Varre could scarcely believe his eyes. Just a couple hours ago, he was dreading the casualties that a sustained assault against the enemy’s ramparts might bring, yet he was convinced that at least some attempt was necessary. Charles needed to be occupied, so that the rest of the army could break through the flanks and swing around.

  And now the duke was abandoning his defensive position.

  “Are my eyes deceiving me or are they getting down from there,” Jan asked incredulously.

  “I… I think you’re right.”

  “Yes… Gregory forced their right flank to advance and meet ours,” the count said, returning to his more serious persona as he strategized, “they’ve left a gap in the line now. If he does nothing, then his flank is going to get bogged down out in the open field and then our central force will swing around to destroy a third of Charles’ army in a single swoop.”

  “That could be enough to turn the tide,” the king continued, “the rebels may hold the defensive advantage for now, but if we got rid of so many men, we’d be able to easily go around them.”

  Jan burst out laughing. “This is great. Just great! Oh Greggy, you’re a genius!”

  “That, or the enemy panicked and fell apart at the first sign of trouble,” Varre corrected.

  “It doesn’t matter. That’s not what history will remember,” the count wagged his finger, “the victor is always a genius tactician and master strategist, while the loser an incompetent, overzealous fool. So it has been and so it shall be.”

  “That’s rather cynical, isn’t it?” the king raised an eyebrow.

  Jan shrugged. “It’s still true. Besides, you’re the king. And hopefully about to be the victor. You should be encouraging this line of thinking, not me.”

  The count always acted strangely during stressful battles, but this was the first time Varre had seen him get so philosophical. The former student had no intention of engaging in such a discussion now though. He wanted to concentrate on studying the battlefield instead. If anything else unusual happened, he needed to react quickly. Each minute of delay could mean additional, unnecessary casualties. Or a drastic turn of the tide. Besides, the armies were about to clash and lock in place, making future adjustments nigh impossible.

  As if to underline that point, the Miroti hedgehog finally made its move. The infantry opened up one of the walls and the hundred odd knights hidden inside spilled out onto the battlefield. They didn’t charge yet, conserving their energy, but they advanced quickly, heading straight for Varre’s position.

  “Look at that,” Varre gestured towards the river bank, “is that going to be a problem?”

  The count straightened up. “The hedgehog is about to pounce.”

  The king shook his head, as if trying to shake the mental image of that cute, cuddly animal jumping on a human to tear their throat out. “They’ll be here before Charles’ infantry.”

  Jan nodded. “It’s Khoman’s job to keep them busy. But…” he stared off to the right, looking at the hundreds of men assigned to the other commander.

  “But?”

  “But this presents us an opportunity. Yes, if they hit our lines, they’ll do some damage. We could call a stop and form up against them to try and mitigate it. But I don’t know how Charles would react to that.”

  “Khoman has cavalry too,” Varre pointed out, “he can intercept them.”

  “He can. But should he?” the count smirked, “if we let them get here, then Khoman can circle around and lock them in place. We’ll exterminate all of their knights in a single swoop,” he gestured by clapping his hands together.

  “We’d lose a lot of infantry,” the king countered, “and Charles has hundreds of knights still in the center. He’ll see what’s about to happen and send his men in to support.”

  “We’ll hit their back and they’ll hit ours. A veritable dogpile,” Jan’s grin kept growing, his humor returning, “there’s no use speculating, not with this many wheels spinning around. We’ll react to things as they happen.”

  “If we plan for things in advance, then we won’t waste precious time discussing them later,” Varre insisted.

  “Spoken like a true tactical genius. See? Now you have to win. You’re making pompous quotes already. You there, get out some parchment and start writing those history books already,” the count joked, “but seriously. This is Khoman we’re talking about. He’s too rigid to come up with risky gambles like this. He’ll stop them.”

  The king followed Jan’s gaze and turned around. Indeed, he could see that the knights on the right flank were already grouping up and preparing to intercept the enemy.

  Khoman was put in charge of the distraction force back at Elstercross. He followed his original orders to the letter, crossing the river and moving South as soon as the path ahead became clear. This maneuver defeated half of Clement’s army in a single blow, but it allowed the other half, including all of the commanders, to escape back to their homeland.

  No one could blame the commander for that. It took days for riders to deliver messages and reports back and forth at those distances. And it’s not like he had the time to properly scout ahead. When faced with unknowns, it wasn’t a bad instinct to stick to the original plan. It made things predictable for your allies. Besides, taking out half of the rebels, without any casualties, was an impressive victory. Regardless of who got away.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The baron may not have been particularly creative, but he was reliable. His numbers were depleted a bit and mostly consisted of fresher, inexperienced reinforcements from the capital, but they’d be enough to stop the pouncing hedgehog and wrangle the screeching beast in place.

  And if that wasn’t enough, there was almost a thousand infantry slowly trudging along behind the cavalry. The knights from the Miroti circle would be on a strict time limit. They’d either have to risk engaging the footmen without a proper charge, or retreat all the way back to the safety of their own allies and try again.

  For now, the situation had stabilized. The skirmishes had ended and the sounds of combat dissipated. Columns of men marched towards each other, with the ground shaking beneath their boots as sergeants yelled out commands in the air and heralds signaled new orders on trumpets. Everyone waited for the next big clash.

  Gregory got to the honors. His troops were consistently ahead of the other lines and they kept up their higher speed. The knights rode just in front of the infantry and the rebels matched them, with both commanders leading from the front.

