This wasn't the first time Irongron had crossed swords with his neighbouring warlord, Tancred. No indeed. And any other time it would have been his pleasure to bash mace agin shield or couch lance for lance in battle with the rival fighter; for beneath his grudging mouthing of the prayers to the damnable imported religion of the 'Peace God' Ceros, Irongron was a pagan at heart, and still in his mind worshiped the older gods, especially the God of Battle!
But this was not a good time, nor a propitious day, for such a blood-spilling. For this day was not the feast-day of the God of Battle, but of the God of Trickery and Knavery. And he had planned to be elsewhere this day: for he tired of Offo's pretended kingship and his false titles and the meaningless baubles he held out to those thanes who followed him: 'Duke' Irongron, indeed! And a fancy brass circlet around his head to go with the equally meaningless title. Pah! The Devil with it. If he could be a Duke, then why not a King in Offo's stead? After all, were he and his followers not the main military force at the fat spider's command? Aye, then death to Offo, a march on the Great Orm, a knife in the dark, and he, Irongron! would be ruler of Sask.
But then there was that stupid business of Greyfalls Hold. That had stirred up a hornet's nest all right, and now Tancred had invaded his lands to get to Offo. Irongron appreciated the irony of the situation, if nothing else. He must defend Offo from Tancred, or else see his lands and his crops despoiled, before he could turn on the slug himself. Well, so be it. He had a secret weapon, too: those same mercenaries who had come from Greyfalls Keep, bearing tales of how they had been stabbed in the back by Offo's niece, Rigunth, who had treacherously sold them out and let Tancred's men into the fort, and how they were burning for revenge against the warlord.
Yes, those very same White Falcons would be his hidden reserve! He had positioned his main force of heavy mailed knights, with their long, kite-like shields, on a prominent hill, Aelfthryth's Mound, with a few bowmen, crossbows and slingers in a wood to his right and a motley collection of peasant militia to his right and behind the horse, hard against a river called Barrows Run. Irongron didn't usually indulge in such effete southern fancies as 'tactics' and 'strategy' - but today was the Trickster God's Day, and he hoped, through the hurly burly of battle, to be able to see Tancred's face as he smashed through the peasant levy on his right and, disordered by the rout, see the White Falcons wheel around from behind the hill and, with long spears and interlocked shield, crush his reeling horsemen.
All right, it wasn't the greatest plan in military history, but it was the first time Irongron had had one: he usually just charged pell-mell at the enemy and hoped his men could keep up.
Aye, he would chase Tancred from the field, and then turn northward, and deal fat Offo the same hand.
"The only law I recognize is the law of the sword"
Tancred d' Sartell had always been aggressive in his campaigns but that did not mean reckless or foolhardy. He had learned a bitter lesson as a young man when he had been too hot blooded and blundered into an ambush. Obviously he had survived but among his small force of retainers the losses had been high, far too high. Ever since, he made proper scouting a priority. Some nobles disdained light cavalry, as they could not stand up in mounted combat with the fierce knights so prized in Saski warfare. But Tancred made it a point to have enough that he could send such troops out ahead of his line of march - to be in effect his eyes and ears. They were to find the enemy not be expected to charge with the knights.
So on this day Tancred sat upon his destrier, hands resting on the pommel, listening to the latest reports of returning scouts. So Offo's general wanted to try an ambush. A bit of a surprise considering Offo himself had neither battlefield experience or, in the estimation of most Saski nobles, the sand to actually show up personally on a battlefield. No, the enemy must be led by at least a lord who was a veteran of the wars. Most likely it was Irongron. The two men had fought before. In fact once they had personally crossed swords in a hard skirmish. Tancred regretted he had not been able to kill the man that day. Well, if the enemy were led by Irongron, here was a fresh opportunity to do so.
But it was not about settling personal duels, no, it was about winning the battle. So Tancred gathered his trusted captains about him and a battle plan was decided on. It was a risky one but Tancred knew the caliber of his subordinates and the quality of his veteran army, a trust forged from numerous victories.
