Before Plantagenet - Chapter 165
December 1113 - Gandia, Valencia
Foulques couldn’t sleep.
How could he? Today there would be battle. Perhaps it would not be the stuff of legends - defeating an army much larger than his, as his grandfather, the Iron Duke, once had - but it could render effects that far outpaced anything the late Duke of Anjou had managed.
King Hugues was with his men - a group which stood at over 3,000, compared to the forces of Duke Geoffrey, which numbered near 12,000. Despite that, the army of the Frankish king had not even looked to flee and now their loss would be Geoffrey’s gain.
The final plans had been reviewed in a war council meeting the night before. Foulquesson was handed the right, and Herve the left. Upon learning of it, Foulques’ stomach sank, as he expected his father to command the center.
But instead, he heard the words that continued to repeat in his mind over and over again, bringing a smile to his face.
“And to you, my son, I bestow the center,” Geoffrey had said. “I trust you can deliver the memorable thrashing on them that you promised back in Bordeaux.”
“I will give them a thrashing they will
never forget,” Foulques replied.
And he believed it - so much so that he thought it again in this moment and swore to himself he would let his father down… nor his grandfather.
He had much to live up to today, after all. For not only was his father present, but all but one of his uncles were as well. Along with Herve. The legacy of Foulques IV of Anjou, the Iron Duke of the Franks, gathered in one place. All armored. All mounted. All armed and ready to battle, even if his younger uncles Guilhem, Philippe and Ancel would be spectators, more than likely.
Foulques’ eldest uncle, Foulquesson, no doubt would look to achieve the most glory of them. He always had something to prove, given it was clear the young Foulques was the favorite of the Iron Duke. It had led to a healthy rivalry - nothing bitter or spiteful - but a competition of sorts.
And he probably is still bitter over not being handed the center… but he should not have cut Aubry’s hand off.
The prince had survived, and likely had sent word by now to his brother Duke Alphonse. But nothing had been passed back from the duke to Geoffrey - either he had not managed to yet, he was fighting the German Emperor after all, or Alphonse simply did not think it was worth ending their friendship over.
But that was not Foulques’ concern. If Alphonse wished to fight one day, he would learn the might of Anjou first hand.
However, that was something for the future. Today, thoughts of outdoing his uncle, carrying Geoffrey’s banner as they celebrated victory, the potential of capturing King Hugues himself, as the old Foulques once had King Ælfmær of England… Foulques had so much energy he wished the battle was about to begin.
But it was not - the sun was only now beginning to peak over the horizon. And he was in his cot, upright and pensive, but also ready and eager - and not just for battle.
His lovely wife lay to his side. The granddaughter of that aforementioned King Ælfmær - Foulques smirked.
Grandfather may have captured the Saxon king, but I am the one who has conquered his blood.
And he could have hardly asked for a better conquest. Æthelræda was a lovely young woman, kind and wise beyond her years, as the experience with the Knights Hospitaller a few months before had shown. She was a devoted wife, an able countess, and a good lover.
Not that he had much comparison, as she had been his
only lover. While he knew his father and many others in his family, male and female, were rather lecherous, he had not let himself be seduced by such impure thoughts. Not that he had not been tempted - in the days following the sacking of Barcelona and later Vic, Foulques had seen plenty of wenches he could have bedded, them willing or not.
But it was not what he desired. He wished for a son, and he wanted it by his wife, so he resolved not to waste his seed with other women. Especially since she was with him now on campaign, and always willing.
And so he laid back down and pressed himself against her, with the intent of gently waking her, as he laid soft kisses upon her shoulders, the back of her neck and up toward her face.
“You appetites are never ending, husband,” she said, her voice stronger than he expected.
“I did not realize you were awake,” he admitted. “Though I am glad you are.”
“I can see that,” Æthelræda replied. “As you were that I did not retire early last night.”
Foulques smirked. “You did say this is your time… that you believe it is the best opportunity for you to conceive a child.”
“I do think that,” Æthelræda said. “But I cannot say for certain. It may be in a few days, or week… I am not as experienced with this some other women in my father’s lands are.”
“Then we should leave nothing to chance,” Foulques said before kissing her again on the neck. “Though I would find it difficult to resist you anyway, even if you were in full bloom with child.”
Æthelræda blushed. “That would be sinful, husband.”
“A bridge we shall cross… when we come to it,” Foulques said. “So let us work toward that bridge.”
Æthelræda smirked before wrapping her arms around him, her body providing his with warmth on a chilly December dawn.
…..
