‘God in heaven!’ cried Reynold, looking haggard. ‘Can we not stop him, whatever we do?’
‘Yes and no,’ said Benedict, keeping calm. ‘I don’t think we can stop him breaking through the gatehouse if he has enough men to spare of sufficient calibre, and I think we can take it that he has. Whatever inroads the dysentery has made on his men, their morale is still high, and they are still a formidable army.’
Sir Henry said, ‘Aylmer cannot possibly be here for another twelve days at the earliest. We have food enough to last. Our hearts are stout enough. Are you telling me that we cannot hold this place until Aylmer comes?’
Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Oh, I think we can manage it without Aylmer’s help. Yes, I really think we ought to be able to do so. Of course, there will be casualties. I can’t guarantee that we won’t lose some men … but, on the other hand, we’d lose many more if we get hand-to-hand fighting at the gatehouse.’
Ursula said, ‘I will lead one party.’
Benedict blinked. Then he smiled. ‘No, no. We will have volunteers enough without that. Sir Henry, will your men fight?’
‘You must ask them, my friend,’ said Sir Henry. ‘Simon Joce, have all the able-bodied men in the castle who are not on watch, drawn up before the mounting block in an hour’s time. And send the Peasmarsh men to me.’
Before the appointed hour, Hugo’s men had brought up a second and much larger trebuchet and begun to throw boulders into the well between the two gatehouses. Before long this second trebuchet would have the range of the inner tower.
Benedict inspected the crumbling defences with Reynold before hurtling down the stairs onto the greensward, where the garrison awaited him. Not only the men from the town had come, but also most of the women, some of them nursing babies. Also a considerable number of older children. All looked towards the gatehouse and murmured when yet another boulder crashed into their defences.
Sir Henry stood on the mounting-block from which he had been accustomed to slide into the saddle of his war-horse in happier days. His figure was held upright in its corset, his yellow curls held firm in spite of the breeze, and his voice reached the farthest member of the crowd before him.
He explained their position simply. He reminded them of what they had suffered at Hugo’s hands. He spoke with sorrow of Peter Bowman’s death and of those who had been ill-treated in the jail. He asked them to consider what would have happened to them—short of food as they had been, and at the mercy of the mercenaries—if they had been left to rot in the town below. He spoke at some length of Benedict’s foresight and skill as a leader. He said that Benedict had devised a plan whereby they—the people most wronged by Hugo—might strike a blow on their own account.
Then he turned to Benedict, who was showing signs of embarrassment at being praised before so many people, and beckoned him to come forward.
‘Listen to him,’ Sir Henry said to his people. ‘As I do. Follow him as I do. And be sure we will prevail!’
He was cheered as he stepped down from the block, helped by Benedict and Ursula. Then Benedict leaped up into Sir Henry’s place and told the crowd what he intended to do. Were they with him?
‘Yes!’ ‘Lead on, we are with you!’
‘Will you take up what arms you can find, and follow me?’
A cheer followed, and then another.
‘Us, too!’ cried one of the women, elbowing her way forward. ‘We can fight, too!’
‘I know you can,’ said Benedict. ‘Yes, band yourselves together, and send your leaders to join the conference we will hold at dusk tonight. Eat well, my friends. Sleep well. For we strike at dawn tomorrow!’
Their elation was soon stilled. There was a scream and a crash from behind them. They all turned to the gatehouse. Two sentries came running towards them, their mouths agape.
‘More scaling ladders are being brought up … and they are nearly through into the gatehouse. … May the Lord have mercy on us!’
Once more the garrison battled to break down or topple the ladders which had been set up against their walls. Once more Reynold directed his men to fire down at the unyielding leather roof of the ram. Once more Sir Henry found work for his sword to do, and at his side fought a man without armour, wielding a double-headed axe.
The assault was almost continuous for an hour. Twice during that time Hugo’s men managed to leap over the battlements and turned on the defenders from behind. Sir Henry’s lungs began to give out, and his legs to waver.
Three mercenaries closed in on him. He was surrounded. He was beaten to the ground.
