Vikings: Lords of the Ice Sea

Chapter 32 Tyneburg

The next day at noon, the group left the plains. To the east of the road was a vast swamp rich in peat, and to the west was an equally expansive hilly area.

According to Pascal, this road is a remnant of the Roman era, connecting the northern and central-southern regions of Northumbria. Travelers were frequently robbed, and successive kings would send guards to search the mountains and clear out the thieves, but unfortunately, the results were not good.

"Be vigilant, you may encounter thieves on the next stretch of road."

Vig, riding a light gray mare, signaled to the troops to remove round shields from the supply wagons, ready for battle at any moment.

Looking around, there was no one in front of the road. To the left, there was a dense forest that rose and fell with the mountain. To the right, a swamp not far away was shrouded in a thin mist. Occasionally, a few unintelligible noises could be heard, which were quite eerie.

That night, the team camped in an open area with a wide view. Vig arranged three shifts of night watchmen for everyone to ensure that if bandits launched a night attack, one hundred alert soldiers would be on their side to stop them.

As the night passed, Vig, who was fast asleep with the Dragon's Breath Sword in his arms, was awakened by the rising sun. After having breakfast, he continued on his journey and did not encounter any attacks until he left the dangerous area.

"Strange, is Pascal bluffing me?"

Hearing his lord's confusion, Yoren pondered, "My lord, even if there are Anglo bandits, they wouldn't dare attack a caravan of three hundred men, especially one with a noble coat of arms on the flag at the front."

“That makes sense,” Vig suddenly realized as he gazed at the black flag with a gold dragon fluttering in the distance.

Having been granted land and titles, he was no longer the little Karami he once was, and could now appropriately display a more assertive attitude.

On the evening of the third day, the group rested in a village that belonged to Pascal. A small river called Tiss meandered eastward, and Pascal's ancestral wooden fort was located near its mouth.

Another day passed, and Vig found a road sign at the fork in the road ahead—Durham. From here all the way to the northern border of Northumbria, the entire route belonged to the fiefdom of the Lord of Tyneburg.

Vig dismounted, picked up a clump of soil and examined it closely; the soil quality was far superior to that of the rural farmland in Gothenburg.

"Is this the land you promised us?" The Viking farmers smiled with satisfaction; they had finally chosen the right person to follow.

"Almost there. Walk a little further ahead, and I'll settle you near Tyneburg."

On the morning of the fifth day, Vig arrived at the south bank of the Tyne River and was fortunate enough to meet two local fishermen. Led by them, the convoy circled upstream to an old wooden bridge, and after walking a distance to the north bank, they finally saw their destination—Tynburg.

"This is my new home? What a shabby place."

Wood Castle sits on a low hill on the north bank of the Tyne River, surrounded by a four-meter-high oak wall, roughly square with sides of 200 meters. Currently, the gates are wide open, a foul stench permeates the air, and several emaciated stray dogs roam freely through the filthy streets, resembling an abandoned slum.

Through the fishermen's halting accounts, Vig learned the reason why the place was abandoned.

Last year, the former lord and his heir led their troops south to defend the king and never returned. Upon learning of the fall of the Kingdom of Northumbria, the lord's wife fled to the territory of the Picts with all her possessions and the few remaining guards.

The lord's family was either dead or fled, and the nearby villagers quickly emptied Tyneburg of its grain, bedding, and livestock, then pots and pans, and finally even tables, chairs, and brooms.

"Well, this is for the best. At least we avoided a siege."

Surrounded by his guards, Vig first visited the most important part of the oak wall. The rammed earth path between the two layers of wooden walls was wide enough for two people to walk side by side. A large hole had broken in the top of the watchtower in the southeast corner, and the accumulated sewage emitted a foul stench. He looked around. There were piles of stones on the riverbank area south of the hill, the purpose of which was unknown. The farmland on the east, north, and west sides was mostly abandoned, with only a few figures working there. This year's harvest was completely hopeless.

"Raise the flag, and remember to find a thicker flagpole."

"Yes, sir."

Vig walked toward the lord's hall located on the southwest side of the wooden castle, pushed open the door, and was hit by a whiff of dust and mildew. Two black ravens cackled on the rafters, then flapped their wings and flew away.

"Cook the food, find your rooms and put your luggage away. Also, call over the villagers from the surrounding area; I have something to say to them. Be mindful of your tone, don't scare them."

In fact, Vig did not intend to exploit these farmers, but rather to have them help deliver messages, "to inform any settlement within Tyneburg that the new lord will be hosting a banquet for all the gentry and village chiefs on April 15th, and that they must do him the honor of attending."

After hearing the broken Anglo-language, the more than sixty male villagers nodded hurriedly, huddled together and whispered for a moment before each choosing a task to deliver the message.

After they had all dispersed, the shield-bearer, Yoren, asked with a puzzled look, "My lord, preparing for the banquet requires a great deal of food and drink. Are you planning to slaughter oxen? Or forcibly requisition the sheep raised by the villagers?"

"No need for that. We can just catch some trout and carp in the river to make up the numbers."

"Serving guests fish?" Yoren's doubts deepened. "A proper banquet should have a few decent meat dishes, otherwise others will tarnish your reputation."

“Reputation? As a Viking, what good reputation do you think I have in their eyes?” Vig was disappointed with his subordinate’s slowness. “This matter is not worth discussing further; I have my own plans.”

After lunch, under the expectant gazes of many, he went to the wasteland more than 500 meters to the east and announced the allocation of farmland to the Viking farmers.

As promised beforehand, each household was granted thirty acres of farmland, totaling sixty-three households.

"According to local regulations, 15% of the farmland's output belongs to me, and I will not be taxed for two years. In addition, I will have to perform two weeks of unpaid corvée labor every year. Are there any other issues?"

"No."

The crowd responded listlessly, only thinking about quickly scattering the seeds to avoid delaying the planting season.

Britain is well-suited for growing winter wheat, which is sown in autumn and harvested in early summer of the following year. Now that it is April, everyone has no choice but to hurry up and plant some barley to tide them over.

Looking at their distracted expressions, Vig had a fleeting illusion that he was a teacher in the 21st century, and below him was a group of students who couldn't wait to leave school.

Seeing this, he abandoned his speech and sent the farmers to their respective territories to work. Afterwards, the raiders approached, asking when they would depart.

"No rush. There will be a banquet on April 15th. Some people will definitely not come on purpose. Then I will have an excuse to attack."

For the next week, Vig sent raiders to the northwest forests to cut down timber, build battering rams and ladders, and fifty giant square shields shaped like door panels. Only on the day of the banquet did he send men to casually net some river fish, merely to appease them.

(End of this chapter)