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New World overthrew empires with a handful of adventurers, and within a

fraction of a century conquered a continent for Spain. In Europe they were

kept actively employed. Charles VIII. of France, moved by ambition and

thirst for glory, led an army of invasion into Italy. He was followed in

this career of foreign conquest by his successor, Louis XII. The armies of

France were opposed by those of Spain, led by the greatest soldier of the

age, Gonsalvo de Cordova, a man who had learned the art of war in Granada,

but in Italy showed such brilliant and remarkable powers that he gained

the distinguishing title of the Great Captain.



These wars were stretched out over years, and the most we can do is to

give some of their interesting incidents. In 1502 the Great Captain lay in

the far south of Italy, faced by a more powerful French army under the

Duke of Nemours, a young nobleman not wanting in courage, but quite unfit

to cope with the experienced veteran before him. Gonsalvo, however, was in

no condition to try conclusions with his well-appointed enemy. His little

corps was destitute of proper supplies, the men had been so long unpaid

that they were mutinous, he had pleaded for reinforcements in vain, and

the most he could do was to concentrate his small force in the seaport of

Barleta and the neighboring strongholds, and make the best show he could

in the face of his powerful foe.



The war now declined into foraging inroads on the part of the French, in

which they swept the flocks and herds from the fertile pastures, and into

guerilla operations on the part of the Spanish, who ambushed and sought to

cut off the detached troops of the enemy. But more romantic encounters

occasionally took place. The knights on both sides, full of the spirit of

chivalry, and eager to prove their prowess, defied one another to jousts

and tourneys, and for the time being brought back a state of warfare then

fast passing away.



The most striking of these meetings arose from the contempt with which the

French knights spoke of the cavalry of their enemy, which they declared to

be far inferior to their own. This insult, when told to the proud knights

of Gonsalvo's army, brought from them a challenge to the knights of

France, and a warlike meeting between eleven Spanish and as many French

warriors was arranged. A fair field was offered the combatants in the

neutral territory under the walls of the Venetian city of Trani, and on

the appointed day a gallant array of well-armed knights of both parties

appeared to guard the lists and maintain the honor of the tournament.



Spectators crowded the roofs and battlements of Trani, while the lists

were thronged with French and Spanish cavaliers, who for the time laid

aside their enmity in favor of national honor and a fair fight. At the

fixed hour the champions rode into the lists, armed at all points, and

their horses richly caparisoned and covered with steel panoply. Among

those on the Castilian side were Diego de Paredes and Diego de Vera, men

who had won renown in the Moorish wars. Most conspicuous on the other side

was the good knight Pierre de Bayard, the chevalier "sans peur et sans

reproche," who was then entering upon his famous career.



At the sound of the signal trumpets the hostile parties rushed to the

encounter, meeting in the centre of the lists with a shock that hurled

three of the Spaniards from their saddle, while four of their antagonists'

horses were slain. The fight, which began at ten in the morning, and was

to end at sunset, if not concluded before, was prosecuted with great fury

and varied success. Long before the hour of closing all the French were

dismounted except the Chevalier Bayard and one of his companions, their

horses, at which the Spaniards had specially aimed, being disabled or

slain. Seven of the Spaniards were still on horseback, and pressed so hard

upon their antagonists that the victory seemed safely theirs.



But Bayard and his comrade bravely held their own, while the others,

intrenched behind their dead horses, defended themselves vigorously with

sword and shield, the Spaniards vainly attempting to spur their terrified

horses over the barrier. The fight went on in this way until the sun sank

below the horizon, when, both parties still holding the field, neither was

given the palm of victory, all the combatants being declared to have

proved themselves good and valiant knights.



Both parties now met in the centre of the lists, where the combatants

embraced as true companions in chivalry, "making good cheer together"

before they separated. But the Great Captain did not receive the report of

the result with favor.



"We have," said one of his knights, "disproved the taunts of the

Frenchmen, and shown ourselves as good horsemen as they."



"I sent you for better," Gonsalvo coldly replied.



A second combat in which the Chevalier Bayard was concerned met with a

more tragic termination. A Spanish cavalier, Alonzo de Sotomayor,

complained that Bayard had treated him uncourteously while holding him

prisoner. Bayard denied the charge, and defied the Spaniard to prove it by

force of arms, on horse or on foot, as he preferred. Sotomayor, well

knowing Bayard's skill as a horseman, challenged him to a battle on foot

a l'outrance, or "to the death."



