After the mercenary riders and steppe horse herds departed, Frode found himself with little to do and once again headed to inspect the northern camps.
Accompanied by the Royal Guards, he entered one infantry regiment's encampment and observed their drills.
The primary focus was marching and formation changes.
From time to time, officers barked commands, ordering the soldiers to shift from marching columns into spear squares, then spread out again into offensive line formations.
After a long while, Frode moved on to the next camp.
There, he suddenly spotted many familiar faces—the militia from Luton.
"Your Highness?"
Lawrence, his hair now streaked with gray, stepped out of formation and greeted the Crown Prince with delight.
Frode dismounted and asked the old knight about their training progress.
Lawrence thumped his chest proudly.
"After the two training periods in 865 and 866, we already accumulated eighty days of drills.
"With this latest round included, total training time will exceed four months.
"Everyone's trained hard. We absolutely won't disgrace you."
Lawrence then commanded two companies formed from the Luton militia, demonstrating formation transitions, thrust drills against practice targets, and bayonet-style spear charges.
Compared to the surrounding companies, the Luton men performed exceptionally well.
Frode felt genuine joy at the sight.
He had spent two full years in Luton and had developed a deep emotional attachment to the place—something not unlike the bond his father shared with Tyne.
"I really wish I could command this regiment myself."
Training continued until five in the afternoon.
On a whim, Frode stayed behind to eat dinner with the Luton militia.
The evening meal consisted of hard bread and herring stew.
The soldiers queued up holding square tin mess kits while the cooks used long-handled wooden ladles to scoop chunks of fish into each container before adding broth.
Following old habits, Frode broke his hard bread into pieces and soaked them in the soup to soften them.
The fish stew contained onions, turnips, and a small amount of fish sauce.
The taste was acceptable.
From what he observed, the soldiers did not dislike the meal.
Their only complaints were occasional grumbling that the cooks had given them too little meat.
Frode wisely avoided joining that discussion.
The army was simply too large.
Providing half a pound of fish per soldier per day was already the absolute limit of what the cabinet could afford.
There was no possibility of offering better rations.
In late July, the Ministry of War organized another massive field exercise.
This time it included all three field divisions, the cavalry division, and eight garrison regiments, totaling forty thousand men.
Frode and the cabinet ministers climbed a nearby hill to observe the enormous maneuver.
From afar, they watched long marching columns gradually approach.
Large numbers of ranger cavalry and paired skirmish squads spread around the flanks to guard against harassment from scattered enemy forces.
Upon reaching the designated area, the columns unfolded into massive thousand-man squares that resembled moving black blocks across the landscape.
After nearly an hour of maneuvering, the army finally completed its deployment and slowly advanced toward straw dummy targets several hundred paces ahead.
When the distance narrowed to roughly one hundred paces, the formation halted.
Archers and crossbowmen moved to the front ranks and unleashed continuous volleys into the target zone.
After firing approximately one hundred thousand arrows, the missile troops withdrew back into formation.
The spearmen advanced forward while heavy cavalry on both wings launched simultaneous assaults, coordinating with the infantry to attack the simulated "Frankish" formation.
Next came anti-cavalry drills.
At the simulated appearance of large numbers of Frankish horsemen, each infantry regiment immediately shifted into spear squares.
The Viking cavalry withdrew into the center of the formation, waiting for the moment to counterattack.
After the exercise ended, the enormous army reorganized itself back into marching columns and returned to camp along the same route.
"At last it's over. None of this was easy."
Watching the maneuver conclude, both the Crown Prince and the cabinet ministers visibly relaxed in relief.
With training completed, the cabinet began dispatching troops in waves.
The soldiers marched south toward Southampton to board ships there, reducing overall sailing time.
Reading through the naval crossing plans submitted by the Admiralty, Frode felt deeply uneasy.
"Soldiers, warhorses, grain, equipment…
"It'll take at least a month to move everything across.
"I just hope we're not already too late."
At the Same Time — Outside Paris
The sky was perfectly clear, without a single cloud.
Sunlight generously spread across both banks of the Seine.
On the southern bank, a temporary tournament ground had been constructed, with the stands packed full of Frankish nobles.
Suddenly, the blast of horns silenced the crowd.
Two knights rode into the center of the field, bowed slightly toward the king seated in the stands, then returned to opposite ends of the arena.
Both wore chainmail beneath surcoats emblazoned with family heraldry.
Their warhorses pawed restlessly at the ground, white breath steaming from their nostrils.
The horns sounded once more.
The two horses began at a trot before exploding into full gallop, racing directly toward one another like shadows skimming over the earth.
At maximum speed, both knights leveled their blunted lances and aimed squarely at each other's shields.
Crack!
The knight on the left took a direct hit.
His entire upper body jerked violently backward before his heavy armored form crashed onto the grass with a dull thud.
He rolled several times before lying motionless on the ground.
As the crowd erupted in cheers, two squires rushed forward, carefully lifting the injured knight onto a wooden board before carrying him toward the medical tent.
"The victor is Sir Berian of Guignon!"
At the center of the royal stands, Charles the Bald remained expressionless.
He cared nothing for who won or lost.
The tournament existed merely to burn off the excess aggression of the knights and prevent them from harassing the peasantry.
During the midday break, Charles asked his prime minister:
"With the reinforcements that arrived this morning, how many men do we have exactly?"
Lamberto gave a rough estimate.
"Around twenty-four thousand.
"According to the replies we've received, reinforcements from Middle Francia and East Francia are still on the way.
"Total forces should exceed forty thousand."
Twenty-four thousand?
Charles was stunned.
"Even now, you still don't know the exact numbers?"
Lamberto quickly explained:
"You cannot blame me for this.
"Some nobles deliberately exaggerate troop numbers to obtain extra supplies.
"I simply do not have enough administrative officers to verify every report."
While they spoke, loud shouting erupted outside the royal tent.
It sounded as though a large group of soldiers was causing trouble.
Charles hurried toward the disturbance.
There, he found a crowd of nobles surrounding a quartermaster officer responsible for logistics, angrily complaining about supply failures.
"I command five hundred archers!
"A week ago I requested arrows. Why did I receive crossbow bolts yesterday? What use are these to me?"
"The oats are mixed with sand and leaves!
"This slop is fit for pigs, not warhorses!"
The atmosphere grew increasingly heated.
Charles quickly stepped in to calm the crowd.
After everyone dispersed, he demanded the recent accounting ledgers.
What he discovered was appalling.
Supply waste was severe, and large quantities of materials had simply vanished without explanation.
"Throw him into the dungeon and interrogate him thoroughly!"
After dealing with the quartermaster, Charles completely lost interest in the tournament.
As the army expanded past thirty thousand men, he increasingly felt overwhelmed—like a draft horse burdened with too much cargo, struggling just to breathe beneath the weight.
After several minutes of thought, he ordered the cabinet to prepare a list of merchants, landed gentry, and nearby monasteries.
"Send people to 'borrow' grain from them.
"This war will likely continue through the end of the year—possibly even into next year.
"The more food we stockpile, the better."
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