It was an alliance that Lodovico Sforza was only too anxious to join. For Il Moro was now deeply regretting the consequences of having enticed the French into Italy where the Duke of Orleans, jealous of Charles VIII’s success in Naples, was making claims upon the Duchy of Milan. As well as Milan, Venice joined the Pope’s Holy League, so did the Emperor Maximilian, so did Ferdinand King of Aragon and Castile. Despite this threat to their position in Naples, the French army did not withdraw from the city immediately. It was not, in fact, until seven weeks after the Holy League had been established that Charles, leaving a large garrison behind him to hold the kingdom in his name, led his army north again.
It was a long, slow march. May passed and the whole of June, 1495. July began and still the French army, accompanied by a mule loaded with treasure to every two men, had not crossed the Appenines. By now the Holy League had managed to bring a strong army together under command of the fierce-looking, bulging-eyed Francesco Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua. Slowly the two armies drew closer together; and this time there would be no deft avoidance as in the earlier fashion of Renaissance warfare. As Francesco Guicciardini observed, the French invasion had for ever ended those prolonged, choreographic campaigns so beloved by the old condottieri who had protracted their wars – as one of them, Jacopo Piccinino, himself admitted – in order to increase their pay, who had safeguarded their men by spending ‘most of their time retreating to the security of river banks and ditches’, who, when they had fought at all, had fought for prisoners rather than to kill. The picture of Italian warfare before the French invasion as a bloodless parade has, of course, been exaggerated. In the battle of Anghiari in 1440, for instance, about nine hundred men were killed, not ‘one man’ as Machiavelli claimed. But all the same, it was not unusual for engagements, in which thousands of men took part, to end without a single casualty and with congratulatory handshakes exchanged between the rival commanders. The Italian soldier fought bravely when he had to fight; but most of the time his commanders made sure that he occupied himself in plundering rather than in conflict, in driving cattle with his lance rather than in shooting at the enemy with his cross-bow. Troops of infantry pass through the pages of contemporary chronicles, wearing smart jerkins and parti-coloured tights, marching along to the music of drum and fife, occasionally shouting the name of the prince who paid them, looking more like strolling players than men of war. In sharp contrast, the soldiers of Charles VIII’s army were experienced, professional, trained to kill. ‘They would face the enemy like a wall without ever breaking rank.’ Above all, as Guicciardini said, they had brought with them
a great quantity of artillery of a sort never before seen in Italy [which] rendered ridiculous all former weapons of attack… These were called cannon and they used iron cannon balls instead of stone as before, and this new shot was incomparably larger and heavier than that which had previously been employed. Furthermore, they were hauled on carriages drawn not by oxen as was the custom in Italy but by horses… and were led right up to the walls and set in position there with incredible speed. And they used this diabolical weapon not only in besieging cities but also in the field.
When the French and Italian armies finally clashed by the banks, of the river Taro in July 1495, the mercenary troops of the Holy League were no match for King Charles’s artillerymen and cavalry. The battle was short and ferocious, more savage and bloody, indeed, than any battle fought in Italy since the end of the thirteenth century. Italian losses were enormous; and, as the greatly outnumbered French army continued its northward march, hundreds of French camp-followers ran on to the field with knives and axes to hack apart the screaming, wounded Italians. Since he retained possession of the battle-ground and had captured the French baggage train – which included a sword and helmet said to have belonged to Charlemagne, jewels and plate, the royal seals, a piece of the Holy Cross, a sacred thorn, a vest of the Blessed Virgin, a limb of St Denis and a book depicting naked women ‘painted at various times and places… sketches of intercourse and lasciviousness in each city’ – the Marquis of Mantua claimed the victory. But by the end of August Charles and his army, still a powerful force, though mauled and weary, were across the Alps and safely home in France, leaving the Italians shocked by the realization that for all their virtues, talents, wealth, past glory and experience, for all their skill as military engineers, they had been utterly unable to withstand the advance of the ruthless men from the north.
In this traumatic campaign Florence had played no part. Firm in his allegiance to ‘God’s instrument’, Savonarola had declined to have anything to do with the Holy League. Amazed that an obscure Dominican should wield such influence, and annoyed not only by his sermons in support of the invader but also by his claims to be God’s chosen mouthpiece, the Pope asked Savonarola to come to Rome to explain himself. Savonarola replied that Florence could not spare him, that he was not well enough to travel, and that, in any case, it was contrary to God’s will that he should do so. Thus had begun a correspondence which, growing increasingly less restrained, had ended with the Pope’s forbidding Savonarola to deliver any further sermons. For a time Savonarola had obeyed the Pope’s commands, his place in the pulpit being taken by his devoted disciple, Fra Domenico da Pescia; but in February 1496, choosing to suppose that the Pope’s ban was no longer in force, Savonarola began a course of sermons which were given every day in the Cathedral until 3 April.
The Pope used every means at his disposal to bring Savonarola to heel. He gave instructions that the Tuscan Dominicans, who had been granted independence, should revert to Roman control since this would enable him to send Savonarola to another monastery far from Florence. Savonarola declined to accept the Pope’s jurisdiction in the matter. Alexander even offered him a cardinal’s hat if he would give up preaching his sermons. Savonarola replied that another sort of red hat would suit him better, ‘one red with blood’.
At length, in June 1497, the Pope took the final step and excommunicated him. For six months Savonarola pondered his dilemma, fasting and praying, until God guided him to the decision that it was his duty to defy the Pope. On Christmas Day he did so publicly by celebrating High Mass in the Cathedral. Alexander responded by demanding of the Signoria that they either dispatch ‘that son of iniquity, Fra Hieronymo Savonarola’ to Rome or lock him up in Florence. If they did not do so, he would lay the entire city under an interdict.
‘You have not listened to my expositions,’ Savonarola replied to the Pope.
I can no longer place any faith in your Holiness, but must trust myself wholly to Him who chooses the weak things of this world to confound the strong. Your Holiness is well advised to make immediate provisions for your own salvation.
With the Signoria, whom he considered to have been far too mild in their response to the Pope’s threats, Savonarola was even more harshly admonitory. ‘Tell those who are seeking to make themselves great and exalted that their seats are prepared for them – in Hell… Tell them that the rod has come. Someone has his seat in Hell already.’