buckler. The impact jarred him. With spurs and knees he urged his horse forward, slowly, into the seething men. The pike-bearer heard the saber whine above him. He melted backward into the crumpling ranks.
Iron banged on hardened leather. The Almugavares had closed in with daggers. Pedro sidestepped a thrust, got his belly next to an enemy shield, pulled that down with his left hand and stabbed with his right. His opponent threw a frantic arm around him. They rolled to the ground together. Pedro scrambled on top, struck, raised his dripping knife and struck again. There was no need for another stab. “Aur! Aur!” he howled.
Lucas’ horse reared, whinnying, and a spearman charged, ready to skewer it. He leaned far over, as Mongols did, and cut at the man’s arms. The Byzantine scrambled clear. No use trying to fight from horseback in this press of bodies. Lucas jumped to the ground, slapped his steed on the rump and let it escape.
His saber clanged on an enemy shield. For a moment he looked into the man’s eyes. A sense of freedom leaped within him. This was no time for doubts or dreads. It was good honest war!
He smote, shouting.
All at once nobody stood in front of him. He spied a few scattered Greeks who were fleeing. Their main body had vanished into the dust cloud, routed. Corpses were stark on the ground; the wounded, most of whom would also die, groaned for water; flies settled on clotting blood.
Lucas looked toward the standard of his division. It stood high. Trumpets called for the lines to re-form. Panting, grinning, but quick to obey, the Almugavares made ranks and moved onward.
They broke the next opposing battalion. And the next. And the next.
The Imperial army buckled.
Afterward En Jaime, who had witnessed it, told Lucas how Michael Paleologus tried to stop the retreat. The co-Emperor did not lack courage. He brought up the reserves; himself at their head, he couched lance and charged the middle of his foes. They held fast, but the combat was hard. Michael encountered a man in splendid armor on a fine horse, who seemed an officer of importance though he lacked a shield. But he was only a mariner from Barcelona who had won his trappings at Gallipoli and had left off the shield because he did not know how to use it. Michael’s sword wounded him on the left arm. The sailor urged his horse forward, closed with the prince and thrust with a dagger. One of those blows cut Michael in the face, so that he lowered his shield and fell from the saddle. Still he fought bravely, wounding the sailor again. That gave the Imperial guards a chance to rally around him and bear him off the field.
His men streamed after, division by division, the best of them fighting stubbornly, the worst of them stampeding. Toward sunset, the last skirmish was over. The Byzantines had taken refuge in Apros castle. Te Deum laudamus lifted triumphant from the throats of the Grand Company.
Chapter VII
“We could not take the castle,” Lucas admitted, “though we were there full eight days. But then, most of that time we were plundering their camp and the neighborhood. We loaded ten carts with treasure, so high that each needed four oxen to draw it. The cattle we drove off covered the land as far as a man might see.”
Djansha hugged her knees and regarded him with awe. Her coppery tresses streamed over the bare young breasts. “So you are made a wealthy uork , my lord.”
“The booty has yet to be divided.” He stretched luxuriously. Hardihood be damned, after two weeks in the field it was good to lie abed. They had entered Gallipoli at dusk, and En Jaime had invited Lucas to share dinner. Afterward, they drank wine together till late, speaking of far countries and of what great things might be done here. En Jaime had even shown courteous interest for an hour or more while Lucas discoursed of stars and planetary motions and the nature of comets, the first such conversation he had had for years. So he came late to his
Iron banged on hardened leather. The Almugavares had closed in with daggers. Pedro sidestepped a thrust, got his belly next to an enemy shield, pulled that down with his left hand and stabbed with his right. His opponent threw a frantic arm around him. They rolled to the ground together. Pedro scrambled on top, struck, raised his dripping knife and struck again. There was no need for another stab. “Aur! Aur!” he howled.
Lucas’ horse reared, whinnying, and a spearman charged, ready to skewer it. He leaned far over, as Mongols did, and cut at the man’s arms. The Byzantine scrambled clear. No use trying to fight from horseback in this press of bodies. Lucas jumped to the ground, slapped his steed on the rump and let it escape.
His saber clanged on an enemy shield. For a moment he looked into the man’s eyes. A sense of freedom leaped within him. This was no time for doubts or dreads. It was good honest war!
He smote, shouting.
All at once nobody stood in front of him. He spied a few scattered Greeks who were fleeing. Their main body had vanished into the dust cloud, routed. Corpses were stark on the ground; the wounded, most of whom would also die, groaned for water; flies settled on clotting blood.
Lucas looked toward the standard of his division. It stood high. Trumpets called for the lines to re-form. Panting, grinning, but quick to obey, the Almugavares made ranks and moved onward.
They broke the next opposing battalion. And the next. And the next.
The Imperial army buckled.
Afterward En Jaime, who had witnessed it, told Lucas how Michael Paleologus tried to stop the retreat. The co-Emperor did not lack courage. He brought up the reserves; himself at their head, he couched lance and charged the middle of his foes. They held fast, but the combat was hard. Michael encountered a man in splendid armor on a fine horse, who seemed an officer of importance though he lacked a shield. But he was only a mariner from Barcelona who had won his trappings at Gallipoli and had left off the shield because he did not know how to use it. Michael’s sword wounded him on the left arm. The sailor urged his horse forward, closed with the prince and thrust with a dagger. One of those blows cut Michael in the face, so that he lowered his shield and fell from the saddle. Still he fought bravely, wounding the sailor again. That gave the Imperial guards a chance to rally around him and bear him off the field.
His men streamed after, division by division, the best of them fighting stubbornly, the worst of them stampeding. Toward sunset, the last skirmish was over. The Byzantines had taken refuge in Apros castle. Te Deum laudamus lifted triumphant from the throats of the Grand Company.
Chapter VII
“We could not take the castle,” Lucas admitted, “though we were there full eight days. But then, most of that time we were plundering their camp and the neighborhood. We loaded ten carts with treasure, so high that each needed four oxen to draw it. The cattle we drove off covered the land as far as a man might see.”
Djansha hugged her knees and regarded him with awe. Her coppery tresses streamed over the bare young breasts. “So you are made a wealthy uork , my lord.”
“The booty has yet to be divided.” He stretched luxuriously. Hardihood be damned, after two weeks in the field it was good to lie abed. They had entered Gallipoli at dusk, and En Jaime had invited Lucas to share dinner. Afterward, they drank wine together till late, speaking of far countries and of what great things might be done here. En Jaime had even shown courteous interest for an hour or more while Lucas discoursed of stars and planetary motions and the nature of comets, the first such conversation he had had for years. So he came late to his
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