# The Defense of the Castle/Chapter 7

VII
The Crane under Fire—It Is Disabled—The Ram in Action—The Advance of the Great Tower on Rollers— A Question of Marksmanship—Ten Pieces of Gold for a Lucky Shot—The Prize Is Won—The Front Wall Is Breached— The Captured Spy—The Count's Threats—The Return of the Friar—He Tells His Adventures—Who Was the Fool?—Friar or Count?

### CHAPTER VII

After the calm comes the storm. The rising of the sun on the following day seemed as if it were a signal for all the suspended operations to spring into activity. The two new mangonels of the besiegers, besides the one they had repaired, had been set up during the night, and as soon as the artillerymen could see, all three of them were aimed at the gateway of the castle and sent their great rocks whizzing through the air. The object of all three was to destroy the crane that had hammered the head of the cat to pieces a few days before.
The fire of the besiegers—if "fire" it can be called—was vigorously replied to by the mangonels upon the castle walls, and the sound of the wheels and tackle, as well as the thud of the great timbers against their framework, was incessant through the morning. Together with these sounds, now and then, could be heard the crash of a rock against the castle walls, or the splintering of wood if a part of the timber-work was hit. ​After about two hours the besiegers were lucky enough to strike the top of the great crane, just where its three pieces were joined together, and, like a soldier struck in the head, the crane went whirling backward from the ramparts, and fell into the inclosure within, injuring one of the garrison who was standing below it.
A cheer arose from those who were within the cat, and knowing that they could now safely push the cat forward, the soldiers sprang to their levers and crows, and began to advance it toward the castle-wall. It was useless for the garrison to repair the crane, since they knew it would be too late for them to interfere with the operation of the ram, so there was no resistance made, and the cat soon occupied its old place—close against the wall, just below the gateway. Then began the blows of the battering-ram. Ten of the Count's soldiers on each side would rush with the heavy beam, and then let it go. The blows of the iron beak were terrific, and nothing could withstand it. The mortar crumbled, the very stones themselves cracked, and the whole wall trembled at every stroke.
Edgar, who stood upon a tower watching the inner side of the wall, could see it vibrate, and clouds of dust went up. It was easy for him to understand that no masonry could long withstand ​such shocks, and he went in search of Hugh, in order to learn what it was best to do when the outer wall should give way.
As soon as the ram and mangonels were in action, Luke had set his miners to work again, and knowing that they could not be heard above the din, these men plied their picks and shovels freely, making rapid progress underground toward the southwest tower, which they intended to undermine. Nor was this all. The great tower of the besiegers had been finished, and placed upon rollers; it now advanced, trembling and swaying as it passed over the inequalities of the ground, while the garrison of the castle watched its course with intense curiosity, since they did not yet know where it would be placed. The older men had assured their younger comrade that the tower would be brought as near as possible to the great keep—the northeast corner tower; and this proved a wise prediction. The tower advanced very slowly, since so great a weight could be moved only a few feet at a time, rounded logs being placed in front, and the tower being shoved upon them, while the logs behind were in turn brought forward. Moving so sluggishly, it was impossible to conceal the intended course, and Hugh ordered the whole artillery of the castle to be directed against this most dangerous adversary. ​He feared the tower more than every other device of the besiegers, since they were so superior in numbers. If once the tower could be rolled across the moat and brought close to the walls, an immense drawbridge would be lowered from it, making a gangway over which the besiegers could march directly upon the top of the walls.
When Edgar came to report the ravages of the ram, he found Hugh gazing earnestly toward the advancing tower, and, without taking his eyes from it, giving rapid orders for the placing of the mangonels and balistæ. For the first time since the siege began, Hugh seemed to have lost his confidence in the defense. He spoke sharply to the soldiers, occasionally lending a hand to put a bit of framework in place, and then returning to gaze with a deep frown at the tower. He even seemed to consider the battering-ram as not worth his attention, and cut short Edgar's report with the remark:
"We have no time to give to saving the front wall. Unless we can prevent that villain Luke from bringing the tower against us, we shall soon be driven into the keep; for they will pour their whole force upon us over the walls. I wish the Friar were here!"
"He will be back at nightfall," Edgar replied.
"That may be too late," Hugh answered. ​"Our chances of disabling the tower are but few at best, and the Friar has a marksman's eye, and can train a mangonel better than any one of us. In a quarter of an hour more, the tower will be within range, and then we must smash it or burn it if possible. Bring all the men here, Lord Edgar, except the few necessary to do sentinel duty along the walls to give warning of an attempt to escalade—for they may make a rush somewhere while we are busy here—and we will work the mangonels until they smoke!"
