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I just wanted to add a shout out to the podcast When Diplomacy Fails by Zack Twamley, which I used for a great many of the details for the siege and its relief. I based much of this narrative pretty closely on his episodes about the 1683 Siege of Vienna from his "Long War" series. If you are a fan of podcasts and/or history (I assume anyone reading this is at least a fan of the latter), I highly encourage you to check it out.

Also, if you are tired of warfare in this AAR (I am, for certain) then worry not. There will be a bit of wrapping up of this war in the next chapter but then I will quickly move on to other stuff. Already have some of the draft of the next chapter complete so it should not be too long until it is ready.
 
A interesting and long chapter. This is by far my EUIV favorite AAR because seems a narrative historybook:) Siege of Florence is epic and impressive
 
When Diplomacy Fails is a great podcast! And that was a heck of a chapter. I'm looking forward to seeing diplomacy succeed.
 
Another stunning chapter, your descriptions of the siege and battle of Florence are simply incredible, even more vivid and beautiful than I've already come to expect from this fantastic AAR.


And yes, let the Winged Hussars memes commence.
 
First, the ground shook. And then they began to hear it, a kind of howling mixed with intermittent clicking. The Portuguese cavalrymen noted that their steeds became restless and whinnied, making them harder to control. It was as though the beasts could sense what the men could not fully grasp: that everyone was in grave danger. Through a set of clearings and around a grove of clumped trees the Winged Hussars seemed to just emerge; gliding on steeds apparently species apart from their foes’. The gleaming polished breastplates of the hussars stunned those even among ranks of their allies. Spread out across a line over 500 meters wide, with as many as 4,000 heavy hussars taking the brunt of the charge, with the Prince of Lwów in the lead, the riders seemed like a surreal image from another world. Accompanied by the fearsome sight and sound of hooves thundering and howling through the air, the sight of the wings ripped the heart from the defenders. At this sight, countless soldiers simply threw down their weapons and fled, making easy prey for the invincible thrust of the Polish horses. Like a bolt of lightning did Karol Ferdynand’s force fan itself out still further and faster to capture the stragglers. With all the impact of a battering ram, the Winged Hussars at the front crushed and impaled with the lance any enemy unable or unwilling to flee, and after a few instances of this display they soon found few challengers willing to contest the field.


And yes, let the Winged Hussars memes commence.

THEN THE WINGED HUSSARS ARRIVED
COMING DOWN THE MOUNTAINSIDE
COMING DOWN THEY TURNED THE TIDE

:p

What a READ that was!
Simply fantastic!
Such gruesome war written in such a grand detail!

Long Live the Catholic League of French, Tuscan, Austrian, and Polish unity!
 
THEN THE WINGED HUSSARS ARRIVED
COMING DOWN THE MOUNTAINSIDE
COMING DOWN THEY TURNED THE TIDE

:p

What a READ that was!
Simply fantastic!
Such gruesome war written in such a grand detail!

Long Live the Catholic League of French, Tuscan, Austrian, and Polish unity!

Full disclosure: I basically ripped off the charge of the winged hussars paragraph word for word from Zack Twamley from his siege of Vienna episode. I know that’s unoriginal but it was just so freaking epic I had to do it.

As for all the kind words, thank you as always. I’ve been really enjoying getting back into a more regular schedule of updating the AAR and the support is always appreciated. In the next chapter the Tuscans will visit my own native land of New Jersey, USA so I’m very much looking forward to writing that.
 
Full disclosure: I basically ripped off the charge of the winged hussars paragraph word for word from Zack Twamley from his siege of Vienna episode. I know that’s unoriginal but it was just so freaking epic I had to do it.

To be fair. the Winged Hussar History in general is just made out of badass and crazy. Like the Battle of Hodów for example.

As for all the kind words, thank you as always. I’ve been really enjoying getting back into a more regular schedule of updating the AAR and the support is always appreciated. In the next chapter the Tuscans will visit my own native land of New Jersey, USA so I’m very much looking forward to writing that.

Do they meet Giants there? :p

.... I'm sorry for the joke :oops:
 
Historical Vignette 23: An Army at Dawn, 22-25 September 1612

22 September 1612

“Do I have any questions?” Giulio dé Medici asked the officers assembled in his tent. The men looked around at each other or else just stared down at the map unrolled on the round center table. Nobody ever wants to ask the first question, nobody wants to be the one to draw out the meeting. It had gone on for quite a while, even Giulio had to admit. The final refinements to any plan as complex as the one drawn up by General Cercignani and the other commanders necessitated great detail in explanation. Better they sit through it now and know what they are doing later, thought the Prince of Orvieto, they will get their dinner soon enough.

“Do we know how steep the cliff face is going up to San Miniato?” finally asked Cornelio Caprioli in his Ladin-infused Italian. Despite his Italian-sounding name, Caprioli hailed from the Archduchy’s side of the border and looked more Germanic than Mediterranean, with flowing blonde hair, bright blue eyes and a fair complexion. He commanded one of the two Tyrolean regiments that were part of Gregor von Straubing’s Austrian contingent assigned to Giulio’s wing of the army. Giulio had requested the Tyroleans specifically, as they were skilled mountain climbers and would be very useful in storming the abbey and basilica complex on San Miniato. Giulio’s cousin, Cristiano dé Medici, had managed to hold the abbey with 300 men against the full might of the Spanish-Portuguese army for months. Taking it back would be no easy task.

“I can’t give you an exact measurement,” replied Giulio grimly, “but I can tell you that it is quite steep. Grappling hooks and ropes will help. It is not a sheer cliff by any means, but it is still a difficult ascent.”

“Your Highness could have simply said that it is not a sheer cliff face,” cut in Karl Durnwalder, the commander of the other Tyrolean regiment, “anything less than sheer is an easy day for us.” That triggered laughs from the Austrians and a mixture of eye rolls and fake smiles from the Italians. Durnwalder was short and stout with dark hair and eyes, looking almost an opposite of his counterpart, Caprioli. Both men still projected the same sort of cool confidence, bordering on indifference, displayed by their own superior, von Straubing.

“You might feel different when Spanish bullets are raining down on you,” thundered Girolamo Riario-Sforza, who would command Giulio’s center and be responsible for the storming of the abbey itself. That wiped the smiles off the Austrians’ faces. Sforza was six and a half feet tall with shoulders that looked as if they could pull an ox cart and a chest to match. The sigil of his house was emblazoned on his breastplate: an enormous green serpent devouring a Saracen. His wild, tangled black beard only added to the fierce look. Giulio had, on more than one occasion, seen Sforza kill men with his bare hands on the battlefield. To add to the menacing air his young protégé, Alessandro di Ferrari, stood next to Sforza. He was two decades younger and with a less full beard, but just as large and, by all accounts, just as mean. Every time Giulio saw the pair together, he was reminded how happy he was that they were on his side. “Those Spanish veterans are tough fighters,” Sforza continued, his tone slightly softened though still gruff, “confidence is good, but don’t let it get to your head, just be sure when the word comes down, you and your men are ready.”

“We’ll be ready,” replied Caprioli more seriously, “you need not worry about us, my Lord.” Durnwalder nodded along gravely.

“And we will be sipping on wine and enjoying the show,” said Guido Castracani, commander of the Lance Lucchesi. He was a young and capable infantry officer with a serious inferiority complex. He hailed from the city of Lucca and was heir to one of that city’s oldest, wealthiest, and most powerful families. They traced their lineage back to the famous condottiero Castruccio Castracani, who inflicted a number of disastrous defeats on the Florentines in the first half of the Fourteenth Century. Guido made sure every Florentine officer remembered that fact. Still, despite his bravado, he was reliable and level headed, something that could not always be said for the nobles of the officer class.

“Lucky for us our wagons are loaded with good wine,” added Giulio’s old friend Federico Boncompagni jovially. Federico would be in command of Giulio’s left, the far left of the entire allied army. Though he covered it up with humor, Giulio knew that his friend was upset he did not get the center and the chance to storm the abbey.

The two were friends since childhood and had been through a great deal together. Both saw combat for the first time at Mantua in 1596 and Federico was fresh off a successful tour in the Caribbean. He not only led the defense of the colony of Santa Lucia and the destruction of the Spanish fleet in the New World, but also added on the conquests of the previously unclaimed islands of Santa Martina and Domenica. He was even granted the privilege of naming the latter island after his youngest daughter. Still, Federico hungered for battlefield glory in a way Giulio had ceased to long ago. He understood where his friend was coming from and respected his wishes, but there was a reason Giulio had placed him on the left. To take the abbey, he needed brutal bruisers like Sforza and Ferrari, men who could literally smash their way through the enemy line like giant hammers and expected their men to do the same. On his flank, especially the exposed left, he needed men with more tactical flexibility and creativity. Men who could counter whatever the Spanish threw back at them. That’s what Federico could provide. Or so I hope.

“I am sure you will all get your chance to prove your mettle,” replied Giulio wearily, “especially you Guido.”

“Just like Castruccio at Montecatini and Altopascio,” replied the Lucchese, smiling broadly, referring to two of his ancestor’s most famous victories over Florence. This triggered a cascade of boos and hisses from the Florentine men in the room and shouts of “Guelfi, Guelfi!” and “Lucca merda!”

“That’s enough!” shouted Giulio, anxious to stop this war council from descending into nationalist and provincialist rancor. “Are there any more questions?” he asked. After a long silence, the Prince of Orvieto was satisfied there were, in fact, no more doubts. “Well in that case, go brief your men,” he said, “and then go get some dinner. We may not have another hot meal until after the battle.”

The crowd of men filed slowly out of the tent, some talking excitedly while others departed in grim silence. Every man deals with the prospect of battle differently. Giulio spotted Federico lingering around the map with his captains. Giulio was encouraged by that. He had not given his friend an easy task. He had to cover a long front with only three regiments. Along with Castraccani’s Lance Lucchesi he also had two southern regiments, Antonio Fantini’s Soldati di San Gennaro and Alfonso Valtorta’s Fanteria Casertana. Giulio stepped outside the tent for some fresh air and waited for Federico to finish. He pulled out his wine skin and took a long drink. The wine was sour but felt good going down.

He looked out over the camp. Well-ordered rows of tents stretched out as far as the eye could see in every direction. It was a camp that even Giuseppe Terreni might have approved of. Compact, relative to the size of the army housed within, well organized, defensible. A deep ditch had been dug around it with sharpened stakes inside. The tents stood in ordered rows with wide avenues between them. The latrines were by the river downstream, the horse lines were to the north, the cannons parked neatly on the west side of the camp. Tall battle standards flapped atop lofty poles. Beneath them armed and armored sentries walked their rounds with muskets and pikes. Whatever concerns anyone in the Tuscan army had that the troops would grow lax under Carlo Cercignani, who some thought was more concerned with making friends than enforcing discipline, would need only one look to see their fears were misplaced.

9IJu1R8.jpg

A group of soldiers walked past holding steaming bowls. “What’s for dinner?” asked Giulio.

The men noticed him and gave a quick bow before one answered, “pork and vegetable stew, your Highness.”

“More like grease and tree root stew,” said another, “Fat Carmine’s specialty.” “Fat Carmine” was Carmine Antonioli, the army’s quartermaster. Like almost every man who had ever occupied that position in every army in history, Antonioli was regularly accused by the men of holding on to the best food for himself and giving the soldiers the worst of his stock. Giulio knew better, but this was neither the time nor the place to make that argument.

After the soldiers moved on, Giulio was still waiting for Federico. He thought over the details of his part of the attack plan once again. However, after a short time, the sense of dread that he tried to banish from his thoughts crept back in. He thought again about his wife and son, trapped in the capital. He had no real way of even knowing if they were still alive. He’d almost fallen prey to despair when word first got to the army about what the Spanish had done at Orvieto. He feared the worst, and could still remember walking around like a man condemned for two days. The only relief came when a new set of messengers arrived, the last to make it out of Florence before the city was encircled, who informed then, among other things, that Livia and Gian Gastone had reached Florence alive and well. That had given him relief for a while, but there was no telling what had happened to them. He swore for seemingly the thousandth time in the past few weeks that if he and his family survived the war, he would never leave their side again.

His thoughts were interrupted when Federico finally emerged from the tent with his three captains. “…and remember Florentine girls are easy, so you and your men should have plenty of fun once we liberate the city,” he was saying.

“Hey! Those are my sisters you’re talking about!” Giulio shouted back, letting himself in on the joke.

“Oh and don’t get me started on the Medici women,” retorted Federico without missing a beat, “they’re the biggest whores of all. I know from personal experience.”

Giulio put his friend in a playful headlock. “Ignore whatever comes out of this mongrel’s mouth,” he said to the younger officers, “your prince commands it.” He released Federico. “Come on, let’s go find Alessandro before he leaves to steal all the glory.”

“Go brief your men then get yourselves some food,” said Federico to his captains. The three men bowed their heads and walked off, laughing and joking with each other. Giulio and Federico walked through the center of the camp through the deepening dusk. The rain was mercifully holding off for the moment. It had been coming down almost non-stop for the previous three days. The men were taking advantage of the lack of precipitation, huddling around campfires outside their tents, eating, talking, joking, or singing; the pleasant sounds of a military camp. They heard a familiar tune coming from a large circle of troops, some of whom had a mix of flutes, strings, and a drum. A group of older veterans was in the center, with younger men sitting around them. The song they were playing was from the last war, a patriotic ditty written in honor of Giulio’s father, Grand Duke Francesco I and General Campofregoso titled “Marching Through Flanders.” Ironically, both men had hated the song and prohibited its being played in their presence. Still, its popularity lived on, especially among the veterans of the Flemish Campaign. The soldiers with the instruments started playing the tune before the rest of the men began singing.

“Bring the good old trumpet, boys, we'll sing another song,
Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along,
Sing it as we used to sing it, fifty thousand strong,
While we were marching through Flanders.”


To make the words fit together more pleasingly, “Flanders” was drawn out to sound like “Fla-anders”.

“Hurrah! Hurrah! We bring the jubilee!
Hurrah! Hurrah! The saints that make you free!
So we sang the chorus from Eindhoven to the sea
While we were marching through Flanders.

“Yes and there were Catholic men who wept with joyful tears,
When they saw Our Lady that they had not seen for years;
Hardly could they be restrained from breaking forth in cheers,
While we were marching through Flanders.”


“The players aren’t even half bad,” commented Federico during the chorus, nodding his head toward the soldiers playing their instruments.

“My father hated this next verse the most,” said Giulio in reply.

“‘Francesco’s dashing Tuscan boys will never reach the coast!’
So the saucy Dutchmen said and 'twas a handsome boast,
Had they not forgot, alas! to reckon with the Host
While we were marching through Flanders.

“Hurrah! Hurrah! We bring the jubilee!
Hurrah! Hurrah! The saints that make you free!
So we sang the chorus from Eindhoven to the sea
While we were marching through Flanders.

“So we made a thoroughfare for Mary and her train,
Sixty miles in latitude, three hundred to the main;
Heretics fled before us, for resistance was in vain,
While we were marching through Flanders.”


The assembled soldiers gave a loud whoop as the song ended. “To the old Grand Duke!” said one of the elder soldiers in the bunch, rising and raising his tankard, “to Francesco I!”

“To Francesco I!” his comrades echoed, all raising their tankards. “A great warrior!” shouted another. Many of them made their toasts at Giulio himself, the meaning not lost on the prince. When his father had died, there were more than a few within the ranks of the army who called for him to jump Alberto in the line of succession. Grand Duke Francesco was beloved by the rank and file, who appreciated a commander that meted out his discipline and military justice to the noble officers with the same rigor and regularity as he did to the common soldiers. It also helped that he was a highly capable commander and that he won battles. They saw, or believed they saw, many of the same qualities in the Prince of Orvieto. Still, Giulio never once seriously entertained the possibility of jumping Alberto in the succession. He and his brother had never been close, but he still felt love and admiration for it. Alberto may not have been a soldier, but he was learned, wise, steady, and tough in his own way. He was surely a better Grand Duke than Giulio would have been. The prince had no doubt of that.

Plus they are mistaken
, thought Giulio, I am not my father. Grand Duke Francesco did not perhaps love war, but he certainly relished facing the challenges presented by a campaign. Giulio never saw his father more alive than when he was conferring with his commanders, drawing up battle plans, and leading his men. For the old man, war was something to be mastered and conquered, for Giulio it was something to be endured. For the prince, it was only duty.

After a few more moments of toasting and chatting with the men, Giulio and Federico moved on. They walked in silence for a time until they finally reached the edge of the camp. There, they saw a long line of men and horses saddling up.

They first walked past a formation of Polish Winged Hussars, magnificent in their silvered armor. They still employed the lance, or kopia, as their main offensive weapon. These were long and hollow, with two halves glued together, painted, and richly gilded. They were commonly made from fir-wood, with a point of forged steel. At the other end was a gałka, a large wooden ball which served as the handle guard. Each lance bore a large silk pennon attached to the lance below the point. Their junior officers, the Towarzysz husarski, carried extra weaponry, including a dagger, traditionally under their left thigh and a type of broadsword they called a palasz under the right. As far as firearms, the regular cavalry carried light wheellock arquebuses while the Towarzysz husarski tended to sport twin flintlock pistols.

The Hussars’ armor consisted of a helmet with a hemispherical skull, comb-like cheek pieces with a heart-shaped cut in the middle, a neck-guard of several plates secured by sliding rivets, and an adjustable nasal terminating in a leaf-shaped visor. A cuirass, back plate, gorget, shoulder guards, and vambraces with iron gloves completed the outfit.

D67tS27.jpg

Traditional armor of the Winged Hussars

The signature piece of equipment for the Hussar was, of course, the wings. They consisted of a wooden frame carrying eagle, ostrich, swan, or goose feathers. The origins and the reason for the wings changed depending on which Hussar one spoke to. Some said it was because they made a loud, clattering noise which made it seem like the cavalry was much larger than in reality and frightened the enemy's horses. Others said the wings were there to defend the backs of the men against swords and lassos. While yet others claimed they were worn to make their own horses deaf to the wooden noise-makers used by the Ottomans and the Crimean Tatars. Whatever the reason, the men of the Polish cavalry cut a striking image across any battlefield. Giulio had seen them in action for the first time against the Milanese at Ponzano. Their charges appeared almost anachronistic in the face of muskets and modern infantry squares. They were like an army from another time and another place. Still, they could be a devastating weapon of war when applied at the right moment. Giulio was happy to have them on his side. Most of the hussars were already mounted and seemed to exude a cool confidence. Maybe it was just the shiny armor and exotic wings or maybe they thought of war differently.

“Medici!” came a thunderous voice. Giulio looked over. A man so large he appeared to be ready to burst out of his armor was riding his horse slowly toward them. The Prince of Orvieto recognized the man immediately: Jakub Sobieski, Grand Marshal of the Sejm and head of the second most powerful noble house in Poland after the ruling Poniatowskis.

“I can’t believe how fat he is,” Federico muttered as the giant Pole made his way over to them.

“Sobieski,” replied Giulio, “you look fit for battle.”

The Pole roared with laughter, his face red beneath his grey and black whiskers. “You are a terrible liar. But I don’t need to be fit. Prince Karol keeps me around for my wits and my tactical skills. It matters little that I am the slowest horsemen among the Hussars.”

IMPLc3Y.png

Jakub Sobieski

“You still have to make it to the battle,” quipped Federico.

Sobieski wagged his finger at him in reply, “don’t you worry, I always get to the battle and when I do, the enemy is in trouble.” If the stories Giulio had heard were true, Sobieski was not just throwing out empty boasts. He was almost always placed in command of the reserves and had an uncanny skill to commit them at the exact right moment when there was need.

“Have you seen the two princes?” asked Giulio.

“I have,” replied Sobieski, “if it is your cousin you seek, I saw him riding toward the front of the column.”

“Thank you,” said Giulio, “It will be an honor to fight with you. We’ll see you at Florence.”

“At Florence!” boomed Sobieski, turning his horse as he thrust a fist into the sky.

“He is some character,” chuckled Federico. They continued their walk along the column of cavalry, finally getting passed the Hussars to the Tuscan contingent.

Giulio spotted Marco Cercignani, the general’s son and one of Alessandro’s best officers. He was tightening up some straps holding saddle bags on his horses. “Marco,” he said, “all ready to go?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Marco nodded enthusiastically, “we should be leaving shortly, as soon as we get the order to mount up.”

“Well best of luck Marco,” said Giulio, “I look forward to seeing you on the other side.” The younger Cercignani bowed his head and turned his attention back to readying his horse. Giulio and Federico moved on, searching for Alessandro.

“Mount up!” came the sudden order from the front of the column. “Mount up!” the men of the Tuscan cavalry echoed down the line. Like a giant snake bestirring itself, the entire cavalry column began to move. Men jumped onto their mounts, ready to ride off. Suddenyl Giulio and Federico spotted Alessandro galloping down the line, accompanied by a cheer from every man he passed.

He spotted his two old friends and pulled up beside them. “Come to see me off?” he asked, smiling. Two other cavalrymen pulled up behind him.

Giulio looked up at his cousin. “You better be right about this,” he said flatly.

Alessandro grinned. “I am always right. And if I’m not, I make it right.”

“Let’s hope so,” replied Giulio, “while we’re going to be slogging over the hills to get to our attack position you all will get to just glide in and take advantage of whatever flank is left exposed after our assault.”

Alessandro cocked his head. “You hear this?” he asked Federico, “when we were younger he was the cavalry officer and I was with the infantry. I never complained back then, I just figured the bastard had to walk while the true-born prince got to go mounted. But now that the show is on the other foot…” He let the thought finish itself.

Federico laughed, “he’s got you there, brother.”

Giulio scowled. “I’m not complaining, I’m just making sure you don’t forget about us is all.”

“I wouldn’t miss this battle for the world,” he said, “there are too many damsels in distress in Florence right now, and I mean to rescue them. It is the chivalrous thing to do.”

“I thought your wife was back in Holland,” quipped Federico.

“It’s Giulio’s wife I mean to rescue.”

“Easy,” said Giulio seriously. Sometimes his cousin took jokes too far.

“Oh don’t worry cousin,” he replied, waving his hand as if to swat away Giulio’s concern, “Livia is far too swarthy for me. You should know this. I prefer my women fair-skinned and blonde when I can find them…which I usually can.”

“Speaking of blondes,” said Federico, “I’m surprised the general is giving you such a prominent job. I thought he hated you ever since you planted a bastard in his daughter’s belly.”

“I think he hopes it gets me killed.” The two of them were referring to the fact that Alessandro had fathered an illegitimate child with Cecilia Cercignani, middle daughter of their commanding general.

“I just hope we’re not too late,” said Giulio seriously, his thoughts reverting back to his wife and son.

“Hey, they’re going to be fine,” said Federico, clapping Giulio on the back. “We’re going to save the city.”

“We’ll get those Spaniards back for what they did to Orvieto and the rest of the Tuscan countryside,” added Alessandro, “there is no doubt on that.” Behind them, the cavalry column was moving on. The Tuscan portion had passed and it was hussars riding past now.

“Don’t lose your men,” said Giulio, trying to banish the fearful thoughts from his brain, “that would be an inauspicious start.”

“I guess you’re right,” he replied, “I should head out.” He paused, looking the two of them over. “Farewell brothers, next time I see you we will all be happily killing Spaniards.”

As Giulio watched the horses and men move off, he felt a chill run up his spine. The sort of feeling one gets when observing a momentous military occasion. All our hopes for victory are tied to this gambit, he thought. Alessandro sat silently atop his horse, watching the column depart as well. Finally, he saluted them and kicked his spurs into his horse and began riding off.

“Looks like another storm is coming,” shouted Federico after him, “try not to get caught out in it.”


Alessandro turned in his saddle, flashed a cocky smile and shouted back: “We are the storm.”

_____________________________________________________​

24 September 1612

huuFYOB.jpg

The Florentine walls

“That’s far enough,” shouted Leo Gattilusio. The Spanish officer was resplendent atop a black stallion. His breastplate was polished steel inlaid with gold. He stopped the horse about 100 feet from the Florentine walls. His similarly attired but younger looking companion held a white banner aloft. “We can hear you from there.”

“His Majesty, Fernando VII, King of Spain and the Two Sicilies, in his great magnanimity, is willing to discuss a surrender.”

Leo looked at the men to either side of him. Their gaunt, dirty faces betrayed no emotions. He knew he likely did not look much better. He could not see his own face, but his breastplate was dented and his left arm was in a sling, broken by shrapnel from an enemy cannonball. The contrast between him and his Spanish counterpart could not be starker.

Leo took a deep breath and shouted his reply, “We are sorry, but inform His Majesty that we lac the room and provisions to take you all prisoner.”

“What!?” came the incredulous reply of the Spanish officer.

“We would like to, but we cannot accept your surrender.”

The Spanish officer gazed up at him for a moment, shook his head, wheeled his horse about, and galloped off back to his lines, the standard bearer hard on his heels.

“What do we do now sir?” asked one of the men.

“We wait.” Leo looked over to his right. He could still see the smoke rising from the breach in the wall. The Spanish had successfully undermined it and blown it three days prior. His men had fought off the initial assault and then barricaded it with wooden beams and paving stones. Since then, they had successfully fought off wave after wave of Spanish and Portuguese attacks despite the supporting enemy artillery fire coming from the Abbey of San Miniato. However, the defenders’ ammunition was running low and there were precious few able bodied men left. Even those that could still walk and fight were malnourished and weakened. If it came to another hand to hand fight with the better fed and supplied enemy, what chance did they stand? On the other side of the city, the Abbey of San Miniato remained a thorn in the defenders’ side, and a deadly one at that. The abbey had fallen two days before the Spanish created their breach. The Tuscan defenders had held out for months up on the hill but they were finally overcome when their ammunition ran out and there was none left with which to resupply them. Even then, Cristiano dé Medici, cousin to the Grand Duke, had led a heroic, doomed final stand with the Tuscans fighting hand to hand. Still, it was in vain.

Somewhere out there was an allied relief army, but where?

Leo hobbled down the steps of the Fortezza Filippo I gripping his wooden crutch with his right hand and dragging the left side of his body against the wall for balance, since his arm on that side was now useless as well. When he reached the bottom, a number of men were drinking and playing dice. A few young women milled about as well. They all looked up at Leo when he reached the ground.

“Did you tell ‘em to piss off?” asked the largest among them, the one everyone called “The Turk”. He was shirtless and had one of the young women, a blonde who was still pretty despite her dirty face and wild hair, seated on his lap.

“They wanted to negotiate surrender terms. I declined.”

The men all laughed. “Right on, fuck ‘em,” said one. These were members of the “Dirty Boys”, a collection of former criminals and street urchins, most of them still in their teens. Now they were, officially at least, soldiers of the Medici army.

“When they come through the breach and over the wall,” said the Turk, “you can kill many men with that crutch.” His voice was deep and he spoke only broken Italian, rich with an accent from the Orient, though Leo could not place it. Nobody knew where The Turk was actually from, though he was almost certainly not Turkish. His origin changed every time he told the story. One time he would be a Tartar horseman from the steppes, another time he was the son of a Timurid Vizier, or else a corsair from Tunis, or a nomadic hunter from Abyssinia. When Leo had met him, the story he told was that his father was a Barbary corsair and his mother an Italian slave girl. Whatever the truth of that was, Leo knew one thing for certain: the man could fight. The minister of war had noticed him early on in the siege due to his ability to lead men and his fierce fighting style when he led sorties. The Spanish had started to learn his name too. When the enemy blew the wall, The Turk had been the first man to meet them in the breach. He and the Dirty Boys killed many Spaniards that day and when the enemy finally withdrew, the Turk had to be held back so as to not pursue them alone outside the walls.

“I hope to,” replied Leo, “though you aren’t too bad yourself at improvising weapons.” At the Battle of the Breach Leo had seen the Turk kill a Spaniard with a paving stone to the face and another with a shard of glass through the throat.

The Turk pointed to his shaved head, “one mind, any weapon.”

“A good philosophy,” said Leo, “carry on men, and if any Spaniards come over the wall, do kill them for me please.”

The men bid Leo farewell as he continued hobbling back through the streets, south along the Borgo Pinti. He thought about the Turk and his Dirty Boys. They are fierce without a doubt, but how will they fight when it is a true battle? He was not so much concerned about them running or throwing down their arms if the Spanish came over or through the walls. They were brave enough and always loved a good fight. He was more worried about their discipline. Many of their toughest men were street fighters, even the younger ones. Even in a brawl one is focused on the one on one fights. They had not the slightest clue of tactics or coordinated maneuvers. Not that those would help much in the cramped confines of the city. Leo and the remaining officers of the garrison had developed a plan of sequenced withdrawals designed to bleed the Spanish and Portuguese attackers as much as possible. If they did have to lose the city, better to kill as many of the besiegers as possible so the relief army could retake it quickly and easily. But will the men follow the plan?

He had been forced to recruit from the whole breadth of the citizenry. This included common criminals and worse. He still vividly remembered walking into the city jail, the Carcere delle Stinche, and making a simple proposition: “Due to the siege, we have a shortage of men and food. Any man among you who wishes to help defend the city, may enroll in the Florentine city watch and man the walls. Any man who does not wish to join will be executed, as we lack the food to feed you. Rather than let you starve to death, we will execute you mercifully.” Not one man chose the execution option. And once they made the short walk down Via dei Lavatoi to the Palazzo Vecchio, nearly forty new men swore oaths and joined the city watch. A few had quickly defected and gone over to the Spanish. Leo did not know their fates. However, after the first few days, all those men who remained stayed loyal. Several died bravely during the Battle of the Breach or on sorties.

