97.
97.
"Hold them back! Do not let them approach!"
"We must not let them fill the moat! Keep shooting-!"
"Ealdorman Kenred! We are running low on arrows...!"
"Damn it..."
Lincoln's Ealdorman, Cenred, was a devout Catholic and a man who placed great value on loyalty.
That was how he had earned the trust of Mercia's Cyning, Burgred, and risen to the position of lord over this important city.
When news arrived that East Anglia's Cyning, Edmund, the Sword of the Lord, had fallen, he was so grief-stricken and enraged that he refused all food and drink and spent the entire day in prayer.
And then he swore upon the holy cross, just as Edmund had done.
That he would never kneel to the barbaric, heathen, gold-crazed embodiment of greed—the Konungr of the Northmen.
With such resolute determination, he steeled himself for resistance while awaiting Burgred Cyning, whom he believed without a doubt would soon return.
Yet the Northmen host that confronted him was not barbaric in the slightest.
'Barbaric? No, rather, we are...'
Look at their weapons, their armor, their shields.
The way they formed ranks and slowly, steadily encroached upon the space below the walls; the way they wheeled about in unison when a comrade was struck by an arrow, forming a shield wall and evacuating the wounded.
The speed with which they filled the moat, the nerve-wracking accuracy of the enemy archers, even the precision of the catapults that struck his own archers head-on.
A host of this kind... was of a standard he had never seen nor heard of before.
"Damn it! I will gather as many supplies as I can. You must hold out!"
"Yes! Ealdorman Cenred!"
Cenred clapped the shoulder of the archer, whose fingers were red-raw, and turned away—his expression already twisted with grim despair.
'How much longer can we hold? Judging by the speed at which they are filling the moat, three days at best. Four.'
However much a defending position might hold the advantage over a siege, Lincoln's walls were exceedingly old and lower than one might think. Above all, the people within those walls had been wavering ever since the sound of the Konungr's horn had first echoed over the battlements.
If left unchecked, the people would crumble before the walls did.
'This cannot go on... like this...'
The walls existed, so they would not be defeated in a single day, but it was no joke to say that even tomorrow morning could not be guaranteed.
'I must devise some tactic... at the very least, more men on the walls... hm?'
A thought raced through Cenred's mind as he racked his brains so furiously it felt as though a cramp was seizing his head.
'Men... Yes. Those men were here. The Northumbrian stragglers...'
They were refugees, but in his mind, he already perceived them as stragglers, losers who, without a shred of shame, had demanded, demanded, and demanded again from the people of Lincoln who had taken them in, had they not?
If so, then it was time they earned their keep.
"You two, go to the armory and tell them to send up more arrows! The rest of the escort, all of you come with me!"
"Yes, Ealdorman!"
"Where are we going?!"
[Agh- agh-! Ptew! Pyu-pyupt! Ptew! Whooooong- boom! Boomboom!]
The unceasing screams, the hiss of arrows, and the enemy's catapults periodically slamming into the walls with great shuddering jolts.
Cenred, who had paused a moment to listen to the sounds of battle, turned his head, his face set like hard stone.
"To the foot of the eastern wall."
"Understood!"
There was not a shred of hesitation in Cenred's stride as he hurried down from the battlements.
*****
At the same time. Beneath the somewhat quieter eastern wall of Lincoln. Where the city's sewage emptied out.
In this place, which was wreathed in a stench too vile to easily describe, there were people who had been living there since around the end of the previous summer.
They were the ones who, after Northumbria's two Cyning, Ella and Osberht, perished at the hands of that fearsome Konungr of the Northmen, Helgi Ragnarsson, had fled their beloved homeland in fear of the blood vengeance that would follow.
They had taken to the road of exile to survive, yet it could hardly be called living, and then word had come that a host from Dair was marching south.
For Konungr Helgi's host would surely include men who had once been their neighbors.
As the past winter passed and their fear slowly dissipated, the harsh realities before them began to sink in, and these pitiful refugees at last found themselves wishing to enter the service of the very man whom they had once sought to flee from in terror.
They were now gathered here for no other reason than to await their representative, Bede, and just then, a familiar head began to emerge through a small sally port beside the sewer drain.
