Trail of Fate (15 page)

“Let me shoot him!” Robard pleaded under his breath.

“You'd better not miss, archer!” Sir Hugh sneered. Apparently he had ears like a hare. He gave rein to his stallion and it pranced back and forth. “I'll ride you down and kill you before you pull another arrow.”

“Get out of here, Sir Hugh,” I sneered. “Leave now.”

Father Renard sat despondently on his horse, hand clutched at his bleeding neck. When he wiped away the blood, the cut showed, and it crudely resembled a Templar cross. He would wear a scar there for the rest of his days. His face was crestfallen. Beaten and humiliated by Sir Hugh, he finally stared at me. And for yet one more time, I saw myself looking into the eyes of an enemy. A gaze filled with the purest form of hatred. I was to blame for his misfortune.

“Hear this, Templar! Leave no doubt in your tiny little brain,” Sir Hugh shouted. “You have one hour. Then you surrender yourself at this very spot. If you do not yield, you will be overrun and I will give no quarter.” He didn't wait for us to answer but galloped back toward his men.

The Father remained behind. He tried to stare me down, but I did not waver.

“I warned you,” he rasped. “I explained to you what would happen if you deceived me! Make ready, Princess. Pray you die in battle, Templar, for if I meet you on the field, you will know no mercy!”

“I think you'll have to ask Sir Hugh's permission first,” I said. “He seems to think my death belongs to him alone.”

“Make light all you wish, heretic! You will not live past this day! I
swear
it.”

He turned then, but Robard called to him. “Father!” He stopped and turned his horse to face us again.

“Your neck is bleeding,” Robard said.

Robard gave him a jaunty little salute and Father Renard whipped his horse and rode back to his lines. He made a point of steering his stallion away from Sir Hugh, who stood conferring with some of the Templar Knights.

Beads of sweat rolled down my brow as I realized we had only an hour to ready ourselves for an assault by several hundred experienced fighters. Already in the tree line below the open plain, I could hear the sound of axes. I was sure trees were being cut and scaling ladders were under construction, possibly for a catapult or some other type of siege engine.

“Come on. Let's go,” I said.

We returned to the fortress and discussed our options.

“What do we do now?” Maryam asked. “We're severely outnumbered.”

“We've been besieged before. Montségur has never fallen,” Celia replied confidently.

“Celia, with all due respect, I do not think this will be like other sieges,” I said. She shrugged in reply.

“Agreed,” Robard cut in. “Can Jean-Luc show me to the armory?”

“Yes, of course.” She motioned to Jean-Luc, who led Robard away.

“I would suggest you tell your subjects to make ready,” I told her.

Celia's eyes sparked in anger. “They are not my subjects!” Her quick turn of mood gave Maryam leave to trail after Robard and Jean-Luc, and we were left alone.

“I did not mean to make you angry. But the High Counsel did call you Princess.”

“As you once said, Templar, it is a long and not very exciting story.”

“I have time,” I retorted, though I most certainly did not.

She let out a heavy sigh. “My father was once a duke. Loyal to King Philip. He was one of the nobles who fought with Philip to unite the kingdom. But when he embraced Catharism, his titles and most of his lands were stripped from him by the church, with Philip's tacit approval. Technically, I am . . . or was . . . nobly born. Not anymore. Although if the High Counsel had had his way . . .” She let the words trail off.

“Way with what? Had his way with what?” Impatience clouded my words.

Celia fidgeted. “I suppose you might as well know. When we went to the council with the archbishop, he offered a solution. If I would marry Father Renard and renounce Catharism, thereby solidifying the archbishop's grip on my father and his lands, he would intercede with the King to restore our lands and title. When I refused, he declared us heretics, and ordered us to stand trial. Philippe arranged our escape. It is why Father Renard came after me.” She paused a moment, for the memory of Philippe brought her sadness.

“Marry a priest?” I asked. I had lived with monks all my life. Such a thought had never occurred to me.

Celia smiled and nodded. “Yes, he would leave the church and become a duke, of course remaining loyal to the archbishop.” I shrugged. This was all to complicated for me to think about. There were other much more important matters to attend to.

