The Bronze Crown. Stefano Vignaroli
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they had reached the moat surrounding the fortress and were now under the strangely lowered drawbridge, despite the hostilities shown from the inside. Always remaining in the water and making as little noise as possible, they circumvented the building, reaching the side overlooking the sea, on which no windows opened, in order not to offer easy access to pirates coming from the Adriatic.
«At this point it should not be risky to leave the rampart», whispered The Mancino, trying to keep the tone of voice as low as possible. «We will find ourselves in the gravelly ground that leads from here to the sea shore.»
In fact, in that area the ground was not marshy, and the debris brought by the river Esino over the centuries had formed a beach of gravel and pebbles, very beautiful to see, as insidious for the hooves and legs of horses. As the animals were dry, the horsemen spurred them on to move away at a fast pace, but the gravelly bottom hindered the movements of the animals, which the more they tried to start, the more they sank among the stones. At a certain point, Gesualdo’s horse bent on its front legs, remaining on its knees: the horseman, unbalanced forward, was thrown from the saddle and found himself on the ground, to get back on his feet with a skilful somersault. He returned to the horse, took up the reins, shouted at him to get up and jumped back into the saddle.
«I see with pleasure that you are still as nimble as a young man, despite your age and despite having the use of only one arm. Congratulations. I was right to want someone like you at my side for this perilous journey!», said Andrea, who despite the situation had not lost his spirit.
But the hustle and bustle, the noise of the horses’ paws on the gravel, the human screams and the equine nitrites, had certainly not gone unnoticed from the inside of the fortress, from which at that moment three knights dressed in armour were coming out, with their hidden tight in their heads and their spears in remains.
«As he wished to prove!», said Gesualdo. «The signs are the Della Rovere’s ones. Let’s run, while there’s still time. I don’t 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. Let’s put our steeds in the pass and head north along the beach. If we keep our distance, they won’t catch up with us. As soon as possible we’ll 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 Rovere’s 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.»
«We’re 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. «That’s 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, Andrea’s and Mancino’s 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 Piccolomini’s territories. For now, we have saved our lives», said the Left-handed man.
«For now!», was Andrea’s 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 don’t know why, beer becomes undrinkable. We’ve only been riding for an hour and a half and it’s 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.
«I’m 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. We’re under the castle walls. You don’t 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 don’t 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 guard’s walkways?»
«No, but that doesn’t reassure me. They may be well hidden, but they are certainly watching us.»
«But they won’t stop us. And at the tower of Montignano we won’t find anyone. We’ll have a clear field, we’ll take positions, we’ll wait for the two of them and we’ll 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 can’t wait to get back to our dear mountains. And, as soon as I can, be sure I’ll 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.
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