaricious but he was never one to be embarrassed by it. ‘Ever in search of fair reward.’

  ‘And,’ Brise chipped in, ‘Hawkwood has shown us a leadership sadly missing since we sat outside Florence at the beginning of summer. The people who applauded as we went to that fight would cheerfully see us gone and anywhere, for they are tired of paying for fighting men who trouble them more than their enemies. We have sat on our arse too long.’

  ‘It was Albert who got us to this place,’ Baldwin interjected, showing some fraternal loyalty.

  ‘I agree,’ Beaumont responded, ‘and all power to him. Yet we must ask if he can keep us here? I propose a vote.’

  ‘And I,’ Baldwin declared, ‘see no need for that.’

  ‘If it is asked for it must be done, that is our creed.’

  ‘Given I suspect what might be the outcome,’ Hawkwood said in a soft voice, ‘does anyone wish to ask my opinion?’

  ‘Would you be willing to lead the company, John?’ asked Robert.

  ‘Am I qualified to do so?’

  ‘Damn your humility, Hawkwood,’ Baldwin cried. ‘There is not a man present who could not lead us. We act in unison and will ever do so.’

  Hawkwood looked to Sterz. ‘Do you subscribe to that?’

  Hawkwood’s softly voiced enquiry left the captain general on the horns of a dilemma. He could hardly say that those he had so far led were incapable of replacing him. Yet the meanest intelligence could discern that to admit the opposite was to virtually surrender his office. There was no lack of brains in Cunradus; he knew when a matter became critical, just as he knew Sterz would want to hang on to that baton. If Hawkwood had the wind behind him, Albert Sterz had a fear of change on his side and that might save him if he acted decisively.

  ‘The only solution is to put forward a candidate to stand against our present captain general and then proceed to an election.’

  ‘I have proposed John Hawkwood,’ Beaumont cried.

  ‘Which I second,’ added Robert Knowles, with a look towards his younger colleague that had Hawkwood wondering at collusion.

  Called to choose, the hands went up in favour of the Englishman, with fewer for Sterz when his name was called. Slightly stunned, the German took an age to come towards his replacement and proffer his gilded baton. The rest did not hear Hawkwood’s response, it being a whisper.

  ‘I pray this is not a poisoned chalice, Sterz.’

  ‘I think you have just been shown it can be.’

  ‘I will depend on your good advice and support. Will I have it?’

  The nod was unconvincing.

  That the White Company captains had made the right choice was soon apparent; negotiations for an extension of the contract, which had been dragging on, moved to a very satisfactory conclusion once it was the victor of Incisa doing the talking. Pisa was not only anxious to keep the company in its employ, but they were willing to do so for a year on payment of one hundred and forty thousand florins. As captain general, Hawkwood now found himself much better off as well as leading what appeared to be a well-contented company.

  If acts upsetting the citizens did not entirely cease they subsided and Hawkwood instituted training on the grounds that men long idle needed to hone their skills, and such activity kept them out of mischief. The turn of the year passed before he was satisfied with progress and he laid out his plans to the men who had now become his chief support.

  ‘It is my aim to get our men away from the city and earning their keep. They are better prepared for fighting now.’

  Knowles was sceptical. ‘Winter, John, it is January and the weather is cold as well as foul.’

  ‘Movement will be slow,’ Thornbury added.

  ‘We have not previously campaigned in these months, it is true, but it will be a shock to our enemies that we do so. Imagine their surprise when we appear outside their walls before the corn is even planted.’

  Knowles frowned. ‘You will need to carry such a plan with our confrères.’

  ‘Which I shall, and it will be a test of my authority, Robert. If they decline to back me I will have a good indication of my standing.’

  ‘A risk.’

  ‘All is risk and if we never tempted providence we would all be in poverty.’

  The plan was supported but against a background of disquiet, though aided by the news filtering in to Pisa. Innocent had died to be replaced by Pope Urban V: another Frenchman and a candidate of Paris still content, it seemed, to reside in Avignon. Like all who had succeeded to the Holy See since the First Crusade, Urban desired to be the progenitor of one of his own, this time by garnering fighters from the free companies troubling Italy. Killing two birds with one stone was the policy.

