You think you know winter? When you shiver at home, you think you are cold? Let me laugh, Frank! You mistake your miserable Frankish slush for good snow! Where we come from the lakes freeze, the snow falls without interruption for months and a man can freeze to death if his slaves forget to put wood in the hearth.
In comparison, Breton winters are ridiculous. Yes, the sea is rough and the rain is heavy, but the temperatures are mild and not a snowflake falls. This does not stop the Bretons from hiding in their holes when winter comes as if the goddess Skadi was visiting them. This is why, after having sacrificed to the god Ullfr, I decided to launch my campaign before the end of Mörsugur.
I had been able to gather a thousand warriors. Well, warriors, only a few hundred of them could really claim that title. The rest were just peasants and craftsmen in Brest, and even a few Breton peasants who didn't even know how to handle a sword.
Hasteinn had gone back to Montaigu to prepare his own offensive from the south. We were to meet in front of the walls of Nantes, so I went along the coast. On foot, because the sea was raging.
On the way, we met only miserable villages. As soon as they saw us approaching, the Bretons hid in the woods and creeks. At Vannes, the inhabitants hid behind their walls, praying to their nailed God that we would not attack them. I had no time to lay siege, especially as the news was not good.
The rains had delayed me, and of course our journey had not gone unnoticed. That dog Solomon had been warned of our arrival and had gathered his counts in Nantes to confront us. Worse, I learned that he had married Eithne, the daughter of the Great Chief Aed Neill. The savages of Ireland are cousins of the Bretons. They are even rougher, but having fought them in my youth, I knew that they were good warriors and that if they came to help Solomon, the war would be difficult.
The alliance between King Solomon and the Irish savages
Fortunately, the king of Brittany made one of his biggest mistakes. This scumbag was a good warrior, he had proved it in Francia, but he was consumed by his ego. He thought he could defeat me before his reinforcements arrived. With me dead, his former ally Hasteinn would have no reason to continue the offensive. It was well thought out, but he didn't know who he was dealing with.
So he marched against me and we clashed a few leagues from Guérande, near the mouth of the Loire.
What a battle, priest! I was already old at that time. Perhaps 35 years old. But in the midst of the shield wall, I remember regaining the vigour of my twenties. Shields against shields, I and my companions fought for what seemed like hours. Advancing foot by foot against a raging opponent.
Solomon was a dogface, yes, but I enjoyed fighting him. It was a beautiful day to kill, a beautiful day to die, sword in hand. Who would have won if we had been allowed to fight like that? I don't know, because as the sun was about to set, Hasteinn and 4000 of his warriors arrived and broke through the enemy lines. Caught between a rock and a hard place, the Bretons were slaughtered. Perhaps your gloomy God had not totally abandoned Solomon that day, for he managed to escape with a good part of his vassals. His heir Riwallon was not so lucky, and I captured him.
I would have cut the prince into small pieces and sent them back to his father in Nantes, but Hasteinn asked me to spare him. He was right, of course. With the heir to Brittany in my hands, I could negotiate with Solomon and end this war before the Irish arrived and without having to lay siege to Nantes. But I sometimes think that I should have shortened Riwallon, I would have avoided a lot of trouble in the future.
But that's another story, Frank. And you probably want to hear the end of this one.
Only a few days after the battle, I met Solomon on the banks of the Loire. It was the first time I had met this pig.
Mounted on what the Bretons dare to call a horse, the king was surrounded by some of his counts and priests who carried the banner of peace. Such an old fart! 60 years old! At that time I would not have been surprised to learn that he had known Ginnungagap and the creation of the world.
Solomon may have ruled over a bunch of savages in a godforsaken hole, he loved to drape himself in the finest silks, worthy of your kings. But don't be fooled priest, under his friendly and generous kingly exterior, Solomon was a weasel and a son of a dog.
“Lord Hasting," he said in rudimentary Norse, ignoring me completely. “I am glad to see you again. I hope we can find some common ground.”
‘You'll have to find a ground with me, pig," I said, spitting on the ground. “Pray to your nailed God that you find it, or I will bury your heir there.”
“Lord Olafr. I have been told that you have your eye on Naffnet, this is ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous or not, Nantes will be mine.”
“My father-in-law will soon be here," the king threatened.
“Even if these Irish savages were able to command a ship, it will be weeks before they see the Breton coast. There will be plenty of time to take and plunder all the shitholes your lords call cities.”
I felt the Breton nobles were uncomfortable. They may all be inbred, but they don't like to suffer for their parents.
“And if you persist in resisting," I added, "I will send you a piece of your heir every day. From the largest to the smallest piece, I think I'll end up with his genitalia.“
“You wouldn't dare to do that!”
“You should show more love for your country. It has been a long time since you have admired the beauty of its forests.”
I pointed to a small hill far behind me. There I had impaled all the prisoners of the battle of Guerande. My warriors had not been happy to hand over their slaves.
Olafr has his prisoners impaled
What? Don't make that face, priest. I am sure that some of them have become martyrs of your God. And how do you think I was able to keep these Breton sheeps in obedience, if not by fear? I certainly took pleasure in it. But it was also a question of ensuring my power over a larger and undisciplined population.
And then, it had a small effect on the Breton delegation.
“This shows that you are children of the devil," Solomon spat at me.
“Save your preaching for your High Priest of Rome, wrinkly pig. Did you not ally yourself with my friend Hasteinn to devastate Christian lands? Don't you hold back from the chastity preached by your Dark God by chasing whores all over Brittany? “
The king answered nothing, but went away for a while with his lords and priests to parley. When he returned, he accepted my conditions.
I had gained a new city and a new nickname. Jarl Olafr the Impaler.
