In July, in Londinium,
Vig received a letter from his second son. After opening and reading it, he found that the young man's situation was quite favorable.
In truth, the intelligence service had already gathered information on Livonia beforehand. The largest tribe there numbered only around two thousand people. If his son still could not handle the situation despite such an advantage, Vig would have nothing to say.
Rubbing his aching eyes, he continued processing the remaining documents.
One of them came from Duke Douglas of Bavaria. The letter detailed recent developments in the Kingdom of Moravia (roughly located around the area of modern-day Czechoslovakia).
Moravia had a population of around six hundred thousand and had long been coveted by East Francia.
To preserve his realm, the local ruler had invited missionaries from the Eastern Roman Empire in 863 and declared his conversion to Eastern Orthodoxy in exchange for aid and diplomatic support from Constantinople.
Not long ago, Douglas received reports that a new Eastern Roman delegation had arrived in Moravia, bringing additional missionaries, craftsmen, and military officers. It appeared that Basil was continuing the policies of his predecessors and strengthening this Central European kingdom.
With access to Eastern Roman technology, Moravia's strength would inevitably increase rapidly. Douglas therefore advised the Emperor to adopt preventative measures.
For a surprise campaign, Douglas requested at least six battalions of mounted scouts. Combined with the forces of his duchy, he was confident he could disrupt the kingdom's internal order and weaken its military potential.
For a full-scale conquest, he requested a field division, six garrison regiments, three thousand cavalry, and at least twenty thousand pounds in military funding.
The letter even included a campaign plan and proposed routes of advance.
"Interesting. That fellow may be all brawn and no brains, but he married a young wife with a sharp mind. I suspect she dictated this plan while Douglas merely wrote it down."
At first glance, the proposal seemed feasible. However, Vig had no intention of going to war yet. He wrote back to Bavaria, ordering the duke to remain on the defensive.
Part of the reason was that the Empire's finances and manpower were stretched thin, making large-scale warfare impractical.
Another factor was that Moravia's population consisted mainly of West Slavs who had followed Slavic paganism for generations. Their king's abrupt religious conversion would inevitably trigger instability. Under such circumstances, intelligence operations aimed at disrupting their internal order would be far more effective.
"To think they can still influence Moravian affairs from hundreds of miles away. It seems I underestimated the Eastern Roman Empire."
With that thought, Vig pulled a confidential report from the drawer to his right.
Earlier that year, an intelligence operative had successfully infiltrated Constantinople. His codename was White Bear. Disguised as a fur merchant, he had opened a trading house in the Viking quarter and was tasked with gathering publicly available information.
Once the business was established, White Bear sent back his first intelligence report via the Black Sea–Baltic trade route. As a mere fur merchant, he had no access to the upper classes, so the report was filled with rumors of varying reliability gathered from common people.
Recently, Vig had reread the report several times.
What could be confirmed was that the Eastern Roman Empire was dealing with a heretical uprising somewhere within its borders. The state of the conflict remained unclear—it might continue for a long time, or perhaps the rebellion had already been suppressed.
"The reports indicate that most Greek commoners are hostile toward me. I imagine the imperial elite feel much the same."
Vig had no desire to wage war against the Eastern Romans.
His own core territory was Britain, while theirs lay in Greece and western Anatolia.
The straight-line distance between the two exceeded 2,400 kilometers. Whether by land or sea, Vig could do little to Basil, and Basil could do little to him.
"Hopefully he'll stay focused on dealing with the Abbasid Empire in the east and refrain from interfering in Western European affairs."
The next document came from Provence on the northern coast of the Mediterranean.
The duke reported frequent attacks by Moorish pirates and requested reinforcements from the Royal Navy.
The following day, during a cabinet meeting, Vig ordered the formation of a Western Mediterranean Fleet. The Minister of Naval Affairs presented the navy's current strength.
"The Royal Navy possesses sixty major warships: eighteen three-masted sailing ships and forty-two twin-masted vessels. We also have various communication ships, transports, and coastal patrol craft.
"With Francia conquered, the Channel Fleet can be reduced in size. I propose transferring nine warships from it and three from the Canary Fleet to form the Western Mediterranean Fleet.
"The fleet's home port should be established at Toulon, about forty miles east of Marseille.
"Though Toulon is smaller than Marseille, its natural harbor is superior and serves as an excellent deep-water port."
The proposal received unanimous approval from both the Emperor and the cabinet and was quickly put into effect.
A week later, nine warships crossed the English Channel and sailed south along the coastline.
On July 25, the fleet stopped at Lisbon to replenish fresh water.
There they found numerous abandoned siege engines outside the city walls. Sections of the fortifications had been damaged, and all five watchtowers at the northeastern corner had collapsed.
The local governor explained that this had been the third Visigothic assault on Lisbon. He believed Alfonso would launch another offensive the following year, and that the situation would become even more dangerous.
"Is that so? Then I wish you good luck."
Colonel Hadava felt little concern.
The times had changed.
With the conquest of Francia, the Empire had become the undisputed hegemon of Western Europe.
Regardless of how the struggle on the Iberian Peninsula unfolded, neither the Moors nor the Visigoths dared refuse docking rights to Viking vessels.
In early August, Hadava reached the Canary Islands.
There he publicly read the Emperor's decree, requisitioned the three best warships stationed there, and appointed Baron Gallos as second-in-command of the Western Mediterranean Fleet.
The sailors were filled with anticipation for the unfamiliar and dangerous waters of the western Mediterranean.
They replenished fresh water and provisions, inspected their rigging, and checked the ballistae mounted aboard their ships.
Two days later, the fleet departed.
Standing atop the castle walls, the nearly sixty-year-old Helgi rested his hands on the battlements and watched the retreating sails with weary eyes.
His vigor had faded with age. He was no longer suited to command fleets in battle.
Now he spent his days reminiscing about the past or riding through the island's sugarcane and vineyard estates, awaiting the end of his life amid monotonous routine.
"This sort of life is terribly dull."
Ten days later, the fleet reached the Strait of Gibraltar.
The sky was a brilliant blue, and sunlight poured unhindered across the sea.
The flagship Blue Parrot sliced through the deep waters, leaving behind a long white wake that gradually faded into the distance.
Suddenly, five faint specks appeared on the horizon.
They were Moorish lateen-rigged ships.
"Prepare for battle!"
The Blue Parrot signaled the order.
The rest of the fleet immediately responded. Sailors removed the protective coverings from the ballistae, loaded stone shot, and aimed toward the approaching vessels.
The Moorish ships lingered for a while, assessing the balance of power.
In the end, they neither approached nor attempted any provocation.
They simply remained where they were, silently watching the fleet sail eastward until it vanished into the meeting point of sea and sky.
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