Sir John Hawkwood – he was now happy to use the title once his sovereign had acknowledged it – returned to Milan to find that the seed he had sown in writing to the English court had borne fruit, which if not yet fully ripe was well on its way to providing a sweet reward. Envoys had come to Lombardy while he had been away campaigning to propose to Galeazzo Visconti that King Edward’s second son, Lionel Duke of Clarence, at present without a wife would, if it was permitted, make suit to the Lord of Pavia’s twelve-year-old daughter, Violante.
In effect a proposal of marriage, this presented a massive coup for the Visconti family and no one was keener on the match than Bernabò, the girl’s uncle. He had two concerns in his life: to raise the standing of Milan in the Italian hierarchy, and to make the family name one that resounded through Europe and not only because of their fabulous wealth.
Naturally such an alliance did not come without a price; a prince of England must be provided with estates that could support the style of his bloodline, which was normally an occasion for much haggling. Edward’s commissioners, however, found themselves pushing at an open door, not realising that the Visconti brother’s generosity stemmed not just from eagerness but also from the fact that they were prepared to satisfy financial demands that would have made other polities blench.
Lionel would be in receipt of dozens of fiefdoms across Lombardy, most notably Alba, which together would produce an income of twenty-four thousand florins a year, while the father Galeazzo was willing to make a gift of two hundred thousand from Pavia. In addition, the prince would assume command of all the English mercenaries in Italy, by far the most numerous and, since they were the subjects of his father and were loyal to Edward’s crown, ensure that they were put to the service of Milanese interests.
Supposedly a secret, Edward informed Galeazzo that his son would bring with him a strong retinue of fighting men and offered also the prospect of an English army to aid the Milanese in their battles against the Pope and their Italian rivals. Hawkwood, made privy to the proposals, saw it as nothing less than an offer to help the Visconti become so powerful that their rule of all Italy – something that had not existed since the fall of the Western Empire – was in prospect.
Confidences in Italy did not long stay hidden; Pope Urban had his spies in Milan and Pavia just as his rivals had theirs in Rome, and such a possibility could not but alarm him. Charged with holding intact the temporal power of the papacy such a pact could be terminally inimical to his interests. To ward off such an outcome he sent a papal nuncio to London seeking to stop the match, only to receive an unwelcome proposal of compromise.
‘Urban lays aside the consanguinity, agrees to the Langley nuptials with the widow of Burgundy and matters may be altered. If not, face an alliance of England and Milan.’
‘I am bound to ask what this means for you, Sir John?’
Christopher Gold’s curiosity was natural but his leader suspected the question posed related as much to his recently appointed constable’s future as his own.
‘We will have a prince of our own blood in need of advice. I do not doubt he deserves his spurs and he will fetch along good fighting men, but Italy is not Picardy or Aquitaine. I fully expect his father to advise Clarence to look to me for help in making sense of what seems from London a chessboard fully cracked and unreadable.’
‘You could be at his right hand?’
Hawkwood smiled. ‘And I expect you to be that at one remove.’ Gold being aware of the supposedly secret parts of the agreement allowed Hawkwood to add what might be possible. ‘Imagine all of Italy united, Christopher, and under the control of the man who leads the armies of conquest.’
‘The Duke of Clarence?’
‘Lionel will be as hungry for power as his brothers, and what a temptation. A conquest to overshadow his father’s heir.’
‘Am I allowed to say that you have the light of dreams in your eye?’
Hawkwood laughed. ‘I would hazard you’ve seen it before.’
‘I have and once or twice noted it preceding near disaster.’
Gold had a serious look on his face as he said that, which had Hawkwood reflecting on how he had matured, while half thinking that he had preferred the callow and blindly faithful youth to the man before him, elevated enough now to question his orders, which any good constable must do.
‘Well, I know you will see that coming as quickly as I and have no fear of alerting me.’
If Hawkwood had hoped to lighten Gold’s mood by that he was disappointed. ‘Never fear, Sir John, I will.’
