Battle reports thread - King of the Romans PBM

[Ramses II CP]

1362, Oslo.

Chancellor Fritz von Kastilien stood at the railing on the starboard side of the mercenary ship he'd rented, watching the incredible waves roll towards the ship. The captain and crew were fighting a continuous battle to keep the ship turned into the wind so that the power of the sea could not roll right over them. Below deck the crew of Fritz's bombard was no doubt going over the wax and fat they had sealed their cannon in to prevent sea water damaging it, making certain it would be ready to fire when they arrived on the north coast. Indeed, very few living things braved the deck of the ship this night, and this was the force of the gale after being diluted and diminished by it's trip across the lands around Arhus and further north. If not for the chest of florins and the promise of plunder the vessel's captain would have turned back already.

On a normal night Oslo itself might have been visible by now, an imposing black citadel surrounded by dark forests. The last word out of the north, brought by a German spy, was that the former garrison of Oslo was the very army Fritz had driven off before the arrival of Prince Stenkil, but that information would be tested tonight.

Turning from the railing Fritz crouched low and shuffled his way across the deck to the stern, taking hold of whatever secure item came to hand to aid his passage. When he felt he was near enough to be heard, he bellowed, 'How much further?'

'Don't matter. Yer not gettin' ashore t'night!'

Straightening, Fritz glared into the Captain's eye and repeated himself, 'How much further?'

'Can't be far, tha waves are flatten' out. Don't matter though. Won't send a landin' boat out in this. No one would crew it.'

Sneering, Fritz replies, 'No crew will be necessary. The weight of the cannon will steady the boat, if you can get us in this harbor you claim to know! Get your job done, let me worry about getting ashore!'

Without waiting for a reply, Fritz turns and unlatches the door to go below. Movement is easier with a handhold always available, but in the absence of a horizon to watch Fritz's stomach begins to pitch to and fro with the motion of the ship. Fortunately he has not eaten for many hours, and there is nothing in him to cause nausea.

The same cannot be said for his guardsmen or the crew of the cannon. As soon as Fritz makes his way into the galley where they have gathered the sour, rancid smell of vomit drives it's way into his nose. Fritz's face wrinkles in disgust, and his stomach heaves a great lazy loop, but still his voice is steady, 'Make yourselves ready. We'll strap the cannon in the bottom of the launch before we lower it, so it'll be steady as we get aboard. Horses will come two at a time, slow, each with their master. I needn't tell you the consequences if you or your mount goes into the water.'

The men, those who were well enough to lift their heads, all turned to look at Gunther the Drillmaster. Encouragingly. This will be good, thought Fritz, turning his gaze on Gunther as well.

'Lord Fritz, it can't be done. It's near two miles up the coast road to Oslo, and the men are sick, the horses are sick, even the bloody cannon are sick. Can't be done m'Lord. I apo-'

Moving swiftly, but not too swiftly, Fritz drew his dagger and threw it hard, pommel first, at Gunther's face. An instant's shock comes across the normally unflappable soldier's face before he ducks, just barely avoiding being struck.

'The next one that says the word 'can't' to me gets the point. Am I clear?'

Stunned faces, too surprised and sick to even nod, gape back at Fritz.

'So you've all forgotten the humiliation of our consecutive defeats at the hands of Prince Stenkil? Forgotten the burning shame of being out manuevered twice in a row? Decided it's more important to lay about puking and puling in your hammocks while God brutalizes the north for us?'

'No! It will not be so, not if you still mean to serve me. I will breakfast in Oslo. Now make yourselves ready, and get the cannons in the launch boat. I will not say it again.'

And eventually, surprising even those men who set their hands to the work, it was done. The natural harbor southeast of Oslo took the sting out of the storm, the cannons levelled out the boat, and even the horses cooperated. There was still a deal of marching to be done ashore, but with firm, if wet, ground under their feet the men's spirits began to improve. A scout sent ahead to Oslo, the least sick man of Fritz's guard, raced back bearing news.

'M'Lord! We must return to the ship! We ca-,' under Fritz's sharpening gaze the guardsmen adjusted his intented speech, 'It's impossible m'Lord, they've reinforced the citadel with a full army of exceptional quality. So many men that they sleep in a camp outside the castle, making ready to march south. Hundreds of infantry and cavalry. Countless archers. We must go back Lord Fritz!'

'You fool, if they're sleeping outside the castle, then what do we care how many of them there are? Now, what force garrisons the citadel itself?'

'I believe it's a company of War Clerics, m'Lord. Just the one remaining on guard inside.'

'Excellent. We attack now. Get those bombards rolling!'

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The attack clearly took the Danes entirely by surprise. Under cover of the clearing storm, Fritz's cannon made their way directly up to the gates and blasted them down. Fritz watched the banners of the enemy cavalry march out to check the west gate of the second ring of the citadel, and sent his bombard to the east gate, which was quickly burst open.

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There could be no mistaking that sound a second time, the Danes must know there was an assault of some kind underway. They retreated to the third ring, and sent messengers racing out the west gate, seemingly beyond Fritz's ability to stop. The bombard rolled on, and smashed the final set of gates.

Now the War Clerics could see what they faced. Their Captain, Yngwie, shouted in a quavering, shocked voice, 'You can't be here! We just got word that Prince Stenkil had defeated you and was driving on Arhus! The army is making ready for an offensive!'

Fritz spurred his guardsmen forward, into the gate, and spoke, 'I am here, you fool. I also swore I'd skewer the next man who said the word 'can't' to me. What do you mean to do about it?'

Yngwie, taking command of himself, replied, 'I needn't do anything. My messages will bring nearly two thousand Danes rushing to drag you down. This place will be your graveyard.'

'Your messages will never leave this citadel. My men have secured both of the outer rings. Oslo is mine.'

Now Yngwie felt sure of the situation, believed he had a grip on the future, 'But even still, my men outnumber yours. My men fight for their homeland, for the honor of their nation! You cannot find victory here!'

Fritz's reply was to shout, 'FIRE!'

The bombard, having rolled quietly around to the other gate, launched a set of cannon balls directly into Yngwie's line. Screaming horses and men fell along their path, and but Captain Yngwie instantly commanded, 'Charge!' (In reality my gold bar bombard missed four times at close range, the first round because they had been on explosive shot without me noticing it at the gates. Yet more proof that experience matters not at all to accuracy.)

The double stunned War Clerics staggered into battle against Fritz's bodyguard, losing several men initially, but then warming to the battle and evening the numbers. (I shaped the line so Fritz was as far away as possible when they attacked. He's got a lot of HPs, but no reason to take a chance against these AP buggers.)

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Then Captain Yngwie, having never really recovered from the shock of the situation, fell just as Fritz's bombard crew assailed the rear of the War Cleric formation. The remaining Clerics threw down their maces and gave up the fight.

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After the battle Fritz ordered the citadel sacked and the gates sealed carefully before sending word to his Russian contact that he was ready to make a deal. The long stifled expansion of the Russian Empire could continue, at the discretion of Fritz von Kastilien, of course, but they would have to invest the place over the protestations of the Danes. At best the two would have a falling out, and go to war, but at worst the Danes had lost their primary training facility, and been reduced to a single weary city.

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Returning to the ships the bombards became stuck in the ungodly piles of muck, and the crew refused to abandon them. Fritz offered to send the ship back for the loyal men, but it seemed unlikely it would be possible to rescue them.

:egypt:

[_Tristan_]

Near Paris, 1362

Hughes was sitting at a table at the back of the inn main room, watching the comings and goings of the patrons. It was a now a week that he was in Montargis, a small town a few leagues south from Paris. He was waiting for a sign and each day that passed was harder to bear.

Suddenly, a man in merchant clothing made his way to the bar and ordered a special brand of wine. This was the cue that Hughes had been waiting for.

“Bartender,” he hollered, “a bottle of your best Maconnais”. This was the cue he was supposed to use.

The man at the bar turned around and gave a slight smile at Hughes. Turning to the bartender and speaking in a low voice, the merchant then turned around carryng two glasses and a bottle of wine.

Reaching Hughes’s table, he asked matter-of-factly.

“My Lord, I hope you won’t mind if we share this bottle. We seem to have the same taste in wine but our host is short on this particular kind of spirit.”

“Something I hope you don’t have a lack of”, answered Hughes.

The man gave a wan smile, revealing a badly healed scar going from the corner of his mouth to his ear.

“Michel Merowinger at your service, My Lord... or should I say Michel le Mérovingien, in these parts...”

“Finally, we get to meet. A lot of things depend on you. I have already put my life at stake riding so far behind our lines and I know that some of our Lords would like nothing better than to be rid of me... The Renegade, I know, that is the name they have labeled on me even if my treason might help them get rid of the French... So I must not fail and I shall not, providing you’ve down your work...”

“Yes, my Lord... Your orders were quite clear, my Lord... All is in order... The men manning the south gate have all received a fat purse of gold, enough that they will forget to close the gates tomorrow at dawn... And I have planted the forged evidence you provided of the presence of a German spy in the city, which promptly led the city guard to arrest the “spy”... What did that man do to you ?”

“Nothing that concerns you... I had an old score to settle with the man... What is to happen then ?”

“He’s been tried already and will be executed on the Parvis de Notre-Dame tomorrow at first light... As you know, the city is manned by only a small company of crossbowmen and they have been requested to keep the crowd at bay at the execution... So none shall hinder your access into the city... Have I done all you requested, My Lord ?”

“Yes, all is exactly as I requested... Meet me at Notre-Dame tomorrow, to celebrate our victory and give a prayer of thanks to our Lord”

At this, the man imperceptibly winced but nodded reluctantly. Draining his glass, he stood up and left the inn, leaving alone to his thoughts...




*******


They had ridden under the cover of night, a frozen wind lashing at their faces... Now the sun was rising in the sky, shedding a grey light on the countryside... A deep fog had settled on Paris, muffling all sounds... Paris was almost invisible through the fog, the towers of Notre-Dame barely discernible... A distant clamour seemed to rise and fall behind the walls of the city...

As foreseen, when Hughes and his men reached the southern gate, they found the doors open. They rode into the vaulted gate, the noise from their horses’ hooves reverberating on the walls... The few inhabitants out of their homes in such foul weather were shaken out of their minds...
A company of knights bearing the tabards of the doomed Templars and flying the colors of the Reich was too much for them...

Hughes had walked these streets... He knew every turn and corner... He knew that word would eventually reach the parvis of the Notre-Dame cathedral of their entry into the town and he wanted to give time to the civilians to clear the square before the fighting began...

Leading his horse, he made him walk a detour through the city, noticing here and there the state of disrepair of many buildings as if riots had torn through the city...

Finally, at the end of a long avenue, the square was finally visible...

At the end of the street, the crossbowmen were rushing to draw a line of fire when Hughes gave the order.

