THE CONQUEST OF SICILY - CONT.
LORD DURHAM:
January 20, 1551 - 6:14am
I couldn't sleep. It probably had something to do with the incessant thunderclap of the siege artillery. Palermo was close to finished. Her fortifications had been reduced to near rubble. The Army of the Holy Cross had erected a series of earthworks which had successfully shut down any foraging expeditions made by the inhabitants of Palermo while Lord Admiral Colonna and his navy swept the waters of any attempts of re-supply at sea. Frankly there wasn't much food left to forage anyway. The army had done its locust thing.
Col.Fossano was adamant about turning back any inhabitants who tried to flee the city. He reasoned the extra mouths would finish off the city food supplies faster. He was probably right, but I had trouble dealing with the innocents that only wanted to escape the madness. To the Colonel's credit he did relent partially and allow women and children safe passage.
Early in the siege I had found a spot that gave me a good view of the city and surrounding area. There was a particularly ancient tree that I would sit under to write the Company histories. In time the Company referred to it as the Clerk's Spot. At one point several of the men wrestled a flat boulder under the tree that was perfect for sitting on. Shortly after that a crude table appeared. Nothing was ever said. The Company looked after it's own.
This morning I sat under my tree watching Palermo burn. Fire licked upwards and danced off the low cast clouds bathing the area in a dull red glow. It was kind of beautiful in a perverse way. I don't know how long I sat there lost in thought, but I finally sensed a presence near me. I glanced over to see Captain standing close by, arms crossed, watching the same view I was taking in. He acknowledged me with a quick nod then continued to watch in silence. I am not sure how long this went on for. We were both lost in our private moments. Finally I sensed he was no longer near and when I looked, I was alone once again.
January 25, 1551 - 11:58am
"Mortlock! Stop daydreaming!"
Givens handed me the dice. I took them between my hands and shook vigorously, looking skyward to the good Lord. I let them drop with a flourish. A one and a three. "Damn!" I said, crossing myself. "The dice are no good." I scooped the bone cubes up and handed them to MacPhearson on my left. He moved his right hand from his hip, shook the dice once and tossed them quickly to the ground. Six and four. His hand went back to his hip. The other one had never left his knee.
"Dice seem fine to me," he said.
I looked over my shoulder at Palermo. "That place has to surrender soon."
Walker asked, "Why? You have today in the pool?"
"Naw," I replied. "I had two days ago. I don't know who has today."
Greer mumbled, "Probably one of de Lion's men. They always seem to win the pools."
"Look," I said. "Let's make some assumptions."
"You're an asshole?"
"He already knows that"
"He sure can vomit"
"That's not an assumption, jerk. That's a fact."
I threw up my hands. "Alright. Alright. No sense starting an intelligent conversation with any of you clowns."
"You can always talk to the Clerk."
"Yeah. Maybe he'll listen to 'ya."
"Right, Mortlock. We're all sick and tired of you anyway."
"Do us all a favour and go talk to the Clerk."
I sat back and crossed my arms. "You guys trying to tell me something?" I looked over my shoulder again.
"You're gonna hurt your neck if you keep doing that."
"Whoa," I said, standing. "There's movement at the main gate. Something's up."
January 26, 1551 - 9:42am
Captain sat with his Lieutenants. All ten of them. The tent they occupied was not overly large but it blocked the cool morning breeze that crossed the camp. I had my usual position just to the right and slightly behind Captain, writing implements ready. There was a jovial feel to the meeting. Palermo had officially surrendered yesterday around mid-day and what was left of the garrison had been rounded up and escorted away God knows where by elements of the Papal army. The next stage of the campaign was about to begin.
"Col. Fossano sends his regards and thanks," Captain began.
Lt. Nicklee slapped his knee, "Wine and women would be more like it!"
"All in good time, Lieutenant."
Oh-oh. Captain was stone-faced. All business. It meant he didn't like what he had to say. The Lieutenants caught the mood and settled down.
"The Colonel marches back to Messina tomorrow. He wants to leave us and a company of Papal troops behind as garrison."
The men looked to each other. De La Croix said, "Garrison duty? Nothing wrong with that. I for one don't want to stand in front of Messina again waiting for that city to open its gates to us."
