Volume One: The Forest Knight Chapter 38: The Battle to Reclaim Maple Leaf Manor (IV)

Just as Eomer led his men into battle against the group of pirates, the soldiers climbing the ladders on the eastern flank retreated. Unlike their counterparts on the western side, the knights and officers commanding the eastern forces made no move to join the fight and encircle the attacking pirates. Instead, upon seeing Sir Pippin, their commander, fall to the ground, they promptly gathered their men and fled. With the siege warriors no longer holding their attention, the pirates atop the walls unleashed arrows to support their comrades below, and Eomer’s Nolanburg soldiers began to suffer casualties.

Yet, the pirates beneath the wall were few in number. Eomer’s group quickly annihilated them, then covered the heavy infantry bearing Sir Pippin’s wounded body, along with the fallen and injured of Nolanburg, as they retreated.

Meanwhile, Beryon hoped to seize the opportunity when the gates of Maple Leaf Manor stood wide open. He led his men in a rush to capture the entrance, but the pirates proved too cunning. The moment their assault failed, they slammed the gates shut. Nolanburg’s troops had not even reached the entry before they faced a hail of arrows and stones. Though most missiles were caught by their shields, a few soldiers were still wounded. Realizing there was no hope of taking the gate, Beryon reluctantly ordered a withdrawal.

Back at camp, as was customary, Viscount Merry convened a war council. Though today’s assault had slain nearly half of the pirates, their own losses were grave. Commander Sir Pippin was gravely injured and lay unconscious; one leading knight had perished—his corpse now hung from the walls by the Drobar pirates. In addition, an apprentice knight and two squires had fallen, and over a hundred infantrymen, both light and heavy, were either dead or wounded.

The casualty ratio was nearly three Brick soldiers for every Drobar pirate—a painful cost for the knights and officers. Though raising county and levy troops wasn’t difficult, over two hundred men had fallen in just two days. Excluding those left to defend the camp, each commander returned with less than half his force—no one who set out in high spirits could return so diminished without a heavy heart.

Viscount Merry himself had been shaken by today’s events. Thankfully, Beryon prevented him from fleeing the field and disgracing himself before his men; since Beryon remained silent and no one else witnessed it, the matter would remain unknown. But at present, Viscount Merry had no time for such concerns. The most pressing matter was whether to continue the assault tomorrow or withdraw entirely. They could not afford to drag this out—if they lost another hundred men, or if more knights and squires fell, the viscount might not even need to await the royal inspector; he’d have to ride straight to Valombrey and beg forgiveness.

“These past two days have cost us dearly, but we have slain half the pirates—a considerable achievement. What do you all think we should do next?” Viscount Merry asked, testing the assembly.

The gathered commanders scratched their heads. Though most wished to retreat, the viscount’s own position was ambiguous, and none wanted to stick their necks out by voicing dissent lest they contradict the lord’s intentions.

Seeing this, Beryon realized he could no longer play the ostrich. Poor decisions in the past days had cost many lives; even his own Nolanburg soldiers had lost two men, with three more lightly wounded. Having paid so high a price, to now consider retreat would be a waste of all those sacrifices. Should they wait until pirate reinforcements arrived and then attack again at even greater cost? By then, Beryon knew he’d have no choice but to serve as cannon fodder.

Beryon stood and declared resolutely, “My lord, I firmly believe we cannot withdraw. Tomorrow, we must fight again. We will take Maple Leaf Manor!”

The others bristled at his words. Did he think the Drobar pirates were so easily defeated? What confidence allowed him to declare victory so assuredly?

“It seems Sir Beryon is not only an able cook, but a fine soldier as well,” mocked a middle-aged knight, referencing how Beryon and his Nolanburg men had been relegated to camp cooks for a day.

Beryon smiled coolly. “Whether I am a good soldier or not, of the thirty Drobar pirates who charged out the gate today, more than half were slain by my men. We lost only two. Compare that to those who, at the sight of Sir Pippin’s fall, abandoned the ladders and fled—who truly knows how to fight?”

This knight was the very one who, upon seeing Sir Pippin fall, assumed the commander was dead and was the first to leap from the ladder in retreat, prompting others to follow. Beryon would have liked to kill him on the battlefield, but lacking the authority, he settled for exposing his cowardice.

The knight, enraged at having his shame aired so publicly, slapped the table and rose, hand moving to his sword, intent on challenging Beryon. But as he touched the hilt, he remembered the young knight before him had defeated Sorg the Bear-Slayer with ease—he would only humiliate himself further by fighting. Realizing this, he sat back down, muttering, “If not for the viscount and the other knights present, I’d settle this with you once and for all.”

“Humph!” Beryon snorted in contempt. He had nothing but disdain for such bluster.

“Sir Beryon and his Nolanburg men performed admirably today. Warriors capable of destroying the Bloodwolf bandits are indeed formidable. I, for one, trust Sir Beryon’s battle skills,” Viscount Merry said, returning Beryon’s favor and supporting him publicly. Shamelessly, he cast his own trembling behind-the-lines behavior as bravely standing with the warriors.

