For Maurice and Renaud, princes of the Empire, the excitement at the prospect of their first battle was tempered by the terror of soon coming face to face with the terrifying Norsemen. As the small force their father had assembled had led through the gates of Paris had swelled to several thousand men strong along the march, joined by levies and local garrison troops whom the Emperor had called from nearby estates they heard more tales of the raiders. Terrified villagers being driven before them. Human sacrifices to their dark Pagan gods, like those who used to be worshipped in old Saxony prior to the conquests of Karloman converting them to the one true faith.
All this the princes believed they would face when confronting the Norsemen raiders.
But Emperor Pepin betrayed none of his son’s anxieties on his face. By April he had several thousand men in arms streaming northwards towards where scouts reported the Northmen’s recent movements.
It was there, around thirty miles west of the Rhine that they found the Norsemen forces drawn up in a defensive position in a narrow defile where the Empire’s greater numbers would be of less effectiveness.
“Clever,” Pepin muttered, having ridden alongside his sons to the top of a nearby ridge to get a good look. “He’s obviously had scouts out to warn of our coming and set up a place where we cannot strike him except on a narrow front.”
“Can we go around?” Maurice asked, “It seems the obvious way.”
Pepin shook his head. “We have not the men to completely surround the pass, and there’s not enough terrain cover around here for us to hide our movements. The moment we attempt an encirclement, they’ll be onto us.”
“We can wait them out,” Maurice pointed out.
Pepin grimaced at him, unsure whether he liked his second son speaking back to him. “Unless we want to spread tales that the Empire is weak and cannot even bring to battle a group of savage northmen raiders in a timely manner, that would not be wise.”
“But it would be safer Father. They have no food re-supply, they are far from home. Why no-?”
“I’ll hear no more of it.” Pepin cut him off. “We’ll speak of our battle plans on the morrow.”
“He treats my every suggestion as a criticism.” Maurice complained to his brother later that same night before they headed to their respective tents.
“Have no worry about it brother,” Renaud attempted awkwardly to reassure him, “Father’s nervous. Nothing more.”
“Nervous? Him?” Maurice shook his head glumly. “He doesn’t like me is all. Never has. The second son, not the one destined to rule.” He smiled at Renaud. “It’ll be you he listens to on the morrow, mark me well.”
Now it was Renaud’s turn to shift awkwardly. Sensing his discomfort, Maurice hastily grinned at him. “I don’t say I blame you brother. I do not, for all that I wish father wouldn’t be so dismissive of me, you’ve done naught to earn my ire. It’s not you I direct it at.”
“Oh! Good!” Renaud look relieved, and slapped Maurice on the back before they departed for their respective tents.
On the morn Pepin did listen to Renaud, who counselled they draw up their larger force at the entrance of the narrow defile and begin with a barrage of arrow fire at the Norsemen to soften their positions and weaken their defenses.
“A good wall of spears will drive right through them father, but a volley of arrows works just as well to open the gaps.”
And it was so that Pepin took Renaud’s advice, delegating Maurice to charge of the pikes on the left, himself on the right, while leaving the centre, and thus command of the main thrust towards the northmen line, to Renaud.
“He means for you to have the glory of victory,” Maurice whispered urgently as the war council broke and they left to rally the forces for battle. “Make sure you don’t disappoint him.”
That the truth of this was not apparent to Renaud until his brother told him was perhaps indicative of whether this was the wisest of choices. But a future Emperor needed a military reputation, so there they were.
But the Norsemen held the line on the first charge. Pepin and Renaud threw their forces at the head of the enemy, and the Pagan shieldwall did not crumble. Axes and swords clashed hard against pikes and spears, and the levies fell with far more frequency than the veteran Norse. Renaud fought with courage upon the front, but could not force them to buckle.
A pile of corpses lined the wall of shields, the crows would feast well, but Renaud’s mind was far away. The horror and chaos of blood and battle had overtaken him. The terror of those tall bearded warriors, screaming curses in their queer tongues, shouting blasphemous curses at the noble men of Christendom had nearly sent him fleeing.
“Several dozen losses, a few dozen on their side too, but not a big enough dent made in their lines for the losses we sustained.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Pepin replied sharply, glaring slightly at Maurice for having spoken out of turn. “We’ll try it again tomorrow.”
“You mustn’t anger father, Maurice,” Renaud told him putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“What?” Maurice’s head snapped back. He had been gazing towards the narrow defile where the enemy was still perched, mind clearly far away. “Apologies brother, I was thinking about tomorrow. I have a plan.”
“A plan?”
“Yes. I’ll need you to let me take the centre tomorrow.”
“I-What?”
“Trust me,” Maurice whispered urgently, keeping his voice low. “Whatever father may think, this IS a better way to end it with fewer losses. I’ll need you to take a contingent of half the horsemen and all the bowman and follow the paths I sketch out for you.”
“But father will know…”
“Not if I wear your armour when I take position tomorrow,” Maurice grinned, “Under the helmet he won’t see me, and if he notices during the battle he’ll be too late to stop us. Trust me. It’ll work out fine.”
Renaud sighed, gazed at his brother. Was he about to land them in more trouble then he ever had before?
“Alright. Tell me your plan.”
The following day dawned to a light downpour. The grin ran thick with mud and the nearby streams ran off from the tops of the defile into the pass below. The invaders would have plenty to drink, and time to refresh for the day’s battle. After meeting Pepin, the young princes split off to their respective commands… but they did not obey their father’s dispositions that morn.
It was Maurice, not Renaud who took command of the centre. Maurice, not Renaud who ordered them forward.
The initial engagements began much as the previous days had, with the Frankish line smashing into the shield wall and the Norse yelling their war cries in that queer northern tongue of theirs. It did not phase Maurice, who drove his men harder.
But the Norse discovered a new obstacle, unexpected to their plans. The right of the army did not surge forward to press in upon their flank as before. Instead a rain of arrows joined the rain of drops that fell from the sky and hurtled down upon the shieldwall from one of the heights of the defile. In the earlier hours of the morn Renaud had shown the men a path up which they could gradually climb at a less steep incline to reach the top of the pass, right above where the Norsemen shield wall was positioned… Once the morning had arrived, the bowmen got themselves into position and opened fire.
Thus when the confusion reigned in the Norse line, they attempted to smash forward through the Frankish attack. The anvil held, and the battered Frankish line remained firm as Maurice forced the men to close ranks and press into a wall of iron and steel.
Then the hammer smashed the Norsemen in the rear. Half the Frankish horse, deployed on secret orders from the Prince the night before, completed it’s circuit and slammed into the raiders rear, completing the encirclement. Though small in number, the half of the men who had been deployed had taken two horses each, in order to double-time their ride to the other end of the defile. The Norsemen had assumed any large force would take days to do so, and had neglected their line of retreat accordingly. Between the hammer of the horse and the anvil of the line, the Norsemen crumbled.
Haakon the raider was captured alive, having thrown down his axe and thrown a Frankish helm over his head to attempt to escape in the confusion. Very few of his fellows were shown such mercy…
The Princes gambit had paid off, and the victory was theirs…
OOC:
A win, though not in the way Pepin had intended. The Princes's together find a way to increase their own glory and reduce their losses. But how will the aftermath of that work out for them? Thanks for waiting for this update. Am aiming for another one by Wednesday of next week
