Chapter 2-New Arrivals
Ilsa glanced over her shoulder with an amused smirk. William, quaking with fear, was making the sound one hears after a loud bang. Shaking her head, the young landsknecht turned back to her front, where Naran and his Mongol horse archers where riding straight toward her and her men, frantically firing at unseen, screaming pursuers. "Haben Sie keine Angst, Jungs!" Ilsa shouted, hoisting her sword, "Gott ist mit uns, weil er Geld liebt, auch!*"
*Don't be scared, boys! God is with us because he loves money, too!
The landsknechts gave excited calls as they to prepared for the coming fight, the seventh of the day. The Tavern Keeper had presented Ilsa with a contract to reinforce a French held castle in Ile-de-France, under heavy attack. After...persuading Naran and William to come along, Isla had set out. She and her company had spent the entire morning fending off increasingly fierce attacks by the English at first. It had gone unnoticed that the last two waves were wearing purple.
Naran locked eyes vindictively with Ilsa from the back of his mount and for a moment the German girl thought he just might stampede his men through her troops. Fortunately, the Mongols broke left and right at the last moment, revealing a troop of executioners, who seemed to freeze in surprise at the sight of the German troops.
The landsknechts wasted no time and rushed forward. Unlike the executioners, who mostly just chopped at their enemies, the garishly dressed German warriors had as much finesse with their huge zweihanders as fencing masters. Rushing toward an executioner, Ilsa flipped her sword around, now holding it by the blade. She used the large cross guard as a hook and yanked her opponent's left ankle out from under him. Flipping the zweihander back around, Ilsa sank the tip of the blade into her downed opponent's chest, then turned to another approaching enemy. She blocked the big man's strike, then slid her own sword down along his blade. When the weapon was where she wanted it, Ilsa leveled it and thrust, driving the long sword through the executioner's torso. Tightening her grip, Ilsa yanked her sword to the left, ripping it free of the barbarian's body with a shower of gore. Turning away from her dying enemy, Ilsa readied herself for an attack from a cutthroat. The young mercenary blocked his strike then turned her blade downward, guiding his ax into the ground. She let the weapon slam into the dirt and, with a step to her right, swung her sword around taking his head clean off. "DECAPITATION!"
Around Ilsa, the other barbarian mercenaries where scattering in every direction. "Bilden up, Jungs!*" she shouted. The Landsknechts lined up either side of their leader, William's shield and spearmen assembled behind them, and Naran's Mongols gathered to their right. Ilsa switched to English to address the three companies as a whole. "Everyvon okay?"
*Form up, boys!
There was a general murmur of agreement from the mercenaries as they awaited the next attack. The troop was kept waiting longer than usual, however, and some of the spearmen began to fidget uncomfortably. They could still hear their enemies moving around beyond the castle's ruined gates, but no one came. "You want me to go and lure another group in?" Naran asked.
Just then, a rumbling sound like an elephant could be heard heading toward the defenders. "Nein, here dey come."
"Why don't they just call it good for the day?" William said, gesturing to the numerous fallen warriors scattered around the mercenaries. "Is it really that important they kill us?"
"Nobody's gonna kill us, Villiam. Just keep it together und ve be okay." Ilsa said without turning from the gate. A large shadow emerged from beyond the gate and out stepped a creature previously only from stories. It stood half again as tall as the eight foot knights the English and French used as citadel commanders, with grey skin, lightly glowing purple markings, one eye in the center of its head, and a horn just above its eye. Ilsa remembered Faust, an old friend back in Hamburg, telling her about just such a beast; a cyclops. "Gott im Himmel.*"
*God in heaven.
"You were saying, Ilsa?"
#*#*#
Joan stood in the comfortable room le Bon had provided for her, making sure her armor was properly adjusted. Satisfied that her protective gear was in good order, the French heroine tied on her sword belt and placed her trademark flower over her right ear. She made her way to the castle's stables and greeted her horse, Gabriel, with a stroke of his neck.
