II. HOW BOURBON COMMENCED HIS MARCH TO HOME
Long before Von Frundsberg and his barbarous hordes had reached Piacenza, Bourbon would have joined them, but he found it impossible to remove the Imperial army from Milan without giving them a modicum of the arrears of pay due to them. Already he had distributed his money and jewels among them, and had nothing more to give. In vain he endeavoured to extort fresh supplies from the miserable citizens; their resources were utterly exhausted, and the worst torments proved ineffectual.
In this dilemma, a plan of raising money occurred to him, and was at once put in execution.
Girolamo Moroni, Sforza’s chancellor and private secretary, had been imprisoned in the Castle of Pavia by Pescara, and still remained a captive. Knowing that Moroni possessed great wealth, and hoping to extort a large sum from him by working on his fears, Bourbon visited him in the castle. The prisoner, who regarded Bourbon as a friend, was well pleased to see him.
“You are come to deliver me?” he said.
“I am come to deliver you from bondage, but not in the way you expect,” rejoined Bourbon, sternly. “Prepare for death. You will be beheaded to-morrow morning.”
“For what crime?” demanded Moroni, trembling. “What have I done?”
“You have conspired against the Emperor, and have induced Francesco Sforza to join the Italian League,” rejoined Bourbon.
“But in putting me to death you will deprive yourself of a most useful agent,” said the wily chancellor. “I can aid you effectually against the League.”
“I care not for the League,” rejoined Bourbon. “But I will save you on one condition. I know you have a large sum of money concealed – ”
“I swear to your highness that you are mistaken,” interrupted Moroni. “I have been despoiled of all my treasures by Pescara.”
“I know better,” said Bourbon. “You have a secret hoard. Pay me thirty thousand ducats, and you shall be set free. Otherwise, your head will fall on the block.”
“Thirty thousand ducats! Impossible, highness! Where am I to get that sum?”
“That is best known to yourself. I will give you two days to find the money. On the morning of the third day, if it be not forthcoming, you will die.”
“I pray your highness to consider that compliance with the demand is impossible.”
“I make no demand,” said Bourbon. “I offer your life on very easy terms.”
And he quitted the cell.
As Moroni remained obstinate, in order to intimidate him still further, Bourbon caused a large scaffold to be reared in the court of the castle, in sight of the windows of his prison-chamber.
These dismal preparations were not without effect. Believing that Bourbon would really execute his threat, Moroni sent for him, and delivered him the money.
“Ha! I felt certain you could procure it,” cried Bourbon, as he took the bags of gold. “This money will enable me to march to Rome.”
On his return to Milan, Bourbon assembled his army, and after distributing the money among them, he thus harangued them:
“Valiant captains and brave soldiers! – The time has now arrived when I must acquaint you with my secret intentions. Ere long, I hope to enrich you all by the sack of Rome – to deliver to you its nobles, its senators, its prelates, with all their wealth. You shall have the whole consistory of cardinals to deal with as you list – nay, Pope Clement himself who has excommunicated us all, and who so unworthily fills the chair of Saint Peter.”
This address was received with enthusiastic acclamations. The captains drew their swords, and the men brandished their halberds, or shook their arquebusses above their heads, and a universal shout arose of “To Rome! – to Rome!”
“I will not deceive you, my brave companions,” pursued Bourbon, as soon as the clamour ceased. “I have nothing more to give you. I am a poor knight – poor as yourselves. But as I have told you, we shall all become rich at Rome. Let us march thither at once. The Baron von Frundsberg and his lanz-knechts are waiting for us near Piacenza. Let us join them without delay, or they may go on and reach Rome before us.”
“We are ready to march at once,” cried a thousand voices. “To Rome! – to Rome! Vive Bourbon!” Bourbon did not allow their enthusiasm to cool, but put them in order of march at once, using so much expedition, that late in the following day he had effected a junction with Von Frundsberg.
When the two armies were combined, Bourbon found himself at the head of twenty-two thousand men – namely, fourteen thousand lanz-knechts brought by Frundsberg, five hundred reiters under Captain tucker, five thousand Spaniards, two thousand Italians, and a thousand light horse.
