“So, here’s to success against the False Prophet,” said Crispin, raising his glass of ale. “May the next battle bring our victory.”
Philip also raised his glass. The night was filled with laughter, as though war was far away, and evil could be erased from the minds of men.
The Stonegate war conference met the next morning in the common room of the lore-house. The Stonegate Council of Five had joined the senior commanders. In truth, the council was regional, since Thomas of Longmont represented his nearby town. The Council of Five also included Rachel who was there as the representative from Westerly in the place of her late father. She had her hair braided in a knot behind her neck, and she wore no makeup. Don could not keep his eyes off her.
Samuel also sat with them, but he was still weak and had to be escorted to a chair. There was a polite round of applause as he was seated. “I am pleased to see you, Lord Samuel,” said Lore-master Duncan, who was chairing the meeting. “Your counsel will be most welcome.” Samuel said nothing, though he waved a greeting.
Duncan had assembled the latest information on the enemy and went over that first. Scouts had located the enemy army, about fifty miles north of Stonegate. It was well screened by Raider scouts and heavy cavalry, but they were encamped, apparently waiting for the second army to join them.
The force that had defeated Steamboat was on the move and was now about forty miles west of the destroyed city. They had crossed the pass and were heading north through the parkland east of the Western Wall. “The trailing army seems to be making about ten miles per day. They have an extensive baggage train, and the large guns do not move fast,” said Duncan as he finished his remarks.
“How do we know that?” asked Mayor Billings.
“We have a message by pigeon—” began Duncan, but Gray John answered at the same time, “I left the Lobo Troop behind in the field, and they are sending back regular reports.”
“The important thing to remember is that the enemy army could be at our gates in as little as, say, five days,” said Duncan. “Their heavy cavalry could be here at any time. Now I will let Marshall Allen give us an update on the friendly forces. Oh, first let me share one other piece of information.
“Donald, here has survived two attempts on his life. The threat from the Prophet’s Black Caps is real. Be advised and be wary.”
Then Slim produced the captured rifle and told how one of Don’s doubles, Osric, had been slain in a clever ambush. All faces were grim as they viewed the gleaming weapon and its telescopic sight. Rachel gave a start and looked at Don anxiously. He realized that she had not heard of this before.
“I saw the crossbow bolt hit him!” blurted Rachel. “That was certainly no accident!”
Then Duncan explained the strategy of building on the legend of the Lore-man on the Red Horse. Despite the risks, there were now five of these doubles in the field, all wearing red surcoats and riding the largest sorrel warhorses they could find.
Duncan continued, “And let me say that the news of Rachel and Carla of Westerly and their skill with the bow is spreading like wildfire. It seems to be putting heart into our people!”
Slim broke in. “You should have seen my young troopers stare at them. Hero worship, I would say. Or heroine worship, more like it. Perhaps we have more than one legend to promote.”
The table fell silent for a moment as they considered. Then a round of excited congratulations swept the group. All eyes were on Rachel as she blushed bright pink.
“God was with us,” she said quietly. “Carla is known to be a skilled archer, but even my shafts seemed to be guided by an unseen hand.”
“Yes, well said,” returned Duncan. “We are proud of you and Carla, and songs will be written about your bravery, for sure. We were surprised at how well your arrows penetrated the Raider’s mail.”
Lord Cal spoke up. “Gray John and I have been inspecting the mail and breastplates taken off the enemy heavy cavalry, and it is of excellent quality. But the Raider’s light mail is inferior and that is information we can use.”
“The Haven horse troops have added mail chest protectors to their horses and are wearing plate over their mail,” said Marshall Allen. “I am convinced we should do the same.”
“It adds weight,” grumbled Lord Cal. “We decided long ago—”
“No, he is right,” put in Gray John. “We need to add armor to match the enemy. We had a sharp encounter with the enemy, but a lad from Steamboat and his antique rifle blunted their attack. Otherwise, it would have been a bitter struggle. Our troopers have better training, yet their armor almost cancels that advantage.”
