After carefully considering Sebert's suggestion, Vig sought out Helgi, the Minister of Naval Affairs, to ask about the feasibility of the plan.
"Traveling to Iberia?"
Helgi studied the maps spread across the table—charts drawn by Björn, Vig, monastery scribes, and even ancient parchment maps left over from Roman times.
After a long while, he answered solemnly, "We spent a fortune building this navy. It's time to send it out on a real voyage. I'll personally lead this mission. If the locals refuse to cooperate—"
Vig cut him off. "We're no longer Viking raiders. Compared to plunder, stable trade brings far greater benefits. If a port refuses to trade, we'll simply find another. Don't act on impulse."
At present, the Royal Navy possessed eleven warships and two supply vessels (cogs), divided into a Northern Fleet and a Southern Fleet.
The Northern Fleet, based in Edinburgh, patrolled northern waters, guarded against Norway and Sweden, and routinely suppressed piracy.
The Southern Fleet, based in Londinium, focused on patrolling the waters between Britain and West Francia (the English Channel / La Manche).
According to long-term plans, nine additional warships would soon enter service, most of them assigned to the Southern Fleet to strengthen Channel defenses against Frankish threats.
Based on training performance, Helgi selected three of the best-conditioned two-masted square-rigged ships. In addition to supplies, he packed the holds with woolen cloth, amber, and furs—to be sold to Iberians and counted as bonuses for the exploration fleet.
In mid-August, the expeditionary fleet slowly departed Londinium, then sailed along the coast to Cornwall, at Britain's southwestern tip.
After waiting two days at a port called Plymouth, taking advantage of favorable sea conditions, the fleet headed straight south toward the Brittany Peninsula across the channel.
"Stay alert. From this moment on, we're sailing along enemy coasts. During night watch, no sailor is to doze off. Violators will be severely punished!"
According to rumors, Brittany was tightly controlled by the Franks, with numerous wooden fortifications built inland. To prevent Vikings from inciting local rebellions again, an unknown-sized fleet was stationed along the coast.
Focused on the mission, Helgi avoided provoking trouble and swiftly rounded the Brittany Peninsula, continuing southward along the coast.
The journey that followed was uneventful. The fleet encountered neither the Frankish navy nor storms. A light northerly breeze filled the sails, pushing the ships forward at a steady pace.
"Wind unchanged. Speed three knots."
Each morning, the night officer's routine report arrived on schedule—along with an unappetizing breakfast. Seawater rose and fell lazily against the hulls. The sky was cloudless, monotonous enough to make one drowsy.
Occasionally, dolphins burst from the water without warning, their silver backs tracing smooth arcs in the sunlight. At first, sailors rushed excitedly to the rail, pointing and shouting, but the dolphins merely lingered briefly before slipping back beneath the surface.
"This is unbearably boring," someone complained. "Captain, let us go ashore somewhere—do anything."
The sailors lounged about the deck, killing time. Some slowly counted knots in the rigging, starting over whenever they lost track. Others bragged about voluptuous tavern girls they'd slept with in port, drawing jeers and laughter. A few spoke of strange ancient legends, but even those failed to stir much interest.
After more than a week, the fleet reached the northern coast of the Iberian Peninsula, then sailed westward along the shoreline—territory of the Kingdom of Asturias.
Following the charts, the expedition reached a northern port: Gijón. The place was desolate and run-down, with only a few fishermen's wooden huts along the shore and the ruins of a Roman-era lighthouse.
"Captain, this is Asturias's largest port? Are we sure we didn't make a mistake?" a sailor asked.
Helgi narrowed his one good eye, studying the roofless lighthouse and the stone fortress standing on a distant hillside. "No mistake. This is it."
The fleet anchored offshore. From the flagship Gray Parrot No. 2, a longboat was lowered and rowed unsteadily toward land.
At the dock, a group of militia hastily gathered—men in coarse linen clothes, armed with wooden spears or old-fashioned short swords. Their equipment was crude, but their morale was high.
With the help of a translator, Helgi announced his identity and requested to open trade with the locals.
"Leave at once! Outsiders are not welcome here!"
A middle-aged noble in mail armor shouted, driving them away.
Returning to the flagship, Helgi showed no anger. He explained to the sailors:
"Over a century ago, the Moors—the Western European term for Arabs, Berbers, and other desert peoples—nearly conquered the entire Iberian Peninsula. A small number of Visigoths fled into the northern mountains, resisted, and founded Asturias.
"In short, this is a poor but fiercely martial mountain kingdom. There's no need to clash with them. Even if we won, we'd gain nothing."
The fleet continued onward, rounding the northwestern tip of Iberia before turning south.
The voyage remained monotonous. The sea offered nothing but the dull sound of wind filling sails and the endless roar of waves. The sailors spoke less and less, barely exchanging glances.
Occasionally, someone slapped the deck in frustration, startling seabirds perched on the masts. They flapped into the air, circled briefly, then settled back again—as if even the birds were bored by this dull existence.
Finally, on a scorching and tedious afternoon, the lookout atop the mast shouted:
"Port ahead—I see Lisbon!"
The languid figures on deck sprang to life, stumbling toward the port side.
In the distance, through shimmering heat and sea mist, a stone fortress stood atop a hill. White houses cascaded down the slope toward the docks like steps. The coastal walls wound along the shoreline, and flocks of white seagulls wheeled in the sky.
"Signal the other two captains—meeting now!"
Out of caution, Helgi ordered the other two warships to anchor offshore, while he guided the flagship alone toward the harbor to scout.
"So many ships…"
At the mouth of the Tagus River, more than a hundred dhow ships were anchored—an Arab vessel type.
These ships were typically 10–20 meters long, slender in shape, with sharp conical bows and square sterns, the aft deck slightly elevated.
Compared to Britain's two-masted square-rigged ships, dhows had shorter masts and smaller hulls, with cargo capacity similar to ordinary cogs (about one hundred tons). Their great advantage lay in their distinctive triangular lateen sails, which gave them exceptional windward performance and far greater maneuverability than the cogs common in the North Sea.
Helgi turned and examined his own flagship:
The foremast and mainmast carried square sails, while a fore-and-aft sail had been added behind the mainmast to improve windward maneuverability—but even so, it couldn't match the performance of lateen-rigged ships.
"If a naval battle breaks out," Helgi muttered, "these triangular-sail ships will be a serious threat. At best, one of our warships could handle three of them. Any more, and we'd be overwhelmed."
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