The Mayor’s Burden

The assassination threw both attacker and defender into disarray.

Among Jaromir’s troops, there was no shortage of skilled knights who quickly quelled the chaos. After deliberation, they elected a temporary commander.

Inside the castle, the rebels—backed by Polish instigators—found a new leader in the second-in-command of the scoundrels, following the death of Rash Otto.

Though far from Noren’s wish that the army would simply disband and everyone go home, it wasn’t entirely fruitless.

Noren spread a layer of crushed ice in two wooden chests, placed one head in each, then covered them with more ice. “Hopefully Jaromir won’t die of fright when he sees these heads,” she said.

****

In the remaining month of 1067, more refugees trickled in from the north. They stubbornly refused to go to ‘Hradec’ in the south, claiming they were used to country life.

Since there were only a dozen or so refugees, Noren let them winter in the barn.

Though the slaves’ own shed was spacious enough to accommodate a few more if they squeezed, Noren didn’t allow the refugees to stay there.

After all, treatment must be stratified, right?

Noren had her reasons:

Most people in the Middle Ages could be considered cunning and unruly.

Craftiness, cowardice, and disloyalty were their basic traits. Treating them too well from the start would easily breed rebellious thoughts.

A bowl of scratchy bran porridge and a stinking barn with a straw bed were enough!

The refugees didn’t complain about the harsh conditions. They had lived that way for decades. In good years, they had wheat porridge every day; in bad years, they only ate wild grass, hazelnuts, and acorns. Drowning their own children for a morsel of food was all too common.

The arrival of refugees was just a minor episode, hardly disturbing Noren’s winter life.

Some went hunting, others picked flowers—winter was spent amusing themselves.

****

Sithis, the mayor of Hradec, enjoyed no such leisure.

Both commanders of the opposing forces at Opava had died simultaneously, causing the war’s intensity to drop.

Small skirmishes every three days, major battles every five.

Within a month, both sides had suffered over half casualties.

Nevertheless, Jaromir’s army was ultimately defeated.

A band of mercenaries crossed the border, attacking from front and rear to scatter Jaromir’s troops. The knights fled to Hradec for help.

Sithis sent a letter to Prague Castle. The duke quickly issued an order—

Eliminate the mercenaries.

If possible, also wipe out the rebels at Opava.

With the duke’s command, Sithis, as a border mayor, had to comply.

He also realized that Polish interference was likely behind the Opava rebellion.

After a moment of scalp-tingling dread, Sithis hastily assembled his forces.

First, the city’s standing army: twenty adult Norse men, thirty Norse youths aged fourteen to fifteen, and thirty Slavic city guards.

Then, the city militia.

Hradec issued a conscription order to its citizens. Though free, the freemen were obligated to serve and pay taxes.

Hradec’s wartime law was simple: five freeholder families jointly provide one set of light infantry equipment—a spear, a javelin, a shield, a helmet, and a gambeson with at least ten layers of fabric padding reaching below the knees.

Then, from those five families, the strongest man was selected to go to war.

In the end, ninety-six soldiers were conscripted.

With eighty standing troops and ninety-six conscripts, the total was one hundred seventy-six men. This was the maximum force Hradec could muster under normal circumstances, with full armor coverage. More could be conscripted, but they would be unarmored cannon fodder. Such fodder could serve a purpose in defense, relying on walls for protection, but in an assault or field battle—even ignoring their lack of combat ability—their brittle morale was unacceptable for any commander.

Of course, it was common for impoverished knights, lacking proper soldiers, to drag a bunch of old peasants armed with pitchforks and clubs into battle.

Some poor knights couldn’t even afford a warhorse for their second son. It was said that during the time of Emperor Otto, a knight’s second son named Arnold rode a donkey into his first battle!

But even the smallest fly is still meat—Sithis wouldn’t overlook such a resource.

Thus, as the mayor whose domain included five knightly manors and seven villages, Sithis promptly issued a conscription order. Within three to five days, depending on distance, each knight was to lead one heavy infantryman and twelve spear-armed light infantry; each village was to provide at least fifteen light infantry armed with iron weapons.

The manors and villages assembled one hundred seventy-five men.

Total army strength: three hundred fifty-one men.

****

“Too few! Less than four hundred men,” Sithis frowned. “According to scouts, the mercenaries and rebels number nearly six hundred. The mercenaries are a three-hundred-man company from the Lublin Mercenary Corps in Poland—well-equipped veterans. I’ll have a hard time suppressing the rebellion without deploying my heavy crossbowmen and heavy infantry.”

“But using them would risk exposing my arms deal with that consul… Not good…”

Sithis slumped over his desk, head resting in the crook of his right arm, tapping his left index finger rhythmically on the surface.

Knock! Knock! The study door sounded.

Sithis instantly straightened his back, interlaced his fingers, and rested his elbows on the desk in a triangular pose.

He cleared his throat. “Enter.”

A lean man, five feet eight inches tall, with flaxen hair, walked in.

“Father.”

“Sissa, you’ve come at the right time. I’m worried about something!”

“The duke’s order to suppress the rebellion?” Sissa removed his chainmail coif and handed his sword to the guard at the door.

“Mm.” Sithis pointed to the wooden chair in front of the desk. “Sit, let’s talk.”

