From Scythe to Scepter: A Franco-Norman AAR

[Darumaka]

"From Scythe to Scepter: The Ascension of a Peasant Dynasty"
A history of House "de Coutances"

Coutances, West Francia, late Autumn of 865 AD
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Amidst the verdant hills of the Cotentin Peninsula, the tranquil village of Coutances found itself abruptly disturbed. The air thickened with tension as rumours spread like wildfire: a fleet of longships, their dragon-headed prows slicing through the water, approached the shores. These were no ordinary vessels for they bore the mark of Northmen—the Vikings were coming.

Long before any northern axe could, terror itself ravaged the town. The soil of the town was nourished with the wealth of its inhabitants as they rushed to bury it in a thousand holes beneath their homes. Fear-stricken villagers began to flee in all directions, leaving their sick, injured and feeble behind. Those who remained began to raise a makeshift wall despite its futility, for the people of Coutances knew they could not stand against the Normans* on their own, yet the waiting could consume a man from the inside, so they continued their work.

As dawn painted the horizon crimson, the Vikings descended upon the town. Their arrival was heralded by the clash of steel against their shields, their guttural war cries echoed through the thatched roofs and narrow alleys of Coutances, striking terror into the hearts of the townsfolk. These Norsemen were no ordinary raiders; they were a brutal band led by the legendary chieftain Haesteinn and his second-in-command Hjalmar "the Red". Their eyes glinted with greed, and their axes thirsted for blood. Arnault, the village leader, rallied the peasants—a motley crew of farmers, blacksmiths, and fishermen. They stood shoulder to shoulder, their pitchforks and scythes no match for the Vikings’ deadly weapons. Many fled their station at the first sight of raiders and scrambled to barricade their homes, but soon the Northmen began descending upon them like a tempest. Axes swung, flames danced, and the streets grew muddy as blood began to spill upon the once-peaceful hamlet of Coutances.

Haesteinn himself led the assault. Towering and scarred, he wore a helm adorned with raven feathers—a symbol of Odin’s favor. His men followed, their shields forming an impenetrable wall. They battered the gates, splintering wood and iron alike. The defenders fought valiantly, but their resistance was for naught. Within hours, Coutances fell. The Vikings poured into the streets, torches in hand. Houses burned, and the sound of steel made way for the terrified screams of prey. Haesteinn's berserkers rampaged, their axes cleaving through flesh and bone. The town’s once-bustling market square became a gruesome battleground.

The Siege of Coutances, late Autumn of 865 AD​

In the shadow of the church at the center of the town, Hjalmar "the Red" confronted the village leader. Arnault, clad in leather and desperation, raised a sword he'd looted off a fallen invader. Their duel raged for what seemed an eternity. Arnault fought with the courage of a man defending all he loved, but his age had made him weary, and his much younger foe with the red beard began to play circles around him . “For Coutances!” he shouted, lunging at Hjalmar, but the second-in-command sidestepped effortlessly, burying his axe in Arnault's side. The town leader crumpled, blood pooling where he laid. The fighting stopped for a second, as all men went deaf upon hearing the wailing shriek of his wife Regine, who rushed to her fallen husband. With blade in hand, the grief-struck widow lunged at the savage Hjalmar, but she too met her end. Vikings knew no mercy.

Hjalmar "the Red" entered the church and his gaze fell upon the lone man, a son of Arnault by the name of Baudouin, who stood defiantly before the altar bearing the tools of a farmer. "You cannot desecrate this holy place," he declared. The Norseman laughed, wiping blood from his blade. "Holiness means naught to me, boy. Gold and glory—those are my gods.” He swung his axe, but Baudouin stepped aside, his faith unyielding. "May your gods forgive you then," he whispered. For a second Hjalmar saw determination in the boy's eyes, and he prepared to put an end to his folly, but in the end the boy's valour faltered and he ran, dropping the scythe in his haste. Hjalmar laughed and ordered his men to let him go, for the church was filled to the brim with gold, silver, and sacred relics to loot.

The Viking lord Haesteinn stood atop a hill, surveying the devastation. A myriad homes laid collapsed around him, the marketplace ruined beyond belief, the church set ablaze. Cattle was seized or slaughtered where it stood. One was hard pressed to take two steps without stepping on dead man. The town’s women wept, their children huddled in fear. Hundreds stood in chains ready to be taken to the slave markets of Dublin. His laughter echoed—a chilling sound that sent shivers down the survivors’ spines.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an eerie glow on the devastation inflicted upon the town, the Northmen departed laden with spoils. The Vikings had come and gone, leaving behind a scar etched into the land—a haunting reminder of brutality and upheaval. The survivors grappled with loss, their futures uncertain. Coutances laid in ruins, its people broken. Many vowed vengeance, while others kneeled in prayer asking for salvation. Others yet were filled with determination, with eyes fixed on the future, already planning how their town could be rebuilt, stronger than before. Among this last group was Henri, the eldest son of the late Arnault, who filled with unyielding resolve, gathered the remnants of the village. The nights grew colder with every passing day, and so he sent men to gather wood for a makeshift shelter, as the heat from their burning homes could not sustain them, for winter had come.

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*You may think of Normans as the people come about from the mixing of Scandinavians and French people, as depicted in Crusader Kings, however Norman essentially meant Northman in French, and was used to describe Scandinavians even before their settling in France so I will be using it interchangeably with similar words like Northman, Norseman, Viking, Norse, and the like to add a bit of variety to the text.

 

[Darumaka]

Hello everyone! I've tried my hand at AAR writing in the past, but certain commitments did not allow me to finish what I started. By the time I could get back on track, a long time had passed and I found myself confused at the notes and pictures I took. My hope is to be able to finish this run, if not to the end date at least at a reasonable point in the story, one that seems fitting to end on.

This AAR will center on the "de Coutances" family, those from the loins of the dead Arnault and his relatives, the first of which will be Henri, his eldest son. Neither Henri nor Arnault are landed or even existing characters at game start, so this will be a custom character start.

I often find myself annoyed at how useless AI-controlled Haesteinn usually is, and thus I decided to play as him a little bit to get him started on the right path. By doing so, his usual spot on Northern France was freed to do with as I pleased. As I am running the "More Bookmarks+" this means Haesteinn begins on the Channel Islands and the Cotentin Peninsula on what is today Normandy, as opposed to his usual vanilla spot on Montaigu to the South of Brittany. Historically, this is where Scandinavian settlement first began in France, as it laid between the borders of West Francia and Brittany, kind of a lawless land exposed to raiders from the sea, dotted with forests, small hills, and marshes, perfect for Vikings to make a home-away-from-home. Coutances is located there, and in our timeline it was destroyed by Vikings in the year 866 AD, so it fits my story very much.

I will be using a mix of in-game pictures and art found on Google images. In cases where no suitable picture is found there, I may use Bing's AI to try and "make" one. Although I do consider myself fluent in it, English is not my first language, so you may stumble upon some weirdly-put phrases here and there. I may also make use of that same AI to get a chapter started if I am overcome by writer's block, but rest assured I will make the text my own, and it will only serve to get me started, not to write the entirety of it.

I do not consider myself a historian of any kind, not even an amateur one, only a lover of history so you may find some misinformation. My ignorance of medieval history has been further polluted by George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, meaning what I may think of as "normal medieval stuff" may actually just be "Westeros" stuff and not real history.

Anyways, please enjoy and follow along if you like. I'll try to answer any comments or questions as I can. Thanks for reading.

This is where the story begins. Coutances is pictured near the middle, while Haesteinn's fortress of Cherbourg is near the top. Saint-Lo is the third barony of the county of Cherbourg, the homeland of the "de Coutances" family. The isles of Guernsey and Jersey are also under Haesteinn's control at game start.
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P.S. Do you readers think "From Soil to Throne" sounds good, or would "From Scythe to Scepter" sound better? I'm not sure. Let me know and I may edit the name of the AAR.

 

[Darumaka]

Chapter 2 - A Dream of Peace

Haesteinn stood on the prow of his longship, the salted wind tousling his hair, his gaze lost in the horizon amidst the endless sea. Once upon a time, such a sight would have filled him with an insatiable lust for adventure Now in his twilight years however, it only reminded him of the countless shores he'd left ravaged in his wake. His crew's laughter echoed across the waves, their spirits as high as the mead that would flow that night. They were victorious, their ships heavy with the spoils of conquest, yet Haesteinn's heart was heavy with a different burden.

He turned his eyes away from the hypnotic rhythm of the waves, instead looking upon the tapestry of green hills and tranquil rivers of the Cotentin Peninsula. A longing for permanence took root within him. He had spent his life as a drifter, a ghost upon the tides, but the allure of the sea was waning. The cries of battle, the clang of steel, the thrill of plunder, had all lost their charm. His eyes saw beyond the immediate spoils; they saw the endless cycle of raiding and reaving that had defined his existence. It was a life that promised glory but delivered only fleeting satisfaction. Haesteinn yearned for something more, something as steadfast as the ancient oaks that lined the fjords of his youth.

As the night drew its cloak over the land, Haesteinn made a silent, solitary decision. He would not return to the fjords of Scandinavia, to the familiar embrace of fleeting triumphs. Instead, he would remain in this place of desolation and opportunity, to forge a new path, one not paved with the spoils of war but with the promise of renewal. His heart yearned for days spent watching his son grow strong and true, and nights wrapped in the warmth of his wife's embrace. Haesteinn knew this dream of a settled life would not be shared by most of his, yet he readied to face the brewing storm.

With the dawn came the announcement that shocked his crew to their core. Haesteinn, their indomitable leader, would stay in the peninsula. He would trade his sword for a plow, his shield for seeds. He planned to build anew where he had once laid to waste, and in doing so, he hoped to find redemption for the years of havoc he had sown. His years of raiding the Frankish coast had led him to a great spot where he could do exactly that. On the northern tip of the peninsula laid a magnificent harbour fed by the Divette River, there, Haesteinn laid his dream.

