Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 170: The Cabinet

Londinium, the Royal Palace.

After verifying his identity, Viggo passed through the palace gates guarded by the Royal Guard and walked toward the main hall just a short distance away.

Suddenly, a group of playful children darted out from a corner, cheerfully brushing past him like a flock of chirping birds.

The oldest among them was thirteen-year-old Ubbe, followed by the seven-year-old twins, Sigurd and Ynja. There were also Niels's son and daughter, who were being held in Londinium as hostages, along with six other unfamiliar faces.

Viggo stopped with keen interest, observing this group of future kings, dukes, and earls.

Ubbe was full of energy, charging around like a sturdy brown calf and leading the others in their wild rampage. Sigurd was the most mischievous, constantly egging on and pulling pranks on the younger children around him.

After watching for a moment, Viggo's gaze locked onto a skinny child in the corner. Wrapped in thick woolen clothes, the boy had clear eyes and quietly trailed behind the group. He made no attempt to steal the spotlight from Ubbe or Sigurd, yet he knew exactly how to appropriately strike back when teased or provoked by the others.

Steady, calm, and neither arrogant nor servile—he was a rare genius.

Viggo waved over a nearby palace guard and asked, "That child is rather special. What is his name?"

"Alfred, the youngest son of Ethelwulf. He is six years old this year."So it was him. Comparing the boy to his own two little troublemakers, a trace of helplessness welled up in Viggo's heart.

In terms of strategy and martial prowess, he completely crushed Ethelwulf. Heregyth's intellect was equally outstanding; she mastered Latin and Greek, and had almost single-handedly taken on a quarter of the drafting work for the Teyne Code. Both husband and wife were brilliantly talented and had never slacked on their children's education, so why couldn't they compare to someone else's child?

A lingering sense of anxiety and urgency surged within him.

'I need to write a letter after work,' Viggo thought to himself. 'I will tell Heregyth to increase their daily study hours and send me their progress every half month. We cannot let them slack off anymore. To hell with so-called happy education.'

Entering the main hall, Viggo bowed to Ragnar on the throne. The King was in poor spirits and did not exchange many pleasantries, simply having an attendant hand him a ring.

The ring was cast from pure gold, its face bearing the design of a scale. This was Pascal's interpretation of the Prime Minister's duty—justice, and maintaining the internal balance of the kingdom.

Looking at the trusted confidant who had followed him for fifteen years, Ragnar offered soft words of encouragement. "Work hard, and do not disappoint my expectations or Pascal's."

"It is my honor to serve you."

Viggo left the main hall and followed a palace guard for a short distance, heading to a single-story stone building on the left. The exterior of the place was unremarkable, but the interior decoration was exceptionally luxurious.

The floor was covered with thick, soft woolen carpets boasting a rich Near Eastern style, likely sourced from Berber merchants.

Various tapestries hung on the walls, their patterns depicting ancient legends of the Vikings and Angles. The windows were inlaid with solid panes of pale yellow glass, allowing the slanting sunlight to cast down and bathe the interior of the room in a faint golden halo.

"Lord Prime Minister, we have all been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

Paffis, the eunuch from the Eastern Roman Empire, hurried forward to greet his new superior with an exaggeratedly affectionate tone. Short and stout, he wore brightly colored garments adorned with various colorful ornaments, looking much like a juggling circus clown.

As the newly appointed Palace Steward, Paffis held a seat in the Cabinet. Viggo greeted him with a smile, showing no hint of disdain.

He thought to himself, 'Regardless of East or West, the eunuch demographic seems pretty much the same. I will just treat this guy like the Director of Ceremonies.' Viggo walked toward the long table and warmly embraced his old acquaintance Orm, who served as the Minister of War and the commander of the Royal Guard. As fellow members of the Hunting Party, their friendship spanned fifteen years, and the burly man's character was deeply trustworthy.

Just as he sat down, Viggo looked to his right at the Minister of Justice, Gorm.

As the number two figure in the civil service system, Gorm should have logically succeeded Pascal. Now that his hopes had fallen through, the man restrained his inner disappointment and offered his congratulations to the new Prime Minister.

Next was Ethelwulf, Duke of Wessex. He served as the Minister of the Seas in the Cabinet, responsible for the customs of Southampton, Dover, and Londinium, as well as clearing out pirates and inspecting smuggling operations in the coastal regions.

Growing older with the years, Ethelwulf appeared increasingly aged. With his pale face and white hair, he sat slumped in his high-backed chair and spoke at a sluggish pace. "Welcome, Your Excellency Prime Minister."

'Being this old, he probably is not much of a threat,' Viggo honestly thought to himself. However, a warning immediately flashed in his mind, reminding him of the shrewd and deeply calculating Sima Yi and Tokugawa Ieyasu.

'Better to be safe than sorry.'

He straightened his posture, his expression turning solemn. "It is an honor to work with you, My Lord."

Opposite Ethelwulf sat Hrolf, the former lord of Schleswig and the younger brother of Queen Sola.

Unable to withstand the Queen's pillow talk, Ragnar had appointed this highly arrogant fellow as the Sheriff of Londinium, tasked with governing the capital and its surrounding areas.

Furthermore, Hrolf concurrently held the title of Minister of Foreign Affairs. Because the ruler of the Kingdom of Britannia firmly believed in paganism, they faced unified rejection from the Frankish states and the Papacy. With Norway being their only diplomatic partner, the Minister of Foreign Affairs was essentially an honorary and empty title.

Approaching forty, Hrolf had grown slightly plump. He often heard people mention the battle records of the North's Serpent. He did not underestimate this tall, neatly groomed young Duke; he simply felt that the man was better suited to be a general and that he himself was the most appropriate candidate for Prime Minister.

Hrolf gave a slight nod, trying his best to appear composed and impartial. "Your Excellency Prime Minister, welcome."

The seat at the very end of the long table belonged to the Palace Steward, Paffis. Catching the Prime Minister's gaze, he once again flashed a harmless, sycophantic smile.

Having exchanged greetings all around, Viggo's eyes swept over the Cabinet members once more.

As Prime Minister and Chancellor of the Exchequer, he sat at the head of the table. To his right were Gorm and Ethelwulf, and to his left were Orm and Hrolf. Seated at the very end was Palace Steward Paffis.

Taking a deep breath, he inquired about the Cabinet's workflow, to which Gorm explained with a smile:

"We meet every morning at eight o'clock, and then report the results of our discussions to His Majesty. Remember to send them over before lunch. Usually, his working hours are limited exclusively to the mornings."

After introducing the King's schedule, the Cabinet meeting officially began. Orm pulled out a document with neat handwriting that was clearly drafted by a secretary.

"This is the warhorse procurement plan for this year. Last month, Gunnar sent an envoy saying that he is under a lot of pressure, so he intends to raise the price. Each warhorse will increase to four pounds."

Skimming over it briefly, Viggo signed his name at the bottom of the document, then stamped it using the Prime Minister's ring on his left middle finger. "Next."