I'll be honest. Don't know anything about the period in the Scandinavian countries, but i would like to see where you take this.
Thanks! Will try to do an update every few days, and make dashes of story for the important bits. Speaking of important bits... here's the "story" version of the crowning as shown above. I apologize in advance for all the spelling mistakes and the lack of historical characters (other than the Jarl himself, the Pope and William of Modena I couldn't find any historical Swedes
).
Well... without further ado... here it is.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vanajavesi, Autumn 1249.
Lendsmann Sune Bååt took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. He was nervous and not even remotely ashamed of it. It wasn’t everyday that you met your future king in such a private fashion. At age 16 he was the youngest lendsmann in the Kingdom of Sweden, and though his lands were poor as such, he already had a bit of a reputation for being able to rub two florins together to make a third. He wondered if that was the reason why Jarl Birger af Bjålbö had asked for him to act as his quartermaster for this campaign.
“You may enter anytime you are ready lendsmann.” Came the deep voice from within the confines of the rather drab command tent of the Jarl. Straightening Sune entered even more nervous than before. With the sudden change in temperature from the rather nippy autumn evening of central Finland to the warmth of the tent (all the more so due to the brazier that had been lit near the middle), he took stock of the people in the tent.
One man, easily head taller than the rest was clearly Olaf Norddahl, the Norwegian head of Birgers hurscarl. Beside him stood two other men clad in full chainmail and carrying swords. Most likely the Jarls company commanders. Whilst both stood tall, proud and scarred from long years of combat they were not who Sune paid the most attention to. It was the ageing and seemingly unassuming man that was looking at a rough map of the area.
Only a few centimetres taller than Sune himself, the man was clearly nearing his fifth decade. Life had not been kind to him and his back stood a bit stooped, but it was clear from the brightness of his eyes that there was a fierce intellect and determination there. With grey eyes and rough blonde hair, Jarl Birger stood every inch the proper Norseman and future King.
“You sure took your sweet time about it. Got lost on the way from your mother’s milk?” Olaf Norddahls rough voice broke him from his reverie. Trying to keep from blushing he tried to direct an evil glare at the Norwegian, but the end result was only the man starting to laugh even louder.
“No, I got lost on my way from –your- mother.” Sune blurted out before he even knew what he was saying only for the tent to fall completely silent. There were some insults you just didn’t throw at a hulking nearly two meters tall muscle-bound warrior. Norddahl took a step forward and Sune’s hand found his saex hilt; however just as he was about to prepare himself for the afterlife a quiet laughter echoed from behind Norddahl. The Jarl was laughing. With him laughing the two others began to chuckle and even Norddahl soon was smiling.
“So you’ve some fire in you then.” Jarl Birger spoke as he walked up to Sune and offered his hand. Sune hastily took it,”You’ll need that if you want to survive the battles to come. The Tavastians are backwards as a people, but no less fierce than any vikingr.”
“I’ll do my best to not disappoint you.” Sune spoke and was surprised how ‘not whiny’ he managed to sound. The smile that Birger gave in return was calculated and he motion for Sune to follow him to the table. Now with all the commanders in one spot he waved at the rough “map.”
“Not much of a map, more like a picture of the general area.” Birger muttered frustrated.
“What can you expect from these primitives?” Laughed one of the commanders. Sune would later learn that his name was Karl af Munså. The last heir to the former Jarls of Uppland. The stern glare Birger gave him would’ve been enough to shut up a berserker, but it was Norddahl who surprisingly spoke.
“If the first mistake you make is underestimating these people it will also be your last. It is no coincidence that these tribes have remained independent till now, even when between Sweden, Norway and Novgorod.”
It was Jarl Birger whom continued,” These people have a good mind for warfare in their own way. They lack much in the way of iron weapons and armour, but they have built forts and love their bows and spears. I have very little doubt that tomorrow’s battle will only signal a beginning of at least a year long hunt for all their raiding parties.” Jarl Birger grimaced, "This could take half a decade if we don’t break them completely tomorrow. I don’t want to WIN tomorrow; I want to conquer them completely.”
