IT WAS around mid-day, when the wagon train resumed its march. All throughout the morning had been hard at work, felling trees to clear a path to the fording point Aedelric had taken the previous night.
Others still had themselves crossed the calmed waters, to begin clearing the path back north to the road on the opposite bank.
It was slow going. Wagons continually found themselves stuck among the fresh stumps. Their mud caked wheels added additional strain to their respective work horses.
Men used their spear shafts to knock the mud away, only to find fresh layers taking its place as they pressed on.
Esmund and his retainers sat perched along the bank, marking the fording point.
In the distance, axe strikes could be heard along with the occasional splintering of falling trees.
Several wagons had make the ford, some waited in the water, with more still waiting to cross. "The men are cutting as quickly as they can." One man said to Esmund.
"I know, give them time. Even Rome wasn't conquered in a day." He said, chuckling at his own joke.
In a way he was right, Caesar's heirs had taken nearly five centuries to bring Rome to ruin. Now it's ferocious might was but a fleeting memory. A seeming mere prologue to these more modern Saxon concerns.
Slowly the wagons resumed their labored crossing. Several horsemen rode alongside them as they crossed, insuring any concerned drivers that they'd help pull the carriages if their horses couldn't.
Fell timbers provided a ramp up the opposite slope to allow relative smooth passage.
"Going again I see?" Said a man trotting up to Esmund. "My captain at the rear was becoming impatient with our lack of momentum."
"They're still chopping timbers on the opposite side. Your captain will wait with the rest of us." Esmund said. "If he wants them to hasten, perhaps they could offer him an axe as well." With this, he and his retinue chuckled again to themselves. The other rider simply shrugged as he turned back to inform his captain.
"I tell you lads, some folk can't see the forest for the trees. Yes, we must move quickly; yet only Wodin could make the trees move themselves out our path."
Again his retainers chuckled. "Everything takes time, it's the way of nature. It's us who have to learn to accept that."
His retainers stared at him, full with blank stares; not knowing how how to respond or if they even should. "What?" He asked the confused throng standing about him.
They all turned their gaze towards the river to check the progress, as if they were in trouble. Esmund chuckled again to himself; and wondered what life choice had lead him to this moment in time.
After another hour or so, the ragtag logging crew breached the thicket. The eastward road presented itself to them with a warming welcome.
Several horsemen galloped down it a ways to scout the terrain.
Shortly one came galloping back to the column.
"Road's clear sir!" He said to a man leaned against an axe. "I would hope so! I don't know if I can swing this beast any longer!" The axe wielding man replied. The rider laughed as he trotted down the river bank to find Esmund.
As the last wagon neared the fording point, Esmund and his retainers fell into rank, following it across the now shallow waters.
Once cresting the slope, the scouting rider trotted up down to them.
"My lord!" He raised his hand in salute.
"Yes?" Came the reply. "The last timbers have been fallen, the axes will be stowed back within the wagons, and the road ahead appears clear." The scout reported.
"Ah, good news indeed!" One retainer spoke up. Esmund felt a glimmer of surprise. "Whoa! He can indeed speak!" Both he and the others laughed at his wit.
The horseman, who'd been the butt of the joke looked at them blankly. He and the scout exchanged glances, as if not registering the comment. "You're a good lad Herrig, don't let anyone tell you differently." Esmund retorted trying not to smile.
"Yes." He turned to the blank expression of the scout. "Continue the passage, and I'll join you at the front momentarily." The scout nodded and trotted away.
Herrig shifted in his saddle as he thought about what Esmund had said. Something about his low born mind couldn't process the comment as an innocent jest. He, being a cooper's son, had been given a great privilege to ride as a Thegn within the relief force; no amount of tomfoolery or half insults could change his mind. He was here to seek honor, and to advance his own name up the social ladder; regardless of what others thought or said of him.
The leading wagon cleared the tree-line. At last they were back on track; and the horses would be thankful for the relatively smooth road.
The driver snapped his reigns and the team pulling the carriage responded with a series of grunts. Together they pulled the wagon passed the last fallen timbers, and resumed their trot down the muddy road.
