"Ten thousand pounds? Everything I've done—was it all for such paltry scraps?"
Ragnar laughed in fury. Drawing on the authority he had accumulated over decades, he crushed the dissenting voices and declared with iron resolve:
"Warriors of Odin do not retreat. Attack!
All forces advance on Béthune and settle this once and for all with Charles the Bald!"
In just a few seconds, Vig grasped the king's intent.
The relentless rains had harmed both sides. Disease spread through the camps, and the ground had turned to deep mud, severely weakening cavalry charges. With cavalry rendered useless on both sides, the situation actually favored the Vikings.
After breakfast, Ragnar left behind over two thousand men in poor condition and led the remaining seventeen thousand straight toward Béthune.
The blazing sun baked the muddy road. Hot, humid air hung over the column as Vikings trudged forward, boots sinking into filth. Gradually, even complaints died away; the men simply followed the backs of those ahead, step after step.
To raise morale, Ragnar dismounted and marched with the soldiers, occasionally telling crude jokes.
"Come on, brothers—walk faster. Don't let an old man in his fifties leave you behind!"
As time passed, Ragnar's strength waned. He removed his armor and gold-embroidered cloak, keeping only a linen shirt, leaning on a spear as he pressed on.
In his mind, this war had already wagered everything:
the last silver in the treasury, a lifetime of prestige, and the commanders and veterans who had followed him for years. If victory could be won, what did exhaustion matter?
The Scouts
In the afternoon, the exhausted Vikings paused briefly. Not far away, inside a granary, a French scout patrol spotted the pagan host and went pale with terror.
"These Vikings are insane—they're attacking now?!"
Under normal conditions, mounted scouts ranged over fifteen kilometers. But the mud had slowed their horses terribly, and after riding for a while they had taken shelter in an abandoned granary, slacking off.
After all, if the noble lords were drinking in town, why should scouts slog through fields without rest?
What they hadn't expected was that the Vikings would abandon all baggage and charge straight for Béthune—utterly ruthless, wagering life for life.
"Run!"
Nine scouts fled behind their captain, spurring their mounts. The shouts behind them drew closer, but the horses could not gain speed.
One scout glanced back—hundreds of Vikings were charging through the mud. They wore no armor, their coarse trousers rolled to the knees, bare calves knotted with muscle, like wild boars crashing through a swamp.
Once within range, Viking archers began lofting arrows. The shriek of shafts slicing air shattered the scouts' nerves. As companions fell one by one, the remaining five scattered in panic, abandoning any thought of reporting back.
Approaching Béthune
By two in the afternoon, the Viking army was still advancing. After cresting a low hill, the tall roof of Béthune's church came into view to the southeast.
Amid cheers, Ragnar summoned the commanders.
"Ivar takes the left wing. I'll strike the enemy center.
Vig—you take the right wing. Find Charles the Bald. Capture him—or kill him."
"Yes!"
Vig returned to his troops and hastily counted heads. More than seven hundred men had fallen behind. His command was down to 4,500, and the armored troops were badly fatigued and in dire need of rest.
By contrast, the forces of the seven Swedish nobles had lighter armor and far better stamina, so they were assigned to the first assault wave.
"Listen carefully—these are your orders…"
Deployment
Béthune was small. Most French troops were camped outside the town. Vig's right wing faced the southern sector.
Under his plan, 1,200 Swedish light infantry swung wide toward the southern edge of the battlefield to draw enemy attention. With the ground a quagmire, cavalry was completely neutralized—there was no fear of a French flanking charge.
Vig then formed the remaining three thousand men into a broad line and advanced steadily toward the Frankish camp.
Two days of storms had left the French exhausted. They had not built field fortifications, and their tents were poorly arranged—many crammed onto high ground, leaving low areas sparsely occupied.
"Vikings! To arms—form up!"
Because of the scouts' negligence, the Franks reacted only when the enemy was nearly upon them. Twenty thousand men scrambled from tents, weapons in hand, running chaotically through camp.
Taking advantage of the disorder, conscripted militia on the edges began fleeing. Some officers failed to stop them and joined the rout themselves.
To the knights' horror, over three thousand militia fled rearward. Attempts to block them failed—their horses were mired in mud, helpless as the deserters vanished into the woods.
"Cowards. May God judge your souls."
Battle Lines
By three in the afternoon, the French barely managed to form ranks. Centered on Béthune, they deployed 7,000 men to the north and 7,000 to the south. Charles the Bald held Béthune itself with 3,000 troops, including 2,000 sick, relying on the town walls.
As church bells rang urgently, Viking light infantry on both wings formed shield walls and advanced.
After absorbing arrows for over a hundred paces, the lines clashed.
The Vikings were physically stronger; the Franks were rested. After ten minutes of brutal fighting, neither side gained ground.
French knights then attempted their traditional tactic—charging Viking flanks. But their speed was crippled by mud, turning them into perfect targets for bowmen and crossbowmen.
Enraged by this merciless fire, knights leapt from their horses, discarded unwieldy three-meter lances, and charged on foot with sword and shield.
Ragnar's Choice
In the center, Ragnar gazed toward Béthune's walls and hesitated between three options:
Assault Béthune directly — too unlikely to succeed. Rejected.Split the center, reinforcing both wings.Abandon one wing, concentrate the center to smash the other first.
The third option was extremely risky. If the unsupported wing collapsed, the enemy could encircle the remaining Vikings.
Cautiously, Ragnar sent messengers to Ivar and Vig.
Ivar requested reinforcements, vowing to break the northern enemy before sunset.
Vig replied that he could both attack or defend; if the main force reinforced the north, he could form spear formations and hold until nightfall.
At last, Ragnar left one thousand exhausted armored troops to pin Béthune and led the remaining five thousand to reinforce the left wing.
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