Legends Never Die: Giving Ground (ch. 132) (Patreon)

It was strange to think that it had been five years since my last dealings with Jarl Radulfr, back at the very start of my journey to Constantinople. I came to his lands, hoping to find a guide down the winding rivers that would take me to the Black Sea and the greatest city in the world. The Jarl was stubborn, unpleasant, and a cheat who wanted to maintain his grip on the trade that came up the river. Eventually, Morrigan found a guide for us despite Radulfr's best attempts to stop it, of the name Michalis. 

He'd been my initial ally in Rome before his greed consumed him. I was uncertain what became of the man -- with my departure, I had followed through on the agreement that was struck and put forth his name to Empress Irene to inherit the titles and lands of Crete. However, I had also left the back door open for Hoffer to claim them in the wake of our departure. I suppose it really didn't matter anymore, as even if Michalis’ lost the island, he wouldn't return to being a humble merchant. 

Another had likely filled the gap he left behind, if someone had at all. 

My familiarity with the man was part of the reason why he was chosen as one of the rallying points for our people against my invasion, but not the only reason. He had already been a relatively powerful jarl five years ago because of the wealth trading with Rome brought. He didn't have a web of alliances like Horrik did, but he had a few friends. Enough to serve as a foundation of an alliance to resist me. 

My wives did their jobs well, and made my part in this easier. They’d pushed a number of local rulers into the alliance while cultivating positive relationships with others -- friendly tribes and clans along the coast that would welcome us, serving as points of resupply and places to leave our wounded. Provided that we won, of course. 

“Eighty thousand men isn't a small number,” Astrid voiced, and not for the first time as she paced our tent. “Are you sure?” 

“I am,” I replied, leaning over the map. “They outnumber us significantly -- four times over, but most are not warriors. They are boys and old men, with spears pressed into their hands and told to fight. They have no organization, most of them speak different languages, and they hate each other only a little less than they hate us. When they feel the tide of battle turning, they will break.” 

“That's what I'm worried about. Our campaign relies on speed, Sieg. We can't get stuck fighting hundreds of bands of a few hundred men behind every tree as we move on. We might as well offer our backs to their daggers, especially when it comes to our supply lines,” Astrid voiced, continuing to pace. “We need to break them the right way. A mass surrender rather than them fleeing into the hills.” 

“That is the plan, Astrid. A plan that you helped me make,” I pointed out, amused by the glare she shot me. “This is a pivotal battle,” I continued, a touch more seriously. “The past two years have been a prelude to this and we have prepared ourselves well. We will win. The outcome will be within our designs. Then we will continue… and come this time next year, we will be at home, with our children, building the empire that we will rule for decades to come.” 

Astrid's hand reached out to mine when she neared, clutching it for reassurance. She offered a thin, but nervous smile, and a nod of her head. I understood her nervousness. It would be a lie to say that I didn't feel some trepidation of my own, but I had confidence as well. My army had been tried and tested -- we had better commanders, better organization, and far better arms and armor. 

It was then that Ulf, my chief servant, stepped into the tent with a bow of his head, “Your graces, the commanders are here as instructed.” 

“Send them in,” I said, missing the warmth of Astrid's hand when she withdrew it to appear dignified. Ulf bowed his head once more and a few seconds later, two men were welcomed into my tent. One was Ulfar, the other was a man named Hallr. Both had earned the right to call themselves Ironclads, though Hallr was of the old guard and Ulfar the new. 

I had some reservations about Ulfar, and it was only partly stemming from the fact that he was a dull gray to my True Sight. Marking him as neither loyal nor an enemy. However, it couldn't be denied that his command was an effective one -- Ulfar was hungry for glory, and he made sure that he got it while ensuring that he took few losses. He might not be unquestionably loyal, but he was good at what he did. 

“Each of you will lead five hundred men, and in the coming battle, you shall be the arrows that slay the enemy,” I informed them both without preamble, and they stood a touch straighter. “Both of you will be hidden upon the battlefield on the flanks. Your duty will not be to fight the battle, but to win it. Is that understood?” 

“Aye, Your Grace! We won't betray the faith you have placed in us,” Ulfar was quick to state. Always saying the right thing at the right time. 

“See to it that you don't,” I replied firmly before I gestured for them to come closer. And once they were, I began to lay out the plan. 

…

The battlefield was chosen with great care and long in advance. My Rangers had scoured the area, looking for a place that was suitable for all of my needs -- enough space for Jarl Radulfr to field his army of eighty thousand, with a dense forest nearby, and an increasingly narrow path towards a mountain or large hill. The location of the battlefield had also determined the location of our landing point in his territory, which had been… less than ideal. 

