Leaving the lower reaches occupied by the Saxons, the fleet arrived at the middle reaches of the Elbe River. The East Bank was the territory of the Obotrites (broadly classified as Western Slavs).
For a long ti, the locals had a hostile relationship with the Franks, generally finding themselves at a disadvantage. Halfdan suggested bringing them in to participate in the plunder and jointly attack Magdeburg upstream.
"Is that really necessary?"
After capturing a large batch of military equipnt from East Francia, the Vikings now possessed one thousand eight hundred suits of iron armor. Niels looked down on these forest barbarians and suggested bypassing them to avoid wasting ti.
Sensing his authority within the army slipping, Halfdan decided to do sothing to salvage the situation.
That afternoon, he personally commanded a small fleet deep into a tributary on the eastern side, only to be ambushed by the locals.
A sharp whistling tore through the air from the dense pine forests on both sides. Countless arrows rained down on the n aboard the ships, and their iron armor emitted dull thuds as arrowheads ground from animal bones struck them.
"What are these bastards doing?" Halfdan cursed, shrinking back behind the port side and raising a shield with his right hand to cover his head.
After a prolonged volley, the hulls of the six oared longships were bristling with densely packed feathered arrows. Less than a third of the n survived. Waiting until the local archers grew exhausted, the survivors steered the ships around as quickly as possible, fleeing the ambush in a wretched state.
"Your Majesty?"
At that mont, soone noticed that five feathered arrows were protruding from Halfdan's body. His lips trembled, but fortunately, the protection of his iron armor allowed him to barely hold on until they returned to camp for dical treatnt.
The dical work was handled by the accompanying shamans. Their treatnt thods were imitated from the Teyneburg Order; they first cleaned the wounds with strong liquor, then extracted the arrowheads before suturing. The agonizing pain made Halfdan curse furiously.
Hurrying over upon hearing the news, Niels asked in confusion, "Did you say the wrong thing? Or did you offend their gods?"
"I was ambushed before I even saw them, those ungrateful forest barbarians!"
Niels was rendered utterly speechless. He suspected that because Halfdan's subordinates were wearing Frankish army armor, the locals mistook them for the Frankish army. However, none of that mattered anymore.
Covering his nose and mouth, he walked out of the filthy, chaotic dical area, complaining inwardly:
'Hanging around trash like this always makes miss the days when I served under Ragnar. Compared to Ivar and Wigg, the current Halfdan and Ubbe are far too lacking.'
Because Halfdan was injured, it was unsuitable for him to participate in the subsequent battles. His one thousand five hundred direct troops also remained behind to launch a brutal retaliation against the Obotrite tribe on the East Bank.
Niels had no interest in participating in such low-profit activities. He commanded the fleet to continue on their journey, arriving at Magdeburg on March 10th.
This town was located on the West Bank of the Elbe River. Founded half a century ago, it had now developed into an important military stronghold and trade center in eastern Francia, and had recently been elevated by the Papacy to the seat of a suffragan bishop.
"What a prosperous town. There are at least three thousand residents."
Niels had the fleet drop anchor on the West Bank, surrounding Magdeburg from the south, west, and north. At the sa ti, he blockaded the upstream river channel, preparing for a long-term siege.
"Rekker, you and the lords of Sweden will hold the western flank."
"Ubbe, take your n and secure the north."
As the King of Denmark, Ubbe was nominally Niels's liege lord, but the latter cared nothing for the young boy's authority, assigning him tasks as if treating a subordinate.
"Understood," Ubbe replied coldly, showing no sign of anger.
The three thousand n led by Niels were responsible for the south side of Magdeburg. Their division of labor was clear: so chopped down trees to construct siege engines, while the rest scavenged for grain nearby. Over a week passed, and all tasks proceeded in an orderly manner. Niels went hunting during his free ti, feeling exceptionally cheerful.
One night after dinner, he selected a shield-maiden to share his bed, as was his custom. Perhaps it was an illusion, but he noticed a slight resemblance to Princess Eve in the shield-maiden's eyes and brow.
Stirring mories of his youth, Niels decided to keep her around. "From now on, you will stay by my side."
"As you command, my lord," the shield-maiden ekly threw herself into the lord's embrace.
"My lord? Perhaps in a little while, you should call Your Majesty."
Outside the camp, the lingering might of the harsh winter had yet to recede. The north wind howled through the branches of the black pine forest, the biting chill piercing the thick wool cloaks and underlying chainmail of the Frankish soldiers.
They lay prone on the freezing crest of the hill, watching the shadowy figures moving within the enemy camp, faintly hearing the distant clamor.
Finally, the Duke of Bavaria, Eldest Prince Carloman, sharply swung his arm down.
"Deus adjuva (God help us)!"
That roar abruptly tore through the silence. In the next mont, four thousand soldiers erupted with the exact sa battle cry, converging into a surging, roaring tide that swept toward the camp with its flickering bonfires.
Realizing that the eldest prince had deployed the entire army, a count tried to dissuade him, "Assuming the camps to the west and north of the city send reinforcents, how will you respond?"
Carloman breathed out a cloud of white mist. "The enemy forces on the western flank are cobbled together from dozens of Swedish nobility. They lack unified command and pose little threat. The enemy forces to the north belong to the King of Denmark, Ubbe, and they will not send aid. Simply put, my four thousand infantry are launching a night raid against Niels's three thousand n. This battle is already won."
The count asked in confusion, "What makes you so certain that Ubbe will not co to their aid?"
Gazing toward the battlefield in the northeast, Carloman spoke in a lighthearted tone:
"Because that is the information he leaked. Three days ago, I went hunting in the woods, but in reality, I was privately negotiating with his envoy. Ubbe is worried that Niels will usurp the throne, so he leaked the deploynt of Niels's camp and promised never to participate in any rescue."
Ambushed so suddenly, the south camp descended into total chaos. Amidst the shield-maiden's screams, Niels charged out of his tent bare-chested. His expression was one of sheer panic, unable to believe the sight unfolding before his eyes.
"I was only one step away from getting everything I wanted. Why?"
The camp completely boiled over. Tangled, wrestling figures were everywhere. Bonfires were kicked apart by soldiers on both sides, and the tumbling logs ignited the animal skin tents. Flas spread rapidly between the shelters, billowing thick smoke that made one feel as if they had descended into purgatory.
Stunned for half a minute, Niels rushed back into the tent to don his armor. He then gathered his few remaining personal guards, stubbornly defending the tent and refusing to retreat, waiting for reinforcents from the other two camps.
As ti slipped by, fewer and fewer Viking warriors were left resisting. He stood on his tiptoes to peer toward the dark, silent north, and his last remaining hopes vanished without a trace.
"Retreat!"
Niels led dozens of his personal guards into the hellscape of intertwined firelight and shadow. He swung his scabbard sword to block and slash, gasping heavily as his lungs burned with pain.
Upon rushing to the riverbank, they found that the fleet anchored there had been ignited by the high-angle fire of fire arrows from the Frankish army. Niels and his guards located a surviving longship on the fringes, pushed it into the Elbe River, and rowed downstream to escape.
On the shore, dozens of Viking warriors were squeezed against the riverbank. With the uniform, synchronized thrusts of the Frankish army's spearn, the final resistance faded away completely.
Reviews
All reviews (0)