Battle Reports Thread: King of the Franks game

[Ramses II CP]

1104, Maurading Moors near Marseille

Mud again. Louis shook his head and watched the recruits picking their way through it. What was it about approaching Marseille with raw soldiers that invited God to open the heavens and send forth such floods? No matter, thought Louis, the infidels will fall anyway.

Prince Louis and his army had been in pursuit of the Moors since spotting them in Iberia, and yet the enemy had marched like their God had given them wings! Despite leading a force of all cavalry at the demanding pace he always set Louis and his men had barely caught the infidels before they could reach Marseille, and only that by riding all night. Unfortunately they had caught up to the enemy just as they crossed the Rhône. In the dim light of early morning Louis could just see their supply train mired in the mud of the uphill bank across the river.



Nothing for it, he thought, we'll have to cut our way across. Best case we sound the horns and they send something to try to hold this side, but it'll still come down to an assault. Hope these fresh faced lads are up for it, hate to have to fight my way through alone.

Gesturing at his page Louis grunted, "Sound the horns. Let 'em know we're coming. Bannerman! Heft that sun nice and high, let them know a Prince of the Franks has come to answer their affront!"

Even as the last echo of the horn blasts rolled back across the river the enemy's fast horsebowmen raced back across the bridge. Louis calmly directed his cavalry to encircle the bridgehead. The Moors rushed forward to fire their bows at the Prince's personal guards beneath the sun banner, neglecting all common sense. They were crushed between dual shattering charges as Toulouse's latest companies of mounted sergeants tasted first blood.





Behind the evaporating screen of the Moorish light horse their infantry were crossing the bridge. Louis commanded his Mounted Sergeants to withdraw back into the encirclement formation and resume waiting. The heathen infantry was badly organized and crossing in a messy jumble. The Prince joked with his entourage while the enemy sorted themselves out, picking out targets and calling jibes to his newest replacement guardsmen. When the Moorish archers finally pressed forward and began to draw their bows silence fell among the French ranks.

At a gesture lances were lowered and visors flipped into place.

At the first twang of the enemy bows the French cavalry leapt forward, hundreds of horse descending on the hapless foe from all side, with Louis at their head.



Not one foot soldier made it back across the bridge. Most of them surrended within sight of their Sultan as he hesitated halfway across the bridge.



Louis rapidly drew up his guardsmen and called out a challenge. No answer came back, as the two Moorish generals and their guardsmen were still dressing their lines, so the Prince's men began to walk slowly onto the bridge. Louis issued orders in a relaxed, confident tone as they approached the center of the bridge,

"Stay close to me. This fool considers himself a King, I assure you he will not wish to die today. I will carve a path straight to him. Either he will fall or he will flee, and the bridge will be ours!"



Roaring their battle cries the Franks tore forward into the ranks of the enemy, who still stood in some disarray. The Sultan's guard abandoned their allies as the weight of French cavalry behind Louis' men began to press.



Immediately the Moors still in the fight began to surrender. Seeing this the Sultan turned his men about and began to form them up for a charge, which caused Louis to withdraw his men from the melee. As soon as the Sultan's men made their charge the Prince's guard made another behind them.



Louis pressed hard, shouldering aside Moorish soldiers with his steed and bellowing out challenges to the Sultan.



Nearly surrounded by the enemy the Prince laid about himself freely, his back guarded as always by Evrart and Bertin, and soon cleared enough space to spot his foe edging away from the furious Frankish attack. Levelling his sword at the Sultan Louis' voice burst forth with the volume of an angry angel,

"Face me! Come to me! For France my brothers, cast the invader down!"



Terror rippled across the features of the Sultan of the Moors, and with his remaining guardsmen at his side he turned to flee the battle. Sergeants soon ran him down and brought him to heel.





It took weeks to negotiate the ransom during which Louis, camped near the Marseille docks, frequently brought the Sultan to visit him in his tent. The man would be brought in, pushed to his knees on the ground, and made to watch as Louis spoke with various minor functionaries from Marseilles or Toulouse. Nothing was translated for him, and at no time was he addressed, it simply amused the Prince to have a foreign king at his disposal. The enemy's weapons and armor we left piled by the riverside to rust in the rain and mud. When the Sultan's ransom was finally paid and he sailed away on a ship the Franks stood at the dock and jeered.

[_Tristan_]

Placeholder for the battle of Mercia, 1105

EDIT : Promise I'll be doing a bit of pic editing and writing, lest I be called King of Placeholders

[ULC]

Placeholder for the Battle of Pamplona Fields

[KnightnDay]

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On the Brandenburg Bridge over the Elbe, they waited. The enemy was now on the move in two groups. Captain Gottfried with over 800 men planned to storm across and route the smaller force of militia and some four dozen crossbows. Should he encounter any more than slight resistance, Captain Michael with nearly 400 more soldiers would be behind them and ultimately serve to break their foe.

But Thomas was no ordinary foe. His men were nervous at the prospect of facing so many well armed soldiers, but their commander while relatively young was still a veteran of several battles and so there was reason for confidence. Besides, if they were to withdraw, was there a better position from which to defend? It seemed hardly likely.

And so they braced themselves for the bitter fighting they knew lay ahead. The spearmen were packed in front of their side of the bridge. Here they would hold for dear life while crossbows laid into the Germans from the flank.

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The enemy vanguard approached the far side of the bridge. And with their approach the Frankish militia made ready.

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Gottfried challenged his men to seize the day and smash the rabble before him. The bridge began to shake as the clatter of boots grew ever louder.

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Hundreds of men were now upon the bridge, groaning under the weight of the well armed German infantry.

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Sheer weight of numbers caused the Frankish soldiers to yield some, but for every foot forward, more of Gottfried’s men fell to earth. Now is the time to test our mettle once more, thought Thomas.

To the attack! Now charge!

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Hacking and slashing at their foe, Thomas and his men began to turn the tide of the enemy’s advance.

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The German archers were the first to panic as their better armed spears fell in greater numbers. In a matter of moments, three of their companies were in mortal fear for their lives. Then within sight of all, Captain Gottfried was unhorsed, and quickly grabbed by the neck. A prisoner now was he.

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But for how long? For now the second wave approached under Captain Michel.

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Thomas was undeterred. “This new enemy is only half the strength of our first opponent, this one will be twice as easy to rout!” cried Thomas.

He drove his men on. “Now break them!” And as if by those words alone, terror now came upon the bloodied Germans, facing spear, arrow and horse. They quickly lost heart for fighting.

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The day was fairly won and the fighting done now, but not the pursuit.

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Prisoners fell by dozens, the enemy archers in full flight running for the imagined safety of their rear.

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In the waning moments of battle, the last few pitiful archers were run down by Thomas

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And when it was over, the heroism and valor of these warriors could scarce be denied.

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As for Thomas, he and his men counted over four hundred killed or captured. A fine day’s work.

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