No detail had been overlooked, that the small rebel forces would be able to cover all the necessary points, and accomplish the work of a much larger body of fighters. It had taken military genius of the first water to do all this, and a tremendous amount of labor.
And yet the redhead was a traitor. It didn’t make sense.
Mark reached his destination and again found the work already done. Things were going even better than planned. There was no doubt of it, the absence of so many of the defenders, who might otherwise have been there to fight if it weren’t for the games, was responsible for the ease with which these two captures had been made.
Yet in the end it didn’t matter much, for those same soldiers were still to be reckoned with. A good many of them would band together in an effort to retake their strongholds.
This castle had been taken without a casualty on either side, due to the fact that the gates had been open to admit a tradesman’s cart. The rebels had rushed in and forced the defenders to surrender. The thing had been done in an orderly fashion. No pillage, no destruction. Discipline had been admirable. Each rebel detachment was under the leadership of an officer who had orders from Murf, Smid and Mark, to allow no rioting.
Further, it had been impressed upon all the rebels that for the time being everything captured was to be considered government property. And they had been told that under the new system of government every citizen would own his share of the state’s wealth. And if that wealth were destroyed or stolen, each citizen would suffer by the taxation necessary to replace it.
HERE again Mark was forced to think of Murf. For although it was Mark who had suggested that these things be impressed upon their men, it was Murf who got the idea of holding the officers of each group personally responsible for the conduct of his men.
It was he, also, who had decreed that any deaths which occurred, over and above those necessary in the course of the fighting, would be considered murder and the killers treated as such. This idea of Murf’s would save many an innocent life.
Mark growled to himself as he rode off to his next point of call.
Twice on the way he lent his flashing axe to groups of rebels who had been attacked on the streets by bands of soldiers returning to their respective castles. Each time a rebel victory resulted.
These delays irked him, for although he fought with the fury of one possessed, several valuable minutes were lost on each occasion. These skirmishes had not been figured in the timing of his rounds. He feared the consequences of the departure from his carefully prearranged schedule. But his fears were groundless.
When he arrived at his destination he found the situation already in hand. The surprise element had again proved its worth.
There remained only one really important spot to be visited. Erlayok’s castle. This stronghold was always overrun with soldiers, even during the games, and its walls were high — practically unscalable.
All other points of attack consisted of garrisons of soldiers and public buildings, and sufficient men had been allotted to these places to ensure their capture.
As Mark’s speeding horse neared the castle of Erlayok, he sensed that there was trouble ahead.
There was altogether too much noise for the place to have been taken. His fears were realized when he came in sight of the castle. Not only had it not been taken, but from the looks of things it was doubtful if it would be.
The tops of the walls were lined with archers, pouring arrows down on the unprotected men who were trying to batter down the oaken gates with a heavy ram. Men were darting out from the cover of nearby buildings to take the places of their fallen comrades at the ram.
Mark pulled up and dismounted, leaving the horse out of arrow range.
He ran forward ignoring the flying shafts. He saw that occasionally a soldier would fall from the wall, a victim of a rebel arrow, but not often. Not nearly often enough. The few rebels who could handle a bow were no match for the archers of the earl.
As he neared the ram, his heart sank as he saw the rebels drop it and run for cover. The punishment had been too much for them.
Savagely Mark broke the shaft of an arrow which had gone clear through the biceps of his left arm. He retreated as he pulled the broken bits from his flesh.
The situation looked hopeless at first. The rebels had been unable to install any siege machinery in the vicinity before the attack. And the ram would never break through without some sort of contraption to protect the men as they plied it, Mark didn’t waste time trying to invent an alternate plan but gave immediate orders to start construction of a huge bulwark to shield the ram.
But in another portion of the city, events had taken place which would shortly solve the problem of the siege of Erlayok’s castle.
At the very instant that the perfectly timed attacks of the rebels were begun at the gates of the four castles of the reigning nobles, an entirely different scene was being enacted before still another great palace.
A compact force of two hundred men gathered at the castle of Jon, Duke of Scarbor. They made no attempt to cross the bridge over the moat. The soldiers stationed there stared at them in alarm, but seeing that no attack was forthcoming, made no move to raise the bridge.
In a few minutes the Duke appeared. Without hesitation he singled out the two rebel leaders and beckoned them to him. They saluted and bowed stiffly.
“Explain this, please,” demanded the Duke.
One of the captains bowed again and answered. “There is a rebellion in progress,” he said. “We have been sent here to see that I no harm comes to you or your family.”
“Does anyone wish us harm?” inquired the Duke.
THE captain looked embarrassed. “Not many,” he answered. “But there is a small group among us who think that no noble should be left to live, lest there some day be a return of the sort of government we have been subjected to.”
“Then the majority wish my family well?”
“Oh, of course,” replied the captain. “Mark, our leader, and Murf, his lieutenant gave orders that you were to be protected. In fact they don’t want any of the nobles killed, just removed from power. But there are many who would like to see all aristocrats dead, so it was thought advisable that you be guarded from harm.”
