Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 218 New Reinforcements
The following morning, Vigé led his troops to Tamworth, where the French troops stationed there fled overnight, leaving the town unattended.

A check of the warehouse revealed golden grains scattered everywhere on the ground. Up to 20,000 bushels of grain had not been moved in time, enough to sustain the army for two months.

In addition, Vig also captured a great deal of weaponry, some from the treasury of Londinium and some from West Francia.

His direct troops used standardized equipment and had no need for these tattered items, which were better suited for supplying Pascal's ragtag troops and highland mercenaries.

With that in mind, Vig ordered his messenger to summon them to assemble, and also sent a messenger to Manchuni, "tell Leonard to stop hiding, and if his troops are not seen for a week, he should not come again."

Vig had a vague idea of ​​Leonard's thoughts: the man was deliberately hiding in Mancini in order to bargain and demand Liverpool on the west side.

Liverpool has always been a barren land, a place where you can't extract much profit, but that's no reason for Vigé to compromise. If Leonard can't see the situation clearly, just get rid of him first!

After noting this down in his notebook, Vig continued to monitor the battlefield situation and summoned Yoren and Torga, instructing them to pursue the Charles along his retreat route.

"It will take three days for Gunnar to receive the news and send reinforcements. You are responsible for pursuing the enemy within three days, clearing out the scattered routs. It would be best if you could capture Latworth, but it doesn't matter if you can't."

Fearing an ambush, Yoren requested to command the mountain infantry battalion, and Vig agreed.

After the two left, Vig found a shrike and asked him to persuade the Welsh people to join him.

"We've captured over eight hundred sets of damaged armor, along with various stockpiles, enough to hire a large army. Oh, and remember to recruit plenty of longbowmen. If the nobles demand land, use Cornwall to appease them."

"As ordered!"

After returning to the 2nd Infantry Regiment and handing over military duties, the shrike led more than ten guards to the Welsh mountains in the west.

Back then, Hafdan and Ethelwough were ordered to attack Wales. The Shrike, along with two tribal chiefs, launched a night raid, defeating Hafdan's army and even shooting him with an arrow. To avoid trouble, the Shrike led his people to migrate to the north, where they have been for ten years.

"Sigh, time flies."

Under the blazing sun, the air was filled with the scent of damp earth and grass. A shrike, riding a pure white warhorse, squinted as it gazed at the scenery on both sides of the road.

The marshes of my memory, always shimmering with water and covered with vast fields of reeds and rushes, have been drastically changed, replaced by neatly divided fields. The freshly turned soil is a deep brown, and a thin mist rises from it under the sunlight.

In the distance stands a tall windmill. In the gentle breeze, the windmill blades turn lazily, making a heavy and long creaking sound, and continuously pumping the water accumulated in the low-lying area to the drainage ditch.

He woke a farmer who was dozing under the shade of a tree, asking, "How have the harvests been these past few years?"

Awakened by the nobleman, the farmer dared not be angry and truthfully recounted his experiences over the past few years:

"After submitting to Ragnar, the lords abandoned their plans to plunder eastward and focused on cultivating the swamps. We were assigned forty days of unpaid labor each year, to cut timber in the mountains, build windmills, and dig ditches, leaving us exhausted and aching all over. Ah, but it was good this way, as more and more farmland was being cultivated, and at least we could have enough to eat."

The shrike asked the farmers and their neighbors about the area of ​​their cultivated land. On average, each household had fifteen acres of cultivated land, and in their spare time they would do odd jobs for the lords and gentry, barely making ends meet.

What are your views on the recent war?

The farmer scratched his itchy scalp. "What does the war between the Anglo-Franks, Franks, and Vikings have to do with us?"

In the afternoon, the shrike spotted the silhouette of a wooden fortress on a distant mountain—Maratfar.

"finally reached."

He dismounted and led the horse across the pontoon bridge over the Severn River. Upon reaching the west bank, a soldier stopped the riders. "Who are you?"

