Welcome to Camelot
Page 19
“If you’ve got the right fuel and you do pack it in tight then it really goes bang! If you do not leave one end open then I do mean BANG! Doors fly off, roofs go up in the air, people get hurt, see?”
Merlyn was quick as always. “I see, milady. If the force you explain is enough to push this rocket thing up into the air, as you say, then that force enclosed in tight space must struggle to escape. Like sneezing – you must give it an outlet! I fear to think of what might happen if you did not let it escape.”
“Yes, yes! Most interesting! Most interesting!” Chen Ka Wai was already hopping up and down.
Gwen smiled at the two of them. Give small boys gunpowder and who knows what damage they will do. “Merlyn, please! You know this might be very dangerous?”
“Fear not, milady. Experiments like thou suggesteth will take place outside the castle…”
“Yes, but take care. Keep well away when things go bang! I don’t want to gain the reputation again of unleashing some awful force that hurts people…least of all you.”
Merlyn nodded sagely. The Lady Gwendolyn’s plague had now passed its way through most of the menfolk in Camelot and, as well as the king, many a knight was laid low. Her attempts to limit the outbreak were appreciated, as was the medicine that, now exhausted, had helped alleviate some of the symptoms, but it was true that her reputation was not the best in Camelot.
“Fear not, milady. Mr Chen and I will continue as before with our various concoctions but we will say nothing whatsoever of thy advice and influence. Whatever happens – and we will indeed take all precautions – no blame will be directed at thee.”
“Well, thank you, Merlyn, but it is not just me I’m worried about. Remember to look after yourselves!”
“Indeed, milady. Now if thou wouldst be good enough to retire we shall see which of these powders burns the fiercest…”
Gwen did as she was bid. She’d done her best to warn of the dangers and now just had to leave them to it. She left the workshop, rather hoping that fun and games would indeed be the result and no one would get hurt in the process.
It did not take long before the two scientists, not entirely mad but not entirely sane either, had taken a table and various implements and packages out of the castle and had set up stall on a small grassy rise some fifty yards from the castle walls. The rest of the afternoon was given over to a pyrotechnic display of varying degrees of success. There were fizzing and spluttering noises and much smoke. There were, on occasions, no noises at all and no action. There were a number of half-hearted bangs. Then, at last, there was a whoosh! and one rocket flew crazily into the air, zig-zagging all over the place in a quite alarming fashion. Cheers, as well as shouts of alarm went up from a number of people lining the outer battlements. Finally, as if to mark the end of the display, there was one almighty bang! and the table tipped over as bits of cardboard tubing and pieces of pottery flew everywhere. The two men emerged from behind the table, picked up whatever they could and returned to the castle, appearing to be quite satisfied with what they had achieved.
Gwen had witnessed most of what happened. It was not difficult to miss, such was the buzz of activity amongst people lining the walls and gazing out at Merlyn’s table. Word had even reached up to the king, who had risen from his bed and gone to the window to see what his friend was up to.
Fireworks, even less successful ones, were an entertainment for people who had never seen them before. The same could not be said for the flu – which had affected some much more seriously than others. The running of the castle had been seriously impeded with the simultaneous loss of a number of important hands. The kitchens, in particular, were badly understaffed. Gwen, with Merlyn’s help, had insisted that anyone who seemed to display even the slightest symptoms should not be involved in preparing food. As a result, Gwen and Kate – now fully recovered – offered to help out themselves. This gesture on Gwen’s part was refused at first – a lady-in-waiting toiling in the kitchens like any of the servants was considered not at all appropriate – but Gwen insisted and got her way. Challenging Camelot’s social conventions was, she argued, not so damaging as letting some go without food.
Such behaviour on the part of the Lady Gwendolyn did, of course, raise eyebrows. Not so much with the Knights of the Round Table, many of whom were too flu-bound to notice, but particularly amongst the ladies of court. Some of the younger ones admired her. Others, mostly older, thought her ways were outrageous – threatening the very fabric of their society.
A far greater threat, however, emerged outside the citadel’s walls. It was a day when storm clouds were again building in the West. At Camelot, the sky was overcast, the air was warm and humid and rain came in short showers, sweeping across the land, followed by shafts of yellow sunbeams escaping breaks in the cloud cover. Around midday, an alert guard at his post at one corner of the castle raised the alarm. A large gathering of men could be seen on the horizon, advancing from the south. Shouts from the battlements joined the original cry: Camelot was called to arms to repel a possible invasion.
Hearing the alarm, Gwen could not stay in her room. As before, in the night of the electric storm, she had to go up to the top of the central tower to see what was going on. Kate, faithful as always, would not leave her side and so, alarm or not, she followed her mistress’s footsteps. They found Merlyn in front of them, having come to the top of the keep for the same reason.
“This is not good, milady.” Merlyn was clearly worried. “There are hundreds of men out there, and look – they are preparing for battle! Swords are being brandished and there is some activity I cannot quite see, some big weapon they seem to be preparing!”
“But surely they cannot mount these walls, Merlyn? Our archers and other men at arms can hold them off?”