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The Carcere delle Stinche, city jail of Florence

As he hobbled slowly along the street, a wagon pulled by two gaunt-looking men trundled past. Whatever it was carrying was covered up by a large woolen sheet tied at each corner. Leo did not want to know what was in the wagon. The dead, most likely.

Of late he thought often to how similar his own situation was to that of countless other people throughout history. He also tried to recall each and every time he had read in some book how this or that army had lay siege to some city or other. How all the fighting and suffering, disease and starvation, love and hate involved in something like a siege could be dismissed in one or two sentences, a few short strokes of the pen. Leo had been involved in sieges before but always on the other side of the wall. There was a vast difference, he had come to learn, between when one has the ability to simply turn around and leave and when one is trapped.

Leo did not really have anywhere to go, nor did he think he would fall asleep that night. It was rare that he slept much at all, his dreams constantly haunted by ghosts and past battles. The darkness had come on fully by then, obscuring the faces of the few people he passed in the street. Most appeared to be soldiers, or at least what passed for soldiers in besieged Florence. He could tell from the way they talked or carried their weapons that these men lacked any real formal training. A group of friars hurried passed him on Via della Mattonaia, walking bare foot and carrying buckets of water. He stopped off at “the breach” to check on the men there and the defenses.

He was met by a group of youngsters eagerly explaining their defensive plans and how they would repel a Spanish assault. The oldest one could not have been more than 20. As for the age of the youngest boy, Leo did not even want to hazard a guess. The Wall Boss here had once been the cobbler Matteo Davanzali, but he had died during the Battle of the Breach, killed by Spanish gun fire. Leo did not even know who the new one was. “Who is in charge here?” he asked the boys.

“I am,” said one of the youths, a lanky teenager with matted sandy hair and dark green eyes. His shirt had dark brown spatters over the front that clearly looked like old, dried blood.

“What’s your name?” the Minister of War asked.

“Oro,” he replied.

“Oro?” asked Leo, arching an eye brow.

“For my hair,” he said pointing to his head. In truth, his hair looked more the color of dry dirt or sand than gold but Leo did not see any reason to say that out loud. “My mother was a whore,” Oro added, “she couldn’t read and write, and she never had no gold neither. I was her gold she would say.”

“Where is your mother now?” Leo asked.

The boy shrugged. “Dead for all I know. Or run off to some other city. All the same to me.” Oro motioned his arm in a semi-circle towards his comrades. “Most of us here is orphans. Some from before and some thanks to these Spanish dogs.”

Leo looked at them with sad eyes. “I was an orphan too,” he said, “my sister and I lost our parents when we were small. I never had to live in an orphanage though, I was lucky.”

“We knew you was an orphan,” piped up another boy, “that’s why you’re not stupid.”

Leo laughed loudly at that. “Well I appreciate the compliment.”

“We won’t let you down my Lord,” said Oro, “you tell the Grand Duke we will protect his wall.”

“You make us all proud,” replied Leo trying to lift their spirits. “Carry on men.” The boys saluted him, and Leo continued his slow journey around the walls. How many of those boys will be dead by this time tomorrow? he wondered.

He continued his walk. He passed the Loggia del Pesce, the fish market that had long been empty. The Arno had been fished so heavily throughout the siege that it was a rare day that a fisherman got a catch anymore. It did not help that the Spanish had posted their own men to fish the river at either end of the city, further limiting the number of creatures that made it into the part of the river that flowed through the city.

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The Arno

He then turned down Borgo Allegri until he reached Via Ghibellina, turned left, and then turned down Via dé Macci. As he passed the hospital and convent of San Francesco dé Macci, three nuns came out of the front. One of them turned and saw Leo hobbling towards them. They were Sisters of the Order of Saint Claire, or Poor Clares as they were more commonly known. The sisters had run a hospital adjacent to their convent since the complex was first built back in 1335. “Good evening, my Lord,” said one of the nuns, “you look like you could use a warm place to sit and some food or wine.”

Leo smiled, “a cup of wine does sound nice but I do not want to disturb you. I see you are all headed somewhere.”

“We were going to the walls,” said another one of the nuns, a stoop-backed old woman with a kindly face, “but Sister Maria Grazia can attend to you.”

“Come my Lord,” said the youngest of the three, taking him by the hand, “you look weary.” Leo still had more of the wall he wanted to inspect, but a short break might be good for him. He leaned on his crutch as he followed Sister Maria Grazia into the convent. The floors were covered with sleeping people, the sounds of snores intermixed with the occasional moans of pain meeting Leo’s ears. So much suffering. The Poor Clares had resisted evacuation after the part of the city that housed their convent and hospital fell within range of the Spanish guns after the loss of San Miniato. They insisted that too many of the wounded and sick could not be moved and it was their duty to attend to them no matter the risk involved. “Have a seat here, my Lord,” said Sister Grazia, “I will bring you a glass of wine.”

Leo lowered himself into one of the pews that had been pushed to the side to make room for the wounded in the center of the church. As he looked across the darkened room, he noticed a priest making the rounds, checking to see if anyone was in need of Last Rites. This is a grim place, the Minister of War reflected, all of us here just waiting to die.

At the far end of the church, with candle light making it just visible, Leo could see the work of art that made the convent church notable: Andrea del Sarto’s Madonna of the Harpies. It was a sacra conversazione, showing the Virgin and Child flanked by putti angels and Saints Bonaventure and John the Evangelist. The work had hung in that church for nearly one hundred years but now the Minister of War was not sure if it would make it another day.

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Andrea del Sarto’s Madonna of the Harpies

Sister Maria Grazia returned with a flagon of red wine. Leo uncorked it and took a long swig. He offered it to the nun. She refused it with a light smile. “Stay as long as you like my Lord,” she said, “and we have a bit of bread if you like. It’s a bit stale but still good enough.”

“Keep the bread for those who need it,” said Leo, “I am always happy with wine.” The nun smiled, bowed her head, and walked away quietly. Leo took another long drink, yawned, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead.

_____________________________________________________

25 September 1612

Maurizio Grimaldi sniffed the dark air. Someone is burning a fire, he thought as he crept through the darkness. When a twig snapped nearby, he was forced to resist an urge to curse loudly. He could not see his men around him in the midnight darkness, but he could hear them, and that was bad enough.

Maurizio commanded the second company of the first battalion of the Reggimento Grimaldi. The regiment was named after his own ancestor and better known as “Grimaldi’s Raiders” due to their skill in missions just like they one they were on. He was of average height, with a sturdy build and brown hair and eyes. His boyish looking face was blackened by soot at the moment. It was a common practice among the Raiders to darken their faces for night missions to make them harder to spot. At only twenty-one years old, Maurizio was the youngest company commander in the regiment but he and his men regularly got the most difficult assignments because he always expected them to be the best. This morning however, he was not happy.

Making noise, getting sloppy, being lazy
, he thought darkly. Thankfully, all the rain that had fallen recently ensured the dirt and leaves on the ground would be water logged and therefore muffled. Still, it was not just a matter of his own expectations, the entire battle hung in the balance before it even truly began. General Cercignani was counting on the Raiders to take the enemy observation posts by stealth so as to not alert the rest of the Spanish-Portuguese army of the coming attack. If the Raiders did their job, the allied army could reach the tops of the hills around Florence and deploy into line of battle before the Spanish were fully prepared to repel them. To reduce noise, the men wore no armor or metal of any sort and carried just their daggers. They were moving faster than he would have liked too, but of course, that was Argo’s fault.

Argo was the company’s lead tracking dog whose sole job was to help them find the enemy positions at night. For generations the Reggimento Grimaldi had bred and trained dogs specifically for this purpose. Any good hunting dog could do it, but the catch was that they had to learn to be silent. They were trained never to bark or howl when they were tracking. Argo was one of the younger dogs in the regimental kennel and clearly a bit too eager as well. Rodrigo, the soldier Maurizio had assigned as his handler, was not doing a good job keeping him in check either.

When he was near the crest of the hill, Maurizio heard the mockingbird. He stopped, paused for a moment, listened. Then he slowly made his way to his right, reaching the point where Rodrigo was crouched along with two other men, Argo panting excitedly ahead of them. Rodrigo recognized his company commander and without a word extended his arm, pointing in the same direction the dog was facing. Maurizio squinted and followed the soldier’s arm. There. He could make out a sentry pacing desultorily back and forth, it looked as if the man was staring at the ground, though he could not be sure.

The lieutenant pointed to two of his men and indicated they should flank around to the right. To another pair he signaled for them to go left. Rodrigo and Argo would stay in place to form a rally point should something go wrong and the rest of them needed to fall back. Maurizio wanted to do this right, but also do it quickly. He knew that in that very moment, men up and down the line were halted, with no information as to what was happening. All they did was follow the signals. A mockingbird call meant stop, a hooting owl meant go.

Maurizio approached in a low crouch as close as he dared, then silently dropped into a prone position. He began slowly but surely crawling forward. The wet ground was cool under his body, the smell of damp earth filled his nostrils, and his black linen shirt began soaking through. Maurizio was thankful though. The wetness kept him quiet and the quiet kept him alive. When he looked up, he could see the sentry better now, standing in a small clearing. He could not see any other figures. After several moments he slithered behind a wide tree and quietly stood up. He consciously controlled his breathing as he heard the sentry’s shuffling feet scraping against the dirt.

Suddenly, Maurizio heard the clash of steel in the distance, very faint but unmistakable. Someone else seems to have found Spaniards as well. The problem was his quarry had heard it also. The sentry had stopped walking. Maurizio peeked around the tree. The soldier was facing away from him. He quickly crossed himself, thanked his good luck, and tightened the grip on his dagger. “Wake up! Wake up! I hear something!” the sentry shouted in Spanish. The lieutenant took another peek and saw figures stirring on the ground in the clearing. Maurizio emerged from behind the tree and in three lightning fast steps he was behind his target, clamped a hand over his mouth, and slid the dagger into the man’s throat, all in one fluid motion.

The man on the ground closest to Maurizio looked up and the two locked eyes for a brief moment. The Spaniard was a young man as well, and his eyes were filled with fear. The young soldier went to reach for a pistol, almost absentmindedly. Before his fingers could get to it however, the rest of Maurizio’s men sprung out of the trees. The youth was the first to go, as one of the Tuscan men sliced his throat from ear to ear. The rest of the Spaniards had barely even opened their eyes as the Raiders stabbed and sliced them to death under their blankets, almost entirely in silence.

The butchery was over quickly. The entire skirmish, if it could even be called that, last less than a minute from the moment Maurizio stepped out from the tree. Eight Spanish soldiers lay dead, a ninth was pinned to the ground by two Tuscans. Simone, one of the two, looked up at Maurizio, shrugging his shoulders as if to ask, what shall we do with him? This mildly annoyed the lieutenant, as he had specifically ordered that they were to take no prisoners. He made a slashing motion across his neck with a finger. Simone just nodded and then quickly cut the Spaniard’s throat. The man died with little more than a gurgling sound, as his killer kept a hand clamped over the mouth.

Maurizio sent one of the soldiers back to retrieve Rodrigo and Argo and bring them up. After a few moments, the dog was in the clearing panting and sniffing around excitedly. Rodrigo gave the dog a biscuit and scratched him behind the ear. Even Maurizio had to admit that the canine had done a good job locating this Spanish observation post.

The lieutenant made a hooting owl noise. He waited a moment until he heard it get relayed farther down the line in either direction, then he began creeping forward a again. After several minutes they crested the hill. They moved quickly at the top and kept a low profile so as to avoid silhouetting themselves against the sky. On the reverse side of the slope, Maurizio could begin to make out lights down below. Florence itself was mostly dark, though he could make see the outline of the dome of the Duomo against the sky. Almost home.

_____________________________________________________​

25 September 1612

“My Lord! My Lord! Wake up!” came a voice, rousing Leo Gattilusio. It was a woman’s voice, a semi-familiar voice.

Leo looked up, squinting. He recognized the face of Sister Maria Grazia, one of the nuns at the convent of San Francesco dé Macci. Did I fall asleep? “How long have I been here?” he asked the nun.

“You fell asleep on a pew last night,” Sister Maria Grazia replied gently, “we thought you could use some rest.” Suddenly, her face turned serious. “Uh—the matter for which I woke you,” she said nervously, “there are men outside asking to speak to you, they say it is urgent.”

The attack!
was the first thought to cross the mind of the Minister of War. The final battle. He realized for the first time that he could hear a cacophony of church bells. It seemed to confirm what he was thinking. Leo struggled to his feet, grabbed his crutch from the wall, checked for his pistol, and hobbled off.

“Is it the Spanish?” Sister Clara asked, her voice filled with dread.

“We shall see,” replied Leo, “in any case, you and your sisters ought to prepare yourselves to receive more casualties. The young nun nodded in reply, her face a mix of fear and determination. The whole city is a mix of fear and determination. Pantaleone Gattilusio had no illusions however: if the enemy came pouring into the city, they would lose.

He got to the doors of the church and went out. Two young men, one clutching a rusty sword and the other an axe, stood in front of a small cart. The pair bowed quickly then one of them said, “my Lord, you must come quickly.” His face and tone of voice were excited, almost giddy.

“What is it?” asked Leo, “is it the Spanish?”

The two youths looked at each other, “the relief army!” exclaimed the second one.

“In the hills! In the hills!” added the first.

Leo fixed them with a look. Were they mad? Was it true? He didn’t dare believe it. It would be a miracle. More likely, it was a band of brigands they’d spotted, or else just a Spanish scouting party moving up in the hills. “Show me,” he demanded finally.

The pair exchanged a look, then the first one to speak pointed to the wagon, “for…uhm…to get there more quickly…?”

Leo followed his gaze. Normally, he would never accept a ride in such a cart, it was unseemly. Better to struggle around on crutches. But today…. Leo crutched his way to the cart and sat on the edge. “Let’s go!”

The soldiers threw their weapons in and each grabbed one of the handles and they began running. The ride over the cobblestones was bumpy and each jolt of the cart sent a stab of pain through his wounded arm. The things I do for the realm. They reached the Piazza delle Forche below the Porta della Giustizia and the Torre della Zecca. The Zecca was the final tower of the Florentine walls on that side of the river, butting up against the bank of the Arno. This was where the executions happened, Leo noted grimly, appropriate that I come here to learn if I may live or die. This was also one of the most dangerous areas of the city ever since the Spanish took San Miniato, as it was directly under the aim of the enemy’s guns.

All around them, men were rushing about, most racing up the steps to the walls. Leo could hear shouts from above. “I see them!” “There they are!” “In the hills!” He also heard officers and sergeant shouting. “Stay focused!” “Keep your heads down!” That last command proved prudent as a fusillade of Spanish musket fire whistled over the walls.

Leo looked at the two soldiers. “Where is Gangalandi?” he asked, referring to Enzo Gangalandi, in overall command of the eastern side of the city. They pointed up to the Torre della Zeccha. “Well, take me up to the tower,” he said, “I came this far on a turnip cart, might as well go the rest of the way carried by you men.” One of the two picked him up and threw the Minister of War on his back. The other picked up his crutch and followed behind. Over eighty feet up they went, and by the time they reached the top, Leo’s transporter was sweating and out of breath. He put the Minister of War down and the other handed him his crutch. “Thank you men,” said Leo, “go have some water.” They were on the top floor of the tower. A grouping of men stood on the eastern parapet, looking out. Leo grabbed his crutch and hobbled over.

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The Torre della Zeccha

“Are there enough of them?” one of the men was asking.

“I can’t tell,” said another, “but anything is better than nothing.”

Leo spotted Gangalandi. “What’s going?” he asked.

Gangalandi looked at him and smiled. “My Lord, the relief army.” He pointed out at the hills to the east.

Leo followed his finger, squinting to see better. The eastern sky was pink, the sun almost ready to crest the horizon. There was no doubt about it: there was an army in the hills. His first thought was that these were simply Spanish reinforcements, but then he looked down at the enemy lines. Clearly they had seen it too. Their siege lines and encampments looked chaotic, disorganized, unsure how to respond. Do they even know what is happening? He could hear shouting in Spanish, angry, frantic. The Florentine men on the walls added to their difficulties by taking pop shots off the wall. They should be saving ammunition, was Leo’s first thought, then he reconsidered. If they are harassing the enemy, I guess they are shots well spent.

“Has the Grand Duke been alerted?” he asked Gangalandi.

The officer nodded, “we sent runners.”

Leo rubbed his face. The feeling did not seem real. Relief.

“Look!” exclaimed another excited voice suddenly.

“On the other bank!” added another with equal enthusiasm.

Leo looked to the south bank of the Arno. Sure enough, there was more activity in the hills on the opposite side of the river. Men were forming up in battle lines, regimental standards surrounded by squares of infantry. Leo’s heart was pounding and in the background it seemed as if all the city’s church bells were ringing at once. Along the Spanish lines, the response seemed mix. In some parts, Leo could see units forming up, preparing to repel whatever attack came down the hills. In other parts however, men were still emerging from tents, and officers were running about hastily trying to make some order of the situation.

“Order men to prepare and load the guns,” Leo said suddenly, referring to the Florentines’ remaining cannons on the wall. If there was going to be a battle, he meant to help his relievers in any way he could. “When our boys come down those hills, I mean to not let the Spanish forget that we are still here too.”
 
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Another good, interesting and long chapter in this epic historybook AAR:). This inspired me in my semi-fantasy medieval novel:D
 
Historical Vignette 24: The Battle for Florence, 25 September 1612


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The Basilica of Santa Maria Novella

They had been singing in the basilica of Santa Maria Novella all morning, ever since the first light of dawn shined down on the capital. It was a beautiful day, clear and warm. There had been prayers and songs in the churches since the siege began, but today was different. The sounds of their voices mingled with the whicker of horses in the street, the clank of steel, and the groaning hinges of the great bronze gates to make a strange and fearful music.

Margherita dé Medici stepped out of the beautifully adorned church and into the mid-morning sun, letting the warmth wash over her body. She followed closely behind the Grand Duchess Michalina and the other women of the Medici clan. A group of armed and armored men hustled past on the Via degli Avelli and turned left onto Via dei Banchi. The princess watched them go, one amongst them shouting encouragement to the rest.


Margherita’s best friends, Livia and Cecilia were there, as were the Grand Duke’s sisters: Teodora and Gabriella. Teodora was all in black, having lost her husband and eldest son over the course of the siege. Livia and Cecilia wore the looks of women weighed down by concern. The former was married to Prince Giulio, reportedly commanding the Tuscan troops south of the Arno. The latter was not married, but she was in love with Margherita’s half-brother, Alessandro, and was also the mother of two of the Black Prince’s illegitimate children. Her own father, Carlo, was supreme commander of the allied army outside the walls.


A throng of children surrounded the women as they made their way to the northeast side of the church. In peacetime, this area was filled with the vendors and stalls of the
Mercato delle Erbe, the herbs market. Now, it was largely deserted. Margherita’s own son, 9-year-old Ercole, was excitedly talking with Teodora’s younger son, Marcantonio, and Livia’s boy, Crown Prince Gian Gastone. The trio were arguing over who had the best plan for defeating the Spanish and which of them was to grow up to be the best soldier. The Grand Duchess’s attending ladies were also in tow. The swarm of children moved about the women, excited in the way that children are, not considering the awful events taking place outside the walls or the danger to themselves if the allied relief failed. The Grand Duke’s four daughters, each more saintly looking than the last, were the best behaved, apparently having been well schooled by their pious Polish mother in the manners appropriate for young ladies.

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A peacetime view of the Mercato delle Erbe near Santa Maria Novella

The early word on the street had been that the allies swept down from the hills and put the Spanish to flight.
The Spanish were collapsing! The relief army would be riding into the gates at any moment! After several hours, the initial enthusiasm wore down a bit. New reports came from the men on the walls. The attack bogged down and the line was static. The Spanish kept their heads and managed to hold their lines for the most part. A new feeling of dread descended upon the city. What if they lose? To come so close to salvation, only to have the saviors fail would mean the end for everyone. It would be impossible to convince anyone to fight on inside the walls of the city.

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The initial attack of the allied army against the Spanish-Portuguese siege positions

All the women wore dresses of simple linen. Margherita’s was a deep red, Livia’s a light green, and Cecilia’s a dark blue. The Grand Duchess, always demure, was dressed in beige. Michalina looked matronly as always. She had lost some weight over the course of the siege, which only caused the common women to fawn over her even more. Both she and Alberto had adopted the austere lifestyle forced upon the Florentine commons and the people loved them for it. Michalina was devout to a fault, wore no jewels, no fine clothing. For their meals, the Grand Ducal couple supped on bad bread and water. Michalina made the rounds of the churches in the city daily, seemingly spending more time at mass than anywhere else.

Her husband, Grand Duke Alberto I, was ensconced in the Palazzo Vecchio, receiving reports from the walls on the progress of the battle. True to his nature, Alberto knew how to delegate and trust the men around him. It was Pantaleone Gattilusio, the one-legged Minister of War and Margherita’s childhood friend, who had command on the walls. He had by sheer force of will organized the defenses of the city, arming every man and organizing them into coherent units to better defend the walls. If the allied relief army was indeed successful, it would be men like her cousin Giulio or half-brother Alessandro to get the glory. However, in truth, she and the rest of the Florentines would know that Leo Gattilusio was the true savior of the city. They would never have endured without his cunning and determination.


Margherita and Livia had arrived in Florence just before the siege began, after fleeing Orvieto with their children ahead of the advancing Spanish army. Livia had become a sort of celebrity in her own right. As the wife of Prince Giulio, already considered a hero by the Florentines, and the mother of the heir to the throne, she was much talked about. She too had adopted the austere living practiced by her in-laws, publicly at least. In private, she, Cecilia, and Margherita would go through copious amounts of the fine wines stored in the cellars of the Palazzo Medici. “Better we drink it than the Spaniards,” they would say to each other. The trio went back a long time, to when Livia and Cecilia had merely been Margherita’s ladies in waiting. Both had been vivacious girls who knew how to have a good time. Now they were older, Margherita and Livia were 31, Cecilia was 29, and wiser perhaps. Motherhood and war had changed Livia, and Giulio’s departure had clearly dampened her spirits. Margherita noticed that as soon as she arrived in Orvieto. Still, after a few glasses of wine, glimpses of the loud, boisterous girl she used to be came out again. Cecilia’s concerns were even more serious. The love and beneficence of Prince Alessandro were the difference between being a member of the court and an outcast. Many of the other women scorned her, and spoke cruelly of her daughter, four-year-old Lucia. The girl had her father’s dark, tight curls and her mother’s fair complexion and blue eyes. Cecilia had not spoken to her own father, General Cercignani, in years. The estrangement dated back to when she took up with Alessandro. She would be loath to throw herself at the general’s mercy. The only reason she maintained any respect in the court was out of the fear the Black Prince inspired in other men. So long as he lived, he would let no ill come to his favorite lover nor to her child. If he were to die however…
Then she will only have me to protect her.

And what do the commons think of me?
Margherita already knew the answer to that. A slut or a traitor or both, she thought bitterly. Yet there she was, smiling alongside the Grand Duchess, telling washerwomen and pot scrubbers that everything would be just fine. It was all part of Michalina’s “good works”. She plays the role of the stoic, besieged woman well, Margherita had to admit. When Michalina was not in church, she spent the remainder of her waking hours talking to people throughout the city, asking what they needed, how they were doing. Like her husband, she had an uncanny ability to remember the names and the myriad problems of even the most humble commoner. It was a good quality for a ruler to have. The leadership both she and Alberto had shown throughout the siege kept the populace in a state of grim determination rather than hopeless despair. Now, it might all pay off.

Everyone heard the sound of cannons booming in the distance. The Spanish guns roared their response from much closer. “All the fighting is to the east,” Margherita said to nobody in particular. Livia looked over in that direction but remained silent.


“I believe I will go to San Lorenzo next,” said Michalina, referring to the basilica that resided just a brief walk away up the Via del Giglio, “would you ladies care to join me?” The question was more rhetorical than anything else.
Of course they will follow you. The Grand Duchess wore her customary benevolent smile, which Margherita found alternately endearing and enraging. She was surrounded by a gaggle of her ladies, a mix of Polish and Italian women who strove to outdo each other in acts of devotion to impress their mistress.

“No thank you, Your Highness,” replied Margherita, “I think I will go walk on the walls.” That garnered more than a few curious looks.

“The walls are no place for a woman of gentle birth in times like this,” said Michalina, looking horrified. “It is a woman’s duty to pray and give comfort.”

“The men on the walls cannot hear our prayers from the churches. I wish to go pray with them there. It is a risk, I admit, but the Lord demands sacrifice of us all.” It was a lie. Margherita wanted to go up there to see the battle, not to pray with soldiers, but she did not want to upset the Grand Duchess.

Michalina, for her part, bought it in whole. The Grand Duchess grasped Margherita’s hands in hers. “Bless you; you have more courage than I. You are right; those brave men deserve to hear our prayers close.”

“I will join you as well,” piped up Livia, “I will give my prayers to them.”

“Can I go to the walls too, mamma?” asked Gian Gastone. The ten-year-old crown prince never missed an opportunity to sneak out onto the walls to hang out with the soldiers. Margherita’s own son, Ercole was no different. Both women had tried in vain to discipline them, but the youths outdid each other in stubbornness and hotheadedness. No matter how many scoldings and beatings they had to endure, they remained untamed.

“Me too! Me too!” Ercole now insisted along with his cousin.

“Not a chance,” snapped Livia, “you will stay with Her Highness, the Grand Duchess, and the other children.”

“No!” shouted the Crown Prince, “my dad is out there fighting and I want to help!”

“I want to help too!” added Ercole, this time to Margherita.


Livia put an end to the discussion with a sharp slap to the top of her son’s head. “You will do as you’re told! I already have to worry about your father being killed out there; I will not let you add to my worries. You have the rest of your life to find stupid ways to die, but it will
not be today.”

The boys’ religious tutor, Sister Annunziata, burst forth from the crowd of women like a wild cat and began shouting at them as well. Ancient, tiny, and stoop-backed, the nun nevertheless projected a terrifying presence. “What is this!?” she asked angrily in a shrill voice, “I will not hear of you talking back to your mothers! Away! Away!” Defeated by the onslaught of womanly fury, the two boys retreated and slinked away for the moment. The other children snickered at the episode. “Thank you, Sister,” said Margherita as the nun drove her charges from the field.


“Bless you both,” said Michalina suddenly, as if nothing had happened. This blessing, in turn, led to three of the Grand Duchess’s ladies begging leave to go pray on the wall with the soldiers as well.
Anything to curry favor, thought Margherita in annoyance. The Grand Duchess granted the girls their request with tears welling up in her eyes. “I entrust my ladies to your care,” said the Grand Duchess to Margherita, “I know you are wise and will watch out for them.” She then shuffled off with the rest of her gaggle, those not courageous enough, or ambitious enough, to brave the walls to impress their mistress. What am I going to with these chickens? wondered Margherita.

“Girls,” said Livia out of nowhere, “with the fighting to the east, all of the focus will be on the eastern walls, but those men on the western walls will need our support as well. You three should go there, start at the
Fortezza da Basso and work your way to the river.” The three girls enthusiastically agreed and hurried off along Via Della Scala.

“Good thinking,” said Margherita. The trio now alone in the piazza with the exception of four old women walking slowly on the north side of the square.

“This way they are out of our hair and they also will be on a part of the wall where they will be less likely to get killed.”

Margherita shrugged, “their well-being is not a high priority for me.”

“You are cruel,” replied Livia, smiling, “Her Highness, the Grand Duchess, ordered us to take care of them.” She looked at Cecilia, who had remained silent throughout. She wore a vacant look. “What about you?” asked Livia, “are you coming?”

Cecilia looked up and nodded. The three of them walked in silence for a time, following the Via Sant’Antonino and then turning right on Via dell’Ariento. “Where are we going?” asked Livia curiously, “isn’t the fastest way to the walls that way?” She pointed north.

“Do you propose to watch a battle without wine?” asked Margherita.

Livia replied with a sly smile, “one day I hope to be as brilliant as you, my dear.” They followed Via dell’Ariento past San Lorenzo where, thankfully, the Grand Duchess and her companions had already gone inside the church. “Are you sure you don’t want to go in and pray to your dead ancestors?” Livia asked Margherita teasingly.

“Not today, not while Her Highness and her chickens are in there,” Margherita replied. Livia was referring to the fact that San Lorenzo housed the Medici Chapel and the tombs of numerous great members of the dynasty. Margherita remembered as a girl always wanting to visit the tomb of Caterina da Montefeltro, who was buried next to her husband, Cesare dé Medici. The long dead Grand Duchess was one of Margherita’s heroes, right behind the Margravine Matilda of Canossa. Caterina had the luck of enjoying a romantic, loving marriage with her husband and, more importantly, of wielding real power as regent for her son, Grand Duke Francesco Stefano I. In many ways, Livia reminded her of Caterina.

They eventually reached the front of the Medici palace, where Margherita had the servants bring down three skins of wine. Beverages in hand, the three ladies resumed their walk toward the walls, following Via dé Medici north to the Porta San Gallo. People hurried back and forth around them on the street. Priests, nuns, and friars carried buckets of water or pushed carts bearing wounded men. Dirty, bloody, and ill-clad “soldiers” ran by in small groups. Calling them soldiers stretched the meaning of the term, as many of them were old men and boys scraped up from among the populace in desperation.


Scenes like this were not new to the women. In addition to having lived in this besieged city for months, they had all seen the same things at Amsterdam, when they visited during the sack of that city by the Tuscan and Austrian armies. Then, it was their own men conducting the siege, this time they were the prey.
We were so young then.

