The Diary of Kaiser Heinrich
Genoa, 1154
"Sir? The men are waiting."
I shook myself awake. Captain Ludwig, my second in command and close personal friend, was standing by my bed, uniform already on, prepared for battle. Outside my tent, I could already hear the unmistakable noise of men on the move, gathering what they need, ready to fight. How could I have overslept on this day, the most important of them?
In years past, I would have frantically jumped out of bed and rushed to put on my armour. However, in years past I also would not have arisen so late in the day. I found that the best I could do was a slow, agonizing series of moves to prepare myself which nearly killed my knees. Ludwig, also getting up there in his years but in better shape than me, stood by with a look of sympathy on his face. He knew that he would be facing this eventually, but knew better than to say anything.
Finally, when I was dressed appropriately and had scarfed down a quick meal, I asked Ludwig a question.
"How long have the men been waiting?"
Ludwig looked like he didn't want to answer, but I put a look on my face that made it clear that I wanted to know. Finally, he mumbled "about an hour and a half, Mein Kaiser."
An hour and a half. For me, a man who has lived his entire life based on a schedule, both politically and militarily, this was extemely discomforting. I sighed.
"Sir? Are you feeling all right? We can always fight the battle tomorrow."
I shook my head. "No Ludwig," I said sadly, "We must fight it today, now. Everything is in place. If we wait then my condition will only worsen. The only way it can improve is if we are victorious. Gregory is doing this to me, either through God or Satan. One way or another, it ends here, today. For the health and souls of us all, it must be today."
"Well then, Mein Kaiser, let us get going before we take up too much of the day."
"Not yet," I said with a touch of finality, "First we must pray." Together we knelt down, in our battle armour, facing the figure of Christ on the crucifix in my opulent tent.
"O my God, I am heartily sorry
for having offended Thee,
and I detest all my sins,
because I dread the loss of Heaven
and the pains of Hell,
but most of all because they
offend Thee, my God,
Who art all-good and deserving
of all my love.
I firmly resolve, with the help
of Thy grace to confess my sins,
to do penance
and to amend my life. Amen."
Finally we exited the tent, mounted our horses, and made our way to the battle line, which was still in magnificent order despite the two commanding officers not being present. I looked them over for a minute, admiring these men who served under me. They were loyal, and they were ready to do what their Kaiser asked them. They believed I was right and would follow me to the gates of Hell. Ironically enough, that is where some members of the Diet wished I would go.
So it ends here, I thought. How appropriate. The city that stood before me, Genoa, had been so intertwined with my long conflict with the Papacy that it had almost as much significance as Rome itself. Genoa was quite close to Canossa, that infamous castle that I walked to and stood outside for three days, wearing nothing but a hairshirt, begging for forgiveness from Pope Gregory. Since the quest to redeem myself began, Genoa had been a large military obstacle, almost ending my long journey in life thanks to a few dedicated Milanese spearmen. And of course, Genoa had been the key to legally declaring war on Rome. I had gifted it to the new Duke of Bavaria Otto von Kassel, who had promptly exercised his Ducal powers and declared that the Pope's army was unlawfully trespassing on his land. War followed, and now the man that represented all of my failures in life held the city.
For a little while longer, anyway.
The official commander of the Papal Army was one Falcone Olearius, but everyone present knew that the true objective was the Pope, and most likely he would have a larger escort of heavy cavalry than Falcone.
"The hour of judgment has arrived, Hildebrand!", I shouted aloud, more to the men that to the Pope. "By the end of this day the Investiture Controversy will be over and we shall see whom God truly favors! I hope that you have had Last Rites prepared to make your passing easier!"
I doubted that last part, of course. It was starting to become common knowledge that the Pope was actually quite irreligious.
However, it didn't really matter what his exact beliefs were. He had still managed to put most of Catholic Europe under his spell, claiming divine right to appoint all church officials, not to mention thoroughly humiliating me and putting the Reich in mortal danger. For years I had been chasing him, plotting against him, even meeting with him once. When the moment to strike finally arrived, he had poisoned the Diet so much that one Elector had threatened to kill me!
But now, he was here. And he was trapped. This day would right all wrongs once and for all.
I was not alone in this fight. My faithful Duke of Bavaria, Otto von Kassel, and his subject Gerhard Steffin had brought the entire Bavarian Household Army and were assaulting the eastern side of the city. I hoped that their intervention would be decisive. I also hoped that Otto would survive this encounter. He had helped me through much of this, and I knew how much this crisis was harming him internally.
The plan for this battle would be simple - divide and overwhelm. Pope Gregory had with him a frighteningly large amount of Italian Militia and pavise crossbowmen, but if that number were to be split in half then their effect would be quite a bit less devastating.
Just as I was about to begin the assault, a courier approached me from the east.
