To be fair, Ragnar had treated Godwin quite generously. He had enfeoffed him as Earl of Suffolk (the northeastern coastal region of Londinium) and appointed him Chancellor of the Realm.
To repay his magnanimous former liege, Godwin had always carried out his duties conscientiously—at least by his own standards. Unfortunately, Aslaug and Paphis had run amok, plunging the kingdom into chaos.
As he fled through the streets, fragments of recent memories flashed through his mind. Once he finally escaped Londinium and gazed out over the pitch-black wilderness, he made up his mind.
"I've held on until now. I've done right by Ragnar. From here on, it's time to think of myself."
News of the unrest in Londinium quickly reached the front lines. Frankish morale plummeted overnight. Fearing mutiny, Gunnar ordered an immediate withdrawal to the south that very day.
When the news spread to the Viking camp, some proposed pursuing the retreating enemy. Vig, however, remained calm.
"No rush. Keep a distance of twenty miles and follow from afar."
After confirming that the enemy had abandoned their camp on the south bank of the Humber, Vig began advancing south at a measured pace.
Along the way, reports about Londinium kept arriving. According to the rumors, the locals had gone all out—storming the royal palace and smashing the Frankish grain depots and armories.
"Well played. Gunnar has no choice but to retreat now."
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Vig judged that the timing was right. He ordered the army to halt, rest, and eat before resuming the march.
Not long after, Thorgil came to him.
"Your Majesty, we've had no word from the eastern scouts for two hours. Do you think—?"
Vig spread out the map, thought for a moment, then said, "Send out all available scouts. I'll have the army go on full alert and be ready to turn north at any moment."
His concern soon proved justified. Gunnar's cavalry had somehow looped around to Vig's rear. At the same time, the main body of Frankish infantry from the south was turning back, now only about fifteen miles (twenty-three kilometers) away.
"Still unwilling to retreat, huh? Planning one last gamble?"
Caught between enemies to the front and rear, Vig ordered the army to deploy. Three infantry regiments formed the northern line, two regiments held the south, with more than four thousand men concentrated in the center.
After clearly conveying his intentions to the commanders, the entire army began moving northwest along the original route, aiming for Nottingham—about a day and a half away.
At two in the afternoon, clusters of Frankish scouts appeared to the north. Confident in their cavalry superiority, they edged closer and closer.
This was where the light infantry came into play. They organized themselves into paired "mandarin duck" squads, spreading out roughly two hundred meters beyond the marching column. Longbowmen periodically loosed arrows at the distant scouting riders.
If the scouts charged in for close combat, the squads would quickly shift into small defensive formations: two shieldmen and six soldiers with polearms on the perimeter, with the squad leader, four longbowmen, and supply troops protected in the center.
After losing more than a dozen overly bold comrades, the Frankish scouts grew cautious and settled for observing from afar.
At two-thirty, Viking ranger cavalry returned in haste, reporting that the main body of Frankish cavalry was close at hand.
Already prepared, the Viking army adjusted its formation. The five infantry regiments formed pike squares in succession, while the mandarin duck squads on the periphery withdrew into the formation. Once everything was set, an unbroken wave of mounted figures suddenly crested the hills ahead, charging straight toward Vig's marching army.
When the enemy closed to two hundred meters, the longbowmen arced the first volley into the air. Though the arrows could not pierce chainmail, they were deadly to horses.
In the next moment, the Frankish cavalry veered away from the northernmost First Infantry Regiment, splitting into two groups that swept toward the Viking army's left and right flanks—only to be met by concentrated arrow fire once again.
After some time, the Frankish cavalry regrouped on the Viking army's southern side.
Listening to his subordinates' reports, Gunnar's face darkened. After circling for so long, he still couldn't find a flaw in this army's defenses.
The pike squares anchoring the front and rear were formidable enough. Even if Frankish cavalry struck the Viking flanks, the four thousand men in the central block could hold out for a long time—long enough for the front and rear squares to come to their aid.
"Sound the horn. Pull them back for now."
Thus ended Gunnar's first round of probing attacks. He did not rush into battle, choosing instead to wait patiently nearby for a better opportunity.
Three o'clock in the afternoon.
A gentle slope appeared on the right side of the road ahead. More than a thousand Frankish infantry were arrayed along its crest. Vig immediately recognized them as Gunnar's mounted infantry—men riding pack horses for rapid movement, meant to operate in concert with the cavalry.
After surveying the surroundings, Vig issued his orders.
"First Regiment, advance and attack. Archers provide support. Second and Third Regiments, secure the flanks. Cavalry, hold position—no unauthorized charges!"
Soon, a thousand archers moved toward the slope. Crossbowmen formed the front two ranks, with longbowmen behind them, loosing arrows at the Frankish troops above.
After several exchanges, the Frankish archers suffered heavy losses and were forced to fall back behind their lines. The remaining eight hundred infantry, clad in armor and carrying sword and shield, formed up in place, grimly enduring the relentless rain of arrows.
During this time, Frankish cavalry attempted several times to break up the audacious archers, but each attempt was driven back by arrow fire. Seeing the pike squares behind the archers, they could do nothing but watch as their comrades' shield wall was battered again and again by volleys of arrows.
After more than ten minutes, the longbowmen had emptied the two quivers they carried, rubbing their aching arms. The crossbowmen were equally exhausted, gasping for breath as they withdrew back into formation on command.
"First Infantry Regiment—advance at a steady pace!"
To the rhythm of the drums, the Viking infantry leveled their spears and marched methodically toward the Franks.
From afar, the grassy slope was bristling with arrows, resembling a vast field of white dandelions in bloom. At the center of this "dandelion sea," the Frankish infantry had suffered grievous losses—the sheer volume of Viking arrows far exceeded what shields and armor could withstand.
To the cheerful tune of the Grenadiers' March, the First Regiment closed to within thirty paces. They halted briefly to adjust their formation.
In the next instant, shrill whistles pierced the air. Almost instinctively, the Vikings surged forward. Faced with the oncoming wall of spear points, the remaining Frankish soldiers broke. They fled down the slope in panic, scrambling for pack horses and escaping in disgrace.
On the eastern side of the battlefield, the Frankish cavalry gathered.
Witnessing the collapse of their infantry, Charles of Portigny cursed aloud.
"These infantry really are worthless. Last time they held for a few minutes—this time they collapsed before even engaging! Their commander deserves the gallows!"
Gunnar did not echo his subordinate's anger. He ordered his men to gather up the scattered mounted infantry and continued trailing the enemy's movements.
The battlefield now presented a strange inversion: Vig, who had originally planned to pursue, was withdrawing north; Gunnar, who had been retreating, was now chasing after him.
For more than an hour afterward, no further fighting broke out between the two sides.
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