Jarl Radulfr had sent two thousand men to stop us from landing, and failed. The survivors returned to join the rest of his forces, and now like a massive slug, that army of eighty thousand men were slowly giving chase to us. We moved slowly enough to dangle ourselves just out of reach, letting them think they were on the cusp of catching us. And in their pursuit, they had driven us into a battlefield that seemingly favored them. 

The entire process took the better part of a week, and now we stood on the killing field once more. It was a foggy early morning, perfect for our needs. Though it did obscure the enemy as much as it did us, it was outright impossible to hide so many men. 

Near a hundred thousand people made a level of sound that was hard to describe. The clattering of weapons, the footsteps, the thousands of different conversations that overlapped until it all just became noise. As I stood in the center of the field, my warriors at my back, I saw that I was right in my estimation of their forces. They had eighty thousand men, but I saw boys as young as Ragnar among them. And that made my heart clench in a way that I wasn’t prepared for. 

I swallowed down any discomfort that I had, however, as Jarl Radulfr rode forward with his own retinue, which was larger than my own. Among them, I knew, were various lesser jarls and powerful clan leaders. Unlike what I had created, Jarl Radulfr had forged a federation of clans in the name of resisting me. An alliance that wouldn’t survive my defeat, much less my victory. 

He looked as I remembered him, though with a streak of gray in his beard as he rode on top of a Roman warhorse. A gift from the Romans? Two years was enough time for news to travel, after all. And it was hardly as if I was lacking enemies in that land. 

“King Siegfried,” Jarl Radulfr greeted me, tilting his head back to look up at me. I could tell that it irritated him. “You’ve grown up well. You’re more than just a little boy off on an adventure, I’ll give you that.”

“Jarl Radulfr,” I greeted him in turn, my gaze flickering to the others in his retinue. I knew their names, though not their faces. Some would be offered a hand to their feet once they were brought low, while others would find themselves short of a head. Winning the peace was as important as winning the war. “I expected resistance when I began this conquest, but I will admit, I was surprised to find your name amongst the most powerful of those that stand in my way.”

A lie, of course. But a light one. And one that fed his ego, based on the light smirk he aimed my way. 

“It is only natural,” Jarl Radulfr replied, “despite that foul trick your witch played, I knew what I was dealing with during your stay in my lands. I knew that you would come back. You could have consumed every treasure in Rome, and you’d still hunger for more.” He jabbed a finger at me, “That cloak suits you well, Wolfkissed. You have the hunger of Fenrir.”

“It seems I made an impression,” I replied dryly, feeling vaguely offended by the remark. Worse was, I wasn’t even sure if he was wrong. At least, not entirely. If I had the ability, I would have brought every treasure and wonder I could, brick by brick, if I had to. “However, trading barbs isn’t what we are here for this day.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jarl Radulfr agreed with a small inclination of his head. “I offer you this one chance -- surrender. Offer your arms and armor, and two hundred pounds of gold and silver for your ransom, and you will be allowed to return to Denmark, still a king several times over. But not king of the Rus.”

An eyebrow rose at the offer, and I didn’t even dignify that with a response. “I see an army of children and old men behind you, Jarl Radulfr. Tell me, what do you see behind me?” I asked him with a small cock of my head. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and while he didn’t look their way, the others certainly did. 

My Ironclads painted a rather intimidating visage. They stood in formation, their armor polished to a shine, their shields overlapping, while their poleaxes were planted near their feet. The fog only made that image stronger, as they couldn’t tell how many they were -- five thousand? Ten? Twenty thousand? 

“Dead men,” Jarl Radulfr answered curtly, bringing their attention back to him. “Shall I take this as a refusal to surrender?”

“Aye, you should. Shall I take it that you refuse to surrender to me?” I asked, earning a dismissive laugh from the man and a round of chuckles from the others. They couldn’t imagine themselves losing. Such was the danger of having an overwhelming advantage in numbers. A danger that I was becoming increasingly less sure was worth the advantages. “No? Good. We’ll have another talk later today. I suggest you think of an argument to justify me sparing your lives before then.”

With that, I turned my horse around and gave a hand signal. In response, a horn blast rang out, the confirmation that the battle was going to begin. 

I took my place in the center with my men, drawing Gram and hefting my shield. It had been quite some time since I had fought in a shieldwall, but it was important. Men fought harder when they fought beside their king, and the center was too important for me to leave to another. As I did, the enemy horn rang out, but it was nearly drowned out by the sound of them moving. 

