Ch 104: The Duke
At this moment, Lambert appeared extremely calm.
“Your Majesty is mistaken, Sir. Your Majesty’s praise of your and Ragnar’s twenty years together will absolutely not damage this precious friendship. He only wants you to manage the Northern Coast, and incidentally suppress the rebellion in Aquitaine and Brittany.”
Through the window, Gunnar gazed eastward at the rolling pastures and farmland, taking a deep breath. Besides the salty sea breeze, there was also a hint of the unique scent of fertile land.
Throughout his life, besides the black earth of the Lower and Middle Dnieper River, the land of West Francia was the most fertile, Britain’s land ranked third, and the land of Northern Europe was the worst.
If.
No, there are no ifs!
He ultimately still refused.
“Alas, I am the Earl of Cambridge, Britain. I am not suitable to rule this land.”
Sensing a weakening in his attitude, Lambert laughed heartily, “In the world today, there are countless nobles who own two fiefdoms that are not adjacent. For example, nobles like your Leonard and Ulf, who simultaneously own fiefdoms in Britain and their old homes in Sweden.
You, with your own bravery and reputation, taking Normandy, is perfectly normal. The Earl of Cambridge, Britain, and the Earl of Normandy, West Francia, these two are not in conflict. If you really are unwilling, then I will look for someone else, such as Niels, Orm.”
“Ha, relying on them? To control those Northern European raiders, only I, Vig, and Ivar can do it.”
Gunnar subconsciously belittled his colleagues a few times, then fell into a long silence. Finally, he put forward a series of unreasonable conditions.
He could marry Vivienne, the niece of the French King, and become a vassal of West Francia, but he must have greater independence than an ordinary Earl, demanding to be appointed as a hereditary dux, that is, the Duke of Normandy, governing his fiefdom using Viking traditions and customs.
Moreover, should Francia and Britain ever go to war, he would strictly maintain neutrality.
Unexpectedly, Lambert actually agreed to everything, only putting forward one condition—that Gunnar and his knights and soldiers convert to the Roman Catholic Church.
“Give me some time, I will try my best to persuade them to convert.”
Lambert nodded lightly, “Good, Your Grace, please take care in the future.”
Upon learning that their lord intended to convert to the Roman Catholic Church, nearly half of the soldiers abandoned Gunnar. The next day, they returned to Britain with ransom, willing to convert immediately. Only a quarter were willing to convert immediately, while the remaining quarter remained in a wait-and-see state, depending on the situation.
With an uneasy heart, Gunnar and four hundred Normans sailed to Île de la Cité.
At the dock, the King, Queen, and a number of Cabinet Members came to greet them. Among the crowd stood a fair-skinned, beautiful, black-haired girl with swollen eyes.
Obviously, this person was Princess Vivienne, Charlemagne’s great-granddaughter, and Gunnar’s soon-to-be wife, as mentioned by Lambert.
Staring at Vivienne for half a minute, Gunnar unsurprisingly made her cry. He shook his head, unconcerned, and walked to the King’s side, “When will the Investiture Ceremony and wedding be held?”
Charles smiled amiably, his tone revealing a hint of firmness, “Baptism, and then the investiture.”
“Alright, as you wish.”
Accompanied by the chanting of monks, Gunnar and half of his warriors entered the shallow water for baptism, announcing their conversion to the Roman Catholic Church.
Returning to the shore, Gunnar shook his wet long hair, and the splashing water droplets splattered on the clothes of those around him, causing a series of complaints.
Ignoring the flying droplets, Charles drew his longsword and, in the name of the King, invested him as Duke of Normandy.
The ceremony ended, and the crowd surged towards the palace in the center of Île de la Cité. The wedding venue had been prepared in advance, with abundant food and luxurious decorations, far exceeding the banquets Gunnar had attended in Britain.
At the long table, Gunnar grabbed a piece of roasted venison, ignoring the strange looks of others, and ate it heartily, “The venison tastes good, what seasoning did you add?”
Lambert: “Thyme, pepper, and truffles from Northern Italy.”
“So many things! Compared to you, Anglo-Saxon cooking is terrible.”
As time passed, the atmosphere of the banquet gradually became lively. Charles suddenly clapped his hands, and a guard holding a longsword appeared in the passage on the right side of the hall.
“Sir,” Charles stood up, raising his goblet towards Gunnar.
“In the battle half a year ago, it is said that you broke two swords in a row. Now that you have been promoted to Duke, you should have a high-quality sword befitting your status.”
He had the guard hand the longsword to Gunnar, who drew it out casually.
“What a fine weapon.”
This longsword had a cross-guard, a long and sharp blade, engraved with a line of elegant cursive Latin. Under the bright candlelight, the diamond embedded in the hilt reflected a dazzling light, captivating him.
Gunnar thrust the longsword into the air several times, finding that its center of gravity was reasonable and its balance excellent, and he felt no stagnation when wielding it.
“What does this inscription mean?”
Lambert leaned over, “Per aspera ad astra, through hardship to the stars. What name are you going to give it?”
Gunnar scratched his blond hair, placed the longsword in front of Vivienne, and motioned for his wife to give it a decent name.
Looking at the dazzling diamond on the hilt, Vivienne momentarily forgot her sadness and fear. Reaching out to touch the diamond, she said blankly, “Dawnbreaker.”
The wedding ended, and Gunnar stayed in Paris for three days before returning to his castle in Caen with his wife, soldiers, and servants.
This castle was rebuilt from a stone fortress left behind by the Romans, about ten meters high, with a large area, far better than the small, cramped wooden fortress in Cambridge.
After settling their luggage, Gunnar left his wife and servants behind and led his soldiers aboard a longship. Guided by local fishermen, they sailed along the coastline for a whole day until a faint outline appeared on the sea.
“Is this Jersey in the Channel Islands?”
Hearing the translation, the fisherman was terrified, his body trembling uncontrollably, “Yes, sir. In July, a fellow named Young Eric led a fleet to raid the coastal areas. Before returning to Norway, he left a small group of troops stationed in the Channel Islands, ordering them to repair the docks and barracks as an outpost for future raids on West Francia.”
Hearing that these were Young Eric’s subordinates, Gunnar spat.
“This trash dares to harass my territory?”
He ordered them to spend the night in a hidden bay. The next morning, while a thick fog shrouded the sea, the fleet, under the cover of the mist, silently arrived at the southwest beach of Jersey.
As they had occupied Jersey for a short time, the pirates had not had time to build fortifications, allowing Gunnar’s four hundred soldiers to easily flood into the settlement without suffering any casualties and capturing the enemies who were still asleep.
“Surrender and live!”
Faced with the cold and sharp weapons, more than two hundred pirates left their houses and squatted dejectedly in the open space outside, awaiting the victor’s disposal.
After half a minute, one of the prisoners recognized Gunnar’s identity, causing the crowd to clamor, wondering why Gunnar was attacking his own kind.