You'll find all that out eventually... If I ever finish it. In addition, if any mods are passing by now, could they please change the topic back to Zethnaeron? In Word I was using the phreaky ae symbol but apparently that doesn't work in HTML.

Well anyhow, for all parties interested here's chapter 2.

To those of you who are more vigilant in criticism, you may notice the words It was slaughter used rather often in this part.


Chapter 2, the Battle of Lewes
It was morning. The sun flew above the grassy areas around the town of Lewes. Animals awoke within the forest and began their daily activities. People awoke too, but to perform a much different purpose.

They had a task to kill.

The camp was vibrant and hasty with the light of day. Men everywhere could be seen equipping themselves with weapons, donning armor, checking belts and leather straps, rubbing down their horses, whispering prayers, and meeting friends possibly for the last time before the battle.

Gayle was not particularly different in these aspects, but he had his squire to aid him. He had sent the squire to rub down the horse. After that, he was to prepare himself for battle; he was to fight with the infantry. Gayle admired the boy in some ways. He had served very well in France; he would hate to lose him now.

He himself had all his personal equipment on by now, his armor fastened and secure. As a sidearm he preferred the sword. Many knights used other weapons, preferring to use brute force to disarm their enemies rather than skill. Weapons of this category included more blunt tools of warfare, such as maces, clubs, and the like. The sword was noble, but the club truly supported those with muscle and brute force.

Once his horse was likewise ready and armored, Gayle at last mounted. This was probably another one of those things he was always afraid of losing before battle. His squire handed him his lance. Gayle nodded him off and the squire rushed off to join the infantry. Gayle himself maneuvered his horse to join his fellow Norman brethren.

The other Normans were grim and as always seemed barely on the point of tolerating the English. At last, when it appeared that their number had been gathered, baron d’Erstan led them off down the road. The other English knights soon joined them, and were followed thereafter by the infantry.

Aside from men-at-arms, Gayle had a fairly low view of these men. He often wondered what the point was of having foot soldiers; heavy cavalry and knights always decided the course of battle. He reasoned that they looked impressive in large numbers. They also provided some measure of expendability. Yet he still saw very little point in levying the farmers from their land to fight far-off wars. However, for the moment he had to push that from his mind.

They were to be mounted on a hill overlooking the town of Lewes. The Earl of Leicester planned to await battle on this hill. Both members of the royal family, Henry III and Edward I, were judged by many to be impetuous and the rebel forces hoped to draw them out onto the field of battle in a position which was not advantageous to them. The royal forces had more soldiers, but the position of Montfort and his barons opted to provide for them a counter to that factor.



After marching for about another 3 hours, at last they reached the object of their fancy. The soldiers gradually and grudgingly ascended the hill, deploying the banners of their forces on top. They looked down on the town of Lewes. It was of moderate size, having the standard church, mill, and bakery. Up on a hill overlooking the town was a stone castle, apparently still unfinished.

The royal army could be seen approaching the hill already. It was obvious that they had their own scouts and spies. But it was already too late for the king to dislodge them from their position before they could deploy. The royal armies approached and among the cavalry he noticed a particularly large banner. George had accompanied him in the march and now Gayle once again turned to him with a question in mind.

“Is that Edward?”

“Yes.”

The royal armies continued to approach, and at last the heavy cavalry, the battle-winning, war-winning aspect of Feudal armies, detached themselves from the rest of the infantry. They began a brisk trot; it was soon obvious that they were headed for the rebel left flank. George started.

“Shouldn’t we help them?”

“Not unless you wish to sacrifice the advantage of them routing our left flank.”

“What advantage is there in losing a third of our forces?”

“You’ll see, the Earl knows, he hasn’t ordered us to charge.”

George was silenced at that. The heavy cavalry began up the hill, briskly covering the hill side just as they had the plain before it. They at last urged the horses into a gallop, a broken gallop due to the incline, but a gallop nonetheless. Gayle almost flinched as they collided with the infantry. Immediately chaos enveloped the left flank, Gayle hardly bothered even looking. He knew that those peasants who weren’t dead were probably already running. After the carnage from the flank at last ended, Gayle looked again and smiled with grim satisfaction.

“See that?”

George nodded. Edward pursued the peasants down the other side of the hill intent on hunting them down. Many would lose him in the forest, making the pursuit long and hardy, yet Edward never once glanced back to attack the rest of Montfort’s army. At last the Earl was ready. He leveled his sword at the rest of the royal forces on the plain and barked the order.

