She could hear Emery’s voice drifting above the rain with each delivery. “Steady! Dress those lines. Tighten that formation.” He barked the orders like a veteran commander. “No more than a fist’s distance between your shoulders. Those with spears or pikes to the rear line. Those with shields to the front. Wait! Halt!” he shouted. “Forget that. Back in line. Just pass the spears back and hand the shields forward.”

With the next delivery of weapons, Arista paused at the armory doorway and looked out across the square. The garrison had cleared the wagons from King’s Street and a few soldiers entered. They looked briefly at the lines of townsfolk, then went to work to clear the other carts.

Emery stood in front of the troops. Everyone had a sword or a spear but most did not know how to wield them properly. Nearly every man in the front row had a wooden shield, but most simply held them in their hands. At least one man had his shield upside down.

“Adam the wheeler, front and center!” Emery shouted, and the middle-aged wheelwright stepped forward. “Take the left side and see that the men know how to wear their shields and hold their swords.” Emery likewise called Renkin Pool and Forrest into action and set them to dressing the line.

“Keep your shield high,” Adam was shouting. “Don’t swing your sword—thrust it instead. That way you can maintain closer formations. Keep the line tight. The man next to you is a better shield than that flimsy bit of wood in your hands! Stay shoulder to shoulder!”

“Don’t let them turn the flank!” Renkin was shouting on the other side of the line. “Those on the ends, turn and hold your shields to defend from a side assault. Everyone must move and work together!”

Helms and hauberks were coming out now and there were a few in the front row hastily pulling chain mail netting over their heads.

A surprising number of imperial soldiers had already formed themselves into rows on the far side of the square. Each one was impeccably dressed in hauberk, helm, sword, and shield. They stood still, straight, and confident. Looking at Emery’s men, Arista saw nervous movements and fear-filled eyes.

Four knights rode into the square. Two bore the imperial pennant at the ends of tall lances. On the foremost horse rode Sheriff Vigan. Beside him came Trenchon, the city’s bailiff, splashing through the puddles. Hooked to Vigan’s belt, in addition to his sword, was the whip. Vigan’s face was stern and unimpressed by the hastily assembled, slightly skewed lines of peasants. He rode up and down, trotting menacingly, his mount throwing up clods of mud into the air.