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The first rays of spring sunshine parted the thin grey clouds and fell on the man sitting

by the smoldering remains of last night's fire.

He glanced up, thankful for the light, and brought his attention back to the task at hand.

Carefully, precisely pouring gunpowder from an iron flask into the dozen small wooden

bottles spread around it.

As he finished pouring, he plugged each bottle with a cork stopper and then hooked it onto

the leather bandalier across his chest.

Twelve, the man thought, like the twelve apostles.

Good luck.

He crossed himself, padded his matchlock Archibus firearm and whispered a prayer for what

he was about to receive.

The Archibusier's name was Diego, and on the morning of April 24th, 1547, he and around

20,000 of his compatriots were camped near the village of Mühlbeck in eastern Germany.

Saxony was a long way from home for Diego.

He had been born in a dusty village near Burgos in Spain 40 years before, the youngest son

of seven in a poor family of cattle herders.

He had no land, no money, and no hope for a life of anything other than grinding poverty

and hunger.

So at the age of 17, Diego had joined the army of Charles V, the king of Spain, Holy

Roman Emperor, King of Naples, Count of Flanders, and much else besides.

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