CHAPTER VIII
OF THE ASSAULT ON ST. BARBARA'S TOWER
WITH fierce cries and menacing gestures the foreigners rushed downthe street, many of them carrying axes and torches, while others borea stout beam for the purpose of battering down the door of the tower.Their archers and crossbowmen, eager to join in the fray, had slungtheir bows, and with knives, swords, or short spears in their hands,surged along in a confused mass with the men-at-arms.
"Now! Altogether! Loose, my lads!" shouted old Richard, and with thewell-known twang nearly a score of bows sent their missiles crashinginto the armed mob below.
Many of the advancing foemen fell, transfixed by the deadly shafts,while those in the rear, pressing blindly forward, stumbled overthose who lay writhing on the ground. When, at length, the foremosthad reached the base of the tower, where they were safe from thestinging shower, they were met with a stream of molten lead, which,burning through hauberk and leathern jerkin with equal ease, sent theassailants reeling back with screams of agony.
The men bearing the beam were all shot down, and the main bodyretiring hastily, in a few moments the street was deserted but for anumber of corpses, and the solitary standing figure of a man in fullarmour. Disdaining to turn his back upon the foe, the knight walkedslowly backwards, shaking his ponderous mace in speechless anger,while the arrows rattled harmlessly off his proof-plate mail.
"Save your arrows, comrades, and give him a heavy stone or a dose ofhot lead should he approach," said old Wyatt. "Methinks I've seen hisdevice before. 'Tis Enrico, son of the King of Sicily."
Just then the prince, his spurred heels tripping on the body of aman-at-arms, fell prostrate on his back, amid a roar of laughter fromthe Englishmen.
"Now stand by," exclaimed one of the archers, "and directly he movesa limb, let fly at his armpits or behind his knees!"
But the Italian was not lacking in cunning, for knowing that theweight of his armour would effectually prevent his rising, he layperfectly quiet, his arms pressed closely to his side, till somevarlets, bearing a heavy mantlet before them, came running up andlifted their master on his feet. Then, with measured step, the princeretired out of sight.
"Ah! As I thought, the rascals have learned a trick or two!" growledWyatt, pointing to the Woolhouse Tower, a structure of greater heightthan St. Barbara's Tower, and standing less than three hundred pacesdistant.
Abandoned by its garrison at the first alarm, the Woolhouse Tower wasoccupied by a strong body of French archers, while an equallyformidable band of crossbowmen took possession of the lofty Woolhousehard by, so that a flight of missiles was poured upon the Englishmenfrom two different points.
"Lie down, men; 'tis useless to return their fire!" commanded theman-at-arms. But before his advice could be acted upon five archersand two soldiers were hit, one of the latter, his brain pierced by abolt, toppling forwards over the parapet, and falling with asickening thud upon the wall below.
"Would it not be well to abandon the roof and seek shelter below?"inquired one.
"And give the rascals an easy chance to carry the tower," rejoinedold Wyatt derisively. "Nay, we must hold the flats at all cost.Quickly, my lads! Bring up everything ye can find that will do toraise a mantlet! There are plenty of hides in the store, and planksand poles as well."
Swiftly the archers fell to work, and in a very short space they hadstretched some stout ox-hides on poles and had raised them above theparapet. Strengthening their hasty barricade with several heavyplanks, they were soon in comparative security; while through thenarrow space betwixt the top of the battlement and the lower edge ofthe hides they could keep up a brisk discharge of arrows upon theirassailants, while the muffled thud of shafts and quarrels strikingupon the loosely hung hides showed both the vehemence of the attackand the efficacy of the defence.
The defenders had now time to survey their surroundings; and, toevery one's surprise, the Lady Audrey, calm and self-possessed, wasbusily engaged in making bandages for the wounded men.
"My faith!" exclaimed Dick Wyatt, roughly yet kindly. "'Tis no placefor thee, girl! Away with thee to the room below, and, if nursing bethy desire, I'll warrant there'll be enough work for thee ere long!"
Reluctantly, the maiden obeyed; and the wounded archers were takenbelow so that their hurts could receive attention, while thesurvivors would be less encumbered on the narrow extent of the roof.
"Stand to it once more!" shouted their leader. "They come again! Now,Will, be ready with the molten lead and the boiling water!"
Assailed on three sides at once, the defenders were hard put to it tokeep the attackers in check. In addition to the showers of arrows andstones, the enemy had gained a lodgment on the town wall, and twolong ladders were placed against the tower, their ends resting orprojecting above the battlements. Up swarmed a number ofheavily-armed men, till the ladders creaked and groaned under theirweight. Harassed by the hail of missiles, and impeded by the curtainsof bulls' hides, the defenders could not repel the assault, and, totheir consternation, the leaders of the attack appeared above thebattlements.
