Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 401: Magyars

The war horn sounded, its low, resonant blast echoing across the wilderness. The soldiers swiftly deployed into combat formation. Whether infantry or crossbowmen, every man was fully equipped with armor.

Observing the number of tents, Alfred judged that this tribe had about fifteen hundred residents. He waved his flag, ordering the shield wall to slowly advance. Most of the nomads' arrows were blocked by the shields; the occasional feathered arrow that slipped through the gaps could only leave a shallow scratch on the surface of their lamellar armor.

Seeing their ranged attacks were ineffective, the nomadic horsemen circled to the flanks to launch a charge, only to be met by a volley from the crossbowmen. Before they could even touch the spear line formation on the wings, the fifty or so surviving riders broke and fled in succession.

The Frankish shield wall continued its advance. After enduring fifteen volleys of arrows, they neared the edge of the camp. Mustering their strength, they hurled two volleys of short spears, pinning the nomadic infantry ahead of them to the ground, piercing right through their shields.

Subsequently, the shield wall dispersed, charging into the camp in small squads. Their superior equipment and discipline completely crushed any individual bravery, efficiently and ruthlessly wiping out all resistance.

In the year 868 AD, Wigg defeated Charles the Bald's northern army and Gunnar's southern army on the fields of Rurik. Afterward, Charles the Bald led his remnants in a retreat from East Francia to Italy. After surviving numerous battles, these soldiers followed Charles the Bald in his migration to Wallachia. They were truly elite veterans of a hundred battles, possessing combat prowess that surpassed ordinary Viking forces and rivaled the standard of the Royal Guard.

Pitting these armored warriors against poorly equipped nomads made for a battle devoid of suspense. The Frankish Army suffered a mere twenty casualties, the vast majority of which were light wounds.

At this moment, Alfred dispatched the hundred and fifty light cavalrymen from within the wagon fort. Their target was not the fleeing nomadic riders, but rather the massive herds of cattle and sheep scattered nearby.

After two hours of busy work, the Franks tallied their spoils. In total, they had captured four hundred prisoners, three hundred cows, nine thousand sheep, along with various sundries like tents and carts.

It was only a pity that most of the horses had been taken away by the fleeing nomads.Five days later, the expeditionary force returned to Charlefort with a vast multitude of livestock, sparking enthusiastic cheers from the populace. At the banquet, as Charles the Bald and the nobles listened to the recount of the battle, a burning desire for warfare sprouted in their hearts.

Someone proposed, "Over this period, we've scouted out more than one winter camp. Why not fight another battle?"

William, clutching a half-eaten roasted lamb chop, let out a satisfied burp. "Right, it's my turn to deploy this time. Brothers, wait for my good news."

The following day, William similarly led two thousand soldiers out to battle. After several days of traveling, he successfully located a winter camp at the southern foot of a forested mountain.

It was another crushing victory. The Frankish Army seized over ten thousand heads of cattle and sheep, along with two hundred steppe horses.

With two consecutive victories, the mood throughout Charlefort reached a fever pitch. Charles the Bald temporarily expanded the army to six thousand men, dividing them into three divisions: two armies marched out to conquer, while one remained to garrison their stronghold.

From the confessions of the captives, the Franks obtained even more clues. Taking advantage of the nomads' inability to migrate easily during the winter, they struck out with heavy blows, ruthlessly venting the humiliation they had suffered on the battlefields of Italy.

As time passed, the Frankish Army grew increasingly adept at these raids. They even crossed three rivers to strike deep into the northern steppes, launching an attack on a large tribe of over ten thousand people.

This time, the Frankish Army deployed four thousand men. The opposing tribe boasted two thousand five hundred adult males, all mounted on steppe horses, but they possessed only four hundred suits of armor.

Facing a swarm of light cavalry charging from all over the hills and plains, Alfred left a thousand men to guard the wagon fort. The remaining three thousand took the initiative to march out, forming three hollow square formations in what could be considered a perfect replica of the Viking phalanx.

"Fire at will!"

Receiving the officer's command, the iron-armored crossbowmen pointed their weapons toward the ground, stepping into the front iron stirrups with their left feet. Using both hands, they pulled the bowstrings up with all their might, then retrieved crossbow bolts and slotted them into the grooves.

Next, aiming through the gaps between the front two rows of pikemen, the crossbowmen targeted the nomadic riders circling their position and pulled the triggers. These crossbow bolts had a lethal range of a hundred and fifty meters against unarmored targets. The weapon was simple to operate and easy to learn, with its only drawback being a slightly slow rate of fire.

The two sides exchanged fire for five minutes. The nomads' mounts gradually grew fatigued, and the riders' draw speed began to slow.

Seeing this, the Frankish Army deployed their three hundred cavalrymen. Equipped with chainmail, lances, longswords, and light shields, they capitalized on the explosive speed of their Frankish warhorses to slam ruthlessly into the enemy ranks.

In an instant, over a hundred nomadic riders had their bodies pierced through. The remaining companions scattered in retreat, attempting to lure the Franks into a pursuit so they could employ their classic skirmishing retreat tactics against them.