“Celia, what happened at the council, this siege, you are blameless. Philippe's death is not your fault. He was a soldier who died doing his duty. But I am sorry for bringing Father Renard and Sir Hugh together, for I feel I've only made it worse.”

Celia seemed possessed of an unbreakable spirit. She considered my words a moment, then nodded. “So, Templar, what do you suggest we do now?”

“Is there any chance your father might return here soon?”

“There is no way to know. He is certainly in Paris by now, but it all depends on whether or even if Philip will give him an audience. He needed to pay a sizable sum of money for a ‘trial,' and if Philip rules against him . . .” Her words trailed off, and I could sense the worry she had for her father. I had heard the monks speak of this practice before. A noble could petition the King for a ruling on some matter, usually involving lands or titles, but was required to pay a hefty amount of money for the King's or lord's time. It was an easy way for monarchs to collect vast sums of wealth and pay for their armies.

It didn't matter now, but I had hoped her father was somewhere nearby and could send aid. Something along the lines of a thousand mounted knights would certainly be welcome. My friends had chosen me to lead them. Foolish though they may have been, it was past time for me to act.

“There are more than five hundred men out there determined to have this fortress for a trophy. Gather your folk and tell them what is coming. Get every able-bodied man and adult woman on the battlements, even the young boys. If they are old enough to carry water or lift a pitchfork, we need them. Move the younger children inside the keep and have a few of the elders watch over them. Take Angel with you. She will help keep the children occupied. But do it quickly. And have everyone clear the bailey. We have no idea what they may throw at us.”

Celia hurried toward the keep while I climbed to the parapet again. As I feared, several long, straight logs were being pulled into sight. Crossbeams would be lashed to them, making them into scaling ladders. I tried to think like Sir Thomas would and considered our advantages. We held the high ground behind thick stone walls. The trail up to the castle from the tree line was steep, rocky and narrow. It would not be easy to mount a charge, and any assault could come from only one direction, as the fortress backed up to sheer rock walls. We were outnumbered and, more than likely, at a disadvantage with weapons. Sir Hugh would certainly construct a siege engine or two. It was unlikely they would be able to batter down the walls, but the psychological effect would take its toll. Unless we found a way to counter and lessen their advantage. Then an idea grew in my mind.

I kept focused on the men below, and Robard and Maryam rejoined me on the battlement. Robard held two small bundles of arrows.

“You wouldn't believe their pitiful armory,” he said. He held up one of the bundles of arrows. “These arrows are for hunting, mostly fowl. They'll not puncture chain mail for certain.” As he held them out, I could see they were much shorter than the arrows he used, without iron tips, just a sharpened pointed end. He indicated his own wallet. “I'm nearly out, less than two dozen left, and I have no supplies to make any more. Why don't Franks like the longbow?” he complained.

“I don't know, but what about other weapons? Crossbows?”

“Forty in good working order, and plenty of bolts,” he said.

“What about pikes?” I asked.

“No pikes. There are swords and a few throwing axes, but aside from the crossbows, it might as well be empty,” Robard mused.

“I don't think they thought about fighting much,” Maryam said. “They probably kept enough weapons to keep attackers off the walls, then just waited them out, as Celia said.”

I had hoped there would be pikes at least. It could be difficult work turning back the scaling ladders without them.

“We'll have to make do. Robard, get Jean-Luc to station the crossbows on the forward battlement. Maryam, fetch Martine and gather anything that can tip a ladder: rakes, hoes, pitchforks, whatever you can find. Then meet me back here. I have a plan,” I said.

Robard and Maryam exchanged a furtive glance, then burst out laughing.

“What's so funny?” I demanded.

“The idea of you with a plan,” Maryam teased. “You never have a plan this early. You make everything up as you go along.”

“She's got you there, squire,” Robard said, still chuckling.

“I most certainly do make plans! There's always a plan. They are just occasionally somewhat
fluid
,” I said.

