Victory Amid Chaos

Piero tugged at his chin whiskers, his tone hesitant. "Getting the men to give up looting is going to be difficult."

Vitus said, "What can we even loot in this situation? If we go too far, we'll invite a pincer attack from the militia and Milanese troops. We could lose our lives. What good is all that money then?..."

After a brief discussion, the Mercenary Regiment captains approved Vitus's battle plan. Piero, who excelled at small-scale infantry combat, would lead the rescue of the magistrate. The main force would advance along the city walls, seizing control of the eastern, northern, and western walls in a counterclockwise sweep.

"Understood. Wait here for my good news."

Piero's Rotten Herring Mercenary Group had many fishermen, who had eaten fish for years and could see far better in the dark than ordinary men. He summoned his three subordinate company commanders and numerous captains, then briefly explained the orders. "Got it? Move out!"

To keep the formation in order, Piero deliberately positioned junior officers along both sides of the column. Even so, a handful of soldiers broke ranks and slipped into alleys by the roadside when no one was watching.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps came from the street ahead. Soon, two armies unexpectedly came face-to-face at a narrow street corner. The moon had been swallowed by dark clouds, and only a few torches flickered in the darkness, casting swaying shadows onto the towering stone walls on either side.

"Charge through! We outnumber them!"

At Piero's command, the Rotten Herring Mercenary Group seemed to awaken like a giant beast. After a brief moment of shock, they erupted in a deafening battle cry.

With twice the numbers, Piero routed the enemy force. He counted his men and found that only seven hundred remained. The battle had cost them over a hundred, which meant that dozens more had slipped away while they were fighting.

"Worthless lot."

After cursing a few times, he headed north along the main road until another unit appeared ahead. The Milanese soldiers had hastily piled up wagons, planks, and debris to form a low barricade. Crossbowmen were perched on the rooftops on either side, making a direct assault unwise.

Piero ordered his men to rest where they were and sent someone to ask Vitus for reinforcements. About twenty minutes later, the long-awaited help arrived—but there were only fifty men.

Vitus lifted his visor. "We encountered a large enemy force at the northern wall. Everything's in chaos, and all the troops have been drawn into the fighting. I could only bring two cannons to help you."

The gunners pushed the Three-Pounders to the front of the formation and aimed at the street barricade a hundred meters away. They fired five rounds of solid shot in succession, then followed up with a round of grapeshot.

Seeing this, Piero's men surged forward. They routed the defenders behind the barricade, then stormed into the houses on either side and ran up the stairs to kill the irritating crossbowmen.

"Forget them. Clear away this rubbish so we can get through!"

Vitus had his men clear a path and pushed the Three-Pounders onward. Now and then, scattered enemies loosed arrows from hiding. One crossbow bolt flew toward his shoulder, but it failed to pierce his plate armor, leaving only a scratch.

As the ground grew steeper, the party finally reached the Eladore estate. The courtyard's two great gates stood open. Bodies littered the grounds inside and out, and the air was thick with the stench of blood.

Vitus rushed into the banquet hall, sword in hand, but there wasn't a living soul in sight. He had his men examine the bodies one by one; among them were many young scions of Florence's most distinguished families.

"The Medici, the Auditore... This is a disaster. How is Albizzi supposed to explain this when he gets back?

"Wait, this is the body of Casella Eladore, the master of the estate. How did he die too? Could it be that he wasn't involved in the conspiracy at all, and was simply unlucky?"

The soldiers searched one by one, but found no sign of Magistrate Albizzi or Pauli. Judging by the traces of the fighting, they must have fled east.

Vitus ordered Piero to muster his troops, but they could gather fewer than six hundred. The rest were busy looting the nearby estates and had no interest in answering their Mercenary Regiment captain's call.

"Forget it. We'll deal with them later!"

Vitus followed the bodies along the street eastward. A few minutes later, the sounds of fighting grew clearer ahead. A large force of Milanese soldiers had surrounded a tall tower. They had torn down a house and turned one of its sturdy beams into a battering ram. More than twenty men were carrying it, ramming the door again and again.

"Hope we're in the right place."

Vitus used his cannons to drive back the enemy, then called out to the tower, announcing who he was. Soon, a figure appeared at an upper-story window. Pauli shouted excitedly, "You finally made it!"

The wooden door at the base of the tower slowly opened. Master Conan emerged first, covered in blood. His plate armor was scored with scratches; in his left hand he carried a battered kite shield, and in his right he gripped an iron hammer stained dark red. A murderous aura clung to him, and the mercenaries outside instinctively made way.

Next came twelve members of the guard, supporting one another. After them emerged Magistrate Albizzi, Pauli, and four Florentine nobles.

"No one else?"

Vitus's heart sank. He escorted the party east to join up with the main force, then found a tower with a clear view of the battlefield and watched the fighting.

With visibility poor, Milan and Florence struggled to keep their mercenaries in line. This was especially true at the edges of the battlefield, where the lower-ranking soldiers were unwilling to risk their lives. They would much rather leave the fighting and make a little extra money in the wealthy districts.

Fortunately, Florence had more men, and eventually routed the Milanese army, capturing the crucial northern gate. At four in the morning, they also seized Genoa's western gate. By then, the outcome was clear.

After daybreak, the fighting that had raged all night gradually subsided. Albizzi had the mercenaries guard the walls and summoned the surviving local nobles to a meeting at Saint George Palace to discuss how to clean up this mess.

At eight in the morning, Vitus entered Saint George Palace in the south of the city with a yawn. It was, in effect, "Genoa's national bank."

After the civil war two days earlier and last night's battle, the magnificent building had been looted. The tables, chairs, cutlery, carpets, and curtains were all gone; even the windowpanes had been pried out. With no other choice, Albizzi had his soldiers bring in more than forty wooden barrels that had held salted fish. Everyone sat on the barrels to hold the meeting.

The first order of business was shifting the blame.

Fifteen Florentine leaders had attended the banquet last night. Six had survived, while the nine dead were members of prominent families. Albizzi had to pin the blame on someone else, or his political career would be over.

The Genoese avoided the subject and instead began talking about last night's looting, only to be met with a sharp retort from Paoli Di Maggio:

"The city was in chaos. Besides the Milanese and Florentine mercenaries, the local militia was looting too—and they knew their way around, so they were far more efficient than the mercenaries. Make no mistake: Genoese nobles conspired with the Milanese army to murder us, their guests who had come to the city for a banquet. Even if the Roman Curia rules on this, we'll still be in the right..."