The Archer's Gold: Medieval Military fiction: A Novel about Wars, Knights, Pirates, and Crusaders in The Years of the Feudal Middle Ages of William Marshall ... (The Company of English Archers Book 7) (5 page)

       It's getting light for sure.  I can already see the nearby road and in a few minutes we'll be able to see our old campsite on the other side of it. 

       “Are you and the boys ready to run for it?” I quietly ask Thomas.

       “Yes, of course we are.  Our horses are saddled and ready to go.  And I’ve gone over and over our situation with the boys and their outriders.  They know what they’re to do if they get the order to run."

       Then my priestly brother put his hand on my shoulder to steady me. 

       "Don't get yourself in a worry.  They’re smart lads, aren't they?  They understand the situation; if they're told to run they’ll fetch their horses and head for Launceston like the devil himself is behind them and snapping at their arses.”

       We had debated what to do with George and the lads all night long.  In the end it was Thomas’s decision that they stay.  He'd reckoned they be safer here with us than on the road where they might run into patrols of fighting men coming out of Oakhampton. 

       It’s probably just as well that the boys stay even if we don't need them as horse holders.  We can use the boys to fetch water for the men and we need the long bows of Thomas and the three outriders assigned to the boys.

       And even the short bows of the boys might be useful when the knights and their men get close enough for the boys' arrows to reach them – a little arrow in the eye or throat or anywhere else on a horse or man is just a good as a “heavy” or a “long” from our Marines' longbows.

       We're tightly grouped in the basic fighting formation we've come to use whenever we face mounted knights - three lines of archers and then a gap of twenty paces and then four more lines of archers. 

       Every Marine archer also has a pike, a sword, and a shield.  The pikes, of course, are on the ground so they can't be seen by horsemen charging us - until our men raise them and set them at the last moment when it is too late for the horse of a charging rider to avoid being impaled.  It's something our recruits practice almost every day.

       The second four archer lines are further back, of course, because of our past experience using the pikes against charging horsemen.  Being impaled on a grounded pike stops the horses dead in their tracks but sometimes the riders don't stop when the horses stop - they fly off their horses and knock down our men like bowling pins on the village green.

       I know what happens to riders when their horses run on to our pikes because that's exactly what happened to me when that stupid King Guy's knights charged into our line in front of Nicosia - one of them came flying out of his saddle when our pikes stopped his charging horse and knocked me on my arse.

       We learned at Nicosia didn't we?  Now we leave a gap of twenty paces between our third and fourth lines so the riders who fly off their horses can land without knocking down so many of our men. 

       Then, of course, when the horsemen are down and in the unlikely event they haven't broken their necks and are still alive, we cut their throats or stab their eyes through their helmet eyeholes if we don't want to hold them for ransom - which we mostly don't.

       George and the rest of Thomas' students are where they'll be safest - in the center behind the second four lines of Raymond’s Horse Marines and outriders.

       Thomas and the three outriders are with the boys and all of their horses are tied to the trees immediately behind them along a path that runs through the trees.  I goes from where we are to a meadow with a view of the road in the distance.  The rest of our horses are tied to trees further on down the path.

       The only men further back than George and the other boys are a couple of Raymond’s outriders.  They’ve been posted on the other side of the woods.  They'll gallop down the path through the trees and sound the alarm if anyone tries to come up behind us.

@@@@@

       Roger de Broase is my knight.  He's one of the Earl of Gloucester's knights and I’ve been squire to him ever since he flogged Hubert for running away when Sir Roger was in France and the French broke through our lines at Limousin. 

       At least that’s what Sir Roger said happened even though some of the other squires say otherwise - they say that Hubert didn’t run, that it was Sir Roger who ran and Hubert merely followed him as a good squire should. 

       Well I won’t run even if Sir Roger acts like a coward; I want to be advanced to a knight.  It's always been my dream and I’d as soon as die before I’d run and disgrace my father the way Sir Roger claims Hubert disgraced his.  I've already decided - if Sir Roger runs I won't follow him.

       I'd had trouble sleeping and was wide awake when old Peter, one of our sergeants, came around with the bucket of breakfast ale to wake us so we can get the horses ready and help our knights into their armour. 

       It's seems early and I can hardly see but perhaps that's what happens when the knights are anxious for a battle to start. 

       Edward, my friend and fellow squire, is already at the horse lines when I arrive carrying my horse's saddle blanket under which I'd been sleeping - and find him using my leather grain bucket to feed his knight's chaser.

       "I know my friend; it's your bucket." Edward said with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. 

       "But someone stole mine so please let me use yours for a few minutes while you lay out Sir Roger's armour.  It's good luck to help a friend before a battle, you know."

       Edward is indeed a friend so all I can do is nod and rush back to where I'd been sleeping to fetch the harness, saddle, and front padding for Sir Roger's destrier.  I'll saddle the destrier first while I'm waiting for my grain bucket and then make a second trip to get my own saddle for the rouncey mare my father provided for me.

       Hmm.  I wonder why Sir Roger is riding his destrier instead of his big rouncey.  They are for tournaments and charge much slower you know, destriers I mean.

      
My trouble begins when I get back to the horse line.  Sir Roger is waiting and in a great rage.

       "My armour isn't laid out and my horse hasn't even been fed," he said as he slapped me face and lifted his hands to beseech the heavens.  "This will never do."  He is so angry he is trembling. 