“How many men do we have?” Sune wondered, he had just gotten to the camp and hadn’t had time to count the banners.
“Three hundred give or take. A hundred of them are my Hurscarls, the rest are troops under the commands of Karl and Gustaf here.” Birger motioned to the two men.
“And how many of them then?” Sune felt a bit more comfortable now that he was being allowed to ask questions.
“That’s the big soddin’ problem” Norddahl spoke as he spat on the ground, "There is somewhere between four and six hundred of the bastards waiting for us on top of that hill.”
Just as Sune was about to continue his questioning down the line of how they’d escape from overwhelming numbers, he was cut off by Birger,”You need not worry about the numbers lad. Just make sure that the men have the supplies they need and everyone gets paid in time. We’ll take care of the rest.”
Sune nodded, relaxing. It was good to know that the Jarl felt confident in their chances and that he only had to worry about his own end.
“That’s all for tonight lads. Get some sleep. We’ve a battle to win tomorrow.”
As Sune exited the tent he felt the cold breeze and shivered. Blast it, but this land was cold... much colder than his own farm in the confines of Småland. With Karl and Gustaf making their exits and polite good nights he followed them to their shared tent where he laid on the ground and wrapped his cloak around himself. Twice. To his surprise it did not take long for sleep to overcome him.
Early Next Morning.
Sune was awoken by the sudden blasting of the horns. One he recognized the horn that this army was using to signal an enemy approaching, but the second sounded higher. In his sleepy state he still managed to figure out who it belonged to: the Tavastians. Clearly the enemy had elected to come down from the hill they had been holding so far.
The only thing that saved the army from complete annihilation was the fact that they had all been sleeping in their clothes and armour due to the cold, and the fact that the sentries had managed to alert them just before the Tavastians reached the plain. Thanks to these factors when they did get within a hundred meters of the Swedish, the army of the Jarl was already assembling into their respective units, and ready for combat.
For Sune this would be his first battle. Thankfully his role would be that of support rather than frontline combat. As such he hurried over to the supply wagons and after checking that the men he had brought with him were prepared, he began to watch. He had a good view of the battlefield atop a small hill, and in front of him stood the Norse battle lines, and opposite to them the Tavastians. Jarl Birger was standing behind the formation with an even better view of the action than Sune had. He was already shouting orders and encouragement to his men, but he would not enter the melee himself.
Jarl Birger was no Hårdråde and would not throw his life away fighting in the frontlines. His tactical acumen and pure presence was what mattered, not his fighting skills. Everyman in the formation knew that the Jarl was watching them, and would fight twice as hard as they did ordinarily to impress him.
As the lines were drawn I noticed the clear difference between the Norse and the Tavastians. Whilst the Norse were wearing as much armour as each man could afford and wielding iron weapons, mostly axes, seaxs and the odd sword, the Tavastians hardly had any armour on! Some certainly were clad in leather or fur-tunics that might deflect a weak blow, but there was not a suit of armour anywhere. In addition many were wielding weapons that seemed to be made of bronze. Iron seemed more like the exception than the rule.
However what they lacked in the quality of melee weapons they seemed to more than make up for in the number of bows. At least a man in three carried a bow of some kind and I had very little doubt they could use them with deadly proficiency. This battle would be decided on how many they managed to shoot down before the Jarls men got within melee range.
Before my very eyes I saw an extremely tall and muscular man part from the Tavastian “formation”. The man carried a large iron axe and after taking a half dozen steps to bring himself far enough from his own formation to be seen, but not too far as not to get shot, he began to roar and motion at my own people. As the Tavastians began to hammer their weapons on their wooden shield and shout what I assumed was the mans name,”Urho!” I understood. It was an old tradition, calling for a champion from the enemy. The battle might not be decided by which man would win, but the winners’ side would obviously feel stronger and the losers would begin to doubt.
