The Free Company- Book V: Bloody Retribution

August 12th-Battle of Cremona

"Where are we located exactly on the battlefield and when are we going to enter the fray?" asked Wilhelm

August 12th, 1440 -- Midmorning, the Battle of Cremona

Erik watched as the Venetians clashed with his infantry and stalled their advance. His men were holding up well. The chaff had been separated from the warriors and all that remained was the hard steel of survivors. Erik shook his head. Is this what I have become? So callous to those that die around me? Perhaps it is time for a break.

Erik moved back from the front ranks to get a better look and feel of the overall tactical situation. He grimaced as he saw the flanking maneuver that was happening to his right. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment, his pike were too stuck in to counter the move currently.

“Damn,” Erik muttered.

“Sir?” It was that young fop. Artur or some such. Handy with a blade but much more handy with his mouth.

“Nothing, Artur, just wishing we were somewhere else.”

“Yes sir, I agree to that sentiment.” Artur grinned and moved forward with his line towards the front ranks.

I would of figured you to be one of the bodies littered the ground, but it seems you are made of sterner stuff.

Erik turned to Baer as he was taking a breather himself. “Baer, be prepared to strengthen the right flank.” He held up a hand to stall the big sergeant’s argument. “I know, just do what you can.”

Baer nodded and muttered something under his breath and began to think of a way to strengthen the right flank while not weakening the front ranks. Baer shook his head and let go a heavy sigh. You’re always asking me the impossible, but damn it, how can I manage this. I have to or our flank will be turned. Damn this, whatever happened to the simple days. Baer moved off to begin his preparations of the flank.

Erik concentrated back on the front ranks and watched a small push in the center. The Venetians managed to cut a small hole in the front rank and pushed to take advantage of the opening. A large hulking figure stepped up to face the push. The figure was larger then Baer was. It took a moment to realize that the shape he saw was the quiet man from Scotland. Tiny was the term the people used when talking about the Scot. Erik never found out the man’s real name.

A Pike jabbed forward and tore into the Highlander’s shoulder, cutting armor and muscle. Blood splattered onto the men behind and to the right of the Scotsman. Tiny merely grunted and grabbed hold of the pike and pushed. The man holding the pike was slowly pushed back into the oncoming Venetians trying to exploit the gap.

Another pike reached out to pierce the Scots’ left thigh. Once more Dougil merely grunted and reached down to grab that pike and pushed as well. With both arms pushing he was unable to push them back but he was able to stop the men from rushing into the gap. A third pikeman stepped up and swung his pike down slashing through Dougil’s right wrist. Severing the hand in a gout of blood that sent a wash of warm liquid into the rushing Venetians.

Dougil used it to his advantage and aimed his stump at the men’s eyes. This caused several to stop and claw at their suddenly burning eyes. The pikeman whose pike was just released with the separated hand fell forward to the turf and found himself slowly being smothered by the mud on the field as his regiment strode on top of him trying to get at the enemy. The man died there while trying to rise out of the mud.

The third pikeman chopped again but Dougil raised his arm and managed to trap the pike in his armpit. He once more thwarted the push by his mere physical strength.

Baer grabbed Geoffrey, Henri, Oskar and Gerd. He yelled at them to fill the gap and hurry. Baer positioned himself to take the now vacated positions and thanks to years of experience and his heavy armor held the portion of the line until Artur and Cyril were able to step forward to support the move.

The four pikemen moved to support the Scot and slowly the gap was closed. Geoffrey locked eyes with the Scot when a pike came down and exploded the Highlander’s skull. Blood and brain matter flew out from the gruesome injury. A good portion flew onto Geoffrey and the other three pikemen who moved to support the man.

Geoffrey could only stare at the man who had just probably saved the entire regiment from death. His mind at a loss as it tried to process what it had just seen. Nothing he read could compare to this. Just then an enemy pike reached forward and punctured Geoffrey’s armor at the left shoulder and part of the pike impaled the soft flesh beneath. The wound was not mortal, but it definitely hurt like hell.

