After much thought, Ragnar finally decided to bring Aslaug with him on the journey north.
Compared to the proud and aloof Queen Sola, Aslaug came from humble origins. She was open, lively, and skilled in drinking, chess, axe-throwing, and archery—traits that made her popular among the nobles.
Ten days later, at a crossroads outside York, Vig watched the royal convoy disappear into the distance and sighed.
"Now that," he muttered, "is going to be interesting."
In early July, Vig reached the south bank of the River Tyne. From afar, he could see that the fortress atop the low hill across the river was still unfinished.
Crossing by ferry, he disembarked at the northern dock, where Heligif awaited him with a baby in her arms. Vig gently poked the child's cheek—it felt soft and warm.
Months earlier, after Heligif had given birth to a boy, she had sent a letter to the front in Tamworth with a list of possible names. Busy recording the Mercian royal estates and too weary to think, Vig had simply picked the first one on the list—Frode—as his eldest son's name.
Back in the manor at the center of town, Vig spent several quiet days with his family before returning to work.
First, he appointed an experienced Norse groom as chief of the stables. Following the man's advice, Vig designated a large tract of grassland two miles west of Tyne Town as a new horse ranch.
According to information from Frankish prisoners, mares over three years old were ready for breeding, with a gestation period of about eleven months. Foals would begin basic training at age two—learning to bear loads, follow commands, and, most importantly, develop courage so they wouldn't panic on the battlefield.
As for costs, feed made up sixty percent of expenses—oats and hay in massive quantities. Labor accounted for another twenty percent, with grooms earning 5 to 10 silver pennies per year. The remaining twenty percent covered maintenance of stables, barns, equipment, and medicine.
Vig had anticipated this. His lands were wealthy enough to afford even double the number of warhorses.
"Take good care of these Frankish horses," he instructed. "Don't skimp on the feed. If the stallions have energy to spare, try breeding them with local mares. We'll expand the herd, and of the mixed offspring, keep only the best for the new ranch—the lesser ones can go to the old pasture east of town."
Once the ranch site was settled, Vig toured the surrounding farmland.
After three years of promotion, nearly all farmers had adopted the three-field system. With that change, some had even begun using draft horses for plowing.
Curious, Vig questioned a small landowner at work. The man explained that horses plowed faster, working up to eight hours a day—two or three more than oxen. Overall, one horse could match the output of two or three oxen.
"But horses cost more to keep," Vig noted. "Is it really worth it?"
The man scratched his head. "I think so. Since we started the three-field system, a third of the land is planted with spring crops—mostly oats, barley, and peas. The oats make perfect feed for the horses."
That gave Vig pause.
"So… the adoption of the three-field system ultimately led to horse plowing becoming popular across Western Europe?"
He stroked the collar around a draft horse's thick neck. In truth, the shift would benefit him: farmers familiar with horses would naturally gain handling and riding skills. In wartime, such men could be recruited as cavalry with minimal training—a great advantage.
After several hours of wandering, Vig visited Tyne's livestock market.
Wooden fences divided the market into pens. Horses snorted impatiently, sheep clustered like drifting gray clouds, and butchers in greasy aprons moved among them, prying open mouths to check teeth.
Vig found the market manager and requested the year's trade records.
As expected, the price of oxen had been gradually declining—from 30 silver pennies each down to 28.
By contrast, the price of workhorses had climbed steadily to 82 silver pennies apiece. Sheep, pigs, chickens, and geese remained stable.
He drew a conclusion:
"At this rate, wealthy farmers with thirty acres or more will gradually switch to horse plowing, while poorer ones will stick with oxen. So be it—it's better to let them choose for themselves than blame me if something goes wrong."
A week later, Bjorn arrived in Tyne with four longships laden with whale fat. Vig met him at the docks—and immediately noticed his friend's haggard face.
"What happened?" Vig asked.
Bjorn gave a weary smile. "We were caught in a storm while fishing. The waves carried us northwest to an island—bare, no trees, nothing but moss that wouldn't burn. Nearly half the crew froze to death. I'd planned to sail south to join the war, but seeing you here… I suppose I'm too late."
"Indeed," Vig said, inviting him back to the manor and recounting the events of the past half-year.
When he described the battle of Tamworth, Bjorn frowned.
"Really? Four hundred Frankish cavalry caused that much damage? That's hard to believe."
"It's true. If you don't believe me, go to York. His Majesty has captured a great number of warhorses and granted knighthoods to many soldiers. It seems he intends to form a permanent cavalry corps. Watch their training—you'll understand soon enough."
Bjorn nodded thoughtfully, then drained his mug of ale with a loud burp.
After resting for two days, he sold all his whale fat and set off for York—to see the new cavalry for himself and to visit his father and Ragnar's second queen.
At the dock, Vig watched as workers carried hundreds of barrels of whale fat into the candle workshop to be rendered into oil.
After a whale was hauled ashore in Iceland, its blubber was sliced with crescent-shaped knives into thick strips the width of a man's hand. These were salted and hung to dry in the cold shade, keeping for up to six months.
Now, the craftsmen chopped the blubber into pieces, mixed it with water, and simmered it over open fires. After some time, they skimmed the clear oil from the surface with long-handled ladles, filtering out the dregs with bark sieves. Each barrel of fat yielded roughly one-quarter as much oil.
The refined whale oil was then mixed with a little beeswax and poured into wooden molds. Wicks were inserted, the mixture cooled, and solidified into finished whale-oil candles—bright, clean-burning, and odorless.
They were a luxury only the wealthy could afford. In all of Vig's lands, his own household was the only one to use them regularly. Most were sold to Flemish merchants, who resold them to Frankish nobles and monasteries.
Lesser gentry and smallholders relied on tallow candles and oil lamps that filled rooms with black smoke and foul smells. Commoners could afford neither, living instead by the rhythm of the sun—rising at dawn, resting at dusk—making the most of daylight and sparing every drop of fuel.
~~--------------------------
Patreon Advanced Chapters:
patreon.com/YonkoSlayer