Scourge of Wolves

by David Gilman

  ‘We could use those houses for cover,’ said Renfred.

  ‘That only gets us so close,’ said Gilbert.

  Blackstone pointed towards the houses that pressed against the walls. ‘Every window in those houses is dark. We have rope and hooks to scale that timber walkway from the gully below. We create a diversion and once we are onto that wooden walkway and into one of those deserted houses we cut through the roof and then we’re only feet away from the battlements.’ The men murmured their approval. By taking everyone inside the walls the defenders had gifted them a means of gaining entry. ‘Meulon, have Tait take a dozen men on the left flank of that gully in the opposite direction from the houses. Tell him to keep out of crossbow range. Single file, every man carrying a burning torch. They need to be seen – make it look as though they are searching for a way inside. Once we are over the walls they double back and follow us.’

  ‘And the woman? This Countess? What do we do about her?’ said Killbere. ‘She’s not done us any harm. From what we know she helps protect the villagers in the district from routiers. That she kills them is nothing less than what we’ve been doing, nothing less than the treaty would have us and the French do.’

  ‘But she’s with Cade,’ said John Jacob. ‘She’s using routiers to trap routiers.’

  ‘Or she’s beholden to them in some way,’ said Killbere. ‘Perhaps she is even his hostage. We don’t know. Going after Cade and rescuing Perinne and the lad is one thing; killing a countess and her men is another. Even King Edward would think twice about this and he’s a harsh man when it comes to retribution against a defiant town.’

  The role of the Countess had not been considered by any of them but now that Killbere had raised the issue it became part of the problem of assaulting the town of Felice.

  ‘Women. They always complicate a man’s life,’ said Will Longdon.

  ‘For all we know she’s dead already,’ said Meulon. ‘Cade’s men rode against us but there were few of hers who fought. We don’t know how many men are in there, Sir Thomas, and who is to say that there are not patrols beyond the walls. If there are they could strike at our rear. The woman is less important than our horses.’

  Meulon made good sense. And Blackstone knew that everyone was aware of the risk they took. He turned away from the manned battlements, pressing his back against the boulders. He looked to where the men waited; the horses had been moved further back into dead ground, hobbled and corralled by fallen branches. He would have to leave men behind to guard them. But to fight through the streets of a town and then try and find a way into a guarded château would demand every man he had. The danger was that if they were isolated in the narrow confines or if they finally secured the château enough of the enemy might escape and stumble across their horses. To lose their mounts would be a disaster.

  ‘We saw no sign of any patrols. And they are expecting an assault. I’ll wager they have every man armed and waiting. Inside, not out. Once Tait’s men have shown themselves have them come back here and act as a rearguard for the horses and supplies.’

  ‘We could do with them inside the walls,’ said Killbere.

  ‘I know, but we have taken towns with fewer men. We strike silently. Kill those who resist. The objective is the château,’ said Blackstone. ‘And we cause no harm to the Countess or her household.’ He turned back to study the houses that buttressed the walls. ‘Will, Killbere and I will go onto the walls through the middle house. You will take your archers left and right. Jack and Quenell will break through the roof on that furthest house. See it?’

  Will Longdon looked to where Blackstone pointed. ‘We need to kill the crossbowmen first. And then if we can drive the others from the walls then it’s up to you to deal with them, Thomas. All we can do then is hold the battlements. We’ll be hard pressed if they counter-attack from the town.’

  Blackstone glanced at the veteran archer.

  Longdon shrugged. ‘It can be done,’ he said and grinned.

  ‘Hold the walls. Keep the archers there. Don’t come into the streets. I will send men to you once we have taken the château.’ Blackstone looked at his captains. ‘Ready the men.’

  * * *

  Blackstone watched Ralph Tait lead a dozen of his men, blazing torches held aloft, as they skirted the gully that encircled the walls. There were shouts of alarm from those who manned the ramparts and Blackstone and his men waiting below the wooden walkway saw torchlight moving hurriedly along the top of the walls in Tait’s direction. They heard the clatter of crossbow bolts striking rocks but they fell at least fifty paces short of where Tait led his men. As Blackstone’s men ran quickly through the deserted village towards the houses against the wall the captains sent some of them inside the hovels to scavenge for tallow candles or oil lamps. To clamber inside those houses pressed against the walls meant that they would have to risk lighting their way into the rafters.

