The Dumnonian Resistance

[Cybelos [ERE]]

When the Danes first landed in Kent, the Lords of Britain had not thought much of it. In this anarchic 11th century, Norse raids were, unfortunately, a fact of life.

However, as it became clear that the Lord of Canterbury would not be able to rebuild his walls, and muster more men, as his hold was stolen away from him, more things became clear.

With a new-found threat, the Briton lords again had a reason to forget their petty disputes, put down their swords and collectively raise their shields.

Lord Leofwine of the House of Fougeres, a relic of the 'King of the Isles' Aeduuard's reign, the former, and still de-jure Duke of Devonshire, has been seen as the leader of the resistance, but in no official capacity. Many Lords have taken up arms against this new menace, some noble nobles, some less-than-noble nobles. Nevertheless, the eternal struggle for power in Britain will continue, no matter the outcome here.

Characters :

• Leofwine, Duke of Devon (Cybelos)
  
• Godric, Count of Dorset (Grand Auvergne)
  
• Vincent York, Cornish Militiaman, Smith (Valzar)
  
• Fergus Rowley, Rhaymsian General (Rhaymes)
  

Characters can be added as the story progresses. An italicised name indicates a belligerent.

[Cybelos [ERE]]

Leofwine

Leofwine stepped out the castle of Escanceaster, looking out over the city and across the sea. The anarchy had obviously affected the once proud city. Much poorer than what it should be, though, the city was still leagues ahead of many settlements of the area.

The Duke sighed, his army awaited him below. Some regulars with decent, if second-hand equipment, bolstered by peasant-soldiers, with cloth and leather, shoddy swords, a plain shield for every few men, their fathers old swords brought back into use again.

Could he even leave Escanceaster, the Duke thought? Without worrying about Godric, that opportunist, laying siege to his walls. The Count would likely condemn himself in the long run if that was the idea. Not even Godric would do that, surely. As much as Leofwine loved to hate Godric, he knew the Count wasn't a stupid man.

Leofwine supposed that he would have to learn to trust his rival when the time came.
For now though, the regulars trained alongside the peasants until the day of action came.

Leofwine glanced down at the three letters he held in his hand. They were translated with the best of the knowledge of the libraries of Dumnonia would allow them to be, and sealed with the symbol of Devonshire, a triangular, triple-towered castle.

Well, now to just get them sent off.
The Duke just had to pray that, at the very least, the letters arrived.

The Letter to the Teutonic Order:

Letter to King Malcolm II of Scotland:

Letter to the Kings of Auvergne:

[Grand Auvergne]

It has been close to a decade since the revolt of the "Francs-Seigneurs" and now the opposition to the Auvergnat rule was thin and mostly located outside the borders of the Kingdom, such as in Verdun or Amiens. The duchies have been re-organized and now Francia was blooming, producing cereals and all sort of agricultural products. But once the political and economical problems had been solved, a final matter needed a solution : the logistic.

The new kingdom of the Franks, despite being smaller and more centralised than its predecessor, also suffered terrible problems of communication. it was cut in half by the mountains of Auvergne, broadly separating the country into Francia to the north and Gothia to the south. Because of this, the managment of the two was difficult.

As such, Berenger Ier had ordered during a Council of the Vassals his intention to renovate the old roman roads, after five centuries of decay. And with them, was to be established a postal network, to accelerate the transmission of the information from the borders to the core of the Kingdom. The autonomy of the vassals be damned.

Of course a new tax had to be raised to pay for all of this but the vassals judged it fair and signed the Royal Decree.

And so, when the Dumnonian messenger in Rouen, his letter was taken in charge by a another courrier bearing the seal of the Count as a proof of the importance of the information. After a day by horse, he was replaced in Vexin by another agent of the post who traveled through the night. So on and so on until the letter finally reached Clermont, 5 days after it was sent from Escanceaster.

---

Berenger Longcrin

"So, the Nords are now trying to conquer and not to plunder. Quite a strange thing for people of their kin." Pierre of Tonnerre was the first of the royal generals to react after the letter had been read by one of the monk in service of the king.

"Not so. The chronicles do speak of the Great Heathen Army that tried to conquer the Isles, maybe six kings ago ?" Corrected the Bishop of Yssoire.

"So will this Leofwine be a new Alfred the Great, or another Well-Advised, Poorly Advised ?" Wondered a third general, making a word play on the name and title of the last legitimate king of the Saxons.

Silence fell in the Bright Hall as the generals turned to look at their king, who had yet to speak. Berenger was pensively rubbing his temples. His hairs were now gray and silver, and his milk-white skin covered in wrinkles. He's been king for ten years now and duke for twice as long. Age was slowly becoming a problem even if his sucession was secured and his testament already written down.

"We need to secure the Seine." He finally said after a moment of meditation. "Send letters to the Normands lords who haven't yet betrayed the Christ. Make them the traditional offers : protection and support in exchange of their oath. Do not wait for their agreement and build new fortress and camps around the river. It's control is key."

"What about the pagans of the Loire and Britain, sir ?" Asked one of the general.

"Against who do you think these fortress will stand against ? We will not have our access to the channel and to the Isles denied."

"So, are we to send troops to support the Saxon Duke ?"

"Not yet." Explained Berenger while leaning forward in his throne. "We will limit ourselves to material support for now. Weapons, armors, food... everything an army need."

"And what to we gain in exchange, sir ? Once either the nords of Dumnonia is gone, what to we obtain from the whole operation ?"

Berenger smiled. A quite terrifying smile. "We will send a letter. We will explain that we will give our support for free. But we will tell them that we expect... a return of favor, in the futur."

The generals looked at each others again. They've followed their king long enough to know that they wouldn't get any more information from him. They waited while Berenger was visibly thinking of something else until he finaly dismissed them. Only the new Archbishop of Clermont and Archchancellor of the kingdom, Etienne IV, stayed, taking place behind a desk, ready to write down the letter to Leofwine.

Tomorow morning, multiple messengers left the Clarus Mons. One of them with the message for the Duke of Dumnonia. It arrived in Escanceaster, in secret, 5 days later.

---

Letter to the Duke of Dumnonia:

[The Christian Imperium]

Landgrave Challes

Landgrave had accomplished some of his goals so far; setting up his own state and killing a few thousand pagan heathens along the way. He was proud of what he and his followers had created. His Teutonic Order was meant to act as a defender of Christian Europe and to serve as one line of defense for the Pope against bloodthirsty pagan armies. With great power comes great responsibility, and Landgrave was no stranger to that.

