Battle of Cortenuova
The Lombard League forces are in disarray as Frederick II's Holy Roman Empire troops press their advantage. The battlefield is chaotic, with wounded soldiers and broken weapons scattered across the tr
Setting
Open battlefield near Cortenuova, Lombardy, with rolling hills and scattered farmlands. The battlefield is strewn with bodies, broken weapons, and trampled earth. A small river runs nearby, its waters muddied by the conflict.
Characters
Frederick II
primary
A middle-aged man of average height with a commanding presence, his sharp Sicilian features marked by piercing hazel eyes and a neatly trimmed beard streaked with grey. His athletic build suggests a warrior-king accustomed to campaigning.
Imperial Knight
secondary
A battle-hardened knight in his late 30s, with a muscular build from years of combat. His face bears a fresh scar across his left cheek, and his short-cropped brown hair is matted with sweat and dirt. His piercing blue eyes scan the battlefield with practiced vigilance.
Lombard Soldier
secondary
A robust but battered man in his late 30s, with a bloodied face and matted brown beard. His left arm hangs limp from a deep gash, and his gambeson is torn where a lance struck his ribs. Dark circles under his eyes betray exhaustion.
Standard Bearer
background
A battle-worn imperial soldier in his late twenties, with a muscular build from years of military training. His face is streaked with dirt and sweat, and his short brown hair is matted under his helmet. His arms are strained from holding the heavy banner aloft for hours.
Field Surgeon
background
A middle-aged man with a wiry build, his face streaked with sweat and dirt. His hands are stained with blood, and his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, revealing muscular forearms. His short brown hair is tousled, and his beard is unkempt from hours of relentless work.
Dialog
Frederick II
Tell the condottieri to close the northern pass like the jaws of Cerberus. The Lombard wolves will find no escape—is this understood?
Imperial Knight
At once, Your Majesty. Their left flank buckles like rotten timber. Shall we loose the Serbian archers?
Lombard Soldier
By the Virgin's tears! Stand fast, you milk-livered whoresons! That Swabian devil won't take our banners!
Frederick II
No. Let them choke on their own disorder. The fletchers' work comes after we harvest this field.
Lombard Soldier
Blast your imperial butcher's pride! We'll see how Sicilian wine tastes mixed with German blood!
Imperial Knight
The Milanese carroccio mired in the Oglio's mud, sire. Their consuls flee like hares before hounds.