So, there is this knight, right, and he goes of to a crusade and before he goes, he rounds all of his servants and his wife, says good-bye, bla, bla, and then he calls his best friend to his estate, points him to an overseer of all his lands and so on. Then he goes 'My friend, among all of my possessions, I will entrust you with the most valuable; my wife.' There he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a key. 'This' he says 'is the key to the virginity belt' - you know what that is, right? Of course you do. So, he goes 'This is the key to her belt, and I give it to thee for safekeeping until I have returned, my faithful friend.' Then they hug, the knight's friend pledges to look after the knight's possessions - including the large-bosomed maiden, he,he - and the knight rides off to join the crusade. Hardly did he ride for ten minutes when his friend comes galloping after him, waving and shouting out loud: 'Lord, you gave me the wrong key'
Luka grinned and spread his arms in there-you-have-it gesture while Mihael gave him a frosty look that fitted the winter surroundings more then well.
So?, Luka asked, grinning like a school boy. It is funny, you know.
Mihael took a deep breath.
Damn that day when father took pity and bought you off from that traveling circus.
Now, that hurts, dear brother. Luka said, grabbing his chest as if his heart ached. You wound me deeply, you know.
I just thought that there should be some sort of the virginity belt for your damn mouth. I would pay handsomely to get my hands on one of those.
You would have done better if you had laid your hands on that handsome peasant maiden that had her eyes on you in that tavern last night; you sure wouldn't be in such a rotten mood you are in now.
It is your damn mouth running all morning, rimbling and rambling as if there is no tomorrow, that hurts my ears and dampens my temper.
The way it seems, that might fit well, 'cause we will very likely not see another morning, my dear brother, so I would like to make up for the lost time and tell you each and every joke and try and lighten that ill humor you must have inherited from our mother's side of family.
Mihael looked at Luka with a most concerned expression, then he looked away to the horizon. Damn, now I do wish them to come as soon as possible. It just can't get worse.
Well, look at the bright side; at least it's not snowing anymore.
As if there is not more than enough snow already. Mihael suddenly stopped and turned around to Luka. Can the arquebusiers fire when it's snowing?
Now it was Luka's turn to look confused. I don't know… Never thought of that, actually. I don't think it gets that wet when it snows… But it does get really cold… What if the gunpowder freezes?
They looked at each other for a long moment and both suddenly started grinning. Man, I hate gunpowder and anything that has to do with it Luka said, upon which Mihael nodded.
I agree. If everything is alright, they can do reasonably well, but against a good cavalry charge or even a spear charge they are defenseless. Not a unit that I would entrust with holding the center of my lines.
Yes, lucky us to have no less then five of them Luka busted out and for a moment the two brothers laughed loudly and with true amusement. For a moment men looked up to their commanders sitting before their tent and laughing like they've gotten St. Vidas dance, but then they also grinned at the scene and continued on with their work, cleaning their weapons and following their businesses.
Oh, mine… Luka sighed as he slowly calmed down, wiping his eyes while he was still grinning. This is really humiliating. Stuck on the edge of the world in some forsaken land which name I can't even speak out –
Ireland. Mihael said absent-mindedly.
-buried in snow up to my medieval behind with only few units of Italian infantry and chivalric knights to rely upon while there is a massive army of Rebels closing in on us. Brother, I really hoped that I would die a comfortable death of exhaustion in some fine Venetian brothel, surrounded with oriental beauties that smell like jasmine and are as soft as silk.
Tough luck.
You can say that again.
Though luck.
Luka stared at his brother. Are you suddenly developing a sense of humor? Let me warn you, dearest brother, I sure couldn't survive that shock, even if I, by some act of miracle, did survive this little skirmish we are bound to face here.
I don't think it will be a little skirmish, but I think we will survive. Mihael reached for the glass of warm black vine the servant brought to them. We are not finished yet, not by a long shot.
If we only could get some reinforcements here, I would agree, but all the seas are blockaded, and we have no castle to fall back to.
We don't need anyone, Luka, we are elite, and that means something. Mihael said thoughtfully. Then he pointed out to the near soft hill. And we have that.
Luka followed the direction and looked at the crew of the demi-culverin that worked around their machine. He gazed at them and their movements that made little sense to him and sighed doubtfully. You really believe that devil's device could save us?
All we need is an edge, Luka. And I believe that thing and our guns can give us the edge we need to survive. I don't depend on them; I never could.
Mihael?
What about those kerns? I never fought them, I don't know anything about them.
Well, basically they are javelin men, they only use some sort of darts.
Darts? What do you mean?
