The cluster of fifty men exploded, men running in all directions, leaving only Denes and Yozef. “Stay with me,” said Denes and ran to the southern wall, climbed a ladder onto the rampart, and pointed a small telescope seaward.
Yozef, his heart racing, throat constricted, hands trembling, stumbled after Denes, thinking, Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
“Sons of whores, may dogs eat the balls of the Gods—” Abel Adalan ran through every curse he knew in three languages. He and his foul humor stood on a large sand dune, as the next longboat loads of men jumped into the surf and moved up the beach. His anger resulted from his view of longboats loading the last men off the ships, men who were supposed to be ashore already. It would be another ten minutes before those final boats reached the beach.
The Benhoudi were the problem. Despite their previous experience on successful raids, they simply weren’t as skillful or disciplined as his own men. He then used some of the same curses on himself for not having the Benhoudi loaded first.
Abel rejected starting inland without the full complement of men. The plan that had been drilled into the men involved all four hundred fighters. To change now would only cause more confusion. Narth’s damnation on the Benhoudi! The delay would give the islanders more time to prepare and was liable to cost them more casualties, yet from the looks of the village and the abbey, the pickings were too rich to pass up. All he could do was send the hundred men assigned to sweep the village on ahead and wait to move on the abbey when all of the Benhoudi were ashore.
From the abbey wall rampart Denes could see a body of men, he estimated eighty to a hundred, trotting toward the village. Scattered Keelanders still ran and rode for the abbey or headed inland. He hoped everyone would be out of the village when the raiders arrived, though he feared there would be stragglers—people who, because of age, illness, sleep, stupidity, or whatever, would still be in the village. There was nothing to be done about them. He had to focus on the hundreds within the abbey complex.
“What about the people in Abersford?” Yozef asked. “Aren’t they coming for the abbey?”
“They’ll come,” Denes said in a flat tone. “Those who can. Many who don’t will flee inland. Hundreds more.”
Yozef’s shirt was soaked in cold sweat. So what the fuck am I doing here?
Panic fed his urge to run and hide, but there was a detached part of him, as if he had two minds. It was the second one that came to Denes’s support.
Yozef put a hand on Denes’s shoulder. “You said yourself what the most likely outcomes are, and this was the only one you believe has a chance.”
“What if they don’t take the bait? I’m taking a terrible risk with everyone’s lives if they don’t,” Denes choked, his commanding demeanor gone. He didn’t notice Yozef.
They both were silent for a moment, then Yozef said, “Lure them toward the gate. Give them something to chase.”
Denes whirled and leaped off the rampart six feet to the ground, then raced off, yelling at someone. Yozef scrambled down the ladder and followed.
Denes was talking to a group of men, one of whom was Cadwulf. “I need a few men to give the raiders someone to chase into the courtyard. They’ll need to fire at the raiders as they come close to the abbey, then run back, but close enough to let the raiders be right behind.”
The grim men looked at one another. What Denes asked would get some or all who volunteered killed. All of the men raised their hand, including Cadwulf.
“Not men,” blurted Yozef. “Have them chase women.”
Several of the men glared at Yozef and started to protest, but Denes spoke first. “Better! They won’t fire at women they want as captives. Better yet if they are young and healthy looking.”
“They need to be fast and not panic,” cautioned Yozef.
“Cadwulf,” ordered Denes, “be quick and try to find about ten young women willing to do this and who you think can run fast enough to get back inside the walls before the raiders catch them.”
Cadwulf nodded, gave Yozef a troubled glance, and ran off.
By now, the barricades were taking shape. People of all ages and sexes carried and dragged furniture, pews, boxes of who knew what, chests, beds, tables, chairs, and everything movable out of the buildings, stacked them on top of previous objects, or dropped them for others to position, then raced back for more. Carnigan drove a flatbed wagon up to a large gap in the developing barricades, jumped onto the bed, and threw off bales of hay that must have weighed a couple hundred pounds each. Men and women dragged the bales to plug holes in the barricade.
Once the wagon was empty, Carnigan untied the horses, letting their reins fall to the ground. Being well trained and used to working with people, the horses stood in place even with the surrounding turmoil. With some help, Carnigan pushed the wagon onto its side to take its place in the forming barrier. Carnigan then led the two horses to another gap, pulled out a large-bladed knife, and slit both their throats. The bodies collapsed where they had stood and, like the bales and wagon, became part of the barricade.
Yozef joined those pulling pews from the cathedral. They were solid wood, about twelve feet long, a perfect size for the barricade, and two people of moderate strength could carry them. Yozef and another man formed a “team” and had just finished placing their fifth pew when someone shouted, “No more pews!”
Sweat rolled off Yozef’s face from both exertion and fear. He looked around for the first time in perhaps fifteen minutes. The results were impressive. Ugly, but impressive for the available time. A three-sided barricade about forty yards along each side faced the main gate. It was a jumble of objects that would slow anyone trying to climb over. In most places, the barricade was four to five feet high, but there were still obvious low spots and even a few outright gaps.
Another yell came, this time from someone on top of the rampart by the main gate. “Here they come!”
The second of silence at the news was followed by chaotic cries and a sense of impending panic, until Denes, the more senior of the fighting men, and some of the abbey staff shouted and shoved people into position. Yozef followed Denes back to the rampart. They could see a large body of raiders coming into view a quarter mile away.
“Three groups of about a hundred men each,” Denes said. “Probably means they’re planning to hit us at three places.”
Yozef could have sworn there were three or four times that many—all armed with a hodge-podge of muskets, swords, spears, and various bladed weapons. They paused as they cleared the shrubbery along the road and began to spread out.
“There!” said Denes, nodding toward a group of villagers just emerging from the tree-lined road from the abbey to Abersford. There were about fifteen of them, mainly women, two of who carried babies. Three men held spears and helped the women run.
Yozef recognized Cadwulf. He was one of the decoy men. Several of the women looked young and were scantily dressed, as if surprised by the alarm and hadn’t had time to put on clothes. One woman was naked from the waist up. Even from his distance, he could see her breasts bouncing as she ran. The cries of fear and for help were audible. Occasionally, one of the women fell, and a man helped her to her feet to run again.
Phony falls? Yozef suspected. Nice job, Cadwulf, but don’t overdo it.
There were also several individuals or couples at various distances from the abbey. None of these were part of the lure, and some wouldn’t make it to the gate.
The leader of the Benhoudi, Omir Abulli, was ambivalent as he followed Abelan’s orders. He and his men had profited greatly from this venture. When they returned home, they’d be honored for the booty they brought back and have stories to tell for generations. It had also cost them a sixth of their men. The Benkarsta leaders always sent Benhoudi men into the exposed parts of the raids, and too often Adalan’s men had found themselves picking over what Benkarsta clansmen left after skimming off the best.