He watched from his castle as his men patrolled the courtyard. A smile touched his face as he looked down at their proud black crosses. Then, a courier was ushered into the room with a letter from the Duke of Dumnonia asking for help against pagan armies in Britain. Landgrave immediately assembled his generals to discuss what should be done.

"I say we should send a small force to help them," one general said. "As leaders of the Teutonic Order, it is our duty to defend Europe from the pagan beasts." Landgrave knew that already. He knew it was his duty, but if he sent forces to the British Isles, he would have even less men in his own lands to defend against pagan forces. But he knew his duty, and he made the choice to send 2,000 knights to the British Isles to help defend them from pagans, a force he would lead himself. He said his prayers to the Lord, packed his armies and supplies, got on some boats, and headed for the British Isles. He could almost taste what glory awaited him in battle.

[Cybelos [ERE]]

Duke Leofwine

Leofwine broke the seals of the two letters that had arrived at nearly the same time.

The smile that had unconsciously crept its way to the Duke's face when reading King Malcolm's letter had faded once he had put King Berenger’s letter down.

The Duke took his hand off of his magnifying lens, and rubbed his eyes.

Of course, nothing comes free, what did he expect.
Never mind the invitation, he was not the Duke of Dumnonia, and had no desire to be.
He was the Duke of Devonshire. Devonshire.
The Duke sighed, that was going to be a problem once he shared his letters with his fellow Dukes and Counts at the next council meeting.

He'd likely hear the worst of it all when he met up with Count Godric later that day.
Might as well get the usual comments out of the way early.

They would likely assume that Leofwine had something planned with Berenger; why else would Leofwine alone get an invitation to Auvergne if they were all equals?
"Well, don't have me write all of the letters then!" The Duke argued to himself.

The Duke composed himself, and took a breath. There were much more pressing matters to deal with now.

Mainly, the winds that blew through Escanceaster were beginning to grow quite cold.

The time to act was at hand.
If the Dumnonian armies took too long to act, then both armies would have to wait out the winter, which was something that Leofwine could not, would not allow, the Dane army to dig in, better prepare, and perhaps even get reinforcements.

Victory or death, there was no other way to end this.

Why not be remembered to the histories as, if not a hero, a helpful loyalist, perhaps his son, and future descendants would have a better go of things.
Hopefully they wouldn’t be condemned to the same anarchic fate as Leofwine.

The Danes had taken the lands between London and Canterbury, but at the same time, with the growing Norseman threat, the men of West Sussex had decided to join the Lords of the resistance.


Still, even with the new local men, help from abroad would still be needed. Luckily, armies were spotted sailing down from Scotland, and news came into the ports of Dumnonia, telling of ships departing from Marienburg.

At least Leofwine had some good news to bring to the next council meeting.
The Frankish shipments had arrived in Escanceaster, it was now Duke Leofwine’s job to distribute the supplies where needed.

The Duke shook his head, and thought, maybe King Berenger was right; maybe he was the Duke of Dumnonia after all.
The Duke tried to free his mind of those thoughts, being the figurehead was a deadly job.

Well, Duke of Dumnonia, eh? Well, the King of the Franks wasn’t the only one who thought of Leofwine in that way, some of the other Lords of the resistance army seemed to believe that as well.

Well, if he was the Duke, then he did have some ideas for the next council meeting, first off, Devon would have to get supplies, along with Cornwall; those were the two main economic areas of this loose coalition, those two, along with Gloucestershire and West Sussex, as that would be the frontier of the fight against the Danes.
The other areas, well, the supplies would have to be spread as fairly as possible.

Leofwine thought for a while before he was to set off to meet with Godric, perhaps it would be wise to let that Order of Knights take control of this operation, they were likely among the most sophisticated group of fighting men in all of Europe.

Plus, who could oppose that suggestion? None if it there was a Papal decree behind it.
He would have to see, if they could be trusted that is.
Then, if so, let them take the responsibilities of the ‘Duke of Dumnonia’, and let him just deal with Devonshire.

The Duke sighed. That would be too easy, wouldn't it?
He actually was going to become the Duke of Dumnonia, wasn't he?


The Duke’s mind was in a thousand different places.
Well, perhaps a ride to meet with Godric, his greatest friend and ally (officially, that is.), would help him put things into perspective.

It was off to Dorset then. Leofwine would ride to Givele, a market town in the west of the Count's holdings.

It was there that Leofwine would meet with the Count, his Count, he chuckled to himself, if those rules of peerage still meant anything.

From the meeting point, the two Lords would ride to Cornwall together to inspect the armies alongside the Lord of Cornwall.

There was some promise there, thank God.
Speaking of whom, God knows they would need all the help they could get.

Once that was concluded, it would be back to Escanceaster, to meet with the generals of the armies of the Scots and the Teutons.

[Grand Auvergne]

It was a strange past that Leofwine and Godric shared. Despite one being Duke and the other a Count, the rivalry between the two was something of a local legend.

With the end of the kingdom of Wessex, Leofwine had become the last vestige of authority in the region, despite the absence of king. Meanwhile, Godric left without concern for the anarchy overtaking the lands and focused himself on the gestion of his fief, Devonshire, which he dedicated to the trade of wool and textile with the continent, specifically the Flanders and the regions around the Seine.

Of course Godric was not only an "honest merchant" and he grew his wealth in multiple ways, such as piracy and conquest of some of his neighbors's lands. This side of him is what placed him at odd with the noble Leofwine, with many minor nobles calling the latter to help against the opportunistic "draper of Poole".

It said something of the current situation when both men agreed to forget their past feud and to ally against a common ennemy.

As such they met in Givele on a Sunday. The date was not selected randomly by the chancellors of both lords, as no infighting between christians could occur that day following the rules of the "Peace of God" established by the Pope and his bishops.

Godric and Leofwine celebrated the Mass in the presence of the barons and courtisans that had followed them as another way to show the peace between the two and then they finally met somewhere more private to discuss the current matters.

Despite his reputation as a "Draper" and as an avid and opportunistic merchant, Godric had the appearance of a warlord. Tall, well toned muscles under his mantle of fur, long hairs and a short beard. His dark eyes sparkled with this cunningness and malice that characterized so many of his actions.

