Bastions
Chapter Forty Seven: Gathering an Army
Part 3
Prelude:
Timur. A name often forgotten in our modern day, it was once a name that caused all of Asia and the Near East to shake in fear. Today Timur is one of the most common names in the entire world, beating even Muhammad and its derivatives. Persians, Turks, Steppe Folk, even Europeans to a lesser extent have adopted some form of the name. The name once conjured strength for it means "iron" in the language of the Steppe Folk. A young boy, driven to rule by the death of his father at the hands of a Yuan tax collector, soon united the Kwihzihri tribes and went about uniting all the Steppe-Turks under his banner of black and red. His goal was the world his eyes set dead focused on the West. It was his belief that if he were able to conquer the weak Persian states he would soon be strong enough to conquer India and then, finally, China. It was his dream to see the Chinese pay for their arrogance on the Steppe. His first hurdle was to overcome the petty differences that had kept the Turks from uniting in the past. Timur used everything in his arsenal: alliances, marriages, and when necessary: force. If the Turks would not respond to flattery or bribes or marriages of convenience they would bow down to brute force. It was something that he wanted to avoid so he could have as many soldiers as possible. In 1383 The Kwihzihri and Uzbeki tribes united under Timur's flag. Now, though, the stubborn Sunni Turkmen had refused to cooperate with the Hindu Kwihzihri and Uzbeki tribes. All the while the Persians enjoyed what little peace they had left. They thought that the Turks would just exhaust themselves with their infighting and never gave the growing threat to their north a second glance.
October 10th, 1381
Father Werna sat quietly at prayer in the main chapel of the monastery. In his hands he clutched the cross that he often wore around his neck. In recent days it had begun to feel heavier and heavier. Years of guilt. Years of lying. Years of denying who he really was. No one was fooled by the charade. No one but the children; the boys. Werna looked down as sorrow rushed over him again. What was he exposing them to? Their parents hoped their sons would become important members of the clergy, leaders of the faithful. It was not his duty to turn them away from that path or worse, toward a path to heresy or heathenism. He looked down at his cross and then up at the giant stained-glass window. Light poured in from above and flooded the room with an unearthly glow. From behind him he could hear footsteps.
"Father Edwin?"
"Yes my child?" called the friendly voice. Edwin sat beside Werna and his face brought a great deal of relief to the young man. "I thought I'd find you here."
"I..." Edwin held up a hand to stop Werna.
"Werna, I know where you have been going and I know why. I was here when your father dragged you in kicking and screaming. No son of his would be a poet or an artist. The old soldier and older farmer refused to see it, refused to let you be who you wanted to be and he banished you. Disowned you. Left you to your own devices and instead of taking up arms you gave in. You let him win."
"I did not think it wise to resist the men of God," Werna said.
Edwin laughed. "Men of God? Of which God? Werna, it takes more than just priests in this world. If God had meant for people to all be priests things would be much easier, don't you think? I've seen your talent for both words and pictures. God wants you to use these gifts, not waste them, no matter what your father says."
"But I have failed my tests: I could not see the light in my darkest days and I have given into my old temptations."
"What do you mean, Werna?" Edwin asked, genuinely lost.
"You don't really know what happened that night then, when I was dragged here. It is true that my father wanted nothing to do with a poet and an artist under his roof. I was not strong enough to till a field or brave enough to hold a shield. But he would put me to work with my sisters: cleaning and washing. The problem is that he had seen me with my muse."
Edwin's face morphed from concern back to its friendly demeanor. He nodded quickly and once again held his hand up, "Ah yes. I've seen her too. She watches you from the woods. She's a Lith, but I assume you knew that. I've seen her with their caravan. Her tribe travels along the Baltic selling goods and telling fortunes to those with coin. Not exactly the pagan princess you've been dreaming of all these years?"
"No, I knew what she was... who she was. But when I saw her at the standing stones, or out in a forest glade, or even just by my side the world just seemed to light up. She always looked so happy and carefree. One with everything and everyone around her. I wanted that happiness and carefree life."
Edwin patted Werna on the back, "No, it sounds like you wanted the princess."
"She has a strange connection to the world beyond. I know it," Werna continued. "When she is among the standing stones or even just a beam of sun coming through the leaves of trees everything seems right. She says she can hear the grasses and the animals around her and I believe her. I cannot explain for the life of me why I would."
"Werna, they will return soon enough. Vilnius is an important place for them. When they leave this place next, I believe you should be with them."
"But... but my duties..."
"What duties, Werna? No offense but anyone can copy books or clean dishes."
"What of the boys?"
Edwin put his hand back on Werna's shoulder. "They will miss you, but they will grow up regardless. Boys are resilient that way. You should finish reading to them, so they can at least think of you whenever they read stories to their children. That is God's way of giving us a sort of immortality here on Earth, beyond the walls of heaven and hell. We live on in one way or another. Our blood in our children and in the minds of those we touched. They will read to their children and their children to their children. So on, through time forever."
