Chapter 57: A Gift from Aquitaine

The closer the enemy approached, the more nervous Little Roches became.

He had almost no preparation for this sudden defensive battle. There were no specialized defensive weapons in the camp, nor a large stockpile of ammunition to supplement their projectile fire.

The low camp walls might provide some advantage, but the enemy wouldn't even need ladders to climb over them.

The only benefit was that they had the Shannon River at their backs, which would reduce the pressure on the western wall.

"Archers, archers!"

Little Roches shouted loudly, and the soldiers trained in archery stepped forward, holding their bows and arrows, and took positions at the front of the camp wall. They calculated the enemy's distance and placed their arrows in the ground before them.

This small group of skilled archers wielded longbows with considerable lethal power.

"Prepare to fire!"

The leading soldier accurately gauged the enemy's distance, then picked up his bow and arrow, nocked the arrow, pulled back the bowstring, and aimed it skyward at a forty-five-degree angle.

While indirect fire was less powerful than direct shots, it could still disrupt the enemy's morale.

Sometimes, the most crucial aspect of a battlefield isn't killing the enemy but breaking their morale. If you can shatter the opponent's morale and trigger a rout, the resulting casualties can be far greater than a straightforward battle.

Of course, killing the enemy is also an effective way to break their morale.

"Release!"

The archers' right hands released the bowstrings, and the sound of the longbows twanging was like the tolling of death's bell, heralding doom as the arrows sped toward the enemy. The arrows whistled lightly in the air, yet their penetrating power was extraordinary.

Seeing the arrows, the Irish soldiers raised their round shields to protect themselves.

Nevertheless, some arrows found gaps in the shields and struck the Irish nobles. Their armor absorbed most of the damage, but a few unlucky ones were still wounded.

Cries of pain rang out briefly, mingling with the roars of other warriors before quickly fading.

"Advance!" the Irish general shouted. "Accelerate, advance!"

With the command, the noble warriors quickened their pace, maintaining their formation as they advanced. Little Roches watched in shock.

In this era, such highly disciplined infantry were rare; Rodri had undoubtedly brought out his best.

He suddenly thought of the soldiers under Brétone's command and wondered how they had withstood these enemies.

Reality didn't allow Little Roches much time to think. The Irish nobles quickly reached the base of the camp wall under a rain of arrows and began forming human towers. The first Irish nobles to arrive at the wall's base crouched down, holding their shields over their heads like steps to help their comrades climb the wall.

The nobles behind them smoothly used these makeshift steps to jump onto the wall and engage the knights in combat. Some nobles, however, failed in their attempts to scale the wall, falling to the ground and being swiftly dispatched by the enemy.

"Get off my wall!"

Little Roches gripped his sword hilt with his right hand and the blade with his left, pushing the Irishman in front of him off the wall. He then quickly thrust his sword, driving it deep into the enemy's face.

The sound of bones shattering was accompanied by a spray of blood and brain matter from the enemy's face, splattering onto Little Roches.

The professional warrior in him ignored the gore, trying instead to withdraw his sword. However, he quickly found that it was stuck.

"Damn it," Little Roches muttered, giving up on his longsword.

He drew a dagger from his waist, his last weapon. The enemy in front of him raised a short sword, aiming for Little Roches' neck.

In that instant, Little Roches turned and used his shoulder to absorb the blow.

The short sword struck his chainmail, its sharp blade instantly creating several cuts. The sturdy chainmail held, but the force of the impact was transmitted through it, jarring Little Roches.

Taking advantage of the enemy's momentary lapse, Little Roches drove his dagger into the enemy's face, felling him and seizing the short sword from his hand.

He took a moment to survey the battlefield, seeing that the knight behind him had quickly stepped up to fill the gap in the defense.

"Charge!"

"Get up there! Get up there!"

Little Roches heard the enemy shouting, initially not realizing something was off. Then it struck him: they were speaking in French.

Why were these people speaking French?

So, in Little Roches' stunned gaze, a group of Aquitaine mercenaries charged up. Their attire and armor were unmistakably Continental European, bearing no resemblance to the Irish at all.

"Sir, they're from Aquitaine!"

Just as a knight in the front reported, a flanged mace smashed into his head, causing blood to ooze from his helmet's seams. The knight's body instantly went limp, and he tumbled off the wall.

These Aquitaine mercenaries were more skilled in combat than the Irish, particularly against knights. They were equipped with war picks and flanged maces, weapons designed to penetrate armor, making them especially effective against knights.

Whereas the Irish nobles had engaged in swordplay with the knights, these Aquitaine mercenaries brought out the big guns. With these mercenaries joining the fray, the situation quickly changed, and the English knights began to struggle.

"Let's go! Let's go!"

As the knights started to falter, the soldiers behind them, armed with long spears, stepped forward through the gaps. These soldiers, drawn from the ranks of townsfolk and wealthy farmers, were eager and high-spirited.

They rushed to the front, leveling their long spears and stabilizing the defensive line. The Aquitaine mercenaries, who sought to extend their gains on the wall, found themselves facing a forest of spears that they couldn't penetrate.

Thanks to the soldiers' efforts, the rout on the wall was halted.

Soon, the English knights regained their morale and, together with the soldiers, pushed the Aquitaine mercenaries off the wall.

The Irish assault was temporarily halted, and Little Roches emerged from the chaos, ready to order a brief respite for his troops. However, the sound of trumpets blared again from outside the camp.

"What's going on now?"

The knight beside him had no answer to Little Roches' question.

Under the banner of High King Rodry, the Connacht lord's troops were advancing towards Little Roches' position.

Seeing this army, a chill ran down Little Roches' spine. Rodry's tactical intent was clear: he planned to break Little Roches' camp with relentless, wave-like assaults.