The Family - Mario Puzo [140]
“Vito, just do as I say,” Cesare instructed. “Fire every shot at the base.”
The artillery commander looked puzzled, but consented. “As you wish, Cesare. But it will be a waste of shot.” He bowed slightly and left.
Cesare could see Vitelli giving orders to his artillerymen, who then moved the cannons toward the area Cesare had marked. The men cranked the guns to lower the angle of their fire.
Cesare commanded the infantry and light cavalry to gather just behind the guns. He had put on his own armor hours before. Now he directed his men-at-arms to ready themselves and their horses, for they were to remain mounted. They grumbled. The siege could last for months. Were they to remain in the saddle until summer?
When Cesare was certain his forces were ready, he gave Vitelli the signal to begin the bombardment.
The condottieri in turn shouted, “Fire!”
The cannons roared once, reloaded, and roared again. Cesare saw the balls smash into the walls just three or four feet above the ground. On and on the relentless cannonade continued. Twice, Vitelli looked back at Cesare as if he were insane. Twice, Cesare signaled to continue firing as he had ordered.
Suddenly, they heard a low rumble. And it grew louder and louder as the entire fifty-foot section of the wall fell in on itself, crumbling to the ground and raising a huge cloud of dust. They could hear the screams of the soldiers who had been defending that part of the wall—those few who still lived.
Immediately, Cesare called for his troops to charge forward.
With a great cheer the light cavalry flew into the breach, followed by the infantry. All of them would fan out inside the walls, to attack again from the rear.
Cesare waited just four minutes. Then he gave the signal for the charge of his men-at-arms.
The reserve forces of the town raced to the area of the breach and prepared to defend the opening. But they were trampled to dust by the onrushing of Cesare’s men.
The dismayed Faenzans on the sections of the wall that were still standing found themselves attacked from the rear. The crossbows, swords, and lances of Cesare’s soldiers quickly felled them. Within minutes, a Faenzan officer shouted, “We surrender! Surrender! ”
Cesare saw the local soldiers lay down their arms and raise their hands. He nodded, then signaled his commanders to stop the slaughter. And so it was that Faenza passed into papal control.
Their ruler, Prince Astorre Manfredi, was given safe conduct by Cesare, and permission to leave for Rome. Instead, impressed by Cesare and his army, craving adventure, he asked if he might stay for a time, perhaps to serve on Cesare’s staff. Cesare was surprised, but agreed. Manfredi was sixteen years old, but he was a young man of intelligence and good judgment. Cesare liked him.
After a few days’ rest, Cesare was ready to push his men forward once again.
He gave da Vinci a substantial quantity of ducats, crammed into a leather pouch, and now asked him to accompany the army on its march. But da Vinci shook his head. “I must return to the arts. For the sweaty young stonecutter Michelangelo Buonarroti is getting good commissions, while I am wasting my time on a battlefield. He has talent, I’ll admit, but no depth, no subtlety. I must return.”
Now, as Cesare mounted his white charger and prepared to ride north, he bid da Vinci good-bye. The maestro reached up, hand ing Cesare a sheet of parchment. “It’s a list of the various skills I practice, Principe . . . painting, frescoes, plumbing systems . . . many things. Payment is something we can discuss.” He smiled, and then had a thought. “Excellency, I’ve done a fresco of the Last Supper in Milan. I’d love the Holy Father to see it. Do you think he would?”
Cesare nodded. “I have seen it, when I was in Milan. Truly wonderful. The Holy Father has a great love of all things beautiful. I’m certain he will be interested.” He folded the parchment carefully and slid it into a pocket of his cape. Then, with a salute to