Prior to the arrival of Prince Lionel all of Piedmont was awash with discussion of the sums and lands expended to ensure the marriage took place. King Edward’s commissioners went home laden with fabulous gifts for themselves, their sovereign and Violante’s prospective husband and they did so in a daze; where could such a cornucopia come from? If they had stopped to look they would have seen.
Milan stood at an important crossroads from which it fed its products both north and west into France and Germany as well as lands beyond, England included. Its clever and enterprising merchants had created trade routes that rivalled the Silk Road, using the abundance of gifts God had bestowed on the valley of the River Po and Ticino, this enhanced by previous rulers who had created a series of canals to spread the waters around the fertile basin, providing ample irrigation for rich soil while the sun did the rest. These canals had been improved by Galeazzo Visconti, making more abundant what was already an excess.
There were the manufactories, which had existed from Roman times, also improved upon by individual enterprise. If you wanted arms or armour you came to the traders of Lombardy. They had ample Alpine wood to make charcoal, ready supplies of ore in nearby mines and fast-flowing streams to provide the power to turn that base metal into deadly or protective steel.
The citizens with money to spare had, like their Florentine rivals, elevated banking to a level never seen before in the known world; it seemed the Milanese could make money out of merely possessing it in what some were sure was a form of alchemy, but it was really simple. There were few states on the Continent that did not require loans and that came at interest. The accrued sums allowed the Italian bankers to lend more, recover more and grow even richer.
Everyone under the hand of the Visconti was properly taxed and in Bernabò the state had a co-ruler with a passion for the minutiae of collection of monies due which was rivalled only by his addiction to carnality. He had brought his wife to labour sixteen times and fathered dozens of bastards but as much energy was put into proper administration. Bernabò oversaw the tax ledgers personally, plying his abacus with such adeptness it seemed almost musical in its clicking.
No one escaped his attention, from street vendor, prostitute, baker, trader or banker, yet Bernabò was as interested in what the sums accrued were used for, not the mere acquisition. If much of it filled the Visconti private vaults they were also investors in their patrimony. For a family that had achieved power through an imperial appointee they had an abiding desire that their offspring would continue to rule and raise Milan to even greater heights.
Anticipation in Lombardy was not enough to induce speed in the putative bridegroom; a prince of England crossing France when the two nations were at peace was a guest to savour. No member of the royal house or great nobleman was prepared to let such a prize guest pass without feasting him and his six-hundred-strong retinue, five hundred of those soldiers from the best families in England.
In this scion of the Plantagenets they found a trencherman of repute and sound dedication. Lionel loved food and wine almost above all other things but he knew and gave due prominence to his duty as a true knight. Thus he was found in the lists as often as he was found at the board, ever willing to hunt with spear and bow to provide food for his hosts’ table. He was a man of strenuous exercise both mounted and on foot, so not a day went by that he did not abide by the Norman creed of practising that which he had been bred to do: fight his father’s foes.
John Hawkwood waited with as much impatience as anyone, having received a command from his sovereign to take personal charge of Lionel’s escort while he was in Milan. He would have the responsibility to ensure he came to no harm, for it was axiomatic that there were factions in Italy, and not just papal ones, who could see what an alliance with a power such as England might bring down upon them.
Finally, after months of waiting, news was sent ahead to name the day the prince would enter the city. Heralds were sent out to ensure that all were aware so they could be on hand to provide a proper welcome. Not that the population required much in the way of encouragement. It was odd to reflect that a state purporting to be a republic, albeit ruled in something close to a tyranny, was susceptible to, and indeed in awe of the allure of royalty, a station in life its people believed could only be granted by divine approval.
Sir John Hawkwood met Lionel outside the western gates and made the required obeisance, before being raised by his prince to be greeted as a liegeman. Close to, the man appointed captain of his escort saw a face blotched and puffy from overindulgence, while the June sun had not favoured what was the pale complexion of a man russet-haired. There was trace of family likeness to his brother Edward but not the cast of determination in the eye. Yet Lionel bore himself well, albeit with a protruding belly and a propensity to fart.
