Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 195: Royal Palace

After hearing the vassal's remarks, Sola and Aslaug exchanged a glance, thinking they had misheard.

Not only did this man refuse to pay the inheritance tax, but he also dared to demand money from them?

How outrageous!

Sola's tone was ice-cold. "My lord, are you deliberately trying to pick a fight?" The moment the words left her mouth, the surrounding Palace Guards stepped forward in unison, their right hands resting on the hilts of their swords.

Ethelbald, twenty-five years old and impulsive by nature, waved a promissory note in the air and roared across the hall, "The Prime Minister borrowed this money on behalf of the Royal Family! On what grounds are you refusing to acknowledge the debt?"

"We acknowledge the debt," Aslaug replied calmly. "However, an agreement was reached last year. With the unanimous consent of the nobles, such debts have been temporarily frozen and will be repaid in installments starting in three years. My lord, if you wish to inherit the title of Duke of Wessex, please hand over the silver, or supplies and real estate of equal value."

"What money?!" Ethelbald's voice remained thick and booming. "Over the past two years, the Royal Family raised the wool export tax, and my family's income has shrunk drastically. My father served in the Cabinet as the Minister of Maritime Affairs, didn't earn a single penny in salary, and was still forced to lend you a thousand pounds. We have no money! We are completely broke!"

His face flushed red, the veins on his neck bulging as if he had reached the absolute peak of his anger. The two queens exchanged another look, and this time, it was Sola's turn to speak.

"My lord, rules are rules. Please pay the tax, otherwise the Royal Family cannot recognize your right to rule over Wessex."

Pushed to this point, Ethelbald unexpectedly calmed down. "Fine, let it be. I'll wait for you to send troops to take over Winchester. I'd love to see how the nobles across the country will react to that!"After leaving behind his harsh threat, Ethelbald strode away. Outside the palace gates, an attendant leaned in to quietly offer advice, but was roughly shoved aside. "I'm not paying! No silver, no supplies! I won't give them a single strand of hair!"

With the King currently in a coma, the Royal Family's prestige had suffered greatly, and the Royal Guard had lost more than half its men. Ethelbald did not fear these mere thousand or so remnants of a defeated army in the slightest.

Naturally, the two queens could use their authority as regents to summon the vassals for a joint crusade. The problem was, would the great nobles actually send their troops?

Upon returning to Winchester, Ethelbald officially began handling state affairs in the name of the new Duke, completely ignoring the Royal Family's condemnation.

The stalemate dragged on until November. Feeling they had lost face, the two queens made up their minds to eradicate this rebel. They summoned the Cabinet members to discuss a plan for deploying troops to Wessex.

Suddenly, Om, the Minister of War and Commander of the Royal Guard, spoke up. "Your Majesties, I have a pressing personal matter and need to take a leave of absence for a while."

Not long ago, Om had received word that his eldest son had died of illness in a West Francia prisoner-of-war camp. His second son had taken an arrow to the arm during the Battle of Auxerre, and his health was in equally terrible condition; it was unlikely he would survive much longer in the camp.

Given that the two royal families had yet to reach an agreement, Om decided to raise the money himself to ransom his second son.

He had commissioned a priest to go to Calais to gather information. Lamberto had agreed to help, but his asking price was five hundred pounds—since this was Om's only surviving male heir, the price had naturally been hiked up.

Obviously, Om could not fork out such a massive sum. He was in a hurry to return to Sussex to tally up his assets and write to his colleagues for loans, striving to rescue his son as quickly as possible.

With the Commander of the Royal Guard taking leave to return to his hometown, the queens tentatively wrote letters to Ivar, Wigg, Niels, and the others, only to be met with either half-hearted excuses or outright refusals.

Setting aside Duke Ivar, who was already drowning in debt himself, the Royal Family owed money to every single major noble. They hadn't even paid out the wages for overextended service this year, which nearly triggered a mutiny among the lower-ranking soldiers. Everyone harbored resentment in their hearts, even if they didn't show it on their faces. If they joined a crusade against Wessex today, who was to say they wouldn't be the target tomorrow?

By December, the conflict between the two sides had devolved into a farce. The citizens of Londinium even started placing bets, excitedly debating which side would bow their heads first. Finally, through the mediation of Prime Minister Gorm, both sides took a step back. Ethelbald agreed to pay one hundred and fifty pounds of silver in exchange for the Royal Family's official recognition.

In the eyes of the public, the Royal Family had undoubtedly lost this dispute. To nearly break ties with a vassal over such a small sum, and then to show signs of weakness and incompetence—it wasn't long before the nobles and merchants began to harbor ulterior motives.

Early 857 AD.

A heavy snow fell early in the morning, and a large flock of pitch-black ravens circled above the Royal Palace. Sola, annoyed by the noisy birds, tried to distract herself by playing with her petite, snow-white pet dog.

"Good girl, fetch."

The Queen sat on the edge of her bed, repeatedly tossing a small embroidered ball for the little dog to retrieve and bring back. She didn't know how much time had passed before the Fourth Prince, Ubbe, barged into his mother's room.

"Mom, give me some money."

"What are you trying to buy this time?" Sola signaled for a maidservant to take the dog away and shot a stern look at her son, who was about to turn fifteen.

"I met a few new friends, and I'm planning to treat them to some drinks."

The social activities of Vikings were inextricably linked to alcohol. The commoners drank beer and ale, but as an esteemed prince, Ubbe naturally had to entertain his friends with mead and wine.

Her son would celebrate his fifteenth birthday next month. Once he came of age, there would be many matters he needed to handle himself. He had to build a broad network of connections to avoid making the same mistakes Halfdan Whiteshirt had made in the past. At this thought, Sola used a brass key to unlock the bottom drawer of her vanity and grabbed a small stack of gold coins.

"The treasury is quite empty lately, so spend it sparingly."

Sola handed over the gold coins with her left hand, her right hand instinctively reaching out to stroke her son's hair. Ubbe was clearly uncomfortable with being treated like a child. He snatched the money and bolted out of the bedroom as fast as he could. His hoarse voice echoed from down the corridor.

"Mom, I won't be coming back to sleep here for the next few nights! Tell those guards to stop bothering me!"

After her son left, Sola let out a soft sigh. She draped a coat over her shoulders and went for a stroll in the snow to clear her head. From a distance, she spotted Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye, Ynja, and a group of children having a snowball fight. An inexplicable wave of melancholy washed over her, and she couldn't help but fondly recall the days when Ubbe was just a little boy.

At noon, Sola forced herself to eat a little beef stewed in red wine. She napped for over two hours, then chatted with a few noblewomen who came to pay their respects to pass the time. Time slipped away without her noticing, and the sky outside the window gradually darkened. The noblewomen took their leave one by one, finally bringing an end to another dull, tedious day.

After dinner, Sola flipped through a Norse language novel by candlelight. These kinds of books came from Teyne and covered a wide range of subjects, including dragonborn, assassins, and witchers. Some nobles in Londinium were completely obsessed with them, with some even treating the fictional plots as reality, commissioning blacksmiths to forge all sorts of bizarrely shaped weapons.

After a long while, Sola closed the book and rubbed her tired, aching eyes. "What a womanizer. Just how many lovers is this guy going to attract?"

By this time, the ravens circling above the palace had grown even noisier. Sola muttered a few curses under her breath and ordered her maidservant to brew a small pot of cinnamon mulled red wine. After drinking it, she fell into a deep sleep.

In the early hours of the next morning, the Queen was shaken awake by her personal maidservant. The girl's face was stricken with terror as she whispered, "His Majesty has woken up. The shaman requests that you go there immediately."