Harold Godwinson is defeated, and now William rules in the south. The Earls Edwin and Morcar have gathered what remains of their northern strength and made camp not far from Eoferwic, where they now consider their next move. Morcar has summoned all the thegns and earls of Northumbria to his side, and Edwin has likewise raised the entirety of Mercia to his banner. Given time, they will surely raise a force to match that of William's, and raise either one of themselves or another claimant to the English throne.
Current Location: Nottingham
Saxon war goals: - Defeating the Norman army in the field
- Capturing London and/or Winchester to crown one of their own king
Last edited by Gandalfus; June 11, 2018 at 12:47 PM.
There was not much of a choice, thought Osulf as he led his men from his castle, at Bamburgh, south to the gathering of the Saxon host at York. With the Normans here, the future of the Saxons were uncertain especially with the death of Harold Godwinson and the flight of his two sons, Godwin and Edmund. The entire family had fallen from grace, their lands confiscated by the Conquering Norman King and his companions... it was a story straight out of the ancients. The Saxons were the Persians and the Normans were the Macedonians, led by their gallant 'Alexander.' Soon enough, they would certainly be nothing in this homeland of theirs, ruled by foreign conquerors. So it was either to sit in a castle and wait for doom or die trying on the battlefield.
When both options were placed in his mind, Osulf chose the sword, just as his grandfather, Uhtred the Bold, had chosen. At least he would either die as a Saxon should in this situation or gain something through battle. And yet, the thought of his family made him question his decisions. What if he died and they lost everything he tried to fight for? Well, there was no turning back now.
Osulf and his four hundred and fifty men enter the encampment. The Earl of Bamburgh dismounts and begins to search for the commanders of this growing host.
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Osulf was greeted by his nominal overlord, Morcar, who had been given mastery over all the north by the now-dead Godwinson. He was dark haired and stout, distinguished from his retinue by the elaborate crest upon his helm.
"Lord Osulf. I'm glad to see you haven't abandoned us for the Bastard."
He offered the Earl of Bebbanburg a firm hand and a gap-toothed grin.
There isn't much of a decision to it, Lord Morcar. The North has always been the hardest hit lands of our ancestors. As a result, it breeds the strongest stock of Saxons there ever be.
Lord Osulf grabs hold of the Earl's firmly, giving him a nod. His hand gestures to the area around them.
My ancestors once ruled these lands as Kings of the Northern Saxons, in the days of ancient history. It would be a grave dishonor to their resting spirits to bow my head to the Norman.
The Saxon nods to one of his retainers who takes the soldiers off to their designated encampment area.
Where do we go from here, Morcar? I have heard many have flocked to your banner... who all has joined us?
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Morcar nodded, and gestured for the Earl to follow him as he walked towards his own tent.
"My brother has brought his household men, bruised though they are after our fight with Hardrada. Eadric, a man of some import to the Mercians, has raised a few hundred. Durham doesn't move yet, though I plan on making him. And we have heard nothing from Waltheof."
The Earl of Northampton would likely wait and see what force William could muster before committing to either side. Not that Morcar could blame him; the stakes were as high as ever.
"After the winter ends, we move south, bring the force of Northumbria with us. They will rise to fight for a king of true Saxon stock, I have no doubt."
To wait till winter thawed was the logical idea. Yorkshire and the North had been recently ravaged by the Norwegian invaders, under Harald Hardrada. Thankfully, the invasion was contained around the vicinity of York, but it had still been a rough fight, considering Morcar and Edwin here were defeated by the invaders before Harold came north. With Durham and Waltheof not moving, that was somewhat of a concern. Especially with Durham, who could strike their rear.
I am more worried about Durham than Waltheof... he can easily strike our lands and castles once we move south. Without him, there will be worries.
Then another question popped into Oswulf's mind.
We will need to decide who will be the Saxon King to place on the throne, Lord Morcar. Will it be one of Harold's surviving sons or one of us, one of the Saxon Earls?
As Osulf did not mind who it was, he felt that those with land should rule England. After all, the Godwinsons had lost everything and were landless now. It would be the power of the northern and midland earls that would see the throne returned to a true Saxon. Godwinsons used military power once before to become Kings and certainly a Saxon Earl among themselves could do the same.
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Morcar didn't immediately provide an answer, but he offered Osulf a sideways glance. Then, he offered a smile that was almost sickly sweet.
"Once we stand over the Bastard's bones in London, the Witan can be assembled to choose a new King. Until then, it would be presumptuous to decide amongst ourselves, no?"
