Curiosity got the better of him, and he peeked out from behind cover. Everyone was still, except for the wounded. The only sounds permeating what was left of the interior were those one might expect amongst the injured.
Outside, the noises of an army drew closer. The enemy had been determined to be over four thousand in number, and the racket created during their advance made it sound like they would all descend upon Ludwig’s position. He knew it wasn’t true, of course, but he couldn’t help but feel he was about to be overwhelmed.
There had been little time for planning, but his choice had seemed clear. Now, however, he began to wonder if he’d done the right thing. He pulled his head back to safety and shut his eyes. The army was entering the ruins now, their footsteps echoing as they carefully trod through the debris. Ludwig began his silent count, forcing himself to slow down for fear he would act too soon.
Finally, as he reached fifty, he rose to his feet to see at least thirty enemy soldiers within the room, each examining bodies as they went. Ludwig’s presence was not noticed until he lunged forward, stabbing out with his sword. He took one by surprise, driving the tip of his blade into a leg, and the man fell back with a scream.
Now the enemy drew swords and began moving towards him. Ludwig’s mouth was dry, his nerves shaking, yet he attacked again, a wide swing that took one in the arm. Armour stopped any actual damage, but it caused the others to focus their attention on him.
“Now!” Ludwig screamed.
All around the room, his men stood, covered in blood, guts, and debris, but it was all for show. They stabbed out with daggers, swords, and axes, taking the enemy completely by surprise.
The men of Andover turned to face these new foes, but confusion reigned supreme. Ludwig had ordered some of his own men to don the garb of the wounded enemies in their care, making it all but impossible for these new invaders to tell friend from foe. It was a delay that cost them dearly.
Swords struck out, axes chopped down, and Cyn's mace wrought terrible damage. The fight was all over in a matter of moments. Sigwulf ran to the north door, while Cyn took the south seeking any sign that their trap had failed, but outside, the king's army marched on, unaware of what had transpired.
"Strip those bodies," ordered Ludwig. "It worked once, so let's hope it can again." The men of Andover all wore a blue surcoat over their armour, the better to identify themselves in battle.
He knew it was a long shot, but with the numbers arrayed against them, it was likely the only way to save the day. The King of Andover was getting ready to swamp the duke's forces. Only a desperate act could save the army of Erlingen now.
“Better take this, sir,” said Sergeant Dornhuffer. “Your sword won’t do you much good where we’re going.”
Ludwig looked down to where a war hammer was offered. “Thank you,” he said, examining its head. One side was the typically flat surface of a hammer, while the other consisted of a spike of metal, ideal for penetrating armour.
He moved to the south to where Cyn was watching the enemy march by. She turned at his approach.
“By the Saints," she said, "there are hundreds of them. Are you sure this is going to work?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” he replied.
He exited the building, falling in behind the soldiers of Andover who were flooding past them. The men of the company followed along, forming up into a rough column. They moved slowly, letting the rest of the army get ahead of them while Ludwig kept his eyes to the south.
The King of Andover was close, overseeing his army as it marched forward to crush the duke’s men. He had only a small guard around him, a dozen armoured knights who were far more concerned with the enemy ahead of them than a small group of their own men who had emerged from the ruins.
Ludwig’s heart was pounding frightfully, so much so that he would have sworn others could hear it. His fatigue was forgotten as they drew closer to their quarry. He glanced over at Sigwulf to see him grasping a halberd, with Cyn beside him, cradling her mace like it was a sacred relic, while everyone else kept glancing the king’s way.
Closer they drew, and then Ludwig knew it was now or never. He looked at Sigwulf and nodded, then broke into a jog. The company picked up its pace as he wheeled them towards the king’s entourage. They were only fifty paces away when they began to close the distance. Soon it was forty, and Ludwig was convinced they would be found out.
Something was happening to the east, holding the king’s attention, and then they were thirty paces away. Ludwig found he was holding his breath and forced himself to exhale.