It was mid-morning when Foulques rode out, alongside his father, his uncles, Herve and some Angevin knights. In the distance, the river Serpis, and the town of Gandia itself, provided the backdrop for what may well be the crucial action of the war.
The Angevins were met by King Hugues himself, along with Prince Henri, and some men Foulques did not recognize.
“Hugues, King of the Franks,” Geoffrey said, “I am glad you have come to meet with me.”
“I wished nothing to do with it,” Hugues spat. “You are a traitor and I would not wish to treat with any of you. But I humor my son.”
Geoffrey’s brow rose and with a sly grin, spun his gaze to Prince Henri. “My brother, there is no need for bloodshed.”
“You offer something?” Henri asked.
“Your lives,” Geoffrey said. “We would permit you to leave here today, you, your father, your knights and commanders, your full levy intact, provided you agree to recognize that we are vassals of the Frankish king no longer. We are free lords, kings in our own right, and your father’s equal.”
“Never,” Hugues barked. “I shall not listen to the demands of delusional traitors.”
He is one to talk, Foulques thought. And he suspected all those with them, and even perhaps Prince Henri, would agree.
“Melun has already fallen,” Geoffrey noted. “I received word a few days ago, and I am certain you have as well. Paris, shall be next. We outnumber you by four fold. You would toss away your lives for a lost cause. I am merciful - we are distant cousins by blood. But if you refuse, there shall not be quarter today - we will seek to hand you a defeat so heavy, the realm of the Franks may never recover.”
Foulques looked to Henri and for a brief moment, saw the look that reminded him of those he had fought when he stormed Barcelona and Vic - a look of fear in the face of impending doom.
But such an expression was not found on Hugues. The old man’s face, tanned and leathery from his time leading his men, scrunched up even further.
“You may set fire to my kingdom, Duke Geoffrey, but it shall remain
my kingdom even as the embers burn,” Hugues said. “I shall not see it sundered. I shall not see it destroyed. My ancestors, Clovis, Charles the Hammer, Charlamagne, Hugues Capet… they fought and overcame foes greater than a weak, limp wristed lord who dresses up like his father.”
Geoffrey’s brow rose. “You list great men, all of whom I also share the blood of - well except the usurper Hugues Capet. But he is hardly one I concern myself with. I also can look to my ancestors and find those who were Roman in name and blood. And they can look upon me and know I carry out their will, instead of rambling madly at the ghosts of my predecessor.”
“That is enough!” Hugues shouted. “Do you wish to battle here, Duke Geoffrey?! I will strike you down myself.”
Foulques tossed a glance toward his uncle Foulquesson, who smirked. He likely imagined he would have no problem with an old, mad king, whose body grew more infirm by the day.
“Father,” Henri said as he rode in front of Hugues. “Duke Geoffrey, we shall see you on the battlefield.”
“No, I shall kill him myself!” Hugues shouted.
But the king was shepherded away by the prince and the knights by his side. The would be no duel today, unless it took place in the chaos of the coming fight between the armies.
Foulques did wonder if his father would have taken the challenge had Prince Henri not quickly intervened. The king was not exactly in a state to win a single combat against anyone, but Geoffrey was also not one to solve such matters by dueling.
No, he wouldn’t, Foulques thought.
That is not what father does. He talks. It falls to me to be his steel, as grandfather told me before he died.
The meeting with Hugues done, they returned to their camp and Geoffrey looked to them all.
“Today we can all but end this war,” he said. “The enemy may lack in our numbers, and our leadership, but we cannot underestimate them. So long as we treat them as we would any other foe, we shall be victorious. Good luck, I shall be with our reserve, ready to move to your aid if necessary.”
The group dispersed but Geoffrey held Foulques back. It wasn’t surprising - Geoffrey usually had something to tell his son before Foulques went off to fight.
“How do you feel?” Geoffrey asked him.
“Ready,” Foulques said. “I have commanded the center before, but as you said, if we win… I should like to bring the mad king before you. If I can catch him.”
Geoffrey smiled. “That would be wonderful. But remember our goal is simply victory. He may escape but, it will not save him, if he has no levy to call upon, especially as his holdings fall to us.”
Foulques nodded. Then Geoffrey looked at him square and gripped him by the shoulders.
“I offer nothing to you, son, except my belief in you,” Geoffrey said. “I have no doubt you shall win the day. We fight to win a kingdom and when history looks back, it shall see us both as having fought to forge it. You do me proud, as you do your mother, your sisters, your brother and your wife. And... your grandfather… as well.”
