Legends Never Die: Counting Blessings (ch. 147)

“God be good, these Northmen are like locusts. Only they do not take the harvest, but all that glitters and is golden,” King Ecbert lamented to the assembly of nobles, but few of them were cut from a warrior's cloth in Pepin's silent estimation. And the most vocal among them was King Ecbert's son, Prince Æthelwulf, a boy of ten who was ready and eager to do what the others hesitated in. 

“Were it only silver and gold, your grace,” an elderman voiced. Count Mærwine, gray in his beard, with a long scar that took an eye and carved down his cheek. By appearances, one would expect him to be a vocal supporter of military action. But it would seem that his taste of war that cost him his eye had been enough to last a lifetime. “They take every scrap of iron, down to the very nails that hold up our houses. They take daughters and sons. They take the very future itself.” 

There were mutters of agreement amongst the assembled nobles, their heads bobbing, stamping their feet or thumping their goblet on the table they were arranged around. 

“A most terrible thing. And a sign of what is to come. The Northmen seek more than just our fortune, they seek to control our fates -- without iron, we have neither sword nor plow to fight or feed ourselves. Without gold, we can purchase nothing,” King Ecbert mused, a faux outrage in his voice. “A most clever wolf stalks outside our door. Worse yet, his pack is as vast as it is ravenous.” 

It had been a month since the Northmen arrived and began to carve through Mercia. They left no town nor village nor church untouched, spreading across the innermost kingdom of England like a wildfire, sending refugees to all corners of the island with what valuables they could carry. And in that month, they faced no true opposition. 

City garrisons did what they could, at least at first. But once word spread that those who resisted were put to the sword, but those who surrendered were gifted mercy? It did not take long for the garrisons to start surrendering at the mere sight of the Northmen army, knowing that any fight was undoubtedly lost and that no help was coming to aid them, even should they resist. 

It also didn't help that the Northman sacks were hardly the hell on earth that the peasants were told to expect. Should they not hide anything, should they not resist, the odds were that the Northmen would leave them be and move on after they took what they wanted. There were few rapes, and those were punished by death by either Siegfried's hand or the victims. There were few widespread damages, few senseless killings. It all cultivated a clear and simple message -- resist and die, but submit and be well. 

The Northmen even had a queer custom that when they did take slaves of the populace, their families must be compensated, essentially forcing a sale. Something that made taking slaves less prevalent, but not entirely eliminated. A means to avoid taking too many, Pepin reasoned. But it also had the effect of completely undercutting the message that had rung out from Wessex to Alba: that the Northmen are barbarian monsters who would slaughter them like helpless lambs.

It cultivated an image that Pepin was finding it difficult to combat. That the Northmen were kinder in their victory than any Anglo-Saxon would be to their neighbors. 

“However, hope is not lost, my lords,” King Ecbert declared, raising a hand to silence the fearful doubts. Then he raised up a parcel of letters, “In my hand are correspondence with our neighboring kingdoms, soliciting their aid in seeing off the Northmen like the pack of wolves that they are. King Coenwulf of Mercia, through an act of God, has secured a portion of his kingdom's army and intends to send out a rallying cry across the lands to muster more. King Osbald of Northumbria, likewise, has promised the same!” 

Not enough. If the nobles around the table knew the numbers that were promised in those letters, then they would not cheer, suddenly finding their courage when they realized they didn’t have to deal with the hungry wolves alone. 

Northumbria was the stronger of the two, but Siegfried was not the only wolf on the island. King Causantín mac Fergusa of Alba probed and prodded Northumbria's northern border. Worse, Osbald was a new king and already proving to be an unpopular one. Of the five thousand men that he promised, Pepin would be genuinely shocked if half that number arrived. Likewise, he would be entirely unsurprised if they failed to show up entirely. 

Coenwulf, however, was in a precarious position. Like Osbald, he was a new king to the throne, and given that his kingdom was being ravaged, he was a weak one as well. Yet, he was a rallying figure, with his calls to arms reverberating throughout Mercia. He had a mere five hundred men at the moment, but if the embers of a dying kingdom were stoked correctly, that number could rise. 

Wessex, meanwhile, mustered a force of eight thousand men. And only that much with half a decade of support from his father. 

In theory, they possessed an army of thirteen to eighteen thousand. In reality, they likely had around ten thousand. Which was not even enough to match one of the armies that marched Britannia, the other running amok in the Eyrie while a third was fast approaching. Especially not an army commanded by the one man that his father deemed to be his equal. A man who had never lost a battle and preferred to fight outnumbered just for the sake of the challenge. 