At twenty paces, one of the king’s knights noticed them and opened his mouth to speak, but a trio of crossbow bolts sailed forth. Two bounced off the man’s plate armour, while the third wedged itself into the shoulder, right below the pauldron. The knight yelled something, but as the words issued forth so, too, did a cry from Ludwig’s men as they surged forward, running full tilt.
The king turned to see a group of his own men coming after him and froze, not quite grasping the danger. This was his undoing. An arrow struck his horse, causing it to rear up. The king, not expecting it, was thrown, landing in the churned-up mud where only yesterday the knights had fought their bloody encounter.
The king's guards drew swords, but Ludwig swung first, driving the head of his hammer into a kneecap where it struck plate, bending the metal and puncturing clean through to the flesh beneath. Pulling it free, he attacked again, this time with the back end, plunging the spear-like tip into a hip. He felt the armour part, the scraping of steel on steel as the weapon dug in, then blood spurted forth, showering him as he withdrew his weapon from the wound. The knight leaned forward in the saddle, although whether to attack or because he was in pain was anybody's guess. In any event, this was his last move as three different men struck out with spears and halberds.
Ludwig had a quick glimpse of the one who had been hit by a bolt trying to push his horse forward to protect the king, but the other knights were so intent on repelling the assault that they got in his way.
Ludwig, spotting a knight bearing down on him, waited, ready to leap to the side to avoid the attack. As the knight drew closer, Sigwulf appeared out of nowhere, bringing his halberd down onto the horse's head. As it struck, it made a noise like a melon, and then the beast went down, throwing the rider from the saddle. Erlingeners swarmed the body, and the knight was dead before he could make another move.
Ludwig saw Cyn dodging an enemy blow, then using her mace to smash into the horse's leg. Rider and mount fell, threatening to crush her as they went, but she leaped aside, finishing off the knight with a series of rapid strikes to the head.
Dornhuffer went down, a savage cut nearly separating his arm from his shoulder. Emile, Baldric’s old chum, came out of nowhere, leaping onto the back of a knight's saddle, stabbing out repeatedly, using a dagger to find the gaps in the armour. That tactic was good, but the fool wasn’t paying attention, and another knight sliced into his back. Emile screamed and fell to the ground, only to be trampled by the horses.
Ludwig swung his hammer, missing his mark as a knight rode past. He looked around, seeking the king, but too many horses blocked his view—the knights were everywhere, slaughtering his men. Sigwulf roared off to his right, and he turned, moving as fast as he could. The big man was in a test of strength, his halberd holding his foe's sword at bay. Ludwig rushed forward, smashing the head of his own weapon into the knight's leg. Sigwulf’s halberd crashed down as the enemy knight lost his grip, the blade burying itself in the man's shoulder.
Ludwig swung again, his hammer deflected by the shaped armour. The clang of metal connecting with armour rang out as they both took turns smashing their weapons onto their opponent. Despite their efforts, the knight still managed to strike out, his blade slicing Sigwulf’s tunic but causing only a surface wound.
Sigwulf twisted his halberd, exchanging the blade for the spike and smashed it down onto the knight's helmet with the last of
his strength. The knight went limp, slumping in the saddle.
Ludwig tried to catch his breath while the chaos still surrounded him. Someone grabbed his arm, and he swung around, expecting the enemy, but it was only Cyn.
“Over there.” She pointed.
Ludwig saw the king standing, shin-deep in mud, trying to climb up behind a mounted knight holding out his hand to help him up. Ludwig broke into a run, with Cyn right behind him, his anger building as he went. Harnessing its power for one final push, he screamed out, his voice harsh, his words lost to the sound of battle, yet still he ran, his feet carried by his rage at all they had endured.
The King of Andover had grasped the knight's arm, ready to be hauled up right as Ludwig attacked, his hammer swinging high above the king's head to take the knight in the bicep. The armour held, but the damage had been done, and the proffered hand was knocked from the king’s grip.
