Winter of Discontent nc-2

by Iain Campbell

  “Is that the best you can come up with?”

  “Well, this is why you receive such large grants of land and command of an army, because you have to make the hard decisions!” said Alan with a sardonic laugh. “Seriously, de Craon’s given you the only viable option if you want to bring them to battle. We can’t force an opposed crossing here. There are several points we could cross just upstream. One is about a mile away. The river channel there is narrow, about twenty paces, but deep, and with mud banks on both sides. We have now, what… 400 horses, including about 200 ponies we’ve captured over the last few days? The horses can swim across and the men can hold onto their saddle pommels for assistance,” said Alan.

  “No mud flats!” interjected Bernard de Neufmarche. “The horses will get mired in the mud and make a lot of noise. I’ve been in that situation before. Spearmen slaughtered us while our horses were stuck in a swamp. There are places where the river is not much wider, but with both banks firm. If we must force a crossing, better at that sort of place.”

  Alan nodded agreement and said, “We can leave 50 men on this side of the river, build camp fires which they keep banked up and they move about making noise and movement. We can leave those who are lightly wounded or can’t swim. We’ll have to move damn fast and at night. The Welsh aren’t stupid and will have their scouts out and be fully awake tonight. We’re not going to get any more cheap and easy wins! I can see two problems. One is if we get caught with half our men over, they’ll get wiped out. The second is if we are successful in making a crossing, we’re on the opposite side of the river from safety, with no easy way to get back. The bridge is broken. We would have to win.”

  “A third point. Not many men can swim with forty pounds of metal on their back. I know I can’t,” said de Neufmarche. “It would be risky. Damn risky!”

  “Your call, Lord William,” commented Alan. “You either get to face Bleddyn in battle with no route for retreat- and if the battle goes against us your army will be completely destroyed. Or we can sit quietly here and wait for Bleddyn to make a move.”

  FitzOsbern scowled, thumped his fist angrily against a wall several times before saying harshly, “Cast the dice! Let’s see where they fall! Do what you can to chose the best place and get our men across quickly without being seen.”

  While the others organised the men, Alan carefully scouted the river, making sure that no special attention was drawn from the Welsh. As Bernard de Neufmarche had said there was a place about a mile to the south, around two bends up the river, with firm banks on both sides and trees reaching down to the water’s edge. Alan disappeared into the village and raided the blacksmith’s workshop, the water-mill and several fishermen’s cottages. The soldiers stayed out of sight at the south side of the village, the men-at-arms stripped off their armour, rolled it up and carefully marked their ownership. Sunset was at eight twenty and it was dark in the forest shortly afterwards. They would have an hour and a half before the moon rose and fortunately the night sky was overcast with heavy clouds.

  Alan had used his time to prepare his men, who moved to the chosen spot after the scouts had declared it clear. Six men stripped naked and swam across the narrow river with no weapon but a knife, each towing a piece of rope.

  The rope on the most downstream side was used to pull a fishing net into place, for the safety of any men who were swept downstream by the gentle current. The other ropes were attached firmly to large oak trees. Three were simply to assist men crossing by providing a hand-hold, and two were fastened higher, about ten feet above the ground and wound taut.

  The scouts crossed the river using the ropes and placing their bowstrings under their hats to keep them dry as they struggled through the cold water. They restrung their bows immediately when they emerged dripping on the west bank. Alan returned to the east bank, bringing the end of another lighter rope with him, and was stringing a mechanism from one of the ropes when the first of the soldiers arrived. The horsemen dismounted, checked their rolled-up armour was firmly tied to their horses and then swam across beside their horses, being pulled along as they held onto the saddle pommels or the horses’ manes. They patted the shivering horses as they struggled out of the water and then quickly slipped on their armour and girded themselves with their weapons, before rubbing down the horses. The archers were starting to cross on the two rope lines, one every ten seconds or so. The foot-soldiers were lining up next to the zip line, their armour and equipment being placed into a large basket hanging from the rope, which was pulled across and then sent back empty.