Hjalmar "the Red," who had once been his fiercest and most loyal companion, stood opposed. With every passing raid Hjalmar's arrogance grew. Men began to see Haesteinn come again in that red-haired youth, and his stout build and booming voice inspired fear and reverence as Haesteinn once had. No one could deny Hjalmar's might, and so Haesteinn feared that lacking his support would mean the end of his dream. "Haesteinn," he bellowed, "we are wolves of the sea, not sheep herders. Our legacy is written in blood upon the shores we've conquered, not the soil we till!" The murmurs of dissent grew among the ranks, a tide threatening to wash away Haesteinn's vision. But Haesteinn knew the hearts of his men—they too had families they longed to return to, and wounds that yearned for respite.

"Brothers," Haesteinn addressed his assembly, "the sagas may sing of our conquests*, but let them also tell of our wisdom. We have the might to seize these lands, but we also have the power to cultivate them. To raise our children in a realm where the axe may rest, and the plow be taken up." Many grumbled at the mere suggestion, for they dreamed of feasting in Valhalla, of dying in glorious battle, not abed surrounded by cattle.

He proposed a grand feast, a celebration of their victories, and a council of their future. As mead flowed and tales spun into the night, Haesteinn's words took root. Hjalmar, with eyes as fiery as his hair, finally stood. "My sword has been yours since the day I could wield it. If you say we are to find honor in the hearth as we have in battle, then I shall trust in your vision. Lead us once more to victory!" And so, amidst the thicket of bush, the fortress and settlement of Kjarrborg** was founded.

The Norman town of Kjarrborg**, 867 AD. Also known as Cherbourg to the French, was the first town founded by Viking settlers on the shores of Francia. Many such towns would follow in the years to come.​

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*By this point Haesteinn had already conquered the poorly-defended islands of Guernsey and Jersey, but they served as supply stations during his raids, and as safe shelters for the winter. Hardly any Norsemen settled there yet. That would change with the founding of Cherbourg however, as many Scandinavians would flock to Haesteinn's lands, both in the isles and the mainland, seeking to start a new life.

**The name “Cherbourg” is believed to have been inherited from Old French, specifically “Chieresburg”. The term likely originates from Old Norse, with “kjarr” meaning “thicket” and “borg” meaning "fort." This suggests that Cherbourg could be interpreted as a “fort in a thicket”.

 

[Darumaka]

Chapter 3 - The Treaty of Angers

King Charles the Bald sat with a regal, yet weary posture upon the throne, the weight of his crown mirrored by the burden of his rule. The grand hall of his palace, usually a place of feasts and merriment, was now filled with a palpable tension as his council gathered before the dais. One by one they stepped forward, their voices echoing off the stone walls with news that darkened the room like gathering storm clouds:

Rorik of Dorestad, a name that had become a curse upon the lips of the Frisians, had betrayed his oath with King Louis "the German," and was on the offensive again. His longships, swift and silent as death itself, had been spotted along the coast of Flanders, and his warriors were feared to be preparing for another merciless attack on his son-in-law's lands.

Haesteinn, the scourge of the Loire and Seine, had entrenched himself in Neustria like a thorn on the side of his kingdom. He had built a large fortress on the Channel, beyond the reach of his knights, and began divvying up the nearby lands among his followers. There were even reports from traders who happened to deal with the Norsemen that Haesteinn sent word back home, encouraging fellow Normans to come settle upon "his lands." A worrying development.

To the south, the Gascons under Duke Antso had risen in defiance, their discontent fanned into open rebellion. Their challenge to the king's authority was as much a threat to the realm as any foreign invader, and yet they too brought a foreign threat into the kingdom. A Viking fleet had fortified themselves on the southern banks of the Garonne, seemingly under the auspices of the Duke, and had begun attacking any ships that dared course the river.*

And as if the Norsemen and rebels were not enough, reports from his son Louis "the Stammerer" had come from Aquitaine, speaking of Saracen raiders launching attacks across the breadth of the Spanish Marches, their sleek horses and flashing scimitars a stark contrast to the heavy armor and broadswords of the Frankish knights.

Worst of all were the news about his nephew's death. King Louis "the Younger" of Italy had passed without an heir, leaving the kingdom to his brother King Lothaire, who already reigned in Lotharingia and Burgundy. With his newfound power, Lothaire had begun assembling a vast army to wrestle West Francia away from King Charles, seeking to exploit the troubles of his kingdom in an attempt to reunite the Empire under a single monarch.

King Charles immediately sent a delegation to Frankfurt in East Francia, where his envoys met with the King's half-brother Louis "the German," striking an alliance to contain their problematic nephew Lothaire. The King chose to ignore the problems in the South for the time being, as the Gascons were content staying within their borders, while the Mohammedans had too few men to truly threaten Aquitaine. They could be dealt with later.

Of the two Viking lords in the North, Rorik had the largest host, and thus was the most threatening of the two. His seat of Dorestad however was quite vulnerable, and Charles knew it could not stand against the might of an unmolested East Francia, thus it became imperative that he and his half-brother defeated Lothaire in haste, so they could return and each deal with their rebel problems. In the meantime, King Charles prayed that his son-in-law Baldwin would clash with Rorik in the field, killing each other in turn, ridding him of two problems with one stone.**

That left only the villainous Haesteinn to deal with. His fortress of Cherbourg was well positioned, placed behind the thick woods and deep marshes of Cotentin, well beyond the reach of Charles' armies. Even if his men could make their way through such untamed wilderness, they would be unable to starve out the garrison, as Haesteinn could easily ferry food and supplies from across the sea via the Channel Islands. Only an assault on the walls could bring Cherbourg down, but the amount of men needed for such a feat was not one King Charles could spare at the moment. Three times Charles offered the invaders terms, trying to tempt them with riches that would make the Emperor of Constantinople and Cathay both blush, yet three times he was rejected, for the Jarl seemingly only wanted land to till and peace to do so.

Peace would be good, peace was exactly what was needed. Yet a pagan's word could never be trusted, the Norman was a fickle creature. He may till the land today, but pick up the axe the next. With such an strategic position atop the peninsula, Haesteinn could easily launch raids all across Francia with impunity, and depart well before his knights could muster a response. King Charles needed allies, and fortunately for him, the Bretons to his West thought much the same.

The Kingdom of Brittany had broken away from Francia just two decades prior, defeating King Charles at the battles of Ballon and Jengland. Since then, relations between the two kingdoms had been less than cordial, yet as of recently the Bretons had begun warming up to the idea of Frankish suzerainty, for they too had grown weary of the Viking menace. Being a day's away from Cherbourg and the Channel Islands, the presence of Haesteinn in the vicinity threatened the very existence of Brittany, and thus the two kings met in the city of Angers to sign the eponymous Treaty of Angers, second of its kind, as that was the same city where two decades prior they had met to establish peace between their realms.***

King Charles would cede the Cotentin Peninsula to the Breton King Salomon in exchange for an alliance against Cherbourg, and any Norsemen who dared attack in the future. As King Charles was much too busy dealing with his nephew Lothaire, Duke Hugo of Anjou and his levies would join the Breton army instead, and together bring down the pagan menace. To further cement the alliance, King Salomon's heir Riwallon married Duke Hugo's daughter Hildegarde, turning two families into one.

While the marriage pact had turned the two rulers into family, theirs was a dysfunctional one. Neither party could agree on who should lead their combined forces, and even making a concise plan for the march up to Cherbourg had proven difficult, with uncompromising stances from both sides, each ruler wanting the glory of taking down Haesteinn to be solely theirs. For a week they delayed, arguing to no end. No consensus was ever reached, and both armies set out haphazardly beside each other, competing for forage and information from any locals met along the way.

Their delays had been a fatal mistake. Haesteinn's spies had reached Cherbourg days before the two armies even left Angers, giving the Norsemen ample time to prepare for the coming storm. As it had become common of late, the Viking camp was split on which path would be wisest to take, with Haesteinn urging caution, while Hjalmar championed the attack. Atop the ramparts of Cherbourg, the two argued incessantly.

“Haesteinn,” Hjalmar growled, “we’ve been cooped up in this wooden cage for too long. Our warriors itch for battle. Percy and Avranches lie vulnerable, their garrisons mere shadows. I say we strike now and catch them unawares!”

Haesteinn’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon. “Patience, Hjalmar. Cherbourg is our shield. Let the enemy come and break upon our walls—they’ll find only death.” The contempt towards his grizzled leader was plain on Hjalmar's face. “Have you gone craven Haesteinn? We’re Vikings, not Franks. We do not cower behind walls." Hjalmar’s hand tightened around the hilt of his axe. "Have the years dulled your blade so much? The Gods favor the bold Haesteinn! We cannot sit idle as our foe's strength grows with every passing day. We must act now!"

The jarl’s voice dropped to a whisper, a worried frown stamped across his face. “Hjalmar, we have gone on countless raids. You and I know the aftermath of defeat. Burned villages, women weeping over their kin, orphaned children. If we set forth with this plan of yours we'd be leaving our families behind, undefended. If we were to fail... Our people deserve more than a pyre of honor. They need safety, stability—” Hjalmar spat into the wind. “Safety? Stability? Those are the words of a farmer, not a warrior. Percy and Avranches are ripe for the taking. Their riches, their women—” Haesteinn’s fist slammed against the parapet. “Enough! You see only the spoils, not the cost. Our men bleed, our families suffer. We build here, not for ourselves, but for generations to come.”

The red-haired warrior’s eyes blazed. “Generations? What good are they if we’re forgotten? I’d rather die in battle, my name echoing through the sagas." Hjalmar shook his head. "Your safety be damned Haesteinn, my mind is made. My men and I sail upon the first light. We shall seize those castles or earn a death worthy of a song. You are welcome to join us."

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*In real life, Duke Antso reigned Gascony during a very obscure period of its history, during which Gascony became de facto independent of the Frankish crown. Since the sources are sparse not much is known of how that came to be, so I simply painted it as a rebellion. Antso also settled Vikings within his land, however he did so at the mouth of the Adour, not the Garonne, but it seemed much more fitting to have them in the Garonne to guard the waters that divided the Franks and the Gascons.

