“Heave!” called out Sigwulf.
Ludwig pulled, and the end of the log scraped along the ground while the front was over the water. He pulled again, and it dipped down, sinking beneath the surface, if only for a moment.
Taking another step, the water rose to the middle of his chest, and the silt beneath him was slippery. He struggled to gain traction. Another tug on the rope brought the log sliding forward.
Sigwulf called out the cadence now. “Heave-ho,” he shouted, desperate to get the men working in unison.
Slowly, the log edged forward as Ludwig half-swam, half-walked across the moat until his toe struck a stone. His waist finally cleared the surface as the bottom began angling upwards. He pulled once more, hauling with all his might.
The log was almost at its destination. All that was required was to lift the end up out of the water. Ludwig and Sigwulf abandoned the ropes, choosing instead to stand on either side, facing the log. They put their hands beneath it, lifting with every ounce of strength they had left.
It rose a fraction, and then the end stuck fast to the mud and silt of the moat’s bank. They heaved again, but between the weight of it and the effect of the cold water, their strength was waning. More men appeared behind them, lifting in unison, and the log finally came free, and they swung it forward, then dropped it, their job complete.
Now relieved of his burden, Ludwig lifted himself from the water and leaned against the curtain wall. More dark shapes appeared, and then he spotted Baldric and the others sliding the second such log into place beside the first. They lashed them together, then made haste to the wall, desperate to avoid being spotted.
Things quieted down until the ladder teams gave a roar as they rushed forward, obviously trying to overcome their fears. The first group misplaced their feet, falling into the moat as they attempted to navigate the makeshift bridge in the dark. The second fared much better, splashing into the water only as they got within three feet of their target.
A ladder was hoisted up, and the first warrior took his position at its base, ready to climb. It was then the defenders struck.
16
Assault
Spring 1095 SR
* * *
A burning bale of hay was tossed from the heights, falling at the base of the wall to light up the assault for all to see. Moments later, a hail of stones and rocks followed.
Ludwig pressed himself against the wall when a stone struck the ground near his foot. He watched as a fellow mercenary reached a hand out towards the ladder, and then a rock smashed into his shoulder, ripping his arm clean off. The man fell back with a splatter of blood, his cries of anguish silenced as he sank beneath the surface of the moat.
More rocks fell, splintering a ladder and sending bits of wood flying everywhere. Two men ascended a ladder near Ludwig, the first giving a yell of triumph as he reached the battlements, only to be silenced as a spear stabbed out, taking him in the throat. The unlucky footman fell backwards, taking out the next warrior on the ladder.
Smoke burned Ludwig’s eyes, nearly blinding him. He moved along the wall, desperate to escape into the darkness. Arrows thudded into the ground beside him, and then he heard the sound of steel on steel. A couple of warriors had managed to reach the top and were now fighting for their very lives.
Ludwig raced to the nearest ladder, then waited as the man ahead of him began climbing. He feared a rock would come crashing down at any moment, and then finally, it was his turn to ascend. Placing his foot on the first rung, he paused when a scream from above caused him to clutch the ladder in panic as a body hurled past, thudding into the ground. Ludwig, desperate to suppress his fears, forced his legs to obey his commands.
He looked up to see an enemy looming overtop, a stone held high. Pressing against the ladder, he prayed to the Saints to protect him. There was a whiff of air as the stone passed by, and then he rushed up the last few rungs. He was almost at the enemy when he realized he had yet to draw his sword.
Pausing, he pulled forth his blade, then found his legs had seized. Panic had overtaken him, and he struggled to remember the words of Sigwulf. Ludwig stared at his sword, his mind a whirlwind of emotions as the light from above illuminated the scrollwork on the hilt. Garnering the last of his bravery, he gritted his teeth and launched himself upwards.
Another stone flew past, glancing off his shoulder and threatening to knock him loose. He took a breath and stabbed out with the tip of his sword as he reached the top. It had been a gamble, for he could see naught of the defenders, yet his wild attack caught someone in the chest.