In short, unless the math radically changed, taking to the field would merely hasten an already certain defeat. 

“What of Gwynedd or Powys? What of Alba?” An elder asked, his tone hopeful. 

Ecbert adopted a most disappointed expression, “Alas, it would see our historical enmity with the Welsh has overcome their good sense. They are convinced that they are enough to stand alone against the Northmen.” The nobles made sounds of disgust and ire, but it was nothing compared to what followed when Ecbert continued. “Meanwhile, whispers persist that King Causantín seeks to consort with the pagans by marrying his daughter to Emperor Siegfried's heir, Ragnar.” 

A likely fabrication, or a deadly twist on a half truth. While Christianity was… strange in England, often possessing rites that Pepin had not seen in Francia- Rome. Yet, he doubted that any Christian, unusual or not, would have their kin marry into a pagan empire. What was more likely was that King Causantín sought to prevent the same ravaging that befell Mercia befalling on his kingdom, and was in talks about how to avoid such a fate. 

“An heir who, by all accounts, is no less monstrous than his father. Only a boy, he stands as tall as a man and in his very first battle slew no less than a hundred men!” Ecbert continued, deliberately stoking their fear and outrage. All so that they would be so blinded that, when the truth arrived before their eyes, they wouldn’t recognize it. “They have abandoned all sense of reason, my lords. They have invited the wolf into their homes, content in their safety, even as it feasts upon their neighbors!” 

Ecbert stood, slamming a hand upon the table hard enough to rattle a goblet, “This cannot stand! I will not allow it! I will not allow our neighbors, in their shortsightedness, to allow a foreign power that worships demons a foothold into our home! Whereas they have failed, Wessex shall not! We will be a stalwart wall against the pagans, so help me God!” 

It really was something to watch King Ecbert work. With a short speech and a few white lies, the same nobles who had wrung their hands at the prospect of battle now shouted for it. It likely wouldn't last. Something that would be all the more true when they learned a few brutal truths. That their allies were barely worth the air it took to speak of them… 

And that a third Northmen army was sailing around the Roman coast from the Mediterranean, and would arrive within the month. If they learned that before they crossed the point of no return, then they would lose heart and give up. Wasting years of effort and vast amounts of wealth. 

The nobles left the room, now confident in their victory, leaving behind but a few individuals. Pepin among them. 

“We mistook Siegfried's threat,” Ecbert began, no trace of his earlier confidence to be found. “This attack is not one of conquest, but a prelude. He will ravage these lands, and what he leaves in his wake will be so chaotic and destitute that the people will beg for his rule.” 

People had short memories, and they were blind to cause and effect. Once the Northmen left their shores with every last gold coin, there was going to be a struggle. Banditry born from roaming refugees. Farmland left to fallow because men didn't have the tools or the manpower to cultivate them, which would lead to a famine in some places. All the while, ambitious petty nobles would see an opportunity to climb higher than their station, so they would jealously guard what power they had and then strike out at others to weaken them and rise higher. 

In the years following this… raid, Britannia would be left a place of chaos and disorder. By the time that Siegfried returned to its shores, so long as he brought peace and stability, Pepin could see the peasants welcoming his rule with tears of gratitude, blind or uncaring to the fact that he was the one who set it all in motion. 

“The recent assassinations certainly haven't helped things. Kings seem to be dropping like flies,” Pepin noted, sliding his gaze to Ecbert. There wasn't an accusation in his voice. Just an idle observation. 

Pepin was almost certain that Ecbert was behind the rash of assassinations and usurpations across England. He wasn't sure how, which is why he never made an accusation. Though even if he did, Pepin doubted that he would ever voice such ugly and inconvenient truths. But, the simple truth was that the only people who benefited from this chaos were Siegfried… and Ecbert. 

“God have mercy on their souls,” Ecbert uttered, making a cross before continuing. “I've had to double my guard just to make sure that I am not one of them. Such senseless waste. The Devil's work, no doubt.” 

Which devil, Pepin wondered, offering a thin smile. “Regardless of how we found ourselves in these… circumstances, the fact remains that Wessex is in a position of leadership. And we have a very narrow window of opportunity.” The Northmen were divided -- a garrison on the island of Mann, and an army split between Britannia and the Eyrie. 

