Albizzi put away the secret letter and had a guard bring over a jug of wine and two honey-glazed quails to entertain the famished envoy.
"What would we gain by helping Genoa?"
The envoy tore off a quail's wing and stuffed it into his mouth. Chewing, he replied indistinctly, "Milan is Florence's sworn enemy. If you liberate Genoa, you can seriously weaken Milan's power. In addition, we can offer the following compensation..."
Their conversation continued late into the night. When Albizzi returned to the banquet hall, most of the guests had already left. Only a few drunken mercenary captains remained, sprawled across the tables asleep.
He sat alone in the seat of honor again, gazing up at the whale-oil candles burning above him and the enormous painting that covered the entire dome. Before he knew it, he had dozed off...
On March 13, the expeditionary army left Lucca and took a day to reach Italy's western coast. The land here was low-lying, with vast stretches of muddy marshland. Withered reeds rustled in the wind, a few abandoned boats drifted on the murky water, and the air was thick with an indescribable stench of decay.
After resting for the night, the expeditionary army continued northwest along the coast. The rugged Apennine Mountains lay to their right, and the azure Tyrrhenian Sea to their left.
Gazing into the distance, they saw the boundless sea shimmer silver in the sunlight. The tide rolled in and out, crashing against the shore and shattering against the rocks, while spray scattered on the wind. Now and then, a three-masted sailing ship appeared on the water, flying the flags of Genoa or Aragon, its shadow stretching long.
At times, the Roman Road wound into dense woodland, where broad stands of oak, laurel, and pine crowded both sides. Here and there, they caught sight of daffodils and anemones dotting the ground.
Vitus rode a docile mare, lifted the visor of his helmet, and casually admired the scenery along the way, as if he were out for a springtime stroll in the countryside. At three in the afternoon, his outing came to an abrupt end. A castle stood ahead, and the consul ordered the artillery to begin the siege at once.
"Understood."
Medieval castles were built for height: the higher the walls, the harder it was for attackers to scale them. Unfortunately, times had changed. Tall walls were easier targets for cannon fire, and their defenses were far inferior to those of low, thick ramparts.
After six days of bombardment, Vitus blasted through Fort Malvin's outer and inner walls. The mercenaries poured inside and killed most of the soldiers.
The few dozen surviving defenders huddled inside the keep. Vitus blew open the gate with gunpowder, then piled firewood on the ground floor and set it alight, using thick smoke to force the defenders to surrender.
But this was only the beginning.
Although this narrow stretch of coast belonged to the Republic of Genoa, the castles they encountered along the way were occupied by Milanese soldiers. The consul could think of no other solution, so he had no choice but to make Vitus's artillery batter them into submission.
In early April, the expeditionary army captured Santo Stefano and set its sights on the western port city of La Spezia.
After half an hour of bombardment, Vitus reported bad news: five heavy siege cannons and eight new Serpent Cannons were out of commission. They could only wait for replacement artillery to arrive from the rear.
Inside the central command tent, the consul reacted sharply. "The siege cannons are all out of commission? Not one left?"
Just two days earlier, Genoa had urged Consul Albizzi to speed things up. The governor appointed by Milan had grown suspicious, and if they delayed any longer, their conspiracy would inevitably be exposed.
Changing the route at the last minute had been Albizzi's decision. If the plan failed, and they could not take Genoa through a coordinated attack from within, losing the war would cost him his position as consul. He might even be driven out of Florence.
He got to his feet and paced back and forth in agitation, but Vitus was still explaining:
"Cracks have appeared inside the cannon barrels, and they've reached their limit. If we keep using them, they'll certainly explode. On top of that, it's been raining frequently lately. The roads from Florence to Santo Stefano are all mud, and the heavy cannons are moving much more slowly. We're covering less than five miles a day..."
The consul cut him off. "I don't want to hear any of that. I want victory. Bring in cannons and capture La Spezia within half a month, and I'll give you a tenth of the spoils in the city. If it takes longer than half a month, I'll find someone else!"
Half a month?
The old bastard was deliberately messing with me.
Vitus calculated the time. There was no way he could get it done in half a month, unless...
At that moment, Pauli tried to speak up for him, but Vitus spoke first. "Seven days. If I take La Spezia within seven days, what will you give me?"
Pfft! Albizzi spat out the wine in his mouth, then burst into laughter. His aged face crumpled into a mass of wrinkles, and everyone around him joined in, filling the hall with laughter and cheer.
After a long while, he stopped laughing, his expression turning solemn. "Anthony Doukas, if you can take the city within a week, you can have two-tenths of the spoils. Go on, fulfill your promise. Don't bring shame on your family along with yourself."
After the meeting, Pauli found Vitus. "Are you crazy? Without heavy siege cannons, how are you supposed to breach the walls in seven days?"
"I have another way, but I need you to lend me a thousand infantrymen."
Seeing how determined he was, Pauli introduced him to a Sicilian mercenary captain named Piero. Piero had exactly a thousand mercenaries under his command, and they were skilled at mountain warfare.
For the entire next day, Vitus explored the terrain nearby with Piero and a small number of soldiers. La Spezia had land to its east, north, and west, with only the sea to the south. Leaning on a walking stick, he scoured the nearby high ground, occasionally taking out paper and pen to calculate distances and differences in elevation. At last, he found a suitable artillery position.
It was dusk. Vitus dropped his walking stick and sat on a sun-warmed rock, gazing at the vast expanse of orange-red clouds and the sea glittering with flecks of gold. The mountain breeze carried the fragrance of flowers and grass into his nostrils, as if washing away his weariness.
Suddenly, Piero came over. Bracing his left hand against a tree trunk, he gasped for breath and asked in clumsy Greek:
"My lord, if I'm not mistaken, you want to set up the cannons on the mountain and fire over the walls at the buildings inside the city?"
Vitus was too tired to speak. He nodded wearily.
Piero grumbled under his breath. "Cutting down trees, leveling the ground, then hauling the heavy cannons up to the summit... This task is sheer torture. I'm worried the men will complain."
Vitus understood what Piero really wanted. He promised to give him part of the bonus in exchange for temporary command of the Rotten Herring mercenary company.
At last, the sun sank toward the horizon. The sunset shifted from crimson to deep purple before giving way to the black night sky. The chill suddenly deepened. Vitus stood and brushed the dust from his clothes.
"Let's head down. Have your men prepare the tools on the list. Bring the soldiers who know carpentry to my tent. I have something to assign them."
Before you continue