  Blackstone’s men huddled below the wooden walkway as grappling hooks quickly found purchase. The men climbed up hand over hand and then crouched in the darkness, checking that no sentries had heard the bite of steel into wood or seen men’s shadows flit into the houses. No door was locked and no sound came from any abandoned dogs. The citizens of Felice had bundled up their chattels and fled into the town.

  The dim glow from the spluttering candles was enough to show each group of men the open stairs that led upwards. A half-landing gave another turn to the stairs and then they saw that half the roof void had been boarded for storage. Meulon went down on one knee and Renfred clambered onto his shoulders; then he reached up onto the edge of the boarding and hauled himself up. He crouched as he pressed his palms upwards onto the slate roof. John Jacob followed and attached a rope beneath one of the rafters so that the others might clamber up once a hole had been made. Renfred pushed his fist firmly against the nailed slates, which were brittle with age. Two or three broke at the same time and he whispered quietly to his companion to take the broken pieces from him. The old roof gave way quickly in response to his efforts and there was soon a hole broad enough for the likes of Blackstone and Meulon to climb through. They, like the others who followed, bore their shields across their backs.

  Renfred eased his head and shoulders into the night. The battlements were only feet away and as he looked in the distance he saw that most of those who guarded the walls were focusing on Tait’s men. Will Longdon, Halfpenny and Quenell’s lightly armed archers had moved even more quickly and made better progress. Darkened figures were already scrambling through the roofs left and right and spilling quickly onto the walls. Renfred bent down into the flickering shadows below and urged the men-at-arms to hurry. The men’s heaving effort was punctuated with curses as they tried to stoop below the low rafters. There was room for only three men at a time to crouch and then get through the hole. Killbere was struggling to climb up the rope that led to the rafters. He swore, sweat in his eyes, his age and the weight of his mail and weapons halting his progress. Meulon reached down and grabbed his arms and hauled him unceremoniously onto the half-platform.

  Blackstone was soon on the walls; then Meulon heaved himself over the ramparts, followed by a cursing Killbere. One of the men behind them put his foot through the roof slates and the break sounded as loud as a crack of thunder. Blackstone and Meulon leaned across the battlements and pulled men across in quick succession now that those below were moving quickly.

  One of the archers hissed, ‘For Christ’s sake, hurry. They’re starting to come back to their posts.’

  Blackstone bent low and ran left along the parapet. In the distance Felice’s men were turning back with their torches. Tait’s men had done all they could do but the crossbowmen among those who guarded the wall could quickly bring down Blackstone’s running men as they made their way to the steps that led down to the courtyard. Blackstone had John Jacob at his shoulder while Meulon had peeled away and taken his men to the right of the breached wall, racing for another set of steps. Will Longdon’s men were crouch
ed, backs against the battlements, barely visible in the lee of the walls. And then a cry went up from one of the approaching sentries. Blackstone was already taking the steps two at a time, running towards the fleeting shadows of the garrison men below, who ducked and weaved between the hanging corpses in their attempt to cut him off. If the attack was isolated on the walls before it got into the alleyways then Blackstone knew his assault would be contained. He felt the air whisper past his face and then heard the metallic strike of a crossbow bolt against the stonework. One of the men behind John Jacob grunted; there was the sound of a bolt piercing mail, flesh and bone. The man tumbled into space and fell.

