The Stonegate Sword

by Harry James Fox

  “Where are our guns?” they asked, without the formality of a greeting.

  “Nice to see you, too, Charles and David,” Don said.

  “Oh! Yes. Warm greetings,” said Charles.

  “The guns are coming, a few miles back,” answered Don. “This looks like a good place.”

  “I am unhappy with it in many ways,” said David. “But it will have to do.” He pointed to a road across the small valley to the southeast. “There is a road that also goes up to the tunnel. It is also passable, and it is out of range from our guns. They might be able to take the guns up that road, where we would be no threat.”

  “We did put a surprise over there, though,” said Charles. “I think we might be able to convince them that the road is in range.”

  “I hope so,” said David, a bit doubtfully.

  “Do you have any other surprises?” asked Blackie, who had ordered the men to rest, and allow their mounts to graze the scattered tufts of grass.

  “Yes, we certainly do,” answered Charles. “That surprise is in those bundles, over there.”

  He pointed to four bundles that looked oilskin cylinders, about two feet in diameter and six feet long. “Those are all the muskets that Ariel has manufactured since we last talked about them. You remember our demonstration?”

  “I certainly do! How many are there?” Don answered.

  “Thirty-two. We have powder and ball for them. We finally had to use matchlock ignition, which is cumbersome but reliable. They are fifty caliber, and are fairly accurate out to two hundred yards. The road is only fifty yards from here, so we can cover it very easily from here. And they should create fear in the hearts of the enemy.”

  “Who will fire them?” asked Blackie. “Don’t they require much training?”

  “To hit accurately requires much training, which we have no time for. But to frighten General Logan requires only a little,” replied Charles. “We showed thirty scouts yesterday how to load and fire them, and each one fired a shot. Then David and I will also be firing, and we can use them fairly well. The scouts have short bows which will not be nearly as effective as these muskets, but anything they add will be a help.”

  They heard a cry and looked down the road. Don raised his binoculars and looked. He could see movement. It was riders and horses. Then he saw the heads of draft horses. The guns had arrived.

  †

  It took several hours to move the four guns, the extra gun carriage, and the ammunition wagon to their planned emplacements atop the little ridge. Moving the ammunition wagon was the hardest because it was by far the heaviest, and there was no road. They finally triple-teamed a hitch and tied ropes to the wagon and used a score of men pulling on the uphill side to keep it from tipping over. But they finally got it in place near the guns and began preparing for action.

  Don examined the little guns closely. They were only a little over three feet long. Each had a range of a little over four hundred yards. As cannons go, they were small, yet the little one-pound cast iron shot packed quite a punch as they had showed on the siege tower. Charles and David pointed out some marks that they had placed down the road at various ranges. Several horsemen were sent down to the river to bring back water to serve the guns.

  The rest of the day was taken up with showing each man where he would be placed during the battle. This mostly involved the scouts with the muskets, the crossbowmen and the grenadiers. Then Robert sent ten scouts down the road to give early warning of the approaching army. They would be relieved with another ten at midnight. The rest of the troopers ate and tried to rest through the long night.

  At mid-morning the enemy vanguard appeared, coming along the highway about six miles away. A messenger brought back the news, and Robert ordered the troopers to mount.

  The scouts were deployed along the ridge with their bows. Each was given a musket and each loaded his piece under supervision. Two men had horn lanterns to help keep the wicks lit on the matchlocks, though they did not light them yet. Each man was also given a grenade with the warning to keep sparks and fire well away from the fuse. Robert carefully positioned the crossbowmen and the grenadiers so as to cover the entire width of the highway and the likely avenues of infantry attack. Horsemen were warned to avoid the little road across the valley since there were deadly traps set on it.

  Charles saw Don looking at the small guns. He walked up and offered to answer any questions.

  “How accurate are they, and how far can they shoot?” asked Don.

  “We say that the range is a quarter-mile, and they have proved to be very accurate,” said Charles. “We have an old book that says steel cannon of this size could shoot a mile and a quarter, but we have never been able to achieve that. I have been afraid to load them too heavily, and our gunpowder may not be as good as they had in ancient days. If we double-charged them, we could get more range, but likely the extra powder would just be expelled un-burnt.”

  “And you don’t want them to burst,” added Don.

  “Exactly!”

  The scouts retreated in the face of some thirty Raiders who were the advance screen. The Raiders approached to within a mile and a half, then whirled and retreated. Within a few minutes, some four hundred heavy cavalry came streaming up the highway. Sunlight glinted off their armor and shields. They were a formidable force, and yet this was only a tiny fraction of the army. Don was sure that they could hold them from advancing, but what then?

  Robert ordered Don to command the missile weapons, and then he galloped down the ridge with the four horse troops, and put them in line across the highway.

