by Sam Barone
About twenty leather
— clad warriors ran alongside the wagon and grasped the topmost planks. They lifted a section and carried it forward into the ditch. Many went down with arrows, but enough stayed on their feet and managed to get the bridging section to the ditch and fling it down, before running back behind the wagons for shelter.
Another group of men tried to repeat the effort but this time Totomes’s archers stopped the second attempt with a wave of arrows that brought warriors, screaming in pain, to their knees before they reached the edge of the ditch. It proved only a momentary setback. More men rushed up to aid them, and they managed to grasp and lift the heavy platform once again and rush it forward, some leaping down into the mud, others dropping onto the first piece of bridge.
In their haste they failed to place the second section properly. For a moment no warrior would venture out to correct it. Instead they brought up more archers from the rear and a hailstorm of arrows drove the defenders beneath the wall for a few moments. Esk kar could only watch through the narrow gap between the two shields as two gangs of men rushed forward, one to straighten the second section and another to lift and carry the third section.
By now all the barbarian archers were shooting from behind some sort of cover, making it harder for Orak’s archers to hit them. Their enemies needed only to aim for the top of the wall to keep the defenders pinned down.
With the third bridging section in place, the barbarians had reached more than halfway across the ditch, even though the trench here stretched twice as wide. Esk kar turned to Gatus. “Get every archer you can fi nd up on the wall. I’m going to the gate.”
Without waiting for a reply Esk kar dashed away, Grond and the bodyguards following him. Esk kar ran down the tower steps, pushing past a constant stream of men climbing up to reinforce or resupply those already there. Emerging into the sunlight he took only a few steps before he found Corio directing a handful of villagers carrying three heavy clay pots.
“Good work, Corio,” Esk kar shouted. “Is this the oil?”
“All that’s left. The storehouse is empty.”
The lands around Orak held numerous pools of the oil — that — burns, but no such pool existed inside Orak. The countless torches needed every night had drained the stores of oil faster than expected. Esk kar’s fire raid had taken the rest.
Esk kar grimaced but there was nothing he could do about it. “We’ll need more than that. Find more. And send one jar up to the top of the gate.”
“Captain, be careful, we might set fire…”
Esk kar left Corio and climbed up the narrow wooden steps leading to the upper parapet. Several archers manning the slits had taken wounds, but a few cheered at the sight of their captain. He moved to the gate’s center, then pushed an archer aside to glance through the firing slit. The barbarians had placed another section into the ditch and looked ready to move up another. That one would completely bridge the ditch.
A burly villager bumped into Esk kar’s back, breathing hard and carrying the largest of the pots of oil. Esk kar took the vessel and almost dropped it, surprised by the weight.
“Fetch as many torches as you can,” he ordered. The man nodded, then swung over the edge of the platform and just dropped to the parapet directly below, before jumping to the ground.
The last bridging section had the farthest to go and again Totomes’s archers waited for the Alur Meriki effort. A wave of arrows from the defenders cut the first attempt short, hitting a half — dozen warriors before they could even take up the burden. Another attempt failed as well, until a horde of nearly fifty men rushed up and by sheer numbers carried the section down into the ditch and heaved it into position. Despite the heavy losses, a shout of triumph accompanied their success.
Esk kar turned to Grond, who’d stayed right behind him. “We’ll hurl this as far from the gate as we can. Understand? At the count of three!”
Together they lifted the clay jar, each holding it with one hand on the bottom and using the other hand to steady it. Esk kar took a deep breath and braced himself, nodded at Grond, then gave the count. “One… two… three!”
With a mighty heave they hurled the pot of oil over the top. The jar landed at least twenty feet away from the gate, bursting into a hundred pieces as it emptied its contents between the fourth and fifth sections.
Without bothering to look Esk kar seized the flaming torch that the laborer had brought and hurled it over the top. By the time he reached a slit, the torch had ignited the oil and a sheet of flames burned hotly wherever the oil had spread. Even the mud in the ditch caught fire.
