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Lanlier

Ætheling
62 Badges
Nov 10, 2004
81
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Wyrdbiethfularaeligd_zpsd74b3bbd.jpg

Wyrd bið ful aræd

It is an old saying amongst my people and I am not the first to say it, nor, do I hope, shall I be the last. For some 500 years my people have been bound to their fate on this island and for the most part it has been good to us. We have landed, conquered, settled and prospered. True, we have had our share of adversity during that time, when it seemed that our fate was not to rule the plush fertile lands of our home, but to become subservient on them. Yet fate intervened. We were saved by great men who made great sacrifices to protect what we once had and to reclaim it in our name once more. And they did more than that; they dared to dream of something greater than had ever been seen. Where my people had once been divided and disparate, we became united, strong and powerful. And it was my ancestors who made that happen, their blood running through my veins and their legacy that I have to live up to. And yet?

Wyrd bið ful aræd

Some say it was greed; others say it was incompetence and more yet say it was the will of God. Whatever it was is now irrelevant, consigned to the annals of History for the scholars, poets and story tellers to fight over. For what we had gained, for what the generations of my ancestors have strived was fritted away likes grains of sand in the wind and it has now been more than 50 years since we lost what was rightfully ours. When I mention this to others they give me a self satisfied smirk and remind me that my bloodline has held the reins of power far more recently than that. The same self satisfied smirk does not last long; for I do not consider him to be of our bloodline. Not truly. He weakened and corrupted our land and was nearly the architect of my people’s destruction. And yet?

Wyrd bið ful aræd

If it weren’t for his mistakes, his indecisiveness and overwhelming piety I would not be where I am now. I would not have the opportunity to rebuild what was lost and unite my people once more, following the path laid before me by those of my bloodline who are still revered in myth and legend by all who were born here and have heard the tales and stories. And this is my tale. It starts in the year of our lord 1066 and though I do not know where it will end, I have no doubt that by the time that I am done with my story that the men and women who live in my land will list my name with the illustrious name of my forbearers.

I am Eadgar Eadwardson. Some call me Ætheling. I am of the unbroken line of Cerdric and the Royal House of Wessex from which the first Kings of England were sprung. To live up to my name and history I must restore what has been lost. Men tell me my cause hopeless. I just tell them “Wyrd bið ful aræd.”

Westminster, January 4th 1066

The New Year was only 4 days old and yet I could tell it would fare me no better than the last. In time I would come to realise that my concerns that morning would soon be swept aside on the current of war that was to flood England later that year. But then? I had no clue of what was to come and my immediate future, or lack thereof, was all that I had time for.

“But I am of the blood line! I am the only male heir of Cerdric. Of Alfred. Of Æthelstan! The witan must continue that through me, they have no choice!”

I believed my arguments to be reasoned. Sound. Full of Logic. Instead they were the complaints of an angry, petulant child who has not been given what they want.

Father Æthelbald gave me an exasperated sigh. Following this up with a withering stare he silenced my outburst long enough for him to give me a composed response.

“You may well be of the blood line, but you are far too young, Eadgar. It is nearly a hundred years since one as young as you were chosen by the Witan and England did not face the grave threats then as we do now. If times were different? It may well be different. But when your Great-Uncle goes to meet the Lord, the witan will not pick you.”

Father Æthelbald was a kindly man, with a stern face. His face was framed with a thick, bushy black beard, which I always felt looked most out of place with the baldness of his tonsured head. As a child I had made fun of him for having his head upside down and had lived to regret it. Since my arrival back in England 10 years previous and the death of my Father, he, more than any other had become as close to a father figure as I had. He had been charged with my education owing to his status one of the finest minds in the court of King Eadward and at 20 years my senior was supposed to be destined for a great career in the church.

Yet at that moment, it all counted for naught as I could barely suppress my rage. I was young, arrogant and headstrong and as far as I was concerned? Being cheated.

“Too young?” I paused, barely being able to find the words to express what was wrong with that idea. “I am 16 - a man grown and there are few who can match me with sword and shield! There is no threat to England that I cannot deal with.”

The boast was not entirely unfounded, but was entirely untested. As I had grown in my teens I had been taught and trained as a warrior. Some, like Father Æthelbald had wanted to be to follow the life of the Church, but although I respected the Church - its life held no interest in me. I dreamed of the victories that made my ancestors legend and the only way to carve that name for myself was in the glory of the shield wall.

At least, that’s what I believed then. Although over the years my prowess and skill on the battlefield have won me glory and reputation, they have also taught me to respect what battle is. It is nothing like what the young dream of when they think of war, they hear of great battles and victories. It is a bowel loosening, all consuming terror. The shield wall is a brutal enclosed death trap that I give thanks to God after everyone I survive. But at the start of 1066, I knew none of this and simmered in my indignation at Father Æthelbald.

“That you have shown signs of skill? I cannot deny that, Eadgar” Father Æthelbald smiled sadly “But your skill does not match up to the threats we face. Could you defeat Duke William of Normandy in single combat? Perhaps. Can you defeat his army by yourself? I very much doubt that.” His smile faded and his face hardened into a grimace.

“No. The Normans believe they are to inherit upon your Great-Uncle’s death. They will come in their thousands to claim this land for their own. We only have to look at what they are doing in Southern Italy as an example of what could happen to England if we allow them. They will destroy our way of life if we are not careful and so we must do everything we can to stop them. Even if that means that our country is not ruled by the scion of Cerdric.”

Father Æthelbald placed his hand on my shoulder to placate the sting of his words. I searched desperately for a comeback, but could find none.

“And so, whether you agree or not, Harold Godwinson will be chosen as King by the Witan. It is to him we must look to protect us from the Normans. My advice to you Eadgar is simple - make yourself valuable to Harold. He knows that he is King by circumstance and you could be a threat.”

“A threat?” I was puzzled. Harold Godwinson was the most powerful man in England. I was, in reality, nobody. No men followed me. No men saw me as a great lord, a giver of land and wealth. Not then, anyway. Father Æthelbald smiled genially at my confusion.

“Yes, a threat! Anyone unhappy with his rule only needs to look to you as an alternative. Once the Norman threat is dealt with people may wish to weaken the power of the Godwinsons. You would make an excellent figurehead to that opposition and I’m sure Harold would have no qualms at removing that possibility. Unless....”

He left the suggestion hanging in the air. I nodded my understanding of his implication.

“Unless I make myself valuable.” I pondered everything he’d said “So there is nothing I can do?”

“No” Father Æthelbald said the word so simply and definitively I knew he’d brook no further argument on the subject. I absent mindedly booted the wall and decide to argue no more and accept whatever the witan decided.

And that was how I lost my Kingdom. How I lost England.

Wyrd bið ful aræd
 
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Hello! This is my second attempt at an AAR - my first having been an attempt at a historically accurate 100 Years War AAR. Whilst I enjoyed the writing part of it - the creating a historically accurate game was neigh on impossible and I ended up giving it up as a lost cause.

Anyway. The idea for this game has been floating around in my head for awhile - ever since a rather odd game I had in the original CK. I have also been re reading the Saxon stories by Bernard Cornwall which has given me the title and the writing style that I plan on adopting, in the form of a 1st person narrative of their own past. The game has somewhat helped me on this fact by the fact Eadgar is now well into his 60s and shows no signs of dying yet!

In terms of game information - I’m playing the CK2+ mod with the latest upgrade - 1.31.5. I started as England and made Eadgar Atheling the Earl of Dorset on September 15th. I also made 1 slight tweak in the save file to help get my desired outcome. From then everything that happened just worked utterly beautifully for this story and convinced me to write it. I’m going to make one slight change in the early narrative - in terms of when Eadgar gets made Earl of Dorset - but beyond that everything has worked out nicely - So I hope you enjoy it!
 
