On August 21, Vig's army arrived at Londinium. The city gates stood wide open, and there were no defenders on the battlements.
By his orders, the field infantry battalion entered the city first, followed by the First and Second Infantry Regiments. After confirming that there was no ambush inside, Vig rode his gray horse through the gates, returning to the city he had been away from for two years.
According to accounts from local residents, two days earlier Gunnar had ordered a bishop to baptize Princess Enya, hastily holding a coronation ceremony and proclaiming her Queen of the Kingdom of Britannia.
Immediately afterward, the main Frankish force embarked from the southern docks and withdrew by ship. Fearing interception at sea, Gunnar personally led his direct retainers to Hastings, where they boarded ships and returned to the continent.
"A queen?" Vig yawned. "What's the point of tormenting a little girl?"
Escorted by guards, he entered the royal palace. Large pools of dried blood stained the outer walls, and thick smoke had blackened the stone. Inside, the palace lay in utter ruin. Several wells were filled with the corpses of maids and civilians.
"This place is uninhabitable now." Vig shook his head and ordered the army to organize the populace to dispose of the bodies properly, to prevent outbreaks of disease.
Entering the great hall, he found it completely empty. Everything—window glass, candelabra, even the throne itself—had been dismantled and carried off. Annoyed, he nonetheless found the situation faintly amusing.
"So be it. Out with the old, in with the new. From today on, the entire British Isles rest on my shoulders. There may be nothing left here, but at least I don't have to repay forty thousand pounds of debt."
At that moment, a voice rose from the crowd. "Prime Minister—no, Your Majesty—there are some debts you must repay."
Vig turned to see an old subordinate from years past, the prime minister's secretary, Loki. "You're still alive. Very well—let's talk about these debts. Why must some of them be repaid?"
Loki replied, "Earlier, to raise funds, Paphis issued something called credit notes. People paid one pound and were promised one point six pounds after three years. Many buyers were minor nobles from the crown lands. To secure their loyalty, I advise Your Majesty to consider this carefully."
Credit notes? Who would have thought that eunuch had a talent for finance.
After some thought, Vig decided on a selective approach. If those minor nobles were still alive and willing to swear allegiance, he would compensate their losses as appropriate. The rest could be ignored.
As for this secretary—who had served three prime ministers in succession—Vig ordered him to remain in office for the time being, assisting Gudwin in maintaining order.
"Thank you for your trust, Your Majesty," Loki said.
Once the idle onlookers were dismissed, Vig summoned the senior officers. Looking at their barely restrained excitement, he responded calmly, "Gentlemen, I know what you're thinking. Leif, bring the maps."
Before long, Leif entered the hall carrying a stack of maps. Vig selected a detailed map of Britannia and pointed to the southwestern corner—Wessex.
"This," he said, "is the richest region in all of Britannia. It belongs to you."
Vig had only one policy toward Wessex—war. On the one hand, it was an unstable factor that had to be eliminated. On the other, it provided lands to reward merit. If Wessex were spared, he would be forced to satisfy Joren, Sparrowhawk, and others with royal demesne alone. What would that leave him? Wouldn't all his efforts amount to working for nothing?
Staring at the Wessex region, Sparrowhawk's breathing quickened. "Your Majesty—when do we strike?"
"Tomorrow," Vig replied. "Londinium is in ruins—there's nothing worth staying for. Leave two thousand auxiliary troops behind to clear the rubble and gather the dead. Once they're finished, I'll return."
The next day, Vig appointed Baron Viper as acting governor. He then led the remaining eight thousand troops upstream along the Thames, reaching Reading after two days' march.
The wooden palisade still flew Wessex's yellow dragon banner. Vig had no interest in negotiations and ordered the troops to dig trenches and construct siege works.
In September, six cog ships appeared on the river near Reading, using heavy deck-mounted ballistae to bombard the palisade. (Years earlier, Ragnar had spent vast sums rebuilding the Thames stone bridge, including a section of wooden decking that could be raised to allow ships to pass upstream and down.)
Observing the oddly shaped ballistae, Sparrowhawk commented, "Their accuracy is good, but their power can't match counterweight trebuchets. Against stone walls, the latter are far superior. By the way, where's the rest of our fleet? Why haven't they come?"
Torja folded his arms and replied casually, "More than six thousand Frankish soldiers fled Londinium by ship. With no unified command and trying to avoid storms, they scattered everywhere. Joren is leading the fleet to capture prisoners—last I heard, they'd already taken over eight hundred."
After two days of bombardment, several breaches opened in Reading's northern palisade. Vig ordered a general assault. More than a thousand soldiers rowed longboats toward the riverbank, storming into the city in small units for street fighting. After suffering over a hundred casualties, they took the town.
Having captured Reading, Vig marched southeast toward Winchester. As he surveyed the countryside along the road, he felt an inexplicable sense of déjà vu, as though he had returned to more than a decade earlier.
Arriving at the outskirts of Winchester, he gazed at the lush reeds along the River Itchen and the gray-green wild ducks drifting on the water. The feeling grew stronger, as if he were still the Count of Tyneburg, Ragnar's siege commander.
Reflecting on the past, Vig felt a touch of melancholy. He handed off the mundane work of setting up camp to his subordinates and went fishing by the river to pass the time.
That afternoon, an envoy from the city found him, announcing that Æthelbad wished to surrender and continue ruling as Duke of Wessex.
As the float on his fishing line suddenly sank, Vig lifted the rod and reeled in, replying impatiently, "Ragnar preserved Wessex because he expanded too rapidly and couldn't control all the newly gained territory. The situation is different now. My army expects land, and only Wessex can satisfy them."
The line was nearly in, and Vig scooped a lively river fish from the water with a net.
"I've been campaigning for so long—I haven't had fish soup in ages." He removed the hook and dropped the fish into an empty wooden bucket beside him.
Seeing the envoy hesitate, Vig pointed at the bucket. "Back then, Ragnar caught too many fish. One called 'Wessex' didn't fit in the bucket, so he released it. Now my bucket holds only this one fish. What reason do I have to let it go?"
Realizing Vig's resolve, the envoy returned to Winchester to report the grim news to his king.
"Fish?" Æthelbad raged. "That barbarian dares compare my kingdom to a river fish?"
With all hope extinguished, Æthelbad collapsed onto his throne, drowning himself in wine to escape the cold, brutal reality.
By mid-October, Winchester fell. The Viking army crushed the defenders, and Wessex—restored for less than half a year—was utterly destroyed.
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