Before Plantagenet - Chapter 87
February 1096 - Autun, France
The sounds of the early morning had already begun to filter into Foulques tent as he looked up to the underside of the fabric canopy. It had been surprisingly quiet the night before despite the presence of over 9000 men in total.
And yet Foulques had not slept at all.
He bounded from his cot, armor already equipped, boots on, and sword at his belt. He was greeted by the sun, still low in the clear sky, and the crisp, cold morning air. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A smile came to his face.
A perfect day for battle.
And what a battle it promised to be. The king's forces had moved against Boudewijn's which now grouped near Autun after retaking Hugues' keep in Dijon. Like at Saintonge, most of the major lords of the realm were present. Even Toulouse had returned from Dauphine, his war with the Emperor ending inconclusively after the Emperor was overthrown by his own rebels - he would command the left.
Alberic, smarting over his defeat with Geoffrey and dealing with more discontent in the territory he kept, remained at the king’s request, with the promise he could leave after this engagement. He would command the right.
There was even the oddity of a woman present among the knights. Countess Almodis, the woman who had rebelled against Hugues, accompanied her levy along with her husband, Eudes of Vermandois. Foulques had seen her arrive in full armor, her hauberk and helmet, at first making her hard to distinguish from any other knight. He was pleasantly surprised upon seeing her, with the scar she had earned fighting Hugues forces in her own rebellion across her face only seeming to enhance her mystique and appeal.
Had her husband not been here… Foulques had thought to himself. And he suspected he was not alone in that.
On the other side, Boudewijn was at the head of the rebels, with Hugues of Burgundy alongside. Like at Saintonge, Philipp of Champagne was not present. But this time, there was a chance he might arrive, as rumors swirled his army marched from the north.
The forces of Champagne would not even things up, but it would make the gap smaller. The rebels had over 6000 under Bourdewijn and Hugues, while Champagne had another 1700 or so.
There was an air of finality, and yet uncertainty about. And it was glorious.
Foulques wandered toward the hitching post, where his and many of the lords’ horses were kept. There, to his surprise, he found his nephew, in his armor, looking about his own mount.
“Inspecting to make sure he is fit?” Foulques asked.
Herve nodded. “I am. It seems there is a great battle ahead of us. I wished to make certain my courser is ready. And… I did not sleep much.”
Foulques smiled and patted his nephew on the back. “Good man.”
“I have heard you speak to the king that you believe we will win the war here today,” Herve said. “Do you speak to raise his spirits, or is it truth?”
It was true the king’s spirits did need lifting. He had suffered a frustrating setback - ironically in victory.
The vanguard, lead by Alberic, had stumbled upon some knights from Champagne, and had heard they were being accompanied by their liege lord. Upon telling the king, Philippe had rushed forward with part of the larger army in order to prevent his escape.
He had succeeded and even killed the lord. But it was frustratingly revealed to be Count Henri of Sens - the man who was leading the rebellion against Philipp of Champagne.
“YOU FOOL!” Philippe had bellowed at Alberic. “Because of your faulty intelligence we have slain my enemy’s enemy! You have won his war for him!”
Foulques still remembered how Alberic had turned white as a ghost, perhaps fearful that becoming a spirit was going to be his fate sooner rather than later. And perhaps it would have been, had Foulques and Toulouse not restrained Philippe from further action.
While neither man liked Alberic, the truth was he had not guaranteed it to be Philipp of Champagne. The king had jumped to that conclusion on his own accord.
Calmer heads did prevail. Philippe, for all his anger, could not risk losing Alberic’s levy, and killing him would have sent Poitou and Gascony into further chaos as he had no sons, nor did have a wife yet. So he received a dressing down, assurances that the king had been talked out of it by his generous dukes but allowed to continue.
So the king did need good news. However, Foulques did truly believe this would break the rebels - there were only so many defeats the lords could take before they lost faith in their leaders. And Boudewijn had yet to win a large engagement with the king - in truth, only Champagne had achieved any lasting success against him.
“I speak the truth,” Foulques said. “These lords believed Boudewijn could lead them to victory. But as he is smashed by the king at every turn, they lose heart. Eventually, they will see no hope and flee from him, throwing themselves at the king’s mercy.”
“You mean you smash Boudewijn at every turn, uncle,” Herve said. “You are his marshal.”
“My victories are the king’s,” Foulques said. “It is important you realize that.”
“Of… of course uncle,” Herve said. “I did not mean to speak out of turn.”
“No, it is an important lesson,” Foulques said. “As is this - you do what you can for your liege, but you are not his slave. If he treats you as such, you may well need to find a new lord.”
Herve nodded.
“You must be careful about it in those situations, though,” Foulques said. “Or you may end up like these fools on the other side.”