Well this looks quite promising! It'll be interesting to see how Edgar tries to get his (rightful) kingdom back. Also what does Wyrd bið ful aræd mean? Or is it a surprise for later?
 
Part 1

Wyrdbiethfularaeligd_zpsd74b3bbd.jpg

Near York, September 24th 1066

Men rode in silence, unable to engage in the common chatter of an army on the march as we pounded along the great Roman Road that ran up the heart of England like a spine. I found myself riding near to the man running my kingdom and I found that I was not envious of his position; we had all feared the Normans, knowing their outlandish claims for their Duke would lead to an inevitable invasion. And Harold had gathered that fyrd and waited over the summer for the Normans to arrive,

And yet they never came. High summer came and went and men started to beg the King to return to their homes, to tend the harvest. And seeing no enemy Harold had acquiesced to their requests. And then the news that stunned everyone - the great Viking raid of the North. There are very few left alive today who witnessed the event that permanently altered the shape of our country and the story that is now told bears little resemblance to what really happens. Those who come to see me to ask about the distant past refuse to believe that the cause of the raid was simple greed.

The King was riding with his brothers and 2 eldest sons and regardless of the situation was still riding straight in the saddle and did not look phased. Despite wanting to hate him, I had found myself admiring the man’s confidence and easy charm. Now, I realise that I never stood a chance of convincing anyone that Harold should not have been King in 1066.

Harold was a tall, broadly built man with a powerful frame. He had an open and honest face that was quick to smile. He had a mound of shaggy looking fair hair and piercing set of blue eyes. And it was these eyes that turned to look at me and cause a faint flicker of amusement to cross his face.

Harold.jpg


“Ætheling. How are you finding your first taste of war?” Harold always called me Ætheling. At first I had bridled and taken offence - certain that he was mocking me. But I had come to realise that he actually meant it as a sign of respect.

“I had not expected war to hurt my arse so much” I shifted uncomfortably in my saddle. It was not that I was not used to riding a horse, for I had been able to do that for as long as I can remember. It was spending 8 days and nights in the saddle that was my undoing.

“Or my balls, for that matter.” I added as a somewhat unnecessary afterthought.

Harold laughed. I think he liked my answer and on top of that, I think he liked me. To this day men cannot believe that we would or could like each other. But it was the truth. As Harold laughed, so did his brother and younger son, Eadmund. His elder son however, just glared at me, the corners of his mouth curled with distaste giving him a sneering, mocking expression.

Godwine didn’t like me. Not then, not ever. He had inherited his father’s height but little else. Whereas Harold was a broad, powerful face man, Godwine was wiry and thin. He had short, cropped brown hair and dark brown eyes that appeared to me to be in sunken in his face and whenever he looked at me they shone with malevolence and resentment. His face was etched in a permanent scowl that did not improve when he smiled and was not helped by his crooked nose.

At the time, I did not understand the reason for his dislike but it was there from the start. During the summer Godwine and Eadmund had attempted to beat me one evening when they were bored. They wanted to show me that in my time away - their family was the power in England, not mine. It was then I gave Godwine his crooked nose as I beat him to a pulp whilst Eadmund and I fought each to a standstill. With Eadmund? We had developed a grudging and mutual respect. With Godwine? It was mutual loathing.

I later came to understand it was because Godwine feared me. Although Harold had been chosen by the witan, Godwine was worried about the future. As Harold’s eldest he had his families’ best claim to succeed as the next King. Yet I was a threat; I still held the claim of my family, I had started to be noticed for my skill as a warrior - even though I was untested and most importantly men liked me.

All of this was irrelevant however as Harold inclined his head, telling me to ride forward with him out of earshot of the others. I lazily urged my horse to increase its pace slightly and angled it off the main road and into the tall lush grass that was creeping over the outskirts of the distinctive path, disturbing a number of butterflies that had stop to rest in the hot late summer sun and who fluttered up in a blaze of colour. Pausing a few moments to be certain we were out of earshot Harold turned his head towards me and smiled.

“And what do you think of our current plan?” he asked me, waiting passively for my response. I searched for some trap in the question but could see none, although I was unsure why he was asking my opinion. He lead, not me.

“It seems sound enough. The Vikings are at their weakest between landing and establishing a foothold. History teaches us that. We trap them at this point and destroy them. Simple” I eventually found my voice and confidence.

Harold gave a small nod without thinking.

“You’ll find that war is never that simple, but I agree Ætheling. Though, I would since it was my plan after all!’ Harold gave me a broad smile. I grinned back. ‘My son is inclined to agree with you as well.”

“Godwine?” I asked in astonishment. Nothing I’d seen from the pig so far had suggested sound military thinking on his part. The brief frown on Harold’s face that was the response to my question gave me the answer before he spoke.

“No. Eadmund. Godwine advises caution.” Harold smiled wryly “It has its place of course, but not here, not now.”

We rode on in silence. Harold clearly pondering something, I still confused by the nature of the conversation. Now, I realise Harold was doing what all good leaders should; listening to the advice of his men and thegns. He did not have to follow it of course, but he listened; and for that he earned the men’s respect. It was a lesson I would have to learn the hard way.

“When we fight, Godwine will command the right flank. You will assist him.” I was startled by the King’s words as I had been watching 2 hares chase each through the field.

“What?” was the only inadequate response I could muster.

“Assist. You know. Help. Give advice. Follow orders. I thought Father Æthelbald had taught you English!”

I just stared blankly at Harold. He had to know Godwine hated me and I him. It made no sense to get us to work together. But it was a sign of Harold’s intelligence. If he made us fight together, we would have to become dependent on each other and it would tie my fate to that of his son.

“I... but... of course” I stumbled my acceptance of what was actually a high honour. Two boys, 17 and 16 were to command the right of the shield wall... and everyone knew Godwine was no fighter... so that left... me.

“And Eadgar?” The use of my name rather than Ætheling gave me cause to pause, especially as Harold’s face had hardened. “I am you King, whether you like it or not. And you will give me the respect I am owed.”

He had noticed that I alone did not call him lord. My small act of defiance, so clever, cunning and successful I thought. I was wrong.

Shamefaced I looked at the floor. “Yes Lord.”

And in silence we rode back to the column of mounted men, wearily drawing close to our inevitable confrontation with the Norseman.

Wyrd bið ful aræd

Outside York, September 25th, 1066

The clouds started to gather over the city of York, breaking the spell of late summer sun that had followed our progress. The sky took on a dark, foreboding, menacing look that reflected the mood of our assembled horsemen. We sat impassively looking down at the city and the smears of smoke that ringed it. Harold was deep in conversation with his brothers - Gyrth and Leofwine and a host of the country’s great lords sat around anxiously awaiting some kind of decision from the King. I was sat on my horse with Father Æthelbald stood beside me. He had accompanied the army to give it religious guidance and support before battle, which awaited us before York.

For the Norse were ready and waiting.

I have often wondered what might have been if Harold’s original plan had come to fruition. Since discovering of the Norse arrival in the North, Harold had organised his response with phenomenal speed. He had assembled the core of our army and marched them North in 8 days. It should have taken closer to 2 weeks. The Norse should have been spread out across the country looting and pillaging and our army should have fallen upon them likes wolves on the sheep. But there they were. An unbroken shield wall barring the way to York and more men gathered in one place than I had seen. There would be no easy victory that day.

“Impressive, don’t you think?” Father Æthelbald asked me, his voice quiet with resigned admiration. He knew this was the 1st full shield wall I had seen.

