Neither of the Benkarsta leaders had shared their plans with Abulli, but he believed this might be the last raid before returning home. Subtle changes in tone and topics from the two Adalans made Abulli think this was the last chance for major spoils.
Abulli led the group of a hundred men assigned to attack the right section of the wall and was as surprised as Adalan to see the abbey gate still open and islanders running for safety. He sensed the rise in anticipation in his men as they saw a group of women, some partially clothed, trying to make it to the gate. He saw Adalan staring at the open gate and knew what was going through the Benkarsta leader’s mind—should they rush the gate? Then flags signaled to disperse for the attack as previously planned. Adalan was ignoring the gate! A rush of anger colored Abulli’s face.
Maybe the gate would get closed before they could reach it, or, if not secured, maybe they could fight their way through. It was a chance for fewer losses than fighting over the walls. The possibility of this being the last raid, the overbearing attitudes of the Benkarsta, and the chance he saw for his men to be first at the spoils on this raid coalesced into a decision. He turned to face the men in his group, raised his sword, and waited until his men in the second front wall group saw his raised sword. Then he pointed his sword at the gate and screamed, “For the Benhoudi! All Benhoudi, follow me!” And took off at a run, straight for the gate.
With little hesitation, most of his men from both groups followed him. A few who hesitated joined in once they saw most of their clansmen racing to the gate. The fewer numbers of Benkarsta men lingered seconds longer, then half of them followed.
Abel Adalan saw his carefully considered and drilled plan evaporate in seconds. He slashed his sword in front of himself, as if to decapitate the Benhoudi leader. Gods curse the Benhoudi dogs! The plan was now for shit. Or was it? He forced calm on himself. Maybe the Benhoudi could get into the abbey grounds using the main gate. Even if the gate closed first, they might still have enough presence of mind to regroup and carry out the wall assaults. The third group of a hundred was deploying as planned to breach the western wall, while most of the islanders concentrated on the frontal attacks. This third group consisted of his own clansmen, who, unlike the Benhoudi, were disciplined and held to their orders. He waved to the leader of that group to continue as planned, then had subordinates gather the Benkarsta men who had been part of the frontal assault groups but had not followed the Benhoudi. Those he kept with him, as he moved closer to observe the action.
Once again on the rampart, Denes had a hand on Yozef’s forearm as they watched the raiders. His fingers dug into Yozef’s flesh. Most of the raiders in the two groups facing the abbey front wall had broken from their original trajectory and were now charging directly at the gate, Denes’s grip squeezed harder and almost brought Yozef to his knees.
“By merciful God! By whatever gods, they’re taking the bait!” Denes burst out.
He turned back toward the courtyard. Most of the people watched him with eyes fearful, resolute, or defiant. “It worked! Here they come. No one fire until I do! Do you understand? No one fire until I do! Watch the fighting men near you, if you’re uncertain. Do what they do!”
The frozen figures exploded into action, racing to positions, climbing over the barricade if they were in the courtyard, grabbing for available weapons, and older and younger islanders came out of the cathedral and other buildings from where they had been sent for safety. There was no safety. All knew it. They would live or die at the barricade.
Denes jumped off the rampart onto the courtyard ground, Yozef following, and Denes ran to the open gate, shouting for Carnigan. The large man was fast for his size and nearly trampled several people in reaching Denes.
“Keep Yozef with you. Alive, if possible.”
Well, that’s reassuring, a part of Yozef’s mind noted.
Carnigan grabbed Yozef’s arm and ran back to a large gap in the barricade facing the main gate. Yozef barely kept his feet under him to prevent Carnigan from dragging him. Carnigan took up a musket leaning against the inside of the barricade. Next to it was a second musket, the battle axe that Yozef doubted he could lift off the ground, a dented and rusty shield, and several spears of different lengths.
Yozef looked up and down the line of islanders standing behind this part of the barricade. Too few men of fighting age interspersed with older and young men, women, and even children. He thought he glimpsed eight-year-old Yonkel Miron holding a rusty sword and looking anticipatory, as if this were a game or part of some legend. Muskets and crossbows were brought to the ready. More people poured from the buildings, many without weapons, because there were no more available, ready to pick up weapons of those who fell. The abbot ran partway into the courtyard. He held a spear in one hand and traced gestures in the air in front of himself, praying and calling on God for strength, then tore back to the barricade.
I hope, Yozef prayed. God, I hope it works!
“Can you fire a musket?” graveled Carnigan at Yozef, who stared back as if Carnigan had asked him to speak in some different language. “Yozef!” Carnigan bellowed. “Can you fire one of these?”
Yozef shook his head. He’d never touched a firearm of any kind, much less a musket.
Carnigan picked up one of the shorter spears and shoved it at Yozef. “Take this. Stick anyone who gets by me. Try not to stick me.”
Yozef held the wooden shaft with both hands. The six-foot spear ended in a narrow, wicked-looking blade that gleamed in the morning sun just now shining over the main wall. He shivered, his breath coming in gasps, as he gripped the shaft with both hands held against his body. A thought rose like a hand reaching for safety, a thought he had not had for many months.
Let this be all a dream! A nightmare! I’ll wake up back home!
That all of this had been an elaborate fantasy was momentarily more plausible. He had been a chemistry major at the University of California at Berkeley. An alien spaceship had destroyed the plane he was flying in, saved him, then dumped him on another planet with humans put there by parties unknown. And now he held a spear and was about to take part in a battle where most likely he and everyone else around him would be killed?
Maybe I am crazy, and all of this is merely some complex illusion. Please let that be it!
His plea ended before it could paralyze him further, when Cadwulf and the bait party reached the gate. Yozef saw Denes say something to Cadwulf and the others. Yozef could now see the women up closer. They were all young—nineteen to twenty-two years old (fifteen to nineteen Earth years). All breathed hard, both from the run and from fear. Several had tears streaming from their eyes. Two women discarded bundles of clothing masquerading as babies, as they ran to the barricade. In one of those inane thoughts that appears at inappropriate times, Yozef predicted that the girl with the generous breasts would have back problems when she got older and had children. All such thoughts ended and were replaced by sheer terror, as the first of the raiders came through the gate.