Daniele Manin's judgment had been correct: the troops arriving in Venice at that moment were indeed not Austria's main force. But even he didn't believe his own assessment.
In a cruel twist of irony, the supposedly impregnable Verona had fallen again. By sheer coincidence, a band of Austrian stragglers had looped back around to Verona, where the rebels inside the city mistook them for reinforcements under cover of night.
After a chaotic melee, the stragglers had somehow managed to recapture Verona.
But the report Daniele Manin received didn't mention a band of stragglers. It said that tens of thousands of elite Austrian troops had smashed through the gates and slaughtered everyone in sight, forcing the rebels to retreat.
He wasn't the most panicked person in Venice at that moment, though. The defecting officers and the rebel leaders were even more frantic than Daniele Manin.
An officer's emotions could spread to his soldiers with astonishing ease, and panic and unease spread faster than anything.
Then there was the advance party Franz had sent ahead, who had shouted and bluffed their way through the crowd. After that gunshot rang out, the people in the square stared at one another strangely, their brief shock giving way to suspicion.
After a brief, terrible silence, both sides erupted into bloodcurdling roars. The rebels and Austrian soldiers in the square grabbed anything that could serve as a weapon and charged at each other.
Guns, swords, fists, even teeth—everyone did everything they could to kill the other side.
Franz's advance party was bewildered. They had no idea what was happening; these people had suddenly turned their cannons on the crowd and begun slaughtering one another.
Their mission was now complete. All that remained was finding a way out of this living hell.
Franz's cavalry were experienced. The