The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett [428]
Most of the horses had turned back, either of their own volition or because their riders had turned them; but several men were attacking on foot, and the others were turning again ready to make another charge. Glancing back over his shoulder, Jack saw that several thatched roofs were burning, despite the efforts of the firefighters—the younger women of the town—to put out the flames. The dreadful thought flashed through Jack’s mind that this was not going to work. Despite the heroic effort of the last thirty-six hours, these savage men would cross the wall, burn the town, and ravage the people.
The prospect of hand-to-hand fighting terrified him. He had never been taught to fight, never used a sword—not that he had one—and his only experience of fighting was when Alfred had beaten him up. He felt helpless.
The horsemen charged again and those of the attackers who had lost their mounts came up the ramparts on foot. Rocks and arrows rained on them. Jack worked his sling systematically, loading and firing, loading and firing like a machine. Several of the attackers fell under the rain of missiles. Right in front of Jack a rider took a fall and lost his helmet, revealing a head of yellow hair: it was William himself.
None of the horses made it to the top of the earth rampart, but some of the men on foot did, and, to Jack’s horror, the townsmen were forced to join combat with them, fighting off the swords and lances of the attackers with poles and axes. Some of the enemy made it over the top, and Jack saw three or four townsmen near him fall. His heart was full of horror: the townspeople were losing.
But eight or ten townsmen surrounded every attacker who got across the wall, pounding them with sticks and hacking mercilessly with axes, and although several townsmen were wounded all the attackers were killed rapidly. Then the townsmen began to drive the others back down the slope of the ramparts. The charge petered out. Those attackers still on horseback milled around uncertainly while a few loose skirmishes continued on the ramparts. Jack rested for a moment, breathing hard, grateful for the reprieve, waiting with dread for the enemy’s next move.
William raised his sword in the air and yelled to attract the attention of his men. He waved his sword in a circle, to rally them, then pointed it at the walls. They regrouped and prepared to charge the walls once again.
Jack saw an opportunity.
He picked up a stone, loaded his sling, and took careful aim at William.
The stone flew through the air as straight as a mason’s line and hit William in the middle of the forehead, so hard that Jack heard the thud of rock on bone.
William fell to the ground.
His men hesitated uncertainly and the charge faltered.
A big dark man jumped from his horse and ran to William’s side. Jack thought he recognized William’s groom, Walter, who always rode with him. Still holding on to his reins, Walter knelt down by William’s prone body. For a moment Jack hoped William might be dead. Then William moved, and Walter helped him to his feet. William was looking dazed. Everyone on both sides of the battle was watching the two of them. For a moment the hail of stones and arrows stopped.
Still looking unsteady, William mounted Walter’s horse, assisted by Walter, who then climbed on behind him. There was a moment of hesitation as everyone wondered whether William would be able to carry on. Walter waved his sword in a circle in the rallying gesture; then, to Jack’s unspeakable relief, he pointed to the woods.
Walter kicked the horse and they charged off.
The other horsemen followed. Those who were still fighting on the ramparts gave up, backed off, and ran across the field after their leader. A few stones and arrows chased them over the barley.
The townspeople cheered.
Jack looked around him, feeling dazed. Was it all over? He could hardly believe it. The fires were going out—the women had succeeded in keeping them under control. Men were