Kattegat, 790 AD
Bjorn walked into Earl Haraldson's hall with confident strides. The heavy wooden doors closed behind him, shutting out the cold fjord breeze. Inside, warmth from the central fire enveloped him, along with the familiar scents of roasted meat, spilled ale, and wood smoke. The hall buzzed with activity; farmers in worn clothing huddled together discussing their fields, local chieftains adorned with silver arm-rings sat importantly near the front, and warriors lounged against the walls with weapons close at hand.
"Look at all these people," Bjorn said quietly to Ragnar. "Word about our field has spread quickly."
Ragnar walked beside him, dressed in a clean but well-worn tunic with his axe tucked casually into his belt.
"Remember," Ragnar said quietly, "speak clearly and don't try to impress anyone. Just tell them about the ditch."
Bjorn nodded. "I know how to handle this," he replied, his voice carrying a confidence that sometimes made Ragnar look at him oddly.
"You sound too sure of yourself," Ragnar warned. "Children are supposed to be nervous in front of the Earl."
"I'll try to look more frightened," Bjorn said with a hint of irony that wasn't lost on his father.
Rollo followed closely behind them, his cloak hanging loosely around his broad shoulders. He leaned toward Bjorn.
"These farmers don't care about fancy words," Rollo advised while smirking. "Just make them see how it helps their fields and you'll have them eating from your hand."
"I don't need them eating from my hand," Bjorn replied evenly. "I just need them to understand the concept so they can implement it themselves."
Rollo raised an eyebrow at the boy's response but said nothing more.
Two farmers nearby overheard them approaching and turned with curious expressions.
"Is that him? Ragnar's boy?" one asked, not bothering to lower his voice.
"Yes, that's the one they say fixed the flooding problem," the other replied. "Hard to believe a child thought of something so simple yet effective."
"My son has always been observant," Ragnar said as they passed, offering the farmers a friendly nod.
"What's your secret, boy?" called one of the farmers. "Did the gods whisper it to you in a dream?"
Bjorn turned to him with a smile. "Maybe. The gods work in mysterious ways after all. Or maybe I just got lucky."
The farmer chuckled. "Simple as that, eh? We'll see."
As they approached the far end of the hall, the crowd parted. Earl Haraldson sat in his large chair, a fur cloak draped over his shoulders. His beard was beginning to gray but was neatly trimmed. His eyes, calm and calculating, tracked their approach. Svein, his trusted right-hand man, stood at his side wearing a clean wool tunic with a short sword hanging from his belt.
"Ragnar Lothbrok," Haraldson called out, his voice carrying through the hall. "I hear your crops are thriving while others struggle. Come closer."
The room quieted as everyone turned to watch. Bjorn felt the weight of dozens of eyes upon him but remained unfazed.
"Svein tells me your barley field is producing better than any other in Kattegat," Haraldson said, leaning forward slightly. "He says your boy came up with some kind of drainage system. Is this true?"
"It is," Ragnar replied, placing a hand on Bjorn's shoulder. "The field was too wet, and we were losing crops. Bjorn figured out how to drain it."
Haraldson turned his gaze to Bjorn. "A nine-year-old boy solved a problem that has troubled grown farmers for generations?"
Bjorn met the Earl's eyes directly, something few children would dare to do.
"It's not really complicated," Bjorn said, his voice clear and steady. "I just observed how water naturally flows and applied that knowledge to our field."
A murmur ran through the crowd. Then Svein stepped forward.
"Tell us exactly what you did," Svein demanded. "In detail."
Bjorn nodded, mentally adjusting his explanation to sound like something a bright child might conceive rather than revealing the engineering knowledge from his adult past.
"Our field sits lower than the surrounding land," Bjorn began, gesturing with his hands to illustrate. "When it rains, water collects there and drowns the barley roots. I noticed that streams in the hills don't overflow because their banks channel the water. So I dug a ditch across our field, making sure it sloped from the highest point to the lowest, and then continued it down to the nearby stream."
One of the farmers, a stocky man with calloused hands and a patched cloak, spoke up. "Digging ditches isn't new, boy. They collapse after the first heavy rain."
"That's because most ditches aren't built properly," Bjorn countered calmly. "I lined the sides with flat stones pushed deep into the soil. They hold the earth in place even when water flows heavily. We had a strong storm last week, and the ditch remained intact."
The farmer looked surprised. "Stones, you say? Just placed along the sides?"
"Yes," Bjorn replied. "The stones you clear from your fields each spring, the ones you pile at the edges, those work perfectly. You're already moving them; you just need to use them differently."
Another farmer stepped forward. "How deep must this ditch be? It sounds like a lot of work."
"Not as much work as replanting your crops every time they drown," Bjorn replied pragmatically. "The ditch only needs to be as deep as your forearm and about the same width. One man can dig enough for a small field in two or three days."
A chieftain in a fine cloak with a silver pin spoke up, his tone calculating. "If every farmer does this, the Earl gets more taxes from increased harvests." He glanced at Haraldson, then back at Bjorn. "But who will do all this digging? Your father's field is one thing, but Kattegat has dozens."
Bjorn recognized the political maneuvering immediately, the chieftain was trying to make this sound like an impossible task, or worse, trying to suggest that Ragnar was proposing all this work be done for him.
