The schools were full of grumbling Vikings learning the alphabet. The fields were being plowed by the new iron moldboards.
Ragnar sat in his office, staring at a report from Aethelwulf the Weasel. The report detailed a skirmish near the Mercian border where a shipment of "brittle swords" had been intercepted. Not by Mercians, but by a group of bandits who seemed to know exactly when the wagon was coming.
"We have spies." Ragnar muttered, tapping the paper.
He looked across the desk at Princess Gyda, the Prime Minister. She was currently auditing the monthly expenses for "Dragon Fire" (the Greek Fire mixture).
"We need an intelligence agency," Ragnar said. "A real one. Not just Bjorn asking people if they are suspicious."
Gyda didn't look up. "Being a spy is dishonorable. Vikings prefer to look their enemy in the eye before they kill them."
"That is why Vikings keep getting ambushed in swamps," Ragnar countered. "We need eyes in the dark."
