Crusader Kings II - [Champions of Anglia 01] - A Fall of Kings Page 2

  “If we don’t at least make a show of force and strike at them while they’re vulnerable, then we’re just giving them free reign to attack us when they feel ready. At least if we march out, we make it clear we’re not just ignoring them but are ready for a fight.”

  “The boy has a point, Edwin.” Leofric looked at his master sternly. “If we just wait here, they’ll only have more time to prepare for an attack at a time and place of their choosing.”

  Edwin looked at their expectant faces, shook his head and turned away. “I’ll make my decision in a few days once the levies begin to arrive. If the King proves unwilling or unable to aid us, then we will do what we have to in order to protect the realm. God help us.”

  Chapter 2 – Readying for War

  19th of September, 1066

  The sound of many boots echoed throughout York as the Norsemen and Flemish mercenaries stormed their way into the city with total disregard for its citizenry. The city had been well-defended, protected by both strong walls and rivers, but no defences could have saved it from the sheer number of men that had arrived on King Harald Sigurdsson’s fleet. Earl Morcar’s comparatively pitiful host had fled to the south rather than face the full strength of Norway’s invasion, leaving Northumbria completely at the mercy of their Viking invaders.

  Tostig Godwinson was in an understandably good mood. Since his exile at the hands of his own brother, King Harold of England, he had grown increasingly unstable and depressed at his failed attempts to reclaim the Northumbrian territory. Sat before him were the bound figures of the city watch; they had initially denied him access to the city, but surrendered when the weight of their attackers had become clear. The heavily outnumbered defenders of York had thrown down their arms, believing it to be the only way to spare themselves – and the city – an unpleasant death. In Tostig’s mind, they were all traitors and he was determined to show them the error of their ways.

  “They called me a traitor, they stole what was rightfully mine, not once but twice!” Tostig spat at a bound guard, one of the few who offered active resistance even after the surrender came. “What say you to that, Copsig?”

  Copsig, like Tostig, was a fellow exile. After Harold Godwinson had ejected Tostig from his realm of Northumbria and Mercia, many of his loyal men had followed him into exile, whether willingly or not. The chance for revenge brought a cruel smile to Copsig’s face.

  “You are a traitor and a dog, Tostig.” The guard spat defiantly. “You were a tyrant when you ruled these lands and now you come with these barbarians from the sea. Do you really think the Vikings will honour their bargains?”

  With a quick thrust of his sword, Tostig silenced the guard’s outburst. A lonely trickle of blood ran down the channel of the sword, which reflected a slight quiver in the noble’s lip.

  “Do you think I care? When I am the ruler of these lands, I will ensure that no one speaks ill of me again. You are all the traitors, all servants of my treacherous brother.”

  “I can’t wait to be an Earl like you my lord,” Copsig said, barely holding in laughter at the sudden killing. “It’s not as if we have to worry about the Norsemen, they’ll bleed themselves dry fighting your brother and we can take the spoils ourselves.”

  “Have caution, Copsig. Harold is a determined and mighty opponent, and the Norwegian King is no fool himself. We will have to be very cautious to earn victory over both.”

  “Don’t worry my lord, like you said, God wants us to win. My men will be ready to strike as soon as you are,” Copsig grinned.

  The exiled noble glared at his retainer’s casual attitude, then turned to regard the rest of the prisoners, all bound watchmen staring in horror. Nearly all had surrendered without a fight and expected mercy, but their captor showed no compassion in his heart. The Flemish guards looked on dutifully, oblivious to the discussion that had passed between the Englishmen.

  Tostig pointed to the prisoners and looked to his mercenaries, saying, “These men have betrayed their King and presented with the opportunity, would turn upon us as readily as they did England. Execute them immediately for the crimes of cowardice and treason.”

  Echoes of the guards’ fate followed Tostig as he left the guard quarters without a sign of compassion or a tear shed. “Don’t be afraid to let everyone know, Copsig – this is the fate of all men who betray their rightful lord, for I am Earl of Northumbria and shall dispense justice as I see fit. Are you ready to retake this land that has been stripped from us unlawfully?”

