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.’
‘They tried to engage your service, Hawkwood, did they not?’
‘Most assiduously.’
‘I take it by that reply you are as yet not committed.’
‘The weather is improving, so I must decide soon.’
‘And Avignon?’
‘I am no longer in their service.’
‘Not what the last messenger from Gregory told me.’
‘I have it in writing if you wish to examine it.’
That got a sly smile from Thornbury. Hawkwood had been waving the termination document for months. Avignon denied ever writing it, which left only two conclusions: they were lying or the document had been forged by Hawkwood for his own purposes. For what reason if it was the latter? It had to be better terms.
‘Thornbury, you know as well as I do that there are moves afoot to form an anti-papal league.’
‘If I were to say that my network of spies pales beside yours it would be nothing but the truth.’
That was acknowledged with a nod as Sampson, Hawkwood’s new page, saw to the pewter goblets. The host lifted his to his lips, but sniffed the spiced steam before drinking. Hawkwood paid for information in a way that no other could match bar the Pope himself and his came free from his adherents and officials. With the garnered information the leader of the White Company knew where to lead men next for greatest advantage.
‘Say this league is formed, Hawkwood, how long do you think it will hold?’
‘The papacy is much hated, nearly as much as we are ourselves.’
The reply was mordant. ‘The city states hate us so much they are ever seeking to employ us. Let us put aside such peculiarities and talk of winners and losers.’
‘If you wish,’ Hawkwood replied, taking a slow sip, for the brew was hot enough to scorch a lip.
‘Those who know Gregory talk of his determination. He is not a ditherer like Urban and he sees the many errors of his predecessor. That any attempts to seek accommodation with the likes of Florence and Perugia are wasted. I will not even mention Milan. If he is urged on by others, his cardinals, the Pope is said to require little pushing. He is determined to assert the authority of the papacy in Italy and if that has to be bloody his mind is so set it will not trouble his conscience.’
‘And you have been sent to tell me this?’
‘It was thought that one of your own would make the case better than a divine.’
‘Then they guessed right. Is there anyone less to be trusted than a priest?’
‘My view is that any anti-papal league will not hold. Those who propose it hate each other and have spent the last twenty years hiring us to fight their battles. Pay no heed to their blabbing about liberty, all they seek is to embroil their neighbours so deeply against Gregory that they will be weakened enough to fall. They will change sides as soon as it is seen to be advantageous to do so.’
Hawkwood leant forward, smiled and spoke softly. ‘What a sorry crew we serve, Thornbury. The offer?’
‘You seem sure I have one.’
‘Come, friend, you would not have travelled as far as you have without one, but let us save your blushes. I have a little bird that tells me the Pope is willing to pay thirty thousand florins a month for the services of the White Company, is that true?’
‘Why do I think I have been played for a dupe?’
The response was expansive. ‘Come, if we are not bosom companions, still we are not enemies. If I were to say that I was in two minds and you have settled me on a course would that assuage your pride?’
‘If I thought you were truly doubtful and that you have come down on the side I suggest, yes.’
‘Then have another goblet of wine to seal a bond.’
‘You will contract to the Pope?’
‘I will, upon my honour.’
‘And Florence, I mean your pension?’
‘They will pay for fear of what failure will bring down on their heads if they do not.’
‘Then I am empowered to say to you that Perugia is the most feverish location for anti-papal feeling and yet the Church rules. It must be contained and it would please His Holiness if you were to proceed there.’
‘To subdue them once more? I am accused of shedding much of their blood.’
‘No, they have not yet rebelled, but to ensure they do not a garrison will be imposed upon them.’
Sir John Hawkwood had been instructed by more than one divine, but never had he met one as high-handed as Gérard du Puy. A Benedictine abbot and nephew to Pope Gregory, the man employed wondered if he spoke to him in the manner in which he addressed everyone, which was to treat them as if they were shit upon his shoes. He had more titles than most of the Perugians could count on their fingers but the most paradoxical was his designation of Vicar for the Preservation of the General Peace; no one was less suited to that than he.