“I suppose.” I tried to mask my fear. The last rays on the sun, peaking through the gaps in the clouds reflected of the mail and weapons of the thousands of men down below. The banners that had been hanging limply started to flutter in the air. There were all kinds of symbols to show the great lords of Norway that had come. There were all kinds of Dragons, lions, flowers, wolves, eagles, axes and boats starting to flutter in the wind. But the centre of the Norse line was dominated by the largest banner I had ever seen; men called it the Landøyðan or Land waster. The flag was roughly triangular, with a rounded outside edge on which there hung a series of tassels. In the top left of the banner flew with wings outspread a raven as black as night. It was the banner of Harald Hardrada - one of the most feared men in Europe, who was supposed to have never lost a battle when the raven banner flew.

RavenBanner-1.png


“Eadgar - your eyes are sharper than mine - what is that red banner, the one near the raven?” Father Æthelbald squinted into the distance trying to make out the smaller banner that was almost hidden by the raven banner.

“It looks like a white warrior on a red background with a raised ax...’ I paused mid sentence to look over at the banner behind the King. It was the same. ‘It’s the King’s banner.” I finished lamely.
“So Tostig has joined Hardrada.” Father Æthelbald sighed. The fall from grace of Harold’s younger brother the previous summer had been dramatic and for a time - hinted at civil war. During the course of this summer Tostig and a few followers and raided their way up the east coast of England, but were more of a nuisance than a real problem. But it seemed there had been a greater menace all along.

HaroldsBanner-1.jpg


“That boy was always an impulsive fool. How can he betray our people like this?” Father Æthelbald started to raise his voice as his anger grew; drawing curious glances from the men around us. I merely shrugged. It was not the first time in our history that the ruling family had attempted to destroy itself. If I was not living proof of this fact, nothing else was!

“Come on Father, mount up.” I had noticed the movement from the Norse lines by the central banners and had half a feeling I knew what was coming. Father Æthelbald was still busy muttering to himself about the indignities of Tostig’s betrayal and so did not notice, nor object to my telling him what to do. My inclination was right. A small group of horseman was riding forward from the Norse lines and Harold followed by his small retinue had moved forward to meet them. I was curious to see what happened and decided to follow. Halfway between leaving the rest of the English army and the meeting between the 2 Kings, Father Æthelbald finally noticed what we were doing.

“Wait! Eadgar! Stop! We cannot be part of these talks! We have no right!” His voice carried a high note of panic at the thought of me gate crashing the talks.

“No one’s told me that we can’t go Father. And after all... I am the Ætheling!” I gave him a wicked grin. He was entirely correct, of course. I had no right to attend, but although I was suitable chastised by Harold the day before, I still had the pride and arrogance of youth. So we kept moving and stopped behind Harold and waited for the Norse delegation. And then my jaw dropped; for I saw Harald Hardrada up close for the first time.

He had dismounted and was leading his large black horse by the reins. Despite that he was nearly as tall as Father Æthelbald still sat on his horse. He had a thick, muscular frame which filled out the chainmail armour he was wearing. He wore no helmet and his long fair hair fell loose around his back; his beard was thick and fell down his chest and both were streaked with grey. Strangely, he seemed to have one eyebrow raised in mock amusement and it took me some time to realise that this seemed to be a permanent condition. He stopped walking and folded his arms, which were crisscrossed with a lattice of scar tissue that showed the years of fighting and wounds he had taken. His dark grey eyes peered out like 2 slabs of granite and gave his face a dark and brooding look. Despite being 51 years old it was clear that he was still a formidable warrior. There was an uncomfortable pause as Harold and Harald waited for each other to make the first move.

Harold dismounted and moved towards Hardrada, who was a clear head taller than Harold, one of the tallest men I had met. Hardrada gave a broad smile, showing that he was missing a range of teeth.

“My Lord. It is so nice of you to come and join us. We have prepared ourselves to honour your arrival, as you can see!” Hardrada swept his hand behind to show the ranks of massed Norseman. He spoke English well, but his Northern accent was clear and distinct in every word he spoke.

“You do seem to have gone to a lot of trouble Lord, but you did not have to go to all this effort. I would’ve quite happily met your men as I found them.”

Hardrada laughed at that.

“I’m sure you would, but your way would’ve been a lot less fun!”

Harold raised an eyebrow. From what I had learnt of him, I guessed that he was trying not to smile.

“True as that may be, I have to ask Lord, what exactly do you and your men think you’re doing on my land?’ Harold paused to look around dramatically ‘I do not think you are busy picking wild flowers.”

“We might be’ Hardrada laughed again ‘no... But of course. We are merely here at the request of our mutual friend, my Lord.”

“Our mutual friend? You have lost me I am afraid. I was not aware that we had any mutual friends.” Harold kept his face passive as he gave a carefully considered reply. Everyone knew who Hardrada meant for he had moved to the front of the waiting Norse men. He was slightly shorter than Harold with darker hair but still had a similar appearance. It was Tostig.

“The rightful Ealdorman of Northumbria, of course. Tostig. I believe you have met.” Hardrada’s eyes narrowed and his face hardened. The crux of the negotiation had now started.

“My brother forfeited his title through his misrule and arrogance. But if he is willing to apologise to his thegns and learn from that, I am more than willing to give him his title back.” Harold stared directly at Tostig whilst he spoke now, his face an unreadable mask of composure.

“And what do I get for my help?”

“What do you want beyond the warm, fuzzy feeling you get for helping a friend?”

“How about England?” Hardrada asked with a mischievous grin

“Well. I can offer you about.... 6 feet of England. Though maybe in your case I would need to stretch to 7 feet!”

Both men laughed at that.

“You are more than welcome to try my friend, but I think you have more important issues to deal with than me. I have news of William.”

Harold’s mask slipped. His face showed confusion, anger and a touch of fear.

“I have a hard time believing that.” He regained his composure quickly.

“You move fast my friend. But my ships? Move faster. Especially with the North Easterly wind. William has sailed and will land in this country soon. So you are more than welcome to try and give me my 7 feet of England, but I ask you, is it worth the risk?” Hardrada’s eyes narrowed and he grinned in triumph. He spoke the truth, even if we did not all know it yet, and because of that he held all the cards.

It took a further 30 minutes of discussion before an agreement was reached. Neither Harald nor Tostig would get land. But they would receive silver and gold. Plenty of it, before the year was done. Harald had come at Tostig’s urging, but all we believed he really wanted was gold for his wars in Denmark - like the Vikings of old.

So one threat was dealt with and now the English army turned back on itself to march south to the fight we had been waiting for all summer. To a fateful meeting on the south coast with Duke William of Normandy.

Wyrd bið ful aræd
 
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Dovahkiing: Thanks! I've got a good 50 years of game to write up having played through to check if my game would fit with the story I wanted to write. Just got to try and actually write it now!

Tapscott: Wyrd bið ful aræd is from a Saxon poem and roughly translated it means 'Fate is Inexorable' or something along those lines. It's used a lot by the main character in the books I mention in my first post and I feel it fits!

Sleight of Hand: Haha! Nice! Hope you like it! :p
 
Heh, I always enjoy hearing Harold'd promise of six feet of dirt to Harald! Makes me smile. In any case, good update! Shame that the Norsemen were organized rather than running about looting though.
 
Part 1- Continued.

Wyrdbiethfularaeligd_zpsd74b3bbd.jpg

Near Maidstone, November 1st 1066

The march south had been slower. Harold knew there was no point in rushing the army south and arriving on the battlefield in an unfit shape to fight. Leofwine and Godwine both encouraged Harold to do so, but he chose to ignore their requests. I often wonder how history may have turned out different if he had followed their advice and charged headlong south as fast as he could. But Harold chose not to and our History has turned out the way it has. Some men have criticised Harold’s actions; not only at York but in the weeks that followed. No man will speak those doubts in front of me, however. I have found no fault in Harold’s actions and I have had a long time to ponder them.

