"To Britain's Shores" - Chapter 17 - Spring

At last. A morning where it isn't just miserably wet and grey. I was starting to hate these British winters.

This past one, particularly. Strange, as old Theobald used to say about Leofric the Drunkard, how you don't miss something till it's not there any more. No Ecgwine, blue eyes aflame, brashly questioning the Young Wolf's decisions. No Lavinia, with her head of raven-dark hair leaning next to his unruly straw-pale mop, slim hand on his arm and the quiet word that tempers his rashness. Truth, we'd seen less of that this last year, as he'd started to learn wisdom from all of us, and she'd thus had to do it more infrequently.

But Ecgwine's dead, a British spear in his side, and she... who knows? Left in the night on Aelfric's second-best horse. The Cyning's Hall in Caer Lind Colon - Odin's blood, that's still a barbarous mouthful of a name - seems that bit darker without them both, and we...

We have become grim.

Resolute.

Cold.

Iron.

The ring of metal on metal has been the music of the Hall most days, with none questioning our Cyning's resolve to make us harder, better. Which is why I'm here in one of the Hall's outbuildings, sorting through a batch of new-made spear points. That and it gives me something to do.

We're missing Beornwulf too this winter, sent on a thankless task to bear news of his son's passing to Ecgfrith across the great sea - Ecgfrith the Cyning, Aelfric's father's brother, who charged us - me and Aelfric especially - to take care of his son and make him a man. "You can't argue we managed one of those...."

"Mmm?" Aelfric, damn him, still has a habit of sneaking up on me.

"I... uh. Just musing aloud." He eyes me for a moment, with that maddeningly prompting look of his. I sigh. "Ecgwine." Again the regard. "Your uncle. 'Keep him safe. Make him a man.'"

Aelfric nods, "We tried." A pause, then, ruefully. "And we were..."

"Ho there!!!!!" It's a yell from the gate, young Hedric. "Someone's coming up the round. A band of men..."

The Young Wolf treats me to a sudden grin. "I'll bet you it's Beornwulf."

I grin back. "Not taking that bet. I'll catch you up when I've tidied this lot away."

---

I head for the gate, slipping through between a couple of the buildings to join the throng: there's much backslapping of Beornwulf, and the group of warriors he's brought across the sea with him. Hel's teeth, he's even managed to persuade the tall, rangy Deorwine, one of Ecgfrith's Gedriht that I actually don't have any grievance with, to join him. He's a skilled horseman, and a fine warrior, quiet yet intelligent: never a score of words when two will do. I'm just about to clasp him by the hand when a slap on my back nearly knocks the breath out of me.

"Not dead yet, then, Godric?"

I really should have spotted that distinctive hair amid the small crowd, but she isn't tall, certainly not among men. The voice, though, is unmistakably hers, a low alto rasp. I allow myself a second or two, as Deorwine gives me a knowing wink, lips quirking in an amused grin, before I turn. "Gytha."

There might be even more grey in her locks, but other than that she hasn't changed in the time since we left. Hair the colour of iron down to her shoulders; the same well-worn mail; axe and sword at her belt; the white line of a scar the length of her cheek from a blade; eyes the grey of a winter sky.

A smile, rendered slightly crooked by that scar, quirks her lips. "Miss me?"

She always did start with the difficult questions.

---

Now if I could actually find the box that has Bad Squiddo's shieldmaiden warriors blister in it (which I'd link to, but I can't find it on Annie's site either!), I'd have Gytha painted up by now. Unfortunately, I suspect it's somewhere in the stuff we cleared out of the workshop so the builders could do their stuff, which means I have almost no space to move stuff into to search for it. That and it's cold out.

"To Britain's Shores" - Chapter 16 - The Boar Hunt

"What myth are we chasing this time?" We're jogging through the woods towards the bank of a fairly generous stream. "Some golden horse? Some saint's dried up private parts?"

Aelfric laughs, claps me on the shoulder. "Good honest boar."

I snort. "Not sure there's anything honest about something with tusks and a bad temper."

The Young Wolf chuckles. Evidently he's in a good mood today. "At least you know it's going to be mad at you."

We pause a few hundred paces before the bank, near the edge of the wood, and Aelfric turns to Ecgwine. "Take your men and the archers. See what you can flush out. But stay this side of the water."

Ecgwine brisiles a little at the restriction, but nods. Lavinia and her handful of archers are already roving ahead, moving from bush to bush towards the water's edge. He and his men follow, surprisingly quietly. Aelfric nods approvingly. "You and Theobald did a good job with him, Godric."

"Aye." I catch sight of a head of raven hair before it and its female owner disappear amid the scrub. "Not sure I can take all the credit, mind."

He nods. "Aye. Still a mystery, that one. Beornwulf knows something, but he won't tell..."

"You could make him."

A shake of his head. "It'll out in its own time. Or when it becomes a problem."

"I hope you're..." 

I'm interrupted by a yell from one of Beornwulf's men, ranging ahead and to our left, "The British!"

I sigh, unsheathe my sword. "I knew this was too good to be true."

---

Damn right it is.

He told them to stay this side of the water. But no. Lavinia and her little band flush the boar, and Ecgwene's men, with much whooping and yelling, chase after it, and, rather than facing up to them it turns and splashes its way across the stream, and the idiots follow it. I don't know if they don't see the British, or figure they will be too late to arrive, but by the time the archers are back this side of the river, Ecgwine has brought down the boar with a spear thrust, and their little man is almost on them with a considerably greater number of their warriors.

Nothing I can do. Aelfric has led us leftwards, skirting another clump of trees, to head off their Praefect and his hearth guard, while Beornwulf follows after Ecgwine with another two bands of our warriors. 

"Odin's balls," Aelfric growls, "Why doesn't he just leave the damn carcass...?"

Ecgwine's band, boar hauled between two of them, struggle across the stream, one or two slipping on wet rocks, with the Britons right behind. For a moment I think they'll made it far enough that the little man won't risk it for fear of Beornwulf's warriors approaching along the near bank, but no: with a great battle cry they ford the stream...

In the grand scheme of things? Not the little man's wisest course. Sure, he and his men rush on Ecgwine's, and I, like Lavinia's group of young bowmen, can only watch as they fall. But Beornwulf waves his great axe above his head, twin to the one his father Wulfhere carries still in Petvaria, and roars aloud like the bear he's named after... "DEATH! Death to the Britons!" They charge into the enemy flank, swords and spears reddening with British blood, and swiftly break them.

