“I know, I know. If something happens to him, I will never forgive myself. Still, he was to stop by Owl Hollow. He knows the way. I was quite sure he could find it and would try to get Crispin to go on with him.”
“Well, Crispin knows the way and has a contact in Steamboat—with Wesley Fletcher, and Amber.”
“Yes, Crispin will know how to get in touch with Wesley and the leadership. But something happened at Owl Hollow. Colin found it deserted, with obvious signs of battle. Whether Philip survived or not, I don’t know.”
“Colin? He has returned?” asked Abel.
“No, although he was able to get a message through. A pigeon brought it yesterday.”
Don then told Abel of the discouraging meeting of the day before. Abel listened silently as Don emphasized his failures of judgment. “I don’t know what is wrong with me,” he concluded. “We should never have allowed Bobby to escape. The ammunition store should have been moved east long ago. We are desperately short of heavy cavalry, and now it looks as if there will be no help from the South. I certainly can do nothing right in Gray John’s eyes. I offered to step down and let someone else take command, but they all keep saying that this legend that Samuel has built up should be encouraged. What do you think?”
Abel looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment. “It’s only those who do nothing that make no mistakes,” he said. “Of course there will be errors. Yet I think Samuel was the one who decided to leave the ammunition in Owl Hollow, wasn’t he?”
“Well, yes, but I went along with it—I should have spoken up!”
“Enough of this, Donald,” insisted Abel. “Instead of dwelling on what went wrong, we need to focus on the future. How do you plan to use the cannons?”
Don realized that Abel was right. The cannons were his responsibility, and he needed to make some decisions. He glanced around the room and saw Rob, the armorer from Ariel, talking with two of the horse troop officers at a nearby table and asked him to join them. Seeing Jenkins, the missile troop commander, he waved him over as well. They moved to a corner table in an alcove and spent the next half hour discussing their small guns and how best they might be used.
“I was told that the range on the field guns was about a quarter mile,” said Don, looking at Rob. “Is that about right?”
Rob hesitated, as if unsure how to answer. His bright blue eyes contrasted with the sunburned red of his face and his black mustache. “We can easily reach that range, to be sure,” he said, finally. “Jenkins and I have been talking to Stonegate’s weapons master, and they have made good progress in developing gunpowder. We sent them a report on our work a few months ago, even before the Prophet’s attack, which helped them, I think. I have seen their powder, and I think it’s superior to ours. With the Stonegate powder we should be able to double that range.”
“Is that so?” exclaimed Abel.
Jenkins and Rob both nodded. Then Rob clarified. “We think their saltpeter is of better quality. They have been reluctant to tell us where it came from. But the small tests we have done indicate that it burns hotter and more violently. We would have to test it in the field, of course.”
“There are also the beehive rounds,” added Jenkins. “They are like huge shotgun shells and can be used for short-range defense of the guns. We demonstrated them at the defense of the tunnel, and they helped break up a determined charge.”
“What is the best way for us to use the cannons?” asked Abel.
“Stonegate wants us to mount them on the city walls,” returned Rob. “But that would be a huge mistake.”
He paused for a long minute. Don and Abel urged him to continue,
“Our field artillery presents the enemy with a problem,” Rob said, after collecting his thoughts. “Infantry must mass to defend against heavy cavalry. They need long pikes and tight formations. Massed infantry are excellent targets for our artillery. If they disperse their infantry, they make poor targets since our balls are solid shot. They don’t explode, you see. But dispersed infantry units are easy for cavalry to destroy.”
“I see,” said Abel. ‘That was a lesson we taught them on two occasions. So you envision combining field artillery and heavy cavalry in the field”
Rob and Jenkins both nodded. “Our muskets, crossbowmen and grenadiers can also break up massed cavalry,” added Jenkins.
Don’s heart sank, remembering that they desperately needed more heavy cavalry and the reinforcements they had been counting on may not be coming. If only we had all of Haven’s cavalry! It could have made the difference.
“Does Stonegate have a good supply of gunpowder?” asked Don.
“They have several hundred pounds and are making more,” answered Rob. “Most of it is going to be used to make the gunpowder grenades of the Ariel style. We brought samples of the grenades, as well as the thunderclaps and fireballs. They all can be lighted and thrown down from city walls or can be fired from catapults. The fireballs throw burning pitch when they explode, and the others are filled with lead balls or bits of metal.” He paused for a moment, then added: “Incidentally, we sent several score thunderclaps and an equal number of grenades to Steamboat to repay them for the artillery shells they sent to us. I pray they will be of some help. It was little enough.”
“They should help them in close-in defense, as they did for us. Here in Stonegate, the gunpowder may be used in the town guns should the old propellant prove unreliable,” added Jenkins. “Even though it has been stored in sealed containers, the propellant is many decades old, and is somewhat unstable.”
“Is this—propellant a kind of gunpowder?” asked Abel.
“Not exactly,” answered Rob. “It is a different chemical, more complicated. It works in much the same way and is a kind of smokeless powder. We do not know how to make it. Rather, we could make something similar if we had the various acids and other compounds needed. Our information is theoretical, not practical.”
