CHAPTER FOUR: CHESS
1 May 769
Near Pravia, Asturia
“No--no!” cried the sergeant, “If you do it like that, you’ll poke someone’s eye out, and it won’t be your enemy’s!”
Wulfila looked on as the sergeant tried to give the new peasant levies some rudimentary training. They still had a long way to go, and they were running out of time. Although their camp in the forests outside Pravia had been reasonably safe from skirmishers, the rebel army would advance upon their position in less than a day. Pravia lay on the main road to Ovetum. If they were going to prevent a long siege of the kingdom's largest city, they had to stop the rebels here.
“It’s all in your footwork,” the sergeant continued, demonstrating for the peasants, “See? With a strong stance like this, you’ll soon sift your enemies like wheat from the chaff! Yes, like that! No, no, no! Watch it, Audo--”
Wulfila might have chuckled at the usual training mishaps, if the matter had not been so urgent. He glanced up at the horizon to see a plume of smoke rising in the distance: the rebels had put yet another village to the torch.
“Breakfast,” said the king, stepping alongside Wulfila.
“Sire?” asked the captain, somewhat confused.
“Breakfast, Wulfila,” said Aurelio, “The rebel army gluts itself on the spoils from innocent villages. Although it’s true the men need to eat, the ravaging of men unjustly raised in rebellion can prove worse than a blight.”
Wulfila nodded. Another column of smoke rose in the distance, not far from the first.
“Second breakfasts, my lord?” asked Wulfila.
“Worse,” said Aurelio, “Sport.”
Wulfila did not need the king to explain himself. He had seen what kind of desolation could be wrought when cruel and heartless men grew bored.
“Oi! Hey!” the sergeant shouted as a slim, mud-spattered man ran straight through his formation of drilling levies.
“Hold!” called Wulfila, half-drawing his spatha from its sheath, “What urgency impels you to disrupt these soldiers' training?” He wondered how this man had even gotten past his guardsmen.
Huffing with exertion, the runner simply held up a vellum scroll fastened by a large red seal. Wulfila took the scroll from the runner and brought it to the king.
“I recognize that seal,” said Aurelio, snapping the wax and briskly scanning the document.
Wulfila stood at attention nearby, waiting patiently. If the king wished to share the contents of the letter, he would. If not, then it was not Wulfila’s place to ask.
Aurelio crumpled the letter. “Not possible,” he mumbled to himself, “Surely not.”
Wulfila felt his blood turn to ice water as three clear, clarion notes sounded from a horn somewhere nearby.
The king shook his head as if in disbelief. “Make ready!” he cried, “We’re going to have company!”
“You heard the king!” barked Wulfila, “Move, move!”
Soldiers immediately scrambled in all directions at his command, throwing on hauberks and grabbing discarded weapons. Wulfila’s long-suffering sergeant could not hide his chagrin as his men broke ranks and dispersed.
Wulfila followed the king to the rough palisade that marked the edge of their camp. “Place the Gardingi here,” said Aurelio, “Dismounted, in two ranks on either side of the path.”
“My lord,” Wulfila protested, “If we are to be attacked, shouldn’t your hearth-companions surround your royal person as a last line of defense? They’re wasted on the front ranks.”
“My dear captain,” said Aurelio, “They are not here to serve on the front lines. They are here as an honor guard.”
“What?” sputtered Wulfila.
“Well spoken, my king,” said a voice. Dozens of men suddenly emerged from the woods, assembling into rough ranks along the muddy track that served as the camp’s main path. They were dressed either in rough leathers or simple cloth, and were lightly armed with short-swords and javelins.
“Your highness does me a great honor,” the voice said again. The newcomers broke ranks and a well-dressed noblewoman emerged, bearing a javelin herself.
“Lady Munia,” said Aurelio, shaking his head. Wulfila noted he did not call her “Queen.”
“My king,” said Munia, giving a graceful bow, “May I apologize for our… tardiness?”
