122.
122.
Glasgow, Peartoc, Govan.
The need to seize these three strategic points blocking the road to Alt Clut was clear.
If we ignored them and passed them by, our rear would be imperilled, and even if we somehow pulled off a fairy-tale tactic like building walls at our backs while storming the enemy fortress with our chests, just as Caesar of old Rome and his legionaries once did,
the simple fact remained—our goal was not only the fall of Alt Clut, but the complete domination of the Kingdom of Strathclyde, so they all had to be crushed in the end.
'Indeed, they don't call them strategic points for nothing. The terrain is really...'
My new collaborator, the vengeance-driven Paereogeos, was such a capable man that even though he had already forced his way up roughly thirty percent of the long, harsh River Clyde, not a single local lord had blocked our path.
Having volunteered to scout for my army, he always ranged a step ahead, beguiling lords who were indifferent to Alt Clut or who wanted to exploit the arrival of a powerful external king.
Paereogeos, who had spent long years living as a mercenary here and there while dreaming of revenge, dashed about to bring about the ruin of Alt Clut even more fervently than we Norsemen, who were the actual belligerents.
Of course, aside from his efforts, light-armed enemies had begun to appear one by one around the vanguard force I had been moving with since the day before yesterday and on the outer edges of the main force led by Halfdan.
The real fighting was slowly getting underway, wasn't it?
[Tadak- Tadak- Hududuk- Hudududuk-]
I had dressed relatively lightly because it was summer, but the climate along the River Clyde was brutal. Rain had fallen for three days straight already, and the temperature plunged sharply at night.
Because of this, the marching was mostly done during the day, and by evening the daily routine had become pitching camp and pulling out the prepared furs to wrap ourselves in.
Even now, as the sun was setting and our army had already concluded today's march, our commanders gathered in my tent to prepare for a full-scale assault on the three fortresses.
There was the sound of well-tended firewood doing its work in the brazier, the soft glow of the flames, and even the patter of rain falling outside the tent.
In an atmosphere that almost felt like a campfire, everyone sat in their places, staring at a crude map hung on a frame, and Halfdan emptied his cup and spoke.
"The terrain is truly foul. Glasgow and Govan are similar to Jorvik... but that place Peartoc in the rear is another problem. Helgi. It seems we'll have to hit them all at once, don't you think?"
As Halfdan said, Glasgow and Govan were cities that faced one another with the River Clyde between them, much like Jorvik.
I hadn't yet seen them with my own eyes, of course, but in terms of wall quality, Jorvik would surely prevail by a landslide. It was, after all, a fortress that old Rome had built with great care.
However.
'Glasgow and Govan have one advantage Jorvik lacks. This damnable weather.'
Even though the walls were made of wood, not stone, and were somewhat lower, the reason they might be even more troublesome than Jorvik was precisely the weather.
"Jarl Halfdan is right, Konungr. What's more, according to Paereogeos, in this land a day without rain is precious, and if the sun does come out they call it an 'unusual' day. Their palisades will be slippery, and our men will struggle just to lift their heads."
Refil's cool-headed judgment expanded on my own thoughts exactly.
At the insight of the two jarls who could be considered closest to me here, Oleg, Djur, and the other newly-minted (?) jarls all nodded in unison.
'That's also true, Refil. But what I'm worried about isn't only the enemy's state of preparation.'
I had honestly thought it would be easy.
Because we had fought so fiercely in East Anglia and Mercia, I had figured—through a relatively cold assessment—that the fighting here in northern Britain, which I judged to be at a 'barbaric' level, could be won without much trouble.
That was why I had sent my direct unit, the men who had long followed me and endured hardships, back to Árós to let them rest, and I had brought the second batch of the Árós training camp, made up mainly of the jarls from various regions and the warriors who had resolved to fight together at my wedding...
'But this might turn out to be difficult in a way that's entirely different from fighting in Mercia or East Anglia, mightn't it?'
I had to contend with enemies who mostly used hit-and-run tactics in the rain, and simultaneously had to get over slippery, mucky enemy palisades?
On top of that, Glasgow and Govan were cities that could support each other, and the existence of Peartoc, situated beyond the waterway on Glasgow's left flank, was truly aggravating.
And would Alt Clut, lurking behind them, just sit back and watch?
'Splitting the troops is unavoidable.'
Four thousand new recruits from Árós. They had discipline, but I couldn't vouch for their experience.
