〃Victory is reserved for those who are willing to pay its price.〃
― Sun Tzu
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The metallic hinged-door of the chamber opened, its creaking noise bringing the Duke to consciousness. He'd been sitting there for hours, waiting for news from the scouts on the West Mountains, and he must have lost himself in thoughts. He got up immediately when he saw the scout enter.
The scout entered in haste, the shiny armour he wore;a little unpolished. A sign that showed he had been scouting for days on the high Mountains. He walked gracefully towards the Duke; the clunking sound of his armour echoing through the room.
"Your Highness, our inside man from England has brought word. He confirmed the death of King Edward," the scout paused for a moment, his eyes flickering with nervousness. "But it looks like the Earl of Wessex, Harold Godwinson, the richest and most powerful of the English aristocrats has been made the next successor."
The scout expected a reaction from the Duke, a furious reaction, but when the silence continued, he added, "Word says he was elected king by the Witenagemot of England, and he will be crowned king in few days, by the Archbishop of York Ealdred, sire."
The loud thud on the wooden table almost gave the scout a heart attack. "Dirty traitors!"
The Duke turned away from the scout who was still waiting for a reply from him. He slowly marched towards the nearest window, the twenty-foot thick oak gates standing high in view in front of him. "You know I'm the rightful successor of that throne, right? King Edward himself promised me that throne! And so if they think they will get away with this…" he balled his fist, ready to punch the wooden table, again.
The scout swallowed a lump of thick saliva down his throat. "My lord?"
"Yes?" He turned, taking keen interest in what the scout had to say.
"I pray you Sire," the scout begun. "You must know this; you are not the only one claiming rights to the England throne. Harald Hardrada of Norway is also claiming right to the throne saying Magnus I, his predecessor, and King Harthacanute had an agreement that if any of them died without a successor, the other will inherit both England and Norway—"
"This is Woodness!" He cursed under a stiff breath. "King Edward succeeded Harthacanute right? So where does that agreement stand!"
"Mayhap sire, this is good," the scout slowly stretched his lips, his toothy grin on display. "Let them slaughter each other, and when their army is weak, we will make our claim to the throne."
"That's quite a point," the Duke leisurely followed the grin. "We could easily defeat them both. How far are they?" he added then he pulled a map from an Elm-shelf above him and opened it wide on a Trestle table. The scout walked over to the table and held the map down.
"Harold and his army are heading north to Stamford Bridge, which is here." The Duke pointed at a marking on the map. "This means the Norwegians might be attacking from these parts. After their clash, whoever wins will be returning to England from that route and that is where we shall set camp—"
The door cracked a bit, the head of a little servant popping through it.
"You called for me, your highness?" he asked, halting by the door's archway and gesticulating himself in submission before making his way into the Duke's chamber.
"Tell the commander to prepare the fleet ships. Load everything the army will need, not only for the short voyage but also for the fighting when we land." The Duke ordered and in what seemed like a lightning bolt, the servant bolted out of the chamber.
The servants carried mail-shirts, swords, lances and helmets being held by their nose-guards. Others hauled along barrels of wine, water and long-lasting foods like salted bacon and beef, cheese, dried beans and hard-baked bread.
However, getting the horses in the open ships was difficult and dangerous, and was something new in northern Europe. Horses didn't like boats, and it was difficult to get them aboard the ship. They were made to jump over the sides of the ships.
And after some days, they were ready to set sail to England.