Legends Never Die: Know Thy Enemy (ch. 117)

During the past two weeks, I had my scouts searching for a battlefield that met my specifications -- flat open fields, ocean access, with a forest on the other flank. That, and it had to be within a day's march of Alabu. I desired the terrain to be to my advantage, but not so much that Horrik would refuse to fight me. He would know how hard his men had been pushed, how angry and demoralized they were. His hand was being pushed hard, but even he wouldn't take to a field where he felt defeat was certain. 

A day after we chased the army behind their walls, we arrived at the field that my scouts found. It wasn't perfect -- there was a forest on the western flank, but it was thin. There was a slight incline, but nothing that I would think would discourage Horrik from meeting me on the field. The battlefield itself was grassland, thoroughly suddenly from the heavy rains that swept over Denmark. Perfect for my plans. 

“What if they don't come?” King Hoffer questioned as we set up camp. My tent was erected, fortifications were put up, with scouts scouring the surrounding area for signs of Horrik's approach. King Widukind sat at the table, as did my brothers as King Widukind smiled lightly at the clay model I had made of the battlefield. “You've chased them behind a set of walls, Wolfkissed. In times like that, you hide behind them while the wolf stalks outside your door.” 

“He doesn't have a choice,” I stated firmly. “Not a true one. No one knows how precarious his position is better than he. If he hides behind his walls, his authority will continue to diminish. People's doubts will grow. He will face threats in the shadows as much as he would on an open field.” It was the very same problem that Abd al-Rahman had faced in the Umayyad Caliphate. 

Too many defeats in too short of an amount of time. It made Jarls ambitious. It made Thegns cautious. It made otherwise loyal warriors doubtful. 

“He cannot be seen as a coward,” Haldur voiced, nodding in agreement. “He possesses the larger army three times over. If he refuses the battle, he will be shamed.” 

It must be grating for him, I imagine. Horrik would be clever enough to know what the smart decision was. He had the walls and the army -- if he could force me to attack Alabu? Not only would he have a great advantage in numbers and defenses, but he could mobilize the population to aid in the defense. There, he could bloody me street by street, house by house if needed. Even if I won, my losses would be enormous and my reputation tainted by the slaughter. Horrik may not win, but he could make sure that I lost. 

But he couldn't do that. It was the cost of a crown, I imagine. Kings must command respect, be dignified, and honored. If they were none of these things, then eyes would begin to wander and people might hold knives in the shadows. Horrik was already a paranoid man as my mother had told me. This situation was likely one that had stepped right out of his nightmares. 

“And he cannot afford to be shamed any further. He understands that his army is held together by a frayed thread. He will come,” I stated, my tone certain. To that, King Hoffer nodded his head, accepting the answer for what it was. All the same, he frowned at the model. 

It was Astrid, however, who spoke his thoughts. “Which leads us to dealing with roughly twenty-five thousand men. Maybe more if he conscripts some people in Alabu.” 

I nodded, grabbing a few of the tokens from the side of the board as I made a gesture for a servant to bring in a few of my commanders. They stepped inside -- one of them shining blue, the other a deep red. 

My gaze met a young man in his early twenties or late teens. Dark hair and dark blue eyes. His expression was blank, but I didn't fail to notice how his gaze flickered to the model, to my brothers, the kings, and then back to me. When he caught me look at him, he stood a little straighter, as if he was attempting to rise to the expectations I might have of him. 

“We are on the eve of the battle that shall change everything,” I started, looking at the two of them. “It will put to rest the question of who is the king of Denmark, and grant me and my family our well deserved vengeance. You two have been chosen for separate tasks, each one vital for our victory. Do you understand what is at stake?” 

“We won't let you down, Your Grace,” One of the commanders uttered, an urgency in his voice as if he needed to convince me of his faithfulness. As if he was trying to convince the norns to make his words true. 

“I would not have chosen you two if I thought you would,” I said, my gaze flickering between both of them. They all leaned forward, eager for their tasks. “I will now share with you our general strategy,” I said slowly and deliberately before I started placing the pieces down. “Thus far, we have succeeded in our goals of exhausting Horrik's army. They will march to us, but it is there they have two potential paths forward on how they attack us.” 

They listened with rapt attention and I continued. “Horrik can either march with his full force, or he can risk splitting his army. It is the former that we wish for, but we are prepared for the latter.” I placed figures representing the army and ships, miming them coming down from Alabu. 

