The Free Company- Book V: Bloody Retribution

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Constance first heard the shouts.

"Plunder! Wealth! To the Spoils!" They cried.

She looked and saw a herd of peasants, none armed well, but well-enough for the butcher's work they would do in the baggage train. She wondered how many she could fend off for a moment, and a converstion she had long ago with her sister about the realites of life in a mercenary band and the possible ways it could end.

But all those thoughts went through her mind in a moment, and a moment later she saw that she should be safe.

Thomas and the reserves followed Captain and a man on a white steed into the flank of the peasants. The crash of arms occurred a few dozen yards from the train, still far enough for her to stay safe.

Clayborne slammed his horse into one of the peasants, armed with some home-spun hammer. He went spilling to the ground. His sword clove through a second. Sean had stopped about 10 yards back, and was picking targets with his crossbow for a few moments. Then dismounted to draw his sword.

It was when Constance saw the sword she knew who the man on the horse was. She laughed at the sight. Both with amusement and elation at having missed death for another day...or at least another few minutes.

 

[Storey]

July 3rd, morning -- Near Cerbaia

Geoffrey had drawn guard duty with the baggage train during this part of the march. As with all things in life there was good and bad to be had from this event. The good was that he was able to ride on one of the wagons while he pondered the similarities of Xenophon’s march through hostile territory and the Free Company’s march. The bad was the dust he had to eat that rose from the marching feet of the entire Free Company. At least Xenophon was trying to get home. Where was the Free Company trying to go? Still he mused to himself it could have been worst, which was just about the time that it did become worst.

The distant clanging and shouting up ahead provided the alarm that something was happening. Geoffrey stood up in the moving wagon as it bounced along the road trying to see what the ruckus was about. As the baggage train slowed to a halt men began to form a defensive line around the wagons. He was about to jump down and join them when he heard a roar coming from the bridge. A mass of peasants waving pitchforks and staffs with the occasional knife thrown in for good measure came running across the bridge howling like a pack of hungry wolves smelling the blood of a fresh kill. Geoffrey’s first thought was how stupid can you get charging mercenaries with pitchforks. That was quickly followed by the realization that there were an awful lot of these stupid peasants and maybe he had better join the ranks of the rear guard.

 

[Storey]

As Captain led the charge into the flank of the peasants attacking the baggage train it caused an immediate transformation in the battle.

Geoffrey watched the twisted faces of the peasants as they were transformed from the hunters into the hunted. What had been a mass of faces that shouted, plunder, wealth, to the spoils became a mass of faces the cried I want to be anywhere else but here. The order was shouted for his rank to advance and with a tightening of his jaw he moved forward with the others. The confused faces of the peasants were disappearing to be replaced by asses and elbows as they tried to flee the area. The Captain called off the attack as the peasants in a tangled throng stumbled back across the bridge. Geoffrey noticed Captain waving toward him. Now why would he do that? About that time Constance came from behind and pushed past him and walked toward Captain.

 

[redwolf]

July 3rd, morning -- Near Cerbaia

Chen Hui saw Captain and the reserves galloped at full speed for the rear. Looking to the rear, he saw the baggage trains of the Free Company stretched out across a wide distance come under attack from the peasants. "Gao!" he cried.

Gao nodded," I know. Omar, your jaghun will stay here and continue guarding the longbowmen. My jaghun, follow me. Lim, raise the signal banners. Let Shur'tu know what we are doing." Hearing the command, the Ming Guards moved at a fast pace to reach the rear before the peasants can cause too much damage. Chen shouted to Huang," Huang, blow your bugle again. Let's those rable know we are coming for them. That will distract them from looting the baggage trains."

Huang blew his bugle. The Ming Guards, moors and europeans in Gao's jaghun roared their war cries as they raced to the rear. But the distance to the rear was some distance and by the time they reached the rear, Captain and his reserves had already engage and put to rout many of the peasants. But the baggage trains stretched for a distance and there remain elements who continue to threaten the baggage trains.

Gao shouted to Chen," Chen, take the Ming Guards and hold the bridge. Make sure no one else gets across. The rest engage the rest of the peasants."

Chen nodded and his Ming Guards veered off towards the bridge. In their paths many peasants were running for the bridge and the safety of the other side of the river. The Ming Guards were not in a merciful mood however and cut down all in their way to the bridge.

Reaching the bridge, the Ming Guards formed up blocking any more advances from the other side of the river. Any peasants on the Free Company side were also prevented from crossing back.

 

[Valdemar]

July 3rd, the battle along one flank of the line

Johan had followed the march doggedly, bored to the core of his being, and when they finally formed into battle formations it turned out to be against a vastly inferior enemy, on the wrong side of the river and the end it had petered out and they had resumed the march.

Just as he was about to dose of in the sun, with Hannibal doing all the work, there was a shout and a clamour up ahead, somewhere out of sight from the cavalry to see. A messenger ordered them to sweep around an apparent ambush and the entire force under Kent advanced at a trot in a wide circle to surround the ambush and contain them.

Just as the front ranks got into position a horn sounded across the battlefield and Johan swore, the peasants had started moving. From a top of their mounts the men-at-arms could see the peasants swarm across the bridge to attack the vulnerable baggage train. Kent swiftly ordered three hundred men about face and the remainder to contain whatever was left of the ambush.

