“My own Duque, Henrique, is here for the good of his soul, too. But what he knows of maleria militaris would not fill a mouse’s codpiece.”
Arthur chuckled at the allusion. He was clearly as takea with their captive as had been both Foster and Wolfgang.
“The Duque is certainly a man of some renown,” agreed the King, in a humorous tone. “Frankly, I was surprised to hear that he had been chosen to lead a Crusade. How much does he weigh, these days?”
Melchoro grinned. “As you reckon it, sire, something in excess of twenty stone.”
Wolfgang roared with laughter. His sides still shaking, he gasped, “Lieber Gott! Drei hundert pfunden? Und in armor? An elephant he must ride.”
“No, mein Herr Reichsregent, he has a small coach, plated with proof, and drawn by six big geldings of the Boulonnais stock.” He grinned. “It is a most singular spectacle, sire—the Duque’s silken banner flying from a staff atop the coach, the horses all hung with chainmail and the coachmen and postilions in full plate. Yes, to see the Duque go to war is a rare experience. The Cardinal has taken to sharing his coach, recently.”
Arthur nodded. “What of this Cardinal Ahmed? Does he command? What sort of soldier is he? Moorish, is he not?”
“He be a Berber, Sire, but albeit little skilled in war. Such orders as he gives are the ‘suggestions’ of Conde Wenceslaus, the famous condottiere. Such a charade is necessary to mollify the few hundred Italian knights and their retainers who value themselves too highly to accept orders from a Slav, ‘ even a noble Slav.”
Wolfgang’s brow wrinkled and he shook his shaven head slowly. “Wenceslaus, Landgraf Horeszko, ach, more battles that man has fought und vun, then hairs I haf on my arse. That he commanded only the Papal condottas, I had hoped. But if he the vord behind the Cardinal iss, then to lose this battle ve very veil may.”
“How many cannon have the Crusaders?” asked King Arthur. “And what weights do they throw?”
“The siege train, Your. Majesty, is large and complete. However, most of them are far too large and clumsy for field-of-battle work. Of lighter pieces, well … let me see. Each of the three Papal legions has a battery of four guns, nine-pounders, I believe. The Duque has four six-pounders and four fifteen-pounders.”
“Und the Spanishers?” probed Wolfgang.
“A good part of the siege train is Spanish, but they own no lighter pieces,” replied the Bar6n, adding, at the looks of utter consternation, “No, it is true. Principe Alberto often avers that while gunpowder is superior to siege engines for knocking down walls, battles are always won by sharp steel, bravery and faith. The Spanish ships offloaded no piece lighter than a full cannon.”
The army of the Church advanced across the sunlit plain in battle order, to halt a little over a half-mile from the English. There was a confused wavering and rippling all along the lines of the center, then through the hastily widened intervals trotted thousands of armor-clad gentry and mercenary lancers. At the trot, they spread to form a jagged line, three horsemen deep. Then, with a pealing of trumpets, the leading line broke from trot to gallop, their long lances leveled, shouting their battle cries, then target the glittering pikepoints of the English tercios.
They were still a good quarter-mile from that target when the crossfire of the fieldguns almost obliterated them; neither chain nor plate proved any protection against grapeshot. But almost before”they had gone down, the second line was at the gallop, secure in the knowledge that the cannon could never be swabbed, reloaded, and relaid in time to do them like damage. There would be a single volley from the contemptible musketeers, then their steel would be hacking at the pike-hedge.
There was a volley from the muskets. But then there was a second, and a third. And then the few survivors lost count of the rolling volleys. But old Count Wenceslaus, watching this idiotic waste of the valuable cavalry, did not lose count. In the silence—if”the hideous din compounded of every sound suffering men and horses can make could be deemed silence—following the seventh volley, he solemnly crossed himself, something he had not done in many years.