192. The King and the Sword (2).
192. The King and the Sword (2).
I heard that all regions of West Frankia had entered a state of war, except for the region of Gascogny, which faced the Pyrenees to the southwest.
The region of Aquitaine, ruled by Louis the Stammerer, son of the Emperor Charles, supported Robert of Le Mans, who was confronting Brittany, while Burgundy, the Emperor Charles' own seat of power, supported Gauzfrid, who acted as Charles' deputy in Paris and Rouen.
Which meant the first real challenge I would face in this land was named Gauzfrid.
Insiders(?) eager to pass me information were already overflowing—from Salomon of Brittany to even Emperor Lothair II of Lotharingia.
By the time they realized that the Jarl of the North Sea had personally begun to move, I already knew everything about the enemies I would face.
"Gauzfrid. A man in competition with Robert of Le Mans. A faithful, holy servant of the Emperor Charles."
It was obvious without even looking. A lord planted there to keep in check the powerful Margrave Robert, who was increasingly slipping from the Emperor's own control.
In Charles' own mind, he must have intended to empower Gauzfrid by entrusting him with Rouen, the northern coastline, and the cities along the Seine. He would never have dreamed it would become a move against his own interests.
Because right at that moment, the elite force of 4,000 I had led reached the very doorstep of Rouen without any resistance, and throughout the territory we advanced through, Tostig's fleet of the Kingdom of the Isles came and went along the Seine as if it were their own home.
And now that the follow-up forces of East Anglia and Mercia, moving with holy speed, had arrived at the now-emptied port city under the command of Ubba, Guthrum, and Leofric.
It could be said that West Frankia had very cleanly thrown away the chance to repel the North Sea invasion with the least damage.
And the result, as could be seen, was fatal for Rouen and Gauzfrid.
"Whew— I saw signs of this in Britain, but this is the first time I've experienced such a lavish war. I swear to my gods, this is the first battlefield like this in my entire life."
Ivar whistled in admiration, while beside him, Björn nodded quietly.
Standing on a low hill with my brothers on either side of me, against the backdrop of the distant, winding Seine and Rouen, we watched Tostig's fleet of longships, which had caught up with the vanguard, and the endless procession of various supplies being unloaded from the cargo ships—wider, taller, and larger than ordinary war longships.
"I felt it when we struck the Kingdom of the Isles in Britain, but transporting supplies over land has terrible limits. Most paths aren't suited for wagons, so a distance that should take a day could take three days at shortest, or a week if it was long."
"So this time, you'll actively use the river? You realize the obvious so late, Helgi! Our ancestors had good reason for sailing everywhere, even at the cost of their lives. It's fast to go in, and fast to get out."
Though it was a realization I'd gained through all sorts of hardship, Ivar just looked back and forth between my face and the line of longships filling the river with an incredulous expression.
"Of course, you're likely the first to move on such a massive scale. But whether it's raiding or war, the essence is the same. Moving one step faster than the enemy. And this time, we certainly seem to be two steps ahead of that West Frankish Charles."
A satisfied smile hung on Ivar's lips.
Following his gaze and looking out from this hill, the North Sea warriors looked like a swarm of moving ants.
In accordance with my slogan, 'To me, siege warfare is construction,' these men, carrying large pieces of wood, nails, hammers, shovels, and pickaxes in both hands, soon began work along the gentle slope of the low hill where we stood, establishing a temporary encampment close to a fortress.
This news did not take long to reach the ears of Gauzfrid, who came running breathlessly to the castle of Rouen.
*****
"What are those bastards doing!?"
Gauzfrid.
Successor to the great and rightful King Louis. Lord of Neustria, directly appointed by the Emperor Charles himself.
A man who would have sat in the Margrave's seat if not for Robert.
The number one person who most wanted to eliminate Robert, who was in the midst of a holy war against Brittany at Le Mans on the Mayenne River.
A man with much anger in his heart, Gauzfrid shot up from his seat and shouted.
How dare those barbarians do this!?
"C-Comes. They say the boats they brought have unloaded a great many things, and they've started building something up. It's not certain, but according to the messenger who brought the news, it looked exactly like a castle—"
"So you're telling me those dirty sons of pig's arses are building a castle right before my very eyes!? On the land of the Emperor Charles! How dare they!"
"Th-that is correct!"
"Lord, please kill those bastards! Strike them down with lightning from above!"
[Crash!]
The face of the poor castle steward turned pale, and Gauzfrid, whose rage could not be quelled even by shouting at the top of his lungs, grabbed a bronze cup nearby and hurled it with all his might.
The heavy cup bounced off a stone pillar, leaving its mark, and Gauzfrid asked the castle steward, who was now breaking into a cold sweat, his face flushed bright red.
"The Emperor! How close has the Emperor gotten!?"
"The Emperor himself resides in Orleans, and from there, it is said he will move while keeping watch over Le Mans to the west and Rouen to the north."
"Orleans..."
'As expected of the Emperor. Indeed, he is a man who has inherited the name of Charles.'
Orleans was a place from which one could suitably support both Le Mans and Rouen.
Because he also had to deal with Brittany, which had dared to raise a revolt alongside those arrogant and filthy Norsemen, the Emperor must have made the best possible judgment, holy as it was.
In truth, as a man who had a history of rebelling against Robert, the Margrave of Neustria, alongside Salomon of Brittany, Gauzfrid thought it would be nice if Robert simply dropped dead in this chaos.
'Wait. Isn't this an opportunity? If Robert is tied down by Brittany, and I magnificently repel these Norsemen...?'
Then he could thoroughly humiliate that arrogant Robert and gain the Emperor's full favor!
'Yes, this is an opportunity.'
