The jaque is the name given to several types of armor. It covers the torso and the arms going down to the top of the knee. Some are made of mesh and are then only hauberks. The fabric jacket is an armor made of several layers of thick fabric.
Gambeson is an armor of thick upholstered fabric of spunk or quilted cotton.
The hoqueton is the name of the coat of arms that men of arms wear over their armor. It is part of the livery (the equivalent of the medieval uniform). However, some foot people have no other armor than the hiccup which must then certainly be made of several layers of thick fabric.
In the Middle Ages, the same name can refer to several different armors... or vice versa, the same armor can be designated by several names, hence a certain artistic blur in the designations.
The Siege
(Part One)
30 Midyear 3E 417
The Bjoulsae River flowed south, calm and powerful, yet so difficult to dominate, and sometimes deadly. Where he reached the coast, the men had gathered in their first societies, raising the city of Wayrest.
Captain Hauteclaire, commander of the soldiers piling up on the bridge of the carrak, looked towards Refuge. He showed the orc regiments that were spinning around the ramparts, as well as the vaults that were flying high above the roofs. He speak to Artoria Pendragon:
- The pigs' offspring are starting to invert the city, but I doubt that the siege is already full. As for the wyvern, they simply scare the population. The soldiers on the docks are Bretons and the banners that float on the towers are those of Menevia.
As the ships approached the shore, the nature of the smoke ribbons surrounding Wayrest became clearer. The seats of fire were not within its walls, but outside. The villages and farms built in the middle of the fields had been burned by the invaders. Likewise, the suburbs to the north of the city were ablaze.
As soon as the ships touched the docks, madness seemed to seize the place. A crowd of civilians rushed in screaming, looking to climb aboard. Men were calling. Crying women raised terrified children above their heads.
Captain Hauteclaire issued orders for a security cordon to deploy and prevent the crowd from storming his ships:
- But why is there such panic? Artoria asked.
The officer wanted to answer, but a gigantic shadow hid the sun. The squire turned to the sky, following with her eyes a wyvern that was moving away. Others gathered and fell on the harbor. The goblins mounted on their backs loosened arrows at random, dispersing the crowd in the midst of loud cries. On the rooftops of the storehouses, crossbowmen fought back as they could. However, the dragons' cousins were already dispersing. On leaving, one of the winged monsters closed his cleats on a horrified soldier, taking him in the air with a wing blow.
Artoria Pendragon reacts only by a narrowing her beautiful green eyes, showing little of the anger that bubbled in her. Yet her helplessness ulcerated the girl. At her side, Captain Hauteclaire was already distributing his orders. It was necessary to unload the grain loaded on board the ships, as well as the men to strengthen the garrison. Once this is done, the ships could handle as many women, children and old people as possible to evacuate them to the island of Balfiera.
Without waiting for the soldiers to set up the ramp, Artoria jumped ashore and ran to the nearest postern. The guards, busy calming the civilians, or looking up at the sky, did not prevent her from entering. Unfortunately, the city was plunged into real chaos and she had to dodge through the crowd that was going around in circles. Artoria thus reached a place where soldiers standing on an army cart threw various weapons... King Eadwyre was reduced to this end? Recruit all the volunteers? Certainly, he has to fear defeat!
Having only a spear taken from a goblin as a weapon, Artoria pressed herself among those who were seeking to obtain something for self-defense and recovered a tear-shaped shield bearing the three roses of Menevia, and a broadsword in its sheath.
Although armed, the girl was now even more worried. Like all the fugitives who ran from one shelter to another, she peered stealthily at the sky and ... a loud cry was heard from a wyvern, a crossbow had touched it. Seriously wounded, the winged snake fell right on her!
Artoria threw herself forward, made a roll then came to rest by hitting a door. Behind her a great shock preceded a rain of boards and broken tiles. Although slightly bruised, the apprentice knight rose quickly. She turned around to discover a collapsed house. From its debris emerged the wounded wyvern. Although one of its wings was broken and the blood maculated its breast, the monster was still fighting. Staring at the squire who had just drawn her sword, he threw himself forward.
