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Crossbowmen surrounded the battering ram as other crusaders pushed it across the causeway. The crossbowmen shot up at the Nordsmen, trying to deter the enemy archers while the battering ram moved into position. Their boots sloshed through the mud as the wooden construct trudged along its creaking wheels. Epsberg’s defenders, however, threw rocks and fired other missiles down on the crusaders from the castle walls and gatehouse without faltering. An occasional Nordsman fell from the wall with a bolt sticking from his head or neck, but the crenelated parapet protected Epsberg’s defenders from most of the shots.
Godfrey grimaced at the sight from his position just behind the battering ram. This was going to be tough. The corpse of Tancred’s rejected ambassador still hung from its rope in front of the gate as if mocking the approaching crusaders. How many scores of crusaders were already dead? How many more would join the knight hanging from the rope? Godfrey did not care to guess.
The missiles came down like an incessant hail. Screams pierced the air as men died. A rock crushed a crossbowman’s head as it fell on him. A footman doubled over as an arrow struck his chest. A crusader fell into the moat as a pair of arrows punctured him. Briefly thrashing on the surface of the frigid water, the unfortunate crusader choked on the murky liquid and sank to the bottom, never to rise again.
Larger projectiles from the crusaders’ catapults and trebuchets thunderously resounded off the castle walls as stone struck stone. Cracks formed across a section of the wall near the gate where the siege engines tried to concentrate their fire. The process was still far too slow for Godfrey’s liking.
The battering rams’ wheels cut deep grooves through the mud. Godfrey and twenty or so chosen knights followed the siege engine with their shields raised over their heads while Turpin held Godfrey’s banner aloft beside him. Godfrey had personally selected each knight in his retinue before the assault began in earnest. It was a mark of honor to be selected for such a task.
Behind Godfrey’s retinue were as many Bastognian footmen and knights as could reasonably fit on the causeway. With so little firm ground between the wall, moat, and gatehouse, he decided to leave the siege ladders at the rear of the attacking force. All hopes for the assault on the southern wall rested in either the battering ram or the stone-throwers. The ladders could not be used until the crusaders tried to cross the wall dividing the lower and middle bailey. If the crusaders made it that far; they still had to breach the outer defenses first. Godfrey clenched his teeth at the thought.
Godfrey and his knights were dismounted. Their horses would have been too tempting a target for the Clan archers, given how slowly the siege engine progressed across the causeway.
“I feel naked without Baruch,” Godfrey told Sir Rodair as the knight marched next to him.
The pace was agonizingly slow. The crusaders could only move as fast as the battering ram could be pushed through the mud.
An arrow pierced Sir Rodair’s shield, lodging itself in the wood.
“I know what you mean,” the knight gruffly replied, examining the arrow stuck in his shield.
Breaking the arrow shaft with a loud crack, Rodair pulled the fragments out of his shield. With a look of disdain on his face, he discarded the arrow fragments. The broken shaft was soon lost in the mud as crusaders plodded over the shards.
The melting snow softened the ground so much that Godfrey sank a little with each step he took. Stinking muddy water filled every footprint Godfrey left in his wake as he laboriously lifted his feet out of the mire. He silently prayed this assault would not grind to a halt.
The stink of burning pitch caught the air as the Nordsmen began firing flaming arrows at the battering ram. Godfrey’s heart skipped a beat. Not this. Not now.
The fiery darts flew lazily and inaccurately. Most sizzled and died in the muddy causeway or moat. A few bounced harmlessly off the ram’s roof before they could cause any real damage. This did not put Godfrey’s fears to rest, though.
The battering ram was close to the gate now. A few flaming arrows burned weakly on its roof. The causeway widened out to firmer ground for the last few yards in front of the gate. The crusaders were so close that the Nordsmen began dumping buckets of boiling tar down on them. If Godfrey’s muscles tensed any more than they already had, he would be unable to move.
“Loxias please,” he murmured under his breath. “Protect the ram.”
A crusader, Sir Karst, fell screaming as a fiery arrow immolated his tar-spattered body. The knight’s burning flesh left a terrible odor in the air. Swallowing hard, Godfrey ignored the stench and kept pressing on as Sir Karst’s screams died out.
Now with the battering ram’s frame squared directly against the gate, the crusaders drew the ram back and heaved it with all their might. Sir Euric, the knight who had spent so much time examining Godfrey’s sword at the temple, drew his ax and cut down the body of Tancred’s deceased knight from the rope in front of the gate. It was the least he could do for the dead, but he did not dare do more than that for now.
