A ray of sunshine strayed through the heavy drapes of Marguerite's bed chamber, it tickled her nose until she opened her sleepy eyes. As she stretched, a twinge in her neck recalled the dire happenings of the past day clearly to her mind, and joy flooded her whole being and made her heart sing.

Freedom, what a heady word. To be no longer at the beck and call of the man she hated, and no longer having to live with the fear that he would punish her mother, for her own real or imagined misdeeds. She rose to sit on the edge of her bed, dangling her feet.

As her thoughts strayed to Felippe, the friend so near, asleep in a chamber only the width of a hallway from her own, a rosy blush brightened features that had been cynical for far too long. It defied her understanding why his nearness should have such an effect on her. Had she not been widowed for a long time and then been forced to play the whore to their oppressor? Why would she be blushing like a maiden just awakening to womanhood?

Confused she threw open the window to let the morning air cool a face too warm from sudden emotions, only to stop and listen to a tiny bird singing its heart out on a branch outside. Its song was filled with a joy of life that resonated in the heart of a woman whose life had seemed at a cruel end such a short while ago. Marguerite's soft crooning joined the song of the bird in an paean of gratitude for this new day.

A sudden loud boom stopped the singing of bird and human. The little feathered one flew up and away in alarm, and the woman recalled that war still held her world in its grip. Shaking herself back to reality, Marguerite hastily donned her robe and departed for the kitchen to see what she could offer her mother and guests for their morning meal.

Slippered feet passing by his door woke Felippe. He wondered which of the women it might be. A he lay there puzzling over this, he grinned. It didn't really matter, but it was a relief to be able to consider such a trivial matter without having it pushed aside by much more urgent matters. His tasks were mostly done, he thought. The city was retaken, and it was only a matter of time before the Anglis in the fortress surrendered and were removed from there as well.

He considered the relative positions of the rooms of the three women. The one used by the angel sent to rescue them was off to the right, in the direction the footsteps had been going. Lady Audren's room was to the left. Only the one for Marguerite was across the hall, and just a little to the left. For some reason it seemed to him that the sounds had not started from so far up the hallway as the owner's room.

Now his face did light. She was awake and about. Others were not as yet. It was an ideal time for him to rise and join her, a time when the two of them could talk if they both wished, or just share some quiet time together. The smile became a boyish grin as he rose from the bed and suited actions to thoughts. Pulling on his trews he stuffed his nightshirt into the tops and laced them. Without benefit of stockings or boots he opened the door and padded softly in the direction the footsteps had gone.

Coming around a turn in the hall, he collided with Marguerite. Instinctively, his arms went around her and he held her fast to keep either of them from falling. As he did so, he became aware that she had on only a thin robe and her nightdress, not her usual dress and corset. The softness of her delighted him, and the subtle scent of her hair sent his senses reeling.

Momentarily she stiffened at his touch, but Felippe's hold on her was so gentle and loving that it stripped away the grim wall of defense she had built around her innermost self. As of their own accord her arms wound themselves around his neck, and she nestled her head trustingly against his chest.

Felippe had been her trusted comrade, but she knew not when trust had turned to something deeper and more fundamental. Shame and self recriminations had not allowed her to see, but it was as if her near brush with death had cleansed her of the cynical distrust that protected her soul like a shield. A small voice within her promised that she was still worthy to give and receive love.

As she tilted her head to look into his face, there was a shine in her eyes that stripped away the years of fear and sorrow.

The gesture of utmost trust in him as she raised her arms and put them about his neck elicited the response that the Maker and the Mother of all things intended. Yet even as he reveled in the idea that she did love him and trust him, he realized that her movement also laid on him the responsibility to take no advantage of the situation. Before his passion swelled to noticeable degree, he hugged her briefly and then released her. With a grin he turned her sideways and swooped her up into his arms, carrying her like a little girl.

Back the way she had come he took her, his memory of childhood visits taking him toward where he recalled the kitchen being. Within that was a large table, one at which he had eaten many meals. His foot hooked one of the chairs out and he gently set Marguerite into its seat. Kissing the top of her head and laying a restraining hand on her shoulder to keep her seated, he moved away to the cistern to see what might be present for making a meal to break the fast of all the occupants of the house. As he did so, he got his physical being back under control once again.

She struggled a tiny bit when Felippe lifted her into his arms and carried her to the kitchen. It was so good to feel cherished and cared for once more, after eons of surviving by sheer cunning and deception. A contented sigh escaped from her lips as she watched Felippe disappear through the door that led to the cistern. She could not imagine that he would find anything edible, since the house had been uninhabited for such a long time. Her own plan was to barter for a jug of milk and some eggs from one of their neighbors.

To her surprise he reappeared carrying a jug of milk and a basket filled with eggs. Cautiously Marguerite tasted a bit of the milk and found it fresh and sweet. Breaking open one of the eggs, it too was untainted by age. She could not imagine how such had gotten into the cool recesses of their cistern, unless some unknown personage had made use of their property. With a grin she announced, "This being war, I will not question the right or the wrong of it, but thank providence that we shall not go hungry this morn." From a cupboard she produced a tightly sealed jar filled with flour and a cruet of oil. Both proved to be in usable condition, and while Felippe built a crackling fire in the hearth, Marguerite searched the brambles, in the overgrown garden, for what berries she might gather.

Soon the enticing smell of crepes cooking on an iron griddle filled the kitchen and sent inviting tendrils down the hallway to lure the other occupants of the house.

Felippe found a treasure trove of good food. Eggs were there, along with milk, cheese, a small basket of mushrooms so freshly gathered that the loam in which they had grown still clung to the stems. Hung from a hook was a side of smoke-cured bacon, from which he quickly carved a number of slices. A loaf of bread, a crock of butter, and one of honey rounded out what had been provided for them. There were other things as well, but none seemed to be necessary for the meal to break their night's fast.

Leaving the other things, Felippe piled a metal tray high with the good food he had found and carried it back into the kitchen. Marguerite's eyes lit as if she had been given another new life. She sampled the milk, grinned, and then took up an egg and broke it into a bowl that the man provided. It too was fresh and good.

"This being war, I will not question the right or the wrong of it, but thank Providence that we shall not go hungry this morn," she announced with a grin.

"Providence indeed, my Lady." Felippe's grin answered her infectious one. "And unless I miss my guess by a long way, that Providence is just now stepping into the room behind thee." He motioned toward the door where a slight figure in a very short white toga had stopped and was observing the scene before her. His smile grew even more broad, for in her sleep-tousled state the girl was even more becoming than she had been the preceding day. The dimples in her cheeks made her look like a child, and Felippe wanted nothing more at that moment than to hug her until she gasped for breath. Yet it would be entirely inappropriate to do so, and he hastily smoothed his expression and controlled his voice. "Welcome, gentle Angel."

Essa had slept as if there was never to be another chance to do so. Yet the good smells of a morning meal in the making roused her and drove her from her chamber and toward their source. As she came into the room she was struck by the scene of two people who, although not espoused, were in the midst of preparations as if they were. Gentle smiles and touches passed between the two, and Essa delighted in seeing that. This was the way the Maker had intended his children to be. She smiled, and her face dimpled deeply.

Sir Felippe's welcome did not surprise her as much as the appellation he used for her. He smile broadened as she responded in kind.

"I thank thee, good Sir, for thy heartfelt welcome. It is not often that one such as myself is included graciously and without fear. I am ..." she added in a thoughtful tone, "... Essa." The man nodded.