  While the men had been instructed to be quiet and that their lives depended on this, it is impossible to move 500 or more men and nearly half as many horses silently. While there was no shouting of instructions and little muttered conversation from the men, except when they emerged from the freezing cold water to stand in their wet clothes in the night wind, arrows started to come out of the forest about an hour after the first soldier had crossed.

  The moon could be seen just rising behind the clouds, but cast little light in the forest. FitzOsbern had just crossed and was buckling on his armour- his padded gambeson and armour had been sent over on the zip line and so unlike most of his men he was at least dry after he had wiped off the cold water after emerging on the west bank. Alan was surprised that they had been given an hour, but thought that perhaps a part of that time had been taken up by Bleddyn trying to believe the Anglo-Normans had been foolhardy enough to cross the river under his nose. By that time there were over 300 men on the west bank and on fitzOsbern’s instructions they increased the defensive perimeter and began to push through the trees heading north towards the Welsh camp.

  It was pitch black beneath the trees in the forest. Away from the river the bowmen of both sides were useless as no target could be seen in the gloom of the forest. The armoured foot-soldiers of the Anglo-Norman force had two advantages as men blundered into each other and used sword and knife at close quarters. Firstly they had the protection of their armour, which the Welsh lacked. Secondly the front rank knew that everybody they met ahead of them was an enemy- a knowledge that the Welsh also lacked. When the Welsh sought to identify a shape looming ahead of them, all too often the reply was a blade in the guts. The captured Welsh ponies used in the crossing were tethered to trees and left behind as the infantry fought their way north, fighting against both the Welsh and also the forest itself as they groped through shrubs, brambles and gorse. The men-at-arms were dismounted and led their horses as they moved behind the screen of infantry. Mounted men are next to useless in a forest, and in the darkness all they were likely to do was hurt themselves by crashing into low-hanging branches if they mounted. More and more men slipped across the river.

  At the same time the men at the village on the east bank of the river were doing a good job in keeping the main attention of the Welsh, with loud shouting and men and horses hurrying back and forth. Some Norman archers approached to the riverbank and began to lob arrows towards the Welsh, who were sufficiently far back not to be hit, but again this did act to fix their attention near the bridge. At that time all that the Welsh could know was that a force of infantry was south of them on the same side of the river and pressing north, were very close but that no archers or horsemen had been seen.

  At about two in the morning fitzOsbern halted the Anglo-Normans just inside the edge of the forest near the clearing where the main Welsh force was sitting waiting for whatever eventuated. Dawn was due just before four and the Anglo-Normans took the opportunity to organise and array themselves, while continuing to receive reinforcements moving north from the river crossing.

  Alan was now in full harness, with mail coif and helmet covering his head. Only his thick protective leather gauntlets needed to be pulled on to complete his protection. He was standing next to his charger, Fayne the chestnut stallion he used when he believed that the fierce destrier warhorse Odin was unsuitable. Odin had been left behind in Tendring and at this time of the year would be siring
new offspring as the mares would have foaled and now again be in heat.

  The sky was still heavily overcast and first light was a little before three-thirty. Just as the first tinges of light were appearing in the sky, and just minutes before the Welsh would be able to see the paucity of men on the east bank of the river and realise their danger, fitzOsbern gave a shouted command. During the wait the Anglo-Norman force had been put into rough order in the trees at the edge of the forest. The horsemen now walked their charges the few paces necessary to emerge from the forest onto the long and wide meadow where the Welsh were positioned. The men mounted and then sat silently on their horses, and only the occasional clink of horse-tack or armour or snort of a horse could be heard. There was a whinny as a mare in heat was given a nip by a neighboring stallion. Behind them the infantry were moving up, occasional curses being heard as men blundered into gorse bushes or patches of briar.

  The Welshmen had not formed a camp as such. They were experienced raiders and knew better than to set up camp with tents, horse-lines and so on or to sleep when in close contact with the enemy. Rather, they had lit some cooking fires and sat up most of the night with weapons close at hand, snatching what light sleep they could wrapped in their cloaks. Horses were tethered close to their riders.

