novelraw Chapter 273: Trade Route
Chapter 273: Trade Route
Five years ago, a rebellion had broken out in Novgorod. Rurik emerged unscathed, but his younger brother, Sineus, suffered terrible luck, meeting a tragic end beneath a flurry of chaotic blades.
Once the rebellion was quelled, Rurik learned from past mistakes. He lowered the collection rate of the agricultural tax, easing the burden on the lower classes and soothing their resentment.
With the agricultural tax reduced, he poured his energy into his old trade—commerce. He dispatched more merchant caravans to Constantinople to buy and sell goods, raking in a profit of two thousand pounds a year.
Everything came with a price. He inevitably found himself dragged into the conflicts along the Middle and Lower Dnieper River. His caravans frequently suffered harassment from nomadic tribes, forcing them into battle every so often without a moment's true peace.
In the spring of this year, a young chieftain named Hurus rose to power among the nomadic tribes of the Middle and Lower Dnieper River. Leading his people on rampant plundering raids, he severely disrupted the order of the surrounding regions.
Initially, Rurik sent an envoy to negotiate, intending to pay for peace and convince the nomads to spare his caravans. After many days of waiting, the envoy returned to Novgorod missing an ear, relaying the chieftain's response:
An annual tribute of two hundred slaves, fifty boatloads of grain, various gold and silver vessels, alongside luxury goods like amber and honey. In summary, this extortionate protection fee amounted to over seventy percent of his trade revenue. If he agreed to these terms, Rurik would essentially be working for someone else.
After weighing his options repeatedly, he dipped into his years of savings and approached Wigg to purchase equipment, swearing to slaughter those insatiable bastards.
Ever since Niels had pledged his allegiance to Novgorod, he had been helping his new boss train the army. This time, they mobilized a total of three thousand men. Thanks to the six hundred sets of armor they had procured, the total number of heavy infantry approached eight hundred—a force highly capable of putting up a fierce fight.
"Your Majesty, the weather is growing colder by the day. Are you certain you want to launch an expedition at a time like this?"Rurik replied without hesitation, "Of course. I have clashed with the nomads many times and understand their habits well. In the winter, the nomadic tribes halt their migrations and huddle in carefully selected winter camps to prevent their livestock from dying off en masse."
According to the confessions of captured nomads, the primary requirement for a winter camp was shelter from the wind. They were typically located on the southern slopes of mountains and hills—the leeward, sun-facing side—or at the edges of woodlands, with a reliable water source nearby.
Furthermore, the areas designated for winter camps were deliberately protected during the summer and autumn. Grazing was strictly forbidden, allowing the grass to grow naturally and serve as a reserve food supply for the livestock through the winter.
Rurik estimated the timing; right now, the nomads were likely preparing their winter camps, pitching thick, warm felt yurts, and harvesting the dry grass in the surrounding areas. Once their winter camps were nearly finished, the Viking army would suddenly descend upon them. Forced to stay and put up a stubborn resistance, the nomads would lose the mobility advantage they relied upon most.
(Historically, some powerful nomadic regimes would build defensive structures at their winter camps, creating what were known as royal courts, such as the Dragon City of the Xiongnu.)
"Cutting off my source of wealth is equal to ending my entire family's lives. Since that is the case, I might as well wager all my savings on a single gamble. Either I die, or this chieftain does."
After delivering his ruthless declaration, Rurik comforted his newly recruited top enforcer. "Do not worry. I have already reached an agreement with the local Rus Tribes. The chieftains are willing to provide grain and housing. Once we eradicate this band of nomads, some of them might even put my name forward to be King."
Two days later, Rurik led a mighty fleet of over a hundred oared longships, sailing in an imposing procession toward the southern shore of Lake Ilmen. Soon after, the fleet turned into a river channel and continued their voyage southward.
Arriving at a certain shallow shoal, the crewmen leaped ashore one after another. Gazing at the vaguely familiar scenery, Niels fell into deep reminiscence.
Twenty-one years ago, the Hunting Party had disembarked at this exact spot. They had chopped down trees to build slipways, struggling intensely just to cross this stretch of the journey.
Thanks to Rurik's construction efforts, the area was now paved with log roads. The men only needed to haul the ropes, sparing them the grueling steps of logging and hauling timber. Their marching speed was vastly improved.
A few days passed, and the fleet reached the upper reaches of the Dnieper River. The autumn wind was bleak, and the wild grass had withered to a sickly yellow. A wide, flat river flowed quietly. Occasionally, flocks of migratory birds flew across the sky, taking brief rests here to forage for food before flapping their wings and continuing their journey south. Under the combined pushing efforts of the crew, the longships slid onto the river's surface. Niels leaned over the gunwale, staring at his reflection mirrored in the water, attempting to recall memories of his youth.
He had been so young back then. His sole desire had been to marry his beloved Eve. The goals of Ivar and Bjorn had been vengeance; Gunnar and Om had wished to accumulate renown, while Rurik's only goal was to make money.
As for Wigg, he was tight-lipped and quiet at the time, rarely initiating a conversation. He would occasionally spout incomprehensible nonsense that made everyone roar with laughter.
Thinking back on it now, the past felt like a long, drawn-out dream. Niels touched the scar on his face, an indescribable wave of regret welling up within him.
'Twenty-one years have passed. Just what exactly was the point of everything I've done?'
His sweetheart Eve, authority, power—he seemed to have gained nothing at all. Today, the only things keeping him company were his archery skills and the combat experience amassed through years of war.
Had they not invaded Denmark back then, and instead helped Halfdan pacify Sweden, would everything have turned out differently?
In October, the fleet arrived at the middle reaches of the Dnieper River. By pure coincidence, they stumbled right into a battle between the Rus Tribes and the nomads.
Niels climbed the mast, gazing out at the grassy plains not far along the West Bank. The nomads were still relying on their customary tactics—using horse archers to flank the enemy, unleashing high-angle fire with their feathered arrows while incessantly letting out eerie, piercing shrieks.
"Shooting arrows from the back of a bouncing horse... the accuracy is simply too abysmal. The Rus' shield wall is riddled with openings, yet the nomads still lack the courage to launch a melee charge. Over twenty years have passed, and they haven't improved in the slightest."
Similarly, the Rus' were no better off. The chieftains and warriors were hot-headed and impulsive, displaying atrocious tactical discipline. At the slightest baiting from the enemy, individual warriors would break ranks, leaving their formation scattered and disjointed.
"Both sides are on the exact same level. Truly a rare match," Niels sighed.
Before long, Rurik dispatched his troops and rescued over two hundred Rus' who were in a precarious situation. At the invitation of the survivors, Rurik ordered his army to set up camp along the riverbank while he brought his personal guard and Niels to the Rus Tribes as guests.
Over the next few days, Rurik sent scouts to investigate the whereabouts of the young chieftain. This man boasted five thousand followers; factoring in his vassal tribes, he could field a minimum of three thousand cavalrymen.
"No matter how many men he has, this battle must be fought!"
Rurik's sheer determination deeply moved the chieftains of the Rus Tribes. They sent messengers to rally the remaining tribes, swearing to settle the score with this horde of nomads once and for all.
Late into the night, Rurik found Niels to discuss tactics, deciding to stick with their previous strategy: "We will mix the spearmen with the archers. The spearmen will repel the cavalry charges, while the archers will drive away the harassing horse archers."
Evidently, this idea was heavily inspired by Wigg's pike phalanx. Since such a formation was formidable enough to withstand a knight's couched lance charge, dealing with these poorly equipped nomads would be child's play.