Medieval II - In Shadows of Kings

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘Thank you,’ said Garyn and both men stood up.

  ‘I wish you well,’ said the old man, ‘for there are uncertain times before us all.’

  ‘Has it ever been any different?’ asked Tom. They left the tavern and within the hour, were fast asleep upon the hay bales of the stable.

  A hundred miles away, four horsemen rode hard through the night, oblivious of the weather.

  ----

  Chapter Eighteen

  The New World

  1276

  ‘Sire,’ shouted a voice, ‘there are men approaching.’

  Sir Robert of Shrewsbury ran across the deck and leaned against the rail.

  ‘Where?’ he demanded.

  ‘On the slopes of the hill.’

  Robert spotted the men and tried to make out the detail.

  ‘Are they our fellows?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said the voice, ‘but if they are, they are in a hurry.’

  All eyes turned to stare at the running men.

  ‘I think they are,’ said Robert, ‘but where are the rest of the column?’

  The Captain came up beside him.

  ‘Perhaps they are just over the hill,’ he said, ‘and these have been sent forward to make contact.’

  ‘No,’ said Robert, ‘if anyone was sent forward it would be mounted scouts. Those men seem frantic and carry no armour. Something is wrong, Captain, secure the ships for sailing.’

  ‘But we haven’t refilled all the water barrels yet.’

  ‘Secure what we have. Until we know there is no danger, we will not be found unprepared.’

  The Captain shouted out the orders and mariners ran to their tasks. The men from the column closed in fast and were soon alongside the ships, walking the final few yards surrounded by the comrades they had not seen for weeks. Sir Robert strode down the gangplank and forced his way through the growing crowd. Finally he stood before them and waited patiently as they gathered their breath and drank their fill from offered water skins.

  ‘Well met,’ he said eventually, ‘I trust you have come with news of the column.’

  ‘We have, Sire,’ said the archer ‘though the news may not be what you expect.’

  ‘Then tell your tale, man,’ said Robert, ‘and waste no time in flowery language.’

  ‘Sire, the rest of the column are just over that hill but are currently embattled with an army ten times their size and more.’

  There was an audible gasp around the gathered men but Robert raised his hand for silence.

  ‘Tell me more,’ he said, ‘what manner of foe do they face. Are they armoured, do they have siege engines, what is the strength of their cavalry?’

  ‘None of these, Sire, the enemy seem to be savages and wield weapons tipped with stone.’

  ‘They have no Knights?’

  ‘No, Sire.’

  ‘Then surely Tarian will make short work of them despite their strength?’

  ‘You would think so, Sire but as quick as we kill them their numbers swell threefold. They know no fear and our archers are out of arrows.’

  ‘Then we will send support.’

  ‘Sire, with respect you would be sending even more men to their death.’

  ‘I will not leave them to die, soldier, are they not brothers in arms?’

  ‘Their numbers are uncountable, Sire. We cannot defeat them.’

  ‘What are numbers when weighed against valour?’

  ‘Forgive me, Sire but valour is of little use when facing an entire nation.’

  ‘You suggest leaving them to their fate?’

  ‘No Sire, other runners have been sent to tell them you are here. I suspect there will be survivors and the best you can do is prepare defences. Do not deem to face this enemy, Sire, at least not yet. Prepare to sail as soon as the last man is aboard and we can lick our wounds while we decide what to do.’

  The Knight stared at the archer. Every bone in his body demanded he lead his men in support but he knew there was merit in the soldier’s words.

  ‘The ships will be ready for them,’ he said eventually, ‘but I will not stand by and see them slaughtered. If you speak true, there is something we can do to help, something the enemy will never see coming.’ He turned to his second in command. ‘Owain, how long will it take to assemble your equipment?’

  ‘We trained with it this very morning Sire. The opportunities have been limited these last few months.’

  ‘Then fortune shines on us. Man the forecastles and prepare to offer support. The rest of you, don your armour and see to your weapons. We may not be able to fight a nation but we will do what we can. Take your men aboard, you look spent.’