       Five minutes later and things have settled down even though everyone is terribly excited, even the castle servants who aren't going with us.  I've both my horse and Sir Roger's destrier saddled and both are eating the traditional double ration of grain horses always get before a joust or battle. 

       Sir Roger has settled down as well.  Now he is all excited and talking loudly and boldly with the other knights in our entourage. 

       We're ready to go even though I'm famished.  I surely would like another drink of morning ale.  Hopefully we'll be done with the outlaws and back here in time for the first meal of the day.

       Finally the signal horn sounds and the courtyard is full of shout and sounds as the heavily armoured knights begin to mount.  It takes some time because the armour of Sir Roger and the other knights is so heavy that they need help mounting and there are only a few stools available for them to stand on.

       Sir Roger is still quite keen for the fighting to begin.  He's literally trembling with excitement as I help push him up on to his horse.  He wants to be among the first to ride out of the castle and it looks like he will get his wish. 

       I quickly mount my rouncey and follow behind as Sir Roger spurs his destrier to move up to the front of our column.  The sun has only been up for about fifteen minutes as my rouncey finishes clattering over the drawbridge behind Sir Roger's destrier. 

       By the time we're across we've already moved all the way up to the very front of the column right behind the Gloucester banner.  And Sir Roger, thank goodness, is having a fine old time and drawing lots of favorable glances and nods of agreement as he shouts loud encouragements to everyone we pass. 

       This is very exciting.  It's my first battle even though they say it is only a band of badly equipped outlaws who won't give us much trouble.

@@@@@

       We trot down the castle road until we come to where the castle road joins the main road - and pull up in surprise.  The sheep pasture where the outlaws had been camped yesterday afternoon is empty.

       "There.  There they are, over there in front of the trees.  They've moved, by God."

       What we can see in front of the trees across the way is a number of men sitting on the ground next to five or six wagons - no banners and no horses. And, of course, they can obviously see us.

      What is so strange is that the outlaws are just sitting there.  They are not getting up to run away into the forest behind them.

       "We must attack immediately before they can escape into the trees." someone shouts. 

       I think it is Lord Courtenay from the local castle but I'm not sure.  It really doesn't matter who gave the order for off we all go trotting towards the outlaws with our banners flying. 

       Everything proceeds as I'd been told it would by my father.  We all follow our lord's banner at a trot for a while until our lords and leaders stop about three hundred paces away from the first of the outlaws. 

       That's where the banner men will stop so we can close up around them and prepare for our grand charge.  The outlaws, of course, have seen us and are climbing to their feet. As we get closer I can see they're all wearing the same brown tunics that farmers sometimes wear.

      Our men are still closing up around the banners when I can clearly see a rippling movement among the assembled outlaws and everything changes.

       Suddenly the air is filled with a whooshing sound and arrows are coming down on us even though we are well out of range. 

       Except we aren't.  All around me I can see knights pulling down their helmet visors and hear the screams and cries of men and horses wounded by the rain of arrows falling on us - and here I am with only an iron pot on my head that has no visor.

      We've obviously got to get out from under the hailstorm of arrows.  So it is no surprise at all when an order is quickly given to move, or at least I assume an order is given, for we all begin to ride forward towards the outlaws as we should rightly do.

       One of the lords must have made a decision for our banners begin to lead us forward.  It's mass confusion as Sir Roger and many of the riders around me begin following the banners towards the outlaws - and some don't as horses and men begin bolting and screaming and going down all about us, particularly to my front around the banners. 

       I neither gallop after the banners nor bolt.  I keep my place behind Sir Roger as he moves his destrier slowly forward.  His horse wants to keep up with the others but I can see him straining on the reins to slow it down. 

       Shouting riders are pouring past us on both sides as we drop further and further behind the banners at the front of our charge.

       Suddenly I feel a tremendous blow to my chest that somehow knocks me right off my horse.  As I go down and bounce on the rocky ground I can clearly see my horse running after Sir Roger's destrier and the grey feathers at the end of the arrow sticking out of my chest. 

       I don't feel a thing when a wound-crazed horse throws off its rider and steps squarely on the side of my head a few seconds later.

                       Chapter Six

       We all stand up and watch the knights as they ride towards us.  Their approach is such that there is no question about it, they mean to do us harm.  Those of us who haven't already picked up an arrow do so and I can see a few of the men in the ranks behind me checking their bowstrings to once again make sure they are properly strung. 

       A couple of men have their dingles out and are peeing again and I see a few who are fussing with the pikes and arrows laid out on the ground next to them.  Other than that, we are waiting quietly because that is all we can do.  I can hear a few prayers being quietly muttered but that's about all.

       As soon as dawn broke this brisk May morning Henry, Peter, and I had paced off a longbow's range for our "longs" and placed a couple of range rocks and noted the distance to a straggly tree that had somehow taken root in the pasture area in front of us.  Then we came back a ways and placed them for our "heavies."

       The rocks and the tree are our markers.  Now all we can do is stand here in front of our men with our long bows and watch until the approaching banners reach them. 

       Everyone is listening for me just as Henry learned them. 

       When I think enough of our attackers have come past our markers and are in our kill zone, I'll give the order to shoot and the three of us will fade back into our positions in front of the fourth line of archers. 

       Henry and Peter know that, of course, because it's something we've practiced with the men many times, but I'll order them back when I do, and loud enough for the men behind me to hear. 
I don't want anyone to forget and think were running.

       "My God, what fools." Henry said to no one in particular with a resigned shake of his head and loud enough for some of our men to hear.