It was a time of superstition and science, a time when necromancers rubbed shoulders with astronomers, when knights in shining armor charged at cannons belching flame. It was the time of Machiavelli, the time when Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo created their masterpieces, and a time when swordsmen learned to use their weapons with the skill of a fine sculptor.

On New Year’s Eve, 1516, two such masters of the blade met for a legendary duel outside a castle near Mantua.

The dueling ground where the fight was to take place was enclosed by a wooden fence, a barrier that would keep the eager spectators from interfering with the deadly contest. At each corner of the dueling ground stood a tent of "snow-white cloth striped with imperial purple."[1] Over one tent flew the silver-and-black checkerboard banner of House Pepoli, a noble family whose origins lay in banking. Opposite it stood the standard of House Rangoni, its silver shell and red-and-blue stripes a testament to generations of military service as feared mercenaries.

A sea of nobles and their retinues crowded around the fence, their voices weaving a tapestry of whispers, wagers and witticisms. The air pulsed with expectation. A pair of trumpeters in the livery of the House Gonzaga watched the road. At a signal they brought their bronze trumpets to their lips and cried.

Bra-aah! Bra-aah!

The crowd went silent—the duelists were approaching. The ring of the trumpets echoed off the castle walls and was lost.

For a moment, the only sound was the snap of banners caught in the winter wind. Then, from the distance, came the steady clip-clop clip-clop of horses’ hooves making a tattoo on the frozen road. The beat grew steadily nearer with each measured step. The lords and ladies craned their necks, eager for their first glimpse of the warriors.

They were not disappointed.

The Gathering Storm

First to appear was Hugo Pepoli. He cut a striking figure in a deep purple cloak edged with gold, his doublet tailored to emphasize broad, powerful shoulders. Tight-fitting hose outlined the muscular thighs of an athlete. Golden netting bound his long curls, keeping his vision clear for the fight to come. He rode a warhorse bred for battle—a great stallion, thick of neck and massive in the hindquarters. He sat high in the saddle, upright and unyielding, as if preparing to break a line of infantry. Around him rode noble supporters, while servants in the black-and-silver livery of House Pepoli followed in a solemn procession, their golden swords gleaming in the dim light.[2]

Half a minute behind him came Guido Rangoni. He, too, wore a cloak of purple and gold, and a doublet in brocade, but his hair was cropped close, a small beard outlining his jaw. He rode a smaller, wiry destrier, a horse with fire in its veins. Sensing the eyes of the crowd, the beast "neighed and pawed at the ground, kicking up dust."[3] Rangoni sat with an effortless grace—the mark of a man who lived on horseback. He, too, was surrounded by allies, pages and attendants bearing the blue-and-red of his house.[4]

Rangoni was a superstitious man. He had consulted the stars before this duel, and the heavens had assured him of his victory. He rode forward with the quiet confidence of one whose destiny had already been written.[5]

As he reached the dueling ground, he murmured a single command to his horse, and the destrier came to an immediate halt. Without a wasted motion, he slid from the saddle and stepped inside the fenced enclosure, where the formidable Pepoli already stood waiting. Though Rangoni was the better part of a foot shorter than Pepoli, nothing in his stride betrayed even a whisper of fear.

The two men turned to face the judge, who stood upon a wooden platform above them. With a firm strike of his staff, he called for silence. His voice was solemn as he exhorted the duelists to be good Christians and forgive one another.

Laughter rippled through the assembled nobility. This was a mere formality, a farce of the ritual. There were times to be Christian, but that time was not now. These men had sought this fight for three years—nothing short of death would satisfy them now.

Pepoli and Rangoni played their roles in the charade. Their refusals came swift and sharp, anger flashing in their voices.

Then came the matter of the weapons.

Rangoni turned to his opponent. “Hugo, there is no further point in speaking. Only deeds matter here. It is my right to choose the arms.”

Pepoli scoffed. “Then why do you talk so much? This is a place for arms, not idle chatter. I will fight you armed or naked—so you choose what you dare!”[6]

Rangoni’s padrino, a kind of godfather, stepped forward, bearing the weapons. Each man would wield a sword in his right hand. For defense, their left hands would bear a bronze gauntlet with its "coverings linked in a handy scale-like bronze binding and a lamina well-woven to the fingers and palms."[7]

They would wear no other armor.

The judges and Pepoli’s padrino inspected the weapons with the greatest scrutiny, ensuring that neither blade nor gauntlet was flawed, nor enchanted. Satisfied, the judges signaled their approval.[8]

“And the terms of the duel?” the judge asked. “Shall it be fought to first blood?”

Rangoni’s answer was cold and absolute.

“To completion.”

That is, to the death.

A tremor of excitement swept through the crowd. Gasps, murmurs, and the thrill of witnessing something almost unheard of—a duel to the death without armor.

Many in attendance had seen battle, had worn the blood of their enemies upon their armor and garments. But this? This was something different. Some called it reckless. Others whispered of true virtu: when a warrior was protected by nothing more than his guts, all could see his genuine worth.[9] As many thought, “…using defensive weapons in duels shows a lack of courage and is consequently blameworthy.”[10]

The judge raised his staff once more. The sharp crack silenced the murmurs of the crowd. He raised his voice in solemn decree:

“When the duel begins, you will remain silent. On pain of death, no one shall cry out when a wound is given or received.”[23]

A hush fell over the crowd as the judge’s grim words and grave tone carried a weight of finality as heavy as the grave.

The two warriors repaired to their tents to prepare themselves for this fight.

Guido Rangoni was the first to emerge from his tent, into the glint of winter sunlight. He wore a saffron-colored doublet with scarlet hose. In his right hand he held a fine-looking sword, newly made and honed to perfection. His left hand was encased in a bronze gauntlet. His supporters erupted in cheers, their voices breaking the tense quiet. Across the field, the French and their Milanese allies jeered, mocking his short stature with crude insults.

Moments later, to the cries of his own followers, Hugo Pepoli emerged. His clothing was not so fine as that of Rangoni—both his doublet and his hose were a simple and faded black. He also wore a gauntlet over one hand and bore a sword in the other. There was one telling difference between the men. Upon his head, Hugo still wore the net of golden thread, the same that had bound his long curls during his entrance.

Rangoni’s eyes narrowed at the sight. He sneered.

“We are here to fight a battle,” he declared to the judges, his voice carrying across the dueling ground, “and yet he comes dressed as though to please a lover. Tell Pepoli to cut his hair short like a man—like mine—or else bind it up in a knot like a serving girl, so it does not fall into his eyes.”[24]

Laughter exploded from Rangoni’s supporters.

Pepoli’s face twisted with fury. In a single motion, he tore the golden net from his head and hurled it to the ground. But the jeers only grew louder. Now all could see the true reason for the net: though his locks still flowed thick around the edges of his head, his crown was nearly bald.[25] The revelation sent another wave of laughter rippling through the nobles.

Pepoli’s hands curled into fists. His face darkened, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. A single glare from him was enough to choke the laughter from any throat. Silence fell again like fog rolling in.

Without another word, the duelists turned and strode to their corners.

The Storm Breaks

For a single, heavy moment, the air was charged, thick with the weight of what was to come. The crowd dared not speak. The only sound was the ever-present crack of pennants snapping in the winter wind.

Then—

A single trumpet blast shattered the stillness, its echo rolling across the castle walls like a funeral knell. A warning: death is coming.[26]

In an instant, both men transformed. The easy, languid movements of moments before vanished. Their bodies went taut, as though they were arrows drawn in a bowstring. The careful stillness of their limbs gave way to precision, to the sharp, studied readiness of trained swordsmen.

A second trumpet blast rang out.

Pepoli made a quick and menacing cut that let all those present see his great physical power. Rangoni remained still, his weapon held low.

The third trumpet blast rang out and both men sprang forward—the fight had begun.

Their steps were swift and smooth, the precise, predatory movement of masters of the blade. They advanced quickly, each seeking to claim as much ground as possible before the first cut was thrown. Hugo Pepoli moved on long straight legs, taking a big step forward with his right foot, then bringing his left foot up behind it, only to send the right foot forward. Guido Rangoni moved like a dancer, his lithe feet carrying him forward as if he were walking, but with the smooth gait of a man honed in the art of the sword.

As the two men drew nearer to one another, they slowed and appraised one another warily; at the edge of striking distance both warriors settled into their preferred guards. Hugo held his sword high, the point menacing Guido’s face, the intimidating guard called “the Unicorn” throughout Italy. Guido kept his hand near his knee, and aimed the point of his sword at Hugo’s hand; his body was fixed in a tight profile showing the smallest possible amount of target to Hugo. This guard was also famous, called the Iron Gate, because the sword stood before a man like an iron portcullis, begging the opponent to rush in, and then be killed.

To outsiders time looked normal, but for the two fighters, in the grip of life and death, with blades in hand, time took on a whole meaning. They danced to the rhythm of steel—where seconds were meaningless, where only a millisecond separated life from death. Every motion mattered: the angle of a grip, the shift of a foot, the tension in a stance, the movement of the eyes, of the hands. Everything required a response—or a deliberate non-response.

They remained at the widest possible distance. In the art of the sword, time is everything, and distance is time. Each hoped the other might be induced to make a reckless attack from this great distance, but neither was so foolish. As the challenger, Hugo had the right to make the first blow,1 but Guido was not about to serve himself up as an easy target, for the lesser the distance, the less time Guido would have to react.

Hugo crept a little forward and a little to the side. Guido Rangoni matched him step for step, moving almost imperceptibly back and to the side—away from Hugo. The bigger man tried to take bigger and aggressive steps to close the distance, like a boxer trying to maneuver his opponent into the ropes. But with a dueling ground this large, and with Guido’s own ability to step away and circle around Hugo, it soon became clear to the big man that he would not be trapping Guido Rangoni anywhere.

Tiring of this dance, Hugo Pepoli took the initiative and threw his first blow: a mighty downward thrust with the power of his entire body, “descending with great force like a bolt of lightning.”[28] This attack, called an “imbroccata” would have torn through Guido’s body and skewered him like a thrush had it hit.

Guido was no fool. He slipped aside, avoiding the attack, then came forward with a thrust of his own, timing his attack to catch Hugo while his sword was down and his body exposed. But for all the power Hugo put into his thrust, he never lost his balance. He threw a reverse cut that intercepted Guido’s sword and nudged it aside. Guido’s sword was now pointed away while the point of Hugo’s sword looked straight at Guido’s chest.

Hugo came forward with another attack, this time with his sword against Guido Rangoni’s sword, but Guido reacted here with perfect alacrity. He took a step back and let the point of his sword fall to the ground as he pushed Hugo’s sword away, then he quickly threw a cut to Hugo’s sword arm with a quick spin of the wrist, a blow known as the tramazzone. In the space of a breath, this spinning tramazzone brought Guido, coiled, back into the Guard of the Boar, a stance designed for ambush. Everyone who knew fencing knew this was a trap.

Even Hugo knew it, but the thrill of the chase was on him, like a hunter with his quarry just out of reach.

Hugo Pepoli immediately followed his imbroccata with a powerful downward spinning tramazzone of his own towards the crown of Rangoni’s head.[32] At the same time Guido Rangoni threw the back edge of his sword—the false edge—to meet the blow. This would seize the initiative and put Guido into a dominating position where his sword was positioned between Hugo’s weapon and his head.

But just before the swords met, instinct saved Hugo Pepoli. It was not a conscious decision, but was instead the wisdom that became embedded into the bones, like the ghost from countless hours of practice. He halted his strike and began to withdraw. The swords still met, but rather than a powerful clang, there was a desultory little peal of steel. Hugo took a step back, bringing his sword up.

Guido Rangoni pursued him like a mastiff worrying a bear, throwing a powerful right cut to Hugo’s head. But with his long limbs, Hugo easily brought his sword up into the Guard of the Unicorn while deflecting Guido’s blow.

Guido Rangoni—recognizing that he was about to be extended and vulnerable just as Hugo was coiled and prepared—took a big step back and threw a big defensive reverse cut that could knock down any attack Hugo chose to throw. Hugo did not immediately follow up; he was a skilled and strong fencer but he was accustomed to controlling the tempo of the fight, to imposing his will on an opponent and not on following an opponent’s tempo.

Both fencers put themselves in their customary guards and eyed one another warily; each of them had come too close to death for their own comfort.

Dust swirled in the air around the men as a cool Alpine breeze knifed across the land. Flags snapped taut in the breeze and silence reigned. No one watching the fight could be disappointed—here were two masters of the sword showing a craft not just honed in their lifetime, but perfected over generations by countless warriors and teachers.

At maximum range they eyed one another. Both men were breathing heavily and sought to control their arousal—bad decisions resulted when a man became so enraged that he lost the use of his reason as well as his fine motor control. The pattern of the fight was now established. Hugo Pepoli could control the fight with his reach. He could take a long step forward with a thrust, and if displeased with the outcome could immediately withdraw back into the Guard of the Unicorn, and if Guido tried to pursue him into this, he was likely to end up with a sword extending out his back.

Guido had to either get in tight and turn this into something more like a knife fight in a dirty alley, or strike Hugo during one of his mighty thrusts.

On the other hand, both fencers had already expended a great quantity of their courage. As both fencers sought to minimize danger there now commenced a long drawn-out chase: Guido remained in the Iron Gate, with his body coiled behind his sword, while Hugo kept his sword high with the point menacing Guido’s face. Hugo twitched at his elbow and wrist, seeking to throw off Guido’s timing. But Hugo refused to make a committed thrust while Guido Rangoni was fixed in a prepared guard and Guido refused to come after Hugo or even let Hugo get close enough to make his imbroccata at a good striking distance.

A few times Guido tried to bat Hugo’s sword aside with his back edge or by thrusting at his hand, but these came to naught, since Hugo was free to draw his sword further back.

The duel went on this way for a considerable time, though each warrior was hardly aware of the passing of time. However, each noted the slow decay in their reactions, in their attention, as fatigue fogged both of their minds. Guido’s movements lost their crispness; Hugo’s feints with the imbroccata became slower and then finally he wearied of even holding his sword aloft.

Fatigue forced Hugo to abandon his preferred guard and form Iron Gate just like Guido. He did so reluctantly because he was now forced to play a match of speed chess against a man who understood all the openings and gambits in this position.

Guido, who was in the same guard, warily approached Hugo. Their swords soon met at the tips. Hugo kept his grip loose—this way he could feel pressure through his sword, feel the swords speaking to him. The urge to throw himself forward and strike Guido moved like a mighty wave through him, but he fought to keep it in check—at this distance, Guido could easily defend himself from the blow and strike Hugo as he attacked.

Instead, Hugo hoped to make Guido attack him. He stepped slightly forward to see if he could entice Guido to attack. But Guido was no fool—he simply circled a bit towards Hugo’s left, so that any attack Hugo made would be done at a disadvantage.

Hugo then circled a bit towards his own left to make the angle more favorable for him, but Guido continued to circle. Hugo was in a terrible bind: if he attacked against Guido here, then Guido would easily be able to put his sword into Hugo. But if he continued this game he proceeded at a huge disadvantage: Hugo knew the Iron Gate, but he did not know it like Guido Rangoni, who knew the permutations and possibilities of two men fighting in Iron Gate like a Grandmaster in chess knows the King’s Pawn Opening.

Guido kept circling towards Hugo’s left side. This allowed him to slowly draw closer to Hugo while at the same time avoiding a situation where he might be forced to grapple with the larger Hugo Pepoli. But as he did so, a curious thing happened—nothing. Hugo stayed calm and still, only turning to keep his eyes on Guido.

After a seeming eternity of this, Guido came to a point where he could step forward and strike. All the while he had thought Hugo would make his own attack, would never let him get so close.

Now was time to attack: Guido sprung forward with a thrust, but he did so with a tight pursing of the lips and a tensing of his neck muscles, things that the sharp-eyed Hugo noted immediately.

So as Guido launched his thrust, Hugo lurched backward, bringing his sword around and behind Guido’s blow, lifting it upwards. Now Hugo found himself coiled in the Guard of the Unicorn while Guido was spent, extended, and vulnerable.

Hugo surged forward with a mighty descending thrust with the power of an erupting volcano.

Guido threw himself backward, barely pulling back into the Guard of the Boar in time to avoid Hugo’s attack. Hugo came on again, recklessly, nostrils flaring, his gaze wild and savage, his self-possession forsaken.

Guido felt fear at the sight of it, for he knew a swordsman who no longer cared for his life was the most dangerous opponent of all.

As Hugo unleashed an avalanche of powerful blows, it was all Guido could do just to stay alive. He was behind the time—reacting to Hugo. The best that Guido could manage was to step a bit back and a bit to the side against each blow, beating them aside as best he could, hoping this volcano of fury would abate. He saw opportunities to respond but none that he could make without Hugo also splitting Guido in twain or skewering him.

For Hugo everything moved at once—his body, his breath, his blade—a relentless force of destruction. He saw it already in his mind’s eye: Guido, cleaved in two, just as he had imagined. Guido’s retreat angered him and made him wilder, made him throw his blows stronger.

And Hugo had one indomitable advantage known to all who practice the sword: a man may move faster when going forward than backward. Eventually, as the two men drew near the barriers, Hugo nearly caught Guido with a strong reverse cut that bound up their swords on their right sides. Seeing an opportunity, Hugo stayed in this crossing, and also grabbed his blade with his left hand, looking to drive the point into Guido’s chest and out the back of his doublet.

Guido was no fool: he also moved his left hand to his sword for support and turned away from Hugo. This closed off the chance to make a good thrust. But Hugo used the full force of his body to drive the edge of his sword toward Guido. It would not be the kind of cut he wanted, not the kind that would split Guido like cordwood. But it would hurt him.

The edge of the sword bit through the fabric around Guido’s neck, and sliced into the skin. It was not so much a mortal wound as a debilitating one. Before Guido could reply, Hugo leaped backward and landed in guard. Guido felt the tickle of blood against his skin and a small icicle of fear grew in his heart.

This changed the nature of the fight. Guido could no longer patiently wait for Hugo to attack and try to pounce on a mistake. With his strength sapped by the long time they had already spent fighting, it would not be long before the slow trickle of blood and shock from his wound rendered him incapable of defense.

So Guido came forward aggressively after Hugo. He tried a different ploy than before: originally when he had chosen to fight with the sword and gauntlet together, he had done so he could grab his sword with both hands if they ever got into wrestling—though it was actually Hugo who took advantage of this. Now he tried something different. He held his gauntlet out in front of him just like the small buckler Maestro di Luca taught him to use. He placed himself in the High Guard and came forward at Hugo with a vertical cut.

This surprised Hugo—it was a reckless strategy that left Guido exposed. When Hugo tried to thrust at Guido’s sword hand in response, Guido’s sword came down over the top of Hugo’s sword and pushed it to the ground. Then Hugo tried to follow with a cut but Guido blocked this in the Guard of the Head and sent a powerful cut at Hugo’s leg.

Now the swords spun and flashed “like the light of a thousand suns,” as the contest mixed quickly. Hugo tried to get away, to get space again, but Guido was not about to let him go. He threw thrusts and cuts, chaining them together with incredible speed so that steel seemed to blossom like a flower in front of Hugo Pepoli.

The sight of a wounded man attacking so bravely, the steel ringing out like a symphony, brought the attention of the audience to a fever pitch. Then there was almost a collective gasp, when Guido threw a series of rising blows—known as montanti—to worry Hugo, and then transformed the last into a thrust.

Hugo tried to escape, but the sword found its mark. Guido’s blade passed clean through the back of Hugo’s doublet. A scream tore through the crowd—it was Hugo’s mother.[37]

For an instant, time stopped. Hugo looked down at the steel piercing his doublet. Guido stood frozen for the briefest of moments, horror-stricken. Had he just killed his cousin? Hugo felt nothing, but everyone knew, in the heat of battle, many men were fatally skewered without noticing it, at least until strength left their body.

Guido jumped back, withdrew his sword. There was a flash of red on it, but far less than one would expect after thrusting into someone’s body. Hugo looked down at his side. His doublet was slightly stained with blood, but it was barely damp to the touch.

The blade had passed between Hugo’s arm and torso, scratching his side and delivering only a superficial wound.

Both men just stared at one another. The fight had gone long enough to make both of them just wish for it to be over. But neither could relent, so after a pause they resumed their deadly quarrel.

Guido could feel himself losing strength and realized that his method of attacking like he was using a buckler was draining his strength too quickly. So he came up with a new plan.

Hugo had now returned to the Guard of the Unicorn.

Guido put himself into the narrow long tail, and set his point so that it lay underneath the direction that Hugo’s thrust would take to hit Guido. The smaller man aggressively closed the distance between them and waited for Hugo to attack.

But Hugo was put off the well-formed position and after a few half-hearted jabs with the point, he pulled his tired sword arm back into a low guard.

Now Guido lunged forward and thrust to the left side of Hugo’s chest. Once Hugo moved his sword to block it, Guido let his tip circle under Hugo’s sword. At the same time, Guido grabbed the middle of his sword with his left hand. He jabbed a thrust at Hugo’s face—the larger man tried to push it away, but with two hands Guido’s thrust would not be denied.

The tip of Guido’s blade drilled into Hugo’s cheek, “right where the skin met the end of his nose and the roughness of his beard began.”

Guido backed off to cover himself. Hugo flew into a rage, and with fury, he pursued his enemy. Blood frothed at his lips, but he did not slow.

He rained down blow after blow, his rage giving him strength. His sword clashed against Guido’s in a deafening rhythm, echoing through the dueling ground. Guido held firm, using the “defense of the left”—keeping Hugo’s sword from binding with his own on the right, “where a grapple might spell his doom.”

Timing is everything in the art of the sword. A strike must start with the sword moving before the feet follow or at worst, simultaneously. But in his anger, Hugo lost that balance. His desire to crush Guido overwhelmed his discipline—he took a step before his sword had come forward to threaten the opponent.

Guido stepped in, bringing his sword up into the Guard of the Head from below the blow, while Hugo practically jumped up to more forcefully drive down Guido’s sword. Hugo’s sword came against Guido’s, in the notch formed by the quillon and the blade.

Steel met steel with a terrible crash as the weakest part of Hugo’s sword met the strongest part of Guido’s. The impact reverberated through Hugo’s arms, but he finally had Guido. Hugo had fenced in this situation many times before, and knew where this would go.

He twisted his wrist, angling his sword toward Guido’s eye. This would force Guido to raise his sword.

With Guido’s sword up to the sky, Hugo would be able to close into grapples and use his superior size to defeat Guido.

But Guido did not raise his sword, he simply turned his body.

It should have been enough to secure Hugo a victory, but now he saw something was wrong: his sword was broken. The tip of the sword, the part of the blade meant to end Guido, had broken off.

Hugo was holding only half a sword.

Bereft of defense, instincts took over. He squeezed his eyes shut, heeling backwards, flinching, bracing for the inevitable—the razor-sharp steel that would carve open his face, take his eyes, slice away his nose—perhaps worse.

And yet—nothing.

A heartbeat passed.

Then another.

Was he already dead? Had he been cut so fast he hadn’t even felt it?

He opened his eyes.

Guido stood before him, his blade frozen mere inches from Hugo’s face.

For a long moment, neither moved.

Then Hugo understood. Guido had seen it—the broken blade. And he had stopped.

Guido’s nostrils flared. Hugo’s heart pounded painfully against his ribs.

Through clenched teeth, Guido shouted, “Bring another one, for it is a disgrace for me to strike an unarmed enemy.”[38]

A voice erupted from the crowd. “Enough!”

Then another. “Act like Christians!”

The judge struck his staff against the platform, demanding order. His voice carried over the field, firm, unyielding. “No one must die here today. You have both shown yourselves to be brave warriors and true knights! Give up your quarrel.”

Guido withdrew slightly, his stance no longer one of attack. He arched an eyebrow at Hugo—a question, a challenge.

And for the first time, Hugo hesitated. But the shame still burned him hotter than a thousand sons. “Give me another!”

As the padrini for the two men went off to hunt down another sword appropriate for the fight, a noblewoman rose from her seat in the stands and entered the grounds. This was Elizabeth, Duchess of Urbino, the one true “irreproachable woman,” of Renaissance Italy.

She went and spoke to the two men quietly, violating the rules about the barrier. Such was the authority of this duchess—and so sympathetic were the judges to her mission—that none challenged her breach of protocol.

No one could hear what she said, but her manner was as firm as it was gentle. The sources are silence as to exactly what she told them. But her point was ultimately clear through the ages: they would gain more honor by temperance now than by pressing their quarrel to the death.

The two warriors visibly resisted her entreaties, but there was a quality of theater, of “Methinks the lady doth protest too much” to their objection.

The duchess was as unyielding as a shield. Finally, Guido visibly gave in to the fatigue. He declared audibly, “I am satisfied.”

Hugo drew in a deep breath. He said, “Enough of this.”

The he started toward the entrance of the dueling ground.

His pace was swift, while Guido, weak from blood loss, lagged behind. Just as Hugo reached the edge, he called out, “Let us both leave at the same time, lest tongues wag and say one of us surrendered.”

Hugo paused. Then he nodded. He waited for Guido Rangoni. Together, they stepped beyond the barrier, with honor intact.

Aftermath

The duel enhanced the standing of both Guido and Hugo. Many debated who had won the duel comparing their wounds, and asking who agreed to the mutual end first. The French certainly considered Hugo the victor and within months was leading a command of 300 French lances.

Before long Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli were drawn into a fight on the same side, in a war against the Duke of Urbino. Guido was responsible for the supplies that kept the army in fighting condition, while Hugo fought alongside John Paul Baglioni.

It was in this campaign against the Duke of Urbino that they would have both met a young man destined to become the most famous of all the condottiere. There was little indication as of yet that this young man possessed any special acumen in war beyond a certain insatiable appetite for savagery. The two battles he fought in the campaign were losses and he ended the War of Urbino as a prisoner of the Duke. But they perhaps sensed a particular ruthlessness, a particular determination that marked all the characters of this era who bent the world to their tune.

This young man saw the potential in combining the skirmishing skills of the Italians with the improved arquebus. His name was Giovanni di Medici, known to history as Giovanni della Bande Nere. He would soon leave the service of the Pope when Guido Rangoni was promoted ahead of him. Under French service and then as an independent contractor, his company, known as the Black Bands, would become the best outfit in Italy. After Giovanni della Bande Nere was killed in a battle, Hugo Pepoli took command of these Black Bands.

Throughout lives of Hugo and Guido thereafter there is no indication of trouble between them. Their paths continued to cross and crisscross in the swirling eddies of Italian politics where they are more often allies than opponents.

Guido Rangoni became second in command of the Papal Army and the front runner to lead the Italian contingent against the Turks at the Siege of Vienna. Afterward, he joined the entourage of Emperor Charles V, where he would have met another young warrior from Bologna named Angelo Viggiani.

This man of letters and the sword would pen a famous book that does honor to both Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli—though both men were long since dead by the time the book was published.

Hugo would live for eleven years after the duel, in a constant fever of action, until he succumbed to the plague in August of 1528. He would not return to Bologna but was buried in Naples at the Church of Monte Oliveto.

Guido Rangoni would outlive Hugo Pepoli by eleven years. He, too, lived a life of constant action and battle throughout Italy in the armies of the Pope and the King of France, serving among the top ranks of Italian condottieri. He died in Venice in 1539 at the age of fifty-three, and though it was not proven, poison was suspected. His final resting place was the Church of Saints John and Paul. He would try throughout his life to install his family back into Bologna, but would fail, stopped at least once, by Hugo Pepoli.

Both men were immortalized in the works of authors of Bolognese swordsmanship. Viggiani talks of Hugo Pepoli, a friend of the main character of Viggiani’s dialogue on the art of the sword. Achille Marozzo dedicated his magnum opus to Guido Rangoni.

Both Guido and Hugo as well as Viggiani and Marozzo would be surprised that our main interest in Renaissance Italy focuses not on the bold men of action but with the artists that painted their portraits. It would be as if the heroes of our time were not the ones who made history, but rather those that took their pictures. In their day all men pursued honor and virtue—or at least pretended to—and none were so esteemed as the swordsman.

[1] See Bryson, pp. 187-190.

[2] Modesti. “The servants stand around the masters in thick dual ranks, their legs and backs painted with striped threads, all girdled with golden swords”

[3] Modesti.

[4] Among those following Rangoni was probably a fourteen year old Sebastiano Fausto da Longiano who states that he started his service in the house of Guido Rangoni, Duello di Fausto di Longinao, see dedication; according to Bryson Fausto also described elements of this duel.

[5] For more on astrology and duelling see Marozzo, ch. 195. According to Giuntini, p. 299, Guido was born on April 12^th, 1485 at 11:44 in the evening, if any astrologers want to work out wha tthat means fo rhim.

[6] “From Intervidum Rangonum Et Ugonem Pepulum Duellum” in Ad Antonium Grimanum Venetias, by Publius Modestus. Note that the Latin translations are electronic and thus prone to error.

[7] Modestus

[8] See Art of Arms, “The Savage Within: Historical Sources.”

[9] Virtù, while often translated as “virtue,” is a quite different concept than the English meaning of virtue. Virtù, can be more considered as force, excellence, or the extent to which a person shapes the world about them rather than being shaped by it.

[10] The History of Florence, Benedetto Varchi, pp.

[11] See Bryson, pp. 187-190.

[12] Modesti. “The servants stand around the masters in thick dual ranks, their legs and backs painted with striped threads, all girdled with golden swords”

[13] Modesti.

[14] Among those following Rangoni was probably a fourteen year old Sebastiano Fausto da Longiano who states that he started his service in the house of Guido Rangoni, Duello di Fausto di Longinao, see dedication; according to Bryson Fausto also described elements of this duel.

[15] He once abandoned Modena because a flood was foretold and became the subject of some ridiciule as a result.

[16] For more on astrology and duelling see Marozzo, ch. 195. According to Giuntini, p. 299, Guido was born on April 12^th, 1485 at 11:44 in the evening, if any astrologers want to work out wha tthat means fo rhim.

[17] “From Intervidum Rangonum Et Ugonem Pepulum Duellum” in Ad Antonium Grimanum Venetias, by Publius Modestus. Note that the Latin translations are electronic and thus prone to error.

[18] Modestus

[19] See Art of Arms, “The Savage Within: Historical Sources.”

[20] Virtù, while often translated as “virtue,” is a quite different concept than the English meaning of virtue. Virtù, can be more considered as force, excellence, or the extent to which a person shapes the world about them rather than being shaped by it.

[21] See Bryson, p. 46.

[22] The History of Florence, Benedetto Varchi, pp.

[23] As described in Bryson. Words to this effect seem to have been a pro-forma announcement in other duels of the time, for example in the duel of Guasco and Doria described in “The Savage Within,” on the Art of Arms.

[24] Bryson, p.189

[25] Per Bryson, Bianchetti remarks that the true purpose of the net is to cover Hugo’s bald spot. Bryson, p.189. As Bianchetti is only available in Bologna I cannot confirm this statement.

[26] See Monomachia, Francesco Altoni translation by Stephen Fratus, pp. 136 to 141 for use of the trumpets in a duel and movements just prior to the beginning of a fight.

[27] According to Viggiani this was the preferred guard for Guido Rangoni when fighting with the sword alone.

[28] Fratus, Malice & Cunning, p. 59.

[29] See Viggiani.

[30] Viggiani, “Then, immediately lower your left arm while your right shoulder pushes the right arm forward. Make the point of your sword descend from high to low, aiming it at my chest without making any unnecessary hand movements. Extend it as far forward and as long as you can.”

[31] See Swanger, dall’Agocchie, “Beyond which you can parry with a dritto tramazzone, drawing your right foot behind your left one in that one tempo and making your sword go into Cinghiale Porta di Ferro.” P. 22.

[32] Malice, “then immediately drive an imbroccata to his chest. If he defends against the imbroccata in any way, turn a tramazzone to his head or sword hand that drops into either porta di ferro stretta or porta di ferro larga, as you prefer.”

[33] See Marozzo. P. 167.

[34] See Marozzo, p. 163

[35] Manciolino

[36] Modesti

[37] According to Modesti the mothers of both men were in attendance at the duel.

[38] Also from Modesti.

[39] From George Silver

In 1514, March winds and April showers were bringing a May duel.

Hugo Pepoli and Guido Rangoni, both soldiers of the Pope, were bound to Milan to fight one another. After Guido had declined Hugo’s offer of service in his company and called Hugo, “coward,” the insults had flown to and fro between the two men. The time for words was over now, because the time had come to let the swords do the talking.

But while they traveled toward their confrontation, so did a third rider—one with no personal vendetta, just a saddle-sore backside and a letter from the Pope himself, a letter to the Duke of Milan, a letter forbidding the duel.

The messenger arrived ahead of the warriors. Upon reading the Pope’s command, the Duke of Milan withdrew his field. This ended the fight before it could begin. [1] There would be no battle and no glory, no chance to resolve their dispute with steel.

Yet Hugo Pepoli had already won something. Just six months before, at the Battle of La Motta, he had fled the field unscathed—not by skill or fortune, but by turning his back on the fight. It was the kind of survival that ruined reputations. The stink of cowardice had clung to him like a bad odor, and poisoned his career. But challenging Guido Rangoni, a warrior whose name alone carried weight? That was an act of defiance, a declaration that Hugo Pepoli was not done.

It proved that Hugo still had big brass balls.

Lords had been watching. Soon, an old friend came calling for Hugo: Octavian Fregoso.

When the people of Bologna had revolted against the authority of the Pope in 1511 and invited the Bentivoglio back into the city, Hugo had helped Fregoso and his men escape unharmed. Now, Octavian returned the favor, making Hugo second in command of a company of mounted crossbowmen in the service of the powerful port city of Genoa.[2]

That winter, the past caught up with the Fregosu; their enemies, backed by the Swiss, came to reclaim the city. Blood darkened the ancient stones of Genoa, and blades flashed in the torchlight, while battles raged in the streets. When the smoke cleared, the Fregoso still held the city, and Hugo stood with them—a man with honor reborn and bright as new-polished armor.[3]

Fortune was calling and she was singing a sweet tune indeed for Hugo Pepoli.

King Francis

War, in its seventh year, still ravaged Italy. The Germans, the Spanish and the Swiss were allied against Venice. She had allied with France, but two years before, the Swiss had had crushed the French so thoroughly that they fled Italy in disgrace, running like naughty schoolchildren seeking to avoid a thrashing. Since that humiliation, France’s ally, Venice, had been left to fend off the combined might of the German Empire, Spain, and the Pope. Desperate, she called out to France, her pleas growing more frantic with each passing year. Venice reminded King Louis XII, with more than a hint of bitterness, that they were in “urgent need of aid.” They also added that they found themselves in this situation, “…for his sake, by following his counsel and fortune, that they found themselves in this dire state.”[4]

But Louis did not return.

Then fate smiled on Venice. King Louis XII died. His replacement was Francis I—a man with the mind of a scholar and the heart of a warrior.[5] Where King Louis had hesitated, King Francis was eager for a fight. Where Louis had let the pleas of Venice go unanswered, Francis was already sharpening his sword and summoning his army.

Venice’s generalissimo, Bartolomeo Alviano—once the commander of Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli—was so exhilarated by the new king’s ascension that he ordered a joust in his honor.[6]

Italy trembled knowing what this new French king would mean. Hugo Pepoli’s new patron, Octavian Fregoso, seized the moment. He placed his city under Francis I’s protection, a decision that turned out to be particularly fortuitous for Pepoli himself. The king of France rewarded Hugo with command of his own company—fifty lances, his first true command.[7] No longer a subordinate, no longer a weapon wielded by others—now, at last, Hugo Pepoli was the one giving orders.

He had made it.

A new French army, under Francis himself, began its march over the Alps, a tide of men and steel surging like an unstoppable wave toward Milan. As the king made his crossing, Ottaviano Fregoso led four thousand infantry and three hundred cavalry over the mountains that separated the rugged coastline of Genoa from the open plains of Lombardy where the Swiss dominated.

Alviano was also in motion. After a year spent rebuilding and refining the Venetian army, he was ready to unleash it. He turned his forces west, heading straight for Milan, eager to put his creation to the test.[8]

The Pope and the Spanish had armies in the field, but they hesitated at the edge of the conflict. Milan belonged to the Swiss, and for now, they were content to let the Swiss bleed for it.

The stage was set. The players had taken their positions. The reckoning was about to begin.

Battle of Marignano

There were twenty thousand Swiss infantry in Milan, a formidable and proven force. To avoid the hazards of battle, King Francis offered to buy them off to make them leave.[9] The Swiss seemed ready to agree.

But then a new force of some 10,000 angry Swiss soldiers came to Milan. These were men who had heard the French were back in town and were ready for a fight. T

The Swiss army was a democratic force. In their camp debate raged between those who wanted to return home and those who promised, “the enemy’s wealth and spoils.” Ultimately the Swiss heeded the call to fight, “to satiate our hatred with the blood of the French who, through their pride, want to oppress everyone but, who, through their cowardice, are always fall prey to everyone.”[10]

The Swiss set out at once, while the French army still expected the matter to be resolved through negotiation. The Swiss struck the French camp just as King Francis was “testing out a new set of armor.”[11] The French were expecting no trouble since they had paid the Swiss and signed a deal with them.

Still the French army was not stupid and they had prepared their camp with artillery ready, supported by extensive entrenchments. In keeping with their typical tactic, the Swiss now gathered together a body of men into a tight formation. These were the soldiers known as the “Lost,”[12] or as the “Forlorn Hope.” They wore long white plumes that descended from their helmets and at the cry of a trumpet charged at the French artillery with irresistible force.

Boom-Boom-Boom roared the cannons. Smoke covered the battlefield as French cannons cut lanes of death through the packed ranks of the Forlorn Hope. Yet on came the Swiss. It was a test of iron against sinew, and sinew won once again—as it always seemed to where the Swiss were involved.

Upon reaching the artillery the surviving pikemen drove off the German mercenaries defending the guns. Then the Swiss and turned the cannons against the French and gave them a dose of their own medicine.

Sensing disaster, the French sent in armored cavalry like Hugo Pepoli’s company to fight the Swiss.[13] This rallied the defeated French infantry and the battle swarmed as the Swiss poured in their own reinforcements. In this deadly battle the Swiss, “Although scattered by the frenzy and speed of the French horses, and trampled underfoot as they died horribly, they still broke through the rare and thin ranks, littering the ground with many dead. Yet they [The French] faced dense formations, and either were struck down by long spears or, weighed down by the heavy burden of their armor, their horses collapsed, crushing them.”[14]

The battle raged into the night, both sides fighting by the light of a bright moon that limned the armor of men on both sides. The fight continued once the moon was obscured by clouds and, “amid mutual confusion, friend and foe alike struck blindly and savagely at each other, often killing their own in the chaos.”[15]

Finally darkness forced a pause on both sides, as both sides had become helplessly entangled and their commanders called a halt to the battle.

So that the Swiss could find their way back to their companies in the dark, their bugler “… raised a large horn as a signal to gather the scattered and wandering soldiers back to the standards. This horn, richly adorned with silver work on its edges, was a legacy passed down through the generations among the people of Uri, who were the founding protectors of Swiss liberty. This sacred artifact was carefully kept by the people of Uri, and it was blown expertly by the bugler in a manner that resembled a human voice, according to their ancient custom.”[16]

Deja Vu

The French army was in a rough state and King Francis sent a messenger to General Alviano. He begged him to get his army moving before daybreak and lead the Venetians against the Swiss. Yet how little hope could be placed on these men—since the Wars against Venice had begun in 1509, the Venetian Army had failed to win a single major open field battle!

Still, Alviano could hope. He had introduced many reforms into this force, reforms dreamed up during his long captivity in France. He had successfully outmaneuvered the admittedly inferior German army during the previous winter, but that was a far cry from taking on the most determined infantry in Europe.

Back on the battlefield, Dawn brought the tattoo of drums and the call of bugles summoning the Swiss to fight once again. The French infantry huddled inside trenches and their knights sat on their coursers ready for the resumption of the deadly game.

Again the battle began with the Swiss sending their Forlorn Hope at the cannons. These spit fire and death at the approaching Swiss. “This devastating blow cut through the middle of their formation, creating a scene of horrific carnage, leaving no coherent phalanx remaining.”

There was probably no other body of infantry with the discipline to keep going, but the Swiss were fanatical and fearless. As the French infantry loosed crossbows at them, more Swiss charged across the protective trench in front of the French position and then fought with the German landsknechts and French gendarmes on the other side. Despite their fatigue and losses the Swiss reminded everyone present why they and they alone ruled the battlefield.

The Germans who resisted were “smeared on the lances of the Swiss, their fat and flab flowing over their gaping wounds.”[17]

The Swiss were poised for another victory over the French.

Then Alviano arrived with his fresh Venetian cavalry, “right when the fight was fiercest and the situation most dire.” His horses came in a rolling thunder across the ground that drummed the death knell of the mighty Swiss. The Swiss were now surrounded, yet still they neither retreated nor surrendered. As ever, the Swiss fought with an unbelievable discipline and determination.

The contest was balanced on the tip of a needle.

The Venetian infantry caught up to their cavalry. Unlike previous Venetian militias, these fought against the Swiss without running.

The arrival of these fresh Venetian troops was enough to make even the Swiss panic. "Exhausted, they retreated into the nearby gardens, where they were further struck down by the royal cavalry and other reinforcements.”[18]

The battle was done. It had been an epic contest, the most hard-fought battle of the Italian wars thus far, “a battle not of men, but of giants.”[19] And as a testament to Alviano’s work it was the first time in the Sixteenth Century that the Venetian infantry fought in a major open field battle and emerged victorious.

Guido Rangoni & Modena

In the aftermath of the thunderous Franco-Venetian victory at Marignano, King Francis I made his way to Bologna to meet with the Pope. On his journey, he stopped in Modena, where he took up residence in the home of Guido Rangoni.[20] It was a telling choice. While Hugo Pepoli had been carving out his career on the battlefield, Guido Rangoni had been carving out something else entirely—his own domain.

By force and cunning, Guido had made himself the de facto lord of Modena. But in doing so, he had also made himself Hugo Pepoli’s enemy.

Modena was a city divided. Two factions stood in bitter opposition—one backing Guido Rangoni, the other supporting Gerard Rangoni, Hugo Pepoli’s uncle. Once, it had been Gerard who ruled Modena, and he had wielded his power cruelly, persecuting Guido’s friends and supporters as though erasing their presence would erase Guido himself.

But Guido Rangoni was a warrior not to be denied. He had led his men over the walls and taken control of the city in the name of the Church.[21] He had not just reclaimed his place—he had declared himself its master.

The tensions in Modena only escalated when Guido’s soldiers helped install his cousin and childhood companion, Alex Pio, in his domain of Sassuolo. The act was seen as an outright provocation. The rivalry between Guido and Gerard sharpened to a breaking point, and soon, Guido’s forces drove Gerard’s soldiers from Modena entirely, forcing them to barricade themselves in a castle for survival.[22]

The Pope, sensing the destruction that could follow, attempted to intervene, hoping to forge peace between the warring factions of the Rangoni family. But peace was an illusion—too much blood, too much betrayal lay between them.

The vendetta could only follow its natural course.

And so, the inevitable came to pass. Guido and his faction crushed Gerard’s remaining supporters, driving them from Modena once and for all. When the dust settled, there was only one Rangoni who mattered in the city.

