novelraw Chapter 208: Dover
Chapter 208: Dover
After thoroughly investigating Princess Enya's situation, Gunnar looked up at the overcast sky, took several deep breaths, and muttered to himself,
"She is the one."
Gunnar's eldest son, Robert, was six years old this year, roughly the same age as Princess Enya. He decided to dispatch his troops to conquer Londinium, then arrange a marriage between his eldest son and Enya to elevate the legitimacy of his rule over the Kingdom of Britain.
"It just so happens that Charles the Bald has traveled to Rome on a pilgrimage and cannot stop me from massing an army. This is an absolutely unprecedented opportunity."
Having made up his mind, Gunnar began rallying his forces and preparing for war.
Relying on the terrifying wealth he had accumulated through the warhorse trade, he recruited a total of eight thousand men, including two thousand cavalrymen. Five hundred of these riders hailed from his direct territories, while the remaining fifteen hundred were drawn from all across Francia. These men had been lured by Gunnar's exorbitant compensation, coming specifically to earn a lucrative windfall.
The base pay for each mercenary cavalryman was three pounds, along with a fivefold share of the spoils. In the event a warhorse was lost or injured, Gunnar was responsible for compensating them with a new mount.
Of the six thousand infantry, nearly half came from the domains of neighboring nobles, all hired by Gunnar's coin. The combined employment costs for both the infantry and cavalry reached a staggering six thousand five hundred pounds. Factoring in the expenses for grain, military equipment, and hired ships, the total expenditure soared to nine thousand pounds.
In March of the year 858, Gunnar's assembled army arrived at Calais. Upon hearing the news, the local lord cleanly surrendered the port, allowing this horde of madmen to cross the sea and head straight for Britain.
Early in the morning, two hundred ships of various sizes blanketed the surface of the ocean, sailing in succession toward Dover on the opposite side of the Channel. As far as the eye could see, the masts stood like a dense forest, and the billowing sailcloth blotted out the sun and sky.Gunnar stood at the bow of his flagship. Just as he was about to deliver a rousing speech, a massive wave violently crashed against the hull, sending a spray of salty mist splashing right over their heads. The soldiers hurriedly dodged to the side, muttering curses under their breath. Gunnar wiped his face, tasting the briny bitterness of seawater on his lips.
"That familiar feeling is back," he whispered.
He grew increasingly exhilarated, the blood roaring in his veins as his eyes locked onto the waters ahead.
The wind blew steadily from the southwest, fierce and unyielding, propelling the massive square sails. The sailcloth stretched as tight as a drum, dragging the heavy Knarr ships forward and plowing broad white wakes across the surface of the sea. The sailors climbed nimbly among the masts and rigging, shouting out commands that were occasionally peppered with curses.
By afternoon, the clouds had scattered, and the sunlight grew far more intense, casting an almost divine golden glow over the entire fleet. The thin mist that had shrouded the ocean vanished completely, as if a massive curtain had been drawn back by an invisible hand.
At the edge of their vision, the White Cliffs of Dover shimmered with a faint yellow luster beneath the slanting sun. Atop the cliffs lay rolling green plains, where tiny silhouettes could be vaguely seen—likely scout riders on patrol.
"The enemy has spotted us!"
A wave of commotion swept through the fleet. The soldiers gripped their weapons tighter; some unconsciously licked their cracked lips, while others vigorously rubbed the crosses dangling over their chests, praying for divine protection.
At three in the afternoon, Gunnar's six thousand infantrymen landed on the beach. Guided by the local fishermen, they marched straight west along the coastline until they reached the outskirts of the Dover port.
Under the cover of shield-bearing guards, Gunnar approached the palisades of Dover and shouted Ulf's name. A short while later, a response echoed from behind the battlements:
"Gunnar, what is it that you want?"
"I heard that Aslaug is looking to arrange a marriage! It just so happens that my eldest son, Robert, is about the same age as Enya. They are a match made in heaven. Old friend, I ask that you open the port and allow my follow-up forces to land. You will be handsomely rewarded afterward!"
Listening to Gunnar's words, Ulf gazed out at the six thousand soldiers gathered outside the walls. The number of heavy infantry reached two thousand. Under the glaring sunlight, the iron armor of the soldiers reflected a blinding, fearsome luster.
'Two thousand heavy infantry... That already surpasses the numbers of the Royal Guard. Is he planning to risk everything?' He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as his courage instantly deflated by a third. Weighing the pros and cons, Ulf decided to accept the terms. Yet, just as he was about to speak, he suddenly remembered something.
"A few days ago, a merchant brought me news," Ulf called back. "He said that thousands of Frankish troops had amassed in Calais. Some of them proclaimed that they were going to purify the evil in Britain, calling themselves the Holy Crusaders. What say you to that?"
Gunnar's expression did not change. He swore an oath that he would treat all Vikings kindly, whether they were nobles or freemen.
After waiting a few minutes, Ulf ordered a group of sailors to shout loudly in Frankish, "You must swear in the name of God that you will never harm a Viking in the name of faith for the rest of your life!"
Upon hearing this, the massive army outside the city erupted into an uproar. The reactions of the army chaplains were especially volatile, aggressively inciting the emotions of the soldiers. Not daring to cross this horde of fanatical Franks, Gunnar could only respond to the defenders' demands with utter silence.
Ulf's heart plummeted to the bottom of the abyss. "What is the meaning of this? You cannot control these Frankish soldiers?"
As he had grown older, Ulf's ambitions had long since faded. As long as he was guaranteed a life of peace and wealth, he did not care who proclaimed themselves King. However, observing the explosive emotions of the soldiers outside the walls, it was clear they harbored a deep, venomous hatred for the pagan Vikings. If Gunnar became the King of Britain, would he truly defy the sentiments of his own soldiers to protect a polytheistic Viking noble like himself?
Obviously, the answer was no. Gunnar only had eyes for power, and there was no way he would willingly shake the foundation of his own rule.
Ulf gripped the battlements to keep himself from falling, his voice pitching slightly higher. "If that is the case, then I cannot accept you becoming the King of Britain."
During the peaceful years of the recent past, there were three nobles who had aggressively amassed vast fortunes through trade.
Wigg had poured his profits into the production of brigandine armor, storing it all in secret warehouses.
Gunnar had hoarded his silver in castle cellars, scraping together an astronomical war fund.
Ulf had spent a portion of his profits on luxurious pleasures, locked another portion away in his cellars, and used the remainder to construct his family's castle.
With the negotiations thoroughly broken down, Gunnar sized up the port town and could not help but let out a heavy sigh.
Candletower stood tall on a small hillside three hundred feet west of the port. Its outer walls reached roughly thirty feet in height, dotted with towering arrow towers at regular intervals. Behind the outer wall lay a sturdy inner wall, and right at the center stood the towering main keep. Judging from its footprint alone, garrisoning five hundred soldiers there would not be an issue.
"This complicates things," he muttered.
Calculating the strength of both sides, Gunnar knew he could breach the wooden palisades of the Dover town, but Ulf could simply retreat into Candletower and fight to the bitter end. Relying on their hoarded grain, the defenders could easily hold out for half a year to a year without issue. Moreover, the castle was equipped with several trebuchets that could hurl fire pots down upon the ships in the port, effectively enforcing a blockade.
"Damn it all! Was it really necessary to build such a blasted turtle shell?"
Wanting to weep but lacking the tears, Gunnar had no choice but to lead his army around Dover and march toward the southwest. He needed to quickly find a suitable harbor to anchor his heavy Knarr ships so he could receive his remaining two thousand cavalry and massive shipments of supplies. Otherwise, this war would be over before it even began.