  “More than ready, my lord,” Copsig grinned. “I shall arrange for an announcement, so that all may hear the fates of those who stood in arms against you.”

  “Good...” Tostig folded his arms behind his back and gazed up into the sky. “Are you coming for me yet, brother? I am looking forward to our next meeting...I’ll rip you off that throne and make you watch as they crown me King!”

  * * *

  Edwin was finding it rather difficult to speak to his son about the coming war. He had little choice in the matter – it was his duty to defend his lands from attackers, lest they be lost to the enemy, but the thought of leaving Estmond behind was a difficult one. He had toyed with the idea of throwing himself to the dogs, turning coat on King Harold, but there was nothing to indicate he had any more chance of victory alongside the invaders than his own Southern King.

  “Estmond...” Edwin poured himself more cider, taking an appreciative sniff of the aromas drifting from the bottleneck.

  Estmond did not respond, and had barely touched his food at morning meal. He was a man now, as young and fresh as they came but a man nonetheless.

  “You know that I ride out for war today; you also know that I cannot take you with me, lest we put our entire family in peril, yes?”

  Estmond shrugged a little. “I have no desire to die in a pointless war...I do not understand why my father does.”

  Edwin sighed. “I have no desire to die either, but the Norwegians will not rest until they have seized all our lands. We have worked so hard to claim lordship over the north and in one fell swoop, we could lose it all. Do you want that?”

  “We’ve probably lost this war already. You said the Normans might invade too, and there’s no news from the King.” Estmond picked at the remnants of a chicken before him. “This is stupid, father. How are you supposed to stop the Norwegian invasion by yourself?”

  “I...I don’t know,” Edwin admitted. “It might be foolhardy, but that is why I have to go alone and you have to stay safe. If anything happens to me, it will be your responsibility to carry on our line, do you understand me?”

  “Very clearly...” The boy’s expression did not change.

  “Good.”

  “But if you’re going to do this, don’t you dare expect me to fight when the Norwegians get this far. I’m not throwing my life away in some useless gesture of loyalty to the family or to a King that hasn’t even seen fit to send help.”

  Edwin looked at him with concern and disappointment. “Be careful of what you say, Estmond. You are my only son, but that does not render you immune to the consequences of your words or actions. No one respects a coward.”

  That only seemed to annoy Estmond more. “I’m not afraid to fight, father! I just know a lost cause when I see one. I don’t understand why you haven’t seen how foolish this is!”

  A knife dropped from Edwin’s hand onto the plate. He hated to admit it, but he had to agree somewhat with his son’s opinion. Riding off to face Norway alone was not the kind of cautious move he had become known for, but it was abundantly clear that if he did not go, the entire North would fall. Even if Godwinson were to eventually rescue them, how would he look upon the Earls who would not even defend themselves without his help?

  “Perhaps...perhaps one day you will come to realise the difference between a necessary fight and a fool’s fight. I pray that you live long enough to see it.” Edwin rose from the table and excused himself.

  The Earl marched out of the room, deliberat
ely not looking back at his son. The boy’s reluctance to fight was disappointing and concerning, yet Edwin sensed that his son was mainly worried for his safety. He was also concerned for his own safety, facing a dangerous campaign against an enemy whose strength was not yet known and whose reputation for barbarism and skill in battle was legend. As he descended into the courtyard of the fort, he wondered quietly if he would see his son again.

  “Are you ready to go?” Leofric asked as his lord appeared.

  “Nearly,” Edwin grunted.

  “Trouble with your son again, my lord?”

  Normally Edwin would keep it quiet, but he knew Leofric was a father as well and he felt the need to speak his troubles. “Are all children so quick to question their fathers, Leofric?”

  “I suspect sons are, yes. Were you not impetuous and quick to believe you were right in your youth? He’s not a child anymore, my lord – he is a young man with a mind and will of his own. You cannot expect him to act as what he is not.”