The Normans had landed in Kent in October 1066 and swiftly started to pillage the surrounding countryside before attempting to secure the port of Dover. The fact that the men of Dover had held out has given rise to the proud boast that any man of Kent now lays claim to. Invicta. Unvanquished. It is nothing more than an arrogant folly for they achieved nothing and helped our people in no way with their defiance.

The most direct route to Dover took us down the great Roman Road of Watling Street. We followed the road until we crossed the river Medway when Harold pulled us off the road and followed the river down to the small town of Maidstone. Most of the army was camped on the wooded hills of the North Downs that separate the flat plain of the Medway valley from the northern part of Kent. Harold had positioned us in the heart of the Kent countryside; a sound tactical move since William had no choice but to either come and find us, or leave us loose behind him as he marched on London. It was another example of the gift for warfare that Harold showed.

WatlingStreet.gif


Godwine and I were still in command of the right flank of Harold’s army. We lead around 1500 men, made up of some of the best troops from the heartland of Wessex. We had men from Dorset, Somerset, Hampshire, Wiltshire and Berkshire forming the core of our small part of the army. I guessed that Harold was giving us troops from the Godwinson’s power base to try and tie them closer to Godwine. Yet it was not quite working as planned. Most of the thegns were fawning over Godwine - trying to attach themselves to his rising star. Yet the men of experience, the men who knew war were scorning him. Godwine had revealed himself to be clueless when it came to military tactics and did enjoy the practice drills that many of the professional soldiers loved. It was not that he could not fight, it was simply that he did not want to. For many, this was almost unforgivable. These men had found what they were looking for in someone else, someone who was willing to share their experiences and earn their respect, not just demand it. They found it in me.

I was riding down the Pilgrims way with one of these men, Æthelhere, a thegn from the town of Dorchester. He was in his mid twenties and had the loyalty of some 250 men. He was small, thin and wiry with short cropped brown hair and a clean shaven faced, which showed the pock marked scars of some childhood disease. He was also one of the quickest men with a sword I had ever seen. The first time I’d met him he’d been watching me take part in some practice fights with some of his men. I had beaten everyone I had faced that morning was over brimming with confidence. Æthelhere walked forward to challenge me with a thin smile on his face. He had spent the best part of 45 minutes watching me fight and had an excellent idea of my strengths and weaknesses. I had no idea who he was and just had my arrogance that I’d win.

AEligthelhere-1.jpg


“You know who you’re fighting?” I taunted him whilst flexing my sword arm.

“Yes’ He smiled ‘but I couldn’t give a shit who you are. You’ll still end up with your arse on the floor.”

He was right. He put me on my arse 3 times. But each time I learnt and lasted longer. I think that was enough for him to think me worthy of his guidance. Though he didn’t stop reminding me that I was little more than an endwerc as far as he was concerned and he would be happy to be rid of me and be lead by a proper warrior.

Æthelhere and I had reached the small village of Hollingbourne along the Pilgrims way, some 4 miles away where the rest of our men were camped on the Downs outside Detling. He pushed our mounts off the way and started to climb up the Downs to get a view of the surrounding countryside. Harold had scouts out ranging in all directions, but I wanted to see the lie of the land for myself. I think Æthelhere approved of my decision. Our mounts moved slowly into the wooded hill, their hooves disturbing the fallen leaves on the wood’s floor causing a crisp rustling sound that provided an eerie soundtrack to our ride.

“Think they’ll come?” Æthelhere looked at me with genuine curiosity. His skill and speed on an individual level did not translate to tactics and military thinking. Our conversations during the course of the last month had at least given him a grudging respect to me in that department.

“They have to. The Bastard has no choice but to seek us out for battle. Why else is he here? The Normans aren’t the Norse. They’re not interested in plunder. William wants... the kingdom.” I nearly said my kingdom. I was careful not to say that to others. Only Father Æthelbald knew that I still felt England should be mine. But the burning resentment I had felt in January had cooled to a dull ache, my fate held a different path at that time.

Æthelhere just grunted at my analysis. Whilst he respected my knowledge, he hated having to acknowledge that I might know what I was talking about.

“You might be right endwerc. But Prince Godwine has been bleating about how we should be on the Watling Street blocking the Bastard’s route to London.”

I spat on the floor to show my opinion of Prince Godwine’s plans. “That little prick would say that. Much easier to sit on your arse on a wide flat road than lug it up and down a hill.”

Æthelhere laughed. He and I shared common ground when it came to Godwine. “It’s a mystery how that boy could be the offspring of the King. Now, Eadmund, there’s a proper Prince if you ask me.” He was just trying to wind me up and I, fool that I was, bit; hook, line and sinker.

“A proper prince? And what would a backwards thegn from the arse end of nowhere know about being a proper prince! Neither of them are Princes, they’ve only been part of the royal family for 10 months. 10 whole months makes him a Prince, are you completely....” I stopped mid rant as Æthelhere broke down laughing. I felt my face going red as I realised what he had done.

“Bastard.” I said softly.

“That was... brilliant. I haven’t laughed like that for quite some time. Thanks endwerc!” Æthelhere was grinning at me widely. I sat in moody silence as we moved through the wood to the other side of the hill and look down towards the distant Watling Street, where the sight that greeted us cheered me immensely. For smeared across the countryside was the Norman Army moving towards the downs, seeking out the fight that William had to have.

Æthelhere sighed and looked at me.

“There’s going to be no living you now, is there, endwerc?”

I grinned at him triumphantly. For I was going to get my chance to prove myself and show that maybe I was the man that deserved the kingdom.

Wyrd bið ful aræd

Detling Hill, Near Maidstone, 7AM, 2nd November 1066

The morning of November 2nd dawned bright and cold. There was a hard frost covering the ground that caused men to huddle closer to the embers of the dying fires from the night. Men’s breath rose as gusts of steam and quickly vanished into the watery sunshine of the morning. I stood at the top of Detling Hill by the tree line watching the Normans stir from their camp. I was full of nervous excitement at the thought of my first shield wall and had been ready for battle since I had returned to camp with Æthelhere the previous evening.

I was dressed in my war finery for the first time, though it was sadly not to be the last. I had a comfortable leather gambeson on underneath the sturdy set of mail that I had inherited from my father. My leather boots had 2 iron strips on either side to offer protection to any low blows aimed at my ankles whilst my forearms were protected by a sturdy pair of leather greaves. I had a plain lime wooden shield that had a sturdy iron rim to protect it from swiping blows. My prized possession was my sword. I had inherited it from father who claimed it had stayed in our family since the days of Alfred the Great. How true that claim is will never be known to me, but I choose to believe it. And perhaps more importantly, other men choose to believe it. The blade itself was made from a mixture of iron and steel that was meant the sword hard a hard edge and caused the main part of the blade to appear as if it had a swirling pattern to the metal. The pommel of the sword was a worn wood that had a silver inlay gilded into it with 2 crucifixes embedded on either side. It was a fine sword and has served me well over the years of my life and on that morning, I was anxious to use it for the first time.

A cough behind me broke my thoughts.

“His lordship wants you.” Æthelhere gave me a wry smile after giving me his message. He could sense my nerves and apprehension; it was a feeling that he knew all too well.

“I think he can find someone else to put his armour on for him.” I had no desire to speak to Godwine. I had tried to give advice to him the previous evening but was given a curt dismissal. And now he wanted my help? Laughable.

“Well, you’re not going to find anything else to do today if you don’t go over there endwerc.”

I scowled at Æthelhere but decided to follow him to Godwine, who was sat in his tent surrounded by the lackeys. Despite the cold he was sweating and looked wild eyed. He was as nervous as I was, but seemed to have no problems showing it. I silently offered a pray thanking God that the father and not the son lead us that day. I dread to think what could have happened if Godwine was in charge.

