We learned at Nicosia didn't we? Now we leave a gap of twenty paces between our third and fourth lines so the riders who fly off their horses can land without knocking down so many of our men.
Then, of course, when the horsemen are down and in the unlikely event they haven't broken their necks and are still alive, we cut their throats or stab their eyes through their helmet eyeholes if we don't want to hold them for ransom - which we mostly don't.
George and the rest of Thomas' students are where they'll be safest - in the center behind the second four lines of Raymond’s Horse Marines and outriders.
Thomas and the three outriders are with the boys and all of their horses are tied to the trees immediately behind them along a path that runs through the trees. I goes from where we are to a meadow with a view of the road in the distance. The rest of our horses are tied to trees further on down the path.
The only men further back than George and the other boys are a couple of Raymond’s outriders. They’ve been posted on the other side of the woods. They'll gallop down the path through the trees and sound the alarm if anyone tries to come up behind us.
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Roger de Broase is my knight. He's one of the Earl of Gloucester's knights and I’ve been squire to him ever since he flogged Hubert for running away when Sir Roger was in France and the French broke through our lines at Limousin.
At least that’s what Sir Roger said happened even though some of the other squires say otherwise - they say that Hubert didn’t run, that it was Sir Roger who ran and Hubert merely followed him as a good squire should.
Well I won’t run even if Sir Roger acts like a coward; I want to be advanced to a knight. It's always been my dream and I’d as soon as die before I’d run and disgrace my father the way Sir Roger claims Hubert disgraced his. I've already decided - if Sir Roger runs I won't follow him.
I'd had trouble sleeping and was wide awake when old Peter, one of our sergeants, came around with the bucket of breakfast ale to wake us so we can get the horses ready and help our knights into their armour.
It's seems early and I can hardly see but perhaps that's what happens when the knights are anxious for a battle to start.
Edward, my friend and fellow squire, is already at the horse lines when I arrive carrying my horse's saddle blanket under which I'd been sleeping - and find him using my leather grain bucket to feed his knight's chaser.
"I know my friend; it's your bucket." Edward said with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.
"But someone stole mine so please let me use yours for a few minutes while you lay out Sir Roger's armour. It's good luck to help a friend before a battle, you know."
Edward is indeed a friend so all I can do is nod and rush back to where I'd been sleeping to fetch the harness, saddle, and front padding for Sir Roger's destrier. I'll saddle the destrier first while I'm waiting for my grain bucket and then make a second trip to get my own saddle for the rouncey mare my father provided for me.
Hmm. I wonder why Sir Roger is riding his destrier instead of his big rouncey. They are for tournaments and charge much slower you know, destriers I mean.
My trouble begins when I get back to the horse line. Sir Roger is waiting and in a great rage.
"My armour isn't laid out and my horse hasn't even been fed," he said as he slapped me face and lifted his hands to beseech the heavens. "This will never do." He is so angry he is trembling.
Five minutes later and things have settled down even though everyone is terribly excited, even the castle servants who aren't going with us. I've both my horse and Sir Roger's destrier saddled and both are eating the traditional double ration of grain horses always get before a joust or battle.
Sir Roger has settled down as well. Now he is all excited and talking loudly and boldly with the other knights in our entourage.
We're ready to go even though I'm famished. I surely would like another drink of morning ale. Hopefully we'll be done with the outlaws and back here in time for the first meal of the day.
Finally the signal horn sounds and the courtyard is full of shout and sounds as the heavily armoured knights begin to mount. It takes some time because the armour of Sir Roger and the other knights is so heavy that they need help mounting and there are only a few stools available for them to stand on.
Sir Roger is still quite keen for the fighting to begin. He's literally trembling with excitement as I help push him up on to his horse. He wants to be among the first to ride out of the castle and it looks like he will get his wish.
I quickly mount my rouncey and follow behind as Sir Roger spurs his destrier to move up to the front of our column. The sun has only been up for about fifteen minutes as my rouncey finishes clattering over the drawbridge behind Sir Roger's destrier.
By the time we're across we've already moved all the way up to the very front of the column right behind the Gloucester banner. And Sir Roger, thank goodness, is having a fine old time and drawing lots of favorable glances and nods of agreement as he shouts loud encouragements to everyone we pass.
This is very exciting. It's my first battle even though they say it is only a band of badly equipped outlaws who won't give us much trouble.
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We trot down the castle road until we come to where the castle road joins the main road - and pull up in surprise. The sheep pasture where the outlaws had been camped yesterday afternoon is empty.
"There. There they are, over there in front of the trees. They've moved, by God."
What we can see in front of the trees across the way is a number of men sitting on the ground next to five or six wagons - no banners and no horses. And, of course, they can obviously see us.
What is so strange is that the outlaws are just sitting there. They are not getting up to run away into the forest behind them.
"We must attack immediately before they can escape into the trees." someone shouts.
I think it is Lord Courtenay from the local castle but I'm not sure. It really doesn't matter who gave the order for off we all go trotting towards the outlaws with our banners flying.
