Battle Reports

[_Tristan_]

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly
Near Belgrade, 1098

The plume of dust some distance away was the first sign that Methodios had of the presence of riders ahead of them on the road. Ordering his men to spur their horses forward, they galloped towards over the hill that cut them off from seeing who was raising that dust.

Reaching the top, they saw that the dust had come from a score of riders. The men had stopped, having surely noticed the cloud of dust lifted by the galloping horses of Methodios’ troop.

“They are Romans” Bjarki said, next to Methodios.

“Yes…” Methodios answered, a troubled look upon his face, brought by the coat of arms adorning the shield of the riders downhill.

Sensing that something was amiss, Bjarki questioned his commander. “What’s wrong ?”

“This is Anastasios Neokaisareitis… The Butcher of Belgrade… I didn’t expect him to be here… Last I heard, there was an army marching on his castle…”

While they were talking, the riders had turned their horses around and they were heading uphill towards Methodios and his men.

They stopped a short distance away, in a billowing cloud of dust, their leader marching his horse forward until he stood a few meters away from Methodios.

His helmet was hung to the pommel of his saddle and Methodios could see the shock of recognition on the other man’s face, certainly mirroring his own.

“Hail, Strator…” the last word said with a sneer “Funny meeting you here… How is the weather in Zagreb this time of the year ? Last I heard, it was raining arrows…”

Raucous laughter erupted among the men behind him, the insult obvious.

Keeping a cool countenance, hiding his disgust for the man, Methodios answered : “And are you running away or just taking a stroll in the countryside, Comes ?”

“Bah… Belgrade is all but lost… Why would I remain behind these walls ? To get myself killed… Nah… And what would that accomplish ? Keeping some sheep-shaggers from claiming this stinking hellhole from some other sheep-shaggers… Not worth it, in my opinion…”

“But these are the men you were sworn to protect, they are your responsibility”, Methodios interjected.

“Don’t start lecturing me, Tagaris… Though you may have delayed the fall of Zagreb by pawning it to the Hungarians, it will fall nonetheless and what of your beloved “responsibilities” then ? I prefer my course of action… I’m not running away… I am going for help… That is the only sensible course of action.”

“But don’t you see that before you’ll be back, the enemy will already be over the walls…”

“So what ? That will only mean we’ll have to take it back from him… I’ve done it once already… I can do it again…”

“Do you at least know how many men are marching on your castle ?” Methodios asked.

“Of course… My scouts reported no less than twenty companies… Five units of cavalry, though only one is heavily armoured, the rest are footmen with spearmen and archers in equal parts and the remainder being some rabble… Sheep-shaggers, I tell you… Though they are in numbers, I have to admit…”

A cry rang out from behind Anastasios. “Riders !!”

The two generals turned to look to the west where the man who had cried out pointed.
A group of riders had just reached the top of the next hill and were heading their way.

When the men had approached, it was clear they were Byzantine soldiers. The newly-arrived skythikons stopped a few paces away and their leader rode towards the two generals, giving a sharp salute.

“Captain Manuel Konstanpoulos, reporting.” Not knowing who had the command among the men facing him, the captain looked somewhat bewildered.

“What are your orders, captain ?” Methodios and Anastasios asked in unison. Dark stares were exchanged.

“I was ordered to ride to Belgrade and help in the relief of the siege that was to take place there. I am only part of the advance guard. More men are coming this way.”

“See, Tagaris… I was right… Why should I have remained in Belgrade and be killed ? Who would have taken command of these men then ?”

“Perhaps… But I will not wait and see the people of Belgrade suffer a second time… Captain, I have new orders for you. Follow me…” Methodios said, turning his horse northward, “ To Belgrade !!”

Sparing a single glance back to see if the horse archers followed, Methodios saw that Neokaisareitis was also flogging his horse, ordering his men forward, chasing after Methodios.

******

Gilbert de Nangis had left his French holding in Burgundy, the call to defend Christianity from the encroaching Byzantines not appealing to him so much as the chances of getting some pillaging done.

Now, he found himself besieging Belgrade at the head of the largest force he had ever commanded in his life. True, most of it was only some rabble gathered along the road but still there were a few professional soldiers with them, enough so that he felt confident the siege would be over soon.