Two arrows hissed through the slit and Esk kar felt his heart jump. If he’d stared an instant longer… Alur Meriki archers below now waited for any target. “Get another pot of oil, Grond. That should slow them down.”
Men crowded the gate now, its parapets sagging dangerously as ten more archers added their weight to the platforms. Another jar of oil arrived, this one smaller, and again Esk kar and Grond heaved it over the gate. It landed closer to the mud this time but shattered well enough to cover the burning wood again. A strange whooshing noise and a wave of heat accompanied flames that rushed into the air. The few warriors who had ventured out onto the platform quickly retreated. For a moment the conflagration rose even higher than the gate.
The last two sections of the bridge burned steadily, and nothing would put them out until the fire reached the muddy underside of the wood. The barbarians halted, surprised to find their own tactic used against them. The vicious exchange of arrows continued taking its toll on both sides. Grond readied the last pot but a quick glimpse told Esk kar it wasn’t needed yet.
He leaned over the edge of the platform and shouted down at Corio.
“Corio, we need more oil. Send women to gather every drop from every house.”
“Yes, Captain. We’ll find some.”
Esk kar turned back to the parapet. Alcinor had his workers pouring water over the top, nervous about the fire their leaders had ignited. A fire behind the gate might be disastrous. Then a cry from the tower made Eskkar take another quick glance through the slit. The barbarians had lifted another bridging section from a wagon and were gathering for a new rush.
Esk kar understood immediately what they planned. Placed on top of the burning ones, the new section would smother the fires and be even firmer underfoot. The warriors gave a shout as they braved the archers’ volleys to take up the platform on both sides and begin moving it toward the ditch. Esk kar picked up a bow from a wounded archer and strung a shaft himself. “Find yourself a bow, Grond.”
The big man returned in a moment, as archers crowded around the slits. Esk kar looked at him. “They’re watching the slits. We’ll shoot from over the top. Try to bring down the first man on your side.” This was dangerous. They’d have to expose more of their bodies. But Esk kar needed to stop the attackers now.
Warriors, stumbling under the weight of the new section but moving rapidly, had reached the halfway point of the ditch.
“Now!” Esk kar shouted. In that instant, both he and Grond leaned over the top of the gate, Esk kar firing as the rest of the defenders did likewise, ducking back not an instant too soon as a flock of arrows whistled into the space their heads had just occupied. A peek through the slit told Esk kar his shaft had hit the mark. The stricken warrior had fallen onto the man behind him. The whole section had crashed into the ditch. The warriors tried to pick it up, but arrows from each tower and the gate struck among them and drove the Alur Meriki back behind the wagons. By now even the bridging sections were riddled with arrows.
The section the Alur Meriki had tried to bring forward sat half in the mud and half on the bridge. It looked too far for Esk kar to reach with another pot of oil. Or was it?
“Wait here, Grond,” he ordered. He swung down to the lower parapet then dropped to the ground. He shouted for messengers even as Corio and Alcinor raced to Esk kar’s side. “Find some small jars, about this big,”
he held his hands about six inches apart. “I want to throw oil further out on their bridge. And get me more oil!”
Corio nodded to his son and Alcinor raced away. “Can we hold them, Captain?” The master artisan looked frightened.
A meaningless question. “Only the gods know, but they’re not inside yet. Just keep the gate wet and our own torches away from the oil.” Only a few paces from where they stood, villagers frantically pumped at the water wheel, sending a steady stream out into the ditch.
Esk kar mounted the steps, ignoring the tiredness in his legs, and returned to the top. He knelt beside Grond, picked up a shield, and used it to cover himself as he looked through the slit. He saw warriors trading shafts with the defenders while others prepared for another rush.
Alcinor arrived, breathing hard and carrying two small clay jugs, the kind used to hold wine in the alehouses. He also carried several long pieces of cotton. Alcinor dipped the wine jug into the last remaining pot of oil and held it until it was almost filled. He stuffed one of the rags in the mouth of the jar. Finally, he took another rag and wiped the outside of the jug clean, rubbing hard to remove every trace of oil.
