By late July, the army's reorganization was complete.
From the intelligence he had gathered, Rurik chose his line of march.
"Gentlemen, we shall advance toward Worcester, then follow the Severn upstream. The river will bear our supplies by ship, and in time we will reach the capital of the Kingdom of Powys — Mathrafal."
His reputation, forged in many campaigns, silenced any dissent.
After two days of westward marching, the column reached the Severn's banks. On the eastern shore stood a modest town: Worcester.
The place still lay under Æthelwulf's jurisdiction. Since receiving orders a month before, the local lord had built or requisitioned fifty longships.
"Too few," Rurik said sharply. "My order was for one hundred."
He scolded the Worcester lord so fiercely that Æthelwulf, standing beside him, merely watched with thinly veiled amusement. The man was his own vassal, long known for perfunctory obedience; a public rebuke might do him some good.
