Depressed Dukes do better, don't they?
“Why, why, why. They always kept asking me: “Why are you so sad? What brings you down? You got 4 boys and the inheritance of a whole duchy”, but they do not understand. The yearning, the deep aim in every man's heart is to leave an imprint on this world when he departs to the next realm. I have that, no doubt, but what else is there? I begin to wonder if a man needs more...
As if those boys, as lovely and adoring they might be, are sufficient to fill a Viking's yearning. My wife, they say, my wife with her beauty and her charms, an enchanting exotic spot in this cold, white hell, she should lighten up my darkened spirits. But at the beginning, we didn't even speak the same tongue. We established trust and appreciation, no doubt, but what else is there? Doesn't a man need more?
My father, a schemer and plotter of back-alley-deeds done dirty cheap, thought he knew it all. Turning to Christ would bring our people unity and prosperity, it would make us exalted among the peoples of our time and age, setting us at the table of the peoples of the south wind. Did he forget where we came from? The fjords of Norway, where I am sure Baldr is still worshipped, and the halls of the Jarls, where I imagine Odin is still revered... I imagine there came some unity and salvation to this barren island, but what else is there? A man needs MORE!
Do people not see what I am lacking? The one thing, that I lust for, more than anything else?
Oh forefathers! I conjure you! Open their eyes. What I lack is LAND TO CONQUER! No wonder I'm depressed. Every true man should be depressed if there isn't any land to conquer...”
Huh, well. I lost it there... You know, I have those times when, for whatever reason, I feel a certain sadness over things. I sometimes don't understand it myself, seeing it all in a dark and black way, when there is definitely things, like my boys, I could rejoice about. There names are Eystein, the bright, Ulv, the short, and Finn, the cheerful. While I can understand that my father wanted me to inherit the whole duchy, I desire that, like in ancient times, we bring the different holders of the realm together to debate who shall be their appointed ruler. I know it will take me some time to achieve that, but I owe my sons a complete and strong duchy, not a split up cluster of holdings over this barren... I keep repeating myself. It's so vain... So darn vain...
My wife said that probably a fair would cheer me up. Since it doesn't really matter that much and petty coins are just a sign of wrong idols, I'll pay for this little amusement. After a certain time of mourning over my passed father, I agree. Who knows what it will do to my temper?
While my wife thinks I am being busy preparing the celebrations I continue to get claims on the Emerald Isle. I know that deep down, the people there desire the firm hand of an Icelandese ruler. I just have to find some means to get a justification to “settle” there before the other rulers, especially the kings of Norway, England and Scotland that are the landowners in these premises. I try to marry Eldrid – not my half-sister, but a fellow Icelandan, to Murchad McNeil in the north, but it didn't result in the desires way. He now has a beautiful, strong Icelandesque wife, and that's all. Lesson learned, Teitur. So I ask a different Murchad, this time to the east, to come to my court and marry one of the ladies there. Still, this does not count, says my steward. It does not count, it's all in vain. This life is so depressing.
I pretend to enjoy the different amusements that our little Summer Fair brings to Hrisey. To be honest, I could laugh for the first time in many years, from the bottom of my heart and depths of my soul, when I saw that tumbler in which the same steward who said it wasn't enough to have fellow Icelandics married off to get a claim. I wanted to see him in there again! Also, there was an extremely nimble archer attending one of the contests, and I was quite surprised that after the many rounds of mead that were distributed among the crowd someone was still able to do such trickery. Yeah, mead and trickery... Seems like some valid ways out...
Talking of trickery... Didn't Torgil, my worthy court chaplin tell me of “good” news from Rome, respectively County Breifne? Didn't the Earl there have some... theological issues with the church fathers? What? He's excommunicated? HA! What my father in 70 years couldn't achieve I will get done in the first year of me being in power. Success! I'm as happy as a toddler, and I am not ashamed of showing it.
A quick look at our levies: Although not everybody's fully trained yet, we should have enough men. Appoint whoever owns an axe and can fiddle together a shield (and more importantly: can row a longship!) to their local alderman and set the sails! We're going to war!
This coughing and the headache really are bad, but nothing new for someone as depressed as me. It could have to do with the mead that ran plentiful during the Summer Fair. Now that it's over, I acknowledge it was fun and just the right distraction for the men before going south.
While sailing southward, we pass by Faröer. Knowing that Breifne is only the beginning in a succession of subjugations, we have a look at the army of that Island. If this is all, we shall make try to get a hold of it and see to conquer it if the Norwegian King in the East can't protect this remote island. I wish someone could tell me why the drafts on this darn ship are so cold. I am coughing like a mad man here, so much and so often, that it starts hurting in my chest.
In a good tradition started by my father, I keep ignoring said kings attempts to sway to one side or the other in his petty debates over Crown Laws... I care but little for his right to wear his crown, he can wear it whatever way he desires. Excuse me, I think the sea air is not good for me... Yes, my green face is completely normal, it's, ah, the mere reflection of the sea.
Upon arrival on the shores of Ireland I must confess that I have a little cold. I don't want to complain, since I know this can't throw a real viking off track. First my chest was hurting, then my bowels turning inside out, now someone put a little troll in my head that seems to dance... Or is it a leprechaun? No wonder I am such a depressed person... Can someone please kill me?
We make our way into Tyrone. Nobody is opposing our forces. Obviously, word spread in Ireland, that Breifne is our goal. I am unfortunately confined to being transported in a carriage – what an unworthy way of transportation for a Viking duke. I can't wait to recover, this is more depressing than ever!
The good news is that Adelhaid seems to be with child again! My Marshall just told me about it, he got a letter from home. He had to read it to me, not that I ever learned that, but to add insult to injury I have a hard time opening my eyes. Parts of this cold, don't worry, it's normal.
CHARGE I SAID! I can hear from my bedstead here in the oxen-cart that they're not fighting properly. For a long time I felt that withheld, fumed anger in me. Time to let it break through!
Let's besiege Dromahair! The plan is easy: We need to surround the town. Have your shields always pointed towards the walls, we don't want you to get shot by their archers, oh and yes, keep your the eyes always straight on the battlements up there! I mean, after all, that's from where the danger ensues. What do you mean you hear horses behind us? Isn't that the rearguard?
*Coughs some blood*
As long as I live shall we win and take Breifne! Not only have we besieged Dromahair successfully, no, we also stood our ground to their detachment!
It would take death himself to keep me from conquering Breifne (especially since our warscore reached the 30s already!!)
War is over, my friend.
That was a surprising short, but intense rule! Will Eyestein, the young ruler of Iceland gain a foothold on Ireland? How will he do with his 2 – soon 3 siblings? How short will his reign be?