Legends Never Die: The Ripples of Change (ch. 121)
Added 2025-07-02 14:53:19 +0000 UTC“Hjalmar. That means helmeted warrior, aye? So… where's your helmet?” It took every ounce of willpower and a quick prayer to the gods to stop Hjalmar’s eyes from rolling right out of his head. That, and the fact that he was already utterly exhausted. Sweat dripped into his eyes and down his face with seemingly every movement. His back and legs ached from yesterday's long day of hard labor which today’s labor had only made worse.
“You’re hilarious. Really. Odin himself must have snatched every last wit in your head, but paid you back with jests,” Hjalmar replied, grunting as he dumped a load of dirt into an ever-growing pile. “You, and every other dunderhead that made that same joke.”
The retort got a round of laughs from the others nearby. They hardly had lungs full of air to laugh with, but despite the labor, they huffed and puffed with amusement. Spirits were high, as after near four months, they were nearly done with the construction. Their destination was in sight, and Hjalmar found himself glancing back at the progress that they had already made.
It was a road. Not just any road, but a great road. The King's Road. Wide enough to fit four wagons across, raised sides at the edges except for marked drainages that flowed into a ditch that was dug out. That excess dirt was usually shoveled ahead where the ground was uneven and needed to be leveled, joined by the dirt that was dug up for the roads themselves. He’d never imagined how much work went into a proper road.
But it was a lot of work. First, the path needed to be marked. The route was laid out using twine and stakes so they knew where they were going. Then, the road needed to be dug out for the layers that ran underneath the top. The bottom layer was packed dirt, and above it was layered stones. Above that was loose gravel underneath a layer of sand. Then came the heavy stones that were settled in place at the top.
As it was, a mile of road took about two to three weeks to build. Meaning that within the three months his labor crew had worked, they had built about four miles of the road that would stretch across Sjaelland. At the rate they were going, it would be decades before the project was completed.
But that was on the assumption that his crew was the only one building the great road.
In truth they were but one of many working the same job across all of Denmark. Not just Sjaelland, but all of Denmark. Each group was responsible for a portion of the road where their end point would meet the beginning point of another crew. With every individual part of the construction being further broken up -- there were the dig crews, which he was part of. Then there were the stone layers, and so on until you reached the final layer and the road could be called complete. It made the hard work fast with each group responsible for a part of the job, letting them work at their own pace without needing to worry about hold ups.
Within the first year, the framework of the roads would be completed. In the years that followed, branching roads would be added. In a few decades, Hjalmar didn't expect to see a single dirt road. King Siegfried seemed to find them deeply and personally offensive.
Hjalmar didn't really get it if he was being entirely honest, but the pay was good. Good enough that most didn't bother with a seasonal raid as the wages paid by King Siegfried were about as much as one could expect from a good raid.
“Quit your tongue wagging,” their overseer barked out, “We're in the final stretch and if I have to redo a foot of this road because you lot were slacking…” he let the threat go unfinished, but it had the intended effect. The workers continued to labor -- dirt was broken, shoveled and hauled away to and from the front of the road. There, it would be shifted for loose stones, sand, and clay which would make their way to the other crews.
Though, the silence didn't last too long. “That one is working us like a lot of thralls,” the jester remarked out of the corner of his mouth. His name was Trym. He was a decade older than Hjalmar, putting him in his late twenties compared to Hjalmar's late teens. Though he looked older, with white already streaking in his beard. He was a solidly built man, however, and because of it he was the one they usually left to break up the larger stones they discovered digging the road out.
“I hear the king is getting rid of slavery,” another man working down the line remarked. “Which is why he's got us working like thralls.”
“Is he? I thought he was putting some limitations on it?” Another asked.
“That's the right of it,” Hjalmar spoke up, stomping on the shovel and shifting the earth. “They aren't big changes, mind you. The biggest change is that thralldom can't be an inherited status, so children are born free.” Slavery also seemed to be something that the king had a personal distaste for. There were talks of other reforms -- that thralls could only be enslaved for a number of years before being granted their freedom, or that thralls were to receive a ‘half-wage’ for the work they did, allowing them to purchase their freedom.
Hjalmar hadn't heard anything beyond that, though, and as far as he could tell, the latter reforms hadn't been implemented. Yet.
“Seems strange,” Trym muttered. “Why’s he doing that?” He asked, looking at Hjalmar like he knew the king's reasons.
“How am I to know?” Hjalmar replied, giving an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.
“Because Odin gave you more than your fair share of wits,” Trym replied, making him blink at the compliment that was delivered like an insult. And, for all he knew, it was.
Still, he wasn't wrong. He did have a couple of guesses. “My guess is that slaves don't pay taxes,” he reasoned, and that got noises of acknowledgement down the line. “And there's not a king on Midgard that doesn't love their taxes.”
Thralls didn't generate any wealth of their own, only for their owners. That wealth could only be taxed so much before the owners became mutinous and started to look around for a new king. That, and Hjalmar reasoned that the king would get more in taxes from a hundred freemen than he would from a single thrall owner with a hundred thralls.
That wasn't to say that thralldom didn't have its own way of making profit. There were some things that could only be done by thralls -- such as mining. There were few mines in Denmark, but from what he’d heard about them… no sane man would delve into pitch black darkness to extract wealth from the realm of the dwarves. No sane… or free man, at least. Life for miners was often as short as it was hard, and no one would ever call mining easy labor. The king could triple his current wage, and Hjalmar would refuse to work in those small and cramped tunnels.
“Money. It all comes down to money,” Trym remarked, sounding entirely too amused for his own good. “Speaking of which, what are you lot going to be doing with yours once we get our pay?”
“Why bother asking?”
“Drinking?”
“And whoring.”
“And gambling!”
The answers came quickly down the line and Hjalmar snorted as they worked. The king paid them well from the monstrous hoard that he had claimed in his adventures in the ‘Mediterranean Sea.’ And with that wealth, he was remaking the kingdom. He built roads and cities like a child might build a sand castle, moved people about like they were toys he could move from one spot to another, and changed things down to the bedrock of the kingdom. All because he had the power to do so.
“You, helmetless warrior?” Trym asked, shooting him a grin.
“All three, of course,” Hjalmar replied, and the words were only half a lie. The remarks earned a cheer of agreement and they all looked forward to blowing through their months wage in a single night. The overseer cracked down on them once more, but their good cheer lasted until the very end of their shift. And towards the end, Hjalmar saw it. Both the road that they were meant to join with… and what the road led to.
Miklagard. Once it had been a city of legend that few believed had existed until King Siegfried had proven its existence, and in doing so, gave the mythical city a new name -- Constantinople. The new capital of Denmark had remained nameless for a time, but not for long. Not when the roads were laid, the foundations for buildings were settled and built upon. Before the very first month had passed, the capital of Denmark had received its name, long before it had finished. Miklagard, the Great City.
“We finished early,” Trym noted, looking off in the same direction as he did. “We could make the journey.”
“... Aye, we could,” Hjalmar agreed. The idea sounded far more appealing than going back to the work camp. Miklagard was quite the name, and Hjalmar was curious if it lived up to it. With that decision made, they all shuffled into the overseer’s tent, and it was there that they received their month’s wage. They stood in line, and over the course of an hour, each man received their pay.
Hjalmar ran his finger over a coin made of bronze. Amongst the very first things that King Siegfried had done once he conquered Denmark was to issue coins in his image. On one side was his portrait, though he noted it did a poor job of reflecting the king himself. On the back of the coin was a two-headed raven with its wings fanned out wide. The edges of the coin itself were of interest as they were ridged, making it rather difficult to shave off a little of the coin, as did the words written in runes around the sides, though he couldn’t read them.
There were five types of coins, though Hjalmar had only seen two of them. The lowest was made of copper, then bronze, then silver, then a larger silver coin, then a gold coin. Each one minted with different icons on the back of the coins to prevent others from mixing and matching. Coppers and bronze coins were what they received as pay -- a few coppers could get you a night at an inn, food, and drink.
Larger denominations, naturally, were reserved for the nobility and the rich. He wasn’t sure how true the rumors were, but it was said that one of King Siegfried’s gold coins was worth a thousand copper ones.
For a month’s worth of work, he had been paid a grand sum of twenty-five bronze coins, paid out in the form of twenty bronze coins and fifty copper. A tidy sum. It was no gold or silver, but it was enough for a man to live off of and enjoy himself without needing to pinch every copper until the king’s visage screamed. It was a wage that he’d call fair -- not so much so that he’d call it generous, but also not enough that he’d call it cheap.
It was with that pay that he and his crew broke down their tents and set out on the road that led to Miklagard, and they were but one of many as the other crews trailed behind or before them. It was hardly a short journey, measured in miles, but they arrived at the outskirts of the city before dusk. They walked by a number of farms, and Hjalmar noted that each one was extensively cultivated.
It was a clever trick, he could acknowledge. When the king first announced his reforms… well, farmers were a stubborn lot to begin with, and no one disliked change more than farmers and graybeards. When lines in established farms were redrawn, or villages were relocated, or they were instructed to change what they planted and when? Just before anyone could really dig their heels in, those same farmers suddenly found a plow or farm animals gifted to their village.
It was the same damned trick that his mother used to pull on him, and just like with him it worked like a charm every single time.
But, as they neared Miklagard, it began to dawn on the lot of them how strange the city was. It was utterly unlike anything that any of them had ever seen before. The roads narrowed by half, but the buildings themselves made Hjalmar feel like he had just stepped into another realm. They were tall, about half the length of a tree or thereabouts, with three distinct floors. Their rooftops were sharp slopes to deal with the snow that would be coming in but a few months while the faces of the building were painted in vibrant colors -- reds, oranges, blues, and greens.
They were hardly the only ones gaping at the city as they walked its roads. It was hardly complete at the moment, Hjalmar saw. It was being carefully developed around important roads and locations -- like the market, the longhouse, and the docks, with the rest marked for future construction. The city wasn’t even a third of the way done by the looks of things, but it already felt like it had more than earned its name of Miklagard.
“Oi, that’s a bath house,” Hjalmar heard someone point out. He looked over at a building, finding that it was a bit different from the others -- it had a sign over it, but he couldn’t read the runes. But, more importantly, he saw a picture of a wooden tub filled with water painted on it. Keenly aware of his own stink, he was quick to agree to take a bath before they found a tavern. There, they found a portly man standing in a stone lobby.
He greeted a lot of them with a practiced smile. “Welcome to my bathhouse -- construction, I presume?” He remarked, his gaze bouncing between the dozen of them as if he were trying to judge how heavy their coin purses were with only a glance. “We offer a wide variety of grooming options! Baths, of course, are for public use, but there are additional options you may… indulge in. Private baths, haircuts, wine and food, or being bathed by one of our beautiful bath companions.”
The owner was a merchant by nature, Hjalmar acknowledged. It had been months since most of them had seen a woman, and their purses were full of coin while they were eager to relax. However, Hjalmar refrained while others indulged. The prices were relatively cheap -- a few copper for some food, a few more for some wine, a couple more for a trim for their beards and hair. The most expensive additional expense was a bath companion, which cost five coins while a private bath cost a single bronze. Though, the latter was something of a trick as you could only hire a bath maid on the condition that you paid for a private bath.
It added up quickly as some quickly learned, paying a notable portion of a month's pay easily. Hjalmar chose for a simple bath with no amenities, and he was surprised by what he was greeted with when he entered the bath house properly.
There was a large pool of water that steam gently rose up from located in the center of the room. The water seemed to run deeply as most of the men already in it were submerged up to their chests. Off to the side, Hjalmar saw a cleaning area where they'd wipe the dust, dirt, and sweat off before entering the bath. After quickly rinsing himself down, he groaned with relief once he sank into the warm water.
He nearly nodded off then and there, finding the tension fleeing from his body. Instead he forced his eyes to remain open, keenly aware of where his possessions were to make sure no one attempted to steal from him. Meanwhile he also drank in the sight of the bath house itself-- it was all made of white rock, marble, by the looks of things, giving an… ethereal feeling to the place.
“It doesn't feel real,” he muttered to himself, his gaze following one of his work companions as he headed to the private baths with a downright giddy expression on his face.
“You know what?” Trym began, pouring himself a heavy glass from a pitcher of wine that he purchased. “I thought the king was full of shit,” he admitted freely and without hesitation. “Change this, change that -- I figured he was just choking the life out of Denmark so no one could challenge him. But this ain't too bad. I could see more of this.”
There were a handful of already drunken cheers that came from other patrons, cheering for their new king who had already upturned everything. Trym proved generous and shared his purchased wine around with his fellows, but Hjalmar sipped it sparingly. Instead, he watched. And he listened.
There were a dozen different little conversations that were taking place in the bathhouse -- men talking about their trade, grumbling about the prices for nails or iron. Others worried about where they would find work now that the road work was complete for the year. Most of it was petty gossip, but that didn't mean it wasn't worthwhile. People liked to talk, after all, and in times such as these… Hjalmar couldn't discount anything.
And that was how he found himself pulled into a game of dice in the middle of the bath along with a few others.
“There won't be any raiding come spring,” one man informed, slamming a cup filled with dice on a stone table in the middle of the bath before unveiling the poor roll. The tables were meant for such activities, and to hold the purchased drink and food. “The king is going to expand the domain -- already pulled Saxony into things, and word is that Norway is going to bend the knee to him soon.”
“Two more crowns right after he put on his first one, and he's looking for more?” Trym questioned, scooping up the dice and shaking them in a well worn cup. “He's got the hunger of Fenrir in him.” He tsked at his own poor roll before he passed the cup to Hjalmar.
“Has anyone been saying where he's planning to attack?” Hjalmar questioned, shaking the cup and hearing the dice clatter within.
“It'd be easier to tell you where he's not,” The older man replied. “It's not a secret that he plans to conquer Scandinavia. He declared as such himself.”
He slammed the cup down on the marble table, lifting the cup up to reveal a decent roll. He swallowed a smirk as the others puffed up, but dutifully paid him his few coppers. “Aye, that's no secret, but there's got to be a starting point, right?”
The older man shrugged, “I'm not sure about that. But, what I have heard is that his personal army is here to stay.” Fifteen thousand warriors. The very idea seemed utterly absurd. He had fought in Saxony, and again in Denmark on behalf of King Godfrey -- the armies numbered in the thousands there, and he couldn't imagine a battle bigger than the ones he already fought in. Then King Horrik mustered an army thirty thousand strong, only for it to be swept aside with ease by King Seigfried’s ten.
Fifteen thousand men was an unbeatable fighting force. The other Jarls, even if they rebelled from the positions that King Siegfried had granted them, could muster up around a few hundred. Maybe a thousand at the extreme end. With a standing army of fifteen thousand warriors? They didn't stand a chance. No rebellion did.
“He's doing more than that,” Trym spoke up as the round began again. “I heard he's expanding the army. Recruiting from towns and villages.”
“Aye, but that's not for his personal army,” the man clarified. “That, I reckon, is for the conquest.”
“You'd think fifteen thousand warriors would be more than enough,” Trym noted. “I can't imagine anyone facing that on the field and winning.”
“It might not be for the field,” Hjalmar spoke up, once more finding that he had the cup. Dice wasn't an easy game to cheat at, but it was doable. It all came down to the wrist motions. This time, when he slapped the cup down and unveiled his roll, he rolled low, so he dutifully passed over a copper coin to the old man. “King Siegfried is a Dane. One of us. Reputation or not, I imagine we'd have a lot harder time swallowing his rule if he was a Saxon.”
“A garrison then? To keep the conquered quiet?” The old man considered it before he nodded, collecting his winnings. “That could explain it,” he agreed.
“I think some of it is still going to his personal army, though,” Trym insisted and Hjalmar nodded.
“I reckon the same,” he agreed. “His warriors are all rich. Not as rich as he is, but pretty damn rich. It'd make sense that some would want to retire with their earnings. Or even most of them.” That had caused something of a stir, and not a good one.
Upon King Siegfried's return to Denmark and his assuming the crown, his warriors began purchasing a great deal of property for themselves and their kin. The offers that they made were simply too generous to refuse. That would have been fine, for the most part, even if it did mean that entire families were untethered with more coin than they could spend. But it was coupled with another issue.
Siegfried's warriors could afford not only large stretches of land, but generous bride prices. Fathers were foisting their daughters at the wealthy veterans in the hopes of securing their family’s future, while daughters of wealthy landholders or even nobility were trying to tether them to their lands and family. It happened in what felt like a blink of the eye, but seemingly every woman of marrying age got snatched up. An exaggeration, of course, but not by much.
Which all compounded with yet another issue that King Siegfried had brought with him.
When he returned from his great adventure, he brought what amounted to a framework of a city with him -- merchants, tradesmen, scholars, bureaucrats. Foreigners, almost one and all. With his return, it felt like he had already chosen the winners of this great upheaval. It allowed him to hit the ground running and build all that he had in so little time, but his return wasn't a good thing for everyone.
“Makes sense,” Trym voiced with a nod. “I imagine most are going to be clamoring to join. If only to find a woman,” he added with a snort.
He was making a jest of it, but he was more right than he realized. The army was another prospect that Hjalmar considered. King Siegfried’s success was well known by this point, as was the wealth one could earn by following him into battle. The metal armor that you could forge for yourself by taking iron from the defeated… for many, there was now no greater dream than earning such a set of armor. But honor would only be a part of it, as for many young men they would be forced to look abroad for a wife. Abroad, or at a slave market.
Actually… “Maybe that’s his intention,” Hjalmar remarked with a small frown. King Siegfried had more than proven his ability to plan for the future. Perhaps the problems that Denmark faced were well accounted for and were going to be exploited.
A mass drive for the military to fuel his conquest of Scandinavia. It’d be a way to harness the momentum that he created. That drive that now fueled every young man who wanted to find their fortune and leave their mark -- King Siegfried had proven what was out there. He’d conquered Denmark and forged a kingdom that he left behind in the Mediterranean. As well as allowed his recruits to claim lands for themselves.
It was a drive that ignited in his own chest as he looked down at the dice that were once more in his hands. Gambling well was a dangerous thing. You couldn’t take too much from your fellows, else you would earn their ire. When you won big, you had to give them a chance to earn some of their coin back. Likewise, you also had to lose to avoid accusations of cheating. And sometimes you had to walk away from the table poorer than you arrived to avoid suspicion.
There was a wealth of opportunity in Denmark at the moment, but it took coin to seize those opportunities. That was why, for months, he had saved every coin that he could. He gambled, taking the wages of his fellows copper by copper, until his savings had swelled to a hundred and fifteen bronze coins. A tidy sum that would carry him through the winter and beyond.
“No matter what,” Hjalmar continued as he brought the cup down and raised it to reveal a winning hand. Come spring, the kingdom would once more be set in motion, and the future would be written in blood at the tip of King Siegfried’s sword. “The future sure does look interesting.”
And, one way or the other, he would seize every opportunity set before him.
Comments
ill paste it for you: I had decided on building a new capital from scratch early on in my plans to build an empire. The island of Sjaelland was perfectly located for that goal. There were two other locations that I had considered before settling on Sjaelland -- Gotland and Åland, both were more centralized in the heart of the Baltic, but I decided against them for practical reasons. First and foremost was the fact that my people needed to see the results of my promises, and they needed to see them relatively quickly. Building cities on those islands would be a result of natural growth, and I could see the capital one day being moved there, much like Rome had moved its capital to Constantinople. But, initially, my people would need to see real and tangible progress, else they would begin to doubt the validity of my promises. Secondly, it was simply easier at this stage. Sjaelland was already within my grasp, I had a surplus of population in Denmark as it was due to Horrik's attempts at building up the nation enough to resist me upon my arrival, and with my Map I already knew that it was a perfectly serviceable location. No matter what, there would be a city constructed on Sjaelland, likely a city and a town for both sides of the strait that flowed around the island. Lastly, it was something that I could begin working on immediately. “Horrik's population expansion has hobbled our initial efforts,” I said, looking down at the basic model of my kingdom that I had been carving for the past couple of weeks. It wasn't as detailed as I would like. In the future, I intended to craft a more detailed one. One that not only marked the current development of the land, but denoted areas of future expansion. “The forests of Denmark have been greatly thinned in his efforts to build the Danevirke and other palisades around various towns. A significant portion of the aged trees were cut. Some can be reused, but not all, and not necessarily how I would want.” That wasn't to say that every forest had been senselessly cut down. There were still great swaths of densely packed forests. The issue was that it took around a century for a tree to reach the ideal height and shape to be turned into timber. And, even if that time went by, there was no guarantee that the tree itself would grow into the proper shape that was ideal for many planks. “Which is why you require timber from my forests,” King Widukind noted, looking down at the model with a hint of fascination. “Exactly so,” I admitted easily. Not everything could be made out of concrete. My Map already marked where serviceable quarries could be found in Denmark. The kingdom itself was lacking a bit when it came to metal and mineral deposits for mining, but there were great stone and clay deposits, which would make future building projects easier. However, to build those mines, I first needed timber. There was an urge to rush through my projects, I could admit. I had envisioned the kingdom that Denmark could become for years at this point, and I wanted to implement everything that I had tested and developed in Norland immediately. But, that would be supremely foolish no matter how much I wanted to do it. Things needed to develop in stages, and I was already making good progress on the initial ones that would serve as the foundation that all the others would be built off of. King Widukind turned his gaze out to the side, looking away from the model and through the open tent that we rested under. What had caught his attention were the labor crews that were already preparing the ground of Sjaelland for my new capital. The work was well familiar to me by this point, but I imagine to King Widukind it was a strange sight. The ground was being flattened in some places while others were being dug up, plots were being marked well in advance before anyone had a chance to claim them, while roads were being plotted out and shaped. “How many do you expect your capital to house?” He asked me suddenly, a certain weight to his tone. “Twenty thousand, initially,” I answered without hesitation. That would make it the largest city in Denmark upon completion. It would be easy enough to find that many people. Denmark, under normal conditions, could boast a population of around five hundred thousand. That was before Horrik had drawn in migrants from across Scandinavia, and before I’d brought another fifty thousand from the Mediterranean. “I expect that number to swell over the next ten years to a hundred thousand. I’m preparing accordingly.” Sjaelland was ripe with farmland, and the majority of it was already cultivated. In the far north, arable farmland was a scarce resource and every scrap of fertile soil was exploited. Even the soil that was less suited for farming was utilized, simply because every morsel of food was needed. Well, that was the mentality before Horrik thoughtlessly spread my farming methods. “And after that?” King Widukind questioned, watching as the foundations of the city were laid before his eyes. All of the little lessons I’d learned from Norland were being implemented. From the layout of the streets to digging a sewer before we had even laid a brick, and preparing it all for the steady increase in population. “A million people,” I said, and that caught his attention. “I don’t know when we would reach that point, but I am designing the city with the idea that its population would one day reach a million people.” Planned expansions and grid layouts that would make it easy to add onto the city as things changed. It likely wouldn’t be for hundreds of years that the city reached that threshold, and I certainly didn’t expect it to during my lifetime. “The biggest issue would be feeding them all, but this island is capable of it.” It had to be cultivated perfectly, and that was why I dealt with the Jarls and Thegns as I did. As things stood, Jarls and Thegns had inheritance rights that I couldn’t easily work around, especially when it came to cultivating what was considered their land. To do as I wished them to, I would have needed to negotiate with every single one of them, made compromises, and in doing so, run the risk of alienating other Jarls and Thegns by developing a rival over them. It was a headache that I wanted no part of, so I’d simply wiped the slate clean instead. As things were, all across my kingdom, the Jarls and Thegns that I had selected were settling in their new territories. All granted to them for a codified right by me, the King, to develop their lands as I saw fit. Very convenient for me. And a very dangerous power to have in the hands of future kings, but I decided that it was better for my descendants to have more power over their vassals than less. I had seen where that road led. The point was that the plots of farmland were cultivated to the best of our ability. Lands that were less suited for dedicated farming were subsidized with animal husbandry to produce meat, eggs, cheeses, and other foodstuffs. Then, the lands that were completely unsuited for farming were going to be cultivated for industry. Or, failing that, gardens for trees that we could use for game or lumber. King Widukind breathed in deeply, “You don’t dream small, King Siegfried.” He noted, sounding at peace with that fact. “I can’t,” I corrected. “Not if I wish to accomplish what I desire. The bones of the capital will be laid during this year. It’ll be about four before I would say that it is complete,” I continued. Which, coincidentally, was roughly the time I intended my conquest of Scandinavia to be completed. Odds were, I’d be returning from my conquests to see the first version of the city completed. “I underestimated your ambition,” King Widukid admitted to me before his gaze once more drifted to the model. One that displayed towns, villages, and the roads that I was planning to build to bind them. Then he reached out, his fingers brushing over the model of the Danevirke that I was planning to rebuild -- Horrik’s idea for a great defensive barrier wasn’t a poor one, despite how easily I had overcome it. It was a bit further down the priority list, but I intended to improve the fortification. A wide and deep moat, first inlaid with stones, leading up to tall stone walls. Not dissimilar to the Theodosian Walls of Constantinople, though that was a project that would take a great deal of time, and it would be no small expense. However, I made sure to include it in the model because it would help King Widukind visualize what I meant when I spoke of building a wall for Saxony. Before I could even hope to begin that project, I would need to build my road network. All made of stone or concrete. People had already taken to calling it ‘the King’s Road’ and I imagine that was a nickname that would stick. The main artery of Denmark would be a stone road that was large enough for four wagons to ride shoulder to shoulder, shaped slightly curved and elevated to shed rainwater or melted snow with ease. Likewise, smaller roads would split off and curve throughout the land, connecting the towns I intended to develop. Because of Horrik and my immigration policy, Denmark’s population had swelled to six hundred thousand in the past few years. Horrik had been content to allow the people to dwell in villages and towns that couldn’t fit them, but I wasn’t. For that reason, just as I laid the foundation for my capital city, I was laying the foundation for several towns that would become lesser cities as time went by. All of them capable of handling the surplus of population and further developing my kingdom. Which was another reason why I had wiped the slate clean when it came to the existing Jarls. Some locations were just better for a city -- more defensive, with easier access to trade by road or by sea, or with more natural resources that could be exploited. All of it was being worked on as we sat here and spoke. The excess population were all finding work in my labor projects, and all of it was being financed with my spoils from the Mediterranean. None of it was cheap, and even my vast treasury was feeling the strain of such ambition, but if the current rates I was spending my gold held, it’d still be the better part of thirty years before I drained my coffers dry. Work crews that numbered in the thousands were earning their pay under the watchful eye of my trained architects. All of it was still in the early phases, but at the moment, things seemed to be going well. Experience taught me that it wouldn’t hold, and there would always be delays for one reason or another, but I anticipated that and accepted that when an architect said a project would take six months, he really meant a year. “Could…” King Widukind began, only to trail off as he seemed to consider if he wanted to finish the sentence. He did. “Could you do the same for Saxony? The roads, the city, the walls?” “Not as easily,” I admitted. “Your Jarls and Thegns would submit under peaceful means, and that prevents me from removing the factors that would get in the way of such development. Should I try, they’d undoubtedly rebel. Which can be useful in justifying their removal, but the act itself would taint my reputation within Saxony as it would be an obvious power grab.” It was the same issue that I would face with Norway when it came time to integrate it into my empire. The other territories? I would be invading them. Conquering them. That gave me the pretence of wiping the slate clean so I could develop the territories as I wished. “What would be the alternative?” He asked, his brow furrowing as he leveled a heavy stare at me. I understood what we were talking about. It was a conversation that we were continuing from the ramparts of Hedeby. “A slow erosion of local autonomy,” I answered, not dressing it up to be anything other than what it was. I witnessed the dance of politics that rulers had to master to get anything done. How they had to wield influence with finesse to avoid stepping on toes to achieve something that should be within their rights to do. I understood the game that was played, but at this stage, such a game would be an anchor to the progress I desired. I did away with it for now, but that wouldn’t last. Not forever. Those whom I instilled in their positions wouldn’t always remember my generosity. They’d get fat, lazy, and content with their success. They would become entitled to whatever favor and influence they felt were owed. Which is precisely why I’d structured the Jarldoms as I did. “It would need to be something done over the course of years, and cultivated deliberately. Inflame tensions between rivals so I can punish one of them. Deliberately give them opportunities to overreach, so that I can cut them off at the wrist. Instigate a rebellion with unpopular policies that have public approval, then crush it. Appeal to their short-term sensibilities in exchange for long-term power,” I listed off a few possibilities before I offered a cutting smile. “I learned much in Rome.” “So I see,” King Widukind muttered, seemingly almost wary of me, before he nodded. “You are right, however. Such a thing would taint your reputation. For that reason… I shall do it,” he decided, clenching his jaw before letting out a slow breath. Then, deliberately, he reached up to the crown on his brow and rested it on the table. We both glanced down at it, understanding the implication. “I have leeway and the existing support. I can use Charlemagne as an excuse. Or you, even.” That would work. Charlemagne had gone against the spirit of the treaty, if not the word of it. He’d marched no armies into Saxony, but there had been consistent raids that I knew were bleeding the kingdom. There were a number of ways we could approach the issue -- King Widukind could use the Franks as a reason to tighten his grip on his kingdom. As for myself and my empire, we could be both a threat and a partner. Whatever I needed to harness the natural resources of Saxony. “You’ve proven your ability with Denmark,” King Widukind acknowledged freely. “You did exactly as you said you would, and you made it look easy. For that reason, when you say that you will conquer the rest of Scandinavia in a handful of years? I’m inclined to believe you.” He leveled a heavy stare at me before he rested a hand on his crown. “Five years. Build your empire over that time, and in five years… I shall prepare them to submit.” I didn’t say anything, only holding his gaze. He was committing Saxony to become a vassal. Slowly, I offered a hand and King Widukind clasped my forearm, and I his. The deal was struck, and I had gained another crown, even if it would take a few years for it to adorn my brow. … Not all of my reforms were material in nature. A great deal more of them were political and economic. “Are you trying to instigate a rebellion?” Lagertha Hare-Foot questioned me, her hands on her cane as she squinted at me, like she was trying to see if I was serious. Or perhaps she was just trying to see me. She was quite old, after all. “With this? No,” I answered, amused by the sharp tone. “Coulda fooled me, young one,” Lagertha huffed. “Men are a stubborn lot. You should know that. What you're proposing is a slap in the face for most tradesmen. You're bringing in foreigners and claiming that they are better at their craft.” “Because they are,” I stated firmly. That was never in doubt. The metalworking of my people was poor and primitive compared to the methods that I had found in Rome and the Abbasids. Even the Franks had better metalworking than us. “Aye, from the sounds of it, that's true. But if you go and tell them that, you'll bruise their fragile egos and you'll have a real mess on your hands,” Lagertha voiced, and I fought off a frown. Of course I had considered that, but I deemed it a inconsequential. In the end, blacksmiths, carpenters, and other tradesmen had to work, and with the new practices that I'd introduced… they would either learn and improve, or be forced to find another trade. Such was the nature of change. They would find work, for a time at least. For the next decade, I would be in a state of constant construction, meaning that there would always be a demand for stone masons, laborers, haulers, and the like. Meanwhile, those that were interested in learning blacksmithing, carpentry, or any other of the half dozen trades I had brought to Denmark -- they would naturally drift to those that produced a superior product and were more successful. “That is unavoidable,” I admitted with a small shrug, leaning back into the makeshift throne that had been carved for me. At this stage, it was a glorified dinner chair. My true throne was still being crafted, and very slowly, considering that I was sculpting it myself. “Those that can't adapt will find themselves left behind. Those that are unwilling to learn have no one but themselves to blame.” Learning was the cornerstone of my ambitions. Within my capital, I planned to construct a university, but it would be a useless thing without students. In Rome and the Abbasid Caliphate, the vast majority of the students within their learning institutions were nobility, or those that came from wealthy families. I understood why, but it felt… limiting. “I shall give them the opportunities to adapt,” I continued, my voice stern. “They are offered invitations to learn at the university or to send an apprentice in their stead.” There were many within the university of Constantinople that hadn't taken their lessons and learning seriously. Because they didn't have reason to. I was hardly part of it, largely because I’d been ostracized during my time at the imperial university, but there were more parties and lessons skipped than attended. It was because those noble students already had a life path laid out for them. They would inherit lands or businesses. If they were the second or third son, then they had to take their lessons more seriously, but there was never a doubt that they would use the skills gained for the benefit of their family. Meaning that even they would have guaranteed employment. However, someone like me? A low-born farmer? We had far more limited paths to improve our station in life. There was the path that I had taken -- the warriors path. I’d raided, I’d accrued wealth, then I gathered a band of warriors, raided some more, gained more wealth, and then found lands to claim as my own. I was a very extreme example of what you could accomplish, but overall, the journey I took to this point was similar to all others. Another path was to learn a trade. There would always be a need for blacksmiths. And there would always be a need for carpenters. And stonemasons, glassworkers, weavers, cobblers, and so on. As such, those of low-birth that had the opportunity would work harder to make the most of it than a noble, simply because they had more to gain. “And you truly expect them to swallow their pride and learn?” Lagertha questioned, raising an eyebrow at me. “Most will. Some won't. And those that don't will choke on their pride,” I admitted. “I have no sympathy for those that are content to wallow in their own ignorance. Those who close their eyes and cover their ears to the opportunity to lessen their obliviousness.” I clenched my jaw, “From the ground up, education is one of the single most valuable things I can offer my people. Call it the will of Odin or simple common sense. I don't care why they learn, only that they do.” In every hamlet, village, town, and city -- I wanted to increase the general education of my people. Expecting everyone to want to receive higher learning was simply unrealistic and forcing them would be unsustainable, but learning how to read and do basic arithmetic? That was doable. Very much so. Those with talent could be noted by the village leaders for their clever minds or skilled hands, and from there, they could attend university to hone their talents. Perhaps a swordsmith could sponsor the education of an apprentice, or perhaps the Jarl of a territory, or even the crown could. It would take years, decades even, before I saw the fruits from such an endeavor, but it would be worth it. Those that had the potential to rise would be given the opportunity to do so, and that would make my kingdom stronger. Perhaps I could even create other universities, each one created for a singular trade where talented metalworkers could not only learn how to ply the trade, but experiment to develop new and more efficient ways to work with metal be they armorers, swordsmiths, or jewelers. Lagertha sighed, seeing that I couldn't be swayed from my path. “Well, I suppose it's a good thing you can't be convinced so easily. The only thing worse than a foolish king is one whose spine bends with the breeze.” She inclined her head to me in acknowledgment and I got the impression that I had passed an unspoken test. “But you speak of opportunity quite freely. As if all can grasp them -- men and women alike.” And now I saw why she traveled this way to meet with me. Lagertha was in an interesting position. She was related to the former King of Denmark, but she had also been the first to declare for me. She was an old woman, but one that wielded incredible influence amongst my people because of her long saga, and with my wife in particular. Yet, she was not someone I would call an ally, but nor would I declare her an enemy. So, it surprised me when I heard that she wished to meet with me. “Ability matters most in this realm. I care not if it is a man or a woman -- so long as they are suited to the work… then let them work,” I answered. My travels had also taught me another thing about the wider world, and it was that my people granted women an unusual amount of freedom. In Rome, or the Abbadids, or Francia -- their women could not own property, they could not divorce their husbands, and they could not run a business. But, that was not to say that women were treated the same as men in my homeland. I had never heard of a woman blacksmith or carpenter or shipwright. Even the Shieldmaidens, the few that there were, were something of… a novelty. Though I would never dare say that out loud, else Astrid would have my tongue. That didn't make me wrong however. Women could be warriors, but they faced many more challenges on that path than men did. Lagertha let out a deep and hearty chuckle, “You are a firebrand. Far more so than I expected,” she said, sounding rather approving of that fact. “Oh, I wish I was a few decades younger. I'd like to see if you’ll manage to succeed, or if you're doomed to the most spectacular failure.” “I just don't see the point of such petty distinctions,” I confessed. That, I suspected, was the result of being the youngest child in a large family. Lagertha just laughed, “More the fool you are for it, King Siegfried. But, there are worse things in this world than a fool for a king.” The words were undoubtedly an insult, but the tone she said them with wasn’t. “Ah, no offense intended, of course.” “No, you intended to offend me,” I rebuked, earning a ghost of a smile from the old woman. “However, I am not so easily offended. Either cease your attempts or do better.” That just got a laugh from her, and I allowed myself a smile. I was glad that I was able to deal with the legendary shieldmaiden. Because, despite her concerns about her death being near… I got the distinct impression that I would be dealing with her for many years to come.
Green Smear
2025-07-05 19:48:07 +0000 UTCWhy cant I read chp 120. I paid the five dollars. But it's asking for another five dollars
Ganhuyag Erhembileg
2025-07-05 18:21:28 +0000 UTCLooling forward to kingdom building, and hjalmar in the future
acaBeast
2025-07-03 05:25:59 +0000 UTC
