Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(9)

Even though it was late in the battle and the sun was beginning to wane, chaos didn’t even come close to describing what they’d endured for hours upon end. Harold’s army had set up a significant shield wall that the Norman’s had difficulty penetrating. As the day headed into evening, de Wolfe knew that they were going to have to do something radical to break it. Harold’s army was weakened and to not capitalize on their weakness would be foolish. Little by little, the Normans had chipped away at the Anglo-Saxons but their mighty shield wall – literally, a wall of shields to prevent the Normans from dividing their ranks – had held.

The horse de Wolfe had confiscated was his reward after a second failed attempt to break through the shield wall. He’d killed an Anglo-Saxon warrior and stolen his horse, punishing the man for the fact that he and his brethren were so stubborn. At this point, the Norman archers had ceased altogether because they’d used up too much ammunition. So it was now a job for the knights and infantry, and the situation had deteriorated badly. It was only a matter of time now before the shield wall broke down, so de Wolfe went back to the lines, swinging his sword and trying to push through the wall of Anglo-Saxon warriors who had so ably held the line.

“Gate!”

Someone was shouting de Wolfe’s name and he turned to see Kristoph de Lohr pushing his way through the fighting. The man’s horse was badly cut in spite of the leather armor the animal wore, but Kristoph seemed to be whole and unharmed. Gaetan was glad; he and Kristoph were closer than brothers and he considered the man his best friend in the world. They’d fostered together and had been knighted together, and there was a bond between them that was stronger than blood.

Gaetan reined his charger towards Kristoph, the excited war horses coming together and snapping at each other until both Gaetan and Kristoph called the beasts off.

“We should have this shield wall breached shortly,” Gaetan shouted over the noisy clamor of men. “Where is the duke?”

Kristoph had to slug his horse in the neck to keep it from snapping at Gaetan. “I do not know,” he said, his sky-blue eyes visible beneath his great helm. “That is why I have come to you. You must come with me now!”

Gaetan didn’t want to leave the front lines but he knew Kristoph wouldn’t have made such a request without a very good reason. Looking around, he spied Aramis de Russe nearby, trying to use the weight of his horse to smash through the shield wall. The Anglo-Saxon warriors on the other side didn’t take kindly to that and there was a serious sword fight going on. Gaetan shouted at de Russe.

“Aramis!” he bellowed. “De Russe!”

De Russe’s helmed head turned in his direction as Gaetan shouted again. “You have command!”

De Russe understood that order all too well and he returned with renewed vigor to the shield wall. Confident the lines were in good hands, Gaetan spurred his horse after Kristoph, who was now racing for the east side of the battlefield, where the flanks were weakening. He caught up to Kristoph.

“What is happening?” he shouted.

Kristoph slowed his horse, but only so he could answer. “Some of de Lara’s men broke through the shield wall on this weakened flank,” he said, pointing out what Gaetan had been unable to see from his position in the middle. “There is some fighting going on back in the Anglo lines and one of de Lara’s men came back to tell me that Harold is dead. He saw him fall to the north, behind the lines.”

Gaetan was seized with the news. “Dead?” he repeated. “God’s Bloody Bones, let us not waste time. Rally the men! We will break through this flank and see for ourselves!”

Kristoph was already working on it. De Lara had already broken through the lines and Kristoph sent a man for Denis de Winter, who was the closest by location to them. Between de Winter and Kristoph, they managed to rally several hundred men, now pushing through the weakened flank like a great and unstoppable tide.

But Gaetan had already broken through, charging through the Anglo-Saxon lines, swinging his massive sword and slicing through anything that moved. If what Kristoph told him was true and Harold was dead, then Gaetan wanted the body. He wanted the prize to present to the Duke of Normandy, the greatest prize of all, like the Holy Grail of battle. It was what they’d all been fighting for and dying for.

He began to suspect that the rumor might be true when he was suddenly attacked head-on by a swarm of infantry, men rushing him with their spears and short swords. The charge slowed Gaetan down but it didn’t stop him completely. He grabbed a particularly well-armed soldier and yanked him up onto his horse, using him as a shield against others who were trying to impale him.

“Where is your king?” Gaetan bellowed, his hand on the back of the man’s head, entwined in his hair painfully. “Take me to your king!”

The Anglo-Saxon soldier resisted but, suddenly, Normans were everywhere, like locusts, and the Anglo-Saxon line began to crumble. Men were beaten back as more knights swarmed and Gaetan could see that de Winter and Kristoph were joined by de Moray, Wellesbourne, and several other lesser knights sworn to Normandy. The Angels of War had arrived and the tide of Normans pushed onward, towards the rear of the Anglo-Saxon army, only to be confronted by the encampment beyond and scores of Anglo-Saxon wounded.

They’d reached Harold’s rear.

This was where Gaetan had limited patience. He yanked on the hair of the soldier he still held. “Tell me where your king is,” he snarled. “Your lines are broken and my men will soon be destroying your wounded. We will destroy everything if you do not tell me where your king is. Tell me now!”