"Ye have found what has been provided by the Maker. Good. I for one am famished, and will enjoy the eating of this bounty. It is almost ready?" Her questioning voice was slightly plaintive, as only that of a hungry youngster in the teen years can be. The man grinned, and the woman smiled in like fashion. At the Lady's beckon Essa came to the table and seated herself at once. Then she looked about and a small line appeared between her flawless eyebrows.

"Lady Audren is not joining us? She has need of good nourishment, I believe. And since we are eating informally I see no reason why she must take the time or effort to dress completely before she dines."

Her statement had the ingenuous ease of a girl just into her womanhood, yet there was a slight undercurrent of command there as well. Marguerite and Felippe exchanged glances and then the woman handed her cooking utensil to the man and departed with a slightly pink face. He turned to his benefactor and responded.

"Lady Bidane has not yet awakened. Normally we would wait for such and then take a meal to her, for she has been much abused and is in great need of rest. However, Marguerite has gone to wake her and prepare her, and I will go in a moment to carry her here, as you wish ... Lady Essa."

Essa's face now flamed, for she had meant no rebuke and only wished to ensure that the elder woman received a goodly share of the meal. Tipping her face down she said, "I must apologize to thee and thy Lady. I meant no disrespect."

Before the man could respond, the voice of the Lady came from behind her. After telling Felippe that Lady Bidane was ready to come to join them, she addressed Essa.

"There is no need for apologies, Lady Essa, especially not from one who has done so much already. You could not know how much my mother has suffered at the hands of the usurper, and how it has broken her health. She is but the shadow of her own self, I fear."

Felippe returned carrying the frail form of the Lady Bidane and placed her gently in the padded chair at the head of the table, while Marguerite set out an array of food from which wafted tantalizing scents, in hopes of tempting her mother's appetite.

With a gracious gesture of invitation, she begged Felippe and Lady Essa to take their seats before she served them. A smile showed her appreciation for the good appetite their angel exhibited. Might young angels be not so very different from young humans?

Once she too was seated, she gave thanks for the blessings they had received, followed by a few words invoking a blessing for the efforts of their rightful King.

The response of Lady Marguerite brought a cherubic smile to Essa's face. Recalling her manners, she had risen once when the Lady came into the room Now she looked for all the world as does a child who has completed a task successfully and has been warmly praised by her parents. The dimples were back, and her eyes shown once again. Suddenly her eyes became more normal, and her face lost some of its sparkle.

"Lady Marguerite, I would ask a boon of thee. If it pleaseth thee, may I visit thee and Sir Felippe from time to time? I want nothing from either of thee, except to talk occasionally. For there is much about thee that I admire, and much that even one such as I have yet to learn and can learn from such delightful and kindly people as thee and he." Her face had a pleading look.

Just then Sir Felippe entered carrying the Lady of the house. Invited to sit, they all did. The conversation began as did the meal, and it was warm and relaxing. Breakfast took much longer than had been the custom in Essa's home, and it was approaching midmorn before they finished.

Essa continued to enjoy the company of Lady Marguerite, along with that of Lady Audren. The elder woman remained with them for a time, but then asked to retire. Sir Felippe carried her back to her bed, and before long she was once again fast asleep. Still, even so slight a meal and good milk as she had enjoyed seemed to have worked some change. Her skin held a fresher look and better color, and Essa determined to see that she had time out of doors to enjoy a little sunshine. She spoke of this to Marguerite.

Marguerite could scarcely imagine why a messenger of the Almighty need ask to be permitted to visit with them, but with a smile, she gladly granted the request. Their angel seemed very young and precocious, but Marguerite would never forget that she owed her life to this being from another plane. She would always be welcome among them.

It was a delight to see that her mother ate with renewed appetite. Freedom was a heady tonic for the body and soul, and Marguerite hoped that its magic would bring renewed strength to the woman so depleted by long captivity. She was touched by the tenderness with which Felippe carried the old woman, and agreed that the warmth of the sun would soon give new strenth to old bones.

Things seemed very quiet in the town around them, only the far spaced boom of the bombard occasionally disturbed the peace, and she wondered when the next assault on the walls of the citadel would take place. Nothing indicated that Lord Paul and his lady had returned as yet, and she feared for their safety.

All seemed to be hushed and waiting.

people were trying to go on with their lives, but so much of the city was exposed to the field of fire from the Citadel that it was nearly impossible to move from place to place and remain entirely covered. Only by going the long way down into the catacombs beneath and up again could people be assured of not being a target.

For the English soldiers were getting very unhappy. The balls from the bombard were making the job of walking the sentry paths very hazardous without exposing the enemy to any kind of return fire. Their unhappiness translated to frustration, and they sought some relief from that feeling.

More than one archer shot at children as a means of taking out some of his aggressive feelings upon what he considered to be an ungrateful population. Others targeted the women, feeling that this would cause the most consternation amongst the men of the town. Few if any tried to shoot at the men, for those had proven to be equally adept at picking off soldiers from the battlements. And a broadcloth arrow cares little for which nationality its target proclaims. It simply does its job, quietly and efficiently.

By day's end, one young girl had been hit in the leg. She had managed to limp off without falling to the shelter of a building, from which vantage she was rescued by a frantic set of parents. Another child, a five-year-old boy, was not so fortunate. While his mother screamed and screamed, one of the archers sent three, four, a half dozen arrows into the lad as he tried in vain to get to shelter. The boy died there in the plaza, his glazed eyes still seeking understanding from his mother of why he should have been put through such an ordeal.

Cold fury took the townsfolk then. If they could have managed to tear their way into the Citadel, nothing would have stopped wholesale slaughter of the English soldiers and the few remaining conscripts. As it was, a small but fervent group of men and women, one being the boy's mother, began to quarry a tunnel beneath the walls starting from the outer catacombs. They swore to work day and night, and given a week or ten days they would create such a passage.

Throughout the day stone balls continued to march heavenward and then fall upon the Citadel keep, creating all kinds of wrack and ruin. At first, most of it was expended upon the flat roof of the building where the Lord Commander had kept his machine of war. However, when that collapsed, the balls began to drop inward and ricochet around, spraying their deadly cargo of shards.

Men on the battlements were not immune, however. Sir Jamie's gunners wanted to see results. They walked the settings of the bombard back and forth so that the balls grazed the pathways of the sentries as well as dropping inward. The whole camp raised cheers each time a chunk of a walkway flew and they could see figures of English soldiers scurry to find new protection from the death that rained upon them.

Meanwhile Sir Jamie called a conference of the senior officers. He was at the end of his patience with waiting for Lord Paul's weapon to force a surrender. He began his meeting by explaining where things stood at this time.

Jamie's voice died away. He had told the other commanders, plus Sir Rodrigo, Father Calgacus, and the two youngsters, of what he knew of the results of the bombardment that now had been going on for nearly a full day. He had explained that they had expended nearly half of their supply of projectiles, and that the powder was going at about the same rate.

"If we dinnae hear frae Laird Paul by mid-day on the morraew, we shall have failed tae take the fortress. Then it becomes a stand-off. We can nae take it by shear numbers, and they can nae drive us awa'. Yet we must nae let it coome tae this. Tha' will give them heart tae resist. We must find a wa' tae get in." Jamie paused and pulled at his chin, deep in thought. There was something in his mind that was trying to get his attention, but he could not quite bring it into focus. After a few moments thought on the matter, he continued.

"I need ideas, my friends, guid auns that either will crack tha' shell oor else draw the enemy oot. Ony sich ideas will be appreciated, starting a'noo." He shut his mouth and listened. No one spoke for a long few minutes, but then one of the Irish Captains asked a question. He wanted to know if they should try to draw out some of the enemy by launching a taunting raid against the gate into the Citadel.

Jamie thought on this idea for a time, considering how such a move might be utilized to best advantage. At last he spoke to the question.

