On a sunny afternoon, the lords of England in the tower enjoyed mutton pudding with the king's bodyguard, and the new hall was much larger than the one in Westminster and could have accommodated all the nobles of the court. The Tower of London was also a more pleasant environment for the King, and the original accommodation was noticeably much more damp, and he planned to drain the waters of Tony Island over time, but this would only slightly improve the cramped situation of Westminster.

Gathering so many lord warriors in the court was naturally not to admire the king's new palace, at Edgar's signal, a squire Sean brought a middle-aged British warrior in a green cloak into the hall, and the lords of England looked up at the red-haired man, the other party's appearance was a little sloppy, although the long limbs showed signs of the use of weapons, just looking more like a beggar king, some began to whisper.

"Your Majesty, can you give me a glass of wine, I've been bumping on horseback for too long, and I'm really thirsty." The British warrior asked in fluent Saxon language.

Edgar nodded, gave him a seat, and then introduced to all the curious lords, "This is Lord Trahn of Boas, the blood relative of the dead King of Bredin. ”

Some of them had expressions of sudden realization, and some of the lords put down their glasses thoughtfully. Trahhorn was munching on the pudding as if no one was around, while the cow sipped the precious wine from the cellar.

A poet playing a lyre suddenly played a soft, mournful tune, and the song echoed through the stone walls, as if it could penetrate the skull and penetrate into his mind. He was singing not the familiar old chapters of the poems, but arias full of rondo, and the object of his singing changed from the gold-garnet crown above the head of the stone statue to the discolored reeds and ruined branches, and the king noticed that Trahern had stopped, and then approached the court poet, who happened to sing that in the great palace of kings, countless goddesses of echoes passed through the gates, shining brightly and singing with joy, and behind them the souls of the ancient kings were awakening.

"You're British?" Trahone asked the poet.

"My lord, my hometown is near St. David's Church."

The Welsh lord frowned: "Dafelds? ”

The poet shook his head: "My father is Irish, my mother is Danish, my lord. ”

"Where did you learn this tune?"

"An old church book, my lord."

Trahern nodded, then turned to King Edgar and said, "Forgive me for my offense, it's just that this song reminds me of what happened in the Vale. ”

The King of England replied: "We understand your sorrow very well, such barbarism is truly outrageous. ”

Some of the less well-informed lords began to inquire about what the Briton had said, and when they heard of the murder of King Bradin, many of them became a little sickened, and when they heard the tragic fate of the corpse, some of the lords and guards put down the pudding on their plates, as if it were also stained with blood.

"Your Majesty, we have raised an army against King Dafeld, but he has the support of the Danes and Irish in Dublin, and the traitors of Teivy are more than twice as strong as ours, and Boas and Gwenes are willing to recognize Your Majesty as our suzerain, as long as Your Majesty is willing to help us!"

The King of England did not respond directly, but asked: "I heard that Bredin has several other sons, where are they now?" ”

The red-haired Welsh lord shook his head and said, "Bradin's sons are too young to inherit his kingdom, let alone resist the invading enemy. ”

This explanation reminded Edgar of the situation after King Edward's death, when faced with the threat of the Normans, the Council of the Magi also supported the adult Harold to inherit the throne, rather than the young himself.

However, this was obviously not the occasion to fight for the sons of Bradin, and he acquiesced in the succession of the other, and said to Leofrick, Bishop of Canterbury: "Please also leave for the King of Denmark at once, I need to obtain peace for at least half a year, and whatever conditions the Danes have, I can agree to it for the time being." ”

After the bishop had made his promise, Edgar said to the eldest son of the Yorkshire Governor: "Take my ring to the Earl of Northumbria, and ask him to transfer the Wessex militia from the York barracks to Chester, and I will personally take command of these Sain." Then tell the Earl that whatever may happen before we return from Wales, he only needs to remember one thing, and York must not fail! ”

With Hughard in York, Edgar was not particularly worried about the situation in the north being too shaken, not to mention that with the current defense technology and material reserves of the English, even if the Danes and Norwegians attacked together, they would definitely not be able to break through the royal castle in York.

A banquet was turned into a military meeting, and the king was back in front of his seat after arranging everything in an orderly manner.

King Edgar's voice rang out again, and his words could be heard in the most remote corners: "Rees has forsaken the teachings of my lord, heeded the temptation of the king of hell, and committed unspeakable crimes. He conspired with the lord of the valley who betrayed his guests to dismember and decapitate a Christian king, the soul of this headhunter has been lost, and we can only completely destroy this unrighteous Herod king to save the soul of the Dafedians! ”

The English stood up, and the king said to them, "This time, we will conquer our cruel and unrighteous enemies once and for all, so that we Englishmen can no longer be said to be only wordsmiths of language, and not wigsmiths of war!" ”

The drunken Anglo-Saxons cheered, and some of the young knights all nodded their heads in response, after all, if a warrior could not kill his enemies in the field, how could he be given weapons and armor?

In a distant land, an exile boarded a merchant ship, and behind him was Iberia, the bloody battlefield of Christians and pagans for centuries. The squire of the exiled knight was a little puzzled: "Why should we go so far?" Mistress Rodrigo. ”

The knight's expression was a little tired, and he replied simply: "The Count of Barcelona has already rejected my sword, if not England, then Zaragoza." ”

The squire's eyes widened, "Moor, you're not kidding, are you, my lord?" ”

"I knew you wouldn't want to, so stop complaining and we'll go to England." The knight looked at the migratory birds in the sky and couldn't help but sigh, as if he remembered the dirty murder of the king again.