"Aye," echoed Thebarge. "This time of year the forage will be poor. The men could use some rest."
D'Silva spoke up, "My guns, Captain?"
The men looked to d'Silva as realization dawned. Captain rubbed the back of his head. "Lieutenant d'Silva will go with Col. Fossano to Messina with the artillery. Lieutenants Nicklee and Fridman will go with him as escort. That will leave us with about 2400 infantry and 400 cavalry, plus the Papal pop-in-jays. I don't want to risk the horses anyway. The toll on the draught animals pulling that artillery will be bad enough.
Lt. Mayke said, "I vill half trouble feeding my cavalry ast it ist. Zey are vetter use here foraging for food."
"Agreed," Captain said. "We shall occupy the city today. Thebarge, have your men secure some quarters, preferably something close to the docks but away from the stench. Mayke, take your cavalry and round up any supplies you can find. No looting though, these people are Papal subjects now. We will establish our own stockpile. De La Croix, your men have first watch and patrol. Gentas, when we're settled I want you to organise the locals into work details. These walls have to be rebuilt." He looked back to me, "Clerk, take some of Sergeant Simon's men and check the city offices. I want detailed lists of everything there is to know about this place. Businesses, names, guilds, rivalries, who-hates-who, everything. I want to keep these good citizens on edge so they won't think we're the only enemy."
I swallowed. Why did I always get the easy stuff?
"How long do we stay here Captain."
"Your guess is as good as mine."
April 10, 1551 - 2:02pm
I sat on a dock not far from the quarters where Sgt. Vimy and us resided. It was a merchant's office with attached warehouse that had been politely requisitioned from its owners. At least we thought we were polite about it. We were off duty for three days and the men had scattered to take advantage of the break. Several of the boys were thigh-deep in water struggling with a fishing net. They had vowed to supply us with our evening meal. The net was winning.
A shadow blocked the sun and I looked up at the silhouette. Facca moved to sit down beside me. The dock was low enough that our feet could dangle in the water. I had removed my boots and rolled up my pantaloons to do just that.
Facca looked at my feet and nodded to the men with the net saying, "They put you here to drive the fishies to them Hack?"
"Naw. But if you look into the water it might do the job."
Facca went through a production of removing his boots and rolling up his pant legs. He dipped his feet in the water and sighed, "I haven't done this since I was a lad."
"You were young once? I can't picture that."
"Yeah. Long time ago. You know what Hack? I can't even remember where I was born. I don't remember my family. My mother. My father. This Company's the only family I know."
I was kind of surprised at the outburst. "You're not going to cry on me are you Facca?"
He laughed, "Hell no." There was a pause as we watched the so-called fishermen stumble and flounder in the water.
"The fish are probably under the dock laughing their heads off at those buffoons," I said.
Facca grunted, "I heard some news."
I was all ears.
"A messenger came into the city today from Messina. The siege continues. I was told d'Silva and the boys are OK."
"Good," I said. That was the most important part. They were of the Company.
"He said the Pope has sent troops to Sardinia to siege the capital."
That was news.
"Anything else?" I asked.
"No," he replied. We went back to watching the boys make fools of themselves.
"Nice place, this." Facca said wistfully. "A man could settle here."
Boy did I catch him in a rare mood.
August 15, 1551 - 3:33pm
Captain and Lord Admiral Colonna walked with a purpose along the wooden dock towards the Admiral's flagship. The sound of their footsteps beat out a steady cadence as the wood amplified the heavy tread of their boots. Spaced at regular intervals were Sergeant Storey's men, standing at what was considered attention as far as the Company was concerned. Storey's men were probably chosen because of their red sashes. The sashes almost made them look like soldiers.
"Word is this Colonna is as good as they get." I said, " A real leader,"
"Listen to Mortlock. Ever the judge of men."
"As good as Captain, boy?"
I shook my head, "No man's the Captain. I just heard that Colonna's given the Spanish fits. Any man that can best the Spaniards at sea is OK in my books."
For once the men had nothing to say.
August 15, 1551 - 3:44pm
I stood off to the side as Captain, Admiral Colonna and several senior officers finished their conversation. Finally Captain and the Admiral gripped arms in farewell. The Admiral turned on his heel and boarded the magnificent Papal flagship. Captain waited a few moments to watch, then walked several feet away from the edge of the dock. His Lieutenants followed to group around him. I slipped in between them. So used they were to me they automatically made room.
