At the good news, Hossa was overjoyed.
"I'll buy a ship and hire men at once. When I succeed, I'll pay three hundred—no, six hundred pounds!"
Vig refused the personal gift.
"That would look improper. The kingdom is building hospitals on a large scale. Donate the money there. It will improve your reputation—and disguise the transaction."
According to royal policy, each of the twelve directly administered counties must establish a hospital in every town. In earldoms ruled by nobles, at least one temple-affiliated hospital was required, responsible for treating illness and spreading proper hygienic practices.
The expense was enormous—but necessary. Should plague break out, neither pauper nor king would escape.
Perhaps the medical faculty of Londinium University should be separated into a dedicated medical academy, Vig thought.
Ubbe's envoy departed Londinium carrying little more than symbolic supplies.
Meanwhile, Ubbe stationed his forces at Vejle in central Denmark. Reports of Frankish ferocity in the south had unnerved his army, halting their advance.
Fortunately, Sweden and Norway sent reinforcements. Halfdan arrived with fifteen hundred men, Erik the Younger dispatched two thousand. Combined with Ubbe's three thousand, the allied army reached sixty-five hundred.
Vejle was defensible—river to the south, fjord to the east, allowing reinforcement by sea.
The town had once belonged to Oleg. It possessed wooden walls and ditches. Piles of stone lay north of the settlement—intended for a future stone wall, abandoned after Oleg and his heir died in the Londinium coup.
"So the skalds will sing that this is the first time the Franks have set foot deep in Jutland," Ubbe muttered atop the palisade, staring at the sprawling Frankish camp beyond.
(Charlemagne had once halted at the Eider River but never dared penetrate beyond the Dannevirke into the forests and glacial plains of the peninsula.)
After a long wait, Edmund returned from the Frankish camp, relaying King Louis's words:
"I swear to eradicate all evil from this land. Go back. Expect no mercy. The moment Kassel burned, peace became impossible."
"What has that to do with me? It was—"
Ubbe glanced at Halfdan nearby and swallowed the rest.
"The enemy numbers twelve thousand. How do we fight?"
Halfdan exhaled a cloud of white breath.
"We delay. Hold behind the walls until winter crushes their strength and morale."
"How long?"
Halfdan sipped mead lightly.
"Why rush? Spring is six months away. We have time to bleed Louis dry."
Ubbe's expression darkened. While they waited, Frankish cavalry would ravage central Denmark. Even if he won eventually, would the people respect a king who hid behind walls?
That night, he dispatched Edmund and other officers with two to three hundred men each to defend major settlements in the rear—not to face the Frankish main force, only to repel cavalry raids.
With over two thousand men detached, Vejle's garrison fell to four thousand—barely enough to hold.
In November, under biting northern winds, a messenger from Britannia delivered Vig's reply.
In essence: he would provide everything except direct military intervention.
Halfdan was unmoved.
"The Serpent of the North always counts the cost. If he personally marched here, it would likely serve his interests more than ours."
Later that night, after the feast dispersed, the envoy privately relayed Vig's conditions to Ubbe:
Surrender the fugitive Edmund. Provide twenty suits of armor.
"That's it? Too little. Edmund fled here in trust. If I hand him over, who will ever serve me again?"
Ubbe chewed on a cooling smoked pig's trotter and looked up.
"What else did he say?"
"Abdicate and swear fealty. He will provide one thousand pounds."
Is my crown worth so little?
For a fleeting moment, Ubbe considered feigning submission, taking the money, then reneging.
But the cost would be authority—what little he still possessed.
If the price were three thousand pounds, perhaps temporary submission might be tolerable. Yet Vig would demand more—hostages, ports opened to foreign fleets…
In the end, Ubbe ignored the offer and prepared for battle.
Five days later, Louis launched a full assault against the western wall.
Time was short; the Franks brought no trebuchets. Infantry advanced behind mantlets, while over a thousand archers moved to within fifty meters of the palisade, trading volleys under shield cover.
Arrows shrieked through the air, darkening the sky. Wood splintered; dull thuds echoed along the wall, punctuated by sharp cries.
The defenders answered from behind rough timber barricades. Though fewer than a third of the attackers, their elevated position improved accuracy.
Frankish ranks soon showed casualties—men clutching faces, arms pierced, bows falling from numb hands.
Ubbe noted the effectiveness of the hundred heavy crossbowmen Erik had sent. Slow to reload—one quarter the speed of archers—but their bolts punched through shields and armor alike.
After a day of archery duels, Frankish infantry filled sections of the ditch under covering fire.
On the second day, they pushed heavy siege towers forward.
Infantry hunched beneath shields, bodies pressed tight. Arrows crossed overhead. Amid screams and mud slicked with blood, they reached the shadow of the wooden wall.
With a thunderous crash, the siege tower's bridge slammed down against the scarred palisade.
Armored soldiers surged upward. Brutal hand-to-hand fighting consumed both sides atop the wall.
By noon, a northern wind swept in, carrying snow.
The Frankish assault faltered under the storm.
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