Читать книгу The Cavalier Club - Stanley Goldyn - Страница 9

Chapter 3

Departure

The climb up the stone steps proved wearisome. They had been worn by centuries of regular pedestrian traffic and eventually took Jack and Chauvin to a partially enclosed, square platform high above the cathedral’s slate roof. Their thighs pulsed. The tower with its spire continued even higher but from this landing they were presented with an unhindered, panoramic view in all directions. A pair of ravens cawed as they flew off, disturbed by the sudden presence of the two men. The cavaliers indulged the autumn wind, which was cool and gusty at this height, by removing their hats. Fortunate to have a relatively fine day, they were blessed by a vast expanse of cyaneous sky that was marred only by distant, billowing clouds strewn across the far northern horizon.

They had reached the level of the bell tower that contained two brass bells, one larger than the other. Less ornate than the majestic icons installed at Notre Dame, these bells were nevertheless impressive. A series of ropes had been attached, allowing the bell pealers to ring either or both bells at the required times. The platform had been built to allow for the maintenance and cleaning of the bells and their cable mechanisms. Standing higher than any other structure in the city, their unobstructed plangent tolling would carry well beyond the fortifications to the nearby farms and small clusters of surrounding hamlets, calling the inhabitants to Mass.

“Alain!” Jack called in a loud voice so as to be heard over the wind. “What a pity that this landing is so high. It would have been an ideal position from which your Monsieur Roberge could fire at the attackers should the wall be breached.” He peered out at the spectacular landscape.

“My thought exactly,” Chauvin responded incisively. “Did you notice the many windows that we passed climbing up here? He could position himself further down in the stairwell and knock out the glass from those nearby on all sides. Roberge would be very comfortable, I’m sure, sniping from that height with such an open, unimpeded view. Shooting the enemy like lambs in a yard,” he laughed wistfully.

Jack made use of his telescope, silently thanking Galileo for its timely invention a few years earlier. The rest of their party could be seen gathered below, near the fountain in the square. They were smoking while waiting, as ordered, for the officers to return.

Resting against the corner column to steady his view from the buffeting wind gusts, Jack first scanned the view to the north. The pretty countryside featured predominantly undulating, wooded hills stretching into the distance. The northern periphery of Pilsen ran parallel to the Mže River, which was wide and fast-flowing just before its confluence with the Radbuza River to the east, effulgent in the morning sun. The city’s outer curtain wall closed the gap between the north bank of the Mže and the formidable Berounka River, encompassing a small cluster of buildings beyond the main wall. Their inhabitants had recently relocated inside the city for safety, leaving the buildings empty. Jack could see no sign of enemy movement in this direction.

Moving his attention further east, Jack saw wide stretches of cultivated fields between the two walls. Two Protestant companies had bivouacked outside the outer wall, their role to secure and patrol these open paddocks and the adjoining sparse woodlands beyond. Mansfeld had plainly issued orders forbidding the burning of crops and destruction of buildings outside Pilsen’s perimeter. His unreserved belief in victory meant that he recognised the value in saving the harvests for the use of his own soldiers, their mounts and the wagon animals.

Jack proceeded to the diagonally opposite column, and continuing to explain to the corporal all that he saw, peered intently through the telescope to the south. Here, beyond the expansive, proximate stretches of open farmland, he observed the main body of the opposing army. The lightly wooded hillside was inundated by their agminate camp, confirming the extent of the campfires that he had seen during the previous evening. He could only guess at their number, estimating about 15,000 troops but not knowing how far the encampment stretched out of view beyond the ridgeline.

“I can see Graf von Mansfeld’s quarters, Alain. A few banners, adjutants and guards, but, in general, all is quiet.”

Just beyond the outer wall, six companies had been stationed near the eastern corner of the city. They had apparently gathered their dead during the night and were waiting beyond effective musket range for further orders. An air of complacency pervaded the enemy camp, presumably instilled by the belief that their vastly superior numbers were undefeatable. Jack panned further to his left, now looking at the main gate and beyond, towards the northeast wall. More infantrymen had been positioned across the river and had occupied the abandoned village past the bridge. This was their main outlying force—muskets and pikes, together with cannons, trained onto the main gate. Clapping a hand on the Frenchman’s shoulder, Jack passed the glass to Chauvin so that he could appraise the situation for himself.

