Ch 71: Tournament

After issuing threats, Æthelwolf gestured, ordering the soldiers to execute three Viking envoys.

Facing the cold, sharp sword blade, Gunnar showed no fear. “Kill me,” he said, “but not a single noble or priest among the prisoners will live. Three lives for over a hundred—a good deal for our grandfathers!”

At this time, an Earl leaned in and whispered:

“Your Majesty, you must spare the lives of those prisoners. After defeating the Vikings, if you can win their allegiance, you can hold a Council of Wise Men and have them elect you King of Mercia.”

That’s right! Æthelwolf slapped his thigh.

Tracing his bloodline, an ancestor was a princess who married into Mercia; he indeed had a claim to the Mercian throne.

He raised his right hand, ordering the guards to delay the execution, his brain working rapidly:

“Leading the army against the Pagans will greatly increase my reputation. If this battle is victorious, and I am elected King of Mercia, then unifying the remaining five kingdoms will not be a delusion.”

Æthelwolf ultimately changed his mind, ordering the Viking envoys to be driven away, and then personally wrote a long letter to the Pope.

First, he emphasized the serious situation in Britain: Northumbria and Mercia were occupied by the Vikings, and the other four kingdoms were useless. Throughout Britain, only Wessex could shoulder the burden.

Then, Æthelwolf listed the names of his ancestors, pointing out that one was a princess of Mercia. Now that the Mercian Royal Family’s bloodline was extinct, he was qualified to inherit the throne of Mercia after reclaiming the land.

In the end, Æthelwolf earnestly requested the Pope to dispatch an envoy to attend his coronation ceremony. In return, he vowed to strictly enforce the tithe within his territory and to crack down on stingy peasants who refused to pay taxes.

Rubbing his sore wrists, he signaled for the Earls to check the wording. After several grammatical errors were pointed out, the King had to rewrite it and seal it with sealing wax.

“Remember, send it to the Papal Court with the fastest speed, without any delay!”

The messenger replied loudly, “As you command, Your Majesty.”

More than a month passed, the ice and snow gradually melted, and Æthelwolf anxiously awaited a reply from Rome, but instead received an unexpected reinforcement.

When the messenger from Wessex passed through Paris, Charles, the “Bald” King of West Francia, heard that the Vikings had captured Tamworth, and he was greatly alarmed.

For decades, the Franks had also suffered greatly from pirates; if the Vikings occupied Britain, future pillaging would only become more frequent.

Out of long-term consideration, “Bald” Charles sent one thousand reinforcements: six hundred conscripted peasant soldiers, sixty knights, and more than three hundred mounted attendants.

Facing the envoy sent by the French King, Æthelwolf was suspicious. “He has no territorial demands, nor does he ask for money?”

The envoy respectfully replied, “Yes, King Charles does not seek any reward. His only thought is to kill all the Viking Barbarians so as not to let them pillage our Northern Coast daily.”

“Thank you for King Charles’ kindness.” Æthelwolf felt a little headache about these unexpected reinforcements.

Feeding warhorses requires oats, peas, and salt. One warhorse can eat the rations of 6–8 infantrymen. Four hundred warhorses are equivalent to the food consumption of more than two thousand infantrymen.

“There are too many cavalry. It would be better to send more heavy infantry.”

Hearing this statement, the envoy was stunned. Compared to heavy infantry, light infantry, and archers, cavalry is the only force that dominates the battlefield. Was the Old King joking?

The envoy looked up in astonishment, stared at Æthelwolf for a few seconds, not knowing what to say. Suddenly, he suddenly understood: Anglo-Saxon riders generally did not have stirrups!

“Your Majesty, riders without stirrups are unworthy of being called cavalry. In a few days, when the reinforcements arrive, have your knights practice shock tactics. Then you will find that the role of cavalry far surpasses other troop types!”

Unable to withstand the Frankish envoy’s plea, Æthelwolf had a wooden fence built to enclose an open space as a temporary racecourse, and selected ten nobles with excellent horsemanship to compete with the Franks.

In the morning, the air was filled with the smell of horse manure, rust, and ale. Each attendant draped their warhorses with felt coats embroidered with the family crest; metal bits clinked in the cold light.

Before the race began, the ten Frankish knights who were about to compete gathered together to chat. They were mostly young nobles in their twenties, with practice blunt swords hanging from their waists.

“I really miss my family’s wine cellar. Even the most mediocre products are better than the Anglo-Saxons’ inferior drinks.”

“Not only the drinks, but the Anglo-Saxon dishes are also terrible. Yesterday’s roast venison had no flavor at all. Only the eels were to my liking.”

“This place is simply too poor. The land is barren（ compared to Francia）. Peasants generally use wooden tools and lack water-powered workshops. The nobles have low tastes, almost like the wool merchants in the countryside.”

The edges of the field were crowded with onlookers. Monks held crosses and prayed softly; a group of children climbed the trees to grab a view; merchants hawked cured meat and ale.

At 8 AM, Æthelwolf and a group of nobles went to the grandstand. After settling down, he could not help but exclaim.

By God, how strong the Frankish warhorses were! They were a whole circle larger than the Anglo-Saxon warhorses.

“The situation is bad; my riders might lose badly.”

Woo~

The first horn tore through the sky. Two opponents about to compete climbed onto their saddles and received their shields and blunt swords from the soldiers.

Both sides were ready. The referee in the grandstand waved his banner. Instantly, the two warhorses charged towards each other at their masters’ urging. The Anglo-Saxon unsurprisingly fell off his horse and rolled on the ground several times due to inertia.

Seeing this, the loser’s attendant rushed into the arena and lifted him onto a wooden plank to take him away for treatment.

“Enough!” Æthelwolf raised his right hand and announced the end of the competition. “It is not martial skill that decides the winner, but their respective warhorses. That’s all.”

Hearing this news, the crowd inside and outside the arena erupted in boos. The Frankish knights about to compete rushed to the front of the grandstand, their faces flushed red, shouting that they could also defeat their opponents in infantry combat.

At the unanimous request of those present, the competition was changed to infantry combat. Both sides entered the arena with blunt swords and oak shields. There were no fixed rules; the only goal was to knock down the opponent.

After nine bouts of infantry combat, the Franks won seven of them. Involving the dignity of the royal family, some Anglo-Saxons proposed extending the competition.

As time passed, the competition became more intense and bloody. Until dusk, a Frankish knight named Maurice had defeated ten opponents and became the undisputed winner.

Nightfall arrived, and the chaotic and bloody tournament was declared over. Including the Old King, no one realized how far-reaching the consequences of this farce were. Later historians considered it the beginning of knightly tournaments.

In the following years, this bloody and fervent “war game” gradually became popular throughout Europe.

Thanks to book friends t2377879 and Huang Hualin for their rewards.