novelraw Chapter 311: Heir
Chapter 311: Heir
At noon, the nobles returned to the royal palace to attend a lavish banquet hosted by the royal family. Having grown accustomed to a life of wealth, Gunnar could not muster any interest in the various dishes spread across the table.
He currently faced four vexing matters.
The first was the conservative tactics he had employed during the war, which had provoked the dissatisfaction of Charles the Bald and numerous nobles. A select few, such as Prime Minister Lamberto and Earl William of Orleans, approved of his methods, but for various reasons, they remained silent, allowing him to endure the accusations.
"Lord Duke, you possess three thousand cavalrymen, so why didn't you dare to fight a decisive battle against Viggo? If it were me, a single charge would have flattened the Vikings' battle lines, either slaying or capturing that wicked pagan king."
Gunnar turned his head, coldly staring at the noble a short distance away. "In that case, should war break out with Viggo again one day, I will definitely recommend you as the commander."
The noble raised his goblet and took a sip of wine, choosing to avoid the topic. Gunnar maintained his silence, absentmindedly eating the fish stew in his bowl. Occasionally, his gaze would drift toward a teenage boy and girl laughing loudly together, and his expression would grow increasingly gloomy.
These were his eldest son, Robert, and his future daughter-in-law, Ynja.
After the civil war in Britain ended, the two of them had been sent to the royal palace in Paris to be fostered by Charles the Bald. Six years had passed since then.
Gunnar's wife, Vivienne, was the king's niece, meaning Robert was somewhat considered a member of the royal family. His treatment far exceeded that of ordinary noble children, which led to a severe consequence: he had become thoroughly addicted to the luxurious life of the royal court. He had lost the martial prowess and unyielding fortitude of his forefathers, essentially becoming a spoiled, useless fop.
Looking closely, Robert possessed a delicate but pale face. Long periods of indoor activities had left his skin unusually fair. His gaze constantly darted around, lacking any focus or sharp drive.Thanks to his father's bloodline, he was taller than his peers, but his lack of physical exercise resulted in a frail build with slender arms. He displayed absolutely none of the traits required to be a warrior.
His heir's indulgence in hedonism was the second vexing matter Gunnar faced.
After the banquet concluded, he found his son and future daughter-in-law. As the three of them looked at each other, a wave of helplessness washed over Gunnar.
"How much time do you spend practicing martial arts every day?"
"Two hours." Feeling his father's piercing glare, Robert hastily changed his answer. "One hour. Fine, I've been busy studying Latin lately, so I haven't had time to practice my swordsmanship."
Gunnar suddenly spoke a long string of Latin, asking Robert a question. The boy merely stuttered in response, unable to squeeze out an answer even after a long while.
"Are these the fruits of your studies?"
Gunnar instinctively clenched his fists, but worrying that this weak-bodied brat would not be able to withstand a beating, he forcefully suppressed his fury and went to gather information around the estate.
Through the accounts of the servants, Gunnar learned that his eldest son spent his days enthusiastically playing chess, rolling dice, and strumming the lute with his peers. He had absolutely zero interest in physically demanding activities like hunting and swordsmanship training, believing such things were beneath his station.
'It is over. This boy is completely ruined.'
Gunnar tracked down Robert and Ynja once more, sternly admonishing the pair.
"Why did the king grant me the title of Duke of Normandy? Because I can fight wars and have enough value to be exploited. After I die, what can you possibly do for the royal family? What makes you think you can retain this ducal title?
"Fine, even if he lets you inherit the title on account of your tenuous bloodline, are you confident you can block Viggo's assaults and defend this territory? Learn a bit more; it will always be of use in the future."
After lecturing them for a long time, Gunnar swung onto his horse, anxious to rush back to Normandy to handle his affairs.
The British fleet capturing the Channel Islands was the third vexing matter he faced.
Upon returning to his own castle, Gunnar convened a meeting with his trusted aides. Normandy's sprawling coastline meant they could only prioritize key defensive points. He planned to deploy more trebuchets at ports like Cherbourg and establish a beacon fire system to transmit warnings as quickly as possible.
"My Lord, this expense is tremendous. I fear..."
