After a night's rest in this unknown village, the army continued on its way, arriving at the northern edge of Repton by midday the following day.
As Ragnar sat on his bumpy horse, he listened to Pascal's account of King Offa's deeds, commenting from time to time:
"According to you, King Offa reigned for nearly forty years (757–796 CE), Mercia flourished, forced the other six kingdoms to surrender, and even maintained an equal relationship with Charlemagne. Well, he was a great king indeed."
A few strange looks flashed in his eyes, and he asked a question that Pascal found difficult to answer: "But why did Mercia decline so rapidly after Offa's death? His successors were defeated by Wessex and, in turn, paid tribute to Wessex…"
"Your Majesty, this is a serious and difficult question. I apologize, I cannot answer it so quickly."
As they spoke, a horseman in a thick woolen cloak ran up to them: "Your Majesty, 700 Anglo-Saxons are approaching from the southeast, aiming for the east gate of Repton."
Almost immediately, Ragnar instinctively shouted: "Stop them!"
He led a group of nobles and horse guards to the hillside hundreds of meters away. Looking closely, he saw a long line of fire in the distance. The weapons were poor, the morale was shaky. It seemed that the unit was vulnerable.
"Vig blocked the front, Gunnar went around the rear, and the rest followed me."
Suddenly Vig interrupted Ragnar: "Your Majesty, I have an idea..."
…
When the Vikings discovered the Mercian army, the enemy also noticed their presence. Looking at the large group of horsemen that appeared on the hillside in the distance, this group of hastily assembled recruits was in complete chaos, dozens of people scattered and ran.
"Stop them!"
He placed guards around him to maintain order. The commander straightened up on his horse, his eyes wide open and trying to determine the exact number of the enemy as quickly as possible.
The next moment, a large group of dark figures crossed the ridge like a seething stream, numbering at least three thousand people!
Bad!
The commander immediately abandoned the battle due to the difference in numbers and ordered the troops to hurry to Repton. "Don't run in circles, keep in line and capture the wagons!" -
he shouted helplessly from his horse, but unfortunately, few were ready to obey the order. They only wanted to break through the city gates and avoid meeting these fierce Viking barbarians.
"My lord, you should retreat."
Five guards rushed into the crowd and ran desperately, clutching the reins. On the way, the commander still often looked back, with pain in his heart looking at the abandoned more than twenty wagons.
During the campaign, the warriors usually piled their armor, bows, arrows, and other baggage onto the wagons and put them on after they met the enemy, in order to slow the soldiers' exhaustion. Now they were defeated before they even met the enemy, which meant that forty suits of armor and a huge amount of army food went to the Vikings for nothing.
"Damn it, this is all my hard-earned goods, cowards!"
Ignoring the insults of the commander, the guards silently followed the stream of people. When they were more than a thousand paces from the city gate, a multitude of feather arrows suddenly flew out of the forest on the right. Sharp and cold, iron arrows pierced the crowd and easily killed many people.
"The Vikings are coming, run for your lives!"
The entire army completely disintegrated and broke into countless scattered groups. Most of them rushed towards the western gate, while a few cunning ghosts broke away from the human stream and ran desperately towards the wilderness to the south.
At this point, the commander was so frightened that he could no longer speak. His face turned pale, and his cold right hand reached into his collar, grasping the silver cross blessed by the church, and silently prayed:
"God, protect me from evil and help me to survive this war."
...
The eastern gate of Repton.
As the watchtower watched the approach of a large number of Vikings, the soldiers guarding the city quickly responded. When all the suburbanites had fled into the city, they closed the city gates and waited behind the battlements with bows and arrows. As time went on, more and more defeated soldiers gathered at the wall, shouting at the guards to open the gates quickly.
Although they looked down on this bunch of scum who had fled before the battle, after all, there were over 400 young and strong men there, and they could be used to defend the city. At the officer's command, six soldiers cursed and walked to the back of the city gates and together lifted the heavy doorframes.
"Keep your formation, don't push!"
Seeing the city gates open, the chaotic crowd rushed into the city like water through the corridor, like a river that had burst forth. The six unfortunate soldiers were knocked down by the crowd before they could restore order. Countless feet trampled their bodies, discarded shoes and weapons were scattered everywhere.
"Quickly close the gates! The Vikings are coming!"
When the last one entered the city, the officer guarding the city ordered the soldiers to close the gates again. He climbed down the wall with a few of his confidants and asked the fleeing soldiers: "Who is your commander?"
Suddenly he felt a cramp in his stomach. He looked down and saw how the bloody blade was quickly drawn and struck again...
"Go!"
The next moment, more than fifty Vikings who had made their way into the city drew their blades and began to hack at the soldiers closest to them. Despite the desperate counterattack of the guards, they still managed to gain three precious minutes. With the main force breaking through the gates, the siege ceased to be intense.
Promising immunity to those who surrendered, most of the Mercians threw down their weapons and silently gathered in the open, awaiting reprisal.
Soon Ragnar led a group of nobles on horseback, climbed the city wall, and looked out over the historic city.
Repton was the capital for a long time in the early days of the kingdom of Mercia. The city is dominated by the stone church of St. Westen, whose pointed spire can be seen for miles. The sarcophagi of kings from past dynasties are said to be buried in underground tombs.
Ragnar sighed, addressing everyone, stroking the rough and cold battlements with his right hand: "Thanks to the plan that Vig came up with spontaneously, the losses in the capture of this former capital were only 20 men. Well done, it seems your legendary experience has added another chapter."
He patted his trusted confidant on the shoulder and encouraged him, then asked the guards to restrain the soldiers and forbid them from harassing the church and the city's inhabitants.
"Your Majesty," Captain of the Guard Gunnar raised his head. "You are not going to let the brothers plunder the loot? That is against the rules."
"Rules? What I said is the rule!" Ragnar's gaze suddenly became sharp. Seeing this, Gunnar quickly accepted the order and personally maintained order in the city.
On the city wall, meeting puzzled looks, Ragnar explained: "Times have changed. As a king and a nobleman, we must act honorably. After the battle, we must be as gentle as possible, to weaken the resistance of the locals." For some reason, at first sight of the city, Ragnar decided to make it the territory of the royal family. He was not so stupid as to allow soldiers to plunder his territory.