"Do you think he'll find them?" De La Croix asked.
Captain shrugged, "There's a lot of water out there."
Thebarge mused, "I wish he knew how many ships there were. It would help to know if the Spanish were coming here for sure."
Mayke scratched the back of his neck, "Vhat ist it you vant me to do Captain?"
Captain thought for a second, "Right. Mayke, take your cavalry and patrol the shoreline. Use your discretion. If you see something, report it immediately. No heroics."
Lieutenant Mayke nodded and stalked off towards his waiting sergeants.
"The rest of you get your commands briefed. We have no idea if the Spanish are coming here, when they're coming here or how many men they'll have. I want this city shut down tight. All the inhabitants are to be checked and checked again. We want no uprising happening when word gets out."
The Lieutenants broke into groups and made their way back to their respective quarters.
Captain stood for a moment watching them, then looked down at me. "Well, Clerk. It appears the Spanish have taken notice."
I in turn looked over to Father Heronymous Ariel, the Company's priest and confessor. I feared the man could be awfully busy before long.
August 30, 1551 - 10:46am
Lieutenant Mayke stood high in his stirrups to get a better look at the beach. In the distance he could make out Spanish soldiers wading ashore in waist deep water, weapons held high above their heads. The Company cavalry had stumbled upon the landing site earlier in the morning, but by that time well over half the Spanish force had already established a beachhead. The Company vantage-point was a wooded hill some distance from the beach, far enough that it would be unlikely the Spanish could see them. Mayke sat back down into the saddle, wiping his forehead with a cloth. Sergeant Forster was beside him with the other sergeants near by. The balance of the cavalry was dismounted on the far side of the hill.
"It looks like Admiral Colonna missed this lot," Forster said. "Think that's all of them?"
Lieutenant Mayke shrugged, "They will try to stay together, unless the wind caused the transports to drift." He was silent a moment, then came to a decision. "Take your command und scout further down the way. Do not go too far. Meet me at the villa mit der stone wall und twin oak trees," he looked skyward, "by mid-day."
Sergeant Forster backed down the hill while Sergeant Schumacher took his place. "How many Spaniards do you think, sir?"
"Hard to say. Looks like two undersized tercios. Maybe 4000 men."
August 30, 1551 - 4:17pm
Bouchard and St. Claire stood at the main gate leading into Palermo with several other men of Sergeant Fournier's command. It was their turn to check the constant incoming and outgoing of traffic to and from the city. It was pretty routine work. Farmers, peasants, merchants, priests, nobles, citizens and the odd mercenary looking for employment. Wagons had to be checked and questions asked. Palermo was far from secure or peaceful. To add to the bustle, work parties were lugging stone and dirt back and forth as the walls were slowly reconstructed.
"Mon Dieu," Bouchard said, "If I have to poke and prod through one more cart full of vegetables I will puke."
St. Claire laughed, "Just don't do it on the vegetables. They could be on delivery to our warehouse."
Gingras walked over. "Think it's true what Fournier said? He figures Captain might let us bring our wives to join us here."
Bouchard winked, "Getting lonely, Gingras? St. Claire here's looking for a partner."
St. Claire was not listening. He was staring in the distance; "Here comes Lieutenant Mayke. And boy, is he in a hurry!"
August 30, 1551 - 4:58pm
Captain and Lieutenant Mayke sat together at a large table in a room that made up the Freeman Company's headquarters. The other Lieutenants were drifting in as word spread that the Spanish had landed about one good days march away from here. I scurried about setting up a map of the local area and laying out my tools of the trade. Captain and Mayke were huddled together in conversation. Eventually the room filled and everyone grabbed a seat.
Satisfied that all the Lieutenants were in attendance Captain stood and moved over to the map, "The Spanish have landed about here," he began, stabbing a finger on a portion of the map east of Messina. "Mayke figures there are about 4000 infantry. Maybe 600 have arquebuses." He began to pace. "I think we should meet them on the field away from the city. We don't want to give the citizens any ideas, nor do we want the Spanish to see just how weak these walls still are." He went back to the map. "Lieutenant Mayke has scouted the area east of here and found a good spot to set our lines. I propose we march out at dawn and wait for the enemy," he pointed at a clump of hills on the map, "here, near a town called Bagaria."
