While withdrawing northward, Vig interrogated the prisoners and learned more details about the Battle of Auxerre.
After their defeat, the remaining Viking forces gathered whatever boats they could find along the way and fled downstream along the Yonne River—a tributary of the Seine—toward Paris. They barely managed to reach the north-bank bridgehead of the Île de la Cité.
The Frankish army pursued them to the south bank of Paris. However, the bridges over the Seine had already been destroyed—the wooden spans burned by the defenders—leaving the Franks unable to cross quickly. They could only watch helplessly as several thousand of Ragnar's battered troops escaped.
Failing to take the head of his sworn enemy, Charles was consumed by fury. Then he remembered that another accursed band of Vikings was still operating in the west, and immediately dispatched Gunnar with cavalry and mounted infantry on a long-distance pursuit.
"Two wars in succession—Ragnar must have completely enraged Charles the Bald, to the point that he ordered his archers to fire poisoned arrows. Now that the two realms have torn away all pretenses, West Francia's strength far exceeds ours. In a prolonged confrontation, Britain will be the one to suffer."
Vig sighed inwardly. On the surface, however, he maintained a calm, indifferent demeanor so as not to damage morale, then quickened his pace to rejoin the forces of Ulf and Little Pascal.
"So the king lost?" Ulf muttered endlessly. "I knew this expedition would end badly. I said we should hit Flanders, grab some quick profit, and return home early—but no one listened to me."
"Thank the gods," Little Pascal said pale-faced, clutching the silver cross on his chest and whispering prayers, "that I was separated from the main force."
"After fighting his whole life… Ragnar actually lost?"
The Swedish nobles such as Leksar wore complicated expressions.
For years, Ragnar's name had echoed across the Nordic world. Swedish nobles submitted to Halfdan largely out of respect for Ragnar's authority, trading obedience for protection and opportunities to raid abroad. Now that he had suffered a crushing defeat—and had even been struck by poisoned arrows—it was clear that the brothers would need to seriously reconsider the future.
After crossing the Loire, the Vikings entered Nantes. From there north to the port of Saint-Malo lay Brittany, now engulfed in rebellion. Fearing that he might face both Vikings and local insurgents at once, Gunnar abandoned the pursuit.
Thus, the latter half of the retreat proceeded relatively smoothly as the Vikings marched south-to-north across Brittany.
On the eastern wall of Rennes, Salomon watched the black serpent banner recede into the distance, resentment slowly rising in his heart.
These cowards had stirred up immense trouble and then fled across the sea, leaving the people of Brittany to face the Franks alone.
"Foreigners are all the same—no good among them!"
Hearing his lord's curse, an attendant suggested attacking the retreating force, trading the Northland Serpent's life for peace. Surely Charles the Bald would accept such an offer.
Salomon hesitated briefly, then glanced at the rebellious peasants on the walls and immediately abandoned the idea. They lacked armor, had trained for too little time—if battle broke out, they stood no chance.
Worse still, the Northland Serpent had declined the invitation to a banquet and headed straight for Saint-Malo. Clearly, he had anticipated betrayal.
"Cunning barbarian," Salomon muttered. "May you meet a storm at sea and never plague the world again."
Port of Saint-Malo
Vig questioned the garrison and learned that after clearing Frankish forces from the Channel Islands, they had begun embarking for the return north. Due to insufficient ships, the crossing to Southampton would proceed in two waves.
Given the shifting political situation, Vig feared a sudden betrayal by Wessex. Upon landing, he immediately secured the docks and nearby facilities. Once the second wave arrived, nearly five thousand men advanced toward Londinium in full field-march formation, moving with utmost caution.
Several days later, the sight of the black serpent banner sent the entire city into an uproar.
Since the defeat at the front, Londinium had been flooded with rumors—such as:
"Gunnar led a two-hundred-mile cavalry raid, annihilating several thousand of Vig's men in a single battle! Vig barely escaped with his life and even lost Dragon's Breath!"
No sooner had Vig's army entered the northern encampment than Prime Minister Godwin rode in at full speed. After roughly counting the troops, his worries eased considerably.
Vig asked, "How is His Majesty?"
Godwin replied grimly, "Very bad. He's still unconscious. Ivar was wounded as well—he was nearly killed when surrounded by Maurice and the others. Two days ago, news arrived of unrest in Ireland, and he rushed back by ship to suppress it. This… this is truly disastrous."
After the rout at Auxerre and the chaotic retreat, Ragnar's army had lost more than half its strength, returning with only five thousand men. Many nobles had been captured, including Lennard, both sons of Om, and the sole heir of the Earl of Lancaster.
"They've been demanding prisoner exchanges nonstop," Godwin continued. "But after tallying the captives, ours aren't worth as much as theirs. We'd have to pay extra—and where would the treasury find that money?"
Godwin lingered in the camp for nearly two hours. At last, he got what he wanted and left with over a hundred prisoners.
After settling the troops, Vig, Ulf, and the others went to the palace to visit the king, only to be stopped by a bald shaman at the door.
"His Majesty is unconscious and cannot receive guests."
The pungent scent of medicinal herbs leaked through the doorway. Vig strongly doubted the shamans' medical skills—but there was nothing he could do.
Early medieval Western medicine was primitive. Monasteries handled most treatments, following Galen's theory of the Four Humors, relying mainly on bloodletting, holy water, dubious herbs, and relics. Nordic shamanic medicine was no better—little more than ritualistic trance-dancing.
The Tyne Town Order's medical practices surpassed both. They respected empirical reality, insisted on sterilization before treatment, and meticulously recorded outcomes and success rates afterward. Their limitation lay in the scarcity of medicines; they relied on Dioscorides' De Materia Medica, testing remedies one by one and cultivating medicinal herbs in bulk.
Yet, reviewing all known formulas, Vig found nothing addressing snake venom. No one knew what poison Prince Ælla had applied to the arrowheads. At this point, fate would decide.
Returning to camp, Vig and the others decided to disband. Judging from Godwin's tone, he was likely planning to withhold overdue wages. There was no point in staying.
"At last, it's over," Ulf said with a sigh. "Vig, I didn't misjudge you. You truly deserve the name Northland Serpent. You brought us back from the brink. Come to Torchkeep for a meal sometime."
With that, Ulf led several hundred soldiers back to Kent. Little Pascal, whose lands lay in Tees, south of Tyne, continued marching with Vig.
Leksar and the other Swedes remained in Londinium, eager to find ships home before October's dangerous seas.
"West Francia is rich and fertile," Leksar said, "but far too dangerous. Life back in the North is easier and more peaceful."
Having narrowly escaped death, the Swedes were deeply affected. They grew more cautious, cherishing the calm of their former lives, and swore never again to join Ragnar's raids.
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