Echoes of a Legend

Chapter ELEVEN: There is a Battle in all of us

"The noise of the opening impact will live with you forever.” Bayard De Godefroy

The initial sound of a battle commencing has changed over the years. From the loud barbaric screams of the Celtic warriors, through to cannon fire of the 13th Century onto the spitting of the First World War machine guns and finally the hiss of a missile launch during modern warfare today, each one signalling the start of an unwanted exchange which would ultimately end in many deaths.

The battle of Maji Es-Suffar began with the screams of adrenaline trying their best to mask the fear and panic that flowed through the thoughts of the infantry as they run alongside and in front of the mounted knights ready to assist in crunching the front line of Toghtekin’s army.

‘GODS WILL’S IT!-, GODS WILL’S IT!’ Screamed the Christians as the Turks howled and gabbled loudly in response.

With the pike men and the swordsman that Maven had placed at the front running at full speed towards the enemy, he picked up his own pace and heard the line of chargers behind him follow suit.

‘TIGHT LINES! TIGHTS LINES!’ Maven screamed.

It was important they stayed in tight lines to protect themselves from the blanket of arrows and the enemies’ likely attempt to break into the field and pour through the gaps.

The distant feint floury cloud of dust was now way above the charging enemies’ heads, forming a hazy blanket that darkened the eye of the sun.

Two of the Turkic’s front line horseman had broken ranks and were now outrunning the rest, bearing down on Mavens troops. Payen reacted quickest and was the first to engage them, kicking his charge hard in the ribs, he rode defiantly and at speed as the two men’s brightly covered rides sprinted wide-eyed towards him, with their passengers gabbling loudly and pointing their swords high in the air towards Allah. The Brothers attack may have looked random and one of a heroic gesture, but it had been subconsciously calculated. He noticed that they swung their weapons from different hands; the one on his left from his left hand and the one on his right from his right.  If he could manage to break through their centre it would allow him to defend one with his shield and clash with the other sword on sword. He kicked harder and leaned his head down to encourage his ride to do the same thus enabling them to burst through the middle of the two men. It worked and the sudden impact shook all three riders.

The Muslim on his left quickly regained his balance and swung his blade which crunched the face of Payen’s shield. Payen held fast and had already struck the right handed enemies sword with his as the sound of steel on steel rung out through the air. Kicking his boot into the ribs of the horse on his left, Payen saw it lurch dramatically forward allowing him room to swing his mount around in the same direction. Before turning fully and with a great flip of his right wrist he lifted the blade of his enemy and in the same motion swiped his own sharp edge across and up through the throat and face of the Turkic. The Muslim, instinctively trying to stop the blood flowing from his wounds, gasped and grappled at his face with his shaking spare hand and was no longer in any frame of mind to attack. Before his ally could turn back and face his dying friend, Payen struck again with a final deathly thrust of his sword straight through and deep into the centre of the second Muslim’s spine.

In the heat of battle no-one has time to stop and admire their work so Payen was not around to see the red contents ooze from his enemies back leaving their once white bodices slowly being re-coloured with a bright claret patch. Two down with many hundreds remaining.

The cries grew louder and louder. Neither side would brook any compromise as they covered the gap with earnest.

The feint browns and reds of the Muslim garments were feint no longer as they loomed larger and brighter under the beating sun.