Sword of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  “I know what to do,” Anna said firmly. “Give me the authority, and I’ll take command.”

  Henry stared at her a moment. Beverly could see the turmoil raging in his eyes.

  “You’ve led in battle before,” he said. “I cede command of the army to you.”

  * * *

  Princess Anna turned to face the others, “Lord Fitzwilliam, you will command the army that meets the earl. You’ve fought before, pick the minimum troops you will need for the job. The rest will turn to face our new threat.

  “Yes, Highness,” said the baron, “and who will command the other troops?”

  “That group will be commanded by Gerald; I have complete trust in him.”

  There were surprised looks around the room. Placing a commoner in charge of the troops was just not done.

  Anna broke the silence, “We haven’t got much time. Baron, you have command over the Earl of Shrewesdale and the Duke of Colbridge by Royal Decree. If either one complains, send them to me. Detail off the troops you can spare to Gerald, we need them in position as quickly as possible. As soon as Beverly gets back, she’ll join Gerald's group.”

  They dispersed quickly, save for Gerald, who approached Anna, “Are you sure about this? I’ve never commanded an army before.”

  She stood in front of him, placing her hand on his shoulder. It was a strange scene, had anybody witnessed it; this young girl giving comfort to a veteran soldier. “I have faith in you, Gerald. You’ve always been there for me when I needed you. Remember our battle of the mighty weeds? This is just like that, only with a few more enemies thrown in." They both smiled at the memories of the past and knew that no matter what the future brought, they would always be there for each other. Gerald placed his hand over hers, and simply said, "Thank you, Anna."

  Gerald left the tent and ran to catch up to Baron Fitzwilliam; the battle for the crown was about to commence.

  Thirty-Eight

  The Battle for the Crown

  Spring 960 MC

  Beverly sat upon Lightning, leading her troops, while the infantry moved into position. They were in dire straits. While last evening they outnumbered the enemy, now they were trapped between the earl to the east and the Orc army to the west.

  “Dame Beverly,” called out Gerald, “are your men ready?”

  “Yes, sir,” she responded formally. She knew he had led men before, even recently, but now he held a grave responsibility; if they lost this fight, they would all die, for the earl would likely not take prisoners.

  He moved to stand beside Lightning, casting his eyes once again over the men and Dwarves who took up their positions. She watched him, detecting the lines of worry etched on his face.

  “It will work, you know,” she tried to ease his anxiety.

  He looked up at her, “I hope so, for it’s the only chance we have. You remember your orders, Dame Beverly?”

  “Yes,” she bit back her anger. He had asked her three times what her orders were, but she realized he was just nervous. “You know, you can just call me Beverly,” she offered in an attempt to diffuse the air of tension that encircled them.

  Gerald humphed, making an unintelligible sound. “That wouldn’t be proper,” he said at last.

  Beverly smiled; some things never changed. “I’ll see you soon,” she said. “Don’t forget the signal.”

  She gave the command, and the knights started moving. The army was set up parallel to the south road, with a line of troops on either side. The horsemen gathered speed, and soon they were heading south toward Wincaster. One of Shrewesdale’s knights, a man named Sir Bartholomew, grumbled behind her, and then a familiar voice roared out, “Shut up, you disgrace for a man; we ride to glory.” It was Sir Heward, The Axe, perhaps the one man in Shrewesdale’s knights who knew his business.

  She had expected trouble when Gerald had asked for Lord Montrose’s knights, but Prince Henry had been quite persuasive, and now they joined the other knights under her command. The Duke of Colbridge had gladly given up his knights, but the Bodden Knights had been needed by her father. Even now, as they rode to the south, she worried that her father might face defeat at the hands of the Earl of Eastwood.

  The plan had been worked out in the early morning light, even as the Orcs emerged from the distant wood. Her father would face off against the Earl of Eastwood, using the bulk of the army to knock him out of the battle as quickly as possible, while Gerald would fight a holding action against the Orcs until the earl was defeated. It was a risky plan, for Gerald only commanded a small force. He had placed the Dwarves, with their arbalest’s in-between his footman. The Elves had been required to aid against the Earl of Eastwood, but the hope was that they could redeploy rapidly to the rear when needed.

