This is what studying Old English makes me think.
Godric’s betrayal:
Godric was not fond of battle; he was an unfortunately intelligent man, such that he realized the absoluteness of death, that it was not glorious, it was just nothingness. However, he went into battle anyway, because he loved Byrhtnoth. He would have gladly fought and died for Byrhtnoth, afterlife or not, because a brief time by Byrhtnoth’s side was preferable to a lifetime without him.
But then last night, when he sought reassurance in Byrhtnoth’s arms, instead he saw Edward in Byrhtnoth’s tent, and he went away even more uneasy. Then in the morning, as they stood against the Vikings, he saw the intimate smile Byrhtnoth gave Edward, who fought by his side, saw how Byrhtnoth praised Edward’s valor and skill, and he knew that everything had been a lie, the gifts and intimacies were manipulation designed to ensure men’s loyalty.
Godric was angry, he was humiliated and betrayed and he wanted Byrhtnoth, foolish, overly proud Byrhtnoth, to see his mistakes and know regret before he died in this doomed battle. So when Byrhtnoth fell, Godric was at his side, not to avenge him, but to say, quietly, kneeling at his lord’s side for the last time,
“Byrhtnoth, you bastard, watch now: I am going to take your horse, so that when I abandon you, the army will also.” Godric fled to the forest, and much of the army, seeing Byrhtnoth’s horse and thinking that their lord had betrayed them, followed. And Godric, having achieved his goal, instead of being satisfied, began to wonder whether nothingness had its merits after all.
Everybody loved Little Gorilla Byrhtnoth:
When Byrhtnoth was struck down in battle, magnificent until the end, encouraging the troops with brave words, and he fell, his glorious figure in the dust, Alfwin wept and announced to the troops his intent to die on the battlefield, because he had no reason to return home deprived of his lord and kinsman. Leofsunu, not to be outdone, announced similarly his plan to be killed by a weapon, honorably avenging his lord. And he glared at Alfwin, because Byrhtnoth clearly just appreciated Alfwin as a nephew or whatever, and did not love him the way he loved Leofsunu. Dunnere stepped in, saying reasonably,
“Come now, we all loved him, and now we must fight for him, and think not of ourselves, because our little lives are meaningless, in the shadow of his lost greatness.” And Edward continued, “he was better than us all, a righteous god of a man, and now he is dead and so let us die.” He dodged a Viking spear, which pierced Wulfmar behind him. As he toppled over, Wulfmar gurgled what presumably meant: “Byrhtnoth was totally awesome; what an honor it is to die on the same battlefield as him.” Offa spoke valiantly, waving his sword in a visually impressive but completely ineffective manner.
“I promised Byrhtnoth, in a meaningful soul-love pact, that we would live together or die together, so let me lie with him in death.” The nearby warriors turned to stare at him in what varied from surprise to murderous hate. Dunnere, having neglected the position of his shield, was struck by several arrows, and cursed Offa’s dramatics before he too lay dead in the slaughter, with Byrhtnoth’s name on his lips.
Aggravated, Byrhtwold exclaimed, “what the hell, you inexperienced brats, Byrhtnoth was mine, and I am going to lie by his side, once I avenge him and die here, gloriously.”
“I’m sure you were fond of him,” Offa offered reassuringly, “but I was the one he was making sweet promises to.”
“But I was the one he was making sweet love to!” Leofsunu shouted, brandishing his spear. Alfwin hit him in the face with his shield, saying, “you were far below his rank; he wouldn’t possibly touch you. Besides, he loved me.” And he smiled smugly. Then Leofsunu stabbed him.
“Gentlemen please, we have a more important concern than who was Byrhtnoth’s favorite,” Oswold tried to intercede, and was generally ignored. Alfwin, bleeding on the ground, made a rude gesture. Leofsunu was distracted glaring at him, and was struck by Offa. He then stepped over to kick Leofsunu’s gaping stomach wound, and was stabbed in the groin. Byrhtwold threw back his hoary head and laughed heartily, and his exposed throat was cut by a sword of the rapidly advancing Viking army.
Edward and Oswold, meanwhile, had been cut down while arguing which of them had the earlier claim to Byrhtnoth and which brother was therefore obligated to retract his claim. Godric, watching from the woods, congratulated himself on his foresight in recognizing that none of them could appreciate Byrhtnoth anymore if they were dead, so all their arguing over who had the most solid claim was for naught. He only hoped that the Vikings left the body suitably intact.
