Legends Never Die: Family (ch. 31) (Patreon)

The plan to invade during the winter was dismissed. It had relied on the assumption that we would be joined by the second Saxon army, taking advantage of the defeat of the besieging army to punch deep into Francia while they were unprepared. Given our own losses, King Widukind made the decision to wait and gather our strength and to let word spread throughout Saxony. To see what his nation would react with - fear, or anger.

The war had already proven costly, and the menfolk were needed home to take care of their families and homesteads. Fields needed seeding and plowing, sheep and cows needed herding -- the hard labor of farming wasn't put on hold because of the war. No matter how much we might wish it so. With winter ending, the crop needed to be planted and with everything else, there was a very real concern that the army would simply disintegrate. Maybe not because they saw the war as unwinnable, but simply because the soldiers knew that if they didn't go home, their families could find themselves hungry in the coming year.

It was a concern that King Widukind was well aware of, so he made an unusual choice. Instead of marching into Francia, he chose to march into Saxony. The army was kept together, only instead of invading, we found ourselves acting as a massive workforce that swept across Saxony. We didn't pillage or raid -- we seeded crops, plowed fields, herded animals, and even did maintenance on every farmstead, village, and town we came across.

Which was how I found myself with a harness around my shoulders, the other end tied around a  log that I dragged to a pile to be turned into lumber. Because an old Saxon farmer decided to take advantage of all the free labor and claimed that his son was going to build a larger fence for his animals. Just like another family claimed that their husband or father was going to dig a cellar, or expand a field.

"They should call you Siegfried the workhorse instead of Wolf-Kissed!" One of the men shouted, laughing as I kept pace with a workhorse that was being aided by two men. There was a slight smile on my face as I showed them up by pulling harder, earning shouts of protest. There were a good fifty men working on the farm -- all of them my warriors. And despite that number, the old man found a job to do for every single one of them on the modest farm.

I found that I didn't particularly mind. It wasn't an unwelcome feeling, I decided. For the past months, my work revolved around taking lives. It wasn't uncommon for people to call me a Crow-Feeder. Working on the farm was nostalgic. If I closed my eyes, I'm sure I could pretend that I was back home, on my family's farm, and the bickering I heard could be my brothers trying to show each other up.

With a heave, I brought the trunk to the mobile lumber yard that had been set up. A good thirty men worked on the logs -- sheering the bark off, then hammering in wedges before splitting the logs. Those logs were then split into planks that were being piled up. Some would be used here, on this farm, but others would be taken to the main camp that acted as a distribution center for materials and labor. What we didn't use would go to a stockpile, and when a job requested something to be built, the planks would go there.

It was a rather efficient system. King Widukind wanted things to be precise and efficient, and I was really starting to see a value in the way that he did things.

Taking the ropes off the tree, I and two others lifted the log onto a pile. It was as I was heading back to fell another tree that had been marked for lumber, that I saw a wagon out of the corner of my eye. It was flanked by a number of girls, with a few children in the wagon itself that was being pulled by an ox. What I noticed first was that there was a water barrel in the wagon. What I noticed second was that all of their hair was down, meaning that they were unwed. Something that happened a lot, I was coming to notice.

"We have water! Fresh from a river, so it is cool!" One of the girls announced in Germanic. She seemed to be the age of my sister. I put that thought out of my mind to see that a lot of my warriors were looking at me for a translation.

"They have water for us," I spoke in Norse, and that perked a number of them up. Most of them dropped what they were doing to venture towards the wagon, where one of the children was scooping water up with a ladle.

"I love this country," I heard one of my warriors say in Norse, a wide smile on his face. "They pay us gold to fight and work, and when they deliver water, they deliver women," he said with a laugh that was shared by many others. He said such things because the Saxon girls couldn't speak a word of Norse, and they only understood two Germanic words -- No and Yes. Because I taught them myself.