Denouement

The campaign against the Swiss had ended in their ruin at Marignano, and with it came Hugo Pepoli’s rise. In recognition of his prowess, he was promoted to command the company of Ottaviano Fregoso, a sign that his name now carried weight among the great captains of Italy.[23]

But the war was not over.

The German Emperor, unwilling to relinquish his grip on Italy, arrived in person to challenge the combined might of France and Venice. His presence was a statement—a final gamble to turn the tide. Yet even the most iron-willed sovereign cannot conjure victories from nothing. With Spain and the Pope unwilling to join the fight against the combined Franco-Venetian force, the Emperor’s cause was crippled from the start.

Through the winter of 1515 and into the spring of 1516, Hugo Pepoli and his men marched with the growing Franco-Venetian force, preparing to crush the Emperor’s ambitions once and for all. The campaign lasted six months, a slow and methodical dismembering of Imperial resistance. The penniless Germans and Swiss, their morale shattered, were swept from Italy in what was, astonishingly, a war won with barely a battle.

And then, the Emperor broke.

In a final, eerie twist, he claimed to have been visited in a vision. That night, he said, the ghosts of Leopold, Archduke of Austria, and Charles, Duke of Burgundy—his father-in-law—appeared before him, clad in the very armor they had died in the battles at Nancy and Sempach, still drenched in the blood of their defeat. Their message was unambiguous: “Delay no longer and immediately free yourself from danger.”[25]

The Emperor did not hesitate. He abandoned the war, and with his departure, the remnants of the German and Swiss forces crumbled. As the Venetian diarist Sanuto so aptly put it, “When the shepherd departs, the sheep scatter.”[26]

Italy belonged to the victors.

By the time the dust settled, Hugo Pepoli had secured his place among the most respected Italian captains in the French-dominated army. No longer merely a warrior, he was now a figure of influence, seated in councils, dispatched on diplomatic missions to Venice.[24]

Peace

After six years of relentless, unyielding war, the Republic of Venice stood victorious. There had been a time when nearly every army in Europe had conspired to carve it apart, when its enemies closed in like wolves, eager to tear the Republic limb from limb. But Venice had endured. Its armies had clawed back virtually all of the mainland territories lost after the catastrophe of Agnadello, defying Europe’s greatest powers—France, Spain, the Empire—and proving that the Republic, however embattled, could still defy kings.

With peace at last secured, Hugo Pepoli turned to unfinished business. His honor had been restored through his service to Genoa and France, but that was not enough. There was one last score to settle, one last battle to fight. Guido Rangoni still held Modena, and Hugo intended to change that. If his uncle Gerard was to reclaim his power, Guido had to die.

And if Hugo was to prove himself the greater warrior, there could be no better way.

As France negotiated its final peace with the Empire, Hugo sent his own message, a challenge, issued to Guido Rangoni. He proposed a duel near Mantua, in the heart of Northern Italy.

Guido accepted without hesitation.

The date was set—December 31, 1516. A fitting end to a year. A fitting end to a rivalry.

This time, there would be no politics, no armies, no retreat. No Pope would send a message banning the fight.

This time, there would be blood.

[1] Note this is suppositional. We do know the Pope sent a messenger to the Duke telling him to forbid the duel. We also know that the duel did not take place in Milan, so we can safely assume that the Duke of Milan received the Pope’s message and rescinded the offer.

[2] It is a bit more complicated than this. At the impetus of Pope Leo X, the former Fregoso Doge of Genoa, Janus, was replaced by Octavian Fregoso. It is also worth noting that this Octavian Fregoso was the one who was also a lieutenant in Baglioni’s company and not the one that Hugo Pepoli helped to escape – there being two Octavian Fregosos at the time. For more see Guicciardini, Storia d’Italia, p.1042 (Kindle Edition). Also see I Diarii, vol. 13, p.564 for the two Octavians (one son of Agostino, the other Son of Battistino)

[3] Filippo Casoni. Annali della repubblica di Genova del secolo decimo sesto. Casamara. Genova. 1799, Volume 1 p. 155.

[4] Casoni, p.156.

[5] Castoni, p.159.

[6] Sanuto, p.42

[7] See www.condottieridiventura.it entry for “Hugo Pepoli,” August 1515.

[8] Note that the Venetian army had engaged in a number of smaller battles with the Emperor’s army. But this would be its first test in a major battle.

[9] Guicciardini p. 1149-1150 (K)

[10] Guicciardini, pp.1155-1157.

[11] Shellaberger, 3991 loc

[12] Giovio, p. 868. “These men, lost in their excessive bravery, are called 'Perditi' (the lost ones) and are held in the highest honor and admiration. They are distinguished by their outstanding courage, and granted the privilege of bearing the standard, leading ranks, and receiving double pay throughout their lives.:”

[13] So far it is impossible to determine where and if Hugo Pepoli was at this time. It appears that most of the Genoese force was concentrating on besieging Novara at the time since there is no mention of the Genoese at the fight. It seems likely that this mission was left to the infantry and that the Genoese men-at-arms like Hugo’s company followed the rest of the French army to Marignano.

[14] Givio, p. 871.

[15] Giovio, p. 873.

[16] Giovio, p. 874.

[17]

[18] Giovio, p.883

[19] Guiccardini, p. 1160.

[20] De Bianchi, p.163.

[21] De Bianchi, pp. 152-153

[22] De Bianchi, pp. 156-159

[23] Sanuto, XXII, cols. 145-146.

[24] Sanuto, XXIII, col. 19

[25] Giovio, p. 958.

[26] Sanuto, XXII, cols. 153-154

In this article, we’re going to discuss the wonderful world of Bolognese baroque art, focusing primarily on five principal characters: Bartolomeo Passaròtti, Annibale and Agostino Caracci, Domenichino, and Giovanni Battista Agucchi. Through this endeavor, I hope to uncover or reveal heretofore unseen connections between the emerging Bolognese baroque school of art in the late 16th century and the art of arms.

There are a number of concurrent nexuses between the Accademia del Cavalieri della Viola and the Accademia degli Incamminati, notably several recurrent families spanning generations, who indiscriminately transit the world of baroque art and the world of the Bolognese martial arts, like the dall’Agocchie, Achillini, Ghisilieri, and Marozzi. The objective of this article is to illustrate the different characters and their connections to hypothesize their participation in the Accademia of the late 16th century to help us better understand mid-to-late 16th-century Bolognese fencing.

Bartolomeo Passaròtti:

Bartolomeo Passaròtti was born in the city of Bologna in 1529.1 At the age of 21, in 1550, Bartolomeo went to Rome, where he began his apprenticeship, or journey, under the architect Iacopo Barozzi, and the artist Taddeo Zuccari.2 While in Rome, he copied the works of Francesco Salviti, Pirro Ligorio, Luzio Romano, and his master Taddeo Zuccari.3 His time in the eternal city was broken up by frequent trips home, like in 1552, when he married Imperia Toselli, and a year later in 1553 when he returned for the birth of his son Tiburzio.4

He completed his journey in 1555 and started his own art studio in Bologna in 1560, near the Asinelli and Garasenda towers, which Pietro Lamo notes “was a beautiful space full of various paintings and sculptures.”5 With the success of this entrepreneurial endeavor, he started pursuing his passion for collecting Ancient and Roman artifacts.6

On the 7th of March 1560, he entered the Societa di Quatro Arti or the Society of Four Arts.7 This artisan guild, founded in 1377,8 was actually a conglomeration of five disciplines: the saddle makers (sellai), sword makers (spadai), scabbard makers (guainai), shield makers (scudai), and painters (pittori).9 The commonality of the crafts produced by the Quattro Arti; notably the saddle, scabbard, and shield makers, was the use of leather.10 The painters and sword makers stand out from their peers in this regard, but it’s assumed by Pini and other commentators on the history of the artisan guilds that the painters would’ve collaborated closely with the other members of the Quattro Arti on finishing and decorating their wares.11

According to Pini, the spadai were the odd ones out and more like “dealers, adjusters, and finishers,” than sword makers per se, and their closest Quattro Arti contributors were the scabbard makers who fabricated the handles of their swords.12 This is perhaps why so many of Passaròtti’s early portraits have such a heavy emphasis on the hilts and scabbards of his subjects.

Around this time, there is a painting by Passaròtti that Maurizio Nobile Fine Art calls a portrait of a fencing master and silk producer. Alain R. Troung refers to this painting as Portrait of a Gentleman in a Silver Chainmail (a Champion Fencer?). The author of the Maurizio Nobile Fine Art article believes that the subject of this painting is the illustrious Mastro Generale de l'Arte de l'Armi, Achille Marozzo. Noting the subject’s fine silk garb in relation to Marozzo's spinning mill13, his hand pointing up to signify mastery or an expert knowledge of something14, the hidden dagger behind his back not unlike the figures in Marozzo’s Opera Nova15, his fine silver chainmail sleeves, and a belt suspension for a second sword {perhaps?—or maybe a buckler?}.

This is probably not the case, unless it was painted immemorial of the late Bolognese master. Most estimates put the completion of the painting between the 1560’s and 1570’s. Achille Marozzo was 52 years old in 1536 when he published his Opera Nova in Modena, and would’ve been 71 years old when Passaròtti finished his journeyman expedition to Rome, and was 7-10 years in the grave when this painting was likely completed.16 That said, Achille wasn’t the only Marozzo to work as a fencing master in Bologna.

Sebastiano Marozzo was probably born in the first or second decade of the 16th century, and would’ve been in his 40s or 50s when this portrait was completed. Given Sebastiano’s reputation as a fencing master and his father’s legacy, he would’ve been an intriguing subject for Passaròtti to paint. Lelio Tedeschi, in his 1605 Raccolta delle fedi d'acuni Prencipi, del Parare la Spada di Mano all'avversario, attests that he engaged in lengthy discourse with the principal {fencing} masters of Italy, and specifically highlights his conversations with Sebastiano, whom he calls “most excellent in his time.”17

Intriguingly, there is another portrait titled Portrait of a man with a large sword, which looks like a portrait of a slightly older version of the same subject from the Portrait of a Gentleman in a Silver Chainmail (a Champion Fencer?). Note the spadone, the Rotella, greaves, and burgonet or celate under the table.

This still life of assorted arms is reminiscent of the scattered arms in the image with three figures found in Capitolo 1 of Achille Marozzo’s 1536, Opera Nova. If this were painted a decade or two after the portrait of the fencing master, then this very well could be Sebastiano in the final years of his life before his death in 158018.

Could this be a series of depictions of Sebastiano through the years? Or is it his son Achille II, paying homage to his father and grandfather? What do you think?

In concert with this presumptive Marozzo portrait, there is another chivalric figure whose inclusion in the list of sitters painted by Passaròtti provides further intrigue. In the 1560s or 1570s, he painted a portrait of a member of the Legnani family, titled Portrait of a man of Legnani family in armour with a page.19 This very well could be the illustrious Bolognese knight, Vincenzo Legnani, who was a founding member of the Cavalieri della Viola in 156120:

Note the jousting lance and armor, and his hand pointed up to the left, denoting an expert knowledge of the art—that being the art of jousting—like our fencing master above.21 This would make sense for a man who co-founded a knightly academy dedicated to the art of jousting, fighting at the barrier, fencing, and other chivalric exercises, and was known as an expert jouster and exemplary cavalry officer.22

Among the co-founders of the Cavalieri della Viola, alongside Legnano, were Pirro III Malvezzi, Ottavio Bianchetti, Vincenzo Marsili, and principal founder Ettore Ghisilieri.23 Relating this to our itinerary of Bolognese painters, one of Bartolomeo Passaròtti's principle pupils was Agostino Caracci, who together with his brother Annibale and their cousin Ludovico, started the Accademia degli Incamminati in 1582—which, was incorporated and funded by Ettore Ghisilieri, one of our founders of the Knights of Viola24 who also owned a number of Passaròtti’s paintings in his extensive collection25.

The academy originally started as the Accademia dei Desiderosi, but changed its name soon after.26 Beyond being the linchpin of the Bolognese baroque movement, the organization also sponsored many scientists, poets, playwrights, and intellectuals like Melchiorre Zoppio (founder of the Accademia dei Gelati), Ulisse Aldrovandi, Giovanni Antonio Magini, Claudio Achillini (the grandson of Giovanni Filoteo Achillini), Cesare Ronaldo, and Girolamo Preti.27

This is where things get even more interesting.

Returning to Montaigne's travels through Italy between 1580-1581, he visited Bologna so he and Montluc could “stop in said town for the school of arms and cavalry.”

This school of arms and cavalry certainly reads like the Cavalieri della Viola, but there were undoubtedly other chivalric academies at the time, so we can't say with one-hundred percent certainty that this is the case. However, what's notable about the Cavaliere della Viola is that many of its principal members distinguished themselves in the service to the French Crown during the Third French War of Religion; namely Pirro III Malvezzi, Vincenzo Legnani, and Fabio Pepoli, which would’ve given cause for Montaigne and Montluc to visit.28

During this trip, it's possible that Montaigne and Monluc witnessed Lelio Tedeschi’s innovative disarm. If we presume that Lelio Tedeschi frequented the Viola Gardens to visit with the Knights of Viola, we can reasonably assume that his Bolognese fencing masters were involved in the martial training of knights. While a few of our key figures from the Third French War of Religion, like Fabio Pepoli, had passed away by 1580, both of his sons—Cesare and Taddeo—appear among Tedeschi's signatories in 1604.29

More importantly, this would put Sebastiano Marozzo and his son Achille II in the Accademia, where we know Passaròtti was sourcing subjects for his many chivalric portraits, and could give an indication or proof that the fencing master in the silver chainmail and the man with the spadone are indeed Sebastiano or Achille II Marozzi.

There's still more.

One of Annibale Caracci’s greatest friends, benefactors, and champions of his artistic endeavors was Giovanni Battista Agucchi, the son of Giovanni Giorgio di Niccolò Agocchi or dall’Agocchie.

Annibale Caracci was perhaps the greatest artist in the Bolognese Baroque movement, and a master in Ettore Ghisilieri’s Accademia degli Incamminati. When Annibale died in 1609, aged 49, Giovanni Battista Agucchi was at his bedside, comforting him and likely administering last rites.30

As noted above, Taddeo and Cesare Pepoli were among the signatories listed in Lelio Tedeschi’s 1605 text. These gentlemen would've been the greatest benefactors of their father’s fencing master’s 1572 work, Giovanni dall’Agocchie’s Dell'Arte di Scrima Libri Tre. If they, too, were involved with the Cavaliere della Viola—which is likely because a number of their cousins, like Ugo II Pepoli, were—then it's quite possible that Giovanni Battista’s introduction to many of the masters and proteges of the Bolognese Baroque movement was facilitated by the fraternal order of the Accademia del Cavalieri della Viola.

This hypothesis is predicated largely on Montaigne observing Tedeschi's disarm, but could indicate a pedagogical connection between Achille Marozzo, Sebastiano Marozzo, and Giovanni dall'Agocchie. Regardless of the efficacy of this assumption, we can still appreciate the undeniable interwoven thread of noble connections and extensions of relationships beyond the nexus of the Cavalieri della Viola, which stand to facilitate a continuation between a majority of the principal masters in the mid-to-late 16th century; specifically, Marozzo, dall’Agocchie, Vizzani, and to some degree, the earlier commentator Giovanni Filoteo Achillini.

The efficacy of this hypothesis is perhaps best illustrated by the life of Giovanni Battista Agucchi, who was a transcendent figure who stepped out of his father's shadow and found solace in the divine beauty of the emerging baroque masters that his father's patrons were supporting, in lieu of the art of arms. More importantly, his life and his social connections beyond the martial confines of the Viola gardens shed greater light on the exclusivity of the late 16th-century Accademia, and bring even more legacy members of fencing families into the fold.

Giovanni Battista Agucchi:

Born on November 20th, 1570, to Giovanni Giorgio di Niccolò dall’Agocchie, a registered Notai, and Isabetta Sega, Giovanni Battista attended the Università di Faenza, Bologna, and Sapienza31 while following his brother Girolamo and his uncle Filippo Sega as a prince of the Holy Mother Church.32

His first post was in the Canon of Piacenza under his uncle, Filippo Sega, where he acted with his brother as secretariat once their uncle was elevated to Cardinal in 1594. After Sega’s death in 1596, he became the interim butler of Cardinal Pietro Aldobrandini, in whose service he attended the signing of the Treaty of Lyon in 1600; facilitated by the Duke of Sessa—ie. the grandson of Don Luis Fernandez de Cordoba33—and the marriage of Henry IV in 1601.34

In 1604, Aldobrandini became the Archbishop of Ravenna and was embroiled in a scandal for opposing the connections between St. Peter’s throne and the Spanish Empire under Pope Paul V.35 On account of this, Giovanni Battista became a bit of a pariah until Aldrobandini and Paul V were able to reconcile their differences in 1615.36 He was later appointed to the position of private secretary of Gregory XV in February of 1621 and became the nuncio of the Republic of Venice in 1623.37

Despite his vocation, Giovanni Battista was a transcendent figure in the Bolognese art community and a skilled astronomer. His interest in the later began during his ecclesiastical hiatus, when he became enamored with math and astronomy, and even gave a lecture on his observations of Jupiter and it’s many moons in 161138—a matter which brought him into congenial correspondence with Galileo Galilei; who had applied for a professorship at the Universita di Bologna in 158839—but was passed over for the native Antonio Magini; a member of the Accademia degli Incamminati. Of note, Galileo would later demonstrate his telescope for the Studiorum in 1610, despite having a running feud with the Universita’s astrology department and the disappointment of being passed over for a professorship.40

Among his accomplishments in the art world, he wrote a treatise on art sometime between 1607-1615 in collaboration with Domenicino Zampieri, who was living with him at the time.41 Domenicino, as he was known, was a product of the Accademia degli Incamminati and one of Annibale Caracci’s prized pupils, and also painted the portrait of Giovanni Battista included above.42 While Giovanni Battista’s treatise was never published, a portion of it was used by Giovanni Antonasio Mosini in his book on selected engravings of Annibale Caracci in 1646, and his innovative ideas on art theory inspired the likes of Giovan Pietro Bellori, who expounded on Aggochi’s observations at the Accademia di San Luca in 1664.43

Despite his admiration for Rafael and Michaelangelo, his favorite artist and greatest inspiration was undoubtedly his dear friend Annibale Caracci, whose ability to “paint without drawing first,” mesmerized Agucchi.44 According to Vermeulen, Giovanni Battista, “is regarded as one of the first to define European art according to schools at the beginning of the seventeenth century, distinguished the following: the Roman school, the Venetian school, the Lombard school, and the Tuscan school.” (pg. 15), or their capi. She also notes that he was “the first writer to associate the term maniera with geographical attributes {in art theory}.” (pg. 46)

Zirpolo notes, “Agucchi, and later Bellori, embraced the Neoplatonic notion that nature is the imperfect reflection of the divine and, therefore, that the artist must improve upon it to achieve beauty. The artists who simply imitate nature cater to the common, uninformed viewer, but those who do in fact ennoble nature target the erudite few.” (pg. 47-48) He called this the theory of ideal beauty.45

When in Bologna, Giovanni Battista Agucchi frequented another Accademia that was started in 1583 by Melchiorre Zoppio, called the Accademia dei Gelati, or the Academy of the frozen ones, which was a literary and philosophical society focused on the neoplatonic notion of love and love poetry, but also dabbled in hermeticism, the qabalah, alchemy, magic, and heterodoxy.46 Agostino Carracci designed the organization’s coat of arms, later painted by his apprentice Prospero Fontana in 1588.

Notable among the members of the Accademia del Gelati, besides Giovanni Battista Agucchi and Agostino Caracci are: Claudio Achillini, Francesco Maria Boccadiferro, and Carlo Emmanuele Vizzani. More specific to the purpose of this article, Guido, Giovanni, Ugo, Romeo, Lucrezio, and Filippo Pepoli, as well as Filippo Carlo Ghisilieri, Hippolito Bentivoglio (Cesare Pepoli’s father-in-law) appear among the list of notable members.47 If we want to take this a step further, the Berò, Bentivoglio, Casale, Pepoli, Boncompagni, Grassi, Scappi, Malvasia, Mareschalchi, and Marescotti families appear among the register, marking a clear majority of Lelio Tedeschi’s 1605 publication.48

True to the Libertine inclinations of the Accademia dei Gelati, Agostino Caracci is known for having produced a number of erotic paintings (NSFW) later collected and etched by Jacques Joseph Coiny. Not all of the Accademia dei Gelati’s influence was as vulgar; many of the artists from the Accademia degli Incamminati used the literary and classical depictions of the Gelati Academy to inspire their works. Paintings like Domenicino’s Dianna and her Nymphs are reminiscent of Manciolino’s plauding fencing metaphor found throughout the prologue of his various books.

Something that leaves one to wonder how much of a collaboration there was between the poets, playwrights, philosophers, artists, sculptors, and knights of the Accademia dei Gelati, Accademia degli Incamminati, and the Accademia del Cavalieri della Viola is their elaborate Carnivale demonstrations in the late 16th and early 17th century. Awe inspiring displays that we can liken to the totality of the brilliance of the masters of the Quatro Arti.

Conclusion:

While we can't say for certain that Sebastiano or Achille II were the subjects of Passaròtti’s paintings, or whether Battista Agocchi’s introduction to his friends in the Accademia degli Incamminati or the Accademia del Gelati were on account of his father’s connections in the Accademia del Cavalieri della Viola, or just a matter of his social standing, there is certainly an undeniable possibility there. It's a complicated web of relationships that paints a compelling landscape for the historical martial arts practitioner curious about the origins and mannerisms that developed on account of a concurrent pedagogy.

In the end, art is both objective and subjective. Objective in that it gives us a wonderful view into the styles and fashions of the late-16th century, it lets us see the faces of the men and women who fill the pages of the chronicles and breathed the air of baroque Bologna. While the anonymity of many of the painters’ subjects lets us imagine who the sitter may have been… your guess is as good as mine. Summarily, if we feel a sense of transportation, and the arts come alive through the heavy oil paint and lifelike overtures of Passaròtti, Caracci, or Domenicino’s brush strokes, then their mission is accomplished, even if it’s an imaginative or hopeful foray into the identity of our collection of Bolognese fencing masters.

Subscribe now

We’re just getting started in our descent into late 16th and early 17th century Bolognese martial history, but the results—so far—have been pretty exciting. If you want to keep up with our research, as we inch our way closer to finding out more about Sebastiano Marozzo, Achille II Marozzo, Giovanni dall’Agocchie and Lelio Tedeschi, make sure you sign up, it's free. In our next article, we’re going to take a much deeper look at Lelio Tedeschi’s 1605, and explore how his list of patrons provides some compelling historiographical explanations for the continuation of the Marozzo legacy.

Acknowledgements:

My kindest regards to Alessandro Battistini and Sala d’Armi Achille Marozzo for sharing scans of Lelio Tedeschi with us. With that, I have to thank Niccolò Menozzi for helping me track the scans down, and Mike Smallridge for all of his excellent work translating and organizing the information therein. Finally, I would be remiss not to thank Sean Ellis for doing a phenomenal job editing this article.

Appendix:

Memorie, imprese e rirtatti de’ signori Accademici Gelati de Bologna

Works Cited:

1. Malvasia, Carlo Cesare and Barbieri, Giovanni Domenico. Felsina pittrice : vite de pittori bolognesi. Bologna, 1678. Per l’erede di Domenico Barbieri. Getty Research institute. 1616-1693, 1704-1764. Archive. https://archive.org/details/felsinapittricev02malv_0/page/242/mode/2up. Digital.

2. Zirpolo, Lilian H.. Historical Dictionary of Baroque Art and Architecture. United Kingdom, Bloomsbury Academic, 2010.

3. Montaigne, Michel de, and Meusnier de Querlon, Anne-Gabriel. Journal du voyage de Michel de Montaigne en Italie: par la Suisse & l'Allemagne en 1580 & 1581. Italy, Chez Le Jay, 1774.

4. Giovanni Francesco, Lelio. Raccolta delle fedi d’alcuni principi et signori italiani. Che hanno conosciuto... il segreto di Lelio de’Tedeschi,... inventore del vero... modo di levar... o dal parare la spada di mano all’inimico... (2016). Gallica. LINK.

5. Pantanelli, Guido, “Scherma e maestri di scherma bolognesi”, Strenna storica bolognese, 3 (1930), pp. 45-49.

6. “Portrait of a Silk Producer and Fencing Master.” Maurizio Nobile Fine Art, 2022, maurizionobile.com/en/viewing-room/7-portrait-of-a-silk-producer-and-fencing-master-bartolomeo-passerotti-a-posthumous-portrait-of-the-fencing/. Web. Accessed 20 Aug. 2025.

7. Wikipedia Contributors. “Bartolomeo Passaròtti.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 20 Aug. 2025, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bartolomeo_Passaròtti.

8. di Ilaria, Toesca and Zapperi, Roberto. AGUCCHI, Giovanni Battista; Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani - Volume 1 (1960). Treccani.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/giovanni-battista-agucchi_(Dizionario-Biografico)/. Web. Accesssed 20 Aug. 2025.

9. Lavenia, Vincenzo. SEGA, Philip; Biographical Dictionary of Italians - Volume 91 (2018). Treccani.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/filippo-sega_(Dizionario-Biografico)/. Web. Accessed 21 Aug. 2025.

10. Universita di Bologna. The Reform of the Studium; The history of the University of Bologna in the 16th century. unibo.it. https://www.unibo.it/en/university/who-we-are/our-history/nine-centuries-of-history/the-reform-of-the-studium. Web. Accessed 21 Aug. 2025.

11. Ginzburg, Sylvia, "The Portrait of Agucchi at York Reconsidered", The Burlington Magazine, Vol. 136, No. 1090 (Jan. 1994), pp. 4–14, JSTOR

12. Vermeulen, Ingrid. Art and Its Geographies: Configuring Schools of Art in Europe (1550-1815). Netherlands, Amsterdam University Press, 2024.

13. Wikipedia contributors. Giovanni Battista Agucchi. Wikipedia.org. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giovanni_Battista_Agucchi. Web. Accessed 21 Aug. 2025.

14. Paci, Piero. Gli inventari della quadreria Ghisilieri agli esordi del collezionismo bolognese. Storia-arte. https://www.10righe.org/images/pdf_articoli/41-44.pdf. PDF. Accessed 21 Aug. 2025.

15. di Albano, Sorbelli. Marsili; Enciclopedia Italiana (1934). Treccani.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/marsili_(Enciclopedia-Italiana)/. Digital.

16. Tarchiani, Gabrieli, Damerini. ACCADEMIA; Enciclopedia Italiana (1929). Treccani.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/accademia_(Enciclopedia-Italiana)/. Web. Accessed 11/29/2024.

17. Gardi, Andrea. ‘I Gelati, i Gessi e Edgar Allan Poe’. Venezia Arti, no. 1 (11 December 2020). https://doi.org/10.30687/va/2385-2720/2020/01/002.

18. Wikipedia Contributors. Accademia Degli Incamminati. Wikipedia.it. https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Accademia_degli_Incamminati. Web. Accessed 26 Aug. 2025.

19. Guarini, di Elena Fasano. ALDOBRANDINI, Pietro; Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani - Volume 2 (1960). Treccani.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/pietro-aldobrandini_(Dizionario-Biografico)/. Web. Accessed 20 Aug. 2025.

20. "Magini, Giovanni Antonio ." Complete Dictionary of Scientific Biography. . Encyclopedia.com. 14 Aug. 2025 <https://www.encyclopedia.com >.

29

Tedeschi, courtesy of Alessandro Battistini:

Introduction:

There is perhaps no one more essential to the foundation of the Bentivoglio Signoria in Bologna than Ser Cola d’Ascoli. Like all good agents of espionage, keepers of secrets, or knowers of things, his life is rather a mystery—but he has a knack for showing up when it matters the most. Let's get to know him better.

A series of letters to Angelo da Bari in Pisa, dated between 1415-1420, on behalf of the Acciaioli laborers, indicates that he may have been active politically in his home of Ascoli prior to meeting and taking employment with Antonio Bentivoglio sometime that decade.1 In the funerary note recorded by Cherubino Ghirardacci in his Della historia di Bologna, he provides some pertinent biographical details:

(1477) Cola da Ascoli, a man of learning and experience in the affairs of the republic, died. He was formerly secretary to Antonio Galeazzo, Annibale Bentivoglio, and Giovanni Bentivoglio, from whom he received the arms of the house of Bentivoglio. While he lived, he built a chapel in San Jacopo near the sacristy, where the Most Holy Sacrament stood. Today, with the Bentivoglio family's permission, it is dedicated to San Michele Arcangelo. There is a beautiful altarpiece by Lorenzo da Bologna, a famous painter who succeeded Michelangelo in San Pietro in Rome. It is one of the most beautiful things in Bologna. Cola was buried on May 13, a Tuesday, in the church of San Jacopo with great honor. (pg. 216)

Ser Cola is often referred to as a Secretario, or Cancellieri. In an official capacity this meant an advisor for the council of sixteen reformers, or the Sedici Reformati, and while Ser Cola did hold that position on behalf of the republic for a spell between 1445-1455—after the death of Annibale Bentivoglio—his primary responsibilities were often carried out in a similar capacity on behalf of the Bentivoglio family, rather than the state.

Because Ser Cola’s timeline is going to jump around a bit, it’s helpful to view a timeline of when certain members of the Bentivoglio family were in power:

• Giovanni Bentivoglio: 1400-1402

• Antonio Bentivoglio: 1416-1421

• Annibale Bentivoglio: 1443-1445

• Santi Bentivoglio: 1446-1463

• Giovanni II Bentivoglio: 1463-1506

Similarly, I tend to use a bit of historical jargon, so here are some helpful tips and terms that will make the story more enjoyable:

• —eschi: The suffix ‘eschi’ usually denotes a family faction, or a group loyal to a specific lord. For example, the Bentivogleschi were a group of families in Bologna loyal to the Bentivoglio.

• Regimento: The collective government of Bologna.

• Anziani: The Bolognese Congressional body

• Sedici: The Bolognese Senatorial body

• Podestà: Governor, but more like the District Attorney

• Legate: The Papal Governor of the City
  

At the Behest of Antonio Bentivoglio:

Ser Cola first appears in the Bolognese Chronicles in 1435. Bologna was in a period of transition, the brief Canetoli Signoria (1430-1434) had come to an end thanks to concerted efforts of Antonio Bentivoglio and the Papal Gonfaloniere Iacopo Caldora, along with a consortium of citizens hell-bent of throwing off the yoke of the violent Canetoli regime. The new Papal Legate; Daniele da Treviso, the bishop of Concordia, made it his mission to restore order and curb the perpetual feuding that had plagued the city since its bid for independence in 1416. To do this, he assigned Baldassare Offida—a condottiere of questionable integrity2—as his Podestà.3 Offida came to Bologna accompanied by his regiment of 200 loyal soldiers and started creating problems almost immediately.4

Offida’s first act as Podesta was to fire all of the infantrymen and cavalrymen employed in the service of the city of Bologna so he could replace them with his loyal cadre of soldiers. The now curtailed nobleman Battista Canetoli was charged with executing this directive, but instead of following through on the Podestà’s request, he tried to entice the Duke of Milan, Filippo Maria Visconti to send his chief condottiere, Niccolo Piccinino, to come to Bologna to liberate the city from Papal control.5

This didn’t work out the way he’d hoped.

Offida found out about the plot and was planning to have Battista arrested, but was quickly advised to take a different course due to the bloodshed and violence that would follow such an affront. Instead, he watched and waited for Canetoli to make his move, and secretly negotiated with Piccinino’s rival, Francesco Sforza, to send Bologna aid. Before the Duke of Milan could act on the impetus of Canetoli, 600 Sforsechi soldiers rode through the San Mamolo gate under the command of Sigismondo Malatesta, and Battista Canetoli fled for Correggio disguised as a huntsman, with the rest of his family and Caneschi allies not far behind.6

In the wake of this kerfuffle, Offida tightened security in the city by placing his troops in command of the gates and fortresses and made sure that the new batch of city officials elected into the Regimento were sympathetic to the whims of His Beatitudes, Eugenus IV.7 Bologna was on a knife’s edge: Offida had chosen the stick in lieu of the carrot, and the Bolognese people weren’t keen on taking a beating without some form of recourse.

This was the contentious environment that Antonio Bentivoglio inherited when he returned to Bologna after a 15-year and 3-month-long exile from the city.8 His Holiness, Eugenus IV, was in Antonio’s debt and granted his request to return despite the protestations of Daniele da Treviso and Baldassare Offida. Ghirardacci records his triumphal return home like this:

On Sunday, December 4th, at 10 p.m., {Antonio} entered Bologna and immediately went to visit the governor, then went home to rest. When he entered Bologna, his friends gathered in such numbers that the house could not contain them all(.) He was so beloved by the citizens that they {had} quickly furnished his house with everything he needed; besides which he was visited and presented to by the people every day. When he went out in public in the city, he was followed by an infinite throng of people; and this great love and affection of his friends and the people harmed him greatly, because the governor, who was zealous for the city, took note of everything.

It wasn’t only the Legate and his administrators that Antonio needed to watch out for.

The flight of the Caneschi and the triumphant return of Antonio Bentivoglio was a double gut punch for the adherents of the Maltraversi9 faction in Bologna, who’d recently thrown their hat in the ring with Battista Canetoli. Domenico and Giovanni Isolani, Giovanni di Lignano, and Giovanni del Testa Gozzadini, four key Maltraversi adherents, sought an audience with Baldassare Offida, and poured poisoned suspicions in his ears, arguing, “If {you} wish to preserve the city in the devotion of the Holy Mother Church, then it is necessary to put a brake on the greatness of Antonio {Bentivoglio}, who seems to want to make himself lord of Bologna like his father Giovanni, which is an easy thing for him—having the hearts of the people in his hands” (Ghirardacci; pg. 45).10

Offida certainly heeded their warning and called a number of his soldiers to Palazzo Re Enzo for a ‘review’. This drastic measure alerted Ser Cola that something was afoot. After some quick sleuthing, he uncovered the developing plot and warned Antonio that the Podestà was going to have him killed. In light of this, Antonio made it a point to tell the people who gathered outside his door—daily—to stop following him around, on account that it was raising unnecessary suspicion. Alas, on the 23rd of December, Antonio was summoned to have an audience with Offida.11

He started his trek to the Basilica of San Petronio in the company of Ser Cola, Giovanni Fantuzzi, and Gasparo Malvezzi—his most trusted friends and advisors. When they reached Asinelli tower, he turned to his companions and asked them to go home, noting that if he were to die at the hands of Offida, it would be better if they were alive to enact his revenge.12

Antonio attended mass, confessed his sins, and then went to see the Podestà, who—he discovered—had also summoned his close friend and faction ally Tomaso Zambeccari. Upon Antonio’s arrival at Palazzo Re Enzo, Offida took him by the hand—all smiles, jokes, and jovial platitudes—and led him into private council. When they were done, Antonio asked Baldassare if the soldiers in the square were summoned to arrest him, and the Podestà shrugged this off with a laugh and some reassuring words, and repeated the exercise with Zambeccari.13

As Antonio’s foot left the last landing of the rickety old wooden staircase into the Piazza of the Palazzo, he was surrounded by 25 soldiers, who informed him he was under arrest by the order of the Podestà.14 In response to this, Antonio snapped, “And what have I done? Is this perhaps the reward for my merits that the Church offers me for such loyalty and the servitude that I have demonstrated to her?” (Ghirardacci, pg. 45).

To which the soldiers forced a gag in his mouth, pushed him to his knees, and unceremoniously cut his head off without giving him time for a final confession. Meanwhile, upstairs in the palazzo, Offida had taken a rope and wrapped it around Zambeccari’s throat, threaded it through the rafters, and kicked him out over the staircase to hang. Afterwards, their bodies were buried in an unmarked grave, with no headstone, to avoid any suspicion, and give time for Offida to prepare to pacify the city.15

In the wake of this coup de force, the Podestà had his men collect the weapons and armor from the houses of the Bentivogleschi and Caneschi. Then, to ensure the true nature of his plot remained sufficiently covered, he arrested Ser Cola d’Ascoli, and condemned him to death.16

On Christmas Eve, Ser Cola was led to the executioner’s block, where the charges were read. He was accused of conspiring with Antonio Bentivoglio and Tomaso Zambeccari to invite Filippo Maria Visconti to take dominion of the city of Bologna. The executioner had just drawn the final hone across the blade of his axe as the Marshall issued the sentence, when suddenly the procession was interrupted by a courier in Papal livery. He bore a letter from His Holiness Pope Eugenus IV, demanding the pardon of Ser Cola d’Ascoli.17

According to Ghirardacci, the document was a ruse, a forgery composed by Offida so he could make his brutal execution of Bentivoglio and Zambeccari seem like it was the will of the Pope and publicly discredit Ser Cola d’Ascoli.

He made a crucial mistake.

Later that year, in late August, Francesco Sforza abandoned his Condotta {contract} with the Holy Mother Church while his army was campaigning in the Romagna (southeast of Bologna) near the Polledrano Bridge. Baldassare Offida and Daniele da Treviso were afraid he would turn his covetous eye toward Bologna, and so resolved to take him out before he could besiege the city.18

Offida and the Papal Gonfaloniere, Pietro Giovanni Paolo, rode out of Bologna with his Holiness’ army at a breakneck speed by way of Budrio to set an ambush for Sforza’s forces in Medecina. On the 9th of September, they dismounted their men-at-arms and took position, but Francesco’s army never showed—they were tipped-off.19 Instead, Francesco’s forces had taken a more southerly route through Canalovo in Imola and threatened to flank Offida’s forces in Medecina. On account of this, Offida and Giovanni Paolo pulled their forces back behind the Reccardina bridge, settling into position on the 15th. Hearing of this, Sforza feigned a retreat back into the Romagna by sending his entire baggage train back to his county in Cortignola, and dispatched a knight of some repute to inform the Papal captains that this was his intent, along with an offer of his service’s if the terms were good enough.20

This was just enough to get Offida and Giovanni Paolo to drop their guard. On the 16th, Sforza’s company armed and mounted, stormed through Riccardina and routed the Papal forces. All of His Holiness’ captains of repute were captured or killed including Pietro Giovanni Paolo—but somehow, Offida managed to escape and locked himself in the fortress of nearby Budrio.21 Sforza was not a man to take insults or ambushes lightly, and surrounded the fortress demanding that if the garrison didn’t give him Baldassare Offida, he would put them all to the sword. The people of Budrio gladly surrendered the Bolognese Podestà.22

Now, this is where the story gets really interesting. Sforza sent Offida to Cortignola, where he interrogated and tortured him, then handed him off to his captain Ghierono di Fermo della Marca, who delivered the beleaguered Offida to Girolamo dalla Seda, aka the Count.23

Giolamo dalla Seda was a ‘servant’ of Antonio Bentivoglio. Once he’d bound Offida’s hands he said to him, “Here you are, traitor, who wrongly killed Antonio, my dear lord; if it were right for me now, with these hands I would take your heart out of your chest and feed it to the dogs.”24

To which Offida cowered, “This must not immediately be attributed to me, but also to the Maltraversi.”25

The Count was unmoved. He buried Offida neck deep in the ground somewhere near Ghierono, and gave him just enough sustenance to prevent him from dying prematurely—he wanted to see the flesh of his face eaten by ants, spiders, beetles, and worms while his body rotted beneath the earth.26 Ghirardacci records Offida’s demise like this:

Girolamo therefore led him to Ghierono, where he was stripped naked, wrapped in a freshly skinned ox hide, and then buried in the ground with only his head remaining above the surface. He was given food in measured quantities for many days, which he ate with infinite anguish, until finally, cruel as he was, he died a horrible death. He had already been hanged for his crimes, but someone cut the rope and saved his life.

{Offida} was a malicious, proud, and ambitious man. He kept his rooms furnished with the finest fabrics and the floor was completely covered with cloth. When he gave audience, he wanted men to speak to him on their knees until he motioned for them to stand up. When he rode in public, he had a horse laden with ropes led behind him to frighten the people, and when he spoke, he always threatened them with a most cruel death, so that everyone trembled at his deeds.

Brutal. The contrast between Antonio’s execution, being beheaded and then buried in an unmarked grave, and Offida’s execution, being buried alive with his head above the ground, is poetic.

We can call this ‘reading between the lines’, or purely based speculation, but Offida’s fate was sealed the moment he let Ser Cola d’Ascoli live as a matter of political expediency. Obviously, Ser Cola is not specifically implicated in tipping off Francesco Sforza, but let’s look at this as a whole, and use Occam's Razor—shall we?

1. Ser Cola is humiliated, but pardoned.

2. Months later, Francesco Sforza is tipped off about an ambush by Papal forces, leaving Bologna.

3. When Offida is inevitably captured, he’s handed over to an agent of the Bentivoglio and thoughtfully executed.

Chronologically, it’s hard to state how influential—how powerful Ser Cola really was, so just keep this one in your memory bank, and we’ll come back to it after we have a bit more perspective. He’s one of those people who, when you realize what he was capable of, you start to see his shadow everywhere. We’re not chasing shadows, though, we’re only touching the points in history when he’s specifically named, so let’s get into our second story!

At the Behest of the Bentivogleschi:

After the death of Offida, the Bentivogleschi made a deal with Filippo Maria Visconti and Niccolo Piccinino to seize control of the city, and co-rule. It didn't quite work out how they’d hoped…

Long story short—Antonio’s son, Annibale Bentivoglio came back to the city after the Bentivogleschi and Piccinino successfully pulled off the coup. Piccinino was cool with this, but eventually started to freak out about how beloved Annibale was and had him arrested (like father like son). Annibale’s close friend, Galeazzo Marescotti saved him in a daring five-man castle raid. Then, with the help of their Bentivogleschi allies, snuck Annibale back into Bologna, raised up the city militias and noble families, and defeated the Piccinino’s mercenary forces.

All was well—until—Annibale decided to pardon the Canetoli family. The once great Bolognese patricians grew jealous of the Marescotti family and decided to kill Annibale Bentivoglio and all of the sons of Ludovico Marescotti. After brutally stabbing Annibale to death in the street, the city descended into chaos, and the Bentivogleschi rallied around the Marescotti banner and it’s only surviving son—Galeazzo Marescotti. Days of fighting ensued, but in the end, the Canetoli and their Caneschi allies were almost entirely eradicated.

In the wake of this tragedy, the Bentivogleschi regime needed a new figurehead to represent the faction. They tried to implore Ludovico Bentivoglio to take the mantle, but he wasn’t interested in following his extended family in a pursuit that cost them their lives—who could blame him? On account of this, Ser Cola d’Ascoli came through with one of the most amazing ‘rags to riches’ stories in history. A story that provides keen insight into how these facilitators and state policy manipulators vetted their sources.

Sante Bentivoglio:

Shortly after the death of Annibale Bentivoglio, the prominent Florentine signorial statesman, Neri di Gino Capponi, was approached by his friend Angolo Acciaiuoli, this is his personal account of what happened:27

After several months, Messer Agnolo Acciaiuoli took me by the hand and said, “Let us go for a walk, for I need to talk with you,” and we went toward the Serviti, and he said to me, “If you could bring Annibale Bentivoglio, who was such a great friend to you, back to life, would you do it?”

