"Why shouldn’t he follow my orders?"
The position of the commander cannot be conceded.
Even if leading troops to act independently, one cannot obey or be commanded by others.
The Frankish messenger gritted his teeth, summoned the courage to try to meet Duncan’s gaze, but his voice trembled in the next second, stutteringly saying, "Yes... yes!..."
"We have six thousand warriors... all elite troops of the Franks!..."
At this time, the Franks had not yet annexed Gaul, especially without taking in the exile Bagada people, so their army was not very large, just slightly stronger than other Barbarian tribes.
The Germanic Barbarians had, at most, over a hundred tribes, which gradually began to merge and disappear later on.
Only six thousand men!
At this point, not only Duncan laughed, but even within the tent, Clegane, Edmundson, Carl, and others chuckled.
Six thousand men dared to come over and flaunt their prowess? And wanted them to follow Molov’s command?
Duncan’s rise each time was a victory of few against many, wasn’t it?
In their view, the six thousand Frankish troops were almost like the five or six thousand Saxon troops of the Kingdom of Kent. Actually, the infantry disparity wasn’t that big, but the Frankish cavalry was indeed far more formidable; their axe-wielding infantry were also slightly tougher, more tricky than the elite Saxon axemen.
Duncan’s expression was indifferent, his fingers lightly tapping on the table, and he said in a deep voice, "Cooperation is possible."
"But obedience to his command is out of the question."
After speaking, Duncan gestured, indicating the Crow Queen - Triss to bring out the imperial edict appointing him, suggesting to hand it to the Barbarian envoy before him and said, "I am the Governor of the Province of Britannia."
"According to the tradition of the Empire, Molov should follow my command orders!"
The Frankish envoy glanced at it with skepticism, he couldn’t understand it at all, he just felt that the other’s demeanor was so assertive, it must be true.
Province Governor.
This is an imperial official, whose status is slightly higher than that of a Barbarian king.
Looks like there’s no chance.
Molov sending an envoy was just a test, hoping to see if they could annex the reinforcements coming from Great Britain, thereby strengthening his own forces, so in future decisive battles with the Hunnic army, he could possess a certain voice and even accomplish some feats.
He also needed battle achievements to prove himself, to suppress other Barbarian chieftains, as his current record was far inferior to his father’s.
Having come all this way.
How could Duncan possibly let the Frankish envoy leave easily?
He clapped his hands, soon servants presented fine wine and food, he abandoned the initial, domineering manner, instead, he personally entertained the Frankish envoy.
Fame for martial prowess was certainly very useful.
The Frankish envoy immediately felt flattered, even thinking at first it was his error, not posturing correctly, so Duncan was displeased; such a renowned mighty figure deserved a slightly more humble approach.
After a few rounds of drinks.
Duncan looked at the Frankish envoy before him, suddenly said, "My scout cavalry discovered a Hunnic army near Paris."
"Approximately four to five thousand men."
"Among them, many were Hunnic cavalry units, and some were East Goths and Alan vassal troops."
"Why don’t we unite and wipe them out completely!?"
Duncan’s troops were too few.
Defeating the enemy wasn’t very hard, but wiping them out entirely was extremely difficult.
Coincidentally, the Franks had an elite cavalry unit, they accumulated decades of resources, under their command were one or two thousand cavalry, though it’s unknown how many they brought this time.
If it’s only six thousand men, there should be only about a thousand cavalry.
They couldn’t possibly come out in full force.
The Frankish envoy looked hesitant, saying with reservation, "I’m afraid I must return to consult Lord Molov!"
The matter was significant.
Even as a confidant of the leader, he couldn’t make the decision.
But Duncan got up, saying, "It’s too late; delaying too long can miss the opportunity, the Huns move swiftly like the wind, if the chance is missed, it will be even more difficult to annihilate them."
He took the Frankish envoy to the tent’s entrance.
Suddenly, Duncan pointed to the distance of the fortified gate and asked, "How far is it from here to the camp gate?"
The Frankish envoy looked confused, whispered, "About three hundred paces."
A Roman pace is more than 0.75 meters, about two hundred and ten meters, exceeding the effective range of many war bows.
The West didn’t have war halberds at this time, Duncan thought for a moment and said, "Someone come."
"Bring a Frankish flying axe and pin it at the gate."
Duncan chuckled, picked up the Nord Bow nearby, looking at the Frankish envoy before him, he said, "How about this."
"In the name of Odin."
"If I hit the handle of the Frankish flying axe, then the Gods shall bless us for a glorious victory in this battle! Molov shall join us militarily in exterminating the Hunnic raiders!"
"If not."
"Then the matter shall be dropped. I’ll lead the army alone against those Huns."
What?!
The Frankish envoy heard Duncan’s words, was momentarily stunned, he looked at the two-finger wide axe handle, then looked at the direction of the camp gate, his expression was somewhat skeptical.
At this moment, outside the wind and rain had subsided, but still a breeze lingered on the mountain, making the difficulty of hitting indisputable.
The people of this era were still quite superstitious, in the name of Odin, if he actually hit it, it’s either Duncan’s archery was unmatched among all humans, or the Gods provided silent guidance.
No matter which, this battle would result in a great victory!
.........