Chapter 302: First Volley
From the towering stone walls of Calais, the scale of the Holy Order’s army was breathtaking.
For centuries, this was how the world was ruled. Kings demanded land, the Pope gave his blessing, and tens of thousands of men marched forward to drown their enemies in blood.
Down on the grassy plains, the Frankish and Germanic commanders were orchestrating their grand assault.
The Dukes and Counts rode at the very front of the infantry lines, sitting upon stallions draped in heavy chainmail and velvet skirts.
"Keep the lines tight!" roared Duke Odo of the Western Franks, "Shield to shield! Do not break the formation! Move the towers forward!"
At his command, the sergeants and unit captains began barking harsh orders, whipping the air to get the men moving.
"Bring up the rams! Keep the hides wet!" shouted Count Lothair, riding back and forth along the lines.
Two massive battering rams, each constructed from the thickest oak trunks in the Frankish forests, were rolling toward the city gates.
The trunks were capped with solid iron shaped like wolves’ heads, suspended by iron chains within wooden frames. Soldiers hurriedly sloshed buckets of water over the animal hides covering the roofs, preparing to deflect the flaming arrows they expected the Vikings to fire.
And then, there were the traction trebuchets. Positioned safely behind the main infantry lines, hundreds of engineers were pulling thick ropes, testing the tension on the massive wooden throwing arms.
But the true pride of the grand army, the weapon that made the Dukes and Counts so arrogantly confident, was the heavy cavalry.
Forming up on the right and left flanks were the knights. Five thousand heavily armored horsemen on each side, waiting for the signal to charge.
"The Dukes are using the infantry and the siege towers to draw our attention to the walls. Once we are busy fighting off the ladders, they will send the knights charging through the broken main gates to slaughter us in the streets." Bjorn murmured.
"It is a brilliant plan," Erik chuckled, "If we were fighting with swords and bows, we would be dead by noon. Should we fire now, Commander?"
Bjorn shook his head slowly. "Not yet. Let them come closer..."
Down the line of the wall, the three thousand simply waited, their fingers resting near the flint levers.
"Erik," Bjorn commanded, "Show them Ragnar’s thunder."
"With pleasure!" Erik roared. Down the line, the other nine Viking gunners instantly followed his lead, touching their glowing slow matches to the touchholes of their own cannons.
For a fraction of a second, the fuses sizzled with a bright spark.
The concussive force of the ten cannons firing shook the very foundations of the Calais walls.
A blinding cloud of smoke instantly plumed out over the battlements.
Down on the plains, the Dukes and Counts had only a split second to register the blinding flashes of light before the heavy iron cannonballs, traveling faster than the speed of sound, smashed directly into their formations.
One of the iron balls struck the center of a towering siege machine. The four-story wooden tower exploded.
Thick beams shattered into thousands of jagged splinters that ripped through the infantry marching below.
Another cannonball tore directly through the center of the right-flank cavalry.
The iron ball ripped through the tightly packed formation, instantly killing horses and riders alike.
It punched through the hardened steel breastplates. Dozens of knights were thrown from their saddles, their bodies broken, their charge instantly shattered into a mess of screaming horses.
Down in the mud, Duke Odo’s stallion reared up, throwing the Duke into the dirt.
Duke Odo looked up at the towering stone walls of Calais. Through the white smoke, he could see the dark silhouettes of the Northern soldiers standing still.
"What the hell is this?" Duke Odo screamed, "What magic is this?!"
Up on the walls, King Erik wiped a speck of black soot from his cheek.
Erik threw his head back and let out a booming laugh.
"Reload the brass beasts!" Erik shouted joyfully.
Duke Odo stared at the burning remains of his four-story siege tower.
"What in the name of the Saints was that?" Odo gasped. He looked up at the towering stone walls of the city. There were no catapults up there. There were no giant crossbows. There were only those strange, gleaming brass tubes.
"My Duke! We must fall back!" shouted Count Lothair.
"The knights on the right flank are broken! It is suicide to charge that gate!"
"Fall back!" Odo finally screamed, waving his arms. "Pull the infantry out of their range! Pull the horses back!"
The deafening horns of retreat blew across the plains.
An hour later, the grand army had retreated to a safe distance, nearly a mile away from the walls. Inside his massive purple silk tent, Duke Odo paced back and forth, slamming his fist onto a table.
"We cannot fight angry wizards in the daylight!" Odo spat, glaring at his gathered commanders.
"Let them hide behind their stone walls. We will starve them out! A city of that size will run out of bread in a week!"
Count Lothair nodded. "A wise plan, my Duke. We can use our traction trebuchets from a safe distance to continuously batter their walls while they slowly starve. And then..."
"And then, we take the city in the dark," Odo finished, "A quiet night raid. We will slit their throats while they sleep."
...
Up on the towering walls of Calais, King Erik was laughing so hard he had to lean against a pillar just to stay on his feet.
"Look at them run!" Erik cheered, wiping a tear from his eye. "Like a flock of terrified sheep! I thought the great Frankish knights were supposed to be brave!"
"They are not just running away," Bjorn noted, "Look at how wide their camps are spreading. They are establishing a complete blockade."
Erik stopped laughing and stepped up to the ledge. "A blockade? You mean they want to starve us out?"
"It is exactly what I would do if I were commanding them," Bjorn said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"They plan to sit in their comfortable tents and wait for our bellies to rumble. They also left their traction trebuchets set up at the edge of the field. They will try to safely toss boulders at our walls while we starve..."