Edgar ran off, and dispatched every man he met to summon their forces to Hugh's aid. Archers, crossbowmen, engineers, came thronging at the call, and as fast as they arrived Hugh set them to work or stationed them upon the battlements where their fire would be most effective. Meanwhile, in order that their efforts might be intelligently exerted, Hugh explained briefly to the petty officers what he wished to do, ordering them to inform their men.
"In order to stop or disable the tower," said he, "we must keep it under fire as long as may be. I want their men hit whenever they show themselves. Every bolt and arrow must count. They will be within range soon, and then I want you to kill or disable every man you can. Don't discharge an arrow without an aim." To the engineers he ​said: "Direct your engines against the right-hand corner of the tower,—nowhere else. If you can, smash it near the foundation. Next to that, it is most important to crush the drawbridge. Smash it at the corner, and it will wrench itself loose. Aim carefully at every shot. You shall be rewarded for every good hit."
Edgar took the hint, and promised ten pieces of gold to the marksman who did the most damage.
When the tower had come within range, the three mangonels let fly their missiles together, and two out of the three took effect. But the tower had been strongly framed, and the rocks only knocked a few big splinters from its logs. The good marksmanship encouraged the engineers, and their men sprang to the tackles with a will. Creak, creak!—the great levers were drawn back, the great stones were adjusted in the slings, the men stood back, the triggers were pulled, and the levers shot forward, describing a circle in the air and hurling the rocks against the tower. Nearly every shot took effect, but little damage was done, and the tower came ever nearer.
As the tower approached within arrow-range the bowstrings began to twang, and although the Count's soldiers were sheltered behind the base of the tower, the rearmost of them could be seen, ​and some of these men began to fall. This caused some confusion, and for a few moments the great structure halted, as if it were frightened and hesitating whether to advance. Within the tower were many archers, and these now began to reply to the arrows from the castle. Out of the loop-holes of the tower came an answering rain of arrows and bolts, and some of the marksmen of the garrison were hit. They hastened to take cover, and thereafter were more cautious about exposing themselves. The engineers also were exposed to the Count's archers, but they stood bravely to their work, since they could not leave the mangonels.
Hugh regretted the necessity of exposing these men, but it would not do to lose the chance of disabling the tower, even if a number of the engineers had to be sacrificed. So now and then a cry was heard as an arrow found its mark, and one of the garrison went down; but another brave man stepped forward at once to take the empty place, and the mangonels never stopped. As far as possible the workers sheltered themselves behind the framework, and so the loss of men was not great. At last, just as one of the mangonels had projected a heavy rock, Hugh himself burst into a cheer, that was at once echoed by the men around him, for they saw that the rock had struck ​the lower corner of the drawbridge that was shut up against the upper story of the tower, and had smashed its timbers so that the corner broke away and swung outward.
"Now," said Hugh, triumphantly, "we may take a breathing space, for they will not advance until they have mended that break. Who made that shot?"
One of the engineers stepped forward, and Hugh sent him to Edgar to claim the reward. Grinning with delight, when he had received the golden bezants, the man departed, while his comrades rejoiced to see that the tower, after having ceased to come forward, was now being slowly moved back out of range. Hugh, having seen that this most pressing danger was averted, now descended from the walls, and went in search of Edgar, intending to make preparations for receiving the enemy if they succeeded in breaching the front wall. He had left orders that strict watch should be kept upon the tower, and that word should be brought to him if it should again be put in motion toward the castle.
The ram had never ceased its assault. As fast as one gang of soldiers were exhausted, their places were taken by others, and much damage had been done. The wall was cracked in several places, the breaks extending in star-like form from ​the point where the ram struck. In less than half an hour, it seemed that the wall must be broken through, and come toppling down, Hugh found Edgar watching anxiously for the moment when the wall should give way. He greeted Hugh warmly, and demanded whether they could not do something besides standing idle while the castle was battered down before their eyes. Hugh stood gazing thoughtfully at the cracked wall, and for a few moments said nothing. Then, catching sight of the great timbers of the fallen crane, he seemed to have a sudden inspiration. He turned to Edgar:
"Since the wall must go down," he exclaimed, "why should it not fall outward as well as inward? Let me get together some of our men"— at the moment the ram struck the wall again, and a great stone fell inward—"and we will wedge the timbers of the crane so that the wall will come down"—bang! came the ram once more—"upon the front of the cat. It may do some damage in its fall."
Hugh hastened away, and was back in a few moments with about thirty men, carrying pick-axes and crowbars. With the picks they dug three deep holes in the ground, raising some stones of the pavement of the courtyard, and then one by one they set the three great timbers of the ​crane in these holes with their ends resting against the tottering wall. The wall was thus braced so that when it fell it was forced to fall either outward or straight downward.
