novelraw Chapter 209: Hastings
Chapter 209: Hastings
On March 4th, Gunnar's army arrived in the Hastings region. The coastline was sparsely populated; the largest fishing village housed barely fifty families and possessed only a crude wooden pier.
Confirming this location was suitable for landing, Gunnar ordered his soldiers to fell timber and construct additional wooden piers. Simultaneously, he dispatched a ship back to Calais to deliver the news.
The following day, he left behind five hundred men to build a camp and establish a port, then led the remaining forces northward along the road.
Around noon, the Frankish army came to a halt. A river lay across their path, which captured fishermen referred to as the River Rother. It was roughly fifteen meters wide, with a stone bridge connecting the northern and southern banks.
"Look, this is the castle of the Lord of Sussex."
At the northern end of the stone bridge sat a moderately sized castle. Its outermost defense was a wooden palisade about five meters high, enclosing a six-meter-tall stone city wall. At the very center stood the main keep, atop which fluttered Earl Orm's white banner with a black deer.
To deter enemies attacking from the sea, Ragnar and the old Prime Minister, Pascal, had specifically instructed Orm to build a wooden fort here, which was later gradually upgraded into a stone castle.
Ulf's family castle was built in Dover under similar orders from Ragnar and the old Prime Minister. Should enemy forces from the European mainland land at the southern tip of England, these fortresses would buy them enough time to react.
"The times have changed. The nobles are all busy building castles, drastically increasing their defensive capabilities. The days are getting harder and harder for Viking pirates."
Viking pirates were primarily composed of light infantry. In most situations, they could not contend with a regular army and could only exploit the time gap, executing a swift plunder before local forces could assemble. As castles gradually multiplied across the land, suitable targets for raids dwindled. Furthermore, the nobles of Britain had learned to use stirrups and the couched lance charge, importing tall, docile warhorses from the continent. Their combat prowess easily crushed the poorly equipped Viking raiders.After a moment of contemplation, Gunnar reached a regrettable conclusion. The small-scale skirmishes of a hundred men were gradually becoming obsolete, and the frenzy of pirate raids that had lasted for decades was drawing to a close.
Surrounded by shield-bearing guards, he approached the southern bank of the River Rother and shouted Orm's name. "Old friend, for the sake of our past camaraderie, let me cross the river. I will reward you handsomely afterward."
Atop the palisade, Orm glared back with cold eyes, nursing a deep hatred for this traitor who had embraced paganism and slaughtered his own comrades. If not for him, Ragnar's main force would not have been defeated, and his own two sons would not have ended up dead and crippled.
"Loose the arrows!"
The defenders raised their pre-drawn crossbows. The sudden volley startled the guards on the southern bank, who immediately raised their shields to block the dishonorable shower of bolts. One of the crossbow bolts happened to slip through a gap and flew straight toward Gunnar's shoulder. It pierced his red brocade cloak embroidered with gold thread but was stopped by the lamellar armor underneath, causing no harm.
Having offered a peaceful surrender only to be answered with a crossbow bolt, Gunnar flew into a rage. He immediately ordered his soldiers to construct a trebuchet and build a wooden bridge on the eastern flank.
During this time, Orm dispatched men to harass the Frankish army with bows and arrows. He even took to the walls himself to hurl insults at Gunnar. Having known each other for over twenty years, the two were intimately familiar with each other's secrets and sore spots.
"Orm, you have always been a brainless piece of trash!" Gunnar bellowed. "Remember twenty years ago when we plundered East Anglia together? When the alarms sounded, everyone else ran for their lives, but you got left behind in the village! You hid in a pigsty for an entire day, and when you finally regrouped with us, no one even dared to go near you!"
"Gunnar, you are nothing but a bastard!" Orm shot back. "Remember that lover of yours from back in the day? Thorbjorn the Tall, wasn't it? She would rather elope with a slave than spend her life with you! You searched high and low for her, even begging a shaman for guidance. You looked like such a fool, it kept us laughing for days!" After trading insults for a long while, Gunnar's composure completely shattered. "Keep barking! Bark all you want right now! Once I breach this stone castle, I am going to chop that crippled son of yours into mincemeat! He will die an even more miserable death than his older brother! Let us see what you have to say then!"
Three days later, Londinium sent over two thousand soldiers as reinforcements. Half were conscripted militia, and the other half were fully armored members of the Royal Guard.
Thinking back, Gunnar had been the first Commander of the Royal Guard. He had personally built this army from the ground up, and now, barring any surprises, he would be the one to personally destroy it. Was this a cruel trick of fate?
Following the arrival of the reinforcements, even more archers rained arrows upon the Frankish army, doing everything in their power to prevent the construction of the wooden bridge. However, this was not the only crossing point. Gunnar ultimately managed to erect a bridge ten miles to the west, leading his infantry across to the northern bank of the River Rother.
"Notify Hastings," Gunnar ordered. "Tell the cavalry to come and rendezvous with us. Send every last rider they have."
"Understood," the messenger replied, riding swiftly back to the beach. The original fishing village had vanished, replaced by a massive, clamorous temporary port. Its outermost perimeter was ringed by a hastily erected fence, within which large and small tents were scattered alongside piles of supplies.
To the south, four wooden piers stretched out into the ocean, allowing the massive, unwieldy Knarr ships to dock. Beneath a leaden gray sky, warhorses were roughly yanked and whipped by the soldiers as they were forced off the decks. The beasts stepped trembling onto the slippery piers, neighing and whining, their bodies still shivering from the terror of the long sea voyage.
Not far away, shallow-draft longships drove straight into the shoals. Goaded by their commanding officers, soldiers plunged into the freezing, knee-deep seawater. They trudged through the slick ocean mud toward dry land, their iron armor clanking heavily with every labored step.
The commander in charge of the cavalry forces was named Charles. Having grown up in Francia, this was his first time setting foot on the soil of Britain. Upon receiving the Duke's orders, he immediately found himself in a difficult position. He pointed toward the cavalrymen who were currently walking their horses along the sandy beach by the reins.
"The warhorses are unaccustomed to the rocking of the ships and are currently in a weakened state," Charles explained. "They cannot ride into battle on such short notice. We must wait until tomorrow at the earliest."
At that same moment, Oleg, the Commander of the Royal Guard, was bidding farewell to Orm. "Our brothers crossed the river and took a prisoner. According to his confession, Gunnar brought a full two thousand cavalrymen. The wooden bridge is complete, and his riders could cross at any moment. We cannot hold out here any longer."
The two thousand soldiers under Oleg's command were the Royal Family's only mobile force; they absolutely could not be sacrificed at Hastings. He planned to withdraw to Londinium and use the wide River Thames and the stone city walls to stall for time.
Orm furrowed his brow but did not voice any objections to the plan. "Go then. I will remain here and hold the line. Whether I live or die is entirely up to the will of the gods."
With the Royal Guard preparing to flee, morale within the castle quickly plummeted. Orm did not forcibly stop anyone from leaving. He allowed the servants and commoners to evacuate, and even permitted his soldiers to retreat, provided they surrendered their equipment first.
In the end, only Orm, his wife, his second son with a crippled left foot, and a hundred and thirty soldiers and commoners who volunteered to stay remained in Rotherburg.
On March 10th, the Frankish cavalry crossed the wooden bridge but failed to catch up to the fleeing Royal Guard. Unwilling to waste time and manpower on Rotherburg, Gunnar left behind five hundred men to lay siege to the castle while he led the remainder of his army straight toward Londinium.