"Aye, Donovan, ready thy men. A half hour from the time this meeting ends, I want thee tae be charging the gate. But first the ithers and the Scots must move quickly as soon as we adjourn. They must move to positions from whence they can see the gate and see men coome oot. If ony dae, they must mount a charge in right awa' behind the English and try tae force the gate tae ope. Let us gi'e tha' a try, and then we shall see wha' we make of things.

It was at that moment that a young soldier burst in, recovered himself, and then hurried to place himself before Jamie. "Sor General," he sputtered, "the Commander of the sentries orders me tae tell thee an' these ithers tha' we have seen wha' luiks tae be a monnie an' a woomon at the window of the high to're. They seem to be waving, but wha' it is aboot we dinnae ken."

Jamie thanked the man and sent him back to his commander. Then he looked out at the group gantered around him. With a casual wave, he dismissed the meeting and then led the people who had attended it out to look toward the Northwest tower.

"Hurrah, there they are." Tam shouted as he waved his bonnet enthusiastically. It was plain to see that it was Lord Paul himself and his Lady up there in the tower.

"Jamie, they hae made it, they are inside yon pile of rocks."

All looked expectantly at the young man who would order their next move.

When the most recent shot of the bombard had taken flight the leader of the gunnery team approached John of Morton. “Sir John,” he said, “We have fired a good twenty rounds from the time we set the bombard up until now. I have counted the remaining shot and there are only twelve more of the stone balls left. If we keep on firing one shot an hour we will be out of these granite balls by sundown.

I will have some men go out looking for similar sized rocks, but these stones we are using were carved from rough stones into nearly perfectly round shapes we will not have the time to do that kind of work.”

Sir John nodded and said, “Lord Paul said that we were to fire one round per hour, and that is what we have done. We will continue to do so until we are told either to change our rate of fire, or to stop. I will say, though, if we get down to three rounds, we will have to resort to the stones that we can find that are nearest in size and shape to the ones we are now using. Perhaps the local folks can think of a place where such stones can be found.”

“I will ask the three or four Basque’s who are helping us with the Bombard if they know of any place like a stream where the water had worn some stones round and smooth,” the man said.

“That’s a good idea, ” Sir John replied. The sooner we find an alternate source of stones, the better.”

“ I’ll get them looking as soon as I get back to the bombard.” He said with a grin as he walked away.

“See to it!” called Sir John.

He had seen the messenger enter the tent and speak to Tam, who departed abruptly and then returned in great excitement. Made it? What did he mean? With a wave, he took himself and the others out of his tent and looked toward the Citadel. Sure enough, there in the window of the highest tower was the face of Lord Paul, along with that of Lady Ainea. They had made it!

But the question was, why were they showing themselves to their companions in this way, instead of opening the fortress gate? What did they want? What did they need? Or did they just want Jamie and the others to take heart knowing that they had arrived?

Paul was waving, but not calling out. Jamie dared not yell at him for fear of attracting the attention of the guards in the Citadel to their presence. The young General was frustrated, for he could not see well enough to let him decide what his master's reasoning was. Suddenly, Paul held up one hand and disappeared. Had he been discovered? What had happened?

No ... there he was again. He leaned out the window and did something to the sill below. Then he pointed at it. Jamie went a little apart from the others so Paul could see him plainly and squinted, trying to see what had been done. He could not make it out, even when he shaded his eyes with his hands.

"A shilling tae the mon wha' can tell me wha' Laird Paul just did tae the sill of yon windae." Others took up the cry and soon many of the men in the camp had done their best to discern as well. None could. It was then that the priest appeared from his tent, the cleric carrying a short board and a package of sticks. He strode toward Jamie, and stopped before him.

Calgacus, the monk set the package of sticks on its end. Still holding the board under his arm he made explanation to the man before him.

"Sir James, a priest told me of the possibility of a need. I have done some experimenting, and found that his ideas were sound. Please allow me to demonstrate?" When Sir James nodded and waved for him to proceed, he did so.

First he handed the board to Sir James, cautioning him to handle it with care. Then he set up the three sticks, which were bound together at one end with a curious little circlet of metal. This allowed the sticks to be spread at the other end, forming a tripod that settled into surprisingly solid stance. The top end came about shoulder height on the cleric. Sticking upward from the center of the circlet was a short pin.

Calgacus now accepted the board back from Sir James. He laid it onto the top of the tripod such that the pin engaged a hole in the middle of the board. This allowed him to move the board in all directions and also to tip it up and down at one end. Then he had Sir James hold the board flat while he reached into pockets inside his robe. From these he drew forth two pieces of rock crystal. These had been ground into lenses after the manner described by Roger Bacon, the English philosopher, in the year 1268 in his Opus Majus.

"I first heard of this from a friar in one of the old monasteries. The Kirk frowns upon such things as being trifling with the will of God. It says that if men were meant to improve their sight or to see great distances, they would have been given that ability by the Creator. However, I believe that the ability of the mind of a Man to think and reason, that ability being given by the Creator, should not be ignored. Observe, Sir."

Each lens had been painstakingly set into a circlet of metal, these each having a pin on the side. Calgacus inserted the pin of one lens into a hole at one end of the board, and the other into a like hole at the other end. He rotated the lenses so they faced each other. Bending slightly, he looked through the lens at the end furthest from the Citadel. With a grunt of satisfaction, he stepped away. Then he came close again and took over balancing the board.


"Sir James, look for thyself!"

Jamie looked through the closer lens. At first he did not understand what the good Father had found so interesting. However, suddenly his breath caught, and he stuttered in surprise.

"Wha ...w ... wha ... what? How?"

His head jerked back and he straightened abruptly. For a long few moments he looked at Father Calgacus with dismay and surprise. But the cleric just stood there looking back at him with a soft smile, saying nothing, and doing nothing. Jamie regarded the contraption again, this time with greater attention to detail. He inspected it closely, but could find no obvious answer to his observation.

At last Jamie spoke once more to the question. "Faither, sommat is amiss here. Wi' aun eye I can see the door of yon gate, and the fittings upon it. Yet wi' the eye with which I look through yon contraption, I see naught but blur until I look sic that I see through both of the glasses. Then I see the gate as weel, but my Heavenly Faither! It is claeser! Yet my ither eye sayeth it is nae! Wha' is this, pray tell?"

Father Calgacus, not knowing how to explain the phenomenon but accepting its reality, simply shrugged. Jamie looked again at the assembly and scratched his head. With a shake of his head he stooped and looked through the lenses again, this time concentrating on what he saw. Sure enough, to the eye that was looking through the glass he could see see the gate in much better detail. Suddenly he realized what the Father meant for him to do.

Seizing the end of the board closest to him, he pivoted the other end up and sideways until it was pointed toward Lord Paul. There on the window ledge just below were some marks. At first, the young commander puzzled over them, for something in his brain said that they should have meaning. At last the light dawned. They were letters, laid out upside down and backwards. With his tongue clamped between his teeth, he muttered the letters as he made them out in his mind.

"A ... t ... t ... a ... e ... no, no. Tha' aun is nae e! 'Tis c. And the last aun is k." Reciting, Jamie spelled out the word again. "A-t-t-a-c-k." So suddenly did he straighten that the board nearly jumped off its mounting peg and the tripod swayed dangerously. "Attack! Laird Paul wants us tae attack? But why? How ...?" After waving to Lord Paul that he understood, Jamie spun on the ball of one foot and sprinted into the tent, snatched up the maps and began to study them furiously. Only one diagram drew his attention this time, the one Lord Paul had drawn of the inside of the Citadel. To get to the gate and unlock it, Paul and Ainea would have to cross the courtyard, in full view of any sentries ... unless ... .

