Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 262: Precious Timing

The argument lasted for five days before the three princes parted on bad terms, each summoning their supporters in preparation for war.

To counter Carloman, who held the strongest forces, the second son, Louis III, and the youngest son, Charles III, formed an alliance.

Upon learning of the internal strife in East Francia, Charles was ecstatic. He openly gathered his army, declaring that he would mediate his nephews' conflict in the name of their uncle and emperor. However, halfway through the march, his army suddenly attacked the three small nations that had fractured from Middle Francia.

Londinium.

Wigg was profoundly shocked when he received news of the chaotic situation on the continent. "Ever since the Merovingian Dynasty, they have been using partible inheritance for hundreds of years. Almost every division has inevitably led to civil war. Have the Franks never considered changing it?"

He summoned his spymaster, Gwen, instructing him to dispatch more agents to prioritize gathering intelligence within West Francia.

By mid-May, having confirmed that the Frankish kings were locked in fierce combat, Wigg let out a long breath. He could finally free up his hands to deal with the chaotic situation in Ireland.

The following day, three thousand men of the standing army departed from their station. With Butcherbird serving as commander, they headed straight for Ireland to seize control of the situation. The deployed units were designated as the First and Second Infantry Regiments, the Mountain Infantry Battalions, and two Ranger Companies.

Ireland, Dyfflin.

At this moment, Duke Imon found himself in a terrible predicament.Over the past few years, he had been powerless to control the situation, allowing his three subordinate Earls and Barons to engage in reckless misconduct, which led to the rapid expansion of the rebel army.

Now, the rebellion had swept across more than half of Ireland. One of the three Earls was dead, and another was wounded. Imon had repeatedly pleaded for assistance from Londinium and the other great nobles, but to little avail.

The royal family's army was tied down defending against the Franks on the southern shores of The Channel and could not be spared. The attitude of those nobles was even colder; since Ivar's old debts had yet to be repaid, they merely wanted to avoid this bottomless vortex.

"It's all the fault of those idiots below me, who only care about squeezing the commoners dry, dragging me, a newly minted Duke, into this suffering with them."

Imon muttered curses under his breath as he pulled out a piece of parchment to write yet another plea for help—this had almost become his daily routine.

"To the wise Lord Ulf, please forgive my intrusion," he had barely finished writing the first sentence when a servant burst into the study, urgently announcing, "My Lord, the royal family's army has arrived!"

Imon spurred his horse into a gallop. Climbing the watchtower on the city walls, he saw a massive fleet slowly sailing into the mouth of the River Liffey. There were ten two-masted brigantines and fifty knarr ships in total. The knarr ships varied wildly in design, mostly being civilian vessels that had been temporarily conscripted.

Soon, the largest of the brigantines docked on the southern bank of the River Liffey. Clad in a white surcoat over chainmail, Butcherbird stepped off the gangplank and strode directly toward the young Duke, who was surrounded by a crowd.

At first glance, Imon's appearance bore a seventy-percent resemblance to Ivar. He was tall and muscular, with pale blonde hair and a gaunt, narrow face boasting high cheekbones, making him look like a famished winter wolf ready to devour a man.

The difference was that Imon lacked his predecessor's fearless ferocity and calm composure. Faced with Butcherbird and this fully armored standing army, he appeared visibly nervous and ill at ease.

"Welcome, my Lord."

"I am Butcherbird, Earl of Bournemouth and commander of the standing army."

Having introduced himself, Butcherbird led his retinue toward the castle. He could not be bothered to exchange pleasantries with the young Duke. Instead, he simply reached out, demanding a map, and then ordered his staff officers to pull out their own maps for cross-referencing.

At the same time, he requested a wide array of detailed information, including the population, the number of gathered troops, and the various supplies held in the storehouses.

After gaining a preliminary understanding of the situation, Butcherbird demanded that Imon provide all his cavalry. Because he had arrived in such a hurry, his army only possessed just over two hundred rangers who were not suited for heavy charges.

"Very well," Imon replied. "Dyfflin has amassed two hundred and thirty cavalrymen, all of whom are now under your command. What are your subsequent plans?" Butcherbird pointed to a small dot in the center of Ireland. "I will lead the troops to Athlone. How much grain is stored there?"

Imon answered, "The Earl of Athlone suffered a defeat in his initial battle and didn't have time to consume his food supplies. I believe his reserves are ample."

"You believe?" Butcherbird took a step forward, startling the inexperienced Duke into taking a step back. "Regardless of the situation in Athlone, you must guarantee our grain supply. We expect tens of thousands of troops to arrive shortly. If anything goes wrong, my brothers won't be as easy to talk to as I am."

"Understood."

Needing their help, Imon ignored the man's offensive demeanor and invited the guests to a banquet.

During the feast, he noticed that the military officers of the standing army were incredibly restrained, refusing to drink too much alcohol. They were leagues better than his own bunch of drunken subordinates.

That night, Imon stumbled into bed, muttering to himself, "If my subordinates were even half as competent, I wouldn't have fallen into such a pathetic state."

The next morning, Imon rubbed his bleary eyes as he stepped out onto the castle balcony, asking the beautiful maid beside him, "What are Butcherbird and his men doing?"

"My Lord, they woke up before dawn and marched out at six in the morning. They've been gone for about four hours. Did you need them for something?"

"No."

Gripping the railing with both hands, Imon stared blankly at the massive fleet anchored along the River Liffey. He then shifted his gaze westward, staring at the endless fields in the distance. Amidst his relief, there was an indescribable trace of profound disappointment.

If it had been him and his subordinate nobles, they definitely would have drunk themselves into a stupor, slept in all through the next day, attended another banquet that night, and waited until at least the third day before setting out.

'From the looks of it, I had better abandon any thoughts I had regarding the throne of Britain.'

Leaving the Dyfflin region, Butcherbird marched into the rolling lowlands and hills. Ireland lacked crushed stone roads; their paths were entirely dirt trails carved out by the trampling of livestock. They were narrow, muddy, and littered with wagon ruts and animal dung, which severely slowed down their marching speed.

"We'll likely be a day late."

Sitting astride his horse, Butcherbird carelessly gazed out at the vast oak and hazel forests in the distance. Occasionally, he would spot large pastures divided by hedgerows, where herds of cattle and flocks of sheep were raised. Scattered peat bogs dotted the low-lying areas, emitting a distinct, damp odor. A few locals were out using tools to shovel up the peat, piling it up in the open to dry in the sun so it could be used as fuel.

After three days of marching, Viking villages became increasingly scarce. Butcherbird ordered the troops to raise their guard. The Ranger Company was tasked with scouting the surrounding flatlands, while the Mountain Infantry Battalions combed through the woods and hills flanking the road.

On the morning of the fourth day, they encountered an ambush from a small band of rebels.

Hearing sharp whistles echoing from the oak forest to the south, Butcherbird ordered a change in formation. The soldiers swiftly reorganized into hundred-man phalanxes by company.

Once the formations were preliminarily secured, Butcherbird dispatched the remaining hundreds of mountain infantry straight into the oak forest, utilizing their numerical superiority to crush the rebels attempting the ambush.

By noon, the standing army arrived at a small river flowing north to south. The wooden bridge that spanned the water had been torched, so Butcherbird dispatched his engineers to construct a new one.

During this time, over a hundred rebels across the river unleashed a volley of high-angle fire with feathered arrows. However, they were swiftly met with a concentrated volley from the longbowmen. After suffering dozens of casualties, the rebels abandoned their harassment.