Page 122 of Feathers in the Wind
“If you'd read your books, you would know it is a metal object shaped like a hat, that is full of powder. Our friends would like to nail it to the gate. They will then light the fuse and duck as it blows in the gate. Here they come in force.” He raised his voice so he could be heard along the length of the wall. “Fire at will!”
The attacking force carried long, sturdy ladders that spanned the ditch with its vicious stakes. The sheer press of men overwhelmed the musket fire of the defenders and Deliverance heard the cries of her men go up as two of the ladders swung up against the walls only to be pushed away, accompanied by the screams of those foolish enough to already have put their feet on the rungs.
Deliverance hunkered down again, her head in her hands. This was nothing like the pathetic attempt Farrington had made only a few short weeks ago. That had been a tame affair where Farrington had simply sat his troops down just out of range. A few musket shots had been exchanged, but no one had been seriously hurt and nothing had been damaged... except Luke's hat.
She instinctively ducked lower as the Thunderer roared again, the ball flying high and crashing down through the roof of the residence. A few of Farrington's men had gained the curtain wall, swinging their legs across the ramparts as the Kinton Lacey men, their weapons too slow to load, swung their muskets like clubs.
She looked around for Luke. He had his sword drawn, engaged with a soldier wearing Farrington's blue and she realised with a jolt that Luke Collyer was now all that stood between her and the melee on the curtain wall.
If I just had a weapon.
He had been right. Far from being a help, her presence presented a very real danger to him and to every one of the defenders. She swallowed and looked around for a way to remove herself, but Luke blocked her only exit. She had no choice but to stay put, frozen with fear and weapon less. She curled into as small a target as she could manage, while the battle raged across the wall.
Just as she feared for the worse, the Kinton Lacey garrison prevailed. The men in the blue coats were going back down the ladders, their screams filling the air as the garrison pushed the ladders away from the wall.
Along the length of the wall, the defenders peered over the stonework. No one fired at the retreating soldiers and a ragged cheer went up from the wall as Farrington’s men regained the shelter of their own defences. Hardly daring to breathe, Deliverance rose slowly to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her, and peered over the wall. Below her wounded men were clambering from the ditch, helping their injured comrades. Several blue-clad bodies lay motionless, others impaled on the ancient pikes still twitched. The heavy cloying smell of blood mingled with gunpowder hung in the air. She twisted to look down at the gate. The man carrying the petard, along with his escort, lay among the fallen lacking only a few yards to the bridge.
Despite her lack of breakfast bile rose in her throat, and she turned her back to the wall fighting back the nausea.
“Are you all right?”
Luke Collyer, leaned with his back to the wall, panting with the exertion, his sword still held in his hand. He had lost his hat and his dark hair clung damply to his forehead. He doubled over, his hands on his knees, as he regained his breath.
He looked across at Deliverance. “Well?” He arched his eyebrow at her. “Still want to be a soldier, Mistress Felton?”
“If you hadn’t taken my musket...” she began, but with her thoughts on the dead men beyond the wall, she said, “The reality of war is very different from the books,” she conceded.
He straightened. “I would be grateful if you could see to the casualties, Mistress Felton.”
This at least was something useful she could contribute to the day. She took a steadying breath and said, “Have the injured taken to the Great Hall and my sister and I will see to them.”
She found the residence in uproar. The household staff were gathered at the foot of the stairs, several of the maids were crying, others white-faced with shock and fear. Penitence’s eyes were also red from crying and on seeing Deliverance, she seized her sister’s arm, pointing up the stairs.
“Liv, it came through the roof. The upper parlour is destroyed.” She began to shake and Deliverance put an arm around her sister's shoulders.
“This is just the start, Pen,” she said.
“If I'd been in the parlour...”
“Shh,” Deliverance whispered, stroking her sister's hair. “We must be brave for everyone. Hale is bringing the wounded into the great hall. Let's go and make ready and you,” she pointed to the weeping maids at the foot of the stairs, “stop that mewling and go and clean up the mess.”
“Was anyone here hurt by the direct hit?”
The women turned to see Luke standing at the door, hatless and breathing hard. Deliverance released her sister and faced him. “No. The upper parlour took the brunt of it, but mercifully no one was in the room.”
“There is a massive hole in the ceiling. The ball came through the attics and the room above the parlour as well,” Penitence said, her tears forgotten.
Luke nodded. “I'll have a look. I need to be sure it hasn't affected the structure too badly, otherwise we will all be sleeping in the stables.”
Penitence shook her head. “It just seems to be a very large hole. My ancestors built solid stone floors.”
As he mounted the stairs, he turned. “I have four wounded men who need tending. Nothing too serious. Can I leave them in your tender care, ladies?”
“Was anyone killed?” Deliverance asked, not wanting to know the answer as she thought of the men of Kinton Lacey and Luke’s men whom she had come to know so well over the previous weeks.
He shook his head. “No, we were lucky.”
Penitence nodded. “Have them brought into the Hall. I will see that we have everything in order.”
