For round 4 of the 1999 Spring Spears tournament my Medieval French faced Robert Johnson’s Burgundian Ordonnance. There was something familiar about this...
François and the other commanders sat in his pavilion late at night listening to reports. After traveling south into the land of Burgundy they had encountered an army astride their route challenging their right of passage. One spy had just returned from infiltrating their camp.
“It was the strangest thing I ever saw, my Lord,” the spy recounted. “I mean, these Burgundians, they’re true Frenchmen, aren’t they?”
“As much as any Gascon or Breton is,” answered François. “Though they don’t always support the crown as strongly as Jean and Charles would like.”
“But, still, they’re Frenchmen, right?”
“Yes,” said François a little irritably. “What’s your point?”
“Their camp sir! It was... orderly! It was nice and neat. No brawling. No drunken groups of knights. And the commanders... they was giving orders.”
“It’s quite usual for commanders to give orders,” Bertrand assured him.
“But... these orders... they was being obeyed!”
“Now that’s strange,” agreed François.
“You haven’t heard the worst of it. They’ve set themselves up in a defensive position!”
François’ eyes furrowed. “Their army camped in orderly fashion and preparing to take the defensive. Sounds like witchcraft and magery, eh Bertrand?”
The Breton looked worried. “It’s as if these Burgundians were Frenchmen... with their very soul sucked out of them!”
“Well, let’s give these orderly Burgundians an unpleasant surprise and say a Requiem Mass for them afterwards. Let’s attack them at night! Pin them with the main army, then throw in a flank attack. We’ll crush them in a French vise!”
François paused expectantly, but the others just looked at him, waiting. “Were you going to say something, Aoibeann?” he finally asked.
“Nae, not me François,” she answered. “Whit fer?”
“I’m... not sure. I just experienced this strange feeling of deja vu.” François shook his head as if to dispel some cobwebs within. “Well, no matter. Let’s review the disposition of the field.”
“According to the scouts,” Bertrand began, “these Burgundians lay to the east along the route the army has been traveling on, and have taken up a defensive position behind a river. There do not appear to be any fords or bridges across it and we’ll have to scout its difficulty during battle.”
“Isn’t that the job of, er, the scouts?” asked François.
“One thing you’d better learn, boy, is that scouts are notoriously unable to determine with any accuracy the trickiness of river crossings. You have to save that for the day of battle.”
“Gee. I would think a scout could wander across the river bed and notice that it barely wet the tops of his shoes, or else that they might not like to ride fully armored off the eight foot sheer drop from the bank, that sort of thing.” Bertrand started to give him the Look and François quickly raised his hands in defense. “All right, all right! I take your word for it! We’ll just have to scout them out during our attack. Now, what else did they find?”
“There’s a woods back on the right side of their central sector. Other than that, there’s really no important terrain to speak of.”
“Really? There aren’t any hills?”
“None that will have any bearing on the battle.”
“Whoo-hoo! Ee-yeah-ah!” François pumped his fist in the air. “Now that’s the way! Unh-huh! Unh-huh! Ah liiiike it! Unh-huh! Unh-...” François had executed a nifty little spin move in front of Bertrand and was preparing to high-five him, but the Breton was transfixed in his chair, his fists tightly gripping the ends of the arm-rests and a look of utter terror on his face. “It has been a long campaign, hasn’t it boy,” he managed to croak.
“Oh, sorry,” apologized François as he slunk back to his seat, his face turning crimson. “I guess I was a bit over-enthusiastic about the prospect of not fighting among the hills this time.”
“When we get back, boy, we’ll take a nice, loooong rest,” suggested Bertrand.
“Sae, hou will we fecht thae nyaffie Burgoodians?” asked Aoibeann, trying to get the conversation back on track.
“Ah, glad you asked,” said François thankfully. “I expect they’ll set up to the left of the woods where they have more room. I’ll pin their right flank with my battle. Childeric, take your battle and flank march on the left and arrive on the far side of the river. Aoibeann, you swing round the right side of the field and cross the river if you can do so without opposition. Then use your own initiative to decide if to attack or not. If they strip their own left flank to redeploy against Childeric then that’s when you hit them. Otherwise, with any luck, we’ll overwhelm their right flank.” After settling a few more matters, the commanders retired for a brief night’s sleep.
François stood staring up at the strange night sky. It was clear and the moon was up, but a small cloud hung persistently in front of where the moon was. Although an eerie glow came from the sky, the effect was that the field was as black as if the sky were overcast.