“Pour le Temple, Notre-Dame et le Reich, chargez !!!!”

As one, the Templars spurred their horses, lowered their lances and ran at the enemy... Bolts tore through the air around them, ricocheted off armor plates... Finally they slammed into the enemy line, while they were still reloading their cumbersome weapons, killing half of them on impact.

The French leader was cut off from his men, witnessing the slaying of his command, until put out of his misery...

Paris was not in French hands anymore...

Giving the reins of his horse to Guillaume, Hughes climbed the steps of Notre-Dame, intent on giving a prayer of thanks...

“How can I still be alive ?” he mused.

[OverKnight]

The Sally against the Greeks at Adana, 1364

In a surprise to Matthias, Captain Ermanes, who had been marching on the Iron Bridge and Andreas, had turned his army around and besieged Adana. Perhaps he thought the Turks had weakened the defenses, and that a battle here, closer to reinforcement, was the wiser course of action. Perhaps greed motivated the man, the bounty on Matthias's head was higher than Andreas's. Perhaps the Greeks valued Adana more than Antioch. Matthias did not care, the move played into his hands, Andreas would be free to move his army to the port serving Antioch in preparation for the long delayed move on Cyprus. The only fly in the ointment was that Matthias would have to break the siege this year, so the newly cast Basilisks could be pre-positioned to meet Andreas on Cyprus. True, the Turks had been cast off in one sally, but the Greeks, as always, were a tougher foe. They had a major advantage in horse archers and cavalry, a deft hand would be needed to convert the Imperial advantage in foot archers and artillery into victory.

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Matthias surveyed the Greek army from walls and sighed. The scene before him was familiar.

"Troubled, my Lord?" asked Adalric.

"A little, unworthy thoughts, when I was Chancellor, I dreamed of being remembered as a great leader. Not just for battles, mind you, but for bringing the Reich to the fore front in trade, great buildings, diplomacy and influence within the Church. And for a time, it happened, until it was wiped away by one man's hubris, and maybe a bit of my own. The buildings were destroyed, trade crumbled, we were excommunicated and almost all of Europe, including the nations I had made peace with, united against us.

"Now, since the Cataclysm, it has been battles. Almost nothing but battles. We have rallied, but our enemies are like the legendary Hydra, for every army we destroy, two take its place. I have become a butcher of men, not a builder or a diplomat, but a butcher, Matthias the Merciless, and God help me. . ."

Movement in the Greek line drew his attention, leaving Adalric to wonder what was left unsaid. Matthias spoke again.

"We must defeat them in detail to break the siege. We don't have the numbers to crush them all at once. First, we must neutralize their horse archers, so we can deploy the cannon, and then the heavy cavalry, so we can destroy the infantry from range with our archers."

Adalric looked doubtful, "How do we bait the horse archers into range of the walls?"

Matthias smiled grimly, "We give them someone important to shoot at. Prepare my bodyguard and the foot for deployment."

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The Vardariotai and Byzantine Cavalry took the bait and galloped forward to fire on Matthias and the infantry. However, since the Imperials were in a loose formation and it was raining, losses were light.

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Massed fire from the walls took a heavy toll among the horse archers. Matthias, seeing that they had been reduced from a threat to a nuisance, ordered the Pavise Crossbowmen to stop firing. Their remaining ammunition would be needed later in the night. It was now safe enough to deploy the cannon and the new basilisks.

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The artillery raked the Greek lines as the few remaining horse archers continued their ineffective skirmishing. A lucky shot provided a boost for the Crusaders.

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Though Matthias was in the front and Captain Ermanes in the rear, it was the Greek who died. Cannon fire continued to fall among the confused Byzantines. Their last horse archers scored a hit on one of the crew members of the basilisks, but one massed volley of bolts from the walls ran them off. The artillery was soon spent, but it had left its mark.

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With a lull in the battle, Matthias ordered the two least experienced units of crossbowmen off the walls to take up position in front of the infantry. The Imperial line, now back in a tight formation, crept forward, hoping to lure the Greek heavy cavalry in. They obliged.

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Their charges were met by spearmen rushing forward and the few cavalry left to Matthias.

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The cavalry was repulsed. They routed, but rallied outside of the range of the archers. Again they came in, and again spearmen and fire from the crossbowmen ran them off. The third time put paid to the Greek horse and they fled the field completely. Now that the cavalry was gone, Matthias moved all the rest of the crossbowmen off the walls and into a line in front of the footmen.

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Together the Imperials moved forward. It was the Greek infantry's turn.

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Matthias was impressed with the morale of the Greeks. Lesser armies would have broken by now. Yet these men stood their ground. However, at this stage of the battle, that made it easier to kill them.

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With the crossbowmen out of bolts, it was time to administer the coup de grace. The Imperial infantry advanced against the ragged remnants of the Greek siege force.

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The lines met, and finally the Greeks broke. It was far too late for them to escape, and they were run down.

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The siege was broken. The Greek army eliminated.

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Not wanting to face the few prisoners in battle again, or risk that they would move onto Antioch, the captives were executed.

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Adalric approached Matthias as the Viceroy beheaded a Varangian with Iron Faith. Not batting an eye, he asked, "My Lord, I am curious, what were you going to say before the battle started?"

Matthias turned to Adalric, a fresh splatter of blood across his face, and replied with a grim light in his eyes, "Yes, the endless battles, the butchery, the never-ending fight against an implacable foe. . .God help me. . .but I love it so."

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[FactionHeir]

Dijon Region, 1364


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[_Tristan_]

Near Reims, 1364


When Michel Merowinger entered the tavern, he scanned the room until he spotted the man he was looking for. The description Hughes had given him fit perfectly if you took a few years off the man. He was dressed in chainmail, with a fleur-de-lys tabard over it. A pot helmet was resting on the table near the wine pitcher. The man seem absorbed in his glass.

Crossing the room, Merowinger adressed the man.

“Master Foucault ? Thierry Foucault ?”

The man took his gaze from his glass of champagne wine, the bubbles in the clear yellow liquid rising to the surface.

“Yes...”

Producing Hughes’ signet ring from a pouch at his belt, Merowinger showed it to Foucault.

“I know you recognize this ring. The man who confided it to me has given me your description. You have something he might need soon...”

Somewhat taken aback by the ring, the man composed his features once again.

“Hughes is here ? How can that be ? Last I heard he was in Paris, sharing loot with some Germans...”

The last words were said with an cynical tone that gave Merowinger second thoughts about going on with the plan.

“Indeed he was in Paris... Some assets were seized but nothing in comparison to how the French have vandalized the city...” continued Merowinger. “From what Hughes told me, you owe him from the past. Now he sends me to see if you would repay that debt ?”

“I owe him my life... If he hadn’t been there, I would have burned at the stake like so many of the Templar supporters. Now, I serve under a king who is responsible for my having lost all I had. So if you ask me if I would help Hughes, I will do it gladly...”

At this, a bright light quickly crossed Foucault’s eyes.

“What does Hughes need of me ? I believe he hopes to assault Reims, no ? How many men are with him ? Five companies ? Ten ?”

“No, only his retainers... The Templars..”

“Then he is a fool... How does he hope to gain access ? The city gates are closed at all times and all weapons must be left at the gates...”

“He has a plan... Listen to me, quartermaster...”



******

So two days later, Hughes and his men rode in sight of the proud walls of Reims. The Reich’s banner had been furled and the men had all donned the tabards that Merowinger had brought back with him. Tabards in an dark azure with gold fleur-de-lys stitched on them, tabards belonging on French knights...

Thus attired, Hughes and his men rode in the thunderstorm that had started pouring over the Champagne countryside in the end of the afternoon. This played in favour of Hughes. Who would dare to question riders, French riders from seeking shelter in a French city from the downpour ?

Marching his horse to the gates, Hughes hollered.

“Ouvrez les portes !!! Henri de Guillemin et ses hommes cherchent un abri !!!”

A sergeant looked over the crenellations and in a flash of lightning, recognizing the tabards worn by the riders. Orders were issued and soon the gates began to open, admitting the fox into the roost.

Walking through the vaulted gates, Hughes noticed that the gates were manned only by hastily-levied militia, some of the men still wearing the cloth of their trade, here a smithy in his apron, there a butcher with his blood-stained blouse...

“These men will never stand to defend the French occupiers... Their only reason for manning the walls is to protect their homes from bandits and such...” Hughes mused. “Now let’s see if the information given by Thierry is truthful...”

According to the French quartermaster, provider of the tabards, the professionnal garrison of the city made up of Scots guard drilled every end of afternoon on the city main square, to maintain discipline both in the unit and in the city, a showy reminder of its presence to all rebelliously minded inhabitants.

When the last of his men had crossed the gates, Hughes turned to Guillaume.

“Guillaume, unfurl the Eagle... Let show them who we really are.”

Immediately, Guillaume reached behind his saddle, took out the furled banner of the Reich and deployed it at the tip of his lance.

The Black Eagle flapped in the wind, seeming to ripple and come to life right before the flabbergasted look of the gates guard.

“Sound the alarm !!! Alarm !!!” Shouted one of the ranking guards, finally coming to his senses.

“Now, the fun will begin”, Hughes said with a slight smile.

The bells began ringing from the tower over the gates, their call being answered by those over the other gates and the churches, until the whole city rang like a giant bell.

“If this doesn’t lure the Scots out of the square, I don’t know what will”, saidd Hughes, guiding his horse through the town unopposed towards the square, helped in that by the plan provided by Merowinger.

Finally, with a last turn to the right, the riders were finally wthin sight of the main square reaching the avenue, just as the Scots were exiting the square.

The men were well trained and surprise was quickly over. They reached for their bows, pulling the strings from their pouches where they had been sheltered from the rain.

Hughes ordered his men forward...

“En avant !! Au galop !!”

The horses quickly gathered speed, narrowing the distance between them and the Scots. The archers had barely time to let loose a volley when Hughes gave the order.

“Chargez !!”

The Scots were sent flying by the sheer mass of the horses impacting with the first ranks. Their leader was thrown to the ground and trampled to death.

This did not faze his men. They dropped their useless bows and drew their swords. Hughes and his men surrounded them but sheer scottish stubbornness urged them on.

A lucky blow from one of the Scots struck Hughes right below the helm scoring a deep gash in his neck. Blood poured from the wound, a hot fountain pouring down under his mailshirt. His right arm was useless, the sword dangling from its wrist loop. The man seeing his chance lifted his sword to strike another blow, when a sword point suddenly erupted from his belly. The man dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach, and finally fell face first in a puddle of rain, leaving Hughes to look at the face of Thierry Foucault, his hand holding the sword that just killed the man, the rain washing the blood staining it.

“Did you really believe I would let you fight that scum alone ?” shouted Thierry above the din of the fight.

