Traveller Inceptio

The charcoal made a bold black mark on the smooth wall of the larger cave. As the other men watched, Michael scratched a diagram to demonstrate what he was saying. “This is where we are now and this is about where the Viking camp is located. Here is Nether Haddon. We thought the Vikings we fought at the river were the laggards of the Vikings that attacked Giolgrave and the Monastery.” He marked Giolgrave as a crucifix cross. “But now we think these Vikings here,” he circled the Viking camp, “are really part of a larger group that attacked the market town of Chesterfield.” Another mark, this time a circled letter C was placed further up the wall, as Chesterfield was to the north. “It seems that the tracks Aeoelhun and the lads found were from the other half of an attack force. The Giolgrave Vikings are the first part of this group.”

“Aye, these lads are not a happy bunch,” said Yffi. “We killed two of their brothers at the camp, two at the cart and six at the river. I’m thinking these won’t rest until they find the village now. They’ll want blood.” He didn’t appear overly concerned, but his voice was uncharacteristically sombre and he didn’t have his usual larrikin grin.

Godric sat looking at the diagram. The delivery of the smithing equipment had seen a smithy set up in at deep hollow to the rear of the camp. Ceolwulf, Desmond, and the lads believed the location would minimize noise. Even Irminric was able to assist. He could barely hobble, but at least he was smiling again. With the small anvil placed on a stump and the bellows arrayed around a fire-pit, Ceolwulf was beside himself. The village blacksmith had told any who would listen how the great Desmond, the master craftsman, had taught him so much and how he was keen on improving weapons and making repairs. They had only a few lumps of spare metal available, but Ceolwulf was happy to get to work.

The thegn nibbled on his moustache, gravely concerned. Michael knew they would be able to raise around thirty combatants. Ceolwulf, Yffi and his hunters, and of course Hurley, Michael, Godric, Eadric, and Desmond were seasoned, experienced fighters. However, Irminric and Hengist were still lads and Godric told Michael he doubted they would last long in one-on-one combat against a seasoned Viking warrior. “Aye, these Viking dogs‘ll be seasoned,” he explained earlier. “These’ve marched hundreds of miles across the English countryside, slaughtering as they have, and will have murdered many an Aenglish man, woman, and child in their long journey.”

“Aye,” added Ceolwulf, “These men would look forward to some resistance. They’ll think nothing of slaughtering the people of Giolgrave. ’Twill be just another village in their conquest of our fair land.”

“They’re right, lad,” Hurley muttered to Michael. “Man for man, we’re outnumbered and poorly armed. There’s no way we can survive a face-to-face conflict.” He looked to Godric, who stood deep in thought as he gazed at Michael’s crude map. “Godric’s no coward, but he’s run out of options. He can’t take his people to a safer place. This location is good, but it’s also a death trap if any Viking gets as far as the caves.”

Michael nodded. “You’re right. It’s only a matter of time before Viking scouts find us.”

Godric turned to them wearily and sighed. “We need to prepare the village for Viking attack.”

“We must also weaken their attack. We believe we can reduce their forces through attrition,” suggested Michael. Hurley nodded in agreement.

Godric leaned forward, uncomprehending of their language. His stomach grumbled unhappily. “Good. I need some good ideas.”