Ch 64: City Gate

After resting for a night in this unnamed village, the army continued to travel, arriving at the northern suburbs of Repton by noon the next day.

On the bumpy horse, Ragnar listened to Pascal recount the deeds of King Offa, occasionally commenting:

“By your account, King Offa reigned for nearly forty years （AD 757—796）, Mercia reached its peak, forcing the other six kingdoms into submission, and he also had equal dealings with Charlemagne. Well, he was indeed a great king.”

A strange gleam flashed in his eyes, and he posed a question that Pascal found difficult to answer: “But why did Mercia decline sharply after Offa’s death? His heir was defeated by Wessex and, in turn, paid tribute to Wessex.”

“Your Majesty, this is a serious and difficult question, and I cannot answer it in a short time.”

While the two were talking, a rider wearing a thick wool cloak rushed over, “Your Majesty, seven hundred Anglo-Saxon soldiers are approaching from the southeast, targeting Repton’s East Gate.”

Almost instantly, Ragnar instinctively shouted: “Stop them!”

He rode with a number of nobles and guards to a hillside hundreds of meters away, gazing intently. In the distance, a long queue was winding its way forward, poorly equipped and with low morale, seeming incapable of fighting.

“Vig block the front, Gunnar encircle the rear, the rest follow me.”

Suddenly, Vig interrupted Ragnar, “Your Majesty, I have thought of a better method.”

When the Vikings discovered the Mercian army, the latter also noticed their presence. Seeing the large number of mounted figures appearing on the distant hillside, these hastily assembled conscripted soldiers fell into chaos; dozens of men immediately deserted and ran away.

“Stop them!”

Sending the guards nearby to maintain order, the commander straightened his back on horseback, his eyes wide as he looked into the distance, trying to ascertain the enemy’s exact number as soon as possible.

The next moment, a huge mass of figures was seen surging over the mountain ridge, like a raging tide, numbering at least three thousand!

Not good!

Faced with overwhelming odds, the commander instantly abandoned the thought of fighting, and ordered the troops to flee to Repton, “Don’t run around, maintain formation, take the supply wagons!”

He called out helplessly on horseback, but unfortunately, few were willing to obey orders; they were all thinking of escaping into the city gate to avoid these ferocious Viking barbarians.

“Sir, you should retreat.”

Five guards went against the current of people, holding the reins and fleeing desperately. On the way, the commander frequently looked back, heartbroken at the sight of the more than twenty abandoned wagons.

When the army marched, they usually piled iron armor, bows and arrows, and other supplies onto wagons, putting them on only after discovering the enemy, thus reducing the soldiers’ stamina consumption. Now, they had routed before even engaging the enemy, meaning forty sets of armor and numerous military rations were given to the Vikings for free.

“Damn it, this is all the property I’ve painstakingly accumulated, you cowards!”

Ignoring the commander’s insults, the guards silently followed the flow of people. When they were more than a thousand paces from the city gate, a large number of arrows suddenly flew from the forest on the right. Sharp, cold iron bolts pierced the crowd, easily knocking down a large number of figures.

“The Vikings are here, run for your lives!”

The entire troop completely collapsed, breaking into countless loose groups; most rushed towards the west gate, while a few clever ones broke away from the crowd and fled towards the wilderness in the south.

At this point, the commander was so scared that he could no longer speak, his face pale. His cold right hand reached into his collar, grasping the silver crucifix blessed by the church, silently praying.

“God above, may you protect me from evil and allow me to safely pass through this war.”

Repton East Gate.

Since the watchtower observed a large number of Vikings approaching, the city guards quickly reacted. After the villagers outside the suburbs had all fled into the city, they closed the gate, holding bows and arrows and waiting behind the battlements. As time passed, more and more scattered soldiers crowded outside the walls, shouting at the city guards to open the gate.

Although they looked down on these useless men who had fled before the battle, they were still more than four hundred young men, and they could still be useful for guarding the city. Under the officer’s orders, six soldiers grumbled and came to the rear of the gate, working together to lift the heavy gateposts.

“Maintain formation, don’t crowd!”

Seeing a crevice open in the gate, the chaotic crowd poured into the city like a river bursting its banks, following the passage. The six unlucky soldiers were knocked down by the crowd before they could maintain order, countless feet trampling over their bodies, abandoned shoes and weapons scattered everywhere.

“Quickly, close the gate! The Viking barbarians are almost here!”

When the last figure rushed into the city, the city officer ordered the soldiers to close the gate again. He took several retainers down from the city wall and asked the routed soldiers, “Who is your commander?”

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. Looking down, a bloodstained blade was quickly withdrawn, and then stabbed in again.

“Attack!”

The next moment, more than fifty Vikings who had infiltrated the city drew their blades and hacked and slashed at the nearest soldiers. Although they faced the frenzied counterattack of the city guards, they still gained the most precious three minutes. When the main force rushed through the gate, the outcome of the siege warfare was no longer in doubt.

Having received a promise of sparing those who surrendered, the vast majority of Mercians threw down their weapons and silently gathered in the open space awaiting disposal.

Soon, Ragnar, leading a group of nobles, arrived on horseback, striding onto the city walls and surveying this historically significant city.

In the early days of the Kingdom of Mercia, Repton served as the capital for a long time. Within the city stands a tall stone building—the Church of Saint Wystan; its needle-like spire can be seen from miles away. It is said that the underground crypt contains the sarcophagi of past kings.

Running his hand along the rough, cold battlements, Ragnar exclaimed to everyone: “Thanks to Vig’s impromptu plan, we took this former royal capital with the loss of only twenty men. Well done, it seems your legendary experiences have gained another chapter.”

He patted his confidant’s shoulder, offering encouragement, then ordered the guards to restrain the soldiers, forbidding them from disturbing the church and the city’s people.

“Your Majesty,” Captain Gunnar raised his head, “Aren’t you going to let the brothers plunder the spoils of war? This is against the rules.”

“Rules? What I say are the rules!” Ragnar’s eyes suddenly sharpened, and Gunnar quickly complied, personally maintaining order within the city.

On the city walls, Ragnar explained to the many questioning eyes, “Times have changed. Since we are kings and nobles, our actions should be dignified, and we should be as gentle as possible after the battle to reduce the locals’ resistance.”

For some reason, from the moment he first saw this city, Ragnar had decided to make it a directly governed territory of the royal family. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to let his soldiers plunder his own territory.