Merle, when he could speak, told the same story of desertion. Salwarpe was become a ghost town. The only Salwarpe men still working were the few mining in Dead Man’s Cave, and those who were sent out under guard to bring in the harvest. All these slept in houses commandeered by Hugo’s men and had no contact with their families or other townsfolk. It was not known how many had died of dysentery in Hugo’s camp, but under his orders a common grave had been dug, and corpses were thrown into it each morning.
Merle said that Mother Peasmarsh had been taken to the jail as hostage in Merle’s place, when he had been judged too weak to survive. It had taken him the whole of one day to crawl through the deserted streets to the creek, where John had scooped him up and taken him off.
No, said Merle; Hugo did not suspect the trick which had been played on him, since so many of his own men had sickened and died of dysentery. The mercenaries had begun to talk of the siege as unlucky, but they had no intention of going home till they had sacked the castle. Hugo had said he would hang the Lord of Salwarpe over the walls of his own castle in an iron cage, till the birds had picked the flesh from his bones. And as for the Lady Ursula … but there Merle’s voice broke and Ursula bade him rest.
Sixteen days. The range of Hugo’s trebuchet was altered. It began to hurl boulders higher, over the gate-tower and into the grounds of the castle.
‘Waste of boulders,’ said Benedict, getting workmen to cordon off a space where it was not safe to walk. ‘But we’ll use them ourselves, perhaps. I have an idea. … it will break Hugo’s heart!’
The workmen laughed. They were delighted at the thought of breaking Hugo’s heart, and they didn’t mind how hard the work, or how dirty, that Benedict might set for them to do, provided only that they might make Hugo pay for turning them out of their homes.
Benedict went to Sir Henry, whom he found sitting under the honeysuckle. The blossoms were now past their best, but the garden was still the quietest spot in the castle.
‘Sir Henry, Hugo is throwing stones over the castle wall near the gatehouse. I told the men it was a waste of boulders, but of course it wasn’t.’
‘No, my boy? Tell me what it means.’
‘I think, although I cannot be sure. … it might mean he wants to keep us away from that section of the wall.’
‘He can’t be mining below the gatehouse as well.’
‘No. I was thinking … a surprise attack at night. … ladders thrown against the wall by the gatehouse … at a spot previously cleared of men by stones thrown seemingly too high to do any good. Do you think I can be right?’
Sir Henry patted his back hair into place. ‘My dear boy! Action at last! Tonight or tomorrow night, do you think?’
‘I have no idea. I might be quite wrong, of course. But I think we must divide our fighting men into three companies, and have one on watch all the time, another sleeping, and another standing by. And the watch on the walls must be doubled at night.’
Nothing happened that night.
When Benedict passed through the infirmary on his rounds next morning, he looked about him in such a distracted manner that Ursula left her charges to follow him. He made his way to the garden, but Sir Henry was not there.
He paused, biting his lip.
Ursula put her hand on his arm and spoke his name. He started.
‘Forgive me, lady. I did not hear you. I was looking for your grandfather.’
‘You are worried about something? Tell me.’
‘It is nothing. At least … you do realise, don’t you, that I have never actually commanded a garrison during a siege before? Suppose I have done it all wrong? Suppose …’ He threw his arms wide. ‘Suppose I fail?’
‘Then I take it that we all die. What do you think you have done wrong?’
‘I am not sure. I can’t think of anything, but from now on, if I have forgotten anything, it will be too late to make amends.’
‘Hush.’ She held out her hands. ‘Hush, now.’
He put his hands in hers.
‘You are quite safe,’ she said. ‘I have you fast.’
They stood there holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes, till a bird came fluttering down to perch on the bench. The bees filled the air with their heavy drone and still they did not move. His eyes flickered silver and grey. She began to smile.
Then there came a sudden clamour; it was not close by, but came from the gate-tower.
She caught her breath. He withdrew his hands.
