Chapter 62: The Gentle Lord Who Fears His Wife (Setting Sail)-Vikings: A Mulher Feroz Nórdica(Você esqueceu de trazer o seu crânio.)

Shivering through the bitter chill of winter, Margaret reclaimed her life from the hands of the Valkyries, bursting with renewed vitality.

She energetically led her people in spring plowing, preparing for the impending war.

Everyone understood that once the spring sowing concluded, the Queen would launch a massive campaign.

Following the precedent of many Karls being elevated to Jarls, the path to the nobility had been firmly opened.

Every single person was filled with anticipation, dreaming of the day they would become noble Jarls.

Outside the lord’s great hall in the village of Borgstadir, the sound of horns echoed as a band of Viking warriors gathered.

Lord Jarl Sven leaned coldly against a pillar, several children standing nearby, while the rhythmic beating of shields resonated from outside.

"Where is the Jarl?" a voice called out from outside. "It’s almost time to board the ships! If we’re late, the Queen will punish us!"

"The Jarl hasn’t come out yet!"

"Sven?"

"What?" Lord Sven was bound to the pillar, bruised and battered, shouting back toward the open doorway.

His expression was somewhat awkward as he looked helplessly at his wife, who was already clad in scale armor and a helmet, holding a shield in her hand. "My dear!"

"Shut up!" the woman snapped, glaring at him fiercely. That was his wife, a notoriously formidable shrew in the village, renowned for her iron will.

This was clearly a scene of domestic abuse.

"When are we boarding?" the voice outside urged again.

"Give me a moment..." Sven paused for a second, seemingly searching for a plausible excuse. "I’m putting on my scale armor!"

"Hurry up!" The sound of the horns grew more urgent.

"Alright!" Sven replied, his eyes anxious.

"Stop messing around, my love, let me go! I have to leave!" Lord Sven wore a helpless expression, trying to placate his wife with a ingratiating look.

"Sven, you promised me during the winter that you’d let me join the Viking raid this year. You can’t leave me behind!" Lady Jarl glared at him, her gaze unwavering.

"But there’s no precedent for taking a woman on a Viking raid!" Sven sighed, attempting to reason with her.

"What about Queen Margaret? Isn’t she a woman too? Why can she go?" Lady Jarl retorted.

"That’s different, she’s Her Majesty the Queen!" Sven defended.

"And I am the Lady Jarl!" she emphasized her status.

"I’ll become the laughingstock of my peers!" Sven looked rather helpless.

"Do you think I'm an embarrassment to you?" A trace of anger laced Lady Jarl's tone.

"My dear, stop this! I'm going to be late! If I'm late, Her Majesty the Queen won't spare me!" Sven stamped his feet in panic.

"This is going to be an unprecedented campaign, and I cannot be absent! I swore to Odin to obey your word—take me with you! You cannot rob me of my chance to earn the favor of the Valkyries in battle! You promised me when you married me!" Lady Jarl pleaded, her eyes flashing with a yearning for combat.

"What about our children? They are still young and need care!" Sven brought up a practical issue.

Hearing this, Lady Jarl looked toward the little ones standing nearby and fell silent.

She struggled between duty and her dreams.

After pondering for a long time, she said, "I can leave them with my sister to look after!"

"You trust her to take care of them? She’s so careless, how could you dare ask her to watch them? Be a good girl, untie me now!" Sven frantically winked at the children, hoping they would help persuade their mother.

"Mom?" The children's voices carried confusion and unease.

Hearing the affectionate call, Lady Jarl hesitatingly looked at her children's expectant gazes. Ultimately, she made her decision.

She drew her longsword, cut the ropes amidst Sven’s terrified gaze, then dropped her sword, shield, and helmet, and walked dejectedly back into the bedroom, slamming the door shut.

He let out a sigh of relief, slipped off the ropes hanging from his body, patted his young son and daughter on the head, and kissed each of them on the cheek. "My little darlings, well done!"

With that, like a thief, he lifted his sword and shield from the wall, strapped the shield across his back, slipped the scabbard into his belt, and sneaked away.

"Hoo!"

Amidst the respectful cheers and gazes of the crowd, Sven strode step by step into their midst, mounted the majestic warhorse gifted to him by Margaret, and raised his right fist.

The warriors stopped pounding their shields, but one person hesitated and let out an extra "hoo," throwing off the synchrony of the war cry. The solemn atmosphere instantly turned comical, and the elite-looking army's prestige plummeted in an instant.

"Prepare to board!" Sven shouted. "Today, we set sail for the Viking lands!"

"Yeah!"

"Father!" A voice came from behind. Sven’s youngest son came running over holding a helmet. "Father, wait, you forgot your helmet!"

Sven turned back helplessly, wishing to ignore him. His son held the skull-cap helmet high in both hands, offering it to him.

"Prepare to board!" Sven tried to brush it off.

"Sven?" The friend who had called out to him earlier, wearing a nasal-guard helmet, looked in confusion at the child holding the helmet, and then back at him.

"What?"

"Aren't you wearing your helmet?" His friend stared at the helmet in the child's hands.

"No, wearing a helmet is uncomfortable; it makes my scalp itch!" Sven replied in a low voice, leaning sideways in the saddle.

"But..."

"Oh, Hjalmar, I'm a cautious rider!" Sven argued evasively, secretly using his foot to kick the helmet so that it dropped to the ground.

"Nobody denies that, but..." His friend tried to persuade him further.

"So when I get there, do you expect me to run around the Rus region wearing a silly helmet?" Sven interrupted, asking back with a deeply displeased expression.

Hjalmar thought about it and gave an awkward laugh. "Right, actually, you really should!"

Sven sighed, lowering his head like a frost-bitten eggplant, remaining silent.

"Sven? What's wrong?" A voice drifted from the shoreline. A group of men were weighing anchor by the ships, and one of them shouted toward the settlement to ask.

Sven was about to answer when Hjalmar blurted out the response instead: "Sven doesn't want to wear his helmet! He says..." Hjalmar turned back to double-check, "...he says wearing a helmet makes... his scalp itch!"

Sven sighed, feeling a pang of social death, while the surrounding Viking warriors stood frozen in shock.

"I can't hear you!" came a voice from down the hill.

"I'm not the type who likes wearing a helmet!" Sven roared back in explanation toward the foot of the hill.

"But wearing a helmet is a good idea!" Hjalmar countered.

Sven raised both hands to his head, mimicking the motion of clawing at his hair, and yelled in a meltdown, "Because it ruins my carefully styled braids!" His expression was one of utter despair.

"Sven?" The front door not far away opened. Already feeling displeased, Lady Jarl glared with fierce eyes as she marched toward them, their young daughter trailing closely behind.

"Yeah?" Sven put on a ingratiating smile, terrified of his wife yet afraid of losing face.

Lady Jarl picked the helmet up from the ground and handed it to Lord Jarl. "You can go raiding, but you must wear your helmet!"

Sven thought for a moment, nodded obediently, and clapped the skull-cap onto his head, instantly transforming his image from a dashing lord into a fool wearing a helmet.

"Hahahahaha..." A Norse veteran warrior nearby couldn't help bursting into laughter.

Sven whipped his head around and glared fiercely at him. The old man quickly lowered his gaze, not daring to meet the lord's eyes.

Suppressing the anger in his heart, he gritted his teeth and commanded, "Prepare to board!"

The Viking warriors sprang into action, heading down the hill. Sven mounted his warhorse as well, leading the crowd in a slow descent.

As they passed a crooked tree, his drooping head banged heavily against a branch, though the helmet absorbed the impact without a scratch.

"Are you alright?" Hjalmar's voice echoed from behind.