Tuesday 17 May 2022

The Heirs of Britain - Game Four


The Heirs of Britain

Session 4: 480, A Battle for the Fate of Salisbury

The armies are arrayed, and the morning mist starts to clear. Already, wily ravens begin to circle, hungrily surveying the field…
Our horses whinny, men check their buckles and equipment, where others haphazardly shout their disdain for the Saxon men before us; the nerves and excitement build. Sir Vandagild idly reaches for the medallion at his breast: He recalls his Grandfather’s battles against the Huns, and the stories of his youth: Prudence in the open field; He recalls his Father’s advice: Trust your Lord, trust the men around you. He nods silently to himself, with resolve. We note that High King Aurelius Pendragon has distributed many of his responsibilities among his senior commanders. We catch sight of him, and he looks afflicted and unwell. He rides still with the army, apparently unwilling to sit aside while men die for him. Nonetheless, his condition is disconcerting for some.
After a tense wait, flags and horns are employed, the voices of Britain’s commanders pierce the ambience; all around us, we hear the rumble of hooves and the clatter of arms and armour.
Sir Amig calls the charge! Our eschille lurches as one, the earth churning instantly to tousled loam, showering us all with clods and damp. Wind roars past our ears, the cacophony of heavy cavalry overwhelming. The Saxons before us swirl, the composition before us changing… a series of whipping movements – Javelins afly! The Saxon militia missiles have little effect; our shields and armour hold them out, and our charge is implacable! They are too slow to reorganise through their own infantry… A screaming, churning clash as Salisbury lances plow deadly channels into Saxon chests; Sir Vandagild and Sir Rowan strike down their foes with mighty blows, and Elvorix renders a foul wound on his! The charge is successful; screams of horses and men mingled with clatters and furious cries!
The battle rages, and soon the success of our manoeuvre brings us into a sturdier melee, embroiled against their infantry: Swords and spears at hand, each knight fights well for God and Lord, cutting efficiently through the burly axemen! Sir Elvorix, surrounded by his hated foe, roars in rage his abhorrence for the Saxon menace! Sir Vandagild is more prudent, his Grandfather’s war-stories guiding him to more deliberate violence, thrusting his blade where opportunities present themselves. Sir Rowan’s swordsmanship is very fine; he shatters an enemy axe with a well-time parry and kills his man cleanly!
Our eschille remains in order; moving deeper into the enemy formation, the hooves of our tremendous chargers crushing Saxon flesh deeper into the ever-muddier fields. Alas, the Saxons are numerous, and the hordes replenish before us! Sir Amig, emboldened by our successes, barks orders and driving the unit forward. In response, Saxon Greatspearmen are pushed to reinforce, their long weapons well designed to counter the mass and impetus of our heavy-cavalry! 
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Elvorix and Vandagild call on their Loyalty to their Lord to inspire them to overcome this new threat, keen to prove themselves in their first true battle as Knights and establish their reputation as reliable fighting men! All three protagonistic knights continue their melee, Sir Elvorix leading his steed deeply into the enemy and striking downward! These tougher, better armed foe provide stiffer resistance, their ranging, powerful thrusts mitigating our impassioned assault. Nonetheless, we wound many Saxons and soon force them back, continuing to gain advantage over the invaders. 
To our flank, Sir Amig spots our mentor Sir Elad sorely beset by a fell foe: Chain-clad Saxons with great axes; their equipment impresses! As the the spearmen fall back a gap opens, and with it an opportunity to flank these elite Saxons and render aid to our fellows! We wheel, bring our mounts closer, and charge! 
The fighting is fierce, and the foe skilled. Sir Rowan takes an heavy axe blow in the melee, but holds firm and valorous; the other Saxon’s struggle with our skill and height, but their iron armour absorbs the worst of the damage. Nonetheless, pincered between Amig and Elad, the sturdy warriors fall back in orderly fashion, moving to aid but not in full route. A disciplined enemy! 