“The field will be mud, which will greatly impede their attack. It will make them almost standing targets for our archers, but by the time they reach our line, I will have your group flank around with a thousand men through the forest. They will be out of position to respond to the maneuver and exposed.” The man I looked to puffed up with pride, but he nodded seriously, understanding the importance of his mission. 

“And if they divide their forces?” The black haired teen questioned, keeping his traitorous thoughts out of his voice. 

“Horrik is no fool. He will be aware of the terrain and the advantage it will give to us. As such, he may decide to bypass the worst of the field and instead attack by sea. It will be a dangerous tactic for him -- the time to disembark and land will be crucial, and there frankly is a very real risk that some of his men will simply sail away rather than fight. But, it may be worth the risk for him and, for that reason, you shall be the shield on our wing.” 

I looked him in the eye as I spoke the words, and if I didn't already know who he served, then I would never have suspected how he was planning to betray me. His expression was tense, understanding the task, and gave a dutiful nod. “How many men shall I have?” 

“Five hundred. Enough to contest the coast while we deal with the main army,” I answered shortly. That would be it. The infection that I had allowed to fester in my army for years at this point would finally pay off. 

He would betray me. 

He would inform Horrik of my plans, and then he and those five hundred men would betray me. They would leave a flank exposed, and Horrik would pounce on what he thought was weakness. 

He would walk straight into a trap I spent years laying. 

The two men nodded, understanding their tasks, before I dismissed them. 

Just in time for my scouts to return with the information that Horrik was starting to muster his forces. 

…

“He's close,” I muttered under my breath, not entirely sure how I felt as I gazed towards the approaching army. I had imagined this moment so many times. I built it up in my head, my expectations growing with each rendition of this exact moment… now that it was finally here, it felt so… mundane. Like it was a moment like any other, no greater or worse than the moments that came before it. 

With all of my preparations, I didn't expect to feel nervous, but I did expect to feel anger. Echoes of the rage that I felt when the murders of my kin had fresh wounds on my spirit. That same black rage that drove me to rip men apart with my bare hands. And it was there, I think, but it was still instead of a bubbling cauldron waiting to boil over. 

The time for rage would come. 

“That sure is a sight,” Halfdan commented, seated next to me on one side while Haldur was on the other. Perhaps it would be more respectful to have the kings by my side, but King Widukind and Hoffer understood this was a blood debt as much as it was about the crown. If not more so. “That's a lot of men. Honestly, I didn't know Denmark had that many people in it.” 

Coming up the path towards our camp was Horrik's army. According to my scouts, it was a full twenty-five thousand men. Meaning that Horrik had put spears in every able bodied man, both old and young, to mask the fact that five thousand of his men had remained behind to board ships that set sail in the dead of night. I imagined he convinced them to stay and fight with the knowledge that a trap was being laid for me. 

“Finally,” Haldur growled, and my rage seemed to have fled to him because he was angry enough for the both of us. “I've waited years for this. I don't think I could wait a day more for that snake.” 

“Do you see them?” Halfdan asked me and I gave a slow deliberate nod. 

I saw them. They rode at the very front of their army, flags trailing behind them that carried their heraldry. Horrik seemed regal enough. Paling in comparison to what I saw in Rome, of course, but I had come to expect that. Both son and father wore armor -- a hauberk of chainmail, adorned with rivets of gold. Both wore bear pelts hanging off their shoulders while Horrik wore a crown. 

A dark amusement welled up inside of me, “They're copying me.” They were wearing pelts to match my cloak. Trying to project strength when they were so thoroughly weakened. In made them feel like boys putting on their father's armor to pretend to be him. 

It made them feel small in a way I wasn't entirely prepared for. In a way I wasn't sure what to do with. 

“When will they attack?” Haldur asked, his horse shifting underneath him, sensing his rage that was waiting to be unleashed. 

“Soon, I imagine,” I replied. It took Horrik the better part of sixteen hours to arrive at the battlefield. Morrigan was following the ships with a raven, and judging by their sail, they were taking a wide way around to make sure they weren't seen by scouts on the coast. In the eight hours they had sailed, they were roughly two thirds of the way to their destination. “Within a few hours. I'm not sure if they're going to bother to make camp.” 

He did have enough camp followers to build the camp while he formed up, or he might be planning to take mine with our defeat. It would be wise to rest his army before the battle, but he seemed to decide against it. 

