The Great Heathen Army had won, and now they were doing what they did best: looting, drinking, and arguing over who owned which cow.
Ragnar sat in the Roman governor's office, rubbing his temples. He looked like a man who had pulled three all-nighters in a row. His tunic was stained with soot, and his "wedding ring" of steel felt heavy on his finger.
Across from him sat Gyda, the Mistress of the Ledger. She looked equally exhausted, though her hair was braided with terrifying precision.
"We have a problem, Director," Gyda said, sliding a piece of Ragnar's new paper across the desk. "The Huscarls are eating the profits."
"They are hungry," Ragnar mumbled, looking at the report. "We just took a city."