Unless there were things that drew the attention of every man in the place. Stepping out of the tent once more, for the first time in his short command Jamie yelled his orders.

"Horses! Ge' ye tae the horses and saddle them! Men, mount thyselves, we charge!" Turning to the foot soldiers, he exclaimed, "Ye moost come as quick as ye may! Run for the walls a'noo, and start to fire! Take thy shields, men, and use them as the turtle does his shell. Put them together sic that ye civer aw' including the archers wha' fire through the chinks and can nae civer themsel's. We must draw their fire!" Then to the Irish, he added, "Ride for the gate! Buckets of tar! Take buckets of tar! Hurl them at the gate and fling a torch! Anything!" A moment of consideration and he added, "When ye have the gate a'light, ride aroon the walls! Yell, scream, anything tae draw attention." And drawing one last huge breath he yelled so it could be heard clear to the South Gate, "MOOOVE!"

The men jumped to do his bidding.

As Sir Jamie sprinted for the tent, Calgacus, the monk watched him go. With a smile he nodded. Jamie might not have time right now, but he understood that he just had done something momentous and would be full of questions later.

Sighing, he turned to take up the machine he called a speculatorum. It was a rough one, his first, but now he knew how to make a better one. More, his experiments with shaping the lenses had yielded results as well. He had tried many types of crystal, excepting of course diamond, before a chance comment to Lady Sarah had yielded some rather pertinent information about the properties of rock crystal*.

The main one was that some rarer versions of this interesting soft material were relatively clear, and the stuff was quite easily cut, shaped, and polished. Of course, that also meant that they could be scratched quite easily which was why when he carried them they resided in special robe pockets that were lined with soft lambskin with the wool turned inward. There they were fairly safe.

Now as he gathered his equipment and began to walk back to his own tent, he thought that perhaps he might have seen Jamie bitten with the bug of far-seeing, and have started an on-going inquiry by the young man. Since he was highly placed and well respected, such development would stand a better chance with him than with an obscure itinerant priest.

Riders hurtled into the city on horses laboring to do their best, many carrying buckets of tar or flaming torches. Jamie, on the back of a prancing and dancing charger, rode tall at their lead. He was determined that the men he sent into this battle for the Citadel would not go and leave him behind in safety. As they pelted up the incline he was bent low over his animal's neck, encouraging it to get as close as possible with all speed. Arrow after arrow glanced off his armor and fell useless. None of the English bowmen seemed to think of the idea of shooting his horse from beneath him.

At last he was within the so-called 'free zone', that area where none of the men on the walls could lean over enough to shoot at him without themselves falling to their deaths. Only the arrow slits of two embrasures gave full view to his present area, and he made the most of the respite. Pointing with his sword and screaming his commands over the general hubbub, he directed those who followed up the ramp.

They split, flinging their loads of tar sideways onto the great gate itself, its wood made susceptible to burning by years of drying in the sun. Those who had done their work wheeled and streamed back down the ramp on the outsides, allowing free passage up the center for those still approaching. Behind the tar-bearers came the torchmen, and the English went into a frenzy of activity trying to kill them off before they reached throwing range. Several died there, more rode back wounded. Two horses went down, those making passage difficult by their thrashing and futile attempts to rise.

Both those riders were picked up by the ones coming down the ramp, scooped up onto the backs of saddles and hustled out of arrow range. Dropped off inside the city gates, they joined the onrush of foot troops who picked any perceived weak points and began a protracted attack against them. These Irish became extra commanders, rallying those who were disheartened and directing their efforts anew. Behind them, several of the men shot from saddles died, but others were rescued by mounted men who leapt from their own horses and dragged them to safety.

Many of the torches found their mark, and the gates roared into flame. Water poured from above on the flames only served to spread the inferno, for it simply washed the oily tar into new areas which then quickly reignited from adjacent areas. Those trying to quench the flames seemed to be incapable of coordinating their efforts so that all the burning was doused at once.

As soon as the deed was done, Jamie led the men in a hurried, yet orderly, retreat. Once outside arrow range, he stopped and turned to watch the gates burn, hoping of a miracle. If only they would burn through ...! However, the fire did not last long enough to do the complete work. True, at the very top, a line of light showed through the portal. But lower down, the massive oaken planks were reinforced and seemed to be as solid as ever.

Meanwhile, the Irish broke off to the sides and rode around the walls of the citadel. Mostly, they kept up a steady chant of insults and darings, inviting the enemy to sally outward and engage them like men and warriors instead of "... cowering within the walls like cowards!" Thy were met with showers of good broadcloth arrows, but most were able to avoid the worst of those efforts to bring them down. Only two more were injured and none fell from their saddles. Again, the English archers failed to use good judgment and shoot the horses, instead trying in vain to shoot the riders off their animals.

Suddenly, all firing from inside the Citadel faded away and ceased. Although the defenders could be seen still manning the towers and battlements, no amount of insults and taunts could draw forth any further response, except only in the areas of the two entry gates. And the efforts of the foot soldiers around the walls were laughingly unproductive. Nothing they carried could penetrate those huge blocks of stone. Not that they did not try, but their efforts were insignificant as a hazard to those inside.

Seeing that someone in the Citadel with good sense had restricted the fire of precious ammunition in an effort to retain the ability to respond to real threats, Jamie reluctantly raised his horn and sounded a retreat call. As it happened, however, that came just moments before another firing of the bombard. The English were standing up and cheering or jeering at the retreating attackers when the ball struck.

However it occurred, someone had slightly undermeasured the powder for that charge. Instead of clearing the battlement of the keep and dropping inward, the shot struck the outer edge of the battlement itself. A huge shower of splintered granite and marble from the ball and stonework sheeted away, horizontally inward and arching outward. Much of it sliced across the keep battlements, taking down many of the men assigned there. In all over three dozen men were either killed outright or wounded severely.

The carnage below them on lower battlements, especially on the outer walls of the Citadel, was much worse. Almost three score men fell, many of these blinded by looking upward toward the cries of their fellows on the keep just as the little slivers of flailing stone reached them. It was a catastrophe. Now it was the turn of the attackers to cheer, even as they dragged themselves away from the walls and returned to their camp outside the city. Only five men in the attacking force had died, the two Irish riders and three of the foot soldiers who by chance all were Scots.

But Jamie mourned each one as a personal friend. As soon as he had seen that the injured were put in the hands of people who could treat their wounds effectively, he returned to his tent. Within its confines and overheard only by the two men Tam had set to guard him, he swore as only a commander who has lost valued comrades can do. Their demise made him more determined than ever to find a way to enter the Citadel and exact retribution for those deaths.

Paul and Ainea sought to get out into the courtyard and cross it while the attention of the English was centered on the conflict outside the Citadel walls. They had exited the tower itself and were half way across the open area when they heard a loud oath from above. A man, standing on a balcony three floors above, had seen them. He wore the clothing of an officer in the English military. Paul had no idea who he was, but he seemed to be in a frenzy.

Snatching up a bow, the swearing officer sent arrow after arrow their way. He was not accurate, a fact that perhaps was the saving grace for the couple. Paul noticed in glances over his shoulder that he seemed to be staggering as he screamed for the attention of those on the battlements to rain fire down upon the two in the courtyard. He saw that as he had Ainea ran back toward the tower to get away from the unsteady stream of arrows that the man sent after them along with his curses.

Peering around the jamb of the doorway into the tower, Paul could see the flames licking at the top of the main gate of the Citadel. He chuckled to himself, but it was a sour amusement. Even if that burned through, the invaders still would be faced with the portcullis, now dropped, that was just behind it. Still, Jamie had made a valiant effort, and his skill in raising a diversion had been noticed.