Taking her lance from a soldier, Joan nodded her thanks and rode out to join her countrymen. Riding at the head of her unit of knights, the Maid rode past several companies of French troops. As the Maid pasted, one soldier, named Maurice, dropped to one knee and bowed his head, Balian and several others following suit. Joan graced them with a smile and beckoned the soldiers to rise. She was still somewhat uncomfortable with the 'sainthood' many had raised her to, but had adopted the stance to neither deny or support such claims. As the Maid took position beside de Rais and la Hire, she could also see le Bon and Marie organizing their own troops. The French Army had assembled a large force of soldiers and mercenaries of nearly all kinds; they'd even assembled a large arsenal of siege weapons.
The attack on Normandy was to be four pronged. le Bon and Marie would led half the army in from the northeast, Marie pushing to the coast and le Bon covering her from English counterattack. Joan, la Hire, and de Rais, would attack from the southeast. After taking their first base, Joan would lead her men further west, while la Hire and de Rais would move north in a pincher movement with le Bon. Sighing at the thought of the carnage to come, Joan made the Sign of the Cross and bowed her head. God, I ask zat you guide and protect zese warriors, and if zey fall, to welcome zem into your holy kingdom. In your name and in ze name of your son, amen.
The French troops moved briskly toward their assigned targets, Joan's units coming up to a citadel in short order. A sea of red and black was arrayed to defend the fortified town, cavalry, various infantry units, and archers making up their numbers. As the English cavalry charged forward and the infantry behind them, Joan spurred Gabriel and rushed toward the English with a warcry, followed by knights, lancers, and mounted swordsmen. Behind them, la Hire led the infantry forward. Joan's lance bashed into the chest of a charging English knight, flinging him off is horse. She then ducked another English cavalier's sword as he passed by. Not stopping, Joan and her men continued to barrel forward, their momentum making them seem almost like blurs. The heavily armored cavalry crashed through the gathered English infantry, trampling or bashing their enemies aside. Emerging behind her enemies, Joan turned Gabriel to survey the scene she'd left. la Hire and his polesword men had managed to fend off the weakened English cavalry and were now marching toward the scattered enemy infantry units. She also noticed de Rais and his men engaging other English units that had attempted to flank them. Behind him, the French siege batteries were moving up.
Seeing three companies of English archers preparing to take aim at her friends, Joan signaled her cavalry to attack. It felt wrong, even brutal, since the archers had no hope against heavy cavalry, but if she didn't do it more French would die. One pass was all it took to scatter the English bowmen, whereupon the Maid again took stock of things. I won't act rashly, not anymore.
Everywhere Joan looked, dozens of English soldiers fled in every direction, the French meanwhile where reorganizing and moving into position near the gates of the city. As the cannons and trebuchets where set up, de Rais approached Joan. "The English no doubt 'ave more troops coming," he said, "I'll keep zem at bay, while you and le Hire move into ze city."
Joan nodded and turned toward her knights, "Everyone dismount. We'd be easy targets in ze narrow streets on 'orseback." she climbed down and took Gabriel's reigns in her hand. She stroked her horse's neck as the unit's standard bearer came to lead him toward the other steeds. "I'll be back soon, mon ami."
True to de Rais's word, English troops appeared from around the corner of the wall. The long haired knight nodded to Joan and rode with his men to intercept the English as she and her knights moved to stand beside la Hire's men next to one of the army's cannons. As the artillery blasted at the town's walls and gates la Hire turned to his young friend. "I'll keep an eye on you, Joan," he said reassuringly.
Ever since her capture by the English, la Hire and to a lesser extent de Rais, had become rather protective of Joan. The Maid had mixed feelings on the matter. "Thank you, la Hire," she said evenly, "but don't put yourself or your men in danger on my account."
Just then, a well-placed cannonball blasted apart the base of a damaged patch of wall, causing the entire section to collapse. "Ha ha ha ha! It's crumbling down! Zey're ours!" la Hire shouted, rushing forward with a quick glance at Joan.
The French heroine drew her sword and called out to her men. "Forward! For France!" The knights followed after the polesword men, many more French and mercenary units behind them. Stepping gingerly over the ruble, they emerged inside the walls, finding two troops of sword and shield soldiers nervously waiting for them.
