Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 221: The Burning Sea

After resting for the night, Joren led five ships out of the port. The sailing vessel with the damaged mast was left behind in Dover, to return to Teyne Town only once its repairs were complete.

The hot and humid southeast sea breeze brushed past his ears as Joren thought to himself, 'Ballistas have incredibly high precision, making them perfectly suited for naval warfare. Once we return to Teyne Town to restock on fire pots and other supplies, we will head south once more and completely sever the enemy's supply lines.

'In overseas expeditions, supplies are of the utmost importance. The Frankish army can pillage grain and livestock from the populace, but items like armor, weapons, arrows, and warhorses can only rely on transport from the rear. The longer this drags on, the weaker the enemy's combat effectiveness will become.

'With this achievement, my noble title could be elevated another rank. Hmm, which fiefdom would be the most suitable? The north has a freezing climate; it would be better to pick a territory further south...'

Suddenly, the shouts of the crew interrupted his reverie.

Joren shifted his gaze to the west, only to see a massive swarm of Frankish ships charging out of the mouth of the River Thames, making a beeline straight for his raiding fleet.

"Prepare for battle!" he roared.

At that moment, the Frankish ships were sailing from west to east, while the Viking fleet navigated from south to north, perfectly aligning their broadsides against the enemy. Ten ballistas took aim at the vanguard ships and launched their stone projectiles, easily sinking an incoming longship.

However, the Frankish vessels were boundless, stretching as far as the eye could see. They had intentionally laid in wait here solely to intercept and slaughter the fleet returning to the north.

Soon, more and more longships and knarr ships closed in on the Vikings' square-rigged ships. The Frankish sailors drew their bows and crossbows, exchanging fire with the Vikings. Once the distance shortened, they hurled heavy iron grappling hooks attached to thick hemp ropes. Some caught onto the bulwarks of the two-masted brigantines, some snagged the rigging, and others pierced straight through the wooden planks on the ships' hulls!"Quick, pull hard!"

The Frankish soldiers pulled with all their might to drag the enemy ships closer, while the Viking warriors frantically tried to hack through the grappling lines. Accompanied by the unsettling creaking of the hulls, the two vessels were forcibly drawn together. More grappling hooks flew through the air, until the broadsides finally slammed tight against each other.

The most brutal and bloody of boarding actions had erupted.

"Deus adjuva! God help us!"

The Frankish soldiers unleashed deafening war cries. Led by their military officers and knights, they clamped daggers between their teeth and desperately scaled the ropes. Welcoming them was a forest of thrusting spears, fiercely swinging iron axes, and sharp swords stabbing through the gaps between shields.

The marines aboard the Viking ships, clad in their brigandine armor, held the high ground and fought tooth and nail to repel the boarders. Even the sailors discarded their bows and crossbows, drawing their iron swords and daggers to join the fray. Blood flowed freely across the decks, dyeing the surrounding seawater a murky crimson, while the agonizing wails and splashing of those who fell overboard echoed endlessly.

With the situation turning dire, Joren suddenly recalled the many sealed lime jars stored in the lower hold. He immediately ordered several sailors who were less skilled in close-quarters combat to hurl them at the knarr ship on their port side.

Accompanied by the sharp shattering of clay pots, a thick cloud of white dust blanketed the air above the knarr ship. A large swath of Frankish soldiers clutched their eyes and let out panicked shrieks, instantly losing their combat capability.

Following that, the sailors switched targets, lobbing their lime jars at the longship on their starboard side. Seizing the opportunity, the marines used their iron axes to sever the ropes snagged on the bulwarks, finally allowing the Grey Parrot II to break free from the enemy ship's entanglement.

"Quick, shake them off!"

The battle was critical. Without a moment to catch their breath, the sailors steered the Grey Parrot II away from the enemy, though their allied forces behind them were still under heavy siege. Cursing under his breath, Joren ordered the flagship to halt at a distance of a hundred meters, utilizing their ballistas and crossbows to pepper the enemy vessels.

Five minutes later, two of the two-masted brigantines narrowly managed to escape, providing reinforcement to their remaining allies from a relatively safe distance.

Realizing that the enemy was attempting to flee, the bloodshot-eyed Frankish soldiers ordered the launch of fire arrows. Their targets were not the hulls or the Vikings themselves, but the massive, expansive sails. Roaring flames engulfed the canvas on the mainmasts and foremasts, driving the remaining two brigantines into a desperate corner. A fraction of the crew managed to hijack two enemy longships, rowing frantically in the direction of their allies. Behind them, the completely blazing sails drooped powerlessly, passing the inferno onto the entirety of the square-rigged ships.

"Insane. These bastards have gone completely insane,"

Joren muttered, his expression bitter as he stared at the two ignited brigantines. Driven by the southeast wind, his remaining fleet beat a miserable retreat. By this time, the Frankish oarsmen were completely exhausted; after struggling to row for a short distance, they gave up the pursuit.

In mid-July, Joren's battle report arrived at Tamworth. After reading through it once, Wigg passed the document around to the others.

"The navy fought well. Aside from incinerating a large quantity of military supplies, they've also shaken the enemy's morale. I'd wager those mercenaries and minor nobles are already clamoring to cut and run. Time is running out for Gunnar."

Wigg's guess was spot on.

Two days later, Gunnar convinced Ethelbald to lay siege to Oxford once more. Wigg realized that the opposition was plotting to lure him south. After careful consideration, he chose to keep his main forces stationed in Tamworth.

Theowulf still had a thousand soldiers left and plentiful grain reserves. Furthermore, he had received an aid shipment of two hundred sets of iron armor. Relying on the fortified walls, holding out for two months would be no problem at all.

Moreover, an irreconcilable conflict existed between Theowulf and Ethelbald. The former was nominally the Duke of Mercia, but unfortunately, his prestige among the populace was abysmally low. Having painstakingly built up his power for over a decade, Oxford was the sole territory he managed to control; he would absolutely never surrender it.

However, in Ethelbald's eyes, Oxford had always been the territory of Wessex, leaving zero room for compromise.

Given the current circumstances, Gunnar dispatched an envoy to persuade Ethelbald to take a step back, but he was met with a flat-out refusal.

"Oxford and the surrounding Mercia region must belong to me. If I give them up, what was even the point of me joining this war? Go back and tell your Majesty that if he is willing to carve out a piece of land to settle Theowulf, I won't stop him."

To this, Gunnar was entirely powerless. His army was massively bloated, and he likewise needed vast amounts of land to settle his own people. During this period, he had drafted a rough distribution plan:

The second sons and illegitimate children would partition Ireland.

The Northern Marches, along with the territories of Leonard, Ulf, and the others, would be granted to his direct subordinate troops.

He would personally retain York, Nottingham, Tamworth, Cambridge, and Londinium as the Crown's royal fiefdoms.

"Suppose I convince Theowulf to surrender. He will inevitably demand a duchy of equal yield. If I satisfy him, what do I have left? Just the county of Londinium? Did I painstakingly sacrifice all this blood and sweat just for a single territory?"

Gunnar irritably slammed his palm against the table, completely severing any thought of trying to coax Theowulf into surrendering.

As a result, over four thousand men from Wessex were pinned down in Oxfordshire. Moving forward, he would be forced to face Wigg's colossal army all on his own.

"So be it. After half a year of tossing and turning, it's about time I settled things with him once and for all."

At this point in time, Gunnar's army numbered well over ten thousand. After his envoy's relentless badgering, he had even managed to borrow four hundred cavalrymen from Wessex—since they were useless in a siege anyway. This expanded the cavalry under his command to a total of two thousand five hundred, alongside an additional one thousand mounted infantry.