“Check your saddles, lads,” our new sergeant said most promptly. But do not mount up or string your bows until I give the word. Josh, you ride back to the camp with the empty food sack and fetch the rest of the lads. Tell them that it looks like a company of horsemen are coming towards us from the barons' army.”
“Aye sergeant. I am to fetch the rest of the lads and tell them that it looks like a company of horsemen are coming towards us from the barons’ army.”
Of course that was what Josh said to the sergeant; one of the first things an archer is learnt is to repeat back any order he is given to make sure he has it true.
****** George
We stayed on the hill standing next to our horses and watched as the riders coming down the road towards us got closer and closer. The men from our camp had joined us. Everyone was quite excited and trying not to show it.
“Looks to be at least two or three files of them,” someone said quietly as the riders got closer and we could begin to make out individual shapes. “Maybe more.”
“A lot more,” said someone else with excitement in his voice.
“String your bows, lads; string your bows.” I gave the order as I pushed the end of my longbow on the ground to bend it and slip on the bowstring. “We will be using longs.”
A few seconds later, I shouted “mount up,” and swung into my saddle. I had picked up an extra quiver of arrows before I left camp and now had four; three of them were full of “longs.”
We ambled down the hill on our horses and waited in the pasture land running up from the road.
******
My men and I sat there on our horses and waited and watched as the riders came closer. We could see that there were almost thirty of them, heavily armed for sure. The sun periodically raised a flash when it glinted off their armour or blades.
It was a party of knights and no mistake. And they had seen us. They turned off the distant road and began trotting across the pasture towards us. Some of them had already pulled their swords, and those in front lowered their lances even though they were still quite some distance away. They were getting ready for their kind of battle.
I gave the word and nine of us dismounted and handed our reins to the three men I had ordered to act as our horse holders. I did not know for absolute sure, of course, but the party of knights riding towards us was almost certainly sent out to find us and avenge what we had done to the barons’ baggage train.
The knights were still trotting across the field towards us when they got within range of our longbows. As they approached what I thought might be the maximum distance our “longs” could fly, I called “up bows” and, a moment later when the knights reached it, I began loudly repeating the command to “push and continue.”
Nine strong and experienced archers standing ready with longbows can send their longs quite a distance, and that was exactly what we did. And we did it over and over again so rapidly that there were always arrows in the air as my grunting archers and I held our bowstring to our chests and pushed out our bows with a grunt to set them flying with maximum distance and power. That was immediately followed by a slapping sound as our bowstrings smacked our leather wrist protectors.
I did not count how many arrows I had pushed at the approaching knights before they got close enough for me to shout out “mount up” and swing myself onto my horse, probably five or six. My archers did as well and, being quite experienced and well trained, some or all of them probably pushed out even more.
The results were more than a little encouraging. Only about half of the knights were in the party of charging men that got close enough to make us mount up and ride away. The others were strung out behind them on the ground or trying to help those who were down. And, of those trying to help their wounded friends, almost all of their horses had fallen or bolted. Those who were not still chasing after us were mostly on the ground with arrows in them or on foot because we had hit their horses.
It was no surprise that so many of the knights and their horses had been hit and left behind. The knights may have been wearing helmets and chain and riding horses with armoured chest protectors to turn away an enemy’s lance, but that still left other parts of their bodies and their horses for our arrows to find.
Whoever was leading the knights obviously had no experience facing archers with longbows, or they would not have led them into our killing ground without, at least, preparing to receive our arrows.
It was immediately clear from the resulting confusion that the knights had not expected us to start shooting so soon, or at such a distance, or with such accuracy. Many of them did not even have time to drop their helmet visors and raise their shields before our storm of arrows began falling on them. Even so, if the past was any guide, more of the knights went down and broke their bones when their wounded horses bolted or fell than were shot off their horses by taking an arrow. Either way works quite nicely so far as I am concerned.
The horses of the knights lumbering in pursuit of us might have been bigger than ours, but ours were faster, and theirs had been ridden harder that morning and their armour-wearing riders were heavier. Little wonder then, that we had little trouble staying ahead of our pursuers and shooting arrows back over our shoulders as we galloped across the fields with the knights strung out behind us in hot pursuit.
One of our pursuers went down almost immediately and, a few minutes thereafter, a second. That was when our pursuers began pulling up their horses and turning back.
From the knights’ perspective as they turned back, the battle was over and they had won it by chasing us away. Not from ours; we saw the fighting as we had been learnt to see it—as just beginning.
“Make the turn,” I shouted and my two file sergeants quickly echoed. They had been expecting the order as soon as they saw the last knight begin reining in his galloping horse to turn it around and ride back to towards his friends.
Our horses were all high-quality amblers and they were all in good shape. They had barely broken a light sweat by the time I turned my horse to face the retreating knights. My men rode up to gather around me and get their orders.
