Chapter Twenty

At long last the waxing glow of dawn divided the irregularly edged paleness of the gap from the high blackness of the leaning walls; what had two hours ago been no more than three stippled lines of bright orange dots in the dark could now be seen to be three ranks of silent, kneeling harquebusiers along the crest of the rubble mound. Behind them, though still outside the new barricade, stood two more companies apiece of landsknechten and Reichshilfe troops, motionless except for the occasional bow of & head to blow on a dimming matchcord.

One of the companies along the mound was Eilif's, and Duffy was crouched in the center of the front line. He unclamped his hand from the gunstock and absently stretched out the fingers. It seemed to him that in the depths of his mind a bomb had been detonated, which, though too far down to be directly perceptible, had blown loose great stagnant bubbles of memory to come wobbling up to the surface; and he thanked God for even this faintest first light, for it restored to him external things to focus his attention on. During the last five hours he had been staring into a cold blackness as absolute as Gustav Vogel's final drawing.

The faint click of metal on stone, as one of the sentries up on the wall grounded his pike, finally snapped Duffy completely out of his terrible night-meditations. He breathed deeply the chilly dawn breeze and tried to sharpen his senses.

The man to his right leaned toward him. 'You couldn't get me upon those walls,' he whispered. 'The mines have got them tottering.'

The Irishman raised his hand in a be-silent gesture. Damn this chattering idiot, Duffy thought - did I hear another sound? From the shadowy plain? He peered suspiciously along the barrel of his propped-up harquebus. Every patch of deeper gloom on the plain beyond the white chalk line seemed to his tired eyes to seethe with wormy shapes, but he decided finally that he could see no real motion. He sat back, shivering.

Several long minutes passed, during which the gray light brightened by slow degrees. Through carefully cupped hands Duffy peered at his slowmatch, and was relieved to see that the dawn dampness had not dimmed its red glow. His mail coif was itching his scalp, and from time to time he instinctively tried to scratch his head, forgetting that he had on a riveted steel salade.

'I sure hope that hunchback's kept his cannon-primings dry,' muttered the man on Duffy's right again. 'I think-'

'Shut up, can't you?' Duffy whispered. Then he stiffened; he'd seen the gray light glint on metal a few hundred yards away, then at several points along a dark line. He opened his mouth to whisper a warning to the other men, but he could already hear the rustle as they flexed chilled joints and looked to their powder and matches. There was a low whistle from atop the warped wall, showing that the sentry too had seen the activity.

The Irishman screwed his match into the firing pin, made sure his pan was filled with powder, and then looked along the barrel at the furtively advancing line. His heart was pounding, his fingertips tingled and he was breathing a little fast. I'll give one shot, he thought - two at the most, if they're slow in getting over the obstruction fence - and then I'm flinging this machine down and using my sword. I just can't seem to feel really in control with a firearm.

Then there was the muted drum-roll of boots on dirt as the Turks broke into a run - they're akinji, Duffy realized, the lightly armed Turkish infantry; thank God it isn't the Janissaries, whom half the men expected to shift back to this side during the night. The man beside Duffy was panting and scrabbling at the trigger of his gun. 'Don't shoot yet, fool,' the Irishman rasped. 'Want your ball to drop short? Wait till they reach the chalk line.'

In perhaps thirty seconds they reached it, and the gap in the wall lit up briefly as the first line of harquebuses fired, followed a moment later by a flame-gushing blast of gravel and stones from one of the culverins on the battlements. The front of the advancing akinji tide was ripped apart, scimitars flying from nerveless fingers as torn bodies tumbled and rolled across the dirt, but their maniacal fellows pressed on without a pause, over a wide segment of the fence that had been blown down. A rank of standing harquebusiers fired into the Turkish force, and then the akinji were mounting the slight slope below the wall.

There was clearly no time to reload, so Duffy tossed his still-sparking gun aside and, standing up, drew his rapier and dagger. I wish the light were better, he thought. 'Two steps back, my company!' he called. 'Don't get separated!'

