Chapter 65: The Battle of Tusculum

The sonorous sound of horns echoed across the plains of Tusculum, noble banners snapping in the wind as if to attest to the valor of soldiers and knights alike.

The warriors from northern Italy were a breed apart from the feckless southern nobles of Ferrara. Each had been tempered by blood and fire; every soldier was a veteran of a hundred battles, morale high and spirits fierce.

Their adversary, Richard, was not to be underestimated either.

Clad in scale armor, the Greeks maintained the ancient tradition of the long spear, a legacy of the classical age. Mingled among their ranks were conscripted Arab archers. These Arabs, whose ancestors had invaded Italy a century before, were now subjects under Christian rule.

A deep, mournful note sounded.

Rows of Arab archers stepped out, moving to the very front of the formation. They jogged lightly, advancing just far enough to separate from the heavy infantry behind, yet remained within the cover of their comrades.

They drew their arrows, nocking them to their bows, raising them skyward at a forty-five degree angle.

Leo narrowed his eyes.

These Arab archers were no true threat. Unlike their kin who remained in the Middle East, those who had settled in southern Italy had long since laid down their arms and turned to peaceful pursuits.

They loosed their arrows, which fluttered weakly and fell upon the shields of the Pisan heavy infantry, having little to no effect. Some struck the thick kettle helms worn by the soldiers, only to bounce harmlessly away. Apart from a brief sense of dizziness, there was no harm done.

But on Leo’s side, things played out differently.

A small contingent of light infantry from Corsica seized the moment, gripping their javelins as they charged forward. Taking advantage of the archers’ pause to reload, they burst from the heavy infantry’s formation like water released from a sluice gate, surging straight at the enemy.

The Arab archers had barely managed a single volley before the Corsican light infantry were upon them.

They raised their javelins.

Unlike arrows, the weighty javelins could pin a man to the earth. The Arab archers began to waver, and in that instant of hesitation, the light infantry seized their chance.

With a sharp hiss, javelins sliced through the air. Heavy as scythes, they swept through the ranks of Arab archers like a tempest. Even soldiers equipped with shields would hesitate before such a barrage—let alone those without.

In an instant, the archers fell in droves. Before they could regroup, a second volley of javelins scythed through their ranks, reaping the remainder.

After two swift attacks, the Corsican light infantry turned back, paying no heed to what was happening behind them. Scattering, they sprinted back behind the cover of the heavy infantry.

After such an assault, Richard’s expression darkened.

He had never encountered Italians like these.

Years of experience had conditioned him to look down on Italian soldiers, dismissing them as cowards. Armies that shrank from the sight of blood could be routed with distant volleys and a single charge.

But now, it was clear things were different.

“Knights!” Richard turned, brandishing his lance. The pennant fluttered in the wind, coiling around itself.

“Advance with me!” he cried, sweeping his arm forward.

The Norman knights behind him erupted in savage howls. These conquerors from the North thrived on the exhilaration of battle.

Their commotion did not escape Leo’s watchful gaze. Seeing the knights in motion, Leo’s nerves tensed accordingly.

The Norman knights, at this moment, were the strongest fighting force in all of Europe. From England to Byzantium, nearly every power had suffered at their hands.

“Knights, my knights!” Leo seized the great banner from Rossi and strode among his own knights.

“Follow me!” he called.

At the sight of Leo’s banner, the knights of Tuscany did not hesitate for an instant; they fell in behind him. As young men hungry for glory, courage was the least of their concerns.

Knights on both sides surged forward like twin tides.

Leo felt the rise and fall of his warhorse beneath him, every sense sharpened as he fixed his gaze on the movements of the Norman knights, not relaxing even for a second.

Those hundreds of Norman knights were Richard’s greatest strength—and Leo’s gravest concern.

As the Norman knights drew nearer, the Pisan heavy infantry halted. They planted their shields firmly in the earth, gripping their long spears tightly, peering through the narrow gap between helmet and shield at the approaching foe.

“Savior Jesus, grant me courage and strength, amen…” the soldiers of Pisa prayed, striving to suppress their fear, hoping the Norman charge would not strike directly.

With the growing thunder of hooves, their hearts sank.

The Norman knights advanced.

Closer.

Closer still—

Until both sides could see the faces of their enemies, the Norman knights suddenly slowed their charge. They reined in their horses, halting the assault and beginning to wheel away.

The Norman knights were no fools. These cunning conquerors, after years of warfare, had distilled their own military wisdom. Chief among these was never to charge directly into a tightly packed infantry formation, lest they meet a grisly end.

But human resolve has its limits.

With repeated raids, the enemy’s resolve would eventually break. Once the heavy infantry formation loosened, that would be the moment to charge.

“Retreat! Fall back!” As commander of the entire army, Richard immediately called off his knights.

Dust billowed about him, obscuring his vision, but everything seemed to be unfolding according to his plan.

A few more such feints, and the enemy would collapse…

Before Richard could gather his thoughts, the clash of blades and steel rang out behind him—a discordant, chaotic noise that startled him, filling his heart with foreboding.

What was happening at the rear?

He turned, but the dust clouded his view, making it impossible to discern what was unfolding. Yet even so, he could sense with certainty that his rear was under attack.

What on earth was happening?

For a moment, Richard was lost, disoriented by anxiety and the swirling dust.

...

When the Norman knights charged at Leo’s center, Leo’s strategy was to switch tactics.

He believed that his Pisan heavy infantry were far superior to the foot soldiers under Richard’s command. Those Greek heavy infantry looked impressive, but who could say what their morale truly was?

So Leo decided to go all in.

“Charge with me!” Leo led the knights at the very front, his steed, Grape, surging forward to the tip of the wedge formation.

He watched as the Greek heavy infantry drew ever closer, close enough to see the fear etched across their faces.

At the moment the lances leveled, just as Leo had foreseen, the heavy infantry broke.

Confronted by the unstoppable onslaught of the knights, these soldiers had no reason to fight for their masters. In an instant, they abandoned their formation and fled.

The knights under Leo’s command cut through the enemy ranks like a hot knife through butter, cleaving a gash in the formation of heavy infantry.

In a heartbeat, the battle was decided.

Before Leo could rejoice, he felt a sudden pull at his side.

With a thud, Leo was thrown from his horse, his lance lost somewhere in the chaos. The world spun wildly.

The only thing he could see clearly was a heavy infantryman before him, sword raised high and poised to strike.