Alcinor saw the puzzled look on Esk kar’s face. “The rag will act as a stopper, like a wick in a lamp,” Alcinor explained. “We light the rag before you throw it.” To demonstrate, he called for a torch, then touched the rag to its flame.
Esk kar watched in fascination as fire blossomed from the rag. It did burn like a wick in a candle, without being instantly consumed. Esk kar took the flaming wine jug, braced his feet, and hurled it over the wall. The pot almost went too far but landed on the new section of bridge, shattered, and burst into flames. The fire didn’t burn as intensely as before, but would certainly slow the attackers.
For a few moments it did. Then a large group of warriors rushed down into the ditch, where they used their hands to scoop up the damp mud and toss it on the burning planks. That smothered the oil and flames at the same time. Arrows struck down many, but others replaced those killed or wounded, throwing more wet earth onto the platform.
Wherever the mud landed, the fire hissed and smoked, then died out immediately.
“Damn them,” Esk kar swore. The archers’ fire from the walls wasn’t enough to impede them. “We need more archers,” he shouted to Grond.
“Stay here and throw as many jugs as you can.” Esk kar dropped down from the parapet, running back to the north side where he found Gatus directing men and shouting orders. “Gatus, we need more archers. They’ll be at the gate in a few moments.”
“I’ve sent you every man I could find. Totomes says they’re driving the barbarian archers back.”
“It’s taking too long. They’re almost ready to assail the gate. Strip every archer from the other walls. Send villagers to take their place. Just get more men to the towers.”
Leaving Gatus, Esk kar raced back up the steps to Grond’s side, who’d prepared another oil — filled wine jug.
An arrow whistled through the slit just as Esk kar was about to look, the shaft passing between the two men’s faces. They looked grimly at each other. But he needed to see, so he took a quick look. He saw plenty of activity across the ditch, but so far the Alur Meriki hadn’t tried to push another section out. They would at any moment.
“Captain, this is the last of the oil,” Grond said. “But I think I can throw this close to their wagon, if you can cover me.”
Esk kar looked at Grond’s huge arms and shoulders. This jug appeared smaller than the others. If anyone could do it, Grond could. Nevertheless, he’d have to stand up, brace himself, and make the throw. But if he could reach the wagon…
“Archers,” Esk kar shouted, “ready yourself for a volley.” He picked up his shield. The soldiers readied themselves. Grond held out the jar and Alcinor touched the torch to the rag, which flamed up for a moment before it began to burn steadily with a smoky haze.
Esk kar glanced up and down the parapet. The archers looked grim but ready with their bows. “Now!” They rose up and released a hasty volley, enough to distract the closest barbarian archers for a moment.
In that instant Esk kar arose, holding the shield to protect Grond, who grasped the top edge with his left hand and hurled the wine jug.
Esk kar pulled Grond back down with his free hand as arrows hissed above them. Esk kar’s shield had four arrows protruding from it. Glancing through the slit he saw that Grond’s throw had been true. The jug landed just in front of the wagon and burst into flames. Splashes of oil reached and immediately began to burn the dry wood of the cart. The warriors tried to quench the flames, but Orak’s archers drove them back.
Covering most of the slit with his shield, Esk kar watched as the warriors reacted. At first they did little. Then an Alur Meriki war leader gathered warriors with shields and ordered them in front of the cart, to protect those who would extinguish the flames.
This time the attackers not only extinguished the fire, but draped two hides over the wagon’s front. Meanwhile warriors loosed arrows at a rapid pace as they prepared once again to place the final bridge section. Esk kar and his men had slowed their advance but not stopped it.
With a shout the barbarians swarmed around the wagon and took up another section of bridge. They ignored the flickering flames that lingered in places underfoot as well as the arrows that flew into their ranks. Esk kar heard the heavy section drop into place beneath the gate. This time a few of the attackers paused long enough to scoop mud and dirt from the ditch onto the new platform, trying to wet the wood before the villagers could throw more burning oil.
