On October 5, the remainder of Basil's army arrived in Rome as scheduled.
The city now held eighty thousand soldiers, and reinforcements were still arriving.
"The Vikings are the attackers. They have to leave troops behind to guard occupied territory and escort supply trains. Their field army can't possibly exceed seventy thousand.
"This battle is one we can win."
Basil was full of confidence.
He devoted most of his attention to drilling the militia, hoping to turn them into competent defenders of the city.
As for logistics, monasteries throughout Italy were transporting freshly harvested grain to Rome.
Some traveled by land.
The rest was escorted by the fleet to Ostia, then shipped upriver along the Tiber to the capital.
Meanwhile, Basil dispatched engineers to inspect every section of the city's defenses—including Rome's ancient sewer system—to ensure the Vikings couldn't exploit some overlooked weakness and slip into the city.
At the same time, on the Po Plain in northern Italy...
Vig was on the move.
From morning until afternoon, he rode almost without stopping, resting only twice along the way.
"How much farther?"
Leif answered,
"Ten more miles. We'll arrive before sunset."
Spreading a map over the grass, Vig estimated the distance between himself and the Balkan coalition.
Recently, he had shifted the Imperial Guard Division, the three field infantry divisions, and eight garrison regiments into central Italy to attack towns farther south.
But it was all a feint.
Once he learned that Basil's reinforcements had reached Rome, Vig abandoned any plan of assaulting the Eternal City.
Instead, he set his sights on the Balkan coalition in the north.
Breaking away from the main infantry force, he led the cavalry and mounted infantry across the Apennines before turning north again toward the Po Plain.
The fifty thousand infantry left behind continued their slow advance southward.
Their purpose was merely to pin down the enemy—not to storm Rome.
According to historical records, Rome's Aurelian Walls, constructed in the third century, stretched for nineteen kilometers and enclosed the traditional Seven Hills.
During Emperor Honorius' reign, they had been further reinforced.
By then, the walls stood roughly ten meters high, four meters thick, and were protected by three hundred eighty towers—one every few dozen meters.
By comparison, Constantinople possessed a double-wall system.
Its inner wall measured five meters thick, while the outer wall measured two.
In 1453, when the Ottomans besieged Constantinople, they specially cast the enormous Urban Cannon, capable of firing stone balls weighing hundreds of kilograms.
Even so, it required seven weeks of continuous bombardment before a breach was finally opened.
Given the power of the current bronze cannon, they were effective only against ordinary walls between 1.5 and 2.5 meters thick.
If the Vikings tried using them against Rome...
It might take two months just to create a breach.
And after that, they would still have to fight tens of thousands of defenders.
The odds of victory were simply too low.
By late September, the Balkan coalition had received letters from both the Papacy and Emperor Basil.
The orders were identical.
March south immediately and reinforce Rome.
Upon hearing that Rome itself was under threat, the rank-and-file soldiers became fired with zeal.
Their enthusiasm all but dragged the coalition leadership into northern Italy.
After three days of marching, they reached Treviso.
There they discovered that the Viking garrison had already withdrawn.
The townspeople claimed the Vikings had left in such haste they hadn't even taken all their grain.
A day later, the coalition easily "recaptured" Padua.
They immediately sent word to Venice, ordering the Doge and the Frankish remnants to rendezvous there.
Faced with direct orders from both the Pope and the Eastern Roman Emperor, the Doge dared not refuse.
He personally led two thousand militia, joining six thousand Franks at Padua.
On October 6, the northern coalition finally assembled.
Their total strength reached thirty thousand men.
Thanks to Eastern Roman supplies, nearly one-third now wore armor.
Food was plentiful.
Their only serious weakness...
was cavalry.
The Balkans were mountainous, making cavalry an inefficient investment.
Venice was a city of the sea, focused on naval power rather than expensive horsemen.
The Frankish remnants had once possessed fifteen hundred cavalry.
But during their escape through the Alps, every horse had been lost.
The cavalry had become little more than heavily armed infantry.
Surveying the coalition's formation, Alfred quietly muttered to his companions,
"This is far too risky.
"We shouldn't be marching overland.
"A safer plan would have been transporting the troops by ship to southern Italy, then marching north to Rome."
The Count of Orléans snorted.
"And where exactly would these ships come from?
"The warships and large merchant vessels have all been transferred to the west coast to keep the Viking fleet occupied.
"The only vessels left are a handful of civilian boats carrying Eastern Roman horses and supplies.
"The Venetian fleet doesn't have enough capacity.
"It would take two months to transport everyone.
"If Rome falls before then...
"Who's going to take responsibility?"
At seven that morning, the coalition departed Padua.
The sky hung overhead like a sheet of waterlogged gray linen.
Cold winds swept down from the Alps.
Following the old Roman road, thirty thousand soldiers advanced at a leisurely pace.
Discipline was lax.
The men chatted loudly as they marched.
Behind them trailed a long procession of merchants.
After roughly two hours, the militia had exhausted both their strength and their patience.
The moment officers called for a halt, they sprawled along both sides of the road.
Some gnawed on black bread.
Others bought food and wine from the accompanying peddlers.
During the break, Alfred and several fellow officers stood frowning toward the southern horizon.
Before departing, the coalition had concentrated every available cavalryman into a reconnaissance force.
They rode ahead, returning every half hour with reports.
Suddenly, several tiny dots appeared in the south.
The scouts had returned.
"No enemy ahead."
"You're certain?" Alfred pressed.
"From here all the way to the Po River, there isn't a single Viking in sight.
"Oh—and the Venetian fleet has already entered the lower Po.
"They're constructing a pontoon bridge.
"It should be finished in two days."
At half past nine, the coalition resumed its march.
Two hours later, they halted outside a small town for lunch.
Even during the meal, Alfred couldn't shake his unease.
The surviving Frankish nobles remained alert as well.
Not a single one touched wine.
The Balkan nobles, on the other hand, had never encountered the Serpent of the North.
To them, he was merely a lesser Hannibal—or perhaps another Attila.
They spoke casually and confidently.
Several drained cup after cup of wine until their faces flushed bright red.
At one in the afternoon, junior officers roused the sleeping soldiers.
The army marched once more.
Fresh reports arrived from the scouts.
"No enemy to the south.
"The road is clear."
After another three hours...
A strange sound drifted across the horizon from the northwest.
At first it resembled distant thunder.
Then it became a continuous rolling roar.
What was happening?
The militia in the rear stopped walking.
Confused, they looked around.
Soon the entire column ground to a halt.
Far away...
Tiny black specks crawled across the yellowed horizon.
Then more appeared.
And more.
Until they merged into a dark tide stretching beyond the limits of sight—
surging straight toward the Balkan coalition.
—------------------------------
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