Ecbert didn't believe in God. Neither did the Devil. But, he supposed if either Heaven or Hell were real, then he would undoubtedly be consigned to the latter. His ambitions were of this world -- a supreme Wessex and an England united underneath it. His son, Æthelwulf, was a dense lad. He was incapable of the delicate political maneuverings, so if England was to one day conquer Alba and the Eire, then they needed momentum that could be carried forward to his generation and beyond it.
It was an ambition that he dedicated himself to in his entirety. The closest he had ever come to believing in God was when Emperor Charlemagne had opened his coffers to Wessex in the name of securing their borders and expansion. It had seemed entirely too good to be true. While he still doubted the existence of God, there was increasingly more proof of the Devil.
Odds were he was seated across from him.
“Allvaldr Siegfried,” Ecbert uttered the name that had darkened his shores and cast years of careful plans into utter disarray. “My congratulations on your victory. I hope that it was at least hard won?”
Siegfried at least looked the part. To the peasants, a king was the closest they ever get to God, and it was the greatest con in history that a crown made a man in any way special once it was placed upon his brow. Ecbert was under no delusion that he was any better or worse than a peasant toiling in the field. He had the great fortune of being born to the right father and a bit cleverer than most.
The man who sat across from him looked as if he were more of a god than a man. Large. Almost unseemingly so. A mane of blood red hair that was smoothed back, his beard cut short. He wore a king's ransom in armor, while the head of the beast that rested on one shoulder seemed to be staring right into Ecbert's soul. Likewise, he had never been under the delusion that victory against such a man was in any way possible.
You don't win the kind of victories that Siegfried did and be a fool. If he was going to fight their oversized army, then it meant he was confident that he could win. And if he had to place a wager on himself or Siegfried, then the answer was obvious.
Thus Ecbert decided that if he couldn't win, then he would control how he lost.
“You made us bleed for it,” Siegfried acknowledged. His boys stood at his sides, and both of them were going to grow up to be little monsters. Or not so little, given their height. The one on Siegfried’s right, Ragnar, would be king of Alba one day. King Lucas was an interim king. Ecbert was quite aware of the man. His reign would end with him dead in a few years or revolt, and both gates were being avoided by ongoing support by Scandinavia. An empire didn't expend resources like that to rule indirectly.
Not Siegfried.
And certainly not Charlemagne.
“I suppose that is the most that could be hoped for given the circumstances. I must say, well played,” Ecbert inclined his head to Siegfried. He personally wanted to strangle the man, but Ecbert could admire a master at work.
Siegfried repaid him the same courtesy, “It was a bargain well struck.” The boys at his side kept their expression neutral, but there was a slight shift in their posture that betrayed their displeasure. “You have upheld your end of it. As shall I.”
There was a knot of tension that bled out of Ecbert at that. It had been a risk. A dangerous one. But he would not survive without taking risks- not when he was being crushed by two overwhelming influences. Siegfried and Scandinavia on one side with Charlemagne and Rome on the other. So, he plotted. He schemed.
And he walked a tightrope.
“The terms?” Ecbert prodded, keeping his expression warm but neutral.
“You shall remain king of Wessex, with everything south of Hadrian's Wall being your sphere of influence,” Siegfried confirmed. Mercia and a vast swathe of Northumbria, both would fall under his dominion. A unified England, even if it wasn't the borders that he had envisioned. The battle had gone perfectly.
The problematic elements he had accepted in his court for the sake of their wealth and appearances had been culled. They had thanked him for the opportunity to be in the vanguard, and if they weren't dead already, then they would be soon enough. If not by disease deliberately spread to them, then by an assassin's dagger in the dark. The lords that he would rule over would benefit enough from the windfall that even if they suspected, they wouldn't dare make an accusation.
England was within his grasp.
“Your son, Æthelwulf, will become a guest at my court, alongside the sons and heirs of several of your nobility,” Siegfried listed off the cost of what he gained. It was a loss. Truly. Æthelwulf was in a pivotal moment in his education. Yet, there was an opportunity there.
Æthelwulf was but a few years older than Ragnar and Magnus. A friendship would benefit the fledgling England quite well. Politics would always be politics, but there was a possibility that England could gain a lull. A brief period of time firmly established itself and its independence from both Scandinavia and Rome. Failing that, there were few friendships that were stronger than being the only familiar faces in an unfamiliar land.
Ecbert had learned as much when he was abroad in Charlemagne's court. Fools he wouldn't have pissed on if they were on fire were fast friends. At least until he learned Frankish.
They would form a bedrock of loyalty when his son was returned to him.
“A weregild of five hundred pounds of gold and silver will be paid separately, with each ransom to be capped at a maximum of twenty pounds of gold and silver.” The cost stung, but the truth was his treasury could endure it. It was a necessary cost as well.
As far as his Nobles were aware, he was on a lonely hill, negotiating their freedom with the Devil himself. Too good of a deal would arouse suspicion. Too bad of one would be ruinous. But one that was just good enough, with himself shouldering much of the perceived burden? Sparing them from ruinous ransoms that would have taken the last bits of wealth they had left in this world?