‘They have set their ladders against the wall at last,’ said Benedict. ‘Poor fools! Little do they know that we’ve been waiting for them.’
Then, without any sign of the panic which had lately afflicted him, he went out of the garden and back to his duties.
With grappling-irons and pikes, with long poles and with boulders tumbled from above, the scaling ladders were displaced or knocked over, carrying their burdens of soldiery with them. And still the ladders were put up, and still Hugo’s men came on. Benedict directed the defence for a while and then, when he thought Reynold had mastered the trick of it, left his second-in-command and hastened down to the cellars below the keep.
Not before time.
Hugo’s picks had ceased a short while before, and Simon Joce was looking anxious as he went down on his belly to peer through the grating into the sewer below. Benedict wriggled into place beside Simon and took his turn at listening and looking. Then both men withdrew, taking care to make no noise that might betray their presence to the miners below.
They climbed back into the next cellar and bolted and barred the door before signing for the lanthorn to be opened. A dozen men had been stationed there, with knives and drawn swords.
‘All is well,’ said Benedict, speaking in a hushed voice. ‘They have broken through the fault into the sewer, and are clearing the debris. They have no idea that they can be seen and heard from above. They have lanthorns and are moving about freely. They have discovered the barrier that we made with boulders, blocking the outlet to the dell, and they think it is a natural rock-fall, just as we planned that they should. Their leader was shouting back down the tunnel, telling someone to hurry up the men-at-arms.’
‘Are any of the Salwarpe men down in the tunnel?’
‘Yes,’ said Benedict. ‘There are men there who are stripped to the waist, and who are doing all the hard work, clearing and enlarging the way into the sewer from the tunnel. They must be Salwarpe men.’
There was a strained silence. Someone muttered that it was hard, surely, to fight your own kin.
‘That is why we are waiting,’ said Benedict. ‘I am hoping that Hugo will send all his slave labour back down the tunnel before he gives the signal for the mercenaries to attack us from inside. I am hoping he will think the Salwarpe men might give the alarm, if they were allowed to stay in the sewer.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘Then we must go ahead with our plan,’ said Benedict, in a firm voice. ‘Better that a few of the Salwarpe men should die, than that the castle should fall. Simon, set up a candle, marked with the hours. We will give them one hour to clear the debris and send the slaves back. But if they strike before that time, then. …’ He shrugged.
Simon nodded, and so did most of the others.
Fifteen minutes. … half an hour. … men were set to report progress, sitting in darkness above the grating. Now and then a man would slip down to take his fellow’s place, and word would be carried back up to Benedict and Simon, waiting above.
‘They are trying to shift the boulders between them and the dell … they say they will bring more men up shortly. …’
‘They have found the timbers we have built up into a wall at this end, to contain the sewage! They discussed the timbers amongst themselves, and said the structure must be very old … it was lucky we used the weathered timbers from the stabling, or they might have guessed. …’
‘The Salwarpe men have been sent back!’
‘Hasten!’ whispered ano
ther man, beckoning from the doorway. ‘They are filing into the sewer now. … twenty of them, maybe more. … all armed, wearing helmets and carrying swords!’
‘Let us go!’ said Benedict. The lanthorns were shuttered once more and a long file of Salwarpe men groped their way after Benedict and Simon down into the lower cellar, to wait above the grating. Benedict and Simon took long, well-honed knives and wriggled into position. Far above them another assault was being mounted on the walls. Benedict sent up a grim prayer for the defenders and then put his face to the grating.
Someone down in the sewer was hushing his men, bidding them creep forward with care, less they alarm the unsuspecting garrison.
Benedict was momentarily blinded by a flash of light. The captain below was playing his lanthorn up at the roof above the timber dam. Then the light passed on … the man had not spotted the two faces peering down on him through the grating above. But the lanthorn was now illumining the cellar through the grating.
