V for Viking Trilogy, page 32
Actulf: There was more than enough land...then the Wendish people came. They besieged our city and attempted to starve us out. In desperation, we fled to the west, hounded by the Wends every step the way. Between starvation and being picked off by our attackers, our numbers decimated. Over the coarse of ten days, we fled nearly two-hundred miles to the west, losing ten to twenty of our number for each mile traveled. It was mostly the women and children who were picked off at first – they couldn't keep up the pace, and we couldn't afford to slow down. Finally, we came upon a Norse settlement on the north coast of Frankia. That was when the Wends attacked us in full force. With The Wends to the east and Vikings to the west, we had no choice – we carved a bloody path to the docks of the Norse village and took their longships. By this time, our numbers were far less than half. All of our women and children were dead. We sailed north, and landed far south of here – only to be hounded once again by more Norsemen. They destroyed most of our ships, but their numbers were not as great as ours. That is when we sacked the town of Hroksholt.
The room was silent as King Viggo paced back and forth. There was something strange about the barbarian – he seemed knowledgeable; intelligent.
Viggo: And why not stay in that town? Why come here?
Actulf: Hroksholt was far too small to support us, so we burned it to the ground.
Viggo: Are there any survivors?
Actulf: Other than a few prisoners? No.
Viggo: What did the prisoners tell you?
To this question, the barbarian sneered. As Modoc raised his hand, Actulf quickly spoke.
Actulf: They said Brennabjorg could not be sacked. But they do not know us.
Viggo: And what makes you think you can sack this town?
Actulf: Our gods have told us it is inevitable.
Viggo: Were your gods not listening when your hometown was sacked? Where were your gods then?
Actulf: We grew complacent, this is true. Our gods punished us for our lack of supplication. But we are strong in faith now. Our gods are immensely pleased.
Viggo: How so?
Actulf: We sacrificed the entire village of Hroksholt to the gods. We sacrificed them with blade and fire; just as we shall sacrifice the people of Brennabjorg.
Once again, the Norsemen in the room erupted into shouts of defiance. Once again, King Viggo asked for silence.
Viggo: This town has withstood invasion for hundreds of years.
Actulf: Your town has withstood invasion from lesser men. Fewer men. Weaker men. This town will become ours. It is our destiny. It is the will of the gods.
Viggo: That is impossible. Our gods are greater than yours.
To this, Actulf burst into a fit of laughter.
Viggo: Explain yourself!
Actulf: I am a priest of Wodan. It is my understanding that Wodan is the same as your god Odin. Is this not true? Who just sacrificed an entire village to their god? Not Brennabjorg. No, Wodan - your Odin - wants us to kill you for your lack of faith; for your lack of sacrifice.
The men in the longhouse grew extremely anxious, and cast furtive glances at each other. Viggo motioned for an end to the interrogation, with one final comment:
Viggo: Odin is a just and wise god. Your bastardization of our religion offends him. Take this so-called priest to the prison cells.
As the priest was taken to his cell, he started flailing about and shouting maniacally:
Actulf: You Norsemen make human sacrifices to your gods, just as we do. When have you ever sacrificed more than us? When have you ever suffered more than us? We are Wodan's chosen ones. These are your end-times, king! THESE ARE YOUR END-TIMES!
Chapter 4
Viggo looked down, deep in thought. His advisers told him the obvious – secure the choke points, put archers on the southern ridge, and prepare for a siege.
But this was no ordinary siege. The barbarians were much greater in number, and the savages had no alternative but to succeed. The attackers had no supply lines, which meant their assault on the town of Brennabjorg would be desperate. They were fighting against time.
“They hope to besiege us and starve us out, but they will be the ones starved out!” said one of the king's advisers. “Once the barbarians run out of food, they will go elsewhere and pick an easier target.”
“No!” growled Viggo defiantly. “All the villages in this area are under my protection, including the village the barbarians just attacked. It is our responsibility to rid the land of this scourge.”
“Then we shall wait them out,” offered Torleif.
Viggo exhaled sharply and started to pace the room. “What I said about Brennabjorg never being sacked...that was not a lie. This town has never been taken over by a rival chieftain. But we have never been besieged by a force this size, either, not by half. Brennabjorg has just 820 people, over half of which are women and children.”
The king's wife then stood up and said, “The women can wield bows just as well as any man.”
Nodding his head, Viggo said, “Of course. But it's not just numbers we need to worry about, but food as well. Brennabjorg just emerged from a harsh winter – we have depleted our stores of food. With the barbarians patrolling the ocean, we won't be able to fish. Our supply lines to the other villages will be cut off, as well.”
“Maybe not,” offered Randulf. “The criminal underground has ways of getting past the city's guards. We smuggle items into and out of Brennabjorg all the time.”