Realistically, it would be one of the Earls. Edwin and Morcar wouldn't bleed themselves dry just to place some whelp on the throne in their place.
Osulf wasn't sure about this. To have a King made now would truly unite the Saxon armies present here. It would be a central figure to rally behind for the up and coming battles that would ensue. Until then, the soldiers would more loyal to their respective earls than their nominal commander. Bamburgh wondered if it would be enough to keep the army united in face of the Norman threat. Certainly, a common enemy could do that, but there always the ambitions of their leaders that could make and break an army.
You are right, Lord Morcar, it would be presumptuous to decide amongst ourselves at this time. But, I would advise that if a time presents itself, it should not be wasted. A king of the Saxons would certainly rally even more to use after all.
Osulf felt his advice would be good. But it would be wise to see where the tide goes from here.
What is the plan once the winter thaws? Where shall we be marching to? And how shall we deal with Durham and Waltheof?
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Edwin emerged from his own tent to greet the new arrival. He resembled his brother greatly, though unlike Morcar he was not in his war gear.
"Durham won't attack us. But he won't help us, either, not until he sees that we might win. The two Archbishops are with William."
Durham had to follow his superiors, or risk being removed from his see.
"Waltheof is less certain. But we can make him join us, if need be."
Morcar gave an assenting nod. They were in a strong position, even without the support of the other Earls, and half of England would answer their call.
Perhaps we can still speak with Durham. A promise of support is better than none after all.
Osulf responds to Edwin, before scratching his beard which was slightly irritating him. Durham was one of the strong persons of the North, with some of his predecessors even leading troops against the Scots.
We are still certainly undermanned. King Harold had thousands more men than us and still lost to the Normans... I hear their heavy cavalry is certainly a frightening sight.
Open fields would be the death of the Saxons if the Normans fielded their cavalry properly. His eyes look between the two brothers.
Perhaps... we can look outside of England for additional support. I doubt the Scots and Welsh are happy about the Norman conquerors. They must certainly be nervous.
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Well, perhaps we should approach the King of the Scots.
Osulf looks once more between the two before gesturing to himself.
By your command, I will ride north and speak with King Malcolm of the Scots to see if we can gain any support. Hopefully, by the time I return, my cousin Waltheof will have joined us.
Between such possibilities, the Saxons could certainly outnumber the Normans and have a fighting chance at regaining their homeland.
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It was late morning, with the sun set high in the sky and a heavy frost upon the ground, when the remains of the House Godwinson arrived to Eoferwic. Battered men, dressed in rent armour and carry notched and twisted weapons, slowly filtered into the sizable camp, led by two figures. Godwin and Edmund Godwinson.
Godwin was a fresh faced, attractive youth, with long golden hair falling to his shoulders, and a decent mustache sprouting upon his lip, despite his relatively young age. Bronze mail, battered now, hung on him, belted at the waist. A masked helmet engraved with wolves was clumsily tied to make it easier to carry. A sword hung from his belt.
The dispossessed nobleman stopped as he arrived at the camp and his men filtered in, simply taking the opportunity to dump his pack in the mud and look across to his twin brother, wondering how they would be received.
It was late morning, with the sun set high in the sky and a heavy frost upon the ground, when the remains of the House Godwinson arrived to Eoferwic. Battered men, dressed in rent armour and carry notched and twisted weapons, slowly filtered into the sizable camp, led by two figures. Godwin and Edmund Godwinson.
Godwin was a fresh faced, attractive youth, with long golden hair falling to his shoulders, and a decent mustache sprouting upon his lip, despite his relatively young age. Bronze mail, battered now, hung on him, belted at the waist. A masked helmet engraved with wolves was clumsily tied to make it easier to carry. A sword hung from his belt.
The dispossessed nobleman stopped as he arrived at the camp and his men filtered in, simply taking the opportunity to dump his pack in the mud and look across to his twin brother, wondering how they would be received.
Edmund shrugged at his mirror image as they stopped, his face distinguished from Godwin's only by the lack of facial hair - his mustache was much thinner, linked to the stubble growing around his chin and mouth, so that none could mistake him for anything but the younger of Harold Godwinson's eldest twins, beaten in the race to enter this cruel world by a few minutes. There was only one way to gauge their chances of surviving amidst these northern earls (who owed their power to their late father), much less their shot at reclaiming the throne entirely. "Let's not waste any time, brother," He said in his usual tone, which was awfully chipper for a man who'd just lost his father and princehood, "And find the good earls Leofricson."
