Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 133: Homeland

Ch 133: Homeland

Having reached a treaty, Ulf did not immediately return to Londinium to report, but instead took the time to return to Konsel—his home.

Riding a pack horse, Ulf led ten shield-bearers eastward. The scenery along the way was desolate; the wheat in the oat fields was sparse, crowded and pushed over by weeds in the fields. Half the wall of a nearby farmhouse had collapsed, with thistle taller than a man growing from the cracks; one could vaguely see bones buried within.

“It’s only two days’ journey from Oslo, yet it’s abandoned to this extent?”

At noon, the group rested at a nearby farmhouse and asked for a bowl of water. A dried wolfskin hung under the eaves of the farmhouse. According to the owner, there were still sporadic wild wolf attacks on people and livestock three months ago. With the population outflow, even the wild wolves have starved and moved away.

Ulf scratched his hair, said nothing more, and followed the country dirt road for five full days, returning to his hometown after seven years away.

The scenery in Konsel was equally dilapidated and desolate; the crooked boundary stones by the roadside were covered with moss. In the distance, a shepherd boy drove a small flock of sheep past; seeing the ten soldiers following behind the rider, he was frightened and ran away, abandoning his flock.

Finding that his own subjects had forgotten his face, Ulf felt very embarrassed. He urged his pack horse over two low hills and entered the settlement.

“Sir?”

The old steward ran out barefoot to greet him, and the remaining residents also crowded around Ulf. A total of only 150 people remained; hardly any young faces were visible. “Sir, since Ragnar conquered Britain, young men, inspired by him, have always wanted to go out and explore. The territorial population has been dwindling; there aren’t even enough people to repair the fortifications.”

Hearing the complaints of the people, Ulf remained impassive and announced that taxes would be halved for the next five years. He had profited greatly from trade, and Konsel’s annual taxes were worth only a few hundred silver pence; even if they were completely waived, it would not matter.

Entering the lord’s longhouse, Ulf went to the tall seat draped in bearskin.

On closer inspection, the bearskin had been gnawed by insects and ants in many places. Sitting on it, there was no longer the former softness and comfort; the seat underneath creaked under the weight.

“Luckily I am rather thin. If it were King Eric, or Leonard, whose physique is growing increasingly obese, this seat would have collapsed long ago.”

To entertain the lord who had not returned for many years, the steward slaughtered a thin sheep and sent someone to the nearby stream to catch several river fish, putting together a meal of food and drink.

This time, Ulf’s appetite was much better. He drank copious amounts of rough ale, gnawed on a lamb chop with little meat, and occasionally mentioned some names from his memory until his consciousness gradually blurred.

After a week’s rest, Ulf left Konsel with the farewells of the people; fifteen young men and women accompanied him, planning to go to Britain for a new life, including the steward’s second son.

After traveling southwest for a distance, Ulf arrived at Örebro, the territory of his old neighbor Leonard, equally dilapidated and with a dwindling population.

“Looking back, the two families often quarreled over a small piece of cultivated land at the border. Now even the farmland near the settlement has become abandoned grassland; these conflicts have naturally dissipated.”

Four days later, Ulf and his attendants arrived at Gothenburg, planning to take a ship back to Britain from here. This place was governed by Halfdan.

In Ulf’s impression, Halfdan was an idle and ignorant playboy prince who spent his days in the palace, far inferior to his two older brothers. Unexpectedly, upon meeting again, this person had completely changed his appearance, becoming a slovenly, strong man with thick hair and a full beard.

“Long time no see, Your Highness.”

“Long time no see, Jarl.”

Halfdan welcomed Ulf with traditional etiquette, pulling his arm into the lord’s longhouse. The room was filled with a strong body odor; dozens of warriors clad in bearskins and wolfskins were drinking and boasting.

Berserkers?

A word came to Ulf’s mind: “bearskin-wearers,” or, called berserkers.

Instantly, his vigilance rose to its highest level. “Damn it, where did Halfdan get so many madmen? What does he intend to do?”

In past battles, Ulf had seen a few berserkers. Before battle, these people consumed hallucinogenic mushrooms, falling into an indescribable state of frenzy, able to ignore pain and fatigue, wielding double axes to crush the enemy’s formation.

Besides killing enemies, they could even boost the morale of allied troops and weaken the enemy’s will.

Unfortunately, berserkers have strange tempers and are difficult to control. Throughout Britain, only Ragnar and Ivar each had a small squad of berserkers.

Soon, the banquet began. The berserkers grabbed pork chops and lamb chops to eat; the juice dripped down their messy beards like a group of peasants who had never had a full meal, making Ulf subtly nauseous.

After several drinks, the berserkers chatted casually while drunk, including disparaging remarks about nobles such as Vig and Gunnar, believing that they had abandoned Viking traditions.

“Burp, Vig’s name resounded throughout Northern Europe, yet he abandoned those strong and valiant shield-maidens to marry the daughter of an Anglo-Saxon gentleman. I hear that this woman’s ancestors had an unclear relationship with the Northumbrian royal family.”

“Indeed, Gunnar was even more excessive. For the title of Duke, he converted to the Roman Catholic Church, married a Frankish princess, and slaughtered Viking raiders indiscriminately, disregarding the feelings of his fellow tribesmen. This traitor is the most hateful.”

“And Leonard, Niels, Orm, and others…”

After listening for a while, Ulf realized the seriousness of the matter.

In past wars, Ragnar, Ivar, Vig, and Gunnar had gained the most, one High King and three Dukes.

Ragnar was Halfdan’s father, and Ivar was Halfdan’s older brother; Halfdan could not afford to offend the former two for the moment, so he could only use Vig and Gunnar as targets for abuse.

“Big trouble. These people are ostensibly slandering Vig and Gunnar, but in fact, they are venting their inner dissatisfaction, believing that Ragnar should not abandon tradition and adopt the Frankish feudal system.”

Ulf drank light beer, attentively listening to the berserkers’ words, guessing Halfdan’s motives and next plan.

Throughout the banquet, Ulf did not refute this nonsense. Even when someone mentioned his name, he pretended not to hear, lest these madmen cause trouble while drunk.

The next day, Ulf led his followers to board a ship and escape, but was stopped at the dock by Halfdan. “Jarl, are you a Viking warrior or a soft egg corrupted by paganism?”

Looking at the gleaming swords and axes of the berserkers, he quickly replied: “I am a Viking. My wife is also a Viking, and my offspring are Vikings as well.”

“Good,” Halfdan put his arm around Ulf’s shoulder. “Since you are a Viking, you must follow Viking traditions. Our raids are short-handed; are you interested?”