Johan and the others turned their great warhorses around and began circling back in a wide sweep hidden from the river by the baggage train. From their elevated position they could see first the light cavalry engage at extreme bowrange, then first the train guards. By the time then captain and his men engaged the heavy cavalry had rounded the long column and was coming up from behind the baggage, close to the river.

The peasant had been so intent on their loot that they failed to notice the dust cloud rounding the column from behind and by the time that the horsemen became visible, they had their hands full with the guards and a mob of infantry from that Irishman they had picked up in Florence.

Chen and his men were about to engage the tail end of the rabble when they over the din heard a low rumble. He had seen the men-at-arms attack during the knight skirmish, but that had only been about twenty-five and in the dark, now as he signalled for his men to pause he rose in his stirrups and watched what he had taken as the ordinary dust cloud following the army take shape and form into a solid wave of men and horses, crested by the hedge of lances.

The jaghun quickly changed direction and moved closer to the shore, the heavy horses had to stay on solid ground as the lighter ponies clung to the waters edge and sealed the bridge and the faith of the peasants.

The three hundred heavy men and horses cut through the last third of the peasant mob like a scythe through summer wheat, leaving a gigantic vacuum filled with broken bodies. Johan’s lance didn’t even break as they rushed through their ill armoured opponents and reigned in their horses as they saw the frantic waving from the commanders group, wondering what that was about they allowed the peasants to run, figuring that the light cavalry could catch them if need be.

There would be a lot of fields untended this summer.

 

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3 July 1440, Morning - Near Cerbaia

Sergeant Baer figured he must be fighting one of the enemy commanders. Some one stupid enough to lead an attack on a German pike formation (which already outnumbered him 3-to-1) with only swords and melee weapons, but smooth enough to avoid being hacked down in the first several minutes of fighting. He barked orders to his squad in both German and Italian. "Move right!"

The squad complied. However, not all of the men had oriented to face east to meet the ambushers. While most of the men moved south to close the gap, some turned to their right, toward the ambushers. The resulting collisions caused confusion and a few dropped pikes. After a couple fruity, German curses, Baer amended: "Toward LeClerc's! Protect the longbows!"

***

Having switched his mace to his shield-arm, Scallini drew back his right to throw one of his knives. His opponent, the bear of a man who thumbed his nose at Scallini by keeping him off-balance and all the while having enough attention left over to order his unit about, made another thrust. Scallini blocked the jab and threw the knife for all he was worth. The man dodged, and the blade sailed past his head and cut a deep gash in the arm of the man behind him. The victim, a giant of man with biceps built like a horse's leg and fists as great as hams, didn't utter a word. Paying as much attention to the wound as he would a mosquito bite, he turned his gaze and his pike in the direction of his attacker.

An aide pulled Scallini before he was sliced by the razor-sharp pikes. "Signore! We're surrounded!" Another man had taken Scallini's place in the line, but was not faring well. In fact, by the time the Florentine commander had taken in the situation, the man had been cut down and another had been shoved into the gap.

What Scallini saw did not bode well for his force. The bold gamble had succeeded in getting maybe half the second wave through to attack the longbows, only to be cut down by... mongols? And some bizarre cavalry dressed unlike anything he had ever seen before. The rest of the second wave, at least those that hadn't fallen to the thrum of Mongolian recurved bows he heard above the din of battle earlier, had been crushed between the hammer and anvil of the enemy infantry. His first wave - forced back by pikes, hacked by swords, holed by crossbows, and now cowed by cavalry - had collapsed to a small demoralized pocket around himself.

If we do not escape soon, we are dead. He tried to gaze above the tumult of battle to see if Alberti's archers were doing anying... could do anything... to help them. He could see them trading arrows with the longbows. But if the Free Company infantry were distracted by the fusillade, they didn't show it. We are alone. Coming to a quick decision, Scallini shouted one last order...

 

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3 July late morning

Scallini's men were completely surrounded, perhaps a tithe of the original force could still fight, perhaps a few of the original ambush has escaped he was in no position from here to say. In the end he knew, everything had gone as well as it could, and he was still slaughtered. He had just resigned himself to his death, when he saw a new banner go up, he recognized it immediately. The order he had planned to give died in his throat.

"Oh Hell," was all he said.

Sean O' Glaigh stopped fighting as soon as Constance was safe and the peasants routed from the train. Thomas followed until the others arrived. Surrounded by men looking for blood after the day's earlier missteps Thomas pulled back to let them have it, until Sean arrived. "Tis time we en' this. We need 'im alive."

"Who is that?"

"Oh, tis Scallini, one of the local nobles. More ambitious 'an smart. Always has bin. Raise the banner."

"Sean, do you think that's a good idea, Cosimo will..."

"Christina will tell Cosimo I am wi' the Company before he finds ou' abou' this. An' he ne'er ordered this. I jus' have to be...careful in how I go abou' presenting this, tha's all."

Moments later the Flower-in-Harp of House O' Glaigh with its words, "Honor and Blood" beneath rose up.

Whatever Scallini's order would have been, it quickly turned to "Yield!" He looked about him, and maybe a score were left in any kind of fighting shape. Minutes later, he was led to the rider of the white charger.

"Ye always did have more ambition 'an sense, Scallini," Sean began. "Did the Medici order 'is?"

"He would have been proud..."

"Did he order it!" Sean thundered. The prisoner shook his head dumbly, "Ye said the truth once today. The order woulda come through me if he did. An' I doubt anyone wou' be proud of ye gettin' a thousand men slaughtered fer no cause an' wi' no orders."