"Bloody hell! It's the Witch of Orleans!" a panicked cockney voice shouted. I wish zey would stop calling me zat. Joan thought as she marched toward the swordsmen. The outnumbered Englishmen rushed forward, locking their shields to create a wall and try to keep the French attackers at bay. la Hire and his men struck back, reaching over the Englishmen's shields to hack into them and breaking holes into the shieldwall which Joan's knights rushed into. Moving down off the shifting ruble, Joan swung her sword under an Englishmen's shield, slashing him across the stomach. By now the swordsmen had largely been dispersed and the French forces surged into the city as more and more openings were blasted in the walls. They moved quickly through the streets, making quick work of scattered squads of defenders on the way, before arriving in the center of town.
Joan, la Hire and their men, rushed into the city's central square. She quickly spotted the familiar sight of a huge English citadel commander surrounded by troops. She put her hand on la Hire's chest and raised her sword in the air to signal a halt. "Commander!" she called, "Lay down your arms and no more of your men 'ave to die!"
"I'll not yield to you, witch!" Sighing, Joan waved her sword forward and charged toward the English with her comrades. The outnumbered English defenders fought valiantly, but were quickly overwhelmed. The commander swung his huge sword, disemboweling three French soldiers at once. Taking a deep breath, Joan rushed toward the large commander, nimbly sidestepping a downward swing of the large blade. The Maid swung her own sword at the back of the commander's knee slicing through the weakly armored joint, a trick Ilsa had taught her. As the Commander dropped into a kneeling position, la Hire rushed forward and drove the blade of his polesword through the visor of the big knight's helmet. With the commander dead, the remaining English either laid down their weapons or quickly fled down the narrow streets. As her men cheered around her, Joan allowed herself to relax briefly.
After reorganizing their men, assigning some to protect the citadel and some to come with them, la Hire and Joan marched out the gates to meet de Rais. Joan took the reins of her horse from a squire as the long haired knight made his report. "Ze surrounding area is secure." de Rais said, "We can now proceed as planned."
"Joan, are you sure you don't want me or de Rais to come with you?"
Joan climbed onto Gabriel with a patient sigh. "I'll be fine, la Hire." she gave him a confident smile, "When ze battle's over, we'll 'ave drinks in ze English 'eadquarters together."
"I've sent a few units to scout ahead of you," de Rais's comment earned him a look from Joan, Of course you did. "Simply to gather intelligence, of course. Once you arrive, zey'll be under your command."
"A wise decision," Joan said evenly. Her tone and expression softened, "God protect you both." With that, Joan steered Gabriel to the west and lead her troops to their next objective.
#*#*#
Edward sat mounted on his black stallion, Attila, beside Chandos. Around them, hundreds of English knights, archers, and foot soldiers had gathered to await orders. The prince turned to his second in command and asked "Were we able to get any mercenaries to fight for our side?"
Chandos scoffed, "Most of the mercenaries in the area have already sold their swords to the French. I did try to contact that German fighter, but she's going against the Duke of Lancaster in Ile-de-France."
The prince shifted in his saddle, "I've sent a letter to Philippa in Aquitaine to bring as many troops as she can, we just have to make sure she's coming to help us rather than avenge us." Edward suddenly cupped his hand over his mouth to muffle a cough, "Are Hotspur and Iamarl in position?"
Chandos looked to his prince with concern. "They've headed north as you ordered, my prince."
"Good, you and Branwyn are to remain in reserve for now," the prince said, "I need people I trust backing me and the others up."
Chandos grabbed the Black Prince's left shoulder gently but firmly, looking the royal intently in the face with his one good eye. "Your Highness...Edward, please be careful."
Edward looked back, finally giving his mentor a promising nod. When Chandos released him, the young prince spurred Attila forward, and he rode to the head of the assembled English soldiers.
"For Edward and England!" an excited archer named Malcolm shouted. Dozens of other soldiers were quick to take up the chant.
"For Edward and England! Edward and England!" The royal held his head high, looking every bit the confident dignified prince. They trust me, they're counting on me, the Black Prince thought I won't fail them. I will be the hero they need.
Turning to face his battalion, Edward took a deep breath and addressed his assembled men. "Valiant warriors of England! The French mean to take control of Normandy, if they do, we'll be cut off from home. Everything we and our father's have fought for will be for nothing! We must not allow that to happen. Follow me and together we will drive our enemies back!"
