Timeline - Michael Crichton [161]
Ahead, he saw one knight grab Chris by his coat and try to pull him from his horse; another grabbed the reins of Kate’s horse, which whinnied and turned. Another knight had taken Chris’s reins, but he kicked his horse so that it reared; the knight let go, but Chris was suddenly covered in blood, and he cried out in shock. Chris lost control of his horse, which whinnied and galloped away into the woods while he slid sideways in the saddle, hanging on weakly. In a moment, he had vanished among the trees.
Kate was still trying to pull her reins free from the knight who held them. All around them was pandemonium; Arnaut’s men shouting and circling, running for their weapons, jabbing at the attacking knights with their pikes. One stabbed at the knight holding her horse, and the knight dropped the reins. Marek, though unarmed, charged into the middle of the fight, separating Kate from her attacker. She cried, “André!” but he said to her, “Go! Go!” and then Marek cried, “Malegant!” and Sir Guy turned to face him.
Marek immediately rode his own horse away from the fray, galloping directly toward La Roque. The other knights wheeled and broke free of the soldiers, thundering across the open field after Marek. Down the line, Marek saw Raimondo and Arnaut fighting in a great cloud of dust.
Kate kicked her horse, spurring him toward the woods to the north. Looking behind her as she rode, she saw Marek ride over the drawbridge of La Roque, into the castle, and out of sight. The pursuing riders followed him. Then the heavy grill of the portcullis gate came rumbling down. And the drawbridge raised up.
Marek was gone. Chris was gone. Either or both of them might be dead. But one thing was clear. She was the only one still free.
It was up to her now.
07:24:33
Surrounded on all sides by soldiers, she spent the next half hour threading her way through Arnaut’s baggage train of horses and carts, trying to reach the northern woods. Arnaut’s men were setting up a vast tented camp at the edge of the woods, facing the great grassy plain that sloped up to the castle.
Men shouted to her to come and help them, but she could only wave in what she hoped was a manly greeting, and keep moving. At length she reached the edge of the forest, and followed it until she saw the narrow trail leading into darkness and isolation. Here she paused a few moments to let the horse rest, and to let her own pounding heart slow down, before she went into the woods.
Back on the plain, the trebuchets were being swiftly assembled by groups of engineers. The trebuchets looked ungainly—oversized slingshots with heavy wooden beams bracing the armature for the firing paddle, which was winched back by stout hemp ropes, then released to snap upward, flinging its payload over the castle walls. The entire contraption appeared to weigh five hundred pounds, but the men constructed it swiftly, working in quick coordination, then going on to the next engine. But at least she understood now how, in some instances, a church or a castle could be built in a couple of years. The workers were so skilled, so self-effacing, they hardly needed direction.
She turned the horse away and entered the dense woods north of the castle.
:
The path was a narrow track through the forest, which rapidly grew dark as she went deeper. It felt spooky to be alone here; she heard the hooting of owls and the distant cries of strange birds. She passed one tree with a dozen ravens sitting on branches. She counted them, wondering if it was an omen, and what it might portend.
Riding slowly through the forest, she had the sense of slipping backward in time, of taking on more primitive ways of thought. The trees closed over her; the ground was as dark as evening. She had a sense of confinement, of oppression.
After twenty minutes, she was relieved to come into a clearing with tall grass in sunlight. She saw a break in the trees on the far side, where the path resumed. She was riding through the clearing