Saddle-shaped valleys cut through the forest, and as he made his way through the terrain, Rodrigo was still thinking about Martin's suggestion. It was a good idea to attack from Dover, especially if the English were in control of the Channel. In this way, however, the road to the south was completely opened, and the Flemish forces in Arras had the option of attacking Boulogne or spinning north, the latter of which meant an inevitable head-on collision.

Bruges had been mobilized, the ships arriving from the sea confirmed the matter, and Rodrigo decided to discuss the battle in person with the Count of Boulogne before the full moon.

What he saw, however, was the count's new tomb, and on the high steps, the knights who stood on either side of the arched columns hung their arms down, their eyes lowered, and the count's heir, Eustace the Younger, accompanied by a large group of priests in gray-haired shawls.

"Christ mercy!" Rodrigo couldn't help but sigh that the Flemish lion of Boulogne had gone so suddenly, which meant that the British army had suddenly reduced its options.

Sure enough, little Eustace did not agree with the Count's first plan in any way, and now he could not bear the consequences of abandoning his ancestral domain at the beginning of his succession, let alone being driven out like a wild dog by that Flemish Robert!

After leaving the city, Rodrigo finally decided: it was time to abandon the idea of luring the enemy south and attack from the coastline. This decision may have violated all known laws of war: to take the initiative to attack a more powerful opponent with a small force, but he had no choice, and the king would not accept the capture or even death of Eustace Jr., who was the king's right hand.

Hazelwood, holly, and heather spread half-dead through the wilderness, and British mercenaries in wolfskin helmets traversed moorlands and woodlands with long shields painted with white stars. The coastline stifled all agriculture, flocks of wagtails fluttered in the tops of golden willow trees at dusk, stags and rabbits frolicked among hedges in the distance—there was no sacred place here, and today there might be buried under the springs of ancient pagan stone pillars, many of which Rodrigo had seen in Wales, and that was the road to Anwin.

"Alva, I've decided to go to the beach for a few days, and you can take our men back to Calais first." The Count suddenly looked back and commanded.

In this way, Rodrigo disappeared for five days, and on the second night after Count Baldwin entered Calais, the castle defenders saw the famous Andalusian horse of the Count of Pembroc.

"Grown-ups!" Count Rodrigo looked extremely tired, his hair was strewn with golden dead leaves, and half a ram's leg hung from his saddle, like a royal forestry and water conservancy officer on patrol.

But his eyes were bright, and after taking a piece of oatmeal and a glass of blood-red wine, he continued while eating and drinking: "Get everyone ready, and we can go tomorrow." ”

Baldwin, Earl of Lincoln, pretended not to see the honey nut on Rodrigo's beard: "I have only brought the militia (fyrd) of Lincoln and Peterborough, the sailors of Kent (butescarles), and the overseas mercenaries (lithsmen) of London, plus the troops of the adults, there are less than four thousand men, and the enemy is at least twice as large as ours, should we wait for the prince and the rest of the troops to arrive and then go to the rescue of Boulogne?" ”

"We're not going to Boulogne." The Spaniard replied, "I have chosen another good burial ground for the Flemish people, and you will meet shortly." ”

After listening to the earl's strategy, all the nobles were dumbfounded, they did not expect that the final plan would be so crazy, it was simply a desperate gamble.

However, Rodrigo had the King's Ring and was the highest-ranking lord in attendance, and no one could directly oppose this noble member of the royal family.

"Master Martin, do you think we have a chance of winning?" After entering the hall, the Earl of Lincoln secretly asked Martin, the castle steward.

"If it were me, I would wait for the prince's men to arrive." Martin didn't expect Rodrigo to be so reckless and planned to attack immediately with half his forces, but it was his own plan after all......

The hall was filled with lords and knights, and the red, white, and black badges on the spears symbolized all the sacred territory from the mouth of the Humber River to the port of Dover.

"Lord Mordred, how many of your Peterborough are there?"

"One hundred and sixty-eight of the best warriors in the entire moor." Mordred, son of Sigfors, replied proudly.

"Very well, you will be the vanguard of our army and control the road east of the seaside embankment." After Rodrigo had given the first order, he quickly laid out the sequence of the whole army and the rejects, and he reported the names of the Flemish coasts one by one, and gave instructions on the main points to deal with the enemy in different terrains, and this confident attitude gradually calmed the restless hearts of the lords.

The map on the long table in the hall was soon filled with symbols, and both the Bishop of Dover and the Earl of Lincoln had already seen the goal of the march, and since the name of the place was identical in the Flemish language and the Northumbrian language, the Bishop of Dover immediately remembered the humble place, the Dune Church.

At the court of Bruges, Robert, Count of Flanders, looked at the northern sky, and felt that the distant horizon seemed to be darkening and darkening, and the boiling clouds seemed to be filling from the bottom up, and the large flocks of birds were moving at a high speed, and he wanted to see the northwest coast, but was obscured by the black clouds.

The King of Denmark was thus destroyed, as if he had been swept into a whirlpool at the bottom of the sea, leaving no trace behind, and the carved ornaments of the northerners, which had shone in his castle not so long ago, were now like rain bouncing on the blades of swords, bursting into countless pieces, as if it were a force of nature that had destroyed them.

Robert felt a faint tingling in his bones, and the years finally found him, no matter how silently he avoided disputes all these years, time would never let anyone go.

The squire in charge of the helmet held him a cold steel lion skull, a masterpiece of the English master as bright and smooth as a silver mirror, even reflecting his gray sideburns.

The Count pushed away the squire's arm in disgust: "Change one." ”

"Which one, my lord?"

"A black lacquered horned helmet from King Philip." The Count of Flanders thought for a moment and made a choice that made him more comfortable.