Partiger watched as his men spread around the wagons with the intention of attacking from four directions. While they were waiting, Partiger struck up a conversation with his newly appointed second-in-command, Redeemer George Blair. He did not trust or like Blair, who was part of a new order of Sanctuarines, established by Pope Bosco himself to ‘aid fidelity in all Redeemer units and ensure actions free of doctrinal or moral errors.’ In other words, he was a spy whose task it was to ensure that Bosco’s new religious attitudes and the martial techniques that went with them were obeyed without question.
Partiger somewhat surprised Blair by engaging in a conversation that had nothing to do with the attack on the wooden fort.
‘I was thinking,’ said Partiger, ‘of embarking on the Seventy-four Acts of Abasement.’
‘What?’
‘The seventy-four acts of homage to the authority of the Pope.’
‘I know what they are,’ said Blair, irritably. ‘I don’t understand the relevance – a battle’s about to start.’
Am I being tested to say the wrong thing? thought Partiger. He decided he was.
‘We must keep our eyes on eternal life even in the midst of death.’
‘There’s a time for everything. This isn’t it.’
‘But surely,’ continued Partiger, ‘if I were to wear dried peas in my shoes and abstain from drinking water on hot days and whip myself with nettles in an act of mortification of a kind that the saints endured, and which leaves us aghast with admiration,’ he had learned the phrase about being aghast by heart from a papal letter, ‘then would I not be more open to the wisdom of God and a better leader to my men?’
Finally Blair turned to look at him square on, aghast himself, but not in admiration.
‘Yes, you are, of course, correct. I’d say that the more pain you inflict on yourself the better.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I understand self-flagellation with a whip made from scorpion tails is especially effective in this regard.’ He turned back to the battle, leaving Partiger to consider scorpion tails. It sounded painful. Still, he remembered Padre Pio’s words: When mortifying the flesh, make sure that it hurts.
Eight hundred yards away, the battle had begun. At first there were only feints from three groups of ten cavalry, meant to trigger a response so that they could size up the strength of the occupants. There was none. Close up, they could see the ditch around the wagon was not particularly deep but was full of sharpened sticks. One of them rammed their heaviest lance into one of the wagons to see how stable and well-built it was. Nothing to write home about, he said, when he returned. So it was decided to rush in from all four sides, the signal being a volley of forty or so arrows into the centre of the fort. The arrows went up, the men rushed the wagons and Cale’s New Model Army and its way of making war came to its first great test.
The trouble for the Redeemers was that they lacked any of the basic tools – no ladders, no battering rams and only a few ropes. Once they got into the ditch they dropped down only a few feet, but with the sides of the wagon walls at six foot tall they were nine feet away from their wooden-wall-protected opponents. As soon as the Redeemers attacked, the slot windows were partly opened and Vague Henri’s light crossbows went into action. They were shot at a distance of only a few feet – they were so close to their opponents it didn’t matter they were so much less powerful. In the restricted space bows were useless but the crossbows were devastating, particularly now they could be reloaded so quickly. The roof of the wagon was double-hinged so that it could be pushed up and over to either side depending on circumstances. This time they flew off with the roofs crashing backwards to the inside of the fort. Immediately half a dozen peasants and one Penitent stood up and, with most of their bodies protected by the wall of the wagon, started to stab and swing down into the mass of Redeemers standing in the ditch. The flails with lead balls and spikes did huge damage crushing the flesh under the Redeemers’ light armour, though it could penetrate too. Excitable in their success and inexperience, some of the polemen leant out and exposed too much of their upper bodies, and a couple went down to archers.
‘Keep under guard! Stay in! Stay in!’
The Purgators in each wagon had to keep pulling back the over-eager peasants as they enjoyed the thrill of hurting an opponent without them being able to hit back. The Redeemers, ten times the soldiers of the men who were wounding them with every blow, were impotent. They were four feet further away from their enemy than they could reach. They couldn’t get under the wagons either, and the wheels were covered with earth to stop rope from being tied around the spokes. Their position was hopeless. After five minutes they withdrew – but not without being picked off by the crossbow men, now able to stand up and take good aim at the retreating priests, many of them moving slowly because of the blows to their upper thighs and knees.
The peasants stood and cheered. The Purgators told them to shut up.
‘They’re going to get better every day at taking us on. Can you say the same?’
This quietened them down but they were delighted with their first mouthful of killing.
The Redeemers withdrew back to Partiger, who was bemused as well as angry. He berated the men while Blair walked around and examined the wounded.
‘Didn’t you inflict any damage?’
‘We think we got a handful,’ said one of the centenars.
‘A handful? We have thirty dead. And for what? Anyway, that was the archers, not you. How many did you kill?’
‘You can’t kill someone if you can’t reach them.’
‘Don’t answer back!’ shouted Partiger.
‘What about the grappling hook?’ asked Blair. There was only one in the whole unit. No one saw the need for more.
‘I only got it on the side for thirty seconds before they cut it,’ said the sergeant who’d used it. ‘But I got a good pull on it from my horse. More might do it – but the wagon was tethered down far in. We’ll have to pull them apart not just topple ’em. Stronger horses, bigger hooks and chains not ropes might do it. But they can pick off the horses real easy.’
‘What about fire? They’re just made of wood, yes?’
‘Might work, sir, but wood won’t burn ’less you can get a lot of fire going.’
‘Arrows?’
‘Real easy to put out. I’ve seen some used at Salerno had oil and packing to set a fire. Never done it myself.’
‘A word,’ said Blair to Partiger. They walked to one side. ‘Any ideas?’
‘A siege, perhaps?’
‘They’ve probably got more food than we have. Besides – why are they here? There’s nothing worth protecting.’
‘Look, Redeemer,’ said Partiger. ‘We’re not really equipped, as you say. We should withdraw and report this. This is for siege troops not mounted infantry.’
This was a fair point. ‘Did you notice anything about the wounded?’ said Blair, knowing that he had not.
‘The wounded?’
‘Yes. Their wounds – they’re mostly crushing wounds: head, hands, elbows.’
‘Yes?’
‘They’re not going to heal quickly – or at all – most of them.’
‘Your point, Redeemer?’
‘What if it’s deliberate?’
They didn’t get time to continue the discussion. Fifty Swiss cavalry emerged from the fort and swept through the unprepared Redeemer camp, killing a hundred and scattering the rest. Within fifteen minutes they were back inside the protective ring of wagons just as the sun went down.