Jakon Gallowglass ran round a corner, directly into three advancing musketeers. His own musket was empty, but he lashed it across the face of the first man, knocking him from his feet. Dragging his knife from its scabbard he rammed it into the chest of the second man. The third tried to impale him with his bayonet.
Letting go of his knife Jakon slid to his right, dragging the stabbed man with him. The bayonet plunged into the wounded man. Jakon leapt at the musketeer, cracking a head butt against the man’s nose. He fell back with a cry of pain. Jakon shoulder-charged him from his feet and ran on. Several shots came close, one spattering stone chips from the wall beside him.
‘You don’t hear the shot that kills you,’ he remembered someone saying.
Oh yes, he thought, as he ducked into an alleyway. So how does anyone know that then?
Weaponless now he moved swiftly down the alley, then paused at the far end, risking a glance out onto the wider street beyond. Two musketeers came alongside him. Jakon kicked the first in the knee then grappled with the second, seeking to wrench his musket from his hands. The man was strong. Jakon tried a head butt. The man swayed away. Jakon kneed him in the groin. He grunted with pain, but held on to his musket. The first man was climbing to his feet. He swore at Jakon and advanced with his bayonet poised to strike. Jakon dragged the man he was fighting around, so that he was between Jakon’s body and the bayonet. A shot rang out. The first musketeer arched backwards, then dropped his weapon. The death of his comrade seemed to stun the man Jakon was grappling with. He tried to pull away. Jakon thrust his head forward, this time successfully butting the man on the bridge of his nose. With a strangled cry he fell towards Jakon, who twisted round, hurling him from his feet. Even before his assailant had hit the ground Jakon had run to the dead musketeer and swept up his weapon. The second man, blood leaking from his smashed nose, feebly brought up his own musket. Jakon thrust it aside and lanced the bayonet through the man’s tunic. He fell without a sound.
Spinning on his heel Jakon saw Taybard Jaekel calmly reloading his Emburley. Bringing it to his shoulder he took aim. Jakon glanced back along the street. Five enemy musketeers had come into sight some forty paces away. JaekePs rifle boomed and one of the men went down. The others charged. Taybard took off down the alleyway opposite where Jakon stood. Jakon needed no invitation to sprint across the road and follow him. Shots screamed around him.
He saw Taybard scramble over a low wall and ran to join him. Once more the Eldacre man was reloading. Jakon checked the flash pan of his stolen musket. It was primed.
‘Ready?’ asked Taybard coolly.
‘Why not?’ responded Jakon.
Both men reared up together. The four remaining musketeers were running down the alleyway. Jakon’s shot took one of them in the face. Taybard shot another through the heart. The two survivors kept coming. Taybard laid down his rifle, and drew a pistol from the back of his belt. Cocking it he fired swiftly, the shot exploding the right eye socket of the closest man.
Jakon clambered over the wall and ran at the last musketeer, shrieking at the top of his voice. The man paused, turned, and ran for his life.
Jakon Gallowglass chuckled and swung back to where Taybard had been standing. Only he wasn’t there any more. Jakon caught a glimpse of him moving past several wagons at the rear of the old supply depot.
The sound of musket fire was coming from all around now. Jakon set off after Taybard, catching up with him at the edge of a building overlooking the town square. Here there was hand to hand fighting. Jakon saw the officer, Mulgrave, and around sixty Eldacre men battling with swords against the bayonets of the enemy. Taybard reloaded the Emburley. Jakon – though not as swiftly – added powder, ball and paper wadding to his musket.