The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) (26 page)

As the Trooper regained his feet, Billy Caudwell arrived on the scene. Two more Templars were moving towards the fallen Trooper. One carried a spear, the other a sword and shield. Too late, they spotted Billy’s break-neck approach and turned to defend against him. Billy, however, dropped onto his posterior for the last few metres and scythed both of the Templars down with his legs. The tangled melee then slid down the slope a few painful metres. Springing to his feet, Billy found that the sword man had sustained two broken lower legs and was lying screaming next to his shield. The spearman, however, was unscathed apart from a few cuts and bruises.

Rising to his feet, the small, wiry spearman lunged viciously at Billy. Billy, however, dodged the spear point and grabbed the wooden shaft, trying to wrest it from its owner’s grasp. The spearman, however, wasn’t going to give up without a fight and tried to pull the weapon back. Billy, pulled by the spear, now found himself in a struggle for the weapon. Stepping towards the spearman, Billy bunched his right fist and delivered a vicious upper cut to the Templar’s abdomen. The Templar doubled over with a loud grunt as the wind was knocked out of him. And, as he doubled over, Billy raised his right knee which connected with the spearman’s nose and mouth. In a spray of blood, the spearman toppled over onto his back, gasping for breath and bleeding profusely.

“I’ll bet your mother never taught you that one?” Billy hissed triumphantly as he broke the spear shaft and threw it at the gasping and writhing fallen Templar.

Turning quickly from his hand-to-hand combat, Billy found the Trooper lifting his comrade onto his back in a Fireman’s lift. Trotting over to give a hand, Billy lifted the fallen pulsar-rifle.

“Go on, get back!” Billy ordered the Trooper who set off slowly up the slope. “I’ll cover your back!”

Turning to face the Templars, Billy started to give covering fire, cutting down the handful of Templars who were getting too close. And, as he let rip with bursts of rapid-fire, Billy caught sight of movement from the west. For a moment, he struggled to focus, then realised that these white-coated soldiers were horsemen. The elusive Templar cavalry had finally arrived. They would now be thrown into the attack on the slope, Billy knew instinctively, and cursed softly as he fired the pulsar-rifle and retreated after the Landing Trooper and his injured comrade.

It just keeps getting better, he thought ironically, and turned to fire again.

The Templar Cavalry, west of Muscigny

Arnold of Torroja screamed in pure delight as he raised his sword and dug his heels into the flank of his charger. The powerful animal immediately responded to the sharp sting of his spurs by racing onwards to the low wall that protected the northern boundary of the Muscigny estate. And, in a single majestic bound the charger cleared the metre high wall, landing comfortably in the muddy fields of the estate. To his left, Arnold caught sight of the surviving Templar infantry as they scrambled and swarmed over the same wall. Behind the infantrymen, the savagely torn ground was strewn with corpses and body parts from the relentless slaughter of the Outlanders’ flying ships. The fallen pennants and white coats of the dead and injured fluttered and flickered amidst the ground that seemed to boil, steam and flame with satanic ferocity.

However, the devastation and hideous slaughter barely impinged on Arnold’s mind. The Outlanders were regrouping at the top of the slope close to the Citadel. One last position Arnold thought, and the road to Jerusalem would be open. Just brush away this upstart line and victory would be his. Racing over the muddy ground from the well irrigated and newly-planted fields, Arnold saw that the deadly flying ships were congregating above the Outlanders’ puny defensive line. Arnold was wary of the flying ships, but knew that he had no alternative other than to take the fight to them, whatever losses he had to sustain.

“Come on, Brothers!” Arnold called out to the infantrymen who slipped and slogged across the muddy fields to his left. “One more effort!” he demanded and pointed his sword up the slope towards the Outlander position.

Turning in his saddle, Arnold watched as the following knights’ chargers easily cleared the low wall and splashed into the mud. His plan had worked to perfection. The infantry had distracted the Outlanders sufficiently for him to get into the estate with his precious cavalry units intact. The infantry had been badly mauled, but infantry were expendable and could easily be replaced. Now, both his cavalry and infantry had gotten through the Outlanders first defensive line and had only to sweep away the last remnants from the crest of this rolling, gentle slope. The victory was so close that the excited Arnold could almost taste it.

“Follow me, Brothers!” Arnold shouted.

And, spurred his warhorse on once more.

The Army of Jerusalem Cavalry, west of Muscigny.

Joscelin of Edessa could hardly believe his eyes as he drew his charger to a halt on the crest of the rise, west of the Muscigny estate. The ground in front of the estate wall at Muscigny looked like a scene from some infernal nightmare. The craters and deep furrows in the ground smouldered and in many places had caught fire amongst the huge strew of white-coated human bodies that stretched down the slope and across the boundary wall. Raising his helmet visor, Joscelin tried to take in the enormity of the carnage when his aid-de-camp drew up beside him.

“My Lord Joscelin, there!” the chain mail clad knight indicated movement down by the northern wall of the Muscigny estate.

