Chapter 63: The Whole Nest Mobilizes, Setting Sail for the Eastern Expedition

In the early morning of the town of Skjelvik, wisps of cooking smoke rose into the air, signaling the busiest day of preparations before the Viking expedition.

This would likely be the only grand feast in the near future; once the soldiers set out today, the domain would plunge into a lifeless stillness.

Today, by Margaret's command, the mess hall was preparing three hundred and seventy tables of banquets to provide a lavish meal for approximately three thousand soldiers and assisting townspeople.

To her delight, excluding Fårö Island, the total number of soldiers mobilized across the Kingdom of Gotland, including the new generation of warriors, had reached around three thousand.

This figure had startled her.

Yet three thousand men were far too many; if they were truly all her soldiers to feed, she simply could not sustain them. A single meal consumed enough food to last her entire domain three days.

When a warrior ate to his heart's content, a single meal could consume the rations of two commoners.

However, the townspeople were unaware of Margaret's anxieties. Each of them was busy, their faces beaming with smiles as they prepared for this grand feast.

Opportunities for a free meal were rare, especially a banquet with an ample supply of meat. Some had even gone without food since yesterday, saving their appetites for a hearty feast today.

Margaret was not a stingy person either; she understood the importance of morale for an expeditionary force, and thus ordered an open-handed supply.

In this vibrant and expectant morning, the aroma of cooking smoke permeated every corner of Skjelvik.

Margaret stood on higher ground, her gaze sweeping across the bustling crowd, while complex emotions surged within her heart.

She knew this banquet was not only a solace for the soldiers, but also a reward for the townspeople.

Although the consumption of food weighed heavily on her, she understood all too well that high morale was crucial for the soldiers about to embark on the journey.

She took a deep breath, temporarily casting her worries aside, and turned to join the busy crowd. Today, she would personally supervise the preparation of every dish to ensure every single portion of food was absolute perfection.

In the open ground, the agonizing screams of livestock echoed continuously, and the stench of blood hung heavy in the air.

Two tubs of water were used to wash away the blood on the ground, which then drained into the stream. Several children, holding brooms, diligently swept away the remaining traces of the slaughter.

Though the blood of these beasts was edible, Margaret had no intention of letting the warriors consume that soft, fishy, and foul-smelling fluid; she ordered it all drained away.

At the downstream estuary, massive schools of filter-feeding sardines were lured by the smell of blood and began to gorge themselves. Sea birds soaring across the sky seized the opportunity to hunt, snatching up fish one by one.

Fishermen had been waiting for a long time; now, hauling up their fishing nets and feeling the heavy, bulging catch, joy shone on their faces from a bountiful harvest.

"This method is brilliant!"

"I heard it was Her Majesty the Queen's idea. From now on, whenever I go fishing, I'll pour a bucket of blood in, and I'll have an endless supply of smoked fish!"

"Where are you going to get that much bait?"

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that this is indeed a great method!"

"Children, come over here, take these fish upstream, gut them, and smoke them!" The man scooped directly into the net with a wooden bucket, filling it to the brim with fish.

"Understood!"

The sardines flopped restlessly inside the wooden bucket, leaping out only to be ruthlessly preyed upon by reckless, daring sea birds.

"Damn it!" The man grabbed one, smashed it fiercely against the ground in anger to kill it, while the children shouted and chased the birds away.

These fresh sardines were swiftly loaded into barrels and sent to the upstream slaughterhouse. Meanwhile, the fish entrails flowed down with the stream into the estuary, attracting a fresh wave of sardines once again.

Outside the mess hall, massive cauldrons were set up, each large enough to stew a deer. Pork ribs and chunks of meat were successively dropped into the pots, mingling with various spices to release an alluring aroma.

Holding a sack, Margaret tossed a few precious lumps of rock salt into each cauldron as she passed.

"1, 2, 3..."

A common misconception was that coastal regions lacked no salt.

Sea salt typically contained no iodine and could not replace table salt. Yet iodine was an essential element for maintaining normal thyroid function.