Geoffrey could only watch as the pike went up and descended upon him once more. He could only stare at his death coming for him. The moment slowed and he quickly catalogued his life and what he still had left to do. It couldn’t end this way with so much unfinished work to do. As the Pike grew he knew he had no escape. His own Pike was pushed out and away by the enemy and he knew fate had finally looked upon his poor soul.

There suddenly was a loud clash of metal on metal. John Brandon, the Captain’s own son had blocked the blow for Geoffrey. Then there was a gurgling cry as the new Sergeant, Amric, stepped forward beneath the stopped Pike and gutted the owner of the weapon. John stepped into the hole and Amric grabbed Geoffrey and pushed him towards the rear.

Numbly Geoffrey walked towards the rear to regroup himself and get a moment of rest. He was at odds, his closest friends were now on the front rank and he moved to the rear. Desperately he wanted to be there and protect them, but in the same thought he was relieved for the respite and needed to collect himself after the gruesome sight he saw.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Artur stepped forward next to Baer and slashed out with his pike. The men in front of him moved to block, but Baer took the opening and chopped his pike down on the shoulder of the man blocking Artur’s slash. The man’s arm fell off in a gout of spraying blood. The man stood there for a moment before he realized his arm was gone. He started to scream but was silenced quickly and Artur gutted him with a pierce to the chest.

A pike worked its way past the guard of Artur and stung the boy on his left arm. It hurt like hell but was merely a hindrance. The boy seemed to be holding his own and even a little more. Baer grunted his approval and moved off the front rank as more men filled in the area he was fighting at.

Cyril stepped forward but Baer grabbed him and pointed towards the center. “Go there Cyril, it needs to hold and right now the hardest push is there.”

Cyril merely nodded and moved to the center and stepped up behind Oskar. All the while he heard Oskar talking about some nuance about fighting with a pike. For some reason this brought a smile to Cyril’s face and he shook his head. Truly nothing could dim Oskar’s attitude.

Suddenly there was quiet as Oskar fell. He was pierced in his left thigh and was pushed down. Cyril quickly stepped forward and filled the hole. Fear crept up in his throat as he saw the evil grins of the Venetians who tried to push the hole once more. Cyril’s quick action stopped the push before it started. The Venetians were thwarted once more and Cyril sighed in relief as he saw Oskar get himself out of the way and hobble to the rear.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Erik watched and shook himself out of his dreamlike state. He needed to thwart the push in the center completely and perhaps counter thrust himself. His face split into a feral grin and then he shouted. “HEAVY PIKE, CENTER!”

Scattered among the rear ranks were the veteran German and Swiss Pike. They still carried their heavy plate armor unlike the armor that was given to the new men. Quickly the twenty men formed in the center behind the first couple ranks. When they were done they pushed forward. Shortly after they were upon the enemy’s front rank and pushed forward. The maneuver seemed to surprise the Venetian unit. They were not expecting such a push through their own press. The Venetian pikes were no match for the sturdy Steel of the pikemen’s plate breastplates.

Soon the tables were reversed and a small hole was exposed in the Venetian line. Erik smiled and looked at four remaining veterans from his original regiment. He simply nodded and they strode forward behind the metal clad pikemen. Once they reached the hole they pulled out the trademark weapons of the Landsknecht, their giant Zweihanders. They pushed to the right of the hole and began hacking at the enemy with their giant swords.

Erik grinned and bellowed, “Sergeant Amric, if you would please send in the sword behind the Zweihanders.”

He listened as Amric bellowed orders and watched as the young men charged forward. He caught sight of the young son of the cannon maker enter the fray. Dieter, yes that was his name, had become a much better swordsman then pikeman and soon showed his deadly aptitude on the confused and scared Venetians.

Yes… perhaps today will be the day the Venetians learn a valuable lesson.

Erik grinned and issued orders to move forward to hopefully push the Venetians back into the quagmire of ditches and holes. He looked to LeClerc and nodded when he saw the line holding. Today was going to be a good day after all.

August 12th, 1440 -- Midmorning, the Battle of Cremona

Baer grabbed Geoffrey, Henri, Oskar and Gerd. He yelled at them to fill the gap and hurry... The four pikemen moved to support the Scot and slowly the gap was closed... Numbly Geoffrey walked towards the rear to regroup himself and get a moment of rest. He was at odds, his closest friends were now on the front rank and he moved to the rear.

