King Henry V
04-30-2005, 13:28
This is the story of which the announcement aroused quite a bit of frustration. I
appologise most profusely for this and I humbly ask for your forgiveness. I give you my word as a King and as God's Lieutenant on Earth that I will never do it again. Instead I'll e-mail it to all the members...(only joking ~;). Anyway, here is part one of of the Chronicles of Aethelham.
The Chronicles of Aethelham
The Gold of Byzantium
As Edward gazed out at the valley floor below him, he felt something was wrong. Eighteen years of fighting had honed a special instinct for trouble.
“Wine, Sir?” offered one of the soldiers patrolling the forts walls.
“I thank you, but no.” replied Edward.
The local wine, sharp and sour, was quite potent and Edwards did not want to dull his wits this night.
He reminisced on the great upheavals he had faced over the past year. A year ago he had still held his lands in Dorset and King Stephen had still ruled England. He had staunchly supported Stephen throughout the civil wars and had been rewarded with extra lands to add to his manor of Aethelham. Yet with King Stephen’s death in December 1154, Duke Henry of Normandy had become King Henry II. Generally, Henry had not punished the Norman barons who had supported King Stephen. An English Saxon lord who had dared to play any role in England’s politics was quite another matter: he would be an easy and popular target, with Henry’s own barons. So King Henry had stripped Edward of his lands and exiled him.
Like other English Saxons before him, Edward had taken his family on the spring convoy to Constantinople, where his kinsman, Athelbald, held a command in the Varangian Guard. Edward’s post in the Guard had cost a King’s ransom but promised to be richly rewarded. After six months spent protecting minor members of the Imperial family, Edward had been appointed second in command of this crumbling castle in the Pindhos Mountains, which lay four days march from the town of Larissa. Hardly a glorious appointment, but one with prospects for an ambitious soldier. If Edward could reinforce and successfully hold this crumbling fort then he might hope to be sent to the Eastern borders of the Roman Empire. He would become the strong arm, who could win back lands for the Emperor from the ever encroaching Turk and carve his own fiefdom in the process.
2.
As the dusk deepened Edward scanned the lightly wooded horizon again with a growing sense of foreboding. Damn! It was perfect cover for ambush but so far their scouts had reported nothing unusual and night attacks were not lucky because of the confusion between friend and foe. Could he seek the meagre comfort of his campaign cot? This castle’s equipment had been almost as ruinous as its walls, they were still in a parlous state.
Andonicus Lascaris, a younger son of a mercantile family from Constantinople clambered onto the ramparts and relieved himself.
“Stop pissing about! You’re late!” came Edward’s scornful command to this junior officer. It amazed Edward that the Greeks had kept hold of their empire for so long, so effete were some of them, including his aging commanding officer. They had relied for too long on the strength of the City’s walls, which itself was one of the wonders of Christendom, and on the vigour of foreign mercenaries. Well, so much the better for Edward and his kinsmen. Hurrying to Edward on the walls to take up the watch, Lascaris grinned sheepishly by way of apology,.
“Keep a sharp look out. There’s trouble in the wind.” Edward continued tersely.
“Yes, Sir.” Lascaris replied languidly. Edward shuddered inwardly. Still, he would be useless without some sleep after the exhausting forced march and the long hours spent reinforcing the walls. One last look and then Edward turned and strode down the stairs three at a time, which was hardly difficult for a man over six foot six inches tall. His great height had been remarkable even in England, where it had made him a centre for concerted enemy effort on the battlefield. His powerful shoulders and long reach of his great Saxon battle-axe had sent many a mounted mailed Norman Knight to his Maker, and the time when he had saved King Stephen, he had beheaded both horse and rider with one swing. Pity about the horse, Edward had thought, as he often preferred the company of animals to men. Yet, here in this arid land or icons, saints and
slender swarthy Greeks, he appeared as a great golden giant amongst pygmies, another Bohemond of Norman legend who had been so powerful during the First Crusade. Edward misliked the comparison, as he did most things Norman.
Chapter 3
Hardly had Edward reached the courtyard when the familiar whiz of flying arrows reached his ears.
“Down! Down!” he cried to the men on the battlements.
Edward heard the sickening sound of arrows piercing the flesh of those who had not been quick enough to follow his advice.
