After Vitus's persuasion, the garrison commander agreed to go out and fight. Worried about his eldest son's safety, Giulio insisted on leaving the city with them.
"Lord Di Maggio, don't worry. It's not time yet."
Vitus left the city wall and hurried to the storehouse where the cannons were kept, gathering the caravan hands who also served as artillerymen. In his view, the militia were only good for putting on a show. Their sole hope lay in the six Serpent Cannons.
"Too bad the other two were ruined when their barrels overheated."
Vitus knelt on one knee and examined the cannons' outer surfaces and inner walls. After checking them one by one, he explained the precautions for their future use through the interpreter.
"...In short, the commander of this relief force is Paoli Di Maggio, Giulio's eldest son. If we win this battle, he certainly won't treat you unfairly."
In the end, forty-two of the hands agreed to fight, exactly enough for six crews of seven to operate a light cannon. Vitus assigned everyone their tasks. He stayed busy until noon, when he was summoned to the eastern wall.
The sky was overcast, and a cold wind howled. On the withered yellow grass outside the city, the forces had already formed their ranks, facing each other from north and south. The Noose Mercenary Group had received several reinforcements and now numbered around six thousand, including eight hundred cavalry.
The Florentine relief force stood to the south. It was just as large, but had only a little over three hundred cavalry. Its banners were pure white, emblazoned with a red lily.
"The enemy has a slight advantage. By the looks of it, this relief force of ours will decide the battle."
Vitus turned his gaze back toward the city. Nine hundred militiamen were about to march out, and Giulio was rallying them. Before long, the wealthy merchant came to find Vitus. "When do we leave?"
"Wait. Our militia's morale is low. They can't withstand a cavalry charge."
He urged the merchant to delay the attack and have the militiamen eat something to regain their strength. After a short wait, the two armies outside the city began to move, slowly closing in on each other.
"Can we leave now?"
"No, wait a little longer!" Vitus's tone was firm as he watched the infantry formations of the northern and southern forces, along with the small number of cavalry roaming their flanks.
More than ten minutes passed. The distance between the two armies shrank from two kilometers to three hundred meters, then narrowed further. The infantry shouted as they crashed together. Vitus still didn't move to join the battle. Instead, he summoned more than a dozen militia captains and had the interpreter relay the tactics they would use.
At last, the wealthy merchant's patience ran out. Vitus surveyed the battlefield. The Milanese and Florentine cavalry had already entered the fray. He breathed out a cloud of white mist.
"We can join the battle now. I want to make sure one more time: are you willing to follow my plan?"
Vitus was worried that the merchant might get carried away and do something foolish, like changing his mind at the last moment. Once the man gave his word, Vitus drew his sword and personally led the troops toward the eastern gate.
The drawbridge slowly lowered with the chains groaning, then struck the ground with a dull thud. Vitus stepped onto it first, followed by his Italian interpreter and a young-faced standard-bearer carrying a Florentine banner with a red lily.
Behind them came a large group of slow-moving militiamen, armed mainly with polearms: spears or halberds. Their hands, gripping the wooden shafts, were red with cold, and their boots slipped slightly on the frost-covered bridge. No one spoke. There was only the clatter of iron and the stifled cough of some young man.
Beyond the city lay a flat, open grassland. White frost clung to the withered yellow stalks, which crackled underfoot. Farther away, more than ten thousand infantrymen formed ranks of varying sizes, fighting and grappling with one another. The sounds carried on the cold wind, mingled with the faintest trace of blood.
Five minutes later, Vitus stopped and looked back at his troops. The militiamen had little training, and after only a few hundred meters, their ranks were already beginning to break apart.
"Change formation!"
Following the plan they had made before setting out, Vitus changed the marching column into a thick, defensive formation and gradually approached the right flank of the Milanese army, on the western side of the battlefield.
Seeing this, the Milanese commander sent over the nearest five hundred mercenaries. "Break those petty merchants. If you can't, then keep them tied up."
"Understood."
As an enemy force advanced straight toward them, Vitus ordered the militia to stop and remain still until the distance between the two sides had shrunk to a hundred meters.
"Quick, bring the cannons out!"
Throughout the advance, the six cannons had remained hidden within the ranks. At the order, the artillerymen immediately pushed them to the front and aimed at the approaching mercenaries. Then they lit the fuses.
Ssssss~
The fuses burned down. The cannons' thunder battered Vitus's eardrums, and it took him several seconds to recover. Through the dispersing smoke, he saw the enemy ranks topple in swathes, like a field of wheat swept by a sickle.
"Using lead shot of uniform size instead of all those irregular stones really makes a difference."
The artillerymen had always been accustomed to stuffing all kinds of odds and ends—stones, iron nails, and the like—into their cannon muzzles. Vitus had abandoned that practice. He had craftsmen make iron molds and cast lead ingots into small round balls, which both increased their power and made them easier to load.
After firing, the artillerymen stuffed a packet of black powder and a packet of lead shot into each cannon, then lit the fuses again.
After taking two rounds of grapeshot, the mercenaries were terrified by the underhanded tactic. They scrambled to retreat, afraid they would be hit by another volley.
After dealing with the enemy in front of them, Vitus advanced again and began shelling the Milanese right flank. He smashed the outermost formation, then the second, then the third...
One formation after another was destroyed under the combined attack of the Pistoia garrison and the relief force. In the end, the entire Milanese battle line collapsed.
"It's finally over."
Vitus sheathed his sword. Since the militiamen were so poorly trained, he had been forced to use the most rigid tactic: keeping the infantry packed tightly together as they advanced slowly, serving as cover for the artillery.
He lifted his visor to catch his breath and gazed across the chaotic, blood-soaked battlefield. "This is fine too. It's my first time commanding a battle, after all. Anything too complicated wouldn't suit me."
After the battle, the relief force pursued the enemy northwest for a while. Once they learned that Milan's reserve troops were still in Northern Italy, Florence decided to postpone its attack and disbanded the militia it had called up.
Vitus asked Giulio for news and learned that the weather was bitterly cold. The governor was worried they would lack supplies if they campaigned away from home, so they would wait until at least the beginning of next spring before considering an attack.
"All right. That's an internal matter for you, and it has nothing to do with me."
As a guest, Vitus didn't overstep his bounds. He stayed in Pistoia for a week, then traveled with Giulio's caravan to Florence.
On the way, he learned what had become of the diplomatic mission: his elder brother had left Rome and sailed for France...
Vitus was greatly puzzled. "What? France is facing a heap of problems. Why would they help us?"
Giulio said, "A friend at the Holy See told me that His Highness John is only passing through France. The person he's really seeking aid from is Sigismund. As ruler of the Holy Roman Empire, which includes Germany and the surrounding territories, Sigismund holds the titles of King of Hungary, King of Croatia, and King of Bohemia. He's the most powerful monarch in Europe."
Vitus sighed. "Until the Hussite Wars are over, I don't believe this man will help Constantinople. My brother is just wasting his time."
Before you continue