  Will Longdon and his archers stood close together, two abreast on the rampart, as many men as the width of the walkway would accommodate. The first two loosed into the approaching men, saw and heard their arrows strike, and then quickly pressed themselves back as another two shot into the crowded men at the far end of the parapet. In a rapidly moving sequence of shooting and manoeuvring Will Longdon’s archers gained thirty paces more. As Longdon’s bowmen drew and loosed so too did Halfpenny’s men, buying time for Meulon’s men-at-arms going in the opposite direction. Men cried out below. Commands echoed across the courtyard. Blackstone heard the hard breath of shadowy men at his shoulder, saw out of the corner of his eye Killbere strike out towards four men who ran at him. Renfred was at his back just as John Jacob was at Blackstone’s, and then these shadowy men who loomed behind Blackstone fanned out and clashed into the defenders, who hesitated, uncertain whether to throw themselves at the attacking men or retreat into the gloom of the narrow streets and try to hold back these silent killers.

  And then a chapel bell clanged out its desperate warning. Its incessant clamour echoed around the houses and walls, calling the town to arms.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Perinne heard men shouting and women’s fearful cries as the château’s servants ran to wherever they thought might be a safer place. And then as the voices died away he heard the clanging bell. He quickly eased himself down from the soot-filled chimney and grasped the weapons he had taken from the kitchen. The attack had started and he needed to do what he could to aid its success. As he ran into the kitchen he saw two garrison soldiers preparing to throw water over the deep-seated kitchen fire, a fire that could be used against the defenders. They turned suddenly as the wild apparition of a soot-streaked monk attacked them wielding a meat cleaver and a knife. Startled, they dropped their buckets and fumbled for their swords, yelling in alarm. But Perinne’s momentum carried him into them, sweeping the cleaver down across the nearest man’s shoulder. It dug deep into bone; the man went down screaming. He writhed but the cleaver was embedded. Perinne grabbed the second man, who had turned to run, and plunged the knife down into the gap between throat and shoulder. Fatally wounded, the man went down. Perinne turned quickly and, placing his sandalled foot on the other man’s chest, yanked free the embedded cleaver. The man’s eyes rolled, his mouth opened, but his scream halted as the pointed knife plunged into his throat. Perinne needed as much surprise on his side as he could get and hoped that the men’s death cries had not alerted others.

  He stopped, listened for any sound of approaching guards and then quickly went to the stone larder where pig carcasses hung. He dragged three of the dead pigs to the outside of the kitchen. Looking down across the town he saw spurts of red from burning torches, flames that flickered as their bearers ran in and out of darkened streets. Muted cries of alarm and defence carried through the night. Somewhere in the distance a donkey brayed and dogs yelped and howled. He ran back into the solar and gathered an armful of the rush flooring. Back outside it took little time to build a small pyre: it would not cause damage but it would guide the attackers up towards him. Taking a shovelful of coals from the kitchen fire he quickly got the dry rushes burning. With a final visit to the solar he yanked aside a tapestry from the walls and dropped it onto the flames. Once the fire took hold the old threadbare tapestry flared and engulfed the pig carcasses whose fat fuelled the flames.

  In a final effort to feed the flames he dragged kitchen stools and a bench to build the pyre higher. He went back into the kitchen and barricaded the door into the solar. If Blackstone’s men saw the beacon in time then they would fight their way quickly up to the château and this door would give them a way into the main rooms. And somewhere inside was the Countess and, he hoped, the young Frenchman.

  * * *

  There was little sign of any townsmen. Most had barricaded themselves into their homes and the few militia who had ventured out into the streets retreated quickly when they saw the violence inflicted on the garrison troops and William Cade’s routiers. The rumour that an army of mercenaries was at the gates fuelled the town’s fear. As Blackstone and his captains moved rapidly through the narrow alleys Will Longdon and the archers secured the walls. The braziers had illuminated the archers’ targets and as Longdon and his men advanced left and right along the parapet soldiers and crossbowmen retreated down into the town square. The town walls were three-sided with the château forming the fourth quadrant, whose rear walls were so sheer that they could never be assaulted.

  The fight progressed through the streets upwards towards the flaming beacon. Pockets of resistance formed at street corners where barricades were quickly thrown down to impede Blackstone’s advance. But, shields raised, he and the men at his shoulder battered their way forward into the makeshift barriers, his spearmen thrusting their weapons forward, jabbing into the lightly armed defenders, forcing them to reel back. Grunting and cursing with effort they strode on, hacking their way clear. Many of Cade’s men retreated across the open space of another square towards the town church, whose bell had now fallen silent. Men, women and children – villagers who had sought sanctuary in the town – huddled along an outside wall of the church. There were more than a hundred of them cowering, terrified by the darkened figures who swarmed into the square. Children wept and their mothers screamed at the sight of men being cut down mercilessly.

