Aelfric held back his first verbal inclinations, his jaw tightening for a moment as he maintained his composure. The snide attitude wafting off of Godric was more than irritating to the Saxan Ealdorman.
“Good, then we can all speak together, immediately, as you are right, Godric, there is very little time to spare,” Aelfric said tersely. He looked gravely towards the others gathered around him, regarding their stern faces for a moment. “The Unifier comes straight at us. He could not be more direct, or confident in His approach. He intends to be as a great hawk diving onto its prey. From everything that we have heard and come to know, the enemy means to break us through the use of brute, overwhelming strength.
“Ealdorman Morcar has placed a force under one of his most trusted senior thanes, Aethelstan, to ward the mountainous forests to the northwest of the corridor of land between Saxany and Ehrengard. Only a fool leaves any possible path undefended, and that route is very inviting to a clever enemy leader. Indeed, there are some new reports that a second force has detached from the invader’s main body and is headed precisely that way. Ealdorman Morcar’s decision seems to be very wise, and full of foresight.
“To the southwest, we seek the additional help of Godric for supplies, for possible refuge, and to keep something out there that the enemy will have to think about.”
Aelfric then turned to look squarely at Godric, endeavoring to hold his eyes, though such was an impossibility with Godric’s constantly shifting gaze. The unsettling man blinked more than anyone that Aelfric had ever known.
“Godric, I ask for none of your men, for it is Saxany alone that is being threatened by this invasion. King Alcuin does not wish to try to compel you to come openly into the war, especially as you are one of the first lying in the invader’s direct path. We ask only that you honor your lands’ long friendship with our Kingdom, and at the least remain neutral in this coming fight.”
Aelfric then paused for a moment, to see whether or not Godric would try to make some sort of gesture. His eyes carefully scanned the other’s face for some type of indication as to his disposition, coming up quite empty amidst Godric’s stony expression.
“As it is, Godric, your fortress and your land are still under threat from the Unifier… that is, if you wish to remain free and the lord of your lands. We can ill afford any shifts in loyalty… such that you might come out openly on the side of the Unifier,” Aelfric then said firmly, bringing his greatest concern out into the open.
He waited for the words to sink in to Godric and all of those assembled within the tent.
A fire welled up swiftly in Godric. A scowl crossed his face, and his dark eyes blackened further in anger. When he spoke, his voice was one of barely suppressed indignation. “You mean to question my loyalty? Our land has always been a loyal friend to yours, ever since Conrad the Ironheart, and your nobles have always profited from our friendship. Why should I be different in a time of struggle? Do you have reason to think that it would change now, just because there is a different bloodline ruling over the land bequeathed by Clovis II? Remember that my family has always served the line that received this grant of land from your King Clovis ages ago. Make no mistake, Aelfric, we have been there ever since that day.”
“As a man of honor, a certain degree of loyalty cannot change, at least as far as remaining neutral and not becoming hostile to us,” Aelfric replied rigidly, his hardened gaze straining to hold the other’s eyes as he aimed to make his point patently clear. “I tell you again, I do not ask you to fight, Godric, but we must never mistake your intentions. You must give us assurances that you will keep your fighting men inside of your fortress. Do not let them emerge in formation for any reason during the coming battle. If they do, the honor of your land is forfeit, and if we emerge from the doom that the Unifier intends, then, by the All-Father, I will hold you to account myself.”
“Your intent is clear. You disregard my word,” Godric gritted angrily, his teeth clenched tightly in his rising ire. “King Alcuin would not question our honor.”
“And I will not, if your men remain behind the walls,” Aelfric iterated doggedly, inviting no further argument. “Once this fight is over, I shall hope to apologize for any offense that I have given you, and to share the King’s full faith in you. As it is, I am the senior commander of this great army gathering for the defense of our homelands, and I can ill afford to take any chances with the coming war. Our position must be made clear.”
“Then I look forward to your apology, for you judge me wrongly,” Godric said spitefully.
“I shall look forward to delivering it,” Aelfric returned without a moment’s hesitation. Inside, he was more than willing to render an apology, with absolutely no misgivings, if Godric was something other than what Aelfric’s instincts loudly proclaimed him to be. “I now bid you well, and wish you a safe return back to your land. I shall make sure that you are informed of our movements, to the best of my ability. See that you take stock of foodstuffs and goods, for we may have much need of trade with you. I assure you that you shall be well compensated for any supplies needed. Even should you ask an excess, there shall be no hard feelings during this time of risk and emergency.”
Godric did not reply, his wavering eyes drawing as near as possible to locking in a hardened stare with Aelfric. The tension was palpable, thickening considerably in the air within the tent, as Godric was unable to match the steady, calm look of Aelfric’s own eyes.
With a curt bow, the other turned and stormed out of the tent. His leather boots drove heavily into the ground with each step, as if to accent his great displeasure with Aelfric.
Aelfric waited a few moments, and then slowly turned his attention back to the throng gathered around him in the tent. Now clad in cloaks and tunics, they would all soon be donning iron helms and coats of mail for the coming fight. Scarred veteran and fiery youth alike, they would all have one common, numerous, and mighty enemy.