Then I began to laugh and said, “I am not Christ incarnate, who raised Lazarus from the dead. Annibale was cut to pieces, and you ask me if I want to raise him, if I can. It seems to me that you are mocking me.”

To which he replied, “I am not mocking you, but I speak the truth, and I tell you that if you want to, you can.”

And repeating these words to me several times, and still asserting that I had the power, I replied: “Explain this matter to me, for as I loved Hannibal in life, so I love him now, and I will prove it now by being able to do so; but you talk to me of miracles and impossible things, and make me leave this world, saying that I can raise the dead. It is true that I have done many great things for my people, but this seems like madness to me, for I am certain that Hannibal was cut into pieces, died, was buried, and was seen and mourned by many.”

Then Messer Agnolo said: “And it will not be impossible for you, as you believe: hold this and read.” And he showed me a letter of credence from sixteen of the leading men of Bologna, from a Bolognese who is called Ser Cola, and said to me: “Now see, Neri; this man has been to me and told me that Hercules, brother of Messer Antonio Bentivogli and cousin of Hannibal, stayed in Poppi and had dealings with the wife of Angnolo da Cascese, from whom he had a son named Santi; and when you took Poppi, they went with the Count to Lombardy, and then Annibale wanted to take him away from him. Then, at Antonio's request, you arranged for him to enter the wool trade with Nuccio Solosmei. This Bolognese, on behalf of all, concludes that they wish to have this Santi in Annibale's place, out of respect for the House, as they had Annibale. You will make this Santi great, and you will do great pleasure to the Bentivoliesca faction, and you will do for our Community, for he, having been raised in Florence and then becoming great in Bologna, will always be our friend.”

Then I said: “Messer' Angnolo, when you first brought up this matter, you told me it was impossible; but now you tell me in such a way that if things are as you say, not that they are impossible, they must first be well understood and well measured. It is true that Antonio da Cascese is a very good friend of mine, and he raised this young Antonio as his nephew, and he has neither father nor mother; and he recommended him to me and said he was sending him to Florence under my care, if nothing should happen to him. I have done so, and I would do for the young man as for my own son; & Antonio is a rich man, and loves him dearly. He has already given him 300 florins on that workshop. The first thing I would like is to be certain that he is Hercules' son; once this is clear, we can better advise on this matter.”

Then Messer' Agnolo wanted me to get together with the Bolognese man, who told me about the room that Hercules had made in Poppi, and how he had told many people that this Santi was his grandson. I wanted to know if his mother had mentioned anything about it, either while she was alive or after her death, but finding nothing, I asked several people who had known Hercules, and they said that he was the spitting image of him, and that Hannibal had said to him affectionately, “You are one of us. Go, and I want you to come home soon,” and other similar things. So I decided to speak to the young man and tell him this story, and then report it to Antonio da Casceso to hear his opinion. When I told the young man everything, he was upset by his mother's shame and said that he had never heard anything about this case except for what Hannibal had done to him when he passed through Bologna, which he had not thought about until now. A letter was written to Antonio, and Santi went there. He replied to Santi that he had never heard anything about this case and had never been displeased; however, he asked him to return to Florence and not to discuss this matter with him, but to inform him of my opinion.

At this time, more Bolognese came to Florence to see him, and they all looked at him with great devotion, asserting that he looked just like Hercules, and that he could not deny being his son. Cosimo de' Medici spoke of this case, and some of them, in the presence of Messer' Agnolo, Cosimo, and myself, asked to speak to the young man; and because Cosimo had the gout, they wanted me to take him to his house. The Bolognese, however, insisting that he was the son of Hercules, told him all the above and more, and begged him to go with them. and told him that they would be pleased if he would follow them, and that they would put him in possession of the house, furnishings, and possessions that had belonged to Hannibal, and would give him other things, and offer him endless comfort and support. The young man was eighteen years old and shy. He replied with a few appropriate words. Then Messer Agnolo, Cosimo, and I remained alone with him, and Cosimo said to him: "See, Santi, if you are the natural son of Hercules, nature draws you to Bologna and to great things. If you are the son of Agnolo da Cascese, you will remain in San Martino doing small things; therefore, I neither encourage you to go nor discourage you from staying, but I only offer you this conclusion: go and think about what your heart desires, and do what your heart desires, for that will be the true judgment of whose son you are. And so we all agreed to this decision.

And during these discussions, perhaps sixty Bolognese arrived in Florence to see him, and they wanted one of my household to join him. Anyone who saw how earnestly they begged him to go with them would have been amazed, offering to make him a knight, to give him possessions, to have him in place of Hannibal, and many said in place of a lord.

Capponi recounts his assault on Poppi in his Cacciata dei conti di Poppi, and contemporary records corroborate that Conte Francesco Guidi fled to Bologna during Capponi’s pursuit. No doubt Ser Cola d’Ascoli would’ve verified the authenticity of Sante’s patronage, being that he was the prospective ‘natural’ cousin of Annibale Bentivoglio, whom the disgraced Count of Poppi had brought with him in a hope that his presence would curtail favor with the Bentivoglio. It’s fascinating that Sante’s journey then takes him into the hands and good graces of Capponi after his return to Florence, and by way of this connection he finds himself immersed in the powerful Florentine wool merchants guild.

Perhaps the best part about this story is how Agnolo Acciaiuoli confirms Capponi’s loyalty to the Bentivogleschi cause. This went down after a relatively precarious situation in Florence. Factions were split between those who supported the Medici and those who supported the Albizzi families. Capponi’s 1440 campaign alongside Micheletto Attendolo Sforza, ended in victory at the battle of Anghiari over the forces of Rinaldo degli Albizzi and Niccolò Picconino; who was for all intents and purposes the Lord of Bologna at the time. The subsequent quest to punish the supporters of Albizzi’s attempted coup, led Capponi to the county of Poppi where he chased out Francesco Guidi, which resulted in the meeting between Annibale and Sante.28

Despite Capponi’s success in this campaign, Ser Cola d’Ascoli needed to make sure he could be trusted. His source, Agnolo Acciaiouli, was a knight in both Naples and Florence, and an ardent supporter of the Medici cause. In 1434 when Cosimo de’ Medici and his family were exiled by the Albizzi, it was Acciaiouli who kept the Medici informed of events happening in Florence, a service which—when discovered—resulted in his imprisonment, torture, and eventual banishment from Florence. Intriguingly it was Acciaiouli who informed Cosimo de’ Medici that Neri Capponi could be won over to his cause, which came to fruition later in the decade.29

Ser Cola would've known all of this because of his service to the Bentivoglio and proximity to the Picconino and Albizzi, and was looking to vet Neri Capponi's feelings on the transcendent Medici and the crestfallen Bentivoglio before letting him in on the secret of Sante’s origins.

Transition of Power:

Sante Bentivoglio was a fairly contentious regent in Bologna, due in large part to the influence of Galeazzo Marescotti and his mentor Francesco Sforza. His dogged pursuit of the rebellious Canetoli family eventually caused the Pepoli, Viggiani, and Fantuzzi families to rebel. Despite this, he was saved by the gracious administration of Ludovico Bentivoglio and Ser Cola d’Ascoli.

The real problem for Sante was, that his time as regent was limited. Giovanni II Bentovoglio, the son of Annibale Bentivoglio and Donina Visconti, was coming of age and that meant he would eventually need to step aside. This became a major touch point in Bolognese politics and divided the patrician families. Then, in 1462, he unexpectedly died.

The circumstances of Sante's death were deemed natural, but later revelations by the Malvezzi—blood relations of the Bentivoglio and the de facto number two family in the Bentivogleschi faction—and the dall’Agocchie families painted a more nefarious tale. According to them, Sante Bentivoglio was poisoned and murdered. The culprits—Giovanni II Bentovoglio and Generva Sforza Bentivoglio; Sante's wife.

Generva and Sante were never in love with one another, their union was one of alliance, and Sante much preferred his lover Nicholosa Sanuti over his bride, who was fifteen years his junior. After Sante’s death, Generva actually wrote a letter to Nicholosa offering her sincere condolences. Giovanni, on the other hand, by most accounts was infatuated with Generva.30 To make matters more complicated, Sante was trying to send Giovanni to Naples. Some in the Bentivoglio camp, notably Virgilio Malvezzi, thought that this was a ploy to remove Giovanni from the city of Bologna, so Sante could reign as tyrant, and stopped him from going into this prescribed pseudo exile. After this charade, Virgilio made a powerful political message and had Giovanni elected as the Gonfaloniere of Justice, a position usually afforded to elder statesmen—not 20-year-old boys.31 Sources generally differ on what transpired with Sante’s death, and while we generally take a realistically pro-Bentivoglio stance in our writing, in this case I’m going to observe this narrative from the perspective that the Malvezzi and dall’Agocchie families were telling the truth.

At the Behest of Giovanni II Bentovoglio:

The first letter to reach Milan and the Sforza court in the wake of Sante Bentivoglio’s death, on October 1st 1463 was from Virgilio Malvezzi. In that letter, composed October 13th and addressed to Duke Francesco Sforza, Virgilio listed a number of reasons as to why he felt the proposed union between Generva Sforza Bentivoglio and Giovanni II Bentovoglio was a bad idea.32

Then, another letter arrived. This one—also composed on October 13th—was written on behalf of Generva Sforza Bentivoglio. In It, she informed her uncle, the duke, that Ser Cola d’Ascoli was on his way to Milan, and that he had full license to negotiate an arrangement on her behalf.33

This was followed by a third letter, this time bearing the signature of Giovanni II Bentovoglio, with a body and scribal hand identical to that of Generva’s, informing the duke that Ser Cola was on his way to Milan to negotiate on his behalf.34

On the 14th, the Sedici admitted that Ser Cola had gone to Milan for “some things,” and by the 19th, ambassadors from across Italy were involved in the negotiations over what would happen next.35

Suspiciously the Duke was dead-set on the notion that Giovanni II should marry Generva Sforza Bentivoglio. This was appalling to the rest of the Italian world. According to Bernhardt, “He and his patrician friends knew full well that even the suggestion of Genevra was shocking as she was roughly the same age (or slightly older), widowed, and the sexually experienced mother of two children, one of whom could legally compete for Giovanni II’s titles and position. Each of those blemishes on a potential bride would have been extremely dishonourable.” (pg. 90) As the future Signoria of Bologna, Giovanni was at the very least entitled to a wife who was of noble birth, who was younger than him, who was a virgin, and a considerable dowry to boot.

At least, this was the argument that Ludovico Bentivoglio, Virgilio Malvezzi, and Giacomo Grati were making, insisting that the choice of Giovanni’s bride should be handled with reverence and respect. Going as far as to write the duke to say that, “this matter is worse than ever,” and “it pains us to the core that this thing is of such a nature,” concluding that they didn’t understand why he wished to degrade Giovanni with such a proposal.36 They certainly knew what was at stake. Ser Cola d’Ascoli on the other hand, had taken a different approach, and spent most of his time ‘trying to convince’ Giovanni and Generva that their union should go forward.37 This is where we have to pause and ask ourselves—wait a second, didn’t Giovanni and Generva give Ser Cola full license to negotiate their future in matching letters to the duke? Was he acting in the dukes interest or their interest?

That’s odd.

Now the twist. In a pair of competing letters in late November and December, we see the positions of both parties suddenly come together. Virgilio Malvezzi surprisingly shifts course and writes to the duke stating that he has done everything in his power to promote the marriage, which doesn’t line up with his previous objections.38 Meanwhile, Ser Cola reports that he’s working really hard to convince Giovanni II, but he's having some trouble—as the Milanese diplomat Prospero Camillo details, “{Giovanni} was too pushy, he wanted everything to work as he wished, and the nobles began to become resentful and hate him..,” which made Ser Cola’s position more tedious. Ser Cola then met with Generva, and after their meeting, Camillo reported that Sforza was greatly pained and in tears.39

Once Generva had some time to reflect on her meeting with Ser Cola, she wrote a letter to her uncle on the 20th of December, and thanked him for sending Prospero Camillo, then praised the duke for his “benevolence and kindness.” As a sign of her gratitude she sent Francesco Sforza eight of Sante Bentivoglio’s finest horses.40

Then, after further discussions with Galeazzo Marescotti, Ludovico Bentivoglio, Virgilio Malvezzi, and Giacomo Grati, Giovanni Bentivoglio relented and the two wed.41

In the wake of this, Galeazzo Marescotti wrote some telling letters apologizing to the duke for Giovanni’s outbursts and frustrations. The old knight and savior of the Bentivogleschi party cut his teeth as a condottiere in Francesco Sforzas mercenary company, and had a lasting friendship with the duke well after their dog days as dust condottiere. A friendship that staved off the destruction of the fledgling Bentivoglio Signoria a number of times.42

Now, none of this really makes sense. We have so many conflicting interests and bizarre twists and turns. However, if what Sebastiano dall’Agocchie; Giovanni’s treasurer, told Pope Julius II in 1506 was true; here summarized by Elizabeth Louise Bernhardt, “Although most of his accounts were about the family in general, Agocchie introduced the claim that Genevra’s first husband Sante had not died of natural causes but had been poisoned by those closest to him (i suoi piu propinqui).” (pg. 265-266), then allow a moment to postulate an alternative theory outside of the academic constraints that confine Dr. Bernhard.

Giovanni had every reason to kill Sante. He had just come of age, and was 20 years and 8 months when Sante was unalived. Moreover, Sante was trying to push him out and send him to Naples so he could bring his son Ercole back to Bologna and reign in perpetuity. Also—he might’ve had a crush on or was perhaps even banging Auntie Generva behind uncle Sante’s back. Assuming he did off his uncle, Giovanni created a problem. Sante—for all of his faults—was loved by Francesco Sforza, his mentor.43

So, here is an alternative hypothesis—enlivened by Dr. Bernhard’s brilliant research and thesis. Giovanni killed Sante and sent his fixer, Ser Cola d’Ascoli—a man well known to and respected by the duke—to Milan to assuage Francesco of the righteous vengeance he was sure to unleash. Being a rational man, who understood the complexity of 15th century dynastic politics, Francesco relented, but insisted that Giovanni marry Sante’s widow, his niece Generva Sforza. At first Giovanni was okay with that, but became incensed in large part because his faction members were losing their minds over the insult of such an arrangement, then eventually relented when he considered the alternative. That’s why there was no dowry, no pomp or elaborate celebration. That’s why Virgilio Malvezzi changed his tune. Francesco’s forceful negotiation and Ser Cola’s part in making it come to fruition was recompense for Giovanni’s unceremonious murder of his uncle.

Conclusion:

Ser Cola d’Ascoli’s life is shrouded by intrigue and mystery. He was a powerful but shadowy figure who was more likely the recipient and director of intelligence gathering, rather than the man on a mission to acquire or attain it. Still, throughout his life, we can see how having ‘that guy’ can help facilitate a faction scattered to the far reaches of Italy to coalesce and create a familial dynasty in one of the peninsula’s greatest cities.

Alas, on the 10th or 11th of May 1477, Ser Cola d’Ascoli died. His death left a vacuum that was never filled by Giovanni II Bentivoglio. Without the once great fixer and facilitator of the Bentivogleschi faction, the unbreakable threads of the fraternity faltered, and threats from without became less perilous than the threats from within. The 1488 Malvezzi coup and the 1502 Marescotti coup were the death throes of the Bentivoglio Signoria, which saw its inevitable demise in 1506 when Pope Julius II marched his Papal army through the gates of Bologna and put the final dagger in the breast of the Bentivogleschi regime.

The Malvezzi coup, in particular, shook Giovanni II to his core. Afterwards he became paranoid and isolated on account that his closest kin tried to have him murdered in his bed. But that story revolves around our second subject, a man who was not a facilitator, but a collector and a gatherer of intelligence and information. A man who was quietly one of the most powerful people in late 15th century Italy—the legendary Benedetto Dei.

Subscribe now

Appendix:

If you want to read more about Generva Sforza Bentivoglio and the wild whims of the Bentivoglio court make sure you check out Louise Berhardt’s, Genevra Sforza and the Bentivoglio: Family, Politics, Gender and Reputation in (and beyond) Renaissance Bologna. It's available for free on the University of Toronto website.

You can find Neri di Gino Capponi’s Memoires in Rerum Italicarum Scriptores, Volume 18.

Works Cited:

1. Castrignanò, Vito Luigi. TESTI NOTARILI PUGLIESI DEL SEC. XV; Edizione critica, spoglio linguistico e lessico. Spienza Università di Roma. 2015. LINK. Digital.

2. Muratori, Lodovico Antonio. Rerum italicarum Scriptores. Volume 18. N.p., n.p, 1731.

3. Bernhardt, Elizabeth Louise. Genevra Sforza and the Bentivoglio: Family, Politics, Gender and Reputation in (and beyond) Renaissance Bologna. Amsterdam University Press, 2023. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/jj.809362. Accessed 15 July 2025.

4. Capponi, Niccolo. The Day the Renaissance Was Saved: The Battle of Anghiari and Da Vinci's Lost Masterpiece. United States, Melville House, 2015.

5. Carducci, Giosuè, et al. Rerum italicarum scriptores: raccolta degli storici italiani dal cinquecento al millecinquecento. Ghirardacci Book 3. Italy, S. Lapi, 1929. Digital.

6. Ady, Cecilia Mary. The Bentivoglio of Bologna: A Study in Despotism. United Kingdom, Oxford University Press, H. Milford, 1937. Print.

7. Fortunato, Bruno. Fileno dalla Tuata—Istoria di Bologna; Origini-1521. Tomo I (origini-1499). Costa Editore. 2005. Print.

8. Fortunato, Bruno. Fileno dalla Tuata—Istoria di Bologna; Origini-1521. Tomo II (1500-1521). Costa Editore. 2005. Print.

9. GOZZADINI, Giovanni, and BENTIVOGLIO, Giovanni. Memorie per la vita di Giovanni II. Bentivoglio. Italy, Belle Arti, 1839.

10. Mallett, Michael. CAPPONI, Neri; Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani - Volume 19 (1976). Treccani.it. Web.

It was October of 1513 and the Venetian condottieri Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli were headed to mortal battle against an army of hardened Spanish and German veterans—Guido was commander of his own company of men-at-arms and Hugo was the chief lieutenant of John Paul Baglioni. For months the allied army of Spaniards and Germans had ravaged the hinterland of Venice—burning, looting, raping and killing.

But like locusts this Allied army eventually consumed all the food the land could provide and now, hungry, wanted to return to their base in Verona with all their ill-gotten gains. They only had to travel some seventy or so miles (100km) to make it back as rich men. Venice and its pugnacious commander Bartholomew d’Alviano was equally determined to keep them from getting away.

Going by numbers, the Venetian army was more than a match for the Allied force, but General d’Alviano was not fooled. Much of his army consisted of Venetian nobles who had just scraped the rust off their old armor as well as common folk who were long on enthusiasm and short on experience. By contrast the Spanish and German armies were full of experienced mercenaries, men who had seen plenty of battles, and would not panic once the cannons roared and the pikes clashed.

Still Alviano did have some advantages and he planned to play them like a lutist masterfully strumming a chord. First, he had the support of the peasantry who would gladly kill one of the invaders. Second, he also knew the enemy had to get back to Verona before starving. Finally, the land itself was on his side. Much of the countryside between Venice and Verona was either hilly woodland or muddy swamps. The enemy force dared not to march through such territory—it would make ideal hunting ground for vengeful peasants.

The Allied army had to pass through open country where they could form up against opposition and force their way through.

The only area that was wide enough for an army to pass through with columns abreast was a valley around the city of Vicenza. There was a neck in the valley around the village of Olmo where it narrowed to a width of only about 1.5 miles or 2.5 km. The master strategist Alviano sent his men to begin digging fortifications in this area. If there was one thing Venetian infantry excelled at, it was digging in.

Alviano’s plan was simple. “If the enemy tried to their way through, would have to fight from an unfavorable position, or, if deterred and forced to change their route, they would suffer extreme shortages of supplies and soon be compelled to surrender.”[1]

It was the kind of careful type of maneuvering that sought to win without bloodshed, the style of fighting critics of condottieri warfare excoriated as “bloodless”[2] and the kind of battle master condottieri like Alviano excelled at.

To buy time for his troops to maneuver and dig in he dispatched his light cavalry to slow down the enemy.

You Can Check Out, But You Can Never Leave

The Allied army found that it was far easier to plunder than to escape with its loot. The riches they had plundered weighed them down as much as hunger gnawed at their bellies, and the road home stretched longer with every step. Their worst tormentors were not just the ghosts of those they had slaughtered, but the relentless Venetian light cavalry—the strattioti and the mounted crossbowmen—who harried them like blood-sucking mosquitoes.

This became an even greater impediment when the Spaniards and Germans had to cross the Brenta River. There were no bridges for them and few boats. Plus, laden down by loot, the hungry army was as ponderous as it was predictable.

The Venetian mounted crossbowmen and strattioti swarmed at each ford and stung the allied forces each time they tried to cross. Desperate the Spaniards and Germans set fire to their loot. This made them quick and they were able to finally wade across the frigid waters of the Brenta River.

Still this was hardly salvation. Venetian officers had recruited vengeful peasants who buzzed about their foe. The retreating army, was pursued by enemies who needed no orders to kill. Wherever there was woods or swampland the peasants could emplace themselves, fire off a few shots or loose an arrow at the enemy and then be gone.

Finally weakened by fatigue and hunger the allied army reached the village of La Motta and made bivouac in the dead of night, around 3 a.m. [3] They were drenched and shivering and the cold lay in their bones like the frozen grip of death.[4] The hills above them teemed with enemies. As the camp diary of the German army reported, “We already saw the mountains covered with peasants.” A thousand unseen eyes watched their every move, waiting for dawn, waiting for slaughter.

Yet the Spanish and German troops, though cold and starving, were not broken. In a fair fight, they knew they could still crush the Venetians. But Bart d'Alviano had no intention of offering them a fair fight.

The Italian Game

Alviano had prepared his battlefield with the certainty of a grandmaster putting his enemy into checkmate. From their camp at La Motta the enemy had three choices. One was to try the mountains. But here the paths were blocked with fallen trees and the woods teemed with vengeful peasants. The allied army could head north into the foothills of the Alps, where hunger would kill more men than Venetian swords could manage.1

Or they could come right at Alviano and force their way through between Vicenza and Creazzo where the Venetians were waiting behind fortifications backed with deadly artillery. Here the Spaniards and Germans would meet blazing cannons and cold steel.

At noon, after a fitful and hungry night, the Spanish-German commanders rallied their weary men and set out once more. The road they took led southwest, toward Verona, but it was a fatal path—a narrow passage boxed in by marshland on one side and low mountains on the other. A perfect killing ground where peasants could fire down from the low mountains.[5]

Raimondo Cardona, led his man along the narrow pass between swamp and hills. Despite being shot at the Allied soldiers maintained discipline.

They then emerged onto the open plan around the village of Creazzo where the Venetians waited. But this was going from the proverbial frying pan to the fire. No sooner did they leave the narrow “killing ground,” then the air shattered with the roar of Venetian artillery. The blast of cannon sent iron and lead and stone towards the Allied soldiers and shook the ground like some ancient monster come to life.

To silence the enemy guns, Cardona ordered his own artillery forward, but this was a forlorn action. The Venetian positions were fortified, their trenches deep and their makeshift ramparts strong. The Spanish guns were exposed and in the open.

While the defenders fired from near-invulnerable cover, the Spanish camp became a field of death. "The Spanish camp was filled with terror and danger as long as daylight permitted, as no place was safe from the artillery's bombardment. Such was the force of the cannonballs, striking both the front and sides, that entire ranks of infantry were forced to lie flat on the ground to avoid the deadly fire."

There was no hope for Raimonda Cardona and his men of breaking through this position.

Seeking another path, Cardona sent his cavalry toward Vicenza, hoping to outflank Alviano’s position. But here was Hugo Pepoli and the rest of Baglioni’s men. The moment the horsemen came within range of the city, cannons and arquebuses fired, and forced the cavalry to wheel and flee.

Cardona and his allied army had no chance but to hunker down and wait for the cloak of night to cover them.

Alviano expected Cardona to make a desperate night attack on the Venetian line, but Cardona had no intention of attacking. His hungry and demoralized men could not succeed in such an attack. They were out of bread and subsisting on ox-flesh. The mood in the Allied command tent was bitter and fraught with fury. There was no path forward, but retreat seemed little better. The only way out was a hundred-mile march through the lower Alps, through the hostile lands of Trento, where the starving army could expect neither welcome nor food. The thought alone was enough to make seasoned captains pale.

Still, Cardona and his officers clung to a final hope: that Alviano, aggressive by nature, would not be able to resist pursuit. If the Venetians left their fortifications to chase them, then—on open ground—the Spanish and German troops could turn and fight on terms that favored their hard and ruthless men.

To bait the trap, they sent a messenger toward Verona, carrying a message from the German captains. When the Venetians intercepted it, they read of an army in full retreat, abandoning “the carts, loot, and artillery.” [8] The illusion of a broken, defeated force was carefully laid.

Then, in the first hours of day, under the cover of silence, the Spanish-German army struck their tents. Without a sound, they turned away from battle and slunk back through the narrow pass, slipping into the darkness.

Fog of War

As is common in that part of the world the next day found a thick veil of fog clinging to the marshes. In the Venetian camp battle was expected and the men were as taut as a crossbow string, but after dawn, there was neither sight nor sound of the enemy, until around 9 a.m. when it was clear that the enemy had escaped.

For Alviano it meant victory had been achieved. His light cavalry could harass the enemy as they made the long retreat through the mountains to Verona and keep them from effectively foraging, while his men-at-arms and infantry could move from one fortified position to another. The Venetian army would only grow stronger. The enemy would wither. They would fall, one by one, easy prey to hunger, disease and ambush.

This grandmaster of the battlefield now only needed to let nature take its course to secure a safe and inexorable victory.

But to the Venetian official assigned to this army, this was no triumph. He was furious that the allied army which had been such a scourge in the Venetian countryside, an army which had burned and raped and pillaged was now being allowed to walk away. The Venetian official accused Alviano, “… of laziness and incompetence for allowing the seemingly disorganized and fleeing enemy to slip from their grasp.”

This Venetian official ordered the troops to sound the call to arms..."[10]

Everyone now looked to Alviano for direction. He turned, “to Hugo Pepoli and Guido Rangoni, and said, 'Let us risk everything in battle, though we fight with courage and fortune is on our side. For when excessive power overcomes reason, if today I appear cautious and hesitant, I may soon be accused of cowardice or betrayal in the Senate and then hanged for cowardice like old Carmagnola.”[11]

Alviano ordered his nephew to lead the light cavalry against the rear of the retreating enemy and then ordered the rest of the troops in the camp to leave their fortifications and to go seek a confrontation with the retreating foe.[12]

The chase was on. The retreating enemy would not find peace. They would find only the wrath of Venice.[15]

Soon the Venetian armored cavalry was moving. Guido Rangoni here rode with his company of eighty-eight men-at-arms and their lightly-armed squires, lances upon thigh, pennants fluttering, armor creaking, horse hooves thumping.

Hugo Pepoli had his own squadron of twenty-five men-at-arms at the rear of the column. He probably did not expect that at that moment Alviano was assigning the key part of the attack to his men and to the rest of the company under John Paul Baglioni.

The Battlefield

By the time the Spanish-German army reached the open plain beyond the narrow pass, the hour was nearing eleven. Their disciplined ranks had moved through the constricted passage with the efficiency of disciplined soldiers. But for the Venetians, the transition was anything but smooth. The open fields of Creazzo had offered them space to maneuver, yet here, funneled into the confines of the pass, their formations became jumbled.[16]

Rather than try to contain the Venetians inside the narrow pass and inflict a minor defeat on the Venetians, Raimondo Cardona ordered his army farther on. He led them another two or three kilometers forward, returning to the village of La Motta where they had camped two nights before.

As they gained distance, the first of Alviano’s men-at-arms began to emerge from the pass, stepping onto the battlefield like actors onto a stage where the play had already begun. It was now midday.[17]

Once through the narrow pass Alviano sent his light cavalry forward along with a pair of falconets – light anti-personnel cannons. These were to harass the enemy as his men formed up, and would as he said, “seriously harass the enemy force.”

The armies now raced to move from column formation to battle formation. Guido Rangoni led his company of men-at-arms into the center of the battlefield. The enemy was not idle. Like the Venetians they put the majority of their men-at-arms into their own center battalion. Their infantry captains started forming their men into blocks with the efficiency of seasoned warriors.[18]

The fields where the men would fight were barren – the summer crop was already in. Everyone there knew they would not be barren for long. Soon there would be a new crop at La Motta: a harvest of the dead.

Both armies followed the custom of the day and placed their heavy cavalry in the center of the battlefield. On the western end of the battlefield Raimondo Cardona placed his German landsknechts. They were known as pitiless and cruel and after their savage depredations on the Venetian mainland, Alviano had ordered his Venetians to offer no quarter to these German infantry.

Against this fearsome line, Alviano placed his weakest troops—newly recruited infantry drawn from the fields around Treviso or from the workshops of Venice. He put them under the command of his junior corps commander, Anthony Pio.

Pio was a seasoned condottiere, with one special distinction. After two decades of war he had still never been made prisoner. Pio lived by a simple credo: on the advance, lead from the rear, on the retreat, lead from the front. His job was to keep the enemy landsknechts at bay long enough long enough for the decisive fight to unfold elsewhere.[19]

Alviano’s strategic mind was focusing on the right flank. Here he would win his victory.

Here on the eastern edge of the battlefield, Cardona arrayed his strongest force—4,000 Spanish infantry, their ranks a blend of pikemen, swordsmen, and gunners. Against them, Alviano placed his finest infantry—the Brisighelli pikemen, veterans from the hills of Romagna, “trained in the manner of the Swiss.” Their discipline was solid, but Alviano knew they were outnumbered and outclassed by the Spanish, who were the truest professionals of the craft of infantry warfare in all of Europe.

There was not enough Brisighelli to form an entire square on the right, so Alviano filled the back ranks of the infantry formation on the right with recent recruits from Padua, trained, but untested in the cauldron of battle.[20]

Alviano understood the odds. Even his best infantry would be no match for the hardened and professional Spanish infantry. As to the majority of his infantry, men who had lived peaceful civilian lives until now, he could hold out even less hope for them.

The quality of his infantry paled when compared to that of the enemy.

Only in men-at-arms could he see that he held an advantage. Man for man, the Venetian armored cavalry was clearly superior to that of the Spanish and probably better than the German, at least with home field advantage.2 The Venetians were also superior in numbers.

But the day of the knight was setting and infantry was the future. Against disciplined infantry in formation with pikes at the ready, armored cavalry was like chum in the water. Alviano understood this perfectly.

But here lay the foundation of his plan. Alviano had taken careful note of the Battle of Ravenna. There the Spanish infantry had fought against the weaker French infantry, while the French Gendarmes battled the Spanish cavalry. True the Spanish infantry had driven off the Gascons and the other footmen fighting for the King of France. But in that fight the Spanish infantry had become disorganized.

This allowed the French men-at-arms, victorious after routing the Spanish cavalry, to fall upon them and send them flying from the battlefield.

Alviano would do the same thing here. His Brisighelli infantry did not need to defeat the Spanish infantry, but simply disorganize them. Then in the chaos, Hugo Pepoli and the other cavalry under John Paul Baglioni would come in like a mighty right hook and crush the disorganized infantry. Their task was simple but fraught with peril: “…at the decisive moment, fall upon the rear of the Spanish infantry square and the armored cavalry of the center by encircling the enemy's left wing in a moderate arc.”[21]

The Battlefield Ignites

As both armies took their places, the Venetian falconets began to fire on the allied army. The first few cannonballs ripped through the air, smashing into the enemy’s ranks. But no sooner had the shots landed than the response came in full force.

The German armored cavalry and Spanish light cavalry surged forward, lances poised like needles of iron. “The cavalry skirmish, which had begun slowly, soon intensified after the falconets fired their shots.”[22]

The Venetian crossbowmen loosed their quarrels at the charging knights. But against well-forged plate armor, even the strongest ratchet-drawn crossbows usually failed to bring them down outright. At best, a few lucky shots struck where the armor was weak—under the arm, or at the sides—but these men were seasoned warriors, accustomed to fight after taking such wounds.

As the German wave came closer, the hand gunners fired off their shots with great puffs of smoke. At point-blank range the gunners’ shots were dangerous. Some horses buckled, some men reeled from their saddles, but it was not enough to stop the wave. The armored cavalry crashed into the Venetian light horse like a hammer against glass.

In tight confines a melee developed, a clash of swords and maces. Still there was no question how this contest would end. The Venetian light cavalry crumbled, retreating in a frantic wave, leaving their dead and dying behind. The enemy cavalry hurried in pursuit. At the same time some of the Allied soldiers took control of the falconets and turned them on the Venetians.

The battlefield had suddenly shifted. Alviano, still in the midst of deploying his army, now faced a crisis. The enemy’s artillery fire boomed across the field, and the flight of his light cavalry threatened to trigger a full-blown panic. His ranks—many of them untested levies—might break before they had even got into place. But if he struck a blow now, if he led his men forward before Baglioni was in place, the trap he had so carefully laid might never be sprung.

Guido Rangoni wanted to surge forward. His brother was a commander of mounted crossbowmen, and he wanted to join his men to those and fight the German knights with his own knights, lance to lance.

Alviano turned, scanning the ranks—Guido, Hermes Bentivoglio, and the hundreds of men-at-arms behind them, glory hungry, restless, straining for the order.

He raised his voice, his words slicing through the storm of battle.

"To arms! By the squadron!"3

And to the call of trumpets, the Venetian armored cavalry surged forward, a tidal wave of steel-plated horses and men, shouting:

"To arms!"

The cry split the air as Hermes Bentivoglio, uncle to Guido Rangoni, unfurled the great banner of a unicorn—the standard of Bartolomeo d'Alviano. At the blare of the trumpet, Hermes spurred his horse forward, its hooves carving the earth as he pressed into a steady trot, the unicorn billowing behind him. In mere heartbeats, they came—men-at-arms surging to either side in disciplined columns, their polished white armor flashing like fire beneath the merciless sun. The ground trembled beneath them, the thunder of their charge swelling like an oncoming storm.

The die was cast.

[1] Giovio, p.557.

[2] Macchiavelli

[3] Sanuto, XVII, col. 145

[4] Giovio, p.555

[5] Hainz, p.37

[6] Sanuto, XVII, col. 238-239.

[7] Sanuto, XVII, col. 238-239.

[8] Sanuto, XVII, col. 151. See also Una Beffa Imperiale, Elena Filippi, p.148-149. Here the author casts doubt on the veracity and purpose of the letter.

[9] Machivallei

[10] Giovio, p.560

[11] Note that this bit about hanging was not directly mentioned, but clearly Alviano is here worried that Venice will treat him the same they did as their former condottiere, Carmagnola,

[12] Heinz, p.42.

[13] Giovio, p.560

[14] Carmagnola was a Venetian condottiere whose excessive caution caused him to be tried for treason by the Venetian authorities. Found guilty he was hanged in St. Mark’s squre with a gag in his mouth to keep him from speaking to the crowd. See www.condottierediventura.it, entry for “Carmagonla.”

[15] Heinz, p.42.

[16] Heinz, p.45.

[17] Hainz, p.46.

[18] Hainz, p.59.

[19] Heinz, p. 54.

[20] See www.condottierediventura.it entry for, “Balbone Naldi.”

[21] Heiniz, p.55.

[22] Giovio, p. 561

[23] The presence of the strattioti in the center is attested: in www.condottieridiventura.It entry for “Mercurio Bua.”

[24] Heinz, p.57.

[25] Hugo’s position in the march column on the Venetian right flank is inferrered based on later events. It is possible that he was closer to the front, but this seems less likely.

[26] Sanuto 192. Baglioni notes only that the enemy’s posotion was portected by a dithc. There is no indication that the enemy had built fieldworks when they were in La Motta, nor did they have time to do so here. Thus the most probable conclusion is that the enemy anchored their left flank on the drainage ditched (The Rossa ?) that ran through the heart of the battlefied.

[27] See Sanuto, 192; Giovio p. 564.

We hereby declare the month of July 2025, Espionage Month!

As we begin to discuss Medieval and Renaissance espionage, the reader’s imagination may conjure memories of the shadowy Game of Thrones characters Lord Varys or his less-stately rival; Littlefinger. Fans of Sherlock Holmes might even imagine the super sleuth’s infamous band of Irregulars. When it comes to the world of early modern espionage, none of these relations would be far off the mark. To understand what gives certain Medieval, Renaissance or fantasy characters this almost superhuman sense of foresight and cognition, we're going to explore some historical exemplars that illuminate the mysterious world of statecraft.

Espionage is defined as, “the practice of spying or using spies to obtain information about the plans and activities especially of a foreign government or a competing {enterprise}.” The key being the act of obtaining information. Sun Tzu, the 4th Century BC Martial Theorist, in his work the Art of War states, “One who knows the enemy and knows himself will not be endangered in a hundred engagements.”1

Using spys to attain information is an age-old practice. The Biblical story of Joshua and Caleb which likely took place around 1445 BC, located in the book of Numbers; chapters 13-14, details twelve Israelite spies who are tasked with sneaking into the land of Canaan, and returning with an assessment of the geography, demographics, population, and resources of the Promised land.2

As we’ll learn, the practice of espionage doesn’t always involve spies, secret agents or shaken martinis. In a world without digital technology and global conglomerate news networks, sometimes simply attaining knowledge of what was going on in a given location was half the battle, while other times having knowledge of something more intimate or personal could be used as a weapon or an intimidation tactic.

Historians generally can’t agree on when the first ‘official’ western state-run intelligence service was born. The Egyptians had extensive spy networks and intelligence gathering capabilities, the Romans had the Frumentarii, while in Medieval Georgia they had the Mstoviaris, yet many modern scholars tend to point to the Venetian Republic in the late 15th century or early 16th century as the birth of the practice.

In truth, it doesn’t really matter. People have always valued information as a resource, and the great lengths they have gone to get that information is what truly captivates our imaginations. Like Adam and Eve, the allure of the fruit from the tree of knowledge has driven man to depths of our depravity, the height of creativity, and yielded some truly remarkable stories.

Late Medieval to Early Renaissance Espionage:

So, what do we know about Medieval practices of espionage? Quite a bit actually, sometimes all you have to do is read between the lines. For example, the Duchy of Milan had some fairly influential ways-and-means of conducting espionage. While we don’t know how centralized or tied to the Dukedom this practice was, because it's never overtly discussed, the actions of the Milanese under Gian Galeazzo Visconti were always very well informed, and the extents to which the Duke and his agents were willing to go to preserve the Visconti legacy were legendary.

A great example that highlights this idea of ‘reading between the lines’ comes in 1401, when Giovanni Bentivoglio, the new ruler of the strategically important city of Bologna, was debating between taking Gian Galeazzo Visconti’s offer of allegiance with Milan or joining the anti-Visconti league with their rivals, the Florentines.

After Pietro Colte; the Milanese diplomat who was charged with extending the Duke’s offer to Giovanni, left Bologna for Milan to attend to matters of state, the Florentine diplomats swept in and started bribing members of Giovanni’s inner circle to influence his decision in their favor.3

Now—Giovanni had gone into closed council, only letting a handful of his most trusted officials advise his forthcoming decision. The Florentines knew this, because they had diplomats in Bologna, namely: Rineri Alberi, Bartolomeo da Pistoia, and Ricardo di Donato Acciaivoli. These men pinpointed Giovanni’s advisor, Antonio Guidotti, as the most sympathetic to their cause. So, they fed him information about the Florentines prospective alliance with the Holy Roman Emperor, Rupert I, and bribed him with a considerable sum of 4,000 ducats.4

Gudotti’s influence was enough to sway Giovanni’s decision, and he agreed to join the anti-Visconti league. When Pietro Colte returned to Bologna to retrieve Giovanni’s answer and was informed of his decision, he turned to Guidotti, put his hand on his shoulder and said, “Remember Antonio, that the four thousand ducats which you received are the reason why Giovanni failed in his faith to my Lord, and allied himself with the Florentines, and did not want to subscribe, for which both of you will soon find regret.”5

That's one hell of a mic-drop that really highlights the power and reach of the Milanese information gathering network. This revelation not only showed the power of the Milanese state, it undermined Giovanni’s faith in his trusted council and made him second guess the authenticity of his decision.

How could Colte have known about the secret bribe?

We’ll get into that, but before we do, let's look at a few more examples from this time period.

The Milanese weren't the only Medieval Italian state with sophisticated information gathering capabilities. While Alberi, Pistoia, and Acciaivoli were in Bologna securing Giovanni Bentivoglio’s allegiance, another Florentine diplomat by the name of Bonaccorso Pitti went to Germany to complete the negotiations between the Italian anti-Visconti league and the Holy Roman Emperor, Rupert I.

Initially, the German officials told the Florentine ambassadors that it would take a beleaguering sum of 500,000 florins to mobilize the Imperial princes—roughly 200,000 florins more than the Florentines were willing to pay.6 That was, until—during the negotiations, Milanese agents allegedly bribed the Emperor's personal physician to assassinate Emperor Rupert with a poisoned enema. A plot that was foiled by the astute Pitti, who conveniently saw a suspicious courier talking to the emperor's physician in the palatial gardens. An event which—when fully investigated—inspired Rupert to take the Florentines original offer of 200,000 Florins with 50,000 florins in advance; to be delivered in two installments along their campaign route into Italy—first in Germany then in Venice.7

Now, we can look at this one of two ways, either the Florentines set-up Rupert's physician to coerce Rupert into accepting their offer, or the Duke of Milan was a hairs breadth from whacking one of most powerful leaders in Medieval Europe. Either way, it's spectacular.

But it's not this moment that stands to highlight the depth and breadth of state guided intelligence gathering in Medieval Europe, it's what happens next.

In order to facilitate the transfer of the 25,000 Florin advance required to get the Imperial forces moving, Pitti had to travel over 500 miles across hostile territory, southwest to Florence, northeast to Padua, then due north to Augsburg. After his treacherous trek, he decided to go to Venice to see that the second installment of 25,000 florins was delivered safely, but on his way through Friuli he stopped at an inn in Venzone, where he was approached by a spice merchant from Siena with whom he was on familiar terms.8

This spice merchant informed Pitti that his life was in danger. Pitti records the conversation like this:

“The evening of my arrival in Venzone, I was visited by a man from Siena with whom I was on familiar terms, for I had gone to the spice shop that he kept there several times when passing through that town. He told me that he had learned of a plot to capture me on the road when I set out on the following day. This plot had been put together by a secret agent of the Duke of Milan, a man called Fra Giovanni Decani, who had promised the lord of Prampergh 4,000 gold ducats if he would hand me over to him. This Prampergh had promised to do so, under the guise of a reprisal against the Florentines. I asked the Sienese man if I could trust the innkeeper where I was staying. He said that I surely could.

So at about four in the morning I mounted my horse, and took with me the innkeeper and one of his servants so that I would not get lost, for I kept off the main road to Portogruaro. Without stopping to eat or drink, I reached Portogruaro, which is a journey of about 40 miles. There I boarded a ship and set out for Venice. I sent my horses to Padua {1402}. Later, after the death of the Duke of Milan, I encountered that same Fra Giovanni in Bologna, and he confessed to me that the story of the plot to capture me was true.”

