83.
83.
Unfortunately, bows and arrows were weapons without copyright.
If you had an ancestor who lived close to beasts, you had no choice but to use them. Those weapons soon flew in to block our advancing footsteps.
[Shwaaak—! Shwa-shwaak! Ting! Tang-tang! Tang!]
However, having already accumulated considerable battlefield experience through many campaigns, I had doubled the size of the shields used for this expedition compared to before. As long as armor technology had not yet risen to a satisfactory level, this was a wise decision.
[Tuk! Hudduduk! Tutuk!]
"Keep advancing! Do not break formation!"
"Match your steps! Hold the line!"
"Forward! Forward!"
Stórolf and the subordinate commanders shouted themselves hoarse urging the advance. Originally, we should have paused briefly to receive the enemy's arrows, but thanks to improved training and equipment, we continued closing the distance to the enemy without significant disruption.
[Shung! Shushushushung—! Shushung!]
'Isn't the trajectory a bit too low?'
Judging by the sound, our side's volley followed, passing right over our heads. The arrows, receiving far greater tension from much larger bows and flying forth with vigor, unerringly found their targets.
Enemy ranks toppled here and there with thudding sounds.
In the past, I would have charged in immediately, but just as my warriors had become more elite and systematic, my command had also advanced a step further.
"Prepare to attack!"
"Prepare to attack—! Draw your throwing axes!"
"Ready to throw!"
If I broke through alone, there was no problem at all, but what I felt especially while fighting the Eastern Roman civil war was that my charge, surging ahead, caused unexpected losses as my men struggled to catch up.
So my conclusion was this: in infantry versus infantry combat, we should whittle down the enemy's formation once more beforehand.
[Shwaaak—! Shwaak—! Ting! Peo-peok!]
[Peo-eok! Peo-seok!]
I snapped the arrow that flew at my shield with the guard of my greatsword, and as I raised the sword high, the formation that had been marching steadily began to close in faster at a quick-march pace.
[Cheok! Cheok! Cheok! Cheok!]
The rhythmic footsteps became a cadence, a current. We who surrendered our bodies to that flow, and of course, Edmund's army blocking our path, now had no way to avoid this.
"Warriors! Fight without fear! Glory awaits us—!"
[Shung—! Shushushung! Peok! Peo-beo-beok!]
Once more, arrows flying from behind our heads shook the enemy's ranks. Now that we had closed to a distance where we could distinguish each other's eyes, noses, and mouths, a conclusion was inevitable.
As if spurring a horse's belly, I kicked off the ground forcefully, and with a smooth motion, released my grip on the greatsword, drew a throwing axe from my waist, and hurled it.
[Hwik— Hwirikhwirikhwirik!]
The throwing axe, cast with only the snap of the wrist, rotated ferociously. In that gap, the moment I seized the greatsword's hilt again, the enemy who had been glaring fiercely right before my eyes collapsed with a dull sound, his skull shattered.
[Peo-seok! Hwik! Hwik— Hwirikhwirik! Peok! Peo-beo-beok! Peo-peok!]
"Keok!"
"Euk!"
"Aaaaak!"
What made throwing axes more fearsome than arrows was that their center of gravity was entirely concentrated on the blade, so any clumsy block with shield or armor would result in everything being shattered to pieces.
Before the high-quality expendable goods the craftsmen of Árós had diligently prepared over the past winter, the enemy's battle line wavered greatly once more. By the time our formation, with me at its head, crashed violently into them, they had already begun to rout.
[Huuung— Chwareureuk! Seo-geok!]
"Keuk! Keureureuk... Keo-keok..."
The life's work of the master smith, Randi, danced smoothly in my hand, and everything that entered that massive sword arc was split impartially.
I had not tasted it even once in this life, but it felt exactly like slicing pure white tofu with the blade of a hand.
Though this was its first real battle, the sensation, as if my arm had grown longer, was wondrous.
"Keueuk... Keureuk..."
[Huuung—! Peok!]
"Keuk... ..."
I had cut down three men in a single stroke, but one had been slashed shallowly across the throat and was frothing blood, so I quickly ended his breath.
The blade that pierced his chest passed through human bone as if it were a joke and carved apart his heart.
This was performance that deserved to be called destructive.
I made a mental note to award Randi another prize, then looked at the enemies who had all turned their backs and were fleeing after just a single swing of the sword.
"Yiaaaaa—!"
[Kung! Puk! Chaeng! Chwareureuk!]
The sounds of collision and blades scattering chainmail rang out from everywhere.
Compared to the last time I had come to Britain, everything about our fighting power had undeniably improved qualitatively. The enemy, who appeared roughly equal in number, could not regain their senses in the face of it.
