Chapter 10: Homecoming and Consequences
Kattegat's harbor had never seen anything like our return. Word of the western raid's success must have spread faster than our ship could sail, because half the settlement waited on the docks as we approached. I could see Lagertha's golden hair gleaming in the afternoon sun, Bjorn bouncing on his toes beside her while Gyda tried to maintain more dignified composure.
But it was Earl Haraldson's presence that made my stomach clench with apprehension. The Earl stood elevated on a wooden platform flanked by armed retainers, his pale eyes fixed on our treasure-heavy ship with an expression that mixed calculation with something darker.
"He doesn't look pleased," I observed to Ragnar as we maneuvered toward the dock.
"He looks like a man watching his worst fears become reality," Ragnar replied with grim satisfaction. "Haraldson spent months arguing that western raids were impossible fantasy. Now we return laden with proof that the impossible is merely difficult."
The crowd erupted in cheers as our gangplank touched the dock. Raiders were hoisted onto shoulders and carried toward the ale-halls while their families embraced them with fierce joy. But beneath the celebration, I caught undercurrents of tension as people noted the quality and quantity of treasure we'd brought back.
This wasn't just a successful raid—this was a demonstration that the political order might be changing.
"Ragnar Lothbrok!" Haraldson's voice carried across the harbor noise with practiced authority. "The people of Kattegat rejoice in your safe return. Step forward and give account of your expedition."
Ragnar moved through the crowd with the easy confidence of a man who held all the winning pieces. He mounted the platform beside Haraldson and raised his voice to address the assembled settlement.
"We sailed west as promised," he announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the crowd. "Beyond the known seas to lands rich in silver and gold, defended by men who've forgotten that strength determines ownership."
He gestured toward our ship, where raiders were unloading sack after sack of treasure. The crowd's excitement grew with each revelation—more wealth than most of them had seen in their entire lives, won in a single raid by thirty men with superior ships and tactics.
"The Christ-god's servants prove generous hosts," Ragnar continued with dark humor. "They shared their treasures freely, if not willingly. The western lands are exactly what I promised—soft, rich, and ripe for proper Norse attention."
Haraldson waited for the cheering to subside before speaking again. "Magnificent success indeed. Success that benefits all of Kattegat, as is proper." His smile was cold as winter ice. "As Earl, I claim two-thirds of this treasure as compensation for the unprecedented risks involved in authorizing such an expedition."
The crowd's celebration faltered. Two-thirds was far beyond the traditional third that earls normally claimed from successful raids. It was naked greed disguised as lawful taxation.
Ragnar's expression didn't change, but I saw his hand drift toward his sword hilt. "Two-thirds seems... generous... considering the Earl's contributions to the expedition's success."
"Contributions?" Haraldson's voice sharpened. "I provided the authority that made this raid legal rather than piracy. I accepted the political risks of relations with neighboring earls who might object to such innovations. Two-thirds is appropriate compensation for such services."
The standoff stretched taut as bowstring. Around the platform, hands moved toward weapons as the celebration threatened to become something uglier. I found myself calculating distances and exit routes while my exhausted powers tried to recover enough strength to be useful.
"Half," Ragnar said finally. "The Earl's wisdom deserves generous recognition, but those who risked their lives in foreign waters deserve fair compensation as well."
For a moment that felt like an hour, Haraldson weighed the offer against the potential cost of pushing further. Half was still robbery, but it was robbery that maintained the appearance of negotiation rather than naked theft.
"Acceptable," the Earl said at last. "See that my portion is delivered to the great hall before evening."
But his eyes remained fixed on our modified longship with proprietary hunger. "This vessel, with its remarkable improvements, will be made available for future expeditions under my direct command. Such innovations serve the common good of all Kattegat."
My blood turned to ice water. Haraldson was claiming my work—the ship I'd designed and helped build—without compensation or even acknowledgment. Worse, he was planning to use my innovations for his own raids, spreading the technology I'd created without any input from me.
From the crowd, I caught Siggy's eye. Haraldson's wife gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head—a warning that her husband's resentment ran deeper than his public words revealed.
"Of course," Ragnar replied smoothly. "Kattegat's prosperity has always been my primary concern."
The formal ceremony concluded with forced smiles and promises of future cooperation, but everyone present understood that the real negotiation was just beginning. Haraldson had been forced to accept Ragnar's success, but he wasn't going to let that success shift the balance of power without a fight.
As the crowd dispersed toward their homes and ale-houses, I found myself swept into Ragnar's family reunion. Lagertha embraced her husband with fierce intensity, but her eyes found me over his shoulder and widened at whatever she saw in my expression.
