Read Online Casca 9: The Sentinel by Barry Sadler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barry Sadler
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"Now get me some men, and hurry. I don't know how much time we have. I'll wait near the longhouse. Bring them to me there, and be quiet about it.''
Molvai hastened to obey, racing from one hut to another. He would enter, wake the sleeping man, whisper in his ear, and then have to argue a few moments with him about the warrior. There were no weapons among the villagers except for one small knife that was permitted each family for the cutting of meat. All axes and other implements were kept by the raiders in the longhouse.
After the first three men, Molvai quit trying to explain about the warrior and just told the men that help had come and they were to gather outside.
Molvai led each man to Casca and then left to gather more, leaving each newcomer to wonder at the legend that had come true. The warrior had come down from his mountain to save them. Casca had difficulty restraining their outbursts of enthusiasm, till at last he felt it was necessary to thump a couple of them gently on the head to enforce silence.
Once the men of the village were gathered, he made up his mind about their course of action. In the words of the legion, it was always best to keep it simple.
They had to have some way to keep the men inside the longhouse from getting out. If they did, many of the villagers would die.
He whispered his orders to the men, sending them off to gather what he needed. The men went to their huts and storerooms. In less than twenty minutes they had returned, each bearing his load. Dry wood, precious oil, even articles of clothing were added to the growing pile. Logs were ripped from the palisade walls and brought to the entrances of the longhouse and placed in front of them, blocking any egress from the structure. Casca urged them to greater speed. The rest of the flammable items were placed evenly along the bottom of the longhouse, filling the area between the ground and the floor set on pilings. Oil was spread, and then basins of coals and fire were brought from a dozen houses. These were set under the wood at each corner to ensure a good even burn. Pitchforks and clubs were in the hands of all the males in case any of the raiders managed to get out of the longhouse. The fires began slowly at first and then grew quickly as the small blazes caught and merged. Smoke began to drift up and around the sides of the building, seeping into the interior. The sounds of coughing soon came from the inside.
Then a single cry of alarm woke the sleeping raiders. In a panic, they rushed to the exits, only to find them blocked by the logs. One man reached out his hand to try to push his way through. Molvai grabbed the hand, pulling it out as far as he could, and then began cutting it while a friend held it steady. The short knife had a hard time sawing through the tendons between the wrist and hand, but patience prevailed and the hand came off, accompanied by the screams of its former owner. This served to keep the others inside from repeating the same procedure.
The flames grew, spreading over the bottom of the longhouse, filling the room with thick acrid smoke that ate at the lungs. Herac tried to get his men organized. They took axes and swords to hack at the walls, trying to cut a new way out. Several fell, to lie on the floor where they had died, their lungs filled with smoke.
Herac screamed in fear and rage for his men to break out. They concentrated their efforts on one spot, and even the stout logs began to give way to the frantic hacking of a dozen blades. The first small gap in the walls soon grew into one that a man could crawl through. One warrior attempted this, only to have his skull smashed by a sweep from a pitchfork. This did not deter the others. Fresh air entered, giving them a chance to breathe. With increased strength, they attacked the hole, widening it even farther till it could take the whole body of a man. It would have been best if they had expanded the opening even more, but blinding panic was riding them.
Molvai hastened to obey, racing from one hut to another. He would enter, wake the sleeping man, whisper in his ear, and then have to argue a few moments with him about the warrior. There were no weapons among the villagers except for one small knife that was permitted each family for the cutting of meat. All axes and other implements were kept by the raiders in the longhouse.
After the first three men, Molvai quit trying to explain about the warrior and just told the men that help had come and they were to gather outside.
Molvai led each man to Casca and then left to gather more, leaving each newcomer to wonder at the legend that had come true. The warrior had come down from his mountain to save them. Casca had difficulty restraining their outbursts of enthusiasm, till at last he felt it was necessary to thump a couple of them gently on the head to enforce silence.
Once the men of the village were gathered, he made up his mind about their course of action. In the words of the legion, it was always best to keep it simple.
They had to have some way to keep the men inside the longhouse from getting out. If they did, many of the villagers would die.
He whispered his orders to the men, sending them off to gather what he needed. The men went to their huts and storerooms. In less than twenty minutes they had returned, each bearing his load. Dry wood, precious oil, even articles of clothing were added to the growing pile. Logs were ripped from the palisade walls and brought to the entrances of the longhouse and placed in front of them, blocking any egress from the structure. Casca urged them to greater speed. The rest of the flammable items were placed evenly along the bottom of the longhouse, filling the area between the ground and the floor set on pilings. Oil was spread, and then basins of coals and fire were brought from a dozen houses. These were set under the wood at each corner to ensure a good even burn. Pitchforks and clubs were in the hands of all the males in case any of the raiders managed to get out of the longhouse. The fires began slowly at first and then grew quickly as the small blazes caught and merged. Smoke began to drift up and around the sides of the building, seeping into the interior. The sounds of coughing soon came from the inside.
Then a single cry of alarm woke the sleeping raiders. In a panic, they rushed to the exits, only to find them blocked by the logs. One man reached out his hand to try to push his way through. Molvai grabbed the hand, pulling it out as far as he could, and then began cutting it while a friend held it steady. The short knife had a hard time sawing through the tendons between the wrist and hand, but patience prevailed and the hand came off, accompanied by the screams of its former owner. This served to keep the others inside from repeating the same procedure.
The flames grew, spreading over the bottom of the longhouse, filling the room with thick acrid smoke that ate at the lungs. Herac tried to get his men organized. They took axes and swords to hack at the walls, trying to cut a new way out. Several fell, to lie on the floor where they had died, their lungs filled with smoke.
Herac screamed in fear and rage for his men to break out. They concentrated their efforts on one spot, and even the stout logs began to give way to the frantic hacking of a dozen blades. The first small gap in the walls soon grew into one that a man could crawl through. One warrior attempted this, only to have his skull smashed by a sweep from a pitchfork. This did not deter the others. Fresh air entered, giving them a chance to breathe. With increased strength, they attacked the hole, widening it even farther till it could take the whole body of a man. It would have been best if they had expanded the opening even more, but blinding panic was riding them.
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