The Unruly Camp and the Norse Baron’s Refusal

The military camp was sprawled across a flat plain outside Ostrava. Tents of all sizes were haphazardly pitched, and dozens of plumes of smoke rose, swirling above the encampment.

Shouts and work songs echoed from within, their cacophony making the camp feel more like a chaotic marketplace.

****

Outside the central tent, the banner of the Přemyslid family flew proudly. Inside, a group of knights were gathered, deliberating their next military strategy.

“According to the latest intelligence, Opava currently harbors between four hundred and six hundred rebels.” The speaker was a bearded knight, loyal to Jaromir. He possessed a small fiefdom near Vyšehrad Castle in Prague—a modest village, which was why he had only brought twelve conscripted old farmers and two heavy infantrymen in response to his liege’s call.

“Their forces are roughly comparable to ours, but our conscripts only make up half our numbers, whereas Opava’s rebels are entirely untrained peasants.” The second knight, somewhat younger, was a diocesan knight responsible for guarding the Slaný Bishopric. He commanded two manorial fiefs, capable of fielding fifty conscripted peasants and ten heavy infantry. However, he had not drawn all his available forces for this campaign, simply because it wasn’t a cost-effective endeavor.

“Why is Opava’s troop strength so inconsistent? Four hundred to six hundred? How is that possible?” The third knight held a title but no fief. He too was a diocesan knight, ennobled by Jaromir upon his coming of age, primarily for his piety and martial skill.

“Are you implying my information is incorrect?”

“You must be exaggerating!”

The knights in the main tent began to bicker. Some believed the intelligence was flawed, while others suspected enemy spies were spreading false information. Their arguments grew so heated that it seemed they might come to blows.

Seeing the situation spiral into chaos, the knight seated at the center of the table roared, “Enough! Silence, all of you!”

The knight’s bellow carried beyond the tent, drawing sidelong glances from the sentries outside and prompting the drinking and gambling soldiers to speculate on how many times the knightly lords had quarreled that day.

Wood slammed his hand on the table, glaring at the assembled knights. “Is this the time to argue over who is right or wrong? Our immediate priority is to devise a plan. Should we launch a direct assault? Or besiege them to wear them down?”

The first knight pondered for a moment before replying, “A direct assault. Winter is almost upon us, and morale will plummet once it sets in. A swift victory is our best course of action!”

“What utter nonsense!” the second knight roared. A direct assault would mean the complete loss of his troops, a prospect he vehemently opposed. “With the vast city of Hradec behind us providing supplies, we can easily sustain a prolonged siege. A war of attrition after a siege is definitely the way to go. Hradec can fully support our eight hundred-man army’s provisions!”

“Could we… perhaps try tunneling?” the third knight interjected. “Our forces don’t have an absolute advantage, and with Meissen threatening invasion from the north, it’s best to resolve the Opava conflict quickly. Tunneling would minimize troop losses and allow us to breach Opava Castle…”

Tunneling was indeed a viable option, but it would damage the castle walls. This immediately drew Wood’s sharp rebuke.

Wood declared, “Absolutely not! Tunneling could very likely cause the walls to collapse, and that loss would be far too great!”

Wood sank into troubled thought. A direct assault might not guarantee the castle’s capture, yet a prolonged siege would preclude them from participating in the northern war against Meissen. A duchy-level conflict between Bohemia and Meissen offered the chance of significant rewards from the Duke if they performed well.

Wood, of course, cared little for the Duke’s commendations. However, the other knights present certainly did. A protracted siege would inevitably lead to their minds drifting north to Ústí, where the Duke was sure to lead his army along the Elbe River, through the gaps in the Ore Mountains and the Sudetes, to confront the Meissen forces.

This left Wood with only one option.

A direct assault!

Wood decisively announced, “We will launch a direct assault!”

His decision was final, leaving no room for the other knights to object. He was, after all, the supreme commander of the army and Archbishop Jaromir’s most trusted guard and knight.

The knights ceased their discussions, settling into a quiet calm. In terms of rank and status, they were all minor nobility, none holding the title of baron. As for martial prowess, Wood was undeniably the strongest. Military nobles in the Middle Ages revered strength, provided, of course, that one was one of their own. Wood, naturally, had established connections with each knight, and they all respected him.

Wood understood the root of their arguments: nothing more than personal gain.

He assured them, “Upon my return, I will personally commend your accomplishments to Lord Jaromir, provided you all dedicate yourselves wholeheartedly to suppressing this rebellion.”

The knights remained silent, nodding their acknowledgment of Wood’s words.

“Very well then. Let us continue our discussion on troop deployment, who will form the main force, and who will be…”

Wood unfurled a crude map across the long table. They continued their tactical discussions while eating dinner.

****

Several tall, armored figures moved through the army tents. Guided by a sentry, they pushed aside the heavy curtain of the knights’ main tent.

“My lords, Baron Svein of Ostrava has arrived.”

The guard at the entrance announced this to the tent’s occupants, immediately sparking a small stir of commotion and whispers.

“A baron?”

“You mean that uncouth Norseman who hasn’t even had his enfeoffment ceremony?”

“What is he doing here?”

The knights buzzed with questions. Wood paused for a moment, then replied to the guard, “Please, invite Baron Svein in.”

The tent curtains on either side were pulled back, and several unusually tall figures in heavy armor stepped inside.

“Hiss~” The knights collectively gasped, completely awed by Svein’s imposing presence.

