OF THE ASSAULT ON ST. BARBARA'S TOWER
WITH fierce cries and menacing gestures the foreigners rushed down
the street, many of them carrying axes and torches, while others bore
a stout beam for the purpose of battering down the door of the tower.
Their archers and crossbowmen, eager to join in the fray, had slung
their 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 the
well-known twang nearly a score of bows sent their missiles crashing
into the armed mob below.
Many of the advancing foemen fell, transfixed by the deadly shafts,
while those in the rear, pressing blindly forward, stumbled over
those who lay writhing on the ground. When, at length, the foremost
had reached the base of the tower, where they were safe from the
stinging shower, they were met with a stream of molten lead, which,
burning through hauberk and leathern jerkin with equal ease, sent the
assailants reeling back with screams of agony.
The men bearing the beam were all shot down, and the main body
retiring hastily, in a few moments the street was deserted but for a
number of corpses, and the solitary standing figure of a man in full
armour. Disdaining to turn his back upon the foe, the knight walked
slowly 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 of
hot lead should he approach," said old Wyatt. "Methinks I've seen his
device before. 'Tis Enrico, son of the King of Sicily."
Just then the prince, his spurred heels tripping on the body of a
man-at-arms, fell prostrate on his back, amid a roar of laughter from
the Englishmen.
"Now stand by," exclaimed one of the archers, "and directly he moves
a limb, let fly at his armpits or behind his knees!"
But the Italian was not lacking in cunning, for knowing that the
weight of his armour would effectually prevent his rising, he lay
perfectly quiet, his arms pressed closely to his side, till some
varlets, bearing a heavy mantlet before them, came running up and
lifted their master on his feet. Then, with measured step, the prince
retired out of sight.
"Ah! As I thought, the rascals have learned a trick or two!" growled
Wyatt, pointing to the Woolhouse Tower, a structure of greater height
than St. Barbara's Tower, and standing less than three hundred paces
distant.
Abandoned by its garrison at the first alarm, the Woolhouse Tower was
occupied by a strong body of French archers, while an equally
formidable band of crossbowmen took possession of the lofty Woolhouse
hard by, so that a flight of missiles was poured upon the Englishmen
from two different points.
"Lie down, men; 'tis useless to return their fire!" commanded the
man-at-arms. But before his advice could be acted upon five archers
and two soldiers were hit, one of the latter, his brain pierced by a
bolt, toppling forwards over the parapet, and falling with a
sickening 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," rejoined
old Wyatt derisively. "Nay, we must hold the flats at all cost.
Quickly, my lads! Bring up everything ye can find that will do to
raise a mantlet! There are plenty of hides in the store, and planks
and poles as well."
Swiftly the archers fell to work, and in a very short space they had
stretched some stout ox-hides on poles and had raised them above the
parapet. Strengthening their hasty barricade with several heavy
planks, they were soon in comparative security; while through the
narrow space betwixt the top of the battlement and the lower edge of
the hides they could keep up a brisk discharge of arrows upon their
assailants, while the muffled thud of shafts and quarrels striking
upon the loosely hung hides showed both the vehemence of the attack
and the efficacy of the defence.
The defenders had now time to survey their surroundings; and, to
every one's surprise, the Lady Audrey, calm and self-possessed, was
busily engaged in making bandages for the wounded men.
"My faith!" exclaimed Dick Wyatt, roughly yet kindly. "'Tis no place
for thee, girl! Away with thee to the room below, and, if nursing be
thy desire, I'll warrant there'll be enough work for thee ere long!"
Reluctantly, the maiden obeyed; and the wounded archers were taken
below so that their hurts could receive attention, while the
survivors 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 to
keep the attackers in check. In addition to the showers of arrows and
stones, the enemy had gained a lodgment on the town wall, and two
long ladders were placed against the tower, their ends resting or
projecting above the battlements. Up swarmed a number of
heavily-armed men, till the ladders creaked and groaned under their
weight. Harassed by the hail of missiles, and impeded by the curtains
of bulls' hides, the defenders could not repel the assault, and, to
their consternation, the leaders of the attack appeared above the
battlements.
Once the mailed warriors gained the roof, all would be lost! But at
the critical moment Richard Wyatt, seizing a massive crowbar,
loosened a heavy coping-stone. Then, calling a couple of strong
archers to his aid, the ponderous stone was deftly toppled over the
battlements. Missing the first man, the stone hurled the next two
from their swaying foothold, then, crashing through the woodwork of
the ladder, it fell upon the heads of the men who were supporting
those who had already ascended.
The ladder cracked and broke, bringing down the other ladder in its
fall, the fragments descending in opposite directions athwart the
wall, where a ghastly litter of woodwork and mangled corpses marked
the failure of the enterprise.
The man who had first gained the edge of the parapet, feeling the
ladder give beneath him, sprang for the roof; but, encumbered by his
heavy 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 eyes
starting from his head in his terror. But it was no time for pity.
With gibes and fierce jests the Englishmen watched his desperate
struggles, till, his fingers growing numb with the strain, he relaxed
his hold and fell, with a hoarse cry, to join the crushed and mangled
bodies of his comrades.
Carried away by his enthusiasm, old Richard tore aside side the
curtain of hides, and stood upon the parapet to view the scene of his
triumph; but his imprudence cost him dear, fora crossbow bolt struck
him in the side, and he fell backwards into the arms of two of the
archers.
"Lay me down," he cried feebly. "I am done for at last!" Presently he
added, "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 ye
out scatheless, tell my master, Sir John, that I did my duty....
And now, Pearce," he added, addressing another of the archers who
crowded around, "thou hast a strong steady hand. Grasp the bolt, I
pray 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 of
the faint entreaties of the dying man. Then, by a supreme effort,
Dick Wyatt struggled to his feet and tore out the deadly shaft. A
rush of dark blood followed, and, with a loud cry of "St. George for
England!" the old man-at-arms fell dead.
The little garrison was now in sore straits. Of the original two
score men nine were killed and twelve grievously wounded, and of the
survivors only eleven were left to guard the roof of the Tower and
eight to man the oylets and windows of the lower storeys.
At Raymond's suggestion the steel caps of the killed and wounded were
shown above the walls to deceive the enemy as to the strength of the
garrison. Then, leaving two men to keep a sharp look-out, the
remainder of the worn and famished warriors descended into a lower
room to partake of a hasty yet plentiful meal.
"I would we had a sack or two of quicklime," remarked Raymond to Will
Lightfoot, who had charge of the defence of the lowermost storey. "We
would 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 good
exchange--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 would
counsel that we set them alight and hurl them on the scaling
ladders!"
"By St. George! A good device!"
Once more the invaders renewed the assault, and this time ladders
were brought against two opposite sides of the building. But, thanks
to the trusses of flaming straw and hay, the attackers could not
bring themselves to face the hazardous ascent.
Neither did the attack upon the door at the base of the Tower meet
with better success, for the arrows of the besieged kept the
battering-ram inactive, while those bolder than their fellows who
attacked the door with axes found that, however accustomed they were
to give or receive hard knocks, molten lead and boiling water were
more than they could stand.
At length night drew on, and, save for an occasional arrow, the
garrison were unmolested. Many of the French and Genoese, having had
their fill of plunder, were busy removing their booty to the galleys.
Others, mad with drink, paraded the streets uttering wild oaths and
strange cries.
Those houses that had been plundered were set on fire, and, as
darkness fell over the ill-fated town, the glare of fifty burning
buildings illuminated the country for miles around, and served to
lash the surviving inhabitants into a host of desperate and
revengeful defenders of their country's shores.