Baron William woke up, and threw his feet over the side of the cot.
Splosh. Splosh. He looked down at the muddy swamp making up the floor
of his tent, and sniffed. Bloody Ireland. Justiciar of Ireland? Baron of
the bogs, more like, Sovereign of the bloody Swamps. With a growl he got
up, cuffing his squire awake to array him, and bellowing for his scribe,
Martin.
"Yes, Lord William?"
"Go get those Irish gits together for a command meeting at the brake
fast table .. and get me something decent to eat!"
Cap a pie at last, he strode out of his tent, picking his footing among
the tentropes and clumps of slippery moss, to the table. Already Sian O'Nial
was seated at the foot of the table, gnawing on a knuckle, and Gerald Fitzwarrenne
was slumped on a bench beside him, trimming his nails with a poignard.
As William took his seat at the head of the table, Lord Warren of the Fitzgeralds
strode up, towing a goat behind him. William opened his mouth, but Fitzwarrenne
beat him to any comment:
"God, Fitzgerald, can't you leave your paramour in your tent!"
Fitzgerald snarled back, "Its only the Fitzwarrennes that are goatlovers - this puir wee beastie got lured from our camp by your kinsmen last night. No wonder it cant walk straight."
Fitzwarrenne jumped to his feet, pushing the bench back and tossing the poignard up to get a better grip of it. "Now, that's a damn lie, you heretical swamploving bogtrotter!"
Fitzgerald dragged out his sword, specks of rust showering the table, sneering "Make me, you fleabitten son of two brothers".
Before things could deteriorate further, William thumped the table with
mailed fist, howling out, "Let it drop, both of you, or you'll be dancing
on the gibbet before lunch!" The O'Nial looked up and opened his mouth,
but let it go unsaid at the wrathful look on the Justiciar's face.
"Now, listen, you three. We've got to face the Pretender, Prince Michael,
and all the remnants of his rebellion, and we've got to beat them. God
knows King Harry hammered them already, so they've retreated here, but
if we don't smash what he's got left, you know what will happen - Harry
will drag all his forces over here: then it'll be Do this! Do that! Reform
the Landholders! Summon a Parliament! all sorts of ridiculous carryings
on - and I don't have to remind any one of you what it'll feel like to
have a pack of Dukes and Earls lording it over you, right?"
Both lordlings grumbled, and nodded their assent, while the O'Nial laughed, and sat back.
'Welllllll, at the least we should have some advantage of the ground. That big gully over there on the left should be pretty handy, and there's a decent space in the middle where the Gallowglaich can deploy: and plenty of room on the right for all the cavalry. A pity there's no more woods to hide the Bonnachts in, but there we are. So, O'Nial, take you your light horse to the far right, and skirt 'round the flank. Fitzgerald, you take your good keen lads and set up on the right, and charge down his infantry, while - " Baron William broke off, feeling someone tugging his sleeve. Martin, his scribe, was looking exceedingly green and agitated.
The Baron bent over, and Martin whispered urgently in his ear "Milord, the English archers will shred Fitzgeralds horse to dogmeat in a trice! Better to hide them in that gully, ready for a surprise. Let O'Nial take the right, and back him up with your Household troops."
William straightened, and cleared his throat. "So, as I was saying, O'Nial, you take the whole right flank, and delay any advances there - my household will support you in this. FitzWarren, you command all the Galloglaich in the centre, with the bulk of the Bonnachts and Kernsto support them. Keep the Bonnachts tucked away in that wood to the left, and the Kerns behind the Galloglaich - run at him as hard and fast as ye can manage. FItzgerald, take your good keen horsemen, and hide in the far end of that big gully -
Fitzgerald interrupted, 'That's no a gully, milord Baron, that's Lake Mearmid'. "I thought lakes had water in them?" 'Aye, well that one will, come winter - tis just dried up fro' the heat of summer.' Baron William clutched his cape to himself and shivered.
"Well, what ever it be, it's a fine place to hide your horse. Wait til the English have gone well by, before you spill out and attack. You can put your archers in the nearer end of it, ready to advance as needed, and back them up wih all the Irish that're left to your hand. All clear?"
The three lords nodded, and rose. As they turned to walk away, Lord
Fitzgerald suddenly fell headlong to the turf, and Fitzwarrenne carefully
hid a smile. After Fitzgerald had untied his hosiery, he stalked off, muttering
darkly, while the others gathered their troops and started to deploy. William
gathered his demesnie of Knights, and the mounted archers that had valiantly
followed him from the dales of Shropshire, and watched the forces deploy.
