The Retreat (medieval historical fiction)

Chapter 30 Heaven Departed as a Book Folded Up

Two small armies. A stretch of forest road strewn with the recently dead like a scene from hell. And two men. Much the taller, much the stronger and much the more wicked was Rainulf. Until now, I had not realised what hatred really was: that you could taste it as a sourness between your clenched teeth. Rainulf was a heartless butcher of decent people and he had deceived me, played with me and made me think there was a kind of nobility in his fierce independence. By contrast, Gerard was a man I could love. He was brave, of course, and an experienced fighter. More, he was a commander who could understand a crisis at a glance and give orders that meant the survival of his followers in the face of impossible odds.

Until now, perhaps. Because I had just seen grief and rage fill his mind, to the extent that his one desire was to cut down Rainulf by his own hand. As did we all on this side of the battlefield.

It seemed to me that if we were to triumph, six knights and twelve exhausted footsoldiers against twenty-six mutur, then we had to fight as one and that Gerard should be part of a line of men following up the charge of the knights. Instead, he was out in front of us, an axe in each hand, a shield across his back.

They met at the half-way point between the armies, some twenty yards away from each line of soldiers and immediately, with no more effort than if he were swinging a stick, Rainulf swiped at Gerard with his heavy spiked mace. Both of them knew it was a feint and Gerard did not commit himself to the counter-attack. That had to be Gerard's strategy, to dodge the mace and rely on the swiftness of his axes to find an opening.

Another waft of the mace, this time downwards from on high and with a swerve Rainulf smashed Gerard's foot into the ground. Even as the shocking blow had landed, the leader of the mutur leapt back like a cat, avoiding the sharp edges of Gerard's iron blades that lashed out at him in return. A great cheer went up from Rainulf's men along with several individual cries of encouragement; our side was silent.

Now Rainulf wheeled around Gerard, to test his mobility. My heart sank and if it were possible, my jaws tightened even tighter. There was no doubt that Gerard was in great pain and unable to use his left foot. Again, a strike of surprising speed from Rainulf and this time the mace caught Gerard's shoulder. As his opponent staggered, Rainulf deflected Gerard's one good axe swing with his shield and with a roar of triumph smashed Gerard's head apart.

At exactly the same time, Jacques was flung backwards, his blood spraying into the air. All three bolts had hit him in the chest as he'd raised his crossbow to try to save Gerard.

'Charge!' shouted Count Stephen. 'Revenge for the fallen!'

It was heartening that the remaining ten footsoldiers of the Milan Company gave a loud yell in response and ran behind us as we knights spurred on our horses.

Those of the mutur who had survived the journey to face us on this day were not so many in number, but they were a compact group and showed no sign of wavering as our horses hammered the road with iron hooves. I let go the reins, leaned forward and wondered, as Argentus rode towards an undaunted spearman, which way he would duck his head.

Astonishingly, as we neared the enemy line, I felt the weight of my destrier shift and he swerved to the left, leaving the road and the battle. What kind of warfare had he been trained for? One where I threw something from my right hand perhaps? But being left-handed, all that faced the enemy in this position was my shield.

Wasting crucial moments, I had to gather the reins and guide Argentus through the trees and around the back of the enemy troop. The screams of horses and the cries of men wounded in battle were heartrending, but neither Argentus nor I were discouraged and soon we broke from the undergrowth to ride at soldiers who held swords and axes rather than spears.