Some among the Saxans gathered knew the use of siege engines, and others were experts in cavalry tactics. Others were well-versed in their knowledge of infantry, and there were a couple of men present especially skilled in the use of sky-steeds.
Aelfric was under no illusions. It would require all of them at their best, in order to have any chance of protecting the Plains of Athelney; the western gateway into the Saxan lands.
A Saxan army had never before, in the entire history of the kingdom, or the two that had preceded it, mustered in such power and numbers. The duress of the circumstances had never been greater.
Some good fortune was with the Saxans, in that most of the primary force had arrived safely, and was already in place. At the least, and it was no small matter, the Saxans were no longer facing the danger of having themselves caught unprepared before a full gathering and deployment could take place.
The lines of age were now creasing Aelfric’s face with greater prominence and frequency. It surprised him little, especially in the midst of strenuous times such as he was now facing.
He slowly ran his right hand through his gray streaked, long hair, pulling it back from his face. The locks were beginning to thin, and his hairline was sitting a little higher up on his forehead. As much as he set his mind against the ravages of age, there was only so much that he could do.
His aching back and knees betrayed what had once been an exceptionally strong, and nearly indefatigable, body. Still able to wield his blade with considerable force and ample skill, he was certainly far from being an invalid, but he knew that he could not sustain his energies as capably as he had in the past.
The thoughts, at one time, would have been enough to depress his spirits, were it not for one lingering realization.
One aspect about him had gotten stronger and sharper with the years. It was an attribute that was far more valuable to those around him than the presence of another thousand soldiers would have been.
That attribute was the quality of his mind.
A growing reservoir of experience and wisd
om to draw from, his mind was an asset that he never would have fully appreciated in his younger days. It was the one part of him that became more valuable, as long as he allowed it, with each passing year. It was a weapon that he would now have to draw upon mightily in the face of the unholy storm coming down upon all of them.
Monks had taught him to read as a youth, on the resolute request of his father, the former Ealdorman of the Wesvald, Cynegils. It was a skill that brought ever more rewards throughout the years.
Since he had learned the immensely valuable skill, Aelfric had pored over many of the parchments that were assiduously stored and cared for within the monasteries of his home province. The rich histories and insights of past warriors, learned clerics, and even kings of long ago had been opened up to him. It had never ceased to amaze Aelfric how many situations and dire challenges in those ancient ages closely reflected those of his own time.
The monastery at Jafarne possessed one of the most prized libraries in any of the kingdoms. The preeminence in its holdings was not a lightly held status.
Among monasteries, there was a constant flow of requests for loans of books and codices, mostly so that the borrowed works could be copied before they were returned.
Works of great prestige brought grand renown to the possessing library, and conflicts sometimes erupted as monks went to incredible lengths to get their hands on such works. Finding a rare, desirable work was not unlike finding a new vein of silver to mine.
Abbots and bishops alike scoured the lands both home and abroad thoroughly for particularly special works, and neighboring monasteries often quarreled over the status of works still not returned between them. Many a book carried its own inscription conveying a staunch admonishment for the reader to return it promptly when finished. Quite often such admonishments took on the tone of a curse.
A great library resulted in a population of monks of high erudition, including the large numbers of visiting monks that such a site attracted. Spending time at Jafarne had resulted in a wealth of opportunity for Aelfric to engage in many lengthy discussions with some of the most learned monks in the land. Those times had enhanced and added to the experiences and lessons learned in the other aspects of his life.
There had even been an opportunity to engage in dialogue with Abelard the Venerable, regarded as one of Ave’s greatest minds. The esteemed scholar had been visiting the fabled monastery at Jafarne just seven winters prior. It had been an influential encounter, for in that one day Aelfric had learned to appreciate the ability to forcefully consider, and effectively argue, both sides of any given topic.
It was an art that converted very well to war planning, and the conception of a campaign. The method now helped him immeasurably, to wisely consider all the possibilities inherent with the preparations, to choose the courses that would best confront the coming invasion. That one day, and singular lesson, had been a remarkable treasure that added greatly to Aelfric’s accumulation of knowledge gained throughout the years.
Although there was no way of foretelling what was to come, he found himself relieved that he had endured the oft-times arduous task of learning. Most warriors discounted the importance of letters and erudition, but Aelfric had known from an early age that he had been patiently sharpening a new type of blade, on a distinct type of whetstone. Every experience, whether a day spent at one of the monasteries or within his hall, or traveling through Saxan lands, became a new part of that growth and effort.
It was now a time to apply everything contained within him, in a way that was much greater than anything that he ever had need of doing before.
The levy summons had gone very well, far more smoothly than Aelfric had anticipated. The army would also be very well supplied for several weeks to come.
The Saxans were now in a prime position to offer battle, at a strength that Aelfric knew would be unexpected by the enemy.
