The return of the Falcon Guard to Rocca Falcone was unlike any before. They did not arrive as weary travelers or nervous protectors, but as a conquering force. The sight of their lord and his small band of soldiers marching in disciplined formation, escorting a dozen bound and defeated professional mercenaries, sent a wave of shock and awe through the valley. The story of the decoy wagon and the victorious battle spread like wildfire, cementing Alessandro's status in the minds of his people from that of a clever provider to a formidable warrior-prince.
The captive mercenaries, including their sullen captain, Corrado, were secured in the dungeons beneath the keep. Alessandro spoke to Corrado once more before the heavy oak door was barred. "Your life now belongs to me, Captain," he said coolly. "Whether it is a long one or a short one depends entirely on how useful you choose to be."
That night, a council of war was held in the tower. The mood was electric.
"We have proof," Alessandro began, his voice ringing with a new, hard confidence. "We have witnesses. The Baron of Monte San Giovanni has broken the Bishop's peace and attempted to destroy us through hired assassins. He believes his wealth and station make him untouchable. We will teach him otherwise."
Bastiano trembled. "My lord, you cannot mean to attack him directly! His castle is impregnable! He has hundreds of men!"
"You are correct, Bastiano," Alessandro replied, turning to the large map on the table. "A direct assault would be madness. A fortress is not conquered with forty men. But an alliance can be."
His finger tapped the small circle on the map labeled 'Castiglione.'
"We will not attack the Baron," Alessandro said, a predatory smile on his lips. "We will attack his authority. We will peel his vassals away from him, one by one, until he is a king with no subjects."
He laid out the plan. It was breathtaking in its audacity. The entire Falcon Guard, forty strong, would march on the castle of Lord Orso of Castiglione.
"We will not go as conquerors," he explained. "We will go as 'liberators.' I will present Lord Orso with a choice. He can remain loyal to the treacherous Baron who uses him with contempt, a man I now have proof is a criminal, and face the consequences when the Baron falls. Or, he can renounce his oath to a tyrant and swear fealty to me. I will offer him protection, a better trade deal than the one we already have, and a place of honor in a new, stronger alliance."
"He could refuse," Enzo pointed out, ever the pragmatist. "He could bar his gates and call for the Baron's aid."
"He could," Alessandro conceded. "And that is a risk we will take. But I am betting that his hatred for the Baron is greater than his fear of him. We are offering him a way out that he has only ever dreamed of."
The decision was made. The fiefdom moved onto a war footing. The quiet prosperity of winter gave way to the urgent industry of a military campaign. The water mill ground endless sacks of grain into flour for campaign rations. Lorenzo's forges glowed red around the clock as he and his apprentices worked to equip the twenty new recruits. The training ground became a place of relentless drilling as Centurion Marco forged the expanded Guard into a cohesive fighting force, their movements becoming sharper, their shield wall stronger with every passing day.
Two days before their planned departure, Alessandro dispatched a lone rider, his fastest and most trusted, on a secret mission to Castiglione. The rider carried a simple, stark message for Lord Orso, sealed with the falcon crest.
"I am marching to your castle to discuss a matter of our mutual overlord, the Baron of Monte San Giovanni. I come with proof of his treachery. I advise you to welcome me as a friend."
It was a warning and an offer, designed to prime his target and prevent a panicked, violent response.
On a bright summer morning, the gates of Rocca Falcone swung open. The Falcon Guard marched out, forty strong. Their iron helmets and breastplates gleamed. Their spears stood as a forest of steel. At their head, the banner of the black falcon flew proudly in the wind. They were no longer a mere garrison or a group of peasant levies. They were a true army, on their first campaign of conquest.
Their destination was the castle of Lord Orso. Their mission: to force the first domino in the Baron of Monte San Giovanni's kingdom to fall, and to officially announce their presence on the great, bloody stage of Italian power politics.