Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 108: Declaration Of War

Ch 108: Declaration Of War

After reviewing the parchment detailing the attack, the Pictish envoy remained unconvinced, arguing with Vig for a long time, before reluctantly issuing a threat:

“Sir, having learned of your impending attack, the Gaels, Picts, and Anglo-Saxons who previously fled into the borderlands have united. Are you certain you wish to face this large-scale allied army?”

Vig gave an unconcerned smile. “Yes, your troops surely do not surpass the Franks in number. Six months have passed since then, and I imagine you’ve heard of the Battle of the Seine Riverbank. I could defeat a Frankish army nearly ten thousand strong, so I can naturally handle this haphazardly assembled allied army.”

With matters at this point, the envoy gave up on achieving peace, and silently left Tyne Town.

At this moment, the soldiers on the open space were still practicing their martial skills. The envoy stopped to watch for a while, his mood becoming increasingly low,

“The Vikings are putting their full force into planning the war, while the alliance is still entangled in past conflicts. If things continue like this, I fear we will be utterly defeated.”

Under the shadow of war, the year AD 849 arrived. As the temperature gradually warmed, Vig shifted his focus to training the troops.

Before his expedition against Francia, he had two thousand direct troops. After the wars in Francia and Wales, excluding casualties, only six hundred were willing to remain and fight.

Using these six hundred as a core, Vig conscripted fourteen hundred Viking militiamen from within the borderlands, restoring his army to two thousand. Three Welsh tribes were expected to provide five hundred men as mountain infantry. At the same time, knights from various places in the south were continuously arriving and mustering. By mid-April, when the army was about to depart, a total of two hundred qualified cavalrymen were gathered. Their appearance fees alone consumed six hundred pounds of silver.

“A pike formation of two thousand men, five hundred Welshmen, two hundred cavalrymen, and over two thousand more Norse raiders still arriving.”

He ascended to the top of the main building, gazing at the large expanse of tents in the open space outside Tyne Town. He felt that five thousand men were sufficient to settle the Pictish-Gael alliance in the Northern Border, and there was no need to delay further.

Having made up his mind, Vig summoned his high-ranking officers and announced the Northern Expedition’s departure in two days. Having arranged everything, he, surrounded by his shield-bearers, went to the camp north of the city to get acquainted with the knights and raider leaders who had recently arrived.

“Wait, who are you?”

Vig stopped, staring at a knight clad in chainmail and wearing a pointed nasal helmet. He did not immediately recognize the man.

“Sir, my name is Torger. I was once Gunnar’s knight and participated in the Battle of the Seine Riverbank.” The man removed his helmet, revealing short, light blond hair, and introduced the twelve comrades behind him to their lord.

“We are all Gunnar’s subordinates. Last year, he insisted on converting to the Roman Catholic Church. More than four hundred of us, including myself, disliked this behavior, and escorted the last batch of ransom back to Londinium.

Afterward, I went to His Majesty’s newly established College of Arms and revoked my oath of allegiance to Gunnar. I originally planned to join His Majesty’s Royal Guard, but unfortunately, I have old grudges with Oleg the ‘White-Haired.’ So I came north to participate in this war.”

After hearing Torger’s story, Vig did not rush to recruit him, only exchanging some polite pleasantries and encouraging him to fight bravely.

Over the next two days, the camp was consumed by revelry. Fish and beer were supplied without limit, allowing everyone to truly indulge.

On April 20th, the army officially set out, heading north along the coastline. Transport ships were responsible for supplying provisions. After about three days, they arrived at the ruins of Lindisfarne Monastery.

The monastery was situated on an island east of the coast. At low tide, one could reach the island via a natural causeway. The surrounding area was filled with swamps, and birds were frequently active.

After decades of abandonment, the monastery buildings were covered in vines, becoming a haven for wildlife.

A short distance further north, a river stretching from west to east, the Tweed River, lay ahead. For a long time, this had been the boundary between the Picts and Northumbria. Once the land on the opposite bank of the river was stepped upon, it meant the war would officially erupt.

Under Vig’s orders, the supply fleet sailed into the river channel and selected a suitable location to construct a pontoon bridge.

The Vikings had made ample preparations before their departure. Soon, more than ten longships were neatly arranged on the river surface, five meters apart, before dropping heavy iron anchors to secure the hulls and connecting them with iron chains.

By midday, Pictish scouts appeared sporadically on the northern coast. Before they could approach, the advance party that had crossed the river earlier launched a volley of arrows, successfully repelling them.

The next morning, the pontoon bridge was completed. Vig, holding the reins of his grey horse, crossed the bridge.

Halfway across, looking at the ceaseless flow of the river and the weeds drifting along the surface, he instinctively uttered a Latin proverb: “Alea iacta est（ The die is cast）.”

Half an hour later, a scout rider arrived to report that a large number of Picts, close to three thousand, had gathered fifteen miles ahead.

“Their reaction was quite timely.”

Vig stretched, gathering the troops to meet the enemy. Joren softly dissuaded him, “Sir, there are only three thousand on the northern coast. I suggest waiting a while longer.”

“Wait? They’re not fools. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to use three thousand men against my five thousand. Realizing their numerical disadvantage, their only choice is to retreat.”

To prevent the enemy from fleeing, Vig decided to use an equal number of troops for this battle: two thousand in a pike formation, five hundred Welsh mountain infantry, two hundred cavalry, and over three hundred loosely formed raiders.

For the next two hours, both sides advanced towards each other, until midday, when they encountered each other on an open grassland.

Compared to the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms and West Francia, the Picts’ equipment was the most rudimentary. Only a very small number wore iron armor; most wore worn wool coats, carrying short swords and round shields. Their formation was disorganized, like a group of commoners going to market.

At that moment, a mounted Pictish noble was giving a speech to his subordinates, eliciting continuous cheers.

Seeing this, Vig didn’t bother with pleasantries and ordered the two pike formations to spread into a wide line formation, slowly advancing northward.

When the distance was reduced to two hundred meters, the Welsh longbowmen led by the Shrike unleashed a volley of arrows into the sky. After several volleys, the four hundred crossbowmen at the front of the line also began shooting.

Wave after wave of arrows rained down, causing temporary chaos among the Picts, who were forced to form a shield wall and slowly approach the Viking formation.

Finally, when the distance was reduced to forty meters, the Picts launched a counterattack. They took down the javelins from their backs and hurled them with all their might at the Viking lines.

Instantly, the crossbowmen at the front of the formation suffered heavy casualties. Neither shields nor the iron armor of the heavy crossbowmen could block the javelins’ attack.

Critically wounded, the crossbowmen’s morale collapsed, and they retreated to the rear of the formation along the pre-prepared passage.