Ch 72: Encounter

That evening, Æthelwolf held a grand banquet to entertain the knights.

Witnessing the terrifying combat power of the Frankish knights, the Old King intended to reform his tactics and proposed to the envoy named Lambert the purchase of warhorses.

“Hmm, let me think,” Lambert’s eyes flickered, tentatively proposing a price,

“According to the Anglo-pounds used in your country, a qualified warhorse costs three pounds of silver, and a superior stallion five pounds of silver.”

“No problem,” Æthelwolf knocked the goblet heavily on the table, “I am willing to pay thirteen hundred pounds of silver, and woolen cloth worth a thousand pounds of silver. When will the delivery be?”

This man didn’t even haggle? Hmm, the rumors are true; relying on wool exports and domestic silver mines, Wessex is indeed wealthy.

Lambert suppressed his inner elation, feigning difficulty, “Procuring so many warhorses in a short time is indeed somewhat difficult. I will immediately write to the domestic area. If King Charles’s royal stud farm does not have enough warhorses, I will have people buy them from various Earls to ensure that your requirements are met.”

Tamworth.

Based on Gunnar’s observations in Oxfordshire, it is preliminarily judged that Wessex has mustered three thousand troops, with over six hundred armored men. In response, Ragnar’s strategy is to draw reinforcements from the domestic area, allowing the army to gradually recover its strength.

In mid-March, with the melting of ice and snow, the Vikings, who had rested for many days, set off southward, prioritizing the defeat of Wessex, the greatest threat, before dealing with the remaining four small countries.

“Five thousand six hundred Viking warriors against Wessex’s three thousand men, there shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

On the bumpy horseback, Ragnar repeatedly calculated the strength comparison of the two armies. Even with the reinforcements from the four smaller forces, he still held the advantage.

On the third morning, a small fortress appeared ahead. The main building was a stone watchtower left over from the Roman period, surrounded by a five-meter-high stone wall.

“Are there Mercian troops stationed inside?”

Ragnar approached to observe. At least a hundred soldiers were behind the battlements, so he sent a Mercian prisoner to try to persuade them to surrender.

A few minutes later, the bruised and swollen prisoner ran back, saying that Lord Ratworth resolutely refused to surrender.

“After capturing Tamworth, there are still Mercians daring to fight to the death? He is truly a rare warrior,” Ragnar sighed, ordering the formation to be deployed to prepare for a strong attack.

Half an hour later, the battering ram was assembled, and Pascal suddenly said: “Your Majesty, after capturing Tamworth, we captured a group of young attendants. They are the offspring of various nobles. I remember a boy claiming to be the second son of Lord Ratworth.”

He suggested delaying the attack, rode to the supply train, ransacked a roster recording the captured personnel, and indeed, they had captured Lord Ratworth’s son.

“Excellent!”

At the same time, the left wing.

Seeing that the center army was slow to attack, Vig simply found some tree shade to sleep. “Joren, the troops remain on standby. Arrange scouts to scout the surrounding area. Call me if there is any situation.”

Leaning against the rough trunk of an oak tree, his consciousness gradually blurred.

After an unknown amount of time, Joren shook Vig’s body, “Sir, the enemy army has surrendered, and we are taking over the fortress.”

“Understood, help me up.”

Enduring the soreness in his thighs, Vig stood up with the support of the shield-bearer. From afar, he saw that the Mercian banner on top of the watchtower had been replaced by Ragnar’s Thunder Banner, and Viking soldiers were taking over various defenses.

“It was settled so quickly?”

Entering the fortress, Vig and a group of nobles had lunch together. When they were full and satisfied, a soldier ran in to warn, “Our troops on the left wing are moving towards the southeast. I don’t understand what happened.”

Glancing at Vig and Ulf, finding them both bewildered, Ragnar hurriedly asked, “Did some soldiers desert on their own accord, or is the entire left wing in chaos?”

“About five or six hundred, holding Ulf’s river fish banner.”

At this point, the high-ranking officers no longer had the heart to eat. Vig and Ulf ran to the stable, striving to muster the troops as quickly as possible. The others followed Ragnar to the top of the watchtower, their eyes fixed on the hills in the southeast direction.

Two mounts rushed out of the gate one after another. The strong wind in their faces made it difficult for them to open their eyes. Halfway, Ulf shouted at the top of his lungs, “I’ll go chase those fools first, you gather the remaining troops.”

“Good.”

After separating, Vig rode towards his troops. Facing these troublesome fellows, his patience was at its limit. “What exactly happened?”

Sensing their boss’s killing intent, the shield-bearer distanced himself from the blame: “This is not our fault. Scout cavalry reported that a small group of Mercian soldiers were found in the rear of the southeast hills. A small group of bored raiders acted on their own initiative, and under their leadership, Ulf’s soldiers also followed. We tried to dissuade them, but we couldn’t.”

“Odin above, why did you send these people to torture me?”

His blood surged, Vig felt a sudden tightness in his chest, and the scene before him flickered, almost causing him to fall to the ground.

“Sir!”

“Don’t mind me, gather the troops. If we delay any longer, Ulf’s hundreds of men may not survive!”

Spending five minutes to organize the formation, Vig led his troops to chase the pace of their allied troops. At this moment, their figures had already disappeared behind the low hill. Looking into the distance, he only saw flocks of birds rising into the boundless blue sky.

Not long after, a scout rider ran back to report, saying that they had defeated an equal number of Anglo-Saxons and were organizing a pursuit.

“Still chasing?”

Vig’s spirit was numb. He didn’t get angry but asked the rider to report to Ragnar. Whether it was pursuit or gathering troops, everything was up to the latter to decide.

Hooves crushed the knee-high wild grass. A gentle breeze carried a few dandelion seed heads across the horsehair. Vig gripped the reins and stopped at the top of the low hill.

The terrain ahead was undulating, like a green carpet wrinkled by a giant, extending high and low to the horizon. At this moment, Ulf’s subordinates had completely lost their organization, chasing scattered Anglo-Saxon soldiers everywhere. Some rushed into the forest, some chased and fought on the slopes.

Witnessing this scene, Vig closed his eyes. Based on his combat experience, before these Viking warriors exhausted their energy, gathering the troops was merely a delusion.

Suddenly, the shield-bearer reminded, “Sir, His Majesty is also chasing after them.”

Turning his head, Vig found that the entire Viking army was moving towards this place. Niels, Ivar, and Leonard, led by various unit commanders, thousands of people rushed over like a dark cloud, full of killing intent.

“A small group of raiders acted on their own initiative, resulting in thousands of people moving out together. This battle is too hasty.”

Having come this far, Vig could only lead his troops to continue advancing, aiming for the hillside two miles away. The terrain there was the highest, suitable for observing the surrounding situation.