The Red Knight

Above him, the archer grunted, swinging from his arms. But on the third swing, he pulled powerfully and got one leg over the lowest part of the wall. And then he was in.

‘Garn, that was too easy,’ Kanny said.

Snot blew his nose quietly. ‘You are a useless fuck,’ he said. ‘We used to take towns in Galle this way.’

Blade opened the postern. ‘No one here,’ he said.

A rock crashed into the wall, far too close, and all of them had to clamber back to their feet.

‘In,’ the captain said. He rolled in through the low postern gate, and drew his sword. Daud the Red appeared at the wall with Amy’s Hob and No Head. ‘Get in here. Daud – you and Hob take the postern in case we have to come back through.’

The two huntsmen nodded.

Moving across the Lower Town was a new nightmare. Rocks hit the wall – once, an overcast hit a house less than a street away. The streets were already full of rubble, and all of them closed their visors against the rock chips and wood splinters. They fell frequently and cursed too loudly when the did.

The sky was lightening when the relief watch made it to the northern gate tower. It had taken several direct hits, but the massive fortification was fifteen feet thick at the base and had so far survived.

The captain hammered at the lower door with the pommel of his sword.

It took time for a terrified pair of eyes to appear at the grille.

‘Watch!’ the captain hissed. ‘We’ve come to relieve you.’

They heard the bar lifted.

A big stone hit, somewhere to their right, and they all cringed. Stone chips rang off the captain’s helmet.

Blade began to pant.

The captain looked back at him – then reached to catch him as he slumped to the ground, a four-inch wood splinter in his neck. Before the captain could lower him to the ground, he was dead.

‘Get the door open,’ the captain roared.

The door opened outward a handspan and stopped. It was jammed by rubble.

Two more rocks struck nearby, and then a ball of fire struck fifty paces away, illuminating the smoky air.

No Head got enough of the rubble off the doorsill to get it open and they piled into the tower, dragging Blade.

Scrant, just inside the doorway, flinched at the look in the captain’s eye.

The captain pushed the archer out of the way and stalked along the low corridor. Outside, another rock struck, and the tower gave a low vibration – torches moved in their brackets, and plaster came off the walls.

Ser George Brewes was sitting in a chair in the donjon. He had a cup of wine in his hand. He looked blearily at the captain.

‘Are you drunk? Why wasn’t the postern manned?’ The captain turned to No Head. ‘Round up the off-going watch. Ser George will be staying.’

Kanny lingered in the doorway of the donjon, clearly interested in listening, and No Head grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Move your arse,’ he said.

Kanny could be heard grumbling all the way up the stairs.

Ser George waited until the archers were gone. ‘This can’t be held,’ he said. The effect of his statement was largely ruined by a belch. ‘It’s not tenable,’ he said, as if his careful pronouncement would settle everything.

‘So you thought you’d leave the oncoming watch hanging out to dry?’ the captain said.

‘Fuck you and your righteousness,’ Ser George said. ‘I’ve had a bellyful. It’s time someone told you what a posturing arse you are. I pulled my men into the tower to keep them alive. You got here anyway. I was sure someone would. I haven’t lost a fucking man., and if I’m drunk, that’s no one’s business but mine.’ He snorted. ‘You were outside. It’s hell out there.’

The captain leaned over. ‘If we abandon the Lower Town, he’ll take the Bridge Castle in a day.’

Ser George shook his head. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? You’re playing at being a knight errant – is that because you’re doing a nun?’ he guffawed.

The captain could smell the liquor on the man’s breath. The sweet cloying smell of wine and hate. Just for a moment, he thought of his mother.

‘We’re mercenaries, not heroes. It’s time to find whoever is behind this siege and cut him a deal. Take your girlfriend with us, if that’s what it takes. We’re done here. And there’s no money in the world that would make it worth dying here.’ Ser George hawked and spat. ‘Now get out of my way, Captain. I’ve done my twelve hours in hell and I’m going back up to the fortress.’

The captain stood up straight. ‘No. You’re going to stay right here, with me.’

‘Like hell I am,’ Ser George said.

‘If you try to leave this room. I’ll kill you,’ the captain said.

Ser George made a plunge for the door.

He wasn’t in his full harness and he had a good deal of wine in his belly. In a moment, he was kneeling at the captain’s feet, with his arm in a lock that threatened to dislocate his shoulder.

‘I don’t want to kill you,’ the captain said. ‘But to be honest, Ser George, I’d really like to kill someone, and you are the likeliest candidate right now.’

Ser George grunted.

The captain let go his hold, a little at a time.

Ser George backed away. ‘You’re mad as a hatter.’