The Condotierri: A Contract is a Contract

This story is based on the life of Sir John Hawkwood, a condotierri, or contractor, in medieval Italy. Hawkwood was a mercenary through and through, and gold was worth more to him than honor. 

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“Niccolo! More wine! Now!” A servant boy in his early teens bustled out of the magnificent tent. Marquis Giovanni held his golden cup out, waiting for his servant to return with the reddish liquid that so many lords lived on. Next to the Marquis, seating at a long table in the tent, sat Ludovico Tolliani, the chief minister of Montferrat. Montferrat was located in the north of Italy. Not large, it boasted bountiful vineyards and a gateway through the Apennines to France. The Marquis was a large man, with an enormous belly and drooping jowls. Giovanni II of Montferrat had once been a strong, able soldier who had defended his principality from ravenous neighbors to the south, but now, after a decade of wine, women, and a lack of fighting, the Marquis was as soft as his own pitiful army. He contrasted severely with Tolliani, who sat to his left. The minister was stick thin and  dressed in black, with a pointed mustache on his chin. The minister surveyed the tent with sharp, dark eyes.

As the servant boy returned with more wine, the tent flap opened, and a knight appeared, carrying his helm at his side.

“Pardon me, my lord, but the Englishman has arrived.” The Marquis put his cup down and clapped his hands loudly, grinning with glee. The servant boy, not knowing what to do now that the Marquis had replaced his cup, stood nearby, hesitantly.

“Excellent! Send him in immediately!” As the knight exited the tent, the Marquis turned to examine the boy and frowned.

“Are you simple, you piss-face sow? Pour me my wine! Stupid boy!” The Marquis’ face was contorted with displeasure. Young Niccolo turned red with embarrassment. He quickly poured the wine into the Marquis’ now proffered cup. With his cup filled, Giovanni seemed to relax, and he waved the boy away.

The tent flap opened once more, and a tall man in simple grey armor entered. The Marquis did not know what to think of the man in front of him. The Englishman was strong, possessing an air of rigidity and dignity, yet not nobility. The man’s face was rough and scarred, no doubt from his many battles with the French; rumor was that he killed a French lord at Crecy and plundered his gold. This knight in front of Giovanni was common, but he was a good soldier. His armor bore the look of well-used metal, beaten in many places. A pure white surcoat covered his breastplate.

“John Hawkwood. At your service, my lord.” The man’s hard face remained emotionless as he stared straight ahead. Tolliani scanned the man for any sign of weakness. The Maquis smiled at Hawkwood and opened his arms wide, cup in hand.

“Master Hawkwood! Welcome to Montferrat!” Hawkwood raised an eyebrow, noting the evident fact that they were not in the castle of the Marquis.

Giovanni’s smile faltered slightly.

“I know that this isn’t my castle, but I thought that you should come to my military camp to equip your company with whatever weapons you may need.” Tolliani shifted uncomfortably. The Marquis’ generosity in giving away weapons to the Englishman and his company would be expensive, since any mercenary company would take what they could. Hawkwood nodded once, still expressionless.

“Thank you, my lord. I will inform my captains. Now, do you have a job for me” Hawkwood’s direct tone caught the Marquis off guard. Tolliani narrowed his eyes, but Giovanni laughed.

“Excellent! You are direct then. I like that in a man. Yes, a job.” The Marquis motioned to Tolliani, and the minister stood up, reaching for a scroll laying on the table. Tolliani gave the scroll to Hawkwood, who took it hesitantly.

"The Green Count. Do you know him?" Tolliani inquired. Hawkwood shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"I have heard of him, yes. Amadeus of Savoy." Hawkwood looked directly at Tolliani. Tolliani stared back, not willing to be outdone by a soldier.

“Quite so.” Tolliani turned and seated himself on the Marquis’ side. Giovanni spoke next.

“This meddlesome Count is one of my greatest rivals. He believes that he can simply raid my territory and get away with it. It must stop now.” Hawkwood thought for a moment before he spoke.

