After leaving queen Morgan with her new sheepherder-King we were spoiling for a fight. We thought we might intice some northerners with any real balls to come with us and raid saxon lands to the south. Imagine our surprise and delight when we discovered that a huge northern army led by the three kings Lot, Uriens, And Haraut the centurion king , were already assembling. We asked permision to join and it was granted at once.
Shortly afterwards we took the field and got into position to attack. We were all readying ourselves for what would be a morning battle, and Sir Merin came to us saying he had overheard that the three kings were arguing and could not agree on which should lead the army. Padern who is famous for his intolerance for such tripe marched direcly to the tent of the three kings. I have said it before and will say it again... Brass balls... thats what he has. I often ponder why he is so reckless and the only thought that comes to mind is that his advanced age and declining health have made him give no shit about danger. I believe he is weary of life and seeks nothing more than to die in glorious combat. I thank God that I had that privledge of being knighted by the man. Just what we ned in these dark times.
In short order Padern had somehow been allowed to CHOOSE the commander! Very progressive of them. He of course chose Lot and offended Uriens and The Centurion king horribly. Im sure they are plotting the many ways that they will torture Padern once they have him captured.
The battle was a desperate one and unfortunately it was indecisive. Even though we knights of Linsey acquitted ourselves well, Lot"s pride blinded him and he floundered in his command of the vast force. I believe that after he was unhorsed he was captured or slain. Uriens decided it would be prudent to go back to Gorre and slop his pigs, and of course to no ones surprise the king of Malahaut was trecherous and never even joined in the fight. I vow to personally slay the old bastard someday.
After we escaped the carnage we hid in the Maris Marshes with a few other survivors. It was just then that Gods hand guided me and I alone spotted the smoke from a nearby hovel. To our utter surprise the Lord had led us to our very own young Ruler who we thiought was dead! It seems that our young heir DERFEL was alive, saved by two Danish brothers. I could tell right away that these men had an unwholseome hold over our DANISH SPEAKING! Duke of ten years old. After spending a dreary four months convincing our liege to leave the marshes( I swore fealty to him immediately) We went to leicester and introduced the boy!
It was a blessed year in the end it seemed! Im sure that everything will go well for us from here on out!
Grizzled old Padern here
After Lady Morgan's wedding to King Uriens, we started making plans to return home. Surely we could kill a few Saxons on the way? Especially now with the swellign ranks of Candlebees! That's right. Sirs Martin, Brandegoris, and Merin have been so impressed with the Candlebee camraderie shared by Gwair and myself that they asked us if they, too, could become Candlebees. Of course! The more the merrier. So now we are six: Count Idar, Sir Gwair, Sir Brandegoris, Sir Martin of Thetford, young Sir Merin, and myself. May we kill many Saxons in retaliation for our burned hives!
We talked big in Uriens' court about Count Idar and the marvellous hospitality that would surely be extended to any knight that accompanied us south to fight the horde. As it turned out, Uriens and another northern king, Lot, were planning on taking a small army south with Malahaut to do just that, so we joined up with them for the march south. Although why one would marry a young comely woman only to head off to battle shortly after I can't fathom...oh wait. He married creepy Lady Morgan; never mind.
In Roestoc we got into position facing a slightly larger Saxon army. We Lindseymen were very excited to be fighting with an army at our backs! Because of course, we pushed and shoved our way to the front of the lines. But young Sir Merin overheard the three kings arguing about who would take precedence over the entire army...! Don't you think they would have thought of that before they left home? I don't know what bee got in my bonnet but I marched up to the kings-tent and scolded them for their indecision to their faces. So King Lot, apparently the most hot-headed of the three, leaped up and demanded of me my solution. Did I mention that my hair is almost entirely grey now?
But I hadn't gone into the tent with a solution! Thinking fast—more like, reacting quickly—I said Malahaut should have the last position because he stood by and did nothing to aid his neighbor to the south, Lindsey, from the Saxon onslaught. That was easy. But deciding between Uriens and Lot? I squeezed my fist around the gold ring Lady Morgan gave me (indeed, all the Lindseymen) as thanks for service rendered. Should I choose Uriens? But I chose Lot, for the simple reason that they had both married daughters of the Pendragon, and he the eldest. They thanked me for my decisiveness and I left the tent.
But not before I saw the looks Uriens and Malahaut shot my way. That won't be good.
So why did we then spend the next four months sitting in a hut in the middle of the Maris? Lot couldn't make a battle roll to save his life (literally); Uriens, seeing which way the wind was blowing, concerned himself with getting out of the ensuing mess; and Malahaut, true to form, kept his men in reserve on a hillock and never engaged.
So we ran. At least we ran through the Saxon army instead of turning tail, but still. In the confusion we lost Sir Gwair, but we figured he and squire Arnie, ready to be knighted any day now, could get through the lines and rejoin us.
So here we were, lost in the Maris despite my best efforts, when we spied a plume of smoke. (And Gwair did find us again, although we are still waiting for Arnie.) Following the smoke we spied a wretched hut. On closer investigation, inside we spied two wretched-looking men and a small boy. Something about them jogged my memory, despite their rags and unkempt hair...whoa! The Danish brothers, Kolgrim and Holgar! And they boy they presented as young master Dryfel, the son of Duke Corneus!
The tale came out as the days passed: Holgar, who had been imprisoned with Kolgrim in Lincoln on suspicion of collaboration, heard the fighting as the Saxons stormed the city, and when the doors burst open the brothers rose up and slew the Saxons with their bare hands, took their arms and armor, and headed for the walls. There, they saw the Duke's wife, dead, and her little son standing next to her body. Hardly pausing, they scooped him up and got out of Lincoln as the Saxons pillaged and burned it with glee.
In turn, we told the brothers that Lindsey had been effectively reduced to the city of Leicester, where Sir Idar was count, that you could count the number of surviving Lindsey knights on two hands, and that we had been unable to oust the Saxon King of Sorestan (as they now call Lindsey).
With strange reticence, we finally got the brothers to agree to accompany us to Leicester, though only at the concession of a needlessly long wait before doing so, so it wasn't until the beginning of winter when we finally rolled into Idar's hall.