Ch 36: Water Mill

Regarding increasing income, Vig first thought of developing new industries. Tyne is located on the river’s Northern Coast, making it ideal for building water mills and water-powered sawmills.

Spending most of the day, he carefully drew a sketch and summoned the blacksmith, Cadfael, and two peasants skilled in carpentry.

“I intend to build a water mill. Find a method to settle it. There will be a bounty upon completion.”

“A mill?” Cadfael, the blacksmith’s second son, had arrived two days prior carrying a bag of tools. Only seventeen years old, he was short, stocky, and sturdy, with lively eyes.

He took the sketch, glanced at it a few times, and claimed he had seen such a thing before.

“When I was a child, I accompanied my father to work at a monastery. It had various facilities: a well, a vegetable garden, a vineyard, a water mill, and a water-powered laundry. Their rules were to build the monastery as close to a river as possible to make use of water power.”

Vig nodded in satisfaction. “Very good. If you need manpower or other resources, feel free to come to me.”

Having received the task, Cadfael led the two part-time carpenters to the riverbank. After selecting a location, he began recalling scenes from the monastery.

Upon closer thought, the mill’s operation was simple: the water current impacted the wooden water wheel, which, through a vertical axis, drove the millstone.

However, comparing it to the sketch in hand, Cadfael discovered that the lord’s plan was exceedingly complex, with a total of four gears, and some areas marked for metal components.

“Is this necessary?”

He tugged at his hair and went to Vig, who responded indifferently: “This is the mill structure I learned from the Eastern Roman Empire. Its efficiency surpasses traditional water mills. If you’re not confident, you can first try making a small wooden model, figuring out the specific principle before building the finished product.”

Since the lord had spoken, Cadfael spent the next month and a half repeatedly studying, and even took time to learn some rudimentary mechanics from the lord, such as the lever principle and pulley systems. After much hardship, he finally made a simple model half a person’s height.

“Haha, I succeeded!”

He squatted by the river, watching the millstone turn repeatedly, and couldn’t help but shout frenziedly toward the River Tyne, startling the birds on the river surface.

Suddenly, four fully laden Viking longships came downstream, carrying over two hundred Vikings.

“Viking barbarians are coming!” Cadfael dropped the model and fled frantically. Following his lead, peasants working in the fields, along with their families and livestock, surged toward Tyne.

Although more than half of the peasants were also Vikings, they were not foolish enough to trust these unidentified kinsmen. In Northern Europe, Viking raiders attacking peasants was a common occurrence. Driven by greed, so-called kinship had little binding force.

At the Southeast Corner of Tyne’s watchtower, Vig anxiously watched the crowded people outside the gate, and ordered the shield-bearers to maintain order. “Push away those obstructive ox carts, let the people in first, then distribute weapons to the young men, and have the women and children take shelter in the Lord’s Hall. Don’t let them run around in the street.”

These peasants were truly troublesome. Clearly fleeing, they were determined to bring all their property with them; some even carried a set of tables and chairs, leaving Vig speechless.

Turning his perspective to the river surface, he stroked his chin, falling into thought.

“Which blind fool is coming to rob me? What’s so good about this broken place to rob?”

Up to this point, there were sixty-one Anglo-Saxon farmers and sixty-three Vikings in the surrounding area, with a total population of only four hundred and seventy. There wasn’t much worth pillaging.

Upon closer inspection, the most valuable things were Vig’s accumulated forty-one pounds of silver, two suits of chainmail, twenty suits of iron scale armor, and the Dragon’s Breath Sword in his possession.

“Luckily, I spent the past month digging a moat outside the walls. Combined with this wall, dealing with two hundred people shouldn’t be a problem.”

More than ten minutes passed, and the four longships arrived at the nearby riverbank. The two hundred plus passengers jumped off the ship’s side, formed a shield wall, and slowly approached Tyne’s East Wall.

At a distance of only seventy meters, Vig shot an arrow into the open space in front of the shield wall and shouted loudly: “I am Vig Hakanson, lord of Tyne, appointed by King Ragnar. I recently took over this region. The territory is poor. It is better to go south and find a new target for raiding.”

“You are Vig, the ‘Chosen One’?” A tall figure emerged from the shield wall and stepped forward more than ten paces.

“A misunderstanding. We didn’t intend to rob you. We are preparing to go south to join King Ragnar and accidentally took a wrong turn.”

Took a wrong turn?

If I hadn’t reacted quickly, you might have already gotten away with it.

Taking a deep breath, Vig calmed himself and told the chieftain to sail south along the coastline, passing a river mouth, the River Tees, and continuing south. They would find a great swamp on the shore, and the river mouth they would reach after that is the River Humber.

“Upon reaching the Humber Estuary, another lord rules that area. Ask him for directions then.”

“So that’s how it is?” The chieftain showed a slightly embarrassed smile. “My brothers live in eastern Sweden. This is our first time in Britain. However, having a shaman specifically look for you isn’t a wasted trip.”

At this moment, a figure in a black robe squeezed out from behind the shield wall. Vig looked intently and saw the Raven Speaker, whom he had met once before.

“Indeed, the omen given to me by the Gods has come true. You have completely occupied Northumbria, achieving an unprecedented feat.”

The Raven Speaker took off their cloak, revealing a pale, frenzied face, repeatedly praising the deeds of Ragnar, Ivar, and Vig, causing the people behind the shield wall to respond enthusiastically, resembling a grand fan meeting.

“Chosen One!”

“Serpent of the North!” They mistook Vig’s dragon emblem for some kind of serpent monster.

“The Aesir Gods’ Chosen One.”

At this point, Vig estimated the probability of a battle between the two sides was very low. He instructed the shield-bearers to send a cow, two pigs, six sheep, and enough bread and honey wine for the people to have a large meal.

After eating and drinking their fill, and with the Raven Speaker’s persuasion, a quarter of the visitors decided to stay and settle. The rest, learning that Vig had no intention of fighting in the near future, chose to continue south in search of adventurous opportunities.

The next day, with sufficient grain reserves and accompanied by a resounding boat song, the four longships followed the current and left.

“These people can really eat. Let Ragnar worry about it.”

Vig rubbed his dark eye sockets, the result of a sleepless night, counted the supplies, and discovered the wine cellar was empty. The last jar of honey wine had been drunk, and only a small portion of the grain remained, probably not enough until the autumn tax collection. He had to temporarily borrow some from the gentlemen to make do.

With a weary body, he rode to the wasteland east of Tyne, granting land to the fifty newly arrived Vikings. Among them were single men and families who had come to adventure, divided into twenty-five households, totaling seven hundred and fifty acres.

“Tax exemption for two years. No fighting, stealing, or murder.”

After a brief instruction, Vig left surrounded by shield-bearers. This incident had passed with a narrow escape. For safety reasons, he planned to set up several beacons downstream for early warning.