Werna liked the thought, starting a trend that could potentially touch the lives of so many down the line. All he could do was nod and head back to his small little room. There, in a shelf of his desk, was the book. He pulled it out and looked at the cover, which he never had up to this point. It was a reproduction of the stained glass of the great tomb of the Prussian Kings. Specifically it was of the window that showed the return of Ælle's body to Prussia, being received by King Gunvald the First. There was a light knocking at the door. "Father Werna, are you going to read to us again?" asked Kristjan at the head of the three man delegation.
"Yup. you should get in and get comfy, we have a lot to cover." The boy scrambled in over one another and once situated looked up tentatively at Werna. "So, when we left off Ælle had convinced the Vasques to fight for him and was marching on the city of Pamplona. But his deceitful Danish commander was poised to betray him to the Muslims in order to gain a place as leader of the Catholics left in Spain."
***
November 10th, 1136
Pamplona burned brightly, like the sun had come crashing down onto the doomed people within. Olaf saw Ælle sitting there, enraptured by the scene. In the otherwise dark night, the mountains were lit up from below making them appear tall and ghostly. The Danish man walked over and forced a blanket onto the Saxon. "It will get cold soon."
"We are being watched, Olaf." The Saxon slowly turned his face upward, toward his comrade, the fires only lit one hemisphere and as it rotated it gave him a very demonic appearance. Olaf was more concerned by the very frightful non sequitur. "So I have no plan on sleeping anyway." The Danish man, however, was too busy scanning the mountains to respond right away. Instead he eventually turned his whole body away from Ælle as to scan the surroundings without twisting his neck.
"Do you see anything?" Olaf asked their companions in French, several men of a Vasque village that had taken them in. They nodded and pointed to a scout from another village nearby. "How could you see him so far away?"
"I've been watching him since he was not in the glare. People are easier to find if you already know where to look." Ælle turned to the Vasques and in French requested, "How long will it take all the villages to form up?"
"A week at the fastest... a month at the slowest," answered the only one who could speak French fluently.
"Sounds good, I assume the Arabs will be gone before within the month. We'll need to train before we can take the city."
"Vasques have been training for this day since we lost the city to the southerners. What was once ours shall be ours again, we believe that. If we didn't, there wouldn't have been much point to fleeing to the hills and mountains."
"What happens once we take the city?" Olaf asked.
"We march on the next city, and the next. And Vasques will join us, from all around. They will flock to our banner and we will be free," the Vasque answered. Olaf smiled; the answer - so simple and honest - spoke volumes to him. After a few moments of silence everyone got up and began the hike back to the village, nestled in the mountains overlooking the gigantic pyre.
There people followed the two outsiders, as they often had since their arrival, as they chatted idly with one another. The children, especially, were amused by Olaf's blonde hair and Ælle's tall frame. Through those who spoke French, the tribe asked questions of the newcomers. "Prussia is a land that is mostly flat, with low rolling hills and thick forests. She sits beside the Baltic, cold and dreary. Not at all like the Bay of Biscay," Ælle explaned.
"If there are no mountains, how do you defend your villages?"
"We make mountains out of stone and mortar. We call them 'burghs' or 'grads' depending on whether you are Saxon or Prussian."
"What do you mean?"
"Prussia is a lot like Iberia, there are two peoples there: Saxons like me and Prussians. Prussians are farmers and soldiers while Saxons are nobles and knights."
"Were you a noble or a knight, good Sir Ælle?"
Olaf looked over at Ælle wearily, fearing that Ælle would remember the dark truth and speak in a way to sadden the children. But Ælle just smiled, "I am a knight. I am to Iberia with the Crusaders to find honor... but I found only evil men. The only good man I found was Olaf, so we left together in search of a more noble cause."
"Why were you not a noble, then?"
"I was a noble, but now I am a knight. It is a choice that I made willingly," Ælle said. Olaf still watched him, seeing a changed man before him. "I love my home, but I wanted to see more of the world so I headed first to Denmark and from there to France and from France to Pamplona, then here."
The village elder nodded, "We can use a knight in our battle... that is for sure. But I have lived in the palaces of Kings and Emirs and I think I have a greater use for you. Ælle of Prussia, will you be the face of the Vasques to the untrusting and dynastical lords of Europe? If we take Pamplona, would you be our King?"
Ælle sat there stunned, Olaf eventually prodded his partner suggesting that he take up the offer. "I don't believe you are going to get an offer like this again. Take them up on it and prove your worth to not only your father but all of Europe. Think: the House of Ælle, King of Pamplona."
Ælle did think of such things, and he imagined his wife as Queen and his son as Prince and briefly everything seemed like it was perfect. But then he knew that between him and this dream were the walls of Pamplona and then men defending them. "What banner would I rule under?"
The Vasques looked at each other, confused. "We have only our village banners..."
"We will need a single banner. As a child I read of a King of the Vasques, known as Sancho the Great. His sigil was a black eagle, just like my own family. We shall fly this black eagle on gold, and tell the other villages that all those who wish to join us fly the same. That is how we can tell who is friend and who is foe."
"Then let us begin the march of the Eagle's Army," Olaf said.