No longer able to stride into the melee himself, Firgen rode up and down the back of his line, entourage in tow.

Hopefully my presence is enough. I don’t like this though. A leader should be in the front, but I’m not going to have my honour guard of fifty knights sacrifice themselves to protect me because I’m too old to fight properly. Best to quaff my pride and adopt a more visual role. At least Ebýr’s is happy.

A slow but steady stream of injured soldiers were filing from Firgen’s back ranks. The dead were dragged out by the retreating Scéotend, so as to not to impede, or dishearten, the living. Firgen’s casualties were light, perhaps four-hundred or so.

He sighed, it could have been much, much worse.

Ebýr had drilled the troops every evening since setting out from Tégemýðe to achieve their manoeuvres. They’d worked perfectly. His troops were winning and their morale was high after the mantlet avalanche, but it would be awhile until his archers could resupply and reform behind his line.

I want to be smug, Dolwillen’s entire initial assault has collapsed, but it is poor form to gloat over Dolwillen’s casualties. I can’t show sympathy either. My troops need to know they are doing the right thing too. I can only hope a few of my recalcitrant citizens will survive the slaughter.

Dolwillen’s Byrnwiggendas were navigating the debris left by the burning mantlets.

Audovera stood in her stirrups and clapped her hands, “Look, Firgen. Look!”

He raised his telescope just in time to see Dolwillen’s wagon slide into the ditch, dislodging its occupants in a parody of acrobatic prowess.

“With any luck, the silly bugger has offed himself.”

“No such fortune,” said Audovera. “He’s getting back up.”

“Wish I had a Drýmann like that, Dolwillen’s an easy target at fifty yards. Shoot enough arrows and one of them will go through eventually, even with his fancy plate. Ah, your Rídwigan are back. I expect they’re after the ransoms.”

“Greed is a wonderful motivator,” said Audovera.

Dolwillen’s Wígárberend had engaged all but Firgen’s far left flank, where the Byrnwiggendas fought. The Wígárberend’s varied armaments made them flexible, but their lack of cohesiveness had, so far, left them ineffective against the bristling wall of spikes. As long as they didn’t penetrate the shield wall, Firgen’s troops would keep the advantage.

However, to the South, the Byrnwiggendas were driving hard into the Lindwígendas as they pulled down shields, hooked legs and tore through the Lindwígendas.

“Ebýr!” said Firgen.

“Sire.”

“It’s time to trap them,” said Firgen. “Signal our Húskarlar and Wígárberend reserves. I doubt Dolwillen spent enough time to work out the soldiers in town are peasants with sticks.”

Ebýr waved over a signaller with a long brass trumpet. A minute later, a complex series of notes pierced the clangour and Firgen’s reserve troops marched from the southern wood.

The remaining irregulars finished streaming through Dolwillen’s Wígárberend and fled south before they were squeezed between the Firgen’s line and Dolwillen’s Wígárberend.

The Byrnwiggendas formed a huge square, facing the new threat with no discernable panic, even as they were enveloped on three sides by fifteen hundred Húskarlar. Firgen’s Wígárberend engaged any enemy Wígárberend who tried to come to the Byrnwiggendas’ aid.

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Firgen now outnumbered Dolwillen two-to-one. The two sides struggled back and forth for about twenty minutes.

The Byrnwiggendas began to falter and started moving to the centre, where their Wígárberend could support them better.

Firgen’s line became hook-like as the enemy retreated.

“Damn, Helȝas. His troops are excellent,” said Firgen.

“The enemy Wígárberend are fighting in waves,” said Audovera. “The Scéotend fire at our northern Lindwígendas flank, then the cavalry dash in to try and take advantage of any gaps or flinches. I know they’ve been training, but they’re not the same calibre as the Wígárberend.”

“All they have to do is hold,” said Firgen. “If the Húskarlar can keep pushing from the south, we’ll get them eventually.”

“I hope so, Firgen.”

“Where’s Dolwillen?”

“He’s standing on top of his splintered chariot waving his silly little sword about,” said Audovera. “And his knights are engaged with my son’s Rídwigan.”

“I see it. Reymnd’s standard is still flying, he’s even on his horse. Not bad, for a young lad.”

“Remi is thirty-two, Firgen.” Audovera sighed, “I’m still worried though. The irregulars who fled north east have begun to reform. I do hope our Scéotend in the northern wood can dissuade them from engaging my boy, or our whole right flank for that matter.”

“I doubt it, my lady,” said Ebýr. “They won’t have many arrows left. Most will be down to their sæx. There are a thousand of them though. They won’t be chased out easily. Sire, the south also faces a similar predicament. If the irregulars charge our Wígárberend and Húskarlar, the Byrnwiggendas will escape.”

“I can’t believe some of Dolwillen’s guards are still alive against a thousand Scéotend and two-hundred Rídwigan. His Drýmann is annoying.” Firgen drummed his fingers against the pommel of his saddle, “Have the Scéotend we sent to the back been resupplied?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Good. Have the northern and southern Scéotend companies move around each flank and target Dolwillen’s reforming irregulars. Even though it prevents our Wígárberend surrounding the enemy, have the centre block fire over the melee and into the back of the enemy Wígárberend.”

Ebýr beckoned three pairs of runners and passed on Firgen’s orders.

The southern irregulars weathered three volleys before they scattered a second time.

The northern irregulars saw Firgen’s Scéotend and stayed well back. After a minute they ran for the northern wood.

The remaining irregulars must have decided it is safer to be beneath the trees against my woodland Scéotend than face more volleys, or they’re after an elusive bonus for saving Dolwillen. I wished they’d continued to run away.

With their original target out of reach, Firgen’s northern block of Scéotend swapped targets and fired into the flank of Dolwillen’s Wígárberend. The enemy soldiers bunched as they pressed towards the fifty yards between Firgen’s line and where the Scéotend were unable to fire without hitting their own side.

Dolwillen’s Wígárberend were forced into the Lindwígendas and Húskarlar. Dolwillen’s Wígárberend hacked and heaved against the shield wall, overwhelming the first two ranks.

I’ve made a mistake. By threatening Dolwillen’s retreat, I’ve forced Dolwillen’s troops to fight more fiercely, and out of the three different groups, only one has fled.

Does the populace really hate me that much, or does Dolwillen hold something over them? What could be more terrifying than the stabbing lines of the Lindwígendas’ spears and relentless, cleaving axes of the Húskarlar?

An unfeigned gasp from Audovera and her tight clasp on his forearm suggested he was about to find out.