  Each side prepared to charge and once they got within a couple hundred feet away from each other, the baron finally gave the signal. He raised his lance and yelled out the command before throwing himself forward. The rest of the cavalry followed with the footmen struggling to keep up.

  The loyalists had a slight advantage in numbers, especially after the last skirmish, but it was so minimal that it almost didn’t matter. Whichever side managed to slay the enemy commander or scare off the most prominent nobles could easily rout the others.

  This time both lines of knights arranged each other into a two men deep formation as they charged. Gregory grit his teeth in the last seconds before the clash and aimed his lance straight at the enemy’s torso.

  He hit.

  The force of the blow pushed the rebel knight and threw him off the saddle. He tumbled to the ground, narrowly avoiding the horseman behind him.

  Another strike glanced off the baron’s shield as his horse kept going. The animals instinctively made gaps around each other as they neared the enemy. When charging infantry, the rider always fought against this instinct, keeping the formation tight and powerful enough to break through massed enemy infantry. But slamming thousand pound animals into each other wouldn’t end well for anyone.

  In a situation like this, after the initial exchange, the knights simply squeezed through the narrow places. Lances broke and were thrown away as everyone drew their sidearms.

  Gregory raised his shield to block the spear of another horseman. He turned around, checking on his companions. His squire had been unhorsed, but in the chaos of battle the baron didn’t have the luxury of helping him up.

  The enemy’s infantry was running, getting closer by the second, and the space to maneuver was rapidly disappearing. Some inexperienced knights kept going, hoping to smash through the footmen, but Gregory knew that without his lance this wouldn’t be very effective. Instead, he turned his mount and raced in a gentle curve just in front of the approaching enemies.

  Others followed him as most of the knights returned to the safety of friendly lines. Many of the rebels were doing the same and the riders exchanged some more blows as they passed each other. A couple men got injured or fell off their mounts, but nowhere near as much as in that initial charge.

  The aftermath of that clash was pure chaos. Horses without their riders ran around the fields. Following their training, they tried to return to the safety of their backline, where servants stood ready to wrangle the animals. Dismounted knights cowered from the panicked animals and tried to flee towards friendlies. Given enough time, they could return as well and switch to a fresh horse in case theirs was still missing.

  In a pitched battle like this, the nobles were free to act as they wished to secure victory. The commander would stay in the center of the infantry formation, directing the common troops and fighting alongside the footmen. His honor guard surrounded him and kept him safe. Some of the knights, those most hungry for glory and honor joined this formation and added to its strength. Some, especially those who’s horses were slain, would simply stand alongside the infantry, unwilling to trek all the way back.

  Most however would return back to their servants. They’d pick up new lances and rest for a short while before attempting another charge. Either against the sides of the infantry formation, or if they felt confident, focusing on dueling enemy knights.

  Gregory used these last few seconds to race towards the best position he could find. Footmen moved away, letting him pass, as he led his small entourage to the center. Eventually he had to settle down and turn back to watch the unfolding carnage.

  The infantry lines finally met and began exchanging blows. Spears hit against shields as men tried to slay their enemies. Compared to the beauty and honor of knightly combat, watching commoners fight was almost filthy. Or at least that’s what the baron believed after years of chivalric education. Aristocrats fought for a noble cause. Hence the name. Peasants fought because they were told to do so. Of course, Gregory missed the irony of it all. Oaths of fealty forced the knights to listen to their lieges in the exact same way, but he never questioned the things his father had taught him.

  Still, the footmen were a necessary part of combat and it was his job to make sure they fought properly. Once the lines met, he moved his horse to the front, exchanging blows with some of the peasants. He let go of his enhanced state for now, conserving energy for more important battle.

  His combat prowess wouldn’t make much of a difference here and the resource was limited. Whether he managed to kill ten opponents, or just three didn’t matter in the long run. But if he used his superhuman strength to slay or capture the enemy commander, that could end the battle in a second. It had to be managed properly.

  Therefore, he looked around the chaotic battlefield, trying to spot the enemy’s flag carrier. The rebel leader was doing the exact same thing as Gregory, fighting from the front lines and using the symbolic banner to encourage his men to fight harder.

  Slowly, over the course of the next few minutes, he made sure to ride his horse in the direction of the enemy. He directed the horsemen around him to exert themselves and cut swathes through the massed enemies, bringing the commanders closer together. They were both knights of Logres and used the same exact tactics as they stared at each other from a distance, drawing closer.

  Technically, the baron still held a small advantage. The entire strategy for this battle was to give him enough resources to overpower his enemy. He only had a few more knights, but he had several hundred more infantry. If he simply held his ground, he would have eventually won.

  But honor wouldn’t permit such a tactic. Even if it did, keeping away from the enemy would make him seem like a coward and could have the adverse effect on his troops’ morale. No. Gregory knew that the only way forward was to face the enemy in a duel that determined the fate of the battle. Nobleman against nobleman, as chivalry demanded.

  The cavalry meets the enemy and then it devolves into a simpler melee between the infantry.

  Of course, the high middle ages lasted several centuries. There were plenty of different tactics and plenty of different cultures and kingdoms that put a unique twist on things.

  These were organized into lances, and again, things get very different here.

  Then, when a commander gave the order, he could send 5 lances to do something and he knew he was sending a squad of for example 20 riders. While the infantry probably stayed behind, watching over the equipment, or fighting with the main force.