«As he wished to prove!», said Gesualdo. «The signs are the Della Roveres ones. Lets run, while theres still time. I dont want to be stabbed by their spears. We have a bit of an advantage. And even their horses will have a hard time galloping on the gravel. Lets put our steeds in the pass and head north along the beach. If we keep our distance, they wont catch up with us. As soon as possible well jump inland and head towards the village of Monte Marciano. Piccolomini has always remained neutral, both towards Jesi and Senigallia. The Della Rovere thugs will not chase us.»
But a little further on, still on the beach, towards the north, a group of warriors on foot, dressed in coloured tunics, also bearing Della Roveres insignia, emerged. A first deaf explosion was heard, accompanied by a cloud of smoke. Andrea heard an object whistling, passing quickly near his ear.
«What was it?» he asked his friend.
«A lead ball. They have firearms. Muzzle-loading rifles. Much less accurate than arrows, but much more deadly if they catch you.»
«Were in a vice, Gesualdo. What do we do now?»
«There!» replied the latter who, at a glance, had already made a plan. A small grassy strip had conquered a tongue of beach and headed for the hill, a short distance away. «Thats a good escape route.»
While other lead balls whistled near their heads, the horses, as soon as they reached the most stable strip of ground, were satisfied, regaining their strength and briefly gaining the hillside. In the meantime, the three enemy horsemen had also thrown themselves into pursuit, and now what passed near their ears were no longer metal balls, but dangerous arrows with a very sharp tip. Fortunately, Andreas and Mancinos horses were much faster than the others, and were not even weighed down by knights in armour. The two friends pushed the horses up the steep path that climbed towards the village of Monte Marciano. When they reached the top of the hill, with the village already in sight a few leagues away, they turned downwards, and saw that the men of Della Rovere had not ventured beyond a certain point.
«As expected, they did not enter the Piccolominis territories. For now, we have saved our lives», said the Left-handed man.
«For now!», was Andreas reply.
The two thugs, Amilcare and Matthew, came from a small mountain village in the territory of the Serenissima Republic of Venice. Ponte nelle Alpi was located on the Alemagna road, which continued northwards, beyond the rocky bastions of the Dolomite Mountains, until it reached the Germanic lands. At least once every two months the inhabitants of the village trespassed into the Tyrol to stock up on beer. Some of them had tried to learn the art of distilling barley and hops in order to obtain the good, frothy, amber-coloured liquid, but given the difficulty of understanding the language of their Tyrolean friends, they had never managed to obtain a product as good as the one they were going to buy on the other side of the pass. Amilcare, who was particularly fond of beer, had brought a certain supply of beer, but it was now running low.
«In these areas, I dont know why, beer becomes undrinkable. Weve only been riding for an hour and a half and its become as hot as piss», said Amilcare, draining the wineskin and burping noisily.
He threw the empty, floppy container to his younger companion, who grabbed it on the fly and lifted it over his open mouth, dropping the last drops of liquid. Then, disappointed, he hooked him behind the saddle. To Matteo, in order to put something invigorating into his body, the local wine was fine too and so he grabbed two wineskins of Rosso Conero from the cellars of the castle of Massignano. He realized that the red wine was good even if it was not fresh, but that much less could be ingested than beer before he started to turn his head. So, for the moment, he tried not to pass it on to his companion, who would drink an exaggerated amount without realizing it.
«Im still thirsty! Pass me the wine, Matthew!», almost shouted Amilcare to his companion, heedless that they were approaching the walls of the castle of Rocca Priora, after noisily crossing the wooden bridge that allowed them to cross the river Esino.
«No way!» replied the other one. «We must remain lucid, at least until lunchtime, to complete the mission entrusted to us by the Duke. After weve skewered the court dandy and his bodyguard, we can celebrate. Try to be quiet, rather. Were under the castle walls. You dont want to throw a whole garrison of militia at yourself, do you?»
Amilcare made a gesture with his hand, as if he wanted to chase away an annoying insect.
«The Duke said that we dont have to worry, neither here in Rocca Priora, nor when we arrive at the Tower of Montignano. He greased the hinges of the right doors and no one will care about us. Do you see soldiers watching us on the guards walkways?»
«No, but that doesnt reassure me. They may be well hidden, but they are certainly watching us.»