  Blackstone saw that the church door had been forced open by retreating soldiers. Killbere ran after them with half a dozen men and rammed sword and spear into the narrow gap, slashing at those soldiers who were trying to heave the doors closed from inside. Blackstone broke away and faced the terrified villeins.

  ‘Stay here!’ he bellowed at them. ‘No harm will come to you if you do not run or resist.’ The huge scar-faced man was enough to provoke even more fear in them. They clung to each other as Blackstone turned back to the church. Killbere’s efforts had succeeded in forcing the heavy wooden door open and as Blackstone got there he saw the church was crammed full of townspeople and that the few soldiers who had forced their way inside had pushed their way in among the refugees, clutching slashed arms and hands from their efforts to resist the doors being shoved open. Blackstone knew there was no sense in trying to reach them; it would only cause slaughter among the huddled mass.

  ‘Close the doors and guard them,’ he said. ‘If they surrender disarm them and let them live.’

  The heavy doors slammed closed and Killbere ordered the men with him to stay and do as Blackstone had commanded. Then: ‘Up there,’ Killbere gasped and spat the phlegm of exhaustion. ‘Someone’s lit our way.’

  Blackstone looked around the square and saw Meulon advance from one of the side streets having fought his way through to join up with Blackstone to make the final assault up the curved route to the château.

  ‘I couldn’t burn out the stables,’ said Meulon. ‘The villagers and their livestock were penned at the back – sixty or more peasants with their wives and children. But there’s a beacon up there at the château.’

  ‘We see it,’ said Blackstone.

  ‘Our backs?’ asked Killbere. ‘Any of these murdering bastards ready to strike at us?’

  ‘I saw none,’ said Meulon, still breathing heavily from his exertions. ‘Some of Will’s archers are coming down off the walls.’

  ‘Send a
man back, tell them to advance only to where they can use their bows. Let them secure the squares. I don’t want to lose any archers in street fighting. Any sign of Cade?’

  Meulon shook his head. ‘He’s either barricaded himself in a house or he’s up there,’ he said, tilting his head towards the château, shimmering in the light from the burning pyre which illuminated the way towards it.

  Blackstone quickly assessed the surrounding houses in the square. The resistance had been lighter than he had expected and the town had been secured quickly but there was still no sign of the man he had come to kill or of the woman who ruled here. ‘How many have we lost?’

  ‘Four men dead as far as I know,’ said Meulon. ‘Some light wounds.’

  ‘We cannot risk the townsmen rising up once we have pushed up to the château. Meulon, hold your men here. With Will Longdon’s archers on the walls and those that come into the square they should be enough to protect our backs. Gilbert and I will take the rest of the men up to the château.’

  Meulon immediately turned away and ran to organize his men.

  ‘Do not race me to the top and start the killing without me,’ said Killbere.

  ‘Don’t worry, my friend, Cade and his men will not surrender without a fight.’ Blackstone’s grin broke the darkness that played across his face. ‘Shall I find one of those braying donkeys to carry you up there?’

  ‘Thomas, I swear you have no respect for your elders.’ Killbere snorted snot from each nostril. ‘I’m pleased I taught you well.’ With that he turned and strode briskly uphill.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Perinne stood his ground in the kitchen as men on the other side shouldered the connecting door. They knew that this was a way in for their attackers. The château’s main doors were locked and barred but this kitchen access into the solar was the weak point and someone had barricaded it from the kitchen side. And even if the defenders barricaded the door where they were, those entering the château through the kitchen could burn the door down. Whoever was in the kitchen needed to be stopped and the outer door closed. The defenders’ choice was to open the main doors and flank whoever was in the kitchen from the outside, or to push through whatever was blocking this door. Going outside seemed a greater danger than trying to force their way through.