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Unfortunately, many of our forces are wounded in the fighting; Some Knights are forced to regain their mounts, and others must quit the field entirely. The worst will not see another sunrise, their noble blood spilled wide by the terrible Saxon arms. Sir Amig orders a disengagement to regroup, which we execute successfully. In the rear, we assess our situation: Sir Myles has been wounded in the fighting, but he persists. First aid is applied to the wounded, and Sir Vandagild inspires the troops and Amig with his strong words - our first assault was a great success, the enemy are weakened! Refreshed, and once more able to hit the enemy at gallop, our next charge will surely lay open their lines, and we can strike down the enemy King!
Reorganised and refreshed, our unit re-engages: Sir Amig sends us to the fiercest fighting, keen to break the enemy morale! He sees a unit of furious savages, their rhythmic chants of "Wo-tan! Wo-tan!" punctuating their prowess in battle. The violence and discipline of their attack is rendering many Britons sore and low! The mounts spur…. And yet, as we charge, a silence dulls the battlefield, as if by magic. Time seems to slow, and those sharp enough spot a single star shoot across the sky, to hold and hover above us in the great heavens. A pause; hooves silently power us onward... A powerful voice pierces the void: "The King is dead!" We glance inward - the great Pendragon standard wavers and falls! Tragedy! 
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Sir Amig is stunned – our manoeuvre is at risk, and we look for direction: The Knights implore him to make a decision! Retreat? Charge the Wotan Saxons? Retrieve the banner? We call to him, the horses anxious with their riders… Vandagild yells at him to lead the charge…. He blinks, shakes, and recovers! And with the recovery, newfound strength in his gravelly voice: “Chaaaaaaaarge!”
We do! Rowan and Vandagild drive their lances deep into the chests of these ungodly fanatics, driving them into the ground dead or dying. Sir Elvorix catches a heavy axe blow on his shield, his skilful defence maintaining his steed and health. Sir Vandagild has snapped his lance through the chest of his target, and whips his sword from its scabbard. The Wotan assault falters! Surveying the scene, Sir Elvorix sees that we've come to the aid of Baron Duach and his son, the renowned young swordsman Sir Jarren. The latter is battered and bloody, but alive! With a bloodied hand, the Baron waves his gratitude.
While Vandagild clumsily, desperately surveys the battlefield for the fallen banner, Rowan and Elvorix see a surge of our reserves; Duke Gorlois is at their head, laying waste to the Saxons around him. The great Pendragon banner is in his other hand! He holds himself tall and strong, no longer hunched, and wields his sword like a man possessed! Driven by God and Passion, he looks a man a score years younger than the day before! Across the front line, the Saxons waver, but not the fanatical Wotan Warriors before us. We press the melee, inspired by our love for Aurelius and the great charge of Gorlois! Though the foe are skilled, we time our attacks, and take advantage of the rhythmic fighting of these brutal Saxons. Several of the powerful foe are slashed open and finally defeated, their scarlet torrents mixing with the persisting chants of "Wotan" in the air!
With the defeat of this elite unit; there is but a moment of still: In it, we see that chance has brought The Duke Gorlois nearby. With recognition and pride, he looks at Elvorix and Vandagild in the battle. His horse rears gloriously: He points yonder "C'mon boys! Show me what you're made of. Get. That. Banner!" We follow the line of his blade - Elite, professional spear-warriors surround the enemy standard, nearby with a mounted Thegn leading them!
With glorious victory on the horizon, we assault the banner position: Sir Elvorix picks his target early, and drives a lance into the enemy Thegn, taking him through the face and knocking him from his horse with the violent thrust, unconscious and the best part of dead! Rowan too spears an enemy, cleaving the lance-blade through his armour, ribs, and flesh! Sir Vandagild, heedless of his grandfather’s prudence but yet driven to reckless glory by Gorlois’ words, valorously leads his horse into the dense formation, striking at both a spearman and the Saxon banner-bearer! Vandagild's precise blow brings the bannerman down, hacking through the man’s throat! Yet as the enemy banner falls, Vandagild cannot shift his attention and blade quick enough: The mighty spearman drives his lance deep into Vandagild's body, knocking aside his shield, and punching out his back! Vandagild, transfixed, is lifted from his horse, which surges elsewhere, and the gravely wounded man slams hard into the ground, a great wound leaking red into the churned earth! He is unconscious!
