The Alchemist's Revenge

by Martin Archer

  First one, and then the other, of the candles burned out as we stood at the wall opening and watched. The heavy pounding on the door to the street began once again not too long afterwards. It sounded as though someone was chopping on it with an axe and it was splintering and coming apart.

  It was the older of the two women in the room who saved us. I was still trying to decide whether to use my last arrow when she rushed to the opening with the room’s piss pot and emptied it on to the street below. We had been shown it after I had hurriedly pissed on the wall, and we had all used it by then, including a very smelly and soupy shite by Andy. It was full to the brim.

  The chopping instantly stopped and was replaced by obvious curses and cries of rage in a gobble we could not understand, probably Greek. The old woman leaned out of the opening and screamed down at them. Someone shouted something and she screamed an answer back. Then there was silence.

  “I know not what she said to them,” John said with a wry smile in his voice. “But I surely wish she had said it earlier.”

  Chapter Nine

  What should we do?

  “We need food, water, candles, and more arrows if we are to stay here any longer.” I said it out loud without meaning for anyone except me to hear my words.

  It had already been a long night, and we knew it was far from being over.

  We had watched as rioters attacked and overran the entrance to the market and the company’s lanterns went out. Then, after we had used up almost all of our arrows, we had watched helplessly and silently as looters with their arms full carried things out of the market. We know that happened because they had passed under our lanterns and hurried down the street to wherever they were going.

  At some point as the night progressed, the company must have launched a successful counter-attack, for we listened to sounds of fighting and then watched from the wall opening as the vague outlines of a steady stream of men, some wounded and others with their arms full of loot, came running past us in the dim light of the lanterns we had hanging above the street. And we cheered and danced around when the candle lanterns appeared once again at the entrance to the market. A short time later our lanterns flickered one after another and went out.

  We needed all kinds of supplies. The question was whether to try to get them in the dark or wait for morning. Dark sounded better to me because a man could hide in it.

  It was the dangerous condition of the hovel’s door to the street that decided me as to what had to be done. I could tell by running my hands over it that it was almost finished. Rioters seeing its condition in the morning light would likely try to get in, and they would almost certainly be successful if they did.

  We had our swords, of course, but what we needed most were arrows so we could shoot down at anyone trying to get in through the door, and from the hole in the ceiling if they were able to in. If we did not get more arrows, and more candles, we would have no light to shed on the street and no arrows to protect us from intruders; we might end up having to run and the only way out was through the door and into the street. Some food and water would be useful as well.

  ****** John Long of Shrewsbury

  We listened and tried to watch as Wat slipped out of the battered door and made a run for the market. I was at the door to the street to cover him and Andy was at the wall opening. As far as we could tell, there was no one in the street when Wat made his move. He had a sword in one hand and Andy’s shield in the other in case he bumped into someone in the dark.

  I temporarily stepped out of the door behind Wat with an arrow nocked and our last remaining arrow in my quiver. Andy was above me and had none. Fortunately, no one was waiting in the darkness. I quickly stepped back inside and barred the door once I was sure Wat was off and running with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other.

  Andy remained upstairs with the family and Wat’s longbow. We had considered having Andy come down to the door with us but, finally, after we talked it over, we decided against it. It would have been hard enough for two of us to climb the ladder and escape if the rioters were waiting for the door to open and charged in when it did; three would have made things even more difficult.

  I heard Wat calling out whilst I was putting the bar back on the door and Andy heard him from the wall opening.

  “Ahoy in the market, it is me, Wat Bargee from Tilbury. Captain White’s Galley Twenty-Seven. I be coming in.”

  “Hoy the market” … “Archer coming in” …. “Archer coming in” … “Archer coming in.”

  We heard Wat start shouting his hoys as soon as he cleared the street and never stopped shouting until he reached the market. It only took a few seconds.

  There was an answer from the market early on but we could not make it out.

  ******

  “My God, Wat, you be alive! We thought you were dead when your lanterns went out. And the other men? How be they?”

  It was Captain White himself who greeted me, and then questioned me closely by the flickering light of a candle. He had a cut on his arm that was wrapped in a linen rag to stop the blood from leaking out. There were a number of archers visible in the flickering light of a dozen or more candles, many more than when we had left a few hours later. The captain looked haggard and tired. A wound and no sleep will do that to you every time.

  Captain White began giving orders to the company’s first sergeant as soon as I finished making my report.

  “Tom, send five of our best men and a Greek-gobbler with Sergeant Bargee. He is in command of the outpost and they are to do whatever he tells them to do.

  “They are to carry enough food, candles, and water for twelve men for three days plus all the arrows they can carry.

  “Do you want to send the family in to us, Wat, or do you want to keep them with you?”

  “The family can come in, Captain, but I would like to keep the old woman. Damn convincing she sounded. I think she told them they were breaking down the wrong door after she dumped the shit pot on them.