Debts could be every bit as valuable as loyalty. If leveraged correctly, of course.
“Lastly, a truce lasting five years between the forces I leave behind in Alba and Britannia at large.” That last term was the one Ecbert resented the most. Five years wasn't a lot of time, but it wasn't a small amount either. Those five years could be spent undermining Alba, but to make matters worse was the knowledge that Siegfried was leaving token forces behind to maintain his influence. “At the end of the truce, your son and other noble hostages shall be returned. So I vow.”
It was not a good peace deal, but it wasn't ruinous either. Especially given their current circumstances. He had been forced to thread the needle between Charlemagne and Siegfried, and while he hadn't managed to do so flawlessly, given the circumstances at hand…
He would maintain his independence from Siegfried and Charlemagne. Charlemagne had all but sought to buy out the crown and England itself. The wealth he expended on Ecbert's realm demanded a return. The very same kind of debts Ecbert intended to leverage against his nobility would be leveraged against him in turn. It would be a slow death for England. Trade concessions, rights, then England would become a junior partner before its independence was eroded like a sandcastle in the face of the tide.
Ecbert had maintained appearances that he was upholding his end of the bargain. Charlemagne had doubts, of course, otherwise he wouldn't have instructed the Paladins to offer gentle reminders of his obligations. Yet, the fact that neither had taken to the field told Ecbert all that he needed to know and compelled him to send that first message -- victory was impossible, even with the Grace of God on their side.
He would have preferred not to fight the battle at all, but apparently, Siegfried was the kind of man who saw that he was outnumbered four times over and considered it a good time. Unfortunate, but by securing terms in advance, he couldn't prevent his realm from being outright conquered. Even better, with so much of Wessex’s strength retained, and after such a bloodletting, Charlemagne would be inclined to make further investments as Ecbert had followed his will to the letter.
“As do I,” Ecbert swore. There were other details, of course. They had managed to capture a few dozen Northman raiders over the various skirmishes, and all would be returned to Siegfried. “There is one additional matter that I would like to discuss. Lord Pepin, son of Charlemagne. What is to be done with him?”
He had developed a soft spot for the hunchback. There were precious few who could match him in wits and enjoyed a game of chess as much as he did. However, Ecbert understood that Pepin was largely outside of his ability to help. He was an advisor sent by his father, but he was foremost the son of the reigning Roman Emperor. His freedom was Charlemagne's responsibility.
But he would do what he could. Even if it was only saying a few words in Pepin's defense.
“He is being held ransom by my brother. A letter has already been dispatched to his father,” Siegfried answered, and that soothed the worst of his concerns. The Paladins hadn't confessed their intentions towards Siegfried's children, but they didn't need to. It was a relief to see that Siegfried was not as vengeful as the stories made him out to be -- else Pepin would suffer a most undeserving fate for the actions of his father. “We shall depart from your lands before we receive an answer, so he will accompany your son and the other hostages to our homeland.”
“I see,” Ecbert uttered, offering a nod of acceptance. Pepin's departure would be a loss, but so long as he wouldn't be killed… pressing the matter would require far more leverage than he currently had. “Then I shall pray that you return home safely. And quickly.”
Siegfried offered a humorless smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I thank you for it, King Ecbert.”
With that, the negotiations were concluded.
…
“You didn't lie,” Magnus observed once King Ecbert departed from the tent, content that he had secured everything he cared about -- the future of England. And he had, for a time.
“I didn't need to,” I agreed. The plans that I made before the raid had begun were already adapted once. They could do so again. “Ecbert places more value on the perception of being King of England than the reality of it.”
For the next five years, Ecbert would bear the aftermath of the raid. It would be he that brought order to the towns and villages, many of which had everything of value ripped away. We took not only their wealth, but their tools to smelt down into armor. Life would be hard in Brit- England for the next few years. And as much as that ire would be directed at us for committing the deed, it would be directed at Ecbert just as much depending on how well he handled everything that came next.
I didn't know if he would succeed or fail. Or if he would fall somewhere in the middle. If he was smart, he would focus his efforts on the most valuable stretches of land, but even that would have significant repercussions down the line when the truce ended.
The seeds to take over all of Britannia had been planted. In five years, it would come time to reap what we had sown. And I suppose time would tell who had gotten the better part of the deal we made, simply because there was no doubt in my mind that Ecbert knew exactly what I intended.
“Are we done with the raid, Father?” Ragnar asked, and I rested a hand on his head and ruffled his hair.
“Aye, we are,” I confirmed. It was still fall, and the window for our departure was closing. Unless we wanted to winter in Britannia, the raid had achieved everything that I wanted it to. The wealth that we had secured would fuel the projects I sponsored across Scandinavia and solidified the legitimacy of the empire. The raid, and the battle that followed, would be a shining example that I could point to as an argument in the years to come at why the unification was necessary and why the individual kingdoms were greater when they were part of a larger whole.
