novelraw Chapter 299: Treatment
Chapter 299: Treatment
That evening, Louis "the Younger" fled back to Aalborg in a panic. He ordered his soldiers to repair the city defenses and dispatched men to meticulously scour the nearby villages for grain.
Someone replied, "Your Majesty, we have already searched them once during the siege."
"Search them again! Remember, the more grain we store, the higher our chances of survival."
At this moment, Louis still hadn't given up hope. According to his recent correspondence, aside from his eldest and third brothers, his uncle, Charles the Bald, who was far away in Paris, also planned to dispatch troops to participate in this great and glorious cause.
'As long as they launch an attack, I will be able to leave this wretched place sooner or later.'
Initially, Louis "the Younger" had been highly averse to his uncle's actions, worrying that the aid was a sham and his true goal was to increase his control over East Francia. However, with the situation deteriorating to this point, Louis began to genuinely long for his uncle's arrival. If he could return to Saxony alive, he would even willingly relinquish his crown to become a Duke under his command.
With Louis's remnants holding fast in Aalborg, Wigg felt a massive headache coming on. Unwilling to expend his elites in a forced assault, he could only order them to construct a siege camp and build massive trebuchets.
During the camp's construction, Wigg's Standing Army worked alongside the militias of the Northern European nobles. The militia grew incredibly envious of the Standing Army's treatment. This was their first time seeing an army that took care of everything from food and clothing to housing and transport, even providing water canteens, needles and thread, soap, and handling letters home. Every possible need had been considered.
As for wages, the Standing Army had received an across-the-board raise last year. Soldiers earned fifty silver pennies annually, and with expedition allowances and spoils of war, they were expected to take home half a pound of silver this year.
"Sigh, the Royal Guard gets even more. His Majesty recently formed an axe-wielding guard of two hundred men under the Royal Guard's command, with an annual salary of one hundred and twenty silver pennies. Unfortunately, my stamina wasn't enough to pass the assessment while wearing double-layered iron armor."After listening to the Standing Army soldiers' complaints, the Northern European militiamen returned to their own camp for dinner. Staring at the oat porridge boiling in their pots, they instantly lost their appetites when they thought of their allies' treatment:
Their allies always had meat for dinner, usually smoked meat sausages and salted pork stewed with vegetables, flavored with a dash of an amber liquid condiment said to be called fish sauce.
Every two days, the allied soldiers received a cup of mellow sugarcane rum or beer. After defeating Louis's army last time, they even received incredibly precious cane sugar.
"We drink oat porridge every night, sometimes mixed with moldy oats. Not even draft horses would eat this swill, yet they use it to fob us off!"
As time passed, the militiamen grew increasingly agitated, eventually drawing the attention of their lord, Rekker.
Rekker was utterly speechless at their complaints. His Kalmar was just an ordinary port town; being able to feed his soldiers was already an accomplishment, unlike some lords who actually had to borrow grain.
Frustrated by the incessant whining of his subordinates, he made a concession: he would allow his only Knarr ship to go out to sea and fish, ensuring the soldiers could eat fish regularly.
Having quelled the brewing mutiny, Rekker hurried back to Wigg's central command tent to continue enjoying the evening banquet.
Honestly speaking, the North's Serpent's chef was incredibly skilled, and the variety of condiments was rich. The sauce known as fish sauce, in particular, had an unforgettable taste.
He asked Butcherbird, who was seated nearby, "How exactly is it made?"
Butcherbird replied, "His Majesty and the Queen referenced ancient texts from Rome to recreate their technique. They mix marine fish with salt and let it ferment, then add various spices. Once fermentation is complete, the liquid on top is what the Romans called Garum. Over the past two years, this stuff has been universally welcomed across the country. What we're eating is mackerel sauce, which is a premium grade. The more common type is herring sauce; since the herring catch is massive, it's suitable for the commoners. I've heard that fish sauce made from tuna tastes even better, and my workshop is currently trying to produce it. If you're interested, you can buy some from me later."
The next day, having nothing else to do, Rekker rode his horse to the field hospital in Randers to visit his wounded nephew.
The field hospital was located on the eastern side of the town and covered a vast area. Looking out, countless bedsheets and bandages were drying on the grass. Pierced completely by the sunlight, they were blindingly white, resembling solid patches of clouds that had fallen to the earth. As a gentle breeze swept past, the white fabrics swayed lightly, emitting a soft rustling sound.
On the nearby grass, wounded soldiers sat or half-lay scattered about. They all wore loose gray hospital gowns. Some had their eyes closed, basking in the sun, while others held picture books, flipping through the pages absentmindedly.
Rekker slowed his pace, trying to spot his nephew's face. As he approached the riverbank, he heard what sounded like the rolling of many wooden buckets.
Passing through the drying area, he saw several strange wooden buckets equipped with cranks set up along the riverbank. Soldiers tossed clothes, bedsheets, bandages, small chunks of soap, and clean water into the buckets, then secured the wooden lids. Two soldiers worked together to turn the cranks, causing the entire wooden bucket to rotate.
"What is going on?"
Rekker stepped closer to observe. Through the gaps in the wooden lid, he saw the garments continuously tumbling in the soapy water. The inner edges of the wooden buckets were rough, much like washboards.
As the wooden bucket kept spinning, the soapy water became increasingly murky. Once it reached a certain limit, the soldiers dumped the dirty water, letting it flow into the river.
After the wash, the soldiers placed the wet clothes between two wooden rollers. They then cranked the handle, causing the two rollers to turn in opposite directions. The clothes were pulled in and squeezed, forcing out a large amount of water and sparing them the exhaustion of wringing the clothes by hand.
Following two consecutive rounds of rinsing with clean water, the washing process was complete. The soldiers carried the items to the nearby wooden racks to dry before moving on to wash the next tub of blood-stained, foul-smelling laundry.
'How much soap do they use in a single day?'
Rekker looked around and noticed that lard soap was added to every wash. In his mind, fat was incredibly precious and provided vital nutrition, yet the Britons were turning it into soap just to wash bandages and clothes. It was simply too extravagant.
He sought out the director of the field hospital, Pascal Jr. The two had participated in the Second Viking-West Francia War and were old acquaintances who had known each other for years.
"Do you guys always fight wars like this?"
Pascal Jr. replied truthfully, "Yes. Increasing our investment in medical care allows more soldiers to recover and return to the ranks. You have abundant combat experience; you should know the value of these men. The higher the proportion of veterans, the stronger a unit's combat effectiveness. That is why, even with the same number of men and the same iron armor, our forces are still a cut above the Frankish army."
Recalling the recent battles, the British infantry regiments were indeed capable of defeating an equal number of Frankish soldiers. Rekker tacitly agreed with his reasoning, realizing a rather regrettable phenomenon:
Times were changing. The status of traditional Viking warbands was plummeting, rendering them powerless against Frankish knights who had mastered the couched lance charge. In this ongoing war especially, he and the other nobles had been reduced to third-rate forces. They were relegated to low-difficulty tasks like harassment, pursuit, and flanking maneuvers, no longer able to withstand the enemy's frontal assaults.