When William Lufus's mobilization order was issued from Caen last year, the Norman lords in the western part of the duchy were not enthusiastic, and the support of the Earl of Mortan was crucial to Lufus, but it was not enough to impress the nobles of the Cotentan Peninsula.

The reason for this is simple: most of the Cotentin family was a rebellious remnant of the Richards, and forty years earlier, William of Rouen had been seen by local lords such as Guy and Nigel de Cotentin and Lannourf de Bessan, cousins of illegitimate William, the unscrupulous usurper.

Ever since Rollo the Walker acquired the Duchy, the Cotentan Peninsula has been the essence of the Norman aristocracy, with most of the Duchy's Viking settlements located here. With the help of the French king, Duke William, who invaded from Upper Normandy, painstakingly built the fortress and church of Caen, and appointed his brother Otto as Bishop of Bayeuux, with the aim of taking control of the entire Cotentin region and consolidating his control over Lower Normandy. At the time of the Battle of Hastings, what was missing from the expeditionary force of the bastard William was the traditional Norman family with the most Viking ancestry in Cotentan.

William Lefus knew that Robert's main supporters were the Romanized families who had participated in Hastings: Evler, Montfort, and Montgomery. So, naturally, like his brother Henry, he began to curry favor with these Norse descendants who despised Frankish blood, and he also sent those Norman lords from eastern Farlais and other regions to England, promising the Duchy to Huguet da Franche and other western lords, relying on sweet words, to weave his own network of influence - a new power system centered on Caen.

King Philip soon discovered that the Normans were even more difficult to get along with than the megalomaniac of the principalities he had encountered, and that Lufus seemed to be too "accommodating" to these vassals, including their ridicule of the Frankish language, and even sticking to the "tradition" that the Capetian kings hated for generations: when the king of the Franks met the Norman duke, only the latter had the right to wear arms! Lufus was never a weak guy, and it goes without saying what he will do and sacrifice in the future.

Loufus must not stay! Philip finally made up his mind.

The French had been in pursuit for a day, the Somme was getting closer, Philip was not as impatient as the Normans, the cage had already been set, and patience was the virtue of the hunter, how could a hunter not be able to stand the smell of blood like these Norman dogs?

"Rao, do you smell that?"

"What do you smell, Your Majesty?"

"Wolf smell."

Rao could hear his voice trembling—was the king afraid?

Yes, Philip finally realized that no matter how much trickery and deception he used, he would have to face this day eventually.

As far as the eye can see, all the armor pieces like pleated skirts glint in the snow: are they all responding to me? My desires – my fears?

The king is afraid, and the king kills when he is afraid.

The frozen black river meandered like a practice, and the English army was indeed trapped on the riverbank, and the long iron armor cold light revealed the unyielding spirit of the trapped beast, this brutal and magnificent sight turned Philip's fear into anger.

Why! Why do you still refuse to submit to our will, our genius! Do you not know how to accept your fate when you are dying?

The grass withered, the snow was not harvested, and a full 5,000 English warriors dressed in armor and battled at the Abwehr ferry to meet the judgment of fate. But behind them, another iron light could be seen across the undulating banks of the glacier, where the flags of Pontilio and Montreuil were visible.

The English were already surrounded.

Most of the Normans in William Luffs' camp looked ignorant, except for Hug "Wolf" Daflanche's expression, which was a little inscrutable, as if he had already seen through Philip's tricks.

"Montjuva!" （Montjoie！ The Franks, who had not finished their formation, suddenly let out a war cry, and the solemn battle array seemed to turn into a sea of joy in an instant.

Opposite them, Count Rodrigo looked at the astonishing battle of the French army and couldn't help but let out a sneer: the discipline was terrible. Although they shouted the same battle cry, this was definitely not Charlemagne's mighty army.

The jagged walls of the English infantry positions were untouched, and the East Anglian warriors with cheetah-eyed eyes resembled the hoplites of the ancient Mycenaean kings, decorated with boar tusks and shark leather, and looked ready to rage.

On their left wing, the crimson lion banner of Henry, son of the Duke of Normandy, flew on the tip of iron, and the owner of the spear, clad in English plate armor, stared intently at the banner of the crow facing them, the banner of Loufus.

The words of Abbot Fécon kept echoing in my ears: Abandon Robert and become Lord of Rouen!

Henry felt his heart shake, and he trembled at what he was about to do.

Henry's front and back were protected by the archers, and the archers were surrounded by the horse-repellent stakes, and it took strong arms to draw a huge war bow, so Henry's team of archers in front of him set up a banner for himself, which was embroidered with the image of the Irish Silver Arm King, Henry did not know the origin of these barbarians, and he was a little amused by this inferior imitation of knights, at this time Henry did not know that he would see this flag again in the Holy Land ten years later.

The horn sound vibrated the eardrums, Henry was a little uncomfortable, through the helmet, everything was so indistinct, and some abnormal vibrations seemed to be amplified countless times.

The black runes on the Danish axe began to flicker, like a sacrificial bonfire, and the gorgeous appearance signaled a dark future - death is a never-ending process.

Whips are wielding, bowstrings resonate, the wilderness is covered in deep snow, wheat fields and dens are hard to discern, only one thing is certain, and before nightfall, the crows in the nearby treetops will be given countless well-equipped food.

Count Hugue pointed diagonally at the enemy in front of him with the sharpened tip of his sword: "Attack, God is with us!" ”

In response to him was the laughter of the knights, the vulgar rhyme of the "pre-chivalric era" and the only language that those northerners could understand: violence.

More accustomed to this rhythm were the Normans, although only a handful of knights had taken part in that great expedition to England and witnessed the fall of King Harold, and these Norman knights were no strangers to screaming men, burning houses, and screaming women, whose bloodlines had lived in such bloody places for hundreds of years, and experienced the madness of seven generations of dukes, whom they called home.

War is the call of homeland, the slaughter of blood, and William Luforth sent his first wave of knights with this thought in mind—through the grove of archers, it was Henry's banner.