As soon as he arrived at the edge of the field, Baudolino saw a foot soldier running towards him with a long pike. He spurred his horse, trying to run the man down, hoping to frighten him. The soldier was frightened, and fell on his back, letting go of the pike. Baudolino dismounted and seized the pike, while the man shouted threats to kill him, standing up and drawing a dagger from his belt. But he was shouting in the Lodi dialect. Baudolino had become accustomed to the idea that the people of Lodi were with the empire, and keeping the soldier at bay with the pike, because he seemed out of his mind, Baudolino shouted: “What are you doing, you fool, I’m with the empire too!” The man shouted back: “I know. That’s why I’m going to kill you!”
At that point Baudolino remembered that Lodi now was on the side of the League, and he asked himself: What shall I do? Kill him? The pike is longer than his knife. But I’ve never killed anybody!”
He jabbed the pike between the man’s legs, sending him sprawling full length on the ground, then aimed the weapon at his throat. “Don’t kill me, dominus, because I have seven children, and if I die they’ll die of hunger tomorrow,” the Lodi man cried. “Let me go. I can’t do your people much harm: you see how I give in like an idiot!”
“You’re an idiot, all right—anyone can see that at the distance of a day’s march. But if I let you go with something in your hand, you could still do some harm. Take off your breeches!”
“My breeches!”
“That’s right. I’ll spare your life, but I’m making you go around with your balls in the air. I want to see if you go back to fighting like that, or if you run straight home to your lousy children!”
The enemy took off his breeches, and began to run through the fields, leaping over the hedges, not so much from shame, but because he was afraid an enemy knight could see him from behind and, thinking he was displaying his buttocks in contempt, impale him, Turkish-style. Baudolino was content that he had not had to kill anyone, but now a man on horseback was galloping towards him. The rider wore French dress, so was obviously not a Lombard. Baudolino decided to sell his life dearly and he drew his sword. The rider passed by him, shouting: “What are you doing, you lunatic?
Can’t you see that today we screwed you imperials! Go home; that’s best for you!” And off he rode, not seeking any trouble. Baudolino remounted and asked himself where he should go, because he understood absolutely nothing of this battle, and until now he had seen only sieges, in which case you clearly know who is on this side and who on the other.
He rode around a clump of trees, and in the midst of the plain saw something he had never seen before: a great open wagon, painted red and white, with a long pennon and banners at its center, and an altar surrounded by some soldiers with long trumpets like the ones angels hold, which perhaps served to urge the men into battle, whereupon he said—as they said around his part of the country: “Hey, that’s enough!” For a moment he thought he had happened upon Prester John, or was in Sarandib at the very least, where they went into battle on a wagon drawn by elephants, but the wagon he now saw was drawn by oxen, even if all decked out like gentlemen, and around the wagon there was no fighting. The men with trumpets let out a blast every so often, then stopped, unsure what to do next.
Some of them pointed to a tangle of people on the shore of the river, who were still flinging themselves on one another, letting out cries to wake the dead; others were trying to make the oxen move, but restive as they generally are, they now seemed even more reluctant to get mixed up in the brawling.
What shall I do? Baudolino wondered. Shall I jump into the midst of those fanatics down there, not even knowing who the enemies are, unless they speak first? And maybe, while I’m waiting for them to speak, they’ll kill me?
As he was pondering the question, another knight came towards him, and this was a ministerial whom he knew well. The man also recognized him and shouted: “Baudolino! We’ve lost the emperor!”
“What do you mean you’ve lost him, for Christ’s sake?”
“Somebody saw him fighting like a lion in the midst of a horde of foot soldiers, pushing his horse towards that little wood, then they all disappeared among the trees. We went over there but couldn’t find anybody left. He must have tried to escape in some direction, but he surely didn’t return to the main body of our cavalry….”
“Where is the main body of our cavalry?”
“Actually, the problem isn’t only that he didn’t rejoin the main body of the cavalry, it’s that the main body of the cavalry no longer exists. There was a slaughter, curse this day. In the beginning Frederick and his horsemen hurled themselves on the enemy, who seemed all on foot, all gathered around that catafalque. But those foot soldiers fought back, and suddenly the Lombard cavalry turned up, so our men were attacked on two sides.” “You mean to say you’ve lost the holy Roman emperor?
And you tell me in this tone? God help us.”
“You look like you just got here. You don’t know what we’ve been through! Some say they actually saw the emperor fall, and then he was dragged off by the horse, his foot caught in the stirrup!”
“What are our men doing now?”
“They’re running away. Look there. They’re scattering among the trees, throwing themselves into the river. Now there’s a rumor that the emperor’s dead, and each man is trying to get to Pavia as best he can.”
“The cowards! And nobody’s looking for our lord any more?”
“Darkness is falling. Even the men who had kept on fighting are about to stop. How could you find anyone here, or God knows where?” “Cowards!” Baudolino said again. Though he was not a man of war, he had a great heart. He spurred his horse and, with sword drawn, flung himself upon a great pile of corpses, as he called in a loud voice for his beloved adoptive father. Seeking a dead man on that plain, among so many other corpses, and shouting to him to give a sign, was a desperate enterprise, so much so that the last Lombard squads he encountered let him pass, taking him for some saint from Paradise who had come to lend them a hand, and greeting him with festive gestures.
Where the fighting had been most bloody, Baudolino began turning over the bodies that lay face down, still hoping and at the same time fearing to discover in the dim twilight the beloved features of his sovereign. He wept, and proceeded so blindly that, emerging from a grove, he bumped into that great ox-drawn wagon, which was slowly leaving the battlefield. “Have you seen the emperor?” he shouted, in tears, without reason or restraint. The men started laughing, and one said to him: “Yes. He was in those bushes over there, screwing your sister!” and one blew clumsily into his trumpet to produce an obscene blast.
They had spoken idly, but Baudolino went to look in those bushes.
There was a little pile of corpses, three prone on top of a fourth, supine. He lifted the three, and underneath he saw a red beard, but red with blood: Frederick. He realized at once that he was alive, because a kind of faint rattle came from his parted lips. There was a wound on his upper lip, which was still bleeding, and a broad dent on his brow stretching to the left eye; both hands were still clenched, a dagger in each, like one who, on the verge of losing consciousness, had still been able to stab the three wretches who had attacked him.
Baudolino raised his father’s head, cleansed his face, called him; Frederick opened his eyes and asked where he was. Baudolino touched him, to see if he had any other wounds. Frederick cried out when his foot was touched; perhaps it was true that his horse had dragged him, dislocating his ankle. Still talking to him, while he asked again where he was, Baudolino
helped him sit up. Frederick recognized Baudolino and embraced him.
“My lord and father,” Baudolino said, “now you will mount my horse, but you mustn’t strain yourself. We must proceed cautiously, even if night has fallen, because all around us are the troops of the League, and our only hope is that they’re in some village carousing, since, no offense, it seems they’ve won. But some could still be nearby looking for their dead. We’ll have to go through woods and ditches, staying off the roads, to reach Pavia, where your troops have withdrawn. You can sleep on the horse: I’ll take care you don’t fall off.”
“And who’ll take care that you don’t fall asleep while you’re walking?” asked Frederick, with a taut smile. Then he said: “It hurts when I laugh.” “I see you’re well, now,” Baudolino said.
They proceeded through the night, stumbling in the dark, even the horse, over roots and low bushes. Only once did they see, in the