"Each farmer would dig their own ditches," Bjorn replied, turning to address the farmers directly. "It's in your interest to do so. Yes, the Earl will get more taxes, but you'll keep more grain for your families too. Which of you isn't tired of losing crops to flooding?"
The farmers exchanged glances, many nodding in agreement.
"The boy makes sense," said an older farmer with a gray beard. "I've lost half my barley to water three years running."
Haraldson tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, studying Bjorn intently.
"You speak like someone who's seen more than nine winters," the Earl observed. "This drainage idea could benefit all of Kattegat." He turned to Svein. "I want this implemented on my fields first. See to it."
Then he looked back at Ragnar. "Your boy has done Kattegat a service. I'll reduce your taxes this year, and if the harvest improves as you claim, there may be silver in it for you."
Ragnar kept his expression neutral. "Thank you, Earl. The ditch technique shouldn't be kept secret. It's simple enough that anyone can use it."
"Are you telling me what to do with this knowledge, Ragnar?" Haraldson asked, his voice carrying a slight edge.
"Not at all," Ragnar replied smoothly. "I'm simply pointing out that it benefits everyone to share it widely."
Rollo stepped forward, breaking the tension. "My nephew has explained it clearly enough. Any farmer with a spade can do this work. There's no need to make a mystery of it."
Several farmers nodded in agreement, murmuring among themselves.
"The Earl's fields come first," Svein insisted firmly. "After that, any man who wishes to dig ditches on his land may do so."
Bjorn watched the political dynamics at play, recognizing how Haraldson maintained control—giving just enough to keep people satisfied while ensuring his own interests were served first.
"If I may," Bjorn spoke up again, "I could show a group of farmers how to build these ditches properly. That way, they can return to their own lands and implement the technique correctly."
Haraldson looked surprised at the boy's continued boldness but seemed intrigued by the suggestion.
"You would teach grown men, boy?" he asked, somewhere between amused and impressed.
"I would show them what worked for us," Bjorn clarified. "They can decide for themselves if it's worth trying."
The older gray-bearded farmer raised his wooden mug. "I'd watch the boy's demonstration. What's there to lose?"
Other farmers voiced their agreement, and soon several mugs were raised in Bjorn's direction.
"The boy has a sensible head on his shoulders," one called out.
Svein frowned, clearly not pleased with how much attention Bjorn was receiving, but Haraldson seemed to find the situation entertaining.
"Very well," the Earl decided. "After my fields are tended to, the boy may demonstrate his technique to whoever wishes to learn." He fixed Bjorn with a penetrating stare. "You've impressed me today, son of Ragnar. Keep using that mind of yours, and you might go far in Kattegat."
"Thank you, Earl Haraldson," Bjorn replied with a respectful nod, maintaining the appearance of a precocious child while his adult mind calculated his next moves.
Haraldson stood, signaling that the audience was over. "We're finished here. Ragnar, Bjorn, you may leave."
As they turned to leave, several farmers approached Bjorn, peppering him with questions about the stone placement and ditch angles. Bjorn answered each clearly and precisely, careful to keep his explanations straightforward.
"The boy knows his business," one farmer said to Ragnar. "You must be proud."
"I am," Ragnar replied, watching Bjorn handle the questions with unusual composure for a child.
When they finally exited the hall into the cool air outside, Rollo clapped Bjorn on the shoulder.
"You had them eating from your hand after all," he laughed. "Never seen farmers so excited about digging ditches."
"They're excited about saving their crops," Bjorn corrected. "The ditches are just a means to an end."
Rollo studied his nephew curiously. "You know, sometimes you don't sound like a child at all."
Bjorn met his uncle's gaze steadily. "I just listen when adults speak, i guess, and I learn fast."
"He's always been observant," Ragnar interjected quickly. "Let's get home. Your mother will want to hear how this went."
As they walked through Kattegat, several villagers nodded respectfully to them, something that hadn't happened before. Bjorn noticed the change immediately.
"People are looking at us differently," he observed quietly to Ragnar.
"That's what happens when you earn people's respect," Ragnar replied. "It changes how others see you."
"And it makes you more dangerous in Haraldson's eyes," Rollo added in a low voice. "Be careful, brother. The Earl doesn't like competition."
"We're just farmers with a clever drainage system," Ragnar said innocently with his sly grin. "Nothing more."
Bjorn knew better. His father had ambitions that extended far beyond Kattegat's fields. The drainage ditch was merely the beginning, a small move in a much larger game. And Bjorn was already planning several steps ahead.
"What are you thinking about so seriously?" Ragnar asked, noticing Bjorn's contemplative expression.
"I'm thinking that a good drainage system is just the start," Bjorn replied carefully. "There are other ways to improve our farm."
"Already plotting your next miracle?" Rollo chuckled, but there was something in his eyes, envy, maybe.
"I wouldn't call it a miracle," Bjorn said. "Just practical solutions to everyday problems."
As they continued toward home, Bjorn felt a sense of satisfaction. Today had been a success; he'd established himself as someone with valuable ideas and earned respect from the farmers. And farmers could vote in the Thing, the Viking assembly, which makes them important to have on your side.
"Father," Bjorn said as they walked along the fjord path, "I think we should consider building a better plow next. Something that cuts deeper into the soil with less effort."
Ragnar looked at his son with a mixture of pride and curiosity. "You never stop thinking, do you?"