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Olden Weiss

Colonel
Jul 11, 2020
1.058
4.258
This isn't strictly an AAR yet, [ACTUALLY IT HAS AS OF NOW, BEHOLD!] but I've been wanting to set up for my new game tomorrow at the launch of Tours and Tournaments and I did it in a way that might interest some people. For those who don't know King Arthur Pendragon (5.2) is a tabletop roleplaying game of Arthurian fantasy, but it leans heavily towards the historical, or at least the believable, in terms of setting. I mean it's still Arthurian at its heart, but it goes deep into things like fiefdom management and it has a rather historically informed take on what it meant to be a knight in the 5th century.

I decided that though I lack the time to play a proper run of Pendragon, I'd use the family history sequence to establish the foundations of my coming CK3 dynasty. Whether this is largely historical or largely myth I intend to be ambiguous, but this will be how I ground my starting character in Britain in 867. With that in mind, the great majority of what you see in this "AAR" will be taken wholesale from the Book of Sires, an add-on book for Pendragon which goes into detail on a regional level for family history (with a great many typos not found in the original text, because I'm transcribing).

Anything that's directly relevant to the dynasty, I'll color so it stands out. These are events in which you roll on a table to see what happened to your ancestor. Each time there's a chance to gain glory and a chance for your ancestor to die that year. The more glory that's gained, the more that gets passed to your character at the start of the game.

As to whether I'll make this a proper AAR when the time is right... Possibly. It'll depend on many factors, but who knows? We'll see what the reception is like I suppose.

Without further ado...

Britain is steeped in crisis.

After Macsen Wledig (known in Latium as Magnus Maximus) come to rule the Western Empire, he sent Gratian Municepts with two legions to garrison Britain. They chased away invaders who had preyed upon Brittany for some years. While they were busy thus, eastern Emperor Theodosius defeated Macsen Wledig and beheaded him in July of 388. Many of Macsen Wledig's troops, as well as his sons, settled in Brittany; an event later known as the First Migration. As soon as Gratian Municeps heard, he seized power in Britain by killing the regent, King Dionotus.

For more than five years, the Britons suffered the tyranny of Gratian, but he was finally slain in 395. They appealed to Rome for help against barbarian raids, which came in the form of reorganized British defenses. Military authority was transferred from Roman commanders to local British chieftains by Count Stilicho, in an effort to curb the tide. One of these chieftains was Coel Hen, who was appointed Dux of Eburacum.

In 405, Britian was stripped of its garrison to protect Italy against barbarian invasions. Raids by Saxons, Picts, and Irish began almost straight away. Sometime in the realm of 410, after the abandonment of Britain by Honorius in 410 in which Britain was told, "Look to your own defenses," Coel Hen traded his title of a dux for that of a king. In the chaos that followed, he unified the various Cymric tribes of the North under his rule.

It is this reality into which Morfan ap Emyr is born of the Brigantes in the land of Cumbria, in the year 413. His father is a knight sworn to one of Coel Hen's land-owning warriors. He is raised by his God-fearing father and mother as a British Christian, a brand of Christianity native to the isles. They value chastity, energy, generosity, modesty, and temperance. They answer to no one religious head, each local king or nobleman appointing bishops and abbots in his own domain.




Year 415: In a bid to put an ent to the internecine warfare and barbarian raids in Cumbria, Coel Hen supports Constantin, son of Macsen Wledig, as High King and marries his daughter to Constantin. Another of his daughters marries Cunedda of the Votadini. High King Constantin ennobles the best men of each tribe as knights in return for military service, and brings peace to Britain for a while.

420: Coel Hen dies, his sons and sons-in-law dividing his kingdom. Most of the northern kings, both north and south of the Wall, can trace their lineage back to Coel Hen. His son, Ceneu, becomes King of the Brigantes.

423: Constantin sires his first son, Constans, whom he entrusts to a monastery in Winchester.

433: Constantin's next son is born and named Aurelius Ambrosius for his distant relative, St. Ambrose.

434: Morfan saw his 21st summer and was knighted.

435: Morfan married Eluned, a woman of the Brigantes.


436: Constantin sires his last son, Uther. Guithelinus, Archbishop of London, fosters both Ambrosius and Uther.

437: King Ceneu dies and is followed by his son, Mor, as the King of the Brigantes.

438: Geraint ap Morfan, Morfan's son and heir, is born in Malahaut.



439: High King constantin calls for warriors against the Irish invading at the mouth of the River Severn. King Mor of the Brigantes sends only a small fraction of his warriors, claiming the rest were needed for local defense against the pirates. Morfan sees garrison duty; nothing significant occurs on his watch.



440: King Constantin is murdered by his own guard, an Atrebates knight. The Irish invade Cambenet, but are beaten back by the Brigantes. Pirates harass the eastern coast. Morfan sees more quiet garrison duty during this year.



441: The Supreme Collegium receives a summons to gather next year to elect a new High King. The King of the Brigantes decides to take advantage of the chaos and the lack of a higher authority to expand his kingdom northwards. However, his army is ambushed and defeated by a coalition of northern Cymric tribes under the Votadini war-leader Cunneda, just north of Hadrian's Wall. Morfan sees garrsion duty with little to no combat.



442: The Supreme Collegium meets. The King of the Brigantes puts his own name forward as the next High King, claiming that Constantin's three sons are unsuitable. Either too out of touch (Constans, with his monkish inclinations) or too young (Aurelius and Uther). Dux Vortigern outmaneuvers him, however, through the Supreme Collegium's voting process and maanges to secure the votes to elect Constans as High King, no doubt intending to rule through his bookish nephew. Morfan is privileged to attend the coronation of King Constans as a bodyguard to his lord.

Pirates attack the mouth of the Humber this year, invading the Parisi lands. The King of Brigantes is willing to bring his troops to chase the pirates away, but this offer comes with a price: the Parisi must now accept being a vassal kingdom of the Brigantes.

Two tribes of Picts migrate to Logres, invited by High King Constans to settle there. They march through Cumbria with an honor guard sent by Vortigern to escort them, but they do not bother the locals.



443: Young High King Constans is murdered by his Pictish bodyguards. No one in Cumbria sheds a tear. Dux Vortigern has the murderers swiftly executed and is elected as the new King of Logres by the nobility, due to Constans' younger brothers having disappeared. A common rumor among the Brigantes is that they were murdered by Vortigern. King Vortigern summons the Supreme Collegium to gather next year, no doubt intending to have them elect him as the High King, too.

The Picts are furious over the slaughter of their kinsmen. The King of Brigantes has no intention of bending his knee to his rival Vortigern, and instead sends emissaries to the Picts, suggesting a joint invasion of Logres. They agree and together defeat the northern British, opening the way to the south for the Pict raiders. Morfan participates in the Battle of Cheviot Hills, in which the Brigantes and Picts under King Mor fight a caolition of northern tribes under Cunedda. He survives this his first battle, mostly by fighting cautiously.



444: The Picts and the Brigantes invade Logres with a great army. The Picts penetrate deeply into Logres in small raiding parties, striking suddenly and spreading terror, whilst the King of the Brigantes concentrates on subduing the Coritani to add lands to his kingdom. The Corditani huddle in their strongholds, fearful of the might of the Brigantes. The King of the Brigantes sends emissaries for their surrender. Morfan participates in raids against the Coritani, gaining small amounts of loot and glory.



445: The Picts continue their invasion. The Coritani stay huddled in their strongholds, quivering like sheep. Even their High King, Vortigern, hides in the south, afraid to meet the Picts and the Brigantes in the field. The Brigantes continue to harass the Coritani, besieging and taking their strongholds one by one. Morfan participates in the siege of the Coritani strongholds as a member of his lord's complement.



446: King Vortigern realizes he needs assistance against the furious Picts, and in good Roman fashion, hires new barbarians to fight the old barbarians. The Saxon kings Hengest and Horsa come from the Continent with their bands of warriors to join Vortigern's army. Thus reinforced, the British army marches north against the Picts and Brigantes. Battle was met near Lincoln, and it is a great victory for the British. But Vortigern does not follow this victory up by moving further north, where Morfan's liege held his lands. Morfan participates in the Battle of Lincoln, fighting well and managing to suvive the battle. Morfan's burning hatred for the Saxons is well attested by his peers, surviving in the saying, "Milwyr cyflog ymyrgar! Gadewch ni i ymladd ein brwydrau ein hunain!" (A/N I apologize to all the Welshmen on this forum for my Google Translate.)



447: Vortigern sends Hengest who had been reinforced by more Saxons from the Continent against the Pictish coast and the Brigantes. The warriors of Cumbria fight against these new enemies. In the north, the Northern Cymri manage to get the upper hand against the Picts and leave the Brigantes without their allies. Morfan defends against the Saxon raids, gaining some small glory.

After the successful summer campaign, Vortigern gives rewards. For the Saxons, the reward is the Isle of Thanet as foederati. More Saxons come. Some Brigantes say they see the handwriting on the wall and when the King's eyes are not pesent, speak of perhaps following Vortigern in this. After all, he is now High King.

Also this year, a prelate from the pope, the saintly Germanus, comes to Britain to condemn and combat British Christianity. He doesn't come as far north as Cumbria, however.



448: King Vortigern spares his own army, using the Saxons to defeat the Brigantes and drive the Picts back to the north. Some of the Brigantes nobles turn against their King after these defeats and submit themselves to Vortigern. Alarmed by this desertion, the King of the Brigantes rides south and surrenders to Vortigern himself, swearing loyalty in hopes of salvaging the situation.

High King Vortigern is glad to accept the King of the Brigantes swearing his oath in front of the entire court. As a reminder of just who the High King is, Vortigern says Brigantia will be divided, as some Brigantes have been unhappy with their King. Vortigern divides the kingdom into the Kingdoms of Bedegraine, Roestoc, Maris, and Malahaut, thus rewarding the Brigantes noblemen who deserted to him. The last kingdom still belongs to the King of the Brigantes. The newly made kingdoms all become loyalists of Vortigern except for Malahaut, whose King accepts the ruling of the High King with as much grace as he can muster. The Parisi regain their independence.

More Saxons come to Britain, including many families, and Hengest's daughter: Rowena. She becomes a favorite at Vortigern's court. Persistent rumors about the King favoring his new subjects, the Saxons, come north to the court. An example that proves this is Vortigern settling a group of Saxons, led by Beorhtric, Hengest's cousin, on the marshlands of Sorestan which had been depopulated by pirate raids and the recent invasion.



449: News from the Continent is persistent in saying that new foes, the Huns, are defeating the German tribes right and left. These savages are said to be half demon, half horse.

The Cumbrians are ordered to provide warriors to help fight against the Picts north of the Wall. Malahaut carries especially large burden. Despite the peace, the Coritani stage revenge-raids across the Humber with their Sorestan Saxon allies. They don't differentiate between Malahaut and other Brigantes, nor between Brigantes and Parisi. Morfan sees garrison duty, fighting against the Coritani raiders and gaining some small glory.



450: Vortigern, impressed with the battle prowess of the Saxons and even more with the talents of Rowena, marries her this year in a lavish celebration. Hengest receives half of the Cantii Civitas as her bride price and renames it to Kent. When the leader of the Cantii objects to the robbery of half his people's lands, he is executed for High Treason. Now whispers truly start: Vortigern prefers the company of the savage Saxons over the civilized Britons, his own kind. Who is next to lose their head for speaking against this tyrant?

