Building a Viking Empire with Modern Industry-Chapter 59: A Fitting Brand Name

The Governor’s Palace, York

The palace was quiet. Ragnar, sat at the head of the long oak table. He was wearing a simple linen tunic, though he still had his notebook open next to his plate of eggs.

Across from him sat Gyda, the Prime Minister. She was dissecting a sausage with the same clinical precision she used to dismantle the budgets of incompetent Jarls.

The rest of the "family"—King Horik and his various hangers-on—were notably absent. Since the "Hostile Takeover" of East Anglia, King Horik had been sulking in his chambers, claiming he was "meditating on the burden of the crown".

This meant Ragnar and Gyda had a rare moment of peace.

"Has the ’Decorated Cow’ responded to our offer?" Ragnar asked, taking a bite of toast.

He was referring to Princess Judith of Wessex. The diplomatic letter Gyda had sent via the "Raven Flight" was a gamble. Gyda dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "The Raven returned this morning. Judith accepts the monopoly on Jernheim Velvet."

She took a sip of water, her eyes gleaming. "She demanded a 5% discount on the first shipment," Gyda added. "She says her husband, King Aethelred, is ’frugal’ and needs convincing." 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Ragnar smiled. "Greed is the most reliable fuel source. Did you agree?"

"I countered with a 3% discount, provided she wears the velvet to the upcoming Easter Feast," Gyda said smoothly. "She is the trendsetter of the South. If Judith wears it, every noblewoman in Wessex will want it. We aren’t selling cloth, Ragnar. We are selling envy."

"Marketing," Ragnar nodded approvingly. "You are learning, Prime Minister."

He tapped his charcoal pencil against the table. The mood was light, the food was hot, and for a moment, they weren’t warlords or tycoons. They were just partners.

After a comfortable silence, Ragnar looked at a blueprint spread out under his toast rack. It was a drawing of a massive, fortified settlement.

"So..." Ragnar started, a bit awkwardly. "What should we name the Project?"

He wasn’t talking about a baby. He was talking about his other baby.

The city of York was bursting at the seams. The walls were too tight, the river too shallow for the new barges. Ragnar was planning a new capital. A city built from scratch on the flatlands to the south, designed purely for industrial efficiency.

At the entrance to the hall, peering from behind a heavy tapestry, was a pair of watery blue eyes.

King Horik was spying.

The old King had been feeling increasingly irrelevant lately. His son-in-law commanded the armies. His daughter controlled the money. Horik was technically the "CEO," but he felt more like an unpaid intern. He watched them, clutching his fur robe, waiting for a moment to insert himself into relevance.

Unaware of the spy, Gyda looked at the blueprint.

"If it is a fortress," she mused, "I was thinking of naming it after your victory. Ragnars-Hold? Or perhaps Thetford-Bane?"

Ragnar made a face. He hated vanity projects.

"No," Ragnar said, shaking his head. "I don’t want a name that looks backward. I want a name that looks forward. A name that sounds like metal hitting metal."

He looked at Gyda with a tender expression the kind usually reserved for a high-performing steam boiler.

"I was thinking... we name it after the concept itself."

Gyda raised an eyebrow. "You want to name the capital ’Efficiency’?"

"No," Ragnar laughed. "I was thinking of a name from my... past. A name that means ’Power’ in an old tongue."

He gripped her hand across the table.

"How about Titan?"

Gyda rolled the word around in her mouth. It sounded foreign, sharp, and heavy.

"Titan," she repeated. "It sounds... large."

"It is," Ragnar promised. "It means a giant that holds up the sky. A city of steel and glass."

"And if the location turns out to be swampy?" Gyda challenged, playing devil’s advocate. "If we have to move it?"

Ragnar didn’t hesitate. He had a backup plan for everything.

"Then we call it Vulcan."

"After the fire project?"

"After the forge," Ragnar corrected.

Gyda nodded slowly. "Titan... Vulcan... these are strange names. But they fit you. They sound expensive."