Benedict turned his head to meet Simon’s grin. Simon raised his eyebrows. Benedict nodded. The two men put their right hands and forearms through the grating and began to saw at a rope. The rope was taut, for it held back the crude wooden damn which Benedict had caused to be built across the sewer, beneath the grating. The damn was holding back many gallons of sewage, which had built up over the last few days till it now ran some foot or so only below the roof of the sewer. Here and there it trickled through the baulks of timber to run away down hill. The stink was overpowering, but it was worth a little discomfort to take the smile off Hugo’s face.
A scrabbling sound, and a helmeted head appeared in silhouette over the top of the timber baulk … and another. …
‘Christ’s sake!’ gasped the first man, on seeing the pool of sewage before him. ‘We can’t get through this!’
‘Let me see!’ said an authoritative voice. There was more scrabbling, and a third head appeared above the baulks of timber. Simon and Benedict sawed on their ropes.
Then Simon’s rope parted, and so did Benedict’s. The plank and timber damn shuddered and groaned. The men-at-arms below cried out, not understanding at first the full horror of the fate that was about to overtake them, but uneasy because the dam was wavering above them.
And then the weight of the sewage was added to the weight of the men who had been climbing on the timber, and the whole structure gave way with a screech. The heavy timbers overwhelmed the men who stood closest to the dam, while tons of sewage fell solidly on those who stood behind. Timbers and sewage alike pushed along the tunnel until they met the rock barrier which Benedict had caused to be created blocking the outlet to the dell. And then the whole lot washed back, knocking over any one who had managed to get to his feet … and finding no outlet but this, poured into the newly-made tunnel, carrying bodies, timber and planking with it.
The screams of the mercenaries were stifled. They floundered and drowned, trapped with broken limbs, their lanthorns extinguished.
Simon and Benedict knelt above the grating, appalled at the horror they had unleashed. Finally all was silent. The sewage had found a new channel and, instead of going out to the dell, now ran down hill through the mine and thence into Dead Man’s Cave. Dead men were once more to be taken out of the cave, and in such a horrific state were these corpses that the place was avoided for years after.
All was quiet, save for the occasional sucking and tumbling of a plank or a piece of timber resettling itself.
Benedict peered down. Still he could hear nothing moving below. He motioned for a lanthorn to be opened and brought forward. He hooked it onto the grille and looked down again. Sewage glistened on the walls. Bodies and timber alike were unrecognisable beneath the sludge.
Simon Joce was staring as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
Benedict wriggled back into the cellar and stood. Simon followed him. Both men did some breathing exercises.
‘Do we go in and finish them off?’ said one of Simon’s men.
‘I doubt there’s any need,’ said Benedict. ‘But yes. Of course someone must go down there to make sure.’
Fourteen days. Three separate waves of ladder attacks had been mounted against the wall by the gatehouse and been beaten off. Reynold was looking fine-drawn and had become sparing of speech.
The last of the mattresses which had been taking the impact of the stones thrown by the trebuchet burst. A fire-arrow set it alight, and then …
‘Do we make more?’ said Reynold.
‘Yes,’ said Benedict. ‘But it means slaughtering some more horses. Ask Sir Henry which ones.’
‘And what happens then?’ said Reynold. He cleared his throat. ‘The first mattress lasted three days, but the other two. …’
‘Yes, the first was well made, when we had plenty of time to do it. Also, the trebuchet did not have our range properly. The others did not last so long, but that was only to be expected. Oh, I know what you wish to say. Although we have an almost unlimited supply of rushes—so long as the channel is kept clear—yet our supply of horses is beginning to fail us, and some damage is still being done to the walls. I know. But keep on with the work, Reynold. Time is on our side. And I think it best that you and Simon rest, one off and one on.’
That night a great tree-trunk shod with an iron point was brought up from the town and began to pick away at the weakened gatehouse wall. The ram was mounted on a cart, driven backwards and forwards by dozens of sweating men under the direction of an overseer with a whip. The men themselves were protected by a well-built timber roof, attached to the cart on which the ram was mounted. This timber roof was covered with hides and therefore the archers shot at it in vain.