Prana Burst! The blade swirled in the hands of the teenage girl, tracing bloody furrows on the scales of the dragon's cousin. The power she drew from her heart made Artoria faster and more agile than most men. She dodged two attacks one after the other, except that in the third... a wing blow threw her back. She had narrowly trimmed her shield. However, the wyvern was so powerful that her whole body encased. Staggering, the young woman felt the copper taste of blood in her mouth.
Her opponent had a pitiful appearance. His scales, stained with scarlet, were shattered. The winged beast could only bite into the void, dragging itself to the ground in search of his foe. Artoria struck the head twice to push the monster back and then her blade penetrated deep into the heart of the dragon's cousin. After a last cry, the beast collapsed like a mass.
The apprentice knight verified that she had no serious injury. Thanks to her natural healing abilities, the received scratches would close themselves. Wiping her blade, she put it back and tried to leave for the palace. The men who had witnessed the fight let her pass, stunned by the gallantness that had just been demonstrated by this pretty blonde teenager, dressed in a dirty blue shirt worn on a withered shirt.
Soldiers in silver jacque or gambeson, adorned with the armories of Menevia, advanced towards her. They had a variety of headdresses, most often Chapel-de-fer or salads, or even simple cervelliere. They were Freearchers (1) armed with crossbows, knit-piercing daggers and large bulwarks which they carried in the back, a bourgeois militia of the city. Their leader addressed the young woman:
- Thank you for completing this monster. Can we help you? You seem... Lost!
His eyes are heavier on her dress. Five days sleeping in the woods... and especially the blood of the ogre killed in the battle of the Bjoulsae had made it a ruin.
- I am Artoria Pendragon, a squire from the castle of Tournelle. Could you escort me to the palace? I must speak to the king. I have messages for him, including one from His Majesty's son, Prince Pélage.
Although she was as dirty as a beggar, the natural authority of the King of the Knights remained intact. The young officer bowed:
- Of course, lady Pendragon.
Wayrest, the City of White Marble Walls was one of the most glorious cities in the west of Tamriel. Its beauty was remarkable and its past made its luster. Its magnificent walls were certainly not of white marble contrary to what its nickname might have made it believe, but their whiteness impressed the newcomers. In addition, they were marked by tall towers with pepper roofs. The course of the river Bjoulsae bathed the foot of the walls, reinforcing the obstacle they represented in its eastern perimeter.
The city surrounded by fortifications was divided into six districts: residential, temple, market, bank, palace, mage and port. The flourishing trade allowed the city's merchants to build large houses and beggars were scarce.
Wayrest's remarkable monuments included the Guild of the Magi, a large two-storey house with slate roofs. Next to it was the Chironasium, an enchantment workshop. The Cathedral of the Divine with its high bell tower could be seen at any point of the city. As for the king's castle, it was a great manor surrounded by its own walls.
The presence of the Freearchers allowed Artoria to pass through the gates of the palace. However, they could not take it any further. So she went on alone.
The place was plunged into chaos. Guards roamed the roofs, without respect for the red tiles. Bows in hand, they were shooting arrows at the vaults that were spinning in the sky.
On the ground, couriers arrived on horseback and galloping, avoiding the servants, who seemed to run without reason, from one building to another. The entrance to the manor had been transformed into a dug-in camp. More than a hundred soldiers stood at the foot of the stairs, ready to repel a blow of force on the royal person. The doors, however, remained wide open, and messengers entered or left at every moment.
Artoria headed for the entrance but a robust sergeant accompanied by two men-at-arm intervened. They were Wayrest guards, wearing green hiccups and capes of the same color lined with fur, like the edge of their round helmet. With their hand on the pommel of their swords, they listened to him before calling Gayal, the captain of the palace garrison. She had to repeat her story to him.
The young officer had tears in her eyes when she finished:
- Follow me, we must warn the king.
In his wake, Artoria walked through the lounges and the sumptuous corridors of the Royal Palace. There, all was splendor and magnificence. Finally, they arrived at a door guarded by two knights wearing the armor of the Order of the Rose.
- Wait right here!
The throne room was a large, very tall room whose walls were lined with colonnades. Under a huge banner alternating the flowers of lily and the three roses of Menevia, a flight of marches led to a checkerboard floor where one could see two thrones.