**King Charles' relation with his son-in-law Baldwin was very fractious in real life. Let me explain because I really love this tale. The origin of their enmity stemmed from King Charles' own daughter, Judith of Flanders, originally of Wessex. Charles married her off to old King Æthelwulf of Wessex in 856 but their marriage was cut short a mere two years later as the king died from old age. Rather than letting her return home to Francia a widow, Æthelwulf's heir King Æthelbald decided to engage in one of the most quintessentially Anglo-Saxon practices of the middle ages, Æthelbald married his step-mother Judith. That marriage too lasted only two years. Despite her young age, Queen Judith had been keen to acquire lands in Wessex during her stay, and upon her 2nd husband's death she sold her properties in haste and fled the island with all her wealth before another one of Æthelwulf's sons could marry her.

Upon her return to the mainland, King Charles sent her off to live at a monastery rather than finding another marriage for her. Only seventeen and childless, yet already a queen twice, the life at the monastery grew stale quickly. Thankfully for her, a certain Baldwin visited this monastery upon which he found the widowed Queen and the two quickly fell in love. Soon after he helped her flee the monastery and they eloped, with the consent of her brother King Louis "the Stammerer" of Aquitaine.

King Charles disapproved of this marriage and sent men after them, but could not capture them. He pulled strings to have them both excommunicated, but Baldwin and Judith found refugee first with the Viking King Rorik of Dorestad, and later with King Lothaire II of Lotharingia, both rivals to her father. Later Judith and Baldwin made their way to Rome where they appealed with the Pope. There, Baldwin who was known for his martial prowess, threatened to take up arms and join the Viking King Rorik if the Pope did not rescind their excommunication. Fearing such threats, The Pope sent legates to King Charles until he eventually, reluctantly, accepted their marriage, giving Baldwin the March of Flanders as dowry (likely hoping he'd die defending the March from Vikings which then plagued its coasts), what eventually became the County of Flanders, one of the richest and most powerful polities in the middle ages, and from where the House of Flanders takes its name. The descendants of Baldwin and Judith would eventually participate in the Crusades and provide Kings to both Jerusalem and the Latin Empire.

***In real life the Treaty of Angers in 851 did establish peace between Brittany and West Francia, recognizing Brittany's independence and delineating their borders. Another treaty was signed in 867, but this time in Compiègne not Angers again, where King Charles did indeed cede the Cotentin Peninsula to Brittany. I changed the treaties in-game a bit for flavor and to fit the story better.

 

[Darumaka]

Chapter 4 - Warriors of the Night

The Viking Assault of Avranches​

Amidst the moonless night, the Norse warriors moved like shadows through the thicket overlooking Percy. Hjalmar’s breath misted in the chill air as he surveyed the sleepy town below. Its wooden walls, worn by wind and time, seemed no match for the fury that burned within him. His warriors fueled by mead and a fierce desire for glory, had made this their first target.

Most of the garrison had left to join the armies of Duke Hugo and King Salomon, leaving behind a skeletal crew to man its walls. While some resented being left behind, most rejoiced, for they would not have to face the fierce Vikings who had longed terrorized this part of Francia. As Hjalmar's forces approached the town, half of the guards laid asleep, and the other drunkenly stumbled about, wholly unaware about what was to descend upon them.

By the time they realized what came upon them, it was too late. The Northmen breached the wooden palisades, their battle cries waking the sleeping town into a stupor. The clash was swift, like a pack of wolves descending upon a flock of sheep. Percy's defenders were overwhelmed, their futile resistance extinguished like a guttering candle.

“Avranches next,” Hjalmar declared, his eyes beaming with ambition. “And then, the whole of Neustria!”

Beside him stood Haesteinn who had finally caught up with Hjalmar. Haesteinn had reluctantly followed the red-haired warrior in his adventure, fearing that if he did otherwise, Hjalmar may fall and his army be severely weakened. The older Viking’s eyes bore the weight of countless battles, and his grizzled beard twitched as if in silent protest. “Hjalmar,” he said, “this is madness. Percy was one thing, but Avranches? It’s a fortress.” Hjalmar grinned. “Fortresses crumble,” he replied. “Especially when their garrisons are drunk and dreaming of ale.”

And so, just like in Percy, the Norsemen descended upon Avranches. The attackers moved like wraiths, their axes gleaming as the moon came to light up their advance. The gates swung open, and the town erupted in chaos. Blades clashed, torches flared, and screams echoed through the narrow streets. The inner keep was the heart of Avranches—a stout tower crowned with crenellations. Hjalmar led the charge, his eyes ablaze. The defenders rallied, but their resistance was futile. The Viking axes bit deep, and the tower fell.

As dawn painted the horizon, Avranches laid conquered. Hjalmar stood blood-soaked amidst the smoldering ruins, chest heaving. His eyes blazed with triumph. “See, Haesteinn!” he boasted, wiping his blade on a fallen soldier’s cloak. “The gods do favor the bold! Percy, Avranches—they are but stepping stones to greater glory!”

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The Lowborn Commander

Louis de Coutances following the raid on Bayeaux​

Unbeknownst of the Viking lords' actions at Percy and Avranches, the armies of King Salomon of Brittany and Duke Hugo of Anjou continued their march northward before finally arriving at the walled town of Bayeaux, just a little ways East of the Cotentin Peninsula. As they approached its gates, neither ruler could help but notice the panicked masses gathered there, urging to be let into the town. Only then they realized the destruction around them. The fields outside the city showed the scars of fire, while scattered around the houses outside the walls laid about two dozen corpses, about half of which appeared to be Norse.

The garrison met them at the gate, their faces etched with weariness. Their armor bore the marks of battle—dented helms, blood-streaked mail, and shields splintered from the clash of steel. The wounded leaned on crutches or were carried on makeshift stretchers. Among them, a grizzled veteran with a bandaged arm stepped forward, his eyes still sharp despite the pain. He yelled at the townsfolk to scatter, to not worry as the approaching army was friends, not foes.

"You there, tell me what happened here." Duke Hugo asked the bandaged soldier who appeared to be their leader, as he dismounted his horse. "Milord," he rasped, "we faced a Norman raiding party last night. The longship came silently, like a shadow on the water. But by God we were ready. We managed to repel their attack, although not free of casualties. A single ship's worth of reavers, no more."

His accent betrayed his upbringing, this wounded man was of low birth, not fit to command a castle. "Who leads this garrison, where is the boy Hupold?* Asked Hugo, sensing something had gone awry. The bandaged warrior hesitated, but then spoke. "He was slain at the start of battle milord, he led the defense but quickly fell upon the sword of their leader—" King Salomon frowned and cut the peasant warrior mid sentence. "And who was this leader? Was it Haesteinn?" The defender shook his head, "Apologies milord, but I could not say. We know not his name, but it was some beast with a red mane. We beat him back into the sea, but not before he slain Lord Hupold."

"Hjalmar the Red," Salomon mused. “A notorious Viking raider. Yet he comes with only one ship? Are the Norsemen so weak that they cannot muster a fleet?” Duke Hugo, ever the strategist, shook his head. “Your grace, I believe this is a feint. A distraction. They test our defenses, lull us into complacency. While we celebrate our victory, they gather their strength elsewhere. ”Salomon scoffed. “Nonsense! Why would they waste their time on such petty raids? Perhaps Hjalmar is a coward, afraid to face us in open battle. It may even be that he deserted Haesteinn, fearing our attack on Cherbourg, and decided to seek riches elsewhere."

Salomon and Hugo ordered their men to set camp outside the walls, while the two of them and their closest companions made their way to Bayeux' keep where they'd spend the night. "We must set things to right before we depart" urged Duke Hugo, "I need to appoint a new commander for this garrison. An injured lowborn will not serve, no matter how good he may be with a sword." King Salomon agreed, "but we must not delay for long, thanks to your little peasant the Northmen are now a dozen men weaker. We must march upon them at first light, before their raiding parties can return and strengthen Cherbourg's garrisons."

"Milords, if I may—" the injured peasant leader approached the King and Duke gazing at their feet, not daring to look them in the eyes, "I could lead you to Cherbourg. The road there is thick with woods, and as of recently, infested with Norsemen ready to harry you every step of the way. I was born in that area, a small burnt village by the name of Coutances. I could lead you through the thicket safely, and I'm sure my brothers would be eager to join your host as well."

And so it was that Louis de Coutances joined the host of Duke Hugo and King Salomon, leaving his post in the garrison of Bayeaux where he had resided for the past six months, and set forth toward Cherbourg hoping to enact revenge on Haesteinn and Hjalmar the Red.**

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*Among his many titles, Count Renaud was lord of Evreux, Bayeux, and Lisieux. From his seat in Evreux he ruled as a vassal of Duke Hugo of Anjou, while his two sons Hupold and Francisque guarded the coastal counties of Bayeaux and Lisieux respectively. Hupold was slain by Hjalmar during the raid.

**Following Haesteinn's attack on Coutances, Henri, the eldest of Arnault's sons, had taken leadership of the survivors. While the town had been slightly rebuilt under his command, the reduced population meant there was little revenue coming towards the town, as all its inhabitants were forced to abandon their profitable crafts to tend the fields in order to make a living. As such, some of the men left the village to seek employment elsewhere, hoping to acquire coin to bring back home. Among those who became mercenaries was Louis, Arnault's second son, as well as Godefroy, their cousin who served under Lord Francisque in Lisieux.

---

A very well-done couple of chapters! I love the footnotes and will follow along!

Thank you. Glad to have you aboard!

I have added threadmarks which should make it easier to follow along.

 

[Darumaka]

Chapter 5 - The Rogue Prince

The news coming from the South had been grievous. Percy and Avranches had been taken by the pagans and its garrisons had been put to the sword. King Salomon of Brittany and Duke Hugo of Anjou were forced to admit their previous plan of marching straight to Cherbourg could no longer proceed, as by doing so they'd be walking into a trap, where'd they could be caught between the main Viking army at Cherbourg and a smaller one out of the recently fallen fortresses to the South.

