Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 384: Freedom

The naval battle of Nice concluded with the Eastern Roman Empire declaring victory, claiming to have sunk fifty Viking warships.

However, before the Italian populace could even celebrate, another piece of grim news arrived in quick succession:

Massive quantities of grain from regions such as Toulouse, Burgundy, and Provence were being transported to Marseille. Rumor had it that the North's Serpent and his army of one hundred thousand troops were about to arrive. He intended to emulate Hannibal Barca and unleash a series of bloody, brutal wars across Italy.

When this news reached an upscale main residence in Ravenna, the hostess was delighted rather than alarmed. She abruptly ended her idle chatter with the noblewomen, hurried back to the garden, and flashed a rare smile at her husband.

"The Viking army is marching through the Rhone river valley and is expected to launch an attack within half a month. Your opportunity has arrived. You must perform well this time and wash away the humiliation you've suffered."

'Humiliation?'

Gunnar set down the carving knife and the small wooden sculpture in his hands. He looked up at the wife who had stood by him for twenty years. A multitude of words welled up in his chest, but he forcefully suppressed his emotions and replied indifferently, "I know."

For the past two years, he had been kept under house arrest. However, his wife, son, and daughter-in-law were free to move about. The three of them thoroughly enjoyed their lives in this former Roman capital, lingering at various banquets and high-society gatherings.

Occasionally, Gunnar would hear them discuss news from the outside world. For instance, the political landscape in Iberia—his illegitimate son, Henry, had married a distant cousin of King Alfonso, thereby consolidating his power in Zaragoza.

Most of the time, Gunnar simply stayed alone in the garden, killing time by whittling wood.The vast majority of his wooden sculptures were bearded Viking raiders donning Germanic helmets. Furthermore, each carving corresponded to someone etched into his memory: Ragnar, Ivar, Bjorn...

After Vivienne walked away, Gunnar picked up his carving knife and wooden block once more. His hands whittled away instinctively. By the time he snapped back to reality, he realized that the face on the wooden sculpture clutched in his palm was actually his own!

"In the end, I am still just a Viking barbarian."

Gunnar returned to his second-floor bedroom. The room was a mess, with numerous empty wine bottles piled up in the corner. On the broad oak desk, over two hundred wooden sculptures were neatly arranged, resembling a formidable Viking warband preparing to march into battle.

He studied the formation for a moment, then placed the wooden sculpture representing himself into the warband, positioning it precisely at Ragnar's rear flank.

Just then, the sounds of Robert and his friends laughing and chatting drifted in from outside. Gunnar peered out through the window.

Down in the courtyard, the ground was paved with colored marble, intricately inlaid to form gorgeous geometric patterns. Robert and his companions leaned back in their chairs, shooting the breeze while five servants gently fanned them. Another servant used a copper pot to draw water from a rectangular cistern to water the vibrant flowers. The bottom of the pool was lined with blue glazed tiles, and the crystal-clear well water rippled slightly, reflecting a square of azure sky and the surrounding Corinthian colonnade.

Through the lightly tinted window glass, Gunnar gazed at Robert with a complex expression. After a long while, he let out a heavy sigh, retrieved a bundle from the corner of his bedroom, and slung it over his shoulder.

Afterward, Gunnar observed the nearby guards. Timing it perfectly, he carefully stepped onto the edge of the window sill, scaled the roof of the main residence bare-handed, and crept quietly toward the eaves.

Below him, the voices of two guards drifted up intermittently; they seemed to be complaining about the rising cost of ale at the local tavern.

The window of opportunity was fleeting.

Gunnar took a running start down the slope of the roof and launched himself into the air, landing smoothly on top of the two-story building where the servants resided. He strode over thirty meters across the sun-scorched, blistering tiles before leaping down into a dense flowerbed.

Crawling through the flowers for a short distance, Gunnar was thoroughly surprised to discover that the guard stationed nearby had actually fallen fast asleep. Adapting on the fly, he changed his route, carefully fished the keys from the sleeping guard's embrace, and nervously unlocked the courtyard gate standing before him.

