text: Acwellen continues to stare into the flickering glow of the burning town. His face is stony, unfathomable. You turn to leave, picking your way through a patch of muck gingerly. Pressing down with your foot, you assess the ground. Certain patches are dry, but the soil is perilously loose. All it will take is a night of rain to turn the battlefield into a muddy hell. Well, you think to yourself, at least the mud will hurt the Normans worse than us.
  
  
  "Aethelwulf!"
  
  
  A voice interrupts your musings.
  
  
  A very familiar voice, deep and booming. It is the voice of Harold, your king.
  
  
  At just under six feet, he stands a head taller than most, and is just on par with yourself. Both his beard and hair are a fiery orange, and both are thick and wild. His chest is broad and his body muscular, but you notice a distinct bulge in the leather jerkin around his midriff; his infamous love of revelry has not gone unpunished.
  
  
  "Aethelwulf, you canny bastard!"
  
  
  He bellows, grinning and thumping you on the back.
  > You kneel
  Kneeling in the muck, you incline you head towards your king
  
  
  "My liege, I am honored-"
  
  
  King Harold bellows with great peals of laughter. Reaching down, he grabs you under the armpit and yanks you to your feet
  
  
  "You always were a mannerful bastard, Aethelwulf!"
  
  
  He chuckles, long and low.
  
  
  "But come, I haven't seen you since we set up camp here! That was two bloody months ago, near as! Where've you been! Avoiding me, have you?"
  
  
  You laugh, your respectful tone undone by his amicable nature.
  
  
  "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, you must choose which is more beneficial.