Knight Assassin

by James Boschert

  A ladder appeared against the wall next to Sir Hughes, who roared for his pike man to come and help push it off. Men at the base were struggling to get onto the ladder while a couple of crossbowmen were firing their bolts up at the defenders. It only needed one bolt to go home with a sickening thump into the chest of one of the defenders, for the others to seek cover. Hughes bellowed at them to get to their feet and prepare to repel the assault.

  Gareth felled the crossbowman but another took aim at him and nearly got him with a bolt that hummed past his ear.

  Talon peered cautiously over the edge of the wall to see men on the ladder moving up slowly on the swaying frame. He seized the pike from the nervous man next to him and locked it into the top of the ladder. “Here, help me push!” he commanded the man.

  Together they heaved at the pike and the ladder left the side of the wall. They pushed hard and had the satisfaction of hearing the fearful shouts from the men outside as they realized that they were going to have a nasty fall. They pushed back with one last heave of the pike and they stood back. Just in time, as several bolts thudded into the wall nearby and one whispered past Talon’s face.

  There was another noisy crash that shook the gates again as the men below rushed in again.

  Sir Hughes turned to Talon. “I doubt if the gates will hold much longer with this kind of thing. I shall go down to greet them if they get in. You see if you can't dissuade them from up here.”

  Just as he left some women came puffing up the steps carrying a big metal pot with its handle looped over a thick stick. Aicelina was leading them, holding onto another one of the pots with cloths wrapped around the handle.

  “We have coals, Talon!” she called.

  Talon seized the pot from her and, using the cloths to protect his hands from the heat, he quickly leaned over the parapet and poured the red hot coals onto the milling mass of men below.

  He was rewarded by shouts of pain and rage as the coals fell onto their shoulders and in some cases, bare heads. The smell of burning hair wafted up to the defenders. One of the other men took another pot and tossed the contents over the wall. Another stream of coals fell onto the already badly burned men. Talon peering carefully over the edge of the wall and saw a horse whinny in pain and bolt. He thought it might be Marcel and laughed.

  Then he looked up and caught Aicelina’s eye. She looked frightened, but was calm.

  “How can you laugh at a time like this?” she exclaimed.

  “I think we just poured hot coals onto Marcel. His horse bolted.” She flashed a grin at that.

  “Thank you Aicelina, we need more coals. Go down quickly—it's not safe here—and bring us some more boiling water, or coals, or pitch, if you have it.”

  She gave a quick nod and was gone with the other two women. He turned back to see what was happening. It had gone quiet for the moment. The shouts of rage and pain were temporarily silenced. He saw why: the men and other horsemen were running back to the woods, dodging and weaving as the archers on the parapet followed them with arrows to speed them along.

  The defenders jeered the retreating men loudly, offering lewd gestures as they did so. One of the village youths went so far as to drop his hose and show off his genitals to the retreating men. His action was greeted with hoots of laughter from his relieved comrades.

  But then Talon heard shouts and the clash of steel behind him. He turned around and his heart sank as he saw men fighting on the walls on the other side of the fort. He muttered a curse, told Gareth to stay on the wall and shoot anyone who was rash enough to come near, and he set off at a run with his sword drawn, calling on a couple of pike men to help.

  He had to sprint across the muddy yard, followed by two of the huge hounds, Rolland and Beatrice; they raced up the crude steps that led to the platform. There were men locked in combat twenty feet away and just as he reached the top he saw Bartholomew go down, clubbed from the side by a man who had clambered over the wall. The man had not yet noticed Talon. He was about to deliver a fatal blow to Bartholomew, who was unconscious at his feet. He never finished his work as Talon was on him and had thrust his sword into his side. The man gave a choked gasp and fell over the edge of the parapet.

  Talon heard the hounds drive past him to charge into the mêlée of men fighting farther down the ramparts; they set upon one man, snarling and growling, and drove him down, screaming. Whirling, Talon almost beheaded another man who was trying to get over the wall. The man fell back out of sight without a sound. He heard two pike men pounding up behind him to join the fray. Looking up, he saw one of them stop near the point where the ladder was against the wall, he shouted and stabbed downward with his pike.

  Turning back to see what else was happening Talon saw that Max was engaged in a furious fight with a burly looking man in mail. They were hacking wildly at one another, while the two archers were facing off against another man, also in mail. Behind the archers there was a fight going on between some of their spearmen and several of the chain-mailed enemy. He saw at least three bodies lying wounded or dead along the narrow way. The two hounds were still worrying the man on the floor, who was now covered in blood and had stopped screaming.

  It was no time for niceties, Talon decided, and seized an axe that was lying on the floor; he stepped forward and hammered the blade onto the top of Max’s opponent’s head. The man fell forward in a spray of blood almost into Max’s arms. The surprised Max nodded at Talon and let the man fall to his feet.

  “Take care of that other one, Max. I'll deal with any more that try to come up.”

  The pike men sidled past Talon and joined in the battle, helping Max.

