Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 120 Bordeaux

Two hours later, night fell, and Gunnar ordered the fleet to leave the hidden river bend and row desperately upstream towards Bordeaux.

According to Bjorn, the town had a six-meter-high stone wall dating back to the Roman era and a population of five thousand. A direct assault was futile; Gunnar's only hope was a night raid to capture the city.

The moonlight was dim, and the Garonne River shimmered with a bluish-gray light. Twenty-three long, narrow wooden boats glided slowly along the western bank. The animal heads carved on the prows were shrouded in shadow, their twisted fangs barely visible.

Gunnar himself steered the ship from the stern, his gaze sweeping over the dark hazel forests on both banks, and the rolling hills in the distance, like an indescribable ferocious beast.

"Keep going!"

At his command, the crew rowed the oars with all their might, fifteen pairs of oars taking turns cutting through the water, stirring up fine silver foam as they entered the water, and falling back into the water as they emerged as a broken chain of beads.

After an unknown amount of time, the crew's breathing became increasingly heavy. Gunnar realized that they had little strength left, so he ordered them to rest for half an hour before continuing their journey.

As time passed, a huge shadow appeared in the southwest. Fearing that the garrison would notice, Gunnar blew out the dim oil lamp hanging at the stern and ordered the sailors to slow down the rowing and carefully approach the dock.

"Put on your armor, prepare your gear, and be ready to set off at any time."

Time ticked by, and Gunnar's gaze remained fixed on the city walls, awaiting the predetermined signal of lights. The Viking soldiers ate their rations to replenish their strength, but even after they had eaten and drunk their fill, the walls remained motionless.

"grown ups?"

"Keep waiting!"

Since joining the West Frankish forces, Gunnar had faced countless doubts, and he needed a decisive victory to silence them all. If the walls remained unmoved, he was even prepared to use grappling hooks to capture the city.

A river breeze blew for half the night, and then came a series of short clashes of weapons from the city wall. After a moment, two lamps peeked out from the battlements, swaying from side to side at a fixed frequency.

"They made it! Charge after them!"

Gunnar rushed to the foot of the city wall and climbed up the ropes that were hanging down. He saw only eight soldiers holding blood-dripping daggers.

"Where are the rest of the people?" he asked a young man named Charles.

“Recently, Bordeaux has been holding a procession of sacred objects, and a large number of visitors have flooded into the town, so each hotel does not have enough rooms left. In order not to arouse suspicion, we had to stay in three different hotels. When we took action at night, we got separated from two other groups.”

Damn it, have these idiots gotten lost?

Gunnar waited a moment until he had gathered more than a hundred armored soldiers around him. He then led his troops to charge toward the east gate, scattering the twenty guards on night watch. He then opened the city gate and let the large contingent of soldiers pour into Bordeaux.

At this moment, Charles waved his left arm at the Duke.

"My lord, come with me. The lord's residence is in this direction!"

Following the directions, nine hundred soldiers in iron armor marched briskly along the street, the clanging of armor plates mingling together, causing the guard dogs of nearby houses to howl wildly.

After rushing through three intersections, Charles leaned on his knees, panting heavily. "The house with the brightest lights is the lord's residence, my lord. Remember to split up the troops and flank them from the rear, lest they escape."

"Understood, lad, you did a good job. I'll promote you to knight after the war." The rest of the process went exceptionally smoothly until Gunnar's soldiers stormed into the mansion, where a group of nobles were still drinking and making merry, drunkenly berating the blond barbarian for his lack of manners.

"Tie them all up and throw them into the cellar under strict guard."

Having lived in Frankish territory for nearly a year, Gunnar gradually adopted local customs, such as not killing captured nobles but using them to exchange for ransom.

Once he confirmed that the official residence was under his control, Gunnar sent a hundred soldiers to guard the place, while he led the rest of his men to the barracks and captured them all while the guards were still asleep.

After capturing Bordeaux, Gunnar sent a messenger back to Caen, urging reinforcements to arrive as soon as possible. At the same time, he also wrote a letter to Toulouse on the upper Garonne River, claiming that the southern rebels were doomed and that if the Count of Toulouse were willing to surrender, the king would continue to recognize his status after the war.

Surprisingly, when Charles came to deliver the message, Toulouse surrendered without hesitation.

To demonstrate his sincerity, Count Friedrich arrested Pepin II's supporters and transported them by ship to Bordeaux downstream.

From this moment on, Pepin the Great's power collapsed rapidly, and various regions, seemingly already dissatisfied with his rule, chose to surrender to Charles the Bald.

With the tide turning against them, Pepin II fled southwest to Gascony with a few close confidants. On the way, he was betrayed by his own men and taken to Bordeaux in exchange for a reward. In just a few dozen days, the second war between the uncle and nephew came to an end.

After capturing Pepin the Second, Charles did not kill him, even though he wished the man would go to hell. However, he could not bear the infamy of "murdering his own father" and simply imprisoned him in a monastery.

"Your Majesty, this might not be a very safe approach."

Concerned that Pepin II might rebel again one day, Gunnar suggested moving him to a different location, imprisoning him on the Île Saint-Louis in the middle of the Seine, and building a tower there so that he could spend the rest of his life.

Charlie: "He is a member of the royal family and should have the most basic dignity. It is tradition to confine him to a monastery."

Faced with the new boss's hesitation, Gunnar lowered his voice and said, "Build a few small houses near the tower, put up a wall around it, have two monks move in, and then name it the Saint Louis Monastery. That should be enough to fool them."

It seems to make some sense.

Charles accepted the offer and led his army back to Paris in a grand procession. At the banquet, he displayed his captives to the numerous nobles.

"Gentlemen, this is Pepin II. Like his father, both of them are ambitious rebels. I never thought that such vile sins could be inherited. Alas, but I am still willing to let him go this time, hoping that he will repent properly for the rest of his life."

Charlie raised his glass and began to vent his malice towards his brother and nephew, even going back to events from more than twenty years ago.
After speaking for a long time, he changed the subject, praising Gunnar's surprise attack on Bordeaux and, following Roman tradition, rewarding the enemy with a golden triumphal crown.

Charles was secretly pleased to sense the jealousy of the other nobles.

"These bastards only know how to slack off, now they regret it, huh? Haha, it seems these Normans are born to be henchmen. Now that we've dealt with Aquitaine, we'll rest for two years, then attack Brittany in the west to completely eliminate the threat. And then there's my good brother Lothair, we must find a way to snatch that title of 'Emperor of the Romans'."

Ignoring the nobles' sarcastic remarks, Gunnar and his knights buried themselves in eating and drinking, and over time, they gradually adopted the Frankish dietary habits and religious customs.

It must be said that Frankish wines taste more authentic than Scandinavian meads, and the flavors of their cuisine far surpass those of Britain and Northern Europe. Looking back, it seems only slightly inferior to the food of Constantinople, but only by a tiny margin.

(End of this chapter)