After finishing his work, Vitus had two soldiers carry a barrel of wine and headed once more for the center of the camp.
The Hungarians had just finished training. They led their mounts back to the stables, personally removed their saddles, brushed their manes, and then cleaned their hooves, carefully picking the pebbles wedged in the gaps of the horseshoes.
Once the cleaning was done, Hunyadi fed his brown horse warm water, oats mixed with grains of salt, and hay. The horse lowered its head to chew, its ears twitching now and then as it occasionally rubbed its head against its master's cheek.
When he was finished, Hunyadi found Vitus. "Sorry for the wait."
"No problem. I've been bored out of my mind lately. Time is the one thing I have plenty of."
Vitus introduced the Hungarians to a Greek specialty, Retsina, sealed with pine resin that gave it a distinctive, rich aroma.
After a few cups, Vitus steered the conversation toward the Hussite Wars, the subject that interested him most, and the legendary Wagenburg, said to be an astonishing weapon.
"You're interested in this?" Hunyadi picked up a stick and sketched a rough diagram in the dirt:
The Wagenburg was adapted from the farmers' four-wheeled carts. Each wagon was pulled by two draft horses, and its bed was reinforced with thick wooden planks and a roof to fend off arrows.
In battle, Hussite militia arranged the wagons in a circle. The shooters stayed inside the wagons and attacked the enemy with crossbows and hand cannons.
Vitus considered this for a moment, then suddenly thought of the artillery he was skilled with. "If that's the case, why not bombard the wagon fort with cannons?"
"It's not that simple. Jan Zizka was the finest infantry commander I've ever met. He excelled at field battles, raids, ambushes, and sieges. Sometimes, while an army was marching through the countryside, a huge crowd of Hussite peasants would suddenly swarm in from every direction, spears in hand. You'd never see them coming.
"Last time, the Black Knight, Zawisza, let his guard down for a moment and was somehow captured by the peasants. Fortunately, he and Zizka had known each other for years. They'd both fought in the Battle of Grunwald, so he was released. Otherwise, he'd never have made it back..."
After talking for quite a while, Hunyadi grew more and more dejected. "This war has been so frustrating. We've fallen completely into the enemy's rhythm. I've been wondering lately: if I were in command, I wouldn't even know how to respond."
Vitus also picked up a stick and sketched in the dirt, believing the terrain had played a major role. "Don't sell yourself short. Hungary's strength lies in its light cavalry, which isn't suited to fighting in the mountains of Bohemia. On a different battlefield, you'd be no worse than Jan Zizka."
Hunyadi froze with his cup halfway to his lips. It was the first time anyone had praised his command, and the praise had come from an Italian mercenary he'd only just met.
Vitus pressed him for details about the Hussite Wars, but Hunyadi was a court attendant and had fought the Hussites only a handful of times. So Vitus changed the subject and began asking about light-cavalry tactics and the things to watch out for.
If Jan Zizka was the finest infantry commander, then twenty years from now, Hunyadi would grow into the finest light-cavalry commander. It was a rare opportunity, and Vitus fired question after question at him. Hunyadi rubbed his forehead helplessly.
"You're a strange one. You don't gamble, you don't chase women, and you don't even like riding or hunting. You put all your thoughts into war. I've lived for more than thirty years, and you're the first mercenary like this I've ever met..."
Even so, Hunyadi answered his questions. In return, he asked about the increasingly popular cannons in Italy, showing particular interest in the lighter Serpent Cannon and Ribauldequin.
Drawing on a full year of combat experience, Vitus gave the following assessment:
"I don't recommend using a Ribauldequin. A Serpent Cannon can fire both solid shot and grapeshot. Solid shot can destroy buildings, while grapeshot can kill people. A Ribauldequin can only kill people, so its uses are limited.
"Besides, grapeshot is easy to load into a Serpent Cannon: stuff in one packet of gunpowder, one packet of iron balls, and then you can light the fuse and fire. But a Ribauldequin requires loading dozens of barrels. Soldiers fumble around in battle, and the loading is slow. Sometimes the battle is over before they've even finished reloading for the second time."
A packet of gunpowder?
Hunyadi seized on the key detail. Packing a measured amount of gunpowder in cloth could greatly speed up reloading. This artillery commander seemed to deserve his title; he wasn't a fraud with nothing to show for it.
On January 2, 1424, after three days of negotiations, Milan, Venice, and Florence signed an agreement. Milan renounced its control over Genoa, ceded vast territories east of the Adda River to Venice, and agreed to pay a hefty indemnity.
Meanwhile, the envoy representing Sigismund recognized Venice's legal claim to the newly occupied lands and Florence's annexation of Lucca and the surrounding areas. In return, Venice and Florence presented Sigismund with lavish gifts and promised that when the day came for him to travel to Rome for his coronation, they would provide the highest level of assistance...
"Peace is the most precious thing of all. I congratulate you on making the right decision."
Liechtenstein was the first to sign his name at the end of the agreement. The mission had gone perfectly. He had maintained the balance of power in Italy through diplomacy alone, and had secured three hundred thousand Florins to cover the costs of the next campaign against the Hussites.
Albizzi remained composed as he signed his name at the end of the agreement. Despite all the setbacks, he had ultimately won. "Milan has been weakened, and Venice has grown much stronger. From now on, Venice is the one I'll have to watch out for."
He set down his quill and glanced unobtrusively at the Venetian representative, already turning his thoughts to a more pressing problem: now that the war was over, they still had to pay a severance fee. How much should it be?
"At last, it's over."
Liechtenstein detested Northern Italy's damp, cold weather. He and his escort headed north along the route they'd come. On the way, Hunyadi suddenly slapped his thigh.
"I just remembered! The Byzantine heir attended the banquet back then. He looked a little like Anthony Doukas. No wonder Anthony seemed so familiar to me."
One of his companions speculated, "Could Anthony have Byzantine royal blood?"
Liechtenstein joined the conversation. "There are many members of the Palaiologos family. Besides the main branch, there are plenty of collateral branches scattered all over. I'd guess this man's bloodline came from some remote village. It's nothing special."
Hunyadi still felt there was something off. The man spoke Latin far too fluently, and he was equally learned in mathematics, astronomy, architecture, and theology. A commoner's family couldn't have provided that kind of education, and even minor nobility would have struggled to do so.
The wind howled. Liechtenstein suddenly tightened his grip on the reins, swung down from his horse, and picked up a crossbow. He crept toward a deer in the distance, tossing out one last remark before he left:
"Don't speculate. It's not as if he could be a prince of the Palaiologos family. A man like that wouldn't leave the palace and its pleasures to travel incognito to Italy to fight, spending all day among filthy mercenaries. Do you think that's likely?"
Before you continue