  The horsemen advanced, not intimidated by the two hundred horse troopers deployed ahead of them. When they came in range, Don gave the order to fire, and four balls tore down through the ranks. It was impressive, since they had been tightly massed in two columns of four. At least a dozen horses went down and were thrashing on the ground. Don was watching through the binoculars, and the sight was sickening. This time, the untouched horses were not terrified since the explosions were far away, and the balls did not explode. They simply tore silently through sinew and bone with irresistible force. Even on the first bounce, the shot had terrible kinetic energy.

  The gunners proved to be highly practiced and quickly had their pieces reloaded. Even the slowest crew took no more than three minutes—little longer than a heavy crossbow. While they were reloading, the heavy cavalry scattered and retreated, but one column of about forty crossed the small stream and headed for the other road that led toward the tunnel. Soon after they gained the road they came on cautiously. The road was about six hundred yards away, at the closest, and they apparently believed that they would be out of range.

  Suddenly a puff of smoke rose up next to the leading horses. A gun crew that had their piece trained to the southeast instantly fired, even before the sound of the blast could be heard. Several more horses went down, and the rest turned back in confusion. Then all the cavalry pulled back to a respectful distance and waited.

  “What happened?” asked Eric who was standing next to Don.

  “We had a cast-iron bomb planted over there. Several, actually. A heavy black cord was stretched across the trail. When a horse’s foot hit the cord it pulled a pin that triggered the bomb,” answered Charles. “We fired the gun to try to make them think the explosion was caused by a shell fired from here.”

  “But the explosion happened before the gun fired,” protested Eric.

  “The shell sometimes arrives before the sound of the explosion is heard,” explained Charles. “I think we may have fooled them.”

  It took two hours to bring up the first infantry troops. The army was strung out for miles, but the leading thousand simply kept marching up the road. Again, the leading and flanking elements had long pikes, but this time the ranks were mixed with crossbowmen. It would not be easy fo
r horse to assault this force, without heavy losses. When they came in range Don ordered the guns to fire again. Again, the balls tore through ranks of men, leaving ghastly carnage behind. But this time, the attack did not waver. Somehow, the shock value of these silent killers was not as great as noisy explosions overhead.

  The guns fired again, with much the same results. The ranks were coming closer. Don ordered the guns to fire at will. They continued to fire as soon as they could load. Despite heavy loss, though, the enemy came on. At two hundred yards, Don ordered the scouts to fire their muskets, since they could hardly miss. A ragged volley spurted forth, and a great cloud of powder smoke swirled and mixed with the dense smoke from the cannons. It was beginning to be hard to see, but Don could tell that many pikemen in the front rank had fallen. Charles and David were firing carefully, aiming at the officers.

  At one hundred fifty yards, the crossbowmen began to fire. But the defenders began to take volleys of crossbow quarrels in return. They fell all around them, sounding very much like hail. Cries of wounded began to be heard. At one hundred yards, the grenadiers began to launch their missiles with their oversized slings. As they started to explode, the assault began to waver.

  Don heard Charles shout, “Beehive rounds!” The pace of firing the guns increased, and when they fired, he could hear something like the droning of a thousand angry wasps. The gunners were loading paper cylinders a bit over a foot long and seemed to not have to load separate powder charges. Whenever these charges fired, a section of the advancing line seemed to be shredded. The scouts also began to throw their grenades.

  Don’s ears were ringing from the sound of the guns, but he still heard war-horns off to the left. A bugle blew the clear notes of the “Charge.” The horse troopers were entering the battle, but an element of heavy cavalry rode out to intercept them. The two forces met in a clash of war-spears, but two troops, bearing red and green banners, slammed into the flank of the advancing enemy foot soldiers. The pikes stopped a half dozen of the leaders, and some must have been hit by crossbows, but they broke through and began carving their way into the formation. Don had to call for a cease-fire so they would not hit their own troops.

  As before, the infantry could not stand against the horse. They turned and fled and were cut down without mercy. The first assault was over, and the leading element of the enemy army was essentially out of the battle. Another troop of enemy cavalry charged into the scene, only to meet a volley from all four cannons. Just then, the Bows and the Blades stopped their pursuit of the fleeing enemy and returned to help drive off the heavy cavalry. A moment later, a distant bugle sounded and the enemy horsemen disengaged and withdrew.

  It was a costly battle. Don already knew that. His own shield had been hit twice by crossbow bolts, and they had not been easy to remove. Two gunners were dead. The last enemy volley had been directed at the guns, with some of the bolts coming from less than a hundred yards. Several more gunners were wounded. The crossbowmen, trading bolt for bolt, had four dead; the scouts firing the muskets had lost five. There were many wounded. The healers were overwhelmed.

  Don looked at the horse troopers below. There were many empty saddles and downed horses, but it looked as if the enemy cavalry had the worst of it, not even counting those hit by cannon fire. He had looked for Balek Brown among the enemy horsemen, but could never spot him. The highway looked like a slaughterhouse, carpeted with bodies. A pair of horsemen came up from the enemy lines, carrying a white flag. They wanted to parley. A pair of horse troopers spurred forward to meet them. Shortly, a messenger rode up to where Don was.

  “Sir Don,” he said. “They want leave to recover their wounded.”