Outside the gate lay a spacious clearing; on the left was a warehouse, and on the right stood the stable. Gunnar observed the area for a few minutes and noticed a cart preparing to leave. Hesitating no longer, he seized the chance to slip beneath the cart, gripping its undercarriage tightly with both hands until the vehicle rolled out through the main gates.

The cart trundled through a bustling market, grinding to a halt from time to time. Gunnar took advantage of one such pause to roll out from underneath the chassis and blend seamlessly into the crowded, noisy throng of people.

The sun was blistering, and a humid summer heat choked Ravenna. Sweat drenched Gunnar's coarse linen tunic. He wandered around the docks for about ten minutes until he spotted a merchant ship preparing to set sail, where he exchanged five silver coins for a spot in the cabin.

Now, Gunnar was thoroughly sick of fighting wars for other men. Whether it was Charles the Bald, Alfonso, Basil, or Wigg, he did not care who won or lost. He only wanted to find a quiet mountainous expanse and live out his days in solitude.

His war was over.

That afternoon, a royal court attendant arrived at the estate where Gunnar had been kept under house arrest. Representing the king, the attendant officially pardoned Gunnar's crimes and simultaneously conscripted him to serve as the supreme commander of the Frankish army, ordering him to depart immediately for Genoa to await further instructions.

Vivienne had guessed perfectly. Bubbling with excitement, she hurried out to the garden, calling Gunnar's name.

'Is he drunk again?'

The Duchess marched up to the second-floor bedroom of the small building. Pushing open the door, the sour stench of stale alcohol made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. The room was completely empty. The dim, golden light of the setting sun spilled across the floorboards, and the curtains fluttered gently in the breeze. A massive legion of neatly arranged wooden sculptures sat atop the desk. The gorgeous scabbard sword the Duke had wielded for years still hung upon the wall. The bed was unmade, and a silver cross pendant lay carelessly discarded on the pillow.

'Where on earth is this drunkard?'

Vivienne assumed that Gunnar had simply passed out drunk in one of the flowerbeds. She ordered the servants to scour the estate, only to quickly realize that the man had already fled.

As the news spread, the city gates of Ravenna were swiftly sealed shut. Swarms of soldiers conducted rigorous door-to-door searches, yet they still could not locate the Norman noble.

"On June 6, 872 AD, on the eve of the outbreak of the Italian War, Gunnar, the Duke of Normandy and Duke of Zaragoza, the designated supreme commander of the allied forces, vanished in Ravenna, his whereabouts remaining unknown from that day forward."

This was the final trace Gunnar left in the annals of history.

Two days later, the Viking army arrived in the northern suburbs of Marseille.

This time, the field troops numbered fifty-two thousand men. They were divided into the Royal Division, the First, Second, and Third Field Divisions, the Cavalry Division, and an artillery regiment equipped with eighty bronze cannons.

The forces cobbled together by various nobles across the regions amounted to roughly twenty-eight thousand men. They were organized into twenty-eight garrison regiments, tasked with executing a myriad of auxiliary duties, including logistical transport and garrisoning strongholds.

That morning, the Duke of Provence led his family and the local populace out of the city gates to welcome them. After waiting for over two hours, scattered rangers finally appeared in their line of sight. Trailing further back was an endless marching column stretching for several kilometers. Dust and mist choked the air, and a veritable forest of spears and pikes glinted with blinding, icy points of light.

Not long after, the emperor arrived on horseback, flanked by a group of attendants. His very first words upon meeting them were, "How many supplies are currently in the city?"

Butcherbird replied, "Following orders, grain from all over southern Francia has been consolidated in Marseille. The accumulated grain is enough to sustain us for twenty months, and more is still on the way."

West Francia boasted fertile land and an incredibly suitable climate. Aside from supplying grain, the region also provided ample high-quality warhorses. This time, the number of heavy cavalry had broken past the five-thousand mark, completely patching up the final weakness in Wigg's army.