Do you recall your fallen, Malcolm?! Were they not massacred when the Normans raided your villages? What about your sons, Gregory?! What will become of them if the Normans conquer this land?
The party was first spotted by the man who stood guard in front of the camp. All the men in the group were on foot, pack mules being the only animals they had. Leading them from the front was a wiry, tired man who looked much older than his thirty years in the fading sunlight. The moors and highlands had been harsh on the Honourable Sarath Sasix, erstwhile Earl of Kent, disgraced warrior and sworn enemy of the Normans. Had he not known the Earl for whom he was, the sentry would have had trouble identifying him. Gone were the charming looks, now replaced by the hardened features of a veteran warrior; gone was the radiant smile, scowls and stares having taken up residence in his face instead. The man was not even riding a horse - ever since his his defeat at the hands of Duke Anand in Tinchebrai Sarath Sasix travelled only by foot. It made no difference if he were in the streets of Edinburgh, the highlands or the harsh pathways of the Scotland coast. A group of Scot and English veterans had sworn loyalty to his cause and followed him wherever he went. All of them were united in their goal - Kill the Normans.
Sarath was the first to reach the gate. The sentry duly challenged him, was satisfied with the answer, and let them pass. He did not wonder why the Duke was in Gamrie. The Normans had landed a few weeks ago and had been raiding the outlying towns ever since. Once word had reached him that Duke Anand himself was leading the raids, there was no stopping Sarath. Ignoring his pride, 'the Earl' (some people still referred to him as Earl out of respect while some mocked him with the title. But Sasix no longer cared about how he was addressed. Those days were long gone.) had gone around asking the Thegns for support in defeating the Normans. The Earl would speak with fervour, trying to impress upon his host the need for action. "Do you recall your fallen, Malcolm?! Were they not massacred when the Normans raided your villages? What about your sons, Gregory?! What will become of them if the Normans conquer this land? Think of your honour, Meredith! What will history call you if you were not to act now?" The nearer the Norman raids came to their villages, the more concerned the Thegns became. Finally, united by their fears, the warriors of Scotland decided to confront the Normans in Gamrie.
In the following days, the Sentry who let the Earl in would let in many more. Men, thousands of them, cheering, yelling and shouting. Sometimes on horse, but mostly on foot. The famous and the gallant were all there. Malcolm Guthrie of Aberdeen, he whose men were dying to kill; Gregory 'No Name' the Highlander, he who raised the few horses that they had; Meredith Grant, the man who raised and commanded the best foot in the land. There were many more who were neither illustrious nor of noble origins but who were good warriors all the same. There were the fabled Galwegian 'madmen', the hardy Thegns from the highlands, merry Archers from Cruden, fierce Islemen from across the straits. All of this meant but one thing: Scotland was going to war.
His Lordship is writing letters - a dozen a day - and all of 'em ships are carrying them letters one way or the other, day after day. Those lads from the port swore that the letters are going to two sweet things in Tinchebrai. Our Lordship is quite a man, now ain't he?
A Duke's Tale
In the dimly lit parlour of 'The Lost Highlander' in Gamrie, Corrin Geraldsen who was squire to Duke Anand, was spinning a merry tale. Fortified with strong spirits from the cellar, the old soldier was recounting events following the last battle of Tinchebrai . "Mi dad used to say that pride goeth before a fall. But I tell you, pride returneth with a rise". His audience appeared suitably interested prompting Geraldsen to continue with vigour "Now take Mi Duke. Before that mad King trashed his Lordship , there was nary an inn in Normandy whose parlour had not toasted His Lordship's charm and brilliance. After the awful battle, all the horses of the Knights could not have dragged him to an inn." "The Ol' man's gone, thought me, no more free drinks for this poor fellow." "Mi Dad is right, thought I for a while. ... " he paused to gulp the contents of his cup, "But look at Mi Duke now. He came back, kicked the Earl out, and was back in his Keep before you could say 'Geraldsen is an old cad!'. And of course, has his Lordship not charmed the Ladies of Normandy again?"
Selfwirth the sailor could not agree more. "Our man here is right!" "His Lordship is writing letters - a dozen a day - and all those ships are ferrying the letters one way or the other, day after day" "Those lads from the port swore that the letters are going to two sweet things in Tinchebrai" he winked for effect, "Our Lordship is quite a man, now ain't he?"
