Chapter 56: The Great Athlone Gamble

When the news reached Rodri, he felt an unusual excitement. John had finally made a mistake, and now Rodri had to seize this opportunity.

Dividing forces, no matter where it is applied, is considered a cardinal sin in military strategy.

By detaching this unit, John had weakened his own strength and left this isolated unit in a relatively unsupported state.

Furthermore, according to the intelligence reports, John's forces were currently to their northwest. From a distance perspective, it would take his main army two days just to get here. As long as Rodri's attack was swift enough, John wouldn't be able to support them.

Eliminating this unit would undoubtedly deal a significant blow to John.

Thus, Rodri's army was mobilized once again. This time, he only brought his personal guards and the most elite noble units.

This force comprised just over two thousand men, and including their attendants, they numbered slightly over three thousand. Rodri used to command large armies, but now he had learned to employ elite troops.

They moved swiftly, with hardly a whisper of their approach, racing all the way to Athlone.

When they reached the south of Athlone, only six days had passed. Meanwhile, little Roches was still unaware, busily reinforcing his camp with his soldiers.

After several encounters with John, Rodri had picked up some tricks.

His scouts began to appear near the camp, observing the movements of little Roches' troops. After two days of observation, Rodri felt ready.

Thus, little Roches witnessed a shocking scene.

"Where did these troops come from?" Little Roches stood on the camp wall, stunned. "I remember this is Rodri's army. Why is he here?"

No one could answer his question. The knights were more curious as to why little Roches knew nothing about this.

An Irish nobleman rode up to the camp wall. Like most Irishmen, he had fiery red hair, a broad forehead, and a full beard.

"Englishmen, I know you serve John. But you are now surrounded. I hope you recognize the situation and surrender to our High King."

His words received no response, making him appear like a clown.

"Did you hear me, Englishmen?" The Irish nobleman repeated, "If you don't surrender, the High King will show you his might. But the High King doesn't want to see bloodshed..."

Before he could finish, an arrow whistled through the air, narrowly missing the nobleman's head and thudding into the ground.

Little Roches' eyes were filled with contempt as he spoke to the Irish nobleman, "Go back. We will never surrender."

After speaking, Little Roches lowered his bow. The Irish nobleman, feeling humiliated, turned red in the face, spat in Little Roches' direction, and then turned and left.

Once the Irish nobleman had left, Little Roches quickly began arranging the defenses.

"What supplies do we have in the camp, and how long can we hold out?" Little Roches asked the Flemish quartermaster who accompanied them.

The diligent quartermaster replied, "Sir, we currently have enough food to last seven days. If we slaughter the warhorses, we can hold out even longer. We also have some wood and linen that can be used to reinforce the camp's defenses."

Little Roches nodded. With these resources, he felt it would be enough.

As the Irish nobleman departed, the Irish army outside the camp began to move.

Their numbers were not vast, but they greatly outnumbered Lancaster's knights. Moreover, the cold gleam of their armor indicated that these were no ragtag soldiers.

The undulating Irish formations surged like waves, howling towards the English camp. Surrounded and isolated, the camp seemed like a lone boat in a stormy sea, uncertain how long it could hold out.

The immense pressure enveloped the entire camp. Everyone knew the formidable nature of the enemy they faced and the dismal state of their own situation.

"Warriors, knights!"

Everyone's attention was drawn to Little Roches, who now stood atop the camp wall.

"I know you all feel afraid. The enemy's numbers are vast, and their strength is formidable, but we need not fear them. We have the camp walls to rely on, armor to protect us, and swords in our hands to vanquish the enemy. Most importantly, I believe each of you has the courage to defeat those Irish outside the walls!"

"Everyone, summon your courage, and fight alongside me to defeat these invading heretics." Little Roches gripped the Plantagenet banner tightly. "Look at this flag. I will fight on the front lines with you."

Little Roches' declaration invigorated all the warriors. They shouted in unison, banging their weapons against their shields, with each cry raising the morale higher and higher.

Indeed, they were the hungry wolves who had come from afar.

They had come to Ireland to acquire land and wealth. If they could win this battle, their deeds would be sung for generations.

"God will protect us. With the Blessed Virgin Mary and Saint George above, we will withstand all enemies, wait for the prince's reinforcements, and then return in triumph, bathed in glory!"

As a devout follower, Little Roches was also adept at using religion to boost morale.

The accompanying clergy were also Normans, already donned in armor, which was even more splendid than that of many knights. They held their crosses high, following Little Roches in raising the spirits of the troops.

The atmosphere for battle had reached its peak, and the warriors' fervent emotions had reached their zenith. They had traveled so far, enduring hardships and boredom on the journey, for this very moment.

"Long live the Prince! Long live Plantagenet!" Little Roches led the cheer.

"Long live the Prince!"

Everyone shouted in unison. Under the old knights' arrangements, they each took their positions on the camp wall, preparing to face the battle.

Their opponents were Rodri's personal guards, the elite Irish nobles of Connacht, seasoned warriors who had remained loyal through countless bloody battles. These enemies were extremely resilient and formidable, yet they resolutely stepped onto the battlefield.

Watching from a distance, Rodri tightened his grip on the reins.

His stakes were dwindling. If this grand gamble failed once more, he would truly be finished.