“What do you think happens if they lose?” asked Cecilia quietly. She was staring at the ground as she walked, as if she were counting the paving stones.

Margherita shrugged, “in that case, I would guess we’ll all be in for a bit of rape tonight.”

Livia shot her a sharp look. She was always protective of Cecilia, and had become especially so of late. “They won’t lose,” she said firmly, “they know what is at stake.”

“But what if they do?” Cecilia persisted. “Are the Spanish truly so horrible?”


“All men are horrible when they are at war,” said Margherita.
I am not going to lie, Livia be damned. “You saw what our own men did at Amsterdam with your own eyes. Or have you forgotten?” Margherita looked at Cecilia first then at Livia, but her friends had nothing to say to that. “During the siege of Pisa in 1406, our ancestors likewise showed little mercy,” Margherita went on, “the commanders in Pisa decided to expel the destitute and useless people in a desperate bid to hold off against starvation. Our own commanders ordered that anyone coming out of the city was to be hanged. They cried out the ordinance at each gate of the city. However, when the first group of women emerged, our soldiers decided not to kill them. They instead cut off the backs of their skirts, branded their buttocks with fleurs-de-lis, and push them back to the walls. When that failed to stop the flow of women, they started cutting off their noses instead of their skirts. Any of the men, needless to say, were either hanged on the spot or fired back into the city from our catapults.”

They did not speak for the rest of the walk after that. Instead, they persisted grimly on their pilgrimage to the walls. Passing over rubble and around corpses on their way. Cecilia crossed herself at each body they passed, Livia just looked stoically ahead, and Margherita sipped her wine.

When they finally reached the Porta San Gallo, Margherita spotted a group of men forming up inside the gate. Their ranks were crooked and there was maybe one firearm for every five of them. The rest were armed with a motley assortment of weapons: spades, wooden clubs, hammers, and other tools. Aside from a few half-helms of dented and rusting iron, they wore no armor. She could tell that most of them were in their teens, barely “men” at all. In front of them stood an enormous, copper-skinned man with a shaved head. He was shirtless with scars crisscrossing his torso. On his belt, he wore a pair of matching scimitars.

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The Porta San Gallo

“That’s The Turk,” Margherita whispered as the trio stopped to watch the formation. The Turk had become a minor celebrity among the common people, especially after he led the fighting against the Spanish attackers at the breach. She had never seen him before, but he certainly had a fearsome appearance and the sort of dark features she found attractive.

“For those of you who are believers,” The Turk was saying to his men, “Father Giacomo here is going to say a quick blessing. But once that is done the Dirty Boys go forth.” As the priest stepped in front of the group for the prayer, the Turk walked off to the side. He spotted the trio of women, smiled at them, and walked over. “You’re too pretty to be here,” he said, towering over them. No bow, no “Your Highness”, no propriety. Margherita liked it. She admired his strong, well-built chest and flat stomach.


“We go where we want,” snapped Livia, clearly annoyed at the man’s forwardness. “We are princesses of the royal house, and you ought to show more respect.” Margherita noticed that Livia’s right hand was behind her back, tucked into the folds of her dress where she kept a small dagger hidden.
I wonder if that dagger would even hurt him, Margherita wondered.

“I know who you are,” The Turk replied with a wink, “I just wanted to greet you. You present a pleasurable sight to a man who may shortly die.” He bowed and turned to stride back toward his men. Margherita watched him walk, the muscles in his back and shoulders presenting a pretty sight of their own.

“Unbelievable,” said Livia, looking at Margherita in annoyance, “you truly are something else.”

“What?” asked Margherita innocently, “he is a very handsome man.”

Livia rolled her eyes. From there they made their way up onto the wall. Before them, the entire breadth of the battlefield unfolded. On both sides of the river and stretching off into the hills to the north. They were also not the only women up there. There were two of them, younger and pretty enough, but clearly common-born, judging from their ragged clothes, bare feet, and dirt-smudged faces. There was a high likelihood they were prostitutes. One of them was leaned forward, hands against the wall; the other sat to her left with her back to the parapet. The one sitting was sharpening a long, thin stiletto blade. She looked up, noticed the three noblewomen, and grudgingly got to her feet. She tapped her companion, who turned as well.

“My ladies,” said the one who had been sitting, adding a lazy curtsy, her right hand gripping the stiletto even as her fingers held the edge of her skirts. The other imitated her.

“Anything of interest?” asked Margherita cheerily.

“Well a few of the other girls and I just got done improving morale for some of the Dirty Boys,” said the one with the stiletto with a smirk, her demeanor changing in response to Margherita’s warm tone, “a few of them were too young to have ever been with a woman, but we changed that for them. They might die after all.”

“We all do our part,” said Livia sarcastically, turning to look out at the battlefield.

“Don’t mind my friend, she’s in a sour mood and hails from an upjumed, recently ennobled family,” said Margherita, shaking her head in exasperation and extending her hand, “I am Princess Margherita.”

Rosa and the stiletto-bearing woman looked at her puzzled. Margherita smirked. “I know it is not customary for a princess to go about shaking hands with…uh…”

“Whores?” Rosa volunteered with a giggle.

Margherita laughed aloud. “Yes I suppose,” she said, “but then again, I have a bit of a reputation as a whore myself, and these are not times for custom I think.”

The two younger women laughed heartily. The one named Rosa was thin with a light smattering of freckles, blue eyes, and a wild tangle of long blonde hair on her head. She looked to be in her late teens, with smooth skin beneath a few smudges of dirt. Her companion was a bit thicker about the mid-section, perhaps in her early 20s. She was definitely the less pretty of the pair, and a few faded old scars below her jaw and on the side of her neck strongly suggested she was no stranger to violence either. Still, she had an enormous pair of breasts, which Margherita imagined kept her popular among the Turk’s so-called Dirty Boys. “Well put Your Highness,” said the thicker one, “I am Virginia.”

“Virginia,” repeated Margherita with a giggle, “a good name for a woman of your profession.”

“My mother was a whore as well,” she replied, “and had quite a sense of humor.”

“I can tell,” said Margherita, nodding in admiration, “I hope you two don’t mind us joining you to watch the battle.”

“Not at all Your Highness,” replied Rosa sweetly, “welcome to our little portion of the wall.”

Margherita gave a curtsy of her own and turned to look out over the battlefield. “I have heard nothing about Alessandro,” said Cecilia quietly, staring out as well.


“He is the one I am
least concerned about,” replied Margherita, “my brother is far too clever to get killed in battle.”

That did not seem to comfort Cecilia. Not too far from them beyond the walls, a Spanish unit was forming itself up. It looked as if they were preparing to go reinforce a portion on the line. The men were in loose ranks as sergeants and officers ran among them, shouting orders and pushing and shoving men into place.


Margherita turned to look back at the city. Smoke rose from a nearby building, flames licking out from its window. The black plume that came from it partially obscured the dome of the
Duomo. The most cultured city in Europe, Margherita mused, reduced to ruins, its civilized citizens ground down and forced into primal survival. Despite enduring the siege for so long, the princess rarely thought of it that way. It is always a shock at how quickly war and disaster tears off the mask of civilization. It is no more than a pretty façade. The true and ugly face of men was ever present, ever ready to show itself, with a cruel and smug grin. And it is always us who have to bear the brunt of it. She looked at her two friends standing beside her, then at the two younger women a few feet away. All of them, whether a princess or a prostitute, at the mercy of the men on both sides of the wall.

Suddenly, a loud creak broke her musing and Margherita saw the gates of the Porta San Gallo open. A savage shout went up and a mass of men emerged, running straight for the assembling Spaniards. “There they go,” observed Livia, her eyes following the lead elements of the group. Cecilia gasped when she saw them. Margherita just watched. She spotted The Turk; he was running at a dead sprint, a good three or four steps ahead of the rest of his men. Both of his scimitars were drawn. A ripple of confusion and hesitation rippled through the Spanish ranks. For a brief moment, Margherita wondered if they would just throw down their weapons and run. Then, an officer started barking orders. Like a machine, the formation did an about face. The pike men in the center leveled their weapons as the musket men in the outside ranks aimed their weapons at the coming Florentines.

“Oh no,” said Livia, her eyes widening. Cecilia gripped the stones on the edge of the wall. Margherita watched in fascination. The Spanish officer gave another order, his voice calm despite the fact that the mob of men descending on his formation was getting very close.


“¡
Disparad!” A burst of smoke and flame emerged along the line of Spanish soldiers, accompanied a split second later by the rattle of muskets firing in close proximity.

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The Spanish tercios fire upon the Florentine attackers

In an instant, dozens of the attackers fell to the ground. Cries of agony went up from among them. One or two of the Florentines tried to fire their own weapons, though this proved ineffective. Margherita spotted The Turk. He was shouting while dragging one of his men behind an earthen berm. Meanwhile, the line of Spanish soldiers who had fired was reloading, the men on one knee. The next rank levelled their guns. The Florentines were clearly confused and unsure what to do. Some tried running back to the gate whilst others tried to find cover.


“¡
Disparad!” A second volley of musket fire killed yet more men. The princess could see some of them huddled behind earthen mounds or the various detritus laying in the no-man’s land between the walls of the city and the Spanish lines. The third rank of Spanish musket men was preparing to fire their own volley. Margherita watched as a small figure limped back toward the gate. He’ll never make it, she thought with dread. She spotted The Turk, standing atop the remains of an earthen rampart. He was shouting something at the Spanish, brandishing both of his scimitars. What a beautiful, brave idiot, the princess thought. She gritted her teeth and waited to watch him get cut down by a flurry of musket balls.

Then, suddenly, an explosion tore through the Spanish formation. Then another, then another. The solid square collapsed almost instantly. It was Spanish soldiers now shrieking in terror and pain. Margherita looked past their position and spotted the guns. A line of small artillery pieces supported by a loose grouping of infantry had moved up closer to the Spanish lines. They flew the red-white-red banner of Austria.

“Maria Theresa, you wonderful bitch!” shouted Margherita from the wall. The Austrian guns let out another volley into the Spanish formation.

“Take that!” shouted Cecilia.

“Take that you fuckers!” hooted Virginia.

Below them, The Turk was ushering his men back inside the gate. Carrying two wounded or dead men—Margherita could not tell—on his shoulders. As the last Florentines limped back into the Porta San Gallo, another Spanish infantry formation was moving to confront the Austrians, relieving their comrades from the onslaught.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Margherita noticed Rosa reach down the front of her own dress. She produced a small leather pouch, opened it, and shook a few copper coins out into her open hand and then handed them to Virginia.

“What was the for?” asked Margherita, nodding toward the coins.

“Just a bet Your Highness,” replied Virginia, “Rosa bet me that the Turk would die during the sortie, I knew he’d survive, he always does.”

“Do you dislike the Turk?” Margherita asked Rosa curiously.


“Oh no, Your Highness,” the girl replied, “I
love him.”

“You just love him for his great big sword,” said Virginia laughing. Rosa shot her a dirty look.

“Wait, wait,” said Margherita, now confused. “If you love him, why did you bet he would die?”

Rosa looked at her as if the question were odd. “Well, because then I could console myself with the money of course.”

Margherita burst out laughing from the absurdity of it all. “You are quite an interesting young lady,” she said.

“Thank you Highness,” Rosa replied, blushing, “I don’t think I’ve ever been called ‘lady’ by a noble woman before.”

Margherita smiled, shook her head, and then turned to look back out at the battlefield. The Spanish and Austrians were exchanging sporadic fire now as a chaotic, absurd scene unfolded between them. Men from each side were trying to retrieve their own wounded while dodging musket balls and each other. Amazingly, an Austrian and a Spaniard were arguing loudly in the center of it all, each shouting in his own language. This went on for a few moments until a cannonball landed close enough to both of them to force each man to dive into a separate hole for cover.


What a crazy, bloody mess
, thought Margherita, taking it all in. She looked up at the sun in the sky. It was not even noon yet.

________________________________________

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The San Miniato complex

The occasional cannon shot flew over their heads, booming from the abbey to the west.
A true stalemate, thought Giulio, grimly. From atop the ridge where his wing of the army was bogged down, the Prince of Orvieto could see most of the battlefield. To the north, his brothers in arms appeared just as listless as he was. In the early morning, the allied army had come screaming down from the hills, sweeping the bewildered and terrified Spanish away across the line. It seemed, for a time, as if nothing could stop them. Then, the Spanish steeled their nerves, mounted a stand, and their line held. Ever since then, for the past several hours, everything was deadlocked.

“We need a breakthrough,” muttered Girolamo Riario-Sforza, “we can’t just sit here all day.” The big commander was eating some dry, salted pork strips and drinking wine from a skin. Just below them on the hill, three regiments were formed up but resting. The men sat on the ground, eating and drinking what little bits they had to keep up their energy. Giulio could hear their jokes and their tales of the action of the early morning.


“I agree,” replied Giulio to Sforza. “Do you know why the hill and church are called San Miniato?” he asked. Sforza gave him a puzzled look, trying to understand the connection. Then he shook his head. “According to legend,” said Giulio, Miniato was an Armenian prince serving in the Roman Army who had decided to become a hermit near Florence. Right on that very hill. He was denounced as a Christian and brought before Emperor Decius, who was persecuting Christians. Miniato refused to make a sacrifice to the Roman gods, and was put through numerous torments: he was thrown into a furnace, he was stoned, and he was thrown to a panther in an amphitheater. The panther, however, refused to eat him. Finally, he was beheaded near where the Piazza del Popolo is today. But he picked up his own head and then crossed the Arno and returned to his hermitage on the hill known at the time as
Mons Florentinus.” Sforza said nothing for a few moments. Giulio could hear the sporadic firing of cannons and muskets.

“So…what does that have to do with us?” Sforza asked finally.


Giulio just shrugged. That got both of them laughing uproariously. A few passing soldiers stared at them, their faces a mixture of amusement and concern.
We’re at a loss, just like you, the prince wanted to say to them. Instead, he said nothing. After they finished laughing, Giulio watched the men below on the hill for a while. “There will be no breakthrough in this battle unless we take that abbey,” he said. The Prince looked across the valley from his position atop the ridge. It was rough terrain and the Spanish were able to concentrate their fire on anything that came up their side of the slope. “It’s going to take a madman to lead that assault,” he said darkly.

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The situation around noon

“I may have just the man for you,” replied Sforza, grinning now. “You want to assault the abbey?”

Giulio shrugged, casting a dark look at their objective. “I don’t see any other choice. We at least need to try it.”

“Say no more,” said Sforza. He turned to the men assembled below them. “You down there!” he thundered, “one of you go and find me Ferrari!” After a moment’s hesitation and some shouts from sergeants, four or five men scurried out of the groups. After a short time, Alessandro di Ferrari came running up to them. The big young officer bowed deeply.

“Ferrari,” said Sforza without getting up. He pointed his finger down at the three regiments sitting on the hillside, “you are to lead those men upon the enemy works this afternoon, and if you don’t carry them, you are not expected to come back.”

Ferrari looked at his two commanders for a brief moment, bowed without saying a word, then turned and walked down toward the regiments. “You wanted a madman,” said Sforza to Giulio, “Ferrari is the one.”


“Let’s hope so,” replied the prince.
I am sending 3,000 men to their deaths, Giulio thought, as he looked at the Abbey of San Miniato on its imposing hill. The defenders in the abbey had lobbed the occasional cannon shot in their direction since Giulio and his men occupied their position in the morning, but most of their fire focused across the river, where the Spanish troops were engaged in fierce fighting with Cercignani’s main body. The reports coming in from across the river had been contradictory and confusing all morning. The Spanish were collapsing. The Spanish were counter-attacking. They were surrounded at the town of Coverciano. They had fallen back on Coverciano to use it as a base for their guns. And rumors of sightings of the Tuscan cavalry and the Polish Winged Hussars swirled everywhere. Where are you, Ale? Giulio wondered. He had never been more impatient to see his cousin in his life.

As Giulio and Sforza watched the men make their preparations, it seemed as if the sounds of gunfire and the shouts of men were coming from all around them.
There are some odd acoustics here, the prince thought. The volume of fire coming from the abbey and surrounding ridge did not seem nearly high enough to cause such a racket. “Is that…” the prince began to wonder aloud as a realization crept up on him, “is that gun fire coming from somewhere else?”

Sforza, who had been absorbed watching the men prepare for the advance on San Miniato, had not seemed to notice. He pricked up his ears. “Yes…it sounds as if it is coming…from…the south.” There was only one friendly formation to their south: Federico and his three regiments holding the left flank of the entire allied army.

“I’m going to go see what is going on,” said Giulio, “I will send a messenger back as quickly as I can.”

“Yes my Prince,” said Sforza.


Giulio looked over at two of his lieutenants, Silvano degli Albizzi and Zanobi Acciaioli, both ambitious youths from prominent Florentine families. They were sitting atop their horses waiting for something to do. “Sil, Zani, with me!” The Prince of Orvieto jumped onto his own mount, Luna, and spurred her into a trot, taking off over the hill towards Federico’s position. Federico’s line began on the first hill just southwest of Sforza’s position. The troops there were fighting along a series of grape vineyards atop a short rolling hill. Giulio spotted the regimental standard of the
Lance Lucchesi. The prince stopped an officer racing by on his horse. “Where is Guido?” he shouted, referring to the Lance’s commanding officer, Guido Castracani. The other rider stopped and saluted the prince and then pointed over to a villa near the top of the hill, about 850 feet away. The prince recognized the building; it was one of the Alberti family’s country residences. He remembered visiting there as a child. “Come on,” Giulio said to his lieutenants and spurred his horse on. They reached the house and he dismounted.

Castracani was standing in front of the house watching the battle unfold. His breastplate was dented in several places, his left arm was wrapped in a sling made out of two handkerchiefs tied together, and the dagger that hung at his waist had blood on it. In his right hand he clutched a clay pipe filled with smoldering tobacco.

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The Villa Alberti, turned into the impromptu headquarters of the Lance Lucchesi

“What the hell is going on!?” asked Giulio. Castracani looked over, noticing the prince for the first time. His face broke into a wide grin. “Your Highness,” he said, as if greeting Giulio during a walk in a garden, “how goes the battle?”

“You tell me, you look wounded.”


Castracani looked down at his arm and shrugged, “just a scratch. We
Lucchesi have a higher pain threshold than Florentines.”

“Be serious,” Giulio admonished him, “what the hell happened?” Just as the last word came out of his mouth, a volley of musket fire started pinging down all around them. Thankfully, the projectiles failed to hit anyone.

“They snuck some infantry up through the vineyards,” answered Castracani, unfazed, “they got in real close. We had to fight them off hand to hand. A good short and sharp fight. However, that was just a distraction; the main thrust of the attack came further down the line. They hit Boncompagni’s Neapolitan boys hard with a combined infantry-cavalry assault. They’re still fighting down there.”

“What about here?” asked Giulio, “there is still shooting.”


Castracani shook his head, “it’s nothing. Those are shots of desperation. My boys have the last remnants of the infantry that hit us surrounded in that grove over there.” Castracani pointed with his pipe to a clump of trees across an open field at the bottom of the hill. “They are under orders to give no quarter.” Two groups of
Lucchesi were advancing slowly toward the groves, each formation three lines deep.

“Whose orders are those?”

“Mine,” replied Castracani.

“No, we will accept surrenders from men who throw down their arms. We aren’t savages.” Giulio expected Castracani to protest, but the officer just shrugged.

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He turned to one of his soldiers nearby, “go run and tell Benelli that he is to accept surrenders should the Spaniards throw down their arms.” The soldier nodded and took off running down the hill.

“Thank you,” said Giulio.

“You’re in command here, Your Highness,” said Castracani, “I do as you tell me.”

“I’m going to go further down the line,” said Giulio, “good work here Guido.”

“Thank you, my Prince,” said Castracani, lifting his pipe in lieu of a salute. Giulio, Silvano, and Zanobi mounted their horses and they rode on down the hill.


The sounds of fighting grew louder and the rate of fire increased. To his right, Giulio could see a Spanish cavalry formation riding across the front of an infantry square. The infantrymen’s standard identified them as the
Soldati di San Gennaro, a regiment hailing from Naples. The Neapolitans were in a tight formation, pikes out and muskets firing. The Spaniards wheeled around for what looked to be another charge but thought better of it. They turned and withdrew, leaving a smattering of dead men and horses behind them. The Neapolitan square cheered. A number of small Spanish 3 pound guns inside a small grove opened up to cover their cavalry’s retreat and cut short the celebration. The Tuscan guns thundered back in reply. Giulio and his two lieutenants continued following the line. It appeared the situation was at least stable here. They rode toward the regimental standard of the Soldati di San Gennaro. There they found the commander, Antonio Fantini, shouting directions.

“Bring the second battalion up to the line!” he bellowed, “they’ve had enough rest, third battalion needs a break.”

“Fantini,” shouted Giulio. The commander looked over and noticed the prince. He was a heavyset man, balding with a thick tangle of salt and pepper beard. He was red-faced and sweating profusely. He walked over to Giulio.

“My prince,” he said, giving a slight bow.

“What’s the situation?”

“They hit us hard here in the valley. They started with a feint against the Lucchesi but then really brought it to us here. We’ve managed to hold the line though. My boys just drove off a pretty determined cavalry charge.”

“Yeah, we just watched it. Your men have good discipline. It shows in the way they fight.”


“Thank you, Your Highness.” Fantini turned to his left and pointed. “They’ve been probing our line since we threw back their first assault. It seems like they’re trying to find the end of the line to turn us. The
Fanteria Casertana is holding the end of the line.”

“Where is Boncompagni?” Giulio asked, suddenly aware he had yet to see his friend Federico.

“He’s up with the Casertani,” replied Fantini, “Alfonso Valtorta was killed in the initial assault on their position, so Boncompagni took command of the regiment himself.” Giulio frowned. Federico was a capable commander and brave to boot, but Giulio had not put him in command of this wing so that he could get into the fight. He was supposed to be overseeing the action from above, not in the thick of the battle. “I’m going to go see what is going on.”

Fantini nodded, “good luck, Your Highness.” Giulio spurred Luna once again. The mare charged up the hill. As the trio moved along the ridge and further from the city, the woods got thicker and wilder. They passed groups of men set in position at the edge of the tree line. They let off sporadic shots down the hill. “What are you shooting at, soldier?” asked Giulio, stopping his horse behind one such group.

“There’s Spaniards down yonder,” replied one of the men, “they got themselves pinned down when they tried to come up against us. We fell back into the trees and started firing down on them. They can’t hardly see us, but we got them dead to rights.”

“Good work here men, who is in charge on this part of the line?” The soldiers just looked at each other, none replied.

“Some officer come by a while back,” said another after a long pause, “told us to stay in the trees and shoot anyone comin’ up the hill. That’s what we’ve been doing.” About twenty feet behind the men firing on the line, a neat row of nine Italian corpses was laid out. A priest was leaning over them, praying. Beside them, another group of men was redistributing their expired comrades’ ammunition.


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Italian soldiers stop for a quick prayer in the midst of the Battle of Florence

“Well, keep it up,” said Giulio, “seems like it is working.” As Giulio squinted down the hill, he could see a few of the Spanish bodies moving, trying to crawl away. The prince felt a pang of pity for them. They had clearly been order up the hill in a haphazard manner, lacking the numbers or the support to stand against concentrated musket fire from the tree line. They never had a chance.


He kept pushing his horse on, looking for the end of the line. He had to know what was happening there. If the line was turned, all the sacrifices made to in the center would be for naught. The woods continued to get thicker and the hill turned. All along it, men were down in the prone or seated, firing their muskets down the hill.
Madonna! We are thin here, Giulio thought. The men were holding the line, but small groups of soldiers with muskets were not effective. Muskets were best when firing in mass. If this part of the line took a concentrated assault, there would be no way to stop it. He hoped the terrain was rough enough to dissuade a cavalry commander from trying his luck there.

After a short time, the firing off in the distance reached a crescendo. Giulio spurred Luna on, as she darted between trunks and leapt over downed branches. The occasional shot thwacked into trees around them. Then more and more. The fighting was getting close. Suddenly Giulio rode past a grouping of trees and into a small clearing. The sound of gunshots was replaced by the clash of steel on steel. In the middle of the clearing, men were going at each other with swords, pikes, and daggers. It was a swirling melee.


A group of
Casertani was nearly surrounded by advancing Spaniards. The enemy were in a half-moon formation around them. Giulio looked at his two lieutenants, “move in close!” They moved their horses tighter, nervous looks on their faces. Giulio drew his saber and the two younger officers followed his example. The prince dug his spurs into Luna and charged the Spaniards. He did not look to see if his two companions were following him. One of the enemy soldiers turned to look, a puzzled expression on his face; clearly, he was not expecting to be met by cavalry in a thickly wooded grove. Before he could react, Giulio brought his saber down on the man’s shoulder, cutting through his thin armor and into the neck. The man crumpled into a heap on the ground. Suddenly, a blur zoomed past his right side. It was Silvano, and he smashed into the center of the Spanish formation, hacking and slashing all around him, his horse kicking and biting wildly. The shock of a sudden cavalry charge, even a small one, broke the will of the Spaniards to keep up their attack. The remaining men broke and ran, leaving six dead behind them.

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Painting of Prince Giulio at the Battle of Florence

“Thank you, m’lords,” said one of the infantry men, “that was lucky timing.”

“Hey that’s the Prince,” said another. The others looked at him, muttering among themselves. Giulio ignored them. As he went to sheath his saber, he realized his hand was shaking violently. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. It would not do to let the men see him show weakness. They were likely in for a long fight.

“Where is your commander?” he asked finally. Two of the men pointed him on further down the line. Before riding off again, Giulio looked once more at the soldier he just felled. He was the first man Giulio had killed since the first battle of the war. The prince had killed three that day, vomited afterwards, and then did not sleep for nearly a week. He secretly vowed to do what he could to never kill again. Thanks to his high rank and good luck, the Prince of Orvieto had not had to take a life since that day. Until now. Regardless of his own personal vows, he also could not stand by and watch his men desperately fighting off overwhelming force.


Giulio kept on moving. Behind him, he heard Silvano and Zanobi excitedly talking about the recently concluded melee.
I wish I could share their excitement. A steady volume of fire poured out from the woods down the hill. After what seemed like an eternity, a figure stepped out from a group of bushes. Giulio noticed the familiar face.

Federico Boncompagni was covered in mud up to his chest, the tattered sleeves of his shirt dripped water. All around him, the other men were in a similar state, soaked and muddy. “My Prince,” said Federico, hands on his hips, “you missed some good fighting.”

“We just had us a good fight up the hill,” Silvano blurted out. Federico glanced at him, ignored the comment, then looked back at Giulio. “Get yourself a kill yet?”

The prince ignored his old friend. “What happened here?” he asked, “why are you all soaked?”


“The Spanish tried to cross that canal there to get around us,” said a young man in dented but finely made armor, the crest of the
Fanteria Casertana in chipped paint on his breastplate. “Our musketmen managed to drive most of them back but a small group of horse and foot got up to the canal. We waded in there to throw them back.”

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The Fanteria Casertana throws back a Spanish counter-attack

“What’s your name?” Giulio asked.

“Prospero Gattuso,” replied the young man proudly, “of the Gattusos of Carditello.”

“Good,” said Giulio, “are you the commander here?”

“I am now…of this battalion I mean, Your Highness,” he replied, “Signor Boncomp—”

“Good,” said Giulio again, “you command this regiment now. Ensure you continue to hold this end of the line.” He turned to Federico, whose face was twisted in confusion. “You, come with me.”

“I—I don’t have a horse,” stammered Federico, “they shot it out from under me.”

“Get on the back of mine.” Hesitantly, Federico jumped on behind Giulio. He waited impatiently as Federico got on. “What the fuck are you doing!?” Giulio exploded as soon as they were out of earshot of the men by the canal.

“Holding your line!” replied Federico indignantly, “what the hell does it look like I was doing? We stopped a Spanish cavalry charge stone cold; they would’ve turned your whole flank if we hadn’t done that.”

“And Gattuso couldn’t do that on his own?” asked Giulio angrily, “he needed you there to hold his hand?”

“Well, no, but—”


“I put you in command of my left flank because I wanted you to command the
whole flank! Not so you can stand in waist-deep water and get into a hand-to-hand fight with the Spanish. There are plenty of young officers who are more than happy to do that shit. What’s going on with Fantini and Castracani’s regiments, huh?” Federico’s lack of reply was all the answer Giulio needed to keep laying into him. “What if one of them had been broken? Then the whole wing would have collapsed anyway. I need you where you can be fucking useful!” They rode in silence for a while once Giulio had finished his tirade. He loved Federico but his friend was too much like Alessandro: a glory hound who had to be at the center of everything. That sort of mentality was great for a junior officer, but more senior command required patience, and a willingness to delegate the local fights to subordinates. Sforza used to be the same way too, but age had matured him. There was no doubt in Giulio’s mind that if this battle took place ten years earlier, Sforza would be leading the assault of San Miniato himself, not Ferrari. Nevertheless, the big commander had learned. Federico needed to do the same. Still, Giulio felt bad for laying into him so hard.

“Look, I know you were trying to do the right thing,” he said finally and in a softened tone, “but I need you to think at a higher level. The enemy is assaulting along this whole line. We need all three regiments to hold, not just the end.”


“I know,” replied Federico finally, as the group passed the end of the
Fanteria Casertana’s section of the line and into that held by the Soldati di San Gennaro. The fighting in this section had quieted down significantly. Giulio spotted Fantini and rode over to him.