It was the exhaustion. The exhaustion of marching two weeks, often without sleep, didn't wear off overnight. I'm sure that there were many with stiff legs, blistered feet, aching arms, and open sores that were in pain at having to march more with only a day of rest. He likely didn't make camp because the men might just fall into their beds and not rise from them. 

True enough -- the army immediately began to stack up in a familiar formation. The tried and tested shield wall. The forest and the coast restrained how far they could stretch their lines, so instead, they went many deep. Meanwhile, their archers were brought up before the line, each dropping down a quiver. They had javelin men, slingers, and archers. More than a thousand of them. 

It was then that a man riding a horse approached, holding up a flag of truce. I recognized him. He was one of the Jarls that I had met at the Danvirke. He approached to about mid point between our armies, planting the flag that he carried next to him. 

Horrik wanted to talk. I'm not sure why that surprised me but it did. He had always been good at talking, I reflected. Perhaps he thought he could twist me around his finger once more with a handful of words and empty promises? 

The temptation to meet him was there. Like an itch underneath my skin. What would he say? Would he bluster? Threaten? Make promises? Would he bargain and cower? There was part of me that really wanted to know. Desperately, almost. 

“The time for words has passed,” I said, knowing everyone was looking to me for my response. 

I would hear all that Horrik had to say when he was clapped in irons in the blackest pit that I could find for him. Not a second before then. 

The offer to negotiate was rebuffed with Athrun firing an arrow that landed near Jarl Gunnar. His horse was spooked, but he remained seated. The message was received loud and clear as the Jarl turned his horse around back to his front line. 

Then, for a moment… There was silence. 

Only for it to be interrupted by a horn blasting out. A feeling of anticipation filled me as Horrik's archers and missile troops marched forward until both the archers and slingers were in range. They all began to ready themselves to fire, only for me to raise up a hand and to drop it. 

Before the first wave of missiles could fall upon my prepared army, my own archers let loose their arrows. They streaked through the air with pinpoint accuracy, all of them finding the throats of their targets. It didn't stop Horrik's army from firing back of course -- arrows and stones pelted my army, and their readied shields. I'm sure an arrow or two managed to slip through, but my warriors were fine. 

All were clad in the armor that they had earned -- chain and plate mail. They were my vanguard and my impenetrable wall that Horrik would break himself on in more ways than one. 

While their missile troops released a volley, shock rippled through their ranks at the accuracy of the arrows. Then again when Athrun ordered another volley to be released, felling dozens more. 

It was a familiar sight for Horrik, I reasoned, and it was for that reason his shield wall began to march forward, a full third of his army by the looks of things. Their shieldwall was decent. Few gaps that could readily be exploited. Instead, my archers focused on the missile troops behind them, steadily thinning their numbers until Horrik gave the order for them to hide behind the second layer of the shieldwall. 

Meanwhile, the first ten thousand or so men approached, and it was every bit the slog that I expected it to become. At first, they were mostly in formation, but that steadily changed as the back row of the formation found that they were forced to wade through muck. And it was then that the gaps started showing in the formation -- little slips that occurred when some tried to slow down for their fellows while the front row continued unaware of how far behind the others had fallen. 

It was then that my archers began to fire upon the approaching shieldwall itself. The arrows slipped through the gaps that appeared for mere seconds, and each time they struck true. Chainmail wasn’t enough protection. Not anymore. Each one was a bodkin point arrow, made for punching through chainmail. It wasn’t perfect for the job, and tightly woven chainmail tended to offer more resistance to the piercing power, but usually not quite enough. 

With every arrow that struck true, the formation started to splinter and slow. Gaps opened up as the shieldwall shuffled up or to the side to maintain its integrity, something that was complicated by those lagging behind. That, in turn, made it easier for my archers to place their arrows, killing those that reacted well and further fracturing the shieldwall. 

“This is a little…” Halfdan began, uncertain how to finish the sentence, but I understood his meaning as the fraction of the army steadily closed the distance between us, even at the cost of leaving a trail of bodies. 

“Neither of you were there for the first half of the war in Saxony,” I remarked, watching as the battle took shape to my expectations. “Did you hear how Horrik had led us to a hill with the Franks nipping at our heels?”

“Pretty sure that was the first story we heard about you,” Halfdan admitted, snorting softly. “As we heard it, you charged the army alone and swept them away.”

