Alexander of Greece

Alexandri de Grecci stood up in the saddles, scanning the fields and orchards of northern Italy. Two days had gone by since Francis of Genoa had passed, marching his armies to Genoa, to safety from 'the Greek Sow' that was Alexandri.
Sitting back down, Alexandri waved his gaunleted hand, motioning for his small council of mercenary leaders, and employers.
As they approached, Alexandri scanned the land again. Noonday sun was beating down upon his men, many had dropped out after the gruesome summer march. They sat in wagons at the rear of the column, their humors out of balance. The Landskechts were the first, not used to the extreme's of Italian countryside, the cold northern winters rare in the Piedmont.
First to the knoll was Aldo Ambrogio, a mercenary captain born to a Milan potter, and veteran of the inter-state wars of Italy. His olive skin would often be hidden by the forest green breeches, blue jerkin, and a flabby leather hat.
Next was the employer, Fulgenzio Teradoro, a Venician trader who owned several warehouses in Venice, and many more across the Mediterranean. His coffers made up most of the payment to the Greek and his small army of conderterri, Landskechts, Swiss, and Franco-Spanish war veterans. He was a bulging man, whose horse was almost dead with the weight, and his velvet green tunic stretched out over the saddle pommel. Wearing only armor leggings and gauntlets, his round head was slowly balding, making the merchant look like a very rich and volumtous monk.
The last was a Parisian man. Henri Daumier, a veteran of two Franco-Spanish wars, and leader of the "French Jinettes" the combination of Spanish caracole, and hard-riding French knights. Wearing a breastplate over a blue jerkin, he also wore yellow and red leggings. His arms were covered by chainmail and his forearms were gauntlets of steel. A very pale man, his face was cut and regal, with a hooked nose and a broad brow. Wearing a Spanish morion, it was festooned with orange plumes.

"Mon sigeneur,' began the Frenchman Daumier, 'I hope that the foe is close? My men are half-dead in their cuirass of steel, their chevals are lame with the riders, and they whole are dehydrated. Let us rest, for even an hour, and wait for the sun to pass!"
Alexandri contiuned to stare across the fields, listening to the Frenchman.
As he had finished, the Venician merchant spoke, his brow slathered in sweat.
"I agree with the Frenchman, no army can march in this scorching weather, and we must rest!"
Snorting slightly, Ambrogio pulled out a wine skinbag, filled with wine and water. Pulling the stopped, Ambrogio looked out across the fields.
"I say we keep marching. The Greek and I know that this is nothing, eh Alexandri? Nothing like this weather to fight, better than the hellish Danish winter, eh Alexandri?"
Smiling slightly, the Greek spoke after a minute's pause.
"I agree with Aldo, nothing shall stop us, even the sun. However, Francis must stop, his men are tired, and the day is hot. He would be suicidal to march his men now, after three days of hard marching, day and night. Ambrogio, march ahead, take your conderterri and secure far house. We shall move up after you. Frenchman, ride your men at the column head."
Alexandri swung his quarterhourse around, slowly riding to the column of mercenaries and Venetian militia.
Ten minutes after the meeting, Ambrogio rode past, his small guard also mounted. The conderterri marched by a few seconds later, moving quickly to the house that was about a mile ahead, built by the roadside, at the edge of a olive orchard.
Following in column were the "French Jinettes", then the Swiss, the militia, and at the rear were Landskechts, and their wagons. Riding with the conderterri leader Ambrogio was Alexandri and his mounted Greek fellows. Armed with multiple pistols, they were also armed with a light wheelock musket, so they might hold any position they took.

Riding between wheat and barley fields, Alexandri watched the column shrink behind him, led by the Frenchman. The Venetian Fulgenzio hadn't enjoyed employing the Frenchman, wanting to employ a unit of Spanish dragoons. What he didn't know was that the Spanish dragoons were useless in this chase for Francis of Genoa. Although they may be mounted, the riders kept heavy destriers, unable to keep up with the speedy French and Spanish light riders, or a light force of men from Genoa.