Then the Turks were upon them. Duffy sighted the man who would hit him, parried the flashing scimitar with his rapier guard and stabbed the man in the chest with his dagger. The jolt of impact pushed the Irishman back a step, but didn't knock him over. A sword-edge rang against his helmet, and he gave its owner a quick slash across the face as another blade snapped in half against his hauberk. The defenders' line was slowly giving way when a harsh call sounded from behind them: 'We're reloaded back here! Christians, drop!'

Duffy parried a hard poke at his face and then fell to his

hands and knees even as a mingled roar of gun-fire went off at his back and the cold air around him was filled with the whiz-and-thud of lead balls striking flesh. 'On your feet!' he yelled a moment later, hopping up to meet the next wave of akinji as their predecessors reeled back and fell.

The man on Duffy's right took a sword through his belly and, clutching himself, somersaulted down the slope, so that the Irishman suddenly found himself facing two -then three - of the akinji. All at once his cautious confidence in his own skill was eroding, and he sensed the nearness of real, incapacitating fear. 'Get over here, somebody!' he yelled, desperately parrying the licking scimitars with sword and dagger. His troop of men had retreated away from him, though, and he hadn't even a wall to get his back to. He took a flying leap at the Turk on his right, trusting his hauberk and salade to absorb the worst of the attacks of the other two; he swept the man's scimitar away in a low line with both his sword and dagger, and riposted with a long thrust of the dagger that he accurately drove into the Turk's throat. The other two akinji struck at Duffy then; one of them swung a hard cut at Duffy's shoulder, and though the blow stung, the mail blocked the sword-edge and the scimitar flew into three pieces; the other lunged in with his sword extended straight, and his point, cutting through the Irishman's leather doublet, found one of the gaps in his mail shirt and sank an inch into his side.

Duffy whirled back when he felt the shock of cold steel in him and sent the Turk's wide-eyed head spinning from his shoulders with a furious scything chop. The field momentarily clear, he scrambled a few steps up the slope and through one of the openings in the barricade that divided the rocky crest, to rejoin his fellow Austrians.

As he lurched up over the top, with the scuff and rattle of the pursuing akinji sounding loud behind him, he caught

a glimpse of soldiers standing behind a line of what appeared to be narrow, chest-high tables, and he heard someone's agonized yell: 'My God, dive for it, Duffy!'

He caught the urgency in the voice, and without pausing kicked forward in a long dive down the inward slope, ripping his leather gloves and banging his helmet and knees as he tumbled across the raw stones. Even as he moved, a quick series of ten loud explosions concussed the air in front of him like very rapid hammer-strokes; there followed two more stuttering blasts often, and then there was a pause.

Duffy had rolled to the gravelly bottom of the slope with his face down and his legs up, and by the time he'd struggled into a sitting position he realized what the tablelike things were - sets of ten small cannons braced together like log rafts, fired by putting a match to the trail of serpentine powder poured across all the touchholes.

Orgelgeschutzen, the Austrians called them, though from his stay in Venice Duffy thought of them as ribaldos, their Italian name.

'Quick, Duff, get back here,' came Eilif's voice. The Irishman got to his feet and sprinted ten yards to where the troops were clustered. 'Why did you stay out there?' Eilif demanded. 'You knew we were to fire two volleys and then fall back to let them run into the teeth of these things.' He waved at the ribaldos.

'I,' Duffy panted, 'figured our retreat would look more convincing if a man or two hung on.'

The Swiss landsknecht raised a dusty eyebrow and stared hard at Duffy. 'Really?'

There was another rush of akinji over the splintered barricade along the top, but it seemed dispirited; when two more bursts of the small-calibre cannon-fire whipped them apart, the survivors backed off fast, and a few seconds later the sentries on the wall called down the news that the akinji were retreating back toward their lines.

'Well of course really,' Duffy answered. 'What did you think, that I just forgot?'

Eilif grinned. 'Sorry.' He gestured at the new corpses on the crest and shrugged. 'I guess it was a clever move.' He trotted away to the slope and began climbing up to see in what direction the Turks retreated.

