211. Blood Is Thicker Than Water.
211. Blood Is Thicker Than Water.
Salomon of Brittany pushed forward roughly, and Robert of Neustria fought back with all his might.
The engagement, which passed three days and approached a fourth, caused great harm and wickedness to both sides, yet neither turned its back.
If I looked quietly at that sight, it was stubborn to the point of foolishness—what were they trying to gain on a battlefield so covered in blood and filth? One might call it foolish, but in the warriors' fight there was something sublime, of a wholly different order than mere kings' fire-play, land-grabbing, or clumsy pride.
Otherwise, I would never have been able to understand that sight, where even as a belly was torn open and half a head flew away, they still held onto the enemy's spear just a little longer for the comrade beside me, and swung sword and axe one more time.
The two armies, who believed in the same god and whose languages had grown alike from centuries of living side by side, parted at dawn on the fifth day.
The grass was moist and it was cloudy as if it might rain soon, but unfortunately for Robert, no fog had settled.
Soon the violet sky would brighten, so they had to move quickly.
"The rear lines must begin moving quickly. Even if the material is lost, we must not lose the wounded and the bodies of our brothers we have gathered."
His once-bold face had grown gaunt from the fierce fighting, but Robert still stood with his back straight and issued orders in a confident voice.
The warriors of Neustria, who had rushed onto the fierce battlefield trusting only that single voice, did not waver in the slightest even at their lord's order to retreat.
The army of Neustria, which never hesitated to advance or withdraw, was certainly perhaps the strongest force in this region, but—
Salomon's Breton army facing them was by no means easy.
[Hwiiik- hwiiiiik-!]
[Buuuuuuuung-!]
Carefully. As the Neustrian army moved, minimizing noise as much as possible, a sharp whistling sound rang out before their ranks, and then a resounding horn blast cut across the dawn sky, filling the sky of West Frankia with an ominous sound.
"Salomon. So you were watching after all."
If Robert himself had been in Salomon's place, he would have done the same.
The enemy whose main camp in the rear was struck would have no choice but to turn their heads—unless they could rout the foe in front.
'Should I stake everything on battle now?'
For an instant, that thought passed through Robert's mind.
Should he finish this bitter feud here and now? The battle that had gone on for four days had been fierce, but ultimately, the Neustrian army, by dividing its heavy cavalry into two—one pretending to chase the light cavalry and the other striking the enemy rear—had begun to slowly gain the upper hand.
If they fought now, could they quickly finish off the Breton army, preserve their strength, and return to Le Mans?
But for that, the Breton army's equipment and combat capability were not ordinary.
'Neustria alone could not handle them. As long as Louis of Aquitaine nursed an old grudge, I needed the help of the Imperator.'
Like father, like son. The Imperator, too, had previously secretly appointed Gauzfried as Dux of Maine to keep Robert in check.
Back then, Robert had joined forces with the enemy commander Salomon to oppose the Imperator, but now he was in a situation where he had to rely on the Imperator's hand to strike Salomon.
'There are neither friends nor enemies. Only gain. O God.'
Protect Frankia. Protect me, my family, my subordinates, and their families.
Robert swallowed a sigh and deliberately raised his voice.
"The enemy has noticed! We must move quickly!"
"Yes, Margrave!"
"Forget the decoy! Run! Run!"
"Wagons first! Don't worry about the wheels, just run!"
[Buuuuuuuung-! Buuuuuuuung-!]
The Neustrian horns, similar to those of the Bretons, sounded twice, and the indignation of the warriors—who had to retreat from an already advantageous battlefield because of the Northmen from Nantes—led to an efficient withdrawal.
[Dudududu- purureuk! pureuk!]
As he watched, Robert soon heard the sound of hoofbeats and harsh snorting coming toward the front of the elite warriors from Le Mans who silently stood with him.
"Enemy cavalry! Shields up!"
"Shields up!"