The meeting of the merry men would have continued, had it not been for a noisy interruption. Someone entered the room at a run, yelling at the top of his voice. "The Duke! Warn The Duke! The Scots are marching!"
The Devil is in the Planner
"The Plan is simple. Find Sarath Sasix and kill him." The speaker was none other than Duke Anand 'Swearer' Mohan, addressing his commanders. He was seated behind a heavy old oak desk looted from on of the local houses. The listeners - Dukes Morhill and Rahul - remained standing and silent. They knew that their opinions were not sought and that any advice they chose to offer would be very unwelcome.
"Lord Morhill, take as many archers as you need. I need those Knights to reach the enemy intact. Form up in wedge on the right, and head straight for the Earl"
Morhill had several objections to the plan but kept his counsel to himself. Menacing forests dominated the left, centre and right flanks of their position. This would leave the Knights very little space to manoeuvre. Moreover in the absence of the Knights the camp would be left open, separated from the rest of the army by the dense woods in the centre. Morhill was very fond of his local mistress and he was worried about her safety in the camp.
Apparently the Duke was not worried in the least and continued with his speech. "Those of the Knights whom you can spare can be put under Rahul, to form up in the left."
"Dear Rahul, you can take those Knights and guard them with the spearmen. Station some of the foot in the centre, I'll command them myself"
Rahul was dumbstruck. Put the Spearmen in front of the Knights rearing to go?! There was no better recipe for disaster. But he too kept his mouth shut.
Anand went on detailing his plan. "Ensure that the flanks are secure and cleared of any nasty surprises. Also, I recommend that you put the archers inside the forest". Rahul sighed inwardly. The recommendation was not a suggestion at all, but was the Duke's idiosyncratic way of giving an order.
Unlike Morhill, Rahul had been invited along largely as a favour to his rich and influential family. His reputation as a court jester and buffoon had preceded him to Gamrie. But behind the facade of ignorance was a sharp and logical man. Rahul had cultivated and used his image as a clown to good effect. It helped divert politicians' attention from him and gave him a cover for flirting with court Ladies. Nobody minded seeing an incompetent fool with the women whom they coveted...
"That is all, noble friends. Now, if you will excuse me I have some urgent business to take care of". The commanders withdrew silently. Once they had left the Duke rolled out sheets of parchment in anticipation. His social life was gradually improving, and he already had two admirers in Tinchebrai. The Duke made it a point to keep in touch with them even in time of war. He took up his quill and began to write eagerly. "Dearest ..."
Old Wine, new Flagon
Sarath Sasix gestured for his commanders to gather around. He was going to explain the plans for the battle. "Men, the tyrant's army is near; battle beckons us!"
"The point", thought Malcolm Guthrie, "come to the damned point!"
Sarath sensed his impatience and decided to shelve his motivational speech. "We will present the enemy with a two fold trap"
"Now that is better" thought Malcolm, who preferred ambushes whenever possible.
"Malcolm, put your men in the forest on our right. They should be right at home there, and await the enemy to pass you and leave the flank empty. Once the enemy has advanced sufficiently, you can pounce! Let your boys have a taste of Norman blood!"
"Put the archers behind the forest, in line with the rest of the troops and have them advance through the forest at the earliest. The enemy will be lulled into believing that the forest is empty!"
"Meredith", said Sarath to the leader, "deploy your troops along the entire front. Make sure that they stay where they are; we do not need any adventurers leaving their positions and rushing forth."
Finally the Earl addressed Gregory 'No Name'. "Gregory, I am afraid that there isn't much that I can offer your men" said Sasix with a smile.
Gregory was surprised by the Earl's attitude. "Holy Pegasus! This man is mad. Does he think that this is some sort of boar hunt to 'offer my men some'?!"
Sarath continued without a break "Put your horsemen between Meredith's spearmen. They should be safe enough there; and we need them to harass the enemy as he approaches".
If Gregory had any doubts about the madness of the Earl, they completely vanished at this statement. "Put skirmish cavalry in the *centre*?! Our left flank is practically open, and this man is trying to put the cavalry in the centre!!"
Sarath paused and turned to face Gregory "May I venture to guess what you are thinking, dear friend?" Gregory waited, uninterested in the Earl's little games. "Our flanks are not as insecure as you think, dear fellow. Our best axe men - the cream of the Highlanders - will serve as a reserve, ready to fill the flanks in a jiffy."