The eyes of the castle steward, who worried, 'His face is so red, will smoke start rising from his ears at this rate?', still trembled with anxiety, but inside Gauzfrid's head, he was already picturing himself kicking Robert's arse and ascending to become the new Margrave of Neustria.
"Good! How close has Archbishop Hincmar of Reims arrived!?"
Gauzfrid's characteristics were that he angered easily, calmed down easily, and suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs.
Working under this fiery lord, the castle steward, already accustomed to such traits, carefully answered while wiping his sweat-soaked brow with his sleeve.
"The Archbishop of Reims said he would soon arrive in Paris."
Archbishop Hincmar of Reims was a devout bishop and powerful lord whose name resounded greatly among the Frankish people.
Above all, this archbishop, a close personal friend of the West Frankish Emperor Charles, immediately rose to action as soon as he heard word of the invasion by the Norsemen and Brittany.
"Send a messenger to the steward of Paris immediately and relay my words! Tell him there must not be even the slightest negligence in receiving the Archbishop! He must be served with the same devotion as if receiving the Emperor himself. Do you understand?"
"I shall relay it clearly. Comes."
"Good. Very good."
In his heart, he wished to greet the Archbishop, who was like the Emperor's own doppelganger, in person, but with those Norsemen right before his eyes, he could not simply move as he pleased.
Leaving behind the steward who was immediately scribbling his commands like sesame seeds onto a piece of parchment, Gauzfrid kicked open the door to his office and strode out.
His guards fell in behind him as he walked with strides so long his robes fluttered, and servants and soldiers everywhere hurriedly bowed their heads, but not a single such sight entered the eyes of Gauzfrid, the man of fire.
Finally reaching the castle wall and climbing atop its wide, sturdy stone rampart, Gauzfrid scowled deeply and glared beyond the western plain of Rouen.
"Helgi Ragnarsson. They called him Helgi Ragnarsson, was it?"
Though he had raged greatly in front of the poor steward, Gauzfrid was no fool, and he felt keenly that the movements of these Norsemen were far from ordinary.
'I must find out what those bastards are truly doing.'
It would be the Franks who would be in trouble if those madmen truly built a castle right on the doorstep of Rouen.
According to the refugees, they had already seized the port at the mouth of the Seine, which meant the Neustrian lands along the lower Seine were fully exposed.
No matter how much Robert of Le Mans was a loathsome creature he couldn't stand the sight of, the ironic truth was that if either Le Mans or Rouen fell, the other would be in grave difficulty.
'Helgi Ragnarsson. A fearsome man. He is far, far too different from the raiders of the past. That man has pushed in and is forcing a choice upon us.'
Would they come out of the fortress of Rouen to fight? Or would they simply stand by and watch Le Mans crumble?
The Emperor of West Frankia was a man who had fought countless battles even before ascending to the throne.
He did not doubt for a moment that the Emperor would surely achieve victory in this fight as well.
But somehow, Gauzfrid had a very bad feeling.
"Lieutenant, summon the hunters. Men who could roam this land of Rouen with their eyes closed."
"Yes! Comes!"
First, he would have to probe those bastards.
That was what Gauzfrid thought.
*****
"We must send out scouts."
The tent, hastily constructed yet surprisingly cozy and spacious.
Ubba, who was secretly earnest in such matters, had put in special effort, and the splendid decorations hanging throughout the tent delighted the eyes of anyone who saw them.
"You intend to observe their movements?"
Among the faces of my subordinates seated around the long table, Björn, who had implicitly taken on the role of second-in-command, asked me.
"That is so, Jarl Björn. Beyond simply how many men they have in the castle and whether the surrounding villages have been emptied, we must also scout the best routes to attack their fortress and any weaknesses in the moat in advance."
Scouting was not a choice but a necessity. Examining where one would place one's feet was especially crucial in foreign lands like this.
Not just I, who spoke quietly, but the heads of the jarls listening to my voice slowly turned to face one direction.
"What do you think, Leofric, Jarl of Grantebridge?"
At last, the hunter who had drawn the gaze of everyone present. The former conqueror of the Huntedune, now the Jarl of Grantebridge, Leofric, shifted his eyes about and rose from his seat.
'He didn't need to stand up.'
"The hunters of Grantebridge have been preparing for a day like today, under the command of the great Jarl."
His stiffly rigid posture made him look like a freshman giving his first presentation in class, but I said nothing.
I simply gazed steadily at him, lending him my strength.
Then Leofric, meeting my eyes, seemed to gain a little courage, for did he not begin shouting in a slightly more agile, louder voice?
"Therefore, I shall surely! Uncover clues that will allow us to thoroughly strip bare those Frankish bastards' castle! Just leave it to me!"
At his disciplined posture, like a holy soldier of Norrland, Björn, Refil, and Stórolf's expressions changed to satisfaction, while Guthrum and Tostig, seeming deeply impressed, applauded and shouted, "Jarl Leofric!"
"Helgi, no matter how I look at it, that man seems scared of you."
Ivar leaned in from my left and whispered in a voice suppressing laughter, but I knew Leofric's true worth well.
"I have always trusted you, Leofric. Did we not fight back-to-back together in the forests and mires of Mercia? I entrust this to you once more. However, do not overexert yourself under any circumstances."
"Of course! My Jarl!"
[Chik!]
Leofric, who had saluted vigorously, took his leave along with my satisfied smile, and soon I heard the unexpected news of the first engagement.
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User:Furfur, modified by User:Martinvl, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
Here is a simplified map of current West Frankia...!
It is truly simple, so please just use it to check the locations...! I'll show the factions and attack directions with a bit more detail...!!!
The stars mark important cities, and the red text is the names of the cities!