Colin F. Jones

MEDIEVAL CONQUEST

~ 1 ~

Longbow men move through the Bill-man lines,
Obliquely towards the flanks,
Where left and right the Hobilar’s surge,
Just wide of the peasant’s ranks.
The Chivalric foot Knights in armour plate,
The Knights Templar at their rear,
Where the horses snort and neigh and stomp,
Watch the Galloglasses shake with fear.
Along the Feudal Sergeant’s lines,
And reflecting on the spearmen’s shields,
The Sun in narrow margins shines,
As mist clears from the morning fields.
And some yards behind, the Culverin Guns,
Respond to the Gunners cheer.

~ 2 ~

With banners flying the Chivalric Knights,
Horse born with armour and spear
Advance behind the Archers’ flights,
Of arrows that loop and veer.
The Arbalesters run from the dropping shafts,
And the crossbowmen pull back,
‘Tis time for the Chivalric men at arms,
To launch their strong attack.
‘Tis a Royal Horseman who lead the fray,
As the Demi-Culverin crew reload,
And the lines of Bill-men in fine array,
Can hear the catapult shots explode.
Some not so brave choose not to stay,
But most remain to bear their load.

~ 3 ~

The ranks of Pikemen hold their ground,
But some Halberdiers relent,
The Pavises Crossbowmen are still sound
But on the flanks the Harquebusiers are spent.
The Cavalry charge forward to meet the knights,
But by arrows are driven back,
Yet the English peasants are taking flight,
As the Swiss Pikemen start their attack.
The hooves of horses raise the dust,
And the Culverins raise the smoke,
Blood fountains from the Pikeman’s thrust
And swords as they slash and poke.
They cry and yell and scream with pain,
As they search for the lethal stroke.

~ 4 ~

The Italian infantry are on the move,
But their morale is very low;
Their attack is poor but is supported by
The Genoese Sailors with the bow.
The Militia Sergeants are all struck down,
By the Brit Feudal Men at Arms,
Supported by the Halberdiers,
Who charge from the flanks in swarms.
Now the Chivalric Knights are sweeping in,
And the Knights Templar join the row:
And surely now the Brits will win,
With this lightning cavalry blow.
For beneath their hooves the foot, Knights fall,
For they are too heavy and too slow.

~ 5 ~

The Gothic Knights in their amour plate,
Face the Knights Templar and Royal Knights,
‘Tis not hard to envisage their eventual fate,
Though they stand firm on the misty heights.
‘Tis from the east the Templars ride,
And from the South the Royals come,
But the Gothics wait with courage and pride,
In the blaze of the midday sun.
The Templars charge in fine array,
And they outnumber the Gothic Knights,
But the Gothics hold them well at bay,
For it is with great honour that the Gothic fights.
But the Royals sweep in from the south,
One of the great and noble sights.

~ 6 ~

The fields are red with crimson blood,
Where a thousand soldiers died,
And bodies lie where once they stood
With dignity and pride.
The smoke still drifts across the slope,
And the stench caught by the breeze,
Is from the body parts that bloat,
Being dispersed among the trees.
There are bits and pieces everywhere,
Left by the battle fray,
Horses, armour, shields, and spears,
Of those slaughtered on this day
That will be recalled for years and years,
Lest the people forget to pray.