Both rulers were well aware that their previous indecision and quarreling had led to their slow pace, and thus the loss of Percy and Avranches fell upon them. Frustrated and unwilling to admit defeat, both Salomon and Hugo finally came to an agreement. They figured whatever forces garrisoned the two southern holdfasts would likely be meager, and thus quick to fall if pressed, especially if the attack came swiftly before they could even send word for help. Thus their new plan came to be: Led by Hugo and Salomon, their cavalry, knights and mounted infantry both, would split from the main army and divide into two mounted contingents, with each galloping fast toward the two lost strongholds to the South. Their hope was to overwhelm the defenders with sheer speed, while the footmen stood to guard the pass to the North, ensuring no reinforcements would aid the defenders by land.

Their plan was sound, yet there was a glaring hole in its foundations. If both the King and the Duke were to head South, the matter of who would lead the main army in their absence remained. Duke Hugo pushed forward his half-brother Eudes, son of the late Robert "the Strong" who fell prey to Haesteinn during a previous raid of his, but King Salomon shot the idea down as Eudes was but a child of 10, a mere squire unfit to lead men, and who if given command may fall prey to anger and seek vengeance on his father's murderer, disobeying orders to stay put.

King Salomon suggested his own brother Riwallon, but the man had been afflicted by camp fever and thus was scarcely able to lead himself to supper, let alone lead a thousand men. His own son, also named Riwallon, had stayed behind at Bayeaux to man the garrison which had recently lost their leader, and thus Salomon was forced to rely on more distant relatives to command in their absence. Many had come forward requesting such position, such as Prince Pascueten of Vannes, Prince Guruant of Rennes, and Prince Guihomarch of Leon, but King Salomon was hesitant to grant either of them such power, as they all were landed gentry with ambition of their own, and thus he feared they could convince the army to join a coup against him.*

In the end they settled for Prince Ridoredh of Nantes. Ridoredh was the only son and sole heir to the previous King of Brittany, King Erispoe I, who had succumbed to an assassin's blade in the midst of church service a decade prior. As Brittany faced war with the Franks and incursions by the Norsemen at the time of his murder, the Breton nobility saw fit to crown Erispoe's cousin Salomon instead of his young son Ridoredh, and thus Prince Ridoredh was dispossessed of his inheritance, lands, and titles, destined to a life in the clergy. It was whispered at the Breton court that King Salomon was a kinslayer, for it was an open secret that King Salomon had sent the catspaw that took Erispoe's life, but as he had bribed most of the nobles and granted vast stretches of land to the church, none dared to question his legitimacy to the crown. Finally a consensus was reached and Prince Ridoredh was selected. King Salomon and his nobles thought Ridoredh weak-willed and thus a safe choice to leave in charge of the foot soldiers, for he had never shown any promise or desire to fight for his claim. Duke Hugo was uncertain of the Prince's ability, but as he was eager to depart for Percy he relented and settled for their choice.

That decision would be their undoing.

Prince Ridoredh stood at a crossroads, of mind and of heart. The weight of his armor pressing on his shoulders, which as of late had grown heavy with doubt. The moonlight filtered through the canopy of trees, casting eerie shadows on the ground. The soldiers had begun making camp, their faces a mix of boredom and worry as their thoughts filled with the battles King Salomon and Duke Hugo were to face at Percy and Avranches.

He thought of his father, a righteous man who had ruled with wisdom and justice, and who dedicated his life to the prosperity of Brittany. The memory of his father’s murder at the hands of King Salomon burned in his heart. The usurper had taken everything from him, and now, he was expected to protect the very man who had caused him so much pain.

Ridoredh’s mind raced. If he stayed, he would be honoring his duty to his kingdom, preventing the King from falling into a trap. But the thought of aiding his father’s murderer was unbearable. Marching north to face the Vikings was a certain death sentence, but the loss of men would be so severe that it would greatly weaken Salomon's hold on the Kingdom, perhaps giving Ridoredh a chance to reclaim his inheritance if he managed to escape the slaughter.

He turned to the three peasant brothers from Coutances who had safely guided their armies across the marshes of the Cotentin, and who he invited to share on his fire for the night. There they sat against the flames, fending off the familiar cold of the lands they considered home, lands they had fought and bled for against the Vikings, lands he knew they would follow him into battle for.

---

Henri was the oldest of the three, and their undisputed leader. A friend to all, a pious Christian, and a man fierce enough to face any obstacles in his path. He had led the reconstruction of their village after a brutal sack by Haesteinn and Hjalmar.

Louis was the second oldest, a a fierce man more at home in battle than by the hearth. Robust of body and easy to anger, quick to act before giving any thought to a problem. He had served as part of the garrison of Bayeaux, and thus had grown intimate with the ways of war.

Leon was the youngest of the three present. He was snakelike, slender, and sly. Secretive. Ambition flared in his eyes. He could always be found sharpening the small dagger that he liked to hide under his sleeve.

There were two other brothers, albeit they had remained back home to guard their half-restored village. Eudes the fallen monk who had fathered bastards on half the townswomen, and Baudouin the frail and melancholic younger brother who was forced to stay behind, lest he eagerly marched to his death in an attempt to rectify his cowardice of years prior. They also had an uncle Loup and his two sons Raynaud and Godefroy, the first a bishop and the second a warrior akin to Louis. There were two sisters as well, but the three brothers only spoke of Orianne, the youngest of their sisters and who all the men at the village wanted to marry, hesitant to speak of the older one, as if recalling a painful memory.

---

"Tell me Henri, if you were given the chance to inflict vengeance on your enemy, even if it cost your own life, would you do it?" Ridoredh asked, his voice heavy with emotion. Not expecting the Prince to inquiry into his thoughts, Henri was taken aback and began to think of a response. Nobles thought little about the smallfolk, and even less about their thoughts. Henri began to think of a response the Prince would like to hear, rather than what he actually wanted to say, as was befit of his station. Before Henri could reply however, his younger brother Leon answered in a mischievous tone. "I would seize the chance milord, and never let go. After all, men like us rarely get such opportunities. I would joyfully go to my death if it meant paying back in kind."

Louis punched his younger brother in the arm for giving such a brash answer, but smiled nonetheless, pleased with Leon's answer. Henri apologized for Leon's insolence in speaking out of turn, but the Prince only nodded, finding in that peasant boy Leon a kindred soul. Ridoredh took a deep breath, finally pulling the weight off his shoulder. “We march north,” he declared, his voice resolute. “We will face the Vikings and let fate decide our path.” A worried look appeared on Henri's face, as he feared the consequences of disobeying the King's orders. Timorous to speak out, Henri almost whispered at the prince. "Milord, if I may, your uncle, the King—" Anger flushed in Prince Ridoredh's face. Thundering with rage, he screamed at Henri. "The King," and he said that with derision, "has gone South boy, and I command here! If you wish to keep your tongue you'll be wise to remember that, before you DARE question my decisions again, boy," and he spoke that last word as an insult, infantilizing Henri, putting the older peasant back in his low place.

Before resting for the night, the Prince met with his personal retinue. A band of warriors loyal to the memory of his father numbering a few more than a hundred men. He commanded them to return to their homesteads, claiming he needed to save his strength for the real battle to come against his uncle. He did not wish to shed their blood in the futile battle to come, and so they scattered in the night, leaving before dawn, promising to reform when the Prince called again.

As the first light of dawn broke, confusion erupted across the camp as the soldiers heard of Ridoredh’s new, unforseen plan. "There's been a messenger in the night," Prince Ridoredh spoke the lies dismissively to everybody, and to nobody, speaking at the air more than at his host. "The King and Duke claimed great victories at Percy and Avranches. The bulk of the enemy army has fallen or fled. We must now deal the coup de grace!" And so the army moved with purpose. The air was thick with tension, with each step bringing them closer to the Viking settlement of Cherbourg. Ridoredh rode at the front, with the Coutances brothers at his side, leading the way. His eyes fixed on the distant hills where the enemy lay in wait. His heart pounded with a mix of fear and determination. This was not just a battle for survival, but a quest for vengeance against King Salomon, the man who had taken everything from him.

As Henri was quick to explain to the Prince, their host had long been spotted by Haesteinn's scouts, and a great army had gathered outside the walls of Cherbourg, the Viking leaders surely aware of their numerical superiority. The clash came swiftly. The Norsemen, fierce and unyielding, met Ridoredh’s forces with a ferocity that shook the ground. Swords clashed, shields splintered, and the cries of the wounded filled the air. Ridoredh fought with a fury born of years of pent-up rage. His blade cut through the enemy ranks, each strike a step closer to avenging his father. Or was it? The blood madness had taken over him, and for a second he realized none of this put him closer to the crown. But then another enemy approached, and such thoughts fled his mind.

Despite their valor, Ridoredh’s army was outnumbered and outmatched. The three brothers saw it plainly, this was no battle, but a slaughter. Sheep walking into the wolf's den. They were no warriors, not truly. Even Louis who served at Bayeaux had only fended off a single ship's crew. He knew nothing of battle. The Vikings pressed their advantage, and with their superior numbers slowly overwhelmed the Prince's army. Louis wanted to stay with the Prince, but Henri and Leon urged him repeatedly before he finally agreed to flee, and the three ran before the true carnage began, the clatter of their dropped shields muted by the shrieks of the dying. Ridoredh found himself surrounded, his men falling one by one. Yet, he fought on, laughing maniacally, for Prince Ridoredh did not see the enemy in front of him, only the face of King Salomon as he learned the news of his army's destruction. Soaked in the blood of his treacherous uncle, the Prince smiled with delight, and the Northmen in front of him stood still, stupefied at his frightening visage.

"Spare that one!, with the fancy red coat" Haesteinn yelled and pointed at Ridoredh's blood splattered white surcoat, as the vikings surrounded the last seven warriors who remained of the Prince's once great host. "You can kill the rest."

---

*Everyone was a Prince in Brittany. I'm not even going to bother explaining how convoluted it all was, but here's a picture depicting some of the Breton noblemen who appear or were mentioned in this chapter. You may need to zoom in to see it clearly. There are actually a great many degrees of separation between Salomon's side of the family and Ridoredh's, but Wikipedia refers to the King as the Prince's uncle, so I went ahead and did the same.

