The Accidental Rebellion, Ch. 5 - Reversal

Note: Eric was called George in the earlier versions of the prologue, but I've changed his name.

Eric lay down on his mattress, the fatigue from the day's march pulling him down. Through the open tent flap he watched the last light of the sun in the clouds fade into black. One of the other soldiers in his tent was already snoring loudly. His body was covered in sweat. His face hurt from sunburn, and skin peeled from it. The sun had been as fierce as it always was out on the frontier.

The only consolation was the thought of revenge soon to come. After his five years enslavement, he was finally free to get back at the Cajun Empire for what it had done all those years ago. The anticipation filled him with anger.

Flies buzzed around the smelly tent, and moths would occasionally blunder into him, meeting their death as he squashed them. If he could only get to sleep.

Hours slid by, and the air cooled to a more comfortable temperature. Eric pulled a sheet over himself and rolled onto his side. He soon fell asleep.

*

“Wake up,” shouted a voice outside. Eric sat up to see the silhouette of a soldier walking past his tent. The silhouette moved on, barking orders to the other tents.

Eric kicked off his blanket, the now cold air chilling his skin. He crawled over to his pile of possessions at the foot of his bed and fumbled for his armored trousers. The others in the tent made equally hasty preparations, pulling on items of clothing.

Eric pulled on a padded leather jacket, and over that he put a light chainmail shirt. He grabbed a belt and fastened it around his waist. The chainmail hung down about a foot below the belt. Next he slid on a pair of socks and his leather boots. Lastly, he placed his scratched metal helmet on his head, before stepping outside.

The horizon was slightly red from the sun, hiding just below the barren hills. It was still dark however. One of Eric’s companions lit a torch, illuminating the vicinity. The heat of the previous day had completely dissipated, leaving the ground crunchy with frost. Eric’s hands soon became numb as they walked through the encampment to the staging area.

Men on horseback rode passed them, hurrying to take up positions. They stopped momentarily at the ration serving station. Eric lined up, as he had so many years ago before the battle that still lingered in his nightmares. Also familiar was the menu. A many times reheated dish somewhere between soup and stew, as foul tasting as he remembered. He was used to it now though, after spending a year in the Arbadraz army, and ate it quickly without complaint. He placed his bowl in the pile of dirty dishes and moved on.

He joined his company at the front of the gathering army. His captain stood next to him, front and centre. He held a shield in one hand, the other resting on the hilt of his sword which hung from his belt. He drummed his fingers against it, impatient and hungry for vengeance.

Every now and then he would turn to look at the others in his company. Most of them new, quivered in fear. Some closed their eyes in prayer. Very few seemed as calm as he did.

What weaklings he thought, without realizing the hypocrisy in this speculation. The brutality he had seen had desensitized him to violence, turning fear into anger and thirst for revenge. He denied his past cowardice, if only to himself, but he had convinced himself that violence was the way.

“Attention,” shouted the general from atop his horse. He rode to the front of the army.

The hushed murmurings stopped. Eric looked up at the general.

“As most of you know, we’ll be meeting an army of Cajun in battle today. We shall show them the consequences of making an incursion on our lands. I trust that you will all do your duty. Do the kingdom proud.”

Eric cheered. His applause spread until the whole army was cheering and whistling loudly.

“March,” shouted the general, his booming voice overpowering the colossal cheers. He trotted to the side of the army to let it advance, before joining his cavalry unit at the rear.

Eric boldly took the first step of his unit. The others fell in a moment later, walking slightly faster to catch up. The rhythmic sound of marching and clanging armour heightened Eric’s excitement, and he struggled to stay in time with the rest, all too eager to charge ahead.

“Steady Eric,” said the captain, noticing his fidgety manner. “Another hour at most I should say. Hold it in.”

Eric complied. “Yes sir.” Ahead he could see a very faint glow on the plain. Could it be the fires of the enemy encampment?

As the sun rose, his hunch was confirmed. He could make out in the dim light, the tents of the Cajun army, and as the sun lit the plain more, he could see the army marshaling out the front.

Before Eric knew it, a horn sounded, and the general rode to the head of the army once more. The enemy was staged a few hundred metres ahead.

“Take up positions,” said the general.

