86.
86.
The battle was changing.
Every veteran on the battlefield now had to accept this fact.
The seasoned warriors of Scandinavia, who had participated in all sorts of fights even before reaching adulthood, had seen much and heard much. But the battle waged by their new Konungr was something they had never seen anywhere.
Konungr Helgi Ragnarsson's battle was one of patience and waiting.
'No, more like a battle fought with shovels.'
Having come out to the field, I found the enemy's strength greater than expected.
I had expected their numbers to be great, but their cavalry being larger than I thought was a major threat to me.
I had ordered wooden obstacles and pits dug to protect our right flank, but I knew that would not be enough.
If a full-scale fight began, the enemy's main force would likely constantly target our flank. In that case, I had two choices.
'Either reduce damage and slip around to the enemy's flank, or adjust to the enemy's movements and protect our own flank.'
In any case, seeing the skill of our and the enemy's horsemen, a cavalry charge with or without stirrups was out of the question. They would just poke at each other with spears from horseback, then get knocked off by sword, axe, or arrow.
In the end, the role of cavalry on this battlefield would be to hunt down fleeing foes, or to act as highly mobile infantry on horseback.
If I couldn't execute the kind of cavalry charge I had seen in the Eastern Roman Empire, it would be proper to protect our flank. Because the enemy's main force would likely come that way.
'But then I would be too passive...'
While I was having this and that thought about future tactics and observed the enemy's movements from the hilltop, I caught sight of a small contingent of Mercians who had been just watching for two days already.
They were probably trying to gauge the strengths and weaknesses of our army. By now, Burgred would have also noticed that the weakness of this low hill was on the Örn side, where obstacle installation was underway, near the road.
It was so gentle that it was practically without slope. If I were Burgred, I would have attacked that spot right away.
'Hmm?'
As I continued my thoughts, I suddenly sensed the enemy's movements changing.
At first, I thought a small force of about fifty was advancing, but soon, with a booming horn blast, the enemy ranks that seemed to fill the horizon all surged forward.
[Bwoooom-]
'Finally, they felt like having a proper go at it.'
"Seutorolpeu! Sound the horn! Refil! Prepare for battle! Mercia comes!"
"Yes! Konungr!"
There was no sign of rain, and the grass was adequately dry—a perfect day for battle. Two days was a long time to hold back, but all I had was the advantage of terrain. Burgred had far greater numbers.
[Bwoooooom-!]
"Prepare for battle!"
[Chk! Chk! Chk!]
"Move quickly!"
"To your positions! To your positions!"
"Don't drop your helmets! Who drags their shield on the ground!"
The warriors who had been sprawled about in their own lazy ways, the moment the enemy horn sounded, moved quickly and found their positions.
Over them, the voices of the subordinate commanders were practically a procedure to once more rouse the warriors' spirits.
No fear could be found in the eyes of the Northmen who had already finished preparing to fight.
[Gogogogogo-]
The simultaneous tread of nearly twenty thousand feet offered an overwhelming pressure that one could not know without hearing it firsthand.
The tremor, like a human-made landslide, reverberated all the way to the low hills, and immediately, in response to the Mercian army spreading its ranks wide like a raven spreading its wings, we formed a tight defensive formation in a convex semicircle centered on the low hill.
"Seutorolpeu, what of the cavalry?"
"Awaiting orders, Konungr!"
"Good. Leave overall command of the center to Refil. We've stockpiled plenty of arrows—tell him to loose them freely."
"Yes! Konungr!"
[Puhihihing-]
My mount, Camembert, who for a native Scandinavian horse had a very good build and excellent endurance, looked at my hand holding the reins Leon had handed me and let out a pleased whicker.
Indeed, seeing the other horses a bit frightened, this fellow was a horse close to a born warrior himself.
'Hup-cha.'
[Bururu!]
Even with the armor, the great sword hung on the saddle, a long spear, and my weight added, the sturdy fellow showed no sign of strain, as befitting a horse originally used as a pack horse.
I gently scratched his jet-black mane, then pulled the reins and headed toward the cavalry waiting for me behind the hill.
[Paka! Paka! Paka paka paka-]
His stride, somewhere between a walk and a trot, gliding over the ground, was quite dignified. According to the horse trainers, proud horses chose their masters—had this fellow come to acknowledge me?