With that, he jumped on horseback behind Hughes, grabbed the reins and led the horse away from the fight.

The last of the Scots were soon killed by Hughes’s men while Hughes slowly passed out from blood loss.


******

Hughes had awoken in bed in a nice room in a nicely furbished inn. The sun shined through the open window, the breeze bringing into the room, the noise and smells of a peaceful city.

Guillaume and some of the other men had filed at his bedside to see how their commander fared. They all left him soon after, assured that he’ll be on his feet soon and able to fight again in no time.

Still, one face was missing among those.

A knock at the door broke Hughes train of thoughts.

“Entrez !”

As if summoned by his thoughts, Thierry’s face peered from around the door.

“Can I come in ?” he asked.

“Of course... Come in, come in... I don’t know how to thank you... You saved my life over there... I owe you...”

“Then my debt is paid, it seems...”

“There was never any debt... What will you do now? Soon the Imperials will take over, you had better be away when that happens... They might not see you as a friend...”

“I have no plans as yet... I am a soldier but fighting for France means nothing for me now...” answered Thierry Foucault.

“Thierry, join me... I have need of someone to watch my back in he thick of battle... And I can assure you that battles there will be...” Hugues proposed, extending his hand.

Clutching the proferred hand, Thierry smiled.

“So be it... I’ll watch your back and take care of your weapons from now on... You lead and I’ll follow...”




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[OverKnight]

Battle of the Belen Pass, 1366

Chancellor,

I caught up to the Greeks in the night. I'd been pushing the men and as we came through the pass I found them. I know you instructed me to use the army at the Iron Bridge to catch their army in a pincer, but I felt their archers, horse and foot, would have decimated them before I could assist. I had the high ground, and though Adalric had some misgivings, I felt that was enough to engage them without support.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/agolddeploy.jpg

I quickly moved the men into a defensive position. I trusted that Greek arrogance would drive them to me. The crossbowmen and cannons were deployed on a cliff and rises, mostly inaccessible to a charge. There would be two avenues into my lines for the Greek, one in the center, where I put two units of spearmen backed up by a small unit of unhorsed knights, and my left flank, which I refused with another two units of spears and my dismounted knights. Knowing that this was the most vulnerable part of the line, I also put my Imperial Knights and my own body guard at a right angle to the refused flank. The battle started well, with fire raining down on the enemy.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/bgoldsetup.jpg

Captain Rossos tried to force the left flank, he paid for it with his life.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/cgoldcaptchargedie.jpg

After this failed attempt, the Greeks, seemingly unfazed by the loss of their commander, continued to advance. They brought pressure on both the center and the left. The crossbowmen were reaping a grim harvest, but the Greeks did not show their usual timidity and advanced rapidly before missile fire could have full effect.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/dgoldadvance.jpg

A unit of Vardriotai managed to climb the steep hill on my left flank and brought arrow fire onto the spearmen there. At the same time, Kataphractoi and infantry engaged them as well. I had no choice but to commit my cavalry.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/egoldleftthreatened.jpg

As one Greek unit was reduced, another came up to take its place. The flank was in danger of being turned. If that happened, the Greeks would be able to get at my archers and take the center from behind.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/fgoldleftpsuhed.jpg

Valiant efforts from the Imperial Knights and my own retainers drove off these attacks, but then the Varangian Guard, supported by cavalry, charged in. I had no choice but to keep my own cavalry engaged, otherwise my infantry would have run.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/ggoldleftroutbutvarangians.jpg

Though all the Imperial Knights died in the effort, I was able to throw off all the Greek units but the Varangians. This gave me some precious room to charge into them from behind.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/hgoldroomtoflank.jpg

But two thirds of my guard was gone by that point, and the charge, while telling, did not break them. As my men continued to fall about me, I noticed one of the units of spearmen from the center, assaulted by dismounted latinkon, had finally broken after fighting superior numbers and quality. The situation was becoming dire. Both the left and center were in danger of collapse.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/igolddecision.jpg

It was then that I yelled for the crossbowmen to fire into the melee. I'm sure some of my own were killed, but there were more Greeks in the fight at that point, so the odds were in our favor. Better to lose some men, than all of them.

Getting shot in the back finally broke the Varangians, and the rest of the Greeks, seeing their elite run, fled as well. I ran them all down with what was left of my brave bodyguard.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/jgoldrout.jpg

I erected a cairn on that bloody hill for our dead. I made the few prisoners taken build it, before I killed them. God will guide our fallen home. The Greeks I left to rot.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/kgoldcarnage.jpg

It was a great victory Chancellor, but one I could have fought better. The courage of my men redeemed my errors.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/lgoldvic.jpg

I will not underestimate the Greeks again.

Viceroy Matthias

[FactionHeir]

Southern Parisian countryside, 1366


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[OverKnight]

The Relief of Adana, 1368

Andreas,

I hope events on Cyprus go well. In your absence, the mainland has been quite active. The bastard Greeks had besieged Adana while I was away. This could not be tolerated; I will not relinquish Adana ever again, even if Satan himself besieged it. I moved what men I could to relieve the Citadel.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/areladdeploy.jpg

I came from the north, the Greeks were to the west.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/breladinit.jpg

While I approached, Captain Ulrich, who had managed to finish the addition of Ballistas to the towers of the Citadel, feinted a sally. Greek archers, horse and foot, responded, bringing them into range of the crossbowmen on the walls and the new artillery.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/creladfeint.jpg

Captain Nikeforos, an unfortunate name to have, then sent some heavy cavalry toward the feint as well. The militia troops retreated back into the Citadel while the Greeks were skewered.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/dreladballista.jpg

As this game of cat and mouse played out, the Greeks dispatched a unit of horse archers to screen my force. They proved no match for the five regiments of crossbowmen I had deployed in front of my army, though it did serve to delay my approach to cannon range.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/ereladhascreen.jpg

Again Ulrich feinted, and again the Greeks were drawn into missile range of the walls.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/freladdrawin.jpg

The dispatch of horse archers to my front was repeated as well. They were driven off with heavy losses, but each time my line had to stop. Between the action at the gate and this, most of the horse archers were now dead. Nikeforos, still seeing my crossbowmen in front and that my cannon had started firing at his army, decided to send in his heavy cavalry.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/greladcavchargeaftercannon.jpg

My infantry advanced past the bowmen to face the cavalry. The Greeks took heavy losses.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/hreladinfforward.jpg

Feints from the gate continued, Captain Ulrich wisely knew that threats on both fronts would distract the Greeks, keeping them divided and unable to concentrate on one force.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/ireladfeintcontinues.jpg

My cannons could now be used again.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/jreladcannonfiresagain.jpg

Firing into their flank proved quite devastating.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/kreladfireintoflank.jpg

This goaded Captain Nikeforos into charging my line with his bodyguard. I don't like that name.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/lreladmattkillsnikeforos.jpg

I killed him, like I did his namesake. Again, the militia came out of the gate. The last cavalry unit the Greeks had, Lancers, charged. But this time it was no feint. As soon as the melee began, the rest of foot in the garrison charged out to swarm the horsemen.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/mreladnofeint.jpg

Now the Greek were down to foot archers and infantry. Of course, my cannons had now run out of shot. I advanced my line to bring the crossbowmen into range. This triggered a response.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/nreladcannonoutdestroyarcher.jpg

I swept aside their missile screen, but a unit of dismounted latinkon charged me. I withdrew, and their pursuit brought them into crossbow range.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/oreladlkpursuebutshot.jpg

Massed fire from the crossbows nearly killed all of them. Soon enough they were in range of the rest of the Greeks.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/preladflankfire.jpg

Again, missiles into the flank were telling. I kept up the barrage for a time, but the day was drawing to a close. It was time to finish them. I ordered a general advance.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/qreladcheckmate.jpg

They soon broke, and I met Captain Ulrich on the field as we trapped the last of the Greeks between us.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/rreladrout.jpg

Adana is relieved and the Greeks eliminated. An offer of ransom was refused.

https://i207.photobucket.com/albums/bb88/douglaslain/reliefofadana/sreladvic.jpg

In the fury of the battle, I barely noticed that I had been wounded. It has festered, and I am now unable to take the field. The defense of Outremer will be up to you for the next few years, Andreas. I hope I thinned the herd enough for you, though I have no doubt you are up to the task.

Godspeed,

Matthias

[FactionHeir]

Angers, 1368


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[_Tristan_]

A bridge too far

Near Antwerp, 1366

Urged by the chancellor, Hughes had ridden hard to meet up with Count von Bohmen to help in the defense of Antwerp from the advancing French forces. On their way, Hughes and his men had overtaken the French, arriving first at the bridge.

En route, Hughes had dispatched some of his men around the countryside to gather all able-bodied men willing to help in the defence of the city. One day, a mercenary captain came to offer his service : a Flemish by the name of Jan van Rijn, he was a minor noble that had been dispossessed in favour of a French noble and now loaned his services to whoever could pay for them. His company was made up of two three units of flemish pikemen, two units of crossbowmen and a piece of artillery.

Proof of the old saying that the enemy of my enemy is my friend, Hughes and Jan immediately found a common ground...

Jan had had enough of fighting for mere gold... What he truly wanted was fighting for a cause... Hughes offered him that opportunity...

Finally, they reached the bridge south of Antwerp, where Count von Bohmen, Hero of Flanders had been requested to make a last stand. From the letter he got from the Chancellor, Hughes had gathered that Ludwig von Bohmen was a fine general, only that he was much more at ease behind the walls of a city. But, here, if the French reached Antwerp the city would be lost so they had to be stopped at the bridge.

That was the mission given to Hughes.

Having reached von Bohmen’s camp on the northern shore of the river, Hughes left Guillaume see to the installation of the mercenaries and rode alone to the tent of the Count. He reached it just as the Count, forewarned, came out.

“Count von Bohmen, I salute you... I am Hughes de Cervole, former Templar and now Elector of Swabia...”

“Sir de Cervole, I bid you welcome in Flanders. I gather you are here to help me defend Antwerp from the French hordes...”

Getting down from his horse, Hughes acquiesced.

“Exactly, my Lord, the Chancellor has seen fit to provide me with enough florins to hire what I hope to be enough mercenaries to repel the scum. From what I gathered riding in, your men are essentially handgunners and crossbowmen with a few spears thrown in...

“That’s right...” answered Ludwig “Plus some halberd militia that can be called on short notice from Antwerp as reinforcements...”

Clearly taking this all in, Hughes went on.

“We passed the French on our way here... They have a powerful force of veteran warriors... Artillery that is antiquated but can still kill, knights on horses and on foot... While we’ll have to rely on militia and mercenaries... Still, we cannot afford to let them pass..”. A wolfish grin passed on Hughes’ face... “They will only go this far and no further...”

A little taken aback by the transformation in his counterpart, Von Bohmen could only nod his approval.

