“Release the chain!” Meredith called out, and he threw himself against the piled chain, sending it over the edge. As it fell, the pressure lessened and the chain over the harbor sank a dozen feet.
As the chain sank, the ship passed over and into the rebel ranks. The rebels gave a hearty cheer to the incoming crew, and the latter returned it, hauling up the stolen crown as their colors. The effect was tremendous. Nothing could be heard over the roar.
Nothing, that is, but the roar of the Admiral.
“Quickly men, close ranks!” the Admiral cried, and the ships were put to work. The masts were unfastened in their cauldrons and swiveled to the right until they sat perpendicular to the wind. At the same instant the sails were turned and the ships juked sideways until they once more covered the entire bay. Then, with the same speed and agility, the masts were reset and the sails set against each other. The ships were once more dead in the water.
Still, Gylain’s fleet came on. The chain was too low to stop them.
“Release the boulder!” Meredith ordered, and it was dropped from its platform to counteract the weight of the chain. But the chain weighed more and the boulder lingered in the air.
“It is too light,” Meredith moaned. He turned his head to catch sight of the enemy fleet. “By Baal and the gods of Moab!” he yelled, “If the boulder does not fall, our fleet is lost, and so our freedom!”
They heaved back on the chain, pulling the boulder further up before releasing it again. But its momentum, while lowering it more, did not make it fall to the ground; and if it did not fall the chain would not be raised. The leading ships were but fifty yards from the chain.
“Look!” cried the lookout, “Look to the forest: a whole regiment emerges, charging with the devil in their eyes! They have run through the forest with their heavy mail and look ready to run us through as well.”
“Then we must hold,” another moaned, “For the others must leave the ramparts to meet them.”
The ships drew nearer.
“Fools, do not curse defeat before it comes!” Meredith rebuked in a passion. “Our comrades are closer to death than ourselves! Heave the boulder once more and I will make sure it falls to the ground!”
The boulder was hoisted again, further than before, and let go without ceremony. It hit the weight of the chain with a bounce, then tottered for a moment, hesitant to fall. Meredith made up its mind for it: he charged to the end of the platform and leapt across the void. He landed firmly on the boulder, his hands grasping a smaller chain that attached it to the larger. It reeled once more, then shot to the ground. Meredith fell with it.
The chain scraped against its fasteners as the pulley brought it upward, until – with a resounding snap – it jumped above the waterline and was taunt. By this time, the enemy ships could not stop or turn aside; they dashed against the chain as if it were a rocky shore. The ships were severed in two as they passed it, the decapitated hulls left to sink into the bay, blocking the passage even more.
Meredith lost his grip in the fall. Because of his narrower form he fell faster than the boulder. He struck the ground an instant before it, then was lost beneath it. The boulder rocked sideways three times, as if landing in a hole, then finally tumbled in. Meredith was entombed beneath it.
Chapter 87
“What the devil are they doing?” Gylain asked, seeing the foremost ships chasing after Lionel and de Garcia. “Why do they attack without orders?”
“They are bad soldiers who do not act without orders,” replied Lyndon.
“But they are worse soldiers who act foolishly. The harbor is chained, or at least blockaded.”
“Lionel passed safely.”
“Perhaps; we will see.”
As Gylain spoke, the fleet came to a sudden halt. As if by magic – for in the distance the cause could not be seen – the ships were torn apart and buried beneath the waves.
“So it is,” Gylain said coldly, “The fools! They cannot be punished now; yet can you ever punish a fool?”
“How is this?” and Lyndon joined Gylain at the bow, looking over the scene. “This is devilry indeed, as I have heard about William Stuart.”
“De Casanova, your telescope,” and Gylain eyed the situation for a moment, following the chain along its length. “There is indeed a chain, but its ends are held far from the ground with pulleys. Thus, it can be raised or lowered. I had forgotten William in his absence, but I am pleased by his return. For the rebels are no longer mere woodsman and I enjoy the chase. Montague, bring me a dozen men and the longboat. As for the siege, it is yours, Lyndon.”
“And the land is yours. You cannot desert in the battle’s preface, Gylain, for we need your strong will to break them.”
“You will have it: they have made the chain adjustable, and so we will adjust it. When it is lowered beyond danger, take the bay and rendezvous with the ground troops. I will flash my blade in the sun three times in swift succession when the deed is done.” As he finished, Montague returned with a dozen of the Elite Guard and a load of equipment and supplies. He began loading the longboat; before Gylain finished speaking he was at its side. He waved to Lyndon, and was off.
The longboat was built in proportion to the ship it served, large: it was thirty feet long, though it had nothing below deck. A mast stood near either end, but they folded on two steel bars: one as an axis, the second as a lock. The masts were then down and the sails with them. The boat was powered only by oars and thus made discreet amidst the fleet. By this time the fleet had seen the chain and fallen back to formation. Thus, the longboat was near the coast, and in a moment they beached themselves on the far side of Thunder Bay.
“Do not be afraid, men,” Gylain said as he disembarked, “For if death comes, it is predestined; and if life goes, it is foreordained. Therefore, courage.”
With that, Gylain started forward, with Montague beside him and the men following two abreast. The beach was of a fine, white sand, and stretched twenty feet before the trees. Yet the canopy overhead covered the sand and left it in a twilight shade; it also blocked the rain. The short, innocent grass of the forest began where the sand ended. With it came the air of the forest. Within a moment they reached the guard post: a short platform built only high enough to suspend it from the wild animals. It was covered by a log roof but its sides were left open. The men within saw nothing but the gathering fleets and growing storm.
“Montague, take six men and circle to the far side. I will attack, and when they turn their attentions to us, you will take their rear. Hurry, there is little time.”
“Of course,” and Montague, gesturing to the men, went around to the other side.
Gylain waited a moment, then drew his sword and rushed the platform. He did not yell and the rebels in the guard post were soaked in surprise. Gylain did not allow them to recover. The first – a tall, lank man – jumped up, but had no sword. Gylain ran him through, then left him to his wound. The others were treated in the same manner, and by the time Montague arrived there were no survivors.
“They fight like peasants,” Montague said.
“Perhaps, but their commander is not to be found. He must have left for the fleet, but that is just as well; for it is easier to die on sea than on land.”
They walked as they spoke. The forest opened into the clearing in which the boulder had fallen, the chain still attached. The platform was less than fifty feet from the ground, but those above did not notice them, as they did not need a watch.