—Benedetto Pitti; Branca, pg. 345-346

The nameless Sienese spice merchant who Pitti met in Venzone was probably a Florentine asset. This is indicated by their familiarity, and the fact that Pitti gave such a vague description of who he was. On the other hand, through this story also get to learn the name of one of the shadowy Milanese secret agents—a friar by the name Giovanni Decani. A man who Pitti later confronts in Bologna during the hectic feud over the inheritance of Gian Galeazzo Visconti’s expansive dominion.

What this story stands to highlight is that espionage and statecraft through government officials—be they diplomats or spies—was very real in the late Medieval world. Yet, what these stories fail to highlight is how this spy craft and intelligence gathering was done. To better understand the world of late Medieval and early Renaissance espionage, our new series, Master Spy or News Guy, is going to examine the lives of three key figures from the mid-15th century to the early-16th century. Namely, Benedetto Dei of Florence, Ser Cola di Ascoli of Bologna, and Marino Sanuto of Venice.

It's through the lives of three men that we hope to answer the question of how these acts of intelligence gathering were conducted, in order to afford the reader an unprecedented insight into the world of Medieval and Renaissance espionage.

Subscribe now

Join us on our month long journey through this shadowy world full of assassin's, double agents and spies by signing up for our mailing list—its free. If you'd like to support us financially, we'd be eternally grateful. Your contributions go towards helping us buy resources to put together amazing stories like these.

Works Cited:

1. Branca, Vittore. Merchant Writers: Florentine Memoirs from the Middle Ages and Renaissance. United Kingdom, University of Toronto Press, 2015. eBook.

2. Ghirardacci, Cherubino. Della Historia Di Bologna. Volume 2. Italy, Giovanni Rossi, 1657.

3. Wikipedia contributors. (2025b, June 30). History of espionage. Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_espionage

4. Numbers 13-14 (NIV). (n.d.). Bible Gateway. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Numbers%2013-14&version=NIV

January of 1512 found Hugo Pepoli and Guido Rangoni serving at the heart of the Venetian army.

Hugo Pepoli was the right hand man of John Paul Baglioni, the supreme commander of the Venetian army. With Baglioni burdened by the dual weight of commanding the entire army and leading his own fearsome company of men-at-arms, the day-to-day reins of command often fell to Pepoli.

Guido Rangoni, meanwhile, had risen to become one of Venice’s most formidable captains. He led a powerful company of seventy-five lances, backed by a swift and deadly troop of mounted crossbowmen.[1] His name was bandied about in the highest levels of the Venetian government.

Venice was locked in a grinding war against both France and the Empire. Once again, her armies turned their eyes toward Verona—a prize they had failed to seize time and again since their triumph at the Siege of Padua two and a half years earlier. But Verona’s defenses held fast. No matter how many times the Venetians surged forward, the city refused to yield. By arms alone, Verona would not be taken.

Then, in February, a new path revealed itself—a chance for a new conquest that shimmered with equal parts opportunity and peril.

Brescia

In the early 1500s, no city in Italy produced finer arms and armor than Brescia, nestled near the storied lake country. Its master swordsmiths and ambitious merchants had grown “rich” and the city “opulent”, from the arms trade.[2] But in the bitter winter of 1512, the fleur-de-lis of France flew from the battlements, and the proud citizens of Brescia could hardly bear their occupier a day longer.

Just three years earlier, Brescia had thrived as one of the most loyal and prosperous cities of the Republic of Venice. Peace, order, and justice reigned under Venetian rule, and when the Republic called for funds to raise an army, none gave more—except Venice itself. But all that ended in May 1509, when French forces crushed the Venetian army at Agnadello and claimed Brescia for themselves.

The French occupation, marked by brutality and contempt, quickly wore out its welcome. Though plots and uprisings simmered, each was swiftly crushed by the iron hand of the strong French garrison. Yet beneath the surface, hatred festered.[3]

Then, in January of 1512, fate opened a door. The French commander—known as the Thunderbolt—had to strip Brescia’s defenses to reinforce Bologna. There the loyal French ally, the Bentivoglio family, faced annihilation at the hands of the Spanish. The Thunderbolt succeeded; Bologna was saved, the Spanish fled in disgrace.

But in Brescia, opportunity had arrived.

With the French garrison hollowed out, the people rose. Arms were gathered. A secret army was raised. And leading the charge was Louis Avogadro, who now turned to Venice, imploring the Republic to send its army and help liberate Brescia from the hated French yoke once and for all.

The Venetian Dilemma

For the Republic of Venice, the uprising in Brescia was more than a cry for help—it was a golden chance to strike a blow against the hated French and reclaim a city that had once been a shining jewel in the Venetian crown. But the opportunity came with a deadly risk.

Verona, still held by allies of France, lay between Venice and Brescia. This meant Brescia was not at the front—it was forty miles behind enemy lines. To march an army there was to plunge deep into hostile territory, exposed and vulnerable. One swift move from the enemy could sever the army from its reinforcements, leaving it stranded, surrounded, and doomed—like a rose dying on the end of a cut stem.

Yet wars are not won by caution. They are contests of will. And if Venice faltered now—if it turned its back on a loyal city begging to rise—what message would that send to the rest of the Republic? What would it say to the men who had pledged their lives and blades to the Lion of Saint Mark?[4]

Venice had faced darkness before. After the disaster at Agnadello, it was their bold, defiant assault on Padua that had rekindled hope. Now, once more, the Senate chose action.

They threw caution to the wind. They raised the war cry—“Marco! Marco!”—and let it ring across the plains of Lombardy.

Four hundred lances and a thousand light cavalry were dispatched to aid the rebels. United with the armed citizens of Brescia, this force surged into the city, drove out the French, and cornered the fleeing garrison in the fortified citadel.

Then came the next move—a strategy as bold as any blade. Venice coordinated with her Spanish allies to lure the French northward, straight toward Brescia. There, the trap would be sprung: a French army crushed between a Spanish hammer and a Venetian anvil.[5]

Between the Hammer and the Anvil

If Venice had tried to trap the French army between a Spanish hammer and a Venetian anvil, now it was the Republic’s own army—under Hugo Pepoli, Guido Rangoni, and John Paul Baglioni—that found itself caught between two unforgiving forces: the German garrison in Verona behind them, and the French hammer bearing down from Bologna.

That hammer was the Thunderbolt himself—Gaston de Foix—who now drove his army north with terrifying speed. His goal: to crush Baglioni’s force, which held the fragile lifeline connecting Brescia to the rest of the Venetian Republic.

Baglioni knew the French were coming. But like the Spanish before him, he underestimated their speed. In just two and a half days, Gaston’s men marched seventy miles over frozen terrain—a feat deemed impossible by all but the French. When the French hit they were closer to Brescia than the Venetians.[6]

The clash came at a river crossing in the pale light of early morning. French light cavalry reached the bridge first and seized it. The Venetians countered, throwing in their own light horsemen, and battle was joined at once.

Then came the French men-at-arms, with the legendary Chevalier Bayard at their head. Though he was sick and had been riding without armor, when he saw the fight unfolding he “shouted for a cuirass” and leapt into the fray.[7] With him charged the gendarmes of France, elite knights bred for war, slamming into the Venetian cavalry massed at the bridge.

Ordinarily, the Venetians would have been overwhelmed. But this time, they had artillery. Venetian guns roared to life, spitting fire and death into the charging French ranks, killing “a standard-bearer among others.”

Hugo Pepoli now led his own squadron of men-at-arms into the fight. Beside him, Guido Rangoni hurled his company at the French in carousels of twenty-five, lances lowered, striking hard and then wheeling back to regroup.[8] Crossbowmen on both sides darkened the sky with bolts, which, though mostly harmless to the knights in armor, struck deadly fear into the horses.

As the armored horsemen clashed, Venetian infantry advanced to support their cavalry. This was the Italian way of war: cavalry charging in waves, falling back to regroup behind a wall of infantry, and charging again. But the French gendarmes were Europe’s finest—numerous, relentless, and raised from birth to master the horse and the lance.

In several places, they smashed through the Venetian cavalry and surged into the infantry lines. To the foot soldiers—like those under Sebastian Manzino—the sight of a wave of ironclad horsemen galloping toward them must have seemed like a steel tide crashing upon the shore. Horses, snorting and foaming, bowled over men like toys. Even with pikes braced, the infantry could do little more than kill a horse or unseat a rider before being thrown into disarray.

To steady his men, John Paul Baglioni rode along the infantry lines, shouting above the din:
“They have no infantry with them! Hold fast, and we will carry the day!”

He was right. The French had come with cavalry alone. And so, inch by inch, the tide turned. With the Venetian infantry holding firm, the Venetian cavalry could retreat and reform behind them whenever needed. This gave them the ability to fight and win against the superior French armored cavalry. Though surprised, the Venetians were winning.

Then, in the distance, the Venetians saw the banners of approaching Gascon crossbowmen.[9] French infantry.

With the arrival of French infantry reinforcing their cavalry, the tide of battle turned sharply against Venice. The organized Venetian attacks in squadrons dissolved into a general melee. Now, the French gendarmes swung heavy maces, trying to crush Venetian skulls, while the Venetian men-at-arms desperately thrust swords into the joints of French armor or slashed at their horses.

Amid the chaos, Hugo Pepoli, Guido Rangoni, and Chevalier Bayard found themselves encircled—surrounded not just by knights but by infantry as well, all struggling to avoid being trampled in the mud by the raging warhorses.

One enemy infantryman lunged at Guido’s reins, slicing them and trying to drag him from the saddle.

Guido managed to wheel his horse and cut the man down, but the damage was done—his reins were severed. Realizing the peril, Guido scanned the swirling battlefield for an escape route, trying to guide his mount with just the pressure of his legs. But the battlefield was now all chaos, swirling eddies and tides of men, horses and deadly weapons.

The first to abandon the field were the Venetian infantry officers. With their officers on the retreat, the infantry quickly took to their heels. Though Hugo Pepoli and John Paul Baglioni fought furiously, when the collapse came, even they had to ride the wave of retreat.

Some of Guido’s men-at-arms saw their commander struggling, tried to reach him—but he was surrounded, trapped. Then came the final blow. As they watched, Guido fell from his mount into the mud. A French knight approached and threw a mighty blow with the mace into his skull.[10]

At that moment, Guido’s men knew it was over. There was nothing more they could do. They turned and fled.

The rout of Baglioni’s army was a disaster for Venice—especially in terms of infantry losses. The Fench cavalry chased them, and spent the rest of the morning play polo with the heads of the fleeing Venetian infantry.

The Venetian officers, escaped unscathed. As one observer bitterly noted: “All the infantry captains fled, mounted on their fine Turkish horses. In our time, it seems no longer dishonorable to own such horses—if only to make retreat easier.”[11]

Disaster

The rout of Baglioni’s army plunged Venice into crisis. The surviving infantry did not regroup—they scattered. Entire companies evaporated overnight, leaving commanders like Sebastian Manzino in charge of units that existed more on paper than on the battlefield. Instead of leading men into combat, Venice was now forced to send its infantry captains across the countryside to raise new troops from scratch.[12]

Cavalry losses were less catastrophic. Most of the light horse escaped the battlefield intact, and the Republic could take grim solace in the fact that only eighteen men-at-arms had fallen in the defeat.

But they deeply mourned one name: Guido Rangoni, “that noble, courageous, and honorable commander, who would have made a worthy captain.”[13]

Worse still, twelve thousand Venetian troops were now trapped in Brescia. While Baglioni, Pepoli, and what remained of their army limped east to recover and rebuild, the French were already on the move. The Thunderbolt—Gaston de Foix—turned his gaze toward Brescia and advanced with fury.

The citadel was still held by a French garrison, and now Gaston attacked it with all his might. What followed was a savage, desperate battle. The people of Brescia fought like cornered animals. Even the women hurled stones, roof tiles, and pots of boiling water from the rooftops in a last, furious stand. But their courage was no match for the French onslaught.

The Venetian garrison, by contrast, showed far less resolve. Among them was Antonio Pio, a man better known for leading from the front only when it was time to retreat. As the French stormed the castle, Pio and a large portion of the Venetian cavalry opened the gates—not to fight, but to flee, thundering out of the doomed city to save their own skins.

With the garrison gone, Brescia was lost. And the sack that followed was unspeakable.

The French looted everything of value, hauling away an estimated four million ducats in treasure. The citizens were butchered by the thousands, their corpses stacked like woodpiles. The stench of death choked the city. Louis Avogadro, the brave leader of the rebellion against French rule, was captured. They tried to execute him with a dull sword. It failed. Dying in agony, Avogadro seized the blade and slit his own throat, choosing his own end over more torture.

When it was over, the “rich” and “opulent” city—famed for its smiths and artisans—was gone. So complete was the devastation that Brescia would never reclaim its former greatness.

And yet, Gaston de Foix was not finished. Brescia had been merely a diversion—a brutal sideshow. With blood still on his boots, the Thunderbolt now marched east, aiming to strike the Spanish army that had slipped from his grasp at Bologna.

“Not Quite Dead Yet”

Word had spread that Guido Rangoni had fallen in battle—but the reports were false. Though wounded and taken prisoner by the French, Rangoni was very much alive. From captivity, he called in favors, borrowing from friends and family until he gathered the 600 ducats demanded for his ransom. Upon his release, he returned swiftly to Venetian service, securing an advance on his pay to repay his creditors.

Venice, impressed by his audacity and tenacity, rewarded him. The Republic expanded the authorized strength of his company to 100 lances—a mark of honor, though Rangoni would never quite manage to fill all those posts.

Meanwhile, Hugo Pepoli had troubles of his own. As second-in-command to John Paul Baglioni, the Captain General of the Venetian army, much of the burden of command fell to him. Baglioni, ever distracted by earthly pleasures, had become thoroughly infatuated with a striking woman from Padua. While the army attempted to rebuild after recent setbacks, its commander was content to linger in the haze of romance.

And so, while Venice lingered in recovery, the French—led by the formidable “Thunderbolt”—marched east. Their target: the Spanish army. Venice, bruised and rebuilding, could offer no aid to her allies as the French juggernaut advanced.

The stage was set for a bloody reckoning. The plains around Ravenna would soon bear witness to one of the most cataclysmic battles of the Italian Wars. The armies of France, Spain, and the Papal States converged, and the ground would soon be soaked in blood.

Though neither Guido Rangoni nor Hugo Pepoli fought in the Battle of Ravenna, its outcome would lead to their eventual duel. For Hugo, it was personal—his own brother, Romeo Pepoli, served as a captain of light cavalry in the Spanish ranks.[14]

Battle of Ravenna

After shattering the Venetian army into splinters, the Thunderbolt—Gaston de Foix—turned his victorious French legions toward Romagna, the fertile heartland southeast of Bologna. These lands belonged to the Pope, but their cities fell quickly before the thunder of his advance. Only the coastal towns, linked by the Adriatic and bound to Venice, dared resist.

Next, the Thunderbolt set his sights on Ravenna. Pressured by the King of France to force a decisive confrontation with Spain—before the looming threat of war with England could draw French strength away—he moved swiftly. The Spanish, reluctant to risk open battle, tried to avoid engagement. But Pope Julius II, desperate to protect Ravenna, insisted they stand and fight.

So the Spanish commander formed a defensive line just outside the city, anchoring one flank on a river. Knowing the French outnumbered them, they did not simply wait in the open. They turned to the spade. Trenches were dug for the infantry—broad, deep, and cruel—to blunt French cavalry charges and shield men from artillery fire. Spiked carts and scythed wagons were rolled into position for added protection.

Behind the trenches, the heavy cavalry waited in reserve. Romeo Pepoli, brother of Hugo, served with the light cavalry, posted on the exposed flank—where the first blow might fall.

This was a familiar pattern. Ten years earlier, Spanish forces had used fortifications and firearms to crush a larger French army. But the Thunderbolt had learned that lesson—and he had no intention of repeating their mistake.

Like the Spanish, he placed his infantry in front, with armored cavalry to the rear and light horse on the flank. But this time, the trap would not spring so easily. Rather than send his Gendarmes headlong into the trenches, the Thunderbolt devised a more clever plan: draw the Spanish out.

For the French were allied were allies with the Duke of Ferrara, the great cannoneer of Italy. And he had brought his guns to the fight.

He stationed the Duke of Ferrara and his formidable artillery on the Spanish flank, protected by the river. From there, the guns could fire enfilade the Spanish position—raking the length of the Spanish line, raising hell.

As cannonballs flew threw the Spanish position, or rolled like deadly bowling balls on the ground, the Spanish commander came up with a solution. He ordered his men forwards into the ditches and ordered them to lie down. This greatly minimized the casualties that the Duke of Ferrara and his deadly artillerists could cause.

The Spanish cavalry on this flank had no such protection. Cannonballs screamed overhead and smashed into their ranks. Artillery fire was the great equalizer on the Renaissance battlefield: armor did not resist it, and it made the steel-encased knights as vulnerable as the infantrymen they often despised. The Duke’s cannons tore soldiers and horses apart, severed heads and limbs and tossed them into the air. Cries of pain echoed across the field.

Still, Navarro, the Spanish commander, refused to move and engage the French. He wanted to fight them on his own terms. He ordered his men to hold position and wait for the French assault. But discipline cracked. The Spanish cavalry could not just sit there and take it until they were all dead.

They spurred their horses and thundered forward towards the French men-at-arms.

Seeing that control was slipping, Navarro ordered a full attack. He threw his infantry forward, trusting their grit and training to win the day.

And so began the terrible collision. The finest infantry in Europe met the most fearsome cavalry on the continent. The Thunderbolt led the Gendarmes himself, smashing into the Spanish light horse and their Italian allies. Romeo Pepoli died leading his men into that steel tempest. Nearby, Malatesta Baglioni—son of Venice’s Captain General—fought like a demon, suffering twenty-two wounds and losing forty-three horses beneath him, but somehow surviving.[15]

The French cavalry triumphed, driving the Spanish horse from the field. But elsewhere, the battle was far from over.

Where Spanish infantry clashed with German Landsknechts and Gascon mercenaries, the Spanish held the upper hand. Once the pikemen at the front of each formation became locked together, the Spanish could move their rodeleros forward. These were swordsmen armed with round shields known as a rotella. In the deadly "push of pike” these swordsmen crept forward around the bristling hedge of spears. Their blades flashed from beneath iron shields, cutting down enemy pikemen in close quarters.

The landsknechts and Gascons had no anwer for this and the Spanish infantry minced their enemies like they were making chorizo. Spain was once again poised to repeat its triumph from ten years before and drive the French from the field.

But then the French cavalry returned.

With the enemy cavalry routed, the Thunderbolt unleashed his armored horsemen against the Spanish infantry—who were still entangled in combat. The Spanish were scattered: swordsmen, musketeers, and pikemen jumbled together. They could not form the tight pike squares needed to repel cavalry.

The Gendarmes thundered in.

Though stunned by the charge. The armored French horses sent the Spaniards flying, and now it was the Spanish who were being cut up. Yet to the credit of their professionalism, the Spanish reformed. Not with any hope of staving off defeat – that ship had sailed. But by retreating in formation with pikes at the edges of the square, they prevented the wholesale slaughter that was the typical rule for defeated groups of infantry.

The Thunderbolt was frustrated and sent his men on another charge at the retreating infantry.

He led a final charge into the rear of the Spanish infantry. But this time, it was the French who were caught. Surrounded, the Thunderbolt fell. Some say he was thrown from his horse. Others say the beast toppled on him mid-fight. A lance pierced his side, and the hero of France was dead.

The battle ended soon after. The surviving Spanish infantry were allowed to withdraw, harried by peasant mobs as they marched one hundred miles in retreat. The Pope and the King of Spain had lost two-thirds of their forces. The Spanish army was broken and demoralized, incapable of further resistance for months.

The French had won—but it was a hollow victory. One-third of their own army lay dead or crippled. Their captains were slain, their cavalry shattered, their army scattered in the chaotic sack of Ravenna. Even the victors felt defeated.

The Chevalier Bayard captured the mood in a letter home:

“If the King has won the battle, I assure you we have lost it. All grief and mourning that has ever been could not equal that which reigns—and still reigns—in our camp.”

With the Pope’s army in ruins, the Spanish in flight, and the Venetians licking their wounds behind fortress walls, Italy seemed to fall into France’s lap. From the Mediterranean to the Adriatic, the French held sway. In Rome, panic spread. Julius II and his cardinals feared the French might soon march on the Vatican itself.[16]

In a quiet corner of the Venetian camp near Vicenza, Hugo Pepoli and Guido Rangoni watched the storm sweep across Italy—and wondered if Venice would be next.

[1] Technically, Guido’s younger brother was in charge of the mounted crossbowmen, but this has been his company for a long time and the mounted crossbowmen almost certainly worked as scouts for his company of men-at-arms.

[2] Guicciardini, pp. 975-976.

[3] Mallett & Shaw, p.117

[4] Da Porto pp.254-265 movingly describes the awareness of this situation and reluctance on the part of Andre Gritti, future Doge of Venice to support Brescia as well as the Bresicans’ own awareness of the danger inherent in the rebellion.

[5] Sanuto, Vol. XIII, cols. 473-474.

[6] Da Porto, pp. 292-294

[7] Shellaberger

[8] This is suppositional. Though both men were at the battle with their companies, there actions there can only be guessed at from the tactics of the time as well as the general progress of the battle.

[9] Da Porto, pp.269-270

[10] This is but a guess. Though we know Guido Rangoni was unhorsed due to his reins being cut, and that he was wounded we don’t know that he was wounded by a mace.

[11] Da Porto, p.272.

[12] Sanuto, Vol XIII, cols. 504-505.

[13] www.condottieridiventura.it, entry “Guido Rangoni, February 1512”

[14] His role in the Spanish army is based on conjecture. We know that he was serving as a Spanish captain, and that he was not listed among the captains of infantry. He had never commanded a force of men-at-arms before and did not have the prestige to do so. Most likely then he was serving as a captain of light cavalry.

[15] See condottieridiventura.it entry for “Malatesta Baglioni’

[16] There are many sources that describe this famous battle. I drew primarily from Guicciardini, pp.983-1002 and from Sanuto Vol 14, as well as for the French perspective from La très joyeuse et très plaisante histoire du gentil seigneur de Bayart.

On a warm afternoon in the late spring of 1508, a marked man marked rode his mule quietly through the city gates of Ferrara, eager to escape the oppressive city air for the cooling winds of the open countryside. His name was Hercules Strozzi—a poet whose verses were matched only by his dangerous service as the secret intermediary for two lovers bound not only by noble blood but by forbidden passion: the Marquis of Mantua and the Duchess of Ferrara.

Yet Strozzi's perilous loyalty on behalf of forbidden love was no secret to the powerful brothers who ruled Ferrara: the Duke and his brother, the formidable Cardinal d'Este.

As Strozzi guided his mule down quiet country paths, a band of ruthless men ambushed him without mercy. Strozzi, crippled and dependent on a cane, had no chance against these savage killers. The attackers left his body cruelly torn open, pierced by no fewer than twenty-two wounds. Under cover of darkness, they dragged his lifeless form back into Ferrara, abandoning him in an alley frequented by drunks, where his mutilated body was discovered at dawn.

The murder unleashed a scandal that swept through Ferrara. While not beloved by all, Hercules Strozzi had been a confidant of the Duchess herself, and his murder was a public affront. Hercules was also a first cousin to Guido Rangoni, who no doubt felt fury over the murder. [1] Suspicion soon fell upon the ruling d’Este family, and when the Duke deliberately refused to pursue justice, there remained little doubt about who had ordered the poet be turned into food for the worms.

Guido Rangoni’s anguish only deepened when he uncovered a devastating betrayal—Alexander Pio, his own cousin and childhood companion, had orchestrated the murder plot under the Bentivoglio family’s auspices.[2] This dark act forged an alliance between the Bentivoglio and the Lords of Ferrara.

Yet in the Italy of the Renaissance, dishonor saved more men than did a sharp sword.

And in July 1508, the sinister alliance between Ferrara and Bentivoglio became Guido Rangoni's lifeline. The tide had turned cruelly against Guido and the Bentivoglio brothers. Cardinal Alidosi had ruthlessly crushed their hopes by executing Mancino da Bologna along with scores of their supporters. Their dreams of reclaiming Bologna were extinguished; mere survival was now their only focus. Guido, bearing a price of 4,000 ducats on his head, was hunted relentlessly by men eager to claim the Pope’s bounty.

In his hour of greatest desperation, Guido fled to Ferrara, sheltering under the tenuous protection provided by the Bentivoglio's uneasy pact with the Duke. But this sanctuary was fleeting.

In November, Pope Julius uncovered Guido’s hiding place. In swift retaliation, he imposed an interdict upon Ferrara—a devastating spiritual sanction akin to excommunicating an entire country. Churches closed their doors; sacraments ceased, plunging Ferrara into spiritual turmoil. Pressured by his people, the Duke had no choice but to expel Guido Rangoni.

With nowhere left to run, Guido faced his darkest moment. Just then, in his desperate hour, Venice offered him sanctuary—but at a price. The Republic, on the brink of its own existential crisis, needed seasoned soldiers. Guido Rangoni had no choice but to accept their refuge and take up arms on behalf of the Most Serene Republic of Venice.

The League of Cambrai

So far the story of Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli has focused on their families and on the struggle to either remain in or regain control of Bologna. But now a great maelstrom was descending on Italy, and their lives would not only become caught up in this storm, but would be forever changed by it.

In late 1508 the main powers of Europe, France, the Empire, Spain, Venice, Rome and others, were all meeting in the town of Cambrai. Ostensibly, they were seeking to mediate disputes that many had with Venice, but the real purpose of the tete-a-tete was to divide Venetian territories between them and develop an alliance to take Venice’s territories. The deals they made would plunge Italy into nonstop war for the better part of a decade.

The Republic of Venice’s empire included most of northeastern Italy. The Venetians had a well-deserved reputation as great merchants – the city of Venice itself was probably the wealthiest square mile on Earth at the time. Unfortunately for Venice they had hungry neighbors on their border: the Holy Roman Empire to the north, the French to their west, and the Papal States to the south.

There was a general belief that the Venetians were not much use in war. As the King of France said to the Venetian ambassador in 1499, “You Venetians are wise in your deliberations…but lack the courage to fight – you have too much fear of death!” In 1508 the German Emperor decided to take on Venice by himself. He sent an army to invade Venetian territory. The Venetians under their commander Bartholomew d’Alviano cut down the German knights and infantry like so much summer wheat.1 This was the same d’Alviano that the Bentivoglio had defeated on behalf of Florence in our episode, “Hired Swords.”

In Cambrai, the French wove together an alliance against Venice that eventually included almost every other power of note in Europe. Though Venetian envoys were present in Cambrai, they became aware that much of the business being transacted was being done without them. Venetian intelligence was the finest in Europe and they more or less deduced what was being discussed.

In the preamble to the treaty that formalized the League of Cambrai, Emperor Maximiliam summed up the League’s mission as they saw it. “…stop the losses, the abuses, the robberies, the harms which the Venetians have caused not only to the Holy Apostolic See, but also to the Holy Roman Empire, to the House of Austria, to the Dukes of Milan, to the Kings of Naples and to many others principles occupying and usurping tyrannically their goods, their lands, their cities and their castles, as if they had conspired to the ill of everyone [...] So we found not only useful and honorable, but also necessary to call everyone to a right revenge to turn off, like a common fire, the Venetians' insatiable greed and their thirst for domination.”2

The Plan of Defense

In the spring of 1509, the drums of war echoed ominously across Italy as armies set out for war. From the northeast, the Holy Roman Empire’s forces lumbered slowly into motion. Though numerous, they represented a patchwork nation of conflicting loyalties and sluggish resolve—an army burdened by a medieval inertia. Venice viewed their advance with cautious disdain, confident that this enemy posed no immediate threat.

Far more immediate, however, was the army marching from the south under the crossed keys of the Pope’s banners. Though commanded by the Pope’s nineteen-year-old nephew, the Duke of Urbino, this smaller force nonetheless moved swiftly, staffed by disciplined, professional soldiers. Yet the Venetians, with numerical superiority felt assured they could decisively defeat this papal threat—if they chose to confront it.

But the true danger, stark and undeniable, lay in the formidable armies of France. France was a modern nation equipped with disciplined, battle-hardened professionals. To have even the slightest hope of withstanding the French, Venice had no choice but to commit nearly all of its strength to meet them.

Thus Venice faced a perilous dilemma. Concentrating their troops against France meant leaving their vital southern flank dangerously vulnerable, especially around Faenza, the region critical for supplying Venice with experienced infantry. Yet diverting resources southward risked catastrophe against the overwhelming French attack.

It was amidst this strategic crisis that two emissaries from Bologna arrived, bearing a proposal that could alter Venice’s fate. Representing Hannibal Bentivoglio, they assured Venice’s ruling council that the Bentivoglio cause still burned fiercely within Bologna’s walls. With Venetian financial backing, they promised, an army could swiftly be assembled to retake Bologna, offering Venice a way out of its strategic deadlock.

While this would anger the Pope, any danger to Bologna would keep the army of the Pope busy, would give Venice valuable time to defeat the French army and then deal with the army from Rome.

In Venetian Service

After a long debate, that “went past vespers,” the Venetians threw their support behind the Bentivoglio.

The Republic of Venice took on the Bentivoglio as condottieri and allotted them funds for a force of 150 men-at-arms, 200 light cavalry and 3000 infantry to use in retaking Bologna. Naturally, Guido Rangoni was right there with them.

With Hannibal involved in obtaining money for the whole force and in working with Venetian officials, it fell to Guido Rangoni to help his uncle inspect the recruits and organize the company of men-at-arms. The army would make its base near the coastal town of Ravenna, about forty miles (65km) from the gates of Bologna.

In the Italian system of organization a company of men-at-arms was divided into lances, a unit consisting of the knight himself (a man at arms being a professional knight), a squire who also doubled as a light cavalrymen in battle, and a groom who was a non-combatant.[10] The main weapon of the mounted man-at-arms was the lance, a weapon that could strike with such force that it could knock a man off his horse and send him flying like a missile into his fellows behind him. That was if you wanted to attack the rider. Monte advises differently, “With the encounter of the spear it is an easy thing to kill horses, whether in massed combat or one-on-one. We should be most attentive to do this if we are keen to win. Fools aim their blows at the rider and not the horse.”[1]

We are fortunate that one of the greatest men-at-arms of the era, Pietro Monte, also wrote extensively on the weapons being used at the time. Once the mounted warriors no longer had the opportunity to charge with a lance the battle became a fight with warhammers, a smaller cousin of the pole-axe. These could be used in one hand, so that the other hand could control the reins, but in the game of hammer on hammer, “Holding the shaft or warhammer with both hands is much stronger than with just one, since one hand cannot adequately resist two.”[2]

The warhammer was a weapon that fully utilized a man’s strength so that he could injure an opponent encased in steel. But it was not the primary weapon. “When men-at-arms are armed with white and heavy arms and fight on horseback, above all other weapons they use estocs.”[3] With a weapon like this, a man on a strong horse would seek to push the opponent’s horse aside and then drive the point of the estoc into vulnerable areas on the body like the throat or the armpit.

That was if you chose to attack the rider, even with the estoc Monte still advised attacking the enemy’s horse whenever possible, especially if they were riding a strong horse.

Guido Rangoni had to make sure that all the men-at-arms that came to join the Bentivoglio army had the skill to ride as well to fight with the lance, warhammer and estoc. He also had to make sure that they came with the proper equipment. It was common enough for a light cavalryman to try and pass himself off as a man at arms, since the armored cavalry were paid twice as much.

Everything was happening at breakneck speed. The changing regimes in Bologna had sent many Bolognese into exile in Venetian country, and as the Venetian diarist Sanuto wrote, “…many Bolognese who were hiding in our lands have come forth, and with their horses crossed the sea to Ravenna.”

The infantry were coming in droves and Ravenna was full of partisans of the Bentivoglio; so many were coming that Cardinal Alidosi had to even issue a threat to take the property of any Bolognese that dared fight for the Bentivoglio. The money for the force was supposed to arrive on or around the 7^th of May, and the force planned to head out for Bologna a week later. The Bentivoglio counted upon an invisible legion inside Bologna; Uncle Hermes had informants inside the city ready to help the Bentivoglio or so he told the Venetian authorities.[14]

To keep the enemy unbalanced and worried, Uncle Hermes launched light cavalry raids deep into enemy territory with another condottiere known as Johnny the Greek, at one time seizing as much as 140 head of cattle and bringing them back into Venetian territory.

Despite the efforts of the Bentivoglio the Venetians still held out little hope for a successful campaign in the south. They expected it to be little more than a nuisance for the Papal forces. They could not even find a Venetian official to manage the area, since to tie one’s name to such a hopeless enterprise was thought to be political suicide.

Despite the odds, Guido Rangoni and the Bentivoglio were determined to attack Bologna. The force was ready to move out for Bologna on May 15^th.

Disaster

One hundred fifty miles to the northwest, a desperate battle was being fought. On the fateful morning of May 14th, the Venetian and French armies collided near the village of Agnadello. Commanding the Venetian forces was General Bartolomeo d'Alviano, a formidable figure whose destiny would soon intertwine dramatically with those of Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli.

Combat erupted when the French vanguard crashed fiercely into the Venetian rearguard, led by the courageous Pietro Monte. An intense, savage struggle unfolded as Venetian infantry braced against charging French heavy cavalry, pikes locked defiantly against the relentless thunder of armored lances. For a moment, the Venetians stood resolute, bravely holding their line against overwhelming odds.

Yet, the French were relentless, pouring in wave after wave of reinforcements. Seeing his rearguard in peril, Alviano boldly threw his entire force into the cauldron of battle, gambling all on one decisive clash. The battle reached its climax as the King of France himself, sensing victory within reach, personally led his remaining troops into the fray, unleashing the full weight of French power upon Alviano's beleaguered soldiers.

In a critical moment of betrayal, the Venetian vanguard's commander refused to support Alviano, choosing retreat over valor and leaving his comrades isolated and doomed. Trapped, surrounded, and overwhelmed, fully half of the Venetian army faced annihilation. Few managed to escape, spurring swift horses desperately from the carnage. Pietro Monte met his heroic end amidst the slaughter, and General Alviano, battered yet unbroken, was captured by the victorious French.

With shocking suddenness, Venice's proud army lay broken and demoralized, forever changed by the devastating tragedy at Agnadello.

Ravenna

News of the defeat spread rapidly across the Venetian Republic, sending shockwaves through its territories. The Bentivoglio family learned of the disastrous battle the very next day and immediately abandoned their plans to attack Bologna. Without Venice's backing, any attempt against Bologna would inevitably fail.

The catastrophic defeat at Agnadello was so devastating that Venice stood poised to lose “what it had taken them eight hundred years' exertion to conquer.” Though Venice still possessed half an army, it was thoroughly demoralized and now under the command of a man widely deemed a coward. Desertion was rife and disobedience a rule; Venetian commissioners were forced to offer bribes simply to persuade the soldiers to march. Cities within Venetian territory refused entry to their defeated army, fearing the wrath of the victorious French.

Desperately clinging to hope, Venice planned to regroup their armies near the sea. They ordered the Bentivoglio to remain in Ravenna and confront the Pope’s advancing army. But the city's walls were old, weak, and clearly inadequate against a determined siege. Recognizing Ravenna's vulnerability, and desperate for troops, Venetian authorities began sending ships to evacuate key elements of the Bentivoglio troops, planning to use them to rebuild their shattered army. Hannibal and Hermes Bentivoglio departed by sea for Venice, while Guido Rangoni stayed behind in Ravenna to command the thousands of Bolognese exiles seeking shelter within the city.

Faced with the grim reality of their situation, Ravenna’s Venetian governor sought terms of surrender with the Duke of Urbino, commander of the Pope’s forces. Under the negotiated terms, the Pope’s army gained control of Ravenna and its fortifications, while the citizens were permitted to leave peacefully, carrying their possessions with them.

Exodus

Many Bolognese considered remaining in Ravenna until they heard chilling news that Ramazzoto the Priest’s forces would soon occupy the city, posing an immediate threat to their property and lives. Responsibility for ensuring their safe passage into Venetian territory now fell squarely upon the shoulders of Guido Rangoni.

This perilous journey required crossing lands controlled by Guido Rangoni’s own lord, the Duke of Ferrara. Guido dutifully paid the Duke and negotiated terms for his people's safe passage through hostile territory toward the Republic of Venice. Despite these arrangements, the Ferrarese flagrantly violated the agreement only fifteen miles into the Bolognese journey. Armed and prepared, Ferrarese forces unexpectedly attacked the vulnerable travelers, plunging them into chaos. The Bolognese, although armed, found themselves vastly outnumbered and trapped on unfamiliar ground. The Ferrarese, with around 1,500 soldiers swiftly surrounded and overwhelmed the Bolognese convoy.

Resistance was futile. Realizing the hopelessness of their situation, the Bolognese reluctantly surrendered their horses, money, and valuables. Allowed to retain only their personal weapons and modest possessions, the survivors continued on foot, battered and impoverished.

Days later, the exhausted and destitute Bentivoglio refugees finally reached Padua, near Venice. Upon arrival, they dispersed—some seeking refuge in the relative safety of Venice, others joining the intellectual community in Padua, drawn by its renowned university. Hannibal and Hermes Bentivoglio had already moved ahead. Guido now went on ahead to his hereditary castle at Cordignano, preparing himself for the next dramatic developments in the tumultuous War of the League of Cambrai.

[1] Forgeng, p.208

[2] Forgeng, p.206

[3] Forgeng, p.207

[1] See Mallett & Shaw, p. 98. Note that the commanders were Pitigliano and Alviano but for simplicity’s sake, this work focuses only on Alviano.

[2] Sanuto, col. 12

[1] Specifically, Guido Rangoni’s sister was married to the father of Ercole Strozzi.

[2] Michele Catalano, p. 224 of Archivium Romanum vol 10. See also Lucrezia Borgia, Maria Bellonci, Phoenix Press, 2003. P. 325. Hercules Strozzi stood to inherit monies from the now-dead Hercules Bentivoglio that would instead go to a relative of the Bentivoglio Galeazzo Sforza. Hercules Strozzi had also earned the disfavor of the d’Este family for acting as a go-between in a romantic liasion between the Duchess of Ferrara and the Marquis of Mantua.

It was time to party in Bologna.[1]

Hugo Pepoli and other Bolognese soldiers had driven off Guido Rangoni and the Bentivoglio and scattered them like hunted animals.

In the wake of their flight, the Pope’s governor called for revelry—a citywide celebration of victory. But for some men, wine, and feasting could never be enough. For many, this triumph was as unfinished as it was hollow. And for none was this more true than for Hercules Marescotti.

He had suffered too much. Exile. The slaughter of his kin. Now Hercules yearned to see the heads of Hannibal and Hermes Bentivoglio on a spike. But they were beyond his reach. His anger was so strong that it could not be contained. He focused his rage on the next best target: their house. The Palazzo Bentivoglio, a jewel of Bologna, stood as a taunting relic of their power. As the Venetian diarist Marino Sanuto described it, it was “one of the most beautiful in all of Italy.”[2] Hercules meant to make it a heap of rubble.

With the blessing of Bologna’s Papal authorities, he gathered two hundred men. Torches smoked in their fists, their horses stamped against the cobbled streets, and among them, Hercules rode at the front, holding aloft a torch drenched in pitch. The mob followed with “bundles of wood, crowbars, and similar tools.”[3]

But as they approached the grand palazzo, a lone figure stood in their path—Lucius Malvezzi, commander of the Pope’s forces. A man who understood Marescotti’s agony better than most, for the Bentivoglio had slaughtered his family too. He had been hounded, exiled, humiliated, his very livelihood stripped away by their influence. But here was the difference: Hercules Marescotti thought himself a warrior; Lucius Malvezzi was one. He had lived twenty-five years with war as his trade and Marescotti had not.[4]

Malvezzi stepped forward and raised a hand. “Do not commit such a terrible deed,” he implored. “A courageous man fights his enemy with arms in hand—he does not attack stones with a crowbar.”

A sneer curled on Hercules’ lips. His men stiffened at the insult, their grip tightening on their weapons.

“This palace is an ornament to our city,” Malvezzi pressed on. “Remember, I beg you, that the Bentivoglio never did such a thing to us. When we returned from exile, we found our homes intact, even made more beautiful than before.”[5]

But Malvezzi might as well have whispered into a storm. The words died in the roaring tempest within Hercules Marescotti—a tempest that now broke loose.

He spurred his horse past Malvezzi, and his men swarmed after him. They crashed into the Palazzo Bentivoglio, a tidal wave of flaming rage. Hercules, first to the building’s edge, thrust his torch forward, the flames licking greedily at the structure.

“Do your worst!” he bellowed.

His son, Emilio Marescotti—student of the great maestro di maestri Achille Marozzo—followed close behind, his torch setting another blaze.[6]

“Some climbed onto the roofs, hurling down tiles to expose the wooden beams; others swarmed the gardens, uprooting trees and smashing the statues of the fountains. Some laid their fury upon the strong, proud tower, wrenching its foundations apart; others turned their malice upon the magnificent paintings, masterpieces crafted by the most skilled hands.”

Here was the Renaissance in all its contradiction. The same hands that sculpted the finest marble, that painted the most delicate frescoes, were just as capable of swinging axes to annihilate them.

The destruction was relentless. The poor, drawn by greed, hacked at the very walls, prying free chains, vaults, and iron reinforcements. But their hunger for plunder brought death upon them—sections of the great palazzo collapsed, crushing dozens in an avalanche of stone and mortar.[7] The city did not weep for them. “If you live by looting,” they said, “you will die by looting.”[8]

By the time the fire burned low, the grand Palazzo Bentivoglio was nothing but rubble. Its statues smashed, its frescoes turned to dust. And yet, amidst the ruin, something remained.

In one of the rooms, untouched by crowbars and torches, a single painting had survived—a portrait of the Virgin Mary, painted onto the wall. The mob had stayed their hands out of reverence. But later, peasants from the countryside, greedy for whatever remained, came upon the image and struck it with iron pickaxes.

The wall groaned and collapsed upon them. Yet when the dust settled, they stood unharmed.

A woman and her daughter, witnessing the scene, cried out—there were tears in the Madonna’s painted eyes.

Word of the miracle swept through the city. Crowds gathered to see the weeping Virgin. The same peasants who had tried to destroy her now prostrated themselves before the image. They lifted it with reverence and bore it away, placing it upon the altar of the Bentivoglio church.

And in the days that followed, the faithful came in droves, whispering prayers before the Madonna. They spoke of wishes granted, of petitions answered.[9]

The Bentivoglio were gone. Their house lay in ruin. But they lived on in Bologna through the silent gaze of a Virgin who wept for all that had been lost.

Long Way To The Bottom

Word of the palace’s destruction spread faster than wildfire. In Milan, Grandpa Bentivoglio sat in prison, a once-proud patriarch no longer living in a marble house but instead in a rusty cell, the caged relic of a fallen dynasty. He had counseled against the doomed assault on Bologna, but his foolish wife and sons had staked everything on the desperate gamble. Now he poured his fury into ink, telling Grandma just what he thought of her and her stupidity.

