The men of the garrison had marched to a position west of Green Meadow during the night and had taken possession of a hill overlooking the main road into Green Meadow from the west. That road bisected the town into north and south and ran along the northern side of Devia’s fortress. After fortifying their positions, they stood fidgeting in the predawn darkness. Everyone knew by now that yesterday’s parley had been nothing more than a ruse. Thomas was missing, and James was depressed and angry. Every moment the forces of Jabin grew larger, and help had not come.
When James turned to face his men, he looked haggard and worn, but his voice rang sharp and clear. “Gentlemen!” he called, and every ear grew attentive.
“You have left home, family, and friends. The hordes of Jabin are poised to destroy all that you know, and you are the only barrier between those you love and the destruction Jabin will bring.”
His clipped words fell like frost on a cold winter’s morning.
“Yet we are not alone.” James’s voice warmed, and so did his men’s hearts. “There is comfort and strength for those who are in Christ Jesus! If you seek His refuge, He will be your shield, whether in life or death. Take a moment to speak with the Lord. Be sure you are secure in Him.”
A low murmur spread through the lines of men. Some men addressed the Almighty for the first time in their lives, asking for His strength and comfort. Others spent their time renewing a lifelong friendship.
Moments passed before James spoke again. “Gentlemen,” he said, and the formation grew silent. “You have not always received praise from home or family. You have not always been accepted well in this community.”
There was a slight stir among the men.
“But you are the best soldiers in the world! With less, I would be afraid to go into battle, but I am not afraid! I know who stands beside me, and you will not let me down!”
Every man squared his shoulders and stood a little taller.
“Help is on the way,” James called, “but now duty calls! We must hold the enemy at bay, and we shall!”
The meadow shook when the garrison, as if one mighty man, shouted their response.
James had placed his men strategically so the enemy would pay a heavy price to enter Amity. Still, as water flows around rocks in a river, Jabin’s masses, outnumbering James’s more than ten to one, managed to flow around the pockets of resistance the garrison had formed. James knew the fight was futile, but he knew they had to try.
James could not have known that anyone would wander into Green Meadow on the morning of battle. That a young woman who had been away tending her ailing grandmother would return today was inconceivable.
It was early morning when Jennifer came to Green Meadow. She went straight to her parents’ home, only to find it empty, looted, and burned. She walked down abandoned streets and wondered where everyone had gone. She had no way of knowing that many of her friends had fled to Zaraphath some days earlier, or that the other civilians in town had fled into Devia’s fortress during the night and were now locked away, safe and sound.
She was unsure where to go, when she heard a loud shout from the meadow west of town. Hurrying toward the sound, she came to the last row of houses before the grasslands of the Western Slope appeared. Creeping into someone’s ruined garden, she peered over the fence and saw the banner of Amity fluttering in the wind on a small hill just west of town. Line after line of dark-clad men rushed up the hill, only to fall in a hail of arrows. Further down the hill a small band of men battled with the dark hordes. She could hear the clash of steel and the screams of men and horses.
Not knowing where to go, Jennifer remained hidden behind the garden fence and watched as men fought, hour after hour. When the sun passed midday, Jennifer realized that something had changed. The men on the hill were moving. They continued to fight the enemy, but they were making an orderly retreat and coming her way. Since the town had been looted during the night, and little of any value remained, Green Meadow had not been the scene of much action during the day. A few soldiers from both sides had ridden through town from time to time, but she had remained out of sight. Now, with the fiercest fighting moving her way, she wondered, Where can I go? Where will I be safe?
As the sounds of war grew ever closer, she began to see the battle in much greater detail. She could hear the cries of men and the gurgle of throats gasping for air. She heard the rip of flesh as swords slashed through human bodies. The fighting was close—so close that she wondered when they would smash the fence behind which she was hiding.
Suddenly Jennifer heard a cry and turned to see two strange men pointing at her. She leaped from her hiding spot and raced quickly through another yard and out into a street. That street had been empty this morning, but it was empty no longer. Nearly fifty men in strange dark garb were at the south end of the street. Jennifer turned north and ran with all the speed she could toward Devia’s fortress. She heard horses galloping on the street behind her, and she darted between some buildings. Flattening herself against a wall, she watched as several horsemen galloped past. She turned and darted from behind the buildings, turning her steps once again toward the fortress.
Fighting was growing heavy in Green Meadow. The men of Amity were retreating back toward the command center east of town, but they gave ground slowly. Fighting from house to house, street to street, and yard to yard, they made Jabin pay for every inch of ground he acquired. Jennifer managed to stay a few blocks ahead of the worst fighting until she finally reached Devia’s fortress. She thought it strange that none of the dark, swarthy men she had been evading were anywhere near the fortress. She also thought it strange that no arrows flew from the fortress high above.
There were no gates in the solid southern or eastern walls of the fortress, but finally Jennifer found a gate in the northern wall. Pounding frantically on the heavy wooden doors, she begged and pleaded to be let in, but there was no response from within. In despair, she fell against the door, curled into a tight little ball, and wept.
