The Battle at the Inn

Betrayal

Captain Tower emerged from the breakfast room as Tom strode into the inn.

'My compliments, Sir.  We're about to be attacked from the north and I must check the dispositions of the musket men upstairs.'

Captain Tower nodded and followed Tom up the narrow, uneven stairs to the first floor where they found a dozen men blowing on the woven ropes of tallow called match cord that would light the gunpowder in the firepan of their muskets to send an ounce of lead speeding towards their targets.

Looking out the window the men could see a straggling group crossing the ford and racing up the gentle slope towards the inn.

'Those fellows seem to know where they're headed,' Captain Tower noted, before adding 'Wait till they reach those bushes, ten yards out, then give them a volley.'

'Can you direct the fire from here, Sir?'  Tom asked. 'I'll go and make sure the pikemen don't let anyone in.' Not waiting for an answer Tom disappeared down the stairs.  The noise of a ragged volley was heard as he reached the ground floor again and looked to see where the pikemen were placed.

The sixteen burly men were spread through the four ground floor rooms.  They stood back from the shuttered windows and barricaded doors, near the doors to the narrow corridor facing the courtyard. One man at each window eyed the enemy through cracks in the timber, relaying their progress to his mates.

'Not long now,' one barked. 'The lads upstairs have slowed them down a bit.'

Tom moved to look for himself and saw that the muskets balls must have knocked down some men and this had caused the rest to hesitate and lose momentum in their headlong rush to the building.  But while the muskets reloaded the attackers regained their wits and ran faster towards the inn.

Moments later there was a thunderous thumping on the doors and shutters, splinters of wood suddenly jutted inwards and the whole building quivered.  The pikemen stood poised, like dogs waiting for the cat to move.  Their sixteen foot long pikes had been left stacked in a corner and each man was armed with a short, stiff sword.  Tom was armed with a similar sword but he also had a six foot pole on which was a vicious billhook and spike.  This was his sergeant's halberd.

A door in the next room gave up the unequal struggle and a knot of bellicose men tumbled in, only to be met with equal ferocity from the defenders and driven back to the threshold.  A window caved in and more men jumped through the opening, again being met with defiance.  But the defenders were coming under more pressure as men pushed in from outside.

Another ragged volley from upstairs produced groans and shouts and renewed vigour from the attackers.  Inside-fighting was, maybe preferable to being open targets for musketeers.  But the enthusiasm of the attackers was brittle and sustained resistance soon shattered it, while their greater numbers couldn't quickly produce results in the confined space of the inn rooms.  Two rooms were quickly cleared of attackers and the pressure eased.  In the other two rooms the defenders were pushed out to the corridor but they were able to hold the doorway.  The tide began to ebb and the local men started drifting backwards.  Men leaped through the windows again and suddenly they'd gone, racing back the way they'd come, zigzagging to put off the aim of the musketeers who now whooped as they took pot shots.  Few were felled as the distance quickly increased beyond the accuracy of the weapon.

Tom leaned on his halberd, noting that it was blunted and chipped but not bloody.

Myers stood in the doorway.  'Sergeant.  We're being attacked at the west gate.'

Immediately Tom ordered six men to stay and clear up the inn rooms that now looked, understandably, as though there'd been a particularly nasty disagreement over a drink, and he led the others out into the courtyard and across to the west.  As they ran Tom saw the gate pulsing and cracking, and the barricading wagon shuddering as something crashed against it every twenty seconds or so. Men outside were shouting and shots were being fired through the timber.  As Tom looked one of the wagoners flinched and collapsed.  Missiles were being hurled over the gate but none of them, thankfully, exploded.