Woooow this is very late, I'm sorry everyone. I pledge to a two-updates-a-week schedule now that my exam is done, and with any luck I'll keep to it.
Chapter I – A Youth Went Forth
6th of March, 1088 Anno Domini
Sambian Coastline, Amt of Sambia
Erik covered his face with one arm and warily emerged from the small cabin of the vessel sailing east. He had sailed on one of the larger ships for extra comfort and thus had been afforded an indoor bed and table, but the cramped quarters and darkness had worn him down. After a week on the seas, the young Hvide was glad to see their destination and its warm, comforting soil. As the sun's light began to melt frost's grasp upon the earth, the vessel and her escorting longships slipped into the mouth of the River Pregel.
Much of the landscape was graced by sheets of fog. Erik was no sailor and he felt inherently uncomfortable at the lack of sight, but Danes were excellent in shallow waters and seemed to have little trouble navigating even in the thick fog. Before the fog had time to peel away, they arrived at the river docks of Skjalmsborg. He noted that the settlement wasn't far upstream, but he wasn't entirely sure if that was a good or a bad thing.
“So this is Skjalmsborg...” Erik muttered to himself.
The town wasn't much for looks. Erik had been to many and the dilapidated appearance of Skjalmsborg did not do the townsfolk any favours regarding his first impressions. As the sailors stretched their legs, Erik waited impatiently for his escort to arrive and passed the time regarding the small town's inhabitants. Although many of them appeared to be Baltic in blood, he was impressed by the number of blonde and red manes and beards present in the city – it seemed that the Nords had done an excellent job settling in Skjalmsborg at least.
“My lord?” The ship's captain interrupted him. “There's no escort, I'm not sure they expected you today.”
“I can see that...” Erik said irritably, then looked at the captain. “Where are the huskarls?”
“Still garbing, my lord. It takes time to don arms and they did not wish to sleep or sail in mail, heavy as it is.”
“Understandable.” Erik stepped off the docks and onto the solid dirt path. He kicked the frosted earth a few times for good measure, then turned back to the captain. “Is Skjalmsborg always this...dreary?”
“Ah...I'm afraid so, my lord. She is a young town and rough around the edges, but I'm sure she will mature over time.”
“She'd best...” He frowned. “What's your name again, Captain?”
“Lars, my lord.” The Captain bowed his head.
“Extend my thanks to your crew for the passage, Lars. As soon as the huskarls are ready, I shall be taking my leave of you.” Erik dropped a purse of coins into the captain's eager hands. The dirty sailor nodded eagerly and scampered off, undoubtedly to count their week's pay. Erik had paid him the agreed amount and no more, but it was still a large sum of money for a man of common birth. Erik feared it would not be the last time he would need his wealth to get something done.
Within minutes, Erik found himself in the midst of an entourage of heavily armed men. While he himself wore a cape of deep red and a tunic of red and gold, his own men wore the white of their Clan allegiance and hauled enough arms to supply a small army – literally. As one of his first actions as the Hertug af Østersøen, Erik had bought a supply of weapons for shipment to Skjalmsborg. It had been Harald's idea and he had to admit the appeal of being able to raise a properly equipped force with these new supplies.
As the procession walked, Erik noticed with some amusement that the natives scattered out of the way in a mixture of fear and trepidation. Although it was not the first time Hvide blood set foot in Skjalmsborg the last visit had been during the reign of his uncle: the city's namesake, Skjalm. The city did of course have an administrator but in spite of its growing trade importance, it had not been graced with regular visits by its own ruling family. This was going to change under Erik's reign – forever, if possible.
Peter Långaben, Erik's chief huskarl, led the group to the gates of the “castle” although Erik hardly found it worthy of the name. His new home would be little more than a glorified hut compared to the sturdy stones of Søborg, but it would have to do for the time being. Skjalmsborg Castle at least held an impressive spread of land, and although he didn't know much about architecture it looked sturdy to him. The outer walls consisted of three baileys leading up to a large earthwork motte in the 'rear' and was built of sharpened logs driven into the earth. Ropes were used to lash them together more tightly and some kind of oily substance was smeared onto the exposed tree bark. A circular path led to the top of the motte, upon which stood a grand wooden hall. To the side of the hall was a wide and tall tower that gave the viewer a grand view of the town, the river and forests to the east.