Morfan helps the Saxons fight the Picts under Vortigern's orders this year. He had always been one of those who complained about the Saxons, and his complaints become more vocal during this time. He is recorded as saying to his peers, "Dewch i weld sut mae Vortigern yn meddwl mai ei eiddo preifat yw'r wlad hon, i'w rhannu'n barsel i'w hurfilwyr tramor. Ac mae unrhyw un sy'n gofyn a yw hyn yn iawn neu'n gyfiawn yn cael ei ddienyddio heb brawf! A ydym i fod yn gaethweision i'r teyrn hwn?" (A/N: Once again, I dread to think how off this translation probably is. Bear with me, I'm trying to be immersive here.)

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By now, Morfan has grown into a reliable knight, having won enough small glories over his career to have a moderate presence in his liege's court.

Though the King of Malahaut himself does not necessarily think of him by name when he requires swords,
his lord has come to view Morfan as a reliable spear on the battlefield and a loyal counselor at court.



451: The Huns, led by their king, Attila, invade Gaul for pillage and plunder, scouring the land of its wealth and slaughtering as they go. The commander in Gaul, Aetius, asks for all from all who would send it, and Vortigern sends a large contingent. He sends those who had spoken out against him, although curiously, he picks out also the Prince of the Parisi tribe to lead the Cumbrians. The allied army meets the Huns at Chalons, where the Huns are defeated and driven from Gaul. The Prince of Parisi dies in the fighting, leaving his father heirless. Cerdic is born to Vortigern and Rowena this year.

Fortunately, Morfan's renown is scant enough that he manages to avoid being sent to fight the monstrously mighty Huns. Instead he remains on the front lines in the north, fighting the Picts beside the Saxons he hates under Vortigern's orders. He fights well this year, gaining measurable glory.



452: The Saxons continue pushing the Picts back north, with Malahaut grumbling that they end up doing all the fighting while Vortigern showers the Saxons with favors. The Parisi are in a state of mourning as their beloved Prince had died in Chalons. The King officially declares a period of mourning.

Pilgrims returning from Rome report that Attila and his Huns invaded Italy, reaching the walls of Rome itself, but were unable to storm or besiege it. Some say the Huns were stopped because they lacked siege engines, others that they failed because of the piety of the pope.

Morfan fights at the Battle of Stirling, where Cumbrians under the King of the Brigantes fight Picts under local chieftains. Saxons were supposed to come and help, but they arrived too late.



453: Under Vortigern's orders, the Saxons continue pushing the Picts. He commands the Kings of Bedegraine, Roestoc, and Maris to send warriors to help his sons, Vortimer and Katigern, fight the Irish in Cambria, while Malahaut and Parisi are told to send troops to help the Saxons against the Picts. Despite this, the Coritani and their Sorestan Saxon allies continue raiding across the Humber. Morfan helps the Saxons fight the Picts, much to his chagrin.


454: The situation in Cambria worsens with the Battle of Aberstwyth being lost against the Irish. Saxons and many Cumbrians are still busy in the north with the Pcits, the skirmishing continuing. Morfan is among this number. The king of the Parisi, never really gotten over his son's death, dies without an heir. High King Vortigern claims the land for himself.



455: News arrives that Rome, the center of the civilized world, has been sacked! The tribe of Germans called the Vandals have done the impossible and brought Rome low. The Western Empire is finished.

Vortigern makes peace with the Picts to free up his Saxons. He moves Cornovii warriors to Dumnonia, and Votadini under Cunedda to Cambria, where they expel the Irish. Vortigern is persuaded to settle Saxons under Hengest's son Octa, establishing Nohaut in northern Malahaut. Such is the homeland of Lady Eluned, wife of Morfan. Then, another Saxon enclave under Horsa's son, Eosa, in former Parisi lands, founding Deira. Many of the Parisi flee to Malahaut. Some forsake their homeland and flee to Brittany. Those who do not are made subjects of the Saxons. Shiploads of continental Saxons flock to the new theods. As a result of the new arrivals, the King of Malahaut starts keeping a contingent of a hundred knights on call at all times.

Morfan attends court when word of these new Saxons arrives with the High King's writ giving them the northern land to be called Nohaut. From the King's reaction, Morfan knows it is not good. He calls a council and when it is formed, announces the High King's command. Some declare for war, others for submission. The cooler heads prevail this time.



456: Protesting the policies of King Vortigern, the eastern Britons decide to rebel late in the year. "A pox on the rebellion! With the Saxons so close, who needs to go anywhere else to fight?" say some in Cumbria. Others hope this Vortimer wins, while others decried this rebellion against the High King. Some Cumbrians, who have a beef with Vortigern and his Saxon allies, travel south the join the rebellion. Though Morfan considers it, his liege is raided by the Coritani this year and he stays behind to defend the holdings.



457: As soon as the weather permits it, the eastern Britons continue their rebellion. King Vortigern summons his army, including the Saxons, and marches against them. The loyal Kings send some of their warriors to help, while the King of Malahaut cites bandits as an excuse to not be able to attend. He keeps his warriors home, waiting to see if the rebels will win or not before committing himself. A great battle ensues in Kent, in which the rebels are crushed. Vortigern gives the great lands of the Cantii tribe to his loyal Saxons. Many Britons pack up and depart the land, moving to Brittany to escape the rule of Vortigern. Morfan is garrisoned during this time, according to the King's command to remain at rest.



458: Many dissident Britons depart the island, moving with their families and possessions to Brittany. Morfan, loyal to his lord, remains and stays on garrison duty this year. Vortigern starts breaking the tribal lands in Logres into smalle counties. Since Brigantia had already been broken up into smaller kingdoms, he doesn't bother with Cumbria. Vortimer's emissaries come in secret and start whispering about a new rebellion behind closed doors.

Strange man-eating beasts appear for the first time in the Cumbrian marshes, and a Saxon visitor mentions off-hand that they are trolls. "We used to have plenty back home." Needless to say, the locals are not amused.



459: In the higher mountains, rumors of a wyrm reach the King of Malahaut's ears. He sends knights to investigate. In Maris, a great hunt is organized that kills most of the trolls.

Bedegraine and Rosetoc, tired of being raided by the Coritani, complain to Vortigern about it. He promises to talk with the Coritani leaders to put a stop to the raiding. The concerns of the Maris emissaries about the trolls are also listened to. However, Malahaut emissaries complaining about Saxon raids receive a cold shoulder from the High King.

Morfan's estate is raided by the Coritani this year, and he gains scant renown in his fight to drive them away with his kinsmen. This includes his eldes son, Geraint ap Morfan, who has his 21st birthday and enters the service of his father's liege as a knight.



460: The King of Malahaut asks for volunteers to hunt the wyrm and they flock from all over Cumbria, as everyone wants to be a part of this legendary event. Prince Einion of Malahaut leads the hunt as is the first to land a blow on the beast. Young Geraint also takes part, facing down the dangerous beast with little heed to his own safety. Where his father is content to serve his liege quietly, Geraint sees an opportunity to make his family known across the realm by slaying this beast. Ultimately the wyrm is not killed by the hunters, but people assume it must have been mortally wounded, for it was not seen for many more years...

Morfan is garrisoned during this time and arranges for his son a marriage with Branwen, a strong-willed lady of Malahaut of the Brigantes.

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Geraint ap Morfan established himself early as a man of great valor and a fiery heart.

While it is unclear whether the story of the wyrm is true or merely a literary device to display his courage,
this valorous behavior appear in many of his sons' sons for generations to come.



461: With a message from Vortimer to the King of Malahaut, a great rebellion is started. As agreed upon last year, the northern Cymri meet the Malahaut forces and together march and defeat the Saxons of Nohaut in a fierce battle. The Saxons flee to Deira and their strongholds. The kings of Bedegraine, Roestoc, and Maris are surprised by this uprising and send messages of loyalty to Vortigern, even as some of their subjects join in the fighting against the Saxons. Morfan and Geraint both fight at the Battle of Newcastle, where British under the King of Malahaut fight Saxons under Octa, the Saxon man who claimed lordship over Lady Eluned's home. Both survive the battle and win glory for themselves.



462: Building on least year's successful battle, the King of Malahaut and his northern Cymri allies march against the Saxons of Deira who had been reinforced by the Coritani and their cousins, the Sorestan Saxons, as well as the Kings of Bedegraine, Roestoc, and Maris with their armies. The ensuing battle is lost by Malahaut and the northern Cymri. Morfan and Geraint fight under their liege and the King of Malahaut at the Battle of Deira Forest. Morfan's contributions are minimal, but noted. His son outshines him, to Morfan's great pride.



463: Ostensibly to bring peace to all sides, Vortigern and Hengest call a council of all combatants to meet at the Giant's Dance (A/N: Stonehenge) for a feast of peace. Seeking reconciliation, almost all British knights attend. The Saxons prove their worth with great treachery, though, and the majority of nobles in Britain (some three hundred) are slain in the "Night of Long Knives", along with the Kings of Bedegraine, Roestoc, Maris, and Malahaut, who had gathered to discuss the piece. Morfan is murdered in this treachery, but he dies gloriously fighting through great injury to protect his King to the last. Geraint blames Vortigern and swears vengeance.

In the subsequent confusion, a large part of the armies of each King were dispersed or slain. King Vortigern gave many southern lands to the Saxons, further entrenching them in Britain. It is on the heels of this evil event that Ciaran ap Gerant is born to Gertain and his wife, Branwen. Ciaran is, quite likely, the reason his father survives the night, for Ciaran is told to stay with his wife.



464: Vortigern retreats to Gomeret. He starts building the impregnable tower of Ganarew. The southern Saxons plunder where they will in the aftermath of the Night of Long Knives.

The Saxons in Cumbria revolt! They demand that Eburacum, capital of Malahaut and local center of culture since the days when Rome's authority was at its height in Britain, should be surrendered to them on the High King's orders. The new King of Malahaut, Einion, the son of the late King Mor, refuses, so the Saxons attack Malahaut in its weakened state. The other Cumbrian kingdoms send help, knowing they are next otherwise.

Geraint fights the Saxons near Catterick, where the British under King Einion face down the Saxons led by Octa. Here the 26 year-old knight dies gloriously in battle, slaying nearly dozen Saxons one after the other on his way to make an attempt on Octa's life before his countless wounds finally overcome him. For this he is called "Arth Ifanc yn Catterick" by King Einion, which is to say, the Young Bear at Catterick.

Whilst the Cumbrians marched to engage the Saxons there, the dastardly Saxons sent another force up the Ouse, which assaulted and took Eburacum by surprise. The news comes to the Britons at the worst possible moment, causing the Cumbrians to rout from the field.

After the battle, stories come back that the Saxons have also taken London and other important cities in the south, ravaging the neighboring countryside and causing many Britons to flee to Brittany. Branwen was among these, taking her young son Ciaran with her. There she grieved her husband for two years, and instilled in Ciaran the same hatred for Saxons his fathers had possessed.



469: After five years in hiding, Branwen is among those many exiles resettled to Logres by Aurelius Ambrosius, who came from Brittany to rebuke Vortigern and his Saxons with force of arms. She would remarry to Gwalchmai ap Ilar, a knight loyal to Aurelius Ambrosius from her homeland of Cumbria.