“I heard we had company,” panted Veremundo, jogging up to his brother’s side. “Sweet Jesus have mercy,” he muttered upon seeing Munia and her companions.
“I must admit to some surprise when we received your emissaries a few days back,” said Aurelio, “That was quite a gift you gave us. Given recent developments, I had thought that might be the limit of your charity.”
Munia clicked her tongue. “The whole kingdom must know of the loyalty shown by the Basques,” she said, “Granted there are a few
notable exceptions. Speaking of which... tell me, how is my Father? Your Grace showed great clemency in sparing his unworthy life.”
“He hasn’t stopped raving about his ‘rights’ since they locked him in the dungeon,” Veremundo grinned, “It grew so bad, I heard the servants had to stop up their ears with wads of cloth--”
“That’s quite enough, brother,” said the King, “You’ll offend the lady’s sensibilities with such grim talk.”
“As grim as bold-faced treason?” Munia cocked an eyebrow. “Or perhaps open rebellion, or attempted regicide by poisoning? These are dark days we live in, sire, and not a time for the weak-livered.”
“Well spoken, Comitissa,” Aurelio shrugged.
“Shall I convey the Lady and her retainers to the camping grounds?” asked Wulfila.
“No, thank you, Captain,” Munia interjected, “My men are tough, rugged mountaineers from the Pyrenees.
Al-Mughawirs, the Moors call them. You’ll find they are most adept at roughing it in the wilds. By your leave, sire?”
“Certainly,” answered the King. Munia led her officers a few paces off and began giving them instructions for organizing their battalions.
With Munia temporarily out of earshot, Veremundo turned to the King. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, brother?”
“If you’re going to remind me one more time about her ‘huge tracts of land,’ forget it. I’m not interested.”
“No, no, it’s not that at all,” Veremundo said, looking as sincere as Wulfila had ever seen him, “It’s--I mean--with the Basques joining us after all...”
“You’re thinking we might stand a chance? That this evens the odds, and may even tip the scales in our favor?”
“Yes and no,” Veremundo whispered, “Before they arrived, I wasn’t sure I’d live through the night. By Lucifer’s beard, brother! The whole kingdom has rebelled against you except for me!”
“And apparently Munia,” shrugged Aurelio, the incredulity still plain on his face.
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“You must learn to trust in the saints, brother,” said the king, “They’ve never failed me yet.”
“You were nearly poisoned by your own cousin,” Veremundo mused, “And now you’re fighting a massive civil war less than a year after your own coronation. That doesn’t exactly strike me as the Almighty’s blessings!”
“
Nearly poisoned,” Aurelio emphasized, “Better their treason was exposed now, when we remain strong enough to confront it! You must have more faith in the Saints.”
“Bah,” Veremundo scoffed, waving a hand dismissively.
“I
always put my trust in the Saints,” said Munia, rejoining the brothers, “Magdalena in particular has never let me down.” She kissed the tip of her long javelin.
“My God,” said Veremundo, his expression somewhere between disgust and admiration, “You know, milady, you are absolutely
ferocious. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Only my
friends, Lord Veremundo,” Munia said, half-smiling, “So I’ll take that as a compliment, thanks.”
“Heaven help our foes,” Veremundo crossed himself.
***
2 May 769
Near Pravia, Asturia
The arrival of the rebel host on the battlefield had not had the catastrophic impact some had expected. Although both sides were well-prepared for combat, neither seemed particularly eager to commit to a pitched battle. They had spent the balance of the morning skirmishing, trading volley after volley of javelins. So far, there had only been a handful of casualties on either side.
Aurelio took a long draught from his waterskin. He had given up spiced wine ever since the attempted poisoning -- yet another pleasure that had been denied him due to his position. Now any servants fetching water for him from the royal wells were guarded by a contingent of the royal Gardingi, just to be thorough.
