novelraw Chapter 175: Dover
Chapter 175: Dover
After staring at the Prime Minister for a moment, Ragnar let out a bitter smile. "If it were Pascal, he would point out without hesitation that those guards were letting me win. You worry too much. You will not even speak a word of truth to me."
Tossing his silk handkerchief to a maidservant nearby, Ragnar returned to the shade of the awning. "Well, at least you did not lie like the others. Flattery is hardly a fitting trait for a Prime Minister. Tell me, what kind of trouble brings you here this time?"
Wigg brought out the reform plan, intending to persuade the King to overhaul the customs system.
"They are old brothers-in-arms who have fought in numerous wars," Ragnar argued. "Is it really appropriate to dismiss them?"
'A mere bunch of slackers who do not even qualify for a knightly title, and he still wants to protect them?' Wigg thought. He turned his gaze toward Ethelwulf, intending to have the Minister of the Navy expose the wrongdoings of those useless fools. To his dismay, the old man was dozing off in his chair, completely oblivious to Sigurd tickling his nose with a blade of wild grass.
'Is he faking it, or is he actually asleep?'
Unable to dwell on the question, Wigg came up with a tactful approach. He suggested that the King form a new military unit, nominally tasked as the Temple Guard, but practically serving as a dumping ground for the useless Vikings scattered across various departments. Their salaries would remain unchanged, but it would prevent them from disrupting the normal operations of the administrative system.
After wasting a great deal of breath, he finally managed to convince Ragnar.
Currently, customs revenue accounted for thirty percent of the royal family's annual income—primarily from the wool export tax. If the regional customs offices were allowed to rot, the King himself would be the one suffering the losses.
At that moment, Ethelwulf finally snapped awake from Sigurd's relentless teasing. "Ahem... Your Highness?"He looked around in bewilderment. Realizing that the matter had already been settled, he hurriedly bowed in respect before shuffling out of the rear garden with slow, lethargic steps.
The very next day, the customs employees in Londinium faced an evaluation consisting of two parts:
First, reporting on their recent work progress.
Second, completing a written test to assess their arithmetic and bookkeeping skills.
Unsurprisingly, all six Vikings failed miserably and were immediately reassigned to the ranks of the Temple Guard.
"His Majesty remembers your contributions. Even after leaving customs, your wages will remain unchanged," Ethelwulf stated. However, as he ordered his subordinates to take over the documents, the six men outright refused.
Over the past two years, they had grown accustomed to the flattery and bribes offered by captains from all over—amber from the Rus', furs from Northern Europe, dyed cloth from Flanders, wine from West Francia, and cane sugar and spices from the Berbers. Desperate to keep this lucrative post, one of them roared:
"No! You are just an Angle, you have no right to order us around! I earned military merits on the Banks of the Seine! I demand to see His Majesty!"
They surged forward, violently shoving the elderly Minister of the Navy. Waiting in the adjacent room, Wigg sighed in exasperation. He led Loki and Utgard into the hall.
Stepping in front of the six furious men, Wigg suppressed his rising temper and explained, "Cease this nonsense. This is His Majesty's will. Apologize to the Minister of the Navy, pack your belongings, and report to the Stonehenge Temple."
Faced with the illustrious North's Serpent, the six men dared not defy the order. They hastily gathered a massive pile of dyed cloth, furs, and other 'personal items', effectively severing their ties with the customs system.
His secretary, Loki, looked on with complicated feelings. "Treating meritorious veterans in such a manner... you may draw some slander, my Lord."
Looking at the staggering amount of loot strapped to the men's backs, Wigg let out a scoff of pure anger. "His Majesty has never been stingy with rewards. Including the batch of vassals from Denmark last year, he has knighted over seven hundred direct royal subjects. If these six truly had any commendable merits, they would not be lacking a simple knightly title."
After selecting six sharp-minded Viking citizens to fill the vacancies, Wigg rode hard for Dover to continue his overhaul of the local customs. As the first stop for continental merchant ships arriving in Britain, Dover had experienced rapid growth in recent years. Flush with funds, Earl Ulf had constructed a stone castle on the high ground near the port. The towering structure in its southeastern corner burned bonfires throughout the night, guiding lost ships like a blazing candle. Because of this, it earned the moniker 'Candle Fort', though it was officially known as Dover Castle.
"What an imposing structure," Wigg remarked.
Although it was not his first visit, Wigg could not help but marvel at the sight. In comparison, his own Teyne felt rather shabby, completely failing to reflect the grandeur expected of a Duke.
Riding out of the city to welcome his guest, Ulf overheard the praise and grumbled under his breath.
"It is all Ragnar's fault. The previous Lord of Kent resided inland in Canterbury, but he forcefully ordered me to relocate my seat to Dover Port, making me the first line of defense in the southeast of Britain. I had no choice but to spend a fortune building this castle, lest I die in my sleep one day without even knowing why."
Upon arriving at the dockside district, Wigg summoned the customs officials. Using the same evaluation methods, he purged the incompetent and the corrupt, packing them all off to waste away at the temple.
Ulf clicked his tongue in amazement. "These bastards relied on their direct subservience to the King to cause endless trouble on my turf. I have long been sick of the sight of them, but you actually found a way to deal with it. Haha! We must drink a few extra cups tonight to celebrate!"
"Business first," Wigg deflected.
He produced a parchment bearing the King's Seal, the Prime Minister's Seal, and the Minister of the Navy's Seal. It mandated the establishment of a Coast Guard in Kent, staffed by locals who would pilot fast ships to intercept smugglers.
As a reward for their service, the guards would be entitled to half of the confiscated contraband.
Furthermore, Wigg had convinced the King to pass a new decree—the Piracy Act. It stipulated that acts of piracy were punishable by hanging. Accomplices who provided ships or fenced stolen goods would also face severe penalties, including the noose.
"This feels a bit strange," Ulf muttered, offering a quiet complaint. "According to this newly enacted Piracy Act, would that not mean every single one of us is guilty of past crimes?"
The Prime Minister shot him a fierce glare, forcing Ulf to swallow the rest of his words and grumble inwardly, 'From the looks of it, the Cabinet has no intention of funding this Coast Guard. Sigh... I will have to scrape the coin together from the merchants. I just hope I will not have to pay out of my own pocket.'
That evening, in the great hall of Dover Castle.
To liven up the atmosphere, Ulf had specially hired a troupe of musicians to perform. Accompanied by soothing rustic melodies, the two men enjoyed a lavish feast composed primarily of Frankish Cuisine.
"Try the new chef's handiwork. He specializes in various meat pies and fish dishes," Ulf offered.
He pointed to the pigeon pie and venison pie on the table, as well as a steaming platter of lamprey resting beside them.
The lamprey had been roasted with an iron fork propping its mouth open, its cooked surface drizzled with a rich brown sauce. Wigg took a small bite, immediately detecting the complex notes of ginger, pepper, vinegar, and wine. He offered genuine praise, "This craftsmanship rivals even the royal chefs in Londinium. You have an excellent eye for talent."
Ulf held up two fingers on his right hand. "Two pounds a year. But quality comes at a price. We have spent our entire lives fighting and killing; we cannot mistreat ourselves in this regard. Spending a little extra coin is nothing. By the way, when exactly is the royal family going to repay the five hundred pounds they owe me from last year?"
"There are too many outstanding debts," Wigg sighed. "Pascal borrowed money from everyone last year. He even plundered four hundred pounds worth of pig iron ingots from my Stirling iron mine. I asked His Majesty about it last month, but he gave no clear answer. He merely told me to urge the nobles to hold off for a while longer."