Vikings: Overlords of the Icy Seas Chapter 30 30: The Investiture

By Pascas's reckoning, York, Manchester, Leeds, and Sheffield were first-class lands; Lancaster and the Humber estuary, second-tier; Tynemouth, Derwent, and Tees—bottom of the heap.

After hours of squabbling, threats, and bargaining, the seven nobles finally struck a deal. Lennart erged the greatest victor, securing Manchester—the richest prize after York.

His old rival Ulf, weakest of them all, could not contend and settled for the rsey estuary. Its largest village numbered barely three hundred souls; the locals called it Liverpool.

On the map, the rsey flowed east to west, with Manchester at its headwaters and Liverpool at its mouth. After all their journey from Sweden to Britain, the two rivals still ended up neighbors.

Lennart, elated, sneered, "I hear the rsey teems with eels, Ulf. You'll eat well now! Ha! Forget farming—set your folk to fishing, I'll buy all you can catch."

Already bitter from receiving the poorest fief, Ulf snapped. Seeing Lennart's gloating face, he leapt up, roared a curse, and smashed him to the floor. The two rolled in a brawl like drunken louts in a dockside tavern, to the roaring laughter of the hall.

So ended the banquet that would shape the fate of a kingdom.

Over the next two days, Ragnar ordered the scribes to tally the spoils and craftsn to forge eleven golden rings. When all was ready, he gathered the host before the palace. A bull was sacrificed, its blood spilled to the gods, and the rite of investiture began.

Before two thousand Vikings, Ragnar lifted the great king's ring from the tray and slid it onto his right hand. The bezel bore the rune of thunder.

"Ivar," he called his eldest son forth. "At Manchester you seized the banner. At Leeds and York you were first on the walls. You slew King Ælud with your own hand. Your deeds are unmatched. By Odin's na, I grant you the title of Jarl of Derwent. Will you swear never to betray your king, and to devote your life to the realm?"

"I will." Ivar knelt, kissed the ring upon his father's hand, and rose. Ragnar placed upon him another ring of his own—a wolf's head, chosen by Ivar himself, for he bore a strange fondness for wolves.

Then ca Vig's turn. He knelt, swore his oath, and was created Jarl of Tynemouth. His chosen sigil was a dragon—though the Norse, never having seen such a beast, insisted on calling it a serpent. After correcting them again and again, he resigned himself to their ignorance.

Third was Pascas, then Lennart, Ulf, and the others in turn. The order was no accident. Ragnar's mory was long; when the seven nobles had banded together to block Bjorn's claim, he marked the slight. Tonight, he showed them where they stood.

Thus the bond of king and vassal was sealed. Ragnar, now King of Northumbria, received the acclamation of the host. Then ca the treasure—chests of silver opened and divided by rit.

To strengthen ties, Ragnar gave King Erik the lion's share—five hundred pounds of silver. Lennart and Ulf, as major "shareholders," received between thirty and a hundred pounds apiece.

For Vig, who had staked all his twenty pounds of savings at the expedition's outset, Ragnar honored his promise. Matching his stake in profit, and adding his earned share of spoils, Vig received sixty pounds of silver.

A jarl's title, sixty pounds of silver, a hauberk of mail, and a Damascus steel blade.

This was the fruit of three years' struggle. Next ca the true task—recruiting n, and taking possession of his northern fief.

With the spoils divided, the host erupted into three days of revelry. Vig spent the ti courting the lower ranks, gathering promises of service. Many swore in the heat of wine and fire—but most forgot with the dawn.

"A flock of shiftless drunkards," he muttered.

Leaving them, he walked the city walls alone. Across the river, farrs sowed winter wheat. At Pascas's urging, Ragnar had decreed protection for such folk—peasants had little worth stealing, and plenty worth tilling.

On the northern wall, pyres of the dead smoked, the stench of burning flesh in the air. Vig pressed a handkerchief to his nose and quickened his pace. At a tower, he saw Ragnar and Erik gazing out.

"Vig. Co." Ragnar beckoned. "Tell —what do you foresee? Ælud and his queen are dead, but his son escaped. Will he raise an army to strike back?"

Staring out at the oak forests, Vig considered.

"Short of coin, short of arms, Prince Ælla will not last in the south. Perhaps he will be killed, or flee to rcia for shelter. As for rcia—hordes of refugees are flooding its borders. In ti, that will strengthen them—if they can feed them, and settle them. But that will take at least two years."

"Two years is enough," Ragnar said with satisfaction. "rcia's grain will be drained by these mouths; they cannot march a great host against us. anwhile I will draw more Norsen to settle. The land here is rich, the soil kinder than our frozen north. We will want for no n."

Erik nodded, though skeptical. "Britain may be fertile, but if we farm too long, the Norse spirit will wither. In my eyes, that price is too dear."

Vig shook his head. "If forced to choose between raiding and settlent, I choose the latter. For decades, raiding has brought silver and gold, but ruined the fields. Grain has grown dear, famine spread, and so more n turned to raiding. It is a spiral with no end."

He touched the weathered stone beneath his hand, eyes far away. "In Gothenburg, when I still fard, I endured two raids in a single month. Most raiders were common folk who simply starved. If that is our fate in the north, then better we build anew here."

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