In June 849
It was hot and the soldiers were becoming increasingly restless. They repeatedly asked to storm the city of Stirling, but Vig rejected their requests.
As he watched the commanders being called out one by one, he wondered, "What is the most important quality in a commander?"
"Strategy!"
"Charisma!"
Faced with so many answers, Vig frowned, "Restraint. As the brains of the army, a commander must reject all distractions, restrain his killing instincts and impulsive mind..."
3
After speaking for a full half hour, he felt an inexplicable disappointment, sensing the distraction of his audience. At this point a scout arrived with a report:
"Sir, the Gaelic army on the west coast is gathering, numbers unknown."
"Continue scouting."
The rider left, and Wyg looked at the map. There were now 3,800 Vikings gathered around Stirling. Most of the Gaels did not dare engage in battle and would likely head to Edinburgh to help.
"When he left, Shrike had 800 men. A new group of raiders has recently arrived, increasing the siege force to 1,500.
A Welshman, he had only excelled at small-scale mountain warfare. Although he had previously defeated Halfdan,
this achievement is highly questionable. Faced with enemy attack from within and without, and forced to divide his forces to guard a thousand prisoners, he will probably suffer losses."
After much deliberation, Wyg left 2,000 men to continue the siege, while he led 1,800 men south to deal with these Gaelic reinforcements.
He supposed that this was the only mobile force left in the entire Northern Alliance. A victory here would completely deprive the enemy of any capital for a field battle.
Before leaving, Wyg instructed Yoren: "Be careful and continue to fortify Stirling. If my answer is inaccurate and the Gaels are heading for Stirling, there is no need to fight them face to face; just flee with your longships."
"Yes!"
After a half-day march south, Whig arrived at Falkirk. As dusk fell, he ordered his men to make camp, and Zhixin spent an anxious night.
The following morning, the army set out southeast for Edinburgh. Shortly after, a scout arrived to Whig with conflicting news.
His guess was correct: the Gaels' goal was Edinburgh. However, these men were moving fast, only 20 kilometers away, and should arrive by evening. Faced with an urgent
situation, Whig sent a rider to inform Shrike, ordering him to deploy a small force to block a wooden bridge five miles west of Edinburgh, with the option of setting it on fire if necessary.
"As ordered!"
The rider did as he was told and rode towards Edinburgh at top speed.
After galloping along the country road for over an hour, the rider crossed a wooden bridge and followed a well-trodden path to the top of the hill. In the distance, on the eastern horizon, the silhouette of a wooden fort could be seen.
"Wow, delivering a message is no easy task,"
the rider scratched his blond hair. As the second son of a Pangaru squire, Connor was not entitled to inherit the estate, so he had to join his master's campaigns in the hopes of obtaining a residential estate.
Taking out a water flask, Connor filled half his belly with cold water and fed the rest to his horse.
In summer the lowlands of Scotland were like the scent of grass, and a damp sea breeze blew across them, bringing an indescribable, stifling heat.
The horse's belly was covered with beads of sweat from the long journey, and his wet mane was matted. Annoying mosquitoes swarmed around,
causing the horse to twitch its tail.
He fed the horse oats and salt, rested for ten minutes, and continued on. When he arrived at the siege, fifteen hundred allies were enjoying their dinner in the camp.
He soon found Shrike eating a mutton chop. "My lord," he said, "here is a letter from the lord."
"How many Gaels are there?"
Connor replied, "Over two thousand, the vast majority unarmored light infantry."
Shrike was both pleased and alarmed. While the lack of armor made the enemy less effective, it also made them more mobile. Seeing this, he sent a group of his fastest hunters to the wooden bridge.
After Connor had finished his speech, he did not have time to rest.
He filled his waterskin, asked for two loaves of black bread and a small bag of oats, and led his horse out of the camp, intending to ride west to report to the lord.
In the blazing sun, the horses galloped for some time along the same path from which they had come, more and more slowly, until finally they stopped and froze, refusing to move despite their master's urging.
"Hey, man, wait a little longer!"
Connor offered his horse some oats. The horse reluctantly ate a few morsels and fell asleep halfway through, wagging his tail to ward off the mosquitoes that swarmed around him.
Connor was in despair. He muttered to himself, cursing his father's stinginess for giving him such a lazy, slow-moving horse that didn't care about its own life.
Half an hour later, over a hundred Welshmen rode past, taunting the unfortunate rider in their native tongue before noisily riding off.
After the horse had taken a nap, Connor rode west and reached a wooden bridge to find the Welshmen fighting the enemy.
With their superior archery, the Welsh routed the dozens of Gaelic light infantry stationed on the western side of the bridge. Seeing the tide of men approaching, they abandoned their attempt to hold the bridge and tried to… Set it on fire.
Ta-da.
The Welsh chieftain struck his flint many times, sweat dripping from his chin as he tried to light the tinder.
Seeing the main body of the enemy approaching, the remaining comrades drew axes and knives and attacked the wooden bridge with fury, destroying most of the planks.
Finally, the main body of the Gaelic coalition reached the western bank. They hurled feathered arrows, iron axes, and short spears, killing a fifth of the Welsh natives and stopping the hunters from attempting to damage the bridge further.
Having driven off the enemy, the Gaels began to search for materials to repair the bridge, eventually tearing down a nearby farmhouse and using the boards and
nails they found to rebuild it. Meanwhile, the Welsh natives were shooting longbows from 200 yards east of the river, to no avail.
Meanwhile, reinforcements under Whig were advancing at full speed. Mounted scouts reported that 2,500 Gaelic soldiers had arrived on the west bank and were hard at work repairing the wooden bridge.
"So soon?"
Estimating that the reinforcements would arrive in half an hour, Whig felt a surge of anxiety. Sensing his commander's anxiety,
Tolgar and the other knights volunteered to fight.
"Lord, let us go first."
"Two hundred cavalrymen against two and a half thousand enemies - isn't that too risky?" After a moment's hesitation, Vig agreed to the knights' request and handed over command to Thorga.
"Gunnar is the most gifted cavalry commander I have ever met. I hope you will learn from his strengths, overcome his weaknesses, and use your wits more often in battle."
Hearing this, Thorga did not object. He bowed to Vig, jumped into the saddle, and rode off at the head of his two hundred horsemen.