A Devil of a Man (7) - In Vino Veritas

“From now on it will be work, work, work,” said John Hawkwood to himself.

Not because he hadn't enjoyed that little escapade but now that they had arrived in Piemonte he would be expected to give one hundred percent of his time and energy to the Monferrat's clan.

It was a good job that temptation was thousands of miles away. 

Albert had sent his beloved Hildegund home to Germany to keep her safe from Konrad von Landau, whose mistress she once was.

Now that she had discovered that Englishmen were not the cold fish she was told they were, she was reluctant to go.

She had tried to persuade Albert not to send her away saying that she had nothing to fear from  Konrad because she had never slept with him and, anyway, he wasn't the jealous type.

It was an untruth so obvious that simply didn't hold water. So she packed her bags and left.

Konrad was kicking his heels only a short distance away in Milan, with the Visconti and the mighty army of the Company of Saint George, a large assortment of German knights and Swiss infantry.

But it wasn't revenge for Hildegunde having run away with Sterz that motivated him. He knew that she was a flighty woman. She had deserted him many times before but always returned to the nest as if nothing had happened.

No, he couldn't wait to fight the White Company to impress the very rich Milanese signori with his military ability and strategic shrewdness, to gain prestige and pecuniary rewards. 

He had to hold his horses though because his foes were now encamped outside the town of Rivarolo, a bit further north, on the right bank of the river Orco, a tributary of the Po.

***

Albert Sterz had sent a small reconnaissance team to evaluate the citadel's defences. The feedback did not augur well; without artillery such as catapults or heavy battering rams to undermine the thick walls it would be impossible to forcibly gain access. It would have to be done by stealth.

While the captains were elaborating on a suitable strategy, the troops were speculating around a campfire.

“ What I can't understand is why we have to fight the chap who employed us,” said Jack Draper, a Londoner.

He was contradicted by Bartholomew Dunmow, an Essex veteran, 

“You got that wrong, mate. He ain't our employer, he is an agent who enlisted us on someone else's behalf.”

“Yeah, but isn't he on our side?”

“He could be if he wanted to but is a free agent and has decided to be with the enemy.”

At this point, Jack was more confused than before and dropped the subject.

Maybe if he had been kept in the loop, Jack would have understood why the Green Count had decided not to be neutral and had become antagonistic towards the Marquis of Montferrat.

Philosophy wasn't a strong point with the lower ranks but it was due to lack of communication. The higher echelons worked on a need-to-know basis and the minions didn't need to know. They only had to do what they were told to do.         

Sterz hadn't taken long to reach a conclusion on what they had to do next. He convened his men and announced: “Right, lads, it has to be a nocturnal ambush.”

The soldiers did not need to be told twice, they had been drilled to a high standard in the art of surprise attacks.

The summer night was sultry and overcast; the foot soldiers marched silently towards their target carrying long ladders, ropes and grapples to climb the wall, and wearing two-edged daggers on the girdle for close combat.

The silence was only broken by cicadas and the soft sound of their shuffling sandalled feet.

The place that was about to be raided was a market town that relied on agriculture and trade and was by and large peaceful under the House of Savoy bu,t as it had been subjected to incursions in the past, it had been thought prudent to be prepared for any eventuality.

Thick, fortified walls were built to safeguard the town.

Yet, on that fateful night, the sleeping citizens were unprotected due to the lassitude of the guards affected by the oppressive climate who had retired to their billet prematurely.

Even the solitary sentinel assigned to keep watch from the wall top had nodded off and didn't notice the stealthy advance of the determined English and German horde.

It didn't take long for a group of agile men to scale the walls on long ladders, knock the sentry unconscious, and open the heavy wooden gate after raising the portcullis to let the knights and the rest of the troop in.

The drowsy guards, neglectful of their responsibilities, meekly surrendered. Unusually, not a drop of blood had been spilled but it wasn't surprising because the mercenaries hadn't encountered any resistance from the military nor from the citizens who, not being combatants, were forbidden to carry swords or daggers.

So far they had the upper hand on the Savoyards but Albert Sterz and John Hawkwood, who for the moment was happy for Sterz to have the leading role in this operation, knew that the job wasn't finished. The Green Count, Amadeus of Savoy, was sure to come after them when he heard of the sack of Rivarolo.

The men roamed the town to carry out the traditional plunder that was their extra reward for work well executed.

In addition to depriving the locals of the usual valuables, gold, silver and sundry possessions, their cellars were dispossessed of casks of wine so good that the nectar of the Gods paled into insignificance.

As Sterz and Hawkwood degusted the delicious local wine, the truth dawned on them that it might take much longer than anticipated to see off the current adversary.

© Luigi Pagano 2024