In mid-June, Vig's envoys arrived in Londinium with two captured raiders, requesting audience with the king.
Hearing that Tyne Town had been attacked by five hundred raiders, Ragnar interrupted the emissary's report:
"Enough. It ends here. Tell Vig that I will speak with Erik myself."
To Ragnar, the root cause no longer mattered. The conflict between Vig and the Norwegians was escalating, and the political climate at home was unstable—several nobles harbored questionable loyalties. A war against Norway was the last thing Britain needed. The dispute had to be resolved peacefully.
"Ulf—you go to Oslo. Tell Erik to keep his men in check. Britain and Norway both have land enough; no need to start a war over some barren, worthless islands."
"...Me?"
Ulf had only come to deliver horses and had been dragged into this mess. He reluctantly agreed.
Ragnar immediately ordered Pascal to draft a royal letter. Once sealed, he handed it to Ulf.
"Erik is technically my ally. Mind your tone—don't be too overbearing."
"As you command."
At that moment, Queen Sola seemed to want to speak, but Ragnar gestured for silence—he was thinking.
"Vig crossed the sea, struck Bergen, and won decisively. In return, Bergen's lord incited raiders to strike Tyne Town—and was crushed. Why?"
He considered numbers first: Vig brought a thousand men; Lord Auh only five hundred.
A larger force won; the smaller one failed. So Auh lost because he had too few?
The next second, Ragnar dismissed the thought.
As an experienced legendary raider, he knew speed mattered most in a raid. If Auh had tried to gather more men, the delay would have leaked the plan, giving Tyne Town time to prepare—ruining the element of surprise.
"So the real difference is Vig's standing army. Once he made up his mind, he could immediately field a force and hit Bergen before Auh even realized what was happening."
Ragnar raised his empty cup. Aslaug hurried to refill it.
Cold, sweet mead slid down his throat, and his mind sharpened. He beckoned Pascal and whispered:
"How much surplus revenue do we expect this year?"
"Hard to say… perhaps five hundred to a thousand pounds."
Enough.
Ragnar set his cup down decisively.
"I'm forming a Royal Guard—seventeen hundred infantry, three hundred cavalry."
If any region revolted, Ragnar would no longer need to wait for noble levies. He could deploy the Guard instantly and crush the rebellion before it spread.
He also intended to form a fleet to patrol the English Channel, hunting pirates and deterring Frankish raids.
"Your Majesty… are you certain?" Pascal warned.
"If we spend the entire surplus, what happens if something unexpected happens?"
"Raise taxes!"
Ragnar cleared his throat and proclaimed a new royal decree:
Effective immediately, a customs station will be established at Dover in Kent.
Importing a warhorse now requires a tariff of sixty pence, and all goods shipped to the Continent are likewise subject to tax.
Pascal glanced up at Ragnar's expression—firm, unyielding. He had no choice but to draft the decree.
As he finished writing, he couldn't help worrying:
Risking the anger of every noble just to build a Royal Guard… is it worth it?
Ten days later, Ulf's cog reached Oslo. He delivered Ragnar's message to King Erik.
The letter urged both sides to accept the present situation. There was no need to start a war over a useless island chain. Better to focus on domestic affairs.
Reading the letter, Erik muttered:
"Domestic affairs? Norway's population keeps shrinking. Once, farmers fought over fields—now half the countryside lies abandoned, farmland empty, farmhouses taken by animals. Even if Ragnar were here, he wouldn't know how to fix it."
He knew the truth without needing exact numbers: Norway's tax base and population were far beneath Britain's. If he tried to attack Tyne Town, he likely couldn't even take the castle.
So he swallowed his pride and announced the settlement:
Both kingdoms will cease hostilities. Each king will restrain his vassals.
Borders revert to their pre-conflict state.
Since Lord Auh of Bergen had disappeared, Erik appointed Prince Erik the Younger to temporarily administer Bergen. "Temporarily"—and in ten years, the city would be returned to Auh's heir.
With Erik's rambling decree, the Shetland dispute officially ended.
Overall, Erik lost face—but gained profit.
He removed a troublesome vassal, gained direct control of Bergen—the second-largest settlement in Norway—and increased royal revenue by three hundred pounds a year. He was, undeniably, the biggest winner.
Vig, after great effort, received a barren island chain totaling fifteen hundred square kilometers—hardly a reward.
Only Auh truly lost:
Not only did he lose his life (later, Vig swore he had never laid a hand on him), his family also lost Bergen entirely.
Even though Erik publicly promised Bergen would be returned when Auh's heir came of age, anyone with a brain knew this was empty talk. Ten years was long enough for any number of conveniently timed "accidents." Bergen was effectively absorbed by the crown.
After the treaty, Erik Horstd a banquet for Ulf—mead, roast whole pig, cheese—all traditional dishes. But Ulf hardly cared.
Ever since being granted Kent, his quality of life had soared. Kent, being Britain's gateway to the Continent, generated enormous trade profits. Wine, cinnamon, cloves, pepper, truffles, sugar—the finest luxuries—all at his fingertips.
Six months ago he had even hired several Frankish chefs. Counting his Norse and Anglo cooks, his palate had been utterly transformed. These rough peasant dishes held no charm.
Out of respect, he speared a piece of pork, chewed twice, and forced it down with mead.
"The cooking here is dreadful. The spices never penetrated the meat. The hide is burnt and the inside is half-raw.
Poor Erik… the king of Norway, yet living worse than an average Frankish baron. No wonder Vikings keep fleeing to Britain and Francia. Life in the North isn't fit for humans."
Easy to go from frugal to lavish; impossible to go back.
Ulf had fully embraced his new lifestyle. So had most of Ragnar's nobles. Ragnar had wanted to persuade them otherwise, but in the end did nothing—his own life was the most luxurious of all.
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