“Lord Eadgar. So nice of you to join us. I would hate for you not to know the role you are to play in today’s battle.” Godwine gave a thin smile of triumph as he continued “As all men know, my father, the King’ he made of point of looking at me then. I resisted the urge to break his nose again ‘has given me the honour of commanding our right flank in today’s battle. He has informed me that he expects the Normans to try and break our shield wall. They will fail. We will hold our ground and they will have to charge up hill. Caution’ he paused to stare at me again. I rolled my eyes ‘will grant us a God given victory.”

If Godwine was expecting men to cheer him, he was sorely disappointed. It was hardly a speech to inspire men to feats of greatness in combat, since it translated to stand there and try not to die before they lost. I sighed. Godwine spun on me.

“You have something to say Lord Eadgar?”

“Me? No. Your words are more than enough for everyone to know exactly what you’re about Lord.” A few men laughed at that. Godwine clenched his jaw and curled his fists, looking at me with an uncontained rage.

“Then keep quiet Lord Eadgar. You should understand your place here by now and in case you don’t, you and Æthelhere will form our reserve. The rest of us will win us the battle.” Godwine’s eyes flashed in triumph. He was deliberately trying to keep him out of the battle and Æthelhere was suffering for having become friendly with me. I looked at Æthelhere and mouthed a silent apology. He shrugged his shoulders. I was angry, but there was nothing I could do, Godwine was determined to make sure I did not get the chance of creating a reputation for myself because of his fear of what I represent. It was a decision that would kill hundreds.

So that was how, an hour later Æthelhere and I were stood with his men behind the main Saxon line on the right hand side of the army. Harold held the centre with 2000 men and his brother Gyrth, Ealdorman of East Anglia held the left with another 2000. At the foot of the hill the Norman army was arrayed for battle and I studied their disposition with interest, for it was far different than any Saxon or Norse army I had seen before. They were arrayed in 3 large lines. Archers in front, infantry behind and the feared heavy cavalry in the rear - it did not look to me as if they were planning anything fancy; come straight up the hill, break out shield wall and destroy the Saxon Kingdom of England.

My thoughts were interrupted by sound of the Saxon army preparing for war. Thousands of swords, spears and axes were slowly and rhythmical being beaten on the iron rimmed edges of thousands of shields, causing a cacophony of noise that filled the morning air. Slowly and perceptibly I heard the sound of a thousand voices come together, chanting one single word again and again.

“Uht”

The chanting and hammering kept getting louder and louder and the hairs on the back of my neck raised and I felt the battle lust take over me. I knew I had to get in the battle somehow, because I was born to do this.

Battle.jpg


And I was right. I would get my chance.

Wyrd bið ful aræd
 
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Tapscott: I know. I love that line too and I can't resist weaving bits of real history into my story where I can. As for the Norse being ready its still the flaw in game with the Stamford Bridge start in my eyes. The English get a negative modfier for attacking the Norse at York. The one change that I made to the save that I mentioned at the start is so that the Saxon Army would not fight Hardrada at York, which worked out pretty well.

Aetherius: Glad you like it! Hope you enjoy the rest as much!
 
Part 1 - Continued

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Detling Hill, 11AM, 2nd November 1066

The Norman Heavy Cavalry spurred their mounts into a slow trot before gathering speed as the pushed up the incline of the hill, their hooves churning up the ground spraying mud in all directions and causing the earth to shake as their reached the irresistible crescendo of their charge and tried to break our shield wall for the umpteenth time that morning. Spears cracked against heavy bosses of the shield wall. Men screamed in agony as a few gaps were found and the spear thrusts pieced through mail and flesh. Horses roared in pain as the wicked Saxon axes wreaked havoc to those that dared ride to close to the Saxon lines. But the shield wall held; just as it had held for all of the attacks over the last 2 ½ hours.

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And I was left drumming my fingers against the rim of my shield, unable to join the fight due to the arrogance and jealousy of 1 man. Æthelhere was lazily throwing his seax between his hands, an amused smile on his face as his watched my restlessness. I could not stop fidgeting, eager to do something, anything to get involved.

“We’ll get a chance Eadgar. Don’t worry.” He called to me over the screams of the ongoing battle.

“When?’ I snapped back at him in misdirected anger ‘That little turd won’t let me get anywhere near the fight!” my face was etched in a snarl, unable to suppress my rage once more. Æthelhere just smiled and said 4 simple words.

“Wyrd bið ful aræd.”

He was a much smarter man than I ever gave him credit for.

There was a slight lull in the noise of the battle as the Norman horse started to pull back all along our line. In the centre and on our left the Norman withdrawal was as calm and orderly as the previous 3 attempts, but there was something different with the withdrawal to our front. The Norman horse were milling around in confusion, just out of range of the shield wall. The centre and right wings had withdrawn and the archers, swiftly followed by the infantry were making a steady advance forward. Yet in front of us, there was chaos. The foot soldiers had started to make their way up the hill but the horse were still to withdraw. Whether they had lost their command or their wits from the repeated failures, none of us knew. We threw insults at them of course, but little else, for we did not need to do anything but hold.

Then, almost unnoticed there was a ripple of movement towards the rear of the Norman horse. It is hard to tell exactly when panic takes hold in a battle. One minute men can be fighting like demons and the next they can be running for their lives. The reasons for the Norman actions late that morning are a mystery to me, even today. Yet all at once, as if released by some invisible signal, the Norman horse turned and started to flee down the hill, where they promptly crashed into the advancing foot soldiers causing me to laugh.

“This? This is supposed to beat us?” I asked Æthelhere, unable to contain my amusement with the situation.

There are times when I wished I kept my mouth shut.

Amongst the hoots of derision and insults that were being hurled at the milling Normans I heard the shout before anyone else near me. But I dismissed it, thinking that my mind was playing tricks on me and that my ears were dulled by the maelstrom of noise that accompanied the morning’s fighting.

But then a quizzical look spread on Æthelhere’s face, he turned to look at me.

“You hear that?

I nodded. It was faint, but distinct. Someone was shouting for men to advance. I struggled to understand who could be giving such a ridiculous command. The orders had been pretty clear, the shield wall would hold. It is the greatest strength of a shield wall - a line of overlapping shields that offers each man protection through his neighbour and we let the enemy break upon our strength. Only then do we charge, because the shield wall is not a mobile tactic, once it is broken, it is almost impossible to reform. And yet someone was trying to break the shield wall before the enemy was being driven from the field, if they succeed, our entire right flank would be decimated as the Normans would surround them. No one would be stupid enough to follow an instruction to walk to their own doom.

But the order rang out again and to my horror a number of men started to move forward.

“Hold you idiots. Hold” My voice was barely audible above a whisper and my hope was folly. The trickle became a flood as men poured forward believing that the battle was won. I look round trying to make sense of what was happening. Some 800 men of our right flank were now moving down the hill about to hit the tangled Norman lines. Leading them was the man who had given the order to charge, swept up in the belief of his own arrogance, it was Godwine. Looking back at those events, I’m tempted to laugh. Godwine, the man who preached caution all summer and all autumn, the man who wanted to hide safely behind the shield wall had finally found his attacking instinct; at entirely the wrong time. Now, when men talk of the Battle of Detling, Godwine’s charge is talked about in hushed awed, as a moment that he found himself as a warrior. I laugh at those claims as they bear no resemblance to the reality of the charge - it was nothing more than pig headed stupidity.

There was an almighty roar as Godwine’s charge crashed into the Norman line and it was then that I saw what I had started to suspect. If it was planned or not? I had no way of knowing, but Godwine had charged his men into an almighty trap.

“Sweet Jesus.” I exclaimed as I began to understand the full horror of the disaster unfolding in front of me. The Norman Horse had untangled themselves from their foot soldiers and were now making to curl round the exposed right flank of Godwin’s charge. The Norman Cavalry from their centre line had also seen the charge and were gathering to charge the left flank of the engaged Saxons. The 800 or so men that had charged forward would be cut to pieces, leaving our right flank horrifically exposed to future attacks. We would not be able hold off the Norman attacks for they would have the advantages of numbers and would be able to wear us down until we lost. Unless Godwine’s men could be saved, the battle would be lost.