“I trust so, milady…but there are many here not strong enough for battle just yet. Forgive me, but I must go to muster what weaponry I can. There is no doubt we will be in for a fierce fight.” He stopped and turned before descending the spiral staircase. “Milady, on this occasion, for no reason must thou leave this tower. Whatever these barbarians throw at us will never reach this height…but elsewhere below thy life will be in danger. Believe me! Either stay in thy chamber with thy maid, or with the other ladies-in-waiting, or remain here. Nowhere else is safe!”
Kate nodded in agreement and held onto Gwen’s skirts. “We will not leave here, sire,” she replied, looking hopefully up at her mistress. “And besides there is nothing that we can do to help thwart these barbarians.”
Shit! thought Gwen, looking at what was coming at them. Merlyn is right. This does not look good. She could see hordes of men spread out across the fields in front of the castle, still some half-mile distant. They were marching deliberately, determinedly towards her. The yellow, gloomy light reflected occasionally off helmets, shields and swords like the hesitant flickering of Christmas lights, but these visitors were bringing no presents. There was absolutely no doubting their malevolent intent.
Gwen heard a clamouring at the gates below, as a number of the residents of the shanty town outside the walls came rushing to the front entrance, demanding shelter. A small opening in the biggest gate was flung aside and there was a squealing and panic as a number of children, animals, women and finally some men squeezed their way in. Clearly they feared what was coming.
A steady, monotonous tapping of a drum was heard within the castle. Gwen realised it was the turning out of the guard: lines of armed men walked steadily, feet in time with the beating drum, to take up various positions along the walls. Archers took up the highest points, their faces resolute, their actions well-rehearsed, each one stringing his bow, loosening his arrows and then holding bow aloft, signalling they were ready. Gwen could not help but notice that there were a number of positions along each wall that were unfilled and there were, in addition, a number of men that looked far from well.
In the courtyard far below, horses were being led out. Knights in armour were assembling, standing
in lines, each with an arm resting on his horse, being fitted out with assorted weapons by squires and attendants. Gwen picked out Sir Gareth by his grey charger and she also recognised Sir Lancelot, but there seemed to be not many others. Were they all ill? Gwen felt absolutely awful. Was she really to blame for this sickness that had so weakened Camelot’s defences?
A noise behind her signalled the arrival of others to the tower. It was King Arthur, raised from his sick bed, accompanied by Sir Kay and two page boys. Gwen looked at the monarch in surprise.
“I cannot lie abed whilst there is trouble afoot,” grumbled the king as he came to stand, holding himself up by the wall beside Gwen. “If I have no strength to ride into battle then at least I can direct operations from up here. Now, what do we have in front us?”
Lines of armed men were still marching slowly towards Camelot. A low chanting issued forth from a hundred throats. An eerie, unsettling sound, as the distance steadily closed. Then, apparently at some command, the marching stopped. The lines came to a halt and from some way behind, another party of men could just be seen assembling something and then advancing through the centre to reach the front of their army.
The king grunted. “Well, they seem disciplined enough. What are they up to?”
“That, my King, looks like they are bringing forward a battering ram,” answered Sir Kay. “It seems they have come well-prepared.”
The low chanting started up and the lines of men began to move forward once more. This time there were a group of thirty or more in the middle, walking slowly and carrying a huge, long battering ram, undoubtedly made up of several heavy tree trunks.
“Aye! And I’ve heard that sound they are making before. They’re Saxons. A bunch of barbarians that would dearly love to take Camelot before moving on to capture the rest of Wales. We will have to stop them!” the king rasped. “Tell the archers to target that group in the centre. We must stop them at all costs from reaching the castle gates!”
Sir Kay moved forward and bellowed to the men manning the walls below him. “Tell the archers to target the group in the centre! Fire when they are in range. Pass the word along!”
Gwen heard the command being passed around the castle walls, one man to another, on all four sides, to all those that could see the army approaching and even those who still could not. When that order had circulated then there arose a strained silence, which seemed to slowly spread like an invisible shroud across the waiting citadel. Tension was rising.
Sir Kay returned to the king: “Sire, the knights below are anxious to go out and engage the enemy. Should I give them the order to mount?”
“Not yet, Sir Kay. We do not know this enemy’s strategy at the moment and we cannot afford to show our hand as yet, especially if we are understrength. Leave them be for now. Is the enemy within range just yet?”
“Not quite, sire.”
It was a very anxious and nerve-wracking time, just standing and watching an army more than twice the size of that mustered at Camelot walking slowly, menacingly forward, step by step and yet doing nothing to stop them. The group in the middle, with the battering ram, were the slowest moving of all but the commander of this Saxon horde must have given instructions that no one move in front of them. They all kept their line, kept up their chanting and – one pace at a time – gradually crept forward. It was mesmeric; awesome; petrifying to look at. It was an altogether terrifying experience for Gwen who had never seen anything like this, nor had ever expected to. The world she had come from knew nothing of warfare like this. Yet out there, in front of her and getting ever closer, these people were come to rain death and destruction upon everything she knew at Camelot; to attempt to tear limb from limb of those she had grown to love.
