Monday 9 May 2022

The Heirs of Britain - Game Three



The Heirs of Britain

Session 3: Early Summer, 480




Lo! Saxons are attacking Salisbury! Our three young warriors, hastily awakened from their first slumber as Knights, hurriedly arm and rush through the halls of London. Alas, the Roman Sir Elvorix still suffers from his evening exercise, wherein he defended his honour with blade and shield; several wounds linger! Nevertheless we are sent on horse, ahead of the Count Roderick (who has remaining business organising his command) to liaise with the High King Aurelius and the famous Duke Gorlois, who ride west as we speak!

The weather permits swift travel, and we are at the High King’s encampment the next day. We are sent to wait outside the tent by the Cymric guardsmen to receive our orders. We catch wind of earnest discussion within; and yet, and ill omen: Someone in the High King's tent is sick. All within are key to our leadership on the battlefield. Furthermore, Sir Iwan listens keenly and shares an overheard topic: The High King demands that Sir Ventrius, the Duke of “Saxon Shore” (the easternmost Duchy of our Kingdom) ride with us in Salisbury. The man was otherwise destined to ride with Prince Uther to do battle against the Irish who also raid the Kingdom’s North. At the mention of those men from the east of our Kingdom, who did cause much strife at the feast, we are uneasy.

We do not see the High King. Instead, his men send us farther west, riding hard to to see Duke Gorlois at Castle DuPlain: The easternmost fortress of the county of Salisbury. Sir Elvorix in particular shows enthusiasm; he speaks highly of the Duke and believes greatly in his leadership. Sir Vandagild’s father sailed with the man from Aquitaine under the High King, and Vandagild has heard many stories of his valour, leadership and character. After a few hours, we lays eyes on the castle, which has new banners hung aloft: Elvorix recognises the heraldry – Gorlois! We approach, navigating the guards and gates, and meet a hardy knight, middle aged, in the courtyard. This is Sir Amig, castellan of DuPlain Castle. He greets and welcomes us to his land. The courtyard and surrounds are full, and busy: War preparation, tents and the like, courtiers and pages and knights alike all prepare for the muster here.

A Gruff Knight greets us, surly and weathered: Sir Brastias! A famous knight, the captain of Duke Gorlois’ guard, renowned for his unwavering loyalty, keen perception, and wonderful swordsmanship. He explains to us, voice like bored gravel, the situation. He once again introduces us to Sir Amig, and to a hunched, deeply scowling knight with an unusual but pleasant visage. The man moves tightly, clearly carries old injuries, and has seen many winters. But he is noble, for it is the Duke Gorlois himself! He approaches and without ceremony bids us scout farther west, nearer Sarum Rock, for the Saxon Army. He has no idea where it is, admitting openly, and wishes otherwise. Other scouts are at work but, as the newest knights in Britain, we are perfectly expendable and thus ideal for the role. As afterthought, Vandagild introduces himself as Sir Vandevig's son; Gorlois recognises him pleasantly, and wishes the younger grows to be like the elder. He bids us be careful: We are to scout, not defeat the Saxon army. We ride west.

Vandagild, thinking the bands of Saxons ought be much simpler to track than a furtive woodland doe, tracks the army; to his hunter's eye they are but thousands of woodland beasts, albeit armed, more savage, and less civilised. As we approach over rolling hills, evidence of their work is thick on the horizon. They are everywhere, bringing ruin to manors aplenty, and Salisbury burns in the south. After some manoeuvring, we see evidence that they are camped North of Sarum, with many vessels rowing up our fertile rivers, and footmen raids besides.

We ride onward, confident of our steeds and the Saxon’s famous incompetence at horse. As we near, the density of enemy patrols increases; many return laden with loot. We are careful, however, and soon isolate a small Saxon patrol. We have seen this type of warrior as squires, though this will be our first chance to tear blood from them: Heorthgeneats! Seizing our opportunity to gather captives and intelligence, we take lance to hand and spur our mounts to charge! Hooves thundering, a rumble of impending doom for our hapless targets. Shouts of rage and earnest announce the crash and clatter of lances impacting, shattering asunder, burying in foreign flesh! Vandagild feints low and thus lances his target through the face; the man, already dead, is borne several yards transfixed on the weapon, dragged helplessly through the field until he tumbles cruelly free like a discarded doll. The other two knights hit home with lances, but the Saxon armour proves worth! They draw swords, Iwan and Elvorix laying stunning, hacking blows on the dismounted foe, rendering the outmatched Saxons unconscious! A few moments to consolidate the victory and we successfully exfiltrate the area with our captives, avoiding reprisal. The bound, wounded men are yielded to Gorlois at DuPlain, and we report our findings. We are admonished for our reckless foray, though the captives are appreciated. Good Count Roderick and the Salisbury muster have arrived, and we are keen to join them. 