At the appointed time the two combatants entered the lists, armed with

sword and dagger and in complete armor, though wearing their visors up.

For a few minutes both knelt in silent prayer. They then rose, crossed

themselves, and advanced to the combat, "the good knight Bayard," we are

told, "moving as light of step as if he were going to lead some fair lady

down the dance."



Bayard was the smaller man of the two, and still felt weakness from a

fever which had recently prostrated him. The Spaniard, taking advantage of

this, sought to crush him by the weight of his blows, or to close with him

and bring him to the ground by dint of his superior strength. But the

lightness and agility of the French knight enabled him to avoid the

Spaniard's grasp, while, by skill with the sword, he parried his enemy's

strokes, and dealt him an occasional one in return.



At length, the Spaniard having exposed himself to attack by an

ill-directed blow, Bayard got in so sharp a thrust on the gorget that it

gave way, and the point of the blade entered his throat. Maddened by the

pain of the wound, Sotomayor leaped furiously on his antagonist and

grasped him in his arms, both rolling on the ground together. While thus

clasped in fierce struggle Bayard, who had kept his poniard in his left

hand throughout the fight, while his enemy had left his in his belt, drove

the steel home under his eye with such force that it pierced through his

brain.



As the victor sprang to his feet, the judges awarded him the honors of the

day, and the minstrels began to pour forth triumphant strains in his

honor. The good knight, however, bade them desist, as it was no time for

gratulation when a good knight lay dead, and, first kneeling and returning

grateful thanks for his victory, he walked slowly from the lists, saying

that he was sorry for the result of the combat, and wished, since his

honor was saved, that his antagonist had lived.



In these passages at arms we discern the fading gleam of the spirit of

mediaeval chivalry, soon to vanish before the new art of war. Rough and

violent as were these displays as compared with the pastimes of later

days, the magnificence with which they were conducted, and the

manifestations of knightly honor and courtesy which attended them, threw

something of grace and softness over an age in which ferocity was the

ruling spirit.



Meanwhile, the position of the little garrison of Barleta grew daily

worse. No help came, the French gradually occupied the strongholds of the

neighboring country, and a French fleet in the Adriatic stood seriously in

the way of the arrival of stores and reinforcements. But the Great Captain

maintained his cheerfulness through all discouragement, and sought to

infuse his spirit into the hearts of his followers. His condition would

have been desperate with an able opponent, but he perfectly understood the

character of the French commander and patiently bided his time.



The opportunity came. The French, weary of the slow game of blockade,

marched from their quarters and appeared before the walls of Barleta, bent

on drawing the garrison from the "old den" and deciding the affair in a

pitched battle. The Duke of Nemours sent a trumpet into the town to defy

the Great Captain to the encounter, but the latter coolly sent back word,--



"It is my custom to choose my own time and place for fighting, and I would

thank the Duc de Nemours to wait till my men have time to shoe their

horses and burnish up their arms."



The duke waited a few days, then, finding that he could not decoy his wily

foe from the walls, broke camp and marched back, proud of having flaunted

a challenge in the face of the enemy. He knew not Gonsalvo. The French had

not gone far before the latter opened the gates and sent out his whole

force of cavalry, under Diego de Mendoza, with two corps of infantry, in

rapid pursuit. Mendoza was so eager that he left the infantry in the rear,

and fell on the French before they had got many miles away.



A lively skirmish followed, though of short duration, Mendoza quickly

retiring, pursued by the French rear-guard, whose straggling march had

detached it from the main body of the army. Mendoza's feigned retreat soon

brought him back to the infantry columns, which closed in on the enemy's

flanks, while the flying cavalry wheeled in the rapid Moorish style and

charged their pursuers boldly in front. All was now confusion in the

French ranks. Some resisted, but the greater part, finding themselves

entrapped, sought to escape. In the end, nearly all who did not fall on

the field were carried prisoners to Barleta, under whose walls Gonsalvo

had drawn up his whole army, in readiness to support Mendoza if necessary.

The whole affair had passed so quickly that Nemours knew nothing of it

until the bulk of his rear-guard were safely lodged within the walls of

the Spanish stronghold.



