Page 60 of Hers To Command
She buried her fear for him as deeply as she could and smiled. “I know, just as I know that because you command the garrison, we shall win today.”
With a look in his eyes that wiped the trembling smile from her lips, he held his arms out wide. “Will you kiss your champion once more, for luck?”
She eagerly stepped into his embrace and passionately brought her lips to his—for luck, and with gratitude, and in the ardent hope that she could kiss him again when the battle was over.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ASHORT TIME LATER,after Mathilde—wonderful, glorious, Mathilde who would be his wife when this strife was over—had left him, Henry stood on the battlements of Ecclesford Castle with Ranulf beside him.
The very air seemed imbued with tense expectancy, like the men waiting with Henry on the wall. The villagers huddled in the buildings below. Giselle and the servants who would tend the wounded were in the hall, while Mathilde was in the kitchen supervising the heating of water for the wounded, and the preparation of food for when the battle was over. From the chapel came the muted responses of the people praying for victory.
Henry said a silent prayer for success and hoped God would understand that he didn’t dare stray off the walls, not even for mass. He was sure Roald would attack as soon as it was lighter. He was also sure Roald would assume they would huddle inside the castle walls and only defend themselves, and so they would—until they attacked.
Foot soldiers on the wall walk and in the yard stood ready to douse any flaming balls of pitch Roald’s catapults or trebuchets might throw into the castle. Stones were piled by the merlons and pots of water were being boiled, to be thrown or poured on men who tried to scale the walls. Holly bushes and brambles had been uprooted and thrown into the moat to impede their enemies’ progress.
“You really think he’ll attack today?” Ranulf asked, now likewise dressed and armed for battle.
“Yes, and I wish he’d get on with it,” Henry replied, for although he was attempting to be patient, waiting like this tried him sorely. He hoped that once Roald’s band of mercenaries realized the competent garrison of Ecclesford was going to put up a fierce fight, they would decide the personal risk wasn’t worth the possible reward and abandon Roald.
“Do you think Roald’s got any siege engines?”
“I’d like to believe he’s spent all his money on mercenaries,” Henry replied just as he spotted some movement in the open ground between the green and castle road. He pointed. “There,” he said to Ranulf.
Ranulf let his breath out slowly. “Ah, yes. Here come his archers with their pavises.”
They watched in silence as men bearing the large wooden pavises ran out and positioned the protective guards, larger than the shields men carried into battle, on the ground to form a makeshift wall. Behind them other men, with quivers on their belts and short bows of yew in their hands or crossbows, took their position and nocked their arrows.
“Get ready!” Henry called out to his men, who shifted nervously. Several crossed themselves and muttered prayers. More than one fingered an amulet or cross around his neck.
“When do we signal Cerdic?” Ranulf asked, keeping his eye on the opposing force.
“Once Roald’s moved his foot soldiers forward,” Henry answered. “Down!”
They ducked as the first volley of arrows flew over the castle wall. One man near the gate cried out and fell. His fellows dragged him out of the way, and Henry could hear the man cursing as they did, telling Henry he was merely wounded.
Another volley followed. Henry looked to the men manning the small catapults he’d had built and placed on the wall walk. “Now,” he ordered, and in the next moment, rocks went flying over the wall, striking some of the shields, and the men behind them. Other missiles fell short and Henry ordered the men to adjust their distance from the merlons and embrasures.
More of Roald’s archers took up positions on the field and soon the air was filled with arrows flying one way, and rocks the other. Men ducked for cover and shouted directions to those working the catapults and loading the rocks. Bits of stone flew off the rocks as they soared overhead and arrows slid and clattered onto the wall walk. Soldiers anxious to fight waited crouched behind the merlons, their arms and shields over their heads, their swords drawn.
Henry commanded the men at the catapults to cease their efforts and remove the catapults to give the soldiers more room on the wall walk, then summoned the archers of Ecclesford to take their places on the battlements.
“We’ve still got more rocks,” Ranulf said, lunging behind a merlon as an arrow shot through the gap beside him.
“I want Roald to think we don’t,” Henry said. “Then he’ll start moving his other men forward.”
Although not his archers. They would come no closer; otherwise, their arrows wouldn’t be able to get over the wall.
“Shouldn’t we signal Cerdic?” Ranulf asked, the merest hint of anxiety in his voice.
“Not yet,” Henry replied, glad Cerdic had obeyed his orders to wait.
As he’d once told Mathilde, Cerdic seemed the sort to rush headlong into battle, so Henry had made very sure he understood that to attack too soon could mean that his men might find themselves facing the mercenaries alone. “We’ll wait until Roald’s men are closer to the walls.”
A low rumble of heavy wooden wheels came from the village. “Battering ram,” Henry muttered, recognizing that sound at once.
“No penthouse over it to protect the men guiding it,” Ranulf noted when a massive tree trunk, supported by four wooden wheels as wide as grindstones and with at least ten men beside it, rolled into view. “He must think that’s going to make quick work of the gate.”
“A fortnight ago it would have,” said Henry. “I had the smith reinforce the gates with iron bands. But that’s a fearsome ram.”