My archers took a step back, retreating between my warriors. My infantry allowed them to pass before their shields once more interlocked with a matching shieldwall. However, as Horrik’s army approached, they were met with one more projectile. 

The pila. 

It was a tactic I stole from Rome. My front line grabbed their light spears, which were more of a thin handle with a long metal point. As Horrik’s army approached, as one, they threw the pila, and they struck the shieldwall. Most hit the shields, very few of them managing to hit the warriors behind the shields, but that was their intended purpose. 

The thin iron bent as the tip punched through the shields, weighing them down and making them unwieldy. The warriors, not expecting the added weight, found themselves caught flat-footed as my army stepped forward, meeting them head-on and seizing upon their surprise. The shieldwall cracked like glass struck by a hammer. 

“It was my first real battle. I had participated in assulting a fortress before that, but it was my first real battle on a field between two armies,” I said, watching the battle unfold. There was an itch in my hands to be down there, in the thick of it, but now wasn’t the time. “We had split our army between Horrik and King Siegfred, forcing the Franks to split theirs. They chased us up the Rhine river to a hill where Horrik intended to use against their cavalry. They out numbered us two to one, and they pelted us with arrows.”

Horrik saw that his first line was faltering, so he sent in the second line, another third of his army. They fared worse with the mud, which slowed them considerably. Their formation was much harder to hold, making them excellent targets for my archers. Every arrow meant death, and they fell from the sky like rain. 

“It quickly became clear that the Franks had no intention of charging up the hill. Instead, they were content to whittle down our numbers and force us to abandon our advantage by baiting a charge,” I continued, watching as my warriors held the line, just as they were instructed. They advanced enough that the first line was strained, forcing other places to shave off numbers from their wings to reinforce the center. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but it would have worked.”

Haldur glanced at me from the corner of his eye, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that Horrik is a poor tactician.” Perhaps poor was a bit harsh, but as I looked back on that battle, both wiser and more experienced, I realized how much of our victory was attributed to me. I alone had curtailed the Frank archers, stopping them from simply whittling us down. I had inspired the men by convincing them that the gods were with us on that field. Horrik had managed to pick a fine enough battlefield that gave him an advantage, while removing the Franks’ advantage of cavalry. 

But that was it. We would have lost that battle if I hadn’t done what I did. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in my mind. 

“Worse,” I continued, watching as Horrik’s army began to send runners back and forth along the line, to and from the waves of men that were reacting to the messengers. “He’s completely underestimated how complicated it is to command so many thousands of men.” I could see them, exactly as I intended. The cracks were showing across the formations. The men were exhausted on arrival, now they were getting conflicting messages on what to do and where to go to reinforce the first line. 

Even something as simple as move forward became extremely complicated when that order was given to tens of thousands of people. All the more so when they didn’t want to be here in the first place. 

“Horrik thrives on a different battlefield. Politics. On the killing field?” I questioned, sighing deeply as I found myself… strangely disappointed as Horrik already sent forward his third wave of men. The entirety of his army to half force the second wave forward before the first wave fractured too deeply. “Decidely less so. Which is why I gave him a plan tailor-made to his personal strengths.”

Deception. Subterfuge. He was confident because he thought he was playing to his strengths. While he might not have been confident facing me on the field of battle, where I had thoroughly proven my own ability to him and everyone else, but when he thought that he had a dagger aimed at my back? That gave him the confidence to face me. 

The battle, I imagine, was serving a dual purpose in his mind. The first wave likely held a number of his personal enemies and detractors. Many would be killed, as he knew they would be, because Horrik knew how deadly I was as a boy, and he would understand I had only become more dangerous as I aged. The rest of the battle was a delaying tactic to buy him the time needed to drive that dagger into my back. 

The third wave hit the second, and with a slog, they inched their way up to the first line. The weight of numbers gave them an advantage, forcing my warriors back a step. Then another. And another. Each step was controlled. Planned. Because, in he flurry of activity and frenzied orders, I knew exactly what orders were shouted to the army as they approached. 

‘Reinforce the center.’ 

Twenty thousand men pressed against my center, who took slow steps back. Which only encouraged the attacking army to press on harder, feeling the give and thinking the next step would break my shieldwall. All the while, the Norwegians and the Saxons on my flanks began to move up. First a step. Then two.

Slowly tightening a noose that the army was too divided and exhausted to notice. I’m sure some did, but Horrik didn’t have the command structure in place to truly command an army of such size. They weren’t like my men, who were built up by following me into battle, all deliberately recruited and trained in the same way to react and respond as I desired. 

