Page 61 of Hers To Command
Henry realized the men around him were muttering anxiously to each other, and exchanging wary looks. “Fear not,” he said. “This was expected. While Roald’s men are busy trying to break down the gate and scale the walls, Cerdic and his men will be attacking…” He clapped his hand on his backside. “Roald’s rear.”
That got some grins and chuckles from the men, and more than a few sighs of relief.
Ranulf lifted his head above the merlon, then ducked down quickly as another arrow whizzed by. “I don’t see any trebuchets or catapults.”
“Thank God for that,” Henry said under his breath.
Since Ecclesford had but one outer wall, he’d feared Roald would bring large siege engines capable of hurling huge rocks or boulders. A hole or collapsed portion of that wall would be disastrous, not to mention the damage rocks or balls of flaming pitch thrown into the courtyard could do.
“No doubt he’s too impatient to take the time to build them, or the men he’s hired lack the knowledge,” Ranulf said.
They looked at each other and simultaneously imitated Sir Leonard. “Patience, boy, patience.”
Then they grinned, once again youths learning how to wage war from a man who’d been fighting since before they were born.
They came fiercely back to the present when a grappling hook slid over an embrasure close by with a rasp of metal on stone. The men there hacked at the rope until it broke, sending at least one eager mercenary screaming to the ground. Beyond the walls, the ram rolled closer, and more men with grappling hooks and long ladders charged forward.
“Archers!” Henry bellowed, and his own prepared to shoot at the advancing enemy.
Crouching, Henry swiveled to look into the yard below, where ten men held doves in their hands. “Let them go!” he cried. The men threw their hands up, releasing the birds. They flew upward, like a fluttering cloud of smoke. The day was clear, and Cerdic would be watching for just this sight.
“Ready at the wicket?” Henry yelled to those men who would be going out the smaller door cut in the massive gates to attack Roald’s men on the ground. He had chosen the best with swords and axes for this important task.
Every part of him wanted to go with them, swinging his sword, fighting Roald’s men. His blood fairly sang with the wish to join the battle, not stay and wait and watch from the safety of the wall walk.
Patience, boy, patience.This was the lot of the commander, to watch and guide and pray your plan succeeds.
“Let me lead the men going out the gate,” Ranulf proposed, his hazel eyes gleaming with excitement.
Henry had no choice but to refuse. This was not Ranulf’s fight; he was here purely by chance. “Sorry, my friend, I can’t.” When he saw the scowl begin to darken Ranulf’s face, he grinned and said, “If anything happens to you, Merrick would have my hide and little Lady Bea my head.”
A ladder hit the wall nearby. Momentarily forgetting Ranulf, Henry grabbed one end and shoved with all his might, pushing it off, grunting with the effort. It tipped back and fell. An arrow barely missed Henry’s jaw. Ranulf and two others started slashing at another rope attached to another hook with their swords.
Where the devil was Cerdic? Henry wondered as he hurried to help them and Roald’s men continued to press the attack. The signal had flown; Cerdic must have seen it. There was no cloud or mist or smoke to obscure the morning sky.
“Shoot at the men at the ram,” he ordered his archers. “Now!” he cried to the soldiers at the gate below.
Henry’s men charged out, shouting. An arrow struck the man beside Ranulf. He crumpled to the ground.
Another hook came over the wall and caught on a merlon three down from Henry. Henry stepped over the body of the fallen man and cut the rope, then threw the hook down after it as hard as he could, hitting the upturned face of one of the mercenaries on the ground.
With a shriek the man covered his eye as blood poured from the wound. He staggered back and fell to his knees.
More of Roald’s men came running from the village, carrying ropes and ladders.
Even without the catapults and trebuchets, Roald—damn him!—was better prepared than Henry had expected.
His men on the ground surged forward. The ram came to a halt as the men guiding it fell or drew back. Roald’s archers kept shooting, sometimes hitting Henry’s men on the battlements when they rose to fend off mercenaries trying to scale the walls.
Where the hell was Cerdic and his men?
Another hook sailed over the wall, this time nearly catching Henry with its sharp points. He grabbed hold of the hook before it caught and threw it back. Another came through the gap between merlons and Henry cut its rope with the help of two of his men.
The garrison soldiers outside the gates put up a good fight, but Roald’s men forced them back. More of Roald’s men had gone to the ram and were slowly pushing it forward again, despite the battery of arrows from the walls of Ecclesford.
“You command the defense,” Henry shouted to Ranulf above the din as he slammed down the visor of his helmet.
He couldn’t stand and watch anymore. His blood was up, his whole body anxious and ready to fight, to lead his men by being among them. So with a battle cry on his lips and his sword in his gauntleted hand, he ran down the battlement steps and out through the wicket.
