After securing the river crossing, the Viking army began ferrying troops across in small groups while collecting boats from both upstream and downstream and constructing pontoon bridges.
By July 13, the other two columns had arrived to join them, restoring Vig's strength to seventy thousand men.
Two days later, on July 15, the pontoon bridges were completed, and the main Viking force crossed the river.
Their next objective was Milan, home to roughly twenty thousand inhabitants and the most important city in northern Italy.
Ever since the Vikings advanced into the Po Valley, Frankish troops stationed throughout the Alps and the surrounding plains had gradually concentrated at Milan.
In total, the city now held ten thousand regular soldiers, supplemented by another five thousand local militia.
In the age of cold steel, fifteen thousand defenders behind Roman-era walls would normally have been capable of holding out until their food supplies ran dry.
But the Vikings possessed artillery.
The city's defensive advantage had all but vanished.
After lengthy discussions, the Frankish high command reached a single conclusion.
Withdraw to the east.
"Retreat now?"
Charles the Bald frowned.
"What about the troops still stationed in Turin and throughout the Alpine defenses?"
He estimated there were still three thousand soldiers west of Milan, along with enormous stockpiles that could no longer be evacuated.
Turin served as the primary logistics base for the Alpine front.
Most of the loot taken during last year's raids on Corsica and Sardinia remained in its warehouses.
There was enough grain to feed fifty thousand soldiers for an entire year, together with large stores of armor, weapons, arrows, and cloth.
Alfred immediately objected.
"Food, armor, weapons—none of those matter.
"As long as we retreat to the eastern coast, the Eastern Romans will certainly send us all the supplies we need.
"If we preserve this army, there's still hope."
"Exactly!"
The Duke of Orléans and the other nobles voiced their agreement.
Unable to bear the stuffy air inside the room, Charles walked over to the window for some fresh air.
Only after a long silence did he nod.
"We'll withdraw tomorrow morning."
"It's already too late, Your Majesty."
Alfred shook his head.
"We have to leave right now.
"The Viking cavalry may already be moving.
"If we delay any longer, we won't be able to escape at all."
At one o'clock that afternoon, bewildered soldiers streamed out of their barracks.
Their officers ordered them to gather their personal belongings.
The army would immediately relocate to the eastern coast.
Most of the regular soldiers had no families to worry about.
They readily accepted the order.
Few had any desire to remain behind and fight the Vikings.
The married soldiers and the locally raised militia reacted differently.
They demanded to stay and defend their homes.
"It doesn't matter.
"I'm not forcing anyone."
The officers directed those unwilling to retreat toward the western side of the city square.
Everyone else formed into four marching columns and quickly departed Milan.
Around noon the following day, a small group of Viking cavalry scouts appeared outside the city.
They rode around Milan, carefully observing its defenses.
Some of the remaining defenders sallied out and chased the scouts away, earning loud cheers from the townspeople.
A while later, even more Viking scouts returned.
Once again they circled the city like a swarm of persistent flies.
It wasn't long before they learned from nearby villagers that ten thousand soldiers, together with more than twenty noble banners, had departed the previous day.
The Frankish main army had already fled.
When the report reached Vig at three that afternoon, he immediately made his decision.
He ordered Torgil to lead every available heavy cavalryman, light cavalryman, and four thousand mounted infantry in pursuit of the retreating Frankish army.
Even traveling light and abandoning most of their baggage, the Franks would need seven to ten days to reach Italy's eastern coast.
Torgil was fully confident he could catch them.
On July 16, the cavalry force raced eastward along the Roman road outside Milan.
After riding for an entire day, they began overtaking scattered Frankish stragglers.
"Where is Charles the Bald?"
Faced with fierce-looking Viking soldiers, the prisoners answered immediately.
"Just farther ahead along the road."
Encouraged, Torgil suppressed his exhaustion and continued the pursuit.
He kept riding until the afternoon of July 18.
Yet the Frankish main force remained nowhere in sight.
"What is going on?"
He gradually realized he'd been deceived.
Large search parties spread throughout the surrounding countryside.
Finally, a greedy old shepherd told the Viking interpreter:
"The Franks didn't stay on the main road.
"They entered the Alps to the north and are escaping through the mountain passes.
"My lord, I'm willing to guide you...
"But it'll cost extra."
Torgil remained unconvinced.
Perhaps the old man was a spy.
Perhaps he intended to lure the cavalry into a narrow valley where hidden Frankish archers waited to shower them with arrows from above.
Even if the shepherd spoke the truth, cavalry simply wasn't suited for mountain warfare.
At that moment, one of his staff officers proposed another idea.
Instead of pursuing through the mountains, they could race across the Po Valley and block the exits from the Alpine passes.
Torgil immediately accepted the suggestion.
Nearly ten thousand mounted troops galloped boldly along the ancient Roman roads stretching across the plain.
Soon, however, another problem emerged.
Food.
By now, the local population had been terrified by news of the Viking advance.
They had fled into forests and fortified towns, taking their grain and valuables with them.
The villages lining the roads had almost nothing left to seize.
At this rate, the provisions carried by the packhorses would last only two more days.
On campaign, food always came first.
Torgil dispatched every mounted scout he had, expanding their search radius to twenty miles.
The army's pace slowed dramatically.
At last, he admitted to himself that the pursuit had become hopeless.
He sent a messenger back to the emperor, reporting the cavalry's situation in full and leaving the final decision to Vig.
Meanwhile...
Far to the north, in the Alps.
Leaning heavily on a wooden staff, Alfred struggled along the mountain path.
The king and the other nobles were no better off.
Their horses had all been abandoned on the very first day after entering the mountains.
Every so often, a piercing scream echoed through the valleys before fading into silence.
The soldiers marched on numbly.
They had long since become accustomed to such sounds.
At night, the Frankish army huddled beneath overhanging rocks or inside sheltered ravines.
They had no tents.
No hot meals.
Only rock-hard black bread and a few scraps of cheese.
Before dawn the next morning, the deep blue sky slowly lightened to gray.
Then, in a single instant, golden sunlight burst through the clouds.
It illuminated everything before them—
The snow-covered peaks towering in the distance.
The lower slopes carpeted with patches of moss.
Farther down, endless forests of dark green fir trees.
After gazing quietly for a while, Alfred exhaled a cloud of white breath.
He quickly finished the last piece of black bread in his hand and continued following the column.
By July 30, the Frankish army had lost nearly thirty percent of its men.
Those who remained wore tattered clothing.
Their eyes were hollow.
Without purpose, they trudged after the soldiers ahead like a herd of migrating mountain goats.
They marched in silence.
Even speaking felt like a waste of precious energy.
Alfred had long since lost both his armor and his sword.
All he still possessed was an oak walking stick.
His legs felt as heavy as lead.
But he could not stop.
From time to time, as the cold mountain wind howled around him, he instinctively looked up.
Before him...
There were still nothing but endless mountain peaks stretching toward the horizon.
—------------------------------
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