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Your soldiers will have work from the first ray of sunlight.
No, even now, they already work - through the night, sentries will take turns to take a watch over the land below the hill you had taken, looking for any possible nightly raids no matter how little and insignificant the chance. Such a duty, of course, is below you, but your sleep, you conclude as you turn yet again in your bedroll, is hardly better. To say you fear for your life would be a lie; the enemy themselves would value it the most if you were captured alive and well, that they may put you up for a hefty ransom. Even if your army was utterly overrun and shattered, a surrender, although shameful, would keep you alive and free of harm. Such was the benefit of holding as your foe the Condottieri, who valued money far more than they valued grudges and showy executions.
No, what keeps you awake is the knowledge of the sword you hold above the heads of those below you. Whether through victory or defeat, through your wise decisions or foolish blunders, through your enemy's failure or retreat: tomorrow, men shall die, and they shall die by the hundreds. Even the greatest of generals and the wisest of tacticians know this. No battle can be won without bloodshed, however little it may be.
You push such thoughts down, and force yourself to sleep...
When you wake up, efforts have already begun. From the first rays of dawn, hundreds of soldiers, aided by the camp followers, have been digging out trenches in the southern end of Costat Hill. Hugues, overseeing the efforts, tells you that such earthworks have myriads of uses. Filled with arquebusiers, they become defensible lines of fire, allowing the men to lay down volley after volley while fearing little in return. At the same time, however, a trench filled with pikemen is like a stake-filled moat or a <span class="mu-i">chevaux de frise</span>. However you use them, they'll be most useful at dealing with flanking attacks from the enemy forces.
It is nearly mid-day when a hurried horn begins to blow over the camp, the quick notes of the clarions announcing to all: <span class="mu-s">the enemy approaches!</span>
Already in battle armor, you hurry on your horse to the front of the hill, where your staff officers remain, waiting for your arrival. At your side is Joan, on her own horse, and wearing the armor she had shown you back in Portblanc. Although you had sought to keep her safe within your barracks, you could not argue with her insistence that the superior sight given by her Corunii nature was necessary.
"Don Alessandro! We have spotted the enemy coming from the northern road." says Hugues, pointing northwards. Indeed, even unaided, you can already see the approaching host coming towards you, dust kicked into the air by the hundreds of horses.
"What hold they in their ranks?"
"Five companies of foot, sir. Three are of halberd and two of shot." interjects your maid, her pitch black-eyes glimmering in the sunlight.
"And the horse?" you ask
