Years ago I was in a medieval recreation society that did actual combat (real armor, but with mock or padded weapons, so theoretically no one gets hurt). When I finally got my gear assembled, I attended a lovely little war down south. One of the battles that weekend was to be a “woods battle,” an iffy affair involving out-of-shape medievalists clomping about the woods in cumbersome gear, trying to find each other for a fight.
I went as light infantry (archery and javelins only, no contact). This was my first time as light infantry, and I wanted to make a good impression. Well, our side’s light infantry had done very well in that day’s open field battles, so I was full of new-found confidence in the woods battle.
After much clomping about searching, hampered by the narrow field of vision the slots in our helms offered, the unit of troops I was accompanying found the “enemy” on a small rise. Our heavy infantry closed with deadly intent, a shield wall protecting a second line of polearms that were supposed to do the real “killing.”
Unfortunately it went pretty badly for the shield wall, and most of our front line was struck down. The King’s War Leader called off the polearm troops, then looked about for missile support. “ARCHERS TO THE FORE!” he bellowed!
Now was our chance! I swung my head ponderously right and left, peering through my faceplate for other light infantry…and found none.
I was it.
So I hustled up to the front. Because of a rules quirk, I only had five arrows, so I wanted to make them count. I walked slowly parallel to the enemy line, a good many yards away in case they rushed me, and looked for a shot…but an especially alert knight walked right behind the line and kept rapping his fellows on the helm and hissing at them to pay attention. Their shields would rise up and cover everything, but they’d relax after I passed. This ripple of alert shields was kind of like watching a crowd do “the wave” in slow motion.
By now both little armies are staring at me, walking between them, carrying the hopes of the King’s right-hand man. I’m feeling pretty badass. Never taking my eyes off the “enemy” I started to walk carefully backwards, hoping one of the guys I’d previously passed would get lazy and not bring his shield up smartly.
And I fell into a hole.
It was a pretty big, ass-sized hole. And into it went my armored ass. Arms and legs waving in the air.
I couldn’t do a thing for a couple of seconds. If they’d charged me they could have had me easily and been back to their own lines before anyone on my side reacted…but they were laughing too hard to think of it.
I extracted myself from the hole with difficulty, and resumed pacing the line.
I eventually got that alert knight, too, when our reinforcements arrived on the flank, yelling. He pointed with his right (sword) hand, and the natural movement caused his left (shield) hand to swing down, exposing a lovely expanse of metal-covered pectoral muscle, onto which I immediately deposited an arrow, much to his disgust. He probably still thinks of that day as the day he got killed by “that guy who fell on his butt in front of both armies.”
