Ch 89: Spear Point

Led by the flagship, the fleet haphazardly approached the south bank. Thanks to prolonged formation training, Vig’s two thousand men completed their muster the fastest. To cover the allied troops mired in chaos, he ordered a defensive formation three hundred meters south of the riverbank.

Mounted on his grey horse, he arrived at a slope, and the scene before him made him gasp.

A kilometer away, in the wheat field, over three thousand Frankish infantry deployed from a marching column into a line suitable for attack. A blue flag with a golden fleur-de-lis fluttered in the center of their formation.

Besides the loosely formed conscripted peasants, seven hundred cavalry were also mustered on the hillside to the southeast. Their chainmail was covered with various robes, mainly blue, yellow, and red, looking from afar like clusters of blooming wildflowers.

Time was pressing. Vig had a shield-bearer return to the riverbank to deliver an order, “Tell Your Majesty, approximately four thousand Franks are about to attack, including seven hundred cavalry!”

With his soldiers’ anxious gazes, he drew Dragon’s Breath Sword and, following their usual drill formations, commanded his troops to arrange themselves into two pike formations on the grassland.

Sensing the Vikings’ movements, the Frankish cavalry were unwilling to delay. They abandoned the sluggish conscripted peasants and hastily launched their attack.

On the hillside, the horses moved at a slow pace, adjusting their formation according to the cavalry’s commands as they walked, gradually forming three loose lines.

Then, the lines increased their speed, and the ground trembled with a rumbling like distant thunder. Under the sunlight, the cavalry’s weapons reflected countless glittering points of cold light. The crossbowmen at the front of the formations paled, trembling as they awaited the order to shoot.

Five hundred meters.

Three hundred meters.

One hundred meters.

Entering range, under the officers’ command, the crossbowmen at the front of the pike formations hurriedly triggered their crossbows, then retreated back into the formations along the breach.

Inside the formation, Vig sat upright in his saddle on his grey horse. From his perspective, hundreds of arrows flew like locusts towards the point one hundred meters away. Some arrows missed, some struck the cavalry’s shields and armor without causing any injuries, and only a very few hit the horses.

The next moment, the Frankish cavalry clamped their legs against their horses’ flanks, increasing their speed to the maximum, charging forward with longswords and chain hammers.

“Vive la Charlemagne!”

Thirty-four years had passed since Charlemagne’s death, but they still launched their charge in the name of this great monarch. Witnessing the knights mounted on tall horses charging towards them, the spearmen in the front ranks began to waver.

At this point, Vig could think of no other method, and could only loudly boost his subordinates’ morale, “According to training, lower your bodies, insert the end of your spears into the ground, point the spearheads diagonally upward, aiming at the enemy’s horses.”

Soon, the hundred-meter distance flashed by. More than ten cavalry at the forefront crashed into the pike formation, and both men and horses were killed instantly.

Witnessing the terrible sight of their comrades, the remaining horses involuntarily slowed their pace, unwilling to charge into those cold, deadly points no matter how much their riders urged them.

Gradually, the warhorses slowed down more and more. Driven by their instinct for survival, they finally chose to bypass the front of the formation.

Amidst the angry shouts of the cavalry, their mounts circled around the pike formation. At the same time, the crossbowmen inside the formation recovered their composure and loosed volleys of crossbow bolts at the cavalry on horseback. The first five ranks of spearmen also drew their iron axes and threw them wildly forward.

This chaotic scene lasted a few minutes. The Vikings on the riverbank came to reinforce successively, and sensing the risk of being surrounded, the Frankish cavalry retreated one after another.

Even at this moment, the militiamen a kilometer away had still not formed their formation. Facing the numerically superior Vikings, this Frankish army of approximately four thousand men began to retreat.

“Where is Gunnar? Quickly have our cavalry pursue them!” Bjorn shouted, earning a glare from Ivar.

“Horses innately dislike bumpy environments. After drifting at sea for several days, they are listless and will need some time to rest before they can fight.”

Bjorn: “Is that so? Too bad. Letting this army retreat will cause us a lot of trouble later.”

With his muttering, the Viking army completed its muster. Five thousand men were separated for alert, and the remaining four thousand prepared to besiege the fortress.

Faced with the close-range volley from a thousand archers, the garrison behind the battlements were pinned down, unable to raise their heads. The Vikings carried long ladders and rushed close. Infantry clad in iron armor climbed the walls using the ladders. After several hours of melee combat, they captured the wooden fort before nightfall.

The garrison of the wooden fort was not numerous; more than two hundred died in battle, and the remaining two hundred were taken prisoner.

With the help of a translator, Ragnar interrogated the garrison commander, “‘Bald Head’ Charles, why did he know about our impending attack?”

The commander, listless, stated that beginning last autumn, Anglo-Saxons had successively gone to Paris to issue warnings. Initially, the king had not paid attention, but the number of messengers was simply too great—approximately forty or more.

In the end, “Bald Head” Charles spent a vast sum, and under the suggestion of artisans, constructed river barriers to prevent being caught off guard by the Vikings.

“Wait, he said the number of informants exceeded forty?”

Ragnar had the translator repeat the question, then froze in his seat. Insiders reporting wasn’t unusual—after all, it was newly conquered land—but wasn’t the number of insiders excessive?

Such a large number of insiders meant that besides Æthelwolf, Theodulf, and Edmund, the three grand nobles, a large number of minor nobles and gentlemen also harbored dissatisfaction, willing to risk their lives to send people across the sea to report.

In a daze, Ragnar trembled. His kingdom, seemingly vast, was actually just a leaky thatched hut. A slight kick—no, it might even collapse without anyone needing to lift a finger.

Realizing that his new boss was beginning to suspect him, Theodulf immediately defended himself:

“Your Majesty, I swear by all the gods I know, I never sent anyone to Francia to inform them.”

“Duke, relax, I never doubted your loyalty.” Ragnar, exhausted, cut off his defense.

As Duke of Mercia, Theodulf had an extremely poor reputation and weak control over his territory. He had brought over a thousand men from his home in Nottingham and only controlled the Oxford region. The local lords under his command paid lip service to their allegiance and barely paid taxes. If the situation changed slightly, they would absolutely turn against him immediately.

“After returning home, I will focus my energy on domestic affairs.” Making a silent resolution, Ragnar continued the interrogation.

According to the prisoner’s confession, West Francia was currently embroiled in serious internal strife. Pepin II, the lord of Aquitaine in the south, had already proclaimed himself king and insisted on being on an equal footing with his uncle—”Bald Head” Charles.

Therefore, most of the royal troops were still deployed in the southern region.

In the end, the commander fell into complete despair, “Your Majesty initially thought you only had four or five thousand men, so he didn’t draw off many troops. Unexpectedly, you actually came with over ten thousand.”