novelraw Chapter 198: Curse
Chapter 198: Curse
After the fealty ceremony concluded, Aslaug hosted a lavish banquet for the numerous guests. Despite sipping on mellow wine, she could not muster the slightest bit of interest, her mind entirely preoccupied with figuring out where to wring more money from.
Following the succession crisis two months ago, Aslaug dared not offend the great nobles. Instead, she shifted her predatory gaze toward the commoners, once again raising the agricultural tax in her direct royal domains.
The agricultural tax had originally been fifteen percent. It was then raised once to twenty percent, and now it had been hiked to twenty-five percent. Coupled with the exorbitant wool export tax, the royal family's annual income was expected to surpass ten thousand pounds.
With the financial matters settled, Aslaug let slip her intention to grant Paffis the title of Earl of Cambridge. This was the reward they had agreed upon in advance. However, the move was met with countless objections, including those from Prime Minister Gorm and the deliberately idle Theowulf.
"A eunuch without a single shred of merit—what right does he have to join the ranks of the great nobles?"
Gorm's phrasing was as tactful as possible, doing his best to accommodate the Queen Mother's feelings. The others, however, used universally fierce language, forcing Aslaug to retract this absurd decree.
After weighing her options, Aslaug sought out Paffis in private and advised him to put the matter on hold for the time being. By this point, Paffis had also accepted his fate. He proposed that his adopted son be granted the title of a Royal Knight instead, waiting a few years for the uproar to die down before promoting him to a Baron.
Aslaug wiped the corners of her eyes. "Lord Chamberlain, the King and I deeply appreciate your loyalty. However, the resistance against making you an Earl is simply too great. With the Prime Minister leading the opposition, this widow and her orphaned son are truly powerless to help."
Paffis wept along with her. "It was I who overstepped my bounds. As a eunuch, I never should have entertained such thoughts. By the gods above, I only ask to serve you and my little master for the rest of my days."
The two covered their faces and wailed, putting on a magnificent performance of deep affection between master and servant. As their sole audience, His Majesty King Sigurd tried his hardest to widen his eyes, but his acting skills were severely lacking. Unable to squeeze out a single tear, he could only sit on the throne in a daze.After a few minutes of crying, Aslaug felt they had put on enough of a show. She wiped away her tears and shifted the conversation to official business, consulting him on the successors for the Commander of the Royal Guard and the Governor of Londinium.
"With one of Om's sons dead and the other crippled, he has been in low spirits and submitted his letter of resignation yesterday. Hrolf is greedy by nature and is unsuitable to serve as Governor. Both men are about to leave their posts. Do you have any suitable candidates in mind?"
Paffis offered two names: Oleg "White Hair" and Pascal Jr.
Let us start with Oleg. During the Welsh War, Oleg had been too inexperienced and nearly ruined the surrender ceremony, angering Wig to the point that the latter almost drew his sword to cut him down. After being promoted to Deputy Commander of the Royal Guard, he stopped Gunnar during an audience ceremony, slapping the Duke of Normandy right in the face. During the campaign in Northern Europe, he and Commander Niels held differing opinions, writing letters to the King to expose each other's faults and completely rupturing their relationship.
Over the years, Oleg had managed to offend Wig, Gunnar, and Niels all at once, while maintaining a frosty relationship with Ivar. There was no need to worry about him colluding with these highly threatening nobles who held actual power. Furthermore, his own commanding abilities were decent, and he had ample seniority, making him the prime candidate for both Commander of the Royal Guard and Minister of War.
Pascal Jr. was the heir to the old Prime Minister, Pascal. The elder Pascal enjoyed tremendous prestige among the common folk. If Pascal Jr. were to take up the mantle of Governor, the populace would find it much easier to accept.
Aslaug paused. "Wait a moment. This boy seems to be not even nineteen years old. I have met him a few times; he is scrawny, cowardly, and frankly, does not look very bright."
Yet on second thought, such a person would be incredibly easy to manipulate. There would be no need to worry about him defying her will. Thus, Aslaug nodded in agreement.
