The fleet, led by the flagship, moved in disarray toward the southern shore. Thanks to their long military training, Vigus's two thousand men completed their assembly faster than anyone else. To cover the friendly forces that had fallen into chaos, he ordered a defense to be organized three hundred meters south of the river bank.
Riding his gray horse up the slope, he gasped at the landscape that opened up before him.
In a wheat field, a kilometer away, more than three thousand Frankish infantrymen stretched out from a marching column into a horizontal column convenient for attack, and
a blue and gold flag with irises fluttered in the center of the detachment.
In addition to the scattered detachments of mobilized peasants, another seven hundred cavalrymen had gathered on the slope of the hill in a southeastern direction. They wore coats of various colors over their chain mail, mostly blue, yellow, and red. From a distance, they resembled inflorescences of blooming wild flowers.
Time was running out, so Vig asked the shield-bearer to return to the river bank and convey: "Tell your majesty that about 4,000 Franks, including 700 horsemen, are ready to attack!"
Under the greedy gaze of the soldiers, he drew the Sword of the Dragon's Breath and ordered the troops to line up on the grass in two phalanxes of spearmen, according to the usual formation.
Sensing the movement of the Vikings, the Frankish cavalry did not want to waste time. They abandoned the lazy and undisciplined peasants and rushed to the attack.
On the hillside, the horses moved in small steps, constantly adjusting their formation according to the cavalry's instructions as they moved, and gradually formed three loose horizontal lines.
Then the horizontal lines began to accelerate, and the earth shook like thunder. Under the sunlight, the cavalry's weapons reflected countless cold rays, and the crossbowmen in front of the phalanx were pale and trembling, waiting for the order to shoot.
Five hundred meters.
Three hundred meters.
One hundred meters.
Entering the shooting range, at the order of the officers, the crossbowmen in front of the phalanx of spearmen hurriedly pulled the trigger, and then led the phalanx into the opening that had formed.
Inside the phalanx, Vig sat upright on the saddle of his grey horse. From his perspective, hundreds of arrows flew like locusts over a hundred meters. Some of the arrows missed, some pierced the shields and armor of the cavalry without causing casualties, and only a few hit the horses.
The next moment, the Frankish cavalry pressed their legs into the bellies of their horses, quickened their pace to the limit, and rushed forward with long swords and iron chain hammers.
"Long live Charlemagne!"
Thirty-four years had passed since Charlemagne's death, but they still charged in the name of this great monarch. Seeing the knights on tall horses advancing, the spearmen in the front rank wavered.
At this point, Vig could think of nothing else to do, so he could only loudly encourage his subordinates: "According to the basic rules of training, crouch down, stick the end of the spear into the ground and point the tip diagonally upward, aiming at the enemy's horse."
Soon, a distance of a hundred meters flashed by, and more than a dozen cavalrymen, having broken through, crashed into the phalanx of spearmen, killing them on the spot along with their horses.
Seeing the tragic situation of their brothers, the other horses involuntarily slowed down. No matter how much their masters urged them on, they did not want to run into these cold and deadly thorns.
Gradually, the speed of the warhorses became slower and slower. Driven by the instinct of self-preservation, they finally decided to go around
the leading phalanx. The cavalry screamed in anger as their horses circled back and forth around the phalanx of spearmen. At the same time, the crossbowmen inside the phalanx came to their senses and fired arrows at the horsemen. The spearmen in the first five ranks also pulled out their iron axes and threw them indiscriminately in front of them.
This farce continued for several minutes. The Vikings on the riverbank came up to reinforce one after another. Realizing that they were in danger of being surrounded, the Frankish cavalry retreated one after another.
Up to this point, the militia a kilometer away had still not managed to form a line. Faced with the numerical superiority of the Vikings, the Frankish army of about 4,000 men began to retreat.
"Where is Gunnar? Let our cavalry catch up!" Bjorn shouted, causing Ivar to roll his eyes.
"Horses naturally dislike rough terrain. After a few days of sailing at sea, they become exhausted and will probably need some rest before they can fight."
Bjorn: "Really? What a shame! Letting this army evacuate will be hard on us later."
As he muttered, the Viking army assembled, 5,000 men were assigned as guards, and the remaining 4,000 were ready to besiege the fortress.
Faced with point-blank fire from a thousand archers, the defenders behind the battlements were overwhelmed and could not raise their heads. The Vikings rushed to the outskirts, carrying long ladders, and the iron-clad infantry climbed up the wall. After several hours of fighting, they captured the wooden fortress before nightfall.
The wooden fortress had few defenders. More than 200 men died in the battle, and the remaining 200 were captured.
With the help of an interpreter, Ragnar interrogated the commander of the defenders: "How did Charlie the Bald know that our army was preparing to attack?"
The commander was indifferent, replying that since the previous autumn the Angles had been going to Paris to warn the king. At first the king had not paid attention, but there had been too many messengers, about forty.
After all, Charles the Bald had spent a great deal of money building an iron chain across the river, on the advice of the craftsmen, so that the Vikings would not take him by surprise.
"Wait a minute, he said that the number of informers exceeded forty?"
Ragnar asked the interpreter to repeat the question and froze in place. It was not uncommon for news to come from insiders, after all this was a newly conquered land, but weren't there too many insiders?
This number of insiders means that in addition to the three great lords – Aethelwulf, Siowulf and Edmund – many lesser nobles and groups of lesser gentry are also dissatisfied and are willing to risk their lives to send people to the posters with denunciations.
Ragnar suddenly shuddered. His kingdom seemed vast, but in reality it was only a thatched house with a draughty wind. A slight kick, no, even without assistance, could bring this ruined house down at any moment.
Realizing that his new master was beginning to doubt him, Theowulf immediately began to defend himself:
"Your Majesty, I swear by all known gods that I have never sent anyone to Frank to inform on you."
"Duke, calm down, I have never doubted your loyalty." Ragnar was exhausted and stopped defending himself.
As Duke of Mercia, Theowulf had a very bad reputation and weak control over his lands. He brought more than a thousand men from his native Nottingham and controlled only the territory of Oxford. The local lords under his jurisdiction were outwardly loyal to him and reluctantly paid some taxes. If the situation changed even slightly, they would certainly turn against him at the first moment.
"After returning home, I will concentrate on internal affairs." Ragnar secretly made a decision and continued the interrogation.
According to the confessions of the prisoners, there is currently serious internal strife in West Franconia. The southern lord of Aquitaine, Buping II, had already claimed the throne and insisted on equality with his uncle, Charles the Bald.
Therefore, most of the royal troops were still stationed in the southern region.
In the end, the commander was completely desperate. "Your Majesty, at first, thought that you only had 4,000-5,000 warriors, so he did not send too many troops. I did not expect that you actually came with more than 10,000 warriors."