“How?” asked the king, with his eyebrows raised.
Randulf gave an amused smile. “I have as much of a stake in saving this town as you do, but secrets are secrets. There's a variety of methods we employ – hidden tunnels, carrier ravens, as well as other methods. Leave the supply lines to me.”
The king narrowed his eyes, as he peered at Randulf suspiciously.
“We also need to think about protecting the villages to the north and to the east. If the siege takes too long, the barbarians might try to sack another village for supplies and food,” said Torleif. “Rykinsvik has already been warned.”
“Then we need to send out runners to the eastern village of Drangar and warn them,” said Viggo. “Einar, take two small teams of men, no more than a few warriors each. Use Randulf's escape routes, and warn the eastern village.”
“I'll take care of that,” objected Randulf. “As I said, I don't need the king's guards discovering our escape routes. My men can do the job just as well.”
After a brief pause, Viggo said, “Fine.” He then nodded towards Einar. “We need to formulate a plan and go on the offensive. I'm not waiting around for the unwashed masses to invade us. Think creatively – tar, fire, traps – use everything at our disposal.” Viggo then looked at Hugin and Munin. “The priests are to prepare a rousing speech for the villagers. Christian or Norse, it doesn't matter – I want everyone motivated and ready to fight.” Finally, he looked at Torleif. “From here on out, we are on half-rations. No more fishing boats or merchant ships are to leave the docs. You can still fish from the shore, if able, but keep a close watch.” Turning to address everyone else in the room, he said, “Misinformation and uncertainty breeds fear. It's time to make this official. I want everyone in town, except the guards on the walls, to meet in the village square in one hour.”
The longhouse burst into a flurry of activity. Among the commotion, Andor leaned in next to his father's ear and whispered, “I think you're making a mistake with Randulf. The thief cannot be trusted.”
Viggo looked at his son with a hint of weary exasperation. Finally, he said, “Follow me.”
They solemnly walked into the king's bedroom and stood facing each other.
Before Viggo could speak, Andor quickly said, “Randulf rules the criminal underground in this city! We know next to nothing about him-”
“Oh, I'm not so sure about that,” interrupted the king. “We know that he stole your girlfriend, and we also know that you've have it out for him since he came to Brennabjorg. Really, Andor, I don't have time for your petty squabbles. In every town, someone will lead the criminals – that's just the way of things. If I replace him, a power struggle would ensue that would tear this town apart. I can't have that happening, especially now. Besides, Randulf and I have an understanding that-”
“But father,” implored Andor.
“No! And that's the last I want to hear of it. If you are to be king one day, you need to learn the art of compromise. Leadership is a juggling act with many variables, and it takes a keen mind to accommodate the foibles of man. Randulf is a necessary evil, as was the man who came before him. Now, make yourself useful and help Einar.”
Andor looked at his father defiantly, then spun around on his heel and started to walk out of the room.
“Andor,” said the king in a quiet voice.
Stopping in his tracks, the young man gritted his teeth, then slowly turned around.
Viggo walked up to his son and put his hand on his shoulder. “I know you want what's best for Brennabjorg, but chasing personal vendetta's is not the way to go about it. Leadership means sacrifice. You must do what's right for the people, not yourself.”
“I understand that. It's just-”
“Look,” interrupted Viggo. “If we make it out of this alive and quell the siege, bards and skalds will be singing about our victory for generations. Now is the time to show valor. Lead by example and inspire your people. These are the times that separate great men from the rest of humanity. I know you will rise to the occasion.”
Nodding his head, Andor quietly said, “I know, father.” He then turned around and purposefully walked out of the room, his eyes brimming with hate.
Viggo sadly watched as the young Norseman walked away. He thoughtfully crinkled his brow for a moment, then shook his head. It was difficult to tell if he was getting through to his son. His moment of contemplation was shattered when he heard a horn blare out in the distance.
As the king walked into the main room of the longhouse, someone said, “It sounds like it came from the southern wall.”
Nearly the entire room full of people rushed outside to see thick black smoke billowing up from the west. Once again, the horn blared. The sound wasn't coming from the south wall, but the docks!
Running at a full sprint, Viggo and his entourage quickly made their way to the western shore of Brennabjorg. Several Viking ships were sailing just beyond the coastline. Upon closer inspection, they were full of barbarians, who were firing flaming arrows at the docks and the boats moored along the beach.
“Those must be the longboats they stole in Frankia,” said Torleif.
“Call up the archers!” yelled Viggo.
Einar and several other guardsmen started to bark orders. Within minutes, over a hundred archers were standing on the beach, firing arrows at the ships. The barbarians ducked behind their shields before each volley reached them.
