Was this how a battle was fought? Was there a strategy involved, or did the two sides merely wait until one commander lost patience or nerve and sent his side forward—or into retreat?
A gap opened between Sabella’s leftmost company of infantry and the rightmost company of those men under Lavastine’s command. The men stood with their arms tight against their sides so they could rest the weight of their shields on their hips. Most of these men carried spears; few common men had the wherewithal to purchase a sword.
As Alain sprinted past the open ground, dashing for safety among Lavastine’s men, he looked up toward Henry’s army. Movement coursed along the ranks. Then, suddenly, the sky darkened with arrows. Most of them fell harmlessly in front of the line of Sabella’s army; some overshot. A few found their mark. But even as men cursed and one shrieked in pain, the archers among Sabella’s army took aim and shot.
They had to arc their arrows higher, to gain the height, but, if anything, this volley had more effect. A ripple passed down the line of Henry’s army as if many arrows had hit their mark. And the line moved.
Horses started forward at intervals. Henry had sent out his skirmishers, mounted men armed with spear and shield or even spear alone. They raced forward, flung their spears, and turned back to gallop out of range, only to turn again—
Alain dashed along the rear of the line and saw Lavastine’s back and the black coats of his hounds just as a great cry went up from the crowd of soldiers around Sabella’s banner. A rank of infantry trotted forward into the empty field that lay between the two armies. They pulled the shrouded cage along with them.
“Hai! For Henry!” the host above them shouted.
Alain shoved his way through to Lavastine’s side. The count did not even notice the boy, he was so intent on the battle. At his leftmost flank, about twenty of his own skirmishers had raced out to meet the skirmishers opposite them. One group of horsemen broke away from the banner of Saony and began to sweep wide, disappearing into the forest.
Lavastine sought and found his captain. “Send a company after them,” he said.
Another cry rent the air from Henry’s army. The king rode a few paces forward and lifted his lance.
“The Holy Lance of St. Perpetua,” murmured Lavastine, but to whom, Alain could not tell.
St. Perpetua. Lady of Battles.
Alain groped at his neck, found the rose. King Henry carried the Lance of St. Perpetua, a relic of the greatest antiquity and holiness. Was it not the Lady of Battles herself who had come to him, a simple merchant’s son, on that stormy day above Osna Sound? Was it not the Lady of Battles who had changed his destiny?
He could not imagine for what purpose he had been led here, to this day and this hour and this moment.
Henry’s army began to move down the hill, picking up speed so their weight could smash through Sabella’s line. And first, in their way, was that knot of infantrymen, dragging the shrouded cage up the slope.
The cage jutted and bounced and lurched. Stuck. One of the wheels had gotten stuck. Henry’s soldiers picked up speed and force. Sabella’s captain shouted a shrill command and lifted a white banner, waving it. The line of her army lurched forward in its turn.
Lavastine lifted an arm. And Alain found himself lost as the two armies lumbered forward to their inevitable meeting. Rage and Sorrow whined. He faltered, unsure where to march, how to fall into place, or what to do. He was not even armed, except with his eating knife. What was he meant to do?
He fell behind and from this vantage point could see nothing except banners and pennants and the chaotic blur of movement on the hill above.
But he knew instantly when the first ranks met. It was a clamor unlike anything he had ever heard, made the more terrible because of the unforgiving clash of sword and spear set against the sudden harrowing screams of mortal men.
He thought of Rodulf’s warnings and Sabella’s answer: “This time it will not be enough.” How could she hope to win against a better armed and larger force?
He could not know whether the cage was opened deliberately or knocked over accidentally in the charge. He only knew it had happened because at that moment there came from the center of the milling battle a shriek from a hundred throats as from one throat that froze his heart in his chest. He could not breathe for so long a span of time that he coughed and gulped air when Rage butted him from behind, jarring him out of his stupor.
On the slope above, half seen through the chaos of soldiers scattering, through horses rearing and screaming, through the press of bodies and of many men intent on moving forward or on running away, he saw it rise into the spring day as a bird flies toward the heavens and freedom.