Ch 88: Army

Time arrived in March. The North Sea storms gradually subsided, and longships from Northern Europe successively arrived to muster, participating in this unprecedented pillaging operation.

With ample troops, Vig wrote to Ragnar, requesting the allocation of twelve hundred men under his command.

Having received permission, he selected twelve hundred raiders into his command structure. The troops expanded to two thousand, divided into two formations, each formation consisting of six hundred spearmen, two hundred shield axe men, and two hundred archers.

With sufficient military supplies and grain, Vig seized the time to train these two formations. Until April 10th, Ragnar personally led the main force to arrive at Londinium.

Looking around, outside Londinium City were countless tents stretching as far as the eye could see, with the banners of various nobles fluttering in the wind. Ragnar asked Vig, who came to greet him, “How many in total?”

“Including the troops you brought, a total of ten thousand men. If we wait a while longer, more raiders will come to muster.”

Ten thousand—this number far exceeded Ragnar’s anticipation. An unprecedented confidence filled his chest.

“West Francia must have received the news. The longer we delay, the more prepared they will be. Are the supplies and ships ready?”

Vig gestured for the shield-bearer behind him to hand over a stack of ledgers. “Preparation is complete; we can depart at any time.”

After hearing this, Ragnar laughed in satisfaction and decided to cross the sea and launch the expedition three days later.

On the eve of departure, he received news from Mercia—the Welsh in the west were harassing the countryside and plundering grain.

“These bandits are taking the initiative to attack?”

Ragnar’s gaze swept across his vassals, lingering longest on Ivar, Vig, and Gunnar. Before he could speak, Halfdan beside him stepped forward.

“Father, they are merely a group of forest bandits. Leave them to me. West Francia is strong; it is more suitable for the other Sirs to play their roles.”

Halfdan knew his martial skill, strategy, and reputation were inferior to those of Ivar, Vig, and other nobles. If he participated in attacking West Francia, he would at most be assigned some insignificant tasks.

On the contrary, if he led his troops to conquer Wales alone, with this merit, he would have the confidence to demand a fiefdom from his father, thereby distancing himself from the increasingly suffocating palace and fully displaying his abilities.

“You want to lead the troops on an expedition?”

Looking at Halfdan’s tall and strong physique, Ragnar was stunned for a moment. Unconsciously, his third son had come of age, yet he had subconsciously treated him as a child.

Ragnheid, your son, whom you worry about the most, has also grown up.

A tinge of sadness arose in his heart. Ragnar took a deep breath and suddenly called out Æthelwolf’s name, putting him in charge of the expedition against Wales, with Halfdan as his second-in-command.

To ensure this man did not play any tricks, Ragnar deliberately conscripted his three sons as court guards to accompany him on his expedition to West Francia.

“As you command, Your Majesty,” Æthelwolf bowed, his face showing no emotion.

Unable to fully meet his demands, Halfdan could not suppress his disappointment and reluctantly bowed.

Given his son’s shallow prestige and insufficient command ability, Ragnar only allocated him one thousand men. Wessex was powerful; conscripting more than one thousand militiamen was not a problem. Adding them together, more than two thousand were more than enough to deal with the Welsh bandits.

April 13th, morning.

After a sacrifice ceremony at the dock, Ragnar boarded the largest longship and led the fleet eastward.

This expedition mobilized a total of five hundred and thirty longships, of which two hundred were used to transport supplies and horses. Looking back, the dense longships floated on the water’s surface like a floating town.

Atop the tall masts, the weather vanes whistled loudly. Ragnar looked up—a northeast wind. The gods were indeed favoring him.

Following the wind direction, the fleet smoothly sailed out of the mouth of the Thames, along the coastline, and arrived at the southeast corner of Britain, Dover.

Dover is about thirty kilometers from Calais across the strait, the narrowest part of the English Channel. With a following wind, it takes 6-8 hours. If it’s a headwind, the time consumption might extend to 2-3 days, or even necessitate returning to port to wait.

After resting overnight, the fleet crossed the sea on the morning of April 14th.

The morning mist dissipated, and the sun slowly rose from the sea level, its golden light spreading across the white cliff face, as if coated with gold leaf.

The White Cliffs of Dover.

Vig looked out at the five-kilometer-long, hundred-meter-high white cliffs from the deck, feeling his mood suddenly lighten. All his frustration dissipated with the chirping of seagulls.

“I never thought the most beautiful place in Britain would be here. Ulf is lucky to be transferred to such a good place.”

The northeast wind from inland howled, pushing the fleet towards the opposite shore of the strait. By sunset, the Vikings had successfully reached the beach of Calais.

On the distant hillside, a lonely wooden castle stood, and the sound of warning bells could be faintly heard. Ragnar did not pay attention to this small group of enemies and ordered the fleet to advance along the coastline in a southwest direction.

To be frank, more than nine thousand people were far from enough to conquer West Francia. Ragnar’s plan was to pillage Paris, weaken Charles the Bald’s strength as much as possible, and force him to sign a treaty to ensure no war would break out within five years.

Along the winding coastline, the fleet proceeded intermittently, taking four days to reach the Seine Estuary.

At this moment, several militiamen on the north bank lit a bonfire, and thick black smoke rose straight into the sky. Soon, a second column of smoke rose in the east, followed immediately by a third.

Vig’s worry came true.

Long before the main army set off, an Anglo-Saxon noble had sent someone to inform West Francia.

On closer thought, Æthelwolf was the most suspicious. If Ragnar’s army suffered a complete defeat, he would certainly muster his troops, quickly occupy the surrounding empty territories, and then, under the guise of expelling the Vikings, launch a northern expedition to become king of all Anglo-Saxons.

“Your Majesty was too reckless. You shouldn’t have left Æthelwolf in Britain. Although you controlled his three sons, you still didn’t have a firm grasp.”

Against the current, the sailors exerted all their strength to row, and with the help of the weak northeast wind, they advanced slowly on the river surface.

After sailing along the winding Seine River for two days, a river barrier suddenly stretched across the front. On the north bank was a town with a five-meter wall called Rouen, while on the south bank was a small wooden fort.

“River barriers? Is this even possible?”

The casting of river barriers was extremely difficult and time-consuming and laborious. Vig guessed that Charles the Bald had received news of the Viking invasion as early as last year and spent more than half a year building this defense.

“This is trouble,” Vig took a small boat to Ragnar’s flagship.

On the deck, the nobles discussed briefly for a few minutes and decided to attack the south bank. The wooden fort was small, and the watchtower on top was not yet completed. The difficulty of attack was far lower than that of the town on the north bank.