NormanCavalry.jpg


I will not pretend and say that I thought about the decision. I just knew I had to act.

“We need to move, quick!” I shouted my instructions to Æthelhere who nodded his assent. He and his 250 men started to follow me without hesitation and for that I was thankful. We passed the confused remnants of Godwine’s command. I saw Wiglaf, one of the leading thegns from Wiltshire and the most senior looking man I could find.

“Extend my line!” The sound of my voice broke the look of disbelief etched across his face. He blinked rapidly before nodding his head. I couldn’t tell if that was agreement or even if he was going to follow my instructions. I just had to hope and pray that my wild gamble would work.

I skidded to a halt about halfway down the hill, between our original line and where Godwine had led his reckless charge. I nearly slipped on the treacherous mud that had been churned up by the repeated Norman charges, but Æthelhere put his hand on my shoulder to brace me. I looked round and saw our men starting to fall into position.

“Shields!” I roared out the command and was satisfied to hear the reassuring sound of wooden shields crashing together. I tried to slow my breathing down and survey the picture unfolding. The dual Norman charge had hit the flanks of Godwine’s exposed troops and the butchery had commenced in earnest. Unprotected by the strength of the shield wall, the English soldiers had little safe defence against the weight and power of the Norman charge. There were small groups of huddled men with interlocking shields, but they were being splintered, broken and killed. They needed a rally point, a place to reform the line and get back into the safety of the shield wall. And that was exactly why I had taken 250 men forward, it was a huge risk, there was every chance that we would be swamped; either by our own survivors or by the Normans. In fact, it was more than likely I had just got all 250 of us killed. But I did not think of any of that at the time. I just offered a quick prayer to God and ran with it.

“Reform on my line! REFORM damn you!” I gave everything to that shout. A number of Godwine’s men twisted their heads, hearing my shout over the din of the battle and saw the relatively safety of my small, thin line. They broke for the cover and protection that we offered, not many at first, but then more and more of Godwine’s men went, knowing that they were doomed if they tried to stand and fight; some did try and paid with their lives, But their small fights gave pause to a Norman chase. It gave me a chance.

“Endwerc!’ Æthelhere poked me in the ribs ‘If we’re not careful, they’ll break our lines!” He pointed to the retreating men of Godwine’s command who in their rush to escape were trying to force gaps in our own shield wall. To my disgust I could see at their forefront was Godwine himself. I nodded to Æthelhere to show my understanding of the danger we were in and start calling to the running men.

“Extend the line! If you want to live, extend the line!” Some heard. Some obeyed, many did not. But my men stood firm, shoved them into position and cowered them into reforming and just in time, for the Normans had noticed the new challenge we presented and came at us, cheering and full of confidence and I was ready for my first shield wall.

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I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and the blood rushing to my ears as the Norman foot soldiers ran screaming into us. I saw the man making a direct charge to me. He had a large kite shield with a large green hawk emblazoned on the front and I could see the corners of his mouth curled in a ferocious snarl, screaming something unintelligible at me as he rushed at me. I braced my legs and left arm to absorb the shock of the man’s charge. His shield crashed into mine sending a shockwave through my body, whilst he tried to bring his sword over the top of my shield to land a crippling blow onto my forearm.

I quickly forced my shield up along the edge of his and his blade dug into the rim of my shield with a resounding crack. His eyes widened with fear as he realised that his sword had lodged in my shield and I could see the sweat forming on his face as he tried to wrench it free. Gritting my teeth I wrenched my shield downwards, dragging his arm with it, whilst at the same time swinging my sword hard and fast across the top of my shield. The sword swung true and ripped into his mail, breaking the links and slicing into the flesh and muscle underneath. The man screamed in pain and withdrew his arm, letting go of his sword and causing his shield to drop down. A vicious spear thrust from the man to my left, Sighere, took the Norman in the throat and he collapsed at my feet, dying, the blood bubbling from the gaping wound in his throat, further exposed as Sighere tore the spear backwards. I roared in triumph and felt I could take on anyone at that moment.

I looked to my right and saw Æthelhere’s sword dancing in and around the Norman in front, landing a range of blows. None were fatal but the Norman was focused entirely on defending against Æthelhere. He did notice as I brought my sword in low and swiped it across the back of his calves. His leather boots were sliced open and he screamed in pain as my sword cut the feeling to his lower legs and hamstrung him. He collapsed to his knees, making a pathetic mewing noise as my sword swept across his exposed throat. It did not occur to me then, but his was the first life that I took. Father Æthelbald taught me that taking another’s life is one of the worse sins any man can commit, but I felt nothing but elation at that moment. I was born to do this, I was as certain of that then as I am today. Of course, now, I have lost much of the speed and strength I possessed in my youth. Men look at me and wonder how such an old man could be known as such a warrior, but it started that day, on that mud splattered hill in Kent.

I have no idea how long we stood there; it may have been 5 hours, but it was probably closer to 5 minutes. I just know that Æthelhere and I made a formidable combination. Between his speed and my power we had no problems dispatching anyone who came into our range and the Normans attempted to move past our small part of the line. The last man to try was frantically trying to regain his balance after Æthelhere’s sword had hooked his shield between his legs, causing him to stumble, so he did not notice my sword sliding into the weak point of his armour between the joint of chest and shoulder. I felt resistance as my point attempted to pierce his skin and I increased my pressure, feeling the point break the surface, slid through his chest breaking through muscle before finally stopping at the man’s heart. He died with a short exhale of breath and a curse on his lips.

I took the small break presented us to look around. We had taken casualties, but far more Normans had been killed. Our original line had managed to save some of Godwine’s men and thankfully, Wiglaf had extended his line down the hill to link with my, offering protection down to my left flank. I felt a stinging pain on my left shoulder and noticed a deep tear in my mail and blood seeping through a wound. I had not even noticed I’d taken it. My plan to save what I could of Godwine’s charge had worked; I now had the difficult task of trying to save us. The most difficult part of my plan was to get us back up to the tree line and reform the right flank in line with the rest of the Army. Walking forwards and maintaining a solid line of shields? That was one thing. Walking backwards, up a hill whilst someone is trying to kill you? Much more difficult. I looked at Æthelhere.

“It’s time. Pass the word down to those that have joined us. We go slow. One step at a time.” I found myself breathing hard, trying to recover. Æthelhere nodded and passed the orders down the line. The pressure had slackened along the entire line and it seemed as good a time as any to try it. I slammed my sword hilt against my shield to beat out the rhythm and it was picked up by the men behind. Step by step we started to inch back up the hill. For a moment I allowed myself to hope that we would be able to get back up the hill unmolested, but that dream was quickly crushed as the Normans noticed what we were trying to do and they attacked again. It was then I understood why the pressure had eased along the line, The Normans had pulled back their foot soldiers to allow the Horse to try and break us and it was they who were charging up the hill to try and break us before we reached the safety of the tree line. They could see their opportunity to destroy a third of our army slipping away and it added to their desperation as they slammed into our shield wall.

I have fought in more battles than I care to remember and large parts of them a now something of a blur to me. I know I fought, I know I killed and I know I was wounded. I know which ones I won and which ones I lost, but most of the salient details are now beyond me. But I remember every inch and every minute of the part of the Battle of Detling. The shake in the ground as the horses stormed us towards, the noise of 2 tonnes of flesh and metal pounding the ground and the sorts of the horses. The feeling of dread as I knew there was nothing I could do but tense my muscles and brace for the impact of the spear on my shield. I do not mind admitting I was frightened.