"Well then my friend. I heard you were busy these days. Nice to see you took the time to visit my humble domain." Godric smiled to the Duke as he took place in a chair beside the fireplace of some house they were using for the occasion as a meeting ground. With a sign of his hand, he invited Leofwine to do the same. "Weapons from the Gauls, men from the Scots, knights from Germania... who knew our little enterprise would gather so much attention, eh ?"

He then stopped, seemingly wondering something. And it was with a graver voice that he spoke again. "Winter is coming fast this year. It will be a long winter. Our moves have yet to alarm the heathens, your secrecy was enough to not raise their attention while they are busy securing their conquests. I've known you for long enough to say you're planning to strike soon. I can only agree. It's now or never."

He then took two apples from a nearby basket and offered one to his guest. He then took a small knife and started peeling. "I was thinking, you have a daughter soon to be a lady, right ? My boy, Edward, has yet to find a spouse. It could be a good occasion to bury our past disputes once and for all, if our bloods were to be united, don't you think ?"

He then took a piece of apple and ate it, staring at the fire and almost like he talked to himself, he continued. "Winter will be long. This is bad for business. I'll need new pastures for the sheeps. More grass. Why not Hampshire ? I believe you would leave me make the acquisition of this county, wouldn't you, my friend ?"

[Cybelos [ERE]]

Leofwine eyed the Count as he stared into the fire, peeling away at his apple, sticking each piece that he cut with his knife, and proceeding to eat the skewered apple from the dangerously sharp end of the knife, which was an unsettling, almost comically villainous sight in Leofwine’s mind.

The Duke looked to the skin of the apple which had been discarded.
He could swear he could hear his mother’s voice saying
“Leoffy, the skin’s the best part! You best eat it if you want to grow big and strong like your father, love.”

Ah, his father. He'd always know how to handle people like Godric.
Too bad those days are gone.

Leofwine gazed down at his arms and hands and then back at Godric, then he bit into his apple, skin and all.
Leofwine was getting older and more grey; it would soon be his son, Morcar’s job to administer the Duchy.

Godric, on the other hand, was still strong, and it would be some time before his son, Edward had to take control.

The Duke thought again of his mother’s words as the piece of chewed-up apple slid down his throat.


Leofwine let out an almost-inaudible huff before he began to reply.

“The Count of Hampshire is a good man, and is nearly convinced to join our ‘little enterprise’
I do not think it wise to force him out of his lands and titles.
We may, however, be able to secure Wight as a... wedding present.”
Spoke Leofwine, offhandedly agreeing to the marriage, hoping to throw off Godric, and give the Count something to think on.


Leofwine thought of his daughter, oh, fair Agatha, she was meant for Charles, son of the Duke of Somerset. That was, of course, before, well, before everything.

Edward though, Edward was… a good man, unremarkable really, but good. Not his father's son.
The Duke then thought of the Countess of Dorset. Could it be possible... No, no.

Then again, Edward did have that nose that was reminiscent of Duke Erwin of ages past.
Just a coincidence. Probably a coincidence, yes. Most likely a coincidence.

This would be a marriage and alliance for the histories, definitely.
The Duke hoped that Godric didn’t think that marriage would be a free pass for the Count to steal away Counties and castles without Leofwine’s intervention though.
The Duke would still be keeping his eyes on Godric’s unsavory activities.
That, and he had to make sure Morcar stayed safe around Godric and his men, the Count wouldn’t get the Duchy of Devonshire that easily.

The Duke broke the silence as Godric continued to gaze into the fire, obviously thinking and calculating.
“Once we get to Cornwall, we will have to speak to Francis of Truro.”

The Duke continued with a knowing look towards the Count.

“I’m certain you’ve heard of him, he’s the one that had those pirates killed, and their ships confiscated to join his own fleet, that must have been, what? Some... four years ago, if I recall.

Well, never mind that, I never was one for the seas myself. You’re quite the skilled seaman though, aren’t you? I bet you two will get on like old friends.”

“You see, you may remember that Francis never did hold a title, despite being the wealthiest man in Cornwall, and perhaps, all England.

Well, how things have changed in the recent years; he has taken the role of Duke, after the previous Duke, Richard’s untimely... departure.

We must ride to Cornwall to see the new Duke Francis, to let him know that we support him fully.

We will need his wealth and his militias in the coming war; he has joined the combined resistance against the Danes, but is reluctant to send his men into battle.

We will deliver the Frankish weapons as a sign of the competence of our 'enterprise, in order to ease his mind.

And yes, you are right, I am planning to strike soon, but we will need to strike as one, a united Kingdom of sorts, if you will, though, a united Dukedom is more appropriate.

Come now, we ride for Truro, you can feed the rest of that apple to your horse.
You won't need the knife, he won't mind the skin."

[Grand Auvergne]

Godric looked at his « guest » biting his apple without tools. While he was not a man to refuse to do so, he prefered to do so in the wild, rather than in a civilised place.

« Ah yes. The count did send messengers to you recently. So I know why now… well it isn’t a surprise really. And not a problem. There will be a lot of green pastures for cheap soon... »

He then frowned at the mention of the old spymaster of Aaduard, the late king of Wessex. Sir Labes he should be called now he’s a duke. Godric allowed himself to respect the man and maybe to fear him, despite not technically be competitors, as they did not operate in the same ports.

« Yes I remember Francis. » He said without betraying what he trully felt about the man. It was always hard to admit someone was just better at your job than yourself. Even if Godric started lending money, funding ships and expeditions, doing speculation, long after Francis of Turo.

It was especially hard to catch up now that Francis, as a Duke, touched taxes on the mills, on the salt, wine, on the boats in his ports, on his vassals, the rents of the farmers, and so much more, which were the only sources of wealth Godric had access to that Francis hadn't. Privilege of the aristocracy that they now shared.

"Fine. Let's go meet your man. We will discuss the rest on the way."

Soon after, both men and their escorts were on the road to Cornwall, ready to fully convince the old Spy Master to join them in their little war.

---

On the other side of the sea, nearly a full month after the letter of Leofwine reached Clermont, boats and men left Rouen to slowly follow the Seine. The boats were full of building materials and of builders, and the men that marched on the left bank of the river were all armed and equiped for war. All around, horsemen were running back and forth, looking for possible threats but also for castles to repair, to occupy, or for good locations to build fortifications on.

It was the mission of the troop : securing the Seine, from Rouen to Le Havre. As such, they’ve occupied settlements like Achard or Routot, strategic villages and bourgs that allowed to easily protect the Seine. Each of the « loop » of the Seine now had a fortress being built on its southern side and roads were traced to facilitate the movements of the troops. All the fortress they could find were occupied and had massons affected to them, so the needed repairs could be done.

