Legends Never Die: Cologne (ch. 15) (Patreon)

The bell was a surprisingly pleasant sound, I thought as I led the few hundred warriors up the main road, sprinting as fast as we could. The dirt was well packed from so many people walking on it, so it almost acted as stone underfoot. The houses that flanked the road were made of wood with thatch roofs, wood logs that were sealed with mud made the walls, and carved planks filled the doors. The walls of the city were also pretty tall -- a dozen feet of solid stone.

But, out of everything,  it was the bell that caught my. The sound rang out in the air in heavy chimes, seeming to fill the entire city. I had heard bells before, but they had all been much smaller. I didn't know that they could be so loud, because as the bell tolled, it seemed to smother the shouts of the man in the tower that was trying to warn those below of our rapid approach.

Pushed far ahead of the others, I reached the gates of the city before the guards even realized that they should close them. The large, thick doors that a wagon could easily fit through were left wide open, and it was only when I passed through the threshold that anyone took notice of me. I looked to the other side of the gate, first seeing a crowd of people that were making their way to the church.

Then my gaze landed on Frankish guards, who just about tripped over their own two feet.

To flee.

That brought me up short to the point that I nearly tripped over my own feet. The guards fled, joining the now screaming folk that pushed forward to get away -- not just from me, but the warriors that now streamed through the still open gate that was given up without so much as a drawn blade or a drop of blood spilled. The people just ran. I watched as some fell down, and those that did were trampled by those fleeing.

I was brushed by a warrior that rushed by, an axe raised high before he drove it into the back of a young man trying to help an older one up despite the old man urging him to go. The old man screamed in horror, only to be beheaded a second later by the same warrior. The warrior threw his head back and let out a frightful shout that was nearly lost in the sea of screams that filled the city.

“They aren’t fighting,” I noticed with a small shake of my head, finding myself disgusted with them. The Frank warriors just ran. They didn’t even try to hold the gate. They just ran. Fled. Where did they think they could go? Did they not understand that they would shame themselves before the gods? I heard much of Jesus from Otto, but could such a god really stomach such cowardice?

The warriors that followed me streamed into the city like an uncontrollable tide. Some pursued the fleeing crowd, while others began breaking into homes. I heard the laughs of our men, almost overshadowing the screaming that started within the buildings. The moment they entered the city, the sacking began. All semblance of unity was lost. It was every bit as chaotic and disorganized as the raid on the Saxon village.

My lips thinned as I made my way to the other gates, seeing that at least two more had been opened, though they had at least seen more of a fight. Screams filled the city, echoing throughout. Walking down a street, I saw a norse warrior hacking at a man while a child screamed and cried, drenched in his blood and only held back by a woman that would likely be raped before the day was out.

Walking on, I saw more signs of the sacking that was taking place -- a door swinging open and warriors carrying out heavy sacks of grain from the looks of it. A glance inside as I walked by revealed a dead family. The goods being taken were wide in variety -- anything that had any semblance of value was a target. Grain or foodstuffs would be a high value target. And, as I saw a man carrying a kicking and shouting woman, people to take as slaves would also be highly valued.

Blood splashed onto the dirt roads, soaking it and onto the stone buildings. Bodies were left where they had fallen. It was…

I already had a great deal of wealth. The heavy cross I had taken in the first battle of the war was a great haul, to say nothing of the other odds and ends that had been given to me. The ransom that would happen could give me a hundred pounds of silver, possibly more depending on negotiations. Because of that, I felt no need for plunder.

And because of that, I was looking at the aftermath of the sacking with more care instead of looking for plunder.

“There’s no honor in this,” I muttered to myself as I walked towards the building that towered over all others that housed the bell that first called for mass, and now was an alarm that came too late. I disliked this. I… came to accept death. The act of killing no longer bothered me. It couldn’t after all the lives I had cut short. However, that was a battle. This was a slaughter.

This was killing and raping people that weren’t defending themselves. That made them weak. Cowardly. They did deserve some kind of reckoning for their cowardice, but this unmitigated slaughter seemed too much. It was cruel for the sake of cruelty, pain being inflicted upon the citizens of Cologne for no purpose. Those fleeing didn’t need to be cut down, yet they were anyway. They were killed because a warrior could kill them and wanted to wet his blade.

It was a glorious act in the eyes of the gods. I had proof of it with the quest that was given to me. Father’s words after the raid on the Saxon village still rang in my ears -- that this was the fate of the defeated, and it was our right to do what we wished. I still found it difficult to accept when I saw a little girl crying for her mother to wake up as she lay dead in the streets, her skirts ripped. Swallowing thickly, I walked by the crying girl and entered some kind of central square.

I think I was the first one to actually make it this far because I saw a crowd of people banging at the doors for them to open. Citizens of the city. The city square reminded me of Alabu -- there were stalls here that were filled with goods, though some had been knocked over in the rush.

