To the north, Count William of Orléans's army was on the march.
From afar, the force looked like an exhausted gray serpent, winding through desolate fields and bleak woodland.
More than half of William's troops were militia.
They wore patched wool clothing, gray felt caps, and carried rough-crafted spears.
After the long march, most had worn through their shoes.
Some had cracked uppers tied together with coarse rope.
Others had lost their footwear entirely and wrapped their feet in strips of cloth.
Their marching speed became painfully slow.
Now and then low groans and bitter curses drifted through the column.
"Move! You lazy bastards! Don't keep His Majesty waiting!"
Officers rode along the roadside shouting, but with little effect.
The militia kept their heads down, enduring sore feet and biting cold as they dragged themselves forward behind the men ahead.
Eventually the column stopped.
The exhausted militia immediately collapsed beside the road to rest.
No amount of shouting or whipping could make them stand again.
William rode to the front.
In the distance, several thousand Vikings occupied an open field roughly five hundred paces across.
Dense forest lay to the west.
Continuous marshland stretched eastward.
Two banners flew over the enemy.
The larger was the black serpent banner of the Kingdom of Britannia.
The smaller was blue, bearing a black castle.
"Blue field, black castle… that's Shrike's heraldry."
"The First Field Army?"
In recent days, Frankish forces had captured a few Viking prisoners and learned fragments of intelligence.
Each field army numbered roughly eight thousand men—
All combat troops equipped with iron armor.
"Damn it. Why are they blocking us?"
"Has the battle at Dunwo Manor already started?"
William cursed irritably.
Not daring to waste time, he detached four thousand heavy infantry to attack.
The Frankish infantry advanced in shield wall formation.
Only scattered arrows greeted them.
Once within twenty paces, they roared and surged forward.
The two sides fought fiercely.
But the Vikings held formation.
They never yielded a step.
Watching large groups of heavy infantry retreat, William gathered his commanders.
One sighed.
"These Britannian barbarians are much tougher than the Nordic ones."
Another nodded.
"Every one of them wears armor."
"Using swords feels pointless."
"Chain maces and war axes would work better."
William's expression darkened as he interrupted the discussion.
"The king urgently needs reinforcement."
"Any ideas?"
Someone proposed:
"Go around them."
Leave ten thousand militia to tie down the enemy.
Take the rest around the position and use another road to reach Dunwo Manor.
William accepted.
He sent cavalry to scout nearby while launching a second militia attack to pin the Vikings.
Less than half an hour later, scouts returned.
They had ridden around the western edge of the forest.
Beyond it was broad open ground suitable for army movement.
William asked:
"Any Vikings?"
"A few mounted scouts on the plain."
"There may be more hidden inside the forest."
William's improving mood instantly worsened again.
He paced nervously until eastern scouts returned.
Unfortunately, the marshland stretched too far.
If they detoured east, they would not reach Dunwo Manor before dark.
He realized he had no choice.
Three thousand cavalry and four thousand fresh heavy infantry would circle west.
William himself stayed behind with three thousand infantry and ten thousand slow-moving militia to deal with the blocking force.
"I just hope we're not too late."
Perhaps worried for the king's safety, the Frankish cavalry accelerated of their own accord.
They quickly left the four thousand infantry behind.
After more than ten minutes, they passed the dark forest.
Ahead stretched a broad lowland covered in ryegrass.
Poor drainage and naturally damp soil—
Combined with tens of thousands of heavy hooves—
Quickly turned the area into a sea of mud.
Just as they were about to clear the low ground—
The silent eastern forest suddenly erupted.
A terrifying roar filled the air.
Countless arrows surged upward like black clouds and poured down on the cavalry.
The attackers were every longbowman detached from the First Field Army—
Eighteen hundred men.
Positioned along the forest edge, they unleashed volley after volley.
The arrows could not penetrate helmets or mail.
But they could slaughter horses.
Sharp heads punched through hide and buried themselves deep.
Wounded horses screamed.
Some reared violently and threw riders.
Others panicked and charged wildly through the formation.
The organized cavalry instantly descended into chaos.
Fallen horses and riders became obstacles.
Terrified mounts collided and trampled one another.
The muddy ground became even more treacherous.
Britannian longbowmen concentrated fire on the leading riders—
Forcing them backward and preventing further advance.
Once the enemy collapsed into irreversible disorder—
The Vikings attacked.
Two mountain infantry battalions.
Eleven hundred dismounted cavalry—
Three hundred rangers and eight hundred temporarily attached heavy cavalry.
The front rank lowered spears.
Like a moving forest of spikes, they advanced in tight formation and stabbed at mounted enemies.
Rear ranks used axes and daggers—
Finishing trapped riders stuck in the mud.
Frankish resistance became scattered and feeble.
The mud crippled cavalry mobility.
They could neither organize counterattacks nor escape.
At this moment, the trailing four thousand heavy infantry finally arrived.
They tried to rescue the arrogant nobles and mounted elites.
But the lowland had been churned into a swamp.
Boots sank into cold muck.
Every step became exhausting.
Their already slow pace collapsed.
They struggled forward one painful stride at a time.
After losing most of their comrades, the surviving four hundred cavalry finally regrouped with friendly infantry.
The Vikings did not pursue.
They allowed the Franks to retreat from the muddy killing ground.
"A pack of brainless idiots!"
When William learned of the disaster, his vision nearly blacked out from rage.
The defeat shattered morale.
Militia at the edges of the battlefield began slipping away.
The battle could not continue.
"Regroup."
"Withdraw!"
William decided to bypass the eastern marshes and reinforce the king from another direction—
And if things went badly—
He would still have a route back to Orléans.
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