Now, as the heat rose in their bodies, the sight left even my own warriors dumbfounded.
"They are feeble wretches! Konungr Helgi!"
Stórolf, who was merciless in disparaging those who opposed me, shouted with a deeply flushed face.
It had ended before we could even raise a battle cry like Valhalla—! Hel—!, so he seemed a bit deflated.
But this campaign was only just beginning.
"They were not the enemy's main force. I will not permit complacency. We occupy this hill road and await Refil's rearguard."
"Yes! Konungr!"
At my stern demeanor, Stórolf flinched and moved hastily, looking like a bear. A bear with golden fur, very swift despite its bulk.
Then the archers who had merged with the infantry... though they were called archers, they were closer to multi-purpose infantry, and they too lent a hand in clearing the battlefield.
Since we had crossed the sea in haste and could not prepare much, it was regrettable, but for those with grave injuries, ending their lives was perhaps the greater mercy.
Those capable of self-recovery were gathered together and classified as prisoners. Checking our own wounded and fallen, apart from five lightly wounded struck by enemy arrows, we had suffered no losses whatsoever.
'Isn't the casualty ratio a bit absurd? I wish every battle could be like this.'
Once Björn, sitting once more in the seat of Acting Konungr, finished coordinating the mainland Jarls, he would send support supplies and troops. Then I would be able to move more aggressively.
I had my hidden trump card as well.
We retrieved usable throwing axes from those we had expended and piled those with broken shafts or bent iron in a corner.
Wary of an enemy counterattack, the warriors took turns resting and clearing the battlefield while maintaining a state of alert.
Just a little further from here lay Beodericsworth.
By now, Edmund surely knew his flying column had been crushed, and Guthrum and Sigebryht of Beodericsworth would know as well.
'What will you do, Edmund? Will you seek battle here? Or will you withdraw?'
I had already made my move, so the next turn was Edmund's.
*****
"We cannot withdraw the troops."
"That is the Cyning's thought. The warriors of Mercia did not come here to die."
A hill some distance from Beodericsworth.
A disagreement of opinion was occurring between Edmund and the Mercian general.
"How dare...!"
"Hunta, calm yourself."
"..."
In a place that dealt with life and death, it was possible for hot-blooded men on the battlefield to differ in opinion... but was the person present here not the Cyning? The rightful ruler of East Anglia.
Just look at the brusque attitude of that Mercian general speaking before such an exalted figure...! From the perspective of Edmund's loyal thane Hunta, it was an utterly intolerable thing.
Yet unlike his follower's fury, Edmund was facing reality. Without Mercia's strength, victory was impossible.
"What, then, is your plan? Ealdorman Cœnred."
When Mercia was divided into east and west, Cœnred was the most powerful lord of the west—the region that was effectively King Burgred's own backyard. While every lord of eastern Mercia, now destined to become the main theater of this war against the mighty Northmen, was wavering, he was the strongest card Burgred could play.
The warriors he alone had brought numbered five thousand. Behind him lay Burgred's main force, another ten thousand. Edmund knew perfectly well that even this was a partial commitment of their full strength, but he was in no position to ask why they had not committed everything.
After all, the northern fenland troops Edmund himself had led numbered barely two thousand.
"Though we did burn their fields as far as Beodericsworth—"
'My fields... my people... my kingdom...!'
"—once we attempted to take the fortress, it became clear that they had not withdrawn to the fort for lack of strength. That was no fortress to fall in a day or two. Last winter, it seems, we were not the only ones preparing for war."
"Hmmm."
Edmund stroked his beard out of sheer frustration, but no hidden answer was going to suddenly pop out of thin air. His mind grew ever more tangled.
'The intelligence was flawless. There is no doubt that every one of those cursed sons of Ragnar has left. But if there was a problem, it was that their response has been too swift...'
How could this be? When they had first burst through Sigebryht's defenses, glory had seemed right before his eyes. And yet now, faced with their unnervingly rapid response, he could not even be certain of victory.
"But despair would be premature. First, the force that was blocking the southern pass has been routed, so we cannot face the enemy on two fronts. I will withdraw the host until the exact numbers of this new army advancing from the south have been scouted."
The map was drawn with coarse detail, but Cœnred's finger traced a line clear enough for everyone present to understand. His finger, moving steadily leftward from Beodericsworth, finally halted at a small hill drawn on the left side of the River Granta.
"Grantebrycge. Beside the River Granta. An old fortress stands there. The bastards will have to cross the bridge to get past it, so I mean to wait there for King Burgred."