Upon reaching the advanced scouts, they began to follow the hoof prints belonging to Aedelric's exhausted fording party from the previous night.
Some time later Esmund, along with his shadowing retainers, rode up to the head of their column. "We follow the road due east, no further delays." He boomed over the clinking gear, and hoof steps of his fellows.
Their previously sodden banners were now free to bellow with the gentle northerly breeze. The glorious blue background with golden bars, aligned in a broad "X" shape, draped about their mounting poles as they rode. Their golden yellow tassels and fringes flicked loosely in the wind.
Further along the road an elderly gent rushed forth to meet the approaching entourage.
He stood along side the road awaiting their arrival.
Upon seeing the old man, Esmund galloped his steed up the road toward him.
"Good day to you sir." He boomed as his horse came to a thundering stop.
The old man looked up to him. "Good day to you as well sir! I have word for you," he began. "Last night some riders belonging to your retinue stopped by seeking shelter. One of their company, with a reddish mustache, informed me to speak with a uh.. um... Aersom I think it was." He stated, squinting his eyes up at the mounted man.
"Esmund perhaps?" The rider asked. "Yes! That's the man!" The old innkeeper chuckled. "What did I say Aersom? My apologies good sir."
Esmund clambered down off his mount to shake the innkeepers hand. "No apology necessary, I am Esmund." He said returning the chuckle.
"I see," The old man began; smiling as he scratched his white beard. "Yes, the red mustached fellow of your company wanted me to tell you, that he and his riders went to press eastward as your vanguard. They left at dawn just this morning." The two shook hands as he spoke.
"This is a good day indeed!" Esmund replied, smiling to the older fellow. "If they run into trouble, I'm sure they'll send a rider to inform us." He said.
"You have done a great service to your king by sheltering his battered men." Esmund said whilst he reached for his coin purse.
"Oh no good sir, they've already paid much more than necessary. Come to think, would any of your men care for some fresh bread?" The old man asked turning to face the tavern.
"Much obliged." Esmund replied; as he watched the old man's young grandson, presumably, bring out two baskets heavily laden with fresh round loaves.
"There's a good lad." He said offering him a silver coin.
The boy took it without delay or second thought; immediately he smiled ear to ear and rushed back inside to show his grandmother his latest prize.
The two men laughed just as the first wagon and riders began passing them on the road.
"Excuse me one moment." Esmund said turning away from the innkeeper.
"Take these and divide them amongst the men, let none go to waste, then bring the baskets. Leave them here."
The rider took the baskets with a nod and started handing out loaves.
"Where a-bouts are you men heading?" The innkeeper asked, intrigued by the loaded carriages full of weapons and barrels of rations.
"The king summoned us on an urgent request, were to meet Prince Cenwyn's force in the east to resupply his men while their on campaign. Then to also act as his cavalry force once that's done." Esmund replied.
"Oh, haven't you heard?" The elderly man inquired. "News of the battle?" Esmund shook his head as his expression dropped.
"The prince's army was routed just outside.. uh.. I forget what village it was, but his fyrd were utterly demoralized when the heathen enemy snuck around them and pillaged their camp.
Supposedly the survivors of the slaughter are fleeing back west, trying to stay ahead of the heathen hordes." Esmund leaned back with the dire news shaking his head in disbelief.
"Woden's teeth!" He cursed silently to himself. "Woden's teeth indeed." The innkeeper replied softly. "That means there's no sizable force between us and the northmen." Esmund nodded in agreement sheepishly.
"I thank you for the news, and the bread." He began, "Please notify your lord that his bridge has been destroyed in the storm last night."
The old man nodded. "Forgive me for hastening sir, but I must bid you farewell." Esmund bowed his head, then turned to climb back upon his horse.
The old man nodded again as Esmund departed.
Several wagons had passed the tavern while Esmund spoke with the innkeeper. He turned his steed, kicked its sides, and galloped to the head of the column.
"Ah, there he is. Nice of you to join us!" A
man jested as Esmund rode up to them. "Did the old fellow have word of Aedelric?" He asked.