His letter to Grandma Bentivoglio was as dangerous as a dagger and pierced as deep as any poignard.

“Look what has happened to you, foolish Ginevra [Grandma]. You chose to disregard the advice of wise men and follow your own passion. Now you and those with you have fallen into the grip of every misfortune. Because of you, I am in prison… and how do our children fare, led by your imprudent counsel? Banished from their homeland, cast out from Ferrara, shamed before the entire world. But what wounds my heart most is this: our palace in Bologna is in ruins. And of all these evils, you, woman, are the cause. These are the fruits of your reckless ambition. Find peace as best you can. Farewell."[1]

The words struck her like a blow. The grief that had gnawed at her since the destruction of the palace now pinched like a vice, crushing the last breath from her body. She collapsed onto her bed, and she did not rise again.

A year before, Ginevra Bentivoglio had been among the most powerful women in Italy—a patroness of artists and writers, a woman whose very name had commanded reverence. Now, she was nothing. Her death did not inspire mourning, nor did the Church grant her peace. The Pope, her enemy in life, denied her the sanctity of a proper burial. No tomb would bear her name. No candle would burn for her soul. Instead, her body was flung into a common pit, left to rot in eternity among beggars, drunks, and whores.

Such was the nature of fortune in the Renaissance. One moment, your name was spoken with fear and reverence; the next, fate struck you down like a guillotine, and all you had built was swept into oblivion. In Bologna, there were no tears for Grandma Bentivoglio. The city’s poets carved her epitaph in mockery, scrawling verses on walls that branded her as “greedy, grasping, horrible, terrible, and impious.”

And the ruin of the Palazzo Bentivoglio? That, too, was turned into poetry—gloating lines that mocked the fall of a house that once stood unchallenged.

As recorded by Ghirardacci, one such verse rang through the streets:

“I once was built from human blood and toil,
But soon I crumbled, ruined and spoilt.
Twice did Almighty God foretell my fall,
By quake and lightning, yet I cared not at all.
The third strike came from heaven’s wrathful sun:
The people, stirred by justice, to me did run,
With fury’s fire did they rise as one,
And so upon me, ruin swift begun.
Each hand did tear my walls, each claimed their share,
The marble stones they took, my strength laid bare.
All iron fell, was seized, and borne away,
And so, they named my fall Bentivoglio that day.”

Payback

The destruction of the Palazzo Bentivoglio had been met with cheers and laughter, but not everyone in Bologna reveled in its ruin. Beneath the jubilation, outrage smoldered. The Palazzo had been more than a house—it had been a symbol, a marvel of Bolognese craftsmanship, a monument to the city’s genius. Generations of artisans had poured their sweat into its gilded cornices, its frescoed halls, its soaring arches. Travelers had marveled at its beauty, and nobles had feasted beneath its painted ceilings.[1] And now, all of it—razed to nothing by Hercules Marescotti and his mob, while the papal government stood idly by.

To the city’s old aristocracy, this was sacrilege. Hugo Pepoli and his kin, members of Bologna’s ancient nobility, were aghast. And worse—Marescotti, flushed with his triumph, now saw himself as the ruler of the city. He and his family threatened anyone who dared oppose them, promising that their enemies would meet the same fate as the Bentivoglio palace.[2]

The air in Bologna grew thick with resentment.

Even Lucius Malvezzi, a sworn enemy of the Bentivoglio, found himself repulsed by what had been done. Disgusted by Marescotti’s tyranny and the Pope’s inaction, he turned his back on Bologna, departing to take service with Venice.[3] But others, who could not leave, began to conspire.

The man at the heart of this new conspiracy was a merchant named Casper Scappi. The destruction of the Palazzo had enraged him, but it was the miracle of the Madonna that steeled his resolve. If heaven had wept for the Bentivoglio, then it was clear to him—Marescotti and his ilk had to be punished. The only justice was an eye for an eye and a fire for a fire. The Marescotti would lose their own palace, just as they had stolen the Bentivoglio’s.

Scappi was no warrior, but he was a master of persuasion. One by one, he gathered like-minded men. They did not love the Bentivoglio, but they hated Marescotti more. Under the Bentivoglio, there had been order—under Marescotti, only threats and anarchy. Scappi even traveled to Mantua, seeking out Hannibal Bentivoglio himself. But Hannibal, hardened by exile, blew him off: “Without the backing of France, Venice, or Ferrara, you will fail.”

Scappi did not listen. He had waited long enough.

One night, he and his supporters took up their weapons and descended upon the Marescotti household. They came not as looters but as executioners. Hercules and his sons had terrorized Bologna, but in the face of death, their courage melted away. Like hunted rats, they scrambled onto the rooftops and fled into the night.

With their prey gone, Scappi’s men turned their vengeance on the Marescotti palace. A fresh mob visited their rage upon this edifice.[4] The fire that had consumed the Bentivoglio home now came for their enemies.

But Scappi was not finished. He rushed to the San Mamolo gate, hoping Hannibal would send forces to meet him. Messengers galloped to Ferrara, where Guido Rangoni, another exiled Bentivoglio ally, remained under the watchful eye of the Duke. “Come now,” they begged. “Bring Hannibal. Retake the city.”

Guido was stunned. Hannibal had told him nothing of this mad scheme. But he promised to send word.

Back in Bologna, Scappi struggled to hold the city. The papal governor rallied what forces he could, and Scappi shouted desperately to rouse the populace, “People, people!” But in Bologna, the mob and nobles alike had had their fill of revolution.

Except the Pepoli.

Hugo Pepoli and his brothers arrived with hundreds of armed men. They shared Scappi’s hatred for Marescotti, but they had no love for chaos. “A disorganized mess,” they sneered. Yet still, Hugo lingered, staying with a hundred men around the San Mamolo gate. He claimed it was to keep order, though it was clear he was waiting, watching—hoping the Bentivoglio would come to reclaim what had been lost.

Guido Rangoni himself arrived to witness the chaos firsthand. But like the Pepoli, he was unimpressed. He told Hannibal to steer clear of this fight.

With no army to back him, Scappi’s rebellion spiraled into pure anarchy. The mob, bloodied by its first taste of looting, turned its hunger elsewhere. They stormed the homes of Marescotti’s allies, ripping down doors, breaking through walls with “sacks and tools.”

But then, Hugo Pepoli made his choice.

When word reached him that the looters had gone too far, that they were attacking indiscriminately, he led his men into the streets. This was not justice. This was not what he had waited for. His soldiers struck down the thieves and scattered the rabble, shielding the Marescotti’s allies in their homes.

The tide had turned.

Scappi saw the writing on the wall. His rebellion had failed. The Bentivoglio were not coming.

And so, rather than die for a lost cause, he gathered his men and slipped out of Bologna, vanishing into the night—on his way to join the very family whose downfall had started it all.

The Castel Sant’Angelo

In the aftermath of the revolt messengers rode hard for Rome, carrying news of Bologna’s upheaval. But when they arrived, the Pope declared he wanted to hear the truth of the event from the men who were there. He summoned Hugo Pepoli and other prominent nobles, assuring them they would be granted safe passage. “No harm shall come to you, in either person or property,” vowed the Pope.

Hugo obeyed. Others followed. After all, the Pope had issued a pardon for all those who had taken part in the riots—what reason was there to refuse?

Julius II let them linger in Rome for a few days, treating them with the civility of honored guests. Then, without warning, he had the entire group rounded up and thrown into the dungeons beneath Castel Sant’Angelo. Among them, foremost, was Hugo Pepoli.

But the Pope’s thirst for vengeance did not end there.

Guido Rangoni, still free, became the next target. Julius placed a bounty of four thousand ducats on his head—a fortune to any assassin bold enough to claim it. And as if that were not enough, he renewed the price on the heads of Rangoni’s uncles. There would be no peace for the Bentivoglio’s allies.

The Pope had decided that Bologna needed a new ruler—one who would put the fear of God into the city, one who would crush even the thought of rebellion. And so he sent a man who was, perhaps, the most despised clergyman in all of Italy.[1]

His name was Cardinal Francesco Alidosi.

Though a priest by title, there was nothing holy about him. He was ruthless, treacherous and a man devoid of scruples—and that was how his friends described him.

To his enemies, he was something far worse.

Alidosi wasted no time. He came not as a governor, but as an executioner. Anyone suspected of Bentivoglio loyalty was hunted down, strangled, and beheaded. One man, foolish enough to receive a benefice from the Pope that Alidosi himself desired, was killed for being in the Cardinal’s way. Even to speak well of the Bentivoglio in public became a crime; men who did so were executed and women who spoke well of them were publicly flogged.[2]

He was also not afraid of hanging his perceived enemies. Men were hanged just low enough that their toes barely scraped the ground. They would struggle for breath, suspended between life and death, for an entire day before finally succumbing—while the people could only look on in horror.

He imposed crushing fines on the people of Bologna, under the pretense of rebuilding the Palazzo Marescotti. But the money went not to stone or marble. It lined his own coffers.[3]

None of this was an accident.

Alidosi understood that Bologna had been free for too long. The people were defiant, independent-minded. They could not simply be ruled—they had to be broken. Where others might have followed Machiavelli’s dictum to allow a free city the illusion of its old government, Alidosi did the opposite. He stomped on their illusions, daring them to rise up.[4]

Because rebellion was exactly what he wanted.

He knew that Guido Rangoni and the Bentivoglio brothers would not stand idly by while their friends were strangled, their allies tortured, their people cowed into submission. They would have to act.

And the moment they did, Alidosi would be ready.

Because only when they stuck their necks out could he sever them from their shoulders—and mount their heads on the walls of Bologna.

Mission Impossible

The Pope turned a blind eye to Alidosi’s greed. Ruthless men required wealth to do ruthless work, and Julius II needed a strong hand in Bologna.

Meanwhile, war festered in the countryside. Bands of Bentivoglio loyalists took to the forests and hills, striking at their enemies where they could—raiding supply lines, ambushing isolated soldiers, and torching the homes of those who had betrayed them. In retaliation, Alidosi’s forces scoured the land with fire and steel, burning villages suspected of sheltering the rebels. The violence became so severe that even the French, always eager to meddle in Italy, offered to send their gendarmes to restore order. But the Pope and his allies knew better and refused.

The city seethed under Alidosi’s provocations, and in this pressure, a plan was born.

Alexander Pepoli, elder brother of the imprisoned Hugo, began conspiring with the exiled Bentivoglio. They understood that retaking Bologna was impossible, at least for now. But they could send a message. They could remind their enemies that Bologna still had teeth—that no man who had betrayed them could sleep soundly at night.

The plan was simple. They would slip into the city, strike down their greatest enemies, and vanish into the darkness before anyone could react.

They needed a leader. Guido Rangoni, still too young and untested, would not do. Nor could they risk the Bentivoglio brothers themselves. They needed someone else—someone bold, cunning, and utterly fearless.

As it happened, just such a man was between jobs.

His name was Mancino da Bologna—a battle-hardened infantry commander with a reputation for audacity and brilliance. He had recently led an assault against a heavily fortified German stronghold, and he had won. Now, he would lead the attack on Bologna. It was the kind of mission that could make his name immortal.[1]

Mancino set up his temporary headquarters in an inn on the Mantuan border, just beyond the reach of Papal forces. His conspirators slipped away from Bologna in secret, meeting him in the dead of night. They gathered in hushed voices, plotting their strike against Alidosi and his men.

But someone talked.

Word of the conspiracy reached Alidosi, and he reacted with swift, merciless precision. He dispatched his light cavalry under his best commander—the Lord of Mirandola—along with sixty mounted crossbowmen, with orders to capture or kill everyone inside the inn.

The first warning came when a sentry outside the inn cried out—only to have a crossbow bolt punch through his throat before he could finish his warning.

Then came the thunder of hooves.

The inn erupted into chaos as Mirandola’s men surrounded it. Half-drunk conspirators stumbled from their rooms, rushing for the doors and windows—only to be cut down by waiting crossbows.

And then Mancino stepped outside. Atop his head he wore his customary hat, with the sole of a lady’s slipper affixed to the front and bearing the word, “you” upon it. This was a bit of whimsy that he wore in honor of his beloved.[2]

He found the Lord of Mirandola already waiting for him, perched atop his horse in full armor, watching the slaughter unfold with the calm of a man who had seen it all before.

We do not know exactly what passed between them. But knowing the men, we can imagine it went something like this:

Mirandola, in a measured tone, said, “We don’t want you, Mancino. We only want Hannibal and Hermes Bentivoglio.”

Mancino smirked. “Funny. Hannibal was looking for you the other day.”

Mirandola raised a brow. “Is he finally ready to turn himself in?”

“No. But he said you should kiss your son goodnight the next time you go home.”

That was the moment Mancino charged at Lord Mirandola.

It was madness—Mirandola was on horseback, fully armored, surrounded by his men. But Mancino had a trick.[3] If he could close the distance, if he could blind the horse, if he could unseat Mirandola before his men could react, then maybe—just maybe—he had a chance.

As Mirandola’s mount thundered toward him, and Mirandola raised his sword fight, Mancino ripped the cloak from his shoulder and prepared for his maneuver.

The moment Mirandola began his downward swing, Mancino leapt across the path of the charging horse and pressed a cloak over its eyes.

But fate is a fickle thing.

The cloak, meant to blind the horse, slipped uselessly past its head. The beast did not rear, did not falter. Mirandola did not miss his mark.

In one fell motion he converted the downward cut on his right side into a downward thrust towards his left side. His sword ran Mancino clean through the chest.

The blow had such force that Mirandola’s own grip failed, and as he rode past, the sword remained buried in Mancino’s body.

Mancino collapsed to the ground, the handle of the sword protruding from his chest.

Mirandola wheeled his horse around, dismounted, and strode over to his fallen enemy. He could hear the air hissing through Mancino’s teeth as he clung to his last breath.

“Where is he? Where is Hannibal?”

But Mancino da Bologna was already gone. He had fought bravely, and in doing so, earned himself a warrior’s death. His fellow conspirators would not be so lucky.

Those who had survived the ambush surrendered, hoping for mercy. They received none.

Dragged back to Bologna in chains, they were paraded through the streets—a grim warning to the city. The people watched in silence as Alidosi’s men led them into the dungeons, where he had them tortured until the last secrets were wrung from them.

Then, at last, they were taken to the gallows.

One by one, they were hanged inside the city and left to swing in the wind.[4]

And Alidosi watched it all with satisfaction. His enemies were dead.

And for now, at least, Bologna belonged to him.

[1] The plot and the following action with Mancino da Bologna are described in Ghiradacci on pp. 391-393.

[2] Dialogo della Imprese, Giovio, p.16. Note that Giovio identifies this as belonging to the famous duelist Sebastiano, but I believe he is mistaking these two brothers since Sebastiano was a famous leader of infantry but necessarily a famous duelist.

[3] Swanger, the Duel, pp. 203-204.

[4] Ghiradacci, p.393.

[1] Alidosi had been the legate of Bologna for a brief time before this, but his greed had made the Bolognesi object to his presence and he had been temporarily recalled.

[2] This was done both by the previous governor and continued under Alidosi.

[3] Ghiradacci recounts how the fines were 55,000 ducats in total while the contractor rebuilding the Palazzo Marescotti was only charging 17,000 ducats.

[4] Machiavelli, Discourses on Livy, Bk I, Chapter XXV

[1] The most famous of these being Lorenzo Costa who also painted the famous picture of the Bentivoglio family now in the Basilica of San Giacomo.

[2] Ghiradacci, p.378.

[3] www.condottierediventura.it, entry for “Lucio Malvezzi.” Sanuto Vol VII, col. 155

[4] There is some dispute about the order of this. According to Vizani this happened immediately whereas Ghiradacci has this happening a few days after Scappi’s revolt.

[1] Ghiradacci, pp. 374-375. This is apparently the original letter and not just Ghiradacci’s imaginings. The translation has been reworked for clarity and brevity.

[1] Ghiradacci, p.370

[2] Sanuto, Vol VII, Col. 74.

[3] See Vizzani, p. 470.

[4] See www.condottierediventura.it, entry for “Lucio Malvezzi.”

[5] Ghiradacci, p.371

[6] Ghiradacci, p.371

[7] Ghiradacci, pp. 373-374.

[8] De Bianchi, pp. 19-20.

[9] Ghiradacci, p. 375

Introduction:

History is full of amazing stories. All of the nerds—or scholars that I enjoy talking to, agree that if the cool stories in history were discussed in the classroom, everyone would be nerds just like them. This is one of those stories.

If you aren’t familiar with Gian Galeazzo Visconti, he was one of the most powerful Italian rulers at the turn of the 15th century. Of all the characters who could’ve united the Italian peninsula, Gian Galeazzo was the man. He failed of course. Well, he died after contracting the plague in September of 1402—so he failed. When word of his timely demise spread the Italian world celebrated…before tearing itself to pieces for the next fifty years, culminating in the peace of Lodi in 1454.

In late Medieval Italy you either hated Gian Galeazzo Visconti or you were Milanese. Yet, even the most biased observer can’t help but respect the magnanimity of this illustrious man self styled the Count of Virtue. As a fan of Bolognese Liberty, I personally despise him, but I also respect him. He instigated the great Italian Condottiere revolution by facilitating Alberico da Barbiano, he was probably responsible for Fiore dei Liberi becoming the Fiore we know and love, and he was an imposing the figure with the brass to try and assassinate the Holy Roman Emperor with a poisoned enema. He was imposing. Powerful. Interesting.

Alas, this isn’t a story about Gian Galeazzo Visconti, this is a story about how he became the Duke of Milan. It has nothing to do with his military exploits or those of his predecessors, it’s not about dynamic treaties or bloodshed in some wild civic feud either—but it is about revenge.

This will be a quickie, I promise!

Fair WARNING: This article is rated R; NSFW, and shouldn’t be read to the kiddo’s as a bedtime story (but you do you).

Beauty and the Beast:

Let's get the boring stuff out of the way first.

Luchino Visconti, the Castle Builder, was an austere man; cruel, militant and dour. He became the ruler of Pavia in 13151, before becoming co-ruler of Milan with his brother Giovanni and his nephew Azzone Visconti after the death of Galaeazzo I Visconti in 1327. This triumvirate ended in 1339 with the death of Azzone, giving Cardinal Giovanni and Luchino unquestioned sovereignty over the city.2 Through conquest the brothers added the cities of Bellinoza, Locarno, Asti, Tortona, Alessandria, Alba, and Cherasco to the Visconti fold over a seven year period between 1340-1347, and acquired Parma from Obizzo III d’Este in 1346 for 70,000 florins.3

Genoa was ultimately the apple of their covetous eye.

Over the course of his impetuous reign, Luchino had three wives. The first was Violante di Saluzzo, the daughter of Tomasso I di Saluzzo; with whom he had a daughter, Caterina; who would wed Francesco d’Este.4 Then, after Violante died in 1315; likely from complications in child birth, Luchino married Caterina Spinola in 1318, the daughter of the illustrious Genoese nobleman, Obizzo Spinola. His wedding coincided with the nuptials of his cousin Stefano, who wed into the Doria family of Venice, bringing the Visconti into familial alliances with the warring naval powers of Italy.5 She died a year after their wedding.6

Marriage for alliance was the standard. The great political divide at the time was between the Guelfs; those who supported the Pope in Avignon, and the Ghibellines; those who supported the Emperor and the Holy Roman order. Luchino and the Visconti family represented the most powerful Ghibelline faction in northern Italy.

In 1317 the Spinola had been exiled from Genoa for their Ghibelline proclivities, and in their stead the Guelf Fieschi and Grimaldi families took the reigns.7 After the reshuffling of civic order, Genoa came under attack from the Visconti, and the Spinola aligned themselves with the Milanese Ghibellines, and the marriage of Luchino and Caterina sealed the deal.

Matteo Visconti, Luchino’s nephew, and Marco Visconti besieged Genoa soon thereafter in 1318. The Fieschi, in response put the city under the protection of Robert of Anjou, the King of Naples, and the Avignon Pope, John XII; for a ten-year period. This quick reprisal was enough to thwart the Visconti’s expansionist efforts.8

Genoa was saved, for a time, but upon the expiration of the guaranteed protection Carlo Fieschi; the family head, had to cement an alliance with his rivals that would preserve the progress he’d made in preserving Genoese Liguria, and preserve his family from the growing feud with their Guelf co-compatriots the Grimaldi. To achieve this, in 1331, he offered the hand of his 15 year-old daughter, Isabella to the aged head of the Visconti, Luchino; who was still without a legitimate male heir. For Luchino and his brother Giovanni this arrangement was their in to having territorial claims over their covetous desire to conquer Genoa.9

Isabella Fieschi was a renowned beauty, and Luchino treated her as the jewel in his crown, flaunting his bride and doting on her with the upmost affection. Alas, after ten years of marriage he was still without the essential heir he desired to cement his legacy. Luchino was by no means sterile, he had bastards in droves, and as a consequence of Isabella’s perceived infertility he began to fear that his foul luck with viable wives had continued.

The Incestuous Divide:

The gulf between husband and bride grew with each failed attempt to conceive a child, and pressure mounted on the now, Lord of Milan, as his territorial conquests continued to add dominions to his flourishing fiefdom. In frustration Luchino turned to the embrace of his cousin, Margheritta Visconti Pusterla; another renowned beauty.10 The war-hardened head of the Visconti family had attempted to seduce her, and may have even forced himself on her a number of times.11

When Marheritta’s husband Franciscolo della Pusterla; the richest man in Milan, found out, he conspired with Luchino’s three ambitious nephews; Matteo II, Bernabo, and Galeazzo II Visconti, to overthrow the tyrannical Lord in 1340. This coup failed, thanks to the intervention of Cardinal Giovanni Visconti, and all of the parties were summarily exiled, while their co-conspirators and underlings were brutally executed; including many members of the Pusterla family. All of Franciscolo’s considerable wealth; his possessions and banked assets estimated at around 200,000 gold florins were confiscated.12 While Franciscolo found refuge with the Pisans, but was soon betrayed and handed over to Luchino for the lords favor, and executed along with his children.13

The ramifications of this affair were far reaching. Isabella was disgusted. Yet, glad tidings came in 1343 when word that Isabella was finally pregnant spirited the halls. It was a girl; Orsina—no heir. Alas, the year 1346 brought cause for fresh jubilation in Milan. Luchino's war with Ferrara and Pisa came to a close with the forfeiture of Parma into the Visconti fold.14 More importantly Isabella was with child once again and on April 4th, 1346 gave birth to twin boys; Luchino Novello and Giovanni.15

The celebrations of the boys’ baptism was an international affair. The ceremony at the sacred font was attended by heads of state from across Italy, including: Obizzo III d'Este of Ferrara; grandfather of Niccolò III, Giovanni II del Monferrato, Castellino Beccaria of Pavia; grandfather of Lancellotto, Ugolino Gonzaga of Mantua and Ostasio I da Polenta. Ugolino Gonzaga, in particular, left a lasting impression on Isabella for his charm and grace, and it seems the feeling was mutual—even if was just passing.16

In the throws of birth pain, Isabella had made a solemn vow to complete a pilgrimage to the basilica of San Marco if she and her charge were to survive the endeavor.17 In 1347, she followed through on this commitment, and what happened next would change the course of the Visconti dynasty forever.

Now, I need to preface this next part with an admonishment that sources about this vary. Chroniclers with an agenda to propagandize have had their stake in the extreme of this narrative. However, the extreme represents a story so profound, it's too good not to retell, and so that's what you'll see.

Love Boat: Medieval Redux

Isabella wanted a party akin to her wedding celebrations to memorialize the momentous occasion.18 Her extravagant retinue departed Milan on the 29th of April.19 Among her revelers were all of her ladies in waiting, their lovers, a host of minstrels, cooks, chamberlains and servants. The jubilant procession was led by Knights from every city in her husband's lordship, with Matteo II Visconti at their head.20 They made it as far as Vaprio, where they rested a night then passed through Brescia and the Veneto, before arriving in Venice on Ascension day.21

Giulini quotes Pietro Azario, observing, “Neither queen nor empress could travel with greater pomp, nor recieve greater honours in all the scities she encountered on her journey, and especially in her residence in Venice.” (pg. 336)

While Isabella was in Venice, a fresh new conspiracy to overthrow Luchino unfolded in Milan. Matteo II, Bernabo, and Galeazzo II were once again implicated in the plot to oust their uncle and were exiled. The beleaguered sons of Stefano Visconti found refuge in Morano, thanks to the family of Matteo’s wife Gigliola Gonzaga.22

When Isabella departed Venice, on the 10th of May23, she left by ship and was accompanied by the Doge of the Most Serene Republic, Andrea Dandolo; who became enamored with her charm and beauty. Dandolo is remembered by Petrarch as, “a just man, incorruptible, full of ardor and love for his country, erudite, eloquent, wise, affable and humane."

As Michael Chidester once said, “Heh.”

Together, they sailed down the Adriatic, up the Po River, and stopped in Mantua, where they were joined aboard the galley by Galeazzo II Visconti and Ugolino Gonzaga.

That's when Isabella revealed her ultimate plan!

The penitent voyage quickly turned into a carnal cruise with wild tales of promiscuity and fornication capped off by a very public foursome between Isabella Fieschi, Doge Andrea Dandolo, Ugolino Gonzaga, and Isabella’s nephew Galeazzo II Visconti!24

Isabella wanted to make sure that she left no holes unfilled in her ultimate reprisal of Luchino’s debauchery.

She succeeded.

In order to preserve their dignity, and divorce themselves from Isabella’s turbulent ride down the Po—for the sake of the honor of their innocent husbands—her ladies in waiting went to Luchino and informed him of everything that had transpired. The Lord of Milan was enraged, stating in Isabella’s presence; upon her return, that he would, “light a fire that would illumine all of Lombardy,” to seek retribution for the cuckold he’d become.25 Promising her a death at the stake for her proclivities.

It would just have to wait.

Luchino was at war with Amadeus IV of Savoy, the famed Green Count, in league with his close allies Giovanni II dell Monferrato, and Tomaso II di Salvuzzo. After capturing Alba, Mondovì, Cuneo and Cherasco from the Savoyards26, Luchino turned on his allies in suspicion; notably Giovanni II dell Monferrato, who was close ally of the Gonzaga.27

Focusing his forces in territories adjacent to Brescia Cremona, Luchino’s serpent slithered through Casalmaggiore and Sabbioneta, before laying siege on Borgoforte.28 It was there that his army was joined by reinforcements from the d’Este and Scaligeri, but their army was ambushed by the Gonzaga and quickly deteriorated like a great herd of sheep.29

Luchino’s assault was undone, and he redirected his attention to the ancestral lands of Isabella in Liguria. Yet, what the unsuspecting warlord had miscalculated was the viper he'd forged from the Genoese pussycat30 he'd wed in 1331. Isabella Fieschi had learned a thing or two in her time in Milan, and when Luchino returned from campaign poisoned him in self defense, right when he was about to begin his long awaited siege of Genoa, and finally obtain the jewel he’d long coveted.31 Thus, his tyrannical reign was brought to an end sometime between the 21st and 25th of January 1349.32

Hell hath no furry like a woman scorned {Heav'n has no Rage, like loveto Hatred turn'd,. |By Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman ſcorn'd.}, is the proverb coined by William Congreve in his 1697 play, Mourning Bride.33 True to form Isabella brought her retribution to bear, but she wasn’t finished. No—she had one more card to play.

The Cardinal, Giovanni Visconti, assumed the lordship of Milan in the wake of his brothers demise, and to subvert a potential Visconti civil war, recalled and agreed to forgive his nephews Galeazzo II, Bernabo, and Matteo II, as long as they supported the claim of Luchino’s heir, Luchino Novello.34

A year after Giovanni’s political master class of state preservation, Isabella threw a wrench in his brilliant design. Not satisfied with the destruction of her husband's reputation, or his life, she had one last tower to tear down—his legacy.

On April 28th, at a public hearing she declared that her children; fair Orsina, the heir apparent Luchino Novello, and the late Giovanni, we're not fathered by Luchino, her husband, but by his nephew Galeazzo II Visconti!35

The declaration that Luchino’s only legitimate heir was in fact a bastard threw the line of Visconti succession into disarray. Cardinal Giovanni was a clergyman, and had no heirs of his own to put forward, and while Luchino’s seed was strong, his three wives had proven unfertile in his abrasive advances. The only legitimate Visconti men who remained were his nephews, the sons of Stefano; Galeazzo II , Bernabo and Matteo II.36

Conclusion

Cardinal Giovanni Visconti was an incredible regent, among his exploits, he added Bologna to the Visconti fold on the 16th of October 1350; for 170,000 gold florins, and sent northern Italy into a tailspin of epic proportion.37 His reign, and the chaotic years that followed under the sons of Stefano forged a hegemony over northern Italy that dominated the landscape until Filipo Maria Visconti was forced to hand the dynastic title to Francesco Attendolo Sforza in 1447.

The descendants of Galeazzo II Visconti would inevitably slither their way to the top of the pit of vipers in Milan. Despite his role in the scandalous affairs of Isabella Fieschi, his uncle Giovanni used the unwed cavalier as a bargaining chip to seal an alliance with the Green Count, Amadeus IV, in 1349.38 They wed on the 28th of September 1350, and in 1351 their first son was born in the city of Bologna, his name was Gian Galeazzo—the first Duke of Milan.

Isabella Fieschi, for her part in the affair, had a far less forgiving conclusion to her tale. After her confession she was confined to house arrest with her bastard Luchino Novello in their Palazzo on Via Romagna for a period of ten years. With the help of some conestabili she escaped in 1356, and returned to Liguria, where she lived out the rest of her life near the Castello of Savignone. She was forever remembered as Isabella la Fosca or del Veleno—Isabella the dark one or of the Poison.

For our dear Doge, Andrea Dandolo, just a fun note. I’ll quote his Italian language wikipedia page, “He married Francesca Morosini but had a rather troubled relationship with her, so much so that after a state visit by Isabella Fieschi , wife of Luchino Visconti , lord of Milan , to whom, in her opinion, the Doge had reserved too much attention, she decided to be buried far away from him.”39 See how context makes everything better?

There you have it folks, how a foursome changed the course of Italian history.

For the martial arts enthusiast, it's playful to wonder what might have been had Luchino and Isabella's union not turned so sour. Would we have gotten Fiore dei Liberi; who likely made his name in the court of Gian Galeazzo Visconti, or Filippo Dardi whose ascent coincided with the aftermath and chaos of the Duke’s untimely death? Who knows.

We’ll continue to explore Medieval Italian history in an upcoming article about Baldassare Cossa, and see how Filippo Dardi first came onto the scene. It's a story that features characters we’ve seen before, like Lancellotto Beccaria (one of Fiore's named students), and details the unique relationship between Nanne Gozzadini and Niccolò III d’Este at the time when the Friuli Master, Fiore, was likely in the Ferrarese court.

Make sure you subscribe so you don't miss out!

Subscribe now

If you want to support the channel, another way of doing so is buying our merch. Go check out the Art of Arms store, and all of our history and fencing related shirt designs! This weeks feature is our Visconti: Strike First, Strike Hard, No Mercy t-shirt. As much as we like to color the Visconti family as villains, their altruism and importance can’t be understated. Almost all of Fiore’s students fought under the banner of the Visconti, and perhaps even Fiore himself. If you’re a fan of Medieval Italian History, this is the shirt for you! Art of Arms Store LINK:

Works Cited:

1. Chamberlin, Eric Russell. The Count of Virtue: Giangaleazzo Visconti, Duke of Milan. United Kingdom, Scribner, 1966.

2. Boraschi, Aldo. I Fieschi: Storia di una famiglia. Italy, AltreVoci Edizioni, 2021.

3. Giulini, Giorgio. Memorie spettanti alla storia, al governo ed alla descrizione della città, e della campagna di Milano, ne'secoli bassi; Volume V. Milan, Francesco Colombo Librajo, 1854.

4. Amadei, Giuseppe, and Marani, Ercolano. I Gonzaga a Mantova. Italy, Cassa di Risparmio delle Provincie Lombarde, 1975.

5. Tuchman, Barbara W.. A Distant Mirror: The Calamitous 14th Century. United States, Random House Publishing Group, 2011.

6. Gonin, Enrico. ulle famiglie nobili della monarchia di Savoia narrazioni fregiate de' rispettivi stemmi incisi da Giovanni Monneret ed accompagnate dalle vedute de' castelli feudali disegnati dal vero da Enrico Gonin [Vittorio Angius]: 2. Italy, Fontana e Isnardi, 1847.

7. Storia Di Milano ::: I Visconti. www.storiadimilano.it/Personaggi/Visconti/visconti.htm.

8. Covini, Nadia Maria. VISCONTI, Luchino; Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani - Volume 99 (2020). Treccani.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/luchino-visconti_(Dizionario-Biografico)/.

9. Lazzarini, Isabella. GONZAGA, Ugolino; Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani - Volume 57 (2001). Treccani.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/ugolino-gonzaga_(Dizionario-Biografico)/.

10. Gamberini, Andrea. VISCONTI, Galeazzo; Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani - Volume 99 (2020). Treccani.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/galeazzo-visconti_(Dizionario-Biografico)/.

11. Gullino, Giuseppe. DANDOLO, Andrea; Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani - Volume 32 (1986). Treccani.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/andrea-dandolo_res-cdb27049-87eb-11dc-8e9d-0016357eee51_(Dizionario-Biografico)/.

12. Gamberini, Andrea. PUSTERLA, Francescolo della; Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani - Volume 85 (2016). Treccani.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/francescolo-della-pusterla_(Dizionario-Biografico)/.

13. Giasante, Massimo. PEPOLI, Giacomo; Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani - Volume 82 (2015). Trecanni.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/giacomo-pepoli_(Dizionario-Biografico)/.

14. Vitale, Vito Antonio. FIESCHI; Enciclopedia Italiana (1932). Treccani.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/fieschi_(Enciclopedia-Italiana)/.

15. Simeoni, Luigi. VISCONTI, Matteo II; Enciclopedia Italiana (1937). Treccani.it. https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/matteo-ii-visconti_(Enciclopedia-Italiana)/.

16. Wikipedia Contributors. “Luchino Visconti (Signore Di Milano).” Wikipedia, 12 Jan. 2025, it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luchino_Visconti_(signore_di_Milano).

17. Wikipedia Contributors. “Isabella Fieschi.” Wikipedia, 4 Sept. 2023, it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isabella_Fieschi.

18. Wikipedia Contributors. “Caterina Spinola.” Wikipedia, 4 Sept. 2023, it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caterina_Spinola.

19. Wikipedia Contributors. “Violante Di Saluzzo.” Wikipedia, 4 Sept. 2023, it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Violante_di_Saluzzo.

20. Wikipedia Contributors. “Andrea Dandolo.” Wikipedia, 6 Jan. 2025, it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrea_Dandolo.

21. Heath, Tinney. Slut-Shaming in the Trecento (and, Poison). historicalfictionresearch.blogspot.com/2016/12/slut-shaming-in-trecento-and-poison.html?m=1.

30

The Fieschi arms traditionally had a house cat as their crest.

“Church, Church!”

The Italians of the Renaissance had elevated the art of surrender to near perfection.

On November 10th, Pope Julius II entered Bologna, a city that had, just a week prior, belonged to the once-mighty Bentivoglio family. But the Bentivoglio were gone, having hastily abandoned their rule, leaving behind a city eager to display its devotion to its new master. Bologna welcomed its so-called liberator with a spectacle fit for a conquering emperor. Hugo Pepoli, a scion of one of the city's noble families, led a dazzling procession of one hundred young noblemen, each clad in resplendent "yellow and purple silk outfits with matching stockings—the Pope’s personal colors," their "velvet caps adorned with white feathers." They jostled and elbowed one another for the sacred privilege of carrying the Pope’s litter into the city.[1]

As they bore him aloft like a triumphant Caesar, the Pope’s treasurer rode ahead, flinging silver and gold coins into the throngs. Each coin gleamed with a pointed inscription: “Bologna Liberated from Tyranny by Julius.” The people of Bologna, ever enthusiastic for spectacle, met the Pope with wild cheers of “Church, church!” In a fit of near-maniacal devotion, they pressed forward, throwing themselves onto the ground, clutching at his robes, and even kissing his feet—feet that, had this been two years later, none would have dared to approach, as they would be riddled with syphilitic ulcers.[2]

The Pope did not march alone. Alongside his vast entourage trailed his troops, as well as the long-banished Bolognese exiles of the Malvezzi and Marescotti families. None among them exulted more than these men, for the Pope’s triumph was their long-awaited vengeance. The Bentivoglio had murdered their kin and driven them from their homeland. Now, at last, they had returned—and they thirsted for justice.

Soon, the city would taste the signature dish of Renaissance Italy: revenge.

Iron Fist in a Velvet Glove

The Bentivoglio were gone, but their shadow still loomed over the city. The people, long seething under their rule, unleashed their fury in a wave of mockery and destruction. Scornful verses appeared on walls and doorways, their venom sharp as steel:

“Bentivoglio at last misfortune has found you,
Now not even the miserable wish you well.
Once so lucky, but now Malevolence takes you,
Only too soon will you be in Hell.”[3]

But for some, mere words were not enough. One enraged citizen, denied the pleasure of striking down Giovanni Bentivoglio himself, sought another target. He stormed into the Church of the Madonna di Galliera, where a stucco statue of Giovanni stood defiantly in armor, sword at his side. The inscription beneath it declared: “I defended my homeland as a youth and will not abandon it as an old man.” But the Bentivoglio had abandoned it. Enraged beyond reason, the man ignored the sanctity of the church and the presence of the Virgin Mary. He raised his billhook and attacked the statue, shattering pieces of it.[4]

The Pope, determined to erase every trace of the Bentivoglio name, commanded that their coat of arms be stripped from buildings and clothing alike.[5] Their colors were outlawed. As if symbolically disarming their ghostly presence, he ordered the people to surrender their weapons under the penalty of three lashes.[6] His marshal soon confiscated an impressive 800 weapons—lances, pikes, spiedos, billhooks, and partisans—along with suits of armor, shields, and rotellas.[7]

Yet, weapons were not the only things the Pope sought to impose upon the city. Bologna, unlike most Italian cities, lacked a fortress within its walls—a castle from which an overbearing lord might unleash his men at a moment’s notice, striking down enemies in the dead of night. Julius would change that. He ordered shops razed to make way for a new fortress, and to ensure no one dared challenge his authority, he invoked a solemn curse upon any who might harm it.

These measures did not sit well with the people. To take away the arms of the Bolognese—this was an outrage. As Machiavelli himself later warned, “when you disarm a people, you commence to offend them and show that you distrust them either through cowardice or lack of confidence, and both of these opinions generate hatred against you.”[8] That hatred simmered now beneath the surface. Adding a fortress only stoked the flames.

The Storm Gathers

Julius was no fool. He knew well that many in Bologna still supported the Bentivoglio, and that the exiled family would not vanish so easily. Italian history was riddled with tales of deposed rulers returning in force.[9] And sure enough, Guido’s uncles had fled to nearby Ferrara, lying in wait like wolves at the edge of a flock while Guido returned to his castle of Spilamberto on the border with Bologna. The Pope demanded that the duke expel the Bentivoglio from Ferrara, but he simply turned a blind eye and said they were not there.[10]

To secure his rule, Julius appointed Lucius Malvezzi, a seasoned condottiere, as Captain General of Bologna’s forces. A hardened veteran who had fought up and down the Italian peninsula for twenty-five years, Malvezzi would soon find his fate entwined with Guido Rangoni, first as a foe, and later as an uneasy ally.[11]

But not all of Julius’ actions were oppressive. To placate the people, he cut taxes and fixed the prices of food and wine. He also adorned the city’s churches, most notably commissioning a grand bronze statue for the entrance of the city’s cathedral—a towering, awe-inspiring figure of himself.

With one hand raised in benediction, Julius II blessed the city. In the other, he held a sword.

Michelangelo himself, upon finishing the statue, observed that it was “more a threat to the people of Bologna if they were foolish.” Foolish enough, that is, to think of bringing back the Bentivoglio.[12]

Julius spent four months in Bologna, but his stay was cut short by threats from the King of France, who delighted in tormenting the Pope by reminding him that, with nothing “more than a single letter,” he could restore the Bentivoglio to power. On February 22, 1507, Julius departed for Rome.

Hardly had his carriage passed through the eastern gate when his legate ordered the execution of several citizens accused of corresponding with the Bentivoglio. The city, now a vassal of Rome, chafed under the yoke of foreign rule. The Senate, once the pride of Bologna, had been reduced to a ceremonial puppet of the Pope’s representative.

The Bentivoglio supporters sensed their moment. They whispered in dark corners, calling for the return of their exiled lords. In response, Julius placed a bounty on Hannibal and Hermes Bentivoglio: four thousand ducats for their capture alive, two thousand for their heads.

Even nature seemed to mourn the Bentivoglio’s absence. A chronicler wrote:

“Since Lord Giovanni Bentivoglio left Bologna, which was on the 2nd of November 1506, until this day, there has been neither snow nor enough rain to properly soften the land … now [1507] there is a shortage of both bread and wine, among other things.”[13]

As if this were not bad enough, there was soon an outbreak of plague in Bologna.[14]

God Can Wait for Me

The time for waiting was over.

Grandma Bentivoglio—indomitable, relentless, and possessed of a will as unyielding as iron—had made up her mind. Bologna must be reclaimed. Her husband, Grandpa Bentivoglio, ever cautious, urged patience. He counseled waiting—waiting for Pope Julius II to die, waiting for unrest to fester into rebellion, waiting for fate to do what he feared to do himself, waiting for God to present the right situation.

But Grandma Bentivoglio had no patience for cowards.

Once again, she chose action.

With a fierce resolve, she liquidated her treasures, raising fourteen thousand ducats—a war chest, small compared to the vast fortunes spent by the Pope, but enough to fund a rebellion.

She summoned her grandson, Guido Rangoni, along with his cousin Alexander Pio, and her own sons. The time for words was past. She placed the money in their hands and issued her command: return to Bologna and reclaim our home. Let the men of this family do what their grandfather lacked the stones to do—conquer.

The response was swift.

From Mantua to Modena, the Bentivoglio banner was unfurled. Guido Rangoni raised troops in his ancestral lands of Spilamberto.[15] His childhood companion, Alexander Pio, did the same in Sassuolo. Their uncles scoured the countryside for soldiers. Within weeks, an army had formed—six thousand men, six hundred of them armored cavalry, a handful of cannons, and the fire of vengeance burning in their chests. By the last weeks of April, this force gathered at Guido’s castle of Spilamberto, standing on the very border of Bolognese lands.

The invasion was at hand.

Let the Panaro Be Our Rubicon

Before the sun had even crested the horizon on May 1st, the first troops moved out.

Under the cover of pre-dawn darkness, Uncle Hermes led his mounted crossbowmen across the Panaro river into Bolognese territory.[16] Guido Rangoni followed with his men-at-arms, many of them veterans who had once served under his father.

The attack was no secret. A force of this size could not be raised without whispers reaching Bologna. The Pope’s man in the city, Lucius Malvezzi, had been forewarned. He acted swiftly, “rounding up 300 suspected Bentivoglio sympathizers and exiling them to Faenza, some forty miles away.”[17]

But exile was not his only weapon.

