convictions.
The massive fleet began to move. It was a small island off the coast, a dense metropolis of war. Those in front began to charge: slowly at first, then with gathering speed. Those behind followed, and like water coming from a mountain they grew faster as they went, flowing down in a frenzy of pride and patriotism.
But the chain was not yet lowered. The first ships wrecked upon it, sliced in two and sunk to the bottom of the sea.
“What is this?” Lyndon cried, “Gylain signaled us, yet the chain remains!”
“Should we pull back?” the captain asked.
“No,” Lyndon hesitated, “No, I will take Gylain’s word: forward.”
Then, with a crash and a splash, the massive chain snapped from its anchor and itself sank into the sea. The fleet continued without losing its momentum and the rebels were left exposed. Meanwhile, the storm grew stronger. The attacking fleet was thrown forward by a powerful swell, landing on top of the rebel ships. The archers shot and the boarders were forced back. But they came in greater numbers. The rebels lost their advantage. The archers released their birds of prey, but the decimated ranks of the enemy did not fall back a second time. Instead, the rebels were left to fight off their enemy with their meager weaponry. It was a massacre. The blood was only kept from overflowing the deck by the waves that washed it away.
“Do not fear, my men,” the Admiral roared, “Courage is the devil’s handmaiden, but fear foments defeat,” and he grabbed a bow from a dead man’s hand and fitted an arrow to its string. A soldier came from behind, hoping to cut him down; but the Admiral turned to him just as his sword began to descend. “Death, fool!” he cried, and shot the arrow through the man’s eye. He died at once.
But elsewhere the battle soured into defeat. The deck was swarmed with Gylain’s soldiers. As one died another took his place. The ships were overtaken; only the desperate attempts of the crew kept them from complete destruction. The Marins broke their opponents to driftwood, perhaps, with their rams above and spikes below; but they could not leave their position, lest the enemy flank them and cut them off from the shore. At length, the Admiral sounded the retreat.
“We are taken, fire the ships!” and he dashed the lantern down the hold, into the hull.
The crew followed his command. The boarders were too confused to stop them. The ships were lit, and the rebels jumped onto the Marins, which came alongside to gather the survivors. It took only a moment, for few of the crew remained alive.
“All that live are aboard, head for home!” the Admiral called to Barnes through the command window.
Barnes obeyed and the Fardys followed; the rebel fleet abandoned the harbor to Gylain’s force. Still, their burning ships blocked the passage for a moment, for the fleet could not risk being dashed against them and thrown to the fire.
“But ten more minutes and the sea would have eaten them,” the Admiral cursed. “As it is, we must do that ourselves.”
At that moment, the Marin hit the shore and the rebels began to disembark.
“It is time,” the Admiral said to Alfonzo, who had just returned from battle on the plain. “It is time,” and he said no more.
Chapter 89
The rebel sailors poured over the sides of the Marin, fleeing to the ramparts. The Marins were set adrift and ablaze, destroyed lest they be used against their makers. The Admiral walked beside Alfonzo across the beach. They were silent until they reached the fortifications.
“The rain is against us,” Alfonzo said, “For the trenches are flooded.”
As he said, the tunnels in front of the ramparts were flooded, leaving the archers without a perch. The water washed against the foundation of the ramparts behind, undermining its strength. Yet the distance to the bay had lessened – the water had already risen ten feet in the flood – and the enemy had less of a foothold to assault from.
“Can we hold them?” the Admiral asked.
“Forever, no; as for how long, we will see. If we can slow their landing, the storm may be our ally. As it is, they will have trouble laying siege on the castle in this rain.”
“But a retreat, if only to the castle, will prepare the men for defeat. Your plans have been washed away,” and he looked into the sky. Gravity had struck the celestial ocean.
At that moment, Barnes came up. “Sir, the Marins are abandoned.”
“Well done, Barnes. Your first command is completed with honor,” said with affection.
“Thank you, sir. Where should I position the men?”
“That is not a question for me, but for the commander, Alfonzo. As for me, I retreat to the castle: my war is with Gylain, not his armies.”
“Then you fight only for revenge?” Alfonzo asked. “Victory for revenge trumps defeat in damnation.”
“Nevertheless, it is what I will have. What happiness is left for me in this life?”
“Your daughters; they would be slaves for you.”
The Admiral flexed his face. “No, I have had domestic happiness. It is damnation as well. If I must be damned, I will make myself worthy.” Turning to the castle, he added, “Send for me if he comes.”
“He will not,” Barnes ventured, “I know for sure that Gylain will not march with his men.”
“How?” and the Admiral struck out with broadsword eyes. But the young man was not cut.
“It was he who lead the assault on the chain: I saw him with my glass. He has Jonathan Montague and a dozen soldiers with him. They do not mean to rejoin the fleet, for they beached their boat and it will not sail again until the tides come.”
“He seeks me, as well,” the Admiral looked into the darkness. “I will follow him.”
“Alone?” Alfonzo cried, “Father, you cannot do this: without Willard,
“Me? Fool of a man! Where have I been, these last fifteen years? I am myself a beached old man, dried and salted and hung in the galley. I may be Gylain’s enemy, Alfonzo, but you alone are freedom’s ally.”
“Will I go with you?”
“By no means! You are meant for Celestine, not for death!” The rain came down his cheek. “Still, I will not go alone; I may meet someone along the way. Farewell.”
With that, he turned to the forest and flew before the wind. Nor did he turn before he disappeared. The others watched him go, then Alfonzo roused them, “Come, there is much to be done.” He turned to the ramparts and passed through the small opening left unsealed. They were the last to pass through and behind them the enemy was already beginning to land. “Seal the gap!” as he went through.
“What of the Admiral?”
“He is lost to his revenge. Do not wait for a bitter man.”
“As you wish, sir,” and the guards did their duty.
At that moment, the Fardy brothers approached Alfonzo. The blond Fardy said, “Alfonzo, where are we needed? Say the word and we are there.”
“To the castle, friends,” was the quick reply.
“The castle! Then we would miss the battle, and our patience is weak in war.”
“To the castle,” Alfonzo firmly repeated. “With the trenches flooded there are more men than spaces here, while Milada is pressed to prepare the castle. For the deluge comes, of men and of water.”
“Then our patience will be proved – my brothers’ more than my own – and we will meet again in the castle. Until then, be safe,” and the three brothers set off for the castle, though where the dirt path had been a river now ran. They ran beside it.
Meanwhile, the rebel ships had become charred ruins at the bottom of the sea, and the ships broken by the chain no longer blocked the channel. The Atiltian, Hibernian fleet hurried into the harbor to save itself from the wrath of the storm, and while the forest made landing impossible, it also defeated the wind. Aboard the flagship, de Casanova and his king controlled the siege. The former stood at the bow, reading the situation with his telescope; the latter sat at his table beneath the canopy, reading the situation with his maps and charts.
“The ships are anchored,” de Casanova said.
“Excellent, begin the landing; but take only what you need for the ramparts. The castle sits at the bottom of a basin: if this downpour continues, we will have to float the troops down by flatboat.”