Clearing his thoughts of the horror he had just witnessed, Joscelin focussed on the movement of two thousand white-coated horsemen who were just clearing the wall and heading towards the gently rising western slope of the estate. Scanning to the right of the horsemen, and in front of the horrifying carnage, Joscelin saw the surviving Templar infantry, estimating around five thousand of them, begin their slow approach to the western slope. The Admiral and his black-clad Outlanders were lined up across the Jerusalem road with their strange flying craft floating above them.

“De Creville!” Joscelin called out excitedly. “We’ve got them!” he added and snapped down his visor before eagerly pushing his charger towards the slope.

Joscelin had managed to bring his knights around the flank of the Templar force. He was now positioned to their flank and rear, and the Templars had no idea that he was there. He had outflanked them, and knew that he had to drive the Templars towards Baldwin’s forces who were heading along the road from Jerusalem. The trap had been set and Joscelin now knew that he had to snap it shut.

“My Lord Joscelin!?” De Creville called out after the commander of the detachment.

But it was already too late, Joscelin of Edessa had put his spurs to his charger and was waving his sword above his head indicating the rest of the knights to follow him. The Seneschal of Jerusalem, the level-headed and steady man with the tidy mind and an eye for detail also had the ability to spot an opportunity and not hesitate when action was needed.

“May the Lord and Saints preserve us,” De Creville muttered resignedly, before crossing himself, and then urged his own charger down the slope. 

The Landing Trooper Position, Muscigny.

Holding his right arm aloft, Billy Caudwell steadied himself and the Landing Troopers as they waited on the crest of the western slope. Below them, the Templar cavalry and infantry were linking up and advancing for the final assault on the road to Jerusalem. In front of him, arrows began to land, falling short, in the mud of the slope. The archers were still out of range, but that would very quickly change.

Looking down the slope at the advancing Templars, Billy knew that this was where the Landing Troopers had to stand and die, if necessary, to protect the estate and its people. On the right, the mass of Templar infantry were still scrambling over the low boundary wall and through the ruined fields of the northern part of the estate. To the left, Arnold of Torroja had brought his two thousand knights, who were advancing towards the gentle slope. For Billy Caudwell and the part of his mind that was the dead Garmaurian First Admiral, it was now a question of cold hard mathematics. Could three hundred Landing Troopers with ten Personnel Carriers and fifteen Eagles cut down two thousand Templar knights and the thousands of surviving infantrymen before they reached the crest of the slope? Billy Caudwell knew that there was nowhere for the Landing Trooper to run and hide. So, the only alternative was to stand.

“Troopers, rapid-fire…” Billy began to give the fateful order, when Garn interrupted him.

“Look sir!” Garn pointed down the slope to his left, “To the west!”

For a moment, Billy stared at an empty landscape until the movement caught his eye. Raising the field viewers to his eyes, Billy focussed on a huge contingent of horsemen galloping from the west who were heading in a direct path towards the flank and rear of the Templar cavalry.

“They’re not wearing white coats, sir?”

“No they’re not. They’re in Jerusalem livery.”

All along line, the Landing Troopers began to cheer and shout at the realisation that the relief force had arrived.

“Quiet!” Garn barked the instruction that brought the Troopers back to discipline.

The effect was immediate as the Troopers returned to their readiness posture.

“But, it’s not royal livery,” Billy said as he continued to scan the lengthening line of galloping knights. “It’s not the King.”

“Then where is he?”

“Most likely he’s still on the road behind us,” Billy replied, not taking his eyes off the relief force. “He’s divided his cavalry and sent them to catch the Templars in the rear. That’s one clever piece of tactical thinking.”

“So, what do we do with this lot?” Garn asked, indicating the Templar troops who were now clambering up the muddy slope unaware of the threat to their flank and rear.

“We hold them in check until Baldwin arrives, he can’t be that far away.”

“I hope he hurries himself up, they’re starting to take the slope.”

“Strike Eagles?” Billy called into the Comms Net, hoping that it was still working.

“Strike Eagle One.”

“Keep their heads down, Strike Eagles, but be ready to cease fire the moment I order it.”

“Acknowledged.”

An instant later, the first Eagles opened fire, the white-hot pulsar-bolts smashing into the ground at the foot of the slope. Once again, the great spumes of dirt and debris were flung into the air in front of the advancing Templars. Like a great boiling and seething curtain of destruction, the ground seemed to rise up and then cascade down onto the Templars like a relentless torrent. The ground inside the northern boundary was already ruined by thousands of trampling hooves and feet, Billy considered. At least this time, he wouldn’t be ordering a mass slaughter as he had been forced to do previously.

He just had to be careful that he didn’t start cutting down the men from Jerusalem. 

The Templar Cavalry, Muscigny

Setting his charger to the slope, Arnold of Torroja eagerly focussed on the fragile looking line of black-clad Outlanders at the crest. Turning in the saddle to urge his men onwards, Arnold suddenly found his world overwhelmed by a loud explosion and a cascade of muddy dirt and debris. The explosion startled Arnold’s well-trained charger, causing the terrified animal to rear up violently whilst the brutal concussion from the blast knocked Arnold from his saddle. Tumbling over the rearing horse’s hindquarters, Arnold had no time to steady himself as his sword fell from his grasp. And, it was only by sheer instinct that he was able to kick his feet free from his stirrups, saving him from major injury as he tumbled heavily to the muddy ground.