  ‘Sire, we beg not rest but bows. They are still our comrades and though it may be a fool’s errand, I would rather fall aiding my fellows than hiding behind oaken planks.’

  ‘Well spoken,’ said Sir Robert. ‘Meet back here not five minutes hence and harness what strength you have. If what you say is true, it will be needed before this situation is resolved.’

  ----

  Tarian scrambled up the rock face as fast as he could. Ahead of him, the rest of the column cleared the summit and ran toward the next, knowing full well that relief lay on the other side. An arm reached down and helped Tarian over the top and he looked up to see Geraint standing before him.

  ‘Why are you waiting?’ he said.

  Geraint didn’t answer but just stared past Tarian down to the plain. Tarian turned and followed his gaze. What he saw made his heart sink. All across the plain, groups of lancers stood together fighting furiously against overwhelming numbers. Any still aboard their mounts were quickly pulled down and disappeared beneath a sea of screaming warriors. Within minutes the last few Knights fell to the Apalach until only one was left standing.

  Sir Crispin stood upon a rock wielding his two handed blade manically around him, cutting down men as if they were sun ripened corn and his deathly blade a farmer’s scythe. The enemy gradually stopped hurling themselves at this lone survivor and slowly the noise of their battle cries died out.

  ‘Come on,’ screamed Crispin, ‘what are you waiting for?’

  A warrior with a full feathered headdress stepped out of the encircling enemy and stared up at the Knight. He held up a spear and chanted something in his strange language, shaking the weapon toward the exhausted man on the rock.

  ‘What’s happening?’ asked Geraint.

  ‘I think their leader is paying him respect as a fellow warrior,’ said Tarian.

  ‘Do you think they will let him go?’

  Tarian shook his head and pointed toward more men with spears, making their way through to the front of the circle.

  As if knowing he was being watched from above, Sir Crispin turned and gazed toward Tarian on the escarpment edge. Tarian stepped up onto a nearby rock so his profile could be seen against the sky. He drew his sword and after kissing the hilt, raised the weapon high above his head. Down below, Crispin lifted his helm from his head and threw it to the floor. Slowly he mirrored Tarian’s salute and as he lifted his own weapon to the skies, Tarian’s voice echoed across the plain.

  ‘To the glory of God,’ roared Tarian.

  ‘For freedom,’ roared Crispin but before any more words could leave his mouth, a spear sailed through the air and thudded into his throat. The Knight fell to his knees and his sword dropped to the ground. A few seconds later, Tarian and Geraint watched the Apalach swarm over the mortally wounded man, each warrior keen to claim the scalp of the magnificent Knight.

  The Apalach chief bent over and picked up the fallen sword, examining its bloody sheen with interest. Finally he turned and looked up at Tarian upon the ridge. Around him his warriors looked toward the chief, waiting for his command until finally he raised the Knights sword and pointed it toward the rocks.

  His own command echoed across the plain and as the drums started up once more, thousands of warriors raced toward the escarpment.

  ‘We should go, Sire
,’ said Geraint, ‘this day is done.’

  Tarian stared at the now visible body of Crispin far below before jumping from the rock and joining Geraint to flee the killing fields.

  ----

  ‘Here they come,’ shouted the lookout and all eyes turned to see the remains of the column racing down the slopes toward the ships. The fleeing men had no structure but just ran headlong from the certain death they knew pursued them. Sir Robert turned to face the ships.

  ‘Owain,’ he roared, ‘ready your men.’

  ‘We await your command, Sire,’ shouted the soldier.

  ‘Then heed me closely,’ answered Robert, ‘for many lives lie in your hands.’

  ‘Sire,’ shouted the lookout, ‘the enemy are on their heels.’

  Sir Robert stared up at the slopes again and saw hundreds of half-naked warriors streaming in the wake of the retreating men.

  ‘Men at arms,’ shouted Sir Robert, ‘form lines, archers to the rear. Pike men, upon our retreat you will form a wall of steel.’

  ‘Aye Sir,’ shouted the men in acknowledgement.

  ‘Form up,’ shouted Robert, ‘line abreast, advaaance.’

