Silk

The shrill whistle of stone shot tearing through the air made the defenders on the wall instinctively hunch their shoulders. The next moment, eight stones overshot their targets and landed far inside the city, while the remaining four smashed into the tower, sending shards of stone flying like raindrops.

"Take cover!" the defenders' captain shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the thunder of stones striking the ground.

Soon, a second volley of stone shot followed. The tower was hit again, and a cloud of gray-white dust spread over the nearby wall. The defenders futilely shot arrows at the artillery positions, but the arrows fell helplessly at the edge of their range, accomplishing nothing.

After several rounds of bombardment, the tower had been transformed beyond recognition. By then, the positions for the heavy siege cannons had been completed, and the draft horses strained to drag them into place. The stone shot were so heavy that two gunners had to lift each one together and laboriously push it into the barrel.

This thing won't explode, will it?

Vitus eyed the five cannons, with their short, thick barrels and enormous powder charges, feeling uneasy. He followed the gunners into the trench in front of the positions, just in case one exploded and caught them in the blast.

He clapped his hands over his ears and bellowed, "Fire!"

The massive stone shot burst from the barrels. One struck the tower precisely in the middle, hitting an arrow slit. Through the cloud of dust, the tower's inner structure was visible, with broken wooden beams jutting out like snapped ribs.

The bombardment continued. Once it reached a certain threshold, the tower first swayed slightly, then began to lean, like a drunk struggling to keep his balance.

Soon, cracks spread upward from the base, and the twelve-meter-high square tower began to come apart. The battlements on the upper levels collapsed first, and boulders cascaded down like a waterfall. Then the tower's entire main structure toppled amid deafening crashes, raising a dust cloud that blotted out the sky. Even the artillery positions outside the city felt the ground tremble.

As the dust slowly settled, the devastation of the ruins was revealed in the evening glow. The gunners paused their fire and cleaned the barrels with water-soaked swabs, waiting for them to cool.

It was already getting late. Vitus ordered the gunners to drag the heavy cannons back to camp, lest the defenders launch a night raid and destroy these precious siege weapons.

Late that night, the magistrate, Albizzi, summoned Vitus and asked when the city would fall.

Vitus lifted the tent flap and pointed toward the city a kilometer away. "I asked the locals nearby. To save money, the Lucca city council never rebuilt the walls. Instead, they kept raising the walls left behind by Ancient Rome. They look intimidating, but they're actually poorly defended. At most a week, and as little as four days—I'll breach these walls."

Vitus's guess was right. On the morning of the fourth day, a section of Lucca's walls could bear no more. Earth and stone slumped down, forming a slope about twenty meters wide.

Once the dust cleared, a messenger carrying a white flag approached the magistrate. He accepted all the terms of the previous agreement and also promised to pay reparations of 100,000 Florins.

Albizzi remained mounted, looking down at the messenger from above. After a long pause, he reached up and smoothed his white hair, ruffled by the cold wind. "The annual taxes will increase by twenty percent. Every family will send one child to be educated in Florence. The reparations will rise to 200,000 Florins. The rest of the terms will remain unchanged."

With the city on the brink of falling, the locals were forced to accept the proposal. But the mercenaries began to grumble and stir up trouble. They had expected to enter the city and make a little extra money, only for their employers to abruptly call it off at the last moment. How could they tolerate that?

Dissatisfaction spread to the artillery positions. Vitus wisely kept quiet, turned, and walked to the edge of the grass. He took out a charcoal pencil and a sheet of white paper and began sketching Lucca's battered walls.

He had not finished even a third of the sketch when Albizzi urgently issued an order to distribute 100,000 Florins among the men as a bonus, quelling the sudden mutiny.

Over the next few days, the allied forces rested in Lucca. With nothing else to do, Vitus took a few of his men to walk around the city.

A thousand years later, Lucca's street plan still retained the grid layout from Ancient Rome. Local wealthy families had a tradition of building towers to display their wealth and status. The most striking was the Guinigi Tower, which stood more than thirty paces (45 meters) tall, with a lush oak growing at its summit.

An ancient circular amphitheater stood in the city center. Its interior was packed with merchants' stalls, making it a lively public marketplace.

"The city is full of silk workshops and dye houses. Did Albizzi refuse to fight street by street because he was worried about destroying the Mediterranean's most important silk-producing center?"

Vitus picked up a bolt of silk from a stall and ran his fingers over its weave. The workmanship felt rather coarse, and the quality was far worse than that of silk from the East. Suddenly, a memory flashed through his mind:

In the eighteenth century, artillerymen had often used silk as powder bags. Compared with cotton and linen, silk left very little ash when it burned and was almost completely consumed, making it less likely to clog the barrel. Silk was also smooth on the surface, with very little friction, which made loading faster and easier.

That evening, Vitus went to a banquet at the Palazzo. The banquet hall blazed with light. Glass chandeliers from Venice hung from the vaulted ceiling, and hundreds of whale-oil candles burned quietly. Musicians on either side played gentle melodies, while the long tables were laden with all kinds of sumptuous dishes.

The gathering was noisy, as the Florentine elite and the powerful families of Lucca busily negotiated deals and discussed cooperation. Vitus found a moment to approach Albizzi and request a quantity of silk to make powder bags.

It was the first time Albizzi had heard of such an unusual use for silk. He suspected the man was trying to pocket the silk for himself. Fortunately, the magistrate was in a good mood and couldn't be bothered over such a small matter.

"I agree."

After sending Vitus away, the magistrate went back to drinking and making merry. Some time later, a suspicious-looking man requested an audience outside the hall. Impatiently, the magistrate went into a small room next door and asked what he wanted.

"Lord Albizzi, I come from the Republic of Genoa. I represent the two great families of Eladore and Spinola, and ask you to expel the Duchy of Milan's forces from Genoa."

A man from Genoa?

The magistrate opened the letter, and his thoughts turned involuntarily to Genoa's changing fortunes.

More than forty years earlier, Genoa had been defeated by Venice and lost its claim to dominance over the Mediterranean. The country was plunged into turmoil. In 1396, some Genoese nobles invited Charles VI of France to rule them. Seventeen years later, Genoa grew tired of the governors France had sent and drove out the French in a civil war.

But the turmoil continued. By 1421, another small group of nobles, seeking stability, had invited the Duke of Milan, Filippo Maria Visconti, to rule Genoa.

After reading the letter, the magistrate leaned back in his chair and weighed the interests involved for a long time.

After capturing Lucca, the original plan was to cross the Apennine Mountains from south to north and meet up with Venice in the Po Valley, then join forces and invade Milan proper.

If they chose to aid Genoa, the expeditionary army would have to take a different route: head northwest along the coast. The risks would be greater, but so would the rewards.