Harald (33 page)

Now the ram was in jerky motion as the men inside the shed lifted it, ran forward, dropped it. Almost to the moat, where the lifted drawbridge had been replaced by masses of earth and rock.

The ram and its shed had stopped moving. More trumpet calls, men running back to the cover of the earthworks, runners from the command group. Something was wrong.

In the castle courtyard, inside the gate, thirty rock throwers, each with a team of five men pulling, one Lady loading and aiming. A whistle. Over the sudden silence, the voice of the Lady Commander.

"We got their ram. Engines against the wall, clear the courtyard, start shifting."

The commander of the third legion heard a familiar voice, looked up. "Majesty."

"What happened to the ram?"

"Rocks. Lots of rocks. Karls must have a bunch of throwers inside the castle at ground level, where archers, bolt throwers can't reach them."

"Can't we . . . ?" The Emperor saw where the commander was pointing.

"I've ordered the engineers to start throwing over the wall at the courtyard behind the gate. Little engines don't have much range; I doubt they could have reached the ram from anywhere else. Slow—but a sling full of rocks does a lot of damage. Wouldn't want to be in that courtyard just now. I'm keeping the turtles back, just in case—rocks might go short. We'll stop throwing before they go in—job should be done by then."

On the top of the siege tower, trying to keep his footing as it jolted forwards, it occurred to Gerin that this was an honor he could have lived without. At least nobody was shooting at him; the archers on the castle wall had either been killed or, more likely, decided there were safer places to be. For himself, he could think of a lot of places safer than the top of a siege tower, first onto the wall.

Looking back, he could see the turtles, masses of legionaries roofed with shields, beginning to move forward. The other tower had stuck, men heaving on it. The castle wall was getting closer, the captain yelling for the men to form up and move. The wooden wall that had been sheltering them swung down, became the bridge across the remaining gap, its far end resting on the castle wall. Shield up, in line, forward. This was it.

As he came onto the wall, something struck his shield hard. Another. He could see the head of a crossbow bolt sticking through. Something glanced off the armor of his lower leg. The keep was at the other end of the castle—where the hell were they shooting from?

A glance between the shields gave the answer. Under his feet, the stone of the castle wall. In front, fifteen feet of nothing. On the far side of the gap, a wooden wall, hanging in the air. Maybe the Karls really were sorcerers after all. A second look. The enemy archers were on a platform resting on a rough scaffolding of logs. At least one siege bow. An arrow glanced off his helm. The man beside him was down. Gerin dropped to his knees for better protection. Behind him the captain was yelling something. Stopped.

A wooden box on wheels, ladder crowded with men, shields on their backs. At ground level the tower's back was open, more men crowded behind, shields over their heads. Something struck it a hard blow, a giant's spear through the front wall, massive iron head, tree trunk for a shaft. A second blow, a third, as the ram smashed a splintered hole in the front of the tower. Through it something dark that hit the wooden floor, broke, showered burning coals.

"One more day, Majesty. Two at most. We know their tricks now. If we throw enough rocks, they can't use the little engines against the ram and the turtles. Finish another tower. Fill in more of the moat—they won't know where we're coming. If it doesn't work, we can always use ladders."

"How long will it take to fill in the moat all along this side? Assume you can borrow any men and gear you need from the other legions."

The commander thought a moment.

"Tomorrow to fill in. While they do it, I'll have a few hundred men carrying loads of rocks up from the river bed to the engines. Retrieve the ram and the shed tonight. Rebuild them tomorrow. Finish another tower. Get more big engines up from the city—start disassembling this evening, bring them up next morning, a day to reassemble and get the aim. By day after tomorrow we'll have two towers—maybe three. The ram and its shed. Enough big engines to shower rocks into the courtyard, anywhere they might set up throwers. We already have the bolt throwers and archers from the city; I can use one of their legions and my two for the attack, two others in reserve."

"Do it."

In the castle courtyard a dozen stone throwers, each protected by a slanted roof of heavy beams, beside each a pile of rocks. Leonora, standing with her back against the castle wall, turned to the Lady beside her.

