Vol 2 Chapter 638: Disappointed

The bell of the Northern War has sounded. After ransacking various villages on the north coast downstream, the Vikings boarded the ship again. They went deep into the hinterland, traveled upstream, and entered the deep forests of the Jorvik Valley.
The Vikings led by Hardada met their first resistance in Fulford. The resistance took place on the Wednesday before St. Matthew's feast. This also brought the deposed Earl back. The Vikings were preparing to attack York. Spread to the south.
London-Harold's castle.
After hearing the news from the messenger, Goss Gwensen, Count of Anglia, anxiously asked his brother sitting on the throne: "What should we do?"
"Fight." The new king of the Anglo-Saxon Wessex Kingdom answered this question calmly in Harold German. "The Vikings are destroying our land and people in our country. We have no choice. "
Unlike the calm displayed by the new king, when Harold discovered that just when he disbanded his elite troops and most of the militia, his brother Tosti and the Norwegian Vikings, descendants of the blonde king Haralda When Harald the Ruthless King had invaded for many days, his heart was so angry that he had to send messengers and recruiters to gather the army again, and must gather quickly.
This was a heavy blow for him. To his surprise, the only thing he could do was to regroup and let the soldiers who belonged directly to him swiftly march north and join the enlisted troops that came along the way. Those Vikings won—and they could only optimistically convince themselves that the illegitimate son Duke of Normandy would no longer try to cross the English Channel during the harvest season of autumn.
On the coast, fast horses galloped quickly. The long-distance communicator planted from the horse and was supported by the incoming militia.
The militiamen who had been stationed by the sea for a long time finally received good news, which made the entire camp in a peaceful state.
"The Normans won't come anymore, they encountered a huge storm and were shipwrecked!"
"The Holy See is on their side, but it seems that the Lord is indeed with us!"
"In any case, the fighting season is coming to an end and the harvest season is coming. It is time for us militiamen to disarm and return to the fields."
The news that the Normans had ventured through the sea but encountered a sudden storm was rushed back by spies from across the sea, and the militia remaining on the Isle of Wight happily discussed while packing up their things.
Without an order, they gathered the shields and weapons together-and the warlord who remained here did not show any objection to this.
Leovrik gently kissed his palm, patted the shield with this hand, and handed it to the militia who was responsible for collecting supplies with ease.
Turning back to that tall and thin farmer, he said happily: "I can avoid the militia for another year."
"If the speed is fast enough, you can go home in the dark." Odegar followed them, did not experience the war, and none of the folks he brought died, which made him relieved.
Leovrik strode forward, clasped his best friend Tofi's shoulders with his hands, and joked: "He is under the bed of his little daughter-in-law, and I am happy to spend my honeymoon."
Tofi, who himself resisted the war, fought with him and broke free of his restraint.
"Are there still large oak trees in the woods of Crowhurst Village? The children often go climbing." Odegar asked briskly, no longer being serious and thoughtful. In fact, he was the two kings of England. One of the captains of the guards, he almost only had the opportunity to return to his hometown briefly when he used to recruit villagers.
"Still." Leovrik lowered his head and picked up a piece of snow-white pebble. Although it doesn't count how long he stayed on the Isle of Wight and his hometown is not too far from the coastline, he still evoked homesickness from the recruiter. Feelings.
"I really want to climb that tree again." Aldegar, who is nearly forty years old, said with some yearning.
Just when the farmers had packed their bags and started gathering to return to their hometowns, the cavalry rushing over from the north gave everyone a premonition.
A warlord left behind by the king screamed out Odegar's name, and the recruiter hurried to where he was.
Leocliffe looked at Odegar in a hurry, and shook his head disapprovingly to Tofi, who was horrified: "Don't worry, just a few hairy boys are making a fuss." After that, he suddenly I took Tofi's shoulders: "Tell you, I want to see Odegar climbing a tree with his big head shaking."
The worried Tofi was amused by what he described, Leocliffe put Tofi's head in his arms and tapped twice gently.
"Stop!" The somewhat cold commanding voice of the familiar Odegar came. Leocliffe stayed in place, his eyes turned slightly, he sighed, and the worrying thing really happened.
"Your wife still has to wait for the harvest." Hearing Odegar's tone changed back to that cold draft officer, Tofi closed his eyes sadly, but the other party's words continued to penetrate. His ears.
"Take up the weapon again." Following Odegar's command, Leocliffe licked his teeth helplessly, looking angrily at the buddies who had just opened his eyes and accepted the fact.
In the night, Odegar and other militiamen sat on the coast, looking at the sea and thinking about their own thoughts. The atmosphere was dull and stagnant. They were disappointed and sad about not being able to go home but continuing to fight. Missing filled the camp.
From the news that came, Odegar probably guessed the thoughts of his lord: For the king, this is a tricky choice. If you give up the defense of the south coast, what if the wind turns and the enemy kills? However, it is expected that after the autumn ~EbookFREE.me~ the Norman fighting season is over, the king decided to deal with the enemy that has already been killed first, and the ones who have not come have to come.
Aldegar had no choice. As a low-ranking officer who was not a knightly class, he could only follow orders.
At this time, after absorbing the souls of the soldiers on the sea, Allen returned to the White Cliffs of Dover, and on the cliffs with a little antics, he held the staff backwards and looked into the crystal ball, the soul energy rushing everywhere. There are countless Norman faces looming.
Alan, who checked the absorption of the soul, sighed, and then received the sight of the three-eyed shadow raven. He patted lightly, the non-existent dust on the magic robe, ready to go to the battlefield.
But Alan, who had just turned sideways and wanted to leave, suddenly stopped. He narrowed his eyes and looked at a small wooden boat that was undulating with turbulent waves in the gloomy sea.
Allen focused his attention on the sail of the small boat that was waving against the sea breeze. A long hair was braided and fluttered in the strong wind. The dirty red turban was a huge one. An approximately triangular captain's hat, and a beard braided in two braids firmly draped under the chin.
This guy with a strong sense of disharmony stood on the bow of the boat, with a smoky eye makeup painted sissy. The reason that caught Alan’s attention was that his clothes were obviously not a product of this time and space. The person in front of him was dressed in dirty brown. The captain's coat was not visible, and the collar of the white linen shirt with a mantle inside was wide open, revealing a bronze chest, and the wide belt around the waist was buckled with an 18th century short musket and a saber.
Although this boat is old and small, the technology used on the masts and sails is obviously not what the original wooden boats of the eleventh century can have.