The Imperial Palace.
Vig called the twelve-year-old Garrick into his office.
"When you come of age, where do you want to live?"
"Huh?"
Garrick had just come back from the playing field. Caked in mud from head to toe, he looked more like a filthy little monkey than a prince. He stared blankly at his father, completely unsure how to answer.
Just then, Heligif entered uninvited.
She was especially concerned about her youngest son and worried he would make a reckless decision that would determine the rest of his life.
The three of them looked at one another in silence.
Rubbing his temples wearily, Vig finally spoke.
"Northern Italy is too complicated. Governing it would be a nightmare, so that's off the table."
"That leaves only two choices—the Duchy of Nantes or eastern Moravia."
"Pick one. The investiture ceremony is only a few days away, and the nobles are already getting impatient."
Garrick cautiously glanced at his parents before blurting out his answer.
"Eastern Moravia."
Vig raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"Because there are a lot of empty lands farther east."
"It'll be easier to expand there in the future."
Patiently, Vig explained,
"It's true. It's an excellent region."
"Whether it's Brno in the north or Vindobona—Vienna—in the south, either could eventually become the capital of a kingdom."
"But there's one major drawback."
"It lies directly in the path of the steppe nomads."
"Many years ago, the Avar Khaganate dominated the Carpathian Basin until Charlemagne and Bulgaria destroyed it."
"One day, another nomadic people may very well invade the same region."
He pointed toward the map hanging on the wall.
If Garrick settled in Central Europe, the vast, open Carpathian Basin would lie to his southeast.
Defending such terrain would never be easy.
After listening to his father lecture for more than ten minutes, Garrick simply shrugged.
"I'm not afraid of them."
"However many come, we'll kill them."
"Bombard them from long range."
"Shoot them with bows and crossbows at medium range."
"Finish them with hollow-square formations once they get close."
"They're just barbarians without decent iron weapons."
"How much trouble could they possibly cause?"
Vig burst into laughter.
"You're still too young."
"I'll reserve both the Duchy of Nantes and the Brno–Vindobona region for now."
"When you graduate from the Imperial Military Academy in a few years, you can choose again."
That evening at dinner, Frey heard how generously his younger brother was being treated.
Comparing the offer to Livonia, he immediately protested that his own arrangement was unfair and demanded more funding.
After a lengthy argument, he got what he wanted.
His annual subsidy increased from £3,000 to £5,000.
He also requested five thousand prisoners of war to settle along his kingdom's frontier, where they could clear land—and inevitably clash with the local tribes.
As the days passed, excitement throughout Londinium reached a fever pitch.
Vig and the Cabinet quickly finalized the list of rewards.
On the morning of July 20, he held the investiture ceremony in the Central Square.
Although the war had lasted only a single year, its intensity rivaled that of the Third Viking–Frankish War.
The struggle between the two empires in northern Italy had produced countless distinguished officers.
First came Kocel, the Moravian noble.
Honoring his promise made before the campaign, Vig invested him as Duke of Bohemia, ruling western Moravia.
The only condition was that the imperial family would retain the mining rights to the region's silver deposits.
The duke would receive thirty percent of the profits.
Born and raised in Moravia, Kocel had never even heard of silver mines in western Moravia.
He happily agreed.
Afterward, Vig distributed the remaining lands among his meritorious followers.
In total he created:
12 earls
130 baronial families
Over a thousand knights
Their lands were located throughout northern Italy, Slavonia, Tyrol, Carinthia, and Styria.
Colonel Havrun finally received his long-awaited promotion to Earl.
His reward was the County of Nice.
Located on the border between West Francia and northern Italy, the territory consisted mostly of the Alps, with only scattered mountain valleys suitable for cultivation.
To make matters worse, the land immediately west of Nice had been carved away to establish the new Free City of Cannes, leaving the county with even less valuable coastal farmland.
By agricultural standards, it was arguably the poorest county granted that day.
Standing below the temple steps, Harry heard the announcement.
A satisfied smile spread across his face.
He gripped his eldest son's shoulder while breathing heavily.
Over the past several weeks he had barely returned home.
Instead, he had entertained officials and nobles in opera houses, luxury restaurants, public baths, arenas, and every other fashionable establishment in Londinium.
The total cost had reached £5,000.
It had all been worth it.