The Irishman felt hot blood running down his side and gathering at his belt, and suddenly remembered the wound he'd taken. He pressed a hand to it and plodded through the reassembling ranks, looking for a surgeon. His mind, though, wasn't on the sword-cut - in his head he was listening again to his brief dialogue with Eilif , and uneasily admiring his own quick improvisation. Because actually, he thought, your first suspicion was right, Eiif. I did forget. And what does that say about me?

The sun had risen above the eastern horizon, but the bulk of the ruined wall cast a shadow that was still dark enough to make readily visible the watch-fires up and down the street. Duffy stumbled about randomly until his eyes adjusted to the dimness, and very shortly he was surprised to see Aurelianus warming his hands over one of the fires. Their eyes met, so the Irishman reluctantly crossed the littered space of cobbles to where the wizard stood.

'Keeping the home fires burning, eh?' Duffy said with a pinched and artificial smile. 'And what brings you so uncharacteristically close to the front line?'

'This is childish enough,' the wizard said bitterly, 'without a theatrical rendition of ignorant innocence from you. What were you thinking, a - ach, you're bleeding! Come here.'

Newly awakened soldiers were dashing up from the direction of the barracks, shivering in their chilly chain mail and rubbing their eyes, and other men were dragging the wounded back inside. Duffy sat down beside Aurelianus' fire. The sorcerer had taken his medicine box

out of his pouch and fished from it a bag that was spilling yellow powder. 'Lie down,' he said.

Duffy brushed away some scattered stones and complied. Aurelianus opened the Irishman's doublet and lifted his rusty mail shirt. 'Why the hell don't you keep your hauberk clean?' he snapped. 'This doesn't look too bad, though. He obviously didn't lean into the thrust.' He tapped some of the powder into the wound.

'What's that stuff?' asked Duffy, frowning.

'What do you care? It'll keep you from getting poisoned, which is what you deserve, wearing a rusty hauberk.' He took a roll of linen from the box and expertly bandaged the wound, running strips around Duffy's back to hold it in place. 'There,' he said. 'That ought to hold body and soul together. Get up.'

Duffy did, puzzled by the harshness in the wizard's voice. 'What -' he began.

'Shut up. I want to know about your little trick last night. What were you thinking, an eye for an eye, a girl for a girl?'

The Irishman felt something that might become a vast anger begin to build up in himself. 'I don't think I understand,' he said carefully. 'Are you talking about my.. .the way I.. .the way Epiphany died?'

'I'm talking about your theft of my book, damn it, while I was pottering about in the chapel afterward. You will give it back.'

Sudden apprehension scattered the kindling of Duffy's rage. His eyes widened. 'Good God, do you mean Didlio's Whirling Gambits or whatever it's called? Listen, I didn't -'

'No, not Didius' Gambit.' Aurelianus was maintaining his offended frown, but his wrinkle-bordered eyes were beginning to look disconcerted. 'I hid that Monday night, after talking to...you. No, I mean Becky's book.'

'Who the hell - oh, that book your witch girlfriend gave

you, three hundred years ago? I didn't take it.' Duffy shrugged. 'What would I want with the damned thing?'

Aurelianus' expression held for another moment, then without too much change became a frown of worry. 'I believe you. Hell! I was hoping it would turn out to have been you.

'Why?'

'Because, for one things I'd have been able to get it back without much trouble. You wouldn't have been troublesome about it, would you? I didn't think so. And for another thing, I could have assumed no one had interfered with my guards.'

Duffy sighed and sat down again beside the fire. 'What guards?'

'Little birdlike creatures that live in that dollhouse structure above my door - pretty things they are, with fine leathery wings of a mother-of-pearl luster, but savage as kill-trained dogs and quick as arrows.' Aurelianus crouched near him. 'I have a dozen of them, and I've trained them to refrain from attacking me, or any visitors that come into the room with my evident approval. When you were there five or six months ago I conveyed to them by signals that you were to be permitted to enter the room alone. Don't be too flattered - just figured that in the heat of these last battles I might sometime want to send you back there for something, while staying at the scene of the action myself.'