“Not much activity out there,” the corporal commented in a gravelly tone after some minutes. The wind was beginning to chill him. He blew on his cold fingers as he returned the telescope and gloved his hands.

“I believe they’re waiting—perhaps wanting to starve us into submission—and why not? Yesterday’s attempt cost them dearly. Their supply lines are fully open and are being replenished daily, unopposed, while we’re shut up in here, surviving on what we have in the granary,” Jack spat into the wind. His gaze swept over the eastern vista one last time, and he replied sombrely as he snapped his glass shut, “We should descend. It’s time to report to Mayor Hritek.”

A small body of officers had gathered in the nave as agreed. They nodded briefly as the pair appeared from the stairwell.

“Well, gentlemen,” asked the mayor cordially, “did you observe all you wished to see?”

“An illuminating view from the bell tower, sir; I would refer to it as most stunning under different, more peaceful circumstances,” Jack confirmed, shaking his head.

Standing in a comfortable circle, Hritek smiled fleetingly in agreement, his eyes blinking rapidly. “Please allow me to introduce my officers.”

Pointing to each in turn, the mayor presented Captains Emile Horvat, Zdeněk Svoboda and Miroslav Kovar. Jack and Chauvin bowed to each. The two men were afforded respect despite their lower rank and were treated as equals in recognition of their valorous conduct on the parapets.

“Monsieur Hritek, may I suggest that we adjourn to the presbytery and continue our discussions in a little more privacy?” Jack nodded to the door on his right. He stood next to the mayor and caught the sour, nervous smell of the man’s sweat.

“Absolutely; quite right,” the mayor agreed and pointed the way ceremoniously with his puffy hand. “After you, gentlemen!”

The six men entered the smaller room in which Jack and his group had spent the previous night. It was still comfortably warm despite the fire not having been rekindled. Jack looked up at the window of St Christopher and was impressed by the scene when lit by daylight.

“We don’t want misconstrued or idle rumours being spread by our hard-working kitchen staff,” Hritek stated, looking back into the nave while they seated themselves comfortably around the furthest table from the door. Chauvin was invited to join them.

“My officers, Messieurs Channing and Chauvin, have collected intelligence. Captain Horvat will present his report. Please add whatever facts from your own reconnaissance you deem important to complete our appraisal.” The mayor pronounced Jack’s surname as ‘Sharning’, having misheard the original introduction. He looked at his senior officer with expectant, raised eyebrows, signalling him to begin.

Horvat, winsome and amicable, spoke slowly and clearly, looking frequently around the group of faces to impress each point. He commanded respect and respected authority in equal measure. “Gentlemen, we have 2500 soldiers, including 30 cavalrymen. Our infantry consists of approximately 1500 musketeers and 1000 pikemen, although the latter have been trained to use the harquebus. An additional 400 able-bodied men who are not soldiers but include farmers, shopkeepers, nobles and so on have been utilised as sentries to periodically relieve those on the walls.” He paused to clear his dry throat. “Even those in the dungeons could be called to duty.” These were desperate tactics.

“There are 15 small-calibre cannons deployed primarily on the northeast and southeast ramparts protecting the two main city gates with the majority of our men. A small contingent of muskets has been placed at the third gate as a precaution. Every other postern gate is guarded by a pair of sentries. The cannons are mobile and can be positioned where necessary. We have essentially proportioned our defences to counter that of the capricious enemy.

“We expect Ernst Mansfeld’s attack, when and if he decides, to push through the northeast gate. There, we have the moat and the most solid defence gate towers, with cannons and marksmen heavily concentrated along both adjoining sections of the battlements. The moat is deep and precludes the enemy from tunnelling under the fortifications and barbican.”