“And what is the target? I need a town, or castle, or army.” The Marquis smiled.

“A village in the south of Savoy. St Gilbert is the name. It’s not particularly strategic, but…” he glanced at Tolliani, who turned away his head in disgust. “It has certain, uh, aspects that make it a very tempting target.” Hawkwood did not flinch.

“Such as?” The Marquis realized that he had lost the savor of his joke, and his smile faltered.  

“Ah, well, I can see that there is no fooling you. The village in question is the birthplace of the good Count. He was christened in the church there, and I would hire you to burn this church to the ground The fool claims he was born in Chambery, but I know the truth.”

Hawkwood for the first time looked uneasy.

“I am not sure that some of my men would do harm to a building of God. If any clergy were harmed…” The Marquis’ eyes narrowed.

“From what I hear, you were not squeamish when you burned that church in Burgundy.” Giovanni’s venomous tone was not lost on Hawkwood, who looked down with a painful look on his face.

“I understand, my lord. My financier will arrange for the contract and payment.” Hawkwood looked up, his face once again without expression. The Marquis’  face brightened immediately.

“Well then! Now that we have that settled, would you care to dine with us this evening?” The Marquis seemed sincere, but Hawkwood cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Thank you, my lord, but no. My company must depart as soon as we can.”

“I see. Then you must be off! Farewell, and Godspeed!” The Marquis waved Hawkwood away, and the mercenary bowed his head and left the tent.

The afternoon air was cool with a breeze drifting by lazily from the Alps. The mountains, only miles away, dominated the horizon with snow-capped majesty. Hawkwood scanned the camp around him. The sound of a blacksmith hammering a sword echoed through the small sea of tents. The simple white field and red bar of Montferrat fluttered in the wind above the Marquis’ pavilion. A few dozen Montferrat soldiers milled around the camp, carrying firewood and cooking supper. Most were young and inexperienced, dressed in a leather brigandine with the Montferrat badge stitched on.

But towards the center of the camp, in a wide open space, there was a group of an entirely different sort of soldier. A pure white banner trimmed with crimson flew from a lance propped against a cart full of weapons. Around two hundred soldiers gathered in the open area. Some were clad in chainmail tunics, some with leather and metal brigandines, and a few in solid breastplates; all wore a white surcoat.

As Hawkwood approached the mass of men, a head poked out from the center of the crowd. A massive dark haired man called out from the crowd.

"The Captain has returned!" All heads turned towards Hawkwood as he walked through the tents. The crowd parted to allow Hawkwood to stand in the center of the group.

Hawkwood stood amidst the mass of soldiers, looked around determinedly, and began to speak.

“Gentlemen, we have been given our first contract as a Company.” A roar of triumph greeted these words. Veterans amongst the crowd looked eager for glory, while the novices cheered but still looked anxious.

“The objective is a small Savoyard village. We move in one hour. Captains, organize your sections at once. Dolfini,” Hawkwood turned to a small, bespectacled man with a ledger in hand. “Come, we will sort out the contract.” Dolfini nodded, and he and Hawkwood walked off, away from the crowd. As the mass broke up into sections, Hawkwood addressed his financier.

“We’re a long way from Burgundy, Giulio.” Hawkwood said. Dolfini smiled.

“Certainly, Captain. But here it is more profitable. The Marquis can pay, I imagine?” Hawkwood shrugged.

“Your imagination could be correct. From what I hear, he offers plenty in the way of provisions and weapons, too. But he wants us to burn a church.”

Dolfini stopped dead in his tracks. Hawkwood stopped too. He glanced at Hawkwood in disbelief.

“What? A church? That won’t sit well with the Italians, or the Germans. But, why?” Hawkwood kept walking, looking straight ahead, and Dolfini jogged to catch up.

“This is personal for the Marquis. He wants to insult Amadeus of Savoy by burning the church where he was christened in.” Dolfini pursed his lips in disapproval.

“Hmph. This Marquis would have us take on the Green Count for a petty vendetta?”

Hawkwood stopped.

“Of course. That’s what we’re paid for.”