Free Web NovelChapter 44: Chapter 38: Plunder is Better Than Toil
"Uncle Alette, I..."
"Never mind. It’s no use talking about that now. Let me see your wound."
"It’s nothing. My wound is already bandaged."
As he spoke, Alette pulled Lagman into a nearby tent, where he could see Lagman’s arm clearly by candlelight.
The so-called bandage was just a strip of ragged cloth.
Alette took a pair of scissors from a box and cut the cloth strip. As he carefully peeled it away, Lagman twitched. The tattered rag and other fabric had fused with his flesh and blood.
Alette stopped, took a scorching hot stone from the campfire, and placed it on a waterskin, which began to boil and swell. He then poured the hot water over Lagman’s arm, rubbing it gently.
Lagman gritted his teeth and endured the pain. Finally, the strip of cloth and the inner sleeve came off.
"Are you kidding me? You’ve lost a lot of blood."
"I’m sure you’ve seen worse. Didn’t you say it’s normal for a Viking Warrior to shed blood?"
"That doesn’t mean you should throw your life away for nothing. Do you still want this arm?"
"I think so. My Sword still yearns for this arm." Lagman said with a smile and a shrug.
"I can’t even be bothered to scold you. I really don’t know why our Crowan Clan produced someone like you."
Alette took a few flowers from the box—chamomile. He crushed them forcefully and applied them to Lagman’s arm.
"Why are there so many people on the island today? Did something happen?"
"The Hebrides Islands have fallen. Adventurers from all over have flocked here. Sigurd, the Earl of Orkney, has decided to do something big."
"Something big?"
"Yes. It’s bandaged now. You brat."
He then wrapped the wound with a proper bandage.
"Thank you, Uncle Alette. I feel much better. I’m going to see Harald." Lagman said as he started to get up.
"Better my ass! Harald is the firstborn son; he has plenty of people and the best doctors to look after him. Why are you so worried about him? You’re worried about your father, aren’t you?" Alette’s temper flared the moment he heard Harald’s name.
"No, Harald is my brother. Of course I’m worried about him. Of course... it’s also because of Father. He’s definitely going to chew me out later."
"I’d rather it was just the latter. Lagman, you need to step up! Lagman, tell me, when are you going to make your move?"
Alette grabbed Lagman by both arms and shook him.
Facing his uncle’s fiery gaze, Lagman averted his eyes, not daring to look at him directly.
A long moment passed.
"Say something! Say it! Don’t make me beg you, you bastard!"
"Uh, calm down, Uncle. How about I make you a bowl of Italian fettuccine? You can try some Lagman-fettuccine."
"Go fuck yourself!"
Lagman was kicked in the ass, sent flying out of the tent, and landed face-first in the dirt.
Alette even zipped the tent flap shut.
Lagman got to his feet, dusted off his rear, scratched the back of his head, and headed toward the palace.
It seemed this sort of scene had happened many times before.
Bright torches burned on the city gates. Lagman was surprised to see the main road was also lit, with a line of torchbearers stretching from the eastern gate to the end of the thoroughfare. He also noticed the shore was packed with longships; he had never seen so many vessels.
The great hall was well-lit, warm, and bright. It was unusually crowded compared to a normal day, filled with faces, many of them strangers.
’Is it just my imagination, or do they all seem ecstatic?’ Lagman wondered. ’Did something good happen?’
On the distant hearth, leftover pork, bones, and some slices of meat were skewered over the fire.
The moment he entered, dogs started barking. Several men and women rose from the benches to greet and embrace him.
He thanked them one by one, with a politeness uncharacteristic of a Viking.
He walked toward the council hall, where his father liked to be.
As he drew near, he heard a fierce argument from within.
"No, this is not what we agreed to, Sigurd!"
"Godred, look at the bigger picture. What’s a tiny place like the Hebrides Islands? What is there to plunder in places like Wales and Ireland, which are even poorer than we are? Godred, if you have even a drop of Boneless Ivar’s blood in you, you should agree with my idea.
The King of Denmark has already promised to assist us. I will march east from the Hebrides Islands and strike straight for Edinburgh, while Denmark pushes west from the east. We will silence those chattering Scots for good. Then, we will march south to Gavle, use it as a forward base, and retake York!"
"You madman! Sigurd, take your delusions and go to hell! The Man Island Warriors will not die for your daydream! You fool."
"What did you say?!"
Sigurd drew his blade immediately, and his retainers at his side drew their swords as well.
Lagman’s pupils contracted. He quickly drew the Longsword from his waist, rushed into the council hall, stood in front of his father, and placed the blade against Sigurd’s neck.
The scene instantly froze into a standoff.
Sigurd let out a sigh.
"Alright, I admit I was a bit rash, young man. But it was your father who first disrespected us Danish."
Sigurd pinched the edge of the Longsword with his fingers and gently moved it aside.
