The Condottiero by Anne Stevens

The Condottiero by Anne Stevens

Author:Anne Stevens [Stevens, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: TightCircle Publishing
Published: 2015-08-08T23:00:00+00:00


“Well, Master Quartermaster, what news have you for me?” Will Draper is crouched over a table in one of the small canvas tents which his rag tag army are using, to keep the colder Veneto nights at bay.

“I have the full tally now,” Richard Cromwell says, and consults the scroll he has brought with him. “Swiss guardsmen, one hundred and ninety six, fit for duty. Mush’s cavalry number four hundred and twelve, all with swords and daggers. Some men from Padua and Genoa have volunteered, but they are badly armed, and untrained. They come to another sixty four. Then there are the English contingent. Apart from we gentlemen, five in number, there are the crews of two English ships, which have been refused a landing in Venice, because of the plague. They number eighty four, including the two captains. They have some pistols, knives, and cutlasses, and look like they can manage a scrap well enough.”

“A messenger from the Doge tells me that Tom Wyatt is back, and will be here tomorrow, along with two elderly canon.”

“Now we are talking,” Richard says, enthusiastically. “That makes us seven hundred and sixty one men, with some pikes, a few dozen muskets, and a pair of ancient canon. The Condottiero of Perugia must be soiling himself in fear of us.”

“It’s enough,” Will says. “Remember that God forsaken valley in Wales? Seven of us, against a hundred bloodthirsty Welsh rebels.”

“It was fifty,” Richard replies, “and we only won because their leader was killed early on. I doubt we can pull the same trick twice. Besides, large armies have generals, and colonels, to take over.”

“You don’t have to come,” Will says. “In fact, it might be better if you stay behind, and report back to your uncle.”

“Do you want me to strangle you?” Richard says, cracking his knuckles. “Not only will I not stay behind, I’ll be first into them.”

“I never doubted it, my friend.” Will is curious, and has to ask Richard something that confuses him. “Tell me, how comes it that you are the gentlest of souls one moment, and a raging warrior the next. What drives you so?”

“Food,” the young Cromwell tells his friend, blank faced. “I imagine that the enemy are between me, and my dinner. The thought that they might win, and eat my portion, drives me insane with anger.”

“Then we must starve you before each battle,” Will says.

“I am Samson,” Richard says, slapping his great barrel of a chest. “Save I am weakened through lack of a nicely broiled chicken, rather than hair!”



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