Viking: Master of the Icy Sea

Chapter 400: Territory Planning

The Imperial Palace.

Wigg called twelve-year-old Greger into his office. "Where do you wish to live once you come of age?"

"Huh?" Greger had just returned from the ball field, looking like a filthy little mud monkey. His eyes were blank, completely unsure of how to answer.

At that moment, Heregyth entered uninvited. She cared deeply for her youngest son and worried he might make a reckless choice that would leave him without a proper future.

The three exchanged glances before Wigg wearily rubbed his forehead. "Northern Italy is too complicated and the difficulty of governing it is far too high, so we can cross that option off the list. That leaves only the Duchy of Nantes or eastern Moravia. Make your choice quickly. The enfeoffment ceremony is in a few days, and those nobles are already growing impatient."

Greger looked hesitantly at his parents before blurting out, "Eastern Moravia."

"Why?" Wigg asked.

"Because there are many empty tracts of land to its east. It will be perfect for future expansion."

Wigg patiently explained, "That region is indeed excellent. Whether it is Brno in the north or Vindobona—Vienna—in the south, both have the potential to develop into a kingdom's capital. The drawback is that the region is highly vulnerable to incursions from nomads.

"Many years ago, the Avar Khaganate was active in the Carpathian Basin, until they were jointly defeated by Charlemagne and Bulgaria. At some point in the future, new tribes might invade this land once again."Wigg pointed to the map on the wall. If his youngest son settled in Central Europe, the flat, wide-open Carpathian Basin would lie directly to his southeast, placing a massive burden on his defenses.

After Wigg had rambled on for over ten minutes, Greger simply shrugged, completely unconcerned. "I am not afraid of them. I will kill as many as they send. We will blast them with cannons from a distance, shoot them with bows and crossbows at mid-range, and use hollow square formations up close. How could a bunch of barbarians lacking iron weapons possibly turn the world upside down?"

Wigg was amused by the boy's bravado. "You are still young. I will hold onto both the Duchy of Nantes and the Brno-Vindobona region for now. In a few years, when you graduate from the Army Academy, you can make your choice then."

During dinner, Frede heard about the provisions made for his younger brother. Realizing that Greger's prospective territory was far superior to his own in Livonia, he demanded that Wigg increase his funding, complaining that he was getting the short end of the stick.

After a bout of arguing, Frede got his wish, raising his annual allowance from three thousand pounds to five thousand pounds. He also demanded five thousand prisoners of war to develop the frontier of his kingdom and keep the local natives occupied.

As time passed, the atmosphere in Londinium grew increasingly restless. Wigg and the Cabinet quickly finalized a list of names. On the morning of July 20th, he held an enfeoffment ceremony in the central square.

The war had only lasted a year, but its intensity was entirely on par with the previous Third Viking-Frankish War. The two empires had fought to the bitter end in Northern Italy, producing a massive number of meritorious officials.

First among them was the Moravian noble, Kotsel. Wigg fulfilled his pre-war promise, enfeoffing him as the Duke of Bohemia, which encompassed western Moravia. This came with the condition that the royal family would retain the mining rights to all silver within the territory, with the Duke receiving thirty percent of the profits.

As a native-born Moravian, Kotsel had never known there were silver mines in western Moravia, so he readily agreed.

Following that, Wigg distributed numerous territories to the rest of the meritorious officials. In total, he appointed twelve Earls, one hundred and thirty Barons, and over a thousand Knights.

Their fiefdoms were located in Northern Italy, Slavonia, as well as Tyrol, Carinthia, and Styria, with the latter three regions situated in southern Austria.

Cavalry Colonel Håvarun received his heart's desire, ascending to the rank of Earl and gaining the territory of Nice.

This fiefdom sat at the border between West Francia and Northern Italy. The vast majority of the region was dominated by the Alps, leaving only a scattered few mountain valleys suitable for development.

Furthermore, a chunk had been carved out of the western side of the town of Nice to serve as the newly established Imperial Free City of Cannes, robbing the earldom of a prime stretch of developable coastal plains. Judged purely on agricultural value, Nice was the poorest earldom of the lot.

In the crowd below the temple steps, Harry heard the news and revealed a thoroughly satisfied smile. He reached out to lean on his eldest son's shoulder, panting weakly.

Over the past few days, Harry had barely returned home. He had been bouncing between the city's opera houses, high-end restaurants, public bathhouses, arenas, and other entertainment venues, racking up expenses totaling five thousand pounds.

Facts proved that it had all been worth it. Now that his youngest son had become an Earl, his family had officially joined the ranks of the great nobles, entering the core circle of the empire. Although the natural conditions of the earldom were somewhat lacking, there were still opportunities to compensate for it.

Cannes had been planned as a vital trade hub on the western shores of the Mediterranean Sea. This was actually a blessing; once the city gradually prospered, the demand for agricultural products and daily necessities would grow increasingly fierce.

