novelraw Chapter 335: Turmoil Resurfaces
Chapter 335: Turmoil Resurfaces
In mid-May, Pascal Jr. set off on his journey home. While making a temporary stop to rest in Bornholm, he learned a shocking piece of news—East Francia had invaded once again.
"Why has fighting broken out again?"
He shelved his plans to return home, ordering his captain to head for the southeastern coast of Denmark. From there, he transferred to an oared longship and set sail for Schleswig.
Following the end of the previous war, the various nobles of Northern Europe had gathered four thousand men to garrison the Danevirke Line. Wigg had not provided any troops, but he regularly dispatched supply ships from Britain to sustain this medium-sized army.
"Reinforcements from Britain will take at least a month to arrive. Can they hold out?"
As the longship navigated the winding Schlei Fjord, Pascal Jr. gazed anxiously at the waters to the west. He suddenly recalled the Cabinet's assessment of the various factions in Northern Europe:
Their equipment was crude, their armor rate was low, and their stockpile of arrows was sparse. Furthermore, every faction lacked cavalry, placing them at an absolute disadvantage in field battles.
However, since they were garrisoning the Danevirke Line, the Frankish Army's cavalry would be useless. Relying on their defensive fortifications, the Nordic warriors should have no problem holding out for a while.
Six hours passed before the docks of Schleswig appeared ahead. Pascal Jr. urged the sailors to increase their speed. Upon docking, he sought out the local nobles, only to receive news that the war in the south was deadlocked in fierce fighting.
"When will the reinforcements from Norway and Sweden arrive?"A noble shook his head. "Hard to say. It will take at least half a month, perhaps even a full month."
After having lunch, Pascal Jr. made his way to the southern palisade. He spotted a few black dots moving on the distant horizon. Soon after, more and more black dots appeared, converging into a massive tide of people. Amidst the swirling dust, a tattered military standard flickered in and out of view. Emblazoned upon it was the design of Yggdrasil—the banner chosen by Uppsala for the Allied Forces of Northern Europe.
"Defeated?"
A deathly silence fell over the top of the wall. Pascal Jr.'s eyes widened as he estimated the number of routed soldiers to be over two thousand. Soon, several riders rushed to the outskirts of the town, shouting for the gates to be opened immediately, claiming that a ten-thousand-strong Frankish Army was rapidly approaching.
Pascal Jr. was not adept at commanding in battle, so he could only let the local nobles handle the situation as they saw fit. They threw open the gates to take in the routed troops, then locked down the defenses and refused to sally forth.
At dusk, a large contingent of the Frankish Army's cavalry arrived outside the town but made no attempt to attack. The following day, the main infantry force caught up. Five thousand men besieged the town, while the remaining five thousand bypassed Schleswig entirely and continued their march north.
Sensing the atmosphere of terror within the town, Pascal Jr. deduced that the morale of the two thousand-plus troops had completely collapsed. They had lost all capacity for field combat and were now either trapped behind the walls or destined to flee elsewhere by ship.
'Staying here is utterly pointless. It would be better to return home as soon as possible and report all of this to His Majesty.'
He was trying to find an excuse to slip away when he suddenly heard disastrous news: the Frankish Army was constructing trebuchets at a narrow section of the Schlei Fjord, attempting to blockade the shipping lane between Schleswig and the eastern sea.
With this development, the fall of the town was only a matter of time.
'This is bad,' Pascal Jr. cursed inwardly. He tracked down his drunken captain in a tavern by the docks and ordered him to gather the crew to set sail.
"My lord, the boys are out having a good time. It'll probably take a while," the captain slurred.
"We cannot wait any longer," Pascal Jr. warned the captain sternly. "The Frankish Army is building trebuchets on both banks of the Schlei Fjord. Once the news spreads, it will inevitably trigger a panic within the town, and some of those routed soldiers might try to hijack the ships."