Henri watched as Geoffrey walked towards the rear. Henri was just plain mad. How could the scholar-soldier have been pierced like a slab of meat! With anger powering his tired arms, Henri worked with the pike.

With the pikes and sword working together, the right began to stabilize...

August 12th, 1440 -- Midmorning, the Battle of Cremona


Geoffrey stumbled to the rear of the formation and sat down more stunned at the thought of being wounded than the event itself. He gingerly checked his shoulder to see how bad it was. It was hard to see where his blood started and the sprayed blood of Dougil ended.

"So is it bad or what?"

Geoffrey looked up at a limping Oskar. With a grunt Oskar lowered his body to the ground.

"Looks like both of us are going to need some help after this fight is over if I don’t miss my guess"

Oskar leaned over and stared at Geoffrey’s shoulder wound.
He poked at it with a finger and Geoffrey winced.

"Stop that!"

"Hold on I was just checking it out. Doesn’t look to bad to me, if you were to ask me that is. Know what’s best to use to sew it up? Catgut. Yup you can’t beat catgut my old Dad was fond of saying. I once saw him sew my uncle Clyde’s foot back on with a handful of catgut, a rusty sewing needle and a pint of ale. The ale was for him since uncle Clyde wasn’t feeling so good right then. Ever notice how pale someone gets he bleeds a lot? Bet you didn’t until today."

"Oskar"

"Yep I’ve never seen so many ass white…"

"OSKAR!"

"You don’t need to shout I’ve got good ears. My Dad may have boxed them every day but I can still hear all right. Now my brother Ned he… Hey where are you going?"

Geoffrey didn’t answer Oskar. He just grimly decided that fighting on the front rank was less painful compared to listening to Oskar. As he marched forward he kept repeating

"Through thick and thin the men stood tall
As one they fought to hells front door
Who would have known fate’s bloody call
Would doom them all on a Scottish moor"

Geoffrey had time to wonder where the hell that came from before seeing his friends standing in the breach of the Venetian line. As he joined them he shouted

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!"

August 12 - Mid-Morning - Cavalry Lines

"Well, if ye're bound fer the cavalry, ye'll probably be in the fray soon enough, otherwise, ye'll 'ave a momen' or two t' get ready before the man in fron' o' ye dies and ye 'ave to start yer fight. I's up t' you lad, but if yer committed to the infantry, retreat won' be much of an option."

Jeans voice drifted over.

"As you can tell, Wilhelm, we're not doing much right now, so stick around and talk. Oh, and don't let Danny talk you into having any of his drinks."

O'Floinn laughed and said to Wilhelm "bah, tha's u' to the drinker. I'll give ye'a sample later."

"Talk, my friend, tell me what I need to know to save Maria, and I might let you drink the antidote."

Osman's gaze drifted from the needle to the antidote and finally locked on Frederik. After Constantinople, after all the torture sessions, after the chase, for only the second time Frederik saw fear there. And then Osman dropped his head dejectedly, and Frederik's heart leapt.

At Constantinople he had won a battle against the assassin. Now he had won the war.

Osman's head rose and the two men locked gazes again. The fear that had been there mere moments before was replaced now with fire. "The man you seek -- the one who killed Syban and his woman -- is named Akbar. But you may know him by another name -- Venerio lo Grato."

"lo Grato..." The name drifted unbidden from Frederik's tongue. His mind flitted to the story Maria had told him of Jonasz's fall from the walls of Constantinople, taking the politician-turned-traitor with him. Now it all makes sense. "Fallen Angel..."

"Yes," said Osman, with a sardonic grin. "He thought it amusing. Did you see him when you were chasing him? He is ugly, now, scarred from his fall. Fitting, perhaps, for the once-perfect courtier, handsome, the courtly lover..." His eyes drifted away, his speech grew mumbled, and Frederik knew the hallucinations were setting in.

But there was one thing that didn't make sense. The Dane's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"

Osman's eyes refocused. "Why?"