Everything proceeds as I'd been told it would by my father. We all follow our lord's banner at a trot for a while until our lords and leaders stop about three hundred paces away from the first of the outlaws.
That's where the banner men will stop so we can close up around them and prepare for our grand charge. The outlaws, of course, have seen us and are climbing to their feet. As we get closer I can see they're all wearing the same brown tunics that farmers sometimes wear.
Our men are still closing up around the banners when I can clearly see a rippling movement among the assembled outlaws and everything changes.
Suddenly the air is filled with a whooshing sound and arrows are coming down on us even though we are well out of range.
Except we aren't. All around me I can see knights pulling down their helmet visors and hear the screams and cries of men and horses wounded by the rain of arrows falling on us - and here I am with only an iron pot on my head that has no visor.
We've obviously got to get out from under the hailstorm of arrows. So it is no surprise at all when an order is quickly given to move, or at least I assume an order is given, for we all begin to ride forward towards the outlaws as we should rightly do.
One of the lords must have made a decision for our banners begin to lead us forward. It's mass confusion as Sir Roger and many of the riders around me begin following the banners towards the outlaws - and some don't as horses and men begin bolting and screaming and going down all about us, particularly to my front around the banners.
I neither gallop after the banners nor bolt. I keep my place behind Sir Roger as he moves his destrier slowly forward. His horse wants to keep up with the others but I can see him straining on the reins to slow it down.
Shouting riders are pouring past us on both sides as we drop further and further behind the banners at the front of our charge.
Suddenly I feel a tremendous blow to my c
hest that somehow knocks me right off my horse. As I go down and bounce on the rocky ground I can clearly see my horse running after Sir Roger's destrier and the grey feathers at the end of the arrow sticking out of my chest.
I don't feel a thing when a wound-crazed horse throws off its rider and steps squarely on the side of my head a few seconds later.
Chapter Six
We all stand up and watch the knights as they ride towards us. Their approach is such that there is no question about it, they mean to do us harm. Those of us who haven't already picked up an arrow do so and I can see a few of the men in the ranks behind me checking their bowstrings to once again make sure they are properly strung.
A couple of men have their dingles out and are peeing again and I see a few who are fussing with the pikes and arrows laid out on the ground next to them. Other than that, we are waiting quietly because that is all we can do. I can hear a few prayers being quietly muttered but that's about all.
As soon as dawn broke this brisk May morning Henry, Peter, and I had paced off a longbow's range for our "longs" and placed a couple of range rocks and noted the distance to a straggly tree that had somehow taken root in the pasture area in front of us. Then we came back a ways and placed them for our "heavies."
The rocks and the tree are our markers. Now all we can do is stand here in front of our men with our long bows and watch until the approaching banners reach them.
Everyone is listening for me just as Henry learned them.
When I think enough of our attackers have come past our markers and are in our kill zone, I'll give the order to shoot and the three of us will fade back into our positions in front of the fourth line of archers.
Henry and Peter know that, of course, because it's something we've practiced with the men many times, but I'll order them back when I do, and loud enough for the men behind me to hear. I don't want anyone to forget and think were running.
"My God, what fools." Henry said to no one in particular with a resigned shake of his head and loud enough for some of our men to hear.
"There are only a few hundred of them. They hardly even outnumber us."
Henry says it rather loudly as we watch the knights trot across the road and come towards our camp next to the trees. They are coming in a big disorganized mass strung out behind six or seven lordly banners.
"I'm going to wait until they're all inside our kill zone," I announce rather loudly to no one in particular.
"There's no sense dragging this out."
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We watch and wait as the banners leading the knights and their squires go past our markers to enter the kill zone for our longs - and then stop to organize themselves for their traditional grand charge.
It certainly would have been a safe place for them to stop and prepare themselves if we'd been the French knights or mercenaries they've fought in the past. Unfortunately for them, we're not.
The mounted men in front of us are still arriving and moving about to organize themselves behind their banners as I raise my right hand as high over my head as I can reach. Behind me I can hear the familiar rustling noise and soft grunts as more than two hundred English Marine archers respond to my signal by nocking arrows into their bow strings and drawing their longbows.
I wait a second longer. Then I give a shout as I drop my hand, make pumping motions with my arm bent at the elbow to signal continuing launches, and start taking the dozen or so backward steps needed to move back through our first three lines.
In little more than a blink of an eye I'm standing next to Henry and Peter in the open space in front of the fourth line of Raymond's Horse Marines and outriders.
As soon as my hand drops there begins a great and continuing rustling and whooshing of outbound arrows, the grunt of archers as they strain to throw their shots forward as hard and as fast as they can, and the loud slaps as bow strings hit the leather sleeve every archer wears on his arm to protect it from "string bite."
The sergeants' loud shouts of "aim and shoot" continue as they and everyone else including me and my lieutenants joins in the shooting. Even George and the boys start launching arrows until Thomas shouts at them to wait until the horses get closer.