The one on the left was occupied by Eadwyre, a handsome old man with hair as white as his beard, the forehead girded with a golden crown. His wife, the black elf queen Barenzia, wore a tiara forming two wings on either side of her face. The crown, also of gold, was inlaid with several rubies of immense value.
Captain Gayal, wearing a better cut-out version of the green uniform of the Wayrest Guard, advanced to the foot of the steps leading to the throne. The old king saw him and ordered him to raise his head:
- Your Majesty, I regret to bring bad news. A young woman has just introduced herself. She reports that Prince Pélage died defending the Bjoulsae Bridge five days ago. It also reports that the castle of Tournelle was taken and destroyed. The count of La Roche is said to be among the dead.
The old king bent his head, crushed by the news. His beautiful wife, with dark grey skin, pointed ears and red eyes so typical of the Dunmers, took his hand and pressed it into her. In spite of their differences, their struggle against Jagarn Tharn, the usurper of the imperial throne had brought them closer and brought love to each other. Pélage being the son of Carolyna, Eadwyre's first wife, Barenzia was therefore far less affected than her husband. Once again, she was the king's strength:
- What is the name of this messenger?
- Artoria Pendragon, Your Majesty. She claims to be an apprentice knight at the castle of Tournelle and the only survivor of the massacre of its inhabitants.
- A squire?
The black elf queen frowned:
- How old is she?
- I... I don't know, Your Majesty... under sixteen, anyway.
- And she crossed the enemy lines to Wayrest?
The question was purely rhetorical and Gayal simply acquiesced.
- Do you believe her?
- Yes, Your Majesty. When she speaks, her personality seems foreign to lying. And then, to tell you the truth, given the condition of his clothing, she could have crawled across Oblivion!
- All right, take her to a bathroom and get her clothes to her size. Tell her she will be summoned when she has eaten and is presentable.
Barenzia turned to her husband. It would also give her husband time to overcome the shock of these catastrophic news.
A bath!
It was just hot water and soap!
Of course!
But in the final analysis, it was mostly the ultimate luxury that removed the civilized being from the filth of savagery. For a little, Saber would have forgotten her usual self-control to display a gaping smile unworthy of her. As a servant poured warm water to her to rinse her hair, she chipped.
Straightening herself up in the wide wooden basin covered with fabric (to avoid splinters) she wrapped herself in the wonderful soft towel that was handed to her. Once dried, Saber dressed with the help of the girls who had taken care of her.
The clothes that had been prepared for him were not those of a peasant woman. On a shirt - an undergarment similar to a nightgown- and a shirt laced with grey fabric, she wore a blue dress with removable sleeves in white brocade embroidered with red flowers.
Once her hair gathered in a braid wrapped in the back of her head, Artoria felt perfectly ready for her next confrontation... In fact, she saw no other way her summons to the king. A battle where her tongue would be her sword.
Once again, guided by a servant, Saber crossed the long halls of the manor. Everywhere price furniture, weapons, tapestries and paintings captured the gaze. From far and wide, halberd guards doors or intersections. As usual, the majesty of the place was certain. Alas, the presence of couriers running on the red carpets or of officers in dented armor, soiled by the filth of the fighting, recalled the precarious situation of Wayrest.
Finally, they reached the high gates of the throne room. The chamberlain entered before her and struck the floor of his ceremonial halberd:
- Artoria Pendragon of Tournelle.
The dignitary seemed almost embarrassed to have no title to add. It could not be said that it is common for individuals of low extraction to be brought in the presence of King Eadwyre of Menevia.
In the throne room, knights still soiled by the fighting, mercenary chiefs with brilliant adornments, olds councilmen and perfumed courtesans fought around a map of the city where pawns were soldiers and riders. Most of them did not look up, eager to support their point of view. Only a few curious ones looked at the entrance... and forgot to breathe.
In an elegant step, head straight, with her eyes fixed before her, the most beautiful girl they had ever seen, walked on the thick carpet that led to the feet of the royal stage. With her hair like gold powder, her delicate and graceful silhouette, her pale skin, she was truly breathtaking beauty.
Where they were waiting for a "peasant" and they met the nobility incarnate. There was no sign of shyness in her manner of treading the floor of the throne room.
