... maces smashing down on heads, swords cutting through heads and arms ...
The History of William Marshal. Translated by Nigel Bryant. 2016
Все описанное ниже - турниры. Эпоха - конец 12 века. Эта публика ходила в Третий и Четвертый крестовые походы, ездила в Прибалтику, сражалась у Бувина и Линкольна.
They now heard word that a great tournament was to be held between Gournay and Ressons: it was the subject of much excitement.
...
He and his companions were promptly and lavishly supplied with the most splendid gear imaginable, and when he arrived at the tourney ground the king looked quite magnificent: his harness and trappings and show were beyond all price - and no one could have guessed that they were borrowed. His side drew up in good and serried order, but their opponents scorned to do so: oozing proud confidence because of their mighty numbers, they charged in disarray to meet them before their lists. There were no preliminaries or warm-up jousts! They went straight at it with all their might, storming in disorder at the Young King’s battalion, who met them fiercely, fired to fight well. You’d have seen maces smashing down on heads, swords cutting through heads and arms. And the over-confident came off worse: charging as they were with no formation, not keeping together at all, they were quickly routed and sent reeling back, the first to arrive the first to leave. The Marshal left the king and rode after a troop who were trundling off in retreat; he charged into their midst with such force that he brought a knight crashing down, but he didn’t stop to take him captive: he was bent on giving such an account of himself that all who saw him would have to bear true witness! He drove them back and sent them packing, showing them the way with fearsome blows. Another troop now fell on him in numbers, forcing him back to the Young King’s lines; but with that they left the combat, in which the Marshal’s display had won him mighty esteem that day from all who’d witnessed it.
...
But let’s return to the story. I’ve more to tell about the worthy Count Philip of Flanders, who in shrewd intelligence surpassed all men of his time. Great prowess needs to be combined with guile! And whenever the Young King went to a tournament with his mighty company, fierce and bold, following his banner, the count of Flanders would bide his time, joining the tourney only when all were flagging and had lost their shape! Then, seeing his advantage, the count, shrewd as well as valiant, would charge in from the flank! Many a saddle was emptied then, many a knight unhorsed, beaten and battered, taken prisoner and ransomed - the same knights who at the outset had been the first to enter the fray. It’s foolish to break ranks too soon. That’s how the count dealt with the Young King: he attacked when he saw his men disordered, tiring and sore from blows; that was his tactic every time!
The king realised the damage the count was doing, and that he wasn’t going to spare him, so he looked for a way to respond. One day he gave the impression that he wasn’t coming to a tourney; he gave no sign of bearing arms or taking part. Then suddenly, taking everyone unawares, he cried:
‘At them! God is with us!’
And the king’s men charged Count Philip’s men when they were in no state to put up a fight and didn’t dare to face them! So many banners and pennons then were toppled and dragged through the mud! So many horses of every hue roamed riderless over the field, to be seized and captured by all who could. The king’s men put the count’s to flight and won spoils a-plenty. And this devastating ploy had been prompted by the Marshal. That’s what happened; and from that time forth whenever the Young King went to a tourney, in field or town, he used the same ruse and trick!
...
Then, in the spring, a grand tournament was to be held between Anet and Sorel. Every knight errant who heard of it made eager preparations to attend: no knight in France, Flanders, Brie or Champagne was going to miss it. To face them came the Normans and the Bretons who sided with them, and knights from England, Maine, Anjou and Poitou with their lord the Young King, who now had them so well trained and confident that, wherever they fought, they were convinced that provided they kept together they would put paid to anyone they met and come out on top, with ample spoils to share.
...
The tournament duly assembled, and it was great indeed, to the delight of experienced tourneyers. The French entered in wild disorder, in such reckless disarray that their squadrons were colliding, impeding one another. Seeing this, the king’s men let them carry on and then spurred into a charge, meeting them so fearsomely that they drove them apart and sent them reeling, unable to resist for an instant: when the king’s own company arrived, the French were already in flight. Whenever anyone gives chase there are many who flee - and on the other hand, it’s often the case in tournaments that when anyone flees there are many who give chase! It was an utter rout; and the king’s men, losing all discipline, set off in such wild pursuit, so intent on winning booty, that they left the king behind, all alone except for the Marshal! These two headed after them, and found themselves riding down the main street in Anet. There were no knights to be seen - they’d all gone rushing on; but glancing to their right they saw a great crowd down another street: Sir Simon de Neauphle was there - he’d mustered three hundred foot soldiers armed with bows and spears and gisarmes, and they were blocking the way.
‘We’ll not get through,’ said the king, ‘but there’s no question of turning back.’
The Marshal’s reply was: ‘There’s only one thing for it, by God: attack!’
And when the soldiers saw them charging they were off! They didn’t dare stand and face them! The Marshal rode up and reached for Sir Simon’s bridle; the moment he seized it, that was it: he had such fast hold that Simon couldn’t break free, and he led him off, the king following behind. Now, the Marshal didn’t notice, but there was a gutter hanging low above the street, within Sir Simon’s reach; he grabbed hold and stayed swinging there while the Marshal, unaware, carried on without a backward glance! The king had seen, but preferred not to say; so on down the street rode the Marshal, leaving Sir Simon hanging from the gutter!
...
It was a splendid tournament indeed; and truly, the count of Flanders, so canny and astute, had gathered to his side dukes, counts, barons, castellans, viscounts and a fine body of knights and soldiers who would have given the king’s men a battering if they hadn’t had their refuge close at hand and known how to take care of themselves. What a tournament it was: I don’t think any king or count ever saw one better contested.
"Soldiers" в переводе чаще всего соответствуют "serjanz".
L'Histoire de Guillaume le Maréchal, comte de Striguil et de Pembroke, régent d'Angleterre de 1216 à 1219. Том I, том II, том III.
P.S. Отмечу очевидное - с обеих сторон на турнире выступают одни и те же латиняне. И если у партии/группы оказывается опытный и авторитетный лидер - то латинская панцирная конница оказывается способна и выжидать удачного момента, и выступать более-менее организованно, и мало-мало маневрировать. Если нет - она легким мановением руки мутирует в дуром мчащуюся "куда-то туда" бесформенную толпу.
P.P.S. "Битвы рыцарей походили на турниры" и "рыцарские турниры мало отличались от настоящих битв" - и ведь почти одинаково звучит. =)