I shook my head sadly. Obviously the Tavastians were hoping to break our morale and then crush us with the weight of their numbers, but they had chosen the wrong way to do it. I saw as Norddahl leaned over to hear what the Jarl had to say before hefting his spear and moving through the formation to meet his challenger. This would be over quickly.
As Norddahl broke through the final ranks of our formation, I could hear my own people begin to chant his name as well. The hammering of axes, seaxs and swords on shields was thunderous and Norddahl clearly enjoying the attention turned and did a sweeping bow. He had been ordered to make a show of it then. After his bow, he continued moving to meet the Tavastian champion.
There are many legends to the west of the Briton and Frankish champions called “knights” meeting on the battlefield. The challengers would bow, maybe hold a small speech and kiss a maiden before beginning their honourable duel. It was a beautiful image that still holds sway over our hearts. However we were not in the lands of the Franks or Britons. We were in the North, and as the champions got within range they immediately began to hack away at each other.
Norddahl struck first, his massive spear having even longer range than the great axe that the Tavastian was using. His first thrust would’ve taken the man’s head off had he not side stepped and countered with a lightning quick downward chop on the spear itself. Norddahl however was familiar with the manoeuvre and simple pulled the spear to the side to avoid having his weapon being cut in half.
And so it went. Norddahl would use a combination of stabs and sweeps with his spear to keep the Tavastian at bay, whilst the man would use chops and slashes to try and disarm or disleg his opponent. I still maintain that dislegging is a perfectly valid word. The battle however inspired only awe in me. I was seeing two skilled warriors going at it with the best they could. They both moved at a speed that seemed unlikely given their size.
The battle ended quickly however, when Norddahl thrust his spear one last time only for the Tavastian to catch it with his off-hand. I grimaced. No doubt the splinters of the spear were now digging into the man’s palm, but the only sound he was making was one of triumph as his axe began to come down on Norddahl. Then Norddahl revealed his ace in the hole. He let go of his spear and rather than trying to step out of the way, he stepped closer until he was within the Tavastian Champions guard. He quickly unsheathed his seax and with a practiced motion disembowelled the man.
As his guts and blood alike spilled out of his body the Tavastian fell on his knees where Norddahl finished him off by slitting his throat before picking up his spear and cleaning his dagger on the man’s tunic. With his typical swagger Norddahl advanced on the Tavastian lines and then shouted in what I assumed was their native tongue. I later asked one of the warriors whom had been closer what he had said.
“IS THERE NONE ELSE TO CHALLENGE ME!?” With nobody stepping forward Norddahl simply returned to his place next to the Jarl and with a final blow of the horn the men began to advance. For a moment it seemed like the Tavastians would simply wait, but then their leader got his will back and an order was given.
Nearly two hundred bows were nocked, drawn and loosened. The men simply went on one knee and put their shields above their heads as the rain of feathered death fell on their shields. When the rain of arrows ended they picked themselves up again and continued to advance, until another volley was upon them. Certainly, maybe a dozen men died from the arrows during the four or so volleys it took the Norsemen to get within range, but it was nothing. Losses could be taken if they were of this scale.
When the Norsemen finally reached the Tavastian lines, the battle truly began in earnest. At first it seemed like the Tavastian numbers might win them the day, but it soon became apparent that the quality of the Norse weapons and armour was taking its toll. A Tavastian would need a solid hit to do any sort of damage, whereas the Norsemen only needed to get a single strike in, and it would typically be enough to bring down his opponent.
The battle lasted for over an hour. An hour of bloodshed and pain and misery that I watched from afar. Dozens died on both sides, but soon the Tavastians started to hesitate. They had so far paid for each kill with at least 2:1 odds, and sometimes even 3:1 and their numbers were starting to dwindle. However they did not retreat. With a roar and a blast of the horn the Norsemen moved backwards a dozen or so pace and then I saw a sight I had never thought to see.
