A few minutes later they began walking their horses towards us in preparation for their grand charge. So far, so good—they have not sent their foot or crossbowmen forward, not yet at least. Hopefully that means their crossbow men are out of quarrels and the knights have taken our questioning of their bravery as we had hoped—badly—so they had become foolish and charge at us on their horses with their men running along behind them.
The barons did not seem to have been put off by seeing so few of us. I had been afraid they would think it was an attempt to gull them because I had more men hiding somewhere to fall upon them. I only wish that I did. On the other hand, waiting here for them to charge certainly was an attempt to gull them.
“String your bows.” I shouted my order and all the sergeants and chosen men immediately repeated.
I did not order my men to dismount. Of course, I did not. They might get better distance pushing out their arrows when they have both feet on the ground, but they are going to need to pull their horses around and leave in a hurry to ride to our next position.
******
A horn sounded from somewhere in barons’ ranks below us and then another; their banners dipped, and the barons’ mounted knights began walking their horses forward. Their foot followed behind them in a great disorganized mob. The barons and knights were still walking their horses as they passed our range rocks and moved into our kill zone. A few more feet and they had undoubtedly stop and wait for the signal to begin their grand charge. I had no intention of letting that happen.
I raised my arm high over my head and shouted.
“Nock your arrows and choose your man.”
The sergeants and chosen men repeated it loudly as they should. Then I dropped my arm and shouted “push” ... “push” ... and kept shouting it as we unleashed a stream of arrows on the horde of men assembled below us.
Our arrows fell upon the riders in front of us as if we were wielding God’s hand of death. There were always hundred arrows in the air as our men loosed them as fast as they could with great pushes and grunts.
The mass of men below us on the gentle hillside twisted and twitched as our arrows streamed down on to them. The reaction and movement was particularly great among the men nearest the banners in the centre. We could clearly hear the screams and shouts and other loud noises as men were hit and horses bolted. There was instant chaos and confusion.
We each got off at least five or six arrows before the surprised riders below us even began lurching forward. That soon settled into a determined charge with the horses that fell and their unhorsed riders tripping and knocking over those that were not otherwise hit.
I stopped pushing out arrows as they got closer, raised my arm, and tried to imagine how soon the thrusters at the front of our attackers would reach us. Then it was time to go.
“Fall back” ... “Fall back”
My sergeants and chosen men had expected my order and echoed it as we wheeled our horses around and galloped back about towards our next position, a little rise behind us. We turned around as we rode and loosed arrows over our shoulders all the way to our next position. Almost all of us made it, although I did see one of my men get cut down. The fool stayed to shoot an extra couple of arrows and did not turn his horse and run until it was too late. A knight got him with his lance.
That was when things started to go wrong. We reached our rally point with its range stones and turned our excited and blowing horses to once again face our enemy. Most of our pursuers were not even close when we turned to face them once again. Our problem was the few of our sword-waving pursuers who were well-horsed and able to stay close behind us after we turned and retreated to our new position. A couple of them crashed into our disorganised new line and took some of our men with their swords.
Our archers finished them off before they did too much damage. But our newly established line was confused and not ready to put enough arrows into the sword and lance-bearing knights and other horsemen who had followed their thrusters. Damn, they are too close.
“Disengage and fall back to the next position; go for their thrusters,” I shouted as I put a “heavy” deep into an approaching horse.
As I hauled my horse around to run for it, I watched the horse I had just hit slew around and fall heavily onto its shoulder as its left leg went out from under it and roll over. The eyes of the brown-bearded knight riding it met mine for a brief instant as he went down. He was still holding tightly to his sword and shield when his horse rolled over him.
******
I was still catching my breath when I realized that only about seventy of my horse archers had reached our second rally position. I was so surprised I counted again. We must have lost more men than I thought when the knights’ thrusters got in among us with their swords.
About the only good thing was that most of the barons’ horsemen pulled up after we abandoned our first fall-back position. It suddenly struck me that the knights might have succeeded in pushing us out of our first fall-back position because they had the visors on their helmets down and could not see enough to be worried when we began pushing arrows at them and their horses.
Not all of the barons’ horsemen pulled up. A handful of fools among them still did not appreciate the power of our longbows and continued pursuing us even after we abandoned our first fall-back position and galloped here to our second. They had made a bad mistake because we had enough time to prepare to receive them.
When they got close enough they discovered that our iron-tipped “heavies” will indeed penetrate armour. And there were so few of them that each received the attention of multiple archers. It was a forlorn hope for glory and distinction, and the six or seven knights who kept coming all went down.
Most of the barons’ horsemen were not so foolish. They turned back and began assembling, perhaps to prepare for another charge, where they thought our arrows could not reach them. Because of the little rise on the side of the hill blocking my view, I could not see the barons’ men on foot even though they were most likely coming up behind the milling crowd of heavily armed enemy horsemen in front of us.
