With all parties in agreement, Vig and the clan chiefs signed the Glasgow Accord, marking the formal incorporation of the Northern Highlands into the domain of the Duke of Tyne Town.
Across his realm, the population now stood at:
Tyne County – 37,000
Central Lowlands – ~160,000
Southern & Northern Highlands combined – ~50,000
With the accord signed, Vig's total population expanded to 250,000.
"From the spring of 849 until now—three full years—I finally control the entire North. Most of the time I was fighting bandits. None of this came easy."
He couldn't help thinking of Ivar's misery.
Ireland covered 84,000 km², slightly larger than Scotland.
But its population was 500,000—far beyond Scotland's.
Conquering it, ruling it, stabilizing it… all exponentially more difficult.
For Ivar, it was like being trapped in an endless swamp that swallowed all his strength.
"Large territories have large problems; small ones have small miseries.
Every house has a scripture that's hard to read."
Now that order was restored, Vig unfolded his map and began planning a new round of administrative restructuring.
New Counties and Towns
First was Aberdeen, in Scotland's northeast.
Vig planned to create a new Aberdeen County, noting the surrounding flatlands—properly developed, its farmland could rival Tyne County's.
Second, he planned to establish eight new towns, divided among the five northern counties.
In Vig's administrative philosophy, a town was the lowest functioning administrative hub.
The countless villages beneath them were too numerous to micromanage, so villagers would continue electing their own headmen.
To maintain oversight, he planned to institute circuit courts:
County judicial offices would dispatch judges to travel through rural areas,
mediate disputes and gather information,
and always rule according to the Tyne Town Code.
After two years of revisions by Herligev, the Raven-Speaker, and Mitcham, this written code was finally complete—rough around the edges, but functional.
Formally inspired by Roman law, its content was grounded in practical reality, blending the customs of Vikings, Angles, and Picts to avoid unnecessary friction.
Reactions to the First Written Code in Norse Society
Reactions varied:
Ragnar was long accustomed to Vig's eccentricity. A duke had every right to codify his domain's customs. Nothing usurping here.
Ragnar skimmed the text, tossed it to Chancellor Pascal, and ordered him to compile a Britannic Code of his own.
Ivar immediately demanded a copy—governing over 200,000 people required something systematic. Too lazy to craft his own, he simply told subordinates to "reference Vig's code."
Other nobles—Lennard, Ulf, and the rest—were too busy to care.
To them, such ideas were flashy but impractical, unlike agricultural innovations such as the three-field system, heavy plow, and drainage windmills.
But the Norse shamanic circles reacted violently.
Codified law directly undercut their spiritual and social authority.
If not for the North-Serpent's overwhelming military prestige, they might have responded with more than verbal condemnation.
As the code spread, the Tyne Town Order's influence eclipsed even Uppsala's sacred sites.
Vig earned a new epithet:
"The Lawgiver."
Return of Helgi & the Six-County Football League
In late August, Helgi returned with goods just in time for the Six-County Football League.
"This is the ledger. Look it over slowly. If you need me, I'll be at the pitch."
With that, he marched off with his family, leaving Vig alone in the hall.
The fur company was prospering this year.
They had secured new trade partnerships with two tribes, purchasing furs using iron tools, beer, and honeycomb coal—saving huge amounts of manpower.
"Hmm… after deducting crew wages, about six hundred pounds left.
One hundred for miscellaneous costs, five hundred for shareholder dividends.
Not bad—another 150 pounds in my pocket this year."
Closing the ledger, Vig walked to the newly-built open-air stadium north of town.
It matched the dimensions of later eras: ~100 meters long, ~70 wide, with surrounding running tracks for races and horses.
Earthen embankments formed tiered seating for 2,000–3,000 spectators.
Compared to a Roman colosseum, it was crude—but perfectly adequate for a bunch of bored townsfolk.
Four gates surrounded the stadium, each with a ticket booth.
During matches, spiked barricades sealed the entrances.
Teenagers who couldn't afford tickets clustered outside, tiptoeing to listen to the roars within, arguing heatedly over their Favelite players.
The moment Vig stepped through the south gate, he was swallowed by a tidal wave of sound.
The roar crashed over him and his shieldguards, leaving the hardened warriors momentarily stunned.
"Crush Stirling!"
"Ref, you idiot! He touched it with his hand—blow the whistle!"
Today was Tyne County vs. Stirling County.
The league rules were simple: six teams (including the new Aberdeen team) each played one match against every other team.
Win = 2 points.
Draw = 1.
Loss = 0.
Reaching the noble stand, Vig found Helgi and his son fully absorbed in the match.
Britta sat beside them knitting, yawning, watching the field with the expression of someone observing a gathering of idiots.
Vig nudged Helgi.
"Stop staring. It's 1–4. Less than half an hour left. Nothing's changing."
"Hey—your Tyne team is losing this badly and you're not even a little upset?"
"What do you mean my Tyne team?
All six counties are my jurisdiction. I don't care who wins."
Ignoring the game, Vig began discussing the newly conquered Northwestern Isles, proposing that Helgi take over North Uist—Steinn's former territory—and serve as regent for the whole island chain.
Helgi, who had lived there for years, was the perfect figure to steady the situation; the remaining chiefs (now knights) would accept his authority more easily.
"That works. Once the fleet finishes resupply, they'll head to Greenland without me.
I'll spend the latter half of the year stabilizing the isles.
Business in Greenland is steady now; Bjorn and I already agreed—we'll take turns."
Helgi added that because he was always voyaging abroad, he couldn't answer wartime levies and would instead pay the shield tax.
Vig drank his ale.
"Never mind that. We're family—we don't need to keep scores."
They stayed for the remainder of the match, helping maintain post-game order.
These days, almost every match ended in a massive brawl.
Security forces had already been raised from fifty to three hundred, but even that barely contained the crowd's boiling enthusiasm.
Brutish, chaotic, violent—
this was exactly why, in 1331, King Edward III of England banned football outright.
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