Lord Fitzwarenne seemed to be having trouble with his mount as it veered
violently from left to right, and William raised an eyebrow to Martin
"I believe someone introduced a laxative into the bran mash for Lord
Fitzwarenne's horse, milord" & William snorted with laughter.
Watching with more concern, he saw the evil Pretender arraying his forces - three apparently identical battles of good English Yeomanry, each backed with men-at-arms, and a single column at the back of the field, still mounted. Those must be the Gascons he'd heard about, he surmised. Then he espied the Pretender himself, all dressed in sinister black, still holding his white cat in his arms and simpering to his bodyguard. He frowned, noting where the Pretender would be in the battle.
By now, Lord Fitzwarenne had his axemen deployed, and the swarms of
Irish horsemen were grouped around the O'Nial, while
Fitzgeralds' troops had gone from sight. William gave the sign to his
trumpeters, who immediately sounded 'To Advance' brassily. William, slightly
deafened, rode forward slowly with his entourage.
The Evil Prince obviously deemed his position strong, for he and his forces advanced but little, dishing their line into a sliightly convex shape, and keeping the Gascons well back. William cursed under his breath, seeing that they were not going to advance far enough to expose their flank to Fitzgerald, then urged his retinue forward briskly behind the O'Nial. He thought the best chance remaining was to put pressure on the opposite wing, and see if he could rotate the battle lines.
The O'Nials skirmishers, after an initially being scared witless by the English volleys(1), started circling around, threatening the English left flank. As the English flank started to laboriously wheel to face this threat, the advance of the Justiciars' mounted archers became obvious, and - rather than exposing the interior flank of their left wing - the centre commenced to wheel forwards as well. At this point, William slowed down his advance, trying to wait until the Galloglaich came close enough to threaten the English centre.
Through some careful manoeuvring, the Justiciars' retinue started winning the archery duel, which hastened the frantic wheeling of the English centre, in turn bringing it closer to the threat of the Irish axemen. As the Pretender realised the problem this was causing, he summoned his right flank forward to face the Galloglaich (abandoning their careful watch for a flank-march), marching far too close to the unexplored gully of Lake Mearmid.
No sooner had the English right formed a column to advance, than Fitzgerald launched a thunderbolt attack on the newly formed column, the wild Irish charge catching the archers unaware(2), smashing through two companies of them, and riding down 4 companies of men-at-arms. Although the Fitzgerald himself was briefly unhorsed (his girth straps having been partly sawed-through by persons unknown), the Fitzgerald archers even ventured out of their end of the gully, and started a desultory fire upon the exposed end of the English centre.
As the English right reeled, their centre was forced by the approach of the Galloglaich to face them. Superb archery whittled away some of the axemen, and the first charge of them was met by the English men-at-arms stoutly, but the weight of Irish numbers started telling, pressing the whole centre gradually back.
Meantime, the Pretender himself led the Gascon knights to charge down the Fitzgerald and his cavalry. Picking their way through the disintegrating English right wing, the Gascons first charge wreaked havoc on the lighter Irish horse. However, their very enthusiasm betrayed the Gascons, as they rapidly found themselves enclosed in a ring of Irish archers and cavalry.
Observing this, Baron William led his forces forward, the Pregnant Pelican flapping proudly overhead. While his archers were keeping the English left busy, he had espied a gap betwixt left and centre, and fell on the end of the English Left with all his demesnie, slaying a thousand archers, and five hundred men-at-arms with his first charge. As his men rallied, he saw the English standard in front of him fall, as O'Nial led a charge of Irish skirmishers into the other end of that line.
With both English flank battles streaming in rout from the field, the Pretender hastily decamped, leaving his Gascon mercenaries in a ring of steel, from which they promptly surrendered, and the weary English centre, bloodied but unbowed, to stalk from the field. Baron William considered another attack on these, but then reconsidered - doubtless within the year they'd be seeing true and leal service on the Continent, so why slay more among them?
After suppressing a brief but violent fistfight between the followers of Fitzwarenne and Fitzgeralds' supporters, William gladly dismissed the Irish back to their fens and snakepits, and wound his way back to the Pale.
Comments:
1. The English army was _tiny_ in comparison with the Irish - the Irish
at the end of battle had as many elements still in undeclared ambush than
the whole English army!
2. A combination of low cunning - inducing a belief that a flank
march was coming - and careless scouting was what gave me this battle.
If Mike had scouted the gully properly, he would've been able to chew up
the Irish Kn pretty easily, early on, I think.
3. LH are damned annoying to a BwS army.