Novgorod, Royal Palace
Upon hearing Vig's request, Rurik was deeply shaken.
"So many warhorses—and a sizable number of nomadic mercenaries. Just how much does Vig make each year?"
Little Pascal remained calm.
"Cabinet secrets. I'm not at liberty to say."
From the count's tone and relaxed demeanor, Rurik caught a familiar air—like that of Byzantine envoys. Arrogant, dismissive, looking down on others like rustic barbarians. It was infuriating.
And yet… considering the disparity in power, the man had every right to be confident.
Rurik's realm appeared vast, but the lands around Novgorod were filled with forests and swamps. Winters were harsh, agricultural yields low—barely enough to sustain a larger population.
The fertile lands of the middle and lower Dnieper River were only nominally under his control. The Rus tribes there paid token tribute—some honey, a bit of grain—insufficient even to support local garrisons. Novgorod had to subsidize them instead.
In truth, Rurik's finances depended heavily on transit trade between the Black Sea, Eastern Europe, and the Baltic Sea.
The problem?
The Byzantines controlled the Black Sea
Britain controlled the Baltic
Offend either side, and his entire trade network would collapse.
Suppressing his frustration, Rurik forced a genial smile.
"Very well. I'll make arrangements."
The Neva River estuary would freeze by November—less than four months remained.
To seize this enormous profit, Rurik assembled a large fleet and personally sailed south to Uru Fort.
Years ago, when Nils had served under him, he had drawn detailed plans of the fortress.
Located on the west bank of the river, the fort had:
wooden palisade walls
a surrounding moat
watchtowers
four counterweight trebuchets
a permanent garrison of 500 soldiers
It served as Rurik's key military base in the middle Dnieper.
Through merchant channels, he contacted the Pecheneg tribes on the eastern bank and proposed another large horse purchase.
Five days later, both sides met.
The early autumn sun blazed overhead. The broad Dnieper shimmered with blinding light, the air thick with the briny scent of evaporating water. Beyond the eastern bank stretched an endless степpe, rippling under waves of heat.
Rurik's longship stopped thirty paces from shore.
On land, more than a dozen armored riders surrounded a nomadic chieftain. After a brief exchange, his translator shouted:
"Why do you need so many horses?"
Rurik replied bluntly:
"You're mistaken—I can't afford them. The real buyer is the King of Britain—the Serpent of the North. Deliver before winter, or it'll be too late."
The Pecheneg leader remained wary, repeatedly probing his intentions. He feared Rurik planned to build a cavalry force to sweep the steppe tribes.
Rurik's patience snapped.
"If you won't sell, I'll go elsewhere. There's no shortage of horses on the steppe. Don't waste my time!"
Life on the steppe was harsh. Poverty was constant.
If this deal succeeded, their people might survive the next few winters without starvation.
The chieftain relented. He agreed not only to sell horses, but also to allow tribesmen to serve as mercenaries for Britain.
Originally, nomadic mercenaries were cheap.
But with the Byzantine Empire recruiting large numbers of barbarian troops, prices had surged.
Now, beyond the soldier's wages, employers had to pay the chieftain a 2-pound silver introduction fee per man.
Rurik glanced at Little Pascal.
"Money isn't the issue," Pascal said evenly.
"The men must not be too old—and they must be able to shoot from horseback."
Rurik nodded.
"That's no problem. Nomads live on horseback. Give them light armor and iron weapons, and they'll make excellent light cavalry."
For the next half month, transactions proceeded daily in small batches.
Rurik's longships ferried:
grain
alcohol
iron pots
iron ingots
In return, they carried back:
horses
solemn-faced nomadic youths
Before departure, the chieftain explained Britain's distant lands.
Few who left would ever return.
But these men had little choice.
Most were second sons. Their fathers' herds could barely support the eldest brother's family. Divide them further, and everyone would starve.
Better to gamble on a distant future.
Word spread quickly.
Nearby tribes arrived uninvited, eager to sell their own horses and young men.
Before long, the required numbers were met.
Rurik frowned.
"So many horses… and over two hundred mercenaries. Transporting them will be troublesome."
Pascal remained unconcerned.
"Your problem, Your Majesty. The navy will purchase them at the Neva estuary—two pounds per horse. The fewer losses in transit, the greater your profit."
Rurik asked,
"Will there be more orders next year?"
Pascal hesitated.
"Beyond mounts for light cavalry, the kingdom also needs breeding stock. It's very likely we'll continue purchasing."
Rurik smiled faintly.
"If the war in Bulgaria ends, mercenary prices will drop. You should recruit more next year."
The more horses and warriors drained from the Pechenegs, the weaker they became.
Rurik had no desire for profit alone—he wanted these nomads sent elsewhere to cause trouble.
By October, Rurik delivered the horses and mercenaries to the Neva estuary.
The forests were bleak. Birch leaves drifted down in soft rustling waves, while dark fir trees stood rigid, their needles dusted with frost.
The river was packed with ships:
old knarrs
British two-masted sailing ships
newly built three-masted vessels
White sails filled the horizon, nearly blotting out the water.
"What a display…"
Rurik estimated the fleet could transport at least 5,000 troops—an overwhelming force compared to any ruler in Northern or Eastern Europe.
Suddenly, a group of naval officers in black uniforms and tricorne hats approached.
Leading them was Earl Joren of Winchester, commander of the fleet.
He handed over a manifest.
"Your Majesty, this is the cargo delivered by our fleet—grain, alcohol, iron ingots, and other supplies. How many horses do you have?"
Rurik replied:
"930 horses. 228 mercenaries."
Joren reviewed the roster—names, ages—then instructed his men to proceed with the exchange.
In addition to payment, Britain provided an advance deposit.
Rurik was tasked with:
recruiting more nomads
purchasing 300 additional steppe horses
delivering them by April next year
Rurik narrowed his eyes.
"Vig always insists on payment upon delivery… yet now he's paying in advance?"
He wants horses that badly?
What is he planning?
The question lingered.
But wisely, Rurik chose not to ask.
—------------------------------
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