Then Benedict hurled one man aside and stood over Sir Henry, swinging his axe with both hands. A man with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other feinted at Benedict’s head, and stepped aside as his companion lunged with a pike. Benedict lunged forward to deal one mercenary a crushing blow, but was himself caught off balance by the other. He side-stepped, staggering backwards. But, as he fell, he rolled to cover Sir Henry’s body with his own.
And then a snake-like figure wormed its way up from the ground and the man whose sword had been raised to give the coup de grace howled and hopped away, hamstrung by Barnabas’s knife. … and a tall man in full armour caught the second mercenary up and threw him over the wall.
‘My thanks,’ gasped Benedict, as Reynold pulled him to his feet. He tried to smile, but pain pulled his mouth awry. ‘Sir Henry …?’
‘Just … winded. …’ said Sir Henry, sitting up and reaching for the sword he had dropped.
‘Blood!’ said Barnabas. ‘Master!’ It was a cry of terror. He was pointing to Benedict’s arm.
‘Get out of here, you fool!’ said Reynold. ‘Don’t you know better than to come up here without armour on?’
‘Just what I said!’ croaked Sir Henry, staggering to his feet and checking that his limbs still functioned. ‘Leave this work to those who understand it. And that’s an order, Benedict!’
Benedict leaned against the wall, his head bowed. He had dropped his axe.
Reynold peered over the battlements. ‘That’s the last of them for the moment, anyway. Better see to that wound at once, Benedict!’ He hurried away.
Barnabas was making darting movements at Benedict, but not touching him. It seemed the lad wanted to help, but did not know how.
‘All right … in a moment,’ said Benedict.
‘No, you’re not,’ said Sir Henry. ‘Get down those stairs and have that wound attended to, before you meet our men at dusk. Don’t want anyone saying you’re out of the fighting with a serious injury. Take him away, men!’
A dozen men had run up to enquire if Benedict were hurt. He waved them away.
‘A short rest. A graze, that’s all.’ He held his left upper arm with his right hand, to stop the blood welling out. He could walk alone, if he put his mind to it. Ah! He bit his lip to hold back a cry of pain.
Two men closed in, one on either side of him. They were big men; tall, fair-haired and strong. They linked arms, stooped and picked Benedict up as if he were a babe.
‘His bad leg, doubtless,’ said one. ‘Tell no-one he’s hurt, or we’ll have the women wailing.’
‘Tell them it’s a graze and a twisted knee,’ said the other. ‘Someone’s bound to see him being carried across the garth.’
‘Where’s the Lady?’
‘Dressing wounds in the garden. Take Old Limpy there. He won’t make any more stairs as he is now.’
‘I am quite. … all … right,’ said Benedict, but was grateful that they heeded his words as little as the flies that buzzed about his ears. Or perhaps it wasn’t flies, buzzing in his ears, but …
‘Hold hard, my lord!’ said one of his escorts. ‘You’ll not faint in public. Or we’ll have everyone throwing down their arms, and surrendering to Hugo.’
‘Idiots!’ said Benedict, which seemed to reassure them, for they grinned and continued to trot across the turf, bumping him along between them as if he were a sack of grain. But he was near
enough passing out, all the same …
A cry of alarm.
He knew that voice. He was being laid flat. The sudden change from the vertical to the horizontal made him giddy. For a moment he closed his eyes.
Someone was putting something cold on his face. Something wet. He winced and tried to raise himself. Someone pushed him back again. Someone else was cutting away the sleeve of his tunic and orders were being ripped out by a hard-voiced creature above his head.
‘No, leave him here. Get a tarpaulin, a tent … anything to keep the sun off his head. And bring down a bed of some description. We can’t leave him on this bench. No, not like that, you fool! Cut it off with his knife: And send for Parkyn! No, Barnabas, you are being too gentle. Do it quickly—before he faints again. Did you ever see such a fool, to go out. …! Not even a helmet! I could box his ears!’
The voice was hard, but the hands were gentle, first bathing his face, and then bathing and binding up his arm.