“May God help us...” he prayed.

“God will be on our side... The French are but a filthy lot of devil worshippers and sabbath-goers...”

“Would you care to examine the bridge and its approaches ?” asked Ludwig, clearly ill at ease with the single-mindedness of Hughes.

“Yes, lead the way...”


******

Out of a common agreement, Hughes found himself in command of the Reich’s forces...

The French had gathered their forces on the other side of the bridge during the night and the grey winter dawn had revealed their ominous presence...

Hughes knew in his bones that today many men would die... Preferably they would be French but some of his men would die too and that rankled...

Hughes’ plan was simple : the ribault would be placed at the entrance to the bridge allowing it to fire one or two salvos at the advancing and compact mass of Frenchmen. Behind it van Rijn’s Flemish pikemen in a roughly U-shape would bear the brunt of the impact with support from the pike militias. The firearms and crossbows a little further away from the bridge and slightly on the side to get a line of fire on the bridge.

The slope to the river was almost level, if the men had to fire through the lines, some of his own men would die with bolts in their backs...

Reinforcement had been called in all haste from Antwerp and some spearmen and halberd militias were on their way.

Hughes placed himself on the left flank to bring support and stop any flanking maneuver from the French, should the pikes not stop them. Von Bohmen was given the right flank.

Now, it would be a matter of who got the biggest family jewels...


******

The French opens hostilities by firing their trebuchets and catapults... Flaming boulders rise in the sky, all missing their marks, some too short bringing the river to boiling point, others landing in the snow, melting it on landing...

The French footmen take the cue and begin charging across the bridge.

The ribaults’ servants are ready and start loading up their weapon, firing one devastating salvo into the advancing mass of men.

Hughes immediately sees that a second volley will not be possible and orders his men to withdraw, leaving the artillery in place. That will slow the French charge, for sure.

And indeed, with almost all of the way blocked by the artillery pieces, the footmen are forced to navigate around them, thus breaking their impetus.

The fighting begins at the line while the French artillery is going on lobbing flaming rocks at the German line, scoring a few kills among the mercenary crossbowmen on the right flank, but mostly overshooting the mark.

Some Scots Guards manage to force the line on the right flank and lead a charge on the arquebusiers. Seeing this, von Bohmen cuts their path and engages them.

With the left flank seemingly secure and the possibility that the right might be turned, Hughes leaves his position and rides to support von Bohmen. The Scots Guard are quickly brought down and leave the riders to take up position on the right flank a little behind the main line..

The fight rages in the at the entrance to the bridge. Bolts rain down on the French and German alike. The acrid smell of gunpowder permeates the air making it almost unbreathable, while the noise from the explosions of the stones hurled by the French artillery shakes the men to their bones.

Seeing that his men could not break our line of pikes, the French commander leads his cavalry across the bridge at a fast pace. However, both the artillery deployed at the entrance of the bridge and the French footmen milling around, trying to find an opening in the German line, hinder his advance.

At about the same time, the reinforcements from Antwerp arrive to join the battle. The timing is perfect as once again the right flank seems about to break. The militia spearmen bring support to the line while the halberdiers remained a bit further off, acting as reserve.

Seeing the German line weakening the French captain orders some of his lancers and gendarmes to use the gap forming in that flank and use it to charge Hughes’ men from behind. For the French captain, it is almost a last chance attempt as already half his force are lying dead or dying...

Hughes charges the French cavalry with von Bohmen and support from the halberdiers.
They deal blow for blow until the French are forced to retreat.

Already some of the French soldiers are routing, following the river shore to safety...

Isolated on the shore, von Bohmen and his men are targeted by the French artillery. When almost all the shots fired by those weapons landed wide off the mark, this time, the fiery projectile lands right in the middle of von Bohmen’s unit taking three of his men with him, missing him by inches.

Witnessing this, Hughes adresses von Bohmen, howling above the din of the battle, the cries and explosion, to make himself heard.

“Ludwig !! Get your arse over that bridge and silence those $@µ§ing stone-throwers !!”

While Hughes launches himself at the mass of French fighting against the pikemen, von Bohmen spurs his horse onward through that same milling mass of flesh and steel.

Most of his men are cut down but still he manages to reach the bridge and rides at the fastest pace his horse can manage with the two last of his men.

Howling like madmen, the knights bear down on the artillery crews, who, unprepared to be attacked, lose heart and begin running for shelter. Von Bohmen pursues the men cutting them down as they run.

At almost the same time, Hughes engages the French captain and from sheer fury deals such blows with his sword that the man is forced to retreat until he can retreat no more. His horse is impaled on the Flemish pikes, bringing him down and crushing him.

This spells the doom of the French. As t he news of their leader’s death spreads among them, they begin to run for shelter.

Hughes turns to his men.

“Let none of them escape alive !! Any of them left alive you’ll have to face another day !!”

He then spurs his horse towards the bridge intent on catchin as many of the men fleeing for the shelter of the monastery on the French side of the bridge.

A few manage to escape but the last are caught between Hughes and von Bohmen charges, trampling them in the snow.

Letting his horse catch his breath, Hughes leads him towards von Bohmen.

“Congratulations, Ludwig... You did a fine job of silencing that damn artillery... I beg your pardon for the profanity... The heat of battle, you know...” Hughs said with a smile.

Von Bohmen, a bit wild-eyed, returned the smile.

“No offence taken... It ws high time we did something about those %@£µing stones !”

“What’s the name of this dreadful place ?” asked Hughes.

“The nearest village is Nijmegen... over there” said Ludwig pointing with his gauntleted hand.

“ The French tried to go a bridge too far... It seems...”


The battle in numbers :


https://i231.photobucket.com/albums/ee86/badlieutenant_bucket/KOTR/1366Deploy.jpg
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The battle in pictures :


https://i231.photobucket.com/albums/ee86/badlieutenant_bucket/KOTR/Antwerp1366--2.jpg
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[Northnovas]

1368 Vienna

The Count was reading the final orders received from the Chancellor’s Office. Vienna was besieged and General Hapsburg needed assistance with a sally to disrupt the Hungarians. It had been sometime since his last battle with the Hungarians and was relieved that he was only the reinforcement commander.

Johann looked over at his brother Jan reading the battle maps. “I want you to remain here at the bridge with a few companies of men. I don’t know what we are facing and I will not put us both in jeopardy. I have a plan that requires some timing but I do not expect a full battle. The Chancellor’s orders specifically request that I support the garrison with the artillery to inflict damage and withdraw. I do not think it to be much of fight.”

“Pity I could use a good row it’s been a while” Jan continued looking at the maps not really given much attention to his words. “I will remain at the bridge and call me if you get into anything you can’t handle.” A smirk coming across Jan’s face giving his older brother a polite jab.

“Jan, you will be the first. Let’s have a drink before I head out.” Johann poured the wine into the goblets at the table and the brothers toasted. “Victory, for the Reich!” they said in unison.

https://i201.photobucket.com/albums/aa55/northnovas/Johann/1368a1vienna.jpg

The 1st AHA was approaching the western gate of the city. Looking to the south the Hungarian Army could be spread out in the southern fields of the Vienna.

“Count Zirn our road to the city is open.” The scout reported saluting the Count and then continued. “There force is larger then ours with some veterans. They have a siege tower and several rams built but have not put them into position. I must say they have far too many Horse Archers for my liking. They have made no movement of our arrival, sire”

Johann looked at the Scout puzzled. “Thank you for the commentary and if I need anymore inside I will advised. Dismissed!” and with that the Scout rode off. Johann looked over to his aide de camp. “We will go according to the plan. Have the Captain of the artillery ride through double time and get to the Southern Gate of the City.” The Aide was gone before Johann finished his words.

The Captain of the Artillery rode through the city in double time and met the Garrison Commander who directed them to the Southern Gate.

https://i201.photobucket.com/albums/aa55/northnovas/Johann/1368c1vienna.jpg

“Alright men line up get the ammo loaded and at my command you will fire at will until all of your ammo is depleted. Understood!?” barked the Captain.

Johann took a position on the wall. The Hungarians remained out in the field. All Missile Regiments were on the wall. General Hapsburg ordered 3 Regiments of Militia deployed in the field outside the southern wall hoping to entice the enemy. The plan was beginning to work.

The Hungarian Nobles moved in with their Horse Archer units and began to rain arrows on the Militia Units.

Johann nodded to his Aide the signal was given. The Artillery Captain saw the flag from the wall and shouted. “READY, FIRE AT WILL!”

The cannons BOOMED salvo after salvo into the enemy ranks.

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The Horse Archers were decimated by the rain of arrows from the walls. Two enemy regiments wiped out and few casualties to the Garrison Units. The artillery was relentless on the enemy

https://i201.photobucket.com/albums/aa55/northnovas/Johann/1368c3vienna.jpg

The cannons were out of ammo the barrels white hot. The Count rode up to General Hapsburg. “I think they done the job! Will you give the command to bring them in I have some other business to attend to now that I am back home. Your men performed well see that they are rewarded along with my Artillery they have given the city a reprieve but I am sure the Hungarians will strike back.”

https://i201.photobucket.com/albums/aa55/northnovas/Johann/1368a2vienna.jpg

Hapsburg gave the order and received a report from his Aide on a Scout missing in action. “This is not good who do they think they are?”

https://i201.photobucket.com/albums/aa55/northnovas/Johann/1368b2prisoner.jpg

[FactionHeir]

Angers Castle, 1368AD


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[_Tristan_]

In the Picard countryside, 1368


Hughes and his men had ridden south as fast as they could upon hearing of the Crusade call from Pope Gregorius. His Templar vows demanded of him that he take up the cross and he would... Only he would have to gather an army first...

Thus, he was forced to make camp in Picardie, not far from the river Somme. He took position into some woods crowning the highest hill in the region. The lookouts could see for miles in every direction, and the country being mostly pasture, no large force could wander close enough undetected.

The men had arrived a few days later... First, the mercenary captain Jan van Rijn and his Flemish pikemen and crossbowmen that had made wonders at Antwerp, having recruited on the way some mercenary knights he knew of old... A bit later arrived men that had been part of Welf von Luxemburg’s command led by a lone and veteran Teutonic knight leading an artillery crew with a bombard and some arquebusiers.

Never in his life had Hughes been in command of such modern weaponry... The Temple believed in the chivalric ideals of fighting man to man and thus refused to acknowledge this new form of warfare...

However new this might seem to him, he had read many accounts of battles where such weapons had been used to great effect and knew the principles underlying such use.

With now enough men under his orders, Hughes gathered them and gave them a brief speech telling them what fiendish abominations the French were and how he had volunteered to take up the cross and lead a crusade to rid the world of such devil spawns.

The men cheered him as one and the next few days saw them tearing long strips of red cloth bought in a nearby town, stitching on their cloths in cross patterns or making flags out of that same cloth.

