Late that night, Frankish troops quietly approached the hill.
However, the moonlight reflecting off their helmets and chainmail betrayed their advance.
"Enemy!"
At the sentry's warning, the rangers sprang awake.
They had slept without removing their brigandines, saving precious time. The moment they woke, they were already battle-ready.
Using the faint moonlight, they drew their bows and loosed a storm of arrows.
The dense volley tore through the still night air like driving rain.
Most arrows struck the grass.
Others glanced off shields and armor.
Only a handful found flesh in exposed faces or lower legs.
Men stumbled and fell across the gentle slope. Cries of pain mixed with curses.
At last, the Franks surged over the barricade and crashed into the defenders.
Hundreds of figures tangled together in the darkness.
Both sides fought largely on instinct, swinging weapons at whatever shapes emerged before them.
After suffering losses exceeding half their force, the attackers withdrew once more.
The rangers shot into the retreating shadows, then collapsed against the barricade, gasping for breath.
Hafrun ordered a roll call.
They had departed with 305 men.
Only 140 remained.
There was little hope of surviving another assault.
Despair settled over the hill.
Some cursed softly in Pecheneg.
Others muttered in Norse.
But none saw a way out.
Running meant death.
Surrender likely meant death as well.
All they could do was grit their teeth and endure.
July 14
The blazing morning sun woke the exhausted rangers.
They chewed dried meat mechanically and washed it down with water.
One man found a wineskin on the body of a Frankish knight.
He passed it around.
The survivors drank in turn, savoring what might be the final cup of their lives.
More than half an hour passed.
The expected Frankish attack never came.
Instead, friendly banners appeared on the horizon.
Hafrun muttered:
"So it's the newly formed Sixth Ranger Battalion."
"No wonder they're so slow."
"They nearly got us all killed."
As the morning wore on, more cavalry arrived.
The remaining trees around the hill were cut down to expand the defensive works.
At ten o'clock, the Royal Division and the First and Second Field Divisions reached the battlefield.
They had dumped excess baggage onto the Third Field Division and force-marched ahead.
The Second Field Division had suffered harassment along the way and only a little over five thousand men arrived on schedule.
Its remaining three infantry regiments were still marching and were expected within the hour.
Vig found Hafrun, who was covered in blood.
"What's the situation?"
Hafrun replied:
"According to the prisoners, Charles the Bald is to the north."
"He should be arriving soon."
So soon?
Vig ordered the infantry to rest in place.
Not long afterward, a vast cloud of dust rose on the northern horizon.
At first there were only a few black specks.
Then they merged into a line.
Finally, they expanded into a broad mass of dark shapes moving silently through the haze.
The northern army marched slowly and heavily.
Their horses carried their heads low.
Dust had turned their manes gray-yellow.
The soldiers' chainmail was coated in dirt and had lost its shine.
Spears rested wearily upon shoulders, their points aimed weakly at the sky.
Seeing this, Vig deployed the Royal Division and First Field Division—equally exhausted—to block the ford directly ahead.
They would prevent the enemy from crossing the river.
"Attack."
"Destroy them before Gunnar arrives."
He intended to recreate the victory of Dunwo Manor.
Under his command, the two infantry divisions slowly advanced.
After days of marching, both armies stood at the limits of human endurance.
Sweat ran beneath armor.
Coarse linen shirts were soaked through.
Eventually the lines met.
There was no thunderous battle cry.
No dramatic charge.
Instead, the two masses collided sluggishly.
Men grappled, shoved, stumbled, and rolled across the ground wrestling one another.
The fighting dragged on for over an hour.
Then Vig did something exceedingly rare.
He committed the cavalry first.
Throughout his career, Vig had favored infantry warfare.
His strategy relied on disciplined heavy infantry crushing enemy battle lines.
Before enemy cavalry committed themselves, he always held his own cavalry in reserve.
In his eyes, cavalry charges possessed tremendous power—but also tremendous risk.
Once unleashed, cavalry commanders largely acted on their own judgment.
Thrown into battle, cavalry were like water poured from a bucket.
If anything went wrong, they could not simply be recalled.
Of course, a supreme commander could hand control of the infantry to subordinates and personally lead a cavalry charge.
Such an approach allowed precise timing.
It enabled the army's strongest force to strike exactly where the enemy was weakest.
Used properly, it could produce spectacular results and devastating exchange ratios.
Examples included:
Li Shimin at Hulao Pass
Alexander the Great at Gaugamela
Neither cavalry-focused nor infantry-focused command styles were inherently superior.
Success depended largely on the habits and instincts a commander developed over decades.
In most of Vig's wars, he had enjoyed a cavalry advantage only during campaigns in northern Scotland and Ireland.
Against the Franks, he had usually been outnumbered in cavalry.
As a result, he habitually kept his precious horsemen in reserve to counter Frankish charges.
Gunnar was the opposite.
Since entering Frankish service, he had enjoyed access to excellent warhorses.
Combined with his natural talent for mounted warfare, this led him to fight alongside his cavalry whenever possible.
Three years earlier, during the Iberian War, Gunnar had displayed his abilities to the fullest.
In a short period, he shattered Moorish field armies and reversed the strategic situation across the peninsula.
In the current battle, after accounting for casualties and detached scouts, Vig still possessed roughly 3,500 cavalry:
2,500 heavy cavalry
1,000 ranger cavalry
The Franks fielded only 1,800 cavalry.
For once, Vig held the numerical advantage.
It was the perfect opportunity to strike first.
On the western hill, Torgil saw the king's signal flags.
His mouth went dry.
The moment that would decide the fate of Europe had arrived.
He quickly gathered his officers and divided the cavalry into two groups.
One force would move first, circling southeast to attract the attention of the Frankish cavalry.
"Remember."
"Don't let the heavy cavalry charge too quickly."
"Allow the rangers on the flanks to use their mobility."
"Your mission is harassment and delay—not annihilation."
Soon, eighteen hundred horsemen thundered down the slope.
They rode directly toward the Frankish cavalry waiting in reserve.
The situation was critical.
Charles the Bald ordered his cavalry to withdraw behind the infantry line.
The maneuver created considerable confusion.
The Viking cavalry commander reacted instantly.
He exploited a gap and launched a charge.
The Frankish left wing—the eastern side of the battlefield—was thrown into disorder.
Watching from the western hill, Torgil nodded.
"Good."
"That's exactly how it should be."
"The northern army won't hold much longer."
After observing for a while, he prepared to launch the decisive blow.
Then something unexpected happened.
He saw the king waving two small signal flags.
The meaning was unmistakable:
All cavalry halt. Hold position. Do not attack.
What?
Torgil hurried over with several officers and found Vig.
There he learned astonishing news.
Gunnar had separated from the main army.
He was racing toward the battlefield with:
2,000 mounted infantry
4,000 cavalry
And he was now less than three miles from the Marien River.
—------------------------------
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