De La Croix asked, "Any cavalry?" Captain shook his head. "How about the Papal's?"
Captain smiled that half smile. "Someone has to stay behind and hold hands with the good citizens."
Thebarge snorted, "They would just get in the way."
Captain asked, "Any questions?"
There always were.
The Battle of Bagaria
September 1, 1551 - 7:03am
My palms sweated. It was obvious by the clear blue morning sky and the dampness that hung in the air that it was going to be a hot one. Sergeant Bloomfield had us up at dawn break where we wolfed down a quick meal chased with water. After that it was dress for the upcoming battle. I stood in the third row of pikemen, MacPhearson to my left and Walker two down to my right. Greer was behind me. Up ahead I could see Givens fussing with his arquebus. That was one weapon I had no desire to touch. I had seen too many men killed or maimed when the thing discharged and blew up in their face. I told Givens he was crazy. He just smiled and agreed.
MacPhearson stood calmly with his pike held upright, base planted against his left foot and right hand planted firmly on his hip. "Gonna be a hot one," he said to no one in particular.
September 1, 1551 - 7:11am
I stood with Captain and the Lieutenants on a hilltop chosen for its excellent view of the battlefield. We had arrived a full day ahead of the Spanish and had time to choose the best ground available. Though we were outnumbered Captain was confident the hills would work to our advantage. The Spanish were just dressing their lines down in the fields below us. They had arranged themselves in four squares of 1000 men each. Three squares in the main line and one in reserve. Captain countered with 3 squares of 400 men each, one reserve and one on each flank hidden by the rolling hills. The cavalry had been dispatched off into the woods to the north of our position. Captain was passing out last minutes instructions.
"They are the invader now and they need food and a secure port. They have no choice but to come to us, therefore we will let them come to us. The Spaniards have no scouting ability so they shouldn't see what we've hidden on their flanks. De La Croix!"
"Sir."
"You command the centre." He nodded at two other Lieutenants; "They are your wings. You must hold the high ground at all cost. Thebarge, Gentas, as we've discussed, when the Spanish advance your men will quick march around their flanks keeping the hills between you and them. When the Spaniards are locked in battle with our lines, take them in the rear. Remember, no pikes. Use your swords. We need speed for this to work.
Gentas asked, "Are you sure Lieutenant Mayke can keep their reserve occupied? We'd be in a world of hurt if something went wrong"
"This company has been in a world of hurt in the past, Lieutenant, but we're still here. Let's just make sure Father Ariel has the good Lord's ear on this day."
September 1, 1551 - 7:22am
Lieutenant Mayke swatted at a bug. Once again the Company cavalry was hidden among the trees. They were getting to know the insects on a first name basis. They could see the Spanish drawn up in their battle lines several hundred yards distant. Beyond them he could see the three Company Squares formed on the forward slope of the hill which they had occupied. He swatted at another bug. His job was the Spanish reserve. He had to concentrate on that. Swords and lances was no match for pikes and arquebus, but they had the advantage of surprise and mobility. They would have to do their best.
Sergeant Forster shouted, "They're on the move." He crossed himself.
September 1, 1551 - 7:59am
I watched Givens going through the tedious job of loading his arquebus. The air was thick with sharp smelling smoke as gun after gun fired into the advancing Spanish. Scattered popping sounds ranged up and down the ranks as gun after gun was discharged. At first we had the distance advantage because of our height, but before long the Spanish had found the range and bullets whizzed by with increasing regularity. Several men had gone down dead or wounded. The man to my right had dropped like a rock when a bullet smashed into his face.
Still, our gunners had a major advantage as they were stationary and could take time to aim. The Spanish had to advance slowly, allowing their gunners to set, aim, fire, then advance again, all the while struggling to reload. Givens once told me a really good gunner could reload in one minute. Since the effective range of the arquebus was just over 600 paces I figured he would have about four shots before it was time to pull back. Because they were advancing I guessed the Spanish might get off two. Doing this math made my head hurt so I glanced over at MacPhearson. He hadn't budged from his stance. He looked back at me and winked.