"I don't see Siegfried the Wolf-Kissed! Where is he! You said he was here!" One of the children protested, shooting his sister a sour look as she was smiling at one of my warriors. He went completely ignored, though some perked up, recognizing my name was said. "Hild! I wanna see him!"

The pleading tone earned him an annoyed look from his sister, "I don't know where he is. I was just told that he was here by one of the running boys. Find him yourself! He can't be that hard to miss," she snapped at him as her brother handed me the ladle filled with cool water. I took a small sip, looking at the boy. He was young, perhaps six or seven. Old enough to be expected to work, but too young to do any hard labor.

The water was cool and I found myself gulping it down to soothe my parched throat. "Another," I asked for in Germanic, making the boys eyes light up.

"I'm only supposed to give you one… but I'll give you another if you show me where the Wolf-Kissed is," he bargained, dipping the ladle into the barrel, but not handing it to me. What a shrewd kid.

I swallowed a sigh. "I'm Siegfried the Wolf-Kissed," I told him, a slight smirk tugging at my lips. It was promptly wiped away a second later.

I don't think I've ever seen an expression of such outright doubt before. I don't know if I was supposed to laugh or feel insulted.

"You're trying to trick me," The child decided, his tone one of naked suspicion. "You have red hair like he does, but the Wolf-Kissed is twelve feet tall and he uses weapons bigger than most men are tall. Oh- and he can breathe fire! Some people say that he's the son of a god!"

I swear, every village that we visit, I hear about a different version of myself. The breathing fire thing was unique at least. The rest… I was tall for my age, and I was still growing, but I wasn't larger than a fully grown man. I would be one day, but not this day. The son of a god bit was the one thing that remained consistent. People were starting to move away from the idea that I was favored by the gods, and some were claiming that I was the son of one. Thor, more often than not, because of my red hair.

I could only hope that the gods weren't taking offense. I had a father and his name was Erik.

"Well, then let me know if you see a twelve foot tall man that can breathe fire. I'd like to recruit him to my mercenary band," I replied, deciding that it wasn't worth convincing a child of my identity. Even if he did greedily withhold the water. Instead, I turned my attention to the girl that had been steering the wagon, who was staring at me and trying to hide it. "I was expecting a message from King Widukind. Did he send one with you?" I asked her, making her jaw snap shut with a click.

"Aye- uh, he did, my lord," She answered. "King Widukind requests your presence as soon as you're able." She answered, looking at me with awe shining in her eyes. Curious, I glanced at the child.

Incredible. I think he was more disappointed now. That was fair, I decided. I would be disappointed too if I expected someone twelve feet tall.

"The king has requested me. Finish up here. Try to not slack off too much," I told my men, earning cheers that told me that they would be slacking off the moment I wasn't in eyesight. So long as they got the job done, I suppose.

Turns out they didn't even wait until I reached the edge of the farm.

…

Throughout Saxony, there were dozens of bands like mine that were being sent to farms to do the work. There were some that were exclusively hunting parties as well. Most of us were within a days walk of the main army. It was kept together, consolidated, simply because if too many people left it, then the army would end up dissolving. It also served as a rallying point.

It was a sea of tents, for the most part. And people. Even before I saw the army, I heard it -- people talking, shouting in anger and joy, animals bleating and baying. The paths to the army were easily marked out with so many trails that were formed in the past few weeks. Ahead of me, I saw a small caravan of three wagons that were full goods being brought to a rough entrance to the camp. Sentries checked them -- King Widukind wanted to know everything that was coming into the camp down to the last crumb and piece of lint.

"Wolf-Kissed," the sentries greeted me as I strode past them, seated on a horse that I had borrowed. I nodded to them, passing the merchants by and ignoring the looks that I received. Heading into the camp, the dirt road was packed and flattened underneath so many feet and wagon wheels. King Widukind had the tents arranged by companies, with sectors for different laborers, camp followers, and so on. In a way, it was as if the Saxon King had created a mobile town.

