[h3][center]WHAT A DAY TO BE A GENERAL[/center][/h3]

Cenwulf was watching his men training, his hand itching because he wanted to join them. But apparently, being a general meant constantly being approached by dozens of people, who wanted his decisions on dozens of unimportant things. He was arguing with a representative of one lord about the number of recruits from his lands. The lord was apparently living under the impression that sending ten unequipped men, from which half was too old to hold a sword, the other half too young, was enough.

Every lord was worried now. Especially those whose lands were located near the eastern shores. The attacks from those heathens were getting more and more frequent, to the point that the Englishmen had to abandon several territories, leaving them in the hands of the invaders. The scouts reported that the Norsemen didn’t waste any time and started building fortified camps and outposts on the conquered lands.

Cenwulf sent the lord’s man away, threatening him mildly to send more men, and reached for his sword. If he hurries, maybe he will have time for at least one sparring fight before the dinner will be served. His hopes were thwarted by another man walking towards him. A scout or a messenger after a long journey, by the looks of his clothes.

[color=82ca9d]“General,“[/color] he bowed respectfully and handed him a sealed note.

Cenwulf broke the seal and read the message, frowning. [color=f26522]“This is from Watford city council?”[/color]

[color=82ca9d]“Yes, sir, directly. I was one of the scouts who discovered the outpost.”[/color]

[color=f26522]“How many men?”[/color] Cenwulf walked over to the table and pulled out the right map.

The scout scratched his nose. [color=82ca9d]“Right now, only around thirty men. And women.”[/color]

Cenwulf scowled. It was a long-known thing, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around it. How can they be such primitives and let women fight and die in their battles? [color=f26522]“That is not that much.”[/color]

[color=82ca9d]“Sir, we overheard them talking and they are expecting a large raiding party to arrive soon. Maybe twenty full boats. Once they go up the river and get into the outpost, Watford will not be able to drive them away.”[/color]

Cenwulf knew that it was true. Cursing, he looked over the map. The outpost was in a perfect position, protected by a river and a small stream on two sides. Such number of Norsemen could easily cross the river on their boats and raid Oakshire or even try and attack Watford’s fortifications. [color=f26522]“When are they going to arrive?”[/color]

The boy just shrugged. [color=82ca9d]“They did not say that.”[/color]

[color=f26522]“What’s your name?”[/color]

[color=82ca9d]“I am Osmund, sir.”[/color]

[color=f26522]“You will go with me, you speak their language and seem to be a capable scout, I will sure make better use of you than those incompetent morons in Watford.”[/color] Cenwulf knew that they only have the smallest possible militia to keep order in the city, no way can they defend themselves against a full-scale raid. Not even talking about the defenseless village of Oakshire.

Osmund swelled with pride. [color=82ca9d]“Thank you, sir.”[/color]

[color=f26522]“Get some food and rest. We will march for Watford in the morning.”[/color] Cenwulf ran his hand through his hair, still looking at the map. It was raining for the past few days. Even in good weather, to move a portion of the Mercia’s army that way would take at least three days. But now, the roads will turn into a muddy swamp, stalling the troops and especially the carriages with food and weapons.

What a great day to be a general.

[img]http://i393.photobucket.com/albums/pp13/Lerilaine/Map.jpg?t=1516190930[/img]