It took weeks for the Franks to establish themselves around the river and even with the help of the Normands north of the Seine, who agreed to ally with the Rex Francorum, it would probably take months before the new fortifications were anywhere to be ready. Meanwhile, most of the defense efforts will have to be done through the old towers and castles, by boat or through the dirt roads traced by the feet of the men and by the running horses.

And the King of the Franks, Berenger himself, was directly supervising the operations from the castle of Magny, a settlement in the nearby French Vexin, ready to act if anything was to happen or if the plans had to be changed. He also took the time to invite the Normands lords of the countries of Caux and Bray, as well as the Count of Vermandois, to discuss possible alliances...

[Rorukheim]

Landgrave Challes

Landgrave had accomplished some of his goals so far; setting up his own state and killing a few thousand pagan heathens along the way. He was proud of what he and his followers had created. His Teutonic Order was meant to act as a defender of Christian Europe and to serve as one line of defense for the Pope against bloodthirsty pagan armies. With great power comes great responsibility, and Landgrave was no stranger to that.

He watched from his castle as his men patrolled the courtyard. A smile touched his face as he looked down at their proud black crosses. Then, a courier was ushered into the room with a letter from the Duke of Dumnonia asking for help against pagan armies in Britain. Landgrave immediately assembled his generals to discuss what should be done.

"I say we should send a small force to help them," one general said. "As leaders of the Teutonic Order, it is our duty to defend Europe from the pagan beasts." Landgrave knew that already. He knew it was his duty, but if he sent forces to the British Isles, he would have even less men in his own lands to defend against pagan forces. But he knew his duty, and he made the choice to send 2,000 knights to the British Isles to help defend them from pagans, a force he would lead himself. He said his prayers to the Lord, packed his armies and supplies, got on some boats, and headed for the British Isles. He could almost taste what glory awaited him in battle.

(How many ships are you sending?)

(200 I guess)

(You mean twenty? okay)


Your fleet sails with no problems what so ever, until you reach the final stretch of the Baltic sea. Apparently your ruler did not know this sea contained the capital of Rorukheim and many of it's coastal territories. As you continue to sail east, your fleet is spotted by the many merchant ships in this area. The merchants then bring news of your fleet sailing in Rorukheimian waters. As the slayers of many pagans, you catch the attention of Konge Ragnar. He sends his navy after the Teutons, led by Earl Bjorn. It's morning in the Baltic sea, and thus the morning fog has rolled in. Your fleet continues to sail east, then through the fog you hear the sounds of horns. Looking behind you, you see the light of hundreds of torches. Then the dragon headed ships appear from the fog, fifty in total. The much faster ships form into two columns and begin to envelope your ships. Another horn is sounded as the two columns close on your fleet, like a wolf's jaw shutting. They sail right into your ships, ramming into them. Arrows are notched and fired upon your ships, striking down anyone and hitting the boards. The Battle begins

[Rorukheim]

The Teutons are taken completely by surprised, as the superior Rorukheimian ships slam into them. Hooked ropes are thrown onto their ships, and the warriors of Rorukheim board their ships. Violent melees break out as the Teutonic knights draw their swords. As battle rages around him, one knar latches on to the Grandmasters ship. First Rorukheimian warrior to set foot on his ship, was no other Earl Bjorn himself. Wielding his massive battle ax, he cleaves it into the head of the nearest knight, them rips it out. Reveling in the blood splatter. Swinging his ax, he buries it into another teuton. As the teutonic knights draw their swords to slay the massive foe, Bjorn's men follow his lead and charge onto the ship. The two sides clash, as Pagans and Christians slay each other. The Grandmaster shortly finds himself overwhelmed at the raw might of the "Vikings". As more of his brethren fall, he finds himself staring at the beast of a man called Bjorn the Bear, from across the ship. As Bjorn finishes off another Teuton, he locks eyes with he Grandmaster. Both men release war cries filled with bloodlust as they charge at each other, both weapons already wet with blood. As they near, Bjorn throws his battle ax at the Grandmaster. The weapon's dull top slams into the grandmasters chest, sucking the air out of him, and causing to stagger back and almost trip on a dead body. Them Bjorn crashes into him, dragging him to the ground. The battle around fades, as Bjorn pins the grandmaster down and proceeds to punch the grandmaster in the face. As the Grandmaster is violently beaten in a deep sleep, the soldiers of Rorukheim gather around. Bjorn stands, knuckles bruised and bloody, and releases a triumphet roar. The warriors of Rorukheim continue on, plundering each ship and slaying anyone left alive. The Grandmaster is hauled back onto Bjorns ship, as the Rorukheimian fleet leaves, with the burning remains of the Tueton's fleet behind them. So much for the glory that the Teutons will get in battle.

[Cybelos [ERE]]

As Leofwine and Godric rode to Truro, not many words were had between the two displaced nobles.
Godric must be thinking as much as he was, Leofwine thought.

The Duke knew that he, for one, had a lot to think on; namely, how to stay ahead of any of Godric’s tricks.

Hmm, the ‘Duke of Cornwall’ really was no better, Leofwine knew. But, Francis was more powerful and wealthier than Leofwine could even hope to be. Well, at least he was a true Englishman at heart, whatever that meant these days.

Cornwall was a real sight for anyone in England living outside of it.
The old Roman roads that lead to Escanceaster were a sad lesson in archaeology compared to these improved road systems built in the Roman style, with guards posted along these roads at regular intervals.

Once the Cornish guard ferried the Duke and Count across the river Tamar, there waited Duke Francis.
“Ah, there you are my friend, Duke Leofwine!” Called out Francis, boisterously.

“I knew I shouldn’t have departed from my Truro so early, the roads of Devon and Dorset aren’t much compared to Cornwall, I know.”

The Duke and Count had barely any time to get their formalities in before Duke Francis was escorting them along the roads, leading them past the nearby monastery and making sure to sneak in a chance to inform his fellow noblemen of his charity and piety in the rebuilding of said monastery.

Every town and hamlet that the trio passed through was… unsettlingly orderly.
It was out of place and out of time, the soldiers all saluted their Duke as he passed, and all gates to any walled settlement swung open immediately at Francis’ approach.

Either this Duke Francis ran an impeccably taut ship, or he was a remarkable showman, one for the ages.
Duke Leofwine would choose to believe the latter, he knew this type of man. Hell, Godric was a poor copy of it.