"But they're murderers....they're..."

"Really? When was there a trial in my absence? Ye know this? Why werena any o' these men arrested when the Medici came to their Camp?"

Robert O' Glaigh had slipped under his father's banner and slowly worked his way to the front, Thomas nodded him in. He piped up here, guessing the game his father was playing. "I was at the Camp when The Medici talked to the Company. The Medici told the Company to leave, he said nothing about wanting us dead."

Sean seized on this, "Ye see, yer not doin' the will of the Medici, yer thwartin' it. I'm here to ensure tha' the Company leaves Tuscany withou' incident...on either side. No' only this, but attackin' the Company...and attackin' women and children. Ye put in danger the lives of non-combatants...includin' some of Florence's own citizens. Includin' me. Be glad I need ye alive." Sean glared, "Otherwise I'd let them hang ye fer murder."

"But why would you be riding with the enemy of Tuscany?" Scallini asked.

"For the same reason we are," the voice came from the red-clad emmisary, "His Holiness will be very interested to know why Florence would attack a Papal emmisary. Does the Medici risk excommunication by attacking the Pope?"

Sean picked up on it again, "Another reason fer me to travel wi' 'em. In the wake of Her most unfortunate death, and the Medici's understandable grief, twas necessary for Florence to escort a Papal emmisary out wi' sufficient...dignity."

Well, this keeps getting worse. Scallini thought to himself. "I understand," he resigned, "No, the guilt is mine alone, I was...ignorant of your choosing to travel with this band."

"I see, well, if you make suitable penance, we might arrange for this guilt not to have any...eternal consequence, shall we say."

Sean could barely contain the smile tugging at his lips. "Ye will give the Company...and His Emminence, all the infermation ye need. Then ye'll receive instructions from ME on how ye'll make restitution to the people of Tuscany. We''ll speak agin this evening. Cap'n can decide wha' to do wi' ye until 'en." Sean turned his charger and rode off, his bannermen with him. "Stow that thin'," he said to Thomas as soon as they were out of sight.

 

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3 July 1440, Morning - Near Cerbaia

"Yield!"

"Signore?"

"We're finished, we're trapped, and we're alone. Further fighting means we'll die for sure."

"Surrender to condittori?!" The aide spat the last word as if he were trying to eject some foul taste from his mouth. But the rest of the Florentines didn't need to be persuaded. They dropped their weapons and raised their hands above their heads.

***

"Yield!"

The Florentines dropped their arms, and Kincaid breathed a sigh of relief. He had been left in the rear of the ranger's formation and never got his sword into play. By the time he had come around the side of the rangers to find a line of sight for his crossbow, the sound of fighting had ceased. Horses still whinnied, wounded still screamed, but the sound of steel on steel had stopped.

Realizing he was oppose Jaeger's regiment, he started looking for Cyril. It didn't take long as Cyril, out of concern, had already found "the Young Master" and snapped him a salute. Kincaid noticed that he was a little sweaty and not a little dirty, but he still smiled the same affable smile. Kincaid breathed another sigh of relief.

***

"Yield!"

Landen halted as he saw the enemy disarm themselves. Gazing down at the ground, he could see the lifeless bodies of many young men. Most were the slain ambushers, but there was one soldier from LeClerc's regiment who he knew by sight. The boy's name was Marcus. He had a habit of waking early, and they had always exchanged verbal greetings when they went about their business while the rest of company was still asleep. Now he was just a corpse - face half buried in muck, the one visible eye wide with terror, the tunic with boot prints where the enemy had trod repeated on him during the heat of battle. Forgive me, Marcus. We have... no, I have failed you. Landen gripped his sword a little tighter, forcing himself to not cut down the nearest Florentine.

Sean O'Glaigh prattled on, but Landen only looked at the man before him. There was terror there, the same terror that Marcus died knowing. The man brought his hands together, still above his head, and started mouthing a prayer. It at once humbled him and sickened him. How dare you kill our comrades and then, the next moment, pray to our Savior for protection? But killing you will not bring any of them back. Landen gripped his sword a little tighter.

 

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July 3, Morning- Florence

He's mad with grief. Christina thought to herself. She decided that for the moment, she should tread softly with him. But there was one matter she'd have to address immediately. "Be truthful," Sean had said. She drew herself straight, her tiny frame carrying all the regality she could give it, it was a moment she actually wished for a few more silver streaks than the wisps she had now. "Lord Cosimo, you should know that my husband is travelling with the Free Company while they are in Tuscany."

The flames returned to his eyes at once, "Why is that?"

"Three reasons. First, the emissary of the Papacy that was here left with the Company. It is only proper that a suitable member or bannerman of your house should accompany them. Since you were occupied with the arrangements for your mother, Sean took it upon himself to protect the honor of the city."

"Presumptious of him," Cosimo replied.

"Perhaps, but had you made other arrangements."

"Under the circumstances, I'm sure His Eminence would understand."

"Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not. Why antagonize such a valued friend for no reason?"

Cosimo harumphed, but he could find no hole in that logic, "What are the others?"

"Second, to ensure safe passage. Given the circumstances, the necessity for this should be obvious."

"I care little about that.'

"Well I do," Christina asserted. "I will not have my son villified by your grief. That reflects poorly on not just my family, but your own honor as well, to mistreat those who have devoted their lives to furthering your House." With that, she soothed her voice, and gently added, "Besides, what of the safety of the citizens who might foolishly try to attack the Company?"

