The citadel of Ajaccio stained the Corsican hillside like an unlanced boil. Squat and foreboding, it had been the seat of Milanese power since their expulsion from the Italian mainland. Its three immensely thick concentric walls encompassing massive training facilities from which the exiled merchants readied their armies for raids into Bavarian lands. They had even expended massive amounts of coin to obtain the services of a master swordsmith, ensuring that Milanese blades were always superior to those of their Imperial foes.
Lothar and Markus Steffen sat astride their war horses and stared at the spectacle. Better to keep their minds on the battle ahead than to think of what lay behind them. The Bavarian army had finally trapped the witch Danae in the wooded hills to the east two days before. Lothar shivered at the memory of the encounter.
*****
She cackled and laughed like a banshee. That was wrong. No one acted like this when their life was at an end, especially an end as grisly as the one she was meeting. It was all Lothar could do not to turn away in disgust. Her entrails spilled across the wooden plank. Her eyes were nothing more than charred smudges, dripping ichor across her cheeks. Her fingers and toes lay scattered across the ground like marbles, laying where they had fallen after each had been cut cleanly from her body. Yet still she grinned.
She could not see, could not point, did not even move, yet Lothar knew she was speaking to him.
*Your family is cursed, evil one. Nothing can save you now. The wrath your father invoked with his sin against Pope Gregory is but an infant, a babe of misery the likes of which you cannot comprehend.*
The torturer sliced cleanly through an intestine, severing it from her body, and tossed it into the witches face. She did not even shake her head to remove it.
*I glory in my end, for it is paradise in comparison to that which awaits every man who bears the Steffen name.*
Lothar could take it no more. He strode forward and impaled his dagger into the crone’s throat, pinning her head to the table and severing her spinal cord. Her last exhaled breath came through bubbling blood, but it carried with a sound that was so foully joyful that all within hearing distance began to murmur loudly and back away in fear. She was dead, but he had a feeling as if some greater evil had been unleashed…
*****
“LOTHAR!” Markus was shaking him by the shoulder. The eldest Steffen brother shook his head, as if waking from a deep sleep.
“Sorry, Markus. I have been having trouble concentrating ever since…”
Markus nodded. “I know, I have too. We all have.” He pointed towards the citadel. “That is why we must concentrate on our duty. Idle minds do the devil’s work, so let us put them to use. Do you think we can take it?”
Lothar pursed his lips. “It will be difficult, no doubt about it. Three solid ring walls, each must be breached in turn and they will not fall easily. We outnumber the Milanese by two to one, but other than the Steffen retainers and a small group of Teutons, we have nothing but untrained militia and a handful of Frankish mercenaries to call on. Scouts say that the Milanese defenders are knights to the last man, armed with watered steel that can shatter even the finest Bavarian weapon.”
Markus grinned. “At least they’re not led by a Steffen!”
Lothar snorted and shook his head. His brother was right about that. If the gossip from the local peasants held any grain of truth to it, Count Beca, the Duke of Milan’s heir, was possibly the worst military commander the world had ever seen. Apparently Danae had not liked him any better than she had them.
“It’s a good thing too. They’ve burned all the wood for miles around the castle. We’ve only been able to scrounge enough planks to assemble a single siege tower and a small ram. I would almost be tempted to return to Bavaria and come back with proper siege equipment, except that would require a fleet to transport us!”
Lothar did not know what had happened to the Imperial fleet. The Admiral had promised to return quickly with provisions for the army, but that had been weeks ago and not a single Imperial ship had been seen since. Nearly everything worth scavenging had been stripped from the land and sequestered inside the citadel. As a result, they only had a few more days’ worth of food before rations would have to be cut. When that happened, the army would begin to weaken and any chance at victory would evaporate. Yet attacking had its own risks, without a fleet to fall back to, defeat would mean certain death for every last man in the army.
“Ah, I’m glad you’re here, Markus.” Lothar put his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “If two Steffens can’t get this done, no one can.”
The difficulty was plain for all to see. The concentric ring walls would have to be taken one after another, yet the Bavarians possessed nothing that could strike at the inner gates except the single battering ram. If that ram was somehow destroyed, victory would be impossible, their food would run out, and the army would be obliterated. So, the ram had to be protected at all costs.