“Keep at it, men,” Godfrey encouraged the crusaders operating the ram from a few paces back, where the causeway ended. “Crossbows, keep it covered.”
The ram’s thunderous impact was the only reply Godfrey needed. The crusader crossbowmen continued to exchange fire with the Nordsmen, but the real danger was the amount of tar accumulating on the battering ram’s roof.
After several impacts, the crack of splintering wood resonated in Godfrey’s ears. The ram had penetrated the gate, but just as it did, the siege engine’s roof burst into flame. The crusaders manning the ram scrambled away from the blaze, and were met by a hail of enemy arrows. Some retreated to the causeway. Others were cut down by the missiles. A few cowered under the gatehouse, frozen with fear.
“No,” Godfrey yelled, rushing towards the burning siege engine.
He was unsure of how he was going to put out the fire, but he ran all the same. He could not let it end like this. So many men had already died to come this far.
Someone unexpectedly tackled him to the ground. Turpin had him pinned.
“You can’t save it.” Turpin shook his head at the bewildered Godfrey. “We have to fall back. Wait for the stone-throwers to breach the wall.”
“And cross the causeway again, losing how many more men?” Godfrey countered, his bile rising. “I won’t let all this come to nothing!”
His hand was shaking. Why did the gods allow this? Suppressing his anger, Godfrey reasoned rage would not win the day.
“I’m sorry,” Turpin insisted. “But you knew this might happen.”
Turpin got to his feet. He seemed oblivious to the deadly missiles falling around him. Using Godfrey’s banner to steady himself, the chaplain offered his other hand to Godfrey.
“Right,” Godfrey agreed, taking Turpin’s proffered hand.
With Turpin’s help, Godfrey rose to his feet.
“Fall back,” he said and gestured to the crusaders.
“But my lord...” Euric pointed back to the gate.
The fire had spread so that it not only covered the siege engine, but the gate itself also began to burn where the ram was lodged in it. It did not take much effort for Godfrey to realize how this could be used to the crusaders’ advantage. By the panic-struck expressions of the Nordsmen on the wall, Godfrey guessed Epsberg’s defenders were quickly coming to the same realization.
“Praise the gods,” Godfrey exclaimed. “Keep that blaze going.”
Godfrey, Turpin, the fifteen or so remaining chosen knights, and a handful of other crusaders rushed up to the gate. An arrow knocked the crusader next to Godfrey off his feet. A large rock narrowly missed Turpin.
Next to the burning siege engine, Turpin tore off his cloak and stuffed it into the flaming hole created by the ram. Others followed suit with their own cloaks, placing them wherever they could best help the fire spread.
Water poured down on Godfrey from above. Confused, Godfrey thought it was rain at first. Though the sky was grey with clouds, the water only came down from directly overhead in short bursts. The Nordsmen were dumping buckets of water onto the ram in an attempt to put out the fire. Godfrey would have laughed at this strange reversal had his life not been at stake.
“Crossbows,” Godfrey shouted to the crusaders still on the causeway. “Aim at the men on the gatehouse. Don’t let them put out the flames.”
Godfrey had to repeat himself even louder and gesticulate above his head, but the crossbowmen began concentrating their shots up at the gatehouse. Raising his shield, Godfrey narrowly deflected a rock which might have otherwise broken his neck, but the crossbows lessened the intensity of the Nordsmen counterattack on the ram.
The fire had done its work, and both the gate and ram were quickly becoming smoldering wrecks. Signaling for the rest of the crusaders on the causeway to close the gap, Godfrey looked to his selected knights.
“You know why I chose you?” Godfrey addressed the knights around him. “Though you are all strong and brave, that is not why you are to be first through the gates with me.”
The crusaders looked to him expectantly.
“You are here because of your faith,” Godfrey confided. “Not just the faith with which you served my father.”
He looked directly into Euric’s eyes, remembering how the knight reacted to his encounter with Uriel. He smiled at Euric, Rodair, and the other chosen knights in turn.
“You put your faith in me,” Godfrey continued. “You were some of the first to join me on this crusade. You put your faith in me, and believed me when you heard about my vision. And you believed me when I said the gods blessed my sword. I don’t doubt the faith of any one of you.”
