Alexandre of Geneva, Mercenary Captain

Eight miles seperated that Milanese bastard from the pikes that he richly deserves. The words formed on Alexandre's mouth, but didn't burst to life. The Milanese captain Georgio Pullavici, he could be caught, but foot-soldiers weren't known to be speedy.
Marching along the Roman road through the Po valley, the orchards and groves that lines the roadside had been sown with partisans, armed with stones or muskets. Georgio knew his buisness, and Alexandre never doubted it. It was just that Alexandre was better. He had to be better when leading a mercenary contingent as large as his. About five thousand Swiss pikemen, two hundred musketeers, five hundred pavise crossbowmen, and then the Venetians had their land army of eight thousand heavy infantry, four thousand pikemen, and five hundred musketeers. 18,200 soldiers, according to the army rosters. It would be staggered with desertion, sickness, and other variables.
Unfortunately, the army wasn't mobile, and Georgio knew it. Every bridge was destroyed, roadblocks were like natural growths they were so common. Still the Milanese captain couldn't get that far from Alexandre and his soldiers.
Riding in his steel curiass, he was often noted for the short black hair, black eyes, and smooth skin. The Italians often thought of him as a Roman reborn, riding on his chestnut steed. Puffy mutlicolored stockings and jerkin, his head was topped by a floppy leather hat, pinned by a green and blue feather.
Riding up behind him, Captain Swec pulled his horse to a slow trot, mirroring Alexandre.
"Captain, the Venetian soldiers are being assaulted by partisans. Should we push on or counter?" Captain Swec knew his buisness, Alexandre knew it must be serious.
"If you've come to talk to me, then yes, I will halt the column and send out the halberdiers. Take command of the advance guard. Try to catch that Milanese bastard while I hold these rebels to account." Turning the steed, Alexandre galloped back along the line. The Venetians were the rearguard, and were often caught in their maroon and golden uniforms by the partisans. Marching thorugh Milanese country wasn't particularily enjoyable, and the Venetians hated Alexandre for it. Riding by, Alexandre used his steel baton to direct his mercenary soldiers into ranks. Ahead, which is the rear of the column, the Venetians were surrounded by a massive crowd of peasantry. Pitch-forks, scythes, stones, they were all there. The Venetians had formed into a large amoebus circle of armored soldiers with their hammers, axes, maces, and swords.
"Disperse! Leave these men be!" Alexandre called out, pushing his baton into its holster, and drawing his horse pistol.
"Ar you've invaded soveregin territory!" a voice called back from the crowd.
"You fool, you've said it wrong. Now disperse, and be gone to your homes!
"Nah, I don't worry how I pronounce words, I worry about the force of them."
Exhaling, Alexandre weighed his options. He could kill one of them, and risk their anger, or he...no he would shoot.
"Halberdiers, prepare to attack!" Alexandre roared, and fired into the crowd.
The peasantry were surprised, and it wasn't until the eighth or ninth halberd strike did they return to normal. Normal meant cowardly. The Venetians let loose with their swords and hammers, battering bodies down, cracking skulls and backbones.
As the peasantry scattered, Alexandre nodded to the Venetians, who promptly marched on.
"Captain, I've got a peasant. He's got information." One of his Swiss halberdiers appeared from the surrounding grove, towing a scruffy peasant. Homespun, coarse clothing of a clean white color.
"Whats so special?"
"He's got Imperial florins, French florins, Milanese, Venetian, Spanish, Papal, a small fortune."
Nodding, Alexandre looked down at the man.
"Where did you get this money?"
"I got it from the bank!"
"Fool! The only nearby bank is in Milan, across the River! They only carry Milanese and French Florins. You can't be a whore. What are you doing here?"

Most interesting. I'm curious as to what secrets that peasant is hiding...

Is this story set during any particular conflict of note, or just a typical minor conflict in northern Italy? (I'm guessing the setting' approximately late 16th - early 17th century, so unless it's part of the 30 Years' War, no clue--Renaissance Europe is probably my one weak spot, as history goes.)

At any rate, keep up the good work, and don't leave us waiting too long! :beam:

"Visiting my mother of course!"
Roaring in rage, Alexandre delt the peasant a blow to the head. Crumpling to the ground, he was pulled away.
Riding ahead, Alexandre suddenly heard the distant rumble of thunder.
Except it was clear.
"Goddamn, move lads move! To battle!"

Riding to the head of the column, Milanese soldiers were engaged in heavy combat with his pikemen. Musketry and cannons enshrouded the flanks. The Milanese had fallen back on a country road, cutting down trees and brush to form a defensive line. His pikemen had met them, and now it was down to halberds in the center.