  “But begging your pardon, Captain. I cannot use more men where I am. They would be better used hanging lanterns from the wall opening across the street or the next door down from it, or both. And they would need a steady man to sergeant them at each place. That way we could cover each other’s doors from the wall openings above the street.”

  Captain White did not say a word at first; he just gave me a long and hard look in the flickering lantern light. And then he nodded his head.

  “How many men and steady sergeants do you think you would need to hold that street and keep it lighted, Wat? And think a bit before you answer; you are a sergeant now with another stripe.”

  ******

  It was still dark when I headed back to re-join John and Andy. Seven men came with me, three men for each of two additional window openings on the street and an unhappy merchant who was full of fear and could gobble Greek. Every man including me was carrying a heavy load of food, water, and arrows. I was tired and so were they; it had been a long and difficult day—and the real war had not even started.

  It took some doing but we finally got into the rooms across the street where more lanterns might be helpful. Having the fearful merchant gobble for us helped greatly, and so did the old women when she shouted across to her neighbours that we had protected her family and shared our food with them. At least that is what the merchant told us she said.

  We worked feverishly, and by the time the sun came up, we had our lanterns ready to hang and archers in the room across from us and in the room above the next door further down the street. We also took the two long wooden poles from the weaver’s loom and used them to brace up the badly damaged door so it would be harder to push in. Then we climbed up through the hole in the ceiling and pulled up the ladder behind us. The lads across the way had done the same. I know because I went across the street and checked on them before I climbed the ladder.

  I had quickly explained to Captain White what we had done and made sure the men across the street w
ith the other lanterns were ready to do the same before I re-joined John and Andy. We kept in contact the same way the people living on the street had done—by leaning out of the wall openings and shouting to each other.

  Everything was quiet once the sun arrived. The street was empty except for the bodies of a dozen or so dead rioters, although one of them might be alive since once I thought I saw his leg twitch. After a while some women came and tried to search the bodies for loot. They ran off when I shouted out the wall opening at them and pointed an arrow in their direction.

  We rested and slept all day except when one of the archers from across the way slipped out to retrieve whatever arrows he could find. An archer with an arrow nocked stood on either side of every wall opening to protect him whilst he picked up the arrows he could find and pulled them out the bodies. As soon he was finished, he searched the bodies for any coins or other loot he might find. There was not much, just a couple of pouches with a few coppers in them. The looters and rioters were clearly not rich men.

  It was not until it first began to grow dark on our second night in the upper room that all hell broke loose. It was still light and we were just beginning to hang out our lanterns when it did.

  ****** Chosen Man John Long picks up the tale.

  It started with a shout from Ralph Fisher, a fisherman’s son from Herne Bay. He was on lookout duty in the wall opening on the other side of the street and had a better view up the street away from the market.

  “Hoy the archers. A force of men be coming down the street. There looks to be hundreds of the buggers. A priest carrying a cross with a tilted spar be leading them.”

  “No pushing until I give the order,” Wat shouted. He had rushed to the opening to see what he could see.

  And then Wat leaned even farther out the opening to look down the street and said it again, and then some, for the men in the wall openings on the other side of the street.

  “No pushing until I give the order. Put a man on either side of the opening with the third ready to step in fast if a string breaks. And everyone be damn sure to stay out of sight until I give the word. Then push long to pen them into the street.”

  Wat did not have to tell everyone to pull up the ladders to the upper rooms in case the rioters broke into the rooms below them. He had already told them that several times during the night, and gotten confirmation each time that every ladder was up. He also told them about the effect of pouring the shite-filled piss pot on the rioters trying to break-in, and ordered them to be prepared to use theirs the same way.

  A great column of men almost immediately appeared in the lantern light. They were coming slowly and, as sure as God made old bread get green spots, they were being led by a priest carrying an Orthodox cross. We knew it was an Orthodox cross because it had three crossbeams and one was drooping as if Jesus had been lop-sided when the Romans nailed him to it.

  Chapter Ten

  The Greek army arrives.

  Richard had been wrong about the Greek army not arriving for a couple of days. The Greek horsemen he and his men had bloodied had not turned back. They were seen Monday at about midday when they came down the Adrianople road—and stopped close enough to the outer wall to see that the last bridge on the Adrianople road, the one over the moat in front of the city’s outer wall, had been destroyed.

  After a bit of sitting on their horses whilst the men at the head of the column talked, they all began banging their swords on their shields and rode along the road that ran along in front of the wall. They were calling attention to themselves. It was a strange thing for them to do.

  Our men, at least those that had not poured into the city on the previous day to put down the riots, hurriedly manned the outer wall and watched as the Greek horsemen rode past to go further on down the wall. They had had no orders to push arrows at riders who were merely passing by and, as a result, did not do so.

