At ten in the morning, the weather was clear, the breeze gentle. Nearly twenty thousand men had taken their positions along the banks of the Seine, the line stretching more than a kilometer from north to south. The grand formation drew scores of Parisians to the southern bridgehead to watch the coming battle.
On a low hill to the west, the Vikings had built a platform six meters high. Rurik stumbled up the long ladder to its summit, from where the entire battlefield unfolded beneath him like a living map.
Commanding an army of ten thousand was no simple task. Only three were fit for it — Rurik, Ivar, and Gunnar. Ivar preferred to lead his own thousand heavy infantry; Gunnar had to command the cavalry. Thus, overall command naturally fell to Rurik.
Before him stretched a sea of heads and a forest of rippling banners. He drew several deep breaths, his chest heaving, unable to calm the excitement surging in his heart.
"Never thought I'd live to see this day," he murmured.