There was no true unity in them as a seemingly endless sea of people started to march forward. And that was just their archers and slingers. Our shields overlapped, and I found my size working against me there a bit, but we were covered as arrows and stones fell from the sky as if they were rain. All the while, in the places between the ranged troops, the infantry marched forward. 

Jarl Radulfr wasn’t Horrik. The man might not be a brilliant strategist, but he was a warrior rather than a plotter. He understood the challenges that came with maneuvering so many men, and he knew how to use his raw numbers against us. While they didn’t have the organizational framework to maneuver such a large number of people, he did have a grasp on what to do with them beyond ‘tell them to move forward.’

I watched as the stream of warriors marched forward -- they were all old, many of them missing a hand or even a leg. They were warriors still, however, and they knew how to fight in a shield wall. They would make the initial clash, the true warriors following behind them, while the rest would press them forward with the weight of numbers. Through the fog, I saw their eyes that shone with resolve, determined to fight me until their last breath. 

So, I obliged them. 

The lines clashed, and almost immediately, I felt the weight behind them. Gram cut men down like wheat, but there were ten more ready to take their place. However, we didn’t push forward or counter their charge. Simply put, we couldn’t. We could cut right through them, but the only thing that would accomplish would be leaving us surrounded.

Instead, there was a drum and a horn that gave us signals. With every signal, I allowed myself to take a step back, allowing the Rus army to take a step forward. That encouraged them to push harder, and I think they ended up killing more of their people by crushing them to death against our shieldwall than we managed. That hardly mattered, though, as the pressure was eased off ever so slightly when we took another step. 

Then another. And another. And another. 

The fighting retreat was done slowly, almost naturally. Slowly, the fog began to dissipate as the early morning sun shifted into the afternoon. My men cycled the front, but I stayed in the line, making sure that it held. In truth, I wasn’t sure if it was needed. My men were disciplined, Olek saw to that, and they endured the grinding retreat without complaint. 

One mile didn’t feel like a lot of distance, but when it was made one step at a time? It certainly felt like it. With every step that we took, we fell into a forest, which played havoc with our defensive line, but it still endured. Further, we retreated, enduring the weight of numbers that surged against us as the trees made them lose what little unity they had.

It was then, through the canopy of leaves overhead, that I saw it -- a green arrow streaking across the sky. The signal for the ambush to strike. 

Fourteen thousand men flanked from the sides, streaming through the forest on both sides of the attacking army. Lying in place for the moment to strike, when the enemy brought themselves into the ambush. They had been partly obscured by the trees, but it was mostly the sheer number of bodies on the field that hid them. When there were already so many people, seeing more didn’t stand out, and it would be a poor ambush if people expected to be ambushed. 

The shift in the battle wasn’t immediately felt, as it took minutes for the ripples of the dual charge to make themselves known. Messages needed to be relayed and understood, all the while the conflicting orders did more damage to their formation than the ambush did.

What was felt, however, was our counter-attack. My Ironclads ceased their retreat and instead took a step forward. Then another. Then another. And another. 

The army, which had once nearly drowned us in sheer numbers, found that their weight was split on three ends, and that led to them buckling. The army found itself being squeezed, and the result was that they began to spill out in the one direction where they weren’t being pressed down upon -- the rear, where their reserves were. 

They could have turned the battle around. It wouldn’t have been easy, but it was possible. We encircled them on three sides, but it was still eighty thousand against twenty, and if they pressed back, spilled over our encirclement… If one of our flanks faltered, the battle would get messy. Sloppy. And that was just as bad as a defeat for us. 

It was for that reason that I didn’t leave things to chance, and the arrows that I had put in place before the battle began leaped from the waiting bow. 

I couldn’t see them from where I was, and that pained me. I was left wondering in a sea of bodies and blood, waiting for a signal from the thousand men I had kept in reserve until the battle was all but won. Because it was they who had the most crucial duty of the battle. 

To claim the heads of leadership. A counterattack couldn’t come if there was no one to give the order. 

They should cut through the dregs that Jarl Radulfr didn’t even want to commit to the battle -- the young children, the too old, the sickly. The only true challenge would be the personal guards, but those thousand men were some of my best. They would win. It was just a question of whether they would win fast enough.

It felt like minutes, if not hours, had gone by as I awaited the signal in the sky, as I directed the push against the Rus. There was a slow building tension in me as I kept waiting for it, dreading that something had gone wrong. 

But then I saw it. A green burning arrow -- the operation was a success. The leaders of the army were dead and captured, meaning that the body we fought against was headless. Meaning that it was only a matter of time when those within the encirclement realized that despite all their numbers, the situation was hopeless. 

