novelraw Chapter 251: Refuge
Chapter 251: Refuge
Currently, there were only two shipyards capable of producing two-masted brigantines: Tynemouth Shipyard and Londinium Shipyard, which had produced a total of twenty-seven vessels between them.
Of these, twenty were commissioned as warships, three were sold to the Sugarcane Company, another three went to the West Sea Fur Company, and the most recent one was purchased by Bjorn Ironside to serve as his expedition ship.
Even after fulfilling these requests, the shipyards' production capacity remained stretched to the limit. In preparation for the looming conflict with Flandre and to expand trade with Iberia, Wigg placed an additional order for ten two-masted brigantines. The Sugarcane Company followed suit with an order for five more ships, pushing the shipyards' backlog all the way to the end of next year.
Meanwhile, commercial orders for oared longships and Knarr ships were delegated to the newly established Edinburgh Shipyard. A portion of these contracts was also snatched up by private shipyards owned by nobles like Ulf and Leonard.
The following morning, Wigg convened a Cabinet meeting. The primary focus of their discussion was the situation in Ireland. Rebellion had flared up once again in the region, and rumors suggested it was gaining significant momentum.
After the King finished briefing them on the situation, the majority of the Cabinet members reacted with sheer indifference. The region was notoriously turbulent, erupting into chaos every other day, and they had long since grown accustomed to it.
Minister of War Bafors spoke up. "The Rebel Army has entrenched itself in the western hills. We need a large-scale military operation. We must draft tens of thousands of soldiers to conquer western Ireland and eradicate the root of this rebellion once and for all."
Tens of thousands of soldiers?
Wigg could not even be bothered to entertain the suggestion. Duke Imon's gross mismanagement had allowed his territory to devolve into a hotbed of rebellion. It was only fitting that he clean up his own mess.
Sensing the King's dismissive attitude, Minister of Internal Affairs Mitcham chimed in. "Assuming Imon requests reinforcements, the Royal Family can certainly deploy troops to assist him. However, this must be contingent on negotiating the logistics beforehand. For instance, who will supply the military equipment and grain? Surely His Majesty should not have to mobilize the army and pay for it out of his own pocket."Following a thorough discussion among the Cabinet, the matter was temporarily shelved. They decided to monitor the movements of Imon and his vassals, opting to wait and see how the situation developed before making any final decisions.
As the meeting adjourned, Gorm reminded the King. "Rumor has it that Edmund has fled to Denmark. How should we handle this moving forward?"
Wigg brushed off the concern. "It does not matter. The barons, knights, and close gentry under Edmund's command have already been wiped out. Even if he intended to instigate a rebellion, there is no one left to follow him.
"The Cabinet need not worry about Edmund. Focus on completing the land survey of East Anglia as soon as possible. We are designating it as our primary resettlement area for immigrants this year."
Northern Europe, Denmark, Aalborg.
After biding his time for quite a while, Edmund finally managed to intercept Ubbe upon his return from his military campaign. Historically, Edmund's eldest son had maintained a fairly amicable relationship with Ubbe, making Denmark his top choice for seeking refuge.
Amidst the dense crowd pressing in on both sides of the street, Edmund stood on his tiptoes and shouted at the young man on horseback wearing a crown. "Your Majesty, it is I, Edmund!"
The young man turned his head. His lips were pressed into a tight line, and his gaze was chillingly sinister. A hideous scar stretched across his visage, looking as though it had cleaved his entire face in two from left to right. His pale golden hair was styled in traditional braids, and a black cloak billowed behind him, revealing a set of noble lamellar armor imported from the Eastern Roman Empire.
"Uncle Edmund?"
Recognizing the identity of this old beggar, Ubbe gave a subtle nod, signaling for his guest to follow him back to the lord's longhouse, or rather, the Royal Palace.
Shucking off his cloak and tossing it to a nearby guard, Ubbe strode directly toward the seat of honor. Edmund noticed that his left hand was encased in a thick glove, instantly recalling the rumors he had heard.