The Defiler of Rome was coming with between fifteen to twenty thousand men. Enough to reinforce both armies and put them firmly beyond their power to face on the battlefield. 

“This is true,” Ecbert acknowledged without inflection. Or guilt. “But, as luck would have it, we have our rallying cry. This raid is not merely an attack on our worldly lives, but upon our immortal souls. Upon our Heavenly Father himself.” 

“Then we shall scrape the bottom of the barrel, then?” Pepin guessed. It wasn't exactly a good plan. Ecbert had cultivated a disciplined force of eight thousand warriors in his wars against the various petty kingdoms surrounding them. A force so mighty that Mercia and Northumbria had to band together to counter it. A force that they thought would be enough, had this attack been more reasonably sized. 

Inflating the numbers with peasants that had fire in their hearts but no training to speak of? Who would likely falter the moment they felt the tide of battle turn against them? Against Siegfried's well-trained and disciplined army? 

It was courting disaster. 

Something Ecbert was well aware of based on his thin-lipped smile. 

“I'm afraid we will be forced to dig much deeper than that.” 

… 

The raid was progressing well by all accounts. My army moved slowly through Mercia, leaving no stone unturned. The baggage trains of stolen wagons were heavy with spoils, carving out paths as they rode to our fort on the coast. There, the garrison on the island of Mann would sail out, load up a few ships, and transfer it to our fort there. Britannia was not nearly as rich as Hispania had been, but we were well on our way to matching the spoils taken from that raid. 

Especially now that we had secured the capital of Mercia, Tamworth. It, along with many noble prisoners who had attempted to sneak out of the city when we arrived. Most would be ransomed back to those that still had the coin to purchase their freedom, others would remain prisoners to further destabilize the region, while others would be granted their freedom in exchange for cooperation. 

The city of Tamworth had been overrun with refugees, placing a great strain on the city's food reserves. If we had besieged it, I honestly doubted the city would have managed to last more than a week before food riots broke out. Which proved to be an opportunity for me. 

I had learned a great deal from the first Great Raid. Enough to know what kind of preparations were really needed to house such vast amounts of treasure, as well as what the men would take in great numbers. It also taught me the importance of how to deal with the great influxes of food. 

Meat and fruits, I reserved for my men, but it had cost me very little to give out bread from grain stores that had accrued. It was a move that hadn't undone any ill feelings about the raid, but it did soften the people of Britannia's attitudes ever so slightly. Just a touch, really. It was an unexpected kindness from an enemy that they’d expected nothing but cruelty from. And that was something very deliberate on my part, to undercut the religious fervor that was being stoked across Britannia. 

“There are more slaves being taken than expected,” Haldur remarked to me as we stood in a royal office that the current king wasn't using as he was in the countryside, trying to rally an army. As he spoke, he passed me a slip of paper that had a list of what had been taken in Tamworth. Gold, silver and jewels taken from the treasury and churches. Wines, spices, furs, spools of cloth, pigments, and ironworks. In addition, there were a thousand slaves taken. 

“It's higher than I would like, but not more than I was prepared for,” I replied. 

“As much as the men came for gold and glory, they came for wives just as much,” Haldur remarked with a chuckle that I didn't share. He wasn't wrong. The warriors that had come with me from the Mediterranean had settled in and found great success. With that success, they took multiple wives. In the grand scheme of things, it was something of a challenge for the menfolk but not an insurmountable one. Following the conquest, however, those that fought settled in the same position as the warriors that came before. 

It was an issue that was steadily compounding, and there were many who saw this raid as a means to securing a wife if not a harem for themselves. 

“It will be something we must keep an eye on going forward. It'll only get worse the longer the raid goes on,” I remarked, setting the note aside. 

There was a sharp knock at the door before Ragnar entered. He strode forward with a confidence that he had lacked before Chester, having settled into himself a bit. As much as I wanted to look at him and still see a boy, I could no longer deny that he had become a man. Both because of his armring, and by deed. 

“Father, Uncle -- our scouts have brought word of Wessex. King Ecbert is leaving his lands,” Ragnar informed, standing tall as he looked at me. The news surprised me. 

“How ambitious of him,” I mused, tapping a finger on the table. I had thought that Ecbert would remain in Wessex, shoring up his own defenses as he left the rest of Britannia to burn. “Perhaps he saw through my plan?” 

