Patience

"Watch closely. There are four main moves with a halberd: thrust, slash, hook, and block."

The instructor demonstrated each move in slow motion. Vitus stood at the edge of the formation, picked up a halberd, and mimicked his movements.

"Thrust" and "slash" were relatively simple. "Hook" required good timing: you had to seize the moment when the enemy couldn't react, swiftly hook his lower leg, and then yank hard to pull him down before stabbing him with the spike at the end of the halberd.

Blocking was the most complicated. You had to catch the enemy's attack and counter at the right moment, much like the many intricate moves in swordsmanship.

After practicing with everyone for a whole day, Vitus gained a basic understanding of how to use this standard-issue weapon.

"If they're fighting in formation, the halberdiers will form a tight array. The more complicated moves will be harder to perform, so thrusts and slashes will be used most often. As long as they master those two moves, they'll be useful. They can figure out the rest as they go, once they're in battle."

In July, a Venetian envoy found Albizzi and delivered some bad news:

Not long ago, Venice had suffered a crushing defeat at Verona, losing five thousand men. If Florence still didn't join the fight, Venice would dissolve their alliance and make peace with Milan ahead of schedule!

Albizzi solemnly promised, "Give me a little more time. As soon as reinforcements arrive from the rear, I'll head north over the Apennine Mountains and join you in the Po Valley!"

That night, Albizzi hosted the envoy at a lavish banquet and presented him with jewels, porcelain, and horses, making a full display of Florence's respect for Venice. The next day, the expeditionary army held a large-scale drill. Over ten thousand mercenaries practiced their tactics in the eastern suburbs. Their battle cries shook the heavens, and the cannons boomed without end, frightening the townspeople into bolting their doors and huddling indoors to pray in hushed voices.

Once the envoy had been sent packing, the expeditionary army returned to its usual routine. The higher-ups were busy attending banquets and discussing business deals of every kind. The low-ranking soldiers haunted the taverns and brothels, squandering the wages they'd worked so hard to earn.

As training continued, Vitus realized that miners made the best soldiers.

First, they'd spent years doing physical labor, so they were in better shape than the average person.

Second, the workers in the mining districts came from all over. Besides Greek miners, there were also miners from Bohemia and locals from Genoa. After years of competition and conflict, the miners from each country had naturally banded together, helping one another out. They occasionally broke into large-scale brawls, which had, without anyone noticing, improved their ability to organize.

"So that's why Qi Jiguang recruited miners in Yiwu and refused to use the city's small merchants. He must've had the same reasons in mind."

Vitus made inquiries at nearby mining districts and recruited another hundred or so Greek miners, bringing his force up to two hundred and forty men, divided into two companies.

Based on their training results, half the soldiers were assigned to the infantry company and the other half to the artillery company.

"Remember, artillerymen need close-combat training too. When it comes down to it, you'll need your halberds to protect yourselves. Better to work hard now than lose your lives on the battlefield..."

After lecturing for more than ten minutes, Vitus dismissed the formation and let the infantry company train on its own. He propped up a wooden board, sketched out a diagram in charcoal, and explained artillery to the hundred or so men, including some basic physics.

At dusk, when training was over, Vitus told the men to start a fire and cook dinner. Then he rode toward a luxurious mansion east of the city to attend a banquet.

Halfway through the banquet, Albizzi announced some major news:

Venice had recently bribed Francesco Bussone, a mercenary in Milan's employ, and appointed him commander, assigning him specifically to fight against Milan.

The Mercenary Regiment captain seated at the far end of the table asked, "Are we setting out?"

Albizzi shook his head. "Warfare is no different from business. You have to know when to press ahead and when to hold back. Since the war began, we've annexed Lucca, freed Genoa from Milan's control, and acquired a small stretch of the Apennines. We've already taken what we came for. The timing couldn't be better.

"Northern Italy is a fine place, but too many interests are involved. Besides Milan and Venice, there are outside powers like France, the Holy Roman Empire, and Castile. If Florence expands into Northern Italy, we might end up facing an anti-Florence alliance..."

Vitus looked around to gauge everyone's reaction. No one objected, so he simply continued eating, keeping out of such a sensitive discussion.

"The tuna tastes wonderful."

The remaining Mercenary Regiment captains were busy drinking. Someone brought up the price Venice had paid to win over Bussone: an annual salary of twelve thousand Ducats, generous shares of the spoils of war, a five-thousand-acre estate on the southern slopes of the Alps planted with grapevines, olive trees, and wheat, and an additional reward if the war ended in victory...

Early September.

After winning over Bussone, Venice had turned the tide, and the situation was steadily improving. Albizzi decided it was time to set out. The mercenaries had almost spent all their savings, and if they stayed much longer, they would inevitably start harassing Genoa's citizens and damaging the alliance between the two cities.

He summoned the Mercenary Regiment captains. "The army marches in two days. We'll force Milan to admit defeat, squeeze out another indemnity, and bring this war to a perfect close."

The Florentine expeditionary army had rested for a full four months since May. The rank-and-file soldiers had spent their days lazing about and grown used to Genoa's comfortable life.

When they heard they were going on campaign, a handful of soldiers kicked up a fuss. The Genoese feared their allies would refuse to leave, so they scraped together another sixty thousand Florins as "marching expenses" and hurried them on their way.

On September 5, the expeditionary army crossed the Apennine Mountains from south to north. They marched along roads left behind from Roman times. At the very front rode more than two hundred scouts, sent ahead to reconnoiter. Their horses' hooves rang crisply against the stony road, occasionally startling flocks of birds from the oak woods lining the route.

The main body kept five miles behind the scouts. The infantry marched in four columns, moving one step at a time in the footsteps of those ahead.

Behind them came the artillery, the baggage train, and the rear guard. The wagon wheels creaked as they rolled along, laden with flour, cured meat, and great barrels of wine. A long train of camp followers trailed behind as well: peddlers, barbers, blacksmiths, and prostitutes.

As usual, Vitus wore plate armor and rode a gentle chestnut mare. The autumn heat beat down on him, leaving him listless. Under the endless scorching sun, it felt as though his consciousness were growing hazy.

Suddenly, a mounted messenger swept past him, dispelling Vitus's drowsiness.

He raised his head and looked around. The woods on either side were still lush and green. The soldiers had no energy left to complain; they trudged along wearily, weapons slung over their shoulders.

Perhaps out of sheer boredom, Piero, who was in charge of the rear guard, came over to Vitus and chatted about trivial matters. "During our midday break, the governor asked about the triumphs of Ancient Rome. Do you think the old geezer was hinting that someone should hold a grand triumph for him too?"

Vitus had read history books cover to cover. His first impression of a triumph was that it was extravagantly expensive. He gave Piero a brief account of the scale of the triumphs held for Scipio Africanus, Pompey, Caesar, and others, leaving Piero aghast.

"That expensive? The commander rides in a golden chariot, has the soldiers toss coins to the crowds along the route, and builds triumphal arches and massive stone columns. How much would all that cost? Looks like this is just a fantasy of Albizzi's. He can't afford the expense."