[Tudok- tududuk-]
"Nngh...! Unnngh! Hrrgh-yah!"
"Wh-Who goes there? Bede?! Is that you, Bede?"
"For goodness' sake, don't just stand there gawping—give us a pull...!"
"Lord God, Bede! It really is you! Come up quickly! Here, now!"
People left with nothing more to lose, who had been treated harshly all winter long and lain about in the stench—their wariness was heightened to an extreme degree.
Even though the voice was familiar, only after confirming it twice, three times, did they finally move, all reaching out at once with their gaunt arms to seize and haul up those equally gaunt shoulders.
"Unnngh!"
"Hnnngh!"
[Ssok!]
The sally port, where even the surrounding earth was damp and musty, sitting as it did right beside the flow of sewage.
No sooner had Bede popped out with a ssok! than another head rose up through the gap—this figure was smaller than Bede, and managed to wriggle out of the sally port with little trouble on his own.
"Huff, huff, huff—whoa! Good heavens, the stench is awful here. Lord above, have you been living in a place like this?"
The man who had slipped nimbly out without any difficulty and now stood beside Bede brushed down his leather armor and cast his eyes about—his gaze held little fear of the unfamiliar surroundings, and was instead filled with curiosity and wariness.
Not the wariness born of fearing an enemy, but the natural wariness accumulated through long years of hunting.
After him, one by one, more unfamiliar faces poked their heads through and climbed up.
Every one of them carried a bow and arrows, and had wrapped their leather armor with cloth to conceal their appearance as much as possible.
The refugees from Dair flinched as one at the sudden appearance of these strangers, but thanks to Bede quickly stepping in to mediate, no unfortunate incident occurred.
"Everyone, stay calm. This is Jarl Leofric, who serves under Konungr Helgi Ragnarsson."
'What's this, then? Was he from a learned household?'
Looking so disheveled, he had assumed he was the same class of man as himself...!
Faced with Bede's manner of speech, which was exactly that of a noble house's scion, Leofric—a self-made Ealdorman turned Jarl—cleared his throat awkwardly and checked the state of his own attire.
"Ah- ahem-! Well met. People of Dair. I am Leofric, of Huntadun. As we shall now be setting various things ablaze together, let us get along well!"
Haha-!
From this carefree laugh, so out of place amid the din of the battlefield, the people of Dair understood at once that this Jarl was an exceedingly easygoing character.
"Bede! What is this? Is what the Jarl... said true?"
"Burning...? Where?"
The refugees of Dair fell into confusion.
Bede, who had been about to explain the whole situation to them as quickly as possible, soon had to shut his mouth and strain his ears, because from the outer edge of the gathered crowd came a voice more unwelcome than any other in the world.
"People of Dair! What good fortune that you are all gathered here!"
Eorl Cenred, that ruthless man...!
Bede's face twisted deeply.
*****
"What good fortune that you are all gathered here!"
God truly helped.
Indeed, the Lord always extended His hand to those who held firm faith—what could this be but a revelation?
A single ray of light shining through the grim darkness. Filled with an overwhelming spiritual fullness that made his heart swell, Cenred grew ever more certain.
"People of Dair! Even now, beyond those walls, the godless, barbaric Northmen are charging forth to kill us all!"
And you have been doing nothing!
The stench of bodies long unwashed, the foul odor of all manner of household waste pooling together and flowing out.
The vile sensation of stench piercing his nose entirely made his head spin, but Cenred endured. For all of this was nothing but a trial to be overcome.
"Therefore, let us all fight together! Have you not already faced the army of the Northmen once!? Now is the very moment we must stand and fight...!"
His impassioned oration, delivered with both hands stretched out fervently, moved exactly no one but himself.
Amid the murmuring voices of the crowd, Cenred's face, which had smiled and spoken like a cathedral bishop, gradually hardened.
"Just as we have no choice, you have no choice either."
"B-but, Ealdorman...! There are only starving people here who have not eaten properly for days, old folk, women, and children...!"
"We have no strength left even to lift a shield and wear a helm..."