“I found a commander for you,” Giulio shouted as they rode up. Federico jumped off the saddle. The prince looked at both of them. “You and your men are doing a great job; we just need to hold this line. If the assault of San Miniato goes well, we may not have to advance again from here.”

Fantini nodded. “We won’t budge, Your Highness,” said Federico, his confidence coming back after the dressing down he just got, “these hills are too heavily wooded for them to assault them effectively.”

“He’s right,” agreed Fantini, “they’re spent, and I can’t see them launching another assault on that scale again today. Not here anyway.”


“Yeah, but we’re pretty spent too,” said Giulio grimly, “keep your men as rested as you can. You are not to waste them in meaningless advances. Hold
this line.”

“Yes Your Highness,” they both said. Giulio reached down and clasped Federico’s hand. “Don’t get captured,” said the Prince, “and I’ll see you at the end.”

“Die well, My Prince!” said Federico with a grim smile as he let go. Giulio wheeled his horse and rode off with Silvano and Zanobi in tow.


________________________________________

“We have to do what!?” groaned Tomaso Parisi, his body filling with dread.


“It’s pretty damn simple,” growled Aloisio, his sergeant. He pointed up and in the direction of the abbey, still hidden behind the hill, “we go over the top of that hill and then up the other one and take the abbey.”

“Oh God,” said Parisi, “please no.”

“Shut your damn mouth!” snapped Aloisio, “you’re lucky I didn’t tell the sir about you hiding in that ditch earlier. Because if Ferrari or Sforza heard about that…” He made a cutting motion across his throat. Some of the other soldiers in his section chuckled.

“Don’t worry Sergeant,” said Tellino, a handsome and tall youth from Roncadello, “we’ll keep Parisi here in line, don’t you worry.”


“Oh yeah?” retorted Aloisio, “‘cuz you didn’t do that this morning! He might’ve been a coward to hide in that ditch, but the rest of you failed him too. It was
your job to get him back in the fight. The grins faded from the faces of Tellino and the others. “Do you know why he hid in that ditch?” Aloisio asked his assembled soldiers.

“Because he was scared,” said Fonsino, timidly. He was a chubby, pimple-faced baker’s son from Madonna dell’Albero outside Ravenna. He was also Tommaso’s best friend in the unit.


“We’re all scared,” said Sergeant Aloisio, “you’d have to be a madman not to be scared. No, he hid in that ditch because he thinks there’s still hope. A lot of the rest of you do too. But men, the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you’re already dead. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll be able to function as a soldier is supposed to function: without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. Our attack on that hill depends upon it. All war depends upon it.” The men looked up at him in silence. Most of them were young, just like Tomaso, and this was their first battle or, at most, their second or third. But Sergeant Aloisio, he was from the old breed. He’d been fighting in this war since the beginning. He even fought in the war
before this one. They didn’t always like what he had to say, but they had to respect it. “Enough of that, just shut up and get yourselves ready,” the sergeant barked. With that, he stepped off.

The men made their final checks on their gear and weapons in silence. When Sergeant Aloisio returned, he had them form up and march to join the rest of the regiment. They were surrounded by men on all sides. The whole formation—there must have been thousands of men—was positioned just below the crest of the hill. He could hear officers and sergeants shouting orders but could make out none of it. Finally, the trumpets blared and the whole mass of troops, like a giant bear waking from its slumber, began to move. Tomaso just moved along with it, there was no other choice.
Even if I want to run or hide, where can I go? He looked at the other men, marching stoically on either side of him, in front of him, behind him. Tellino was to the right, his face a blank slate.

All Tomaso could feel were his steps hitting the ground and the feel of his musket in his hand. It felt heavier than usual. The only sounds he heard were the steps. They were not marching uniformly by any means, but still, just the sheer numbers made the sounds of thousands of footsteps sound almost as one.
Boots, boots, boots, boots, boots. The formation crested the hill. The sun shone down into their center, high and hot and bright. The light was gleaming off the helmet of the man in front of him and into his own eyes. Tomaso squinted. My eyes might as well be closed, he thought, I don’t even need to see. The ranks ahead began to pick up speed as they went down the hill. A gap began to appear between the men two ranks ahead, the ones directly ahead, and his own. Almost as one, without prompting, they too began picking up speed. Soon enough they were trotting along at a good clip. Down the hill. Booms and bursts and flashes went off around him. They did not matter. I cannot fall behind. Next to him, Tellino went down, though Tomaso did not know if he just fell or if a projectile had hit him. He kept running. I must keep running. Next, he saw the men ahead of him slow down slightly, then abruptly. He smashed into the back of the man in front of him, just as his whole rank slammed into the back of the rank ahead. Then another jolt struck him from behind. He could hear men cursing and grunting, some arguing. No matter. They picked up the march again. Now they were going uphill. Boots, boots, boots, boots, boots.

Tomaso’s breathing got heavier.
Boots, boots, boots, boots, boots. They were running up the hill. More and more men started to go down around him. If I fall, I am done for. It doesn’t matter how or why I fall. He knew that any slip or trip meant being trampled by the waves of men behind him. There was no choice. Am I even a person right now? Was he like a cow, going to the slaughter or was he a machine, just moving with the gears of war? Probably a bit of both. The words of his sergeant echoed in his head: Without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. Without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. Tomaso was dripping sweat, breathing hard. How will I even fight once I reach the top? It did not matter. He just kept going. His heart ached, his lungs burned. Where is the top!? an angry voice inside him asked. He just kept moving. The muscles in his thighs and calves burned, his shoulders ached.

Suddenly, the head of the man in front of him exploded. Blood and bits of flesh and brain splattered onto his face. Something cut his forehead. He kept going. Tomaso felt something warm running down his leg. He ignored it. Ahead he could see a thick line of trees with smoke rising from it. Tomaso had nearly caught up to the next man in front of him when the soldier stepped aside, revealing a tree trunk. Tomaso did not move aside fast enough and glanced off the right side, stumbling, falling. Someone caught him. He regained his feet without a chance to see who had saved him.

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The approach to the San Miniato complex from the south
A few moments later, Tomaso saw his first enemy soldiers. He had expected his first sighting of a Spaniard to inspire fear in him, but they only gave him pity. These two did at least. A group of his comrades was stabbing them to death as they shrieked in fear and pain. Tomaso kept going. He saw another Spaniard soon enough, this one standing. Without thinking, he levelled his musket and fired into the man’s chest. It was a direct hit. The soldier flew backwards, the cloth around his wound smoldering from the heat of the powder at such close range. I should not have done that, Tomaso regretted instantly. The Spaniard had not been looking at him and Tomaso could have killed him with his dagger or a blow from the butt of his musket. Now, instead, he had fired his shot, and there was no time to reload.

He reached the small wall that marked the edge of the cemetery and hurdled it. Among the graves, it was chaos. Tuscans and Spaniards grappled and fought with each other everywhere. Stabbing, shooting, slamming each other against the raised gravestones. He gripped his musket from the barrel and swung it at the closest Spaniard. The barrel was still hot from the shot but somehow Tomaso kept a grip on it. He connected with the man’s head, making a sickening thud.


He saw Sergeant Aloisio climb on top of a mausoleum and point and shout. Musket rounds flew around him, somehow not hitting him. He was pointing toward a door to the abbey. A few Spaniards clustered in the threshold, trying to keep the attackers at bay. Tomaso could make out their faces: fear.
We are winning, the realization hit him suddenly. After a moment, he took off at a sprint toward the door. He slammed his right shoulder into the Spaniard on the left side of the door. A sharp slicing pain shot through his arm as he fell on top of the man. They grappled for a moment until Tomaso sank his dagger into the Spaniard’s neck. Now I die, he realized. Not fear, but disappointment crept into his head. There was another enemy there, you idiot, he thought in annoyance. By diving at the first soldier so intently, he had sealed his own fate as now the man’s comrade could finish him off. The blow never came.

After a second or two, which felt like an eternity, Tomaso looked up. The other Spaniard was gone too. Instead, he saw men wearing the colors of Austria rushing through the door. The red coats and black hats marked them for Tyrolean mountain troops. One of them bent over and lent a hand to help Tomaso up from the ground. The soldier gave him a big smile and said something in Ladino that Tomaso could not understand. The two of them together plunged forth into the building along with several other Tyroleans. As they went room to room, the Spanish continued to fall back, and they continued to kill them.
Without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. Without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. Tomaso felt like he was drunk. Daggers and fists. He realized after a time that he had lost his musket. He could not remember how or where or why. Sergeant Aloisio will beat me for that, he thought as he kicked in the door to yet another room. Inside, a Spanish soldier sat on the ground, arms around his knees, sobbing. Tomaso looked at him and the soldier looked back. He said something in Spanish. He sounded pitiful. Tomaso thought about killing him, but despite his sergeant’s saying, he still had a bit of mercy and compassion left in him. The man was just too wretched to kill. Tomaso turned and left the room. On to the next. He heard screams. Bloodthirsty. Cruel. They were in Italian.

When he entered the next room, several corpses from both sides lay strewn about. Tomaso went to the window. When he looked out, he saw a piazza. An enormous man was throwing two Spaniards down the steps leading up to the church. Another man was waving the Tuscan battle standard. The remaining Spanish soldiers in the piazza were dead, dying, or surrendering.
It’s over, Tomaso realized suddenly. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move. He wheeled about, but he was too late. Or, rather, he would have been too late if the Spaniard had been wielding a weapon. Instead, it was a bottle of wine he held in his outstretched arm.

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The front of the San Miniato complex, facing onto the piazza

“Good,” the soldier said in accented Italian, shaking the bottle in front of Tomaso’s face, “from Florence.” Tomaso eyed the Spaniard suspiciously. Realizing the implication, the Spaniard shrugged, uncorked the bottle, then took a long drink from it. When he was finished, he handed it to Tomaso. “Medici,” he said pointing to the label as he handed it over. Indeed, he saw the unmistakable Medici coat of arms emblazoned on the label, indicating it was from the vineyards of the ruling dynasty. Tomaso took a long drink from the bottle. It was dry and smooth sent a wave of warm pleasure over his body. The Spaniard looked at him, intently awaiting Tomaso’s judgment as if he had grown the grapes himself. “
Muy bien,” replied Tomaso using the only two words of Spanish that he knew. The Spaniard launched into a long discussion about something Tomaso could not even begin to understand, his words coming out like a torrent. The soldier was interrupted when Sergeant Aloisio stuck his head in the door. He looked at Tomaso, then the Spaniard. “Is this man your prisoner?” he asked with curiosity.

Tomaso shrugged.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Aloisio, “when you’re finished drinking, bring him down to the piazza. We’re gathering all the prisoners there.” Aloisio stopped and looked Tomaso over. “Where’s your fucking musket?” Tomaso looked around the room, panic setting in again. He saw firearms strewn about on the ground. Tomaso pointed to one of them. Aloisio eyed him suspiciously for a moment. Then he shrugged and disappeared from the door.


________________________________________

From his perch atop the hill, Carlo Cercignani could see most of the battlefield. He looked down in annoyance at the small town of Coverciano where a trapped but resilient group of Spanish troops was stubbornly holding out against his men. A real pain in my ass, he thought darkly. That one, seemingly futile act of resistance by the enemy had thrown his plans into disarray. Deep inside him, the general could feel his confidence waning, though outwardly he showed nothing but positive determination.

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View of the fighting on the north bank of the Arno

A few of his officers stood around him. Two were nearby and mounted, ready to ride at a moment’s notice should he need to dispatch messages to another part of the field. The allied reserve was already committed to the fight. He would’ve preferred to hold on to it, but there was no choice, and it had been Farnese’s quick thinking that saved the right flank of the army from getting rolled up by a Spanish cavalry charge. On the left, across the Arno, he had seen battle raging in and around San Miniato. Giulio was trying to take it, since without that key piece of terrain there was little hope of gaining any success on the south bank. For the past thirty minutes or so there had been only sporadic shots coming from the abbey. That meant one of two things: either the allied attack was successful or they had been driven back with high casualties.

Either way, Cercignani did not have to time to worry about that. Prince Giulio was largely on his own across the river, as there was no way for the two parts of the army to reinforce each other. San Miniato and the surrounding drama was pretty much out of the general’s hands.

A messenger rode up to the tent, a French officer. He dismounted and bowed to Cercignani. “My General,” he said in Italian with a thick French accent, “the Duke of Guise needs more men to dislodge the enemy from the town.”

“More men?” asked Cercignani, incredulous. “He must have them outnumbered at least five to one.”

“The Spanish are proving more dogged than expected.”


“You tell the Duke that I have no more men to give him,” replied the general coldly, “I would have expected that a commander of his caliber would have been able to kick a few Spaniards out of a village by now!” The messenger stood silently, looking at the ground. “Tell him,” continued Cercignani, “that it is
his job to take that village. Not anyone else’s. Go!”

The messenger bowed then mounted his horse and rode off. Just then, another one rode up, but this one looked much different from his predecessor. He was naked save for a set of linen breeches and he was dripping wet. Instead of a warhorse, he rode a malnourished donkey. The man pulled up and leapt off his steed. He bowed deeply before Cercignani as the general and his staff officers looked at him perplexed.

“My Lord,” said the man, “I am Leandro Parnelli, and I was sent by His Highness, the Prince of Orvieto.”

“Did you swim the Arno?” asked Cercignani, simultaneously impressed and amused.

“Yes, my Lord,” said Parnelli, “the Prince wishes me to inform you that San Miniato is ours.” A feeling of relief washed over Cercignani. “Also, my Lord, our men have made contact with the garrison inside the city.” That last bit was almost as crucial as the taking of the abbey itself.

“Get this man a drink and some dry clothes,” said Cercignani, “he has earned it.” As the messenger was led away, Cercignani turned to his map, laid out on a field desk outside the main entrance to the tent. “Great news,” said Bernardo Strozzi, his longtime deputy.


“Indeed,” replied the general looking at the map.
I wonder how many men died retaking that abbey? The time to count the bodies was later though, not now.

“General! General!” The shouts caused Cercignani to look up. Fabrizio Almirante was riding toward him, waving his helmet over his head. His face wore a euphoric expression.

“What is it now?” asked Cercignani.

“The cavalry! The cavalry!” shouted Almirante. He leapt off his horse and ran to the general’s table. He pointed to a spot on the map: the hills to the northwest of the city. “They’re there!”


“You saw them?” asked Cercignani, trying to keep himself focused.
No indulging in false hope. This was not the first time he’d received reports of the arrival of the princes Alessandro and Karol Ferdynand.

“I did,” said Almirante, “I saw the banners, the horses.”

Cercignani took a deep breath. He was not going to let himself get swept up into the euphoria. Still, if this was true, it could be the decisive moment. He looked at Almirante. “Go find Farnese and von Waldstein, tell them that if this is indeed the full strength of our cavalry, they are to launch a general advance across the line. The Spanish will have to reorient to face this new threat, and I want them to exploit that. There is only one favorable moment in war; talent consists in knowing how to seize it. Let us all find out if we are indeed talented or not.”


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Carlo Cercignani at the Battle of Florence

“Yes sir,” said Almirante. He leapt back onto his horse and rode off. Cercignani took a deep breath.
If this is true, my plan might work out after all. Still, he had to see for himself. “Bring me my horse!” he shouted. He picked his sword off the table and buckled it onto his belt. “Strozzi, come along, we are going for a ride.”

________________________________________

For the first time all day, the weary eyes of the garrison were to the northwest, not to the east. And what a sight they were taking in. Atop the hills, a splendid mass of cavalry was forming up. Polish and Tuscan banners flapped in the wind and Leo could make out Alessandro’s personal banner as well. It was a variation on the standard Medici arms: six red balls on a black field instead of a gold one.

Leo noticed clutches of enemy soldiers stealing away from the line.
They’re finished, he realized suddenly. He could barely believe it. Much of the Portuguese line was still intact, but surely, that did not matter.

Bugles blared from atop the hill, and slowly, steadily, the Polish winged hussars began moving. They picked up speed as they moved down the hill, a shining mass of silvered armor and dark-colored “wings” flowing like a tide.


Leo could feel the thunderous sound of the charge even from atop the walls. He almost pitied the Portuguese soldiers below. As the hussars closed, more and more men simply threw down their weapons and fled. Officers tried to get the line to hold, but it was no use.
How can men stand against that?

When the Polish cavalry finally smashed into the Portuguese infantry, the line appeared to shudder for a moment. Then, almost immediately, it ceased to exist. The men who had not fled were simply swallowed up by the power of the charge. Gattilusio’s own men on the walls were cheering and shrieking madly. One man picked up one of the young noblewomen who had been on the walls to pray with the soldiers and kissed her. Her friend, who also happened to be Polish, was lifted onto the shoulders of another soldier. He and his comrades paraded her up and down the walls, shouting “Long live King Stanislaw! Long live Prince Karol Ferdynand! Long live Poland!” as the girl giggled with delight. Other men were waving their helmets, whooping with delight, or singing. Some just sat down with their backs to the parapet and wept silently. A small detachment of hussars came riding up to the wall, waving the pennants atop of their long lances. The men waved back and cheered some more.


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The charge of the Polish and Tuscan cavalry

Further off, the unstoppable tide of Karol Ferdynand’s horses continued to sweep away whatever resistance remained on the field. Just then, Leo heard more cheering coming from another section of the wall further to the northeast.
That must be Alessandro’s charge. Leo went and sat down on a broken cart that had been left atop the wall. He uncorked his wine skin and took a long drink. He laid back and suddenly, just like the charge of the hussars, a wave of exhaustion caught up to him and swept him away. One hundred thirty two days. It was as if he had not slept in all that time. Suddenly, the weariness, the tedium, the exertion of simply surviving the siege caught up to him in a tidal wave. He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

________________________________________

Giulio dé Medici stepped over another pile of corpses. Like the ones before, this was a multinational pile: Spanish and Italian and Austrian.
So many dead. The Prince of Orvieto looked at each group of expired men carefully, trying to spare at least a brief thought to each of the lifeless faces he passed, whether friend or foe. Brave men all.

He stopped at a small, square, stone window and gazed down at the city, the city he had called home for much of his life, the capital of the realm that he served. There was movement in the streets and in the fields outside the walls as well. Carts were moving back and forth from the various gates, picking up the wounded and dead most likely. To the east, he could see the supply train making its way ponderously towards the city. Wagon after wagon loaded with food, food that the soldiers of the allied army had done without so that the citizens of Florence could be fed if they won the battle. And now…


It doesn’t feel like victory
. Giulio moved away from the window and towards the door. It isn’t a victory for these men, he thought casting one more gaze at the corpses. It was not a victory for Federico either, he mused sadly. When Silvano had approached Giulio with the news, the young officer had been almost fearful, as if the prince might kill him out of wrath. “Lord Federico,” the youth had said in a low, uncertain tone, “he…he fell, My Prince.” Giulio did not recall even reacting. The mask of command. He had learned from his father never to show fear, sadness, dismay, or uncertainty before his men. You must absorb all of the evils stoically, so that they do not have to. The words echoed in his ears. Thus, Giulio dé Medici took the news of his dear friend’s death as if Silvano had just informed him there would be a slight delay in crossing a river.

He stepped out of the dormitory building and into the sunlight. The basilica next door was crowded with soldiers inside and out. As soon as the battle ended, men had streamed inside, eager for peace and absolution. He walked slowly to the side of the complex and into the garden area. Here, men sat about in the shade, talking quietly, checking their weapons. Priests walked about the men, offering blessings and administering viaticum to the dying.
Where is my absolution? the prince wondered. He had been searching for it for his entire adult life. Ever since that day at Mantua. He still remembered the face of the first man he had killed: a Bohemian officer, about his own age, blonde and handsome. He then thought of the man he had killed just earlier that day. When it came to feelings of guilt, the man he actually killed himself was low on the list. It was fair, it was in defense of my men, it was a soldier’s death for him. The other deaths, and there were so many others, were the ones eating at him. The ones that would eat at him forever most likely. How many men died today? he wondered, staring up at the sky. It was clear and blue and the sound of silence was all around him. Federico now numbered among them. His friend, who had been with him all those years ago at Mantua. He was gone now too. How much blood? How much blood? How much blood?

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The gardens at San Miniato al Monte

“Are you okay Your Highness?” asked a timid voice, snapping Giulio back to reality. He blinked and looked at the man who had spoken to him. He was a young soldier, his face dirty and his hair matted. A patch bearing the logo of Sforza’s
Fanteria Romagnola was half-torn off his right sleeve, hanging limply. The formerly bright green biscione in the center was now a shade of brown. Blood soaked the cloth around the tear, and beneath he could see a deep cut. The young man had blood spatters across his face and torso as well.

“Uh…” replied Giulio, unsure of what he should say. He realized suddenly that most of the men in the small piazza were looking at him.
That’s why it got so quiet all of a sudden. “I’m fine.”

The young soldier held out a drinking skin, “water Your Highness?”


“No, thank you,” replied the prince, “I was just…thinking.” He suddenly felt ashamed, almost inexplicably.
I should not be here, came the thought suddenly, I did not take this hill. It belongs to this soldier offering me water. It belongs to his comrades. They took it. I just said some words; I did not even come up the hill until after they had already won.

“Well then how about some wine, Your Highness?” asked another voice. Giulio turned. Another soldier, this one older, his dark hair and beard showing traces of creeping grays. He held a bottle of wine in each hand, his musket slung over his shoulder, dangling lazily. He was smiling broadly. Giulio looked back at the younger soldier; he was smiling too, watching the prince intently. He did not know what to say. He was trying to leave. “The boys would be awfully honored if you had a drink with them,” added the older soldier.


They want to drink with
me? He could hardly believe it. “I…I suppose a drink won’t hurt."

“He says he’ll have a drink!” the old soldier shouted to his comrades. They sent up a loud cheer. The soldier uncorked one bottle with his teeth and handed it to Giulio. The prince took a long drag from the bottle, the sour wine tasted delicious on his tongue. He pulled the bottle from his lips and exhaled.

After drinking and talking with the men for about an hour, Giulio left Sforza in command and mounted Luna. He spurred his horse down the hill and towards the city. Before he could think any more, he had to find Livia. He wanted to go home. Florence spread out below him, battered, smoking, ruined, but still standing, still enduring. It was still home.
 
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Chapter 45: Red Flags, 1612-1617

The allied victory at Florence saved Italy from the Spanish invasion, but the War of the League of Sevilla was not yet over. It would take several more battles, numerous delicate political maneuvers, and a few untimely deaths to bring about a lasting peace. Still, despite the disastrous setback of King Fernando’s failed Italian campaign, the League of Sevilla was not yet finished. Outright victory was unlikely, but it still remained possible to force the sort of stalemate that could result in a peace accord with only limited losses to the League’s members. One saving grace for everyone was that, though the belligerent states might not have known it at the time, the worst of the fighting was behind them.


In France, Teodosio de Sampaio continued to push north, taking Lyon in the autumn of 1612 and reinvigorating the sagging morale back in Madrid and Lisbon. In early March 1613 he renewed his offensive striking northwest toward Nevers. On 5 March he defeated King Raoul II and the French army yet again, this time at Moulins, forcing the king to retreat back north following another ignominious defeat. This new Spanish-Portuguese offensive, coupled with a new Huguenot uprising in and around the fortress city of Metz, forced Raoul to recall the Duke of Guise from Italy to reinforce his own troops. Sampaio was also in contact with the Milanese commander Fabrizio Pico and his League army still stalking around southern Germany. The two commanders agreed on a plan for Pico to strike west from his winter quarters in Bavaria, link up with Sampaio, and march on Paris with the combined force.


Then, just as it seemed the League was regaining its balance, the first, and most consequential of the untimely deaths struck. After suffering defeat at the Siege of Florence, King Fernando VII had led his
Ejército de Italia back to Sicily to rest and refit. The king took up residence in Palermo, and spent the winter months walking along the shore and exploring the city’s eclectic mix of Medieval Christian and Islamic architectural styles. He and his advisors remained undecided on how to proceed, or even whether or not another invasion of Italy was possible or desirable. At twenty four years old, the Spanish king was by all accounts healthy and energetic. He had already endured the rigors of multiple campaigns, both in France and Italy, and never showed any signs of fatigue or struggle. He had apparently made a full recovery from the wounds he sustained at Florence. Then suddenly, on 24 March 1613, he fell ill with fever and slipped into a coma two days later. On 29 March, the King of Spain died from his illness in Palermo, surrounded by his generals and advisors, but far from his beloved homeland.

The death of Fernando VII threw Spain into chaos. He died with only one surviving child: his five year old daughter, the
Infanta Ana. Prior to embarking on the Italian campaign, the king had left a will, entrusted to the Duke of Alba and a few other close advisors and friends, naming Ana as his heir should anything happen to him and appointing a regency council to oversee the Interregnum until she came of age. Alba was to lead it, and ensure continuity and a smooth transition. Fernando’s wife and Ana’s mother was Joana of Portugal, daughter of King João II. This left an opening for the wily Portuguese king to cause mischief in his allied neighbor’s domestic political situation. While there was little prospect of João making an outright claim for the throne, he could wield his influence over the young Infanta to flip Portugal from the junior to senior member of the Iberian alliance.

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The Duke of Alba was entrusted by King Fernando VII to oversee the regency of his young daughter

The other, more serious threat, came from a cadet branch of the House of Trastámara, led by Carlos, Duke of Girona. Carlos was left as the senior male member of the House of Trastámara and therefore had a strong claim to the throne. He was very popular among the Aragonese nobility and possessed significant lands and wealth. He was also a father to seven children, four of them sons, which lent him the added appeal of providing a stable line of heirs. When compared to the uncertainty of a succession based entirely around the marriage and childbearing prospects of a five year old girl, he certainly had a compelling case.


Even before Fernando’s death, the Duke of Alba had made preparations to depart with the bulk of the army and return to Spain. Only three days after his king’s death, he embarked with the bulk of the
Ejército de Italia aboaord a Spanish-Venetian fleet and sailed in great haste to the Aragonese coast. On 9 April they landed at Palamós and then made the overland trek to Carlos’s lands. They arrived in Girona on 12 April and Alba intended to detain Carlos until he could verify his motives, but the Duke of Girona and his two eldest sons had departed for Valencia only two days prior, after having learned of Fernando’s death. Carlos wanted to rally the support of the Aragonese nobility and then wait to see what opportunities presented themselves. Alba knew that a Spanish civil war could spell disaster for the empire, as predatory rivals from Tuscany and France to England and Sweden would feast on her colonies and hijack her trade. He needed to preempt any such possibility. Rather than try and negotiate with Carlos, and giving the potential rival more time and legitimacy, the Spanish commander and statesman decided to counter with an impressive show of force.

Alba decided to march with his 8,000 battle hardened veterans, still fiercely loyal to their now deceased commander and sovereign, south along the coast of Aragon. They reached Barcelona on 17 April and secured pledges of fealty for the
Infanta Ana from the civil authorities of the city. They then got the same agreement from the authorites at Tarragona, which they reached on the 22nd. They then made the march for Valencia, where Carlos was still trying to rally support. All the while, companies of soldiers and their officers fanned out across the countryside, stopping at every manor and estate to coerce an oath of loyalty from any begrudging nobleman. The Duke of Alba’s army finally arrived in Valencia on 7 May 1613. By that point, the determination of Carlos and his supporters was flagging. Instead of resisting or fleeing, Carlos decided to make a grand welcome for Alba and his men in Valencia. He pledged his fealty to Ana and swore to honor and uphold Fernando VII’s will. Satisfied, Alba let the Duke of Girona and his supporters depart Valencia and return home. With the civil war averted, the Duke of Alba marched his men on to Madrid to take up his position as head of the regency council. They reached the capital on 24 May. Alba met with Queen Joana upon his arrival and the two reached a compromise: she would retain the title of Queen Regent and act as titular head of state, while Alba would run the day to day affairs of the kingdom and serve as head of government.

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Alba and his men enter Madrid
Back in Sicily however, things were not going well for the Spanish. Their army, left to languish without its senior commanders or a sense of purpose, began taking libetrties with the local population. The already impoverished Sicilians, whose crops and money were being syphoned off to support the Spanish-Papal army still stationed there, revolted. On 11 June a crowd of “boys and women” took to the streets of Messina, brandishing small loaves on the end of pikes and shouting “long live the king, down with the evil government!” and, more simply, “bread, bread!” The rioters killed a Spanish magistrate, burned down the houses of two others, and stoned the homes of several nobles. The Viceroy of Sicily, the Marquis of Los Vélez, who happened to be in Messina at the time, reacted swiftly and with predictable brutality. His soldiers rampaged through the poor quarters of Messina killing and looting. He promptly dispatched a happy letter to Alba in Madrid informing him, “the small distubrance has been quelled and order restored. The following day, while strolling through the Piazza Duomo, the city’s main square, Los Vélez and his armed retinue were set upon by a “band of brigands” and stabbed and hacked to death in broad daylight. Reports of old Sicilian women “cheering with blood lust” as they looked on may or may not have been Spanish propaganda.

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Spanish troops attempt to maintain order in Messina

Over the course of the following days, the revolt spread like wild fire, with armed bands taking to the hills and attacking Spanish soldiers and convoys or else taking over entire districts of major cities. In Palermo, a large crowd gathered outise the city hall shouting the same slogans as their comrades in Messina. Their cries attracted a much larger crowd and some began to throw stones at the windows and set fire to the doors. They also broke into the principal prison in Palermo and freed over 1,000 inmates.