The king watched silently as the latest bands of skirmishers fell back to their respective armies to replenish their supply of javelins.
Aurelio flipped open his saddlebag, pulled out a ripe plum, and took a bite. He felt the juice begin to dribble down his chin, but resisted the urge to wipe his beard with his sleeve, remembering he was wearing a heavy mail hauberk.
As he scanned the enemy lines for sudden movements, a small band of men broke forth from the enemy ranks and headed towards the royal host, bearing a white flag.
“What is the meaning of this, I wonder?” said the king.
“It would seem the fools wish to parley,” said Veremundo, who seemed more amused than anything.
“Their timing is spectacular,” mused Aurelio.
“Well, there’s nothing for it,” said Veremundo, “Do you want to come along, or will you be sending a
trusted representative?” He drew himself up to his full height and swept his cloak over one shoulder with feigned panache.
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this,” sneered Aurelio. The brothers shared a look that expressed that neither of them expected it to be a particularly scintillating conversation.
“I’m coming too,” said Munia, making it abundantly clear from her tone that this was not a request.
The king picked a battalion of well-armed Gadrauhts to serve as their escorts. Considering their opponents’ already established reputation for treachery, one couldn’t be too careful.
As the enemy commanders drew near, it became plain that they too had brought bodyguards, as they were surrounded by a cadre of burly, blond Suebians. Once they were within 100 paces, the rebel escort parted and their three leaders emerged, still under the white banner of truce.
The royal commanders watched them approach. Silo seemed as grim as ever, while Mauregato tried to infuse a confident swagger into his limp. It seemed his injured ankle had yet to recover. The two traitors were joined by Liutfredo, Comes of Suebennia. Where Silo was broad-shouldered and muscular, and Mauregato lithe and swarthy, Liutfredo was lanky and tall, with a helmet that seemed too big for his head.
As their enemy drew near, Aurelio and Veremundo followed suit, emerging from the close ranks of their guards. They approached the rebel leaders but stopped a bit short, staying within ear shot but keeping far enough apart to avoid becoming vulnerable to any hidden blades.
“Comes Liutfredo,” called Aurelio, ignoring the others for the moment, “I am truly disappointed to see you here, accompanied by the likes of these two.”
Liutfredo grimaced and bit his lip, as if trying to hold in his emotions.
“Oh, don’t hold it against him, sire,” Silo said with a reptilian smile, “You see, I happen to be holding his wife and daughters hostage, and if he doesn’t fully cooperate with my plans, then I’m afraid I’ll have to--”
“Don’t even say it,” Liutfredo grunted, “I’ve done all you asked. Please…” A tiny tear pricked at the corner of his right eye.
“Then it would seem we are fighting for more than my crown today,” Aurelio frowned.
“It is
my crown we are fighting for,” growled Silo.
“Speak for yourself!” Mauregato hissed, “Everyone knows the crown is rightfully mine!”
“Surely you did not call this parley to waste our time with this foolish prattle?” Aurelio sniffed.
“Indeed not,
sire,” Silo practically spat, “We are here to give you an ultimatum. Surrender the crown and the royal demesne to us. Abdicate your throne here, now, and we will allow you to keep your life and retire to your villa in peace. But should you choose to fight, know that this offer will not be made again.”
“Retire to my villa, you say?” said Aurelio, “Where I’m certain to find poisonous toadstools in the stew and serpents in the bed linens, no doubt?”
Silo laughed. “You are not a young man, sire. Would you not prefer to die in the comfort of your own home, your own bed, rather than falling under my blade today in this muddy field?”
“Why you snake-tongued, little--” Veremundo began to draw his sword. Aurelio put a hand on his shoulder to hold his brother back.
“You insolence is noted, Silo,” Aurelio growled, “But it does you no credit.”
Mauregato seemed to be growing agitated because no one was paying attention to him. “If you’re so concerned about Silo’s threats, just you wait!