Horvat hesitated, looking around the group for questions. When no one spoke, he continued cogently. “The state of our provisions, under rationed distribution, leads us to estimate that we have sufficient food for four weeks.” There was an audible murmur around his audience. “Although we are happily blessed with more than enough muskets and hand weapons, our finite powder supply may be exhausted early, but this totally depends on the ­frequency and need for retaliatory efforts to repel enemy advances. Musket balls, cannon balls and grape shot are in plentiful supply. The powder will be the limiting factor.” He purveyed a grim atmosphere with this unexpected and unwelcome news.

Chauvin looked around the table and asked politely to speak. Receiving numerous nods of approval, he continued slowly, pausing between each word to ensure that his accent was not an obstacle. “And what of morale, sir?”

Captain Horvat glanced enquiringly at the mayor, who gestured back at him to respond.

“The city folk and majority of our army believe that the arrival of reinforcements is imminent, and for that reason, spirits are high.”

“Have messengers been sent seeking military assistance?” questioned Jack, assuming that such a fundamental action had been one of the foremost tasks to be completed by the city’s leaders.

“Most definitely, sir,” Hritek replied incisively, blinking quickly. “Two riders left for Prague and another pair to the Duchy of Bavaria. We believe that Emperor Matthias may be on his way to Munich from Vienna.”

“When did they leave?” Chauvin interjected, smiling thoughtfully at the mayor.

“Five days ago,” Hritek confirmed.

“How secure are the granary and water supply?”

Again the mayor responded, “The granary was built near the western gate, positioned there to be close to the farmlands southwest of the city. It is an old, inconspicuous building with extensive cellars. The fact that Mansfeld has not bombarded it with his guns implies he is not aware of its location.” The others concurred with nods and brief mutters as he continued. “There are two wells within the city precincts. The primary well is about 200 paces inside the main gate, and the smaller ancillary water well lies just outside this church in the square. They are both fed through a number of filtering traps from the river. The quality of our water is excellent—fit for the finest brewing,” the mayor concluded, his remark bringing about a dulcet spark of subdued laughter.

Faces turned from the table in response to a cautious knock at the door. A couple of women from the kitchen had brought in a tray with cups and two steaming pots of tea. Jugs of fresh milk were placed next to a neat stack of spoons and sugar. Some vodka and glasses were requested, and these soon arrived as well. Captain Horvat wasted no time in pouring out a healthy round and passing a cup to each person at the table. The women curtseyed as they left.

Jack leaned back into his chair and echoed Horvat’s toast. “Salut,” he responded, downing his drink in typical Slavic style. In a pensive tone, he added, “I am sure that both wells would be visible to the Protestants from their elevated encampment on the southeastern hills. They may turn to bombing the water supplies or poisoning their source. I do not know General Mansfeld’s mind, but if he is preserving our crops and fields, he may do the same with our water. Nevertheless, we should validate its quality daily by having a dog or cat drink from it.”

In response to this authoritative and welcomed proposal, Horvat glanced at Miroslav Kovar. “Can we rely on you to take responsibility for water inspections, captain?”

Kovar raised his finger deferentially, confirming agreement. His face was a shadow.

“And what can you add, Monsieur Sharning, from your earlier observations?” the nervous mayor asked, mopping his brow. Actions were very clear in Jack’s mind. He had formulated them while in the bell tower. He pursed his lips with the composure of a pregnant gust of wind that would spark glowing coals to flame.

“I would like to suggest the following to assist the city’s cause for your consideration, gentlemen and, of course, I am not aware of your own preparatory analyses.” Jack removed his handkerchief and blew his nose, offering an apology. He gently wiped his moustache.

“Firstly, as the view is excellent from this building’s tower, we should gather intelligence about the enemy during daylight hours every day. I suggest that we install alternating pairs of men at the top of the tower, each pair covering two periods of the day. One will remain on the landing to act as observer. Should there be a need, he will alert his companion—the runner—to report to these officers whenever there is a conspicuous change or major movement outside these walls. Each team can be fed from the kitchen below, and as the landing is sheltered, observation can continue even during inclement weather. Provision of a telescope would be most beneficial. I approximate the enemy’s number to be between 15,000 and 20,000 men. This should be verified.”

