Ten minutes later, the eight hundred cataphracts had finished forming up and began their charge.
Both rider and horse were encased in iron armor.
The horses broke into a steady trot, breathing heavily beneath the weight of their armor as metal plates clattered with every stride.
Behind them rode over a thousand light cavalry in loose formation—the entirety of the mounted force Oriphas had been able to assemble.
His intention was simple: crush the Viking reinforcements in one blow and completely open up the battlefield.
"Hold the line!"
The Viking officers' shouts were swallowed by the thunder of approaching hooves.
When the distance closed to two hundred meters, the Viking archers loosed their arrows.
A black cloud rose from the Viking ranks, screaming skyward before arcing down toward the advancing tide of steel.
Arrows rattled harmlessly against helmets, lamellar armor, and horse barding.
Almost none penetrated.
Only a handful slipped through the gaps.
A dozen warhorses cried out as they collapsed, throwing their riders and tripping those behind them.
To the charging formation as a whole, however, it was nothing more than a pebble tossed into a river.
The cataphracts continued forward almost unimpeded, slamming into the Viking spear line with irresistible force.
The next instant—
Countless spear shafts snapped apart.
Wood splinters, blood, and shattered weapons flew through the air.
The front rank of cataphracts fell, only for the riders behind them to fill the gaps.
Relying on sheer mass and momentum, they smashed through the spear wall and drove their horses directly into the Viking formation.
The Viking infantry fought desperately.
Their spears sought the gaps in the riders' heavy armor or stabbed at the horses' exposed legs.
Whenever a cataphract was dragged from his saddle, nearby Vikings swarmed over him, smashing at his helmet with iron axes.
Behind them, the archers and crossbowmen had long since become useless.
Forced to draw melee weapons, they proved terribly vulnerable against heavily armored cavalry.
Within only a few minutes, the westernmost hollow square began to collapse.
At ten in the morning, the main Eastern Roman army finally arrived from the southeast.
Based on reports from the messengers, Basil concluded that the situation at the front remained favorable.
On the western battlefield, thirty-two thousand of his men had surrounded an enemy force barely half their size.
Victory seemed highly likely.
Meanwhile, on the central hills, four thousand infantry—both heavy and light—continued assaulting the Viking positions.
The fighting there remained deadlocked and was likely to continue for quite some time.
Basil judged that no further troops were needed in either location.
Sending more soldiers would only crowd the battlefield and prevent proper deployment.
"Rather than piling eighty thousand men into one place..."
"I'll take the main army around the eastern flank and annihilate the enemy in a single stroke."
Opportunities like this vanished in an instant.
He immediately ordered the entire army forward.
Just as they began passing around the edge of the hills, scouts suddenly rode back with urgent warnings.
"What happened?"
Basil ordered the buglers to sound deployment.
Wanting a clearer picture, he personally rode ahead with a small escort.
The moment he saw the scene before him, his eyes widened.
"Malaka!"
Because they had seized the ridgeline in advance, the Vikings spotted the Eastern Roman main force first.
The mountain infantry relayed the warning with signal flags, buying Vig twelve precious minutes.
There was no time for a careful deployment.
He immediately dispatched his remaining eighteen hundred light cavalry to harass the advancing Romans and delay their formation.
Soon afterward, the remaining infantry divisions finished forming up.
Vig ordered the First and Third Divisions to attack head-on.
The Fourth Division would swing east to protect the left flank from enemy cavalry.
Two garrison regiments were thrown onto the edge of the hills to hold the western flank and slow any Roman advance.
The battlefield soon erupted with deafening war cries.
Leading the Imperial Division and the Cavalry Division, Vig marched around the hills and finally beheld the endless Eastern Roman battle line stretching across the horizon.
In the center of the enemy formation fluttered the crimson Labarum, marking the Emperor's position.
Tweet!
Bronze whistles echoed one after another.
More than ten thousand Viking infantry leveled their spears and launched a devastating charge against the Greek infantry, Italian militia, and foreign mercenaries.
Like a black tidal wave, they smashed into the Roman front line and instantly threw it into confusion.
Vig turned to Thorgil.
"While they're still in chaos, take all four thousand heavy cavalry."
"Strike their right flank from the east."
"Find Basil."
"Capture him—or kill him."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
Thorgil spurred his horse away to organize the charge.
Vig's next order went to Douglas.
The Fourth Division was to follow directly behind the heavy cavalry, pouring through whatever breach they created.