His scouts had informed him that the governor of the castle had fled some time earlier, leaving the defence to what seemed a small garrison of untrained men.

To him, Belgrade was just a step away from Constantinople… He would be richer than the Pope, once the city fell… Or at least that was what the man standing next to him had promised… Thick set, with a heavy dark beard, the man had been appointed as his second in command by Lydham himself. He claimed to have been Byzantine but seeing how he seemed to despise them, Gilbert had doubts. However, the man knew the country and had led them unerringly towards Belgrade, bypassing Byzantine outposts and patrols, taking them utterly by surprise.

“So, Joseph… When shall we launch our assault ?” asked Gilbert, a smug smile born of his certain victory spread across his face.

“Let’s starve them some more… They’ll surrender… No need to lose some of our men… We’ll need them for Constantinople”, the thick set man answered, seeing once again the greed spread across the French captain’ s face.

A soldier saluted next to Gilbert.

“Speak, soldier…”

“Sir, our scouts report a Byzantine cavalry force heading our way.”

“Riders ? Here ?” Gilbert was taken aback.

“How many ?” Joseph asked.

“About 100, half of them kataphraktoi…” the soldier reported.

“That’s surely all they have been able to muster… They must want to relieve the town… But their scouts have underestimated our numbers… I say we ride and face them some distance from the city, wouldn’t do to give a false hope to those poor sods behind the walls, now would it ?” said Gilbert, with an eager smile.

“I don’t know… There is something wrong, I can feel it…”, Joseph answered, idly scratching at a large scar that crossed his left forearm.

“Bah, what could go wrong ? We outnumber them 15 to 1… Sheer numbers will win the day”

Gilbert began issuing orders, walking his horse among his officers, rousing the men, leaving Joseph to himself.

******

To Methodios and Anastasios, it had turned into some kind of race… Each of them was eager to prove that he was the bravest of all…

When one let his horses rest, the other would overtake him but before long he too had to rest his horses and so went the circle, until they crossed one last hill and saw the rebel force assembled down below.

It seemed as if the rebels had abandoned the siege to march against them. Methodios was slightly in the lead with Anastasios and the skythikons following close behind.

“Over there !! Look !!” Giuliano pointed to the distance, way behind the assembled army.

Methodios reined in his horse, seeing Anastasios halt his own right beside him.

Looking in the distance, he could barely discern the presence of a small company of men, though they bore the Imperial standard proudly.

“The fools…The brave fools…” Methodios muttered.

“See… Sheep-shaggers… I told you so… And you wanted me to die with those dimwits… No, thank you.”



Down below, the rebels also had noticed the presence of the small Belgrade garrison at their back.

They saw their chance. If the garrison was here then the castle was undefended… Even the cavalry could do nothing to save the city in time.

Before orders could be issued, the rebels turned around towards Belgrade, totally oblivious to the riders’ presence, the orders of their officers totally ignored.

The skythikons began to unleash a hail of arrows into the back of the retreating rebels.

Sensing an opportunity, Methodios lashed his charger forward. A quick look back showed him Anastasios spurring his own horse.



“The man has guts, that’s for sure…” he thought.

Methodios couldn’t believe the sheer size of the number of men assembled at the base of the hill…

“It will be like kicking an anthill !!” Bjarki roared by his side, mirroring his own thoughts.



The next thing Methodios heard was the shrill cries of the men pierced by lances, the dull thud of the horses’ hooves impacting on shield and the metallic clashing of swords as the footmen tried to strike at the riders. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Anastasios and his men joining the fray to his right.



On the other side of him, Methodios noticed some mounted sergeants closing on him.

“Back !!”, he ordered, shouting at the top of his lungs.

His men obeyed as one and he saw that Anastasios was doing the same.

The sergeants were giving pursuit, gaining time for their brethren to advance towards Belgrade and the lone defenders.



Intent on catching Methodios, the sergeants were not prepared for Anastasios and his men turning around and charging them.



Once Anastasios had charged among the lightly armoured riders, Methodios and his men charged, causing panic among the sergeants. They grabbed their reins, turned their horses around and fled.



On the other side of the battlefield, more light cavalry had reached the assembled peasants that had gathered enough courage to leave the walls of Belgrade, however foolish that had been. Not prepared to the violence that a battle could be, leaderless, the men soon broke and run for the safety of their walls, leaving many of their comrades dead on the field.



