Just as expected—the enemy had no intention of letting this loosely organized militia army escape.
Alfred and the other Frankish officers hurriedly organized a defense.
The Frankish troops pulled their baggage wagons into two loose wagon circles, with over six thousand men taking shelter behind them.
The rest of the coalition finally reacted as well.
Junior officers screamed themselves hoarse, shoving soldiers into position.
"Spearmen to the outside! Everyone else inside!"
Some obeyed instinctively, awkwardly planting the butts of their spears into the earth with their points angled outward.
Many more, however, behaved like frightened sheep.
Some spun in circles.
Others blindly shoved backward.
The formation descended into utter chaos.
Within minutes, countless Viking light cavalry swept up to the front.
Riding in circles around the militia, they wore standardized black gambesons atop lean, hardy steppe horses, continuously showering the formation with arrows.
The shrill whistles tore through the air.
Arrows struck shields, dirt, and flesh.
The militia grew increasingly disordered.
"Hold the line!"
The officers' voices became increasingly hoarse.
"Archers, return fire!"
The coalition's archers stood inside the formation and could only fire in high arcs.
Lacking centralized command, each man relied on his own judgment.
Most of their arrows landed harmlessly.
Before long, the trembling beneath their feet grew stronger.
More cavalry had arrived.
Since June, nearly every battle had been a siege.
Vig's cavalry had suffered very few losses.
After receiving reinforcements from Britain, their numbers had actually increased.
This campaign, he had brought:
2,500 light cavalry
5,000 heavy cavalry
4,000 mounted infantry
This force had departed Florence, followed the Roman road north across the Apennines, and rested briefly at Bologna.
Instead of continuing north, however, Vig had deliberately made a wide detour.
He first marched northwest to Parma, crossed the Po River using a pontoon bridge in the middle reaches, then charged northeast—circling behind the Balkan coalition.
After several hundred kilometers of forced marching, the light cavalry remained in good condition.
The heavy cavalry and mounted infantry had fared worse.
Nearly forty percent had fallen behind.
Thus, by the time Vig reached the battlefield, he had only:
2,000 light cavalry
3,000 heavy cavalry
2,500 mounted infantry
available for immediate combat.
Riding onto a hill west of the battlefield, Vig surveyed the coalition.
"There are Charles the Bald's banners... Croatia... Slavonia..."
He sucked in a breath.
"Even Venice is here?
Interesting.
Looks like everyone's finally gathered."
The Frankish remnants naturally occupied the strongest defensive position.
Located near the center of the marching column, they had formed two mutually supporting wagon circles.
The allied formations on both wings were far less disciplined.
Each kingdom had simply huddled into irregular spear circles.
Meanwhile, two thousand Viking light cavalry continued circling them relentlessly, forcing every formation to remain stationary.
After observing for half a minute, Vig selected the northernmost coalition formation as his first target.
Soon, all 2,500 mounted infantry dismounted.
One thousand were spearmen.
The remaining fifteen hundred were Welsh longbowmen.
Once within range, the archers halted and began lofting arrows into the circular spear formation.
Twenty volleys later...the formation was in chaos.
Some militia wanted to charge out.
Others shrank backward.
At that exact moment—the heavy cavalry moved.
They advanced in silence.
No battle cries.
No reckless charge.
They simply trotted forward, steadily increasing speed.
Only when they closed to thirty paces did the horses burst into a full gallop.
Lowering their lances, the heavy cavalry smashed directly into the loose formation.
The front ranks of militia were instantly skewered or crushed beneath galloping horses.
As their lances shattered, the riders drew longswords and iron maces from their saddles, hacking freely into fleeing soldiers.
Witnessing the slaughter, the remaining militia collapsed.
Throwing away their weapons, they fled.
To the west—
cavalry.
To the north—
cavalry.
To the east—
more cavalry.
Only the south remained open.
The routed soldiers surged that way in panic.
After running several dozen paces, they slammed into friendly spear formations.
Ignoring every shouted warning, they desperately forced their way inside, loosening the formations.
The heavy cavalry broke through with ease.
The fleeing masses, herded by pursuing horsemen, continued surging southward—
crashing into one formation after another.
At last, more than ten thousand fugitives poured toward the coalition center.
Alfred was furious.
These idiots!
He immediately ordered his men to shoot at the fleeing soldiers themselves, forcing them to divert around the wagon circles instead of crashing through them.
Watching from the western hill, Vig murmured,
"Heh.
They finally figured it out."
He immediately changed the flag signals.
The cavalry would temporarily ignore the Frankish wagon circles.
Instead, they continued south, repeating the exact same tactic against the remaining coalition formations.
In barely half an hour...
the Viking cavalry had shattered nearly every formation from north to south.
Across the plain, fleeing figures covered the landscape.
Vig couldn't suppress his satisfaction.
For the first time, he truly experienced what it felt like for a small cavalry force to rout a much larger infantry army.
This tactic was known as Rolling Up the Curtain.
It had first appeared during the Sui Dynasty, created by Prince Yang Shuang of Wei, and was specifically designed for situations where a small elite cavalry force fought a much larger but poorly organized infantry army.
Deep in thought, Vig quickly jotted a note into his notebook.
Key principle: Drive the routed soldiers instead of trying to annihilate them. Maintain constant pressure with the cavalry, forcing the fleeing troops to crash into enemy formations until a chain reaction of collapse occurs.
Suddenly, Leif spoke quietly.
"Uncle...
The Franks are escaping."
Taking advantage of the coalition's total collapse, the Frankish survivors had gathered into a tight body and were retreating rapidly toward the northeast.
Vig surveyed the battlefield.
The light cavalry had long since scattered.
The heavy cavalry had also lost cohesion, busy hunting down fleeing Balkan militia.
He no longer possessed any organized cavalry force capable of pursuit.
Left with no choice, he dispatched the mounted infantry instead.
Night fell.
The Frankish army had dwindled to just over four thousand men.
They finally shook off the mounted infantry and fled desperately until they reached a stretch of tidal flats.
"Quick!
Light every torch!"
Once dozens of torches blazed to life, Charles the Bald ordered his soldiers to shout toward the sea.
Before long, they attracted a Venetian fishing boat.
The fisherman called out,
"How did you end up this far from the Roman road?"
Charles answered,
"The coalition was ambushed by cavalry.
Only we remain.
For the sake of our shared faith, hurry and bring help!"
Two hours later, Venetian merchant vessels began arriving one after another.
Harassed only by scattered Viking attacks, the Frankish survivors boarded the ships in orderly fashion and withdrew.
This single battle annihilated the entire army raised by the Balkan kingdoms.
Venice's two thousand militia were wiped out as well.
Even the Doge of Venice himself was captured.
With control of the Po Plain firmly restored, Vig began considering his next move.
"Attack Rome...
Or imitate Hannibal.
Avoid Rome altogether, ravage southern Italy, and force Basil to leave the city and fight.
"...Wait.
Perhaps...
there's another option."
—------------------------------
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