Ch 23: Decision
During the banquet, Vig sat quietly at the end of the long table, observing the subtle expressions of the banquet guests.
After a long time together, he understood that Ragnar was not a mediocre person who longed for comfort; beneath that friendly and hearty face, he harbored an ambition as boundless as an abyss.
Under the dim candlelight, a bard in green robes played the harp and reed pipe, singing of the victory banquet after the hero Beowulf defeated the monster Grendel:
King Hrothgar bestowed gold necklaces upon every warrior and lord,
that was the glory of battlefield heroes.
Warriors must achieve merit with such gifts,
leaving it to their descendants, so that their prestige would endure forever!
Amidst the clinking of cups and the fading lanterns, Vig patiently waited for the banquet to end. Watching the guests slumped on the table, he looked around and found Ragnar giving him a wink.
Following Ragnar out of the tent, Vig surveyed the surroundings, seemingly trying to find hidden assassins, but to no avail.
“What exactly are you looking for?”
“I drank too much wine, and I’m a little dizzy.” Discovering that Ragnar dared not violate tradition by killing the guests, Vig didn’t say much, and followed him to a dark, cramped tent.
Soon, Ivar, Bjorn, Gunnar, and other confidants arrived one after another to discuss the subsequent battle plan.
To this day, the number of Viking pirates has dwindled to two thousand six hundred; more than half are about to return to Northern Europe with Eric. The remaining pirates are unwilling to fight to the death with the Northumbrian army, instead planning to find a new location to pillage East Anglia and Kent, which are weaker.
“It’s all thanks to Eric, that cowardly vermin. We finally built siege weapons, and on the verge of a siege, he’s only thinking about returning to Northern Europe to spend his days with his wives and concubines.”
As Ragnar’s offspring, Ivar was inherently adventurous and despised those nobles who only drank and made merry; unfortunately, the momentum had passed, and it seemed there was no other way.
At this time, Vig said casually, “After the Battle of Mancunium, Eilaud’s Royal Guard suffered heavy casualties, and the two thousand peasant soldiers who recently arrived are of low combat effectiveness. It’s a pity that our hearts are not united; unless their retreat is cut off, Eric will never participate in the battle.”
“Hmph, you’re right.” Ivar suddenly realized and devised a brilliant poisonous scheme:
“In that case, why not completely cut off everyone’s retreat! There are many prisoners imprisoned in the camp; we can leak the location of the fleet’s anchorage and deliberately let them escape. After this period of pillaging, the southern region of Northumbria has been severely damaged, and coupled with Eilaud mobilizing militiamen from various places, leading to a lack of sufficient labor in the fields. Taxes will decline significantly in the next few years. To make up for the loss, he will never stand idly by and watch this wealth be transported back to Northern Europe.”
After listening, everyone looked at each other; the flickering candlelight reflected their faces, which were unpredictable. Ragnar paced back and forth in the narrow tent, unable to make a decision for a long time.
Noticing his superior’s hesitation, Vig spoke again:
“This year’s sea pillage, I’ve found Eric has opposed you many times; why? Because he fears your reputation. The old man is powerful and always wants to become King of all Norway. If that day really comes, Gothenburg is small and its people are weak; will you resist or submit?”
Vig looked directly into his superior’s eyes, stating his true thoughts, “This is a rare opportunity; it’s not easy to gather this army. Let’s gamble; this time, completely conquer Northumbria, and you will be king. Then, whether you continue south or send troops to conquer Northern Europe, it will be entirely up to you.”
Vig did not like the life of pillaging; killing and fighting is not a long-term solution. One day he will be too old to fight; he must make preparations as soon as possible.
To be honest, he would rather conquer a piece of land and govern it himself. Ideally, he would find a rich fool to be king, occupy York, this “wealthy place,” to resist the continuous counterattacks from the southern countries, and choose an inconspicuous area in the north to manage slowly.
In terms of martial arts, Vig is not as good as Ragnar and Ivar, those top malefic stars; but in terms of managing territory, probably no one in all of Northern Europe is more skilled than himself.
“King of Northumbria,” Ragnar repeated the words; the candlelight illuminated half of his face, his expression sometimes ferocious, sometimes relaxed.
After a long time, he painfully exhaled, “The probability of the plan’s success is too low; once Eilaud burns the ships and seizes the supplies, we will truly have no way out.”
Why is he still hesitating?
Vig was completely speechless; this isn’t a small business; what’s the point of always thinking about a retreat? How can one conquer the world without taking risks?
With the atmosphere heightened to this point, Bjorn, Niels, Gunnar, and others couldn’t help but join in the persuasion.
“Father, you started as an ordinary farmer in the mountains; having come this far, have you forgotten the courage you had when you first ventured out to sea?”
“Uncle, the prophet predicted that one day you would wear the crown; this is fate set by the gods; why refuse it?”
After being pressured by his confidants, Ragnar finally made up his mind and embarked on the most dangerous gamble of his life.
After everything was settled, Vig and Niels left the tent, carrying wine jugs and heading towards the area where the prisoners were held, talking nonsense as if no one else was around.
“Burp, we finally got rich this time. Once this wealth is transported back to Northern Europe, we won’t need to come to Britain to pillage for the next few years.”
After Niels finished speaking, Vig shouted to support him, “I can’t count; how much did we steal in total?”
Ignoring the resentful looks of the prisoners, Nielson sighed, “Three thousand pounds of silver in total, and more than one hundred pounds of gold; ironware, woolen cloth, and grain are piled up like mountains; the fleet can hardly transport it all back to Northern Europe at once.”
“Is that so?” Vig noticed that several prisoners had subtle expressions; they obviously understood his Norse, so he threw out a key topic:
“The supplies and ships are hidden in a certain inlet on the northern coast of the Humber Estuary; what exactly is the place? It’s been too long; I’ve forgotten.”
Niels: “That place is easy to find; there’s an abandoned monastery at the nearby fork in the road, and a mill to the east side.”
To ensure that Eilaud deduced the correct location, Niels repeatedly recited these key landmarks, then staggered away with Vig, “accidentally” dropping the key to the cage before leaving.
Because the sentry was taken by Ivar to drink, the prisoners successfully opened the lock; upon reaching the nearby fortifications, they happened to find a large enough dog hole; under the cover of night, they escaped from the Viking camp and disappeared.
The next morning, Ragnar discovered that thirty prisoners of war had escaped; in a fit of anger, he whipped the sentry twenty times, then held a second banquet, once again inviting Eric and others to revel.