Bullets ripped apart the olive leaves, cracking wood and parched dirt apart. Standing with his Greek dragoons, Alexandri felt the bullets pass by, smacking into a leaf, or into a body.
"Ambrogio' Alexandri cried to the conderterri leader 'shift a company to the north and south, flank the Genoan gunners!"
"Yes, sir" came the reply, the Milanese commander ordering two companies onto the flanks.
A sudden crack of his dragoons guns startled Alexandri slightly. He had been waiting for them to fire, but they seemed to open up a second to soon. Standing at the edge of the orchard, the Genoan gunners had opened fire as soon as the Greek and his captain had come close. The shots were wild, but they did kill four men. In the action since, the gunners had held the mercenary conderterri and the Greek dragoons. Looking around, he saw that the conderterri were slowly moving out, two companies to outflank the Genoan foes. Watching the northern company, a sudden cloud of gunsmoke appeared, engulfing the conderterri.
"Jesus Christ!" Ambrogio cried as he watched as his northern company disappeared.
Pulling a dragoon, Alexandri looked into his blackened face.
"Hold the line, and let no one falter," Alexandri spoke, his voice level. Pushing him back into line, Alexandri jogged to the end of the conderterri line, Ambrogio following. The gunsmoke had disappated, revealing an extension of the line. The Genoan's had moved a company to block both companies.
Turning back, Alexandri wondered as the bullets flicked by.
What if this was Francis' entire force? A rearguard? What about Francis' knights. They could be riding to Genoa gathering supplies for the siege. Or they could be flanking his mercenary force. Standing at the edge of a olive orchard, Alexandri de Greci didn't know.

Interesting story, Marshal Murat. I like it so far. Please continue.

Francis of Genoa watched the smoke roil ahead, covering most of the orchard. Three days of hard marching had forced the proud Genoan noble to finally face the mercenary army of Venice. Most of the men involved in the battle were Genoan gunners, armed with heavy caliber muskets, and lighter wheelock guns. He had stretched out the Genoan gunners, screening his core of Swiss mercenaries. Lined up across the road, the front rows of armored men, then the next ten ranks of pikemen, and the rear group of halberdiers. On their southern flank were crossbow men, northern flank were pikemen from Spain, and behind the line was a company of conderterri, and his knights.
Standing with the Swiss mercenaries, the tall olive tanned man that was Francis was ready. His face was only visible when the visor was lifted, his square and set face, covered with scars and pocks. Wearing a cuirass of steel, he always fought at the front, fully armored and armed. Carrying a flamberge, he would wield his way through pikeheads, and into the flesh of his foes.

Alexandri watched the gunners withdraw, their shadowy bodies fliter through the trees and smoke. Genoan militia, gunners of average to poor quality. A bullet still killed, no matter the experiance of the gunner. The conderterri were scratched, having lost a good company of men.
Appearing, the Franco-Spanish mercenary Daumier split off from his riders and trotted to Alexandri.
"Signeur, my scouts report that Francis is arrayed across the road ahead, his Swiss mercenaries ready for an attack. Crossbows, pikemen, and on the rear were a conderterri company."
"Merci Daumier, you've earned your pay. Move you cavalry to the north, past the conderterri, and move east, so your on the flank of the Genoans. Don't attack, stay out of sight."

Standing at the roadside, at the orchard entrance, Alexandri spoke to Johann Gephardt, the Swiss leader.
"Swiss are ahead, prepare to attack, don't stop, just attack, and stick it to them." Alexandri ordered his commander, a swift salute the reply. Moving quickly, the red and white company of Swiss moved past. Next were the Venetian militia. Armed with swords and bucklers and pistols, they were light troops, versatile and poorly trained.
"Move to the flanks, meet the crossbow militia, engage and drive them off. When you do, stay put, and await my orders." Alexandri saluted and the militia moved past. Last were the Landskechts in floppy broad hats. Many carried flamberge swords, pikes, and pistols.
"Attack the pikemen on the northern flank, engage. If you drive them off, wait for my orders."
Another swift salute, and they marched past, into the orchard.

Moving among the trees, Alexandri sought Ambrogio, conderterri leader.

edit deletion

I think it a pity that you end the story like this. It just got interesting.

The roiling mass of flame and smoke was broken by the shadowy knights, conderterri, and dragoons. The licking red flames of the muskets broke through in light pattering drops or thunderous roars of leaden thumps.

"Ambrogio! Ambrogio!" Alexandri yelled out, and was rewarded by a swift clatter of armor as the mercenary captain rushed to his side.
"Move your conderterri out of the way. We are smashing through with the pikemen. Your gunners are to support them at your leisure. Go, captain, earn your Venetian gold!" With that Alexandri patted the head of Ambrogio and turned back to Daumier and his horsemen. Riding back, Teradoro wiped his brow as Alexandri passed.
"Terrible heat." The merchant's voice seemed to imply a statement rather than a question, but Alexandri de Greci didn't care. He had to find Daumier and his horsemen.

Five minutes later, the knights were found on the fields, grazing their horses and chewing on bread. They were a mix of knights, the caracole Spaniards and French chargers.
"Daumier, get your men mounted for the attack. The Genoas are standing to fight."
Cussing in French, the knight nodded. With swift orders, the men were mounted and moving to the roiling thundercloud that was the battle between Genoa and Venice.