The man leading them wore a full-face steel helmet, from which a beautiful plume of feathers swayed. His body was encased in a suit of lamellar armor, weathered with age, his arms and shins protected by splinted bracers and greaves. As he walked, there was none of the familiar jingle of chainmail worn by Western European knights; instead, a distinct scraping sound of metal plates rubbing against each other.

Svein’s bearing was formidable, and certainly, none of the knights present had ever seen such an ensemble. The craftsmanship required for iron lamellar armor was exceptionally high, unlike chainmail, where iron rings could be drawn into uniform wires. Each plate of lamellar armor demanded countless hammer blows from a blacksmith to achieve even thickness.

The knights remained silent for a long moment, lost in the cold glint reflected off the iron plates of the lamellar armor.

Wood rose, removing the linen coif from his head, and offered a slight knightly bow. “Greetings, Baron Svein.”

Svein removed his full-face steel helmet, revealing his impressive, thick black beard. “Greetings, Knight. How may I address you?”

Wood smiled. Svein’s presence in the army tent was undoubtedly a friendly gesture, confirming that his liege, Archbishop Jaromir, had been right to enfeoff him. This grizzled Norseman, despite his age, still harbored a desire for loyalty.

Wood possessed a stern face, yet when he smiled, he exuded the warmth of a spring breeze. “I am Wood, chief knight under Jaromir and commander of this military operation. You may simply call me Wood.”

Svein seemed slightly puzzled. “Only a knight?”

Entrusting a knight with command over several hundred men—Jaromir was either overconfident or foolish. Such a force would typically be led by an earl.

Wood explained, “Currently, the lords are all preparing for the northern war against the Duchy of Meissen. Even the Duke’s illegitimate sons and the younger sons of noble families are participating in the war preparations. No earl or baron is willing to travel to a remote area like Opava in the cold winter to quell a rebellion.”

Wood suddenly recalled something. “I remember Lord Jaromir once sent a messenger to you, hoping you would participate in this rebellion suppression…”

“I have not received any such letter.” Svein’s aged face remained impassive, his tone utterly calm, as if stating a simple fact.

Wood frowned slightly, glancing at Noren and Frey, who stood beside Svein. “Truly none?”

Frey, his shoulder-length golden hair unbound, replied, “Hmm… I don’t think so.”

He tried to recall the incident, remembering someone delivering a parchment, but his father had said there was no letter… so there wasn’t one.

Noren, wearing a spectacle helm with a layer of chainmail protecting her lower face, concealed her features. She truthfully answered, “No,” for she genuinely had no knowledge of it.

Tolke stood behind the three, one hand gripping his composite bow, the other resting on the quiver at his lower back, ever vigilant.

Wood fell silent. The messenger had indeed never returned, likely slain by bandits on the road.

He then stated, “According to the military obligations of a vassal, you are required to participate in this war to suppress the rebellion.”

Svein refused. “I have not yet formally undergone the enfeoffment ceremony as a baron. I am not yet Jaromir’s vassal.”

Wood’s brows furrowed deeper. How could he not be a vassal in the Bishopric of Opava?

Svein, however, responded, “I have sworn fealty to only two individuals: the Emperor of Byzantium and the former Duke of Bohemia before the last. As for Archbishop Jaromir, I have not yet sworn fealty to him, and I refuse to fulfill any military obligations to him.”

Wood was silent. Although he commanded an army of several hundred men and could easily force Svein to join, the mayor of Hradec, located behind them, was Svein’s brother-in-law. Any drastic action on his part could jeopardize their subsequent operations.

Moreover, he was aware of Lord Jaromir’s plan to enfeoff Svein with the title of baron. There was no need to force Svein to participate in suppressing the rebellion; they simply needed to wait for the Norsemen and the mayor of Hradec to fall into conflict among themselves.

The other knights present did not share this view. One knight angrily rose, deeming Svein’s words outrageous. The rest of the knights, however, remained composed, believing there was no need to antagonize a noble who was about to be enfeoffed as a baron.

Wood gestured downwards with his hand towards the angry knight, indicating for him to sit.

Turning back to Svein, Wood asked, “Then, may I inquire about the purpose of your visit to my military tent?”

Svein replied, “I merely ask that you, as the army’s commander, properly restrain your soldiers and prevent them from harassing the civilians in my village.”

Wood’s expression darkened at this. It felt as though Svein was pointing a finger at him, calling him an incompetent who couldn’t even manage his own troops.

He caught his breath, offering a strained smile. “Baron, you might not be aware that the army I command is quite diverse, comprising guards drawn from various bishopric parishes under the Archbishop, conscripted peasant soldiers and sergeants from the knights’ own manors, mercenary companies hired from Prague, and even soldiers provided by the Duke.

I will do my utmost to ensure the soldiers do not leave the camp.”

Svein nodded, then, accompanied by his daughter, son, and Tolke, departed the main army tent.

On the way back to the village, Svein, holding a torch, asked Noren, “What do you make of this army?”

Noren recalled the scene—soldiers wrestling, arm-wrestling, drinking, gambling, and fraternizing with the camp followers.

She stated, “An army without discipline.”

She had wanted to say something akin to ‘mere rabble,’ but after much thought, she couldn’t find the precise Norse equivalent.

Svein reached a conclusion. “They will not be able to capture Opava Castle.”

Frey asked, “Why?” Svein simply replied with a single word: “Intuition.”