Chapter 40: The Hafdan Council of War
Nightfall.
In the Hafdane camp, two kilometers outside of Targas Territory's castle, young "Black-Eye" Brokk sits idly in the place of honor, a large, vigorous bonfire before him.
They had crossed the mountains into these "land-tillers'" territory for a full day now, yet no decision pleasing all the chieftains had been reached.
To Brokk's left sits "Six-Finger" Harald, seething with rage, punching anyone daring to speak to him.
His fury stems from a grim discovery made just recently on a hilltop - the bodies of their entire scouting party, who had vanished and were presumed lost. To Harald, this was an unforgivable atrocity.
These 100 men were from his tribe, led by his brave and fearless brother, Ber, now ignominiously felled by an arrow to the forehead.
Throughout the meeting, Harald curses the "land-tillers'" cowardice, their reluctance for honorable, blood-soaked combat, resorting instead to skulking and sneaking arrows from afar. Such cowards, he proclaims, will never earn Odin's favor and are destined to die ignominiously in gutters, gnawed upon by rats.
Fuming, Harald proposes storming the local castle and slaughtering everyone as an offering to the spirits. Unsurprisingly, his suggestion is promptly vetoed.
Not just by Brokk, but "White-Beard" Erik too opposes. Erik, having visited two decades earlier, deems the area unworthy, as poor as their own lands. He argues for an immediate eastward march to join Herlming's main force against the "land-tillers'" leader, the so-called "Duke of the North." He chastises them for squandering the gods' gifts, allowing their bloodlust to cool shamefully in this pitiful land.
He bemoans the lack of glory and honor here, as these "land-tillers" would never dare venture out from their stone houses to face the blood and fire of battle.
"Regret only comes when your beards turn white!" Erik bellows.
As for "Black-Eye" Brokk himself, he dreams of plundering the city to the south. He knows of a large city nearby, unprotected by stone walls, only feeble wooden ones, so frail that even the weakest woman could easily scale them.
He wonders why they are still here, and not in the "land-tillers'" city, indulging in bloody revelry, feasting on meat and wine, and savoring the tender spoils of war - women.
The argument continues, but Brokk's disdain for "White-Beard" Erik grows. He's long heard that Erik has never won a battle, constantly defeated since two decades prior, a perpetual loser alongside Herlming against the "land-tillers'" leader.
"Right, not just Erik, even Herlming is nothing but a loser who only knows defeat," Blok couldn't fathom how anyone could endure so many losses and still have the shame to live. Newly anointed as the tribe's leader, Blok couldn't grasp why the "legendary" Herlming, who repeatedly lost against the "Duke of the Hoeing People," hadn't been opposed yet. "Why haven't their people thrown them into a boiling pot? Why haven't they died yet?" he pondered.
"Enough! Dare to fight me? You incessant old fool!" "Six-Finger" Harald, in a rage, stood up, grabbing his axe for a duel with Erik.
"You only dare speak to me like this now! Thirty years ago, when I was slaying the hoeing people, your mother hadn't even given birth to you yet! You beardless brat!" Erik, undeterred, also grabbed his axe, ready to engage in combat.
"Stop it, both of you idiots!" Blok, unable to bear it any longer, abruptly stood up, his towering figure casting a long shadow in the firelight. "Herlming said, I am the leader of this expedition! Any objections?!" Blok bellowed in anger.
Stronger than anyone present, no one would be his match in a real fight. Yet, he couldn't quell the two before him.
"Hahaha!" "You think you can intimidate anyone, you little punk?" "Even if you could kill me, could you command my 2000 men? Do you have that ability?!" Erik scoffed mockingly.
As for Harald, he didn't take Blok seriously at all. "I'm taking my men to capture that stone house, that's final." "Whether you go or not, I will go. I'll take my own people. Cowards without guts."
Harald sneered disdainfully.
Blok took a deep breath, suppressing his urge to tear the two apart. He tried to reason with them in a calmer tone. "Herlming's command to us was to plunder the western lands, to disrupt the local chieftain as much as possible, preventing him from sending aid to the east."
"Sol and Hilda have already moved ahead of us, each leading 1000 men in different directions for plundering." "We now have 6000 left, we must unite. My opinion is, we first raid the surrounding areas, then come back to seize this castle in front of us, and afterward head east to find the local leader."
"If you don't agree, go explain it to Herlming yourself!"
...
After much coordination and negotiation, Blok made significant concessions. The three finally reached a basic consensus, which was to start with robbery. They would first raid the surrounding areas, then return to avenge Harald's brother Bel by capturing the castle in front of them.
As for Erik, he ultimately decided to obey Herlming's command and not seek a battle with the Duke of the North just yet. However, he appeared somewhat disheartened, his expression unusually worried. "Recently, the unrest in the far north has been intensifying. If we can't seize this land soon, the situation behind us will become even more difficult," Erik spoke softly, his gaze lowered, with what seemed like a trace of fear.
"The tribal leaders in the north are under increasing pressure; I wonder how much longer they can hold on." He murmured.
"What are you talking about?" Blok didn't quite catch what he said.
"Never mind, you'll understand soon enough." "We set off tomorrow, as you suggested, for a gratifying round of plundering."