Ansgar was the first to leap out of his horse, and the English knights galloped towards the gloomy array with the light of a fox hunter, and they crossed a depression of low bushes, the white of the sun shining on their backs, and the hot smoke on their faces.

It's hot—Ansgar thought, feeling some discomfort from the iron hangings around his neck, almost wanting to remove the chains along with his helmet.

His horses kicked up the leaves and sand, and as they rushed up the slopes, he could even feel the thick mane brushing over the gloves and bridles, and in front of them to the right, the Moors were desperately resisting, and Ansgar even spotted some women in the opposing formation!

God! What kind of evil race is this, their women are terrible - the pagan women in battle are as hideous as brown water monsters, and the knights feel like they have been hit by an arrow, which is of course impossible.

The infantry of England consisted mainly of sailors, savages armed with huge boar spears and followed closely behind the cavalry in dense phalanxes, the glory of war may not belong to them, but the evil thought of slaughter was enough to drive these inferior people to fight for God. The fishermen from Sussex watched as the lords trampled their shields with their horses' hooves and stagnated like a clogged river, and then shouted, "Stab them in the cheeks!" Prick them in the cheek! ”

The frenzied shouts were like a flash flood that broke the embankment, and then blood and dust followed, and the Sussexes, seeing this, were not to be left behind, and rushed to the breach, stabbing their enemies in the face.

Count Rodrigo's immaculate sword "Corada" slashed at the neck of a Moorish woman with inky eyes, her head hanging diagonally to the side, blood gushing out and splashing on his lips, the count couldn't help but let out a curse: "Filthy cow! ”

The English attacked the weakest points of these tribesmen, but as they advanced, they met more resistance, and the enemy fought with great bravery, which was clearly irritated by the sight of their own countrymen slaughtered by the tyrannical invaders. But the swords and spears of the English were sharper, and Ansgar was besieged by four or five infidels after knocking down an enemy, and he dismounted neatly to fight, wounded in the arms and lower body, but he succeeded in slaughtering all his opponents, and the experienced warrior, the defender of London, watched the enemy in front of him grope his neck with his hands in a panic, as if he was thirsting for something, and finally fell to the ground reluctantly, remembering the death of the young men who had been mutilated by the Normans after he had surrendered London to the Duke of Normandy sixteen years earlier. The moment he lost his mind, a Berber stabbed him in the jaw with a crooked dagger.

Then there was the sound of broken bones, and Ansgar looked back to his senses, and Alva smashed the infidel neck with a hammer from his horse. Count Rodrigo was also nearby, the commander was constantly leading his warriors into battle, his helmet was gone, and a sickle-shaped scar was printed on his forehead, the Spanish lord turned his head and grinned at Ansgar: "They're almost done." ”

Yes, these enemies are not formidable, their battle formations are modeled after the army of the Murabithi in the south, they have the tenacity of a barbarian, but this lack of skill is like the brute of a drunkard in a duel - even a good swordsman can be killed by a hot-blooded fool, but once prepared, such an opponent is not difficult to crack, and Rodrigo is the best commander in Christendom. He saw the reason for the defeat of the Norwegians before he gave the order to attack, and the seemingly crazy charging of the "boar heads" under the command of King Olaf was too defensive, and the heavy infantry in armor wrapped the entire porcupine formation like an iron edge, but the furious expressions of the Norwegian guards were like walking on the ice, and their steps were stagnant.

So Rodrigo decided to take a risk and deal with this kind of hard-nosed and irregular enemy, and he adopted a light and plundering mode of warfare, like a pack of wolves gnawing at it, with bloodletting as the main purpose.

"Get on the horse." Ansgar could only hear this sentence come out of the Spaniard's mouth, and he held back the dizziness and nausea of the battle, and returned to the bumpy back of his horse.

Approaching the Norwegian "boar's head" on the far left, the Englishman noticed that his mount was a little berserk, and the count immediately realized that it was the influence of the tall Moorish camels. He tried to force his mount "Bavieka" to get close to the blue-robed camel cavalry, but he was never able to calm his beloved horses.

At this time, there were already many routs behind them, and Count Rodrigo was a little worried when he suddenly heard the sound of killing behind him, it was the battle cry of Christians!

He felt some dampness on his back, and turned his head to see the golden disc-like sun shining obliquely on his pupils, and the bright midday light made his eyes a little green, but through the halo, Rodrigo still recognized the Norwegian.

These Norwegian warriors from the coast became the last straw, and the plains were soon covered with the figures of the defeated enemy scattered like hares, and the half-day slaughter did not end all the bloodshed, but the roar of the English cavalry and the dense backs of prisoners of war still declared the victors of the day.

"My lord, this is the guy." A voice interrupted Rodrigo's eyes, and he raised his eyebrows in some discomfort, and then recognized the fleeing guide from behind the squire.

"My lord, the captives confessed that it was he who instigated the twelve Shulha tribes to block the coast and besiege us at the same time, and this fellow told the Barbary that if we were stopped near the coast, the Sultan's army would return and destroy us completely, and they would also receive rewards and the privilege of sending troops to participate in the war against the cities of the northern Sahara and obtain rich booty."

The captive was bound with a leather rope and could not move, and Rodrigo, Earl of Pembroke, suddenly handed his horsewhip to the guard: "Give him ten lashes, and give him to the Norwegians." ”

The expedition was not over, and Rodrigo did not intend to take with him too many prisoners of war, and he released most of the captives that the Norwegians could not take with him, leaving only these nobles of the West Berber tribe as hostages, allowing the defeated to supply him with fosters and slaves, and mending some ships that had been blown to the coast by the wind.

"Your Majesty will be disappointed," the Count smiled bitterly at Ansgar, "and we have not occupied the islands off the coast of Africa, nor have we found the Golden City, but we have fought inexplicably in this remote place. ”

"In that case, let's go to the north, that coast is always much richer."

"It's a pity that Mallorca is Norwegian, otherwise we could have taken it there and then tried to take Valencia." This was not the first time that Rodrigo had such thoughts, at first a desire to return to the land, or some unrealistic fantasies of revenge, and then a fiery ambition, the poor countryside of Wales was no longer as attractive to him as the Mediterranean coast, and the court service in Edgar did not seem to be as good as sitting on a special city and claiming to be the king, if only he could get Mallorca.

Ansgar did not know what was in the Spaniard's heart, he was simply disappointed that the coast seemed very different from the king's description, there were no cities of ivory and gold, no anointed fertile land, not even decent taverns and brothels!

"The king can never go wrong, it is the world that is wrong." The English knight whispered a proverb he had heard from the Spaniards.