Early the next morning, a thin bank of misty fog hung over the grassy fields just outside the village of Donremy. After a rainstorm had passed through during the night, the skies above remained gray and overcast while the grounds had become wet and soggy. With the approach of the English army, the farmers and townspeople of the outlying areas had been told to evacuate their homes and retreat to the relative safety of the town hall until danger had passed. Here and there a few stragglers and peasant farmers hurried up the muddy road to reach the safety of the town while the meager defenders kept watch over the surrounding area.
At the northern edge of the town limits, the three mercenaries joined a handful of royal soldiers and town militia as they lined the low stone wall which marked the border of the settlement. The mood was relatively quiet and uneasy as occasional rumbles of thunder were heard in the far distance. If the French defenders at Vaucouleurs had already engaged the English in battle, it was hard to tell as the weather suppressed the sounds of combat along with the sight of rising smoke along the skyline.
The three mercenary friends had now donned their armor and drew up their cloaks to ward off the chill and the rain while waiting atop their restless horses. Angie checked her crossbow and cast another look out over the dark soggy fields, "I don't like this boys. If the enemy comes this way, we're not going to have a lot of time to act when we spot them."
"I understand Angie. Just keep your eyes sharp and pray it doesn't come to that," Henri nodded as he cast a glance further down the row of the stone wall to where Jacques d'Arc bravely stood leading his own group of town watchmen. Unlike the royal soldiers and mercenaries who were clad in chain mail or plate armor, the peasant defenders had armed themselves with crude leather armor, spears, and whatever sharp farming tools they could use as improvised weapons. No doubt Joan and the rest of her family were safe within the town hall but Henri said a silent prayer that no harm would come to her father who stood at their side.
As a chilly gust of wet wind blew by, a group of their archers tensed up and raised their bows as a rider on a black horse came rushing down the soggy path. As the rider neared, they could see that it was a messenger of the royal army dressed in blue with silver steel armor. He looked disheveled and had a wild look in his eyes as he reared his mount near the walls. When the archers stood down, the messenger cantered over toward the center of the wall where Captain Beaumont of the royal troops waited along with Jacques and the mercenary contingent.
The messenger gave a hasty salute and gasped for breath, "Captain... word from the frontline! The Duke of Bedford has attacked! Our forces in Vaucouleurs hold but our lines have buckled. We count at least two companies of enemy mercenaries who were turned around in the battle and they're headed this way... heavy infantry from the northeast in Waly and northwest at Baulny."
Captain Beaumont's eyes went wide in surprise, "We're not going to be able to hold off a force that large coming from two directions!"
"Perhaps they won't be as well trained if they're just mercenaries?" Jacques offered trying to find a positive in the news.
Henri shook his head, "No. That might be worse. Regular English forces would want to take this town in one piece. Bands of hired mercenaries would be much more likely to pillage everything here and then burn the whole place down."
Jacques' face turned white at the horrific thought before Beaumont gripped his mace in dismay, "If only we had more reinforcements. We're completely trapped."
There was a long pause before Jacques looked up again with a hopeful expression, "That's it... a trap. What if we laid a trap for some of our attackers?"
The other mercenaries seemed to pick up on this as they had often resorted to using trickery and deception in battles before. Roger scratched his chin, "Doesn't the road leading east run between some woodlands and a river?"
Beaumont sighed, "How does that possibly work to our advantage?"
Angie grinned, "If a band of enemy troops are coming up that road, we can take a small force of horsemen to hit them from the treeline and drive them into the river."
"We don't have a lot of horsemen to spare," Jacques pointed out, "The raiders would not be intimidated by a few dozen riders."
"Yes, but they won't know how many of us will be hitting them," Henri said backing up his friends' idea, "The woods will hide our numbers and if we surprise that company, they might think a whole French cavalry squadron is charging them instead."
Beaumont grimaced before giving a reluctant nod, "It's a risky plan but we don't have many other options. Captain Sorel, gather your force and do what you can to drive off those raiders in the east. The rest of us will hold our positions here and defend against the other front coming from the northwest."
Roger gripped his halberd with a grim smile, "All right. It's about time we cracked some skulls and earned our keep."
Henri ignored him and gave Beaumont a quick salute as well as shaking Jacques' hand, "Good luck sir. We'll be back as soon as we can to help."
With that, the three comrades gathered together as many mercenaries and royal horsemen as they could and the armored men-at-arms took off in the other direction to cut through town and meet the enemy forces coming from the east.
Meanwhile, Joan sat inside the crowded town hall huddled with her family as the other townspeople nervously talked amongst each other. She had heard that a great battle was raging several miles away. The thought of such a battle suddenly made her worry about her family's farm and all their horses. Nearby, her brother Pierre's enthusiasm for a battle had suddenly evaporated as the young boy sat quietly curled up beside their mother.