Harry planned to invest in olive plantations to produce olive oil soap or medicinal ointments. He also intended to cultivate grapes, figs, citrus, flowers, and other cash crops to sell to the wealthy citizens.

"It seems His Majesty still looks after me," he murmured.

At the edge of the square, over two hundred Italian merchants watched the ceremony. They hailed from all over Northern Italy and, having spent some time in Londinium, were gradually awakening to the tremendous commercial potential of this rising empire.

Once the enfeoffment ceremony concluded, the Cabinet finally had the spare energy to entertain these merchants. They provided detailed explanations on the operational structure of the Free Cities and subsequently registered everyone's investment interests.

In September, the merchants returned to Italy and began establishing distribution networks everywhere. Some took on roles as textile distributors, while others opted to deal in furs or alcoholic beverages.

By this time, Venice had already received the news. A small number of merchants stationed themselves in Ravenna, but the vast majority were completely occupied with transporting Frankish immigrants and had no time for anything else.

With the war over, the Eastern Roman Empire took control of Corsica, Sardinia, and central and southern Italy. According to the peace treaty between the two factions, Basil was required to relocate the Frankish remnants to other regions far away from the borders.

Driven by strategic considerations, Basil granted the lands on the northern bank of the lower Danube River to Charles the Bald, bestowing upon him the title of King of Wallachia.

Back in the second century AD, Emperor Trajan had launched two consecutive military campaigns, ultimately conquering the northern bank of the Danube River and incorporating the region as a Roman province.

In AD 271, under mounting pressure on other borders, Emperor Aurelian was left with no choice but to order the withdrawal of all military and administrative bodies to the South Bank of the Danube.

In the centuries that followed, relentless barbarian invasions caused the Eastern Roman Empire's borders in the Balkans to retreat repeatedly. Even the Thracian plain suffered from foreign incursions.

Learning from this historical lesson, Basil decided to dump the Frankish remnants on the northern bank of the Danube River, using them as a buffer for the empire's borders to fend off the barbarian tribes from Eastern Europe.

Therefore, he generously covered the transportation expenses, hiring the Venetian fleet to ferry the immigrants. He also promised a ten-year package of financial aid, providing six thousand pounds of silver annually to help the Franks weather their initial hardships.

"Weigh anchor! Hoist the sails!" Amidst the cries of seagulls, the Blackback Dolphin pulled up its seawater-soaked anchor chain. Its sturdy oak hull bobbed gently with the waves as it embarked on the long voyage eastward.

This immigrant fleet carried three thousand people across eighty large and medium-sized vessels, sailing south along the familiar coastline.

During the latter half of Emperor Michael III's reign, the Eastern Roman Navy had gradually recovered. After Basil ascended to the throne, naval power was further enhanced, successfully driving the Saracen pirates out of the Adriatic Sea. Thus, the immigrant fleet's voyage was smooth sailing.

The fleet sailed south along the Epirus Coast, rounded the cape of the Peloponnese Peninsula, and began heading north across the Aegean Sea. Whenever night fell, the captains would instruct their sailors on how to navigate by the stars. On nights when the moon was full, they could even see dolphins chasing the ships' silhouettes across the shimmering silver surface of the sea.

Twenty days later, they arrived at Constantinople.

Through the morning mist, a series of watchtowers and domes gradually materialized. The formidable Theodosian Walls stretched endlessly along the coastline, while the docks were a veritable forest of masts. Every Frankish immigrant stepped out onto the deck. The massive dome of the Hagia Sophia gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, looking as though it were plated in solid gold.

The fleet dropped anchor in Constantinople for five days to collect the armor, tools, winter clothing, and grain bestowed upon them by the Emperor.

In late September, the immigrant fleet sailed out of Constantinople's harbor and entered the Black Sea—a vast expanse of water the Greeks referred to as the Hospitable Sea.

Compared to the Aegean Sea, the waters here were much darker, the winds and waves far more turbulent, and the coastlines considerably more desolate.

More than a week passed, and the seawater gradually took on a murky, yellowish hue. They had navigated to the mouth of the Danube River, where the red banners of the Eastern Roman Empire fluttered proudly above the fortresses on the southern bank.

Following an inspection by the garrison, the fleet entered the Danube River. They sailed upstream against the current for three days before finally dropping anchor at a makeshift dock on the northern bank.

Before them lay a vast, sweeping plain. The withered yellow grass undulated like ocean waves in the wind. On the shore, Alfred was already waiting to receive them, leading a convoy of two hundred carts.

Urged on by shouting military officers, the immigrants loaded their supplies onto the carts and began a slow trek northward. The road ahead was carved with deep, heavy ruts from wagon wheels, and discarded fragments of pottery littered the roadside.

By the following afternoon, their long journey finally came to an end as they arrived at the capital of Wallachia—Charlefort.

This place had originally been an abandoned fortress from the Roman era, but Charles the Bald had personally selected it to serve as his royal capital. The surrounding terrain was flat, bordered by a small river to the north.