“Gerard,” I shouted as I pointed to where I wanted the sergeant to go, “you take the men from your file and ride way over there to the other side of the road. Chase them from there. Kill them all; you know what you are to do.”
“Aye sergeant,” he repeated most proper-like, “I am to take my men to the other side of the road and we will do what needs to be done, that we will.”
As Gerard and his men galloped off towards the road, I raised my arm and motioned for the men remaining with me, all six of them, to join me in going after our now-retreating pursuers.
The seven of us spread out into a loose line abreast and began cantering, and then galloping, after the retreating knights. Gerard and his men soon crossed the road and began doing the same. We had gone from being the pursued to being the pursuers.
My men and I, and those of Gerard, spread out even more than when we were being chased and shooting backwards over our shoulders. Spreading out is what horse archers with longbows must do when they are pushing out arrows towards targets in front of them.
Due to the great length of our bows, pushing arrows out at targets in front of us requires each archer to hold his bow flat so it protrudes out on either side of his horse. Since we were now riding behind the retreating knights and chasing them, we were holding our bows flat and riding with enough distance between our horses so that the tip of each archer’s bow would not interfere with another archer’s bow or horse.
According to what we had been learnt in Uncle Thomas's school, pushing arrows from a longbow while riding is inconvenient compared to the ease of using the short bows fancied by the Saracens. Their bows are so short they can be held any which way by a mounted archer without interfering with his mates—but the greater range and power of our longbows more than makes up for the inconvenience caused by their length. At least that was what we had always been told.
<
br /> The gap between the twelve of us and the closest of the knights who had turned back got smaller and smaller even though they saw us coming after them and whipped up their horses. Our horses were fresher, faster, and less burdened. We began to catch up to them one at a time, their thrusters first.
Because he was the last of our pursuers to turn around, the first of our pursuers to fall was the thruster who had ridden ahead of his friends and come closest to catching us. He was lightly bearded, armoured only with a helmet and a chain shirt, and riding a slightly smaller horse than the others. Probably an ambitious squire seeking his spurs or a newly made and overly excited young knight trying to impress his friends.
There was a solid “thunk” as an armour piercing heavy from one of my men slammed into the knight’s back. He flinched and continued kicking his horse in the ribs in an effort to get away. That lasted until one of my men rode closer and hit him again with an arrow higher up on his back.
He slowly slid sideways out of his saddle and rolled head over heels in a somersault until he came down to a rest on his back. His horse kept running.
“Damn it. The bastard broke my arrow for sure” was the only comment I heard from my men as I slowed down to see if the fallen rider needed a third. He did not, so I kicked my horse in the ribs and hurried to catch up to my men.
The knight galloping in front of the fallen thruster had seen his friend's fate. A few seconds later, he stopped trying to gallop his horse straight back to join the others. He tried, instead, to turn hard to the right to get away from our line of advance. It was a mistake.
Turning his horse broadside to us presented us with a wonderful target. Four or five of my men immediately pushed arrows at him and at least two, and possibly three, slammed into the side of his horse. It went down and rolled over him. I did not even slow down to make sure he was finished; neither did any of my men.
One after another, similar fates befell the rest of the riders who had once been our pursuers. In the end, only seven or eight of our pursuers, those who had turned back the earliest, reached our original killing grounds and the knights who had stopped there for one reason or another.
The wounded knights and those who were off their horses were waiting and watching as the first of the riders we were chasing began to reach them. They had not realized, at first, that the returning pursuers were themselves now being pursued. They probably thought that my men and I coming in behind the fleeing knights were more of their own party who were returning after successfully driving us away.
Everything changed when the first of the now-desperate returnees got close to the wounded knights and those who had been unhorsed or had dismounted to be with their dead and wounded friends. That was when they finally understood what was happening.
At first, some of them began readying themselves to stand there and fight us. They drew their swords and raised their shields. They were mostly the lightly wounded and the friends and relatives who had stayed behind to assist the seriously wounded and give mercies to those who could not be saved or were suffering great agonies.
In the distance beyond the waiting knights, I could see Gerard and his men arriving at the place on the other side of the road where I had told them to position themselves. We were no longer outnumbered.
******
Everything had changed by the time we got within arrow range of the knights who had stayed behind with their wounded friends. Every one of them who could had either mounted his horse or was attempting to mount it.
Now there were a dozen or more knights on horseback and three or four on foot out of the original party of thirty or so who had tried to attack us. Several of those on foot were desperately trying to mount their excited horses, and finding it difficult because there was no one to help them and they were heavily burdened with armour and weapons.
“Longs,” I shouted as I pushed an arrow towards one of the mounted knights. “Break them up with longs.” One of my quivers was already empty and another was only half full. It was a good thing I had decided to carry a fourth.