"And the third?"

"To comfort a friend. Captain lost a spiritual father. I find it amazing that you could seriously think that Captain would order the murder of Syban. Even if someone in the Company did this, which Sean is doubtful of, you must know that Captain would not order the death of such an old friend. It does him no service."

"His choice in friends is suspect then," Cosimo replied.

"Perhaps, but Captain never wanted him dead."

Cosimo blanched for a moment, then recovered. Christina's body made no sign that she recognized the mark had been hit. Cosimo then replied, "So will Sean be returning once the Company has left Tuscany?"

"Not immediately...he then intends to hunt for the murderer so that he can be brought to justice."

"We have the murderer."

"Even if...which even I find doubtful...Maria was involved in the murder, who poisoned her? Someone else had to be involved, no? Syban didn't have the poison, and your mother never awoke. Someone had to poison her. Who?"

"I assume Frederik."

"An odd assumption, given their relationship, but let's say it's so, do you have him?"

"No."

"Then he needs to be found, to either acquit himself or stand trial," Christina knew that she was treading dangerously here, but it was a valid argument--as far as it went.

"All the more reason for me to see the evidence that Sean uncovers," Cosimo responded.

Christina sighed, "Very well. Sean had already said that I should be truthful with you, so I shall."

 

[redwolf]

3 July 1440, Morning - Near Cerbaia, at the bridge

Barely a minute after Chen and his Ming Guards had formed up at the bridge, Gao and the rest of the jaghun came galloping up to the bridge. Puzzled, Chen asked," I thought you were going to engage the rest of the peasants." Gao shook his head," I don't need to. They will take care of them."

Chen looked to where Gao had pointed. At first he could only see a dust cloud but as it got nearer he saw the heavy cavalry thundering in on the pesants. "About time they showed up." commented Chen. The jaghun watched the heavies dispatch the enemy easily, moving back to the water edge at one point to allow the the heavy cavalry more space to to do their work.

Very quickly, it was over. Looking along the battlefield, Chen could see that the battle was effectively over. Chen commented," Look like we got out of the ambush without too much trouble."
Gao replied," Could be worse, Chen. But then again, this should not have even happen. Steps have to be taken to ensure that we don't get ambush like this again."

Chen nodded. In front of them, a small knot of peasants, the few remaining survivors of the heavy cavalry charge moved towards the bridge. Seeing the bridge guarded, many threw down their weapons and raise their hands up in their air. After the skirmish with the heavies, they had enough fighting.

Chen looked over at Gao and asked, pointing to the peasants," What shall we do with them? Let them back across the bridge?" Gao thought for a while before replying," We will let Captain decide. Chen, you and your Mings take them to the open area over there and watch over them till Captain decide their fate." Chen nodded and went off with the rest of the Ming Guards.

 

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July 3rd - Near Cerbaia - Afternoon

O'Floinn dismounted. Well, to be more exact, he felt tired and let himself fall off his horse. Jean came over.

"Danny?"

"Aye?" O'Floinn responded as if nothing was strange about his lying face-down in the dirt.

"Are you alright?"

"Why wouldn' I be?"

"You're lying in the dirt"

"Is there a be'er place to be lyin' while we're 'ere?"

Jean sighed and wandered away to check on casualties. The Celt lay in the dirt a few moments before sitting up. After taking a long drink, O'Floinn mounted his horse wandered toward the rapidly thinning mass of enemies to see the heavy cavalry at work.

 

[The_Hawk]

July 3rd, late morning -- Cerbaia

Gualtiero Alberti watched his peasant levy stream across the bridge as his remaining archers fell back. He watched from the walls of Cerbaia as they were slaughtered, first by one cavalry charge, then by another, and another, and another. The untrained irregulars were torn apart piecemeal by the capable horsemen. Hell, Alberti thought, I doubt trained infantry would have fared much better.

Trained infantry. His gaze floated across the battlefield, through the haze to where Scallini's attack had touched off the battle. He could see O'Glaigh's banner rise briefly and fall again, the act heralding the Irishman's triumph. He waved over the nearest guard. "Close the gate. We will be receiving no more survivors today."

Alberti turned and headed for his chambers. I will have to figure out how to explain to Cosimo why his garrison was cut in half so readily -- and for so little gain.

 

[Craig Ashley]

July 3, Florence - Midday

Cosimo sighed deeply. His head ached. This all seemed so ... so irrevelvent. What could Sean do? Find Frederik and bring him to justice? Clear his and Maria's name? What would it matter? None of it ... none of it would bring back Catherine. What could anyone do? God himself could not ... or at least would not change the fact, Catherine de Medici was dead.

Cosimo rose slowly, like an old man. “Signora, please keep me informed on your husband's actions. I appreciate your honesty. I will remember all that you have said.” Christina wasn't sure if Cosimo intended there to be a double meaning to his words. All at once, he seemed distant, distracted. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must go. Please feel free to visit my home anytime. Your company would be most welcome.”

The grieving son turned without waiting for a response and let himself out. He rode slowly back towards Florence. He arrived home, not certain how he got there. Slowly he dismounted and Raphael came out to greet him.

“Master Cosimo, it's so good to have you back. Is all well with Signora O'Glaigh?”

Cosimo grunted something that might be interpreted as a yes.

“Very good. You know it is time for our daily duel.” The faithful servant smiled as he spoke.