For the life of me, I couldn’t find the section in the rule book where it says what determines if the night is moonlit or not. The rule wasn’t under ‘Visibility.’ I finally decided that it wasn’t moonlint based on my roll being similar to that for last game. Only last game was moonlit, it was just overcast as well. I later found it under ‘Time of Day or Night.’ Aargh!
As he stood there staring a rather angry man came up to him. “Lord Fargniers, you must rearrange your baggage camp immediately!” he demanded.
“Excuse me?” asked François.
“You must rearrange the baggage camp or suffer the consequences!” he insisted.
François didn’t bother to look the man over. The night was still very dark. Besides, he figured he pretty well knew what he looked like anyway. “And what consequences are those?”
“You will be brought forth before the magistrate on charges of Gross Negligence of Army Rules and Regulations!”
“What in God’s name does that have to do with baggage?”
“Your command is positioned to the left and Lady Arran’s to the right, but your pavilion is located to the right of Lady Arran’s. The baggage and commands are intermingled! Completely against army regulations!”
“What? You say we have to deploy our army in the same configuration that our pavilions are set forth in? Why, that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard of! I assure you, good man, that I will arrange my camp anyway I see fit! After all, why shouldn’t I?”
After saying this, François feared that he may have lit the fuse on a bomb. The man started shaking and François could feel his face growing redder. Spittle started appearing at the edges of the man’s mouth, then spraying about as he shook even more violently. Finally he managed to utter a few words. “It’s... ...just... ...not... ...done!”
François was saved, at least he thought he was, when two men wearing white surcoats hurried up towards them. One went to François with an accusatory glare on his face, the other to the side of the man and started calming him down. “What have you done?” asked the first surcoat of François.
François was taken aback by the actions of the two surcoats. Something didn’t feel quite right, but he wasn’t sure what. “Excuse me, but who is the man?” François asked.
“He’s the royal lawyer. And what did you do to him?” asked the first surcoat again.
“He... started making the strangest complaint about the camp and army deployment. And I said it was silly.”
The surcoat looked at François in horror. “You didn’t,” he gasped.
“I did. After all, it seems like such an insignificant point.”
“Insignificant point?” repeated the surcoat aghast. “Good sir! With the royal lawyer, there are no insignificant points!”
“I see. Well, he’s certainly mad, I can say that with certainty.”
“Who?”
“The royal lawyer. After all, just look at him! He’s got to be mad.”
They all looked at the royal lawyer. The other surcoat had calmed him down to a moderate tremble. He stood about five feet six inches, with brown hair and a closely cropped brown beard and mustache. François thought he looked vaguely handsome. For a lawyer, that is. If his face wasn’t so red. Not to mention the spittle.
“Nah, he’s not mad. He’s always like that,” said the first surcoat. The surcoat looked around, then sidled up to François. In a stage whisper he said, “The royal lawyer’s a very powerful man! I wouldn’t mess with him if I was you. Once, he found a bunch of ambushers that weren’t where they were supposed to be according to regulations and... ” he made a cutting motion across his neck, “all of them!”
“Oh, dear! Well, next time I set up an ambush I’ll be sure to consult the royal lawyer. So, you don’t suspect he’s mad then, do you?”
The surcoat shook his head emphatically.
“Well then. Ah, why don’t you tell him that I’ll set up a committee to look into this intermingling problem right away,” François suggested.
“That’s very wise of you, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see what I can do about restoring the royal lawyer to a even demeanor.” He departed, and came to the aid of the other surcoat. Together they led the royal lawyer back to camp, all the while calming him down while the sound of the royal lawyer haranguing about the Necessity of Regulations and the Base Evil of Interpretations and Clarifications faded into the distance.
François turned and looked at Bertrand. The Breton asked, “You know what I’d do with all the lawyers if I was king, boy?”
“No, what?”
“Well... I don’t know exactly. But it wouldn’t be pleasant.”
François chuckled. “I’ll be sure not to take up law when I retire. Anyway, what was the scouting report on the Burgundian positions?”
“Facing our command, boy, is a large group of knights and bowmen defending the riverbank. We can handle the knights - no other knights can hold up to true Frenchmen after all - but be sure not to try to run down their archers. They’re every bit as tough as the English. To our right next to them they have a small artillery command. Finally on their left flank they have some pike and more bow. Needless to say, everyone is cowering behind the river.”
“Very good. Let’s move out as planned.” Childeric’s battle marched out in column off to the left and out of sight into the darkness. Aoibeann led her troops off to the right. François commanded his battle forward line abreast towards the river.