Esmund shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "He said the prince's army had been routed, and the survivors were on the run. Also Aedelric's company are riding east in advance as our vanguard; they left at first light."
The man's face shifted into a deep frown of concern.
"That's means there's no force between us..." "And them, yes I'm aware." Esmund interrupted the rider. "Surely the king knows of this most unfortunate setback?" Another man asked, his voice full of concern. "Surely so! That's the prince's army!" Another retorted.
"Hey, pipe down!" Esmund roared at the two.
"You may inform the men to be on guard, but make no mention to the wagon drivers. If they find out, they'll leave us without the supplies; then how should we re-arm Cenwyn's survivors." Esmund started, "I'm sure our liege is well aware and has adjusted accordingly; however, our orders still remain. We will press on until word comes saying otherwise." With that the leading men fell silent. Their faces lowered towards the earth beneath their mounts. "Chin up lads! You're Mercian men, proud Saxon blood courses through your veins. Remember your orders and honor your king!" Esmund demanded.
The group of four felt their mental weights fall away, as they turned to inform their peers to remain on high alert...
To the northeast of Mercia was vast swampland. A thick quagmire of bogs, estuaries, and marches. It was within this corner of the realm that word of the King's muster fell upon the ears of the Lord Earl Humberth of Leovenath. Just earlier he had heard of Prince Cenwyn's plausible demise, and the utter destruction of his troop. Unfortunate as it was, Humberth knew it was no different a fate that faced most his kin.
"Well captain, you've your orders." The Earl began, as he handed the parchment to the man standing beside him. "Ready your men, and levy the fyrd. We'll need every able man we can get."
The captain bowed his head and motioned toward the door. "Oh yes, one more thing," the Earl continued. "Be sure to take those incessant hounds as well. I'd very much
like them gone." The lord Humberth turned as his captain left. He strode his way over to a clay decanter resting on the great table in his chambers. He tilted it over and poured the remainder into his wooden goblet. With a flick of the head, it was finished.
His captain had left the Earl's chambers and made little progress, not of his own will, but that of the mob of scribes and servants who shuffled about the great hall.
Dignitaries, merchants, clergymen, and representatives of his vassal lords all demanding an audience with their weaseling overlord. The riotous assembly made the captains brisk walk into an epic journey as he wiggled and shuffled his way through the crowd. "We demand to see the Earl, I've been waiting here for two days now!" One man shouted above the thunderous noise. "I assure you, the Earl will see each of you in due time!" A scribe shouted in response.
Voices erupted in outrage and disgust as the captain finally exited the great hall.
Three men followed him outside, they attempted to pry him for information.
"Did the Earl seem concerned wi..."
"No." The captain said waving his hand as he walked away. "What of the church in Sae..." "No." He interrupted the second man, speeding up his walking pace as he went.
The third man didn't try, there was no use.
Humberth had no desire to help them; he hadn't the interest to even hear of their needs. Nor did the 'superior' members of his court.
The Earl Of The North, had long held "low regard" for the king. He wanted to rule, yet didn't want the ordeal of needy subjects. Humberth preferred battle; that preference, in addition to his father's deeds, were the
only things keeping the king's eye away from him. Everyone knew it, yet they still hoped that one day their Earl would mature enough to find interest in the welfare of his people. When or if that day would come, no one could be certain.
Things were different only a few years prior, when his heroic father had ruled these lands. Before his valiant last stand against the previous invaders, he'd been a wise and considerate Earl; these traits, unlike the land, had not been hereditary however.
Upon reaching the barracks, the captain issued the king's orders. Several aging generals, survivors of Humberth's father, stood at attention as they surveyed the training fields. They watched the men perform their combat exercises, and 'assisted' when necessary. All was in good faith; for the green recruits had to be
taught discipline, formations, tactics, and survival skills should they be left injured or become separated from the main force.
Scanning over the parchment one general asked the captain, "I assume you know what these scribbles mean?" "You jest!" The captain replied with a sour laugh.