"Won't be long now, lad."
I managed a feeble smile. "I can hardly wait."
Greer nudged me from behind, "Don't worry Mortlock. Our job is easy. They have to come uphill."
A spent bolt dropped at my feet. I looked at MacPhearson in surprise. "Looks like they have a few crossbows."
Oblivious to the gunfire Lieutenant De La Croix rode up before the ranks waving his plumed hat and exhorting us to hold fast and be brave and all that nonsense commanders said when bullets were sailing past your head and death was a stones throw away. Eventually he rode out of view. A moment later we heard a massive cry as the Spanish reached the base of the hill and moved upward towards us.
Sergeant Bloomfield shouted, "Pikes!" I grabbed my weapon in two hands and held it over my shoulder. God it was unwieldy. I saw Givens fire one last shot. He began to filter his way to the rear of the line. He passed between MacPhearson and me, stopping for a second.
"God be with you MacPhearson, and you Mortlock," he said, then moved on.
They were almost upon us.
September 1, 1551 - 8:21am
Sergeant's Vimy, Zagloba and Storey lay flat on the crest of a hill to the left rear of the closest Spanish square. The Spanish tercios and the Company were locked in combat, each side pushing with their pikes. The Company was holding, but the Spaniards had more men, and there was no telling how long before the sheer weight of numbers would begin to make a difference. Vimy looked to the Spanish reserve. They were dangerously close to the action and therefore dangerously close to his men. They had to keep low to maintain surprise. If they were discovered their swords would be no match for the Spanish pikes.
He said, "Where is Mayke?"
Storey nudged him in the side and pointed. They could barely make out the Company cavalry storming from their position towards the rear of the Spanish reserve. Now if only they could reach the Spanish before they were detected.
FORSTER:
Forster looked out over the Spanish square moving behind the main line. His heart beating faster in anticipation of the battle to come. It looks like it will be a bad day for the stupid Spanish. Smiling, he sees the signal. They move out at a slow trot, then gain speed, rolling down the gentle slope. Finally, with swords drawn, they slam into the rear of the square. It is total surprise! He lops off 4 heads before any Spaniard can respond.
Everywhere there is total chaos, the Spanish don't seem to know what is going on, the front of the square is actually still moving forward while we slaughter their comrades at the back. Some of the Spaniards actually trip over each other, their pikes causing wounds on their fellow soldiers as they try to turn around.
Finally we reach the front line of the reserve, hacking, slashing, cutting. The Spaniards can no longer withstand the incessant slaughter; blood and body parts are everywhere. They finally break, most dropping their weapons and running in all directions. I look up to see if the lieutenant wants us to reform and attack the back of the center, but he gives no signal. It looks as if the infantry can handle it on their own. With that, I turn my men loose, yelling, "Kill every last one of these bastards!" and we start the fun part, chasing down running Spaniards.
VIMY:
Sgt. Vimy watched with pleasure and anticipation as the Spanish lines first began to slow, and then to falter. If the main force of the Company could hold them a while longer, then the appearance of the reserves - timed perfectly - would completely demoralize them and finish them off. Lt. Mayke would bring out the cavalry charge any moment now, sweep around the rear of the Spanish reserves and smash them. That would be the signal for the reserve flanks to swoop down the hills and smash into the remnants of the Spanish force. Vimy briefly wondered how the fleet was doing out at sea?
The sound of the battle was at its peak now, and Mayke had finally appeared from behind the cloak of forest that had kept him well hidden from the Spaniards. They didn't hear him, and he was able to gradually gain speed, timing his charge so perfectly that the small Papal cavalry contingent reached what Mayke often referred to as "the peak" of his charge right at the very moment that the horses crashed into the rear line of the Spanish reserve force. Vimy, the other sergeants, and all of their men roared over the tops of their respective hills and ran headlong for the remnants of the invading force. Some aimed for the now-faltering battle squares, to reinforce them. Others aimed for the scattering remains of the Spanish reserves. Vimy had seen an opportunity, and had other plans?
Flashback: 2 years previously, in a tavern somewhere, after a great victory?