My men will peg you out in the sun and let the vultures pick your bones! But not before they cut off your--”
“Enough!” The former Queen of Asturia pushed her way past three rows of tightly-packed Gadrauhts and thrust herself fierce-faced into the parley. “By your leave, your Grace?” Munia’s tone may have sounded demure, but her sharp gaze remained fixed on the rebel leaders.
Aurelio stifled a wry smile, “As you wish, milady.”
Munia cocked an eyebrow as she stepped towards her prey. The small gathering of Goths looked on in fascination.
“Munia,” Silo bristled, “You’re keeping awfully peculiar company these days. What strange game are you playing at now?”
“The only game I’m playing now is
chess,” Munia said calmly. Silo’s brow furrowed. “The board is set,” she continued, “But the game is already over.
Check mate!” The point of her javelin was suddenly mere inches from Silo’s throat.
“Come now, my
Queen,” he sneered, pushing the spearpoint away with the back of his hand, “Stop this play-acting--”
“Silence!” she hissed, suddenly seeming less like a Dowager Queen and more like a very well-dressed fire-breathing dragon. “I have no time to waste on your venom and vitriol.”
Silo smirked at Munia, but held his peace.
“You miserable, traitorous dogs,” she continued, “Your fates have already been sealed. You thought to present your sworn king with an ultimatum? Well, I have one for you in turn. You have but one chance to save your loathsome necks. Surrender now, and you will keep your lives as permanent guests in the royal dungeons. Or--
“Or by all means, continue to fight,” growled Aurelio, “You
will be defeated, and then, I have decided to allow
Queen Munia to see to your punishment... personally.”
A murmur spread through the enemies’ guards. Mauregato blanched. Silo kept his composure, but his arrogant smirk fled his face. Liutfredo still looked as though he were about to weep. No one spoke.
The king looked over to Munia, who was grinning at the rebels quite fiendishly. “Well,” Aurelio wrinkled his nose, “I think we’re done here. Unless…”
“You think we should share our little secret with these gormless fools?” asked Veremundo.
“Yes, and be quick about it!” Munia urged.
Veremundo put his hunting horn to his lips and gave three clear blasts.
Nothing happened.
“Been reading the Book of Joshua overmuch, have we?” Silo sneered, “It will take more than a little noise to bring
us crumbling down.”
Mauregato clearly missed the scriptural reference, but feigned laughter as if he had gotten the joke.
“Hush a minute, my lords,” Liutfredo said nervously, “What is that?”
“What is what?” asked Mauregato.
Silo held up a finger for silence, his face pinched as he strained his ears. “There is a noise of war in the camp.”
The three rebel lords turned back to the king and his allies in bewilderment.
“Why--” stammered Mauregato, “You--you had no intention of negotiating! You--”
Silo cut him off, pointing to the royal army, which was now steadily advancing on their position. “Shut up and run, you fool!”
Mauregato sneered at Silo before turning and limping away.
Silo gave one final glower in the direction of the king before hastily jogging away himself.
“Didn’t they wonder where the Basques had gone off to?” quipped Veremundo, watching as the rebel leaders scurried back to their embattled army.
“That ambuscade was a truly excellent idea,” said Aurelio.
“If you liked that,” said Munia, “You haven’t seen anything yet,”
***
Later That Afternoon
Near Pravia, Asturia
The dying man’s groans were drowned out in the cacophony of battle. Wulfila looked on in helpless dismay. Moments before, the unfortunate soldier had been shouting war cries in the ranks right next to Wulfila. Now he lay transfixed on the ground, weakening hands grasping at the long javelin embedded in his ribcage, a projectile that had clearly been meant for his captain.
The battle was degenerating into a bloodbath, as ranks broke apart and organized combat devolved into a thousand tiny duels.
The Battle of Pravia had started well enough for the royalists. The Basque ambush of the enemy rear had taken the rebels completely by surprise. The ambuscade had been followed up by harrying strikes on the enemy flanks by the king’s genitours (who were already being called “jinetes” in some parts of the kingdom).
