Le Chanson de Bob - Chapter IV

Many months have passed
Since last we sang
Of Robert Eponge
And his cheesy Breton knights

And in that long time
The people of Brittany have celebrated
A lot
With feasting,
Substantial cheese consumption
And an excess of wine,
Curious liqueurs,
Pommeau,
Calvados,
Crème de coing,
And even the nasty stuff that people in this part of the world call beer

So much so
That the hangover of the Bretons
Lasted even longer than the celebrations.

But a few of those
Who survived the party
Recalled the exploits of their hero
Robert Eponge
And the battle they won
Which is scribed here by our skald
Basculf the Unwashed
Recalling the tale
As best as anyone can remember
Filling in gaps in memory
With suitably apocryphal embellishment

So
It was on an open field
On the borders of Brittany
That a force of brave and particularly hairy Vikings
(Not for the first time)
And their Warlord
Einar Jonatansson
(That's right, the other one with the saga written in this blog)
Were met by Robert's brave Bretons

Einar Jonatansson
Unlike certain other leaders of hairy Viking factions
(see Chapter II)
Was very much not unready
Although he did make it clear he wasn't particularly happy about the openness of the terrain, the fact that he was facing Bretons, and various other matters, while his skald took notes, just in case.

The fearless Bretons, however
Might in this case themselves have been considered unready
For they were unfamiliar with recent changes
That had been made to the code of battle
The message evidently failing to reach them
(Or more likely they had not read their email or looked at Facebook recently)

And hence
Their order of battle proved particularly poorly thought out
Fielding one very large unit of knights
That after deployment realised they had left their War Banner at home

"Bum!"
Thought Robert Eponge
"Ha!"
Taunted Einar Jonatansson
"Ha!"
Jeered the hairy Viking horde
"Ha!"
Wrote Einar Jonatansson's skald
"S***"
Thought the banner bearer
Who understood that someone
Was in for a good slapping
(Probably him)
And would have said
"It's not my fault!"
But for the fact that
It was

The hairy Vikings charged
The Bretons fled, shooting
The hairy, sweating Vikings charged again
The Bretons scattered, shooting
The hairy, sweating, tired Vikings charged once more
But the Bretons would not be caught
And shot them again
And again

Thus
Though war-banner-less
The speed of the Breton horsemen
Aided by the openness of the battlefield
Combined with their use of the incredibly cheesy In All Directions ability
Meant the Vikings
Hairy, sweating and slow
Could not catch them

Jeer as they might
They were slowly
(Slower than if the Bretons had brought their War Banner, at least)
Picked off by relentless Breton javelins

Eventually
The Vikings
Hairy
Sweaty
Tired
And incredibly frustrated with this most irritating enemy
(Though not by any means disgraced)
Were considered defeated

The Viking skald was politely informed of precisely what would happen to him if he wrote about this in the Saga of Einar Jonatansson
And the Vikings called it a day and went home

As said above
With his final victory
There was much rejoicing in the land
King Bob was proclaimed
The greatest of all Warlords
And the Bretons
Were declared
The cheesiest
Of all factions
And
(Excepting House Rules and/or changes in the official FAQ)
The least likely to be invited to take part in future campaigns

Thus
At last
Our saga comes to an end

Thanks be to God

Although...

There is some talk
Of Robert Eponge
And his Breton knights
Turning up at a tournament somewhere
So as to demonstrate to the world
The power of Breton cheese

Well, you never know…

Le Chanson de Bob - Chapter I

Being the First Chapter in the Song of Robert; in which we introduce the Hero Robert Eponge, and tell of his first battle, defending the land of the Bretons against a sneaky attack by their cheesy Norman neighbours.

Our song is of Robert Eponge,

Hero of the land of Brittany,

Of noble lineage,

Descended from the great heroes of old.

Conan, for example, was one of these

(The real one, that is, not the barbarian).

Robert Eponge, master swordsman,

Also unsurpassed in skill at spear-throwing,

As you would expect.

Spear-throwing, you understand, being a tradition of the Bretons

For which they among all people excel

(Even compared to the Welsh).