With the viscount’s support, Beryon pressed his case for continuing the fight.

“My lord, gentlemen, allow me to explain my reasoning.

First, we still have over three hundred men fit for battle, while the pirates have no more than forty. Our numerical advantage remains; we can afford another day’s losses like today, but the pirates cannot. One more hard blow and they will collapse.

Second, after two days of bloody assaults and over two hundred casualties, to retreat now would render those sacrifices meaningless. Would we rather pay such a price again in the future to reclaim the manor?

Third, these Drobar pirates hail from the south and rarely come to the north. Even when they do, it’s only to raid coastal settlements. This time, they have penetrated deep inland—who can say what greater schemes they harbor? Who can guarantee they will not receive reinforcements? Shall we allow these filthy mongrels to dig in on the Duke’s own lands? If so, the Duke will surely blame us, perhaps even accuse us of collusion with the pirates.

For these reasons, despite my low rank, I must urge you all: we must press the attack.”

Beryon’s words brought a thoughtful silence, especially his final point. If they failed to reclaim the Duke’s manor, as lowborn nobles already exiled to the harsh northern frontier, their futures would be even bleaker. There was no choice but to fight.

“I support Sir Beryon. Maple Leaf Manor must be retaken. Tomorrow, we shall assault and conquer!” Viscount Merry declared, settling the matter with finality—Beryon’s speech had steadied his wavering resolve.

With the decision made, attention turned to the question of command. Sir Pippin was severely wounded and unconscious. Some suggested Viscount Merry himself take command, but knowing his own lack of skill and courage, he declined under the pretense of not stealing his subordinates’ glory.

Had the battle been going well, they might have fought tooth and nail for the honor of command, but after two costly defeats, no one wanted the responsibility. The post of commander was passed around like a hot potato, each pushing it onto someone else.

Viscount Merry, frustrated by their reluctance, slammed his bronze goblet against the table to restore order. “Enough! If only you fought as fiercely as you bicker! Heads down, all of you!”

He swept his cold gaze around the room, finally resting it on Beryon. “I propose Sir Beryon as our new commander. I have seen his skill firsthand today. I trust he can lead us to victory.”

The others quickly applauded, offering hollow congratulations and addressing Beryon as “Commander,” all eager to affirm their obedience.

Their insincere smiles made Beryon uncomfortable, but this was not the time to argue. He smiled in return, then looked gravely at Viscount Merry. “My lord, if I am to command, does that grant me authority to deal with those who disobey or perform poorly in battle?”

“Of course. I entrust you with the Duke’s sword, as well as five of my knights and ten heavy infantry as your guard. If anyone dares defy your orders, you may deal with them as you see fit,” Viscount Merry replied, placing his trust in Beryon—he saw now that only Beryon could reclaim the manor.

Beryon received the viscount’s sword with both hands and addressed the assembly solemnly. “Before tomorrow’s battle, I offer you all a chance to withdraw. Tomorrow may be as bloody as today. If any of you are unwilling or afraid, speak now and remain in the camp.”

No one answered. Beryon continued, “Very well. Since you are all true men unafraid of death, I hereby declare the rules of war: First, any who disobey orders on the field will be executed! Second, any who flee in battle will be executed! Third, any who fail to return to camp before nightfall will be executed!”

The first two decrees were expected, but the third was clearly aimed at them. With the fighting so fierce, many—knights, officers, and common soldiers alike—had sought solace with the camp followers each night, drinking and reveling in pleasure, as if to seize life while it lasted. Exhausted by wine and women, they were weak on the battlefield, one reason for their poor performance.

The knights and officers exchanged uneasy glances. Having only just pledged to follow the commander, they could hardly object to his first order without making fools of themselves.

Beryon watched them, coldly amused. “There’s still time before dark. I’ll be inspecting the camp myself. Anyone not back by sunset, regardless of rank, will lose his head. Gentlemen, I suggest you fetch your men from the camp followers and ensure they rest tonight—tomorrow we fight in earnest!”

The knights and officers, their faces bitter, hurried off at the viscount’s dismissal to drag their subordinates away from the camp followers. They all knew Beryon was not like Sir Pippin—he’d do as he said, and it would be folly to oppose him.

Before dusk, Beryon stationed Eomer and the Nolanburg men to guard every approach to the camp, preventing anyone from sneaking in after dark. Beryon himself, with the viscount’s knights and heavy infantry, waited at the camp gate to see who would dare violate the new decree.

Beryon and his men waited at the gate until night had well and truly fallen, then ordered the gates shut and surrounded the camp followers’ camp. Dividing his forces with Eomer, Beryon led a search of the camp followers’ tents, while Eomer scoured the nearby woods for those engaged in “harmonious activities” with the ladies of the night. Their thorough search netted a squire, two county squad leaders, and four conscripted peasant soldiers.