NOVEL NEXT Chapter 61: Two Opposing Forces
"You're a Toth," Mouse said, her face stricken by surprise as she regarded the slight, red-haired girl before her.
"One might say so," said the Val, "though I would not be eager to do so."
Mouse looked the girl over, searching her appearance for some sign of familiarity, trying to reconcile what she knew of the Val, of the Chatti, with this unexpected revelation. She was a curiosity, a meeting of two opposing forces.
The seed of Toth had spread, like a weed, proliferating across the continent, mixing and mingling with local cultures, sowing themselves into the very land, like a weed, some might say. They had scattered far and wide, planting themselves in every court from the west marshes to those east of Umbrec, until there was little untouched by their progeny. Of course, Mouse herself was a Toth, and the Empress, and half of everyone in Kriftel. And now here was another, a Chatti girl from the north, sent to root out that very weed that had infected her land, the one that threatened to choke the life from her people. The Toths had been cultivating the land in the north, preparing it for their arrival, but already, it seemed, it had born fruit.
"Does no one know?" Mouse asked. It seemed improbable to her that someone should be able to keep such a thing secret for so long.
"No," answered the Val. "Well, Badulf knows, I suppose, but scarcely anyone. We use our clan names on the north." She looked at Mouse. "You promise you will not tell anyone?"
Mouse nodded.
"On a mustard seed," she said.
"I beg your pardon?" the Chatti wrinkled her brow.
Mouse smiled.
"I promise."
She took the Val's arm, gently drawing her out of the lane so that a cart carrying away the last night's trenchers to the poor might pass.
"You know, perhaps it would not be such a terrible thing if people were to learn you were a Toth," she said, "they might treat you differently. The Empress might treat you differently."
"Do you think?" said the Val. "You're a Toth. How does she treat you?"
Mouse blushed despite herself.
"That's different," she said. "I'm no one."
The Val stopped and looked at her.
"You have a very low opinion of yourself, don't you?" Mouse did not answer, and the Val resumed walking. "You have one of my secrets," she said, "now let me have one of yours. Why do they call you Mouse?"
Mouse shrugged her shoulders, hoping that the act of levity would banish her discomfort.
"It is a nickname, that's all," she said. "Something from childhood."
"But why?" persisted the Val. "Why Mouse?"
Mouse's gaze followed a group of children who ran by playing catch-the-cat.
"I suppose it is because I was always quiet," she said. "The others talked, and I preferred to listen, to watch." It was true enough.
"Did it never bother you?" asked the Val.
"It did," said Mouse, "but it didn't matter. Once the Empress began calling me Mouse, everyone else followed suit, and the name stuck."
"I see," said the Val, falling into a pensive silence that lasted until they had nearly reached the step. "You know, Maudeleine is such a pretty name," she said at last, "I wonder if the Empress was not simply jealous and wanted to take it from you."
Mouse forced a smile to her lips.
"Yes," she said. "You know, I am all but certain that's what it was."
"Any man whose helm comes loose of any means shall not be struck," the herald said from his place below the scaffold. "Any man who falls to the ground unconscious shall not be struck. Any man who begs mercy and withdraws himself from field of battle shall not be struck."
The banners of Salling and Faulk stirred gently, pennons of red and white, blue and gold marking the field.
"All ransoms must be paid upon the conclusion of the tournament. All horses forfeit will do so with their harness. All arms given up will be measured in the manner in which they were registered."
The midday sun was high in the sky, a few billowing clouds teasing to offer a few moment's reprieve from the blistering warmth as they passed.
"Let no man seek to maim his opponent but to disarm him. Let no man seek retribution for an offense which has occurred outside of these grounds. Let no man use his weapon in a barbaric manner or otherwise conduct himself in a manner that offends the chivalric code."
He gestured now to his left, where Sir Gerold stood.
"The appellant has sworn the good faith of his men and in doing so vows to obey these rules set out before him. Let him make his pledge to his sovereign not to soil these grounds nor any of sovereign rule with blood if he can so help it."