Eight thousand men brought from southern Northumbria, Dair, and East Anglia.
Plus another one thousand troops Guthrum had been ordered to levy from Vernika in northern Northumbria.
Since Guthrum's troops were being used mainly for transport of supplies, as guides, and as scouts, the actual combat strength came to twelve thousand.
'Four thousand first-and-a-half-line troops and eight thousand second-line troops, then. The degree of casualties will depend on the commanders' capabilities.'
Even if the situation was less favourable to us than I had thought, I did not contemplate defeat.
My warriors were strong, and my core commanders were men hardened by war.
And, more than anything, wasn't I there?
"If we concentrate on one place, we could take the enemy fortresses far more easily, but if they are of a similar disposition to our Cymry friends, they might abandon their cities and flee. And once our main strength moves, they will seek to exploit the gaps. I accept the advice of Jarl Halfdan and Jarl Refil. We will divide the army."
"Yes, Konungr!"
"Give the order!"
Both those who were fighting alongside me for the first time and those who had already matched their rhythm with mine several times bowed their heads at my voice.
"Our main camp will be before Glasgow. There, Stórolf, Guthrum, and I will lead the warriors of East Anglia and assault Glasgow."
Stórolf and Guthrum gave vigorous military salutes at my naming of them.
Stórolf, as always, wore an expression brimming with little bursts of fighting spirit, and Guthrum flashed a broad grin.
"This will be called the First Army. The Second Army, led by Halfdan and Djur, will take the warriors of Dair and assault Govan, which lies opposite Glasgow."
"Leave it to us!"
"It shall be done as you command."
The hot-blooded new groom Halfdan and the calm, seasoned Djur would make a decent match.
"The Third Army will be entrusted to Refil and Oleg. The warriors of Árós and their jarls, under Refil and Oleg's command, will seize Peartoc, which lies beyond the waterway on Glasgow's left."
"Yes, Konungr!"
"Understood!"
"Leave it to us!"
Refil and Oleg were something of a proven combination. In particular, my expectations for Oleg, who had experience commanding the unit known as the 'Conquerors of Huntadun', were high.
Perhaps because he sensed my expectation, beyond Oleg's ringing reply, the jarls who had been lined up like a folding screen behind the core commanders seated around the long table all raised their voices at once.
That sheer spirit made it feel as if I were looking at the First Army warriors who had been with me for a long time, all the way to the Eastern Roman Empire.
'Hrolf, Björn... just what sort of training did you put them through at the training camp?'
Both men's bonuses were now confirmed. Their extra assignments, confirmed as well.
"Good. Maintaining close mutual awareness of each other's situations through messengers must be the highest priority. Especially since the 3rd Army at Patrick may have to face Alt Clut's relief forces, prioritize scouting above all else. At the commander's discretion, retreating across the river is permitted."
"Yes! Understood!"
"The enemy light infantry attacks that began the day before yesterday will only intensify as we draw closer, and the weather will never favor us. Prepare for a hard fight. Sons of the North."
"Yes, Konungr!"
The warriors' fighting spirit surged as one at my calm words.
Feeling their resolve with my entire being, I steeled myself for victory.
*****
Refil Bjornson.
Son of Björn Ragnarsson.
Grandson of Ragnar Sigurdsson and nephew of Helgi Ragnarsson.
Refil was always surrounded by names that would not have seemed out of place being woven into myth at any moment.
'This is an opportunity granted to me. The Konungr's kingdom will only grow stronger and wider with time, so I absolutely must succeed.'
In a conversation he had once shared with his brother Erik, two years his elder, there had been musings on the world being opened by the Konungr Helgi Ragnarsson—a world the Northmen had never before experienced—and the role the House of Bjornson must play within it.
Since it was the words of Erik, whose body was always frail but whose innate intellect was unrivaled, and of his father, Refil had thrown his fate into the storm that was Helgi Ragnarsson, and sought to prove himself within it.
'Whether I become a lord ruling a single region, or a general leading the Konungr's host. What matters is the ability to accomplish what the Konungr expects.'
The shadow of Helgi Konungr was so vast that those who sought shelter beneath it had little reason to vie for merit against one another or engage in intrigue...
But he was the son of Björn Ragnarsson, the Terror of the Western Seas. He had no desire to yield the position of the Konungr's Örn-arm to anyone.
Especially while men like his uncle Halfdan, or Jarl Oleg, Guthrum, and Djur—a generation above Refil himself—were of little concern, that mighty warrior Seutorolpeu was a formidable rival.
