novelraw Chapter 204: Evenly Matched
Chapter 204: Evenly Matched
Loaded with numerous pig iron ingots, the Knarr ship's draft suddenly increased. Propelled by the south wind, it sailed slowly toward Aberdeen.
Aberdeen was a newly developed region. As unclaimed wastelands in Tyne County grew increasingly scarce, the Duke had uniformly settled Northern European immigrants here. Rumor had it that the population had increased by five thousand just last year.
Sir Huck took a stroll around the docks. The area was primarily focused on agriculture and animal husbandry, transporting grain and wool to Teyne Town, with no high-value commodities worth noting.
Further north was Orkney County, which encompassed the northernmost town of Wick in Britain and the Orkney Islands. The sparse population here gave the employees a bad premonition.
"The Shetland Islands are located even further north. Wouldn't they be even more barren?"
Soon, their worries were validated. The geographical landscape of Shetland was similar to that of Northern Europe. The first thing that caught their eyes was the rugged and complex coastline, with towering cliffs plunging straight into the sea. The tops of the cliffs were covered in a thin layer of turf, pressed flat against the ground by howling gales. The waves relentlessly battered the base of the cliffs, churning up an abundance of snow-white froth.
Looking further inland, the island featured rolling hills, with large expanses of peat bogs nestled in the low-lying areas. These bogs provided a source of cheap fuel. However, since honeycomb coal had become popular in Londinium in recent years, Sir Huck had long forgotten what it felt like to use peat.
Amidst the captain's shouts, the Knarr ship lowered its sails. The crew took to the oars, carefully navigating the vessel into a port called Lerwick.
"My lord, you have arrived," the captain announced.
"This is it?" Huck's eyes widened in disbelief. "We agreed before setting off that you would take us to the largest settlement in Shetland. A man must keep his word!"The captain sighed. "Go ask anyone on the docks. If there's a larger settlement in these islands, I'll eat this leather hat right here and now."
Climbing up to the square poop deck, Huck surveyed the village interior. It was dotted with simple Viking longhouses—low, narrow structures with faint plumes of smoke drifting from their chimneys. There were about a hundred and fifty houses in total, housing a population of less than a thousand.
Prompted by the captain, Sir Huck slung his bags over his shoulder and disembarked. He sought out the local village chief in charge and announced his identity.
The village chief cast a suspicious glance at the delegation and held out a hand, demanding the royal and ducal decrees. Breaking the seals, he saw that the two edicts bore the crests of the Lothbrok family and the Teyne family respectively. However, the Duke's decree was brief, doing little more than introducing their identities.
"So, you are the lords from Londinium."
Unable to fathom the Duke's intentions for the time being, the village chief settled the group into a cleared-out stone warehouse. The interior was permeated with the lingering, inescapable stench of salted fish.
Even though it was summer, Shetland's climate remained remarkably cool. The strong sea winds caused the clouds to move rapidly, threatening sudden downpours or dense fog at any moment. That evening, two employees accidentally caught a cold, forcing Huck to toss some peat that had been drying outside into the fireplace for warmth.
Enduring the acrid smoke from the burning peat, a wave of sorrow washed over Huck. He had worked tirelessly for most of his life, only to end up in a place where he couldn't even use honeycomb coal.
The next day, Huck and his men sought out the village chief. The man had already received a secret letter from the Sheriff of Orkney, so he spoke up first, demanding payment for their food and lodging.
'You want to charge us for a few pieces of stale bread?'
Sir Huck swallowed his rising anger. "We are civilian officials under the direct jurisdiction of the royal family."
The village chief offered a half-smile, his eyes gleaming with mockery. "So what? For the past ten years, the Duke has never bothered with us. As long as we hand over salted fish and wool every three months, the locals are left to handle everything else themselves. We don't recognize any idiotic Queen Mother. If you don't pay up, get out!"
Left with no choice, Sir Huck paid for their room and board out of his own pocket and instructed his subordinates to start collecting taxes at the port.
Realizing the harsh reality of their situation, the group didn't dare intercept any Knarr ships. There were far too many sailors on board for them to handle. They could only target the smaller Viking longships for taxes, barely earning enough each day to keep themselves fed and clothed.