  It was Gerald who had come up with the strategy for the knights. He suspected that the Orcs lacked cavalry, so they sent the knights south. Hopefully, the enemy would think they were fleeing, or they might redeploy troops to cover them. In either case, it was only a ruse for their real orders. They would ride out of sight and then watch for the signal to return. Beverly would be riding back into the middle of a battle, and would have to choose where to attack based on the situation when she arrived, for there was no telling how the Orcs would fight.

  Sir Heward rode up beside her, “The men, they don’t mean anything by it, they’re just letting off steam.”

  She turned on him with a steely glare, “Is that why they tried to rape me? To let off steam? There’s no excuse for their behaviour.”

  The Axe stared back, “I might remind you that not all the knights participated, there’s still some good men amongst them.”

  Her face softened, “You’re right, Sir Heward, I cannot hold them all to blame for the actions of a few.”

  “It’ll take a firm hand to lead them today; you have that ability, Dame Beverly,” he said.

  “I wish I was as sure. I’ve never led this many into battle before; I’m usually just leading a company. Will they follow me?”

  He was silent for a moment before responding, “Aye, they’ll follow you, to the gates of the Underworld, if needed. They’re ashamed of the stain that a few put on their name. The Knights of Shrewesdale used to mean something. They’re eager to erase the past.”

  “The past cannot be erased,” she said. “Believe me, I’ve tried. We must accept that it is done, and move on. Punishment will come to those who deserve it.”

  She studied Sir Heward’s face; he was struggling with something.

  Finally, he spoke, “I’ve seen to it that a number of knights will lead the charge, names you might be familiar with.” He retrieved a folded piece of paper from his glove and handed it to her.

  “These are the men who attacked me,” she remarked.

  “Yes, they’ve ‘volunteered’ to lead the charge. I’ll be riding with the lot of them to make sure they don’t run.”

  She tried to gauge his reaction, “Volunteered? You mean voluntold.”

  “Some might interpret it that way, but in any case, what does it matter. They will serve the crown and likely get what’s coming to them.”

  “Take care of yourself, Sir Heward; your loss would be greater than those names put together.”

  “Oh, I fully intend to, Dame Beverly. I have no wish to die today, but if I must, then so be it.”

  Baron Fitzwilliam began the battle conventionally, by deploying his archers in front as a line of skirmishers. They peppered the enemy infantry to no significant effect, and soon the enemy cavalry appeared, threatening them. This was merely a game of strategy. He was testing the Earl of Eastwood’s responses, and they were just as expected. Fitz’s next step was to counter the earl’s cavalry with a display of his own. He had contemplated this carefully and had derived a plan he thought would surprise the enemy. The earl’s cavalry were mostly light troops, enough to harass the archers, but not enough to threaten the carefully arranged lines of footmen. The baron deployed the Knights of Bodden, sending the men with explicit o
rders; they were to taunt the enemy horse, then pull back to the allied line.

  He watched from his vantage point as his knights made their way into the gap between the armies. Would the earl take his bait?

  After a brief clash of steel, the enemy horse rode back for their lines, the Bodden Knights in pursuit. Just before his men reached the lines, the rebel’s deployed their own knights, for the temptation was just too enticing. Apparently, the earl intended to eliminate the Bodden Knights with his superior force. Usually, knights were held till the decisive moment, but the baron had committed them early. The enemy lines opened up, and the earl’s knights surged forth, outnumbering their adversaries by a considerable margin.

  Now was the moment of truth. Would the Bodden Knights keep their discipline? He held his breath as he watched, and then exhaled as he saw them turn with precision, making for their own lines. The enemy knights picked up their pace, and it appeared as if the men of Bodden would be overwhelmed. Just as his knights neared the allied lines, they suddenly swerved, riding parallel to the footmen. Fitz gave the command and the Elves, forming the second rank, stepped forward and unleashed a hail of arrows.

