: After the knights had
ridden some distance, Tolga arrived at a low hill. In the distance, he could see a large group of Gaels huddled on the western bank of the river, waiting for a wooden bridge to be repaired. Not far to the east, a small group of Welshmen were shooting feather arrows, but it seemed to have little effect.
"The enemy is many, and we are few. Remember, follow this flag and do not rush!"
Tolga handed the black flag with the yellow dragon to the rider behind him and spent a few minutes forming a wedge suitable for the attack.
At the same time, the Gaels spotted the cavalry on a low hill to the north and hastily reformed their formation. Unfortunately, this army consisted of dozens of settlements, and the chain of command was chaotic. When the cavalry charged, the Gaelic nobles had not yet discussed a suitable response.
Someone suggested, "Put the archers in the front rank and shoot these cavalrymen."
"Fool! The archers will be crushed by the cavalry charge. They belong in the rear. Put the spearmen in the front rank."
"Who do you call an idiot? Open your eyes! Where will we get spearmen?"
Amidst the endless hubbub, the cavalry advanced to the attack. Tolgar did not charge into the thickest part of the enemy line. Instead, he deliberately aimed for the weakest link on the edge.
"One!"
He increased his speed, aiming his spear. In seconds, his horse had reached its full speed and was plunging into the westernmost line of the Gaelic coalition. There were only a few foot soldiers there, armed with round shields and short swords, their formation scattered like a crowd of petrified scarecrows. The charge had completely routed them.
Having destroyed some three hundred men, Tolgar did not linger. In his experience, maintaining speed was of the utmost importance for cavalry. If a large horse was stuck in the line, it was vulnerable to attack; a thrown axe or a stray arrow could render it ineffective.
"Follow me, do not fight!"
With his cry, the cavalry retreated to the low hill from which they had begun their attack, reformed into a wedge, and continued their attack on the western flank of the Gaelic army.
This time the enemy responded by sending archers to shoot at the cavalry. Several arrows hit the unprotected horses,
causing more than a dozen cavalrymen at the edge of the wedge to fall to the ground, their lives unknown.
"Never mind the archers, we'll deal with them later."
Without changing his goal, Tolgar led the entire wedge in another attack on the western flank of the Gaelic army. The enemy's hastily erected shield wall shattered like thin boards at the slightest touch.
Having routed three hundred enemy warriors, the cavalry returned to the original hill. After counting his men, Tolgar found that only about one hundred and sixty of his comrades remained, with almost half the horses exhausted and in urgent need of rest.
Seeing this, he divided his force into two parts, planning to lead the eighty cavalrymen in good shape for a new attack, followed by the remainder for a second round. The two forces alternated, giving the enemy no time to breathe.
Having adjusted his position, Thorga launched a third attack. In the middle of the charge, he suddenly changed direction, pointing his wedge straight at the pesky archers.
Faced with the ferocious Norman cavalry, the Gaelic archers offered no resistance, throwing down their weapons and fleeing into the allied ranks, further disrupting the coalition formation.
The battle lasted two or three minutes. Torga, sensing the enemy was coming, retreated, unwilling to engage.
Using this "onion peeling" tactic, Torga repeatedly attacked, concentrating on the edges of the enemy line, weakening their strength and organization until Whig's infantry arrived.
Torga said, "Sir, we have lost thirty men killed and sixty horses. The remaining horses are very tired and will not fight for a while." "
Understood,"
Whig noted the achievement of his men and ordered them to rest.
In the distance, the Gaelic coalition army, still two thousand strong, huddled on the west bank of the river, rushed toward the east across a newly built wooden bridge.
"Charge! Charge!"
Taking advantage of this rare opportunity, Whig threw his entire light infantry and crossbowmen, 1,200 men in all, into the attack. Overcoming fatigue, they rushed to the river bank, engaging in a fierce battle with the thousand Gaelic infantry who had not yet crossed.
Retreating before the enemy was a difficult task, requiring exceptional morale and organization. Clearly, this hastily assembled Gaelic coalition was inadequate, as the vast majority were focused on retreating to the east bank. Driven by
the desperate need to survive, they squeezed their way onto the bridge, the hastily laid planks creaking and swaying slightly under their feet.
Soon the crossbowmen opened fire on the enemy on the bridge, adding to the chaos. Some were struck by arrows and fell into the water, while others were pushed off the bridge by their comrades.
Crack!
After several blows, the plank cracked, signaling that the bridge had reached its limit. Soon, the planks continued to break under the Gaelic tramp, sending more and more soldiers into the water. Realizing that escape was hopeless, the 700 Gaels trapped on the western bank surrendered.
After crossing the channel, which was more than ten meters wide, the surviving Gaelic nobles were filled with regret. They realized that they had made a grave mistake. The enemy was outnumbered, and the long march had greatly exhausted their strength. A decisive battle might give the allied forces a chance of victory.
"What should we do next?"
Hughie, Lord of Glasgow, commanded three hundred men and wielded the greatest influence. "Continue east, relieve Edinburgh, rest a while, make four-metre-long wooden spears, and then engage the Vikings in decisive battle."
After seeing the terrifying spectacle of the cavalry charge, the nobles lost the courage to engage in open warfare. They followed Hughie's advice and moved quickly along the road, arriving at the settlement at the foot of Edinburgh Hill at three o'clock in the afternoon.
Compared to its previous appearance, the settlement had undergone significant changes. Two walls were built: an inner one to protect the besieged defenders of Edinburgh and an outer one to protect against reinforcements.
The inner and outer walls were identical, about five metres high, with loopholes for archers. The tall archery towers were spaced apart, and outside there was a ditch five meters deep, lined with sharpened wooden stakes.
"Is this, is this, is this necessary?"
Hughie's face went pale, his chest heaving. Even now, in his early forties, he had never seen such tactics. "The besiegers are even better fortified than the defenders. These Vikings are truly unorthodox." At that
moment, the Gaels launched a probing attack. Under the hail of arrows from the Welsh longbows, their morale sank, and they collapsed before reaching the edge of the ditch.
Looking at the soldiers hunched on the ground, breathing heavily, Hughie realized that their strength was running out, not enough for a full-scale assault.
With their troops blocked from the front and pursued from behind, the nobles considered and decided to retreat to the southern highlands, using the rough terrain and dense forests to evade the Vikings.
"Their cavalry is not suited to mountain fighting. If you continue to pursue us, we will set an ambush and teach these barbarian Vikings a lesson."
With these threats, Hughie led his troops into the mountains to the south, and this massive rescue operation was completed.