Chapter Fourteen #3
Alan nodded swiftly with a gleam in his eye. “Quicklime and sulfur fire.”
Stephen nodded firmly. “Bring it, all we have left. And I want you to bring all of the rags, pitchers and jars you can find.”
Kenneth watched the men flee in their quest to do Pembury’s bidding. He watched the first siege engine pull to within a quarter mile of the castle.
“What are you planning?”
Stephen’s blue eyes were riveted to the sight of siege engines and more Scots on the horizon. “I have an idea,” he replied vaguely.
Kenneth had to admit, it was a very good idea.
They produced the oil incendiary devices first. Carefully pouring oil into a gourd, they would stick a rag in the end, light the rag, and throw it at the siege engines, two of which were upon them and ready to open up.
The gourds would shatter against the damp wood, spilling burning oil all over the place.
Stephen and his men began hurling the oil bombs at the men on the towers, lighting them on fire and generally creating havoc.
When the men on the siege towers would panic and run from the burning oil, archers on the walls would cut them down.
Stephen and Kenneth, with their muscled arms and power, threw the hardest. They would sail the bombs from the gatehouse into the siege towers, splashing burning oil everywhere.
As the oil began to run low, Alan and Lane began to assemble the bombs with the quicklime, sulfur and saltpeter, filling the remaining pitchers they had, and even earthenware jars from the kitchens, before securing them with a strip of linen at the opening and using it as a wick.
The first quicklime bomb that Stephen threw exploded like a starburst against a group of men below who were heading to the main gate with a battering ram.
It scared the men more than it hurt anyone and most of them dropped the ram and ran off with their tartans smoking.
Stephen and Kenneth threw a few more of the bombs before Kenneth took an armful and turned for the tower stairs.
“I am heading to the postern gate,” he said. “I do not trust these fools that all of this activity at the gatehouse is not a ruse.”
Stephen gave him a grin. “What makes you think this is a ruse? There are thousands of Scots all over the bloody place. They are everywhere.”
Kenneth’s lips twitched. “I think all of Scotland has come down around us. What did you do to make them so angry?”
Stephen shrugged in an exaggerated gesture as if he had no idea. “I make them furious simply by living.”
“You have the same effect on me.”
They snorted as Stephen gestured to the bombs that Kenneth was carrying. “The postern gate is heavily protected but I agree with you,” he said. “Take what you must in case you need to defend it.”
Kenneth descended the stairs and emerged into the bailey, dodging a flurry of arrows that came sailing over the walls.
The castle was completely surrounded by Scots, more than he had ever seen, and he was concerned as to how long Berwick could hold out against such an onslaught.
It was worse than he had originally imagined it would be.
He wondered what happened to the spies they sent out after Kynan, presuming that the men must have been discovered and killed.
But that was his last calm thought before he came into view of the postern gate, seeing immediately that it had been torn off its hinges in a massive breach.
There were dozens of English fighting off a flood of Scots who were struggling to pour in through the man-sized gate.
It would only allow one man at a time but the Scots were attempting to dispute that.
Limbs, heads and bloody bodies littered the area near the gate.
Kenneth dropped the bombs and unsheathed his broadsword. Before he rushed on the group, he turned in the direction of the gatehouse and bellowed one harrowing word.
“Breach!”
Stephen heard Kenneth from his post on the gatehouse. It was a booming, stressful cry. He would have known it anywhere. He ran to the east side of the gatehouse, able to see the postern gate from his vantage point. He could see a flood of men pouring through the opening.
“Seal up the gatehouse,” he snapped to the soldiers on the parapets, jabbing a finger at the two closest to him. “Get to the keep and seal it. Same for the great hall. Move!”
The men ran to do his bidding as both portcullises dropped and the soldiers began sealing up the gatehouse and towers, compartmentalizing their fighting areas so that if one portion was breached, another one would not automatically be compromised.
The English were calm and decisive as they sealed up the castle and Stephen watched with satisfaction as one area after another was sealed off.
But he also noted with some concern that the Scots seemed to be multiplying.
They were literally everywhere and he divided his attention between watching them breach the bailey and the siege engines that were preparing to breach the walls.
Two of the siege engines were burning thanks to the oil bombs.
Apparently, not all of the wood was wet and the dry wood had caught fire and was burning heavy smoke into the noon sky.
The Scots struggled to dismantle and move aside the burning siege engines and pull the non-compromised towers up to the wall.
It was a long process that had slowed them down considerably.
However, the fight in the bailey was in full force and Stephen watched from the walls as Kenneth and about two hundred English soldiers fended off what must have been hundreds and hundreds of Scots.
Stephen could see Kenneth near the gate itself, his massive broadsword cutting down man after man. He had to grin at the man’s enthusiasm.
On the north side of the castle, ladders were being pushed up against the walls.
Stephen could hear the call for assistance go up from the northern wall and he moved to help along with several other soldiers.
By the time he got to the north wall walk, several ladders were already alongside the walls and the enemy was beginning to mount the parapets.
Stephen unsheathed his broadsword, smelling blood.