Hey, Prime Members, you can listen to Tides of History, Add Free on Amazon Music.

Download the app today.

The Midday Sun hung high in the sky, flooding the fertile fields of Laumbriti with unbroken

light.

It was hot here in September of the year 1427.

The late summer rays cooking the ripening fields of wheat surrounding the road as it led

down toward a narrow stone bridge.

The trampling of feet and hooves and the creaking of wagon wheels competed for space with the

buzzing of cicadas and the chirping of birds.

A column of soldiers sweated and baked in the heat, looking longingly ahead to the riverbank.

Trees per shade fresh water to drink, a respite from the march.

These men were mercenaries, paid by the Duke of Milan, guarding a train of wagons carrying

vital grain and fodder for his army.

There was a war on, a war with the Republic of Venice.

For months now, the two armies had circled and crowed, raided and skirmished, but nobody

seemed particularly eager to fight a major battle.

Still, there was risk, and so the soldiers carried their swords and crossbows and wore their

armor even as the beating sun cooked them.

The column slowed as it neared the bridge.

A wagon blocked the far side.

Something was up.

As the soldiers bunched together, looking to see what was happening, figures appeared

...