It was necessary to also meet and acknowledge his cousin, Edward le Despenser. On first impression here was a man to whom Hawkwood took an instant dislike, this for his blatant arrogance and undisguised condescension. He was typical of a certain kind of nobleman, and country of birth had no bearing; anyone below him was commonality and to such people only royalty stood superior in rank.
‘I will have to work with him?’ Hawkwood groaned to Gold, who had likewise met the man and been treated as nothing. ‘He leads Clarence’s retinue and no doubt will see himself as the man to command all the English knights if they take the field.’
‘Which should fall to you. I am sure King Edward would wish it.’
‘Edward is in London, le Despenser is here and it is easy to see Lionel relies on his cousin.’
‘I sense they are ready, Sir John,’ said Gold, pointing out that everyone was remounting their horses.
Entry into Milan had been delayed as Lionel, Duke of Kilkenny and Clarence as well as a Plantagenet prince, made sure that he and those with him presented the best spectacle possible. Thus any traces of dust had been polished off breastplates, cuirasses and greaves, while fresh surcoats had been fetched from the following waggons as well as new banners unbleached by the sun. The tower enclosing the Porta Ticina was already in sight and as they closed they could see it was fully manned, and as the column moved the trumpeter on the top blew a welcoming and sustained blast, which was the signal that the citizens could begin to cheer.
Hawkwood was third behind his prince – Despenser declined to forfeit his right and even his banner-carrying page took precedence – as they rode through the gate, to emerge from the shades into a crowded route being strewn with flowers. Lionel, bareheaded, knew how to be gracious, how to smile and wave, also to occasionally stop to bend from his saddle and bestow a royal kiss on the cheek of any comely maid he espied.
‘What would Violante say to such behaviour?’ asked Gold in a whisper.
‘She is but fourteen, John, a virgin and, I should think, terrified of what she is being obliged to enter into. She will probably be glad if her new spouse wishes to show favour elsewhere.’
The route took them to the square dominated by the Palazzo Visconti where the crowd were so packed that the Milanese soldiers had trouble in holding them in check, which had Hawkwood push past a surprised Despenser. He also ordered Gold to follow and take a position on the opposite side of the prince’s horse, but not beyond the flank.
‘When your sovereign appoints you as responsible for his son’s safety,’ Hawkwood barked at a furious complaint from Despenser, ‘I will gladly give way. Till then I have the duty.’
As if to make amends, Hawkwood peeled off by the gateway that led into the palace courtyard, only following when the entire body of Lionel’s escorting knights were inside, there to find Despenser now complaining that his prince had deserved to be met outside the gates and not in the palace, the implication plain: to him the Visconti were below the salt.
Refreshed, the man got first sight of the great feast Galeazzo and Bernabò had arranged, as well as the stupendous gifts that accompanied every one of the eighteen courses. If Despenser tried to hide his amazement, and he did, his royal master did not; he clapped with delight and was quick and frequent to sup from a goblet never allowed to be empty and he consumed his food with equal gusto.
Lionel was presented with hunting dogs by the dozen, all wearing golden collars, multiple raptors under hoods decorated in pearls, gilded armour and plumed helms fantastic in their elaborate fretwork of gold and silver. Fine horses were paraded past the feasting guests, coursers and tilters for jousting, each one gloriously saddled to be followed by surcoats sewn with jewels.
The food was the finest Lombardy could produce, likewise the wines, not freshly pressed but the produce of long-stored harvests, much of the food sealed with gold, which was seen as being healthy. It was a display of magnificence the likes of which no English royal or aristocrat could ever have seen: the wealth required to provide it simply did not exist in chillier northern climes.
‘Happen that might dent his damned arrogance,’ was Hawkwood’s opinion of the Despenser reaction, sat in a place of some honour, given his personal rank as captain general. ‘He will scarce dine like this again in his life.’
Another object of his attention was Violante and he noticed her father Galeazzo was keen that she should drink, no doubt out of concern for what was coming. The marriage had to be consummated and that must happen that very evening. Had she been told what to expect or was that down to observation? Lionel’s face was bright red and not just from heat, his laugh the hearty bray of the inebriated: he was full of enough wine to make Hawkwood wonder if he would be up to the deed.