An archer, on the highest turret on the wall below them, raised his bow and an arrow flew into the air, tracing a perfect arc to come zeroing down to land somewhere amongst the centre of the army. They were in range! That lead archer must have been the head bowman since as soon as his arrow landed there was a rush of hissing as every other archer loosed his weapon and the sky seemed to be marked by scores of pencil lines of arrows in flight, all falling amongst the men with the battering ram.
The line stopped advancing. Gwen could see people staggering and collapsing and could only guess at the mayhem that was occurring. Numbers of arrows were all flying into the same area and anyone there could perhaps avoid one or two shafts from hitting, but not more and more and more as they kept coming. After a few seconds’ delay, the shrieks and cries of wounded and dying men came through the air to the castle’s defenders. For Gwen this was an awful sound but for the men lining the walls of Camelot there was an immediate barrage of cheering and shouting in return. This was a war of nerves, of courage and of will-power as well as a war of blood-seeking weapons.
King Arthur turned to Sir Kay. “Tell the archers to hold back. Let us wait until the line starts marching once more. When those downed have been replaced and the battering ram starts its deadly move forward then I’ll give the signal to fire again. Do it!”
Sir Kay nodded and did as ordered. The command was again sent down to the walls and passed along, one by one. Everyone waited. Within Camelot, no one spoke a word. The tension was again palpable; fearful.
The chanting broke out once more. The line started moving. Slowly and closer the army approached, then the king nodded to Sir Kay and he bellowed forth the command: “Fire!”
Another forest of arrows took to the air. Another rain of death descend upon the advancing soldiers but this time shields had been collected and concentrated on the centre where the attack was anticipated. A few arrows got through to their target; the front line stopped again, but this time the damage inflicted was much less. The pause in the enemy’s advance was relatively brief.
“Sir Kay, tell the knights below to mount up. We must try another tactic. And tell the archers to change their target now. They must aim for any of their opposite number in the front line before us. We will send our knights to attack the centre and to defend them from enemy archers we must first fell as many of their bowmen as we can. Tell the knights to await my signal to charge.”
“Yes, my King!” Sir Kay hurried forward to lean over the top of the tower and bellow once more to the archers lining the walls. The change in the orders was made urgently clear.
The command was then sent down to the knights below in the courtyard to mount up. The noise and intense activity within the walls of two lines of knights preparing for battle released the awful, gut-wrenching silence about Gwen but, as she watched the armoured horsemen bend, turn in their saddles and arrange an assortment of weapons about them, her heart started racing within her and tears filled her eyes. There was Sir Gareth, big, brave, broken-nosed Gareth, right at the front – of course – holding a spear which had just been handed up to him and preparing to go out and fight to the death. Sir Gareth, the noble, gentle, so chivalrous knight who was her lord and protector, resolute and determined as always, now about to ride forth and face countless enemies…did he know how many? Did he have any idea of what he was about to go out and confront? He was so far away from her but she must shout to him:
“Sir Gareth, Sir Gareth! Take care! I love you!”
It was the sudden revelation of her own feelings for him that did it: Gwen dissolved into floods of tears. It was hopeless. He probably couldn’t hear. Did he know that she loved him and not Sir Lancelot? Probably not – she hadn’t known it herself until then. But he must not get hurt, no matter what. Part of her would die if that happened.
The archers were directed to fire once more. This time the arrows sprayed out in diverging lines to fall amongst others who had no shields but who were themselves preparing to fire their own weapons as the army came closer to the castle walls. As the change of targets brought surprise and some little commotion to the advancing hordes, so King Arthur hauled himself forward to shout down to the gatehouse and order that the gates be opened and that the knights should ride out.
Gwen could see Sir Gareth standing high in his stirrups, leaning forward, lance pointed straight at the centre of the opposing army, his helmeted head unflinching as arrows flew about him. Sir Lancelot and Sir Bors she also recognised, but no more of the others as they raced away from her, in a tight V formation, each covering the other, thundering along, the earth flying up after them as they at last reached their goal.
Mayhem again! Screams and shrieks filled the air. The battering ram was dropped to the floor as soldiers and horses dissolved into one another, though in the thick of it the knights on horseback could clearly be seen above the poor men on foot who were being hacked to pieces. Gwen hated it. Bodies were falling, blood was everywhere, it was murderous, stomach-turning butchery. She didn’t want to look but she was desperate to keep sight of Sir Gareth who was wheeling and rounding his grey horse and charging into lines of Saxon warriors. Again and again he urged his horse forward and struck down one side then another at men below, some who offered resistance, others who were simply desperate to escape.
Cheers and shouts of encouragement rang out from the walls as the people of Camelot rose as one to support the Knights of the Round Table. But at the same time, both ends of the lines of the Saxon army were hurrying round, as fast as possible, coming to the aid of their fellows in the attempt to encircle the knights, crowd them in and eventually outnumber them. Men on foot carrying axes, swords, pikes and even wicked-looking agricultural scythes were running as quickly as they could to cut off the retreat of the horsemen. Gwen screamed out in alarm. She couldn’t help herself.