  The remaining men took their places and advanced across the plain toward their oncoming comrades. Within moments the first of the exhausted runners ran through the defensive lines, gasping for breath as they headed for the safety of the ships. Less than five hundred paces separated the first and last man and within minutes there were only a few stragglers, left limping across the grass, one being supported by Tarian himself. Behind them, hoards of warriors chased them down.

  ‘Archers ready,’ shouted Sir Robert, ‘release arrows, volley fire.’

  The air filled with of arrows and before the first fell amongst the Apalach, the second volley was already airborne. For a few seconds the enemy faltered but soon regrouped to continue the pursuit.

  ‘Keep firing,’ shouted Sir Robert before turning to an archer at his side.

  ‘Send the signal, soldier,’ he said, ‘let’s show these heathen something they have never seen before.’

  The archer dipped his arrow into a fire pot and a few seconds later a flaming trail sliced through the clear sky.

  ----

  Back on the ships, Owain saw the signal and turned to his command.

  ‘There it is, men,’ he shouted, ‘bend your backs and send them to hell.’

  Seconds later, the timber boards of the ship’s forecastles shuddered from the release of stored energy as powerful Mangonels loosed their lethal missiles to soar into the afternoon sky. Seconds later, clay fire pots smashed amongst the advancing enemy, showering the warriors with sticky burning oil.

  Each ship had two Mangonels and after the first volley caused havoc amongst the attackers, the speed and training of the operators ensured the hail of burning death was maintained at a deadly rate. The effect on the Apalach was instantaneous and panic reined as they sought escape from the unforeseen threat.

  ‘Archers, up your rate,’ screamed Robert. ‘Pike men forward, allow no respite.’

  Lines of men ran up to use their weapons against the panicking enemy. Apalach warriors fell by the dozen but Sir Robert could see hundreds more coming to their aid.

  ‘Withdraw,’ he roared and the men turned to run back to the ships. The last line of pike men presented a line of solid steel as a final defence but despite the carnage many natives threw themselves against them and as men fell, gaps inevitably appeared. At close quarter the fight was more even and though the axes used by natives had stone heads, they still dealt crushing blows and many of Robert’s men fell beneath the onslaught.

  ‘Men at arms, steady retreat,’ shouted Sir Robert and the wall of defence walked backward toward the ships. Above their head, the air filled with fire balls and kept the main enemy force at bay. Individual battles continued and though the lightly armed Apalach sustained heavy casualties, the men of Wales suffered no less grievous losses with over half falling before reaching safety. Finally the survivors reached the ships and as exhausted men raced up the gangplanks, archers already aboard rained their arrows down upon the pressing enemy. Within minutes the pike men finally boarded the ships and the gangplanks raised as every available man continued the murderous onslaught from the rails along the side.

  Despite their horrendous casualties, the Apalach continued the pressure and even as the ships eased away from the banks, their retribution fell amongst the fleeing fleet. Burning arrows rained about the decks and soon the furled sails caught light, the flames roaring up the wind dried fabric as frantic mariners climbed the rigging with leather buckets of water. Slowly the fleet pulled away and eventually they were mid-stream, being carried south by the current but the danger wasn’t over. All four ships were alight and one in particular was ablaze from stem to stern.

  ‘Tarian we have to get to back land,’ shouted Sir Robert, ‘we cannot fight the fires out here.’

  ‘We will be going back to our deaths,’ answered Tarian, ‘we have to get away.’

  ‘If we stay out here the ships will burn and we will surely drown,’ shouted Sir Robert, ‘there is no other option.’

  ‘Yes there is,’ shouted Tarian, ‘send signal to the other ships, head for the far bank, at least we will have a river between us.’

  ‘We will never make it.’

  ‘We will take our chances,’ roared Tarian, ‘but the longer we argue the less chance we have. Now give the order.’

  Sir Robert turned to his men.

  ‘You heard him,’ he screamed, ‘every man to the oars. Either we will reach that far shore or we will die trying now move!’