Duffy nodded. 'Ah. Don't worry, I wasn't flattered. And there is no one else they've been-instructed to let in alone?' The wizard shook his head. 'Then you've got inadequate guards,' the Irishman said helplessly. 'Somebody got by them. Did you check whether they're still in their nest, and alive?'

'Yes. They're in there, in perfect health.' He rubbed his eyes tiredly. 'That means the intruder was an initiate of certain very secret mysteries, or the lackey of such a one.

Those are from another sort of world, and very few people know about them. Ibrahim probably knows, and no doubt whoever broke in was a spy of Ibrahim's which I should have anticipated. Why-do I keep failing to -'

'How would this person have knocked them out?' Duffy interrupted. The sun was beginning to clear the mound, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes.

'Oh, there are two notes which, though pitched too high to be audible to the human ear, can counter and blank out the brain waves of these things; the two notes correspond to the pulse of their brains, but are contrary, and have an effect like stopping a garden swing by leaning back and forth at the wrong times. I've seen it done - the man used a tiny one-holed pipe and blew a long steady breath, rapidly covering and uncovering the hole with one finger:

the cageful of little fellows just pitched over as if dead. Then when he stopped they all got up again.'

'Could he do it inhaling?' Duffy asked sharply.

Aurelianus looked started. 'No, as a matter of fact. The tones would be wrong - two low, maybe even audible.

'Quick as arrows, you said. By how far is that an exaggeration?'

'Not very damned far.' The sorcerer smiled sheepishly. 'I see what you mean, of course. For anything more than the quickest look-and-grab it would have had to be two men taking turns, one piping while the other catches his breath and uses two hands on something.'

Duffy got to his feet and moved to the side, so that he could see Aurelianus without squinting into the sun. 'Are you certain someone got in? To judge by the mess that room is in, losing one book would be so easy as to be almost inevitable.'

'I'm certain. I know exactly where I left it. Besides, there were other signs of an intruder - things were picked up and replaced in not quite the same position, a number

of books were looked at, to judge by the scuffing of the dust on the shelves, and one of my smoking-snakes was bitten. Someone evidently assumed it was a sort of sweetmeat.'

Duffy shuddered, imagining the person's surprise and dismay. 'It was Werner,' he said.

'Werner? Don't be ridic -

'I saw a one-holed pipe on the table in his little wine-closet, and I remember it wouldn't produce any noise I could hear. This poet friend of his, this Kretchmer, must be a spy for the Turks. Wait a minute, don't interrupt! Through flattery of Werner's doubtless trashy poetry, and the bestowal of sexual favors by some woman pretending to be Kretchmer's wife, the man has got your poor innkeeper into a state where he'd do anything for him.'

Aurelianus was silent for a few moments. 'Even a woman, eh? The silly old fool. Fancies himself the great poet and lover, I expect. I'll bet you're right. Damn, why wasn't I suspicious of Kretchmer from the start?' He slapped his forehead. 'I'm as easily taken in as poor Werner. Kretchmer must have been ordered by Ibrahim to get my copy of Didius' Dire Gambit Overwhelming. Yes, and wasn't Werner asking me months ago if he could borrow some books sometime, with the hint that he'd like free access to my library? Then when I refused, Kretchmer would have had to learn of my little guards - I'd like to have seen that brief encounter - and then consult Ibrahim for a way to get around them. It must have taken some time to get in touch with the Turkish adept, for it was only this last Monday I thought I saw footprints in the dust on my floor; the two of them must just have been taking inventory that time, after which Kretchmer would somehow have got outside to show the list of books to the then nearby Ibrahim. Right! And Ibrahim would have known which of those books it would be in, and he sent them back to get it.'

'But you hid it Monday night,' Duffy remembered.

'Yes. So last night, Tuesday night, they whistled their way in again, failed to find the book where they'd last seen it, and grabbed probably several books at random, of which Becky's is the only one I've missed. I'll have to do an inventory myself. Damn. I should probably check the wine cabinet, too'.

