Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 395: The Tuscany Battlefield

Upon learning that eastern Moravia boasted twenty-eight stone fortifications, Butcherbird made a rough calculation. He soon realized that the barrel lifespan of their bronze cannons would be insufficient to conquer them all.

"Hopefully, we can persuade some of the nobles to surrender," he muttered. "We can't afford to waste too much time on the northern front. Once this is settled, we still have to head south to reinforce the battlefield in Italy."

Meanwhile, Basil received news from Slavonia. He never expected Wigg to actually dare divide his forces and march north, leaving him utterly bewildered.

'Including the militia, our forces total a hundred thousand strong,' he thought. 'Is he not worried in the slightest?'

After confirming that the Vikings in Tuscany numbered less than thirty thousand, Basil left twenty thousand of his weakest Italian militia in Rome for training. He then led the remaining eighty thousand men north to assault Tuscany.

Their first target was Livorno on the west coast. In addition to the army, Basil deployed his fleet to blockade the sea.

Bolstered by reinforcements from Naples, Venice, and other regions, the Eastern Roman Empire boasted a fleet of two hundred various ships. Even if the Royal Navy came to intercept them, Basil was confident he could drive the Vikings back.

However, the anticipated siege warfare never broke out. The Vikings had evacuated ahead of time.

"They retreated?"

While pleased, Basil couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern, suspecting that the enemy was trying to lure his forces deeper into their territory.The following day, the reconnaissance troops brought back two pieces of good news in succession: they had recaptured Pisa and Lucca to the northeast.

Confirming there were no ambushes nearby, Basil decided to probe eastward, dispatching troops toward Florence.

This time, the Vikings did not flee. They deployed a river chain barrier across the Arno River, preventing the Eastern Roman forces from sailing upstream.

The battle erupted in a hilly region. The Vikings had constructed defensive works on the high ground, giving them a commanding view of the river below and making any assault incredibly difficult. Furthermore, a small north-south mountain range lay across the surrounding area, rendering it unsuitable for a large-scale army to execute a flanking maneuver.

After suffering over a thousand casualties, Basil bypassed the area entirely. He led his main force around to a pass on the northern side of the mountain range to attack Pistoia, where several thousand Vikings were garrisoned.

Drawing inspiration from the tactics of the Frankish remnants, the Greeks employed a two-pronged approach: constructing heavy trebuchets and excavating underground tunnels.

Since tunneling tactics had originated with the Vikings, the defenders were well-versed in countermeasures. They dug counter-tunnels from within the city to intercept and slaughter the Greek sappers as they excavated.

The soldiers of both sides tangled in brutal underground skirmishes for over three weeks, yet the Greeks' tunnels were never able to extend beneath Pistoia's western city walls.

To make matters worse, Tuscany featured a classic Mediterranean climate. With frequent winter rains and damp, biting cold, the tens of thousands of soldiers camped in the wilderness suffered from widespread illness, severely slowing the progress of the siege.

At this juncture, Basil recalled the Vikings' medical system. He hastily summoned some captives for detailed questioning and discovered that every chiliarchy possessed dozens of medical personnel. Viking doctors received systematic training; they practiced in cities and towns during peacetime and were drafted as military physicians to support the army during wartime.

"These barbarians are quite creative," he murmured. "Once this war is over, I shall establish a medical school in Constantinople as well."

On January 15, 873 AD, one hundred and fifty heavy trebuchets were completed outside the city. The Greeks had felled the finest timber in the vicinity, reinforcing the critical joints with iron hoops, and filled the massive counterweight boxes with over two tons of crushed stone and dirt.

Deeming the time ripe, Basil ordered the attack.

As dawn broke, Greek soldiers slowly pushed the heavy trebuchets forward. According to their observations, Pistoia's city walls were less than two meters thick, making the ramparts unsuitable for mounting cannons. But just as the trebuchets closed to within four hundred meters of the walls, Pistoia's western gates suddenly swung open, and the Vikings rolled out five bronze cannons.

"Fire!"

The fuses were lit, and hissing sparks quickly disappeared into the barrels. Streaks of blazing, tangerine-orange fire erupted from the muzzles as the cannonballs screamed across the sky.

Boom!

A cannonball smashed into the top of a trebuchet, sending wood splinters flying in all directions as the throwing arm swayed precariously.

The other four bronze cannons fired in rapid succession. Three shots missed their marks, but one cannonball struck the counterweight box of a trebuchet on the right.

The wooden box instantly shattered, sending a massive cascade of dirt and stone spilling out like a waterfall. Robbed of its balance, the trebuchet tipped over like a stumbling drunkard before collapsing into a ruined heap of timber.

Witnessing this spectacle, the defenders erupted into cheers that echoed far and wide. The Greeks positioned before the city gates, their morale plummeting, suppressed their terror and continued pushing the trebuchets forward. But the closer they got, the higher the accuracy of the bronze cannons became.

When the distance between the two sides closed to three hundred meters, the Greeks began hurling stones at the city gates. However, the trebuchets relied on a high-arcing trajectory, making their accuracy abysmal. Furthermore, their towering size made them exceptionally easy targets. By nine o'clock in the morning, dozens of trebuchets in front of the gates had been smashed to pieces, while only a single bronze cannon had taken a hit.

As the cheers of the defenders rang out once more, Basil remained remarkably calm. Though the trebuchets before the western gates had been destroyed, many others were still fiercely bombarding the northwest and southwest corners of the town.

If the defenders wanted to destroy the remaining siege engines, they would have to push their cannons a great distance outside the city. Should they attempt that, the Eastern Roman infantry would launch a massive assault to seize the enemy's bronze cannons.

'Even if it costs thousands of casualties, we must capture one of those cannons,' Basil thought.

To his surprise, the defenders refused to take the bait. The gunners simply rolled their bronze cannons back inside the city, leaving the Greeks to batter the walls with their trebuchets.

Stone projectiles weighing tens of kilograms slammed into the fortifications, causing the walls to shudder slightly with every impact. After ten consecutive days of relentless bombardment, the Greeks finally smashed three breaches into the city walls.

The war horns signaling the assault blared, and a massive swarm of cannon-fodder infantry surged into the city. In response, the defenders ignited stockpiles of oil and firewood they had prepared in advance, putting the entire town to the torch.

Taking advantage of the raging inferno blocking the enemy's path, the three thousand Viking soldiers withdrew through the East Gate and fled along the road toward Florence.

That afternoon, Eastern Roman cavalry captured a few straggling captives. Basil interrogated them one by one, demanding, "Where are your bronze cannons?"

"The Emperor issued a supreme edict," one captive replied. "It is strictly forbidden for any unit to abandon a cannon. Even if they are completely scrapped, they must be melted down into copper ingots and transported back to the rear. A week ago, when it became clear that Pistoia could not be held, the commander had the bronze cannons shipped out early. I don't know the exact location."

"Do you know the formula for 'Viking Fire'?" Basil pressed. "Tell me, and I will enfeoff you as a noble, a title akin to a Frankish Earl."

The captive gently shook his head. "The gunpowder formula is strictly guarded. Before a battle begins, the craftsmen mix the powder and pack it into linen to create propellant charges. Not even the gunners who operate the cannons know the exact recipe."

Failing to unlock the secrets of the cannons and Viking Fire left Basil somewhat disappointed. However, he remained firmly convinced that there was no magic involved—it was merely a rather unique alchemical creation. He thought to himself:

'Now that we have captured Pistoia, our army will bypass the mountains and enter the basin where Florence is located from the northwest. Hopefully, we can capture some of those Viking craftsmen in the upcoming battles.'