The Normans made no attempt to co-ordinate their attack. To do so would allow the Welsh time to organise. In the face of a disorganised defence there was no real need for coordinated attack. They increased speed from a trot to a canter and went to a gallop about 75 paces away from the first of the enemy. At the same time the first of the arrows from the Welsh bowmen began to strike. Welsh swordsmen and spearmen were forming knots around small groups of archers. The Welsh horsemen, who had been resting further back from the river, were by now mainly in the saddle. The Welsh had been aligned north-south, facing east towards the river. The attack from the south meant that the Norman charge would be met by less than half the Welshmen.
Alan felt two arrows strike the wooden laminate shield that he was holding carefully in front of him, ensuring as much protection as possible. Another passed so close to his cheek he could both feel and hear it as it whistled by. Alan had chosen as his first target a group of a dozen or fifteen infantry, mixed archers, spearmen and swordsmen, who were frantically trying to get themselves into some sort of formation.
At twenty paces Alan cast his eyes to the left and then the right, to ensure there was no immediate risk. He could feel and hear the other ten men in his troop thundering alongside; the glance that he had made had shown them to be almost knee to knee. He then refocused on his prey, rising slightly in his stirrups and learning forward as he couched his lance- which was more like a large spear- and aimed himself at an archer who was drawing his bow and looking slightly to Alan’s left. Before he could loose the arrow Alan’s lance took the man in the throat, nearly ripping his head off as the momentum pulled the lance free.
Alan quickly re-aligned the tip of the lance towards a swordsman who was back-peddling and trying to get out of the way. As Fayne smashed into two other men, hurling them to the ground where they were trampled by the horse, the lance caught the swordsman in the chest under the arm. The force of the blow and weight of the man splintered the lance, leaving Alan holding just half of its previous length. A glance over his shoulder as he dropped the broken haft and drew his sword showed just one man still standing, a swordsman.
As they had practiced, the troop slowed slightly and formed an arrowhead formation with Alan at its centre. Suddenly one man toppled over and fell, struck in the shoulder by an arrow. The remainder closed up and continued, now again at a canter. Two or three individuals on foot were struck with sword or simply ridden down.
A group of Welsh horsemen closed from the left, swords drawn and shouting loudly. Alan pressed with his knees, instructing Fayne to turn. The small group of horsemen swung together in response to his lead. Most of his men had discarded broken lances. Those who still held them made full use of the extra range, plucking three of the Welsh warriors from the saddle before the two groups met. The Welshmen tried to swerve to avoid the charge, intending to use the greater mobility of their smaller mounts to circle and catch the Englishmen from the flank or behind. The Englishmen forced their mounts close to the Welshmen, in many cases the horses crashing into each other. Then the greater weight of the larger horses Alan had acquired for his men showed its worth, with several of the smaller mountain ponies being knocked over or staggering and unbalancing their riders.
Alan found himself facing a mounted Welshman. Alan had the advantage of longer reach as he was a tall man mounted on a horse four hands taller than the diminutive pony ridden by his opponent. The Welshman was stockily-built with long black hair streaming down from under the conical metal helmet he wore, dressed in a sheepskin jacket and woolen trews. He carried a small round shield, but like Alan he could not bring it into play as the two horses were nose-to-tail with the men’s sword arms next to their opponent.
Traditional swordplay on horseback was limited to either letting the momentum of the charge work for you, with the sword largely held still, or when engaged just simply flailing and bashing against each other until an opening occurred. Obviously the finer points of footwork he had learnt as a swordsman were useless to Alan now, and a horse cannot be quickly and precisely maneuvered- if anything the Welshman had the advantage in that regard. However, as he stood in his stirrups to increase his height and allow more body-weight behind his blows, Alan used what skill he could, with deft and subtle changes of angle and direction of the blade and several pre-planned series of blows.
In the Paris salle de’armes Alan had been trained to maintain peripheral vision by having men hit him with sticks from the side while he was fencing against the Sword master. That skill saved him now, as he saw from the corner of his left eye a blade rise above eye-height on his left, previously unengaged, side. Alan slightly raised the shield strapped to his left arm and ducked his head fractionally, causing the sword to deflect off the top of the shield. The opponent on Alan’s right had seen the blow coming and had paused to watch the outcome. That pause cost his life as, without taking his eye off his opponent, Alan swept his sword aside and lunged, putting six inches of steel into the Welshman’s belly. He then spurred Fayne forwards and in the one motion pulled his sword clear, swiveled in the saddle to face his left, brought the sword across, raising it slightly so that it cleared Fayne’s pricked ears, rose in his stirrups and swung the blade with all his weight behind it. The opponent on the left was unbalanced after his own blow had unexpectedly missed and held his small shield several inches too low. Before the Welshman could realise his danger Alan’s blow had passed over the top of the shield and struck off his head.
As Alan had intended, the spurs had caused Fayne to take a convulsive leap forward, clear of the immediate scrimmage, and Alan took a quick look around. His troop had achieved near parity with the number of horsemen they faced, the Welsh having been whittled down from about fifteen to ten. However, another two of the Wolves were down and another was reeling in the saddle. A few paces away Edric was engaging two Welshmen, keeping them at bay with mighty swings of the single-handed axe that was his preferred weapon- the movements of his axe being surprisingly subtle for such a weapon. Alan used the pressure of his knees to have Fayne move to Edric’s assistance and plunged his sword into the unprotected back of one of Edric’s assailants. Edric quickly finished off the other one, axe smashing aside the shield and then sweeping back in a butterfly motion to strike his opponent in the chest, and then nodded his thanks to Alan.
A gaggle of foot-soldiers ran past, making for the trees to the west. Edric turned to dispatch several, and as the Welshmen flowed around the Englishmen Fayne suddenly screamed and then reared before crashing down backwards, as a Welsh swordsman had cut the hamstring on one of the horse’s hind legs. As Fayne fell, Alan slipped his feet from the stirrups and threw himself sideways to the left, away from the falling and thrashing horse, casting aside his shield, so that he could protect himself by rolling as he hit the ground. The contact with the earth drove the air from Alan’s lungs. As he rolled he knocked the legs out from under a Welsh spearman, who fell backwards with Alan on top. Alan’s sword was caught underneath the Welshman, held in place by their combined weight and unable to be retrieved. As he lay face to face with his foe, Alan felt the scrape of steel on steel as his opponent sought to use the knife now in his right hand to find a weak spot or join in the armour. The knife was uncomfortably close to one of the buckles under Alan’s left armpit. Alan grabbed the man’s knife-hand with his own left hand and released his grip on his now useless sword. He tried to punch his adversary, but as he was lying partly on his right side he was unable to get any power into the blows. Then he saw a pair of booted feet walk into his limited field of vision and waited for a blow to his unprotected back. There was a swish, a blur of movement and his foe’s head flew away. Blood fountained, spraying over Alan and the legs of his saviour.