novelSusiti Chapter 171 Heading to Indonesia
Chapter 171 Heading to Indonesia
Chapter 171 Heading to Indonesia (Part Two)
Leaving the magnificent Constantinople, the army headed east into the region of Bithynia.
The landscape here is completely different from the arid Levant. In July, the sun shines on the rolling green hills, and fertile valleys are dotted with farmland, orchards, and ancient towns.
The road is a cobblestone path left over from the Roman era, and although it has been through the ages, it is still much easier to walk on than most of the paths in the Holy Land.
During the long and tedious march, the snipers remained disciplined, but their strengths lay in accurate shooting and positional defense, rather than long-distance trekking.
Carrying crossbows, quivers, and personal equipment, they would be drenched in sweat and panting heavily after walking about one Roman mile under the scorching sun.
Many veterans and centurions in the ranks had to frequently request short breaks so that the soldiers could drink water and wipe away their sweat.
The Danish axe-wielding warriors, on the other hand, seemed to know no fatigue.
They carried intimidating axes, marveling at the scenery along the way, their boundless energy finding nowhere to go.
Since they had plenty of energy, they were happy to serve as laborers during the march.
They were always the main force in cutting down trees, building simple fences and tents whenever they set up camp.
Passing through woods or streams, they always managed to bring back the most firewood, and sometimes even caught a few wild rabbits with throwing axes or by hand.
Pheasant.
However, these guys are great in every way except for the sweltering heat and their addiction to alcohol.
The dry heat of Asia Minor made them yearn for the coolness of Scandinavia, and the only way to cool down, in their view, was to drink heavily.
The hundreds of jugs of fine Cypriot sweet wine presented by Kantostefanos on behalf of the Empire, which were meant to be a respectable gift and a long-term source of quality supplies, were nearly half consumed by the Danes in the first two days of their march.
Whenever they rested, they would sit together and drink heartily from their own horns or even directly from the spout of the jug, making a deafening racket. When they got into the swing of things, they would start wrestling and grappling until Henry and Thorfinn stopped them.
The two hundred Catalan skirmishers presented a different picture.
Their armor was rudimentary, usually consisting of only leather armor or even no armor at all, leaving them bare-chested, and they moved as nimbly as mountain antelopes.
They disliked strict formations; their marching troops were scattered but not disorganized, always spontaneously spreading out on the flanks and high ground ahead of the main force, like tentacles extending from the army.
The leader of the Catalan General Council would send out a few of his fastest and sharpest-eyed men to scout several miles ahead of the main army.
This reconnaissance method is highly efficient, often enabling the early detection of suitable resting places, water sources, and even potential dangers.
However, the drawbacks are equally obvious: their teams always look disorganized, with varying numbers of members and arbitrary return times.
The only thing that allowed the other units to tolerate their laxity was the occasional gift they brought back—wild deer or even wild boars hunted with precision using javelins, which could provide the entire army with extra food when setting up camp, bringing them rare joy.
The most tragic were the three hundred Bohemian armored soldiers.
These men from the inland regions of Central Europe, having finally settled down after weathering the storms of the Mediterranean, now have to march under the scorching sun.
Their heavy chainmail armor had become an oven, and they were drenched in sweat with every step. Many of them were pale and staggered.
"It seems our Iron Turtles miss the rocking of the sea even more." Henry chuckled as he rode his horse, watching the procession.
He dismounted and walked among a group of Bohemian soldiers who were panting and struggling to remove their helmets under the shade of trees by the roadside.
He spoke in fluent Czech: "Brothers, it seems the cool breeze from Moravia won't catch up with us."
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The Bohemians greeted Henry, their renowned fellow countryman, with great enthusiasm. Chief Fritz smiled wryly at Henry and said, "Henry, it's not that you guys are spoiled like women; if we hadn't taken that boat trip earlier—"
Before he could finish speaking, Fritz vomited up the food and drink he had just eaten. He looked up in embarrassment, his eyes glazed over, and sticky liquid dripping from the corner of his mouth.
Henry scratched his head: "You guys go to the back of the column and replace the crossbowmen as the supply train. During non-alert marching periods, you can take off your armor and have it transported by packhorses. Just wear your armor or light leather armor and hang your helmet on your waist with a leather belt."
"But what about the guys with the crossbows? Will they agree to let us go to the back?" Fritz looked sympathetically at the crossbowmen at the back of the line.
Henry waved his hand: "It's okay, I'll explain it to them, don't worry."
Having said that, Henry walked towards the Danes who were gathered drinking and called out loudly, "Gentlemen!"
Henry pointed to Lyon, who was sitting against a tree root at the front of the group, resting and observing, and joked in simple North dialect, "Your strength makes the earth tremble, but your drinking capacity gives our esteemed prince nightmares."
The Danes grinned, their ears turning red, and exclaimed, "We didn't want to either! But the weather was so hot, and the wine the Romans sent was—and so delicious—!"
"I've heard that the greatest Northern warriors can still be the first to cut down the enemy's flag the day after drinking mead. But our enemies now are the sun and the long journey. Wine is a poor imitation of water; it will only dull our muscles and make our throats even thirstier," Henry said earnestly, as if lecturing a child. "The wine we originally had enough to last us all the way to Nicaea is almost gone! From now on, we must use it sparingly, only as a reward for completing missions. Every day after setting up camp, the ten-man squad that completes the heaviest and most tiring work will receive a fixed ration of wine."
"This...this..." the Danish knights groaned, "If we really can't compete with them, does that mean we won't get any water? Won't we die of thirst?"
"You can drink this." Henry pulled out a pot of beverage from his pocket, made by mixing wild mint and herbs he had gathered along the way with half a bottle of light wine and boiled stream water, and handed it to them.
"What is this?" The Danes asked with skepticism.
Henry shrugged: "It's a drink made with wild mint, herbs, and alcohol. It's refreshing and helps you beat the heat. You guys should try it."
The Danish leader, Thorfinn, stepped forward, took the drink from Henry's hand without hesitation, and took a sip.
The Danes crowded around Thorfinn: "Boss, how's it?"
Thorfinn stuck out his tongue and frowned: "It's as bland as horse piss! But—"
"But what?"
Thorfinn clicked his tongue: "But it is indeed cool enough, like swallowing a block of ice, so it's barely acceptable."
Henry spread his arms wide, encouragingly saying, "Hold on a bit, everyone! Save your craving for the real victory celebration! When we get to Nicaea's camp, there will be plenty of wine. And think about it, an old general nicknamed 'The Boar' wouldn't drink this Cypriot sweet water, but a spirit that would make even Odin take notice! Even if you empty his coffers, I won't care!"
The Danes cheered upon hearing this.
Henry then went to the resting area of the crossbowmen, moved them to the center of the marching column, and promised to formulate a marching plan based on their physical strength, with a short half-hour rest every three Roman mile and a long night's rest for food and rest every five Roman mile.
Henry was helpless against the Catalan mountain people. The Catalans didn't know him at all, and he lacked understanding of them, so he could only let them do whatever they wanted.