Grinning, you embrace your boyhood friend.


"Harold, good to see you, as always."


Harold grins. "I know it is! Everyone says the same exact damn thing!"


He chuckles, long and low.


"But come, I haven't seen you since our last battle! That was two bloody months ago, near as! Where've you been! Avoiding me, have you?"


You laugh


"If I went to another feast of yours, I wouldn't fit into my mail"


He shakes his head ruefully


"You should learn to unwind more! Live your life, you know? Speaking of, how's your wife?"


You nod solemnly


"She fares well, and yours?"


Harold snorts derisively


"Fat and ugly, as always. Ah well, that's what tavern girls are for, eh?"


He grins and nudges you with his shoulder; you shrug. Harold notices your expression and laughs again


"As chaste as a damned priest! Ah well, we'll break you in eventually."


Again you shrug. You and Harold have very different views on the matter, he won't change, nor will you. The best course, you decide, is to skate around the issue altogether. Nodding towards the hill, you speak seriously


"What do you make of our defenses?"


Harold frowns, his earlier humor gone. He throws up his hands irritably.


"My Kingdom depends on a hill and five thousand farmers"


You shake your head


"Five thousand farmers and three thousand warriors"


Harold nods


"Aye. True enough. We'll make this William pay for every inch, if nothing else"


He squints at the hill in the fading light


"The scouts say William has four thousand cavalry"


You shake your head decisively


"No cavalry in the world can break a strong shieldwall"


Harold laughs bitterly


"Our shieldwall isn't strong! It's weak! Half of the bloody farmers don't even own shields! Goddamned useless bastards!"


Surveying the hill thoughtfully, two plans come to mind;


You could craft wooden stakes and plant them along the hill, disorganizing the horse charge.


Or you could create makeshift shields for the conscripts, to help them hold the line.


The carpenters will only have enough time to do one of the two tasks, you must choose which you value most.

You craft makeshift shields

You look back at the camp, where five thousand farmers, butchers, bakers, and other citizens huddle in their cloaks for warmth, or sit by a fire and listen in awe as soldiers tell them tales of battles in faraway lands. None of them are ready for this, and most will not have the courage to face the prospect of shieldwall combat willingly. Giving them a slight advantage is the least you can do, really.


"If your carpenters can hew some fresh wood, they could make shields for the conscripts. Nothing fancy, just a wood board with a grip. Something to keep them alive. To keep them from breaking."


Harold claps you on the shoulder


"I'll have my carpenters start working right away! Let's turn these farmers into proper soldiers!"


He laughs, and you see the fire in his eyes. This is what King Harold does best. Strategy and rule he manages, but it's the fighting he loves. You understand the feeling all too well. How many times have you knelt before a cross, armor bloody and gore speckled, thinking back with revulsion and guilt at how you loved it.


Loved every bit of it.


Loved the blades flashing, reflecting the rays of the sun. Loved the sound of shields splintering, cracking open.


Loved the bloody chaos of the shieldwall.


In the clash of the shieldwall it is where men like you, and Harold, and no doubt William too, come alive.


This world has molded you.


Molded you into a warrior.


You are bred for this.