Foulques took a deep breath, his chest puffing out, as a wide smile came to his face. He wanted to believe such things, and the way his father spoke, the father who he knew did not value war as he did politics, Foulques found it easy to.
“I will not fail you, father, or them,” he swore.
Geoffrey pulled him into a tight embrace. “Be well. And if you have need of anything, whether it be your men or the others, do not hesitate to call upon me. I will bring the reserve forward - it no poor reflection on anyone to have need of assistance.”
Foulques nodded. He did not intend to need help.
The teen mounted his horse and headed off to take command.
Today… today will be a day which defines us. And it falls on me to make certain that we like what comes of that.
…..
There was grunting, shouting, screaming, metal hitting wood, metal hitting metal and more.
All of that was drowned out by the sound of the horn.
The horn that signified the charge. The charge of Foulques and his third wave of cavalry, that had reached a speed of gallop, and was about to smash into the side of the group of spearmen, who were engaged with infantry.
The horn faded and the rumbling of the horses, sounding like rolling thunder in the distance, overtook all. Then the clap, the smashing of wood against shield, armor and yes, bone and flesh. Rib cages shattered, skulls crushed and lines broken.
Foulques jabbed his broken lance forward, as it was easier to find a mark now as the enemy line lost cohesion. And soon, it broke, as three waves of knights slamming into the opposition’s side and rear rapidly destroyed morale and any semblance of discipline.
It had been easy. There simply had not enough enemy knights to do anything but delay them. While the archers had skirmished in anticipation for the infantry battle, Foulques had aggressively sent his light cavalry forward, hoping to draw out their opposite numbers. And sure enough, they did, but his forces so heavily outnumbered the enemy, the fight was not prolonged.
With enemy cavalry in the center chased off, Foulques had unleashed his heavy cavalry, his knights, with impunity. And now, their work done, he could withdraw them, and watch the devastating effect they had on the cohesion of the enemy force.
Now, with the spearmen broken on one part of the line, his infantry could use their superior numbers to flank their enemy. As they did so, the enemy line grew more porous and finally melted away entirely, the infantry rushing off to give chase.
Foulques smiled. The center was won. The rest would follow.
“They are in flight, my lord,” Mayor Guigues said. “Shall we pursue?”
Foulques looked to his second. The mayor of Chatellerault was over 10 years his elder, but quite adept at leading men.
“How does the rest of the battle fare? On the right and left?”
“Your uncle Foulquesson, makes progress on our right, though it is slow,” Guigues said. “Herve struggles some on the left. We have made the quickest work in the center.”
Pursuit while the enemy flanks were intact was dangerous. They could find themselves deep behind enemy lines and cut off. On the other hand, they also did not want the fleeing men to be rallied and reformed.
“Send some of our lightly armored horsemen to pursue,” Foulques ordered. “They are not to chase too far, just make certain the enemy does not return to the battlefield.”
“And the rest of our center?” Guigues asked.
“Herve still struggles to break their right,” Foulques said. “Let us contribute - we shall destroy two parts of the enemy army today.”
….
He knew it would not be long.
This enemy right flank was more stubborn than what Foulques had faced in the center, but every man had their limits. Brave as these men were, Herve’s flank had pushed them, and now their lines groaned under the pressure of the weight of Foulques’ infantry turned upon their own flank.
And now it was time to deliver the coup de grace.
He and his knights had armed themselves with fresh, unbroken lances and maneuvered to the enemy rear. They were ready. The horn sounded and they charged forward.
The impact into the occupied enemy was devastating as expected. Slamming into their rear, the knights combined with the Angevin infantry to form a vice upon the enemy infantry, squeezing them crushing them between the two forces.
There was one problem - Foulques did not give the enemy room to flee. They were near encircled. He hoped they would throw down their swords and spears to beg for mercy, but they had not... yet.
Then I shall charge them again, he thought.
It will give them space, which may cause them to panic. Then when he hit them again, they will be completely broken.
And so he gave the signal for the knights to pull back but as he did, he heard something he did not expect.
The sound of another horn… a counter charge by the enemy?
Foulques himself was not hit as the enemy knights crashed into his own. But it did cause some disruption in his unit - and most dangerously, it pinned them between enemy cavalry and infantry as he had to the enemy moments before.
They would be squeezed on both sides. Infantry able to pick them off in the scrum on their large targets, the horses themselves possibly driven into a panic, while on the other side they would fight evenly matched knights to themselves.
More knights?! I thought I had dealt with them all! How?! Did I miss them?