His youngest son was now an earl.
Their family had entered the ranks of the great nobility—the empire's true ruling elite.
The county itself might be poor, but that could always be remedied.
Cannes had already been designated as the western Mediterranean's primary commercial hub.
As the city prospered, demand for food and consumer goods would inevitably soar.
Harry intended to invest heavily in olive plantations, producing olive-oil soap and medicinal ointments.
He also planned to cultivate grapes, figs, citrus fruits, and flowers for sale to the city's increasingly wealthy residents.
"It seems His Majesty really did take care of me."
More than two hundred Italian merchants watched the ceremony from the edge of the square.
Having spent some time in Londinium, they had gradually come to appreciate the commercial potential of the rising empire.
Once the ceremony concluded, the Cabinet finally had time to receive them properly.
Officials explained in detail how the Free Cities would operate before registering each merchant's investment plans.
By September, they had returned to Italy and begun establishing distribution networks throughout the peninsula.
Some specialized in textiles.
Others chose furs or alcoholic beverages.
Meanwhile, Venice had already learned what was happening.
A handful of merchants had settled in Ravenna, but the overwhelming majority were occupied transporting Frankish settlers and had little time for anything else.
Following the war, the Eastern Roman Empire regained control of Corsica, Sardinia, and central and southern Italy.
According to the peace treaty, Basil was required to relocate the surviving Frankish nobles far from the frontier.
For strategic reasons, he granted them lands north of the lower Danube, bestowing upon Charles the Bald the title of King of Wallachia.
In the second century, Emperor Trajan had conquered the lands north of the Danube and turned them into a Roman province.
Then, in AD 271, mounting pressure elsewhere forced Emperor Aurelian to withdraw both the army and the administration back to the southern bank.
Centuries of barbarian invasions afterward steadily pushed the Eastern Roman frontier farther south.
Eventually even the plains of Thrace came under constant attack.
Having learned from history, Basil resolved to use the Frankish refugees as a buffer between the empire and the nomadic tribes of Eastern Europe.
He generously covered the transportation costs, hired Venetian shipping to move the settlers, and promised £6,000 in silver annually for ten years to help them establish themselves.
"Raise the anchor! Hoist the sails!"
As seagulls cried overhead, the Black-backed Dolphin hauled its seawater-soaked anchor aboard.
The sturdy oak ship rose and fell with the waves as the long voyage eastward began.
The convoy carried three thousand settlers aboard eighty medium and large vessels, following the familiar coastline southward.
During the final years of Michael III's reign, the Eastern Roman navy had gradually recovered.
After Basil seized the throne, it grew even stronger, driving the Saracen pirates from the Adriatic.
The migrant fleet encountered little trouble.
They sailed south along the coast of Epirus, rounded the Peloponnese, and then headed north through the Aegean Sea.
Each night the captains taught their sailors how to navigate by the stars.
Under the full moon, dolphins could even be seen racing alongside the ships across the silver-lit sea.
Twenty days later, Constantinople appeared on the horizon.
Through the morning mist, towers and domes gradually emerged.
The mighty Theodosian Walls stretched along the shoreline, while forests of masts crowded the harbors.
Every Frankish settler came out onto the deck.
Above the city, the vast dome of Hagia Sophia gleamed beneath the sunlight as though covered in gold.
The fleet remained in Constantinople for five days.
There they received imperial gifts:
armor,
tools,
winter clothing,
and grain.
At the end of September, the convoy departed the imperial capital and entered the Black Sea, which the Greeks poetically called the Hospitable Sea.
Compared with the Aegean, these waters were darker, rougher, and bordered by far more desolate shores.
More than a week later, the sea gradually turned muddy yellow.
They had reached the mouth of the Danube.
On the southern bank stood an Eastern Roman fortress beneath fluttering crimson banners.
After inspection by the garrison, the fleet sailed upriver.
Three days later they docked at a crude pier on the northern bank.
Before them stretched an endless plain.
Dead grass rippled beneath the wind like waves across the sea.
Waiting on shore was Alfred, accompanied by two hundred wagons.
At the officers' command, the settlers unloaded their supplies before slowly heading north.
Deep wagon ruts scarred the road, while broken pottery lay scattered along its sides.
By the following afternoon, the long journey finally came to an end.
