In the ninth century, in a fjord somewhere in Northern Europe.
While the morning frost was still condensing on the grass, Vig Haakenson woke up to the cries of ravens outside his house and got out of bed, wrapped in a tattered sheepskin coat.
The moment he pushed open the oak door, a cold and salty sea breeze blew in his face. He looked at the fjord from the west. The sea was calm, reflecting the leaden clouds in the sky. Flocks of ravens circled back and forth, indicating that a biting cold wind was about to move south.
"It's still late August, why is the temperature dropping so quickly?"
Vig turned fifteen this year. He had been raised by his sister's family since he was a child. Last summer, his sister followed her second husband to settle in Britain, leaving the farmhouse and fields to her brother.
However, Vig was unlucky. A sudden storm in early autumn last year destroyed most of the harvest. He was forced to sell his livestock in exchange for food. If this year's harvest is still not perfect, he may not survive the winter.
"It's been less than a month since I traveled through time, and I'm already facing a survival crisis. Why didn't you let me go to the Tang Dynasty or the Eastern Roman Empire? Why did I end up in a remote area of Northern Europe? I don't even know the exact year."
The young man complained to the sky and suddenly heard a scream 200 meters to the south. He turned around to see eight unfamiliar men gathered around the house of his neighbor Yolen.
Looters?
The barren land of Northern Europe is not suitable for farming, so bandits are everywhere. Some people decide to go to sea to plunder or trade, while others are too lazy to go to sea and simply choose a nearby target to rob.
According to the established rules, when a neighbor is attacked, Vig is obliged to help. He returned to the farmhouse and found a round shield, a wooden spear, and finally hung a one-handed iron axe on his belt.
When he found all the equipment, he found that other neighbors were also gathering at Yolen's house. The adult men were armed with round shields and one-handed axes, and the women and teenagers held hunting bows, 18 people in all.
"Shield wall!"
At the urging of the middle-aged man, twelve men, including Wig, formed a shield wall and advanced slowly toward the robbers. The women and teenagers spread out on either flank, shooting feather arrows from their hunting bows at random.
One hundred meters.
Seventy meters.
Fifty meters.
...
When they were thirty meters apart, the woman finally hit her target. She excitedly boasted to her comrades, but the next moment an enemy arrow pierced her neck. She fell to the ground and twitched, and soon she was silent.
Bang, bang, bang.
Vig's heart beat unconsciously. He suppressed his fear and stared at the robbers in front of him. When the distance was fifteen meters, both sides stopped at the same time and shouted to intimidate the other side.
With twice the number of men, Vig's side successfully crushed the other side. The seven surviving robbers looked at each other and immediately ran away with their bags of food. Two of them died from arrows in the back, and the remaining five disappeared into the depths of the dense forest.
Everything returned to its previous peace.
After driving away the robbers, everyone held a short funeral and then went home. Life in Northern Europe is full of suffering and unpredictability, and they have long been accustomed to it. Some even think that death is just a kind of relief.
...
In September, the north wind grew more and more fierce, and Vig began to harvest the wheat fields. The blade rustled through the ripe stalks of barley, and the golden ears fell next to his leather boots like combed hair.
Due to the lack of experience, the harvest was very poor this year. According to the calculations of subsequent generations, 400 kilograms of barley were harvested. Ten kilograms of grain must be reserved for each acre of land as seed, and about 40 kilograms of grain tax must be paid. In the end, only 200 kilograms were left, which could only guarantee that they would not die of hunger, and the likelihood of risk resistance was almost zero.
"Being a self-employed farmer is really not easy."
The next morning he took out the best of the grain, put it in a sack and went to Gothenburg, 20 kilometers to the south, to pay his taxes.
Gothenburg has a permanent population of about 700 people. The ruler is called Olaf, a fat middle-aged man who loves good wine. For this purpose, he built a huge brewery and ordered his farmers to pay fresh grain every year. Those who disobeyed would be deprived of their land.
...
After passing a circle of low fences, Vig walked along a dirt road along which sewage flowed to the market. Copper bells jingled between the stalls of traders, Slavs wrapped in mink cried out the price of mead, blacksmiths silently struck red-hot iron ingots, and Sami witches used reindeer blood to draw patterns on birch bark. The countless sounds gathered in a group, making Vig, who usually lives alone, feel very close.
Soon after, he approached the barn: "Vig Haakenson from the northern region, this is the barley I paid for this year."
An elderly one-armed man sat in front of the warehouse. He took out a handful of wheat and placed it in the palm of his hand. After watching for a moment, he immediately poured the entire sack of grain into a wooden basket.
"You have finished paying your taxes for this year. May Odin bless you with a good harvest next year."
The old man took out a certain scroll of five parchments and spread it out on the table. This scroll outlined the distribution of agricultural land in the north of Gothenburg. He dipped his index finger in dark blue paint and lightly tapped a certain plot of land, "Next." ...After
paying
the tax, Vig planned to work part-time in Gothenburg for the next few days to earn wages in case of an emergency.
At that moment, a group of noisy Vikings approached him, holding a barbecue in one hand and a jug of wine in the other, singing songs about Odin in chorus.
These men were fierce and all wore iron armor. Vig did not want to conflict with them, so he quietly walked to the side of the road, but his eye was caught by the roast lamb in their hands.
For the past year, Vig's life had been poor and shabby. Occasionally he would be lucky enough to catch a cod or two in the fishing nets set in the shallows, but the fat content of the fish was too low to satisfy his hunger. In his own experience, eating a bowl of pork was often the equivalent of eating two bowls of cod.
With a sigh, Vig lowered his head and walked forward. Suddenly, he felt a sharp tap on the shoulder. He turned to find that the bearded man at the head of the line had shoved a huge mutton chop into his mouth.
What was going on? Had he recognized the wrong man?
He looked puzzled, but the bearded man in front of him smiled casually, snatched a jug of wine from his companion, and handed it to him. "Honey, made in Britain, try it."
Among the complaints of his companions, Vig heard a name that was both strange and familiar: Ragnar.
Ragnar Lothbrok, according to historical records, once led a team to break through Paris and force Charles the Bald to pay compensation for peace. He is the most famous legendary figure of the Viking Age.
Instantly, countless fragments of memories bombarded his mind. Vig stood there in a daze. When he came to, the Vikings who had sung with abandon were long gone, and only their songs remained in his ears:
The unreachable lands of the West beckon in the fog.
Great seafarers, how could you fear being buried in the waves?
When Odin's raven brings victory,
the mead of Valhalla will fill our horns.