But the damage is done.

---

I watch her, not saying a word, as she kneels by his body, touches a hand to his cheek, then to the great rent in his mail where a spear took him. She wipes a hand across her face in a gesture she thinks I don't see, then, carefully, she unfastens the symbol of the Christ-God that she gave him from round his neck, fastens it with bloodied fingers round her own, and stands.

I open my mouth to say something comforting, but she forestalls it with a look from those dark eyes. His blood on her fingers has left a mark where she rubbed her face, a mark that shows a track of moisture through it. The eyes, though, glitter with something more than tears. For a moment, I think she's going to just go, but then she turns, a swirl of night-dark hair across her shoulders. Her voice is quiet, brittle. "Warriors don't weep." All she says, turning, shoulders set, without another look back, and walking away.

She's not there when we build his pyre. Not there to speak words for the God he at least honoured for her sake. Out of respect to her, and to him, and to the Christ-God, we let one of the locals offer a prayer in Latin, before Beornwulf, Aelfric and I set torches to the stacked wood, and step back.

She's not there when we sit around, late into the night, raising horns and mugs of ale and mead to the stories and memory of a brat-turned-man who would have, one day, made a fine Cyning. And husband. And she's wrong. Warriors do, when we lose one of our own. And that, Ecgwine had become. 

She's not there in the morning. Neither is one of our few horses.

Aelfric's voice at my shoulder, as I'm considering the empty stall, makes me start. "Lavinia's gone?"

I just nod. 

"Surprised?" 

It's an odd question, one that breaks me out of my thoughts. I frown. "Yes. No. I'm not sure."

He nods, shrugs a touch, cloak wrapped around him against the oncoming winter. "Me neither." A pause, then, quietly. "We need to send word to Ecgfrith."

I nod, glumly. "He's not going to take that well." The Cyning's only son is dead. And he'll likely blame us, whom he trusted with the care and training of his son.

Aelfric nods. "No, he's not." He sighs, long and thoughtful. "I could send you."

I knew this was coming. "You need me here. And besides..." There are folks at Ecgfrith's hall across the sea with whom I have... how to say this...? 'history', and Aelfric knows it. But it would give the old King someone to rail at.

To my surprise, he acquiesces. "You're probably right." He exhales, thoughtfully. "I'll send Beornwulf." 

---

Editor's note: sorry, no photos, although Andy has some. My iPhone was away at the iPhone menders not being mended.

"Saxon Noble One"? Not a good job title in my army. 

"To Britain's Shores" - Chapter 15 - St. Cuthbert's Hol(e)y Relics

"Right. Off your rear ends, the lot of you."

Here we go again. I get to my feet - Odin's beard, but I'm starting to get stiffer as the years go by - and head over to pick up sword, spear and shield from where I've propped them. "What is it this time?"

Aelfric grins, that teeth-bared wolf-smile of his. "The Britons are apparently making ready to receive another of their holy relics. A handful of their unarmed holy men and a dozen men to guard it on the old road."

Ecgwene joins us. "What are we waiting for then?" 

Too keen by half, that lad.

---

Aelfric's right, anyway. A little knot of men and pack-mules are making a slow and steady pace along the old road, and we find them maybe four hundred paces from safety. He's getting a little keen, though, giving the cluster of Britons led by that Lord we had as a guest - Geraint - the charge. They peel off from the monks to head him off...

Ecgwine heads after the monks, and makes rather quick work of getting the mules off them and heading back away. Lad is definitely guilty of over confidence there, though - he has no respect for that hat short Lord of theirs who comes after him with his men, quite prepared to turn his back as they retreat with the treasure. I learned his name the other week - I think it was Lavinia who found out -  'Maximus Minimus', the Great Little Man. Evidently somebody has a sense of humour, anyway. But, to be fair... he may be short, but he's no coward, and he and his men aren't about to let Ecgwene away without a fight.

Meanwhile, we're facing off against Geraint and that Praefect of theirs and their hearth guard, me and Aelfric side by side as we have been for what seems like years now. It's a back and forth rough-house of a fight, and for all we give a good account of ourselves, in the end they push us back. Out of the corner of my eye I see Ecgwene's men likewise retreating without the monks' goods...

---

"If," I observe drily to Aelfric, "Your next words are 'that went well' again, I may do something that I regret later."

My reward is a bark of laughter, quickly suppressed,  as the Young Wolf removes his rather rent mail shirt, then eyes it ruefully, "No. Overconfidence is just as bad as being fat and lazy. Ecgwene needs to learn that." Quietly, "Mayhap you should have a word in the ear of that woman of his."

I snort. "I suspect she's telling him that without any need for words from me."

He sighs, lets the mail fall to the floor with a growl of frustration. "Damnation. They are growing more skilled in our ways. These defeats are growing costly." 

Indeed they are: once again the women are moving among our wounded, and once again there are far too damn many of them for my liking. I sigh, look across at him. "What now, then?"

The Young Wolf shrugs. "We heal." A pause, and then a chuckle, an echo of the teenager I first met nearly a decade ago, "Who knows? We take up boar hunting for profit for a while?"

[OK. Now I'm caught up barring Monday's game. Watch this space!]

Battle Report - 28 March 2016 - Dux Britanniarum

So here we are with the first playtest of a new raid scenario for The Dux Britanniarum Compendium.

Standard practice for these is I write up the scenario page, and hand it to Andy to set up without help from me, as that's usually a great way of finding out where I've not written things down because I thought they were obvious.

As per normal, terrain setup is random, and we're aiming every time we do this, at least to start with, to either have a random choice of two scenarios to test (so as not to colour our terrain choice) or get a third party to set up terrain.

Warbases' rather fine stag model making a bid for freedom.

This scenario is currently named 'Deer Hunt' but may get renamed to something a bit more evocative - given the way the rulebook scenarios are named, probably 'Hunt For The White Stag'. Essentially, both sides have heard rumour of a mighty stag that they wish to bring down, and there's a fairly disordered (deliberately) set of setup conditions as the various groups and nobles straggle onto the battlefield looking for the stag.

The stag is set up basically to run from one short edge of the table to the other, with some rules to make it veer away from units.

"After that stag, lads!"

