Chapter 33

The newly dug trenches were still relatively fresh, the earth around them moist and sticky despite the summer heat. Several men trudged through the trenches as they prepare for the impending battle, their boots covered in red mud.

Lansius tapped his sallet, and the reassuring metallic ring echoed through the air. Then he pulled down the visor to test it. The helmet limited his view, but he knew he needed protection for his head.

Lansius surveyed his surroundings, taking note of his men’s dirt-stained gambesons and emaciated faces. The weeks of marching and sleeping rough had already weakened their bodies, and common maladies such as colds had further sapped their strength. The air was thick with the stench of their sweat and urine.

Sir Justin had taken the rowdier men to his part of the trenches, leaving Lansius with this group to manage.

He lifted his visor and locked it in place. Now, he could feel the weight of their stares, their silent anger for sending them into a battle where they stood little chance of survival.

They feared they would be slaughtered like helpless livestock. Four hundred poorly equipped men stood no chance against Lord Robert’s veteran vanguard.

I better address this lest they rebel at the last minute.

“Gentlemen,” Lansius called out, his voice wavering slightly with apprehension.

Now, all of their attention was directed at Lansius, whose introverted side was screaming for him to back down, but he steeled himself. The trenches weren’t wide, so he climbed the ladder halfway up to make himself more visible.

“Most of you know that I’m a poor rider,” Lansius began, his tone light. “I can’t outrun anyone on a horse, and I’m not much faster on foot. So, if things go wrong, I’m probably not going to make it.”

A few cracked their lips at his dark humor.

“But don’t worry,” Lansius continued. “I’ve staked my life on this earthen fortress we’ve built. It’s a well-known strategy in my homeland. Great kings and generals have used it against formidable foes, whether human or fell beasts.”

The men murmured among themselves, some nodding in agreement.

Lansius noticed a warmer expression as he spoke again. “Our opponents are unaware of this strategy. We have the upper hand and an abundance of weapons, and we know this place like ants know their burrows. So, are you with me?”

The men responded with nods and a growing wave of enthusiasm.

“Gentlemen, look around you. Are they not your fellow kin? Do you not trust them? I’ll tell you this: if you cover their backs, they’ll cover yours. And I’ll do the same. We’re in this together. So, do we fight, or do we give up and accept the chain on our necks?”

Hugo stepped forward and shouted, “I say, let those bastards have it!”

The men cheered and clamored in agreement. That effectively rallied them.

Lansius was thrilled. Although he knew he was lying, he had no other choice. “Ten silver coins for every man who fights valiantly today!” he proclaimed. “Fight with all your might, and I promise to personally reward you even more!”

The trenches echoed with a resounding cheer. Lansius had won over the soldiers’ hearts and minds. It was true that the lure of money could make even the most perilous and unimaginable tasks bearable.

Viscount’s Side

Robert observed as the center column closed in on the opponent’s line, anticipating a fierce battle. However, something unexpected occurred. In response, he promptly dispatched a scout to investigate. While it seemed trivial, Robert knew that morale was a finicky matter. Surprised men could flee despite having an overwhelming advantage.

While they awaited the scout’s report, their attention was drawn to the ongoing cavalry skirmish on their right flank.

Finally, the scout returned with the news. “My lord, as you suspected, the main enemy force has moved into a ditch.”

This news ignited a debate among the command staff, with each member offering their opinions.

“Is it really just a ditch?” Robert interjected, hoping to clarify the situation.

“My lord, it appears to be deeper than a man’s height. At least two men could walk side by side. They also have crossbowmen. One even fired at me,” the scout answered.

Robert grew restless. He sensed that this wasn’t a mere ditch, but could it be a distraction?

“Did they purposely make it? But for an earthwork of that size, enough to cover hundreds of men would require a lot of preparation.” The senior knight who rode beside Robert offered his counsel.

Robert massaged his chin and said, “You’re right. Send—”

Suddenly, the knight on the lookout cried out, “Riders ahead! Riders ahead!”

Everyone was caught off guard as dozens of riders broke through their right wing and charged toward their position. Their right-wing cavalry was in pursuit but lagged behind.

“Clever bastards!” exclaimed the senior knight. “Our knights in plates can’t catch them. My lord, with your permission,” he asked, more of a formality, and shouted to his men, “Fifty knights, on me!”

The remaining horsemen hurriedly escorted Robert in the camp’s direction.

“But the main battle,” Robert protested, but his men were having none of it. Protecting their lord was paramount. Nothing else mattered.

Despite this temporary setback, they remained confident in their main troops and believed that the opponent’s cavalry charge was a one-trick pony. With that threat now thwarted, they saw this retreat as merely a noise before their ultimate triumph.

“What the hell is going on?” Michael demanded answers from his staff, who were just as puzzled. They just saw the enemy launch a desperate cavalry action, but now the enemy’s main formation slowly disappeared into a ditch.