Gregory was still unsatisfied. He decided to venture a question. "But your honour, they are *foot* troops, and we are facing the best of Norman mounted here. Will they be able to outrun and outmanoeuvre the Knights?"
Sarath waved away the question. "You fret too much, dear fellow. Trust me. You will not regret this plan". Gregory 'No Name' was silent. Born a Bastard, he did not command much respect in the social circles. His was not to chastise the Earl and the other noblemen in something which they knew best. In fact his very presence on this day was out of necessity. Only his know how of horses and horse troopers had merited him a seat in this gathering of Blue Bloods.
"May I take it that all of you concur with the plans? We will wait for the enemy to run headlong into our Spearmen, after enduring the harrying by our cavalry. Victory will be ours!"
From his high saddle, Duke Anand watched the advance of his Knights with satisfaction. The Skirmishers ran to keep up and ahead of the impatient Knights who stayed in place only because of Duke Morhill's strict orders. While the massive wedge formation advanced across the plain Knights in the Norman extreme right were finding it tough to follow the contour of the forest while not entering it. Caught in the narrow space between the Wedge and the forest there was hardly any space for them to move in any formation other than a column of four abreast. A lot of cursing, swearing and shouting later, the Knights found that they were still near the forest and restricted to going nowhere but straight ahead. "Blasted Trees, by the Lance of William!" "Is the Duke Mad?!" "Keep heading straight! That means you, you moron!"
Inside the forest to the Norman right, beyond even the Knights, a different problem was brewing. The skirmish archers were used to the light woods and orchards of the Norman coast and were finding it tough to negotiate the thick forests of Gamrie. Their speed reduced considerably as they went deeper where the trees drew closer and the thick undergrowth made any movement very tasking. They doubted if they would reach the other side in time to protect the Norman flank.
The Knights under Duke Rahul on the Norman left were having a much easier time. Given room to move around the cavaliers were able to maintain the formation the Duke wanted them to. The taste of success and blood in their recent engagements had made them thirst for more, and contact with enemy was being awaited eagerly. Rahul was only too aware of this, and ensured that his troops stayed within earshot of his entourage. But even at their slowest the Knights outpaced the heavy infantry to their front. Soon, the Duke was forced to order the Spearmen to step aside to make way for the mounted troops. The last thing he wanted was to find the noble cavaliers charging through the ranks of the Spearmen.
Suddenly it all came to Sarath with chilling clarity. The Duke wanted him, and only him. No matter how many men and money it took, no matter what effort went into it, no matter what happened afterwards. Duke Anand 'Swearer' Mohan wanted the Head of Earl Sarath Sasix.
Across the field, facing Lord Rahul stood the erstwhile Earl of Kent Sarath Sasix. He was standing atop a platform of raised shields hefted up by his loyal bodyguards. Unconsciously, he gripped the ivory plated shaft of his weapon, a two handed axe. The Axe was a family heirloom believed to bring life to the wearer and death to his enemies. It had been given to the family by a grateful Viking berserker whose life had been saved by the Earl of Kent a long time ago. He would need all his luck today.
Staring across the field, he nodded in satisfaction. The line was well in place, and the light cavalry was moving forward rapidly to do what they were ordered to. Only one thing worried him - the massive wedge formation of 'mad knights', who were wheeling as if intending to race diagonally across the centre of the battlefield towards where he stood. Suddenly it all came to Sarath with chilling clarity. The Duke wanted him, and only him. No matter how many men and money it took, no matter what effort went into it, no matter what happened afterwards. Duke Anand 'Swearer' Mohan wanted the Head of Earl Sarath Sasix.
Unnerved, but still thinking clearly, Sarath waved towards the block of men to his immediate left and issued quick orders. "Wheel left! Advance!" The doughty warriors obeyed instantly, marching to the sound of pipes playing 'Up The Hills of Aberdeen'. Once they had sufficiently advanced, the Earl ordered a stop. "Steady with your Spears! Hold your ground!" Nine hundred spear points were lowered, their long thin stems disappearing behind firmly held shields. The men were ready. Sarath nodded, some of his fear replaced at the sight of the gleaming spear points and the understanding of what they could do to any Knights
who charged. To further delay those across the field, Sarath gestured at the Skirmish cavalry to his front to advance. Duke Rahul's Knights would have to deal with the cavalry *and* the infantry to his front to reach anywhere near him.