  Knights are well armoured, but an Elven bow, fired at point-blank range will puncture even the best of armour. With a noise like a sudden hailstorm, the earl’s knights were decimated; horses fell to the ground, crushing their riders. They screamed, both Human and equine, with only about half a dozen riders remaining mounted after the onslaught. The carnage was shocking, but Fitz knew he must strike while the forge was hot. He gave the order, and the infantry advanced, the Elves moving to the flanks. With the enemy knights eliminated, the attack would now commence in full.

  “Your Highness, I must object. You are too exposed here,” Arnim was adamant.

  “There IS no safe place, Sir Arnim, so I might as well make my stand here with Commander Matheson.”

  “But you are essential to the battle, if you should fall-”

  “Then there are others that will take my place,” she wheeled on the man. “I appreciate that you’re doing your job, but I must be allowed to do mine. The prince is with Baron Fitzwilliam. My presence is needed here.”

  The sound of chanting drew their attention, and she turned to look at the men formed up in front of her. Her horse gave her the height advantage she needed to see clearly, but as she looked, she silently wished her view was blocked. The entire horizon had turned into one solid line of green-skinned Orcs. They were chanting something, and though she didn’t understand the language, the intent was clear; they were coming for blood.

  “Hayley, tell me again what you know about Orcs and how they fight?”

  “They don’t wear much armour; they don’t have to, their skin is thick. They can still be wounded, but a wound that would hobble a man will typically just make an Orc more irritable.”

  “That’s just what we need,” said Anna, “irritable Orcs.”

  “They’re impressed by skill. If we impress them enough, they might retire from the field,” Hayley offered.

  “Really?”

  “No, I was just trying to make you feel better. I’m afraid it’s more of an ‘us or them’ moment.”

  “A fight to the death, then?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  They sat in silence as the princess digested the news. She watched Gerald riding back and forth behind the troops, uttering words of encouragement. She knew it was all for show, but she had seen the effect it had on the men. After only two battles he had become known as a commander who cared for his men, who took every precaution to protect them. They responded with loyalty, and she knew at that moment that they would hold the line or die trying.

  The Orcs began to move, one vast mass flooding across the field, covering the ground like a horde of ants.

  “Steady,” yelled Gerald. “Steady men, hold your line.”

  The closer they came, the louder their chants grew until they were deafening. The Dwarves fired off their arbalests, and the front line of green attackers went down. If the princess hoped it would slow their advance, she was sorely disappointed, for the Orcs merely leaped over their fallen comrades and continued the charge. Their chants were replaced with blood-curdling screams as the swarm drew closer.

  “Brace yourselves,” Gerald yelled just before the Orcs crashed loudly into the shield wall; a tremendous noise as axes tried to smash their way through the shields of the defenders. The shield wall had its weakness, and it was the legs of the defenders. The Orcs soon discovered this, and the line threatened to disintegrate as legs and feet were impaled by spears. The Dwarves rushed forward, crouching, using their shields to protect the legs of the Humans in this gigantic struggle that had emerged. Gerald held his breath as the line was pushed back slightly, but it held. All along it, men and Dwarves were hacking at the beasts that had previously exploited the shield wall’s flaw. He saw Orcs go down. The occasional Human fell victim to the attackers, but their comrades stepped in to replace them, holding the shield wall intact. It was like seeing a vision of the Underworld, where men lined up to be slaughtered. His men were pushed back further as they gave up ground to protect themselves from the onslaught. Gerald saw a threat and reacted instantly. “Sir Arnim,” he yelled, “bring the bodyguard, they’re about to envelop our right flank.”

  The line had held, but as men fell, it shrank down so that the front became shorter and shorter. Now the Orcs who massed on the right flank had overlapped their defence. A large Orc wearing the skull of an enormous creature was yelling, pointing his staff in the direction of the weakened end of the line.