  Don sent word back to allow that. He would not fire on them. But he wondered where Robert was. Could he have been wounded? He left Jenkins in charge on the ridge and spurred Snap down the back of the hill, with Eric close by his side. In the lee of the hill lay several wounded troopers, and he saluted them as he cantered by. He then headed toward a knot of dismounted troopers.

  Bobby was standing there, looking shamefaced. There was a huddle of troopers on their knees around a prone figure. Thad had his head in his lap and seemed to be wiping his face. Don dismounted and hurried to his side. It was Robert.

  “How is he?” Don asked.

  Thad looked up. His face was wet. “He’s gone,” he said. “I could no nothing.” His voice sounded choked.

  “Dead?” asked Don. It could not be so! Not Robert!

  For a moment, his knees felt weak, and he seemed unable to see clearly. It was as if there were fuzzy webs at the edges of his vision. He shook his head and forced his voice to stay calm. “What happened?” he asked finally.

  “He fought next to me,” said Carl. “He fought well and personally slew a captain of theirs. But as he was in a sword-duel with another, he was hit in the armpit by a crossbow bolt. It looks as if his old mail broke.”

  Thad stood. “It was in his heart,” he said, holding up a bloody quarrel. “He was gone before anyone could get to him.”

  Don looked down at his old friend and mentor. Thad had closed his eyes, and though pale, his face was peaceful, at rest. It was as if he knew that he had done his duty and done it well—to the last. A thousand thoughts flew through Don’s mind. What should they do now? What would Robert have done? He knew that he should feel grief, and he could feel it closing in. But mostly what he felt was numbness.

  A circle of faces looked at him. Then Carl spoke. “What are your orders, Lord Donald?”

  Chapter 31

  †

  A New Beginning

  Youths may faint and grow weary, and young men stumble and fall, but those who trust in the Lord will renew their strength; they will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint. Isaiah 40: 30–31 HCSB

  Philip stood in full armor with the rest of the honor guard as the old man’s plain wooden coffin was lowered beneath the pavement of Central Church in the heart of Ariel. He wore his helm, because custom demanded that troops under arms did not bare their heads. The services had been mercifully short, but the town had done everything in its power to show respect for the fallen commander.

  A minister had led the congregation in praise to God for His deliverance and for the life of Robert, a mighty soldier of the cross. The text had been from John 14: 2, “In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.” Then it was over, and they departed the holy place of meeting so that workmen could emplace the marble slab over the old soldier’s resting place. It would surely be a site that parents would show children for generations to come.

  †

  Sometimes a wildfire will burn through a great forest and incinerate the undergrowth, leaving the mighty trunks scorched, but intact. The landscape afterward looks mostly the same. The hills are still there, and the trees are still there. But it looks different, somehow. It seems more spare—more of a stark contrast between the black soil and the green canopy.

  Donald seemed to be like that. Something had burned away. To Philip it seemed as if something was missing. Donald did not seem despondent nor depressed, but he had no time for small talk—not that he ever had time for chatter. But he was a good story teller, and yet Philip could never get him to tell what exactly happened on that western-facing slope below the ancient tunnel, and the tragic hour when Robert fell.

  Strangely, it was now Philip who was becoming more like a lore-man. He had a good head for numbers—always had. He could write quickly and make accurate notes, and this skill improved with practice. Samuel and Abel seemed to depend on him more and more. Even Fred had asked Samuel to send him over to take inventory, but Samuel had gently refused.

  Philip was becoming concerned. He knew that Donald would be going east with a delegation from Ariel and Bethuel to try to convi
nce Hightower to prepare for war. He had been left behind too many times. This time he wanted to go along. But he was afraid that Samuel would say “no.” He was allowed to attend the small gathering that came together to plan this expedition. Messengers had already been sent to tell the cities of the East what had happened, to give them an assessment of the Prophet’s strategy and the size of the army that they would face. But everyone doubted that a message would be enough. They had to be convinced to arm themselves.

  Fortunately, Robert’s last campaign had been a success. General Logan had indeed turned north and had not risked a second assault. Donald had ordered all useful items—especially armor and weapons—be salvaged from the battlefield, then he had actually allowed the enemy to recover their dead under a flag of truce. The great army had been nearly three days passing.

  The battle had been costly. Twenty-six horse troopers had died and nearly as many wounded. That put the total death count at thirty-seven, counting Robert. Nearly four hundred enemy dead had been counted, and no doubt some had been carried off the field before the count or had fallen too close to the enemy lines to count. War-horse losses had been more than made up by enemy horses captured.

  The honored dead had been buried on the ridge above the highway, and careful records kept, so that the bodies could later be recovered and re-interred in the Haven area. Don had insisted on bringing Robert’s body home, so the healers had performed a rude form of embalming in the field. The old soldier had returned, strapped to the top of a gun carriage, exactly like the ancient tradition. The captured arms and equipment had not been returned. Don had ordered that they be cached close to the tunnel. He intended to take them east as a contribution to the eastern war effort.