Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 69 Rest
Upon learning of the Crown Prince's death and the loss of the crown, the old king, who was holding fast to Tamworth Fortress, fell into despair.

He ordered his men to sprinkle oil all over the castle, then dismissed all his servants and soldiers. Under the watchful eyes of countless people, he silently walked to the top of the fortress and burned the building that represented the Mercian monarchy to the ground.

After more than two months, the Viking army captured Tamworth, killed members of the royal family, and successfully completed the first phase of their mission.

Ragnar then announced a rest day there. Exhausted from working in the freezing cold in the field, discontent among the troops was building, and forcing them to continue fighting could very likely trigger a mutiny.

The fortress was burned down, and a large amount of valuable documents were reduced to ashes, the most crucial of which were the account books recording the royal family's various incomes. Left with no other option, Ragnar put Pascal in charge of the inventory, and Vig, whose Latin was passable, was assigned to assist Pascal.

"This is a complete mess, and we're in for a lot of work."

With a sigh, Vig suggested searching for clerks and servants who had worked for the royal family, then questioning them individually and recording their information.

“That’s right,” Pascal accepted his advice and began the long and tedious statistical work.

The most important source of income for the Mercian royal family came from the land. Farmers who were attached to the royal estates had to pay taxes in kind (such as grain and honey) and provide two weeks of unpaid labor each year.

In addition, the royal family owns vast forests, where poaching is strictly prohibited. Every hunter must register their information truthfully and regularly pay taxes on the pelts of their prey. Even for daily firewood cutting, villagers must pay corresponding taxes.

Besides agricultural taxes, the other two sources of revenue were trade and minting:
The royal family has the right to establish tax checkpoints within the territory to collect tolls and market taxes. Two small silver mines produce silver ingots annually, which are melted down by the royal mint into silver coins bearing the king's portrait.

Finally, the old king issued five trade charters, granting Flanders merchants a monopoly on the export of wool and honey, which brought them a considerable income.

After ten days of hard work, the two unfortunate men still hadn't managed to compile a concrete figure. Fortunately, Goodwin and a group of clerks arrived from York to help, and Vig happily dumped this pile of trouble on them, finding a quiet place to relax and read.

In February, Ivar arrived late with a force of four hundred men. Ragnar neither reprimanded his eldest son nor showed excessive enthusiasm, but simply held a regular welcoming banquet.

"There are too many nobles in Ireland. If you defeat one, another will pop up and cause trouble. It's an endless rebellion that has kept me from getting any rest all year."

Ivar raised his glass, a lingering weariness in his eyes. To appease the local people, even someone with his volatile and fierce nature had to compromise, marrying the daughter of a minor nobleman, reducing taxes, and governing the Dufilin region according to local customs.

Completely drunk, he uttered a rare, disheartening remark.
"I'm afraid that for the next few years, or even the next decade or so, I'm destined to waste my energy in that bottomless quagmire. Some people have suggested that I recruit more Viking immigrants, but alas, I can only take it one step at a time."

Vig listened to Ivar's complaints in silence, pondering the situation in his own territory. Suddenly, a rider in a thick wool cloak burst into the hall, saying that the Nottingham garrison intended to surrender.

Nottingham?

Ragnar shook his head, trying to regain some composure. Indeed, this town near the border had not surrendered and had held out for three months. To prevent them from attacking supply routes, a thousand Viking warriors were stationed outside the town, occupying one-fifth of the mobile force.

"What are the conditions?"

The rider handed over a roll of parchment, which Ragnar tore open with wax and asked Pascal to translate.

To emphasize his status, the letter contained a lengthy string of polite formalities, which Ragnar patiently listened to until the end, learning that Theowuff was not willing to pledge allegiance to him. He was willing to hand over Nottingham on the condition that Ragnar take his family, soldiers, and property to the south, and that the Vikings not attack him en route.

“The Mercians are such a nuisance.” As the alcohol took hold, Ragnar’s reason became increasingly blurred. Unwilling to think any further, he randomly pointed to a nobleman and told him to handle the matter.

The next moment, Ragnar, who had lost consciousness, slumped onto the table, emitting rhythmic, muffled snores.

On the right side of the long table, Vig looked at Ivar with a blank expression. "Your Majesty, were you referring to you or me just now?"

Ivar shook his head. "I don't know."

"Never mind, I'm just destined to be a busybody." Vig walked over, picked up the parchment, glanced at it briefly, returned to his room to pack his things, and set off north the next day.

In early February, Vig led his troops to Nottingham.

Nottingham hadn't changed much compared to last year; a thousand Vikings weren't enough to completely besiege the town. Every night, the garrison secretly sent out small groups to chop wood and search for supplies in the nearby villages, and they held out for three whole months.

Arriving at a point 200 meters from the stockade wall, Vig dismissed all the shield guards and stood alone on the snow, waiting.

Soon, the east gate of Nottingham opened a crack, and a richly dressed rider came to negotiate. "And you are?"

"Lord of Tynburg, Vig."

The rider dismounted, revealing a weary smile. "I am Theowough, Lord of Nottingham."

After giving the thin young man in his early twenties a quick once-over, Vig pulled out a parchment from his pocket. "His Majesty agrees to your terms. Now, tell me, when will we formally surrender?"

"Please give us a week to pack our bags."

"I have three days at most. I'm too lazy to waste time in the wilderness. You have three days to surrender at dawn, or I will call in troops to besiege you."

After the negotiations concluded, Vig led his men to an abandoned village. On the way, Yoren couldn't help but ask, "My lord, why don't we go into the siege camp to rest?"

"You want to live in that garbage dump?" Vig replied irritably. He had just ridden into the camp and taken a ride around; the scene was appalling.

The camp, originally intended for a thousand Viking warriors, was instead filled with hundreds of unrelated individuals. Merchants and prostitutes freely roamed the barracks, resembling a bustling yet filthy open-air market. If Theowuff were to launch a surprise attack, his chances of victory would be at least 70%.

Fortunately, thanks to the impact of the capture of Repton and Tamworth, the Nottingham garrison dared not make any trouble and hurriedly packed their bags to hand over the town before the deadline.

"Sir, I hope you will keep your promise."

Theowough led his soldiers, families, and voluntary civilians away from Nottingham, totaling 1,700 people. Vigé followed behind, and it took them five days to get these slow-moving civilians south.

(End of this chapter)