“Practical is what we need now,” said Don. “That comes down to the same old question: will the town guns work?”
“We think the old shells will still explode, most of them. There will be duds of course. If all else fails, they could fire the shells from the town guns with our gunpowder.”
“So the town guns are not an empty threat?”
“Not at all. Although I can’t speak about their accuracy.”
†
Later in the day, Don was finally able to visit with Samuel for a few minutes. He was propped up in his bed on pillows, and his bandages were covered with a cotton gown. He looked pale, his eyes had dark circles, his cheeks were shrunken, and he was barely able to raise his arms, but his voice was steady. Deborah had escorted Don into the chamber and stood by the foot of the bed, looking on anxiously.
“It’s good to see you,” said Don. “I have to tell you that I am under strict orders not to tire you or stay too long.”
“To the blazes with that,” said Samuel. “I probably look like a week-old corpse, but I am fit enough to talk!”
Don said, “We thought we had lost you. It was a near thing. What happened?”
“Bobby came into the room, saying he had something urgent to tell me. Then he put a hand over my mouth, and I realized that he intended to stab me. Curse this missing arm! I could not defend myself, but I pushed him as hard as I could. My feet slipped, and I fell, and apparently my head hit something. That’s about all I remember.”
“He was much cleverer that I had given him credit for,” Don said. “He planned it very well and made a clean escape, I am sorry to say. The leaders here think we were foolish not to have arrested him immediately.”
“Perhaps they are right,” sighed Samuel. “It is easy to say that, in hindsight.”
Deborah said, “It was a miracle that his stab was deflected. Thank God!”
The m
en nodded agreement. Samuel paused, as if in thought. Don let the pause lengthen, without trying to interrupt. Samuel said, “What has been happening? Are you going to be able to work with Lord Cal and the others?”
“Yes, I think so. But I have been thinking. We were discussing how to use our cannon and learned that the Stonegate armorers want to mount our field artillery on the walls.”
“Don’t do that!”
“No, I know. That would be unwise. We need the mobility and punch that the guns give us in the field. That was a good lesson we learned at the tunnel.”
“Yes, exactly right. Too bad we don’t have all six guns.”
“I know. Yet it strikes me that Stonegate is locked into a defensive way of thinking. All of their lives, the whole emphasis has been on defense. Still, we can’t win against the Prophet that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“If we let the enemy bottle us up within the walls of Stonegate, we will lose. It will be a stalemate for a long time, I think, but eventually they can starve us out. They have time and resources to do so.”
“Hmm, yes.” Samuel took a sip of water. “But we are too weak to march out and meet them on the field. It is a dilemma.”
Deborah broke in. “I am sorry, Don. But you only have a few more minutes. I had to promise Thad and the other healers that this visit would be short.”
“Very well,” said Don to Deborah. The he looked at Samuel. “What we learned at the defense of Bethuel and Ariel is that we have to take the battle to the enemy. While Stonegate has six horse troops, and they are well-armed and trained to perfection, that still only amounts to three hundred heavy cavalrymen. Our mounted crossbow and grenade troops add another fifty, and they have great shock value. The three guns add even more, and there is our single horse troop of fifty. I would not fear to take this combined force up against a thousand of the enemy horsemen, even though they are also well-mounted and well-armed.”
“They are said to have three thousand,” answered Samuel. “But even if we defeat their cavalry, it is the infantry that will attack Stonegate.”
“I still say that the enemy cavalry is the key. If we can defeat that force, then they will not be able to defend their long supply lines, and it will be them that will risk starvation. To make it work, though, we will have to do as we did along the Kolaroo river.”
“You mean a scorched-earth strategy, don’t you?”
“Yes, we will again have to destroy everything useful to the enemy or take it within the walls.”
“That will not go down well.”
“I know.”
Chapter 19
†
The Defense of Owl Hollow
Then the lookout reported,
“Lord, I stand on the watchtower all day,
and I stay at my post all night.
Look, riders come—horsemen in pairs.”
Isaiah 21: 8-9a HCSB
It was early morning, and the sun was struggling to appear after another heavy storm the previous night, which had given Philip a thorough drenching. He hadn’t slept much in the last few days, eager to get to Owl Hollow as quickly as possible, with only a few hours’ rest here and there and brief stops to water his horse. Samuel had sketched a rough map of how to get to Owl Hollow from Heart Lake, and most of the trails he rode were little used, since the terrain was rocky and rugged.
Donald had given him a note to give to Stanley, the caretaker, explaining why he’d had to tell Philip where Owl Hollow was. It also warned about the spy and the need to safeguard the hoarded ammunition.
Owl Hollow had remained secret by being inaccessible except by one hidden trail. I must be almost there. The stand of trees was unusually dense. Fallen trunks lay like jackstraws, sometimes in tangles higher than his head, and the trail kinked and curved tortuously.
He carefully puzzled out the path through the piles of fallen trees. Moving in stages, he kept returning to brush out his mount’s tracks as he went. Don had told him that the usual practice was to put pads on the horse’s feet, but he had none. Spruce and fir grew together in the tangle at first and finally gave way to an aspen grove where wild flowers, such as columbines, decorated the forest floor. The scent of pine mingled with the spicy smell of the undergrowth and a fait hint of wood smoke.