“Not today Raphael. I just don't feel up to it.”

“Of course my lord, perhaps something less strenuous? A game of chess?”

Cosimo's eyes drifted away from Raphael. “Very well. Whatever.”

The gonfaloniere's servant hurried away and quickly returned with a ornate set of pieces. While Cosimo waited, he simply sat, wishing he was somewhere else. He watched without interest as Raphael set up the board. Cosimo of course was given the honor of being white.

“My lord?” Raphael asked softly, “It is your move.”

The young noble blinked and absently moved his king's pawn forward.

“Ah, very clever, Lord Cosimo. Setting things up for your devilish Bishop's Game, no doubt. Very well, I'll play your game.” Raphael pushed his own king's pawn to meet Cosimo's with a flourish. Cosimo plopped his knight down. “Ah, switching things up on me, eh? The Vienna game, your a sly one, Master Cosimo. I'll have to keep my eye on you.”

They continued to play, Raphael providing a running commentary of the game and playing just below Cosimo's level - which was hardly expert. Raphael had just hung his last rook when they were interrupted.

“Lord Cosimo, the German you requested has arrived.” Sebastian could barely contain his glee.

The color drained from the young gonfaloniere's face. He shook his slowly, like a man trying to remember what he did on a night of heavy revelry. “The German? You mean ...? Yes, of course you mean. Send him away, Sebastian. I've decided his services are no longer required. Send him away. I don't even want to see him.”

“If I may, my lord, he has a track record for extracting information - useful information. She may in fact know where Hviid is, or at least where he may have headed.”

Cosimo sighed and rubbed his temples. “Perhaps you're right. What do you think, Raphael?”

Shock covered Cosimo's longtime personal servant. Never, in all the years he had served Cosimo, did the young lord ever ask for his advice on affairs of state. “Master Cosimo, I believe it is the mark of truly great man to show mercy to even his greatest enemies.”

Cosimo sat in silence. Both Sebastian and Raphael waited for his decision. The silence stretched into uncomfortable territory. Finally Cosimo spoke. “Yes.” The two servants waited for a further explanation. After a time, their patience was rewarded. “Raphael is right. Send him away. Let us speak of this no more.”

“My lord is a most gracious ruler.” Raphael beamed at Cosimo.

“Lord Cosimo, there is a fine line between mercy and foolishness. Hviid still walks free, and he may even attempt to gain vengeance when the prisoner is executed. It would be safer for us all if he were brought to justice. I would hate to see you suffer Signora de Medici's fate. I don't think I could bear such a tragedy, but I shall do as you ask and send the German away.” Sebastian turned to leave, hesitating just slightly.

“No wait. You are right. I am so thankful for you, Sebastian. It is good to know that some of the people around me provide me with sound advice. Please carry on as we discussed. Just keep him away from me. I have no desire to meet this man.”

“As you wish, Lord Cosimo.” Sebastian waited until his back was safely turned before allowing his sickly grin returned to his face.

 

[Valdemar]

July 3, after battle

Johan had pulled the boring duty of securing the rear alongside another fifty or so other men-at-arms. They slowly followed the road they had travelled for about half a mile, before circling back and keeping station a few hundred yards behind the last wagon while the light cavalry spread out even further.

Another hour passed and the company slowly got everything straightened out when a small group of Mongols appeared with a lonely rider on a very fast looking horse. Without a word they left the poor guy and Johan trotted closer.

“I have a set of dispatches to O’Glaigh,” was all the man said. Johan nodded and detached him self and two more men to follow the courier to the command section.

They escorted the man to the command section, handed him over to the regular guards and headed over to the wagons for some water and a loaf of bread before they returned to their post. They had just remounted when a guard came by, “You Johan?”

Johan nodded, “you’re needed in the command tent, follow me.” Johan followed the guard wondering what he had done this time.

As he entered the shades of an awning spread out from one of the wagons, he came to attention with a clang and snapped a salute. Lochlan looked up, “that’s him alright, he’s the one Frederik noticed on the first day in Rhodes.”

Captain nodded in understanding, “Young man, we’ve received communication from a man known as Frederik Hviid, apparently he expects you to decipher them?” Captain raised his eyebrow, but if Frederik trusted this man, then they would have too.

Johan tried hard to avoid any emotions to escape unto his face, he simply nodded and accepted the package while the thoughts raced through his head.

He simply translated as much as possible and handed over the copies of the letters send to the Florentine nobilities. He felt it strange to finally get an insight and confirmation to the rumours of Frederik’s metier in this way, the boy from their childhood had come a long way indeed. When he was finished he merely saluted and turned about face, wanting to escape all those questions he could see burning in the eyes of the ranger, that strange old Irishman and Captain, if Frederik had not chosen to tell them who he was then he wouldn’t.

Not now anyway, he turned to leave, there were way too many officers around this place.

 

[The_Hawk]

June 3rd, midday -- Florence

Maria awoke with a start to the sound of loud arguing outside her cell door. A glance at Jan showed that he didn't have any idea what was going on either. She rose and looked through the bars.

Outside, Mikhail, disguised as a priest, was arguing with Mastiff and Leveret. "And I'm telling you I must see the prisoner!" the huge Varangian growled. "I am her spiritual advisor!"

The two guards put on a brave face when confronted with the angry Russian. "And I'm telling you," Mastiff replied, "that no one gets in! Lord Cosimo's orders."