"They are branding," Ragnar grinned. "When a Saxon hears ’I am going to Titan,’ they should feel small."

"Accepted," Gyda said, finishing her sausage. "We will draft the zoning permits for City Titan."

Just as they clinked their goblets to the new venture, a loud sniffle echoed from the doorway.

King Horik emerged from behind the tapestry. He was wearing his crown (which was slightly crooked) and a look of profound betrayal. He looked less like a Viking monarch and more like a toddler who had been told Santa Claus was actually a logistics manager.

Ragnar blinked. "My King? How long have you been standing there?"

Horik stomped into the room. He pointed a shaking finger at them.

"You are building a new city!" Horik accused. "And you didn’t tell me!"

Gyda sighed, picking up her knife. "Father, we are in the planning phase. We were going to present the proposal at the Monday morning meeting."

"You never tell me anything!" Horik shouted, his voice cracking. "You conquered East Anglia and didn’t let me swing my axe! You hanged the traitors and didn’t let me watch! And now you are building ’Titan’ and I bet you haven’t even planned where my throne goes!"

He stomped his foot. It was a majestic, royal stomp.

"I am the King!" Horik whined. "I should be the one naming things! I wanted to call it Horik-Town!"

Ragnar exchanged a glance with Gyda. This was the problem with figureheads; they required maintenance.

Ragnar stood up and walked over to the sulking monarch. He realized he had been neglecting the "Employee Morale" of the executive branch.

"My King," Ragnar said, adopting a soothing tone. "You haven’t visited the front lines in so long. We didn’t want to burden you with the mud and the boring audits."

"I like mud!" Horik countered, crossing his arms. "And I am good at shouting!"

"We know," Gyda muttered into her cup.

"You left me here with the monks!" Horik continued, his eyes watering. "Brother Osric keeps trying to teach me long division! I am a Viking! I subtract by killing people!"

Ragnar felt a pang of sympathy. He had turned Horik’s warrior culture into a math class.

"You are right," Ragnar conceded. "We have been negligent."

He put a hand on Horik’s shoulder.

"You know, King Guthrum is currently in Thetford," Ragnar said. "He is having a very hard time understanding the new tax code."

Horik sniffed. "Guthrum? The one who ran away?"

"The very same," Ragnar nodded. "He is quite sad. He has no one to drink with who understands the burden of Kingship."

Ragnar winked at Gyda. "How about this," Ragnar proposed. "We are scheduling a Corporate Retreat to East Anglia next week. A diplomatic tour."

Horik’s ears perked up. "A tour?"

"A Grand Inspection," Ragnar corrected. "We need someone to... inspect the quality of the East Anglian ale. And the hunting grounds. Someone with royal taste."

"And I can bring my axe?" Horik asked hopefully.

"You can bring two axes," Ragnar promised. "And we will ride in the new carriage with the suspension springs."

Horik’s face transformed. The gloom vanished, replaced by the excitement of a child being promised a trip to Disneyland.

"I will inspect the ale!" Horik declared, straightening his crown. "I will inspect it very thoroughly! Guthrum needs guidance. He is a junior manager, after all."

"Exactly," Ragnar agreed. "He needs a Mentor."

Horik puffed out his chest. "I will mentor him. I will teach him how to look kingly while you do the math."

He grabbed a sausage from Ragnar’s plate.

"I must prepare!" Horik announced. "I need to polish my drinking horn!"

He turned and marched out of the hall, shouting for his servants.

"Pack the bags! We are going on a business trip!"

Silence returned to the Great Hall..

Ragnar sat back down. He looked at Gyda. She looked at him.

"You just invented a job for him," Gyda noted.

"Chief Morale Officer," Ragnar shrugged. "It keeps him out of the machinery."

"And ’Titan’?" she asked.

"We break ground on Tuesday," Ragnar said, picking up his blueprint. "Right after I figure out how to invent concrete that sets underwater."

Gyda smiled, shaking her head. "You are impossible."

He took a bite of his cold toast.