brought me here into this bloody mess in the first place. I had planned to go directly to visit my friend and thought how a small detour would be insignificant in the scheme of things, and… well, here we are; you know the rest.” He deliberated for a while, distracted by the serving wench at a nearby table, before adding, “Yet the positive side of all of this is that we two have met. Santé, my dear friend!”
Chauvin removed his cap and leaned across unsteadily to shake Jack’s hand, spilling some ale with his elbow. He too valued the friendship that had developed between the two men in this short time. As they left the warm, good-humoured atmosphere, who would have thought or indeed cared that there was a large army up on the nearby hill, waiting to storm and occupy the city?
The corporal roused Jack at eight as he had been instructed. The fire in the presbytery had been rekindled, filling the large room with warmth and the smoky smell of burning wood. A cup of warm milk was ready, and he sipped from it as he dressed. Vasseur was waiting when Jack appeared in the nave.
Both men were without muskets, wearing only two pistols, their swords and their daggers. They donned fuscous cassocks to mute the jingle of their weapons and protect them from the cold, damp night. Accompanied by the corporal, they left the cathedral and walked briskly to the smaller of the two southern gates. There was only a pair of sentries, who had been forewarned of their arrival, waiting for them. As the gate was unlocked, Captain Horvat suddenly appeared from the nearby shadows.
“Forgive me, lieutenant,” he extended a genial hand as he approached. “The corporal requested my assistance to arrange for this postern to be unbolted, and although I do not entirely approve of your strategy, I wish you and Vasseur every success and a safe return.”
Jack and Horvat shook hands firmly. “Do you need an additional conspirator? I would eagerly join you,” the captain added, eyes gleaming like sapphires in the rutilant torch light.
“Someone in authority needs to supervise the corporal,” Jack countered playfully.
“We will be waiting here at eleven as agreed!” Chauvin added, side-stepping the jest. “See you when you get back. Keep him out of trouble, Vasseur. Bonne chance!”
The gate closed and was locked behind them by the guard. The pair made their way directly from the city, due south, across the overgrown and unkempt fields. The night dew saturated their boots. They moved slowly and warily. It was a dark and moonless night, but Jack had memorised the lay of the land from his observations this morning. They arrived at the curtain wall without incident, their eyes now adjusted to the darkness. They climbed over, one assisting the other, and then crept briskly up the wooded hill to the ridge. Turning left, Jack led them towards the main body of tents. All quiet—no sentries, no dogs—all well. The enemy forces were indeed very self-assured. Flanking the rear of the encampment, the two moved quietly from tree to tree until they reached the road that Jack was aiming for. This was a wagon track that ran in a north-south direction. They needed to complete their circular approach, so headed south along the grassy wheel-rut in the direction facing the now distant lights of Pilsen. Vasseur had shadowed Jack closely all the way.
Unexpectedly, the Frenchman caught the slightest glint of metal—a whispery movement ahead in the gloom. He grabbed Jack’s collar firmly from behind, and the two men froze. Some 10 paces ahead was a soldier about to cross the dirt road. He had stopped by a tree to relieve himself. Jack turned around to Vasseur and pointed to the guard, running a finger across his throat. Vasseur nodded in comprehension and held Jack fast and then stepped away along the moist, silent grass. He drew his dagger and steadily crept towards the unsuspecting soldier. Without hesitating at any point, the experienced Vasseur approached his victim stealthily from behind, gagged him by locking his left forearm across the enemy soldier’s mouth, and as he pulled the man backwards towards his body, thrust his dagger up to the hilt into the man’s kidney. The sentry tensed with pain as Vasseur withdrew the dagger and ran it swiftly across the soldier’s throat from left to right, like a seasoned butcher, severing the vocal cord and windpipe in one single effortless motion. The man went limp almost immediately. There had been no struggle, no sound, and no resistance.
Jack joined Vasseur as the latter dragged the body off the roadside into the woods. They would be long gone before it would be discovered in the morning. Grinning approvingly, Jack slapped the Frenchman lightly across the cheek and winked his endorsement. Vasseur smiled back, happy with his success. Remaining on the soft grass in the gloom of the woods, the two cavaliers continued to follow the road for another 150 paces, and there, beyond the edge of the trees, they came upon their goal.
Two ponderous cannons sat on level ground just out of the forest to the left of the road. Silent, execrable sentinels—sinister, one-eyed giants left unguarded. Vasseur squatted as Jack knelt on one knee both searching and listening intently for any movement or sound. They could plainly see the lanterns and campfires of Pilsen in the near valley far below them. The men, impressed by the guns’ size, ran appraising hands over the cold metal of the two barrels.
Jack nodded as they produced assorted nails and a mallet from under their cassocks and hurriedly searched for each vent hole at the base. Stepping onto the truncheon of the closest gun, Jack located the vent and selected a nail of appropriate size while Vasseur mounted the other gun like a horse and fiddled with his nails. Jack tapped his spike to the end, covering its head with his coat to mute the sound, and handed the wooden hammer to Vasseur, who hastily completed his task. They then retreated into the forest and waited, listening. All clear.
They retraced their steps exactly the way they had come, stopping frequently to peer into the mottled darkness for signs of movement. It was imperative that the enemy gunners remain unaware of their visit. The return journey to the now familiar outer wall gate seemed to take half the time that it took to reach it initially. Jack cupped his hands and nodded to Vasseur to climb over the wall. Lying on top of the wall, Vasseur strained to lift Jack up next to him with one hand. They turned and sat, dangling their feet and facing the city. The two men were about to jump when the clouds suddenly drifted apart, exposing the full light of the moon. They had reached the wall a little further than before, and in the moonlight, they saw four enemy sentries asleep directly below them. Their fire had burned out, and all six men would have been equally surprised had the clouds not opened.
In spite of the sentries’ presence, Jack and Vasseur jumped down. The former landed on one guard’s throat, rolled off, stood up and withdrew his rapier in one fluid movement. The man did not move, probably due to a crushed windpipe and dislocated jaw.
Vasseur’s victim groaned as the Frenchman rolled off his stomach. Without waiting, Guy had drawn his backsword and pierced the prone man’s chest near the heart.
The other two sentries had now been roused from their sleep and were awkwardly but quickly on their feet, one with a pistol in hand. Jack rushed towards the man, who was aiming for Vasseur and drove his rapier into the man’s temple forcefully enough that the tip appearing through the other cheek. The soldier lowered his arm and fired his pistol safely into the ground, already dead, before slumping forward.
The fourth stolid guard had drawn his sword, but Vasseur jumped over his comrade’s body and dived with his own sword in full stretch. Too late to parry, the sentry was caught in the stomach. With Vasseur’s full bodyweight behind it, the blade glanced off the sentry’s spine and emerged out his back. He crumpled under the force of the impact and did not move.
Glancing up at the night sky, Jack uttered, “Bloody pistol! Who knows who else has been woken around here? Still a little more moonlight left. Run, Guy. Come on! Run!”
Sheathing their bloodied weapons, the pair ran wildly across the paddocks, not stopping until they collapsed in the culvert in front of the southern city gate. Panting for breath, Jack hammered at the door with his fist as small, distant fires began to appear at the curtain wall behind them where other sentries had been alerted by the stray pistol shot. Too late for revenge this night, Jack thought, as the bolts slid back and the gate opened on stubborn hinges to let them in.
“Après vous, s’il vous plaît, Monsieur Vasseur!” Jack hissed encouragingly, breathing hard, and the pair disappeared into the safety of the city walls. Chauvin and Horvat were there to