The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2)

by Harry James Fox

  Lord Cal had decided to make this place his field headquarters and had sounded an officer’s call. They gathered around the fire-pit and heard an assessment of the last patrol. Fitzalan, Mustang troop commander, had compiled all the troop reports. He said, “We advanced toward the enemy camp and continued until we met resistance. That was the plan, and that’s what we did.”

  “They had no scouts or cavalry screen?” asked Cal, who had arrived late to the fighting. “The camp was not fortified? Unbelievable!”

  “No fortifications,” continued Fitzalan. “There were Raiders but we were on them before they saw us, so they gave no warning. We were able to penetrate the enemy camp and fire a number of tents and supply wagons. When the enemy cavalry responded, we fought a delaying action. Our goal was to bleed them, and we did that.”

  “How did the Haven guns do?”

  “They were amazing. The enemy would form up to charge, and the guns would tear them apart. The grenadiers and crossbowmen made it impossible to approach the guns’ position. If they dispersed to present a poor target to the guns, we would counterattack in mass and chew them up piecemeal. They had no answer. Everything they tried, we were able to counter.”

  “All I can say is, well done,” said Cal. “Donald, you can be proud of your men.”

  “Jenkins would like to give a report,” responded Don. “And, yes, I am proud of them and Blade troop, as well. The Stonegate troopers lived up to their reputation, also.”

  Jenkins produced a set of plates, both breastplate and backplate, and set it on the folding camp table. “Troopers were told to recover plates from the fallen enemy. Here you see one with a hole through it. It was not a cannon ball that did this; it was a musket ball. The gun crews are becoming more accurate with them, and as you can see, they penetrate plate armor.”

  The display was impressive and gave them all food for thought. Don remembered another breastplate like this, but the hole had been two inches in diameter. It had been an ugly sight. The young man who had worn it would not be going home again. Had he been reared in Stonegate, he probably would have been a friend. Why can’t we protect ourselves without shedding rivers of blood? It seems so cruel, so wasteful! I hate it, but we are all trapped, with no way out.

  “Do those estimates sound correct?” asked Cal, looking pointedly at Don.

  Don started, realizing that Fitzalan had been speaking for some time. Fortunately, he had seen the numbers and was able to reply, “Since we were retreating, we don’t have an accurate count. Still, they seem reasonable. The enemy lost at least one hundred, probably more like one hundred fifty. I’m sure they lost about that many more when we raided their camp. When considering only trooper-to-trooper combat, their losses were about ten to one which is about what we expected, considering our training and tactics. We lost five killed, and I mourn every one. But that must be accounted light losses.”

  “We captured two Raiders and three cavalrymen,” added Gray John. “We had a dozen wounded, in addition to the slain. Some will take weeks to recover. The main thing we did is to give them a shock. They felt safe in their camp with the white tents in neat rows. They will never feel safe again. Also, the ‘Lore-man on the Red Horse’ was there with the Red Axes. A crazy idea, I thought, but the legend seems to be growing. The enemy was afraid to face him. When he sallied forth, they pulled back.”

  Lord Cal cleared his throat, and everyone focused on him. “The loss of one hundred fifty men would be a crushing defeat for us. That would be three entire horse troops. They had a thousand to send against us, so that was a loss that they can absorb. They are learning hard lessons, but if they learn them well, they will be more difficult to beat next time.”

  This was exactly Don’s fear. “I agree,” he said. “We need to beware because they can return the favor and raid us in force. They could assemble two thousand heavy cavalry, and I think they will do exactly that.”

  “Yes,” agreed Cal. “You have been hammering on that theme. You have insisted that we need to carry the fight to them, and I agree that was correct. But we have stirred them up and need to consider their next move. If we had waited till they had another thousand, they could have encircled us and wiped us out. We cast the dice and won. Can we do it again?”

  “But the most significant news may be something no one has mentioned. Fitzalan, tell us about what you observed.” Gray John motioned for the younger man to speak.

  “Many tents were full of men who did not stir from their beds,” said Fitzalan. “I think some sort of illness has laid them low. Perhaps that is what delayed them.”

  “Delayed them?” asked a chorus of voices around the fire.

  “Yes. Why have they camped in the same area for all that time? They could be at the city walls by now. Perhaps a pestilence is among them.”

  Chapter 29

  †

  Last-Minute Plans

  Fortify the watch post; set the watchmen in place; prepare the ambush. For the Lord has both planned and accomplished what He has threatened. Jeremiah 51:12 HCSB

  Philip was shaken even more than he was by the slaughter in Steamboat and he did not know why. Steamboat made the threat real. He had seen the countenance of evil there in the bloody faces of children, ruddy in the glow of burning homes. He had seen men laughing as they lit those fires and put unarmed people to the sword. So why was that not the thing that haunted him?

