A SIEGE AND BED
The children were sitting in the gloomy banqueting-hall, at the end of
one of the long bare wooden tables. There was now no hope. Martha had
brought in the dinner, and the dinner was invisible, and unfeelable too;
for, when they rubbed their hands along the table, they knew but too
well that for them there was nothing there _but_ table.
Suddenly Cyril felt in his pocket.
"Right, _oh_!" he cried. "Look here! Biscuits."
Somewhat broken and crumbled, certainly, but still biscuits. Three whole
ones, and a generous handful of crumbs and fragments.
"I got them this morning--cook--and I'd quite forgotten," he explained
as he divided them with scrupulous fairness into four heaps.
They were eaten in a happy silence, though they had an odd taste,
because they had been in Cyril's pocket all the morning with a hank of
tarred twine, some green fir-cones, and a ball of cobbler's wax.
"Yes, but look here, Squirrel," said Robert; "you're so clever at
explaining about invisibleness and all that. How is it the biscuits are
here, and all the bread and meat and things have disappeared?"
"I don't know," said Cyril after a pause, "unless it's because _we_ had
them. Nothing about _us_ has changed. Everything's in my pocket all
right."
"Then if we _had_ the mutton it would be real," said Robert. "Oh, don't
I wish we could find it!"
"But we can't find it. I suppose it isn't ours till we've got it in our
mouths."
"Or in our pockets," said Jane, thinking of the biscuits.
"Who puts mutton in their pockets, goose-girl?" said Cyril. "But I
know--at any rate, I'll try it!"
He leaned over the table with his face about an inch from it, and kept
opening and shutting his mouth as if he were taking bites out of air.
"It's no good," said Robert in deep dejection. "You'll only---- Hullo!"
Cyril stood up with a grin of triumph, holding a square piece of bread
in his mouth. It was quite real. Everyone saw it. It is true that,
directly he bit a piece off, the rest vanished; but it was all right,
because he knew he had it in his hand though he could neither see nor
feel it. He took another bite from the air between his fingers, and it
turned into bread as he bit. The next moment all the others were
following his example, and opening and shutting their mouths an inch or
so from the bare-looking table. Robert captured a slice of mutton,
and--but I think I will draw a veil over the rest of this painful scene.
It is enough to say that they all had enough mutton, and that when
Martha came to change the plates she said she had never seen such a mess
in all her born days.
The pudding was, fortunately, a plain suet one, and in answer to
Martha's questions the children all with one accord said that they would
_not_ have molasses on it--nor jam, nor sugar--"Just plain, please,"
they said. Martha said, "Well, I never--what next, I wonder!" and went
away.
Then ensued another scene on which I will not dwell, for nobody looks
nice picking up slices of suet pudding from the table in its mouth, like
a dog.
The great thing, after all, was that they had had dinner; and now
everyone felt more courage to prepare for the attack that was to be
delivered before sunset. Robert, as captain, insisted on climbing to the
top of one of the towers to reconnoitre, so up they all went. And now
they could see all round the castle, and could see, too, that beyond the
moat, on every side, tents of the besieging party were pitched. Rather
uncomfortable shivers ran down the children's backs as they saw that all
the men were very busy cleaning or sharpening their arms, re-stringing
their bows, and polishing their shields. A large party came along the
road, with horses dragging along the great trunk of a tree; and Cyril
felt quite pale, because he knew this was for a battering-ram.
"What a good thing we've got a moat," he said; "and what a good thing
the drawbridge is up--I should never have known how to work it."
"Of course it would be up in a besieged castle."
"You'd think there ought to have been soldiers in it, wouldn't you?"
said Robert.
"You see you don't know how long it's been besieged," said Cyril darkly;
"perhaps most of the brave defenders were killed early in the siege and
all the provisions eaten, and now there are only a few intrepid
survivors,--that's us, and we are going to defend it to the death."
"How do you begin--defending to the death, I mean?" asked Anthea.
"We ought to be heavily armed--and then shoot at them when they advance
to the attack."