Things were going to be chaotic with so many men in a single place, but there was a level of order to the chaos. Enough to keep the peace, at least.

Most people left me be, ignoring a lone rider as I made my way into the camp. So many people weaved around me, not bothering to look up. It made it an easy journey to the king's tent, which was located at the very heart of the camp with all the main 'roads' leading to it. Hopping off of my horse, I passed it to one of the thralls that led the horse to a stables. Even before I pushed the flap open, I heard the arguing within. Tempers were heated. That wasn't anything new, though.

"We must attack! We have the numbers! Let us sweep over Francia like the tide and wash their land away with seas of blood!" I heard a voice rage from within as I pushed the flap back to step inside. A long table was set within and seared at it were a number of men. Almost all of the Saxon Jarls. The few who knew me by sight met my gaze, but the newcomers ignored me, focusing on King Widukind.

He looked tired, I thought. The dark bags under his eyes seemed to be ever present now and his hair was graying almost visibly by the day. The crown he wore -- a thin band of gold -- seemed to carry an impossible weight. He sat in silence, just briefly meeting my gaze, before his attention turned to his Jarls.

"We will have battle. We will have vengeance and blood upon the Christians. A reckless charge, however, will be the death of us. Our way of life! And our gods!" King Widukind spoke, his voice passionate despite his visible exhaustion, proving that he still had strength.

The Jarl that spoke turned an angry red, veins bulging in his neck. "You doubt Woden?!" He thundered, slamming a meaty fist onto the table that I'm fairly certain had been stolen from Frankfurt. I swallowed a pang of annoyance at that -- they managed to get a table out, but we had been forced to fight our way out. Of the hundred that had made it out, only thirty were still fighting men. None of them had agreed to join my band.

"I won't underestimate the Christian God," King Widukind corrected. "He has power. King Charlemagne has power. You seem to think that he has been defeated, Jarl Aldmund. He has not. Each defeat we have given him would be disastrous for us if even one happened. He has endured several setbacks and he still has strength to spare. It is for that reason we must consider the offer that has been presented to us." King Widukind spoke at length while I idly crossed my arms and waited to be addressed.

My gaze caught Grimar, who was seated and pointedly not looking in my direction. Our agreement didn't make us friends. Just like in Frankfurt, we took great lengths to not be in the same room together, and the only exception was this -- when we both were summoned.

"What offer?" I spoke up, looking to King Widukind. The Jarls bristled, shooting me a sharp look for speaking out of turn. One even started to rise out of his seat, a hand raised to strike me for speaking without permission. It was a very different feeling now that King Widukind was surrounded by his Jarls. He had to appear more regal, as he explained it to me.

I didn't really get it, to be honest. He was king and he had been fighting the Franks this entire time. What more did he have to prove to these men?

"An offer from Holland, the land of Duke Ageric, Seigfried the Wolf-Kissed," King Widukind answered, using my full name and I saw all of the Jarls go still. I saw doubt in their eyes. It was amusing in a child, but I bristled at the disbelief in the eyes of men. The tales about me had grown exaggerated. Enough so that none believe that a fourteen years old boy had performed those feats. They all expected me to be a grown man. Or twelve feet tall. "King Charlemagne conquered the land some years ago and he has done what he did to Saxony -- he built churches, instilled leaders that swore to his God either by putting them there or forcing a conversion. However, many of the people still follow the old ways."

"The true ways," one of the Jarls corrected, earning a small nod from King Widukind, as all eyes were on me.

"They offer to join us?" I questioned, thinking it to be a good thing. This was what we wanted, wasn't it?

"They have offered to join the rebellion. However, it is Ageres, Ageric's brother, who has made the offer. He claims that while he was baptized and made Christian, he has secretly worshiped Woden this entire time. He also claims that he can convince the people to rise up against his brother and overthrow him. What he asks is for assistance in this task… and when the war is won, Holland shall become his kingdom." King Widukind explained, making my face pinch.