The only other means of defense that Hugh could think of was to station opposite the expected breach one or two catapults, pointed so as to command the opening when the wall fell. Those archers who could be spared from other parts of the defenses were gathered behind the battlements of the inner wall, with sheaves of arrows, ready to defend the breach. This done, there was nothing more to be provided for the event.
But it was evident to the besiegers as well as to the garrison that the wall could not last much longer, and so they suspended operations until they should be ready to take advantage of the breach—until the troops could be massed ready for an attack. They did not fear that the wall would be repaired, since they had already perceived that for some reason unknown to them, the garrison had made no serious attempt to defend this wall. Indeed, the absence of defense made them the more cautious in pressing the attack, for fear there might be a hidden snare.
During this lull in the battle, the commanders of the garrison were suddenly surprised to hear a ​trumpet blown without. Edgar was called to the battlements, and saw that the Count de Ferrers had advanced to within a few hundred yards of the walls, and that one of his horsemen, bearing a white flag, had come still nearer.
Edgar beckoned to the man and received his message:
"The Count de Ferrers desires leave to return to the castle a spy who came within his lines this morning. The Count would have hung the wretch, save that he preferred that Lord Edgar Mortimer should receive the spy's account of affairs in the camp of the besiegers, so that he may understand that resistance is hopeless. The Count desires to give warning, also, that unless the Castle of the Red Dragon is surrendered forthwith to him—its rightful owner—he will refuse to grant quarter to the garrison. Wherefore for the last time the Count de Ferrers calls upon Lord Mortimer's son to surrender, promising to permit the garrison to march out unmolested."
Without waiting for an answer the herald rode back to his master; and then came forward two men-at-arms, on horseback, leading between them Friar Bacon in his minstrel's dress. It was too far off for Edgar to distinguish the Friar's face, but his whole attitude expressed deep dejection. Bringing him close to the edge of the moat, the ​men-at-arms released him, and then rode back to where the Count awaited them, whereupon the whole party rode rapidly back toward their own camp.
As soon as he was released, the Friar sprang into the water, swam across the ditch, and called to Edgar:
"Throw me a rope!"
Edgar directed one of the soldiers to bring a long ladder, and when this had been lowered, the Friar climbed it nimbly enough, and in a moment stood upon the ramparts, anything but a cheerful figure. He looked ruefully at his dripping garments, and then a grim smile gradually spread over his face, as he said:
"This is a gallant outcome for a heroic enterprise, my lord! But after all the Count did not hang me. And that, I believe, he will live to regret. Let me go to my own room, and when I am dry and warm again"—his teeth were chattering with the cold—"I will tell you of my adventures."
Edgar begged that he would go at once, though the young man was eager to know how the Friar had fared so badly in his enterprise. As to the Count's threatening message, Edgar never gave it a thought. He meant to hold the castle to the last extremity, and had never expected any mercy ​from the horde of scoundrels the Count had brought against him.
As it was now twilight, and all operations on the part of the besiegers seemed to be suspended, Edgar sent a message to say that he would await the Friar in the great hall, and then walked slowly to the keep. Here he found his mother and Amabel, who had been attending to the archers and others wounded on the battlements during the fight with the tower. They reported that many of these were doing well, but that one of them had received a fatal wound. Edgar went at once to see this man, and was able to soothe the poor fellow's last moments by assuring him that his family should be cared for. Upon returning to the hall, Edgar found that the Friar, having reassumed his usual dress, was awaiting him in order to give an account of his adventures. Edgar sent for Hugh, and the Friar began his story as soon as the old soldier arrived:
"Just at break of day, as you know, I left the castle by that break-neck path that leads down to the river—a path fitter for a young goat than for the feet of an aged friar. Luckily, I did not fall till I was within some ten feet of the bottom; and so instead of breaking my leg, I only scraped the skin from my wrist, and wrenched my ankle. Then I made the best of my way through the ​bushes along the bank. There I found the little boat hidden where you told me, Lord Edgar,—which reminds me that it is now across the moat, where I left it,—and in a few minutes, letting myself float with the current, I was carried beyond the moat, and could land upon the mainland. But I knew I must approach the Count's camp from the other side, and so I made a wide circuit, and it was not until within an hour of noon that I found myself in the woods, and approaching the road. I will confess that when I took this road, and struck out boldly for the Count's camp, I began to wonder whether I was not an old fool—but I was not convinced of my folly until later in the day. I had not gone far when I saw one of the Count's sentinels seated upon a log by the roadside, engaged in making himself a most savory stew. You will guess, Lady Amabel, that after my long walk, the smell of that hot stew was like honey to a bee. My mouth watered, and I approached the soldier with my eyes upon the porringer, and my nostrils sniffing its pleasant odor. I'm afraid that I forgot I was a minstrel and remembered only that I was a hungry Friar. But my harp was countersign enough, and the soldier, seeing me coming, spoke up heartily:
"‘Hola, Sir Minstrel, you come in time for dinner! I did not dream there was a ​glee-man for miles about. But you harpers are like the crows, and you come as promptly when there is aught to eat. No matter, man, there is enough for all.'