Over the next 15 years, Aurelius Ambrosius - and later his brother, Uther, who took the name "Pen Draig" - would war against Vortigern and his Saxon host, driving the Saxons to the fringes and reclaiming Britain for the Britons. In the year 484, King Heraut of Malahaut made this declaration while the Kings of Britain held a collective court regarding matters:

"We, King Heraut of Malahaut, the Centurion King, being of good feelings towards King Uther for risking life, limb, and his throne in defense of our beloved Cumbria, and with the recent defeat of the Saxons lessening the chances of any major conflicts in the near future, give our blessing for those brave knights who wish to go south and assist King Uther and his subjects against the depredations of the Saxons who still threaten his lands."

Among these would be none other than Ciaran ap Geraint, whose legend would slowly grow...


This is where the Great Pendragon Campaign would begin, at start of the Uther Period. Alas I've no time to play it out! Nevertheless, the outcome of this sequence will set the stage and the tone for my next save, concerning the young Arthifanc Dynasty in central Britain. I like that it landed me in Logres, because it gives me an excuse to start more towards the south, yet have reason to want the north once I break into the realm of dukes: "It's the land of my fathers."

I'm not yet sure if I'll keep them Welshmen who despise anything remotely Saxon (Arthifanc), or if I'll say that by now they've mixed with the Saxons like everyone else in their local area (Arþifanc). Thoughts on that matter would be helpful, though I lean towards the latter for historical plausibility. It's unlikely a small knightly house, eventually holding a county title, would have the means or even the mind to look to Wales for their marriages every generation for some 400 years.
 
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Well, that's an interesting series of events. I like it as a brief prologue.

I'll follow this AAR.

Also, inbreeding is definitely a thing - these Britons could turn to that if they decide that they hate the Saxons. Alternatively, they could also marry into Breton royalty... or Pictish/Irish royalty, for that matter.
 
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Well, that's an interesting series of events. I like it as a brief prologue.

I'll follow this AAR.

Also, inbreeding is definitely a thing - these Britons could turn to that if they decide that they hate the Saxons. Alternatively, they could also marry into Breton royalty... or Pictish/Irish royalty, for that matter.

Ooh, Breton royalty might be an angle... After all, Ciaran grew up with a foot in Brittany.

Edit: In the end I went for Anglo-Saxon because of the strange name of the first character.
 
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Currently on hiatus! Will (hopefully) get back to writing eventually!
[May 21] Added Book 2, Part X.

Overview
This is an 867 campaign (normal difficulty) beginning in Mercia, with the 27 year-old Earl of Lindsey. He is a custom character with well-rounded talents, but beyond him, everything will be up to the game's whim in terms of skills etc. I won't be metagaming, as best I can help it. I'll be sticking to what's sensible for the time, place, and people involved in every situation I make. In other words, I'm aiming to roleplay. This won't be an Ironman game, as is custom for me.

This is my first "proper" AAR. I did one a long while back about a naked Welshman in India, but that was more a novelty thing where I used images to show the progress of a dynasty over time. As this is my first time really doing my own AAR, I'm not fully sure what I'm doing. I'll be drawing inspiration from others with regards to format and such. (In particular, the front end layout will take a lot of beats from
The Lions of Olomouc.) Long story short, I hope I don't screw it up.

Also, I profusely apologize in advance for the hundreds of typos and syntax errors this AAR will contain.

The goal of this AAR is immersive contemporary narration. What do I mean by that? I intend to section the AAR according to the narration of characters who exist in the game, alongside the men of which they write. I'll choose a reasonable member of the court with decent Learning to take up the task of chronicling events, and their personality and view of various characters will tint the narration somewhat. I have no idea how this will work out (especially if it turns out one of them was part of a plot or something), but we'll find out.

I'll also be working in some dramatic prose here and there, in the form of writings that seem to retell a specific event, as a means to more closely peer into the lives of important figures in the save. Those will show up in quote boxes and will always be accompanied by some kind of illustration. Also note that while they may appear to be as immersion-driven as the rest of the AAR, these segments will always be true to the personalities and views of the characters of which they speak.


Meta Details
Mods Affecting Gameplay

Mods Not Affecting Gameplay

Game Rules
  • Exclave Independence is set to Significant.
  • Minor Diseases are set to Fewer.
  • Hybrid Culture Restrictions are set to Relaxed.
  • The game has No End Date. (The AAR will end on or before 1453, most likely, if I keep at it.)
  • Hungarian Migration is set to Random.


Table of Contents

Prologue: The Arthifanc Family History
Book One: The Lamentation of Lindsey


Book Two: Account of a Captive Knight




Learn About the Scribes

Learn about Ælfric
Learn about Ælfræd
 
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Cgeþ beheld as his men drilled according to his order. Reeve Cenræd wast no novice where matters of war were concerned, and his assessment scathing: "They shall not survive a purposed viking charge, milord." As they spoke, the sons of Ragnar Loðbrok made war with the Anglo-Saxons kings for control of the lands they dared call home. The affair was kept in disgust by Cgeþ. Heathens, claming the land of his ancestors! The thought wast bitter sop upon his tongue. Yet Cgeþ wast not an man quick to action. He wouldst not act in lack of plan and purpose.

"King Burghred meaneth to fight them," saidst the Earl, fishing for his marshall's opinion with a telling glance.

"And King Burgred hath far more men than we," answeredst Cenræd plainly. "Thou hast provided the liege levy to which thou art obligated. There be no clear reason why more Lindsey blood must be spilt in this conflict."

"One thousand eight hundred for King Burghred, one thousand five hundred for Ælla, and one thousand four hundred in East Anglia," saidst Cgeþ. "Once the more: How many do men say fight for Whiteshirt?"

"Six thousand, milord," said Cenræd.

"Six.
Thousand," Cgeþ spoke again. His eyes then fixt upon those of his marshall in silent judgment. Cenræd's brow did furrow in disapproval.

"Milord, if this be a test, I shall fail and gladly. As much as I detest the heathens at our doorstep, we gave our lot already," Cenræd insisted. Cgeþ folded his arms as he listened, visibly unmoved. Nevertheless, his advisor gavest his best effort. "Forget not the men-at-arms of Æthelred of Wessex. Three thousand strong. Together with the others, the field is equal."

"Dost thou suppose Æthelred shall send his men, Cenræd? Æthelred; a noted man of letters, not war. And suppose he doth send his men. Are we to leave the matter to flip of coin?"

"Milord, thine persistence art rather troublesome," Cenræd spoke openly. "Why must it be flip of coin? Why not instead it be left to the hand of God?" With a broad smile stretching across his full lips, Cgeþ extended a hand to grip the helm of his diminutive marshall (for 'twas too far a reach to grasp his shoulder).

"Cenræd, God hath given unto Mercia a son of Arþifanc blood in his prime," said Cgeþ. "What if I am to be His instrument?" With heavy sigh, Cenræd shook his head.

"With all due respect, milord, and there be scant a soul south of the Humber who doubteth thine sword: Our three hundred men-at-arms wouldst make little difference."

"It need not be men-at-arms which make the difference. Or doubtest thou the value of a knight in battle?"


- Romance of the IX Century (1543)


I. BAPTISED IN BLOOD
Early Spring, 867
In the reign of
Earl Cgeþ of Lindsey
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Though their lord be a man of strong character, the counties of Lindsey and Nottinghamshire are at this time domains of meager means. However, my lord means to use what reputation he has built to establish for himself a knighthood. He would bring noble and worthy men from across Britain to serve for a price, that together their spears might turn the tide of battle in favor of our beloved Mercia. This should not surprise me, for 'tis the nature of my lord's lineage to favour knightly courage.

I would be remiss if I did not first describe my lord and liege.


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The mighty and stoic Earl Cgeþ of Lindsey and Nottinghamshire is a man gifted in matters of war, having been educated by the late Eógan, himself one of Mercia's finest thinkers of strategy. He has studied the classics somewhat, but more than this, Lord Cgeþ prefers to rely upon his own good sense. He is particularly at home when holding ground, for his defensive formations beggar belief for efficacy.

Much like his late mother, the good earl is hearty of constitution, rarely falling ill. He also seems to have inherited his mother's quick wit. Lady Cyneburh, for all her deplorable manner, was undeniably a quick study in all things. Her only son follows this tradition, having surpassed his father in military affairs after only fourteen summers. On matters of speech, proper conduct, and spirit, he has also proven himself an able study. Such skills earned him the role of chancellor to his liege, King Burghred.

Yet the pursuit he most enjoys is that of bloody combat. Lord Cgeþ is a more than able fighter, his towering physique and expert swordsmanship fashioning him into a grand threat to those fool enough to raid south of the river. He is a man who prefers to fight beside his servants to leading them from horseback. When bled, he truly comes to life. It is a most spectacular thing. "A Boar in Battle, A Bear in Death." Truly he lives up to the saying of his house.

In manner, the earl is neither like his mother nor his father to any great extent - being far more measured and serene than both - yet has acquired his mother's tendency towards vindicating himself of evil. A trait which will surely prove a bane to the heathens far bank of the Humber! It is, of course, a trait most detested by our good Bishop Ceolnoth, of which he is most dutiful to keep me in mind when e're we speak. There is a matter both I and the bishop find even more troubling, however. Since his youth, our dear earl has been stricken time and again with lascivious thoughts regarding the fairer sex. I pray the control he exercises over his body in this regard never leaves him.

At present, the man they call "Hvitserkr" leads over six thousand savages in a conflict against our King Burghred and his contemporaries... And now, to add more fueld to the fires of hell, some viking from the south has also declared war upon Mercia. Seeking to undo these threats, my lord Cgeþ summons men of renown to fight for him.



Alas! In June, the foul vikings came in force, their sights first set upon our Lindsey. No less than four thousand came for us. I write this now in hiding, hoping that perhaps King Æthelred of Wessex will soon appear to turn the odds in our favour. Rumour holds that Earl Cgeþ eluded the enemy to join with King Burghred's army in the west. I pray it is so. Yet if the rumour that Warrick has fallen holds true, can we say it matters? Curse you, Ivar Ragnarsson!



I have received word that a great battle was joined in the marshland of Stamford, which Mercia lost decidedly. No marvel, given the difference in number. I hear also that King Burghred was captured by the foul Ivar 'the Boneless'. As for Earl Cgeþ, he escaped the battle and fights on valiantly. At last word, he challenged a viking contingent at Bedanford. The outcome was defeat, yet hopefully so: For I hear that the knights slew many Norsemen on the field. Mercia is now in the hands of Queen Æthelswith, but I hear her health is poorly just now. I pray God will protect Mercia.



As the May thaw sets in, I bear good news, sons of Cgeþ. The mighty earl has led what remains of King Burghred's forces to battle against some Count Olafr, who came from the south specifically to claim Lindsey. Leading Mercia's army, Earl Cgeþ and his knights gloriously rent the army of the Norse count and drove him back to the south. A second good tiding: The man they call 'Whiteshirt' has agreed to peace with the local kings.

It pains me to see Northumbria desecrated by heathen hands, yet Lindsey remains free of vikings. I shall accept this small blessing from the Lord, even though I must accept that the foul Norseman refuses to release our king. At this time, Earl Cgeþ marches south into Wessex to finish what was started. I hope to see him face to face soon, and tell him with joy that Lindsey remains in Anglo-Saxon hands.
 
