Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 222: An Unexpected Turning Point

On July 25th, Gunnar left behind a thousand miscellaneous troops to garrison Londinium and led nearly nine thousand men northward. His target was not Tamworth, where Wigg's main force was located, but straight north, posturing as if to strike the Northern Marches.

Upon receiving the scouts' report, Wigg stared at the map, lost in thought.

Including Theowulf's soldiers, the forces under his command exceeded thirteen thousand men. Even after deducting the regional garrisons, he could field ten thousand soldiers for open battle. The only flaw was the severe lack of cavalry, making rash movements unwise.

After confirming the movements of the enemy's main force, Wigg similarly led his army north. Along the way, he made sure to camp near towns as much as possible to minimize the risk of being ambushed.

In early August, Gunnar's troops arrived at the southern bank of the River Humber. Once they crossed the river, it would only take another half-day's march north to enter the jurisdiction of York. Further north, it would only take five to seven days to reach Wigg's Teyne.

Surrounded by a group of barons, Gunnar rode to the riverbank to observe the situation. The area he was in was located at the mouth of the River Humber, where the water's width spanned over a mile. It was impossible to construct a pontoon bridge; they could only rely on ships to transport the army.

The problem was that the boats from the nearby fishing villages had already been requisitioned in advance. The Frankish army's cavalry went through great trouble just to find ten small boats, which could only transport small groups of scouts across the river.

"Where is Wigg's main force?" Gunnar demanded.

A baron behind him replied, "More than thirty miles to our west."

Over the past few days, the marching routes of both sides resembled two parallel lines running from south to north. Wigg consistently maintained a distance of over thirty miles to prevent any sudden assaults from the large cavalry units."Understood," he muttered.

Having known him for many years, Gunnar was intimately familiar with his old companion's style of warfare. Wigg had always been cautious and conservative, only willing to take risks when backed into an absolute corner.

Gazing across the river at the vast stretches of farmland, he stroked his chin and ordered his subordinates to notify Londinium to dispatch ships to the mouth of the River Humber.

"Your Majesty, do you plan to cross the river?"

Charles Botini voiced his doubts. "Your Majesty, Teyne is located too far north, and we are widely resented by both the Angles and the Vikings. The further north we go, the more difficult it becomes to secure supplies and intelligence. The slightest misstep could result in the total annihilation of our army."

During the pre-departure strategy meeting, the plan Gunnar announced had been to lure Wigg out, seeking to severely cripple or even completely wipe out his main force in the open field. Yet, after more than a week of marching, Wigg had not exposed a single vulnerability. This battle plan was tantamount to failure.

Faced with the group's opposition, Gunnar remained silent. He ordered the army to make camp on the southern bank and dispatched an envoy to deliver a declaration of war to Wigg.

Clearly, this ploy was ineffective. The Frankish army idled away their time on the southern bank of the River Humber, making a chaotic mess of the surrounding areas. Gunnar had half a mind to stop them, but ultimately chose to let it slide.

At present, his direct troops numbered only two thousand five hundred. The rest was a patchwork force of mercenaries and retinues from numerous Frankish nobility. Their discipline was incredibly lax, with the majority of the soldiers refusing to be controlled. If Gunnar were to strictly enforce military law and forbid the men from seeking their own violent entertainment, it would result in desertion at best, and trigger a full-blown mutiny at worst.

Amidst this restless and suffocating atmosphere, the date advanced to August 10th.

Londinium.

After Gunnar led the army north, the city was temporarily placed under the control of his subordinate, O'Neill. His primary responsibilities were transporting supplies to the frontlines and keeping a close watch on Aslaug and Princess Ynja in the Royal Palace, Sigurd having recently died of illness.

Experiencing the ravages of war in the first half of the year, a massive number of peasants in southern Britain had fled. The summer harvest was severely impacted, causing grain prices to skyrocket. The price of wheat had surged to three and a half pence per bushel. Grievances ran high within the city. Prime Minister Gorm had repeatedly warned O'Neill about the brewing unrest, but the latter paid it no mind.

Annoyed by the constant badgering, O'Neill shot back:

"Lord Prime Minister, how exactly do you expect me to handle this? After last month's dock fire, there are barely any supplies left in the city. We can just manage to keep the frontlines fed. Are you suggesting we cut the soldiers' rations to provide for these commoners?"

As Gunnar's confidant, O'Neill's mind was entirely consumed with winning the war so he could handpick a wealthy fiefdom afterward. He absolutely refused to risk angering his superior by distributing military rations to the citizens. "Let them borrow money to buy grain, go hunting in the mountains, or fish in the River Thames. They will figure out a way."

Having said his piece, O'Neill looked toward Palace Steward Paffis, who had remained silent the entire time. "My lord, do you have any other matters?"

Paffis silently shook his head.

"Very well, I will get back to my own duties then."

O'Neill yawned and strolled out of the cabinet meeting room. Only Gorm and Paffis were left sitting idly in the chamber. The two locked eyes for a brief moment. Gorm wanted to say something, but ultimately held his tongue.

Ten minutes later, he returned to the Prime Minister's residence, flipping through a novel about a dragonborn's adventures in his office.

After lunch, Gorm took a nap for over half an hour before resuming his novel. Halfway through, his secretary brought in a document. He gave it a cursory glance and refused to sign it.

"Funds and supplies do not fall under my jurisdiction. Tell him to go find O'Neill."

Gorm had already recognized his own position: he was merely a transitional figure. The more he did, the more mistakes he would make. The only wise choice was to completely slack off and act like a decorative vase placed in the corner, serving a purely ornamental function.

At sunset, Gorm closed his novel. He ate his dinner absentmindedly, found a quiet room to kneel and pray, then read for another half an hour before yawning and heading to bed.

Before he could fully drift off to sleep, he suddenly heard faint shouting outside. Walking over to the window, he saw that nearly half the night sky was bathed in an eerie red glow!

'Who set the fire?' he wondered.

At first, Gorm suspected that Wigg had sent men on a night raid to seize the city. But after observing for a while and hearing the chaotic, disorganized shouting, he realized it did not match the disciplined style of Wigg's army.

'Could it be Ethelbald?' he thought. 'He certainly has the motive. Among the three existing kings, Ethelbald has the weakest forces. If he does not resort to special tactics, it will be very difficult for him to win this bloody and brutal competition.'

As time passed, the flames gradually spread toward the direction of the Royal Palace. Gorm dispatched guards to scout for information, and shortly after, he received the news.

Neither Wigg nor Ethelbald was involved. This was entirely a spontaneous uprising by the citizens within the city!

A guard, looking panic-stricken, quickly added, "My lord, a massive mob of citizens armed with clubs and stones is swarming this way. We need to run, now!"

The estates of the powerful and wealthy were situated around the Royal Palace, naturally making them prime targets for the rioting citizens. The cries of killing, the sounds of doors being battered down, and agonized wails drew closer and closer. Gorm's face turned deathly pale as he frantically gathered his belongings to flee.

'That damn O'Neill!' he cursed inwardly. 'I kept reminding him to provide relief to the poor. We are doomed because of that idiot!'

He changed into a set of commoner's clothes and had his six iron-clad guards throw on tattered linen cloaks, slipping out through a small side door of the Prime Minister's residence.

After the group had run a fair distance, one of the guards softly reminded him, "My lord, the Queen and the Princess are still in the Royal Palace."

Gorm stopped in his tracks. Gazing at the increasingly chaotic and deafening area, he let out a long sigh. "We cannot worry about them now. Alas, Aslaug brought all of this upon herself. I have already fulfilled my responsibilities."