"Konungr Helgi!"
"Great Warrior of Hel!"
"God's Witness!"
"Warrior of Victory! The Northern Dragon!"
[Don! Don Don! Don!]
The warriors who watched me ride past each voiced one of my titles and offered resolute salutes.
Maybe Camembert was enjoying these looks of respect from the humans.
Bearing the strong desire for victory directed at me, I raised my eagle fist high in the air, and the warriors shouted in unison.
"He-la!"
"A-ros!"
"Helgi Ragnarsson!"
[Paka! Paka!]
Urging Camembert, who deliberately slowed his pace, I soon headed to where the cavalry waited; about two hundred horsemen were waiting for me, mounted and in full readiness.
One hundred horses brought personally from the North, plus one hundred horses prepared by Sigebryht. Two hundred riders in total.
From the rear of these low hills to Beodericsworth, it was all grassland except for a few hillocks. It was an environment where cavalry could rampage, but with only two hundred, there were few operations the cavalry could carry out alone.
Struggling to erase the memory of the magnificent tágmata of the Eastern Roman Empire, I raised my voice to the riders who looked only at my face.
"Riders of the North! Warriors of Hel! The moment the enemy shows an opening, I intend to lead you and smash them to pieces!"
The deployment of such a large-scale(?) cavalry force on the battlefield was a first in the history of the Northmen. As they waited to do something none of their ancestors had ever heard of, the tension gradually vanished from the warriors' faces, replaced by a fierce desire.
"They may sneer at our numbers! In particular, they might laugh and say a fellow like Þorbjörn can't even hold a rein properly! But now I can trust you, can't I!? Þorbjörn!"
"Of course!!! Konungr!!!"
Hahahaha-!
When we first formed the Northmen's cavalry and had them patrol along the roads, there was a man who, while dismounting, got one leg caught and became a human broom, kicking up a sandstorm. His name was Þorbjörn.
So sturdy was his body that even after being dragged along for a long while, he only had a few scratches all over—Thorbjörn had since undergone dazzling growth, and this incident later became something of a meme among our Norseman cavalry. Dust-mop Thorbjörn. Broom Thorbjörn. Northern Sandstorm Thorbjörn, and so on...
To my recollection, there had clearly been more than a few who were forcibly unhorsed by excited mounts, yet Thorbjörn had become the very byword for a man who could not ride. But that affable warrior always laughed it off with a hearty chuckle, so one could say he was future cavalry commander material.
"Good! As I said before, wherever a gap opens in the enemy line or our own defense wavers, we shall charge in at once! Keep a close watch on your horses' condition and be ready to fight at any moment!"
"Aye! Konungr!"
[Thud!]
The elite of the elite of our army.
Though a cavalry charge was still difficult to even imagine due to the riders' skill and the horses' condition, in all other respects this cavalry company had reached its peak. They all rendered me a military salute at once, and I likewise returned the salute by placing my fist to my left chest, then soon turned my horse's head and headed toward the eastern side of the defensive position.
[Dagr-dak- Dagr-dak- Daga-daga- Dagr-dak-]
[Urrrrr- Boooouuuung-!]
Watching the movement of our army's signal flags erected atop the hill on the way, it seemed the enemy main force was approaching without pause.
Near the eastern area which I reached by increasing Camembert's speed, there stretched a field of obstacles with warriors firmly guarding behind them, and then Oleg and Djur came into view.
Refil at the center, Sigebryht and Guthrum on the west, Oleg and Djur on the east.
And ever at my side, Stórolf. Every last one of them a fearsome warrior.
"Oleg! Djur! The enemy approaches! Are you ready to fight!?"
At my voice ringing out sonorously, Oleg and Djur, who had stopped their work and hurriedly formed up the shield-wall, answered with vigor.
"Of course! Konungr Helgi!"
"We shall show them a man's fight!"
"Good! You must always keep good communication with the center and the signals! That is the lifeline of this battle!"
"I shall carve it into my bones!"
"I will treat that flag as my very life!"
"I trust only in you both!"
Though the distance was rather far, there was no problem with communication, as each of our voices carried so well. Beside Oleg and Djur, the majestic flag soared high into the sky, brimming with fighting spirit. A signal device bearing their customization—next to Hel's symbol, the image of a running horse had been drawn in.