They are only one feet long, or something, I don't know exactly.
That is no weapon for a man
I hope you are right.
Let me tell you something, my dear brother, Luka said and leaned over the table, grinning like a weasel the only one feet long dart I have is one I'll never waste on no Irish rebel fool, if you get my point.
Luka, you damn Saint Jago monkey
Luka laughed out loud and drank some more vine. He looked over the hills that surrounded them, observed the snow covered trees and benches that were bent under the burden of the surprising and unexpected snow that fell much earlier this year. The snow has stopped falling and it wasn't all that cold, but it didn't seem that it will melt any time soon, Luka thought depressed. He pulled cloak tighter around his shoulder and glanced thoughtfully in the distance.
Can't blame them, though. Mihael looked at him puzzled. What?
I can't blame the Irish. This is their land and all they want is to reclaim it for themselves. They don't want to be under the rule of some unknown master that lives two thousand miles away from them. This… This is how it should all be. For all of us, everywhere.
Brother, be careful. Mihael spoke silently, yet firm, fixing his glance upon Luka. You are standing on killing ground when you speak those words. Talk no more of such things. Eyes and ears of the Emperor are everywhere, in these troubled times it may need little to draw his wrath upon you.
I know. But I cannot help myself thinking… The Hungarians-
The Hungarians were strangers to us too. Mihael interrupted him harshly. Their ways were not ours, and the tributes we kept paying were the only guarantee that we wouldn't have to face them in war. We all knew that we would lose, but we would have crippled them beyond point of recovery, and others would have overrun them, so they didn't want the war either. What was brought to life was an alliance of unequal partners, and I have shed not one tear when the Italians have chased them away. Always remember, it is the Italian flag and their colors that are imprinted on Croatia, we are at their doorstep and could never we break us free, not that close to their seat of power.
Luka sighed and nodded slowly. Yes…I know. Mihael watched his brother closely. Maybe some day, Luka. Maybe some day we will be free and our own masters… But not today.
They set there silently for a little longer and then Mihael stood up.
It is time; the Rebel army will be here soon. Are you ready?
Luka looked up grinning. Like a bow-string.
Fine. Mihael nodded, smiling. Come; I should go and speak to people before we embark into this unfair endeavor and deploy our troops for the final engagement.
Why you want to speak to the troops? Luka asked, scratching himself on his head. They are already desperate enough
Mihael shook his head and laughed. That's the way I like you, you awkward goat-lover. Come on, let us go.
***
Mihael wasn't pleased with the battlefield that has presented itself, but there was neither time nor opportunity to seek out a more suitable area. After a short while he chose a smaller hill and deployed his troops across it, while left flank came close to a small portion of woods. Luka shook his head and pointed out that the rebels will definitely try to break through from there, using the trees as cover, upon which Mihael only nodded.
Exactly what I count upon. he said.
Luka looked at his brother and then he just sighed and waved of. “I guess you know what you are doing, as always. I’ll be off to the right flank.”
“No, you stay behind with me.”
“I don’t think I understood that.”
“Yes, you did, you insubordinate jackass, you stay behind and wait for my sign.”
“But I-“
“Leave it to Garibaldi, damn it” Mihael interrupted him annoyed. “What you want to do with 4 feudal knights, huh?”
“More out there then I would hiding behind the guns, that’s for sure You are the last chivalric knight that has remained; it’s a real shame you couldn’t get a new unit to lead, brother, but I can do a lot as a shock troop, even with only four men”
“And you’ll get your opportunity, brother, just be patient.”
Luka looked at him suspiciously. “You won’t cheat on me, right?”
“You’ll get your chance to get killed, don’t worry.”
“Fine. But don’t push it too far, I won’t wait forever”
The rebel army appeared on the horizon, and then they have disappeared again as they walked down the hill, they climbed the second one and slowly lined up on the hill across the Italian defense force. The Irish were slow and self-assured, Mihael thought grimly, and they hardly showed any sign of concern. Well, soon they will get one, he thought and observed as they regrouped and formed an attack formation, but he wasn’t going to give them not one more peaceful second. He turned to the captain of the demi-culverin crew and gave a sign.
“FIREEE” the captain shouted and an instant later the pleasant winter silence was interrupted by a great and sudden blast from the culverin; seconds later, in the very middle of the enemy lines the cannonball hit the ground, killing and mutilating more people on it’s way, bouncing off and leaving the trail of the and wounded behind. Mihael observed the effect and watched the units waver and lose their formations and directions, and nodded with grim. “Fire at will, commander” he exclaimed, and hardly some forty seconds later the second shot rang out and even more rebels found their demise.