These kinds of men, men such as Godric and Francis seemed to thrive in what had been called ‘chaos’.

Leofwine had to admit, it was impressive, even what Godric has been able to accomplish with only a County, but the things that have to be swept underneath the rug in order to make it work were extraordinary, and from what he’d seen, Cornwall must have some of the most sublime weavers in all Europe to create a rug so large to hide away all the messy, unfortunate details.


Truro was no exception, by God, the food that had been prepared.
Leofwine was transported back to the feast he had attended back when Aeduuard was crowned as King of Wessex.

That boar that spun round on the spit, that must have been caught only a couple of hours ago, and spices? What sort of deeds had to have been done to have enough excess silver to import not just the essentials, such as excess grains, but rare spices?

Leofwine’s head was spinning, though he supposed after a moment that was the point of all of this, to overwhelm him.

No, he wouldn’t allow it. Francis, despite all of this extravagance, needed him, needed the combined might of the Dumnonian army.

Francis, ever the observant host, had decided to distract Leofwine for a while then, if this cavalcade was wearing off on him.

“Captain!” Francis shouted out, calling over one of his men.

“Do show the good Duke here where his supplies will be put to use.”
Leofwine couldn’t imagine where his supplies could be put to use really, Duke Francis was so fat with wealth, that he should be the one stuck on the spit, garnished with strange and exotic spices.

But, the Duke indulged and followed the captain off.

“Count Godric, let us go and inspect the fleet together.”
Francis said, making sure to be loud enough for Leofwine to hear.

Once Godric and Francis had arrived at the main port, the Duke leaned back against a nearby wall, and looked out at his own personal navy.

“Look familiar at all? Well, being spymaster for Aeduuard had its perks.”
Said Francis, pointing out one of the captured pirate vessels.

“Ah, King Aeduuard. Shame about what happened, shame about Duke Symon, as well.

No, really, it was a shame. It was a shame to all Englishmen, to have to suffer a weak King, and this, the repercussions of a weak King, this squalor that England finds herself in.

Duke Leofwine, no matter what you may think of him, no matter those petty border disputes, and land grab attempts thwarted by him, he is a good Duke, you do realise, I know, and should he realise that the feelings of others don’t matter, that ancient set of outdated morals don't matter…
He could become more than a good Duke, he could become a great King, a great King that needs great… advisors.

You must help him learn this, I’ve read over the letters, just as you have, I know the Frank King wants Leofwine to sail over to his lands to ‘talk’, or rather to make a King out of Leofwine for himself, and have him be a puppet to the Frankish will.

Don’t doubt for a moment that the Scots or the Germans won’t attempt the same.
You, as his new found ally, must convince him to forget his future enslavement to any foreign crown.

While stealing away lands, or even Escanceaster itself while Leofwine is away in Francia may seem a tempting idea in of itself, I tell you, look at my lands, see what I have accomplished, even in these damned times we live in.

Imagine what is possible under a strong King, a powerful King who won’t forget those countrymen who helped him get his crown.
Reflect on my words. For now, though, Duke Leofwine must be getting suspicious, let us rejoin him.

Leofwine continued to observe the soldiers training, there was definite promise here, it seems Francis wasn’t all bluster after all.

There was one soldier, a common militiaman, barking out encouragements, aiding his fellow men wherever they needed the help, giving tips to the newer recruits, teaching even the experienced soldier techniques for keeping their blades in a near-pristine condition.

“Now, who is that, then?” Leofwine asked to the captain next to him.

“A one Vincent York” Francis replied, grasping a hand on his fellow Duke’s shoulder.
“Remarkable soldier, what a true Cornish man should be.”

Leofwine couldn’t help but nod his head in agreement with Francis.

“You could make use of him, if you wish.
You have my confidence now, with my portion of the delivery of the Frankish arms, let me instill some confidence in you, let Vincent there show you what a Cornish soldier can do.”

As Leofwine looked out over the men, deciding to free his mind from the distractions of Truro provided by Francis, said Duke patted the back of Count Godric.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone to observe.”

“When you’ve got a moment, lad!” Francis shouted across the training field towards Vincent, as he pointed at Duke Leofwine and Count Godric.

“Gentlemen, I’ll only be but a few metres away at any time, consider me, at your service.”
With that, Francis bowed, and walked off with his captain.

[Grand Auvergne]

Godric took his time to appreciate the travel. He was a sailor at heart, but travelling by land was not bad either. The wind in his hair, however, did not stop him from thinking. About the future of Wessex, of the Isles… of his future. They were at a crossroad and it was impossible to tell which road led where. But inside himself, the count was smiling. He never got where he was by avoiding challenges.

The Draper of Poole never met the old spymaster of Wessex before and it was interessing to finally see him face to face, feel his handshake and to smell him. This was a secret he would never tell to his « friend » the Duke of Devonshire but Godric trusted his nose more than his eyes when it came to judge people. And he was exactly what he had imagined.

A man to be jealoused, respected and feared.

He ignored Francis boast and followed him to Truro, for the feast. It was trully excellent and their host really did his best to show his importance. Even Godric coudn’t stay perfectly neutral to the display of wealth. And of spices. He could name most of them : Mustards and Saffron from the Gauls, Peppers and Ginger bought in the Judean ports, and many others. He never actually saw so many of them in one feast, He watched over Leofwine, who’s shock could be read all over his face. It was bad. The support of the ex spymaster will be bought in gold if it continued.

He took a bite of  the boar’s meat. Fresh, spiced, perfectly cooked, the sauce was rich yet did not hide the taste of the meat. Like everytime he ate at such dinners, he was brought back years before all of this, when he was only a young boy and his father an unknown baron with no wealth to his name. He remembered the cold winters and the harsh summers. He remembered the struggle that lead him to where he was today. All that started with a knife in the back of his father the baron, and the arms of a mother hugging him, to calm the young killer, to tell him he did a good job.

He chased the gloomy thoughts from his mind and finished his plate.

Godric was not really surprised when Francis offered him to inspect the fleet. He had expected the discussion that followed.
He did recognize the vessel. Even if he said nothing, he allowed himself a grimace. The ship came from one of his many « secret » endeavors that failed. This one in peticular almost brought him down. He had to quickly cut all his ties to the captured crews before the spymaster could gather enough proofs of Godric’s complicity in the matter. This saved the count from any legal consequence, even if it screamed its guilt to the Spymaster. No really, nothing good came from this little adventure.