His foe staggered back, giving Ludwig time to get onto the top of the wall. He struck again, sinking the blade into a shoulder. The man screamed in pain and then toppled into the courtyard below.
Ludwig’s mind was racing now, trying to make sense of the chaos and confusion of the fight on the wall. A blade scraped off his breastplate, and he instinctively lashed out, slicing across an arm.
Twisting around, he saw an axeman, his weapon raised on high for the killing blow. Ludwig took a step and sank his sword into the man’s chest, stumbling forward as the blade caught and his foe collapsed to his knees. The man sighed out a last breath, the smell rank in Ludwig’s face. He scrambled to his feet in time to parry another attack, then slashed out, feeling steel hit flesh.
He tried to orient himself, but in the confusion of the melee, he had strayed from his initial position, and now enemies converged on him from all directions, their weapons at the ready. Clearly, he was outnumbered, and so he raced for the parapet and leaped, hoping the Saints would see him safe.
He flailed around as the air rushed past, twisting as he plummeted, only to hit the water with his back. The impact was jarring, but as fortune would have it, it saved his life. A cold embrace enveloped him, then strong arms lifted him to the surface.
“Back,” the man was yelling. “Retreat. We cannot take any more of this.”
Ludwig was dragged across the moat, and then firm hands pulled him from the water. Staggering to his feet, he cast a glance over his shoulder; the ladders were all either destroyed or ablaze. The eerie glow of the burning straw lit the area like a scene from the Underworld while dead men lay strewn about, several floating in the water, face down, victims of the ferocious defence.
His eyes sought out Sigwulf, but he could find no sign of him. Ludwig followed the other Grim Defenders as they streamed south, desperate to escape the enemy's arrows and stones. Finally, he collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath as around him stood others, many covered in blood. The attack had been an unmitigated disaster.
Somehow during the escape, he had managed to hold on to his sword. He stared at its blade, stained with blood, and started shaking uncontrollably. Voices rose around him, then someone shook him. He tore his gaze from his sword to see Cyn standing over him.
“Where’s Siggy?” she pleaded.
“I don’t know,” he found himself saying. Rising unsteadily, he looked back towards the carnage of the assault. His grip grew stronger, his voice more sure, and then he managed to get control of his trembling.
“Come on,” he called. “Let’s go find him.”
They made their way back to the slaughter. The bundles of hay were now burning low, no longer illuminating the area as they once did. On the wall above, the defenders had ceased their counterattack, instead peering down to survey the damage they had wreaked.
Ludwig ran to the edge of the moat calling out for Sigwulf. Jeers came from the wall, but the defenders withheld their stones and arrows, no doubt conserving them for the next attack. He splashed into the moat, turning over a body to see a mangled face. The bile rose in his throat, and then Cyn called out, “Over here.”
He made his way towards her, spotting Sigwulf lying on his stomach, half out of the moat. It looked as though he had been retreating, exiting the water as an arrow took him in the back. Cyn was pulling with all her might, but the sergeant was too big for her to budge.
Ludwig jumped into the water and lifted his friend's legs, pushing as hard as possible to get him onto the bank. Sigwulf let out a groan, and Ludwig redoubled his efforts. He was alive!
Climbing out, he then lifted Sigwulf’s arm, attempting to put it around his own shoulder. He glanced back at the wall to see an archer taking careful aim. Illuminated by the few fires that remained, Ludwig had no doubt he was a dead man, but before the arrow could sail forth, Lord Wulfram appeared on the wall.
“Let him go,” he commanded. “There has been enough death this day.”
* * *
Sigwulf groaned as they rolled him over. They were back in camp, having laid out their sergeant on a cloak, the better to examine his wound. Ludwig held a torch as Cyn probed the injury to Sigwulf's lower back, thankful it had missed any vital organs. She cut away his shirt to reveal the arrowhead protruding from his front, and they thanked the Saints for the minor miracle.