An artist's rendition of Skjalmsborg Castle, although it does not depict the walled town that lay to her south. The fortification was the most impressive wooden structure in the Eastern Baltic, but only wooden nonetheless.
Their approach to the gates of the castle was immediately brought to a halt by a pair of guards, these outfitted in tabards of cochineal red. “Halt, strangers. What business do you have here in Skjalmsborg with so many armed men?”
“We are escorting Erik Hvide, the ruler of this city and these lands, to his new home. Would you stop Hvide's huskarls from doing their work?” Peter spoke with a thick Swedish accent, betraying his land of birth.
The guard looked to each other in confusion. The one who spoke peered past Peter at the caped figure that was Erik, before looking back to Peter. “That is Erik Hvide, our new Chief?”
“Erik is not Chieftain of Hvide, but he is ruler of these lands by legitimate succession – it has been approved by the Hvidesting in Søborg. He has full support of the Bragde and of the lesser clans, meaning the lands once belonging to Auden Tokesen now belong to him. You owe him your allegiance.”
The guard's mouth dropped open for a moment, but he soon collected himself and bowed slightly. “It is an honour to host our lordship's company, of course. I am sure the Slotsherren shall be glad for your presence – please, let me fetch him.”
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
Søborg Castle, Hertugdømme of Sjælland
“This is an outrage, we cannot allow these kinds of indiscretions to go unpunished!”
Harald rubbed at his brow in frustration as the hall echoed with raucous debate. This was his first occasion overseeing court issues; politics was proving a much more difficult affair than he had originally imagined. The latest issue was a conflict between the church and a local jarl over hunting rights in the forests west of Søborg.
“Your concerns are noted yet again...” Harald said with a sigh. “The documents are clearly contradictory, you realize this as much as I do I'm sure.”
“Hillerød Forest rightfully belongs to God, our claims extend to time immemorial, Hvide. Your father would have seen the truth of this and done the virtuous thing!” Vittorio Paterni was the new Bishop of Roskilde and Harald had to admit, the man was frustrating beyond belief. Rumours were that he was actually a cousin of the Pope and that they had plans behind his appointment.
The above painting is believed by many to depict the brothers Skjalm and Auden sometime during the Baltic Crusade. Their pious actions were heard as far as Rome during this time and expectations of this level of faith had passed on to their sons – perhaps unfairly.
“I have made no decisions, Your Grace. Jasper Rosenkrantz's manor comes with documents claiming ownership of the entire forest but I also recognize that the church has claimed ownership of these lands since the days of my ancestors. I have already spoken to the Lagmand and he does not recognize any easy legal method of resolution – you are certain that division of the forest is unacceptable?”
Jasper looked disgusted by the idea. “The forest belongs to the Rosenkrantz and is rightfully our hunting ground. Our documents clearly out-date the Church's only claim. Skjalm would not have tolerated such an obvious power grab by the church!”
“How dare you!” Vittorio turned red in the cheeks. “How dare you attempt to deny God’s men what is rightfully theirs!
“You call yourself a man of piety?” Rosenkrantz scowled. “You are nothing more than a duplicitous liar, a typical Italian with no honour and no stomach! This would be settled already if you had the testes to face me in combat!”
“I will not appease your barbarian rituals, I came here to civilize the north, not succumb to its sinful desires. You may speak Christianity on your lips, but you are still nothing but heathens. Mark my words, you must recognize the truth of God or your souls will all burn in damnation forever more!”
Harald was frozen by indecision, when a voice spoke into his ear: Per Ågesen, one of Hvide's many associated Hirdmen and one of his personal advisers. “My lord, this matter is growing out of hand – although I know the tensions between Hvide and Rosenkrantz since the uprising in your uncle's reign, you must surely recognize what Vittorio is trying to do. He would upset the established order and a line must be drawn.”
“Do not listen to him.” A voice spoke in the other ear, and Harald looked to his right. Father Kjær, the priest of Søborg chapel, was predictably the one to voice support for Vittorio. “Paterni was sent here by the Pope himself – at your father's approval no less. Supporting him will legitimize your rule in the eyes of the church and continue the piety of your predecessors.”
