To enter the cabinet and serve as chancellor—the head of all civil affairs—was the lifelong dream of countless scholars in far-off China.
Yet when this great favor was placed before Vig, he found himself unable to feel even a flicker of joy.
After dinner, he returned to the bedroom without a word.
Lying beneath the soft velvet quilts, his mind raced, but he could think of no plausible excuse to refuse the appointnt.
Ragnar's temper had grown eccentric and unpredictable with age; anger him now, and there was no telling what trouble might follow.
Herligev, too, could not bear to see him leave, crying for a long while—until Vig, ironically, was forced to comfort her.
"Don't look like that. I may not be gone for long."
Whatever the future held, he had no choice but to make the journey to Londinium.
He pulled on his cloak, walked to the writing desk, and began outlining the tasks to be handled in his absence, speaking to his wife as he wrote:
"The clover we brought from Ireland—those small-scale trials these past years proved it's excellent fodder. Have the six shires plant it widely on fallow fields and pasture.
As for the turnips, and the students' new tools—the seed drill, the threshing machine—make sure they're promoted everywhere.
His Majesty has aged greatly.
Peace in Britain may not last much longer.
We need to prepare early."
He filled five full pages before rubbing his sore wrist and looking up—only to find that Herligev had long since fallen asleep.
He went to the window, pushed open the colored-glass panes, and looked down on the town.
A rush of icy wind flooded the room.
Pulling his cloak tight, he watched his breath vanish silver-white under the moonlight.
It was deep night.
The whole town curled beneath wind and snow; most houses had gone dark, chimneys giving only the faintest trickles of smoke.
Only the tall temple and the governor's hall still burned lamplight.
The north wind swept over the temple roof, tossing up pale snowflakes that shimred like powdered silver.
From ti to ti ca a patrol's distant call.
Except on feast days, Tynemouth enforced strict curfews to prevent thieves from stirring.
To the south, the River Tyne flowed on tirelessly.
More than seventy moored ships rocked at the docks; they would remain there until spring.
Tynemouth now had over five thousand permanent residents—making it the third-largest town in Britain after Londinium and Winchester.
Perhaps it was this achievent that made Pascal recomnd Vig as chancellor in his final monts.
"From this day on… the whole of Britain rests on my shoulders."
February
After arranging all affairs, Vig set out with forty retainers.
One noon, passing through Tamworth, he saw about two hundred villagers gathered on a clearing.
A runestone stood at the village entrance—common in Viking settlents, used to mark great events and to beg the protection of Odin, Thor, Baldr, and the other northern gods.
Exhausted from traveling since dawn, Vig chose to rest and observe the local assembly.
Traditional Viking society had three classes: nobles, freen, and slaves.
When freen quarreled, they usually convened a Thing—a local assembly—to diate disputes and discuss communal matters.
The northern shires kept the sa practice.
With limited administrative staff, shire-reeves and town-reeves could not manage every small dispute.
According to the Tyne Town Code, an assistant judge would be sent to supervise; sotis a temple shaman could fill that role.
If the case involved death or major loss of property, then it fell to the duke's court to judge, not the Thing.
When the young noble entered openly, villagers asked cautiously:
"And you are…?"
"Vig of Tyne Town. I'm en route to Londinium to assu the chancellorship. My n need a short rest."
The Serpent of the North gave his na; elders stiffened in awe and seated him as an honored guest before resuming the hearing.
The dispute was simple:
At a feast, one freeman had insulted another family—calling them "cowardly as slaves."
The offended family demanded paynt for damaged honor, or they would challenge him to a duel.
"Duel?"
Vig frowned.
Such practices persisted in the north despite repeated attempts to ban them; he had been forced to compromise.
Duels were allowed only with written permission from the shire-reeve; once one party yielded, the fight must end, and neither family could seek revenge afterward.
After both sides spoke, fifteen elders behind the long table summoned witnesses and verified the events.
By custom, insults were ranked by severity; offenses to family honor were among the worst.
After long deliberation, the elders announced the judgnt—
seven silver pennies, about half a typical farr's yearly savings.
If the accused refused to pay, the accuser had the right to duel.
Face dark, the accused farr sold his best pig to pay the fine.
His wife and children wept as the silver changed hands.
The matter settled, the elders moved on to inheritance and boundary disputes.
After an hour, people drifted away—save one old man in a ragged sheepskin coat, who grumbled:
"Fewer and fewer folk co to the Thing!
Freen staying ho to work—ignoring their duty!
They should be punished severely!"
Vig disagreed.
In harsh environnts, people naturally band together; in tis of peace, freen tended their own affairs—perfectly reasonable.
The old man kept muttering, complaining of his two sons: one a farr obsessed with twenty acres of land; the other a carpenter wandering about with his tools.
"Not like Vikings at all!
And not just them—the whole village!
Once, family honor ant a duel was certain.
Now seven pennies settles it!
No different from the Anglo-Saxons!"
Vig sighed.
In the original tiline, two or three centuries later, Vikings adopted the Roman faith, absorbed advanced technologies, and shed their tribal customs.
When people are fed and warm, few wish to raid the seas.
Viking "tradition" was never unbreakable truth.
Better a peaceful dog than a hero in chaos.
Good days are few; enjoy them while they last.
When the horses had rested, Vig bade the old man farewell and mounted Greywind.
He glanced once more at the boys kicking a ball in the grass, then rode off murmuring a poem no one around him could understand:
"If only I were a dandy of Chang'an,
Born in the days of Kaiyuan's glory—
Racing horses, fighting cocks my whole life long,
Unknowing of heaven's rise or fall."
—------------------------------
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