"Does he have any proof that he has worshiped in secret?" I asked, earning a series of shakes of the head.

"None. Only his word," King Widukind answered.

"Is that worth anything?" I asked, and the only thing I knew about Ageric's brother was that Ageric had one. That, and Ageric seemed convinced that his brother would avenge him. Wishful thinking or was it an empty threat? It was hard to believe when the offer was to overthrow him.

"If he was a Christian, then he wasn't a particularly good one," One of the Jarls spoke up, earning a few dirty looks. I think he also spoke out of turn. "He's a wastrel and a sop. Spends most of his days drinking and whoring. But, he's a charming bastard. People like him. More than they do his brother, if what I hear is true." I imagine the hefty ransoms I had extracted from him hadn't helped things. I didn't feel regret about that, but I did feel a little guilty about what it was leading to. "I say we agree -- we should let Charlemagne know that he may bathe us as much as he wants, but we are not Christians." As he uttered the words, there were a few mutters of agreement and people nodding along.

However, there was also opposition. "It's a trap! A blatant one at that! We'll weaken ourselves fighting for some boy's throne, and there is no telling that he intends to honor his word. There's nothing to suggest that the letter we received hadn't been penned by Charlemagne himself!" There were more sounds of agreement, I noticed that they were the louder of the two. Most were for ignoring the offer and attacking.

"Fool- how can we weaken ourselves when we would be fighting the Christians? For a boy king or Charlemagne -- all that matters is that blood will be spilled!"

"Even if it is an earnest offer, it'll take time that we don't have! Charlemagne is martialing his armies and the more time we give him, the more we shall face on the open field!"

"Coward! Are you afraid to fight?! We outnumber them already! Let them meet our great army and be stricken down!"

"I'm no coward! What I am is cautious -- our armies have never bested the Franks in an open battle. All of our successes in this rebellion have come from trickery, the gods favor, and the Wolf-Kissed!"

The entire tent quickly devolved into bickering and a shouting match. I lost the ability to even follow the conversation because there were a dozen and one conversations happening between a dozen people. It was a common enough scene to me now -- it happened every time that I had been summoned to King Widukind to discuss our next move or to coordinate. King Widukind himself simply sat in his chair, briefly rubbing his eyes and I saw him let out a small sigh.

Anger had won out over fear.

When we retreated into Saxony, King Widukind had messengers going to every hamlet, village, town, and city -- all to spread word of what transpired at the sacred grove and to spread word of our victories. Many Jarls -- most of whom sat in this tent -- who had been indecisive about joining the rebellion threw their lot in behind King Widukind. They promised men and supplies. However, the biggest contributors were volunteers.

Young men left their homes in droves when they heard about what happened in the sacred grove. Enough men left that if it wasn't for the army doing their chores, I doubt there would be anyone that could plant the harvest in Saxony. They left with farm tools for weapons, and the clothing on their backs, joining the army for the sole purpose of vengeance.

King Widukind said it best. "This war is no longer a war for Saxon freedom," King Widukind spoke up, making the Jarls quiet   down. "This is a war between our ways and the Christian ways. King Charlemagne saw to that. In the past three months, ten thousand men have come to us, seeking to fight and repay blood with blood. More will come in time, but my Jarls, you mistake time for our ally. The more men we possess, the greater the strain on our food reserves. Already, we have been stretched thin. Waiting longer will only tax ourselves more. We will collapse under our own weight."

I knew that was true. We had burnt through the reserves that we had for the siege, and with our numbers -- some fourteen thousand strong -- we were eating what would have been a week's worth of food back in Frankfurt almost every day. I was almost certain that every berry and nut for miles around the camp had been picked.

"We must take action. However, it is a question of what action shall it be. I do not trust this letter. At worst, it is as Jarl Hrypa claims -- an outright trap laid for us by Charlemagne, and at best, it is written by an opportunistic boy that intends to betray his kin. That being said -- we are short on allies in the war. Denmark has collapsed into a civil war. The rebels within Francia have proven gutless cowards that are so afraid of us that they hide behind Charlemagne's skirt. Can we truly afford to ignore such a hand?" King Widukind questioned, his tone brimming with authority as he asked the question.