Fresh reserves of enemy fighters, most with bows but many with axes, rushed out from behind the wagons, shouting war cries as they came. They raced across the muddy and smoking bridge, stepping on the bodies of their fallen, whose dead and dying bodies littered the ditch. Now twice as many barbarians stood under the gate, arrows nocked and ready to shoot at anything that moved.
Esk kar felt the first axe thud into the gate. “Stones!” he bellowed. Men dropped their bows and began heaving the river rocks over the gate.
A second and third axe began plying on the gate, the sound ringing throughout the village. Their shields protected the Alur Meriki somewhat from falling stones.
“Stones! Arrows! Now,” Esk kar yelled. Stones flew over the top, until the melon — sized rocks fell like rain.
Alcinor, his voice cracking, shouted at the men, reminding them to drop the stones straight down, for the men below surely pressed themselves as close as possible to the wall, to avoid the bone — breaking missiles.
In a few moments of frenzied activity the defenders exhausted all the stones on the parapet. Alcinor screamed for more rocks, and Esk kar risked an arrow to take another look through the slit. The first wagon side had been pushed into the ditch. The Alur Meriki wanted to move the wagon as close to the gate as possible. They’d tried to guide it directly onto the bridge, but one side must have gone over faster than the other and now one of the wheels had caught in the mud. Still, three of the wagon’s wheels rested on the bridge, and another cart carrying a fresh supply of wood and oil had taken its place.
Warriors crawled and stumbled in the ditch now, ignoring the arrows that flew at them, to free and move the first wagon forward. Esk kar heard them cursing the clumsy vehicle that clung to the mud and resisted their efforts, until nearly twenty men lifted and pushed it free and completely onto the bridge. Meanwhile other barbarians seized tools and axes and rushed back to the gate, ignoring the flames that still burned in places.
A fresh group of warriors, weaponless but carrying large wooden shields, came forward to protect the axe men hammering at the gate from the stones. Damn the gods, there seemed to be no end to these barbarians.
Esk kar turned back to Grond. “I’ll try and find more fire jugs. The first wagon is within reach now, and they’re bringing up another.” The big man nodded, and Esk kar swung from the edge of the parapet to the ground for the third time. There h
e nearly knocked over Narquil.
Totomes’s son had just descended from the right tower. He staggered toward Esk kar, blood pouring down his right arm, two arrows protruding from it. Esk kar grabbed the man and shouted for a messenger. A boy, eyes wide, appeared from under the wall.
“Bring Narquil to the women and have them stop the bleeding.”
Narquil, his eyes wide with shock from pain and loss of blood, grasped Esk kar’s arm with his left hand. “Captain… look at the arrow.”
He slurred the words, and at fi rst Esk kar thought Narquil wanted him to look at the wound.
“The arrow, Captain… it’s one of ours. They’re running out of arrows.”
“Yes, I see. Go with the boy now.” Turning to the messenger, Esk kar ordered him to get moving, then raced up the tower where he’d started the morning. Emerging into the sunlight, he found blood and bodies everywhere. Death had thinned their ranks, but archers still worked their bows.
He found Totomes. The grim archer had held his place, calmly aiming and firing shafts at his hated enemy, using the tower’s vantage to kill as many clan leaders as possible.
“Totomes, can your archers sweep the ditch of warriors?” he shouted, almost in the man’s ear. “They’re at the gate with axes.”
Totomes loosed the arrow on his bowstring before ducking below the wall, pulling Esk kar down with him. “Not yet, Captain. We’d have to lean too far over the wall to get a shot at them. We’re killing the bowmen behind the barricade. Their fire is slowing and they’re running out of arrows.
The men in the ditch will have to wait.”
“We may not have that much time left. They’re weakening the gate and fire will be upon us soon.”
“I’ll do what I can, Captain, but you must hold them off a little longer.