Once Paffis took his leave, Aslaug began teaching Sigurd how to govern the country. Regardless of what outsiders might think, the Queen Mother firmly believed that her decade-plus tenure in the royal court had provided her with a wealth of experience. She had compiled many valuable insights and lessons, with her only shortcoming being her lack of military command abilities.
"After Oleg takes office, I will have him set aside time to teach you how to wage war. You are exceptionally gifted. If you study patiently for a few years, you will easily surpass Ivar, Wig, Gunnar, and Niels. Then, once you come of age, you can dispose of them one by one."
Over a fortnight passed in the blink of an eye. Aslaug gradually grew accustomed to a life of monopolizing absolute power. She handled official affairs in the morning and received visiting noblewomen in the afternoon, basking in their endless flattery. Occasionally, she found time to supervise Sigurd's studies. Her only annoyance was that Sola and Ubbe were still lingering in the Royal Palace, refusing to leave. Their excuse was that the sea conditions were too treacherous, and they would delay their departure for Denmark until March.
"Nothing but excuses! Oleg has already left Vejle in central Denmark and sailed here to take up his post. On what grounds are they delaying? Are they still coveting this throne?"
Aslaug muttered her complaints to her personal maid. After drinking some red wine, she climbed into bed to rest. Suddenly, she heard urgent, hurried footsteps right outside her door.
The very next moment, disastrous news struck. The King, who had been on the throne for less than a month, had suddenly developed a severe fever. His breathing was dangerously faint, as if...
She bolted into the adjacent room and reached out to touch her son's forehead. It was burning hot. He was completely delirious, utterly unable to respond to Aslaug's frantic calls.
Before long, four shamans rushed over to administer treatment. As they chanted bizarre incantations, they pulled back the blankets to examine Sigurd's physical condition, but they could find absolutely no cause for the King's sudden illness.
"A bunch of useless trash." Aslaug ordered her maid to fetch the priest from the monastery within the city. Upon learning that their competitor was on his way, the shamans panicked, hastily declaring that this was no ordinary disease, but rather some sort of curse!
Half an hour later, the priest and two nuns arrived at the chaotic Royal Palace. The servants were running around in a blind panic, and murderous Palace Guards were sprinting back and forth, terrifying the trio into a state of deep unease.
'I never get a share of the benefits, yet they specifically seek me out at a time like this.'
The priest grumbled internally the entire way. He jogged into the room and thoroughly examined the King's body before inquiring about his diet and daily routine over the past few days. Under the Queen Mother's intense, burning gaze, the priest swallowed hard. "This is no common affliction. Perhaps someone has administered poison, or resorted to dark magic."
Curses, poison, dark magic.
Hearing these conclusions, Aslaug swayed on her feet, grabbing her personal maid's shoulder to keep from collapsing. She immediately stormed back into her own room and dug out a slightly rusted suit of armor from the bottom of her wardrobe. "Rally all the guards. Come with me to slaughter that wretched bitch and her bastard spawn."
Donning the somewhat constricting armor, Aslaug grabbed a shield and an axe, charging straight for Sola's bedroom. It was completely empty. She touched the lingering warmth of the bedding; clearly, the other party had only just fled.
"You think you can run?"
She ordered the guards to lock down the main gates of the Royal Palace, then personally headed for Ubbe's bedroom. At that moment, Sola, clad only in her nightgown, blocked the doorway, pleading with her bitter rival. "What happened to Sigurd has absolutely nothing to do with us! I swear it upon all the gods known to man."
"The gods? They couldn't even protect my son! Why should I ever put my faith in them again?!"
Before marrying Ragnar, Aslaug had spent several years as a shield-maiden, following her chieftain to raid and pillage far and wide. Her hands were stained with the blood of more than a few lives. Now, with murderous intent surging uncontrollably, she swung her axe in a vicious arc, cleaving straight into the other woman's neck.
Sola crumpled to the floor, hot crimson blood gushing wildly from the fatal wound. Yet she still reached out, desperately clutching at Aslaug's dress. "Ghk... if I had orchestrated this... I would have fled ages ago... Why would I stay in the Royal Palace to await your revenge? I beg you... spare Ubbe... he poses no threat to you..."