Things worked out pretty well - we had a fascinating standoff between the two lords, neither wanting to pursue the stag as it would mean turning a flank to the other, and of course, both of us probably had Carpe Diem cards, which would have made that rather painful. I blew am Aggressive Charge to get a hit bonus on the stag with a group of warriors, failed to kill it and got a warrior nastily gored for my pains, before the stag broke from combat and kept running.

"After you."
"No, after you."

Several bowshots from both sides followed it, but it managed, eventually, to flee the table, while my warriors made a real mess of some of Andy's warriors and levy. Meanwhile, the two lots of hearthguard got stuck in, which resulted in a long drawn-out scrap and excess shock on both sides, before the remainder of Andy's warriors hit me in the flank. WITH a Carpe Diem.

Ow.

At about that point we called it.

Our rule with these playtest scenarios is going to be that they will count for part of our campaign if we determine the core scenario isn't fundamentally broken, otherwise, as they say, "it never happened". I'm pleased to report that in this case the main issues were some needed clarity in the setup instructions, and some minor tweaks on the stag's movement and combat, but otherwise, it seems to work and it seems to give (because of the scattered initial deployment) some very interesting tactical decisions.

Now if Warbases' would just make a dead stag and one trussed on a spear, I'd be a happy man.

If you want the in-character version of events, mine's here, and Andy's, with out-of-character observations, is here. You'll note some interesting in-character thoughts about the nature of belief, and the White Stag: does it matter if it's actually magical? In fact, no. 

"To Britain's Shores" - Chapter 14 - Hunting the White Stag

"Slow down boy, for Odin's sake!"

Sithric blinks, pauses and takes a deep breath. "I... ahh... alright... Old... old Martha says that Hedric..." He rests his hands on his knees, exhales, inhales again from his hurried run. "That's her grandson..."

I allow myself a chuckle. "I know who Hedric is." I should, I've been teaching him to use a spear for the past winter.

"I... uh. Sorry. Hedric's seen the white stag."

Ecgwine and I exchange puzzled looks, then I catch his woman's expression. Evidently this isn't unknown to her. "The white stag?"

Lavinia worries at her lip, frowns. "It's only a wives' tale."

"Go on."

She shrugs, spreads her hands in a helpless gesture. "It..." Another shrug. "They say it's supposed to be a messenger from the gods. That it's not possibly to catch it, but..." A half-smile. "That it can lead you on a quest, or to great glory or riches..."

I allow myself a faint snort. "What do you think?"

Slim fingers run through dark hair, and she makes a wry face. "All I know is it's a very old tale, and Martha believes it." 

The Young Wolf's voice behind me makes me start. "Where was it seen?"

Sithric blinks, stammers, "Um... up b...by Meagram Wold... or... so Martha says. It's not... that far..."

"Good." Aelfric nods to me. "Get them ready. Godric." 

He turns to go, and I follow him. "You don't believe this, surely?"

A smile, teeth bared like the wolf he's named for. "Does it matter what I believe?"

"I..." Light dawns, and I grin. "No, I guess not."

He chuckles. "Martha's of the local folk, remember. If they believe, and we can bring it down... Besides, what if the Britons do...?"

---

It is, truly, a magnificent beast. Next to me, as we crouch near some rocks with a wary eye on the Britons who also seem intent on bring it down, Wulfstan breathes, "Gods, Lavinia...."

I nod at the unspoken question. "It's just a stag." As it's no more than thirty or forty paces away, it's easy to see it's just a stag - its hide is a rich white, almost aglow where the low evening sun catches it. Marcus nocks an arrow, as does young Torvald, the newest member of our little band now Aelfric has named Sithric his bannerman. I follow my usual ritual, choosing an arrow, touching my fingers first to the carved cross around my neck on a leather thong, then to its head, then nocking it. I risk a glance back whence the stag came - Aelfric's hearthguard and the British lord are facing each other across a short span of ground, neither willing to make the first move towards the stag... 

This close, I can see it's been wounded, a gash from one of Ecgwine's warriors' spears as it dashed across their front, the blood stark against white. It's maybe a hundred, a hundred and fifty paces from the safety of the deep wood that we'd none of us follow it into, not with the Britons here. 

It turns, for a moment, as I have the arrow at full draw. Three bows loose almost as one, one of the arrows just grazing its hindquarters. None of them are mine - I hesitate, just for a moment, to take this magnificent creature in. 

I realise with an odd certainty that I can bring it down, that it may fall to me to do so some day. That, I decide suddenly, will not be today, though. My carefully-aimed arrow passes harmlessly through the great ivory-tipped rack of antlers, and the white stag pauses, just for an instant, looking at me, then tosses his head and kicks up his heels, full speed for the shelter of the deep forest. To my right, Ecgwine's men raise a shout and hare after it, and there are cries and yells from beyond them as the two hearthguards clash, that grey wolf banner above the heads of the struggling men.

As I watch, the banner wavers, falls...

---

The boy's... no, the man's.. eyes are open, as he grips my hand weakly. "Godric...?

I nod, pointedly not looking down at the great rent in the mail shirt that he was so proud of, the widening pool of red. "Aye."

Sithric swallows, noisily, voice hoarse with pain. "I messed up..."

I shake my head. "Not that I saw. You did well."

There's a gasp from behind me, and the girl's there, kneeling, hands reaching to check him over. I block that movement with my free hand, and give her a tiny, regretful shake of my head when her head snaps up, dark eyes meeting mine. She bites her lip, hard, sits back on her haunches. "Oh, Sithric..." There's a catch in her voice, but no tears. She's learned well, that one. Warriors don't weep. At least if we do, not where anyone can see.

"Did you get it...?" he asks her, faintly.

Before she has to.. or can... reply,  his grip loosens from mine, hand falling limp to the blood-stained grass. It's not clear if her breathed "no" is answer to him or an attempt to deny his passing.

I give death a moment's space, then reach to close his eyes and murmur softly "Told you to slow down, boy..."

"To Britain's Shores" - Chapter 13 - Complacency

"We..." Aelfric's voice is dangerously soft, that low, intense tone that I think we've all come to fear. "We are become fat and lazy." Grey eyes flick round his men. "And we have paid the price." 

I follow his gaze. Even now, Lavinia and a number of others are still adjusting bandages, poultices and the like on our battered band. It didn't go well.

The Young Wolf's hand grips his spear, bangs the butt on the low wooden dais on which he stands. Everyone - I confess, even I, and I'm half-expecting it - starts. "Fat. Lazy. Complacent " The words are snarled. "The best among you today were a beardless boy and a woman." 