"See here," he began. "The king has summoned a general muster of our Earl's armies. He requests us to march south in haste to Aelingford, then we'll garrison and fortify our position ahead of the advancing heathen." The captain spoke slowly to the aged General, mocking his illiteracy. "If you weren't that bastards wench, I'd cleave you in twain." The general said snarling at the irreverent captain.
"You would be wise to watch your tongue!" The captain shouted at his technical superior. "I don't serve you, or your suckling twat. I serve his father, and the king!" The
general glowered back. "His father is dead, you serve Humberth now." The captain said with a deep frown, slapping the parchment down onto the table. At the slam, the aged general jumped to his feet; causing the much younger captain to lurch in surprise. "You've done your service, now return to your lord's bed-chambers before I lose my religion and run you through." The assured threat was enough to send the captain fleeing with his tail between his legs. "Yellow bellied chamber wench!" The general yelled as the captain fled.
He took the parchment and walked over to his comrades who were watching the recruits, unaware of his heated debate. "Gentlemen, we've our orders from the king himself." He said as they hurried to him. One man, being literate, took the parchment. After a quick scour, he looked up at his fellows saying; "the prince's army
has been routed! We're to meet any remnants, as well as, a relieving supply column of cavalry at a crossing near Aelingford." Solemn gasps whispered out the mouths of the men listening.
"This is dire!" One exclaimed. "Indeed so."
Said another. Then the one who'd previously dealt with the captain spoke up. "These recruits need more time, they'll be killed in a moment in any fight. One of us should stay to continue their training and ready them. Lest we be caught in a surprise siege." The others nodded at the man's foresight.
"I'll stay," One replied.
"Very well, it's decided. Gentlemen, rally your banners."
Within the span of a couple hours, the host of Leovenath was encamped outside the town's palisade. They were six thousand strong; two regiments of light scout cavalry, two of heavier Thegn horsemen, four regiments of very light Ceorl archers, two regiments of long axemen. These were accompanied by the front line infantry consisting of four regiments of mailed spearmen, and four regiments of mailed Thegn swordsmen. Totaling eighteen regiments, including supply carriages, and commanding staff.
It was no hollow band of levies, these men were dedicated warriors, experts in distributing death to any foe. Sure they weren't an incredibly awe inspiring sight, such as the king's royal banner men, yet they'd stand their ground all the same.
They stood attentive in orderly rank and file as their generals paced before them observing their gear.
"Gentlemen!" One general began, his voice booming above the rallied assembly. "Tomorrow we begin our march south. We're to meet our kin at a crossing near Aelingford. Your king will be present there in five days; let him find us waiting in four!" The men erupted in a roaring cheer. "All of Mercia depends on our courage; show your defiance as you stand in defense of your king, your wives, your children! We shall not fail!" Again they roared in unison, slamming their spear shafts into the ground, creating a repetition of thundering booms. "Men! You have your orders. We depart at dawn. Make your arrangements before dusk, then return to camp. Dismissed!" He shouted.
The men quit the assembly in orderly fashion; they filed behind one another marching to their tents to leave their gear, before returning to their families. Some for the final time.
It was a sobering evening filled with emotion as sons bid farewell to mothers, husbands to wives, and fathers to children.
As dusk approached, church bells rang out as residents of all ages placed lit candles in their windows. One small symbolic flame fluttered for each departing man.
For war is never easy, it's immense toll withers even the most resilient.
As the generals surveyed the encampment, men began trickling in front the town. They calculated rations, addressed livestock quotas, tabulated men's wages; nothing was overlooked or cut short, except one thing...
"The Earl commands you to take these lumbering beasts." The captain from earlier spoke up as he lead the handlers with their leashed war mastiffs, a left over from the olden days of Rome. Each one stood a bit above a man's waist, massive creatures with mouths large enough to engulf a man's head whole.
They were trained as gentle giants, until
provoked by their handlers with a simple command phrase.
"Very well, we'll take all we can get." One general replied, as the captain nodded and turned to leave. As he did he locked eyes with the older general from the barracks. The two men scowled to one another in disgust as they passed.