  The bloody reality of hand-to-hand combat—that was something he had also seen before. He understood all too clearly that it meant men butchering other men face to face. He still felt the unfairness of shooting men when they had no defense, no way to fight back. Just yesterday he had sat on his horse behind the guns and watched as hot lead and iron tore men and horses apart, leaving behind a trail of red ruin. Perhaps this time he had realized that rivers of blood were going to flow; they would flow until it would seem that the very earth was bleeding, that the face of God was weeping.

  Philip forced himself to focus on the familiar routine of saddling Victory. Her bright eyes looked into his as her nostrils breathed soft puffs of warm air across the hairs of his arm. Sharp ears pointed towards him in greeting, and she nuzzled his pocket for a treat. He gave her a bit of apple as he drew on her headstall with the snaffle bit. He tightened the cinch snugly, so he could still put four fingers beneath it. She had swelled herself up, but he was soon able to catch another notch as she relaxed. It was a game they always played. He refused to dwell any more on the horrors or his fears, yet his hands still shook as he fastened her chest protector.

  He swung his leg over the saddle and found the stirrup with his toe. He noted that his bow and arrows were correctly placed in their case. Today he carried no war-spear, nor did Lord Don, but Boyd and Scott had theirs. The troopers would be going with them as bodyguards. Then they all turned in the direction of Stonegate.

  Don looked back at Philip once they slowed to a walk after a few miles. “Well,” he said, “out with it! Something is bothering you.”

  “It is the same as always, Lord Don,” he answered. “I can’t get these images out of my mind. What our guns did.”

  “Sometimes we remember what we want to forget and our most precious memories slip away.”

  Philip’s head jerked upright. It was true. He sometimes had trouble remembering his mother’s face. Yet the memories of red mist over powder smoke were clear as a cold winter morning. He changed the subject. “Have you seen Crispin?” he asked. “You know he has one of the old firearms and ammunition.”

  “Yes, but I only saw him for a few minutes. Rob is examining the weapon in the Stonegate armory. It might well prove useful. In fact, I wish we’d had it yesterday, though the muskets were nearly as good.”

  “Not nearly as accurate.”

  “No, that’s true. Although the muskets hit hard.”

  Philip’s mind raced ahe
ad. “Will you be seeing Rachel?”

  Don looked at him intently for a second. “I want to. I hope no one thinks that’s the main reason.”

  “That we are going back?”

  “Yes, because it isn’t. The most important thing is to meet with Rob and Samuel. We need to resupply the guns and have it done regularly. Still, I hope to see her.”

  Philip nodded because he understood. He knew that Don keenly felt the pressure of duty and did not want idle talk. Some might say that he had left troops behind in the field, that he’d abandoned them for personal reasons. That would be bad.

  “The Owl Hollow ammunition will soon be here. That could change everything, couldn’t it?”

  “We shall see.”

  †

  They were within a few miles of Stonegate when Don led the party onto a side lane leading to an outlying farm. The house was of gray stone with high gables and a palisade fence surrounded it. Next to a watchtower, a heavy gate stood open. Don led them into the yard.

  “What is this place?” asked Scott. His eyes were searching, and he seemed coiled like a spring.

  “Westerly-stead,” answered Don. “It is Rachel’s home. I want to look in on her.”

  “To be sure, we would all be glad to see her again, sir,” said Scott. “She is a brave young woman.”

  “And deadly with her bow, as is Miss Carla,” said Boyd. “You should have seen them, Philip.”

  “I heard the story,” responded Philip, as they approached the house. It had the look of abandonment. It was hard to say why, exactly. Perhaps it was too neat; perhaps it was the shuttered windows.

  “Hello,” called Don. “Anyone here?”

  A young man stepped around the corner. He wore a leather jacket. A broad-brimmed hat was on his head, and a short-sword was at his waist. Just behind him came two older men wearing plain homespun and heavy boots.

  “Oh,” said the young man. “I might have known. You are not welcome here!”

  “Howard!” said Don in a low, steady voice. “I don’t blame you for hating me.”

  “You got that right. I swore that if ever I saw you again, I would kill you. But I would not dirty my hands. Now go!”

  “Rachel?” asked Don, as he began reining Snap around.

  “Stay away from her. Thanks to you, we have been ordered to abandon our home. No doubt the enemy will destroy it again, and again I blame you.”

  One of the burly men next to Howard said, “Shall we drive them away?”

  “Like to see you try,” growled Boyd.

  “Come on,” said Don. “He is within his rights to order us off his place.”

  They rode out the gate without another word; curses followed them.

  “The evil that men do live after them,” said Don. “A wise man said that. It is a thing well remembered.”

  †

  Don and Philip left their escort at the inn and walked to the armory where they searched for Rob. He was in a dimly lit building with three other men, and they were all standing next to a long table. There were several antique weapons there in various stages of disassembly. One had a black tube attached, with glass shining at the ends. Philip recognized two others as the ones that he and Crispin had carried from Owl Hollow.

  “We need to resupply our missile force,” began Don after they had exchanged greetings. He put a cast-iron ball on the table and a lead musket ball next to it. “How can we get more of these?

