Disorderly Knights - Dorothy Dunnett [164]
Lymond also was there, watching. Jerott, lifting his head, disconcertingly found himself under that cold stare, and saw it move then to Plummer and to Randy Bell, where it rested awhile. Comparing, no doubt, his morals and his piety, thought Jerott bitterly. They would all doubtless find themselves tomorrow with the filthiest assignment in the camp.
They got it sooner than that, although not through any agency of Francis Crawford’s. Before the service was over, a runner had burst in gasping to tell Lymond that the siege engine, the loved object of Plummer’s and Bell’s afternoon work, had outmanoeuvred its blocks and run downhill into Effie Harperfield’s farm, killing a boy in the byre and marooning the widow Harperfield and four children in her own back room.
They were all on their feet in the little chapel. ‘I don’t believe it!’ said Plummer sharply. The tower and drawbridge, of heavy timber, was his personal triumph, and Jerott, who had worked with Bell on the job, knew how painstaking he had been.
By then Lymond was issuing orders, without wasting time on the cause; that would come later. At the same time Gabriel, hand on his arm, said quickly, ‘Francis, will you allow me? De Seurre and Jerott and I have done a lot of this. We’ll have it levered erect before your untrained men could manage.’
This was true. All the men of the Order were familiar with siege work. At St Mary’s their mechanical training had only begun. And six men expert in leverage could save lives quicker than twenty unskilled. Lymond said briefly, ‘Take over. It’s yours.…’ and in a moment, Plummer leading and Lymond and Graham Malett together behind, the members of the Order at St Mary’s were making over the small hills towards the Widow Harperfield’s farm, with the remaining officers, Abernethy, the carpenters and two smiths and their tools, and twelve picked men racing after.
It was a brief ride. As they streamed downhill in a sunlit river of leaves they could see the splintered skeleton of the tower above the thatch and rowan trees of the farm, while the hens flapped and screeched still and Thomas Wishart, who had made the discovery, reposed in an unlikely attitude, half in and half out of the roof, telling long Aberdeen jokes to the four Harperfield children stuck below. The byre was a rickle of stones, with an uneven heap lying beside it, its face veiled by a cloak.
The machine was erected, braced, and wheeled to flat ground inside twenty minutes. The orders came in a clear, steady flow in Gabriel’s magnificent voice, pausing only now and then in deference to Plummer or to Lymond before making more demands on his men. The roof and chimney, properly strengthened, held firm and secure as inch by inch the great tower shifted, its swinging drawbridge safely strapped, its spine braced by iron. And as the hole was gradually cleared, Tosh swung his agile body and dropped, light on his acrobat’s feet, to where the crying children crouched and lifted them to safety one by one, chaffing Effie Harperfield the while about the great new mansion she would be able to get off St Mary’s in restitution.
Then at last, Gabriel was able to stand erect, the sweat running over his skin, and say breathlessly, ‘It’s safe now. Heavens, I’m tired. Francis, you’ll never find a better set of men. I’ve worked them like dogs without even remembering that they’re still on intensive training.… Can I on their behalf beg a break? I know you would intend to give them one soon.… I really doubt if they can go on without one after that.’
‘You look exhausted,’ said Jerott. ‘Francis, he can’t ride on tonight.