The Frankish land is fertile, the climate is mild, and its natural conditions are far superior to those of other European countries. Charles the Bald would not hesitate to offer even the smallest amount of money if it meant peace.
Ella, listening to the conversation between the two men, kept an impassive expression on her face. Although he hated the Vikings outside the city with a passion, as an exiled nobleman enjoying free food and drink, he had no right to question his lord's decision and could only sit back and wait.
Upon learning that Lamberto was planning to leave the city, a group of noblewomen, who had received the news out of nowhere, gathered outside his house, begging him to go to the prisoner of war camp and help gather information.
Realizing that their emotions were about to collapse, Lamberto pulled himself together and assumed a dignified appearance.
"Ladies, I will let Ragnar know that he will treat the captured nobles with respect."
Pushing his way through the crowd, Lamberto reached the bridgehead on the southern bank, and then walked to the siege camp.
To his surprise, the Vikings guarding the camp gates did not bother him, apparently ready to negotiate with the Franks.
After waiting for about ten minutes, Lamberto followed the guards to the most prominent tent of the camp. Inside, a middle-aged man in a crown was reading, and next to him stood a young interpreter.
The interpreter relayed the words of the host in Latin: "Please sit down."
Once seated, Lamberto straightened up and solemnly delivered Charles the Bald's peace offer: the withdrawal of troops and five years of non-aggression.
Soon the interpreter relayed Ragnar's demands: 30,000 pounds of silver and 1,000 warhorses; only if these conditions were met would the siege be ended.
"Your Majesty, we do not have much money," Lamberto said miserably. "Even if you attack Paris, no matter the losses, you will not be able to plunder these immense treasures. Moreover, if Paris falls and the king dies, the nobles will elect a new king to continue the fight. Your army will not be able to withstand a long war of attrition and will eventually be forced to retreat to Britain."
According to the information he had gathered, Ragnar, having captured Winchester the year before, had decided to spare Aethelwulf and allow him to continue to rule. He was a sensible Norman leader.
If all went according to plan, this peace treaty had at least a 70% chance of success.
The first round of negotiations ended at noon. The price difference between the parties was too great, and Lamberto, having no authority, was forced to take his leave and return to the city.
Before leaving, he was allowed to visit a prisoner-of-war camp to the south. It was originally a village where the Vikings forced the prisoners to build houses and surround them with a wall, maintaining a strict regime. However, the prisoners seemed well-behaved and, apparently, were not subjected to cruelty.
After inspecting them, Lamberto proposed improving the lives of the noble prisoners, but was met with a cold look from the head of the guard. "Hey, it's good enough here to drink multigrain porridge. Don't tempt fate. Do you think Ragnar will care about such a trifle?" "
Of course it will, because it affects his interests. Or rather, the interests of the entire Viking army."
Then Lamberto explained the Frankish tradition to the captain of the guard:
After capture, nobles must be treated with dignity and they have the right to demand a ransom. The ransom is equal to 24 years of income.
(Note: In 1193, King Richard I, known as the Lionheart of England, was captured and paid a ransom of 150,000 Holy Roman marks, the equivalent of 34 tons of silver, or 97,000 pounds sterling at the time! This cost the royal family three years of income.)
"Peace negotiations are a done deal. Remember: if a nobleman is accidentally killed, you, the common soldiers, will not be held responsible for it."
"Really? You, don't shut me up." The captain of the guard panicked at this threat. Some time ago, someone had indeed accidentally killed the count's nephew, and two other nobles had died of their wounds.
That was a disaster.
If the prisoners were connected with the silver, the authorities would not tolerate it. The captain of the guard, forcing himself to remain calm, sent the messenger away and thought for a long time in the shade of a tree. Finally, he found Ragnar and confessed the truth to him.
Meanwhile, Lamberto returned to the Ile de la Cité and faithfully conveyed the Normans' demands.
