Chapter 387 - 273: Shield Wall! Knight Charge

Eric waited for the Shepherd Boy to finish translating, then gripped his shoulder and turned to face the grim shield wall. The men showed their approval of Eric’s words by drumming their Shields.

"What’s going on? What did he say? What did you say?" Belem demanded, gnawing angrily on the rim of his Shield.

Eric just smiled and shook his head without answering. He gave the order to pull back quickly and abandon the Warhorses. He knew the dozen or so Arab Cavalry he had seen were not the entire force.

His suspicion was correct. As the Normans retreated into a grove of neatly planted shrubs, more horsemen crested the hill. The number of Arab Cavalry just kept growing.

The opposing force was entirely cavalry—over two hundred Arab riders, with slightly more Cavalry Archers than heavy cavalry.

Eric’s force consisted of roughly eighty Knights, fifty Crossbowmen, and twenty Shield Soldiers.

Eric’s men formed ranks among the shrubs. The cavalry massed before them and began to let out shrill cries that sounded like, "LALAAAA~".

"Eric," Belem grumbled under his breath. "We’re too exposed here. These trees are planted in rows, too neat. They can charge straight down at us. We should’ve stayed by the buildings. They might not have charged, and we would’ve had enough time to mount our Warhorses under the cover of the Crossbowmen."

But Eric wanted them to charge.

He wanted them to charge in anger and confidence against Normans who had seemingly chosen their ground poorly. Eric wanted Faisal to ride them down as if they were a pack of stupid dogs, not to cautiously pick them off with Bow and Arrow.

Eric snapped his fingers. Hook Eye and two other Knights, burdened with heavy sacks, moved to carry out his orders.

As his men fell back, they scattered caltrops in their wake. The gloom of early morning and the low shrubs concealed them.

At the same time, Eric ordered the Saxon Shield Soldiers to beat their Shields and issue deep, guttural roars. The provocative war cries enraged the circling Arab Cavalry. It even made them momentarily stop their ululating cries and their attempts to round up the Warhorses the Normans had abandoned.

Then the charge began. They came at Eric’s men like a landslide.

"Form ranks!" Eric bellowed, leaping into the front line. "Shield wall, form ranks!"

The Shields were raised. Though somewhat uneven, the line was still solid. A wave-like sound passed as they interlocked, followed by the clatter of weapons striking them.

Behind Eric, the tip of a Long Spear slid forward. The early morning light glinted on the point as it swayed on either side of Eric’s head.

At the last moment, they would be thrust forward, and the men in the front rank would be fighting from behind a hedge of spear points.

The ground began to tremble.

Pebbles on the ground before Eric danced like peas on a drumhead, and the shrill cries grew ever louder.

"Hold!" Leif roared. "Hold fast like a dike... Shield wall! Shield wall!"

The Arab Cavalry crashed into the first of the trees, funneling into the neat rows. These were mulberry trees, grown short to feed silkworms for a nearby Church workshop.

The Arab Cavalry now charged down the lanes between the trees, only two or three riders abreast in each. They held their Long Spears two-handed, either high over their heads or couched low at their hips.

Eric saw Faisal, his head covered by a Helmet, leading the charge.

Faisal seemed to be aiming for Eric, but he was two rows over and would have to smash through the tough branches and his own men to get to him.

The charge was almost upon them. Eric could hear the Knights behind him growling with impatience, eager to attack, but he held them back.

Then, the foremost Arab Cavalry hit the caltrops, and a deadly harvest began.

The Crossbowmen from Pisa and Genoa immediately loosed a volley of bolts into the Arab Cavalry, who were thrown into chaos by the caltrops.

The entire Arab formation disintegrated. Horses shrieked as their strides broke, stumbling and crashing to the ground, bringing down the riders behind them.

A tangled mass of Arab horses and Riders surged forward. One horse, limbs flailing and screaming, was carried by the tide of bodies and dirt toward the wall of Long Spears to the left. A spear sank deep into its Rider. He made a gurgling death rattle and was tossed aside like meat from a skewer.

The mulberry trees splintered. The Arabs struggled, trying to free themselves from the crush of men and horses pressing in from behind.

The cavalry at the rear—what few remained—managed to turn and retreat. However, their path was quickly blocked by the reserve of Norman Knights that Eric had positioned in advance, led by Guy, one of his personal guard knights.

These twenty Norman Knights, positioned in advance, charged from another direction. On horseback with Lances leveled, they reaped a grim harvest among the fleeing Arab Cavalry.

Led by Eric, Belem, and Lagman, the Dismounted Knights, Saxon Shield Soldiers, and Isle of Man Warriors advanced steadily. They stabbed and hacked at the fallen Arab Cavalry, keeping their Shields high and leaving most of the killing to their comrades in the rear.

A dismounted Norman Knight cried out, having stepped on one of their own caltrops, a sharp reminder to all.

Eric saw a man run another through with a spear, then plant a foot on the corpse to wrench his weapon free.

One man smashed a fallen horse’s head with an axe to stop its kicking. Another horse screamed as it struggled to its feet, only to trip on its own bluish-pink intestines. A man crawled free from a pile of bodies, coughed up a spray of blood, and collapsed. He looked up just in time to see the flash of Eric’s blade before it took his life.

Most were already dead, crushed beneath a great heap of men and horses. The pile was so high the Normans had to clamber over it to finish off those who were still alive.

Arrows began to whistle overhead as the surviving Arabs finally reacted, loosing their bows. But their will to fight was already broken—half of their force was either dead or struggling within the pile of corpses.

In the end, the remaining Arabs rode off, their shrill war cries silenced.

The Norman line erupted in a cheer, the men drumming their Shields. The Shepherd Boy jumped up and down, periodically loading a stone into his sling to hurl at the retreating figures. Even if he managed to hit one, it had no effect.

Belem came over, wiping sweat and blood from his face, and slapped Eric on the back. "We taught those goat-fuckers a lesson! And we only lost two men, with a few light wounds. It is the will of God!"

The others agreed, especially after they had looted the dead. Wounded horses were still kicking, making high-pitched, thin sounds that unsettled the Knights more than the groans of men.

The Norman Knights moved quickly and decisively to put the grievously wounded horses out of their misery. Those that had survived the slaughter, now standing and trembling, were gathered and calmed. They were the spoils of war.

In total, the Normans had killed one hundred and thirty-seven Arab Cavalry, and more than half of their horses.