"All the terrible things Maria did to you, and you never said a word against your masters. And now...?"

Osman barked a laugh. "Do not imagine that it is your poison that compels me to speak, Hviid. You saw yourself how Akbar betrayed me in my hour of need. Now I do the same to him. After all, there is no honor in our profession, Hviid. You should know that better than most."

August 12, late morning -- Battle of Cremona

Francesco Sforza circled to the fore of his cavalry contingent, a hundredscore men at arms. As he passed, he saw fear in the eyes of his men -- doubtless some had come to the same conclusion he had about the enemy cavalry. It brought him some small joy to see that his presence enlivened them.

He stopped at the center of the van and stood up in his stirrups, his strong voice carrying across the heads of his men and drowning out even the battle below. "Friends! Hear me! If we do not stop the cavalry below, du Pont is dead. If we do not stop Venice today, Milan is dead!" He paused and surveyed the crowd, letting the true import of his words sink in. "If fortune favors the bold, then let our strike be bolder than our enemy's, and let us leave the rest in the hands of Almighty God.

"Now, ready..." Francesco turned his horse to face the valley, only to see a genuinely bizarre sight below.

* * *

du Pont had saved himself from the van, secreting himself instead in the center of his formation. One reason was ease of command, but the other was about to come to fruition. He signalled to his trumpter, who blew a single clarion note; in front of him, his men redoubled their efforts and pushed their foes back. At the end of this tunnel was Colonel Petraglia. du Pont raised his lance -- as yet unused and undamaged -- and lowered his visor. At his side, his trumpeter blew another note.

It was a challenge that Petraglia could not ignore.

Taking his own lance from a squire, the Colonel sauntered his horse forward a few steps. All around, the battle quieted. Foes on both sides disengaged from their opponents, or finished them, and turned to watch the two knights. The tunnel through the battle widened slightly, forming a rudimentary list. This was a matter of honor, and no one would miss it. Even the dismounted staggered through the lines to the list's edge to gain a better vantage.

In position, Petraglia lowered his own visor, and the two men checked saddles straps, weapons, and shields. Finally, they took up shields and lances, and each leveled his weapon at his counterpart. du Pont's trumpeter let off one last burst.

The joust was over in seconds, the few dozen yards passing under the pounding hooves of furious steeds. From the west came the cross of the Knights of St. John, and from the east the lion of Venice, meeting only in a terrible crash...

Sir Francis found himself sliding backwards; catching Petraglia's lance on his shield twisted him out of the stirrups and sent him first out of the saddle and then over the rump of his horse. He landed heavily on his knees, grinding his teeth in pain -- but he knew instantly it was not so unbearable as to mean anything had broken, and he whispered thanks to God for the favor. Then he saw the shattered hilt of his lance in his hand, and planting it in the mud, he raised his shield and his eyes to ward off further attack.

It was only then that he discovered the unfortunate fate of his opponent.

The Colonel had not been so lucky as to catch the lance on his shield; he took it instead to the throat, where the tip found its way through his gorget before snapping off in du Pont's hand. The force of the blow had sent him through a full flip and then face-down into the mud.

There he now lay, dangling like some sort of grotesque tent. The lance was the tentpole, supporting his corpse three feet from the ground. Another foot of the metal-shod tip protruded from the back of his neck, proclaiming his defeat in bloody detail.

du Pont, with the help of his broken lance, staggered to his feet. Raising the shattered weapon, he roared his victory across the eerily silent battlefield.

The roar was returned by his men, and they fell upon their stunned foe.

* * *

Above the valley, Francesco Sforza watched the grisly joust with detached bemusement. Knights will forever be attached to notions of honor, even if more battles in Italy are won with coin. Nevertheless, the death of Petraglia had an effect on the enemy. The Venetians had stopped their encirclement of du Pont's forces and now seemed slow to restart it.

"It is time," Sforza whispered. He raised his lance, pointed it into the valley below, and with a yell led his men into battle.

August 12, Mid - Morning, Battle of Cremona

O´Brien and his friend from the company, a man called Borroughs, strolled along the battle field to join the fighting.

“Hey you two, I could need some swordsmen over here”. A gruesome soldier addressed the two swordsmen in a cutting voice.

