Ironhand

by Hilary Green

  Worse was to come. When they finally reached the city they were told that an advance guard had already been deployed to hold the road, if necessary, until the rest of the army could join them; and Vermeulen and his mercenary band had gone as part of it. Ranulph could have wept with frustration and shame. They would be sure now that he had abandoned them in favour of his new friends.

  Seeing his distress, Alessandro tried to reassure him. 'The Normans can't be here before tomorrow. We will be with your friends before there is any fighting.'

  Rome was in turmoil, with armed levies arriving from all directions to join the troops already besieging the Castel Saint Angelo. By the time Alessandro's contingent had met up with the rest of his men, who were already in place as part of the besieging force, it was evening. Ranulph was eager to set off to search for Leofric and the others but Alessandro dissuaded him.

  'There's no chance of finding them in the dark. You'll end up with an arrow in your back as a spy if you go wandering around on your own. Wait until morning. I need you with me. A council of war has been called and I want you to make notes.'

  The council was a noisy and fractious affair, with the commanders of the various contingents all determined to have their say, but eventually a plan was agreed. Scouts had informed them that the Normans had circled the city to the north and were now encamped across the Via Flaminia. The advance guard of the emperor's forces had taken up positions facing them, with their backs to the city walls. It was known that Guiscard's usual tactic was to dismount his knights and fight on foot and it was agreed that the majority of the emperor's forces should do likewise. It was also expected, however, that the Normans would hold some cavalry in reserve, ready to charge if their infantry was in difficulties, or to press home an advantage. For this reason it was agreed that a detachment of cavalry should be positioned on either wing ready to counter charge if necessary. Alessandro was given command of the detachment on the right wing. The army would deploy at first light to take up their allotted positions.

  As they left the meeting Alessandro was already drawing up the orders for his troops.

  'Make a note of this, Ranulph. Tomorrow....'

  Ranulph stopped walking. 'Tomorrow I must go to join my countrymen.'

  Alessandro turned to look at him. 'You want to go and fight on foot?'

  'I must. I promised.'

  'But that is not where your skill lies. Think of all you have learned in the last months. You are a superb cavalry fighter. You will do far more damage to the enemy on horseback.'

  'Nevertheless …'

  'The infantry will bear the brunt of the attack tomorrow. Your chance of survival will be minimal …'

  'That doesn't matter.'

  'It does! Listen...' Alessandro reached out and gripped his wrist. 'I want you with me tomorrow. I want you at my right-hand side, not Vincente. He's brave enough, and reasonably skilled, but he's never seen a battle. You have. You've proved your courage. Remember what I said after the jousting? There's no man I would rather have at my side in a real fight than you. I meant it. Ride with me tomorrow, Ranulph!'

  Ranulph stood still, paralysed by contrary impulses. Alessandro soften his tone. 'Don't you think you owe me that much, after what I have done for you over these last months?'

  It was enough to tip the balance. Duty and desire came together. It was true, Ranulph told himself. He owed a great debt to Alessandro, and if he could keep him from harm in tomorrow's fighting that would in some part repay it. He knew that if he did not fight at his side and Alessandro was killed he would never forgive himself.

  He drew a deep breath and nodded. 'Very well. But after the battle I must return to my friends.'

  'After the battle I give you permission to go wherever you like,' Alessandro said. 'I swear it.'

  14.

  At first light next morning the emperor's army marched out through the Porta Flaminia and took up their positions facing the Norman attackers. Among the advance guard encamped before the walls the watch fires were being blown into life to heat pottage for breakfast, and strung across the countryside in front of them were the answering fires of the enemy. Seeing them Ranulph experienced a momentary cramping in his guts. He had never faced such large numbers in battle before. He strained his eyes through the shadows of the dawn light, trying to pick out Vermeulen's banner or the familiar blonde heads of his comrades rising above the general crowd; but in the mass of moving figures it was impossible to distinguish individuals. Already Alessandro was leading his troop away to the right, where a rise in the ground gave a better view of the coming battle.