"Mein Kaiser, Duke Otto's men are in position. Shall we begin the assault?"
I shook my head. "Not yet," I told the young man, "We must be methodical in this action. Tell him to wait for me to wheel the ballistae around. When they finish breaking down the eastern gate, tell him to signal me. We go in together."
The young man nodded and took off back to the eastern position. I sighed. He was full of youth, of vitality. Evidently this was his first action. By tomorrow he would be a hardened man, perhaps incapable of any other emotion other than weariness.
This has to end.
Most of the soldiers, myself included, were lost in our thoughts during the long, slow wait for the ballistae to break down the southern gate, move to the east, and break that gate down too. Mostly, I think, we just wanted something to happen. Death would be a welcome change from this endless waiting, this eternal suffering. Either way, salvation awaited every soldier present wearing Imperial colors, be it earthly or posthumously.
Finally, after what seemed like several days, a faint crack could be heard to the east. About a minute later, I spotted that same courier from earlier heading my way. I waved, indicating I knew what had happened, and turned to my men.
The moment, at last, had arrived.
I pointed to one set of ladders and one siege tower, and indicated that they were to go forward. As harsh as this was, their job was to simply keep the men on the walls busy, to buy time, to die while the bulk of the force made their way into the streets where the confused Papal infantry was still shifting. The walls did not matter. The city and the Pope did. I didn't want to watch as the men scaled the ladders, completing their final task in life, but I couldn't help it. These soldiers were supremely loyal, and were willingly about to die for me. Was it truly for me, though? Was there some higher cause that prompted them to be the shock troops, the side effort?
In the end, their cause, just like their objective, did not matter. They fought and died well.
Meanwhile, the time for the main push had begun.
"All units TO THE GATE!!!"
For the first time that day, all of my men crossed into crossbow range, but thanks to them busy fighting off two regiments on the walls no harm befell the main body of troops making their way to the gate. Instead, they were met by a fierce, albeit numerically miniscule resistance. The Italians, realizing that they would soon be flanked and annihilated if they continued to fight immediately past the gates, retired slightly until they were on a narrow side street, thus nullifying our numerical advantage. The push to the center of the city would be a long, slow, brutal affair.
Unfortunately, I could do little more than watch as the men did their work and shout the occasional encouragement. I could only imagine that the sight for the infantry in the front lines was a wretched one, with reeking blood and corpses everywhere, and the feeling of sheer exhaustion, yet at the same time the knowledge that, if you rested, you would surely die.
Finally, several minutes and only a few feet later, I couldn't take it anymore. Sounds of battle were being heard to the eastern end of the city. I motioned to the escort to move. We would ride and view the situation personally.
On the way there, I took a look around me. Most of the buildings were boarded up, although there were some people looking out the windows at the carnage, some of them transfixed with a look that wasn't quite terrified, wasn't quite intrigued.
Finally, we arrived at the eastern gate, where a fierce melee was taking place, although it was mostly between cavalry, as the infantry had already been eradicated. Our men joined the fight, rolling over the unsuspecting Papal Mailed Knights. A second later, I saw Otto von Kassel, helmet off, waving me over. I sidled over to him.
"Heil, Mein Kaiser," he said grinning, "And thanks for the help! How goes the fight to the south?"
"Slow," I shouted, because another battle horn had just sounded, "But we're making progress!"
"Incoming!"
We all turned to the streets leading to the city square. For a second, I thought that the Pope himself had joined the battle, but it only turned out to be Falcone Olearius, his escort, and some rallied cavalry. All of our escorts (mine, Otto's, and Gerhard Steffin's), along with a hodgepodge of knights that were still alive, countercharged the Papal cavalry, hacking our way through until only Falcone and a few others remained. They fled back to the city square, leaving the Imperial forces alone again.
"They'll be back. Let's rest for a moment," I ordered the men. After sizing up the condition of my escort's horses, I signalled a man to ride back to the south and give a summary of what was going on over there. There was a series of tense minutes that gave absolutely no relaxation to the men. Oh well, at least the horses were catching their breaths.
We could see the center square from our point of view. Many of the men were watching it intently; hoping to observe Papal infantry running there and rallying. They would not be denied, and a small cheer went up among the men.
This meant nothing, however. The last time we were on the cusp of victory at Genoa, I had nearly died.
Another couple of minutes passed. The rider I had sent to report on the western developments came trotting back, horse clearly in bad shape.
"Mein Kaiser," he huffed, out of breath, "Your men have beaten back the Papal infantry. They were about to give chase but then the men on the walls came down and so our infantry was forced to turn around and engage them. Our infantry's backs are to the city square and are thus extemely vulnerable to a cavalry charge."
