With Leeds taken, the Viking host scattered like sand in the wind. They stripped the town bare—first the lord's hall and the monastery, then spread out to plunder the countryside.
Over a week later, the raiding bands trickled back. After a brief rest, Ragnar left a hundred of the old, sick, and wounded to guard the supplies and ships, then marched the host inland toward their next target.
The road to Mancunium led through rough hills that slowed the advance. On the third afternoon, the Vikings finally sighted the city's walls.
Unlike Leeds, this place boasted a four-ter-high stone wall, remnants of Ro. Yet luck favored them: the north wall had partially collapsed from neglect, and several hundred laborers were scrambling to repair it. At the sight of horn-held marauders, the workers fled, shrieking as though the end of days had co.
"Now's our chance—forward!"
Once again the Vikings stord in boar's-head formation. Ivar led the charge through the gap—straight into a wall of steel.
An entire line of Anglian soldiers stood waiting, clad in mail and iron, square shields locked edge to edge across the eight-ter-wide street.
Ivar raised his blade high, signaling his warriors to form a wedge.
"inn!"
Spitting an oath, he hurled himself forward, invoking Odin's na. The first man fell beneath his sword, hot blood splashing his comrades' faces—but they did not break. The Angles fought with a grim resolve that shocked even hardened raiders.
"Hah! These stunted Anglian curs can stand their ground!"
Ivar stabbed again and again, thrusting between the shields. Each ti one man fell, another stepped up to fill the gap.
On his right, Björn swung his axe hard, splintering wood—only for two spears to stab out. His axe lodged fast in a shield; as he staggered back, one spear grazed his belly. Mail blunted the blow, but blood still seeped through the rings.
At the rear, Nils loosed arrow after arrow at the Anglian bown firing from the rooftops. Yet for every foe he dropped, two more seed to appear, and soon the Norse archers were driven back.
The fight dragged on. The Anglian shieldwall held like a cliff against the sea. Viking fury dulled, blows slowed, and at last Ivar gave the signal to pull back.
Then a roar rose outside the city. From the western woods surged a fresh column of troops—Anglian soldiers under a banner of red and gold stripes.
Vig's voice rang with alarm:
"The king's banner of Northumbria! By the gods—that explains it. These are King Ælla's household guard!"
With enemies pressing from behind, Ivar had no choice but to withdraw. Arrows rained from the walls above, darkening the street, cutting down those who lagged.
The three-hundred-strong assault force broke and fled. When they rejoined Ragnar's main host, fear spread like wildfire. n bolted on their own, and morale crumbled.
"Hold the line, Ivar! Vig! Keep them steady!"
Ragnar and four jarls themselves led warriors to stem the tide, buying three precious minutes. Long enough for the rest to regroup into a ragged circle. The army was saved, but at a terrible cost—half of Ragnar's n were dead, and one noble had fallen.
At dusk they pulled away, limping eastward. Ragnar tallied the survivors—barely one thousand and fifty remained. A third of the host was gone.
"Why was Ælla not in York, but here in Mancunium?" Ragnar demanded.
Five Anglian soldiers had been captured, rash in pursuit. Questioned, they revealed the truth.
"So he marched to crush rebellious nobles, and to repair Mancunium's wall. And we blundered right into his hands…" Ragnar cursed himself. Had he heeded Lennart and struck straight at York, perhaps they would already be drinking from the king's silver cups instead of bleeding in retreat.
That night they camped uneasily. At dawn, climbing a ridge, Vig suddenly pointed back. "Northumbrians! They've been shadowing us all along!"
Fifteen hundred strong, with two hundred in iron, the royal guard among them. In their midst rode twenty horsen—nobles and landholders, gaudy in dress but laughably without stirrups.
Vig muttered darkly, "No stirrups? By the gods… The East has had them for centuries. Steppe riders, Byzantine guards, all of them… but here? Britain lags behind. Good. Without stirrups they can't charge—just skirmish."
By noon, Anglian archers erged from the flanking woods, loosing shafts from afar. They sought not kills but delay, hemming the Norsen's march. By sunset, the pursuing host was only two kiloters behind.
There was no escaping. The Vikings halted at an abandoned farmstead. Tomorrow, battle would decide all.
As the sun sank, the sky flad orange-red, like blood on the horizon. Most of the n plunged into a frenzy of drink and lust, swearing oaths to et again in Valhalla.
Vig kept apart, studying the ground. To the north, flat land ideal for shieldwall against shieldwall—a grim at-grinder.
"One thousand against fifteen hundred, with our spirits broken. Less than a third chance," he thought.
Then he turned south, to the slope of a low hill. He frowned, pondering long into the dusk. At last, a plan ca to him.
~~--------------------------
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