On the next day everything changed.
A herald clad in a tabard with the griffin of Perugia appeared at the main city gates.
Trumpets sounded and he proceeded to loudly declaim from a document. Jared’s Italian was much improved but he had to ask Alonzo to translate its ornate delivery.
‘Not so good, il mio compagno,’ he said with a tight expression. ‘It’s come to the notice of the vicar general of Rome, who’s really the Bishop of Perugia, that unclean and unholy practices are being encouraged, namely the diabolic conjuring of heavenly powers. It’s demanded that the person of you, m’ friend, be detained for examination.’
‘Do you think Malatesta will hand me over?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘O’ course not! This is the Guelphs making their move. They weary of getting their hands on your secret and think to strike before your gunnes are ready. Their spies will tell them this, for they stand to be defeated by your terror weapon unless they do something.’
‘Then what will happen?’
‘War, of course. If they don’t have it now, your gunnes will increase in number and ferocity and they stand to cravenly bow to Arezzo.’
The pennons fluttered bravely in the breeze, the fitful sun picking out the sharp glitter of blades, the workmanlike steel shimmer of armour and above all the glorious blazon of colour: knightly riders atop destriers with their courtly graces and ornamented helmets, ranks of soldiers in white and red quartered tunics bearing the rearing black horse of Arezzo, and in the centre – the extravagant opulence of the signore’s own Gunner’s Band.
Directly in front of them was the commanding figure of Malatesta, in a black velvet robe mounted on a jet-black steed and with an expression of single-minded ferocity.
After emerging from the city gates the column took the road southward, stepping it out in order to reach the low San Zeno pass before the Perugian horde, still out of sight.
It was going to be the old story – the ancient chivalry of Perugia advancing from the south and the two meeting on the wide flood plain of the Chiana. This time there was going to be a quite different outcome and the Arezzo line of march buzzed with the expectation of how great a humiliation it would be for their foe.
Jared had not been required to be among them but this was the first time he would see his gunnes speak in anger so he needed to be there. He rode a mild-mannered rouncey and while wearing the required colours of the band he carried no arms, nor did he wear a formidable coxcomb helmet and streamer like Peppin.
As they proceeded in a noisy column he was struck by the theatrical unreality of it all. His experience of battle was by no means meagre, he’d seen some of the worst.
Mongol savagery leaving hills of dead in a whirlwind of destruction and the brutal head-on clash of two great armies but in every case the array on the battlefield was utilitarian, hard and bleak, the chief colour that of blood and bright steel.
Here there were acrobats whirling flags, a din of music and much prinking and posturing from both knight and foot-soldier. In Jared’s eyes this was not war, it was a cavalcade!
After two or three miles they were through the pass and the plain lay before them, the puissance of Perugia still not yet in sight.
He was not a tactician but Jared saw that to deploy in the open with an inferior force vulnerable to charge by knights or encirclement and slaughter would not be a wise move. And if Malatesta placed overmuch faith in the Gunners Band …
They were not yet descended to the plain when a halt was ordered and Jared thankfully saw Malatesta stand tall in the saddle and crisply direct his army to take position. They were going to stay here and await the Perugian attack from prepared positions.
On the flanks of the hills on either side, forward companies of crossbowmen assembled. In the centre was the main army, but standing in the forefront with Malatesta was the Gunners Band at his command.
Any attack was thus constrained to the front. If the enemy advanced, the crossbowmen would take them in the flank. If they came on further the gunnes would finish them.
So his gunners were to be kept for last resort until they’d proved themselves.
Their position was sound, placed directly ahead of the massed soldiers. Archers were ready to move out on either wing against any threatening attack on the knights who were milling impatiently ahead and poised to throw themselves on the fleeing Perugians.
They set up with a forward positioning on either side, of two companies of eight gunnes. Behind these were the remainder, spread across the front in eight sets of four gunnes with two spares, each with its line of supply to the support carts carrying the powder and spares. It was as much as Jared could do, and now it was up to Peppin to take charge and see it through.
The sun rose and warmed the air. Insects busied themselves and the occasional cries of birds were heard above the continuous murmur of an army in waiting.
The previous evening Jared had written a letter to Rosamunde, a dutiful reciting of recent events as they affected her commercial interests, but omitting his own perils and adventures. It was a respectable achievement; to have completed a full fifty gunnes in just months, now delivered and payment due. As well he’d been able to renegotiate terms to include training and support services, an important source of revenue for the future in his estimation.
It had been a painful exercise for one unused to the quill, in fact it had been his first letter to anyone. He was unsure how to word the bit about what it was like to be on the eve of battle and again how best to close the letter.
But it had gone off and now he had other things on his mind.