Jon stroked a clean-shaven chin. “Very civilized sort of a revolt,” he remarked.
He was interrupted by the clatter of a horseman who dismounted breathlessly. He saluted briskly, bowed briefly to the Duke.
“Orders from Smid, at headquarters: If no disturbance in vicinity of Duke’s palace, dispatch one company to castle of Erlayok. Answer.”
The two captains looked at each other. “That means you,” said one. “They must be having trouble over there.” He turned to the horseman. “Answer to Smid: All quiet here. Sending company immediately.”
The dispatch rider mounted and galloped off.
“Just a minute,” said Jon, as the second captain turned to address his men. “If there is trouble at Erlayok’s palace, it can mean only one thing. His expert archers are preventing an attack on the gates. Do you have any archers to shoot them off the walls?”
The answer was obvious. All two hundred rebels were men from the farm lands, and there wasn’t a bow among them. Some were armed with swords, a few had regular battle axes and the rest had woodcutting axes from their own farms.
The captains looked at each other and shook their heads. “But orders are orders,” replied one. “Whether we can help or not.”
“Yes,” said the Duke. “But it would be much better if you had some archers. Suppose I lend you some. Will you make use of them?”
“You mean you would help our side to overthrow your own government?” said one, incredulously.
“It’s not my government, as you well know,” replied Jon. “And if my people want a change badly enough to fight for it, I shall certainly help them.”
Chapter 22: The Happy Rebel
MARK watched skilled carpenters hammer together a lo
ng, narrow shield from pieces of wood of all shapes and sizes garnered from doors, sheds and a dozen other sources in the neighborhood.
The work was progressing speedily, for the castle of Erlayok had to be taken before any help could arrive from the scattered soldiery about the city.
There were no wheels available and the shield wasn’t to be made like the conventional article. It wouldn’t be a self-supported canopy to be rolled to the door, while men walked safely underneath. There wasn’t time for that, nor material.
When this contrivance was completed it would resemble a wooden roof, torn from a house. It would take a hundred men to carry it to the gates. But cumbersome and unwieldy as it might be, there would be safety beneath it for the men at the ram.
Aside from the importance of this last stronghold as a strategic place for either side to hold, Mark had another reason for wanting to get inside as quickly as possible.
He had just heard that Erlayok had left the arena in time to get here before the attack. He must have been warned by the unorthodox behavior of some of his own soldiers in the battle Mark had ordered. Further, he must have recognized that they were under hypnotic influence, and had jumped to the conclusion that Mark was behind it.
But whatever had warned him, he had left the arena before the rebels had blocked his escape, and was now inside. And Erlayok was the man who had to be destroyed.
A dispatch rider had informed Mark that the lesser nobles and their families were in custody. The rest of the spectators at the arena had been allowed to return to their homes.
The only deaths at the arena had been caused by a few soldiers who had shown fight. These had been few and were evenly divided on both sides. Most of the soldiers had immediately offered their swords in behalf of the rebel cause, upon being informed that the nobles could no longer pay for their services. And best of all, no civilian, man, woman or child, had been harmed in any way.
Mark was beginning to feel easier in his mind. He wondered if the distant cities in the other duchies were doing as Scarbor.
The great shield was almost finished when a commotion rose from another side of the castle wall. Shouts were heard and the sound of marching feet. Mark dashed to the corner of the wall to see what it was all about.
Two hundred men, half of them archers in the uniforms of Jon’s little forces, were tramping in marching order down the street. At their head, marching side by side, were the rebel captain and Jon, Duke of Scarbor.
MARK grinned and realized that he wasn’t very surprised. Something had told him that the Duke was more interested in the welfare of his people than in the continuance of his own government. It was when Mark realized that the Duke had burned his bridges behind him and was throwing in with the rebels, that he made up his mind that Jon was the man to head the new government.
Murf was definitely out, even if Mark still did feel a vagrant and undeniable affection for the redhead. His treachery had proved that however much he might have sympathized with the oppressed population of England, he still owed his chief allegiance to the Mics, their foe.
And from what Mark had learned of Jon’s father, Aired, the present king, it seemed likely that with advancing years he had weakened considerably in his efforts in behalf of his people. Lately he had come to accept the domination of the nobles, and had lost much of his force. So Jon it would be.
The Duke returned Mark’s grin. “I heard you needed some archers.” Mark waved.
Jon’s bowmen were deployed in the upper windows and on the roofs of the buildings across the street. It took them about three minutes to clear the walls of Erlayok’s men. Every bolt loosed sped to its mark in the body of one of the defenders.
Mark rushed with a gang of his men to get the ram in action. Jon dashed forward with them, and though Mark waved him back he insisted on helping. Stepping over the bodies of arrow-pierced rebels, they picked up the ram where it had fallen.
A horde of rebel fighters crowded through the broken gates, the instant they succumbed to the battering blows of the heavy ram.