"Sir Gerold of house Falk," he turned to the knight, "do you swear to conduct yourself honorably and inflict upon any man the punishment for breaking this oath?"
"I do so swear," came the answer.
The herald held out a hand to his right.
"The defendant has sworn the good faith of his men and in doing so vows to obey these rules set out before him. Let him make his pledge to his sovereign not to soil these grounds nor any of sovereign rule with blood if he can so help it."
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He turned.
"Sir Donegue of house Salling, Lord of Salling, do you swear to conduct yourself honorably and inflict upon any man the punishment for breaking this oath?"
"I do so swear," the man replied.
The two knights bowed to one another, before turning to the scaffold and paying their respect to the ladies. And with leave of the herald, they rode back to their men.
"My very redoubted and honored ladies and damsels," the herald said, lifting his eyes to the stands. "Behold your humble servant and knight of honor, who has entered the lists ready to do what you have commanded, and behold his helm and crest which you should keep in your scaffold, if it pleases you."
The man rode out, making a show of his gallantry as he presented himself first to the ladies and then to the crowd, riding in a wide circle around the field before returning to the herald. His purpose in the tournament was to see that no ill was done among the combatants, and it was he who charged the squires with guarding any fallen man.
The knight removed his helm and gave it to a squire, who then passed it to the herald, who made its general presentation before passing it to yet another squire who carried it up the scaffold to the ladies. A veil was sent in exchange, and this was tied to his lance before he rode off once again.
"Good and gentle persons gathered here," said the herald now, "I invite you to bear witness to the Battle of Oswich, whereupon the appellant, named here House Falk shall attack the defendant, named here House Salling. Let all who fall do so with honor, and let all who strike do so with honor. For the love of Her Majesty, Empress Idalia Aemilia Toth, the first to bear this name, and for the glory of the Empire of Aros!"
With little delay upon final words, the ropes were cut, and the men were freed to set out across the field. Each side had been given four dozen divided among mounted cavalry and foot soldiers and were allowed to carry with them blunted weapons including swords and maces. Polearms were forbidden from use, and likewise, ranged weapons were disallowed, meaning that much of the battle came down to the skill of the individual man, being pressed into close arms, a fact the scoring similarly reflected this.
Already the defendants had gathered their shields front and center, having positioned their cavalry at the flanks. The wall, which they were to defend, had been constructed in the weeks prior and stood only so tall as a man, such that once reached, there would be little difficulty in breaching it. The primary object was therefore to keep the men of Faulk from advancing far enough for even a single man to cross.
Historically, both sides simply sought to take everything in the press, coming in with full force all at once, clashing in one grand, glorious melee, but as the rules of combat changed over time, imposing more and more limitations, so did they come to rely more and more on strategy.
Sir Gerold had broken up his cavalry, sending the better part out first to flay and disorient his enemy. Foot soldiers would come in quickly after, and once they had engaged the better part of the actors from the other side, the last of the cavalry would be sent in the hopes of overwhelming them. This strategy had been used before and depended largely on the enemy's ability to regroup, or not, after an initial attack. If the defenders could keep their lines together, they stood a chance at withstanding the final charge, but if they were too broken up, they would be all but doomed to fall.
The first wave of Faulk cavalry rode out with a battle cry. The men of Salling ran out as if to meet them, arms raised and shouting, but suddenly stopped, just before the charge met them, and dropped, raising their shields in close formation to defend against the blows of the swords that came from above. And in that moment, where two opposing forces met, the entire battle shifted.
Lord Salling's cavalry now came up from the sides, engaging Sir Gerold's own horsemen, while the foot soldiers of Salling quickly regrouped just in time to meet those of Faulk. In fact, they had already formed a wall of shields by the time the men of Faulk reached them and with coordinated thrusts did drive back their attackers.