Jarl Birger Magnusson af Bjålbö moved through the ranks and stepped in front of the enemy. Soon after whom I assumed was his opposite number moved to meet him. The man was tall, taller than our Jarl and was clad in finely woven wool tunic. To this day I do not truly know what was negotiated between the two, but after half an hour of discussion the Tavastians agreed to leave the field. Their Chief would come with Birger to Åbo. He was no prisoner however and was allowed to bring his honour guard.
The battle of Vanajavesi was over.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Åbo, Spring 1250.
It had been nearly a year now since our victory at Vanajavesi and we had settled down in Åbo to wait for the winter to pass. It had been an interesting experience to say in the least to spend so much time with so many interesting people. I was a bit depressed now that the snows were melting and we would soon return to Sweden. Soon I’d be back on my tiny tilt of land in Småland and might never see these people again.
However when a ship arrived in the small port earlier than we managed to leave I was surprised and suspicious. It came in bearing the insignia of the Papal States and the herald that had made the journey requested an audience with the Jarl. To my biggest surprise yet, he invited me to be there when this man... this William of Modena would make his announcement.
The castle in Åbo was closer to a fort than any true castle, but it was the largest fortified settlement in these lands and it had played host to a number of the most important leaders. The Jarl as well as several dozen of the local chiefs had spent the winter here together and negotiated on many of the future matters. Or so I thought.
We were all sitting in the large dinner table of the keep eating our fare when the herald walked in. Jarl Birger stood up immediately and the two men embraced like old friends. I would later learn that the Jarl had been the foremost supporter of the changes that had taken place in Sweden, and that he and William of Modena had for years worked together to bring the Popes will to fruition. Now the man was here to honour his friendship.
Upon being ushered to a seat and being offered something to eat or drink, he refused and then spoke the words I would never forget.
“Birger, King Erik has died.” Whilst such news were grave, it would be a lie to say that the news came as a surprise or even truly grave to us. Norddahl even had the guts to laugh.
“Well I suppose congratulations are in order Jarl Birger, or should I say ‘King’ Birger now?” I remained quiet the whole time. There was something in the man’s tone that said that he had not been done. The Jarl had come to the same conclusion at least.
“What else?” His voice was frosty.
“The Jarls have elected your son Valdemar to be the King in your place.”
“Valdemar is only twelve. He cannot be king.”
“The Jarl’s think otherwise. He was elected and promptly removed from your estates in Östergoterland to Stockholm where he is under heavy guard and being raised to be the King.”
I was shocked. No, I was stunned. I also felt a rise of indignation. Yet again the Jarls, the upper crust had denied a righteous king in favour of creating a new pawn to do their bidding. As Jarl Birger stood and moved to look out of the window I could not even imagine how he felt. He had fought for Sweden many times. The Neva, Burning of Novgorod and Vanajavesi, only for the Jarls that remained at home to betray him.
The discussion waned and became muted. Norddahl asked if the rest of the Jarls family were safe, and they apparently were. They had only taken Valdemar. There was already talk of raising an army and rebelling against the Jarls.
“Yes, the rightful king is here!” Shouted Karl af Munso. Even I was swept up in the plan, but before I could voice my support the Jarl turned around and thundered.
“THEY HAVE MY SON!” The hall fell silent as a tomb. It had become clear that Birger would not raise up any armies to oppose his own son, no matter how enraged he was.
“Leave us. Not you Sune, you, Norddahl and William stay.” I had been about to leave with the others, but under the command I remained in my seat as did the Italian diplomat and the giant hurscarl. As the others filed out I wondered what the Jarl wished to say to me. Perhaps I had done something wrong?
Pouring himself a cup of wine the Jarl sat opposite to us before looking at the diplomat.