  Talon picked up a pike lying next to one of his father’s men and again hooked it onto the top rung of the ladder. He heaved with all his strength at the frame but it barely budged. There were heavy men on it and they were shaking it furiously as they struggled up. He was still trying when another person joined in to push at it from behind. It was Feremundus. Between the two of them they managed to push the ladder over its center of gravity and it began to fall away. Several heavily clad men clutched it, shouting their anger while another let go and fell with a cry to the ground. Talon could have sworn that one of the men was Roger.

  Talon picked up the axe again and turned quickly to find himself staring at a very groggy-looking Bartholomew. There was a livid bruise on his temple and some blood trickled down his chin from his nose.

  “Thanks for the help,” Talon said to Feremundus.

  “I think we should be thanking you, Talon,” Bartholomew mumbled. “You arrived in the nick of time. Dear Lord, but my head aches.”

  “Stay here, Bartholomew; I have to help clear the parapet of these vermin,” Talon said. “Feremundus, stay you here with Bartholomew and stop them from trying again. Thank you for your help.”

  Feremundus grinned as he watched Talon stride off toward the others. “That man is a fighter.” he said to Bartholomew, who nodded emphatically in agreement, then clutched his head as though to keep it from falling off.

  The fight had not yet gone out of the men left behind, however. One of them was lying in a pool of blood but the other three were fighting savagely against the overwhelming odds against them. One decided to take his chances and leapt down from the wall to land badly on the outside. The remaining two were finally driven into a corner where they had to reluctantly surrender their weapons to a gleeful group of spearmen.

  Max came toward Talon. “You and Feremundus came at the right moment; it helped tip the balance here. I thank you.”

  “I half suspected that they would try this when I didn't see Roger at the gates. He is not a coward. Can you hold for a while longer? I shall leave the two pike men with you, although I have no idea how useful they will be. I am sure that Roger will attempt to get up again. I need to have Feremundus near the gates; they will try again for that target.”

  “I think so, but if the Welshmen can pick off a few more of them and make the thought of pillage less app
etizing, they might reconsider. Hey, Devonalt, Ap-Maddock, start shooting at them, we need to cut their numbers down,” Max shouted to the two bowmen.

  The Welshmen were filthy and covered in blood, some of it their own, but they nodded and grinned cheerfully. They hefted their long bows, leaned over the wall, and began their work. The screams from below were testament to their deadly aim. The man who had jumped off the battlements was killed while trying to crawl away.

  Talon looked down at the men below, who were beginning to run in all directions, trying to get away from the arrows. They abandoned the ladders and began to run for the forest. A couple of arrows took two more down before they made the cover of the woods. At the edge, another man turned and stared back balefully for a long moment before he, too, went for cover as another arrow whispered past his cheek to thud into a tree nearby.

  Talon took one last look at the woods, then turned and made his way back to the gate side of the fort. The hounds bounded to him and followed at his heels.

  The women and old men called out his name and blessed him as he walked through the crowded yard. They had witnessed the end of the fight on the walls. He nodded to them and continued to his father, who greeted him with a hand on the shoulder.

  “You are indeed a warrior. Philip was right when he told me of your ability,” Sir Hughes said as he came up to him.

  “I think we may need all our collective skills this day and night. I can't see Guillabert giving up so easily, and certainly not Roger. He came close to succeeding back there.”

  He felt a hand on his arm. Turning he looked into Aicelina’s eyes. There was concern, but also pride. She held up a leather cup full of water. He drank the cool water and realized how thirsty he was.

  “Thank you, Aicelina, that was good. Bartholomew got a nasty blow to the head; could you perhaps help him?”

  She nodded and hurried off. It wrenched him to see the look of alarm in her eyes. She seemed to care for Bartholomew in more than just the ordinary way.

  Talon made his way back up to the battlements and joined Gareth. His friend pointed to the bodies lying in the grass at the foot of the walls. “They have lost almost ten men killed and more still wounded, but I fear they have more where those came from. We lose two men and it hurts us. Guillabert must have a lot of money to be able to hire that many mercenaries.”

  “We lost more men on the other walls and it will hurt us even more.”

  “They'll be back.”

  “Yes, and we must hold until the night.”

  “That's when we strike, Gareth. Get some rest whenever you can and make sure you and the other archers are fresh for the night. They'll be back soon enough,” Talon said with tightness in his chest.

  Although they could not see the sun because of the overcast sky it was clearly well past noon. How had time flown by so fast?

  His father tramped up the ramp onto the battlements and looked out over the field. He called for a roll of dead and wounded and then shook his head, saying in a low voice to Talon, “We have lost five of our own and the more wounded. We can't sustain these losses for much longer before they come over the wall and we have to fight them inside.” Then he smiled at Talon. “Calm as ever, Talon. Nothing seems to unnerve you, my boy. Well, we made a good account of ourselves this time. Curse that man, I suppose he will be back. They’ve gone to lick their wounds for now.”

  But even as he spoke there was another concerted charge for the gates. The fighting was bitter and men fell on both sides. Talon was amazed that the gates could hold up under the savagery of the attacks. Each blow from the ram crashed noisily and shook the gates and even the walls that held them. He kept a wary eye open to their rear even as they fought off two attempts to storm the gates that left the defenders exhausted and bleeding. There were more dead and wounded from the bolts that flew despite the deadly fire from the Welshmen.