Sir Gerold's initial wave of cavalry, badly outnumbered by the whole of Lord Salling's, was now joined by the second wave, while the foot soldiers continued to engage one another with slashing swords and thrusting shields. Sir Gerold himself now rode in on the back of a dark grey charger, cutting through the others like a scythe.
He was a tall man but moved quickly and nimbly through his enemy, glancing blows as easily with the small shield he wore on his left arm as with his blade. Rather than making straight for his cousin, as a man interested only in his own glory might do, he instead began to pick off men around the perimeter, forcing them from their saddles through the vigorous engagement of blade and shield, grappling with them when necessary, and knocking them from their mounts. He was joined in this endeavor by two or three of his foot soldiers, who aided him in dragging men to the ground and thereafter chasing away their horses so that they could not remount and were forced to fight on foot.
The battle continued similarly for the next hour or two, swords clashing both high and low, with the bulk of the fighting gradually becoming concentrated on the ground as more and more men were knocked from their horses. Unfortunately, this put the unhorsed cavalrymen at a disadvantage, for knights though they may be, their shields were little to compared to that of the foot soldiers; mounted cavalry carried shields designed for lightness and maneuverability, much like those used in the joust, while their counterparts on the ground carried thick, round shields half a man's height and heavy, which served the dual purpose of deflecting and protecting against blows as well as acting as a sort of weapon in and of themselves.
The men of Faulk began to gain ground, taking it by force, inch by inch, making their way ever closer to the wall. Few men had fallen, and only one had lost his helm, but the fighting was beginning to take its toll. Blows were landing more slowly, men losing their footing more easily. It was a hot day, made suffocating to those on the field by the reinforced plate designed for tournament combat.
Sir Gerold was now locked in half-swords against a man in the red and white of Salling, one hand at the hilt of his sword and the other a third of the length up the blade. They pressed in upon each other with short bursts of force until, with a quick movement, Sir Gerold suddenly removed his hand from the blade of his sword and seized that of his opponent's, wrenching it away from the man's body to create a momentary opening in his guard. It was in that very moment, before the man could wrest his blade back, that Sir Gerold lunged forward and with all his weight, drove his shoulder into the man's chest. The man stumbled back and went sprawling to the ground, whereupon the victor knight stepped over him, making for his cousin, who was fighting on the outskirts of the melee nearest the wall.
Lord Salling saw his cousin coming, and even beneath their closed helms, one could sense the eagerness of the two men who now faced each other, the anticipation that had been building over the past hours and indeed, days, weeks, perhaps even. The battle was dying down, and it was now their fight.
Before his cousin could even reach him, Lord Salling, the shorter of the two men, struck out, swinging his sword like a warhammer, gripping it by the blade so that it was the hilt, and not the point, that came sailing toward Sir Gerold's head. Sir Gerold ducked, avoiding the blow, and went for his opponent's middle, charging him in much the same way as he had the last man. But the Lord of Salling would not be so easily overcome. As Sir Gerold seized him about the waist, Salling brought a fist down upon the man's back before wrapping an arm around his neck and twisting himself free.
Lord Salling leapt back, though he did so with the cumbersome movement of a man reaching the point of exhaustion, and the two men were now once again at a distance, swords raised. Sir Gerold parried his cousin's blow with a cross but missed the next strike, which came at his legs, and though it was indeed a violation of the rules of honorable combat to strike below the line of a man's belt, this was the sort of exception that was expected to be made. Sir Gerold feinted a lunge, bringing his sword up beneath his cousin's arm, and Lord Salling pulled back.
Sir Gerold continued his advance. He attacked first from overhead, a powerful two-handed strike that forced his cousin into crown, before coming for the man's shoulder. His next strike would be at the hip, Mouse could sense it, and indeed it was, but this was parried by Salling, and the riposte came in the form of an overhead cut. Unfortunately, it was one that was ill-timed; the man had grown tired, his movements becoming heavy and slow. The knight of Faulk was already advancing, the distance between the two men closed in a single stride, and before he could wrest the sword from his cousin's grasp, the man yielded.