  First there came another excommunication for mercenaries, to be treated with the usual disdain. Next Cardinal Albornoz toured the various city states seeking to drum up support for an alliance to rid Italy of the companies, a proposal received with little enthusiasm. If any city sent their fighters away to defeat the freebooters, would not their neighbours, less committed and never to be trusted, take advantage of their absence? Endemic Italian suspicion of rivals would not allow for that which Urban desired.

  Far from willing to relent, the new Pope sent into Italy high-born magnates eager to crusade, their aim, apart from their own personal aggrandisement, to recruit amongst the mercenaries. This came with offers of indulgences and all the panoply of promises a pontiff could dispense. Rumour had it that the ships of Genoa and Venice were waiting to transport them.

  ‘Let them come and find their recruits off a battlefield,’ was Hawkwood’s opinion.

  The time came for him, baton in hand, to lead his mercenary-cum-citizen army out, to further confuse Florence by taking a northern route that would bring them to rich satellite towns such as Prato. His last words on those seeking to recruit his men was harsh.

  ‘Happen when they see what is to be garnered in gold by our service they will drop their crosses and join us.’

  Naturally, the brigade he led was to the fore and if those who knew him well could make risible comments about that baton, their man carried it only because he had to, it being the mark of his rank and the symbol of his authority. He now had a personal retinue of bodyguards, scribes, two constables in Knowles and Thornbury, as well as a personal confessor. Far to his rear behind the Pisan levies, now leading no more than his own brigade, was Albert Sterz, now his subordinate. If he appeared an obedient one, he was not happy and made little attempt to disguise the fact.

  The route chosen also had the advantage, even at this time of year, of never having suffered from a host passing through, with all that did to the detriment of the citizens in emptied granaries, destroyed stocks and stolen livestock. There was no intention to pause where it was unnecessary so Hawkwood had no expectation of battle prior to reaching the environs of Florence; according to his screen of cavalry the road ahead was clear of any danger.

  The force that dented this reverie descended on them from Pistoia, a fortified town Hawkwood intended to bypass. The place was famed for the hardiness of its inhabitants, carrying with them a reputation for bellicosity that went back to ancient times – it was said it had never been subdued. They were inclined to fight even when not under threat and sought no reassurances from those passing by. Assuming they were in danger they came out from their elevated town to take on an army strung out on the march, struggling along in poor weather on muddy tracks, in the mountainous terrain to the west, and they attacked with a ferocity that threw the columns of foot soldiers into disarray.

  The effect of these peasants – for there were no knights amongst them as far as Hawkwood could discern – especially on the unprepared Pisan levies, was disastrous as they broke and began to stream back towards their home city. Hawkwood up ahead swung his brigades round to come to their aid, sure that those horsemen to the rear would come forward likewise.

  That was a mistaken assumption: the men fleeing blocked the route, making it impossi
ble for people like Sterz to engage, which allowed the whole of the Pistoians to attack the lead columns. Thus they had a fight just to get back and rejoin the main part of the now broken host. Without discipline it would have resulted in a massacre but Hawkwood ensured it did not. With calm determination he formed up his cavalry to mount a charge and break through.

  The massed peasant force did what they could to prevent him, but it was hard for a man on foot, poorly armed with what appeared to be mostly farm implements, to withstand mounted mercenaries properly equipped and desperate. Broadswords flashed, maces and axes were swung with gusto, the horses urged on despite their fears, for to slow could be dangerous and to stop was fatal.

  The escape was bloody and not without loss, but it would be the number of funerals in Pistoia that would record the result of the day, although what had taken place would be recalled with pride in the annals of the town. Not so in Pisa for the White Company; it was a sorry spectacle as the new captain general led his dispirited men back through the city gates in a torrential downpour that fortunately kept those who might jeer at them within their homes.

  It took two months before he could once more lead them out, this time with more care in his dispositions; there would be no more surprises. In effect, his campaign was a repeat of the previous year under Sterz, with much crop burning, albeit more wide ranging. Hawkwood had other plans in train and he waited for the carpenters he had been promised by Pisa, as well as the forged metal components that would need to be fashioned to make proper siege towers.

  Erecting once more a straw-and-tinder defensive barrier he was able to move his archers closer to the Florentine walls, ensuring a steady flow of deadly arrows fell within the city. The usual taunts were made – dead donkeys and dogs, the minting of coins as well as raucous entertainments performed below the ramparts, all designed to dent the morale of the defenders who did their best to show that such things were wasted.