I'll post the Coutances family tree next chapter I think. I hope this chapter wasn't too verbose. Thanks for reading.

 

[Darumaka]

Chapter 6 - A Failed Gambit

The failed Siege of Percy​

"Today, we take back what is ours," Duke Hugo declared, his voice carrying over the ranks of his army. "We will slay the pagan bastards, and retake Percy for the good of Christendom!"

The signal was given, and the men of Anjou began their advance under the last vestiges of darkness. The Duke rode at the front of his column, heart pounding with anticipation. He feared their delays to build siege engines had betrayed their advance, but the plan remained the same nonetheless, to breach the outer defenses before the Norsemen could mount a proper defense.

As they neared the fortress of Percy, the first rays of dawn began to pierce the horizon. Hugo's knights led the charge, their horses thundering across the ground. The men carrying the ladders and battering ram followed, ready to break down the gates of the walled town. The sun was high on the sky, and the Duke failed to consider it when planning his assault. His men laid straight on its path, its beaming rays blinding the attackers, making it difficult for his men to see the hail of arrows raining down from above the castle's walls. The Vikings were ready.

Hugo watched in horror as his men fell under the relentless barrage. The air was thick with the sound of arrows whistling through the air and the cries of the wounded. The knights reached the walls and began to scale them using ladders, while on the ground what few arches Hugo commanded began firing at the defenders, hoping to provide support to the climbers. The defenders began throwing stones down the ladders, causing the attackers to fall and killing more than a few. When they ran out of projectiles, mixture of boiling water and ale began to pour from the battlements, adding to the chaos above and taking the skin off any man unfortunate to be on its path. Despite the carnage, Hugo urged his men forward. “To the walls!” he shouted, drawing his sword. “For Anjou!”

More and more of his men continued to climb the ladders, fighting their way up Percy with a ferocity Hugo had never seen. Both sides were suffering heavy losses, the Vikings determined to defend their stronghold at all costs. Despite being the oldest of three brothers, Duke Hugo had always been the subject of their pranks and mockery, often being called a craven. A third of his men were up the walls already, yet he remained on the ground giving orders. They urged him from above to join, claiming it was safe to scale up already, and Hugo clearly saw his men were gaining the upper hand. Yet he still hesitated. Something seemed off about the whole thing.

Each Viking warrior is expected to carry 2 to 3 shields when they go in campaign, and during sieges they tend to line them up along the walls to inflate their numbers. Making someone who never dealt with their kind think the garrison is two or three times larger than it really is, as they believe each shield represents a warrior, losing morale and discouraging assaults. Duke Hugo was well aware of this deceitful tactic, and yet the count of the shields did not match the amount of defenders at the walls, even when taking such inflation into account. There were far too many shields, perhaps 4 or 5 to every man in the garrison.

And just when Hugo realized he had fallen into a trap, the Northmen launched their counterattack. Hidden sally ports opened all along the walls, and small groups of Viking warriors emerged, attacking the Duke's forces from the flanks and rear. The sudden onslaught threw his men into disarray, and Hugo struggled to maintain order. Then the main gate opened, and even more of the defenders poured out to join the sortie.

“Hold the line!” he shouted, but it was no use. The Vikings’ surprise attack had shattered their formation. Realizing the assault was failing, Hugo made the difficult decision to order a retreat. His forces withdrew under heavy fire toward their horse line, the Norsemen pursuing them to ensure they did not regroup for another attack. The retreat was chaotic, and the smell of blood frightened their horses, sending them into a panic, crushing pursuer and pursued both along their path. Nearly half of Hugo's men were captured or killed, including all those who made the climb atop the walls. The Duke himself nearly lost his life to a Norseman's axe, but the man slipped on the muddy ground and Hugo got away.

---

Vikings ambushing the Breton and Frankish scouts​

A few hours later, the Duke would stumble upon the remains of King Salomon's army, who also suffered a similar fate under the walls of Avranches. Both leaders were crestfallen. Their gambit had failed, and Haesteinn remained at large, his hold on Francia undisturbed. Their march North toward Prince Ridoredh's army was a quiet one, their combined host sullen after their disastrous defeats. They had sent scouts ahead to link up with the Prince's host, but despite several hours passing, none had returned.

Night had fallen, and Duke Hugo urged the Breton King to pause their march and make camp, as rest was sorely needed and the woods were treacherous to travel under moonlight. Despite his weariness, Salomon denied the request, commanding the army to march on, fearing that the Vikings had continued their pursuit and would attack while they slept. King Salomon would rather join up with his cousin's host before he dared put his eyes to rest.

Exhausted, Hugo and Salomon finally made it to spot where they had left their footmen under Prince Ridoredh's command, but no one was there to receive them. They feared his army got attacked by the Vikings of Cherbourg, but the site lacked any signs of battle. There were no blood to be seen, no corpses scattered around, no weapons littering the field. It was as if they had simply vanished.

Unable to go on any further, and unwilling to spend any more time ahorse, both Duke Hugo and King Salomon agreed to make camp for the night. Ridoredh and the whereabouts of the army could wait until dawn, their men needed respite. But just as the soldiers began to relax and light their nightfires, Haesteinn, Hjalmar "the Red," and all the might of Cherbourg descended upon them.

The Norsemen faced little resistance, they cut through the panicked camp like a hot knife through butter, and they made that hilltop rich with Christian blood. Both King Salomon and Duke Hugo managed to escape the slaughter yet again, but many other nobles were captured, including the Duke's 10 year-old half-brother Eudes, and two relatives of King Salomon, the Count Alfrond of Cornouaille and Prince Guruant of Rennes. What remained of their broken host fled in all directions, but the bulk of them rank East toward Bayeux, where King Salomon's son Riwallon commanded the garrison. Their war seemed all but lost.

 

[Darumaka]

Chapter 7 - The Treaty of Bayeux

Haesteinn's host giving chase to their fleeing enemies​

All through the dawn the Vikings under Haesteinn continued to give chase to the broken French and Breton host. With the Norsemen pressing hard on their heels, neither Duke Hugo nor King Salomon had much time to think of a course of action nor send word ahead of them to warn the garrison of Bayeux to which they were headed. There waited Prince Riwallon of Brittany, Salomon's only son and heir, who had been left to defend the castle with a skeleton crew far too meager to mount a proper defense. He was taken aback at the sight of his father's ragged forces on the horizon, and hurriedly opened its gates to welcome them.

There the tattered remnants of the once great Franco-Breton host huddled under the safety of its walls, finally a moment of respite. It would not last. Beneath a flurry of banners there was Haesteinn, standing tall at the forefront of his army. Besides him was Hjalmar, eyes gleaming with the promise of conquest and slaughter. The sound of Hjalmar's laughter cracked like thunder, "they can't escape this time, there is nowhere to run!"

There was truly no hope for the defenders. With King Charles still out East fighting his Lotharingian relatives, there was no one coming to lift the siege. They were out on their own. Despite their odds, King Salomon and his son both tried to lift the garrison's morale, urging them to fight with all their spirt, looking to the heavens, claiming victory was at hand so long as God was with them. Their efforts did little to dissuade the panic that was quickly spreading across the defenders, especially as Duke Hugo too began to advocate for a peaceful surrender. Despite them having won every encounter thus far, Duke Hugo believed the Norsemen too were exhausted following the battles and ensuing chase toward Bayeux. Hugo believed he could talk Haesteinn into letting them go if they surrendered.

Neither King Salomon nor his son Riwallon agreed with his proposal, however they soon realized the bulk of the defenders in Bayeux were not Bretons but Franks, and those Franks quickly adopted Hugo's idea, threatening violence on the Bretons. "If you are so eager to die on this day," Duke Hugo spoke, "then let us grant you that which you wish. We would rather surrender in shame than fall to a pagan's axe. Make way or make a grave, the choice is yours." The Bretons had no choice but to comply.

Duke Hugo and King Salomon (left) having peace talks with Haesteinn (right) as his men watch the dealings​

Much to the dissapointment of Hjalmar, and to the relief of Haesteinn, the gates of Bayeux opened. From them came a small party of warriors led by King Salomon and Duke Hugo, sueing for peace. Haesteinn ordered his men to put their weapons down, and he too approached with a party of his own. They met on the banks of the River Aure, where they talked for the better part of the day.

Effective immediately, all Frankish and Breton inccursions into Norse-held territory were to cease. A border would be delineated, recognizing the independence of Haesteinn's realm from both the Kingdom of Brittany and the Kingdom of West Francia. This new Viking realm would include not just Cherbourg and the peninsula on which it sat, but also the recently wrestled fortresses of Percy and Avranches, as well as the newly evacuated fortress of Bayeux, greatly extending Viking control over Western Neustria, which would soon begin to be called Normandy. Finally, a great tax would be levied on the peoples of Brittany and Hugo's lands to pay for a massive danegeld*, a combination of gold and treasure which Haesteinn would divide among his followers as reward. In exchange, Haesteinn free all the noble prisoners he took in battle, including Duke Hugo's half brother Eudes and several Breton counts. Haesteinn also would cease all raids into Francia and Brittany, comitting to a peaceful coexistence with his new neighbors. This last promise of peace was met with many grumbles and complaints from his own men, but the great many riches acquired through the treaty soon put an end to their bickering, leaving all but Hjalmar "the Red" wholly satisfied.

While King Charles had not been consulted to ratify the treaty, there was little he could do to oppose it, especially as the authority of Paris continued to decline in the wake of several defeats in the East against Lotharingia, his vassals growing increasingly autonomous. Some among Haesteinn's camp urged him to demand more lands during the treaty, however he wisely chose temperance over ambition, knowing any more concessions would see his army spread too thin, unable to defend his conquests. Perhaps if he had futuresight he could have seen such fears were unfounded, for soon after the Treaty of Bayeux was signed word began to spread about his great victory over the Franks, attracting hundreds of Scandinavians to his new Kingdom. Green boys and hardened veterans, the elderly and the young, entire families came to settle in Normandy just as they had done across Britain in the Kingdom of Jorvik after the Ragnarssons' conquests.