"They used to pour boiling lead down on besiegers when they got too
close," said Anthea. "Father showed me the holes on purpose for pouring
it down through at Bodiam Castle. And there are holes like it in the
gate-tower here."
"I think I'm glad it's only a game; it _is_ only a game, isn't it?" said
Jane.
But no one answered.
The children found plenty of strange weapons in the castle, and if they
were armed at all it was soon plain that they would be, as Cyril said,
"armed heavily"--for these swords and lances and crossbows were far too
weighty even for Cyril's manly strength; and as for the longbows, none
of the children could even begin to bend them. The daggers were better;
but Jane hoped that the besiegers would not come close enough for
daggers to be of any use.
"Never mind, we can hurl them like javelins," said Cyril, "or drop them
on people's heads. I say--there are lots of stones on the other side of
the courtyard. If we took some of those up? Just to drop on their heads
if they were to try swimming the moat."
So a heap of stones grew apace, up in the room above the gate; and
another heap, a shiny spiky dangerous-looking heap, of daggers and
knives.
As Anthea was crossing the courtyard for more stones, a sudden and
valuable idea came to her.
She went to Martha and said, "May we have just biscuits for tea? We're
going to play at besieged castles, and we'd like the biscuits to
provision the garrison. Put mine in my pocket, please, my hands are so
dirty. And I'll tell the others to fetch theirs."
This was indeed a happy thought, for now with four generous handfuls of
air, which turned to biscuits as Martha crammed it into their pockets,
the garrison was well provisioned till sundown.
They brought up some iron pots of cold water to pour on the besiegers
instead of hot lead, with which the castle did not seem to be provided.
The afternoon passed with wonderful quickness. It was very exciting; but
none of them, except Robert, could feel all the time that this was real
deadly dangerous work. To the others, who had only seen the camp and the
besiegers from a distance, the whole thing seemed half a game of
make-believe, and half a splendidly distinct and perfectly safe dream.
But it was only now and then that Robert could feel this.
When it seemed to be tea-time the biscuits were eaten, with water from
the deep well in the courtyard, drunk out of horns. Cyril insisted on
putting by eight of the biscuits, in case anyone should feel faint in
stress of battle.
Just as he was putting away the reserve biscuits in a sort of little
stone cupboard without a door, a sudden sound made him drop three. It
was the loud fierce cry of a trumpet.
"You see it _is_ real," said Robert, "and they are going to attack."
All rushed to the narrow windows.
"Yes," said Robert, "they're all coming out of their tents and moving
about like ants. There's that Jakin dancing about where the bridge
joins on. I wish he could see me put my tongue out at him! Yah!"
The others were far too pale to wish to put their tongues out at
anybody. They looked at Robert with surprised respect. Anthea said--
"You really _are_ brave, Robert."
"Rot!" Cyril's pallor turned to redness now, all in a minute. "He's been
getting ready to be brave all the afternoon. And I wasn't ready, that's
all. I shall be braver than he is in half a jiffy."
"Oh dear!" said Jane, "what does it matter which of you is the bravest?
I think Cyril was a perfect silly to wish for a castle, and I don't want
to play."
"It _isn't_"--Robert was beginning sternly, but Anthea interrupted--
"Oh yes, you do," she said coaxingly; "it's a very nice game, really,
because they can't possibly get in, and if they do the women and
children are always spared by civilised armies."
"But are you quite, quite sure they _are_ civilised?" asked Jane,
panting. "They seem to be such a long time ago."
"Of course they are." Anthea pointed cheerfully through the narrow
window. "Why, look at the little flags on their lances, how bright they
are--and how fine the leader is! Look, that's him--isn't it, Robert?--on
the gray horse."
Jane consented to look, and the scene was almost too pretty to be
alarming. The green turf, the white tents, the flash of pennoned lances,
the gleam of armour, and the bright colours of scarf and tunic--it was
just like a splendid coloured picture. The trumpets were sounding, and
when the trumpeters stopped for breath the children could hear the
cling-clang of armour and the murmur of voices.
