The Ambush on the Snowy Road

After a snowstorm, Jaromir’s army had dozens more corpses, and many soldiers caught colds or fevers. The accompanying military medics were overwhelmed, the army’s morale was extremely low, and Wood’s attack plan had to be postponed again.

While Wood sat in his tent worrying, a messenger rushed in and told him some good news.

“Master Wood, Master Wood! Supplies are here! Supplies are here!” The messenger was very excited. This freezing, shitty weather was finally going to end!

Wood slapped the armrest of his chair and shouted, “Good!” Then he walked out of the tent to inspect the supplies delivered from “Hradec.”

There were over twenty carts of supplies, all parked in the open space at the center of the camp. The horses were covered in blankets to keep them warm, protecting them from freezing on the trip.

A fat man dressed like an official saw Wood approaching. He smiled obsequiously, rubbing his red, chubby hands. “My lord, I have been sent by the mayor to deliver cold-weather supplies…”

As he spoke, the fat official waved to the laborers behind him to unload the goods from the carts.

“Hurry it up, everyone! The lords need these urgently! If the masters freeze, they’ll skin you alive!”

The laborers strained to haul sacks of wheat, beans, and vegetables off the carts, then carried down stacks of furs and dozens of large wine barrels.

Wood stepped forward and felt the furs—mostly sheepskin, some wolf and deer hide. His tense nerves finally relaxed.

‘The cold problem is solved. Next is planning the attack… No, first negotiate with the rebel leader. If we can resolve this through negotiation, that would be best,’ Wood thought to himself.

The fat official counted the supplies and said to Wood, “My lord, everything is here. We’ll be on our way now. This damn weather is too cold. May you lead the army to victory!”

The axles of the carts screeched as they turned, and the carts left the camp one by one in an orderly fashion.

Wood watched the soldiers crowding around to see, rubbing their arms to keep warm and breathing hot air into their hands. He ordered, “Distribute the furs to keep warm!”

“Oooh!” Cheers erupted in the camp! The soldiers couldn’t wait to rush forward and grab the warm furs.

“Mine, this is mine!”

“Dammit! You take two sheepskins, and the rest of us get nothing!”

“Deer hide! I want this deer hide!”

The scene became chaotic. A guard beside Wood asked, “My lord, should we…”

Wood knew the soldiers were riled up; trying to maintain order would be futile. Better to let them scramble for a while, as long as no fights or killings broke out.

*****

The fat official sat on the empty cart bed, hearing the commotion from the camp behind him. Fearing they had been found out, he urged the driver on.

“Faster! Faster! If you don’t want to die, drive faster!”

The driver nodded solemnly and cracked the whip repeatedly. The horses, stung by the pain, neighed and quickened their pace. The wheels rumbled more rapidly.

The fat official’s plump face was drenched in sweat. He kept wiping his forehead with his hand. Even in this freezing weather, he couldn’t stop sweating—not from heat, but from fear.

“Faster, even faster. Once we reach the ambush point for the crossbowmen, no matter how many pursue, we won’t fear them!”

The twenty-odd carts sped southward. A mile south of the camp, they had hidden a hundred trained crossbowmen and fifty heavy shield-bearers. These soldiers were secretly trained by Sithis under his eldest son, Sithis. Not putting all eggs in one basket, Sithis, as mayor of a city, understood this well. The North Elite was the force he left for his youngest son; these 150 soldiers were for his eldest.

In years of trading with the Northern Italian city-states, he had purchased many crossbows and bolts and witnessed their power. Some weaker, thinner shields couldn’t withstand these powerful ranged weapons.

But the designs for the crossbows—the nobles of those city-states never sold them. If only he could produce crossbows himself…

This supply run was a perfect opportunity. An enraged Wood would surely send troops in pursuit, giving him the chance to test the crossbowmen’s might!

*****

At the camp of Jaromir’s army—

“Masters! All the warm furs are snatched up!”

“Gone! All gone! Those bastards, some definitely took more than their share!”

A large crowd of soldiers surrounded the supplies, their faces red with anger. They had finally gotten warm furs, and these shameless bastards dared to take extra!

Furious, the soldiers grabbed weapons and planned to search every tent, taking back the furs that rightfully belonged to them.

The mutiny made Wood realize things were serious. He had made a mistake: he should have counted the supplies when they were first unloaded. Who knew if the furs from “Hradec” were enough or not?

Even though there was a cartload of furs, several stacks, they were definitely short!

Wood began complaining inwardly about Jaromir: ‘Why didn’t Your Grace prepare supplies in advance? Why gather the army so hastily? Would it have hurt to stock more food and warm clothing?’

Jaromir had indeed planned to, but he wanted to quell the rebellion in Opava before winter. Plus, a wealthy city south of Opava could provide various supplies, so he only gathered basics: food, carts, tents, kindling, cooking utensils, iron-shod shovels, iron axes, stone hand-mills, etc.