Rejoining our Lord, we immediately volunteer for counter-raids; our family lands are threatened, and we have eager wishes to stem the Saxon advance! Some telling skirmish might have them withdraw their men into larger, less mobile formations, and thus save some manors from their plunder and torches. It is agreed: The next morning Sir Amig of DuPlain will lead a skirmish; we will join.

We ride west, confident in our victory and bolstered by the famous leadership of Sir Amig, a banneret with vast experience at command. Alas! Our approach is poor, and we stumble into a hopeless mess; we try to gain advantage on a moderate Saxon force, but soon find that Saxons instead surround us! We must break free with our skill at arms; Amig calls the charge into Heorthgeneats! The battle is fierce and urgent, and we are outnumbered: The initial skirmishing leaves Sir Iwan unhorsed after an axe sinks deeply into his ribs; aided by his fellows, he is forced to withdraw wounded, regaining and spurring his steed through a gap in the foe. Sir Elvorix is struck but not conquered in his own clash, clipped by a solid Saxon blow, but not severely! Sir Vandagild again strikes home with his lance, inflicting a cruel wound; truly the blessings of the Arian Bishop guide his arm, and God wishes him health this day! Nevertheless, we lose many men. It is unthinkable, yet Amig signals a withdrawal. Many Knights lay tardy in the British fields.

We return to DuPlain, dejected. Chirurgery and first aid are applied, and we share stories and recover as best we can. The skirmishing continues for a week, forcing the Saxons to offer battle and affording the High King Aurelius time to complete the urgent muster. As Duke Ventrius of “Saxon Shore” had already mustered for Ireland, he was withdrawn from Uther's army and was among the first to join the must in Salisbury, significantly speeding the process. Sir Elvorix notices through the week that Duke Gorlois and the High King are spending a lot of time together. Duke Ulfius is disgruntled in Gorlois' presence, and is temperamentally short at these times. We suspect politics and favouritism are afoot. Sir Iwan, still poorly for his Saxon encounter, is stoic and brave; he heals as best and can, and will ride with us despite his rent side. Meanwhile, Vandagild searches for his family, many of whom will fight here. He asks his father for guidance: The mighty Sir Vandevig raises his son’s confidence with some firm and encouraging advice. “Trust your lord, trust the knights around you”. Simple words, but well and calmly delivered.

Duke Ventrius will command the Vanguard. Duke Ulfius and Count Roderick take the centre. Duke Gorlois takes the Reserves. 

We will ride under Amig, on the edge of the centre; none of us can figure why we do not ride with Roderick, our Lord. Sir Iwan hides his wound, though it still troubles him; Elvorix too suffers, but his is the lesser affliction. Before the battle, Vandagild is merciful to Amig, bolstering him with powerful words, assuring him that we are proud to ride with him and have faith in his leadership; Sir Elvorix echoes these words. Amig is grateful; we hope it is enough to repair his wounded confidence. Gorlois, sitting tall in his saddle, checks on the wounded men before our battle including Sirs Elvorix and Iwan. He raises spirits; his confidence and command inspire. Alas, Sir Iwan is unfit to fight on the morrow; he has bled enough for Britain for one battle.

The morning comes; the summer sun rises behind us; a mist sits low, ahead, in the fields where many will breathe their last.

Aesc, the King of Kent, forms his army before his foe; they are mostly infantry, though the formidable savages of Saxony are renowned for their size and strength. We do the same. Our many knights, clad in fine mail and astride mighty chargers, are filled with hatred at the sight of the invasive swarm. Our Eschille is in the centre formation, on the leftmost. Vandagild's young uncle, Sir Vanduinth, rides with us, as does The Dashing Sir Myles and Sir Rowan, Iwan's cousin. The dark loam of Salisbury fields will soak red this day…

No comments:

Post a Comment