Though there are numerous tales of Bob's heroic deeds

Of his slaying of monsters

Saving damsels in distress

(And that sort of thing)

We don't need go into them here.

It stands to reason that

He is a well-respected ruler and totally worthy of the role.

Of course he is.

The proud Bretons he commands

Are a noble, peace-loving folk and generally all-round good guys.

They are the descendants of ancient peoples,

Keepers of the old traditions

And respectful custodians of their lands.

Brittany is after all a beautiful place

And, understandably, coveted by jealous foreigners.

The Bretons, therefore, have many enemies

Most of whom are, (as is often related in epic poems like this), ignorant pagans

Who have never even heard of

The Lord God Almighty,

Let alone behave like decent folk.

And who therefore deserve to be utterly wiped off the face of the earth

As is traditional for those who disagree with peace loving Christians.

The Normans that live nearby are just that sort of people.

Vagabonds, newly arrived in adjacent lands,

Strange, devil-worshipping foreigners.

They are troublesome, ambitious and greedy

And intolerant of their neighbours.

They have no respect for anyone.

They raid for plunder and conquest.

Yes they all deserve to die.

One such Norman goes by the devilish, frightening and altogether foreign-sounding name of

Alain.

Who calls himself "le Roux".

(Which we believe is some kind of cheese).

He is an enemy of Brittany as well as many other nations.

His men yearn for plunder

And are jealous of the peace-loving Bretons.

Worse, they fight without honour and use cheesy tricks.

One day these troublesome Normans move to attack

The peace-loving people of Brittany,

Their evil hearts are bent on gold and loot.

News of their approach soon reaches Brittany

And as they cross the border lands and attack outlying villages

Robert Eponge comes forth to face them in battle.

The army of Robert Eponge is made of many noble horsemen.

Select knights of his household,

And a contingent of nobles led by his faithful general

Patrick Etoile,

Who ride beneath the banner of Brittany.

And as many brave warriors join them,

Having taken up spear and horse

To see off the enemy that has invaded their lands.

It is the early light of dawn.

The Normans and Bretons meet at a village on the borders of Brittany

That the enemy have already occupied, raided, plundered, looted

And eaten all the croissants.

As the sun rises and disperses the morning mist

As the armies see each other.

The Normans lurk in the village

(Cowards)

Archers on each flank hiding in cover

(Cowering cowards)

Crossbowmen hiding in a building in the centre

(Cowardly crossbowmen)

The only few worthies,

Who may look like noble knights

But actually have the hearts of common robbers,

On horseback in the centre,

Advance, as if to attack.

The Bretons, cautious,

Remain concealed in the darkness,

Keeping away from the Norman cowards

That shoot with impunity at those they can see

from the cover of buildings and bushes

"Come out and fight, cheesy Normans"

Brave Bob challenges,

But, fearfully the enemy stays lurking,

Shooting from their hiding places,

Dealing ignoble death unfairly upon their noble adversaries.

The Norman knights advance,

But, seeing their foe before them, hesitate

And then run away.

Covered by their cowardly archers

They dare not engage brave Robert's men in noble battle.

Bravely

(And, some might not unreasonably say, unwisely),

The Bretons advance.

They throw their javelins many times

And many of the enemy fall.

But, lured into the open,

The Bretons find themselves at the mercy of the cowardly archers.

Dirty tricksters who have evidently summoned the power of demons

So that they can shoot their arrows farther than is humanly possible.

Which is really not very decent of them given the range of Breton javelins.

And so many brave Breton knights and warriors fall

Slain by these cowardly arrows that come out of the darkness.

Patrick Etoile rides forth.

"Camembert!" he cries, challenging the cheesy enemy,

Leading his brave knights to the edge of the village.

The best spear-throwers of Brittany

Use all their abilities to throw javelins accurately at the enemy through windows and doors.

The dice are cast,

(A lot of them, with very good factors in their favour)

But the luck of the devil is with the enemy and only a single man falls dead.

Finally Patrick Etoile,

Leads a charge at the enemy cavalry,

The banner of Brittany flying gloriously in the wind.

Javelins fly,

Many Norman knights die,

As well as half of the enemy crossbowmen,

And the battle is even.