Without words, she pulled me into the family's embrace, and I nearly broke at the simple acceptance. After days of moral compromise and violent complicity, being included in something warm and genuine felt like a benediction.
"Father!" Bjorn's excitement was infectious as he bounced around Ragnar like an excited puppy. "Did you really sail beyond the edge of the world? Did you fight sea-monsters? Did you bring me anything?"
"Beyond the known world, certainly," Ragnar replied, ruffling his son's hair. "Though the monsters we encountered walked on two legs and carried crosses instead of swords."
Gyda hung back slightly, maintaining the dignity appropriate to her twelve years, but I caught her stealing glances at the treasure being unloaded from our ship. When she noticed me watching, she approached with something hidden behind her back.
"I made this while you were gone," she said shyly, producing a woven bracelet in blue and gold threads. "Mother said you might like something to remember Kattegat when you travel to distant lands."
The innocent gift hit me harder than all the silver and gold we'd brought back from England. Here was genuine affection freely given, untainted by violence or calculation or political maneuvering.
"It's beautiful," I told her, tying it around my wrist with hands that shook slightly. "I'll treasure it."
Later, after the public celebration had moved to Ragnar's hall and the ale was flowing freely, Lagertha approached me in a quieter corner where conversation was possible.
"You look haunted," she said without preamble. "Like a man who's seen things he wishes he could forget."
"The raid was... more difficult than I expected."
"Good." Her response surprised me. "Men who love killing make poor friends and worse husbands. If violence troubles you, that speaks well of your character."
She studied my face with those intelligent green eyes that seemed to see too much. "What will you do with your share of the treasure?"
"Honestly? I'm not sure it feels like mine to keep."
"Because you didn't swing a sword or loose an arrow?" Lagertha shook her head. "The ship that carried them safely across unknown waters was your work. The improvements that made success possible came from your knowledge. You earned your share as much as any warrior."
"Perhaps. But earning something and deserving it aren't always the same thing."
Before she could respond, Ragnar appeared with Athelstan in tow. The young monk looked overwhelmed by the noise and celebration, clearly expecting to be dragged off to some unpleasant fate.
"Wife," Ragnar said, "I've decided to keep this one rather than selling him at market. The Christ-priests know letters and numbers, skills that could prove useful."
Lagertha studied Athelstan with the same assessing gaze she'd used on me. "He's young. Probably educated. Can you speak our tongue, monk?"
"A little," Athelstan replied carefully in heavily accented Norse. "I... learn quickly."
"See that he's fed and given proper quarters," Ragnar instructed. "Not the thrall pens—something cleaner. If he's to be useful, he needs to be healthy."
As they discussed arrangements, I caught Athelstan's eye and nodded slightly. The message was clear: you're under protection now, not just ownership.
The formal celebration continued deep into the night, but I eventually escaped the crowded hall for the quieter air outside. The stars were brilliant in the clear spring sky, unmarred by the artificial light that had polluted my old world's darkness.
I found Floki standing in the shadow of his workshop, staring up at the constellations with an expression of profound unease.
"Troubled thoughts?" I asked, settling beside him.
"The gods' plan grows harder to read," he said without looking away from the stars. "When foreigners change what should be unchangeable, the patterns become... unclear."
"Change isn't always bad. Sometimes it's necessary."
"Necessary." He tasted the word like something bitter. "Tell me, eastern stranger—in your homeland, do the old ways still hold? Do people still honor the gods who shaped the world?"
The question carried weight beyond mere curiosity. Floki was asking whether my innovations represented progress or corruption, whether I was helping his people adapt or destroying something essential about their nature.
"Change and tradition don't have to be enemies," I said carefully. "The best innovations honor what came before while making improvements for what comes next."
"Pretty words." Floki's smile held no warmth. "But the gods care little for pretty words. They judge by actions, and actions have consequences that ripple farther than men expect."
He turned to face me fully, his pale eyes gleaming in the starlight. "Your improvements brought great success today. But success has a price, and that price isn't always paid by those who earn it."
With that cryptic warning, he disappeared into his workshop, leaving me alone under stars that seemed suddenly cold and distant.
Standing in the darkness outside Ragnar's celebration, listening to the sounds of drunken revelry and the distant splash of waves against the harbor, I realized that everything had changed. The successful raid had shifted political dynamics I barely understood, made me valuable to people whose motives I couldn't predict, and marked me as someone worth watching by forces I couldn't control.
The question was whether that attention would prove to be blessing or curse.
Given my experiences so far in the Viking world, I wasn't optimistic about the answer.
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