Moments after the bargain was sworn, Aethelwulf better known to the camp as "The Rat" stood before Ragnar. He had been given a bath (mostly forced upon him by Bjorn) and a new tunic, but he still held himself like a man expecting a knife in the dark.
"Long live the... uh... Master Builder?" Aethelwulf attempted a warrior's greeting, his hand flapping awkwardly near his chest.
Ragnar waved his hand, dismissing the empty words. He was pacing, his mind already three steps ahead on the trade paths. "Aethelwulf, do you have a way to move five wagon-loads of poured-iron cooking pans into Mercia without the King's wardens noticing? And more importantly, can you find buyers who are greedy enough to pay silver for them without asking too many questions?"
Aethelwulf was taken aback by the bluntness. Usually, Vikings just asked where the hoard was buried. This Viking was asking about hidden markets and shadow-paths. But Aethelwulf was a survivor, and he smelled gold like a wolf smells blood.
He straightened up, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I can do that, Lord Ragnar. I still have many... old friends... walking within the borders of Mercia. They are men of low honor and high hunger. They know that they cannot fight the King's tithes openly, but they are the kind of men who would sell their own mothers for a piece of silver. They hold deep grudges against the Crown's grip on iron."
Ragnar was pleased with the answer. "Our Forge is making pans and ploughshares like rain. I need your shadow-friends to buy our iron. Tell them it's 'Northern Iron.' Tell them it's cheap. Tell them it's heavy."
Aethelwulf was overjoyed at first the cut he'd get was a heavy purse but then his face darkened slightly, a shadow of an old pain crossing his eyes.
"They will buy without a doubt, Lord. Although... if they try to beat this iron into swords to fight the King, it might shatter and get them sent to Hell."
"That is a fate I am willing to let them meet," Ragnar said calmly. "It will slow the Mercian army's march if their weapons break in the training yards. It is... a trick of the trade."
Aethelwulf nodded slowly. He respected the cold reckoning. It was better to kill an enemy with a bad bargain than an axe. It was cleaner.
Ragnar had heard the "saga" of Aethelwulf or rather, what Ulf had told him. Aethelwulf used to be an honest trader in Lincoln. He had a storehouse, a wife, and a name for fair dealing. But the local Ealdorman, a man named Lord Godwin, had decided that Aethelwulf had too much silver. Godwin took the storehouse, named Aethelwulf a tithe-cheat, and branded him a thief.
Aethelwulf had watched his life crumble. His wife, unable to bear the shame and hunger, had returned to her father's hall, taking their children. Aethelwulf was left with nothing but the brand on his cheek and a burning hatred for the high-born.
Since then, The Rat had pledged his life to bleeding the Mercian hoard. He moved hidden wool, he clipped coins, and he stole chickens. He didn't care about "honor" or "law" anymore. He cared about making Lord Godwin look like a fool.
"Lord Godwin holds the iron trade in Lincoln," Aethelwulf said, his voice dropping to a hiss. "If we flood the lands with cheap iron, his mines will yield no silver. He will howl."
"Then let's make him howl," Ragnar said.
That very day, three "shadow-walkers" untrustworthy men Aethelwulf had pulled from the thrall pens slipped out of the Viking camp. They carried tokens: a heavy iron pot and a small poured-iron block.
They moved through the fens, staying far from the King's roads, heading for the heart of Mercia.
The shadow-walkers reached their marks one by one. They went to the back rooms of mead-halls, the damp cellars of smiths, and the hidden docks of the swamps.
The Fens (The Shadow-Mover)
Godric the Eel sat in his flat-bottomed boat, hidden among the reeds of the Great Ouse river. He read the scroll Aethelwulf's walker had given him. His eyes, usually dull and dead like fish scales, widened with disbelief and greed.
Godric used to be a net-caster until the King's river-guards demanded half his catch as a "spear-tax." When he refused, they sank his boat. Now, he moved forbidden goods. The scroll promised wagon-loads of iron for half the weight in silver.