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That's an interesting start. It feels very much like a chronicle. The Vikings threaten England, but they shall hopefully be beaten back.

This is a good beginning to an AAR. I mention this since you expressed skepticism about continuing your AAR in another thread. I'd recommend that you continue - commentary is in short supply on the forums right now, but people are probably reading (also, people who want comments are apparently supposed to put that in the introduction - I doubt that will help now, though...).

I look forward to seeing how this develops.
 
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II. SHIFTING LANDS AND LOYALTIES
Early March, 869
In the reign of
Earl Cgeþ of Lindsey

Cgeþ earns the Never Back Down perk
And fixt his gaze northward toward the River Humber did Cgeþ, a sword in his hand. As he brought his mind upon the former year's strifes and battles, the earl did see that the lands this side of the river were his own. His to rule and his to guard, as the river did the border mark. His eyes keen as sharpened steel, Cgeþ spake forth a solemn oath, to be carried upon the breeze to the ears of the unseen jarl beyond eye's reach.

"I shall yield not a grain of wheat. Come as you may, I shall resist you. Once, twice, thrice. How many times e're it take to send you back to the sea."

'Twould prove an oath not easy kept.


- Romance of the IX Century (1543)

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A new year is upon us, and my hope and prayer that it will be a year of quiet. There are many affairs that could be set in order in Lindsey if only these damnable barbarians would keep to themselves. It is not only Halfdan Whiteshirt, I lament to say. On this very side of the Humber, to our west, lie the occupied lands of Derby and Chesire, each under the control of Count Hæsteinn of a land called Montaigu. He is the one who stole upon us whilst we struggled against Whiteshirt, and he now lays claim to those territories as his own.

My lord reports that he is a formidable warrior, and a man of excellent knowledge when it comes to war. A troublesome foe indeed, if even the earl speaks highly of his capabilities. If he strikes east, will we have the means to resist him? I must needs discuss this contingencies against this threat at the summer council. For the time being, I shall thank God for this respite, and for the safety of my lord and his valiant knights.

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How swiftly fortunes change. God has seen fit to deliver another Norse host under that dreadful man Halfdan Whiteshirt to our gates. The Norseman himself threatens us with more men than I can count. Thousands, easily. Is the great heathen army truly the end of Christendom? Surely it cannot be so. Earl Cgeþ is not here. I say confident that the Norsemen cannot read our tongue that he is in the west, besieging the enemy in hopes of weakening their resolve for war. May God speed Lord Cgeþ and his army.

I am told King Burghred is free. If God be good, it may be that he can breathe new life into our forces. However I worry it will not be enough.



What a horrid autumn this has been. My lord's physician is slain along with two other courtiers. One of them was just a boy of thirteen summers. Do these heathens know no humanity whatsoever? Lincoln lies in the hands of the heathens. Norsemen pillage what they will, take who they will, and occupy every village in the county in numbers great and small. Remain in the stronghold, untouched for now, but worried for my future. The future of us all.



A most fortuitous turn of fortunes! Eadburh's people whisper of a war between Halfdan Whiteshirt and Count Hæsteinn! I can say for certain that far less Norsemen patrol the paths in Lindsey of late. Could it truly be that the man I thought would be our greatest threat may now bear deliverance? If so, it shall be solely by his hand, for the army of Mercia has been decimated. Our lord, reportedly, claimed two heathen strongholds and then fled to sea. I know not where he is now, but I shall have faith that he has not abandoned us.



December has come, and with it, Earl Cgeþ. His army is several hundred less than when he left, but he has told me the tale of what occurred in his absence. After claiming two strongholds, he fled by sea twixt Ireland and the isles claimed by Ivar the Boneless. Circling Alba, he landed to lay siege to Whiteshirt's home in the North Riding. He swore he was not but days from their capitulation when word came from King Bughred the grim news that I myself had already known. Lindsey had been surrendered.

There is great pain in my heart. I now stand as vassal to a terrifying Norseman. But I shall not surrender hope that God will yet use Earl Cgeþ for great things. I shall not surrender hope that these heathens will yet be driven from Britain for good. I cannot.



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I will, however, make record of what I have heard. First, it stands to be known that Jarl Halfdan's realm has been split in two, Lindsey isolated from the rest by the two campaigns of Count Hæsteinn. Pitiably enough, Earl Cgeþ sits in Nottinghamshire, caught between two great Norse hosts. Though it beggars belief, I hear tell that the earl raised his sword against King Burghred when Æthelred of Wessex invaded. I find such things difficult to believe, but all the same, Æthelred was the winner of that brief conflict. I have also heard that Earl Cgeþ finally married. A common woman, I am told, of sound economic mind. It was always a weakness of his, so the rumour has valid cause for belief. If so, I wish him many children, whether or not they ever read this chronicle.



Jarl Halfdan is dead! Waylaid by brigands in the forest, too many for his guards to overcome! What providence befalls me this day! His unassailable realm has fractured twixt his many sons, none of whom singularly possess the strength their of their father's realm. And already, or so the rumour goes, Earl Cgeþ marches for Lindsey with a host of five hundred, onagers in tow. Could it truly be that after all this time, God delivers Earl Cgeþ to Lindsey once more, only two years after I had given up? I have grown too hard to hope, and yet, a glimmer of light illuminates my soul at this moment. With the recent raids that have ravaged Grimsby the past months, this would truly be a Godsend.



The Liberation of Lindsey, June 18, 876


The last Norseman who had called Lindsey home for three years followed his companions along the northward road toward Grimsby. The gates protecting Lindsey's motte now lay wide open, striking the figure of a woman accepting her husband into her embrace. With bloody spear in hand, Cgeþ cried out with a loud voice, saying, "Be ye Christians once more! Our God hath sent me unto you a conqueror! Rejoice, Lindsey, for your Earl hath returned for to deliver you!"

Then did the people within the palisade and all about give forth a loud shout, praising God and saying, "Halfdan diedst that Lindsey mightest live!" And further, "God make long the days of Earl Cgeþ!"


- Romance of the IX Century (1543)

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No sooner than he came, the earl leaves northward to strike the heathens at decisively. His hope is to force a complete surrender of Lindsey back into his rightful hand while the iron is hot. I fear to see the men-at-arms go, for the last time I saw such a sight, it was the last I saw of them. Indeed, even now, I find it curious that I do not see Hrolfr, or any of the other knights save for Æthelberht.



The cup I drink today is bittersweet indeed. I learn that Earl Cgeþ has soundly defeated the Norse heathens, praise be to God, yet I learn concurrently that Earl Cgeþ himself has embraced a foul heresy. He rejects the very deity of Christ! Having forsaken the Holy Trinity, I cannot but find Earl Cgeþ no better than the heathen I have served for the past several years. I cannot in good conscience follow such a lord. Tomorrow I leave for where e're God leads. Cwenburg seems all too eager to embrace Lord Cgeþ's heresy; let her lead Grimsby. I wash my hands of the whole affair. If God has tested my longsuffering, I am sorry to say I have failed.

For the sake of completion (for this has been my work for many years) I shall summarize what tales I have heard of the earl's exploits in my absence. Firstly, Earl Cgeþ married Ealdgyth, whom I have now confirmed with my own eyes is a lowborn woman. This I do not judge, but is she responsible for the earl's apostasy? I cannot say for certain. She still visits the abbey, so perhaps not.

I then learned that shortly after the capture of Lindsey, Earl Cgeþ sojourned to Francia. There, wounded and sickly from his journey, he nevertheless managed to outdo eight of the Continent's finest speakers in a contest of verse, for which he won a modest sum of gold and a small trinket of some sort. After this he returned with one less knight and one French woman, who had married his Norse knight Hrolfr. I know not what occurred on the way, but Sir Ceolwulf was the man to leave. Some say Ceolwulf became drunk and wandered off into the forest, where he burned up in a fire. Others say he and the earl came to blows in Wessex and he was banished.

Thereafter was the second war between Count Hæsteinn and Jarl Halfdan fought, in which the jarl lost the North Riding. Shortly thereafter, King Æthelred of Wessex demanded land of King Burghred, and Earl Cgeþ sided against his king. Ostensibly, this was because he believed Æthelred's numbers could swell all the more and pose a tangible threat to the Norsemen, however there are whispers that he was lying carnally with King Bughred's wife, Queen Aethelswith, around that time and that this may have caused the schism.

Whate're the case, a great battle was fought at Stamford in which 2,000 men of Mercia, having been lured to the mire of Stamford, were forced to accept a Pyrrhic victory by the 400 men of Nottinghamshire, sealing the war for Wessex. Cenræd, long the earl's closest advisor, was slain in this melee. Moreover the mighty Hrolfr fell into captivity. Following this battle, the earl began to march with Alfred's host, but they were isolated and ambushed in Nottinghamshire by sellswords paid by Halfdan, upon whom the earl had declared war hoping to take advantage of his conflict in the north.

It is more than a year later, after the death of Hrolfr and other knights in succession while battling the pagans, that the earl abadoned the truths of the Holy Church. I shall not even repeat the tenets of his heresy, such folly is it. I will instead observe that, in my opinion, it may have been the fault of lamentation which drove Earl Cgeþ to heresy. I cannot imagine losing so many good servants so quickly was easy on his soul. I know the fate of Grimsby was not easy on mine.

Nevertheless, I cannot in good conscience overlook this apostate behavior. This shall mark the end of my chronicle. I leave these scriptures in Grimsby with Abbot Sæxbald with this fervent prayer for the one reading: Do not be like your father. Do not squander the Lord's blessings for heresy. Rule wisely, justly, but above all, with Godly virtue. Blessings to you and your heirs, son of Cgeþ.

(A/N: Interestingly, I'd be considered Paulician if anything in this game, and the game just threw it at me in this run.)
 
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That's an interesting start. It feels very much like a chronicle. The Vikings threaten England, but they shall hopefully be beaten back.

This is a good beginning to an AAR. I mention this since you expressed skepticism about continuing your AAR in another thread. I'd recommend that you continue - commentary is in short supply on the forums right now, but people are probably reading (also, people who want comments are apparently supposed to put that in the introduction - I doubt that will help now, though...).

I look forward to seeing how this develops.

I appreciate the encouragement! Contrary to what the chronicler said in II, that won't be the last one. After reading this, I think I'm willing to give it it at least a couple more entries, see if it hits its stride.
 
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Ælfric was the Reeve of Grimsby and served as chancellor to Earl Cgeþ Arþifanc. He was a patient and humble man who had few enemies. Though regarded as the most inept of Cgeþ's councillors, he was nevertheless a man of education and intelligence, versed in letters. Cgeþ called him "a man of singular talent who I cannot bear to force before a Norse axe" when his marshal suggested knighting him in 867.

He served for several years as an unwilling vassal to Halfdan Whiteshirt after the conquest of Lindsey in 870. Following the liberation of Lindsey in 876, he lost heart upon hearing that Earl Cgeþ had begun espousing Paulician beliefs. He promptly abandoned both his post and his chronicle and disappeared from the picture shortly thereafter. In 879, he appears as the suffragan bishop to Earl Beorhtric of Gloucestershire. It is unclear when exactly he entered the clergy, though it likely occurred only shortly after he left Lindsey.

