‘Why do we have to prance around like some poxy king’s soldier?’ snarled one of the line of mercenaries trudging along with their gunnes on their backs. ‘We’re the Gunner’s Band, we are!’
‘Tell your thick-skulled crew,’ Jared said heavily to Peppin, ‘that there’s a pile more to being a useful gunner than setting off a gunne. Tell ’em … well, say that.’
It was not going to plan, for it was becoming clear to him and probably Peppin that there were many more things to think about in actually using gunners in combat than he’d initially assumed. Were they part of the attack or defences? Anti-cavalry or simple man-slayers? How did the leader of an army communicate his orders to them? He was no military man but he’d seen more than his fair share of battles and these were only the first questions that needed answering.
Peppin was of little use, shrugging and laconic. Jared was starting to have his suspicions about him. What if Peppin was playing another game, waiting until the first clash with gunnes swept the field and then it would be he, leader of the only Gunner’s Band, who would be getting the fat bids. That only he himself had the secret of gunne-powder would then be of little use – all arrangements would be with the band and he’d be forced to deal with them only.
Sourly he gave the next order, to stop and deploy. It had to be done right or the gunnes in the field would be nothing but useless ornaments.
Besides bringing the weapon to face the enemy by order, from the supply cart had to be carried the braziers, one to every four of them, and then the wires ready-heated. Also a quantity of lead balls to be placed next to each and finally, the gunne-powder delivered by hand from the wagon.
Who knew what the conditions of battle would do to his plans.
Already he’d found that there were grave disadvantages to gunnes on the battlefield.
Firstly, they were unwieldy, unable to be sent at a moment’s notice to distant parts of a battlefield. Secondly, they were expensive – not the gunnes but the labour-intensive gunne-powder that was taking such a distressingly long time to make. Thirdly, their rate of fire was far less than an archer and even slower than a crossbow. Lastly, their lightning and thunder would inevitably panic not only the foe but their own warhorses assembling to meet the enemy.
He kept all this to himself and concentrated on the instruction of the gunners. In only a little while these dozen would be the serjeants of four gunnes each, with all responsibility for teaching and drilling them. At the rate they were going, he was probably going to hand over an undisciplined rabble to Malatesta.
In a dark mood Jared returned to his house.
To his surprise, his room upstairs was untidy, the bedclothes sketchily thrown down and the side table a jumble. He went to the next room and saw a similar state. This was not like Nina, who couldn’t bear things out of their place, let alone disordered.
Had she left him in a rage over his refusal to deal with Lucia? With a sinking heart he went down the stairs.
He heard voices outside and Nina and the cook came in carrying food baskets. Both looked up at him in surprise.
‘I … er, was wondering what we’ll be having tonight,’ he muttered feebly.
Nina headed up the stairs past him to the upper floors. A moment later she cried out from the top of the staircase. ‘What you do, diavolo – why you do this to me?’
Suddenly Jared realised there was a simple explanation for the untidiness. There had been a hurried rummage by someone for a hidden document that didn’t exist.
And what that implied was chilling. His friend and protector, Ezzolino, was not all he seemed.
Alonzo had never trusted the young, thrusting noble for his ambitions and he had been right. Ezzolino had witnessed what the gunnes could do and seen that if he had them for himself he could stand astride Arezzo. They would be vital to his plans, which was why he’d gone out of his way to protect Jared while they were in development. Now they were close to being handed over – not to him but to the tyrant Malatesta, who would then hold them all in subjection.
This was now acutely dangerous: Ezzolino had been unable to lay his hands on the gunne-powder secret and therefore the only way left of frustrating the signore would be to eliminate Jared.
Even now he would be receiving the news of the fruitless search and in all probability was on his way to a confrontation.
Jared forced his mind to an icy control. Did he flee into the streets into the arms of the assassins, now completely unprotected or—?
Shouted orders sounded from outside; time had run out.
Footsteps thudded up the staircase and Ezzolino burst into the room. Three armed men took up position outside. With a sob Nina fled downstairs.
Jared stood before Ezzolino, heart in his mouth.
‘You know why I’ve come,’ he said impatiently, slapping his gloves down and pacing to and fro. ‘I’ll not be denied it, this you will understand.’
Gone was the amiable and courteous Corso – this man had a murderous expression and spoke with a harsh venom.
‘Give it to me now!’
The one thing Jared clung to was the knowledge that he would live for as long as the secret held.
‘The document does not exist,’ he said as calmly as he could. ‘I lied. All the knowledge is held in my head.’
‘Then it’s so simple,’ Ezzolino sneered. ‘You’ll write it down before me now.’
‘No.’
In a single savage movement a blade was unsheathed, the glittering point stopping at Jared’s throat. ‘Now! Or I promise you, your end will be unpleasant.’
‘And you will lose your secret!’
‘I may lose the secret but so will Malatesta. No one then has a power over the other!’
His bluff was called. If he didn’t give up the mystery he would leave this earth in agony – if he did he would be dispatched as a complication later.
Jared’s mind raced as the noise of some kind of disturbance in the street below intruded into the scene.
‘See what that’s about!’ Ezzolino threw at the door, then in silky tones hissed, ‘While Messer Jared begins his writing.’
A corporal of the guard came up. ‘Sire, it’s the capitano di podestà. He claims we’re mounting a private army within the city walls contrary to the law and demands we disperse.’
‘Tell him I’m here to guard the person of Messer Jared, valued above all men by the signore.’
‘He knows that, Highness, and declares he will act in that duty himself.’
Ezzolino eased in something like satisfaction. ‘So the matter is settled.’
Jared said nothing, not understanding.
Ezzolino gave a cruel smirk. ‘Don’t you realise? No, I can see you don’t. Your assassins – these were not from Capuletti, the miserable popolo, nor from Perugia, who desire your secrets, not your death. So that leaves one only. Umberto di Campaldino: who is the capitano di podestà we find waiting patiently below. I have no need to sully my hands with your blood – when he sees my men withdraw, Umberto will be free to have the undoubted satisfaction of ridding this world of you and your gunnes. Farewell, then, little man!’
Jared bit back a retort as he left. Had everyone who he’d accounted his friends been shown to be false? This was now the end for him.
But there was one last, small hope. One who he could count on, could trust his life to – but who had no authority, weight of rank or men-at-arms to command.
He found Nina below, pale-faced and trembling.
‘Mia cara. I beg you on my life to flee away from here. You’ll pass through the guards, they’ll not stop a kitchen maid. Go to Alonzo the blacksmith and tell him what’s happening here. He’ll know what to do.’