The convicts transformed the situation. The following day, one of them, Antonio la Pelosa, incited the crowd to storm the treasury and burn the tax documents within. In a desperate attempt to restore order, Los Vélez’s successor, Bernardino de Cárdenas, Marquis of Elche, issued a proclamation abolishing excise duty on five basic food stuffs and fixed prices at which each should be sold. He also restored the bread subsidy so that the bakers could produce larger loaves for the same price. While this calmed the situation in Palermo itself, much of Cárdenas’s work in the rest of the island however was undone when several groups of Spanish soldiers elsewhere retaliated on their own initiative and killed peasants and burned dwellings. This reignited fighting.

Acclaiming la Pelosa as their leader, the Sicilian rebels began a guerilla campaign against the Spanish, attacking isolated bands of soldiers and raiding supply caravans. To make matters worse for the Spanish, the soldiers of the Papal State were not being paid as a result of the collapse of Alexander VII’s adminsitration in Rome. Therefore, many deserted and joined the peasant guerilla bands, where they could at least earn a living from looting and robbing their former allies. The situation in Sicily remained violent and chaotic through the summer of 1613.


On 9 July 1613, the final major battle of the war took place near Strasbourg. Fabrizio Pico’s League army was making its way west to link up with Sampaio’s
Ejército de los Pirineos when they were intercepted by a Polish army under the command of Jan Kazimierz Matczynski. This Polish force was sent west by King Stanislaw II to shore up the defenses of France. Their victory over Pico’s army ended all hopes for the League of Sevilla to join their forces and march on Paris. Still, Sampaio remained unchallenged in the center of France and Matczynski was unwilling to push too far west from the Rhine so as to not overextend his supply lines. The Portuguese conquistador had a well-established position at Bourges, from where his men could raid the surrounding countryside and threaten Orléans. In the west, the unchallenged Huguenots marched southwest from Metz and were able to capture Nancy without firing a shot in late August. Raoul II had essentially given up on defending most of his lands by this point and had withdrawn into a defensive position just south of his capital.

In Italy, the effects of the League’s blockade continued to be felt. By October, Alberto I’s ministers were warning of another potential food crisis over the coming winter. By the autumn of 1613, both sides were exhausted and ready for peace. In a final bid to improve their bargaining position ahead of the coming peace negotiations, the Grand Duke agreed to lift his moratorium on offensive operations and let Carlo Cercignani march on Rome. For a man as pious as Alberto, this was not an easy choice. He agonized over the decision for days. He only relented when Pantaleone Gattilusio convinced him it was the best way to end the war quickly and thereby end the suffering of his subjects. Pope Alexander VII and the College of Cardinals fled the city for Sardinia as soon as the Tuscan army crossed the border into Latium. His departure marked the beginning of the Papacy’s exile and Alexander would remain the last pontiff to set foot in the Eternal City for the better part of three decades. Cercignani and his troops arrived outside the walls on 12 November and offered terms to the Papal garrison that remained within. With little hope of resupply or relief, the garrison’s commanders saw no reason to resist. On 14 November, they opened the gates to the Tuscan army. The Tuscans were under orders from the Grand Duke to not go in as conquerors. Only a small force entered the city itself, lightly armed and with little pomp and ceremony. They went to the Basilica of St. Peter, where they were received by a number of priests who gave them blessings and heard their confessions. There were also a number of pro-Medici cardinals who had stayed behind and they met with Cercignani and Giulio dé Medici. Two days later, the army departed for Florence once again. Prince Giulio and a small force were left behind to oversee the city during its occupation but otherwise the entire campaign was essentially a formality.

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The League of Sevilla’s naval blockade caused much suffering in Italy

With the Tuscan position in Italy as dominant as could be hoped, Alberto, Minister of War Pantaleone Gattilusio, and Foreign Minister Folco de Roberti were ready to meet the Spaniards at the peace table. A lifelong merchant from Pisa, de Roberti would join with Pantaleone Gattilusio to help guide the Tuscan state through the end of the war and into peacetime. A steady influence on foreign policy with an eye for deal-making, he was to prove an indispensable asset to Alberto I for years to come. In Madrid, the Duke of Alba was happy to oblige, while Duke Tomasso III of Savoy lobbied the other minor League of Sevilla members to join in as well. This latter group needed little convincing, as their lands were all under Tuscan or Austrian occupation and needed the war to end to resume any kind of de facto independence. The parties agreed to meet at the town of Bastia on the island of Corsica. At the urging of the Tuscans, the leaders of the Sicilian rebels were also invited to the peace talks. The negotiations began on 30 December 1613.

In the meantime, de Sampaio, acting on the authority of both the King of Portugal and the Spanish Regency Council, opened his own negotiations directly with France and its king Raoul II. Raoul made what was in retrospect a misguided decision to ignore what he believed would be a lengthy peace negotiation in Corsica and instead make a separate deal with the Iberians. He was desperate to end the war, as he was under great pressure from the French Catholic League, to deal with the ongoing Huguenot uprising in the northeast. If he had held out, it is likely France would have avoided the losses that resulted, and potentially even gained territory. Instead, by the terms of the Peace of Bourges, France renounced her claims on Vizcaya and Navarre. Furthermore, France had to formally acknowledge that the Crown of Navarre belonged to Spain by right and use the title “King of Navarre” in any formal communication between the two states. The peace deal signed by Raoul II and de Sampaio is the first document in which France ever acknowledged Spain’s ownership of the Crown of Navarre. Though it did not result in any territorial loss for Paris, the humiliation of this new diplomatic reality would motivate their foreign policy for years to come. Finally, France was also forced into paying a war indemnity.


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The Franco-Spanish peace agreement
Back in Corsica, the negotiations were going well for some members of the League of Sevilla and worse for others. It quickly became clear that certain states would be asked to bear the bulk of the losses in exchange for letting others off the hook. A block formed within the League side consisting of Spain, Portugal, and Venice who were willing to give away a great deal to the victorious allies, so long as none of it was their own territory. The Duchy of Milan, in particular, was singled out by its putative allies for sacrifice. The provinces of Milan and Novara were both to be handed over to Tuscany, depriving the duchy of its capital and titular city. The Hungarians suffered relatively little, but still had to hand over the province of Szolnok to Poland. Savoy also lost territory but it was not land that Duke Tomasso III was too sad to part with. He gave the port city of Nice over to Tuscany, but this was not as large a loss as it may have initially appealed. Nice was separated from Savoy’s homelands and was almost impossible to defend. The cost of maintaining garrison there, which proved itself incapable of holding the city in any case, outweighed the commercial gains. La Pelosa and the other Sicilian rebels were granted a general amnesty if they agreed to lay down their arms and cease raiding Spanish supply convoys and killing Spanish soldiers. The rebels were granted authority by the Spanish crown to form a “committee of correspondence” which could submit the Sicilians’ grievances against Madrid to NAME, Doge of Venice, who would act as a neutral arbitrator.

The thorniest issue came up over Rome. The Papal Nuncio, Cardinal Giuseppe Fietta, was outraged that Tuscany would demand to annex the Papal State to its lands. A proposal by de Roberti to allow the Pope to remain in residence in the Vatican was rejected outright, with Cardinal Fietta claiming it made the Pope, “a hostage in all but name.” The Tuscans however remained just as obstinate. Since they actually occupied the city and had troops there, there was little anyone could do about it. None of the parties aside from the Papal State’s delegation were willing to extend the war any further with little prospect that the situation on the ground would change anyway. The best offer Cardinal Fietta received from the Tuscan delegation was that upon the death of the current Pope, the Grand Duchy would negotiate for a restoration of the Papal State. At the moment however, such a matter was out of the question considering “the perfidy of the current pontiff, who has turned his back on his flock and made common cause with heresy in the pursuit of temporal power and pride.”


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The annexation of Rome by Tuscany caused great consternation in diplomatic circles

The Papal administration made its new home in the city of Arnsberg in Westphalia, on land granted to it from the Archbishopric of Cologne. While the move to Germany allowed for the continuation of an independent Papal State, it shifted the balance of power within the Curia. The German Archbishops now wielded significantly more power than they ever had. The Archbishops of Cologne, Trier, Mainz, and Liege all jockeyed to succeed to the Papal throne. Cardinals deemed to have “Medici sympathies” were removed and replaced by Germans. This realignment would soon manifest itself in practice.


With that matter settled, and more than a few bruised national egos, the Peace of Corsica was signed, officially ending the War of the League of Sevilla. For Tuscany, it represented without a doubt the greatest victory she had ever known. The territories gained for the Grand Duchy were immensely valuable and would soon allow the Medici to claim the rule of a truly unified Italian peninsula. Yet it represented more than a political and military victory. It was also a spiritual triumph. In their bid to destroy the Medici, the Spanish and Portuguese kings had mortgaged their credibility with Catholics across Europe. By making common cause with the Calvinist states of Italy, they sullied what had previously been a spotless record of championing the Church. In the wake of the war, Tuscany and Austria remained the only two Catholic powers to have never made common cause with “the heretics.” When the war began, Grand Duke Alberto had agonized over the implications of making war on the Pope. By the end, the narrative had flipped. Now, Alberto could be cast by his advisors as a man of impeccable moral character, who had the courage to stand up to a wicked Pope in defense of the true faith.


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The Peace of Corsica

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Europe after the War of the League of Sevilla (1614)

Despite the quite obvious import of the victory, it would have been difficult for anyone living in Italy in 1614 to truly feel in a celebratory mood. Large swaths of the country were in ruins. Florence itself remained largely damaged and it would take another several years before it returned to its former glory. Even with the end of the war, the effects of food shortages and famine were felt well into the late spring of that year. The administration of Grand Duke Alberto I set about diligently working to do what they could to ease the burden on the peasantry and the urban poor, sparing no expenses. They passed a tax relief act for all subjects with additional provisions to assist those who had lost members of their family in the army. They granted paid leave to almost every regiment in the army, maintaining a skeleton force, so as to allow the men to return home to help with planting and harvest. Still, for those in the direst situations, these measures did not prevent them from going hungry.

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The Medici tax relief of 1614 was a major policy designed to relieve the suffering of the common people, particularly in the countryside

Even those areas that had started making a recovery before the end of the war could suffer setbacks with tragic consequences. The lower Lombard plain had avoided the direct effects of war for the previous two planting seasons and was beginning to return to its pre-war levels of food production. Then, an uncharacteristic dry spell hit the entire Po Valley in the late winter and spring of 1614, resulting in a wave of crop failures. Once again, the peasants of lower Lombardy were in a desperate state. Through a mix of their own despair, a newfound Calvinist zeal, and outside agitation from the vengeful Duke of Milan, the peasants of the region decided to rise up against the Medici. Claiming that their crop failures were a result of “living under the Papists’ thumb”, in reference to the annexation of their lands by the Medici, they took up arms killing nobles and government officials in the triangle between Cremona, Novara, and Milan. Some of the leaders of the revolt were veterans of the War of the League of Sevilla, the same men sent home from the army to help with the crops. They helped to hone the rabble into a decently cohesive militia, and in the first true clash of the uprising, they massacred a hastily assembled private army raised and paid for by local aristocrats. Unfortunately for the peasants, they were caught within a ring of iron, with the powerful fortress cities of Parma and Mantua to their south and east respectively and the newest Tuscan stronghold, Milan, to their north.


By mid-July, the Tuscan army had reassembled enough of its strength to march against the rebels. The military approach was not, however, universally popular. Carlo Cercignani resigned from his position as General of the Army rather than fight against many of the same men he had so recently commanded. Prince Giulio was splitting his time between Rome and Orvieto, where he was working on rebuilding the home the Spanish had destroyed, and like Cercignani, appeared to have lost any interest in military affairs. Alessandro dé Medici was away in the Netherlands, where he was making arrangements to bring his Dutch wife and their children back to Italy with him after spending the summer vacationing as a guest of his brother-in-law, Duke Willem VII of Holland. Alberto then turned to Alessandro Farnese, Duke of Parma, to command the army. Militarily, this was a sound choice. Farnese had, after all, been one of the heroes of Florence and was a veteran soldier and experienced commander. Politically and religiously however, the choice was highly volatile. Farnese had too much of a personal stake in destroying the rebellion to make detached, cool headed decisions. Moreover, as a zealous Catholic and the political leader of the Grand Duchy’s most hardline anti-Reformation faction, he held a deep seated hatred for the “heretical rebels”. Both Pantaleone Gattilusio and Folco de Roberti wanted to give the command either to Federico Boncompagni, a Neapolitan, or Massimiliano del Rosso, a Florentine, over any nobleman from the
Padana. Alberto overruled them, and Farnese departed with the army on 17 July.

The army found the rebels encamped at the town of Zibello, along the Po River about halfway between Parma and Cremona. The peasants lacked any significant artillery support, possessing at best a small handful of light guns. Farnese knew to exploit this and emplaced his artillery on the high ground around the town. He unleashed a series of withering barrages, tearing into the peasant army as it tried to form ranks. With the Tuscan army deployed in a crescent formation, all routes of escape were cut off. What followed was a total massacre, with Farnese ordering no quarter to be given. Men were shot, cut down, or forced into the river to drown. At the end of the day, nearly 15,000 rebels had perished in the fields around Zibello or in the murky waters of the Po. About 1,200 loyalist soldiers also lost their lives in the battle.

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The rising of the Calvinist peasants in Lombardy and their ensuing massacre at Zibello shook the Grand Duchy to its core

When word got back to Florence about the massacre, there was widespread disbelief and anger at court. Alberto I, in one of his fits of pious indignation, ordered Farnese to be stripped of his command and discharged immediately from the army. The Grand Duke refused, however, to take any blame for himself. “Your brother is usually a wise man and I love him as if he were my own family,’ Gattilusio confided to Giulio dé Medici in a letter after the slaughter at Zibello, “but when he gave the command to Farnese, he may as well have cut those men’s throats himself.”


The Revolt of Cremona, as the peasant rising came to be known, shook Alberto’s confidence deeply. His stubbornness, which had served him so well during the Siege of Florence, harmed his political decision-making. In his mind, he had done what was necessary to aid the peasantry, and they had repaid his efforts with disloyalty and revolt. As a result, he softened his stance on the nobility, whom he began to view as his more reliable support. For perhaps the first time in their history as rulers of Florence and then Tuscany, the Medici policy came to favor the middling nobility and aristocracy against the peasants. Almost uniformly across the generations, Medici domestic policy in the countryside had maintained order by privileging a handful of very wealthy and powerful families, the “
alta nobiltáI” (high nobility), on one hand, and the peasantry on the other. This allowed them to squeeze the uppity and unruly middle nobility if and when they needed to. Alberto now came to view both traditional Medici class allies with suspicion. The peasants for being unreliable, uneducated, and barbaric; the high nobility for being overly pompous and arrogant. He came to view both classes as unreliable and of questionable loyalty.

As a result, Alberto began restoring some of the privileges that the landed aristocracy had lost over the years. They were given more authority to tax peasants on their land independently of the Tuscan authorities. Restrictions were lifted on the number of armed men they were allowed to keep on retainer. Oversight of their relations with the peasants, in the form of local judicial authorities who could hear out a grievance by a peasant against his landlord, were severely curtailed. Many of the peasants’ gains over the previous century were undone in a matter of months in the summer and autumn of 1614.

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The aristocracy regain their privileges

The high nobility had their own cause to complain now. What the Duke of Parma did at Zibello was undoubtedly cruel and likely unnecessary. However, his actions were hardly uncommon for the time. Peasant rebellions, especially those carried out by people not of the state religion, were regularly put down with startling brutality across all of Europe. Despite Alberto’s accusations, Farnese had never disobeyed any order, as he had never been instructed to be lenient or, as far as all records indicate, received any specific guidelines for conducting his campaign. It is likely he dispatched his report back to Florence from Zibello expecting to receive hearty congratulations in return and perhaps some reward. It must have come as a shock to receive word that he was relieved of command. After a career in the army, he had finally reached the pinnacle only to have it inexplicably snatched away from him. The Farnese were one of the most powerful and wealthy families in Italy, and wielded great influence as leaders of the Italian Catholic League. Though Duke Alessandro returned to Parma and remained quiet, the potential of the Farnese becoming an enemy was a serious concern to many of Alberto I’s ministers.


On 18 August 1614 another of the League of Sevilla’s principal architects, Pope Alexander VII, died. Living in exile in Arnsberg since the end of the war, he launched a number of diplomatic ventures to build a new coalition to unseat the Medici and restore the Papacy to Rome. However, none of these met with success. Alexander VII left behind a complicated legacy. He was the first post-Reformation Pope to tolerate Protestants and Calvinists within the Papal State and was therefore viewed with suspicion by certain factions within the Church, the Jesuits in particular. Conversely, Alexander VII tightened measures against the Jewish inhabitants of his territories. In 1602, the papal bull Cum saepe accidere forbade the Jewish community of Rome to sell new goods, putting them at an economic disadvantage. In 1604, the bull Caeca et Obdurata reiterated Pope Innocent XI’s decree of 1569 which banned Jews from living in the Papal states outside the cities of Rome and Ancona. The bull also alleged that Jews in the Papal State had engaged in usury and exploited the hospitality of his predecessors “who, in order to lead them from their darkness to knowledge of the true faith, deemed it opportune to use the clemency of Christian piety towards them.” With the bull Cum Hebraeorum malitia a few days later, the Pope also forbade the reading of the Talmud.


The annexation of Rome and the province of Latium to the Medici realms significantly improved the situation of the Jews living there. They were immediately restored their freedom of movement. The Medici were historically friendly toward the Jewish populations of their lands, at least relative to the times. Jews were essentially free to conduct business on equal footing to Catholics in the fields of trade and banking, where they flourished. Jews were still banned from being artisans and craftsmen or officers in the army, though officer commissions in the more diverse and internationalist navy were available to them.

For the first time ever, the city of Arnsberg played host to a Papal election. The newly empowered German cardinals quickly elected one of their own, Lothar Johann Reinhard von Metternich, Archbishop of Trier. He took the name Alexander VIII, showing continuity with the previous regime. He was the first German Pope since Victor II (1055-57) and the sixth ever overall. He wanted to refocus the temporal efforts of the Papal State towards Germany. One of Alexander VIII’s principal goals was to use the new seat of the Holy See to reenergize the Counter-Reformation in Germany and a springboard from which to claw back Protestant lands and souls and return them to the Church. As a result, he focused little on Italy and though the Papal State formally still claimed Rome, there was little practical effort being put forth to reclaim it. In this way, the papacy and the curia’s “German turn” benefitted the Medici.

Across the Atlantic, the situation in the New World was one of expansion. Ever since the early days of the War of the League of Sevilla, when the Tuscans defeated the Spanish Caribbean fleet, things had been quiet. The original single island colony on Santa Lucia had expanded. There were now three islands under Tuscan rule: Santa Lucia, Santa Martina, and Domenica. The expansion had been relatively peaceful. The colonization of the two newly settled islands avoided the short but sharp war that marked the early days of Santa Lucia. Using the 1594 Treaty of Santa Lucia as their model, the colonists managed to reach agreements with the natives on both islands. There were some minor clashes between individual colonists and natives, but full scale war was avoided. In Domenica in particular relations went along quite well. Within the first two years, a number of Italian men had married native women and the main settlement of Palma Rosa on the western side of the island openly accepted natives who wanted to come and live, “in the civilized European manner,” as the parish priest termed it in a letter home to Pisa. Much of the tolerant policy in the Tuscan Caribbean colonies came from the top. The longtime governor, Giancarlo Butteri, had come to admire and respect the native Caribs and was keen on fostering positive relations. He was married to a native woman and his five children were half Carib themselves.

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The open and tolerant policies of local colonial administrators led to the assimilation of natives

The history of Italian-native relations on the mainland of North America would be vastly different from the largely amiable ones that existed in the Caribbean. In early 1615, a three of the leading merchants of the powerful
Compagnia del Giglio, based in Florence and Livorno, decided to split off and form their own cartel. These men were Adriano Colasuonno, Raimondo Odierno, and Guglielmo Paca. They had heard how lucrative English and Norwegian colonization on the eastern seaboard had been and in particular wanted to get into the fur trade around the Chesapeake and Delaware Bays Colasuonno travelled to London in early 1615 in the midst of the English Civil War and was able to secure maps of the eastern seaboard of North America easily and cheaply. He returned to Italy and the trio brought their proposal to Grand Duke Alberto I. Alberto, who was always fascinated by sea travel and the idea of turning Tuscany into a maritime power, readily agreed. The group was not done however. They asked for a military force to go over along with their colonists. They sold this based on trumped up stories of how vicious and barbaric the mainland natives were compared to those in the Caribbean, who by that time had developed a reputation as friendly and docile. There was also the matter of the colonies of rival European powers. The army was needed to protect the new settlers. Alberto agreed, and ordered 3,000 men to be recruited to form the new Armata Americana (Army of America). Promising adventure and unlimited land and wealth, the would-be colonialists found many willing volunteers in the poorer parts of Italy.

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Adriano Colasuonno
They decided to land on an area of the maps that the English had named Raritan Bay. They translated that name to “Raritano” and the Compagnia del Raritano was born. After numerous delays, the company flotilla, with its civilian colonists and armed soldiers all aboard, departed from Genoa on 13 October 1615. The problem with this departure date was that it would get the ships to the New World in the middle of winter, though that was not considered a serious concern since the lands were mistakenly believed to have a similar climate to the Caribbean islands.

After a voyage just over 90 days, the flotilla reached the mouth of the Hudson River with Raritan Bay to their west and New York Bay to their north. A sudden storm scattered the ships and dispersed them into three different directions. The first group, which included the flagship
Santa Maria del Nuovo Mondo, made their way into New York Bay and up the lower Hudson River. They landed on the west bank of the bay on what has come to be known as Paolo’s Hook. The marshy wetlands were inhospitable and so they moved on foot up the bluffs to their north. By 17 or 18 January, they found themselves atop the Palisades, staring down a sheer drop about 90 meters down to the riverbank below. Unlike the two other groups, this first group had positive initial relations with the natives. They first encountered a group on or about 23 January who brought them food and tobacco. These natives were members of the Ta-ko-ong'-o-to, or “High Bank Shore”, clan of the Lenape tribe. The two sides got on well enough and soon were conducting trade. The Lenape phrase for the Palisades was roughly “Weehawken” a phrase meaning, “rocks that look like rows of trees.” The Italian settlers were so impressed by the dramatic sights that they named their first settlement after them: Weehawken.

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Tuscan ships of the Compagnia Raritana sail below the Palisades

The second group of ships was blown through the Raritan Bay and up a narrow channel which came to be dubbed the Stretto di Arturo, after the captain of the lead ship, Arturo Gatti. This channel then opened up into a larger, sheltered bay with two rivers running into it on the northern side. Just west of the confluence of the Hackensack and Passaic Rivers, they landed and set up camp. This settlement, which would come to be known as Nuova Arca, was established on or about 19 January. This group was the largest of the three and made up mostly of soldiers. They had no interaction with the natives in the first several weeks.

The third and smallest group found their way onto the island that the other two groups had sailed around. Landing on the southern portion, they set up their own encampment on a flat area and named it, unimaginatively, Pianure Piacevoli, or Pleasant Plains. Like the group at Nuova Arca, they did not encounter any natives for the first several weeks.

Things began going poorly for the second two groups as January dragged into February. The supplies brought over on the ships began to run out and both parties fanned out in search of food and other supplies with which to improve their camps. At this point, the three groups were unaware of what happened to the others, each believing that they were likely to be the only survivors. Unbeknownst to the settlers in Nuova Arca or Pianure Piacevoli, Lenape scouts were observing them at all times. The settlers at Weehawken learned about the existence of the other two groups from their Lenape counterparts. The Weehawken party was doing well, having already established a mercantile relationship with the Lenape and were trading for food.

The first violence between colonists and natives occurred when a patrol from Nuova Arca, led by Odierno, decided to follow the Passaic River north, into the Meadowlands. They came across a Lenape village and immediately fell upon it without warning. The Lenape, who had been following their movement, expected these men to behave like those they encounered at Weehawken did. To their shock and horror, the hidden Lenape scouts watched as the Tuscan soldiers ran through the village raping and killing and burning all within. All the men and children were massacred and the women taken prisoner. The following day, the patrol made its way triumphantly down the Passaic back toward Nuova Arca, where they showed off their captured goods and prisoners. The terrified Lenape women were given over to the men to use as sex slaves.

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The Meadowlands, site of the first violent Tuscan-native encounters

This wanton cruelty and slaughter precipitated a crisis among the Lenape leadership. The various clans got together and determined that they had to retaliate. The hardline faction wanted to kill all of the Europeans, whom they viewed as an existential threat. Others, in particular the members of the Unami clan which had come to know the settlers at Weehawken protested that some of the Europeans were not cruel and should be spared. However, the settlement at Nuova Arca was too large and too heavily armed to attack openly. The debate was decided when members of the Nool-a-mar-lar'-mo clan brought word of the settlers at Pianure Piacevoli. This settlement was small and vulnerable and none of the Europeans there were known to any Lenape.

Just around this time, on 12 February, the settlements of Nuova Arca and Pianure Piacevoli encountered each other. Another patrol from Nuova Arca sailed one of their ships south along the bay and down the Stretto di Arturo. At the south end of the strait, they ran into a group of their fellow colonists fishing along the shore. Among them was Guglielmo Paca, one of the founders of the Compagnia Raritana. The two groups agreed to meet again in the same place five days later and that the men from Nuova Arca would bring some tools and food.

At some point between 13 and 18 Feburary, the Lenape launched their reprisal attack against the settlers of Pianure Piacevoli. When the men from Nuova Arca arrived at the pre-arranged rendezvous point, they did not find their counterparts. However, they soon smelled the rotting bodies and burned structures of the settlement. They stumbled upon a grisly sight: all the men had been killed and the small number of women were all gone. They found Paca tied to a post in the center of the camp, his head smashed in by a rock and his body covered with stab wounds. If the Lenape hoped that this attack would scare the Italian colonists into leaving, they were mistaken.

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Early Tuscan depiction of Lenape warriors

When news got back to Nuova Arca, Odierno ordered the men to go onto a full war footing. They built up the defenses around the encampment and every man was required to travel armed wherever he went. They then marched out from the camp in force, leaving 200 men back to hold the position. Their goal was to seek out and kill as many Lenape as possible. They advanced in two columns, up the Passaic and Hackensack Rivers. They fell upon every Lenape settlement they found, killing the men and children and abducting the women. Most of the women did not survive more than a few days after their abduction. The Italian bands were too large to attack for small groups of Lenape and too heavily armed to stand against en masse. All the natives could do was retreat.


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Armed soldiers of the Compagnia Raritana attack a native settlement
The Italians at Weehawken were kept in the dark by the Lenape, but closely observed. Several Weehawken colonists observed smoke in the lower Passaic Valley while out foraging but the natives explained these away by saying they were celebrations coming from large Lenape settlements. Therefore, relations between the groups here proceeded as if there was no wider war raging around them. The Lenape ensured that the settlers stayed close to the banks of the Hudson and did not venture too far inland where they might run into their countrymen. By mid summer, the Tuscan campaign up the Passaic and Hackensack Valleys began to fizzle out, as the men demanded to return to Nuova Arca. They marched back down the way they came, back past the burned husks of settlements they had destroyed. They returned claiming victory. The Lenape had been driven back noth and west. They did not dare return to the shores of the Passaic and the Hackensack in case the “white savages” launch another one of their terror campaigns. They had learned, just like they did with the English and Norwegians before, that these Europeans were dangerous men, to be met with suspicion and fear, if not violence and hate.

Only in the small Weehawken settlement, a mere 9.5 kilometers northeast of the armed camp that Nuova Arca had become, were there cordial relations between the Lenape and the Italians. It represented a hopeful, peaceful alternative to the murderous horror that had been the Hackensack and Passaic War, but it was not to become commonplace.

Back in northern Italy, things began to improve by the spring of 1616. Agricultural production in the Po Valley and Tuscany proper was creeping back toward pre-war levels. Crop yields in Lombardy, Emilia-Romagna, and the Veneto returned close to their pre-war levels. For the first time since the beginning of the War of the League of Sevilla, fears of widespread famine were low. Trade also returned to antebellum levels as the large mercantile companies finally finished converting their ships back to peace time specifications. The ports of Italy were once again full of all sorts of goods from across the world.

Things were going so well in fact, that by the end of 1616, plans to repair, redesign, and expand the Pitti Palace were announced. The palace had suffered damage during the siege and Alberto wanted a new facade for it. A competition was held to determine who would be awarded the contract and on 7 December 1616 Giulio Parigi was announced as the winner with the expansion scheduled to begin work in 1618.

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The situation had not quite calmed down in the Mezzogiorno, where trouble continued to brew. The focus of the post-war rebuilding efforts had been on the north and the south, ignored as usual, was left to languish. The situation was particularly infuriating for the people of Naples, the largest city in the Medici realms and one that had remained stubbornly loyal during the war when most of the south was either neutral or siding with the Spanish. Several demonstrations resolved themselves peacefully throughout the spring, usually after the Viceroy, the Florentine diplomat Vittorio Frescobaldi made promises to bring in more food and lower taxes and duties. However, tensions in the city remained high. The city’s Archbishop, Ascanio Filomarino, recommended that the culturally clueless Frescobaldi ask for more troops from the north. Since popular violence often occurred on Sundays and holidays, when everyone was in the streets or in the taverns, Archbishop Filomarino prudently cancelled all customary church-sponsored celebrations on Sundays. The people of Naples could go to mass, but then that was the end so far as the church was concerned. He also planned to cancel the festivities surrounding the feast day of St. Joseph on 19 March, because it involved ritual battle in the Piazza del Mercato between two teams of young men from the area dressed as “Moors” and “Christians” and armed with sticks. One side defended a mock castle of wood and painted canvas, while the other attacked it. They rehearsed in the piazza on Sunday mornings.

