Chapter 13: Summer of Crisis
In the Summer of 793, raiders from heathen lands first crossed the North Sea and began attacking these islands. This was the beginning of a protracted campaign of terror and economic ruin that has ruined several of the great realms of our time, and diminished the rest. In Lancaster, our lands were spared the first few rounds of raiding and pillaging from these that were called Vikings. However, inevitably, the Norsemen found their way around the icy waters in Pictland and into the Irish Sea, where they began causing chaos, pirating trade and rampaging through Ireland. They were afraid of us, after hearing tales of the Bear Guard, for they fear and respect bears more than any other creature. That did not spare the Briton lands however, and where the Vikings could land, they invariably did. Much was taken, including the remaining bear cubs from the isle of Anglesey, earning the eternal hatred of all Welshmen everywhere. Our prestige in those lands actually increased after that, given that we had kept our bears protected and safe, and they thrived in the Welsh cities we were building.
Our people were under attack however, from a rival and false religion. A legion of devils was ransacking northern Europe and we turned to the Church for salvation. But we found nothing but corruption and indemnity. The Holy Father was a bastard of a man, and it is far from unlikely that some of the troubles we went through were punishment for allowing such a devil to rule in Rome. When he died in August, the Summer of Crisis, the Cardinals tore his regime apart at trial, sentencing his earthly remains to disintegration and his immortal soul to the blackest pits.
The summer was over and the raids died down after that, but the islands were wounded and in for a hard winter. The omens continued to rain down upon us: Wigberht married a Frankish countess touted as extremely ill-fortuned. Sigeric, first of our line on the Frankish throne and promised to our Maria, was murdered by his vassals and though he had a brother, to carry on our line, it was a sign of dark times ahead. The Empire of the Franks would only shrink from hereon.
The worst news of all spread around Christendom like a vile plague that winter…the Heathens were organising. Their false gods and bloodied forests, their deceiving druids and crazed fanatics…they had all come together at the invitation of Saxony, the dark centre of the world. There they had sacrificed a thousand infants and then thousand maidens to the dark gods in exchange for their souls, and the power to crush us. The Vikings were not renegade bands of pirates and raiders. They were scouts.
Lancaster, nearing completion, stood at a crossroads and the world around it was thrown into chaos. Wigberht did what he could, securing a marriage alliance with Countess Lindsey, the friendliest of Mercia’s vassals. Beor, son of Derby and brother to the Earl, would go to Mercia to try to ally and focus the lords of the land on the new threat. The child king of Bavaria would be married to Maria, and another relative would be married to a Frankish duchess. All was in mind of building a web of friends and informants to keep close eye on the goings on of the world, for things seemed grim.
Life went on. The old sorcerer died, and Wigberht was in need of a new doctor and advisor. Talk reached him of a man much like himself, a kind and wise soul who helped his village with matters healing and otherwise. The Earl was much impressed and begged him come to Lancaster, where the court was being assembled. The man agreed, if his village of Leigh was well compensated and placed under close protection. This was done.
Wigberht continued to struggle with his faith, Numerous reflections had turned him again and again to hermitage, to isolation, but he was the ruling lord of the land and would not abandon his duty. The corruption of the Church grieved him deeply, and he rather correctly noted how destructive it would end up being for the people of the world. He did find solace in his Order.
The Benedictines accepted everyone in Christ, and thus many women of good faith and intelligence were amongst their ranks. It was about this time, the darkest of times, that one such lady, Audovera, suggested a litany, or series of, to encourage the priests of the realm and embolden their flock. With that in mind, and with utmost piety, she humbly presented some suggestion of topics and notes to Lancaster, where they were eagerly seized by the Earl. Enchanted by her thoughts, he wrote back, encouraging she herself to write the script, if she so wished, to be transcribed later by the monks at Halton. This, after some time, and more correspondence, created the first text of true merit by the independent realm, which most assuredly shall be lauded for the ages to come.
Whilst the court was in the process of moving to the new site of Lancaster, Chester was hardly left abandoned. It was still the great city of the realm, for now, and a most secure and wealthy place. Particularly, it must be said, given how much order and work had been made by the people in building the new capital. Chester was flourishing, which attracted much attention given the rather pitiful state of the rest of the North. Whilst the worst was indeed yet to come, it seemed that steps were being made to ready and prepare for them. The realm was uniting around my family, our faith and our leadership. The cities were wealthy, and the people were fed and happy. In the end, there is little more we can ask for in this life.