His work is the Heófung Lindesse (Lamentation of Lindsey). This short work chronicles what he seems to describe as the downfall of the Earldom of Lindsey. It begins with bold proclamations and bright overtones, full of hope for the future, and swiftly changes tone as the realm falls to the predations of Halfdan Whiteshirt. Ælfric writes little during Halfdan's short tenure, creating a large gap in our understanding of events, and abruptly ends the work in the spring or summer of 876 with overt disapproval at Cgeþ's conversion to Paulicianism. What began as a saga for future generations instead became a dirge told from the perspective of a man powerless to stop it.

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I. A MEASURE OF REPOSE
July, 876
In the reign of
Earl Cgeþ of Lindsey

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Thus, by the late summer of 876, Britain had been transformed. Æthelred sat comfortably in the south, with Wales and Wessex his buffers. With such ripe plunder in the north, no viking saw any need to make an attempt on his vast domain. In the north, the sudden death of Halfdan Whiteshirt left the once Great Heathen Army fractious and bickering. No sooner than he had taken power, Halfdan's son Sigfrid followed his father to the grave, leaving his two year old daughter holding the title of jarl.

For this reason, it could be said that Hæsteinn of Montaigu held supreme power in the north of England. Certainly he sat as the supreme Norse power. His son and heir Ragnar had just begun to take on responsibilities around this time, and although not half the man his father was for talent, he was nevertheless said to be a bright young man by his contemporaries.

While the Rhodri the Great had managed to unite Wales for the Aberffraws, his unexpected and mysterious demise had placed his yet to be consolidated power in the hands of his 24 year old son, Merfyn the Recluse, who was not known to be a man of any particular skill. Relying on his more capable younger brothers to direct the realm, it was unclear what he would make of the nascent kingdom.

So it was that for all intents and purposes, Hæsteinn and Æthelred were primed to be fated rivals. The only things standing between them were an unsteady Wales and an ailing Mercia.


- Record of the Saxon Kings (1993)

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He sends a blessing this year in the form of a mild summer. I find my ink easier to control in the absence of excessive heat and damp air. I should take account of my findings in my most recent patrol. Nottinghamshire voices great displeasure for my liege. Hæsteinn's spring raid still lingers on the people and their lands. (I hear tell he now brazenly raids along the whole border to the west. Last I heard, Earl Wihtræd is suffering his ravages.) Moreover, they hold fast to their Catholic traditions, which makes the faith bestowed the earl a point of malcontent for them. Bishop Swegn continues to do his best to show them the truth of the Scriptures.

Though I am still sour over the manner in which I was released from confinement, Earl Cgeþ is not without his charm. To wit, he has given me a wife who, though she could stand to work a whit harder, is a decent woman whose words I have to thank for showing me the error of the Catholic faith. It is difficult to communicate at length with her, but she is honest and makes her best effort to speak my Anglic tongue. (Hers is a beautiful, if incomprehensible, language.)

The earl presently contemplates at how he might attain more wealth, for his coffers are rather dry. First and foremost, it shall fall upon Beorhthelm to right the situation here in Nottinghamshire. He is an astute man well versed in matters of diplomacy (and I believe, a more rounded man-at-arms even than Æthelberht) and so if anyone can remedy the situation, it is that man. I only hope his Catholic presence in the shire does not undo the work of the bishop.

Regardless of the means, the coffers must be filled, or our ability to defend ourselves will soon fail us. The release of young Skúli yesterday ought to help. I was able to see him off and wish him well. He may be a heathen, but a child so young should be with his kinsmen. While I've no doubt his conditions were better than my own, it still does my heart good to know that all the captives from Kendal are free. Perchance I shall ask the earl to release Ferant as well. He was my fellow prisoner for many years. It is the least I might do in exchange for his company.



January has come, anno Domini 877. Has it truly been three years since I left captivity? Whatever the case, I am here to write of tidings most glad: Tiburge is with child! Her health is somewhat poorly, but Guilhèm has provided her with a diet of bread and wine which seems to have helped substantially. If God be willing, I shall have a child before the year is done!

Unfortunately, not all is well. In touring the shires to ascertain the sentiments of the people, I am uneasy to report that my findings are not good. Many of the common folk were far more reluctant to speak with me than they were during the summer patrol. Those few I know I can trust to speak plainly to me do so in secret, and whisper of murmurings against the earl. Thus far the malcontent seems localized to two hamlets in particular, for the most part. Given time, however, the wound could fester.

I will present this information to the earl soon. I dare not present it so soon after tonight's meal. There, awkwardly, Guilhèm reports that the Bastard of Durham covets his lands. Though Earl Cgeþ kept his head (as he oft does), I do not trust this will be the end of it. Already the earl despises the Norse, and I know Ragnarr Halfdansson to be a rumoured 'berserkr'. The last thing this realm needs just now is for its earl to die over a petty squabble. I will give him some days to process his emotions, and only then will I tell him.



I make a record of this day, the 27th of March, anno Domini 877, as the day my son Cenwulf was born! Praise be to God for His wonderful gift. Tiburge remains ill, but came through the birth without issue. Now it is only a matter of raising the child in the way he should go. As I feel these circumstances are providential, I shall call him Cenwulf Tiburgeson, that the world may know the gift from whom he came.



November has come again. To celebrate the pregnancy of his wife, Hæsteinn is hosting a tournament in Jórvik. My lord is eager to attend and show his prowess to the entirety of Norse Britain, and Æthelberht is quite insistent as well. The earl has asked me, for reasons I cannot fathom, to head his caravan. I shall do so as best God enables me, but the last time I was outside Nottinghamshire, I was evading huscarl axes.

At the very least, I have managed to convince him to avoid Retford and Grimsby. With the people whispering as they are, it would not do to become mired in the bog, an easy prey for some enterprising reed-cutter. I have advised him instead to travel through Hæsteinn's own lands. It is my hope that he will be decent enough to not attack an invited guest on his own roads, and while the people there are said to be a bit less than orderly under his rule, I believe it is favourable to the situation in Lindsey right now.

The earl has prudently hired a "Company of the Bretons" to help protect our caravan on the way. Their leader, Haermael, is a man whose language I cannot grasp. While his manner is decent enough, I do not trust him entirely and will be keeping a watchful eye as we travel. We should not be long on the road. Hopefully, when I write again, it will be with a more steady hand.



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The very next day, a gaggle of armed men appeared claiming we walked a toll road. I stood ready to strike them down, but the earl's silver tongue took over before I could draw my sword. "Perhaps you mistake me for a peasant who needs pay such tolls," said he, "but I am the Earl of Lindsey, a noted warrior whose spear has tasted viking blood more times than you might be able to measure." These men were not Norsemen themselves, but Anglo-Saxon. In awe of the earl, they quietly stepped away from the road.

Our time in Jórvik has been an entirely different matter. For more than a fortnight we have dwelt in Jórvik, engaging with the local culture. Somehow, the earl has convinced a man named Halfdán (a Norseman sworn to a visiting Christian lord) to give up his loyalty to his lord and come serve as a knight. I am astounded at the earl's resourcefulness, if not his moral character. It is little wonder he vexes the priests and bishops so.

Thereafter we stayed at rest for a measure, then took to the tourney grounds. Hæsteinn had set forth a large, trodden dirt path near the area, designated with a small fence. I suspect his men-at-arms conduct drills here when they are not despoiling the border. Halfdán proved himself a wise man, having encouraged us to watch our foe and learn from them. So together we watched: the earl, myself, Æthelberht, and Halfdán, (for the rest of the knights remain in Lindsey, camped with the levies, as we had sighted Sigfrið's raiders marching through before leaving) and made note of any small weakness we could spot in our competition.

I shall rest now, for in another fortnight the melee will be upon is. This is where we will show our worth to the Norsemen. I wonder if I should chance to see any of my former colleagues on the battleground?

The Coercion of Halfdán

"Thou wouldst dare, Saxon?!" barked the berserker. Cgeþ's smile only broadened.

"Take thou care, northman, for a great many lords visit Jórvik this day," said the scheming earl. "Perchance any of them be of a mind to test the competition with skulduggery. Perchance it be so of your master himself. Wouldst not thine words reach his ear? What thinkest thou? Should he gain word of thine fairest Freyja, what may become of thy conversion in thy master's eye?" (For the Nordman had in time past converted to the True Faith.)

The man grew wroth as a pin-pricked boar, threatening to raise his axe to Cgeþ right there in the hamlet! Yet the gracious nature of an angel must've alighted upon him, for he swiftly did trade his fury for fear. "Speak thou plainly," said he. "What doth the Earl of Lindsey desire of me?"

"I offer thee a choice, and bid thee choose well:" said Cgeþ. "Chance thy master's wrath and the possibility of being anathema, or swear thou to me as a knight of mine own." The Nordman was furious, yet he lacked all recourse. There defeated, he knelt to the grinning earl and swore his oath in quivering timbre.

"This day, I Halfdán swear that I shall be thy loyal servant, if thou shalt deal me well."


- Romance of the IX Century (1543)



We return. I did not qualify for the tournament, but both the earl and his new man did. I watched along with a rather anxious Æthelberht, whom I could tell would rather be competing. It was a team competition, two sides of ten men against one another in a test of might and endurance. One was led by a man wearing a grand golden crown, whom some of the travelers called 'the Lion'. The other was led by Ivar the Boneless, who requires no introduction.

The earl was a force to be reckoned with. At one point he willingly dismounted his steed to engage a dismounted Norseman in a duel, which he won with overwhelming vehemence. Another time, he brutalized one poor competitor into an unrecognizable state with his fists alone. Never before have I had occasion to just stand by and watch this man make war. It is truly awe inspiring. Not only the earl, but Halfdán as well showed himself a fit fighter, I must confess.

Nevertheless, as the earl and his comrades excelled, the froth of the vikings intensified. The fighting became so fierce that it spilled into the village proper. Windows shattered, daub caved in, and eventually fires began to burn (how they began, I know not). At the last, when all was said and done, it was the side of Jarl Ivar who claimed victory. Personally, I do not trust the results were not skewed in favor of Ivar. After all, would a Norseman allow his own to be defeated by a Christian king from beyond the sea? Nevertheless, the earl accepted the result, so I did as well.

It was not, after all, an absolute defeat. For the axe of Halfdán now serves Lindsey, and moreover, upon our return we were informed that the lady Ealdgyth is with child. The earl was ecstatic. I've not seen him so overjoyed in all my days here. There was of course the ill tiding that Nottingham had been sacked while we were away, but at least Lindsey was protected. It did not seem to damnpen the lord's mood overmuch.



Good news rarely lasts long on without its evil counterpart. So it is that Reeve Wulfnoth of Retford blundered into giving Count Hæsteinn, of all people, legitimacy in his claim to Lindsey. I hope that King Burghred is preparing his armies well. That Wulfnoth is such a loathesome creature that I can only wonder if he did so purposefully, that the viking might come to take what is the earl's.



Harvest has come again, and with it, the promise of new life: While no doubt he desires a son, God has given the earl a daughter, and he has called her name Sæthlinn, whose elements take from "sæ" and "linnan". A solemn oath, he says, to let the invaders from the sea go no further than this. Not one I am certain we can uphold, but he gives even me a sense of vigor when he speaks of it.



