𝑨𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒉 | ✔️

13 | Sparring

Summer, 8th June 864AD - Morning

When we returned to the village outskirts, Dreng led us to an open field. I wasn't sure what we were doing, but seeing the pile of wooden shields, I anticipated we were going to spar.

We were worn out from this morning's drill, but fatigue was no excuse. As soldiers, we needed to learn to endure with pain and be strong enough to face the unknown.

If I don't put in the effort, then it would elimination from this training. I couldn't afford to spend endless days trapped weaving clothes and tapestry.

I dared not to show any weaknesses because here they don't matter. What matters is our willpower to keep going without grumbling.

"Recruits! Grab a shield and a sword," Dreng instructed. "For this session, we will be assessing on your fighting skills. And instead of letting you choose your partner," he gave a small chuckle, "I will be assigning you with one. Each one of you will show us your skills. It doesn't matter if you are a beginner or an expert. What I want to see is you giving your all."

I stayed behind with Cwenhild and a couple others. I let the others gather a weapon and a shield from the pile.

Sounds of excited chatter and clangs of metal echoed through the field.

Finally, I gathered my shield, which had a teal backdrop with intricate white and black swirls and floral patterns etched on the surface. A round iron sphere was attached in the centre.

From the deep scratches and dried splotches of blood, this shield must have surpassed its time.

We were given helms used to protect our heads. I've seen many soldiers wore these during raids, making them appear as fierce Saxon warriors.

Yet, never in my wildest dreams would I be the one to wear this too.

"Ardith, isn't it?" Dreng pointed at me.

The other recruits lined either side of me turned their attention to me. I squared my shoulders.

"Yes, General Dreng?" I responded.

"Ardith of the Sagar Clan?" Dreng inspected my features. He glanced at Edwyn, an eye brow raised. "Hmm, it astonishes me you and my comrade here are related. Tell me, why do you want to join the king's army?"

Gathering my thoughts, I pondered about my response. Of course I knew the answer to this. It is all so simple.

"I want to make a meaningful contribution for my people while I bring justice for my mother. You see, she was taken by the Vikings. Ever since I was a child, I have seen so many innocent lives slaughtered or taken away. General Dreng, I'm determined to do whatever it takes to protect our people."

Dreng gave a silent nod.

"I see. That is exactly the response I was after. So are the rumours true then? You fought off those Danes in the last raid?" He raised a brow and let out an impressed grunt. "If what that crippled boy - Harold - said is true, then you have the potential to be a soldier of East Anglia."

He scoffed at the other recruits, then leaned forward and whispered,

"Believe me, Ardith. I feel I am surrounded by buffoons all the time."

Unfortunately, Dreng had not been discreet about his remark. Soon, there was uproar of disagreement.

"Hey! That's really uncalled for!" Somebody exclaimed.

"Who are you calling a buffoon?" Another recruit cried out. "You, sir are being delusional."

"Ardith did what none of you have done." Dreng paused for dramatic effect. "She fought off three bloody Vikings on her own." He narrowed his eyes at me. An incredulous brow rose. "Or she claimed she did. Come on; pick up your sword, lass."