«But they wont stop us. And at the tower of Montignano we wont find anyone. Well have a clear field, well take positions, well wait for the two of them and well kill them without them even noticing. A simple and clean job. Then all we have to do is go back to Ancona and collect the fee and away... home. I cant wait to get back to our dear mountains. And, as soon as I can, be sure Ill knock on the door of the burgomaster of Vipiteno for a good supply of good beer. More than wine!» And so he emitted another resounding burp in the direction of a slit in the castle walls, behind which he had the impression that he saw shining eyes watching the scene. But no one from the fortress gave any sign of life, and the two of them got through it without any trouble. They advanced northwards along the seashore, with the horses struggling a bit to advance in the gravelly ground, until they reached the Mandracchio, a bulwark erected by Piccolomini to defend the hinterland from pirate raids. They entered the fortress and watered the horses, then they quenched their thirst at the source of fresh water themselves. The square, already early in the morning, was a comings and goings of people of all kinds, from farmers who with the cart loaded with fruit and vegetables went to sell their products at the market of Monte Marciano, to local lords who demanded tithes from the farmers to continue to cultivate the land they owned, to armigers who saddled the horses, after having carefully chosen them in the stables. A stableman approached Matthew and Amilcare and, after overcoming the disgust due to the smell they emanated, he turned to them in a kind manner.
"Do you need fresh mounts, sirs? For two denarii Ill take your horses and give you two well rested. When you ride back from here, you may take your horses back.»
«I dont know if we will come back» replied Matthew, making sure that it was not Amilcare who replied, the latter being much more rude than him. «The horses belong to the Duke of Montacuto, and wed better bring them back to him. Our heads are at stake. Rather, we must reach the tower of Montignano. It shouldnt be far now. Show us the best way.»
«Whats the reward for the information?» asked the boy to Matthew, making good and bad play.
Matthew poured some red wine from one of the full bottles of wine to the one that contained the beer, emptied just before, and offered it to the young stable boy.
«This should be enough. If it is not enough for you, I can always offer you to smell my partners breath. You only have to ask!»
The boy looked at Amilcare with a disgusting look and accepted the wineskin he was wearing.
The boy looked at Amilcare with a disgusting look and accepted the wineskin he was wearing.
Take the valley and go to the foot of the hill. Do not head towards the town of Monte Marciano, but keep to the right to reach the ridge of the hill. Always follow the path on the top of the hill and you will reach the tower long before the hour of desio. Good luck!»
«Good luck to you, boy. And thank you.» Matthew would have almost pulled a coin out of the bag the Duke had given them the night before, but Amilcares gaze made him desist from rewarding the groom any further.
Amilcare is right, said Matthew to himself. With his kindness, he could be a spy and put us on the tail of the thieves, once seen the bag with the coins. Better not to have to risk wasting time having to cut the throats of vulgar little thieves!
For Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere, expelling the Medici from Urbino and taking possession of his lands in Montefeltro was now a matter of principle, and the time had come. His father Giovanni Della Rovere, lord of Senigallia, had the architect and strategist Francesco di Giorgio Martini build a majestic fortress in Mondavio, practically halfway between Senigallia and Urbino. Francesco did not understand much about the strategic position of that sumptuous fortress, as it was entirely within their possessions, and not in a border position, where it would have been right to be. At that point they would never be attacked, and in fact the fortress had never been besieged since its construction had been completed, and almost thirty years had passed since that day. But the building was a majestic fortress and presented itself to the human eye as a frightening war machine, in which every shape and structure was designed to withstand the attacks launched both by traditional jet weapons, and by the most modern firearms, which were now becoming more and more widespread. The fortress itself was equipped with the deadliest known war machines: catapults, bombards and other deadly devils. In the armoury there were also so many rifles, pistols and arquebuses that they could arm a garrison of about a thousand armigers. The depot where the gunpowder was stored was well insulated and protected, and the keepers had hung on the walls an image of St. Barbara, to avoid, thanks to its protection, the danger of accidental bursts.
