'I thought it would be clear. Why do I lure Vignate to make a _camisade_ from Alessandria with six hundred men wearing their shirts over their arms, to be met here by another three hundred under Captain Farfalla similarly bedecked? Nine hundred horsemen, or thereabouts, with their shirts over their arms will ride back in triumph to Alessandria in the dim light of dawn. And the jubilant garrison will lift up its gates to receive them.' 'You intended that?' said Facino, when at last he found his voice. 'What else? Is it not a logical consummation? You should break your morning fast in Alessandria, my lord.' Facino, the great captain, looked almost with reverence at this fledgling in the art of war. 'By God, boy! You should go far. At Travo you showed your natural talent for this game of arms. But this ...' 'Shall we come to details?' said Bellarion to remind them that time was precious. Little, however, remained to be concerted. By Bellarion's contriving the entire condotta was waiting under arms. Facino offered Bellarion command of what he called the white-shirts, to be supported by Carmagnola with the main battle. Bellarion, however, thought that Carmagnola should lead the white-shirts. 'Theirs will be the honour of the affair,' Facino reminded him. 'I offer it to you as your due.' 'Let Messer Carmagnola have it. What fighting there may be will fall to the lot of the pretended returning camisaders when the garrison discovers the imposture. That is a business which Messer Carmagnola understands better than I do.' 'You are generous, sir,' said Carmagnola. Bellarion looked sharply to see if he were sneering. But for once Carmagnola was obviously sincere. As Bellarion had planned, so the thing fell out. In the grey light of breaking day, creeping pallid and colourless as the moonstone over the meadows about Alessandria, the anxious watchers from the walls beheld a host approaching, whose white-shirts announced them for Vignate and his raiders. Down went drawbridge, up portcullis, to admit them. Over the timbers of the bridge they thundered, under the deep archway of the gatehouse they streamed, and the waiting soldiery of Vignate deafened the ears of the townsfolk with their cheers, which abruptly turned to cries of rage and fear. For the camisaders were amongst them, beating them down and back, breaking a way into the gatehouse, assuming possession of the machinery that controlled drawbridge and portcullis, and spreading themselves out into the square within to hold the approaches of the gate. Their true quality was at last revealed, and in the tall armoured man on the tall horse who led and directed them Francesco Busone of Carmagnola was recognised by many. And now as the daylight grew, another host advanced upon the city, the main battle of Facino's army. This was followed by yet a third, a force detailed to escort the disarmed camisaders of Vignate who were being brought back prisoners.