Ch 65: Tamworth

Less than an hour to capture Repton, Ragnar was in a good mood. He gazed at the boundless plains outside the city, letting Pascal recount the deeds of the Mercian kings through the ages, putting a group of Viking nobles to sleep.

Soon, the clamor from within the city interrupted this history lesson. Leonard, Ulf, and others revived their spirits, gazing towards the direction of St. Wystan’s Church.

After a few minutes, dozens of tall, burly Viking warriors stormed over, demanding that Ragnar give them an explanation.

“Your Majesty, you have the highest status and are indeed qualified to obtain the most precious spoils of war, but that doesn’t mean you have the right to swallow the treasure alone!”

“What treasure?” Ragnar was slightly surprised, instantly understanding that they were referring to the Mercian royal mausoleum.

“That place is special; disturbing the sleep of the dead will invite a curse. Everyone, please bear with it. After we capture Tamworth, the royal treasury will have enough wealth to satisfy you.”

However, the legend of King Offa had spread throughout the army at this moment. Nearly every Viking warrior coveted the grave goods of this Anglo-Saxon monarch, the most powerful in hundreds of years. Some claimed that his coffin was forged from pure gold; others said that Offa’s tomb was paved with silver coins, like an ocean of piled silver.

“No, conquering a place and dividing the spoils of war is a Viking tradition!”

The clamor grew louder and louder. Soon, thousands of Vikings gathered near the city walls. The surging desire was like a tidal wave washing away their reason until someone, in a moment of desperation, drew their iron sword!

The moment the iron sword was drawn, the nobles on the city walls’ faces changed drastically. Pascal instinctively exclaimed, “Guards, hang him!”

Court guards in iron armor rushed into the crowd, surrounding the man who dared to draw his sword. He was unusually tall and strong, wearing a bearskin cloak. Facing dozens of blades pointed at him, his eyes showed no fear.

“Ragnar, you are blinded by the lust for power and unworthy of the title of hero. I challenge you to a duel!”

“Your Majesty, let me settle this.” Vig placed his right hand on the hilt of Dragon’s Breath Sword, but Ragnar stopped him.

“There’s no need. I’m not too old to wield a sword yet.” Ragnar let out a sigh, took off the black cloak behind him and tossed it to Pascal, then drew the Damascus steel sword from the Mediterranean Sea—”Kingship.”

Under the gaze of thousands of eyes, Ragnar came to the open space and received a shield from a guard. He pointed his sword at the bearskin-clad challenger.

“Hurry up, I have many things to do.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the man, who seemed like a berserker, swung his sword downwards. Ragnar sidestepped, then lightly leaped back, dodging the following sweeping blow.

Observing his opponent’s pace, Ragnar judged that the man would only use brute force. He thrust his sword into the berserker’s blind spot, wounding his waist and abdomen. Immediately after, he delivered a thrust. The opponent raised his shield to block, but the longsword easily pierced the shield, leaving a long gash on his forehead.

The dripping blood blurred the berserker’s vision. Facing Ragnar’s attack, he frantically raised his shield to block. However, the sharpness and resilience of the Kingship sword surpassed everyone’s imagination. Before long, the round shield was completely ruined.

Having no choice, the berserker discarded the perforated round shield and wielded his sword with both hands.

Seeing this, Ragnar also discarded the shield he had never used and raised his sword above his head with both hands, assuming his commonly used “high guard” stance.

They faced each other for half a minute. The berserker, unable to suppress his inner turmoil, roared, stepped forward heavily, and swung his sword downwards.

Ragnar saw through his opponent’s sword path the moment he moved, stepping forward a short distance. Then, he rotated his sword hilt, using the cross-guard of “Kingship” to block the opponent’s mid-section.

The scraping of metal tore through the stagnant air. The moment the berserker stumbled forward, Ragnar twisted his wrist, and the sword tip, like a viper’s strike, pierced the opponent’s chest. The duel was over.

“Anyone else?”

Ragnar pulled out his longsword. The berserker’s heavy body fell to the ground. He held “Kingship”, still dripping blood, and walked around the edge of the open space. Every Viking he looked at lowered their head, not daring to meet the eyes of this legendary figure.

“Anyone else dare to try?”

He asked again, receiving no answer. He threw the longsword to the nearest guard and strode away.

After a night’s rest, leaving five hundred men to guard the town, the army proceeded along the Roman road and arrived in the afternoon at Tamworth, the royal capital of Mercia.

During King Offa’s reign, Tamworth became the administrative center of Mercia. He built Tamworth Fortress on a hill in the town center as his office.

Outside the town, the River Tame and the River Anker meet. The land is flat and suitable for cultivation. A water mill stands on the riverbank, taller than the mills on the north bank of the River Tyne.

“What a prosperous town,” Ragnar rode to a nearby low hill, overlooking the town, and estimated that the population exceeded three thousand.

Three years ago, Ragnar’s foundation was not yet secure, and he had no choice but to enfeoff Mancunium to Leonard, resulting in the man’s strength being on par with the royal family, suffocating the nearby nobles.

Now he would never make the same mistake again. Ordinary settlements could be enfeoffed, but Tamworth had strong fortifications, convenient transportation, and developed trade. This large town must be kept in his own hands!

Secretly making up his mind, Ragnar discussed siege tactics with everyone. There were three villages in the suburbs, so he planned to divide his army into three parts, each choosing a village to station in and cutting off the roads to the city.

“Vig, you are in charge of the northwest direction.”

“As you command, Your Majesty.”

In addition to the more than four hundred people in the main force, Vig also received the assistance of Ulf, who had nearly three hundred warriors.

After moving into the deserted village, Vig had the soldiers check the wells to ensure the villagers hadn’t poisoned them, and then assigned personnel to dig moats outside the village.

After spending three days digging the moats, Ulf thought that the next step would be to build siege weapons. Unexpectedly, Vig’s next action was to build fortifications.

After going out to scout, Ulf reported the movements of the allied troops to him, “The East City Camp and Leonard’s camp on the south bank of the River Tame are both building siege weapons. Aren’t you being a little too cautious?”

“The East City Camp has two thousand people, Leonard’s South Bank Camp has one thousand. Our Northwest Camp is the weakest, with a total of seven hundred, only sixty soldiers. We should focus on defense.”

Undoubtedly, the main attack would be in the east. Vig’s task was to cut off traffic from the northwest and provide support during the general assault.

Therefore, the focus of the first phase was on building defenses to avoid being caught off guard by the city garrison, and he would only consider building siege engines after having sufficient defensive capabilities.

Vig explained to Ulf, “His Majesty chose me to be in charge of the northwest because I am cautious enough. The East City Camp hasn’t interfered with our actions these days, showing that he approves of my strategy.”

It was November, the sky was overcast, and fine snowflakes fell from time to time. The Viking warriors in the Northwest Camp endured the severe cold, going to the forest every morning to fell timber and carrying it back to the village to build fortifications and siege weapons.

After several days of observation, a Mercian reinforcement attempted to launch an attack.