'I shall achieve merits that none can rival, and solidify the names of my father, my brother, and myself. When the subordinates of Konungr Helgi are discussed, I will ensure the Bjornson of Munsö is the first to come to mind.'
As he steeled his resolve, Refil looked upon the Warriors of Árós moving alongside him.
The Northmen's formations were now split into three armies, each moving under its commander's direction.
The vanguard: 3,000 East Anglian warriors and 1,000 warriors of Dair, under Konungr Helgi's command.
The center: 4,000 warriors of Dair, under Jarl Halfdan's command.
And the rearguard: 4,000 warriors who had crossed from Árós, under his and Jarl Oleg's command.
"My mother told me—! Someday I would buy a galley with good oars—! And sail to distant shores—!"
As Refil's thoughts continued, beside him, Jarl Oleg—riding his horse—and the entire contingent of Northmen were singing vigorously.
"Stepping on the prow of this noble ship I sail! Steer a course for the harbor!"
"Cut down the foemen! Cut down the foemen!"
The song 'Mother Told Me' was a tune that had begun among the Svear and spread to all Northmen, one of the 'War Songs' that Björn and Hrolf had started by actively adopting Helgi Konungr's suggestions.
Originally, the Northmen were a people who loved singing and drinking.
When the great Konungr himself encouraged it and patronized the creation and performance of bards, the explosive proliferation of nameless songs was, in a sense, an inevitable outcome.
Of course, Refil, who had little interest in music, had merely noted it and moved on. But seeing the warriors singing so spiritedly even amid the sodden ground and ceaseless rain, he felt he understood why Helgi Konungr paid attention to such seemingly trivial things.
"My mother told me—!"
"..."
Though, seeing Jarl Oleg beside him singing with even more excitement than the warriors, perhaps these people simply loved to sing...
'Now that I think of it, I heard Father was quite vexed by Jarl Sigurd. He kept petitioning to have his preposterous compositions adopted as war songs...'
Having legendary uncles like Ivar, Halfdan, Ubba, and Helgi, Refil had always worn respect for his elders like a passive skill.
But Jarl Sigurd was a somewhat peculiar person, and at times his boundless passion and erratic spark could be overwhelming.
His father Björn, whom he strongly resembled, must have found it exhausting. It was, so to speak, a clash of incompatible temperaments.
'If only the songs were any good.'
But regrettably, was it not a hushed fact that Sigurd Ragnarsson was an utterly terrible bard?
"Sail for the harbor—! For the harbor—!"
[Shk! Sh-shk!]
[Thunk! Thwack!]
"Agh!"
"What?"
They were at the enemy's doorstep, after all, and the movement of 12,000 men could not be concealed no matter what they did, so they had moved openly, even singing.
And at last, the enemy attacks the Konungr had warned of began.
Refil, maintaining his composure, quickly assessed the situation and then sharply dug his heels into his horse's flanks.
"Hyah!"
[Phuuu-hihihing—! Duguk! Duguk!]
Though not a famed steed like the Konungr's Camembert—the Jarls had a wager running on what that name could possibly mean—Refil's sturdy brown horse faithfully followed its master's will. It hurried toward the right flank, guided by its rider's touch.
"Do not panic! The Örn side! The enemy attacks from the Örn side! Raise shields! What are the squad leaders doing! Stop milling about!"
"Did everyone hear Jarl Refil's words! Shields up!"
"Shields up!"
"Don't move like grubs! Are you frightened!"
"Shields up!"
Four or five men had fallen by the enemy's ambush. They had failed to react in time because of the rain, but their sturdy armor and helmets would have saved their lives.
The Warriors of Árós, reacting as one to Refil's thunderous shout, allowed no follow-up strikes.
[Shuk! Shu-shuk— Tang! Tatang! Pak!]
The figures of the enemy, having thrown javelins and even shorter darts that flew once more to strike shields and the surrounding earth, began gradually to catch Refil's eye through the rain.
☆☆☆☆☆Reference☆☆☆☆☆
Blaeu, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
This is the original!
Glasgow, Govan, and Patrick.
And Helgi's attack plan...!
Glasgow possibly had stone walls...!
However, I don't think they were incredibly strong defensively haha
Since the Antonine Wall was nearby, they could have sourced stone... but building walls requires so much money and labor, and Alt Clut's power wasn't that great.