Lothar raised his sword. “Forward the tower!” He pointed it at a wall some ways to the west of the main gate. The gesture was dramatic, but unnecessary. The spearmen manning the siege engine knew their destination: a portion of wall on the flank of one of the groups of dismounted knights defending the outer wall. This particular group of militia were better armored and more experienced than their comrades, so they had been chosen. Once up on the wall, they would not have any support until the entire unit had disembarked on the top, allowing another unit to climb behind them. It would take only a few minutes, but in melee with elite defenders, they would be excruciatingly long minutes. Every last man prayed that Count Beca had demoralized his own men enough that the knights would break after only a short fight. If that happened, the outer wall could be taken without risk to the ram. If it did not…
As the siege engine neared the wall, fire arrows began to rain down on it from the few archers manning the nearby towers. The Bavarian watched, unblinking, as half a dozen, then a dozen, then a score of fire arrows thudded into the wooden structure. Even with a thick coating of mud to dampen the wood, it was nerve-wracking. Finally, the tower reached the outer wall and the men began to climb. Lothar spurred his horse forward, riding towards the wall, ignoring the arrows that whistled down around him. Perhaps his presence would reassure his men and keep them fighting harder. God knew that they needed every help they could get.
The militia poured out onto the ramparts and the effect on the defending knights was visible, even from the ground. They were nervous, subdued, and clearly not eager for combat; far from the usual disposition of trained knights. Yet they stood their ground, and that was enough. The combat was a brutal, close-quarters affair. As the militia continued to stream in off the tower, men were being continuously pushed towards the steel line of the Milanese. Despite their battle experience and padded armor, the militia were no match for the heavily armored swordsmen. Bodies began to pile up quickly on the ramparts, and few wore the green livery of Milan.
“Fight harder! Kill them!” Lothar half screamed, half pleaded with his men, but he knew it was futile. Two-thirds of the militia had already fallen and they had taken down no more than a handful of the defenders. There would be no access to Ajaccio by this route.
Lothar cursed in frustration. “Markus!” The younger Steffen heeded the call and rode to his brother’s side. “Send in the ram!”
“If it is set alight…”
“We have no choice, the tower is lost.”
“God help us if the ram is destroyed.” Markus crossed himself and rode off.
With an interminable slowness, the militia crossbowmen began to push the ram towards the main gates. The Steffen brothers cringed as the fire arrows began to thud into the animal hides layered on top.
The last of the militia on the wall broke and ran long before the ram reached the walls, freeing even more tower archers to concentrate on the approaching engine. The fate of the entire Bavarian army depended entirely on the hide coverings resisting the flames being directed at them. After an interminably long period, the ram finally entered the gatehouse overhang, protecting it from further arrows and allowing the crossbowmen to begin battering down the iron gate. The work went surprisingly quickly, and Lothar urged the entire army forward to exploit the opening as soon as it occurred.
He rode over to his brother. “Markus, take the cavalry and sweep the streets around the gatehouse clean as soon as the ram is through.” The younger Steffen nodded, lowered his visor, and rode off to battle. As the gate finally disintegrated in a shower of splintered metal, a cry of joy began to emanate from the rearmost ranks. From their vantage, they could see the Milanese knights disappearing from the ramparts. With the outer gate lost, they were abandoning the wall and retreating to the interior.
Markus’ spearhead caught a large group of the men exiting from a door near the gatehouse. A fierce melee erupted in the street, as knight slew knight and the rest of the army swarmed in behind them.
Markus’ sword was already thick with blood when Lothar rode up moments later. “These bastards won’t break and there is no way to get behind them!”
Lothar grimaced, “Find a way. I will ride deep into the city and try and cut off any other men from retreating to the second wall.”
Markus shook his head. “Alone? That’s insane. Take the Teutons with you, I can hold this line with what I have here, you will need them more than I.” The brothers nodded to each other, clasped arms, and broke in opposite directions.
