Ch 62: Muster

“I actually forgot this tradition.”

Vig slapped his forehead, and then stated the provided troops, “Forty shield-bearers, one hundred archers, and three hundred Viking warriors. Regarding supplies, besides the grain they carry themselves, there are also twenty thousand arrows.”

After registering the information, Vig left the tent, letting his troops choose a clean place to set up camp. He himself, with several retainers, entered the town.

As the forward base for this expedition, Sheffield had been quite ravaged by its own army. Shops along the way were all closed, passersby hurried along, deliberately keeping a distance from the soldiers, as if avoiding a plague.

Feeling the cold stares of the local residents, Vig, mounted on a grey horse, went to the tallest building in the town center.

“The townspeople have been disturbed, and the surrounding countryside has been pillaged by scattered troops. What’s worse, during our stay, the lord has an obligation to entertain the high-ranking officers of the allied army. After all this, these few years have been wasted. Phew, luckily I didn’t choose a territory in the South as my fiefdom.”

In front of the lord’s manor, Vig stated his identity and, led by a slave, entered the main hall, discovering Ragnar sitting in the lord’s seat, angry at a Viking warrior.

“Ivar hasn’t settled that mess yet? What is he doing in Ireland? Forget it, I won’t wait. The Mercian Royal Family has probably received news of our army’s muster; any further delay might cause unforeseen problems.”

Waving away Ivar’s envoy, Ragnar turned his gaze to Vig, “How many men did you bring this time?”

“Four hundred and forty men.”

Ragnar composed himself and gestured for Vig to sit. Including the troops provided by Tyne, the allied army had mustered a total of five thousand three hundred men. Commanding an army of over five thousand men for the first time in his life, his heart was incredibly excited. He raised his goblet and left his seat.

“It is said that during Offa’s reign, Mercia was the strongest kingdom in all of Britain, and had several correspondences with Charlemagne. Such a powerful monarch must have accumulated a considerable wealth. Once the army captures Tamworth, I only want the crown; the rest of the wealth is yours for the taking!”

Ragnar’s generosity ignited the atmosphere. The nobles coveted the treasure left behind by King Offa, the mid-level leaders planned to gain a fiefdom through military merit. Accompanied by the clamor of the crowd, tonight’s banquet officially began.

The first dish to appear was a whole roasted deer, its skin smeared with honey, pepper, cinnamon, and thyme, impaled on a spear and carried into the hall by two strong attendants.

Thanks to the spices Bjorn brought back from the Mediterranean Sea, the roasted deer tasted a level higher than usual. Vig couldn’t help but eat a few more bites.

Then, an attendant brought a roasted swan on a large silver platter. To be honest, the taste of this dish was quite ordinary; its display value far surpassed its culinary value.

Following that were roast pork, turnip and beef stew, smoked salmon, eel pie, and other meat dishes, as well as a small amount of honey-soaked apples.

“Since Ragnar arrived in Sheffield, he has been holding a banquet for a consecutive week. How much money will this cost?”

Vig’s gaze swept across the dishes on the long table, then glanced at the Sheffield lord and his wife beside Ragnar. From their strained smiles, he judged that the total expenditure of the banquet exceeded ten pounds of silver, at least.

“Besides the banquet expenses, the army is stationed outside the town, usually choosing to procure supplies nearby, inevitably requisitioning grain, livestock, and warm clothing from the commoners. This hidden expenditure…”

At this moment, a court guard rushed into the hall, interrupting the revelry, “Your Majesty, over a hundred soldiers are involved in a brawl; the camp is about to get out of control.”

Ragnar: “What’s the reason?”

“Because of a fight over a prostitute, Lord Vig’s soldiers and Lord Ulf’s soldiers had a quarrel, attracting onlookers, and finally escalating into a large-scale brawl.”

My men are causing trouble?

Vig put down the half-eaten deer chop, his face gloomy, and left the hall, riding towards the allied army camp outside the city. Ulf, an old acquaintance, went with him.

Braving the whistling cold wind, Ulf complained on the bumpy horse, “It’s all because of these brats being undisciplined; they’ve made us unable to even eat properly.”

“These guys really deserve a beating. Less than half a day after setting up camp, they had the energy to cause trouble for me. Maybe I’ve been too lenient with them.”

Thanks to their past friendship, they quickly reached an agreement. Upon arriving at the camp, they didn’t delve too deeply into the details, letting the shield-bearers flog the soldiers who started the trouble and expelling the prostitute who caused the conflict.

Having resolved the conflict, the two lords returned to the town by the same route, “I heard you’re building a stone castle. How much will that cost?”

Vig: “The inner wall and the main keep, the total cost exceeds three hundred pounds of silver. Luckily, there are Roman stone structures nearby, greatly reducing the cost to about one hundred and fifty pounds of silver.”

“That expensive?” Ulf’s voice echoed across the wilderness, “That’s equivalent to Liverpool’s total revenue for three years! No way, that damn place is too poor! When the war ends, I’m going to apply to be reassigned to a better territory.”

“Reassigned? Will His Majesty agree?”

To Vig’s question, Ulf tightened his face, “To conquer Mercia, His Majesty can only rely on us nobles to rule the people. His energy is limited; he can’t possibly keep all the territories in his hands. I might as well gain more military merit and give the Queen a generous gift. No matter the cost, I must get myself a better fiefdom.”

After hearing this, Vig was puzzled. Liverpool later developed into the second largest city in England. Its natural conditions were excellent and could not be as bad as Ulf described.

“Hey, what’s with that expression? That place is far from trade routes, and it’s full of swamps. To save expenses, I ate eels almost every night. I also tried to develop other industries…”

In Ulf’s account, this man was not just a brute who only knew how to fight. He had tried to develop commerce, attracting some small merchants and artisans to settle there. Unfortunately, he was quickly overwhelmed by Mancunium upstream.

The most infuriating thing was that Mancunium imported wool and timber from Liverpool as raw materials, processed them into woolen cloth and farming tools, and sold them back to Liverpool, making huge profits, and even mocking Ulf for not knowing how to manage his territory.

Driven by anger, Ulf built warships and declared that merchant ships passing through the Mersey Estuary had to pay transit taxes. Leonard, the lord of Mancunium, sent people to York to complain. At the Queen’s persuasion, Ragnar declared that the transit tax at the Mersey Estuary was illegal and immediately cancelled it.

Thus, Ulf’s efforts to revitalize commerce and industry went bankrupt, and he could only honestly engage in pastoralism and fishing. This caused Vig to sigh deeply:

“I understand your plight. The West can only support one town. You can’t compete with Leonard’s Mancunium; this has nothing to do with your own ability. You really should change fiefdoms.”