There was a pause at this. I believe that Gerhard's loud swearing expressed all of our emotions. Gregory's position was still not accounted for, and 46 heavy cavalry slamming into our men's rear would have quite an impact. We had little time to debate this latest turn of events, however, as Falcone, the remainder of his escort, and the Papal infantry that had just ran into the square came charging back.
"Forward, and this time don't stop!"
A few of our men went down, but more of theirs did. I received a blow to my right knee, and all of the pain from this morning came rushing back. Grimacing, I signalled to charge to the city square, where only Falcone had survived.
The swiftest of our men ran him down and ended his life just as he had reached the square.
As the rest of us made our way into the square, there was a brief moment of calm, and then a collective gasp. Coming our way, from the opposite direction, was the Papal Escort. Gregory had declined to strike our infantry, giving up the possibility of a general rout and leaving us stranded. Instead, he had opted to charge straight for us.
Straight for me.
There was no holy radiance coming from this man; no Light of God reflecting off of his uniform. But there was still a great power emanating from the man who called himself Pope. His sword raised in the air, ghostly white horse, and banner he carried all held our men in a stupor for some amount of time. We would all die watching him kill us, in awe.
I was probably the last one to snap out of it, truth be told. I attribute it to my age. All around me I watched as the three escorts of the Reich battled Gregory's cavalry.
The young courier that Otto had sent to me before the battle began was one of the first to fall. He and his horse were still full of reckless abandon and had simply charged too far in. I caught a glimpse of his face, de-helmeted, before he fell. It had a shocked expression of one who clearly did not expect to die, yet was about to do just that. His eyes were already starting to glaze over.
Another second went by. More men went down. The tide of battle was moving me away from my own escort and closer to that of Otto's and Gerhard's. I would have accepted this turn of events and followed the flow, but at that very moment, I saw Gregory angling his horse straight for me. By the time he would reach me, I would not have been turned around and ready to face him. Muttering a quick final prayer, I screwed my eyes shut and braced for the killing blow.
...it never came. I opened my eyes and looked to see what was happening. Captain Ludwig, vigilant Captain Ludwig, who had proposed that devastating cavalry charge in this same city so long ago, had seen what was about to happen and moved to block the Pope. I could only watch as my friend and second did battle with my arch-enemy.
It seemed very fast. Gregory recovered from the block rather quickly and slashed at Ludwig's arm. Ludwig dropped his sword in shock, and then the killing blow had hit. I saw my friend go down, his blood dirtying the Pope's uniform.
I didn't scream Ludwig's name. I couldn't. I was unable to do anything other than look at the man who had killed my friend. I did not comprehend that the Pope had just violated one of the Ten Commandments, or that he had done so at the expense of one so close to me, or that he was now continuing his charge for me. I was simply staring blankly as he did the latter.
I'm not sure what happened next. I felt a vague movement under me. My horse was doing what I was unable to. I only continued to watch as the Pope re-angled his charge based on this movement, which brought him in more dangerous territory. The next thing I knew, he simply fell, speared by an anonymous lance.
Otto, who had seen it happen, rode over to the Pope's body and removed the man's helmet. His eyes were open and he was still breathing. However, Otto ignored this, raising the helmet for all to see.
"The Pope is dead," he cried. "There is nothing to fight for!"
Gregory's escort fought on, although with little intensity. They were quickly dispatched, and once again we had full control of the city square. Otto rode down, alone, to the street where our infantry were bravely putting up a losing fight against the Papal forces. Once again, he held the helmet high.
"The Pope is dead! Gregory is no more! Lay down your arms! This battle is over!"
From what I could see of the Papal infantry, there was a great gasp, and then a grim realization that what Otto said what was correct. The sounds of spear and sword hitting shield ceased. Some men screamed in Italian, others in Latin. Some men cried "NO!" A few just sat down, infinitely weary and disgusted. It was clear that all the fight had been taken out of these men. The battle, for all intensive purposes, was over.
Otto, who had seen Gregory's fall but not Ludwig's death, rode back to me with a look of triumph on his face. Gerhard, too, came to my side, uniform scratched and dirtied. He would be knighted for his bravery.
"Mein Kaiser," Otto said, "Let me congratulate you today, on this day of your ultimate victory."
I nodded, but said nothing. Victory had never felt so horrible. So many people were not around to share it. The brave infantrymen that I had ordered to die in the opening stages of the battle. That young courier who had so much to live for. And of course, my good friend and advisor, Captain Ludwig.
That night I dined with the nobility, toasting the defeat of Gregory and victorious assault of the city, feeling absolutely no emotion. Gregory was still alive, being held prisoner in the city's palace. Tomorrow I would deal with him, as well as inform the necessary people of what had transpired here. But that night, I simply went to sleep, my knees crying out in pain as I dressed for the night. And this time, I had no one to assist me, no one to stand by.
Re: Battle reports thread - King of the Romans PBM
Originally Posted by TosaInu
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