LION RAMPANT... "My Lord, Brother Fornicatus is nowhere to be found!"

 
In the Autumn season of the Year of Our Lord 1173, the Kingdom of Henry II was in a state of monstrous turmoil, the land tormented by the heinous scourge of Civil Strife. Each man looked upon his brother with suspicion, knowing not whether he stood loyal and steadfast for the King, or faithless and perfidious for the treacherous queen and her brood of turncoat offspring. Status nor rank were guarantee of loyalty, whether high and mighty or lowly scapegrace, none could be trusted in this age of disorder and disturbance. 

Sir Ranulf de Glanville, King Henry's faithful lieutenant in the North, impatiently snarled at his bungling page, Walter, as he fumbled with the fastening of his great leather war belt. "Where is that false-hearted priest," he bellowed, "form up the host, we'll track him down and I'll see his duplicitous neck stretched from the highest branch of Saint Ebba's Oak!"

Brother Fornicatus, the man Sir Ranulf had trusted implicitly as an advisor and confessor throughout the long, laborious campaign against the rebels and their loathsome Scottish confrères, had disappeared in a most un-godly manner, with certain consequential scrolls tucked beneath the billowing folds of his cassock and was last seen heading north, towards the camp of that vile barbarian, Lord Donnchad, Earl of Fife.

Exhausted from his precipitous flight from the English camp, Brother Fornicatus stumbled wearily into a deserted farmstead, where the fugitive found himself a place of concealment and began to fervently pray that his Scottish paymasters would find him before a furious and vengeful Sir Ranulf arrived to mete out his own particular brand of justice!

After an uncomfortable night in his chosen hiding place, Brother Fornicatus was awoken by the sound of a veritable multitude of braying voices, clearly not belonging to Humphrey, and the tramping of numberless feet emanating from every possible direction. A thoroughly alarmed Brother Fornicatus curled himself into the smallest possible space... although he could see nothing from his refuge, it was clear that both forces had arrived and this desolate farmstead was about to become the scene of a dreadful confrontation.

This little encounter turned out to be much shorter than I imagined it would be. Brother Fornicatus' hiding place was determined randomly and, had he been anywhere else other than the well, his escape from the field of battle would have been much more problematic for the Scots. As it turned out, the Wild Charge rule caused just enough of a delay for Sir Ranulf and his knights to prevent them reaching Brother Brian's spearmen before they could leave the table. The sacrifice made by the skirmishing bidowers in diverting the attention of the knights, will go down in folklore, although I'm not sure that they would see it that way! For those of you familiar with the traditional Scottish nursery rhyme, "Ding Dong Bell, Brother Fornicatus is in the Well!", this brief skirmish is the origin of that tale. The story of Brother Fornicatus has, I feel, many more chapters to run and I am already perusing the Scenarios section of Lion Rampant for the next exciting, and hopefully little longer, instalment.

LION RAMPANT - BATTLE FOR THE BEEF AND THE BOOZE!

 The Dun Rheged Chronicles!

Publius Decimus Barbula, Warlord of Dun Rheged.

Conchobhar, Warlord of Dal Riatta, has been raiding the fertile lands of Dun Rheged again! Having rifled the wine cellars of several noble villas and acquired a handsome herd of long horn cattle, he is leading his warband home to a victory celebration, including generous portions of medium rare steak and lashings of Cotes du Rhone. Being somewhat miffed at Conchobhar's thievery, his arch enemy, Barbula, has rushed his own warband toward the ford across the River Isca, determined to give the Irishmen a jolly good thrashing and return beef and booze to their rightful owners.

Special Rules for the Irishmen's loot...

Cattle: Move with controlling unit. If abandoned, they remain in place, enjoying the lush grazing, until someone arrives to claim them.

The Wine Cart: Moves with controlling unit. If the controlling unit fails a Move Activation, they must immediately take a Courage Test. If the Courage Test is failed, they become “Plastered” and begin to imbibe the vigorous Gallic grape whilst savouring its full bodied aromatic bouquet. They must test to Rally in subsequent Rally Phases and, should they fail the test they remain “Plastered” and one figure is removed, too inebriated to continue. They do not fall back, but remain in place while the more sober members of the Unit attempt to regain control, which they do if the test is passed. If abandoned, the cart remains in place until someone arrives to claim it.

The first unit to arrive on the field of battle were a group of Irish warriors, eager to reach the ford across the river...

following quickly behind the warriors, Conchobhar's light cavalry galloped on towards the river...

None of the units were on the table at the outset of the game; the Irish entered on the southern edge in an order based on the roll of a D6, followed by an activation roll. If the activation roll failed, the Romano-British had the opportunity to roll for their units to arrive, with an additional D6 roll to determine whereabouts on the western table edge they would be placed.

A good string of activation rolls saw the Irish flood onto the table with no Romano-British forces to oppose their dash for the safety of the river. Conchobhar's skirmishers arrived with the herd of top quality beef and pushed on northwards.