Suddenly, Paul realized that the man who had been firing at them no longer was doing so. Instead, he heard boots clattering down a set of stairs inside the structure across the courtyard from them and understood that the man was coming down to seek for them. Turning to Ainea, he grabbed her hand.

"Quickly, Dearest. We must go down into the cellars and find refuge. Our chance for this time is lost, and we must hide!"

Thomas Allison awoke in darkness. The torch he had used to find his way to this long forgotten room had gone out long before he awoke. He sat on the edge of the cot for some time holding his aching head in his hands and wondering just where he was and how he was going to find his way back out to daylight once again.

Finally he rose to his feet and putting one hand against the wall felt his way to the door. The deep, dreamless sleep that he had had, had had the effect of clearing his head and once again he was lucid. He carefully felt his way through the darkness step by step and was very careful not to get turned around while wandering in the dark. If that happened, he could be lost and wander around until he collapsed from starvation and died.

Every once in a great while he could hear the dull, far distant boom of the bombard being fired, and that gave him some hope and a way of measuring time, for he knew that unless they had changed their routine, they were firing it once an hour. So far, he had heard it three times.

Finally, he rounded a turn in the corridor and his eyes beheld a dim light ahead. He knuckled both eyes to be sure he was not hallucinating, for he had thought he had seen light earlier, but had been mistaken. This time the brightness did not fade. Making his way toward the dim light he was able to find a stairway that led upwards. This, in turn, gave way to one of the corridors that led to the Kitchen level of the citadel. Now, at last, he knew where he was.

He made his way up through the passageways that were familiar to him until he found himself out side his office once again. He pushed open the door and went inside. The place was a shambles. One, possibly two, of the projectiles fired by the bombard had impacted here, for the ceiling of his sleeping chamber was shattered and had collapsed.

Picking his way carefully amid the wreckage he found that his clothes press had survived intact. For the first time in a while he actually smiled. Stripping off the sweat and vomit stained remnants of his uniform he found that the water basin was also still intact but the water within was still covered with a thin film of dust. He took up a rag and carefully swept the dust to one side and then up out of the wash basin. With another rag he began to bath the dirt from his body.

When he was finished he donned one of the three remaining clean uniforms he had. Now he felt like a new man. He was buckling his sword belt about his more than ample waist when he heard the BOOM of another shot from the bombard. This made six he had heard in all, since he had awakened. That meant that he had been wandering in the dark for around five hours. He thought to himself that if he survived this whole horrible experience, he would send men down into the depths of the many underground passages beneath the Citadel to map them out. That way no one would be lost there again.

He returned to his office and made his way to the window. Looking out he could see that it was close to midday.



He was about to go looking for something to eat when he heard a loud uproar coming from the north. He had no window that faced that way so he made his way out of the office and down a corridor. He came out onto a section of the wall that faced to the north and saw the riders coming toward the wall and the gates there. He saw them hurl something through the air and heard the dull thuds of those objects striking the gate.

He was a bit confused as to what it might be at first but suddenly his nose caught the odor of tar. His eyes widened as he saw the riders come charging up with firebrands, which they tossed at the gates. Black clouds of smoke rose as the tar caught fire and he could hear the crackling of the flames even from where he stood.

He heard the solid crash as the chains that held up heavy iron portcullis were released allowing it to drop into place behind the wooden gate. Now, even if the gate burned through, the portcullis would prevent them from easily gaining access to the Citadel grounds.

That great piece of ironwork had to weigh at least two tons. With the hoisting chains allowed to run freely and unfettered through the narrow gaps through which they ran, it would take some time to thread them back to the great capstans that allowed the men to hoist the gate back to its raised position.

As he mad his way along the top of the wall he stooped to pick up one of the good English longbows and a quiver of Cloth yard arrows that he found lying discarded. Damn the fool of a man that left them lying there!

He continued along the wall until he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning in that direction he saw a man and a woman running across the courtyard. He yelled out for the men at the wall to turn and shoot them down but the sounds of battle were too loud and no one heard him.

Frustrated, he took an arrow from the quiver and put it to the bow. He drew back and was about to loose it when he caught sight of the sword that the woman carried in her hand. It could NOT be! But when he looked again he could make out that it was indeed the long lost sword of Nuada.

That fact alone brought a shiver to his spine and when he released the arrow it went wild, coming nowhere near the running duo. Arrow after arrow he released, until the quiver was empty. He watched as they reached the safety of a heavy oaken door, which they opened, passed through, and closed tightly behind them. Howling and swearing in frustration he ran along the top of the wall toward the major portion of the conflict.

The first person that he encountered was none other than Sir John Colby. “ Major Colby” He spat, “ forget the gate! There are two people in the Citadel that MUST be found! A man, and a woman with a sword. Take every man you can and scour the citadel from top to bottom. Search EVERYWHERE! They must be found! The woman will be easy to spot, she has hair the color of flame and carries a sword big enough for a man.”

Sir John stopped and stared at the Lord Commander. Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms and said in a soft voice, “And where should I begin looking for these two people, Lord Commander, in your office, the kitchen or perhaps, in the Wine Cellar? You seem to find a lot of unusual things there, ‘Lord Commander’.”

“Damn you for your insolence, Colby!” The Lord commander shouted back. “May I remind you that I am in command here, not you! I order you to take the men and search the citadel. NOW!”

“Sir, I must decline to obey that order, for if I take the men from the gate it would be just the same as giving them the way into the Citadel. If we get through the day, I may be able to spare some men for the search, but not until nightfall.”

The Lord Commander was about to reply when there was another crashing Boom from the bombard and the stone flew into the sky. This time, it traveled on a lower trajectory and impacted the top of the wall, sending a shower of stone fragments skittering through the air. Half a dozen men went down before the fragments and others reeled to one side or the other, wounded.

The majority of the damage was done one level down. There a full score or more of men lay on the stone paving, unmoving. All around there were wounded trying to scramble to safety. One man rose to his feet and took about three steps before he realized that his right arm was gone below the elbow. He staggered back in shock, but an unwounded man nearby had the presence of mind to tie a strip of cloth around the stump to keep the man from immediately bleeding to death. With luck the man might live.

Sir John Colby turned to the Lord Commander and asked, “Lord Commander, do you STILL desire that I take the men and spend time searching for two people who may, or may not be there; or should we stay here and defend the gate for as long as possible?

A look of fear and panic came into the Lord Commander’s eyes. He looked about for someone who might aid him, but the surviving men were trying their best to get the wounded to shelter.

“Damn you, Colby. No, Double damn you! I will see you hang for this! Once this is over, I will hang you myself! Stay and protect the damned gate if you wish, but remember I am still in Command here! I expect as many men as you can spare to search the Citadel this evening, right after sundown!”

Bowing politely, Sir John replied, “I will assign as many men as I see fit to the task, Lord Commander.” He knew full well that even if he sent all the men in his command to do the job it would take them days to completely search the Citadel itself, and then there were the maze of tunnels and catacombs beneath the place. NO, he thought, “I will not have anyone to spare this evening or any other evening for such a fruitless search. If we can hold the gate through this night it will be only by Gods blessing.”

Ainea was more annoyed than worried about the foolish officer who was shooting arrow after arrow in their general direction. It was easy to see that he was too drunk for his missiles to be effective. So when Paul tugged on her sleeve to make her follow his retreat, she was about to balk.

"That drunkard is no danger to us," She started to protest. However, his howled curses could easily bring other troops on their trail, and with only the two of them, they would not be invincible.

Thus she followed Paul's lead into the bowels of the citadel. Where they must need bide their time for another chance to raise the portcullis.

