Bjorn stood beside Ragnar at the edge of their barley field where midday sun pierced the clouds. The air carried the scent of sprouting grain and fresh soil, and stalks were standing proudly where water no longer pooled. Four days earlier, Bjorn had carved a shallow ditch that's sloped and lined with flat stones, guiding rainwater to a reed-fringed stream that now flowed steadily.
At nine, Bjorn was unusually tall, his frame was broad and his muscles were hardened from sword drills and moving stones. His blue eyes traced the ditch's path as water trickled through it. The field had always been difficult because of the rocky soil with edges sloping toward the stream.
Ragnar had struggled with it for years because the wooden plow was breaking on hidden stones and barley was failing in wet seasons. Bjorn had observed the water's pattern and designed a solution: a stone-lined channel for the runoff that he built with his father and uncle.
Ragnar leaned on his wooden rake while his linen tunic was mud-stained. His beard carried flecks of soil, and his belt held an axe that served as both a farmer's tool and a warrior's weapon.
"This crop will survive," he said, voice steady despite years of disappointment. "Your ditch has changed everything. This year we might have more than just Haraldson's portion left for ourselves. We could even expand next season," he added, gesturing toward the hillside.
"The water flows faster now," Bjorn replied, his voice surprisingly deep for his age. "The stones have settled well. By next rainfall, the banks should hold even better."
Rollo approached from the stream, dirt dusting his cloak. "Nephew, you've set tongues wagging all through Kattegat," he said, playfully kicking a pebble into the ditch. "They're saying Ragnar's boy has outsmarted both the gods of rain and Earl Haraldson in one stroke."
He nudged Bjorn's shoulder testing his stance, but the boy held firm.
"Is that why you're here, Uncle?" Bjorn asked. "To see if the rumors are true?"
"Partly," Rollo admitted. "But mostly to warn you both. Success draws attention and sometimes the wrong kind."
Bjorn met his uncle's gaze. "Others can copy it if they wish. It's not that hard."His mind noted Rollo's words, as the village's attention meant Haraldson's would follow, a complication he'd anticipated.
"That's just it," Rollo replied while lowering his voice. "It's that simple wisdom that has people talking."
Hooves thundered on the path from Kattegat. A rider crested the ridge followed by two men on foot, their cloaks trimmed with the earl's distinctive red. The mounted man wore a wool tunic and short sword, his horse's tack was simple but clearly of quality. The escorts carried spears and moving with military discipline.
Ragnar's grip tightened on the rake. "Svein," he murmured. "Haraldson's eyes."
Rollo crossed his arms. "What brings the earl's shadow to our humble field?" he called out while keeping his tone respectful.
Svein dismounted and his boots were sunk slightly into the path's mud. His weathered face remained composed as he assessed first Ragnar, Rollo, then Bjorn, noting the boy's unusual stature.
"Ragnar Lothbrok," he announced formally. "Word of your field's transformation has reached the great hall. This stone-lined ditch that saves your barley; the earl wishes to understand it. You and the boy will present yourselves in Kattegat tomorrow to discuss it properly." His tone was direct, it was an expectation but not a command, reflecting the delicate balance of a jarl's retainer addressing a respected bóndi (refers to the free men who made up the majority of Viking war bands. These men were farmers, craftsmen, sailors, and traders who could join their lord's army and sail west in search of riches and glory).
Bjorn observed carefully. This wasn't a common enforcer but Haraldson's landmann, who managed the earl's estates. His presence indicated that Haraldson saw potential profit in the drainage technique, another way to increase his wealth and control over Kattegat's resources.
Ragnar set his rake against a nearby stone. "It's hardly worth the earl's attention," he said while making eye contact with Svein. "My son noticed water collecting and suggested guiding it away with stones. We're happy to demonstrate for the Jarl, though there's little secret to it."
Svein approached Bjorn. "Your son conceived this at nine summers?" He stepped closer, sunlight catching on his sword hilt. "Tell me yourself boy, what inspired this design?"
"I've watched the streams in these hills for years," Bjorn answered confidently. "Nature already shows how water finds its path. The stones prevent erosion while directing the flow. I simply applied what I observed."
Svein knelt to examine the construction. "Cleverly done," he remarked, standing to face Ragnar. "The earl's fields would benefit from such an approach. Earl Haraldson will want not just the technique but perhaps the mind behind it as well. Tomorrow at the hall, and he doesn't appreciate being kept waiting."
Rollo interjected. "We've already paid our taxes. If Earl Haraldson wants drainage systems, surely his men could dig them without taking a farmer from his work."
Svein's expression shifted subtly. "The Earl rewards loyalty appropriately, Rollo. Sharing knowledge strengthens all of Kattegat, including your family's position within it. Reluctance raises unnecessary questions about one's commitment to our community."
Bjorn felt annoyed; not at Svein personally, but at the system Haraldson represented, a web of obligations constraining men like his father.
"We understand," Bjorn said before his father could respond. "The Earl wishes to improve Kattegat's prosperity. We'll share what we know."
Ragnar glanced at his son with pride and caution. "As my boy says, we'll come tomorrow. Tell the Earl we're pleased to contribute to Kattegat's welfare."
Svein nodded then mounted his horse. "Good. The Earl will receive you tomorrow." He turned, his escorts falling in behind him as they disappeared over the hill.
Rollo said once they were alone, releasing his hand from where it had rested near his axe. " Haraldson isn't interested in ditches for their own sake. He sees something valuable, and anything valuable, he believes belongs to him."
"Including clever young minds," he added, giving Bjorn a meaningful look.
Ragnar watched the empty hillside. "Bjorn did nothing wrong. The field needed drainage and he provided it. Besides, we can't hide competence forever."
He turned to his son. "But the great hall follows different rules than our fields. Haraldson listens not just for information but for threats and opportunities. Your words there must be chosen with care."
Rollo clapped Bjorn's shoulder. "You're making waves before you've even held your first real shield, nephew. Keep your head clear in the hall, or we might all find ourselves digging ditches for Haraldson until Ragnarök."
"Enough talk of tomorrow's problems," Ragnar declared while lifting his rake. "Lagertha will have food waiting, and she'll want to hear about our visitor. Besides," he added with a rare smile, "she's always had better insight into Haraldson's thinking than either of us."
They started walking toward the longhouse.
And Bjorn walked with them, already planning his encounter with the earl.