“Attack, Attack” he roared, raising the alarm, rousing the rest of the weary garrison, and regaining the battlements in what seemed like seconds. Lascaris lay dead in a widening red pool of blood, pierced through the throat. The arrows had ceased as several of the enemy were climbing over the battlements. Edward lopped two heads with one swing of his sword and pushed a third soldier from the ramparts. A fourth man lunged at Edward with his spear. Edward side-stepped the blow and clove the man’s extended shoulder in two. He had to pull his sword free from the dead soldier’s ribs. Again and again, he dodged and parried blows from spear and sword, cleaving heads, shoulders and arms with his great sword as he went along the ramparts. The enemy were poorly armed with old weapons and little armour. Brigands, Edward thought, trying to take a stronghold for a base to carry out raids on nearby villages. Edward had been joined by Imperial soldiers, and the moonlight reflecting from their amour, served to distinguish friend from foe. The floor beneath their feet was slippery with spilt blood as Edward surveyed the scene after the first wave of attack. He saw the ramparts littered with so many broken bleeding dolls. Again the enemy attacked, this time in ever greater numbers, they were like a Hydra, cut down one and three would take his place. Why were there so many? Brigands did not move in such large bands. The slaughter was great but Edward knew that they could not hold the walls forever, against so numerous a force, especially as on the other side of the castle the brigands had already gained control of the ramparts. They had to regroup in the keep.
“Fall back to the keep” Edward commanded his men. He tried to buy time, jumping down into the yard to try to prevent the swarming brigands from overwhelming the guards at the gates. Left and right his sword smote down on
heads and shoulders. Blood sprayed in his face and his armour dripped red.
“Fall back to the keep” he shouted once again above the din of dying men. It would be a desperate race for the keep. Edward carved a bloody path before him as he ran followed by Imperial soldiers
“Open the door! It is I, Edward the Englinovarangoi!” he shouted as he pounded on the keep’s door with the heavy pommel of his sword’s hilt. As it opened fractionally Edward pushed his way through followed by some of his men. Immediately, it was barred shut. Some of his soldiers had not been so lucky and the Thegn of Aethelham winced as he heard their death screams beyond the doors.
“Where is the commander? Where is Paleologus?” demanded Edward.
“Fled, Sir. Took to his horse as soon as the brigands attacked.” Came the soldier’s resentful reply. Edwards spat in disgust and to clear the blood dripping from the nose guard of his helmet.
“Double the guard at the windows and here at the door. Send archers and men- at-arms to the roof.” Edward barked orders to secure this last stronghold. Perhaps, the cowardice of his commander would bring reinforcements, IF he got through. That would be their only chance of survival and it was a slim chance at best.
To be continued..............
appologise most profusely for this and I humbly ask for your forgiveness. I give you my word as a King and as God's Lieutenant on Earth that I will never do it again. Instead I'll e-mail it to all the members...(only joking ~;). Anyway, here is part one of of the Chronicles of Aethelham.
The Chronicles of Aethelham
The Gold of Byzantium
As Edward gazed out at the valley floor below him, he felt something was wrong. Eighteen years of fighting had honed a special instinct for trouble.
“Wine, Sir?” offered one of the soldiers patrolling the forts walls.
“I thank you, but no.” replied Edward.
The local wine, sharp and sour, was quite potent and Edwards did not want to dull his wits this night.
He reminisced on the great upheavals he had faced over the past year. A year ago he had still held his lands in Dorset and King Stephen had still ruled England. He had staunchly supported Stephen throughout the civil wars and had been rewarded with extra lands to add to his manor of Aethelham. Yet with King Stephen’s death in December 1154, Duke Henry of Normandy had become King Henry II. Generally, Henry had not punished the Norman barons who had supported King Stephen. An English Saxon lord who had dared to play any role in England’s politics was quite another matter: he would be an easy and popular target, with Henry’s own barons. So King Henry had stripped Edward of his lands and exiled him.
Like other English Saxons before him, Edward had taken his family on the spring convoy to Constantinople, where his kinsman, Athelbald, held a command in the Varangian Guard. Edward’s post in the Guard had cost a King’s ransom but promised to be richly rewarded. After six months spent protecting minor members of the Imperial family, Edward had been appointed second in command of this crumbling castle in the Pindhos Mountains, which lay four days march from the town of Larissa. Hardly a glorious appointment, but one with prospects for an ambitious soldier. If Edward could reinforce and successfully hold this crumbling fort then he might hope to be sent to the Eastern borders of the Roman Empire. He would become the strong arm, who could win back lands for the Emperor from the ever encroaching Turk and carve his own fiefdom in the process.
2.
As the dusk deepened Edward scanned the lightly wooded horizon again with a growing sense of foreboding. Damn! It was perfect cover for ambush but so far their scouts had reported nothing unusual and night attacks were not lucky because of the confusion between friend and foe. Could he seek the meagre comfort of his campaign cot? This castle’s equipment had been almost as ruinous as its walls, they were still in a parlous state.