My men and I began to send a steady stream of arrows into the men and horses we were rapidly approaching. They promptly raised their shields and dropped their visors. A horse was hit and bolted almost immediately and threw his rider, and then a man was hit, and then two more horses were hit almost at the same moment.
Suddenly the knights who were still mounted broke and abandoned those who had been unhorsed—first one, and then all of them galloped for the road and headed west towards the safety of the barons’ army. Three or four wounded men were moving on the ground or trying to stand up. From the looks of their gestures, they were beseeching the mounted men not to abandon them.
We gave a wide berth to the unhorsed men and galloped after the knights trying to escape. So did Gerard and his men on the other side of the road. We had come back later to pick up the armour and weapons of those who could not flee.
All semblance of order deserted the fleeing knights. It was every man for himself as we galloped behind them and on either side of the road alongside of them—and constantly pushed arrows at them whenever we had a shot.
One after another the fleeing men went down, usually when their horse took an arrow in its rump.
I had only been a little tyke when my father was fighting the Saracens but now, really for the first time, I understood why the Saracens had been so successful in preventing reinforcements and pilgrims from reaching Jerusalem despite the efforts of the Templars and Hospitallers to fight them off—because the Saracens rode their horses as we were riding ours, to stay away from the knights’ swords and lances and keep shooting arrows at them until either the knights or their horses went down.
******
The horse of the last knight went down after we chased him into a wooded area far off the road. Gerard pushed out an absolutely splendid shot as the horse was being ridden through a clump of trees and hit it squarely in the side. It bolted forward another twenty lengths or so, bounced off a tree, and fell over trapping its rider beneath it.
Two of my outriders and I rode up all out of breath. We pulled up our horses and watched as a young knight struggled to get himself out from under the fallen and still struggling horse. He stopped trying and just looked at us when we reached him. I raised my hand and motioned for my men not to shoot.
“Do not move,” I gasped as I pulled my exhausted horse to a halt about ten feet away from the battered and equally exhausted knight and pointed an arrow at him. He stopped trying to pull his leg out from under the horse and made the sign of the cross. There was a look of despair in his eyes; he knew he was about to die.
It had been a hard and long ride for me, but he was the last of them and I, at least, would be riding away from here alive.
“Can you pull yourself free?” I finally asked, and then motioned with my hand that he should go ahead and try.
“Aye, I think so,” the young man answered. He had a Yorkish accent. He was a poor knight from the look of his armour and quite young. His horse gave a last big lurch and began pissing and trembling as it finished its dying and the knight’s leg somehow came out.
“Stand up and take off your armour,” I ordered him.
He had to struggle to get to his feet because of the weight of his armour, and I could see him look about and test his legs as he did. It was instantly clear that he was going to try to make a “forlorn hope,” a desperate run to escape.
“Do not even think about it,” I said with a shake of my head as I pushed my bow out towards him.
“I saw you make the sign of the cross. Do you want to die so soon?”
******
I thought of the despair in the eyes of the young knight whose armour, sword, and saddle Gerard was now carrying as we walked our tired horses out from under the cover of the trees and into the light rain that had begun to fall. It was time to retrace our steps, finish off the unhorsed knights who still needed to be finished off, and gather up the weapons and armour of th
ose who had come to attack us. My bones and arse ached.
Each of the knights we find alive will get the same choice as the man Gerard and I left in the forest—either die here and now with an arrow in your belly, or swear a knightly oath to the Pope that you will return straight to your home, always assist the archers and people of Cornwall whenever they need it, and never again take up arms against them or aid anyone who would do them harm.
If you break your oath, I had warned the young knight before he gave it, “you will stay in purgatory forever because the archers and the men of Cornwall have God and the Pope on their side.” I was not at all sure of that, but it sounded fearsome when I said it and my men were impressed.
“Besides that,” I had added, “either the Pope or the Bishop of Cornwall will almost certainly hear from a priest about your breaking of your oath, and send someone to find you and kill you most foul.”
Now there is an idea. Uncle Thomas made much about the Arab assassins when he was putting the learning us; I wonder if there are any in England we could employ?
Chapter Eleven
The horse archers get ready.
The women and castle defenders who would be staying behind watched intently and waved and cried out as almost one hundred and seventy horse archers and their heavily loaded supply horses clattered out over Okehampton’s two drawbridges. Lieutenant Raymond was leading the way on his black gelding. Some of the horse archers’ wives and children ran after them; others just stood and watched them go and either wept and clutched their children tightly or talked quietly among themselves.
The horse archers were going to war and it would be the first real war that the young ones among them had ever experienced. Most of them were excited and more than a few were worried and trying not to show it. More would have been worried if they had known their lieutenant was determined to seek out the barons’ army and do much more than just harass and weaken it as Captain William and his other lieutenants expected. It was his wife’s idea.
The Captain's Men Page 8