“With such an army as this,” he said to Von Frundsberg, as they rode together along the lines, “I can conquer all Italy.”
III. HOW BOURBON REACHED THE APENNINES
In the fierce bands of which Bourbon was now the leader, Italy found a scourge such as it had not endured since it was overrun by Alaric. The Spaniards were cruel and rapacious, worse than brigands, and scarcely amenable to discipline. The Germans were equally savage, and even more undisciplined, and, being all Lutherans and inflamed with intense hatred against the Pope and the creed of Rome, believed they were serving the cause of the Reformed religion by plundering and slaughtering its opponents. The Italians, who were commanded by Fabrizio Maramaldo, Sciarra Colonna, and Ludovico Gonzaga, had all the worst qualities of their Spanish and German associates, being bloodthirsty and licentious, and capable of any deed of violence or rapacity. Among the Spanish leaders who still remained with the army was the Marquis del Vasto, but since the death of his redoubted relative, Pescara, and the increased popularity of Bourbon, he exercised little authority over the troops.
Over the whole of this wild host, composed of such heterogeneous materials – Lutherans, Romanists, scoffers at all creeds – no one exercised supreme control but Bourbon. The lanz-knechts were devoted to Von Frunds-berg, and the reiters to Zucker, but neither Spaniards nor Italians would have served under such leaders. By a mixture of firmness and indulgence, which he knew so well how to practise, by his frankness and easiness of manner, Bourbon kept the wildest and most ferocious under a certain restraint and discipline, and though he was often compelled to make a severe example of some mutinous ruffian, the army ever recognised the justice of the sentence, and upheld his authority.
That Bourbon should be content to link his fortunes with soldiers whose professed objects were plunder and violence, may appear surprising, but it must be borne in mind that his nobler impulses had been checked, if not destroyed, by the life he had lately led. Ambition still reigned within his breast, the desire of conquest still animated him strongly as ever – even more strongly, perhaps – but he no longer cared by what means, or by what instruments, he attained his end. If he could gain a crown, no matter how it was won.
Meanwhile, he had succeeded in convincing the soldiers that he had become an adventurer like themselves. As we have said, he had stripped himself of all his money and jewels, and retained only his sword and lance, his accoutrements and his steed. Yet never had he been so powerful as now. None dared to disobey him. While idolising him, the men stood in awe of him, and the captains and generals feared him. He had become the master-spirit of the whole host, by whom all its plans and movements were directed. He was now without territory and without money, his home was the camp, his family the army. Of all his followers, the only one who accompanied him on his march to Rome was Pomperant. Like himself, Pomperant was still proscribed.
Proceeding slowly so as not to fatigue his troops, Bourbon marched by San Donino, Parma, Reggio, and Modena towards Bologna.
He did not stop to attack any of these cities, but contented himself with ravaging the surrounding country, emptying the granaries, and stripping the monasteries and churches of their plate and ornaments. The zealous Lutherans completed the work of destruction by demolishing the shrines and images. Abundance of provisions being brought in each day by the foraging parties, who scoured the country round, the army fared sumptuously, and Von Frundsberg caroused nightly in his tent with Zucker and the German captains.
When within a day’s march of Bologna, Bourbon had a conference with Alfonso d’Este, Duke of Ferrara, who, having been excluded from the Italian League by the Pope, was favourable to the invasion.
Bourbon endeavoured to prevail upon the duke to furnish him with artillery, of which he stood greatly in need. D’Este declined to supply the cannon, but made Bourbon a large subsidy, which enabled him to give two crowns to each of the lanz-knechts, being the first pay they had received since they had started on the expedition.
Having no artillery to attack Bologna, Bourbon continued his march. His position was one of some danger. In his rear was the Duke of Urbino and the Venetian army, while in front were the Pontifical troops, commanded by the Marquis of Saluzzo. The latter, however, retired as the invaders advanced, and the Duke of Urbino, not wishing to risk an engagement, contented himself with harassing their rear.