***
So it was that Tancred's host, banners flying including his personal one, steadily approached Aelfthryth's Mound, where a strong force of cavalry waited. His army seemed smaller than expected given it was Tancred who had invaded. A core of knights followed by a mixed force of commoner infantry. To those upon that hill it must have been a pleasant surprise. Perhaps this Tancred was too arrogant if he thought he could win the day with an assembled force of this size. About twice the length of archery range, the host halted.
Both armies faced each other in almost dead silence. High above in the clear blue skies, a few birds soared. Oh the view they had if they only were aware of the goings on of men. Soon enough the field would be filled with the dead and dying, a feast for the carrion birds and other scavengers when they arrived.
Sitting upon his destrier, Irongron strained his eyes. His eyesight wasn't the best, truth be told, and he asked a question of his second in command, whose warhorse fidgeted beside his and pawed at the mud of the field with its hoof:
"Ho Alcide! Are myne eyes at fault, or doth Tancred's array seem doubtless small and feeble! Why, we could thunder down from this hillock this very moment and wipe him from the face of Sask!"
This Alcide, whose impatience with his feudal lord was as thin as that of Irongron's with Offo himself, replied firmly: "My Lord, remember you not the plan we made last night at table and agreed to follow to the sticking point?!"
"Arggh! The foolish, foppish plans made by generals at their cups are naught when once upon the field he espies the enemy dispositions!" countered the hasty hearted lord, loudly.
"See, he fields yet half the men he had when last we clashed! Look upon how he halts and draws up his knights, instead of couching lance and charging us upon this hill! Let us charge him and show him how a Saski fights!!"
"But my Lord, our plan!" Alcide pleaded but, even as he spoke, the words turned to ashes in his mouth: for Irongron was clamping down his helmet so the nose bar divided his grim visage in twain and raising his lance, where all eyes flew, his distinctive gonfanon made the signal to advance at the walk and eight hundred hooves began to tread the ground toward Tancred's force before them, leaving the peasant levy under a number of mounted sergeants to follow on pell-mell and the slingers and archers in the woods somewhat useless and stranded.
It mattered not to Irongron: all he cared for was the crash of horse and mailed manhood. Alcide fatalistically clapped his casque, too, to his head and followed his leader to a fate fair or foul.
"The only law I recognize is the law of the sword"
So the impatient enemy were leaving their high ground position and coming down to meet them? It could not have worked better. From Tancred's host came the strident sound of war horns trumpeting as loud as possible. This was only the advance guard and despite Tancred's personal banner, he was not under it or leading this first wave. Instead Arnaud, a veteran warrior and one of Tancred's most trusted commanders was leading this force. Outnumbered yes, but Arnaud knew they did not have to defeat this mass coming down upon them, only hold out long enough for the those trumpeting signals to bring on Tancred with his main body emerging from dead ground or treelines to close the trap.
It was a risky posting but Arnaud had been pleased to be assigned it for it showed his lord relied upon him and if victory came out of this day's battle, his rewards would be great. Arnaud at the last minute launched a countercharge so they would not be caught merely waiting to receive the enemy's wild charge. The initial crash of the two hosts filled the valley with sounds of steel on steel, horses and men going down, cries of exultation and screams of agony.
But like most medieval battles the real heavy losses would come later when one side or the other would break and most lives would be lost in the pursuit by the victors.
Tancred now couched his own lance upon hearing the signals, roared his familiar battle cry and kicked his warhorses flanks. His mailed chivalry joined in the cry as they now charged toward the already chaotic melee. When they hit, they began to overlap around the flanks of Offo's cavalry. The odds were now in favor of Tancred's chevaliers. Tancred struck a shocked looking knight full in the chest, hurling him off his horse, the lance snapping within the unfortunate fellow's chest. Tancred did not hesitate though but drew his war sword and continued into the fray.
Irongron was not long in realising his mistake and the trap into which he had fallen, nor was he slow in responding to his mistake.
"Alcide to me! Alcide to me!!" his voice boomed and somehow or other, that doughty warrior managed to cut his way through to his feudal lord, though not without earning a few dents to his casque and kite-shaped shield, nor without adding a few notches to his sword blade, despite it was wrought by Irongron's almost legendary, and recently deceased swordsmith Beaman.
"My Lord! a fell trick of Tancred's is this!" Alcide managed to pant as his warhorse reeled.