While Joan's mother talked with the other women of the village, she walked over to a window and quickly poked her head outside when she heard the sounds of clattering armor and horses' hooves. To her surprise, she spotted her three mercenary friends leading about two dozen horsemen as they hurried away toward the northeastern farm fields. She blinked in confusion wondering where they were going. Surely they were not fleeing that battle, were they? Perhaps this was part of some secret plan?
An older villager had told her that the town defenders would be standing guard over the walls to the north, and Joan prayed that no harm would come to them, especially her father who was helping to lead them. After one last lingering glance to the northeast fields, she went back inside the town hall and sat down with her family, waiting and wondering when it would finally be safe to return home.
As some time passed, the skies grew darker and the chilly wind and rain picked up a little more while the two dozen mounted men-at-arms thundered up the road on their horses. It was an unusual sight with a ragged looking group of royal cavalry alongside a motley squad of mercenary soldiers in mismatched armor. Everyone's riding cloaks fluttered behind them as their horses kicked up mud and stones from their furious ride. They rode until they spotted a wide bend where the road grew a little more narrow between the river to the right of them and the woods to their left. The joint squadron of horsemen angled up the banks and into the treeline before they spotted a large band of mercenary soldiers headed down the road in a dense column formation.
By the looks of them, they appeared to be mostly Danish hirelings who wore some red scarves identifying them as being aligned with the English forces. The rough and savage looking band of shocktroops wore mismatched armor and carried crude weapons such as clubs, shortspears, and handaxes. Most likely these men were geared for close range savagery and the marauding of little towns which supplied French bases. Most importantly, none of the raiders seemed to carry pikes or bows which could spell disaster for armored cavalry charges. With the way things were shaping up, this was looking to be a favorable matchup for the French.
As the horsemen skirted the treeline just out of sight, they took up positions and quietly waited for the large company of marauders to come down the road. Leading the group was a man who almost resembled a sort of Danish barbarian with small horns on his helmet and furs around his armor. Henri turned to Angie and gave a quiet signal, "Angie?"
She raised her crossbow from her concealed position and took aim, gauging the range to her target and the weather conditions. Roger whispered, "You think you can make that shot from here?"
His sister smirked as she steadied her breathing and adjusted her aim slightly, "We'll find out in a minute now, won't we?"
She loosed the bolt and it went whistling through the air until it struck the leader of the enemy troops and dropped him off his horse. The raiders halted in confusion and and looked around as the barbaric looking captain thrashed on the ground for a few moments before collapsing in a pool of his own blood. As the English hirelings turned toward the treeline to spot the shooter, they were suddenly surprised as two dozen French horsemen in heavy armor began to emerge from the woods in a line. The Danes scrambled to regroup having been caught in the open with their column's flank exposed. Henri gave a shout and raised his sword as one of the royal horsemen blew a horn to sound a charge. "Strike them down!"
The French cavalry surged down the wooded hill drawing their swords and lances before crashing down on the hapless band of mercenary infantry with a wave of steel and hooves. The front rank of enemy soldiers were mowed down and trampled as chaos and panic spread among the ranks behind them. Swords flashed and the ringing sounds of war cries and steel filled the air as the riders lashed out with vicious strikes. The rear ranks of the marauders broke and began to flee while a crowd of the enemy mercenaries retreated from the onslaught and made a frenzied dash into the river gambling that they would be safer there. Amid the furious melee, Angie fired her crossbow from atop her horse and kicked away another foe while a mounted Roger plowed through a crowd of Danes with broad reaping swings of his poleaxe killing several at a time.
As Henri wheeled his horse Tempeste around and slashed a raider across the face with his sword, he turned to meet another mounted enemy who pushed through to try and challenge him. Henri brought his sword back around in time to deflect the foe's flanged mace which would have torn into his armor had it struck. As Tempeste bucked and pushed against the opposing horse beside it, Henri surprised the English hireling by grabbing the man's weapon arm and pulling him off balance before thrusting his blade into the enemy's exposed side. The mounted marauder gave a cry and toppled off his horse amid a spray of blood before the French knights made another push. Angie trampled another enemy before giving a wave to her comrades, "The enemy line is breaking!"
As she pointed out, the surprised column of enemy troops that hadn't been mowed down or cut to ribbons were now tumbling into the river or fleeing in a disorganized rout back toward Waly. The French horsemen circled back around and gave a rowdy cheer, encouraged by their own surprise victory here. No doubt that company of raiders were the only foes in that direction, but at least the advance of the English allies here had been stalled. Roger and Angie grinned bumped each others forearms in celebration before hopping off their horses to loot the fallen enemy.
By now, the skies had grown darker and the rain picked up a little more helping to wash off some of the blood and grime from the armored French soldiers. Henri quickly used his cloak to wipe away some blood on his blade before sheathing it and steering Tempeste back the way they came, "Come on everyone, we shouldn't linger here. We have to get back to Donremy."