“Longs and nock,” I shouted and my sergeants once again loudly repeated as was expected of them. And then we all watched and cheered as one of the men who had somehow not fallen back with us, suddenly came bursting through the barons’ line and galloped safely towards ours.
I raised my arm and gave the order as soon as he was clear.
“Push.” ... “Push.” ...
Once again the air was filled with the hum and swishing sound of our arrows and there was again great confusion among those receiving them. This time, however, instead of charging forward, they pulled their horses around and scrambled to fall back. They were too tired to be enthusiastic and their foot was still nowhere in sight. They left behind a number of unhorsed men on the ground and struggling to get on their feet to follow them.
“Begin the wounded bird,” I shouted, and my sergeants repeated. Then I raised my arm and pointed it at the barons’ men as I kicked my horse in the ribs and it started ambling towards the enemy. But then I pulled my horse to a stop and turned around, as if I was in great dismay, when only a few of my men followed me.
One after another my men peeled off and began galloping away towards the rear. I shook my fist at them in despair and motioned for the few who had followed me to retreat.
What happened next was inevitable. The barons’ horsemen gave a great cheer and surged forward to chase after us. They knew a victory when they saw one and were yelping and howling as if they were chasing a running fox; what they did not know was that they were chasing a “wounded bird.”
Chapter Twenty
Time to begin.
Sergeant George and all of the available outriders stood on the hill next to their horses and watched as little dabs and trickles of the barons’ army, mostly wounded men, began returning to the camp they had so hurriedly left some hours previously. I was the only one not standing; I was sitting on my ho
rse because my foot still hurt. It ached most fiercely even when I was in the saddle, but it pained me even more when I put my weight on it and tried to walk.
We were on the hill with our surviving outriders, all seventeen of us, watching the barons’ encampment on the cart path to Cornwall. Our initial task was merely to warn the Lieutenant if anything significant happened at the camp, such as reinforcements coming or going. That was easy. Our subsequent task was not—to attack the encampment whilst its fighting men were gone and wreak as much death and destruction on it as we could on the horses and oxen pulling the barons’ supply carts.
George was the senior sergeant. It was my plan but it would be George’s decision as to how soon we would attack the barons” encampment. The problem, of course, was that if we acted too soon, the barons’ army would rush back to protect the camp before we could do much damage. We were, therefore, supposed to wait up here on the hill until the barons and their men were far enough away so that they could not return in time to save their baggage train. All we knew for sure was that Raymond intended to keep withdrawing his men so long as the barons continued to follow him further and further away from their camp.
At first we primarily saw some walking wounded returning to the camp. And, of course, we periodically did more than watch them. Either George or I would lead some of our outriders down the far side of the hill when we saw someone coming or going on horseback. We went after the riders and tried to shoot them down from a safe distance—out of range of their swords and lances.
A few of the mounted returnees were able to gallop past us; most did not. Others rode off to the east away from both us and the barons’ encampment. Somehow, perhaps from the way they carried themselves and direction they were riding and walking, we could tell they were going home. We did not bother the returning walking wounded or those who were leaving.
All of a sudden, we could see a notable increase in the number of walking wounded and returnees in the distance.
“There must have been a fight,” George noted as we stopped to catch our breaths after a brief chase. “And we are only seeing the cowards and the walking wounded; there must be a lot of dead and seriously wounded men up there with the Lieutenant.”
“And look at that,” George said a few minutes later as he pointed at a small group of riders in the distance, some of whom were obviously wounded. “All their tunics are the same colour; one of the barons or knights must have abandoned the fight and left his foot to their fates.”
It was the first organized group of returnees we had seen. After a few moments of watching the distant riders, George made up his mind.
“I think it is time for us to start while the baggage train is still unguarded. We will do as you suggested and start at the front and work our way to the rear. I will take the far side; you and your lads take this side.”
******
Our horses, all gelded rounceys and natural amblers, ambled down the hill in two lines, with my outriders following me and George’s following him. We stayed together as we turned left at the bottom of the hill and rode in a big circle to get around the barons’ encampment and reach the cart path on which the barons’ army had been travelling.
Every man’s bows was strung, a spare bowstring was under every cap, and we were each carrying as many quivers of arrows as we could carry. We each also had a sharp pointed stick which we had use wherever possible on the barons’ horses and livestock so we would not waste our arrows. I myself had no less than six full quivers of arrows, and so did most of my men—two on my back and four hung over my horse in front of my saddle and secured to it so they would not slip off.
“Good luck, George,” I said with a great deal of emotion as we leaned out of our saddles towards each other and shook hands; “the same to you, old boy,” was his equally fervent response.
With that we began leading our two little files of men down the cart path towards the barons’ camp; my men and I on the right hand side of the path; George and his men on the left. I had completely forgotten about my sore foot as I nocked an arrow and held my reins between my teeth as my fully rested rouncey ambled towards the camp.
