Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 314: Invitation

After many years, Zaragoza still retained its city walls from Ancient Rome. The Ebro River flowed through the city, providing a natural defensive barrier.

However, even the strongest city defenses were no match for the will of the people. On the night Gunnar and Alfonso arrived, a massive riot broke out within the city.

Gunnar cautiously dispatched a small squad to scale the city walls with grappling hooks. The entire process went surprisingly smoothly. The squad routed the chaotic and disorganized defenders, then immediately opened the city gates, allowing eight thousand soldiers to pour into the city.

With Zaragoza changing hands, the Moors lost the entirety of northern Iberia. The Frankish Army made a fortune. Aside from gold and silver vessels, they captured many rare commodities from the Far East, including silk, porcelain, spices, and a novel type of fabric.

"Cotton cloth?"

Hearing this unfamiliar term from a captive, Gunnar's eyes filled with confusion. He repeatedly examined the fabrics and garments, comparing them against woolen cloth and linen. The cotton cloth felt much softer to the touch and had excellent breathability. Draping it over his shoulders did not feel the least bit stifling.

"Good stuff. Where do these fabrics come from?"

The captive replied, "India."

'India?'

A long time ago, Gunnar had heard Wigg mention this place. It was said to be east of Persia, possessing a scorching climate and a vast expanse of land.After staring blankly for a long moment, Gunnar dismissed these useless distractions and ordered his guards to register the types and quantities of the spoils of war.

Advancing all the way along the Douro River, he had breached countless Moorish noble mansions and estates. The captured supplies filled over a thousand carriages. It was time for a detailed inventory.

By dusk the following day, Gunnar received the preliminary tally. His personal share of the spoils of war, converted into silver, amounted to six thousand pounds. After the disastrous defeat in the civil war in Britain, this was his first time seeing so much money.

"I struck it rich. This trip was not in vain."

Gunnar closed the account books with satisfaction and headed to the governor's mansion in the city center to attend a banquet.

The banquet atmosphere was lively. Alfonso drank five cups of wine in a row, his face flushed red. At this moment, he still felt a sense of unreality. The Visigoths had suffered in the mountains for over a hundred years. He never expected that in just three short months, they would recapture the northern part of the peninsula in one fell swoop. With this achievement alone, no one would ever dare oppose his succession to the throne.

The alcohol and the sheer joy of victory gradually clouded Alfonso's mind. At that moment, a certain noble proposed attacking south toward Magerit—later known as Madrid—but was met with Gunnar's refusal.

"The newly expanded army lacks training and has poor combat effectiveness. They are unfit to continue the offensive.

Furthermore, the brothers have been campaigning abroad for half a year. It is time to go home and rest. I also have a pile of urgent matters to handle in my own territory, so I do not intend to participate in the subsequent wars."

Charles Potini and the other nobles chimed in in agreement. Having earned enough money, they rightfully wanted to return home and enjoy life. There was no reason to continue fighting wars for others.

Hearing that the allied forces intended to retreat, Alfonso splashed his face with clean water and looked around. The Franks did not look like they were lying.

'I cannot let them go!'

Without the Frankish knights, Alfonso knew he could not hold the recaptured territories. His mind raced as he decided to offer greater incentives to retain this group of top-tier enforcers. "My Lord, you are the most valiant commander I have ever seen, in no way inferior to the Roman generals recorded in ancient texts. To repay this achievement that is worthy of going down in history, I have decided to gift Zaragoza and its surrounding territories to you, and for you to take the title of Duke."

Gunnar subconsciously responded, "I am already the Duke of Normandy. This seems somewhat inconvenient."

Alfonso interrupted his refusal, "This is the reward you deserve. And not just you, the other nobles are also qualified to acquire territory. The kingdom has recaptured northern Iberia in one fell swoop, and there is more than enough land to grant as fiefs to all of you."

Sensing the crown prince's determination, the seated Visigothic nobles also joined in to urge them to stay. Listening to the chorus of flattery, Gunnar could not help but fall into a daze.

Zaragoza was bright and sunny, rich in fruits such as olives, grapes, citrus, and pomegranates. In contrast, the rainy and damp island of Britain held no appeal; that wretched place was only fit for herding sheep.

Because of that miserable island, he had known no peace in recent years. First came the civil war in Britain, which exhausted the wealth he had accumulated from smuggling warhorses. Then came the lengthy standoff against Wigg across The Channel. After years of hard toil, he still faced the suspicion of Charles the Bald. What was all this for, anyway?

Thinking of his eldest son, who was being held hostage by Charles the Bald, Gunnar felt the need to leave himself an extra way out. He stepped away from his seat and bowed to the fifteen-year-old Alfonso as a vassal.

The remaining Frankish nobility were not as reserved as him. Without hesitation, they drew their longswords and knelt on the ground in perfect unison.

As the news spread, those mounted retainers without noble titles also chose to remain in Iberia, praying to obtain a knightly title. The entire camp was filled with a joyous and enthusiastic atmosphere.

The following day, Gunnar inspected his newly acquired territory. Zaragoza was situated in an arid river valley along the middle reaches of the Ebro River. Flanked by mountain ranges to both the north and south, the summer climate was hot and dry, receiving far less rainfall than Francia.

Fortunately, the Ebro River, the Gállego River, and the Jalón River intersected here. A large number of irrigation canals had been built during the Roman era, and the Moors had further perfected the irrigation system, utilizing the abundant water sources to develop irrigated agriculture.

Expanses of wheat fields, olive groves, and vineyards were distributed near the river valley, teeming with vitality and vigor. The mountains further away presented a semi-desert landscape, occasionally kicking up gusts of pale yellow dust.

"Separated by only the Pyrenees, the scenery here is completely different from Francia."

That afternoon, he enfeoffed Charles Potini as Earl Harlon, tasking him to build a castle in the Jalón river valley to the south and secure the Moors' marching route from the south.

Afterward, Gunnar traveled eastward along the abundant waters of the Ebro River. At regular intervals, waterwheels left behind by the Moors stood tall on the riverbanks. The river water was channeled into a web-like network of irrigation canals to nourish the nearby fields.

Based on their military merits from this campaign, Gunnar enfeoffed his numerous confidants as Barons and knights over various settlements, ordering them to construct castles to bolster Zaragoza's defenses.

Four days later, Gunnar reached the mouth of the Ebro River. According to historical records, this river had once been the dividing line between the Roman Republic and Carthage on the Iberian Peninsula. The river waters carried silt that deposited into an alluvial plain. Where the river met the sea, the clouds were dyed a brilliant golden-red by the setting sun, and several dhows cruised the distant waters.

"We have finally arrived."

Gunnar dismounted and bent down to grab a handful of wet mud. His territory ended here. More than ten miles to the south lay the Moorish-controlled zone. Heading north along the coastline was the Catalonia region, ruled by the Count of Barcelona.

Decades ago, Charlemagne had led his army over the Pyrenees and enfeoffed several lords in northern Iberia to resist the Moorish invasions, and the Count of Barcelona was one of them. As time passed, this relationship of submission gradually faded, eventually breaking away from Frankish rule entirely.