The men needed rest before marching on Angers to join Count Ruppel’s forces an therefore the camp was maintained at its resent location.

One day, one of the forward observer came riding hard into camp, stopping his horse right in front of the tent where Hughes was studying some crude maps of the country between here and Angers.

The man got down from his horse, dropped on one knee and made his report.

“My Lord, I have spotted a small force of French advancing towards our position. From what I have seen, they seem to be the remnants of the force we thought at Antwerp. I would swear to it.”

“Some poor lout in one of the farms around us must be richer at this very moment. There is no other way for the scum to have marched right to our camp. We are away from the main roads. How long before they reach us ?” Hughes asked.

“I would estimate three hours at the most... They should be coming from the north” the rider answered.

Hughes turned to Guillaume, Jan Van Rijn and Thierry Foucault.

“Prepare the men... You all know your orders.”


https://i231.photobucket.com/albums/ee86/badlieutenant_bucket/KOTR/1368Deploy.jpg


******

Two and a half hours later, Hughes sat his horse on top of a ridge on the northern side of the hill. The French were crossing the plain at the foot of the rise.

From what he could see from his vantage point, it really looked like the remnants of the force defeated at the bridge near Antwerp. It was mostly made of foot knights with some missile infantry and a company of lancers flying a command flag.

Hughes had set his forces on the ridge with the bombard in the center, crossbowmen on the left and arquebusiers on the right. He wanted the French to ride up the hill under a deluge of cannon ball, lead pellet and crossbow bolt. None should be able to reach the line.

Van Rijn and his pikemen were stationed a little to the rear of the bombard to provide support should any Frenchmen happen to be still standing at that point.

Hughes took the left flank and gave the right to the mercenary knights.

When all men were in place, Hughes turned to look down the grade at the advancing Frenchmen. It would be a steep climb, under fire all the while, but the French were battle-hardened veterans not deterred by much, so they might still reach the top.


https://i231.photobucket.com/albums/ee86/badlieutenant_bucket/KOTR/Defense1368--22.jpg



******

Hughes rode near the bombard crew leader.

“My orders are to fire at will once the first of the French are within range. Don’t stop firing until you are threatened. Is that clear ?”

“Aye, aye, sir” the man said with a salute.

Making a last round of his men positions, Hughes regained his retainers just as the French began climbing the hill.


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KA-BOOM !!


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The bombards had opened fire, hurling their metal balls at tremendous speed through the air.

Hughes was watching intently to see how precise these shots were. Was it luck, skill of the crew or a bit of both, Hughes didn’t know, but the first shot had landed squarely in front of a unit of foot knights striking them down like pins in a child’s game. The lethal balls bounced and went flying at the French captain unit of lancers, striking him in the chest and hurling him in the air to land thirty feet from his horse.


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Hughes couldn’t believe his luck... Now leaderless the French would be much easier to drive off the field.


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Out of fury and desperation, the lancers launched a headlong charge towards the Hughes’ artillery intent on avenging their leader.


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Hughes rode to meet them, signalling the mercenary knights to do the same. The horses quickly gained speed going down the grade.

Suddenly, an order was issued from the French assembled mass.

“Demi-tour !! Vite !!”

The lancers stopped their horses, making them turn by yanking violently on the reins, turning them around and leading them fast behind the safety of the main battleline.


https://i231.photobucket.com/albums/ee86/badlieutenant_bucket/KOTR/Defense1368--38.jpg



Hughes took only a few seconds to signal the mercenary knights to take up positions to the right of the French line before sending his horse and his men into the crossbowmen that faced him intent on catching the lancers. The French riders struck from behind, their horses frightened by the nearby explosions scouring the French ranks lost all their will to fight and began routing.


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While the French foot knights continued their advance up the hill, their ranks decimated by arquebus shots and crossbow bolts, the French lancers had gathered up their courage and charged up the slope towards the mercenary knights leading their own charge to meet them (OOC : I can’t believe that 8 lancers managed to kill 15 knights in uphill against downhill charge...)


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Meanwhile, Hughes was driving and slaughtering the French missile units like cattle.

The lone Teutonic knight in a moment of folly charged down the hill to engage a depleted unit of Aventuriers, but was struck down by a volley fired by his opponents before he could reach them.



https://i231.photobucket.com/albums/ee86/badlieutenant_bucket/KOTR/Defense1368--46.jpg



Some of the French knights managed to reach the top of the hill and while the crossbowmen and arquebusiers withdrew in an orderly fashion to take up positins a little higher up the hill, the artillery crew disobeying Hughes’ orders remained and fought to defend their precious guns. (OOC: I asked them to withdraw and they withdrew forward :wall: )

Only Van Rijn’s pikemen intervention saved them from certain death, Van Rijn himself catching them by the cuffs and driving them from the fight with well-placed strokes of his boots.

The foot knights faced by the hedgehog of Van Rijn pikes lost heart and began running downhill.

All that remained was for the handgunners to mow them down.


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Finally, Hughes and his men cornered the few remaining Frenchmen and pinned them at lance point to the tree where they had surrounded them.


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******

Hughes stood by the grave that had been hastily dug for the Teutonic Knight.

“Curse him for his foolishness...” Hughes thought. “Men like him would have been useful in our Crusade.”

Turning to the assembled men, Hughes gave his orders.

“Men, we march as deep into French territory as we can and kill all that stand in our way... This is the work of God we will accomplish in the coming months...”

A huge cheer born of joy to be alive and religious zeal rose from the men as Hughes jumped on his horse.

If only they knew his real motives for going on Crusade, they wouldn’t cheer him so... God had no part in this... Only him and vengeance cold as ice and hard as steel...


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[GeneralHankerchief]

Marseille Bridge, 1368

One person could say that the Crusade was not going well.

Four nobles of the Reich were involved in a trip through France to take Angers, please the Pope, and, most importantly, kill a lot of French people and rob them of a good troop production center. The first noble, Ehrhart Ruppel, in his haste had gone to Angers without any support, and was now in deep trouble from the various French armies swarming the Citadel.

The second and third, Welf von Luxemburg and Hugo de Cervole, had waited and decided to support each other, but as a result were pretty much keeping time with the English army also Crusading in the mainland. There was a chance of them being beaten.

That left the fourth, Herrmann Steffen. Striking from the south, he had decided to be slow and deliberate, milking the Crusade for its worth. He had marshalled a large amount of religious fanatics and remnants from Count Erlach's army, parked himself on the bridge to the west of Marseille, and waited to set out the next campaign season.

The only trouble was, he found himself facing a large and powerful French army that wanted his side of the river.

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"Crap," he muttered, reading the composition of the army facing him. "Why do I always get stuck with the elite forces?"

He had consulted with his uncle Matthias, who knew more about bridge defense than certainly anyone alive, and probably anyone ever, in case this event was to happen. Just stand firm against whatever comes at you, Matthias had said, and make sure that you have enough missiles to make crossing that bridge a gauntlet.

Good advice.

Well, it was, at least until Herrmann stepped outside his tent and came face-to-face with the conditions of the day.

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"Crap," he said, staring at the sky and getting a mouthful of rain. "They had to pick this weather to attack, didn't they?"

He spent the next fifteen minutes getting his soldiers and fanatics ready, prepared for battle. He repeated the same mantra over and over: "This is what real soldiering is about, boys. It's not always the glory of taking the city."

Frankly, Herrmann had done a bit too much of real soldiering in his career. To start it out, he had aided Edmund Becker in one of his endless defenses of Prague, expecting knighthood as a gratitude, and was denied. He then made his way down to Italy and promptly, somehow found himself leading two armies to combine against an elite French force around Milan. The next year, it was three armies against an even tougher Byzantine force that resulted in the bloodiest battle in the Reich's history, discounting Bern. Oh yes, there was the reconquest of Marseille in 1366, but that was a minor skirmish and an entirely mercenary force, save for Herrmann and his escort.

And now this, more of a "save what we've taken" operation than a glorious, Pope-approved push deep into enemy territory.

"Herrmann, my son!" Herrmann turned. Somehow, Father Leopold, one of the army's many priests, had found him in this torrential downpour. "What do you make of this? Apocalyp-"

*Crack! BOOM!!!*

"Apocalyptic weather on the day that we, in the name of the Lord, defend what is ours against the heretical enemy! I guess the question is: Is it meant for us or for them? I wonder, eh?"

"Shut it," Herrmann said. "If it's supposed to be bad for them then why on Earth are my missiles all but rendered useless?" he muttered to himself. Father Leopold, highly affronted, scurried off, no doubt muttering to himself as well, but Herrmann couldn't hear and decided not to, anyway. He had more important things to do.

"All infantry assemble at the start of the bridge!" he yelled. "Missiles to the sides! Cavalry fifty yards back!" He must of repeated that command twenty times over the course the next few minutes, telling several fanatics: "Yes, infantry, that's you! You're infantry! No, you're not cav- Everybody who does not ride a horse and doesn't carry a weapon to shoot the French with from afar is infantry!!!" and when everybody was finally assembled in their proper positions it was just in time and the French were preparing to cross.

Fifty yards back, Herrmann couldn't see a thing.

"Crap," he said yet again, "These have got to be the worse conditions in the history of warfare. A giant freaking thunderstorm during a bridge defense, and my missiles can't do anything!!!"

He paused, once again trying to see what was happening, without any luck.

"Silence," he said to his retinue and the regiment of Merchant Cavalry Militia nearby. "I need to hear how close the French are."

Doom - Doom - Doom - Doom -

...

...

...

DOOM doom doom doom DOOM doom doom doom DOOM doom doom doom DOOM doom doom doom

...

...

...

DOOM D-D-DOOM D-D-DOOM D-D-DOOM D-D-

...

...

...

DOOMDOOMDOOMDOO DOOMDOOMDOODOODOOM

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Eventually the sounds of the French marching and the sounds of the storm merged. It was all one giant entity, some of it intending to wreak havoc on the Imperial forces holding the east side of the river, some of it intending to just wreak havoc in general. To Herrmann, sitting soaking wet, feeling completely useless, it was all the same. He had no idea when the French had collided with his brave fanatics and the few men of Erlach's command.

He saw a few horsemen around him. Below him, a paved road. To its sides, grass, quickly turning into mud. But around everything was rain. He gripped his horse tightly, hoping to hold onto some semblence of familiarity.

He stayed like this for a few minutes, and then a flash of lightning illuminated the battle.

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"Crap," he said yet again. This was not going well. The French had already put the bridge and the bottleneck behind them, rendering Herrmann's missiles even more useless. His men had achieved some kind of encirclement, but they were mostly religious fanatics, men who had no business being in this kind of fight. Especially not against some of the best and well-equipped soldiers France had to offer.