"Cpl. Vimy, I must - what's the word - protest! Yes, protest. You make a very very fine soldier, and I have no doubt that you will be prom-boated, sorry: promoted to sergeant one day soon. But, good shir, you will never, ever, ever be an ocifer! Never! You're low-born, and (hic!) even if you can ride a horse as well as you say, Captain would never let you. Ha!" Sgt. Mayke, soon to be promoted to Lieutenant if the rumours were true, was drunk. Hell, he was pissed to the gills.
Vimy seethed. Low-born? Maybe. But he was better on a horse than Mayke, and the Captain had told him, promised him, that if there were ever an opening in cavalry? Well, he would just have to wait.
"No doubt you are right sergeant, but a man can dream can he not? Can seek to better his lot in life? Don't you agree?"
"Vimy, you may be right: I dunno. (hic!) I do know that I'm going to better that serving wench's lot in life in a few minutes though, whether she wants me to or not!" With a great, prolonged guffaw, and a poor attempt at propelling himself forward, Sgt. Mayke promptly fell to the floor, out cold before he even hit the floor. And Vimy seethed...
Lucidity and reasoning fled Vimy's mind and he seized the moment. Mayke was not a hundred yards from his current position, and was well ensconced in the battle. The flash of thought that had prompted Vimy to this mad course of action was that if something untoward were to happen to Mayke, there were no other cavalry officers to assume his command?and the Captain had promised him a chance to prove himself while mounted, even though that promise had been made so long ago. Could tomorrow dawn a new day where a Lieutenant Vimy rode forth at the command of a mounted division of some of the finest mercenaries in Christendom? Yes, he could taste it now...
The act itself was easy enough. After the first few minutes of battle upon rushing the breaking Spaniards, inflicting death here, a serious wound there, and dodging pike thrusts all around, Vimy had made his way up close to Mayke. The cavalryman was partially surrounded by the battle being waged, and Vimy - in a spot to the side and slightly to the rear - dropped his sword, grappled an enemy soldier from behind and forced the confused and terrified man to thrust his pike towards Mayke. At that very moment, perhaps guided by the divine hand of God himself, Mayke's horse reared upwards and away from an errant swipe of a sword and partially impaled the poor lieutenant on the misdirected pike. He remained seated upon his charger, but was in obvious pain - could a fatal blow have been dealt?
The battle continued, but was slowly petering out. The Papal forces had won, and it really was all over but for the singing and carousing that would surely follow. The mood on the field was jubilant, for the most part. Some good men had given their lives this day, for personal reasons that would remain their own for eternity. Some had fought for money, others for the family that the Company had become, still others for a faint hope of glory, and a very few had fought out of a sense of duty to the Holy See. Vimy didn't know what he fought for, but he felt an overwhelming wave of remorse and nausea at the thought of what he had done. Attempting to strike down a brother-in-arms, a companion, a friend even, just for the possibility of personal gain was against everything he had ever stood for, fought for, and was willing to die for. As he left the battleground behind, wondering how Mayke was faring, Vimy was startled to see Father Ariel looking at him with an intensity that would put the very sun itself to shame...
LORD DURHAM:
September 1, 1551 - 8:46am
Lieutenant Mayke held his side, trying his best to ignore the pain. Damn that pike, he thought to himself. Should have seen it coming. But he hadn't and it had pierced him beside the belly. The charge had been a success. The Spaniards had been completely unaware of his approach until the first men were spearing and cutting their way into the rear ranks of the massive Spanish square. The pike, though a great offensive and defensive weapon, was no more than an encumbrance if the men were facing the wrong direction. It wasn't long before the 400 strong cavalry had severely crippled the Spanish reserve, causing many Spaniard to simply drop their weapon and run away. That's when the real fun for the cavalry began.
Lieutenant Mayke let them go at it. He would make sure they regrouped to help the infantry if necessary, but first he wanted to see to the wounded, including himself.
LIONHEART:
De Lion saw the approaching Spaniards with a mix of trepidation and hatred. The company's combined numbers were no match for the Spaniards but, then again, the Spaniards had recently disembarked while the combined Papal armies had been eating well for weeks on the spoils of war.