After Aslaug murdered Sola, she had not spared the fleeing Ubbe. In the aftermath, Ubbe had recruited a contingent of the Royal Guard, but assassins bribed by Aslaug had infiltrated their ranks. Shortly thereafter, Ubbe was ambushed. Half of his left hand, including his ring and pinky fingers, was severed, and his face was slashed open by a sword. Following that brutal attack, his temperament shifted drastically, his cruelty eventually surpassing even that of his third brother, Halfdan Whiteshirt.
"Uncle Edmund, what is occupying your thoughts?"
Edmund froze in place. He cautiously lifted his head to look at Ubbe and pleaded for his refuge.
"Very well, I accept," Ubbe declared, staring at the perplexed old man with utter nonchalance. "Given how miserable you look, you certainly are not a spy. Moreover, this is the land of the Vikings; you lack any foundation to incite a rebellion here. Sigh. From now on, you will serve as an advisor in my Cabinet, offering me your counsel on various matters."
After enjoying a few peaceful days, Edmund was assigned a new task: he was to travel to Gothenburg and negotiate with King Halfdan Whiteshirt of Sweden regarding the ownership of a sunken ship.
The previous month, a Danish Knarr ship laden with woolen cloth and pig iron ingots had sunk in the waters off the coast of Gothenburg. Ubbe had dispatched Edmund to handle the negotiations surrounding the incident.
Out of sheer instinct, Edmund attempted to shirk the responsibility. "Your Majesty, according to tradition, coastal lords have the right to claim the cargo of any ships that wreck nearby."
"No, I suspect Halfdan is intentionally causing trouble."
In recent years, it had become a known tactic for certain lords to deliberately sabotage buoys, extinguish lighthouses, or set up false lights and bonfires to mislead passing vessels into treacherous reef zones. Once a ship struck the rocks and sank, they would conveniently lay claim to these unclaimed goods.
Ubbe adamantly insisted that Edmund recover their losses. To him, the old man held little strategic value; even if Halfdan chopped his head off, it would not be a significant loss.
Gothenburg.
Perhaps by the grace of the gods, Edmund did not face any harassment from Halfdan. The latter was overwhelmed with his own affairs and simply agreed to hand over a small quantity of pig iron ingots, decisively putting an end to the dispute.
After shooing away his younger brother's envoy, Halfdan redirected his energy toward dealing with his creditors. After exhausting himself with endless negotiations, he finally managed to draft a new repayment agreement.
The truth was, the root of his mounting debt was neither lavish indulgence nor warfare. Instead, it was his attempt to mimic Wigg's methods by recklessly constructing numerous workshops in Gothenburg in a desperate bid to rake in massive profits.
Two years had passed, and Halfdan had regrettably come to terms with a harsh reality: he simply was not cut out for business.
Leaving the lord's longhouse, he wandered aimlessly through the bustling market. Along both sides of the narrow street, row upon row of shacks constructed from wooden planks and thatch crowded together. Women huddled around the fish stalls, fastidiously turning over the gleaming silver cod and herring. Children darted between the legs of the adults like slippery loaches, occasionally earning a sharp scolding from a gruff-voiced man, which only sent them scattering in fits of roaring laughter.
Thanks to the increasingly frequent trade, Gothenburg had developed rapidly, boasting a permanent population of over one thousand six hundred. Halfdan's workshops certainly did not lack a labor force, yet he still could not manage to turn a profit.
He stepped into the brewery and flipped through the recent account books. By now, the new script introduced by Wigg and Floki had completely usurped the original writing system, steadily boosting the literacy rate across Northern Europe.
"Trade has been booming this month, so why have we only earned this paltry sum? The market is overflowing with Wigg's beer and whiskey. Do you all feel no shame?"
"Your Majesty, this... this is not my fault," the manager stammered, pulling out his well-rehearsed excuses.
The supply of honey was too scarce, resulting in an insufficient yield of mead.
Brewing beer required importing hops from Tyne County, which drove the costs far too high.
Finally, there was the ale. The shelf life of ale did not exceed twenty days, making it only suitable for local sales.
Halfdan leafed through the account books once more before issuing a strict quota to everyone present. "Next month, our profits must reach at least eight pounds. Otherwise, do not blame me for showing no mercy!"