132.
132.
The wind-borne boat sliced relentlessly through the current.
From Novgorod to Kyiv. A waterway with a different feel from traveling the Dnieper River.
If the Dnieper had felt like something with a surging, coiling power, the River Clyde here felt as though the flowing water simply pushed everything that wasn't itself heavily aside.
Toward that wide open sea.
It probably just meant the volume and speed of the flowing water were great, but that was my impression of it.
Perhaps it was also a characteristic of a region with frequent rainfall. The seventy-odd small boats floating on those strong waves were instead benefiting from their small and flexible frames.
[Kiiik— cheolssak— sswaaaa—]
These strange boats, which instantly regained their center even when a vicious swell came and shook them violently.
As expected, the various traditions and materials containing the long wisdom of the locals could not be taken lightly.
Even if they shook a lot and bodies got a bit wet, the travel distance wasn't that far, so fortunately, there were no warriors who got severely seasick.
The warriors who had crossed the sea from Áros were born sailors and had no worries at all, but I had been a little concerned because the warriors from Dyflinn and East Anglia were surprisingly not that friendly with boats. It was a relief.
"There it is—! Ri! That is the riverbank used by boats approaching Peartoc!"
Following the loudly shouting voice of the boatman who had been glaring at the sea as if driven mad by the heavy sense of responsibility and pressure of having to steer the Ri's boat, my gaze and those of the warriors focused on one spot.
We had been swept along here and there by the continuously flowing river, but this spot had a very stable height and soft ground.
"Good! Very good! We'll moor the boats there!"
"Yes! Ri!"
Since my boat's boatman was the most skilled, he led the formation at the vanguard, and soon we were able to reach the shore.
[Sswaaaa—]
'Hup— ha!'
[Cheolpeok!]
As expected, waterlogged soil akin to mud greeted my steps, and I drew a deep breath.
Should I call it a raw smell unique to freshwater, slightly different from the salty scent of the sea.
It hadn't rained today so it was less pronounced, but on rainy days, you could smell the freshwater scent more distinctly.
[Cheolpeok— cheolpeok— cheok!]
Following me, the warriors disembarking onto the riverbank one by two hurriedly organized their ranks below a low hill.
Around 500 men in the first transport. If the weather held like this, it would be a matter of going back and forth just seven more times.
The oarsmen would probably be down with body aches by tomorrow, but they'd work hard since they had been promised compensation for it. The magic of incentives was a subtle thing.
The estimated time needed was probably before the sun set.
Watching the sun slowly begin to poke its head through the pre-dawn dimness, I gauged the time.
"We must part ways here, skilled boatman. I entrust my warriors to you."
"Do not worry! Great Ri! I may not know other things, but on this waterway, I am the best!"
The boatman, moved by my encouragement, steered his boat back again with a gallant air, and soon the small boats that had disembarked us began to push against the current as if receiving no resistance at all.
That too was probably a kind of knowledge hard to know unless one was a local. Which wave to push the oar into, and how much force to give it. Such know-how was absolutely not something to be taken lightly.
'We just have to do what we're good at.'
"Torbjörn. The warriors' condition?"
"No problems, Konungr!"
The one who accompanied me this time was my new guard captain, Torbjörn.
Since my thinking had solidified with the Glasgow campaign that I should employ Stórolfr as a commander, it seemed even more fitting to use the cavalry unit that would eventually become my direct standing army as my guard force.
Behind me, Stórolfr, Guthrum, and Dyflinn's forces were scheduled to arrive in that order. I had entrusted the most important main body and rear guard to the most experienced men, so there would be no major issues.
"Good. Then let's move a little. We must assess the situation here first."
"Yes! Konungr!"
I checked the hand axe at my left hip, the greatsword slung on my back, and the fastening state of my armor once more. Since we might plunge directly into battle, I had left my cloak behind. Finally, tightening my helmet's chinstrap, I moved my feet.
*****
I had come prepared for a fight.
But seeing them actually fighting with such reckless abandon was a bit bewildering.
'They're going at it with all their might.'
This was the top of the low hill by the riverbank, which had hidden the approach of the small, swift Kilmanoc boats so the warriors could disembark safely.
The warriors, all of us lying prone in the grass following me, each offered their assessments as they watched the fierce battle unfolding before their eyes.
"What are those bastards doing there?"
"What do you mean what are they doing! They're taking turns throwing javelins, aren't they!"
"I blocked one of those once, the javelin tip was soft and couldn't pierce our shields."
"It means not all iron is the same iron. That saying is true."
"I feel sorry for our warriors who have to block those all day! They're pathetically weak but so damned fast, they're not easy to catch."
'Hmm.'
Having conducted skirmishes large and small on this land easily over ten times now, the warriors' discernment was no small thing.
Well, while the warriors from East Anglia in the southeastern part of Britain might be unfamiliar with the fighting methods of this region, the warriors from Dyflinn, bordering the southern part of Northumbria and the Kingdom of the Valleys, would likely have clashed with them directly and thus could not be ignorant.
In any case, it was a good thing that the troops under my command thought for themselves like that. Blindly following orders and acting on one's own initiative both have their pros and cons, but in my thinking, the latter was more efficient.
"Konungr. Jarl Ræv and Oleg's defensive line is solid. However, it looks as though they can do nothing more than hold that defense."
My new guard captain, Torbjörn, reported what he had observed beside me.
"It is as you say, Torbjörn. We are heavy, but at the same time, slow."
The one fortunate thing was that the enemies relentlessly waging skirmish warfare hadn't noticed our landing, perhaps?
"We must stay hidden for a while so they don't notice us. We will wait as long as possible, and strike their rear when their strength is flagging."