  When they reached the top of the hill Alessandro's knights formed up in the positions he had allotted them the previous evening. Ranulph had left Silver in the camp and mounted Jupiter instead. Now Vincente urged his horse forward, pushing it between Jupiter and the count's destrier.

  'Move!' he growled, glaring at Ranulph. 'This is my place.'

  Alessandro withdrew his gaze from the Norman ranks and turned. 'No, Vincente. This is your first battle and it would not be fair to put too much responsibility on you. I want Ranulph as my shield man today.'

  Ranulph saw the colour come and go in the young squire's face and felt a stab of sympathy. He knew how he would have felt, in the same circumstances. He said, 'It is only for today, Vincente. Tomorrow I shall be gone. Do not deny me the chance to render one last service to our lord.'

  Vincente looked from him to Alessandro, but the count had already returned his attention to the forces arrayed against them. Ranulph saw him open his mouth to protest and think better of it. Instead, he turned back to him.

  'If any ill befalls our lord today,' he ground out, 'I shall hold you responsible – and I'll see you pay for it.'

  Ranulph lifted a hand. 'I shall do all that is in my power, you may be sure. No man can do more.'

  Vincente looked as if he was searching for a retort, but only swore under his breath and backed his horse away.

  There followed what, in Ranulph's estimation, was the worst part of any battle; the waiting. They watched as the foot soldiers below them on the plain formed ranks and saw their officers ride out to face them and deliver the usual pre-battle harangue, promising the spoils of victory and warning of the consequences of defeat. He saw a tall man on a big horse riding along the ranks opposite and in the early sun he caught the gleam of chestnut hair.

  'The Guiscard?' he asked, and Alessandro nodded.

  Once again, Ranulph surveyed the massed ranks of foot soldiers, searching for some sign of his countrymen and at last he caught the flash of reflected light on a battle axe. Only the English fought with that weapon and he knew that Leofric and the others would not be displeased by the decision to fight on foot. They used horses to carry them into battle, or for light skirmishing, but when it came to serious fighting they preferred to be on foot, where they could wield the huge axes to best advantage. He saw that they had been placed in the front rank and knew that they would regard it as a compliment; but he remembered what Alessandro had said the previous evening. 'Your chances of survival would be minimal.' It struck him that he had never stood shoulder to shoulder with the men who had given him a new life and taught him to fight, and his sense of guilt bit deeper. There was an edge of shame to it, too, knowing that he had chosen a safer position. Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow I will prove that I am loyal.

  At last the speeches were finished and the sound of trumpets split the morning air. With a roar of voices and the clash of swords the two armies came together and very soon it was impossible to distinguish friend from foe in the confusion. The massed ranks swayed back and forth as first one side then the other gained a temporary advantage. Twice it looked as though the Normans were going to break through, but each time the emperor's forces rallied and they were driven back. When that happened, the men at Alessandro's back called out, urging him that their time had come and begging him to order the charge; but each time he responded, 'No. We wait until their cavalry are engaged.'<
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  The hours passed and still the fight remained inconclusive. Then the Normans appeared to rally for an extra effort and the defending ranks began to be pushed back. Alessandro turned in his saddle.

  'Ready?'

  Ranulph realised that his palms were sweaty and wiped them on the hem of his tunic. He took a firmer grasp of his lance, loosened his sword in the scabbard and settled deeper in the saddle. Alessandro had guessed correctly. As they watched, a detachment of Norman cavalry appeared from behind a low hill and galloped down to join the fray, intending obviously to provide the final push that broke the defenders.