As he pursued his march, Bourbon’s army was daily augmented by hundreds of lawless adventurers, by deserters from the army of the League, and from the Pontifical army, who flocked round his standard, drawn towards it by the hope of plunder. Bourbon welcomed them all, brigands as they were, the bulk of his host being composed of similar material.
He was now approaching the Apennines, and had reached a wild and picturesque spot on the spur of the mountains, where the army, sheltered by some high rocks, had encamped for the night. The soldiers were collected in groups around their fires, carousing, gambling, jesting, quarrelling, or making merry, as was their wont. Some of the Spanish soldiers were chanting a song, composed in their leader’s honour, which commenced thus:
Calla, calla, Julio Cesar, Hannibal, Scipion,
Viva la fama de Bourbon!
While Bourbon was making his rounds, he heard the sentinels challenge a horseman who was riding up the hill towards the camp, and sent Pomperant to question him.
IV. THE PRINCE OF ORANGE
The person stopped by the sentinels was a young man of about five-and-twenty, of martial bearing and aspect. He was tall, well proportioned, and possessed handsome features, characterised by a proud, fierce expression, and Pomperant’s first impression on beholding him was, that he was a Venetian officer charged with a message from the Duke of Urbino; but as he drew near, and the stranger’s countenance could be more clearly distinguished, Pomperant uttered an exclamation of surprise and pleasure, for he recognised in him one of the bitterest enemies of Franee, and one of the most devoted friends of the Duke de Bourbon, the Prince of Orange.
Young as he was, Philibert de Chalons, Prince of Orange, was one of the most distinguished captains of the day. He came of an ancient Burgundian house, and inherited all the warlike qualities of his ancestry. Of a remarkably fierce and vindictive temperament, he never forgave an injury. His animosity towards François I. originated in a slight offered him by that monarch. At the ceremonial of the baptism of the Dauphin, the Prince of Orange was one of the invited guests, and appeared at the Louvre with a retinue befitting his rank, but he was very coldly received by the king, and the apartments designed for him in the palace were given to another. Highly incensed by this treatment, he immediately returned to his castle of Nozerol, and subsequently offered his services to the Emperor, who received him with open arms, and compensated him by other lands for the territories of which he was deprived by the King of France.
Philibert’s conduct justified the Emperor’s sagacity. The young prince greatly distinguished himself at the siege of Fontarabia.
When Bourbon invaded Provence, Philibert sailed from Barcelona to join him, but being taken prisoner, as may be remembered, by Andrea Doria, he was carried to France, and imprisoned in the castle of Lusignan in Poitou, where he was detained in close captivity until after the battle of Pavia.
Imprisonment did not tame his spirit, but rather envenomed his hatred of François I. Regardless of all consequences, he perpetually launched into fierce invectives against that monarch, and covered the walls of his prison with satirical remarks upon him.
In compliance with the treaty of Madrid, the Prince of Orange was set free, but as the convention was only executed in part, his confiscated domains were not restored to him.
Without a single follower, and almost without money, Philibert set forth to join Bourbon, and after many adventures and hindrances on his journey, which it is not necessary to recount, reached him at the foot of the Apennines, as described.
“I have come to join your highness,” said the young prince, when brought before Bourbon by Pomperant. “I have nothing to offer you but my sword, but that I devote to your service.”
“By Sainte Barbe! you are as welcome, prince, as if you had a thousand lances at your back,” rejoined Bourbon. “You offer me your sword. I accept it with gratitude. At any time, the offer would enchant me – now, it is doubly welcome. Your distinguished name will be of infinite service, and will help to confound my enemies. Before you ask aught from me, noble prince, I will evince my satisfaction by appointing you second in command to myself of the whole army.”
“I have done nothing to merit such consideration at your highness’s hands,” rejoined Philibert.
“But you will do much hereafter, prince,” said Bourbon. “I know that in you I have a staunch partisan – a friend on whom I can rely. We have wrongs in common, and are both mortal enemies of the false and perfidious François de Valois.”