His gallic appearance betrayed the cool mind of a war-hardened veteran while his charges began to lose heart at the oncoming host. "Restez! Laissez-les aller", he uttered knowing full well that the first clash of blades would always be to the advantage of the better placed troops. In his heart he feared that the sheer weight of numbers would drive them from the higher ground and the company would be routed.
The initial impact was, as he had expected, in the favour of the defending forces. Unable to discern the progress of the battle on the opposite flank, his left flank held the advancing Spanish column well for the cavalry to arrive.
But time was limited. There was only so long that the reduced numbers could hold the well-trained Spaniards. "Where was Storey?"
LORD DURHAM:
September 1, 1551 - 8:52am
Lieutenant Thebarge led his men over the concealing hill and down into the flank of the left most Spanish square. With their mad dash it was hard to keep formation but speed and surprise was more important. With a resounding crash the Company square smashed into the flank of the Spanish line. The result was almost immediate. The Spanish began to break.
STOREY:
It was amazing how well it had worked. Not that Sgt. Storey really doubted that it would. The men on the hill were incased in a pool of calm and quiet waiting for the command to charge while they watched the Spanish move pass them and slowly moved up the hill toward the rest of the company. Then there was the mad dash on the Spanish rear and then nothing but bits and pieces of the following carnage. The smoke had gotten so thick that he lost sight of Vimy in the first few minutes. With the heat and furious action he felt exhausted within minutes. He was glad to see that one thing about this group of Spanish is that they didn't seem to be too well trained and once they started running they didn't stop running till they were cut down by the pursuing cavalry. It was almost too easy which is right about when he was hit across the face by one of his own men's sword. He didn't even know which careless bastard it was since he found himself laying on the ground looking up at someone else's foot as it came down on his stomach. By now the fighting was moving away and he felt no interest in joining in any thing that required him to move from his fetal position. Then it hit him. My Face! Not my face! Damn it to Hades why couldn't it have been Vimy's face. That would have been no loss.
LORD DURHAM:
September 1, 1551 - 9:18am
MacPhearson was down. I wasn't sure if he was dead. I didn't have time to check. The Spanish pushed on us relentlessly, their deeper numbers slowly moving us back up the facing slope of the hill. They were like nameless creatures to me. I could see fear in the eyes of many of them, probably much like they could see with us. Sweat blurred my vision. My arms felt like lead weights from holding the pike as the constant wobble and vibration of the shaft seemed to sap the strength from me. We shifted men within the square to spell the weary, though there never seemed to be enough time to rest. A pike thrust grazed my arm, tearing the cloth. The thrust stooped short of my face. My weariness was making me sloppy. I could see blood gathering at the tear. I shook my head to clear the sweat from my eyes and jabbed viciously into the neck of a luckless Spaniard. With grim satisfaction I saw him crumple and flop like a fish in a frying pan. I felt like I had been locked in this struggle all day, and I didn't know how much longer I could last.
Suddenly I felt a shifting in the mood of the men. It was subtle, but a change nonetheless. A pikeman rushed up beside me and thrust into a Spaniards face. He was fresh, strong. It took a moment for me to realize he belonged to the reserves. I staggered back to the rear of the square as more of the reserve moved to the front. Leaning on my pike and breathing deeply I could surmise only two things. Either we were winning or we were losing. Sometimes my thought processes astounded me.
T.FOURNIER:
Sergeant Fournier's men had had it easy for a few weeks. Not that it stopped them from complaining, you know, but then they were back from helping d'Silva getting his guns to Messina and being in Palermo sure beat following the %*$^£ horses drawing the artillery train. But just a few days past they'd seen Lt Mayke coming back from his patrol riding his horse as if he had hellhounds at his heels. Of course they soon learned that Spanish troops had managed to land despite the Papal fleet and that the Captain had decided to try and stop them with just the Company. So today they were to help and protect the few artillerymen still with them should the Spaniards try some fancy maneuver.
Patterson : Just our luck. Here comes fancy boys and where are we? Not sitting on our ass in the reserve, nooo! Not lying on the grass with the flankers, nooo! Why is it it's always us get to do the backbreaking labor, Sarge?
Sgt Fournier : Patterson, just shut up and help me pick this ball, our cannonmen want more of them near them guns and I already got a drum beating in my head and I don't think the firing AND your whining will help it quiet.