Soon the first ranks began a slow approach uphill towards the defenders line and Mihael stiffened in his saddle. Soon, he thought, soon they will be close enough, and the gunners will show their worth. He gazed to the right flank where Garibaldi broke out with his unit of chivalric knights and charged two units of Irish arquebusiers; the overzealous troops halted their approach and were hastily deploying themselves into firing lines, while the gallowglasses that marched behind them began running to catch up the charge, but it was already too late. Garibaldi's forty men came down upon the gunners and the Irish had only time enough to fire one single volley, killing four knights before they were overrun. Soon the gallowglasses reached the fight, but Garibaldi was already pulling of and outflanking the slower rebel infantry. The right flank was secured, and once the chivalric knights were out of the line of fire, the two arquebusier units on the right flank opened fire upon the rebels, and Mihael knew that there was no imminent threat on that portion of the field. He turned his attention back to the main body of the enemy army.
The Irish were advancing, slowly but steadily, deploying their kerns in the front rows and gallowglasses following them. By now, all of the enemy troops where at the bottom of the hill so that demi-culverin couldn't pose a threat to them any longer; Mihael knew that would happen from the beginning, but he didn't want to risk the cannon and position him where the Irish actually had the chance to get to it. It was up to the guns now; the rebels closed in and stepped in the range of the Italian guns, but nothing happened. The kerns were getting closer and closer…
Then, suddenly and without any warning, another order was screamed and the entire front rank of the deployed Italian army fired one single, devastating volley, loud as thunders themselves and synchronized as almost as one man; the Irish lines wavered and dozens of men fell down, lifeless or blood-covered and screaming, clutching their intestines or holding their severed limbs from where the blood was flowing like being spilled from a bucket. It was a horrible, yet fascinating sight, and the Irish halted their approach for a moment, their lines losing all of their order. But the Italian arquebusiers weren't idle, and the first rank was falling back while the second stepped forward and raised their weapons.
TAAAAAKE AAAAIM the Italian commander shouted, splitting his lounges and raising his sword, and the soldiers followed the command. Mihael could see different faces from the enemy lines, looking up in fear to the Italian lines on the top of the hill. To them, he thought, we must appear like gods high on Olympus, spilling lightning and thunder upon them, and for a moment, just for a short moment, he felt compassion for those terrified men. Though familiar with the gunpowder and guns, the horror of experiencing them in battle could easily break a man's heart.
FIIIIREEEE the commander screamed and waved with his sword as if he was already cutting heads of his fallen opponents, and the second volley was fired, bringing more death and suffering to the rebels. Mihael asked himself whether the gunners have lost their hearings from that awful noise, and at the very same instance the first Irish kerns appeared from the woods on the left flank. The Italian gunners on the outmost position of the left flank turned to face the new, immediate threat and Mihael knew that the next few minutes will decide the outcome of the battle. The main body of the Irish was hit, but it was long from destroyed, and already the gallowglasses began charging between the thin lines of surviving kerns that swirled their javelins at the Italians, taking the first toll from the defenders. The kerns that came out of the woods were undoubtedly followed by more gallows, Mihael thought, and made a decision in the very instant.
Chaaarge he screamed, and at the sound of his voice the steady Italian lines moved, and when the moved, they moved like an avalanche. The arquebusiers loosened their formations and the Italian infantry and the chivalric sergeants charged through them, attacking the gallowglasses and kerns that were coming up the hill. Mihael waved of to his brother, pointing out a direction, and Luka immediately understood, charging the entire unit of kerns with his four remaining feudal knights and hitting their exposed flank. Mihael had time enough to send a short, silent prayer for his brother's safety, then he unsheathed his sword and, as only chivalric knight, he charged the kerns; an instant later the arquebusiers did the same and followed him.
If the Irish rebels could have described the Italian general that came down upon them as a hawk upon it's pray, they would have said that he was a huge man in a shining armor, riding a beast that was bigger than any horse they've ever seen and waving a sword that was bigger than any Zweihander or a Bastard sword they knew of. They could have said how great and terrifying the rider was, how fearless and demonic, as if he was the reincarnation of the invulnerable Achilles, begged on the merciless destruction of the Troy. Perhaps some of them could have described how frightened they were because he seemed to defy the death itself, or even to be the death himself, coming to get them
Alas, none of those could have described him, because by the sunset, all the kerns that challenged him were dead, and the small hill was covered by dead bodies and crows that came down for a feast. The snow, trampled down and blood drained, was only reminder of a mass route of the Irish army and merciless killings that took place on this battlefield on the other side of the world.