The assembled troops responded with eager cheers and filed out after their prince as he turned and rode toward the battlefront. In short order, a mass of blue could be seen moving to intercept the Black Prince and his men. The young royal could see men mounted on horses and camels, with infantry in support. While he couldn't see the man himself, Edward saw that the French were flying the banner of Philippe le Bon. Noticing movement in his peripheral vision, the Black Prince turned to see his men begin to move forward. "Patience!" he called, "Let them come to us. Archers, move forward and wait for my command."
The famous English longbowmen moved up just behind the knights and readied their bows as the French advanced. The heavily armored French knights gradually quickened their pace, leading to a menacing tremor beneath the English soldiers' feet. That's it, keep coming. Just as his enemies went into full gallop, Edward shouted "Fire!"
The archers let off a volley over the heads of their mounted comrades, causing a rain of death to fall on the French cavaliers. Many of the blue clad knights attempted to stop, but their momentum made it near impossible; one mare that actually succeeded accidentally launched her rider through the air. The arrows descended like a hammer fall, punching holes through weak points in armor and knocking knights and horses to the ground, who were then trampled or tripped over they their mounted comrades. The disheveled knights where then crashed into by the more lightly armored camel riding mercenaries behind them, stalling the attack.
"Charge!" Edward shouted, spurring Attila forward. The prince and his knights rode forward, followed by swordsmen and spearmen, the archers notching arrows for another volley if needed. Edward discarded his lance as it buried itself in a downed French knight's chest and drew his sword, swinging it back and taking a knight's head off. The Black Prince flicked his wrist and swung his weapon back forward, decapitating another enemy. As the infantry moved forward to finish off the knights, the prince and his men continued to surge forward. Edward slashed an Islamic mercenary across the chest as he passed and pressed onward, toward the French infantry.
Seeing pikemen quickly forming into a spearwall, Edward raised his sword into the air. "On me! On me!" he shouted, as he pushed Attila even further. The knights to the prince's right and left heard the command and fell into place behind him, most of the others in the troop following when they saw the formation taking shape. Attila grunted at his master's spurring, but nevertheless quickened his pace.
The French pikemen were just lowering their weapons when the Black Prince was upon them. Edward ducked under a pike's spiked type and slashed down at its owner as Attila crushed another pikeman underhoof. The other English knights followed through the hole their prince had made slashing or jabbing at pikemen as they passed with swords or lances. The formation spread out once again as they trampled through French swordsmen and Indian mercenaries.
"Well done, Attila," Edward said with an appreciative pat on the equine's neck, the black stallion whinnied in response. The Black Prince turned to see his countrymen mopping up those enemies left by his charge.
Just as the last mercenary squad broke and fled, a tired scout approached. "Beg a report, your 'ighness."
"Go ahead, soldier."
"In the north, Hotspur is 'eavily engaged, and the Witch is comin' at us from the south." the scout panted.
As his company commanders gathered to await orders, Edward contemplated his options, thinking about what he'd once said to Henry Percy about trust. The prince looked over his men and announced "I trust Percy and Iamarl to fight their own battle, we're going south to face Joan of Arc."
#*#*#
"How do you fight this thing?!" Naran shouted as the cyclops plucked yet another of his arrows from its arm. All around the beast, landsknechts, spearmen, and Mongols nervously milled around, taking shots at it then jumping back out of reach. Several mangled corpses lay at the monster's feet. With an annoyed grunt, the cyclops swung its massive club and sent a landsknecht screaming through the air before slamming into a castle wall with a sickening crunch.
Flinching at the sound of her comrade's death, Ilsa took a deep breath and rushed toward the cyclops. The stocky little landsknecht moved under the monster's arm and swung at the tendons in its ankle. The creature yelled in pain as fell down on all fours, sparking a small tremor. Seeing the monster's vulnerable position, a spearman moved forward and jabbed it in side followed by a landsknecht slashing the monster's elbow making it fall flat on its belly. In moments, the German and English mercenaries rushed forward and the cyclops disappeared under a flurry of blades and spear tips while Ilsa and the Mongols watched from the side.
"Enough! It's dead! It's dead!" Ilsa shouted, yanking frenzied mercenaries away from the massive corpse. Her men finally ceased their flurried attacks, though one spearman felt the need to get in one last stab.
"What the fuck is going on?" Naran asked from the back of his horse.