“Excellent; approved!” confirmed Hritek, tapping the table. “I agree that St Bartholomew’s is the overtly obvious choice. Pilsen’s footprint is a rough square, and if we draw a cross within that square, the cathedral blesses its intersection.” He raised his eyebrows and traced geometrical shapes in the air with his stubby fingers. “Each of my officers has a glass. One will be made available.”

“Next, we should gather information from under Mansfeld’s very nose. This requires a pair of experienced and nimble men to leave and return secretly every night with updated bulletins on armament number and placement, weaknesses in defence and troop movements—in fact, any information that will assist us in hampering the enemy. We must convert any one of Mansfeld’s forfeits into gain as an alchemist transmutes base metal into gold! ”

“Done!” Hritek agreed vigorously. “Will you please see to that, Captain Horvat?” The burgomaster felt less troubled now, no longer burdened by a Calvary of despair. The lieutenant was an intelligent officer who crackled with ideas belying his youth. Hritek viewed him as a singular hero—one who possessed a perspicacious eye; an arm of granite, and an omniscient mind.

“Thirdly,” Jack continued. “Our store of munitions needs to be scattered about the city, especially the precious powder.”

“An important observation, if I may add,” Chauvin interposed animatedly. “I personally witnessed the gunpowder magazine disintegrate totally after a shot exploded in the storeroom during the battle of Fontaine-Française.”

“We currently hold our gunpowder in two separate storage cellars but will further disperse it around the defences to ensure that we don’t lose it all in a single and hapless direct hit,” Horvat retorted. “Captain Svoboda, will you ensure this happens?”

“Additionally,” Jack spoke with a tinge of levity. “Medieval history has taught us that a popular form of defence was to assault the enemy with flaming balls of tarred hay. Despite our current advanced modes of battle with gunpowder and cannons, this old yet effective technique may be worthy of consideration if the city holds sufficient stocks of hay and tar. In light of our potential powder shortage, torched bales could be launched from the walls onto the advancing rebel ranks.” Despite the immediate reaction of subdued laughter, Horvat and the other captains speedily recognised the simplicity and practicality of Jack’s suggestion. He sipped his tea before speaking again, allowing the others to settle.

“And finally,” Jack came to his most substantial item of the morning. “We observed earlier that the main Protestant force is camped in the hills to the southeast of the city and that the small gate opposite their watchful eyes—the small gate on the north wall—appears to be unguarded. In fact, totally ignored.”

Jack stood up from the table, pushing his chair back slowly and clasped his hands behind his back. He stared at the group for a moment before continuing, wanting to impress his point. His eyes sparkled like the waters of the river outside the city walls.

“As envoy to the Polish king, I have urgent and important business in Prague, after which I must return to Warszawa to report to the king’s council. I have news from France for my king’s ears. It is imperative that I leave Pilsen after dark tonight for your capital. I further suggest that at least two more riders be despatched to make contact with Catholic forces to plead the city’s plight. We must ensure that word gets out in case those who left five days earlier were not successful. With your approval, gentlemen, our party can leave through this gate around midnight and disperse once we have crossed the Mže.”

The mayor considered the proposal for some time, digesting the gravity of the Polish officer’s words, and then gazed around the table. “Are we all agreed with this, gentlemen?”

The congruent approval was unanimous. Jack smiled and thanked them for their trust and support. His conscience was at ease. He regarded Horvat and quietly asked, “Captain, may I speak with you separ­ately concerning arrangements for a good horse, some minor provisions and guidance for an alternative route to Prague? Travelling the main road would be ill-advised these uncertain days and in these circumstances.”

“Of course, Lieutenant Channing. It will be my pleasure,” Horvat smiled. Jack noticed that he had pronounced his name correctly.

The meeting had ended by mid-morning. Jack and Chauvin joined their small contingent in the square outside and left instructions as to which section of wall they were to occupy. The sun was now warming the day, and the wind had dropped making a perfect example of Bohemia’s finest autumn weather. The two comrades walked the main streets of the city, gauging that the mood of the people was generally positive, as Horvat had reported. Life appeared to go on as normal: a bustling market, busy vendors, children playing, carts rolling past. Their appetite, honed by the stroll, eventually led the men to one of the city’s many inviting taverns for lunch. Before entering, they observed that the cathedral’s belltower had been newly manned as agreed. As they settled into a comfortable corner over a generous plate of pork, cabbage and potatoes, Jack confided in his companion, describing in detail an additional plan that he had not raised at the meeting.