Then the two shield walls had collided with a spectacular crash as Suebians, Asturicans and Gallaecians fought cheek-by-jowl against Visigoths, Cantabrians and Basques. As both sides were of similar numbers, neither side had seemed able to topple the other. All they had managed to do was ebb and flow across the battlefield, leaving the dead and the dying scattered around in their wake.
A well-timed charge on the enemy flank by Aurelio and his Gardingi finally managed to crush the morale of half of Liutfredo’s infantry, who panicked and broke into a full-on rout, but the shrewd Silo countered with his own cavalry, which prevented the king from exploiting his gains.
Both sides had grown weary of bloodshed, now that the battle had been raging for several hours, but neither army was willing to yield the field to the other.
Wulfila and a handful of chosen Gardingi were trying to round up enough of the undisciplined, scattering levies to form a makeshift schiltrom. However, the enemy’s archers and skirmishers were proving a source of considerable grief, as most of the peasant levies wore no armor and carried only moderately-sized round shields.
“Here, pick those up!” Wulfila’s men scavenged some larger shields from the bodies of fallen Gadrauhts from earlier in the battle. The slain warriors lay in rows, mimicking the battle formations they had held in life.
With his front line sufficiently protected, Wulfila’s hodgepodge command was prepared to tip the balance at the battlefront.
“Stand with us!” he called to some Basque javelineers who were falling back to the rear. Some of the skirmishers joined the schiltrom, bolstering their numbers further. “Now, double time!” Wulfila called, “And stay together!”
The men tramped forward as fast as they reasonably could while still maintaining a cohesive formation. Wulfila guided them into the thick of the most recent carnage to where Veremundo’s Cantabrians were struggling to hold back the enemy’s right flank.
Wulfila raised his sword high into the air, then pointed it at the enemy ranks. “In the name of the true king, charge!” Impelled by their new Gardingi commanders, the levies advanced into combat about as well as Wulfila could have hoped.
A cheer went up from the men as they slowly but surely pushed Mauregato’s Asturican levies back. “Keep formation!” Wulfila called, grabbing a spear from a fallen soldier and filling a gap in the ranks himself. “Lock your shields, brace your spears!”
They pressed the enemy ranks as hard as they could for the next half hour. The Asturicans were nearing their breaking point, but some of Wulfila’s inexperienced levies were dropping from exhaustion. Wulfila tried to close ranks with the nearest battalion of Gadrauhts to maintain cohesion.
His efforts were interrupted by the sounding of horns in the distance. Looking up, Wulfila saw a large cloud of dust as a body of cavalry headed towards them. Were these reinforcements? Whose side were they on?
“Tighten ranks!” he called, just to be on the safe side, “Brace for impact!”
The newcomers galloped onto the battlefield with unearthly frenzy, arrows and javelins flying from the midst of their ranks like shafts in a whirlwind.
It was soon quite apparent that these horsemen were
not friendly reinforcements.
“The Moors!” screamed myriad voices from the Gothic ranks, “The Moors!” Panic began to spread through their lines like an epidemic.
As the full force of the Moorish cavalry struck against the Gothic army, a terrible groan arose from the men. The king’s left flank began to buckle and fall back, granting the surviving Asturican soldiers in the enemy’s ranks a respite while their fresh heathen allies did their dirty work.
“Hold ranks!” shouted King Aurelio, who appeared on the scene to bolster his crumbling flank with his own royal bodyguards. Wulfila was both gladdened and concerned to see him fighting alongside them.
Somehow Aurelio managed to lock eye contact with his treacherous cousin in the midst of the enemy lines.
Mauregato was laughing hysterically. “Now you will see!” he raved, his horse long dead and his once-orderly ranks in tatters, “All of you! You will see what fate befalls those who defy the
true king! Despair! Despair and die!”