[Hwiiing- huuu- peok! peopeok!]
"Ugh...!"
"Pardulf! Are you alright? Fall back!"
"What are you saying! This is nothing!"
[Hwiiing- hwiing- peok! peok!]
"Return fire! Return fire!"
"Shoot at will! Shoot with intent to wipe them all out!"
[Pwing! Pwijing! Pwing!]
The archers, moving in coordination with the heavy infantry and under the command of the captains, drew their bows in unison and then loosed arrows over the heads of the Neustrian infantry.
[Sweaaeak-! Sweaaeaeak-! Hududuk! Huduk! Ihihihing-!]
After the javelin throw, a few lucky arrows struck the enemy light cavalry in the rear as they quickly retreated, and with pitiful neighs, a few enemy riders fell from their horses, but the damage was not great.
[Dugudugudugu-!]
"Here they come again! Ready yourselves!"
[Duguk- duguk- duguk- duguk-!]
"Our cavalry! Go! Go! Kill them all!"
"In the name of God! Sweep away all the heathens!"
When the enemy cavalry, turning back, approached as close as possible, the Neustrian heavy cavalry, who had been waiting only for that moment, advanced with much heavier steps and plunged into the enemy cavalry.
Having already engaged in several running battles with the enemy cavalry, the Neustrian horsemen had learned their movements and showed a breathtaking charge that could well be called a kind of art.
Knowing that the enemy would surely approach again for a second javelin throw after the first, Robert's heavy cavalry had been maintaining speed in a wide circle beyond the infantry and archer ranks, and they seized that single opportunity and charged at the enemy.
[Dugukdugukdugukduguk- kung! kukung! pureuk-! eok! puk! pupuk! taeng-!]
Horse bodies collided, and as the Neustrian riders thrust and swung with spear and axe, they instantly shattered the panic-stricken Breton light cavalry.
At the shocking sight, Robert and all the Neustrian warriors let out a huge roar of triumph, but the captain commanding the cavalry was busy calming his subordinates, whose eyes had turned wild at the taste of enemy blood they had not had in a long while.
"Halt! Everyone halt! Turn about! Turn about! Signalman! What are you doing! Signalman!!"
In the surreal scene where the blood and flesh of man and beast drifted through the air as if it were nothing, the main force marching silently forward became visible beyond Brace's collapsing and routing light cavalry.
[Bwooooo-! Bwooooo-!]
"Turn your horses' heads! We must fall back!"
[Tatat-! Hung! Huhung! Shiiik- shiiii-!]
Only then did the signal to retreat ring out from scattered points among the cavalry, but Brace's light infantry had already closed to throwing range, hurling spears and loosing arrows all at once, and soon the heavy cavalry who had pursued the deepest began to fall from their mounts one by one.
[Puk! Pupuk! Hududuk! Puk!]
"Aack!"
"Ihihihihing-!"
A rider who lost speed was nothing but a large target, and no matter how heavily armored they were with mail coats and fine helms, it was the horses they rode that could not withstand the rain of concentrated fire rather than the riders themselves.
Beyond the screams of horses collapsing here and there, Robert and the heavy infantry could be seen parting to let the retreating Neustrian heavy cavalry through to the sides, stepping backward slowly while maintaining their formation.
Feeling a thick bead of sweat run down the bridge of his nose and seep into the mail coif wrapping his neck, Robert could not help but cry out.
"Warriors of Robert! Sons of God! Overcome your fear! If those wretches dare draw near, we shall slaughter them all! Do not break the line! Withdraw slowly! This shield-wall is our fortress wall now!"
The rear was wide open, but he had neither the ability nor the right to turn back troops who had already begun their retreat.
Even if Robert and his warriors all died here, every soldier who could be saved had to return to Le Mans without fail.
Only then could the people of Anjou and Maine, and Robert's own two sons, have a tomorrow.
[Cheok! Cheok! Cheok!]
[Cheok! Cheok! Cheok!]