"Grantebrycge..."
The ancient fortress of old Middle Anglia. The stronghold that every local in the region called the 'ruin fort.'
'If it is Grantebrycge, we could indeed block the enemy, but...'
That would mean, once again, that Edmund must withdraw from his own rightful territory.
But the only thing a powerless king could do was accept reality.
"Very well... that does seem to be the best course. Let us do so."
Cœnred bowed his head to Edmund, who had preserved his dignity as Cyning without losing his pride to the very end, and hurried out of the tent. Hunta's eyes, watching his bowed lord and the insolent Mercian Ealdorman, grew dark and dangerous.
*****
"Konungr Helgi!"
The enemy had withdrawn.
When commanding an army that numbered over a thousand, the most difficult maneuver by far was the withdrawal—both advancing and retreating. In that respect, the ability of Edmund and the unidentified commander beside him was far from laughable.
"Guthrum! No—should I call you Jarl Guthrum now?"
Guthrum, the capable lieutenant who had accompanied Ivar and me on my first campaign. He had been granted the vacant eastern coastal lands of East Anglia as his fief in the distribution of spoils and had risen to the rank of Jarl. Örn greeted me with a bright smile.
"What do my title and name matter! Call me whatever you wish, Konungr! Well met! Those wretched bastards have finally pulled back!"
"Konungr Helgi, thank you for coming to our rescue. Beodericsworth is yours."
Unlike Guthrum, who was so excited he looked ready to dance, Sigebryht's expression held not a trace of agitation.
"Jarl Sigebryht. I am glad I was not too late. Had you not moved swiftly, we would have faced a far more difficult situation. I will see that you, and both of you, and the warriors who endured this with you are well rewarded."
"I merely did what I was obliged to do."
"Oh! Thank you!"
The contrast between the modest Sigebryht and Guthrum openly rejoicing beside him was laughable. Though that is the Norseman's way.
"Ah—. I, too, merely did what I was obliged to do, Konungr Helgi! It was never for some reward!"
He had been a composed adjutant when I first met him, but now it felt like looking at a less high-strung Sutorolpeu. It was likely the lingering excitement from the battle they had just fought.
"Ha-ha. Worry not—I am not a man who speaks empty words. You must be weary, but the war has only just begun. I have tasks for you both. Are you fit for them?"
However solidly one has prepared, offensive or defensive siege work was still something no human being should be asked to do.
It seemed cruel to impose on two men who could not have slept well, but I could not dictate the enemy's intentions. It was right that we made our own preparations absolute.
"Of course, Konungr Helgi. I am just beginning to loosen up."
"Only give the order."
The faces that had been smiling a moment ago now focused every scrap of mind and attention upon my voice. They looked exactly like trained hounds.
"Good. Sigebryht, you will work with Refil to compile the current state of East Anglia and report to me. Guthrum, you will establish a plan to secure the roads linking this place to Sutton Hoo and Rendlesham without fail. Sutorolpeu, you will divide your warriors and operate a watch and a scouting unit."
"Understood."
"Yes! Konungr!"
"Leave it to me!"
They were overflowing with energy.
"Then let us move at once. I will see to repairing the breaches in the fort and inspect the townsfolk. Leon will accompany me."
[Thud!]
My vassals snapped a unified salute and scattered in haste. As I followed them down the ramparts that still bore the marks of battle everywhere, my mind kept cycling through our next movements and the enemy's.
'The enemy's numbers are smaller than expected. Their main force must be at the rear. Is the withdrawal a sign that they desire a major engagement? Or do they mean to block the way and wage a guerrilla war from the moors?'
Whatever the case, the routes out of East Anglia into Mercia were limited, so in the end, there was only one place we would face them.
The old Roman road I had ridden up when striking Ælla of Northumbria. At the heart of that route lay the chokepoint that commanded the River Granta.
'Grantebrycge.'
☆☆☆☆☆ Reference Material ☆☆☆☆☆
Original: Jeff Schmaltz, MODIS Land Rapid Response Team, NASA GSFC (Goddard Space Flight Center), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Grantebrycge. That's Cambridge. Very different from how it looks today, right! The fortress was built by raising a high hill on the left bank of the River Cam.
Its origins stretch back to the Celts, but it was left neglected during the Anglo-Saxon period, then hastily repaired as Helgi's influence grew in East Anglia.
And that is how it became the chokepoint commanding the road from East Anglia into Mercia...! The map above is from the 21st century, after all the reclamation and drainage projects were complete.
Mid-9th-century Britain was much more full of marsh and fen and had a far rougher coastline...!
Moving a great army through the northern marshlands carries many constraints...!