Ch 41: Tribute

In early October, with everything arranged, Vig led the caravan south. Besides paying tribute, he planned to buy a batch of iron armor to equip the thirty newly recruited shield-bearers.

Arriving in York, the city was much the same as when he left. The streets were sparsely populated, and some ruins remained uncleared, becoming nests for birds.

“What has Ragnar been doing for the past six months?”

Along the way, less than a third of the shops were open. The most popular were undoubtedly the taverns; the strong smell of alcohol and the noise lingered in the nearby streets, creating a smoky and foul atmosphere.

“Alcohol? Perhaps I could open a brewery, consuming the surplus grain to prevent it from molding in the granary.”

Approaching the Royal Palace, Vig suddenly thought of a good money-making idea, secretly noting it down. He subtly adjusted his appearance before informing the guard of his purpose.

The captain of the guard was Niels. After a few pleasantries, he signaled his men to clear the road. “Go in quickly; most of the lords have arrived.”

Entering the Main Hall, he heard someone reciting the amount of tribute.

“Lord Tees, offering four horses, sixteen oxen, twenty sheep, and five hundred bushels of wheat.”

After a brief calculation, Pascal’s tribute was about the same as his own. They were both from the Northern Border; neither was doing particularly well.

Ulf’s turn came. The man’s face was full of worry; the tribute list in his hand was crumpled. A thin official took the list, carefully smoothing it out before reading aloud:

“Lord Liverpool, ten oxen, ten sheep, five hundred bushels of grain, twenty barrels of…” The voice paused. The official looked up at Ulf, his expression complex, as if trying to suppress a laugh.

“Twenty barrels of dried eels.” After reading it, he looked towards Ragnar and Queen Sola on the throne.

Ragnar, wearing a golden crown, remained expressionless. He was about to say something, but Halfdan, standing beside him, couldn’t help but laugh, and most of the others joined in. The hall was filled with mirthful air.

From beginning to end, only Vig, Sola, and Pascal remained serious, showing no signs of amusement.

After a while of laughter, Ubbe, held on his mother’s lap, clapped his hands and shouted, “Eel Earl! Eel Earl!”

“Shut up!” Ragnar glared at his third son Halfdan and his fourth son Ubbe, then asked Ulf in a comforting tone, “What happened?”

Ulf, both ashamed and angry, blushed, replying, “I originally planned to offer sheep as tribute. Unfortunately, my flock was attacked by bandits in Welsh lands, resulting in a loss of three hundred sheep!”

Ragnar left his seat and poured Ulf a glass of wine. “Liverpool’s soil is poor, and the population is small. I understand your difficulties. Next year, remember to deal with those bandits and bring their heads to me.”

“Thank you for your understanding.” Ulf breathed a sigh of relief and silently returned to his seat.

Vig’s turn came. He handed the list to the unfamiliar Anglo-Saxon official, who gave a polite smile. “My name is Goodwin, sir.”

After Goodwin finished reading the list, Ragnar made a rough calculation. One piece of ordinary woolen cloth was worth five shillings; twenty pieces of woolen cloth totaled five pounds, and together with the livestock and grain, the total value was approximately ten pounds of silver.

“Not bad. Tyne’s population is only slightly larger than Derwent and Liverpool, ranking third from the bottom. You managed to gather all this; you’ve clearly put in the effort.”

In response to the praise, Vig bowed. “I have always been your most loyal servant.”

It was finally over.

Vig walked to the end of the right-hand queue and whispered to Ulf in front of him, “Who hasn’t arrived yet?”

“Leonard and Ivar.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Leonard strode into the Great Hall, followed by ten attendants, each carrying a large white swan.

Occupying Mancunium, a land second only to York in quality, Leonard’s tribute was worth forty pounds of silver, plus ten highly ornamental swans, which he claimed were a gift for the Queen.

“Thank you for your generosity.” Sola’s tense face showed a smile for the first time, showing great fondness for these pristine creatures.

“However, these creatures have the ability to fly. Should we tie them with ropes, or keep them in cages?”

Leonard shook his head with a smile. “Your Majesty, their feathers are clipped annually during molting season; they cannot fly under any circumstances. I have specially brought a swan keeper who will take care of these trivial matters.”

Having shown off, Leonard strutted to the front of the right-hand queue, seemingly demonstrating his status as the strongest vassal.

For the next half hour, Ragnar, Pascal, and Goodwin discussed matters concerning the wine and wool businesses.

Wine was imported from Francia, while wool was a traditional export product of Northumbria. Due to Britain’s low textile production capacity, much of the wool could not be woven into woolen cloth and was sold to Flanders (modern-day Belgium and the Netherlands). Flemish merchants obtained the wool and sold the woven fabrics to the Continent, leading to the increasing prosperity of villages like Ypres, Bruges, Ghent, and Antwerp, which eventually developed into cities.

“Your Majesty, following the war, the Royal Family’s income has decreased significantly. I suggest imposing import tariffs on wine and increasing the export price of wool.”

As Finance Minister, Pascal was extremely worried about this mess. Every now and then, fleets from Northern Europe would arrive in York, and out of courtesy, Ragnar would always hold a banquet for these unfamiliar guests. Initially, the banquet included fine wines, but after Queen Sola repeatedly advised against it, Ragnar reluctantly established a hierarchy: ordinary Vikings were offered honey wine, while lords and kings, such as nobles, were given wine.

Even so, the Treasury’s gold and silver reserves were still dwindling. If they didn’t find a way to increase revenue soon, they might go bankrupt before next year.

After a moment’s thought, Ragnar, unwilling to show his lack of money in front of his vassals, waved his hand casually. “Alright, do it your way.”

After discussing taxes, Ragnar summoned two gentlemen involved in a land dispute to settle their conflict. He then summoned an iron ore merchant, demanding an increase in supply. As midday approached, just as he was preparing to call everyone to eat, Ivar, wearing a black cloak, arrived late.

“Oh, are all the gentlemen here?”

Ivar looked around, noticing an unfamiliar face in the front left of the throne. “Who is that thin fellow?”

“His name is Goodwin. He is my newly appointed official, assisting Pascal in handling government affairs.” Ragnar gestured for Ivar to give his tribute list to Goodwin, but Ivar made a helpless gesture.

“I had a little problem in Ireland and cannot pay tribute in grain and livestock.”

After saying that, he whistled towards the outside and called in four women with fair complexions and slender figures. “This is all the tribute for this year. Please forgive me. When I make amends next year, I will certainly return it with interest.”