Ch 3: The Lord

Confirming Olaf was dead, Vig helped Ragnar to his feet. “Don’t mention it, consider it repayment for that meal of meat and wine.”

In fact, Vig didn’t know why he did it. Everything seemed to be a preordained push, that he was destined to save this man.

Enduring the nausea, Vig cut off the lord’s head and threw it into the open space outside the door. He roared to the shield-bearers, “Olaf is dead. Continuing the battle is meaningless.”

Upon learning of the lord’s death, the remaining twenty shield-bearers laid down their weapons. Seeing this, a comrade of Ragnar suddenly proposed, “Olaf violated tradition by murdering a guest. His family is unworthy to rule Gothenburg. Ragnar is the best choice to succeed as Jarl.”

（Jarl, a title for lords in Northern Europe, second only in status to the King.）

Led by this blond, strong man, the remaining nine comrades shouted Ragnar’s name in unison. The cold wind whistled, the firelight illuminated their figures, stretching their shadows long and long.

Half an hour passed. At the urging of the horn, seven hundred residents gathered in the open space in front of the lord’s longhouse, their expressions varying between admiration, fear, suspicion, and hatred.

Facing his subjects, Ragnar cleared his throat. “Ahem, Olaf was greedy and we were forced to fight back. As the new lord, I swear I will treat the residents of Gothenburg well, and taxes will be halved for the next two years!”

This announcement eased the atmosphere. He smiled and nodded, then looked at the remaining shield-bearers. “If anyone disagrees, I am willing to duel him under the eyes of the gods, and let the gods decide everything.”

The crowd fell silent, tacitly accepting this legendary pirate’s rule over Gothenburg.

The most dangerous moment was finally over. Ragnar turned his gaze to his followers, first to the blond strong man. “Gunnar, my closest friend, thank you for your help over the past ten years. Without you, my body would have long since rotted in the mud of East Francia.”

“Ivar, my eldest son, the enemy fears you, calling you ‘Boneless.’ I am deeply honored by this. Your existence is the most precious gift Odin has given me.”

“Bjorn, my second son, though you have only just come of age, you have already shown enough courage to the gods and the world. Besides you, no one else deserves the title of ‘Ironbone’.”

“Niels, my nephew, your archery is superb, blessed by Ullr from birth. May you never stray from your goals.”

Finally, he looked at a young man he had just met and forced a compliment. “Vig Hakanson, although we have only just met, I still cherish our precious friendship.”

To be honest, Ragnar only gave the other man a lamb chop out of pity. He had always done things like this, and never expected anything in return.

“This man has a good appearance, especially a certain special aura. Too bad he has no combat experience. Oh well, let’s make him a shield-bearer first, hoping he will learn martial skills this winter.”

After praising his confidants, Ragnar pointed to the lord’s longhouse behind him. “Go, my dearest brothers, take what you want!”

With a series of excited cries, Vig followed the group into the lord’s longhouse.

The longhouse was a single-story building, built entirely of strong and durable oak, about 40 meters long and 12 meters wide. The roof was tall, looking like an upside-down Viking longship.

After entering was the lord’s hall. In the center was a stone-built square fire pit. Directly in front was the lord’s exclusive seat. Long tables were placed on either side of the fire pit, used for banquets.

Thick furs hung at the far end of the hall. The lord and his wife’s bedroom was located behind it. The rooms on either side of the hall were for the shield-bearers. The rooms at the edges were the coldest, used as a warehouse. Because of Olaf’s fondness for honey wine, a large wine cellar was specially dug below the warehouse.

The lord’s bedroom.

“This longsword is mine!” Ivar took down the longsword hanging on the wall, fondling the carnelian inlaid in the hilt.

“This chainmail is not bad, although the style is a little strange,” Bjorn put it on, feeling unexpectedly comfortable.

Gunnar ransacked the storage cabinet for a long time, finding a drinking horn with a gold inlay at the end. “Haha, I’ve heard that Olaf likes to drink from gold drinking horns. This is mine now!”

Niels took a bow and arrow. The remaining few grabbed some silver coins and went to other places to plunder treasures. Only Vig didn’t take any spoils of war, still searching tirelessly.

Ivar was surprised by his new comrade’s strange behavior. “Hey, what exactly are you looking for? Gold, women, or jewels?”

“Five sheepskin scrolls, showing the locations of Gothenburg’s farmland. We collect taxes based on them every autumn… where are they?”

This was similar to the Ming Dynasty’s fish-scale register. It was the key to Ragnar’s team’s rule over Gothenburg, more precious than all the treasures in this house.

The Northern European coast is characterized by many fjords, with rugged terrain and a harsh environment. In the surrounding area of Gothenburg, most farms are isolated, with very few villages.

Take Vig for example. His nearest neighbor, Joren, lives two hundred meters from his house. Sometimes they don’t speak for days, living in isolation.

To make the farmers scattered throughout the region pay taxes, the earliest Gothenburg lords drew sheepskin scrolls. If the owner of a certain piece of farmland was unwilling to pay taxes, shield-bearers were immediately sent to collect them, greatly increasing the territory’s income. This practice was passed down through generations, eventually reaching Olaf’s hands.

“Tax collection is the top priority for a ruling group. If we can’t find this, we’re going to have problems later.”

After searching for a while, Vig sat down helplessly on the ground. Ivar also realized the seriousness of the matter and quickly summoned his comrades to search for the sheepskin scrolls separately.

The search lasted until the next morning. Ragnar was forced to summon the residents and offered a bounty for the scrolls.

“Each scroll is worth two pounds of silver, and there is also a reward for providing information!”

The next moment, a man raised his hand. “I saw Olaf’s wife and a pair of children fleeing in the middle of the night, with a stack of things under their arms. It’s probably the sheepskin registers you’re looking for.”

Upon hearing this bad news, a murmur erupted from the crowd. Ragnar’s already unstable position was further shaken.

The crowd dispersed. He keenly realized that the matter was far from over, and called all his confidants into the lord’s hall.

“Gunnar, Niels, you go and inform those old friends, tell them Ragnar needs their help.”

“Bjorn, go home and bring Ragnheid and Halfdan. Don’t dawdle.”

“Ivar, you take the rest and guard the territory, and teach Vig how to fight.”