Winded from the fall, Arnold felt as if his lungs were on fire as he lay on his back struggling to regain his feet. Around him, it looked as if the world had gone into a silent slow-motion. Blinking his eyes, Arnold saw a crouching infantryman lumbering slowly forward, his spear held in both hands as a forest of horse legs danced across his field of vision. Through the tangle of horse legs, Arnold could see tears cutting bright tracks down the infantryman’s dirty and scorched cheeks as he advanced nervously. Rising up, Arnold swayed unsteadily as he saw a knight struggling to stay in the saddle of his frightened horse. The horse was just one of hundreds that had been savagely startled, yet Arnold’s dazed attention was pulled to the animal which plunged and reared slowly whilst his rider hung on grimly.

“Brother Arnold!” a faint, dull echoing voice broke into his consciousness, causing him to look upwards.

“Brother Arnold, are you all right!?” his aide-de-camp, de Lancy, asked him from the lofty heights of his saddle.

Suddenly, Arnold’s world sped up once more, and the silence was replaced by the long rippling roar of rapid-fire pulsar-bolts tearing into the ground. Men and horses were screaming in a huge startled melee that had once been the Templar cavalry. More knights fell to the ground as others continued to fight for control of their horses as Arnold scrabbled to his feet.

“Alarm! Alarm!” a voice called out as Arnold dodged another rearing horse and rider.

Looking through the press of struggling bodies, Arnold saw a new and more terrifying sight. Through the mass of struggling riders and fleeing horses, Arnold saw a new line of horsemen. They were disciplined, in good order with lance-points lowered as they galloped towards the rear of the Templar cavalry. They wore the colours and livery of knights of Jerusalem and were about to engage with the rear units of a disorganised and startled rabble. In Arnold’s mind, he instinctively knew that there would only be one outcome to such a clash of arms. The disciplined force would always prevail against a disorganised rabble.

“Brother Arnold!” one of his bodyguards cried out, clutching at the reins of Arnold’s charger. “Your horse!”

For a brief moment, Arnold’s heart sank. This large force of mounted knights would smash into the unprotected flank of his own men and split his forces. That would effectively end the Jerusalem adventure, leaving Arnold no alternative other than to try to escape from this place that had seen his dreams of the Grand Master’s Chair shattered forever. Arnold knew that the fate that awaited him, should he fall into Baldwin’s hands, would not be pleasant. If God was merciful, then he might be granted a swift death. But, Arnold of Torroja was not inclined to believe in mercy from a King he had tried to murder and depose.

But, drawing a deep breath and forcing down his panic, Arnold of Torroja made a ruthless estimation of his position and grasped the one feeble glimmer of hope that his mind quickly realised. This force of horsemen was moving too quickly to have any support from the Jerusalem infantry. There was no sign of the King’s army on the ridge behind the Outlanders, so these Knights must have been detached from the main force. If God was with the Templars, then Baldwin would still be marching to the coast and this was the holding contingent that the dead Amalric of Lusignan had convinced the King to send. Heavy cavalry made a splendid battering ram for breaking up formations, but it still took feet on the ground to hold the gains made. With no infantry support, once the momentum of the charge had been lost, then the cavalry would be vulnerable. With no speed or mobility, the horsemen could be overwhelmed by the weight of numbers of the infantry.

“Too late, leave it!” Arnold ordered recovering his fallen sword. “Follow me on foot, and send word to Brother Jerome to bring everything forward!”

At the command, the bodyguard dropped the loose horse’s reins and dug his spurs into the flanks of his own animal.

And, as the horseman galloped away, Arnold heard for the first time, the shouts of panicked leaders dragging and shoving men into place to face the new threat. Arnold already knew that their particular battle was lost. The souls of these men were in God’s hands now. Their sacrifice would give the others a fighting chance of survival, Arnold considered, so they would surely find a place in Paradise. However, the souls of the men who were about to fall preserving the life of Arnold of Torroja were quickly disregarded in his mind.

If God so willed it, Arnold considered, Brother Jerome would bring forward the rest of the Templar contingent and break through the Jerusalem cavalry. The only hope of survival now was to break through the flimsy Outlanders’ line and take the Citadel that dominated the estate. There, if Baldwin was still at the coast, they could strike out and take the city of Jerusalem. If Baldwin’s troops were not at the coast, then the Templars could either race the King to try to take Jerusalem or fall back to the Citadel at Muscigny. Either way they would be besieged, but might be able to negotiate passage back to Acre. But, that all depended upon being able to break the line of black uniformed devils. And, so far these Outlanders had held out against everything that Arnold had thrown at them.

Lifting his shield, Arnold of Torroja steeled himself for the coming battle. Then, raising his sword, he beckoned his bodyguard to follow as he set off up the long rolling slope towards the Outlanders. It was going to be a desperate fight, Arnold knew, but God willing he would prevail. What had been such a carefully planned and intricately crafted campaign now depended upon a battle – a brawl - on a hillside outside of Jerusalem. Thousands of miles of travel, weeks of hard work, endless planning and logistics boiled down to this fight.

God willing, indeed.