‘’Tis his bad leg, surely,’ said someone. ‘He covered Sir Henry with his own body … right in the corner … with four men rushing at him with their swords and pikes. … no, five men! But he never hesitated! Against the wall, twisting as he fell, Lady. He saved Sir Henry’s life, for sure!’
‘Out of my light, you numbskulls!’ shrieked Ursula. ‘Off with you! Have you nothing better to do …? That’s right, the bed here. … and the tarpaulin you can hook on there and there. … and take the rest of the wounded into the Hall for the other women to deal with. Off, I say! No, not you, Barnabas. Nor you, Parkyn. That’s right, lift him gently. … yes, he probably will faint again, but. …’
The voice receded. Then it came back.
‘No, of course he’s not going to die. He will be perfectly all right when he has had a rest and something to eat and drink.’
The pain had moved … was moving … now in his arm and now in his leg. He made an experiment. He opened his eyes and lifted his head. The tarpaulin swung off into darkness about him.
‘Oh, you fool!’ Ursula pushed him back and he was only too thankful to close his eyes and rest again. Then he felt her hands about his knee, and stiffened.
‘I could kill you for being so stupid!’ said Ursula. Her voice sounded strange, as if she had something in her mouth.
He tried opening his eyes once more, but a sudden twist on his leg brought him such pain that he almost passed out again. He gritted his teeth. Ursula was calling to Parkyn to hurry with the cold water, and she was bathing his knee … the water was so cold that he drew in his breath … the pain was overwhelming … and then there was cold water on his brow, too … stinging cold. And after a few minutes he felt as if he could bear the pain without screaming, and opened his eyes again.
‘You … idiot!’ said Ursula. She was weeping. There were tears on her cheeks. They dripped off her chin onto his tunic. ‘Worse than a small child!’ She changed the cloth on his forehead for another, colder one. ‘You are certainly more trouble than a child, going out there without any armour! Did you want to get yourself killed?’
He could only stare at her in wonder.
She seemed unaware of her tears. She poured some vinegar on a cloth and bathed the side of his face, where it was red-hot. ‘All scratched and grazed, and in such a mess! You never did see the like! And entirely your own fault!’
He thought, “Idonia never cried for me. …”
She threw down her cloth and wiped her face with the back of her hand, sniffing. ‘As if I haven’t enough to do, without your getting into trouble and worrying the life out of me!’
He thought, “She didn’t cry for Aylmer. …”
‘I have a dozen men more seriously injured than you,’ she said. ‘I certainly can’t sit here all day, bathing your brow. Barnabas and Parkyn will have to keep those cloths about your head and knee cold. You’ll be perfectly all right, if you will only rest a while. And I will set sentries outside to see that you are not disturbed. Do you understand?’
He tried to say “Yes”. She put her fingers over his mouth and then, with a swirl of her gown, she was gone. He closed his eyes and drifted into a doze. He was in a grey mist, half asleep, and half in too much pain to sleep. He knew the doze would lead to sleep if his knee were only slightly sprained, but he also knew that it would lead to a greater awareness of pain if he had done any real damage.
And eventually he did sleep and was only awakened when the flapping of the tarpaulin announced her return. Behind her came Barnabas bearing wine and some freshly broiled fish. Parkyn, who had been watching beside his master’s bed, rose to report that Benedict had slept a little and that the swelling of his knee seemed somewhat reduced.
Benedict didn’t open his eyes properly. In fact, one eye wasn’t prepared to open to its full extent anyway. Ursula didn’t scold him this time. She bathed his face and swollen eyelids without words. She inspected the bandage on his arm and gave a little nod of satisfaction. The bleeding had stopped.
Only then did she lift the cloths to look at his bare leg. It was purple from bruising and the cold of the water that had been on it. Benedict wondered how she could bear to look at it, so ugly and misshapen was it.
She touched his knee with her fingertips, so lightly that he barely felt them. She put her head on one side, considering both the area where the bone had been broken and badly set, and the newly-sprained knee.
She said, ‘I suppose you thought to go down through the drain to attack Hugo. I don’t think you’ll make it. You’d best go with the boats, and have the men carry you up through the town. They’ll do it, for you.’