The midwife, I am told has deemed young Sæthlinn a sickly girl. I will add my prayers to the lot, hopeful that God has blessed her with the same constitution as her father. I have little more to write this day, but the burden on my heart is great enough after speaking with the good lady that I had need to write this.



Summer, anno Domini 879. A relatively long period of peace has come upon Mercia. For that, all are thankful. Foolishly, the King of Brittany has declared a holy war for Hæsteinn's domain, which perhaps keeps him occupied and unable to raid the border shires. Æthelberht has become close with Guilhém, who is also a good friend to my Tiburge. By way of this and the liege's instruction, Guilhém - once a Catholic bishop here in Lindsey - has finally come to see the true doctrine. He visits regularly to meet with Tiburge, and we discuss these matters at length. It is good to have him in the home, for he can translate between the proper Anglic tongue and whatever beautiful nonsense my wife utters. I know not how he came to be with us, but I thank God he is here.

On that matter, the work moves apace, for Nottingham is now by majority following the teachings of our beloved apostle of the Gentiles. It was good for my heart to tour the logging camps and see them speaking well of the liege again. Lindsey, I am afraid, is another matter entirely. I strongly suspect one of the more stubborn courtiers is fomenting discontent.

On a more personal matter, I am truly growing to despise that Halfdán! He has become a favourite of the earl in so short a time, and this despite being openly hostile towards the liege! If I may be so bold, it is he who I most suspect of stirring the masses in Lindsey. Ever since Bishop Swegn sided with him in an argument about which I am too incensed even to write, I have worried his Norse Catholic ways might be infecting the court. He claims to have found the truth in the bishop's teaching, but I do not trust it for a moment.
 
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Interesting.

It's a shame that Lindsey was surrendered after its earl so bravely defended it, but such is life. Was Lindsey ever returned to Mercia, or does it remain subject to the Norsemen?

I'm still curious as to why this fervently anti-Anglo-Saxon dynasty embraced the invaders. Will we ever receive an explanation of that?

The chronicler appears to have converted to Paulician later as well, so why do records of his pro-Catholic thoughts remain? Shouldn't he have destroyed those after he converted to the heresy himself?
 
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Interesting.

It's a shame that Lindsey was surrendered after its earl so bravely defended it, but such is life. Was Lindsey ever returned to Mercia, or does it remain subject to the Norsemen?

I'm still curious as to why this fervently anti-Anglo-Saxon dynasty embraced the invaders. Will we ever receive an explanation of that?

The chronicler appears to have converted to Paulician later as well, so why do records of his pro-Catholic thoughts remain? Shouldn't he have destroyed those after he converted to the heresy himself?

It's a bit strange for the moment until I work out enough of how this stretch is gonna go to have a proper title bar (or maybe I should do temporary sub-bars to make it a little less confusing?), but essentially... As of the most recent chronicle, we're dealing with a whole new chronicler. Basically anytime I post a chronicler's details, you can assume his part in the chronicling has ended and it's been passed on to a new figure.

This chronicler is... Well, I won't spoil just yet, but let's just say he comes at everything from a very different place than the reeve did.

As far as Lindsey, it did indeed return, right at the end of 1-II. :) It's something the chronicler glossed over because he was upset about the whole Paulicianism thing, but it's remained in Mercia's hands up through the end of the last posting. As far as why they embraced the invaders...
It's mostly a matter of requiring good steel. The earl needs knights, so when he can "convince" a Norse warrior to defect to his side, he'll take that chance and wield their axe against their own.
 
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II. THE LINE SECURED
January, 880
In the reign of
Earl Cgeþ of Lindsey

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I hear it told that in Northumbria, the man they call Guðfrið the Lousy has made himself the spearhead of an "Anglo-Nordic" cultural trend. I know little of these Anglo-Nords, but they speak the Anglic tongue and that is more than I received under Ubbe.



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Stood the whole of the inner council in attendance; the bishop, the marshal Sir Beorhthelm, the Norseman as steward, the worrisome knight, Eadburh the sister of the king, and the chancellor who was called a giant. Halfdán did call privily to the knight, for to speak of matters not meant to sour the occasion.

"I know well that we twain find difficulty in shared company, but let us for this day set aside our enmity for the sake of the good lady," sayest he. Sir Ælfræd gave a gentle bow of the head.

"Thou speakest well, mine adversary," came his reply. "Let us yield the day to the liege and lady, and the young son with whom God hath blest them."

Grinning broadly, the Norseman gave the knight a firm rap upon the shoulder before going to fetch a cup. In the meanwhile, the lady in grace shed a tear or two, whispering prayers of thanks to God. "'Tis a long time in coming, my lady," said Eadburh, stoically. Even at this juncture, she did find herself in straits to form a warm feeling, especially towards the spouse of the man she had afore desired.

"Thanks be to thee," said the lady, "and to ye all for bearing with mine inept manner. Thou, even thou of royal sort, (for she spake now unto Eadburh) hast borne me up to thrive unto this moment. 'Tis for this cause that I am able to hold an earl's son in mine arms, though I be of lowest stock."

The entire room wast moved to silent rev'rence for Lady Ealdgyth, who that day seemed every whit a woman of station. 'Twas not until the Norseman returned with a cup full of wine that the room again found voice.

"A toast!" he spake in booming tone. "A toast to the future jarl!"

"Has thou all lack of decency?" shouted Sir Beorhthelm. "Such a tone shall but terrify the babe!" With a hearty laugh, Halfdán drew but closer.

"Nonsense, Sir Beorhthelm! This is a day of celebration, a little cry will only involve the babe in our revelry!" He fixt now his eyes upon the earl. "My jarl, thou hast taken me swiftly from lands I knew well, unto lands I knew not. Though once my anger waxed hot against thee, thou treatest me even more favourably than did my previous liege. Know that I thank God for thee, and that I shall swear to this thy son, to keep him and be his shield until the breath of life doth leave me."

"My thanks be due you, noble Halfdán," speakest Cgeþ, "for thou hast shown thyself a most exemplary specimen of thy people." His eyes the cast down upon the babe, whose brilliant hair brought to mind the lady in her youth. "I shall call the child Leodweard, for he shall be as a shield unto the Anglo-Saxons."

"God keep Leodweard!" shouted the Norseman.

"God keep Leodweard!" shouted the others.


- Romance of the IX Century (1543)

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Would that this were the only concern keeping me from enjoying the occasion. Alas, that glib fool of a Norseman insisted upon a droning speech, fumbling over our tongue all the while. I spoke not a word, of course, for the liege seemed moved by his intention.

I also could not help but notice that Ealdgyth was of a particularly wintry disposition at the gathering. Not as though it were out of character for her, but the way in which she leered over the lady's shoulder disquiets me. I wonder at times if she can be trusted. She has had the earl's ear since long before I came to Lindsey. Doubtless any attempt to expose any treachery would be met with stiff resistance.

Whatever the matter, writing of these things has helped to still my mind somewhat. One more matter of note. Kendal has fallen to Guðfrið, who wars with Alfriðr Sigfriðsdottir. Or I should say the Cumbrian woman who they say rules in her stead. This should present enough challenge to dissuade raiding from across the Humber, though I do worry for the safety of my kin.



After last year's harvest, I hope this spring's sowing is good. Even the lady is out in the field from time to time, helping prepare the fields. Were it not for Æthelberht, I would worry for her safety. Even now, the people of Lindsey hold malice towards the earl.

And what can I say of Æthelberht? When the man can be roused from slumber, he is a most capable sort indeed. Can Bishop Swegn truly live up to his reputation? He certainly seems to think so. He hopes for to be acclaimed as the Knight of Vengeance when Æthelberht has become too old to carry it.

The war in the north has come to the East Riding. Some from Grimsby report seeing a modest host investing about Pockington's stronghold. We shall see what comes of it. Despite the concerns for my family, I find myself praying for Guðfrið. I reckon his desire to see the Nordic ways give over to Anglic traditions to be a promising thing.



Cenwulf's third summer has been fraught with trouble. It seems every other day that I hear of him pushing a village child or terriorizing the court. Today, I had to deal with a scolding from the marshal after the lad struck him in the privates with a stone he had cast.

I endure this demeanor now with hope that one day, such spirit might make him a fine knight. While I had afore not desired that path for him, I have since come to the realization that the danger of our time will not soon pass. Better he know how to defend himself than be at the mercy of every raider who comes to despoil his home.



Grave tidings. Guðfrið has lost his war, leaving Northumbria subject to young Alfriðr. He still holds power in Bernicia, but I worry the tide of the Anglo-Nordic culture shall cease upon this cliff. Moreover, this now places only two major powers in the north, which means consolidation. I can only hope that Alfriðr will make war with Hæsteinn, instead of with Mercia.

On the matter of Mercia, my liege returned from court today bemoaning the disposition of King Burghred towards him. I know not why, nor does the earl, but by reason of God the king is particularly wroth with Earl Cgeþ at this moment. Perhaps his poorly balanced humours are to blame. I know that his reputation is that of an endlessly forgiving man, so to hear such things is a surprise to my ears.



Vexingly, Earl Cgeþ continues to spend much time with that Norse stain. He also begins speaking words in the Norse tongue, here and there. "The enemy tongue is the threshold to knowing the enemy's plans," he says. There is merit in the thinking. I only wish he would learn from someone else.

Guilhém's health begins to fail him. And no marvel, for this is his 89th winter. I will be sorry to see him go, but I know and trust that all is of God. It may yet be that God has him with us for yet a season more, beside. This I certainly hope.

This yeah, Nottinghamshire is tortured by particularly hard weather. The snow in the forest is so thick that hunters are hard pressed to navigate at all, much less stalk prey. Perhaps this will ensure Hæsteinn will keep his warriors out of our lands yet longer.

Also of concern is Jórvik. I traveled there in secret last season to ascertain more about the young jarl's second. Her name is Gwenasedd. It seems she was Jarl Sigfrið's wife, and is the mother of the current jarl. She is a reputed zealot of the Catholic faith, known for handing out punishments to her mistress' pagan servants on a whim. I worry that as the ranks of Alfriðr's army swell, Gwenasedd may possess a mind to press her claim to Lindsey.

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As I write this, my hand quivers. I know not if I will be able to read it, but the writing is what matters. A letter today has arrived in the hands of a very cold rider having journeyed all the way across Mercia. It carries the demand of the king: A demand for both Earl Cgeþ and Lady Ealdgyth to return to the Catholic faith. The earl has sent his decline, which will give the king just cause to have him imprisoned.

Just now, Earl Cgeþ is speaking with Lady Ealdgyth, preparing her to take power should the king send men to take him. He will, it seems, follow our apostle's urging to be subject to the powers placed over us. I pray it does not come to that. Without him commanding our armies, I know not if we shall stand against Norse raiding.

For the time being, the earl has purpose to make overtures towards the king and mend any rifts between them. They were close once. He is hopeful that he might reclaim that goodwill, with effort. I pray it is so.



The weather has broken, and so I fear has my liege. The earl has fallen ill, with what I know not. Guilhém administered therapy of leeches, though the earl seems only paler for it. I trust his strong constitution shall hold, but if the king were to imprison him in this state, I dread to think of the consequences.