"Need more, but we don't have enough timber. Next time, remind me to cut down a forest first."

"If there is a next. Lot of legionaries out there. "

"Fewer by the time they get here."

On the rampart, someone raised a red flag, swung it twice. Leonora raised her hand for attention:

"Thirty-second warning. Start throwing on the signal, watch your observer on the wall. First section red, second blue, third yellow. Lose your observer, use someone else's. When I blow withdraw, do it—if they get archers on the wall, court's a deathtrap."

She hesitated, watching the red observer on the wall. The flag went up, down.

"Start throwing."

From the top of the keep Henry could see part of the courtyard, most of the space outside the walls. Two siege towers—they had built a second to replace the one burned in the first attack. The ram moving towards the gate. Between the towers and at either side were the turtles, each two hundred men, shields over their heads. More turtles coming against the far side of the castle, where the slope was too steep for towers. Fifteen—three legions. Almost six times what he had inside the walls, easily another legion formed up out of range of the walls in front of the big siege engines.

The ram reached the gate, hidden from him by the castle wall, swung once, twice—he could hear the blows. On the wall above the gate two big rocks, a dozen men straining on levers to move them. One went, then the other. He heard them hit the ram roof, smash through it.

The towers were close to the wall, the turtles, their path a trail of bodies where stones had broken through the roof of shields or arrows found holes, mostly out of his sight. As the towers reached the wall, so did ladders, between them, on either side. The castle guards were fighting with the legionaries from the towers, helped by arrows from the keep and the courtyard below. He saw one man catch hold of the top of a ladder, shove—guard, ladder, its invisible load of legionaries swung away from the wall, down. Another guard was using a pole arm to push a ladder sideways.

On either side of the towers his men were still fighting, but between them the wall was held by the enemy, legionaries pouring out of the towers, up the ladders between, shields raised against arrows raining from the keep. A few steps across the roof put him in sight of the back wall of the castle—no siege towers, but ladders, legionaries fighting with guards, pushing them back by weight of numbers, a few starting down the stairs into the courtyard. He lifted the horn to his lips, blew, looked around once more, headed for the stairs down.

Leonora already had her whistle raised when she heard the signal. Three sharp blasts. Again. The surviving crews abandoned their engines, ran for the ramp that led up to the open door of the keep, joined by archers fleeing positions in the wall. Leonora picked up her spear, prepared to follow them.

Around the corner of the keep legionaries, the first heading for the ramp and the door—brave man. Leonora crossed the courtyard at a run, drove her spear through his side just below the ribs, kicked the falling body free, spun to face the men coming after him. Two, shields raised, advancing slowly together, the man on the right a little ahead. She glanced down and, as the shield twitched to follow, drove her spear blade into his throat. As the other turned to face her she swung the spear's butt to the side of his head.

A familiar voice. "On your left."

She stepped sideways into the shelter of Henry's shield, lowered her spear to waist height. Of the next two legionaries, one hesitated, one didn't. Henry's sword came down, the shield up to block it, Leonora's spear under the shield.

The two backed up the ramp into the keep. Behind them the door swung shut.

The feast hall had become a field hospital, wounded on the tables or pallets on the floor, in one corner a pile of bodies. Anne leaned over a guard, a goblet in one hand, the other steadying his head. Her daughter, in Elen's arms, watched fascinated as another man, one arm bandaged to his side, made his remaining hand a spider crawling across him, stopping to wave its feet at the baby.

"Beautiful little girl—mine are bigger now."

"Best baby in the world."

Anne heard something, looked up. The Lady Commander and the captain.

"They have the walls?"

Henry nodded. She glanced around the hall.

"We've bought Harald and James two weeks; let's hope it's enough. Any more looks expensive. Besides, the cistern's only half full—water for two days, maybe three, if they don't storm first."

"Your Majesty gives me leave . . . ?"

Anne looked at Leonora, back to Henry.

"To surrender. Get the best terms you can, spend as long as you can getting them."

