Over the next few days, following the sugar workers' advice, Helgi relocated the camp to a stretch of sloping land more than ten miles to the south. A small river flowed nearby, making it suitable for a sugarcane plantation.
Pressed for time, Helgi assigned over three hundred people to clear brush. After more than half a month of backbreaking labor, they finally opened up a small patch of land.
Next, the sugar workers cut the cane into suitable stalk segments, coated the cut ends with wood ash, placed them into plowed furrows, covered them with soil, and then diverted water to irrigate them.
Lacking irrigation canals and waterwheels, the laborers could only carry water by bucket. They were exhausted to the point of collapse, complaining nonstop that life here was unbearable.
Even after planting was complete, the work did not slow. The sugar workers approached Helgi again, asking him to assign manpower for regular weeding, as well as to dig canals and build waterwheels.
"We can't keep this up," Helgi said. "Let them rest for now."
The workload was simply too heavy. Helgi consulted investors like Horsa and suggested that they return home by ship as soon as possible to send back another batch of laborers and supplies.
By coincidence, Horsa himself was sick of the endless toil. Standing on the deck, gazing at the sun-drenched archipelago, his thoughts drifted.
"This place has beautiful scenery and a pleasant climate. The only problem is how exhausting the early development is—we absolutely need more labor. Hah… in a few years, once the islands are partially developed, I'm going to build a vacation estate here."
Riding the westerlies and ocean currents, the fleet made excellent time on the return voyage, arriving back in Lundenwic in early June.
When word spread that sugarcane cultivation had begun in the Canary Islands, some nobles grew interested and sought out Horsa for details.
"Helgi wasn't exaggerating," Horsa told them honestly. "The sunlight is abundant and the climate is suitable. The only drawback is the presence of native tribes." He advised them to invest cautiously—and not to come looking for him if they lost money.
A few days later, he took his five children to visit Herigif, bringing with him a strange bird covered entirely in green feathers, capable of mimicking human speech.
"A parrot?" Herigif had seen references to such birds in surviving Roman texts. They were said to have been popular in antiquity. With the fall of the Roman Empire, these brightly colored birds had gradually disappeared from Europe. She never expected to see one with her own eyes.
"Where did you get it?"
The parrot tilted its head.
"Where did you get it?"
Horsa waved his arm. "Stupid bird, don't interrupt."
"Stupid bird, don't interrupt."
"Heh, what a delightful little creature." Herigif laughed sincerely for a long while, then instructed a maid to take good care of the parrot.
Once the bird was taken away, Horsa answered his sister's question.
"We stopped in Lisbon on the return trip. I bought it specifically for you. The Moorish nobles in Iberia live extravagantly—they have all kinds of exotic novelties. Compared to them, we really do look like a bunch of uncultured country barbarians."
Sensing that her brother had more to say, Herigif dismissed the maids and sent the children off for sweets. She straightened her posture; the earlier laziness vanished, replaced by an air of authority and vigilance.
"What do you suggest?"
Horsa described the climate and terrain of the Canary Islands, emphasizing that they were ideal for sugarcane, grapes, and citrus—and that they urgently needed a large labor force.
"Because it's so far away, even offering triple wages doesn't attract many workers. So I was thinking…"
His idea was simple: since free commoners were hard to recruit, why not have the king amend the law and exile criminals to the Canary Islands? This would promote development there while also reducing crime at home.
At first glance, Herigif found the proposal quite feasible. "All right. Go back and wait for word. I'll talk to Vig tonight."
After hearing Herigif's account, Vig reacted calmly. Whether in Europe or the imperial dynasties of the Central Plains, exile was nothing unusual. With his wife now pregnant, he had little interest in quibbling over such matters. After brief consideration, he approved the idea.
The next day—
Vig personally attended the cabinet meeting. At the outset, he and the ministers discussed Horsa's proposal. No one objected, and the measure passed effortlessly.
The meeting then moved on to its main agenda: a land survey of the five southern counties.
In Vig's memory, William the Conqueror had conducted a comprehensive census and land survey across all of England in 1086—an undertaking unparalleled in medieval Europe.
Given the chaos in the southern counties, Vig decided to conduct a smaller-scale investigation. The staff would be drawn from civil officials of Tyne County and the five northern counties, as well as junior students nearing graduation.
After half a day of discussion, he and the cabinet finalized a detailed plan. Beginning with Lundenwic County, they would survey villages one by one. Investigators would use standardized questionnaires, focusing on three main areas:
First, land information: recording the name of the manor or village, and measuring the area of arable land, woodland, pasture, and fish ponds, along with assessing land value.
Second, population data: including gentry, freeholding farmers, cottars and bordars (with insufficient land to support themselves, occasionally hired as labor), villeins (tenant farmers obligated to perform labor services), and slaves (fully dependent on their lord, owning no land).
Third, livestock data: including pigs, cattle, sheep, horses, and beehives.
In addition to commoners, many barons and knights held fiefs within the royal demesne. Since they fulfilled military obligations, they were exempt from direct land taxes.
However, any additional land they purchased had to be taxed at the same rate as commoners. This was the key point Vig would not compromise on.
"Do you have any other suggestions?"
Vig's gaze swept the room.
Godwin, Mitcham, Om, and Bafirs were great nobles whose earldoms lay outside the scope of the survey. Their interests were unaffected, giving them no reason to oppose it.
Helgi, the Minister of Maritime Affairs, was busy planting sugarcane in the south and abstained.
As High Grand Shaman, the Raven-Speaker oversaw all temples in the realm. Temple income came from royal stipends, donations, medical services, and affiliated estates. These lands were also subject to taxation, an issue Vig had already discussed with him in advance. He raised no objections.
That left Camy Wildfire, Minister of Agriculture and Education, and Lucar, Minister of Industry—both newly ennobled barons with lands in Cambridge County, and thus directly affected.
Camy, long accustomed to serving as a shaman, cared little for worldly profit and immediately supported the king.
Lucar, on the other hand, had taken advantage of low land prices the previous year to buy extensively. He stood to lose the most and had remained silent. Hearing the others' positions, he could only agree in resignation.
After a few minutes, Godwin personally drafted the bill. Once it bore the Prime Minister's seal, he handed it to the king.
Vig examined it carefully, then affixed his own seal at the end.
"Put this into effect as soon as possible," he said. "Finish it within six months if you can. I'll assign one infantry regiment and two ranger companies to accompany the survey—just to deter certain overly bold individuals."
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