Therefore the Duke had chosen to move here, leaving the Rocca Roveresca of Senigallia, because Mondavio represented the ideal place from which to leave again to the conquest of Urbino. And he had to do so before the Malatesta arrived from Rimini or, worse, from Pesaro. The late spring of the year of the Lord 1522 was the right time to move his garrisons. Pope Leo X had died and had been replaced by Cardinal Adriano Florentz of Utrecht, who had taken the name of Adriano VI. He was a puppet, whose strings were pulled by the ecclesiastical oligarchy, and everyone was convinced that it would not last long before the Cardinal of Florence, Giulio De Medici, had planned something to regain the papal throne. So the moment had to be seized, anticipating the moves of both the Malatesta and the Medici. But he considered his lieutenant, Orazio Baglioni, incapable. And even if he wasnt strategically and militarily incapable, he still considered him a Malatesta spy. Only a few months earlier, in December, Francesco was allied with the Malatesta, and together with him had driven the papal legions out of Fabriano and Camerino, restoring the power of the Dukes of Varano, and then heading with the militia united towards Perugia. They had stopped at the news of the death of Pope Leo X, returning to their territories of Senigallia and Pesaro respectively. Officially, Francesco Maria Della Rovere was still allied with the Malatesta, and proof of this was that lieutenant who continued to have him under his feet. It was necessary to eliminate him and take a valid substitute in his place, if he wanted to enter Urbino quickly, mocking his old ally. Only one name was on his mind, that of Andrea Franciolini. He had taken information about him, at the time when he had attacked the city of Jesi, some years before. The mercenaries in his pay had reduced him to dying, but he got away with it. He hadnt really understood how he had escaped the death sentence hanging over his head, perhaps with the help of the Duke of Montacuto, at least thats what people said. Franciolini was young, but he had a reputation for being good, both as a leader and a fighter. But at the moment it seemed that he had been detained, for some years now, at the court of Duke Berengario of Montacuto. Thanks to some spies he had at the castle of Massignano, two young servants of Senigallian origin, he had finally obtained the information he needed.
«The Montacuto has agreed with the Malatesta to send young Franciolini to his service. On the 22nd of May, Andrea Franciolini, with an escort man, will pass through the parts of Senigallia, to reach the Malatesta in Pesaro and join his army», the young cook Giuliano had told him, one day he had returned to Senigallia with the excuse of visiting his mother. «But he will never get there because it is a trap. In fact, the Duke of Montacuto has already made arrangements in secret with the new Pope to sell the Marca Anconitana to the Papal States for a few thousand gold florins. And so now Franciolini is an inconvenient character. Hell have him killed by two assassins at the Tower of Montignano. It doesnt matter at this point if the one who has so far considered his right-hand man, Gesualdo, known as The Mancino, will also be involved. The Duke of Montacuto needs money, a lot of money, he is indebted to the bone to build a huge and useless fortification to defend the port of Ancona. And he can no longer justify his expenses to the Council of Elders. So...»
«I get it», said Della Rovere, slipping some silver coins into the boys hands. «So he decided to sell the city, fortress, port and territories to the highest bidder, eliminating the inconvenient characters. I believe that any day now they will find all the members of the Council of Elders of the city of Ancona dead. Who knows, perhaps an epidemic, as sudden as it is providential!»
The same evening, Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere returned to Mondavio. The next morning, the servants of Orazio Baglioni found the lieutenant lying on his bed with his eyes barred and the foam coming out of his lips. On the cabinet beside the bed was found a glass still containing residues of poisoned liquid.
«He killed himself», the Duke said as soon as he was told the news. «He confided to me a few days ago that he was suffering from love pains. He was in love, but the bridesmaid who was the object of his desires had twice refused him. Pity, he was a good soldier. Now Ill have to find a worthy replacement.»
The spring day was already heralding the arrival of a hot summer, and Francesco Maria wore a light yellow doublet and comfortable stockings. He was thirty-two years old at the time, but he proved to be much older. He was a man not very tall, but robust, his physique tempered by the countless battles, always fought on the field. Even as a warlord, he had never backed down in front of the towel. And the enemies he had killed were no longer even counted. The long dark beard, the ruffled hair and the squinting of the Montefeltro family, inherited from his mothers side, made him a treacherous man, who was fearful of anyone who came before him. It was uncommon for him to wear light clothes like that day. Often, even in his apartments, he wore studded jackets and reinforced stockings. And he never abandoned his sword, always placed in its sheath on his right side. For political reasons, he had married very young, only fifteen years old, to the beautiful Eleonora Gonzaga, with whom he had had a son, Guidobaldo, who was now eight years old. Wife and son were far from him and his battlefields, and enjoyed the luxury and comfort of the court of Mantua. But when Urbino was under his power again, he would see to it that Eleonora and Guidobaldo joined him at the Ducal Palace of Urbino, which was no less beautiful than the Gonzaga castle. And the fact of having Eleonora again beside him, would have allowed him to start thinking about some other children. Of course, his descendants were assured, but a gentleman who respects himself must have a host of children, to be shown in public and to be directed, at the appropriate time, to hold important positions of power, worthy of the name they would bear.