"The day is not lost: trick for trick! Hasten thee to the hill and bring forth the White Falcons!" declaimed the harried commander, before turning and beating off an attack by an enemy knight who bore a roiling blue griffon upon his shield.
Alcide, true to his general's word, beat his way back through the mêlée, though the press was fierce, now they had been flanked by Tancred's fresh horsemen, and yet more dents and notches and blood besmirched his panoply. All was confusion around the hill, straggling peasants of the levy running hither and thither, crossbow men and archers, struggling to make out friend or foe within the battling throng of heavily mailed knights, even some loose sergeants a-horse, thrust out of the main battle and scorning to lower themselves to scutching low-born foot-soldiers, looking out for an opening to get back amongst the noble scrum.
So it was that once free of the main battle, he was able to make his way easily to the hill and around it where, a scarce quarter of an hour before, the White Falcon banner had fluttered in the wind above the mercenary troops of Ælfic and Wulf. But now, there was no fluttering banner, there were no troops, no Ælfic and definitely no Wulf!
"Fled! Fled by Ceros, fled!!" growled Alcine. "YOU!!" a dazed looking peasant lad, trailing a flail usually used for threshing corn, looked up, terrified. "Take yonder loose warhorse and hie thee to Great Orm, and make report to the King that Irongron is defeated, stabbed in the back by those very white livered sparrows he sent unto our succour. Go, and take this ring as a vouchsafe of the veracity of your fell news!" With that he pulled off his own signet ring, which bore a rough approximation of his arms, cunningly wrought by the daughter of the blacksmith Beaman, and thrust it into the young man's outstretched, trmbling hand.
"But Zur, Oi dunno ow to ride a horse!" the lad dared to point out.
"Then you'd better learn, before I cleave your turnip HEAD IN TWAIN!!!" bellowed the knight.
The boy ran off after the loose mount, while Alcide, girding his loins and making his peace with Ceros, spurred his own destrier back into the fray.
"The only law I recognize is the law of the sword"
The unfortunate lad managed to get the reins of a horse but he would not get far. Some of the light cavalry scouts Tancred always employed were lurking about the outer fringes of the battlefield. Not for them to get involved in the cut and thrust melees of the knights, they would be a poor match for such vaunted warriors. But they were quite good at the art of ambush, hit and run raids, and in this case - picking off stragglers. The luckless peasant was soon speared off the horse, throat slit as he lay sprawled out on the ground, and the ring pocketed by one of Tancred's scouts as loot.
***
Meanwhile Tancred's host was rapidly gaining the upper hand on Offo's now outnumbered chivalry. One by one some of his knights were breaking off the battle and hastening to get away while escape was still possible. Live to fight another day. A sizeable number though were by now surrounded on all sides, trapped their fates were yielding or death.
Tancred had just cleaved another foe out of his saddle when he spotted none other than one of Offo's most well known and thus recognizable even in armor, Lord Irongron. The two men had clashed before without any decisive result. Tancred wanted another try at the man. He closed the distance to then shout, "YOU! OFFO'S CHURL!"
He got the man's attention even thru the swirl and tumult of the ongoing mounted brawl.
"We have unsettled business, Irongron! Let us finish it!" and with he waved his bloody sword above his head and charged at the man.
Irongron, who had lost both casque and shield in the rough and tumble of the melee, and who, bareheaded, was at least recognisable to the men he was trying to rally, was just starting to wonder where Alcide had got to, and where was he with the White Falcon re-enforcements, when he heard a nearby throating.
He closed the distance to then shout, "YOU! OFFO'S CHURL!"
The doughty Irongron gave a combined grunt of displeasure at the insult, but also delight at being able to settle things man to man with Tancred, whom he had no difficulty recognising. He might have made a dog's breakfast of this battle, but he could gain some form of absolution by at least striking down the author of this disaster. Indeed, seeing Tancred fall might alter the whole course of the fray.
"We have unsettled business, Irongron! Let us finish it!" and with he waved his bloody sword above his head and charged at the man.