Intrigued by those who had suddenly left the lively conversation around the map table, others looked up and found themselves magnetized in turn. The conversation went out, replaced by surprised whispers.
This was the effect of the Charisma skill at rank B.
King Eadwyre and Queen Barenzia were not the least surprised. While waiting for the girl, they had inquired about her. Certainly, Captain Gayal had said that she was beautiful and of great natural dignity. However, it was still a young man who was inevitably touched by the romanticism aroused by the arrival of a young heroine in these dark hours. Faced with the pure young girl who was advancing towards them, the royal couple had some trouble imagining her knocking down a wyvern, as the Freearchers who brought her to the palace reported.
Arriving at the feet of the steps, Saber surprised all those present by kneeling one hand on the heart... like a knight! When she should have bowled... as the Chamberlain had shown her.
- Your Majesty, I, Artoria Pendragon, squire at the castle of Tournelle, answer your summons. What are your orders, Eadwyre, my sovereign?
The voice as soft as silk but as firm as steel resounded clearly throughout the room.
Despite his sadness, the king smiled:
- Damsel Pendragon, your lord thanks you for your loyalty. We want to know how you met my noble son and if it is true that he is... dead.
Artoria bowed down. For the third time since her arrival at the palace, she recounted her epic, the destruction of Tournelle, the meeting with Rin Tohsaka - she showed the letter that the Magus was to bring to the Count of La Roche. Finally Saber comes to what she had seen from the battle of the Bjoulsae.
- Your Majesty, I was powerless to save Prince Pélage. I cannot make amends for my failure, and please hold me responsible.
Queen Barenzia raised her hand:
- No, Damsel Pendragon. My husband cannot hold you against not having saved His Royal Highness where an army failed before you. Lift up your head, there can be no question of punishing you, we would rather reward you for the risks you took in coming to inform us of the death of the noble son of our royal husband.
There was silence and Barenzia had to repeat to Artoria to raise her head so that she could finally do it. Eadwyre then intervened:
- Has Prince Pélage entrusted you with a few last words to communicate to us?
- Certainly, Your Majesty. He asked me to report his defeat to you and...
The teenager girl could not completely conceal the violent emotions that passed through her. Like an echo, she heard Shiro's voice, angry, while he reproached the Knights of the Round Table for never daring to contradict her: "Isn't the role of a subject also to tell his king that he is wrong? Is not as much an expression of his loyalty as avoiding the mistakes that could condemn his kingdom?" The situation was reversed. Now it was up to her to talk, but the truth was in her throat. Saber suddenly understood why his knights remained silent... until the revolt. "Oh, Mordred, Lancelot, Tristan, pardon!" she murmured in herself.
Barenzia's sweet voice cut on her torments:
- Damsel Pendragon, if there are some harsh words that you have to say to us, we will not confuse the messenger with the content of the message.
- Madam, I thank you for your kind words, but that is not the point.
Saber sighed and turned to Eadwyre:
- Your Majesty, your son's last words were simply to advise you to lock yourself up behind the walls of Wayrest and accept its siege. Nevertheless... I beseech you not to take this advice, my king!
The young girl's vehemence surprised the old monarch, but Artoria continued:
- Perhaps my words go far beyond my condition, and I am prepared to answer for them in the manner that Your Majesty wishes. However, I am not speaking out of disrespect, but out of a desire to fulfill my duty as the subject of the King of Menevia. If you abandon the campaign to the enemy, you will only hide behind the walls of Wayrest to die!
Although the courtesans whisper to each other, sometimes in an angry tone, Eadwyre seemed more surprised than anything else:
- Why this? Why would hiding behind the walls of Wayrest lead to our fall?
- Sire, a siege is a conflict of attrition. The one who can obtain the best supply and renew his forces wins. If we abandon the campaign to the enemy, he will be free to draw from it at will. Conversely, by keeping forces outside the walls, we can ambush his convoys and foragers, starve him, and exhaust him. Even more, in the face of such a powerful enemy, it is boasting of vain fantasies to want to engage all his army in one point in the hope of winning a "decisive battle". To resort to the test of strength in the face of an enemy more powerful than oneself is to play one's game. He would easily counter us with his numerical superiority and we would only offer him victory. Our only option is to... prolong the conflict. Stay alive until the reinforcement of other kingdoms or the Emperor reaches us. Thus, by dispersing the enemy between several areas of resistance, we prevent it from counteracting us at one point and crashing into it at one time.
