Filippo, exercising a purely imaginary authority, gave the command of his troops to Nicolo Piccino, a pupil of the celebrated Braccio, and he attacked Carmagnola at Casalecco on July 12, but so thick was the dust under foot that before they had well engaged they became invisible and separated without shock.
It was a leisurely campaign. Whatever might be the anxiety of the principals to settle the quarrel, their defenders were not to be hurried, and it was not until October 11 that Carmagnola was called upon to fight a pitched battle. He had been spending most of his time in the interval at the baths of Albano, where he took a cure for rheumatism.
Suspicion is a disease among some people, and though its workings are not by any means confined to one class, it must be owned that power of any kind has always been a happy breeding-ground for it. With the rulers of Venice it was hereditary, and, since it was unsafe openly to suspect each other, they invariably lavished their venomous mistrust upon their servants and instruments. But true to their Latinity, they gave their victim no chance of feeling it or even of defending himself. In silence they judged, in silence they acted, and always with such a wealth of deception, cunning, and falsehood as to proclaim their own cowardice and meanness from the housetops.
The battle of October 11 took place in a marsh near Macalo, and Carmagnola, having lured his adversary Carlo Malastata into the swamps—with which he himself was perfectly familiar—turned upon and beat him soundly, capturing, it is said, upwards of five thousand, including Malastata himself.
He made no attempt to pursue, and immediately released all of his prisoners, thereby giving the Venetian Senate a solid handle for the blade of calumny which they had been forging. When the protests of the Venetians reached him, he refused to discuss the matter, merely replying that it was the custom of war, and, further, that it was his wish. His contempt for his employers was a little too open, and they, though apparently acquiescing and praising his skill, were already plotting his end. The gentle habit of executing a defeated general, wherever possible, was in vogue then and for many years afterwards. As long as Carmagnola could continue to win cities and provinces for them, so long could he continue to live, but no longer.
A new peace was signed on April 18, 1428, and peace descended upon Venice for nearly three years. Carmagnola passed the time in Venice with his family around him; treated with all honour and respect to his face, laughed at, as he knew, for his low birth and rough ways behind his back. Disliked, but courted under pressure—for no one could say how long this new peace would last, and Venice, in the field, was Carmagnola. Without him, Filippo’s men—Piccino, Tonelli, and the rest—would strip her to the waterfront.
The Florentines, grown confident and aggressive, now took the opportunity to attack the Lord of Lucca, Paolo Quinigi, a one-time ally of Filippo’s, and the Lucchesi, revolting, deposed Quinigi and sent him to Milan as a prisoner. The Florentines were, soon afterwards, attacked and routed by Piccino at Sarchio, on December 2, 1430; and once again the old flame broke out.
Carmagnola, to everybody’s surprise, resigned his commission or, rather, attempted to resign it, and the Senate, in a panic, offered him such terms for another campaign as were never offered to any Condottiere, before or since.
Carmagnola, who was then, or had been but a short while before, in communication with Filippo, finally accepted the command, though with reluctance. Perhaps he had the prophetic depression which so often seizes commanders before a disaster; perhaps he had tired of Venice and her service.
Fortune had turned against the Venetians. First their admiral, Trevisano, was caught napping at Cremona and his fleet destroyed under Carmagnola’s furious eyes. His remarks to the admiral afterwards and to the Venetian Senate were so mixed and incoherent with rage that the Senate hurriedly sent down special commissioners to assure him of their confidence and love.