  'Charge!' Alessandro yelled and put his destrier into a gallop. At breakneck speed they thundered down the hill to cut off the opposing cavalry before they could join the main battle. They met them in a small valley, where a little stream cut into the rock between scrubby thorn bushes. Instantly Ranulph's tension disappeared. This was the sort of fighting he knew, and he was good at it. Alessandro had been right. He was more use like this than on foot. Using his knees, he nudged Jupiter closer to Alessandro's mount, so that the horse's shoulders were almost touching. A man was riding towards them, intent on driving his horse between them, his lance aimed at the count. Ranulph flung up his shield and deflected it, then lunged beneath it and heard the man cry out in pain as his momentum swept him past. They had almost reached the stream and on the far side a Norman's horse had baulked at the jump. Alessandro kicked his destrier forward and it cleared the gully with room to spare, bringing him face to face with the Norman knight. Using the impetus of his horse Alessandro drove his lance into the man's chest and knocked him off his horse. Ranulph followed, but as he landed he saw that the unhorsed knight had struggled to his knees and drawn his sword. As Jupiter landed he slashed out at his legs. The horse shied, almost unseating Ranulph, but then swung round, reared up and brought his forefeet crashing down onto the knight. The man collapsed and lay still.

  Ranulph looked around and saw Alessandro a little ahead, surrounded by a gang of mounted knights and hard pressed. He drove Jupiter forward and took one of them in the back, unseating him. A second man was closing in on Alessandro, who was fighting at close quarters with an opponent who seemed a match, even for him. Ranulph charged him, using Jupiter to physically push him off his course. The knight he had unhorsed was on his feet and rushed at him with his sword drawn. Ranulph stabbed downwards with his lance and felt it go in deep between the end of the mailed coif and the top of the hauberk. As the man fell his weight dragged the weapon out of Ranulph's grip. He drew his sword and swung round to look for Alessandro. He had dealt with the swordsman, who was on his knees clutching a mangled arm but as Ranulph watched the knight he had diverted returned to the attack, his lance levelled to strike. Jupiter leaped forward and Ranulph flung up his shield to deflect the blade. His mount collided violently with the other man's and he struck out with his sword, but this time not at the man but at the neck of his horse. It was a tactic he hated to employ, but this was a time for desperate measures. Blood spouted from the wound and the animal collapsed to its knees. The knight, unbalanced, threw up his head, allowing Ranulph to strike again, this time at his unprotected throat.

  With two assailants down he had a momentary relief, but even as he paused for breath he heard a cry behind him. It was a cry of triumph, and the voice was not Alessandro's. Turning Jupiter on his haunches he saw to his dismay that the count had lost his shield and his left arm was hanging limp at his side. Blood was streaming from a wound in his leg, where a blade had ripped through the protective chausse. The man who had done the damage had overshot and was pulling his horse round to return to the attack. Ranulph spurred Jupiter forward and put himself alongside Alessandro's mount, close to his now unprotected left side. The attacker closed with him and they exchanged blows. Alessandro at the same time was fending off a new assailant. With their horses nose to tail they were both engaged in desperate sword fights. Ranulph's arm was burning with the effort of wielding his sword and he could sense that Alessandro, already wounded, was tiring; but just as he began to feel that they were in a fight they could not win a trumpet sounded and the two knights they were fighting hesitated long enough for Ranulph to disarm one. The other turned away and moments later the whole cohort was galloping for the safety of their own lines.

  Ranulph gazed round and saw that Alessandro's knights had not been idle and a number of Normans now lay dead or wounded. He caught his breath.

  'Sire, I believe we have the victory!'

  Alessandro responded with a gasp of laughter that turned to a groan and Ranulph felt him sag against him. He reached out quickly to support him and was just in time to stop him from sliding out of the saddle. He looked round. Where were Vincente and Lorenzo? This was the moment when they were needed, but neither was visible. Alessandro's marshall, Sir Matteo, rode over to them.

  'The whoreson's have turned tail, but there's no knowing when they may be back. What ails the count?'

  'His shield arm is damaged, and his leg. I think it is not fatal but he is losing blood. We need to get him to a surgeon.'

  Matteo shouted orders and several knights rode over to them. One took a position on Alessandro's other side, so that he was supported between them, and in this way they made a slow retreat towards the city. As they came nearer Ranulph saw that the trumpet had not only recalled the cavalry detachment but the whole Norman force had withdrawn to its former position. The emperor's forces had fallen back as well, leaving the battle field littered with dead and wounded from both sides.