I wanted to discredit Ecbert. In the aftermath of the raid, I wanted people to wonder ‘why wasn't Wessex attacked? Why didn't they suffer?’ That would lead to suspicion and doubt against Charlemagne's chosen pawn because from there, it was a very small jump to assume that Ecbert had perhaps worked out some kind of deal with me. It wouldn't be true, but rumors rarely cared about the truth. 

That suspicion would be enough to undercut his bid for power and to weaken if not eliminate Charlemagne's continued support. 

“Even if he did, what gives him the confidence to march against us?” Haldur questioned sharply, looking out the balcony in the direction of Wessex. “They don't have the numbers or the experience." 

“I'm not sure he plans on winning the battle,” I ventured, shuffling a few papers around in search of a map of Britannia. It was an older one as my scouts were still filling in the Map granted to me by the gods. The one that had been looted from a noble family's home was the most accurate I had found so far. “His ambitions can be accomplished simply by showing that he's willing to fight, regardless of whether he wins.” 

“That ambition being?” Haldur questioned, glancing at me sharply. 

“Becoming the King of England. From the southern coast to Hadrian's Wall, though I doubt that Ecbert would complain if he absorbed all of Northumbria into his kingdom,” I answered. It had been clear very early on that Ecbert was Charlemagne's pawn on the board. His way of trying to check me, be it by taking the lives of my warriors or forcing a defeat upon me to stain my reputation. He had financed Ecbert's expansion and fortifications, as well as sent Ecbert his eldest son to serve as an adviser. 

It had been just as clear that Ecbert was a man of ambition who was perfectly happy to be a pawn if it meant getting what he wanted. 

“I thought that he would wait until we left to pounce on the weakened kingdoms,” I continued. I’d half counted on it, really. Wessex wouldn't be left untouched, but I had intended to leave it in a position of strength for expansion. That way, when we returned, we would only face one kingdom that was ruled by an unpopular king who had attacked his new subjects when they were at their lowest. 

“Could his reputation survive such a defeat?” Ragnar asked, and that very question was why I had assumed that Ecbert would wait for us to leave before positioning himself as the defender of England. 

“I don't know,” I admitted, finding myself curious. “In any case, he believes so, enough that he's willing to act despite the risk.” 

“Will there be a battle?” Ragnar pressed, and I nearly reached out to ruffle his hair to put him at ease, but stopped myself, knowing that the action wouldn't be appreciated. 

There didn't need to be one. Not really. We were a highly mobile and disciplined force that could come and go as we pleased. The only true risk would be at our baggage train filled with our collective spoils or against the fort that acted as a waystation. But, if Ecbert wasn't behaving as planned, then plans need to be reconsidered. 

“Aye,” I decided, my gaze fixed on the map, drawing a finger northward, out of Mercia and into Northumbria. “There will be.” 

A pitched battle had advantages for us. A decisive victory would make the rest of the raid much easier. And it also opened the door to diplomacy. 

“But not now,” I continued. “Ragnar, fetch your brother. It would be best to tell you this together.” At that, Ragnar nodded sharply and marched out of the room. Haldur watched him go with a fond expression. 

“He's grown into himself,” Haldur remarked, echoing my thoughts. “He carries himself like a man now.” 

He did. It had been a calculated risk. I did my best to control as much of the circumstances and factors as I could for Ragnar and Magnus’ first true battle. A real fight for their lives. They had both done well, even better than I had dared to hope, and the results spoke for themselves. Still, my heart hadn't rested easy, and still didn't. Yet I couldn't do anything but leave it to their training and the will of the gods. 

“Harald distinguished himself as well,” I returned. 

“Hm. Until after the battle. The boy puked,” Haldur said with a ghost of a smile. 

“Ragnar and Magnus were trembling so badly that they couldn't stand after their blood cooled,” I returned and we shared a rare smile. “I wasn't much better when I killed for the first time. Mother can attest to that.” 

“Father told me to relax. Shame I did it with a full blatter. I'm likely the first man to piss himself after the battle was done,” Haldur snorted with a shake of his head before he stood up. The moment of levity quickly faded as he turned his gaze to the map, “What shall I tell my men about the battle?” 

“It'll happen in Northumbria,” I answered, tapping the map near a city called York. “I want them to gather their strength as we move north to see what fight Mercia has left in it. And to see what Ecbert will do when Hjalmar arrives in Wessex.” Would he split his forces? Would he falter? Would he let his lands be ravaged to commit to a battle? I didn't know, and that was the point of dragging out a battle and forcing him to give chase. 

