novelraw Chapter 103: The Duke
Chapter 103: The Duke
Ch 103: The Duke
The West Francia war ended. Charles the Bald did not pay the indemnity in one go, but sent a part at intervals. This wealth was counted in Londinium and ultimately transported to various nobles.
At the South City Docks, many Frankish ships were unloading supplies. A group of listless warhorses, accompanied by grooms, were heading towards the stables. After the rough sea journey, their condition was poor, and fifteen had died from illness.
“Wait, besides the horses that died, these five warhorses don’t seem to be able to last much longer; they don’t count.”
The Viking official pointed to the five horses at the back of the group, indicating that they should be removed from the list.
“Why?” the Frankish envoy was unwilling to suffer a loss. “Many of the prisoners of war you returned are sick. Can they also be removed from the list?”
Ignoring the two men’s argument, Vig shifted his gaze to the construction site in the middle of the river.
As early as AD 50, the Romans built a bridge over the Thames River, connecting Londinium on the North Bank and the swampy area on the South Bank.
Today, the bridge has long been damaged, with only a few lonely bridge piers standing on the river surface.
As High King, Ragnar decided to rebuild this bridge, to improve his favorability among the people, and incidentally collect some “insignificant” bridge tolls. Currently, the project is in the initial pile-driving stage.
Workers used willow branches to weave “caissons,” filling them with stones and sinking them into the riverbed as the foundation for the bridge piers.
Then, they used heavy wooden mallets to drive oak piles vertically into the riverbed. Each pile was soaked in tar to maximize its lifespan. Finally, the workers drained the river water between the piles, filled the inside with mortar and stones, and built the stone bridge piers.
“For a river surface nearly three hundred meters wide, how many bridge piers will need to be built? The construction difficulty is too great.”
Vig asked the stonemasons in charge of the construction, but no one could give a specific construction period or cost.
“Sir, this is the first time we have participated in such a large-scale project. Many things can only be explored gradually. Your Majesty has not set a specific construction period, and the upper limit of the cost is one thousand five hundred pounds of silver.”
How much?
One thousand five hundred pounds of silver!
Vig was completely speechless. He had originally planned to build a similar stone bridge on the River Tyne, but now it seems completely impossible.
“The width of the river near Tyne Town exceeds one hundred meters. If a bridge of similar specifications were to be built, it would cost over five hundred pounds of silver, and large-scale conscription of corvée would also be needed. Forget it, this kind of extravagant wonder is not suitable for me. I’d rather honestly take a boat across the river.”
Abandoning this unrealistic illusion, Vig asked the Viking official near the dock and learned that this was the second to last batch of ransom from the Franks.
A few days ago, Gunnar personally went to the opposite side of the strait to hand over the prisoners of war, planning to return to Londinium with the final payment of ransom.
“Is that so? I hope he’s doing well.”
Meanwhile, Gunnar arrived in Dover by ship. To ensure that Charles the Bald kept his promise, he insisted on detaining one hundred captured knights until the final stage before handing them over to the Franks.
Braving the cold, damp sea breeze, Gunnar walked towards Lambert not far away. The two had interacted many times. He didn’t bother with polite formalities, and instead threw a roster at him, pointing to the fleet behind him.
“Five men were unlucky enough to die of illness. The remaining ninety-five are all on board.”
Seeing this, Lambert handed over a list, gesturing for his subordinates to carry a huge chest. “This is the last payment of ransom.”
After counting it and verifying it was correct, Gunnar stretched. “It’s finally over.”
While both sides’ subordinates were busy counting, Lambert pulled Gunnar to a fisherman’s hut nearby, intending to introduce a marriage proposal.
“Sir, I heard that your wife died six months ago and left no offspring. It just so happens that our Majesty has a niece who has just come of age, and her appearance and temperament are quite good. As for dowry, His Majesty is willing to grant you the Northern Coast region. What do you think?”
For decades, Norman raiders from Northern Europe have frequently harassed the Frankish coastal regions, and recently some have even established themselves in the Channel Islands as a forward base for raiding.
（The Channel Islands, with a total area of 194 square kilometers, are only a dozen nautical miles from the northern coastline of France.）
Now, the Seven Anglo-Saxon Kingdoms have all submitted to Ragnar. The Norse pirates dare not provoke this legendary figure, and have flooded into the lands of West Francia.
A wave of pillaging is imminent. Charles the Bald summoned the cabinet to discuss this matter. Lambert, promoted to Foreign Minister, opposed solving the pirate problem by force, and suggested ennobling a Norman chieftain to manage the Northern Coast region.
Hearing the explanation, Gunnar irritably tossed his blond hair. “Why me? There’s a pile of trouble waiting to be dealt with in Cambridge, and I don’t have time to get entangled with you.”
“Because His Majesty respects heroes most. He often mentions you to us. Looking at the Normans today, Ragnar is the supreme leader, and beneath him, only three are worthy of praise.
Vig is adept at intrigue; he is a cunning and changeable viper.
Ivar is brave and brutal, skilled in commanding heavy infantry; he is a bloodthirsty and ferocious ice-field wolf.
However, when it comes to honorable heroes, only you, Gunnar, remain. You are exceptionally brave, with a strong appearance. The Norman knights you have trained have unparalleled battlefield skills; you are like a brown bear roaming the wilderness, a true king of beasts.
As for the others, Eric, the King of Norway, is just a senile old pig huddled in a pigsty. Niels and Orm have limited ability; at best, they are qualified hunting dogs. The rest, Young Eric, Leonard, Ulf, Halfdan, and Oleg the White-Haired, are even less noteworthy.”
Compared to self-praise within the same faction, praise from the enemy is especially precious.
After hearing Lambert’s relaying of this, Gunnar grinned from ear to ear, frantically slapping his shoulder.
“Haha, well said! You Frankish midgets have excellent eyesight. If you and Charles are captured by me in the next war, you’ll definitely get plenty of good food and drink.”
Enduring the brute force of the blond giant, Lambert suddenly changed his tone, touching on his greatest regret.
“It’s a pity that your talent has been buried for many years, and only last year were you granted the small place of Cambridge, barely worthy of the title of Earl. His Majesty often feels injustice on your behalf. Why should Vig and Ivar, those youngsters, be ennobled before you?
Even more ridiculous is that Halfdan, despite his high aspirations and low abilities, was merely appointed commander of the expedition to Wales because he is Ragnar’s son. If the battle situation goes well, I’m afraid he would have already been granted the title of Duke of Wales.”
Undoubtedly, these words struck Gunnar’s most sensitive wound. He wildly smashed the tables and chairs in the room. After a long time, he asked with a smirk:
“Does your king want me to betray Ragnar?”