Stationed several yards away from the Earl, Gregory 'No Name' did not share the same level of confidence as the Earl. Right from the very beginning he had been trying to figure out how to best use his horsemen. The Earl had rejected all his suggestions and had given clear orders as to what should be done. For all practical purposes, he, Gregory the Bastard was not in command. He was but a mere messenger, charged with relaying the Commander in Chief's wishes to the appropriate recipients. Sighing, he waved to the cavalry who stood waiting for orders. "Ahead lads! See those madmen?" he was pointing across the field at the Norman Wedge. "A thousand gold coins for every hour they fail to make it here!"
In the forest to the right of the Scot line, men waited with cold fury for their chance to come. Locally known as the marauders, the ambushers were from families who had long running blood feuds with the Normans. The hatred of the men went beyond Williams arrival in England. Every chance to kill a Normans was welcome. The Scot archers and javelinmen came up from behind them passing around them in a loose swarm. They only knew too well what would happen when melee started. Silently, they hurried past. The earlier they got out of the forest the better.
Hold!! Stay, men of Gregory! Death to the first man who runs! The Bastard wants us back alive and those Gold coins await!!!
For they Fired and We Fled
Duke Morhill strode forward, trying to give precise orders to control where the Knights were going. He wanted to take his men across the field and reach the Earl before "that colourful obtuse fool of a Duke Rahul did". "Damn those archers!" They were supposed to be a shield from the enemy's javelins and arrows but they were also slowing his Knights down. Suddenly, there was some movement from the Scot ranks. Like a swarm of bees approaching for the kill, the light cavalry surged forward in a gallop. They came within bow shot within seconds, and the Norman skirmish archers ground to a halt at their sight. Instead of closing, the Scot cavalry wheeled in a wide curve, and instinctively Duke Morhill raised his shield even though he was out of range. The cavalry let fly their arrows...
Had he known the price placed upon the delaying of the Knights, Morhill would not have been surprised by the aggressiveness of the Scot Skirmish cavalry. Driven by the attracting prospect of earning thousands gold coins the Scot Cavalry was led forward by their Captain Mercer O'Neal. As he spurred his mount to a gallop, Mercer kept reminding his men of the prospect of the money. "Forward me hearties! Let us show those arrogant noble ******s a trick or two!" He was very determined. He had agreed to serve only for the money and he would make it by hook or by crook. Mercer pulled back his bowstring...
Several things happened at once. The Norman skirmish archers had halted just in time to hear Duke Morhill's shouted orders to "Fireeeee!!!!!!" Which they did with practiced efficiency. Hundreds of arrows flew across the dwindling gap between their line and the Scot cavalry. And the arrows hit right home. Devoid of any protection other than their own skin, the Scots were just mowed down. Horses and men went down by the hundreds, Captain Mercer himself took a hit but managed to hold on to the horse. In the space of moments, their ranks had been been depleted by more than half, and panic reigned. With great effort Mercer controlled his wildly buckling horse and took charge. "Hold!! Stay, men of Gregory! Death to the first man who runs! The Bastard wants us back alive! And those Gold coins await!!!" Somehow the survivors managed to stay in place. They were now milling about in an unruly mass scant feet away from the Skirmishers. And the Norman Knights were moving...
At the sight of the Skirmish cavalry firing, something wild came over Duke Anand. He waved the Wedge forward, ignoring the protest of a surprised Duke Morhill. The Knights were only too glad to comply, and burst through the ranks of the archers, racing forward at full gallop. They ignored the surprised Scot Skirmish cavalry standing to one side,and headed straight for the main enemy line. Duke Morhill cursed, and strode forward to catch up with his men.
Mercer O'Neal wanted revenge and here was a chance. A rare fierceness came over him, and he pointed his javelin at the Norman skirmish archers who were now devoid of the protection offered by the Knights. "Kill them! Kill them All! Chaaaarrrgge!" The Skirmishers too realised this danger, and began a panicked retreat. They turned around and ran for their lives. But they were not fast, not fast enough by far. O'Neal's merciless men hit them right on the rear, and none of them survived the fury of the half mad, half furious Scots. The dust soon settled, but not the rage of Captain Mercer. The Knights he could not stop, but there was something that he *could* do. For right to his front, alone and devoid of any defenders, stood the dream of all cavaliers: The Enemy Camp, with all its money, women and the sweet prospect of loot. O'Neal let out a wild yell. The Norman Knights had gone too far ahead to stop them, and not one troop from the Norman ranks could outrun them. Mercer went into a gallop...