Having at last confirmed that the eastern defenses too were without issue, I felt the sound and tremor of the enemy drawing ever closer with my whole body, and spurred my horse back toward the center along the dirt path within the makeshift encampment.
"Ya! Ya!"
[Dagr-dak- Dagr-dak Dagr-dak-]
Stórolf and some ten escorts followed behind me, and amid the warriors' profuse military salutes toward our party hurrying along.
[Booouung-! Boong-! Boouung-!]
[Shields forward]
I arrived at the center along with the horn blast bearing that command, and dismounted beside Refil, who was glaring at the front line with cold eyes.
[Tchk!]
"Eut-cha. Stórolf! Look after Camembert for a moment."
"Aye! Konungr!"
[Peur-reuk-]
"Konungr, you've come. The enemy's entire formation has halted, and only the vanguard of their center continues advancing."
Leaving behind Camembert, who was glaring displeasedly at the yellow-haired fellow (Stórolf), beyond Refil who was reporting to me, I could see the enemy lines standing in orderly fashion.
"Aye. So it is. Unless my eyes deceive me, the one leading the enemy vanguard is Edmund Cyning."
"Pardon? That Edmund of East Anglia, you mean?"
"Aye... It seems he's amassed quite a store of grievances against me."
"Haha. Wouldn't Edmund have every right to? He's likely amassed plenty of grievances against Konungr and Jarl Ivar especially."
"... I've nothing to say."
As Refil said, a man like Edmund would likely kick off his blanket and spring up screaming even in his sleep at just the sound of my name or Ivar's name.
'But as if that would change reality? Edmund. I was the one who showed mercy, rather.'
It was a thoroughly self-serving thought, but one could not survive this harsh world without at least this much shamelessness.
[Puuuoooouuum-! Booooom-!]
The enemy's horn, slightly different from ours, sounded two long blasts. As the enemy's entire formation advanced a little further to check both flanks of our army, the vanguard led by Edmund began closing in with even fiercer momentum.
Directly toward our center that stood blocking their path.
"It seems he has no mind for exchanging words this time."
"... I had heard that Edmund Cyning was a man of many words, but it's a pity I'll have no chance to confirm it."
"It is better not to hear it. Truly, all day long he does nothing but curse us as impious and filthy bastards."
"Haha. Filthy? That bit I cannot concede."
Refil, being a Norseman who took pride in washing, showed little reaction to the charge of impiety.
Since I planned to roam the front line here and there with the flying column, the one who would effectively command the center was Refil. Perhaps because of that, his previously tense face seemed to have relaxed a little. This was why small talk was important.
"Well then, shall we feed some arrows first to the talkative and fearless Edmund Cyning."
"...Aye! Konungr! Archers! Make ready-!"
"Archers! Make ready!"
"Nock your arrows!"
[Seuk- Seu-seu-seuk- Kki-i-ik- Kki-ik-]
As the command that spread from the center echoed through the officers, amid the chilling sound of thousands of archers drawing their bowstrings all at once, my stern voice at last dropped down upon the enemy who had crossed the line marked out in advance.
"Loose."
"Loose!"
"Shoot-!!!"
"Loose-!!!"
[Pyung-! Pyu-pyung! Swaaaa-]
With a sound almost as if all had loosed at the same instant, thousands of arrows soared into the sky at once. What had looked like a pitch-black flock of birds, a swarm of insects, gathered seemingly into a single black dot at the highest point of their potential energy, then soon came cutting through the air and falling, each toward its appointed destination.
[Aaaaagh-!]
No matter how stout the wood they were made from, shields too could not be perfect in the end. One or two shafts might be manageable, but beneath the rain of arrows that occupied every space of the sky and poured down, countless enemies lay their bodies down.
The distance was still considerable, so the enemy's screams did not reach me fully, but borne faintly upon the wind, those sounds carried no small measure of agony.
"Loose!"
"Shoot!"
"Loose your strings!"
[Pyung-! Pyu-pyung! Sswaaeaeaeaeek-!]
The instant my attention was stolen by the sight of enemies collapsing here and there with arrows lodged in them, another pitch-black rain of arrows dyed the sky once more, following Refil's cool-headed voice.
It was a humorous thing, but it was at that sight that I could finally feel the battle had truly begun.