He listened to Francis’s little speach. And offer. It was quite clear : Leofwine as the king of england,  and both of them as the true powers behind the throne. However, there could only be one man to really hold power and if it came to it, Godric was far too weak to oppose the Duke of Cornwall. But   he also confirmed something the Count of Dorset guessed : Francis was the strongman of Wessex and as it is, neither Godric of Leofwine could oppose him. However, if the situation came to change, if foreign powers became more involved in the Isles, Francis would be threatened. Meanwhile, Godric would only have new opportunities to exploit. He will have to meditate this thought.

« Do not worry. My past feuds with Leofwine don’t cloud my judgement on the man.  With your support, he could be king tomorrow, no earl would vote against him. But for now he’s only slowly coming to term with the fact he is already first among peers. Give him a few weeks, maybe a battle or two, a few words here and there... and you will have exactly the king you’re hoping for. »

Then they returned to the Duke of Devonshire, who was observing the men at arm in training. Godric made no attempt to hide his lack of interest. He preferred to leave the supervision of the soldiers to men more competent than him. After Francis patted him on the back, to which Godric barely reacted, and left, the count turned toward Leofwine and said.

« Well it could have gone worse. »

[Rorukheim]

Lunden-
Through whispers and rumors, Ormr has learned of a man referred to, by the Saxon, as Leofwine, Duke of Dumnonia, the "King of England". Ormr furious from this notion by the Saxons, Ormr interrogates many of these offenders. Hearing many stories, one name seems to stick out other than Leofwine. A man named Godric, who's exploits earned a title.
"The draper of Poole." Ormr says aloud, while staring at a map of England that was so graciously left behind by the previous lord of Lunden. A knife is twirled between his fingers, as Ormr's eyes scan the map. Suddenly he throws the knife into the map. It hits it's target, it point out the wooden back board. Ormr looks at his slave, who until now have been standing by the door.
"Get me Borg!" He roars at the young woman. She scurries off, and Ormr continues to stare at the map. A few minutes later the slave woman returns, with a large, bald, older man. Ormr walks up the man and gives him a smack on the back.
"Borg! I know this moment of silence has been uneasy for you... so how about a little blood to calm your nerves, huh?"
The giant of a man looks down at Ormr, and gives him a big smile.
"What is your command, lord Ormr?" He says as the girl closes the doors behind them.

Outside Poole, Dorest-
It's night, when a ship silently sails to the shores around a city known as Poole. Men exit the craft, with a few guards staying behind. The mass of men and women move further inland, with several figures with bound hands and gagged mouths. Stopping near a major road, the group light torches and tie the prisoners. With everything prepared, the ritual begins. The prisoners cry out through their gags as their backs are cut open, ribs broken, and lungs pulled out. With the last one finished, the group hangs them up in a semi circle off the road. Just visible to anyone who would pass by it. Like angels, the men hanging by their arms, have wings. Of the group, three are monks, another was the bishop of Lunden. All of them have red crosses painted in blood on their bare chest. The three furthest away are different, as they have black crosses on their chest. The one in the center, the seven man, alongside with his black cross has a letter nailed into his skull. As dawn breaks, the group that was there, and their ship disappear. Long gone, leaving their work behind for anyone to have the misfortune to see.

[Cybelos [ERE]]

"It could have gone worse." Hmm, if Leofwine knew Godric, and he did, he was up to some scheme or another.
Well, never mind that for now, and if this soldier of Francis' couldn't be bothered, then Leofwine couldn't be bothered himself.

"Pleasant as this place and it's people may be, we're off to Devon again, ready your horse, Godric."

Leofwine then patted Godric's shoulder as he walked past, echoing Francis' action a moment earlier, if a bit clumsier.

As the Duke and Count rode off Duke Francis saluted his fellow noblemen, waving them off.
Francis then dropped his act once the two other men were out of sight, scowling at his soldier, Vincent York.

A servant then brought Francis a letter, something that obviously worried Francis, to anyone reading the Duke's face. Francis then set off towards the docks once again.

Leofwine and Godric didn't speak to one another much on the ride back to their own lands, making idle chatter with each other or their respective guardsmen accompanying them.

Godric was trying to make conversation, which was a bit out of character for the Count, Leofwine thought, though the relationship between the two men made Godric's attempt difficult.

Though, Leofwine did appreciate this new Godric, a possible friend. What strange times, Leofwine thought.



The Scots had arrived into port, no sign of the Germans yet, Morcar told his father.

Morcar did shake the hand of Godric, though that was awkward for everyone involved, Morcar only gained confidence by looking to his father.
If Leofwine was strong, he had to be just as strong, and attempt to be even stronger.

Morcar had taken the responsibilities of his position of Viceroy of Devon seriously, having regularly collected reports from as far as West Sussex.

It was obvious that the Danes knew something, as they had been seen scouting further than they should have been.

Leofwine looked over the reports his son had gathered, and willingly shared in that task with Godric, as a sign of their new found alliance, and perhaps... friendship.

The battle would have to be now if the Danes were in fact on to this resistance, it was time to meet the Scots, and whoever lead them.
The Duke walked down to where the Scots had made their camp just outside of the city, and asked the soldiers who among them was in command.

It was then that the new reports came in, a servant directed by Morcar handed the reports off to Godric, seeing as Leofwine was preoccupied.

[Grand Auvergne]

It's wondering about why people kept patting his shoulder that Godric left town. During the travel, he tried to make his company as pleasant as possible. Of course it was hard to shake out the distrust of Leofwine for him, but it wasn't really what he expected to accomplish.

They arrived in Leofwine's town and were greeted by his son. Barely a man, and it was quite cute to see him struggle in his shoes of Viceroy.

"You already have a Viceroy, eh, Leofwine ?" He noted with a smile. "Maybe wait for the others to elect you Duke of Dukes before giving such titles to your family, hm ?"

But still, more serious matter waited. The scots had arrived but not the germans. He read the reports gathered by Leofwine's men, and when he finished reading them a shadow fell on his face, and he was frowning as much as he was thinking.

"Excuse me for a moment, I'll come back in a few hours."

And so he dissapeared for a few hours, but come back just in time for Leofwine's visit to the Scots. He looked even more concerned.

"The germans won't come. They tried to go by sea, but the Danes managed to get the drop on them." He sighted. "Oh well. We'll have to do with what we got."