"I don't know, but I do know dere was nothing in da contract about mythical beasts" Ilsa said as she looked over the beast's mangled body, "Far as I'm concerned, da contract is fulfilled. Ve're getting da hell out of here."
The three mercenary troops formed up and headed out into the open field. The area was littered with the bodies of English and French soldiers alike, as well as barbarians. "That was an impressive move, Ilsa." William said, trying to stay his nerves.
Glancing back at the timid young mercenary, Ilsa slowed her pace until they were walking side by side. She gave William a casual shrug of her shoulders and smiled. "Ven you're little, you're alvays going against enemies dat are bigger den you. I learned how to bring big guys down pretty quick, da principle's alvays da same."
"You don't think the English send that thing after us, do you?" William asked.
"I kind of doubt that." Naran called from the front of the group. The other two leaders moved forward and William nearly retched. Impaled on a long pike was the body of the Duke of Lancaster.
"Let's keep going," Ilsa said loud enough for all to hear. "Get back to the tavern und figure out what da hell is happening und vat to do next."
#*#*#
Edward and his troops advanced to the southeast, moving toward pillars of smoke in the distance. The prince became weary as he noticed the absence of any of the noise common in combat. The royal and his men arrived at an English outpost to find it ransacked and partially burned, the bodies of the garrison scattered everywhere. The fallen English soldiers hadn't simply been killed; many were hatched apart, disemboweled, or otherwise desecrated. Some had been impaled or nailed to walls. "Bastards." the prince heard Owen murmur.
"But were the 'ell are they?" another swordsman, James, called.
Looking around, Edward noticed that there were indeed no French or mercenary forces to be seen. The Black Prince surveyed the area, finding no sign of his enemies, though he did notice a path leading out of the outpost and into a patch of woods to the east. Sensing, and partially sharing, his men's rising fury, Edward moved to take control of the situation. "Calm yourselves. We will avenge this travesty." the prince pointed towards the woods, "Whoever did this most likely came from there," he pointed to a troop of armored men-at-arms, "You lot will stay here, we may need a fall back point, the rest follow me."
Leading his column forward, Edward cautiously moved into the forest. Before long, the English troops were met with carnage similar to what they'd left in the outpost, only now rage turned to confusion. These victims were in blue.
The Black Prince drew his sword and climbed down off Attila to better survey the scene. The French soldiers had been slaughtered; some of the bodies looked like little more than poorly butchered meat, just like the English victims. What is happening? The prince turned to call to his men, but before he could speak, he felt the tip of a sword press against the left side of his neck. "Murderer!" a French accented voice sneered from behind the royal.
Edward began to raise his hands placatingly. Then, in one fluid movement, he spun on his heel, batting the weapon away with his left hand and raising his own sword to strike with his right. He stopped in surprise, however, when rather than an impassive metal helmet or a stone-faced soldier, the prince found himself looking at a beautiful girl with a flower in her hair.
Joan quickly recovered from her surprise and, sensing the prince's hesitation, struck at his exposed left side. Edward snapped out of his surprise in time to block, but the girl's blade ended up uncomfortably close to his face. I hate it when Percy's right.
Carefully grabbing the blade of his weapon, Edward put his full weight into pushing the girl back. Joan was forced several frustrating steps back, then noticed Edward move to bash her in the head with the pummel of his sword. It was now the prince's turn to be frustrated, however, as Joan gracefully ducked under the attack. The Maid quickly shuffled around and behind the prince, before rising back up and preparing to strike. Edward, however, had kept the girl in his sight as she moved, and was ready for coming attack. The fight would then come to a screeching halt, however.
Unseen by the two champions, knights and soldiers of their respective kingdoms had gathered around their fight and Joan's maneuver had effectively left them both surrounded by enemies. The Maid unexpectedly found herself with several swords drawn on her, while Edward was given much the same treatment.
Having little choice, Joan lowered her own sword and locked eyes with the Black Prince. "'as ze war driven you mad?" she sneered, gesturing to her butchered countrymen.
"My men didn't do this," Edward said resolutely. Joan didn't look convinced. Just then, an English soldier let out a yell of pain before dropping dead with a hatchet buried in his neck. A moment later, a confused French knight was struck dead by an ax to his face.