I saw it on a number of faces. They wanted to say yes, but they didn't dare to. Not anymore. Not when the king had spoken.

"What say you Wolf-Kissed?" King Widukind questioned, looking at me.

I didn't fully agree with him. I think the Jarls were being optimistic about our victory, treating it as something that was certain, but I didn't think that they were wholly wrong. We had a mighty army. An army so great that it must be the largest on Midgard. We should use it -- strike into the heart of Franica. If Ageric's brother spoke truth, then the people of Holland would rebel on their own when we struck down Charlemagne.

"I say that it won't look good for King Charlemagne when one after another, his conquered lands rebel," I voiced my agreement with the plan. It was something that was expected of me.

King Widukind was using my reputation because even those that had sour looks on their faces started nodding in agreement. Influence was a strange thing, I decided. It was impossible to see, impossible to measure, yet it had tangible effects that could be felt. And as tempting as it was to voice my true opinion… it was not my decision to make.

"Then it is decided," King Widukind voiced. "We shall march on Holland."

"What of Charlemagne's army?" A jarl asked, the decision now made. "It numbers many thousands, and even if it's not a trap then they will surely respond."

"They number eight thousand, to our last count. Remnants from Frankfurt, the army that savaged our lands, and reinforcements. They are based in Cologne, to my knowledge," King Widukind spoke, nodding to himself. We almost doubled their army. "More are on the way, but it is a trickle. His Jarls may be cowards, but they aren't useless. Some are withholding men to secure their own lands from us." Meaning that after we crushed this army, then victory was within sight. "If they march on us, then we shall give battle. If they don't… then it means that King Charlemagne has a trick up his sleeve."

With the decisions made, the rest was hashing out logistics and the path that would be taken. Moving by ship was considered, but it would be far too risky because we could only transport a portion of our men at a time, and it would take a considerable amount of time. It was decided that we would construct several bridges and barges over the Rhine. A messenger was sent to Ageric's brother to inform him that the offer was accepted.

It was also decided that I would be amongst the first over with instructions to secure a foothold for the army. Me along with two thousand men, five hundred of which were my mercenary company. I would be independent of Jarl Aldmund, but I knew I would be expected to follow his lead. It was annoying to have to answer to someone other than the king, but I was just a mercenary. I couldn't expect them to allow me to lead two thousand men, even if I was a proven commander.

It was hours later before we were free to go, and I found myself more exhausted with the tedium than I was the hard labor. It was a welcome relief to push out of the tent to see that the sun was already making its way to the horizon. Meaning I would end up staying the night in camp. Not a terrible thing, I decided when I caught the eye of Thorkell and Hallstein, who were in a deep conversation of their own. They seemed to be waiting for me.

In the past three months, Thorkell's eye had healed. He claimed to have no trouble with it beyond having to get used to seeing through both eyes again. The injury did leave an impressive scar over his eye, bisecting his eyebrow and ending just past his cheekbone. It really was the gods favor that he didn't end up half blinded. Hallstein was the same as ever, though I did notice that he was putting on a noticeable amount of weight. He was a man that enjoyed his feasting and he found a reason to more often than not.

They were so deep in their conversation that they failed to notice my approach. "-lying, but why would he? S'not like he won't get found out-" I heard Thorkell say, his expression unusually solemn with a frown tugging at his lips. I frowned, wondering what exactly they were discussing.

Whatever it was, it would have to wait because the exact moment I was about to speak up, a single shout echoed ourlt. "Murderer!" I heard someone scream at the top of their lungs, and they were close. Which made a great deal of sense, I found, because the word was directed to me.