  It was my fault they did not push at them; I should have ordered the archers to take any Greek soldier who came too close. It was a mistake I quickly corrected.

  ******

  “Why are they here ahead of the main army and why are they calling attention to themselves like that?” I wondered out loud to Henry and Richard.

  “I can understand a scouting party arriving in force, but calling attention to themselves in such a way does not make any sense. They seem to be looking for a fight. Or could it be something else?”

  Richard and I were at the Commandery prior riding into the city to visit our men who had been deployed yesterday to put down the rioters. Henry would remain behind to command archers on the wall.

  “Well at least we got the word about their arrival,” Henry said with a smile.

  We certainly had. A steady stream of messengers had arrived at the Commandery because whoever was commanding each enclosure as the Greek horsemen rode past had dutifully sent a messenger to report their sighting and the riders’ strange behaviour, and asked for instructions.

  Moreover, every one of the galley captains whose men had not been sent into the city to put down the possible rioters reported that they had called out their men and manned the outer wall. They had not been sure who the riders might be, or what they should do, so they had not started pushing out their arrows even though their longbows had enough range to be able to reach the road from certain places along the wall.

  “Well, there is only one way to find out what the Greeks are up to,” I said. “The men and horses of the horse company riding with me as my guards are fresh and bored out of their minds. So I am going to ride out with them and try to find out. You stay here and command the city’s defences.”

  Richard grumbled and said something about his being the one who should go because he was in command of the horse archers. I smiled and ignored him.

  ****** Commander George Courtenay

  We rode out of the city’s one remaining landward gate two hours later. It was a damnable hot and muggy day that did not even have the hint of breeze. There were eighteen of us in all; the sixteen men of the horse company assigned as my guards plus me and my apprentice, Nicholas Greenway.

  Thomas Fiennes was the captain of the horse company. As was our custom, every man was riding his second best horse and leading his best. That way every rider’s best horse was kept as fresh as possible for when it was needed most. Moreover, both horses were saddled so that, if necessary, the changeover could be made on the fly without slowing down.

  We expected to be out for only one or two days at the most. Accordingly, and somewhat unusually for a company of horse archers, we brought only two company supply horses with us. Moreover, the supply horses were also saddled in addition to being loaded with extra arrows and grain for making bread and feeding the horses.

  It was Richard’s suggestion that led to our putting saddles on the supply horses so they too could be used as spare mounts; he thought the horses he and his fellow horse archers had been provided might need to be suddenly replaced as they were not nearly as strong and dependable as those he and his horse archers had left behind in England. They certainly were not all amblers.

  Before we saddled up, I paraded the men and explained that we were going out to take prisoners to question, not to inflict casualties on the Greeks.

  “So go for their horses and their riders’ legs at all times, and do everything you can to take a prisoner and keep him alive. No mercies until a prisoner talks; we need to question as many prisoners as we can get our hands on.”

  We would probably try to use, I told the men, the old “wounded bird” ploy since it was relatively easy to shoot an arrow into a rider’s horse or his back when he is trying to escape from you. It was a ploy the horse archers understood because they had practiced it constantly and had periodically used it whilst they were in England.

  In this case, it meant encouraging the Greek riders, who were likely to initially outnumber us by quite a margin, to continue chasing after us until their horses were tired and most of them had given up and turned ba
ck. Once we outnumbered those who were still pursuing us, we would mount our relatively fresh spare horses and double back to pick off those who had made the mistake of continuing to chase us.

  It worked for Richard so it might work again; I hoped so.

  ******

  “There they are, Commander. Moving past old farm house up ahead where the wall curves.”

  And so they were. I promptly gave the orders the men expected to hear.

  “String your bows and watch for my hand signals. Horse holders are to go back to the second crossroads in our rear, the one we crossed about five or six miles back, and wait there. We will try to provoke the Greeks into chasing us in that direction. Everyone is to be ready to change horses on the fly and follow me either north or towards the open gate. Stay close and watch for my signal.”

  The men understood and nodded their agreement and understanding. They were all experienced horse archers and had heard similar orders many times, both during real battles on the approaches to Cornwall and when they were practicing.

  Fourteen of us moved out and rode towards the Greek cavalry; four men including a steady sergeant took the company’s remounts and began riding back to where they were to wait. Hopefully the Greeks and their horses were tired after spending the day riding along outer wall and none of the Greeks were bowmen. It was a lot to hope for. Well, we would know soon enough.

  Those were my thoughts as I walked my horse towards the Greek horsemen with Thomas Fiennes riding on one side of me and Nicholas, my apprentice sergeant, riding on the other. Old Sam Smith, the company’s senior sergeant and most experienced man, rode next to Nicholas. The company’s horn blower, a young one-striper, rode right behind us. We rode slowly to keep our horses as fresh as possible and give the men leading our remounts enough time to get in position.