Malvezzi bolstered the city’s defenses, ordering all but three of Bologna’s gates to be sealed and barricaded. No last-minute conspirators would be opening the city to the Bentivoglio. Inside, he summoned the militia, outfitting them with arms and marking them with a red cross on white—the insignia of those who stood for the Church against the Bentivoglio.

And then came the mercenaries.

Two infamous condottieri rode to Bologna’s defense: Ramazzotto, known as “The Priest”—a man whose troops were as skilled in plundering as they were in battle—and “Mad Dog” Sassatello, a man who had earned his bloodcurdling name after ripping an enemy’s heart from his chest and biting into it while it was still warm.[18]

With war looming, Hugo Pepoli prepared the decisive blow. He went into the mountains, gathering his veterans from the Siege of Pisa as well as other hardened mountain men. The Bolognese mountains were a wild country where often law was the law of vendetta and violence came natural to these men.

March of the Bentivoglio

At dawn, the Bentivoglio army surged forward.

Unlike most armies of the time, which took what they pleased from terrified peasants, the Bentivoglio paid handsomely for food and drink along the way. This was not mere charity—it was strategy. They sought to win the hearts and minds of the countryside, to sway the people of Bologna itself. Their march was not just an invasion. It was a campaign for loyalty.

Guido and his men-at-arms rode at the vanguard, taking the lead down the Wine Road, a well-trodden path that wound through the countryside toward Bologna.[19] They were accompanied by the finest commanders of their army, including the feared Mancino da Bologna and his brother Sebastian.

At first, everything went according to plan. The first two castles surrendered without a fight.[20] The countryside rose in support. Messengers from inside Bologna rode out to meet them, bringing news of the city.

And that news chilled Guido Rangoni to the bone.

Lucius Malvezzi had been ready for them. Long before the first Bentivoglio soldier had set foot in Bolognese territory, the city gates had been barricaded. No sympathetic hand would swing them open. Bologna would not rise in rebellion.

And worse still—troops were mustering behind them in Modena.

The Bentivoglio army now stood between the walls of Bologna and the threat of encirclement.

The Trap Closes

Time was running out.

To secure their position, the Bentivoglio demanded the surrender of Piumazzo, a decrepit fortress whose garrison consisted of “seven soldiers and four crossbowmen.”[21] Yet, against all odds, Piumazzo refused to yield.

With the Modenese force looming behind them and Bologna’s walls sealed ahead, Guido and the Bentivoglio had no choice. They pressed forward.

In response, Lucius Malvezzi tightened his grip, pulling his troops closer to Bologna, daring the Bentivoglio to advance.

Seizing the moment, Uncle Hannibal made his move. He hurled his cavalry forward, banners unfurling in the wind, the sigil of Uncle Hermes—a pear on a white field—leading the charge. Close behind rode the armored cavalry, bearing Guido Rangoni’s silver shell.

They galloped toward the walls of Bologna, gambling everything on one desperate hope—that the people of the city would see them, remember their loyalty to the Bentivoglio, and rise in revolt.

But the people of Bologna did not rise. Instead, they armed themselves against the Bentivoglio.

And then, like the snap of a wolf’s jaws, the trap was sprung.

Hugo Pepoli’s mountain warriors descended from the hills, cutting off the Bentivoglio from their supply lines. At the same time, the militia of Bologna, led by Alexander Pepoli, charged out of the city gates, reinforced by The Priest and Mad Dog Sassatello.

Guido and his family had been outplayed.

A massacre loomed.

Retreat or Die

The warning of danger approach reached Guido and Uncle Hannibal—Hugo’s men were closing in from the rear.

There was only one choice.

Retreat.

Hannibal ordered the entire Bentivoglio force to withdraw back across the river.[22] They had been defeated, but at least they would live to fight another day.

For Guido Rangoni, there was no satisfaction in survival. Once again, Hugo Pepoli had bested him.

Recognizing the futility of further resistance, Hannibal struck a deal with his brother in law, the Cardinal of Ferrara. The Bentivoglio were permitted safe passage.[23] Their army scattered. The last report placed them near the fortress of Mirandola, heading for Mantua.[24]

The dream of reclaiming Bologna was over.

Failure is a Four Letter Word

It was a catastrophe.

Before the failed attack, the Bentivoglio had at least been tolerated in Ferrara. Now, the Duke expelled them.[25]

With a price on their heads—four thousand ducats alive, two thousand dead—Hannibal and Hermes Bentivoglio were forced into exile, constantly on the move.

And Grandpa Bentivoglio, who had stayed out of the affair entirely and been living in quiet comfort in Milan, now found himself thrown into the dungeons by the King.

As for Guido Rangoni? His ancestral castle at Spilamberto was stripped from him. He was left under watch in Ferrara, his every movement scrutinized.

And Hugo Pepoli? He returned to Bologna a hero.

For now. Because in Bologna, victory and disaster were two sides of the same coin.

And soon, Hugo Pepoli would find himself in the doghouse with His Holiness. For there was a celebration going in Bologna and as the wine flowed, trouble also flowed into the city, trouble that would change everything for Hugo Pepoli.

Find out how on the next Episode of Death Before Dishonor: Some Heads Are Gonna Roll.

[1] Ghiradacci, p.355. Note that Ghiradacci does not specify which noble youths and it’s quite possible that Hugo was not among them. But certainly, someone from the Pepoli family would have been among these, and it may have been one of his brothers that carried the Pope instead.

[2] Vicars of Christ, The Dark Side of the Papacy, Peter de Rosa, Crown Publishers New York, 1988. P.105. Pope Julius was the first Pope to get syphilis and to have a private space for his treatment he even had a special bathroom added into the Vatican. See Raimond-Waarts, L. L., & Santing, C. (2010) “Sex: A Cardinal’s Sin. Punished by Syphilis in Renaissance Rome. Leiden University, p.179.

[3] Ghiradacci, p.354. Note here is actual poem, “Bentivole, heus tandem mala sors, sed una, sequuta est / Non bene iam misero sed male quisque cupit/ Bentivola ecce prius fortuna, Malivola nunc est/Multivolumque cito, Mortivolum faciet.” Translation reflects the feeling more than the literal interpretation.

[4] Ghiradacci, p.366.

[5] Ghiradacci, p.359.

[6] Ghiradacci, p.360.

[7] Ghiradacci, p.367 “cioè 800 pezzi d'arme in hasta, fra lanze, lanzoni, spiedi, ronche et parteggiane, 12 armature d'huomini d'arme, corazze assai da pedoni fornite signorilmente, et molti targoni, targhe et rotelle.

[8] Machiavelli, the Prince “Whether Fortresses, etc…”

[9] Shaw, Julius II, p. 145.

[10] While the presence of the Bentivoglio men in Ferrara is attested, that of Guido Rangoni is merely an educated guess. He may also have just retired to his castle in Spilamberto.

[11] See www.condottierediventura.it entry for “Lucio Malvezzi.”

[12] Condivi, Vita, p.63. Note that this story may be more apocryphal than literal. Note some authors like Bianchi think the statue was built on the initiative of the Bolognese but this seems specious.

[13] Cronaca Modenese, de Bianchi Vol I, p. 46.

[14] Ghiradacci, p.368. It’s not clear exactly what plague, but outbreaks of bubonic plague had become endemic to the crowded cities of Northern Italy.

[15] De Bianchi, Vol I, p.16. Note in this section, de Bianchi describes a number of different assembly points, but the main path of castles taken in the campaign strongly indicates the final debouchment occurred from Spilamberto.

[16] This is suppositional based on the typical methods used in warfare then and now to use light mobile troops for reconnaissance in advance of the army.

[17] Sanuto, col. 68

[18] www.condottierediventura.it, see entries for “Melchiorre Ramazzotto” and “Giovanni Sassatello.”

[19] This was the Via del Brentatori, that connected the town of Monteveglio with downtown Bologna. See: www. https://www.bolognametropolitana.it/Home_Page//001/In_cammino_da_Bologna_a_Bazzano_rinasce_la_Via_dei_Brentatori. Retrieved 8/23/24. Note the placement of Guido in this army is suppositional.

[20] These would be the Rocca dei Bentivoglio and the castle at Monteveglio, the start of the wine road.

[21] The worn-down castle of Piumaggio, whose “drawbridge could not even be lowered or raised.” S. MANTOVANI, Fortificazioni estensi nella pianura tra Modena e Bologna, in Rocche e castelli lungo il confine tra Bologna e Modena, cit., p. 182. See Castello di Piumazzo: Storia Ed Eveluzione Construttiva Tra Notizie Storiche Ed Evidenze Struturrali, Francesa

[22] Note that Ghiradacci says that Hannibal removed them to Modena, but he almost certainly meant the province of Modena and not the city.

[23] Bianchi pp.18-19. Note there was also a raid of little importance that he had made towards Casalecchio to cut the city’s water supply.

[24] Libro delle historie ferraresi. Sardi, Gasparo, 1646.

[25] The Bentivoglio of Bologna: A Study in Despotism. Cecilia Ady 1938

Over the hiss of falling rain Hugo heard it again: the clink of metal from somewhere ahead of him. With extreme focus, he pushed his hearing into the darkness.

Was it just his imagination? Was it an echo from the shovels and picks of the men working behind him? Or was it a French patrol? Had they seen the brief glimmers of light from the working party that was throwing up a dam in the darkness?

Plink. There it was again.

Hugo went forward alone to see if there was a threat. The ground was saturated with rain and a thick ooze clung to his feet. The darkness was near absolute, the drone of the falling rain blotting out most sound. Still the sound of his boots lifting from the suckling mad carried to his ears. He had to go slower, quieter.

A cough came from ahead of him. From where the French were.

That confirmed it. But how many were there? Was it a lone scout? A patrol? Or maybe the whole French force creeping up on Bologna?

Hugo could go back, tell the other men to haul ass back to the safety of the city and trust in the guns of the Bolognese to keep the French army at bay. But he passed on that idea.

Prudence made no man’s reputation.

Creeping forward further Hugo now caught a whiff of his enemy. Or enemies. The smell of unwashed clothes and sour wine filled his nostrils as his heart began to flare with heat. His arms felt ready, the sword light in his hand.

But smell and sound would not tell them where to thrust. Only sight and touch could tell him that…

In a moment the darkness was rent by a powerful explosion as French artillery opened up on Bologna. In an instant he saw the silhouette of a man barely three yards before him, a man smaller than Hugo. His head came to a distinct point showing the helmet he wore. But in that flash, all of Hugo’s night sight went away – he was now blind as a mole and as helpless as a newborn babe.

As he summoned up the image of the silhouette in his mind, he could not tell whether the man had been facing him or facing away. Now a cold fear struck him – the blast of artillery that ruined his sight just shown the enemy where he was. Unable to see, he listened for the telltale sign of running feet or even a blade being drawn. But there was nothing.

Nothing but the rain.

Hugo lifted his sword and got low, trying to shrink himself under the cover of his blade. He wished he had thought to bring a shield or even a buckler with him. No attack came. No sound came. He moved forward towards the Frenchman crouching low. As the smell of an unwashed body grew stronger in his nostrils, he saw the shape, or a suggestion of the shape in the darkness.

Hugo jumped into a run and surged at the man. He threw his left arm forward and held his right arm back with the sword, like it was the deadly stinger of a poisonous scorpion...

Guido Rangoni, Hugo Pepoli and Bentivoglio had managed to stymie the armies of Cesare Borgia and keep Bologna independent. Yet all the things that made Bologna attractive to Cesare Borgia also made Bologna an enticing little gem for the crown of Pope Julius II. With its famous university – the first in Europe – the city had a vibrant intellectual life. It was also a useful place to recruit infantry for the Papal armies.

But the real draw was wealth—Bologna was loaded.

By using carefully engineered water works, Bolognese merchants had innovated a process for the industrial production of fine fabrics, especially silk. Centuries before the Industrial Revolution, there were a hundred mills in Bologna churning out fine silk using water power to spin the thread.[1] The Bolognese method of silk production was so lucrative that it was considered a state secret, and death was the punishment for anyone who dared to violate that secrecy.[2]

In contrast to Bologna with its industry and famous university, Rome, capitol of the Papal States, was full of poverty and “parasites…[that] lived off the traffic of pilgrims and the presence of the Papal Court…”[3] Rome was known for lavish parties, prostitutes and above all, for crime.[4]

Julius’ appetite for Bologna was whetted even more by Grandpa Bentivoglio’s ambassador to the Holy See. This ambassador spoke ill of the Bentivoglio to the Pope, calling them tyrants. There was some merit to this: Grandpa Bentivoglio, the once easygoing leader of the city, had become increasingly despotic, and his followers in the city had become worryingly violent. Hercules Marescotti is a good case in point. He had always been a loyal follower of Grandpa Bentivoglio and had escaped the murder of his family. Yet threats by Bentivoglio thugs drove Hercules from the city and Grandpa Bentivoglio did not intervene to help Hercules, doing nothing more for his old friend than to make sure he was able to leave the city in peace. Visitors to Rome assured Pope Julius that the Bolognese would offer only tepid support for the Bentivoglio if he decided to eject them.

Still the Pope had to bide his time for the first years in office. In his own words he said that the Borgias had left the Papal treasury in a “poverty-stricken and run-down,” state.[5] After a few years of living cheaply he managed to accumulate some 400,000 ducats in gold and plate,” enough to start his plans of conquest.[6]

Grandpa Bentivoglio was unaware of the problem he faced. He trusted “in the predictions of his astrologers and the protection of the French.”[7] There had only been one significant bit of tension between he and the Pope: when Hannibal Bentivoglio was serving with the Florentine army, the Pope demanded that Grandpa keep his sons from serving as condottieri. Grandpa Bentivoglio replied that he could hardly do that, since their trade was arms and they needed to make a living.[8] Considering that Grandpa Bentivoglio had sent troops to make sure Pope Julius could reach Rome safely, he likely figured the Pope would grant him this indulgence.

He would not be the last man to mistake the nature of the man sitting on St. Peter’s chair. Replacing Cesare Borgia with Julius II was making the proverbial leap out of the frying pain and into the fire.

After the previous attacks by Cesare Borgia, Grandpa Bentivoglio was overly sanguine about the ability of Bologna to fend off invaders. Thus, even when Julius threatened to take an army to Bologna to drive him out of the city, Grandpa Bentivoglio was not worried; he responded that the Bolognese had weapons of their own.[9]

In the fall of 1506, the Pope decided to put that to the test. He raised a strong army and marched north with it to confront the Bentivoglio. He appointed the Marquis of Mantua to be the overall commander, a task which the Marquis – connected by marriage to the Bentivoglio – was dutybound to accept. The Marquis went to Imola where the Pope’s forces were gathering and intended to use it as a base for invasion, just as Cesare Borgia had done.

Guido Rangoni’s men-at-arms patrolled the borders of Bolognese territory along with light cavalry, providing a powerful armored fist if the light cavalry ran into trouble. Hugo Pepoli came with the rest of the Pepoli to lead an infantry company on behalf of the Bentivoglio.[10] Once again the people of Bologna took up arms and opened up their purse strings to raise another army.

As the army of the Pope reached nearby Imola, Grandpa Bentivoglio brought both Hugo and Guido along with their men into Bologna. To bolster the morale of his people he organized a parade of the army. This is remarkable because we have a thorough inventory of the types of troops and their weapons. The force consisted of:

· 60 strattioti (light cavalry with spears from the Balkans or Greece)

· 200 men-at-arms in regular companies like that of Guido Rangoni

· 250 ‘free lances’[11]

· 150 mounted crossbowmen

· 150 mounted musket men[12]

· 95 men armed with sword and shield (or possibly carrying pavises)[13]

· 260 crossbowmen on foot

· 210 musket men on foot

· 1250 pikemen

· 650 men armed with billhooks, partisans and spiedos

· 40 bodyguards for the commander armed with halberds

· 30 men-at-arms for the commander’s own retinue[14]

Soon the Bolognese army would be too busy for further parades.

Operating from nearby Imola, the Pope’s army attacked and captured the same castles that had fallen so quickly to Cesare Borgia.[15] And just like Borgia, they then moved onto the strong fortress at Budrio.[16] Here the forces of the Bolognese defeated those of the Marquis.

But then came terrible news: the King of France had allied with the Pope. He now sent a powerful army to drive the Bentivoglio from the city, a force that included 24 cannons, powerful artillery capable of blasting a way through the city’s brick walls.[17] Other Italian powers joined to help the French. Even the Republic of Florence, whom the Bentivoglio had supported in their war against Pisa, now sent forces to attack Bologna.

The Bentivoglio had paid for the protection of the French. As their forces reached the edge of Bolognese territory, the French general sent a message to Grandpa Bentivoglio. They could either leave the city with all the wealth they could carry and head into a comfortable exile under French protection, or they could remain in Bologna and watch them sack his city and slaughter his people.

Grandpa Bentivoglio understood clearly that there was no chance of holding Bologna when everyone that mattered was bent on its conquest. So, he began stalling for time, making a show of fighting Bologna’s enemies while he sent his valuables to the city of Ferrara for safekeeping.

On the night of November 2^nd French artillery boomed in the distance. Here was the signal for the Bentivoglio to leave the city.

Grandpa Bentivoglio led a procession of some 500 men on horse and unknown numbers treading afoot. This body streamed out of the gates of Bologna in surrender. Guido Rangoni was with them. He took what possessions he could move and followed his grandfather to the west.1

The exiles passed between French soldiers who lined either side of the road. Some looked for jewelry or other valuables they might easily demand from the Bolognese exiles. Others twisted their moustaches and made jokes at the expense of the melancholy exiles.

To get himself, his stuff, and his few followers through, Guido had to give a purse full of coins to one of the French nobles. Bit by bit Bologna disappeared behind young Guido. The darkness first swallowed the bridges that crossed from the city into the countryside, then it made the walls of the city disappear. Finally, even the soaring towers of Bologna that rose into the moon-limned sky were gone. Once designated to be the Captain General of Bologna, Guido Rangoni now faced an uncertain future and the perilous life of the exile.[18]

Meanwhile Hugo Pepoli and the rest of Bologna were facing the perilous existence of being France’s enemy. The French demanded the city open its gates to them and threatened to pound a breach in the wall and sack the city if the Bolognese did not comply. The Bolognese knew to let them would be to subject the city to the rapacious treatment of French soldiers.

The Bolognese, under the leadership of its Senate, refused

When French gunners fired at the city to put force behind their demands, the Bolognese responded with their own artillery. The French brought their artillery close enough to pound the walls and the Bolognese gunners shot back at them. But it was clear the French had the advantage of artillery here. Over two rainy days both sides engaged in an on and off-again duel of gunnery.

During the second night the Bolognese made a decisive sally. They had noticed the French had put their camps in a low lying plain near the Reno River. Hugo Pepoli joined a large group of men with picks and shovels and carts full of brick and blocks of wood. Leaving out a side gate, they quickly made their way to the nearby Reno River. With the sound of their work covered by the incessant rain and the roar of the cannons, most of the men worked, while Hugo Pepoli and some of his mountain men formed a little screen to protect the work party from scouts and cover their retreat if necessary.

Working undetected, the work party was able to dam the river and return safely into Bologna.

“By morning, the river overflowed its banks, flooding the French artillery, baggage, tents, and pavilions, leaving everything underwater.”[19]

This took the starch out of the French assault. The French now began to worry less about taking Bologna and more about the shortage of supplies in their camp. Meanwhile spirits among the garrison soared, so much so, that many Bolognese thought they should attack the French and their armored gendarmes.

The day after they successfully flooded the French camp, thousands of Bolognese citizens, in a disorganized mob, left the city gates with weapons in hand, despite the warnings of experienced captains to remain in the city. These Bolognese citizens crossed the muddy fields that separated them from the French. The French simply mounted their horses and waited for the Bolognese to get closer. Somehow the mob came to its senses and fled back to the safety of the walls before the battle was joined. The French knights came after in hot pursuit, but almost all these Bolognese men returned home safely.

The two sides were now at an impasse.

The Marquis of Mantua now came to Bologna and brokered a peace between them and the French. This deal sent supplies to the French but left Bologna in peace.

All events now turned upon the entry of the triumphant Pope into Bologna. Grandma and the other Bentivoglio ladies lingered in the city; she hoped to talk to the Pope and convince him to let her remain in her home, but messengers from His Holiness told her she was no longer welcome in the city of towers. She had to be gone before he arrived, or else face the consequences.[20]

Grandma Bentivoglio would not forget this. She left Bologna determined to raise Hell when the time was right. She would not have to wait long.

Follow the Adventuures of Hugo Pepoli and Guido Rangoni in our next episode: Die By The Sword.

[1] http://informa.comune.bologna.it/iperbole/patrimonioindustrialeen/galleria_immagini/67962, retrieved 8/16/2024.

[2] “Silk Milks in the Early Modern Italy,” by Comino, S & Gasparetto, A. Advances in Historical Studies 289-294.

[3] The Tigress of Forli, Elizabeth Lev, p.40 of e-book.

[4] As reported on p.399 of Burchard.

[5] Julius II, Shaw p. 139

[6] Julius Caesar, Shaw p.139

[7] Ghiradacci, p.343

[8] Juius II, Shaw p.141

[9] Sanuto, VI, col.408

[10] These are suppositional. We know that Hugo’s brother Alexander was in command in Bologna. We also know that Romeo Pepoli was on decent terms with the Bentivoglio. It is also quite possible that Hugo remained to guard the family stronghold at Castiglione dei Pepoli in the mountains to the south, though there would have been little need for him to do so since Castiglione was along the path of no invading army.

[11] “Lanze spezzate” Men at arms that belonged to no company. These would have come to Bologna singly or in small groups.

[12] The musket had not yet been invented. The actual weapon was the arquebus, a predecessor to the musket. I refer to this as a musket because everyone knows what this is.

[13] “Targonieri,” infantry with shields. These may have been large shields to provide cover for the crossbowmen or these may have been sword and shield men, which were particularly useful when pike squares became locked together.

[14] Ghiradacci, p.345. This force also had 150 ‘provisionati’ who may have been men needing to draw arms from a public armory and 1500 or more men from outside Bologna.

[15] These were Medicina, Castel Guelfo and Castel San Pietro, all castles comprising the outer defenses on Bologna’s east side.

[16] According to Sanuto Vol VI, col 459 Budrio fell to a group of cavalrymen, though this may refer to the later surrender of the castle when the Bentivoglio ordered the castle to run up the white flag as described in Ghiradacci.

[17] Di Alucni Avvenimenti I Bologna e Nell’Emilia dal 1506 al 1511, Giovanni Gozzadini, p.4.

[18] Ghiradacci, pp.348-349. Of note to our story, Guido was joined in this journey by Mancino da Bologna and his brother Sebastian Manzino. The Achillini were also with him; one of these Giovanni Achillini authored the first known work on the Bolognese art of fencing.

[19] See Ghiradacci p. 350 for this. Note that Hugo Pepoli’s presence with this body of men is simply a guess. We do know that his brother Alexander (now head of the family since his father’s death) was in Bologna during this time. Alexander seems to have been more the politician of the family than a war leader since there is no mention of him involved in military circles. As one of the Pepoli’s military men it would be strange for Hugo to be away from the place where he might win honor and prestige for the Pepoli family and himself.

[20] Ghiradacci, p.354.

ENDNOTES:

End Note:

Here is a more detailed description of the parade above:

The 1st Regiment consisted of the following squadrons:

60 strattioti (light cavalry armed with spears)

200 men-at-arms belonging to companies including that of Guido Rangoni.

100 more light cavalry with crossbows and muskets

100 mounted crossbowmen

50 mounted musketeers

20 sword & shield men along with 50 crossbowmen

50 musketeers

150 men with polearms between billhooks, partisans & spiedos

250 pikemen

The 2nd Regiment had the following squadrons:

20 sword and shield men

60 crossbowmen with 25 musketmen

60 infantry with billhooks, partisans and spiedos

The 3rd Regiment had the following squadrons:

250 pikemen

25 sword and shield men

50 crossbowmen

60 musketmen

200 men with billhooks, partisans and spiedos

The 4th Regiment had the following squadrons:

500 pikemen

30 sword and shield men

100 crossbowmen

75 musketmen

200 men with billhooks, partisans and spiedos

Then 40 more with mixed polearms

And 250 more pikemen

These were now followed by mercenaries that came from outside Bologna (most likely) including:

250 men-at-arms known as lanze spezzate or ‘free lances.’ These are men-at-arms belonging to no particular company and brought to Bologna by the promise of pay.

150 provisionati. That is infantry serving for pay with whatever weapons they brought.

And then “many other infantry.”

Now there came 40 peasant “heads of family” or clan leaders along with four standard bearers.

At the end of the parade came the commander for the parade, Hermes Bentivoglio. As was customary for commanders of the time he was surrounded by a bodyguard of halberdiers, with a total of 40. In addition to these he had his own small company of 30 men-at-arms to serve as his retinue.

Bologna had escaped from the domination of Cesare Borgia and the Church but it still had to reckon with the Almighty. The city seemed to have distinctly earned God’s displeasure: He sent a lightning storm that destroyed many buildings in the city, including the tower over the Palazzo Bentivoglio.[1] Then after the lightning, there came a series a series of earthquakes that destroyed much of the portico on the outside of the Bentivoglio palace as well as scaring the people of the city. “People were so terrified that they no longer felt secure living in their homes and sought open spaces, sheltering under tents, wooden sheds, straw huts, barns, and other makeshift shelters made from cloth or blankets.”[2]

But these would prove to be but small irritations compared to the cold that God sent at Bologna. On November 25^th of 1503 a terrible blizzard swept through Bologna and covered the fields around the city with snow as deep as five feet. The cold was so terrible that it, “claimed the lives of many travelers due to the harsh winds, and an infinite number of animals perished in the countryside… the cold destroyed fruit trees and other plants in gardens. The frost even caused stones, tiles on roofs, and stone columns to crack, and nearly all the vines perished.”

The deep snow lingered until the end of April, killing the wheat crop not just in Bologna but throughout the region. The fields of Emilia-Romagna were the breadbasket of Italy and the failure of the wheat crop that year, “with barely enough grain to sow,” foretold the coming of the third horseman of the Apocalypse, Famine.

Commissioners from Bologna traveled to far off lands buying grain to import into the city. But Bologna was a landlocked territory; for centuries the Bolognese had tried to extend their territory to the Adriatic, they had even crushed a Venetian river fleet in 1271, as they groped their way to the sea.[3] But they never acquired a port. They now paid the price for that failure. Venice refused to allow grain going through the Adriatic to pass to Bologna and Florence did likewise.

Bologna would just have to starve.

Unable to bring food into the territory the poor were reduced to desperate straits to survive. “The poor, in Lent, having nothing else to eat, scavenged for the skins of salted eels; in times when meat was permitted, they consumed blood from the slaughterhouse. Many peasants survived on salted herbs and bread made from ground acorns, and many died from deprivation.”[4]

Here was a potent demonstration of the maxim, “He who commands the sea, commands everything.”[5]

Cities with access to the sea like Florence still had enough food, enough food in fact to fight a war. In 1504 Florence decided to renew its war with Pisa. To lead this army Florence tapped another one of the uncles of Guido Rangoni. This was an experienced condottiere named Hercules Bentivoglio. This Hercules was a son of Grandma Bentivoglio by a previous marriage and had grown up in Florence rather than Bologna. For a long time there had been tension in the family between he and Hannibal Bentivoglio, since Hannibal was the heir apparent to Bologna.

But relations between Hercules and Hannibal were now good. Hercules recruited Uncle Hannibal to lead a force of 70 men-at-arms and 40 light cavalry in his war against Pisa.[6] Hannibal would be fighting alongside one of the great warriors of the era, the famous master of arms, Pietro Monte.

Guido Rangoni wanted to go with his uncles to fight against Pisa and build his reputation, but his duties on behalf of Grandpa Bentivoglio kept him in Bologna. Guido could only look on with envy as Hannibal’s company of Bolognese left the city wearing “French-style armor with a falcon crest emerging from its nest and bearing Hannibal’s personal motto, ‘My Time.’[7]

Instead of covering his name with glory, Guido Rangoni was kept busy with the mundane tasks of running a company of men-at-arms. Guido’s company consisted of 100 lances and each lance had three men: a knight, an armed squire and a page.[8] Much of his time was spent on the mundane tasks of reviewing his men and keeping up on the finances of his company — tedium that mad a hot-blooded young man long for the heart-pounding action of war.

Hugo Pepoli would be getting all the heart-pounding action he could wish for.

The Bentivoglio were not the only family being recruited into this war. Pisa was desperate for soldiers to stave off Florence. Seeing the opportunity to grow the family fortune and reputation, the Pepoli family offered to raise a company of 100 infantry from among the Bolognese mountain men. Pisa gladly took them up on the offer.

Romeo Pepoli, Hugo’s elder brother, was the captain in charge of the company. Hugo helped him to organize the unit, making sure the men were competent to use their weapons. As Pisa was recruiting men to defend the city against assault, this infantry company was armed primarily with the weapons most useful in defending a breach of the walls, close quarters weapons like the shield and sword or cut and thrust polearms like the partisan and billhook.[10]

Then they had to find a way to get to Pisa.

Florence had blocked the mountain passes into Tuscany and Grandpa Bentivoglio would not allow the Pepoli to pass through Bologna to get around the Florentines, since he was allied with Florence. The Pepoli were forced to lead their men on a difficult and circuitous march along mule tracks through a country with no food to be had. Famine had, “intensified to the point that there was nothing to eat, and cries and laments were heard everywhere.”

While carrying heavy gear up and down the narrow roads on legs made weak by hunger and leading half-starved mules, the Pepolis’ men found a way to cross through the mountains into Tuscany around Lucca and thence made their way to Pisa.[11] Here there was an adequate if not abundant supply of food.

Hercules Bentivoglio was doing his best to reduce the amount of food that came into Pisa by employing cavalry to break the city’s connection. But the Pisans were a special breed: stubborn, experienced in war, and determined to remain free.[12]

A relief force approached from around Rome that looked to break up the attack on Pisa and open the connection to the sea so that Pisa could get more than just the thin trickle of food that was making it past Florentine patrols. The commander of this force was the general under whom Guido and Hugo Pepoli would late serve, one of the great condottieri of his age, named Bart Alviano.

Hercules Bentivoglio deployed uncle Hannibal and the Florentine army to keep Alviano from reaching Pisa. He cleverly outmaneuvered Alviano and then attacked. At the crucial moment of the battle uncle Hannibal convinced Mancino da Bologna to switch sides.[14] This caused Alviano’s forces to collapse. General Alviano was then forced to flee, riding away with nothing but a few quick horses and two wounds to his face.[15]

Pisa and Hugo Pepoli were now on their own.

Florence now saw it could push for a more decisive result than starving Pisa would produce. They had the strength to assault Pisa and capture it.

Florence would have only a short time for making good their conquest, for once the autumn rains began the area around Pisa would turn into a pestilential swamp.[16] Niccolo Macchiavelli and the rest of the Florentine government went into frenzied preparations, raising 400,000 ducats, levying infantry, finding artillery and powder, incendiary devices, securing large amounts of wood in order to make scaling ladders, getting shovels, hoes and billhooks for the pioneers, etc..[17]

Inside Pisa preparations for the siege went on with an equal frenzy. They had survived a combined attack by Florence and France in 1499 through determination and they were equally determined to hold onto their independence now.

On the day of the Madonna in September the Florentines unleashed their cannons on the walls of Pisa. The cannons roared from sunrise on for a whole day, blazing away for twenty one hours. Under such a bombardment the walls of Pisa crumbled, to that by two the next morning, about 50 feet (18m) of wall had been turned into so much waste rubble.[18]

Pietro Monte now led 3,000 Florentine infantry towards the walls while thousands more waited to exploit the assault. In the breach flew the yellow banners of Spain, waving in the breeze where the Spanish infantry was surging forward.[19] On the intact walls beside the breach waved the silver and black checkerboard banner of House Pepoli. Here the Bolognese infantry awaited the attack of the Florentine infantry.

As the Florentines drew closer the thwack-thwack-thwack of shooting crossbows from the walls of Pisa filled the air. Against the closely-packed ranks of charging infantry, the shots of the Pisans could hardly miss. Hugo Pepoli directed the few crossbowmen in his company to shoot at the enemy soldiers carrying scaling ladders towards the walls.[20] The Florentines had plenty of crossbowmen of their own and bolts began to fill the air around the parapets of Pisa.

When the Florentine wave broke upon the ranks of Spaniards in the breach then the battle was well and truly joined.

Hugo’s battle now centered on the scaling ladders being thrown up against the walls. These ladders had sharped hooks that gripped to the brick walls all around Hugo. For ordinary men these were dangerous to dislodge with their hands, though with his gauntlets Hugo had a better chance. But as they tried to shake the ladder hooks off the walls, Florentine crossbowmen peppered them with quarrels. Still, Hugo and his men were able to keep the Florentines off the wall for now.

The Florentines brought up gunners and more crossbowmen to make the job harder. Now Hugo had cause for great fear as two-pound cannon balls whizzed through the air around him, threatening death. Even when the Florentine gunners missed the men, the fire of their guns shredded the brick walls and sent shards of clay flying every which way, shredding and blinding men.

Backed by all this support a small party of Florentines did establish a position on the ramparts, but were quickly overwhelmed by the Pisans and the Bolognese under the silver and black.[21]

Down in the breach Pietro Monte led his Florentines to fight against the Spanish. But the Spanish soldiers were not to be broken, and the Florentines could hardly make their numerical advantage manifest within the tight confines of the breach. Like the 300 Spartans at Thermopopyale, these 300 Spanish were immoveable against any odds so long as their flanks were secure.

With the flanks guarded by stubborn Pisans on one side and “bold mountain fighters” from Bologna, Pietro Monte’s men were unable to get through the Spaniards.

Seeing the writing on the wall, Pietro Monte ordered his trumpeter to blow retreat and the Florentines fled the fight leaving dozens of dead and dying on the field. A great cheer went up from the men on the walls.

This cheer that was brought to an immediate stop by the deep thump of a Florentine siege cannon.

Hercules Bentivoglio and the Florentines now planned to a new attack. Since the size of the breach had been too small on the previous assault, they now spent three days blasting away at the walls of Pisa. This they hoped would created a large enough breach where they could bring the weight of their superior numbers to bear. Over the next three days the Florentine artillery brought down as much as 250 feet of wall.[22] But the Pisans were not so easily demurred.

Pisan men and women took advantage of the region’s thick soil to build a strong earthen rampart in front of their broken walls, an earthen rampart that was largely resistant to the blasts of the Florentine artillery.[23] Behind this rampart the Spanish and the Pisans now arranged themselves with firearms and crossbows.

With that section of the city under the guard of the Pisans, Hugo went with his company to defend the bridge connecting the two halves of the city.

The Florentines now committed all their troops to a new attack. Hercules Bentivoglio divided his troops into three different divisions. He sent his first division once again under Pietro Monte to create a breach at the area where the walls had been destroyed.

The Florentines went forward as ordered. But the Pisans were ready. “At the loud peal of a bell the men in the trenches left their stations and their womenfolk came forward also with crossbows and firearms, these they now fired on at the hesitant Florentine infantry.[24] After the losses three days before, the morale of the Florentine levies was spent and they took to to the ground for cover. Pietro Monte and the other commanders urged them forward, but the Florentine forces, especially the hastily-recruited militia of Florence, refused to move forward against this deadly hail of lead and crossbow bolt.[25] The Florentines tried to direct their own fire against the Pisans, to try and intimidate them into running back behind the cover of their walls, but the Pisans were as fearless and obdurate as stone.

To get the infantry moving forward, Pietro Monte personally came forward and charged with a group of men-at-arms directly at the breach. His example did little to hearten the infantry.

Hercules Bentivoglio then sent up a second group of infantry, but these also failed to charge the breach, even though the commanders of this unit descended into the ditch at the foot of the walls to lead them by example.

The Florentine commissioner charged with commanding the army tried a different tack with the infantry. Instead of urging them forward by inspiration he fell back on fear. He rode amongst the cowering men, striking about, wounding some and killing others. He managed to get them moving reluctantly forward, even as cannon fire from Pisa ripped lanes of death through their ranks.

All the hopes of the Florentines and Hercules Bentivoglio now centered on capturing the bridge where Hugo and the rest of Romeo’s company was stationed. This third division of the Florentine army moved in boats and along the quays of the Arno River.[26] Since the Pisans had concentrated their their artillery and gunners around the area of the breach, this force was able to proceed into the city. They were hemmed in by walls from above, and crossbowmen took a heavy tariff of their numbers, but this force was still bold enough to make it to the bridge.

Upon reaching the bridge, the boats stopped and the men traveling on the quays clambered upward. Hugo Pepoli’s men here crossed swords with the attacker, thrusting and slashing against the superior enemy until the bridge was slick with blood and it became a battle just to keep standing upright.

Word spread of this fight throughout Pisa and reinforcements came running to bolster the Pepoli forces on the bridge. The Florentines were forced to retreat.[27]

All out of courage the Florentine infantry, “withdrew to their encampments, achieving nothing but bringing infamy upon Italian soldiers throughout Europe.”

But this infamy that did not apply to Hugo Pepoli and Romeo’s company of mountain men. They returned to Bologna covered in glory.

Follow the adventures of Hugo and Guido in our next episode, Into the Fire

[1] Ghiradacci, p.330

[2] Ghiradacci, p.334

[3] Bologna, città marinara 1270-1273. S. Nesi. 2008.

[4] Ghiradacci, p.335.

[5] From Letters to Atticus, Cicero.

[6] Ghiradacci, p. 336.

[7] Storia Fiorentine by Francesco Guiccardini, p. 273. Also Ghiradacci p. 337. The Latin is “nunc mihi,” meaning “Now for me.” This has been translated in a way to convey the feeling of a motto. Also it’s only a guess that Guido wished to accompany his family.

[8] This is an educated guess. See Military Organization of a Renaissance State by Mallett & Hale pp. 70-71 for more detail. In the period 1490 the Venetian lance consisted of four men. It is possible that a Bolognese lance consisted also of four men (including a mounted crossbowman), but it is more likely that Bologna’s mounted crossbowmen served in separate companies, especially in light of Bologna’s more limited resources. This is a topic needing further research.

[9] See Mercenaries & their Masters by Michael Mallett.

[10] This is suppositional. What we do know is that all Italian cities had plenty of citizens equipped with firearms and crossbows for defending the walls. We also know that the mountain men of Bologna had a reputation for fighting in the field. For this reason the most logical usage of the company was for melee combat. As we will see later, the Bolognese field armies were equipped with a broad variety of weapon, and the Bolognese manuals on polearms provide for the use of the partisan, pike, and billhook, among other weapons. Also generally in the field long weapons like the pike are more useful, especially where one must fight horsemen. In the tighter quarters of a siege fight where the enemy is primarily other infantry shorter weapons are more useful. Also note that Romeo might have been a cousin instead of a brother.

[11] See www.condottieridiventura.it entry for “Piero Gambacorta.” In later 1504, he “escorting the relief forces arriving by sea and land from La Spezia, Genoa and Lucca.”

[12] Storia Fiorentina, Guicciardini, 280

[13] Storia Fiorentina, Guicciardini, p. 279. Giovio, p.183.

[14] The precise details of this are unclear. But Sanuto describes Mancino’s behavior in this battle as “the cause for Alviano’s defeat.” Furthermore he and his company of 200 men switch sides after the battle (see www.condottieridiventura.it entry for Mancino da Bologna, August 1505.

[15] The whole fight is best described in the account given by Giovio on p. 184 in his “Istorie del Suo Tempo.”

[16] Storia d’Italia, p.603

[17] Scritti Inediti, Macchiavelli, pp. 205-224

[18] Giovio, p. 605.

[19] www.condottieridiventura.it entry for “Pietro del Monte da Santa Maria,” for September 1505.

[20] Note the presence of men using scaling ladders is not directly attested in the historical sources. But we do know that the Florentine went to great effort to get wood for ladders and that it is highly unlikely that the Florentines would try to break through a breach only 50 feet wide with 3,000 men.

[21] This part is suppositional, simply trying to provide a best guess of what the fight would have looked liked given the information available. This initial skirmish is described in Storia d’Italia, pp.604-605. Storia Fiorentina, and also in Giovio, p.183 and in the most details on www.condottieridiventura.it under “Ercole Bentivoglio,” for September 1505.

[22] Vita di Antonio Giacomini, Jacopo Nardi. pp.147-148.

[23] Macchiavelli, Art of War.

[24] Sanuto, col. 238.

[25] Gucciardini, “The following morning, to open up a larger section of the wall, another battery was set up nearby, leaving between the two bombardment points a section of the wall previously attacked by the French. When enough of the wall seemed to be down, Ercole ordered the infantry, already arrayed for battle, to launch a vigorous assault on both breached sections. However, the Pisans, with the women as determined as the men, had, during the bombardment, constructed a barricade with a trench in front of it.

[26] This group was commanded by Zitolo da Perugia whom we will focus on during the Siege of Padua in 1509.

[27] www.condottieridiventura.it entry for “Ercole Bentivoglio,” dated Sept 1505. Note that where in the battle Hugo’s company was servig was unclear. But with the men and women of Pisa focused around the area of the breach where they could also be building up an earthen rampart to support their city, it would have been logical to send Pepoli’s company to guard the bridge. But ultimately this can be nothing more than an educated guess.

He was coming back.

In 1501 Cesare Borgia had invaded the territory of Bologna but the Bentivoglio stopped his army. Then the two sides had signed a peace agreement. This being Renaissance Italy, all parties understood the deal was really nothing more than a short term ceasefire. By the summer of 1502 rumors started circulating that Cesare Borgia was preparing to invade Bologna once again. Cesare needed a large city with a rich cultural heritage to be the capital of his Dukedom of Romagna and Bologna fit the requirement nicely.[1]

To test the truth of these rumors Grandpa Bentivoglio sent an ambassador to meet with Cesare. The Duke confirmed he intended to drive the Bentivoglio from the city. When the Bolognese ambassadors replied this would mean war with Bologna, Cesare responded with a threatening look.[2] He then said, “Soon the Bolognese would realize how mistaken they were to think they could oppose him and how wrong they were to support the tyrant Bentivoglio against all reason.”[3]

The hold of the Bentivoglio family on Bologna depended on the city senate. The city senators now met to discuss whether to fight Cesare or to drive the Bentivoglio family from the city and surrender themselves to the Duke. The previous year, Guido’s uncle Hermes Bentivoglio had led a band of bloodthirsty youths on a wholesale slaughter of the Marescotti family, and resentment against the Bentivoglio simmered. On the other hand the people of Bologna hated the Vatican, and thought Cesare, “full of arrogance and unbearable pride.”[4]

Any doubts as to the course of action were dispelled by the appearance of Hugo’s father, Count Guido Pepoli. Standing before the Senate with his sons and followers, this “highly esteemed man” with “a long face, aquiline nose, lively eyes, and a dignified appearance” now spoke on behalf of his friend Giovanni Bentivoglio.[5] He reassured the Senate, “we are fully capable not only of defending ourselves against Cesare Borgia but also of attacking him. Be assured that this [battle] will be nothing more than a gust of wind or a flash in the pan."[6]

What Cesare did not understand was how ready Guido Rangoni, Hugo Pepoli and the people of Bologna were to meet his forces. Grandpa Bentivoglio had spent the previous year feverishly adding fortifications around Bologna as well as finding troops willing to fight under the banner of the Bentivoglio.

