*
His stomach full from a meal of bread, cheese, and a good portion of salted pork, washed down with an equally ample portion of ale, Wulfstan made his way back towards his tent. A good majority of the men were engaging in a mild fast, as was encouraged by many of the greater thanes, ealdormen, and counts, but he felt that he would fight better with the strength gained from a full meal. He did not believe that the Creator would begrudge him that view, if he was to put his life on the line for his homelands and fellow Saxans. He was certain that Father Dunstan would not begrudge him that indulgence either.
The word had been passed to everyone that they would be forming up for battle at the cusp of morning. The coming of the enemy army looked to be inevitable once the dawn struck, and the orders had been quickly disseminated.
Preparations had been made. The main encampment was now bounded by a trench, a raised earthen wall, and stakes, and there had been some time to do a little drilling with the more inexperienced commoners. Most contingents had arrived and were accounted for.
Prince Aidan’s dragon banner now flew high over his large tent, situated near to the center of the encampment, fluttering proud and defiant against the coming onslaught. He brought the vigor of youth into the royal line, serving as the representative for the aged King Alcuin.
The Prince’s arrival had brought much excitement from the camp, and was a true bolster to morale. He had been accompanied by a few hundred of his elite household guards, also known as huscarles. Armed with great, two-handed axes, the King’s Guard would be a very formidable addition to the Saxan force.
Wulfstan regretted that he had been working on the far boundary of the trench and earthen wall when the Prince had arrived. By the time that he had jogged back into the camp, the Prince had already reached the center, and had retired to a tent with a few of the counts and ealdormen.
Like numerous villagers in the Saxan Kingdom, Wulfstan and his comrades had never actually seen the Prince, or even his father King Alcuin, for that matter. It was a sharp disappointment, and Wulfstan hoped to gain another chance to see the Prince of the realm before battle ensued.
There were few signs of the enemy, with the exception of some airborne scouts that kept to the edges of the horizon, and a couple more appearances of the bold, lithe horsemen from Andamoor.
The main enemy encampments, some leagues away, could not be seen, even on the clearest of days. If it were not for the scouts that constantly moved in and out of the camp, and their enemy counterparts, Wulfstan and many others would have been inclined to wonder if any army was encamped in strength over the calm horizon.
Though a little colder, the weather had continued to remain clear and steady. The cloud cover was sporadic, with only a few light gray formations holding even the slightest hint of rain.
It was a momentous time, and one that Wulfstan was very conscious of. Everyone was well aware that the force that they were a part of was easily the largest army that had ever been gathered in Saxany, or even in the former time of the Two Kingdoms.
He looked into countless eyes as he passed by the openings to tents and the many blazing campfires. The voices and instruments used to give life to low, somber songs wafted over the camp, as did the scrapes and clanks from men adjusting equipment, or sharpening weapons.
It was a scene far removed from the initial spirits that accompanied their arrival. After the euphoria of the Prince’s arrival, a very heavy atmosphere had settled down upon the sprawling encampment and taken firm hold. The light of dawn would finally bring all of them the day that they had known was inevitable.
The eyes that Wulfstan looked into conveyed a wide spectrum of emotions. Some conveyed unmistakable fear, such as one young lad who was visibly shaking as he gripped a crude war club in his callused hands. The older man next to him had placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but the boy did not see the fear in his comforter’s eyes, when the gray-haired fellow glanced up at the passing Wulfstan.
The vision lingered in Wulfstan’s mind as he passed by numerous tents, many with variations of similar scenes taking place. Some men prayed together, some were in their tents trying to retire, and others sat with melancholy expressions, lost in their own thoughts as they sharpened sword, seax, or spear point.
Cenwald was seated on the ground in front of the opening to his tent, set adjacent to Wulfstan’s. He had his head down, with his beard gripped between tensed hands. His shield and spear were before him, upon the ground, along with his long, single-edged seax. He had clearly been going through his equipment, as he habitually tended to do each night.
“Not an easy night, says I,” he muttered, as he saw Wulfstan returning.
“No, it is not. I do not think that many will find rest this night,” Wulfstan replied, as he sat down slowly next to Cenwald.
“Each with his own thoughts,” Cenwald commented. “We do not know what tomorrow may bring.”
“We face it nonetheless,” Wulfstan responded, seeing the deep worry etched into the other’s face.
As Cenwald looked back towards the ground, Wulfstan thought about the eerie stillness in the air. A number of thoughts raced through his mind. Perhaps the enemy would not form up for battle, or maybe a treaty would be forged at the last minute. The enemy might yet wait another day before drawing up their ranks, though that would just be a delay in the inevitable.
These types of thoughts were mixed with the thoughts of the forests near his home. Spring had now taken hold in the woods, as the winter faded behind. The hills and dells would be awash with the color of flowers. Children would be running about in the village, playing with each other and their dogs. They would do just as their mothers and fathers, and grandfathers and grandmothers before them, had done. Every generation of their bloodline had played within the very same village grounds and surrounding woods, when they were young.
The air would be filled with the urgent shouts of mothers as they ran off the village’s cats, slinking around and eager to sample the fresh milk that was being reserved for the making of cheese. The men and older boys would be off tending to the common pasturage, or seeing to the fields where the plowing had just been completed. Swineherds would be leaning back against the trunks of trees, as their snorting, four-legged charges rooted about the forest floor.
Wulfstan could not count how many times he had looked forward to the end of the day, when he gathered with his friends and kin to sample a fresh batch of ale, trade riddles, and sing songs. His own mother had been one of the best at making ale, a warm thought that made him smile, as he thought about how he had become one of the village’s best at consuming it.
A good night’s rest in the village might be followed up by a trip with Hadwald and Edgar into the forest, hunting bows in hand. Sometimes that brought even more reason to celebrate in the village, if they were lucky enough to down a large stag, or one of the rancorous, huge boars that still lived in the depths of the woods.
None of them were quite up to taking a boar with just sword and shield, as some thanes were reputed to do, but it took a lot of courage to simply hunt the fearsome beasts. The village was always ready to recognize the bravery that brought such succulent meat to their table.
The thought brought a wistful smile to Wulstan’s face, as he thought about what was really the best aspect of a hunt. The villagers would surely have named the confrontation with the quarry, and the challenge of life and death.
Wulfstan would have offered a much different opinion on the matter. It was not so much the kill itself that he enjoyed as much as it was bantering with Hadwald and Edgar, and taking in the fresh, soothing air of a clear, sunny day spent in the woods. Friendship and free-spiritedness were what Wulfstan valued.
“You are smilin’,” the thick voice of Cenwald abruptly entered his mental refuge. “What are ya thinkin’ of?”
Wulfstan slowly opened his eyes, and turned to look at his companion. “What all of us must do before the battle begins. Think of the reasons we must fight, and the reasons why we must fight hard, and survive this.”
The thoughts gave him a little peace, before he gave himself over to sleep, and the inevitable dream images; of a great conflagration, and his own passage up into a sunny sky, like the one that he had seen that day.
Words that he always heard in the dream, ‘Bring them into the world,’ resonated in his memory, even if the only thing he could ever think of involved old dragon tales.
He truly wished that he could bring dragons to join their armies. Creatures out of myth and legend would be quite a wonderful addition to the Saxan cause, and would be a powerful way for him to honor the reasons for his own part in the coming war.
The thought made him feel a little melancholy, as the only contribution that he would be bringing to the battlefield would be his own life, and his single sword. Yet that would still be the least that he could do for everything and everyone that he loved, even if he deeply wished that he could do much more.
*