Chapitre 96: Chapter 95: The Battle of Shannon
At dawn, Breton's army began to move slowly. The soldiers, having packed their bags, left the camp. Most of the garrison in Shannon Castle were still asleep.
The wounded were left behind in the camp, their lives seemingly a sacrifice for this high-stakes gamble.
The soldiers had no complaints, or perhaps they were simply silent. They felt no attachment to their injured comrades, leaving them behind in the camp.
Many lightly wounded soldiers realized the harshness of this battle; even with their injuries, they struggled to keep up with the troops. At least, the chances of surviving were higher with the group.
"The garrison at Shannon Castle hasn't noticed anything," a scout reported to Breton.
Breton nodded in satisfaction. "Order the company commanders to count their men as they march and report to me. Any delays will be punished."
The scout lowered his head, not daring to show any defiance to Breton's strictness.
From a bird's-eye view, Breton's army could be seen as a thin, long line moving along the forest path outside Shannon Castle.
The choice of this path was for concealment.
The order to maintain silence was given to every soldier. The horses had wooden bits in their mouths to prevent them from making noise if startled.
This silent army was about to participate in the most brutal and bloody gamble in all of Ireland.
Unaware of this, Conchobar and his supporting nobles had not even woken from their drunken stupor.
This alone showed the disparity between the two sides.
It wasn't until the morning mist cleared that the Irish saw the enemy.
Breton's army appeared like a divine force in front of their camp. A few sentries sounded the alarm, waking the still-sleeping Irish with its piercing sound.
"What's going on?" Conchobar just woke up, "Why is it so noisy outside?"
His attendant, frightened, said, "My lord, there are enemies outside!"
Enemies? Conchobar rubbed his head, thinking he had misheard.
But the horns outside the tent didn't lie. The deep, long sound of English horns reached Conchobar's ears, confirming the reality.
"Quick, have the soldiers form ranks!" Conchobar made his first decision.
Their camp was quite rudimentary, incomparable to the well-fortified camp of Breton's soldiers. Fighting from within the camp would only hinder their formation.
However, it took quite some time for his orders to be executed.
The still groggy nobles sluggishly got out of bed and began to command their troops to form ranks.
Conchobar didn't idle. He found his most trusted messenger and said, "Go to Shannon Castle and seek Muirchertach's support. We need reinforcements!"
The messenger nodded and quickly left the camp. Another messenger was sent to Ballaty Castle.
All of this was within Breton's expectations.
"Increase speed, have the archers advance and attack the enemy," Breton ordered through his messengers.
The archers, initially hidden behind the infantry formations, emerged through the gaps and pulled out five arrows each, sticking them into the ground in front of them.
They had practiced this countless times; it was their most familiar maneuver.
The finely crafted arrows were set on English longbows, and the taut bowstrings creaked like the footsteps of death approaching.
"Loose!"
At the command of their officers, the arrows swiftly flew. The Irish looked up to see a rain of arrows darkening the sky. Many soldiers without armor could only raise their round shields to protect themselves as best they could.
The small round shields were far less effective against long-range attacks compared to the English kite shields. Many Irish soldiers, struck by arrows, screamed in pain, clutching their wounds as they fell.
After the archers had loosed five volleys, the phalanx troops arrived behind them.
The archers moved back behind the infantry again, switching to suppress the few Irish archers with free shooting.
"Level pikes! Level pikes!"
The officers' commands echoed among the soldiers, instructing them to lower their pikes.
As the pikes were leveled, the phalanx transformed into a massive hedgehog. The trumpeters' sharp, forceful calls unified the soldiers' steps.
Nearly all the soldiers marched in unison, sounding like rolling thunder. This methodically wore down the enemy's morale, inch by inch.
The Irish lacked the courage to face such a formidable pike formation and began to retreat, much to Conchobar's frustration.
On the flanks, his cavalry attempted an assault but were intercepted by Breton's mounted troops.
From the start, the battle seemed to be going against them.
"This isn't working, we can't go on like this," Conchobar said, his voice filled with anxiety. "Follow me, we need to lead a charge ourselves!"
Though Conchobar was often seen as crude and ignorant, his intuition was spot on.
The courage of the Irish was at its peak during the initial charge. In a prolonged battle, they stood no chance against their current foes.
"This is too dangerous, Your Majesty!" his aide protested.
Conchobar gritted his teeth. "If we don't charge now, we'll be doomed regardless!"
With that, he advanced alone. His aides, seeing they couldn't hold him back, had no choice but to follow.
When the banner of the High King appeared at the front lines, it invigorated the Irish soldiers. This was a centuries-old tradition and the heart of their beliefs.
"Forward with me!" Conchobar shouted as he emerged from the crowd.
His large, imposing figure was already highly visible. Coupled with the decorations on his helmet and his shining armor, he became the focal point of the battlefield.
The Irish rallied behind him, launching themselves at Breton's formations.
The pike wall stood firm like a rocky cliff against the crashing waves of Irish soldiers, who repeatedly charged only to be repelled.
"Have they gone mad?" Breton's eyes revealed a hint of worry.
His officers remained silent, offering no response.
Breton's soldiers fought methodically, but many veterans sensed something was amiss. The relentless Irish, sacrificing themselves, were steadily pushing against their lines.
As pikes broke and the enemy drew closer, the infantry faced an unprecedented threat.
This time, there were no knights to bail them out.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone