He listened to Bjorn's words without objection.
According to the generally accepted maritime customs, the captain's authority was unquestionable, and in extreme cases, violators of the order could be hanged. At dawn on the seventh day, the lookout
on
the square tower suddenly shouted:
"Look over there!"
The sea was covered with a thick layer of ice, low clouds, and in the distant sky a barely noticeable dark mass appeared - a flock of migratory birds.
Realizing that land was approaching, Bjorn ordered the crew to row. After two hours of sailing, an endless expanse of ice appeared ahead, white cliffs stretched to the sky, and ice floes of different sizes drifted across the sea.
"Slow down! Don't hit the ice floes!"
Björn ran to the bow and warned the helmsman to avoid any stray ice floes.
At three o'clock in the afternoon, the Explorer entered the nearest fjord, its keel crunching on the thin ice. To the leeward side, they found a patch of tundra dotted with the tracks of Arctic foxes.
Having landed, the sailors, working with their oars, pitched a makeshift tent and cast their fishing nets into the shallows, hoping to replenish their supplies of fresh meat.
While they were playing and joking, Helgi scooped up a handful of earth and whispered to Björn:
"The soil is too poor for growing crops. Much worse than in Northern Europe. We must find a more suitable place." After a
day's rest, the Explorer headed south along the coastline, rounding the southern tip, and spotted a patch of green deep in the fjord on the southwestern shore.
Pastures?
Björn laughed heartily. Even if they couldn't grow crops, they could at least graze cattle and sheep.
He anchored the Explorer offshore and chose a suitable, sheltered spot for camp. Lacking timber, they built stone walls and covered them with turf for a roof.
High above the fjord, Björn looked out over the vast white desert dotted with patches of green, and decided to give his new territory a name.
"Let's call it Greenland (Green Island)."
Sensing the confusion of the others, Bjorn offered the following explanation: a good name might attract more settlers.
Helgi: "I don't think it will make much difference. Britain and Normandy have vast fertile lands waiting to be developed, making them favorite targets for settlers. You've worked all these years, and Iceland has a population of only a thousand, 30% of whom are purchased slaves. Greenland, located to the west of Iceland, will take even fewer people..."
Suddenly, a crew member assigned to explore the interior of the island ran up to them, holding a half-meter-long milky-white tusk. "Head, there are huge herds of walruses on the nearby beaches, much more numerous than in Iceland."
In the Middle Ages, ivory was a luxury item, used to make walking sticks, jewelry boxes, chess sets, and other fancy accessories. There was a shortage of elephants in Western and Northern Europe, so walrus tusks were used instead.
Bjorn gathered his twenty men, and armed with crossbows and javelins, they moved forward. As they climbed the hillside, they spotted a beach in the distance, teeming with thousands of gray-brown walruses, like jagged rocks. The salty sea breeze caressed their thick, wrinkled skins, causing them to snore rhythmically.
"We've made a fortune! We've made a fortune!"
Bjorn signaled his men to approach slowly. With one volley, he killed eight walruses at the edge of the cliff. He then skinned them with a knife, collecting tusks and fat. After a long and difficult journey, he returned to the camp on the shore with his spoils.
The next day, Björn called his men to get up quickly, but found a group of natives wrapped in cloaks of animal skins near the camp. Their skin was rough, their faces pale yellow, and they danced excitedly, looking at the Vikings.
After a few minutes, Helgi frowned. "This is their hunting ground. It looks like they're chasing us away."
A quick glance revealed over two hundred men armed with bone harpoons, bone darts, and crescent-shaped stone knives.
Not wanting to provoke the locals, Björn offered them ale and iron knives as gifts.
The locals were quickly draining three barrels of ale. The leader slapped his chin and made a long gesture, as if proposing a deal: hunting rights in exchange for booze and Viking knives.
"Ha-ha, of course! Next time I'll bring more beer and iron tools in exchange for furs, walrus skin, and lard."
Bjorn gestured for the locals to inspect the quality of the iron knives, silently calculating the profit.
Import a barrel of beer from Taineburg, trade it for furs and other goods, and then sell it back to Taineburg, you could make a profit of at least 10-20 times the original cost!
The overwhelming success stunned Bjorn. Double, tenfold, a hundredfold. In the long run, wouldn't he be richer than the king?
Helgi tugged at his braid. "It's not that simple. Vig once said that in the short run, the more goods there are in supply, the lower their price. He called it "economics." "
Then sell them further south: to York, Londinium, Flanders, the Mediterranean!" Bjorn waved his hand, as if he considered this his life's work. "Make money, buy more ships, make more. One day, when my income exceeds my father's coffers, we'll see what he says."
Helgi was speechless. "As Ragnar's son, you have more than most people in the world. Is that necessary?"
Bjorn: "I am Bjorn first, and Ragnar's heir second. I work hard for all of this so that one day, when I am introduced, they will remember 'Iron Bones' Bjorn, and not 'Ragnar's second son' Bjorn."
Being the son of a legend is both an honor and a burden. Bjorn vowed to break out of his father's shadow and become another legend through his own efforts.
Helgi was moved by these words, too.
In recent years, whenever he met a new Viking, he would invariably ask: "Are you the brother-in-law of the Northern Serpent? How did the Northern Serpent destroy the West Franconian army in one battle?"
This statement left Helgi defenseless. He had joined Björn's expedition not for the money, but to prove that he was a true Viking warrior.
They sighed and heard a noise nearby. The natives, throwing down their beer and knives, retreated like a wave.
What was going on?
Björn questioned the crew, but received a rather amusing explanation: the natives were afraid of the sheep that the explorer was carrying. Having never seen sheep before, they mistook them for the cursed creature and fled in terror.
"Ha ha, these barbarians are so ignorant and make a fuss about nothing."
One of the sailors was mocking the natives. The next moment, he suddenly found a bone spear sticking out of his chest, with blood dripping from the tip.
"The enemy is attacking!"
Forty Vikings were hastily ambushed by an enemy that outnumbered them several times. More than half of them were killed or wounded. Bjorn ran quickly to the Explorer and ordered the crew to weigh anchor and put to sea.
Bjorn, looking at the screaming natives, became furious. He pointed to the shore and growled: "Stay where you are until I call for help!"
It was now late August, autumn was approaching, and the North Sea was becoming increasingly stormy. Bjorn planned to return next year for revenge.
"These fools! I can just borrow some money from Vig, buy four cogs, and recruit two or three hundred raiders. I don't think we can't handle these rowdy people."
Meanwhile, Vig, up north, sneezed. "Who scolds me?"
he grumbled, then pulled himself together and led his guard to Glasgow, where they encountered an unexpected incident.