Once the mailed warriors gained the roof, all would be lost! But atthe critical moment Richard Wyatt, seizing a massive crowbar,loosened a heavy coping-stone. Then, calling a couple of strongarchers to his aid, the ponderous stone was deftly toppled over thebattlements. Missing the first man, the stone hurled the next twofrom their swaying foothold, then, crashing through the woodwork ofthe ladder, it fell upon the heads of the men who were supportingthose who had already ascended.
The ladder cracked and broke, bringing down the other ladder in itsfall, the fragments descending in opposite directions athwart thewall, where a ghastly litter of woodwork and mangled corpses markedthe failure of the enterprise.
The man who had first gained the edge of the parapet, feeling theladder give beneath him, sprang for the roof; but, encumbered by hisheavy armour, he slipped, and, clinging only by his mailed gauntlets,he hung dangling over the abyss.
Through the bars of his visor the defenders could see his eyesstarting from his head in his terror. But it was no time for pity.With gibes and fierce jests the Englishmen watched his desperatestruggles, till, his fingers growing numb with the strain, he relaxedhis hold and fell, with a hoarse cry, to join the crushed and mangledbodies of his comrades.
Carried away by his enthusiasm, old Richard tore aside side thecurtain of hides, and stood upon the parapet to view the scene of histriumph; but his imprudence cost him dear, fora crossbow bolt struckhim in the side, and he fell backwards into the arms of two of thearchers.
"Lay me down," he cried feebly. "I am done for at last!" Presently headded, "Send Raymond to me."
Quickly the young archer came and knelt beside the dying soldier,across whose eyes a misty film was already beginning to gather.
"Raymond," he gasped, "thou'rt but a lad, but thou hast a cool head.Take charge of the Tower, and yield to no man. If the saints bring yeout scatheless, tell my master, Sir John, that I did my duty. . . .And now, Pearce," he added, addressing another of the archers whocrowded around, "thou hast a strong steady hand. Grasp the bolt, Ipray thee, and pluck it out. It would ease and hasten my passing."
But the archer could not bring himself to hasten the end, in spite ofthe faint entreaties of the dying man. Then, by a supreme effort,Dick Wyatt struggled to his feet and tore out the deadly shaft. Arush of dark blood followed, and, with a loud cry of "St. George forEngland!" the old man-at-arms fell dead.
The little garrison was now in sore straits. Of the original twoscore men nine were killed and twelve grievously wounded, and of thesurvivors only eleven were left to guard the roof of the Tower andeight to man the oylets and windows of the lower storeys.
At Raymond's suggestion the steel caps of the killed and wounded wereshown above the walls to deceive the enemy as to the strength of thegarrison. Then, leaving two men to keep a sharp look-out, theremainder of the worn and famished warriors descended into a lowerroom to partake of a hasty yet plentiful meal.
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"I would we had a sack or two of quicklime," remarked Raymond to WillLightfoot, who had charge of the defence of the lowermost storey. "Wewould then give them a warm welcome such as my father did at Hamble."
Will was evidently thinking.
"There is very little that will burn," he said at last reflectively."They threw in some flaming wood, but, methinks, they had a goodexchange--molten lead is not much to the taste of these rogues!"
"True, the Tower cannot be fired, but why didst thou mention it?"
"Because in the cellar are several bundles of straw and hay. I wouldcounsel that we set them alight and hurl them on the scalingladders!"
"By St. George! A good device!"
Once more the invaders renewed the assault, and this time ladderswere brought against two opposite sides of the building. But, thanksto the trusses of flaming straw and hay, the attackers could notbring themselves to face the hazardous ascent.
Neither did the attack upon the door at the base of the Tower meetwith better success, for the arrows of the besieged kept thebattering-ram inactive, while those bolder than their fellows whoattacked the door with axes found that, however accustomed they wereto give or receive hard knocks, molten lead and boiling water weremore than they could stand.
At length night drew on, and, save for an occasional arrow, thegarrison were unmolested. Many of the French and Genoese, having hadtheir fill of plunder, were busy removing their booty to the galleys.Others, mad with drink, paraded the streets uttering wild oaths andstrange cries.
Those houses that had been plundered were set on fire, and, asdarkness fell over the ill-fated town, the glare of fifty burningbuildings illuminated the country for miles around, and served tolash the surviving inhabitants into a host of desperate andrevengeful defenders of their country's shores.