novelraw Chapter 101: The Ritual Of Allegiance
Chapter 101: The Ritual Of Allegiance
Ch 101: The Ritual Of Allegiance
Watching the stammering expression of the man in the green cloak, Theodulf roughly guessed the reason—Halfdan’s left arm had been struck by an arrow, and he estimated that this fellow was the culprit.
“Relax, Sir, His Majesty has declared a pardon for all Welsh nobles willing to submit, and you are naturally included. Uh, I think so.”
Scratching the back of his head, Theodulf became increasingly unsure, turning his head to look at Oleg “the White-haired”.
“Why, why are you looking at me?” As a newly promoted Guard Commander and Knight, Oleg had a shallow foundation and dared not offend Halfdan, so he could only give an ambiguous reply:
“His Majesty asked me to witness this allegiance ceremony, to pardon all the nobles present, and I did all of that. Other matters are none of my concern. Vig, as the commander of this operation, is the most suitable person to ask.”
Damn!
Fighting and pacifying were already tiring enough. Why would they throw this mess at me?
Vig’s eyes narrowed, scanning Oleg “the White-haired” from head to toe, as if looking for a suitable place to strike.
At this time, two other minor nobles also came forward, asking Ragnar’s opinion on the Welshmen who had defeated Halfdan and Æthelwolf last time. Their questions aroused the vigilance of all the nobles; many eyes flickered, beginning to doubt the Vikings’ sincerity.
Sensing the instability of the situation, Vig sternly questioned Oleg “the White-haired”, “His Majesty declared a pardon for Welsh nobles willing to submit; were there any preconditions?”
“Uh, I don’t think I heard any.”
Vig placed his right hand on the hilt of Dragon’s Breath Sword, coming to the latter’s side, “Did you not hear, or was there none? As an envoy, you can’t even manage the most basic task of delivering a message?”
Killing intent washed over him. Oleg “the White-haired” quickly repeated Ragnar’s original words:
“Vig fought well. The Welsh are willing to submit. Oleg, as my envoy, you represent me in accepting their allegiance and pardoning all nobles willing to submit. Keep your attitude amicable. The kingdom cannot afford more wars.”
Letting out a long sigh, Vig had the Welsh translator relay these original words, announcing that the man in the green cloak and others were also within the pardon.
However, after this commotion, the man in the green cloak and the other two chieftains became even more anxious, “Are you willing to guarantee that Halfdan will not become the Duke and Governor of Wales in the future?”
Vig froze in place, “Gentlemen, as the Lord of Tyne, I am not qualified to decide who Wales should be granted to.”
He looked at Oleg again: “What exactly is His Majesty’s attitude? Is there any relevant news from the palace? Tell me!”
The situation took a sharp turn for the worse. Oleg was also frightened at this moment, “Some servant girls were chatting privately, and it seems Halfdan might become the Duke of Wales. However, according to rumors from several guards, it seems unlikely that Halfdan will be granted Wales.”
Overhearing their conversation, Theodulf painfully supported his forehead and sighed. A perfectly good allegiance ceremony had turned into a farce; now they were in serious trouble.
Time passed, and the atmosphere on the scene became increasingly strange. Finally, Rodri offered a suggestion, “The Shrike （in the green cloak） and the other two chieftains are worried about being retaliated against by the future Duke. Why don’t they relocate to the Northern Border? If you don’t trust Halfdan, you should trust Sir Vig’s promise.”
In Rodri’s imagination, if the Shrike and the other two chieftains moved to the Northern Border, the lands they left behind would be not far from the southeast of Mathrafal, which would benefit him.
He secretly pondered: “The Shrike obtains protection, I obtain land, Vig obtains a group of loyal subordinates. All three parties benefit at the same time. Haha, I am truly a genius.”
Regarding this suggestion, the Shrike and the other two chieftains conferred for a few minutes, “Based on the performance of the ‘Serpent of the North’ these past few months, he possesses a rare virtue among the Vikings—self-control—making him a rare wise feudal lord. What do you think?”
“I agree.”
“Me too.”
When the three men made their request for allegiance, all the nobles focused their attention on Vig. If he did not even have this much sincerity, perhaps everyone would have to reconsider their previous promises.
“You have made things difficult for me; you have truly made things difficult for me.”
Vig looked up to the sky and let out a long sigh, then drew Dragon’s Breath Sword, gesturing for the three to kneel on one knee, “I, Vig of Tyne, under the witness of God, accept your allegiance, promise to give you personal protection, and grant each of you a suitable fiefdom.”
Twenty miles northwest of Tyne, there were vast mountains and hills. Whether it was for sheep farming, hunting, or farming, there was ample space to settle them.
After a moment’s consideration, Vig decided to exempt the three tribes from taxes, requiring only a small amount of fur each year. They would have to serve in wartime, forming a mountain infantry unit responsible for scouting and harassment.
“How many people do you have in total?”
The Shrike replied: “My tribe has two thousand people; theirs have fourteen hundred each.”
That added up to less than five thousand people; only a little more than a thousand young men. Was it these people who defeated Halfdan and Æthelwolf?
Vig concluded that Æthelwolf had deliberately lost the last war. Poor Halfdan was kept in the dark and was even trying to speak up for him.
“Go back and have your people pack up their belongings. Depart in half a month. Following the long-standing tradition, new immigrants are exempt from taxes for two years, so you do not need to worry about your livelihood.”
“Yes, Sir,” the Shrike and the other two chieftains nodded.
Finally, this eventful allegiance ceremony came to an end.
Five days later, Vig went to Londinium to report for duty.
The Royal Palace Hall.
Having become the High King of Britain, Ragnar’s ostentation had increased significantly. An exquisite and luxurious throne was placed on five layers of steps. He wore a golden crown and a scarlet velvet cape embroidered with intricate patterns in gold thread.
Two seats were placed on four layers of steps, slightly lower. To the right sat Queen Sola, with her delicate and cold face, and to the left sat the second queen, Aslaug. A row of Court Guards stood around the steps, constantly watching the nobles and civil servants on both sides of the hall.
Ragnar spent ten minutes reviewing the battle reports and rosters of surrendered personnel, sighing involuntarily:
“The terms you offered were too lenient; it will take a hundred years to recover the costs of the war. Alas, it was too cheap for these rebels.”
Ragnar was unwilling to accept this, but Vig had ultimately achieved a nominal victory and deterred the Anglo-Saxons in the region. After much deliberation, he reluctantly accepted reality.
“Very well, what reward do you desire?”
Upon hearing this, Queen Sola, sitting to Ragnar’s right, became suspicious.
Currently, Ivar was stuck in Ireland and could not get away. Bjorn was wasting his time on a barren and cold island, indulging in self-destruction. The third son, Halfdan, had lost a battle and was recently living a dissolute life, his spirit depressed. The territory of Wales should belong to her son—the fourth son, Ubbe.
She cleared her throat, intending to refute Vig’s request for the region of Wales. Unexpectedly, Vig responded calmly:
“Serving the monarch is my obligation as a vassal. If you must reward me with something, then how about this: I plan to attack the Northern Border. If you are willing to provide some military funding, that would be excellent.”