"But the loot..." Roger protested as a few other allied mercenaries picked over the mangled remains of the Danish marauders.
"Will still be here later," Henri replied, "If Donremy gets overrun, then none of us get paid and the English put our heads on pikes."
"He makes a good argument," Angie sighed in reluctance as Roger helped his sister back on her horse, "I don't like that alternative either."
The Benoit siblings mounted up and rejoined Henri as the mercenary men-at arms formed up with the royal horsemen. A few riders in the lead gave a shout before the cavalry squadron turned and began another rapid dash back down the soggy roads to aid their besieged allies back in town. As the rumbling of thunder grew louder, they could only hope that they would arrive in time and that Donremy could hold out from the assault approaching from the west.
Meanwhile, Jacques d'Arc stood along the waist high stone wall at the northern perimeter of Donremy. His band of town militia had been mixed in with small groups of royal soldiers who stood ready with their swords, spears, and bows. The peasants all looked fearful and uneasy and Jacques couldn't blame them either. They were simple farmers and artisans, not battle hardened soldiers. He could only hope that they could stand their ground here and that their allied horsemen would be able to rout the enemy in the east. Horrible images of the town burning filled Jacques with dread and he resolved he wouldn't let anything happen to his wife, his daughter Joan, or his son Pierre. The men of the town watch were looking to him for some leadership and he wouldn't let any of his family or fellow villagers down.
Moments later, his heart began to race as he heard an archer call out a warning, "Saxon mercenaries!"
Jacques gripped his short sword and wooden buckler as the defenders looked out into the rainy gloom only to see a small horde of mercenary invaders. The Saxon hirelings all wore red scarves and clothing signifying their allegiance to England while they advanced with their clubs, spears, and axes. As the French archers let loose several volleys of arrows, the Saxons surged forward while Jacques waved his sword encouraging the defenders at the wall. "Brace yourselves! Stand firm!"
The first wave of Saxon berserkers crashed against the frontline and met a wall of steel and wood. At the center of the line, Captain Beaumont and Jacques stood urging their men to hold their ranks while archers fired sporadic volleys into the invaders' ranks. Angry shouts and ringing weapons filled the air as the defenders of Donremy locked into savage hand to hand combat with the enemy company of raiders. Several fighters on both sides fell to the muddy ground while Beaumont struggled to hold the center intact and stem the advance of the Saxons. As the town militia faltered, Jacques slashed aside a foe before smashing his shield into the face of another enemy refusing to give an inch, "Don't let up men! Fight for Donremy!"
While Jacques tried desperately to rally some support, he was blindsided and struck in the side by an bolt from a Saxon crossbowman. He gave a gasp and staggered sideways before falling to the mud. As he lay helpless and wounded, another enemy raider loomed over him with a rusted hatchet and prepared to bring the weapon down in a killing blow but it never came. There was a thundering of hooves and the front row of Saxon invaders were run over by French horsemen who had just arrived to reinforce the defenders. As another fierce skirmish broke out, Henri and his comrades cleared some of the ground as the defenders forced the English allies back into a temporary retreat. The muddy and bruised defenders gave another tired cheer amid the falling rain as they came over to praise the horsemen for the aid.
Henri gave a relieved sigh as he watched the defenders enjoy a temporary victory until he heard Roger call out to him from nearby, "Henri! Come quick! Jacques is down!"
Henri spun around in dread and quickly slogged across the muddy ground to where Roger and Angie had dismounted and were now tending to the wounded doyen of the village. Angie had taken a cloth bandage and did what she could to stem the bleeding from the wound while Roger steadied Jacques and poured some water to clean the wound. As Henri bent down to offer his own help, Jacques groaned and gave a weary look, "Captain Sorel... you returned. The enemy?"
"Routed. We turned them back in the east," Henri answered while trying to give a weak smile.
"That's good news," Jacques grunted as he reached for his side, "But my men need me..."
Angie stopped him, "No. You need to stop and rest. We'll take you back in town and get you some help."
The doyen simply gave a nod and reluctantly acquiesced, being too tired and hurt to protest. As Roger gently hoisted him up, Henri put a hand on Jacques' shoulder, "You and your men were very brave today. You fought well sir."
"I have a lot to fight for here Captain," Jacques replied with resolution in his voice, "No matter how hopeless things look right now, someone has to keep the faith and believe that we can win... for the sake of everyone else."
As the siblings carried Jacques off toward the village hall along with some of the other wounded, Henri was left standing at the wall thinking over Jacques' words about purpose and conviction. The battle was far from over and the village was still in danger from a second follow-up attack. With the doyen now wounded in battle, Henri could only wonder if he'd be able to share the same belief as Jacques and his daughter that faith would be enough to see them through these darkest of times.