To be fair, that isn't quite true. His own hearthguard made off with one of the three wagons the British were driving towards their fort, and that unscathed. But... Sithric, by all accounts, felled a tall Briton with a swing from the butt end of his banner, and Lavinia and her small band of archers, with her usual calm efficiency, did their bit to draw the British into a spot of our choosing with no losses. The rest, however...?

I sighed. No. It didn't go well at all. And I'm not going to quibble over his choice of words. Not this time.

He's berated us before, and there have been mutters of disagreement. This time, there are none. All of us know it to be justified. Necessary. Even Ecgwine. A glance at the young lord's face tells me I won't need to knock sense into him on this occasion.

"Get up." It's a snapped order, and I note with a degree of pride that every man who can scrambles to obey so, even if they have to lean on a comrade. "Look around you. This is my hall. Our hall. Our home." Aelfric raises his voice, "We fought to win this. We will fight to keep it. But if we fight again like we did today, we will be headed back to Wulfhere's steading like beggars hoping for a roof over our heads and scraps from his table." A deep breath. "Is that what you want?"

A few mute shakes of heads, mumbles of disagreement.

The boom of the spear butt on the planks of the dais jerks those lowered heads up to him. "Is that what you want?" 

"No." 

It's Beornwulf. Wulfhere's own bastard son. Beornwulf, with his shield-arm strapped up tightly, who raises his voice from next to me, cuts through the sudden silence.  "No, it is not." He catches my eye for a moment, the slightest of nods, and I recall our conversation from the other day as heads tun to him. He, at least, tried, eventually having his band of warriors driven off from the wagon they were trying to lead away. Just the moment's pause as he realises he has everyone's attention, then: "We..." The stress on that word is subtle but unmistakable, "We will hold what is ours. We will take what the Britons claim as theirs..."

That earns him a chorus of agreement, and a curt nod from the Young Wolf. Snapped. "Good. Godric? Start drilling them tomorrow. Work out how to deal with that gods-dammed shieldwall of theirs properly. Learn how to fight in one if you have to."

---

OOC battle report to follow tomorrow. A tale of some pretty dismal dice rolling.

"To Britain's Shores" - Chapter 12 - Winter in Aelfric's hall

"It beats paying a tithe to my father, I suppose," Beornwulf admits, grudgingly.

"Aye." I look up at the rafters of the hall in Caer Lind Colun which has been our winter home for what seems like an age. Without thinking, I add, "Though I'd still trade that for him charging us for Leofric's mead..."

To his credit, the blond king's bastard doesn't balk at being reminded of the man he replaced. Thoughtfully, after a moment, "Aye. Wish I'd known him." 

I grin across at him, answer what he doesn't voice. "You're doing fine. They've started seeing you as one of us these days, not your father's man."

A short bark of laughter. "Not that I ever was."

"Aye. True." My eyes catch Ecgwine - another king's son - and his raven-haired woman Lavinia. "Not the only one we can say that of." You'd still not mistake her for a Saxon, even though she's taken to wearing much the same as our lads do, bow across her back as the pair walk in through the hall's great doorway. That hair, glossy and dark as a blackbird's wing against his straw-pale locks, proclaims her as British - pure-blooded - for all to see. Or, it occurs to me, even Roman.

Beornwulf laughs.  "It's not his father that has a hold of that one."

"No. But...." She catches my eye, treats me to that quick, slightly mischievous smile of hers. "She seems to be good for him. Surprised they're not handfasted yet."

He purses his lips. "Mmm. Maybe. I heard...." A pause, then he shakes his head. "Never mind. It's of no matter."

I frown, making a prompting noise, but he won't be drawn, looking up as our Cyning, Aelfric the Young Wolf crosses to us from where he's been talking to young Sithric. 

"Ready?" Aelfric is grinning. Sithric, meanwhile, is hurrying across to Lavinia and Ecgwine, talking excitedly.

"Ready?" queries Beornwulf, with an amused glance at the young man.

"Mm." The Young Wolf bares teeth in a smile. "The weather omens are good. It's time."

I nod across at Sithric. "What's got into him?"

Aelfric chuckles. "I made him my bannerman." 

I glance across at where the huge banner old Martha fashioned in our last winter in Petvaria, the grey wolf Fenris, hangs from the rafters. I know his mind is made up, but I still have to point out, as befits my position as the Young Wolf's conscience, "He'll have to get working on that beard, then..."

---

Here's a cast list, for those desperately trying to remember who's who. Characters marked with *'s are force Lords in the Dux Britanniarum game.

The Saxons:

• Godric, Aelfric's champion and our narrator
• *Aelfric, Cyning of the Saxons in Caer Lind Colun
• *Ecgwine, son of Ecgfrith, cousin to Aelfric
• *Beornwulf, bastard son of Wulfhere the Red, replaced Leofric
• Wulfhere the Red, lord of Petvaria, where the Saxons wintered for a couple of seasons
• Leofric the Drunkard, killed by the British well over a year ago.
• Lavinia, from Petvaria, leader of the Saxons' archer band, British heritage - occasional narrator
• Theobald, veteran of Aelfric's hearth guard and mentor to Ecgwine, killed in battle
• Sithric, young archer in Lavinia's band (until just now).
• Ecgfrith - Saxon king across the North Sea, Ecgwine's father
• 'old' Martha - servant to Wulfhere in Petvaria.

The British:

• *Andrusius, Praefectus
• *Maximus Minimus
• *Geraint
• Bedwyr, Andrusius' champion, killed by Godric
• Mascuidius, former King of Caer Lind Colun
• Publius Lirarius, chronicler and Andy's narrator
• unnamed new champion :D 

Can anyone remember the Dux Britanniarum rules? :D

..cause neither Andy or I are sure we can, after this long!

First game of Dux Brit in ages tomorrow at the club - busy trying to find my Saxons.

This may not be a campaign game, as it would be a shame if we spoiled it by screwing up. Watch this space for pics!

Battle Report - 09 Dec 2013 - Dux Britanniarum

Andy and I were long overdue for the next round of the Linnius Campaign in Dux Britanniarum - checking back, we last played in July! Time since has been taken up with holidays, playtesting for Carve out a Kingdom and heaven knows what else, but it was definitely about damn time. 

We rolled the church scenario - evidently Aelfric thinks they're easy pickings, since he keeps going for them. However, the Saxons haven't succeeded in one since the theft of the Holy Knucklebone of St. Cadwyr, back before Leofric the Drunkard died, so heaven knows why!