After enduring this miserable existence for a while, some of the men secretly deserted. Sir Huck led the remaining few who had nowhere else to go, continuing to tough it out. They prayed that the Royal Guard would swiftly quell the rebellion and return to Britain to intimidate the various vassals.
At the same time, in Northern Europe, the Royal Guard was reveling in triumph.
After Niels and Ubbe fled, Oleg took over several large and medium-sized settlements, acquiring supplies, livestock, and slaves with a total value of three thousand pounds.
This wealth was divided into four shares: one for the rank-and-file soldiers, one for the commanders, one for the army's collective treasury, and one to be transported back to Londinium. This arrangement satisfied all parties involved, allowing Oleg to smoothly win the loyalty of his troops. In early August, he commanded his soldiers to cross the sea by ship, planning to eradicate the rebels before winter arrived so they could set sail for home.
Gothenburg.
Ignoring the stares of the berserkers and local residents, Niels led his soldiers in bowing before a gilded throne situated in the center of the clearing. This was a new habit he had cultivated recently—worshipping twice a day, morning and evening. It was a display of fanaticism that surpassed even what was shown when Ragnar was alive, as if he were making offerings to a god.
Once the ritual concluded, Niels excitedly announced to the crowd:
"Ragnar has sent down his guidance! He commands us to defend Gothenburg to the death and defeat the hounds of the Queen Mother, Aslaug!"
His eight hundred soldiers echoed his sentiment in unison. Unwittingly, their fervor stirred the hearts of some simple-minded berserkers and commoners, casting an atmosphere of restless excitement over Gothenburg.
Had it been Wigg, Ivar, or Gunnar, they would never have allowed Niels to bewitch the masses like this. However, Halfdan Whiteshirt was impulsive and easily angered. He went along with the demands of those present, swearing to fight the Royal Guard to the bitter end.
On August 3rd, Oleg's forces landed on the southern coast of Gothenburg. When their attempts to persuade the enemy to surrender failed, the Royal Guard began felling trees and constructing a siege camp. The entire process was well-organized; if Wigg had been there to witness it, he probably would have given them a passing grade of sixty out of a hundred.
That night, taking advantage of the fact that the enemy had not yet secured their footing, Halfdan and Niels led their troops out of the city for a night raid.
The camp was situated on a grassy plain four hundred meters east of Gothenburg. The western palisade facing the town was heavily fortified, while the northeastern area, further away from the settlement, was sparsely defended. The palisade there remained unfinished, with numerous chevaux-de-frise placed at the gaps.
Under Niels's leadership, six hundred men silently crossed the dew-soaked meadow, slowly approaching the northern palisade of the camp.
The darkness was so thick it felt almost tangible. They could only confirm each other's positions by the occasional faint clinking of iron armor and weapons, along with the sound of muffled breathing. Ahead, the blurry silhouette of the camp loomed faintly through the fog, appearing vulnerable and entirely off guard.
"First echelon, move out!"
A small squad of elite soldiers rushed toward the gap in the palisade, attempting to clear away the barricades blocking their path.
"Swish—Thwack!" An arrow whistled through the air and embedded itself into someone's neck. A gurgling sound escaped his throat, like air hissing from a punctured waterskin. His body stiffened rigidly before crashing heavily to the ground.
Immediately after, more arrows shot out from the depths of the darkness, raining down like hail against the round shields of the assault team and producing a continuous, dull thudding of splintering wood.
"It's an ambush! Charge through!"
Halfdan's furious roar exploded in the silent night. He raised his round shield high and charged headlong into the rain of arrows. Niels and his personal guards drew their bows and returned fire, engaging in a fierce shootout with the defenders that temporarily suppressed the enemy archers.
After Niels had emptied two quivers of arrows, the frontline had still made no progress. He grabbed a Deerhide Warrior by the arm. "Quickly, tell your boss to retreat! The archers are almost completely exhausted."
Before long, the raiding party retreated back to Gothenburg, cursing the whole way. Over the following two weeks, Niels launched multiple successive sorties, all of which were repelled by the enemy. It seemed Oleg could always predict his moves, leaving Niels immensely frustrated.
After their fifth failure, Niels sought out Halfdan. "I followed Ragnar with those Royal Guards for years, so we are well-acquainted with each other's tactics. The enemy has far too much armor; there is absolutely no hope for us in an open field battle. We can only rely on the palisade and defend to the death."