Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 313: Knights and Light Cavalry

In early February of 865 AD, taking advantage of the Moors' inattention, Gunnar led five hundred men over the Cantabrian Mountains, swiftly capturing León on the southern slopes.

Ahead lay the flat terrain of the Meseta Plateau, where the Douro River and its numerous tributaries cut deeply into the highlands, forming a multitude of river valleys.

These river valleys boasted fertile soil and housed the main settlements. Throughout the winter, the Moorish armies were scattered across these valleys to wait out the cold. Gunnar convinced Crown Prince Alfonso to gather their forces and seize the initiative, striking before the enemy could finish assembling.

After their surprise attack on León, Gunnar and Alfonso led an army of over ten thousand men southward along the Esla River. The enemy forces they encountered along the way rarely exceeded two thousand men and were easily routed by the Frankish knights.

Watching the tribal light cavalry scatter and flee, Gunnar breathed a sigh of relief. Light cavalry formations were loose and covered a wide stretch of the battlefield. A mere thousand riders could create an overwhelming, sky-blotting spectacle that looked incredibly intimidating. However, as long as the Allied Forces withstood the initial wave of attacks, the light cavalry would be left completely out of options.

Once the Moorish light cavalry's warhorses grew exhausted, Gunnar would order the Frankish knights to charge. They could easily overtake the light cavalry, knocking the enemies off their mounts one by one with their lances.

With every settlement they captured, Alfonso dispatched the army chaplains to go door-to-door, using land as an incentive to recruit the impoverished local Visigoths. Through this continuous campaign, the numbers of the Allied Forces did not dwindle but instead swelled to sixteen thousand men.

In mid-February, Gunnar reached the confluence of the Esla and Douro Rivers and proceeded eastward along the Douro. A week later, they encountered the hastily assembled main force of the Moors.

For this battle, the Western Army commanded three thousand cavalry, the vast majority of whom were Frankish knights and retainers. The remaining thirteen thousand infantrymen were sorely lacking in training, making them difficult to utilize effectively.

Left with little choice, Gunnar arranged his thirteen thousand-man infantry battalions into a conservative four-six-three formation: four thousand in the front, six thousand in the middle, and three thousand in the rear. The troops with a modicum of combat experience were placed at the front and on the flanks, while the hastily conscripted militia was tucked in the center to serve primarily as a visual deterrent to pad their numbers.On the opposing side, the Eastern Army was not faring much better. Their total force of eighteen thousand included twelve thousand demoralized conscripted militia, three thousand tribal light cavalry, two thousand Sakaliba heavy infantry, and one thousand heavy cavalry clad in iron armor.

Gazing at the dense, sprawling sea of people in the distance, Alfonso, stepping onto the battlefield for the first time, found his mouth dry and his heart pounding fiercely against his ribs. He forced himself to calm down, delegating full command to Gunnar.

"Your Majesty, prepare yourself mentally. This battle could last until sunset. No matter what happens, your royal standard must not waver."

"I understand."

At nine in the morning, the Moors launched their attack. It was their usual tactic of light cavalry harassment. A massive swarm of riders flanked from both sides, kicking up clouds of dust that blotted out the sky.

Upon entering firing range, the light cavalry unhooked the bows and arrows hanging from their saddles. Their horse bows were composite bows, crafted from animal horn, sinew, and fish-bladder glue. The relatively dry climate of Iberia prevented the composite bows from coming unglued.

From fifty meters away, the light cavalry unleashed a high-angle fire of feathered arrows upon the Visigothic infantry. Noticing a slight loosening in the infantry formation, some riders closed the distance to thirty or even twenty meters. Their accuracy drastically improved, and their feathered arrows found tricky angles through the gaps in the shields, inflicting casualties on the militia in the rear.

The Western Army's archers mounted a counterattack, but their numbers were far too few and their training abysmal. Struggling to find the proper angle for high-angle fire, many of their arrows landed harmlessly on empty ground, failing to drive away the maddening light cavalry.