I started badly with a rubbish force morale roll, which meant I was starting on 6. Same plan as last time - which was also a mistake. Last time, I failed to make the necessary rolls for looting in time, and this time was the same. The Saxons came on with a long run up the left hand table edge to get to the church and some handily placed marshes and hills stopping the British (who came on the middle of the right hand side) getting stuck in. So I did exactly what I did last time, sent the hearthguard to engage the British, along with one unit of warriors, and let the rest loot the church. 

Which was fine, except that despite a FAT hand of awesome cards, Andy got to go first in the battle, and Aelfric and the hearthguard got their butts kicked. 

Meantime, Ecgwine's group reached the church, and rolled a 6 on their first turn of looting. And from then on with two groups activating each time through the deck, completely failed to roll another 6 in 6 turns. (Odds, for those interested, just over 11%).

Beornwulf's lone group of warriors made a stand on the hill, which is frankly where Aelfric should have been, while the former added to my pool of looting rolls. This wasn't a dumb plan, as the combination of them being on a hill (-1/dice move), Andy's force being in shield wall (one fewer dice/move) and my archers knocking shock off them like it was going out of fashion, they took their own sweet time getting into contact. Unfortunately once they did, my dice deserted me, and in the end I lost the fight, Aelfric (who'd joined the fight) and Beornwulf both got wounded and byebye force morale...

Ah well. Tomorrow's another day.

"To Britain's Shores" - Chapter 11 - Another Church Raid

For all we took a beating, Aelfric seems remarkably cheerful, considering that he's shirtless, torso wrapped in a bloodstained bandage. "That," he observes, to no-one in particular, "Could have gone better.".

I sigh. "That makes three, you know."

"Three what?"

"Raids since we last actually came away with any loot worthy of the name." It's my job to question him: no-one else can get away with it. "You used the same tactics last time and the same thing happened. Except last time it was Beornwulf's men who couldn't find any decent loot before the Britons  drove us off."

Beornwulf, walking with a noticeable limp and aided by a spear as a crutch, snorts. "The brat didn't do any better. Anyone would think he was afraid of offending his woman's Christ-God."

Aelfric frowns, but leaves it to me to point it out - as ever, I get the dirty jobs. "That would be the same woman who saved your Saxon arse today, Beornwulf."

A snort from Wulfhere's bastard son. He knows I'm right - Lavinia's little band of archers held off a large band of the British led by their little man and our one-time guest Geraint for long enough for Beornwulf and Aelfric to rally his men. Just a shame it wasn't long enough for Ecgwine's lads to actually find the Christ-cursed church treasure.

Ah well. Next time. 

Battle Report - 10-Jul-2013 - Dux Britanniarum

As promised, the OOC report on Wednesday night's little... ahem... scrap.

I'd just finished another couple of plain terrain tiles (600mm sq hardboard, 600mm sq x 50mm blue craft foam and Javis 'hairy' summer grass sheet), so we went with my tiles rather than the usual Citadel cloth, as the grass on them matches the grass on my various terrain pieces. (You should be able to spot the two pieces that are Andy's as a result!)

We rolled the village raid, with the village in the centre of the right hand edge, and the Britons coming on from the worst place possible, namely the top left corner. This time, we did remember that Andy's sown all his provinces with watchtowers, so he gets to arrive a turn earlier than he otherwise might. This meant I only got a turn's head start.

Easy enough plan - I packed Beornwulf and a unit of warriors off to do the looting, and the rest to head off the Britons.

Regular readers may now point out to me that I'm going against several bits of my own advice, including a) remember the objective and more importantly b) your best chance comes if you search in parallel with as many groups and Big Men as possible.

Yes. I am.

And I paid for it.

And yet, despite that, it nearly worked.

First up, Aelfric and the hearthguard got to face off against Andy's hearthguard and a unit of warriors in shieldwall.

First round definitely went my way, as I had the proverbial nice fat fistful of useful cards, and Andy tried his best but (being restricted as to how fast he can move in shieldwall) came up short.

As you can see, I had a Carpe Diem, a Goad, a Bounding Move, a Strong Arm and an Aggressive Charge, all boar-suited. So loads of dice, and I managed to drive off one unit, and make him fall back.

In the next turn, I got to activate again and charge again. With ANOTHER Strong Arm. Round two... was a bit tougher, in part because a third unit of Britons had come up in support. In fact, one of my hearthguard units lost its amphora and ran away. Fortunately, I managed to pull the other unit away before it got thumped again.

By then, Ecgwine's warriors had made it through the woods, and were in the process of lining up against Maximus Minimus and a group of 18 British levy, who were also being annoyed by Lavinia's archers.

That fight went through multiple rounds - including Andy having absolutely miserable luck with movement -winding up an inch short on a charge, due to subtractions for shock when he only actually needed to move an inch.

I lost count of how many Strong Arm cards I played in that battle - at least two, if not three.

Meanwhile,  my remaining hearthguard unit pulled back behind a hill, and Andy's missile troops proceeded to pick on it. As it was down to two figures, I advanced on the missile troops to chase them off. Which was all very well, but exposed me rather to Andy's survivors from the original fight, who were in discinctly better shape.

Despite him failing to make contact first time out, he won that fight too. Cue departure of second unit of hearthguard. Cue more loss of my force morale.


Back in the fight with Maximus Minimus, Ecgwine's warriors managed to drive off two off the three units of levy and left the third sufficiently shaken not to be a threat.

I moved my missile troops to try and take some shock off Andy's hearthguard. Sensibly, he charged them away.

Meanwhile, the looting? Not going very well. Going to have to win this one by clearing the field of Britons, methinks.

So it's crunch time. Ecgwine's warriors turn to face up against Andy's hearthguard. They're not in shieldwall, and I have a decent hand...

Barring the fact that it's down to the mercy of the activation deck who goes first, and I don't have a Step Forth or an Evade to change this. In fact, I haven't seen either all game (just four or five Strong Arm's instead!).

Time to draw...

British Lord.

Game over :D Well - in two rounds of combat. I survived the first, losing one group doing so, as did Andy. But the second round was hearthguard against warriors, and that was only ever going to go one way.


This definitely ranks as one of the best Dux Britanniarum raids Andy and I have fought, probably ever. As ever, my thanks to Andy (whose report can be found here) for a cracking game.