Again Herve nodded, but Foulques could see the somewhat blank expression of his nephew’s face.
He will never have a mind for politics. But that was fine - he could have a fine career as a blunt force to hammer the enemies of Anjou with.
Perhaps it was for the best. Geoffrey would need that hammer. Foulques knew his son had no real stomach for battle and he doubted he ever would develop it. After all, if he wanted to, he’d be here now.
But the new Duke of Aquitaine was in Bordeaux. His excuse was that he had no levy to contribute to the king - just a few knights. It was such a paltry number that Philippe had essentially excused him from his duty, for now.
More likely, his paltry levy made any possible conflict with Alberic not worth Philippe’s time. But Foulques had no doubt that if Geoffrey wished to be here, he would be.
So Foulques was left with the strange feeling of living a moment he had thought of before - being alongside his son as they prepared to ride off in a potentially grand battle - yet having it happen with his nephew instead.
Still, if he was not to have the moment with Geoffrey, Herve was an acceptable substitute. He had found himself growing fond of the boy over the last year. Foulques had even arranged for Herve to marry the daughter of his chancellor Godfrey de Boulogne, Sybille, though that would be done likely in the summer.
There remained that slight bit of nervousness for Herve’s safety before a battle - each new addition to the boy’s life just made it worse. But Foulques had to trust that God would see the boy back safely - he knew his own first duty remained with the king.
The sound of footsteps and movement around them caused Foulques to look around. Other lords were moving to their mounts and looking them over before combat. Among them, the Countess Almodis, who stood out now, as she did not wear her helmet, so her long, reddish locks were tied up in a pair of buns.
Foulques tapped his nephew on the shoulder and walked up to the lady, who unaccompanied by her husband at the moment.
The king planned to place her forces in the center - as an honor for her long-running rebellion against Hugues. Foulques was uncertain he would see her actually fight, but he was looking forward to the possibility of finding out.
“It is an uncommon thing to see a lady in battle,” Foulques said to her as she stood by her mount - a destrier - a prized war horse which only few lords in the realm, Foulques among them, could call their own.
Almodis did not turn to him, instead keeping her eyes on her saddle, which she appeared to be inspecting. “It is because you have not spent much time in Burgundy, Duke Foulques. I have spent many of the last few years fighting against the tyranny of Duke Hugues.”
“I had heard,” Foulques said.
A sudden jerk of her head brought her eyes in line with his. “You heard but did not listen. Had you, you would have known the overgrown ambitions he harbored. And perhaps this war could have been stopped.”
Foulques pulled his head back. He did not expect that.
“Your tongue is sharp girl,” Foulques said.
“And my blade sharper,” Almodis said. “As many of Hugues’ knights have learned.”
“Is that how you came to acquire your scar?” Foulques asked.
“A scar in one fight,” Almodis said. “This destrier in another. Such is the way in war.”
“And do you consider yourself an expert in matters of war?” Foulques asked.
“I do not fashion myself anything,” Almodis said. “Except what I am - a countess, a wife, and a leader of men. What you make of it is your choice, Duke Foulques.”
“You are a fascinating woman,” he replied.
She mounted her steed and placed her helmet on head.
“And you have much in common with most dukes that I have met,” Almodis said. “Though at least you at least sniff before attempting to bite, unlike your foolish nephew Gilles.”
Before Foulques could respond, the countess had given her horse a kick with and the beast galloped off.
The duke shook his head. In his youth he may have made a more serious play toward her. Now, he was merely content to take in the sight and spectacle of it all.
He might approach her again - but only because he wished to hear how she dealt with his lecherous nephew.
….
The battle raged. And yet, it was only about to begin.
The footsoldiers of the two sides battled in the center. That fight was a slog with no clear winner. The king’s forces had the numbers, but flanking was not simple as the rebels shifted to avoid it. So the larger force of men literally pushed forward, but made little progress.
But it was hardly a surprise. The cavalry engagement was where things would really be decided.
Boudewijn had gambled. He had arrayed his flanks defensively, meant to stall. He had placed the bulk of his cavalry in the center, in hopes of matching Philippe, who had spread his larger force out more evenly.
And underlying in Philippe’s thinking was that his men were just better than his enemies. He had long believed it, and even Foulques had to admit, they had rarely given him reason to doubt it.
So Foulques raised his arm and gave the order to charge. The first wave of knights made their trot across the open battlefield, followed by a gallop as they closed. The rebels mirrored the action until the two sides crashed into each other and the cavalry engagement truly began.
Foulques and Philippe were not among the initial charge. And neither was Boudewijn. Both sides held forces in reserve, ready to launch their attacks in waves. Philippe wished to be in the final, and in his mind decisive, wave, to which Foulques had no objections to. Since he would be beside the king, he would have vantage of the battle, and be able to adjust as necessary.
