Chapter 13: Three Eagles

Disciplined files of men stood before Marshal Harald, of which the first row consisted of the knights, donning expensive full plate armor. The men at arms in the following rows behind them wearing a motley of mail and leather.

To Harald's right stood Ragnar clad in fur and mail, holding a massive axe in his hand. The look of a predator, oozing confidence from those young emerald eyes as he stared out into the army before his father.

To Harald's left stood Thorkell, a lazy but dangerous figure in the shadow of his father, struggling to break out but desiring to create a name for himself.

The picturesque scene was worthy of a painting marking the start of an iconic day for the Barony.

The army's second in command Sigurd kneeled before the Marshal to give out a report. Clad from head to toe in the mail and metal armor. The first signs of full armored knights had appeared before them.

"Lord, it is as you guessed. There are 1000 men currently setting up camp. Shall we approach them to see what they intend to do?"

Marshal Harald paced slowly back and forth in front of Sigurd. His leather boots clacking on the cobblestone path that led up the hill.

He stroked his beard in thought, his eyes squinting into the air, trying to figure out a plan of action.

"Yes, I'll have to agree with you, Sigurd. Our situation is precarious, and we don't want to lose men over mindless fighting with Danes. Maybe we can strike a deal with their leader. If it isn't outrageous, then we can let this one slide."

At this moment, a trumpet blew, and the armed soldiers looked behind before parting from the middle.

A platform held by four men swayed as they brought along their rotund Baron on it. He was seated on the same wooden throne now propped up on the raised platform. Covered in a large fur coat with an assortment of jewelry hung from his thick neck, he raised his palm, calling for a halt to the platform before wailing.

"I want those heathens off my beach immediately! There will be no negotiations with these bastards. I want them slaughtered and thrown into the sea by tomorrow."

Pale faces broke out among the ranks of the Baron's men. The skirmish would be a waste of their lives, fighting what would be a meaningless battle in eventuality.

Marshal Harald, on the other hand, ground his teeth in anger. He walked up to the platform his Lord was sitting on before trying to be as respectful as possible.

"My Lord, if we attack the Danes on the beach today, we will lose the ability to fight against the Duke next summer. It will take us years to add enough men to launch a successful attack."

The Baron swivelled to face his Marshal before berating him out loud. "You think my trained knights and men at arms will lose to a bunch of savages? We've had a century of civilized training, and I refuse to give ground to their primitive weapons. I want an orderly line of men. We will be attacking them as soon as we finish parlay. I want to know why these fools dare set foot on our beach.

Harald, take your two sons with you and ask for an audience with their leader. Their intentions must be known as soon as possible."

Harald sighed before nodding towards his two sons. Telling them to follow him down to the beach.

This entire time, Thorkell and Ragnar had been controlling their anger. They had watched the Baron openly humiliate their father in front of all his men.

Ragnar felt an indescribable urge to lop off the head of their Lord. Maybe this was a sign that his purpose was to overthrow this fool and seize control of the duchy. For now, he grabbed onto Thorkell's shoulder to pull him out of his hot-blooded stare and dragged him in the direction their father headed out.

Thorkell stomped up to his father before asking, "Father, what if they don't want to talk to us? We will be putting ourselves in the mouth of the lions."

Harald glared at his son, "Then we will die as soon as we get within 10 feet. Don't utter foolish thoughts, my child. They will want to speak because they have set up camp. Otherwise, they would have immediately started to explore inward and push on further into our territory. Rather they've captured the port and sought to consolidate."

The three trudged through the sand as they approached the Danish camp in the middle of fortifying their picket fencing.

———————

On the other side of the picket fence, Earl Sigfried stood inside a dark unlit tent. Patiently staring at the disfigured Seer before him.

"Well? What say you of my future?" Earl Sigfried asked for the fifth time, slightly more impatient than the last.

The Seer slowly looked up, his blackened lips spread out to show his equally dark teeth as he sneered in disgust, "Why must all of you rush me with your sorrows? I have done this for long enough, and I grow tired of speaking with the gods."

The Seer looked back up to the ceiling before uttering more gibberish to the gods.

"I foresee three eagles hovering above you."

The Earl leaned forward, whispering in a slightly anxious tone, "Eagles are a good omen then surely? Symbolizing strength and adventure. Do the gods favor me?"

The Seer chuckled before replying, "It is a unique vision. I see them hovering over you, deciding your fate. You must be careful in the near future."

The Earl clicked his tongue in annoyance. The stupid Seer was dancing around his question. He shouldn't have come here, yet it was always good to get an insight into your future right before a pivotal moment.

The back of the tent quickly opened to reveal Finan once again. This time with a cheeky grin on his face as he had overheard the Seer's proclamation and tied it down to the news brought to him.

"Milord, we have three gigantic Norman warriors standing in front of our camp, saying that they desire to talk to our leader."

The Earl's face turned grave as he, too, understood the piece of news he had just received. Sweat broke out across his forehead as he turned to the Seer.

Who only smiled mysteriously in response before proffering his palm out in front of the Earl.

Earl Sigfried grimaced in disgust as he bent down to lick the hooded Seer's palm.

He quickly turned around before he made a face, noticing the gleeful look on Finan's face. He raised his hand to smack the boy, but the slave dashed out of sight before he managed to strike him.

"Damn, bastard slave." Earl Sigfried muttered under his breath. That boy would need some serious disciplining from now on. Looks like punishments weren't doing the trick.

He sighed in anticipation of what was to come before exiting the tent, leaving the Seer again in complete darkness.

Within the gloom, the Seer chuckled again with an ominous grin on his face.

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