Chapter 66: The Victory at Tusculum

Clang! Even though Leo’s vision was a blur of chaos, his body reacted instinctively. As the short sword descended, Leo sprang up, rolling across the ground to evade the strike, then staggered to his feet. An uncomfortable sensation in his heel forced him to shuffle a few steps before he could stand firmly.

The infantryman, who had missed his attack, looked unsteady himself. Shield in one hand and sword in the other, he glared at Leo with a ferocity that seemed meant to intimidate him.

As the soldier paused to catch his breath, Leo drew the spiked mace from his belt. After the previous battle, Leo had realized something: if he tried to match the knights in swordplay, he would surely lose. So instead, he resolved to use brute force—the simplest, most direct weapon.

Seeing the mace in Leo’s grip, the Greek heavy infantryman hesitated, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. But on the battlefield, hesitation leads only to defeat.

With the ferocity of a tiger, Leo lunged, swinging the spiked mace at the Greek soldier. The man raised his shield to block, enduring the heavy blow; pain shot through his hand, and the shield slipped from his grasp, falling to the ground.

When the soldier looked up again, all he saw was a shadow descending upon him.

A dull, sickening crack echoed—the Greek soldier’s helmet caved in, and his body convulsed, collapsing weakly to his knees. Leo kicked him aside and wrenched the mace free.

Once the Greek soldier fell, Leo finally had a moment to assess his surroundings. He glanced first at his heel. A barbed spear had hooked onto his chainmail greave. Shaking his head, Leo realized this must have been what pulled him down. He tore the spear free and tossed it aside.

Only then did he observe the battlefield. Amidst the swirling dust and sand, visibility was almost entirely obscured. Shouts and screams filled the air, overwhelming Leo’s senses.

The Greek infantry, under the onslaught of the Tuscan knights, hadn’t lasted even a single round. Yet, among the panicked retreating figures of the enemy, Leo sensed something else.

Victory was approaching.

“Sir! Sir!” Corrado suddenly burst from the dust, rushing to Leo’s side. Seeing him, Corrado leapt from his horse without hesitation, helping Leo into the saddle.

“Sir, we’re about to win! We must pursue the enemy!” Corrado’s voice trembled with excitement.

“What’s happening?” Leo asked, surprised.

“The enemy is retreating—everyone is—infantry, cavalry, knights, even their count. We’ve won!” Corrado shouted. “Lead the soldiers in pursuit!”

Yes, now was the perfect chance to pursue. Hearing Corrado, Leo instinctively made that judgment. But as he lifted his gaze and saw the distant banners of the nobility, something felt amiss. He couldn’t quite say what.

If it truly was a retreat...

Would it be so orderly?

Realizing this, Leo quickly turned to look at his heavy infantry behind him. Inflamed by the thrill of victory, the soldiers had become feverish, abandoning their positions to chase the fleeing enemy.

After all, slaying just one more foe meant greater glory and spoils in the future.

But this was exactly what the Normans wanted.

Back in Normandy, these knights frequently feigned defeat to lure their foes. Once the enemy pursued, they would turn and strike back.

Infantry unable to reform their ranks in time faced nothing but death under the devastating charge of the Norman knights.

Leo, understanding all this, grew anxious.

“Bugler! Bugler!”

He rode through the ranks, searching for the buglers. The soldiers, caught up in their pursuit, ignored Leo, thinking only of victory and spoils.

“Bugler!”

Only when Leo reached the rear did the bugler hear him.

The buglers fixed their eyes on Leo, awaiting his command, ready to sound the horn at a moment’s notice.

“Form the defense!”

Leo shouted: “Stop the pursuit! Return and form the defense!”

At his command, the buglers sounded their horns. The deep notes, almost like a retreat, snapped the soldiers out of their frenzy; they turned to look toward the main formation.

A tall golden cross stood at the heart of the ranks, its brilliant light drawing all eyes.

“What’s going on?” a young soldier from Corsica hesitated.

As he wavered, Marco suddenly rushed over, slapping him on the head.

“Back! Get back, quickly!”

With that, Marco called out to other soldiers. Led by such loyal veterans, nearly everyone abandoned the pursuit for the moment, reassembling their formation and advancing slowly.

“Sir, what are you doing?”

Rossi, just returned from the front, was soaked in blood, looking as if he’d fought his way back from hell. Enrique followed close behind, his presence equally fierce.

“Victory is within our grasp—are we to give up now? Sir, please be wise—”

As Rossi spoke, he laid a hand on Leo’s forearm.

“I know what I’m doing!” Leo shook off Rossi’s hand. “I’m fully aware. Just watch—soon we’ll face the Norman knights; they’re bound to return for the kill…”

Before he finished speaking, cries of alarm erupted from the front ranks.

Those who had just reformed their lines now faced the Norman knights once again, who charged at them as before. But seeing their formation unbroken, the knights immediately disengaged, refusing to press the attack.

Watching the knights, Rossi held his breath. He could hardly imagine how disastrous it would have been had Leo not recalled the troops in time.

To Richard, watching from the opposing side, this was a humiliation of the highest order.

“Our plan has been exposed!” After wheeling his knights around, Richard looked back, unwilling to accept defeat. Leo’s heavy infantry formation remained disciplined, but Richard had lost his chance.

The Greek infantry and Arab archers had all been wiped out, depriving him of leverage.

Originally, he’d hoped to use those soldiers to exhaust Leo’s army, waiting for a gap to open and then bringing in the knights for a decisive strike.

But now, after two fruitless charges, the horses were spent.

And the bait—the infantry—had scattered. All Richard had left were his elite Norman knights. Sending these into a desperate melee was unthinkable.

“How did that bastard see through it? How could he resist the urge to pursue?”

Richard ground his teeth.

“Some day, I’ll kill that mongrel… For now, we return to Altina, then head to Gaeta.”

Despite his fury, Richard kept his wits.

He knew the priority was to raise more troops quickly, and not let Leo seize the advantage.

He must not.