Vittorio spoke up once more. “I do not appreciate this skulking behaviour, Hvide. Why do your men speak from the shadows, what plots are you hatching against me?” Accusation filled the bishop's face as strongly as it laced his voice, but it also held a strong sense of paranoia. “Let it be known that God watches over this meeting, any of your plots shall be heard by me.”
“There are no plots, Your Grace.” Harald nodded his head towards the men to either side of him. “The court is simply advising me, I assure you.”
Bishop Paterni remained stone-faced and did not respond to Harald's reassurances. Instead he seemed to look around the room at the many faces who stared at him. Although his mouth remained shut, his eyes and face seemed to grow more frightful and paranoid by the moment.
“I do not know what the lands you come from are like, Bishop...” Harald Ribbing trailed off even as he spoke, then shook his head. “I do not know what madness fills your brain, but Northmen do not plot and skulk – nor do we hide in the shadows! We settle our affairs as men of honour, or we would if it was not for your cowardice, Father.”
“Please, Ribbing.” Harald raised his hands, trying to mediate. “Such irreverence of the Bishop is not befitting of a Christian court. That goes for all of you, this man is a representative of God after all.”
“God dwells far from Denmark, Harald. The Italian is like a toothless dog – he may bark loudly, but his church has no bite here.” Jasper hissed in anger. “I pray to the lord as any Christian might, but I will not have a cowardly Roman come to my home and change how my land is ruled.”
“Pray you should, Jarl.” Vittorio glared at his rival. “Perhaps if you pray enough, God may consider forgiving you for the sinful words that fly from your mouth. I, for one, doubt that he will.”
“Harald, please!” Hirdman Karl Hansen complained. “This foreigner is making such a trial of this matter when it is clear that Jasper has the right to rule Hillerød. For the sake of every noble soul in Denmark, you must make a stand for our rights – what does the Church even need of that land when it already owns so much?”
Harald thought for a long time and many eyes stared at him expectantly, including a fuming Vittorio Paterni. Both sides had made strong arguments, but he also knew that everyone in the court was trying to influence his decision. It was only natural, Harald was a young ruler, but he had to admit most of their arguments were solid. In the end the choice would still be his, and it was a choice he struggled to make.
“I...” Harald swallowed. “I support the claims of Jasper Rosenkrantz. His documents can be dated to the reign of King Bluetooth, whilst the Church's claim is only as recent as my father Auden's rule. With due apologies to the Bishop, the land rightfully belongs to the family who has tended it longest.”
Vittorio's face twisted into a hideous mask of rage and the Italian stormed from the hall in anger and hatred. He was soon followed by a distraught looking Father Kjær, but the rest of the court erupted into cheering and applause of the decision.
“You made the right decision, Harald!” Karl Hansen grinned and raised a mug of mead in honour of the Chief. “Only one man's land was at stake, but you've given a great victory to the rights of all of your subjects.”
Rosenkrantz himself was delighted. “Aye, my family owes Hvide a great debt for this stand. I'm glad to know that we made the right decision in supporting your leadership here in Sjælland.”
Several more hirdmen crowded around Harald's seat and he found himself swept up in the embrace of the happy nobles, a little overtaken by the response. Everyone seemed to have something to say to him and he was more than a little uncomfortable with the closeness they had taken. Hands clapped him on the back and Harald Ribbing draped one arm around him, as if they were close friends of many years.
“What did I tell you, the Hvide are always reliable!” Ribbing grinned at the other nobles. “The boy stands up for us and makes himself a man in my eyes!”
“Well done Harald!” Another voice called through the cacophony of celebration, but the smile on the young leader's face was a weak one at best. Politics was a new game to him, and even though he had earned strong support from his vassals for this decision, he knew that the game was only just beginning. There was still the question of Vittorio Paterni and what his zealous anger might bring. Someone needed to deal with the Italian bishop – and soon.
