Ch 111: The Riverbank
Led by a few Picts, the archers loosed a volley of arrows. Most of them stuck in the mud by the stream, scaring off the Viking infantry who were laying a bridge.
Seeing the ambush exposed, Duncan, the Lord of Stirling, no longer concealed himself. He led all his troops in a shout. The dense forest filled with terrifying howls. Large flocks of birds rose into the air, like a rapidly rising cloud of black smoke.
On the south bank of the stream, Vig put down the scroll in his hand, his expression calm.
“To have lasted until the third day, your patience is quite good. No wonder you used ambush tactics to harass the Romans relentlessly, forcing them to build Hadrian’s Wall.”
In response, he dispatched heavy crossbowmen to the streamside to snipe the enemy at the edge of the woodland.
Faced with these “iron turtles,” the Pictish archers were hard-pressed. They exchanged arrows for a few minutes before retreating into the depths of the forest, ignoring the Vikings’ provocation.
The howling ceased. Vig continued to sit under the tree shade reading, occasionally gazing into the distance, relaxing his tired and sore eye sockets.
A humid sea breeze blew from the southeast from the Firth of Forth. The grey clouds hung low. Not far away, a black goat with thick hair wandered, ignoring the killing intent on both banks of the stream, leisurely nibbling on juicy stalks of grass.
After a while, scout cavalry arrived with news that the fleet had successfully entered the River Forth mouth and was expected to arrive north of Stirling by noon.
“They’re finally here.”
Vig stretched languidly and ordered the whole army to build fires and cook. It was not until the Vikings had finished their lunch that the ambush in the forest finally reacted.
In the forest on the north side of the stream, the Lord of Stirling grabbed a scout by the collar and sharply asked, “How many are in the fleet?”
“A total of fifty longships, enough to carry two thousand Vikings.”
Hearing the scout’s assessment, a large group of Indigo Raiders nearby were instantly panicked. Someone urged Lord Duncan to return to Stirling. “The Serpent of the North is too vicious. He actually sent people around to the rear of Stirling. While it’s still possible, quickly return to Stirling, don’t keep holding out here!”
Retreat?
Duncan was reluctant to abandon this excellent battlefield. The north bank of the stream was covered with forests and swamps; the soil was soft and unfavorable for cavalry charges.
In short, this was the Northern Alliance’s only chance to turn the tables. If they retreated to Stirling to defend, they would eventually be annihilated by the enemy army.
As he was deeply entangled, the Vikings on the south bank of the stream emerged from their camp, deploying their formation. Under the cover of archers, two small battle groups of one hundred men each quickly crossed the river and engaged with the Pictish ambush at the edge of the forest.
Time passed, and more and more Viking light infantry crossed the stream. After much urging, Duncan finally decided to retreat north.
However, the two armies were entangled, and the foremost troops could not disengage. With no choice, he had to quickly lead eight hundred men back northwest to Stirling Town.
Ascending the north wall, Duncan looked at the large fleet on the river surface north of Stirling and asked a young boy, “How long ago did the enemy arrive?”
The boy, leaning on a spear twice his height, quietly replied, “About the time it takes to eat a meal.”
“Why haven’t they come ashore yet?”
Duncan suddenly thought of something and ran alone to the River Forth bank. Across the tens of meters of river surface, he saw that the rowers in the fleet were eating, relaxed and leisurely. Some were even casting fishing rods, showing no sign of attacking.
“No good, I’ve been tricked by the Serpent of the North! The fleet is just a shell, used to deceive us.”
Duncan was both surprised and angry. He couldn’t help but shout abuse at the river surface. His shouts attracted the attention of the fleet. The sailors raised and cocked heavy crossbows, scaring away the Pict painted with indigo dye.
The forest on the north side of the stream.
Since Duncan had led the main force back to Stirling in a hurry, only over four hundred Pictish infantry remained in the forest fighting. Faced with countless enemies, they held out for ten minutes or so, eagerly expecting reinforcements. Instead, they received bad news—Duncan had already led his troops back to Stirling.
“Damn it, why didn’t you say anything when you retreated?”
Learning that he had been deliberately abandoned by his allies, Morgan cursed. To save the sixty-odd people around him, he made a difficult decision: to secretly run away and let the others fight to the death in the forest.
In less than half an hour, the forest north of the stream was cleared. Vig began interrogating prisoners.
“You’re not lying, the number of ambushes in the forest was twelve hundred? That’s all the mobile troops the Picts have left?”
Including the three thousand before, the various units of the Picts could only muster four thousand two hundred mobile troops. Isn’t that too few?
After questioning several prisoners and receiving the same answer, Vig stopped dwelling on it and continued forward along the road, leading his army to surround Stirling Town.
Riding around the walls, Vig found that the surrounding forests were extensive, and to the north of Stirling Town, the River Forth flowed from west to east. Further north, the terrain became increasingly rugged, belonging to the Northern Highlands.
“Forests abound; there’s an ample supply of timber, suitable for smelting pig iron.”
Currently, the fuel required to smelt iron ore into iron ingots is charcoal, not coal. Coal needs to be coked to become coke before it is suitable for smelting metals. Vig had no memory of coking coal; for a long time, he could only use charcoal for ironworking.
“Currently in the early Medieval period, the population is extremely sparse, and there are sufficient forest resources. I estimate it can last until the appearance of steam engines.”
After some time, Vig dismissed his distracting thoughts and concentrated his energy on besieging the settlement.
At his command, the soldiers methodically felled timber and built fortifications, quickly constructing a siege camp suitable for long-term occupation.
The camp was located north of Stirling, on the River Forth bank, allowing for supply transport by water, avoiding attacks on supply trains.
After the completion of the siege camp, the soldiers did not rest. Carrying hoes and shovels, they dug a moat outside Stirling, cutting off all contact between the settlement and the outside world. On the walls, looking at their diligent work, Duncan felt a mix of emotions.
This army was very strange. Compared to most Viking pirates, they placed more emphasis on discipline, similar to the legendary Roman legions. It is said that the Romans also built strong siege camps, built various machines, and attacked settlements according to strict procedures.
Slamming the battlements, Duncan sighed,
“It seems our tactics were seriously wrong. We shouldn’t have fought these Vikings head-on, nor should we have withdrawn into the city. The best method would have been to harass them with small units in rotation, wearing down their strength.”
Regret, remorse, unwillingness—all kinds of emotions filled Duncan’s heart. If he could take this memory back half a year, he would certainly be able to persuade the allied army to change tactics so that they wouldn’t lose a large number of warriors on the north bank of the Tweed River.
“I hope the Gaels in the west are smart enough. If they make the same mistake, the entire North will eventually fall.”