I can scarcely believe how fond I have become of this place and this liege. Though I still have my doubts about his character, I respect the earl on many points and I would tremble to see Lindsey without him.
 
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I really like your AAR. Especially your picture editing. What do you do with your characters? Because they are look astonishingly cool :cool::cool: Like coming from a history book.

I run 'em through Stable Diffusion with some hyper-specific settings and softly erase areas to maintain a recongizable facial structure where necessary. This post mentions the details, since someone asked. :)
 
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I run 'em through Stable Diffusion with some hyper-specific settings and softly erase areas to maintain a recongizable facial structure where necessary. This post mentions the details, since someone asked. :)
Thank you! I'll definitely follow this AAR ;)
 
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III. WINDFALL IN THE WEST
Early November, 881
In the reign of
Earl Cgeþ of Lindsey


The chancellor gives up Leicestershire
Having heard of the earl's ailment, the villain Eanbehrt, Earl of Leicester, sent his chancellor to treat with him in hopes the chancellor might prey upon the earl's fevered mind. The mission was received graciously, the lady Ealdgyth having personally brought him past the threshold. In a lit hall open to the air (for 'twas Sir Guilhém's advise that he keep to such spaces as his strength did provide ability to do so), the two parleyed in earnest.

After a span, having come to ascertain the truth of the earl's infirmity, the man spake thus: "Lord Cgeþ, art thou not quite tired of Nottinghamshire? I have heard it is naught more than a beacon for the predatory Count Hæsteinn's men. It must be quite the romp to maintain. Why, I wouldst even wager it could be blamed for thine infirmity!"

The earl, even in his sordid state perceiving swiftly the man's intent, purposed to give him not an iota of acquiescence. "And what shall I make of it?" said Cgeþ. "Shall I cast off mine oath and neglect my people, whom my father's fathers had sworn afore to shield?"

The chancellor, still even-minded, was not eager to reveal his hand. "Truthfully, thine father's fathers swore to protect Lindsey, where thy grandfather wast landed. 'Twas by poor lot that thy grandfather inherited Nottinghamshire, for 'twas a lawless place whose woods hid brigandry in the shadow of each tree. Would that my liege's own forefather had take on the obligation to which he wast appointed! Perhaps today thou wouldest not be so vexed."

Perceiving the chancellor's desire (he did come to steal away the shire for the villain he served), Earl Cgeþ smiled and replied with quiet confidence, "My grandfather was all too happy to take the burden upon himself, and my father after him. I would bear my lineage evil, were I to lament the fair shire falling into my care. Indeed, wast not my father eager to take upon him the safety of Leicestershire as well? In time before ourselves, the beneficent Earl Sælræd didst swear to my father that he would have it, and my father bare him no contempt."

"The time is not as before," spake the chancellor, "for now the vikings have come, and come again each season. A border march art now, in this time most dread, more risk than benefit."

"Thinkest thou that I seek benefit?" spake the earl with a subtle grin. (He spake to push the chancellor toward the heel.)

"Nay, let it not be said! But all Mercia knows thy selfless service. For even once thou turnest the sword upon the king, yet even he knoweth thine heart, for he maketh thee marshal thereafter. Only understand that I mean you naught but just reward for the dedication of thy whole dynasty toward the kings of Mercia, and a border march hardly seemeth a reward at just such a time as this."

The earl, though tempted to bid the man speak plainly, was not yet ready to tip his hand. "Pray tell, my good man," he said instead, "how might I be rid of such a burden? I cannot simply walk away from the people of Nottingham." For he knew the intention of the chancellor, and would draw him into a snare.

"If thou wouldst give unto my lord the forest of Nottinghamshire," he spake with a grin he could not contain, "thou wouldst receive an hundred pounds stirling, and would be free of thine bitter obligation with nary a whisper of ill."

"And now thou layest thine heart upon the ledge for all to see. Even Æthelberht can tell you for a snake!" scathed the earl. The chancellor's composure held, though with cracks in the armour.

"I do not take thy meaning, milord," he said.

"Tell your lordling that if he desireth a thing, he ought to take it from Count Hæsteinn." Then, hoping to close the snare, he spake with purpose, "For he would find more fortune against the Norse than for the son of Mercia's most dutiful knight. My father would willingly protect Nottinghamshire, Leicestershire, and yea, even Staffordshire if called upon. One of these three can only be a trife to his son."

Though the cracks in his armour seeped venom as the chancellor replied, "Thy father was promised Leicestershire, but then came Lord Eanberht, who is not Lord Sælræd. See that thou be not conceited in thy father's oaths, for different times have come upon us."

The earl only smiled. There, in front of ten witnesses (four from Eanberht), the chancellor of Leicestershire had just confessed that the shire had been promised unto Earl Cgeþ's father.


- Romance of the IX Century (1543)

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Now this presents two fortuitous opportunities, for first, the barony of Leicester is protected by strong walls which outstrip the palisade at Lindsey. Such would make a fine station of government for a warlike ruler the likes of Earl Cgeþ. Second, the more power he wields, the less likely King Burghred will make a move against the earl. As God would have it, Earl Eanberht (that is the late Earl Sælræd's only son) is a youth in his 13th harvest, and a miserable little cretin from what I've gathered. A despiser of parents, a cruel master without a decent bone in his body. He bullies, extorts, and even mocks God Himself openly.

Now Earl Cgeþ is no man of excessive piety. However, few peers of the realm would be likely to bemoan his fall from status. Moreover, although his people be Catholic, I cannot see how they would be sorry to see the wretch replaced. In time, I am sure Bishop Swegn can help them see the truth of the Scriptures, for he is a man of many methods. I see little to not be gained from a play for Leicestershire, save the wealth the young earl has inherited, which might be used to hire sellswords against us. The council will soon discuss this matter privily. As I will not attend the meeting, I can only wonder what will come of it.

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It has been decided to strike while the iron is yet hot. The earl being of poor health, it falls upon his knights to bring Leicester to its knee. I shall ride out from Nottingham when winter breaks, under the command of the ever gallant Beorhthelm, to demand Earl Eanberht surrender the land to its rightful lord. In pressing the claim, it is my hope that we will face no opposition, but I shall not expect the villain's mother (who presently makes most decisions in Leicestershire) to surrender so quickly. She is known to be a brash and stubborn woman.

Should we join battle and I fall, I would have it known to you, my dearest Cenwulf, that my former writings do not tell the tale of my life in full. Though once I hated being bound up here, though once Earl Cgeþ was naught but a nuisance to me, know that this place is now my home for true. It is the place of your birth, and you ought to cherish it. In whatever way our merciful God has called you, defend Lindsey with all you have, my son.



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Halfdán captures Æthelsige during the skirmish at Leicester

With battle lines drawn, the battle soon lay upon the knights. As he gave eye to the approaching host, the old stalwart Beorhthelm applied measure to their lot. "We may yet win," spake he, "yet enough warriors may not remain to give Leicester's defenders pause."

"It is a good thing thou art here," spake Ælfræd, "for we may not resist them alone."

All that remained was to await the foe. Yet, just as the battle were meet to be joined, Halfdán did point toward the east. "Look there!" came his shout. "A rider swift and sure, upon a white mottled steed like unto that of our liege."

"It doth not be," gasp'd Beorhthelm. "Be it Clay Slurry?" Indeed as the beast became near, the whole party did acclaim. 'Twas Clay Slurry! The very destrier of Earl Cgeþ himself approached swiftly bearing a rider clad in finest maille. "Only one man might bring that tempersome creature to rein!" said Beorhthelm. Then didst the earl himself ride past, his colour having returned anew unto him. He gave no pause for tiding nor trial, only the command: "Strike forth and deliver me Æthelsige!"

The knights, one and all, spurred steed and came up near to their liege, some on this flank and some on that flank. Now the whole host gave a shout and brake into full gait, shaking the confidence of the men of Leicester wholly. As they drew near to the foe, Halfdán offered to his friend Swegn a wager as to which of the two might slay more foemen, but the knight-bishop would not. Then came the knights of Eanberht (that most vile of blackguards) to meet the stalwarts of Lindsey to a man. Yet Æthelsige, who stood at command, shrinked fast to the rear.

First came Sir Æthelbehrt's spear unto the chest of Leofwine of Bosworth, whom it did impale with great vigor and lift wholly from the saddle of his horse. So far upon the shaft slid the hoisted body of Leofwine that Æthelbehrt's spear brake in twain (after which he drew him his arming sword). At once, Æthelsige turned about to flee on horse, yet Halfdán clave through ten defenders to chase him.

"Return, thou craven!" was his demand as he lept from the saddle. He then took hold of Æthelsige and toppled beyond, drawing both Æthelsige and himself to the earth with a great impact. 'Twas not long before the whole of Leicester's host begun to flee this way and that, yet none would survive the vehement charge of the earl and his knights.


- Romance of the IX Century (1543)

What a sight I beheld on the field of Leicestershire. Leicester's warriors, such as survived the first skirmish, had come for to lift or at least disrupt the siege we had inflicted upon Leicester. On the very eve of battle, who should appear but Earl Cgeþ, riding swift and full of colour? Having recovered of his ailment (praise be to God), he wished fervently to see Æthelsige of Norfolk captured, that he might perchance be brought into service as was I. It seems the liege was impressed by my brief description of the man in an epistle I had sent during the siege.

Not since we lifted the siege of Lindsey have I seen the fird so mollified. When the earl ordered a mighty charge, even I felt inspired to follow behind. Before I knew it I had slain seven foemen, and I had cut through the entire enemy battle line with the sole goal of keeping the liege in sight. I did not want to disappoint; whether the liege or my fellow knights, I know not. But his bellowing command and mighty bearing in battle inspired me to follow with vigour. In that moment, I forgot even my son. I thought only of meeting the earl's ensample.

At the last, we left Eanbehrt with naught. When the liege came to make his demand, he willingly gave up the stronghold. Leicestershire was signed over to Earl Cgeþ. A swift conflict, ended in only a season, and all for the better: For we had little need to damage the walls of Leicester hold. Now they shall serve as a strong deterrent to Hæsteinn's raiding. We also did manage to capture Æthelsige and his fellow knight Æthelweald. The latter was released without merit. Æthelsige, however, has proven himself an unworthy knight by cowering in fear and then attempting to flee the battle. This leaves my liege at a loss for what to do with him.

I will advise him to make the man steward. Not only do I want Halfdán off the council (for I do not trust he will not embezzle stirling), but Æthelsige's mind for coin genuinely far exceeds his. My liege requires such a man to correct his shortcoming in these matters, lest the lady continue to shoulder all the burden of financing this growing realm.

The liege in in good spirits just now, for not only have we secured him Leicestershire, but he has received news that Ragnarr, the so-called Bastard of Durham, was slain during the final battle of Jórvik's war against Guðfrið. I know not why, (for he dwelt far to the north and never once raided Lindsey himself,) but Ragnarr is a man my liege still despises, and so he is comforted to think that he died fighting against my liege's own enemies. "He died fighting my war," he told me. I still deeply regret my liege's many flaws in such tenets as the call to love one's neighbour. Also putting the liege in good manner is the pardon of King Burghred, which sets my mind at ease also.