“We shall have to remove it,” she announced.
“I know nothing of such things,” confessed Ludwig. “Have you done this before?”
“I have, twice, but one of those died, so I’m no expert.”
“Yet you’re all he has right now. What do we do?”
She wiped the tears from her eyes, then cleared her throat. “We must cut off the tip, then pull the arrow from his back, but one false move, and it might kill him.”
A large hand shot out, gripping her arm. “Do it,” grunted Sigwulf.
“We need something for his pain,” she said.
“No you don't,” the big man persisted. “Just get on with it before I change my mind.”
“We need to roll him onto his side.”
Ludwig called over Dorkin, and between them, they manoeuvred their patient into position.
“This is going to hurt, Siggy,” warned Cyn.
Sigwulf nodded, then she grasped the head of the arrow, giving it a twist. The shaft split but refused to part. She twisted it again, eliciting a cry of pain from her patient. One more time, and the head came clear. Blood started to ooze from the wound, and she stuffed a torn shirt against it.
She looked at Ludwig. “Take the shaft,” she commanded, “then pull. You'll need to extract the whole thing in one go, understand?”
He nodded, taking up a position at Sigwulf’s back. His hands went over the fletchings, and he gripped the arrow tightly. “Whenever you’re ready.”
She nodded her head, and he pulled with a firm grip. At first, there was resistance, and then the shaft came free, sending Ludwig tumbling to the ground. Blood gushed forth, staining the cloak red as Dorkin stuffed a shirt up against the wound.
Cyn wore a worried look. Leaning forward, she placed her face close to that of her patient. “Siggy, can you hear me? Talk to me, Siggy, for Saint’s sake!”
Ludwig held his breath, fearing the worst.
Cyn forced Sigwulf’s eyelid back, then breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s all right,” she said. “He's simply passed out.”
Ludwig let out his breath. “Thank the Saints for that.”
* * *
Ludwig peered into the tent. Sigwulf was lying on his back, his features drawn and pale, while Cyn wiped his brow.
“How’s he doing?”
“He has a fever,” she replied, “but I have hope he’ll pull through.”
“He has a strong constitution and the best of care. I brought him some ale if he’s up to it?”
“I’ll take that,” said Sigwulf, his voice reedy.
Ludwig passed over the bottle. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not at the moment," replied Cyn. “But check in with us later. I may need a break.”
“I will, I promise.”
He left them, seeking out the nearest fire. It was mid-morning, the day after the attack, and the mood in the camp was sour. The company had lost twenty men, and a further twelve were wounded to some degree or another. In addition, the ladders had all been destroyed, setting them back in their plans. The only saving grace had been the fact that the logs had worked well to breach the moat. Of course, they were useless now. The defenders had seen to that. Shortly after the retreat was completed, they issued out, dragging the logs back inside the defences. It would not work a second time.
Ludwig warmed his hands by the fire, staring into the flames, reliving the horror of the attack. A movement to his left drew his attention, and he saw Dorkin stepping out of the captain's tent.
"Trouble?" asked Ludwig.
"The captain wants to see you.”
“He wants to see ME?”
“Unless you know someone else in this company named Ludwig?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“He’s in a foul mood today," warned Dorkin. "You'd best get moving.”
“I will,” promised Ludwig. He walked over to the captain's tent, his mind in turmoil. Upon arrival, he paused, wondering how best to proceed, but the decision was soon made for him.
“Ludwig?” called out Captain Ecke. “Is that you?”
“It is, sir.”
“Come in. I need to speak to you.”
He stepped inside to the smell of stale wine. Captain Ecke sat at his table, drink in hand, staring down at a list of names, many of which were now crossed out.
Ludwig couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. Ecke looked worn out, his eyes showing dark circles from lack of sleep. The burden of command obviously weighed heavily on him.