He drew Uriel from its sheath, and Godfrey’s blade sparkled despite the layer of clouds hanging low in the sky.
“Now let’s see what the gods have in store for us!” Godfrey brandished Uriel overhead.
Storming through the open gate as the broken charred remains of the door fell off its hinges, he and the other crusaders bellowed as they entered Epsberg’s lower bailey. Nordsman archers and axmen were waiting for him and his knights as the crusaders began pouring through the gate. The archers let off a volley of arrows, killing five more of the knights on the spot. Somehow not a single arrow so much as grazed Godfrey, though he was at the front of the crusaders’ charge.
Countercharging with chilling war cries, the Nordsman axmen got between the crusaders and archers. The collision with the crusaders almost knocked Godfrey off his feet. They appeared even bigger to him now that he was fighting them on foot. With an upward slice, Uriel bit deep into the torso of the Nordsman in front of him. A second slash from Godfrey sent another Nordsman tumbling backwards. Every one of his strikes easily landed a killing blow.
Despite Godfrey’s amazing newfound prowess, the Nordsmen had little trouble keeping the rest of the crusaders from gaining much ground inside the castle’s lower bailey.
“Godfrey!” Turpin shouted from several paces back.
Looking about, Godfrey realized he was almost completely surrounded by the enemy. He was too far ahead of his men. Slowly giving ground, he parried a blow then another. He hoped he had not realized his mistake too late. This was not good.
“To me!” Godfrey tried to rally the crusaders forward. “For Bastogne! For Azgald!”
Blocking an ax with his shield, Godfrey struck his attacker with the pommel of his sword. The assailant fell back, clutching his bleeding face. Two more Nordsmen rushed Godfrey at once. Godfrey cut into the belly of one of the attackers, but the other Nordsman knocked him into the mud with the boss of his shield. Just as the enemy was about to sink his ax into Godfrey’s chest, one of the crusaders threw himself in front of Godfrey. It was Sir Euric.
Euric blocked several blows from the Nordsman, allowing Godfrey to get to his feet again. Euric struck down the Nordsman with his ax, but another Nordsman came in on his right and hacked through the crusader.
Howling with fury, Godfrey cut the Nordsman down in an instant. The other crusaders were pushing the Nordsmen back. The lower bailey would soon be theirs.
Godfrey knelt over the broken form of Sir Euric. They were both caked in mud. His chest rising and falling sporadically, the knight wheezed as he lay on his side. Dark blood seeped from the wound, soaking his tabard. As he turned Euric over on his back, Godfrey’s eyes met his.
“You saved me,” Godfrey stammered.
“I saved the gods’ chosen servant,” Euric rasped with a weak smile. “More importantly, I saved my lord’s son. I suppose that will get me a fine mansion in the heavens.”
Euric coughed up blood and was dead a moment later.
“So be it, son of Bastogne,” Godfrey murmured, turning back to the enemy.
With a loud crack, part of the southern wall came crashing down. More of Godfrey’s crusaders began pouring through the breach in the wall. Overwhelmed by the sudden influx of Bastognians, the Nordsmen in the lower bailey began falling back to the middle bailey. The stone-throwers had done their work.
“Some of you take the gatehouse.” Turpin pointed back to the crusaders behind him. “Get those archers up on the wall. Kill them all.”
A group of footmen found a solid wooden door at the base of one of the gatehouse towers. Hacking it down with their axes, they surged up into the tower. Others began climbing a set of stairs leading up to the wall’s parapet. Satisfied with Turpin’s call, Godfrey turned his attention back to the retreating Nordsmen.
“Charge!” Godfrey yelled, rushing into the midst of the withdrawing Nordsmen.
Shouting, the crusaders followed Godfrey as fast as their legs would carry them. The enemy’s retreat broke into a rout. Trampling over the dead and dying, the Nordsmen raced through the gate to the middle bailey in a panic. Godfrey and the other crusaders cut down as many as their weapons could reach in the attempt to overtake them. If the crusaders were lucky, they might even penetrate into the middle bailey.
As if in response to Godfrey’s very thought, a heavy iron portcullis slammed the gate shut, dividing the lower and middle baileys. At least a few dozen Nordsmen were still trapped in the lower bailey. The Nordsman archers on the wall fired down on the crusaders, despite their own men still in the midst of them.