Mark went in with them, looking for Erlayok. As he had expected, the earl was not to be seen. The hand-to-hand fighting in the castle yard was violent and brief. Mark dashed into the castle, leaving mopping-up operations to his men.
Taking the stairs three at a time he burst into the corridor of Erlayok’s private quarters. It was deserted and he went into the room where he had been chained a few days before. That was empty too. Frantically he searched every room on that floor but with no more success. Twice he saw frightened servants, but paid them no heed.
For some incomprehensible reason there was no one of importance in the whole castle. A thorough search, moreover, revealed no member of Erlayok’s retinue, and very few of the surviving soldiers remained. There had been hundreds of the latter inside the walls, when the rebels had made their assault. But now, aside from the dead there was only a pitiful handful — those who had put up the losing fight in the castle yard.
THE answer to the mystery was supplied when one of the rebels found a passage, leading from the torture chamber beneath the castle, under the street and emerging in the cellar of a house a block away. But it was too late.
Erlayok was gone.
Mark encountered Jon some time later. The Duke was marshaling his men for the return to his own palace. Mark thanked him for the valuable assistance his men had given. But the Duke shook his head, smiling.
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “I’ve been a part of this rebellion for years. Rather I should thank you.”
Marked looked at him incredulously. “I don’t understand.”
“You have forgotten that the forces of law have been under my command,” the Duke reminded. “A thousand times I have suppressed evidence which might have broken up the movement. I realized it was the only way my people would ever gain their freedom. It was little enough to do for them. My men have trailed you and the other leaders in almost all of your organizing work. We’ve protected your members dozens of times.
“We’ve prevented raids on your headquarters, making all sorts of excuses to those who demanded that they be made. Time after time your activities have been reported to me by various nobles, but always my investigations proved that they had been misinformed. So you see, I’ve really had a hand in this all the time.”
“I see,” Mark said. “That’s what you meant when you said you weren’t entirely uninformed.”
“Yes,” said Jon. “And part of my information concerns you. I have been told, for instance, that you never eat. What kind of man are you?”
“It’s a little too complicated to go into right now. I’ve got to trace Erlayok.”
“I hope you get him,” said Jon. “He’s the real reason for things being so bad. The other nobles don’t dare offend him. And he’s given me plenty of trouble with his spies. They have been so diligent in uncovering rebel activities that it’s kept me busy covering up.”
The two men shook hands and Mark mounted and rode off toward headquarters.
Perversely, Mark’s thoughts strayed to Murf. He wondered if Jon knew anything of Murf’s treachery. No, or he would have let the fact be known. Murf had gone about his job with such a thoroughness that his zeal had fooled everyone. Everyone, that is, except poor Sandy.
Mark urged the horse from a trot to a gallop. There were few people on the streets. Those who weren’t actively engaged in the fighting were staying safely in their houses. And in this section of the city the fighting seemed to be over.
Approaching an intersection, his horse decided to show a mind of its own. It slowed its pace. Mark urged it on with a dig of his heels. The horse responded momentarily and then slowed again. Reaching the corner, it turned left. Mark pulled its head around and tried to make it turn back, but the animal continued in the new direction.
THEN suddenly he forgot the horse’s recalcitrance, and let it have its head. A block away he saw a shock of flaming red hair. At the sound of the horse’s approach, Murf turned. For a
n instant it appeared that he would make an attempt to escape, but instead he stood his ground and grinned impishly.
Mark dismounted. Let Smid take care of the tracing of Erlayok. He would have already started on it by now, anyway. “Where have you been?” he asked, quietly.
Murf waved a hand, airily. “Where I was supposed to have been,” he replied. “Leading the attack on the armory, as we planned I would.”
Mark said nothing for a minute.
By his calculations Murf had finished his job of stirring up a revolt, and should be well on the way to meet the Mics which would be invading the country if Doog’s message had gone through. Yet here he was aiding the rebellion. And though Murf didn’t know that Doog would never deliver the message, it still didn’t make sense.
He shouldn’t be staying here and helping the rebels get control of the country. For the quicker order was restored, the quicker the Brish would be able to repel any attacks from the Mics. As far as that went, why had Murf planned the rebellion so well in the beginning? A poorly managed revolt would have served the purpose of the invaders a lot better.
“In case you’re interested,” Mark drawled. “Doog never got there.”
Murf started guiltily. “Doog... You mean he was stopped?”
“Yes. I stopped him. I’m very much afraid your Mic army won’t even know about our little shindig until it’s too late to do them any good.”
Murf bit his lip, muttering to himself.
“Come on, Murf,” said Mark. “Let’s have the whole story. I’ve nothing against you personally. And what’s more I intend to give you a chance to escape.”
“Escape! I don’t want to escape. I want to see this revolt succeed! I want to see the new government in operation. But now... Oh, you won’t believe me anyway.”
He gestured hopelessly.
“Let’s hear it just the same,” Mark requested. “What comes after ‘But now’?”
The Best of Argosy #6 - Minions of Mars Page 17