"To Britain's Shores" - Chapter 10 - Fen Raiding

"Were you trying to get yourself killed?" It's Ecgwine, clearly less than happy with his woman.

"You can talk. What in the Christ's name were you doing charging back into the Praefectus' [1] men?" Lavinia. it would appear, is no less upset. "Especially after he'd already taken down most of our Gedriht. You're good. Not immortal."

For a Briton, she doesn't make a bad fist of the Saxon word for hearthguard. Ecgwine stares at her, blinks. Shakes his head. Quietly. "I though he'd killed you all."

She blinks. Sighs, reaches up and lays a hand on on his cheek, wordlessly.

Ah, me. Young love. I manage a smile, despite being bone-weary. I can hardly blame either of them for looking for an oultet for their frustration, either, Today was.... hard. On all of us.

The little village on the edge of the fens looked easy pickings, especially since we'd managed to sneak most of the way past one of the British watchtowers before they spotted us, and Beornwulf and his warriors were in the village almost before the main force of the Britons got anywhere near us.

It should have been easy. 

Should have.

The British Praefect seems to care a lot about that village. Those damn Britons would not lie down, despite Aelftric's first charge, and Ecgwine proving himself more than competent to deal with their little man and his warriors. We fought, and fought, and fought again, till both sides were just about dead on their feet. And in the end, they prevailed, as with their final charge with the remains of their hearthguard they broke Ecgwine's war band, and, damn them, killed Theobald.

Theobald's been with us longer than just about anyone - he had Ecgwine under his wing and talked some sense into him the first year we were here in Britain, and his grizzled grey hair hid a warrior's cunning, someone Aelfric often turned to for an opinion. 

Bastards.

Tonight, we get drunk, and light pyres for him and the others we lost. Tomorrow? We start planning afresh. Those Britons won't get away with this forever.

---

[1] Yes. They finally found out Andrusius got promoted. :D

Battle Report - 10 Jun 2013 - Dux Britanniarum

A new year, as I said in the previous post. With the capture of Linnius by (my) Saxons, the British have moved their capital to Caer Lerion, and the Saxons are raiding from Linnius into Cavsennae - not least because they're broke, having built a new Hall!

(As an aside, for those new to Dux Britanniarum, do check out Rich Clarke of Too Fat Lardies' introductory video on YouTube.)

We forgot to roll the end-of-year 'who dies' rolls, so hopefully no-one has! We did though use my terrain rules from the 2013 TFL Summer Special, and then rolled up the Border Tower scenario, which immediately resulted in us removing the stone circle from the top of my nice new hill and replacing it with Andy's lovely Grand Manner watch tower.

The Saxons' mission is to capture a British noble, before he can reach the safety of the tower: deployment for the Saxons is random, and just my luck, involved entering in the middle of a thick wood.

I managed to get my hearthguard out on the first turn (we forgot the British watchtower rules AGAIN, which meant I should have been a turn later), and on turn two had a glorious hand (Bounding Move, Carpe Diem, Aggressive Charge, Goad) with which to smack into Andy's levy (this time out commanded by Geraint, as Maximus Minimus was out on patrol with the warriors).

It was nasty (if you were British), although my Gehdriht took a fair amount of shock. Meanwhile, my warriors under Ecgwine burst out of the wood in an attempt to chase down Maximus Minimus, who was skirting warily around in an attempt to get to the tower.

I blew my first movement roll, with one of the last moves of a turn, and wound up 5" away. The next run through the deck got me a few more good Fate cards, and it actually came down to two cards left in the activation deck: British Lord 2 (Maximus) and Saxon Lord 2 (Ecgwine). Tense, since victory was going to whichever activated first, as we both had decent hands... except that Andy didn't know I was holding a Step Forth, which meant the turn was mine, come what may.

As it turned out, I didn't need to use it, as Ecgwine's card came up and he and his warriors laid into the British. Rather too well, actually, as the unit Maximus was with (we're trying to capture him, remember), lost its amphora, taking Maximus with it and fleeting back out of range.

Bother!

The problem at this point for me is threefold:

First, it's now Maximus' turn, so he can extract himself from the wreck of his unit and run for safety. And a lone Lord is almost impossible to catch.

Second, I'm out of good cards, so I can't easily chase Andy's levy and hearthguard back up the hill.

Third, Andy's hearthguard are behind Ecgwine's flank, and it's time to reshuffle the activation deck.

I have to blow the Step Forth to avoid being hit in the flank, and from then on it's all a bit meh from the Saxon viewpoint: we're not outnumbered, but Andy has all the good cards, and all he has to do to win now Maximus has gained the safety of the hill and the British hearthguard is leg it off the board by the nearest table edge. Which happens to be his.

I have, pretty much, one chance, which is to hope he rolls badly and I can get what's now a formation of four groups up the hill after him now he's with the hearthguard.

So. Time to roll an 18.

Or not.

A couple of turns of retreat and drawing Fate cards later, Andy wins, as he's denied me my objective.

Cracking game, and once again an illustration of how cool the Dux B raid system is - compare this to the last time we fought this scenario and see just how different it is!

"To Britain's Shores" - Chapter 9 - A new year

"They got away." Ecgwine was, clearly, annoyed, tossing his shield into a corner of the new Hall with a clatter. "Cowards."

I couldn't resist a chuckle. "Not for want of trying. You and yours were too good."

He snorted. "Never seen their little man run that fast."

I grinned at the memory of him fleeing for the safety of their hearthguard after his own warriors had been routed. "Aye. And it was a good plan."

Ecgwine brightened, his mood lifting visibly. "Really? You think so?"

At times like this I'm reminded he's still a youngster, that one. "Aye. That patrol was slowed up by the swamp, and you got through the woods to them before the rest could come off the hill and help. Was well done." I chuckled. "Almost too well. If they'd stuck around for the fight, we'd have had him."

He actually smiled. "I guess. Still annoying that they got away."

I couldn't argue with him there. "Truth. But they were lucky. And they'll know it."

"Mm." He paused. "Did I hear right. Cormac's leaving?"

"Aye. Says he and his have earned enough off us, and 'sides, they got a fair amount of hurt in that raid."

Lavinia, who'd been listening, and for once leaving her man to fight his own battles, sighed. "That's a shame. I liked their music."

I laughed. "Not at all sure some of it was fit for a lass's ears, mind."

"To Britain's Shores" - Chapter 8 part 2 - The Taking of Linnius

"ATTACK!!"

