On July 25, Gunnar left one thousand miscellaneous troops to garrison Londinium and led nearly nine thousand men north. His destination was not Tamworth, where Vig's main force was stationed, but farther north—deliberately putting on the appearance of an attack on the Northlands.
After receiving the scouts' reports, Vig stared at the map in deep thought.
Including Ceowulf's troops, the forces under his command exceeded thirteen thousand. After deducting garrisons across various regions, he could field about ten thousand men for open battle. The only real weakness was his shortage of cavalry, which made rash action unwise.
Once he confirmed the enemy's main movement, Vig also marched north, making a point of camping near towns along the way to reduce the risk of surprise attacks.
By early August, Gunnar's army reached the southern bank of the Humber. After crossing the river, another half-day's march would bring them into Yorkshire. From there, it would take only five to seven days to reach Vig's stronghold at Tyne Castle.
Surrounded by his barons, Gunnar rode to the riverbank to observe the terrain. This section lay near the Humber estuary, where the river was more than a mile wide—far too wide for pontoon bridges. Transporting the army would require ships.
The problem was that nearby fishing villages had already had their boats requisitioned in advance. Frankish cavalry scoured the area and managed to find only ten small boats—barely enough to ferry small scouting parties across.
"Where is Vig's main force?" Gunnar asked.
One of the barons behind him replied, "More than thirty miles to our west—about fifty kilometers."
For days now, the two armies' routes had resembled parallel lines running south to north. Vig consistently kept a distance of over thirty miles, guarding against a sudden massed cavalry strike.
"I see," Gunnar said.
Having known his old comrade for many years, Gunnar was well aware of Vig's cautious and conservative style. Vig only took risks when driven into a corner.
Gunnar gazed across the river at the broad farmlands on the opposite bank, stroked his chin, and ordered his men to notify Londinium to dispatch ships to the Humber estuary.
"Your Majesty, are you planning to cross the river?"
Charles of Portigny voiced his concern. "Sire, Tyne Castle lies too far north. We are widely hated there by both Angles and Vikings. The farther north we go, the harder it will be to obtain supplies and intelligence. One mistake, and the entire army could be wiped out."
At the pre-departure war council, Gunnar's stated strategy had been to draw Vig out and seek a decisive field battle—ideally to cripple or annihilate his main force. After more than a week of marching, Vig had shown no openings. The plan had effectively failed.
Faced with opposition from his officers, Gunnar remained silent. He ordered the army to make camp on the southern bank and sent a formal challenge to Vig.
The move proved useless. The Frankish army idled on the south bank of the Humber, time slipping away amid mounting chaos in the surrounding countryside. Gunnar tried to restrain his men but ultimately chose to look the other way.
At this point, his direct troops numbered only about 2,500. The rest were mercenaries and contingents cobbled together from various Frankish nobles—poorly disciplined and largely uncontrollable. If Gunnar enforced strict discipline and forbade looting and indulgence, at best he would face desertions; at worst, outright mutiny.
Amid this restless, stifling atmosphere, August 10 arrived.
Londinium
After Gunnar marched north, the city was temporarily administered by his subordinate, O'Neill. His main tasks were supplying the front lines and keeping watch over Queen Aslaug and Princess Enya (King Sigurd had died not long before).
After months of warfare, large numbers of peasants had fled southern Britain. The summer harvest suffered badly, grain prices soared, and wheat rose to 3.5 pence per bushel. Complaints filled the city. Chancellor Godwin warned O'Neill repeatedly, but O'Neill paid little attention.
Finally irritated, O'Neill snapped back,
"Lord Chancellor, what do you expect me to do? After last month's dock fire, supplies in the city are already scarce. We're barely keeping the front supplied. Are we supposed to cut soldiers' rations to feed civilians?"
As one of Gunnar's confidants, O'Neill's mind was fixed on winning the war and claiming a rich fief afterward. He would never risk angering his lord by distributing military grain to civilians.
"Let them borrow money to buy food, hunt in the hills, or fish the Thames. They'll find a way."
After speaking, O'Neill turned to the silent palace steward, Paphis.
"Anything else, my lord?"
Paphis shook his head.
"Good. I'll get back to my work."
Yawning, O'Neill left the council chamber. Only Godwin and Paphis remained, sitting in silence. Their eyes met briefly; Godwin seemed about to speak, but said nothing.
Ten minutes later, he returned to the chancellor's residence and resumed reading a novel about dragon-blooded adventurers.
After lunch, Godwin slept for half an hour, then went back to his book. At one point, his secretary brought in a document. He skimmed it and did not sign.
"Money and supplies aren't under my authority. Tell him to go to O'Neill."
Godwin had come to terms with his role: a transitional figure. The more one did, the more mistakes one made. The wisest course was to do nothing—to be like a vase in the corner, decorative and harmless.
At sunset, Godwin closed his book, ate dinner absentmindedly, prayed briefly in a quiet room, read a little more, then yawned and went to bed.
Before he fully fell asleep, he heard distant shouts outside. Going to the window, he saw half the sky glowing red.
"Who set the fire?"
At first, Godwin suspected a night attack by Vig's men. But after watching for a while, he realized the shouting was chaotic and disorganized—nothing like Vig's disciplined troops.
"Could it be Æthelbald? He certainly has motive. Of the three remaining kings, he's the weakest. Without drastic measures, he has little chance of winning such a brutal struggle."
As time passed, the flames spread toward the palace district. Godwin sent guards to investigate. They soon returned with alarming news:
Neither Vig nor Æthelbald was involved. It was a spontaneous uprising by the city's own citizens.
The guard added in panic, "My lord, a huge crowd is coming—armed with clubs and stones. We must flee at once!"
The area around the palace housed nobles and wealthy families and naturally became the mob's main target. Shouts, doors being smashed, and screams drew ever closer. Godwin's face went pale as he hurriedly packed his belongings.
"Damn O'Neill. I warned him again and again to provide relief for the poor. That idiot has ruined us all!"
He changed into plain clothes and had his six armored guards throw ragged linen cloaks over their armor. They slipped out through a side gate of the chancellor's residence.
After running some distance, one guard whispered, "My lord—the queen and the princess are still in the palace."
Godwin stopped. He looked back at the increasingly chaotic district and let out a long sigh.
"There's no time. Sigh… this is Aslaug's own doing. I've done my duty."
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