Godric was not fond of battle; he was an unfortunately intelligent man, such that he realized the absoluteness of death, that it was not glorious, it was just nothingness. However, he went into battle anyway, because he loved Byrhtnoth. He would have gladly fought and died for Byrhtnoth, afterlife or not, because a brief time by Byrhtnoth’s side was preferable to a lifetime without him.
But then last night, when he sought reassurance in Byrhtnoth’s arms, instead he saw Edward in Byrhtnoth’s tent, and he went away even more uneasy. Then in the morning, as they stood against the Vikings, he saw the intimate smile Byrhtnoth gave Edward, who fought by his side, saw how Byrhtnoth praised Edward’s valor and skill, and he knew that everything had been a lie, the gifts and intimacies were manipulation designed to ensure men’s loyalty.
Godric was angry, he was humiliated and betrayed and he wanted Byrhtnoth, foolish, overly proud Byrhtnoth, to see his mistakes and know regret before he died in this doomed battle. So when Byrhtnoth fell, Godric was at his side, not to avenge him, but to say, quietly, kneeling at his lord’s side for the last time,
“Byrhtnoth, you bastard, watch now: I am going to take your horse, so that when I abandon you, the army will also.” Godric fled to the forest, and much of the army, seeing Byrhtnoth’s horse and thinking that their lord had betrayed them, followed. And Godric, having achieved his goal, instead of being satisfied, began to wonder whether nothingness had its merits after all.
Everybody loved Little Gorilla Byrhtnoth:
When Byrhtnoth was struck down in battle, magnificent until the end, encouraging the troops with brave words, and he fell, his glorious figure in the dust, Alfwin wept and announced to the troops his intent to die on the battlefield, because he had no reason to return home deprived of his lord and kinsman. Leofsunu, not to be outdone, announced similarly his plan to be killed by a weapon, honorably avenging his lord. And he glared at Alfwin, because Byrhtnoth clearly just appreciated Alfwin as a nephew or whatever, and did not love him the way he loved Leofsunu. Dunnere stepped in, saying reasonably,
“Come now, we all loved him, and now we must fight for him, and think not of ourselves, because our little lives are meaningless, in the shadow of his lost greatness.” And Edward continued, “he was better than us all, a righteous god of a man, and now he is dead and so let us die.” He dodged a Viking spear, which pierced Wulfmar behind him. As he toppled over, Wulfmar gurgled what presumably meant: “Byrhtnoth was totally awesome; what an honor it is to die on the same battlefield as him.” Offa spoke valiantly, waving his sword in a visually impressive but completely ineffective manner.
“I promised Byrhtnoth, in a meaningful soul-love pact, that we would live together or die together, so let me lie with him in death.” The nearby warriors turned to stare at him in what varied from surprise to murderous hate. Dunnere, having neglected the position of his shield, was struck by several arrows, and cursed Offa’s dramatics before he too lay dead in the slaughter, with Byrhtnoth’s name on his lips.
Aggravated, Byrhtwold exclaimed, “what the hell, you inexperienced brats, Byrhtnoth was mine, and I am going to lie by his side, once I avenge him and die here, gloriously.”
“I’m sure you were fond of him,” Offa offered reassuringly, “but I was the one he was making sweet promises to.”
“But I was the one he was making sweet love to!” Leofsunu shouted, brandishing his spear. Alfwin hit him in the face with his shield, saying, “you were far below his rank; he wouldn’t possibly touch you. Besides, he loved me.” And he smiled smugly. Then Leofsunu stabbed him.
“Gentlemen please, we have a more important concern than who was Byrhtnoth’s favorite,” Oswold tried to intercede, and was generally ignored. Alfwin, bleeding on the ground, made a rude gesture. Leofsunu was distracted glaring at him, and was struck by Offa. He then stepped over to kick Leofsunu’s gaping stomach wound, and was stabbed in the groin. Byrhtwold threw back his hoary head and laughed heartily, and his exposed throat was cut by a sword of the rapidly advancing Viking army.
Edward and Oswold, meanwhile, had been cut down while arguing which of them had the earlier claim to Byrhtnoth and which brother was therefore obligated to retract his claim. Godric, watching from the woods, congratulated himself on his foresight in recognizing that none of them could appreciate Byrhtnoth anymore if they were dead, so all their arguing over who had the most solid claim was for naught. He only hoped that the Vikings left the body suitably intact.