The Kingdom of Normandy**, March 6 of 868 AD. Comprised of the Viking stronghold of Cherbourg, the island fortresses of Jersey and Guernsey, and the Frankish castles of Bayeux, Percy, and Avranches.​

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*A Danegeld is the term given to a tax raised to pay for the tribute or protection money to Viking raiders to save a land from being ravaged or to convince them to leave one's land. Also known as a "Danish Tax," or literally "Dane yield" from Old English.

**While coloquially known as the Kingdom of Normandy to both Franks and Bretons, Haesteinn's realm was neither a Kingdom nor did they identify as "Normans" at this time. To them it was the Jarldom of Kjarrborg (in-game Duchy rank), or Cherbourg, their chief settlement and stronghold in the region.

 

[Darumaka]

Chapter 8 - The Battle of Blamont

With the signing of the Treaty of Bayeaux peace had finally returned to Northern France. Such peace however did not come without struggles of its own.

The influx of Scandinavian settlers into the nascent Viking Kingdom would radically change the region for decades to come, bringing about a new culture and a foreign faith unknown to most. While many of the newcomers chose to settle in the already established town of Cherbourg among their peers, even more sought their fortune elsewhere across Normandy, either joining existing Frankish towns or founding new ones adjacent to them.

Fear and confusion was rampant among the native Franks for they had been conditioned to fear these foreigners that towered over them. Communication proved difficult at first, but with time the locals had no choice but to adapt to what had quickly become their new life. Soon the two communities began to mingle, and even a few mixed marriages sprung up, almost always comprised of a Norse husband and a local wife, who's father sought to befriend and build ties with the new powerful men of the region by offering up their daughter. It truly seemed as though the Vikings were there to stay, and thus most folks resigned themselves to their new overlords and continued their meager existences as they had before when a Frank ruled over them.

Among those who gave up the fight were the survivors of Coutances. The arrival of several Norse families forced the locals to abdicate the best and most fertile lands to their new Viking neighbors, who quickly set out to rebuild the burnt town under the new name of Brennuborg. While most still resented the Vikings for their previous raid, quickly they came to realize the new settlers were far more similar to them than previously thought, and over the next few years began to appreciate the restoration of their town, even if under a new facade.

The newly rebuilt town of Brennuborg, or "burnt town" in Norse, the name for the old town of Coutances. ​

Even as the new Kingdom of Normandy thrived, there yet remained a faction of belligerent Vikings who still sought violence and glory over peace. Led by the vicious Hjalmar the Red, these fierce warriors were forced to comply, albeit reluctantly, to Haesteinn's new peace with West Francia and Brittany, sailing their longships across the channel into the lands of the Saxons and Britons.

The peoples of Cornwall were frequent target of their raids, although such endeavors usually netted meager rewards. More tempting were the lands of Wessex, but the West Saxons under King Alfred had proven stout, and even achieved victory in battle over the Sons of Ragnar Lodbrok several times, allying and fighting alongside their eternal rival of Mercia, halting the Danish advance toward the South, at least for the time being. With this alliance in foot, raiding Mercia too became too dangerous for Hjalmar's warband.

Thus the Kingdom of East Anglia became the target of their wrath. As the island of Ireland and the kingdoms of Alba and Mercia became the focus of the Ragnarssons' efforts, the small East Anglian kingdom was left relatively untouched by war, its riches left untapped for any would-be pilferer, such as Hjalmar the Red. Despite the valiant efforts of King Eadmund to resist his attacks, the swift speed with which Viking longships could strike meant that defending from his raids was impossible, as Hjalmar's raiders would have left long before Eadmund's warriors could arrive.

East Anglian peasants carrying and burying their dead as a great plague sweeps their kingdom, ravaging its people. ​

Hjalmar's adventures in Britain would carry on until the Spring of 871 AD, when a great plague coming from Flanders struck the ailing kingdom. Rather than risking an infection he and his warriors returned to the Isle of Jersey, which he had made his seat, ruling under Jarl Haesteinn. Now laden with the riches of Britain, Hjalmar could leverage an increased position within Norman society, and soon began telling his men to tell others about their exploits abroad. News of their success in Britain quickly spread across Normandy, reigniting the flames of many retired warriors, as well as sparking it for the first time for those green boys who had only ever known peace.

Just as this hunger for glory reawakened across the Norse, the Kingdom of West Francia continued to plunge into chaos. Duke Hugo of Anjou would succumb to a murder plot orchestrated by the rival Etichonen family of Artois, leaving his cowardly son Wilhelm to contend with the vast swathe of lands surrounding Normandy. His death would greatly weaken Anjou as their lands in Burgundy were soon seized by their Burgundian rivals of the house of Nibelung, exploiting the instability of succession.

Further East, despite numerous setbacks during the war, the combined armies of West and East Francia had finally managed to trap and defeat the Lotharingian host outside the walls of Blamont. The Viking Rorik had been unable to reach the Lotharingians in time, and now his ally King Lothaire II laid under siege by King Charles II of West Francia and King Ludwig II of East Francia.

King Charles paced restlessly in his tent, the flickering candlelight casting long, wavering shadows on the canvas walls. His mind was a storm of conflicting emotions—anticipation, fear, and a gnawing sense of betrayal. He had sent an assassin under the cover of darkness to eliminate King Ludwig , his ally, in a bid to seize all the glory from their impending victory. The decision had not come easily, but the lure of absolute power and unchallenged fame had proven too strong.

Outside, the camp was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of soldiers preparing for battle replaced by an oppressive silence. Charles strained to hear any sign of commotion from Ludwig’s camp, but the night remained stubbornly still. He knew that if the assassin succeeded, the news would reach him soon. But what if the attempt failed? The consequences could be dire—Ludwig was not a man to forgive such treachery.

Charles’s thoughts drifted to the battles they had fought side by side, the camaraderie they had shared. It seemed almost surreal that he had chosen this path of betrayal. Yet, in the ruthless game of thrones, alliances were fragile, and trust was a luxury few could afford.

As the hours dragged on, Charles’s anxiety grew. He imagined the assassin slipping through the shadows, dagger in hand, approaching Ludwig’s tent. He pictured the moment of confrontation, the swift, silent strike. But with each passing minute, doubt gnawed at him. Had he underestimated Ludwig’s vigilance? Was the assassin skilled enough to carry out such a perilous task?

Finally, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence. Charles’s heart pounded as a messenger burst into the tent, breathless and wide-eyed. The moment of truth had arrived. Would it be news of success, or had his gamble led to ruin? Perhaps both.

King Charles II’s heart sank as the messenger relayed the grim news. The assassin had succeeded in his mission, but had been captured shortly after. Under duress, he had confessed everything, revealing Charles as the mastermind behind the plot to kill King Ludwig. The betrayal was now laid bare, and the consequences were swift and brutal.

Before Charles could fully grasp the gravity of the situation, the camp was thrown into chaos. The forces of East Francia, once their staunch allies, had turned against them, led by Ludwig III, the slain king’s son. Fueled by a thirst for vengeance, Ludwig III’s troops launched a ferocious attack on Charles’s camp.

The night erupted with the clash of steel and the cries of battle. Charles’s soldiers, caught off guard and demoralized by the sudden betrayal, struggled to mount a defense. Charles himself, clad in his armor, took to the field, trying to rally his men. But the tide of battle had turned against them.

Amidst the turmoil, Charles’s mind raced. He had gambled everything on a single, treacherous act, and now he faced the wrath of a betrayed ally. The vision of glory and power that had driven him to such lengths now seemed distant and unattainable. Instead, he was confronted with the stark reality of war and the heavy price of betrayal.

As dawn broke, the battlefield was littered with the fallen. Charles, bloodied and exhausted, stood amidst the ruins of his ambitions. The forces of East Francia had withdrawn, but the damage was done. Ludwig III had avenged his father, and Charles’s dreams of unchallenged rule lay in tatters. Unable to continue his siege of Blamont, King Charles and what remained of his army retreated West toward home, defeated.

 

[Darumaka]

Chapter 9 - A Chance Encounter

It was an unremarkable dull day in the town of Brennuborg*. The crisp air carried with it the scent of fallen leaves, and as the days grew shorter everyone began to worry about their stockpiles for the winter. The sounds of the bustling market mingled with the autumnal smells. That harsh and guttural tongue of the Norsemen never failed to make Henri feel like a stranger in his own home. The once familiar streets were now filled with foreign traders and settlers. Every face seemed to remind him of the conquerors who had seized his village and altered the course of his life.

Many years had gone by since that fateful day when Haesteinn and Hjalmar the Red first appeared on the banks of the Soulle River, bringing with them misery and destruction to the town of Coutances. The town was burnt, its riches were pillaged, and its people were put to the sword. Finding the savaged remains of his parents had been a terrible blow to Henri and his family, but worse yet was not being able to find that of their sister Blanche, who had seemingly vanished during the attack, likely carried away by a Viking like many of the young townswomen. They were all presumed dead, never to be seen again.

Henri buried those memories deep within, focusing on survival in a town that no longer felt like home. Each day, the market's vibrancy and the Viking presence served as a stark reminder of all he had lost. He pushed those thoughts down and hurried through the busy market, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of trade. As he bartered for a basket of apples, a commotion at the docks caught his attention. If anything, his new neighbors ensured there was always something interesting taking place around town.

Drawn by curiosity, Henri made his way through a crowd of people, only to discover a pointless argument over a game of dice. He let out a small, sad chuckle as he remembered a phrase he and his brothers used to hate due to the sheer frequency in which their late father Arnault used it. "There is nothing new under the sun." Henri was convinced that was the only thing his father ever managed to learn from a lifetime of attending mass, as he loved to remind them that such words came straight from the Holy Book, yet never did so for any other phrase. Henri was not entirely convinced of the source, but nonetheless turned that phrase he once hated into a loving memory of his father.