Mikhail produced a document from his pouch. "Lord Cosimo ordered me to attend to her." He presented it to the guards. Maria suspected -- correctly -- that it was simply a poor forgery with the seal of the Medici affixed. Both she and Mikhail prayed that the two guards were not chosen for their ability to read.

They were not disappointed. Both guards glanced at each other, confused, before looking at the document. Each shrugged. Leveret examined Mikhail, something perhaps dawning on him. "Why would Lord Cosimo not send his own priest for her?"

Maria jumped in. "Surely Lord Cosimo's priest is not Orthodox?"

Leveret gave her a surprised look. "And you are?"

"I converted in Constantinople." She glanced at Mikhail. "You cannot imagine what went on there..."

Leveret shook his head, disinterest overwhelming his brief curiosity. "Fine, fine." He motioned for Mastiff to open the door. "Do the Lord's work, Father."

Mikhail entered, nodding to Jan and Maria. The admiral and the Varangian knelt on the cold stone floor and mimed prayer. "Greetings, good lady," he said in Greek.

Maria paused. How could she respond, and be sure that the guards -- and Jan -- couldn't understand her? When she finally spoke, it was in the Dane-tongue; she stumbled haltingly along with the few words and phrases Frederik had taught her. "Hello, Mikhail."

Mikhail nodded, smiled, and responded in kind, slowly enough that Maria could follow him. "The Emperor and Strategos send their regards, and their eternal gratitude for your aid at Patras. Your friends have not forgotten you."

"My friends," Maria murmured. "What of Frederik?"

"No news, which is probably better than any -- so far, he seems to have eluded capture."

"And the Free Company?"

"Forced to depart by Cosimo. They are headed north at the Pope's insistence."

"Then they will join the war against Venice?"

"It seems so."

Maria paused. "Then you must do a favor for me."

"Of course."

"Get word to my fleet. Tell them what has happened, and tell them to put to sea and strike against the Venetians whenever they can. I am sure the Pope will allow them to sail from Ancona."

"It will be done."

Maria glanced over her shoulder at Jan, who was watching the exchange curiously. "Another thing. Get word to the Free Company that their doctor is being held with me and against his will."

"I shall do so. Is there any...?"

The sudden bark of voices from outside the cell caused both Maria and Mikhail to rise. The cell door swung open, revealing Sebastian; a step behind was an unfamiliar figure with wickedness plainly plastered across his face.

"Get out, priest," Sebastian began, grinning cruelly, "and I hope you gave your charge the last rites. She may need them sooner than she thinks."

 

[unmerged(4007)]

June 3- Early Evening

Sean retired to his tent, two men stood guard outside. The other of the three who had accompanied him stayed in the tent. Sean read the letters with interest. "Well, tha's interestin'," Sean said when he finished.

"What, Sean?" Brian Fitzgerald asked, Brian was a giant of a man. He carried an axe, and looked like someone a king might want to have use it for judicial purposes. But his mind was almost as quick as his arms, black hair, black beard, and eyes that betrayed his cunning. He was the son of one of those who went into exile with Sean long before.

"It seems that Frederik thinks he knows where Mario is goin'. The only problem is now findin' which way he's goin'. Find Friar Giovanni. When you do, tell 'im to have our people keep an eye out fer him, he should be goin' to Milan, I think...maybe Mantua, but accordin' to this he's no'. Interestin'. Come back here when ye've given the word where he's headin'--or hidin'."

"Ye'll no' be huntin' yerself?" He asked.

"No' yet Brian. I need a li'l more to go on before I head ou'...an' af'er today I definitely wan' to see the Company across our borders. An' on that matter...send in the idiot."

Brian rose and exited, and a few moments later Scallini came flying through the tent flap. The hand that threw him almost the size of the fat face of the Tuscan.

"I trus ye've gi'en Cap'n and His Grace all tha' they have asked fer, without hesitation." It was not a question, Ban Realte was drawn and sitting ominously on the desk top.

"Of course, de Celta."

"I ought to shorten you by a head fer killin' so many men without cause. But I have need o' ye alive...fer today. Cross me agin, an' I'll make sure I can find someone else to do yer task."

"What would you have of me, M'Lord?"

"Go back to yer master and tell 'im he'll immediately dispatch 50 riders--unarmed and unarmored. They're to ensure the safe passage of the Company to Tuscany's border. Tell 'im also tha' I will personally send the report on this matter to the Medici...an' if he tries to go aroun' me or grow a brain, I'll see his head adornin' a pike by the next daybreak."

"M'Lord, I don't know that he has that many."

"Find them. They cin ride mules fer all I care. It's no' like I'm plannin' on them goin' fast." Sean said coldly.

"Anything else."

"Yes, tell 'im the next time he thinks of dispersin' troops withou' an order in writin' from meself or the Medici, he will lose his land and titles--if he lives through the mistake."

"Is there anyway we might be of use to you?" Scallini hoped perhaps he could salvage some good from this, if he could get into de Celta's good graces...perhaps.

"Wha' wou' I want wi' ye?" Sean laughed. "Ye have yer orders. Go. I'll expect the riders here by daybreak...an' if anyone tries a stunt like this agin, they'll be the first to die." (A bluff, Sean thought, but he won't be able to risk that.) "So if yer master values wha' li'l manpower he has left. He'll be sure to send word ahead no' to repeat this lunacy. Clear?" Scallini nodded in response. "Go."