  'Have we won?' Ranulph asked.

  Matteo shook his head grimly. 'We've held them off for today, but they won't give up. This is just a temporary respite.'

  Once Alessandro had been carried into his tent and given into the care of a surgeon Ranulph turned his mind to the care of the horses. As he led them away, young Felipe came running up.'

  'What has happened? Is the count badly wounded?'

  'I think it is not too serious, but he may not be able to fight again for some time. We shall know more when the surgeon has examined him. Where are Vincente and Lorenzo?'

  'Lorenzo was wounded, early on. He was unhorsed and knocked unconscious. When he came round he managed to stagger back to the camp. We don't know about Vincente. Lorenzo thinks he may have been taken prisoner.'

  So much for untried squires! Ranulph thought. Aloud he said, 'Will you take the count's horse? Make sure he's give a good rub down and fed and watered.'

  They led the animals back to the horse lines and Ranulph made sure that both horses were being well cared for. Looking up at the sky, he realised that the day was almost over. The long wait, while the foot battle had raged, had meant that it was past midday before he and Alessandro's cavalry had gone into action. Now the sun was low and he realised he was ravenously hungry and desperate for a drink, but there were other more urgent matters to attend to.

  As he reached Alessandro's tent he met Sir Matteo coming out.

  'How is he?'

  'He'll do. It isn't as bad as we feared. You can go in. He's asking for you.'

  He found the count stretched out on his bed, with the surgeon bending over him. He had been stripped of his hauberk and his chausses and was clad in shirt and braies and the surgeon was engaged in stitching a long cut on his thigh. Ranulph knew what that felt like, and he saw that Alessandro's face was white and his whole body was tense with the effort to keep his leg still while the surgeon worked. He went over to sit at the end of the bed and gripped Alessandro's ankle between his hands. Alessandro acknowledged the gesture with a glance and the faintest suggestion of a smile.

  No one spoke until the surgeon had finished stitching and was bandaging the wound. Then Ranulph said, 'What of my lord's arm?'

  Alessandro answered himself. 'Not damaged. The blow that knocked away my shield numbed it, but now it is as good as new.' He demonstrated by raising it and flexing his fingers.

  'And the leg wound?' Ranulph asked the surgeon.


  He shrugged. 'It will heal. I have used a salve on it to ease the pain and protect it from infection. But it must be rested. That is crucial.'

  When the surgeon had gone Alessandro said, 'Pour me a cup of wine, for the love of Christ! And help yourself.'

  Ranulph poured two cups from a flagon on a side table and carried them back to the count. Alessandro raised his in salute.

  'I owe you my life.'

  Ranulph made a small negative gesture with his chin and one shoulder. 'You would have fought them off.'

  'No. Not with my shield arm out of action. You were there when I needed you. Thank you for deciding to stay.'

  Battle weariness slipped from Ranulph as if he had shed a burden. He smiled. 'I am glad I did.'

  'Have you eaten?' Alessandro asked.

  'No, not yet.'

  'Call someone and tell them to bring food for both of us. You must be as famished as I am.'

  Ranulph went to the tent flap and gave the order to a waiting page. As he returned Alessandro looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 'Won't you take off your hauberk?'

  Ranulph realised for the first time that he was still fully armed. He unbuckled his sword belt and bent so the the hauberk slid from his shoulders. Relieved of its weight he felt two inches taller.

  Alessandro swallowed the last of his wine and held out the cup to be refilled. Ranulph said, 'Will you take some water with it this time?'

  'Water? This is fine wine. The best thing for replacing lost blood. I'll take it neat.'

  Two pages appeared with platters of cold fowl and bread, with curd cheese and olives. Ranulph dismissed them and drew his eating knife to carve the birds into joints. He piled the result onto one of the trenchers and took it over to the count. Alessandro hitched himself higher on his pillows and grimaced as he moved his wounded leg to make space.