Lagman did not press the issue. frёeωebɳovel.com
"Godred, don’t get excited. I know what you’re thinking. You have to deal with a potential attack from the King of Norway. But think about it, what do you have now? A broken-down island, and the feeble forces of Dublin and Leinster?
How can you possibly stop the King of Norway? You’re the one who will be sending your Warriors to their deaths for nothing. What spoils can you give these Warriors of yours? The fish and sheep you raise? Or the table scraps you get from cheating passing merchants?"
Sigurd chuckled, then turned to face the surrounding Man Island Warriors. The noise from the council hall had already attracted many Warriors from the great hall.
A serious commotion began, with people murmuring amongst themselves. It was clear that many had been moved by Sigurd’s words.
Since the disastrous defeat at Clontarf in 1014, never had so many Vikings gathered on a single island. Nearly everyone was restless, feeling they were on the verge of unleashing a storm. (The Battle of Clontarf was the final showdown between Viking adventurers allied with the Dublin Vikings and the kings of Ireland. The battle was lost due to the flight of a certain Viking leader.)
"Brave Viking Warriors! We are all gathered here today, so please, hear me out. For most of my life, I have been in Denmark and Norway. I know nothing but war. That is why I came from Denmark to the Isles of Britain.
I would rather kill Anglo-Saxons, Ireland People, and Franks than kill my own kin. I believe this is why most of you have come here as well. We undoubtedly possess noble character. Our long retreat in Britain was not because we are weak, but because we are too keen on killing each other.
If I must fight, then I will fight for land! I will fight for my kin, for Norway, for Denmark! I will fight for the permanent peace we hope to achieve and pass it on to our children and grandchildren, for generations to come!
Let me stir the great waves! Let the fear brought by the great Lannar, Hafdan, Ivar, and Ubi reappear in Britain! Sol, grant us Power!"
Sigurd spread his arms wide. As his words fell, a thunderous storm of applause and cheers erupted almost instantly, both inside and outside the council hall.
People shouted, "For Denmark, for Norway!"
"Permanent peace!!!"
"To take is better than to toil!!!"
"Sol, grant us Power!!!"
The roars were like a tidal wave, making one’s ears ache.
"I admire your goal. I too wish to leave a strong and lasting Kingdom for my children and grandchildren, which is precisely why I cannot let my men join you," Godred said loudly, realizing he could no longer remain silent.
"Is that so? What if the King of Norway defeats you? Then you will have nothing. If you join me, your son could also get extra land. Isn’t that right, Lagman?" Sigurd seemed to know Lagman.
"You know me?"
"Of course. I held you in my arms when you were a child. Besides, your father and I are dear friends." Sigurd said, extending his hand to Lagman.
Lagman habitually started to reach out.
But he was yanked back by Godred.
"Get the hell out, Sigurd! I have the right to decide my son’s future!"
"Don’t be so emotional, Godred. I’m willing to wait for your answer, but you’d better be quick. I’m afraid the Warriors can no longer wait."
Sigurd smiled smugly, turned, and cheered with the Warriors behind him. He was thronged and escorted out like a hero.
The crowd receded with him.
The council hall fell into a dead silence.
Lagman felt it would be better to say something. He reached out his hand.
"Father..."
But what he received was a slap across the face.
"You stubborn fool! Why would you bother with courtesy with an arrogant bastard like him? Damn it, Sigurd, that animal of an animal, a dog of a warlord."
"I am sorry for everything that happened."
"Is there anything else you want to say?"
"Harald was injured by a wolf pack. And... he fought beautifully."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, that’s all."
"Alright. You are an idiot. It’s true you really aren’t suited to be a King. But as a father, I am proud of you. May God bless you, my child."
...
In the prison cell.
Leif gnawed on a piece of bread while explaining to Eric how sturdy the cell was and how impossible it was to escape the Isle of Man.
"Even if we get these chains off, the chance of escape is slim. And don’t count on me, these handcuffs have been specially reinforced..."
Before Leif could finish his sentence, there was a CLINK.
The handcuffs locked on his wrists fell to the ground.
"Even so, my leg irons..."
The leg irons came loose and fell to the ground.
"Even if they’re all off, this door is..."
A blinding ray of sunlight shone in, nearly dazzling Leif.
Eric was holding the cell door, looking at Leif with a puzzled expression.
"Without manpower, hey, hey, wait, wait, wait!"
Leif guessed what Eric was about to demonstrate, and he quickly wrapped his arms around Eric’s waist, dragging him back into the cell.
"Master, please, stop with the divine powers."
"It seems there are quite a few people on this island, then."
From Leif’s reaction, Eric guessed that the number of prisoners here was completely incomparable to the number of soldiers on the island.
’This is big trouble.’
"We have to get through the next two days. There’s a big operation on the Isle of Man, and a lot of people have gathered. In a few days, we might be used as slave soldiers to fill their ranks."