Now Benedict woke not only to the sound of the trebuchet at work—for this had transferred its attentions to another section of wall near the gatehouse—but also to the boom of the ram. Now the garrison began to collect in knots, not to talk, but because being in groups comforted them in their fear. All looked in the same direction, towards the gatehouse.
Now Hugo began to toss the decaying corpses of the archers who had been killed at the first outpost into the castle, by means of the trebuchet. A grown man’s nerves will break when the head of an old friend is suddenly tossed onto the sward at his feet. Peter Bowman’s head had been horribly crushed by the time it was given burial within the castle walls.
Thirteen days. That night Benedict went out in the boats with the Peasmarsh men and landed in a deserted town. There were no soldiers lodged in the quayside buildings, nor anyone to patrol the streets. Guided by Barnabas, Benedict reconnoitred the market-square, which was deserted, save where a heavy guard still watched over the jail. There were also guards over the two houses near the entrance to Dead Man’s Cave, and a strong contingent around the church and the houses nearby, which were all well inland. Hugo’s watch-fires were counted and his soldierly precautions against surprise attack observed.
‘The man knows what he is at,’ said Benedict. ‘And he’s got himself another smith from somewhere. All the same. …’
Later that morning Benedict called a conference in Sir Henry’s chamber.
Reynold could not sit still, but wandered around near the window, from which he could catch a glimpse of the gatehouse. Hugo’s latest ploy had been to take knots of pine dipped in pitch, set them alight and catapult them into the castle. No doubt he hoped to set alight some of the timber and thatch structures which had been used to stand there. Of course, these had long since been pulled down on Benedict’s instructions, and therefore the flaming torches could do no harm, unless they actually hit some unsuspecting man or woman passing below.
‘What can we do?’ said Reynold, trying not to let hysteria show in his voice. ‘They are rapidly gaining the upper hand, are they not?’
‘Why,’ said Benedict. ‘There are still many things that we can do. We can try throwing heavy boulders and cauldrons of burning pitch onto the leather shield that covers the ram. I thought we might have enough long timbers left to knock
the pick out of the way, or hook the end up … but we haven’t much left in the way of serviceable wood, and we’re also short of ropes. We might be able to get some more from the town.’
‘Short-term measures,’ said Reynold. ‘They’ll be through into the outer gatehouse within twenty-four hours, I think.’
‘I believe they will,’ said Sir Henry. ‘Benedict, what are we to do now?’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘That’s all right,’ said Benedict. ‘Let them get in. They’ll leave the ram outside, and rush in. We’ll set bars of iron in sockets across the only door out of the tower, the one that leads into the drawbridge pit. The only way they can go, once they break into the tower, is up the stairs. And there they’ll meet the stone walls we’ve built, denying access to the ramparts. And at that point they’re vulnerable, because they haven’t got their leather shield over them.’
‘But how can we fire at them there? The ramparts are on the same level all round.’
‘We go one higher. I’ve had some stages of wood built, which can be erected on the battlements on either side of the gatehouse towers. From these vantage-points our archers can pick off anyone who appears on the roof of the gatehouse.’
Everyone relaxed.
‘And then,’ said Benedict, ‘they’ll remember that the gatehouse controls the portcullis, and they’ll wind that up. Then they’ll work out how to fill in the pit between them and the inner gatehouse—they may have timbers ready to throw in, even now. I mean, I would have prepared for it, if I were Hugo. Then, when they’ve filled in the pit, they’ll push the ram under the portcullis and into the area between the two gatehouses, and they’ll start on the inner wall. Reynold, we’ll need more mattresses at that point. Then they’ll break into the inner gatehouse, and once in there, they can lower the drawbridge. …’
The Siege of Salwarpe Page 21