The Frankish cavalry did not fall for the bait. Supported by their own infantry, they swiftly returned to the wagon fort, waiting for their warhorses to recover their stamina as they bided their time to launch the next devastating charge.

The battle raged for half an hour. Suffering losses exceeding thirty percent, the nomadic cavalry sequentially abandoned the battlefield. Alfred pressed on with his march, locating the enemy's stronghold that afternoon and capturing it after a brief but fierce infantry clash.

Throughout the winter, the Franks annihilated fifteen tribes, capturing three thousand horses and a hundred and sixty thousand heads of cattle and sheep. Alfred's military achievements were the most outstanding, earning him a new moniker: the Nomad Destroyer.

Following the war, Charles the Bald and the nobles unanimously agreed that Wallachia's flat terrain made it vulnerable to nomadic incursions. Therefore, every village, or knight's fief, should possess a castle. By establishing fortresses big and small, they would assert absolute control over this land.

Exiled in a foreign land, the Franks discarded their so-called morality. They began forcing eight thousand prisoners of war to log timber and quarry stone, constructing defensive works across the region.

In March of 874 AD, the Eastern Roman fleet transported the supplies awarded by the Emperor to the Danube River. Upon arriving at the docks, they found that the area had undergone massive changes.

Half a year ago, the riverbank had boasted only three crude wooden piers, with no palisades on the perimeter.

Now, large quantities of stone and timber were piled up around the docks, while a massive number of prisoners of war toiled to build stone city walls and internal facilities. According to the Franks, this place had been named New Orleans, serving as Count William's fiefdom.

While the fleet soldiers busied themselves with unloading the supplies, the imperial envoy eunuch traveled toward Charlefort under the escort of a squad of Frankish cavalry.

A cold wind howled across the steppe, prompting the party to draw their cloaks tight. The earth beneath their horses' hooves remained somewhat soft and damp, the result of melting snow combined with spring rains. By the afternoon, they spotted the towering silhouette of Charlefort in the distance, a vibrant fleur-de-lis flag fluttering at its peak.

Large flocks of sheep were scattered around the outskirts of the town, resembling moving white blankets that shifted slowly across the wilderness, grazing on the tender, juicy grass. A strong, musky scent wafted over, causing the eunuch's mount to snort uneasily and paw at the damp, soft turf.

Upon entering the city, the eunuch read the Emperor's royal edict and handed the inventory of supplies to Charles the Bald, unable to help but sigh in admiration:

"So many flocks of sheep. It seems you are living quite well."

Recently, Constantinople had heard rumors of activity on the Wallachian plains, but they hadn't expected the spoils to be so bountiful. The eunuch inquired about the detailed battle situation, to which he received the reply:

"The nearby nomadic tribes have all been purged. The remaining Slavic villages have sworn fealty to me, totaling around twenty thousand people." Charles the Bald reported his battle achievements, taking the opportunity to request the fleet's assistance in transporting the surplus cattle and sheep to Constantinople for sale.

"Of course. Constantinople boasts a population of five hundred thousand, so there is a massive demand for grain and meat. What do you require in return?"

Charles the Bald replied, "Military equipment, volcanic ash for building castles, and the hiring of Venetian fleets to continue transporting Frankish immigrants to Wallachia." Eastern Rome's plan was to support a vassal state of a hundred thousand to three hundred thousand people on the northern bank of the Danube River to serve as a bulwark against the nomadic and Slavic tribes of the Eastern European steppes. At this current stage, the Empire's attitude toward the Franks was primarily one of support. The eunuch agreed to these demands, promising to deliver at least forty thousand immigrants this year.

Should Wallachia's development continue at this blistering pace, the scale of immigration would gradually be reduced next year to prevent Charles the Bald's power from growing beyond control and threatening the Eastern Roman Empire itself.

September.

After half a year of bustling activity, all affairs in Wallachia had been set on the right track. They now possessed three towns—Charlefort, New Orleans, and Buzău—along with seven smaller, medium-sized settlements, all of which were fortified with enclosure walls.

Thanks to his outstanding military achievements, Alfred naturally ascended to become the lord of Buzău, managing five thousand Frankish immigrants and two thousand local Slavs.

Buzău boasted large flocks of sheep, and its residents had transitioned to an agro-pastoralism lifestyle.

A portion of the populace reclaimed farmland in the areas close to the towns and villages. Utilizing the three-field system and the new heavy plow, they planted wheat, oats, and legumes.

The rest drove the livestock herds to graze on pastures farther away, living as nomadic herders following the water and lush grass. Before temperatures plummeted, the herders would pre-harvest hay, transporting it back to the city's warehouses to serve as winter fodder for the cattle and sheep.

The only regret was that the Franks' brutal reputation had spread rapidly. With no sizable nomadic tribes to be found near Wallachia, it was estimated that they wouldn't be able to plunder much good loot this winter.

Alfred sent men to scout for news in the steppes further north, accidentally stumbling upon a rumor: supposedly, a massive tribe was about to migrate, and their target was none other than the Wallachian plains.