“Very well,” said Marshall Allen. “I will issue the necessary orders. But where we will get the armor on short notice, I don’t know.”
“We brought two hundred sets of captured armor,” said Samuel. “What about that?”
“We have given the mail to Hightower forces,” replied Slim. “But we still have enough backplate-breastplate sets for one entire horse troop. Perhaps that will help.”
Marshall Allen glanced at Don, who nodded. Then he said, “It certainly will. Thank you.”
At last, they could hear Marshall Allen’s report on friendly forces, and it was encouraging. Nearly five thousand foot soldiers from the south had already arrived in Stonegate. Food-stuffs were also arriving by the wagon-load. Much was root crops or small grains. They also were getting sacks of stone-ground meal, hard biscuits, bacon, ham, sausage, beans, peas, and dried fruit. More was on the way. Raider attacks had been annoying but had not stopped the flow of supplies, and the enemy was paying a heavy price.
The messenger that had claimed to be from Reuben Ramos had never been seen again. It appeared that the message had been false, so they still had no word on when the Sonora Lancers might arrive or even if they were coming at all.
Stonegate horse troops were keeping a screen between the city and the enemy, thin though it was. Some scouts had been promoted to serve as troopers to replace battle losses, and new recruits were being trained. Marshall Allen recognized Marshall Blake of Steamboat.
“I want to welcome you to the table, Marshall Blake,” he said. “Your experience will be a great help. And you have brought valuable shells for our town guns and two dozen trained gunners. And that does not mention nearly three hundred well-armed foot soldiers and another fifty mounted soldiers. We will be able to use them all under your skilled leadership.”
Marshall Blake inclined his head and made a dismissing gesture. The table again responded with a polite clapping. “Thank you for your report, Marshall Allen, and your contribution, Marshall Blake,” said Duncan. “Your coolness under fire is admirable. Now, two more pieces of good news. The first is the failure of the enemy to stir up persecution of Christians. Despite the Prophet’s proclamation and threats, we have seen no re-occurrence of the evil days of the past. Our folk have remained united, regardless of their faith.
“Second, I have a new message. Haven forces found the people from Owl Hollow. The ammunition hoard is safe and Haven is sending us three more horse troops and three cannons.”
†
The meeting broke for lunch, after a tiring morning. They had reached agreement to evacuate all villages and farms north and east of Stonegate. But it was bitterly debated. Finally, to Don’s great relief, Rachel supported the idea, even though she knew her farm would probably be destroyed without a fight.
Don had been delighted when he had learned that Philip was alive. The rescue of Amber by Crispin was another cause of rejoicing. And now he had heard the news that Stanley and the others had not only escaped but had been able to preserve the precious ammunition hoard. It reminded him of the old superstition that good things come in threes.
He was proud of Rachel. She was no token figure on the council, that was clear. She had matured. She had always been pr
actical and direct. But the rather shy young girl he had known was gone. She was a member of the elite, a community leader, and she showed a quiet self-confidence. He was afraid that he was going to have to win her heart over again. She was grateful for his timely appearance, but gratitude—was it the same as love?
Lord Cal, Gray John, Slim, and Don had a side meeting to discuss their plans for the horse troops. They quickly decided that the supply lines to the south had sufficient protection. The mounted units from Longmont and Hightower had scored several sharp blows against the Raiders, and the Steamboat horsemen could help patrol the roads.
The Castle Rock Riders now numbered close to fifty and were nearly as well mounted and armed as a regular horse troop. They were not well trained, but were gaining experience. Harley was a canny leader. They decided to bring them north and add them to the Haven force under Slim’s command. A messenger was sent immediately.
One Steamboat horse troop, the Lobos, had been left west of the mountains to block movement over the Western Wall and to strike at enemy supply lines. The rest of the Stonegate troops and the Haven force would combine and move north immediately.
“We need to carry the fight to the enemy,” reiterated Don. “They must be made to fight for every mile that they travel. Long-term, we will have to concentrate on their supply lines.”
