Ch 70: Strategy

About to leave the Viking army’s control zone, Theodulf bid farewell to Vig:

“Thank you for keeping your promise; this quality is especially precious among the Vikings.”

On horseback, Vig yawned, “Reputation is precious property. I wouldn’t ruin the credit I’ve accumulated in my first half of life for this mess.”

Looking out at the hill country on the south bank of the river, he posed a question: “You’ve given up your ancestral fiefdom; where do you plan to go?”

Theodulf: “It depends. The Battle of Tamworth led to the royal family’s destruction, and many nobles suffered casualties. Perhaps I can find an ownerless fiefdom to settle down.”

After seeing off these Mercians, Vig returned to Tamworth to report.

Entering the official residence, he found Ragnar eating, with a tall, strong Viking woman sitting beside him. This woman had striking features, her long red hair casually scattered, her arms powerfully muscled, and her palms covered with years of calluses.

“You must be the ‘Chosen One’ Vig. Nice to meet you, I’m called Aslaug.”

The woman finished the food on her plate, picked up a jug of honey wine, and drank it in large gulps. Then, she casually walked out of the official residence without a trace of restraint.

Aslaug?

Vig ransacked his mind for information:

In later times, legends about Ragnar did mention a woman called “Aslaug”.

Could this woman become Ragnar’s third wife?

Five minutes later.

After Vig recounted the surrender process, Ragnar nodded in approval and summoned the high-ranking officers for a meeting.

He spread a tattered Mercian map on the long table, “We have captured Nottingham, Repton, and Tamworth, occupying the richest areas of Mercia. What are your opinions on the subsequent battles?”

Ulf: “Divide the troops to capture various settlements and completely seize the northern territories of Mercia.” He believed himself to have achieved the greatest merit in this battle and eagerly anticipated going out to war, picking out a rich new territory for himself.

Ivar: “The Mercian royal family has been destroyed, but two collateral branches remain. We should prioritize sending people to attack their manors to eliminate them completely and prevent the remaining forces from proclaiming someone to ascend the throne, thus prolonging the war endlessly.”

Having suffered greatly in Ireland, Ivar’s focus was on ending the war as soon as possible, allowing the soldiers to return home to harvest the winter wheat so as not to miss the farming season.

Vig’s turn came, and he offered a relatively pessimistic view, “Three years ago, we occupied all of Northumbria, and now we have occupied Tamworth and killed all the royal family members. The other five kingdoms are not fools; they won’t watch us grow stronger, especially Wessex, the most powerful kingdom. I worry that King Æthelwolf will lead the way in forming an allied army and go north to attack!”

Ragnar: “What do you mean?”

“We shouldn’t disperse our strength. The whole army should continue to muster and stand by in Tamworth. At the same time, we should draw more reinforcements from the country to deal with the war after spring.”

Noticing the difficult expressions on everyone’s faces, Vig added, “This is just my guess. It’s better to dispatch an envoy to Wessex to test Æthelwolf’s attitude towards us.”

Hearing the word “envoy”, Pascal and Goodwin’s hair stood on end. They were Anglo-Saxons, and they were the most suitable people to go on a mission to scout for news. If Æthelwolf executed them on the spot, it would be too unfair a death.

“Let me go!”

Everyone looked towards the source of the sound—it was Gunnar, the commander of the Royal Guard.

Looking at this subordinate he had known for twenty years, Ragnar understood why Gunnar requested the mission—he wanted to gain more merit and rise to the ranks of powerful nobles after the battle.

“Have you thought it through?”

“I have!”

With his confidant eager to rise in status, Ragnar had no reason to stop him. He sighed and had Pascal write a royal decree.

After finishing, Ragnar rolled the letter into a tube and dripped melted sealing wax onto the seal. While the sealing wax was still not solidified, he pressed his signet ring on it, forming a lightning bolt pattern.

“Go, let them witness the spirit of the Viking warriors!”

Ragnar patted Gunnar on the shoulder and watched his back disappear at the door.

After procuring supplies, Gunnar, accompanied by two volunteers and a captured Mercian clerk, rode south along the Roman roads.

The journey from Tamworth to Winchester, the royal capital of Wessex, required over a hundred miles; it would take five days on horseback.

（Miles originated in the Roman period, equivalent to one thousand “paces”, about 1480 meters. After the fall of the Western Roman Empire, the definition of “mile” gradually diverged in various parts of Europe. For ease of reading, this book sets one mile = 1500 meters）

Along the way, the captured clerk briefly introduced the history of Wessex:

In the 6th century AD, a chieftain named Cerdic established Wessex, which gradually grew stronger over several centuries. After the death of King Offa of Mercia, Ecbert of Wessex defeated Mercia in 825 AD and replaced Mercia as the dominant power.

Thus, Wessex became the most powerful kingdom in Britain.

On the afternoon of the third day, the group crossed the border and arrived in Oxford, within Wessex territory.

“Vig was right; Wessex is indeed mustering troops.”

Oxford was bustling at this moment. The Yellow Dragon Banner, representing the royal family, fluttered over the city walls, and farmhouses in the suburbs were full of militiamen who had come to muster. Soon, several soldiers noticed the Thunder Banner in Gunnar’s hand and came to inquire about their identity.

Upon learning that they were envoys of the Viking King, the soldiers roughly pulled the four men off their horses and shoved them towards the official residence in the town center.

On the main seat sat an elder over fifty years old with gray hair. He repeatedly looked at the three Viking envoys, his aversion mixed with a trace of fear.

After his attendant unfurled the royal decree, Æthelwolf read it word for word. The wording in the letter was precise. Ragnar stated that he had been threatened by the Crown Prince Burgred, and had been forced to attack Mercia in a defensive action, and would only occupy one-third of the land, leaving the remaining part under the rule of the Mercian nobles.

“Defensive action? According to Ragnar’s account, he seems to have suffered a lot of grievances. Ridiculous!”

Reflecting on the past, Æthelwolf’s hatred for the Vikings grew stronger.

During the reign of the former king, Ecbert, he ordered the six kingdoms to submit to Wessex and planned to gradually integrate them. As a result, the Vikings launched a large-scale invasion, forcing Wessex to use its troops for coastal defense. The various vassals gradually broke away from control, and the original unification process was tragically interrupted.

By the time Æthelwolf ascended the throne, most of his energy was spent dealing with pirate raids in various places. As time went on, the situation worsened. The Vikings occupied Northumbria and now invaded Tamworth from the south. In another two years, once they recover their strength, one day it will be the turn of Wessex, at the southernmost end of Britain.

“No, it ends here!”

Æthelwolf tore up the royal decree and poured his anger on Gunnar, “Filthy Viking barbarians, you still want to seize Anglo-Saxon lands? When spring comes, I will personally lead my army north and purify every inch of land defiled by you.”