The Bolognese then sent a pair of stalwart-hearted ambassadors to tell Cesare it was best to leave Bologna alone. These ambassadors warned the Duke, “We will not wait for you to lay siege within the walls but will instead come out armed to meet and assault you wherever you may be. And we will respond in such a way that you will regret not leaving us in peace.”[7]

The Pope responded by declaring war on the Bentivoglio. Though Bologna was under French protection, the King of France declared that his protection applied only to the members of the family and that Bologna itself belonged to Rome.[8]

The Bentivoglio expected the attack to come from Cesare’s base at Imola. If the Duke of Romagna tried to attack on the southern flank through the mountains, the Bolognese had this protected. They had converted a convent along the mountain road from Imola into Bologna into a great fortress.[9] They placed this fortress under the command of Mancino da Bologna, the greatest swordfighter of his age.[10]

If the Duke tried to follow the previous year’s plan and attack around the northern flank into Bologna, the Bentivoglio were prepared for this as well. Grandpa Bentivoglio had improved the defenses of Budrio and Medicina. To give these fortresses the ability to sting as well as defend themselves, he sent some 250 mounted crossbowmen in Bolognese livery to use these fortresses as a base.[11]

These defenses would force Borgia to attack directly from the east. Here the Bolognese stationed young Guido Rangoni, with his company of men-at-arms. With him were the rest of the main forces of Bolognese army all under the command of uncle Hannibal Bentivoglio. Hugo and the rest of the Pepoli were also out in force, leading a large group of infantry from the mountains above Bologna.[12] The army was partially motivated by a love for the Bentivoglio; but even those opposed to the Bentivoglio, like the diarist and historian Filena dalle Tuate, were happy to take up a sword against Borgia because they hated the corrupt church so much, “that they would have taken sides with Satan himself against the men of the pope.”[13]

Hugo, Guido and the Bolognese would not get the chance here to defend their territory against Borgia’s men, for the Bentivoglio were now finding powerful allies.

Cesare Borgia had made much use of careful and calculated betrayal to build his Duchy of Romagna.[14] This caused condottieri like Vile Vitelli to believe that Borgia would soon betray them and take their lands for himself.[15] Grandpa Bentivoglio sent uncle Hermes Bentivoglio to meet with these condottieri. Uncle Hermes suggested that the generals assassinate Cesare Borgia, but they balked at such a dishonorable deed. Instead Borgia’s condottieri formed an alliance with the Bentivoglio to attack the Duke’s lands.

These condottieri then betrayed the Duke and defeated one of his armies and word soon spread of the magnitude of this defeat. Near Borgia’s capitol, “twenty carts full of the dead and the living passed, remnants of the battle.”[16] Cesare Borgia now retired to his fortress at Imola, a city only twenty miles from Bologna. There he planned to hunker down and wait for relief.

So on October 21^st Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli, with pennants fluttering from their lances, rode to the border with Imola. They, and the rest of the Bolognese army reached the border and found no enemy force to bar them. The army was strong with some 1200 cavalry and 6000 foot. They even had six cannons to use in battering down enemy walls. The commander of the army, Uncle Hannibal Bentivoglio, now faced a choice: take bold action and invade Borgia’s territory or wait for Borgia’s condottieri to make the march north from Fossombrone.[17]

Young men like Guido and Hugo would have urged Hannibal towards decisive action, but Hannibal was loathe to violate the previous year’s agreement with Cesare Borgia. The Duke was an ally of the King of France, and it was not yet clear how the King would react to this attack on an ally.

Hannibal decided on a half measure. On October 22^nd he sent Uncle Hermes and the light cavalry forward.[18] Shouting the traditional war cry of Bologna, “Sega! Sega!” the mounted crossbowmen rode across the narrow stream that separated the territory of Bologna and Imola. The armored cavalry and infantry could only look on with envy. Hermes’ light riders raised Hell around Imola, “seizing numerous animals, including the Duke’s own mules.”

By dithering the Bentivoglio would miss their chance to attack the Duke. On the same day that Hermes’ men crossed into the territory of Imola, four hundred infantry marched into the Duke’s fortress, giving him enough strength to resist any attack by the Bolognese.[19] Though his fortress was secure, Cesare Borgia was powerless to stop the humiliating raids on his territory. He could only wait in his fortress, watching and recall the prophetic words of the Bolognese ambassadors: “You will regret not leaving us in peace.”

All now awaited the King of France. What would his position be on the revolt of the condottieri and the attack of the Bolognese?

They need not wait long. Messages soon came from the King of France that he disapproved of the actions of Bologna against Cesare Borgia.[20] This was hardly a surprise to the Bentivoglio. But word soon came of more decisive actions. The King was sending 3,000 Gascon crossbowmen to reinforce the position of Cesare Borgia.[21] Then on the 29^th came word that 1,600 French cavalry were passing through nearby Ferrara en route to Imola.[22]

Grandpa Bentivoglio and Borgia’s former condottieri were forced to make a rapid re-calculation. At that time the French in Milan were the most powerful piece on the chessboard of Italy. Grandpa Bentivoglio made a new alliance with Cesare Borgia to be sealed by a marriage between the Bentivoglio and Borgia family to seal the deal. The Duke would respect the territory of Bologna and in exchange the Bolognese would pay a hefty fee of 1,000 ducats per month to support the army of Cesare Borgia – a levy that would bring much hardship on the people of the city, especially after their recent military expenditures.[23]

The Bolognese Army returned to the city, “without having achieved anything.” It was a crucial lesson to both young warriors Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli: “In war only the bold could achieve success.”

Cesare Borgia made a show of forgiving his rebellious condottieri and accepting them back into his service. He waited a few weeks to allay their suspicions, then seized almost all of them at once on New Year’s Eve of 1502. There he had Vile Vitelli and the others strangled to death with a violin string. Only the clever condottieri John Paul Baglioni escaped his wrath.[24] Years later Hugo Pepoli would serve directly under Baglioni and he would play a pivotal rule in causing the duel between Hugo and Guido.

Cesare also tried to take out Grandpa Bentivoglio by employing his French allies. As the French army was passing by Bologna on the way from Imola to Milan, the Bentivoglio received the French general in the city with a great parade. There they feted him in the best style of the time. When it was time to leave the French general tried to lure Grandpa Bentivoglio out of the city, where he planned to have his soldiers seize Grandpa Bentivoglio.

But Grandpa Bentivoglio had survived decades at the summit of Italian politics and multiple assassination attempts, and was not be outfoxed by a Frenchman -- he refused to accompany the French leader beyond the walls of Bologna. Instead of following the custom of the time to escort the French general from outside the city, Grandpa bid him adieu from the Bolognese side of the walls and saved himself from the kidnapping.[25]

This was how “allies” treated one another in Renaissance Italy.

The Borgia would never succeed in getting the Bentivoglio out of Bologna. While Cesare Borgia never gave up his intention to take the city, his plans became seriously derailed when his father became ill. As the story went in Italy, as the Pope lay dying, “The devil was seen to leap out of the room in the shape of a baboon. And a cardinal ran to seize him, and, having caught him, would have presented him to the Pope; but the Pope said, ‘Let him go, let him go. It is the devil,’ and that night he fell ill and died.”[26]

The news reached Bologna on November 4, “and by order of the senate, the city celebrated with fireworks, music, and artillery. Grandpa Bentivoglio now allied Bologna with the lords whose lands Cesare had taken, many of whom were relatives. He also sent Hermes Bentivoglio with 100 mounted crossbowmen to provide an escort for Cesare Borgia’s most hated enemy, a churchman from the windswept shores of Liguria.[27] This stubbon, irate man, a cardinal, was named Giuliano della Rovere. He had the money and the prestige to become the next Pope and he hated all things Borgia.

After months of haggling, fighting in the streets of Rome, skullduggery and a three week papacy of another candidate, Giuliano succeeded in becoming Pope Julius II. Pope Julius promptly betrayed Cesare Borgia and forced him to flee to his ancestor’s homeland in Spain.

There was much celebration in Bologna over the new Pope who had once been the Bishop of Bologna. Grandpa Bentivoglio was eager to be on good terms with the new Pope. In early 1504 Cesare Borgia tried to smuggle a load of treasure through Bolognese territory including, “Saint Peter’s cross adorned with precious jewels, Saint Peter’s cloak with jewels and fine gold threads.” These relics were worth a king’s ransom; the Bolognese seized the cargo and brought it to Grandpa Bentivoglio.

Rather than keep it, or sell it, Grandpa Bentivoglio had the treasure returned to the new Pope.[28]

Bologna was secure.

The way was now open for Guido and Hugo to become mercenaries. Follow their adventures in our next episode, Swords for Hire.

[1] You could make the argument that this did not apply to Urbino, which the the Montefeltre Dukes had embellished with great art. However Urbino’s cultural significance was directly tied to its Dukes and their court and was not an intrinsic part of the city since Urbino was itself was relatively small—the modern town of Urbino has far fewer people than even the poulation of medieval Bologna. Without the Montefeltre Urbino thus had little on its own to offer.

[2] For sake of ease this story has been slightly altered. As Ghiradacci discusses on pp.312-314 the Bolognense originally sent, “Senator Giovanni Francesco Aldrovandi as an envoy to determine the Duke’s intentions toward Bologna.” But then they decided he was excessively timid and sent two other ambassadors, “Carlo Ingrati and Jeronimo da San Piero, both knights and senators.”

[3] Vizzani, pp. 445-448

[4] Vizzani

[5] Ghiradacci, p.339.

[6] See Ghiradacci, p.314. Note that these words were originally those of Dionosio di Luca. According to Ghiradacci Count Guido Pepoli echoed these words.

[7] Vizzani. Note that Vizzani used third person for this and I have opted to translate it to second person for this work.

[8] Sabatini, “Revolt of the Condottieri.”

[9] Bernardi, II, p.34. Ghiradacci, p.315.

[10] www.condottieridiventura.it entry for “Mancino da Bologna.” He is described as “the greatest fencer then in Tuscany.” See also Camillo Palladini, Terminello and Pendragon, {p.?} where Mancino da Bologna makes an honor roll of the greatest swordfighters in Italian history.

[11] Ghiradacci, p.312. Later in the series we will take a look at the surprising effectiveness of mounted crossbowmen as raiders.

[12] The disposition of the Pepoli is supposition. It seems more likely that they would have operated separate from the professional companies of condottieri, given both their prestige and their resources. Since the Bolognese mountain forces were known as some of the finest infantry and the Pepoli were influential among these, it seems most likely that you would find Hugo here.

[13] See Sabatini “Revolt of the Condottieri.” I have substituted “men of the pope” for the awkward, “pontificals.”

[14] In particular the Duke of Urbino.

[15] In this case of Vile (Vitellozzo) Vitelli this was also compounded by Borgia’s lack of interest in another campaign against Florence. He was strongly motivated by a desire to avenge the execution of his brother, the condottiere Paolo Vitelli. See www.condottieridiventura.it entry for “Vitellozzo Vitelli.”

[16] Sanuto, I Diarii, Vol iV, col 384

[17] See Ghiradacci, p.317.

[18] We do not know that it was under the command of Hermes Bentivoglio, but in most operations of the Bolognese army around this time, Hermes ends up commanding light cavalry.

[19] Sanuto, IV, col.388. See also www.condottieridiventura.it entry for “Lucio Malvezzi” Oct 1502.

[20] See Ghiradacci, p.317, “On November 4, a French herald arrived in Bologna, relaying the King’s discontent with Bologna’s alliance with the Orsini and Vitelli against the Duke, urging peace with the Pope. The Senate respectfully dismissed him without committing to any position.”

[21] Sanuto, IV, Or to put it more accurately the King was conseting to Borgia hiring 3,000 Gascons for his army. Note that in this section it is not specified that these are predominately crossbowmen, but other works, especially Giovio’s History of His times are clear that the Gascons are primarily arbalasters.

[22] Sanuto, IV, col.410.

[23] Ghiradacci p.322

[24] See Sabtatini, “The Beautiful Stratagem.” This is an easy read in English of Cesare Borgia’s (mis)deeds.

[25] Ghiradacci, p. 319.

[26] Life of Cesare Borgia, “Death of Alexander VI”

[27] The Warrior Pope by Christine Shaw, p.117

[28] Ghiradacci, p.329

As boys fencing with the sword and buckler young Guido and Hugo Pepoli had learned the essential truth of combat: victory comes to the one who best controls time and space. This same axiom was just as applicable on the battlefield “where the calculation of space and time appears as the most essential thing,”[1] as it was in the fencing hall. It was just one of many ways in which the contests of armies resembled the contests of individual fighters.

The boys were not the only ones privy to this lesson. Cesare Borgia had grasped it and mastered it well. On April 24 of 1501 the city of Faenza surrendered to the duke and its young lord Astorre placed his life into Cesare Borgia’s hands. Before settling on a new government for the town, Cesare started his next conquest. While the Bolognese government was dithering over how best to deal with Borgia’s conquest of Faenza, the young conqueror sent his general Vile Vitelli to attack Bologna. Vitelli led a combined force of infantry, cavalry, and artillery into Bolognese territory to seize the strategic border castle of Medicina.

Recognizing the importance of this castle to the defense of Bologna, Grandpa Bentivoglio had sent a mercenary company to reinforce the garrison. Despite these reinforcements the Bolognese fortress ran up the white flag at the approach of the enemy.[2] Borgia’s general spared most of the garrison,but he ordered the death of captain of the mercenaries.

Vile Vitelli’s men beheaded the captain and put a stone in place of his head, then threw the lifeless corpse into the moat around Medicina.[3] It was a chilling message of what Guido Rangoni and his Bentivoglio relatives could expect if Borgia’s men captured them. As Machiavelli confirms that it was Borgia’s deliberate policy to exterminate the families of those lords whom he had dispossessed, lest they seek to come back and claim his lands at a time when he was weak.[4]

With Medicina captured, Vitelli dispatched riders to raise Hell throughout the territory of Bologna.

The response of the people of Bologna to the invasion of their territory was immediate and overpowering. “Without even waiting for the bells to summon them,” the men and the militia of Bologna took up their arms and gathered in the plazas of the city. They came from Bologna proper, from its suburbs, and from the more distant parts of the territory. There were city boys with crossbows and long guns.[5] Country boys came with their spears and billhooks.[6]

The great lords of the territory had also come with their retinues of men-at-arms, riding fierce war horses and resplendent in gleaming silver armor. Probably none of the great lords had as large a following as those that followed the silver and black checkerboard banner of the Pepoli. Hugo came back to Bologna with his family’s followers and their allies from the mountains, and there was a cheer as the people gathered in the main square of Bologna to see them.

Seeing the city under threat and seeing his family in danger, we can imagine the great relief that young Guido Rangoni experienced at the sight of so many of his countrymen rallying to the cause of the Bentivoglio in their time of need. Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli had known one another as distant relatives and as rivals, but now, in the main square of Bologna the silver shell and the checkerboard standards came together as brothers in arms. The young men were full of fight and like so many in Bologna, disgusted that so many castles had been lost without a fight.

They wanted to take the battle directly to Borgia, to drive way away the invaders and reclaim the ancestral castles of Bologna. They were not alone. Somewhere between twelve and fifteen thousand men had come to Bologna to offer their swords and their mood was fierce and determined.[7] Many crowded into and around Bologna’s main square and called on Grandpa Bentivoglio to set them loose like a pack of wild dogs on Borgia’s men.

Grandpa Bentivoglio had left his palazzo to stay at the palace of the lords on Bologna’s main square. He now appeared in a window so that all could see him. He wore dark, somber colors as per usual, but his face bore a buoyant and optimistic expression.

The great buzz of chatter filling the air now grew quiet, as men turned an ear toward him.

Grandpa Bentivoglio opened his arms in welcome. “My friends it is good to see you. These are dark days. As we speak enemy riders ravage our lands, they burn our homes and farms. They threaten our women and our children and demand that we place our heads in their hands. Well, what do we say to that?”

With one voice the crowd cried, “No!’

“No, indeed. Do not fear my friends, I will see us through these dark days. I am finding mercenaries for us and our allies are getting ready to send troops to our aid. I have troops to watch our gates and walls, and I am sending reinforcements to protect our fortresses in the countryside.”

Then Grandpa Bentivoglio motioned for two strong attendants to come forward. They hoisted up a strong box and tilted it a little forward for the crowd to see. “I have a hundred thousand ducats here to spend in defending our city. And if that is not enough, I know where to get a hundred thousand more.”

There was silence and admiration in the crowd at the sight of so much gold. The strong men tilted the chest forward a little too far and a handful of golden coins fell out through the open and descended towards the crowd like little drops of rain. Men jumped up to snatch the coins out of the sky as they fell.

“When will we bend our knee?” Called Grandpa Bentivoglio.

“Never!”

But the crowd had its own ideas about what to do. Morale was high and many wanted to take to the field now. “Let’s fight now!” One person shouted.

“To arms!” Cried another.

Grandpa held out his arms. He had extensive experience as a condottiere in his own right and knew that enthusiasm was no substitute for experience and that a militia would fare poorly in the open field against professionals. He lifted his arms up and shouted, “Patience, my friends. Now we will guard our ramparts and tomorrow we will see the enemies’ backsides.”

Then Grandpa Bentivoglio drew his sword and held it aloft and shouted the traditional war cry of Bologna. “Sega! Sega!”

The whole crowd cheered back with wild abandon. “Sega! Sega!”

Soon the whole plaza, the whole city and the area around Bologna echoed with the cry of “Sega! Sega!”[8] Borgia’s spies among the Bolognese noted this and came back to the duke with word of the multitude who had come to back Bologna and their vocal support for the Bentivoglio.

He mulled over the idea of giving up the attack. The people of Bologna had come out in force and determination. Furthermore, he could expect them to fight with some skill. Bologna was known as being one of the premier locations in Italy to recruit infantry.[9]

Cesare Borgia’s allies among the Bolognese had told him the people were against the Bentivoglio and now he saw that he had been lied to.

But he had momentum and tried to keep riding it. He sent Vitelli from newly-conquered Medicina to capture the critical fortress at Budrio.[10] But Grandpa Bentivoglio had foreseen this and reinforced the garrison of this castle. Vitelli’s forces ran into a literal and proverbial brick wall at Budrio and the Bolognese drove them off. Vitelli had to tell Cesare Borgia that Budrio would not be taken easily and could only be conquered by a drawn-out siege.[11]

Since he could not conquer the Bolognese, Cesare Borgia now sent an ambassador to negotiate with the Bentivoglio. Grandpa Bentivoglio and the senate of Bologna wanted to put on a convincing display of strength for their enemy. So, they ordered the main road from the east to be lined with troops on either side of the ride – a distance of 4 km (2.5 miles).

The line of infantry continued into the city along the ambassador’s route. Once he reached the main square, he came to see the men-at-arms serving the Bentivoglio: hundreds of knights on their horses in parade formation, armor gleaming in the spring sun, so many lances held aloft it looked like a small forest of barren trunks. The banners of the commanders fluttered in the breeze: the red and gold saw of the Bentivoglio, the red and white stripes of the Pio, the checkerboard of the Pepoli, the golden lion of the Marescotti, and of course Guido Rangoni’s own silver shell.

Guido Rangoni sat his horse proudly before his men, glad that Cesare Borgia had seen fit to ask for peace with Bologna but disappointed that he would have a chance to add glory to his name fighting off the foreigner.1 Borgia’s ambassador stopped for Guido and his men and Guido looked at him with disdain.

The ambassador looked at the company assembled in the square and said to Grandpa Bentivoglio, “You are the most fortunate man in all of Italy.”[12]

They worked out a deal whereby Cesare Borgia would return the castles he had taken in exchange for one crucial Bolognese fortress that stood in his lands. The Bolognese would also provide a mixed force of nearly 1,500 soldiers for Borgia’s upcoming expedition against Florence. This included 1,000 infantry under the command of Ramazzotto whose defense of Budrio had impressed his former opponents.[13]

As a special “bonus” Orsini gave Grandpa Bentivoglio letters sent by members of the Bolognese family, the Marescotti, to Cesare Borgia. In these letters some members of the Marescotti family offered to help Cesare Borgia take control of Bologna. This would prove to be less a gift and more a poison pill that Borgia foisted on the Bentivoglio.

Then Borgia’s army, reinforced by a contingent from Bologna, swept into the territory of Florence. There Vile Vitelli once again led the charge, “scouring the adjacent territory, destroying wheat crops, and cutting down trees and vineyards. He plundered everything. Particularly, he abducted young girls and women and sent them to the whore’s market in Rome.”[14] The Bolognese and their womenfolk could be happy that the same treatment was not being visited upon them.

The letters from the Marescotti family to Cesare Borgia were a red-hot bombshell for Grandpa Bentivoglio. The big question of course was how should he react to it? If he reacted with too much violence, he would alienate his people. If he reacted with insufficient force, his people would seem him as weak and so be more likely to conspire against him and his family. The issue was further complicated by familial loyalty – the conspirators were children and relatives of the Bolognese war hero Galeazzo Marescotti – a man who had Bentivoglio family as featured in our article, The Great Escape.

The leading conspirator was Galeazzo Marescotti’s eldest son, Agamemnon. To the Bolognese people Agamemnon was known as a virtuous and wise man. He was already in prison with other major leaders in the plot against the Bentivoglio and Grandpa Bentivoglio decided to let the wheels of justice deal with them.

This was not going far enough for Grandma Bentivoglio. Grandpa Bentivoglio was known for a forgiving temperament, but no one would ever say this about Grandma. She was born a member of the proud and tough Sforza family. Her family had gained control of large swathes of Northern Italy through cruelty and treachery. The Sforza were the kind of people who liked to “get medieval” on their enemies, drawing and quartering their opponents or dragging them to death behind horses in the town square until their heads split open against the paving stones.[15] While the Bentivoglio family name would be best translated as “Love,” in English, the Sforza name would be translated as “Strong.”[16]

Grandma Bentivoglio was herself known as a cruel woman with a reputation for icy arrogance.[17] While it would be an exaggeration to say that she wore the codpiece in the family, she was not afraid to go against her husband in the matter of family safety. In 1487 Agamemnon Marescotti had plotted with enemies of the Bentivoglio (the Malvezzi family) to break into the Bentivoglio Palazzo and go to the ladies’ apartments and murder Grandma and her children.[18]

Grandma called for her youngest son Hermes Bentivoglio. The Sforza blood ran far stronger in him than did the Bentivoglio blood. Hermes was as fearless as he was merciless. He was a “pale, melancholic young man,” destined to acquire an “unenviable reputation for cruelty and violence.”[19]

At four in the morning Hermes gathered a group from many of the leading families in town to kill the Marescotti. He sought young men with a penchant for violence. He did not try to recruit young men of honor like his nephew Guido or his cousin Hugo Pepoliceqfor this dirty deed.

Hermes then led these men on a multi-day murder spree. They not only killed Agamemnon Marescotti and his compatriots, but many people whose only crime was being married into the Marescotti family or being in business with him. It was not so much a case of “guilty until proven innocent,” as it was “kill ‘em all and let God sort ‘em out.”

The dirty deed left Grandpa Bentivoglio, “quivering” and “indignant.” He was convinced that he was “finished,” and that the people of Bologna now hated him. To free himself and the city from the stain of murder, he organized a parade through Bologna. The parade leader carried the head of Petronio, Patron Saint of Bologna through the streets.[20] This did little to convince the people that the rule of the Bentivoglio had now transformed into a tyranny.[21] The only thing that would convince them of this was to punish his son and his son’s friends.

But this Grandpa Bentivoglio would not and could not do. He was indebted to them. Everyone in Italy knew that the bargain with Cesare Borgia was only temporary. It would not be long before Cesare sent his army back towards Bologna.

The city and the Bentivoglio were far safer now that the Marescotti were dead.

Bibliography of Works Cited

[1] On War, Clausewitz, from Chapter VIII, “Superiority of Numbers.”

[2] See Ghiradacci, p.303. Also dalle Tuate, p.423.

[3] See www.condottieridiventura.it entry for “Vitelozzo Vitelli” in May 1501.

[4] The Prince, Machiavelli, Chapter VII.

[5] Firearms and especially crossbows tended to be associated with urban populations since they often required the services of a specialized craftsman to keep them working. These were also the primary weapons for defense of a city during a siege.

[6] Here is a weapon the Bolognese were particularly known for. There is a note in Sanuto, Vol VIII, col. 401-402 about the Venetian infantry particularly seeking Bolognese billhooks for purchase. This may have simply been a matter of economy or a matter of preference, but the implication is that the style of the weapon was unique, “And the gentlemen were busy every day buying …. billhooks and pikes, especially Bolognese ones, sold by the soldiers.”

[7] Ghiradacci gives the number as twelve thousand on p. 303. Sanuto gives the number as fifteen thousand in Vol. IV of I Diarii, cols. 29-30. These are large numbers for a simple city state like Bologna and exceed the garrison of Florence during the Siege of 1529-1530 despite that being the capitol of a republic with an extensive hinterland. See Guicciardini, Storia d’Italia pp. 420-421.

[8] The preceding is a dramatization of Ghiradacci description of Giovanni Bentivoglio’s words for the people of Bologna on page 303.

[9] See Mallett & Hale.

[10] The sequence of events is a bit sketchy on this. Clearly Vitelli conquered Medicina before attacking Budrio, but it is unclear how much delay there was between the two events.

[11] Sanuto is the only one who describes this battle. The way the actual battle progressed is unattested and this is simply an educated guess based on the general procedures of sieges that we see over and over throughout this period of the Italian wars and the amount of time Vitelli had available to him.

[12] This episode is described in detail in Ghiradacci on page 304.

[13] Details vary greatly on what exactly was in this deal. Sanuto – who was contemporaneous—says that it was for 1000 infantry. Ghiradacci later describes the force that Guido’s uncle Anton Galeazzo leads on Borgia’s behalf as consisting of “100 men at arms, 200 light cavalry and 200 infantry.” Note that dalle Tuate on p. 254 says that it was 100 men at arms 200 light cavalry (between strattioti and mounted crossbowmen). The comment on Ramazzotto can be found in his page on condottieridiventura.it.

[14] www.condottieridiventura.it entry for “Vitelozzo Vitelli,” in May 1501.

[15] See Tigress of Forli, Elizabeth Lev, p.26 & pp.145-146.

[16] This of course assumes that you are matching the Italian names to traditional English surnames.

[17] See “Memorie per la Vita di Giovanni Bentivoglio,” Gozzadini. P.123

[18] Ghiradacci, p.250.

[19] See www.condottieridiventura.it entry for Hermes Bentivoglio. Also see The Bentivoglio: A Study in Despotism by Cecilia Ady.

[20] Gozzadini, p.124.

[21] Ghiradacci, p.306.

When it comes to the warlords of Renaissance Italy one name towers above all others: Cesare Borgia. He was the son of a pope and the perfect symbol of his age. He could be cultured and charming when he wished to be and ferocious when it helped him to get ahead. Above all he was a man without scruples or conscience —a pitiless winter storm set to blow across Italy. If you imagine him as Michael Corleone with a sword and syphilis, you will not be far off the mark.

It was this combination of traits that moved Niccolo Machiavelli to crush on him like a lovesick teenager. It did not matter to Machiavelli that Cesare was wicked. It did not matter that Cesare had killed his brother-in-law to free up his sister for marriage [1] Nor was it relevant that he almost certainly had his own brother murdered.[2] Or had murdered many many others. These were just issues of morality and morality paled in comparison to the importance of forcefulness – so long as a man bent and twisted the world about him according to his own designs, then what did it matter if he left a trail of dead bodies in his wake? At least that was how Machiavalli and many others thought in the Renaissance.

Cesare Borgia was bound to shape the world about him, to be a man “whom all did fear.”[3] And one place where would strike great fear was in Bologna. Young Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli would have their very first taste of military life facing his legions.

At first it did not seem like Cesare would be a problem for Bologna and the Bentivoglio. In the fall of 1499 Cesare came to Bologna as he was passing peacefully through their territory with a French army to attack the neighboring city of Imola. Grandpa Bentivoglio invited him to the Bentivoglio palazzo and there young Guido Rangoni had a chance to break bread with this famous warrior.[4] The occasion was marked by pleasantries and the exchange of gifts. The honeymoon would prove short-lived.

After conquering Imola and the city of Forli, Cesare Borgia soon led his troops back through the territory of Bologna in the direction of Milan. As they passed through, “the troops wreaked havoc in the surrounding territory, looting and killing many people.”[5]

In the early weeks of 1500, Cesare and the Pope had changed their position on Bologna. They were now scheming to drive the Bentivoglio from Bologna and so completely subjugate Bologna to the rule of the Pope. They tried to enlist the French to help them in this endeavor, but the Bentivoglio came up with 40,000 ducats to put the city under the protection of King Louis. This meant that Cesare had to shelve plans to attack Bologna, at least temporarily.

In 1500 the Pope gave his blessing to Cesare to create a new state for himself in the lands to the east of Bologna known as Romagna. Neither Pope nor Ceare could have picked a better year. 1500 was a jubilee year and hundreds of thousands of pilgrims flocked to Rome, bringing money from all over Europe, money that eventually made its ways into the coffers of the Pope.[6] With this money Cesare Borgia hired an army of some ten thousand men with most of the leading Italian condottieri of the day, including many sell swords we will meet along our journey to the duel of Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli.

In September of 1500 Borgia led this force north to conquer the territories of Pesaro, Rimini and Faenza – lands controlled by relatives of Guido Rangoni.

During this time Hugo Pepoli and Guido Rangoni were still completing their training in the skill of arms. Now that Guido was fifteen years old and fully grown, it was clear to his father and to his trainers that Guido was destined to be a small man. In the practice of the sword and other arms this was no great matter. He would simply learn how to fight from the low defensive positions or guards as they were known. Guido learned, “first to parry and then to attack thereafter,” especially with a thrust.[7]

The issue was a bit thornier when fighting with the heavy lance on horseback.

No matter how much Guido trained, he was not going to be as strong as the bigger knights he would have to battle. This meant he could count on going into battle with a shorter lance – since the longer the lance, the more it weighed and the harder it was to control the point. It also meant that an opponent was likely to hit him before he was to hit his opponent and thus lose his aim.

Luckily, Guido Rangoni was not the first knight to face this problem. As a smaller knight Guido had to learn to ride towards his opponent with the point of his lance down and towards his left side. Then once near the opponent, he trained to turn his weapon against the shaft of the opponent’s lance and nail him. The famous Italian Master of Arms Fiore Dei Liberi described this technique in his work, “the Flower of Arms.”

“I carry my lance in this Guard of the Boar’s tusk because I am well-armored, but my lance is shorter than my enemy’s. Here is my plan: I will beat his lance off to the side or upwards, so it no longer points at me. I will make this beat no further than one arm [a measure of distance] from the tip. My lance will then run into his body while his weapon will pass away far from me.”[8]

Here was a thing easier said than done. It was a stupendous achievement of timing to cross an opponent’s lance at just the right moment while trying to judge the closing speed of two charging horses from the imperfect vantage point of a rider. Though Guido Rangoni would serve as a man-at-arms, he would never been known as a great lancer or someone to fear on the jousting field.

Hugo Pepoli did not have the similar difficulty. Since he was tall and well-built, he could follow the advice on using the lance described in the previous episode by Pietro Monte. “Direct [your] spear at our opponent, and not at where [you] believe he is going to be.”[9] For Hugo Pepoli the big challenge was going to be figuring out how to get a command. The Pepoli were wealthy but not one of the well-known condottieri families of Italy. Here the advantage went to Guido.

In October of 1500 Guido’s father died.[10] This was at a time when Cesare Borgia’s forces were only seventy-five miles from Bologna and making war on Guido’s relatives.[11] Grandpa Bentivoglio now put fifteen year old Guido Rangoni in charge of his father’s company of one hundred men at arms so that the boy could learn how to command – though he found an experienced relative to help counsel Guido.[12]

While this was a great opportunity for advancement, it was also a huge responsibility after the blow of losing his father. The strain on him was apparent – Guido’s mother wrote that the young man was too ill to travel to Venice and do homage for the family’s hereditary castle in Venetian territory.[13]

The threat to Bologna and young Guido became even more magnified in November of 1500. Now Cesare Borgia led his army to the small city of Faenza, a city that lived happily under the rule of Astorre Manfredi. As you may remember from the prologue, young Astorre was Grandpa Bentivoglio’s oldest grandson and so Astorre was one of Guido’s first cousins.

On October 24^th the Pope sent Grandpa Bentivoglio a missive instructing him not to interfere with Cesare Borgia’s attack on Faenza, but Grandpa said to Hell with that. Always the family man, Grandpa Bentivoglio sent a thousand soldiers—especially crossbowmen—to bolster the defenses of Faenza.[14] For plausible deniability he instructed this force to go to a Bolognese castle near Faenza, desert, and then join the garrison of the beleaguered city as though acting independently.

This charade fooled no one.

Guido Rangoni wished to fight against Cesare Borgia on behalf of his cousin, but Grandpa Bentivoglio was keeping his family in Bologna.[15] The situation of the Bolognese forces was precarious. The two leading generals of the city had been Guido’s father and Guido’s uncle Gilbert Pio. Both had died within the space of a month. To command the knights of their two companies, Grandpa Bentivoglio had given the command to his two grandsons, Guido and Alexander Pio. The two had been playmates as boys and now as young men they were commanders in the Bolognese army.[16] The time for games was over.

Treason was Grandpa Bentivoglio’s main concern—he knew there were those in the city who would turn Judas and open a gate to forces of Cesare Borgia for a purse full of silver if only they could. To protect the city, he ordered the gates to be controlled by members of his own family and to bolster its garrison, the Senate offered pardons to those rebels who would return and help protect Bologna.[17]

Back in Faenza things had taken a turn for the unexpected. Despite the odds and despite general expectations of a quick victory for the Borgia, the city of Faenza and its beloved 16-year-old lord held off Cesare’s army. Even when Cesare’s cannons smashed a breach in the defenses, the citizens of Faenza and the Bolognese mercenaries amongst them were able to defeat Cesare’s forces. Much credit had to go to the people of the city, who never wavered in their declaration to lay down their lives before surrendering their lord.[18] They were so devoted that even the women took their turn guarding the ramparts when their menfolk became weary.[19]

When snow started to fall in late November, the failure was official. Despite the odds Faenza was saved – for now. Cesare Borgia’s men abandoned their siege positions and went into winter quarters.

Cesare Borgia and his father put the blame for this failure squarely on the Bentivoglio family for providing reinforcements to the city. For his part Cesare made some not-so-very-subtle hints to Bologna that the Borgia bull would soon be flying from the battlements of Bologna, but the people of Bologna were not worried since they thought they could count upon France’s protection.

The failure had been an expensive one for the Pope.[20] The Pope pressured the King of France to act against Bologna and force them to recall their mercenaries. The King took the side of the Pope and ordered Grandpa Bentivoglio to withdraw the Bolognese mercenaries from Faenza. Grandpa was forced to acquiesce — he recalled the thousand soldiers in Faenza and left his grandson to his fate.

This was a bitter blow to the Bentivoglio, to young Guido Rangoni, and especially to the people of Faenza. That Christmas was a mournful one.

Cesare Borgia spent the winter season in celebration. When not being wined and dined he went about in disguise, wrestling with peasants and mule drivers, pelting people with snowballs and winning foot races.[21] While Borgia played the lazy grasshopper, the people of Faenza played the busy ant. To better protect their city, they enhanced their fortifications and erected bastions outside the walls of the city. When springtime came and the season of war began the city was as well-prepared as it could be to face Cesare Borgia’s onslaught.

Borgia’s commander of artillery was an experienced condottieri known as “Vile Vitelli.” Cesare Borgia charged him with the task of reducing the city walls to smithereens and opening a way for Borgia’s infantry to assault the city. Having had all winter to prepare, Vitelli’s gunners unleashed a wicked cannonade focused on one of the newly-constructed bastions outside the city walls. It was not long before Vitelli’s gunners had neutralized the bastion. An infantry assault then captured the position. Once that was neutralized and captured, Vile Vitelli had his men mount their guns on the bastion and used this improved position to smash down the walls of the city.

Resistance in Faenza now centered on the citadel of the town. Cesare’s men directed a thunderstorm of fire at the citadel – some 1,600 iron and stone balls – until the fortress was completely smashed up.[22]

Seeing the writing on the wall and unable to bear the suffering of his people any longer, Guido’s cousin Astorre Manfredi sent a messenger to Cesare Borgia offering surrender.

Cesare agreed to generous terms with the people of Faenza, letting them keep their property and allowing Astorre to go free. A few days later, Cesare Borgia reneged on this deal and sent Astorre to the dungeons of the Castel Sant’Angelo in Rome. As was the case for so many men, Astore’s trip to the Castel Sant’Angelo was a one-way journey – he was never to leave there alive.

This was a crucial reminder to Guido Rangoni of what would happen to his family if Borgia conquered Bologna too.

Almost nothing would be heard about Astorre until a year later (on June 9^th of 1502) when the Papal Master of Ceremonies noted in a diary that Astorre had been found: “Drowned in the Tiber River, bound to a stone. Two young men and a woman were also found tied to him.”[23] But that was a year in the future.

In April of 1501 immediately after Cesare Borgia conquered Faenza, the Bolognese sent emissaries to offer congratulations to him. Though Bologna had opposed the attack, they still went through with this peculiar ritual of brownnosing. Or at least they tried to.

The emissaries charged to lick Borgia’s boot ran into some of Cesare Borgia’s men on the border between his territory and that of Bologna. Borgia’s men then tricked the emissaries into opening the gates to the fortress of Castel San Pietro, which they promptly conquered. For their assistance the emissaries were thrown into the dungeons, where they could offer their empty flattery to the darkness.[24]

At the same time Borgia’s troops had crossed into Bolognese territory to seize more castles. The invasion of Bologna was on.

Can Hugo, Guido and the Bentivoglio be the first to stop the Borgia juggernaut or will Bologna be the next conquest of Cesare Borgia? Find out in the next installment of Death Before Dishonor—Kill ‘Em All.

See Bibliography for More Details

[1] This was the assassination of Alfonso of Aragon, Cesare’s brother-in-law and father of his nephew first by unnamed assassins and then by Cesare’s henchman, Michelotto Corella. See Lucrezia Borgia by Maria Bellonci, pp. 156-159.

[2] This is a debatable point and contentious among historians. Suffice it to say that there is a lot of drivel printed about Lucrezia Borgia and her father, Roderigo Borgia and many exaggerations of Cesare. Yet there is no other person with a better motive and power to carry out the murder of the Duke of Gandia (Cesare’s brother.)

[3] From his epitaph. See Sabatini, “Atropos.”

[4] Ghiradacci, p. 297. There is no mention of Guido here, but it is a safe assumption that he was there.

[5] Ghiradacci, p. 299.

[6] See Sabatini, “Pesaro and Rimini.”

[7] How to Fight and Defend with Every Kind of Arm, Antonio Manciolino & Jherek Swanger

[8] www.wiktenauer.com, “Fiore Dei Liberi: Mounted Fencing”

[9] Monte, p. 229.

[10] www.condottierediventura.it, entry for “Niccolo Maria Rangoni.”

[11] Specifically, Guido’s uncle (by marriage) Pandolfo Malatesta and his distant cousin Giovanni Sforza of Pesaro.

[12] Ghiradacci p.300. Giovanni “Grandpa” Bentivoglio did the same thing with Guido’s cousin, Alessandro Pio, when his father, one of Bologna’s generals also died.

[13] Sanuto, p.1093-1094. His mother may also have been trying to avoid a trip to Venice.

[14] “Life of Cesare Borgia,” Sabatini, see Siege of Faenza. See also the entry for Guido Torelli in www.condottierediventura.it.

[15] It is supposition that Guido wanted to go fight, given his character and the nature of the situation.

[16] Of course we do not this for sure, but it is hard to see how they would have been playmates and, to a certain extent, friendly rivals.

[17] As to the exiles, Ghiradacci notes that the Senate recalled the “banditi.” There was a long tradition in Italy – as we will see from this series—of exiles taking up arms and functioning as brigands near their old town. Note that Ghiradacci does not say pardons per se, but the giving of pardons is obviously implied since the banditi would hardly be returning to Bologna to face prosecution. The note about Bentivoglio relatives patrolling the city gate is something I read about long ago, but I can no longer find the source. Regardless, basic sense confirms that the guarding of gates would be entrusted to those with a blood tie to the ruling family of Bologna.

[18] Sabatini, “Siege of Faenza.”

[19] See Sabatini, “Astorre Manfredi.”

[20] According to Sanuto, Vol 3, 1381-1382 the campaign was costing the Pope 35,000 ducats a month.

[21] Il Caos by Fantaganuzzi, p.244.

[22] Storia di Faenza, G. Tonducci, p.558.

[23] Liber Notarum, Vol. II. Johann Burkhardt, p.329

[24] Ghiradacci, p. 302.

The helmet atop young Hugo Pepoli’s head was pitted and scarred. It had been struck, scored and marked hundreds of times from strong blows of the foil or fencing sword. It fit him awkwardly and bounced as he went to take his place in the piazza. Despite himself the boy felt sick in the stomach and weak in the knees. He was afraid, but not of his opponent -- that little runt Guido Rangoni did not frighten Hugo at all. What Hugo feared was embarassment, humiliation. Shame.

Outside the brick façade of the great Palazzo of the Bentivoglio stood Hugo’s father and mother as well as Giovanni Bentivoglio, the lord of Bologna. They were surrounded by courtiers, hangers-on, honored guests as well as an army of servants. All were braving the blustery cold of a December day to watch him cross swords with his cousin Guido. Papa Pepoli had made the error of boasting of Hugo’s skills in the saddle and with the sword and now Uncle Giovanni wanted to see how he compared to the Bentivoglio’s own future general, little Guido Rangoni.

Hugo took a few swings again at the air with the foil – a quadrangular sword simulator tipped with a leather ball. It lacked an edge though the corners of the sword could lacerate the skin. He banged it softly against his buckler to get a feel for their weight together. Then he turned to address his opponent.

Guido’s fencing master was serving as the master of the fight. In a clipped Tuscan accent he declared, “Salute.”

Hugo drew himself up to his full height with his back straight – as he had been trained to do so many times before. He turned his foot towards Uncle Giovanni, placed his buckler over his ribs and let the point of his sword fall down and to the right. He inclined his head slightly as a signal of honor.

The master declared, “Fight.”

As he had practiced so many times before, Hugo took a big step forward and struck the face of his buckler with his fencing sword, a blow that turned the face of his little shield towards him, like he were looking into a small metal mirror. Then he banged the pommel of his sword into the buckler and stepped forward again raising the sword so that it covered his head. He now threw a number of other flashy, eye-pleasing cuts and made other swashing actions into his buckler as he drew closer to fighting distance. Young Guido made similar beating actions into his own buckler and the sound of their bucklers mingled and made for a rhythmic tattoo that echoed and reverberated in the confines of the small piazza.

The sound pleased the audience, both with its music and with the expectancy that it brought to the moment of their clash.

