text: You raise your hand and silence falls like a blanket over the crowd of people. Your eyes flick from face, some meet your gaze, others stare at their feet.
  
  
  "We have been through hell, all of us. You have all lost people to the fyrd; fathers, brothers, sons. I understand your pain. But know this; they died with me, beside me, because we are the north! We live, we fight, and we die together! They say a warrior is only as strong as the shield held by his neighbor, they say this because it is the united who are strong, and we are the united!"
  
  
  Your escort applauds, rattling swords on shields and roaring.
  
  
  Some of the villagers clap nervously, but others remain still; one, a young woman with a grim face raises her hand.                                                                                                                            "Why was the fyrd so undersupplied? Why was it not provided with shields?"                                          One of your men barks at her to be silent, but she snarls back, tears bead her eyes                            "I lost my husband and my son! Don't you dare tell me to be silent!"                                               She stabs her finger at you, sobbing                                                                                            "Answer me! Answer me!"                                                                                                              One of your men reaches for his sword, but you wave him off. Looking the determined young woman in the eye, you give her an answer.
  > You say "I am sorry for your losses"
  What can you say? The truth, you suppose.
  
  
  "War is brutal, it is horrific and ungodly. It is savage and barbaric. That your son and husband died is tragic, but it is also a reality, and it is a reality that we fast approach. William will come here, and the killing will continue, because that is war. And in the world of today; war is life. It is terrible and tragic, but it is the life we live and I cannot shield you from that."
  
  
  You search for more words, but none come. None are necessary. The woman exhales heavily, fixes you with a mixed stare, and then departs, melting into the crowd. Did those eyes hold forgiveness? Maybe. The crowd is equally divided; some seem unmoved, but many others look at you with a new appraisal.
  
  
  Satisfied, you turn your horse homewards, and your escort follows.