“You have made your point very well,” said Cal. “For one thing, if we can brush back their Raiders and stop their heavy cavalry, they will be advancing blind.”
“The other cannons and troops from Haven will be a help,” said Slim. “But still…”
“I know,” sighed Cal. “We have stung them and can keep doing so, but they probably have at least two thousand cavalry troopers and several hundred Raiders. Probably we should assume three thousand total horse.”
“Grim odds,’ commented Gray John.
“Let’s shorten them,” said Don, slapping the table. The other men nodded.
†
Don and the Haven troops formed the left wing of the advancing troopers, so he put the missile troops near the center of the formation. The missile troops were composed of the grenadiers, the cannons, and the crossbowmen. Their screen of scouts was well out in front, and the Stonegate troops had the place of honor on the right. Lord Cal was in overall command.
They pressed forward, intending to advance till they made contact. The enemy was surprised. There was a thin screen of Raiders, but they were able to brush them aside like annoying insects. Then the enemy camp was visible below them as they swept over the last rise. It was a good place for the guns, so Don ordered Jenkins to set them up there. Scouts reported seeing the opposing heavy cavalry at their ease, mounts tied to a picket line.
“Wait until we retreat to shell the camp,” ordered Don. “No use alerting them just yet. They will come out after us like angry hornets. Your missile troops will have to delay them enough for you to withdraw. Remember, we can’t risk losing the guns.”
“I understand,” said Jenkins. “I will not risk the guns!”
Don spurred Snap forward. He raised his sword, and, as he heard the bugle sound, he swept it down. Then they broke into a trot, a canter, and finally a full gallop. Don looked to his right and saw the Stonegate troopers coming down the hill like a steel wave. He could hear the notes of the bugle, the drumming of the horses’ hooves, and the beating of his own heart.
They rode down the hill and through the neat rows of tents, going faster than any human can run. The surprised enemy tried anyway, and many were cut down. But the advance could not last. Units began to organize a defense. Don saw a line of pikes barring the way ahead and saw that they had gone far enough. The bugler was by his side, next to Philip. At Don’s order, he began to blow Retreat. An athletic trooper stepped down and grabbed burning brands off a campfire. He began passing them to a knot of wheeling troopers and flames began to spread. Then they withdrew toward the guns in good order. So far, the only enemy response had been a few ill-aimed crossbow bolts.
As they regained the outskirts of the camp, the guns fired with a brilliant flash, and the balls passed over their heads with a rush. Then thunder echoed as smoke billowed in puffy clouds. Don looked to the left and saw an enemy cavalry column advancing at a gallop for the Stonegate wing which had reformed into a line along the same ridge that held the guns.
Don yelled to Slim, “We’ll take them on their flank.”
Slim nodded and gave the command to wheel, which was echoed by the mount commanders. The Blade troop pivoted as one and charged toward the enemy’s right flank. It was a mere fifty against several hundred, but the enemy was caught by surprise.
Don wished he had his war-lance, but his javelin had a wicked mail-breaking head. Their charge slammed home, Snap driving into the ribs of an enemy horse. Don thrust at the rider’s armpit, a three-inch space not covered by plate. The javelin bit deep as they collided, then scores of Blade Troop lances clanged off plate or ripped mail and flesh as the battle was joined. Don thrust again, wounding another rider on the leg, before he lost the javelin. Drawing his sword, he traded blows and knew that several struck home. Then he gave the command to withdraw.
He led the troop back the way they had come, paralleling the ridge so as to pass beneath the guns. A body of enemy horsemen whirled and began to follow, though the weight of armor slowed them. Once past the guns, the Blades troop whirled to form a line on top of the ridge. Don spurred over to Jenkins.
“You can fire at those. They are enemy,” said Don, pointing.
