Ch 63: Nottingham

On October 25th, with relieved expressions from the local residents, the Viking army set off southward.

Following the royal banner at the forefront, five thousand three hundred soldiers left the camp one after another, followed by thousands of unrelated individuals in the rear.

In the wars of this period, plunder was commonplace. Soldiers obtained gold and silver, textiles, and weapons as spoils of war. Military merchants bought these items on the spot, converting them into cash, food, and fine wine, forming a kind of grotesquely prosperous battlefield economy.

In Ragnar’s view, the shortcomings of military merchants lay in their slow marching speed and the risk of leaking intelligence, but they were crucial for maintaining morale. These people provided various services, indirectly helping to channel the soldiers’ emotions and prevent them from venting their resentment on their commanders.

Therefore, he allowed this money-grubbing group of merchants to follow along, preferring that the army’s progress be slowed, taking two full days to reach Nottingham.

The moment the Viking army surrounded the town, a five-hundred-strong militia flooded into the walls from the South Gate, dashing Ragnar’s hopes of a swift entry.

Stepping on the thin layer of snow, hundreds of Vikings launched a probing attack. Behind them, thousands of archers volleyed arrows at the town. The dense arrow shower struck the city walls, frightening many militiamen to cower behind the battlements.

Like most settlements, Nottingham possessed a wooden wall approximately four meters high, with a two-meter-deep moat on the outside, creating a total height difference of nearly six meters.

Due to the haste, the Vikings did not have time to build long ladders and could only throw grappling hooks at the bottom of the wall, pulling themselves up with ropes, significantly reducing efficiency. Even if someone luckily climbed over the wall, they were quickly attacked by nearby militiamen and died under a hail of swords.

“Have them withdraw.”

Ragnar, his face gloomy, gestured to the nearby trumpeter to blow the drinking horn, declaring the end of the first assault.

That night, the Viking army camped near a village in the northern suburbs, with their command post set up in the village head’s farmhouse.

After dinner, Ragnar wiped the oil from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Based on intelligence from the villagers, Nottingham has fifteen hundred residents, roughly four hundred adult men. Adding to that the five hundred-strong militia, the garrison numbers close to a thousand. What are your thoughts?”

The next moment, all eyes focused on Vig. Having experienced the sieges of York and Dyfflin, his siege exploits were known throughout Northern Europe. In addition to the Chosen One and Serpent of the North, he had earned the nickname City Breaker.

Vig offered three plans:

One, build siege towers and siege engines; this would take at least a month and a half.

Two, build small catapults to throw burning oil jars; this would take two weeks, but at the cost of completely destroying the town, rendering it unusable as a subsequent supply base.

Three, simply bypass it, leaving a thousand warriors to camp here while the remaining troops take Tamworth, the Mercian royal capital, so as not to waste time here.

Ragnar did not immediately make a statement, attempting to gather more information. “How long will it take to get from here to Tamworth?”

Vig: “It’s two days’ journey southwest. There is a town called Repton along the way, with a royal tomb inside. Unless something unexpected happens, we’ll probably have to bypass that as well.”

“Bypass both Nottingham and Repton consecutively?”

Not only Ragnar, but the other nobles also considered this plan too risky. With the army in the field, it required supplies of grain and weapons from the rear. If the garrisons of Nottingham and Repton attacked the supply lines, it would seriously disrupt the front-line operations.

Ragnar stared at the map. Bypassing Repton further meant needing to leave another thousand men outside the city. This would leave him with only three thousand troops to besiege Tamworth. “This is truly troublesome.”

However, time was of the essence in winter warfare. If the Mercian Royal Family was given sufficient time to muster troops, subsequent events would be even more troublesome.

“Departure tomorrow morning, whether to bypass Repton will depend on the situation.”

In the spirit of a swift victory, Ragnar left behind the thousand troops in the worst condition, instructing their commander not to remain idle in camp, but to make haste in building siege weapons or sweeping through the surrounding villages to send supplies to the front lines as much as possible.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The next morning, from the garrison’s perspective, more than five thousand Vikings—four thousand soldiers and a thousand military commoners—left the village one after another, resembling a meandering serpent writhing in the snow.

A sharp-witted merchant realized, “Not good, the enemy’s main force intends to attack Tamworth!”

This remark led to much discussion, with a very small number suggesting a sortie to meet the enemy, but the prevailing opinion was to hold the walls.

Sensing the almost pleading look in the commoners’ eyes, Lord Theodulf accepted their suggestion—to defend the city—and watched the Vikings enter the southwest hinterland.

“Praise Lord Theodulf!”

“Thank you for your mercy and wisdom!”

“Let Tamworth be damned!”

Without needing to go out to die, cheers rose incessantly from the walls. Ultimately, defending a city and field battles were two completely different concepts. To protect their families and property, the residents were willing to fight to the death on the walls, but this did not mean they had the courage to proactively attack the Vikings in the open field.

Bypassing Nottingham, the Viking army endured fatigue and cold as they moved through the wilderness. Villages along the way fled upon hearing the news, leaving behind only empty houses and scattered grains.

Heavy iron plow?

Unexpectedly, Vig discovered several Saxon wheeled plows fitted with iron plowshares—called Tyne plows in this time period—within a village.

“It seems this implement is more popular than I anticipated.”

His remark was echoed by Pascal. “Indeed. Your invention of the heavy iron plow is far more efficient than the light wooden plow. With only one plowing, the soil is both deep and even. As far as I know, Mercian priests claim that the farming tools of pagan barbarians are filled with evil, but the villagers don’t care about that. Peasant farmers often pool their money together, even going into debt to have blacksmiths forge new heavy plows.”

Pascal’s territory, Tees, was located south of Tyne. His understanding of the new heavy plow and the three-field system far surpassed that of other lords.

He had inquired among the gentlemen of the region. After adopting the heavy plow and three-field system, the annual harvest, converted into silver coins, was 1.4 times the output of the previous two-field system, a truly unprecedented breakthrough.

With income soaring, Pascal smiled sincerely. “Thanks to you, Tees is also gradually promoting the three-field system. In a couple of years, once our economy is more prosperous, perhaps I will also have the resources to build a stone castle.”

“Increasing crop output benefits the entire kingdom and even all of Europe. We are all on the same side; there’s no need to thank me.” Vig never considered keeping agricultural technology a secret; it was an impossible task. It was better to let it happen naturally and gain a good reputation.