“Who the hell is that guy" asked O´Brien.

“I think his name is Bear or Baer” answered Borroughs. “Yes actually I am sure, it is Baer, come on we have to help him out”.

“Well are you deaf, I need reinforcements now, not tomorrow, come on” shouted Baer.

O´Brien and Borroughs drew their swords and rushed forward shouting “We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness”.

August 12, Mid - Morning, Battle of Cremona

Sebutai rode up to the resting cavalrymen. Chen gave a mock groan of anguish," I thought you are dead." " And let you escape my clutches so easily? No way Chen." came the reply from Sebutai. He continued," Enough resting you people. Shur'tu has just give orders for us to form up. Seems like the Venetians are trying for a flanking manevour."

Chen and Huang got on their mounts. Passing Wilhelm who was still looking at xiao hong ma, Chen said," Well, have you decided join the cavalry or infanry? Make up your mind fast, lad." Finishing, they continued to ride back to their lines without waiting Wilhelm to answer.

As they form up in Jaghuns, Sebutai and some of his men rode up and joined Chen's Jaghun. Puzzled, Chen asked," You are not in my jaghun." Sebutai replied," I know but Shur'tu has redivided the jaghuns out so that all the jaghuns now have an even number of about 80 men each." Now Chen really groaned," And of all the available men, he sent you to join my jaghun? Is he trying to torture me or what?" Sebutai chuckled as he rode forward to have a clearer view of the battle.

Looking out, Sebutai's chuckle disappeared. The venetians appeared to have shifted some of their infantry to try and flank the FC. And with the FC cavalry having to watch the venetians for any movements, the only men left to oppose the venetians flanking force is the reserves and the longbowmen.

A somber Chen said to Sebutai," I think things are about to get very bloody." Sebutai did not reply as they continued to watch the venetians advance....

August 12, Late Morning, Battle of Cremona, exploiting the hole in the Venetian line

Amric danced aside as a pikeman tried to stem the Free Company tide as the washed into the hole created, and paid for, in blood. Both blades slashing like a twirling dervish of death he led his swordsmen into the breach, which widened quite a bit when the swordsmen began cutting down screaming, trapped Venetian pikemen.

Amric, with Cyril in tow, exploded out of the hole and the swordsmen began to widen the breach by the simple expediiency of cutting down the Venetians at the read and spreading it open like cooked clam at a beach party. The Venetian line began to curl away from the area.

Pikemen nearby at the rear stopped pushing forward and tried to salvage the situation by turning toward the ravening company men. Amric told Cyril left to lead those men while he went right. Both curls trying to stop them were shattered before they could properly begin to form. The entire line in front of the Free Company pikes threatened to come apart at the seams.

"I want that breach widened!" Amric shouted," I want Milo to be able to drive 5 wagons side by side through there if it were to be required!"

The men redoubled their efforts and the breach began to widen even more quickly as more Venetians began to peel away to seek the safety of their own side of the battlefield....

Outside Cremona, the tavern

“After all, there is no honour in our profession, Hviid. You should know that better than most."

Not if you work for yourself, but what if you work for religion? Frederik had met religious men before, he never truly understood their drive and devotion, but he knew enough not to trust them completely.

Frederik merely nodded and removed the wooden peck that served as stopper in the flask and leaned over. Osman opened his mouth and the Dane poured it into his waiting maw.

Moments later the assassin convulsed violently and vomited into the bowl Frederik held out.

Weakly the Turk heaved after his breath, “what was that?”

“The antidote.”

“But you poisoned me by blood, not food.”

Frederik didn’t respond but leaned closer and picked up the knife still on the table, carelessly he pushed the needle back in, puncturing his finger doing so.

Horrified and puzzled Osman looked as Frederik licked the finger clean of the blood.

“You said you were immune, but...”

Frederik smiled slightly, “Lamp sooth and rooster grease.”

“But I felt..” Osman’s eyes began to shift, uncertainty gripping him.

“I gave you something else while you were out.” Frederik produced the empty vial from his bag.

Osman sagged in his chair, finally coming to terms with his defeat. Frederik nodded to himself and rang for the Innkeeper.