But the enemy is fierce in defence,

Yet more cowardly shooting

Slays the flower of Brittany,

And gives the Normans time to escape.

The raiders flee like the cowards they are.

They run back home, taking their plunder,

Seen off from the fair fields of Brittany.

The price paid has been high.

Many are the brave Breton knights that have died today

On this field of battle.

But it could have been worse.

(Oh yes).

Thanks be to God

The Saga of Caradog ap Llewellyn - Chapter One

Once again the English crossed the border into my lands looking for gold and slaves. This time the invader was Guffer AEg-Stank, he of the strange accent.

I decided to confront them at a river crossing not far from the border and arrived at the place toward mid morn. The river is fast flowing and deep with two wooden bridges across it. In front of the left bridge on my side of the river is an area of rocky ground and I placed my archers within supported by four warriors. To the right of the rocky ground betwixt the two crossings is a crop field, high with winter barley, and I placed eight of my Hearthguard here so that they could respond to attack across either bridge. The ground around the right hand bridge is open and I placed twelve warriors opposite the crossing to defend it and supported them with my four remaining Hearthguard.  I took my place with the Hearthguard in the field and awaited Guffer.

He soon appeared across the valley and formed his warband to attack my position. He deployed two units of eight axe wielding Hearthguard and a unit of eight warriors opposite the left bridge. His last unit of eight warriors deployed close to the right hand bridge.

The English began banging weapons on shields to raise their courage. In response my brave boys sung Men of Harlech, drowning out the English clamour with Welsh harmony!

Guffer charged a unit of warriors and both units of Hearthguard across the left hand bridge, shouting encouragement from the rear. The warriors formed their shieldwall on my side of the river with a Heartguard unit on their right. The second Hearthguard unit formed on the bridge behind the warriors. All seemed winded by the exertion.

My archers pulled back deeper into the rocks and loosed a volley at the enemy warriors which dropped one of them. I pushed my Hearthguard out of the barley field at a run and showered the English Hearthguards on the bridge with javelins but only saw one fall.

Guffer had his warriors charge my Hearthguard and my men slaughtered them like spring lambs without loss. Only three of the enemy warriors escaped death and fell back toward the bridge. The English on the bridge moved toward my Hearthguard but were reluctant to close with my men, cowed no doubt by the sight of our shields covered in English gore. Guffer was seen puffing his way across the bridge.

The English were where I wanted them, trapped in the killing ground. My archers, warriors and Hearthguard launched a torrent of arrows and javelins against the enemy Hearthguard killing six of them.

There followed a lull in the fighting during which Guffer withdrew the remnants of his warriors and decimated Hearthguards while advancing his remaining Hearthguard unit across the front of my levy to confront my Hearthguard.

Once again we deluged his Hearthguards with missiles but this time they formed a tight shieldwall that saved them from loss.

Guffer strode to the front of his men and led them in a charge against my Hearthguard. The fight was red tooth and claw and despite their bravery my men gave ground with the loss of five of their number. Four of the English fell to our swords.

My archers shot down two of the English warriors on the bridge but once again the enemy Hearthguard survived our javelins including four of my own casts.

With relentless determination Guffer charged again with his four Hearthguard and with despair I witnessed the slaughter of my three Hearthguard with no loss to the English.

I stood alone amongst the trampled barley confronted by Guffer and his four men. My four warriors moved out of the rocks in support and threw javelins at the enemy Hearthguard who deflected every dart. I made four casts at them but only killed one. My archers killed the last English warrior on the bridge as I glimpsed their warriors on the opposite side of the river moving toward the bridge on my left.

I cursed my decision to place my other four Hearthguard so far away, it would cost me this day.

Guffer and his last three Hearthguard charged me raining down axe blows that that rent my armour and split my shield in twain. A blow to my helmet knocked me unconscious.

When I came to my men related the last of the battle to me. My four brave warriors gave their lives to save me and killed one of the enemies Hearthguard. I had managed to kill another before I went down. The last of them was shot down by my archers.

Guffers last unit of warriors crossed the bridge and covered his withdrawal but lost three men to my archers as they did so.

Guffer claims the fight as honours even because he knocked me down. I say he went home with his tail between his legs. Thanks be to God.