He was interupted by the servant bringing the report. He read it, and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh well. The bishop of Lunden is dead. Him and six other poor fellows that had been captured by the Danes have been martyred and put on the cross in front of Poole's door."

He looked at Leofwine with a little, half ironic, half sad, smile. "Guess we know where they're going next, hm ?"

---

Meanwhile, the Auvergnats kept their work around the Seine. The fortification were taking forms, while large cavalcades of riders were patrolling the region. Unopposed, they would go further into Normandy, to give themselves the strategic depth they needed to operate. All trades on the Seine had been interupted at first by these operations, but soon boats started to navigate again on the river. But their shipments were not to be sell in other ports, but to deliver woods, materials, and food to the men.

However, the Auvergnats had other plans. Up north, in the country of Eu, fleet were gathering, to get ready for the coming days.

[Cybelos [ERE]]

Godric's words stung at first, but as the Count rode out of town with his party, Leofwine realised that the Count was the only man to call the Duke out on naming his son as Viceroy, even if it was in name only.

It was saddening just how apathetic the lords of Dumnonia had become. It felt as though if only the Dane lord had styled himself as King of England, this Ormr would have taken Aeduuard's old throne at Wight without a sword ever raised against him.


The Lords of Dumnonia would have to be whipped into shape, and quickly if this war was to be won, and there was a surefire way of doing just that; getting them out of their estates and onto the front line.

Leofwine looked over from Godric's party towards his son, Morcar. He was there by the barracks, with his soldiers, chatting, and going over reports with one of the captains.

Leofwine could tell that Morcar valued the captain's opinions, coming to understand his son's body language over the years, nodding at his suggestions and giving the man his full attention.

That would also be something to work on, as well as the Lords of Dumnonia; Morcar put too much value in the advice of others, be it his captain's, court advisors, or even Leofwine's.

He would need to learn to stand on his own, especially at a time like this, the Duke thought. If Leofwine died it would be up to Morcar, and at this state, as much as it pained to think it, this resistance would most likely crumble under the Viceroy.

With that somewhat dark thought, Leofwine realised just what he meant to this movement, and with that confidence boost, he went to speak with the Scots who had arrived at the port of Escanceaster some days ago, while Leofwine and Godric were travelling back from Cornwall.

Leofwine would be sure to apologise for the delay, but not to grovel in front of them.

They wanted something out of this, obviously.
He would have to give them that something, but not everything.
They would not get English land, they could get English silver and gold, or Frankish silver and gold, if that's what it takes.

However, no foreign man will stand suzerain over Dumnonia; be him Dane, Scot, or Frank.
Leofwine would put to use anything he could get from said foreign men, however.

Leofwine made this known to the leader of the Scots, though, in a much more diplomatic tone.

When Godric rode back into town, the look on his face, had drawn the attention of a number of the guards who watched the Count dismount and walk back over to Leofwine, damn that man for not keeping his voice down, nonchalant as ever, many soldiers overheard the news, and it would quickly spread throughout the entire hold. The soldiers and the Scots all looked to the Duke to see what the next move was, the fear and anger was almost tangible.

Leofwine made sure to glare at Godric for letting that sensitive information loose.

Sure, it would have eventually spread throughout the lands, but by then, Leofwine and the other Lords would have figured out a proper way to handle the situation.

Leofwine called for his men to gather the townspeople to the town's center, where the soldiers cleared an area for the Duke to speak.

Soldiers stood on the walls, unshaken by the tale that Godric had brought back to Escanceaster, or at least pretending to be unshaken, which was at least, a small comfort to the townsfolk.

Leofwine spoke, able to project his voice over the large agora like a true thespian, though, rather from acting, this ability came from commanding hundreds of soldiers at a time, and the necessity of being able to be heard in those instances.

"Let me ask, do any of you know where the Danes are right now?"
Leofwine composedly spoke, almost as though this were a rehearsed speech.

This was not the introduction people were expecting it seemed, and the confidence in their Duke's voice had calmed the overall panicked feeling, and Leofwine now had the crowd's attention.

Once the Duke was sure that he had the people hooked, he continued.

"Hiding."

The people were locked on their Duke now. This was easier than expected, Leofwine thought.

"That is what our reports tell us, the armies of the Danes have begun preparing defenses in London and Kent, awaiting an attack.
They fear our soldiers, and as a result they are forced to use the cover of night in order to murder priests and other innocents, in a futile attempt to strike fear into our righteous souls."

"These pagans are in over their heads, and we've got them right where we want them. The time is now. All able men are to ready themselves for the coming fight, we ride to the river Thames, to make it run red with Danish blood."

The soldiers quickly cheered, as the town fast turned to a bustle, as said soldiers guided the citizenry back to their homes or shops and stalls.
The captains likewise gathered the soldiers together, and had the men readying themselves for the ride, and choosing men to stay behind for the garrison.

The plan, as Leofwine had decided, was to send envoys to all allied Lords of Dumnonia, the armies would march for Gloucestershire as the meeting point, and from there, the armies would march on London, and the rest of occupied England.

The armies rode out and towards Gloucester, Morcar at his side, Leofwine couldn't pass up an opportunity like this to teach Morcar what it means to lead.

Leofwine could practically feel Godric's eyes rolling around as the Duke gave his earlier speech, so he couldn't wait for his commentary on the ride to Gloucester, though Leofwine had actually started to enjoy the talks with Godric, may God help him.

[Grand Auvergne]

« Good speech if I must say so. The right ammount of truth, right ammount of passion… see, kid, that’s the secret about speechs : believing in what you say. It’s the same things for lies : you need to believe in what you say for it to be credible. »

Godric smiled. At time like these, he looked like an old fox. He couldn’t really be happy so far from the sea, but riding was close enough for him to enjoy the travel.