And that was the true danger of numbers. A man with a numerical advantage didn’t prepare himself for battle as he would when he was facing an enemy on equal or superior footing. They convinced themselves that another would win the battle for them, so they… relaxed. They didn’t take things seriously. They made plans for what they would do after the battle, like spending their loot or drinking, rather than focusing on actually winning the battle. 

That was a fatal mistake, and why quality was better than quantity. 

The battle was won at that point, but the decapitated army continued to flail about for hours more. Some surrendered, others still fought, while most were just trying to escape to the forest and hills. Something that I couldn’t allow, so I kept them in. All the while, we made demands for their surrender, allowing those who did to slip through the lines where they were bound and separated.

It was late evening by the time that the battle could be said to be done, leaving everyone spent and exhausted from a long day. 

And I…

“Disappointing,” I mused, wiping Gram clean with a cloth. I expected this much, but there had been some part of me that had hoped that eighty thousand men would be more difficult to defeat. But, in the end, they were merely eighty thousand people rather than warriors. All the while, I looked out at those who surrendered. They still outnumbered us four times over, but they didn’t have any more fight left in them. 

They were tired, hungry, and utterly spent. 

My gaze lingered on the young, one boy who was barely older than Ragnar in particular. He was staring into nothing, hands on his knees, seemingly deaf to the older man who was trying to talk to him. That was something I had to force myself to look away from. Instead, I looked to those who were approaching. 

“You did well,” I commended the various commanders who partook in one of our greatest victories to date. It was certainly the largest battle. “What comes next, however, is the difficult part,” I mused, once more looking out at the defeated. 

“We are yours to command,” Ulfar voiced, and he was echoed by all but Astrid and Thorkell. 

I nodded, accepting that answer for what it was. “These people need to be dispersed. Ten thousand to Norway. Ten thousand will go to Geatland. Ten thousand will go to Sweden. Another ten thousand to Saxony. Five thousand to the Sami. Five thousand to Finland,” I began, knowing that was fifty thousand of the eighty already dealt with. “They will be taken as thralls to build infrastructure, and then to populate the villages that will be designated for them. Leave the children, anyone under the age of twelve.”

It was the first step in the dispersal that would continue as we conquered further. Populations would be relocated and separated into the new territories to develop them as needed. All the while, all the fighting men of the area would find themselves elsewhere, weakening the Rus of Novograd so the rebellious elements wouldn’t have the strength to earnestly fight us. At least not for a few more years. 

Likewise, as we went down the coast the territory of Novograd would be populated by various defeated foes, which would provide the work force for the various projects I had planned. 

“The border needs to be marked as well. It will be tested by those sensing weakness,” I continued, and that was a problem that had plagued me since I first set my sights on creating an empire. 

I had thought a great deal about what to do with the southern border along the Baltic Sea. The north was secured by the simple fact that there was no one north of us. The south, however, had a long border that was exposed to a great many people. From Finland to Saxony was hundreds of miles of exposure, meaning that we had to expand defensively.

Focus would be given to natural borders -- rivers, forests, hills, and mountains. Those locations would need to be fortified. Basic forts would do initially, but I wanted something better. An unassailable fortress would be ideal, but I would settle for something that would be tough to take before relief could arrive. Which meant that along the southern coast and the northern coast, simply because they would take it as an insult otherwise, a standing garrison was necessary. Much like the Roman Theme system, in function at least. 

However, there was another way that I could secure the border. At least until my protective methods could be built. 

“When they arrive, catch them but do not kill them. Examples must be made -- both for the people that now find themselves under my rule… and those that think that they can take what isn’t theirs,” I continued, making Astrid’s lips thin, as we had discussed the topic at length. The newest citizens of my empire would see that my rule brought prosperity and security beyond what they had experienced before. And my new neighbors would see something else.“Along the border, have them impaled upon a stake. Every ten paces facing out of my borders.”

Ulfar’s eyes widened a fraction, but he nodded, as did the others. It was a level of ruthlessness that they didn’t associate with me, I knew. In truth, it was a level of ruthlessness that I had no taste for, but it was a necessary measure. It wouldn’t be enough to simply build roads and bathhouses to convince the people of Novograd and beyond to accept my rule. 

In Novograd, there were more people than there were in Finland and Sami combined even if you doubled their population, including what we would deliver to those kingdoms. That was a fact that would only increase the closer we got to Saxony. The southern coast of the Baltic was vastly more populated than the north, and that was a problem as much as it was a boon. They needed to feel a firm grip until they didn’t chafe at my rule. 

In short… I was admired because of my reputation. 

Now? Those who called me their enemy needed to learn of my wrath.