When I told them what I'd thought of, a big smile came to both their faces. They hurried off to their appointed tasks, and I left the battlement to find Celia. I'd need her help in gathering the supplies I required.

If it worked, Sir Hugh was in for a rather large surprise.

A
fter one hour had passed, Sir Hugh and two knights rode to the gate under a white flag. Sir Hugh asked if we intended to yield. I replied that we did not. Without a word, he turned his horse, and the minute he reached his forward lines, they charged the fortress.

The scaling ladders were in the first wave. Robard had positioned the crossbowmen brilliantly. He broke them into two lines of twenty. The first line fired when the assailants were in range, then stepped back, replaced by the next line, who waited a few seconds and fired another volley while the first line reloaded their bows. It takes nearly a minute for even the most experienced soldier to cock and ready a crossbow, but by concentrating their fire on those carrying the ladders, he slowed their advance. Still, we were vastly outnumbered, and with only forty men shooting, our attackers would eventually gain a foothold on the walls.

Maryam, Celia and Martine led the rest of the villagers on the battlements. Martine and Celia held their swords now, and they ran about, tipping back scaling ladders and shouting encouragement here and there. Maryam wielded a pitchfork as deftly as if it were one of her daggers, pushing back ladder after ladder.

We managed to hold off the first wave, but our men tired, and the time between volleys from the crossbows became longer and longer. Robard kept encouraging them in his own special way.

“Come on, you bloody Franks!” he shouted. “Faster! Faster!” I made a mental note to remind Robard later how he might consider improving his motivational skills.

Robard methodically worked his way through the first bundle of small hunting arrows, shooting quickly but making each missile count. He moved like a dancer among the men at the walls, dodging and darting and seeking out the perfect position for every shot.

While all this happened, I stood below in the courtyard with my “plan,” as it were. It was simple, really. I'd constructed three miniature siege engines of my own. Two of Celia's villagers who were handy with tools helped me peg them together from timbers we'd removed from the interior of the castle keep. They weren't fancy, and not likely to be highly accurate, but I didn't need accuracy, only power, for I intended to rain my own version of vengeance down on Sir Hugh.

Each siege engine was primarily a twelve-foot plank mounted on a triangular base and pulled backward by a rope attached to its end. As it bent backward, nearly to the breaking point, the rope was released and the plank shot upward. Each was capable of hurling an object placed on the end of it quite a distance. I had tested one off the back wall of the fortress, out of sight of our attackers, to get a sense of its power. I pried a sizable stone loose from the keep wall and managed to hurl it about sixty yards or so. Perfect.

Now I stood just below the main battlement, in the courtyard behind the gate, waiting for a signal from Robard. With Celia's help, I'd taken several barrels of lard from the kitchen stores. Next to the siege engines, which were spaced below the southwest wall, the lard melted in iron kettles over a fire. We'd taken several earthen jugs, covered them with tinder from the fireboxes and wrapped them with burlap, which we also soaked in the melted fat. Now came the test.

When the next wave of scaling ladders came surging forward, I would release my missiles when they were about fifty yards from the wall. I could hear a yell come up from the lines outside and knew they were on the way. I waited, eager to hear the signal.

“Tristan! Now!” Robard shouted from above.

Each of us manning one of the devices emptied the melted lard into a jug until it was full, and replaced the stopper. It was quickly loaded upon the end of the plank. Then a torch was set to the burlap covering, setting the jug on fire. When the flames burned steadily, two more men pulled back on the rope attached to the planks' end and the boards bent backward.

“Loose!” I shouted and they released the ropes. The boards sprang forward and the flaming jugs flew through the air, clearing the wall by a good ten feet. I only wished I could see what happened next, but I was forced to rely on Robard's report.

He later told me that when the jugs hit the rocky ground outside the fortress walls, they shattered, and the flames came into contact with the melted grease inside. The flaming lard flew in every direction, and with the first shots we managed to set the clothing of dozens of our attackers on fire. I heard screams and horses whinnying, but by then we already had the second round of jugs loaded and ready to fly. I would have only a few minutes before the soldiers recovered and spread out from each other enough to limit the missiles' effects.