The teen clutched his shield as his stomach felt tighten and twist into knots.
Was this… fear?
“Surrendering to fear - letting it control your life,” he remembered his grandfather telling him years before. “That is what makes a man craven. But fear, no, fear is not in itself bad. It is a natural thing - necessary for a man to remember that he is mortal. One must fear at times for his life, or that of his family. But he must not be held by it - he must use it to drive himself when necessary.”
I will not let it overtake me, Foulques thought.
I will fight my way through it all.
He was closer to the knights. So that is where he would fight. To drive off those that had pinned them and free his men from the pincer. His broken lance would be ineffective against them, so he dropped it and pulled forth a heavy mace - one that may not pierce armor but could smash and break what lay underneath.
Moving through the scrum was difficult. His own men were stuck in all around him. He spun his head as a man near the infantry fell from view,
Guigues! he realized - was he knocked off or did they take down his horse? Perhaps it did not matter - his fate was likely the same.
He felt the fear again, but repeated his grandfather’s words to himself once more and then turned his focus forward.
It was just in time to see that he was being eyed by an enemy knight. Armed with a sword, the man’s reach would be better than Foulques’. But it was a trade off - if Foulques was able to get inside of that reach, he would likely have easy pickings.
Of course, that was easier said than done. Foulques blocked an initial stab and then another with his shield. He did not even try to counter - his mace would not reach. Instead it was trying to maneuver his horse in closer, all while keeping the focus on his enemy. It would have been impossible on the other side of the scrum, where infantry had packed them in. Here, there was just enough room to pull this off.
A glint of light caught his eye. He threw up his other arm as instinct to push the blade away. The feel of a stinging, throbbing soon followed. His mail had absorbed most of the blow, though he would feel it in the morning.
That is why that is worth its wait in gold, Foulques thought of his hauberk, which was cut longer than the a standard soldier or knight’s with the sleeve down to his glove. Between that and the leathers he wore, it would take a good, clean strike fell him. That wasn’t it.
Meanwhile, he was now close enough to counter with his mace and caught the knight’s sword arm. The blow wasn’t clean - but it didn’t need to be - as the force of the impact did enough damage to the man that he dropped his weapon. Moving quickly, Foulques swung hard and caught the man on the side - again he did not penetrate, but could practically feel the body clench as the impact shattered what lay inside. And for good measure, Foulques quickly jabbed out his shield, knocking the man in the face and from his horse and to the ground.
One down.
Foulques’ sense of pride was soon brought back down to earth however as he looked up and saw his men still struggling against the opposition cavalry on one side, and on the other being dehorsed and attacked by the enemy infantry.
Many to go. Too many…
Foulques shook his head.
No, did grandfather look at the enemy at Rouen and say there were too many? I will beat them as I beat that knight.
Then, another horn. Blaring before, but becoming overwhelming as it neared.
Another charge.
But from who?
If this was another wave of enemy knights, as it would be prudent to be, Foulques might well be finished. They might not lose the battle, Foulquesson and Herve were doing their parts, but he might not live to see the victory celebrations.
Then cries of shock and panic soon spread - through the enemy ranks.
The charge was from the Angevin side. The banner of three golden bull heads on a red background, his father’s personal standard, was seen - even if Foulques did not see Geoffrey, this was his charge.
Father… has saved… me?
There was an irony in it as the battle once more turned. Geoffrey had led the reserve forward - without being summoned. Becoming his own steel - something Foulques had always assumed would fall to him. It was what his grandfather had told him to be. And what he always intended to be.
Yes, it had happened in the Gascony war. But that was planned. Foulques had been the decoy then. This was different. This was meant to be Foulques’ moment… and his father had to salvage it for him.
And thus the teen was left uncertain - feeling humbled that his father had been forced to ride to his aid, and yet prideful that his father did have a warrior’s heart after all.
But in that moment, Foulques felt something. He turned quickly and saw an object fast moving toward him - a shield he soon realized, as the wood struck him clean in the face, exposed as his helmet did not cover it - causing a moment of sudden, intense pain…
Foulques glanced around. It was a curious thing… disorienting. The battle was moving slowly and yet it was speeding by his eyes. The man who had struck him must have done it as a passing blow as he rode by, as Foulques felt nothing else - no sharp pain of a stab piercing his armor or crushing pain of a mace blow.
A salty taste in his mouth…
blood?
And yet the strangest thing was the odd feeling that he was falling… before a sharp pain coursed through his head and extremities, briefly, until just as suddenly, it all went dark.