"Had I been a minstrel in very truth," the Friar went on, "I might have resented the words that welcomed me; but my stomach forgave him, and I took my seat at the end of the log, where I could enjoy the fumes of the stew, and watched him as he stirred up the broth with his dagger. 'What are you cooking?' I asked. '’Tis a rabbit stew,' he said. 'I saw Goodman Rabbit sitting across the road, and eying me as if to ask me why I came into the woods, and so I up with my crossbow and sent him a message to stay to dinner. I had not tasted rabbit for a week.'
"Then I told him that I was glad he had not asked me to dinner with the same weapon, but hoped he would let me stay, nevertheless. In short, I helped him to dispose of Goodman Rabbit, and then, to pay for my dinner, sang him a ballad of King Arthur, which pleased him mightily, and he invited me to go to the camp and sing a song for the Count. As you may imagine, I made few objections, and after a short discussion, the soldier—a good fellow, whom I hope I shall not have to hurt—with his crossbow over his shoulder, and I with my harp on my back, jogged ​along together as if we had been friends from boyhood. This smoothed my way, and I had no difficulty in being brought before the Count, where he was at dinner in a sort of shed built just within the edge of the wood. He showed me scant ceremony, and in fact refused to listen to my music.
"‘I care not for your screeching,' he said, 'and I will not have lazy vagabonds about me. Here, Luke, send this fellow packing whence he came!' Then Luke the Lurdane, who was standing near by, talking to one of the men-at-arms, turned and saw me. At first he gave but a careless glance, but then I saw him bend his brows together, and he beckoned me to him. I went unwillingly enough, but began to talk at once. 'Let me sing you a ballad of the Battle of Hastings,' said I. But Luke made no answer to this, looking at me sharply, as if trying to remember where he had seen me before. So keen was his look that I was silenced. Then Luke, speaking to one of the sentinels, said, 'Knock me off this fellow's cap.' The sentinel had better manners than his master, and merely lifted my cap from my head. Of course that showed my shaven pate, but since many minstrels adopt the same tonsure as friars, I thought little of this. But Luke, as soon as he saw me without the hat, knew me in spite of my ​beard and my minstrel dress. He turned to the Count and said, 'Count, this is either no friar or no minstrel! When he came to your castle some days ago, he was a Franciscan friar; now he is a minstrel. He may be either, but he cannot be both. I believe he is a spy!"
"Luke the Lurdane is more dangerous than all the rest of the Count's forces," Hugh remarked. "If it were not for his shrewdness, we need have no fear of that fat-witted robber-baron."
"Go on—do go on." said Amabel eagerly.
"Well," the Friar resumed, "as soon as Luke had jogged the Count's memory, he remembered me, and then I was questioned and cross-questioned until I thought it wise to play another part. I admitted that I had come from the castle, and—if you will forgive me, my lord,—I said that I had been ordered to dress myself as a minstrel and to go as a spy into their camp, and that I had been bribed to do so."
"You did right," said Edgar, laughing, "and it was a shrewd and a bold device."
"It was my only chance," said the old Friar. "It was my idea to make myself out a fool so that they might think me not worth the rope to hang me. I think I succeeded. I told them that I was to have five gold pieces if I brought a true report of what was being done outside, and that I was ​sorry I had consented. Then the Count and Luke held a consultation as to what should be done with me, while I stood waiting with the knuckles of a man-at-arms making dents in my neck. I was never less comfortable in my life. The only pleasant thing in my whole experience at the Count's camp was the remembrance of my dinner with the good-natured soldier—I hope I may not fling a rock in his direction, instead of in Luke's! After a short talk the Count came back and stood before me, and I waited to see whether they intended to hang me by my neck or by my heels. But the Count said that he thought it best to let me earn my gold pieces, and so he was going to let me see all there was to see, and then return me to the castle, that I might let the garrison know that there was no hope for them. Evidently I had played my part so well that he thought I would do the garrison more harm than good.
"You saw my triumphant re-entry," said the Friar, laughing. "And now it remains for me to show Luke that he and the Count are bigger fools to let me go than I was to be caught."