A trumpeter came forward to the edge of the moat, which now seemed very
much narrower than at first, and blew the longest and loudest blast they
had yet heard. When the blaring noise had died away, a man who was with
the trumpeter shouted--
"What ho, within there!" and his voice came plainly to the garrison in
the gate-house.
"Hullo there!" Robert bellowed back at once.
"In the name of our Lord the King, and of our good lord and trusty
leader Sir Wulfric de Talbot, we summon this castle to surrender--on
pain of fire and sword and no quarter. Do ye surrender?"
"_No_" bawled Robert; "of course we don't! Never, _Never, NEVER_!"
The man answered back--
"Then your fate be on your own heads."
"Cheer," said Robert in a fierce whisper. "Cheer to show them we aren't
afraid, and rattle the daggers to make more noise. One, two, three! Hip,
hip, hooray! Again--Hip, hip, hooray! One more--Hip, hip, hooray!" The
cheers were rather high and weak, but the rattle of the daggers lent
them strength and depth.
There was another shout from the camp across the moat--and then the
beleaguered fortress felt that the attack had indeed begun.
It was getting rather dark in the room above the great gate, and Jane
took a very little courage as she remembered that sunset _couldn't_ be
far off now.
"The moat is dreadfully thin," said Anthea.
"But they can't get into the castle even if they do swim over," said
Robert. And as he spoke he heard feet on the stair outside--heavy feet
and the clang of steel. No one breathed for a moment. The steel and the
feet went on up the turret stairs. Then Robert sprang softly to the
door. He pulled off his shoes.
"Wait here," he whispered, and stole quickly and softly after the boots
and the spur-clank. He peeped into the upper room. The man was
there--and it was Jakin, all dripping with moat-water, and he was
fiddling about with the machinery which Robert felt sure worked the
drawbridge. Robert banged the door suddenly, and turned the great key in
the lock, just as Jakin sprang to the inside of the door. Then he tore
downstairs and into the little turret at the foot of the tower where the
biggest window was.
"We ought to have defended _this_!" he cried to the others as they
followed him. He was just in time. Another man had swum over, and his
fingers were on the window-ledge. Robert never knew how the man had
managed to climb up out of the water. But he saw the clinging fingers,
and hit them as hard as he could with an iron bar that he caught up from
the floor. The man fell with a splash into the moat-water. In another
moment Robert was outside the little room, had banged its door and was
shooting home the enormous bolts, and calling to Cyril to lend a hand.
[Illustration: The man fell with a splash into the moat-water]
Then they stood in the arched gate-house, breathing hard and looking at
each other.
Jane's mouth was open.
"Cheer up, Jenny," said Robert,--"it won't last much longer."
There was a creaking above, and something rattled and shook. The
pavement they stood on seemed to tremble. Then a crash told them that
the drawbridge had been lowered to its place.
"That's that beast Jakin," said Robert. "There's still the portcullis;
I'm almost certain that's worked from lower down."
And now the drawbridge rang and echoed hollowly to the hoofs of horses
and the tramp of armed men.
"Up--quick!" cried Robert,--"let's drop things on them."
Even the girls were feeling almost brave now. They followed Robert
quickly, and under his directions began to drop stones out through the
long narrow windows. There was a confused noise below, and some groans.
"Oh dear!" said Anthea, putting down the stone she was just going to
drop out, "I'm afraid we've hurt somebody!"
Robert caught up the stone in a fury.
"I should hope we _had_!" he said; "I'd give something for a jolly good
boiling kettle of lead. Surrender, indeed!"
And now came more tramping and a pause, and then the thundering thump of
the battering-ram. And the little room was almost pitch dark.
"We've held it," cried Robert, "we _won't_ surrender! The sun _must_ set
in a minute. Here--they're all jawing underneath again. Pity there's no
time to get more stones! Here, pour that water down on them. It's no
good, of course, but they'll hate it."
"Oh dear!" said Jane, "don't you think we'd better surrender?"
"Never!" said Robert; "we'll have a parley if you like, but we'll never
surrender. Oh, I'll be a soldier when I grow up--you just see if I
don't. I won't go into the Civil Service, whatever anyone says."