  Shouts of alarm rang out as the Norman horsemen moved onto the clearing. Alan was pleased to see that the field was used as meadow and wasn’t just lying fallow, so it hadn’t been ploughed. It took only moments for the Norman cavalry to form line in their troops of ten or a dozen riders. No effort was made to organise the usual squadrons of 25 men. As the infantry struggled out of the forest behind them a horn was sounded, signaling the attack.

  Although taken by surprise the Welsh reacted quickly. Those few who had armour had slept in it, if sleep they could. First one, then several, horns blew repeatedly from the Welsh lines. It was a matter of moments for the men to put on their helmets and grab their weapons- but moments were a scarce commodity as the Norman cavalry approached at a canter. Again, it took less than a minute for the archers to string their bows, which had been left unstrung to protect the bow-strings from dew during the night with the strings being kept warm and dry in a pouch next to the archer’s body, and to grab a sheaf of arrows- but again it was time that they could not spare. The Welsh horsemen had left their ponies saddled and near at hand, but it took time even after they had armed themselves to unhobble the horses and swing up into the saddle. Some horses broke loose and ran about, adding to the confusion. Men were shouting and waving arms urgently.

  The Normans made no attempt to co-ordinate their attack. To do so would allow the Welsh time to organise. In the face of a disorganised defence there was no real need for coordinated attack. They increased speed from a trot to a canter and went to a gallop about 75 paces away from the first of the enemy. At the same time the first of the arrows from the Welsh bowmen began to strike. Welsh swordsmen and spearmen were forming knots around small groups of archers. The Welsh horsemen, who had been resting further back from the river, were by now mainly in the saddle. The Welsh had been aligned north-south, facing east towards the river. The attack from the south meant that the Norman charge would be met by less than half the Welshmen.

  Alan felt two arrows strike the wooden laminate shield that he was holding carefully in front of him, ensuring as much protection as possible. Another passed so close to his cheek he could both feel and hear it as it whistled by. Alan had chosen as his first target a group of a dozen or fifteen infantry, mixed archers, spearmen and swordsmen, who were frantically trying to get themselves into some sort of formation.

  At twenty paces Alan cast his eyes to the left and then the right, to ensure there was no immediate risk. He could feel and hear the other ten men in his troop thundering alongside; the glance that he had made had shown them to be almost knee to knee. He then refocused on his prey, rising slightly in his stirrups and learning forward as he couched his lance- which was more like a large spear- and aimed himself at an archer who was drawing his bow and looking slightly to Alan’s left. Before he could loose the arrow Alan’s lance took the man in the throat, nearly ripping his head off as the momentum pulled the lance free.

  Alan quickly re-aligned the tip of the lance towards a swordsman who was back-peddling and trying to get out of the way. As Fayne smashed into two other men, hurling them to the ground where they were trampled by the horse, the lance caught the swordsman in the chest under the arm. The force of the blow and weight of the man splintered the lance, leaving Alan holding just half of its previous length. A glance over his shoulder as he dropped the broken haft and drew his sword showed just one man still standing, a swordsman.

  As they had practiced, the troop slowed slightly and formed an arrowhead formation with Alan at its centre. Suddenly one man toppled over and fell, struck in the shoulder by an arrow. The remainder closed up and continued, now again at a canter. Two or three individuals on foot were struck with sword or simply ridden down.

  A group of Welsh horsemen closed from the left, swords drawn and shouting loudly. Alan pressed with his knees, instructing Fayne to turn. The small group of horsemen swung together in response to his lead. Most of his men had discarded broken lances. Those who still held them made full use of the extra range, plucking three of the Welsh warriors from the saddle before the two groups met. The Welshmen tried to swerve to avoid the charge, intending to use the greater mobility of their smaller mounts to circle and catch the Englishmen from the flank or behind. The Englishmen forced their mounts close to the Welshmen, in many cases the horses crashing into each other. Then the greater weight of the larger horses Alan had acquired for his men showed its worth, with several of the smaller mountain ponies being knocked over or staggering and unbalancing their riders.