Before leaving for the capital at midnight, Jack intended to leave the city some hours earlier to make his own discrete observations of the enemy encampment and required a volunteer from Chauvin’s team to accompany him. The corporal immediately offered his services, but Jack needed a younger, more dispensable man for support should they stray into trouble. Additionally, he reminded his friend that his job was too valuable here and that he needed to assist the other officers with the actions of the plan they had all agreed to during the discussions. If all went well, the pair would return by eleven, leaving Jack sufficient time to prepare for his own departure to Prague.

Chauvin’s next suggestion, Julien Roberge, was rejected, and after some further open discussion, they eventually decided on Guy Vasseur. Jack wanted to rest during the afternoon and agreed to share a jug of ale at the tavern, knowing it would exacerbate his drowsiness. They sat in convivial discussion at the rough wooden table and soon called for a second flagon. At one point, Chauvin noticed a small dog asleep at the massive, fuliginous hearth.

“So, we’ve discovered the first to test our drinking water. We should enlist him and immediately promote him to the rank of sergeant,” the Frenchman joked, pointing at the animal. “We don’t want to make him a major, or he’ll send the captains to the well every day.” The pair laughed to a clink of glasses.

The tavern filled and became noisy—full of conversations punctuated by frequent bursts of laughter and boisterous outbursts—but the atmos­phere was jovial and pleasant, and it was late afternoon before the pair reluctantly thought of leaving. Jack placed an amicable hand on his companion’s shoulder, and when he had Chauvin’s full attention, he began, “Alain, after tonight I will be riding home again, and you will be here defending this tavern, this city, this dog and your country’s honour. They wish to steal our freedom from us like granivorous vermin.” He squeezed the corporal’s shoulder and continued above the clamour in the room after calling for another round of ale.

“Just remember who I am and where I am. I will always be in only one of three places if you need or want to find me. In Warszawa, I stay at the royal castle. In Kraków, I am with my family at the Channing estates; the locals will direct you. And if I’m not at either of these, I’m somewhere else in Europe on the king’s business. Then wait for me in one of the first two until I return.” Gulping another draught of beer, Jack hoped that what he had explained had made sense. “You know, Alain,” he stammered, his cheeks flushed with passion and alcohol. “This fine drop was what brought me here into this bloody mess in the first place. I had planned to go directly to visit my friend and thought how a small detour would be insignificant in the scheme of things, and… well, here we are; you know the rest.” He deliberated for a while, distracted by the serving wench at a nearby table, before adding, “Yet the positive side of all of this is that we two have met. Santé, my dear friend!”

Chauvin removed his cap and leaned across unsteadily to shake Jack’s hand, spilling some ale with his elbow. He too valued the friendship that had developed between the two men in this short time. As they left the warm, good-humoured atmosphere, who would have thought or indeed cared that there was a large army up on the nearby hill, waiting to storm and occupy the city?

The corporal roused Jack at eight as he had been instructed. The fire in the presbytery had been rekindled, filling the large room with warmth and the smoky smell of burning wood. A cup of warm milk was ready, and he sipped from it as he dressed. Vasseur was waiting when Jack appeared in the nave.

Both men were without muskets, wearing only two pistols, their swords and their daggers. They donned fuscous cassocks to mute the jingle of their weapons and protect them from the cold, damp night. Accompanied by the corporal, they left the cathedral and walked briskly to the smaller of the two southern gates. There was only a pair of sentries, who had been forewarned of their arrival, waiting for them. As the gate was unlocked, Captain Horvat suddenly appeared from the nearby shadows.

“Forgive me, lieutenant,” he extended a genial hand as he approached. “The corporal requested my assistance to arrange for this postern to be unbolted, and although I do not entirely approve of your strategy, I wish you and Vasseur every success and a safe return.”

Jack and Horvat shook hands firmly. “Do you need an additional conspirator? I would eagerly join you,” the captain added, eyes gleaming like sapphires in the rutilant torch light.