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
Skjalmsborg Castle, Amt of Sambia
Erik leaned against the thick corner post of Skjalmsborg Castle, relaxed and content. His meeting with the Slotsherren had gone well and he had become acquainted with all of the castle staff throughout the day. Now the sun was beginning to settle to the west, casting long shadows across the landscape. Erik's head was bulging with new information, but a great pressure was also building within it. There was less than a week before they hosted a visit from the Bragde Clan regarding tensions with the native Lithuanians of Aukstaitija. Next month there was a feast planned as well as a festival in Kaunas and it was expected that Erik would handle the organization and funding of the annual event. He had underestimated how much work it was going to take to administrate this country, but at least he still had time to enjoy the simple things.
Although Erik was focused on the sunset, he didn't fail to notice the hatch of the roof open. “Master Erik, are you up here?”
“Aye, I'm here Klaus.” Erik turned away from the sun, arms folded behind his back. “What do you need of me?”
Klaus Schwarz pulled himself up from the ladder and onto the wooden platform of the tower with a grin. “Enjoying the view? I come up myself sometimes, although it's rarely so clear at this time of year.”
“I am indeed, Klaus. I was just thinking how somewhere beyond that sunset lies my home, and I wondered if I should ever see it again.”
“Such despairing thoughts, Erik! You've only been here a day.” The German guffawed. “I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities to see Denmark again. For now you should be focused on your new home, for there is much to learn about it.”
Erik scoffed and waved his arm down towards the town. “What is there to learn about this mud hole. Look at it. Not a paving stone in sight, everything is made of dirt and rough logs and messy straw. If civilization were the human body, Klaus, then Skjalmsborg would be a man's ass – a foul-smelling burden devoid of redeeming features.”
Klaus laughed heartily at the comment. “I agree, there is not much to make of Skjalmsborg as it stands, certainly not compared to the cities of my homeland. That reminds me though, I have been organizing what few papers on the treasury we have, just as you requested. I assume you would like to go over them?”
“Tomorrow, Klaus. I have not the energy for Mathematica tonight.” A sigh escaped Erik's lungs and he gazed down over the town. “Three thousand souls under my care including the farmlands within eyesight...it is a great burden God has placed upon me, that I should look after so many in this town.”
“And many more outside of it.” Klaus reminded him. “I've heard a man claim that Hvide's Baltic Territories combined may have as many as a thousand thousands dwelling within their borders, based on the tax we've collected. Still, it's very hard to judge the interior highlands – who knows how many pagans hide out in the wilderness.”
Erik turned and walked to the other side of the tower, gazing east across his new land. “There is much to see, I wonder how much of it I will be able to witness with my own two eyes. This is a wild and untamed land, Klaus...there is much to learn still.”
“Then let us be the ones to tame it, my liege. We have money and support of the church...”
“You think we can manage it?” Erik looked at his advisor.
Klaus nodded. “I know we can.”
The two stared at each other for awhile, and then Erik at last grinned. “Very well then, perhaps Hvide can bring real civilization to the Baltic at long last.” He looked back across the land, before his eyes caught a dark blob far in the distance.
“What is that?” He asked, pointing to the darkness.
Klaus peered down the arm for a moment, before his eyes lit up with recognition. “Ah, that is just the Romincka Forest, my lord, nothing to worry about.”
Rominckaskogen (Romincka Forest) was a picturesque example of the vast rurality the Baltic enjoyed. Starting just east of the Sambian peninsula, the largely coniferous forest stretched east into Aukstaitija and covered countless leagues of land. There were ample places for dissidents and pagans to hide from their Danish occupiers in this sparsely populated country.
“Romincka...” Erik nodded. “Is it a large forest? We have some in Sjælland and they are quite large, why one nearly stretches across the entire island.”
“Large? Is Romincka large?” Klaus began to laugh deeply and heartily.
“What's so funny?” Erik frowned.
“Just the questions of my young lord. Romincka is indeed large, Master Erik. They say that the forest only starts in Romincka, and that it stretches far to the east into Rusland, and continues beyond until it eventually reaches the edge of the world itself. Now if you'll excuse me, Master, I have castle affairs to attend to.”
Erik stared at it thoughtfully. “The edge of the world, huh?” After awhile he grinned to himself. “One day, I'm going to take a trip east and see it for myself.”
