Hedwig the censor

A blur of bodies and now redundant armour, pierced to the point of resembling shimmering clay in a crimson mine. Except we weren't underground. Had Hell below surfaced on Earth?

Through his weary, half shut eyes he knew the battle and with it, the era, was over. What was he to do, march on in what would now be dissent and certain death, or surrender hoping the new world would accept him as their own.

It was a time of long known peace, long after Alfred The Great had defeated the invading Vikings. Long after Aethlestan united England. The benefits of Edward The confessors reign had brought no struggles, the wealth of land and the meritocracy established through Anglo-Saxon England gave greater promise of mobility from slave to land owner via hard work than the world had ever known. But peace and mobility had brought with it knowledge of the rulers of the country and after Edwards death, the brewing undercurrent relating to the rightful monarch. But at times of such instability, there was no man stronger than Harold Godwinson…

“Drill time" he heard which served as his wake up call every morning. Filling him with a combination of anticipation. Partly made up of anticipation for further ignited focus. And partly anticipation of a muscular tension for some reason required following his ill-rewarded achievement.

“Hedwig" “You're a bloody liability. Yes I do like this ability to multitask while deflecting an attack. But you are training for battle, not some kind of petty street performer.”

Street performer. He thought, knowing it not to be a legitimate suggestion. Though he was now counting the farmhands in his peripherals, left and right, blocking a sword attack and considering his future with juggler-esque prowess.

“What if THIS happened?”

Thud.

He hit the ground and even in pain, repeated to himself, “8, positioned in a formation of potential danger of 4:3:1 and 6:1:1 respectively.”

Lack of eyes in the back of his head was the only hindrance to avoiding the pain he was now in and, more importantly, able to count the people and their positions behind him.

He struggled to his feet only to be berated again. “Hedwig, you continually lack focus. Which given your skill level is beyond infur...

Aelbert was interrupted by Hedwig raising his arm to alert him of a stranger on horseback on the horizon. Aelberts initial instinct took some reigning in. His hand reaching across Hedwig to strike for his interruption. However HIS ability to restrain here, just like his skill in battle as part of Harolds army, were developed via focus. Something Hedwig had none of. This time however this irritable behaviour had been useful. For the visitor was one of the Kings Thegns. His furrowed brow and an eyes scanning the area and combatents in training; something was afoot.

“HALT!” Aelbert announced to the field. The young soldiers laid down their weapons.

“Good day to you sir, for I am Thegn of his majesty, Walter of Oxfordshire"

“I bring news of an upcoming declaration of War in a bidding for the crown.”

“From whom?”

“His majesty’s own brother and Harold Hardrada.”

Aelbert felt his neck hair stand on end.

A wave of resolve and duty washed over him.

“So you are looking to recruit?”

“Are your men ready?”

He looked at Hedwig

“...Most, yes.”

The Thegns eyes glazed over Hedwig and onto the other would be combatants with a purpose to ask what they had to bring to the battle. Those deemed able to contribute something to the Kings battlefield and have his warrior like ethic would be sent north with the remainder of the army. From the kingdom and recruits across the rest of the country.

Hedwig was jolted from another of his thoughts by a question from the Kings Thegn to Aelbert.

“Set them up to those defensive minded and those attack ready in teams of two. Take away their weapons. Line them up facing each other. Eight either side of that line. Start with opponents opposite and those taken down are eliminated. These are impressive youths I'm sure. But I require determination and drive; everything embodied by King Harold Godwinson.

“Very well. Rest assured those downed will sit on their thoughts down their foxhole. A foxhole conference if you will.”

The Thegn could see Hedwig expressively counting and was impressed at the speed at which he decided who should be paired with whom with his outspoken gestures. Walter took a punt.

“You boy, arrange teams.”

Aelbert nearly voiced his concern over this decision. But realising this would constitute dissent, he quickly disguised the potentially lethal suggestion to reconsider as a cough to clear his throat.

“..Battle commence!”

The battle was entertaining and inspiring. The 16 men now arranged in teams of two (an uncontested Hedwig amendment) opposed each other with enough distance between them and other teams, respectfully awaited downed opponents’ victors with a nod of readiness before attempting to take them down. Their next fall-before-me foes.

The striking of flesh made even the Thegn wince and even more so due to the minimal effect this seemed to have initially. Until after what seemed like an eternity, 7 teams stepped back only to regroup, looking as ready as ever, two men, one of the teams did not hit the ground but did not share this visual demonstration of desire to continue. Instead poorly disguised buckled knees, doubling over.