"Yes! Konungr!"
[Sasak— sasasak—]
Torbjörn, turning his body with practiced motion to relay my orders.
Soon the warriors carefully rose and descended again to the sandbar below the low hill.
Leaving the warriors clustered together, each tending to their equipment or grabbing a simple bite to chew on, I continued to lie prone on the hill with several guards and observed the ongoing battle.
'This is the first time watching their battle from the rear.'
Usually, I was on the receiving end of those javelins from the front. Looking from behind, considerably organic movements stood out.
Those at the very front sprinted hard and threw short javelins (Javelins) with striking posture, and blocked the arrows that flew in with uncanny timing using the small round shields on their left hands, or, if unlucky, collapsed with an arrow in a rather unpleasant spot.
Before the powerfully hurled javelins could even fall upon my warriors' shield wall, the enemy's second line, having been relayed the baton, sprinted hard, and more javelins flew with full force.
And then, without rest, the 3rd, the 4th lines kept rotating, a tactic to break the opponent down.
If the opponent couldn't hold and routed, they pursued; if the opponent was too strong, they scattered and then regrouped.
Since the weather in this land couldn't be guaranteed an hour ahead, this type of light-armored fighting would have developed.
In a way, it was like looking at our own distant past, a tactic that still seemed partially valid even now, but.
'That's ultimately a tactic suitable for fights of a modest scale, not something usable in a battle of considerable size.'
Especially when people are running on foot, it's even harder to use for a long duration.
If you really want to excel at skirmishing, just follow the Mongols. Of course, they aren't a nation yet, but...
If you have horses that are reasonably fast and have incredible stamina and repeat that across the wide plains for a whole week without any operational restriction zones, no matter the opponent, they will eventually be forced to make a rash judgment to commit to a decisive battle.
But this place was an island, not a steppe, a land that was all marshes and bogs.
Here, which is hell for cavalry, even the Mongols' grandfather would have no other options if he came.
'Before that, they couldn't even cross the sea. But wait, could they at least cross something like the English Channel? There are no typhoons here... Hmm? What's that?'
While I was lying still on my stomach and dozing off, suddenly, a group of light infantry burst out from beside the shield formation of the warriors commanded by Ræv.
'Feargus?'
Since I had no memory of bringing troops like that, they were probably Feargus and his friends.
The 'Avengers of Dál Buinne,' whose numbers seemed to have swelled in the meantime, were roughly 100~150 men.
All of them looked like skilled warriors, and using the Áros warriors' shield wall as cover, they weaved in and out, hitting every javelin they threw with uncanny skill.
'They fight well.'
They fought so cleanly that no particular impression came to mind. Brave when advancing to throw, and truly madly fast when pulling back.
A surprisingly well-matched cooperative tactic of heavy and light infantry.
It felt like something was sparking inspiration in my head.
'Should I have them hone javelins instead of hand axes?'
However, no matter how I looked at it, the might of the longbowmen, the strictly superior counterpart to javelins, was savage, so I soon had to push this thought away. But in lands like this, where rain often made bowstrings hard to draw, they seemed moderately useful.
Anyway, it seemed the light infantry force Feargus had been pursuing had joined up with Alt Clut's reinforcements.
Their numbers were roughly six to seven thousand.
'I'm curious. If we defeat that, what more would be left in Alt Clut?'
I would soon know that answer.
*****
The continuous transport and disembarkation of troops proceeded without any particular threat. The enemy had no chance to discover it, and a storm didn't suddenly roll in.
Similarly, the engagement unfolding next to Peartoc—calling it a regional strongpoint rather than a castle seemed more fitting—also continued ceaselessly.
The enemy commander seemed to have made a firm resolution... but whenever Ræv's forces tried to approach even a little, Alt Clut's warriors swiftly withdrew, and as soon as the distance widened, they continued the skirmishing without pause.
When javelins ran out, they even mobilized slings... this was a weapon system I was truly seeing for the first time, so it was quite fascinating, but surprisingly, it seemed to require a lot of skill, as their numbers weren't many.
They didn't inflict fatal injury to my warriors hidden behind a shield wall large enough to cover their whole bodies, but the attacks looked fierce enough to rival javelins, so Ræv's warriors also couldn't advance recklessly.
However, as predicted from observing the battle's pattern, human stamina was not infinite. And a short rest didn't bring it back to 100%.
The enemies, who had been continuously taking turns sprinting from around sunrise until the sun slowly began to set, now looked exhausted to anyone, and the javelins that had seemed to pour out endlessly had now noticeably dwindled in number.
According to what we had checked by sending scouts ahead, they didn't use large-scale ships to move like we did.
The time had slowly come to move.
"Stórolfr, Guthrum. We must move now. The warriors' condition?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary! Konungr!"
"They seem to be itching in their bodies, Konungr! There are even some lads nodding off as they sit!"
"Haha."
I had dozed off a bit too, so it was fine.
Dyflinn's forces, who would be the last to join, hadn't arrived yet, but if we waited any longer, the enemy would fully withdraw. I didn't want that.
We strike now.
'Roughly 3,000 troops. It's enough.'
"Then let us move at once. We will maneuver around the hill and advance as far into their rear as possible. The formation may scatter. When my horn sounds, do not look back and charge unconditionally. The objective point is until we link up with Ræv's forces. Understood?"
"Yes! Konungr!"
"Understood well!"
Following the two Jarls hurrying down the hill, I too left the spot that had become quite warm after laying on it for so long.
Soon after, along the riverbank path the scouts had confirmed beforehand, I and the 3,000 warriors began a swift maneuver.