Suddenly, a hail of spinning hatchets flew at the confused warriors, killing and wounding French and English alike. Behind the axes came a horde of creatures born of nightmares. Leading the charge were short, skinny monstrosities with large ears and noses and purple glowing symbols on their bodies. Behind the little goblins were bizarre mixtures of human and cow skeletons, somehow animated. Rounding out the attackers were barbarian mercenaries in purple.
The goblins rushed forward, piling on the human warriors, who fought back with desperate fury; Joan noticed an English soldier pull a hatchet from his own leg then then throw it back at his attackers. Dropping into a fighting stance, she watched as several of the little monstrosities rushed toward her. The Maid slashed at the first, nearly cutting it in half. Seeing this, the other goblins slowed their pace, not quite as eager now their helpless target had shown she could defend herself.
Edward, meanwhile, was having a harder time of things. Confronted by one of the skeletons, the prince stabbed into its ribcage, precisely where the heart should be. When this had not effect, he withdrew his blade and stabbed into the eye socket of the cow skull on top. Again, the attack failed to produce the desired effect. The skeleton stood mutely before the prince, and Edward got the distinct feeling it was mocking him. Growling in frustration, Edward turned the blunt side of his sword on the thing and swung the weapon at it like a club. Too late, the skeleton moved to defend itself and was smashed apart by the prince's blow, scattering into a satisfying pile of dead bones.
His chivalrous upbringing kicking in, Edward instinctively moved toward Joan. The Black Prince placed himself behind the Maid and the two fought back to back. Around the two, scattered French and English soldiers desperately fought for their lives, clearly overmatched. "Rally to me! Rally to me!" the prince called to his men.
Hearing their prince's orders, many of the surviving English fought their way to Edward. Seeing this, Joan followed suit. "Everyone gather together!"
Soon, several French and English soldiers and knights had packed together around their champions, similar formations taking shape elsewhere on the battlefield. This meant that any monster or barbarian to attack was met with a storm of blades, spear tips, and other unforgiving pieces of metal. Finally, the attackers had gathered for a large, concentrated attack. The defenders packed together as the beastly assault tried to push them apart. As the two sides pushed against one another, Edward was struck with an idea.
Tapping Owen and James on the shoulder, the Black Prince shouted over the noise of the melee. "Back up! Let them in!" The soldiers looked incredulously at their prince, but nonetheless obeyed. As Edward had hoped, the barbarians and monsters surged forward into the artificial breach. Before they knew it, the purple clad attackers where surrounded on all sides by their enemies. Packed together almost too tightly to move and under attack on all sides, the small horde was hacked apart in short order.
As her own and the Black Prince's men finished off their attackers, Joan noticed one barbarian rise to his knees. The Maid watched intently as the prince put his sword to the vagabond's throat. Prince Edward of England had a reputation as a vicious butcher in France. Joan wanted to see what sort of man the young royal truly was.
"Why did you and these beasts slaughter those men?" Edward asked sternly
The barbarian chuckled. "That was just a small taste of what's to come, boy. Go on and kill me, The Master will have your guts on a platter soon enough."
"I don't think so, butcher," Edward lowered his sword and gestured to the road, "Go on, run along and tell your master that he'll pay dearly for what he's done."
The barbarian hesitated, looking up with surprise and uncertainty at the prince's mercy. "You 'eard him, get going ya bastard!" James growled, kicking the surviving brute. Other English fighters threw taunts, and a few stones, as the cutthroat ran off into the woods.
With the matter of the attack settled, the surviving French and English awkwardly regarded one another. Some shuffled halfway into fighting stances, but both sides waited to see what their champions would do. With a deep breath, Edward cautiously stepped forward and addressed Joan. "There is safety in numbers, my lady." the young prince said. "For the time being, I'd suggest we travel together. If we encounter English forces, I will ensure your safety and that of your men. Do I have your word you'd do the same for me?"
Joan felt all eyes turn to her as she looked down at the fallen creatures at her feet. As bad as ze English are, zese things are worse. The Maid turned to the Black Prince and spoke. "I agree, if we encounter French forces, you and your men will be under my protection. I swear to God."
The reluctant allies formed back into their respective troops and moved back to the road, hoping to find help from one kingdom or the other, Edward and Joan at the head of the mixed column.