 

[unmerged(14268)]

(Redux note: This should have taken place before Sean and Scallini's final interview.)

3 July 1440, Afternoon – Near Cerbaia

Antonio Scallini, minor Florentine noble and aide-de-camp to Gualtiero Alberti, was undergoing the most trying interrogation of his life since the age of 14 when his mother caught him in the rose bushes with one of the parlor maids. At the moment, he stood before the intimidating combination of the mercenary commander, known simply as Captain, and Bishop Bertilucci. Surrounding him were, he correctly assumed, the lieutenants of the vaunted Free Company. The Free Company which he embarrassed on the field of battle. Something told him he was not among friends. Conspicuous by his absence was Sean O'Glaigh.

Scallini still didn't know what to make of the appearance of de Celta. If he and the bishop needed an escort, why couldn't they get an escort from Lord Cosimo? But since they weren't the ones being questioned, there was no point debating that question now. So he tucked it away and turned to the more pressing question of how he was to survive this incident without ruining his position or reputation.

"Who ordered the attack?" Captain was going to handle this interrogation himself.

"I will not lie to you, gentlemen." He addressed each member of the congregation in turn. "My lord, Gualtiero Alberti, ordered the attack. However, I should add that he is not to blame."

The thought of selling out Alberti came to mind immediately and was thrown out just as quickly. When the Free Company leaves, he would again be at the mercy of Alberti's dictates. Perhaps he could claim ignorance and say he was simply following orders? Possibly, but they could still conceivably lay some of the responsibility at his feet for not questioning the order. No, the way out is to dodge all responsibility by saying they had been duped and lay the entire crime on someone else. Using a story they couldn't corroborate. It would only require twisting the facts, and he was quite confident in his abilities of being economical with the truth. After all, his wide was still none the wiser, and he had been carrying on for at least four years...

"You speak in riddles," commented his Holiness.

"What I mean, your grace, is that Alberti did, indeed, order the attack. He raised the peasant levy in preparation of the attack. He planned the ambush." Scallini noted with pleasure that, at the word "ambush," the faces of the Free Company officers became a notch more grim. Sooner you than me, Alberti. "He ordered the plan put into action when he heard you were about to pass Rocco Cerbaia."

"And you say Alberti is not to blame?"

Scallini answered with an ingratiating smile that completely failed to find a chink in the armor. "I was getting to that. Signore Alberti did all this for the most altruistic reasons." This explanation raised a few eyebrows among the Free Company offers who wondered how killing their men would benefit humankind. "You see, the countryside is in a uproar over the murder of Signora Catherine de Medici. She was a much beloved figure by our people. They wanted blood. We wanted blood." This raised a few more eyebrows.

"You see, this rider came through days ago, spreading news of the heinous crime and declaring that men responsible – the Free Company – were coming our way. The way he told his story, it sounded like a man or men from your company had been caught in the act. Since there was nothing to argue the contrary, we believed him. And so it was up to us to bring the fugitives to justice. This rider, who has long since left, is the one responsible for the attack. We are more sinned against than sinned. In fact, I believe our people have suffered ten times more casualties than yours."

"You could have simply asked us to halt rather than attack us."

"If you please, signore, put yourself in our position. We could only muster a fraction of your force, most of them conscripts at that. Would two thousand heavily armed fugitives stop simply because we asked them to stop? The idea is laughable."

"So you decided to attack us instead? It seems like the blood of your conscripts is more on your hands than ours."

Scallini shrugged. "Possibly. But who knows what they would have done if left to their own devices. Condittori do not have a good reputation around these parts. They might have organized themselves and be just as dead right now."

"We could easily ask a few farmers if you're lying or not."

"Oh, I'm sure you could easily make our peasantry say whatever you want. After all, they are but simple people. Being interviewed by a mercenary, especially after 300 of their husbands and sons have just been butchered, has a tendency to make you want to end the tête-à-tête any which way. Many of women were... taken advantage of the last time hostile mercenaries came through. They would not favor a long conversation, whatever your men's intentions."

Captain was getting tired of the way the Scallini spun his story, like an Arabian dancer, dropping each successive veil to ultimately reveal a truth, which Captain was fairly certain wasn't entirely genuine. "So, if I understand you, a rider that we will likely never catch incited the populace. We cannot confirm the people's mind because they are too scared of us. You say Alberti ordered the attack out of retribution rather than as a ploy to gain the favor Cosimo de Medici, which we also cannot verify. And, out of all this, you were only an innocent pawn?"

"Precisely." Scallini tried to disarm tensions with a smile and failed again.

"Which we also cannot confirm or deny?" The smile remained. In a flash, the cold edge of a dagger blade touched Scallini's neck and another pointed into his back. Scallini didn't dare turn to see who wielded the knives. "Describe this mysterious rider."

Fear came into Scallini's voice for the first time. "He-... he was riding a brown Andalusian steed. His clothing had no coat of arms or identification. He wore simple leather armor, a green tunic, and a cape of a darker green. He carried a sheathed sword."

"His appearance? His face?"

"Medium build, a little above average height. Dark hair, brown eyes, Roman nose, determined chin, no scars."

"You mean a perfectly ordinary man." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Scallini answered anyway. The blade moved to a more tender spot and the Florentine's eye bulged. "He has a lisp! That's all I noticed, I swear!"

"Give him back to Sean."