It's the moment we've been waiting for, taunting the British in their shieldwall from the bottom of the slope, and we charge up the hill, roaring our battle cries. It's a fair slope, longer but a touch less steep, than the one we've been running up all summer.

"NOW!"

We pause. Hope in the Britons eyes, as they think we've been beaten by the slope, but no - we slow just long enough to hurl spears, then barrel into them full tilt. Aelfric makes a beeline for their leader, and as his champion, this Bedwyr I fought last time is mine. It's a dirty, close quarters fight - the kind I'm good at. Aelfric gets pushed away by a rally from their shieldwall for a moment, and Bedwyr and I lock swords, his up high to parry a downward cut. "You won't prevail, Saex."

"Look around you." To my left, Britons are turning to run, broken by the charge of Theobald and some of the hearthguard. He can't resist a look, and I can't resist a vicious knee, which makes him stagger back, and gives me an opening for the British leader Andrusius. We cross blades, as Britons around us fall or flee. One staggers, struggling to hold bits of himself in from a deep spear wound, and topples headlong to the ground behind Andrusius just as he backs off a pace, and the British leader stumbles.

Bedwyr puts himself between him and me, as the British leader struggles back to his feet. But I have the momentum, and we trade three or four quick blows before I sweep aside his blade and impale him on my own, the one Aelfric gave me last time. He clutches at my arm as he subsides to his knees. "You..."

I ease him down, as his Tribune watches for a second then turns away, yelling for the Britons to fall back. "You did your job." I owe the Britons' champion that much, at least. Some day, it'll be me. Whatever he was going to say is lost as he coughs up blood, a death rattle as his eyes dim.  I kneel to clean my blade on a patch of grass that isn't slick with mud and blood, then close the Briton's eyes, lay his sword beside him.



We spend the evening getting gloriously drunk in an ale-house in Linnius: Linnius that's now ours. I find a spot to watch, looking round at the warriors who've come with us this far. Some are old, grizzled veterans like Theobald with his grey beard, horn of mead in hand. Some not so, like the teenaged Sithric, talking with some of the younger warriors - from his hands and gestures, he's describing some impossible shot he may or may not have pulled off during the battle. Some have been with us since we landed, some, like Beornwulf, joined us to fill the places of the fallen. 

Leofric. 

It still doesn't feel quite right to be celebrating a victory without him leading us in raucous songs and ribald stories. I still sometimes fancy I see him out of the corner of my eye at times like this. But we go on.

Some have grown: I glance across at Ecgwine, who has his arm round a certain young British lass, and grin at them, remembering our first raid, and the punch I landed afterwards. It earns me a couple of smiles back, which amuses me afresh, since they don't know why.

And then there's the Young Wolf. He's taken up his customary position, leaning against a roof-post with a mug of ale in hand, watching us. He catches my eye, nods, a quick smile, and pushes off, to bang the mug on the table a couple of times. The room goes quiet.

"Linnius is ours!" Good lad, start with the obvious. It gets him a raucous cheer. "But we're not done yet. There are richer lands for the taking to the south." More cheers. "But for now..." He reaches into a pouch, tosses coins to Theobald. "For now we winter here." A grin at Beornwulf. "No more tithes to Wulfhere." More coins to the hearthguard. "We build our own steading, draw more warriors to us..."

They cheer. Start chanting his name. And something else. Even Ecgwine, a king's son, and Beornwulf, a king's bastard.

"Cyning! Cyning!"

King.

Battle report - 22-Apr-2013 - Dux Britanniarum

Anxious Britons watch from the walls of Linnius.

Andy having got over Salute, we convened on Monday at the club for the crunch battle - after their defeat in March 474, the Britons retreated within the walls of Linnius to lick their wounds and heal up, and the Saxons sat outside and waited.

According to the Dux Britanniarum campaign game, this is crunch time, big time. The Britons lose, the province belongs to the Saxons and the Britons fall back to Caer Lerion. So all to play for.

The two armies face off.

We still managed to avoid a tie on the scenery rolloff, so no river: Andy won, so placed a couple of large woods on either flank and a hill off to one side of the city gates. I placed (as my small terrain pieces) a small cluster of buildings outside the gate, largely to break up any chance he might have of advancing or standing there in shieldwall. As it was, we both wound up on the same flank, the one with the hill.

The Saxons advance

In the pre battle segment, Andy chose to ply his men with strong drink to bolster their flagging courage, and rolled a 1 - bit of a two edged sword this! Two Bibamus cards into the Fate Deck (which basically can be used to cause his troops to do things that are either alcoholically brave or stupid, depending on which of us plays them), hand size of 4 instead of 5 and a +2 on his Force Morale. I went for the pre-battle speech (aided by Aelfric's Scop) which got me a hand size of 6 and a +1 to Aelfric's leadership rating. At that point Andy decided he'd done enough damage and chose to start the fight.

The British hold their ground and wait for the inevitable.

I have to say, this was perhaps one of the more straightforward Dux Britanniarum battles we've fought. Ecgwine on my left took two units of warriors and advanced to face the British levy, while Aelfric and Beornwulf manoeuvred the rest to face his warriors and hearthguard, and massed them into one big formation on the right. I tried to entice his levy forward so I could charge them, by forcing them using a Bibamus card, but they rolled a dismal 5", and were still so far out of range that after I'd advanced they couldn't charge me in shieldwall with any safety. The following activation I did charge, using a Goad to hold off one unit so I could get an advantage, but it didn't quite succeed - I was hoping to chase off the one unit and give me numerical advantage on the remaining two, but he held firm and did a fair amount of damage.

The British left flank holds. For now.

Meanwhile, on the right, my hearthguard and the remaining warriors just waited at the bottom of the hill: far enough out of range that a 1d6 move in shieldwall down the hill wouldn't contact me, but also far enough that a 3d6 move upslope had at best a 50% chance of contacting them... and would if it failed stand a good chance of leaving me within 1d6".

Besides, I had a fat fistful of boar-suited (Saxon) cards, and no Carpe Diem. So I waited, and let the scrap on the left play itself out. Which it did, but slowly. Until. finally....

I draw a Carpe Diem.