  “Maybe, but he doesn’t take orders well,” Edwin frowned. “Not that I expect him to defy me, but why must he seek to criticize my every move?”

  Leofric smiled wryly. “He just worries about you Edwin, we march into peril soon. Would you have so eagerly watched your father leave for battle?”

  “I suppose not,” Edwin said with a sigh. “Either way, there is not much more I can do about it. Has Wulfstan arrived?”

  “The Bishop is here and waiting for you inside the main hall. Are you almost ready to ride, my lord?”

  “Near enough.” Edwin headed for the main hall, with Leofric at his side. “I do not understand why the King has not yet replied to us, but it seems we have no time to waste. I hate to admit that Edgar is right, but we have to do something.”

  Edwin opened the doors to the hall and found the sombre face of Wulfstan waiting for him. The Bishop of Worcester was one of the most powerful clergy in England and garnered a great deal of respect from Edwin and his peers.

  “Well Edwin, I’m here as you have asked. What is it you need of me?”

  “We march to meet the Norwegian invaders soon, but our host is not yet fully assembled and Mercia itself may still be threatened. I wanted to ask you to organize the levies that arrive after our departure and protect Mercia, in case the Welsh should try anything or we should fail.”

  Wulfstan stroked his moustache thoughtfully, gazing deep into Edwin’s eyes. “Very well, Edwin, I suppose I can do this. I just have one question, however: why me, and not your son?”

  “He is still too young to understand war and thus he fears it. I ask that you protect him and watch over him as you do the rest of Mercia, for he is not yet ready to manage and rule this realm.”

  “By the grace of God, then, it will be done. I shall pray for the success of your campaign, though I wish I could join you,” Wulfstan frowned. “God frowns upon those who use heathens to fight their wars, and the King of Norway is chief among sinners in that regard.”

  “I promise we’ll do our best to ensure he sees the error of his ways, your grace. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must make ready to leave, for we have little time before they are upon us.”

  “Of course, may your journey be safe.” Wulfstan bowed his head as the Earl took his leave. War was almost upon them.

  Chapter 3 – Northern March

  20th of September, 1066

  Marching to Northumbria had proven to be a cold and unpleasant trip, leaving Edwin’s host ravaged by wind and the occasional spat of rain. On the beginning of the second day, however, they found themselves approaching another host of men. Though they were initially fearful of a Norwegian attack, this was not destined to be a battle, but a reunion between brothers.

  “Morcar!” Edwin called at the sight of his brother’s banners, waving to the man leading the host.

  His brother couldn’t hear him, but saw the gesture and waved back. As the two hosts came to meet one another, the march was brought to a halt so that the brothers could find each other’s embrace.

  “I see you brought a strong host,” Edwin said as he pried himself out of Morcar’s strong grip. “I worried for your life, but it seems you’re too stubborn to kill. What of the Norsemen, what do you know?”

  Morcar’s smile had only been slight at the reunion, and the grim-faced man only darkened at the mention of Norsemen. “We have a little more than a thousand left. We were driven out of Gate Fulford by Tostig Godwinson’s army.”

  “Tostig, truly? Is the swine marching with the Vikings, or has he acted alone?”

  “He flew the raven banner as well as his own. He seemed to have a lot of mainlanders, maybe Flemish or French mercenaries, but there were more than enough Norsemen to confirm his involvement with Norway. What is worse, there was no sign of their King or his host. I suspect they may have brought as many as ten or fifteen thousand across the sea.” Morcar’s words held an edge of bitterness. “We cannot hope to defeat them with this paltry few. What news is there from King Harold?”

  Edwin did not respond; stunned by the number of men that the Norse King had brought, he could not see any hope for victory now. He looked to Morcar with deep concern, and then looked back to his brother’s weary men. Many showed signs of injury or fatigue and had gladly sat upon the road to take advantage of this opportunity to rest. It seemed that the war had already started without him.