Andonicus Lascaris, a younger son of a mercantile family from Constantinople clambered onto the ramparts and relieved himself.
“Stop pissing about! You’re late!” came Edward’s scornful command to this junior officer. It amazed Edward that the Greeks had kept hold of their empire for so long, so effete were some of them, including his aging commanding officer. They had relied for too long on the strength of the City’s walls, which itself was one of the wonders of Christendom, and on the vigour of foreign mercenaries. Well, so much the better for Edward and his kinsmen. Hurrying to Edward on the walls to take up the watch, Lascaris grinned sheepishly by way of apology,.
“Keep a sharp look out. There’s trouble in the wind.” Edward continued tersely.
“Yes, Sir.” Lascaris replied languidly. Edward shuddered inwardly. Still, he would be useless without some sleep after the exhausting forced march and the long hours spent reinforcing the walls. One last look and then Edward turned and strode down the stairs three at a time, which was hardly difficult for a man over six foot six inches tall. His great height had been remarkable even in England, where it had made him a centre for concerted enemy effort on the battlefield. His powerful shoulders and long reach of his great Saxon battle-axe had sent many a mounted mailed Norman Knight to his Maker, and the time when he had saved King Stephen, he had beheaded both horse and rider with one swing. Pity about the horse, Edward had thought, as he often preferred the company of animals to men. Yet, here in this arid land or icons, saints and
slender swarthy Greeks, he appeared as a great golden giant amongst pygmies, another Bohemond of Norman legend who had been so powerful during the First Crusade. Edward misliked the comparison, as he did most things Norman.
Chapter 3
Hardly had Edward reached the courtyard when the familiar whiz of flying arrows reached his ears.
“Down! Down!” he cried to the men on the battlements.
Edward heard the sickening sound of arrows piercing the flesh of those who had not been quick enough to follow his advice.
“Attack, Attack” he roared, raising the alarm, rousing the rest of the weary garrison, and regaining the battlements in what seemed like seconds. Lascaris lay dead in a widening red pool of blood, pierced through the throat. The arrows had ceased as several of the enemy were climbing over the battlements. Edward lopped two heads with one swing of his sword and pushed a third soldier from the ramparts. A fourth man lunged at Edward with his spear. Edward side-stepped the blow and clove the man’s extended shoulder in two. He had to pull his sword free from the dead soldier’s ribs. Again and again, he dodged and parried blows from spear and sword, cleaving heads, shoulders and arms with his great sword as he went along the ramparts. The enemy were poorly armed with old weapons and little armour. Brigands, Edward thought, trying to take a stronghold for a base to carry out raids on nearby villages. Edward had been joined by Imperial soldiers, and the moonlight reflecting from their amour, served to distinguish friend from foe. The floor beneath their feet was slippery with spilt blood as Edward surveyed the scene after the first wave of attack. He saw the ramparts littered with so many broken bleeding dolls. Again the enemy attacked, this time in ever greater numbers, they were like a Hydra, cut down one and three would take his place. Why were there so many? Brigands did not move in such large bands. The slaughter was great but Edward knew that they could not hold the walls forever, against so numerous a force, especially as on the other side of the castle the brigands had already gained control of the ramparts. They had to regroup in the keep.
“Fall back to the keep” Edward commanded his men. He tried to buy time, jumping down into the yard to try to prevent the swarming brigands from overwhelming the guards at the gates. Left and right his sword smote down on
heads and shoulders. Blood sprayed in his face and his armour dripped red.
“Fall back to the keep” he shouted once again above the din of dying men. It would be a desperate race for the keep. Edward carved a bloody path before him as he ran followed by Imperial soldiers
“Open the door! It is I, Edward the Englinovarangoi!” he shouted as he pounded on the keep’s door with the heavy pommel of his sword’s hilt. As it opened fractionally Edward pushed his way through followed by some of his men. Immediately, it was barred shut. Some of his soldiers had not been so lucky and the Thegn of Aethelham winced as he heard their death screams beyond the doors.
“Where is the commander? Where is Paleologus?” demanded Edward.
“Fled, Sir. Took to his horse as soon as the brigands attacked.” Came the soldier’s resentful reply. Edwards spat in disgust and to clear the blood dripping from the nose guard of his helmet.
“Double the guard at the windows and here at the door. Send archers and men- at-arms to the roof.” Edward barked orders to secure this last stronghold. Perhaps, the cowardice of his commander would bring reinforcements, IF he got through. That would be their only chance of survival and it was a slim chance at best.
To be continued..............