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
9th of March, 1088 Anno Domini
Søborg Wood, Hertugdømme of Sjælland
Somewhere in the distance, an owl's hoot broke an otherwise silent night. Although the moon shone full, it was difficult to see anything outside of the torch-lit Søborg or the village at her feet. This permitted a certain level of secrecy that suited Harald just fine – he did, after all, want to conduct this meeting without being seen. He retrieved the well-polished dagger from his belt and carefully turned it so that it would shine in the moonlight. He saw several more glints appear in response, and he quietly crept forward into the woodland clearing. Three figures joined him.
“You've all come alone?” Harald asked.
“Chief?” Hirdman Karl Hansen looked surprised. “I didn't expect to see you here.”
“Nor did I, for that matter.” Jasper Rosenkrantz looked tired and irritated to be awake at this hour. He was at least a little bit intoxicated, Harald was quite sure.
The third figure, Per Ågesen, did not look surprised. “I suspect our Chief has brought us together to discuss the matter of the Latin Priest?”
“Aye, I have.” Harald looked around to them. “You're the three men I can trust most regarding this matter, although I do not expect it to appeal to all of your tastes. Vittorio Paterni is a troublemaker, this much is clear to all of us. While my seniority has spared you the brunt of his wrath, I have received word he now plans to write to the Pope of my defiance of him and to stain the good name of Sjælland. I believe he plans to either force us to accede to him or to eventually have all of us excommunicated.”
“Excommunicated?” Jasper scoffed. “Is that all you're afraid of? What does it matter what old men in Rome think?”
“Quite a lot, actually.” Per was not so surprised. “This matter should be handled delicately. If the Church were to label us all as heretics not of the Holy Father's flock, then the King would have virtually an obligation to attack us, and he would likely be aided by every pious ruler on this end of the Baltic.”
“Exactly my fear.” Harald confirmed what Per was thinking.
“Then let us go to Roskilde and deal with him.” Karl Hansen grinned. “We could easily have him strung up and dead before we feast on Sunday.”
Karl Hansen was a fearsome man whose reputation was well known throughout Denmark. He had killed four lesser men in duels and three more in ambushes that today could only be called assassinations. He had little issue with extending that count to four and would gladly storm Roskilde and kill a Bishop in order to have his way.
“No, we cannot.” Harald frowned at his vassal's impetuous nature. “To try and deal with this directly will just make matters worse, we have two options here: we can meet his demands, or we can see to it that he won't have time to turn the Pope against us.”
“How exactly do you plan to do that?” Jasper frowned. “You just said if we have him killed it'll make matters worse.”
“I said if we march into Roskilde and attack him ourselves it will. You can't attack a man of the cloth and expect to get away with it. I'm proposing that we pool our resources and make sure he meets a quiet end.” Harald said.
The group fell silent for a moment. Assassination of such a method was not often seen in the North and even more rarely spoken of. His vassals were clearly dumbstruck that their liege had proposed such a dishonourable approach, but it also made clear to them why he had insisted on such secrecy. After a long pause, Jasper at last spoke.
“Very well then, so say we have him killed, but how? We'd need to find someone willing to do it, and they can't be someone who is easily tied to us.”
“That's where I come in.” A thick German accent rasped from a nearby tree.
The nobles reached for their weapons instinctively. “Who goes there?!” Per Ågesen called out. “Show yourself, fiend!”
Somewhere in the darkness a shadow moved and then stepped out into the light. “Relax, friend. I'm with your Chief.”
Harald looked to the others. “This man calls himself The Shadow. He's worked with my family before, now he's offering his services to end the life of Vittorio Paterni. All he asks for is our cooperation with his demands and good payment up front. His German accent will put some suspicion off our trail if he is caught, and he is very good at what he does.”
“They won't catch me, I guarantee it.” Hans grinned from beneath his hood. “Pay me what I ask for and this Bishop will die.”
----- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----
The story now begins properly. As a little teaser update on mod progress, I've finished England and most of Ireland, once Britain is completely done I'll give you an update on that area with a nice province map that should help highlight the level of work I've been doing even in such well-documented locations. I've also finished Sweden (although nothing really changed in terms of province borders) and I've started work on Norway.
As a side note, the ACAs have completed and North Star won Favorite CK1/2 Narrative AAR! Thanks to everyone who voted and made it possible, with any luck I'll be more active throughout this quarter as a reward!