For more than an hour the only sound heard was the jingling of horse gear and the marching of foot soldiers. Aoibeann’s battle reached the river far to the right of the Burgundian forces and started to cross unopposed. They found the river bank here to be gently sloped and the river itself broad and shallow. Scouts came back with reports that the Burgundians were redeploying their battle on that side to form a defensive line, but in the darkness it was proceeding slowly. After reaching the far bank, Aoibeann then ordered them to regroup in the middle of the river. And there they sat...
François’ battle finally reached the river bank’s edge. The river was fully two hundred paces across and in the preternatural darkness of the obscured moonlight they could not see the troops that the scouts assured them were lining the opposite bank. François had secured his right flank with pavisiers. They were to hold this side of the river and under no circumstances attempt to take the far side being held by Burgundian knights. To their left were the French knights, most facing their Burgundian counterparts. The extreme right Burgundian flank, however, was held by bowmen and François dismounted the knights facing these. To the left of the knights was a single skirmisher company. Behind the Burgundian lines other bowmen were redeploying to protect their flank in case the unseen French battle arrived on that side. The central battle deployed to his satisfaction, François turned to Bertrand and remarked: “Now we sit here and hope that in the next two hours we hear...”
From the distance came the shout: “Kill them all and let the ribauds sort them out!”
“...Childeric’s war-cry.”
The Burgundians had secured the flank approach with six bow companies and their commander-in-chief on the end of their left flank. Out of the murkiness at close range came six companies of dismounted knights ranged against the bowmen. Facing off the Burgundian commander was Childeric’s company who had naturally elected to remain mounted. Childeric looked over at the forces guarding his right flank which as the moment consisted of an empty field. Childeric turned to Lord Crevecoeur. “Where are the skirmishers?” he asked.
“I thought you were going to order them to accompany us. I was rather surprised when you didn’t.”
“I thought I had given that assignment to you, didn’t I?”
“You did? I never...”
As they were negotiating the assignment of blame a scout rode up. “My lords!” he reported, “we’ve spotted a light company of mounted crossbowmen [LH(I)] marching in this direction!”
“Merde!” cursed Childeric. “Next time we can’t overlook our supports like this. Better keep the company back before we find quarrels sticking out of our flanks.” So Childeric ordered his company to hold as the other knights moved forward towards the Burgundians. Eventually he heard the screams of the bowmen indicating that the lines had met.
Time to give those knights something to think about,” said François as the scouts reported Childeric’s battle closing with the enemy. “Send the skirmishers in to test the river!” From the end of his left flank came the sound of: “Waaaah!” SPLASH!! gurgle... “Damn!” muttered François. “Sounds like a tricky crossing.”
“Getting all those knights across could be a real problem,” worried Bertrand.
“Fortunately, I had the initiative to bring a long a special friend,” replied François, just the tiniest hint of smugness in his voice.
“Who’s that?” the Breton asked.
François turned around and ordered: “Release the gag!” There was a shuffle of activity behind him followed by: “The color of that gag was unimaginably disgusting. Do you know how long I had to look at it? And where did you get that ensemble from? Igor’s House of Garishness?” François dismounted, walked over to the royal exterior decorator and grasped him by both of his exquisitely tailored lapels. “See that river over there?”
“Of course. The water’s tint is a bit gauche, but...”
François cinched his grip tighter and tried to lift him off his feet but only managed to lift his heels off the ground.
“No, no, boy! You’ve got to center the weight over your hips more!”
François shifted a bit, re-cinched and jerked again, this time succeeding. “Thanks Bertrand” he shot out of the corner of his mouth. Returning his attention to the royal exterior decorator he growled, “See any good crossing points?”
“Well... there’s that spot just past the bend with a gently-sloped sandy colored approach, a shallow crossing where the water tends to a more greenish shade, and a fairly easy path up right next to those yellowing bushes.”
“Excellent. Find good crossings for all of the companies of men at arms and you’ll be rewarded with a trip to Milano at the crown’s expense.” François tightened his grip further. “Without the color commentary. Otherwise, you’ll be re-decorating the interior of peasant hovels for the rest of your miserable career. Agree?”
The royal exterior decorator shook in terror. “Ye-yes. I mean, the part about the crossings. Not the hovels. You see, I’m an exterior...”
“Good!” barked François, letting him go. He motioned to a couple of scouts standing by with an empty mount. “Take him on his way,” he ordered. François quickly led his company to the crossing point indicated. In the distance he heard the other companies make their way over the bank and into the waters as the royal exterior decorator travelled down the lines. As the French knights waded across the sight of their Burgundian foes loomed out from the darkness ahead and the French eagerly scrambled up the opposing bank to close with them.