He spent the next minute and thirty-seven seconds in darkness, mulling. In the past, he had always beaten superior armies because he made sure that he had the numbers and position. He had position on this, but the French had quickly forced their way out of the trap. And as for numbers...

Well, as for numbers, they weren't in his favor, for the first time. And the French army's advantages in numbers and quality were showing.

Lightning flashed again, and the battle once again lit up. The French were continuing to push. The Imperial lines were thinning. Herrmann saw no sign of Erlach's few troops, the best infantry he had.

"Crap!" he yelled.

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This battle was just not meant to go in his favor. There was just one thing left to do.

"Everybody pull back!" he yelled, and rode on alone towards the main engagement. "God help the infantry surviving this mess," he muttered.

"Pull back!" he screamed at the dwindling numbers of fanatics. "Get out of here! We make for Marseille!"

Herrmann repeated it three times, then turned and had his horse gallop to catch up with his escort, which was already leaving along with the rest of the cavalry. They seemed to be leaving in good order, keeping formation. Good, Herrmann thought. Maybe they would get something out of this.

Then he turned and looked back at the infantry. The Fanatics, already pushed to the limit by the professional French troops, fighting in terrible conditions and not doing anything that even remotely reminded them of the old Crusades they had read about, only needed Herrmann's word to turn and run for their lives. Some of them looked like they were running even before Herrmann got there, as a matter of fact.

Things seemed to be going well enough until the French cavalry emerged, bearing down on the Imperial infantry.

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"Crap," he whispered, voice cracking. He was the one who had gotten them to volunteer, he was the one who had thrown them into this battle, expecting them to beat back France's best. And now, he was the one who was leaving them to die.

It took every single iota of Herrmann's cold, merciless logic, still working, to keep him moving east. If he looked back even once, he would turn around, try to help them, and then the French cavalry would get him too. Instead, cursing, he made it back to Marseille with the rest of his cavalry, and waited.

The few Fanatics that got out were a haggard mess, forever changed by what had been done to them.

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[Zim]

Outside Nikosia, 1366 A.D.

This seems familiar, Andreas thought to himself. He had been in Outremer now, and aside from one battle in which he fought under then King Matthias, his only combat had been assaulting the lightly held city of Antioch. Now he was called on for a similiar duty, assaulting the citadel of Nikosia.

Still, it wasn't quite the same. Matthias was going on pilgramage soon, and Andreas would be responsible for the defense of Outremer while the Viceroy was away. Nikosia was vital if a ginle general was to defend all of Outremer. It could reinforce both Adana and Antioch, and serve as a fallback point if disaster struck.

Like Antioch had been, Nikosia was lightly defended. Unlike Antioch, there was a very large army in the vicinity, so it was especially important to minimize losses.

Andreas had a large army, though lacking in heavy infantry, while Nikosia was garrisoned only by one general and a single unit of militia.

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The Greeks. aware of the overwhelming odds against them, decided to hide in the innermost of the Citadel's walls. Andreas' cannons made short work of the outer walls ,then began the long trek to the center of the Citadel.

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The inner wall was just as easily breached and crossbowmen secured the final wall. The Greek militia made a futile attempt to reach a tower and dislodge the German crossbowmen, but were cut down by Teutonic knights. Meanwhile the enemy general curiously seemed to fled the square.

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Andreas almost didn't catch the Greek leader's intent. Apparently reconciled to the thought of losing Nikosia, he had decided to take out some of the German missile units straggling outside the innermost wall. Spurring his bodyguard on and throwing caution to the wind, Andreas chased the Greeks down and General Slavos was pinned between Andreas' guard and the crossbowmen he had hoped to run down. Andreas himself cut down the Greek leader, ending the battle. Nikosia had been taken, but with higher losses among the German cavalry than planned. Andreas hoped that his forces were still strong enough to take that army on Cyprus and get back to the mainland before Matthias left.

https://img187.imageshack.us/img187/7321/image012il9.jpg (https://imageshack.us)

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[FactionHeir]

Angers, 1369 AD


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[Northnovas]

Vienna 1368 Part 1

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0945hrs
It was getting to be late morning and the Hungarians had gathered their siege equipment and headed for the South Gate of the city. Johann was out of the city staying with his men enjoying the recent victory and had raced the 1st AHA into back into Vienna. The Garrison had no archers but the new towers would help defend the walls. The Garrison manned the walls waiting for the attack. There was one group of men that formed a volunteer Regiment of Militia that would go outside the gates and meet the enemy to stall them from reaching the walls.

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1010hrs
The Hungarians moved in with a tower and ram they had no support artillery that was a bit of a relief to the men on the walls.

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1020hrs
“Hurray, I did not expect the enemy to attack this late in the day.” shouted Johann to his men. “Get that artillery to the center square and see if it can be of some use. A Get moving man there is no time!” with that he rode of with his unit his orders railing in the wind.

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1055hrs
The Hungarians were moving in but little damage was made on the ram or tower. The Captain of the Volunteers saw the signal. His unit was at the gates ready to move.

“Men!” he barked to them. “Now is the time to do your duty. The towers need more time and the gap is closing quickly. We must not let them reach the gate. Do you understand?! Are you ready?!”

“AYE!” they yelled in unison and the signal was given the gates were swung open with only the enemy meters away. The Volunteers surged forward. “YEEEAAA!!!”

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1123hrs
The battering ram was stopped. The siege tower did make the wall and the Hungarians poured forth on to the tiny piece of real estate.

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1135hrs
Johann was at a full speed coming around the southwest wall and into the enemy. He saw the battering ram had been neutralized and the tower at the wall. He noticed many of the Maygar Cavalry units were not committed and hung back. He gave a war yell and stormed passed the enemy into the South Gate.

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1145hrs
The Hungarians had made some head way and were committing more units to the walls. The ram was all but forgotten. Johann met Hapsburg to asses the situation. They felt the walls were in no danger of falling and the gates were preserved. The first phase of the plan had worked.

1200hrs
The Crossbowmen of the 1st AHA had followed their leader’s path and were in front of the south wall. From there vantage they had the flank of the Hungarians who were trying to get into the siege tower. Both regiments fired at will.

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1235hrs
A Regiment of Forlon Hope in support of the Crossbowmen saw an advantage of the Hungarians commitment to the tower and made a charge for the tower themselves.

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1300hrs
The fighting on the walls was fierce the Hungarians were gaining inches and loosing many men in the process.

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1353hrs
The fighting continued on the walls and each side committing troops to the melee. Most of the 1st AHA were exhausted from the march to the city. The Hungarians were gaining control but only a small portion of the wall.

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1422hrs
Finally the Hungarians pushed down and reached the inside of the wall. There were 2 Regiments of Spearmen waiting who were tired but ready to fight. The Heavy Cavalry was moved up from the centre square.

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1430 hrs
The artillery was set up in the square and began to lop shots at the tower and in the vicinity of the front gates. Unfortunately a few city belfries were damage from errand shots.

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1435hrs
The Maygar moved in and the Crossbowmen could not keep the 2 Regiments that came at them at bay. The units were decimated by the enemy. Johann realized his folly and how his men were unprotected he ordered a charge out of the city gates.

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1446hrs
Johann sword was swinging wildly at the Horse Archers and it was hard to tell who was friend or foe at this point it did not matter. He continued to hack and slash till the enemy was no longer a threat.

https://i201.photobucket.com/albums/aa55/northnovas/Johann/c5.jpg

1506hrs
The Captain of the Hungarians fell at the melee in front of the gates. Johann was getting braised with arrows and slashed but he did not yield. The victory would be his.

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1530hrs
Success the gates had been cleared Johann retreated back into the city and his unit was badly depleted. The Hungarians had lost some of their fight but the wall was still there’s.

https://i201.photobucket.com/albums/aa55/northnovas/Johann/d4.jpg

[Northnovas]

Vienna 1368 Part2

1600hrs
It was getting late into the afternoon. The Hungarians exhausted began to loose their place on the wall has fresh Regiments of the Militia were send up.

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1739hrs
Finally a break through the Hungarians were pushed off the walls and only a regiment of Bosnian Archers remained the Militia came down through the tower and attacked to remove them. General Hapsburg was also out in front of the walls. He had made the charge with Johann and though he was battered he rallied the men to finish off the stragglers.

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1807hrs
The men could final rest the last few arrows fired from the walls at lone targets. The siege was lifted and it was a victory for the 1st AHA.

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1822hrs
The 1st AHA rode out to meet General Hapsburg. When the Captain rode up Hapsburg had a puzzled look and asked ‘Where is Count Zirn?” It was only then that the Captain realized the leader was not with them.
The report on the prisoners was given and Hapsburg ordered them released realizing there was standing army besieging the city.

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1903hrs
A search began for Zirn out in the fields and in the city. A old man sent out to help clean up the dead and the wounded saw the Count lying up against the dismantled ram. He made no noise but was still alive he had an arrow into his left side and the bag of his neck. The old man ran to the Captain to tell of his discovery.

Men rushed to the site. He was still breathing and the surgeon was called the men were afraid to move him. The men from Zirn’s Unit arrived and very carefully they lifted him on the stretcher.

The Count was brought to his residence. The surgeon made no attempt to remove the arrow no matter how uncomfortable they looked. The Count was trying to speak and making mumbled request “Max”.

The only Max was his younger brother who was a fine young man but not of age to command. The Count’s armor and clothing were slowly removed. Drenched in blood he was washed the surgeon was amazed at the deep cuts inflicted he had more then just a couple arrows and wondered how he was to remain alive.

Max had finally arrived in the room and was shocked at the blood stained sheets and pans of water that appeared to be full of blood then water. He was shocked to seeing his brother lying there stripped and bleeding with 2 arrows protruding in him and his right hand clutching a cloth. A piece of cloth that was not a bandage. The surgeon shook his head at the young Zirn to say that nothing could be done. Max nodded and then asked that all leave the room.

Max motioned to the surgen has he was leaving and whispered. "Make no news of this yet. Report the victory to the Chancellor but nothing else till I advise."

Johann and Max were left alone.

[_Tristan_]

Paris is burning ?

Paris, 1370


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Smoke was rising from over the walls of Paris, sure signs of the depredations that the French were committing... Once a few years back, Hughes had already been the witness of such depredations when out of daring he rode with his retainers alone to snatch Paris from the French’s grasp...

Now the French were exacting vengeance on the loyal Germans still inhabiting the town... On their way south, Hughes and his men had crossed the path of many refugees fleeing the city, horror written on their faces by the unholy acts they had witnessed... They spoke of black masses celebrated in churches, of black robed men taking virgin girls out of their homes never to be seen again...

Hughes was and felt in his heart that he was a Crusader of old... One of those men that took up the Cross in the firm belief that they were doing so for the good of Christendom, to protect it from the forces of evil...

