Ch 48: Helgi

Spending three days bypassing the northernmost tip of Britain, the longship sailed southwest along the coastline. This region has a winding and complex coastline, is densely populated with islands, and features many fjords, similar to Northern Europe. The only difference is that it is influenced by the warm currents of the North Atlantic Ocean, resulting in a mild and humid climate, which attracts many Vikings to settle here.

At noon on the fourth day, a Nordic-style temple appeared atop a cliff in the distance. Vig ordered his subordinates to come ashore. Everyone donned their armor. Five men were left to guard the ship, while the remaining sixteen followed the weed-covered hillside towards the temple.

Not long after, five shepherd boys armed with slingshots stopped them.

“Halt!”

Seeing this, the shield-bearers tacitly surrounded their lord. Joren stepped forward with a banner, “Calm down, we mean no harm. Could you tell us where the Isle of Skye is?”

“State your identities?” The boy didn’t lower his slingshot; instead, he began whistling to call nearby adults.

Being disregarded by these twelve or thirteen-year-old boys, Joren’s tone became increasingly harsh, “Watch your attitude, boy. Do you know who you’re talking to?”

He gestured for the boy to look at the black flag with a yellow dragon, “My lord is Ragnar’s appointed Lord of Tyne, the Chosen One, the Serpent of the North, a hero who has experienced the battles of Mancunium, York, and Dyfflin, and wielder of the Dragon’s Breath Sword, Vig Hakenson. Understand?”

Upon learning of the legendary figure’s visit, the leading boy lowered his slingshot, “This is the Isle of Skye. What do you want?”

“To find someone.” Vig pushed aside the shield-bearers, striding towards a middle-aged woman running from a distance, “Long time no see, Sister. You’ve aged a lot.”

“Vig?” Brita raised her head in disbelief, looking up at the man who was clearly taller than herself. Instinctively, she reached out to touch his face, “I thought the Chosen One ‘Vig’ mentioned by others was just a namesake, but I didn’t expect it to be the same person. Come with me.”

Beyond the mountain ridge, a small settlement with fifty households lay below the hillside, surrounded by a rudimentary wooden wall.

At this moment, most of the residents gathered in front of the gate, watching the Chosen One whose reputation had spread throughout Viking society. A stern-looking one-eyed man stood at the front of the crowd. Vig stepped forward and gave him a hug, “Brother-in-law, it seems you’ve found the life you wanted.”

Helgi embraced him stiffly. In the past two years, he had heard countless stories of the Chosen One, Vig, but he still found it hard to connect the Chosen One with the simple boy from his memories. Surprise, shock, and other emotions surged through him, finally solidifying into a single sentence:

“Long time no see, Vig.”

With the arrival of distinguished guests, Helgi slaughtered livestock to hold a banquet. Vig had his shield-bearers deliver two gifts: a gold necklace and a set of chainmail.

“Such precious gifts, thank you.” Helgi took the chainmail and put it on. It felt a little suffocating, but he was still extremely pleased. “Odin be praised, I didn’t expect I would be worthy of such top-tier armor.”

Having received such valuable gifts, his smile became even brighter, and he had his slaves bring out all the drinks to entertain the guests. During the banquet, Vig casually mentioned the Island Alliance, and Helgi, half-drunk, raised his goblet.

“Your information is really well-informed. In mid-May, two settlements jointly pillaged the Gaels on the west coast, suffering heavy losses. Given the increasing vigilance of the enemy, eleven nearby settlements decided to form an alliance to jointly launch raids in the future.”

An alliance?

Vig intended to inquire about the actual authority of this alliance, but was pestered by a five-year-old boy. The little fellow clung to his arm, shaking him back and forth, clamoring to play with the Dragon’s Breath Sword at his uncle’s waist.

“You can look, but don’t touch the blade.” Vig, exasperated, drew his longsword and let his nephew look at it for a few moments, twirling it before sheathing it.

“Uncle, can you give me a sword?”

Vig ruffled his nephew’s hair, “Of course, Leif. When you have the opportunity, come to Tyne. I’ll give you an iron sword and a pony, and many other novel things.”

Finally getting rid of the little boy, he intended to continue inquiring about the Island Alliance, only to see his brother-in-law lying asleep on the table, with a spilled wine jug soaking half his body, looking like a typical drunken middle-aged man you’d see in any tavern.

The next morning, Vig woke up with a headache, noticing the unusual noise outside. He went out and saw more than a dozen strangers entering Helgi’s chieftain’s longhouse.

“What’s going on?”

The two shield-bearers standing guard outside answered in unison, “Newly arrived guests, they seem to be from North Uist.”

North Uist?

Vig had heard Helgi introduce the surrounding situation last night. Because there were too many and too complex island names, he only remembered that there was St Kilda in the far west, an island without trees but home to a large number of gannets, puffins, and wild sheep with curved horns.

In his understanding, islands where birds congregate may produce guano, a rare natural fertilizer, so he was particularly interested in this island.

After drawing a basin of clean water from the well to wash, Vig tied his loose hair into a ponytail, dressed neatly, and went to the chieftain’s longhouse. The shield-bearers, accustomed to their lord’s cleanliness, silently followed behind.

Upon entering, his brother-in-law introduced the visitors: Stein, the lord of North Uist, and the strongest in the Island Alliance.

Sensing the hostility emanating from this bearded, bald man, Vig restrained his smile, “Kingdom of Northumbria, Lord of Tyne.”

Although both were lords, the Island Alliance’s lands were barren and sparsely populated, less than one-third the population of Tyne. Moreover, the dozen or so people behind Stein were a motley crew. If they fell out and fought, he alone could take care of half of them.

The next moment, his sister brought a bowl of steaming mutton soup. Vig sipped it slowly, casually listening to Stein and his brother-in-law Helgi’s conversation. It seemed that the Island Alliance was about to launch a raid, targeting Glasgow—the capital of the Gaels.

“I agree!”

Having newly acquired a suit of chainmail, Helgi was eager to use it, “Vig is here too, and he’s skilled in siege warfare. York and Dyfflin are the best examples. With this famous Chosen One in command, we will surely break through Glasgow.”

Stein stroked his messy beard, “Inappropriate. This operation is to avenge our previous failure and belongs to the internal affairs of the Island Alliance. It’s not suitable to trouble our guest.”

Internal affairs?

Vig instantly understood Stein’s true intention: refusing his participation was simply to prevent him from influencing his authority in the allied army.

Small temple, strong winds; shallow pond, many turtles. With so few people, they still think of scheming. This bearded man is quite interesting.