In late October, Vig finally ended his period of feigned illness. Royal authority had been steadily eroding, and continuing the charade was no longer necessary.
The moment he returned to Tynemouth, an avalanche of affairs came crashing down on him, leaving the duke—who had been effectively absent for over half a year—hard-pressed to cope.
The first matter was a technological breakthrough. The Tynemouth shipyard had resolved the flaws of the Gray Parrot design and successfully built a blue-water–capable twin-masted square-rigged vessel. It required forty sailors to operate and cost a total of seventy pounds of silver.
Gray Parrot II measured roughly 30 meters in length, 7 meters in beam, with a draft of 3 meters, and could carry nearly 200 tons of cargo.
With a favorable wind, her speed reached 10 knots. Sailing into the wind or on a beam reach, she relied on tacking in a zigzag pattern, reducing speed to around 5 knots.
The previous month, Gray Parrot II had departed fully laden with woolen cloth and beer for Bergen, Norway. The one-way voyage took seven days: four days running before the wind, two days on a beam reach, and one day sheltering in Shetland to avoid a violent storm.
During the voyage, the crew rotated through four watches to ensure round-the-clock supervision. Ropes constantly wore down, sails tore and required patching, and sailors had to pump water from the hold—leakage being unavoidable with wooden hulls. A complement of forty men was considered the minimum practical number.
After learning of Gray Parrot II's performance, Little Eric sent envoys specifically to place an order. Vig casually quoted a steep price of 160 pounds per ship. After a few minutes of haggling, the deal closed at 140 pounds per vessel, with three ships sold.
Once the deposit was received, Vig poured the "generous buyer" a glass of wine.
"Well then," Vig said with a grin, "I didn't expect your king to be so wealthy. Found a silver mine, have you?"
"No," the envoy replied. "After King Ragnar's funeral, our king concluded a trade agreement with Rurik of the East."
According to the envoy, Little Eric had shifted his focus toward internal development and trade. He conscripted commoners to repair irrigation works and drain marshlands, encouraged nobles to engage in commerce rather than raiding, and deliberately distanced himself from figures like Halfdan and Niels.
Recalling Little Eric's round face and past battlefield record, Vig rated his military ability as "mediocre." Such a man was ill-suited for campaigning; a single misstep could easily get him killed.
From that perspective, his strategy of abandoning warfare for commerce made a great deal of sense. Vig's eyes flickered with thought as he ordered the maid to escort the envoy away to rest.
Among the rulers of the North, Little Eric possessed the greatest overall strength. As the legitimate heir of the Norwegian royal line, even with weak military talent, his demographic and economic advantages were enough to preserve his father's legacy.
Niels was more capable in battle, but his power base was small and lacked legitimacy; he posed no immediate threat.
Halfdan, as Ragnar's son, enjoyed strong legitimacy among the Vikings, yet his reckless behavior had alienated the Swedish nobility. Though he had moderated somewhat in recent years, he still could not secure the loyalty of Kalmar, Stockholm, and other key regions.
Oleg, entrenched in Vejle in central Denmark, had limited growth potential. Moreover, he was mired in the political whirlpool of Londinium and lacked the focus to develop his domain.
Ubbe, nominally Duke of Denmark, was young and lacked a reliable power base. His threat level was even lower than Oleg's; without the prestige of being Ragnar's son, his own vassals might already have rebelled.
Surveying all of them, Vig ultimately rated Little Eric as the greatest long-term threat. This was a man who had once plotted to seize the throne and imprisoned his own siblings—dark-minded and fully capable of attacking Tynemouth.
"People change," Vig muttered. "That fat man might abandon trade and turn to war one day. We must increase our vigilance."
He summoned Gwen, head of intelligence, and ordered him to dispatch additional agents to Oslo.
"Remember—no need to penetrate the court. Have our agents open a small tavern near the harbor and report market prices regularly. If Little Eric begins preparing for war, prices for iron ingots and grain will spike. The moment you see that, send word back immediately."
"Yes, my lord."
As the year drew to a close, Vig reviewed the accounts for 857. Total annual revenue had risen to 3,700 pounds. After expenses, the surplus exceeded 1,000 pounds.
Including accumulated reserves, the treasury now held 2,500 pounds of silver and 70,000 bushels of grain—enough to sustain a large-scale war.
Demographically, more than 5,000 immigrants had arrived this year. Combined with natural growth, the population surpassed 300,000, with 70,000 Vikings, concentrated mainly in Tynemouth and the newly established Aberdeen shire.
Everything met Vig's expectations.
He closed the ledger and unfolded a meticulously drawn map of Western Europe, marked with rivers, mountains, sea lanes, major settlements, and the territories of every major power.
"Nearly a year since the old king's death," he murmured. "Aslaug's rule is on the brink. Which noble will strike first?"
West Francia — Normandy, Caen Castle
Since Ragnar's death, Gunnar had closely monitored news from Britannia. Upon hearing recent rumors from Londinium, he slapped his thigh.
"Damn it—how did I forget about this?"
He left the castle and searched nearby villages for a woman named Elin. After some time, a village tanner whispered to him:
"My lord duke, Lady Vivienne suspects Elin had an improper relationship with you. She drove her away yesterday."
"What?"
Gunnar was both shocked and furious. He immediately sent men to find Elin. She had once been Queen Sola's personal maid, later angered then-Chancellor Vig, and fled to Normandy in panic.
Because she possessed many palace secrets, Elin had been placed under Gunnar's protection and lived quietly in a village east of the castle. They had indeed slept together—but Gunnar believed he had been discreet. He could not understand how Vivienne had found out.
"Forget that for now," he muttered. "I'll deal with that madwoman later."
Soon, dozens of soldiers were searching for Elin, inadvertently confirming the scandal. But Gunnar had no time to care. The moment he found her, he dragged her beneath the shade of a tree.
"What do you remember about Princess Enya?"
A princess?
Disappointment flashed in Elin's eyes. She had thought his anxiety stemmed from concern for her. Instead, he cared only for information. Realizing this, despair slowly spread through her heart.
After a brief pause, she steadied herself.
"I remember Princess Enya was born in 848. At the time, you were still Earl of Cambridge. Don't you remember?"
"I was drowning in nonsense back then," Gunnar snapped. "Why would I care about a baby? Tell me—how is Enya's health now?"
"Aslaug spends all her energy scheming and caring for Sigurd," Elin replied. "She has little time for Enya. The princess spends her days playing with pages like Alfred. Her health is fairly good. As for her temperament—she's timid around strangers and sometimes likes to stare off into space."
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