By late July, the new residential district in western Londinium was largely complete. Vig personally oversaw the sales, introducing the clean, orderly new quarter to prospective buyers.
"Look here—drainage ditches run along both sides of the streets. Rainwater and wastewater flow straight into the Thames, keeping the roads from turning into mud. The houses are spaced properly—if a fire breaks out, it won't swallow the whole neighborhood."
Compared to the filthy, cramped old town, wealthier townsfolk fell in love with the new environment at first sight. The regular homes and shop-houses sold out instantly, and even the high-end estates still under construction were quickly reserved.
Unlike the ordinary timber buildings, these luxury estates were built of brick and stone, enclosed by a stone wall two men tall. Inside stood a two-story main residence alongside a small garden, stables, a well, a warehouse, a kitchen, and servants' quarters.
There were fifty such estates. The target buyers were nobles with ample wealth; each cost 35 pounds. Twenty units had already been sold before completion.
At the next cabinet meeting, Goodwin noticed the chancellor's unusually good mood and asked how much had been earned.
Vig didn't hide it. "After expenses, two thousand pounds. Once the remaining luxury homes are sold, another thousand. At least for the next few months, we can finally breathe."
Relieved of pressure, the ministers cheered. The whole council brimmed with joy. Vig accepted the praise with a clear conscience—and later went to the king to report the good news.
He soon regretted it.
Starting in August, expenses ballooned from every direction. Everyone wanted money. Most outrageous of all was Chamberlain Paphes, who visited the chancellor's residence every few days with a new excuse each time.
"What? Animals stolen from the royal menagerie?"
Unable to endure it any longer, Vig rode to the royal estate north of Londinium. Amid ordinary flowerbeds stood a fountain with a bronze goddess in the center, water pouring from her vase into a pool where tiny fish darted about—picturesque, almost luxurious.
All because of that damned eunuch, Vig cursed inwardly. He brought Constantinople's decadence to Britain!
He stormed with Utgard and the knights into the rear gardens and grabbed a servant. "The animals were stolen—why?"
The servant led him to a collapsed section of wall.
"The stonemasons cut corners. The foundation was weak, and after several days of rain, it gave way."
Then he brought Vig into an empty stable.
"Perhaps wolves or some wild beast slipped in and ate all the swans and peacocks."
All eaten?
Vig's hand twitched toward his sword.
"In thirty years I have never heard of wolves eating birds whole, feathers and all. Peacock feathers—gone? A miracle indeed!"
At that moment Paphes arrived, clumsily dismounting, begging the chancellor to calm down.
"I'm not angry," Vig said coldly. "I merely suspect that someone stole the animals and blamed it on a creature capable of digesting feathers. Lord Chamberlain—shall we search the servants' quarters?"
"Of course." Paphes didn't dare object now that the situation had escalated. Knights rummaged through rooms while he rounded up every servant for questioning.
When they learned that two servants had vanished, Vig sent Utgard back to the city to mobilize the Royal Guard for a search. After half a day, the fugitives were still missing—but fifty swans and peacocks were found crammed into wooden cages in the wild.
The thieves had fled too quickly to take them. Without care, a quarter of the birds were already near death.
After this scandal, Paphes claimed illness and withdrew from duties, but court expenses did not decrease. When Vig reviewed the latest ledgers, he was appalled. The two queens seemed locked in a contest—whatever jewelry one owned, the other demanded as well, and always in greater quantity. Their children's wardrobe and equipment had become another battlefield.
"Arabian horses… armor… lances… Prince Ubbe lives quite extravagantly," Vig muttered, approving a ridiculous invoice of forty pounds and sending a maid to collect the money from the treasury.
"Wait, Chancellor—there is another expense."
The maid handed him another note, in Queen Sola's elegant handwriting.
"A fifty-pound sword? Are you joking?"
In the North, a common iron sword cost half a pound of silver. In Britain, with better metalwork, it was even cheaper—around 80–100 silver pence.
Vig set down his quill and stared at the maidservant.
She answered lightly:
"A Damascus steel sword."
"No. Damascus steel is expensive, but not that expensive. When Ivar was in Constantinople, he earned over ten pounds of silver doing jobs for a local gang boss, and traded for his Damascus blade, Heart-breaker. Fifty pounds is absurd. Who is the seller? Why no negotiation?"
"Negotiate? It is a gift for the prince—how could we haggle?"
Spoiled by her position, the maid gave a little scoff and said the sentence she would regret for the rest of her life:
"Chancellor, such a noble prince cannot bear a common blade. Sign the invoice quickly—if someone buys the sword first and the prince throws a tantrum, what will you do? Offer him that sword on your belt—the Dragon's Breath?"
The words had scarcely left her mouth when Secretary Loch lunged forward, fearing the chancellor might draw his sword and strike her down.
"I—I—!"
After a few stunned seconds, the maid realized the enormity of her mistake. Panicking, she fled the residence, hoping Queen Sola would shield her.
But as she approached the palace gate, her panic only grew.
"Will the queen protect me… or abandon me? Gods above, Elin begs for your guidance…"
Strangely, the fear sharpened her thoughts. She had been promoted only three months ago and enjoyed the flattery of servants, guards, even nobles. But all of it rested upon the queen's favor.
Sitting under a tree, Elin reviewed everything she knew about the queen.
Sola valued power and her son Ubbe above all else.
Then came the king.
Then her relatives—Horst, young Erik, and so on.
Gradually, Elin realized a painful truth:
Her own status ranked somewhere below the queen's fluffy pet dog.
"If the queen shields me, she angers the chancellor. That harms her influence—and Ubbe's future. The wisest choice is to abandon me. Foolish Elin… you're finished."
Losing all hope, she turned and ran toward the docks. A knarr was just about to depart for Normandy.
"To hell with it. Staying means death—just like my predecessor… and her predecessor. I'm done with this cursed place. Better to flee."
After she left, Vig and Loch sat in the office staring at each other. At length, Vig exhaled a long sigh and drew a blank sheet of parchment to begin writing.
"Chancellor, are you… filing a written report to the queen?"
"No. When you brief the king later, explain what happened."
Vig had learned on his first day—his secretary regularly reported to Ragnar.
But the document he wrote had nothing to do with the queen or the maid.
It was a letter of resignation.
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