His original plan was to end the rebellion by November and return to Prague by December. But a sudden blizzard had completely derailed it.

Wood knew complaining was useless; quelling the disturbance was key. He sighed and summoned his most loyal men and knights to calm the chaos.

*****

After nearly two hours, Wood had calmed the army. He collected all the furs the soldiers had taken and had the clerk count them.

“Are you done counting?” Wood asked.

“Al-most…” The clerk looked like he was about to cry, surrounded by hundreds of soldiers staring at him. If he miscounted, these angry men would skin him alive.

After counting four or five times, the clerk finally arrived at an accurate total—

“About six hundred furs: 472 sheepskins, 90 wolfskins, 33 deerskins. Exactly 595 furs. We’re short by 205 warm furs from the 800 needed.”

Some soldiers who could count heard this number and immediately tried to push through the crowd to grab more. So many furs short—no one wanted to be one of the 205 to freeze to death. Actually, the original 800 soldiers had lost dozens by now, including those killed by Noren and company, those frozen in the storm, and those dead from fever.

Still a big shortage! Grab first, talk later!

The soldiers pushed and shoved. The clerk in the middle was terrified; his legs gave way, he collapsed to the ground, his jaw trembling with fear.

Seeing the situation spiral out of control again, Wood shouted into the air, “Stop! All of you, stop! They must have held some back! Held back! Chase them! Chase them! The furs that were supposed to arrive must still be with them!”

Perhaps Wood’s shouts had an effect—some stopped fighting. The shorter conscript farmers on the edges, who couldn’t reach the furs, also stopped pushing toward the center.

A grimy conscript farmer nervously approached Wood and asked timidly, “Knight master, I saw them unload everything from the carts earlier.”

Wood flew into a rage, punched the farmer to the ground, and pointed at his nose, cursing, “What do you know! They must have hidden the furs along the way! If we chase now, we’ll get them back!”

“Idiots! What are you standing around for! Chase them!” Wood roared, drawing his sword from his belt and pointing south.

“Oooh!”

“Chase, chase!”

“I knew it! The furs were short because those corrupt officials stole them!”

The soldiers snapped out of it. Dozens or hundreds began rushing south in a mess. These were the ones who knew they wouldn’t get furs—the weaker fighters. The rest were already warming themselves by fires, wrapped in furs.

*****

A mile south of Opava, the twenty-odd carts were lined up on the road. The horses boredly played with white snow with their black muzzles, but then suddenly raised their heads, ears pricked.

“They’re coming,” said the crossbowmen hidden in the trees on both sides of the road, staring into the distance. Figures appeared one after another on the snowy path.

“Look! We caught up!” The pursuers shouted excitedly. Maybe it was too cold, or maybe they were just stupid—anyway, they didn’t realize it was a trap.

The fat official was now lying beside the crossbow commander, his face filled with excitement. As a loyal man of Sithis, he was honored to witness the crossbowmen’s glorious moment!

The crossbow commander saw the range was right, took out a whistle, and blew—

“Peep!”

The signal went out, and from the woods came the faint clicking of crossbows being drawn.

The pursuers heard it too, but it was distant and unclear. Most ignored it, too eager to grab the warm furs.

Some noticed: “What’s that sound?”

Someone answered while running: “Bird calls.”

Their frozen brains couldn’t process much. If someone said it was birds, then birds it was! No one cared about trivial questions.

As the pursuers got closer, the crossbow commander counted in his mind:

100 yards, 95, 90, 85…

Now! 50 yards!

“Peep~” A second whistle. The enemies heard it clearly this time. Even the stupidest realized something was wrong!

Some turned to flee, but it was too late!

“Whoosh!” The crossbow bolts whistled through the air. The pursuers were struck down before they could react. Some were even pierced through. Even those with iron helmets couldn’t stop the powerful bolts; the helmet’s metal was like paper, offering no resistance as the bolt drilled into their skulls.

Out of over a hundred pursuers, only half remained after the first volley. Their morale shattered, they fled north toward Jaromir’s camp.

The crossbowmen reloaded, aimed, and fired again, some faster, some slower. The commander frowned, dissatisfied. Genoese crossbowmen could shoot farther and faster. His men still lacked training—if only they aimed better, one volley could have killed them all!

“Peep.” A short third whistle signaled the end of shooting.

The commander knew his mission was complete. He had seen the crossbows’ killing efficiency and his squad’s training. The remaining work was left for the heavy infantry stationed to the north.

*****

“Kill!”

“Ambush! Run, run into the woods!”

“There are enemies in the woods too!”

“Thud!”

A heavy infantryman grabbed a handful of snow to wipe the blood off his single-edged sword, then waved to his comrades:

“All done! Let’s head back to ‘Hradec’ for a drink! My treat!”