“Someone in authority needs to supervise the corporal,” Jack countered playfully.

“We will be waiting here at eleven as agreed!” Chauvin added, side-stepping the jest. “See you when you get back. Keep him out of trouble, Vasseur. Bonne chance!”

The gate closed and was locked behind them by the guard. The pair made their way directly from the city, due south, across the overgrown and unkempt fields. The night dew saturated their boots. They moved slowly and warily. It was a dark and moonless night, but Jack had memorised the lay of the land from his observations this morning. They arrived at the curtain wall without incident, their eyes now adjusted to the darkness. They climbed over, one assisting the other, and then crept briskly up the wooded hill to the ridge. Turning left, Jack led them towards the main body of tents. All quiet—no sentries, no dogs—all well. The enemy forces were indeed very self-assured. Flanking the rear of the encampment, the two moved quietly from tree to tree until they reached the road that Jack was aiming for. This was a wagon track that ran in a north-south direction. They needed to complete their circular approach, so headed south along the grassy wheel-rut in the direction facing the now distant lights of Pilsen. Vasseur had shadowed Jack closely all the way.

Unexpectedly, the Frenchman caught the slightest glint of metal—a whispery movement ahead in the gloom. He grabbed Jack’s collar firmly from behind, and the two men froze. Some 10 paces ahead was a soldier about to cross the dirt road. He had stopped by a tree to relieve himself. Jack turned around to Vasseur and pointed to the guard, running a finger across his throat. Vasseur nodded in comprehension and held Jack fast and then stepped away along the moist, silent grass. He drew his dagger and steadily crept towards the unsuspecting soldier. Without hesitating at any point, the experienced Vasseur approached his victim stealthily from behind, gagged him by locking his left forearm across the enemy soldier’s mouth, and as he pulled the man backwards towards his body, thrust his dagger up to the hilt into the man’s kidney. The sentry tensed with pain as Vasseur withdrew the dagger and ran it swiftly across the soldier’s throat from left to right, like a seasoned butcher, severing the vocal cord and windpipe in one single effortless motion. The man went limp almost immediately. There had been no struggle, no sound, and no resistance.

Jack joined Vasseur as the latter dragged the body off the roadside into the woods. They would be long gone before it would be discovered in the morning. Grinning approvingly, Jack slapped the Frenchman lightly across the cheek and winked his endorsement. Vasseur smiled back, happy with his success. Remaining on the soft grass in the gloom of the woods, the two cavaliers continued to follow the road for another 150 paces, and there, beyond the edge of the trees, they came upon their goal.

Two ponderous cannons sat on level ground just out of the forest to the left of the road. Silent, execrable sentinels—sinister, one-eyed giants left unguarded. Vasseur squatted as Jack knelt on one knee both searching and listening intently for any movement or sound. They could plainly see the lanterns and campfires of Pilsen in the near valley far below them. The men, impressed by the guns’ size, ran appraising hands over the cold metal of the two barrels.

Jack nodded as they produced assorted nails and a mallet from under their cassocks and hurriedly searched for each vent hole at the base. Stepping onto the truncheon of the closest gun, Jack located the vent and selected a nail of appropriate size while Vasseur mounted the other gun like a horse and fiddled with his nails. Jack tapped his spike to the end, covering its head with his coat to mute the sound, and handed the wooden hammer to Vasseur, who hastily completed his task. They then retreated into the forest and waited, listening. All clear.

They retraced their steps exactly the way they had come, stopping frequently to peer into the mottled darkness for signs of movement. It was imperative that the enemy gunners remain unaware of their visit. The return journey to the now familiar outer wall gate seemed to take half the time that it took to reach it initially. Jack cupped his hands and nodded to Vasseur to climb over the wall. Lying on top of the wall, Vasseur strained to lift Jack up next to him with one hand. They turned and sat, dangling their feet and facing the city. The two men were about to jump when the clouds suddenly drifted apart, exposing the full light of the moon. They had reached the wall a little further than before, and in the moonlight, they saw four enemy sentries asleep directly below them. Their fire had burned out, and all six men would have been equally surprised had the clouds not opened.