Realizing their lives were on the line, the captain managed to round up fifteen sailors. The remaining three were nowhere to be found. Muttering a curse under his breath, the captain left them to fend for themselves in the town. By this time, more and more routed soldiers were gathering at the docks, their voices rising in a chaotic din. Pascal Jr. and the crew swiftly boarded the ship. The moment the mooring ropes were cast off, the men began rowing vigorously, distancing themselves from the mob of soldiers who were on the verge of losing their minds.
'Twenty-eight ships, and over three thousand soldiers and commoners. If handled properly, four round trips would be enough to evacuate everyone out to sea. But these routed troops have absolutely no organization. They will inevitably shed blood fighting for the right to board the first wave of ships. If the Frankish Army uses the ensuing chaos to attack the town...'
Pascal Jr. cut off that despairing train of thought. Casting aside his dignity as an Earl, he grabbed an oar and rowed alongside the sailors. As they passed through the narrow straits of the fjord, they indeed saw hundreds of Frankish soldiers felling trees in the nearby woods.
That afternoon, Pascal Jr. safely returned to his brigantine waiting at the mouth of the fjord, finally allowing his anxious heart to settle.
Half a month later. The Royal Palace in Londinium.
"Bothering me yet again. Can't these Franks just sit still?"
Wigg stared at the map on the wall, roughly guessing East Francia's intentions. The pirates of Northern Europe excelled at hit-and-run harassment tactics. The best way to deal with them was to seize the initiative, strike directly at the heart of the Vikings' homeland, and solve the pirate problem at its root.
Moreover, several silver mines had been developed in the Harz Mountains within Saxony. Their financial resources were abundant, providing more than enough funding to sustain this war.
Wigg dismissed Pascal Jr. and muttered to himself behind his desk:
"It's all Ubbe's fault. If he hadn't backstabbed Niels back then, the Allied Forces would have had a high chance of capturing Magdeburg, plundering the middle and upper reaches of the Elbe River, and completely destroying East Francia's war potential. Sigh. With things in this state, am I supposed to save Denmark every few years?"
The following day, the Wind-chaser arrived in Londinium. He implored Wigg to fulfill his sacred duty as the Guardian of Faith, promising that once the Franks were defeated, all the temples across Northern Europe would jointly revere him as the High King.
"This is a difficult matter. If I lead an army to their aid, Charles the Bald will also dispatch troops. Warhorses are not suited for long-distance sea transport, and my lack of cavalry means I would simply repeat the predicament of a few years ago. I would only be able to repel the forces of West Francia without actually inflicting any fundamental damage."
From a commander's perspective, it was unwise for Wigg to launch an expedition to Denmark.
Yet, as a King, from a political standpoint, it was necessary for him to participate in this war. If the Frankish Army managed to establish a firm foothold in Denmark and subsequently began to encroach upon Sweden and Norway, Britain would eventually be completely isolated.
"The Franks attack Denmark every other day, forcing my army to cross the sea to their rescue. I can't keep living like this!"
Feeling extremely irritable, Wigg paced back and forth across the hall. Gradually, a dangerous idea began to take root in his mind.
Rather than being led by the nose by the Frankish Army, it would be better to choose West Francia as the battlefield. The two lands were separated only by The Channel, allowing him to transport a much larger army. The horses would spend very little time in the holds of the ships, resulting in virtually no attrition.
He walked back to his throne, looking down from his high vantage point at the elderly Wind-chaser. "I am willing to deploy my troops. However, the target will not be Denmark. It will be West Francia. We will use an unprecedented war to end all of this and settle the score with our enemies once and for all."
Nineteen years ago, Ragnar had attacked West Francia, and the Vikings had completely annihilated the main Frankish Army on the Banks of the Seine. Eight years after that, mired in a severe financial crisis, Ragnar had delusionally attempted to plunder West Francia again, only to suffer disastrous losses. His entire lineage had rapidly plummeted into decline. Taking advantage of the internal strife plaguing Britain, Gunnar had then led the Frankish Army ashore, utterly devastating the southern region of Britain.
Following these numerous wars, any hope of reconciliation between the Kingdom of Britain and West Francia had been completely extinguished. Unless one side was utterly defeated, this standoff would persist indefinitely, dragging on for centuries or perhaps even longer.