“My brothers in arms, what can we expect?” Aelfric queried the gathered thanes, counts, and other leaders rhetorically. “This is no regular force that comes at us. Ehrengard, Avanor, and lands yet unknown are marching against us. The borders have become so dangerous that very little word reaches us, but if my guesses are right, we will fight against many methods and strategies of war.”
“Methods?” one of the thanes near to Aelfric asked, echoing the quizzical looks appearing on the surrounding faces. “What can we know other than what kinds of armies gather against us?”
“We have heard word of unusual ships… very large ships from a faraway land. Men shrouded. Men with darker skins. Men of a different faith. Great numbers of strange beasts, with large humps on their backs. I can only believe that they come from the far north… from the Sun Lands, or lands held by a similar people. I only know what I have learned of some accounts that have been taken of such people and written down… These records cannot tell us everything, but they can still warn us of some things that may come… that is, if we are wise to what is available to us,” Aelfric stated, letting the words sink in to the ears of the attentive men. He then added, “And what is available to us can give us some insight into all the elements arrayed against our lands.”
He then proceeded to comment at length regarding his carefully read accounts of distant wars in former times, taken from the histories fastidiously guarded in the libraries, and reproduced painstakingly in the monastery scriptoriums.
Aelfric had read the main chronicle of the conquest of Norengal, as well as a few accounts concerning other battles within that large Avanoran campaign.
A copy of a treatise on military theory and strategy, written by a great emperor of Theonia, had also been found in the monks’ library at Jafarne. It had referred to many battles in the northern Sun Lands, regions that had seen the constant ebb and flow of great wars all throughout the long ages.
There had also been more than one biography of powerful nobles who had resided in Ehrengard, the vanity of their princely families resulting in the preservation of many great feats of battles, and the details of extensive military campaigns.
The lives of the religious saints were also not without some choice pieces of information, which could be gleaned by the perceptive reader. Often intended to convey a religious meaning, a military lesson could be gathered by correlating the many clues left in the nominally spiritual writings.
Collectively, the various writings represented a witness to the natures of the various forces that were now converging upon the Saxan lands. They were a look through the eyes of those who had lived and experienced the wars and cultures of the coming invaders. The value of those insights, as Aelfric knew very well, was priceless.
“Lands of the far north, such as the Sun Lands, are said to contain warriors that can shoot arrows from the back of a horse… when the horse is in a gallop… Their horses are said to be very swift, and they swirl about their enemy and seek to wear down a warrior’s resolve.
“There are also accounts from northern lands that great drums of war are used in battle… and that their warriors are very fanatical. If we face such an army, all of us will be facing such warriors for the first time. This is exactly why the Unifier would hurl such an army against us,” Aelfric continued, his words uttered deliberately slower so that they could impress more fully upon the minds of the men around him.
“Then the shield wall must hold, and remain firm,” another thane commented to Aelfric’s left.
The man was one of Aelfric’s own thanes, a young and likeable man named Leofwine. It was his first major campaign, having come of age just a year prior, and into his inheritance only a couple of months after that.
Leofwine’s eyes sparkled with a brash youthfulness, as he iterated confidently, “If they mean to frighten men with that which is unknown, then we must be steadfast.”
“The shield wall must not lose heart. Those on the shield wall must not break ranks, no matter how strange or different the sights,” Aelfric stated firmly. “If the enemy is close enough to loose arrows, or hurl javelins, then
they will be close enough for us to reach with arrow or javelin.”
“And Avanor?” still another thane queried, one with many more years on him than Leofwine. His name Wermund, the thane came from the lands of the Ealdorman Oslac in Mittevald. “Will they seek to fight in such a way? Horsemen shooting arrows from a gallop?”
“No. They will come riding upon the strongest of steeds on the battlefield, and clad in the heaviest armor that we have known. They will use great numbers of archers… and they will use the crossbow. Their fight will not be one to tire us. They will seek to bludgeon us. They will look to open holes in our shield wall for their horsemen to penetrate,” Aelfric related somberly. “They have great discipline, and will be fierce opponents.
“The Avanorans are cunning too, and may try to loosen our shield wall by getting our own men to make an opening for them… to make it appear that they are falling back, to lure our men to break ranks in the hopes of a rout. This tactic has been written of, and has been used to great effect before. No man should fall prey to this, no matter how enticing the moment appears. We must make this very clear to all men on the front line of the wall. The entire battle’s outcome may rest upon how disciplined we can remain.”
“Then it is the shield wall that must be held, at all cost,” the older thane Wermund said resolutely, echoing Leofwine. “And of Ehrengard? What unknown means might they bring?”
“Ehrengard we know most of all. Our brethren in the Western Marches have much experience fighting them. They will not all be of a common purpose. The leaders of Ehrengard have the least unity of any that come against us. As many of you know, they constantly war within themselves, among their princes, nobles, and bishops… and this may be to our advantage.”
“And the Halmlander? Will they be among them?” Wermund asked. There was a discernable hesitancy and an edge to his voice, accompanying the collective tension that swelled in the room at the open mention of the murderous, fearsome Halmlander from Ehrengard. The vile mercenary company’s fame was widespread, and for a very bloody reason.
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