Long-term consumption of iodine-free sea salt led to iodine deficiency disorders, triggering health issues such as hypothyroidism.

Farmwives beamed with joy, carrying baskets filled with freshly baked barley cakes as they chatted and laughed.

The lord's troops arrived one after another, receiving a warm welcome from Polly. The harbor was packed with massive sailing warships—at least forty of them.

The soldiers busily loaded warhorses, food, fresh water, wine, and other supplies onto the ships. Their orders were to set sail this afternoon.

They had to make preparations in advance.

Casks of barley ale were hauled into the clearing outside the mess hall. Warriors gathered in a circle, eagerly prying open the lids as the rich aroma of wine spilled forth.

They scooped the liquor out with wooden cups, took hearty gulps to quench their thirst, pushed their way through the crowd, and headed to their seats to await the feast.

Every soldier knew this might be the finest meal they would have for the next few months.

The lords and Húskarls were not present. They had all gone to the lord's hall to enjoy the private banquet specially prepared for them.

Margaret's mood was exceptionally bright. This was her first time going out to sea since her transmigration; after twenty-three full years of waiting, she had finally earned this chance at a Viking expedition.

Moreover, she could finally drink freely—her current body seemed entirely free of alcohol intolerance.

"Your Majesty, when do we set sail? I can hardly wait to bathe in blood and glory!" One Jarl stood up, casting a proud look around and speaking loudly.

"Once the meal is over, we depart," Margaret replied heartily. "Today, you may drink your fill of malt ale, and then get a good rest on the ships!"

Raising her voice, she addressed the lords seated around her: "My lords, raise your cups and drink it down to the last drop. If anyone fails to finish, he must crawl out of here and spend the night sitting outside with the estate's dogs! Because here, we only welcome those with exceptional capacity for drink!"

"Hahaha—" The lords laughed heartily, raising their cups to one another in a warm and lively atmosphere.

Outside, the joyous laughter of the soldiers grew even louder; it seemed they had already begun drinking as well. The entire town of Skjelvik was immersed in the joy and anticipation of the impending campaign.

Margaret cast aside her decorum, joining the circle of lords, sitting shoulder to shoulder with them, laughing and chatting about topics that interested them.

The lively atmosphere lasted well into the afternoon, long after three rounds of wine and five courses of food. Margaret's face turned pale and greenish, her head spinning heavily. She had long lost count of how many times she had visited the latrine.

Inside the hall, the lords were slumped in disarray, some fast asleep with drool pooling from their mouths.

At this rate, five hundred soldiers could probably annihilate all the drunkards in this entire domain in one sweep.

Only a few pot-bellied lords were still clinking cups and drinking. Supported by her maid, Margaret stood up, emitted a drunken burp, and loudly announced, "Prepare to board!"

However, no one in the hall responded. The lords shoved the drunken louts aside, swaying and staggering in twos and threes toward the exit.

This was precisely the effect Margaret desired, and the very reason why malt ale was always stocked in abundance during voyages.

"How wonderful! Wine truly is a wonderful thing; it lets you cast all your worries away!"

She boarded the flagship, found a relatively comfortable spot to lean against, stared blankly at the sky, and muttered to herself, "Feld, I'm coming!"

With that, she leaned over the ship's railing and vomited violently. This youthful body simply could not handle her style of drinking.

"Prepare to board!"

"Woo—" The sound of horns echoed, and the lords and raiders boarded their vessels one after another. Margaret's flagship weighed anchor and left the port first, followed closely by the second and third ships.

Thick, sturdy ropes lashed the vessels together, ensuring that every ship maintained a uniform speed under varying wind conditions, guaranteeing that no vessel lagged behind.

The weather today was splendid. The ships hoisted their sails, riding the wind and cleaving through the waves as they sailed majestically toward Fårö Island.

For this campaign, every single man within the domain went forth, leaving only the women and children behind to hold the fort. As chief minister, Polly did not join the fleet, remaining behind to garrison the town.

She stood at the harbor, gazing into the distance as the fleet grew smaller, then raised her eyes to the sky: "May the Valkyries watch over you!"