"Walls are ours, Majesty. Karls still hold the keep, but they're willing to talk."

"Offer them the usual terms—their wounded treated like ours. If the army goes home, anyone too hurt to walk stays here, the rest go with us; they can ransom them back when it's over. Before they surrender, make it clear to your boys that that none of the prisoners gets mistreated—man or Lady. The Order's the weakest third, most at risk. If we can break them out of the alliance, the next war will be easier. That's for your ears.

"For your boys, you might remind them the war isn't over yet. Harald's somewhere between us and home with an army. If things go wrong, some of them may be his prisoners next week—it wouldn't be the first time.

"If you don't think that's enough, tell them the first man who mistreats a prisoner hangs."

"I spoke to one of my people, Majesty. He never saw the King, doesn't think he was there. The guard was being commanded by one of the captains, the Order by their own people. It looks like the banner went one way, King the other. Out on the plains with Harald."

The Emperor turned back to the senior legion commander.

"We searched the place top to bottom, Majesty, every male prisoner. He could be hiding somewhere, I suppose, but I don't know where."

There was a brief pause. The Emperor spoke again:

"At least we have his wife and daughter. We'll take them home with us, see what he offers to get them back. If she stays with us a while she might get used to civilized living, persuade her husband to be a bit less unfriendly. Is she likely to be any trouble?"

The commander shook his head.

"Not her, Majesty. Biddable enough, friendly once she saw we were going to treat her proper. Have to keep a close eye on our boys, though. On the good side, I expect he'll be eager to get her back—I would be. What do we do next?"

"Eston."

Twenty miles west, where Eston Valley opened into the central plain, the legions had built a fortified camp to guard the valley mouth—square earthwork, gate in each side, observation tower of crude lumber, tents for two thousand legionaries, three hundred archers. Between camp and forest edge the cavalry had their lines—space for nearly nine thousand men, more than nine thousand horses.

Justin looked around the command tent, spoke to Anton, the senior of the cavalry commanders.

"How many did you lose?"

"Almost two hundred head. Karls must have come through the forest after dark, cut tethers, spooked the horses. Their friends west of here grabbed them, left."

"What were your guards doing?"

"There's more than a mile of forest on one side, plains on the other. Takes a lot of people to cover all of it at night—only took a few getting through. My horsemen aren't much good in the woods anyway."

The scout commander looked up, spoke:

"We need Bashkai. A few hundred of them wandering around the forest, no damn horse thieves coming through alive."

"The whole army only has six hundred—His Majesty has them covering the main body. Lot more woods in there." Justin gestured at the mouth of the long valley.

"If we can't guard the forest side, we should move farther out. Besides, the horses have grazed down most of the grass between here and the forest."

Justin looked around the circle of faces, thought a moment, spoke:

"Vija, Garth, you were at council with His Majesty. He thinks the force out there is small but doesn't want us to take chances. He didn't order us to stay in camp. Is that right?

Both men nodded.

"Vija, what do your scouts tell you?"

"No word from the central plains for the last couple of days. Scouts near in say the enemy body is nine or ten miles south, not far from the woods. They can't get close enough to count numbers. We need horse archers, nomads. Somebody mounted who can shoot back."

"If you need nomads, ask Artos. Need Bashkai, ask Gavin. Recruit two thousand savages, only a thousand come home, makes it hard next time. There's not a whole lot we can do about it. Better to think about what we do have. More cavalry than the Karls. Two legions. Here's my idea; what's wrong with it?"

Up and Out! Up and Out!

Red hair on the pillow beside him. James smiled, knew he looked foolish, didn't care, leaned over to kiss his bride.

Up and Out! Up and Out!

He tried to fit the trumpet calls into the dream, failed, opened his eyes, rolled out of bed into the morning cool. The tent was still scattered with camp chairs; Council had gone late.

"Majesty."

"I'm awake; what is it?"

The guard captain came through the tent door; James wondered if he slept in armor.

"Order scouts. There's cavalry moving our way. Stephen is ordering tents down, wagons loaded and out, men ready to ride. Half an hour, not much more."