Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 146: Dual Identity

In October, various feudal lords gathered in Londinium to pay their tribute.

Following the surrender of the nobles in the Cornwall region in the southwestern corner of Britain, Ragnar nominally controlled the entirety of Britain, making this audience ceremony an incredibly grand affair.

Under the awestruck and fearful gazes of the onlookers, a massive throng of nobles gathered in the open space outside the Royal Palace gates, taking their positions according to their noble titles.

Naturally, Ivar, Viggo, Ethelwulf, and Theowulf stood at the very front. The only slight difference from last year was the addition of Gunnar.

Ever since Gunnar accepted the title of Duke in West Francia three years ago, this was his first time returning to Britain. He was no longer the scruffy brute of the past. His smooth golden hair was tied back in a ponytail, a well-groomed stubble framed his face, and he wore a purple embroidered robe. Hanging at his waist was Dawn, the renowned sword stained with the blood of Viking raiders, and over everything, he wore a black cloak equally adorned with gold thread.

What caught the most attention was the silver crucifix pendant he openly wore, a public acknowledgment of his conversion to Roman Catholicism.

Viggo maintained a friendly attitude toward this old acquaintance who used to sell warhorses. "I heard you had a son. How is the little guy doing?"

"He is doing quite well. His crying is exceptionally loud, truly worthy of being my son." Gunnar revealed a rare, amiable smile, taking the opportunity to mention the tournament held to celebrate the birth of his eldest son.

"Both the jousting and Foot Combat Champion titles were claimed by our old friend Maurice. That man's horsemanship and swordsmanship are truly remarkable. No wonder he caught the eye of a prominent widow from the Kingdom of Asturias in northern Spain. It is a pity that, as the host, it was inconvenient for me to enter the tournament and cross swords with him."

After a brief chat, the gates of the Royal Palace slowly opened. The Dukes walked inside at a leisurely pace. Glancing at the heavily armored guards lining both sides of the path, Viggo grumbled internally:'Looking at this spectacle, it almost feels like a court assembly of the Central Plains Empire. It would be quite amusing if a Eunuch were to suddenly appear.'

When it was Gunnar's turn, the Deputy Commander of the Royal Guard, "White Hair" Oleg, stopped him. "Please step back, my lord."

Gunnar froze in place, unable to believe that this man dared to offend him.

"When Ragnar and I were out raiding, you had not even grown all your hair yet. You dare speak to me like that without even looking at what you are?"

Oleg took another step forward, blocking the center of the path completely. "My lord, in what capacity have you come to seek an audience with His Majesty? If you are here as the Earl of Cambridge, you should be waiting in the queue further back. If you are here as the Duke of Normandy and a member of the West Francia royal family, you have no right to appear on this occasion. His Majesty will find time to receive you later."

Gunnar stiffened, his right hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of Dawn. Seeing this, the heavily armored guards on both sides exchanged uncertain glances. Some of the older veterans dared not offend their former commander, but a few of the hotheaded recruits harbored no such reservations and strode forward to encircle him.

Due to this commotion, the crowd behind them ground to a halt. Oleg and Gunnar faced off in the middle of the walkway, neither willing to yield, until Ivar finally spoke up:

"Since a decision cannot be reached, inform the King at once and let him judge whether Gunnar's actions are appropriate. Counting the Royal Knights, there are over six hundred people waiting for an audience today. If we drag this out any longer, I am afraid we will miss the evening banquet."

Not long after, a guard returned with Ragnar's decree—Gunnar was permitted to enter the palace. "White Hair" Oleg signaled for his subordinates to clear the path.

"Your Grace, none of this is a personal grudge. Please forgive the offense."

Gunnar forced out an expressionless smile. "You are quite something. I will remember you."

He strode into the Royal Palace hall, bowed to the King and the two Queens, and handed over his tribute manifest.

Viggo went through this familiar routine with practiced ease, then stood quietly in the right-hand queue. He watched as the vassals, both familiar and strange, stepped forward one by one to present themselves. The Royal Knights made up the vast majority, accounting for roughly ninety percent. Due to the limited space, the knights had no right to remain in the hall after their audience and had to exit under the watchful eyes of the Dukes, Earls, and other great nobles.

Viggo kept his face completely blank while complaining inwardly:

'Phew, this is going to be a long grind. These small fries rarely get a chance to interact with Ragnar, so they will definitely use this opportunity to cozy up to him and deepen their sovereign's impression of them.

'According to the rumors, Ragnar intends to formally establish the noble rank of Baron. I wonder which lucky Royal Knights have been placed on the promotion list.'

Along the way, a few would occasionally request a ruling. The most common conflicts were territorial disputes, where two knights would bicker over some unnamed stretch of woods or a river, severely slowing down the proceedings.

Enduring until noon, there were still over three hundred Royal Knights waiting outside the palace who had yet to complete the process. They were arranged to eat a hasty lunch and rest for half an hour before the audiences resumed.

Busy until just before sunset, Ragnar finally completed the exhausting task. His eyes were lifeless as he leaned against the uncomfortable throne, his fatigued and muddled brain sinking into deep thought:

'With the Cornwall region brought under my rule, the new territory can be granted to even more knights. The number of vassals is growing constantly. If I just let them act as they please, I am afraid I will not even have time to eat dinner on this day next year.'

To that end, he planned to establish an additional rule:

Before the knights could initiate a dispute, they would first have to submit their evidence to the Minister of Justice. Only if mediation failed would they be allowed to seek him out to judge the conflict.

Planning to have Pascal draft this law, Ragnar declared the ceremony over and ordered the Palace Steward to commence the banquet.

Instantly, Viggo and the others on the right side of the hall felt a profound sense of relief.

They had endured from morning until dusk. Aside from the brief respite at noon, they had spent the rest of the time standing in place like clay statues. The Earls standing slightly further back could still whisper among themselves, but Dukes like Viggo could only stand perfectly still, forced to endure until this very moment to finally be freed.

Massaging his aching thighs, Viggo sighed, "Thank goodness this is only an annual occurrence; I can barely manage to scrape through it. I wonder how the civil officials of the Huaxia Dynasty dealt with those complex, rule-bound court assemblies that happened far more frequently?"

Recalling his memories, the formal morning assemblies during the Ming Dynasty convened at five in the morning, meaning officials had to gather outside the Meridian Gate by three o'clock. In the dead of winter, that was nothing short of a brutal double test of both body and willpower.

Before long, the banquet began.

Sitting at the long table on the right side of the hall, Viggo ate his food at a leisurely pace. His appetite had been completely spoiled by better things, and he could barely muster any interest in these dishes. Rather than savoring the food, he dedicated most of his energy to eavesdropping on the conversations around him.

During the feast, Gunnar walked over to Ragnar with a wine jug in hand, inviting this brother he had known for over twenty years to share a drink.

"With the utmost pleasure."

Ragnar raised his goblet and took a heavy gulp of the sweet, crimson wine, bringing the evening banquet to an end amidst a haze of drowsy jubilation.

As the feast dispersed, Ragnar walked back to his bedchamber with the support of his attendants. The long, narrow corridor was exceptionally quiet. Queen Thora whispered a suggestion, "Gunnar is completely untrustworthy now. Find an excuse to detain him."