  Talon ached from stabbing and lunging at hard, determined men who tried again and again to scale the ladders and gain a foothold on the parapet. He and Feremundus had joined Max, and again repelled a very determined assault on the rear of the fort. He was sure it had been led by Roger, but that man stayed out of the way of the arrows. To the weary defenders it seemed that Sir Guillabert had an endless supply of men.

  The womenfolk led by Aicelina helped with pans of red-hot coals again and again. A bolt struck one of the women in the side just as she and Aicelina arrived at the parapet. The woman screamed and fell, letting go her end, spilling hot coals out of the pan they were carrying, creating a small fire that distracted the defenders as they tried to put it out.

  Guillabert’s men took advantage of this and launched a determined attack with ladders farther along the wall and almost gained a foothold. A fierce counterattack led by Sir Hughes threw the attackers off the walls. More of his men had been wounded and two more had died.

  Despite the danger, Aicelina had continued to bring coals as often as she could, thus earning the admiration of the men. During the lulls between fighting she and other womenfolk brought water for the thirsty men on the parapets. Exhausted men and boys gulped gratefully from the leather cups and blessed them.

  Late that afternoon the enemy seemed to have had enough. Sir Hughes strode over to Talon, his face streaked with sweat, blood, and grime. “I think they've had enough for now,” he growled through parched lips.

  They stood together and surveyed their sadly depleted force. Talon could sense the despair beginning to grow within the fort. He himself was beginning to have doubts that they could possibly survive another determined attack, but he knew they must. He tried to keep a brave face on things but within his heart he was becoming unsure. There was still no sign of the extra men that Roger was supposed to have sent. He resolved to take the battle to Guillabert that night.

  Almost as though he could read Talon’s mind Sir Hughes said, “Guillabert must be betting everything on winning this before the Count can send reinforcements. He must know that he can't fight the Count, so he needs to win this very soon. He can't have enough coin to pay all the men he seems to have. We must hold them just a little longer. There's no alternative.”

  Talon nodded agreement. “Tonight when it's dark—there will be no moon—they will come again. That way they can make their way right up to us without us knowing they're there, if they are quiet. They will try one last time, I am sure of it.”

  “We should prepare torches to throw down on them when they come.”

  “I agree, but I shall be going out of the fort tonight.”

  His father stared at him. Somehow Hughes seemed to be unsurprised at the statement. “What do you intend to do?” he asked as though he had expected something of this kind.

  “Guillabert has done enough harm to us. If I can put a stop to it, I shall.”

  “I suppose it would not do any good to ask you not to go?”

  Despite himself Talon had to smile. “No Father, this is something I can and must do. Eventually he or Roger will overwhelm us, and that I do not wish to happen. I hope to even the odds somewhat.”

  They spent the rest of the late afternoon and early evening in tense, watchful silence. The woods gave nothing away to the defenders who, in spite of their exhaustion, were kept busy by their leaders making sure torches were made. Boiling water as well as coals were prepared to toss down on anyone who came. A quick sortie by some men retrieved as many arrows as they could, but they were chased back by Guillabert’s horsemen, who charged out of the woods and came close to cutting down one or two of the running men but for some well-aimed arrows from the walls that wounded one of the horsemen and brought down a horse. Everyone retreated to their respective corners to lick their wounds and consider the next move.

  Marguerite, Aicelina, and the other women dressed the men’s wounds and fed them. Pierre and Claude said prayers over the dead and helped to comfort the village womenfolk. The dead were laid out in a row, the enemy among them, in one corner of the fort. Sir Hughes supervised the retrieval of the two sc
aling ladders which were hoisted over the walls, and brought into the yard. Then Sir Hughes took Talon and Gareth with him when he interrogated the captured men.

  They were both tough-looking men who obviously lived by their skill at weapons and were paid to do so. They gave nothing away other than to sneer at Sir Hughes and to tell him that there were many more to whom Guillabert had promised silver. Hughes regarded them with obvious distaste; they were filthy, and they stank of old beer and rancid sweat.

  To Talon, watching them, they looked as though they carried vermin on them and had lank, filthy hair that he was sure was full of lice. He was revolted by the thought that these men might win this battle and then pillage what was left and rape the surviving women. He became more determined than ever to reach Guillabert before he could do more damage.

  As though he had thought the same Sir Hughes decided to hang them. “There are not enough of us to keep watch over them and they are cunning enough for sure to get loose during the fighting later if we leave them in the charge of these village simpletons.” he remarked. Talon agreed.

  The execution was summary and quick. Although they protested loudly at first, they went to their deaths stoically enough in the end, Talon thought. The men were hung from the gates. The bodies were displayed near the front gate in full view of the impassive forest.

  Talon could not help but notice that Bartholomew stayed away from the executions: he was not surprised. The man was unused to the grimmer aspects of warfare. Talon had no quarrel with his ability to fight, however. In spite of his sore head, Bartholomew had taken his place at the rear of the fort alongside Max and fought valiantly the rest of the day.