The captain was watching a party of novices going into the hospital, to take their turn at duty.
‘Why, Jehannes!’ the captain said. His eyes flashed, and his bitterness was evident. ‘I thought that you believed that God was on our side.’
She hadn’t so much as glanced at him as she passed.
Jehannes made a fist. ‘Your blasphemy is an offence,’ he said quietly.
The captain whirled at his marshal. ‘Make of it what you will,’ he said.
They were standing, their eyes locked, when a third trebuchet went into action, and they heard the sound of the northern gate tower in the Lower Town collapsing.
‘You need to pull those men out of the Lower Town,’ Jehannes said.
‘No. I will reinforce them. And I’ll lead them myself. Who has the Lower Town today? Atcourt?’
‘Atcourt is still injured. It’s Ser George Brewes.’ Jehannes looked out over the walls. ‘We’re losing too many men,’ he said.
‘We’re stronger than when we started the siege.’ The captain was bottling his anger and storing it out of reach.
‘It’s time you looked around,’ Jehannes said. ‘We have bitten off far more than we can chew. We cannot win this.’
The captain turned back to his senior marshal. ‘Yes, we can.’
Jehannes shook his head. ‘This isn’t a time for boyish enthusiasm-’
The captain nodded. ‘You overstep yourself, Ser Jehannes. Go to your duty.’
Jehannes continued ‘-or chivalric daring-do. There are two realistic options-’
‘And when you are captain, you can act that way,’ the captain went on. ‘But let me be as blunt as you seem to be, messire. You can’t see the simplest tactical consequence. You play favourites among the archers and the knights. You lack the birth to command men who prize such things. Most of all you don’t have power, and I do. So I’m bored with explaining everything to you, messire. Obey. That is all I ask of you. If you cannot, then I will dismiss you.’
Jehannes crossed his arms. ‘In the middle of a desperate siege.’
The captain’s mouth formed a hard line. ‘Yes.’
They stared at each other.
By nightfall, the enemy had six engines throwing rocks into the Lower Town.
The captain collected the relief watch and headed down the slope towards it. There were two routes – the road, which wound in multiple cutbacks down the face of the ridge, and the path, which went straight down the spine of the ridge and had two sets of stairs. Several portions of the path were walled and covered to protect parties going to the Lower Town but, of course, you couldn’t take a horse down the path.
The watch took the path anyway, their feet wrapped in rags to be as noiseless as possible. Given the enemy’s dominance of the plain below them, the captain put out scouts to either side of their route – Daud the Red and Amy’s Hob were moving carefully down the bare rock.
It took them an hour to make their way down the ridge. All the while, great rocks fell from the sky on the Lower Town, destroying houses and cracking the cobbles. Sparks flew as each mass of flint struck the town. The heavy
The air was acrid and heavy. Burning barns and roofs on a damp day had saturated the air with smoke.
An archer coughed.
They crept on. No stars showed and the darkness had become a palpable thing, an immortal enemy. The choking smoke was far worse down on the plain, and the rocks were raising dust and stone grit with every strike to add to the difficulties.
Far out on the plain, one of the engines loosed its burden. As it rose in a graceful arc, it could be seen dully – it was burning. Its misty appearance showed just how dense the smoke was.
The burning mass seemed to come right at them.
‘Come on,’ the captain said, ignoring it. ‘Follow me.’
The fire crashed to earth out in the fields.
Another engine loosed.
Even the vague light of the burning missiles was enough to help the relief watch move down the path.
The captain launched into a stumbling run. His sabatons rang on the stone steps as he came to the postern gate.
Link, Blade, Snot, and Hetty caught him up.
‘Relief watch!’ he called softly.
There was no answer.
‘Fuck,’ the captain said softly. ‘RELIEF WATCH!’ he called.
‘Dead,’ said Kanny, softly. ‘We should go-’
‘Shut up,’ Blade said. ‘Cap’n, you want me to climb the wall?’
The captain was reaching into the postern with his power.
It was unmanned.
‘Help him up the wall. Kanny, make a bucket. Then onto my shoulders. Stand on my helmet if you have to.’ The captain stood next to Kanny, who grumbled but made a stirrup with his gauntleted hands.
Blade stepped up into Kanny’s hands, and then onto the captain’s shoulders. The captain felt a shift of weight, and then the man jumped.
Above him, the archer grunted, swinging from his arms. But on the third swing, he pulled powerfully and got one leg over the lowest part of the wall. And then he was in.
‘Garn, that was too easy,’ Kanny said.
Snot blew his nose quietly. ‘You are a useless fuck,’ he said. ‘We used to take towns in Galle this way.’
Blade opened the postern. ‘No one here,’ he said.
A rock crashed into the wall, far too close, and all of them had to clamber back to their feet.
‘In,’ the captain said. He rolled in through the low postern gate, and drew his sword. Daud the Red appeared at the wall with Amy’s Hob and No Head. ‘Get in here. Daud – you and Hob take the postern in case we have to come back through.’
The two huntsmen nodded.
Moving across the Lower Town was a new nightmare. Rocks hit the wall – once, an overcast hit a house less than a street away. The streets were already full of rubble, and all of them closed their visors against the rock chips and wood splinters. They fell frequently and cursed too loudly when the did.
The sky was lightening when the relief watch made it to the northern gate tower. It had taken several direct hits, but the massive fortification was fifteen feet thick at the base and had so far survived.
The captain hammered at the lower door with the pommel of his sword.
It took time for a terrified pair of eyes to appear at the grille.
‘Watch!’ the captain hissed. ‘We’ve come to relieve you.’
They heard the bar lifted.
A big stone hit, somewhere to their right, and they all cringed. Stone chips rang off the captain’s helmet.
Blade began to pant.
The captain looked back at him – then reached to catch him as he slumped to the ground, a four-inch wood splinter in his neck. Before the captain could lower him to the ground, he was dead.
‘Get the door open,’ the captain roared.
The door opened outward a handspan and stopped. It was jammed by rubble.
Two more rocks struck nearby, and then a ball of fire struck fifty paces away, illuminating the smoky air.
No Head got enough of the rubble off the doorsill to get it open and they piled into the tower, dragging Blade.
Scrant, just inside the doorway, flinched at the look in the captain’s eye.
The captain pushed the archer out of the way and stalked along the low corridor. Outside, another rock struck, and the tower gave a low vibration – torches moved in their brackets, and plaster came off the walls.
Ser George Brewes was sitting in a chair in the donjon. He had a cup of wine in his hand. He looked blearily at the captain.
