After the messenger had hesitated and finished his terms, Vig accepted them fully and ordered his soldiers to light a fire near the dock.
"Go back and tell Sivir that if you have not surrendered by the time the fires are out, the name of Gwynedd will cease to exist."
More than ten minutes later, King Sivir walked alone to the dock. Seeing Rhodri at Vig's side, he was shocked. "You shameless wretch, have you really gone over to the Vikings?"
Rhodri rolled his eyes at his old acquaintance's insults and turned to face the sea, unwilling to say another word.
Having dealt with the two families, Vig, feeling that the atmosphere had settled sufficiently, returned to Marathall with the two kings and sent envoys to invite nobles from all sides.
During his stay, Vig had some free time to observe the local production. Welsh agricultural technology was backward, and a system of "inheritance by hammer" was practiced. Over time, the average size of the farmers' landholdings had decreased. Not surprisingly, they often raided Mercia, located to the east.
"The root cause of the raids is poverty. Well, we must solve this problem. Otherwise, in a few years they will rise again in rebellion, and I will be responsible for it."
Vig was looking for a way to distract the Welsh natives and prevent war for at least five years. After much thought, he decided to teach them how to clear the marshes and reclaim the wastelands.
As local farmers looked on incredulously, thousands of Vikings headed to the southwestern marshes, hoes in hand, digging a network of ditches to channel the accumulated water eastward into the River Severn.
In addition, some areas were low-lying, preventing natural drainage. Vig, having studied ancient texts, combined Persian vertical-axis windmills, Roman Archimedes screws, and water wheels to build a drainage mill some ten meters high.
"Everyone disperse! Do not disturb my work," he ordered, sending the bored peasants away. Vig tried to start the mill. Around midday, a mountain wind blew, clattering the four large sails.
At the foot of the mill, muddy water gushed from a network of man-made ditches. The ditches crisscrossed, dividing the swamp into wet grids. Many Viking warriors, standing barefoot, shoveled mud from the bottom of the ditches to the sides, splashing onto their feet and forming a dark brown crust. Every now and then, a frog would jump out of the grass and dive with a splash into the yellow-brown water of the canal.
Inside the mill, huge wooden gears meshed with a shaft, transmitting the force of the wind to a screw pump below. The iron pump was inserted at an angle into the water. As the screw pump turned, the water from the canal gradually rose up the iron pipe and burst out of a wooden trough at the top.
Experience showed that the power of one windmill was limited, raising the water level by only one meter. So Vig employed a multi-stage drainage system, building three windmills to gradually lift the water from the canal into higher beds, eventually flowing down a natural slope into the River Severn.
Over time, the surface of the bog gradually receded, revealing cracked black mud where the reeds had once floated. Wild ducks flapped their wings as they flew away.
The Vikings then filled the exposed areas with clay and planted willows along the edges to stabilise the soil and prevent further waterlogging.
Once the task of clearing the bog was nearly complete, Vig suggested to Rhodri that they sow grass seed, improve the soil with wood ash and manure from grazing, and then, after a few years, return it to farmland. Seeing this vast expanse of newly reclaimed land, Rhodri was delighted but also puzzled. "Why?"
Vig yawned. "The master is kind-hearted and cannot bear to see the poor suffer."
So far only 500 acres had been cleared, the equivalent of a medium-sized estate. There were still countless silted-up marshes to clear across Powys, and Rhodri had a tight schedule. The clearing
took over a month, during which time several Welsh gentry arrived in Marathaar, became familiar with the windmill drainage technology and spontaneously took an interest in its application.
Wig looked at their expressions and sighed with relief. For a long time at least, the Welsh would be busy improving the land, leaving no time for plunder.
Even if Wales cleared the marshes and greatly increased its power, and some of the nobles decided to resort to military action, the only losses would be Mercia to the east and Wessex to the southeast. They would not pursue Tynecastle to the north.
"Early in the sixth century, the Britons were defeated by the invading Angles. Some of them fled to the western mountains, calling themselves Welsh. The Welsh and the Angles are old enemies. Let them continue their feuds; in any case, it is no concern of mine."
On September 20, Ragnar appointed Oleg Hundred-Strikes as ambassador to Marathon to receive the oaths of fealty from the Welsh nobles.
On a gentle slope behind the wooden fort, Rhodri had hastily arranged a meeting place, with elements of nature worship and druidism in its design. In the presence of the envoy, the nobles swore never to rebel again.
After the ceremony, the scribes spent two hours recording the details of thirty-five nobles, both great and small. Since "White-Haired" Oleg could not read Latin, he could only pretend to leaf through the list, completely unaware that he was holding it upside down.
"Let me see,"
Vig took the list and turned to the last page. This group of men paid a total of three hundred furs and three hundred barrels of salt fish annually. In silver terms, this was less than one percent of the military expenditure!
From an economic point of view, Ragnar had undoubtedly suffered enormous losses. From a political point of view, he had barely managed to compensate for the consequences of Halfdan's defeat by nominally acquiring a number of vassals, which was the break-even point.
After Oleg had finished conveying the pardon, the young nobleman in the green cloak asked:
"There are rumors that Ragnar is going to appoint his son Duke of Wales. Is this true?"
Oleg replied: "I do not know. I am only conveying a decree to pardon all Welshmen who submit, and I am not responsible for anything else."
The green cloak turned to Vig: "Sir, are you the one receiving this title?"
By this time, the nobles had become convinced of the abilities of the North Snake, both as a warrior and as a lord of the land. If they had to choose a ruler, he would be the most suitable.
"Do not speculate. It is not my business,"
Vig firmly rejected the rumors. The lands of Wales were divided among the nobles. Even if he became Duke,
he would not have a proper territory under his direct rule. He would be a mere figurehead, like the Emperor of Zhou and Emperor Xian of Han, at the mercy of Rhodri and his ilk.
He believed that Ragnar would never tolerate a vassal who held both Wales and the North (Scotland). He would have to choose one.
In a comparison of the two options, the North's abundant coal and iron resources, as well as easy access to Scandinavian immigrants, far outweigh Wales's rugged terrain and remoteness.
Greencloak grew increasingly uneasy at his answer. In his anxiety, he even approached Theowulf and offered him a silver armband as a bribe.
"Sir, I have recently been gathering information from the merchants. They say Ragnar has five sons. The eldest and second sons each hold fiefs. It is likely that Wales will go to one of the remaining three. Do you think Halfdan is capable of becoming Duke of Wales?"
Theowulf sighed as he refused the gift. "I am but a nobleman who surrendered less than two years ago. Do you think I am worthy of participating in such an important decision?"
Noticing the unusual reaction of his interlocutor, he asked: "You are agonizing over whether Halfdan should become Duke of Wales. Is there any special reason?"