My gaze locked eyes with a young man, perhaps a handful of years older than me. His face was twisted into an expression of hate, his teeth barred, as he leveled a sword in my direction and went to run me through with it. Despite the sudden attack, I realized something.

He spoke Germanic. Not Frankish.

A hand went to the axe at my belt, shifting to a back foot to dodge the strike and bury my weapon in his head. As it would turn out, I wouldn't need to. No sooner had he started his desperate charge than someone lunged for him, tackling him to the ground, the sword clattering from his grip. I frowned at the scene, two men in their late teens struggling in the packed dirt for a few seconds before the one that tackled him looked up.

My breath caught in my throat.

"Seems like I came at an interesting time, little brother," Halfdan remarked, the would-be assassin in a headlock that I knew all too well. His auburn hair was longer than I remember, and the scruffy beard that he always had was starting to fill out. His clothing was dirty, but that was mostly from rolling in the dirt. They were finely stitched and well worn by him, telling me they were made for him.

Halfdan. My brother. One of the two that I had left. "Halfdan?!" I exclaimed, the would be assassin completely forgotten as he thrashed in his grip. I wasn't worried. Nor did I care, in all honesty. I couldn't believe it. My brother was here. There was a part of me that thought I'd never see them again, but he was here, in front of me. Hiding an assassin.

"Would love to chat, but would someone take this guy from me?" Halfdan questioned, making Thorkell and Hallstein rush over to grab hold of him. "He sounds angry. What you'd do to piss him off?" Halfdan questioned, not understanding a word of Germanic. I failed to answer, just looking at him with a stupified expression on my face. He seemed to notice and he reached out after riding to his full height, placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. He wasn't as tall as I remembered. "You look well, Seig."

"You dog fucking bastard," the assassin howled, making me swallow down emotion because the attempt on my life didn't go unnoticed. "I'll kill you! By Woden's will, I'll kill you!" He raged at me, glaring up hatefully as he struggled to get out of Thorkell and Hallstein's grip.

Thorkell sent me a look, his gaze flickering to audience that conducted if the Jarls and King of Saxony. "I hate to break up the family reunion, Seigfried, but we need to deal with this guy. You know him?" He asked, and I took a breath before finally turning my attention to the assassin, who spat in my direction.

I narrowed my eyes for a moment… "No, I have no idea who this is," I admitted with a frown. "He called me a murderer, though. I've done no such thing," I stated, my friend deepening as anger started to take hold. I finally saw my brother again, and this fool attacks me with false accusations.

"What is the meaning of this?" King Widukind questioned, looking at me with a severe expression.

I pointed at the assassin, "He accused me of murder. I've never murdered anyone," I stated, crossing my arms and that drove the assassin wild.

"You liar!" He screamed at me, kicking in Thorkell's grip with such ferocity that he nearly managed to skip it. "I saw you do it! You murdered my father and brother!" He raged, glaring hatefully at me.

Ah. "That is war," I told him outright, realizing what this was. "I took no pleasure in their deaths, but you insult me by calling it murder." There was a huge gulf between killing a man and murdering one. I've killed a great many men, but I have never murdered one. Not by the laws of my people. It was those same laws that prevented me from killing Grimar. If I wasn't willing to ignore them to kill the son of my most hated enemy, then it was laughable to say that I would for someone I never met.

"You broke into our home!" He shouted, making my eyes narrow. What? "You killed my father! Then my brother! You… you…" the assassin heaved, exhausting himself with the force of his rage and…

"Ah," I started, realizing that I did recognize the man. This was the young man that attacked me during my first raid -- I tried to get them to leave, then he attacked. His father and brother attacked, and I was no where near the warrior then as I was now. I killed them in self defense before letting the rest of the family go. I still had the magic stone. It was in my pocket, even.

That raid… had been on Saxony, I distantly recalled, my gaze sliding to King Widukind. The King of the Saxons, who was flanked by most of the still loyal Jarls of Saxony. Whose brow furrowed deeply as he read my expression.

Well… this was certainly awkward.