Chapter 54: Banners on the Rise

Dawn, and the platoon moved to the chosen ground, the beach camp packed up and brought inland before the sun had quite made up its mind to rise properly.

The place showed nothing at any reasonable distance, which was precisely why it worked.

Westward, a low rise climbed gently near the field, the sort of slope a rider would pass without a second thought. Eastward lay a dry streambed, cracked and pale with old salt.

Between them, the open field narrowed until it squeezed down to a strip no wider than the company could hold shoulder to shoulder. If an army came from Chania, their scouts would only see a few shadows near a hill and a stream.

Yet, if one looked at the region from above the hills, it would be easy to understand why the chart had been worth every currency.

The platoon’s crossbowmen went up the rise and spread there, bows pointed down toward the field. The picchieri took the streambed instead, pikes already planted, the steel against open ground.

The armored footmen occupied the center, packed together in the narrowest part, where the field pinched down until there was barely room for the company itself.

It was a good place to fight, and an even better place to make sure nobody had room to run, which is sometimes the more important consideration.

Three banners stood where the ground rose high enough for the wind to get hold of them. The gold lion of Venezia caught the sunlight first, its red field snapping hard enough to be seen from the road.

Beneath it hung the wine-dark cloth of House Barozzi. Under both of them flew the lion of the Compagnia del Leone Nero, black and lean against the pale sky.

Vito walked the length of the position with Domenego beside him, then turned and walked it again. Their boots found the ground twice as they checked a picchiere’s footing here and a crossbowman’s aim there.

While both man evaluated their position, dozens minutes passed.

Then the interruption came with scouts hammering across the field, sailors rather than soldiers, which was easy enough to tell from the way they ran. Even at a sprint, they still had that rolling gait sailors brought with them.

Nico came first, red-faced and gasping, the green hand who had once sworn that a drowned sailor sang to him off Imbros and claimed to have seen an island near the Cyclades.

Whatever he had seen this time, he had not slowed down enough to recover his breath before bringing the news.

"Ser Barozzi."

He bent over with both hands on his knees and dragged the rest of the words out between breaths. "They’re out. The whole city, near enough. Coming straight up the city road."

The other sailor had enough breath left to make out a report. Horsemen first, perhaps fifty of them, riding beneath a collection of loose house colors with no single banner tying them together.

Archons’ retainers, judging by the cut of their mail. Behind them came the real crowd, spearmen and city militia dragged from Chania’s streets and the countryside besides, three or four hundred by his rough count.

The scout had not been foolish enough to stand there counting them one by one.

Near the column was a smaller contingent, but one that moved with discipline. Genoese crossbowmen, if their gear could be trusted, close to a dozen by his estimate.

"Cazzo."

Vito let the numbers sit there without much surprise onto his face. He had wagered on exactly this while still in the cabin, betting that a confident force would come out and fight rather than sit safely behind stone.

Now Chania had been kind enough to prove him right before a single blade had even left its sheath.

Domenego’s grin appeared fast and wide.

"Five hundred, maybe more, against our sixty."

He said it with cheer, as if it was his wedding day.

"Ser Barozzi, I could kiss you."

"Save it for afterward, amico. I’d rather you save that enthusiasm for the Genoese."

Vito sent the two sailors back toward the beach with a word of thanks, then turned back toward the empty road and waited for it to stop being empty.

It took the better part of an hour to prove the sailors had not been drunk, frightened, or merely inventive.

The dust came first, a low smear rising where the road bent toward Chania. Then came shadows inside the dust, horses before men and banners before either.

As the army drew nearer, it spread wider instead of tightening up.

Vito could see no order in it.

Their house colors wandered across the front in loose patches, while the spearmen bunched together here and thinned out there, apparently without any officer bothering to keep them organized.

Behind the horsemen came the bulk of the army, more men than Vito’s eye cared to accept. And behind them came the part worth watching, a tighter block of men in good gear, moving with the discipline the rest of the host had somehow misplaced.

The Genoese crossbowmen.

Along Vito’s platoon, sixty men stood ready.

They had no need to spread themselves wide.

Become tight where the enemy was loose, and steady where the enemy was noise.

The banter on the company’s side disappeared, simply running out of men willing to keep it alive.

More soldiers checked straps they had already checked twice, adjusted weapons that didn’t need adjusting, and found very little else worth saying.

"That’s a great many men, Barozzi," Domenego let out a deep exhale.

For once, there was no theater in his voice.

"It is," Vito nodded, and left the matter there.

The words hung between them for a moment.

⚔ [QUEST ISSUED]

The Battle For Chania

Five hundred men, and every archon fool enough to believe his ambition is equal to his courage, are marching out here to save Genoa the trouble of admitting that Chania was never as loyal as it claimed.

Win this field, and that whole fiction comes down with them. Lose it, and Candia gets to discover just how thin sixty men’s worth of protection really is.

Reward : 200 Fate

Reward : ???

I’ve decided the second reward stays a mystery again. You do so enjoy being underestimated, and I’d hate to spoil the surprise of proving everyone wrong twice in one afternoon.

When the display disappeared, Vito spent no more time admiring them. "Custom says a man offers the courtesy of conversation before he commits to killing anyone in earnest."

His eyes were already moving along the platoon, searching for faces he trusted enough to take with him.

"I intend to be a very courteous man today."

Domenego’s grin returned in full.

"And here I thought courtesy died with your reputation, Barozzi."

"It’s had a busy week. Give it time to catch up."

Vito pulled eight men from the line, enough men to make the delegation respectable without making it look like an invitation to start a second battle before the first had even begun.

Domenego came to his side without being asked. Under his breath, he started to rehearse ways of introducing himself to whichever archon had been foolish enough to lead this parade out from behind a perfectly good wall.

Vito let him rehearse.

There would be time enough, once they crossed the ground between the two armies, for whatever words needed saying before the real business of the day began.