James and several of his men had taken refuge behind a stone wall for a much-needed breather. Glancing around, he realized that this wall had recently been someone’s home. Taking a sip of water from his pouch, James thought about his losses today and wondered if they would have been less had Thomas been here. Oh, Thomas, he thought, where did you go? What could have become of you? At that moment he spied his messenger dashing toward the battle on his pony. James stepped into view and waved the man over. “What are you doing here? This is no place for you or your pony!”
“I’ve good news, sir!” the envoy panted. “Seagood and the mounted guard have been spotted and are only moments away!”
“Great news!” James whooped, pounding his messenger on the back.
“I did see something strange, sir,” the envoy continued.
“Be quick, man!” James ordered.
“As I rounded the fortress a moment ago, a young lady was trying to get inside, and they wouldn’t open for her.”
“What?” James roared. With blinding revelation, James finally understood why Thomas had been so determined to help the helpless and protect the downtrodden. A thought flashed through his mind: I’ll do right by you, brother!
“Give me your horse,” James demanded.
“What?” the startled envoy asked.
“I’ll take the girl to the command center.”
“But, sir …” The envoy’s words were lost in bedlam as Jabin’s men suddenly overran their position. After striking down several of the enemy, James leaped onto his messenger’s pony and raced through the fighting.
Thundering toward Devia’s fortress, he spied the girl huddled against the door. He spurred the pony faster.
Jennifer looked up to see a rider bearing down on her, and she assumed the worst. Gathering up her skirts, she turned and ran along the fortress walls. She doubted she could escape, but she dared not wait to
face this rider unarmed.
The rider closed in quickly on the fleeing girl and then checked his gait to match her pace. Gripping the saddle tightly, he leaned far to one side, scooped Jennifer off her feet, and heaved her over the saddle. Turning back onto the road, he made a straight path toward the command center.
Not to be taken so easily, Jennifer fought, squirmed, scratched, and bit until the rider nearly lost his grip on her. “Take it easy!” he shouted. “I’m on your side!”
When she heard the familiar speech of Amity, Jennifer ceased to struggle. Craning her neck to look upon her captor, she recognized the handsome captain of the garrison whom so many of the girls in Green Meadow had secretly longed to meet these last months. He was dirty, and heavy stubble covered his jaw, but there was no doubt: this was James Stafford.
Jennifer smiled to herself and relaxed for the first time since she had returned from her grandmother’s house. If the other girls only knew that she was being rescued by the handsome and daring Prince Charming! Her pleasant reverie lasted only a moment, for she heard the hiss of an arrow and felt James stiffen. Then she heard another, and another.
James’s face turned pale, and his strong grip on Jennifer began to weaken. Without being driven, the pony slowed to a trot and finally to a walk. By this time, Jennifer’s feet were nearly touching the ground.
Slipping from James’s grasp, Jennifer touched the earth, turned, and gasped. Four arrows protruded from James’s back.
“I’ve been hit,” he whispered. His eyes were wide, and his skin had grown pale. Slowly he slid from the saddle. “Ride … for … help.” He gestured weakly toward a canvas tent on a rocky bluff some distance away.
“But—” she stammered.
“Go.” He sighed and dropped to his knees.
With sudden determination, Jennifer grabbed the pony’s reins and swung into the saddle. Maybe she could get help.
Picking her way down a stone-covered slope, she spied a band of dusty horsemen galloping up the ravine. Not sure whether they were friend or foe, she hesitated, but only for a moment. James needed help. Slapping her heels into the startled pony’s ribs, she made straight for the riders.
Seagood and his men had seen the command center some distance back and were rapidly making their way toward it. Then they spied a girl charging toward them as if in full attack, though she wore no armor and carried no gear.
“Whoa, missy!” Rudy called as he grabbed the bridle of her heaving pony.
“Please, please!” the girl sobbed. “Commander Stafford has been shot! He’s on the hill!” She pointed vaguely behind her.
“Wart, take this girl to the command center. The rest of you, with me!” Rudy’s voice thundered.
In a blur of dust and sweat-soaked horseflesh, they were off.
Jennifer covered her face, wondering if she had done the right thing. Suddenly she realized that everything was quiet.
Looking up, she saw a thin boy holding the reins of her tired pony. He gently soothed her mount into quiet submission. “Rudy says I need to take you to that tent up there.”
Jennifer allowed her eyes to follow his gesture to where a canvas tent stood on a rocky bluff. Weary beyond belief, she nodded and quietly slid from the pony’s saddle.
Wart offered his hand and seemed relieved when she modestly refused. Together they walked up the slope past sentries who looked too tired to challenge them.
Everyone in camp knew that James was dying. Jabin’s forces had overrun nearly every position that James had protected, except one. James’s command center still controlled the main road into Amity, and if this last bastion fell, Jabin would sweep into Amity like a flood, bringing destruction to an unsuspecting land.
When James had been carried back to the command center, many men would have thrown in the towel, but not these men. They had fought to keep Amity safe, and with the coming of Seagood, they persevered. The battle raged for days, with Rudy shouting orders and men fighting a battle they were sure to lose. Still, they would not quit. Some prayed that help would come on the morrow; others hoped their end would be swift and painless.
