As dawn began to soften the eastern sky and many were trying to ward off the cold, Philip began to pray. “Lord, maker of heaven and earth,” he said, “You raise the lowly and bring low the mighty.”
Peter Sikes stood some distance away, irreverently eyeing Devia’s castle. He glanced at Philip and shook his head. “It’s going to take more than prayer to get in there,” he muttered.
He jumped when a hand fell upon his shoulder. “Do you have any ideas?” Philip asked.
“We’ll need siege works, battering rams, and more men than we can muster, sir,” Peter responded. “Without them, I don’t think we have a chance.”
“Don’t you believe the Lord can hand it over to us, Peter?” Philip asked.
Peter remained silent.
“Do you remember the story of Jericho and how Jehovah destroyed the city walls for the Israelites?” Philip asked.
“Yes, sir,” Peter responded. “But we can’t march around the city.”
“It wasn’t the marching of men or the blowing of trumpets that flattened the walls, Peter. It was the power of the Almighty One. All Joshua and the Israelites had to do was to be faithful and march forward in His strength, not their own. That is all the Lord wants of us. We must march forward, expecting great things from Him.”
Peter wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said, “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t worry, Peter.” Philip slapped him on the shoulder. “Something good is going to happen. Have some men climb the wall. We need to be ready to open the gates when my father returns.”
When Philip was gone, Peter took one last look at Devia’s fortress. “It will take a miracle,” he muttered to himself. “Nothing short of a miracle.” Then he ordered men to climb Amity’s wall and set a watch.
Guards stood at each of the towers in Devia’s fortress. All night they had watched, wondering what the morning would bring.
The city was now quiet, but yesterday, when rumor had spread that Devia was dead, men and women of one accord had attacked the barracks of the hated redcoats. These outsiders had lived royally at the expense of everyone else. They had formed the backbone of Devia’s strength by enforcing every unpopular decree.
At sundown, Green Meadow’s militia held the upper hand, but no one really knew who controlled the city.
With redcoats inside and Philip’s army outside the fortress walls, Commander Barret Blakely watched Philip’s men climb to the balustrade on the border wall that Devia had pushed so hard to build. Sterns, his second in command, stood by his side and asked, “What will you do, sir?”
“I’ve received no orders,” Blakely said.
Sterns was known for speaking his mind. “Sir, we have waited all night for someone to rise to power, but no one has. I think the city is waiting for you to take charge.”
“Me?” Blakely questioned.
“Yes, sir!” Sterns responded. “Men know you to be capable. Most will trust any decision you make.”
“I can’t make decisions for others!” Blakely exclaimed.
“Then decide for yourself, and the rest of us will follow,” Sterns said.
Just then a young soldier hurried across the catwalks. “Captain Blakely, sir!”
Blakely stirred. “Yes, soldier.”
“Troops are climbing from the forest road on the western slopes. They carry the standards of Gaff and Stafford!” the man said.
Blakely nodded to Sterns. “Well, if people are willing to follow me, I’m ready for this war to be over. Prepare to open the gates!”
Miles of wall met John Stafford’s eyes. The mountain pass at Green Meadow was completely blocked. What would they do if this wall was held against them?
Nearing the fortress, John slowed his pace when he heard the distant bray of a trumpet. Thomas, John, and Gaff exchanged glances and then rode forward to within fifty yards of the gate. As if obeying some unspoken command, the huge doors slowly swung open, and John stared through the gates to see old men and young boys dancing and cheering. Men high upon the wall began to shout greetings and thanks for deliverance.
Gaff laughed out loud. “John! These cannot be Devia’s men. They’re opening the gates and welcoming you home!”
Men began to swarm out of the gates, racing to John Stafford and shouting their joy as they ran.
Gaff, John, and Thomas slowly began to make their way through the crowd toward the gates. Across the sea of humanity, John continued to watch for Philip. Where would he be? John asked himself. Most likely he would find a quiet spot away from the crowd. Looking beyond the mobs, John finally saw three men standing alone, away from the crowds and celebration. John recognized his son immediately, and he knew the men with him were his commanders Peter and Andrew. Heaven be praised! John prayed silently. Then, pointing, he shouted to Gaff and Thomas. “Philip is over there!”
The old men surrounding John parted only enough to let them pass. Philip hobbled forward on tired legs while John and Thomas slid from their saddles. There was not a dry eye in the crowd as the Stafford family embraced.
Suddenly a trumpet sounded from the walls of Devia’s fortress. The celebration died, and silence settled over the meadow. Devia, you old rascal, John thought, turning his eyes toward the fortress. What are you going to do now?
John, Philip, Thomas, Gaff, and Mathias moved toward the gates of Devia’s fortress. They intended to be on the front lines if any attack came, but no well-trained army poured forth in battle array. Two lone men walked through the castle gates, and each carried a white flag.
In complete silence, the Stafford men fell to their knees, offering prayers of thanksgiving and lifting their hands in praise to the Lord. Slowly, Gaff joined them, as did his son, Mathias, and within moments nearly every man on the plain had bent his knee, including Peter Sikes. God had indeed preformed a miracle! When those on the walls of Devia’s fortress witnessed the humbling of Amity, they too bowed their heads and hearts before the Lord. When John Stafford rose to his feet, cheers resounded from field and fortress alike. The war was over!