Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 309: Secret Arrangements

That night, the marine battalion camped in the woods near the beach. Early the next morning, Leif led his men to the port named Helier.

After scouting around the port, Leif discovered that their trebuchets used fixed bases facing the southern sea and could not be moved to target the palisades facing other directions.

"We can launch a direct assault," he declared.

Leif went to the coastal hills and used semaphore flags to contact the fleet, requesting them to send more reinforcements ashore. Since the fleet lacked infantry, the commander drafted a portion of the crew from various ships, organizing a temporary marine force of four hundred men. Equipped with bows and crossbows, they were deployed to assist Leif in attacking the port of Helier.

Taking five days, Leif had his soldiers construct mantlets and long ladders to attack the northern palisade of the port.

Pinned down by the fire of the Viking crossbowmen, most of the Frankish militia huddled behind the battlements. They occasionally popped their heads out to shoot but refused to spend much time aiming, terrified of having their necks pierced by a swiftly flying feathered arrow.

At ten in the morning, just as Leif was about to deploy the mantlets, he suddenly spotted the figures of Frankish cavalrymen appearing on the hills to the northeast. He tightened his formation and waited for a long time, but only a dozen or so cavalrymen came into view. He could not help but let out a long sigh of relief.

"That scared me to death. Third Company, secure the rear flank! First and Second Companies, launch the attack!"

Relying on the suppressive rain of arrows from the crossbowmen, the Viking infantry successfully breached the palisade. After the battle, Leif interrogated the prisoners and learned that Jersey Island was home to one baron and five knights. The port was the baron's fief, while the knights' manors were scattered inland.

"Five manors? By Odin, the boys have been working hard, and now we can finally earn some extra spoils."Leif handed the defense of the port over to the sailors and led a group of hooting and hollering marine battalion soldiers deep inland.

The sky was covered by thick clouds. The air carried the crisp coolness typical of September, mixed with the lingering salty tang of the sea breeze and the fragrance of roadside wildflowers.

At three in the afternoon, Leif bypassed a dense beech forest, and his line of sight suddenly opened up. A wooden fort stood on a low hill not far away, surrounded by cultivated wheat fields. Most of the crops had already been harvested, leaving behind only golden stubble.

"First Company, attack. Second and Third Companies, stand by. Don't look at me like that, your turn will come later."

Leif could not be bothered to pay attention to such a small-scale skirmish. He strolled around the low hill and arrived at a sunny slope facing southeast. Suddenly, a vineyard appeared before his eyes.

Numerous grapevines climbed upward, supported by neatly arranged, simple wooden stakes. Amidst the lush foliage, heavy bunches of deep purple grapes hung down. Their color was almost black, and their surfaces were covered with a hazy layer of white frost.

Occasionally, a few rays of sunlight spilled through the gaps in the clouds, landing on the surface of the grapes and shimmering with a gem-like, deep purple luster before being quickly swallowed by the moving shadows of the clouds. A gentle breeze blew through the vines, causing the leaves to emit a rustling whisper, mingling with the faint shouts of battle echoing from the wooden fort.

"Haha, we struck it rich this time," he laughed.

Leif relayed orders to all units, commanding them to strictly discipline their soldiers and forbidding any damage to the nearby grapevines.

Although the quality of the grapes here was mediocre, falling far short of the varieties from Bordeaux and Burgundy, rarity imparted value. Grapes were scarce in Britain, with only a very few vineyards located in the southern coastal regions. Wine produced in the Hebrides would absolutely fetch a high price.

"Uncle should have attacked the Hebrides earlier. The vineyards on the islands alone are enough to cover the garrison expenses."

After conquering the Hebrides, Leif returned to Londinium to report his mission. Wigg listened to the account of the battle, offered a few words of praise, and sent him back to spend time with his family.

Afterward, Wigg stared thoughtfully at the map on the wall. He ordered an attendant to fetch Salomon, an exiled noble from Breizh. He had not attacked the Hebrides for the island's vineyards, but rather to use it as a base to slowly infiltrate Breizh.

"Understood!" The attendant arrived at Oak Street near the Royal Palace. The street was filled with many identically sized courtyards, serving as temporary housing for lower-tier nobles who came to seek an audience but could not afford a house in the city, or for guests from various regions.

"Number 78 Oak Street. This is the place."

The attendant repeatedly pounded on the courtyard door, but there was no response. Just then, a yawning Moorish scholar walked out of the neighboring courtyard. "Stop making such a racket. They usually wander around outside during the day and start trickling back at eight in the evening. Occasionally, they stay out having fun all night."

"Where are they right now? I have an urgent matter!"

The Moorish scholar replied, "Most likely at the public bathhouse near the municipal square. These guys pooled their money to buy a season pass and take turns soaking in the baths every day."

Bidding farewell to the middle-aged man in loose robes, the attendant left the western part of the city and entered the bustling, noisy municipal square. A large number of merchants had set up stalls in the square to sell their wares. Occasionally, they would get into scuffles with their peers over prime spots, drawing a crowd of onlookers and severely obstructing the flow of pedestrians.

"Barbarians with no manners!" the attendant muttered.

Clutching his coin purse, the attendant struggled to squeeze his way toward the public bathhouse on the southern side of the square. As he passed through the center of the square, a loud-voiced, plump middle-aged man stood on a set of steps, clutching a booklet in his left hand and announcing recent notices.

"Visby Port in Gotland has been expanded! Land prices are currently low, and the competitive pressure is light. Merchants intending to engage in trade with Eastern Europe and Northern Europe can head there to seek opportunities!"

"The grapevines in the Canary Islands are gradually ripening! A large batch of wine is expected to be shipped to Britain for sale next year!"

"War has broken out on the Iberian Peninsula! The Moors are currently attacking Asturias in the northwestern mountains..."

The attendant paid no mind to the town crier's news. After much effort, he squeezed his way to the southern side of the square and paid for a single-entry ticket.

Stepping inside the bathhouse, he first entered the changing room for storing clothes and valuables, which had numerous locked wooden cabinets lining both sides. Desperate to find his target, the attendant walked straight through the changing room and headed to an open-air courtyard.

The courtyard was spacious. Some citizens were quietly discussing business, hawkers were peddling drinks and snacks, bards were performing, and there were even people wrestling in a sandpit to work up a sweat.

On the left side of the courtyard was the cold water bath, ahead was the warm water bath, and on the right was the hot water bath. The attendant searched them one by one, finally entering the sauna next to the hot water bath.

The room was filled with steam, making visibility poor. Sunlight filtered through the narrow windows high on the walls, casting hazy, shifting rays of light. The attendant shouted at the top of his lungs and finally located a youth from Breizh.

"Where is Salomon? His Majesty needs to see him!"

"He is probably watching a match." The youth's lazy expression vanished without a trace. He rushed out of the sauna, quickly rinsed his body with warm water, and led the attendant toward the arena in the eastern part of the city.

At this moment, the match at the arena had reached its climax, and deafening cheers resembling a roaring tsunami echoed from within. Just as the attendant was about to pull out his money to buy tickets, the youth stopped him.

"Don't bother going in. My lord only watches matches involving the Stirling Team and the Tain Team. Since neither team is playing, he should be watching a play at the Tuna Theater."