Men watched in dismay as Jabin’s forces set fire to more houses, fields, and forest.
“Looks like a storm is brewing,” a sentry commented as a scout passed his position.
“Good! Rain might put out some of Jabin’s fires. There won’t be much left if this keeps on.”
“Not much left now! Say, what do you hear about Commander Stafford?”
“He’s still hanging on!”
“That is one tough man,” the sentry said. “I hope when my time comes, I don’t have to linger like that. I guess though, if he can do it, maybe I can too.”
The bellow of horns woke those of the garrison who remained. Grabbing their weapons, they scrambled to battle positions. Across the ravine, long columns of unfamiliar men stormed the sleeping hordes of Jabin. James’s men shook their heads. Were they dreaming? Who was this strange new ally? Some thought they were seeing angels.
There was a hoarse cry when someone spotted the banner of Amity snapping in the wind. Those who had prayed for help knelt to thank the Lord, while others merely wept tears of joy. It seemed their tribulation was over. Help had arrived!
CHAPTER 17
One Final Mission
John Stafford did not notice the war-ravaged countryside or the tight grip of his wiry guide around his waist. James was dying, and no other thought could enter his troubled mind.
The lad, nicknamed Wart, suddenly slipped from behind the saddle and, motioning to John, started to scramble up a steep slope that led to a large canvas tent at the top of the hill. John dismounted and followed as fast as his legs would carry him.
Two sentries jumped to attention when John entered the tent. It was dark inside, and John paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust. As features began to take shape, he recognized one of the sentries. “How bad is he, Mark?” John asked.
“He’s bad, sir. I’m glad you’re here!”
John clapped his hand on Mark’s shoulder, took a deep breath, and lifted the panel leading to the inner room.
Oil lamps dimly illumined the inner quarters. Men stood quietly clustered here and there. John recognized Seagood at once and made his way toward him. A young man he didn’t recognize lay writhing under Seagood’s care. Is that my son? he wondered.
The young man thrashed violently while Seagood tried to restrain him. At John’s approach, Seagood yielded, placing James’s clenched fist between his father’s thick, warm fingers.
Kneeling, John studied the young man before him. His son’s teeth were clenched, his eyes shut tight. Yes, John thought. James fought with life. It would be like him to fight with death as well.
“I’m here, Son,” John said aloud.
For a brief moment, James opened his eyes, and John witnessed the terror of a haunted soul. The grim reaper was stalking his son, and he was powerless to protect him. “James!” John called. “I am your father!”
James turned, recognition in his eyes. His body relaxed, and he tried to speak.
John laid a finger across his lips. “Save your strength, Son,” he whispered.
Anger flashed across James’s dark eyes. “Thomas …” he managed to gasp.
John leaned closer, and Seagood edged nearer the cot, keen interest sparkling in his eyes.
“Yes,” John said. “What about Thomas?”
James’s lips moved, and John leaned even closer. “What?” he asked.
James grimaced as pain sent a tremor through his entire body. With visible effort to gather his strength, James managed to whisper, “Kidnapped!” Then he fell back on the cot, exhausted.
John was mute with shock. He looked at Seagood for an explanation but found nothing. “Kidnapped?” he heard himself ask. “What do you mean? Kidnapped by whom, and why?”
He looked back at James, but all was silent. The young man was relaxed and quiet: content, as if he had fulfilled some great mission. Pain no longer furrowed his brow, and his hand relaxed between John’s fingers. He’d found peace.
“James, what do you mean kidnapped?” John asked once more, but there was no reply.
Jennifer sat behind a tree, watching and listening to every sound that emitted from the command center. Above the rhythm of her pounding heart, she could hear voices. Wiping her tears away, she watched as a young man scrambled up the rocky slope.
“Master Stafford!” the man cried as he hurried for the tent.
A huge guard stepped into the courier’s path. “What is it, man? Lord Stafford’s son has just died! Must you barge in on his grief?”
“I’m sorry, sir!” the messenger panted, “but Gaff has come! The enemy is in disarray!”
“Gaff!” the sentry shouted. “That is good news!” Quickly he pulled the envoy into the tent.
Seconds later, men poured from the tent, scrambling down the hill to mount their horses. Within moments they were thundering toward the distant clash of battle.
In their wake, everything grew strangely quiet. Jennifer watched the exhausted sentries settle back into their positions. Everything seemed deserted.
Angry thoughts raced through her head. How can John Stafford leave his departed son so quickly? But grief replaced her anger. James Stafford is dead, and it’s my fault. If I’d never come back to Green Meadow, James would still be alive. She buried her head in her arms and wept.
Gradually her tears subsided. Looking around, she realized that the sound of battle had grown dim. Over the past days she’d grown immune to the clash of weapons, for her ears had been tuned to the moans and cries from inside James’s tent. That man was her reality, and he was dead because of her.
She stole a glance at the tent and tried to stifle the secret longing in her heart. She wanted to see James one last time, but she supposed the sentries would prevent her.
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