The musicians delayed the inevitable, with Lionel in reality meeting his intended for the first time as they performed a rather staged dance and one which was marred by the odd stagger. The prince was not alone in his cups: Galeazzo was close to him in that regard and Despenser, in trying to keep up with his prince and lacking the liver, ended up with his face lying in the plate that had contained a sorbet made possible by Alpine ice.
Finally Violante was led to the bedchamber followed by her father, her uncle Bernabò and various Milanese dignitaries, including the Archbishop of Milan, whose task it would be to witness the deflowering – not visually but by a close ear to the bedchamber door.
Hawkwood had drunk well too and remarked on the length of time these worthies were absent, which could only mean Violante was reluctant or, more likely, Lionel was struggling to meet the requirements of his new estate. That lasted for a seeming eternity until a whispered bulletin passed round the great chamber.
‘They heard the scream and entered to see the blood. The deed is done and may God bless the union with a child.’
If Hawkwood had doubted Lionel’s liver he had to recant when he came across a prince in robust good health the following morning, to be told that within the day the intention was to proceed to Alba and take possession of the most important of his new fiefs. Hawkwood was obliged to tell his prince he could not accompany him, which did not seem to cause much concern.
‘His Excellence Bernabò required that I proceed to secure an important river crossing at Borgoforte, which is under siege by a papal army.’
‘How important, Hawkwood?’
‘Very, sire. They must be driven away or Mantua is threatened.’
It required a map to show the prince the nature of the threat and Hawkwood had to give him credit for his quick appreciation of the danger to the territories of his new father-in-law.
‘I should go, Cousin,’ growled Despenser, who looked a damn sight worse for wear than Lionel Plantagenet and fixed his suffering expression on the captain general. ‘Am I not to take command of our English mercenaries?’
‘I am happy to yield if required to do so,’ Hawkwood lied as he heard confirmed what he had feared: he might end up under this swine’s command. ‘But I am still under contract to Milan and it will require their word for me to give way to another.’
‘A request from you cannot be ignored, Lionel.’
That made the blotched face flush with anger. ‘Please be reminded, Cousin, that how we refer to each other in private does not extend to public discourse.’
‘Forgive me, Your Grace.’
‘I need you in Alba and beyond. My estates need to be properly introduced to their new lord and that requires they observe I have the power to compel. Go about your occasions, Hawkwood, and report to me when you have fulfilled you obligations to Milan.’
‘There is a God, Christopher,’ was Hawkwood’s remark to Gold as they left to gather the men they would need to fight his representative on earth.
The papal army outside Borgoforte outnumbered Hawkwood by a large margin, yet with the cunning that marked him out from his fellow English condottieri the superior host was soon seen off. They had set their main encampment on a flood plain that absorbed the waters of the mighty River Po in times of bad weather; by breaking the banks of the waters upstream, Hawkwood washed away their tents and made the ground untenable, so he was able to send word back of a stunning success at the cost of not a single life.
Sent on to Arezzo, hubris caught up with him; riding well ahead of his brigade and thinking his reputation would keep him safe he was attacked at the Porta Buia and captured. That in itself was bad; he would be held for ransom and it would be a large one, yet worse news was to come to him in captivity.
Lionel, it was said from a surfeit of gluttony, had died and the whole edifice of the English–Visconti alliance was thrown into turmoil. Le Despenser and Lionel’s knights were sure their master had been poisoned – it was not an unknown way of disposing of rivals in Milanese politics – while Galeazzo, well within his rights in the nature of the marriage contract, demanded back the fiefs he had passed over as gifts.
Hawkwood had to watch from his very comfortable prison – he was given a fine set of apartments that befitted his value – as le Despenser led his retinue, backed up by other English mercenaries, against Galeazzo; yet that had to be put aside as Gold was authorised to sell assets and call in loans to find the hundred thousand florins the papal commander was demanding for his release.