Arrows rained down from above with terrifying force. Men were huddling under shields, starting to cry, realizing they were trapped. Where was Odo?
Those of our men who made it up the ladders were hurled backward or run through as they tried to fight their way forward. I realized we were losing. I could see the will in the men begin to bend.
Then a voice cried, “Look out!” A huge wave of rocks crashed down on us from above. One of the cats collapsed under the weight, pinning the men with the ram.
[399] “The towers themselves are coming down,” someone yelled. “Get back or be crushed.”
But it was not the towers. Stephen’s soldiers were toppling bins of heavy stone over the edge.
The men began to push their own comrades back. I could not stop it. My eyes were singed by pitch; I was coughing amid clouds of dust.
I tried to spot Odo, but he had disappeared.
“Go back, go back!” I heard panic rippling down our line.
“Stay!” I yelled at the top of my voice, and so did Daniel. “Don’t quit the fight now! Don’t give up ground!”
But I realized we had lost. The rear of our line finally broke, men heading away from the walls at a dead run. Then the first ranks, suddenly exposed, fell back. A shout of joy came from the defenders.
Nausea rose in my gut as the men peeled away, running for their lives. They were farmers and cobblers and woodsmen, not trained soldiers.
I trailed the field and scanned for Odo, arrows whizzing by my head. But the smith was nowhere to be found. The ground was piled with bodies. I could not believe our losses. I staggered back, finally out of arrow range. A horrible moaning came from the field, wounded who would soon die. Grown men wept and muttered desperate prayers.
I saw Georges limping on the shoulder of Daniel, both men as white as ghosts.
“Have you seen Odo?” I asked them. They shook their heads and stumbled on.
I turned back toward the castle. Men on the walls were cheering. They were shooting arrows at anything that moved. My best friend was still out there. What was once a blossoming field was now a swamp of blood.
Not a single man had made it over the walls alive.
Not one.
Not Odo.
Chapter 137
WE HAD LOST!
Alphonse hurled down his sword, unable to speak, as were so many others. Georges threw himself onto the ground, spent and drained. Father Leo did his best to comfort everyone, but his face was as desolate as any.
“You men must not let down your guard,” Daniel yelled. “Stephen may send his horsemen to finish the job tonight.”
His warning, however real, seemed a million miles away. Darkness was falling. Mercifully, as if its black cloak offered some reprieve. Our soldiers sat down around fires, exhausted, rubbing salve on their burns and other wounds. Some wept for their friends; others thanked God that they were still alive.
“Did anyone see Odo?” I looked around. I had known Odo since I was a boy. Alois and Georges merely shook their heads.
“He’s a wily sort,” Georges finally said. “If anyone could make it back, it’s him.”
“Yes,” Alphonse agreed, pretending to be optimistic. “He was s-so close in, he probably just d-ducked behind the walls to steal a keg of Stephen’s best mead.”
“Many died today.” Daniel sighed, spreading out a map of Borée. “We can’t spend time on one more.”
“The chatelain is right.” Ox nodded. “Thirty of my men are dead, maybe more.”
[401] I looked in the Languedocian’s eyes. “Your men were brave to join us. But this is not your fight. I release you from your pledge. Go, take the rest home.”
Ox stared back as if insulted. “Who said anything about going home?” He cracked a toothy smile through his beard. “In Languedoc, we say a good fight doesn’t even begin until some blood is on the floor. God gave us all two arms, but hell, one’s just for scratching our balls, anyway.”
Around the fire, we all started to laugh. Then the din subsided. Georges shrugged. “So, what do we do now?”
I looked at the men, face by face.
“Continue the fight,” Alphonse said. “Stephen massacred our town. That’s why we came here, no?”
“You’ve grown a lot of spunk, lad.” Georges sniffed. “But tomorrow it could be you who’s left moaning out there.”
“Keep pounding the walls,” Daniel insisted. “By the river, they are not as fortified. We can hit them with our mangonels all day. Sooner or later, they’ll cave.”
Father Leo cut in, “Maybe soon, word from the King will come?”
“It is autumn,” Daniel pressed. “You were in Antioch, Hugh. You’ve seen that a siege is not determined in one day. Stephen has scorched his own earth. They couldn’t have stockpiled food and water for the entire winter.”
I had to ask: “Is anyone for meeting Stephen’s terms?” I looked around, awaiting their reply. There was only silence.
Finally, Georges picked himself up off of the ground. “I was raised to grind grain, not to soldier. But we’ve all made our choice here. We’ve each lost loved ones. My boy Alo. Your friends, Ox… Odo. What would any of their deaths mean if we turned it in now?”
“Whose death are you speaking of?” a voice barked in the darkness.
We looked up. A huge, hulking shape came forward. At first, I thought it was an apparition.
[402] “Dear God.” The miller shook his head.
The big smith limped stiffly toward our fire. Odo’s skins were torn and smeared with blood. His bushy brown beard was matted with who knew what.
I met Odo’s eyes, which showed the horror that he had faced. I was so exhausted, I could not even get up to give him a hug. “What the hell took you so long?”
“Fucking hard to claw your way out with all those green-and-gold shits piled on top.” He sighed with an exhausted grin. “So, anything to drink?”
I finally got up, wrapped my arms around his shoulders in an adoring hug, and slapped his back. I felt his broad shoulders tense. His arms were covered in burns and one leg was bloody and raw. Someone put a mug in his hand and he drained it in a single swallow. A nod from Odo said, One more.
Then he looked up at us, our incredulous smiles. “It was a bad day today, huh?”
We stared back.
“Well …” Odo swung his bloody leg up, the gash in his thigh causing even Ox to cringe. He took the second mug and poured it all over the wound, sucking back pain. “No mind.” He shrugged at our blank stares. “We’ll kick their asses tomorrow.”
Chapter 138
WE PUMMELED BORÉE again and again over the next few days. Our catapults battered the walls with heavy rocks. Our sturdiest rams pounded at the gates. Charge after charge, ladders were pitched against the walls, only to be thrown aside, and the men on them killed.
The bodies of our fallen comrades piled high outside the walls. I feared we could not take the city. It was too strong, too well fortified. With each repelled charge, the hope of victory faded. Food and drinking water were growing scarce. No answer was received from the King. Our will began to crack.
This was what Stephen had relied on, I realized. All it would take was one mounted strike by his knights against our depleted ranks, and we would be finished.
I called our leaders to the dilapidated grain tower we used for strategy sessions. The mood inside was anxious. Many friends had been left on the field. A somber look was etched on every face, even Daniel’s.
I went up to the hearty Languedocian. “Ox, how many men do you have left?”
“Two hundred,” he said grimly, “of what was once three.”
“I want you to take them, then… tonight, and leave camp. And the Morrisaeys… You, Alois, I want you to take your men too.”