Arrogance emanated from him and was evident in his decrees, which were draconian. Any assembly of more than three was banned, chains were used to shut off the city streets at night to prevent clandestine gatherings and after sunset he held the keys to the city gates so as to control unrest even if none was evident. He and his coterie of French clerics occupied a fortress and palace on the city heights, ordinary citizens being barred from entry and leading ones admitted only by permission.
Not satisfied with the citadel overlooking the city he had another one constructed, in order to overawe the citizens, whom he despised. To ensure minimum contact he built a covered walkway by which he could progress from his palace to the duomo without having to soil his thinking and deliberation with exchange; he wanted only to commune with his own and those few grovellers of the local population who would unquestionably do his bidding. The fate of any willing to dispute with him was to be thrown out of the city and barred from re-entry.
Not content with a mercenary garrison, de Puy had brought in from elsewhere to guard his now twin citadels all the very best tools of defence that modern ingenuity could devise. That extended to its construction, with towers from the top of which he could employ arrow fire. There were two types of trebuchet being built to fashion his arsenal – the large for firing heavy enough stones to smash masonry, the smaller to let off showers of pebbles that at the speed they flew could be deadly – but only the smaller ones had reached completion.
Everything, including the extravagance in which he and his cohorts lived, had to be paid for by the population of Perugia and its outlying dependencies. That was before they were charged to provide what could be considered a normal stipend sent regularly to their Holy Father and his extractions and expenditures were so large even Avignon was inclined to question them.
If du Puy was conceited he was not in poor company: such a trait existed within every one of his officials, whose imperiousness matched that of their master and all were French. Whatever excess was committed did not result in redress when brought to du Puy’s attention: they behaved as would conquerors, not the custodians they were supposed to be. Nothing demonstrated this more than when a local married woman, to avoid being raped by one of du Puy’s nephews newly come from France, threw herself to her death out of a high window. No punishment ensued, indeed the complaint was dismissed with sarcasm.
‘The French are not all eunuchs,’ du Puy thundered, ‘even if you dogs would have it so. We are men and lusty with it.’
The same nephew must have felt he had licence to behave in any manner he desired. Having kidnapped and raped the wife of one of the citizens, he was not reprimanded; he was ordered to return her to her husband, but not for fifty days in which he could do as he pleased. John Hawkwood observed these goings on with a jaundiced eye; he had never had much time for priests and in du Puy he had met what seemed an exemplar of all their worst habits encompassed in a set of vestments. He was being paid to keep the peace and his mere presence seemed to be sufficient to secure that; he had no need to act outside that responsibility.
Setting up his own place of command in the lower town he had little need to commune with the Abbot of Marmoutier and his sybaritic circle. His contact was with the military governor, Gómez Albornoz, nephew of the late cardinal, which had the virtue of sparing him from too much of du Puy’s unbearable condescension that always brought him close to felling the arrogant abbot with a blow.
Then came the unrest in Città di Castelli. Informed of this by Christopher Gold, Hawkwood waited to see how Gómez Albornoz, or more precisely Gérard du Puy wanted to react. Minor flare-ups had been commonplace in the surrounding conurbations, hardly surprising given the way the Vicar of the General Peace bore down on those under his thumb with taxes and confiscations. Normally they died down of their own volition: people rioting, once they have looted, normally tire and quickly run out of the desire to continue.
‘Which has not happened this time,’ Albornoz informed him. ‘It has continued for days and, it is sad to reflect, is seemingly aimed not at a lack of privileges or a hatred of assessments but squarely at the Church.’
The temptation to say ‘hardly a surprise’ had to be held back.
‘Abbot du Puy feels that an example must be made for once. The local papal garrison and the city priests have been thrown out of the gates and roughly handled too. It is felt a show of real force must ensue.’
‘How many?’
There was no need to explain; Hawkwood wanted to know what Gómez Albornoz thought in regards to numbers.
‘Half your company, I suggest, will more than suffice.’
‘To subdue a herd of peasants?’
‘A herd of rebellious peasants armed with the tools of their needs. The abbot is clear. Those recalcitrant must be seen to be swinging from the bell tower. Let the people of the region know what comes of cursing and manhandling their priests.’