Sissa nodded to the guard, who closed the study door. He pulled out a chair and sat facing his father.

“Are the crossbowmen still training?” asked Sithis.

“They’re all set, training at the usual place. However…” The eldest son hesitated slightly.

“However what?”

“Their training results are far inferior to the heavy crossbowmen I saw in Genoa. Their cocking speed, endurance, and aiming accuracy are nowhere near those Genoese crossbowmen,” the son replied.

“Could it be an equipment issue?” Sithis wondered.

The eldest son stroked his chin, where a stubble was barely showing. “Probably not. The draw weight and bolt weight are matched. It’s the soldiers themselves. With the same bow, some hit every time, others miss every shot. Same with crossbows—it’s a human problem.”

“So… can the heavy crossbowmen go into battle?” Sithis asked for his son’s opinion.

The eldest son was silent, then shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Crossbows are only suitable for defending cities, for shooting downward. Shooting upward loses accuracy, and the bolts easily tumble in flight.”

Sissa looked his father in the eye. “Crossbows are excellent for defense. For an assault… I’m afraid you’d be disappointed.”

Sithis clicked his tongue. He was just a merchant, good at management, but not well-versed in the intricacies of weaponry.

His son’s words quashed Sithis’s idea of deploying the heavy crossbowmen.

“What about the heavy infantry?”

“Mock battles once a week, training every day.”

“Mm.” Sithis nodded. “Take your fifty heavy infantry and join the suppression army.”

“Father!” The eldest son clenched his fist.

“Don’t be a coward, Sissa.” Sithis’s face was expressionless, his eyes level, showing no emotion. “The Norse are going to war. You must go. You must.”

“I!” Sissa’s face turned pale and red by turns. These heavy infantry were his hard-trained force. Send them to die?

Sissa couldn’t bear to see his efforts wasted. His expression was conflicted.

But in the end, he lowered his head and whispered, “Yes, Father.”

Sithis lifted his son’s chin with his finger, trying to meet his eyes, but the son looked away. “Sissa, Christians divide people into three estates: those who fight, those who pray, and those who work. Those who fight are knightly nobles. Those who pray are the priests in churches and monasteries. Those who work… hmph, everyone else.”

“Which estate do you want to belong to? One who fights? One who prays? Or do you want to toil in the fields?”

Sissa lifted his eyes and met his father’s gaze. “One who fights, Father.”

“Then go joyfully to this battle!”

Sithis stood up, walked to the window, and clasped his hands behind his back, facing away from his son.

He gazed at the snowy landscape outside, his voice slightly hoarse. “A martial knight is a qualified knight. If you want the knighting ceremony to go smoothly, you must show the Norse your valor. The braver and more skilled you appear in battle, the more secure your knighthood.”

“Father, but didn’t Svein promise…”

“He did promise, but which manor will he give you? An undeveloped forest swamp? Or a manor with over a hundred people?”

“This…” Sissa was speechless.

Knock knock. The door sounded, and the mayor’s wife pushed it open.

“Sithis, about… What are you doing here?!” Anna glared at Sissa, hands on her hips pointing at him.

“My lady.” Sissa gave a polite slight bow.

“Out, out. I have matters to discuss with Sithis. Adults are talking—children should not interfere.” Anna waved her hand as if shooing a fly, her clicking tongue and disdainful expression truly infuriating.

Sissa held back, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Still not leaving?! Do my words no longer have weight?!” Anna turned to her husband, her emerald eyes flashing with the cold glint of a man-eating tiger.

“Sithis—”

The mayor shrank like a quail, then gave his eldest son a warm smile. “Sissa, why don’t you… step out for now. Your mother and I have to talk.”

‘She is not my mother!’ Sissa roared in his heart.

“I am NOT his mother!!!” Anna reacted even more violently than Sissa.

The mayor’s smile turned awkward. “A stepmother is still a mother, you know~”

“Hmph!” Anna turned and left, but not before shooting a glare at her husband’s bastard from his previous marriage.

Bang! She slammed the door shut.

“Well, Sissa…” Seeing the shieldmaiden storm out, Sithis felt embarrassed and gave his son from his first wife an apologetic smile.

“Father, I still need to oversee the soldiers’ training.” Sissa didn’t want to stay a moment longer. The stark contrast between his father’s earnest teachings moments ago and his cowering cowardice before Anna made Sissa deeply uncomfortable.

Sissa had been to Italy—Milan, Genoa, Pisa, Florence, Siena. There, men wielded only power over women. The bishops of the Papal States even declared that women were born with more original sin than men.

Even the Duchess of Tuscany, Matilda of Canossa, had to submit to a disgusting ‘hunchback’?

The thought that a flaxen-haired Roman goddess statue was betrothed to a pus-faced, foul-smelling hunchback, with marriage imminent, sent a shiver of disgust down Sissa’s spine.

‘Disgusting hunchback. If you weren’t born into the House of Godfrey, would such a fortune of marrying a duchess ever fall to you?’

‘I bet on the wedding night, even if the duchess sticks out her butt, you can’t reach it, haha!’

Sissa thought angrily.

“Sissa…?” His father was puzzled. Didn’t Sissa say he was leaving? Why was he standing there motionless, in a daze?

Sissa snapped back to reality, bowed to his father, and strode away.

The moment the study door closed, a heavy sigh from the old man echoed from within.