As the portly man arrived Frederik put on his best behaviour,

“My good man,” he handed the man a large purse, “I’m in urgent need to get this prisoner, this spy of the vile Venetians to the Viscount as fast as possible, do you think you could rustle up a few strong men to aid me in my transport? They will of course be handsomely paid.”

The Innkeeper hefted the purse, looked speculatively at the haunted face of the captive and nodded.

“Certainly Signore.”

Osman merely looked wearily at Frederik as he heard the flawless Italian spoken and knew he had lost.

At least his life had been spared for now.

August 12, Late - Morning, Battle of Cremona


Geoffrey stared at the stump that was once his pike. A moment before he was using it to block a savage blow only to see it cut in half. A quick swing with the stub that remained brought the attacker to his knees. But before Geoffrey could finish him off he was swept aside by the surge of battle. The battle seemed to pivot around him as he turned and searched for another weapon to fight with. A glancing blow to his helmet stunned him for a moment causing white flashes to sparker in his vision. Suddenly the words of Seneca the younger echoed in his head.

"Every battle starts with order then races to confusion and harries on to carnage with chaos biting at its heels. Such foolish endeavors should be avoided at all costs since the expenditure of men’s lives seldom equals the reward."

Which was followed by another blow on the head from someone behind him. He spun and grabbed the man by the neck and would have throttled him but he recognized who it was.

"Artur! What the hell are you doing? For the love of God watch who your trying to kill!"

Before Artur could answer the two were torn apart by the raging battle. Geoffrey saw a sword lying on the ground and grabbed it only to drop it again almost immediately as he saw it still had a hand attached to it.

"Christ our savior if you get me through this alive I’ll donate my life to charitable…."

"Another blow to the head and Geoffrey started to get pissed. He suddenly shouted to no one in particular.

"The next bastard that hits my head is going to get a sword up his ass!"

Which caused a veritable rainstorm of blows to descend on his head.

Dodging to the side he heard the voice of Sergeant Amric call for a redoubled effort. Reaching down he grabbed an unattached sword and charged into the madness of battle.

August 12th, Battle of Cremona

"I will take the steed and prove my skills as a rider since I have already proven that im a great warrior on foot" replied Wilhelm

Wilhelm put the key in a secure place and mounted his fine steed and prepared his weapons.

"Im sorry to say that I dont know much about who were fighting and why?" asked Wilhelm

"Can you please tell me how the Free Company made their way here of all places?"

August 12 - Mid-Morning - Cavalry Lines

O'Floinn stirred his horse and rode toward the forward lines, beckoning Wilhelm to come with him.

"Lad, there's no' a lot o' knowledge on the subject. Wha' I know, is that Venice is attackin' Milan, they've already taken Mantua, and there're some angry Florentines a' our backs who may or may no' decide to jump into this war."

"That doesn't sound so cheerful, but I suppose war usually isn't"

"Do you have a bow?"

Flanking Geoffrey on his right came Paddy O'Barr, and on the left Carl van Krieg. Behind them came more of the Free Company, forcing their way into the hole in the enemy line and widening further the breach. Breaking into boisterous song, O'Barr gave a mighty two-handed swing of his shillelagh to the Venetian pike line as he forced past, the blow caving in the chest of an unfortunate foe.

The enthusiasm O'Barr now showed for his grisly task reflected his earlier frustration. Just on the verge of his first blood, Jaeger had shifted the pike around the far right flank and denied him vengeance against the Venetians.

He was happy to get it now.

The battle beyond the enemy lines was chaotic, reckless, a blurred series of opponents as the Free Company wave met the enemy rush to halt the incursion. O'Barr lashed out, catching a swordsman in the side of the head and sending him to the ground gushing blood from nose and ears. The next foe he jabbed in the face with the head of his great maul, sending him spiralling into his friends with a broken nose. He brought his mallet down hard on the head of the next, and he toppled backwards, his skull possessed of a noticeable flatness.

Still they came.

