West, Central Army Terrace.
"The main infantry force hasn't even advanced yet, so why are they attacking so quickly?"
His plan was foiled. Vig threw two flags into a wooden basket and quickly gave orders to the messengers:
"Give Ivar's troops the order to advance. Quickly crush the enemy's left flank and clear the southern front."
"Leonard's and Theowulf's troops are to advance as usual. They are to act carefully and not go too far!"
"Bjorn's troops, having endured a tough fight, have temporarily retreated to the rear."
As Vig hastily changed tactics, Gunnar had already reached the junction of the Frankish center and left flank, where only about three hundred infantrymen had hastily formed up.
Iron hooves whirled through the grass, raising clouds of dust. The moment the mighty horses crashed into the crowd of people, the Frankish militiamen collapsed like straw.
Attacking, chopping and trampling, the militiamen in the back rank were terrified of the maddened Norman horsemen, as if they had seen a horde of demons from hell.
(The Franks called the Vikings "Normans," meaning people from the north.)
Soon, the surviving militiamen began to retreat in unison. Ignoring the calls of the commander, the fair-haired youth suddenly threw away his shield and rusty iron axe, turned and knocked down his comrades standing behind him. From that moment on, the flight began.
"Pay no attention to them, follow me!"
Abandoning these helpless militiamen, Gunnar rushed at full speed towards the dazzling blue banner with golden heraldic lilies. Under it stood a frightened youth in a crown. Unfortunately, he was a step too late. The nearest Franks, desperately rallying, blocked the small detachment of cavalry.
Hurray!
Seeing the storm of spears ahead, Gunnar's horse reared in fear, almost throwing him to the ground. Unable to do anything, he led his troops to the weak point on the eastern flank, piercing the entire French formation.
By this time, there was no enemy in the east, only a few scattered low farmhouses. Not far away on the southern bank of the Seine was a bridgehead. There seemed to be many people watching the battle outside the ramparts.
"Sir, the enemy is pursuing us!"
Turning around, Gunnar saw a large, disorganized group of Franks pursuing him. He looked around. Most of the two hundred men who had accompanied him in the attack had scattered, leaving only about a dozen horsemen.
Outnumbered, he decided to make a wide circle to get away from the group and return to the main line of Vikings in the west.
After running for several hundred meters, Gunnar gradually fell behind. He looked at his horse and saw a large wound on his right foreleg, from which blood was gushing.
After running a little further, the horse's heavy body fell to the ground with a crash. Gunnar rolled over several times. When he recovered, he saw seven Frankish horsemen rushing towards him at full speed.
Grabbing his long sword from the ground, Gunnar ran north towards the Seine. The people watching the battle on the bridgehead burst into joyful laughter at the sight of the wolf-like face of this Viking barbarian.
"The Seine is wide, and over there are our ships. What makes him think he can swim to the other side?"
Queen Ermentrude, surrounded by a group of noble ladies, stood on a watchtower with a better view, amused by the panicking barbarian.
The queen laughed heartily, and the noble ladies joined her. Amidst the continuous merriment, the barbarian ran to the shallows and froze.
"Has he gone mad?"
The queen frowned.
The next moment, her brother, William, the eldest son of the Count of Orleans, spoke up: "No, horses are afraid of water, and cavalry cannot attack, so he deliberately ran towards the shallows, hoping to kill as many enemies as possible before he died."
William's prediction soon came true. The vanguard of the cavalry rushed to the riverbank. Their horses circled restlessly in the shallows, their hooves slipping every now and then in knee-deep water.
Suddenly, Gunnar grabbed a pebble and threw it. The splash of water frightened the horse, forcing the rider to grab the reins to keep his balance. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Gunnar rushed forward and slashed the horse across the belly with his sword.
The horse struggled desperately in pain, throwing both rider and horseman into the water. Gunnar struck his opponent on the helmet with the full weight of his sword, neatly slicing his neck.
Picking up his fallen shield, Gunnar exchanged several blows with the next riders, making feints before plunging his sword into the enemy's side.
He killed two, and then a third and a fourth, each of whom was killed one after the other.
Seeing this, the three remaining riders dismounted and rushed forward, stepping on the slippery river rocks. After one was killed, the remaining two, terrified by the bloody Scandinavian devil, threw down their weapons and fled.
Exhausted by the chase, Gunnar sat knee-deep in the river, gasping for air. His long sword, forged with such difficulty, lay on the bottom, its blade bent like a saw. He tore off the silk tunic of the dead rider and pressed it to the wound. The crimson blood spread, faded, and finally disappeared into the clear water.
A few minutes later, more than twenty Viking riders returned to support their commander.
Pushing aside his henchmen who tried to support him, Gunnar leaped onto his horse, seized the banner with the image of a brown bear, and galloped toward the bridgehead only seventy paces away.
He thrust the flagpole heavily into the ground and shouted to the defenders behind the battlements:
"Lord Gunnar of Cambridge is here, who dares leave the city?"
"Gunnar is here, who dares leave the city!"
At the top of the watchtower no one understood his Norwegian, but they guessed roughly that the man was proposing a duel.
"Let me go down and kill him,"
said William, seizing his wrist with his sister. "This man has killed several knights. You are too young
to fight."
The queen ordered the palace guards: "Find Maurice de Montpellier; he should be all right." Having received the order, the guards rode at full speed to the Ile de la Cité. A few minutes later he returned with a report:
"Your Majesty, Chevalier Maurice is still ill and can't even walk."
Fearing that her brother would insist on leaving the city, she gathered her courage and shouted to the archers: "In the name of the queen, I command you to shoot this Norman!"
Under a hail of arrows falling from the walls, Gunnar retreated twenty or thirty paces and showered curses on the Franks, accusing them of unwarlike behavior.
He led his men in a three-minute tirade before realizing that their opponents did not understand Norwegian. Suddenly he lost interest and walked south, cursing.
"I suppose I should spend more time learning foreign languages. Otherwise I won't even be able to curse. It's too unfair."
The gaze returned to the battlefield.
Since Gunnar had seized the opportunity to attack Charles the Bald, the French armies had rushed to his aid, wreaking havoc on the line. Seizing this precious opportunity, Ivar led a thousand heavy infantry into the attack. With the support of his allies, he easily routed the Frankish infantry on the southern flank of the battlefield.
"These men are too weak. They are no match for the heavy infantry of the English."
Having completed the first phase of the combat tasks, Ivar looked towards the western platform. The figure was waving a flag, which roughly meant:
reform, face north, and attack the enemy center.