"Your Majesty, Ragnar is not interested in our lands. He is only interested in booty. He demands 30,000 pounds of silver and 1,400 war horses."
Pfft!
Karl spat out the red wine that had spilled from his mouth. "Is that all? This poor Norman is so ignorant, causing me so much trouble for such a paltry sum."
He took the silk handkerchief offered by the maid, wiped his mouth twice, and threw it away.
"Tomorrow you will have to leave the city again. Do not agree so easily. Remember to negotiate with the other side first."
"Understood."
The next day, Lamberto returned to Ragnar's tent and stated that the royal family could only offer ten thousand pounds of silver and five hundred horses. As for the ransom for the nobles, it would probably be six or seven thousand pounds and several hundred warhorses.
Ragnar frowned at the flushed Frankish dwarf. Was Charles the Bald in such a predicament that he could not find even such a small sum?
He ordered the guards to take the messenger aside and called a meeting of the high chieftains.
Ten minutes later, Ragnar looked around at the scattered figures and asked incredulously, "Where are the others?"
"Nils and Orm are hunting nearby, Ivar is leading a detachment to intercept the surrounding reinforcements, Siowulf is praying in the village church, Gunnar is training the horses, and Vig is scouting the forest twenty miles to the southeast..."
In short, two-thirds of the high command were idle. Ragnar was completely silent. After a short discussion with the few remaining
they decided to raise the price to twenty thousand pounds of silver and fifteen hundred warhorses. In
an oak forest southeast of Paris
Vig, led by a local, came to a circular clearing and looked at a crystal clear spring. "Is this Fontainebleau?"
He stroked his hand in the water, but found nothing remarkable. He sighed and took out a pen and paper to write down what he had seen.
"Alas, all in vain. What a waste of time."
After this disappointing journey, Vig returned to the siege camp and learned the terms of the agreement from Ragnar. "Your Majesty, why don't you ask for more?"
Ragnar tossed him a written letter, which Vig skimmed from beginning to end. "Halfdan was defeated? It's just…"
Considering that Halfdan was Ragnar's son, Vig suppressed a grin. "Well, there's still much to do at home. Better get back soon."
To be honest, amassing such a huge fortune in less than two months of campaigning was far more profitable than the wars in Mercia and Wessex last year, especially with fifteen hundred Frankish warhorses. Judging by his recent exploits, he could lay claim to at least a hundred.
Silently counting his share of the spoils, Vig bowed and withdrew, preparing to return to writing "The Frankish Wars."
At that moment, Ragnar suddenly called out to him: "You destroyed the main forces of West Frankia in a single battle at the gates of Paris. Such an achievement is worthy of being passed down from generation to generation. I intend to make you a duke. What do you think of Wales?"
In the presence of Pascal and the other nobles, Vig instinctively refused: "I am more accustomed to the northern climate. It so happens that the Picts often raid my village, and I intend to seize the northern border and completely eradicate this scourge..."
When Vig had finished, Ragnar readily agreed to his request, raising him to Duke of Tyneburg, which gave him nominal authority over the entire North.
The North's terrain was harsh, its climate relatively cold, and its native Picts exceptionally fierce, so offering them an empty title was a perfect deal.
After elevating Vig to the throne, Ragnar also raised Ivar to Duke of Durfelin, which gave him nominal authority over all of Ireland.
Ivar readily accepted the offer. He saw little difference between a Duke and an Earl; the locals would not swear allegiance to him for the sake of a title alone, and the necessary battles would be fought.
After the enthronement ceremony, Ivar muttered to himself:
"I have spent too much time with Thora, Pascal, Goodwin, and the others. The old man is becoming more cunning. I wonder what new tricks he will come up with in the future?"
For the next few days, Vig remained in his tent, working on The West Frankish War. As he was finishing the last chapter, he heard from his subordinates a report of a Viking fleet approaching from downriver, bearing the banner of King Eric, with a sword and axe flying from it.