Dark North (Malory's Knights of Albion) by Finch Paul

Author:Finch, Paul [Finch, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: Abaddon Books
Published: 2012-04-29T16:00:00+00:00

TO THE REAR of them, Emperor Lucius wiped sweat from his brow. “Forward companies to advance,” he told his deputies.

“My liege?”

“I’m tired of these foolish games. Arthur is the fly in my ointment and I want him extricated now. Right now!”

A trumpet sounded and the Roman catapults ceased. To the steady accompaniment of a lone battle-drum, the halberdiers started forward, tramping slowly and in perfect time, their bladed pole-arms level in front of them.

“Front rank... retreat!” the crossbows’ captain shouted.

The front rank, which had just loosed a volley, stepped two paces back – each man passing through gaps in the rear rank – where it halted again and reloaded.

“Rear rank... loose!” the captain cried.

The rear rank raised their weapons and discharged. Another cloud of bolts struck the advancing halberdiers. More thwacks and clinks sounded as further impacts were made. A few more dropped or reeled backward, clutching at wounds. The rear rank of crossbows retreated two paces and also reloaded.

“Front rank!” the captain shouted. The front rank raised their bows and discharged.

This was the way of it, the crossbows retreating in alternate ranks and maintaining a constant barrage on the advancing infantry. Always the same distance lay between the disparate forces. Behind the crossbowmen, the halberdiers could clearly see the main body of Arthur’s army now back on its feet, but if they were making progress in that direction it was painfully slow. Even when the bolts didn’t penetrate their armour, they stuck hard, bruising the men, unbalancing them. And it was unrelenting, one volley following another. Whenever men slumped down or staggered backward, others advanced from behind to fill the gaps, but this too became difficult as the bodies of dead and wounded started to clutter the route.

But the Romans’ real problems only began when a crossbowman fortuitously struck a man in the groin area. The target doubled forward with a keening shriek. The halberdiers’ leather and iron battle-skirts were not as sturdy as their plate corselets.

“Upper thigh and bollocks!” the crossbowman shouted. “That’s where they’re vulnerable!”

His captain took up the cry, and the rest of them adjusted their aim accordingly.

The two ranks of crossbowmen continued to retreat between fusillades, but now were doing visible damage to their opponents, who dropped in threes and fours rather than ones and twos, many curling into balls of agony on the ground.

Arthur glanced along his line. To the east and west, his longbows were in readiness, each archer waiting with bow now strung and at the horizontal, arrows nocked. By Arthur’s estimation, the halberdiers would be within range of bowshot in another fifty paces, and then Emperor Lucius would truly see carnage.

The Romans knew about the archers of Albion. They had heard about the British war-bow. A six-foot stave of yew, trimmed precisely so that its thick belly consisted of heartwood and its limbs of narrower sapwood to store tension, and strung with a cord of woven hemp. Its reputed draw-weight of one hundred and fifty pounds could drive their bodkin points, depending on the distance and angle, through plate armour.

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