Post by Germanicus Saelanius on Jul 18, 2016 12:12:12 GMT
Merovech saw his men feasting, the various tribes heavily accented with their dialects that seasoned the Frankish people, Ripurians and Salians all Franks now, under King Merovech. He saw how they eyed each other tables that housed the high chieftains of his people, despite them sharing a King he needed them to share a common bond and identity that was more than an obscure link to some distant ancestors or language. He needed an "other" he remembered a Roman tell him in his Foderati days how a common enemy could temper the bonds of friendship, how the Romans forged a common cause despite the different tribes, they become something more... an empire.
Merovech saw his next target, the Frisians they had a navy and were constantly threatening his borders the loincloth wearing Germans from beyond the Rhine who ate raw fish and enjoyed raiding his villages; carrying away the riches of his people and sometimes the people themselves. They would feel his wrath, a King was only as good as the justice he sought for his people and justice was long overdue.
Merovech would send emissaries to the Saxons he would remind them that raiding season was nigh and Britain was ripe for pillage, cooperation would be more profitable than competition. For the Frisians Merovech wouldn't be so diplomatic, he would march on them in full force, they would capitulate or they would die, his eye was on Flevum, 6,000 Nobles and 4,000 Raiders rode with him to war.
Post by Germanicus Saelanius on Jul 22, 2016 19:43:42 GMT
The Raiders put the Frisian villages to the torch, peasants are slain and their goods stolen, all the while the Frisian warriors refuse to come out to fight the Franks. Merovech has time, he has enough Frisian villages to see him through the winter.
The reason for Frisian inaction becomes evident after a few months. It seems that many had fled into the west, and that the chieftains of the Frisii had united to defend their homelands. They elect a tall and handsome man known as Horsa as their king, though they are eager to say this power will only last as long as the Frankish threat remains in Frisian territory.
The Frisians are determined not to give up their freedom. With as many of their women and possessions as possible shipped off to some island or other, or hidden in the west, the Frisian host marches east to drive out the Franks.
The enemy King devises a suitable strategy. Every effort is made to provide long spears for the whole body of infantry, whether they are metal-tipped true spears, or simple sharpened pikes of wood, every man is required to present a point at length to the enemy. The slaves are held in reserve, with little equipment, they are intended to fill gaps and replace the dead, picking up their weaponry.
The nobles are positioned behind the curving flanks, to counter-charge any attempt to flank the force.
Horsa smiles with confidence. He outnumbers the enemy two-to-one, and feels he has safely neutralised the opponents strength. Only the fiercest warhorses could be convinced to charge at a wall of spears. Horsa looks at his Ethelings and wonders whether he should have placed them somewhere more vulnerable. It would be easier to make himself King of Frisia permanently if the nobles were decimated. It was too late to change plans, however, and he hoped that his victory would be enough to win their support.
The battle begins with a great cry from the Frankish ranks. It seems they have not opted to fight on foot. The raiders perform a few false charges, throwing spears into the wall of enemies to soften them up, before joining in with the great bulk of the enemy. The nobles, all proud and eager to show their worth, opt for a truly Frankish strategy of adopting no strategy and just charging straight into it. The ten thousand mounted warriors, most clad in mail, many finely dressed, and many carrying swords as well as spear, are dressed to meet their gods, or to taste victory.
Despite all planning and the correct choice of favourable ground and tactics, the day is not easy for Horsa. The sight of ten thousand fully decked-out Frankish nobles is enough to strike fear into the poorer and squishier Frisians. Their freedom is valuable to them, but so is their lives. Before even deciding to flee, the line finds itself stepping backwards, trembling as they hear the approaching thunder of warhorses and Frankish steel. The rear ranks begin to step back faster, before dropping their weapons. A few slaves rush in to pick up their dropped spears, but most hold back, not wanting to break with popular opinion and move towards the Frankish charge. When the Frankish charge hits, its impact is largely softened by hitting a wall of pikes. The initial charge is more deadly to the Franks, but the eager Frisians pull out their axes and knives to finish off their foes and are terrified when one unhorsed Frankish noble, struck in the middle of his face with a woodaxe, returns to his feet, standing head and shoulders above all other men, and with a terribly disfigured face, continues fighting as if the wound was just a scratch. This single undying Frank is enough to cause a dozen Frisians to flee.
It becomes apparent during the engagement that the Ethelings have been holding their ground, uninterested in the fighting. When it becomes apparent that the Franks intend to fight tooth-and-nail, they simply turn around and march off. The nobles have reached the point where they are as fearful of Horsa as they are of Merovech, following weeks of requisitions, humiliation, and orders. The sight of the fleeing nobles causing the common Frisians to follow suit. The Franks pursue, and cut many down. The bloodbath decimates the fighting power of the Frisians, and cements the divide between royal ambition and the disdain for authority felt by most Frisians, most acutely amongst the nobility.
1,000 Frankish nobles die, 5,000 Frilings, 3,000 Laten, and 3,000 Servi. Flevum is captured, and the Frisians are subjected to Frankish rule. The ethelings return in peace following the battle, bearing tribute and requesting a council of the land to discuss their rights and privileges.
The Frankish king is 3,000 Aurei richer from tribute and plunder.