Still worried the attack might not be strong enough, Vig committed his last reserve—the Imperial Division—to circle around the hills and strike the enemy's left flank.
Once those orders were issued, only two thousand Imperial Guards and over four thousand support personnel remained with him.
They formed a square of wagons and quietly waited for the outcome of the decisive battle.
Ten minutes later, the four thousand heavy cavalry completed their maneuver onto the eastern side of the battlefield.
Thorgil sent the regiments in one at a time, probing for weaknesses.
Eventually, he chose the Italian militia as his target.
A single charge shattered their spear line.
As increasing numbers of heavy cavalry and Viking infantry flooded through the breach, the Eastern Roman right wing collapsed beyond recovery.
Panic spread rapidly.
Once it reached a critical point, the entire Eastern Roman battle line began to disintegrate.
Compared to their allies, the Frankish survivors possessed far more experience—both in fighting and in running away.
Without waiting for Charles the Bald's orders, commanders such as the Count of Orléans and Alfred quietly withdrew their troops toward the Apennines in the southwest.
They didn't need to outrun the Viking cavalry.
They only needed to outrun their allies.
Seeing the battle lost, the remaining Eastern Roman forces also began retreating.
Since the eastern route had already been cut off by the Vikings, they too fled southwest.
"Forget everyone else!"
"Follow that crimson banner!"
Gathering nearby heavy cavalry, Thorgil charged straight toward the Eastern Roman Labarum.
Not long afterward, he intercepted over a thousand Varangian Guards.
The elite heavy infantry stood firm around the imperial standard.
Beside the banner sat a figure clad in gilded armor.
Knowing that many Varangians were themselves of Viking origin, Thorgil attempted to persuade them to surrender.
They refused.
For the next half hour, the heavy cavalry charged again and again.
Three-quarters of the Varangian Guard were killed.
The survivors still would not yield.
"Enough."
"Cease the attacks."
Unwilling to waste more lives, Thorgil abandoned cavalry assaults altogether.
Forty minutes later, he borrowed two bronze cannons from Utgard's division.
The guns fired grapeshot directly into the surviving Varangians.
Only then did the elite infantry finally break.
The Vikings surged toward the Labarum in triumph.
Unfortunately, the gilded armor concealed only a young decoy.
Basil himself had already escaped.
That night, Vig reviewed the results.
The battle had cost the enemy fifty thousand men, killed or captured.
Although Basil had slipped away, numerous nobles, officials, and churchmen had fallen into Viking hands.
Viking losses totaled thirteen thousand.
Rickard's five thousand levies had suffered casualties exceeding two-thirds.
Utgard's Second Division had lost forty percent of its strength.
Half of all Viking casualties came from the western battlefield alone.
"The cataphracts are every bit as formidable as their price suggests."
"Fortunately, I acted quickly on the eastern flank."
"By throwing their formation into confusion before they could coordinate, I never gave the remaining cataphracts room to show their true strength."
The following day, Vig sent the still-effective Imperial Division and First Division in pursuit.
Marching south from Bologna into the Apennines, they attempted to reopen the road to Tuscany and continue toward Rome.
Unfortunately, he had underestimated the enemy's determination.
Learning from earlier mistakes, Basil no longer built fortresses directly across the mountain roads.
Instead, he positioned defensive works atop the surrounding peaks, where Viking artillery could not fire directly at them.
As a result, the Vikings were forced to rely on infantry assaults against every wooden fort and stone stronghold along the route.
The mountain road from Bologna to Florence stretched over 170 kilometers.
At their current pace, simply reaching Florence would require at least two months.
Beyond Florence lay another 200 kilometers to Rome itself.
Even after arriving, breaching the Aurelian Walls would require more than fifty bronze cannons.
On May 6, Vig convened a council of war.
When the commanders heard that the campaign might continue until the end of the year—or even into the next—they erupted into discussion.
"Your Majesty," Utgard asked, "the situation in Francia is deteriorating."
"Isn't there a faster solution?"
Only the day before, he had received news from Burgundy.
Several uprisings had broken out within his duchy.
One rebel force had already captured three noble estates.
The other commanders likewise reported unrest throughout their own lands.
Many barons and knights were still away on campaign.
Unable to maintain order, their families had abandoned their manors and taken refuge inside their liege lord's castles, leaving the countryside at the mercy of rebels.
When the discussion finally subsided, Vig answered calmly.
"I understand your difficulties."
"But peace must be proposed by them."
"If they refuse to yield, I'd rather continue fighting."