Suddenly, opening wide in front of him, he could see a meadow and the tall stone fort that was the Owl Hollow refuge, sitting next to a large, two-story log cabin. Narrow slits high on the stone walls gave the look of an ancient castle. The granite battlements were gray with a hint of rose, but the wood shingles of the cabin roof were weathered to a smoky white. Closer still, there was a man in a garden, tilling the soil and apparently weeding. He turned in alarm as Philip dismounted and ventured forward, one hand raised in peace and holding a letter.
Philip hoped that his friendly approach and appearance (helm and knee-length mail armor), so different from what the Raiders wore, would give him a chance to speak before the other man bolted for safety.
“I’m Philip, Donald of Fisher’s aide, and I’ve come here with a letter for Stanley, the caretaker.”
The big man in the garden stood up slowly, eying Philip cautiously, hand moving to his belt knife. “You’ll have to forgive me for staring…It’s just that we don’t welcome strangers. We never know who we can trust these days. Still, it’s clear that someone told you where we are.”
“I understand, completely,” said Philip, trying to stay calm. “I have myself seen the cruelty of the Raiders—felt it firsthand. I am an ally and not an enemy.”
“Welcome, then…My name is Kelly, and I am a guardian of Owl Hollow. I can see by your youth and the honesty in your eyes that you are no threat. Come, I will take you to Stanley.”
They walked across the grassy hollow and up a hill toward the back of the house where a number of horses were eating grain from a wooden feeder. Philip spied a water trough where he led Victory for a cool drink. Farther away, behind the building, was a trim stone barn.
“That’s where we stable the horses at night…In case of an attack. We only finished building it recently, as a precaution. Actually, it came from an idea that Donald thought up…He was very concerned about the safety of our horses last time he was here.”
Philip was impressed. After giving Victory a friendly pat on her nose, he followed Kelly to the door of the cabin which was the main entrance. Inside, he could hear the carefree chatter of two women working in the kitchen. A grey-haired man sat at the long wooden dining table, writing something with a feathered quill. Square-shaped spectacles sat half way down his nose, giving him an air of distinction.
“Now, who do we have here?” he asked Kelly. He was wide-eyed and startled.
“Allow me to introduce you to Philip, Donald of Fisher’s aide. He has a letter for you. Philip, this is Stanley”
“I see, I see,” Stanley mumbled. “I hope you did not leave an obvious trail behind you.”
“No, sir,” returned Philip. “I was told that I must sweep out my tracks.”
“Well done! Come sit…Let me see this letter. No doubt it must be of significance for you to ride here all alone. Lyn! Betsy! Bring us some tea and some bread and jam. I think we have another hungry youngster.”
Lyn yelled back, “Alright, husband of mine…No need to yell!”
Within minutes, Lyn arrived with a large cloth-covered tray, full of freshly baked bread slices, home-made peach jam, a pot of tea, a jug of milk and a bowl of honey. Philip realized he had hardly eaten for days and soon tucked into the food with a hearty appetite. Just as he was finishing the last crumb of bread, and Stanley had finished reading the letter, a young man entered the room, his face beaming with a huge smile.
“Well, here comes trouble,” laughed Stanley. “Crispin, this is Philip. He’s brought a message from Donald, and I
do believe that it is the latest in a long string of bad news. It appears that there is a spy. And it seems that we might be in danger here.”
“I have been uneasy ever since the Diné eliminated a Raider patrol some days back,” said Crispin, serious for once. “Remember? They were almost on our doorstep. We should have known it was no accident they were here.”
They talked for several hours, and it was past noon when they heard a cry from the kitchen. “Are you all right, Betsy?” called Stanley.
No sooner had Stanley spoken than Betsy came running into the room with fear in her eyes and a voice that was breathless. “I saw them…I saw two mounted men when I looked out the window to check the weather…They looked like Raiders, and they were snooping around at the bottom of the hill.”
“Probably Raider scouts…Quick—Kelly and Crispin, round up the horses and lock them in the stone barn. Philip, you help them. I’ll get some guns from upstairs. We can’t risk them getting away and revealing our location. If there are only two, we can deal with that. Hopefully, there are no more following behind.”
The trio jumped into action, running outside to gather the horses. They could make out that there were indeed two men at the bottom of the hill, and they were riding slowly toward them. And they were riding the shaggy ponies and carried the oval shields of the Raiders.
“Quick,” yelled Kelly, bolting the iron barn door shut, as he drove the last of the horses in. He turned a heavy key in the lock. “They won’t be able to break in very easily. Get inside and get armed. We can’t let them get away! They will bring a swarm back with them.”
Philip and Crispin almost fell over each other as they rushed inside, Kelly running behind them. Sliding the cabin door-latch across, the men secured themselves inside the cabin. Stanley was still upstairs finding guns and ammunition to bring down so the men could defend themselves and Owl Hollow. Just as the Raiders appeared at the top of the hill in full view of the cabin, Stanley arrived panting and ready to give orders.
The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2) Page 18