Finally, Barbula's forces put in an appearance, with his Numeri skirmishers rolling to arrive in the wood, quickly followed by a unit of Light Infantry Pedyts, who came onto the table in the open ground at the southern table edge.

Just like waiting for a chariot, a third Romano-British unit arrived... more Numeri Skirmishers, entering the action in the swamp adjacent to the river. At this stage, things were not looking too promising for the Irish.

Fortunately for the Irish raiders, the next unit to arrive, yet more Romano-British, also rolled to appear in the wood, behind the Numeri Skirmishers. These tough fighting men were Barbula's veteran heavy infantry with Diomhair Darach, the mystical Druid and they were going to have to fight their way through the dense undergrowth, before they could come to grips with the loot laden raiders.

Realising that his passage to safety was now seriously threatened, Conchobhar despatched his light cavalry to skirmish with Barbula's Pedyts and the first casualty of the encounter fell under the hail of Irish javelins.

The Irish horsemen realised, to their horror, that they had exposed themselves(!) to an attack from the Numeri in the woods! Yet more javelins whistled through the air, this time striking the hapless Irishmen. 

As if their situation wasn't desperate enough, the Irish horsemen were suddenly confronted with the dreadful sight of Barbula himself, leading his heavy cavalry into the action. The Irish were only saved by a terrible activation roll, which prevented Barbula's charge and brought the Romano-British turn to a premature close.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the table, Conchobhar had finally arrived, leading the wagon containing the precious elixir. With the overwhelming numbers of Romano-British arriving to the west, the Irish warlord was desperately needed to shore up a rapidly deteriorating situation... the wine would have to be temporarily abandoned, for Conchobhar had more pressing matters to deal with!

Barbula finally managed to get his horsemen moving and piled into the Irish horse, who had failed to roll enough to take an evade action! Inevitably, the raiders came off second best, loosing two casualties and being forced into an ignominious retreat.

Having fought they way through the wood, the veteran heavy infantry, spurred relentlessly on by Diomhair the Druid, found themselves unceremoniously assailed by one of the groups of wild Irish warriors. Wherever the Irish warriors fight, utter chaos is bound to ensue. This particular group had their own attached holy man, Brother Bearach, the Resurrected Martyr. As expected, once the melee began, copious quantities of blood were shed and casualties were spawned on both sides. The ghastly slaughter caused Irish and British to fall back battered, in spite of the presence of the two rival holy men.

Having fallen back from their savage clash with the Romano-British heavy infantry, the Irish warriors found themselves targeted by the skirmishing bowmen sheltering in the sodden swamp. Even though they were now outnumbered, lead on by Brother Bearach, the warriors threw off their battered status and made another wild charge into their adversaries, who, themselves had only just recovered from the previous encounter.

Once again, this vicious clash of titans resulted in death and both sides recoiling in a desperate state of fatigue, so badly beaten that they each turned and fled from that place of horror and savage butchery.

Seeing his veteran infantry streaming back through the wood, Barbula called to his oath sworn companions to throw themselves into the ranks of their bitter enemy and so, the lords of Dun Rheged and Dal Riatta came face to face in one final desperate clash of arms. Back and forth the violent struggle swayed, with first one side and then the other gaining the upper hand but, eventually the death toll proved too great for Barbula's brethren and the great Lord of Dun Rheged found himself facing the Irish raiders alone and was forced the flee this field of savage ferocity. 

Bruised and battered, Barbula turned and rode to safety, leaving the victory to the raiders from Dal Riatta...

Seeing their liege lord riding from the field was too much for the remaining men of Dun Rheged, they too becoming battered and reluctantly leaving the spoils of war to the enemy.

The looted cattle were driven over the ford to the delight of the Irishmen, soon to be followed by the cart of Bacchus...

Publius Decimus Barbula had sworn to prevent the Irish raiders from escaping Dun Rheged with their pillaged spoils, but the power of the enemy infantry had proved too much for the Romano-British. And so, the day belonged to Conchobhar and his raiding warriors who were able to cross the ford over the River Isca and make their way back into their own lands, to bask in the glory of their victory and enjoy massive steaks washed down with the finest Roman vino!

LION RAMPANT... BETWEEN A ROCK AND THE VILLAGE PEOPLE!

Brother Stultus and the Village People Steadfastly Await the Scottish Onslaught!

After the unfortunate events of Saint Winifred's Day, King William, the Lion of the Scots, lead his army north, intending to rest and await the arrival of reinforcements from over the border, before resuming his raiding activities across the north of England. At the village of Edmondsley, the retinue of Earl Donnchad of Fife, was charged with the defence of the ancient bridge crossing the Cong Burn, giving the King and his forces time to continue their march unmolested by the pursuing English host.

Early that morning, the Earl, believing that the English had given up their pursuit, began to organise his retinue for a withdrawal over the river.

