After repelling Charles the Bald, Vig began the siege of Marseille.
The fleet stationed at Lyon sailed down the Rhône to its mouth, supplying the Viking army with everything it needed.
In early December, two Eastern European garrison regiments stormed through a breach in the walls and captured the ancient city.
Between Francia and Italy lay the Alps, with several routes available for crossing:
From Lyon, one could travel upstream along the Rhône, head east to Chambéry, and cross the mountain passes into Turin.
From Lyon, one could travel southeast to Grenoble, then cross another pass into Aosta.
From Marseille, one could follow the Mediterranean coastline eastward into Italy. This route was comparatively flat and safe, making it ideal for large-scale commerce.
From Lake Geneva, travelers could cross mountain passes over two thousand meters high before descending into Italy.
Vig had no immediate intention of invading Italy.
However, he needed to make preparations.
The western exits of the Alps had to be secured to prevent Frankish remnants from launching raids every few months.
After some consideration, he left the First Field Division under Shrike to garrison Marseille.
Barring unforeseen circumstances, this would become the kingdom's southeastern frontier.
After resting for two weeks, Vig led the Royal Division westward.
In January 870, the Vikings captured Montpellier and continued advancing west.
At Toulouse, Vig reunited with the Second Field Division, from which he had been separated for half a year.
At this point, the expedition had successfully completed its southern campaign.
Bordeaux, Toulouse, Montpellier, Marseille, and numerous other settlements had all fallen.
The Third Viking–Frankish War was nearing its end.
While stationed in Toulouse, envoys from the Visigoths arrived bearing lavish gifts and cautiously sounded out Vig's intentions.
Vig's answer was straightforward:
"This war is directed solely against the Franks. I have no interest in the Iberian Peninsula."
"Provided that Alfonso III renounces his alliance with the Franks and restrains all his vassals from marching north to fight or joining Frankish armies."
Britannia had already reached the limits of its expansion.
Vig lacked both the resources and the desire to invade Iberia.
The peninsula's rugged terrain and dry climate meant that the benefits of conquest would not justify the cost of occupation.
The envoys hurried back to León and reported everything to Alfonso III.
"Your Majesty, the Franks are finished."
"They once aided us, but the Vikings have become too powerful for us to oppose."
"I strongly advise accepting Vig's terms."
The situation in Iberia remained deadlocked.
The Visigoths were still locked in a brutal struggle against the Moors to the south.
Alfonso had no wish to fight on two fronts.
Consequently, he issued a royal decree:
Henceforth, Asturias and Britannia would recognize the Pyrenees as their mutual frontier.
Any vassal who insisted on marching north to join the war would forfeit all lands and titles within Asturias.
Several days later, royal attendants arrived in Zaragoza carrying the decree, only to discover that the duke was absent.
"Where has he gone?" they asked.
Baron Oliver replied:
"A week ago, he sailed to Genoa to bring back the Duchess, the heir Robert, and Princess Enya."
"They should return soon."
The attendants had not expected such an answer.
One messenger was sent back to court with the news, while the others remained in Zaragoza to await the family's return.
Genoa
The sky was overcast.
A cold wind swept across the harbor.
A galley slowly entered the Bay of Genoa.
Hundreds of ships crowded the port.
The docks were packed with people, many of them armed soldiers.
After the death of King Lothair, his three sons had divided Middle Francia.
The eldest, Louis II, inherited northern Italy.
Over the past two years, the Vikings had conquered nearly every other Frankish realm.
Only northern Italy remained untouched, surviving behind the shield of the Alps.
Now refugees from across Europe poured into the region.
Nobles arrived with their families and retainers.
Prices soared.
As Gunnar stepped onto the slippery dock, he quickly noticed that wheat cost forty percent more here than in Barcelona.
"If we ship Zaragoza's grain here, we'd make a fortune."
The streets were narrow and slick with moisture.
Gray-white stone houses climbed steep hillsides like the cells of a gigantic beehive.
Gunnar's party eventually reached an affluent district halfway up the slope and found the residence where Vivian and the others were staying.
The moment Vivian saw her husband, she instinctively relaxed.
Then she remembered his bastard son.
Her mood immediately darkened.
Without a word, she turned and walked away.
Robert and Enya remained much the same as ever.
The two lounged comfortably in reclining chairs, discussing fashionable northern Italian clothing and various luxury goods, utterly unconcerned about their circumstances.
Gunnar shook his head.
"Pack your things. We're leaving as soon as possible."
"This city is overflowing with exiles. Sooner or later trouble will break out."
He ordered his guards to begin loading their belongings.
Just then, a light drizzle began to fall.
Cold winds swept through the courtyard.
It was obvious they would not be sailing today.
Three more days passed.
The wind never shifted in their favor.
Then one afternoon Gunnar received an invitation.
Charles the Bald was hosting a banquet and wished the duke and his family to attend.
Gunnar sneered.
"He loses Marseille and still finds time to throw parties?"
He initially intended to decline on grounds of illness.
However, Robert and his wife loved social gatherings and begged him to take them along.
The banquet was held at an estate outside the city.
Despite having lost every inch of his kingdom, Charles still maintained the pomp expected of a king.
Most of the guests were exiled nobles.
Prime Minister Lamberto, Count William of Orléans, and many others filled the hall.
The cheerful melodies of wandering minstrels drifted through the room.
For a moment, Gunnar almost felt as though he were back in Paris.
After entering, he gave the king a slight bow.
His expression remained calm.
"It has been a long time, Your Majesty."
"You seem to be doing quite well."
In Gunnar's view, he had fulfilled all the obligations expected of a vassal during the war of 868.
The defeat had been William of Orléans' fault.
If that fool had merely held out a little longer—long enough for the southern and northern armies to unite—even if they could not defeat Vig in open battle, they could have retreated behind city walls and worn Britannia down through sheer resources.
That was Gunnar's perspective.
The Frankish nobility, however, saw matters differently.
As a Norman, he had always been treated as an outsider.
Throughout the banquet, casual conversations gradually turned against him.
Before long, Gunnar found himself being blamed more than anyone else.
After several cups of wine, his patience finally snapped.
He slammed his goblet onto the table and fixed William with a cold stare.
"Yes, I lost at the Battle of Rick Plain."
"And do you know why?"
"Because some idiot lost Orléans, forcing the southern army to advance north along the only available route, where Vig intercepted us."
"And that wasn't even his only mistake."
"At Dunwo Manor, despite having twice the enemy's numbers, he suffered a crushing defeat against the First Field Division."
"Three thousand cavalry got bogged down in the mud and were turned into target practice by Welsh longbowmen—"
A splash of wine struck him squarely in the face.
The interruption destroyed what little restraint he had left.
With a roar, Gunnar grabbed a candlestick and hurled himself at William.
Moments later, William and two nearby nobles lay sprawled on the floor.
Gunnar stood over them, holding the bloodstained candlestick.
His chest rose and fell violently.
A savage excitement burned in his eyes.
"Anyone else?"
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Servants hurried forward and carried the injured men from the hall.
Gunnar remained where he stood.
He could feel the fear.
The hostility.
The rejection.
And for the first time in years, regret welled up inside him.
If he had known things would turn out like this...
Perhaps he should have stayed with the Vikings.
Anything would have been better than enduring this humiliation in such a place.
—------------------------------
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