The explanation caused a shock among the courtesans. Some mercenary leaders and captains of great renown approved vigorously because they had supported similar positions against the councilors and caudate especially eager to regroup in town the maximum number of soldiers for protect them... forgive me, protect the king.
- Brilliant!
Surprise, Artoria looked at Queen Barenzia clapping.
- My husband, I urge you to heed this distinguished opinion.
The king stood up and asked for the sword of the knight who stood on guard beside the throne, and then began to go down the steps:
- Surprising that someone so young has such knowledge of the art of war. Damsel Pendragon, have you had any good teachers?
- The best, Your Majesty.
Ector, Merlin, Bedivere... and, with Shiro's behavior against Berserker and Rider, an excellent example of what not to do.
- Lady Pendragon, do you swear to always follow the teachings of the divine and to believe in their commandment?
- I swear to the Aedra.
- Lady Pendragon, do you swear to defend the worship of the Nine Divines?
- I swear to the Aedra.
Eadwyre enumerated other oaths: the respect of the weak whose protection she had to be; the love of Menevia, the country where she was born; that she should never flee before the enemy; that she had to fight fiercely against the enemies of the Nine; that she had to fulfill her feudal duties as long as they did not oppose the commandments of the Divines; that she should never lie and always remain faithful to her word; that she should be generous; and that she should always be the champion of right and good against injustice and evil. Each time she swore, gradually understanding where this improvised ceremony led her.
- Then, Lady Artoria Pendragon, we recognize you as a Knight of the Order of the Rose and - as Grand Master - we accept you within it.
The sword struck each shoulder and then landed on the top of her head.
- Stand up Lady Artoria Pendragon, Knight of the Rose.
As she obeyed, he will be against her twice before turning to the courtesans:
- I recognize her as my sister. Together we will walk into the darkness of the valley of death.
The others resumed this sentence in chorus before ending with a triple hurrah.
The next three days were fertile in clashes. The king had placed Artoria at the head of about twenty men, a mixture of peasants equipped with surplus army or agricultural tools, supervised by a few armed men and archers. Commanded by Saber, they won several skirmishes and even took part in two more important battles.
The first of them opposed a force led by a lord of Menevia, a few hundred men, including knights, men of arms and archers to a smaller group of forest goblins. They included spider riders, wolves, archers and spearmen. Their weapons were of poor quality and their armor consisted of bones.
The battle lasted only a few minutes, the charge of the knights breaking the heart of the enemy device before the mounted archers and infantrymen cut into pieces the rest of the howling pack.
In the second fight, King Eadwyre himself led the charge against an ambushed supply convoy. The barbarian mercenaries supported by a minotaur, defended themselves valiantly, however the Bretons knights were more numerous and enjoyed the advantage of surprise. After a brief and violent battle, they tore apart the invaders. Artoria was particularly impressed by the sight of the bull-headed monster, dead but held upright by the ten cavalry spears that pierced him.
Nevertheless, most often the small troupe of Artoria operated alone. They had to sneak between the invaders' patrols, mount ambushes... and run, pursued by the enemies. The plain of Bjoulsae was swarming with enemies attacking the villages, besieging the forts and castles.
On the ninth day of the invasion, 3 Sun's Height, the orcs had taken all the localities of the Bjoulsae plain with the exception of Wayrest.
(1) The Freearchers are militiamen raised from the bourgeois population, rich enough to buy weapons and armor. They practice every sundas (Tamriel's Sunday of the week). The term "free" here means that they do not belong to a seigniorial army but are recruited by the cities. As for "archer", it is confusing because, nine times out of ten, these militiamen fight with the crossbow, a precise and powerful weapon that does not require as much training as the bow.
Author note: Although moderately pleased with the translation, I hope to receive help from those of you who know ancient English. I tried to give a medieval twist to the dialogues, but my knowledge of English is not enough for that.