Beneath the Western Army's royal standard, Alfonso witnessed the deteriorating situation on the flanks and looked anxiously at Gunnar, who merely shook his head slightly. Before long, the outermost battalion on the left flank collapsed. Yet, Gunnar still held back the cavalry, instead ordering an inner battalion to step up and plug the gap.

The harassment continued for over an hour before the Moors launched a full-scale assault. Seizing the perfect moment, Gunnar ordered a thousand Frankish cavalry to strike the Moorish heavy cavalry from the flank. The Moorish heavy cavalry were primarily armed with scimitars and round shields; the power of their charge could not match the couched lance charge of the Frankish knights. As the two forces clashed head-on, the Moorish cavalry's iron armor was easily pierced by the lances, and their ranks broke not long after.

"Is that it?"

Gunnar's mood soared. He divided the remaining cavalry into three divisions. He, Baron Charles Potini, and champion knight Morris de Montpellier each led eight hundred riders, taking turns crashing into the enemy forces on the southern side of the battlefield.

During the charge, Gunnar completely ignored the arrow volleys of the Moorish light cavalry, focusing entirely on smashing into the Moorish infantry. After a period of intense slaughter, sensing that his warhorses were flagging, he pulled his troops back into their own lines to rest and ordered Charles's forces to strike. Not long after, Charles's division concluded their charge, and Morris's troops took over the assault, offering the Moorish infantry on the southern flank absolutely no chance to catch their breath.

Witnessing the fierce charges of the Frankish Army, the Moorish light cavalry lacked the courage to engage in close combat. They stubbornly remained at the very edge of their range to loose their feathered arrows rather than risk a melee charge to buy their infantry time to shift formations.

At the end of the day, they were merely temporarily conscripted tribal nomads. Using their bows and arrows to harass the enemy was already earning the bounties paid out by their superiors.

Through consecutive, relentless charges, the Frankish Army crushed the Moorish infantry, driving them northward and disrupting the formations of the Sakaliba heavy infantry. Then came the familiar pattern: Gunnar, Charles, and Morris attacked in rotation, crashing down like ocean waves pounding against a sandy shore until the Sakaliba formations completely crumbled.

At their closest, the Sakaliba heavy infantry were a mere hundred meters away from Alfonso's royal standard. For them, victory had been like a mirage—seemingly within arm's reach, yet forever impossible to grasp.

With the disastrous defeat of the Sakaliba, the light cavalry scattered around the perimeter of the battlefield saw the writing on the wall. One by one, they abandoned their allies and scattered into the winds. The Moorish defeat was set in stone.

"Did we win?"

Alfonso's face was deathly pale, his lips parched and cracked. He had perfectly fulfilled Gunnar's instructions, steadfastly holding his ground beneath the royal standard. At one point, a stray arrow had struck his left arm; fortunately, his armor protected him, but it had still given him a terrible fright.

Having endured until now, the Crown Prince was left with only four battalions that still retained their combat effectiveness, along with over three thousand hastily reorganized routers. The rest of the soldiers had either died or fled. The most infuriating part was that his cousin, Frode, had taken a thousand men from the rearguard and deserted without a word during the most critical moment of the battle, nearly causing the entire army to collapse.

"That damn traitor, I will never forgive him."

Alfonso's hatred for his cousin eclipsed even his animosity toward the Moors before him. Accompanied by his muttered curses, the last organized unit of Moorish infantry was routed by the Frankish Army. The battle was over.

The next day, Alfonso appointed a noble to remain behind to gather the stragglers and treat the wounded, while he and Gunnar led the six thousand men still in fighting condition further east along the Douro River.

As time passed, news of the Moorish main force's defeat spread across northern Iberia. Rebellious sentiment erupted everywhere like a spreading wildfire. Wherever the Allied Forces went, the populace welcomed them with open arms, offering food and fresh recruits. They even acted as inside men, helping the Allied Forces conquer towns from within.

In May, the Allied Forces arrived at the major northern stronghold of Iberia: Zaragoza. During the Roman era, it was known as Caesaraugusta. Over the long years, its name continually shifted; the Moors called it Saraqusta, which eventually evolved into Zaragoza.