Most of the streets of Ajaccio were tight, twisting affairs, dominated by towering buildings that loomed right up to the paving stones. As they rode, the knights scanned left and right, constantly on guard for an attack. Yet they did not see a soul until they neared the road that led through one of the middle wall’s gates. As they neared it, the houses began to thin out, their roof lines became lower, and their facings were set father back from the streets. With the added visibility, flashes of green could be seen in the breaks: Milanese soldiers on the move. The second group of knights was nearing the safety of the inner gatehouse when the Teutons broke on them.
*****
Back at the main gate, Markus was becoming increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress against the Milanese foot knights. He gestured to a lieutenant. “Send in the halberdiers to hold the line, I am going to find a way around these damned buildings. Perhaps if they are taken in the rear they will be broken.” The man nodded and turned to his business as Markus Steffen rode off.
*****
Lothar was coated in sweat. He swung his sword down at yet another opponent. He had been fighting for only moments, but already his sword arm ached.
He did not understand it. These men simply would not break. Despite the fact that they were outnumbered two to one, despite the fact that their commander was rumored to be the most inept military leader in history, they fought like demons. Even with the skill of the elite Teutonic order and his own trained bodyguards, the Bavarians were taking grievous casualties. It was a battle of attrition, and neither side was gaining on the other.
*****
Markus could see their backsides. It had taken an interminably long time to find a way through the streets and to the rear of the main gate defenders. Yet he knew the maneuver would pay off as he spurred his horse forward, urging his men to charge into the unprotected rear of the Milanese knights.
The effect was instantaneous. The knights, who had stood their ground without wavering for many minutes, slaying countless Bavarian knights and militia alike, crumpled like parchment under the impact of the heavy horse. The survivors tried to flee, but they were cut down where they stood. Finally, the main gate was clear and the ram could begin to move towards the second of Ajaccio’s great walls.
When order had been restored, he rode out to find his brother, the army trailing in the streets behind him. The two Steffens met at the site of Lothar’s battle outside the second gatehouse. The mound of dead, horse and man alike, told of the result.
“The entire outer ring is now secure, my brother.”
Lothar clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent work. You have down well today, Markus. I will see to it that you are properly knighted at the first possible occasion.” He winked. “As if that was ever in doubt.” He turned and gazed at the second gatehouse, standing silent and hostile. “Now… what shall we do about that?”
“Only the ram can breach it, but sending it straight in will risk its destruction once again by the inner tower archers. We need a distraction to draw the defenders away.”
“Indeed. During my days of schooling, my tutor made me study the records of many battles. I remember a few references to attacking armies gaining access to inner ring walls through unguarded doors in the outer walls. Let us send the militia around the city and try and find a route into the inner walls from the rear.” Markus nodded and rode off to give the orders.
While the militia marched around the flank of the middle wall, the crossbowmen resumed their toil and pushed the ram into position near the second gatehouse. At one point they ventured too close to a defended segment of inner wall, and half a dozen fire arrows lanced out before the men could react. They scrambled as fast as they could to push the all-important siege engine out of harms way, eventually taking a much slower back route to ensure that a similar encounter did not occur again. Finally, they arrived in position.
The minutes dragged on as the men waited for word from the flanking militia. Finally, an exhausted runner turned a corner and approached Lothar. He gasped a few words and then collapsed in a panting heap on a nearby stoop. Lothar screamed with rage and pounded his mailed fists against a nearby doorway.
“Can nothing go right today?! Heavens above, perhaps we really are cursed.”
Markus walked over to his brother. “What is it?!”
Lothar scowled. “The militia reached the wall and found the door, but they cannot get inside it! It is barred and those fools cannot figure out a way to break it down.”
“We have no choice, order in the ram.” Once again the fate of the entire army depended on a few scattered animal hides strapped to the top of the siege engine. The fire arrows thudded into ram and flesh alike, but the former remained unlit and the few burning crossbowmen were quickly replaced by their comrades. The Bavarians’ luck, if it could be called that, held and the ram reached the safety of the gatehouse overhang, where it began its bone-rattling work.
At least the men who operated it were competent at their task. The second iron portcullis was soon thrown asunder, but with his knights heavily depleted and with the infantry still on the other side of the castle, any attempt to cut off the retreating Milanese knights was foolish. The Count and the knights who held the middle wall escaped into the third ring of fortifications without molestation.