While the wily cavalier set his sights for the Norman camp, a skirmish raged in the extreme right of the Scot line, where the scot javelinmen had caught up with some of the Norman Archers who had emerged from the forest. Both sides later claimed victory, but it was hard to say. After a bitter struggle, both parties fled for their lines, bravery having given way to fear. The Normans dispersed but the Scots somehow regrouped inside the forest. They did not dare venture out for the rest of the battle!
Fortune Favours the Brave
Sarath Sasix was too busy watching the developments right in front of his eyes to notice what had become of Mercer O'Neal's men. Facing him across the field and closing were the Norman Knights under the orders of Duke Rahul 'The Fool'. But there was nothing foolish about the Norman lances which gleamed silver in the morning sunlight. Sarath's Skirmish Cavalry had unsuccessfully tried to delay the enemy with scant effect. Javelins thrown by the skirmishers merely bounced off the polished mail of the Knights. Despairing, the skirmish cavalry had fallen back and were awaiting further orders.
Then the Norman Knights stopped. In the centre of the field, Morhill strode forward and occupied his position in the centre of the first line of Knights in the Wedge. Duke Rahul too advanced to the centre of his men. The standard bearer quickly raised the Duke's Colours. An ominous silence spread across the field. For the Earl Sarath, time slowed down to a crawl. The lances were being lowered everywhere. The inevitable was about to happen. The gathering clouds of silence were shredded in an instant when a hundreds of voices cried out in unison. "Up with The Duke!!! Morhill!!! Rahul!!!" And the men went o chanting "Death to the Earl! Death to the Coward!" Neither were any speeches were made; nor were any explicit orders given. The horses trotted, cantered, picked up speed and went into a gallop. The Charge had begun.
Sarath Sasix watched the action unfold with deathly clarity. Right to his front the Charging horses advanced with alarming speed, the scot skirmish cavalry fleeing for their lives past their CinC, deaf to the commands being shouted out. Deprived of their chosen target, the Knights wheeled and directed their fury at the foot who stood right in front of the Earl. Hardly noticing the gleaming points of the extended long spears the wave of steel hit the wall of men...
In the centre of the field, Morhill drove the Wedge into the waiting spearmen with great impact. The impact nearly unhorsed Morhill, but he was far too excited to notice. Blood pounding in their ears, the soldiers thrust and parried; lances and spears pierced shields, mail and flesh; the sounds of the melee drowned out all other noises.
Duke Anand was watching in awe as his forces rammed into the scot lines. Even for those used to it, a furious Knightly charge was a thing to behold. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement in the Scot line. Malcolm Guthrie, he of Aberdeen, had ordered his best men to advance in a desperate attempt to reach the flank of the charging wedge. His men ran as best as they could but could only watch as the charge swept right past as if they were standing still. What Malcolm had forgotten in his haste but Anand had noticed was that the advancing Scot Spearmen had left their flank wide open...
Some of the delayed Norman Knights had finally cleared the edges of the forest and were even then forming up. Having seen what their Commander in Chief had seen it was clear to them what was wanted of them. They waited no more. They simply charged. Into the open flank.
"... Yet again, Yet again, did the Knights Charge; From the flank, from the flank did they maul; Like the leaves, like the leaves did the men fall; Like the rains, like the rains did weep the Earl ... "
It was Tinchebrai all over again. Deprived of any chance to fight back the Scotsmen were mowed down by the fury of the charge. The unit broke and the terrified survivors fled for their lives in all directions.
The din from the open eventually reached the ambush party in the forest. The marauders leapt forth in fury, while their more shy compatriots opted to stay inside. Although mocked and insulted by the marauders, these soldiers knew better than to abandon the cover to run out in any futile attempt to catch the fast moving Knights. Devoid of proper orders, the marauders went straight ahead looked for the enemy who was not there. They waited awhile, finally scattering without giving a fight when the outcome of the battle became clear.