  Within minutes the ship changed direction and headed across the river. Signal was sent to the fleet and all the ships changed course to follow their lead but Tarian was horrified to see the other three ships also in flames. Soldiers and Mariners alike fought against the fires but cloying smoke mixed with the burning tar of the caulking meant they struggled to make any headway.

  ‘Sire,’ shouted a voice, ‘the Swan is sinking.’

  Tarian watched hopelessly as one of the ships was engulfed. The burning mast fell crashing to the deck and the sounds of screaming men reached them across the water. Sparks must have reached the hay stores in the hold for roaring flames could be seen bursting from the deck hatches.

  ‘They are doomed,’ said Robert as they watched panicking men hurling themselves from the burning deck into the river and men stared helplessly as many of their comrades sank beneath the waters. Those few who could swim struck out toward the nearest ship as though it too had suffered fires, it was relatively undamaged. Ropes were thrown from the side and those managing to reach the Cog were hauled to safety though most were swept past by the current, out of reach to any would-be rescuer.

  Behind them, hundreds of warriors lined the banks, screaming their war cries and waving their weapons at the retreating fleet while many more ran alongside the river edge, seeking the scalps of any survivors who managed to swim to shore.

  Tarian shook his head in dismay as he watched his men die. Over the past few months he had grown close to many and though he had watched some fall in battle, that was a risk that all men of war took. In the eyes of most soldiers, drowning was a fearful death.

  ‘Tarian we approach the bank,’ shouted the Captain, ‘what area do you favour?’

  ‘Just beach her,’ shouted Tarian, ‘and get us off this thing.’

  The Captain moved the rudder to aim his ship at a low part of the bank.

  ‘Increase the rate,’ he shouted and below decks the order was passed to the rowers. Within minutes the prow drove up onto the bank and mariners leapt from the side to secure the ship to nearby trees. ‘Every man to the buckets,’ shouted the Captain, ‘we need to save what we can.’

  For an hour, the men formed a chain as bucket after bucket of water was thrown on the flames and though they were eventually extinguished, what was left was hardly recognisable as a vessel. A hundred yards downstream, the secon
d crew fought a similar battle to save their own ship and by the time evening fell, two smouldering wrecks lay motionless against the river bank while the one surviving ship lay anchored a hundred yards off shore. All around the bank, men lay exhausted while others tended to wounds suffered in the battle. Tarian and Sir Robert walked amongst them, checking on each one.

  ‘Our losses are substantial,’ said Robert, ‘an unacceptable outcome.’

  ‘Battles are won and battles are lost, Robert. What is important is how we regroup.’

  ‘The enemy are but savages, Sire, and we should have done better. Are we not experienced soldiers?’

  ‘We were well prepared for any warfare familiar to us, Robert, nobody could have expected such a strong enemy with so little regard for their own lives.’

  ‘Nevertheless the men are crushed, Sire, it will be difficult to raise their spirits.’

  ‘What they need is direction, Robert. Give them leadership and they will remould into the unit we know they can be. Find the fittest amongst them and post a picket. Let the rest sleep but in the morning form them up and we will see what we have left.’

  Sir Robert looked out at the single ship moored offshore.

  ‘At least we have one Cog left,’ he said, ‘the Captain of the Dragon has sent word the damage is minimal and will take only weeks to repair. Once she is sea worthy there should be room enough for all those left.’

  ‘To what end?’

  ‘To sail home, of course,’ said Sir Robert, ‘we can’t stay here.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Tarian, ‘I have no intention of returning yet. We came here to find Madoc’s heir and that aim has not changed.’

  ‘But our forces are decimated, Sire. Of those who survived, many are wounded. Most of the spare weapons were on the Swan, our fellow Knights have fallen and we have no horses. How can we continue in such a state?’

  ‘We have come across half the world, Robert, sailed unknown seas and lived off a land totally strange to us. We have fought an enemy unlike any we have faced before and though we have suffered casualties, we can still field a force of over a hundred foot soldiers. We haven’t gone through all this to turn and run now. No, we will lick our wounds and regroup. Tomorrow we will salvage what we can from the ships and take stock. Once we know our strengths, we will continue our quest.’