"How many people?" Alfred pressed the young rider standing before him.

"According to the news spreading among the Slavs and nomads, they are the Magyars. The Magyars consist of seven tribes in total, numbering anywhere from thirty thousand to as many as sixty thousand."

Sixty thousand!

Nomads were a people where every member was a soldier. A population of sixty thousand meant the enemy possessed at least fifteen thousand nomadic light cavalry.

Going from hunter to prey caused Alfred's mood to plummet rapidly. He immediately penned letters to inform Charlefort and New Orleans to the south.

Subsequently, Alfred summoned his subordinate knights to tally their material reserves.

"The rye and oats are just about ready for harvest, and the warehouses still hold plenty of wheat. That should last us until next summer. However, there isn't enough hay in the storehouses; we need to seize the time to harvest and dry more."

The next moment, he suddenly realized that the city's timber reserves were insufficient. Once the enemy laid siege, a lack of fuel during the winter would still spell doom for Buzău!

Alfred delegated tasks, assigning some knights to recall the scattered farmers and shepherds, while the remaining knights organized logging teams to head into the Carpathian Mountains to the west to chop wood and stockpile winter fuel.

By mid-September, the rumors of the Magyars' migration intensified. Charles the Bald hastily delivered five hundred crossbows and a hundred thousand crossbow bolts, ordering Alfred to hold the town at all costs.

"What is the meaning of this? Basil tells Charles the Bald to hold his ground on the northern bank of the Danube River and forbids him from retreating. Now, Charles the Bald tosses me to the north. Neither of them is any good!"

Alfred was in a foul mood. With nowhere left to run, he had no choice but to supervise the populace in digging moats and constructing ballistae.

During the arduous wait, the steppe shed its verdant summer hues, transforming into an endless expanse of withered yellow that stretched all the way to the horizon. The residents of Buzău gradually grew numb, until late September, when two riders galloped into the city, screaming at the top of their lungs:

"The Magyars are here!"

The warning bells rang frantically. Farmers hoisted their agricultural tools and nomadic herders drove their livestock as they all stampeded back into the city. The massive, heavy gates slowly groaned shut behind them.

At first, only a single black dot appeared on the eastern horizon. Then two, then ten, then a hundred. Eventually, they converged into a moving black tide. The thundering of hooves rolled across the earth like muffled thunder, causing the city walls to tremble slightly.

Countless nomadic riders drew their mounts to a halt just a bowshot away from the city walls. Clad in leather pelts, with scimitars at their waists and recurve bows and quivers hanging by their saddles, they stood in utter silence amidst the cooling autumn winds.

The next moment, a single rider galloped out from the nomadic army. His horse was tall and robust, and the rider's face bore deep wrinkles and a nasty scar slashing across his left eye. He reined in his mount beneath the wall, gazing up at the Yellow Dragon Banner fluttering above. In a heavily accented yet perfectly discernible Slavic tongue, he shouted:

"The children of the steppe require grain for the winter and a warm place to stay. Open your gates and offer up half your food reserves, and we swear not to harm a single soul."

Alfred ordered his translator to reply, "We are willing to offer two thousand sacks of grain and five hundred sheep! Please leave at once; this is the territory of the Eastern Roman Empire, and the Emperor's grand army is already on its way!"

The rider had no desire to haggle. He wheeled his horse around and returned to his ranks, prompting a chorus of bizarre, piercing howls from the collective nomadic riders. The rolling waves of sound crashed against the city walls. The garrison instinctively tightened their grips on their spears, and the bodies of some of the militia began to tremble.

The following day, a sprawling multitude of carts and livestock appeared in the distance. The rumors had been entirely accurate—this tribe was indeed undergoing a massive, long-distance migration.

A river flowed down from the Carpathian Mountains, winding from west to east right past Buzău's northern city walls before meandering downstream. The Magyars established their camp on both sides of the river, leading their horses to the water's edge to drink.

They were in no rush to attack the city. Instead, they ventured into the Carpathian Mountains to the west to log timber. Tall pines and majestic oak trees fell one after another, quickly stripped of their branches before being dragged back to camp by steppe horses.

Outside the city walls, craftsmen utilized precious iron tools to process the wood. The younger artisans constructed long ladders, while the elder craftsmen took on the far more technically demanding task—building man-powered catapults.

In just a few short days, thirty rudimentary man-powered catapults had begun to take shape. Thick oak trunks formed the bases, and long lever arms were being installed in the center. The craftsmen constantly tested the strength of the ropes, making frequent adjustments.

Just as they were nearing completion, Alfred gave the order. The garrison ripped away the tarpaulins covering their ballistae, aiming the siege weapons at the catapults over two hundred meters away.

Clack!

The soldiers smashed the release mechanisms, and the six ballistae mounted on the city walls fired in succession. In less than two hours, the man-powered catapults outside the city had been utterly obliterated.

Alfred ordered the translators to shout in unison, "Cease your attack! Your man-powered catapults lack the power to smash our city walls. Leave now!"