"Let's wave a handkerchief and ask for a parley," Jane pleaded. "I don't
believe the sun's going to set to-night at all."
"Give them the water first--the brutes!" said the bloodthirsty Robert.
So Anthea tilted the pot over the nearest lead-hole, and poured. They
heard a splash below, but no one below seemed to have felt it. And again
the ram battered the great door. Anthea paused.
[Illustration: Anthea tilted the pot over the nearest lead-hole]
"How idiotic," said Robert, lying flat on the floor and putting one eye
to the lead-hole. "Of course the holes go straight down into the
gate-house--that's for when the enemy has got past the door and the
portcullis, and almost all is lost. Here, hand me the pot." He crawled
on to the three-cornered window-ledge in the middle of the wall, and,
taking the pot from Anthea, poured the water out through the arrow-slit.
And as he began to pour, the noise of the battering-ram and the
trampling of the foe and the shouts of "Surrender!" and "De Talbot for
ever!" all suddenly stopped and went out like the snuff of a candle; the
little dark room seemed to whirl round and turn topsy-turvy, and when
the children came to themselves there they were, safe and sound, in the
big front bedroom of their own house--the house with the ornamental
nightmare iron-top to the roof.
They all crowded to the window and looked out. The moat and the tents
and the besieging force were all gone--and there was the garden with its
tangle of dahlias and marigolds and asters and later roses, and the
spiky iron railings and the quiet white road.
Everyone drew a deep breath.
"And that's all right!" said Robert. "I told you so! And, I say, we
didn't surrender, did we?"
"Aren't you glad now I wished for a castle?" asked Cyril.
"I think I am _now_," said Anthea slowly. "But I wouldn't wish for it
again, I think, Squirrel dear!"
"Oh, it was simply splendid!" said Jane unexpectedly. "I wasn't
frightened a bit."
"Oh, I say!" Cyril was beginning, but Anthea stopped him.
"Look here," she said, "it's just come into my head. This is the very
first thing we've wished for that hasn't got us into a row. And there
hasn't been the least little scrap of a row about this. Nobody's raging
downstairs, we're safe and sound, we've had an awfully jolly day--at
least, not jolly exactly, but you know what I mean. And we know now how
brave Robert is--and Cyril too, of course," she added hastily, "and
Jane as well. And we haven't got into a row with a single grown-up."
The door was opened suddenly and fiercely.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," said the voice of Martha, and
they could tell by her voice that she was very angry indeed. "I thought
you couldn't last through the day without getting up to some mischief! A
person can't take a breath of air on the front doorstep but you must be
emptying the water jug on their heads! Off you go to bed, the lot of
you, and try to get up better children in the morning. Now then--don't
let me have to tell you twice. If I find any of you not in bed in ten
minutes I'll let you know it, that's all! A new cap, and everything!"
She flounced out amid a disregarded chorus of regrets and apologies. The
children were very sorry, but really it was not their faults.
You can't help it if you are pouring water on a besieging foe, and your
castle suddenly changes into your house--and everything changes with it
except the water, and that happens to fall on somebody else's clean cap.
"I don't know why the water didn't change into nothing, though," said
Cyril.
"Why should it?" asked Robert. "Water's water all the world over."
"I expect the castle well was the same as ours in the stable-yard," said
Jane. And that was really the case.
"I thought we couldn't get through a wish-day without a row," said
Cyril; "it was much too good to be true. Come on, Bobs, my military
hero. If we lick into bed sharp she won't be so furious, and perhaps
she'll bring us up some supper. I'm jolly hungry! Good-night, kids."
"Good-night. I hope the castle won't come creeping back in the night,"
said Jane.
"Of course it won't," said Anthea briskly, "but Martha will--not in the
night, but in a minute. Here, turn round, I'll get that knot out of your
pinafore strings."
"Wouldn't it have been degrading for Sir Wulfric de Talbot," said Jane
dreamily, "if he could have known that half the besieged garrison wore
pinafores?"
"And the other half knickerbockers. Yes--frightfully. Do stand
still--you're only tightening the knot," said Anthea.