Haldur nodded, accepting the information and leaving the royal office. 

I wasn't alone for long as Ragnar and Magnus both soon arrived, looking like they had both hurried to get here. I chuckled as I stood up, looking at both of my sons. They had grown. They were men. And it was time that I started treating them as such. 

“Before there will be a battle, there is an opportunity to tilt things into our favor more than they already are,” I began, standing before them. “For this reason, I am sending both of you as part of a delegation to King Causantín of Alba.” 

Magnus frowned, “An alliance? Do we need them?” 

“Need? No,” I admitted. Admittedly, their highlands would be a challenge to take, but no more so than Norway or Sweden had been. “But having a ready ally on Britannia will be useful in the future. Especially one that we can embolden.” 

Ragnar's gaze sharpened, his lips thinning but he swallowed down what he initially wanted to say before instead saying, “What would be the terms of an alliance?” 

“That,” I began, reaching out and settling my hands on their shoulders, “Will be part of your duty to decide.” 

That earned disbelieving looks, “Father! You can't be serious-” 

“I am,” I swiftly undercut their argument. “You won't have a wholesale say, of course. And you will be accompanied by a seasoned diplomat, who I expect you to listen to and learn from. The goal is to have them agree to fight in the battle with us. If you think you can get more than that, then try. If you can't, then learn why not. You have trained for this your whole lives, and both of you are clever. I trust you to not sell my empire for a hundred men in a battle that we would already win.” 

That earned a pair of indignant expressions. I smiled before I continued, “Nor will I be sending you without something that can tip the scales.” They had no idea what I meant by that, but they soon learned as I felt… power flowing from my hands into them. 

It wasn't just Prestige, as I bestowed them both with a Blessing. There was some, but only a token amount. Most of the cost came from Perks that had languished in disuse. 

I never used the Perks that I had earned from the Conquest, largely because there had never been a need. I would hesitate to call myself undefeatable, but I also knew that I wasn't that far off. With my Chosen and my own abilities, the odds of me being bested in battle were vanishingly small. There was a reason I was able to forge an empire in three years, and that was before gaining nearly ten additional Perks. 

They weren't useless, but I didn't really need them. At least, not as much as others did. 

So I had held them in reserve for this day. The day when my children became adults and could use an advantage to handle the responsibilities they would have. So I let the unused Perks flow out of me and into my sons, and their expressions were ones of awe as they felt the power settle in their chests. 

Martial: Battle Precognition

 The user gains the abilities of a battle-precog, allowing them to anticipate an enemy's next move before they can think to make it. 

Diplomacy: Charming Presence

Without an active reason to dislike a user, everyone in his presence will have a +10 opinion modifier, with a 5% reputation increase. 

Ragnar’s breathing hitched as his Blessing’s settled first. It was my first time bestowing two at the same time, so I was a little concerned when he wobbled on his feet. However, I was distracted as Magnus almost fell over as both of his Blessings settled. 

Stewardship: A Good Deal

 When negotiating, targets have a tendency to walk away with the lesser end of a bargain. 

*Does not prevent reputation loss if a deal is stacked too much in the user’s favor.

Diplomacy: Two Truths and a Lie

The user is able to see two truths about a target and one lie. Depending on how well the user knows the target, the lie will be easier to identify. As well as allowing the user to reveal specific truths. 

The Blessings that Magnus received surprised me. I’d thought that they would be martial-focused, given that all but one of the kingdoms that made up my empire had been taken by conquest. I suppose in the act of bestowing those Perks, they became neutral and were then applied depending on the aptitude of whomever I was bestowing them on? 

Both were useful, but Two Truths and a Lie seemed unusual. Blessings tended to be flat benefits, and it was the first time I saw a Blessing that carried a bit of… risk to it. 

“... Father?” Ragnar tried, taking a sharp breath and blinking a few times, recovering alongside his brother. “What…?”

“They are abilities that will help you in your task and your future,” I told them, and now I allowed myself to ruffle their hair affectionately. Trying to ignore a knot of concern in my chest that the Blessings would change how my boys looked at me. Like less like a father and more like… how everyone else did. “Can I count on you two to see this done?”

They traded a quick glance that they thought I didn’t notice before they stood a bit taller. 

“You can count on us, Father!” They said in almost unison, and I smiled. 

I truly hoped that was the case.