Nearby, his Uncle Sir Vanduinth sees Vandagild fall, roars in despair, and charges the spearmen! He and the remaining Knights of the eschille unfoot and brutalise Vandagild's undoer and his companions, trampling the Saxon banner into the dirt and routing the Saxon army for good!
A moment to observe the results: Gorlois' charge has cut the enemy army in half, and driven many to their death and capture! The enemy King, unfortunately, escapes the battlefield... Nonetheless: Victory! His friends and family rush to his side once the moment presents; Vandagild yet breathes; though ragged and rapid, and is rescued. 
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In the aftermath the numbers are tallied; The King is dead. Duke Ventrius is dead. The Baron of Wynchbank is dead. Many counts and knights are sore and wounded. The battlefield is littered with moaning, wailing and screaming men; Horses amble aimlessly, parties of the able clear the wounded with a merciful thrust or a makeshift stretcher. Their passage scatters the bickering murders, the cunning black birds dancing from their way, ambling to tear loose morsels from other unfortunate bodies, cawing joyously in mockery or gratitude… The toll is terrible. And yet the elation is far greater. A celebratory feast is set to occur! The King and some of his finest warriors are interred at the Sacred Stones. 
Shortly afterward, Uther returns, victorious over the Irish! There is some chatter among the courts about the battles; much praise is due to Gorlois, but some courtiers and knights dissent. Uther is quickly crowned King of Logres!
In London, Uther holds a great feast for his electors, but is not elected High King of Britain! He received less than a third of the vote... Controversy! He is, of course, still King of Logres, but will not be granted dominion over the surrounding Petty Kingdoms such as Summerland, Bedegraine, or Cumbria. The new king is evidently unpopular, despite his talent for military leadership. Regardless, Uther adopts the distinguished surname Pendragon. The young knights are left to wonder about the complexity and implications of this political development…
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Sir Vandagild, thanks to talented chirurgeons and his famous resilience, will survive; the broad, penetrating wound would have proven fatal to most men, even those of tough Salisbury stock.  He misses much of the previous events and takes the better of two months to recover, though he is weakened by the great wound. He falls in and out of consciousness for weeks; when he can speak and his faculties properly return, he learns that his Father, Sir Vandevig, was slain in the assault the brought a terrible end to the High King. He is distraught, his grief and the pain of his recovery intermingle; it is a terrible time for him. Some modest compensation follows: He is now Lord of Winterborne Gunner, and three of his cousins are knighted that year: Sir Baldevig on his mother’s side, and the twins Sir Vandar and Vandred, a pair of enormous, handsome young men.
At court, Sir Amig praises each us before Earl Roderick and the other lords, for our valour and support during the battle. Duke Gorlois has evidently taken notice of us also, and he too praises us! Roderick notices the noticing, we hope for the better.
Later that year, during Christmas Feast, Sir Vandagild speaks with Roderick and Gorlois about the battle, and lack of High King - Britain is no longer united! Have we still the strength to drive the Saxons from our lands? Can Uther secure alliances to bring the men of Britain together once more? The discussion reveals little; the two men are diplomatic in their response. For his part, Earl Roderick is glad Vandagild's promises of loyalty were more than smoke. We hear also that Baron Duach has promised us a Favour for our efforts in saving he and his son, Sir Jarren, from the Wotan men. In recognition of our efforts, Sir Roderick sends us once more to Sir Godifer. We will join his entourage destined for Sir Adaris; the Earl wishes for our judgement on his daughter, Lady Rosalyn, as a prospective match. We thank the Earl, and quietly presume he cannot spare his finer knights, as many were lost in Salisbury. 
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Image: Birney Lettick, December 1962 National Geographic

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