Now he will be Crusader, he would march on Angers but first Paris had to be freed from the Satanic minions of King Emery... His nemesis, the mind behind Roger de Mauchaut’s destruction of Hughes’ Order... de Mauchaut who now would be forever out of reach of Hughes, having been tried for heresy by Inquisitor Simon de Calce and now forever burning in the fires of Hell...

Not far from where Hughes stood on his comtemplating the city before him, he could see the camp of Captain Ehrart where plague was rumored to be still present.

Hughes had one of his crossbowmen come forward and hand him one of his bolts. He scribbled a message on a piece of parchment then rolled and tied it the to shaft of the bolt before giving it back to the crossbowman.

“Fire it towards the camp over there... Make it land the nearest you can to the command tent...”

The man cranked the bow of his weapon, took aim and let fly... Hughes followed the bolt as long as he could, the message stating that Ehrart and his men were under strict orders not to approach his on camp or enter the city... Soon after, a flag was raised and waved in the plagued camp, acknowledging the order.


******

Hughes set the bombard crew to destroying the gates of the city, Merowinger having been sent west towards Caen and gather intelligence on King Emery’s whereabouts.

A few well places shots quickly destroyed the reinforced gates.


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Hughes sent his crossbowmen forward to secure the walls, providing fire support while he rode with his bodyguards and the mercenary knights to take position into side streets, awaiting the French charge that was sure to come.

Sure enough, some pavise crossbowmen came running at the gate, the men on the walls letting loose at them while Hughes spurrd his horse forward.


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Soon enough, caught between the two units of cavalry and peppered with bolts from above, the men were cut down.


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A few footknights tried to came to the help of their fellows, but it was already too late and they met with the full charge of Hughes’ cavalry.


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All that remained was a unit of sergeants guarding another of the city gates. Hughes knew that fighting in close quarter in those streets would mean the death of too many of his men so he drove his men on the parvis of Notre-Dame, intent on baiting the French to come onto the open plaza.

Soon enough, the sergeants seeing the opportunity to get rid of knights in shiny armor, they came in a rush to chase Hughes and his men from the place.


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Hughes had them right where he wanted them… He left the parvis, seeing that his crossbowmen and arquebusiers had taken position on the other side of the plaza and were firing on the assembled sergeants, striking them down.


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The sergeants seeing the trap close on them ran to the other side of the parvis, intent on killing as many of the riders as they could and putting as much distance as possible between them and the shooters.


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Only a few of them reached the other side of the plaza.


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Hughes and his men drove them back to the plaza at lance point to finish them in front of God’s house, so that He may witness the work accomplished in His name this day.


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******

Hughes entered the Cathedral, fearing what he would discover…

Guillaume was at his side and having taken a few steps into the darkness of the vaulted building, lit only by a few smoky sconces, he ran outside, the sound of dry retching reaching Hughes.

“Pour l’amour de Dieu…” was all that Hughes could say.

That most holy of places has been completely desecrated, the figure of Christ turned upside down over the altar. Many unreadable scribbling had been painted on the walls…

Hughes made his way through the overturned pews to the altar, falling on his knees when he saw how it had been used by the vermin that had occupied the city.

A brown coat of caked blood completely covered the altar, a strong ferrous reek still emanating from it.

A sudden noise made Hughes leap to his feet, sword in hand. Dropping his helm to the ground, he made his way to one of the aisles where a confessional was built against the wall of the cathedral. Leaning against the wooden partition, Hughes could hear a whizzing breathing noise inside.

Tearing the drapes aside, he drove his gauntleted hand at face level, hearing a satisfying bone-crushing smack. Closing his fist on what he identified as a throat, he pulled the man out of his hiding place.

It was a rather young and pale-faced fellow, almost toothless, his nose bleeding from where Hughes’ fist had connected with his head. The man was dressed in some farcical clerical robes, robes that had surely belonged to a true priest before being appropriated by this cultist. Dried blood was splattered all over the robes turning them from their original white to a dark brown.

The man shivered, his hands closed on Hughes’ wrist trying to release the pressure around his throat. His bulging eyes finally noticed the red cross on Hughes’ tabard.

“A thousand curses be upon you, Templar”, the man croaked “Our King has destroyed your Order… You won’t be able to hinder the coming of the Lord… Our Gods will come and destroy yours… Their fires will cleanse the World of your kind…”

Tightening his grip around the man’s throat, silencing him, Hughes asked him the question that had been burning his mind for so long.

“Speaking of your King, where can I find him? I wish to pay my respects to him… Tell me and I might let you live…”

A flash of joy briefly passed in the man’s eyes, seeing a way out of his predicament. He nodded, unable to speak, his windpipe crushed in Hughes’ hand.

Releasing him a bit, Hughes waited for him to speak.

“King Emery… Yes, you wish to find him… I can tell you… Will you truly let me go, then?”

“Yes, I’ll release you…”

“You will find him in Caen… He is preparing our Lord’s arrival, praised be His name… The Ritual is almost complete, Our Lord and his allies will soon walk among us… You will bow or be destroyed…” the man finished his sentence almost chanting.

Hughes threw the man down towards the doors of the Cathedral where Guillaume, the old Templar seemed to cry softly. Kicking the cultist all the way to the doors to prod him onwards, Hughes thought about the man’s revelations.

The man finally emerged into the light where Guillaume caught him by the cowl of his robes.

Turning to Hughes who strode out of the Cathedral, the man cried.
“You promised you would release me…”

With a flick of his finger, Hughes signaled Guillaume to let go of the man.

A wide grin spread across the man’s face.

“Our Lord will welcome you and forgive you your sins, He…”

A swift stroke of Hughes’ sword Vengeance cut the man short, his head severed from his shoulder falling to his feet, blood gushing from his neck and running in rivulets down the steps of the Cathedral…

“I said I would release you… I have released you from this world…” Hughes spat at the cultist corpse.


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[_Tristan_]

Catching the Devil by the tail

Caen, 1370


Having seen to the burning of the cultist’s corpse, Hughes rode to Ehrart’s camp on his own. He needed to ride as fast as possible to Caen but couldn’t leave Paris without a garrison.

He was surprised when riding in the camp to find so many of the men seemingly in good health.

Finally, he reached the commander’s tent.

“Captain Ehrhart ?” Hughes called while getting off his horse.

A man bearing golden knots of rank on his shoulders exited the tent, visibly having some difficulties to walk and with black boils on some exposed parts of his flesh.

“My Lord, you should not have come here, the plague is still present in this camp as you can see by looking at me…” A dry cough cut Ehrart short, bending him double.

“What of your men? They seem in rather good fighting shape…” Hughes answered, stepping a few steps back from Ehrart.

“Most of them were still ill yesterday, it must be a miracle,” Ehrart answered

“A miracle…” Hughes mused, thinking that maybe his actions had granted this men some reprieve from the disease.

“I’ll take all the cured men from your command and have them garrison the city. For reasons you will understand, you will not be allowed to join them until cured yourself, do you understand ?”

“Yes, my Lord” answered Ehrart.

“I am sure that you will get well soon, the plague is abating and another miracle is on its way… God walks with us”

Jumping on his horse, Hughes saluted Ehrart and rode through the camp, giving orders to sergeants to enter the city.


******

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Riding hard through the snow-covered countryside, Hughes and his men finally reached Caen.

Night had fallen when the walls of the castle where finally visible.
A mephitic sulphur-reeking fog had spread on the castle, a sure sign of some devilish works…


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A lone rider came out of the gates headed directly to where Hughes was watching the castle. Before being able to identify him certainly, Hughes already knew who it was from the distinctive stance he had on his horse. Merowinger was a man of cities, of their underground, a horse was almost as strange to him as a boat to a desert-dweller…

“Hi, Michel…” Hughes greeted him when the rider was within earshot.

“My Lord” Merowinger answered.

“Is Emery in the castle or was it a wild goose chase?” Hughes asked anxiously.

“He’s here, my Lord but…” Merowinger left his sentence unfinished not sure how to announce the bad news.

“What is it? Speak out…” Hughes demanded.

“He rode out this morning and has not come back yet… He went hunting apparently so I did not see fit to follow him,” Merowinger answered, a bit shame-faced. “Still I managed to gain us access to the castle… A bit of powder into some of the guards food and a good night sleep for them… There is something disturbing though… The castle is completely empty except for the few remaining guards and the King and his retainers… Those men give me the creeps, I must say… All of them black-garbed with killer looks on their faces… Something will happen soon, something important but I don’t know what…”

At this point a hunter’s horn sounded from the forest to the west of the castle and riders came out of the trees…

“It must be the King and his men”, Merowinger stated excitedly, “They’re back”.

Hughes peered at the riders and noted something strange.

“I think that some of those riders are too small to be knights… If I didn’t know better I would say they are children…” Hughes said, squinting to get a better look.

“Might be ladies…” Thierry, Hughes’ swordbearer, observed.

“Children or ladies, it still doesn’t make sense…” Hughes stated, “Anyway we shall know soon enough… We ride… Onwards!”

Hughes spurred his horse, intent on catching the King’s men in the open…

“Emery !!!” he howled

The foremost rider turned to look in his direction and prodded his horse to run faster to the safety of the walls.

Seeing how he wouldn’t be able to reach him in the open, Hughes veered towards the gate from which Merowinger had come out.


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The King and his men pushed their horses hard managing to gain the second ring of fortifications before Hughes could reach them.


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Hughes stopped his horse and took stock of the situation. Apparently, King Emery was in and hurry to return to the dungeon’s courtyard. His men were more numerous and fanatical than Hughes’ own and such a close quarter fight would mean the doom of Hughes’ men.

Van Rijn finally joined Hughes with the remainder of the men, Merowinger among them.

“I have never been able to enter the dungeon but I know a way to the ramparts that would look down on the courtyard.” Merowinger stated.

“Go and see what you can find of what is happening in this courtyard while I try to organize our assault” Hughes ordered.

Merowinger led his horse up towards the dungeon.

Hughes started giving orders to his men.

“Van Rijn, you will take your pikemen and place yourself on the road to the main access to the dungeon. You will prevent Emery’s flight at all cost. Thierry and Guillaume, you will lead our crossbowmen and arquebusiers up the walls of the courtyard and rain shots and arrows down on them… Impart those orders to your men…”

Hughes then sat his horse, while orders were given to the men.

Merowinger finally came back, riding as hard as he could, as if chased by Satan himself.

His face was ashen, his teeth clattering, more than fear was visible on his face. He remained speechless, shivering slightly. Hughes slapped out of his torpor.

“Michel, what have you seen?” Hughes asked urgently.

“The children, my Lord… They are going to kill the children…” Merowinger said with tears in his eyes.

“What ?”

“Some kind of ritual, my Lord… The knights are all assembled before some heathen altar and chanting incantations in no language that I know of… King Emery and some priest-garbed man are presiding over it… The children are tied to poles all around the courtyard” Merowinger continued.