Whatever the case, there is one more note of amusement I must record. The reeve of Bosworth who was responsible for this entire affair was ousted from reeveship in the wake of the change of power. In his stead rises another man of Bosworth, Cearl, who has taken his place as reeve. This man is not only a follower of Paul, he is fervently so. And, as it happens, he is a more capable fighter than many of our present knights. I am wary of his sudden rise in Bosworth, but shall be watching him with interest nonetheless.



A clerical error has caused Æthelsige to be released without condition, about which the earl was very wroth. However he has now purposed that he shall work through letter to endear the man to him. True to his diplomatic cunning, the earl means to turn this mistake into a display of grace by which to turn the man to his service after all. I hope he does so and soon, for I cannot wait to see the Norseman's face when he is rightly replaced by a superior steward.
 
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A kid is born, so the succession is secure.

Ah, some people should know better than to run their mouths. The loose-lipped man's act led to the dethroning of his liege!

It looks like our chronicler still despises the Norse. I wonder if the Anglo-Saxons and the Norse in Lindsey will ever learn to get along?
 
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IV. THE WOLF BROUGHT TO HEEL
Late March, 883
In the reign of
Earl Cgeþ of Lindsey

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Already the bishop has done exceptional work and has, along with Beorhthelm, brought the people of Lindsey back to a state of order. Finally, taxes can be levied reliably and the realm grows. The liege's levy now stands some seven hundred strong, with fird and hird as one, which includes his several onagers. I hear the earl oft discusses with Beorhthelm the notion of ceasing their upkeep and instead pouring the coin into a heavily armoured cohort that might match the northern huscarls.

On the matter of Beorhthelm, he has begun mentoring my son. It does my heart good to see him in such able hands. Of all my peers, Beorhthelm comes close to having the greatest of my regard. I speak such for although Guilhém be a man of ninety-two years who has earned his retirement to serve the earl solely as physician, I might say I will always consider him a knight.

I should also like to write that I have become exceptionally fond of Lady Ealdgyth. We visit often, where I often find Æthelberht as well, and she ever brightens the day. She makes for a confident and composed lady of the hold, prepared to every work the earl requires of her, and has been most able in matters of coin. I suspect that without her, Lindsey would not still be here (for the earl might have found himself deep in a sea of debt).



An intriguing turn of events has struck. King Merfyn of Wales has decalred war upon Hæsteinn, targeting Cheshire and Derby for Christendom. At first I thought it folly, but I learned through Lady Eadburg of Staffordshire that King Merfyn's wife is a woman named Ermentrude, who is the second daughter of Emperor Charles of the Franks. As this is the case, the man possesses a host of more than ten thousand, potentially! But by now, Hæsteinn has allies of his own, and even in his old age he is not to be underestimated as a war leader. I am most interested to see how this bears out.

Regardless, it ought to be good news for us of Lindsey, for Hæsteinn will be far too occupied to raid. This would be a perfect time to make our play into Cumbria, but the timing is a matter for God to know. I shall try to sharpen my riding skills in anticipation of Swegn's completed task.



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After his marriage to the princess of the Franks in 878, it was the timid King Merfyn of Wales who took action with a delcaration of holy war in the spring of 883. Merfyn's play was a bold one that threatened to violently shake the power dynamic in Britain, as in fifteen years, no one - not even Æthelred - had dared take the fight to the mighty Count of Montagiu. For a decade and a half he had sat quietly as the looming storm cloud over Britain, but now a man rose to challenge him.

Historians remain uncertain why it was Wales, of all the British powers, who chose to take such action. Neither King Merfyn nor his queen were known to be particularly assertive individuals. It is supposed by many that Emperor Charles the Bald, who had held bitter rivalry with Count Hæsteinn yet found himself unwilling to make his own play for County Montaigu, had put him up to it. Yet some posit that Merfyn may not have been the recluse his reputation made him to be, but instead a patient plotter who had been waiting for the right moment to strike all along.

In the wake of this declaration, Earl Cgeþ of Lindsey would begin to make a push north of the Humber to challenge the daughter of Halfdan Whiteshirt, now sole ruler of Jórvik with her mother as regent, before she could become a mighty ruler. The viking raider Harold Tanglehair would take occasion as well, raiding Jórvik with impunity. Meanwhile, Queen Seaxburh the Young quietly consolidated power in the southeast, having sealed an alliance with Lotharingia through the marriage of her mother to its prince in 872.

Compounded with Ivar Ragnarsson being slowly pushed out of Alba, it appeared as though this might be the beginning of the end for Norse power in Britain.


- Record of the Saxon Kings (1993)

The summer this year brought a great many raiders. The lands of Seaxburh the Young in East Anglia have been plundered to great extent, and there is worry that some of the large bands which have come through Lindsey will return by winter to prey upon us next. The knights remain ever ready, though we know not if our strength suffices to repel the vikings.

A sweeter memory can yet be writ: Æthelsige of Norfolk has arrived and now assumes the post of steward, leaving Halfdán frustrated. Albeit not to such a degree as I'd assumed, for it seems the Norseman had begun to fray at the weight of stirling which he was tasked to count. Æthelsige is a more able man where such matters are concerned, and he takes swiftly to the gospel of grace carried by our apostle Paul. Moreover he seems quite fearful of the liege, so I feel I can let him alone without concern.

Of personal note, young Lord Leodweard is proving himself a quiet lad, the absolute opposite of my Cenwulf. Cenwulf is in his sixth harvest now, and he remains as vivacious and prone to antics as ever. I do not pity Beorhthelm. In fact I thank God for his great patience with the boy. I hope that he does not prove troublesome for the young lord in time future.



Anno Domini 884 is upon us. At the third of the new year, we receive rumors from Staffordshire that the host of Hæsteinn numbering over three thousand souls has been routed somewhere west of Mercia, likely in the Welsh hills. This is a most stunning and fortuitous thing, for it is the first we have known Hæsteinn to taste defeat. While it does bode well on the one hand, on the other, there is concern in the earl's mind. What if King Merfyn should look next upon Leicestershire? What if he brings a Catholic host large enough to make Hæsteinn tremble, in order to steal away the earl's lands in the name of the pope?

A bitter fear. Nevertheless, we shall accept what the Lord shall bring. At present we stand in a mite of debt, for it has been at great cost that Swegn's manuscript be made to look presentable. However, the document is finished, and the claim may be pressed whenever the earl will.

I will, for the time, continue to practise.



Spring brings tidings of great interest from beyond the river. Good Anglo-Saxons are rising to stand against Alfriðr Sigfriðsdottir. And this while Guðfrið, son if Ivar the Boneless, invades from his holdings further north to lay claim to her land. It seems as though Gwenasedd has more than enough to handle in her daughter's stead just now.

It is a nervous time to be a knight of Lindsey, I will not claim otherwise. The world around us moves ever forward, and we seem to be stagnant. The liege seeks a good alliance, yet none with strength are willilng, for we live in a world drenched in apostasy. I pray God keep us, for the world will show us no quarter or pity.



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King Merfyn as well has won his war. Soon we shall see what is his intent for us. Already, my liege sends overtures to him, though the earl's lack of wealth makes this difficult indeed.

In mind of my liege and his house, I would write of young Sæthlinn, who has shown herself to be every bit as sharp a fighter as I. Truth be told, I believe she could outshine me by far in battle given time, though I would not dare suggest something so foolish as to send her.

Though once sickly, she has become quite a robust little child. Of solid girth and strong, much like her father. She is now of the age where she might begin learning, and Bishop Swegn has been tasked with teaching her. I suspect he will teach her well, and is like to educate her on spying out the intentions of those about her. (He and I share such a tendency.)

I am thankful to Lady Ealdgyth for helping me to keep my wits about me during this time. Our children grow together in an uncertain time. Peace is tenuous just now, and without her quiet confidence, I might find myself unable to carry out my duties with composure.



Lady Ealdgyth has confided in me a most peculiar event which I shall record, though I worry what the earl should do if he discovers I have done so. She came to find the earl in the stronghold, reading some manner of writing aloud in the Norse tongue. My lady found that she was so enamoured by the sound that she like to lept upon him straight away!

It seems, then, that the earl has been learning Norse in order that he might romance the lady. I know not how I feel about this for several reasons, but I shall thank Christ they are happy. The lady in particular seems to be ecstatic at the newfound love shared between them.



Lord preserve us all. Hæsteinn the Wolf (as he is of late called by many) has sent a skald to spread verse about my liege's secret places. I should wonder where he finds the time, though I worry more about what my liege might do to the man. Surely he would not start a war over such a thing. Though can I know? He has always been a revengeful sort.



The harvest is upon us once again. It has been 885 years since our God sent His Christ to cleanse our sin, and I find myself thankful for the earl's sake when I see him cursing Hæsteinn. Thankfully he has begun to channel much of his focus these days into the domain, at the fervent behest of Lady Ealdgyth. It is a good thing, for he knows well (for he is an accomplished strategist) that a fird cannot battle without arms and grain. The lady again proves why this realm would be bankrupt without her. It is my hope and prayer that together, she and the earl can remedy this present deficit.

Aside from this, a most interesting thing has occurred: Reeve Wulfnoth of Retford, an unapologetic Catholic for whom I've no regard given his lowly and deceptive qualities, has been found to practice witchcraft. It surprises me little. What does give me pause is that the liege discovered that thanks to gossip shared between Æthelberht and my own Tiburge. Now Tiburge is the sort to not cross such a loathesome man as the reeve, but surprises me that Æthelberht, the liege's own bodyguard, would not have told him.

Regardless, my liege means not to burn him, for we of Paul know that God has given His grace freely to all men. He does, however, mean to take occasion to lawfully imprison him, to which end Halfdán my adversary works at this moment. Perhaps there shall soon be a new reeve in Retford. We shall see.

For clarity, I shall keep in mind that I add this in the evening, whereas I wrote the rest in the day: Wulfnoth has fled arrest, hearing of Halfdán's coming. He has now escaped I know not where. Regardless, there is a new Reeve of Retford, and he is hardly better than the last for his disposition towards the liege. Even so, he is far less deceitful and far more pliable than the last, and I strongly doubt such a spineless fellow would act against the earl.

I shall consider this a victory.

Countess Ealdgyth supports Earl Cgeþ in domestic matters.

A man of war and borne by horse, sword tight fix't upon his loin,
Soon would find himself in course of dire need for coin
The realm would lack both horse and tack, should stirling not be found,
For horse's feed and saddler's knack art sold for stirling pound
Now Lindsey's earl a wise lord true, he sought no maiden fair,
Instead he searched the whole land through, with effort and with prayer
'Til finally one wint'ry day, the earl found warmth in cold,
He found his treasure not in pay, but maid who knew her gold


- Chivalric Verses (1586)



These days the liege and the Norseman are quite close. He serves alongside Æthelberht as the liege's personal bodyguard, and I must with great pain yield to the reality that he does his job well. He is not a detestable person, through and through, only I find myself yet unwilling to accept him. Perhaps the flaw is mine. Perhaps for all the judgment I cast towards the earl, I myself am in need of correction.

It may be that the Norseman is my thorn in the flesh, to keep me in mind of my own shortcomings. For that I should thank Christ, for we all need to be kept conscious of why we need a Saviour. In mind of such matters, Bishop Swegn has managed to inspire such fervour in Leicestershire's converts that many are flocking to serve in the fird. It may be soon that the earl decides to press his claim. I shall aim to be prepared.
 
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