"That old fool must think that since he already knows about the rebellion, we won’t dare to make the first move. We’ll do the exact opposite and catch him completely off guard.
Besides, all of Normandy is under my control now. He’s on bad terms with my uncle, the Count of Flanders, and he’s at odds with the King of France. He has no rcenaries on hand, so he’ll have to levy troops in England.
That will take at least half a month. We, on the other hand, are fully supplied and our soldiers are ready. We can use this window of ti to our advantage. When he hears about the Earl of Hereford’s rebellion, he’ll be so furious he’ll definitely execute him publicly in London City.
I had Odo rush back to Kent overnight. He’ll be there to receive our fleet."
Robert said.
But Eric frowned.
"No, we need to adjust the plan. We can’t—or at least, not all of us can—land in Kent. Kent is the closest region to London and borders the Thas River. With so many of us heading there, William will certainly notice.
The proximity gives him too much room to maneuver. Without the Earl of Hereford’s forces to tie him down, we’ll not only face the northern Nobility, but the western ones as well. They’ll pour into London endlessly."
Eric pulled a map from his pocket and pointed to a port northwest of London. "Kattevad Port in Suffolk. That’s your uncle Count Moretan’s fief, isn’t it?"
"Yes, you even know about that." Robert was a little surprised.
Eric was remarkably knowledgeable about the distribution of noble fiefs.
If Eric hadn’t suddenly ntioned the place-na, he wouldn’t have even rembered that this area was also part of his uncle’s domain.
"We’ll take fifteen hundred Knights and another three hundred Tenant Cavalry, and under our command, we’ll land at Carter Ward. The Genoese Crossbown and the Flemish Spear Soldiers will set sail for Kent one week after our departure.
During that week, we’ll first draw your father’s attention by attacking, making him think our entire force has landed at Kattevad Port..."
Before Eric could finish, Robert interrupted him.
"We’ll ride and plunder all the way south from Carter Ward, and rendezvous with the infantry fleet from Kent at London!"
"No, we can’t plunder. Don’t forget, Robert, you have to make a good impression on the English and the other Norman Nobility who support your father. You absolutely cannot let them think you’re the sa kind of person as your father."
"You an..."
"We just burn their houses and plunder their supplies. We absolutely must not harm the people. And we’ll do it under the King’s banner. We have a Normandy Double Lion Banner, which represents the King, don’t we? Besides, we are all genuine Norman Knights.
When the ti cos, we can claim to be the King’s army. We’ll say that because of an attack from an enemy nation on the coast, King William has ordered a scorched-earth policy to strengthen defenses."
"If that old fool finds out, he’ll be hopping mad." Robert laughed.
"His reputation is bad enough as it is. We can circle around north of London a few tis. We might run into so Northern Knights arriving in scattered groups. We can either persuade them to join us or defeat them one by one.
The precondition, however, is that we must be fast enough. But the one downside is that we’ve lost the Earl of Hereford. As for Winchester, the site of the Kingdom’s treasury, we can probably only rely on Count Moretan to attack from Dorset.
The distance is a bit far, and the forces are insufficient. What’s more, the Holy See hasn’t responded yet. I hope the Holy See can give us an answer within a week."
"It can’t be helped. War always has its risks. If there were no risks at all, it wouldn’t be called war."
Robert patted Eric’s shoulder.
It was as if Eric were the one trying to seize the throne, not him.
"Speaking of which, why are you still wearing that Monk’s Robe today? Didn’t Sesil tell you what to do yesterday?"
"It’s just that it feels a bit awkward watching so unqualified Priests stumble around in front of , solemnly reciting incorrect Latin to consecrate . Besides, this outfit has a much better affinity than a Knight’s Chain Armor.
Perhaps I can play an approachable, diating role for your future court. Between the commoners and the Nobility."
......
「Scottish Court.」
A middle-aged man was flipping through a Bible, its pages slightly curled and its corners densely creased.
He was the King of Scotland, Malcolm III.
Reading this book was a daily ritual for him, a habit he had maintained since his youth.
It was usually a ti when he could clear his mind, a way for him to suppress his restless feelings.
But for the past two days, he had been exceptionally restless. Even while performing this emotional ritual, he felt an unbearable anxiety.
He had a constant feeling that sothing was about to happen.
Recently, that band of Vikings in the west had been causing trouble in western Scotland, and they were doing so quite successfully. For him, as the King of Scotland, this should have been a sufficiently worrying matter.
But in truth, it had nothing to do with him. The attack on the Viking Islands a few months ago wasn’t initiated by him; it was organized by the western Nobility on their own. They had never been obedient.
He couldn’t control them. In fact, he, the King, was already thankful to God that this bunch of western nobles weren’t causing trouble for him.
If the Vikings could teach them a harsh lesson this ti, he might even want to thank them.
"KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK~~"
A series of urgent knocks rang out.
He was very irritated right now and didn’t want any visitors.
But...
"Co in."
He relented. He was a King, after all.
"What is it?" he asked, keeping his head down and continuing to flip through the Bible, not looking at the Attendant who entered.
"Your Majesty, Lord Edgar requests an audience."
"What? Didn’t he just leave the day before yesterday?"
He finally looked up, shot to his feet, and stared at the Attendant.
Although his tone was one of disbelief, he had a sense of understanding.
’This anxiety these past few days wasn’t for nothing, after all.’
"Let him in."
He sat down again, covering his head with his hands, looking like he had a headache.
A mont later, a very young-looking man limped in.
The young man looked more like a beggar at the mont, with a face full of stubble, matted hair, and clothes that were torn and filthy. Even so, one could tell he had rather fine features; if cleaned up, he would be a handso youth.
And yet, this person was his brother-in-law—the brother-in-law of the King of Scotland.
But he had an even more illustrious background: a scion of the Wessex family, a direct blood relative of Alfred the Great, the Noble Edgar.
"Did the ship capsize?" King Malcolm asked.
"Mhm."
Edgar answered listlessly, then limped over to a chair and sat down, looking exhausted.
"If it’s not going to work, then just give it up, Edgar."
"What, are you going to support ? Is there room for in the lands of Scotland?" Edgar snatched Malcolm’s Bible and started flipping through it rapidly.
"There will always be a place for you in the court. We’re family. Just let England go to..."
"On what grounds! England belongs to the Wessex family! It was left to by Alfred the Great, and by my great-uncle Edward the Confessor! What is that bullshit Duke? He’s a bastard! His so-called claim to the throne is as ridiculous as a child’s bedti story!
A man like that actually managed to usurp the throne of the King of England! Why should a descendant of the Wessex family have to beg for scraps like a dog!"
"But what else can you do? Even if you had all of Scotland behind you, you still couldn’t defeat him. Don’t you understand that yet, Edgar?"
"No, this ti is different. Malcolm, trust one more ti. This ti, I will succeed!" Edgar snapped the Bible shut, then grabbed Malcolm’s shoulders.
"What?"
"That detestable bastard is about to face a disaster. His son is starting a rebellion! My chance is here! Trust one more ti, for... for my sister’s sake!"
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