The church itself was almost as glorious as the city. The walls of it were tall, taller than even the walls of the city at a near two dozen feet while the bell tower gave the building even more height. The door to the church was every bit as grand as the front gate of the city while being framed by an arch that had words written into the stone that I couldn’t read.

It… was the most beautiful building that I had ever seen. “The dwarves must have helped make it,” I reasoned. The clumsy hands of men couldn’t be capable of making such a splendid building that was so large it could probably house the entirety of the city. Yet, evidently, it couldn’t, based on the shouting and cursing people that begged to be let inside. A woman frightfully turned around and paled when she saw me standing in the middle of the square, idly admiring the building.

I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it wasn’t for her to pick up a wood log from one of the broken stalls and to charge me. With an expression of fear on her face and tears dripping down her cheeks, she rushed towards me with the log above her head. I effortlessly avoided the blow, my axe snaking out to hook around her back foot before yanking. I swept the legs from underneath her, making the woman fall flat on her back with a grunt.

Pressing the edge of the blade to her neck, she glared up at me -- fierce blue eyes and a fine face twisted into a snarl at me, raising her head so the blade dug deeper into her skin until a drop of crimson dripped down. “Do it, you dog.” She snapped at me, baring her teeth with the challenge. She had courage. And a will to fight. She wouldn’t be in this position if the guards had the same will.

That’s what bothered me most of all. There wasn’t a fight. Just a slaughter.

“Why are the doors closed to your church?” I asked her, surprising her that I spoke her language. Her mouth parted as she leaned away from the edge of my axe, her gaze going to it to see that the only blood on it was her own.

She frowned deeply, “Because it is filled with cowards,” she answered. “They fear to open the doors. They’d rather we all die out here than chance you entering inside.”

I frowned, “Hm,” I hummed in consideration, looking at the group of people that started to take notice of me, having watched the girl break away from the group. “Soldiers?” I asked, and the girl offered a very slow nod. Father always said to fear the scorn of a woman. I never really saw why until now. “Take a seat over there,” I ordered her, gesturing to a line of buildings away from the church as I stepped away.

Walking to the group, I saw the girl shoot me a confused look before I repeated the same to the group of abandoned people. “You are now under my protection,” I told them all, making the decision on what I could only call a whim. These people were abandoned. They were left to their fate. And they would be killed without mercy whenever the army managed to get this far if they ever stopped looting every building they came across. “Go, sit -- to any of my people that come to you, say you are protected by Siegfried the Wolf-Kissed. Say Siegfried the Wolf-Kissed.”

It probably shouldn’t have worked, I realized as I made a sweeping gesture to where the girl now sat. I think it only did because she was sitting down instead of laying dead and the first to move over were the ones that saw me spare her. When they started moving, others began to follow out of desperation instead of belief. I was their only hope of survival, I realized as the crowd moved over to reveal the heavy door that barred the entrance to the church.

Watching them all sit down, each one looking as if they were about to flee for the hills, I walked up to the door. Flipping my axe around, I banged it on the door to knock. “What cowards you are,” I spoke to those that hide behind the door. “To hide and quiver that you would leave women and children to their fates just to live a minute or two longer. I am not a worldly man. But, I am finding that you Franks and Christians are a special brand of coward.”

It was natural to feel scared, I think. I had been afraid when the raiders attacked the farm. However, that fear didn’t stop me from fighting. It shouldn’t stop them either.

“God shall punish you for this!” I heard someone shout from within, anger in their tones that I could feel through the thick door. “A pox upon you! A pox upon you and your heathen army! How dare you attack the holy city of Cologne! How dare you spill Christian blood!”

“But, I am a heathen. Your god is not mine. Surely he will punish you first for this, won’t he? Isn’t one of his commandments to help thine neighbor?” I questioned him, and to all those within. They, I found, I couldn’t stomach. If you couldn’t fight back for whatever reason, then you shouldn’t abandon your own clan and kin to save yourself. It was revolting. “Open these doors and give us the treasure within these walls, and you shall be allowed to live out your wretched lives.”

There was a beat of silence on the other side. “You will not be permitted to enter this holy place. You will be struck dead the moment that you step through the door!” I heard someone else say, “God will not allow it!”

“Then may god have mercy on your souls, for you will find none from me,” I told them and a few alarmed shouts caught my attention. Looking over, I saw some of our men had reached the square and they were looking at the group of Franks sitting down with obvious confusion while they shouted ‘Wolf-Kissed’ at them.

I waved them over, “Leave them be,” I spoke to them in Norse. “They… are my thralls,” I said, thinking of an excuse that they would accept. The dozen men didn’t doubt it for a moment, if only looking faintly impressed that I had already made them so obedient. Then I gestured to the church, “There’s great treasure inside guarded by cowards.”