The cannons fired, and the balls cut swaths through the advancing cavalry. Horses and men fell, rolling and kicking. The gunners reloaded and fired again, but the enemy force kept on coming. They should have headed straight up the ridge, trying to split the middle of the line, but they continued to follow the path the Blade troop had taken, minutes before
The guns fired a third time, and that was immediately followed by a volley of musket fire from the gun crews. That caused the advance to falter as the lead balls hit far harder than any crossbow bolt. Saddles emptied and horses dropped, thrashing. Billows of dust and powder smoke almost blocked Don’s view, as he studied the scene, hands on his ears. Snap did not like the pain in his ears. He bobbed his head and danced sideways.
“Beehive rounds,” shouted Jenkins. The crews obeyed, and as each man finished his part in charging his cannon, he began reloading his musket. But by this time, the enemy horsemen were a mere hundred yards away and had turned up-slope toward the gun muzzles. The crossbowmen loosed a volley and Don heard a ripple of clanks as bolts hit plates and shields, although the impact on living flesh or mail made no sound. Then slings whirled, and grenades arched upward and down, burning fuses leaving thin commas in the sky. Red flowers bloomed as explosions ripped up craters at terrified horses’ feet, and deadly bits of lead shot upward. A split second later, the guns fired yet again, a blast that had a shrill accompaniment of whining and buzzing as hundreds of bits of metal shards shredded the foe.
The enemy horses could not face the terrifying, hellish impact of fire, smoke, and explosions. The bravery of the riders no longer mattered since their mounts were thrown into white-eyed panic. They scattered, uncontrollably, in all directions, heedless of the riders’ sawing on the reins. Another ragged volley of musket fire followed them, and the crossbows added their stubby missiles to the chaotic tangle. The grenadiers and their continued rain of bombs were the final blow. They did not have to reload, and could launch grenades as fast as they could light fuses.
But Don could see an infantry formation approaching on a hundred-yard front, and a force of perhaps two hundred cavalry was approaching from the left. It was time to withdraw.
“Take your missile troops and guns to the rear, Jenkins,” ordered Don.
“Shall I give them another volley?”
“No. Go with a charge in the guns. You might
have to fire on short notice. Leave the grenadiers with me for a few more minutes. They can catch up.”
As the guns departed, Don could see the enemy horsemen advancing, and the hammer of hooves sounded like a drum roll. “Give them a long fuse, then sling your grenades in their path,” spoke Don to the grenadiers. They obeyed, using their slings to launch their deadly black orbs. Then Don ordered them to fall back and protect the guns.
The Stonegate wing was separated by about two hundred yards, now. On the forefront of the melee was a large man on a red horse with a scarlet surcoat. The enemy gave way before him.
†
It was easy to tell the gunners. Though they had washed their hands and faces, their tunics were black with gunpowder residue, and they smelled of sulphur. Snap snorted at the smell as Don rode by. They raised their arms in a casual half-salute, half-wave. They were unloading small kegs of gunpowder off a supply wagon.
“Good shooting!” said Don, and he got a cheer in response.
Several large tents had been set up at a carefully selected campsite about twenty miles north of Stonegate. This was to be the northern command post for the time being. A field hospital occupied one of the canvas shelters, another was a kitchen, and a third was the command post. A farrier had set up his anvil near the picket lines where fodder for the horses was being spread. Philip had erected Don’s small personal tent and a half-dozen others formed a ring around a fire-pit.
Two full companies of infantry provided perimeter security, five hundred strong, and they had their own campsite a short distance north, near one of the two springs in the grassy cove. They were Stonegate’s elite guard. Every other man had a long pike, a full fourteen feet with a needle-sharp leaf blade. The other half were armed with long-hafted axes. Their mail was of good quality, but came down only to mid-thigh. They had large square shields, which reminded Don of the kind favored by Roman legions, ages ago. Like the ancient legionnaires, they also wore hand-woven scarlet cloaks. They had been trained to stand against enemy cavalry, and they would be hard to ride over if they kept their heads. A dozen crossbowmen provided some missile support.
The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2) Page 30