Salomon's attack was admirable, but what he could not understand was why the Bréce army no longer pressed Robert and the Neustrians.
Walking forward was far faster and more advantageous than walking backward. Why did they not attack?
'Salomon. Are you showing clumsy mercy? Are you mocking me now? Or is this also part of some sly intrigue? Spare me to save face with the Emperor, and at the same time keep the Emperor in check?'
None of the theories made sense. Killing him here would yield the best result.
But the pondering was for later. For now, whether it was the enemy's negligence or part of a larger scheme, he would only make the most of the given opportunity.
Still stepping backward, Robert finally turned his back and ordered a full retreat. The Neustrian warriors, who had been awaiting those very words, fled with desperate speed, but still the Bréce army neither accelerated nor slowed its pace.
Glancing back over his shoulder, Robert felt as if he had become a deer being herded by beaters.
But indeed, there was nothing he could do right now.
*****
As Hestein of Nantes kicked off his tour of the southwestern city of Le Mans starting with the villages at the mouth of the Loire River, and Robert hurriedly retreated upon learning of the upheaval in his rear and took losses.
A group of Northmen detached from the Rouen Fortress front on the Seine—a front that had been somewhat tidied up by the standoff between the Fylkir and the Emperor—and began a tour of northern Le Mans.
The reason I called it a tour was because they looked exactly like people on a package holiday, trotting after the flag-bearer at the front from village to village, stopping by local specialties(?), collecting souvenirs(?), and even making a new friend(?) whose scalp was a little short of hair.
Whether it was Thorstein of the Isles Kingdom, considered a new recruit of the North Sea Empire, or Hestein of Nantes, who still possessed a vividly raw culture. They were experts seasoned in raiding and fighting, but even for them, a situation like this war was utterly unfamiliar.
"Is this the raiding I used to know?"
"Something's strange. Can we really keep doing this?"
Separated by a distance that required a full half-day's hard ride to reach each other, the leaders of the two sightseeing groups, displaying an astonishingly similar demeanor, uttered nearly the same words at the same time.
And that was understandable. For men who had once roamed the waterways of Britain and Europe with raiding as their ultimate goal, the Fylkir's methods were difficult to grasp.
Proper raiding required the delicate care and effort of being leisurely and meticulous—sending scouts ahead to open some trade with the nearby villages, gather information—like wolves precisely picking off the weakest, youngest livestock.
The Fylkir's way of raiding was a bit...
How should he put it? He was afraid merely for harboring such a thought, but the Fylkir's method was a bit unrefined and destructive.
"Hurry! The Northmen are coming!"
"Only grab food and valuables! I told you, we have to move right now!"
"Let's go to Le Mans! The Margrave will protect us!"
I have come here to raid.
As if advertising the fact, news of the Northmen rising and descending from both north and south spread like wildfire from Le Mans' west to the entire region. At the same time, ominous rumors that the Emperor's grand army had been defeated and suffered great losses crossed the Seine.
Like a herd of terrified livestock, the good Franks caught between the Northmen shifted their steps straight toward Le Mans, and behind them the warriors of Thorstein and Hásteinn gave chase.
The pursuing spectacle was truly comical. When passing the first village or two, they still brought along wagons and systematically collected plunder, but afterward, because every village's people along the route had all fled, they had to consume their own supplies and the food they had plundered while scrambling after the fleeing people.
In that sequence of events, wagon wheels burst, plundered goods spilled along the roadside, and a captured monk desperately managed an escape. Incidents they themselves found ridiculous occurred, but in any case, Hásteinn and Thorstein splendidly fulfilled the task given to them.
The line of refugees springing up like wildfire obstructed Robert's army's smooth retreat, and at last, the long-stretched Neustrian forces found themselves enveloped from three directions.
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User:Esprit04, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
It's a map of Maine...! Robert's retreat route is in red. The North Sea and Bréce advance routes are in blue...