An hour later François found himself back at the river’s edge with Enguerrand. After continuous hard fighting they had failed to dislodge the Burgundians from the defensive position. “Coucy, remind me next to defend a river bank when I want to completely stymie an opponent!” Enguerrand grunted in agreement and the two spurred their steeds up the bank and into the Burgundian line again.
Excuse me, lady Arran, but why are we sitting in this river?”
“Akis A saed sae!” Sensing that her reply didn’t completely satisfy the soldier she explained further. “Ma lou will cut throu yon Burgoondians like the whuttle [knife] throu the butter on the het simmer’s day. Gin [if] we fechts we risk the mishantie akis we have nae support from the rest o the airmie. If yon Burgoodians naur us gae aff tae fecht ma lou than we gaes in. Gin thay come tae fecht us than we fall back tae defend the carse [riverbank]. If they set, than we set.”
“What’s her ‘loo’?” the man whispered to his neighbor.
“It’s lord des Vosges, numskull,” his companion replied.
“But I thought a ‘loo’ was a privy.”
His companion kicked him. “Better shut up or lady Arran will assign us all to privy duty!”
And so they sat there in silence, listening to the occasional reports of their scouts and the sound of battle far off in the distance.
Childeric watched the action before him. The company of dismounted men at arms had dismantled the bowmen facing them but the opposing commander in chief had chosen this opportunity to strike. Signalling a charge the Burgundians fell upon the dismounted knights, destroying them.
“A bold move on his part,” commented lord Crevecoeur.
“Yes, but in the end a bit too rash I think,” replied Childeric. He quickly sent a message to the next company down the line - which had also destroyed the bowmen facing them - to support his attack. Then Childeric gave the signal to charge and the companies of the two commanders fell to battle. Beset on one side by the French knights and on their flanks by dismounted men at arms eager to revenge the defeat of their neighbors, the company of the Burgundian commander in chief was in its own turn destroyed as well. A giant moan seemed to course through the Burgundian right flank. Dispirited, the knights defending the river against François’ battle were swept away from their position to be defeated in piecemeal as the combined battles of François and Childeric swept across the field towards the Burgundian baggage camp. Sensing imminent defeat, the other Burgundian wing soon fled off the battlefield hotly pursued by Aoibeann’s battle as the morning sun rose over the eastern hills.
I could use something to eat after a hard mornings work!” François remarked to Childeric as they entered the Burgundian camp. “Maybe we can commandeer a cook that hasn’t fled yet.” Off in the distance came the sounds of shouts, curses and people running about in several directions at once. “That’s curious,” he commented.
“What’s that?” asked Childeric.
“It sounds like someone’s giving orders... in Scots. Do you know if the Burgundians have any Scots allies?”
Childeric cocked his ear. “No... it can’t be...” he said almost to himself. He hurried his pace, François having to jog to catch up to him. They turned a corner onto an outdoor kitchen. Terrified cooks were busily preparing a multi-course feast under the watchful eyes of their stern overlord. Or should we say: overlady?
“Hou d’you fend?” Aoibeann greeted. “You’re juist in time. Brakfast is served!”
Inside the pavilion formerly belonging to the Burgundian commander in chief the French commanders were enjoying a hearty repast. “Thaim’s guid neeps!” complemented Childeric.
“Ach! Isna ma lou sae roomaentic?” sighed Aoibeann.
“Ha, ha, ha! Yes, very good turnips indeed!”
Everyone’s head spun to a chair that wasn’t there a moment ago. The old man put his plate down. “Very good indeed. But I did not come here to take advantage of your hospitality, fine as it is. After all, we have tournament matters to take care of!”
“I almost forgot!” cried François. “We still have to figure out the way to Monterey or we’ll never arrive in time!”
“Ah, the time to arrive has long since past, seeing as how the tournament has concluded. But fear not, this army partook of it in full. Do you not remember the several battles just concluded?”
“But... how can that be?” asked François. “How could we take part in a tournament in Monterey when we still have no idea where Monterey is?”
“Let us just say that this tournament takes a flexible approach to matters of time and space. And now that the tournament has concluded, I have at least one accolade to award. Unfortunately, it is not the award given to the most brilliantly led army...”
“Why am I not surprised?” muttered François.
“...but then you have a goal to reach for in the future. Instead, Lord François de Fargniers, I beseech you to accept this on behalf of the Most Christian French army.” The old man reached down and brought forth a wreath of laurels. “For of all the armies that partook: of places near and far, of times once and future, this army was the most glorious!”
François held the wreath, then hoisted it into the air and shouted: “Huzzah!” All those around him responded in turn: “Huzzah! Huzzah!” All, that is, except Bertrand. “Why are you making such a fuss,” he snorted. “Of course we’re the most glorious. We’re French!”