  “I have been working on that, sir,” said Rob. “The Stonegate foundry has been experimenting. They have been sand-casting these iron cannon balls, albeit slowly. By tomorrow, we should have about one hundred that we can send to the field.”

  “We fired nearly that many, yesterday,” said Don. “Could we cast lead balls for the cannon? That would be easier, surely.”

  “I should say that we have plenty of musket balls already. I suppose we could cast two-inch balls of lead. That would increase our supply, but the lead balls are much heavier and softer.”

  “What difference does that make?” asked Don. Philip wondered the same thing.

  “To get the same range, the powder charge would have to increase for the lead ones. That would put more strain on the guns. We designed them for steel shot, and the gunners trained that way. Plus, lead balls can dent with rough handling. Dented ones might not be usable.”

  “They would be better than nothing. How about beehive rounds?”

  “We made up twenty last week. We will send those along, too.”

  “Very well, yet we need to keep the supplies coming. I can’t send men back to remind you every time we run low.”

  “Yes, sir. I will make the arrangements,” answered Rob. “If the ones we made prove suitable, I think we can increase production. They are not tested as well as I would like.”

  “Very well. We will be getting three more guns,” added Don. “You need to plan for that, also.”

  Rob nodded. “So I understand. Not sure where the other gun came from. We only had a total of five, before. They’ll be welcome. So will the ammunition from Owl Hollow. Samuel told me about it. Charles, the chief armorer is also coming.”

  “It will help, but we face sixty thousand enemy, and that does not count the three thousand horse. That is too many to defeat by shooting them.”

  “You need to discuss this with Marshall Allen. He will want to use gunpowder weapons to defend the walls. That would be a mistake.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean. Four thousand cartridges would stop one assault; I have no doubt. Then it would be gone and so would our advantage.”

  “I agree, yet it is no good unless we use it.”

  “We can’t defeat this army by killing it,” said Don. His voice had a note of command. “We have to starve it. That is the only answer.”

  “I hope you can convince the good marshall of that. And Mayor Sheridan of Hightower marched into town yesterday at the head of another five thousand. He will want to have his voice heard.”

  Don acknowledged his concern and turned to leave. Everyone stood as Philip and Don departed. They were walking back to the lore-house when Philip spoke, “I should probably say nothing, Lord Donald…”

  “Don’t be silly. Say on, Philip,” Don answered with a smile, turning to look at him.

  “What you said. It seems to me that to kill sixty thousand men would be…”

  “Evil?”

  “Yes! Exactly. How could we do such a thing?”

  “We would not if there was some other way.”

  †

  Don arranged for rooms in the Sword and Quill for all of them and immediately went to his room to shed his helm and armor. Philip went with him and did the same. Then they continued on to the lore-house and greeted a young scribe at the door. Another scribe sat on the steps writing out a document for a man clad in rough clothes.

  “Greetings, Lord Donald,” he said. “Lore-master Duncan has been wanting to talk to you. He heard that you were coming. Do you know where his study is?”

  “Certainly,” answered Don. “I want to talk to him, also. Come along, Philip.” He led the way down a corridor and knocked on an iron-bound door.

  “Enter,” came a muffled voice. They went inside a cluttered room and shut the door. Philip looked around. One entire wall was rows of pigeon-holes filled with scrolls. A pile of books on a side table looked dusty, as though it had not been disturbed in months.

  “Well met, Donald,” said Duncan. “And this must be your young aide. David, isn’t it?”

  “No, sir. I’m Philip.”

  “I have heard good things about you, young man,” continued Duncan. “Gray John said you were a great help with the Steamboat survivors.” Turning to Don, he added, “That reminds me. The gunners from Steamboat were very helpful. We ha
ve decided to change our entire strategy for using our town guns.”

  “Really? Why?” asked Don.

  “Philip could probably add some information, I’d wager.” Duncan turned toward Philip, looked him in the eye, and paused.

  Somewhat reluctantly, Philip spoke up. “The Steamboat guns did not work as well as they had hoped. Also, the enemy attacked after dark. So they had to fire blind most of the time.”

  “You told me that many of the shells exploded,” prompted Don.

  “Yes, that is true. We could hear the explosions, and most of the time the guns did fire.”

  “As I understand it,” added Duncan, “The propellant usually fired, but some charges had deteriorated more than others. So even if a gun fired twice with the same exact settings, the two shells would land nowhere close to each other.”

  “That is bad,” mused Don, as he rubbed his forehead. “Can anything be done? Perhaps Stonegate should test its propellants.”

  “The Steamboat gunners did salvage forty or fifty shells, bags of propellants and other items. Yesterday, the gunners hauled one of the guns out east and fired a few test rounds. They used Steamboat and Stonegate propellant, both. The results were the same, I am afraid.”

  “What can be done?” asked Don.

  “The gunners have decided that indirect fire is not a reasonable approach. So they have decided to use the guns in a direct-fire mode. There will still be accuracy problems, but they will be much more manageable, since they will be able to see their target.