Ludwig rushed forward, dropping the hammer, his focus now solely on the king. Into him, he ran, tackling His Majesty and driving him back into the mud. Royal hands came up, seizing Ludwig by the throat, but the grip was weak, and he knocked them aside. Ludwig landed a blow on the king’s face, then reached for his dagger.
He heard the sound of a mace striking plate and knew Cyn was there, taking care of the mounted knight. Ludwig was on top of the king now, his knees on the prone royal, his dagger halfway out of its scabbard, but the King of Andover was no slouch. Realizing the danger, His Majesty had grabbed the same weapon by the hilt, and now a test of strength ensued.
Ludwig was weak, for he had slept little in the past two days. The King of Andover, on the other hand, was in good health and well-rested. Realizing he was in a no-win situation, Ludwig did something completely unexpected; he leaned down and head-butted his opponent. The king’s grip slackened, and then Ludwig whipped out his knife, pressing the tip to his foe's throat.
“Surrender!” he demanded.
“I yield,” came the reply.
“Louder!” Ludwig pressed the knife closer, depressing the skin on the king's neck.
“I order my men to yield!” the royal shouted.
The fighting slowed, then halted as all eyes turned to Ludwig. The knights began shifting, trying to surround him, but then Sigwulf and Cyn moved into position, watching to either side, weapons at the ready.
“Come any closer,” said Sigwulf, “and the king dies.”
“Then you will soon follow,” claimed one of the knights. “It's an empty threat.”
“We’re not afraid to die. However, if you wish your sovereign dead, then come at us and be done with it.”
The king’s men all backed up.
“Lay down your arms,” said the king. “I command it.”
There was hesitation, but eventually, the knights complied. The few of Ludwig’s men who survived moved in, picking up the weapons. With Sigwulf’s help, Ludwig rose, lifting the King of Andover to stand before him.
“You have outwitted us, sir,” said the king. “Might I know your name?”
“Sir Ludwig of Verfeld, Your Majesty.” He bowed, although it felt strange doing so in front of a prisoner.
“And what would you have of me now?”
“You shall send word to halt the attack, Your Majesty, then we will all go and visit the duke.”
“Very well, but tell me, if you would, why a foreigner such as yourself would intervene in this conflict? Of what possible interest is it to you?”
“This is an unjust war,” said Ludwig. “You have invaded Erlingen and brought immense suffering to its people. Is that not reason enough?”
“You would not say that if you knew of the events that brought about this conflict.”
“You mean your niece? Her death was accidental, was it not?”
“I find the circumstances surrounding her demise to be most peculiar. I asked Lord Deiter to investigate further but was refused. Surely you can see I had little choice left?”
“Not in the least. I can understand your distress, Your Majesty, but you had many other options available. At the very least, you could have insisted on a meeting between you and the duke. There you could have ironed out your differences.”
The king wore a surprised look. “I must admit the thought never occurred to me. The duke has a reputation as a vain and stubborn man.”
“Can you say any less of yourself?”
“You dare to speak thus of a king?”
“I might remind you,” said Ludwig, “it is you who is MY prisoner, not the reverse. I think, under the circumstances, I may address you as I please.”
The king glared, then turned to one of his knights. “Order the army to withdraw.”
“Your Majesty?” the man retorted.
“I said order the withdrawal! We shall discuss things further once I have conversed with the duke.”
“Yes, My King.”
Orders were sent, bringing the attack to a grinding halt.
“You can put away that dagger,” said the king. “I give you my word of honour. I shall not attempt to escape.”
Ludwig sheathed the blade.
“You are a remarkable man,” said the king. “My sense is we shall hear of you again. Let us hope by then we shall be on the same side.”
Ludwig smiled. “I should like that, Your Majesty.”