The sun dipped low, casting a golden hue over the docks. There were many ships waiting there, some for supplies, others to unload their goods unto the market. Henri stared at them all with slight, melancholic interest, wondering what the life of a Norse sailor would be like, the kind of sights they would encounter during their travels, surely better than his boring life as a farmer.

A ship was beginning to depart, its sails billowing in the brisk wind. Even in his ignorance of all things Viking, Henri could tell that was no regular trading ship, but a especially crafted one, of high quality wood and make, likely owned by Haesteinn or someone close to him. Amid the crew and passengers, a strange yet familiar face stood out like a beacon on the fog. Henri's heart nearly stopped at the sight of her. She moved with the confidence of a Norsewoman, her attire and demeanor completely transformed. Yet, there was something familiar about her.

Squinting against the glare of the setting sun, Henri recognized her face. Blanche. The years had changed her. She was older now, her hair a little longer, her eyes a little sadder, but there was no mistaking her. He tried to call out her name, but his breath caught in his throat as memories of their childhood together flooded back. He could no longer fights those emotions he had long sought to bury deep within.

Henri's feet moved before his mind could catch up. “Blanche!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with desperation. The noise of the docks nearly drowned him out, but she turned, their eyes locking. For a fleeting moment, he saw a spark of recognition in her eyes. Despite her transformation, she had not forgotten her past, nor her dear older brother.

Pushing yet again through the throng of people, Henri fought to reach her, launching his basket of apples into the ground in an effort to ease his way through the crowd. The ship's horn blared, signaling its departure. Her gaze met his one last time, her eyes filled with years of hardship and longing, reflecting a deep unspoken bond between the two. As the ship pulled away, Blanche raised a hand in a silent farewell, and only then he realized the two small red-haired children clinging to her skirts, their eyes wide with curiosity. The two children raised their hands in turn, mirroring the gesture. Henri watched helplessly as the ship continued to drift away, but standing there, a fire ignited within him, hardening his resolve. He would not let them disappear into the distance forever. He would find her again and bring them back home.

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*As stated on the previous chapter, Brennuborg is the new Norse name for the town of Coutances, literally meaning "Burnt Town." For all intents and purposes the terms Brennuborg and Coutances will be interchangeable but used according to the context, similar to words like Norse/Norsemen/Viking/Norman.

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Hey everyone! I decided to color some names and placenames on this chapter, as it can be difficult for readers to keep track of things, especially when there's few pictures to look at and lots of paragraphs to get through. Hopefully those colors are not too intrusive. I'm not entirely convinced those are the colors I want to stick with so let me know if you think another color would fit better.

As you probably noticed this is almost exclusively a narrative chapter as no gameplay takes place during it. It's main purpose was to slightly flesh out those invisible "de Coutances" characters which the AAR is supposed to be about, but whom I barely wrote about as of yet, especially Henri and his motivation which should lead him to establish his family in a position of power. These characters do come into play later, so it's not pointless filler, although you could argue its filler nonetheless as it has no gameplay .

I wrote a short introduction to the family members back in Chapter 5, so feel free to revisit that if you want a quick rundown of who they are. This chapter will make some more sense with that context, plus it will serve to inform you about who the people in the picture below are. They're a vast family! Not all will play some huge role in the story, but at least they exist hehe.

Blanche and Baudouin are twins, as are the bastard sons of Eudes and the sons of Godefroy. Twins run in the family!

If you recall in Chapter 1, Baudouin almost faced Hjalmar in battle but chickened out in the end. Maybe his twin Blanche could have been spared capture if Baudouin had stopped the red-haired marauder...

 

[Darumaka]

Chapter 10 - The Fall of Aquitaine

While the arrival of the dreaded pirate king Haesteinn had greatly upset the balance of power in Northwestern Francia, the rule of King Charles "the Bald" endured through all the hardship. Haesteinn appeared reluctant to push for the Frankish throne even at the behest of his followers, content to settle for the Norman coast. A steep price, but one King Charles was willing to accept in exchange for peace.

To the South however, the situation was much more grim. The Kingdom of Aquitaine found itself under siege by not just Vikings, but also Saracens from Hispania, and even rebel lords from within. King Louis "the Stammerer," son of King Charles of West Francia, ruled Aquitaine in his father's name. While Charles did hold some influence over his son Louis, in reality Aquitaine managed to its own affairs independently, and as such it too was forced to fend for itself.

The first Aquitanian lord to rise up against King Louis had been the perfidious Antso "the Terrible," who with the support of Basque and Gascon nobles, seized control over Gascony and declared itself independent from Frankish rule*. Fearful of retaliation by his overlord, Antso was quick to recruit several Viking bands as mercenaries, granting them lands along the southern banks of the Garonne River, believing their fierce strength could secure his borders and help him strike at his former overlord. At first, the plan unfolded perfectly. The Norsemen, ruthless and efficient, launched relentless raids, securing the contested province of Agenais and even seizing the West Francian fortress at Perigord, extending their rule North of the river.

The arrangement seemed mutually beneficial, but it was not long before the Vikings realized their true potential. Under the leadership of their chieftains, they saw themselves as more than mercenaries. They were conquerors, the most powerful force in the region. Word of the ripe opportunities in Gascony spread swiftly across the Viking world, drawing more warriors eager to carve out their own fortunes.

Among these new arrivals was Ubbe, son of the legendary Ragnar Lodbrok. Once a formidable leader of the Great Heathen Army in Britain, Ubbe had been ousted by his own brother, Halfdan, whose ambition had led him to seize the throne of Jorvik. Stripped of power and seeking a realm of his own, Ubbe answered the call from the Vikings of Bordeaux and set sail for France.

The Kingdom of Aquitaine and its lords, outlined in green. 868 AD.​

Upon his arrival to Bordeax, Ubbe was quick to seize power from the chieftains there, consolidating the disparate bands into a single conquering army under his command. He forcefully seized the city of Bordeaux from the Basque Duke Antso, and upon its fall Agenais and Perigord too fell in line, granting Ubbe his much desired realm in one fell swoop. Unable to muster much of a resistance, Antso retreated to Armagnac into the Gascon hinterland, resigning himself to his new lowered status. Rather than chasing the defeated lord however, Ubba set his sights on a grander conquest—the Kingdom of Aquitaine.

With his father preoccupied by wars in the North, King Louis of Aquitaine was forced to stand alone against the Viking threat**. His envoys swiftly carried the news to his vassals, but the call to arms fell on deaf ears as each of them could scarcely afford a single man, let alone their full levies to defend a weak King they no longer believed in.

To the South, Count Bernard of Barcelona was actively engaged in a defensive war against the ambitious Emir Felipe, who from his small holdings in Tarragona had managed to conquer the Balearic Islands and establish himself as Emir of Mallorca, independent of the Umayyad Sultan. Emir Felipe had already seized Bernard's fortress at Lleida, and was now pushing towards Urgell and Barcelona itself, intent on conquering all the Aquitanian lands South of the Pyrenees.

Meanwhile, the County of Toulouse was bearing the brunt of Ubbe's attacks on all fronts. The same river systems that once blessed Toulouse and turned it into a fertile, bountiful paradise were now serving its enemies, providing Ubbe and his Vikings an effective method of transportation, allowing him to penetrate even the farthest reaches of the Kingdom. With the Norsemen actively raiding his lands, Count Bernat of Toulouse could not afford to wait on the King, and thus set out to fight Ubbe on his own.

Even as both Muslims and Norsemen laid siege to the Kingdom, the squabbles for the long-disputed Bishopric of Viviers continued. Exploiting the King's weakness, Count Bertaland of Gevaudan had raised his men to seize the Bishopric by force, jealously coveting its fertile lands by the Rhone River. The Church had found its defender in Count Ricard of Auvergne however, who rushed to raise his levies at Clermont and set out to battle the impious Bertaland.

While King Louis sat idle in the safety of his castle at Ventadour, Ubbe spent the years of 868 to 871 AD setting the lands of Toulouse afire, ravaging the provinces of Quercy, Rouergue, Albi, and even taking the city of Toulouse itself, sowing fear and chaos across the region. There was little Count Bernat could do against the Viking onslaught, now dispossessed of his capital.

The river systems of Aquitaine, the highways which allowed Ubbe Ragnarrsson to ravage the Kingdom indiscriminately ​

Outside of the successful capture of Toulouse, Ubbe and his men had mostly raided the countryside of the Kingdom, refusing to lay siege or assault any other fortresses, for he feared suffering heavy losses. Ubbe had hoped that setting Aquitaine ablaze would compel King Louis to abandon the safety of his walls and meet him in battle, yet no matter how many villages he burnt, Louis remained at Ventadour, unmoving. Even if Ubbe wished to lay siege to the castle, his men would be spotted sailing the river long before they could get near that inland stronghold, and thus all element of surprise would be lost.

The Norsemen grew weary. Many began losing confidence in Ubbe's abilities as a leader, some even calling him a coward in whispers, too afraid to meet the enemy head on. Ubbe was not oblivious to these changes in his camp's mood, and thus in 872 AD he chose to radically switch tactics, abandoning Toulouse and leaving a small skeleton crew to guard their longships at Bordeaux. Rather than striking through the rivers the Viking way, Ubbe's warriors would make the long march from Bordeaux to Ventadour, stopping at Perigord for supplies. While the trek there would be arduous, full of wild woods and steep hills, Ubbe believed that such an intrepid attack would be wholly unexpected by the King and thus heavily increase the chances of success.

His gamble paid off. Even as the war raged on across his Kingdom for years, the relative remoteness of Ventadour had instilled a sense of safety in King Louis. He thought it unthinkable that such an attack as what Ubbe was planning could even be devised, and thus he never expected to be caught by the advancing Viking army during one of his leisure hunts through the woods. All ten of his hunting companions, including King Louis himself, were slain on the spot. Ubbe had just won his Kingdom, having fought not a single major battle.

