The Siege of Norwich Castle: A story of the last struggle against the ConquerorBlake, M. M. (Matilda Maria)
General
The Siege of Norwich Castle: A story of the last struggle against the Conqueror
Blake, M. M. (Matilda Maria)
Historical fiction; William I, King of England, 1027 or 8-1087 -- Fiction
But he had not stopped to listen to her. He had gone off to call his
carles together, and to choose his twenty men from the garrison.
And some forty of them, for the most part Anglo-Danes or Saxons, left
the castle a few minutes later, leaving by the western horn of the
barbican, and making their way by the streets north of the castle, by
Tombland, to the river; slipping along through the fire-lighted night
with a panther-like trot on their silent shoes of untanned leather,
their trusty seaxes in their right hands, and their round red shields
on their left arms.
Arrived at the river, they possessed themselves of boats without
particularly asking the leave of the owners, and crossed-over to the
marshes on the eastern bank, leaving a man in each boat to guard it.
They crept through the rushes, as only men who had grown up amid the
fens could have done, and fell upon the unsuspecting Normans like
thunderbolts; knocked their balistas to fragments, served a good many
of their men likewise, and returned as they came to the west bank of
the river.
Then they added their strength to that of the townsfolk to fight the
flames, and, by means of clearing large spaces to windward of the
burning houses, stopped the fire from spreading its ravages
indefinitely. But five less returned through the castle gate than had
left it.
So went the first day and the first night of the siege.
When day broke, the attack on the barbican began again, and so it was
for five days afterward; but at the end of the sixth the barricades
were almost battered down, and strong bridges were established across
the ditch, so that the defenders thought it wise to abandon it to the
enemy, as scarcely worth the lives it would cost to maintain possession
of it. But this meant no very great advantage to the besiegers.
They stood before the great gate of the castle, the actual entrance to
which looked like a mere mouse-hole between the sheer strong walls of
its two flanking towers. They well knew the make of such gateways:
their folding-doors of solid oak, strengthened with bars and bolts of
iron, and studded with huge nails to prevent the cutting out of a panel
or staving in of the same; the strong portcullis behind them, a
harrow-shaped iron grating, to be let up and down in a moment by means
of pulleys from the inside; above the doors a row of chimney-like
apertures, called machicolations, through which the defenders could
pour scalding water, molten lead, or any other deadly matter, upon the
devoted heads of the assaulting column, who were exposed also to a
cross fire of quarrels, stones, and other missiles from the flanking
towers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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