In spite of the sentries’ presence, Jack and Vasseur jumped down. The former landed on one guard’s throat, rolled off, stood up and withdrew his rapier in one fluid movement. The man did not move, probably due to a crushed windpipe and dislocated jaw.

Vasseur’s victim groaned as the Frenchman rolled off his stomach. Without waiting, Guy had drawn his backsword and pierced the prone man’s chest near the heart.

The other two sentries had now been roused from their sleep and were awkwardly but quickly on their feet, one with a pistol in hand. Jack rushed towards the man, who was aiming for Vasseur and drove his rapier into the man’s temple forcefully enough that the tip appearing through the other cheek. The soldier lowered his arm and fired his pistol safely into the ground, already dead, before slumping forward.

The fourth stolid guard had drawn his sword, but Vasseur jumped over his comrade’s body and dived with his own sword in full stretch. Too late to parry, the sentry was caught in the stomach. With Vasseur’s full bodyweight behind it, the blade glanced off the sentry’s spine and emerged out his back. He crumpled under the force of the impact and did not move.

Glancing up at the night sky, Jack uttered, “Bloody pistol! Who knows who else has been woken around here? Still a little more moonlight left. Run, Guy. Come on! Run!”

Sheathing their bloodied weapons, the pair ran wildly across the paddocks, not stopping until they collapsed in the culvert in front of the southern city gate. Panting for breath, Jack hammered at the door with his fist as small, distant fires began to appear at the curtain wall behind them where other sentries had been alerted by the stray pistol shot. Too late for revenge this night, Jack thought, as the bolts slid back and the gate opened on stubborn hinges to let them in.

“Après vous, s’il vous plaît, Monsieur Vasseur!” Jack hissed encouragingly, breathing hard, and the pair disappeared into the safety of the city walls. Chauvin and Horvat were there to greet them, and the four companions clasped arms in a ring and jumped ebulliently before swaggering back to the cathedral, laughing at the success of this evening’s work. A bottle of red wine had appeared from somewhere back in the presbytery. The fire had been stoked, and the freshly added logs were crackling away midst the lambent flames, filling the room with warm and cheerful light.

“Santé, gentlemen,” Chauvin grinned as they rammed their raised mugs together and drank with gregarious abandon.

“Why only one gun?” asked Horvat.

“We also spiked the second cannon for good measure, and they’ll not fire either now.” Jack’s dirty face was grinning unreservedly as it gleamed in the golden glow of the fire.

“We could have rammed in powder charges, which would have split the barrels, but perhaps this siege will go badly for them, and we’ll win the guns for ourselves,” Jack ventured optimistically. Shortly before midnight and with a second bottle empty, Jack went to wash his face and packed his few belongings.

“Don’t wake the others, Alain. Tell them in the morning what we’ve managed to do. I regret not being here to witness the enemy’s disappointment or see Mansfeld’s outraged face.”

Laughing again, the men shook Jack’s hand and walked with him to the small, covert northern gate.

“The other two riders packed hurriedly and left earlier,” advised the captain. “You need to continue north from here and follow the left bank of the Berounka River all the way. Keep to the seclusion and shadows of the trees. It will lead you straight to the capital. Be careful, lieutenant!” He slapped Jack on the back.

At the gate, Horvat handed Jack the reins to his stallion. “This is my horse. I call him Abaccus. He’s intelligent and will be faithful if you care for him. There’s an apple and some sugar in this saddle bag. Now he’s yours. Thank you for all your help. Pilsen will not forget.”

Chauvin and Jack embraced. The crusty old soldier kissed Jack on both cheeks and continued nodding his head. He was lost for words.

Jack turned to Vasseur and winked, “Goodbye, Guy. You’re a brave man. Well done. It would not have been successful without you tonight. Look after this corporal of yours, and God willing, perhaps we’ll meet for another drink sooner than later in much happier circumstances.” To all of them, he added, “Good luck, gentlemen. This city is in fine hands. I will remain with you in spirit until we raise another glass together again.”

The sentries opened the gate, and Jack walked out, leading his new mount.

“God speed, my friend,” Chauvin called after him, and the gate groaned in protest as it was bolted shut.