After much chaos and bloodshed, the tournant finally produced its champions:
the victor of the mounted joust was the Deputy Commander of the King's Guard, "White-Hair" Oleg, while the winner of the foot combat was a young Northman from the common folk nad Sveig.
When the award ceremony concluded, Vig left the stands stifling a yawn—only to be nearly knocked over by two rushing Berber rchants.
Before he could react, two Rus rchants squeezed up the stands in turn.
The royal guards didn't stop them; Vig suspected their commander had taken bribes.
"If I'm not mistaken," he thought, "these must be representatives elected by their rchant groups."
Over the past few days, rumors had flown through Londinium:
the Russ had ford a temporary local rchants' guild, with elected elders and adjudicators. Elders handled relations with local authorities; adjudicators resolved internal disputes.
Likewise, the Berber rchants had banded together and established their own guild to petition the crown for better treatnt.
The Norse traders and the Flemish rchants, whose business was stable, felt no need yet to huddle together for warmth.
On the stands, the Russ and Berbers crowded around Ragnar, each frantically pleading their grievances, with ministers they had bribed beforehand speaking on their behalf.
Even Queen Aslog had been bought off—she urged Ragnar to forgive the Russ.
Since Aslog supported the Russ, Queen Sola naturally sided with the Berbers, advising Ragnar to harshly punish the Russ for provoking the conflict and thus uphold the kingdom's laws.
In the end, Ragnar offended no one.
The royal treasury desperately needed money—there was no reason to expel these foreign rchants.
He issued only symbolic fines, then benevolently leased high-value land near the docks at steep prices, granting both rchant guilds permission to build trading lodges and extend their stay in Londinium.
Watching their faces light up with joy, Ragnar mused to himself:
"Instead of bribing ministers and queens, why don't they just hand the money to directly? Save the middlen, save the hassle."
Vig's Ledgers for the Year 851
Returning to Tyne Town, the weather grew steadily harsher. Vig began reviewing the fiscal ledgers for the year 851.
Finances were solid.
Annual revenue had risen to 1,800 pounds of silver, with the greatest growth coming from agricultural taxes in the Four Northern Shires.
With rebel activity decreasing and football spreading widely, local hostility toward the Duke of Tyne Town had softened. Agricultural tax revenue doubled from last year, reaching 400 pounds.
"Not bad—finally surpassing Tyn Shire's 300 pounds."
Given the Four Shires' population of 160,000—five tis Tyn Shire's—there was enormous room for growth. Vig ordered the shire reeves to stay diligent: continue suppressing rebels and restore order.
As for expenditures, the official number announced at the annual council was 1,600 pounds—with 300 pounds quietly falsified.
The real funds were being diverted to secretly produce cloth armor, stockpiled for ergencies.
Demographics also rose:
Tyn Shire now had 37,000 residents—33,000 villagers and 4,000 townsfolk.
"After two and a half years, the Scottish Lowlands are basically stabilized. Compared with Ivar, who's drowning in war, my progress is much faster."
winter passed quietly—until March of 852, when bad news arrived from Norway:
Bergen's port officials announced a tax increase, by order of King Erik himself.
"Is he short on coin, or targeting on purpose?"
Soon after, a Northman rchant requested a private audience, asking Vig to dismiss all attendants.
Once the hall was cleared, the man revealed himself as an envoy of Prince Little Erik.
"My lord, I've been entrusted by His Highness to explain the recent developnts."
A King's Petty Vengeance
After the dispute over the Shetland Islands, King Erik had gained profit but lost face.
Being bested by a junior gnawed at him.
The king was furious—thus the consequences were severe.
To "discipline" this insolent country-born upstart while also increasing revenue, he ordered Bergen's port to raise its taxes.
As Bergen's acting lord, Little Erik could not refuse his father.
Outwardly, he obeyed.
Privately, he sent an envoy to Tyne Town with a proposal:
Vig's ships should avoid Bergen entirely and instead dock at a small fishing village south of the city, where Little Erik himself would handle sales—in other words, smuggling.
If the cargo was large, Little Erik could even arrange introductions for Vig's ships to trade at settlents along Sweden's eastern coast—places such as Kalmar and Stockholm.
"A son stealing money from his father's pocket? Interesting."
Vig leaned forward, every sense sharp.
"Why would he help ?"
The envoy smiled.
"Friendship."
"And besides friendship—what else?"
The envoy glanced around the hall once more.
"My master asks only for your friendship. Ever since his younger brother Hith began flourishing, my master's right of succession has grown shaky. Worse, the king's brother, Lord Horst, is rising in Denmark—he, too, may compete for the throne.
The path ahead is uncertain. My master needs a reliable ally.
And in all the known world, the oath of the Serpent of the North holds the greatest weight.
Before my departure, he swore before the gods:
If he ascends the throne, you shall be the closest brother he has in this world."
Vig nearly failed to keep his face straight.
"Brother? I was born a farr. There's no blood tie between us."
"No—blood ties are unreliable. Only interests bind n truly tightly."
Weighing the envoy's words, Vig agreed to a secret pact with Little Erik, promising support when necessary.
To proceed carefully, he dispatched Sebert Stormwind to Scandinavia to investigate.
Before departure, Vig reminded his most outstanding graduate of the first class—now the secretary to the Earl of Edinburgh:
"Your priority is to examine Kalmar and the surrounding areas in person. Negotiate with the Swedish nobles.
Rember—paynt on delivery. No credit. That is my bottom line."
The mory of Lord Oller's unpaid debts still stung deeply.
As long as nothing went wrong, he was willing to offer generous pricing.
"I understand."
Sebert nodded firmly and boarded the brand-new trade cog Albatross, assigned to the northern routes.
After ten days at sea, the Albatross reached the waters near Bergen.
Under the envoy's guidance, the captain steered the ship south along the coast, then into a narrow, hidden fjord.
At its end stood an abandoned fishing village.
Seeing the ship approach, a group of ragged slaves erged from their huts; at the overseer's barked orders, they prepared to unload the cargo.
Hearing that the transaction price matched last year's, the captain let out a breath of relief and turned to Sebert.
"My lord, my task is only to bring you this far. The rest…?"
Sebert exhaled into the cold air.
"Prince Erik arranged a guide. I'll travel with him by boat to Kalmar. You needn't worry about what follows."
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