“His very name rouses my choler,” cried Philibert, fiercely. “May all the curses I have daily invoked upon the faithless tyrant during my captivity at Lusignan alight on his devoted head! Had I been in the Emperor’s place, I would never have set him free till all the conditions of the treaty had been fulfilled. François de Valois is not to be trusted. He has broken his word with us all, and his name ought to be covered with infamy. But I beg pardon of your highness for my warmth,” he added, checking himself. “I thank you for the trust you repose in me. You shall find me a firm friend. And I hope the hour may come when we shall both be fully avenged on our common enemy.”
“Be sure the hour will come,” said Bourbon, sternly. “But the work of vengeance must be begun at Rome. Look around, prince. What do you behold?”
“An army of brave men – somewhat savage, perhaps, and not like the well-equipped legions of France, but able to conquer a kingdom.”
“Of this robber-host François has made me leader,” said Bourbon; “and he has compelled you to join it.”
“No matter. I serve Bourbon,” rejoined Philibert; “and I would rather serve him than any monarch in Europe. I care not of what the army is composed, so that the men can fight.”
“They can fight well, prince, and pillage as well as fight, as you will find, when you know them better,” said Bourbon, laughing.
“If they serve without pay, as I suppose they do, they must plunder,” said Philibert. “Despite their looks and equipments, they seem good soldiers.”
“The Pope will think so if they once get within the walls of Rome,” remarked Bourbon. “They are all impatience to be there, and I do not mean to balk them.”
“Then you do not design to attack Florence?” inquired the Prince of Orange.
“I have no artillery,” replied Bourbon, “and I do not wish to waste time in a siege. Florence will be defended by the army of the League and the Pontifical troops. Rome is more important.”
While they were thus conversing, Von Frundsberg and Zucker came up, and their new leader was presented to them by Bourbon.
Philibert possessed some of the qualities of Bourbon himself, and could put on, when he pleased, the rough frankness of a soldier. His manner pleased Von Frunds-berg, and that hardy veteran was delighted with him when they became better acquainted, and had passed half the night in a carouse.
V. HOW LANNOY VAINLY ATTEMPTED TO ARREST BOURBON’S MARCH
Next day, from the heights of the Apennines, Bourbon and his bands looked down upon the lovely city of Florence, and on the incomparable valley of the Amo. When the soldiers beheld Florence in all its ravishing beauty lying before them – when from the heights on which they stood they could count all its palaces and churches, their cupidity was so strongly excited that they demanded with frenzied eagerness to be led to the assault.
“Let us sack Florence, noble general!” they shouted.
“No, my brave companions, I cannot grant your request,” rejoined Bourbon. “Florence is too well defended. Mark the cannon on the walls and bastions? Mark the army encamped outside the walls, placed there to cover the city? Florence cannot be taken without artillery, and we have none, We must march on to Rome, which ean be easily taken, and where ten times the wealth of Florence is collected.”
Convinced by these arguments, the men ceased their solicitations, and Bourbon descending to the valley, and avoiding Florence, crossed the Upper Arno, and continued his march without molestation to Viterbo, in the neighbourhood of which city he halted.
It was during this halt that he was informed by his scouts of the approach of Lannoy with a small escort. An hour later the Viceroy of Naples arrived, and was received by Bourbon in his tent. The Prince of Orange, Del Vasto, Von Frundsberg, Zueker, and the other leaders were present at the interview.
“I have come to forbid your highness’s further advance,” said Lannoy to Bourbon. “I have just concluded, on the part of the Emperor, a truce with the Pope, and have undertaken that the army shall retire.”
“Your highness has undertaken more than you can perform,” said Bourbon. “I need scarcely inform you that the troops are unpaid.”
“Let not that concern you,” rejoined Lannoy. “His Holiness has supplied me with sufficient money to pay them. The army must retire, I say. I am the representative of his Imperial Majesty in Italy, and I issue that order.”
“By the beard of my father! I shall not respect it,” cried Von Frundsberg. “I do not serve the Emperor!”
“Neither do we,” added Zueker, Maramaldo, and the Italian leaders. “We have received no pay from him. We serve the brave Bourbon.”