Duffy started to speak, but Aurelianus interrupted him with a bark of laughter. 'Do you remember when Werner turned up all bloody and limping, and claimed one of your Vikings had got drunk and tried to kill him? No, that's right, you had already moved out by then. In any case, Bugge denied it when I asked him about it.'

'So?'

'So Werner was probably the one who first discovered my guards. He couldn't have got more than a step or two into the room, or he'd never have got back out alive.'

The cool west wind had blown away the gunpowder smell, and now Duffy could catch the aroma of a pot of oniony stew cooking somewhere. He looked up and down the street, and soon noticed the half-dozen men huddled around one of the fires fifty yards south of him. The Irishman yanked straight his hauberk and tunic with, he hoped, an air of finality and conclusion. 'So what will you do now?' he asked.

'Kretchmer and Werner won't know we're aware of their deceits, so I don't think they'll be hard to find. We'll go confront them, make them return whatever they took, and then you can kill them.

Duffy stared at him. 'I can't leave this area. I'm on call. I'm defending the West, remember? Hell, why don't you just go sift something deadly into their wine?' He started to leave, then paused. 'Oh, and I'd try to get them to admit some of it. It's just possible that Werner had some other reason to own that silent whistle. Here, I've got it - put some disabling venom in their wine, and then tell them they can have a sip of the antidote only after they've told you all. Then if they should somehow happen to be innocent, you can give them the antidote and apologize.'

Aurelianus shook his head. 'You're all right with a sword, Brian, but you'd make a hair-raising diplomat. No, I think Werner alone I can effectively crack without the stage props, and with his testimony I'll be able to get a dozen armed men to grab Kretchmer for me . . .assuming he's still in the city.'

'Ah. Well, good luck in capturing the pair.' Duffy yawned. 'I guess the main thing is that they didn't get Didius' Horrors, eh? And now if you'll excuse me there is a plateful of stew down there waiting for me to ladle it out of the pot, and beyond that, under an improvised canvas roof, is a cot waiting to fulfill its purpose in the scheme of things by letting me fall asleep on it.'

Good enough,' said the wizard. 'I'll go set my traps. Oh, and I've got to try to see von Salm, and tell him that the Turks are likely to re-form in the vulnerable east again, since Ibrahim no longer has any reason to sacrifice his thousand baptized souls.'

'Well, give him my regards,' Duffy said, his words made almost incomprehensible by a huge yawn. 'And thanks for this latest patch-up job.'

'You're welcome. Get a new hauberk, hmm?' Aurelianus turned and strode away West. Duffy pointed himself south, toward the stew. The sun was up now, shining through a break in the golden clouds, and Duffy had to squint against the glare.

Throughout the long morning, patches of light and shadow dappled the plain in shifting patterns, and once or twice veils of rain whirled across the city or the Turkish tents like the skirts of the passing clouds.

As Aurelianus had predicted, the Turkish troops were

shifting around to face the eastern wall with its gap like a missing tooth in a stony jaw. Sentries crouched to lay their ears against the pavement, and many claimed to hear the digging of miners at several points north of the collapsed section of wall. There was sporadic trading of booming cannon-fire, but, aside from a particularly heavy burst of Turkish firing by the south wall at about noon, the cannonade was little more than a desultorily observed formality.

Battle was anticipated, and the sellers of horoscopes and luck pieces did a good business among soldiers and citizens alike. Prostitutes and liquid vendors clustered around the makeshift landsknecht barracks, taking their own share of the weirdly inverted economy common to all long-besieged cities. The solace of Faith was free, but nothing else was - and food was much harder to buy than luck, sex, or a drink.

Duffy opened his eyes and crossed without a jolt from unremembered dreams into wakefulness. St Stephen's was tolling two, and the gray light that slanted in under the awning waxed and waned as the tattered clouds moved across the sun. He stood up and put on his boots, hauberk, doublet and sword, pushed the curtain aside and stepped out into the street. A wine vendor was wheeling his cart past, and the Irishman called for a cup. The man's young son trotted over with it and asked an exorbitant price, which Duffy paid after bestowing his fiercest frown on the unconcerned lad. His company wasn't due to muster until three o'clock, so he took the wine - which proved to be sour - over to a corner where the tumbled wall of a warehouse formed a rough bench.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, and ran one open palm over a gritty stone surface. He was mildly surprised to discover that he felt now none of last night's stark, guilty horror - just a tired sadness about the losses of a

lot of things, of which Epiphany was admittedly the most poignant. There was a distance to it, though - it was the sort of melancholy that can be taken down from the shelf and bitterly savored during a leisure hour, and not any longer the plain pain that is no more escapable than a toothache. He suspected that this not unpleasant abstraction was the numbing effect of emotional shock, and would, like the quick, natural anesthesia of a serious injury, wear off before long. It did not occur to him that it might be resignation to the idea of his own death.

Opening his eyes and straightening up, he was not surprised to see Aurelianus in the area again, fussily picking his way toward him over and around the scattered chunks of masonry. As he stepped closer Duffy noticed a new bandage tied around his forehead and under his ears that had blotted red over his cheek.

Duffy smiled, a little surprised to discover that he could find no anger toward the ancient sorcerer. 'What ho, wizard?' Duffy boomed politely when Aurelianus was in earshot. 'Did Von Salm take a poke at you with his rapier? You were probably explaining to him how things are not what they seem, am I right?'

'I didn't see von Salm,' Aurelianus said, trying to scratch his forehead under the bandage. 'They wouldn't let me up in the cathedral spire to speak with him.' He shook his head in angry exasperation. 'Damn it - if this impasse between Ibrahim and me didn't render the whole magical field so inert, he'd be no more necessary than a child with a sling-shot.'

'Well, you can still do' low-power magics, right? Couldn't you have got by those guards?'

Aurelianus sighed deeply and sat down. 'Oh, certainly. I could - with a mere gesture! - have given them all... some damn thing.. .the bowel-quakes, say, and made it impossible for them to stay at their posts. But it's so undignified And I know von Salm wouldn't listen anyway. Yes, the small-time country type spells still work as well as ever, but there's not any battlehandy magic in them - just homey lore on how to harvest your wheat, milk your cows and brew your beer, or how to foil a disliked neighbor's attempts to do those things. Hell. I hope Ibrahim is as discouraged as I am.' He looked up cautiously. 'You missed Mrs Hallstadt's wake.'

Again the Irishman felt a wash of the almost mellow regret, as if of events that happened centuries ago. 'Oh? When?'

Early this morning they.. .found the bodies. When the news reached the Zimmermann a spontaneous wake developed, and Werner wasn't due back until nightfall - he and Kretchmer are off somewhere, I don't know where - so the affair proceeded unhindered for several hours.'

'Ah.' Duffy sipped his inferior wine thoughtfully. 'So what are you going to do about our two poets?'

'I've got a half-dozen armed men waiting for them, led by my man Jock - Giacomo Gritti, remember? - and they'll capture them and bind them to await my interrogation.'

Duffy nodded. 'I see.' He emptied his cup and shuddered. 'Incidentally, what has made the bandage necessary? Did you cut yourself shaving?'

'Oh - no, I was on the wall watching Mothertongue's charge.'

Duffy raised an eyebrow. 'Mothertongue's charge?'

'Didn't you hear about it?'

'I've been asleep,' Duffy explained.

'Huh. I would have thought all the cannon-fire would have awakened you.' The wizard shrugged sadly. 'The poor idiot. He got a full suit of old plate armor from the stores somewhere, made somebody lock him up in it, and then rode his horse through an unguarded ferrier's door in the outer wall, right beside the Wiener-Bach - that little - stream that runs along the eastern side of the wall.'

'I think I know the door you mean,' Duffy said. 'I didn't know it had been left unguarded, though. So poor old Mothertongue charged off to save the day, eh?'

'That's right. All by himself, too, since Bugge and the northmen have finally convinced him that they don't want to be knights of the round table. He even carried a makeshift lance and banner, and recited a lot of poetry or something outside the wall before he galloped off. All the men on the battlements were cheering him on and making bets on how far he'd get.'

'How far did he get?'

