novelraw Chapter 192: A Sudden Turn of Events
Chapter 192: A Sudden Turn of Events
Wigg's plan was simple: use the cover of night to lead his direct troops south. By tomorrow morning, Ulf and Pascal Jr. would march north along the West Bank in a grand, ostentatious display to attract the enemy's attention.
"Remember, do not let the main army get too close to the riverbank, or the enemy will be able to clearly gauge your numbers," he instructed.
After repeating his warnings, Wigg selected fifteen hundred infantrymen in prime condition, along with three hundred cavalrymen led by Thorkel. Under the anxious gazes of their allies, they departed from the camp.
The moonlight was bright and clear. The soldiers closely followed their leader's footsteps, forming a long column as they silently crept southward.
During the two months of preparation for this campaign, Wigg had his soldiers eat herring and cod every day. The cod liver oil was rich in Vitamin A, which helped prevent night blindness.
While out on the campaign, whenever packhorses, cattle, or sheep were slaughtered, Wigg always laid claim to the livers, reserving them exclusively for his direct troops. Sometimes, he also supplemented their diet with dairy products like cheese and butter.
Unfortunately, carrots had not yet spread to Europe. Wigg had brought this matter up with the Berber Merchants, offering to pay a heavy sum for carrot seeds. They had promised to write to Arab merchants in Asia, expecting news within two years.
Early the next morning, scouts discovered a fishing village on the East Bank of the river. Wigg had guessed correctly; the East Bank was crowded with large numbers of warhorses bowing their heads to drink, while a clumsy group of militiamen was busy constructing a pontoon bridge.
Seeing this, he led his troops to hide in a forested mountain area. This spot, less than two kilometers from the riverbank, was the closest possible vantage point.
"Let the soldiers rest," Wigg ordered. "Judging by their progress, the enemy will likely drag this out until noon, or perhaps even the afternoon, before they finish."Washing it down with clean water, Wigg gnawed on a small piece of black bread before leaning against a tree trunk and falling into a deep sleep.
An unknown amount of time passed. Massaging his numb thighs, Wigg opened his eyes. The Franks on the opposite shore were still busy.
"Wake the soldiers. Have them replenish their food and water and don their armor. Expect the enemy to cross the river in half an hour."
Concealed at the edge of the woods, Wigg watched the busy figures of the Franks. Six noble banners were erected on the East Bank, the most conspicuous of which was Gunnar's White Brown Bear Banner.
As the most capable vassal fighting under Charles the Bald, his presence here could only mean one thing: the Frankish army had achieved victory on the eastern battlefield and was now freeing up its hands to deal with the Vikings in the west.
Time ticked by, and the pontoon bridge was finally completed. Cavalrymen began crossing the river one after another, leading their horses by the reins. Wigg gathered his commanders for a brief meeting.
"Thorkel, in a moment, you will lead the cavalry in the first charge to disrupt their formations. Then, split into two groups and clear out any scattered riders on the perimeter. Do not let the enemy interfere with the movements of our pike phalanx."
"Viper, you will command the archers and crossbowmen. Prioritize shooting the horses on the pontoon bridge. Do everything you can to block it completely."
"Joren, Butcherbird, you two will each lead your respective divisions of spearmen. Charge into close quarters at maximum speed and push the enemy into the river."
With that said, Wigg drew his Dragon's Breath Sword. The ruby embedded in the hilt glinted with a dazzling, crimson light. "Tactics are fluid, like water without a constant shape. Charge, and teach these simple-minded barbarians a lesson!"
Receiving their orders, three hundred cavalrymen led their mounts out of the forest, forming two horizontal lines across the grassy plain before following Thorkel at the very front to charge the enemy. It was already afternoon, and the sun was setting. The Viking cavalry roared in from the west, their backs bathed in the blinding, orange-red sunlight. The ground trembled slightly. The Franks, who had been organizing their formations on the riverbank, hurriedly scrambled onto their horses. Before they could even build up speed, the lances of the Vikings were already thrusting into their faces.