Eric’s company marched forward fifty paces, along with the rest of the first wave infantry companies. Next to their company, marched a line of pikemen, and behind them a large group of archers. They stopped just out of arrow range of the enemy.

The sound of footsteps continued as the line of pikemen moved forward a little more. They stopped, and like clockwork they lowered their long spears to form a bristling wall of spikes in front of the archers.

Across the field Eric could see the enemy force shuffling its cohorts around and forming up a line of infantry at the front of their army. Columns of cavalry rode to the side of the army.

Movement in the grass to the side of the battlefield caught Eric’s eye. It must have been seen by others as well because a soft murmuring went up.

“What’s that,” someone said.

The movement, a mere rustling, stopped.

“What do you think it is sir,” said Eric.

“I don’t know,” said the captain. “I would say a Cajun spy, but then why would they send someone so incompetent as a spy when they should be arrow fodder?”

Three light horsemen rode across to the rustling. They circled around the area, and four people stood up. From where he was Eric couldn’t make out any details. The horsemen moved behind them with spears pointed at their backs and they began moving.

Arthur walked behind Black with his hands on his head through the long grass. He could hear the three horsemen behind him talking to each other quietly. He followed Black around behind the army and to the foot of a small rise where there were medical tents and posts with horses tied to them.

“Halt,” shouted one of the men on horseback. Arthur stopped, and the horses circled around them. Another three men ran in between the horses. One grabbed Arthur’s arms and tied them behind his back with rope. He was handled roughly. The man pushed him down onto his knees and moved on to restrain Wolfgang. Black and Sibo were already down as well.

Once they were all tied up, the group of horses moved outwards, opening up a space where a richly decorated horse and rider entered from atop the hill.

“State your purpose,” said the man, obviously some sort of commander.

“We are refugees,” said Black. “We fled Cajun, hoping to find refuge in your fine kingdom.”

“A likely story,” said the commander. “One I can’t afford to take at face value I’m afraid.”

“I speak the truth,” said Black.

“Be that as it may, you’ll have to wait until the battle’s over. Until then you stay tied up. Take them away.”

The three men who had tied them up returned, and the commander rode back up to the top of the hill where a unit of cavalry waited.

The soldiers led them a short way up the hill to a flat bit of ground and ordered them to sit down back to back. They did as ordered.

Arthur looked out over the battlefield as he had a rope tied around him, binding him to the others. He saw the huge armies standing stationary, waiting for the order to butcher each other. None of the units were moving anymore. Everything was in place.

“First wave, charge,” came a shout from atop the hill. Arthur saw a thin line peel off the front of the army and run across the field. Seconds later, the army on the opposite side of the field did the same.

Eric ran, slightly ahead of the rest of his unit. He powered ahead at normal speed, well accustomed to running in armour. The sound of metal clanging rang out like bells.

A volley of arrows flew overhead and struck the enemy force running towards him. It sent a few men to the ground. Then a volley of arrows came flying towards them, Eric held his shield to the sky. He felt an arrow thump into his shield. He kept running despite the screams he heard from behind, and the arrows landing in front of him.

Arthur saw a group of men on horses moving around beside them to form a column beside the army. Looking out onto the battlefield he could guess why. The enemy seemed to be forming up a flanking cavalry attack.

Eric raised his sword above his head and grunted a loud war cry as the lines clashed. He ducked to avoid a slash from his opponent, and then with his arm, strengthened from his work as a slave, he knocked the man over. He stood over his foe, who scrambled backwards, trying to get up. Eric stabbed the sword into the man’s neck and his body went still.

“Arbadraz better bloody win this battle,” said Black. “I don’t think the Cajun army will be very polite to us if they find us tied here.”

“Whatever god wills…” began Wolfgang.

“Shut up,” said Arthur. “Everything Black says you make a comment about god.”

“How dare you speak to me like that,” said Wolfgang. “Renounce your non-believing ways now. If we die and you remain a heathen, you shall burn in hell.”

“My brother is a better man than you,” rebuked Sibo, “if anyone’s going to hell…”

“I have prayed daily every day of my life…”

“And while you’re talking to the man in the sky people on the earth are dying,” said Black, who had usually been neutral in these religious arguments.

Wolfgang was silenced.

“I watched my mother and father killed before me,” said Black. “I watched friends killed before me. These children saw their father murdered.” He shook his head. “How can any of us believe there is a god? How can you be so naive?”