Tancred's opponent needed no further bidding: with bearing rein, Irongron made his horse commit a demi-volte and charged pell-mell toward the approaching Tancred: he wasn't the greatest at thinking up insults in the heat of battle, so contented himself with a loud cry of "Irongronnnn!!" as he attacked, his combat notched sword raised and his teeth bared!
"The only law I recognize is the law of the sword"
Tancred was still helmeted, it was a crucial part of one's equipment especially with the cut and slash warfare on horseback, but his men knew him by the distinct emblem on his shield. That and the near proximity of his well known bodyguards who fought beside him and guarded his back. Irongron seemed to have lost both helm and shield, that was his bad luck. This was not some sporting tournament, this was plain and simple brutal killing. But whatever else one might of have thought of Offo's man, he was no coward. He accepted the challenge with alacrity and so charged right back toward Tancred.
The two veteran warriors came in swinging, Irongron's sword banging off loudly Tancred's shield, it's upraised boss in the main. However Tancred's counter swing left Irongron at quite a disadvantage with nothing to block it but one's upraised arm? And even that you could only do once and then the limb would be gone.
ooc: Your move, :)
The two veteran warriors came in swinging, Irongron's sword banging off loudly Tancred's shield, it's upraised boss in the main. However Tancred's counter swing left Irongron at quite a disadvantage with nothing to block it but one's upraised arm? And even that you could only do once and then the limb would be gone.
Alcide was cutting his way through the throng of tiring warriors: for strong though they were, there was only so long the mounted men, protected cap-à-pie by a mesh of thick chainmail, which protected arms and body from any slashing sweeps of weaponry and was only vulnerable to pointed thrusts, not to mention helmets and shields, could keep bashing away at each other without weakening. It was his privilege to see the end of Irongron: hear the bang of his sword on Tancred's shield, observe the flash of the Eastern Saskian's sword as it glinted through the air.
Irongron's horse, taught by habit to commit a demi-volte to bring its rider back around for a further attack, did so, and its rider sat firmly in the saddle, even if his arms seemed to sag somewhat. The only thing wrong with the picture for Alcide was his feudal lord's un-coifed head which, instead of sitting proudly above his shoulders, as it had always been wont to do, was now rolling merrily towards him on the muddy ground, like a 'prentice-boys' football at a shrove day feast, stopping shortly at the fetlock of a meandering mare.
Irongron's visage possessed, in disembodied death, a peculiarly peaceful and beatific mien that Alcide had never seen it bear in life. Alcide himself knew his duty, and was about to touch spur to his destrier's flank and reek vengeance sore upon the invading Warlord's body, when a quarrel from an ill aimed arbalest struck his horse with deadly penetration and down came rider, mount and all, trapping Irongron's second by the leg, his shield uselessly beneath him and forcing the roaring warrior to henceforth use his sword to fend off the cascading heavily shod hooves of the warhorses battling above him.
Beside him, in the churned up sod, smiled the ghastly head of Irongron.
"The only law I recognize is the law of the sword"
The momentum of the battle was already going Lord Tancred's way but the sudden and very dramatic death of the enemy army's commander seemed to take the heart out of them. Most of those who could pulled away from the melee and spurred their horses to escape. With the defeat of their chivalry, the infantry knew it was hopeless and dissolved into a fleeing mob. Others simply sought quarter. For all practical purposes the battle was over, Tancred had his victory against Offo's host. The rest was just mopping up.
Tancred directed a squire to dismount and recover Irongron's head, it would be set upon a pike later as a trophy of victory then sent to Offo in a cask so that he might know for certain the false king would be needing a new commander. But that would be for later. For now Tancred concentrated on organizing a pursuit, at least as far as Irongron's camp where the victors would enjoy looting. And seeing to it prisoners were taken too. It was fortunate for Alcide he was indeed a knight otherwise an eager soldier might have decided to simply finish him off. But knights could often bring ransoms.
Stripped of his sword and bejeweled dagger, Alcide was pulled from beneath his dead horse and then had his hands bound behind his back. His captors, a few common sergeants, proudly marched the man up to where Tancred sat upon his horse and was quenching his thirst with a drink from his waterskin.
"M'lord! Look what we've managed to snag!" laughed one of the captors.
Tancred looked down upon the fellow, something about him was vaguely familiar.
"And who be you?" Tancred demanded.