At dawn the next morning, Vig went to inspect the school.
Now that the Raven-Speakers focused mainly on the temple and the hospital, the school had been handed over to Kami Wildfire. Hearing the lord had arrived, Kami hurried to gather teachers and students for a formal welcome.
"Let them go back to class. I have matters to discuss with you."
Inside the headmaster's office, Vig expressed his appreciation for Kami's contributions to agriculture.
"These past years you opened experimental plots for clover and turnips, and using the ideas I provided, you and your students developed a practical threshing machine. Excellent work. I intend to knight you. The governor of Aberdeen is already very old—pack your things and assume the post next week."
Kami refused the honor. He preferred to remain with the children; suddenly becoming governor of Aberdeen was a role he feared he could not fulfill.
"Is that so? As you wish."
Vig did not insist. He flipped through the school roster and had Kami summon seventeen teachers and students—those who helped invent the threshing machine and cared for the agricultural test fields. They were also experimenting with a horse-drawn reaper. They were the most elite group in Tyne Town Academy.
Most of them were middle-grade students. Their primary task was self-study—Vig had no time to teach—and they occasionally taught lower grades, half working and half studying.
Under their wide-eyed stares, two guards carried a large chest into the room. Inside was 150 pounds of silver, to be distributed among Kami and the other seventeen.
The glitter stunned everyone. Kami murmured, "This… this is far too much."
"No. It is what you deserve—and not nearly enough compared to what you've contributed. Once these agricultural techniques spread across Britannia and the Continent, tens of millions of farmers will benefit. Unfortunately, I am only the Duke of Tyne Town. I can't grant you the honors you truly deserve—only silver as compensation."
When the reward was distributed, each person left hugging a heavy bag of coin. Vig stayed behind, reviewing half a year's worth of academic reports.
At noon, he ate in the dining hall as usual. The dishes were similar to years past—fish soup, bread, seasonal vegetables. Each person now received a hard-boiled egg and a cup of goat milk, a modest improvement.
After lunch, Kami led him to the experimental fields and explained the wheat–turnip–barley–clover four-field rotation he had worked out. It required no fallow period, and could replace the existing three-field system.
"You're certain?"
Vig had poured enormous effort into promoting the three-field system. Hearing this new idea filled him with hesitation.
"Turnips and clover enrich the soil, yes—but eliminating fallow outright is risky. If yields remain stable for three years, then we can promote it across the counties."
In his memory, England would not invent the Norfolk Four-Course Rotation until the sixteenth century. He could not be sure how closely Kami's system matched it.
"Don't rush. Focus on the horse-drawn reaper. Agricultural machinery will save labor—letting more people enter crafts, commerce, and…"
Kami, bright as ever, immediately guessed the word Vig did not finish.
"…war."
"Another war coming?" he asked quietly.
Vig shook his head. "Not your concern. Just teach your children and build that reaper. I'll handle the rest."
Currently, northern farmers used iron sickles. A typical adult could harvest half an acre of wheat per day, and even six- or seven-year-old children were expected to help during peak season. If war broke out and men were drafted, harvests would collapse. The longer the war dragged on, the more soldiers deserted to tend their fields.
"In my memory," Vig muttered, "early nineteenth-century America invented a horse-drawn reaper that could cut ten acres a day. With such machines, far more farmers could be mobilized… perhaps even an army of ten thousand."
After thinking a while, Vig dismissed the idea.
The Picts, Gaels, and Anglo-Saxons were culturally and religiously different—they accepted Viking rule reluctantly.
If war came, the highest mobilization rate would naturally be from the tens of thousands of Viking settlers of Tain County.
Through more than a decade of coexistence—and thanks to Herligev's Anglo-Saxon blood—the Anglo farmers would mobilize next.
As for the Picts and Gaels of the Five Northern Counties… Vig hoped only that they paid taxes and caused no trouble.
In October, Vig traveled once more to Londinium. This time he was unburdened. After submitting his tribute register, he simply stood among the crowd and watched other nobles present themselves.
When Ulf's turn came, the earl's expression shifted repeatedly before he forced out,
"Your Majesty, last year Chancellor Pascal requisitioned supplies worth five hundred pounds from me. When will the Crown repay it?"
On the throne, Ragnar's eyes went cold.
"This is the tribute ceremony. Bring such trifles to the chancellor; he will give you an answer."
Ulf took the risk—and the other nobles looked at him with admiration.
To them, the Crown could punish a single noble, but not the entire aristocracy. If Ragnar intended to default… well, brotherhood only extended so far.
By afternoon the ceremony was over. Vig stretched and prepared to leave the hall—only to be dragged into a side room by Goodwin, the new chancellor.
"My lord duke… is there any other solution?"
Vig grimaced. "I resigned because I couldn't find one. Over twenty thousand pounds of debt—what do you expect me to do?"
Goodwin corrected him bleakly.
"Not just that. I borrowed from the Flemish merchants. The total debt now stands at twenty-six thousand pounds."
That number truly startled Vig.
In the early Middle Ages, Italian banking did not yet exist; Western kings simply could not borrow ten or twenty times their annual revenue like in later centuries.
Now the Berbers, the Rus, the Norse, and the Flemish—all had been borrowed from. There was no one left to approach.
Since his predecessor found no answer, Goodwin steeled himself and decided to raise the farm tax and the wool export tax.
Then he personally visited the "big losers" of the realm—Theowulf, Ulf, Lennard—and used every argument he could muster to convert their unpaid debts into low-interest loans at 6% per year.
"Well enough. We respect the Crown, but His Majesty must also respect our difficulties. Henceforth, when the Crown takes supplies, it must state clearly whether it is requisition, purchase, or credit!"
When Ulf finished, the nobles erupted in agreement—hinting openly at checking the king's power. Goodwin, alarmed, immediately agreed to their terms and barely quelled the rising wave of discontent.
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