Wolfgang made no reply. When Black said something it wasn’t up for negotiation.

Arthur saw a large stone from a trebuchet fly through the air and smash a group of men to bits as if they were ants. If there was a god behind all this, he was cruel.

Eric rammed the back of his shield, knocking the man in front of him back, causing a group of men to fall over. He and some soldiers behind him ran into the breach, stepping on the still breathing soldiers and hacking their way into the enemy’s lines. He stabbed his blade at a man’s chest, but the foe blocked. Before his enemy could counter, Eric took another stab, this time at the man’s head. That was how he fought; always on the offensive.

Wolfgang was muttering something; obviously a prayer. Arthur decided not to make a comment, knowing all too well where that would lead. Looking out over the field of battle he saw that the lines were becoming less discernible. Where once there was a distinct block of dark red for Arbadraz, and navy blue for Cajun, there was now a rabble as each side pushed further into each other’s lines. By the looks of things Arbadraz was winning.

A trumpet sounded from the other side of the field, and a division of cavalry charged down the right flank of the Cajun army. At the same moment another wave of infantry from either side charged forward towards the fray.

“Withdraw the infantry,” shouted Black, as if it were a sporting event.

An officer standing by came over to them. “Shut up,” he said. “What would a refugee know about tactics?”

Eric heard the thunder of hoof beats behind him. He looked over the fray, being taller than most men and saw enemy cavalry bearing down upon them with iron lances.

“Behind us captain,” he shouted. The captain turned around to see the deadly warhorses with their armoured riders.

“See,” said the officer who had silenced Black. “Our cavalry will intercept them. No need to withdraw the infantry.”

Most of the tactics went over Arthur’s head, but he saw clearly what happened next.

The Arbadraz cavalry hit the Cajun charge in the side, taking down a few men. However, the Cajun cavalry kept going straight into the rear of the infantry. Unable to stop in time, the Arbadraz cavalry slammed into them too, trampling their own men.

“Withdraw,” shouted the captain.

Eric turned away from the man he faced and ran, weaving through the confusion of horses. He saw just in time as a blade came flying towards his head, and leaned to the side. It struck him in the shoulder, but his armour saved him from losing an arm. He stabbed his sword upwards at the rider’s gut, but found a hard plate of metal blocking its path. Knowing he couldn’t win, he ran away, following the captain.

The remnants of the once orderly cohort ran back across the field with no cohesion whatsoever. Behind him Eric heard horses whinnying as the friendly cavalry were overwhelmed.

“Should have withdrawn the infantry,” said Black.

The officer looked ready to put a sword through him. The parts of his face visible through his helmet were beetroot red.

On the other side of the fray in the centre, Arthur saw most of the Cajun infantry moving forward. The battle was clearly over, and the rout begun. The remaining cavalry at the rear of the army circled around to join in the slaugher.

“This battle has gone terribly wrong,” said the general atop the hill, “give the order to pull back.”

“Retreat,” shouted a man beside the general, whose voice was loud enough to carry across the battlefield.

The line of infantry in front of Eric’s company who were marching towards the fight turned tail and fled. Beyond them, Eric saw the whole army marching away, while a few units remained to hold the enemy at bay.

A volley of arrows fell from the sky. One struck the man in front of Eric, and he fell into Eric’s arms. As he slumped back his helmet fell off. It was the captain.

“Eric,” he stuttered.

The sound of hoofbeats behind them signaled that the enemy cavalry was chasing them down.

“Kill me,” said the captain weakly. “Don’t let me fall into their hands.”

Eric looked into the captain’s eyes. Blood began to appear on the side of his mouth.

“Do it Eric,” said the captain.

Eric put the captain’s body down, and with a quick slash slit his throat. A deep feeling of regret came over him. It was the first time he’d felt bad about killing someone. Then again it was the first time he’d killed someone who wasn’t trying to kill him.

An arrow ricocheted off his shield, and he snapped out of his revelry. Looking behind he saw the mounted warriors riding past his fleeing comrades, cutting them down like timber. He put his sword back in its sheath and ran for his life.

“Crap,” said Black. “We’re either dead or slaves now; dead most likely.”