But we held; the horses could not or would not charge the shields and bristling metal that welcomed them. The Normans horse could only ineffectively poke at our shields with their spears and if they could not force an opening at full gallop, they had no chance from leaning from the saddle. So slowly, inch by inch we made our way back up the hill. The line straightening and safety came ever closer. My arm was bruised and my shoulder burning in agony, but we there. I had charged 250 men down the hill and I came back with 600, we rejoined the main line of the army at the tree line and the Normans disengaged. Æthelhere slapped me on the back, a huge grin on his face for I had saved the right flank of the army. I wore a stupid smile on my face, unable to believe what we had done. I looked down the hill and saw that it was littered with dead and dying soldiers; some were English but to my eyes, far more were Norman, maybe two times the number of our casualties. No one needed to tell me, because I knew then, I had done a marvellous thing.

Then I looked to my left and saw the death of a Kingdom.

Wyrd bið ful aræd
 
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Comments

Aetherius: Thanks! Good to know you like it! :)

Tapscott: You'll have to wait and see what happens to Godwine, but it is funny you should mention arrows...

I hope anyone else reading likes the latest update. First time I've ever written a battle scene. Plan to have the rest of the Battle up tomorrow. Wanted to get it all done in one go but I ended up with far more than I originally planned.
 
The death of a Kingdom?

Harold gets captured by the Bastard?
 
Comments

Might not get the next update done until a little later this week. I'm coming to the end of a week off and have had to spend today doing the work I needed to do before I went back and obviously won't have as much time from tomorrow. :(

Little bit of feedback for the questions.

Aetherius: Not sure to be honest. I've played up until April 1111 and he's still going strong, so I've got plenty of his story to tell! I might carry on until I complete some goals or I might end this story with his death. Frankly, if I get up to where I've played to I'll be impressed with myself.

Comm Cody: A king will get captured in battle during this story, but it's not here!

Tapscott: Thanks! Hopefully it will make sense when I get the next update finished.
 
Part 1 Continued

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Detling Hill, 3PM, November 2nd 1066

It was the King’s banner that drew my attention. It started to flicker and topple a number of times, before being righted again. It was ripped and torn in countless places, telltale marks of a storm of arrows that had passed through it. I narrowed my eyes to try and make sense of the maelstrom engulfing the centre of our line. I had been so engaged in my own desperate fight that I had forgotten there was a battle being fought all along the hilltop and it dawned on me that we were losing. Seeing the failure on his left, William seemed to have gathered most of his strength in the centre and was launching an almighty attempt to break our line there and it was starting to look to me as if he would do it. I looked around to quickly assess the position on our flank... and it seemed safe enough. We had mauled the Norman conroi opposing us badly enough that they shouldn’t be a threat. I made my decision.

“Æthelhere!’ he looked up at me wearily, but still grinning ‘we’re going over there,” He turned to look at where I was pointing and furrowed his brow when he realised that I wasn’t joking.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate you, Endwerc?” Æthelhere said with a groan.

“You’d be bored without me.” I flashed him what I thought would be a winning smile. He just rolled his eyes.

“Fine. But if you get me killed I’m warning God about you, Endwerc.” He replied whilst hefting up his shield. I turned to look for Wiglaf, the thegn from Wiltshire who had helped save my suicidal rescue mission from being just that, suicidal. I found him staring down at the centre of the battle with a looking of growing concern on his face.

“Wiglaf!’ He turned to look at me ‘I’m going over there. I need you to hold the line here.”

“Yes, Lord. Good luck,” He looked relieved that someone was making a decision for him. I look back on it now and think it must’ve been strange, a callow youth of 16 giving orders to men twice his age, but it seemed to make perfect sense then.

I had Æthelhere and around 200 men ready to run to reinforce the battle going on in the centre, yet before we could move, a scrawny, wild eyed figured ran over to me. His face was muddy and his mail was dented and torn, whilst his short shallow breaths were a sign of his nervousness. It was Godwine.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He almost screeched his question as an accusation.

“I’m going over there.” I did not have the time or patience to deal with Godwine then.

“What? You’re leaving?!” his voice took on an edge of hysteria and triumph

“Well. Yes.’ I spoke as if I would to a small, simple child. ‘We’re the reserve, remember? So I’m going to do my job.”

“But we’re not to leave!’ he whined ‘those are our orders - to hold the line. That means we can’t leave! I’ll have your head for disobeying orders!”

I just stared at Godwine, staggered by the hypocrisy and idiocy of the man. Despite the fact he himself had nearly caused the destruction of the right flank of the army by disobeying the instructions given to us by Harold, he was now telling me not to go and help where the battle was going to be won or lost? I tried to move past him, but he side stepped to block me, his eyes bulging in disbelief at what he perceived, correctly, to be my defiance.

I smiled pleasantly at him.

“I won’t ask you again. I’m going over there and I don’t care what you tell me.” I was as graceful and charming as I could manage; which surprised Godwine, but did not deter him from trying to block me again.

“And I’m telling you...” the rest of his protest was cut off in a squeal of pain and explosion of blood as I drove my fist solidly into his face, breaking his nose for a second time. There was a slight pause and a collective intake of breath as those around tried to decide how to react. I took the decision out of everyone’s hands by nodding at Æthelhere

“We go now.” I said simply.

Men sometimes ask me if I regret my actions towards Godwine, which just makes me laugh. If I knew then what I know now? I would’ve gutted the bastard.

And so we moved. Despite the bruises, the cuts and the weariness covering all of my man, we ran as fast as we could. I noticed as we went that we were not the only men being sucked into the fight into the centre - men on both sides were being drawn into the melee and I knew that this was where the battle was going to be decided. We hurried the 400 yards down the line towards the heaviest fighting, around Harold’s banner and I could see the fragility of our line, The Normans had pushed the shield wall back either side of the cluster of men gathered round Harold, so they stuck out like a headland breaking into a Norman sea and they scented victory. A huge, gut curdling guttural roar told me before I saw it - to the right of Harold our shield wall had broken and the Normans were trying to pile through the gap they had created. It was this gap that was closest to me and my on rushing men.

I screamed defiance as I hurled myself towards the gap, dimly aware that behind me Æthelhere and the rest were using my name as a war cry, crashing into the nearest body with the boss of my shield raised to head height and I was reward with a sickening crunch, whilst my momentum carried me over the falling body below and into the break in the Saxon line. The ferocity of my charge had stalled the Norman ranks, but I was horribly exposed; for the shield wall was gone and my men were trying to fill in the gaps. The headland of troops that surrounded Harold was fast becoming an island and I could see Harold in the thick of the fighting. He had lost his helmet and his hair was matted against his face through sweat as he swung a large axe in devastating, scything blows around him.

I moved without thinking towards the closest press of the fighting, stepping through the mud, blood and bodies already littering the floor. A charging Norman soldier thrust his spear in an attempt to skewer me and I simply slid to left the and stepped inside the spear point, driving my sword swiftly into the man’s overextend wrist severing bone and tendon, leaving his hand useless. His face looked at me in a mute appeal of clemency, but I felt none in me and finished him off quickly by driving my sword through his leather jerkin and into his heart. This was now how I experienced the battle, no longer confined to the shield wall but a series of desperate individual encounters. I could not tell you how many I had, but I could feel my sword arm starting to grow tired and I was having trouble lifting my shield high; the cut in my shoulder aching and throbbing more than I had realised. Despite this, I found myself with Æthelhere and a score of our men joining the band around Harold and I could see that we were pushing the Normans back.

