[The British Isles, Wessex, Winchester , March of 793]
Winchester the proto-capital of the petty kingdom of Wessex , The seat of power where the current "king" of Wessex and his court resides.
King Beorhtric could find no rest these days. Offa , that bastard of Mercia , pressed on him from every side. His pennies, His borders, even the lands that should belong to Wessex were now meddled in by Mercian officials.
And marrying Offa's hell-spawn of a daughter had solved nothing. If anything, it birthed a fresh curse , Eadburh, his new wife, carried more power in his hall than he did himself.
As if that were not enough, last night brought worse tidings. A messenger, breathless from Cerne, bore ill news, my thegn Oswald taken, the abbot with him, and some wretched peasant sent crawling to deliver a ransom demand. And so, with the dawn, a witan was called.
The hall at Winchester filled before the firepits had burned hot. Cloaks damp with morning mist hung heavy on shoulders, iron helms clinked as they were set aside. One by one the lords took their places, thegns with their rings and swords, reeves with ink-stained fingers, the steward with his ledger tucked beneath his arm. Even the bishop was there
Beorhtric sat above them, crown set askew upon his brow, At his side, Eadburh sat draped in silks finer than any thegn's wife could dream of.
"bring in the messenger" A reeve ushered in the messenger, a mud-caked peasant, trembling in the firelight, his cap clutched tight in both hands. He looked half-dead from the road, face gray with fear and exhaustion.
"Speak," Beorhtric commanded. The man bowed so low his forehead nearly struck his knees. "My lord… it was as you heard. They came to Cerne swift as a storm. Six of them only, but clad in iron from head to heel, with weapons I scarce knew the names of. They struck down lord Oswald's men, took the thegn himself, and the holy abbot with him. I alone was sent forth, to bear their words."
The man licked his lips, voice cracking. "They said… they said that unless coin is brought, Oswald and the abbot and the entire village will be put to the sword. And not small coin, my lords, They demand a king's ransom. "
Murmurs rippled across the benches , six only? Thegns frowned, reeves exchanged sharp looks.
If the king stooped to ransom for a mere handful of rogues, he would be mocked from Mercia to Kent. Every hedge-bandit in the shires would soon be sending peasants with ransom notes. A king could not afford to look weak.
"Six men," growled Thegn Ealfric, thick hands curling into fists on the oaken board. "Six men dare demand gold of Wessex?"
"My king," said Thegn Wulfnoth, rising to his feet, a broad-shouldered man with more scars than wit. "Grant me leave, and I'll bring you their heads in less than two days. Bandits or not, they'll not stand against my spear-men."
Wulfnoth was a hammer of war, though in matters of land and law, his mind seldom wandered past the word taxes.
Others seized on the promise of easy victory. Voices rose, men clamoring for glory, each eager to be the one to ride out, crush the outlaws, and return dripping with easy renown.
Beorhtric lifted a hand, and the hall fell grudgingly silent. His crown felt heavy, but for once it was a burden he welcomed. For years, Mercia's shadow had smothered him , even his marriage had not freed him from Offa's grasp. But here, at last, was a chance for triumph, bought easy.
"No," the king said, his voice cutting through the chamber. "This is not for thegns to bicker over like dogs for scraps. These rogues dared lay hand upon my thegn, dared mock me with demands. It will not be said in Wessex that I sent others to fight in my stead. I will march. I will break them myself."
His gaze swept the benches, daring dissent. "Gather the fyrd. Two hundred men will be enough. By God's grace, before the next moon wanes, I shall have these outlaws in chains, or feeding crows on the field."
"Six men… and here you sit, gnawing at it like wolves over a carcass. One would think an army of thousands marched against Wessex, the way you clamor." Eadburh's voice cut through the noise, calm but barbed.
A thin smile touched her lips as her eyes drifted over the benches. "Be sure to ride out with banners hidden, else the whole shire will laugh that so many thegns and A KING were needed to swat a handful of flies."
She rose then, smoothing her cloak, and with a small bow to the king said, "My lord, I leave you to your war council."