Lothar signaled to one of the dozen or so Teutons who had survived the earlier melee. “Go and open the side gate near the militia. And tell them to move on the double, the day is growing late and we cannot stay in this town at night if it remains hostile. We must make haste to overcome this last wall or all will be lost!”
The Teutons saluted and rode off to comply. When the side gate was finally raised, the entering militia were greeted by the mocking stares of the mounted knights. “Good work taking the walls, boys.” One of the Teutons jeered.
*****
Lothar conferred with Markus “Alright, let’s try this again. Scouts have reported that this time there is an unbarred doorway on the middle wall that should lead to the ramparts of the inner wall. It will take precious time, of which we are growing short, but it is still better than risking all to the whims of the flame for a third time.”
Markus chuckled. “Let’s hope the militia are capable of breaking into an open doorway. When we return to Italy, remind me to ask someone why the Bavarian Household Army is composed of nothing but militia.”
Lothar shook his head. “The entire Reich is falling to pieces around us, Markus. We had best start looking after ourselves.”
*****
The militia began their long march around the walls of Ajaccio once again. The knights holding the last wall followed them, manning the towers as they moved ever westward, towards the reportedly open doorway. At one point, a unit of militia strayed too close to the second inner gateway and three men were quickly cut down by defending arrows.
After many long minutes, yet another runner approached Lothar. “Milord, the men have reached the doorway and it is indeed open. But… but, there appears to be a second doorway some distance inside the wall which our men cannot breach. They cannot obtain the inner wall.”
Markus expected his brother to lash out again in anger, but this time only fatigue washed across his face. He waved his hand and dismissed the runner. “We are cursed Markus, make no mistake about it. Father was not wrong to spend so many years in that Roman abbey. The foul witch truly did have power over the fates.”
Markus broke the awkward silence that followed. “We cannot fail now that we are so close to victory. Only one wall remains between us and Count Beca. If we breach that, we have only a hard fight and then some hard drinking. If we can distract the defenders long enough to get the ram to the wall unmolested, we will have won.”
“And how, little brother, do you suggest we do that?”
“Simple. Tell the militia to assemble outside the secondary gateway.”
Lothar’s eyebrows arched. “They will be shot to pieces…” Markus nodded as his brother continued on, “…thereby depriving this gate of any archers who could set the ram alight! Markus, you’re a blood genius!”
*****
The defenders of the inner rampart realized the deception, but it was too late. Barely a dozen had made it to the gatehouse when the ram broke through the final barrier between the Bavarians and remaining Milanese garrison.
For once, not a single fire arrow had tested the integrity of the hides covering the top of the siege engine. The remaining defenders abandoned the walls and retreated to join the Milanese Ducal heir in the parade ground at the base of the keep. They would make a final stand in a place where retreat was not an option. The knowledge would surely make every Milanese soldier fight to his last breath, negating any advantage from Count Beca’s ineptitude.
Once again, the Teutons rode around the walls to open up the side gate and let the militia through.
There was no amusement on their faces this time when the infantry began to stream through the final wall; only mutterings about militia and the occasional curse.
The entire battered and exhausted Bavarian army began to assemble in lines around the remaining Milanese knights. Time was very short, but Lothar knew the final assault had to be properly prepared. The Milanese would not turn and run from this place, but his men might if they began to fear for their lives. Fear was a disease that spread as quickly as the wind. The men were already exhausted, many were bloodied, and without the training of professional soldiers their discipline was in doubt. They had to be held together for one final push.
The signal was given and the charge began from all sides. Lance, spear, sword, and halberd were all brought to bear against the enemy from every conceivable direction. The dismounted Milanese found themselves enveloped on both flanks, while Count Beca’s mounted bodyguards were taken simultaneously in front and rear. The spearmen and halberdiers were proving extremely effective against the horsemen. A quarter of the Count’s bodyguards were already down, but the Bavarians were taking losses as well.
As Lothar feared, the exhaustion and sheer terror of combat proved too much. Before his eyes, a battered group of spearmen broke contact with the Milanese bodyguards and fled. He blew his signaling horn in an attempt to rally the men, but it was futile. As if in a nightmare, the panic began to spread just as he had predicted. The halberdiers dropped their weapons and ran for safety. Count Beca’s rear was now totally free and his retainers turned their full force on the men to their front. It was only a matter of time before they too broke, at which point the entire army would disintegrate and the battle would be lost.
