The next day, as the fleet prepared to depart, Helgi stood on deck counting heads. One person was missing—the first mate.
"Where did he go?"
A sailor replied, "He went to a tavern to look for someone. Said it was on your orders."
Me?
Helgi's anger flared. Gritting his teeth, he stared toward the docks. After a long while, the first mate finally came into view, followed by a local youth.
Once aboard, the first mate ignored his superior's fury and dragged Helgi and the translator straight into the captain's cabin.
"A few days ago, when the brothers were drinking at the tavern, this guy bragged to the translator that he's been to a desolate archipelago—huge in size."
"You're sure?"
Helgi handed the youth paper and pen. The young man clumsily sketched the outlines of Iberia and southern Morocco, then marked a route leading to a group of islands. Suddenly he stopped, speaking rapidly.
The translator relayed, "My lord, his name is Diego Gallos, a Visigoth. He started working aboard ships at thirteen. He's willing to guide us to the Canaries. If we succeed, he asks for a piece of land that can be inherited."
Hereditary land.
Those words struck a nerve. Helgi was nearing fifty, his vigor steadily fading. If he missed this chance, his sons would inherit nothing but the bleak northwestern isles of Britannia.
It was time to gamble.
Helgi took out a bottle of whisky and poured each of them a cup.
"Fine. I agree. Inform the sailors—see if they're willing to take the risk."
The first mate drained his cup and smacked his lips.
"Three ships, one hundred ninety men. The islands are vast—plenty to go around."
Half an hour later, the fleet departed Lisbon. Helgi explained the exploration plan to the crew, along with the risks and rewards.
A voice rose from the crowd. "Are there gold or silver mines on the islands?"
Helgi answered honestly. "Probably not. Some old records say the Phoenicians, Greeks, and Romans all reached those islands. Even if there were precious metals, they'd have been mined out long ago.
"But according to Gallos, the sunlight there is abundant—perfect for growing sugarcane and grapes. Once we export sugar and wine to Britannia and the North, everyone will make a fortune."
Another voice asked, "How far is it?"
"Gallos once served on a merchant ship blown off course to the Canaries. After repairs, it took them twelve days to sail back to Iberia. Our ships are better—we should reach the islands in ten."
With a guide willing to lead the way, the sailors agreed. The fleet altered course, heading south along the coastline.
During the voyage, the three captains used the log-line method to measure speed, recorded headings with magnetic compasses, and at noon measured latitude using an astrolabe copied from Moorish designs.
At night, the officer of the watch judged latitude by the position of the North Star, recording everything in the ship's log to aid in drawing charts.
In the early Middle Ages—without marine chronometers or sextants—navigation errors were significant. A small mistake could send a ship far off course, which was why long-distance voyages away from the coast were so dangerous.
On the fourth day, a steady north wind rose. The fleet left Iberian waters and sailed southwest along the African coast.
The farther south they went, the more desolate the shoreline became. According to Gallos, this endless wasteland had no water, no plants, no animals—nothing but sand.
Seeing the captain's frown, Gallos hurried to add,
"The Canaries are different—especially the two largest islands. They have vast forests, including laurel trees. Laurel leaves can be used as spices."
The translator conveyed Helgi's icy reply:
"Let's hope so."
At dawn on the tenth day, a shadow of land emerged through the morning mist. The lookout atop the mast screamed at the top of his lungs, waking most of the crew.
"Let me see!"
Gallos rushed to the rail, rubbed his eyes hard, then pointed at the white beaches drawing closer and the great swaths of forest inland, bursting into laughter.
"Haha! I told you so, Captain. Time to honor your promise."
As the mist cleared, Helgi realized they had indeed reached the legendary Canary Islands. He signaled the other two ships to anchor and ordered the marines to prepare for inland exploration.
Each ship carried over forty sailors and a twenty-man marine detachment, all fully armored in iron—ready not only for boarding actions, but also to suppress any mutiny if needed.
Half an hour later, Helgi, the translator, Gallos, and sixty armored soldiers landed on the beach.
"Battle formation. Stay alert. Don't let the natives kill you."
Björn had nearly died during his first exploration of Greenland, ambushed by indigenous people. That lesson was burned into Helgi's memory.
Despite the heat, he wore two layers of armor—a cloth-covered cuirass over chainmail—and advanced cautiously into the island's interior.
After several days of exploration, the fleet gained a basic understanding of the archipelago: seven large islands in total. Helgi chose the largest as his personal domain, naming it Sunlight Island.
Sunlight Island had dramatic elevation changes (0–3,718 meters), abundant sunlight, rugged terrain, and extensive pine forests. The windward northwest was relatively humid, while the leeward regions were much drier.
At a temporary camp, Helgi scooped up a handful of soil and began thinking about profits.
Over time, influenced by Vig, Helgi—like Jorund and Thorgar—had developed the habit of evaluating every new place: where armies could maneuver, where settlements could be built, what crops might grow, and roughly how much money could be made each year.
He turned to Gallos. "Is this place suitable for sugarcane? Have you grown it before?"
"There's a sugar plantation near my hometown. The climate's similar. My cousin works on one year-round—bring him here, and I guarantee the first batch of sugar within two years."
Helgi was only half convinced. He left twenty volunteers behind to hold the camp, then led the fleet back toward Iberia.
To avoid arousing the Lisbon governor's suspicion, the fleet did not dock there. Instead, they sailed to Gijón in Asturias, trading four suits of armor for half a day of harbor access.
"You really intend to trade?"
The local Visigothic noble was astonished. In twenty years of ruling his lands, this was the first time he had met Vikings willing to conduct honest commerce.
Helgi replied with Vig's own words:
"Long-term trade brings greater profits than a single raid. Of course we choose the former."
In the end, they reached an agreement: Viking ships could temporarily dock at Gijón in the future—provided they paid a mooring fee of two suits of armor per ship.
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