“Cease!”

-Came from Aelbert, almost robotically.

Fortunately for him, Walter had seen enough also.

“You boy!” He turned to Hedwig. Aelbert felt his body tense up as he feared the Thegn would ask Hedwig to demonstrate some battle prowess.

“You will be my personal advsior. I will send this boy back once we have the correct weaponry and armour.”

“I believe he will save the King much coin.”

A sigh of relief quickly met by a raised eyebrow put paid to any hope Aelbert had of disguising this reflex from Walter.

Maybe his most unorthodox apprentice had finally developed some of his own characteristics. He was after all like a father figure to Hedwig. Since, alongside him, his father had died fighting the picts with Harolds army.

He hoped Hedwig wouldn't see the same fate. A concern fanned by a fire of worry over the young mans eccentric nature.

He'd have more faith in his slightly lesser prepared apprentices who remained at the house. Or even his farm hands. But who knew, return alive and this may be exactly what Hedwig needed.

“3:1:1” Hedwig stated. A long day on the trail finding the best armour and having Hedwig reel off measurements to tailors, under Walters belt and he still immediately knew this to be Hedwigs formation for the horses leading their teams carriage.

It seemed to Walter, direction giving aside, his presence was little needed. A novelty especially with new recruits. But Hedwig appeared more in control than was at first glance the case.

Over the days he noticed the black eyes that fairly swiftly emerged on the faces of those boys who had previously craned their necks menacingly and starred daggers at Hedwig. He would rather tension be settled quickly but seldom had he seen it so one sided. He noticed their now almost subservient behaviour in his presence. He noticed how he felt no need to intervene. He noticed perhaps mostly how a new leader had emerged. Even within the carriage a new formation continually sat in. Definitely by design.

Initially he had to strike and scorn at the boys he heard grumble about the Kings orders. But he was sure Hedwig, the wildcard leader, the obsessive censor...was censoring the boys also. He would not tolerate any dissent towards the King. But unlike most leaders, particularly ones so young, he showed no elation or ego to accompany this obvious power. The boy was certainly a loyal one.

A few days had gone by. Aelbert awoke half heartedly, for he felt a tension with no hope of release. His ordering of the farm hands and daily shadow duelling were no release. Only a Hedwig related outburst would do. God help him, he missed the boy.

The air was thick with the prospect of bloodshed. Perhaps with the realisation that a battle was afoot; the enemy could be seen. Perhaps with anxiousness for battle to commence; the boys had not engaged in their daily training for days now. Bruises had faded. Both try-out and Hedwig related.

The King nodded and smiled appreciation at the boys the Thegn had delivered to join the schools of others across the battlefield.

“Men. Because you are men. I hope you are ready to give everything you have for King, country and this way of life, brought to us via this land, this unity. That we will not surrender. Testament to all we have created is how badly our enemy, our lesser prepared enemy, desire it. Everything our enemies stand on at their homeland was built by cowards not the hard soil we have our blood sweat and tears built into. They stand, these invaders on what we created. They want to take what we built. My own brother included. We will end them.”

“Go forth and end these norse worshippers.”

At this last statement Walter scanned the faces and demeanours of his and all the other men. He absorbed this with pride, until he noticed Hedwig not just counting our men, but pointing to certain points of the Vikings formation. About to strike the boy for talking over the King, his arm was suddenly not his own. The King with unbelievable speed, had seen his intended strike and grabbed it mid execution. Hedwig felt only a breeze against the back of his head.

“Boy! March up our front line and arrange them.”

He turned, almost apologetically, to Walter.

“He sees the major threats I saw myself. He saw them and didn't divert his gaze as soon as he dismounted. A replica of my own acknowledgements mere moments earlier.”

“The boy is certainly a leader. But part of a team...”

There is only one head, alone atop any body. Not like these norse mythology creatures.”

With that, the “Charge!” command exploded from the King.

Hedwigs suspicions were well founded. As he had charged just behind his men, he noticed something while maintaining their form. He noticed the larger of the men didn't just kick up dirt as they charged forward like the other men, akin to the great King Penda years before, they kicked out dykes, creating an illusion that they were a similar height to their peers. He knew this was pre-planned. Make them look a lesser threat.

Not to mention the mud sliging and even track this rouse would create. His men were unphased by the illusion.