A column of cavalry rode down the side of the army, and unleashed a hail of arrows onto the withdrawing soldiers. The moment the arrows landed, the men panicked. The orderly withdrawal became a rout as men broke ranks to try and escape as quickly as possible. Soldiers ran past the four prisoners, their faces contorted with fear.

“Help,” shouted Black. But none of the soldiers stopped to save them; too busy worrying about their own survival.

A few arrows stabbed into the ground next to them. Arthur’s eyes widened in fear. He looked up and saw more speeding towards them, steel barbs glinting in the sunlight.

Eric heard a horse coming up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see the rider holding his sword up, ready to strike. Eric leapt to the ground, avoiding the flashing blade. He scrambled to his feet and kept running. The rider didn’t turn around to fight him; he was busy chasing the next man.

Through the mob of fleeing soldiers, Eric saw a straight line of men ahead, the ones left behind to hold the enemy at bay while the rest of the army withdrew; the ones forsaken to death. They stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a wall of shields, dressed in shining plate armour.

As he neared the human barrier the pursuing cavalry broke away, galloping out to the side of the field. There was no way they could overcome this wall of steel dispersed as they were.

Eric stopped when they reached the remaining soldiers. Those who remained of the fleeing men formed up an extra line in front of them, ready to meet their fate.

The pursuing cavalry who had peeled away flanked around the remaining defenders, and chased after the rest of the army. In their place came a line of knights astride giant heavily armoured horses, holding lances and shields, and wearing horned helmets.

“I’m sorry it has to end this way,” said Black.

Arthur didn’t feel sad. He had little left in the world that he would miss. His mother was gone, his father was gone, his home was gone.

Wolfgang made a sound, as if about to say something, but cut it off.

Eric stood completely still as the knights charged towards him. He stared at the one coming towards him. If they were going to die, he would take as many enemies down with him as he could. It was his last act of revenge against the Cajun empire.

A lance smashed into Eric’s shield and he flew backwards, feeling his arm dislocate. He skidded across the grass behind the rest of the soldiers. A few others landed there as well. He pushed himself to his feet, his head spinning. The lancers were trampling over the defenders.

“Help,” came a cry from down the hill.

Eric looked down to see four unarmed people bound together by a rope. His eye caught that of a dark haired teenage boy. As soon as he saw the fear in his eye something buried deep inside him surfaced. He remembered feeling that same fear.

Eric hurried down the hill and cut the rope with his sword.

“Run,” he said, ignoring the pain in his arm. “Get out of here.”

“Thank you,” said Black, pulling Arthur and Sibo up.

Suddenly there was the sound of galloping. Arthur looked over his shoulder to see a group of horses charging towards them. Three of them had lances, and the one at the front held a huge sword with a golden handle. Black turned and slid an axe out of his belt.

“Get down,” said Black.

The others obeyed. Even Eric complied, somehow sensing that this man knew what he was doing.

Black held his axe aloft as the man with the sword rode for him. The rider raised his sword as he got closer. Black felt the Earth tremble.

The rider slashed downward with his sword. Arthur gasped. It looked as if Black would die.

Black ducked under the blade, and hooked the axe head under the rider’s thigh. The rider slid off the back of the horse. Black grabbed the hilt of his sword with his other hand, and swept it out of the sheath and through the air. It contacted the rider’s neck as he fell, and the blade sliced through the spine.

The head flew through the air, swirling blood behind it, and landed in front of Eric.

Eric opened his eyes, to find himself staring at the face of the Cajun general.

“You’ve killed their general,” said Eric in disbelief. He grabbed the head in his good hand and held it up.

“The Cajun general is dead!”

With that, the lancers began to panic, and the defenders fervor increased. The horses in the melee dropped like flies, and some began to retreat.

Eric rushed over the ridge to see the rear of the retreating army.

“Return to battle,” he shouted. “The Cajun general is dead. Their knights are on the run.”

The fleeing soldiers stopped, and charged back in the other direction, shouting loud war cries.

Eric turned around to face Black. “You have won this battle. We are eternally in your debt.”

Arthur hugged Sibo. “We’re alive,” he said. “We are alive.”

Eric stood atop the ridge as his comrades rushed past him, brandishing their weapons. Down on the field much of the enemy infantry was fleeing after seeing the knights rout.

“Victory,” he shouted, holding his sword high.

The man on the richly decorated horse from earlier reigned in beside Black. “I have an offer for you.”