The Powder of Death Page 23

  ‘You will buy my gunnes – and the secret of gunne-powder? What will become of Arezzo?’

  ‘Is not a problem. I will continue your good work when you leave, there will be no difference.’

  Then he recalled something Sforza had said that made it all clear. He’d play Lucia along a little.

  ‘Three thousand.’

  She bit her lip, then nodded. ‘Very well. But it must be written down, that it can be tested as the complete knowledge.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Jared said simply.

  ‘What did you say?’ she said sharply.

  ‘What lady commands wealth of her own? Is this your husband speaking to me, or …?’

  ‘You do not need to know!’

  ‘Oh, but I do. How can I be sure that such a sum is available to you, a woman?’

  ‘I have powerful friends. They will provide it this night if I ask it of them.’

  ‘Perugian friends.’

  ‘Does it matter to you?’ she flared. ‘Three thousand ducats in gold is a prince’s ransom. Do you want it in your hands or no?’

  ‘Ah. Very tempting. I’ll think about it.’

  ‘You—’

  ‘I shall consider your offer, la mia signora. Goodnight.’

  After she’d left Nina rounded on him. ‘You fool! Why didn’t you—?’

  ‘Giannina. Why did you do this?’

  She burst into tears then threw herself into his arms.

  Tearing herself away she looked at Jared with great tenderness. ‘I so scared you be killed. And maybe me, too.’

  Jared’s heart went out to her. She had feelings for him and he for her, but unspoken was the fact that when he had finished his gunnes he would go back to England alone.

  He hoped he would be able to give her some security for her future when he left.

  But that aside, he now knew one important thing: the Perugians did not want him dead; their only concern was the secret.

  CHAPTER 76

  ‘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 wha
t 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.’

  CHAPTER 77

  The hammers swung in skilled synchrony, orange sparks shooting out sideways as the plate edge was turned. Jared snatched a glance at the burly form of Alonzo, his face creased in concentration and yet again his heart went out to the simple and honest craftsman. It had been his master stroke that had saved him, the only thing that could have succeeded – he’d gone straight to the signore.

  Malatesta had not wasted a moment. At the head of an overwhelming force from the palazzo he’d marched by torchlight to the rescue, surrounding the house with his men and bursting in on a gloating Umberto. What happened next was not generally known but it was given out later that on hearing of a plot against Messer Jared, it had been first the capitano di podestà and then he himself who had rushed to the rescue.

  Regrettably, in the confusion the noble Umberto di Campaldino, bravely tackling the assassins, had inadvertently fallen to his death from the roof.

  But as a consequence of the threat to the life of the talented Master of Gunnes, he was now confined to a room at the palazzo, under guard at all times.

  A signoria messenger arrived, standing uncertainly before the cacophonous scene of fire and metal.

  The hammering ceased and Jared was informed that the signore wanted to know when this last batch of eight gunnes would be completed.

  Wearily, he allowed that these would be complete before the end of the week but other matters needed settling before he could think to possess a corps of gunners.

  Fifty gunnes, fifty firing wires, gunne-powder boxes, cleaning swabs, spares for all. Then the seventy men supplied to be common gunners under his twelve. Not much better than farmhands they were stolid, slow and frightened. If these were to function without flinching in the heat and terror of battle they would need better training than they were getting from Peppin’s crew, who swaggered and bullied their way about in everything they did.

  In store was now enough of the gunne-powder elements to make up just three firings for each. Three volleys! When archers carried a dozen or more arrows – it was as well that no war was being talked about.

  He made a reluctant farewell to Alonzo and returned to the presidio. The sheer physical satisfaction to be gained at the forge was a treat he rarely allowed himself these days; there was so much to do. And Nina had fled back to her family and he missed her.

  At the presidio he was confronted with the sight of his half-trained gunners capering about in extravagantly coloured costumes. A preening Peppin told him that Malatesta wanted all his elite Gunner’s Band to be attired as he specified – over a plain mail corselet a surcoat of flaming orange and red to mark them out before all as the most fearsome warriors in the field.

  Shaking his head in despair Jared saw how the flaring fabric in any kind of a breeze could wrap over the gunner and even obscure the crucial firing-passage. Now was not the time to argue, however, and he went back to his accounts.

  CHAPTER 78

  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 an
d 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.