Around the fortress, throngs of Franks were busy constructing houses and erecting simple palisades. Others were driving plow oxen, using the new heavy plows acquired from the Vikings to till the earth. Since autumn had not yet passed, they were rushing to sow winter wheat seeds in hopes of a harvest by next May.

Counting the newly arrived immigrants, Charles the Bald now commanded a population of forty thousand. This included three thousand five hundred soldiers, over eight thousand family members, and thirty thousand commoners who had refused to stay in Northern Italy.

'Prices in Constantinople are simply far too high,' Charles thought. 'The six thousand pounds of silver Basil provided didn't stretch nearly as far as I expected. It will run out in the blink of an eye if we aren't careful. I have to find another way to generate wealth.'

Standing at the top of a watchtower, Charles gazed out across the endless expanse of withered yellow steppe, pondering his next move. Suddenly, a figure on horseback appeared on the western horizon. The rider frantically fled inside the palisade, screaming that he had been attacked by nomads.

A group of nobles hurried to the western gate. William, Count of Orléans, quickly asked, "Is it the same tribe from last time?"

"I do not know," the man gasped. "These nomads all dress exactly the same—tattered sheepskin jackets and felt hats, riding steppe horses. It is impossible to tell where they hail from. The bandits abducted five of our people and stole our plow oxen, seeds, and hoes. Thank the heavens the iron plows were heavy enough that they did not have time to haul them away."

Robbed twice in the span of a single week, the crowd's patience had reached its absolute breaking point. Only Alfred maintained his composure, suggesting they wait one more month.

Charles the Bald frowned. "It is October right now. The locals mentioned that the snowfall begins in November. Why would we wait until winter to launch an offensive?"

"According to tradition, nomadic tribes settle into fixed camps to weather the winter. If we attack them then, I guarantee they will have nowhere to run." The combat environment in Eastern Europe differed vastly from Western Europe. Alfred knew that simply routing the nomads was easy; the true challenge lay in completely annihilating them to secure the maximum possible spoils.

Alfred continued to explain, "Several years ago, there was a Viking commander in Constantinople named Niels. He was a master of warfare. You must have heard his moniker—the White Raven of Gnutz. I have looked into his exploits here in Eastern Europe, and I know exactly how he dealt with these very nomads."

Charles the Bald adopted his young subordinate's strategy and refrained from taking the offensive. Instead, he organized the farmers to travel out of the city in groups of thirty to fifty when working the fields. Their carts were loaded with spears, bows and arrows, and armor, allowing them to fend off nomadic incursions at a moment's notice.

Additionally, he organized teams to fell trees and manufacture supply wagons suited for wilderness marches, while simultaneously dispatching scouts to nearby settlements to gather intelligence.

After a month of meticulous preparation, Alfred set out toward the west with a force of two thousand soldiers. The expeditionary force brought along one hundred and fifty wagons heavily laden with grain, cured meat, tents, weapons, and thick blankets to stave off the bitter cold.

The frigid wind howled violently. The withered, yellowish grass, now dusted with a thin layer of white frost, stretched endlessly beneath the leaden sky until it blended seamlessly with the blurred horizon.

The wagon shafts creaked and groaned as if complaining about the ceaseless journey and the increasingly biting chill. When making camp for the night, the Franks would arrange their wagons into a hollow square formation, functioning as a makeshift palisade.

On the morning of the fifth day, the vanguard scouts galloped back. Their faces were flushed with a mix of tension and the thrill of having finally spotted their prey as they reported to the commander.

Fifteen miles ahead, nestled against the southern slope of a continuous range of hills, they had discovered a massive cluster of felt tents. Thick plumes of cooking smoke were winding their way into the sky.

"Understood," Alfred replied.

Alfred tugged at his woolen scarf to block the piercing chill creeping down his neck. His gaze swept across the rolling hills in the distance, spotting five figures on horseback cresting the ridge. They were nomads who had tailed the scouts all the way back.

He felt no panic. Even if the enemy had discovered their tracks, it was already far too late.

Over the greater half of the day that followed, the expedition faced multiple hit-and-run harassment attacks from the nomads. Alfred responded to every skirmish with unshakeable calm. Ultimately, at three o'clock in the afternoon, they reached the enemy camp.

At the very edge of their vision, the hills lay sprawled across the earth like a slumbering behemoth. And there, sheltered against its warm southern foothills, were countless grayish-white tents scattered about, exactly as the scouts had reported.

At a rough glance, the tents vaguely formed a massive ring, clustering tightly around several noticeably larger encampments at the center. Wisps of smoke drifted lazily upward, mingling with the low-hanging clouds. Scattered flocks of sheep grazed on the withered grass roots around the camp's perimeter, while a handful of nomads busied themselves drying out freshly harvested hay.

Watching those panicked figures, Alfred's mood sharply improved. "Heh. Found you."