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“We need to act fast then… Men, you have you orders… Take up your positions as silently as possible…” Hughes ordered.”When we are all in place, I’ll ride in and confront Emery then I expect Hell will break loose… Michel, lead Guillaume and Thierry to the walls…”

Men took their places…

Van Rijn and his pikemen on the shortest route out of the dungeon…


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… while Merowinger led the shooters through a back door up the courtyard walls, unbeknownst to the French knights…


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Soon the men were all in position.


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The chanting had gotten louder and louder as the men made their progress through the Citadel.

Now it was reaching some kind of paroxysm, the clouds and the fog above the castle seemed to aggregate into some dark ominous mass.

"Here, O Youth--a libation! Wine of the cosmos--nectar of the starry spaces--Linos--Iacchus--Ialemus--Zagreus--Dionysos--Atys--Hylas--sprung from Apollo and slain by the hounds of Argos--seed of Psamathe--child of the sun--Evoe! Evoe!"

Hughes sat his horse right out the postern gate of the dungeon, watching as King Emery and the priest-robed figure made cabbalistic signs with their hands, their bodies seeming to distort.

The priest produced an obsidian-black bladed knife from under his robes and offered it to the King, pointing with his hand to the nearest of the pole where a young boy was tied.

"Ya-R'lyeh! Ya-R'lyeh" he shouted. "Cthulhu fhtaghn! Nigurat-Yig! Yog-Sototl--"

Seeing what was to happen, Hughes bellowed an order, spurring his horse through the gates.

“Fire !!”

Not waiting a second, the crossbowmen and arquebusiers let fly down in the courtyard.

A bolt thudded in the pole in front of the King, missing him by inches. The priest had no such luck, a bolt taking him between the eyes.

Emery ran for his horse under a deluge of fire, his knights had all jumped on horseback following him through the main gate.


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Hughes and his men reached the emptying courtyard as the last of the knights rode out through the other gate.

“Free the children and take them to safety” Hughes ordered his men before turning his horse towards the main gate.

Van Rijn men braced for the impact of King Emery’s bodyguard charge.


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The French King tried to force the passage but his horse stopped dead in front of the pikes sending him flying to impale himself on some other pikes.


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Their way blocked by the pikes, the remainder of the King bodyguards were shot down from above by the arquebusiers, lead shot penetrating the finely wrought black armor plates of the men.


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Hughes dropped from his horse and rushed forward through the thrashing horse and moaning men littering the ground in front of the pikes.

Finally, he reached King Emery seemingly lifeless body. Van Rijn had a golden circlet in the hand, the King’s Crown that has flown to the ground when he fell from his horse.

Standing over the body, Hughes felt drained of all emotions.

Suddenly, the King’s hand rose to his helmet and lifted the visor, revealing the face of a madman, the mouth drooling spittle and blood.

“I destroyed your Order” Emery moaned through clenched lips. “You cannot be alive, all are dead… Are you a ghost? Why are you here?”

“I am here because vengeance must be enacted on you… The price is to be paid in blood… Your blood, my Vengeance…” With these words, Hughes plunged his sword deep into the King’s body aiming for the heart, the forged blade cutting through plate, mail, cloth and muscle to pin the King to the ground of the country he had destroyed, soaking the snow with his blood.


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******

A few days later, Hughes entered the master swordsmith workshop.

The master himself came to greet him.

“Are you done yet?”Hughes asked.

“Yes, my Lord… Everything as you required… We plucked the jewels out, we melted the gold and we worked it to your wish. If you will follow me…” said the smith, bowing to Hughes.

Hughes entered deeper into the workshop where the sound of the forge was deafening. The smith led him to a cubicle that served as his office on the first floor of the building.
Toweling his soot-stained hands on an already off-white piece of cloth, the smith took a large form draped into what was once a French flag.

Deposing it on his desk, the smith unrolled the flag revealing to Hughes his reworked sword. Taking it by the blade, the man presented the pommel to Hughes : a pommel fit for a King, a pommel made from the French King’s crown…

[FactionHeir]

Caen Southern Border Region, 1372 AD


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[Ramses II CP]

Sallying against Stenkil, 1374

Absorbed in the affairs of his Chancellorship Fritz had hardly been in the field at all for years. Indeed, he'd barely noticed what was going on in his own city. Now, after countless years of waiting Prince Stenkil of the Danes had at long last mustered his courage to lead his exceptional army forth against Arhus. Fritz had frequently felt an urge to set sail for Stockholm and not be too concerned with the Prince, but his army was exceptionally powerful, and with Duke Dieter almost always trapped in Madgeburg by the ceaseless waves of Poles there would be little to prevent Stenkil from rampaging through the heart of the Reich if he wasn't forced to turn aside and deal with Fritz and Arhus first.

Just today Stenkil's men had arrived at the walls and begun constructing their siege equipment. Fritz and Robert watched them from the ramparts as they scurried about actively, and had a good laugh over their own plans. The garrison of Arhus had been mightily increased, including multiple companies of pikes and arquebusiers who should be able to deal quite a shock to that Danish heavy cavalry, and the men had been drilled heavily by Gunther on night fighting in recent weeks. Fritz would give the Danes two hours after sunset to settle down well in their blankets, and then he would lead his men in a full scale sally out of the walls.

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Crossbow militia held the walls as Fritz began to organize the push out of the south gate. Before the first man could set foot outside, however, a series of incredible booms sounded across the field. Fritz looked about wildly for a moment, convinced Stenkil had snuck artillery into position, but the rest of the men were taking it calmly, as though they expected it. Turning to his swordbearer, Kurt, Fritz said, 'What in the name of God is that?'

'Cannon towers Lord Fritz,' Kurt's unceasing grin widened just a notch further, if such a thing were possible, 'Lovely sound, eh?'

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With the gates open Fritz could see, over the heads of his men as they left the city, the devestation wrought on Prince Stenkil's weary soldiers as they struggled to assemble.

'Why did no one inform me of their presence here?' There was a note of genuine anger and frustration in Fritz's voice now, as he contemplated the past years, 'A bloody child could've held these walls with those things up there? Why, we could've sacked Stockholm and retaken Oslo already!'

Kurt's smile didn't slack at all, but he turned to Robert to answer the question and manage Fritz. Robert swallowed nervously, and replied, 'Well, m'lord, you see... You're the Chancellor. We all just, ahh, assumed you knew all about 'em. Right lads?'

Shaking his head Fritz glanced up at one of the towers as another explosive shot rumbled out of it, 'I must be getting old. I should have known about these. Surely I read reports concerning it a dozen times, and just didn't pay attention. Well, order the men down off the walls to join the sally. I want to come to grips with Prince Stenkil myself, not have him shot down from miles away!'

Coming out Fritz had his lines arranged exactly as expected, with two companies of pikes and arquebusiers on the right, one pair on the left, and another company of pikemen guarding the handgunners, who would press forward with their heavier armor and absorb the mass of the enemy's return fire. In the center was the bombard guarded by crossbowmen, and behind the pikemen on both sides were cavalry, Fritz's guards to the right and Teutons to the left. Even as his men were still organizing themselves Fritz saw the Danish siege tower collapse in on itself from cannon shot.

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On the left the Handgunners pushed forward enough to try to get their weapons in range, which brought a quick response from the enemy archers and cavalry. The right side had their arquebusiers deployed correctly already, which allowed the pikemen to catch the charge of the Huscarls directly on their long weapons as the gunners retired through their ranks. Certainly there were some losses, but the momentum of the Danish charge was broken, and half the horse died on impact.

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On the center left the arquebusiers had deployed too quickly, and their pike guards were not yet set. When the charge of the Huscarls struck it was extremely destructive. Half a company of gunners died before the pikes could drive off the enemy cavalry.

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Further around the left side Danish War Clerics declined to charge into the pikes protecting the handgunners and tried to ride around them, where they were met by Teutonic Knights. A fierce struggle broke out, with the veteran War Clerics tearing into the more numerous Teutons.

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In the center the second company of War Clerics tried to bring a charge to bear against Fritz's bombard, but half their numbers were cut down by the steady hands of the pikemen, and the rest quickly broke and fled.

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On the right another company of Huscarls tried the pike line and was turned back with heavy losses. Though the remaining Danish cavalry would continue to attempt their charges, the mass of them was already broken, and the rest could not effectively come to grips with the gunners that troubled them. To the left Prince Stenkil at last committed his own cavalry, on the far side from Fritz's clear banner. Fritz immediately roared an order for his men to ride that way, but it was too late. The weakened company of handgunners fired a volley which tore Stenkil from his horse and destroyed the morale of his guardsmen.

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The Teutons pursued aggressively, and Fritz arrived too late. With the cannons at the central gate still firing while the rest of his men filtered out it was too dangerous to attempt a pursuit in person, and the body of the Danish Prince was clearly visible in the snow anyway. Fritz pounded his thigh in frustration, and looked about for an enemy. There, in the center, a smallish company of Norse Swordsmen had come to grips with Fritz's arquebusiers. Immediately the charge was sounded! The Danes, seeing their hated foe coming, broke off and counter charged.

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The melee was glorious and brutal, but brief. All the remaining Norse Swordsmen rushed into the fight and managed to cut down several of Fritz's guardsmen, but in the end they were slaughtered to a man.

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The utter annihilation of their infantry caused the rest of the Danish army to lose heart, and they fled the field. With the cannons at last silenced Fritz rode out in pursuit, but few men were captured. Out there Fritz saw clear evidence of the wisdom of his earlier decision not to chase Stenkil's guardsmen, as very few of the Teutons returned from their pursuit. The bloody, cannon chewed field bore mute testimony to the incredible power of the tower mounted serpentines.

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Ransom on the few prisoners would be declined. The battle was strangely unsatisfying. Viewing the field Fritz von Kastilien, who had seen and perpetrated many hideous acts of cold blooded butchery, shuddered at the thought of what warfare might become. This idea of killing men by the dozen whom you could barely see, it struck him as somehow barbaric, uncivilized.

Turning to his lancebearer, Bergin, Fritz called, 'Will the Prince's corpse hold together enough to hang him from the gates, or did the shot chew him apart? I don't want any of these former Danes getting the idea in their heads that just because I'm away the city won't be well in my grip. Maybe if we wrap the bits up in a fishing net?'

Sighing deeply at the sight of his men collecting the remains of Stenkil, Fritz thought, still, it was a victory, and a city of the Reich saved at small cost to her soldiers. The cannons might be uncivilized, but at least they're effective.

Signals were sent to the waiting mercenary ships, who sailed up to the walls and took on Fritz with the longbowmen of his retinue aboard the faster vessel, and his bombard and the finest company of arquebusiers aboard the slower craft. They sailed for Stockholm, to make an end at last of the independence of the Danish people.

:egypt: