Chapter 35: Completing the Wall

Jack was standing in the snow, staring up at the newly built section of the palisade wall.

It was a solid piece of work. The twenty pine logs his skeletons had dragged from the forest two nights ago were planted deep in the earth, standing ten feet high. The rough bark was packed tightly together, forming a reliable wooden shield.

Giles walked up beside him, his breath pluming in the freezing morning air. The tall carpenter knocked his knuckles against the wood with a satisfied grin.

“It is a fine wall, Lord Jack,” Giles said proudly. “If the mages keep hauling the logs every few nights, we will have the entire village completely enclosed soon. I have lived in these mountains my whole life, and I know a dire wolf can leap eight feet in the air, maybe nine if it has a running sprint. But ten feet will stop them cold.”

Jack did not smile. He leaned on his cane and looked down at the snow gathered around his boots.

“The wall is indeed strong,” Jack said quietly. “And you are correct about their jumping limits on flat ground. But you are not looking at the environment.”

Giles blinked, looking confused.

Jack pointed his cane at the ground near the base of the palisade.

“Look at the weather,” Jack continued. “We are nearing the peak of winter. The snow is already past our knees. In a few weeks, the wind will blow the snow against the outside of this wall, creating large, packed snowdrifts. If a snowdrift piles up four feet high against the wood, the wall effectively becomes only six feet tall. A desperate dire wolf will use the snow as a ramp and clear the wall easily.”

Giles’s smile completely vanished. He looked at the snow, imagining a pack of rabid beasts running up a frozen snowdrift to jump directly into the village. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck.

“By the gods,” Giles whispered. “You are right. The snow will betray us. What do we do? We cannot easily cut trees that are twenty feet tall, and my men cannot haul them even if we did.”

“We will not build the wall higher,” Jack said, his voice calm and pragmatic. “We will make the ground lower. We are going to dig a trench.”

Jack used his cane to draw a wide line in the snow, parallel to the outside of the wooden palisade.

“A dry moat,” Jack explained. “We will dig a wide, deep trench completely surrounding the outside of the palisade line. When the beasts charge out of the woods, they will not hit the wall. They will fall into the pit. Even if they survive the fall, they will be trapped at the bottom, unable to get a running start to jump, and completely unable to reach the wooden walls.”

“A trench,” Giles repeated, nodding slowly as the military logic settled in. It was a brilliant, simple defense. But then, the reality of their environment hit him.

Giles looked down at the snow and kicked it aside, revealing the hard, frozen earth beneath.

“Lord Jack, the ground is frozen solid,” Giles said softly. “The dirt is like iron right now. Digging a trench big enough to surround the entire village will take a lot of men.”

“Gather the village,” Jack said. “Everyone who can hold a tool.”

An hour later, the entire village was gathered at the edge of the settlement. The men held iron pickaxes, while the women and older children held iron buckets and wooden shovels.

Jack stood before them, bundled in his winter coat.

“Listen closely!” Jack called out, ensuring everyone could hear him over the wind. “We are going to dig a defensive trench around the village. The ground is hard, so we will not waste our strength swinging blindly.”

Jack pointed to a group of men pulling a wooden sled loaded with scrap branches, leftover bark from the felled trees.

“We will lay small lines of fire directly over the path where the trench needs to be,” Jack instructed. “Let the fire burn for an hour. The intense heat will melt the ice trapped in the soil and soften the top layer of the earth. Once the ground is soft, you dig. When you hit the hard, frozen dirt underneath, you stop, move the fire, and repeat the process.”

The villagers murmured in understanding. It was a tedious and extremely slow method, but it was the only way to break the winter earth.

“And do not throw the dirt away,” Jack added firmly. “Take every bucket of dirt you pull from the trench and pile it up against the inside base of the wooden palisade. Stamp it down hard. We will use the excavated soil to reinforce the bottom of the wall, making it impossible for anything to dig under.”

The work began immediately.

Small, smoky fires were lit in a line around the edges of the village. The villagers huddled near the flames to stay warm while they waited for the earth to thaw. As soon as the dirt turned into dark, workable mud, the men moved in with their pickaxes.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

It was miserable work. The mud was freezing cold, and the men’s arms ached from swinging the iron tools. But they did not complain. They had warm cabins to sleep in and hot porridge waiting for them. They knew this trench was the only thing that would keep their families from being eaten.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

As the villagers established their digging routine, Jack pulled Giles and Barnaby aside.

“If we dig a deep trench entirely around the village, we will trap ourselves inside,” Jack said, looking at the carpenter and the blacksmith. “We need a way in and out for the hunting parties and the loggers. We need a single, highly secure entrance.”

Jack sketched his design in the dirt with his cane.

“Giles, you will stop digging the trench at the main road,” Jack directed. “Instead, you will build a fixed wooden ramp spanning across the gap. Use the strongest logs you can find. Make it wide enough for a handcart, but narrow enough that a dozen men can block it with spears.”

Giles studied the drawing. “A ramp is easy enough to build, Lord Jack. But if the ramp is fixed, the beasts will just run right over it.”

“They will run over the ramp, and they will immediately hit the gate,” Jack replied, pointing to the end of the drawing. “You will build a gatehouse right at the end of the ramp. A solid door of layered pine, reinforced with iron.”

Jack turned to Barnaby. “Barnaby, we will also be needing iron hinges. And I need a locking mechanism. But here is the most important part: the gate must only be operable from the inside.”

Barnaby rubbed his beard, his eyes narrowing in thought. “You want a winch system. Iron chains attached to the wooden locking bar. We can route the chains through an iron ring set into the roof of the gatehouse, leading down to a turning crank.”

“Exactly,” Jack said. “No handles on the outside. Nothing a beast could accidentally hit or push. When the men are inside, they turn the crank, the bar drops into place, and the gate becomes a solid wall. Once it is locked, absolutely nothing gets in.”

Barnaby nodded slowly. “It will take a lot of coal to forge chains like that, My Lord. And the ratchet gears for the winch will take precise hammering.”