The early part of the engagement seemed to be going the way of king’s forces, though it was not easy to tell for certain. One tell may have been the movement of the rebels across the field. A horn went up. Their next wave was set to charge.
“Should we send our men to meet them?” Philippe asked.
“No,” Foulques said. “I believe our knights can withstand this charge. We will wait until they are committed and then launch our next wave.”
Philippe gave a nod and their eyes returned to the battlefield. The king’s forces did buckle under the second attack, but it did not break. For minutes, Foulques watched, seeing the pressure on his initial knights. As they started to lose ground, Foulques gave the order for the next wave to charge.
Boudewijn seemed to mirror this by sending a third wave to counter that immediately.
“We’re outnumbered in the melee,” Philippe said. “We should send the third wave in.”
“That’s what he wants us to do,” Foulques said. “For it to devolve into a mess, a scrum. We must remain disciplined. If we wait long enough, an opportunity will emerge.”
“You had better be right,” Philippe said. “I grow tired of the failures of my dukes.”
“Then be grateful you were wise enough to give me this role, instead of Alberic,” Foulques said.
Philippe could not resist a smirk.
Though that smirk faded a bit as his forces struggled to reclaim the initiative. Foulques knew Boudewijn would likely send a new wave to counter his own, so he waited once more, watching as the king’s forces buckled, before sending in this next wave, of which Herve and the Angevin cavalry were among.
He watched his nephew charge into battle, shouting at the top of his lungs, urging his comrades to follow. And the old duke could not help but smile and swell with pride - the boy may not be of his house in name, but he was in spirit.
But as difficult as it was to take his eyes off him, Foulques knew he had to to maintain a watch on the whole field. It was equally painful to see Boudewijn launch another wave in, crash into the king’s forces. Though he did not see Herve fall, Foulques lost sight of him in the melee.
“I think now is the time,” Philippe said.
“No, he recklessly charges his knights forward to commit them,” Foulques replied. “He wants us to do the same.”
“Yes, in the melee,” Philippe said. “But that is where he makes his error. We should bypass the melee and charge him directly. We will outnumber him in that fight. And if we can capture him, we can end the war today!”
“We leave our men in the melee,” Foulques said. “I trust them to hold for a time, but I do not know if they will last the length this melee with Boudewijn you propose. If they break, we could be hit from both sides.”
“And if we break them faster, we can rout them,” Philippe said. “I doubt he expects such a rash decision. He will not expect it. That is to our advantage.”
The king was likely right about that - Boudewijn probably did not think Philippe would be bold or foolish enough to make such a charge.
There was some merit in it. If they caught Boudewijn by surprise, they might rout him quickly, then chase the remainder of his cavalry from the field. That would eliminate the possible threat of Champagne’s arrival, and likely turn the battle completely in their favor.
And, if they ever could capture him.
But then Foulques looked back at the melee knowing he might be leaving his nephew and many other Angevin knights in harm’s way. He trusted them to hold but if he saw them falter, he could send in reinforcements from their current position. If they charged Boudewijn, that would not be possible.
Philippe had his eyes focused on his rival across the battlefield. The king’s lust would not be sated by patience. And there was merit in what he proposed. It was bold, even if it may have been foolish.
“Let us charge,” Foulques said. “We will send our next wave forward, but they shall veer away from the melee. Then we shall move forth and engage Boudewijn directly.”
Philippe smiled broadly. “Let us go forth then.”
Foulques closed his eyes and raised his hand. The horn was blown and the next wave moved toward the melee. Boudewijn’s cavalry did the same. But as Foulques had instructed, the king’s forces did not go to the melee - they veered and slammed into the oncoming rebel knights. Then Foulques gave the order for the remainder of the king’s forces to maneuver around the two scraps and make quickly for Boudewijn’s position.
If they had been on a hill, it would have been completely inadvisable. But Boudewijn’s slight elevation would not stop them. And soon, he realized it, as he sent his forces forward against them.
The rebels did hold one advantage - they could wait until launching their charge. In order to make certain they did not allow Boudewijn much flexibility with his forces, Foulques had moved his knights quickly across the field, at a near gallop. So their steeds would not be as fresh as their enemies when they attacked - but he hoped the difference in numbers would be enough to win the day.
The knights did not veer and crashed into each other’s lines in a hail of splintering wood from lances while the thunder of horses and men colliding rumbled the earth like a violent thunderstorm. Boudewijn had initially deployed this group wide to match Philippe’s charge, but the depth and successive flank from the rear of the king’s forces put the Duke of Flanders’ forces in a difficult spot.