"You know him Godwin?" One asked the scowling man. "Wish I didn't." Came Godwin's reply.
"He's a slimy fellow, pig faced, and yellow as the sun!" He shouted so the distant captain could hear him. There came no response.
"Save your anger for combat, we'll need it." The other man said to Godwin.
"Oh there'll be enough to go around!" Godwin exclaimed with a wide devious grin.
As night's dark embrace enclosed around the encampment, men began to settle into their tents. The dogs were tied adjacent to the supply wagons, far from the horses as not to disturb or frighten them.
Slowly, fires died down and men drifted off to sleep.
Godwin had walked quite some distance from the camp and adjacent town. He eventually knelt down at the base of an ancient looking oak tree, as it leaned lazily to one side facing a shallow pond.
In such calm still waters he found solace; the reflection of stars gleamed brightly across its surface. He look at their beauty, then locked eyes with his reflection.
Age had not been kind to him, his hair had retreated years ago, leaving him nearly bald. His eyes looked sunken, and flanked by rings of darkness. He rubbed them sleepily. Even his beard had grown to a light grayish color, not quite white yet; that
gave him a tinge of amusement as he contemplated his life. As long as he had color in his whiskers, he thought, the he still had days yet to see.
He closed his eyes to began a deep, moving prayer.
Godwin was the first of his family to accept the Roman religion of Christ, his father had seen it as a contemptible weakness; needless to say, the issue had caused many conflicts in his younger years. For things were different when he was young. Men were men; proud warriors that descended from the lands of Germania, and the Jutland peninsula. They were the arms of Woden, the fierce yet noble warrior God of old; they were his wrathful arms that smote their enemies. Perhaps his father was right? What if the Roman Christ had made him soft indeed?
He dismissed the thought, and continued his prayer; feeling streaks of water run down his rough and scared cheeks...
As night fell, Aedelric and his company stopped to set camp. There was no need in advancing too far ahead of the supply wagons; after all they were already a half-days ride ahead of them.
The sixty men had lit several campfires and huddled around them with their respective friends. Some struggled to chew the innkeepers dried venison, others nibbled on stale bread, whilst more had taken to roasting squirrels.
Aedelric himself stood leaned up against a tree. Looking down the road towards the direction they'd come, he wondered if he could see faint fires from the camps at the column. Perhaps not, he thought. They'd ridden too far to catch any sight of Esmund's bunch.
"Squirrel sir?" A man asked, approaching with a skewered lump of meat on his sword.
"I suppose, since you insist." He said grinning to the other man, whom returned with his own.
"Thank you kindly sir." Aedelric said, tearing a piece off the lump.
The man returned to his band, they soon continued their revelry and witty banter.
Aedelric, however, remained alone against the tree. He too contemplated the stars and his place among them. Perhaps he'd be awarded a patch of sky for himself in the afterlife; for Woden surely knew of his many deeds.
He watched meteorite streak across the heavens. He thought of it similarly to mortal life; beautiful for an instant, and finished before its time. Shameful as it was, nature willed it; for the gods commanded it to be so. Thus it was, he concluded; seemingly satisfied in winning an internal debate against his consciousness.
"Perhaps," he whispered, "perhaps".
Unknown to Aedelric; Godwin also shared this similar experience. The two men, having no knowledge of the other's existence, far removed from one another, were yet united in mind and soul. For they both longed for something they'd never truly understood: hope. Sure they expressed these sentiments in different ways, they poured their hearts out for different pantheons; nor would they agree on which one of their beliefs were correct, yet their desires and intentions were in unison.
Aedelric prayed silently as he gazed up towards the vast array of stars.
Some time had passed when his cramping neck ailed him enough to force a stop.
Having remembered his parents and ancestors, his valorous deeds; he subsided leaning back against the tree.
The horses had been tied off, tents set in their place, some men slowly slipped away from their gathered comrades; others pressed onwards with their fabled stories and tales of old. Laughing and jesting among themselves as they carried on.
He watched them, contemplating their lives as if they were his own. Similar men share similar experiences, he thought.
"Perhaps," he whispered to himself again, "perhaps"...