  Revi gesticulated, and the Orc fell over backwards with no sign of injury. Another Orc somehow catapulted himself over the soldiers’ heads to land beside the mage, who was entirely taken by surprise. He looked in fear as the large creature swung his mighty axe above his head. The Axe whistled as it passed through the air, and then the Orc collapsed, an arrow through his head. Revi cast his eyes about to see Dame Hayley, her longbow in hand.

  Gerald rushed to the flank, driving his mount into the Orcs. He must buy time for the bodyguard to fall into line. In front of him, the Orcs gave way from his mad dash until he heard the yelling behind him. He turned in the saddle to see Arnim joining in the defence, his troops locking their shields together. Gerald suddenly lurched forward as his horse’s legs were chopped out from beneath it. The mount fell, screaming in agony and he leaped from the saddle to avoid being pinned beneath its body. The Orcs surged forward, spurred on by his horse’s demise, and now he was fighting for his life.

  Beverly sat with her knights waiting for the signal. It was nerve-wracking, she heard the sound of battle and knew that men were dying, but everything depended on timing. The horses were all restless, somehow aware that they would be needed to spring into action on short notice. She looked around at the faces of her knights. The experienced ones were sitting calmly, waiting for the coming storm. The untested knights cast their eyes about nervously, not knowing what to expect. She knew many of them would not survive the day and wondered who these brave men were. Sir Heward brought her back from her thoughts with a tap on her arm.

  “Is that the signal?” he asked.

  She looked to the north to see an arrow streaking into the sky; a flaming arrow that trailed smoke as it climbed. “That’s it,” she said, then turned to the men. “It’s time to do our part, the fate of the kingdom lies in our hands. Onward!”

  She started north at a trot, then turned off the road, heading northwest, hoping to come into the enemy’s rear. Time appeared to slow down, and she resisted the urge to move faster. Speeding up would tire the horses, and their energy was needed for the charge. Slowly, at an agonizing pace, the noise of battle grew closer. They topped a rise, and she finally saw the action spread out below them in the shallow valley. She watched the two fights, a mere observer at the moment. Her father, to the east, was engaging the enemy line, but the more immediate danger was the green swarm that threatened to engulf the de
fenders to the west. She halted the knights and ordered them to form-up. It took forever to assemble the knights, very few of them had fought with this type of discipline, and she cursed the very system that the nobility had built. What she really needed was professional cavalry, but she must deal with what she had. Now if only they could maintain the line as they advanced, and reserve their pent-up energy for the last possible moment before impact when they would unleash the full power of mounted knights.

  They began the descent into the valley, maintaining their formation. They would strike the enemy from the flanks and rear, cutting down as many as they could. The knights picked up speed, and soon the jangle of the chainmail combined with the horse’s hooves drowned out all other sounds. The thunder increased as the horses gained momentum and the Orcs turned to the approaching noise. The very air seemed to shake with the reverberations. Beverly focused on the enemy in front. The charge was committed; there was no turning back now.

  The press of knights hit the Orcs like surf on a beach, easily flooding past the front line but slowing down the further they went. There were no formed lines here, just an endless mass of Orcs. Swords rose and fell, blood flew from weapons, knights from high above slaying Orcs everywhere. She saw one knight go down, Orc axes spraying blood as they hacked their victim to bits. Order disappeared as the charge spent itself, becoming a battle for individual survival.

  Beverly blocked a fearsome swing with her shield, her arm numbed by the impact. Her sword pierced flesh as she swung out in retaliation. She turned and swung over the back of her saddle, an Orc jumping back to avoid the attack. Another leaped forward to take his place, and she struck him down with an overhead swing. Her shield was nearly ripped from her arm, and she wheeled to see two Orcs attempting to pull her from the saddle. Releasing the shield, they fell back with a crash, while she manoeuvred Lightning to rear up then come crashing down, his hooves driving into the hapless enemy. During this, she transferred her sword to her left hand and gripped her hammer with her right. As Lightning landed, so too did her hammer, penetrating an Orc’s helmet, driving into his head.