“Hannibal would be proud, I think,” I smiled grimly as the encirclement was completed. The more Horrik’s army pushed, the deeper they fell into my trap, and the only thing that they could think to do was push forward. However, my veterans were unyielding, and once they received the order, they stopped retreating. They planted their feet and stood their ground, allowing the Saxons and Norwegians to complete the envelopment by swinging their flanks around. 

I could sense the quiet awe from King Widukind and Hoffer. They envisioned the battle would be greater than this. Harsher. Harder. That there would be a give and a take. 

I didn’t sail across the world for that. I didn’t build my army from the ground up for this moment for our forces to be even. 

I won the battle before we had even stepped foot on it. And it was only now that they realized that fact. 

Yet, Horrik still lingered on the field with his son, and the odd thousand men he kept as a personal guard of sorts. Waiting for that attack from the forest, while he waited for the dagger to be delivered. And, across the field, when he heard a horn blowing in the distance, I saw Horrik smile. He said something to his son, who threw back his head and laughed in delight. 

Even now, they thought their victory was assured.

I turned my attention to the sea at our flank, the lapping wave on the shore as a fleet of ships arrived. They closed in on the shore -- there were a great many of them, around fifty or so. They were densely packed, partly because it would make disembarking easier, and so they needed fewer ships to transport everyone. I watched their approach dispassionately as Astird gave an order -- a colored arrow fired off into the air, and that was the signal for two ships to sail towards the enemy fleet. 

The enemy fleet continued onward, undaunted by their approach. I’m sure their captains were mocking them. Perhaps even admiring their bravery for sailing towards a foe that outnumbered them so badly. In either case, they were completely unprepared for what was coming their way, right up until the first belch of flames erupted from the two ships. 

“Gods be good…” King Hoffer muttered under his breath, his face paling as the screams of those who were burning alive echoed over the water, even over the sounds of combat. Ships were ignited, and the dozens of men who were tightly packed on them burned alongside them. Many jumped into the water to escape the fire, and there they drowned. The fleet was in immediate disarray, ships bumping into each other as they tried to flee the fire, which only spread it with another belch of greek fire. 

I paid it no mind. Not really. Nor as the second group, which was meant to slip through the forest, instead attack the unprepared traitors in the rear. My gaze was affixed to Horrik, watching him across the field as the confidence slid off of his face and was replaced with naked horror. The dagger he hoped to be planted in my back was instead planted in his. 

Only then did I urge my horse forward. “Come on, brothers. We have a king to hunt,” I said, earning grins that stretched from ear to ear. 

Another advantage that we had was horsemen. Horrik never felt their effectiveness during the Saxon rebellion. Perhaps Grimar had sent word about it before his death at my hands, but even I hadn’t fully understood the warnings of my father until I experienced a charge firsthand. 

Horrik and his forces immediately began to back away, intending to retreat from the battlefield entirely. But, true to what I had told him through his spy, my companion force erupted from the forest the moment he turned his back to the battlefield. As our horses sped around the battlefield, heading to Horrik, I saw the hastily prepared defense shatter like glass in face of the charge. The already fractured force shattered entirely, men running to save themselves. 

They might have gotten away in the confusion, but True Sight didn’t allow it. They shone like gold in a field of red, and I drew Gram with my brothers right beside me. Any obstacle in our way was trampled over, letting nothing stand in our way. Horrik seemed to sense our approach because, without reason, he glanced over his shoulder as we rode towards him. His expression was one of terror as he urged his horse forward, and half pushed his son ahead of him as they fled for their lives. 

It mattered little. 

With a slash of my blade, I cut the leg of Horrik’s horse, sending him flying as the horse gave out from underneath him. Halfdan, however, chose to tackle Thorfinn off of his, with Haldur pouncing on them both before Thorfinn could think to put up a fight. 

Now there was the hum of anticipation in my blood as I dismounted, sparing but a glance at the others as they secured a thrashing Thorfinn who swore blood and vengeance. Instead, my gaze was firmly affixed to Horrik, who was trying to get his feet back underneath him after the fall. Only to go deadly still when he felt the cold blade of Gram press against his cheek, causing him to look up. 

Our eyes met and there was fear shining in Horrik’s eyes. 

I smiled, and for the first time in years, I spoke to the man who killed my family. 

“Hello, Horrik.”