That caught their full attention. I explained the situation as more people began to drift over, the Franks being left alone because the incoming warriors saw that we were leaving them alone. The dozen warriors became two dozen, then three. To my surprise, despite my age, I saw all of them were listening to me. “Form a shield wall. Archers, stand on something to see over our heads.” I instructed, turning to the door.

With that, I turned around and looked at the door. Taking in a deep breath, I used Power Attack on a foot and slammed it into the doors. They barely budged, though that was because things and people were holding the door in place. I could hear them panicking on the inside, but I kicked the door again, and this time the door began to splinter. I kicked it again, and again, and again, and again, each time making a little more headway until I heard a fatal crack of wood.

Kicking the door again, the doors opened up before they started to close as those holding the doors back started to push. Kicking one door instead of both, they were pushed back while the other door swung closed. Entering the church, I saw that one of the men holding the door was the guard that had fled at the first sight of me. He looked terrified and I made sure he died with that expression on his face when I cut his fucking head off.

He died a coward. I hoped with all of my heart that he would be cursed to walk this world as a spirit, never knowing Valhalla. Nor Heaven.

The screaming began as I pushed the door open, letting my warriors pour into the church. It was full of people, yet there was more than enough room for those that had been clamoring at the door. The church was even more richly decorated than the church at the fortress of Sigiburg -- the walls were painted with pictures of Jesus and the cross he bore, detailing the stories of the bible. As were the richness of the decorations, I noted, spotting a candlestick of gold and silver.

I’ve never seen gold before. Yet, I knew it by sight. The tales spoken about it made it identifiable at the quickest glance. Blood splattered across them, droplets hitting the walls as it spilled out over the stone floor. It pooled underneath bodies of those that hadn’t been able to flee to the back half of the church, but that didn’t save anyone. The spaces between the stone floor acted as a ditch for the blood to follow as it spilled forward.

It was butchery, plain and simple. People tried to flee, crawling over each other in an attempt to live even for a second longer, willingly abandoning others to the blades of our warriors just to take a few more breaths. This slaughter, I decided, I could accept. These people deserved whatever fell upon them. The only thing worse in this world than a coward was a nithing, a creature with no honor.

These people had more in common with a nithing than not. They would find no pity nor mercy from me.

Approaching the altar, I saw another cross that was flanked with golden cups. The cross was even larger than the one I had found in Sigiburg. At least ten pounds worth of silver and gold intermixed. The craftsmanship that went into it… It had to come from the dwarves. What kind of deal did they strike with these cowards?

The cross was snatched up by a man wearing a familiar garb. A priest. Except different. His garb was more ornate than Otto’s had been, and he wore a really funny-looking hat. He bared it towards me, showing me the Jesus figure on it. He used it as a totem, a symbol meant to repel me. “Begone! Be…gone!” He shouted as I stepped forward, a stain on his garb betraying that he had pissed himself and his bottom lip quivering told me of his fear.

What a wretched man. Grabbing the cross, I slammed it into his face, making him cry out as he instantly fell to the floor. “Coward,” I spat the insult at him, raising my axe high. The last words that left his lips was a sickening plea for mercy I already told him he wouldn’t receive. It was a bad death, I decided, ripping the cross from his hands.

I felt a hand thump me on the shoulder, and I saw the blood-covered smiling face of one of the warriors, “I knew you were the best bet to find wealth in this city, Wolf-Kissed!” He shouted, wielding a candlestick and two golden cups. Laying all around the church were corpses of cowards and fools. Some still lived, but I didn’t care about their fate. He reached out a hand, “Thorkell Vainerson,” he introduced himself.

“Siegfried Erikson,” I returned, clasping arms with him. Letting go, we turned to see the looting of the church. Jewels being pried from walls, and a book, a bottle of wine was being shared while silver and gold were being tossed into a rapidly growing pile at the base of the altar, blood soaking the bottom layer of the treasure. The warriors just seemed to keep finding more and more and more of it. The dead were stripped as well, the jewelry and rings tossed into the pile.

“If you’ll have us, Wolf-Kissed, we will swear to you,” Thorkell informed, catching me off guard as we watched the pile grow at a pace that showed no signs of slowing down. “The gods favor you. Everyone knows it now. And I’ve found good work comes with those favored by the gods,” he said, making me look up at him. He was covered in blood, but I saw that he had blonde hair and blue eyes. A scruffy-looking beard on his face, but he looked strong. A scalemail shirt over his broad shoulders, hands with a few rings on them.

I blinked, “What?” I questioned, earning a warm chuckle from the man.