Rebellion was spreading throughout the Viking Empire.
Meanwhile, the Eastern Roman Empire still faced the looming threat of the Abbasids.
Both sides were gritting their teeth, waiting for the other to break first.
On May 20, Basil finally yielded.
He dispatched a civil official named Titus to the Viking camp to request peace negotiations.
Inside the command tent, Vig interrupted the envoy's formal introduction.
"Previously, Basil believed we were nothing more than a disorderly mob of barbarians."
"He marched west hoping to recover Naples and northern Italy and increase his prestige."
"Now the situation has turned against him, and suddenly he wants peace."
"Why should I agree?"
"My empire lacks neither grain nor horses."
"I have plenty of time."
"If necessary, I'll keep this war going until next year—or the year after."
"Tell me."
"Do you think the Abbasids will ignore such a perfect opportunity to invade Anatolia?"
Titus sighed.
"Your Majesty, peace benefits both sides."
"You have swallowed nearly all the lands once ruled by Charlemagne."
"The newly conquered Franks, Burgundians, and Saxons harbor deep resentment."
"If Your Majesty remains abroad much longer, rebellions will spread within your own realm."
"Our empire still has forty thousand soldiers."
"And thanks to the monasteries' preaching, the Italian militia now regard you as an even greater pagan menace than Attila or Alaric."
"They will continue wearing down your army."
"If this war of attrition continues, the only beneficiaries will be the Moors."
He paused before adding:
"To be honest... this entire conflict is a misunderstanding."
"I've heard your realm values civilization."
"You possess schools, libraries, theaters, sewers, aqueducts, public baths, arenas, and even a council of wise men resembling the Roman Senate."
"Compared to the Franks, your empire has a far stronger claim to inherit the lands of the Western Roman Empire."
Hearing such words from an Eastern Roman—people famous for their pride—was truly rare.
Vig remained silent for a long while.
Finally, he signaled Leif and the others to handle the bargaining while he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
With both fronts now locked in stalemate, the envoy proposed preserving the current situation.
The Vikings would retain northern Italy, Moravia, Vindobona (Vienna), and Slavonia—the small northeastern Italian corridor that allowed caravans to bypass the Alps and reach Bavaria.
After fierce negotiations, the two sides roughly defined their respective spheres of influence.
At the very end, Titus raised one final request.
Basil was willing to ransom the surviving Greek soldiers and certain captured nobles.
However, there were some people he never wished to see again.
He asked Vig to execute the Duke of Naples, the duke's two sons, and another seventy or so Italian nobles.
Vig immediately understood Basil's intentions.
The Eastern Roman emperor wanted to use Viking hands to eliminate Italy's existing aristocracy, making it easier to establish a new political order afterward.
"Very well."
"In exchange..."
"You'll eliminate Charles the Bald, William of Orléans, Alfred, and the other Frankish nobles."
Titus slowly shook his head.
"Charles the Bald is a direct descendant of Charlemagne."
"Alfred is heir to the throne of Wessex."
"They are too important."
"Executing them would provoke both the Church and the nobility."
On this issue, Titus refused to budge.
The talks dragged on until dawn before he finally returned to the Eastern Roman camp.
After the envoy departed, the Second Prince sought out Vig alone.
"Father..."
"Are you really going to make peace?"
Vig rubbed his forehead tiredly.
"What other choice do we have?"
"This war can't continue."
"Yes, I won two major victories in northern Italy."
"Even so, I still can't threaten the Eastern Roman heartland."
"Basil has no shortage of money, food, or equipment."
"He can keep funding new armies in the Balkans and southern Italy."
"He has an endless pool of manpower to trade against mine."
"What I truly control is only Britain."
"Two million nine hundred thousand people."
"The enemy possesses Anatolia, the Balkans, and Italy."
"Even if I trade one of my soldiers for three of theirs..."
"I'll still lose the war of attrition."
"We need another twenty or thirty years."
"Only after we've completely absorbed the twenty directly administered counties of northern Francia will we have the foundation to expand again."
A shortage of core population was the Viking Empire's fatal weakness.
Even if Vig conquered all of Italy and invaded the Balkans, he lacked the manpower needed to digest such vast new territories.
Seen from that perspective, the Viking Empire had already reached the limits of expansion.
From this point forward, its priority should be internal development rather than further conquest.
If it continued expanding recklessly, it might well share the fate of Alexander's Empire or Timur's Empire—vast realms that fractured almost immediately after the death of their founding conqueror.
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