‘Going into battle in a chair?’ He was surprised that he could speak, and even attempt a laugh; but it seemed that he could, even though his voice sounded strange in his ears.
She held a cup of wine to his mouth and helped him eat and drink. He felt better then, though still disinclined to move.
He said, ‘If I could send Reynold down through the drain, I would. But he’s never been in the town. He doesn’t know what to expect. I shall have to go myself. I can walk with a crutch, I expect. Will you find one for me? I walked with a crutch before, for months. I can do it.’
‘I have a better idea,’ she said. ‘You shall lead your men on horseback. Don’t look so surprised. Have you never heard of horses being transported in boats before? It can be done, I assure you. We have boats in plenty now, thanks to you.’ She looked out of the improvised tent, up into the darkening sky.
She said, ‘It is almost dusk. I did not realise it was so late.’ For the first time she looked worried. ‘They will be waiting for you. If you don’t go, they will think the worst. As it is, there are so many rumours running about the castle about your having killed a dozen men, defending grandfather, and about your being severely wounded. … I cannot move about the place without people clutching at me, asking what is become of you. You ought to rest, I know. Perhaps I could bring the leaders of each group here to you …’
‘No, I must go to them. Somehow.’
‘I’ll get them to carry you.’
‘No, I must walk—or hobble along by myself. They must see that I am all right.’
‘Well, I know you are not all right, but perhaps. … if you can do it, it would be a good thing. The gatehouse …’ She caught herself up, annoyed at having let the word escape her.
‘They have not broken through, have they?’ He found the strength from somewhere to sit up. He turned his head, listening. Surely the noises of the trebuchet and the ram had redoubled!
‘They are through into the pit,’ said Ursula, in matter-of-fact tones. ‘They got the portcullis up, and they had timbers with them, to throw down into the pit. As you said they would. The ram is attacking the inner gatehouse now, but it cannot get through tonight. I am sure it cannot.’
Fear got him to his feet. To one foot. The air went black about him and then resumed its normal hue. He was not going to faint again. Parkyn propped him up on one side, Ursula steadied him on the other. And her
e came Barnabas, running up with a crutch.
Benedict fitted the crutch under his arm and tried it out. Hoppity-hop. Idonia had laughed herself silly, hands pressed to mouth, to see him hop around like this. Ursula didn’t laugh. She held her hand near his elbow, frowning, ready to leap to his side if he toppled over.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can do it.’
The night seemed endless. He slept lightly, waking now and then to listen. He was afraid that Hugo might continue to operate the pick through the night hours. The man must have known that he was almost through. …
But the pounding had stopped, and there were no night alarms.
Each time he woke he propped himself on one elbow to see how far the marked candle had burned down. He had to be up and dressed and down on the jetty long before dawn. Barnabas and Parkyn slept at the foot of his bed, curled up in their cloaks. Barnabas shivered and moaned in his sleep, perhaps reliving the moment when he had darted in with his knife to save Benedict’s life … perhaps remembering the old days when he had been a ragged outcast, to be kicked by all and sundry …
Parkyn dragged himself up from the ground every now and then, to change the cloths on Benedict’s leg. His movements were slow, his eyes gummed up with sleep, but he did his work efficiently.
I am indeed well served, thought Benedict. Of a certainty he would buy both men from Sir Henry, and set them free. … if they came through this alive.
Once she came. He opened his eyes on hearing the brush of her dress against the foot of his bed. She had thrown a cloak over her gown and carried a dark lanthorn. When she saw he was awake, she stood still, saying nothing, not even smiling. He was only half awake. None of his injuries were so bad at that moment that they screamed for attention. So he continued to lie there, looking up at her. … and she to stand, looking down on him. …
The next time he opened his eyes she was gone. She had moved the crutch away from his bed, perhaps to ensure that he did not try to rise unaided. It was a good crutch, stoutly made, and of the right height for him. No-one had laughed as he’d made his halting way to the mounting-block at dusk, though it seemed as if almost every inhabitant of the castle had come to see for himself that he could still lead them into battle.
The Siege of Salwarpe Page 22