“My warband has twenty-five warriors to it,” he continued. “Good men. If a bit stupid. We joined this war to make our wealth, but… the only thing better than one big haul of silver and gold is a bunch of big hauls.” He explained, and for some reason, the explanation didn’t really sink in.

“And you think that’s me?” I questioned, making his smile grow before he very pointedly gestured to the pile of treasure of glimmering silver and gold.

He tossed his cups and candle onto the pile, and with a little hesitation, I tossed the cross. “Have you ever been in a siege?” He asked me, still looking at the treasure. “One that’s lasted more than one assault?”

“No, I haven’t,” I admitted with a hint of shame. How he spoke, it sounded like he had experienced many sieges.

“They’re terrible things, really. A whole lot of boring. If you’re not lucky, then a sickness happens and you end up shitting yourself to death. Can’t stand sieges. When I saw these walls, I about wept. I thought we were going to end up stuck outside the city for weeks. Months. Sieges can last up to years, did you know that? Sounds like a fucking nightmare,” Thorkell said, rambling a bit. “And, so far, because of you, we haven’t had to deal with a single siege. Even that little standoff with this lot could have lasted days. Instead, you just kicked the door down.”

He looked away from the treasure, “Wolf-Kissed… if you can promise me we’ll never deal with an extended siege, then I’ll follow you to the edge of the world.” Thorkell told me, and I could feel the sincerity in his words. I could see it in his eyes. Tell Spotter didn’t pick up on any falsehood. I could only imagine what had happened in the sieges that he experienced for him to hate them so. But he did.

I swallowed thickly before I offered a shallow nod, “I promise,” I told him, reaching out and clasping my arm ring, making his smile grow until it nearly consumed his face.

“Great!” He shouted, “Now for the fun part! Dividing up the loot!”

What just happened?

…

The sacking of Cologne lasted for three days. The loot from the church was divided between me and the warband that had been led by Thorkell -- Thorkell ended up explaining the process to me. Loot could be divided into four shares essentially. I got two shares myself, the commanders got a share between them, and the last share was divided among everyone else. So, I got half of the loot, Thorkell got a quarter, and the last quarter went to the rest.

It didn’t seem like a very fair way to divide the loot, so I wanted to lower my share to a share and a half, but Thorkell advised against it. He said sometimes less is more when it comes to the greed of men, and let me decide what I should do. I decided to heed his advice upon consulting my father.

Who hadn’t been surprised that I ended up with warriors under my command. And he seemed to approve of Thorkell’s- my warband. Jarl Horrik remained at the house of a nobleman, and Father informed me that his wound had gotten infected and he wanted to hide it from the men. I also profited from the sacking -- there were other homes of nobles and merchants and the like.

I was rich. Both in silver and gold, and in foodstuffs. My warband plundered bushels of grain, wheels of cheese, sacks filled with pepper kernels and other spices, fifty chickens, ten goats, a herd of cows and a herd of horses. That was after the division of loot. The entire army was rich, not just me.

Beyond that, the sacking was through. The only ones untouched by it were those I took under my protection. And, by the end, they were the only ones that weren’t either enslaved or dead.

I could feel their gazes as we rode out of Cologne, far richer than when we had entered. I rode with my warband, Thorkell at my right as we kept pace with my Father and Jarl Horrik and his son. I didn’t look at them. I left them something so they wouldn’t starve in the coming days. I think they would be alright, but my protection of them ended the moment we left. They weren’t thankful for it, at any rate. So, I wasn’t waiting for a thank you or anything.

“What do we do now?” I asked Jarl Horrik, his shoulder bandaged and covered by his armor. He glanced over his shoulder at me, but it was Thorfinn that answered.

“We’re retreating to Saxony. We got word from King Widukind that he’s mustered up an army of five thousand. He crushed some Saxons that were still loyal to Charlemagne, but he’s going to be meeting us at Sigiburg. That’s where we’ll be ransoming the people back. Then… we’re done,” Thorfinn said with a smirk at my surprised expression.

“We’re leaving?” I questioned, looking at Jarl Horrik, who nodded at the question. He glanced over his shoulder, giving me a pointed look. I realized why we were going back so quickly. The adventure had been filled with a number of battles, but it was still early in summer. I thought we would be gone for most of the year.

He saw that I understood and nodded to confirm my thoughts, “Our numbers are too few. Both I and King Sigfred have lost half of our men,” he said with a sigh. We lost another fifty men over the course of the past three days. Men too busy looting to look over their shoulders and getting a dagger in the back. “Returning with our riches gives us an opportunity to draw in more warriors to our banners. It also lets men spend them and be celebrated.”

That, in turn, would solidify why Jarl Horrik should be King Horrik. That, in turn, would give us more men to work with and the ability to muster a greater army.

I smiled, eager to return home. Both to the farmstead I made for myself, and to my Father’s to see the rest of my family.

I doubt they would even recognize me.