As Foulques moved through the melee, he spotted the banner of the Duke of Flanders. His first instinct was to engage him but as he looked to his right, he saw the king on his own. And then he noticed a rebel knight moving toward Philippe - who bore the insignia of the Duke of Burgundy on his shield.
Deciding against moving against Boudewijn, Foulques veered and moved toward the king to render aid if it was needed. It was simply too important a moment - Foulques had long since abandoned belief in his king’s skills at personal combat and if Hugues wounded or killed Philippe, they would all be lost.
But it was not as simple as moving to him. A knight moved to intercept Foulques. A middle-aged man with a greying-beard, Foulques guessed this was a man of experience. He showed it, not giving away much as Foulques feinted with his sword and shield.
A sudden aggressive move by the knight actually caught Foulques off guard. The hacks and cuts were blocked by the duke’s shield, but he found himself struggling to regain the initiative.
Then a cut caught Foulques arm. It stung, but Foulques could not look to see if the blade had penetrated his mail. Regardless it slowed him further.
Then all of a sudden, the knight fell forward toward Foulques, who quickly drove his sword into an exposed part of the man - at the base of his neck. Blood spurted onto the duke’s face, and he let the knight fall.
When Foulques looked up, he saw a friendly knight. He raised his sword to him.
“The fortune of war smiles upon you today Duke Foulques,” Almodis said. “Do not forget it.”
The duke’s eyes widened at the sound of her voice. But he remembered himself. “We need to hurry to the king. He battles Hugues of Burgundy.”
Almodis did not need to be told twice as she kicked her horse toward where Foulques pointed. The two arrived just in time to see a vicious strike come down on the gloved hand, nearly severing it from the body.
And the Duke of Burgundy howled in pain.
It may have been unexpected for Philippe, for the king did not follow up his strike immediately. And that allowed other rebel knights to join in to try to save their lord. Foulques and Almodis joined their king, as did other loyal men.
The scrum around Hugues did not last long however. The rebels began to pull back en masse.
“They are in panic,” Philippe said. “We must give pursuit.”
“My lord!”
Foulques, Philippe and Almodis turned to see a friendly knight ride up.
“My lord, our men behind begin to break, we must give them aid!”
Philippe’s face, already flush from combat, turned even redder. “We can end this now!”
“Not if our cavalry breaks!” Foulques said. “They can regroup and we will be trapped between them. We can fall on them as they think they win, and their organization falls, rout them, and the crush Boudewijn’s infantry.”
“And if Boudewijn and Hugues escape, again?” Philippe demanded.
“We will leave them no army to escape with!” Foulques shouted.
Philippe looked out toward where his enemy ran and then glanced back to the melee behind. “Turn and crush the rebels behind us.”
The horn was blown and the men quickly regrouped once more. Foulques, with the countess by his side, led the men back toward the melee.
….
The celebrations were loud. And they were joyous.
Foulques sat on a stool, cup of wine in hand, with the arm that was bruised from the blow earlier, but fortunately not cut. His face was still covered in mud and blood, having not found a good stream to wash in. Perhaps tomorrow, he thought. Tonight, he would relax his sore, aching body.
And he was not alone. Around him in the command tent, many of the lords drank. A few danced, though Countess Almodis was not among them, rejecting even requests from her husband to do so, instead choosing to merely drink and speak with the other lords.
Herve did dance, though Foulques could not help but smirk at how awkward the boy looked as he tried to move along to the music the minstrels played.
He lives, and that is enough, Foulques reminded himself.
The mood was so high that even Alberic was smiling - and was joking around with Toulouse.
There was one man who did not appear to smile, however. And that man quietly slipped from the tent and into the darkness outside. Foulques followed.
It was not before they were some distance from the tent that Philippe finally spoke.
“We win another battle, but the war will continue,” the king said.
“You may have taken Hugues hand,” Foulques said. “An impressive feat.”
“I need
more than impressive feats,” Philippe said. “I need them finally beaten. This war drags on. Our gold reserves dwindle. We weaken further. And I know not what happens to my family.”
“You blame me for not pursuing Boudewijn?” Foulques asked.
Philippe sighed and shook his head. “Philipp of Champagne did not take the field.”
“Yes, it guaranteed our victory,” Foulques noted.
“And guaranteed this war will continue,” Philippe said. “If not for him, this war would be over. He holds my family - my wife, my heirs! Without them… the lords would already be abandoning Boudewijn, and throwing themselves at us for mercy.”
“Then we must defeat Philipp of Champagne,” Foulques said.
“Do you think it that easy?” Philippe demanded. “If it were, we would have already done so. But… but he is no fool. No, I begin to think he is the brain of the beast. And I do not think he will allow us to strike him.”
“We will find a way, my king,” Foulques said.
But Philippe said nothing, instead staring out into the darkness of the night. And Foulques found himself unable to do anything else but join him.