“Tell me my old friend, what can we do?”
Sighing the Italian removed his strange hat and ran his hands through his thick black hair before speaking,”For Sweden? Nothing. The Jarls have convened and it is legally binding. Valdemar is now the King of Sweden for good or ill. The best you could try for is to be named Regent, but I find that... improbably since the Jarl of Värmland has been given that honour.”
“Haakon the old bastard...” Norddahl muttered and drained his cup before pouring himself another.
“But there is something you can do.” The Italian smiled only to have each of us leaning on our seats to catch every word. Clearly the man had a plan and even the Jarl was intrigued,” Do you remember what we spoke about fifteen years ago?”
Birger scoffed,” That? Utter nonsense.”
“It could work. Under a strong king anything is possible. You could be that king.”
“And how long would it last? A month? A year? It would take no more than that for the other Jarls to muster their levies and March.”
I could no longer keep my silence and spoke out,” If I may beg your pardon sire, but what are we discussing here?”
The Jarl merely smiled at me,” An independent Kingdom. Myself and William discussed this several times in the past... if this land this... ‘Suomi’ were to become an independent kingdom rather than a part of Sweden.”
“That is why I wished for you to stay. If this plan is to work, this land will need talented landowning nobles to run it. Some will come from the native population, but I want people I can trust in the most important positions.”
I swallowed,” What is it you are saying?”
Birgers smile only broadened,” I would name you the Duke of... well whatever place you were to wish for. I will with the sweep of my hand make you into one of the most powerful men in this new kingdom if you so desire.”
“I have land of my own in Sweden, sire.” I knew my doubts were showing clearly on my face and voice, but I felt I had to say it.
“Indeed you do.” The Jarl spoke and his intense gaze locked onto my own,” It is easy to return home. To tilt the land you own, maybe get married to the neighbouring lendsmanns daughter. It could be a good life, soft and wealthy as well. What I am offering you is hard. It is pain and suffering. It is glory and war. I am asking you to leave behind everything you have and accept only my word that you will receive anything. I will fully understand if you were to say no. But if you say yes... you will have my friendship always.”
I could only stare at this man. This Jarl whom would declare himself king and make me a noble as well as his friend. I realized that he too would be leaving behind everything. His Jarldom... what were my few fields when compared to the swathes of land and people he controlled back home? If he could leave it, why shouldn’t I? My parents were long since dead and I had no wife. No children. In that moment I knew what I would choose. What I would always choose.
I stood up and moving around the table I knelt before Jarl Birger,”I would offer my fealty to you my Jarl... no, to you my –King-.” I still wonder how I managed to say those words without choking up. Even Norddahl and William remained silent and expectant as Jarl Birger rose from his seat and drew his sword.
“Repeat after me.”
“I, Sune af Bååt do hereby solemnly swear fealty and allegiance to King Birger Magnusson, the King of the Finns and the rightful King of the Swedes and the Geats. From this hour henceforth I shall serve him with my every breath until his death, or my own.”
“Rise Lord Sune Bååt, Duke of... Tavastland.” My King smiled down on me and I arose a new man.
A week later Jarl Birger was officially coroneted as the King of Finland by the local Bishop. His official introduction was to be,
“Birger the First, King of Finland, Grand-Duke of Åbo and Nyland, and the Duke of Karelia." But as the natives... the Finnish Chiefs began to chant his name in their native tongue a new title was incorporated into his titles.
“Lord of the North.”
It was not long when William of Modena returned from the Papal State and brought with him the legalisation he had obtained from the Pope himself. Finland was now not just a de facto kingdom without any documentation. It was a fully legal de jure land with a proper set of papers to back it up. If anyone were to attack it now they would draw the Papal wrath on their heads.
So began the Kingdom of Finland. As Jarl Birger said, it would not be easy... it would be hard, cold and pain, and the fledgling kingdom would bend and buckle, but in the end it would hold.