"The Shrike, Baron Bones, an envoy of Vig Tyneburg, is hereby sent to pay a visit to Lord Rodri."

Upon entering the wooden fortress, a banquet was being held, attended by prominent nobles from the surrounding area.

A quick glance revealed that Rhodes, seated on the chair, had aged considerably, with a few gray hairs streaked at his temples. Beside him stood three male offspring, and a baby curled up asleep in a maid's arms. "Shrike?"

Upon seeing the visitor's face, Rhodes rose to greet him and personally poured him a glass of wine. The shrike smacked its lips; the taste was acceptable. It seemed these Welsh nobles were quite well-off, able to afford such high-end luxuries.

"My lord, what are your thoughts on this war of succession?"

Rhodes gave an awkward smile, turned and returned to his seat, waiting for the other nobles to speak. The guests remained silent, but his fifteen-year-old eldest son spoke first:
"I think Gunnar allowed his soldiers to plunder villages."

"Shut up!" Rhodes interrupted his son. "It's not your time to be in power yet!"

After a moment's pause, the shrike delivered its carefully prepared statement:
"After Ragnar's death, apart from the small-time barbarians in the Norse, there were five factions vying for the throne: Sigurd and Aslach, Gunnar, Ethelbad, Ivar, and Vig."

In fact, you all know very well that, in terms of both military and domestic affairs, Vig is the most suitable candidate to become king.

Rhodes: "This is an outsider's matter. We neither support nor oppose it. We just want to stay in Wales peacefully."

The shrike looked sneer: "Standing aside, sir, you're being too optimistic. Haven't you heard about that secret agreement?"

During this period, the secret agreement between Gunnar and Ethelbad became widely known, the most attention-grabbing part being Wessex's annexation of the Duchy of Mercia, Cornwall, and Wales after the war.

In other words, Wales has a new owner again.

Judging from the expressions of the crowd, the shrike guessed that they had already heard the news, so he raised his voice: "When the war is over, Ethelbad will one day turn his attention to Wales. Are you willing to pledge your allegiance to him?"

Some people made a tough statement: "Let him come all he wants, we will never give in."

"You want to retreat to the mountains and live there permanently?" The shrike looked at the speaker's luxurious clothes and large belly. "Are you willing to give up your home and the vast fields you've cultivated?"

Over the past decade, Wales has purchased large quantities of iron tools and other products from the North, and based on the annual trade volume, Wigg estimates that the local population has increased by 15%.

If the enemy were to attack, and the Welsh abandoned their farmland and fled into the mountains, it would inevitably trigger a large-scale famine. It's easy to go from frugality to extravagance, but difficult to go from extravagance to frugality; the old tactics are outdated.

Faced with the shrike's questioning, the nobles' rebuttals lacked conviction, and they looked at each other in bewilderment, seemingly deciding to choose a side.

A voice rang out from the crowd, "What kind of compensation is Vig willing to pay?"

"His Majesty promised that after the war, Cornwall would be granted to the nobles of Wales, who would be rewarded for their hard work."

Upon hearing this, more than two-thirds of the nobles smiled, but a few still pressed on, saying, "Cornwall isn't enough; could there be more?"

With the majority support secured, the shrike refused to compromise. He rushed over, grabbed the questioner's arm, dragged him to the door, pointed to the newly reclaimed low-lying farmland below the mountain, and the tirelessly turning windmills, and demanded sharply, "Even with all this, isn't what His Majesty has given you enough?"

After a long silence, the sound of a sword being drawn came from behind.

Clang!
Immediately afterwards, a nobleman, leaning on his longsword, knelt on one knee with a solemn expression, saying, "The Qumbra (tribe) is joining the war."

"The Kamasin (tribe) has joined the war."

"The Nith (tribe) has joined the war."

In less than half a minute, the vast majority of guests knelt on one knee. Rhodes sighed and gestured for his second son to join in, to expand the family line.

The second son nodded, walked to the door, knelt on one knee, looked up at the long, red-tinged clouds, and shouted in his childish voice, "Bovis joins the battle."

(End of this chapter)