03 The Lion of Mistra by James Heneage

Author:James Heneage [Heneage, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Carlo Malatesta had chosen a good position between the Tiber and some hills, fronted by a deep drainage ditch, now dry. He’d arranged his five thousand men in a wide semi-circle of two lines of dismounted men-at-arms supported by cavalry and mounted archers. To the right of the line were his bombards, perhaps ten of them.

Giovanni was standing on a little hill at the rear of Braccio’s army holding the knight’s second charger by the reins. Next to him stood Braccio’s carroccio with its tabarded trumpeters blowing out his orders and Braccio himself too busy to notice anything but the battle in front.

For seven hours Giovanni watched a perfect display of the Braccesca school of fighting: small groups of heavy cavalry charging different parts of Perugia’s line, jumping the ditch and probing for the weaknesses, then retiring to rest and drink water while archers advanced to pour arrows into the enemy’s ranks. All the time, Malatesta’s army stood under a July sun, unable to move, unable to drink.

The squire with the multi-coloured hose explained: ‘Braccio’s looking for the city’s militia,’ he said. ‘They’re poorly trained and will buckle under a charge. Meanwhile they all die of thirst!’

The knight came back twice to change horses. When he returned, his squire would remove his armour and give him water. But he was still cooking under this merciless sun. Giovanni looked out towards Malatesta’s army. What must they be suffering?

Too much, it seemed. For now, in between the charges, the Perugian men-at-arms were beginning to drift off to the river in ones and twos. Braccio was watching them go. At last, he issued orders for the pikemen to prepare themselves to advance. They drew up and the fascines were taken from the wagons and distributed among them.

On the other side of the hill, Malatesta’s army was beginning to disintegrate. The captains were riding up and down the riverbank, beating men with the flats of their swords, shouting at them to get back into their ranks. It wasn’t working. More men were coming to drink.

Braccio had left his carroccio, mounted his charger and gone down to the massed ranks of pikemen. He was riding back and forth in front of their line, standing in his stirrups and waving his baton, pointing towards the enemy with great flourishes. A trumpet sounded and the pikemen began to advance.

Giovanni was shielding his eyes to see properly. The sun was lower but still shone straight into his eyes. He looked for Carlo Malatesta’s carroccio. It wasn’t there. He remembered Cleope telling him something.

He sometimes keeps to his tent in battle.

He searched the enemy army for tents. There were some behind the bombards, one large one amidst several smaller. He couldn’t see the flag above it. He looked back to the enemy’s ranks. Men were coming back from the river but not enough. There were gaps, particularly in one area.

‘The militia.’ The squire was pointing. ‘Braccio was right: no discipline.’

The phalanxes were advancing on that part of the line and Giovanni could see the Perugian cavalry moving up to support it.

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