"Now that the cripples I mean, the workforce are gathered, we must discuss the future of the Builder's Corps," Ragnar addressed the council inside the King's tent. He tried to look serious, despite the fact that he was holding a piece of firewood like a holy scepter.
"I have seen in recent days that our ability to break walls is... lacking," he continued, his brow furrowing. "We have enthusiasm, but we lack geometry."
Jarl Sigurd, a man who believed every problem could be solved by hitting it harder, wanted to object. He slammed his horn down. "We don't need geometry, boy! We need more axes! And we need to stop feeding these four hundred broken men. They are mouths without hands!"
Ragnar waved his hand, cutting him off. "I know, Jarl Sigurd. You want to send them to Valhalla to save on dried pork. But I will not reduce the workforce... for now," he added the last part silently, looking at the King.
Sigurd grumbled, crossing his massive arms and sitting down. "If they cannot fight, they should not eat."
"So, I have decided to train a higher quality of builder," Ragnar declared, his eyes shining with the manic energy of a project manager on a deadline. "An army capable of building a bridge across the Channel if needed."
He motioned to Bjorn to distribute the slate tablets they had spent all night scratching with charcoal.
"Gentlemen, the Gods came to my brother in a dream," Bjorn announced, stepping forward. He looked incredibly proud of his new role as 'Headmaster,' mostly because it meant he got to boss people around without getting hit back.
Everyone was surprised. Bjorn usually only dreamt of roast duck and violence.
"You have seen the slate," Bjorn continued, his voice booming. "The way of the Builder is different from the way of the Warrior."
Bjorn cleared his throat and began to list the points Ragnar had made him memorize.
"Mandatory Service: From now on, the wounded do not sulk in the tents. They serve full-time. As compensation, they get second pick of the loot after the warriors, but before the dogs.
Drills: We do not practice shield walls. We practice the 'Cut.' A straight line is holy. A crooked line is treason.
Specialization:
The Heavy Lifters: For the men with strong backs but slow minds. They move the timber.
The Joiners: For the men with nimble fingers. They fit the joints.
The Ballistics Team: For the men who can count past ten. They load the rocks."
Bjorn paused to drink from his horn, looking very important. King Horik was listening intently, tapping his finger on the table.
"These are the laws Ragnar has written," Bjorn finished. "Are there doubts?"
Multiple hands went up. Ragnar sighed.
Jarl Sigurd raised his hand again. "Where do they learn this? We are on a beach in England, not in a schoolhouse."
Ragnar nodded and motioned for him to sit.
"Are there any other comments?" Ragnar inquired.
Starkad, the raider, raised a hand. "You say a man with one leg can build a machine. But can he defend it? If the Saxons come, my warriors have to baby-sit your carpenters."
"Valid point," Ragnar said, "which I have already considered."
Ragnar handed over another slate. This one detailed the formation of the Academy of the Stick.
"Like the warrior training grounds, the Builder's Academy will be established right here on the dunes," Ragnar explained.
Formation of the Academy of the Stick:
Admissions: Any man who cannot hold a shield but can hold a saw is admitted. Admission is free. The cost is your pride.
The Curriculum:
Level 1: The Apprentice. You learn to use the Ragnar Unit (the stick). You learn to cut wood without chopping off your toes.
Level 2: The Journeyman. You learn leverage. You learn why a triangle is stronger than a square. You learn to assemble the Torsion Spikes.
Level 3: The Master. You learn ballistics. You learn to look at a castle wall and see a pile of rubble that just hasn't fallen yet.
Physical Fitness: The Builders will not run. They will lift. We will implement 'The Squat' and 'The Team Lift' to ensure backs do not break under the weight of the siege engines.
Standardization Drill: Every morning, the Builders will line up and measure a standard log. If the log varies by more than a fingernail's width, the entire squad starts over.
"And finally," Ragnar pointed to the bottom of the slate, "The Safety Department. Because a dead carpenter builds nothing. I am appointing Leif the Smith to head this. He will ensure nobody stands behind the trebuchet when it fires."
Leif, standing in the back, bowed awkwardly, his face smeared with soot.
"And for Morale," Ragnar continued, "to ensure these men remember they are still Vikings and not just furniture makers... I nominate Princess Gyda."
The room went silent. Gyda, who had been quietly peeling her apple, looked up. Her eyes sparkled.
"Me?" she asked, amused.
"You have the sharpest eyes," Ragnar said. "You will inspect the work. If a machine is ugly or weak, you have the royal authority to burn it. They will work hard to please a Princess."
Gyda stood up and bowed mockingly. "I accept. I will be a harsh critic."
Ragnar turned back to the room. "Now, hear this. From this day on, any Builder, no matter if he was a thrall or a Jarl before his injury, can climb the ladder. A Master Builder outranks a common warrior within the shipyard."
"What?!" Sigurd choked on his ale. "A thrall outranking a freeman?"
"Inside the yellow tape of the construction zone," Ragnar said firmly, "Logic is the only King. If the thrall knows the math and the freeman does not, the freeman carries the wood."
Silence hung in the air. It was a radical, dangerous idea.
Then, King Horik started to clap.
"I like it," the King laughed. "It upsets the natural order. It is chaotic. And if it gives me York, I don't care if a goat is in charge of the hammer."
The other Jarls, seeing the King's approval, grudgingly joined in.
"Looks like there is no problem," Ragnar muttered to himself, collapsing internally with relief.