Through the mad chaos of battle, O'Barr saw George Finby topple, clutching at a shaft wedged in his side. Some luckless foe who had lost his weapon in close quarters had apparently grabbed a handy loaded crossbow and fired it point-blank. "Carl," Patrick shouted, pointing, "get him out of here!"

August 12, Late - Morning, Battle of Cremona

Erik watched as the hole that was created was exploited and his swordsmen leak into the ranks of the enemy pike formation. The orderly ranks disintegrated into a full on melee and chaos reigned. The veteran Heavy Pike were taking a toll on the Venetians as well as the Zweihanders cutting pikes in half and depleting the Venetians’ supply of weapons.

The swordsmen of his regiment crushed and destroyed the heart of the pike unit. That boy Henri found the regiment’s leading officer and after an intense trading of blows, managed to separate the unlucky foe from his left arm. He was left there to die as he watched his life’s blood pump out onto the ground next to him.

The Venetians broke and ran back down the hill. All discipline was lost as survival was the number one thought in their minds. Before his mob could make chase he bellowed, “FORM RANKS! DRESS RIGHT!”

Instantly the men fell into an orderly block once more. The heavy pike were left holding the center under the command of Adler. Amric once more formed up the men on the left and Baer held the right. His rabble became a cohesive unit once more and Erik nodded.

“FORWARD! MARCH!”

The pike unit began to march down onto the fleeing Venetians. Erik looked to the left and saw LeClerc holding ground but was making no advancing moves. He still had the better part of one and a half regiments trying to kill him. Erik grinned and bellowed. “LEFT FLANK! MARCH!”

The men turned smartly to the left and bore down on the flank of what was left of the Venetian pike unit. The front rank was now the left flank of Erik’s unit. Most of the men were still eager to get at the Venetians. As they closed the distance, Erik did something he never thought he would ever do. He was counting on shock to carry him deep into the pike formation. He bellowed a single word, one that brought smiles to many of the men that were in Constantinople and knew of the Venetian treachery. They executed the order with glee… “CHARGE!!!!”

The men broke into a run and crashed hard into the Venetian flank. The left flank of the Venetian unit simple ceased to exist. Erik’s front rank punched deep into the pike unit causing untold terror within the hearts of the Venetians. Soon several broke and ran. Their friends and compatriots standing next to them saw them run and ran with them. Soon it was a rout with men on the right flank only knowing that their left flank was in a full rout and all sorts of evil thoughts popped into their minds. Cavalry, War Machine, Reinforcements… not a single person on the right flank knew, but still they broke and ran.

“FORM RANKS!!! DRESS RIGHT!!!”

Once more Erik’s regiment lined up into a block and began to advance on the final unit fighting LeClerc. They marched to within several paces when the unit simply disintegrated like water and flowed back down the hill.

“RIGHT FLANK!!! MARCH!!!”

The men turned to the right and once more the original front was back to the fore. The men took a moment to repositioned and taking a quick breather. Erik looked and watched LeClerc’s unit move forward to even the frontage. Erik grinned and watched the Venetians try to rally their dispirited men.

“BY GOD OR WHATEVER DEITY YOU WISH TO FOLLOW, WE HAVE THEM… THESE BASTARDS WILL PAY DEARLY FOR CONSTANTINOPLE AND OTHER TREACHERIES THEY HAVE COMMITTED TOWARDS THE FREE COMPANY. MEN THE DEVIL WISHES HIS WAGES TO BE PAID!!!!”

Erik lifted his Pike high and looked at LeClerc across the way. The other man nodded simply. Although he was a quiet man, he too had served on the walls and stood at the breach. He was tempered with Free Company blood and forged within the hell fires of Constantinople. They both wanted what was about to come…

“KILL THEM… KILL THEM ALL… FORWARD!!! MARCH!!!”

The men roared as they set off at a brisk pace. The blood of the enemy was upon them. Truly the beast had surfaced among the Free Company. They smelled a weak and easy prey, and by God they would have it. Many of the Venetians turned and ran further. They saw their death descending on them with righteous fury and ran. Others resolutely turned and formed ranks. These brave few knew it was hopeless but refused to be termed a coward and die a coward’s death. They chose to take the wounds to their front instead of their back.