Upon seeing their King's head in a spike, the spirit of the garrison at Ventadour faltered, and the men surrendered without a fight, opening the gates to Ubbe, self-proclaimed King of Aquitaine. With the head of the snake cut off, the Kingdom of Aquitaine was left in disarray, its territories ripe for the taking. Ubbe summoned the peasantry to watch his "coronation" and to watch him divvy up the riches seized from the royal coffers among his warriors, rewarding them for their support. Such public displays of generosity enticed many of the Aquitanian peasants to willingly join Ubbe's army, hoping they too could reap the rewards of a Viking's life.

Now with the safety of Ventadour to fall back into if things went awry, Ubbe began his march North into the provinces of Limousin, La Marche, and Bellac, lands which owed allegiance to the King as his personal demesne. With the promise of retaining their lands and titles, much of the nobility there submitted to Ubbe without a fight, reluctantly accepting their new King. While those minor barons surrendered with ease, the larger counties of Barcelona, Toulouse, Gevaudan, and Auvergne all but ignored his summons, joining the Basque rebel Antso in declaring the dissolution of the Kingdom of Aquitaine, and thus, independence.***

Ubbe's Kingdom of Aquitaine, 872 AD
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*Duke Antso and his Vikings were introduced in Chapter 3, in case you wished to re-read that chapter.

**This chapter goes a few years back into the past so I could depict what happened in the South. While all this took place, Haesteinn was fighting Duke Hugo of Anjou and King Salomon of Brittany, while King Charles was fighting his relative King Lothaire of Lotharingia and the Viking Rorik of Dorestad, so he was unable to help his son Louis.

***I wanted a more dynamic world so I granted several Viking warriors enough prestige and some levies so they could launch their own invasions. Ubbe invaded Aquitaine, slew Louis in Battle, and nearly got to 100% warscore, but before he could claim victory the Dukes of Aquitaine successfully launched a dissolution faction and Aquitaine dissolved before Ubbe could take it all. As a compromise I granted him the personal demesne of the late King, while letting everyone else go independent.

I'm actually not convinced about using a variety of colors for certain things like names or places as in the previous chapter. If you would like me to do so let me know, I feel like some may like it, while others may find it annoying, so I'd like to hear what you think. Thanks for reading.

 

[Darumaka]

Chapter 11 - A New Normandy?

Hjalmar and his men landing in the Isle of Wight, 873 AD​

The arrival of Ubbe at Bordeaux and his swift conquest of Aquitaine reverberated across Western Europe like a thunderclap. Unlike his contemporaries, Rorik of Frisia and Haesteinn of Cherbourg, who had established their realms on the peripheries of Christendom, Ubbe's domain penetrated deep into the heartlands. This incursion posed a dire threat to the neighboring polities, now emancipated from Carolingian suzerainty, casting a long shadow of potential Viking expansion over the region.

The vassals of King Charles the Bald, particularly those whose lands bordered Ubbe's burgeoning kingdom, clamored for swift and decisive action. However, the armies of West Francia were still licking their wounds from their ignominious defeat at Blamont. Charles' betrayal of East Frankish King Ludwig II had not only cost him his claim to the Kingdom of Lotharingia but had also decimated his forces. Fearing reprisals from his triumphant relative in Lotharingia and potential incursions from Normandy or Frisia, King Charles remained ensconced in Paris, focused on recuperating his strength and safeguarding the remnants of his kingdom.

To broker a tenuous peace, King Charles levied yet another tax upon his malcontented subjects, amassing a substantial sum to be paid as Danegeld to the various Viking "kingdoms" encircling him. This decision ignited a storm of outrage among his vassals. Foremost among the dissenters was Count Raoul of Berry, who withheld his taxes and threatened open rebellion. Charles, however, responded with studied indifference, fully aware that Raoul’s defiance would make him the most vulnerable to an invasion by Ubbe. With his bluff called, Count Raoul journeyed to Rome to seek the aid of Pope Honorius II.

Meanwhile, across the waters on the Isle of Britain, the fires of conflict burned ever brighter. The once-formidable alliance between the Kingdoms of Mercia and Wessex, which had stood firm against Danish-controlled Northumbria, had all but crumbled. King Alfred of Wessex, mired in dynastic strife, found himself unable to assist King Burghred of Mercia as the Vikings swept through Derby and Nottingham. In a desperate bid for power, King Burghred launched a campaign against his former ally, seeking to wrest the prosperous trading city of London from the West Saxons.

Britain in 872 at the advent of the Mercian-West Saxon War for London​

Both kings, evenly matched and seeking a decisive edge, turned their eyes to King Eadmund of East Anglia, hoping his warriors could tip the scales in their favor. However, East Anglia, still reeling from Hjalmar the Red's devastating raids and a subsequent plague, chose the path of wisdom and neutrality. This strategic abstention ensured that Mercia and Wessex would continue to exhaust themselves, unable to deliver a conclusive victory, while keeping East Anglia safe from reprisals.

News of this escalating conflict reached the ears of the Normans. Incensed by Hjalmar’s recent triumphs in East Anglia, they pressed Haesteinn to exploit the Anglo-Saxon vulnerability and expand Normandy’s borders. Typically cautious of leaving his flank exposed to the potential machinations of West Francia’s King Charles, Haesteinn found himself in an unprecedented position. The latest danegeld from Charles had renewed peace, compelling Haesteinn to appease his restless warriors.

Yet, even as Haesteinn reluctantly set aside his vision of peace, he refused to fully yield to Hjalmar’s ambitions. With his son Ragnarr nearing adulthood, Haesteinn perceived a looming threat to his succession, embodied in Hjalmar's fiery reputation. To subtly diminish Hjalmar's influence while ostensibly honoring him, Haesteinn granted him command of a smaller force. Hjalmar’s mission: to capture the Isle of Wight off the West Saxon coast, a strategic position menacing Winchester, the capital of Wessex. The tantalizing prospect of sacking Winchester blinded Hjalmar to Haesteinn's deeper ploy.

As the West Saxons grappled with the dual threats of Mercian aggression and Hjalmar’s southern assault, Haesteinn enacted his own cunning plan. He convinced Hjalmar that he would flank Alfred’s reinforcements by sailing up the Thames. In reality, Haesteinn steered his fleet east around Wessex, bypassing the Thames entirely, and set course northward toward his true objective: the Kingdom of East Anglia.

Hjalmar's Conquest of Wight, 873 AD​

The once mighty Kingdom of East Anglia lay weakened and ripe for the taking. King Eadmund's valiant efforts had succeeded in repelling the Ragnarrsson brothers from seizing his kingdom, defeating Ivar "the Boneless" in a pitched battle amidst the Fenns, the renowned swamplands that cloak the western parts of East Anglia. Yet even as the Ragnarrssons reeled from their defeat, the Viking onslaught did not cease. Hjalmar the Red continued his relentless raids over the following years, only to be halted by a devastating plague from Flanders. This pestilence spared neither peasant nor prince, claiming the life of King Eadmund's beloved son, Godwin.

In East Anglia, Haesteinn envisioned the peace that had eluded him in Normandy. The perpetual threat of Frankish aggression loomed over his Norman settlements, rendering true tranquility unattainable. By contrast, the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms appeared feeble, and the marshlands of East Anglia offered a natural fortress, an unassailable barrier against any incursions from Wessex or Mercia. Haesteinn did not see a land ravaged by sickness but rather a foundation upon which to construct his dream. East Anglia was a kingdom awaiting its King.

Believing himself shrouded by the cloak of night and the dense canopy of trees, Haesteinn maneuvered his fleet swiftly up the River Wensum. His destination: the gates of Norwich, the largest settlement in Norfolk, the northern half of East Anglia, which lay especially vulnerable to an amphibious assault. Haesteinn envisioned establishing his base there, a strategic stronghold from which he would radiate his conquests across the land.

However, before he could reach the city and lay siege to its walls, King Eadmund received word of the Norse approach. Rallying his meager forces, Eadmund prepared to defend his kingdom. Despite being vastly outnumbered, the king’s resolve remained unyielding. Even if his warriors could each vanquish three of Haesteinn's men, East Anglia’s forces would still be depleted long before they could exhaust the enemy. Refusing to surrender, Eadmund orchestrated an ambush along the river, striking Haesteinn’s fleet. Though the Vikings were caught off guard and suffered initial losses, their seasoned fighters quickly regained composure and repelled the attackers, continuing their advance.

As the longships appeared on the horizon, the city of Norwich descended into pandemonium. The inhabitants, driven by fear and desperation, clashed among themselves, seeking to unbar the gates and flee the impending Norse wrath. By the time Haesteinn and his warriors disembarked, the gates lay wide open, and they encountered little opposition upon entering the city. Haesteinn spent the ensuing months fortifying Norwich’s defenses, preparing for the next phase of his campaign: the prosperous city of Ipswich, the richest and largest settlement in East Anglia, and the seat of King Eadmund’s power.

If Haesteinn could seize both Norwich and Ipswich, East Anglia would fall completely under his dominion. Seeing the writing on the wall and unwilling to subject his people to the agonies of a prolonged siege, King Eadmund emerged from the safety of Ipswich’s walls with the remnants of his army. In a final act of defiance, he confronted the approaching Vikings outside the city gates. The ensuing battle was swift and brutal. The East Anglian forces were utterly decimated, their ranks cut down with merciless efficiency. Only the king and a handful of his noble vassals were spared the sword, instead being given an offer they could not refuse.

The Conquest of East Anglia, 874 AD
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The grim bargain was laid bare: their lives spared in exchange for their lands, titles, and the crown itself. King Eadmund, his voice heavy with sorrow, implored his people to submit to their new ruler, lest they face the wrath of his vengeance. With a heavy heart, he urged them to accept this harsh reality for the sake of their survival. Weary from years of war and disease, most submitted, and life went on in the Kingdom of East Anglia.

Stripped of their dignity and honor, Eadmund and his noble vassals were escorted back to the continent. Their journey took them to the court of King Lothaire II, where they would find refuge. Exiled from their homeland, they would never again set eyes upon the swamps and forests of East Anglia. The kingdom they had fought so valiantly to protect was now a distant memory, a chapter closed by the hand of fate.