44
To the Victor, the Spoils
Summer 1095 SR
* * *
Ludwig made his way through the camp looking for what remained of his command. He soon found them huddled together beneath the shade of a large oak. His heart sank as he counted heads.
“Is this it?” he asked.
Sigwulf nodded. “I’m afraid so, less than twenty men standing.”
“A terrible price.”
“But light considering what the army would have suffered had the attack continued.”
“Yes,” added Cyn, “and the duke owes it all to you. You should get a big reward for this. Fancy becoming an earl?”
Ludwig shook his head. “There's nothing they could give me that I would accept. This is not my home, nor will it ever be. I wish nothing from His Grace.”
“Well said,” said Sigwulf.
“I suppose,” said Cyn, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to a hefty reward. Surely they could afford that?”
“You still have Sir Galrath’s belongings,” Sigwulf reminded him. “Did you get a chance to look them over?”
“I did, as a matter of fact.”
“And what had he?”
Ludwig laughed. “Most of the rest of my armour, but little else.”
“No coins?”
“A little, maybe enough to have a drink in his memory.”
“Can a man ask for anything more?”
“He certainly can,” said Cyn. “What about the love of a good woman?”
Sigwulf made a show of scanning the area. “Why? Is there one nearby?”
She gave him a light tap on the shoulder, but he smiled at her, softening her features.
“What of the Grim Defenders?” asked Ludwig.
Cyn shook her head. “They’re gone. The few who survived have sworn off the mercenary life.”
“And you two?”
She looked at Sigwulf. He nodded, and she turned her attention back to Ludwig. “We’ll keep our eyes open and our ears to the ground. Something will come along.”
“Yes,” said Sigwulf, “perhaps we’ll become bodyguards. It’s likely less dangerous.”
“What about you?” asked Cyn. “What will you do now?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose I’m still sworn to Lord Wulfram, so until he releases me from my pledge of service, I’m not going anywhere. That reminds me, where’s Lord Hagan?”
“Being looked after by the lay brothers,” replied Sigwulf. “They’re right over there.”
“I’d better check in on him.”
“Look for the brown banner with the axe on it,” said Cyn.
Ludwig smiled. “I know the symbol of Saint
Mathew.”
“Good luck,” said Sigwulf. “I hope we meet again.”
Ludwig was about to leave, but then Cyn ran up to him, grabbing him in a tight embrace. She held on to him for a moment, then whispered in his ear. “Take care of yourself, Ludwig. Your destiny awaits.”
He nodded, too overcome to respond. Cyn walked back to Sigwulf, then they stood hand in hand, watching Ludwig with smiles on their faces. It was hard to leave them, but despite that, Ludwig knew his duty. He turned, leaving them standing there, the image forever in his memory.
* * *
The Brothers of Saint Mathew were trained in the healing arts, though none here had the use of magic. As a result, there was much they could do in terms of cleaning wounds and applying bandages but could offer little more than prayers for the more seriously wounded.
They had set up their mission in the shade of the trees, the wounded laid out upon pallets of straw. Lay brothers made their way amongst their patients, assessing wounds and offering comfort where they may. There were few to tend to this day, for Ludwig’s mad plan had seen the enemy king captured before much damage could be done.
Ludwig found Lord Hagan lying on a pallet of straw, his head resting on a rolled-up blanket. Someone was bent over him, administering to his wounds, and Ludwig assumed it was a lay brother. As he drew closer, however, the person stood, revealing it to be Lady Rosalyn.
He halted, not quite sure how to proceed. After some deliberation, he decided to wait, not wishing to interfere in what was clearly an intimate conversation.
“Strange how things work.”
The words made Ludwig jump. Lord Wulfram stood beside him, gazing at his daughter, revealing a soft spot for his rival’s son. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
“What is?” said Ludwig.
Lord Wulfram smiled. “It wasn’t so long ago she refused to even consider the idea of marrying the son of Lord Gebhard, and now, here she is, chatting away as if they’ve known each other for years.”
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