Round 4 of the 1999 Monterey Spring Spears vs. Robert Johnson’s Burgundian Ordonnance who were defending in Winter starting at the bitter hour of four in the morning.
I invaded in winter starting at 4am. I screwed up and thought it was dark when it should have been moonlit. This game featured very little terrain. Except for the 200p wide river across the Burgundian’s front! At least he didn’t put out any fortifications.
The Burgundians set up defensively. Their first command guarded the left side with 6 bows facing off to the left, then 2 bows and 10 knights guarded the river edge. Artillery(I/S) was in the center, and the second command guarded the right side. My C-C command marched up to the river to match up against the left Burgundian side. From left to right were 1 Ps, 7 Kn, 8Sp, 6Ps. My third command was quite far away on the right side of the table, aimed to cross the river well past the end of the Burgundian line. My second command was flank-marching on the left. The plan was that the C-C march up to the river, then wait for the flank march to come and crush the left side of the Burgundians in a coordinated attack.
My right command reached the river and partly crossed it while the Burgundians re-deployed (using many single-element moves) to face it off. Afterwards Robert said he felt that I would have defeated that side of the army, but it would have been very pip intensive to re-angle my command towards the Burgundians. Besides, I figured the main attack would break the army, so why risk it? The command ended up in the middle of the river for the rest of the game.
The C-C’s command finally made it to the river’s edge. They sat down to wait for the flank march, praying that it would come on one of the next 8 bounds while it was still dark, and I immediately rolled a 6 for the flankers! The flank march came on: 6 Bd(S) against his 6 Bw(S) and my general Kn(S) facing off his Charles the Bold Kn(S). Being able to individually deploy the flank marchers as mounted or dismounted seemed vaguely sleazy, but Kevin D. said it was legal and, after all, I was facing a Burgundian. Note that if I had had to come on mounted then the Bw(S) probably would have shot me off the table, given that they deployed exactly 300p from the edge. If that were the rule then flank-marching would probably not have been a viable option in this case. But this game I could, so I merrily marched my blades into his bow. And forgot to protect my flank. Again. This time, I simply forgot to bring on my skirmishers. The blades were up against the table edge, but my Kn(S) general on the end matched up against his Kn(S) general had nothing. When Robert started bringing up a LH(I) to outflank me I held back my general while watching the blade make mincemeat out of the bow.
As the flankers came on, I tested the waters before the C-C’s command. 1 to 4, 1 to 4, I needed to roll a 1 to 4: 5! Aargh! The river was tricky! Only crossable by individual element moves! If it had been moonlit, I could have seen them from 300p away, so I could have deployed farther back, move them into visible distance, then let their impetuosity take over. But when I rolled the C-C’s next pip dice: 6! I ordered up individual movements for all the knights and a 7th for the C-C, which got them into visual range of the defenders, and the entire command was across.
Now, I had thought that the initial fight against the Burgundians defending the riverbank would have been tough but that since knights follow up they would soon lose their advantage. Much to my chagrin, I then discovered that you don’t follow up if you’re defending a riverbank. An occasional French knight would break across the bank, only to be retreated from the resulting double-overlapped position. But they achieved their objective, which was to prevent the Burgundian knights from re-deploying against the flank march.
Back at the flank march, a blade unit (now at the end of the line after my general discretely stayed back) killed the bow in front of it. Charles attacked and killed the blade, which was to be the only unit I legally lost. (Some Art(S) later shot up some psiloi, but Ps are only supposed to flee from Art.) My general attacked Charles and killed it with the aid of a flanking blade, breaking the command. Then the C-C’s knights surged across the river against the now dispirited defenders. The two French commands proceeded to dispatch demoralized Burgundians while hunting down the few remaining undemoralized units needed to break the army.
10-0 French in 14 bounds. In retrospect, except for not protecting the flank of my flank-marching general, I don’t think it could have gone much better.
Total for the tourney:
But the successful showing was not as good as was being awarded best painted army by my fellow gamers. And that wasn’t as good as having Dave Lauerman win the entire tournament including his first ever DBM victory against Kevin Donovan in the final round. Dave and I and our wives have all known each other since we were college students at Santa Clara. It was my second singles tournament ever, and I was quite pleased to meet Kevin Donovan again (and have him always cheerfully answer innumerable questions while he was vying for 1st place), as well as Nance Michalos, Steve O’Brien, Monty Walls, Ethan Zorick, and others. I enjoyed each of my games, even the 0-10, and felt I learned something from them all. On the drive back to Salinas, Dave quipped, “I may not frown for a month.” I don’t think I did.