On the morning of Wednesday 5 March, a dispute broke out between the stallholders of the Piazza del Mercato and the local producers over who should pay the fruit tax, which had been one of Frescobaldi’s promised tax cuts that never materialized. Eventually, according to Pier Paolo Della Pesca, a visiting merchant from Siena, one of the fruit vendors “flew into such a rage that, throwing two great baskets of figs upon the ground, cried out ‘God gives plenty and the ill government creates dearth. I don’t care about the fruit, help yourselves.’” When Frescobaldi arrived to try and restore order, the women and girls in the marketplace began to shout “long live the king and death to the evil government!” In this case, the “king” they were referring to was Alberto I, since in the south he went by the title “King” rather than “Grand Duke” in his capacity as King of Naples. Suddenly, a man dressed in white overalls and wearing a red bonnet leapt onto the fruit stand and shouted, “No tax! No tax!” he threw first fruit and then stones at Frescobaldi and his men. The Viceroy and his retinue quickly retreated back to their palace.

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The revolt in Naples that would come to be known as the March Rising

The demagogue was a twenty seven year old fishmonger named Tommaso Aniello, commonly known as Masaniello, born and raised in one of the lanes adjoining the Piazza del Mercato, and leader of the “Moorish” team during the festival. He had already drilled his ragazzi (boys), dressed in red and black, to a high level of cohesion and, “in the twinkling of an eye, thousands of common people” came into the square, and under Masaniello’s lead, they seized some weapons stored in the tower of the Carmine Church and “unfurled the red flag on the tower of the church as a sign of war.” When some refugees from Sicily in the crowd “calld them cowards because they were satisfied with only one hting and incited them to demand everything, as had happened in Palermo,” Masaniello directed the crowd intot he streets leading to the Vieroy’s palace. Meanwhile, other rioters forced open the prisons, setting free the inmates.

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Masaniello addresses the people

Acrhbishop Filomarino, who loathed “this Masaniello,” expressed his amazement in a letter to his cousin, the Bishop of Ravenna, that a simple fishmonger could “acquire such authority, command, respect, and obedience that he has made the whole city tremble at his orders, which are carried out by his followers punctually and rigorously. In short, he has become a king in this city, and the most glorious and triumphnant king that the world has seen.”

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Archbishop Ascanio Filomarino would become a major figure in the March Rising

Masaniello’s genius lay in his ability to inspire not only his ragazzi and the urban poor, who had little to lose, but also the artisans and shopkeepers who normally sided with the forces of law and order. Indeed, this latter class was historically a bedrock of Medici support across Italy, but especially in Naples. By midday on 5 March 1617, the insurgents numbered 30,000, and when they reached the viceroy’s palace, the Castel Capuano, they demanded the immediate abolition of all excise duties. Fearful of the fiscal consequences of such a sweeping concession, Frescobaldi replied that he would abolish only some of them. This angered the crowd, which surged forward and the vieroy’s guards (who had orders from Frescobaldi not to fire) fell back.

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The Castel Capuano, the viceregal palace in Naples

Masaniello had chosen his timing well. At that moment there was no Tuscan army south of the capital and Frescobaldi had only 1,200 soldiers to preserve order in one of Europe’s largest cities. When the captain of the garrison, Francesco Capecelatro, started to create defenses around the formidable fortress of the Castel Nuovo, the crowd sealed off the area while reinforcements arrived from the countryside with ploughshares, pitchforks, and shovels. The merchant Pier Paolo Della Pesca, who emerged as the most reliable chronicler of the rising, wrote that, “women were seen in great numbers, armed with fire shovels and iron tongs, with spits and spikes, and their children with sticks and canes.”

Two days later, a pair of important figures arrived in the city and appeared at Masaniello’s side in Piazza del Mercato: Giulio Genoino and Francesco Arpaja, insurgents (or brigands, depending on one’s perspective) who had led the guerilla fighting against the Spanish army and its supply lines during the War of the League of Sevilla. Alongside practical knowledge of guerilla tactics and techniques, they also added a “king’s loyal rebels” luster to the rioting. Arriving with two score of his top guerilla fighters, Genoino declared to the crowd in the city’s main square: “I fought one set of the king’s enemies, the Spaniards, and now I am here to fight another: the corrupt officials.” Towing the line of loyalty to the king while opposing the king’s government or officials was a tried and true rhetorical tactic of rebels throughout the Medieval and Early Modern periods. Masaniello and the rest of his supporters were careful to never critcize Alberto I or the Medici dynasty, and cries of “Palle! Palle!” and “Viva Alberto Primo!” could be heard amongst denunciations of local officials and noblemen. This did not mean, however, that the newly formed triumvirate of Masaniello, Genoino, and Arpaja were going to keep everything civil. They compiled a list of residences to be sacked and burned each night, a list that contained the residences of their personal enemies as well as those connected with the oppressive fiscal system. Archbishop Filomarino, acting as mediator, persuaded Frescobaldi to go through with the abolition of all excise duties and to issue a general pardon, in order to restore at least a temporary peace, but once again the vieroy misstepped: his pardon characterized the rioters as “rebels.” Such disrespect provoked a new wave of violence, and the houses of several more ministers and tax collectors went up in flames.

On 9 March, Genoino and his associates drew up a list of 22 Capitoli (articles) that insisted not only on a comprehensive pardon but also on a host of specific concessions which, they claimed, had been granted to the city in previous charters including an end to all excise duties on food, the equalization of the tax burden between the capital and all the provinces of the Kingdom of Naples, and the reinstituion of the position of Eletto del Popolo to be selected by a popular assembly. The Eletto del Popolo (literally, “the elect of the people”) was to occupy a position almost equal to the viceroy in power and authority. As the list was read out in the crowded Carmine Church, a member of the audience shouted out an objection: the Tuscan government had reneged on promises made to the common people via Alberto I’s reimposition of feudal privileges granted to aristocratic landowners in the north, so what could be done to secure complaince this time. Additionally, the massacre of the peasant rebels at Zibello loomed over the whole uprising like a dark cloud. In response, Frescobaldi agreed that, until Florence confirmed the Capitoli, the insurgents could continue to bear arms, a dangerous concession given that Masaniello’s well-drilled militia now numbered 10,000 men, not to mention the mobilized women and other people of the city who supported them. Meanwhile, some local priests assured the insurgents that because they were oppressed by excessive taxes, and were attacked and provoked by the Tuscan government, their struggle was just. Others preached sermons that compared Frescobaldi with Nebuchadnezzar, Goliath, and Pharaoh, and the insurgent leaders with Daniel, David, and Moses. All this, in the words of Della Pesca, “animated the people so that they went freely to fight, and believed they would be martyrs and go to paradise.” Masaniello skillfully used the militia to prevent royal galleys from re-entering the harbor. He also placed an embargo on the export of grain to the city. Filomarino persuaded Frescobaldi to give in and accept the rebels’ demands.

By this point, the details of the severity of the Naples rising had reached Florence and Alberto I and his ministers met in a crisis council to come up with a way forward. In addition to the drama unfolding in the streets of the Medici’s largest city, there was the looming possibility of the crisis turning international in character. In a sign of how interconnected the domestic politics of European powers could be in this time, the ongoing French Wars of Religion suddenly seemed poised to play a role in the rising in Naples. Louis Boncompagni, the son of the last sitting independent King of Naples, Leandro I, was born and raised in exile in France and, true to his family’s Calvinist roots, had become a prominent and well loved leader of the Huguenots. Medici agents in Paris, including Alberto’s cousin Benedetta, Queen Consort of France, reported back that King Raoul II was considering backing Louis Boncompagni’s claim to the throne of Naples as a compromise with the Huguenots to end their ongoing and stubbornly durable campaign in northeastern France. Cleaving a Calvinist-ruled kingdom out of a major Catholic power would be quite the boon for the Reformed cause in Europe, which was being driven back everywhere outside of France by both Catholic and Protestant military and religious forces.

Despite the pesky resilience of Louis Boncompagni’s claim on the Neapolitan throne, and the possibility of French support of that claim, Pantaleone Gattilusio wanted to appoint the pretender’s uncle, Federico Boncompagni, as the new viceroy to replace the clearly overmatched Frescobaldi in Naples. Federico was a personal childhood friend of both the Minister of War and the Grand Duke, a military veteran who nevetheless possessed political flexibility and pragmatism, and a proven adminstrator who had been brilliant as the royal agent in the Carribbean during the War of the League of Sevilla. This appointment was strongly opposed by Rudolfo Contrari, Count of Vignola and the new de jure head of the Italian Catholic League in the place of the marginalized Duke of Parma. Despite being practically non-religious, Boncomagni, like his nephew, was officially a Calvinist and also linked by marriage to the most prominent and wealthy Protestant family in Italy: the Estes of Ferrara. Contrari was supported in this position by the new Archbishop of Florence, Cosimo dé Bardi, who concurred with the unreliability of a Calvinist. Alberto I, always sensitive about being thought of as anything less than a perfect Catholic, ultimately took their advice and put his friend Federico aside.

It was the Interior Minister, Eustacchio d’Asburgo, who made the recommendation to go with a local solution: namely, to appoint Archbishop Filomarino as the viceroy, at least until the situation in Naples was resolved. D’Asburgo was a member of an Italian cadet branch of the Austrian Habsburgs from Treviso and had Italianized his name. He rose to prominence as a capable adminsitrator of his home province until it was finally turned into a marquisate in 1615. After that, he was recalled to Florence to take over as interior minister. Contrari and Archbishop dé Bardi liked this idea and supported d’Asburgo and Alberto I decided to follow this course of action. On 12 March, Alberto I signed an order recalling Frescobaldi and appointing Archbishop Filomarino as viceroy.

The order did not arrive in time to save the hapless Vittorio Frescobaldi, who by the middle of the month had lost all control of the city. On 21 March, heavily armed horsemen rode into the Piazza del Mercato and tried to assassinate Masaniello. They missed their mark, but in the process killed about thirty people in the crowd. When the people finally overpowered and tortured them, the ringleaders revealed they had been hired by a group of barons from the surrounding countryside with the approval of the viceroy. While no evidence has ever emerged proving that Frescobaldi ever had any knowledge of the assassination attempt, and much less that he ever authorized it, the crowd took the attackers at their word. While being tortured, the horsemen also revealed they had planted barrels of gunpowder around the square which they planned to detonate in order to kill as many rioters as possible and furthermore that they had intended to poison the city’s water supply in order to kill the rest. The attackers also gave out the names of the aristocrats that had hired them, but as all these men lived outside the city in easily defensible castles with armed guards, Frescobaldi remained as the only available scapegoat.

The newly radicalized crowd marched on the Castel Capuano, where the viceroy had essentially been living under house arrest. Unlike the more formidable Castel Nuovo, the Capuano was not a military structure and was not meant to withstand a siege. Most of the city’s 1,200 strong garrison and their commander, Capecelatro, were indeed at the Castel Nuovo but had no lines of communication with Frescobaldi. Thus, when the enraged rioters stormed the doors of the viceregal palace, there was little anyone could do to stop them. Vittorio Frescobaldi and several other city officials were dragged out into the streets and paraded to the Piazza del Mercato where the crowd tortured, murdered, and mutilated them, finishing by chopping off their heads and mounting them on pikes. By the time Archbishop Filomarino learned of what was going on, it was too late. He rushed to the main square only to find that the captured men had already been murdered. He quickly and quietly ordered some of his priests to locate the families of the slain men and had them hidden in the rectory of the rectory of the Church of Sant Agostino alla Zecca where they were safe.

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The murder of Frescobaldi and his men in the Piazza del Mercato

In a cruel coincidence, the order recalling Frescobaldi and appointing Filomarino as the new viceroy arrived the next day, on 22 March. By that point, the city had calmed down again, though the heads of the murdered viceroy and his officials were still displayed over Piazza del Mercato. Filomarino wasted no time however. The energetic old priest immediately moved to end the revolt. He appeared on the morning of 23 March in Piazza del Mercato alone, dressed in the attire of a humble parish priest, and carrying only the letter from Alberto I appointing him as viceroy. He appointed Gennaro Annese, a lawyer well loved by the crowd, as treasurer of the Kingdom of Naples (the previous treasurer was one of the men murdered alongside Frescobaldi) and named Genoino the Eletto del Popolo until such time as the people could hold an actual vote. The archbishop promised them that the rest of the kingdom should pay a new hearth tax to replace the city’s excise duties, that a new census should be undertaken to establish a more equitable tax base, and that the people might continue to bear arms until such time as the King of Naples confirmed these concessions. He also vowed to issue arrest warrants for the aristocrats who had hired the armed men that attacked the crowd on the night of the 21st. In return, the new viceroy made only one demand: the elmination of Masaniello.

At this point, many insurgents were prepared to sacrifice their leader. Genoino, Arpaja, and much of the artisan class had grown to despise him, those whose property had been burnt wanted revenge, and many of the common people felt alienated by his increasingly erratic personal behavior. On 26 March, four conspirators (each of whom later received a handome reward from Filomarino) murdered Masaniello, and the crowd then mutilated his body. In what could only be a manifestation of dark humor from the crowd, Masaniello’s head was mounted alongside the heads of the men whom the crowd had killed in retaliation for an assassination attempt against him only days earlier.

Filomarino’s concessions, the appointment of prominent leaders of the rising to official positions of power, and the death of Masaniello all served to disippate the energy of the crowd and many returned home. This did not mark a total end of the violence. In his first act as Eletto del Popolo, Genoino ordered Captain Capecelatro to take 1,000 men from the garrison and go out into the countryside to arrest the barons named responsible for the 21 March attack on the Piazza del Mercato. There were six men named in total, of whom two would be killed while the soldiers attempted to capture them, and the other four would be thrown into the dungeons below the Castel Nuovo, where each would die in turn from a combination of physical abuse and disease. Filomarino was not happy about this, writing privately to his cousin that he thought it “a crime against God,” but he concluded it was necessary to keep the people quiet and avoid further large scale bloodshed and destruction.

In Florence, Alberto I did approve the archbishop’s concessions. In addition to disptatching the order approving the insurgents’ demands, the Grand Duke also issued a proclamation praising Filomarino for “saving the Kingdom of Naples from descent into violence and madness.” He ofered the archbishop the position of viceroy full time, an offer that Filomarino politely turned down. Alberto issued his pardons and accepted the concessions even in the face of angry opposition from the Frescobaldi family, which remained a wealthy and influential political force within the capital. Still, with no true resources to effect the Grand Duke’s decision, the were forced to suffer the murder of one of the family’s most successful members in silence.

The matter of the French-supported Boncompagni claim to the Neapolitan throne soon resolved itself as well. The ever-reliable Medici ally in France, the Duke of Guise (supported by his old friend, the Duke of Parma, who had gone to France with 500 of his best cavalrymen to help fight the Huguenots following his dismissal after Zibello) finally managed to strike a decisive blow against the Huguenot army at Épinal on 11 August 1617. Following his victory there, the hardline duke fought a series of running battles with his religious foes all the way to the Rhine, retaking Nancy in the process on 22 August. In one of these skirmishes, reportedly near the small town of Dieulouard along the Moselle River, Louis Boncompagni was wounded and captured by Catholic League soldiers. As a prisoner of the Catholic League, his pretensions to the Crown of Naples were rendered a moot point, at least for the time being.

In the end, the concessions made as a result of what came to be known as “Masaniello’s Revolt” or the “March Rising” did not affect the rest of the Medici realms much in an economic sense. Whatever income was lost from eliminating taxes was more than made up for by the ever increasing money flow from trade. Against the expectation of some ministers, the concessions also did not lead to uprisings elsewhere.

Still, the revolt caused Alberto I and his advisors to reassess the situation. They needed to rule their lands in a balanced way and operating two entirely different administrations over northern and southern Italy respectively was proving woefully inefficient. Tuscany proper now made up only about ten percent of both the land mass and the population of the Medici realms. Ruling as Grand Duke of Tuscany first and foremost, the Kingdom of Naples and its attendant lands became almost an afterthought despite their continued turmoil, their strategic importance, and their large population. A new conception of the Medici lands was needed, one that transcended the now anachronistic framework of Tuscany-Naples and embraced the entire peninsula. Italy needed true unification.

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Real world locations of fictional place names:

Paolo’s Hook – Paulus Hook, Jersey City, New Jersey
Stretto di Arturo – Arthur Kill
Pianure Piacevoli – Pleasant Plains, Staten Island, New York
Nuova Arca – Newark, New Jersey
Porto della Libertá – Liberty State Park, Jersey City, New Jersey
 
Another good and interesting chapter about our dear Tuscans:)
 
A long but good update. Winning the war was difficult, but winning the peace is also difficult.
 
Another great update. Another great read.

And I must say, the way the revolt in Naples was writen, was quite glorious indeed. and made quite a fabulous read.
 
Another good and interesting chapter about our dear Tuscans:)

A long but good update. Winning the war was difficult, but winning the peace is also difficult.

Thank you. I have also noticed that my updates have been steadily getting longer. This isn't necessarily by design and I will try to shorten them up just a bit, if only to update a little bit more quickly. Thanks for reading through despite the length.

Another great update. Another great read.

And I must say, the way the revolt in Naples was writen, was quite glorious indeed. and made quite a fabulous read.

The Naples revolt in Chapter 45 was based on a true story: Masaniello's Revolt of 1647. A few of the characters, namely Masaniello, Archbishop Filomarino, and Genoino were actual real historical characters. I got a lot of the material for this part from the chapter on Italy in the book Global Crisis: War, Climate Change and Catastrophe in the Seventeenth Century by Geoffrey Parker. It is quite the ponderous tome but an amazing source of information for this era of history.

You may or may not have noticed that I left a placeholder for Historical Vignette 24, which will wrap up the Battle of Florence. I really want to finish it but it was taking much longer than I wanted so I decided to just move the story along chronologically anyway. It is going to be a long update and I have been working on it for a while, but I think it should be pretty decent.

Thanks, as always, for reading.
 
Chapter 46: Re d’Italia, 1617-1623

In the autumn of 1617, Grand Duke Alberto I and his top ministers and advisors began working on a dramatic new plan: the creation of a unified Italian monarchy under Medici rule. The last claimant to the title King of Italy was Emperor Leopold VIII, who failed to challenge the Italian states’ drive toward independence, allowing them to break free from the Holy Roman Empire. However, the
de facto independence of Italy from the Empire actually dated back much further: to the Lombard League’s legendary victory over Emperor Frederick Barbarossa at the Battle of Legnano in 1176. More recently, the rise of the Medici began rolling back the wide range of centrifugal forces of different languages, cultures, cuisines, and ways of living that kept the various people of the peninsula segregated from each other. Florentine hegemony, and the military and cultural power that emanated from the capital, served as a unifying beacon for the people of the peninsula. The Renaissance served as a cultural touchstone, especially among the wealthy classes. The feeling of a genuine Italian national identity was just starting to form.

With the conquests of Rome and Milan in the War of the League of Sevilla, it seemed only natural for the Grand Duke of Tuscany to lay claim to the title of King of Italy. There was little standing in his way practically. The new coronation
would require some diplomatic maneuvering to achieve, but even this was far from daunting. Austria, and Poland were, naturally, in favor. More surprisingly, the Medici found support for their claim from a few recent enemies: Portugal and Savoy. The former, still led by their octogenarian king, João II, saw the Spanish defeat as a sea change moment. Eager to maintain free navigation both to the New World and into the Near East and North Africa, Lisbon began moving away from Spain, ever so slightly, and into a sort of détente with the Tuscans. Savoy was more puzzling, as the Medici represented an extremely grave threat to Turin. Still, Duke Tomasso III was likely hoping to to play the newly-unified Italian state against France, and survive as a sort of buffer between the two great powers. The French, with their ever-complex domestic politics, were more tepid, but nevertheless unwilling to stand in the way.


Pope Alexander VIII was more difficult to sway. The Papacy still officially claimed Rome, but the curia’s “German Turn” opened the possibility for Papal neutrality in the matter of crowning Alberto King of Italy. In an official letter to the Pope, Alberto promised to make “the return of the Pope to Rome a priority of my reign.” In exchange for the Church not opposing his coronation, the Grand Duke made a number of promises. First, he declared that he would not move his capital to Rome, something that the proudly Florentine Medici were unlikely to do anyway. Second, he promised military support to the Papal State to protect it from its Protestant neighbors in Germany and any threatening maneuvers by the Emperor, Václav VII of Bohemia. Third, he agreed to not interfere with the Roman Inquisition and to give that institution free reign to pursue heretics in the newly conquered Calvinist provinces of Milan and Novara. These were not particularly harsh terms, and after a brief visit by Folco de Roberti to Arnsberg, the Foreign Minister returned with a signed Papal letter authorizing “any willing bishop,” to perform the coronation.

The unification would require an administrative realignment inside the state as well. Up until 1617, the Grand Duchy of Tuscany and the Kingdom of Naples were run as two distinct states under one monarch. A true unified Italy would be run by one government. The “free republics” of Florence, Siena, Lucca, and Genoa, were allowed to maintain their local autonomy as far as the creation of laws. The major duchies, Parma, Modena, Ferrara, Mantua, and Urbino, were also left intact with their respective dukes serving as
de facto governors of their provinces. The same applied to the marquisates of Verona and Treviso.

Alberto also claimed the title of Duke of Milan for himself, citing the same dynastic links with the Fifteenth Century rulers of the city, the Visconti. This tenuous claim was very similar to the one used by his uncle, Grand Duke Filippo I to claim the crown of Naples. Instead of going from the Anjevines through the Valois and then on top the Medici, this one began with the Visconti. In both cases, the claim entered the Medici family through Alberto’s grandmother, Sophie Louise de Valois. The French, in no position to challenge the claim, made little effort to dispute the clear realities on the ground.


In the south, the crown reserved the right to appoint governors for all of the provinces. The cities which had gained special privileges during the initial wave of Medici reforms (Reggio Calabria, Taranto, Bari, Lecce, Matera, Cosenza, Salerno, and Naples), would keep them. Naples was reduced from a kingdom to a principality, though not without pride of place. In recognition of the city’s importance as the realm’s most populous center and a major economic force, Alberto named his nephew and heir, Gian Gastone, as Prince of Naples. This established the precedence of the heir apparent to the Crown of Italy holding the title of Prince of Naples until he ascended the throne. Alberto had a further reason for doing this. He credited his years administering the great southern city as having honed his skills as a ruler. As the highest ranking representative of the crown in the
Mezzogiorno, holding the title of Prince of Naples would force any heir to have to actually work to rule over the often restive south. In other words, it would be a complex dress rehearsal for any man with presumptions to rule the whole of the peninsula. Accordingly, the fifteen year old Crown Prince was sent to live in Naples and, under the tutelage of his father, Prince Giulio, and family friend Federico Boncompagni, began ruling over the enormous and chaotic city.

As an ardent student of history, Alberto understood the symbolic significance of being crowned King of Italy. The coronation, therefore, had to include a number of celebratory events. The first thing he decided upon was that his crown would be the Iron Crown of Lombardy, used to crown the Medieval kings of Italy including such towering figures as Louis the Pious and Emperor Otto I “the Great”. It is also likely that the simple Iron Crown appealed more to the pious, ascetically-minded Alberto over the more elaborate and jewel-adorned Grand Ducal crown of Tuscany.

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The Iron Crown (top) and the Grand Ducal crown of Tuscany

He also determined that the coronation should be held at Pavia, the capital of the Medieval Kingdom of the Lombards. On Christmas Day, 1617, Alberto dé Medici entered the
Duomo of Pavia for the big moment. Following mass, he was crowned by the city’s bishop, Fabrizio Landriani. Landriani was a vocal Medici supporter and had been for years. The majority-Calvinist Duchy of Milan had stifled the Catholic Church and the annexation of Milan and Novara following the War of the League of Sevilla led to widespread enthusiasm among the region’s Catholics, who now looked to a future in which they were ruled by their co-religionists.

A number of foreign dignitaries attended the coronation as well. Prince Karol Ferdynand of Poland, who for all intents and purposes was living in Italy full time, represented his newly crowned nephew, King Wladyslaw IV. Archduchess Maria Theresa of Austria attended as well, making the trip to Pavia from Vienna to witness the unification of Italy. The supportive presence of a Habsburg ruler at the coronation of a King of Italy was a stark reminder of the vast changes to the European international system over the preceding century and a half. Where once the Habsburgs ruled the Holy Roman Empire and sought to dominate Italy, a strong and united Italy now served as a protector for Austria against a majority-Protestant Empire that threatened the Habsburgs at every turn. Duke Tomasso III of Savoy, recently a member of the League of Sevilla, was also in attendance. Perhaps more than any other leader of the remaining independent Italian states, Duke Tomasso read the writing on the wall and put on a pleasant face for his hosts.

The coronation was to serve as a reminder of Italy’s position of strength in that moment. The alliances with Austria and Poland had never been more secure. Spain was defeated and in the midst of a precarious regency for a ten year old girl. The brutal religious wars of the late Sixteenth Century seemed to have abated and the Protestant rulers on the continent seemed more focused on consolidating power than expanding their religion’s territory. This attitude was embodied by the cautious personality of the Emperor, Václav VII of Bohemia, who even sent a congratulatory letter to Alberto I, wishing him to have “a quiet land and the good will of all nations.”


Upon receiving the Iron Crown from the Bishop of Pavia, Alberto rose as King of Italy. His full title read:
By the Grace of God and the Will of the People, King of Italy, Grand Duke of Tuscany, Duke of Milan, Count of Prato, Lord of Elba and Piombino, Gonfaloniere of the Florentine Republic, First Consul of the Republic of Siena, Captain of the People of Lucca, Doge of Genoa, Noble Patrician of Ferrara.

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The unification of the kingdom was a landmark event in Italian history

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Alberto I and his ministers sought to give a new, ambitious forms of national identity to their newly unified state

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Europe in 1617, following Italian unification

Following the coronation, the entire court made a royal progress back to Florence for a week of festivities and celebrations for the unification of the kingdom. They passed through Parma, Reggio Emilia, Modena, Bologna, and then crossed the Apennines south to Prato and then on to the capital. In each town and city, people welcomed their monarch with jubilation. It was a stark contrast from recent years and the people’s reaction was as much a product of renewed well-being as it was of patriotic feeling. The average northern Italian peasant went into the winter of 1617-18 more secure in food stock and provisions than in any winter for the previous decade. There can be no doubt that in the minds of many superstitious people in the countryside, some link existed between the newfound prosperity and the unification of the kingdom.

Once in Florence, the festivities began with a wedding. The Medici of Tuscany and the Poniatwoskis of Poland were already linked via the marriage of Alberto I and Grand Duchess Michalina. The Grand Ducal couple were pious, devoted, and dutiful, but none in the court thought of their union as one smoldering with passion. The opposite was true of Princess Teodora and Prince Karol Ferdynand. The two had been romatically linked for many years, dating back to the time of Alberto’s wedding when the prince, coming to Florence as an escort for his sister, met the fiery Medici princess when they were 21 and 16 respectively. Ever since, rumors of their trysts popped up anytime the prince visited Italy or when Teodora accompanied her sister-in-law back to Poland. The only problem was, both were married to other people. Then, in 1610, Karol Ferdynand’s wife died of fever and in 1612 Teodora’s husband, Stefano Strozzi, died during the siege of Florence. This left the pair free to marry.

It was low pressure as far as royal weddings went. There was no expectation of children, no need to produce an heir for anyone. Karol Ferdynand and Teodora had three and two children each, respectively. The match was wildly popular in the capital. Teodora was known to the Florentine citizenry not only as the sister of the Grand Duke, but as a woman who did many charitable works during the great siege despite the loss of her husband and one of her sons. Teodora was especially popular among women, not only due to her dedication to helping those in need during the siege, but also because the loss of her own loved ones gave a sense that she suffered just like the common women. The Polish prince was hailed as one of the great saviors of the city, no person who had lived through the siege would ever forget the dramatic charge of Karol Ferdynand’s Winged Hussars and how they smashed the Spanish siege lines and swept the enemy from the field.

Following the wedding, were days and days of feasting and celebration. The most beautiful women of Italy were invited in great parties and arrived in the decorative setting of the highest fashions with airy layers of lace, of pearl-embroidered dresses, and bejeweled and plumed decorations. It had taken more than a little bit of coaxing from the king’s ministers to convince the pious, austere Alberto and Michalina to truly allow the city to let loose, but when they finally prevailed no expense was spared. The celebrations coincided with carnival, so they provided a religious veneer with which the king could justify the partying. The condition was that come Ash Wednesday, everyone cease and begin the observation of lent.


Great games of
calico fiorentino took place in the great piazze of the capital. The great tournament that was held saw the Viola team, captained by the Black Prince Alessandro dé Medici, win a brutal final match against the Verdi and take the prize purse. Horse races and marksmanship competitions added to the games of skill, all intended to show the masculine and martial prowess of the new kingdom.

