That night the command staff stayed in Ulf's Candle Castle, enjoying what might well be the last lavish dinner of their lives.
Loosened by wine, Ulf grumbled, "I swear… we're Vikings, yet we can't even board ships properly. Watch us fighting for our lives on the far shore while those fools are still stuck in Londinium."
Young Pascal, going to war for the first time, sat pale-faced and silent, staring at the roast lamb on his plate. The seven Swedish nobles, however, felt no fear; their attention was entirely captured by the grand stone fortress they had never before seen.
After a round of whispered chatter, the lord of Kalmar, Lexa, asked their host, "How much did this castle cost to build?"
Seeing these country nobles with such limited horizons, Ulf could not resist boasting. "Not much—one thousand and thirty pounds. A bit pricey, but it's worth every coin."
One thousand what?
A single stone fortress costing more than twenty years of Kalmar's entire income?
All seven Swedes gasped. Their shock filled Ulf with delight, and he poured himself yet another cup of wine.
Vig frowned. "Enough drinking. We fight tomorrow."
Ulf waved weakly, slurring, "Why not? We fight and bleed for women, wine, and good food… don't stop me, mmm… don't stop me…"
After repeating himself a few times, he suddenly slumped forward on the table and fell asleep in a puddle of spilled wine.
Vig waved two maidservants over. "Get your master to bed."
Then turning to Pascal and the seven Swedes: "Rest early. At dawn, gather at the docks and wait for a favorable wind."
The Crossing
At daybreak a northwesterly wind blew over the sea. Vig gave the order without hesitation. Soldiers boarded the ships, setting sail toward Calais.
Navigation in this era was rudimentary. Although everyone knew the Franks expected them at Calais, they still chose the Dover crossing—its safety outweighed tactical subtlety.
Seagulls cried overhead, sails billowed, and the fleet surged forward like arrows loosed from a bow. Bow waves foamed at the hulls, and soon one soldier began a sea-shanty, quickly turning into a chorus spreading across the fleet.
Before long the white cliffs of Dover vanished into the haze.
Around the tenth hour, the wind sharpened abruptly. A sudden west wind slammed into the fleet, scattering formation. Vig's flagship heaved violently, and below deck murmured prayers and rumors filled the dark.
"Signal the fleet—reef the sails! Row forward!"
Two hours later a coastline slowly emerged. Sailors cheered in relief, but Vig's face only darkened: on the shore stood two mounted scouts.
As the first boats landed, the two Frankish riders galloped away.
Vig's unease spiked. He immediately ordered his two infantry regiments to deploy a counter-cavalry formation around the landing zone.
Unlike the previous campaign, his spearmen now all wore iron armor and no longer relied on shields against arrows. They carried 3.5-meter pikes, half a meter longer than cavalry lances.
First Contact
By two in the afternoon Frankish cavalry began to appear. Ahead, Vig's men crouched, the butt of each pike sunk into earth, the steel points angled upward—a hedgehog of iron thorns.
A probing attack cost the Franks a dozen men to crossbows and spear thrusts. They withdrew to a hill southwest of the beach, awaiting reinforcements.
An hour later over a thousand cavalry gathered on that hill. Among their flags, the Vikings spotted Gunnar's brown-bear banner and cursed the traitor.
"Save your breath," Vig said. "We've more important work."
He began pushing his regiments forward in steady tempo, hoping some hot-headed Frankish noble would take the bait.
On the hill Gunnar immediately recognized the black serpent banner. The commander of the Seine campaign. He yawned. "That's the Snake of the North. We won't profit fighting him. Pull back."
But several Frankish nobles shouted after him. The young Count William of Orléans insisted on attacking.
"If he is so skilled, all the more reason to kill him before he reunites with the main host!"
He stirred others to follow and charged with more than seven hundred cavalry.
The result proved Gunnar right.
Arrows and bolts felled several dozen before the cavalry even reached the spears. The warhorses balked at the gleaming pike wall, refusing to advance. Riders tried stabbing at the crouched spearmen with their lances, but the reach was too short.
The Vikings' rear ranks hurled throwing-axes, smashing more riders from their saddles.
The attack failed. William returned to the hill, face dark as soot.
"Withdraw!" he spat.
Because the young fool was Queen Ermentrude's brother, Gunnar let the insult pass. He pulled his troops back five miles to shadow Vig's force and sent urgent riders to Charles the Bald, urging him to come at once.
Blown Off Course
From prisoners, Vig learned the fleet had been blown far east—to Dunkirk, a full day from Calais.
He cursed, then marched west along the coast. At sunset they occupied an abandoned fishing village. Vig sent ships back across the Channel to warn Britain.
The next morning he was jolted awake—messengers reporting Ivar's fleet had also been scattered by storms. Viking stragglers were scattered all across the coast west of Calais.
"Damn it—where is Ivar?"
"On a beach half a day west of Calais, my lord."
Fearing Ivar's disorganized troops might be ambushed, Vig immediately broke camp and advanced toward Calais. Gunnar's cavalry shadowed them the whole way but did not attack.
The Siege Begins
By afternoon Vig's six thousand linked up with Ivar's five thousand. Ignoring cavalry harassment, over ten thousand men began establishing siege works around Calais.
Trade had made Calais a bustling town of two thousand residents. It still had its old wooden palisade, but the Franks had begun building an outer stone wall—not yet finished.
Ships from Dover arrived continuously, delivering siege engines in parts. Vig oversaw the reassembly of ladders, mantlets, rams, and five-meter assault towers.
Gunnar watched from afar in frustration. His cavalry could not storm entrenchments, and the conscripted militia numbered only three thousand with low morale—useless for an assault.
Silently, enduring William's complaints, Gunnar settled for observing Vig and Ivar as they prepared for a general assault.
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