'Not far. A hundred yards or so, I guess. He must have startled the Turk gunners - this high-noon charge by one rusty old knight. They soon got over their surprise, though, and touched off several guns. It was mostly canister and grapeshot for cutting down troops, but they even let go with a nine-pounder or two. That's how I cut my cheek - a few bits of flying metal or stone came whistling around the parapet.'

'And they got him...?'

'Mothertongue? Certainly. Blew him and his horse to bits. It served one purpose, at least - we sealed up that door and included it in the sentry's rounds.'

'Damned odd,' said Duffy. 'I wonder what pushed him over the edge.'

The hollow cracking of four cannons interrupted Aurelianus' reply. Duffy looked up at the battlements. 'Sounds like the twelve-pounders,' he observed. 'I guess Bluto figures the Janissaries have no business taking afternoon naps...

Two more cannon detonations shook the pavement, and then he heard the cracking of the sharpshooters' rifled guns. He was on his feet immediately. 'It must be a charge,' he snapped, and was running toward the square by the gap even as the cacophanous alarum bells began clanging across the city from the St Stephen's tower.

Abruptly, with a peal of thunder that rattled his teeth, the pavement punched his running legs aside and rushed up to slam his chest and face and bounce him over onto his back. For an instant he lay dazed, choking on his own blood and watching the top of the wall, which was leaning inward toward him, slowly dissolving from an architectural structure into a churning cascade of bricks, stones and dust. Then he was rolling, tumbling and crawling back, his breath blowing in and out in wet wheezes, trying desperately in the seconds remaining to put as much distance as possible between himself and the collapsing wall.

It seemed to take forever to come down. His wounded-spider scuttling had taken him past the midpoint of the square when a vast hammer impacted on the street behind him and he was tossed forward in a multiple somersault that ended in a painful twenty-foot slide. He wound up lying on his side, and managed to sit up. His ears were ringing, and for almost a minute the air was so thickly opaque with smoke and dust that trying to breathe was a solitary nightmare of gagging and coughing.

Then he could hear gunfire, a lot of it, and the steady western breeze was blowing the mushrooming dust cloud back through the new gap, into the eyes of the charging Janissaries. Several companies of soldiers were trotting up in orderly formation as the hastily assembled harquebusiers fell back to reload, and trumpet calls were sounded to summon more troops. Duffy looked over his shoulder and saw Aurelianus fifty yards down the street hurrying away.

He took a long breath, coughed deeply twice, then got to his feet and plodded forward into the gathering press of European soldiers.

The two fallen segments of wall had left an unsteady tower between them, and for twenty furious minutes the

fighting seethed around it like waves crashing around an outcropping in the surf, with no ground really being gained by either side. Presently, though, the Viennese forces managed to bring some bigger guns to bear - six ten-barrelled ribaldos adding their rat-tat-tat snare drum detonations to the din, and a dubiously moored culverin, on the southern edge of the solid wall, that every five minutes rocked back and sent loosened stones clattering down as it whipped charge after charge of gravel into the ululating mass of white-robed Janissaries.

Through the early afternoon the Turkish troops kept advancing and falling back, and losing hundreds of men in a vain effort to summon up the impetus that would break the desperate ranks of Europeans. Finally at about three-thirty they retreated, and the Viennese forces took turns standing in the gaps, trooping outside to construct advance defense positions, and marching back in for a brief respite in which to sit and drink wine and croak queries and braggadocio declarations at each other.

The sun was well down the western side of the sky, silhouetting in red the rooftops and steeples of Vienna, when several hundred of the akinji came. yelling down along the wall from the north, evidently trying to shear off the body of Viennese soldiers that was outside. Eilif's company was out on the plain when they came, and led the way in a counter-charge that drove the Turkish footsoldiers back up to the Wiener-Bach, the narrow sub-canal that flanked the north half of the east wall. The mob of akinji - for they were too undisciplined to be called troops - broke at the banks of the little canal, and only those who retreated to the outer side of it managed to survive and return to the Turkish lines. As night fell the guns of both sides set about making the plain a hazardous no-man's-land of whistling shot and rebounding iron balls.

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