A senior staff rode his horse farther to get a better look, but still couldn’t find an explanation. As far as they knew, a ditch or moat was meant to impede or block movement, not to hide troops. The rank and file began to speculate on this oddity, attracting a lot of attention.

Uncertain about what to do but feeling the pressure to take action, Michael ultimately ordered his crossbowmen to test the enemy.

Over a hundred crossbowmen marched onto the field, but they were without their helpers or large pavise shields. They had to rely on whatever cover they could find or some assistance from other units. The ensuing shooting exchange was brutal, but it quickly became apparent that their side was badly outmatched. The enemy had better cover inside their ditch and could fire with impunity.

The sight of their retreating crossbowmen disturbed the entire column. They had been confident with their three-to-one advantage and expected an easy battle, but now fear began to seep in.

“Marshal, it’s time to attack,” urged the staff.

“Very well.” Michael took a deep breath. “Signal the men.” He knew that further delay would only worsen the troops’ morale.

Five hundred of their hardest fighters took to the field while Michael and his staff stayed behind with the remaining three hundred.

The vanguard, clad in plate armor and shields, marched forward in loose formation and soon endured a hail of crossbow attacks. Bravery was present that day. They held their formation and only charged when they were within a stone’s throw from the enemy’s ditch.

Michael lost sight of the vanguard as they fearlessly descended into the ditch. Behind them, closely following, were the men-at-arms. They may have been less equipped than the vanguard, but they were equally eager for violence and recognition.

However, despite their numerical superiority, they were withered by relentless crossbow attacks. The noise of the bolts’ high-pitched sounds as they sliced through the air continued to scream at their ears.

“Where are they coming from? Why do they keep coming?” Michael vented his frustration as the enemy showed no signs of being distracted, even under assault.

His senior staff tried to divert Michael’s frustration by pointing out a group of brave men who made a defensive line with shields. However, their defense was short-lived and collapsed under the enemy’s ceaseless ranged attacks.

The amount of ammunition required to maintain such a constant barrage was tremendous, and it made Michael feel queasy. Doubt began to form in his mind. Was he falling into a trap?

A scout was spotted galloping toward them, his horse kicking up dust and dirt as it approached. As he drew closer, he pulled up sharply and quickly dismounted. “Marshal,” he said, catching his breath. “There’s more than one ditch. At least two more behind the first one.”

Michael winced while his staff looked at each other in shock and disbelief. They had been outmaneuvered and outwitted. The realization hit them hard, and Michael felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Only now did they understand why the ranged attack didn’t lessen at all.

As they had already committed to the attack, Michael and his staff could only watch in horror as their comrades mercilessly fell victim to the ranged attacks. The scene was both humiliating and heartbreaking. They had relatives and friends among the assault force who were now fighting for their lives. But there was nothing they could do. The assault must succeed at all costs.

Not surprisingly, the assault began to falter. Several groups had seen enough blood, broke formation, and retreated.

“Round them up,” Michael ordered his staff, fearing that the retreat could turn into a rout.

Before they could do anything, a rider emerged from their right galloping toward Michael. The rider pulled up abruptly after he found Michael. “Marshal,” he said breathlessly. “The enemy cavalry has broken our right wing. They’re aiming for Lord Robert’s position.”

Michael instinctively pulled the reins of his horse, ready to rush to his lord’s side. However, a knight grabbed his arms and stopped the young marshal.

“Marshal, you are needed here,” the knight said sternly.

“But Lord Robert is under threat,” Michael stated angrily.

The knight’s grip on Michael’s arm tightened. “You can’t leave this spot or else our entire formation will collapse!”

Michael tried to compromise. “I’ll leave my banner—”

“The men will still recognize you,” said the knight firmly.

Michael groaned but remained in his place.

“Lord Robert is a skilled fighter, and he has capable knights with him,” the knight tried to reassure him.

Michael took a deep breath and surveyed the battlefield. “Then tell me, what’s our next move?”

“I believe we just need to focus on winning what’s in front of us,” the knight replied.

Michael looked at his staff and made his decision. “All right, send the rest of the troops forward.”

“Marshal, I believe we’re the only group left,” his staff reported.

“Then we shall commit ourselves,” Michael said resolutely and dismounted.

Word that the viscount was retreating spread like wildfire, but before anyone could react, a general attack was ordered.

Michael and his staff joined the remaining men-at-arms and marched with their shields raised. Behind them, the levied troops followed. The latter were trained peasants with little armor and weaponry. Their inadequacy was only remedied by their sheer size. At their rear, a score of cavalry remained vigilant to deter anyone from desertion.

However, the Lowlandians showed their mettle today. Michael and his comrades were ready to give it their all, and as they charged forward, the barrage of crossbow bolts began to dwindle. A path opened up to them. With great cries that echoed across the field, they fearlessly plunged toward the trenches, and the battle descended into chaos.