His plans, however, were interrupted by the arrival of the tempestuous English priest, Brother Stultus, at the head of a group of local Fyrd, who took up position in the church yard of Saint Periwinkle's on the north side of the Burn and prepared to defend God's Acre with their miserable rustic lives.

Just moments later, a breathless shaggy Galwegian warrior rushed breathlessly into the Scottish camp with the news that English banners had been seen approaching the village from the south! With an enemy host to the southward and the tiresome holy man and his village people across the Burn, Earl Donnchad knew that he was going to have a fight on his hands to extricate his retinue from the jaws of the loathsome Sassenachs.

Before the Scottish Earl could buckle on his warbelt, a group of English knights, lead by William de Stuteville, appeared out of the morning mist to the south.

The Earl gathered his household knights around him and hurriedly gave the order for his heavy cavalry to launch an attack against de Stuteville...

However, as the Scots bravely advanced, de Glanville and his mounted knights arrived and the Scottish cavalry suddenly found themselves isolated from the rest of their warband and facing a superior unit of mounted knights!

Undaunted and desperate to buy time for their Earl, the Scottish heavy cavalry hurled themselves against the counter-charging English knights, loosing three casualties to a single opponent.

Meanwhile, to the north, the Scottish bidowers dashed across the bridge to engage Brother Stultus and his fyrdmen.

Eager to press home his advantage, de Glanville urged his knights forward to re-engage with the Scottish cavalry. With half their number already casualties, the result was a forgone conclusion and the Scots were driven back again, with a further two riders falling victim to the English knights. 

Over the bridge, Brother Stultus and his peasant rabble came under a hail of missiles from the Bidowers, but little damage was done!

With the Bidowers failing to make any impression, Brother Brian led the Scottish Yeomen across the bridge and into battle against the Fyrd... the battle for the churchyard pitted monk against monk and the outcome was going to be bloody!

The cover of the church wall gave the Fyrd some extra protection but they were driven back and found themselves pinned against the church wall.

With the Fyrd pinned helplessly against the church wall, the Bidowers finally found their mark and brought down most of their remaining number... and worse...

Brother Stultus received a mortal wound and prepared to meet his maker.

Back to the south, two units of English heavy spearmen pushed forward to engage the Scots. The Scottish Lowland Spears had formed up in a Wall of Spears formation, to meet them, but the Englishmen's advance had brought them in range of the deadly Galwegian warriors, who instantly hurled themselves forward in a terrifying wild charge.

Not for the first time, in spite of their devastating charge, the Galwegians found themselves pushed back, unable to make a significant impression against the heavy English armour and the Spearmen were able to press on to contact the deadly silent wall of long Scottish spears.

The clash of spears was horrific, causing hideous casualties on both sides, but the tighter formation of the Scots was sufficient to drive the English back.

The casualties took their toll upon the English and they fell back from the fray... battered!

The English spearmen would feel the impact of their losses and soon found themselves scattering to the four winds, their courage shattered!

With the Earl and his henchmen making good their escape over the bridge and the remnants of the Galwegians struggling to cross the river, the final act of the Battle of Edmondsley came to its inevitable conclusion. Sir William de Stuteville and his knights crashed into the Wall of Spears, which had been reformed by the Scottish spearmen closer to the road.

After suffering further casualties, the courage of the Scottishmen finally broke and their brave stand was over. They had the honour of being the last Scottish unit to remain fighting on the south side of the river, but the punishment they received from spearmen and knights combined was too much and they turned and fled over the bridge, where they were able to re-unite with the rest of Earl Donnchad's retinue.

And so, the field of battle was left to the mockery of the dead. The Scottish objective was to get as much of Earl Donnchad's retinue safely across the river as possible and, it is arguable, that they achieved a victory, as they succeeded in extricating the Earl and his knights, all but one of the Yeomen and the entire unit of Bidowers. Most of the Galwegians escaped by crossing the river and even the majority of the Lowland Spearmen managed to re-join the retinue after their courage failed and they fled across the bridge. Only the heavy cavalry suffered a complete disaster after they were sacrificed to hold up the advance of the English. The English themselves suffered few casualties, although the only one of the two spearmen units available to engage with the enemy did eventually break and fled the field after their encounters with the Galwegians and the Lowland Spears.

Tribute must be paid to Brother Stultus and his lowly band of village people... normally, a monk can not be attached to a unit of Levied Infantry, but in this scenario, it was appropriate for a local holy man to lead the peasantry in a desperate attempt to block the escape of the raiding retinue of the Scottish Earl. In the final analysis, the Fyrd crumbled pretty quickly when they were attacked by the more experienced Scottish Yeomen, lead by their own Holy Man, Brother Brian, combined with the withering missile fire of the Bidowers. So, in years to come, on cold and dark winter evenings, the people of Edmondsley will sit around their meagre fires and warm themselves with the story of the day their forebears, lead by the troublesome priest, Brother Stultus, sacrificed their lives to help drive the heathen raiders back over the border from whence they came...