Finally beginning to realize where the main threat lay, the rebels began to listen to the orders bellowed by their commander and reorganized to face the charge of the kataphraktoi.



Unrelenting, Methodios and Anastasios charged their men into fray, Anastasios dealing with the right wing of the enemy and Methodios with the left.



Seeing that none of his men were up to the task of dealing with the kataphraktoi, the rebel captain launched his own bodyguard forward at Anastasios who turned to meet him.



Seeing how the situation could turn the whole battle, Methodios rushed to the rescue of his fellow Senator.



A fierce melee ensued.

Suddenly, in the midst of battle, Methodios found himself confronted by a man in what was unmistakably an armour of Byzantine craftsmanship although it bore no markings whatsoever.

The man struck at him with an heavy mace, denting Methodios’ shield. “Was that armour looted or is that some kind of traitor ?” Methodios wondered, while parrying the furious blows the man sent his way.

Turning his horse around to find himself on the shield side of the man, Methodios sent a blow that tore half of the man’s helm, uncovering an ugly face, contorted by hatred and anger, awash with blood from the cut Methodios’ sword had made on his forehead.

Methodios was taken aback… Surprise nearly got him killed when one of the man’s comrades struck at him. He just had time to dodge and strike back. The melee had carried the man and his horse away.

But even with that simple glimpse, there was no mistaking that face : it was Joseph Tarchaneiotes, the once Byzantine general and traitor for ever.

To Methodios, it seemed that time stood still while things began to make sense : why Zagreb had been chosen as a target by the main body of the rebels, why the uprisings had managed to happen both in the Balkans and in Anatolikon… If Tarchanieotes was involved, things began to make sense.



At the same time, the skythikons charged on the group of archers that had remained behind the main formation of the rebels, routing them.



A charge by the rebel footmen forced Methodios and Anastasios to break the engagement for fear of getting bogged down.

Among the rebel riders left, Methodios had time to see that Tarchaneiotes was still on his horse, along with the rebel captain.

Disengaged, Methodios and his men charged at the spearmen that marched against them, killing them almost to a man.




Soon, the rebels began to break… What they had believed to be a simple siege turned into a debacle, with demonic riders swooping down on them from all sides.

******

Sitting on his horse on a hill out of the way, Joseph wiped the blood that went on running from the gash on his forehead. By his side stood Gilbert de Nangis, his helm off, a distant look upon his face.



“I just can’t believe it…” Gilbert muttered “Par la barbe de Charlemagne… The town was hours only a few hours ago… And now, my army is obliterated and we are on the run…”

“Now you see what you’re up against…” Joseph answered “Never underestimate the Byzantines…”

Down below, he could see the kataphraktoi chasing and rounding up the last of the routers.

“At one time, I thought you had seen a ghost, Joseph…” Gilbert said.

“Yes… A ghost… Always there to haunt me at the worst of times…”

“Look !! They’ve spotted us !!” Gilbert cried suddenly.



“Come on… Ride as hard as you can… We must not let them catch us… We have to get back to Lydham.” Joseph answered calmly before spurring his horse.

Soon the riders were chasing them. Their pursuers’ horses were almost exhausted, while their own had had time to recover and finally outdistanced them.

******

Methodios watched angrily as Tarchaneiotes and his companion receded in the distance. His horse refused to go any further, making pursuit all but impossible.

Soon he was joined by Anastasios and his retinue.

“There is one thing to say for you, Tagaris… You know how to fight… A bit too soft in my opinion but still good to be around you in this situation… I just can’t believe you lead me into this…” Anastasios said, extending his hand, a smile beaming from a face that was covered in blood and gore.

“Comes…” answered Methodios, clasping the proferred hand “You have earned my respect… You are truly a great fighter… A bit too bloodthirsty perhaps but in this kind of situation, I’ll admit there is some point to it…”

“Will you join me and rest in Belgrade ? There is largely enough room to accommodate you and your men… Though I maintain it is a stinking hellhole only fit for sheep-shaggers…”

“I’ll take you up on your offer… We’ll need some well-deserved rest.” Methodios answered, his gaze lingering to the west where Tarchaneiotes had fled, towards Zagreb.

******