In keeping with the style of the time both young fencers came to fighting distance, or at least fighting distance for the taller Hugo Pepoli. They both stood with their swords high and their bucklers extended at full arms before them. In this position they had all the grace of dancers and yet stared at one another with the savagery of angry tigers.

Young Hugo was the first to strike. He took a long gliding step forward, his foot moving in a straight line so close to the paving stones of the piazza it could have knocked over a coin lying on the bricks. As he stepped he threw a descending right blow with his sword towards Guido’s face, letting his hand move behind the cover of the buckler to keep Guido from striking it.

Ever aggressive, Young Guido threw up his buckler to block the strike to his head while simultaneously stepping forward and throwing a strong blow at Hugo’s legs.

Hugo was prepared, he had in fact trained for this exact action many times. Before his sword even touched Guido’s buckler, he pulled in toward his body and brought the sword towards his body and then over his elbow. At the same time he brought back his front foot and pulled it beside his left foot, so that Guido’s blow to his legs passed by harmlessly.

Then as Guido’s sword was still moving towards Hugo’s right side, young Hugo stepped straight at Guido with a reverse cut to Guido’s face. Rather than pull this blow from left to right, Hugo pushed the blow forward almost as if he were making a thrust.

At the same time Guido had followed his own right cut to the legs with a strong reverse blow to the head of Hugo Pepoli, but the angle of Hugo’s pushed roverso set aside Guido’s strong blow while putting the point of Hugo’s sword in Guido’s face.

To keep himself safe Guido put the buckler between Hugo’s sword and his own face, momentarily blinding himself while at the same he threw a horizontal right blow at Hugo’s head, trying to cut under his buckler.

With perfect timing young Hugo Pepoli made a thrust under his buckler while making a powerful turn of his body, joining his two hands together as he sent the leather ball at the tip of his foil into Guido’s face and binding their swords together. Feeling the danger of the thrust Guido shoved Hugo’s sword away, still covering his hand with his little buckler. This exposed the left side of Guido’s head.

Now Hugo uncorked two of the spinning cuts called ‘tramazzoni.’ These were rapid, circular cuts that spun in place like the wheel of a windmill. The tramazzoni flew so fast that the eyes of the audience could could barely discern the movement. Through some instinct, Guido managed to escape these blows, leaning away and throwing up his buckler. The second one of these made a scratching noise as it scraped alongside the rim of Guido’s buckler.

Once the second blow no longer presented any threat, Guido lurched forward with a strong vertical cut to Hugo’s head.

But Hugo knew what was coming and was already moving to intercept this blow. He brought his sword and buckler together into a defense they called the Guard of the Head, lifting his sword so that it caught Guido’s blow near the cross of Hugo’s sword. Hugo now had mechanical leverage over Guido’s sword, since the the tip was the mechanically weak part of Guido’s blade and it lay against the base or strong part of Hugo’s sword.

Now Hugo turned his sword to trap Guido’s sword against his own and then rotated his body to make a strong right cut at Guido’s leg. With remarkable dexterity Guido withdrew his leg away while extricating his blade away from Hugo’s sword. Hugo reached forward to try and cover the distance to Guido’s leg but he was too slow.

In reaching forward to get Guido’s leg, Hugo had let his head stray forward and down so that it was exposed. At the same time Hugo’s cut now moved under his arm so that the point was directed completely away from Guido. The way was now open to strike Hugo’s head and Guido spun a reverse blow from his elbow towards the right side of Hugo’s head.

But Hugo knew it was coming. Before Guido’s sword was even en route, he drew his head back away from Guido, so that his body moved into a standing upright position while at the same time he brought a strong reverse cut from an underarm position. Hugo’s blow landed over the top of Guido’s sword, sending it downward. Guido’s momentum had brought him forward for the attack. But now Hugo’s sword was between Guido’s face and Guido’s own sword. Guido now lurched backward to avoid Hugo’s attack, bringing his buckler in front of his face to protect his eyes.

Hugo was not seeking to attack Guido’s eyes. He was going to hit Guido where it really hurt – in the pride. He brought the tip of his sword around Guido’s buckler, in front of his face, and then up to the brim of Guido’s helmet. With a slight flourish Hugo brought the tip of his sword on the back edge side of the slide along Guido’s face and then upwards until he flicked the helmet off of Guido’s head and sent it falling to the ground. It landed against the paving stones with a resounding clang as if it were a drum.

Growing red-faced with shame and anger Guido hurled himself at Hugo, desperate to avenge this insult. But Hugo was now stepping backwards with a powerful downward cut into his buckler that knocked down Guido’s sword and then Hugo swashed his buckler and put it into Guido’s face.

Then the master was there and put his staff between the two fighters.

“Point, Pepoli,” the master declared.[1] Then he looked at young Guido, shook his head and made disapproving clicking sounds, disappointed with Guido’s performance.

Hugo Pepoli walked back to his side. The sour feeling in his stomach and the weakness in his knees were gone now, he couldn’t wait for another chance to whack ‘the runt’…[2]

In the late 1400s, the city of Bologna, in Northern Italy was enjoying a period of peace and prosperity long unheard of in its bloody history. The moderate rule of the Bentivoglio family over Bologna governed with a firm enough hand to keep the peace without being so tyranical as to incite people to violence—a most delicate tightrope act in Renaissance Italy.[3] These Bentivoglio were popular enough that the ruler of the city could go about its streets with only the smallest guard or sometimes alone, in disguise.[4]

In the summer of 1485 the Lord of Bologna had even more cause to celebrate: his first two grandsons were born. The younger of these two boys was named Guido Rangoni, the fruit of Grandpa Bentivoglio’s eldest daughter and the leader of his army. Though born with the surname Rangoni, the first quarter of Guido’s life would revolve around the fortunes and vissicitudes of the Bentivoglio family.

In that same year the Pepoli family of Bologna also welcomed a new edition to the family, a baby boy named Hugo Pepoli.[5]

The boys were doubly second cousins, sharing two great-grandfathers. Since they were the two most promising warriors of their generation in Bologna, they would have been rivals even if their families were not the first- and second-most powerful in Bologna. The Bentivoglio (the more powerful of the two families) and the Pepoli had a complicated relationship. Grandpa Pepoli had tried to kill Guido’s Great Uncle. In return, Guido’s great uncle had had Grandpa Pepoli murdered.[6]

When Guido and Hugo were kids that all seemed like so much water under the bridge.

Between Granpda Bentivoglio and Hugo’s father all seemed to be well. Papa Pepoli accompanied the Lord of Bologna on pilgrimages, escorted his children to destinations outside of the city, and acted as a general representative of Grandpa Bentivoglio.[7] He was less a warrior and more a gentlemen of good manners and intelligence beloved by all.[8]

Grandpa and Grandma Bentivoglio had eleven surviving children, but only four sons to protect and promote the family fortunes. In a world where violence was the ultimate arbiter of justice they essentially acquired more sons by marrying off two of their daughters to some of the leading mercenary captains or condottieri and then giving those condottieri jobs and lands around Bologna, essentially tying them into the family fortune. This is how Guido’s father came to live, work and keep his family in Bologna. When Bologna made Guido’s father the Captain General of all Bolognese forces, Grandpa Bentivoglio offered him his eldest daughter in marriage.[9] It was a good match. Bianca Bentivoglio Rangoni was a woman of considerable wisdom and force who—as we will eventually see—was instrumental in improving the fortunes of her many children.

As Papa Rangoni’s eldest son, it naturally fell to Guido Rangoni to become the military leader of his family. The first thing that a future warrior like he or Hugo Pepoli had to learn was the art of horsemanship. For a knight a horse was more than just a way to get around, a well-trained horse was also a weapon. The ability to handle the horse was the first mark of the noble warrior. The boys had to learn to sit with their bodies, “inclined just right, corresponding and harmonizing [with their horse’s movements] no less than if it were music.”[10]

Along with proper posture and balance throughout their bodies,[11] they also had to learn how to handle their horses without fear, with the goal of all their training being that, “The horse should perceive you as part of itself, sharing the same body, sense, and will.”[12] A mounted warrior need to do more than just ride straight at the enemy. He needed to lead his horse over all sorts of broken terrain that challenged the balance of the horse. He needed to stay perfectly balanced as his mount wheeled first this way and then that way. Finally he needed to lead it into battle and the training with the horses involved extensive repetition of simulating battle of charging, “toward the enemies with the lance, and then, drawing out the sword, to enter and exit from the charges in the midst of them.”[13]

Here was one place for the rivalry between Guido and Hugo to play out when they were kids. The emphasis on riding with good form, with perfect balance and the ability to sit a horse perfectly would have been one easy source of comparison.

Once the boys could arrange themselves straight upon their horse, carrying their weight mostly in the stirrups and not in the saddle, while staying balanced and being able to carefully vary the pressure against the girth of their mount with their spurs, then they were ready to learn to tilt.[14]

Tilting, the use of the lance for a joust, was both a sport and preparation for war. The lance was the signature weapon of the knight and the charge of a group of armored cavalry still considered the most important part of any battle. The boys needed to learn to use the lance as they would do in a joust. In this period the base of the lance was usually retained in a pouch – a piece of metal or leather attached to the saddle or armor.[15] From there the common practice was to lift the lance and place it up against the lance rest on the outside of their cuirass. This would allow them to keep the lance secure against their body while also keeping the muscles of their arm relaxed—a practice that improved control of over the point.[16] This more effectively allowed the tilter to channel the full power of their charging horse into the tip of the weapon.[17] Alternatively the young knights-to-be needed to be able to couch the lance under their arm.

To master the lance the boys would use light lances on foot, charging at a quintain or at some kind of wooden man.[18] Once that was complete they would practice on horseback, leading their horses to charge forward at a slight angle towards the quintain, trying to strike a tiny target from the back of a charging horse.

Here too was another area of rivalry, and we can easily imagine Papa Pepoli and Grandpa Bentivoglio pitting them against one another. This would have been not just for parental bragging rights, but to help hone the boys for the future they would face, since few things spur greatness like vigorous competition. Here they would have developed their own style for jousting. The biggest individual difference in jousting technique was whether to immediately emplace the lance against the its rest on the cuirass and then charge, or to lower it so that it came down into place right before it struck the enemy. The advantage of the latter technique is that gave no time for the lance to bob left or right, but the downside was that it represented a tough piece of timing.

The famous master of arms Pietro Monte had strong words against this technique. “Those who believe that they can predetermine in the beginning how far to carry the spear across or straight are generally mistaken. We should constantly direct our spear [lance] at our opponent.”[19] But as we will soon see, for little Guido Rangoni, there were serious real-world advantages to learning to attack with a spear not pointed at the enemy.

The final place for the rivalry between the two young cousins to play out was in the fencing hall. No one recorded the friendly bouts of boys, but the martial practice of Bologna emphasized acquiring experience by “practicing with a variety of partners.”[20] The key to fencing in the Bolognese style, or in any style, was the mastery of timing, of recognizing the opportunities to strike, or better yet, stealing opportunities to strike.[21] For this exercise the boys learned to fence with the spada da gioco a kind of light practice sword used in one hand, probably featuring a quadrangular blade with sharp corners,[22] and mostly likely tipped with a ball of some sort.

The term “fencing hall” brings to mind a large and spacious room, purpose-built for fencing. These fencing halls were likely anything but spacious.[23] Teaching was a big part of the business in Bologna, home of the first University in Europe.[24] Rather than having a campus, in that time teaching was often done in the houses of the professor, and fencing schools probably worked on the same basis. Thus the “fencing halls” were probably nothing more than an extra spaces in the house of the maestro. In 1497 Guido Rangoni’s uncle Hannibal bucked the trend and built a grand new palazzo near the family’s palace, a building he dedicated to the practice of arms. He called this building the casino. Here Guido' must have learned some of the art of fencing from the master at arms Maestro di Luca.1

The practice of fencing was done with the practice sword and the small buckler, a diminutive shield used for fencing.[25] These bucklers could be as small as 175mm or seven inches in diameter. They were the preferred arms for teaching the art of the sword, since the little buckler kept a fencer’s hands safe but still forced them to use the sword to defend themselves. For decades at least the city of Bologna had paid professional fencing masters to help its youth learn to fight.[27] As befit a University city like Bologna, the putative founder of the local method of fencing was a Professsor of Astrology and Geometry named Filippo Dardi, who was put on the city payroll as payback for helping put the Bentivoglio in power.[28] This fencing master and other Bolognese masters developed a sport of fencing for their students based on the sword and buckler.[29] This sport was not just for fun and not just to keep idle youth busy but also, “for the utility of the young men of this city, and for the honor of the state.”[30]

In this Bolognese game, strikes to different parts of the body offered varying amounts of points, but the head was the most valuable target.[31] For a taller fencer like Hugo Pepoli, powerful downward strikes to the opponent’s head were a natural attack. Hugo Pepoli’s maestro would have told him to keep his blade free and in constant motion, the style of fighting the Bolognese called, “wide play.” For a shorter fencer like Guido Rangoni the game was trickier. Being shorter meant he lacked reach in comparison to Hugo Pepoli. Rangoni’s teacher Maestro di Luca would have taught Guido to cross his weapon with his opponent's weapon and control it so that he could enter into striking distance. The masters called this “close play.”[32]

Getting close was dangerous for both of them. This “friendly” fencing without sharp swords also involved punching an opponent in the shin or face with the buckler; it also featured kicks to the groin, as well as throwing an opponent bodily to the ground.[33] There were no weight classes, so a bigger and stronger fencer also held a distinct advantage in these wrestling actions.

Thus Hugo Pepoli probably got the better of Guido Rangoni in these youthful matches. Guido Rangoni got the better education, though. He learned how to fight at a disadvantage, a lesson that would serve him well in the real world after the boys became men. He particularly learned that by carefully controlling the distance between the two of them, and by aggressively pursuing the proper times to strike, he could at times overcome Pepoli’s physical advantages. This kind of education would serve him well on the battlefield.

Here then was the real purpose of all the sword practice, to teach the boys to be clever and savage and above all to control their fear. As the Renaissance fencing master Francesco Altoni noted, a fencer only needed to, “practice to see the harm that fear does them, and so in this way a person can learn to regulate themselves bit by bit.”[34]

Opportunities for the two young men to cross swords became fewer as the years passed. Hugo Pepoli’s father grew increasingly distrustful of Grandpa Bentivoglio and as Hugo grew older his father sent his sons away from Bologna.[35]

Guido Rangoni seems to have remained in Bologna, learning his craft there, and learning from his father his core creed: man makes his own luck.[36]

This debate; was a man’s success driven by fortune or by his own virtue, was a frequent argument. Guido’s father was a passionate believer in the the power of virtue over fortune. One hot summer day Guido’s father even got into a passionate argument on this very topic with Guido’s uncle Hannibal Bentivoglio.[37] Hannibal claimed that fortune held greater sway over a man’s destiny than action. To settle the matter Grandpa Bentivoglio held a great joust in Bologna where the forces of Fortune did battle with the forces of Virtue.

Alas, Team Virtue lost on that day to the power (and luck) of Team Fortune.

This would prove the last of the great tournaments in Bologna, at least for a few generations. In 1495, when Guido Rangoni was ten years old, the great gathering storm finally broke over Italy. In one of history’s bigger unforced errors, the Duke of Milan[38] invited a French army into Italy to solve some disputes the Duke was having with the King of Naples in Southern Italy. The French army swept through Italy like a veritable blitzkrieg, with “no more trouble than to mark their lodgings with chalk,” as then Pope Alexander VI described it.[39] Grandpa Bentivoglio was forced to give the French passage, and it fell upon Guido’s father to shadow the French army and keep them from causing too much mayhem in the Bolognese countryside.

After the French made short work of the army of the King of Naples, the other Italian powers, particularly Venice and Milan, everyone quickly recognized the danger of the French presence in Italy. They hastily assembled an army that included thousands of Bolognese infantry as well as a battalion of armored cavalry under the command of Guido’s uncle Hannibal. This army under the leadership of the Marquis of Mantua beat the French at the Battle of Fornovo and drove the French out of Italy and back over the Alps.[40]

Still the French invasion had disrupted the careful balance that had maintained peace in Italy and the next three or four years were consumed with constant war—a contest largely played out between former allies Milan and Venice.

Thus while young Guido was fencing with sword and buckler or droving his horse forward to ram a lance into his quintain around Bologna, his father was far off, fighting on behalf of the Bentivoglio and their patrons in Milan.[41]

In 1499 the Republic of Venice then decided to one-up the Duke of Milan and made an even bigger unforced error than had the Duke. Over the objections of their own leader, the Venetian council made an alliance with the King of France against Milan. Once again the French came over the Alps, and once again their powerful army made short work of their Italian opponent. The Duke of Milan surrendered his capitol without a fight and ran away from the mighty French legions. In exchange for their help and the mortal danger they made to their state, Venice received one small city (Crema) and a handful of French ships to help Venice in its fight against the Turks. As we will see Venice’s choice here would prove to be ruinous and deadly.

With the descent of the French army into Italy there came a man who was destined to cause all manner of trouble for Bologna and the Bentivoglio: a 24-year old stone cold psychopath named Cesare Borgia.

Subscribe now

See Bibliography for More Details

[1] According to the Bolognese fencing master Antonio Manciolino blows to the head were worth three points, the foot worth two and the rest of the body worth one. What is not know is whether these values were accumulative between exchanges or whether the difference in value was used to adjudicate double hits (i.e. you hit me in the head, I hit you in the leg, you win because the head is more valuable.) Other masters describing sword and buckler fencing do not talk about relative values, but the face and head are generally the primary targets.

[2] This is a blow-for-blow recreation of Part I of Marozzo’s First Assault for the Sword and Small Buckler. Based on Marozzo’s work we can infer that this is one way that people fought with the sword and buckler. Based on the reasons given in this section we can also infer that Guido and Hugo did cross swords with the sword and buckler. However, we cannot say how it went when they fought so this fictional recreation is simply an educated guess made to illustrate this style of combat. For Part I of the First Assault see The Duel, Swanger pp. 85-86.

[3] Calling them the ruling family is a gross oversimplification. It goes beyond the scope of this work to describe the complex crypto-lordship of the Bentivoglio family in Bologna, which ties into the long traditions of Bolognese independence, and also the history of the Republic of Bologna and finally into the relationship of the Church to the Bentivoglio.

[4] Ghiradacci, p.248

[5] We can fix Guido Rangoni’s birthdate with certainty. For Hugo Pepoli there is less information. The birthdate of 1485 is coming from Wikipedia. Admittedly this is inadequate, but nothing about this birthdate is incosistent with his life and the effort of finding a better source does not seem worth the effort at this time. Guido was born in Spilamberto about twenty-five miles from Bologna and Hugo, presumably in Castiglione dei Pepoli, in the Bolognese contada some seventy-five miles or so from the city itself.

[6] See www.treccani.it entry for “Romeo Pepoli.”

[7] For pilgrimage see Ghiradacci, p. 244. He also escorted Francesca Bentivoglio to Faenza to meet her husband (Ghiradacci, p.223) as well as escorting Giovanni Bentivoglio’s heir to Ferrara to visit his betrothed (Ghiradacci, p.219)

[8] See Ghiradacci, p.339.

[9] Ghiradacci, p.220

[10] Grisoni, p. 12. Note that Grisoni is writing sometime after our time period when the means of training and riding horses had changed. Nevertheless, the need for proper body positioning in time with the movements of the horse was likely a constant.

[11] Grisoni, p.15

[12] Grisoni, p.11.

[13] Grisoni, p.36.

[14] Dall’Agocchie by Swanger, p.75.

[15] See Swanger p.77. Note that in Dall’Agocchie’s time the use of the pouch had been deprecated, but at the time when Pietro Monte wrote his Collecteana, the pouch was still very much in use.

[16] See Pietro Monte’s Collecteana, Translation by Jeffrey Forgent, p. 230. For simplicity’s sake a lance here will be a spear meant to be use on horseback, while a spear will represent a simple thrusting weapon meant to be used on foot.

[17] Dall’Agocchie by Swanger, p. 77-78.

[18] Ibid, p.81.

[19] Forgeng, p.229

[20] Art of Defense, Swanger, p. 43

[21] Francesco Altoni, Monomachia, translation by Fratus. p. 131. Note that the Monomachia is not Bolognese in origin, but geographically and temporally close to the Bolognese masters. Also his statement on the matter accords

[22] Manciolino has an action in his spada da gioco material that appears to cut the opponent’s face by turning this quadrangular blade against an opponent’s face. See Complete Renaissance Swordsman, p.99 for more on the Spada da Gioco.

[23] Marozzo, a successful merchant, seems to envisage a hall about twenty feet on a side, judging by the number of steps he takes to to put you in striking distance of the enemy (six) in his fencing material; the less successful master Antonio Manciolino envisages a hall somewhat smaller, where he needs only five steps to be in position to strike the enemy.

[24] Girolamo Arnaldi, Giosue Carducci's speech for the eighth (virtual) centenary of the University of Bologna , 3rd ed., Società Editrice Il Mulino, 2008, pp. 405-424, DOI : 10.1403/28351 . Citation from Wikipedia.

[25] The bucklers for fighting with sharp swords tended to be large and could be as wide as 24 in diameter, but those for fencing in Bologna were small. For more see Catalogue of European Bucklers by Herbert Schmidt.

[26] This would be about the minimum width required to keep one’s hands safe while performing all the fencing actions described in the texts of the Bolognese masters.

[27] “Earnings of a Fencing Master in XV and early XVI Century,” Battistini Alessandro & Corradetti Niki. Translation by Luca Dazi.

[28] For more on this see See theartofarms.substack.com/p/dardi-deeds & theartofarms.substack.com/p/dardi-deeds-done-dirt-cheap-part?

[29] Earnings of a Fencing Master in XV and early XVI Century,” Battistini Alessandro & Corradetti Niki. Translation by Luca Dazi.

[30] “… for the utility of the young men of this city, and for the honour of the state, and for your own profit” From Stokes translation.

[31] See Complete Renaissance Swordsman {?}

[32] For more on wide play and narrow play see With Malice and Cunning, p.41.

[33] Complete Renaissance Swordsman: p.110, p.115;The Duel, p.99, p. 105

[34] Altoni, translation by Fratus, p.19

[35] Ghiradacci, p.339.

[36] Ghiradacci, pp. 256-257.

[37] Also with Gilberto Pio. However for sake of simplicity we will just focus on Hannibal and Niccolo Maria (Guido’s father) here.

[38] Technically Ludovico Il Moro was not the Duke of Milan, but effectively he was, and the relationship between the Duchy, Ludovico, and Duke Giangaleazzo Sforza is beyond the scope of Death before Dishonor.

[39] See Sabatini, The Life of Cesare Borgia “The French Invasion.”

[40] Who won Fornovo is up for debate but the Italians achieved their strategic goal in this campaign. See Shaw & Mallett The Italian Wars pp.12-35 for a description of the campaign.

It was a time of superstition and science, a time when necromancers rubbed shoulders with astronomers, when knights in shining armor charged at cannons belching flame. It was the time of Macchiavelli, the time when Leonardo da Vinci and Michaelangelo created their masterpieces, and a time when swordsmen learned to use their weapons with as fine a skill as a seasoned sculptor.

On New Years Eve 1516 two of these master swordsmen met for a legendary duel.

The challenger was Count Hugo Pepoli, a captain in the service of France.[1] He would be fighting a captain in the Army of the Pope, the famous Count Guido Rangoni.[2] Both men were from Bologna, a city renowned for its university and its skilled swordsmen.[3] They were second cousins.[4] Hugo and Guido were both known to be courageous and they both hated each other; in short it promised to be one hell of a fight.

On the morning of the duel, a large crowd gathered outside Gonzaga Castle near Mantua in the heart of Northern Italy. Here the Marquis of Mantua had prepared a large dueling ground, four spear tosses long on each side.[5] In keeping with the custom of Italian dueling, there was a raised platform for the judge and his counselors.[6] Here the judges of the fight would make sure that the rules of the duel were followed, rules that guaranteed there was no trickery, and that “the duel should test the strength not of the body but of the soul.”[7]

The dueling ground was surrounded by a long wooden fence that would separate fighters from the crowd. In each corner of the dueling ground stood a “snow-white tent striped with imperial purple.” Over one flew the banner of House Pepoli, a silver and black checkerboard pattern that recounted their origins as moneychangers (the checkerboard being an old device for tracking the value of different currencies.) From the other other corner flew a banner with silver shell on a red sash atop a field of blue and white stripes of the House Rangoni, a military family that had served as condottieri or mercenaries for generations.

Guido Rangoni could count upon many supporters in the crowd. He was related by marriage to the Marquis of Mantua.[8] More supporters came from throughout Northern Italy, but perhaps none so fervently were praying for Guido Rangoni like the rich Venetian nobles in their fur hats and long-sleeved robes, with rings on their fingers and belts adorned with gold.[9] Although Guido was no longer in Venetian service, he had served Venice faithfully when the Republic stood in the valley of the shadow of death and thence led it to the light of survival.

Hugo Pepoli had his own supporters: not just his own friends and family, but French lords and and ladies came to watch and support him, as Hugo had served the King bravely and faithfully in the most recent war.[10] He was a man who was or soon would be, “the greatest Italian in the eyes of the King of France.”[11]

Naturally some of the French nobles sought out supporters of Guido Rangoni for some friendly gambling.[12] Hugo’s fans were sure that one overhead thrust from the mighty Pepoli would skewer his short opponent like a thrush.[13] They would have found plenty of takers, especially among the wealthy Venetians in the crowd. In the past Guido had helped to save Venice in its darkest days by fighting forces many times larger than his own.[14] The rich and arrogant Venetians were sure that the tenacious “Little Guido” would do the same thing today.

Suddenly, the piercing cry of two long trumpets rang out around the dueling ground and commanded the crowd to silence. The duelists were approaching.

For a moment the only sound was the snap of flags in the swirling wind. Then the crowd heard the gentle thump of walking horses, growing steadily closer. The lords and ladies craned their necks to see the bold warriors.

The men did not disappoint.

The challenger of this duel, Hugo Pepoli appeared first. He wore a purple cloak, trimmed with gold. He was a “tall man,” with, “excellent proportions.”[15] His doublet revealed wide and powerful shoulders, while his tight-fitting hose showed muscular thighs. Long curls descended from his head. Upon his crown stood a net of golden thread to keep the hair out of his eyes. He rode a large, powerful-looking war horse, a muscular stallion with hindquarters like chiseled blocks of granite. Though his horse was not wearing its barding armor today, Hugo still wore the long spurs of a knight, with the stirrup leather above his knee.[16] He rode rigid and erect in the saddle, almost like he was getting ready to break a line of infantry or drive a lance through his enemy’s visor. Around him rode many other fine nobles and the whole group was followed by servants in the black-and silver livery of House Pepoli; with golden swords gleaming at their sides.[17]

Guido Rangoni was just half a minute behind him. He too wore a purple and gold cloak. He had close-cropped hair and a small beard, and preferred simple clothing, letting his reputation speak for itself. He chose a smaller horse, but a destrier with real attitude. As he approached, his horse, sensing the eyes of all upon his master, “neighed and pawed at the ground kicking up dust.”[18] Guido sat this horse with the easy touch and silky grace of a man who eats and sleeps in the saddle. If Hugo had made his name as a fine-looking and valiant knight, Guido was known for his surprise raids, where the key was to keep riding for hours or even days. He too was surrounded by friendly nobles, and was followed by servants and pages in the blue and red livery of his house.[19] Guido was a superstitious man.[20] He had been sure to consult with astrologers and now moved with the confidence of a man whose planets forteld success.[21]

As he reached the dueling ground he brought his horse to a stop with a gently whispered word. Guido slid down and entered the dueling ground where the powerful Pepoli was already waiting. Nothing in Rangoni’s stride demonstrated the least fear of his larger opponent.

A fresh round of speculation broke the silence. New bets were placed as the odds shifted toward Pepoli. In combat, size matters.[22]

Both men presented themselves to the judge on his wooden platform above the dueling ground. The judge rapped his staff on the platform for silence. He solemnly called upon Pepoli and Rangoni to be good Christians and forgive one another. A soft laughter rippled through the crowd. The Judge’s words and grave demeanor were just theater. There was no way these men were not going to fight. Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli played their part in the little farce. They angrily refused the Judge’s request. They had been trying to fight this duel for three years and now they had their day. There would be blood.

Now came time for the weapons. Guido said, “Hugo there is no further point in speaking, only deeds matter here. Since it is my privilege to choose the weapons, here they are.”[23]

Guido Rangoni’s second came forward with the arms.[24] Each man would have a sword for his right hand and for their shields, on their left hand would go a bronze gauntlet with “coverings linked in a handy scale-like bronze binding and a lamina well-woven to the fingers and palms.”[25]

Rangoni declared that they would fight with no other protection.

A gasp of surprise hissed from the crowd.

Hugo’s second as well as the judge inspected the arms carefully. Once it was determined that the weapons were free of defect and since there were no enchantments on either the sword or the gauntlet the judge gave his approval.[26]

“And the duel. Will it be fought to first blood?” The judge asked.

Rangoni stated the duel will be fought to completion—to the death.

Excitement buzzed through the crowd. Who had ever heard of such a duel taking place? Many here have worn the blood of their fallen enemies upon their clothes. But a duel to the death without armor? It was reckless. Some were impressed at the very nerve of such a fight, Others held that fighting without armor gave the surest proof of the true virtue of the two fighters, since many believed that using defensive weapons showed a lack of nerve.[27] Others deplored the sight of military men fencing in their shirts, contrary to the practice of war.[28]

Once Rangoni and Pepoli retired to their tents to dress for the fight, the judge rapped his staff loudly once more upon the platform. He made a solemn declaration to the crowd. “When the duel begins, you must remain silent. Upon the pain of death, none of you may cry out when a wound is given or received.”[29]

Guido Rangoni was the first to emerge from his tent. In his right hand he bore a sword. A bronze gauntlet covered his left arm. His supporters cheered as he took his place before the judge. The French and their cronies from Milan made further insults about his short stature.

A few minutes later, to the cheers of his own supporters, Hugo Pepoli emerged from his tent. He was dressed almost identically to Rangoni, save for one crucial difference. To keep his long, flowing hair in a bunch, Pepoli had kept the net of golden thread upon the crown of his head.

Rangoni objected to this net.[30] “We are to fight a battle and he comes dressed as though to please a lover. Tell Pepoli to cut his hair short like a man, like mine or else tie it up in a knot like a serving girl to keep it from his eyes.”[31]

His friends erupted into laughter at this insult.

Pepoli ripped the net from his head and threw it on the ground. The laughter grew louder as everyone saw the reason for the golden net. While Hugo still had long flowing locks around the ring of his head, he was nearly bald on the pate.[32] His face darkened with repressed rage at the laughter and one look from him was enough to silence anyone.

Without a sound the crowd watched the two men retire to their corners.

For one still, pregnant, electric moment all was silence and nothing was heard but the ever-present snap of the pennants in the winter wind. Then the trumpeter gave one long blast of his instrument that reverberated off the nearby castle, one long note of warning: death is coming.[33]

The two fighters went from languid to taut, as though they were arrows in a bow. Their swords and bodies moving from the positions of ease and rest, to the carefully-practiced and refined postures of the trained swordsman.

At the second blast both fighters assumed their respective guards. Pepoli stood tall and proud, his sword hand high and the point dropping down menacingly, in the guard known in Italy as the guard of the Unicorn. Rangoni remained tight and in profile, his sword before him in the position known as the Iron Gate.[34]

At the third blast of the trumpet, both fencers sprung forward. They moved smoothly, on the catlike feet of skilled fencers, seeking to gain as much ground as possible.

The duel had begun.

The Art of Arms is pleased to present this series on the duel of Guido Rangoni and Hugo Pepoli, two master swordsmen of the Renaissance. When we started this project we thought we would do a little background to understand whose these Bolognese warriors were and then go onto describe the sword fight itself matter of honor? Was it really a matter of political rivalry? Was there an old score to be settled? Or was it just the natural consequence of a rivalry that stretched backhood to their boyhood, back to the fencing halls of Bologna?

But as we investigated the story and their lives it became clear that the duel was a reflection of their culture; these men were warriors and it was impossible to separate this duel from the wars of the time, from the conflicts of family and the individual’s pursuit of his own destiny.

Stay tuned for our next episode: Two Boys in Bologna, where we explore the youths of these two men as they they crossed foils in the fencing halls of Bologna.

See Bibliography for More Details

[1] www.condottieridiventura.it, entry for October 1516.

[2] www.condottieridiventura.it, entry for May 1516.

[3] See Ghiradacci, p.269. In November 1492, when Guido Rangoni was eight, his father established his residence in Bologna in the former house of Pirro Malvezzi so while Guido was Modenese he had grown up in Bologna.

[4] G. Albini, Di un duello fra G. R. ed Ugo Pepoli nella cronaca e nella poesia del tempo, Bologna 1892, p.10. Guido Rangoi was the son of the famous Niccolo Maria Rangoni. Ugo Pepoli was one of twelve children of Guido Pepoli and Isotta Rangone. The two men shared two great-grandfathers (Jacopino Rangoni, d.1413 & AntonGaleazzo Bentivoglio, d.1435).

[5] Bryson, the Sixteenth Century Duel, p.187

[6] Achille Marozzo, Opera Nova or the Duel, ch. 243.

[7] Bryson, p. 50.

[8] His maternal aunt Laura Bentivoglio was married to Giovanni the youngest brother of the Marquis.

[9] Comments on fashion from Sanuto. “..everyone is wearing fur, whereas in his (the Doge’s) time, people wore simple clothing from the waist up, and now everyone wears the Doge's robes, which used to be worn only by the Doge and a few in this land.” Sanuto, col. 497. See also the prohibitions on priests on cols. 77-78.

[10] Dalle Tuate, “…tutti li Francesi che erano in Lombarida per lo conte de’ Pepuli.”

[11] Viggiani, Lo Schermo di Angelo Viggiani. p.78

[12] This is suppositional – it’s hard to imagine that there was not some gambling going between the partisans of both sides.

[13] According to the fencing master Angelo Viggiani, Hugo Pepoli’s preferred guard was the Unicorn. This is a stance where the hand is at the height of the ear or higher with the point facing downwards at the opponent’s chest. This is a guard that Viggiani says is for fencers “of great stature.” As to the stature there are many references to Guido’s small size, but perhaps none so good as that of Angelo Viggiani who fulsomely describes Guido as, “Count Guido, a perfect man, short in stature but tall in nobility.” Viggiani, p.73

[14] Probably most notably when he attacked a group of eight thousand German landsknechts with only two hundred or so mounted crossbowmen under his command in October of 1509. Sanuto, XI, col.227.

[15] Viggiani, p.78.

[16] See Grisoni p. 12. “This style of riding with the stirrup leather above the knee was historically more common for knights, who often used heavily armored horses. At that time, longer spurs, approximately a palm in length, were necessary to reach the sides of such heavily built horses, requiring adjustments in posture to accommodate the armor.”

[17] Modesti. “The servants stand around the masters in thick dual ranks, their legs and backs painted with striped threads, all girdled with golden swords”

[18] Modesti.

[19] Among those following Rangoni was probably a fourteen year old Sebastiano Fausto da Longiano who states that he started his service in the house of Guido Rangoni, Duello di Fausto di Longinao, see dedication; according to Bryson Fausto also described elements of this duel.

[20] He once abandoned Modena because a flood was foretold and became the subject of some ridiciule as a result.

[21] For more on astrology and duelling see Marozzo, ch. 195. According to Giuntini, p. 299, Guido was born on April 12^th, 1485 at 11:44 in the evening.

[22] Obviously this is a contentious issue. But as a general rule, sources confirm that height confers reach, which gives a fencer the ability to strike first while size confers an advantage in wrestling.

[23] “From Intervidum Rangonum Et Ugonem Pepulum Duellum” in Ad Antonium Grimanum Venetias, by Publius Modestus. Note that the Latin translations are electronic and thus prone to error.

[24] Note that the term “second” is used loosely here. In the duel Guido would have been accompanied by a padrino, an older and experienced fighter.

[25] Modesti

[26] See Art of Arms, “The Savage Within: Historical Sources.”

[27] See the History of Florence, Benedetto Varchi, pp.

[28] See Bryson, p. 46.

[29] As described in Bryson. Words to this effect seem to have been a pro-forma announcement in other duels of the time, for example in the duel of Guasco and Doria described in “The Savage Within,” on the Art of Arms.

[30] Bryson, p.189.

[31] Modestus. Note the serving girl comment is added for color and does not appear in the original.

[32] Per Bryson, Bianchetti remarks that the true purpose of the net is to cover Hugo’s bald spot. Bryson, p.189. As Bianchetti is only available in Bologna I cannot confirm this statement.

[33] See Monomachia, Francesco Altoni translation by Stephen Fratus, pp. 136 to 141 for use of the trumpets in a duel and movements just prior to the beginning of a fight.

[34] According to Viggiani this was the preferred stance or guard for Guido Rangoni when fighting with the sword alone.

Ady, Cecilia. The Bentivoglio: A Study in Despotism.

Albini, G.  Di un duello fra G. R. ed Ugo Pepoli nella cronaca e nella poesia del tempo, Bologna 1892;

Altoni, Francesco. Monomachia. Translation by Stephen Fratus.

Anonimo Bolognese. With Malice & Cunning. Translation by Stephen Fratus

Anonymous. Tacuinum Santitas

Ansani, Fabrizio. “Supplying the Army, 1498,” from The Journal of Medieval Military History.

Authors, Various. Cronacha Bresciana.

Balan, Pietro. Storia d’Italia.

Battistini, Alessandro & Coradeti, Nicki “EARNINGS OF A FENCING MASTER IN BOLOGNA IN XV AND EARLY XVI CENTURY,” translated by Luca Dazi.

Bellonci, Maria. Lucrezia Borgia. Translation by Wall.

Bernardi, Andrea.  Cronacha Forlivese dal 1476 al 1517.

Bianchetti, Alamanno. Cronaca.  

Bonata, Modesto. Storia dei Sette communi.

Bortolan, Domenico. Leonardo Trissino, celebre avventuriero

Bryson, Frederick. The Sixteenth Century Duel.

Casoni, Filippo. Annali di Repubilca di Genova del Secolo Decimo Sesto. 1799

Castiglione, Baldassare. Il Cortegiano.

Catalano, Michele. “Lettere a Cardinale d’Este” in Archivium Romanum, vol 10.

Cellini, Benevenuto. Autobiography. Translation by Symonds.

Clausewitz, General Carl Von. “On War.” Translated by Col JJ Graham.

Comino, S & Gasparetto, A. “Silk Milks in the Early Modern Italy,” from Advances in Historical Studies.

Condavi, Ascanio. Vita di Michaelangelo Buonarotti.

da Porto, Luigi Lettere storiche dall’anno 1509 al 1528. A cura di B.Bressan. Le Monnier. Firenze. 1857

Dall’Agocchie, Giovanni. The Art of Defense. Translation by Jherek Swanger.

Dalle Tuate, Fileno. Istoria di Bologna.

De Bianchi, Lancilloto. Cronaca Modenese

De Maille, Jacques. Par Le Loyal Serviteur.

De Rosa, Peter. Vicars of Christ, Dark Side of the Papacy.

DegliAgostini, Niccolo. In Guerre in Ottava Rima. 

Docciolini, Marco. Treatise on the Subject of Fencing. Translation by Terminello & Reich.

Dolfi, Pompeo. Cronologia della Famiglie Nobili di Bologna.

Fabris, Salvator. Science of Arms. Translation by Tom Leoni.

Fantaganuzzi, Giuliano. Caos.

Fausto, Sebastiano. Duello di Fausto di Longina

Fillipi, Elena, Una Beffa Imperiale. 1996

Fiore dei Liberi, Fiore dei Battaglia from www.wiktenauer.com.

Ghiradacci, Cherubino. Storia di Bologna.

Ghisliero, Federico. Regole di Molti Cavaglieri Esserciti. Translation by

Giovio, Paolo. Dialogo dell'imprese militari et amorose.

Giovio, Paolo. Historiarum sui temporis libri.

Giuntini, Francesco. Speculum Astrologiae

Gozzadini, Giovanni, Di Alucni Avvenimenti I Bologna e Nell’Emilia dal 1506 al 1511.

Gozzadini, Giovanni. Memorie de la Vita di Giovanni II Bentivoglio.

Grisoni, Federico. Gli Ordini di Cavalcare.

Guicciardini, Francesco. Storia d’Italia

Hainz, Otto. Von Novara bis La Motta. 1912

Keyser, Konrad. Bellifortis. From www.wiktenauer.com

Leonii, Lorenzo. Vita di Bartolomeo d’Alviano.

Lev, Elizabeth. The Tigress of Forli

Macchiavelli, Niccolo.  Descrizione del modo tenuto dal Duca Valentino nello ammazzare Vitellozzo Vitelli, Oliverotto da Fermo, il Signor Pagolo e il duca di Gravina Orsini (1503)

Macchiavelli, Niccolo. Discorsi di Livio.

Macchiavelli, Niccolo. The Art of War.

Macchiavelli, Niccolo. The Prince.

Macchivalli, Niccolo. Scritti inediti di Niccolò Machiavelli risguardanti la storia e la milizia (1499-1512),

Mahan, A.T. Influence of Sea-power on History.

Mallett, Michael & Hale, J.R. Military Organization of a Renaissance State.

Mallett, Michael. Mercenaries and their Masters Michael Mallett 1974

Manciolino, Antonio & Leoni, Tom. The Complete Renaissance Swordsman.

Marozzo, Achille. The Duel or Flower of Battle. Translation by Jherek Swanger

Modesti, Publius. From Intervidum Rangonum Et Ugonem Pepulum Duellum” in Ad Antonium Grimanum Venetias, by Publius Modestus.

Monesi, Iacopo. Notes on Fencing.

Montanari, Gian Carlo. Guido Rangoni: Un condottiero fra Medievo and Moderna

Monte, Pietro. Collecteana. Translation by Jeffrey Forgeng.

Orsini, Orso. Warbook.

Pagano, Marc’Antonio. Le Tre Giornate.

Palladini, Camillo. The Art of Fencing: The Forgotten Discourse of Camillo Palladini Tranlation by Piermarco Terminiello & Joshua Pendragon

Pan, Francesca. Castello di Piumazzo: Storia Ed Eveluzione Construttiva Tra Notizie Storiche Ed Evidenze Struturrali.

Payne-Galloway, Book of the Crossbow.

Poliziano, Agnolo. Pactianae coniurationis commentarium.

Priuli, Girolamo. I Diarii di Giralamo Priuli.

Rendina, Claudio. La grande guida dei monumenti di Roma, Claudio Rendina.

Sabatini, Rafael. The Life of Cesare Borgia

Sanuto, Marino. I Diarii.

Sanuto, Marino. La Spedizione di Carlo VIII in Italia.

Sardi, Gasparo. Libro delle historie ferraresi., 1646.

Schmidt, Herbert. Catalogue of European Bucklers.

Shaw, Christine – Isabella d’Este: A Renaissance Princess

Shaw, Christine. “Popular Resistance to Military Occupation During the Italian Wars,” in The Culture of Violence in Renaissance Italy, Edited by Fabrizio Riccardelli.

Shaw, Christine – Julius II: The Warrior Pope