The Death of a King

ground underneath and then scale those sheer walls. It seemed an impossible task. Nor did the castle garrison look as if it was unwary. I saw the tiny jabs of flares of torches on the battlements and the pinpricks of light through the arrow slits. I whispered my angry objections to Dunheved, but he ignored me and looked at the sky and waited, listening intently to the sounds around us. Once I thought I heard the faint clash of steel on the night air but then dismissed it as a phantom of my fevered imagination. Dunheved sat crouched like some hunting dog, while around us the rest of the group fidgeted and whispered and concentrated on the castle before us. I was wondering what the Father Provincial would think of us now and took pleasure at the prospect of his solemn pomposity’s being pricked, when Dunheved suddenly clutched my arm. I looked to where he was pointing and saw the moon slide behind thick, heavy clouds. We waited tense and expectant. Then, one after another, like falling stars, we saw the fire arrows break the darkness above the castle walls.
    Dunheved said, “Come, keep to the causeway.”
    We then clambered down the slope and made our way towards the walls. We had been warned to keep to the causeway and avoid the marshy, swampy ground. One of our company failed to follow this advice and we left him floundering in our mad rush to the walls. I wondered wildly how we were to cross the narrow, stinking moat that our scouts had warned us about. I also noticed that none carried ladders or grappling hooks for us to clamber the walls. Then an arrow whipped past my face, another took the man behind me full in the throat. I turned, but he was already choking on his own blood. A hand pushed me forward and I blundered on. I realized that Dunheved was leading us away from the causeway and the main gate. Ahead of us I saw a spluttering pitch torch being waved as a signal further along the wall. I realized that Stephen Dunheved had not only got into the castle but had seized a postern gate. Arrows still sliced the darkness and I saw and heard some of my companions go down. Then we were at the gate. Stephen Dunheved was there. No longer the Dominican or secret conspirator but a wild fighting man. His clothes were torn and his right arm and the sword he held were covered in blood. He yelled at us and threw the torch up the steps leading to the battlements. Then the moon broke from its clouds and behind him, across the castle yard at the foot of the great keep, we could see a struggling mass of men. Thomas pushed his brother back towards them and shouted at us to follow him as he rushed up the steps to the parapet behind the crenellated castle walls. I did not know what was happening but later realized the tactics the Dunheveds were using. Evidently, Stephen’s group had launched the surprise attack, hoping to reach the royal prisoner while Thomas’s group were to attack those members of the garrison still manning the walls. This would prevent them joining the group near the keep, as well as spread the impression that the entire castle was under a major assault. At the time, however, I could not analyse such military niceties. I was hot, tired and so terrified that I felt my bowels dissolve like water. I could die or, even worse, be taken a prisoner. Terror is a great lifesaver and I followed Dunheved up those steps, determined to live.
    The ensuing fight was a bloody struggle. Before we reached the top of the steps, the enemy was there. Determined men, they soon realized that we blocked the way down and yet, on the narrow, stone walk way, they could not deploy their full force. Instead, they concentrated on pushing us back down the steps. I never really saw them, but I hacked and stabbed at the mass before me. My sword arm grew heavy, and at one time I felt that I could scarcely breathe in that thick struggling mass. Slowly we were pushed back down the blood-slippery steps. Once I looked across to the keep and noticed that the group, much smaller now, were also being pushed back towards us. I felt I could not go on and slipped back into the group of men behind me, allowing another to take my place, and stumbled wearily to the bottom of the steps. A group of companions still stood guard near the postern gate. I looked for Stephen but I was informed that he had been taken wounded back to the forest. I looked back up the steps at the now uneven struggle and wondered how long it could all last. Then I heard the long,