As swords collided, his men knowing to generate all their strengths into the initial parry and the bigger Vikings couldn't supress their surprise at this. While at a momentary stalemate, Hedwig jousted through the gap and pierced their armour. Aiming for the land beyond them so as to drive through his target.

He did this several times up and down the battlefield until a notable amount of these trolls had been downed.

As his men advanced, approaching Stamford Bridge, he realised that not all of his opponents' trolls had merely been positioned in their front lines.

At his sides he saw many men, some of his own, downed. One combatant stood fearlessly before his own sword. Breathing heavily, but still knowing he needed his wits, the fellow Anglo-Saxon bodies a reminder of this. He ordered two of his men to go steel for steel, they quickly advanced and held a now tired troll at a sword high stance. It wouldn't last long. Quickly he stabbed at the troll repeatedly. Piercing his torso up and down.

The troll was toppled over the bridge by a remainder of warriors following up on their unrelenting attack.

Several bodies later he heard the King announce “THE BATTLE IS WON!”

The elation he felt when he saw the roar of victory emerge on the faces of his fellow combatants was thus far unmatched. He felt the accumulation of verbal disapproval from his parents. His mother disappearing to Hardradas country in response to losing his father. The hard knock reinforcements, his censorious ways, his counting and angry oppositions to bad mouthing the King had gotten him.

It had all led to this. Something he never felt before. Belonging.

He knew, effortlessly, the roar he bellowed and expression of truimph mirrored that of his peers.

After a night where the men had been evenly allocated to villagers’ homes near Stamford Bridge and camped outside their houses and camped outside, blanketed and fed by campfire. Blessing their fallen brothers between mouth-fulls. Word had spread the King had forged a truce with his brother provided he never returned to his shores. Of the defeated Vikings, though few of them, some remained, some left. Some of the Kings own men, battle scarred and wounded would remain here.

This despite it was long known by all William The Bloody was poised to invade ever since Edward announced Harold as his successor. Word had spread his army were reaching our shores.

The King, Harold, approached Hedwig while he was eating by the camp fire. Less eating more jousting his sword toward a shadow of an opponent, between bites. “Boy. As you are aware, some men I have asked to stand down.”

“Yes, sire.” Though the inclination to count had faded slightly, his loyalty to his King had become ever more ingrained.

“I have asked them to go back to their families and will retain the key figures. You are one of the key figures. If your demeanour reflects your capacity to march on then I wish you to march forth and fight William with me, my men and some Vikings who pledged allegiance to England.”

Hedwig raised an eyebrow at this last comment but quickly let it go.

“It does sire. For King and country.”

Harold Godwinson could see his determination. Nodded and left him alone to joust.

His resolve and tunnel vision made the few days of foot travel past swiftly.

When the opponents made their presence known, it took all of Hedwigs resolve not to march forth as he saw William walk towards his King with armour facing backwards in a mark of respect. He knew they exchanged words but Hedwig didn't hear a thing.

He tore through the hoards of men, slashing his sword and parrying with his shield, all he saw was obstacles. No numbers, just obstacles that quickly became showers of blood and downed bodies.

“William is dead.”

Hedwig turned to his fellow soldiers and to the sky, the rumble of a victorious howl emerging in his belly. Before this could reach his throat...

“Resume attack!”

He, initially confused, retrieved his sword from the ground. In the distance he could see William The Bastards face, shown as evidence the previous announcement was untrue.

He marched down the hill, increased vigour at being robbed of victory after an enemy that appeared to be now retreating.

The numbers scattered, he realised he was at a disadvantage, facing arrows and a team of organised soldiers. He held his shield high, still he fought off forthcoming soliders and just as he had two Normans at a stalemate, unknown to him, the battlefield had come to a standstill.

“The King is dead.”

He turned to hear those disabling words that reverberated through him, sword extended to hold off the enemy and to see if this was another untruth.

Yards to his left, an arrow stuck out of the eye of a body, now mutated....he knew this to be the King.

He could not bring himself to count the bodies of his fellow men. He did not care. Nor did he count the number of Normans versus the Anglo-Saxons that followed their retreat. He did not care then either. He had a choice to make.

He could no longer count and because of this the choice was obvious. He could not count these Normans as men compared to his Anglo-Saxon brothers. And he could not censor any ill talk of the bastard. He marched forward to join the only group he ever felt he belonged to.

End.