Paul saw at once that he had no intention of following them himself. He knew of Ainea, and her sword! Paul could see the fear in his eyes. Instead the man sent out cry after cry for men to come to him and go after the interlopers. Paul dared not wait about for that to happen. Even Ainea, although reinforced by the skills of the Sword of Nuada, could be killed if enough men came at her at once. They must retreat to a place of safety.

Taking up Ainea's hand, with naught more than a "Come now!" he started off. The quickly wound their way through the deserted base of the tower, and Paul used his memories of this place to good advantage. Once or twice when he faltered, Ainea supplied answers from the memories she had of the Citadel that she had gleaned from Paul in the Elvin transfer. They quickly found their way deep within the place, traversing hallways and corridors that had not been used in centuries.

this concerned Paul, for he was worried that they might be tracked by their footsteps in the dust. However, as they passed and he looked back, he could see no sign of either his own or Ainea's passage. The dust appeared to be undisturbed, and webs from the little spiders that infest stone buildings also seemed unbroken. How this could be, he knew not, but he accepted that some unseen providence was guarding them. With a prayer of thanks to the Creator, he hurried them on their way.

Behind them, the five men who eventually followed became more and more confused. Footsteps in the dust ended abruptly, and were found in unlikely places leading to blank walls or blind hallways. Dust appeared in places they never before had seen it, and traces of passage were there, yet the halls were busy and no one had seen the strangers. The English Corporal in charge of the search detail, enraged at the stupefied looks about him, slew a Basque whom he thought refused to give him a meaningful answer. Those about when it happened ran off shrieking that he had lost his senses and was killing indiscriminately. Finally, a Cook's helper plunged a kitchen knife into his throat to put a stop to his threats. None of the other men, for the moment outnumbered and realizing that the Corporal had overstepped any reasonable bounds, chose to enforce discipline upon the terrified helper. They simply picked up the body and lugged it upward, abandoning the search for the fleeing Paul and Ainea.

As for those two, they eventually found shelter in a little room that was deep in the bowels of the Citadel, one whose doorway was tucked deep in shadow under a flight of steps. At first the air was dank and foul-smelling. However, soon it became clear and fresh although Paul could find no source for the flow of clean air. But what confirmed that someone was watching for them was when they wakened from a short rest to find that there was a small table of fresh food, cider still cold from the cistern, and two cots with comfortable mattresses and warm covers, and a change of clothing for each. Also in one corner was a tub of steaming hot water, a bar of heather soap, and drying cloths that were soft and inviting. The torch they had brought in was guttering, but there was a small pile of new ones stacked neatly into a corner. They had all they needed for several days.

She looked around in amazement. How could such a chamber be waiting for them, when no-one knew of their presence? Wondering whose lair this might be, she glanced longingly at the tub of steaming hot water and the sweet smelling soap. It had been ages since she had been able to delight in a real bath.

"Whose chamber might this be, my love?" She asked, hungrily eying the table piled high with food and drink. It was long since the last of their provisions had been consumed. "Do you think the owner would mind if we helped ourselves to a bit of food and a tankard of cider?"

Ainea's questions brought a soft smile to Paul's lips. A low chuckle issued from his belly, and he nearly choked trying to stop his mirth. At last he got out what he was thinking.

"I believe we have seen the results of a well-performed task of scrying, my Lady fair. Unless I miss my guess, Essa has something to do with this, or else it is Lady Sarah herself. No matter, this food and that tub of hot water were put there for us, not anyone else. Think on it, my Dear. Would anyone in this place visit us with such things, much less do so and not waken us as they battered down the door? And see here? The bolt of the door still is firmly fastened, and there is no way to move it from the outside. I put that bolt there myself, in my eleventh year, to give me a place to hide and study. I wished to read things the clergy were determined to keep from the public. And so I did." He grinned anew at the memory.

"Now," he continued more seriously, "the only question is which ye want most desperately. Shall ye fill thy tummy first, or cleanse thyself? I shall do the opposite, or if ye wish it, join thee in both. But I think the opposite is best for now, do not ye also?"

She blushed furiously, but then laughed at the whole preposterous idea. Between guffaws of mirth, she gasped, "No, dearest, I dare say you shall not join me in yon bathing tub. It might be very pleasant, but highly improper for a future King and queen." Her giggle sounded like that of a naughty little girl.

With determined steps she moved away from him and into the alcove that held the inviting tub, and with her back turned to Paul, she swiftly disrobed and slid into the welcoming warmth with a deep sigh of contentment.

Ainea swiftly disrobed and slid into the welcoming warmth. Paul, for his part, grinned as she started to untie and undo, and then with a sigh turned his back. Walking to the table he began to serve some to he good foods there into a trencher. Once that was piled high, he went to one of the little benches and set his trencher on one end, and himself on the other. It was difficult to restrain himself from peeking at Ainea, but the food helped divert his attention. It was as good as it looked and smelled, although it was not as good as he was sure Ainea looked.

Still, he managed. In due time he was nearly finished his meal when Ainea spoke from behind him. Praising whomever had set the fare at the table, she kissed him on the back of the neck as she passed on her way to the other little bench. Paul looked up and grinned. Women, he decided, had little idea of what really appealed to men. At the moment Ainea was the most desirable apparition he had seen in all his life. Seated as he was astride the bench, her long legs protruded from beneath the bottom edge of a huge drying cloth that she had wrapped about herself. Her hair was bound up in another cloth, that one wrapped like a turban. Stray curls of her long hair jutted out, each one nodding and bobbing in exhilaration as it struggled to escape entirely and free its cohorts. Each strand twinkled and gleamed in the torchlight, and her head seemed to be covered with the most exquisite of jewels.

Utterly without selfconciousness at first, she took several bites before finding him watching her. Then she looked down at her legs, pinked, and looked back up again. Tipping her head a little to the side, she studied him in return. Then she grinned. With one finger Ainea pointed toward the still-steaming water, and then she picked up her trencher and reversed her position on the bench to present her back to him.

Paul chuckled, took his last bite, and while he still chewed that he rose. Catching up his goblet as he went, he passed by the table once more to refill the vessel a little and then went toward the huge wooden tub. Without looking back to see if Ainea was watching, Paul threw off his clothing and in turn sank into the now-sudsy water with his own grateful sigh. Long minutes passed as he soaked out the bumps, bruises, and strains of their passage through the King's Retreat. The companionable silence was broken only by the sound of Ainea's knife, and his gulps of his wine.

Refreshed and eased by the warmth of the water and a bit unsettled by Paul's regard, Ainea turned her back on him as a signal that she would honor his privacy while he too bathed. She did not peek, but helped herself to some of the food and drink that so generously graced the table. No dainty little miss, she ate heartily as befitted the strenuous activities of the day.

Behind her the splashing of water told of Paul's enjoyment, so long denied them during their journey. This chamber provided a sense of security that allowed for relaxation in the midst of a fortress still in enemy hands. Somehow they both knew that nothing and nobody could harm them in this lair, it was warded by fey friends who would guard them well. The time seemed right for her to slip back into her clothes while Paul was occupied with his ablutions.

When she heard Paul footsteps approach from behind, she rose to refill his tankard. He was fully clothed, with his hair curling damp and dark around his brow. She squelched the impulse to kiss him but instead chose a bunch of purple grapes from the bounty on the table, and plucking the first of the luscious fruits, she proceeded to touch it to his lips. Her actions innocently tempting, as they shared the fruit between them. They both knew that this moment of serenity could not last nor must it be protracted.

