"My manor was ransacked by a band of bandits. They seemed to be men from the Noose Mercenary Group..." Vitus briefly recounted what had happened the previous night and explained who he was.
After hearing him out, the wealthy merchant remained half-convinced. Some time ago, he had hosted an Eastern Roman delegation in Florence and heard that a prince named Vitus Palaiologos was recuperating in the north. Could this young man in front of him be that very prince?
After pondering for half a minute, the merchant asked a crucial question. "Sir, how many bandits did you see last night? Thirty? Fifty?"
"It was dark, the situation was dangerous. How could I have had time to count them?"
"Is that so? This complicates things." Worried that there might be more mercenaries in the north, the merchant turned around and headed back to Pistoia along the same route.
Along the way, the merchant gave Vitus a horse, along with food and clean water, while subtly probing him about his background. Judging by his speech and appearance, the man most likely came from a noble family.
Meanwhile, Vitus learned the merchant's identity through their conversation. His name was Giulio Di Maggio, and he claimed to be a banker and textile merchant, with wealth second only to the rising Medici family.
Vitus had no interest in prying into the man's fortune. Instead, he focused on the goods carried by the caravan. Besides ordinary merchandise, there were piles of breastplates and more than a dozen small cannons. From their design, they were identical to the Serpent Cannons he had used before.
Giulio asked, "Are you very interested in cannons?"
Vitus replied, "Of course. Not long ago, during the defense of Constantinople, we used Serpent Cannons to bombard the Ottomans' siege towers and trebuchets. They worked very well. The only drawback was the cost: a cannon sold for two hundred and eighty Ducats."
Giulio perked up. "That expensive? A Serpent Cannon in Florence only costs one hundred Florins. Venetian merchants are too crafty..."
(A Florin was the currency of Florence, worth 3.5 grams of gold and equivalent in value to Venice's gold Ducat.)
As the two chatted, the caravan reached Pistoia's north gate. The small city had a stone wall five meters high and two meters thick.
Unable to resist Giulio's repeated invitations, Vitus went to stay at his home. It was already evening, and he planned to rest for the night before setting off for Rome the next day.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
In his sleep, Vitus heard the urgent tolling of bells. He groggily lifted his head. The sky outside was just beginning to brighten, and beneath the ringing came the panicked shouts of servants.
Had something happened?
Following Giulio's retreating figure to the city wall, he saw a large number of supply wagons spread across the open ground outside, along with thousands of soldiers.
What the hell? Where had this army come from?
Besides the flag of the Noose Mercenary Group, the attacking force carried another banner that looked downright bizarre: on a white field, a blue serpent devoured a living man.
Recalling what he knew of heraldry, Vitus realized what the banner represented: the Visconti family, rulers of the Duchy of Milan.
Giulio Di Maggio exclaimed, "So that's it. The Noose Mercenary Group's appearance wasn't a coincidence. Milan hired them to attack Florence as the vanguard. It seems your luck is poor, and you've been caught up in a conflict between Milan and Florence."
Noticing Vitus's confusion, the merchant explained the cause of the war to his unlucky guest.
To the north and west of the Duchy of Milan lay the Alps, and to the east lay the Republic of Venice. The only suitable direction for expansion was south.
"Two years ago, Genoa swore fealty to Milan. The Duchy of Milan continued expanding south, encroaching on Florence's sphere of influence, and relations between them grew increasingly strained. Now Milan has launched a surprise attack, hoping to defeat Florence outright before Venice can react and make the conquest a fait accompli."
Vitus interrupted him. "Mr. Di Maggio, I've noticed there aren't many defenders in the city. Could we negotiate?"
Mercenaries had poor discipline. If they breached the city, they would surely plunder its residents. Worried that he might get caught up in the chaos, Vitus's first instinct was to suggest negotiations. If he could avoid the disaster of war, whatever happened afterward would have nothing to do with him.
Giulio rested his right hand on the cold battlements and sighed.
"The Duke of Milan aims to seize supremacy over Italy. He won't stop unless Florence submits completely. The Noose Mercenary Group is only the vanguard; a large force is following behind. We have to hold out for a while and wait for reinforcements."
Hold out?
Vitus made a rough count. The enemy had four thousand men, with few cavalry. Most were infantry and crossbowmen, and they also had a small number of hand cannons.
As production advanced, armor became increasingly common. Even crossbowmen who didn't take part in close combat wore iron helmets and a suit of chainmail. A few were equipped with breastplates or coats of plate.
Vitus turned his gaze back toward the city, and his mood soured instantly.
As a commercial republic, Florence was unwilling to maintain an expensive standing army, fearing it might become a tool for a dictator. Instead, it preferred to outsource military campaigns to Mercenary Regiments. Pistoia had only a local garrison of two hundred men, leaving its defenses weak.
With the enemy at the gates, adult male residents were collecting equipment and heading to the city wall in squads to take up their posts.
Some militia squads were made up of residents from a particular neighborhood. Others were formed through guilds, such as the Carpenters' Guild, the Blacksmiths' Guild, and the Bakers' Guild.
Vitus asked, "How many men are there in total?"
Giulio answered, "Fifteen hundred. The militia are poor fighters, but they have the city walls for protection. They won't retreat when their homes and families are at stake."
Let's hope so.
Vitus asked Giulio to lend him a suit of armor. He planned to stay on the wall and observe the battle. The more experience he gained on the battlefield, the more useful it would be to him someday.
"Are you sure? Very well." Giulio treated the young man, who might be the fourth prince of the Byzantine Empire, with warmth. He had a servant bring over a brand-new suit of plate armor and help Vitus put it on.
First, Vitus put on a thick arming garment, made from multiple layers of quilted fabric and stuffed with wool. It was noticeably reinforced at the shoulders and chest. Next came a pair of leather breeches.
Then the servant knelt on one knee and fitted Vitus with greaves and poleyns to protect his legs. He adjusted the straps above the knee guards, fastening them securely to the points on the hem of the arming garment.
When he was done, Vitus bent his knees slightly. The plates bent obediently with him, making a faint scraping sound.
Next came the core of the plate armor: the breastplate and backplate.
"This is the heaviest part, my lord. Please stand steady."
The servant lifted a beautifully curved breastplate that gleamed coldly. Its carefully designed structure distributed the weight evenly across Vitus's waist and hips. The backplate closed into place, and the servant joined the front and back sections securely with shoulder straps and pivots at the waist.
Then came the pauldrons, arm guards, elbow guards, iron gauntlets to protect his hands... Once everything was in place, Vitus lowered his head slightly so the servant could put a closed helmet on him.
In an instant, the world before him changed. His vision narrowed to a thin slit, and the sound of his breathing grew clear inside the helmet. The servant fastened the strap beneath his chin to make sure the helmet sat firmly.
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