-=*=- OSTMEN : THE NORTHMEN -=*=-
It was the 14th day of the seventh month, year 1066, Entry One _______
My brethren and I were dispatched by the jarl of our homeland to conquer land far west. They called it “York,” and reports from our scouts dictated that these men were heavily armed and guarded vast treasures beyond anything our minds could fathom. While I was more than confident in our clan’s capabilities, my shield brother Bjorn was less than enthused. At the time of writing this entry, his explosive entrance into my dwelling quickly interrupted any further exposition I could supply you with.
“Kodlak, I fear the Jarl is misguided in his greed,” he exclaimed upon entry. His outburst was not only unwelcome, but seditious in every syllable he uttered. With a harsh slam of my skeggox upon the table I was once sitting at, I stood to meet his glare before replying : “Speak lightly Bjorn, lest you forget what happened to the last one that badmouthed the jarl.”
“Our scouts have reported nearly identical things when they see these men,” he answered me. “It is out of apprehension for the survival of our clan that I bring this to your attention. Do not mistake my tone for disrespect, brother. If we fight these men on their own land with their money that has bought them many luxuries in battle, we shall surely lose.”
“And what do you expect we do, Bjorn? It is not only the will of the Jarl, but of the Allfather that we raid in his name. Shall I send word to our leader to inform him that we stood down because they ‘looked intimidating?’” The tension lingered in the room, accompanied only by silence. Bjorn was the first one to break both eye contact, and the silence: “I agree that the premise of what I am suggesting is absurd, but there are some things even I cannot explain. I have spoken with our seer and he suggests we attack at night. He would go forth and petition Thor for a storm on the night we should launch our plan, though even he agrees this is madness.”
“Then I see nothing more that we can do, brother. You worry too much.” I put my hand upon his shoulder for assurance. “This is your first raid, it is normal to be anxious.” I unwedged my axe from the table that I had thrusted into in my previous outburst and escorted my shield brother from the tent we were in. The cool summer breeze greeted us both as we crossed the threshold into the wide open field our company was encamped at. We beheld thousands of acres of lush green grass, tall patches and short alike. There were meadows of wild flowers and mighty oaks, lousy with succulent apples and rich leaves. The flowing rivers and brooks alike made crystal clear and divinely blue waters. If I were an envious man, I would have been angry with the Englishmen that they were allowed to have such beautiful luxuries and us ostmen were condemned to the harsh frost and nomadic lifestyle. With a deep inhale, I greeted my brothers at the camp with a resounding “Skål,” to which they replied in unison. All ceased what they were doing to listen to my declaration.
“It has been brought to my attention that some of you here may have some reservations about what is to happen in this upcoming fortnight. Do not be dismayed, brothers - for we will either enter the halls of Valhalla victors, or we shall live to be rich off the plunder and fat of undeserving men. Glory to the father!”
“GLORY TO THE ALLFATHER,” replied my company of 100 men, shaking the very ground with their resounding voices. With a smile and hearty chortle, I turned to Bjorn : “Do you see, brother? We do not conquer the world with *just* axe, but with camaraderie.”
It took days’ worth of strategic planning, but before I could come up with anything solid I was hit with divine inspiration, with what I could only assume to be sent from the gods : I was to send twenty of my own into the city to pose as farmers looking to start a new life. The village they came from was burned down by “savages,” or so goes the story they shall tell. We all speak English, why would it not work? They would lay in wait, blending in the best they can… Then when the signal balefires ignite on the night we attack, they will already be in, ready to disable their defenses and slaughter all that get in their way. Assuming the first assault wave gets quenched, we shall lay in silence in the darkness encompassing this small town, the only sights the guards behold are the quickened shadows sprinting in any direction around their walls. Then – it stops. By the night of our raid, the full force of our army should arrive… Which will only help in that one moment. My plan is to use psychological warfare, to hide our numbers amidst the resounding shriek of what sounds like an one hundred thousand of men hidden in the trees. We shall blare our war horns in unison. One starts with me, then moves to Bjorn in the West, and everyone between the two of us shall pick up the slack in doing the same. If we do it right, these “men” will be shaking in their armor and may surrender before we have to swing the first axe. Heh.. not to say we would accept their surrender, though.
This tactic has helped our clan win many skirmishes with the enemy, whether it be with the battle-born clan of year 988 or with the fur traders in 820. Though I fear this time around, we may not be so lucky… These men have far greater weaponry than our meager spears and axes. Only the rich can afford such a luxury of a sword… And, Allfather willing, *we* shall be the lucky ones this time around.
28th day of the Seventh Month, year 1066 (Entry two) _______________
Though we suffered many casualties, my shield brothers and I have successfully overthrown the city of York. I was most impressed with the honor with which these men fought. Though not many were willing to brave the unending masses of berserkers that flooded their walls, the ones that did died with glory. Many of the men in ironclad steel armor took several blows before falling. In one instance, we had to behead him before he would finally give up. It is… With a heavy heart that I write that we lost Bjorn in the fighting. After wedging my skeggox between the face of an Englishman and watching him collapse before me, I turned to behold one “knight,” as they call them, skewering my shield brother with a spear. The rage that overcame me was instantaneous as I threw my axe at him. While it bounced off due to his superior armor, he did not account for me to be immediately behind the axe as I rushed him.
His friends did not come to his aide as I tackled the iron behemoth, throwing aside his helmet and landing blow after blow with my fists. All I saw was red, funneled at this particular troll. Once the madness had passed, I looked around to see the fighting had ceased in that area… And the knight’s face turned to a bloody pulp. The life had left Bjorn’s face long ago, and the anger soon overcame me once more. No man should die so cheaply at such a young age…
The sun rose around the time we gathered the survivors in a shed. They thought we were simply holding them there for ransom, but they were shocked to find us loading the interior with hay bales and boarding the doors shut. The shed was small enough to ignite within minutes. As I recalled these things from atop my throne of coins and other trinkets, I poured a hearty chalice of mead out for Bjorn in lieu of his presence. York is a heavily fortified city, and with no resistance left, nor witnesses to what we done to their home, perhaps this should be our new home… For now.