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A match of the Calcio Fiorentino

The
potenze of Florence were out in full force. The traditional leaders of the carnival celebrations, they had been dormant for several years during war and siege and reconstruction. But the event of the coronation revived them once again. The potenze were a sort of social club that existed in Florence dating back to the Twelfth or Thirteenth Centuries. The climate in which the Potenze were formed was that of the poorest parts of the city, where the protagonists were misery and the myriad fears of those for whom all existence, generation to generation, is simple, brutal endurance. Every day, people would anxiously scrutinize the skies, knowing that a few days too many or too few of rain could compromise the harvest and raise prices to levels beyond reach for the average person. And those were in the good cases. There were other times when grains and vegetables and fruit were not available at all. They turned that very medieval sense of dread and uncertainty against which the people had to live and reversed it, creating a sense of camaraderie and celebration. The six Potenze that rose in the year of 1343 became the first to survive long-term and bore the characteristics that would carry on for the following centuries. They formed groupings with distinct geographic areas, each having their own territory over which they exercised power and the ability to “tax” merchants and shopkeepers to fund the festivities. One of the peculiarities of the Potenze, was their ability to gain the favor of the nobility of their particular area. Though the wealthy families of the city, to include the Albizzi, the Pazzi, the Cercignani, the Panciatichi, the del Rosso, and of course the Medici, largely remained aloof from the daily activities of the Potenze, they nevertheless came to become patrons so as to enrich the festivities in their part of the city.

As if to remind the world that the Medici were still the pre-eminent sponsor of great artists, countless painters, composers, poets, sculptors, and other figures descended on Florence to present their gifts to the newly crowned king. They all hoped to win the favor of patronage of the Medici. As a result, amid the feasts and balls, were galleries of some of the greatest art of the early baroque period. Among the young artists whose trip to Florence helped make their name were Guercino and Bernardo Strozzi. There were established great masters there as well. The great Bolognese painter Guido Reni presented his work
Christ Giving the Keys to St. Peter to Alberto I.

Over and above a Carnival packed with plays and balls, in the course of which were to be seen masquerades of janissaries and Turks—a recurring them in the Italian mind—the event which left everyone breathless, and for which the nobility from Milan to Naples fought over the tickets, was the performance of the great composer Claudio Monteverdi’s
Andromeda. It premiered in February of 1618 to great acclaim. Sadly, the music and libretto have since been lost to history, leaving only its reviews by theater goers as a testament of its greatness.

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The coronation of Alberto I ushered in a great era for Italian culture

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Christ Giving the Keys to St. Peter by Guido Reni

When the festivities concluded in Florence, the king continued his royal progress south. He stopped in Orvieto, where he was hosted by his brother, Prince Giulio, who joined the party once it departed along with his son, Crown Prince Gian Gastone. From Orvieto they passed through Rome and then on to Naples. There, the king and crown prince were made with great celebration by the people. Alberto was much loved by the Neapolitans, who were particularly thankful for what they considered very fair treatment during Masaniello’s Revolt. Upon reaching the “capital of the south”, Alberto, Giulio, and Gian Gastone toured the city on foot, accompanied by only a pair of soldiers. The Medici had long mastered the art of winning over the commons with symbolic shows of solidarity and trust, and Alberto was better at it than most. The walking tour showed the Neapolitans that their king did in fact trust them and it went a long way in healing whatever resentments lingered from the revolt.


The new kingdom was not content within its own borders, as soon became clear. On 2 January 1618, with King Alberto’s blessing, Folco de Roberti published the pamphlet,
Il Regno Unito (The United Kingdom), in which he declared Italian claims to Venice, Aquileia, Piedmont, Corsica, Sardinia, and Sicily, as well as the French-owned provinces of Cuneo and Montferrat. These latter two claims may have passed uncontroversially if not for the untimely death of King Raoul II of France. Raoul’s marriage to Benedetta dé Medici, cousin of Alberto I, had kept the Franco-Italian alliance close. When the king died without issue, Benedetta was quickly and unceremoniously shoved out of power. Not even Raoul’s old supporters, many of whom blamed the “Medici Queen” for failing to produce a son, came to her aid. Paris had long been the least reliable of Florence’s major allies and that state of tension returned with the ascension of King Louis XVIII. Louis was Raoul’s youngest brother and an enemy of the Catholic League. Additionally, he resented the Medici for their longstanding support of the Guises and their followers. He immediately raised tensions with Italy over the matter of Cuneo and Montferrat both as a means to retaliate for their support of his opponents as well as to show his strength to his subjects. Ultimately, it was Italy that stepped back from the French king’s saber rattling. Nobody in Florence saw any value to going to war with France over the two provinces. De Roberti worked to put a positive spin on the events, and successfully, de-escalated the tense situation, though not without some loss of face.

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The provinces of Montferrat and Cuneo were a point of tension between France and Italy

Economically, the recovery of Italy following the War of the League of Sevilla was running along smoothly until it hit a major roadblock caused by the vicissitudes of Early Modern trade networks and production. The Great Salt Crisis of 1618 was caused by a convergence of several major events and trends which help illustrate Italy’s economy in the period. Salt had a long and colorful history in the Mediterranean basin. Most early Italian cities were founded proximate to saltworks. The first of the great Roman roads, the
Via Salaria (“Salt Road”), was built to bring salt from Ostia not only to Rome, but to the rest of the peninsula. Over the centuries, salt remained a staple in Italian cooking and, even more importantly, in food preservation.

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The Salt Crisis of 1618 was one of the first major political-economic challenges under the new Italian state

Italian merchant companies were major players in the salt trade in the Mediterranean and beyond. The
Compagnia Adriatica in particular, had a strong partnership with Venetian trading houses for the import and export of salt. The Venetians had pioneered the trade centuries earlier, both as producers and as re-sellers. While the power of the Serenissima had faded by the first half of the Seventeenth Century, they still possessed some of the most wily and innovative traders in Europe. The Italian fleets, including the trading ships repurposed for war, had been destroyed by the League of Sevilla’s navies and in 1618 the kingdom only had about one tenth of its pre-war shipping capacity. The Venetian merchants, unconcerned with the politics and diplomatic maneuverings of states, quickly filled in the gaps, profiting handsomely by taking steep cuts in exchange for transporting trade goods for the Italian merchant companies. However, the merchants’ independence only went so far. In the summer of 1618, in retaliation for Italian claims on Venice, Doge Alfredo Morosini issued an embargo and forbade, under penalty of death, any Venetian ship to transport goods to or from Italy or to otherwise do business with any Medici subject. The import and export of salt, along with many other goods, ground to a sudden halt.

If the Venetian embargo was the only obstacle, Italy would have been fine. The state also controlled three of the main salt-producing centers on the Adriatic: the cities of Cervia, Comacchio, and Ravenna in the Romagna. However, in the late summer and early autumn of 1618, a succession of severe storms and floods, likely heralds of the Little Ice Age, wreaked havoc upon the towns of the Adriatic. The salt mines and mills were severely damaged and the production of salt dropped off significantly.

This left one major center of salt production in northern Italy: the town of Salsomaggiore. Founded as the Roman city of Veleia, it was built on top of a network of brine springs for the purposes of producing salt for the empire. In 1618, Salsomaggiore fell squarely within the province of Parma and under the rule of the powerful and wealthy Farnese family. The head of the family, the old Duke Alessandro, died, embittered and shunned by his sovereign, in February of 1618. His son had predeceased him only six months earlier, in August of 1617. This caused the title of Duke of Parma to pass on to the 26 year old Ranuccio II. His great-great-grandfather, Duke Alessandro I (not to be confused with Alessandro II, the one who died in February, 1618), had been a supporter of Girolamo dé Medici and helped get the Medici enthroned as Grand Dukes of Tuscany. The Farnese, along with their allies the Bentivoglios of Bologna and the Spadolinis of Mantua, had kept the Po River Valley in line for the Medici for over a century. The two dynasties were even distantly linked by marriage, through the wedding of the first Duke Ranuccio and Alessandra dé Medici in 1509.


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Ranuccio II, Duke of Parma

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The Farnese family tree

The new Duke Ranuccio was youthful, energetic, ambitious, and eager to reassert his family’s place as the second dynasty of Italy. The sudden stranglehold he was presented over Italy’s salt supply presented a perfect opportunity.

Parma was not only an agricultural center but also a primary producer of hams. It was a good place to make ham because before the sea air reaches Parma it is caught in the mountain peaks, producing rain and drying out the wind that comes down to the plain. That dry wind is needed for aging the salted leg in a place dry enough to avoid rotting. The drying racks for the hams were always arranged east to west to best use the wind.


It was also the center of production, along with the lands further east within the borders of the Duchy of Modena, the main producer of Parmesan cheese. This cheese, now called Parmigiano-Reggiano because it is made in the green pastureland between Parma and Reggio, may have had its origins in Roman times, but the earliest surviving record of a Parma cheese that fits the modern description of Parmigiano-Reggiano is from the thirteenth century. It was at this time that marsh areas were drained, irrigation ditches built, and the acreage devoted to rich pastureland greatly expanded. About the same time, standards were established by local cheese makers that have been rigidly followed ever since. Parma cheese earned an international reputation and became a profitable export, which it remains. Giovanni Boccaccio, the fourteenth-century Florentine father of Italian prose, mentions it in
The Decameron. In the fifteenth century, Platina called it the leading cheese of Italy. The English diarist, Samuel Pepys, claimed to have saved his from the London fire by burying it in the backyard.

In Parma, the production of cheese, ham, butter, salt, and wheat evolved into a perfect symbiotic relationship. The one thing the Parma dairies produced very little of was and still is milk. Just as the Egyptians millennia before had learned that it was more profitable to make salt fish than sell salt, the people of the Po determined that selling dairy products was far more profitable than selling milk. The local farmers milked their cows in the evening, and this milk sat overnight at the cheese maker’s. In the morning, they milked them again. The cheese makers skimmed the cream off the milk from the night before, and the resulting skim milk was mixed with the morning whole milk. The skimmed-off cream was used to make butter. It became a requirement of prosciutto di Parma that it be made from pigs that had been fed the whey from Parmesan cheese. Less choice parts of pigs fed on this whey qualified to be sent to the nearby town of Felino, where they were ground up and made into salami (the word salami is derived from the Latin verb to salt).

As a result of all this food production, Parma was strategically placed within the Italian system to exert pressure on Florence. Ranuccio ordered that all ham, cheese, and other agricultural production within the Duchy of Parma could only be sold to him. To avoid building dissent among his peasants, and to limit any attempts at circumventing his new order, Ranuccio paid far above market price for the products. The Farnese had the money to spend and were not shy to use it. But above all else, the thing that hit the Medici the hardest, was the suspension of the sale of salt.

The convergence of the Venetian embargo, the failure of the salt mines in the Romagna, and the Duke of Parma’s hoarding, caused the price of salt in Italy to spike rapidly. Suddenly, peasants and the urban poor could not afford to buy it. Butchers could not cure meats, people in the countryside could not preserve their food as the winter approached.

In the capital, King Alberto was furious at “the betrayal of the treacherous Farnesi.” To make matters worse, the Farnese were cousins with the powerful Orsini family of Rome. Though the relocation of the Papacy had limited the Orsini’s influence slightly, they managed to remain one of the few Italian families to hold significant power in the curia, going so far as to transfer numerous family members to Arnsberg. This put at risk Alberto’s hoped for rapprochement with the Papacy, as the Orsini could sabotage the king’s agents at every turn.


Thus, the Salt Crisis of 1618, which soon crept its way into the following year, turned into a proxy war between the Medici and the Farnese. Ensconced in the magnificent
Palazzo della Pilotta within the mighty walls of Parma, Ranuccio did not stop at economic pressure. He began gathering men and material in his home city, including the Cavalleria Parmigiana, one of the best cavalry regiments in the army, and several infantry regiments hailing from the duchy. With about 4,000 men at his command, Ranuccio had no chance of marching on Florence, but he certainly had the ability to cause problems for the Medici east of the Apennines.

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The Palazzo del Pilotta, the seat of House Farnese

At first, Alberto refused to bow to the pressure. His Interior Minsiter Eustacchio d’Asburgo urged the king to seek an audience with the recalcitrant duke but Alberto would not hear of it. Instead, he ordered funds allocated for the rapid reconstruction of the salt mines in the Romagna. He also began offering large sums of money to any state who would ship salt to Italy. However, many of these pleas fell on deaf ears. The Spanish were not willing to help out a hated rival, and were only happy to watch the Italians struggle with their own internal issues. Likewise, King Louis XVIII of France was still angry over the issue of Cuneo and Montferrat. Not even the Sultan of Tunis nor the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire were willing to ship salt to Italy.

The king remained unwilling to take any more dangerous steps however, such as ordering the arrest of Duke Ranuccio or moving the army against Parma. The strength of that city, one of the main bastions of the Italian defensive line along the Po, meant that it would require a lengthy and costly siege, something everyone wanted to avoid. Finally, in March of 1619, with no prospect of a supply of salt materializing, Alberto agreed to meet with Ranuccio on the condition that the latter travel to Florence. The Duke of Parma agreed, with a guarantee of safety from his uncle, Gastone Bentivoglio, Lord of Bologna, he made the trip to the capital.

With Bentivoglio and Pantaleone Gattilusio acting as mediators, the duke and the king were able to reach an agreement. Farnese would immediately resume the sale and distribution of salt, at discounted rates, to the state. He would also send all of the men he had gathered at Parma back to their service with the army. Finally, he would contribute to the reconstruction of the salt mines in the Romagna. In return, Farnese won a full reinstatement of honors for his grandfather, the recently deceased Duke Alessandro, as well as a renewal of his own officer commission, which had been stripped at the same time the rest of the Farnese clan was banished from public service. Second, and likely most bitterly for the king, the bachelor duke was offered the hand of Alberto’s youngest daughter, the seventeen year old Princess Anna Francesca. This match must have galled the pious king, as Ranuccio was known as a prolific womanizer with at least four illegitimate children to his name. Still, the kingdom successfully avoided bloodshed, and the two most powerful families in the realm were united once again through marriage. With the resumption of salt sales, the worst of the crisis was over, though it would be nearly another full year before production of food stuffs, particularly cured meats and fish, returned to normal.

Following the end of the War of the League of Sevilla, a great many senior leaders in the army left military service. Some, like the Duke of Parma, were forced out. Others, like Carlo Cercignani, Girolamo Riario-Sforza, and Giulio dé Medici, were simply burnt out and wanted to retire in peace. A few, like Alessandro dé Medici, remained available for military service but were too busy travelling and adventuring to be given a full time command. Fortunately for the Italian army, the crucible of war had produced a large number of junior officers with the experience, skills, and ambition to replace the old guard.


The new senior command of the army went to Massimiliano del Rosso. Widely considered one of the best horsemen in Italy, del Rosso was of the same generation as the two Medici princes though he had been overshadowed by his more famous comrades in arms. He had nevertheless distinguished himself as the regimental commander of the venerable Iron Legion, most notably at the Battle of Florence, where he and his men crucially turned back the charge of King Fernando VII and his elite
Caballería El Rey, wounding the Spanish monarch in the process. He was also a sharp military thinker and a pioneer in innovative infantry tactics. Most notably, del Rosso diverged with many of his peers in that he believed the infantry charge should only be used as a last resort in the attack. “Fire and maneuver,” he wrote in a letter to his friend the Minister of War Pantaleone Gattilusio, “is the future of warfare. It requires high levels of initiative among subordinate officers and the relentless emphasis on the military drill. But if it is implemented correctly, it can devastate an enemy with few losses amongst our own.” Del Rosso also came from a Florentine family with prestigious pedigree. He was descended from a long line of successful and important military commanders dating all the way back to the days of the republic. His ancestor, Grand Captain Pietro Leopoldo del Rosso, who served as senior military commander from 1444 to 1471, built the Florentine army into a serious power in Italy, and earned the honorific title, “Father of Florentine Arms.” Massimiliano was also personally linked to the Medici dynasty, having married Alberto I’s youngest sister, Gabriella, in 1595. He would go on to build his own legacy of greatness in the army.

On the other end of the spectrum from del Rosso was Alessandro di Ferrari. Hailing from Maranello in the
Val Padana, Ferrari was of peasant stock, “discovered” as a teenager by Girolamo Riario-Sforza, who recognized in the youth the potential for greatness. Unlike his counterpart del Rosso, Ferrari believed that any and all matters were best resolved with a good hand to hand fight. He had also distinguished himself at the Battle of Florence, leading the attack on the abbey of San Miniato al Monte. That attack was illustrative of his fighting style. He and his men charged up a steep hill, under constant enemy gun fire, and then fought their way into and through the abbey with brutal hand to hand combat, clearing the buildings room by room mostly with daggers and knives. He emphasized to his subordinate officers the importance of being in the thick of the fighting and leading their men from the front.

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Massimiliano del Rosso

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Alessandro di Ferrari

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The two Italian generals held very different views on warfare

Regardless of their outlooks, both generals would continue the long tradition of military innovation that had catapulted the Florentine, then Tuscan, and now Italian army to the top of Europe’s elite. Italy was now an undisputed great power, one whose position in Europe was greatly influential and it needed a military to match the new station. While their styles may appear to contrast superficially, the two commanders worked well together and their different approaches would complement each other in the years to come.

Thanks to leaders like Gattilusio, del Rosso, Ferrari, and others, the Italian army did not stop its efforts to modernize and improve. The introduction of improved carbines, helped increase the maneuverability of certain specialized infantry units and the firepower of cavalry units. The latter benefitted particularly from this innovation, as it allowed them to fire and then reload from horseback while gaining the improved range and accuracy presented by a long-barreled weapon as compared to a pistol.


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Italian-made cavalry carbine, circa 1620

At the beginning of the 1620s, the Italian navy was still in shambles thanks to the losses inflicted on it by the Spanish, Portuguese, Genovese, and Venetian fleets during the War of the League of Sevilla. The one good thing for Italy following the war is that it allowed the kingdom to start from scratch when it came to rebuilding its naval power. A number of young officers rose to the forefront, reinvigorating the sagging morale of the maritime force while also introducing fresh tactical ideas. Foremost among them was Gian Galeazzo d’Este, the twenty four year old second son of Riccardo d’Este, Duke of Ferrara who was promoted to admiral in 1621. Este was an unapologetic Protestant, something that might have gotten him in trouble in the more traditional, staunchly Italian-Catholic army. However, in the navy, where sailors from Italy worked on ships alongside Greeks, Turks, Arabs, Spaniards, Corsicans, Cretans, and numerous other nationalities, the religious question was largely ignored. Este would prove to be an excellent choice. Not only would he successfully rebuild Florence’s naval power in the Mediterranean, but he would also implement new and innovative tactics. Chief among these was the use of the line of battle and the emphasis of more effective use of firepower. The disasters of the War of the League of Sevilla, and the lessons learned from them, would have a significant impact on the future development of Italian sea power. Este and his peers had survived the battles to feel the sting of defeat, they vowed not to let that happen again.


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Gian Galeazzo d’Este was put in charge of the reconstruction of the Italian navy

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Advances in military technology and tactics benefitted both the army and the navy in the years following the War of the League of Sevilla

The reconstruction of the fleet and the need to manufacture more firearms led to an increasing need for iron which the monarchy was unable to produce organically. To remedy this, de Roberti inked a major trade deal with Austria to import iron in exchange for luxury goods and spices. The agreement would prove lucrative for both sides and further strengthen the bonds between Vienna and Florence.

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The trade deal with Austria strengthened the alliance

The unification of the Italian peninsula also allowed the monarchy to focus on outward expansion, particularly the colonial project in the New World. The focus on increasing the number of colonists the crown could support and allocating resources to transportation to get new settlers across the Atlantic began paying dividends by the beginning of the 1620s. Over the course of the second half of the 1610s, Italy also focused on expanding the number of chartered companies and supported merchants working in the Caribbean and on the North American mainland. This latter region provided by far the greater challenge. While the traditional trade routes to Europe from the Caribbean travelled through the straits of Gibraltar via the great Spanish trade node at Sevilla, goods from North America tended to take a more northerly route, with the English traditionally in control. Italian merchants had a longstanding, influential presence in Sevilla and, except in times of war when things became more difficult, wielded as much clout as Spanish and Portuguese traders. The French and English markets, on the other hand, lacked a strong Italian presence. Only by stepping up the number of mercantile companies and personnel in these states, could the Italians hope to compete and therefore reap the full benefits of the mainland American colonies. The main thrust of this effort was the creation of the
Compagnia del Nord.

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New ideas in the military and mercantile realms strengthened the kingdom

Alberto I sent one of his cousins, Ettore, from the Medici-Castellina cadet branch of the family, to Bourdeaux, to oversee the day to day operations of the newly formed company. The Medici of Castellina were the branch of the family traditionally charged with overseeing the dynasty’s commercial and financial affairs. Dating back to 1550, when Grand Duke Francesco Stefano I made the decision to split the political and business affairs of the Medici to avoid perceptions of corruption or favoritism, the Medici-Castellinas had been producing great results. Their separation from the senior Medici line dated back five generations. Their common ancestor was Piero “the Gouty” whose eldest son, Girolamo, became the first Grand Duke of Tuscany. Girolamo’s younger brother, Lorenzo, was the one who became Count of Castellina and established the new cadet branch.


The Castellina branch was headed up by Ettore’s father, Michelangelo. They oversaw three main Medici family enterprises. The first was the venerable Medici Bank, something that they did so well that by the turn of the Seventeenth Century they had successfully bought back full ownership of the institution after it had been partially sold off to the Banca Monte dei Paschi of Siena to gain Sienese support for Girolamo I’s bid to be Grand Duke. The second was the Medici Printing House, originally founded as the Medici Oriental Press, one of the largest book publishers in Europe. The third was the
Compagnia Medicea, a holding company which invested heavily in the various Italian mercantile companies. The Castellina Medici stayed mostly in the background by design, they rarely made trips to the capital except for business and were very rarely appointed to government posts.

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Michelangelo dé Medici oversaw the private business affairs of the Medici dynasty

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The coat of arms of the Medici-Castellina

Despite the distinction between the Medici branches, they worked very much in concert. There was an unspoken understand that, above all, the Medici private business ventures were meant to serve the best interests of the kingdom.

The position of Italy in Europe was strong and internally a sense of stability and calm had returned. Alberto I had now been the ruler of his realm for more than two decades. He was becoming one of the most respected leaders in Europe and the diplomats and merchants who represented the kingdom outside its borders were considered among the best. As a result, the reputation of the kingdom in foreign capitals, where it was now seen universally as a major power, gained in prestige.

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The stability of King Alberto’s reign and the strength of the Italian state improved its reputation
 
Another good, longer and interesting chapter. Your nice AAR make me to begin enjoy quality historical fiction again and as result I choose to read Sienkiewicz and his great masterpieces. Happy New Year
 
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Ah, the moment I've been hoping to see since you started this AAR!
 
Chapter 47: Across the Sea, 1623-1625
The creation of the new, united Kingdom of Italy ushered in a period of peace at home and expanded power and influence on the European continent. Across the Atlantic, however, all was not quiet. The Italian colonial possessions in the Caribbean and in North America each had their own distinct issues to confront.

In the Caribbean, relations between the colonists and native Caribs was developing peacefully and cooperatively. Dating back to the short but bloody Carib War of 1594, no large scale violence between the two sides had occurred. The nature of the relationship varied slightly island to island, from a cold peace on Santa Martina to nearly full scale integration on Domenica. Santa Lucia, the most populous and oldest of the three colonies, was somewhere in between, with Caribs allowed to live in the main city of Forte della Palma, but banned from some of the plantation areas in the north of the island.

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The Italian policy of pursuing trade relations with the natives they encountered was both profitable and diplomatic
The major issue causing problems in the Italian Caribbean, from both a political and a moral perspective, was slavery. Officially, the Kingdom had no slavery policy. In the rare instances where the issue came up at court in Florence, it could cause sharp clashes but nothing was ever resolved. The writer Lucilio Vanini, visiting the court, reported on one particularly eventful meeting of the king’s council in May of 1616 wherein Minister of War Pantaleone Gattilusio, a strong opponent of slavery, declared that, “any Italian who engages in the slave trade is the same as a Barbary corsair except without any of the physical courage possessed by those Mohammedan pirates.” This caused a row with Foreign Minister Folco de Roberti, a prominent merchant with extensive assets invested in the trafficking of humans. He retorted that, “the Marquis [Gattilusio] ought to stick to what he knows: counting how many pounds of horse shit are produced by a cavalry regiment.” At that point, according to Vanini, the Marquis of Treviso pushed himself up from the table onto his one leg and drew his sword. He angrily shouted, “what good will your blood money do for you when you are gutted by a one-legged man?” Some other men in the room managed to talk the Minister of War down and convince him to leave the council chambers. “I’ve killed better men than you,” he said to de Roberti as he stalked out.

King Alberto, for his part, claimed to consider slavery, “one of the great abominations that any Christian can indulge in,” and that “no man can call himself a Christian and own a slave.” Practically however, he did nothing to stop the importation of slaves into the colonies, let alone give any of them freedom. The king’s attitude even caused a rift in his normally very close relationship with Gattilusio. When Alberto informed the Minister of War that he was not to voice his opinion on the matter as it did not concern him, the Marquis replied by tendering his resignation. The king refused to accept it, but allowed him two months’ time to go to Treviso and get his affairs in order, as he had barely been to his new lands since being granted the title of Marquis in 1612. Gattilusio would make the most of his sabbatical, marrying the nineteen year old Giulietta Lombardi, daughter of a prominent Trevisan family, and establishing a household in the new province he was to rule over.

Along with the Marquis of Treviso, other notable anti-slavery figures of the time included, Archbishop Ascanio Filomarino of Naples, the Roman poet and historian Gian Vittorio Rossi, and Cardinal Francesco Maria del Monte. Most of the anti-slavery arguments centered on its immorality and anti-Christian nature as well as its generally dishonorable bent. Aside from priests and other figures within the Church, the strongest anti-slavery voices came, perhaps surprisingly, from the nobility. Many of the nobles, especially among the wealthier families, looked down upon merchants and their profession and considered slavery to be the natural, abominable manifestation of unfettered business interests run amok.

The pro-slavery position came, as expected, from the ever more powerful and influential merchant class. They understood the immense value in the production that could be exploited by the use of slave labor as well as in the slaves themselves. “There is nearly infinite potential in the profits to be reaped from this particular type of chattel,” read one announcement in a newsletter from the Compagnia Americana, the main trading company carrying goods to and from the Italian Caribbean. De Roberti, who was after all one of their own, proved an invaluable asset close to the king. The foreign minister was no diplomat in the traditional sense, but the period of relative international stability for Italy following the War of the League of Sevilla meant that the crown could prioritize profits, and this is where de Roberti excelled. As long as gold kept flowing into the royal coffers, not to mention the pockets of the big mercantile companies in Florence, Pisa, Siena, Rimini, Genoa, and Naples, most everyone remained happy. Slavery, in this case, turned into something the king could ignore in exchange for heightened prosperity.

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A sugar plantation in Santa Lucia
The attitude of the general Italian population on the matter is largely unknown, though it was most likely mostly indifference. Slavery was and would remain illegal in Italy itself, and was only allowed in the colonies. Therefore, the average peasant or poor urban laborer had little reason to ever even think about it, the colonies for them might as well have been on a different planet.

Despite the occasional rancor caused by the slave question in Florence, it remained a relatively limited institution in the first decades of the 1600s. With the exception of a few large plantations in the north of Santa Lucia, most slave owners had small numbers of slaves, between two and four on average and worked alongside them in the sugar or tobacco fields. It would be several decades before the Carribeean colonies became full scale “slave societies” where the numbers of enslaved people began to rival the population of free ones.

To the north, on the mainland, a different issue, with a different group of people, became prominent. In the years since the first colonists with the Compagnia Raritana landed on mainland North America, the settlements had stagnated. The initial hostile encounters between the Italians and the Lenape had continued at a low level for years. They followed a standard pattern. The colonists would fan out in search of furs and gold (though there was no gold to be found anywhere in the colony) and set up small satellite camps away from the main towns of Weehawken and Nuova Arca. The Lenape would watch and wait for an opportunity to strike. As soon as the settlers either sent too many men away trapping, or were otherwise caught off guard, the native warriors would strike, killing as many people as they could, stealing weapons and tools, and burning what they could not carry off. In response, Raimondo Odierno would launch punitive expeditions from Nuova Arca into the surrounding country and kill any natives he could find and burn their villages. After the first couple of years, the Lenape learned to keep their homes far from the Italian settlement and send only their warriors, whose intimate knowledge of the land and light footprint made them nearly impossible to find, against the invaders. By 1620, tales of Odierno’s simultaneous cruelty and incompetence began filtering back to the court in Florence.

Two new threats to the Italian colonial project in North America began to emerge around this time. The first came from a fellow European state: the Kingdom of England. The English were only a few years removed from the end of their civil war, won by the "Roundheads" or Parliamentarians led by Oliver Cromwell. Now reigning as King Oliver I after being crowned by his supporters at the end of the war, Cromwell was a staunch Puritan who was tolerant of other Protestant sects but fiercely anti-Catholic. With England weakened following years of internal conflict, he looked to the New World as the stage upon which his kingdom could assert its influence and prestige.

In 1619, the English went to war with the most powerful Lenape tribes, located in present-day Pennsylvania. In the first major confrontation between Europeans and a large, highly organized, and militarily powerful native tribe in northeastern North America, the former came away with an easy victory. The Lenape War proved to the Europeans that their military advantages over the natives could be decisive and forever changed Native-European relations on the continent. It also brought the English even closer to the Colonia Raritana (Raritan Colony) of Italy. Back in Europe, the Anglo-Italian relationship had been, to that point, one of indifference. However, it was only a matter of time before the colonial rivalry plus the new king’s anti-Catholicism would begin the two powers’ rivalry in earnest. To heighten the tension, the English established a new capital for their North American colonies at the confluence of the Delaware and Schuylkill Rivers: Philadelphia. The Italians, who had their eyes set on colonizing the region known as Unami, which sat between the Raritan Colony and Philadelphia, sped up their efforts to send colonists into the area.