Fruit felt cool against his lips. That was in marked contrast to the warmth of the fingers that held it, which were so warm that at first he was alarmed. Then he realized why. It was Ainea. She was warm, in that way that a woman is when she is with the man she loves, in a situation that entices her. A sudden flush of warmth suffused Paul as well. Yet he knew that he must not take any advantage of her. Not in even the smallest way. He took her hand after taking the piece of fruit from it, and led her to one of the little benches.

His fingers picked one of the grapes from the vine and he returned the gentle favor to her, his own body's heat telling her how strong was his desire for her. Yet he made no move to entice her further. Suddenly, tension seemed to flow out of Ainea. She trusted him implicitly, and that defused the situation. After they exchanged several of the tart little globes, Paul gently took the remainder from her hand and set them aside.

Turning her with a soft touch to face away from him, he began to massage her neck and shoulders. He recalled that this was something that Lady Christina had said she enjoyed having Sir Kent do for her, and that it made her feel loved and cared for. he was not sure how this might develop, but he thought it worth a try as an alternative to hugs and kisses, which under the circumstances seemed to be much too intimate in the present circumstance.

At first, there were little ridges in the muscles of her neck, but as he continued to softly work on them with his thumbs, they gradually relaxed. As soon as those were pliable, Paul moved down to the upper part of her shoulders. While she had put on clothing, she had not put back on the corset that she normally would wear in public. However, the material of her shift was fairly heavy, so it was chaste enough while still allowing him to get at her shoulders and upper arms when she decided to loosen the upper ties.

Her faith in him and her utter trust astounded him. What had he ever done for her, or for that matter for anyone, that should entice this maiden to put her whole self and being in his hands? How could she just do that? Yet his answer was right there before him. He could do that with her. God knew, he could no imagine himself with any other woman, not any more. None could hold any kind of serious interest for him. Not even one so lovely and innocent as the lithe and fascinating little Essa. Not even the magnetic and charming Lady Sarah. His attention was all right where it should be, on this lovely creation that now sat before him and murmured soft sighs of contentment as her body relaxed in his care.

He kept it light and gentle, still making sure that as he worked on her that each muscle received enough work to cause it to relax. At last she was so, and his hands fell away. He bent and buried his face in her mop of glorious hair, not caring in the least that it might seem to her to be disheveled. The scent was heady and exhilarating. Then he gently and briefly kissed the top of her head before he straightened.

She instinctively was teasing Paul as the stress of their relationship was wearing on her. The knowledge of what convention demanded of them battled unconsciously with the inner feelings of a woman in love. This easily could have led to disaster, had Paul not diffused the situation with his gentle touch.

His hands on her shoulders smoothed away the tension as if by magic and she lowered her head trustingly and nearly purred like a contented cat while he worked his magic. Only when he buried his face in the riot of red hair, did once more her spirit demand that she turn and return his kiss. But the moment of madness had passed, and she simply leaned back into his caring arms, feeling cherished and safe.

Ainea looked so absolutely deliciously beautiful that Paul almost lost his resolve.

Almost ...

But not quite.

For a time he sat there with her like that, the two of them looking into each other's eyes, finding there whatever it is that lovers see. For a time, that was enough. However, the trials and expenditures of energy that they both had made in the last day again caught up with them. Feeling safe and secure, they were drifting off to sleep when Paul started and sat up straight. Leaving the now-puzzled Ainea lying on his legs and against his chest, he raised his arms and stretched hugely.

Then, in what seemed to her to be one fluid movement, he was up, had scooped her up in his arms, and was already several steps on the way toward her bed. Arriving there before she could protest, he deposited her gently, and spread the quilt up over her. He tucked her in all snug, and then sat on the edge of the bed to lean over and kiss her. It was a long, slow kiss, one that he would not have dared if she had not been clothed and then further protected by the bed cover.

It started as a direct, soft pucker, which then spread into tiny nibbles against her lips, and then progressed to his tongue searching against her strong teeth for a way to get to hers. At last that barrier went away and the kiss became firm, established, and filled with gentle love. His quested, hers replied and then searched in its own turn.

His hand was at the back of her neck, stroking her hair, tangling itself in that luxurious mane, and helping her to support her head as he tried to get across the message that he loved her. At last he parted his lips from hers, leaving them both gasping and dazed. With a soft whisper, he told her of his feelings.

"Loving thee is going to be so wonderful. I mean, it already is, but loving thee as thy husband ... that will be extraordinary!" He nearly laughed at the comical expression on her face as she tried to quiet the chaos that kiss had caused and at the same time process his declaration of how much he adored her. Before she could quite manage it, he had risen and gone to his own bed. There he sat, looked at her as she gazed at him with a speculative look that only women who just have realized they have won can have, smiled, and then snuffed the little torch.

As he pulled up his own covers in the darkness, he heard her gentle reply.

While her breathing slowly calmed, forced to by her will, her heart continued to beat wildly, stirred by his kiss. With a soundless sigh she pulled the covers to her chin, as she whispered, "Sleep well my love, and pray that the time be short ere we may be joined by the will of your people."

The boon of sleep came to her swiftly, brought on by the exertions of the day. Fleeting shadows and smiles told of the dreams that held her in thrall, but in the darkened chamber none could tell, not even the man who featured heavily in those dreams.

Sir John of Morton spoke of having done new calculations regarding the use of powder and the corresponding angle of the trajectory. While David did not follow all of the mathematics, he did understand what John was driving at. They could use less powder, not drive the shot so high, and use a lower, flatter trajectory. This would bring the balls into the keep at an angle instead of almost vertically. The gun crew commander thought this would be better, since it would make the shot carom off the walls, spreading the destructive force.

He watched as the bombard roared its latest challenge to the tenure of the English in the Citadel. Their corrections to the angle of the trajectory were quite good, but not exactly accurate. Instead of falling inward, it hit the parapet edge and shattered, sheeting the whole area with tiny shards of granite as well as fragments large and small of the marble cornice of the crenelation. As it was, this served to do great damage to the enemy, although Sir David and Sir John could barely make out the extent of it.

David raised the muzzle a tad bit and felt assured that the next shot would drop as desired. Meanwhile, they were saving enough of the precious powder to enable them to have three or four more shots at the end of the supplies. That might be critical. He grinned in anticipation as they waited for Sir Jamie to arrive and hear about what they had done. Hopefully he would approve of their initiative.

Jamie sent his horse off to be curried, fed, and its minor wounds cared for. He himself had only one such, a slight scratch where the iron point of a broadcloth arrow had flipped up and scratched him on the neck as it fell away. He waved his aide away when the man hurried toward him. For a brief time he allowed himself to reflect on the losses they had incurred in the failed attempt to gain entry. He did not know why Lord Paul had been unable to accomplish the task, but there it was.

At last he felt he had spent enough time feeling regrets for the failure. He left his tent and stood briefly outside, stretching in relief at being out of his armor. Then he turned his attention to the bombard, which just had fired another of its hourly shots. He watched this one loft lower, clear the side of the keep, and drop within. Its disappearance was followed by the sounds of the ball bouncing within, and shrieks of dismay from the English. Striding off toward the bombard revetment he stepped within and found Sir David and Sir John there. The two were in discussion about calculating the amount of correction required to take care of the shortfall of the shot that had not cleared.

He listened with interest as they described the new calculations and the results. After a few moments of consideration he spoke to their comments.

"Och, weel doon, Lads! Aye, ye be richt, we shall need tha' powder later on. Nae need tae waste it. Carry on." He had gone several steps away from the revetment when it occurred to him to ask for ideas from these two loyal men. Returning, he tried as best he could to explain his quandary.