“But the Duke de Bourbon only derives his authority from the Emperor,” said Lannoy; “and I offer you payment for your troops.”
“That will not suffice,” cried Von Frundsberg, fiercely. “We have not crossed the Po, and marched thus far through Italy, to retire because the Emperor at the last moment has thought fit to conclude a truce with the Pope. The truce is not binding upon us. We have nothing to do with it. As to the paltry payment offered by your highness, we scout it. No sum could induce us to turn back, We are the sworn enemies of Antichrist. We will destroy the idolatrous city. We will plunder the Vatican and Saint Peter’s of their treasures.”
“Is it possible your highness can tolerate this horrible impiety?” said Lannoy to Bourbon.
“At least, the Spanish soldiers will obey me. I shall take them with me to Rome for the defence of the city against this meditated attack. Bid them come with me in the Emperor’s name,” he added to Del Vasto.
“I fear the attempt will be vain,” returned the marquis.
“Try them,” said Bourbon. “If they choose to depart, I shall not hinder them.”
On this, Del Vasto quitted the tent, but he had not been gone many minutes when a great disturbance was heard outside, and he returned with looks of alarm.
“You have met with ill success, I fear, my lord?” said Lannoy.
“I could scarce have met with worse,” rejoined the marquis. “The soldiers utterly refuse to obey me. They will not respect the truce. They will not protect the Pope. They are determined to sack Rome. They say they know no other leader than Bourbon, Your highness must fly. The soldiers are so infuriated against you that I fear they will do you injury.”
“How should I fly?” cried Lannoy, trembling. I put myself under your highness’s protection,” he added to Bourbon.
“Fear nothing,” said Bourbon. “I will be answerable for your safety.”
As he spoke, a number of Spanish soldiers burst into the tent, shouting out, “Death to Lannoy! Death to the Pope’s general!”
“How dare you force your way thus into my presence?” cried Bourbon, confronting them fiercely, and speaking in a stern authoritative tone. “Hence, mutinous rascals, or you shall be punished.”
“Deliver up the Viceroy to us, and we will go at once,” said the foremost of the band.
“Ha! dare you parley with me?” cried Bourbon.
“Away, I say, at once, or – ”
On this the soldiers retired, but they cast menacing glances at Lannoy as they went, and the tumult outside the tent continued.
“It would have been well if your highness had ascertained the disposition of the army before venturing among them,” remarked Von Frundsberg. “They will not be balked of their plunder.”
“Your highness has promised me your protection,” said Lannoy, appealing to Bourbon.
“Fear nothing,” replied the other. “I will see you safely out of the camp. Come with me!”
Bourbon then went forth, closely followed by Lannoy and Del Vasto. As the party appeared, the soldiers assailed the Viceroy with renewed threats, but, overawed by Bourbon’s determined manner, they fell back, and allowed the escort to approach. As soon as Lannoy had mounted his steed, and was surrounded by his little band, his courage in some degree returned, and he said to the soldiers, “Before I go, let me make a last appeal to you to return to your duty, and obey your liege lord, the Emperor.”
“We have no other leader now but Bourbon,” rejoined the men. “Vive Bourbon!”
“Have I no longer any authority over you?” said Del Vasto.
“None,” returned the soldiers. “You do not belong to us. You are banished the army.”
“Banished!” exclaimed Del Vasto. “Who dares to pronounce my banishment?”
“We do,” replied the men. “You would betray our interests. You would sell us to the Pope. Therefore we depose you. You are no longer our general. Go to your new master.”
“Have a little patience, my good friends, and listen to reason,” said Lannoy. “I speak for your own good. I would save you from a great crime.”
“No more! We will hear no more!” cried the soldiers, furiously. “Begone! If you return again, we will massacre you.”
“Your highness had better depart at once,” said Bourbon. “If you inflame the men further, I may not be able to restrain them. You must go likewise, my lord,” he added to Del Vasto. “It will not be safe for you to remain.”
The counsel was followed. To prevent mishap, Bourbon conducted them to the outskirts of the camp.