After the spoils were divided, King Erik began building ships. Over eight hundred Vikings, laden with treasure, chose to sail home to the north, while twelve hundred remained to settle in Britain.
Seeing his men off, Ragnar urged the jarls to winter in York.
"With only twelve hundred souls, we are far too few to master this vast land. If we scatter now, we will be weaker still."
"The king speaks wisely," Lennart admitted. With most of his followers gone north, he had but eighty men left—hardly enough to hold Manchester. He would not risk it.
The other jarls thought the same. They would wait until spring, when new waves of Norse migrants flooded into Britain, before moving to claim their fiefs.
With this agreed, Ragnar ordered the walls of York repaired and the countryside brought to order. When word came that Prince Ælla was mustering a force in the south, he marched with eight hundred warriors.
Against that ragged levy, ill-armed and dispirited, Ragnar triumphed with ease. Ælla barely escaped with his life.
Watching the young prince flee on horseback, Ragnar had meant to mock his cowardice. Yet, at that moment, a strange unease stirred in his heart, a whisper that this fugitive would bring him grave trouble one day.
So Ragnar pursued him for more than a month. As the leaves turned and Ælla's support waned, he fled at last into Mercia.
By the time the first snows fell, Ragnar returned to York. In the lull, he set himself to learning the tongue of the Angles, under Pascas's tutelage.
To everyone's surprise, the king proved gifted with languages—only Vig learned faster.
"Seems I was born for tongues," Ragnar boasted.
But speaking English was not enough. In the west, the written word was Latin, and a king must reckon sums as well as men. Ragnar found himself buried in study from dawn till dusk, soon lamenting that the crown's burdens were heavier than he had ever dreamed.
"To wear the crown is to bear its weight," Vig replied coolly. "This is only the beginning. You will be busier yet."
For his own part, Vig practiced Old English daily. Though he had spoken modern English in his former life, a thousand years had changed the language beyond recognition. To rule without the people's tongue was folly—one would be at the mercy of clerks and stewards, who would bleed both lord and peasant for their own gain.
So he persevered.
Winter gave way to spring. As the ice melted, more Vikings arrived in Northumbria.
By early April, Vig had gathered a hundred raiders hungry for silver, and two hundred settlers who wished to farm—including twenty familiar faces from Gothenburg. Among them was his old neighbor Jorunn.
They told him of the harsh winter past, when many had frozen to death. Unable to endure, they had come to Britain for a new beginning.
"Thank you for your trust," Vig said. "Each household will have thirty acres, tax-free for two years."
When the Romans had withdrawn in the fifth century, the Angles and Saxons had seized Britain. With land plentiful and people few, each settler once claimed 120 acres, called a hide. In later generations the allotments shrank. A prosperous yeoman might hold thirty acres—a virgate—while beneath them toiled poor peasants, tenants, and serfs.
(According to the Domesday Book, by the eleventh century, nearly nine percent of England's population were serfs.)
Vig's offer pleased the settlers. As for the raiders who wanted only loot, he swore they would find it under his banner—if not, he would pay them from his own purse.
With his company assembled, Vig drew up a list and went to Gunnar, Ragnar's newly appointed chamberlain, to requisition supplies.
"Old friend, I have only sixty pounds of silver in all. I beg your leniency."
"No trouble," Gunnar yawned, reclining in the palace gardens, two Anglo-Saxon maidens fawning over him. "Take what you like, then give me the reckoning after."
Since failing to win a seat among the true jarls, Gunnar had sunk into sullen idleness. When Lennart and Ulf had sought supplies, he had mocked and obstructed them until Ragnar himself intervened—yet with little consequence.
Vig, unwilling to quarrel, bowed thanks and motioned his shieldmen to follow.
Every Viking bore a round shield and an axe as matter of course. What Vig lacked was armor. With twenty sworn shieldmen, he needed to equip them.
"Twenty suits of old iron scale, twenty helms, fifty longbows, two thousand arrows."
Under the watch of four Anglo clerks, the gear was carted from the armory. In addition, Vig bought grain and iron tools for farming.
When all was loaded, he sought Gunnar again, who was still tangled in his maidens' embrace.
"The livestock—where are they kept?" Vig asked.
"In the east pens," Gunnar waved lazily, pulling his hand from beneath a silken skirt. "Pay first. These clerks will guide you."
He rose at last and cast an eye over the wagons. "All this for forty pounds of silver. Not buying more?"
"I'm no Lennart," Vig sighed. "Fifteen pounds left for cattle and horses. Five must remain untouched—for I promised the raiders, if plunder fails, I will pay them myself."
At that, Gunnar's mood lightened. It pleased him to see even a new-made jarl struggle. After a pause, he added a gift—some cloth for banners.
"You'll need a flag at your head when you march north. Take it as a token from me."
"Farewell, brother," Vig said, and departed.
At the eastern pens he bought ten horses and forty oxen. With all in order, he led his company away from York, bound for his new domain.
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