******
We started slowly with a lot of shouting and motioning as George and I had agreed. I pushed an arrow into the side of an ox but I did not shoot at the wide-eyed man and the boy on seat of the cart to which it was hitched. I did not ignore them either.
“Either start running up the road or die here,” I shouted as I aimed an arrow at the man and motioned them towards the camp spread out behind them.
They ran. And we followed right on their heels as we swept into the baron’s camp. Everyone we came to was given the same shouted order to either run or die, and we either shot down or stabbed our spears into every horse or ox we could reach.
Within a few short seconds there were screaming and shouting men and women everywhere as desperate civilians and wounded men abandoned their tents and campsites, and ran down the cart road in front of us in a desperate effort to escape. We were an unexpected wave of violence that swept into one end of the camp and flowed through it towards the other end.
The going got slower and slower as we reached the heart of the camp, but only because there were more people to send on their way and more horses and oxen to kill. There was some scattered resistance as some of the barons’ sick and wounded picked up their weapons and tried to fight back. But mostly there was a great panic and just about everyone ran. The only people we pushed arrows into were those who picked up weapons. There was no organized resistance.
Our bloody destruction of the camp seemed to go on forever. In fact it did not take very long at all. The panic was contagious and people ran in every direction except towards us as we moved inexorably forward from one cart-pulling horse or ox to the next. We could see people streaming out of the camp in all directions, but most of them were running or riding away from us in the direction from whence they had come.
The people in the barons’ camp ran back the way they had come because we had deliberately avoided simultaneously attacking the eastern end of the huge encampment. We left it unmolested so they would have someplace safe to go if they decided to run. Bishop Thomas had made much of doing that in our school.
I was almost out of arrows, and I had a slice in my leg and three wounded men by the time we reached the far side of the devastated camp. I was exhausted and panting hard and so was my horse and all of my men. I could see hundreds of people hurrying down the road towards distant London.
“Hoy Richard,” George called as he cantered up to me with several of his outriders following him. “Are you fair?”
****** Lieutenant Raymond’s wounded bird
The barons’ horsemen immediately began chasing after us when they saw me turn back to follow my fleeing men. Somehow they never were quite able to catch us just as a fox is never quite able to catch a bird pretending to be wounded leads a fox further and further away from its nest.
There was little wonder that they were not able to catch us. Our horses were generally of a better quality, and certainly more rested. Several times one or two of the barons’ thrusters on good horses almost caught us, only to go down when a horse archer turned around in his saddle and pushed an arrow into him or his horse.
We did not sit on our horses and wait when the last of the barons’ horsemen finally stopped chasing us and pulled up their exhausted horses to rest them. Not at all.
I gave the order and we turned around began moving back the way we came until the barons’ men were in range. They were all riders since they had left their foot far behind. We again showered them with arrows and they moved backward with slightly fewer men and horses. We repeated this two more times. The second time they backed up and we again began moving towards them, is when they finally broke and began streaming away.
Acting like a wounded bird and constantly retreating as if we were wounded and distressed had worked quite well. The barons’ army had followed us further and further away
from their encampment and strung themselves out into a disorganized mob that we could turn on and begin destroying. And that was exactly what we did.
As soon as the last of the barons’ riders stopped chasing us and turned back, I gave the order for my men to turn their horses and give chase. Unlike those of the knights and their riders, our horses were all rounceys bred for speed and stamina and, above all, the ability to amble. Moreover, They were also relatively fresh and well ridden as we turned around and charged after the fleeing knights and began shooting them down as we reached them.
For the barons’ army, it quickly became panic with every man for himself with the devil taking the hindmost.
The disorganized and fleeing knights rode right through their exhausted foot soldiers and kept on going. They were desperate to escape and could not—we were galloping up behind each fleeing rider and putting an arrow into him or his horse, and then moving on to the next fleeing knight and repeating the process. We totally ignored the barons’ foot.
Most of the barons’ foot soldiers, village levies almost all of them, had become strung out and scattered over the land as more and more of them became too tired to continue and stopped running in an effort to catch up with their knights. They saw the desperate flight of the panic-stricken knights coming back towards them. So they turned and ran as well. Many threw down their weapons as they scattered in all directions.
My men, at least most of them, did as I had trained them and threaded their way through the barons’ fleeing foot soldiers and unhorsed knights without getting too close to them. Riding safely through fleeing foot soldiers is important because a man on foot with a sword or spear can bring down a horseman as he rides past. A few of my men forgot what they had been learnt and went down themselves when they rode too near to a man on foot while they were chasing after a fleeing horseman. It was inevitable. Shite happens.
In the end, less than forty of my totally exhausted horse archers made it all the way back to the barons’ now-destroyed encampment to join up with George and Richard and what was left of their outriders. Behind us we had left miles and miles of dead and wounded men and horses, including a good number of our own.
The Captain's Men Page 15