The Last Marigold

Under Siege

"It looks as if Orm is hold up at Uppsala," Somerhild reported dimly. She stood towering over Su'a, who squatted at the river's edge laundering the meager clothing they had against a large flat stone. Her dress was rolled up to her knees and the excess material dangled between her open thighs. She wiped the sweat from her brow and cast her honey-colored gaze on Somerhild.

Somerhild continued worriedly, "His men have repaired the damage to the fortifications and are building some anew. They are asking the villagers at Tynemouth to enter Uppsala but are requiring them to bring provisions." She paused, hesitant to hear the truth said aloud, even to herself, "Enough provisions to wait out a long siege." 

"This is troublesome," Su'a replied, her eyes narrowing in the distance, absorbed in thought. "Orm does not ask these poor sods to enter Uppsala for their safety but to use them as leverage against Wolfgard and the retaliation he knows is coming."

Wolfgard had been away a fortnight and was expected with reinforcements to retake the Keep. If he came to find it impregnable, it would needlessly prolong the fight.  The fortifications of Uppsala were heavy of their own accord, to add to them made the task seem insurmountable.

 The Keep and it's lesser halls were built on a mound, oft referred to as a Motte. It was artificially constructed during the building of Uppsala by pilling up turf and soil. There was a bailey and a lower walled enclosure. The protective wall atop the Motte surrounded Uppsala's halls. These massive structures were large enough to have a wall-walk. They were further strengthened by filling in gaps between the wood with earth and stones, allowing it to bear more weight. This practice was called garillum. 

Ill at ease, Somerhild resumed her report, "Orm has covered the Keep in skins and hides to prevent it from being set alight during a siege." 

"Which will mean the most favorable point of entry will be the main gate," Su'a stood suddenly, letting the clothing drop to the washing stone. She paced about the riverbank, a half-soaked mess, "Damn that man to the deepest bowels of hell! Allah, please forgive me," She turned her eyes on Somerhild. 

Somerhild shook her head briskly, chestnut locks flowed synchronously with her movements, "The bridge is too heavily defended. There are men stationed along the walls. They will give no quarter, pouring scalding oil from murder-holes onto intruders, raining arrows from their point of advantage. The only reason Orm even got through the gate was no doubt because of Ravn's perfidiousness." Somerhild continued to shake her head in despair, "We are lost." She said demoralized by her wayward thoughts.

Somerhild's almond brown eyes searched Su'a's for comfort, for some reprieve if any could be found. Su'a pulled her friend to her chest and secured her in her loving embrace. "We will find a way, Somerhild. You must not give into to fear," Su'a turned to kiss Somerhild's temple and gently soothed her back with slowly relaxing circles. "The sun will revive what the night has withered," Su'a offered, in an attempt to assuage Somerhild's fears whilst her own nagged unceasingly in the back of her mind. She pushed such thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand.

When they returned to the encampment, Su'a ensured that everyone was set to task. The younger boys who could wield a weapon were charged with hunting. The women prepared food, clothing, and lodging. The children gathered fruits and medicinal herbs. There were no fighting men left among them but these hard women made due.

Su'a developed an admiration, if not a liking for the Norse people. There was a hardiness to them she had come to deeply respect. Though she had entered their lives unwillingly, she was greeted with kindness and accepted fully into the fold. She considered that her life could have been much worse and the thought offered strength to her resolve. She'd set this right anyway she could. Uppsala's future, their future, depended upon it.