 

[Valdemar]

July third, midnight, Florence

Giovanni Pasquale stood by the large window looking out through the imported glass at the grey waters of Arno. It was dark outside and his small palace was quiet, everybody was asleep, but Giovanni couldn’t sleep. Actually he hadn’t slept well since the second day after the disaster.

The middle-aged nobleman turned away from the window and looked about the room as if seeing it for the first time. The small palace had been in his family’s possession for generations and he had always loved this room. His father had managed to secure the glass for the window, replacing the shutters and revealing the wonderful look of the river, even now.

The gaze continued across the panelled walls, across the books and paintings, stopping briefly at the small Madonna, before ending on the table and the two letters on it.

The letters, all the reasons for his unrest. He sighed, his family had been in Florence for as many generations as anyone cared to remember, been part of the council for almost as long as that. Their title as well as the modest wealth came from a small mansion and a couple of wine yards a day or two’s ride outside the town. They had always dealt modestly in the goods market to supplement their income, but the last few years had not been favourable for them. And that returned him to those letters.

He picked up the first one, it was from Frederik Hviid, not that Giovanni knew him personally, but he had seen him at the banquets and off course now everybody in Florence knew his name.

He sighed, when the letter arrived he had thought it to be a joke a crude one, but the unspoken threat had somehow send shivers down his spine. The unknown man had in no nonsense language reminded him of his obligations as member of the Florentine council, reminded him that any citizen of Florence had a right to a fair trial, that the council had an obligation to if not control then advice the young Gonfaloniere, no matter how powerful his family seemed.

Giovanni had read the letter and in theory agreed, but had no intention of succumbing to the threat, until he had read the accompanying letter, that is. The letter had been a business letter from Frederik Hviid to a Jewish banker in Vienna. At first it had looked like a mistake, the letter concerning some debts that Hviid apparently had bought up and now considered calling in through his banker. Then he had reread and suddenly he had to sit down. He recognized those names, it was his wine yards. He looked closer at the list the debts were his, somehow that bastard had managed to secure almost all of his debts. Debts he had thought secret and more importantly safe with a banker in Milan, somehow that banker had sold them of to Vienna.

He had locked himself into the study all day, trying to find out what to do. His first hope had been that it was a forgery, but he had had to dismiss that thought, the details where to the truth, nobody here in Florence could have known how close he was to bankruptcy. Then he had calmed down, Cosimo would find the man and kill him, he was not protected by citizenship, and then it would be over. But Cosimo hadn’t caught the young man and Giovanni had despaired, what to do? For a week now, nothing had happened to the girl, no trial had been scheduled and he feared that the rumours of torture might be true.

He didn’t like the thought of torture, but who was he to stand against the council and the Medici alone? Tomorrow was another meeting scheduled, he would have to decide soon, his family or Cosimo?

 

[Lord Durham]

July 3 - Afternoon - Near Cerbaia


"Give him back to Sean."

All was silent as the Tuscan was led from the tent. That was immediately followed by the entrance of Fritz. The man looked like he had just stepped into a nest of vipers. He bowed in a herky-jerky fashion, sweat dripping from a nervous brow.

Jaeger chuckled, "Relax. What do you want?"

The messenger stammered. "A... a delegation from the town, sir. They... wish to discuss... terms..."

Lochlan raised an eyebrow. "Terms?"

Fritz swallowed. "Terms of surrender, sir."

"Terms... of surrender?"

"Yes, Captain."

"I see. Lochlan?"

"Captain?"

"Do you have any use for Cerbaia?"

The Ranger shrugged. "None that I can think of."

"LeClerc?"

"Non."

"Jaeger?"

"Nein."

"Fyrsil?"

"No, Captain."

"Otto?"

"Not on you life."

"Anyone else?"

Shur'tu, Clayborne and Kent shook their heads in slow unison. The Mongol spit. "I say we burn it to the ground... as a lesson."

Captain allowed a half smile. He thought back to Constance, and the close call of death that had faced her. "You have no idea how close you were to having that wish granted, Mongol." He reached for his helm and tucked it under his arm. "However, we shall be magnanimous. All prisoners shall be set free. The town will pay no penalty. They were... misguided and fervent. Let the needless blood they lost serve as their lesson, and see to it that there are no reprisals against the townsfolk or their women. I have no intention of fueling the Duca's ire any further than it is already."

Lochlan moved to the tent opening with the Commander. "I'll arrange camp for the evening."

They halted at the entrance. "Very well. Double the piquets, and set a guard at the bridge. Oh, and have Landen scour the woods thoroughly. I want no more surprises..."

 

[redwolf]

July 3 - Afternoon - Near Cerbaia

Chen Hui walked up to the rest of the Ming Guards and said," Orders. Let the prisoners go. Lim, tell the prisoners they are free to go."

Lim nodded and then spoke in Italian," Alright you people are free to go, but I warn you, try anything funny again and we won't be so merciful next time. now get the f*^% out!!" The peasents scrambled back across the bridge double quick time.

Watching the peasants go, Lim ask," Now what, Chen?" Chen replied, " Get your stuffs, we are setting up camp here."

Zhang said," Here? isn't it a bit dangerous? They might just try something again." Chen shook his head," I don't think so. At this time, I doubt they can muster any more men to try anything. Besides, is it not said the most dangerous place is the safest place. Come on people, lets not waste time. Get your tents set up then we can open up the gambling table again."

The Ming Guard got to work and in no time, the tents were up and soon the Ming corner of the camp was filled with the sounds of gambling.