In the blink of an eye, over a hundred Frankish cavalrymen on the outermost edge were knocked down. The riders on the inside were crammed together in a chaotic jumble, their ears ringing with the agonized screams of their comrades and the terrified whinnies of their horses. They could not hear their commanders' orders at all.
Sensing the mortal danger, the warhorses ignored their masters' desperate shouts, frantically shoving toward wherever they deemed safe. The Frankish cavalry fell into total chaos.
After a brief, violent clash, the Viking riders retreated one after another, clearing space for their allies in the rear. "Form ranks! Advance!" Urged on by their officers, the spearmen reorganized their formation a mere fifty meters from the enemy. They formed two dense rows of pikes and marched forward in unison to the cadence of the shouted orders.
Faced with rows of cold, merciless pikes, the Frankish cavalry panicked. By now, the pontoon bridge was under a relentless volley from the archers. The corpses of warhorses completely blocked the bridge surface. Left with no other choice, the cavalrymen abandoned their mounts, discarded their armor and weapons, and struggled as they swam toward the East Bank.
In less than ten minutes, the six hundred-plus cavalrymen on the West Bank were completely routed. Two hundred were killed in action, over three hundred fled back to the East Bank, and the remaining hundred or so were taken prisoner. As a bonus, the Vikings captured four hundred warhorses and a massive amount of armor.
Regrettably, Gunnar was stationed on the East Bank. Wigg had not been able to capture him, nor had he even managed to seize his banner.
"How many nobles are among the prisoners?"
Butcherbird flipped through the roster. "They are all minor nobles. The highest-ranking among them is the cousin of Lamberto, the Prime Minister, and the second son of the Earl of Montpellier. After that, there are four barons and thirty-eight knights."
Wigg did not say anything else. He ordered his men to clear the battlefield and organize a retreat as quickly as possible.
Just as he was about to leave, Gunnar called out to him from the opposite bank. The two men walked more than a hundred paces downstream. With no one else around, Wigg strained his voice across the wide river and shouted, "What is the situation with our army?"
"Not good. Ragnar was on a long march, and we seized the opportunity to besiege him. His entire army suffered heavy casualties, and he himself was struck by several arrows..."
Gunnar recounted everything truthfully. The location of the decisive battle was not far from Wigg's prediction—it had taken place in Auxerre. When the battle was at its most intense, Aella, the exiled prince of Northumbria, led a small squad of archers and shot at Ragnar with arrows coated in snake venom. Coupled with the repeated charges of the Frankish knights, the Vikings were ultimately defeated and forced to retreat.
"Aella?" Wigg found the name fuzzy in his memory. "It has been over a decade, and he is still stubbornly pursuing his revenge?"
"Yes. Even I did not expect it. However, Aella's position was counterattacked by Halfdan Whiteshirt and his berserkers. Aella was struck square in the face by a throwing axe, and the dozen or so minor nobles around him were killed in battle as well."
Recalling the brutal scenes of the battlefield, Gunnar seemed to be stirred by inner emotions, and he chose to avoid dwelling on the subject.
Wigg's mood was equally heavy. "Decades of friendship, and it is just gone like that?"
Gunnar wiped the corner of his eye, then immediately raised his chin high. "Wigg, at our age, having experienced all of this, so-called brothers and women mean nothing. Only this crown still spurs me on, making me feel that I am still alive. I am heartbroken, but I will absolutely not regret it!
"You are the same. Stop pretending to be a flawless, innocent saint. After Ragnar, the only ones qualified to be called king are you and Ivar the Boneless. Niels counts as half; his skills fall a bit short, but he is ruthless enough, so perhaps he can carve out a decent future for himself. The rest are nothing but a bunch of mediocre trash, like ignorant river fish swept along by the torrent of fate. Farewell, old friend. The road ahead will be arduous. Take care of yourself."