They reached Charlesburg, the capital of Wallachia.
The site had once been an abandoned Roman fortress, chosen by Charles the Bald as his royal capital.
The surrounding terrain was flat, with a small river flowing just north of the settlement.
Nearby, countless Franks were busy building houses and erecting simple wooden walls.
Others drove oxen across the fields, plowing with the Vikings' heavy moldboard plows.
Autumn had not yet ended.
They hurried to sow winter wheat, hoping for a harvest the following May.
With the newest arrivals included, Charles now ruled forty thousand people:
3,500 soldiers,
more than 8,000 family members,
and 30,000 civilians unwilling to remain in northern Italy.
"The prices in Constantinople are outrageous."
"Basil's six thousand pounds of silver disappear far faster than I expected."
"We'll have to find other ways to make money."
Standing atop the watchtower, Charles gazed across the endless brown grasslands while planning the kingdom's future.
Suddenly, a lone horseman appeared on the western horizon.
He galloped frantically into the fort, reporting that his party had been attacked by nomads.
The nobles hurried to the western gate.
Count William of Orléans asked,
"The same tribe as before?"
"I don't know."
"They all look alike."
"Worn sheepskin coats."
"Felt hats."
"Steppe horses."
"I can't tell one tribe from another."
"They carried off five of our people."
"They also stole our oxen, seed grain, and farming tools."
"Fortunately, the iron plow was too heavy for them to take."
They had been raided twice within a single week.
Everyone's patience had reached its limit.
Only Alfred remained calm.
He suggested waiting another month.
Charles frowned.
"It's already October."
"The locals say the snow begins in November."
"Why wait until winter to attack?"
Alfred explained,
"By tradition, the nomads spend the winter in fixed camps."
"If we strike then, they won't be able to escape."
The warfare of Eastern Europe differed greatly from that of Western Europe.
Destroying a nomadic force was relatively easy.
The difficult part was annihilating it completely.
That produced the greatest reward.
He continued,
"Several years ago, there was a Viking commander serving Constantinople named Nils."
"You've all heard of him."
"Gnuts' White Raven."
"I investigated his campaigns in Eastern Europe."
"I know exactly how he dealt with these nomadic tribes..."
Charles accepted the young commander's advice.
Instead of launching an immediate offensive, he ordered farmers to leave the settlement only in groups of thirty to fifty.
Each wagon carried spears, bows, and armor in case of attack.
At the same time, workers felled trees to build supply wagons suitable for long campaigns, while scouts surveyed nearby settlements.
After a month of careful preparation, Alfred finally marched west with two thousand soldiers.
The column included one hundred fifty wagons carrying grain, salted meat, tents, weapons, and thick wool blankets for the coming winter.
A bitter wind swept across the plains.
The dead grass was coated in white frost beneath a leaden sky stretching endlessly toward the horizon.
The wagon wheels creaked as though protesting both the endless journey and the increasingly bitter cold.
Each night they circled the wagons into a square, forming a makeshift fortress.
On the morning of the fifth day, a scouting rider galloped back with barely concealed excitement.
"My lord!"
"Fifteen miles ahead, on the southern slope of a line of hills—we've found a large nomad camp."
"There are countless felt tents."
"Smoke from cooking fires fills the sky."
"I see."
Alfred tightened the wool scarf around his neck against the biting wind.
His eyes swept over the rolling hills in the distance.
Five mounted figures stood silhouetted atop the ridge.
Nomad scouts.
They had been shadowing his force all morning.
He remained completely calm.
Even if the enemy had discovered them—
it was already too late.
Throughout the rest of the day, the column endured repeated harassment from mounted raiders.
Alfred dealt with each attack methodically.
Finally, around three o'clock that afternoon, they reached the enemy encampment.
At the far edge of the horizon, the hills sprawled across the earth like a sleeping beast.
Nestled against their warmer southern slopes stood exactly what the scouts had described—
countless gray-white felt tents.
At a glance, they formed a great ring surrounding several much larger central yurts.
Columns of smoke drifted upward into the low clouds.
Sheep grazed lazily around the outskirts, chewing at the last dry grass of the season.
Nearby, nomads were hanging harvested hay to dry.
Watching the sudden panic spreading through the camp, Alfred felt his spirits lift.
"Heh..."
"Found you."
—------------------------------
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