« Soon Gloucester. I’m surprised really. The Norsemen have discovered our little enterprise, but they’ve walled themselves inside the cities they’ve taken. A few decades ago I would have said this was a plan to have us pay for their depart, but I can’t be so sure now that their king seems to enjoy territorial expansion. »
« Strategically, this make no damn sense.  Kid, listen there : if you want to lose a fight, you stop moving. That’s the same for wars. Stop moving, and you’ve already lost, because then you can only respond to what your ennemy do. And that’s what being dominated is : being dictated what to do, all the time, and losing the ability to do any move of your own. »

He then looked at Leofwine, his face suddently grave. « So tell me, Duke of Dukes, we know that the norsemen won’t stop so soon. Yet the Norsemen in England aren’t fixed in their towns. So, my question is, which part of the North’s Army is on the move ? »

He sniffled, and looked at the horizon and it was like he was talking to himself. « We lack engineers, these will be long sieges if we don’t find insiders to open the gates for us. We should probably contact the continents, In time like these, there’s lots of people that have become experts in tearing down walls... »

Another deep breath and immediately he looked more joyous. « Ahah ! But here we are, Leofwine !  You, me, and almost all of the old Wessex behind us ! See ? This is what these republics and silly cities don’t understand : you need a chief to lead the men, otherwise they start dying on their feet, no longer knowing what to do ! You need a leader to concentrate their energies, like a great river with its tributaries ! You can’t leave them lying around, doing what they want, otherwise you get a swamp ! »

« And you, dear Leofwine, you’re going to drain that swamp. Look at it ! So much energy, so many people, united for their survivals ! Not all of them love each others, but by God allmighty, they’re already walking side by side ! And soon, they will fight and die side by side !  So great, so fragile ! The moment we end our enterprise, they will return to what they did before : nothing of value. »

He then turned back and looked directly in the eyes of Leofwine without smiling. « These people need a leader they can follow. »

[Cybelos [ERE]]

Leofwine just listened as Godric talked, watching the scenery go by as the group rode on, the Duke attempted to act nonchalant, that was until Godric spoke directly to him.

"They've got a Duke and a Count which they're following just fine, don't they?" He said, trying to brush that comment off.

Quickly trying to change the subject, Leofwine continued.

"Godric, we Britons built those walls, and we can tear them down as effectively as any man on the continent, or even more so."

"You do still have faith in your own countrymen, don't you?"

"You know, as does every other Duke and Count how indebted Dumnonia is to the mainland already, too many more 'favours' and we'll be slaves, all of us."

"You know the Franks would love to have one of their own sitting on the throne across the channel, as would the Scots, God forbid."

"If you believe it to be necessary to our victory however, then by all means, we will speak with the other Lords and find out their thoughts on the matter.
Though, you'll find whoever helps us tear down London's walls will want to rebuild it themselves."

"Ah, but I'm being repetitive. You know where I stand on this particular matter. See? I am not Duke of Dukes as you say!"



Leofwine then spoke to Morcar after some moments of silence.

"We're almost to Gloucester."

"Yes sir, less than an hour's ride." Morcar replied.

"So. Where do we take it from there? Up to Leicester, and down to Hertfordshire and attack from the north in a surprise, or do we maintain momentum and march along the Thames?"

"I-" Morcar began to slip but quickly composed himself.
"I was sure we were going to march along the Thames, you hadn't mentioned Leicester before this."

"You've got to keep thinking in times like these, Morcar." Leofwine continued.

"There's bound to be resistance along the Thames route, nothing our armies men couldn't likely dispatch, but, the Danes would then be aware of our movements."

"These reports of the Danes hiding away in their cities could be false, or dangerously outdated, you know.
Moving our combined armies to the north and besieging those walls, or even easier, having an insider open those gates, could win this war for us with minimal men lost. But, if we are compromised we could be routed without escape."

"These are just some of the things you have to be constantly aware of during a war such as this, it may seem maddening at first, but you'll learn to thrive in these situations. You'll begin to almost long for these moments once you get involved in the politics and courtly affairs."
Leofwine looked at his son, the young man was obviously nervous and trying to mull things over.

"Most importantly, as a future Lord yourself, you will have to always appear to know the 'correct' answer in these situations, you can not afford to appear unsure, as you can see, thousands of men's lives, the lives of their families, could rest in just this one decision alone. Men do need a leader, just as Godric said."

That seemed to assure the young Lord somewhat.

"So, you haven't answered my question yet. Which route would you take, the Roman roads to the north, or ride along the Thames?" Leofwine said, continuing to push Morcar into answering.

Morcar then spoke.

"I.. I believe the Danes understand shock and awe tactics, and going head to head in battle could be deadlier than we think.

Hmm, we do have enough ships to retake Medway and the Thames now, with Lord Francis of Truro's pledge, don't we?
Ah, though that would leave Cornwall open to attack from Brittany, I suppose.

Perhaps the plan to attack from the north is the most sound one."

Morcar looked to Godric for guidance, which Leofwine saw happen, but the Duke decided to let Morcar do so.

The Duke then spoke, continuing his sons intentions.
"Luckily, you won't always be alone with your thoughts, sometimes you will have people whose opinions you respect, to advise you. Though you should remember to not always rely on this, as if this is done too often, you will lose control and respect."

[i]"Godric, which do you believe to be the best plan?" Spoke Morcar, with more confidence than before.[/i]

[Grand Auvergne]

Godric waited a little bit in silence, listening to Leofwine and his son discuss strategy, seemingly out of a certain respect for the “father-son bonding” moment. He shrugged the comments on the Franks with a shrug. “There are other ways to end a siege anyway.” and returned to the observation of the rolling hills around them.

When it came to discuss what to do after reaching Gloucester, the count hide his surprise and started to remember old lessons and descriptions made by his trade contacts all around the island.

However, that Morcar directly asked him for his opinion was something both Leofwine and he caught on.

“Godric, which do you believe is the best plan ?”

“What I can already say is that going to Leicester wouldn’t bring us any good. It’s too far north. We’d lose time, resources, and maybe even men in the travel.” He then pointed somewhere to the right of the group. “To the east, there’s the Costwolds hills. Lots of small villages, barely enough farms to feed the locals but their sheep make an excellent wool. Trust me about that when I say it’s not cheap but worth it nonetheless. Anyway, back to the point, there’s enough reliefs, hills, vegetations, and friends there that we can hide without too much fear. We should secure it before all as it would give us a dominant position over the source of the Thames and the Oxon.”

“Now, we can and should go north, at least some of our men should, until they leave Costwold and Oxon to their right and reach the Chiltern Hills. These hills are important, because we would then control the road between the Thames basin and the Midland, and since there’s not much there beyond sheep and forests, we should be able to easily fortify these positions before the Nordmen realize it.

Once we have these two positions, and because we already control the Mendip Hills and its mines, it will be relatively easy to cut the Oxon from London and from there easily continue the siege. We can expect heavy resistance has we would have then cut the Nordmen army from Canterbury, their rear base, and of course we would have to keep an eye out for any reinforcement from their motherland, but as far as siege goes, it would be a reasonable one.”

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