Patterson : I told you so, Sarge, you shouldn't trust Sergeant Storey. What does an Englishman know about wine anyway? It's too wet there to make wine. Now if you'd been willing to part with a bit of silver, I'd have offered you some of the good stuff I found in the governor's - the former one that is, the Spanish - cellar, and today you'd be ready to take on them fancy boys all by yourself. Isn't that true, Lambresi?
Lambresi, being an ugly brute, is lugging a cannonball all by himself and he only grunts in reply.
Patterson : You see, even Lambresi agrees with me Sarge. You...
Sgt Fournier : Patterson, just go away. Your voice's making me sick.
Patterson : Uh, Sarge, you sure...
Sgt Fournier : JUST GO AWAY...
Obedient as ever to his superior's will, Patterson lets go of the cannonball just as Sgt Fournier is wincing from the volume of his shouting. The wince is cut short however as with the departure of Patterson he is alone to hold their cannonball, which promptly escapes him and falls on his left foot.
So it was that the sergeant was the only casualty in his squad on this day, ending up with three toes crunched by his own cannonball!
FORSTER:
Sgt Forster started to round up his squad. The battle was over, all that was left for the company to do was gather up the few remaining Spaniards, who were trying to surrender rather than be cut down as they ran. He told his corporal to gather them at the foot of the hill, and await further instructions. Then, he proceeded to look for his lieutenant. Mayke, was found a short time later, laying on the ground, in obvious pain.
Forster got down to see what he could do. Damn, these red sashes do very well at concealing the amount of blood lost, I wonder if that is the real reason for them? He tried to bind up the wound, telling Mayke that he would be all right, but he wasn't really sure. In the short time he had served under Mayke, Sgt Forster's respect had grown.
Mayke gave a lop-sided grin, just dumb luck he said. Sgt Vimy was fighting when they spun around and I caught the damn pike. Vimy finished the bastard off, though. I'll mend, been hurt worse than this before. Sgt Forster wasn't too sure, but he said nothing.
What do you want us to do with the prisoner, he asked, but got no response, Mayke had passed out.
LORD DURHAM:
September 1, 1551 - 9:34am
Though I was only the Company Clerk and certainly no soldier, I could tell when the battle had shifted in our favour. Lieutenant Mayke had performed superbly on the Spanish reserve. Better than expected, according to Captain. This allowed Thebarge and Gentas to commit their flank attacks on the two outlying Spanish squares. These squares had crumbled shortly after being engaged. Only the centre square was gaining ground on De La Croix's men. Captain ordered in the reserve to bolster De La Croix. Shortly after the panic caused by the fleeing Spanish wings had spread to the Spanish centre. Before long the Spanish were throwing down their pikes and arquebuses and joining in the general rout.
As I found out later, Lieutenant Mayke had suffered a severe wound. His men took it personally and expended their anger on the hapless Spaniards.
September 1, 1551 - 11:01am
Captain and I moved through the men. The arduous task of organising the dead and wounded was near finished and it was my duty to track the names for the Company annals. The Freeman Company had only lost about 300 infantry and perhaps 50 cavalry. Lieutenant Mayke was expected to live but his recovery would be long. Lieutenant Gentas had taken a pike in the throat, so Captain had to ponder a replacement. Several sergeants lay dead or wounded. Storey was one of the wounded. He had a glancing blow to the face that left a rather long scar. Vimy said the women would love it. Knowing Storey it would make him more insufferable than he already was. In the distance I could see Father Heronymous Ariel moving through the battlefield and giving last rights to any of those that lingered near death. He spent extra time among the Spaniards, hearing their confession, relieving them of any donations he could find on their persons, then calmly sending them to God with a well placed knife thrust to the throat. I sighed. Father Heronymous Ariel was truly a gift from the Lord.
STOREY:
Sgt.. Storey lay on his back recovering from the blow to his stomach thinking that he might just lay here till all the noise from the battle had died down when the sky darkened and a apparition appeared above his face. He thought it was death itself until he felt his pockets being turned inside out. Damn it Father Ariel I'm not dead yet! Ariel paused mumbled a few words gave the sign of the cross and silently moved to the next body on the ground. Sgt. Storey was suddenly feeling well enough to go seek some aid for his wounds.