"Half the silver," Godric whispered, clutching the token block. "If I move this upriver to Cambridge, I can starve every trader in the shire." He didn't care where it came from. He only cared that it was heavy and shiny.
The City of Lincoln (The Smith)
Ealdred stood in his forge, wiping soot from his brow. He was a massive man, strong as a bull, but he was drowning in blood-debts. The walker had slipped into his yard through the back alley and handed him the scroll and a small iron pan.
Ealdred read the runes. His heart pounded. Lord Godwin, the Ealdorman, asked a king's ransom for unworked earth-blood. Ealdred barely made enough to feed his boys.
"Worked iron?" Ealdred muttered, tapping the pan with a hammer. Clang. It sounded solid. "Ready for the fire? No beating needed?"
He thought of the look on Godwin's face when he stopped buying the Lord's costly ore. He thought of paying off his blood-debts. He didn't know the iron was full of char and brittle; he just knew it was there.
"I'll take it all," Ealdred told the walker. "Tell the Rat I agree."
A Lord's Hall Near the Border (The Lesser Lord)
Lord Wulfric sat in his crumbling hall, drinking sour wine. He was a high-born, by blood, but his hoard was empty. His dice-debts were sung of by scolds, and he had been cast out from the King's feast.
The walker had risked much here, climbing the ivy to the window. But Wulfric was hungry.
He read the parchment. Iron fit for war, it lied—or rather, it hinted. For cheap silver.
Wulfric clenched his fists. He had been plotting a small blood-feud—a way to take his neighbor's fields to pay his debts. But he couldn't afford to give steel to his ceorls.
"Iron for the price of bread," Wulfric hissed, a wild grin spreading across his face. He pictured his ceorls holding swords, storming his rival's wooden walls. He didn't know the swords would snap like winter ice. He only saw the gleam of the metal.
"My fathers are smiling on me," Wulfric whispered. "I will be a great warlord."
Two suns later, the three men gathered at a hidden spot in the Fens a dry patch of land surrounded by fog and swamp gas. It was Aethelwulf's old meeting ground.
They arrived in boats, looking over their shoulders.
Godric the Eel, slippery and nervous.
Ealdred the Smith, hulking and sooty.
Lord Wulfric, trying to look grand in a stained cloak.
They looked at each other with suspicion, but the greed in their eyes bound them together.
"The Rat says it's five wagon-loads," Godric whispered, his voice like dry reeds. "He says the Northmen are fools. They don't know the worth of their own hoard."
"They are beasts," Lord Wulfric scoffed. "They probably think pots are useless because they eat their meat bloody. We are robbing them blind."
"I struck the token~" Ealdred said, holding up the pan. "It melts fast. It pours easy. I can make a hundred spear-tips in a day with this."
"But will they bite?" Godric asked.
"They are iron, aren't they?" Ealdred shrugged. "Iron is iron. If it spills blood, it works."
The three men smiled. They saw a future of heavy purses. They saw a future where they tricked the King, tricked the Vikings, and sat by the highest fire.
"We gather our silver," Wulfric decided. "We buy the lot. Godric moves it. Ealdred works it. I sell it."
"Our words are bound," the others nodded.
They didn't know they were buying a trickster's rusted promise. They didn't know that Ragnar the Master Builder had reckoned the exact measure of char to ensure maximum shattering upon the shield.
They just thought they were cunning.
Back at the camp, Ragnar sneezed.
"Someone is speaking my name," Ragnar said, rubbing his nose.
"Probably laying curses on you," Bjorn laughed, throwing another log into the Dragon's Hearth. "Is the iron ready?"
"The iron is always ready," Ragnar grinned. "But is the market ready for the Great Cooking Pan Trick of 865?"
"I don't know what a trick is~" Bjorn admitted, "but if it gets us silver, I like it."