At this point, I took a risk, and can probably be accused of failing to read my own blog articles. The Saxons were just under 8" away, up a hill that was going to cost them 1 pip per dice in movement. Clearly, I'd be insane to risk a two dice roll on that, as the odds on a 10 or more are 1 in 6. However, I do have a Bounding Move card, which gives me an extra d6, and a Strong Arm card, which costs me a d6 of move to potentially inflict a lot of shock on Andy's troops. I decided to play both, which means I get 3d6 move, -1 per dice. So I need an 11 on 3d6, which does improve my odds a bit, but only to 50%. And moreover, if I fail, I stand a pretty good chance of leaving myself in range of Andy charging me.

Nothing venture, nothing gained.

I rolled a 13. Phew. About time my luck with dice turned. Looks like all that running up that hill paid off for Aelfric and the lads.

Now let's tot up my attack dice.

• 8, 6 and 6 for the elite and warriors
• 2 for Godric
• 2 for Beornwulf
• 5 for Aelfric - 3 + 1 for the oratory + 1 for being a Master of Arms (which I actually remembered!)
• 1 for the unit facing a unit of a lower standard
• and a few for the boar-suited cards I played.

A few dice (not counting the ones for my cards)

The remainder of the British flee
the field, actually in surprisingly
good order.

Hitting on a 3 (because of the Aggressive Charge card) I did Andy around about 22 hits. For all that shieldwall on a hill gives him the chance to choose where the hits fall, that was going to hurt.

Wisely, after one unit in the battle broke, and another retreated, breaking the shieldwall, he chose to make an orderly (well, as orderly as possible) retreat, which probably saved him a lot of casualties, and the result was only a +2 win to me.

But...

... I do have a province to call my own.

Watch out for the second part of the IC narrative tomorrow.

"To Britain's Shores" - Chapter 8 part 1 - "If Only I Could"

"You want them to do what?" I stared at Ecgwine, who, damn him, was grinning from ear to ear. "They're not going to agree."

"They will if you or Aelfric ask them, Godric." 

I looked between him and that maddeningly smart British woman of his. "This your idea or hers?"

Lavinia ran a hand through raven-dark hair. Smiled that winning, innocent smile she knows I can't resist, damn her. "His."

I sighed. "Let's go talk to Aelfric."

The Young Wolf was leaning against a tree, looking across at the walls of Linnius, where a number of Britons were nervously watching back at us. Without looking round, he asked, "How long do you think, Godric?"

I shrugged. It was early summer, and (unlike the couple of months of rain after the battle when we'd spent the time looking like half-drowned rats) not a bad time to be camped outside the city. "Weeks? Months? Depends on how stubborn that Tribune of theirs is."

He nodded. Then looked round, took in the three of us. "Ecgwine. Lavinia." A pause. "You wanted something." Not a question.

I sighed, and let Ecgwine explain.

And so it was that every damn morning, for the rest of the summer, every man of us spent half an hour running up the nearest hill out of sight of the Saxons, fully dressed for battle. For the first week or so, I would have been ready to make a deal with the Christian God to get out of it. Or kill the brat and his woman, smile or no, if I could have lifted a finger to by the end of the half hour.

By the time I could do it without feeling like my lungs were going to explode, I think we'd all figured out that, damn him, he had a point.

Battle Report - 21-March-2013 - Dux Britanniarum

Finally, the first battle (rather than raid) of Andy and my Dux Britanniarum campaign. Aelfric's been acclaimed Warlord, so he can now bring the Britons to battle. The evening didn't start well, as while fetching stuff from my workshop I managed to drop the entire box of my Saxons, which resulted in my first half hour at the club being spent reattaching spears and shields, and in a couple of cases heads. Ouch.

Anyway, so... We roll for choice of terrain, almost getting a river (it requires a tied roll, which we haven't managed since the demo game Rich Clarke ran for us!), but Andy gets first choice, picks a big hill (wisely) and a couple of big woods (perhaps less so). I add another smaller wood, the infamous stone circle and an inconsequential smaller hill. The main bit of terrain moving that happens (after its been placed) is that Andy moves the hill (I guess so I can't), and then I move two bits of wood as close to it as I can.

Andy's rather cramped deployment.

We roll for deployment: I get the centre, Andy his right flank, which puts a lot of trees in his face, and means his basic choices are to come round the woods or sidestep across and take the hill.

Before that, though, comes the pre-game phase. I win initiative, and roll for Aelfric's pre-battle speech - given I have a Scop (Oswulf the bard) I get a +1, which results in me getting +1 on Aelfric's leadership rating for the day: added to his +1 for being a Master of Arms (I've lost count of how many times I forget that in the heat of battle) means he's contributing five dice to combat. Andy goes for petitioning the gods, and gets a good result - +2 on his Force Morale, which he needs, given he rolled badly and he's one down for losing the previous raid.

My turn again: I decide its time for a challenge. Andy can refuse at cost of 3 Force Morale, which he can ill afford, so Godric goes up against Bedwyr. It's a bit of a lottery, is the champions' challenge, a dice game with some skill and bluff involved. I roll dreadfully in my first round, and no better in the next few, and Godric ducks out of the fight: -2 Force Morale to me. Andy very wisely decides not to tempt fate any further and start the battle.

This is what us Saxons call 'a target'.

The opening few runs through the deck basically see Andy take the hill and then lose two of his hearthguard to long range shots from Lavinia's archers (rolling boxcars for the two casualty rolls didn't help!). Meanwhile, I start my hearthguard working round the left flank behind the trees. I get excellent dice for this, getting to the far side of the wood in about four turns, while my three groups of warriors basically line up at the bottom of the hill and wait.

"Odin! Odin!...."

I have to admit, I'm not looking forward to the likely fight at this point - as long as Andy stays on the hill and doesn't break his formation up, I'm attacking upslope against a shieldwall, which means he's ignoring my first kill and he gets to allocate my hits as he wants. To give him something to think about, I peel off Ecgwine and a group of 8 warriors, and send them round the right flank, so now he has two flanks to worry about.

The Britons defend the hill.

Don't fancy charging up that hill.

It takes my hearthguard two turns to make it through the wood onto the left-hand slope of the hill. Andy elects to come off the hill to take them on. I'll refrain from comment, but draw your attention to the picture caption on the second-last picture on his report of this battle, and the following two pictures, the latter particularly not being one for those of a sensitive disposition. Let's just say it was a +6 win to the Saxons and leave it at that.

Not a pretty sight.

We reconvene after Salute, when the Britons will attempt to break the siege of Caer Lind Colun, and the Saxons will have another group of warriors at their disposal. I haven't yet decided whether to spend more money on more mercenaries.