The third warrior then raised his horn to his lips and blared loudly again upon it, the resonant call carrying far and swiftly throughout the still, tense air.
Last minute hugs were then exchanged, with an open and desperate passion, amongst the commoners of the force with the members of their distressed families and friends that had gathered to watch them go forth.
Aethelstan had a considerable amount of sympathy for the inexperienced commoners about to set out on foot for the long journey. No small number of tears was shed, as feelings and emotions flowed powerfully in those last, precious moments.
Aethelstan turned his gaze from such disheartening sights and inwardly batted down the sharp pangs of empathy that rose up within him. At all costs, he knew that he had to present a visage of determination to all that looked upon him. Serving as a pillar of strength and leadership was an excruciatingly difficult challenge in a moment such as this.
His own personal moment of severance had arrived. Thoughts of the world around him faded into the background as Aethelstan looked to the attractive, dark-haired woman standing just behind his two sons and daughter. Her bright blue eyes were moist with tears that she was trying desperately to keep back.
She rested one weary hand upon the right shoulder of one of the boys, a normally vibrant lad of twelve who now looked quite dispirited. Her other hand lay upon the left shoulder of their young, usually effervescent daughter of seven years.
The two children were gently corralled between her hands before her, looking despondently towards their father.
Their other son, who had just turned eleven, stood a few paces in front of his siblings and mother. He looked up inquisitively and anxiously, peering out from underneath a mop of stringy blond hair.
The little girl remained tucked close to Gisela’s side, clutching her mother’s leg tightly, as if fearing that she might be leaving too.
Named Wynflaed, Aethelstan’s daughter had a cherubic face with a little nose. Her hair was as fair and golden as the light through a bountiful field on the edge of an abundant Saxan harvest. Her eyes were wide and shy, prompting Aethelstan to smile gently at her, even as he could sense the deep sorrow within the child’s gaze.
“You be a good girl, and be of help to your mother in all things,” Aethelstan told Wynflaed, still feeling a little more awkward when he spoke to his daughter than when he was addressing the two boys. “I am counting on you in a big way. Be good and I will take you for some horse rides when I return. Maybe even give you your own horse to ride. Does that sound good?”
The little girl nodded timidly from her mother’s side, her sorrow at seeing her father leaving not placated even by the promise of getting her own horse. The subdued response pained Aethelstan all the more.
“Father? Can I not go with you?” the younger of the boys, named Wyglaf, asked.
Aethelstan smiled as reassuringly as he could. He knew that the boy would go with him if he knew his father was walking to face a dragon with just a sword in hand.
“No, Wyglaf, as I need for you and your brother to help guard the burh,” Aethelstan said, looking his son straight in the eye, with a serious tone of voice. “It is a very important task. You see all these warriors leaving with me. Who will protect the people of the town? You must help our good reeve Behrtwald, and you must appreciate this task, if you are to lead men some day.”
Wyglaf stood up a little straighter and nodded his head, struggling to look dutiful.
“When will you return?” asked the other boy, Wystan.
His thicker dark hair framed the well-defined lines of his face, which seemed to be continually manifesting towards a likeness of Aethelstan himself. His body was showing the first signs of growing into the tall, strong build, replete with broad shoulder and slim waist that his father was graced with.
Aethelstan looked to the older boy, and then slowly brought his eyes up to meet those of his beloved wife. His words were intended for both of them.
“I do not know when I will return…” he said, his words low, somber, and purposeful. “But know that I will do everything in my power to return. Be strong and work hard in my stead. Obey your mother. And in all things place your hearts in the hands of the All-Father, as well as your trust.”
He lingered for yet a moment longer, his look intimately holding his wife’s gaze, while holding back a wellspring of emotions that started to surge up within him.
Aethelstan said gently to her, “Know that your love goes with me, Gisela, my beloved wife, and mine remains with you. It cannot be broken asunder by anything of this world.”
She nodded slowly to him, the longing already present within her face and saying far more than any words could have.
With a great effort, he ripped his gaze away from the anguished look in his beloved wife’s eyes, knowing the distress that lingering any further would cause.
Aethelstan kept a resolute mien as he gripped Wind Runner’s reins and turned the iron-grey stallion about. He nudged his equine companion firmly in the sides with his heels, spurring the proud stallion forward.
He was not about to show his men anything less than that he was able to move forward at their lead, after leaving his own family behind, as they all set forth under his authority. Their sacrifice was no less than his, a shared ordeal that they would all bear together.
Aethelstan kept his gaze fixed forward as he and Wind Runner trotted off towards the open gateway, moving past the gathered throngs as he headed in the direction of the vanguard elements of the march.
The neighs of horses, shuffling of steps, creaks of wagons, cries of encouragement, and last verbal exchanges between those going and staying filled the air, as the large force began to fall into place and lurch into full motion.
Several bystanders called out warmly to Aethelstan, wishing the All-Father’s blessings and a safe return upon him. He acknowledged them with nods and waves to each side, as Wind Runner reached the open gateway and continued on the path passing through the three outer ditches surrounding the burh.
He had always felt strong affection from the people, but also knew that their hopes lay with him to lead their loved ones back alive. Such was an onerous burden for any man, and in the current instance it was tempered only by the absolute necessity of the General Fyrd.
The summons had been urgent enough, conveyed by a spirited royal courier bearing an unmistakable, clear order by sealed parchment. The distinctive seal had been from the court of King Alcuin himself, and was accompanied by another letter bearing the seal of Ealdorman Morcar.
War was thundering towards Saxany, and for the first time in Aethelstan’s thirty-seven years of life, a full, comprehensive levy was being called.
In his past, it was largely the household retinues, thanes, and ceorls that were called to duty. It was all that was necessary to meet most challenges, whether skirmishes or raids. This time, though, most every male who could bear arms had been summoned.
The full levy had not been called just to defend their immediate territory, and this profound, singular fact was not lost on anyone.
Anyone, even some of the more craven amongst the populace, could be counted on to help defend against an imminent threat to one’s own families and homes. The approaching conflict was something much larger, requiring a broad and far-reaching summons intended to bring up massive forces to deploy in strength within the western boundaries of the Saxan Kingdom.
Simple villagers were being called upon to go forth on a long campaign, the duration of which was most uncertain. Even the destination was not entirely assured, as many changes occurred in wars.
From what Aethelstan had been able to glean from the hurried reports and summons, a great army was to be gathered and deployed upon the strategic Plains of Athelney. The Plains lay just beyond the thin neck of land that served as the easternmost border territories of neighboring Ehrengard.