Chapter 4: Fat Bastard

The Baron had gifted their father some land further out into the countryside of Le Havre. Which afforded them some relative peace from the squalor. Though the issue with such an arrangement was the long walks to the Manor.

Their ascent to said Manor was pretty uneventful. Just a bunch of people murmuring about the two giants walking through the village. Through the memories of his previous life, Ragnar remembered that even though Normans and their Viking brethren were taller than the rest of the European population. Most of the Vikings averaged around 5' 8". Making their brother and Ragnar extremely tall compared to common Norman people.

This was good and bad as their size would aid their reach and strength but hamper them in maneuverability. As such, Ragnar wondered what his father fed them to make them grow so much.

With a slight chuckle, Ragnar continued to walk up the hill. Eventually coming upon the Manor of the Lord.

The Lord's house was almost like a hunting estate. Decently sized with a great hall, solar, kitchen, storeroom and some servant quarters. Along the side of the estate was a clearing used as the training ground for the knights and their squires. From the looks of things, there were about 10 knights under the Lords employ that he could see training in the ground.

Ragnar smiled as they pushed through the heavy set doors of the Manor. Coming straight into the great hall, Ragnar noticed two hulking men at the end, locking horns over some matter. The two men cleared their expressions and seized their discussion as they noticed the two lads walk in.

The man on the right rose first and walked up to them. As he came into the light, those emerald eyes were the first thing that shone. Ragnar knew that this man had taken life as well. And had done it often enough where it no longer fazed him anymore. This was the face of a stone-cold killer.

The emerald eyed and blonde-haired man, losing out to the brothers in height, made up for it in weight. He was a burly man, who's muscles had muscles. Piecing the memories together, Ragnar made the man out to be his father, Harald.

"Holy shit, what drugs are my family on. We are all absolute units." Ragnar exclaimed inwardly.

The man approached them with no expression. When he noticed Ragnar, all he gave was a slight nod.

A smirk came across Ragnar's face as he stared down at his father. As if his son surviving the sweating sickness was a given. Little did he know that the bastard Ragnar before this had most likely died.

His father noticed the smirk with a raised eyebrow questioning the display before bringing them in close to talk about the situation at hand.

"I want you boys, on your best behavior. This is not a good time right now. Maine is at our throats, and that French bastard of a king is up to his scheming once again. If he has it his way, we'll see an army of 5000 men next summer."

With that, he turned around, beckoning the brothers to follow after him. Approaching their Lord of the land. When they finally came close enough to notice the man, the sight disappointed Ragnar. But, he managed to keep his expression neutral as he analyzed the man.

A fat slob of a man sat on the throne if you could even call the wooden chair one. The man sipping on a silver goblet of wine, eating some berries was sweating profusely. And as he leaned forward to speak, his rolls of fat fell off his chest. The sight of which disgusted Ragnar. Such a sight was rare, as most often, the Barons would fight alongside their men. But Ragnar highly doubted whether this man could get up, forget sitting on a horse and riding out to battle.

The Baron cleared his throat before his nasal voice broke through the silence.

"Duke William is overwhelmed. If we can take this chance for ourselves, we'll be able to see ourselves on the throne of the Dukedom before Maine invades."

Ragnar's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe he was hearing such stupidity. Get this fat bastard onto the throne of the Dukedom? From William the conqueror?

Ragnar burst out laughing at the thought.

"I beg your pardon Milord, but this is treason. The thought of which could get us all killed. If I may humbly ask, where does such confidence come from? We currently have 10 knights and maybe 500 - 1000 levies based on the population in the village."

Harald, who was about to rebuke his son, quieted down as a glint of pride showed across his eyes. Even he was impressed with the sudden spurt of balls his son had. If his son was about to get a harsh beating from his Lord, so be it. It will all be a learning lesson in the end.

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