From where we're standing my Marines and I can see our arrows have an immediate impact as soon as they start landing. The mass of mounted men and their horses in front of us suddenly begins to shudder like a wounded animal and we can hear their distant screams and cries.
Almost instantly some of the banners at the front of the distant riders start to move forward. Within seconds the entire mass of mounted men in front of us, at least those who still can, starts to move towards us.
It's almost as if they're a wounded animal which thinks it can get out from the storm of arrows that are wounding it by moving forward.
Everything happens quickly as each archer instinctively concentrates on the riders who are closest and coming towards him. They particularly, as they've been learned over and over again, go for the nobles and knights around the banners.
The results are inevitable - many of the riders in the front rank of our attackers are hit multiple times almost simultaneously - and each time a horse or rider goes down or staggers the injured horse or rider tends to block or trip those coming from behind.
It only gets worse for what's left of our attackers as their horses reach our stakes and caltrops and the sergeants pick up my cry of "heavies" and we switch to the weighted arrows that can go through chain like a knife through cheese.
The horses are all wearing blinders so they can only see straight ahead and the riders, the knights and lords at least, are almost totally blind in their helmets when their visors are down. They can barely see out their helmet's little eye holes and they don't know what is happening behind them.
The result is inevitable - they keep coming until a caltrop takes out one of their horse's legs or one of our stakes or arrows impales them or their horse. And when one in the front goes down the others coming behind it tend to trip or be pushed over and go down with it.
A few of the riders, particularly those with armor on the front of their horses, somehow avoid our caltrops and stakes and make it all the way to our lines. That's when the sergeants roar and the Marines in the first three lines kneel down and raise their pikes for the first time.
Most of the charging riders don't even see the pikes come up and it's too late to turn away for the handful who do.
There are great crashes and screams and the cracking sound of splintering wood as the knights and their horses begin to impale themselves on our long wooden pikes. And, sure enough, in the next twenty or thirty seconds half a dozen or so riders come flying off their horses and crash head over heels into our lines.
Suddenly and unexpectedly it becomes very quiet except for scattered moans and cries. Then our men begin to talk and cheer and tend to our casualties. It didn't take long and it's all over.
Both Peter and Henry are looking at me intently to make sure I'm ready to give the next orders. I am.
"Raymond," I snap at the commander of our mounted men.
"Mount your Horse Marines and gallop straight to Oakhampton Castle. Set your men to block access to the castle's gate so none of our attackers can get back in. Leave your outriders here to chase the evaders. Hurry; run man run."
"Outriders attention. Outriders to mount up fast and ride out and catch those we didn't bring down. Accept the surrenders of all those you don't have to kill to get them to stop. Tell them to drop their weapons and walk back here with their hands in the air."
"Drop everything and report back here immediately if you see any more enemy forces."
"Sergeants," I roar in my loudest voice. "Each file sergeant and two of his men are to go forward to take prisoners for questioning. Don't kill them unless they try to fight or need a mercy. We want prisoners. Everyone else stand firm and ready."
The men know what to do. They should; they've practiced it enough.
My orders were still being
loudly repeated by all the sergeants who'd heard them as I turn to my lieutenants and begin telling them what we're going to do next.
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Things move quickly after the orders are given. The men begin stripping the dead and wounded of their armor and weapons and putting down the men and horses who have no hope. We're going to put our handful of wounded and all of theirs not needing a mercy into hastily erected tents to keep them out of the rain that seems to be coming.
While the leather tents are being put up and the wounded collected, Thomas and the lieutenants and I walk out into the middle of the field and begin questioning our prisoners. Most of them are wounded or injured in some way except for a handful who got thrown off and didn't break any bones when their horses went down.
We've got more prisoners than we need so I start with one of them who seems not to be wounded, a noble with specks of grey in his beard. At least I assume he's a noble since he's wearing what appears to be a very expensive suit of armour.
The baron's horse threw him when it went down and his problem is simple - he's flat on his back in the mud and his armour is so heavy that he can't get up unless someone helps him. He just lies there on the ground shouting orders at us in French as we gather around him.
The damn fool acts like he's at a tournament and we're the servants sent to help him up.
Peter snorts in disgust and promptly chops his exposed throat with a pike blade when the baron begins to give arrogant and insulting answers to my questions. I never did learn his name.
According to one of the wounded men on the ground near him, the man whose head Peter cut off is one of the northern barons, whatever that means. Unfortunately Peter deaded him before we got him out of his armor. Now, goddamnit, we'll have to clean the death piss and shite out of it before we can carry it off to London or the Holy Land and sell it.
What we learn from our prisoners is quite interesting. It seems a number of the northern barons have come down from Gloucester and Yorkshire to encourage the barons of southern England to join them in overthrowing King John. They told their men we were outlaws and attacked us for practice in order to blood them. Killing people for practice?
The Archer's Gold: Medieval Military fiction: A Novel about Wars, Knights, Pirates, and Crusaders in The Years of the Feudal Middle Ages of William Marshall ... (The Company of English Archers Book 7) Page 4