Erik reveled, Finally, we get our revenge. Truly this is a bitter sweet dish.

Erik could feel the exultation flowing from his men. They knew they had faced almost two to one odds and through training and sheer willpower had bested them. The men relished the feeling of invulnerability. These men were harder then steel and no one doubted their courage. Every one of them had a story to tell, they would tell it too, to many a bar wench or camp follower.

As the men started to descend the slope Erik looked beyond the fleeing Venetians and suddenly his heart caught in his throat. What looked to be fresh reinforcements were advancing upon him and LeClerc. Erik did a quick estimate and once more realized they were outnumbered at least two to one, and to top it off, they were fresh troops while his men had fought for hours. His heart sank as he watched his prey slip through his grasp.

Damn… not today… not today…

“COMPANY!!!! HALT!!!”

The men ground to a halt and there were many angry mutterings from around Erik. He heard curses about letting the cowardly Venetians to flee to safety. LeClerc’s unit stopped a few paces beyond Erik’s front rank as he too saw what was coming. The regiment grew silent as finally the men saw the approaching reserves. Once more they seemed to be outnumbered and meeting them on even ground would be folly and too costly.

“TO THE REAR!!! MARCH!!!”

The regiment turned sharply and advanced back up the hill to their original line. LeClerc also moved his men back.

“COMPANY!!! HALT!!! ABOUT… FACE!”

Erik’s Pike turned in place and waited for the fresh reinforcements to reach them. To top it all off the broken Venetian pikes took heart in the approaching reserves and after some time reformed. They were much smaller then before but they had some fire come back into their bodies.

All Erik could do right now was watch… and wait.

August 12, Late - Morning, Battle of Cremona

The battle was intense with pikemen and Zweihanders cutting the Venetians to pieces. O´Brien and Borroughs rushed forward constantly searching for enemies.

“Arghhhh” O´Brien cried in pain. A Venetian struck him violently on his helmet but luckily the blow only brushed it. Due to the heavy blow the Venetian lost control, stumbled and landed on the ground.

O`Brien still in good health returned the blow. The Venetian rattled and blood started to trickle from his mouth

“Ah you bastard I will make you pay for wounding me” shouted the Venetian and fell out in a hysterical attack and cut up a deep wound on O´Briens arm.

This made O´Brien furious and he struck the Venetian so violently that he broke the links on the Venetian´s coat of mail and put the blade of his sword deep into the Venetians body. The fight between the two went on with both ruthlessly hammering on each other and whoever survived would be seriously injured if the fight went on much longer.

Suddenly the Venetian slipped and immediately O´Brien fell over him with his sword and perforated the chest with it. The Venetian looked at him with a surprised expression in his face, rattled and closed his eyes. The death machine was once more activated.

Suddenly the Venetians gave way and started to flee for their lives

““KILL THEM… KILL THEM ALL… FORWARD!!! MARCH!!!”

“Yes” shouted O´Brien. “This is actually turning into a slaughtering spree, come on let us hunt down those traitors and cut them to pieces, after all they sold out Constantinople”. O´Brien, relentlessly roaring “It is the will of God”, It is the will of God”, started to run after the fleeing enemies waving his sword in front of him.

Borroughs laughed manically and his eyes turned red with hatred. “Yes now they will have to pay for all the problems they have caused the Christians, after all they were only in the crusading movement for the money, bloody loan sharks, let us slaughter them”.

“COMPANY!!!! HALT!!!”

To begin with O´Brien ignored the order and advanced as he had too much hatred inside to care about the order.

“Didn’t you hear what Erik said” shouted Baer, “return immediately”.

O´Brien was so filled with rage that he for a very brief moment considered to cut down Baer but suddenly he smiled.

“Of course, how clumsy of me to not listen to Erik with more awareness.” Both he and Borroughs started to go back.

“Damned” shouted O´Brien. “The festivity is cancelled”. O´Brien and Borroughs looked at each other with tears in their eyes.

August 12th, Battle of Cremona

"I have no bow but I can use one, I met an englishmen during my time in France who tought me" replied Wilhelm

"I have my sword, hand axe, my skill as a warrior, and my wit, im sure I will be fine"