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| The Duke of Bourbon’s Halt at La Riccia, on His March to Assault Rome, May 3d, 1527 Robert Walter Weir Source |
Aloysius stared into the distance. The campfires of the Imperial Army were numerous.
"I don't believe that we can see them all, Andreas. Many would be behind the hills, but it certainly is a large army. Larger than what we have within Rome."
Andreas sighed, "Yes, it is said that they number twenty thousand, we have what? Perhaps five thousand, mostly militia, mostly untrained."
"Why is His Holiness insistent on staying in the city?" Aloysius asked, not understanding any of the politics of the day.
"Where would he go Junge¹? The Emperor has troops everywhere, he's safer here, in the Vatican. He wanted to stay at the Lateran Palace, but Captain Röist convinced His Holiness to come here, he feels the Vatican is more defensible and, if need be, we can convey the Holy Father to the Castel Sant'Angelo via the Passetto. That old Roman tomb would be a tough nut to crack, even for the Emperor."
"Wouldn't he be trapped there?"
"Ah Junge, the Holy Father still thinks he can negotiate with the Emperor, buy his way out of this predicament."
Aloysius nodded, but he still didn't really understand. He had a sinking suspicion that he would never see his homeland again. But to die in defense of the Pope, that had to be worth doing.
"We will fight them and die, if necessary." Aloysius pronounced with an air of confidence.
Andreas cleared his throat and spat over the battlements, "If it were only that simple."
Hans-Wolfram von Holbeck shook his head, "My men are without pay, Colonel. They want to sack the Eternal City and make it scream to the Heavens."
Colonel Hernando de Alzado nodded, drank the remnants of his wine, then stood up from his table. "I understand that, Captain. We are in negotiations with the Vatican to obtain some coin to pay the troops."
"You know that's not enough, right? The men won't be satisfied with coin at this point. They need a blood bath, they need to loot and pillage for a few days. Once they're satiated, then we pay them and march back north."
"Your Landsknechts want blood do they?"
Von Holbeck nodded, "Yes, and I don't blame them. We've been marching for days, rations are terrible, and the men's morale is in the shitter. Don't your Spaniards feel the same?"
De Alzado almost mentioned that the men who manned his tercios were far more disciplined than the German mercenaries, but they needed those mercenaries to take Rome. That was his bottom line.
"You two! Come with me!"
Aloysius and Andreas turned as their corporal barked at them. They followed the man down to the courtyard. There they fell into ranks with the rest of the Swiss Guard. Captain Röist was pacing back and forth before them.
"There's no way we're going to hold those walls, we are too few. So we'll leave that to the city militia. We also know, almost to a certainty, that that rabble won't hold the wall for very long."
There was a murmuring in the ranks as the men looked at each other.
"SILENCE!"
The Captain let that word hang in the air for a long moment. The men were silent now, eyes straight ahead, their backs rigid.
"Most of us will stand here, buying time for His Holiness. I've detailed forty men to be ready to fall back to be near the Holy Father, and if need be escort him to Sant'Angelo. The rest of us will hold back the Imperial troops as long as we can."
Captain Röist paused, looking down the ranks, looking at each man, before he spoke again.
"We are sworn to defend His Holiness the Pope at all costs. If any man here feels he cannot live up to his oath, step forward now and I will discharge you. Mind you, you will be disgraced and can never return home if you quit your comrades now. We swore a Holy Oath, and I for one will die to fulfill that oath. Those who cannot do so, step forward."
The ranks remained unwavering, not a man moved.
"Very well, let us prepare."
Charles III, Duke of Bourbon, was preparing for bed. He would lead the assault on Rome in the morning, he was nervous but he felt a few hours of sleep might be beneficial.
"Gaston!"
"Yes, Monsieur le Duc?"
"You have laundered my white cloak, have you not?"
"Yes, it is as white as the snows of the Alps, Your Grace."
"Very well, wake me well before sunrise, I will wear the cloak into action so that the men might be inspired. I shall be first up the ladder!"
"Very good, Your Grace."
Gaston thought his master a fool. A brave fool, but a fool nonetheless.
¹ German, "boy" or "youngster."
A Duke in a white cloak FIRST up an Assault Ladder?
ReplyDeleteIf I recall correctly the "Glory" of being First Units into the Breech was often Rewarded with much glory, GOLD, promotions and retirement for the many crippled.
SNIP A forlorn hope is a band of soldiers or other combatants chosen to take the vanguard in a military operation, such as a suicidal assault through the breach of a defended position, or the first men to climb a scaling ladder against a defended fortification, or a rearguard, to be expended to save a retreating army, where the risk of casualties is high.[1][2] Such men were volunteers motivated by the promise of reward or promotion, or men under punishment offered pardon for their offenses, if they survived.
In British Navy the first to take the decks of a warship often got first take of the prize money (at least the survivors did).
And a Duke is going FIRST?