Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [170]
‘They couldn’t see you,’ Zacco said. ‘The garrison couldn’t see you. And what did you do? You dug no tunnels, embedded no gunpowder …’ He mimed a comic disgust, his eyes smiling.
‘As you well knew, my lord King,’ said the engineer. ‘Whoever built those walls knew a thing or two. There’s a place up the side … perhaps there’s a place up the side. But it’s not worth the time without cannon. And when we get cannon, we shan’t need to use them on St Hilarion.’
‘So what happened?’ said Tobie with patience.
‘He planted crackers with fuses,’ said Nicholas. ‘The castle stood to arms all evening after the challenge, heard us arrive in the night, made to resist what they thought was a full-scale attack; saw us ride off defeated. They’ll start sleeping in shifts. An hour after we’ve gone, they’ll hear volleys under the walls from John’s crackers, rouse the fort and shoot into the smoke. Then they’ll stand down again.’
‘And the second squadron will arrive,’ Tobie said. ‘Mind you, they may not be so scared of you next time. They’ll put a third of their men on the walls, and give the others some rest.’
‘That’s what he said,’ said Captain Astorre, referring to Nicholas. He jerked his head, carrying with it a spit jammed with kidneys. ‘But they won’t rest very long now. Night attack from the front and the rear.’
‘What?’ said Tobie. Zacco was laughing.
‘Goats,’ said Captain Astorre. ‘A small detail with a wagon of goats. They’ll drive the beasts up the back cliff, let off a handgun or two, and watch the rest of the garrison rush to the back walls. If they haven’t got the skitters already, they’ll have them by then. The camels were grand.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ said Tobie. ‘They carried the goats up the hill.’
‘My good doctor,’ said Zacco. ‘You are not taking this seriously. The camels were trained. They have no objection to noise. Your ingenious friend Nicholas placed his hackbutters on the camels, one behind every hump, and they raced past and shot at the castle.’
‘Did you hit anything?’ Tobie said.
‘Not yet,’ said Nicholas. ‘That’s for tomorrow. Tomorrow, they open the gates for us. I’m going to bed.’
‘When tomorrow?’ said Tobie. ‘You don’t mean tomorrow, in daylight?’ But it was a rhetorical question, because he knew that was what Nicholas meant, and also King James, who had caught this crazy apprentice’s infection which was not, to be truthful, so crazy. By mid-morning tomorrow, the garrison of St Hilarion would be kitten-weak and exhausted and ready for capture.
Tobias Beventini of Grado rose therefore next morning and attached himself to the army when it moved out of camp, although he had had no more sleep than they had; and rode his good horse which had got used to camels and hackbut fire and the whistle of arrows arching over the battlements. The journey to the castle seemed short, and there was less talk than before. They assembled, foot and horse, at the base of the hill of St Hilarion. The trumpets blew, and Tobie felt a pang in his stomach.
This time, under cover of smoke, the troops under King James did not keep their distance but mounted the hill, firing steadily. Their fire was returned; but the bolts and arrows that appeared through the smoke were sparse and ill-aimed, and fell to the grass, or against shields, or sprang into the hide screens the foot-men were carrying. Through the haze, you could see the relief run through Zacco’s army. This was the work of sick men. If they were too ill to bend bows, they would hardly prevail in hand-to-hand fighting. Tobie watched Zacco’s hand, upraised as he looked for the ladders arriving.
Advancing steadily, his hearing dulled by the clash and thud of metal and firearms, by the pounding of hooves and the continuous din of threatening voices, Tobie was