  Alan found himself facing a mounted Welshman. Alan had the advantage of longer reach as he was a tall man mounted on a horse four hands taller than the diminutive pony ridden by his opponent. The Welshman was stockily-built with long black hair streaming down from under the conical metal helmet he wore, dressed in a sheepskin jacket and woolen trews. He carried a small round shield, but like Alan he could not bring it into play as the two horses were nose-to-tail with the men’s sword arms next to their opponent.

  Traditional swordplay on horseback was limited to either letting the momentum of the charge work for you, with the sword largely held still, or when engaged just simply flailing and bashing against each other until an opening occurred. Obviously the finer points of footwork he had learnt as a swordsman were useless to Alan now, and a horse cannot be quickly and precisely maneuvered- if anything the Welshman had the advantage in that regard. However, as he stood in his stirrups to increase his height and allow more body-weight behind his blows, Alan used what skill he could, with deft and subtle changes of angle and direction of the blade and several pre-planned series of blows.

  In the Paris salle de’armes Alan had been trained to maintain peripheral vision by having men hit him with sticks from the side while he was fencing against the Sword master. That skill saved him now, as he saw from the corner of his left eye a blade rise above eye-height on his left, previously unengaged, side. Alan slightly raised the shield strapped to his left arm and ducked his head fractionally, causing the sword to deflect off the top of the shield. The opponent on Alan’s right had seen the blow coming and had paused to watch the outcome. That pause cost his life as, without taking his eye off his opponent, Alan swept his sword aside and lunged, putting six inches of steel into the Welshman’s belly. He then spurred Fayne forwards and in the one motion pulled his sword clear, swiveled in the saddle to face his left, brought the sword across, raising it slightly so that it cleared Fayne’s pricked ears, rose in his stirrups and swung the blade with all his weight behind it. The opponent on the left was unbalanced after his own blow had unexpectedly missed and held his small shield several inches too low. Before the Welshman could realise his danger Alan’s blow had passed over the top of the shield
and struck off his head.

  As Alan had intended, the spurs had caused Fayne to take a convulsive leap forward, clear of the immediate scrimmage, and Alan took a quick look around. His troop had achieved near parity with the number of horsemen they faced, the Welsh having been whittled down from about fifteen to ten. However, another two of the Wolves were down and another was reeling in the saddle. A few paces away Edric was engaging two Welshmen, keeping them at bay with mighty swings of the single-handed axe that was his preferred weapon- the movements of his axe being surprisingly subtle for such a weapon. Alan used the pressure of his knees to have Fayne move to Edric’s assistance and plunged his sword into the unprotected back of one of Edric’s assailants. Edric quickly finished off the other one, axe smashing aside the shield and then sweeping back in a butterfly motion to strike his opponent in the chest, and then nodded his thanks to Alan.

  A gaggle of foot-soldiers ran past, making for the trees to the west. Edric turned to dispatch several, and as the Welshmen flowed around the Englishmen Fayne suddenly screamed and then reared before crashing down backwards, as a Welsh swordsman had cut the hamstring on one of the horse’s hind legs. As Fayne fell, Alan slipped his feet from the stirrups and threw himself sideways to the left, away from the falling and thrashing horse, casting aside his shield, so that he could protect himself by rolling as he hit the ground. The contact with the earth drove the air from Alan’s lungs. As he rolled he knocked the legs out from under a Welsh spearman, who fell backwards with Alan on top. Alan’s sword was caught underneath the Welshman, held in place by their combined weight and unable to be retrieved. As he lay face to face with his foe, Alan felt the scrape of steel on steel as his opponent sought to use the knife now in his right hand to find a weak spot or join in the armour. The knife was uncomfortably close to one of the buckles under Alan’s left armpit. Alan grabbed the man’s knife-hand with his own left hand and released his grip on his now useless sword. He tried to punch his adversary, but as he was lying partly on his right side he was unable to get any power into the blows. Then he saw a pair of booted feet walk into his limited field of vision and waited for a blow to his unprotected back. There was a swish, a blur of movement and his foe’s head flew away. Blood fountained, spraying over Alan and the legs of his saviour.