Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,78

strategically positioned there, just in case the English tried to put up ladders at that end of the wall.

“We have to move it down, so that it’s directly above the gates,” Maximus instructed. “Come on!”

Ignoring Cassian’s surprised glance, Maximus crouched down and followed the two lads to the cauldron. This part of the wall was exposed, and more than once he felt the draft of something flying past his head.

When he reached the cauldron, Maximus’s eyes started to water. Acrid smoke wafted over him, catching in his throat. Choking down coughs, he joined the lads as they heaved the pot and its iron scaffold off its bed of glowing coals, and proceeded to push it over the rough stone.

It was hard work, harder than it looked, for the top of the wall was now littered with the bodies of the fallen and debris. The iron was too hot to touch with their hands—as such, they had to use their forearms and shoulders to move the cauldron. By the time they’d gone merely a couple of yards, sweat poured off Maximus.

“Need help?” Cassian appeared at his side then, and together, the four of them inched the cumbersome cauldron into position.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The ‘Battle Hammer’ drove into the gates, causing the wall to shudder with each impact. The screech of iron followed each blow.

We have to stop it.

Maximus collapsed behind the cauldron, next to Cassian and the two gasping lads. They were all utterly spent, their faces crimson from effort, sweat streaming off their brows.

“Fetch torches,” Maximus ordered the lads, his voice raspy with effort. “And two pairs of smith’s gloves. Quickly now.”

With nods, the boys scrambled away.

Breathing hard, Cassian crouched next to Maximus. They were currently protected from arrows by the bulk of the pot of smoking pitch, although for their next move the pair of them would be dangerously exposed.

“You think this will work?” Cassian asked, blinking sweat out of his eyes.

“It had better,” Maximus grunted. “We’re out of Greek fire … so this is our best hope of sending that battering ram to Hades.”

The two men fell silent then, conserving their energy and waiting for the lads to reappear. Maximus’s eyes continued to water, and he blinked rapidly.

Cries and shouts filtered over the walls. Maximus didn’t just breathe in smoke, but also the tang of fear and desperation. The men who defended Dunnottar were stalwart and brave, yet they’d started to flag under the onslaught, as one by one, the warriors around them fell. It was hard to cling to hope when you watched your friends die. After dusk each day, the castle mourned its dead, but with the rising of the sun, the fighting drove sorrow from their minds.

Maximus frowned, remembering the agony on Draco’s face as he’d been carried off the walls earlier. It was just as well the curse hadn’t broken—for those arrows looked as if they’d pierced something vital.

A roar went up at the southern end of the wall then. Next to Maximus, Cassian muttered an oath. Following his friend’s gaze, Maximus saw that the Wallace had abandoned his spear and blade, and was now fighting the English bare-handed. Beside him, Donnan De Keith did the same.

Red-faced, their eyes wild with fury, the Scots fought savagely, pummeling the faces of two English soldiers who attempted to scale the top of the wall.

And then, as they watched, Wallace and Donnan sent the attackers tumbling backward.

A heartbeat later, the two of them grabbed the top of the ladder and threw their full weights against it.

Maximus’s breath caught as he watched the ladder rear back from the wall.

For an instant, it hung there, perpendicular, and then it toppled backward. The men clinging to it let out a collective wail, the sound echoing along the wall—before the ladder collapsed into the defile.

XXXII

IN FLAMES

A THRILL PULSED through Maximus. It had to be now, while the men swarming below were distracted. He caught sight of the lads returning then, each carrying a blazing torch and a pair of thick leather gloves. It was hard to run the gauntlet of Welsh archers, keeping as low as possible, while wielding a torch, but the boys managed it.

Maximus favored them with a tight smile. He handed Cassian a pair of gloves and put on his own, before relieving the boys of the torches. “Well done,” he grunted. “Keep back now … we’ll take it from here.”

The lads nodded, their eyes as wide as moons now. Without another word, they both scurried away, leaving Maximus