While most of them were undeniably good, hard-working people, they were not used to the trials and demands involved in an extensive war campaign. How they would respond to the rigors of battle and hardship remained to be seen, and Aethelstan would not know the answer until it was far too late to do much of anything about it. Both he and Saxany were at the mercy of those untested men, in many ways.
In past times, the farmers and artisans had always seen their role as being to support and provision thanes such Aethelstan and their retinues for the more prevalent type of Select Levies.
In truth, they had already performed such a role for this very march. They had worked assiduously, applying their skills tirelessly for day after day, whether it was in the making of barrels and chests, building new wagons, leather repair, the fashioning of iron implements, or any one of the seemingly innumerable elements required for outfitting a large contingent for war.
Yet while they had performed their tasks wonderfully, a growing weight had surely dragged upon their minds. They all were mentally ready to respond to any immediate threat in the vicinity of their villages, or a nearby burh, but it had never before entered their minds that they could be called upon to leave their homes indefinitely, to fight in a far distant war.
This call to arms would take them to fight in just such a battle and war, whose magnitude threatened to take an unprecedented number of lives.
Aethelstan found himself worrying ever more about protecting these people in any way that he could. Never before had he come to the full realization of just how deeply he had come to care for the rugged, plain speaking, soil-tilling people of the hamlets and villages.
The General Fyrd was a terrible burden that he now had to bear, but there was no other choice left to the thanes, ealdormen, counts, and others of the realm. The messengers had been clear about the fearsome war storm that had gathered far to the west, and was now approaching Saxany.
Each and every man would be needed if the Saxan Kingdom were to even have a hope of surviving. The only other path was to submit to the Unifier’s growing authority, and to Aethelstan that was no choice at all. To him, and to everyone that he had spoken to, that would be an abandonment of their very souls.
Whether tacit or by overt means, the Unifier was concentrating ever more authority to Himself. Aethelstan could not fail to see that it was pure recklessness to bring so many lands underneath one singular rule. While it might appear to some that kingdoms and empires still existed, Aethelstan knew it was all just illusion.
King Alcuin had been absolutely right in having defied Avanor and the Unifier. Something truly dark and terrible was afoot, as only a kingdom established and ruled directly by the All-Father could be trusted to avoid the kinds of corruption and tyranny inherent in a fallible, imperfect world. Placing such a concentration of power into the hands of mortal men was perilous and foolhardy.
Aethelstan snapped out of his momentary rumination, as there would be plenty of time for thinking once they were fully underway. He did not yet move forth to draw alongside the high banner with the red trees and white background, choosing instead to keep holding Wind Runner back, just off to the side of the proceeding column.
He gazed back upon the long, thick column wending its way down from the tower-gate of the burh. The end of the column had still not emerged, though well over fifteen hundred men were now moving within Aethelstan’s sight.
In spite of all the burdens weighing upon his spirit, a flaring surge of pride came over him as he listened to the rumbling marching of the men and watched their ranks file by him.
Saxany was rousing itself to meet a dangerous threat once again, issuing forth in a dark hour to meet its enemy openly and with courage.
Aethelstan and all the men of the column were joining themselves with many honorable generations of Saxan warriors that day, transcending all time as they merged their number to others who had stood forward in times of threat and dire need.
Whatever the result of the coming battle was, the exercise of will, and affirmation of loyalties and values, that was reflected in the great column could never be taken away.
Aethelstan burned with a great pride to be going forward with such men, from the least of the villagers to the most renowned of the veteran warriors. By stepping out of the gates, and setting their foot on the pathway towards the west, each and every one of them was making a firm declaration about themselves.
In the final account of one’s life, the measure of oneself, and what one took a stand for, was all that truly mattered anyway.
The recognition of the assertion being made by all the men before him strengthened Aethelstan’s spirit greatly, bolstering him at a moment when so many things were battering incessantly upon his mind.
Without thinking about it, his left hand dropped slowly to the leather grip of Aurora, the storied sword sheathed at his left side. His fingers felt the familiar leather wrapping, as they settled between the silver-gilt, tri-lobed pommel and straight cross guard, also gilded with silver.
The blade was named many years in the past, on the very day that it was first wielded in battle. One of Aethelstan’s ancestors had raised it high in the morning’s light, at the forefront of a Saxan force mustered to face a powerful and determined enemy.
Witnesses later said that the blade radiated the light of the new dawn, just before the Saxans had gone forward to rout one of the last incursions of Midragardan raiders to come into Saxany.
That revered sword had been drawn by others of Aethelstan’s line, and it had been a part of many brave exploits done on behalf of the Saxan people.
Aethelstan wondered if the light of the sun would strike the sword once again, when the time came for him to draw it and lead the men of his homeland into the thunder of the coming fight.
His hand squeezed the grip a little tighter, as he uttered a silent prayer that he would measure up to the thanes that had gone before him in a storied and revered line.
Nudging Wind Runner forward into a canter again, his left hand still resting upon the hilt of Aurora, Aethelstan brought the stallion up alongside the warrior carrying the banner of Wessachia just as the front of the column neared the edge of the woods.
The pathway would shortly intersect with a main route for martial forces, or herepath, as they continued westward, where more musters would be linking their numbers to the column as they progressed.
So much lay ahead, and so much remained unknown, but all journeys began with the initial step.
Aethelstan had taken that first step, as had over two thousand other men that day, despite all their fears. That alone made it an equivalent honor for Aethelstan to lead each and every one of them, simple villager and wealthy thane alike.
DEGANAWIDA
Solemnity filled the faces of the modest gathering seated around the hearth fire. The men were assembled in a chamber within the longhouse that displayed the image of a bear, rendered upon the facing of the bark panels suspended over the sheltered porch-entrances at each end.
Situated near to the highly prestigious, central longhouse that housed the revered Sacred Fire of the Five Realms, the Bear Clan longhouse that Deganawida dwelled within was one of the most prominent structures of the village.
The Bear Clan longhouse currently served as the main site for the meetings of the village council. It was the traditionally appropriate location, as Deganawida was the chosen headman of the Onan village called The Place of Far Seeing.
All of the main members of the village council were now present and fully attentive, as Deganawida had expected in light of the unusual, recent developments.
The eight other clan sachems looked expectantly towards Deganawida, their faces illuminated by the flames of the hearth fire. The blazing tendrils crackled steadily within the ponderous silence of the chamber.