His captain gulped down the contents of his cup, then looked at Ludwig. “How's Sig?”
“Feverish.”
Ecke grimaced, then refilled his cup. “He’s a good man. I'd hate to lose him.”
“Is that why you wanted to see me? To tell me how much his loss will mean?”
“No. Sigwulf’s loss will be keenly felt, but the company must endure, and to do that, it needs its sergeants.” He looked Ludwig in the eyes. “I’m offering you the position.”
“Me? Surely there are others with longer service.”
“This isn’t about time,” said Ecke. “It’s about character. I’ve been watching you, Ludwig. You’re a pain in the arse, it’s true, but you have a good head on your shoulders. The truth is, we need more like you. Tell me you’ll accept the position.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“Nonsense. I’m told you managed to reach the wall during the assault.”
“I did,” Ludwig confessed, “but I couldn’t hold it. I ended up having to jump into the moat to escape.”
“By the Saints, that was a desperate gamble. Had you landed on the ground, you would have broken your legs, if not your neck.”
“That thought didn’t occur to me at the time.”
“And a good thing too," said the captain. "Had it done so, you would have died on the wall. It looks like you have luck in spades. How many battles have you been in?”
“This was my first, sir.”
“Your first? Truly?”
Ludwig nodded. “The truth is, I came to you untested, Captain.”
“Well, you definitely proved you're up to the challenge.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so. Now come, you’ll accept the position of sergeant, won't you?”
“It belongs to Sigwulf.”
Ecke sat back, looking Ludwig over with a critical eye. “I tell you what, let’s call it a temporary appointment, shall we?”
“Temporary?”
“Yes. You can hold the position until Sigwulf recovers from his injuries. Will that soothe your ego?”
“It's not my ego I’m concerned about. Rather, I am worried I’m not up to the job.”
“Ah,” said Ecke. “But don’t you see? The very fact you’re concerned is proof you’re worthy.”
“I’m not sure I follow?”
“Some people are born great, Ludwig, while others achieve it through happenstance. You, my friend, are destined for something, though I can’t for the life of me figure out what that something is. I do kn
ow, however, that you'll have to be dragged there, kicking and screaming all the way.”
“You don’t make it sound appealing.”
“You’re an educated man and a fine swordsman. Add to that your natural ability to lead, and you’ll be unstoppable.”
“I would hardly call myself a leader,” said Ludwig. “What have I accomplished that would indicate I could pull off something like this?”
“You have a sense of justice,” said Ecke. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a royal pain to work with, but it garners you respect amongst the company. You also have some good ideas.” He held out his hand, counting off on fingers as he talked. “You organized the camps; you suggested using sergeants; you came up with the idea of using the logs to cross the moat—”
“Yes,” interrupted Ludwig, “and what did that get us except a lot of dead and wounded.”
“You feel responsible for the losses, don’t you?”
Ludwig lowered his head in shame. “I do.”
Ecke smiled. “That’s another point in your favour.” He leaned down, rummaging through a sack that lay beside him, then extracted a purse that he set on the table. “Do you know what's in here?”
“Coins?”
“Indeed. And do you know why they're here? Because you warned me of the baron’s treachery. I might be an obstinate fool when my temper’s up, but I do care about the Grim Defenders. I visited Lord Gebhard before we began the assault and told him we wouldn’t participate unless he coughed up some coins. As you can see, it worked, and I owe that to you.”
“And Sigwulf,” added Ludwig.
“Of course, and I suppose Cyn had something to contribute as well. Look, I know I’m not the most dynamic of captains. I need men like you and Sig to keep the others motivated. We suffered a defeat last night, and you know as well as I do that our employer isn’t about to give up his dreams of conquest. We can’t just try the same tactic again. It’s too costly.” He pointed in the direction of the keep. “That fortification will be the death of us if we don’t come up with something better. Take the sergeant's position, I beg you.”
Warrior Knight Page 17