Starting with one man who bravely stepped forward, the refugees of Dair began raising voices of protest here and there.
Cenred's guards drew their swords and blocked those approaching to appeal their grievance.
[Chaeng! Seureung-! Seureureung-!]
"Enough! Come no closer!"
"Halt! Everyone, halt where you stand!"
Hard-set scowls and cold glares.
Seeing over three hundred refugees—likely more—cowed in an instant by barely thirty guards, Cenred felt ever more certain that he should send these people to the walls.
'Cowards! Useless parasites!'
"That is of no consequence whatsoever. So long as you have enough strength to stand, it is enough. Once this battle ends in our victory, I shall give you everything you wish. For now, you must first survive, must you not? Any further refusal shall be considered siding with those heathens."
[Seureung-!]
Cenred drew his own sword to demonstrate his firm resolve, and before him the refugees crumbled further into hunger, despair, and fear.
"Guards, take all of them—"
"What on earth are you saying! Ealdorman Kenred!"
He thought he had completely taken control of the situation, but from among those bedraggled, rain-soaked refugees—looking like drenched beasts—a single steady voice rang out.
'That one... was he called Bede?'
The man who had practically led all these refugees here. A former noble of the now-vanished Kingdom of Northumbria.
He was young—young enough to look almost boyish—and seemed remarkably clever, so Cenred had taken note of him.
But it seemed the people of Dair truly could not grasp what was just and righteous...!
"I beg you, with due respect, Ealdorman! Look around you! To hold a shield and a spear, one needs strength—yet where is there anyone left here with such strength!? Please, have mercy on them! At least distribute some food to them!"
Despite that desperate cry, to Cenred's ears it sounded like nothing more than the excuse of a turncoat and a defeated man.
He shook his head firmly once more.
"That cannot be done. Why do you not understand? Unlike these peasants, you were born of a warrior house—ought you not to understand me all the more...! The moment those walls are surrendered, everyone here shall be cruelly—"
The more he spoke, the more fury swelled and raised his voice—until a sound that should never have been heard pierced the air.
[Pyung! Pyupyung! Pyung!]
[Pok! Pok! Peopok! Pok!]
"Ghk!"
"Urk!"
"Geuk!"
From all directions came the sound of bowstrings snapping and the air being sharply torn apart, and soon five or six guards collapsed to the ground, each clutching a chest or throat.
"What in the...?"
"What...?"
[Pyung! Pyupyung! Pyung!]
[Pok! Pok! Pok!]
"Ghk!"
"Geuk!"
[Ting!]
A second volley followed.
The guards who still had not recovered their senses fell once more, and those with quicker reflexes managed to deflect the arrows with their shields.
Yet nine of the thirty men already lay on the ground.
"Treachery...!? Bede, you dare...!"
"Shields! Shields!"
[Pyung! Pyupyupyung! Pyung!]
They raised their shields to meet the third volley, but among the arrows that came as if without pause, a single figure darted in with terrifying speed.
A man who had slipped out as though grazing past the bewildered Bede, who was still looking around trying to grasp the situation.
While the seasoned hunters of Huntadun, who had entered through the sally port alongside Leofric, provided covering fire, Leofric closed in on the shield-raised Cenred.
Had it been a simple swordfight or a contest of strength, the smaller Leofric would naturally have been at a disadvantage.
But Leofric had not survived all this time through such means.
[Hwik! Hwiririk!]
"Geuk!"
[Ting! Tak!]
A dagger and a hand axe flew from Leofric's hands, each swung like lightning.
By the vicious throwing technique that targeted the eyes and the tips of the feet with exquisite timing, Cenred's center was momentarily unbalanced, and he had no choice but to sacrifice the shoulder on Örn's side to the dagger that followed.
[Hwirik! Hwirik! Puk!]
"Ughhk!"
[Taeng!]
Cenred's sword fell to the ground.
Yet Cenred, who had not lost his senses to the very end, swung the shield on his left arm with all his might toward the figure closing into his space.
At the same moment, the dagger Leofric thrust with his left hand crossed past Cenred's shield.
[Pok!]
"Oogh!"
[Puk!]
"Geuk!"