Lothar spurred his horse forward and charged into the battle with his counterpart’s men. He was tired and bloodied from the previous fighting in the street, while his opponents were fresh and outnumbered his men by two to one. Yet he had no choice. Lothar slashed wildly at all who surrounded him while simultaneously shouting encouragements to the wavering men all around him.
“Fight on, you Bavarian bastards! Fight for your Duke! Fight for God! Fight for yourselves!”
Men fell screaming all around him. Limbs were cleaved from bodies, helms split in twain. He parried a blow by a man to his right and riposted, driving his sword deep into his foe’s chest. He pulled back to yank the weapon out, but his grip slipped. The blade was embedded deep in bone and mail and his hand was slick with blood. The Milanese knight fell back off his horse, taking Lothar’s sword with him. Noticing the helpless Bavarian, another bodyguard unleashed a vicious assault on him. Lothar held his shield high with both hands, but he could do nothing except endure the blows that continued to break over him again and again.
By the sixth blow, his shield began to splinter apart. On the ninth blow, the left side collapsed altogether. The tenth landed directly on his left shoulder. The mail held and prevented what would surely have been a mortal cut, but the impact threw him from his horse. As he fell flailing, the remnants of his tattered shield disappeared into the confusion around him. He was totally defenseless, sprawled on the ground in the midst of the enemy.
The bodyguard who had so brutally battered him rode a few steps forward and brought his sword up for one final, devastating cut. Instinctually, Lothar raised his hands to shield himself from the blow that would end his life. They held there in the air, shaking heavily, while time seemed to slow around him.
He could see the glistening sweat on the face of a Bavarian militiaman. A drop of blood flew lazily through the air from an arcing blade. He could even see the ridges and slits on the hoof of a rearing horse. All was clear, all was visible, and all was silent.
It took Lothar a few seconds to realize that the fatal blow had not fallen. He lowered his hands and saw his brother, Markus, grappling with the Milanese knight who stood over him. The two men were locked, arm in arm, in a titanic battle of strength and will. With one immense push, Markus threw his opponent back, reached a hand to the dagger at his waist, and plunged it into the man’s chest. He screamed and fell from his horse.
Markus turned to look at Lothar, a grin on his face. He lowered his hand to help his brother up from the ground, but froze midway. His smile disappeared and the blood drained from his face. Then his forward momentum resumed and he toppled down, off his mount. As he fell, Lothar saw the sword pull free of his brother’s back. He screamed.
Markus’ own retainers fell on the man who had stabbed their Lord. The wave of battle flowed past them and the Milanese line crumbled. Somewhere, a joyous cry showed that Count Beca had fallen. Shortly afterwards, the sounds of battle turned into cheers of celebration.
Lothar Steffen heard none of it. Cradling his brother in his arms, he wept openly. Markus, his face white as snow, coughed once and gave a half smile. “I’ll be alright. It’s not that…” Markus never finished the sentence. His eyes closed and his head sagged as death took him. Lothar screamed.
It was several minutes before anyone dared to approach Lothar. Finally, one of his bodyguards summoned up the courage. “Milord, what shall we do with the captives?”
The eldest son of Gerhard Steffen did not look up. “Kill them. Kill them all.”
“The… the prisoners, my lord? They could give a good ransom.”
“The prisoners. The Count’s retainers. His servants. His wife. His children. His dogs. His horse. His people. All of them. They will pay for what they have done to my brother.” He looked up at the man. His eyes were red, his face streaked with tears. “The whole citadel. Put it to the sword.”
Minutes later the screams of death resumed. They continued for hours as the Bavarians rampaged through the town, killing everything that moved. Still, Lothar heard none of it. All he saw was his brother’s lifeless face. All he heard was Danae’s last words, echoing through his mind.
“…I glory in my end, for it is paradise in comparison to that which awaits every man who bears the Steffen name.”
Re: Battle reports thread - King of the Romans PBM
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Originally Posted by TosaInu
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