The Tree Falls
Large clouds of dust had formed wherever the charges met their targets. Men and horses alike were emerging from the confusion. Some fled in terror while some others darted back into the chaos with renewed frenzy. When he could finally see things clearly, Earl Sarath Sasix found that the centre of the Scot line was virtually non existent. The spearmen in the centre had either been destroyed by the flank charge, or were being brutally pushed back. He knew that it was only a matter before they too broke and fled.
Axe armed reserves were pouring out to reinforce the extreme left flank, but there wasn't much they could do. No commands were forthcoming in the ongoing confusion so the axemen kept advancing on their own initiative.
But the Earl's immediate concern was elsewhere. Scant yards from where he stood, Duke Rahul had punched a hole in his immediate perimeter. Only his bodyguards were left standing, and the Duke's men had finally caught sight of him...
...Duke Rahul lowered his sword, and reined in his horse. His lance had broke in the first impact, and he did not get time to get a new one. His men were busy fighting the Earl's Bodyguards. " Tough Bastards, these" thought Duke Rahul who privately admired their bravery. But his primary concern were not the Bodyguards. Where was the Earl? Where in heavens name was Sarath Sasix?
And then through the sweat and blood blurring his vision Rahul saw his man. Sasix was standing amidst a group of fallen Knights, an fearsome axe in his hand. Then he turned, his eyes met Rahul's. With a hoarse yell, Sarath ran full tilt to the Duke...
Rahul started, but quickly spurred his horse on. He reached the Earl at full gallop, and letting go of his reins, swung his sword in a low, wide arc...
Word came to the Normans a few minutes later that the camp was on fire; its occupants were all long dead. Stuck on a pole was the attractive head of Duke Morhill's mistress with a message: "The Bastard sends his Compliments"
Ode to A Brave Warrior
A few minutes later, a panting horse carried Duke Morhill to where the Earl had stood. Angrily reigning in his horse Duke Morhill took a look at the jubilant shouting from Duke Rahul's men and cursed his own luck. The spearmen his men had engaged had eventually broke and fled but had delayed them long enough for Rahul 'The Fool' to claim the ultimate prize. But Morhill would have his revenge. He would wait. Some day...
Duke Anand was waiting for him when Duke Rahul approached. Anand surveyed the man walking towards him. His mail shirt was torn in places, and there was blood on his face, hands and legs. He appeared tired and, and, Sad! Rahul approached the Duke, and without warning dropped something in the dirt near his legs. It was a human head. Dirty and bloodied, the only recognizable feature was an iron crown which was still attached - The Iron Crown of Kent, that which always adorned the head of the Late Earl Sarath Sasix. Duke Anand sought to congragulate him but Rahul walked away, his head bowed and his eyes shut.
Word came to the Normans a few minutes later that their camp was on fire; its occupants were all long dead. Stuck on a pole was the attractive head of Duke Morhill's mistress with a message: "The Bastard sends his Compliments"
Duke Anand went back to Normandy a happy man. Tinchebrai had been more than avenged; One of his most hated enemies was dead. And in Tinchebrai, little pleasures of life awaited...
Duke Morhill stayed back and scoured the countryside for Gregory 'No name' and his men. But despite offers of gold, death and rank, no information could be had about the elusive warrior. He had truly vanished off the face of earth. What became of Mercer O'Neal was not known either. But years later Selfwirth the Sailor, the ever curious man he was, chanced upon a rich Scot merchant near the London docks. Curiously enough he sold antiques among which were old Norman armor and pieces of jewellery which were clearly of Norman origin. When confronted by the drunk sailor, the merchant grinned and dismissed the claims with a wave of his hand. Strangely again, Selfwirth kept his doubts to himself. Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps he remembered that head on the pole from many years ago...
Malcolm Guthrie and Meredith Grant negotiated an uneasy and harsh truce, each retaining the control of his territories after agreeing to pay a hefty sum in gold and iron.
Duke Rahul returned to his estates in Sicily. He asked for and was granted permission to put to use his captives to work there in the farms as serfs. If any one in Sicily noticed the strong, tall manservant of the Duke who sported an axe, they never mentioned it. Had anyone bothered to look closely he would have found that the Axe had an ivory plated handle, with the words "In service of Kent" etched into it.
Yet another enjoyable battle using the highly playable Medieval Warfare rules. We are thinking of creating a mini campaign using the same armies.