Chapter 299: Reinforcements for Calais
Standing on the towering stone walls of Calais, everything seemed like a dream.
Just a few weeks ago, King Erik was a warlord fighting over frozen scraps of land in the North. Now, under the grand vision of Ragnar, the Iron King, Erik was occupying one of the most heavily fortified port cities in the entire Frankish Empire!
"To the walls!" a Viking lookout screamed, blowing a massive horn.
"They are here!"
Erik tightened his grip on his axe. He squinted toward the southern horizon. A massive cloud of brown dust was rising into the blue sky.
Through the dust, the blinding reflection of polished steel caught the afternoon sun.
This was it! The grand army of Europa had arrived!
Erik braced himself, fully expecting to see a horizon completely blackened by tens of thousands of angry, charging horses.
But as the dust settled, Erik blinked in confusion.
"What’s going on?" Erik muttered, leaning further over the wall.
Down on the grassy plains, about half a mile from the city gates, the army had come to a halt.
But it wasn’t a massive force... There were only about 500 French knights.
Erik stood completely still, waiting for the rest of the army to pour over the hills.
One minute passed. Then five minutes. Then ten. There were no more knights coming.
Instead of preparing siege ladders or forming a battle line, the 500 knights dismounted their warhorses. They began pitching brightly colored silk tents and lighting campfires.
Through the quiet afternoon air, Erik could actually hear the faint sounds of the knights laughing, drinking wine, and singing arrogant songs.
"Are they mocking us?" asked a young warrior standing next to Erik.
"They’re just the vanguard," Erik realized, a slow smile spreading across his face. "They think we’re rats who’ll hide behind walls until their main army arrives. Let them enjoy their wine for now."
Before Erik could order his archers to take a few warning shots to wipe the smug smiles off the French knights’ faces, a different sound pierced the air.
It was a deep booming sound coming from the ocean behind them.
Erik spun around, his eyes going wide. Sailing directly into the deep-water harbor of Calais was a massive fleet of transport ships.
The sails bore the terrifying, proud emblem of the Iron Kingdom!
"Reinforcements!" Erik shouted, throwing his fist into the air. "The Iron King has answered! Open the docks!"
Erik didn’t waste another second on the 500 arrogant knights camping outside. He sprinted down the stone steps of the city wall.
Dozens of ships were already dropping heavy wooden ramps.
Standing at the end of the main pier was Commander Bjorn.
"What can we say?" Bjorn roared, gesturing wildly toward the crates being carefully lowered from the ships.
"Ragnar gave us one rule! Keep the black powder dry! If I see one single drop of ocean water touch those crates, Halvar, I will personally use your head as a training target! Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Commander!" Halvar squeaked, waving his arms to direct the soldiers to cover the crates with waterproof tarps.
"Bjorn!" Erik called out, laughing loudly as he jogged down the wooden pier.
Bjorn turned around. A joyous grin split across his face.
"Erik! You crazy bastard!" Bjorn boomed, pulling back and looking at the stone walls of Calais. "You actually took the city! Ragnar was so proud when he heard the news. He sends his regards, and his absolute promise that we will hold this ground!"
"I am glad to see you, my friend," Erik gasped, catching his breath. He looked past Bjorn at the thousands of men marching onto the docks in square formations.
"By the Gods... the discipline! And what are they holding?"
Erik walked past Bjorn and approached one of the marching soldiers. The soldier was carrying a beautifully carved piece of wood attached to a long, perfectly straight, hollow iron tube.
Erik tilted his head, looking bewildered. He tapped the iron barrel. "A stick and an iron pipe? Did City Titan run out of real steel?"
"But surely, this cannot be it? The French vanguard is sitting right outside our walls. Five hundred of the most heavily armored knights in the world. Their armor can deflect an arrow at point-blank range!"
"Arrows, yes," Bjorn smirked, "This is Ragnar’s genius. He calls it a ’musket’."
Erik looked at the strange weapon, then looked at the seemingly endless lines of men pouring off the ships.
"How... how many did you bring?" Erik asked.
"Thanks to Louis working the blacksmiths to the bone," Bjorn said proudly, "we brought three thousand men armed with these muskets. We also brought one thousand men armed with fifteen-foot steel pikes to protect the shooters from a cavalry charge."
Erik currently had three thousand of his own fierce warriors holding the city. With Bjorn’s reinforcements, that meant they now had 7,000 men standing inside Calais.
"Seven thousand men..." Erik whispered, "And three thousand of them hold weapons that can shatter steel armor?"
"Exactly!" Bjorn grinned, placing his hand on Erik’s shoulder.
Erik looked back toward the southern walls, where the 500 French knights were drinking wine in their colorful silk tents.
"Those poor, arrogant fools outside our walls," Erik chuckled, shaking his head. "They thought they were the hunters!"
...
Hours had passed since the massive transport ships of the Iron Kingdom first dropped their ramps onto the docks.
Bjorn marched at the front of the massive column. Behind him, the endless ranks of soldiers moved. Every man wore leather armor, and every man carried a long iron musket resting on his shoulder.
"You should have been here, Bjorn! It was the most magnificent thing I have ever seen in my entire life!" Erik laughed, pointing his finger down the main street toward the southern entrance of the city.
Bjorn followed Erik’s finger and stopped walking.
"By the Gods," Bjorn whispered, "What in the world did you do to those doors?"
"It wasn’t me! It was the Field Artillery Cannons!" Erik cheered, "When the Frankish knights stood on the walls, laughing at us and thinking we were just going to throw rocks... we loaded those cannons!"