Ch 51: Kingship

A year passed. With the influx of many Viking immigrants, York finally regained its former prosperity. However, this was accompanied by a serious deterioration in sanitation; the stench was overwhelming, sewage flowed everywhere, causing Vig to repeatedly shake his head.

Outside the Royal Palace, he met a fat young man wrapped in a light blue cape, his right arm linked with a beautiful woman’s.

King Eric’s son, Young Eric, and daughter Eve? What were the siblings doing in Northumbria?

Vig approached with many questions, learning they had come to purchase military supplies. It seemed King Eric was about to launch a large-scale war to eliminate all rebels in the Norway region.

After a brief conversation with them, Niels suddenly arrived, panting, and gave Eve a fine gold necklace.

Vig wasn’t interested in this tedious courtship ritual and took his leave. Eve’s cold voice followed him:

“My father is the King, my mother is the Queen, my brother will one day also be King, and my Aunt Sola married Ragnar. Our family is all eligible to wear a crown. Why should I demean myself by marrying a commoner? Niels, you are a good man, and I don’t object to spending a good time with you, but marriage is a very serious matter.”

Entering the Great Hall, Vig unexpectedly saw Bjorn’s back; he was describing his adventurous harvest.

Two years ago, Bjorn’s request for ennoblement was rejected by seven nobles, after which he left angrily with two longships. Judging by his excited expression, his harvest must have been plentiful.

“Father, I’ve been sailing the Mediterranean for almost two years, and I have a gift for you.”

Bjorn whistled at the doorway, and a dark-skinned slave presented a longsword with a cross-guard.

Ragnar left the throne, drew the longsword, and swung it through the air a few times. It was light and swift, feeling far superior to an ordinary iron sword.

Gazing at the magnificent blade and the bright sapphires inlaid in the hilt, he was mesmerized, as if he were destined to possess this weapon, murmuring, “Kingship, let’s call it ‘Kingship’.”

Sheathing the sword, Ragnar returned to his seat, his gaze shifting to the sword at Bjorn’s waist. “Is that also a precious weapon you obtained?”

“Yes, two in total; one for you, and one for myself.” Bjorn drew the sword at his waist. It was single-edged, slightly curved, with fine, continuous tattoos, displaying a strong Arabian style.

Raging Waves—this was the new name Bjorn gave it after killing the sword’s original owner.

It was Vig’s turn. He handed the supply list to Goodwin. Due to the rich spoils from the Battle of Dyfflin, this year’s tribute was worth thirty pounds of silver.

“I heard about the detailed account of the Battle of Dyfflin. Well done, Vig.”

Ragnar personally poured him a glass of wine. “York, Dyfflin—it seems no city can stop your advance. Compared to Chosen One and Serpent of the North, I think the nickname ‘City Breaker’ better reflects your role in battle.”

“Thank you for your praise, Your Majesty.” Vig bowed, proceeding as usual to the end of the right-hand queue.

It was Ulf’s turn. This year, he had gone to great lengths to eliminate a gang of sheep thieves, but unfortunately, the Welsh region was densely forested, and he hadn’t acquired much spoils of war. He could only take a boat to the further south Cornwall to grab something, barely enough to meet the quota.

The situation of the other nobles was similar to last year, except that Ivar had not yet appeared.

At midday, a tall and strong Viking warrior entered the Great Hall, representing Ivar to pay tribute.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, Ivar is engaged in fierce battles with two Irish nobles and is truly unable to leave.”

Vig was not at all surprised by this. Ivar always disdained to waste words on those he considered weak, let alone compromise patiently. If he were to handle the affairs of Tyne, the survival rate of those gentlemen and village heads would not exceed one-third!

“Unceasingly promoting tyranny and not understanding conciliation, I estimate Ivar will fall into a long and protracted war, and will have a busy few years ahead.”

Banquet.

Thanks to his experiences sailing the Mediterranean, Bjorn became the center of attention. In addition to two Damascus Steel swords, he also acquired five barrels of cinnamon and pepper from the East, with a total value exceeding one hundred pounds of silver. Furthermore, he obtained ivory, jewelry, and twelve Berber Captives.

Faced with such enormous wealth, the nobles were extremely envious, stating they also wanted to visit the Mediterranean next year.

“Calm down, friends. The journey is long and arduous. Without proper navigation technology, acting rashly is equivalent to courting death!”

The more they coveted, the brighter his smile became. He boasted of mastering the Arabs’ navigation technology and also obtaining a secret treasure from the Tang Dynasty that could guide direction on the boundless sea.

Watching their frustrated expressions, Bjorn felt extremely happy. Two years ago, he had gone to sea out of pure anger. However, after this period of adventure, it seemed he was born for this stimulating seafaring life.

Local customs and people, beautiful women of different complexions, thrilling fights encountered from time to time, and the spoils of war obtained after the battles…

Odin above, thank you for letting me experience all this.

Dry-mouthed from talking, Bjorn came to the edge of the long table and put his arm around Vig’s shoulder. “Chosen One, what are you thinking about?”

Vig put down the pig’s trotters he had been gnawing on and whispered, “That Tang Dynasty secret treasure you mentioned just now, is it an object that always points south, regardless of how its position changes?”

“How did you know!?”

With his secret exposed, Bjorn’s voice suddenly rose, and the smile on his face vanished. “Are you really a Chosen One of the Aesir Gods?”

Vig didn’t respond and silently sipped his drink.

Leaving that topic, Bjorn mentioned a rumor that had been bothering him for a long time:

“In recent years, Norwegian fishermen have gone out to sea, and some have been swept west by storms, only to survive and claim to have discovered the location of Jotunheim. It is cold and barren, with a rotting whale corpse beached on the shore, and the inland mountains spewing fire and rain. Do you think this rumor is true?”

Cold, desolate, volcanic eruption—isn’t that Iceland? There’s nothing worth exploring in that wretched place.

Wait, volcano? Volcanic ash!

Vig suddenly remembered that Roman concrete required volcanic ash as a raw material. As his territory prospered, he would eventually need to build stone city walls and stone castles. If Bjorn had discovered the location of Iceland, he could also benefit from it.

Vig scratched the back of his head. “I have information in this regard. In exchange, you must describe your Mediterranean adventure in detail, without any strange and absurd rumors.”

“Alright, I can’t do anything about you.” Bjorn sighed and recounted his adventurous journey from the beginning.

Thanks to book friend 20191019202329614 for the reward