The Relief of Bern, 1356, Part I
Staufen, 1356
“I feared the Swabian Household Army would be destroyed and prayed for the Kaiser and the Bavarians to deliver us. Instead, the armies of the Kaiser and the Bavarians have been all but destroyed, while the SHA has been spared.” Welf mused to his wife.
“Be careful what you wish for.” Eue commented dryly.
“Now, Swabia must deliver itself.” said Welf. “At least the Chancellor seems to have recognised our situation.” Although still infected by the plague, Staufen was now training significant forces – augmented by the arrival of regiments of proud Teutons riding from Frankfurt. If Imperial support continued, it would not be long before there was a second full strength field army in Swabia.
“Has the Chancellor approved your request to lead the SHA to relieve Bern?” asked Eue.
Welf nodded: “There was no one else.”
Eue laughed bitterly: “Tell me about it.” Her forced marriage to the upstart von Luxemburg still rankled.
Welf looked at his wife with a darkened expression, but then turned away. “I must leave immediately. The SHA is a poxed formation, but I will do my best to avoid infection.”
“You will avoid it. Or you will never see me again.” said Eue coldly, not looking up.
Welf nodded and silently left the room.
*****
Outside Bern
“Is he clean?” demanded Welf.
“He bears no signs of infection, my Lord.” answered his chief retainer. “Apparently the city is now free of the plague.”
“Then send him in.”
A large man in worn armour entered the command tent. “Captain Otto of the Bern garrison, reporting, my Lord.”
Welf scrutinised the veteran – for a mere militia Captain, he had an impressively martial air. That the man had slipped out of the besieged city was an added testament to his bravery and skill.
“I understand, Captain, that you were a veteran of the battle of Bern – you fought with Duke Hans?”
“I had the honour, Sire.”
“Why did you fight for Hans – and not for Dietrich or Hummel?”
“I fought for duty and loyalty, Sire.” said the Captain defiantly.
“Indeed. Honour, duty, loyalty … good words, Captain.” said Welf approvingly. “But tell me, I thought Han’s army was wiped out almost to a man?”
“We took a beating, yes, Sire. But, I was lucky – my wounds still permitted me to serve in the militia.”
“A natural survivor, then. Good, the Reich needs that quality now, more than any.” said Welf and then he turned to business. “Captain, I intend to lead the Swabian Household Army to attack the French besieging you. Can you bring the militia to support us?”
“Yes, Sir!” barked the Captain without hesitation.
Welf paused and then said with slowly, with deliberation. “I intend to hold the heights overlooking the city. My army has many archers, but lacks the heavy infantry required to match the French in close quarter fighting.” The French army besieging Bern had eight regiments of knights, all of which preferred to fight dismounted. The SHA had only three.
The Captain paused for a moment and then said, cautiously: “But if you are on the heights, my Lord, and the French are between us, what are my militia to do?”
“Attack.” Welf could feel his own heart sinking at the cruelty of this command.
“Attack, Sire?” the Captain blurted out in dismay “Militia against knights, outnumbered three to one - we would be massacred!”
Welf fixed the veteran in a merciless stare: “Our only hope of victory is if the French become overconfident and attempt to drive the SHA off the heights. Your militia will buy my men time to deploy, they will tire the enemy, they will disrupt their formation … and they will induce the necessary overconfidence.”
For a moment, the veteran Captain scrutinised the calculating young man sat in front of him. What creatures was the Reich spawning in these hellish times?! Then he raised his eyes and looked straight ahead.
“My militia will attack as ordered, my Lord – for God, the Reich and the Kaiser.” The Captain declared defiantly.
“Very well, Captain.” replied Welf coolly. “But do not have them fight too hard, now. Do your duty and then get the hell out of there. The French have no cavalry so most of your boys should make it. Do not march out with any man too old or infirm to run.”
The Captain nodded with scarcely concealed disgust. Not only was his mission a hopeless one – it was even to be denied of honour.
“Captain…” said Welf, almost gently. “I have an opening on my retinue for a brave man who can do his duty. Survive this and I will reward you.”
“Duty and honour are their own reward.” replied the Captain brusquely, before marching out of the tent.
“Too damned good for the militia.” whistled Welf under his breath.
*****
From the heights above Bern, Welf watched the militia emerge from the woods in a battleline and advance towards the French. It was an impressive sight – they deployed in good order, like regular troops.
But heading towards them was the large French army, resplendent in glinting armour and with many banners signalling the high valour of its knights. The French moved eagerly, as if scenting the weakness of their prey. But not so eager as to forget basic tactics. Four regiments of French crossbowmen were deployed in the advance guard and unleashed devastating barrages at the lightly armoured militia. The line of the militia seemed visibly to pause and rear up, like a stag wounded by a hunter’s bow. But then, lacking any missiles of their own, the men of the Bern garrison could only respond by rushing faster towards the pole-axes and voulges of the armoured mass opposing them.
Welf glanced guiltily around at the many crossbowmen of the SHA, deployed far from the militia, up on the heights - out of range of the French below them. What would the men think of him, holding them back – refusing any aid to the outnumbered and outmatched militia below?
Then Welf saw the clash of arms, as dismounted French noble knights broke through the lines of the crossbowmen in front of them and tore into the hapless militia. The French knight’s pole axes seemed to scythe down the Germans, already thinned out by the crossbow fire.
Within seconds, the militia regiments started to break – the men at the rear having no desire to share the fate of the unfortunates at the front. The rout was contagious and soon, all eleven of the militia regiments were fleeing the field.
“Good work, Captain.” whispered Welf, under his breath. He watched patiently, as the heavily armoured French – bereft of any horse – tried vainly to catch the militia streaming back towards the safety of the city.
Always a man with a head for figures, Welf estimated that the Reich had now lost nearly a quarter of its men. French losses, he surmised, were negligible – after the battle, interrogation revealed the militia had accounted for only a wretched 13 of the enemy.
Welf looked around at the SHA deployed on the heights. “Now, it is all up to us.”
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