The captured soldiers, which still numbered in the tens of thousands even after the route, were dispersed across Northumbria and Mercia to make their way home in defeat. Once there wasn't a possibility of Ecbert reneging on the bargain, I gave the order to return to Geymsla with our noble prisoners.
To say they were sullen was an understatement, but that would mellow with time.
My army marched to the forts that we used on the mainland, setting sail back to Geymsla while also destroying the forts to ensure that they couldn't be used against us. It was only when we arrived back on the small island of Mann and Geymsla itself that the celebrations began in earnest. A feast butchered the animals that we couldn't take with us and the island couldn't support while thanks were offered to the gods with sacrifices.
I played the role that was expected of me in public, making no small number of toasts and bestowing gifts upon those that had proven their valor. All the while, I calculated exactly much we had earned with the raid. And the answer was obscene.
I was no stranger to wealth. It had been a very long time since I was a boy on a farm when a pound of silver seemed like an unimaginable fortune. My time in the Saxony and the Mediterranean had given me a great tolerance for gold and silver and precious gems. But when I conferred with the warehouse overseers, I was compelled to do the math three times just to ensure there wasn't a mistake.
Fifty-five thousand pounds of gold, silver, and jewels.
Most of it sourced from churches and treasuries across Britannia, with six hundred from the ransom that was swiftly gathered and delivered. All of it had to be melted down into conveniently sized bullets, otherwise it'd take a dozen trips just to transport it all. It was a sum that was everything that I needed it to be. Enough that I could sponsor the projects and still fill the treasury to the brim.
It was matched by twenty-eight thousand thralls that were claimed. It was fewer than I had prepared for, but several thousand more than I would like. Unsurprisingly, the majority were women to counter the… shortage, for lack of a better word, back home. For that reason, they were important. In the years since I assumed the throne, there had been an explosion in population as our realm became more connected than it ever had been before.
Yet, it still wasn’t enough. To develop the inner kingdoms, such as Norway, Sweden, Sami, or Finland -- we needed people. Migration was a solution, but the easterlands were not well populated and the population that was there mostly consisted of nomads.
There would come a day when Charlemagne's authority over the resurrected Roman Empire would not be so new. So fragile. He was already taking steps towards it. Just as the raid was a great victory for me, it was also a victory for him. The wealth we took, the slaughter on the battlefield -- all of it would feed into a narrative that he was developing. That the Christian faith was under attack.
I still played my part in that narrative. It was too beneficial not to. But I wasn't blind to what he was doing… and in five years from now?
Neither of our footing would be so unsteady. My empire wouldn't be so new with the first generation of men being born and raised inside of a unified empire. And Charlemagne would continue to feed that narrative until it became something terrible.
Which left me to turn to a few pieces I had on the board.
“Our truce stands with Wessex,” I told Hjalmar, who was seated to my right during one of the long days of feasting. “There are to be no excursions south of Hadrian's Wall. However, the Eire has no such agreement protecting it.”
I found myself rather fond of Hjalmar. To my eyes, he shined blue, marking him as someone loyal. More than that, he was uniquely unambitious coupled with being exceptionally competent. He wasn't someone who would blaze a trail, ignite passion in the hearts of his men and people, but if given a task, no matter how arduous, he would reliably see it through. It was for that reason I trusted him to act in my name once more.
“Ten thousand men will be yours to command, who will remain in Geymsla.” Which would open up more room for the thralls taken in the raid. “My recommendation is that you use them to secure the coast, and the fort, first and foremost. However, raising actions should be limited. For that reason, I am leaving five hundred pounds of gold and silver in the town coffers to be used at your discretion.”
Hjalmar listened quietly, and offered a small nod. “You wish me to buy their good will?”
“Essentially. The next winter will be a hard one for many. Gold and bread will sate those that bend the knee, and those that don't?” It had always been the plan. But as I uttered the words, they made me confront something I didn't know how to feel about.
Being King- the Allvaldr had changed me. I hadn't forgotten the lean times as a child, or how my own brother had succumbed to illness because he made sure our bowls were full while his were empty. It was not a tactic that I would have entertained as a younger man. Not as a boy in Saxony, or a bright eyed youth in Rome. But now, I gave the order because it was the most effective course of action to accomplish my goals. Which was a stable Eire during the truce.
“Those that will refuse will rally. That will make it easy to sort out your enemies. None will be able to muster such a force as we fought against Ecbert, but if they do manage to unite, then take advantage of our alliance with Alba.” A lighter hand would be needed in Alba. The original plan called for memories to fade a touch before we returned to their shores, but the principle was the same. It would just need to be done in stages.
Hjalmar offered one more nod, “Your will shall be done, Allvaldr.”
“You have my faith in this, King Hjalmar,” I said, testing the title for him. He kept his true thoughts off his face, but I saw it in his eyes -- there was more fear there than excitement. And that was how I knew he would grow into an excellent king.