Seeing Greencloak's hesitation, Siowulf guessed the reason: Halfdan had been wounded in the left arm by an arrow, presumably from this fellow.
"Relax, lord. His Majesty has declared a pardon for all Welsh nobles who submit, and you are naturally among them. Well, I suppose."
Clutching the back of his head, Siowulf hesitated more and more, turning to Oleg "Hundred-Blooded."
"Listen, why are you looking at me?" Oleg, the newly minted commander of the guard and a knight, was of insignificant origin, and he did not dare insult Halfdan.
He could only answer ambiguously: "His Majesty has instructed me to attend the oath ceremony and pardon all the nobles present. I have done all that. The rest is not my business. As the commander of this operation, Vig is the most suitable person for this request."
+!
The fighting and pacification were grueling enough, so why was this terrible task entrusted to me?
Vig narrowed his eyes and looked over the body of "White-Haired" Oleg, as if looking for a suitable place to put his knife.
At this moment, two more minor nobles came out to ask Ragnar about the Welsh who defeated Halfdan and Aethelwulf.
Their questions put all the nobles on guard, and many of them began to doubt the sincerity of the Vikings.
Sensing the instability of the situation, Vig sternly asked Oleg "White Hair": "Your Majesty has declared a pardon for the Welsh nobles who are ready to surrender. Are there any conditions?"
"Well, I think I didn't hear."
Vig gripped the hilt of the Dragon Breath Sword with his right hand and approached him: "Didn't you hear or not? As a messenger,
you can't convey even the simplest message?"
His face lit up with a murderous aura, and Oleg "White Hair" quickly repeated Ragnar's words:
"Vig fought well. The Welsh are ready to surrender. Oleg, as an envoy, you accept their oath of allegiance on my behalf, forgive all nobles who are ready to surrender, and be as kind as you can. The kingdom cannot bear any more wars."
With a heavy sigh, Vig asked Wells to translate and pass on the words, declaring that Greencloak and the others were also to be pardoned.
However, after this ordeal, Greencloak and the other two leaders were becoming increasingly worried. "Are you prepared to guarantee that Halfdan will not become Duke of Wales or Governor?"
Vig froze in place. "Gentlemen, as Lord of Tyneburg, I have no right to decide who should be granted the title of Duke of Wales."
He turned back to Oleg. "What is your Majesty's position? Are there any rumors in the palace? Tell me!"
The situation deteriorated rapidly, and Oleg was terrified. "Some of the maids secretly suggested that Halfdan might become Duke of Wales. However, according to rumors spread by several guards, Halfdan's succession seems unlikely."
Hearing their conversation, Theowulf sighed in pain. It seemed like a normal swearing-in ceremony had turned into a farce. It was terribly unpleasant.
As time went on, the atmosphere became more and more eerie. Finally, Rhodri suggested: "Shrike (Greencloak) and the other two chieftains fear retribution from the future Duke. Why not move north? Halfdan cannot be trusted, but at least trust Lord Vegur's promise."
In Rhodri's vision, Shrike and the other two chieftains were to move north. Their remaining lands would be southeast of Marath Fal, a perfect opportunity for him.
He thought, "Shrike gets protection, I get land, and Vegur gets loyal followers. All three win. Ha ha, I'm a genius."
Shrike and the other two chieftains discussed the offer for a few minutes. "From the Serpent of the North's behavior over the past few months, he has a rare quality among Vikings – a combination of self-control and rare talent. He is truly a wise and virtuous lord. What do you think?" "
I agree." "So do I."
As the three swore their oaths of fealty, all eyes turned to Vegur. If he lacked even that much sincerity, perhaps they should all reconsider their earlier promises.
"You have wronged me, you have truly wronged me."
Vig sighed, looking up to the heavens, then drew his Dragon Breath Sword and motioned for the three to kneel. "I, Vig Tinburg, accept your oath of fealty in the presence of the gods, and swear to grant you my personal protection and a suitable estate for each of you."
Twenty miles northwest of Tinburg were endless mountains and hills, providing
them with ample room to graze sheep, hunt, and farm.
After a moment's thought, Vig proposed that the three tribes be exempt from taxes, requiring them to pay a small annual tribute in furs.
In times of war, they would serve and form a troop of mountain infantry, specializing in reconnaissance and pursuit.
"How many are there?" Shrike asked. "My tribe is two thousand, and each tribe fourteen hundred."
The total number was less than five thousand, of which a little over a thousand were young and fighting. Had Halfdan and Aethelwulf been defeated by these very people?
Wig concluded that Aethelwulf had deliberately lost the previous war. Poor Halfdan, who had been kept in the dark, had even tried to intercede for him.
"Go back and lead your men to pack. We leave in two weeks. It is a long-standing tradition that new settlers are exempt from taxes for two years and need not worry about food."
"As you command," Shrike and the other two chieftains nodded.
At last the noisy ceremony of swearing in was over.
Five days later, Vig went to Londinium to report for duty.
The Palace Hall.
As High King of Britain, Ragnar had become even more splendid and opulent. A magnificent throne rose on five steps. On it was a golden crown and a scarlet velvet cloak, elaborately embroidered with gold thread.
On the lower four steps were two seats. On the right sat the graceful and stern Queen Thora, and on the left sat the second queen, Aslachi. A line of palace guards surrounded the steps, keeping an eye on the nobles and officials on either side of the hall.
After spending more than ten minutes looking through the battle reports and the list of surrendered, Ragnar couldn't help but sigh:
"The terms you propose are too lenient. It will take a hundred years to recoup the cost of the war. Alas, for these rebels, that's too cheap."
Ragnar didn't want to accept it, but Vig finally achieved a nominal victory, shocking the Pangru people in the country. After a long struggle, he reluctantly accepted reality.
"So what reward do you want?"
Hearing this, Queen Thora, who was sitting on Ragnar's right, became suspicious.
Currently, Ivar is trapped in Ireland and cannot get out, Bjorn spends his time on a deserted and cold island and has fallen into debauchery. The third son, Halfdan, was defeated in battle and has lately been leading a dissolute life and becoming depressed. The Welsh lands should belong to his son, the fourth, Ubber.
She cleared her throat, intending to refute Wyg's claim to the Welsh lands. Unexpectedly, Wyg replied indifferently: "It is my duty as a vassal to serve the monarch. If you wish to reward me in some way, how about it? I am planning to attack the northern border. If you are willing to provide military means, that would be great."