“Charge”

The air was immediately filled with battle cries. The peasants wanted to at last let all their anger, tension, and fear loose itself on the king. The knights performed similarly, beginning a brisk trot down the hill just as Edward had done moments before in the opposite direction.

They headed for the center of the enemy line, the focal point for all his efforts. It was mainly manned by peasants, armed with only short spears and tridents. Expendable soldiers in the finest. The trot gradually increased in speed, the knights urged their horses onward with ever greater intensity.

A slow gallop, the lances were still raised, but moments later they would be lowered for the final part of the charge.

At last the knights went into a full gallop rapidly closing the space between them and the levied farmers. Lances all around were lowered, each one pointing at a peasant, ready to take his life. The fear on the peasant’s faces was obvious, they did not want to die, they were only here because they had no choice. Some balked and began to turn to run away, but the vast majority was frozen in fear. At last the knights collided with the peasants.

It was slaughter.

Gayle instantly found his mark right before the two forces hit each other, a rather large man in his thirties. Gayle drove the lance right through his heart, instantly letting it go so as not to break it with the forward momentum. The knights, quickly discarding their lances immediately drew side arms, close range weapons for use after the charge. Gayle drew his sword, his horse still going at full gallop. He soon found another victim, the energy from the charge still flowed through him and he aimed a blow at the peasants neck, hoping merely to slit it. His arm, fed up without work in the excitement, did much more than that. The energy from his blow forced the sword all the way through the peasant’s neck, through skin, muscle, and bone, and exploded on the other side.

Gayle grimaced at the sight, but quickly pushed it from his mind. The peasants were already fleeing. The knights stopped, knowing there was no need to pursue. Those who had not already drawn their side arms did so, and made them loose in their hands. Maces, morning stars, flails, and swords of all sizes abound among the knight’s weaponry. They turned to the next victims of their deadly practice.

The battle raged on all sides, Montfort’s foot soldiers had collided with the king’s and now fought fiercely, driving the royal forces before them. The king, in anticipation of the knight’s ability to take the rest of the battle, had deployed a large group of soldiers, predominately armed with spears, do stop them. Overall their training and style of warfare feebly resembled that of the ancient Greek’s, but they did not have the same discipline.

The knights knew this too well.

The spearmen were backed up by some of the few professional soldiers on the battlefield, men-at-arms. They would be more difficult to deal with. Nonetheless the knights grunted as they turned their horses and once again resumed the brisk trot.

The spearmen noted the oncoming knights with wide-eyed fear. They had the ability to decimate the heavy cavalry, yet they still feared it greatly. The trot gradually increased in pace. The knights knew this as well, the ability to route these soldiers they knew rested almost entirely on their intimidation, if that failed, then these very masters of war could easily be the ones slaughtered. The trot increased to a slow gallop. The spearmen started to show major signs of doubt that was a giveaway. They would flee.

At last the knights once again entered into a full gallop, their horses thundering across the field, the spearmen leveled their spears, determined to make a stand. It would not be so. The banners of the knights flew in the breeze; their armor glinted from the sun, their mighty war cries carried across the battlefield. The simple peasants making up the spearmen at last began to balk, just as the previous farmers had. Their spear angles became jumbled distorted, no longer able to suit their purpose. The front ranks turned and fled, sensing death in its purest form coming from the shining guardians of nobility. The knights yelled their final war cries, their horses bayed, and they collided with the spearmen.

It was slaughter.

The formation had become so distorted that it had no more effect than the very air before them on the knights’ onward rush. Gayle charged through them, his sword dancing left and right, splitting throat after throat. The impact of maces and morning stars could be heard as their wielders slammed them into the peasant’s bodies so hard crunches could be heard, bones cracking and screams of terror as the men were hurled upward and then let to fall back down.

The men-at-arms behind the spearmen charged, hoping to stay the knights advance. These soldiers actually had some real armor on their person, Gayle’s sword would not be as effective, but he still knew how to slip the blade between the shirt and the helmet. Here was where the blunt weapons of some of the more brute knights were in their finest. They made short work of the men-at-arms, just as they had the peasants before. Gurgles from blood, broken bones, and screams of abject terror accompanied the fight just as they had the two before. Those who had not fled were soon slaughtered, the knights once again standing victorious.

They went around the field, behind the rear of the royal forces, repeating the scene again and again. Before long a general route throughout all of Henry III’s army was underway. Henry himself was soon captured, and stood before Simon de Montfort, 6th Earl of Leicester, to be judged.