The second threat was a direct result of the first. Due to the military defeats suffered by the Lenape, as well as the high number of deaths they suffered due to European-borne diseases, the tribe weakened significantly. Many of the western Lenape were forced east as a result of their defeat by the English. The chaos that these migrations caused created opportunities for rival native groups to move in on their territory. In 1603, the Pequot sachem and warrior Sassacus was named “Grand Sachem” by his fellow Pequot leaders. Sassacus was a renowned warrior, skilled politician, and ambitious leader. In the years since his elevation, he had consolidated his strength and raised the Pequots to their greatest level of power in their history. Now, he did not only want to conquer Lenape lands, but eventually to fully sweep the Europeans from the continent. He and the other sachems realized the threat that the Europeans presented. They united, under the Pequot banner, most of the tribes inhabiting the lands east of the Hudson River. The Pequots were by far the most powerful and warlike among them though their numbers were boosted by alliances with the Mohegans and Narragansets. The Mohegans, under their own distinguished sachem, Uncas, were just as eager to push the Italians back into the sea.

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Sasacus Noank, Grand Sachem of the Pequots and de facto leader of the Pequot-Mohegan-Narraganset Confederacy

Sassacus, as the sovereign chief of the nation, sought to continue the momentum the Pequot-Mohegan- Narraganset alliance had built up. The present-day town of Grotone was his regal residence. Upon two commanding and beautiful bluffs in the town, from which he could see an extensive view of the Long Island Sound and the adjacent country, Sassacus had erected, with much skill, his royal fortresses. One was on the banks of the Missi-tuk River; the other, a few miles west, on the banks of the Pequot River. In addition to the lands directly under his control, his sway extended over all the tribes on Long Island, and along the Connecticut coast from Narraganset Bay to the Hudson River and spreading into the interior as far as the present county of Worcester in Massachusetts. On a full war footing, Sassacus could command the loyalty of thirty-six sachems under him and lead seven thousand warriors into the field.

Sometime in 1620-21, the Pequots crossed the Hudson River and began attacking Lenape settlements. Not yet ready for open war with the Europeans, Sassacus contented himself with raiding as he gathered his forces. The Grand Sachem was open to trading with the Italians, seeing no reason to shun their goods even if he eventually meant to defeat them. The new and expanded trade between the Raritan Colony and the natives soon ushered in a transformation of the economy along the Atlantic Seaboard. This transformation revolved around two goods: pelts and, newly introduced to Europeans, wampum. Sassacus, like many high ranking native leaders of the region, proudly wore his wampum—decorative beads made from whelk and clam shells—declaring his station, his value and obligation to his people, as well as the spiritual message conveyed by the design of those shells.

Wampum soon made a transformation from native jewelry to colonial proto-currency. The colonists did not have printed money, so their trade economy was mostly based on the barter of commodities such as corn and pelts. Wampum soon joined them as a prime commodity shortly after the colonial arrival and their first contact with the Lenape. This also forever altered the Native systems of reciprocity and balance in life, labor, and trade.

Wampum was made of white or purple beads and discs fashioned from two types of shells: the white beads from the whelk, a sea snail with a spiral shape, and the quahog, a clam with purple and white coloring. Quahogs are found in the waters from Cape Cod south to New York, with a great abundance in Long Island Sound. The clams were harvested in the summer, their meat consumed, and the shells were then worked into beads. Wampum beads were difficult to make and the required drilling, done with stones, could shatter the clam and the dust from the drilling contained silica that cut up lungs if inhaled. Water was used to limit the dust. The shells were ground and polished into small tubes with a stone drill called a puckwhegonnautick. They were then placed on strings made of plant fiber or animal tendon and woven into belts, necklaces, headpieces, bracelets, earrings, and a variety of other adornments depending on the status of the wearer.

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A wampum belt
The color of the beads had meaning. For many natives, white beads represented purity, light and brightness, and would be used as gifts to mark events that invoked those characteristics, such as the birth of a child. Purple beads represented solemn things like war, grieving, and death. The combination of white and purple represented the duality of the world: light and dark, sun and moon, women and men, life and death. Wampum was given as a gift for many occasions: births, marriages, the signing of treaties, occasions for condolence, and remembrance.

Early Italian accounts of wampum in the coastal native nations report that huge strings of wampum were hung from the rafters at days-long games that were similar, according to the European observers, to Calcio Fiorentino. These games were watched and wagered on by hundreds and sometimes thousands of natives, and the winning side received the wampum bounty. Wampum was thus a representation of a value that could only be realized through its exchange.

It took Europeans (the English and Norwegians as well as the Italians) some time to realize how important wampum was to indigenous cultures. Fur pelts were the globally desired commodities in the early days of colonization. Beaver fur in particular was the prime choice for coats and hats—castor gras (greasy beaver) was especially prized. The white settler’s indifference to wampum changed in 1622, when a Compagnia Raritana trader named Giacomo Eliseo took a Pequot sachem hostage and threatened to behead him if he did not receive a large ransom. When more than 280 yards of wampum were handed over, Eliseo realized he might be on to something. The Italians had been using Venetian glass beads for centuries to trade with indigenous peoples in Africa, India, and—more recently—North America. However, the long strings of wampum given to Eliseo were not, strictly speaking, a “cash payment.” They represented the symbolic value or status of a sachem. There is no evidence that even the natives living in the closest proximity to Europeans used wampum to buy and sell things to one another. The Pequots had traded with the Italians and the English and knew the Europeans sometimes used glass beads and perhaps thought they would appreciate wampum.

The Italians then started trading furs acquired along the Hudson River for wampum from the coastal nations. They then used the wampum for their transactions with native fur traders. Once they were using wampum as currency, the pragmatic and profit-minded Italians knew it would be cheaper and easier to manufacture beads in the New World. English and Italian colonists apparently found it a relatively simple matter to force the Lenape and other smaller tribes to mass-produce the wampum beads, stringing them together in belts of pure white or pure purple and setting fixed rates of exchange with the Indians of the interior. The Narragansetts and Pequots and their tribute nations and tribes saw the advantage of becoming integral players in a lucrative trade market with a rare local commodity they could control. These powerful neighboring nations were the favored trade partners of the Italians, and within a few years, wampum production became the primary occupation for both. The Pequots made an alliance through marriage with the Mohegans and their influence increased.

Raimondo Odierno, now officially the governor of the Raritan Colony, recorded that the natives the Italians now dealt with were initially hesitant to use wampum as currency. However, Odierno said, “after two years of trader persistence, wampum became an item of mass consumption.” Once a symbol of prestige, wampum had become a medium of exchange and communication available to all, leading natives throughout the Atlantic seaboard toward greater dependence on their ties with Europeans.

In 1621, great numbers of Italian settlers, arrived in the colonies. One group, mostly hailing from the areas around Naples, went south to the Unami region where they would establish Città del Atlantico. A second group, many of them Calvinists from the Lombard plain, landed north of Weehawken ready to acquire land and make a living. They brought fake wampum beads to present to the “great sachems” of the nearby tribes in exchange for land. Now there were multiple Italian colonies competing for economic success and both were using wampum to trade. The initial settlers of the Raritan Colony, most of whom were Catholic, distrusted the new arrivals and sought to push them outside their already established territories. The new group, calling themselves, I Cercactori (the seekers), established themselves along the western bank of the Hudson River, about 35 kilometers north of Weehawken. They called their newly founded town, Alpina, meaning “Alpine” in Italian.

As wampum production was ramped up, so too was hunting and trapping. Some tribes, like the Abenaki, were so focused on supplying large amounts of furs and pelts in order to acquire more wampum that mass depletions of fur-producing animals resulted. The beaver and marten populations were hardest hit.

Eliseo, the Italian trader who first discovered the wampum value, went north with about 30 men into Pequot territory and established a trading post along the Connecticut River called Speranza (Hope). The new settlement was very close to the centers of Pequot power, and Sassacus’s own home. Of all the Italians who could have led this expedition, Eliseo was the worst possible candidate. Impulsive, hungry for profit, and with little respect for the natives or their traditions, he was best remembered by the Pequots as the man who took one of their sachems hostage. Sassacus and the other sachems, including the one taken by Eliseo, had not forgotten the insult. Still, relations were cold but peaceful for the first two months.

Then, after receiving a resupply from Nuova Arca, which included a large amount of wine and grappa, a number of the men of Speranza got drunk and paddled their canoes across the river and into the native settlement on the other side. They killed three Pequot warriors, raped a number of women, and wounded several men who attempted to intervene. One of the settlers was also killed and three others wounded.

Sassacus, who was nearby when the attack occurred, was outraged when he got the news. He vowed revenge and early the following morning he and seventy warriors entered Speranza by stealth in the pre-dawn darkness. With only thirty men living there and isolated nearly 70 kilometers inland, Speranza was incredibly vulnerable. Sassacus and his men wasted no time, going hut to hut and rousing the Italians and lining them all up in the center of the encampment. They then brought several of the raped women and some of the men who had seen them to identify the perpetrators. Sassacus took the eight men who had crossed the river, plus Eliseo, had them bound and tied, then transported back across the Connecticut. The rest of the men were told to immediately depart, as the Pequots set fire to their structures. Of the 21 men turned out by the Pequots, only five would survive the long, cold trek back to the Raritan Colony, staggering into Alpina in February of 1622. The men taken by Sassacus, on the other hand, were tortured, mutilated, and then killed as punishment for their unprovoked aggression against the Pequot settlement.

Sassacus was not naïve. He understood very well that the destruction of Speranza and the killing of Eliseo and his men would mean open war with the Italians. He sped up the mobilization of his troops, and prepared to march south when the spring came.

News of the Pequot mobilization and the destruction of Speranza reached Nuova Arca by March. Panic quickly spread through the settlement as fears of being overrun by masses of “savages” suddenly seemed very real. Even in Weehawken, which contrary to Nuova Arca had enjoyed positive relations with the natives, settlers feared what the future may bring. In addition to the stories coming from their fellow Italians, the Weehawken settlers had also heard from their Lenape associates of the ferocity and fighting prowess of the Pequots, against whom the Lenape had been fighting, and mostly losing, for several decades. Odierno and Father Filippo Intintola of Weehawken, both sent separate messages back to Italy requesting reinforcements and protection. The two colonial leaders also agreed to meet and discuss closer cooperation between their own settlements, as well as with Alpina, in order to present a united front against this new native threat.

Leaders from all three settlements met in Nuova Arca in April of 1622, with their talks lasting nearly a week. Alpina was represented by its mayor, the radical Calvinist preacher Arturo Cremonese. In order to smooth out any tensions between the mostly Catholic colonists of Nuova Arca and Weehawken and Calvinist-majority Alpina, the three leaders issued a joint proclamation of religious freedom and tolerance within the colony. This was an important moment in the history of Italian New World colonization, as it represented the first official declaration of religious freedom. While it was done only in response to the potential of war with the Pequots, the declaration would outlast the conflict and remain important in North American politics.

Meanwhile, Odierno and Intintola’s panic-stricken messages reached Florence by June of 1622. King Alberto and his advisors met to discuss the situation in North America and what to do about it. They rejected out of hand Odierno’s request for as many as 5,000 soldiers as both unnecessary and impossible from a logistical perspective. Instead of 5,000 men, King Alberto sent the colonists of Raritano one man: Massimiliano del Rosso. He would prove to be more than enough.

Del Rosso set sail from Italy almost immediately upon receiving his mandate to re-organize and command the military forces of the North American colony. His commission, written by Alberto I personally and bearing his royal signature and seal, essentially made del Rosso a de facto colonial dictator, giving him the authority to appoint or remove any and all administrators and to draft or dismiss any man into or from military service. He was also to be given command over all military resources as well as the ability to requisition food and other supplies as needed for military campaigns.

Back in the New World, Sassacus’s Pequot forces began probing attacks against the Italians in Raritano in the summer of 1622. The first direct raid onto a settlement came, as expected, against Alpina on 19 July 1622. There were few casualties on either side, but the Pequots successfully captured a large number of farm animals which the settlers counted on for food and milk. Several further skirmishes occurred in the Passaic Valley between Pequot warriors and militiamen from Nuova Arca. The largest of the Italian settlements was also the most exposed and the biggest prize. Weehawken, set as it was on high ground on a peninsula between the Hackensack and Hudson Rivers, was easy to defend and difficult to infiltrate. It was also reinforced by its alliance with the local Lenape. Alpina, also on high ground along the Palisades, was likewise an easily defensible area. Though Weehawken and Alpina both had smaller populations than Nuova Arca, Sassacus and his sachems decided that for the time being it was best to bypass both settlements and focus their energy on Nuova Arca.

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Woodcut of the Pequot raid against Alpina
The Pequot army, numbering about 7,000 men, invaded the Raritan Colony in August of 1622 and moved south along the series of small lakes that characterize the central highlands of the colony. The Pequots settled in for the winter in the Watchung Mountains, in the vicinity of the present-day town of Monte Chiaro and prepared for an offensive in the spring.

Massimiliano del Rosso arrived in Raritano in September of 1622. He met with the principal colonial leaders in the ensuing weeks and began putting together a new defense policy. The settlers were at first off put by the arrival of a Florentine aristocrat with the power to order them around. However, del Rosso’s military credentials were impeccable and he had the authority to speak and act in the name of the king. Most fell in line quickly. Intintola and the Weehawken settlers, and Cremonese and the Alpina settlers quickly put themselves under del Rosso’s authority as the only hope for their survival. The general immediately began reorganizing and drilling the militias from the two settlements and forming the basis for a standing army in the New World. Within a few months, del Rosso was able to send a dispatch back to Italy declaring that he had, “trained to this point just over one thousand men that I deem to be in fighting shape. I believe this force sufficient to defend the highland settlements [Alpina and Weehawken] but not enough men to hold the valleys. I will not have sufficient men to drive the enemy out until the resistant colony is brought to heel.”

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The reorganized colonial militia in training
Odierno and his followers in Nuova Arca, stubbornly held out, and refused to cooprate with the newly arrived general. This sentiment was not universal throughout the people of Nuova Arca. A pro-del Rosso faction sprouted up calling themselves, uncreatively, the Rossi. They demanded that Odierno follow the royal orders and place himself under the general’s authority. They also wanted to Nuova Arca to turn over command of the militia to del Rosso as well.

Events came to a head in the middle of the winter on 1622-23. The Italian general, used to men obeying his orders, especially in the face of an enemy attack, quickly grew impatient with the recalcitrant Odierno. He ordered the colonial governor’s arrest and marched on Nuova Arca at the head of a 650 man column from Weehawken bolstered by a few score Lenape scouts. While this force was far too small to attack the large settlement, whose own militia numbered over 1,500 men officially, it was enough to send the message that del Rosso was serious. Odierno underestimated how many enemies his heavy handed approach to governance had made for him and these quickly turned against him. The morning after del Rosso and his troops arrived outside the wooden palisades of Nuova Arca, 400 of the settlement’s militiamen marched out and joined them. In an instant, the number of men fighting on each side was evened out. Odierno’s time in power did not continue for long after that. He was arrested by his own men two days later and the gates of the settlement were thrown open. This ended the resistance of Nuova Arca and unified the Italian North American colony under del Rosso’s command. The addition of the new militia now brought his total numbers up to nearly 3,000 men. This still left him at a greateer than 2 to 1 disadvantage vis-à-vis Sassacus and the Pequots, but certainly placed the natives in a more difficult position.

Sassacus’s scouts were keeping him well abreast of the goings on within the Italian camp. He heard of this new “great warlord” who had been sent from across the ocean to lead the enemy troops. He nevertheless remained undaunted, knowing he still had a numerical advantage over his foe. He did make one major miscalculation: assuming that he would have better knowledge of the land than his counterpart. The Pequots were skilled scouts and trackers, but they were not native to the lands where they now meant to campaign. While the Italians on their own were certainly still less well versed in the terrain than the Pequots, del Rosso’s diplomatic maneuverings to bring the eastern Lenape onto the Italian side would soon pay off.

With Odierno in hand, del Rosso now had a key bargaining chip with which to woo the natives of the local area. The Lenape feared Odierno as a cruel and savage man and knew he was the one who had ordered the atrocities carried out against their villages back in 1616 and in sub sequent raids since. The Italian general handed over the former colonial governor as well as a number of firearms and other goods to the Lenape leadership. In exchange, he won a peace treaty and the contribution of several scouts from six different tribes to aid in the war effort against the Pequots. These Lenape scouts, totaling between 50 and 60 men, would make a critical difference in the war to come.

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A Lenape scout armed with an Italian musket
By the spring of 1623, the Lenape had informed del Rosso of the presence of the Pequot war host in the Watchung Mountains to the west. With that position confirmed, the general began preparing his men for battle. They moved out from Nuova Arca on 9 June 1623 and marched northwest. Del Rosso wanted to find an open area upon which to set up a camp and then send out patrols to locate the enemy. He knew his only chance to counter the Pequots’ numerical superiority was to maximize his firepower in an area with few trees and good lines of sight. On 11 June the colonial force established itself in a clearing on the east bank of a bend in the Second River opposite of what today is La Valletta Park. There a narrow but deep valley formed by the river divided the Italian position from the wooded area to the west. The Pequots were on the move as well and had a good read on their foe’s position. They planned to attack and overwhelm the Italians and force them back to their settlement.

Shortly after dawn on 12 June 1623, Sassacus ordered the attack, with his warriors emerging from the woods and charging across the narrow, shallow Second River and up the steep embankment on the opposite side. The natives were used to lazy and disorganized responses by the colonists, especially in the early morning and likely chose such a difficult route of attack because they did not expect their enemy to be ready. Instead of a few sentires guarding a mass of sleeping men, the Pequots were met with neat, disciplined rows of colonial soldiers, firing volley after volley into the attacking warriors. The Battle of La Valletta (Battle of The Glen), as it came to be known, was short and sharp and after taking heavy casualties in the initial assault, Sassacus called off the attack and the Pequots melted back into the hills. After only a few hours of fighting, nearly one hundred Pequots had been killed or wounded at the cost of only thirteen Italians.

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Battle of La Valletta
Though it was far from a decisive engagement, the battle shook the confidence of Sassacus and the other sachems. They had never before fought against such an organized and well trained force of Europeans. After holding a war council, the Pequot leadership decided that they should return to their home lands and reassess their options. The belief was that the war leader they had named “Musqisuw” (“He is red”; likely from a rough translation of del Rosso’s name) would not stay in North America for long. Accordingly, they could wait him out and then deal with the less competent Italian colonial militia leaders later on. They began a withdrawal back to Connecticut and their home areas to regroup. The Pequots were able to put distance between them and their foes before the Lenape were able to bring word back to the Italians that Sassacus and his men had left the area.

Massimiliano del Rosso was not, however, content to declare victory after just one brief battle. He wanted to end the Pequot threat once and for all. He marched his army back to Nuova Arca and began developing a new offensive plan. He located some of the men who had survived the destruction of Speranza and recruited them to aid him in his effort to find the major Pequot settlement.

After making preparations for several weeks, del Rosso and his army set sail from Nuova Arca and travelled around the island of Manna-hata up the East River and into the Long Island Sound. They landed at Niantic Bay on 6 October, roughly halfway between the mouths of the Connecticut and Pequot Rivers and only about 8 kilometers from a major Pequot village. The sudden appearance of a large European army so near their major population centers spread panic among the natives there. Sassacus and his army were further east, at the village of Siccanemos on the Missi-tuk River. Thankfully for the people of the Pequot River towns, including much of Sassacus’s family, General del Rosso was not interested in simply putting towns to the torch. He wanted to find and defeat the Pequot army and force the Grand Sachem to make peace terms. Still, there was no way for Sassacus and his sachems to know this, and seeing a serious threat in the center of their lands, felt obligated to move against the Italians.

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The Italians land in Connecticut
By 11 October, the Italians reached the west bank of the Pequot River, where they found a large and abandoned native settlement. Claiming the site, and using its palisades as the first rudimentary defensive obstacles, del Rosso established his camp, which would eventually grow into the town of Nuova Firenze. Meanwhile, Sassacus and his men were moving toward the east bank, where they too prepared their own battle plans. The ships of the Italian flotilla, which had transported the colonial army up to Connecticut, patrolled the mouth of the river, which meant that crossing by boat with 7,000 men, including a large number of horses for the mounted troops, was far too risky a proposition. Instead, the Grand Sachem decided to withdraw again, deciding he had a chance to achieve a strategic victory without engaging in any battle. Namely, the coming winter would surely take its toll on the Italian soldiery, even if they made winter quarters. He moved his troops as well as his family and the other villagers along the Pequot River, back east to the series of fortified towns along the Missi-tuk River.

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The Missi-tuk Fort
Del Rosso had other plans. He led his men on a march further east and the Italians forded the Missi-tuk River at dusk on 22 October. They then marched another four kil0ometers where they made camp for the night. At dawn on 23 October, the Italians and their Lenape allies approached the circular palisaded village at the top of Pequot Hill to begin the attack.

The Italian battle plan split their forces in order to gain entry to the fort simultaneously through entrances in the northeast and southwest entrances. A Captain Fulgore and 200 soldiers forced their way through an entrance in the northeast quadrant and encountered stiff resistance as their approach was heard alerting the Pequot within Missi-tuk Fort. They fought their way in, followed by more Italians behind them. The narrow pathways made it easier for the Pequots to fight back effectively.


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Attack on Missi-tuk Fort

At that point, a second formation of Pequot and Narraganset warriors, estimated to be nearly 3,000 strong, emerged from the woods, attacking the Italian rear. Del Rosso’s worst nightmare, of being locked in close combat with a numerically superior native foe, had just been realized. In what would come to be known as “La Selva Sanguinosa” (“The Bloody Wood”), Italian and Pequot fought a brutal and desperately contested battle, with each side suffering high casualties.

Back within Missi-tuk Fort, the Italians were faring much better. Advancing among the rows of wigwams, they concentrated their fire and steadily pushed the defenders back. At a certain point, several wigwams went up in flames. It remains unclear if the fire was started on purpose by the Italians or if it was some sort of mishap related to powder and matches. Regardless, within minutes, Missi-tuk Fort was engulfed in fire fanned by a stiff northeast wind. The Italians retreated and encircled the fort to prevent enemy troops from escaping, while firing into the fort at anyone who attempted to get out. While their officers, under orders from del Rosso, were told to let women and children flee, a large number of non-combatants were killed by the colonial soldiers. In less than one hour, more than 400 Pequot men, women and children were killed by the flames.

By this point, the native attack on the Italian rear had exhausted itself. Del Rosso, placing himself at the greatest point of friction for his troops, organized his men into ordered lines and began using his superior firepower to drive back Sassacus and his warriors. The Pequot Grand Sachem, having lost the initiative, finally ordered a withdrawal. The Battle of Missi-tuk Fort was over. In the end, over 400 Italians and 3,500 natives were dead. Among the slain was the great Mohegan leader Uncas, felled at the Bloody Wood, his body found flanked by two dead Italians and riddled with gunshot and knife wounds. The Pequots and their allies had fought valiantly but failed to save their settlement or drive the Europeans back.


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The Battle of Missi-tuk Fort

Sassacus and the rest of the Pequot-Mohegan-Narraganset army withdrew west to regroup and come up with a new plan of attack. The death of Uncas sowed doubt within the Mohegan camp and some departed the coalition to return to their home villages.

The Italians and their native allies established a temporary camp just to the south of the destroyed Missi-tuk Fort to gain a view of Long Island Sound. The Italians ships had planned to meet the force in the Pequot River and provide them with fresh provisions sent from Weehawken.

Del Rosso split his army into two camps for the winter. One would remain at the new fort just south of the Pequots’ old settlement, while the other would return to the original position established by del Rosso after the initial landing. They stayed in place, receiving fresh supplies via ship from the colony, for five months, enduring a relatively mild winter, which limited their casualties. In March of 1624, the army departed their camps and headed north, along the Connecticut River. The goal was to capture the main Pequot settlements along the river, culminating with the largest one across the river from the former site of Speranza. By mid-July, this mission was complete. The campaign resulted in surprisingly little bloodshed, as the majority of the Pequot men were already with Sassacus and the women, children, and elderly left behind either fled or surrendered to the Italians. Under strict orders from del Rosso, those who surrendered were not to be molested so long as they cooperated. While there were tales of rapes and the occasional killing by Italians, the majority of the force maintained discipline, and the number of atrocities were limited. From Speranza, where del Rosso left behind a 200 man garrison to re-establish the trading post, the colonial force marched southwest, intent on finding Sassacus and ending the war once and for all.

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The subjugation of Connecticut

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Pequot women and children captured by Italian colonial soldiers

In the west, Sassacus and Mononnotto, the new Mohegan chief, elected to continue the fight against the Italians and Lenape. They decided to make their stand at Quinnipiac, their largest settlement in that area. By the end of July, the Italians were closing on the native position. Still boasting a force of nearly 5,000 men, Sassacus had his reasons for remaining confident. What he did not know, was that the Italian army had grown even larger, now nearly 4,000 strong. More importantly, they now had artillery, shipped up from Nuova Arca over the winter. These new and terrifying weapons would spell the final doom for the Pequot cause in the war.

The natives decided to hold out in a swampy area south of Quinnipiac where they thought their superior knowledge of the terrain would work to their advantage. The Italians marched to the base of a nearby hill and continuing on, encircled the swamp which was approximately two and a half kilometers in circumference. Following several hours of inconclusive combat the Italians allowed the women and children to surrender with promises to spare their lives. Sassacus and the other sachems agreed, likely because they were realizing their cause was doomed. With the women and children cleared out, the Italians finally unleashed their artillery. The cannonades struck fear into the hearts of the native soldiers, many throwing down their weapons and fleeing within minutes of the first shots. Those who stayed to fight were mowed down by the combination of artillery and musket fire. Massimilano del Rosso’s vision of combined fire power supporting the maneuver of the infantry was being realized with terrible effectiveness. Some hand-to-hand fighting took place throughout the day as the advancing Italians tried to gain entry into the swamp and Pequot warriors attempted to escape. Finally, at dusk, Sassacus and the remaining warriors surrendered to their European enemies. The final battle of the Pequot War was over. The death count for this clash totaled 214 Italians against nearly 3,000 natives. Even moreso than the Battle of Missi-tuk Fort, the Battle of Quinnipiac was a decisive colonial victory.


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The Battle of Quinnipiac

The following day, General del Rosso and his commanders met with Grand Sachem Sassacus, sachem Mononnotto, and other native leaders to negotiate a peace. Given the recent bloodshed, the talks went relatively well. For the next three days, the two sides discussed the future of North America and the role that Italians and Pequots would play in it. By all accounts, del Rosso treated Sassacus as he would have treated any defeated European counterpart. He allowed the Grand Sachem to keep his personal weapons as a sign of respect and good faith.

The Treaty of Quinnipiac made the Pequots, Mohegans, and Narragansets in Connecticut subjects of the Italian crown, essentially vassal peoples. Sassacus and the other sachems agreed to immediately halt all raiding against Italian settlements as well as any Lenape villages within Italian colonial territory. Any native who violated that provision was to be handed over to the colonists to face justice. However, they maintained a great deal of rights, including the right to trade among themselves and with the Italians. They were however, prohibited from trading with the English or any other Europeans without express permission from the authorities in the Raritan Colony. The three tribes also pledged to send warriors to support the Italians should they ever go to war with the English. Finally, Sassacus agreed to pay a large tribute, including wampum and pelts to the Italians as a war indemnity. As one final provision of the treaty, Sassacus, along with one of his daughters and several other sachems, were to travel to Florence to personally pledge their fealty to King Alberto I. Del Rosso promised they would be treated well.


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Del Rosso and the Italians sign the Treaty of Quinnipiac with Sassacus and the leaders of the Pequot-Mohegan-Narraganset Confederacy

“You will find the leader of the savages to be a noble soul, despite his rough exterior,” del Rosso wrote back to his king in a latter meant to introduce Sassacus. “He is a brave warrior and he and his Picos [
sic] and their allies proved worthy adversaries. They may one day make fierce allies against the English.” In addition to his military skill, del Rosso’s diplomatic touch, which allowed him to craft a treaty favorable to both Italian territorial expansion and mercantile interests without doing too great harm to the natives, caught the attention of King Alberto. This would lead the King of Italy to entrust his top general with other negotiations in the future.

By 1625, Italian colonists were firmly positioned in both the Connecticut and Unami regions. As a result, more and more colonists arrived in the New World, eager to exploit the opportunities for expansion presented by the new colonies. In Connecticut, the settlements of Speranza, Nuova Firenze, and Mistico (built on the same location as the destroyed Missi-tuk Fort) became important centers of the wampum trade. In Unami, Città del Atlantico and Santa Matilde, located downriver from the English settlement at Philadelphia, also grew into important centers of trade.


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Northeastern North America following the Pequot War

With their colonial position in the New World stable and growing, King Alberto and his advisors could continue to focus on Europe while reaping the benefit of trade with the natives. Merchants and Jesuits made their way across the Atlantic in increasing numbers as well, going to live among the natives in hopes of profiting off of them or converting them to Catholicism. The Italian colonial project, after some fits and starts, was quickly becoming a great boon for the kingdom.


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Real world locations of fictional place names:


Alpina – Alpine, New Jersey
Città del Atlantico – Atlantic City, New Jersey
Forte della Palma – Vieux Fort, St. Lucia
Grotone – Groton, Connecticut
La Valletta – Glenfield Park, Montclair, New Jersey
Mistico – Mystic, Connecticut
Monte Chiaro – Montclair, New Jersey
Nuova Firenze – New London, Connecticut
Pequot River – Thames River (Connecticut)
Pietrasanta – Stonington, Connecticut
Santa Matilde – Salem, New Jersey
Speranza – Hartford, Connecticut