In Chavatu's eyes, Hosa was the queen's own brother. If he married his eldest daughter to him, perhaps they could secure the protection of the British royal house.
Hearing the proposal, Hosa flatly refused. If word spread that he had taken a native bride, the entire kingdom would be laughing at him.
"Chief," he swore solemnly, "if you release me, I will do everything in my power to secure peace between you and the earl."
Seeing his treasured daughter rejected, Chavatu flew into a rage. He ordered the guards to throw the prisoner back into the cave and starve him for a time.
Afterward, he turned to Adrian. "Without marriage ties, will the Viking nobles truly honor a peace agreement?"
Adrian's expression grew grave. "For now, yes. Their goal—especially Hosa's—is profit from sugarcane. The land they hold is enough. But in a few decades, when more settlers arrive, they will want more land. Another conflict will come."
After a full day without food, Hosa grew weak, yet he was certain the chief would not dare kill him.
"The chief has invited me to his house many times. The tribe knows I am important. Sooner or later, Helgi will hear of it. He'll come."
On the third morning, sunlight streamed into the cave. As hunger gnawed at him, his resolve wavered.
Footsteps approached. The faint scent of food drifted in. Hosa forced himself upright and glared at Adrian.
"Is the chief still trying to force this marriage?"
Adrian looked awkward. He set down a bowl of water and a small piece of bread—barely enough to keep a man alive.
"This is today's ration, my lord."
"Forget it. I won't marry his daughter. If that's the only choice, give me a clean death."
When Adrian left, Hosa devoured the bread in seconds, even licking up the crumbs from the floor. Then he lay back, whistling idly to pass the time, praying Helgi would act soon.
Days later, rumors reached Helgi: a chief named Chavatu was holding a high-status prisoner.
Hope flared anew.
"Send scouts immediately. If Hosa lives, I'll pay whatever it takes."
After confirming the captive was alive, Helgi marched straight for the valley with six hundred militiamen and two hundred Guanche auxiliaries.
At the valley entrance stood a hastily built wall of logs and stones. Hundreds of Guanches waited behind it, clutching wooden spears, staring nervously at the iron-clad Vikings.
"The shaman says they bargained with demons," one whispered, "that's why their skins cannot be pierced."
"It's not magic," another retorted. "Strike the gaps in their armor with obsidian blades—they'll die like anyone else."
Soon, Chavatu arrived and proposed negotiations. Helgi agreed.
Unexpectedly, Helgi did not oppose the marriage alliance. Fearing a possible Berber attack from outside the islands, he was eager to stabilize relations.
Within half an hour, the two sides struck an agreement. Boundaries were drawn. Monthly trade was to begin. Guanche youths could work at the plantation and harbor.
"And Hosa?" Chavatu asked.
Helgi cared only that Hosa lived. His personal wishes mattered little.
"I'll persuade him."
In the cave, Hosa's last defenses collapsed.
"I only wanted to do business. Why must you make things so hard for an honest merchant?"
Helgi's "betrayal" crushed his will. He bitterly regretted investing in the sugar venture. He should have stayed in Britain running textile mills.
The wedding was held hastily. Hosa returned to the plantation with his new wife, his face dark with resentment.
Helgi tried to console him. "There are Guanches within and Berbers without. We must secure the island quickly. For the sugar company, we have no choice."
He outlined a new plan: gradually bring the entire island under influence through trade, use Guanche manpower to expand to neighboring islands—just as the West Sea Fur Company had done in Greenland.
Back at the plantation, a feast celebrated the hard-won peace. Hosa skipped the festivities and returned to his quarters.
Looking at his new wife, he spoke flatly. "This is your room. You can move to the harbor later—or return to your tribe. Though you don't understand me. What a waste."
Inside his chamber, he noticed a wooden barrel in the corner. Lifting the lid, he tasted the liquid within.
A fresh sweetness flooded his mouth.
"I knew it. Sugarcane can make liquor."
Excitement replaced despair. He drank several more gulps, then hurried to find Helgi, who was drinking by the fire.
"I need a joint agreement. The sugar company must sell all its molasses to me."
Together, their shares formed a majority. If Helgi agreed, Hosa could purchase the perishable molasses at a near-giveaway price and reap enormous profits.
Helgi set down his roasted fish skewer. "You've found a way to use it?"
"Yes. Don't refuse. You and the company owe me."
After a long pause, Helgi nodded casually.
Fearing he might change his mind, Hosa quickly drafted a contract. The sugar company would sell molasses to him at almost no cost.
Once signed, Hosa returned with the barrel and shared the newly brewed cane liquor.
"Not bad! Pour me another!"
"Hey, this tastes good—how did you think of it?"
Hosa waved it off. "My sister invented beer and whisky. I invented cane liquor. Seems the gods favor our family."
With peace secured, the fleet prepared to sail home. The holds carried wool, wheat, bay leaves—and a small quantity of sugar.
On the way, they stopped in Lisbon for spices. By now, the Moors were aware of the Canary Islands. The governor summoned Galos, commander of the fleet.
"What are Britain's true intentions?" he demanded.
Galos replied calmly, "We seek only to plant sugarcane, grapes, and citrus. The Canary Islands belong to no kingdom. Why should we not claim them?"
The governor remained unconvinced. Yet, mindful of Britain's naval strength, he chose patience and reported the matter to the court in Córdoba.
—------------------------------
Pat reon Advance Chapters: patreon.com/YonkoSlayer