It was late morning, with the sun set high in the sky and a heavy frost upon the ground, when the remains of the House Godwinson arrived to Eoferwic. Battered men, dressed in rent armour and carry notched and twisted weapons, slowly filtered into the sizable camp, led by two figures. Godwin and Edmund Godwinson.
Godwin was a fresh faced, attractive youth, with long golden hair falling to his shoulders, and a decent mustache sprouting upon his lip, despite his relatively young age. Bronze mail, battered now, hung on him, belted at the waist. A masked helmet engraved with wolves was clumsily tied to make it easier to carry. A sword hung from his belt.
The dispossessed nobleman stopped as he arrived at the camp and his men filtered in, simply taking the opportunity to dump his pack in the mud and look across to his twin brother, wondering how they would be received.
Originally Posted by Lucius Malfoy
I shall leave in the morning then, my Lord.
He nods to Lord Edwin and Morcar, believing he can succeed in this venture up North.
Are we expecting any other reinforcements before the winter thaws at all?
Originally Posted by Barry Goldwater
Edmund shrugged at his mirror image as they stopped, his face distinguished from Godwin's only by the lack of facial hair - his mustache was much thinner, linked to the stubble growing around his chin and mouth, so that none could mistake him for anything but the younger of Harold Godwinson's eldest twins, beaten in the race to enter this cruel world by a few minutes. There was only one way to gauge their chances of surviving amidst these northern earls (who owed their power to their late father), much less their shot at reclaiming the throne entirely. "Let's not waste any time, brother," He said in his usual tone, which was awfully chipper for a man who'd just lost his father and princehood, "And find the good earls Leofricson."
Their conversation was interrupted by one of Morcar's men. Apparently, the brothers Godwinson had arrived.
"So they live. Fine. Bring them in."
The thane departed. Edwin shot his brother a bemused look.
"They aren't their father, Morcar. They bring us nothing but trouble."
The Earl of Northumbria simply grimaced, glaring at the tent opening as the two brothers Godwinson are led inside.
"Hail, Haroldsons. I am glad to see you have not come without an army."
Their conversation was interrupted by one of Morcar's men. Apparently, the brothers Godwinson had arrived.
"So they live. Fine. Bring them in."
The thane departed. Edwin shot his brother a bemused look.
"They aren't their father, Morcar. They bring us nothing but trouble."
The Earl of Northumbria simply grimaced, glaring at the tent opening as the two brothers Godwinson are led inside.
"Hail, Haroldsons. I am glad to see you have not come without an army."
"So are we, great earls,." Edmund japed, smiling slightly. The mood of Saxon England in general wasn't very bright, for obvious reasons, but he always believed in looking for the silver lining to every dark cloud, and that there was no issue with trying to lighten even the most serious of situations. "For it seems we'll need every man of stout heart and arm we can get. I could scarcely help but notice your own hosts outside are large, and growing still: all the better with which to ensure Caldbec remains nothing more than a fluke, and to drive the invaders back into the sea with. A heroic undertaking with which we're more than happy to assist." He glanced at Godwin.
A few days after the arrival of the sons of Godwinson, a small host of men, roughly a hundred strong, would approach the camp on a cloudy morning carrying a banner that would appear Welsh in origin. The band would stop a short distance away from the encampment, with only the small band of horsemen that were the retinue of the lord riding towards the Saxon encampment to meet with the leaders of the Saxon army.
Godwin shook his head as he followed his brother, idly plucking a broken ring on his mail shirt. "Why on earth are you always so happy?" The statement was muttered, though not inaudible. Being on a several hundred mile retreat with Edmund had been a torture, for the younger of the Godwinson twins had been over eager in his attempts to cheer up both Godwin and the remnants of the Godwinson Hiredmenn. It had been insufferable.
They had argued for a long time on where to go. Godwin had wanted to flee to Ireland, where they could expect some hospitality from their neighbours, but Edmund had wanted to come north, to Eoferwic and then perhaps Scotland.
That cheery, insistent nature had worn Godwin down to the scut, until he had at last agreed that he might have some peace. Now, looking at these "Great Earls" he was beginning to wonder if he should have held to his resolve. "Indeed." Unlike Edmund, Godwin had no illusions about these men.
They weren't great lords now, especially not here. Not a scrap of land to their name. Godwin felt a hard twist of anger and hatred in his gut. William was the invader, surely, but had it not been for the sheer incompetence of Morcar and Edwin, Harold could have remained in the south, his army strong. Had it not been for these earls, Harold Godwinson would still live and he would still be king. "I imagine we are all interested to know how you will achieve this? The Duke of the Normans is more fearsome than Harald Hardrada, by far."
Saxon Armies
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Originally Posted by Gandalfus