This brilliant success proved the turning-point in the tide of the war. A

convoy of transports soon after reached Barleta, bringing in an abundance

of provisions, and the Spaniards, restored in health and spirits, looked

eagerly for some new enterprise. Nemours having incautiously set out on a

distant expedition, Gonsalvo at once fell on the town of Ruvo and took it

by storm, in spite of a most obstinate defence. On April 28, 1503,

Gonsalvo, strengthened by reinforcements, finally left the stronghold of

Barleta, where he and his followers had suffered so severely and shown

such indomitable constancy. Reaching Cerignola, about sixteen miles from

Barleta, he awaited the advancing army of the French, rapidly intrenching

the ground, which was well suited for defence. Before these works were

completed, Nemours and his army appeared, and, though it was near

nightfall, made an immediate attack. The commander was incited to this by

taunts on his courage from some hot-headed subordinates, to whom he weakly

gave way, saying, "We will fight to-night, then; and perhaps those who

vaunt the loudest will be found to trust more to their spurs than to their

swords,"--a prediction which was to prove true.



Of the battle, it must suffice to say that the trenches dug by the

Spaniards fatally checked the French advance, and in the effort to find a

passage Nemours fell mortally wounded. Soon the French lines were in

confusion, the Spanish arquebusiers pouring a galling fire into their

dense masses. Perceiving the situation, Gonsalvo ordered a general

advance, and, leaping their intrenchments, the Spaniards rushed in fury on

their foes, most of whose leaders had fallen. Panic succeeded, and the

flying French were cut down almost without resistance.



The next morning the Great Captain passed over the field of battle, where

lay more than three thousand of the French, half their entire force. The

loss of the Spaniards was very small, and all the artillery, the baggage,

and most of the colors of the enemy were in their hands. Rarely had so

complete a victory been gained in so brief a time, the battle being hardly

more than one hour in duration. The body of the unfortunate Duke of

Nemours was found under a heap of the slain, much disfigured and bearing

the marks of three wounds. Gonsalvo was affected to tears at the sight of

the mutilated body of his young and gallant adversary, who, though

unfitted to head an army, had always proved himself a valiant knight.

During the following month Gonsalvo entered Naples, the main prize of the

war, where he was received with acclamations of joy and given the triumph

which his brilliant exploits so richly deserved.



The work of the Great Captain was not yet at an end. Finding that his

forces were being defeated in every encounter and the cities held by them

captured, Louis XII. sent a large army to their relief, and late in the

year 1503 the hostile forces came face to face again, Gonsalvo being

forced by the exigencies of the campaign to encamp in a deplorable

situation, a region of swamp, which had been converted by the incessant

rains into a mere quagmire. The French occupied higher ground and were

much more comfortably situated. But Gonsalvo refused to move. He was

playing his old waiting game, knowing that the French dared not attack his

intrenched camp, and that time would work steadily in his favor.







GONSALVO DE CORDOVA FINDING THE CORPSE OF THE DUKE OF NEMOURS.





"It is indispensable to the public service to maintain our present

position," he said to the officers who appealed to him to move; "and be

assured, I would sooner march forward two steps, though it would bring me

to my grave, than fall back one, to gain a hundred years of life."



After that there were no more appeals. Gonsalvo's usual cheerfulness was

maintained, infusing spirit into his men in all the inconveniences of

their situation. He had a well-planned object in view. The hardy

Spaniards, long used to rough campaigning, bore their trying position with

unyielding resolution. The French, on the contrary, largely new recruits,

grew weary and mutinous, while sickness broke out in their ranks and

increased with alarming rapidity.



At length Gonsalvo's day came. His opponent, not dreaming of an attack,

had extended his men over a wide space. On the night of December 28, in

darkness and storm, the Spanish army broke camp, marched to the river that

divided the forces, silently threw a bridge across the stream, and were

soon on its opposite side. Here they fell like a thunderbolt on the

unsuspecting and unprepared French, who were soon in disordered retreat,

hotly pursued by their foes, their knights vainly attempting to check the

enemy. Bayard had three horses killed under him, and was barely rescued

from death by a friend. So utterly were the French beaten that their

discouraged garrisons gave up town after town without a blow, and that

brilliant night's work not only ended the control of France over the

kingdom of Naples, but filled Louis XII. with apprehension of losing all

his possessions in Italy.



Such were the most brilliant exploits of the man who well earned the proud

title of the Great Captain. He was as generous in victory as vigorous in

battle, and as courteous and genial with all he met as if he had been a

courtier instead of a soldier. In the end, his striking and unbroken

success in war aroused the envy and jealousy of King Ferdinand, and after

the return of Gonsalvo to Spain the unjust monarch kept him in retirement

till his death, putting smaller men at the head of his armies rather than

permit the greatest soldier of the century to throw his own exploits more

deeply into the shade.