  Edgar Aetheling patted Edwin’s shoulder reassuringly, before turning to Morcar. “My cousin, in his infinite wisdom, is reluctant to move north in large numbers. He says that once news reaches Normandy of a Viking attack, William the Bastard will undoubtedly cross the sea with his host. None of us expected Tostig to muster an attack on this scale after his petty raids on the south coast.”

  “It seems our foe is determined to take not just the north of the country, but the throne as well,” Edwin choked out. “With your men we have a host of scarcely three thousand. How are we supposed to defeat the Norwegians with this?”

  Morcar scoffed. “We have little choice but to wait for the King’s host. Attacking an army that size would be folly, unless we can think of another plan.”

  As the three of them thought about this, Leofric directed several servants to drag forward a small and portable table, throwing down a large cloth mat for the Earls to stand upon. The table was quickly and easily unfolded, using a series of simple hinges, and placed before them. Almost instantly, the servants began to bring wine and mead, and Edwin immediately seized a bottle and took a deep drink, hardly paying attention to it.

  “We can still win a small victory,” Edgar said.

  Leofric pulled out a wrinkled map, laying it carefully across the table, using the bottles to hold it down in the springtime breeze.

  “As we understand it, most of the Norwegian forces are likely occupied in the gathering of supplies or defending their ships, right? An army marches on its stomach, after all. We suspect they’re gathering their supplies around Stamford Bridge...” Leofric tapped the crossing on the map.

  “A likely guess,” Morcar supposed. “My scouts did catch sight of a substantial Norwegian army there, but we didn’t have any time to stick around and investigate. If they truly are waiting for supplies then we can strike hard and fast while they’re not expecting us. They know we don’t have many men and probably think an attack from us would be suicidal. Even if we don’t break the backbone of their army, we might be able to destroy what supplies they have gathered and put them on the back foot.”

  Edwin shook his head and took another drink. “This sounds exceedingly dangerous and foolhardy. Stamford Bridge is a narrow crossing point and they have undoubtedly camped on the far side. If we are spotted on the approach, they will easily be able to prepare for us. We will need several times their number to cross the bridge by force and that is something that we cannot guarantee.”

  “If their position is unassailable, we do not assail it, but at least we do not ignore a chance to strike at them. Would you have us simply sit in Sheffi
eld and wait for them to march on us or the King to arrive? It’s not far until winter comes, if we can burn their supplies we may force them into a bad position,” Edgar protested.

  “Reckless action did not earn House Hwicce this land, and I’m not going to be the one to lose it,” Edwin snapped. “Right, Morcar?”

  Morcar glowered at Edwin’s outburst. “I think the boy is right, Edwin. We may only have three thousand, but it’s not inconsequential and a smaller force will find it easier to approach the bridge undetected. If we can slip across the bridge during the night or before their sentries are ready, imagine the havoc we can cause.”

  Edwin didn’t like that idea. “No way we will cross during the night; I don’t trust the fyrd in a night battle. We will go to Stamford Bridge, but if we are spotted or they outnumber us by too great an amount, then we will have little choice but to retreat.”

  “Fine by me,” Morcar nodded. “There are other ways to sabotage their preparations, if we must.”

  Edgar paced impetuously. “What about your people? What about Northumbria? Won’t they think we’re cowards if we hide and do not fight them?”

  Morcar chuckled at the thought. “I think you’ll find that in the end, little matters other than victory; there is little we can do to become more hated or feared than Tostig, and if we defeat or even hinder him, we will be heroes for it.”

  Edwin looked back to the worn map. “We should send forward scouts to the other major crossing points east of the Pennines. Tostig knows these lands as well as we do and if he tries to march around us, I want to know before we become trapped between two forces.”

  “That seems wise, although we’ll probably have free reign to move for a while. They probably think they have weeks to spend at their leisure before selecting a battlefield of their choosing to face the King’s army,” Morcar pointed out. “Make sure that they take care to avoid being spotted and to silence any Norse scouts they do find. The last thing we need is to have the entire Norwegian army bearing down on us.”