Knights, Cannons, and Longbows

On April 24, another English fleet entered the Garonne River, including thirty large merchant ships.

The garrison within the city received reinforcements twice, and their numbers actually surpassed those of the French army. Taking advantage of the fact that the English were still assembling at the docks, Arthur requested that the commanders of each unit organize an orderly retreat.

Retreat?

You make it sound so easy, but what am I supposed to do about my heavy siege guns?

Soon, most of the commanders left the command tent. Piero tugged at the sleeve of Vitus. "Don't just stand there. These are all treacherous bastards; if we wait any longer, we won't be able to escape."

Damn it!

Vitus jogged all the way to find the Tuna Mercenary Group, ordering Marcus and Damien to assemble the troops for a retreat. "Forget about those siege guns! Take the supplies and the three-pounders, move!"

The French army led by Arthur was a complex mix: troops from French nobles, spontaneously organized militias, reinforcements from Scotland, and unlucky mercenaries hoodwinked by the Dauphin. Lacking any spirit of self-sacrifice, the commanders of the various units ignored the retreat order Arthur had arranged.

Lacking experience in fleeing for his life, Vitus was ultimately a step too slow. By the time he finished assembling his troops, most of the allied forces had already run off. He was forced to abandon his tents and some of his provisions, insisting on taking the eight three-pounders with him.

Fortunately, Vitus often led his team on runs, training them morning and evening whenever the weather permitted. As a result, the Tuna Mercenary Group marched faster than the average unit, and before long, they caught up with the Rotten Herring Mercenary Group.

"Heh, looks like you've trained them well," Piero said, looking back at the city walls as they faded into the distance. He let out a long sigh. "It's lucky the English lack cavalry; they can't catch us."

Vitus was in a foul mood. "I was actually hoping they would come out of the city to pursue us. If we return to Italy without fighting a single battle, wouldn't we have come for nothing?"

It wasn't just Vitus; those young, reckless French nobles also felt stifled. That afternoon, upon learning that the English had left the city to pursue them, they strongly demanded a decisive battle with the enemy.

According to the scouts from the retinue cavalry, the enemy force that had left the city numbered about eight thousand. Unwilling to let his first battle since returning end in a retreat, Arthur ordered a change in direction, heading toward an open area two miles to the north.

After half a day of rushing, the French army had six thousand soldiers left, including over five hundred well-equipped noble cavalrymen and an equal number of mounted retainers. The flaw was the poor quality of the infantry, which was filled with many poorly equipped conscripted peasants.

Arthur found Vitus and asked him to command the artillery to suppress the England forces.

"The key isn't the artillery, but whether you can control those knights." Vitus observed the battlefield environment and proposed changing the formation, placing the cavalry behind the infantry to prevent them from charging prematurely and repeating the tragedy of Agincourt.

At two in the afternoon, the England army arrived at the battlefield. More than half were longbowmen wearing simple kettle hats and padded jacks—a type of soft armor sewn from multiple layers of linen or wool that provided some defense against slashing and stray arrows.

In terms of equipment, each longbowman possessed a yew bow, with a quiver of arrows and a one-handed weapon (sword, mace, or dagger) hanging at their waist. Furthermore, having learned from the experience of the Battle of Agincourt, each man carried an additional two-meter-long sharpened wooden stake.

At a distance of about two kilometers, the England army deployed into a classic, wide formation: heavy infantry in the center, longbowmen on the flanks, four Bombard pieces positioned in front of the line, and a very small number of cavalry roaming the edges of the battlefield.

On the south side of the battlefield, the French formation was rather peculiar; thousands of infantry were spread out evenly in a single line, quietly awaiting the England advance.

"Forward!"

Following the command of the England commander, the entire formation advanced slowly. The gunners struggled to push the four Bombard pieces, which were soon left behind.

Sunlight pierced through the thin clouds, lazily spilling over the open grassland, while a gentle breeze brought the scent of soil and wildflowers. As the distance between the two sides gradually closed to two hundred meters, the England army stopped. The longbowmen slanted their sharpened wooden stakes into the grass in front of them, forming an effective barrier against cavalry.

While the England army was busy setting up their positions, the French began to move. They marched toward the enemy with long strides; the left flank and center were slower, while the right flank quickened its pace, causing the entire line to look like a diagonal slant.

"Draw!"

The England nobles issued the command. The longbowmen pulled a type of light arrow from their quivers—arrows with slender, four-sided heads that had poor armor-piercing capabilities but were suitable for long-range parabolic shots. They held their yew bows high with their left arms, pulled the strings taut with their right, and aimed at a 45-degree angle into the air, waiting for the next command from the nobles.

"Loose!"

In an instant, thousands of arrows flew toward the French ranks. Vitus lowered his head slightly, and immediately after, a dull thud sounded above him, as if he had been struck by a pebble, followed by a dense, muffled sound of metal clashing all around.

Before long, a second volley of arrows followed. The right flank where Vitus was located was still advancing; his troops were equipped with brigandines, which were sufficient to withstand this level of attack.

As the distance grew closer, the England army switched to heavy arrows with thick, diamond-shaped or triangular heads capable of piercing armor. The Tuna Mercenary Group began to suffer sporadic casualties.

Finally, Vitus ordered a halt, having the artillerymen push out the eight three-pounders. Aiming at the longbowmen behind the sharpened stakes, they fired grapeshot continuously.

After ten volleys, he waved a blue iris flag back and forth. Seeing this, the Rotten Herring Mercenary Group following behind began to maneuver for a flanking attack.

In his plan, the eight cannons would handle the frontal assault, while the Rotten Herring would strike from the flank, which would be enough to rout the longbowmen directly opposite them, then coordinate with the allied infantry to attack the England heavy infantry...

The plan was beautiful, but reality was cruel.

At the same time the Rotten Herring launched their attack, the knights at the very rear could no longer wait. These young, reckless nobles mounted their horses one after another, leading their companions around the infantry in front. As nobles of noble blood, they would never allow these lowly peasants to steal their glory.

Feeling the ground tremble slightly, Vitus looked left and right. Through the narrow vision of his helmet, he discovered that his own knights were launching a scattered charge.

"A bunch of idiots! Who told them to charge?"

Soon, the France cavalry leveled their lances and charged into the England ranks. They were clad in heavy, ornate plate armor, with colorful feathers stuck to the tops of their helmets, and their warhorses were draped in vibrant caparisons embroidered with various family crests, looking like a group of restless, male peacocks.

Seeing their own knights breaking into the enemy ranks one after another, the remaining infantry launched their own charge, leaving only the Tuna Mercenary Group standing in place, as if completely abandoned by the clamorous world.

Under the sunlight, the two armies engaged in a bloody and cruel melee. Vitus was so angry he cursed loudly. With no other choice, he had his soldiers push the cannons to maneuver toward the northeast. Finding a suitable low hill, he fired solid shot at the England heavy infantry square until the last organized enemy unit retreated.