Gunnar ignored the financial steward's concerns. If funds were lacking, they would simply levy a temporary emergency tax. After the meeting ended, Gunnar rode off to a village fifteen miles away. Beneath an old oak tree at the village entrance, a group of youths was playfully roughhousing. The boy leading them was about fourteen years old, sporting a head of smooth blond hair.
The boy's name was Henry, the duke's illegitimate son. He was also the fourth vexing matter Gunnar faced.
Henry's mother was the wife of a nearby miller. Two years ago, having fallen gravely ill and sensing that her days were numbered, she sought out Gunnar and confessed everything.
Upon learning the news of his illegitimate child, the relationship between the duchess and Gunnar ruptured. However, Gunnar did not exile Henry. Instead, he entrusted the boy to the care of a loyal and reliable Norman knight.
The knight treated him well, never shortchanging Henry when it came to food and clothing. And so, the boy spent two years in an environment free from the worries of basic survival. Like a robust weed thriving by the roadside without any tending, his most frequent pastime was mingling with boys of a similar age. They chased each other, shouted at the top of their lungs, and played rough games. Sometimes they wrestled, sometimes they used tree branches as swords to spar, and sometimes they waded into the river to catch fish.
Day after day, Henry seemed completely impervious to fatigue. Like a recklessly charging calf, his body brimmed with an inexhaustible supply of energy.
Occasionally, the knight would teach him some basic swordsmanship, which Henry picked up rather decently. Yet, he vastly preferred weapons like one-handed axes and warhammers. As he grew taller day by day, Henry even pleaded with the knight to procure a Viking-style two-handed axe for him.
"Such a wild and feral boy. He is suited to become a true warrior."
Watching from afar on horseback, the duke felt as though he were looking at his own younger self.
As time slipped by, most of the children were called back home by their parents to do chores, leaving only Henry staring blankly under the old oak tree. Gunnar walked over, retrieving a two-handed battleaxe from his saddle.
"This was my weapon when I was young. It hadn't been used in so long that the blade rusted over. I had a blacksmith grind away the rust and replace the handle. It still handles rather well. I'm giving it to you."
"Thank you for your gift, Lord Duke."
Henry accepted the iron axe and sat back down in his original spot, returning to his daze. Gunnar sat beside him, gazing out at the peasants toiling away in the fields.
Suddenly, Henry brought up the war between Denmark and East Francia. According to the rumors spreading among the common folk, the duke had cowardly avoided battle, allowing the Snake of the North's main forces to escape. Henry had refused to accept these rumors, getting into several fights with his companions because of it.
"Don't fight over such trivial matters. They are all your friends." Gunnar smiled and shook his head. He then picked up some pebbles from the ground, using them to explain Viggo's military formation outside the city of Hamburg to Henry.
"At the time, Viggo commanded ten thousand soldiers, all outfitted in standard-issue iron armor. Pay attention, these are the seven pike phalanxes he deployed..."
Gunnar patiently narrated the formations of both allied and enemy forces, the composition of their troops, and their habitual tactics.
Sensing the youth's bewilderment, Gunnar shifted the topic back to his own younger days. He started with skirmishes involving only a hundred men, then mentioned the great expedition of 843 AD. After that, he spoke of the wars to conquer Mercia and Wessex, and the First Viking-West Francian War...
"Remember, in small-scale skirmishes, a commander's martial prowess is very important. It can inspire the morale of the men around him. However, in battles involving thousands or even tens of thousands of men, the most critical element is the formation. Once a formation shatters, the troops' morale will rapidly plummet, inevitably sparking a catastrophic rout."
Seizing this rare opportunity, Gunnar recounted every battle experience he could recall, interweaving many of his personal insights.
Prior to this, the father and son had only met five times, and their total accumulated conversation time did not even amount to ten minutes. Today's discussion lasted for over three hours, stretching right up until sunset.
When it was time to part ways, Gunnar patted the youth's broad and sturdy shoulders, shoving a small booklet filled with scrawled handwriting into his hands.
"You are still young; you have plenty of time to think. Goodbye, Henry. I hope that one day, the contents of this booklet will be of help to you."
"Goodbye, Lord Duke."
Gunnar mounted his horse. The knights waiting in the distance closed in, surrounding the duke as they departed. Beneath the old oak tree, Henry gazed out at the gradually receding figure, murmuring silently in his heart:
'Goodbye, Father.'