“Fire arrows, we need fire arrows, dammit!” yelled Viggo, as he looked over at Einar.
The guardsman looked at the ground, deeply embarrassed. “We don't have the materials ready.”
Viggo clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, but nothing more could be done. The townspeople looked on in horror as every longboat, merchant ship, and fishing boat went up in flames. Even the docks burned, and fell into the water.
It was a complete disaster. Within minutes, the economic infrastructure of Brennabjorg burnt to ashes. Even if they somehow got out of the siege alive, it would take months to rebuild the ships and docks.
All Viggo could do was stand and watch as the Viking ships slowly sailed away, as if personally mocking him. He had lost his first major engagement; the loss of infrastructure was catastrophic. If the barbarians left tomorrow, Brennabjorg would still be crippled for months. The port was where the majority of food and supplies reached the town.
Among the crowd of spectators, Buma trudged his way to Torleif and asked, “What now? All of your fishing boats are gone.”
Staring blankly at his burning ships, Torleif said, “The important thing is that no one died in the attack. If we get through this, we can build more fishing boats.”
The townspeople could do nothing but watch the ships burn. The longboats, once the pride of Brennabjorg, were now blackened husks, sending billows of black smoke into the sky. The villagers knew they were under siege, but this was the first real evidence of the possible destruction that awaited them. They now understood the grave situation they faced.
With solemn authority, Viggo walked in front of the crowd and raised his hands. “This changes nothing. Our immediate concern is breaking the siege. They are only human – less-so if you ask me. Torleif and Einar easily killed six of them on their way back from a scouting mission. They will die under our arrows and under our axes. I want everyone in the village square in thirty minutes.” With that, the king started to stride back to his longhouse. When he walked past Hugin and Munin, he turned his head and whispered, “You better make it the best damn speech of your lives.”
Eyes widened in surprise, the conjoined priests turned and faced each other in mutual concern.
The crowd nervously gathered in the village square. They shot furtive glances at each other as they waited. A thin layer of black smoke still hung in the air, giving the town a look of otherworldly despair.
Viggo stood defiantly on the raised wooden platform, with villagers gathering around their king – nearly six-hundred strong. The remaining two-hundred villagers were manning the walls of Brennabjorg, bows in hand.
Raising his hands to get the crowd's attention, the king cleared his throat and said, “There's something about the people of Brennabjorg that separates us from all the other towns along the coast – every man, woman, and child owns a bow. We are the finest archers on the mainland. While glory in battle lies in hand-to-hand combat, we do not have that luxury. The barbarians outnumber us nearly three to one, so we will use every everything at our disposal to defeat them. With help from the gods, we will emerge victorious!”
The crowd murmured their approval. It was obvious that they were still shaken from what they had seen at the docks.
Viggo could see the doubt and fear in their eyes. “The gods are on our side. I have asked the priests to speak – to tell you that this siege is an opportunity for glory. No man makes it to Valhalla by dying of old age, and that goes for the women and children as well. I have asked Hugin and Munin to say a few words. Also, I know a few of you worship the Christian god. I have asked William to say a few words to those who would listen. Personally, I don't care which gods you worship – pray to the ones who answer!” He then nodded to William to take center stage.
With tentative steps, the Christian priest walked onto the wooden stage and looked at the troubled faces of the villagers. The hazy ash from the docks hung heavy in the air. The priest solemnly stood before them and began to speak. “Several years ago, I was living in a monastery on the Shetland Islands. Every few months, Norse merchants would come and trade furs, jewelry, and weapons. Those merchants were curious about the one true god. Over the course of many years, some converted to Christianity, and asked that a few priests come to these lands to spread the word, which we did without hesitation. You see, the word of god is everywhere, and Christ protects all of his children. With your prayers and His guidance, we shall persevere through this tribulation.”
The townspeople quietly stood and respectfully listened to the missionary. While most of them did not believe in the Christian god, they believed it unwise to ignore any deity that could potentially save them from catastrophe.
William continued, “I came to Brennabjorg as a missionary, to help teach and spread the word of Christ. And while many of you continue to hold onto your old beliefs, know that the one true god smiles upon you, and patiently waits to accept you into the kingdom of Heaven. Know that Christ looks favorably upon Brennabjorg – He loves each one of you as his own, whether you believe in him or not. God understands suffering. He knows that great sacrifice begets great rewards. I look into your eyes and I see that you have suffered. But our trials are not over yet – in the days to come, our faith will be put to the test. But take heed! He has told me that we will be victorious! We shall purge this heathen army from the face of the earth. It is god's will!”
Murmurs of approval poured forth. While the majority of townspeople worshiped the Norse gods, they were a practical people. They would gladly take aid from any willing god.