"I need a way tae get us inside the Citadel. Tae dae this, we must destroy the gates, or at least damage them enow to let us get inside. the nasty part of it is tha' there is a porcullis within the gates, and tha' remains undamaged. What say thee, Lads, ha'e ye ony ideas?"

The two looked blankly at him as they considered this request, but after several moments of thought both shook their heads. Neither had any suggestions. But while they were considering, Jamie was looking past them toward the bombard. At first he was considering Sir John's description of the lower trajectory and what this might do to the walls of the keep. Suddenly the light went on in his head. His excitement was plain on his face as he grasped the arms of both men and hustled them outside. Squatting in a clear space, he brushed the sandy soil clear and picked up a stray stick. In the slanted rays of the late sun, he began to carefully draw the picture of what he was describing as he drew.

"If we can fly the ball on a flatter trajectory and do even maere damage tae yon toower, wha' would be the effect if we fired it thus? And can it be doone?" His drawing showed the cannon placed so it could be fired up the ramp toward the Citadel doors, from just such a distance that the trajectory was nearly flat.

The pair immediately set to arguing the merits and demerits of the idea. Sir John was of the opinion that it could not, for it meant loading the device with powder that would fall to the side of the barrel. The shot would not seat, he maintained, and the huge vacant area behind the ball would prevent the powder from burning properly. Lord Paul had been very specific that the ball must be compressed against the powder. Jamie puzzled over this, as did Sir David. How to answer this need?

Suddenly David had a thought. "Luik thee, if we put the measure of powder intae a linen bag, would it nae be pushed alang by the ball and kept behind? And tae keep the ball from falling faerward aunce maere, we can stuff rags a'doon the muzzle after the ball."

Jamie's face lit once again. "Of caerse it will waerk!" he enthused. "Guid thinking, say I. And I thank thee as weel," he added to Sir John. "Thy thouchts too were of value, for it shewit to us a fault in my plan." He rose and clapped both men on the arms. "A'noo, we must keep up the firing whilst we plan how to muive this great beastie intae the town and set it up wi'oot the English seeing wha' we dae."

The three set to discussing how to do this. Several plans were made and discarded when it was found that they were needlessly complex or required materials that they did not have available. At last they came to what seemed to be a useful concept. The more they considered it the more all three liked it.

"Then it is decided. We muive it taenicht, after moonset. Gae thee and prepare aw' tha' we need. And the guid Laird bless thee for thy thoucts, Gentlemen. This may end this bluidy battle aunce and for aw'."

Sir John Colby was a bit surprised at his own reaction to the Lord Commander. Until now he had followed the man’s orders no matter how impractical they seemed, but this was the last thing he has expected from him. It made absolutely no sense for him to abandon the gate that was the main target for the attack and go off searching the Citadel for two people who may, or may not, be there.

Now, to be truthful, he, himself, had seen the woman with flaming red hair a number of times. But she was outside the walls of the Citadel. There was no way, as far as he knew, that she could have gotten inside the Citadel.

Oh, there were the usual rumors of a secret passageway, which was the old King’s escape route but there was nothing substantial about them. Many had looked for it and had come up empty handed. There were also those who had gone searching for it and had never returned. From what he had heard, the entire hill beneath the citadel was honeycombed with catacombs and tunnels, so searching down there would not only be time consuming but dangerous as well.

As for physically challenging the Lord Commander, that should be no problem. The man was grossly overweight and out of shape. He was a drunkard as well. Add to that the fact that the man was a coward who had huddled in his office when the bombard began its deadly rain of stone shot and the man was not fit to command anything.

Sir John looked out across the land and shook his head. The forces outside the citadel now had the upper hand. They had taken the town of Orreaga with little loss of life to their side and now they also stood a very, very good chance of overrunning the Citadel itself. He needed to take a count of the men left under his command but he knew that it would all add up to the same thing… the Citadel was more than likely lost.

He had set up a bucket brigade to bring water form one of the wells within the citadels walls and they were keeping up a steady stream of water on the inside of the gate where they could reach, but the flames still licked hungrily up the outside. The four-inch thick barrier would hold up for a long time, but it would eventually fall to the flames. His estimate of it lasting through the night was going to prove just about correct.

Once the gate collapsed there would be only the iron portcullis standing between the invaders and the interior of the Citadel. He would have to make plans for that eventuality because he knew that it would come to that sooner or later. Calling his two most trusted lieutenants to his side he withdrew to a sheltered area and began to plan for that occurrence.

David and young Tam worked out the plan for moving the bombard. It would not be done easily. However, they put the finishing touches on the ideas and then called Sir Jamie to review their thoughts. After listening for only about five minutes, their General raised his hand. He told them that, in his opinion, they knew best how to use the resources they had to get the job done. Giving them full authority, he released them to get on with the work.

By now it was very late in the day. Soon it would be nightfall, and they needed to have certain materials readied before nightfall. David took charge of that. John began the process of readying everything that would be needed to use those materials, and Tam helped with that. They enlisted the services of the Irish, as well. Those great warriors heard the plans and set to with abandon, their pleasure at being enlisted in this effort quite apparent to all.

Just as night was descending, David returned with his crew. The men set about working with two great tree limbs they had cut, each one a peculiar shape. These two limbs had grown from their trees about two feet an then had turned upward at about a thirty-degree angle. Saws, huge hands and arms to hold the great limbs, and lots of sweat resulted in the cutting of twin boards that were straight and true for most of their length, with that curious upturn at the ends.

For David had listened with glee to the story that Sir Kent and Lady Christina had told at the Sleeping Dragon Inn about sliding down a hillside on a hand-made wooden sled. David was going to use some of that knowledge here. And now was the time when a lot of hard work would have to be done very quickly.

The time came for the next firing of the bombard. It belched its load of fire and flame, voiced its resounding boom, and the ball soared upward. Even before it struck, the men were hard at work. Ropes already attached to the carriage of the weapon were used with the derrick that had placed the barrel into that carriage to lift first one side and then the other. Each side got one of the runners that David's men had so cunningly fashioned. The carpenter quickly pegged the runners to the frame of the carriage, and then the machine was set back upright.

All in all, it took three quarters of the hour to complete this much of their work, and then David and John laid the aim once more. Assured that it was somewhere close to correct, they began the process of loading the weapon. On the hour the bombard belched another load. The ball carried off from its previous settings, this time landing in the courtyard of the Citadel. Not much damage was done except to fracture the centuries-old marble flaggings. Only one man was seriously injured, a guard who had the misfortune to look inward through one of the arrow slits just as the hunk of granite impacted. A spinning chunk of the ball ricocheted off the side of the slit and sliced its way across his scalp, leaving him screaming in horror as his own blood blinded him.

After correcting the aim, the two knights led a work expedition into the city. Once more they relied on materials that David's crew had located, this time in the form of four tall pine saplings that had been stripped of their branches. Bound together at the small ends and butts splayed, they formed a quick tall pyramid framework the men could use to raise a plank screen to block the vision of the English. It would not do for them to see and realize what was going to happen.

Even as the screen was raised, other men started constructing a new emplacement behind it. A few torches provided enough light for the work, but try as they might the curious English could not see what those illuminated. As soon as the new emplacement was ready, Tam took the men back to the camp where they were fed and told to rest as much as possible before moonset. John had the torches extinguished.

Several times more, the bombard spoke and threw its load of destruction. At last, the moon slipped behind a low bank of clouds near the Western horizon and buried itself for the night. There remained enough light from the stars to see at close range, but not enough to make out either details or activities. Tam sent the two young messengers as riders through the town to tell all the residents to put out fires, candles, and torches, and to stay strictly inside their homes. A surprise was coming on the morrow, they were told, and there would be a celebration. But for tonight they must remain at home and wait.

All the adults complied, and somehow