It was then that I felt the now all too familiar sensation of a small tingling in my feet, soon turning into a vibration that started to shake the ground and my whole body. The Norman horse was charging once again and I felt my stomach churn as I realised that I did not have a solid shield wall to protect me. What I did have was the other men around me - English and Norman, dead and alive that broke the impetus of the group charge and split the Norman horse into small bands, desperately trying to carve a path to Harold. It was one such group that barrelled towards me. The leader was riding a large black stallion and clad in fine mail, his sword shone in the late afternoon sunshine as he had raised his sword to deliver a death blow to his intended target: Me.

I waited on the balls of my feet until the rider was almost on me, his sword flashing down in an effort to slice me in half. I quickly dropped and dived to my right to try and dodge the sword blow aimed at rearranging my head. The rider was experienced and moved his horse to trample me into the dirt. It was what I hoped he would do. I pushed myself out of the dirt and towards the horse, my body hidden behind the shield and my sword driving forward. I had expected the horse to shy away from my blade, but as a credit to its training it didn’t flinch. I slammed into the left flank of the horse and was sent sprawling backwards. The animal roared in pain as my sword was buried deep into its shoulder, its leg buckling, unable to support its weight and that of the rider, who was thrown from the saddle to the ground.

Dazed and winded I pulled myself to my feet. My shield had shattered in the impact with the horse and my left arm was numb. I suspected it was probably broken. I saw the rider was still alive, but similarly dazed, so I drew my seax from my belt and gingerly made my way over towards him. He had pushed himself to his hunches so slammed my boot into his face, sending him sprawling back to the floor. But before I could reach down and slit the man’s throat I heard Æthelhere call to me

“Eadgar! Watch out!”

I looked up to see 2 Norman horsemen recklessly charging their mounts towards me. I started to step backward, knowing I had virtually no chance to dodge them. One of the horsemen pulled up by the prone man, the other looked to remove my head. It was then that I slipped on a pool of blood that had seeped onto the ground. It saved my life. For as I fell, that horseman’s blade did no more than flash over my head. As the Norman turned his mount round, I stayed on the floor, frozen in fear. To my surprise, the horseman turned and thundered on past me, rejoining the other horseman who was taking the prone man back down the hill to the rear of the Norman lines. I stayed on the floor for a dozen more heartbeats, still not believing my luck. I slowly sat up and was then promptly sick. Slowly and shakily, my breathing short and ragged I stood up. To my utter disbelief the Normans were in full retreat. I looked on in daze as a storm of arrows swarmed overhead to cover the withdrawal.

I jumped as Æthelhere placed his hand on my shoulder.

“We’ve done it!” he smiled wearily at me. I nodded in mute agreement. I swayed over to the horse I had killed, a fine looking animal, placed on my on its side and wrenched out my sword. I turned to face the retreat Norman Army, my arms outstretched

“I am Eadgar Eadwardson!’ I roared ‘and this is English land! MY land!” I was delirious on the taste of victory, young, arrogant and confident. And it was then I realised that there were no large cheers coming from our Army. I turned in confusion and then I saw.

Harold was wounded.

Haroldwounded.jpg


Maidstone, 9PM, 2nd November 1066

The mood in the church was sombre and reflective. There was little of the celebration and boasting you would expect after a victory, especially one as hard fought at Detling and especially considering what we were here to witness. The Ealdorman and thegns that had survived the battle were crammed into the nave to witness the event. The Godwinsons were up on the altar, with Harold sat in a simple wooden chair. His skin was pale white and clammy, his breaths were short and shallow and when he spoke there was a sickening rattle behind his words. Yet he still lived and his eyes were set and determined. He could’ve left this task for others, but chose to do it himself.

A hush descended on us as the Norman delegation entered the church. At the front was Duke William. He was an average height man of stocky build, he had deep brown eyes that were set in a square face, across which ran a large purple and black bruise that ran from his jaw, over his mouth and across his nose and left eye and his brown hair was cut short in the Norman style. Despite having lost, he still carried himself with great pride and arrogance, his eyes darting round the church taking in the sights. His eyes settled on me and he paused for half a step. He inclined his head to the left and gave a thin smile or a grimace, it was hard to tell. Then he surprised me by giving me a nod of acknowledgement and all eyes in the room swivelled to me. I looked momentarily confused and it was Æthelhere who whispered it to me.

“The horseman”

My eyes widened in surprise and at once I understood. The horseman at the end of the battle was William and it was the fact he was dragged away from the battle that had caused the rout and was going to cause the Norman surrender. My eyes refocused on William and I returned his nod. Seemingly content he continued to walk forward to talk to Harold.

It was over quickly. William acknowledged Harold as King and promised to withdraw his battered army back to Normandy. Although it was clear Harold was severely wounded, the Norman army was too battered to take the fight to us again. William would not throw away his Duchy on the off chance of gaining a Kingdom, at least, not this one. Years later William would get his wish to be crowned a King when he was anointed King of France in 1086, after being one of the leading figures in the rebellion that established the elective monarchy in France.

Once the Norman delegation left, the nobles of England started to file out. It was then that Father Æthelbald appeared at my shoulder and leant to whisper in my ear.

“The King desires you to stay, Eadgar.” I looked at him with a start, but his face was unreadable. He kept his hand on my shoulder until all of the nobles had left the church and then led me towards the rood screen behind which Harold had disappeared.

Harold was slunk onto a cot that had been prepared for him. His breathing was shallower, his face more drawn and his eyes glassier than when he had been dealing with William, clearly, it had taken a lot out of him. He looked at me and his face broke into a tired smile.

“Ætheling. I hear I have lot to thank you for” he wheezed as he spoke, a faint crackling sound to his voice,

“Lord. I just did what I thought was best’ I paused, briefly ‘I guess I was lucky”

Harold laughed and then started to cough. I saw blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. Father Æthelbald quickly went to dab it, but Harold irritatedly waved him away, he then turned his gave to me, as if weighing me up and looking for the right way to broach a subject.

“Did you hit Godwine?” he finally asked.

“Yes” I saw no point in lying.

“Why?”

“He’s a dangerous idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing. And I felt like it” I replied, petulantly.

Harold shook his head sadly and coughed again; more blood flowed.

“I appreciate your feelings and how difficult this has all been on you Ætheling. And you have given me great service, not just today. And I am grateful, more than you, for what you have done. I can give you some of what is yours. I am making you Ealdorman of Dorset, the lands of your ancestors.”

Eadgar.jpg


My eyes widened in shock and I started to stumble out some words of thanks. Harold raised a hand to stop me.

“Don’t thank me yet’ he looked at me again ‘Godwine IS my heir. Do you understand?”

I stared at Harold, trying to comprehend the two things. In the one hand he was raising me to be one of the great lords of England. In the other he was making a boy I thought a complete idiot to be my new King and two conflicting emotions coursed through me.

“Godwine?” I exploded in rage “But he’s a failure! He nearly cost you the battle! He can’t tell the difference between his arse and his elbow! What...”

“ENOUGH!” the power and force that reappeared in Harold’s voice stunned me into silence.

“Godwine will be King. You will have Dorset or nothing Eadgar; your family have no power beyond a name. Gyrth and Leofwine will support Godwine. Who would support you? No one. I am sorry. Truly. But that is the way of things. Please, make your peace with Godwine.” Harold looked at me earnestly, hoping to appeal to my logic. But I was young and foolish and could only see anger and rage.

“I thank you for Dorset... but I cannot thank you for Godwine. Nor make my peace.” I said quietly.

Harold closed his eyes and sighed.

“Then go” he waved his hand dismissively “before I change my mind.”

I turned on my heel and stormed out of the Church. An act I have regretted ever since, for Harold died later that night. So even though we had won a great victory, we mourned that evening. For the saviour of England was dead, the man who had made the Norse leave, defeated the Normans was no longer there to protect his nation and instead, we had Godwine.

DeadHarold.jpg


And I had I known what was to come, I would have truly despaired, as the nation had not been saved.

For Hardrada had lied.

Wyrd bið ful aræd
 
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