With no other option, the Nordsmen caught between the wall and the crusaders flung themselves at the Bastognians one last time. They sold their lives dearly. Yet Godfrey wondered if the Nordsmen just out of reach could appreciate the sacrifice of their fellows.
Godfrey was about to cut down the Nordsman in front of him, but an arrow took the enemy out from behind. He cursed, shaking his head in disgust. The Nordsman archers were killing more of their own this way than crusaders. Unable to block their own archers’ fire from behind, the last of the Nordsmen in the lower bailey died with arrows in their backs.
Holding his shield over his head to deflect the rain of missiles, Godfrey looked up at the wall. It was just as high as the outer wall, and seemed to have almost as many archers defending it. Turpin finally caught up to Godfrey. The chaplain was panting. Sweat dripped down his brow.
“Siege ladders are coming from the causeway now,” Turpin reassured Godfrey.
“Ladders to the wall,” Godfrey ordered. “Everyone else hold here.”
Godfrey and the crusaders covered their heads and bodies with their shields the best they could. The Nordsman arrows deflected off helmets and shields. Still an occasional missile hit its mark. The constant hail of arrows and screams of sudden pain and terror emanating from crusaders all around him let Godfrey know the Nordsmen still had plenty of fight left in them.
Only now did Godfrey recognize that there were no berserkers among Epsberg’s defenders. Perhaps they were a rare breed of warrior, or they only committed themselves to the attack rather than defense. Godfrey would have to ask Madeline about that when he had the chance. There were more pressing matters now.
Not a moment too soon, the crusaders began to clear a path for their fellows carrying the siege ladders. There were five of the heavy wooden devices. Godfrey was at the first ladder as soon as it was placed against the wall. Turpin was at the next ladder almost immediately afterward. Godfrey slung his shield over his back as Turpin sheathed his sword. Putting a foot on the first rung of the ladder, the chaplain gave Godfrey the briefest nod.
“The castle is almost ours.” Godfrey pointed Uriel to the top of the wall, addressing the crusaders around him. “Victory awaits us up there. That or death and glory with me.”
With heavy steps, Godfrey ascended the ladder as quickly as his tiring legs would allow. Turpin was half a pace behind him on the ladder to his left. Sir Rodair led the crusaders up the ladder to Godfrey’s right.
Halfway up the ladder, Turpin took an arrow to the shoulder. Godfrey stopped in his ascent as Turpin let out a cry of pain. The banner in Turpin’s hand dropped. Seizing up, the chaplain fell from the ladder and plummeted to the ground hard.
Godfrey’s stomach sank to somewhere deep within his bowels. He stared at Turpin’s contorted form lying on top of the banner. The chaplain did not move.
“My lord,” Rodair called to Godfrey. “You have to keep moving, my lord.”
There was urgency in Rodair’s call. The man clearly feared Godfrey would refuse to go any farther. With that thought, Godfrey shook the numbness from his mind. Rodair was right. The knight was farther up his ladder than Godfrey. There was a queue of crusaders building up beneath Godfrey on his ladder. He could not mourn now.
Blinking away the tears, he continued up the ladder with grim resolve. He stomped up as quickly as he could, closing the distance Rodair had gained over him. Arrows narrowly missed Godfrey. A rock grazed his spangenhelm, but it only dazed him for a moment.
Jumping over the parapet as soon as he reached the top of the ladder, Godfrey launched himself at the nearest Nordsman. The enemy archer had a sword drawn, but was caught off guard by Godfrey’s reckless abandon. Godfrey slashed through him, then bashed another off the wall with his shield. Rodair and the other crusaders joined Godfrey atop the parapet, cutting down all resistance. More crusaders fell, but the wall was nearly theirs now.
Godfrey surveyed the scene of battle from atop the parapet. Conrad’s contingent had three siege towers against the western wall with crusaders spilling out onto the defenses. The fighting was intense and Conrad was in the thick of it. Godfrey had to give the Wolf credit for that at least.
Tancred’s soldiers were fighting it out with Epsberg’s defenders in the middle bailey. The eastern wall was completely overrun by the knights of Pavik. Some of them had even broken into Epsberg’s keep.
Godfrey’s jaw dropped. There was Tancred with a trio of footmen on the keep’s roof. They were raising not the banner of the Knights of the Silver Sun over the keep as they should have, but Tancred’s own standard. Falling to his knees, Godfrey cursed Tancred’s vanity. The battle was won, but not for the crusade.