118.
118.
It was early dawn, the hour when the world adjusted its brightness.
Through the grey mist, my party set out on the road.
Had I departed alone, this path would have been rather lonely, but with my stalwart subordinates at my side, it was not so bad.
Camembert, dashing forward with vigor, was in fine spirits after a hearty breakfast. Behind me, Refil, Stórolf, and the cavalry led by Torbjörn pressed onward, cutting through Britain's moisture-laden wind.
[dugu- dugu- dugu- dugu-]
Whenever I rode, I was reminded anew just how sensitive and perceptive these creatures were. They moved differently when running alone than when running in a herd, and differently when I mounted lightly versus now, when I sat in the saddle clad in armor and armed with weapons.
Perhaps it was because Camembert was naturally large of frame, and his human rider upon his back was equally enormous. Wherever he went, Camembert was the leader of the herd.
[pureuk- pureuk- pureureu- pureuk-]
The black horse ran across the earth as if gliding, his breathing rhythmic.
The lifespan of a warhorse was, regrettably, not very long, so I intended to retire this fine steed after this war ended.
'You deserve to enjoy life as a stud, don't you?'
The horses of the North were small of stature and thick of coat. Compared to the racehorses I had seen in my previous life, they were as different as heaven and earth. But these creatures were, by nature, gentle animals considerate of their riders.
They were specialized for survival in the cold North, with endurance and cold resistance, yet they lacked a certain fighting spirit. Not the kind for mere survival, but the kind of fighting spirit needed on a battlefield.
Fortunately, my subordinates' overflowing battle-lust filled that void.
Now, too, Refil and Stórolf were earnestly riding behind me.
These two, who had been with me since the invasion of Northumbria, had truly grown enormously. Refil was, after all, the son of Björn, and since Erik—Björn's eldest son, whom I privately considered Hrolf's successor now that his health had recovered—had been frail from birth, Refil had received Björn's focused tutelage from childhood. He was a prepared talent.
But Stórolf was the son of a retired warrior. A friend who once had nothing but strength had now grown into a fearsome warrior who guarded my back wherever and whenever.
The regret was that while Refil was, as expected, developing into a well-rounded, hexagonal commander, Stórolf was about to class-change into a berserker general who had min-maxed entirely into martial might.
'It's a pity... he's still a bit lacking when it comes to leading an army on his own...'
As I turned my head while riding and stared at him silently, Stórolf raised the pure-white banner bearing the symbol of Hel even higher.
"Stórolf! In the south, you must have had a hard time following behind me. Here in the North, would you not like to try leading warriors yourself for once?"
Though it had become a term referring to the cavalry in general now, the 'Garmr Brotherhood'—with its traditions and history stretching back to the days of the duels at Árós—originally denoted those warriors who had received something akin to a knighthood from me.
Stórolf, who could be considered the youngest of that brotherhood, was perhaps someone I simply wished to keep looking after.
Upon receiving my sudden question, Stórolf rolled his eyes this way and that before answering vigorously.
"I shall do whatever my Konungr desires!"
"Then try leading them, just once!"
"Yes! My Konungr!"
Setting aside the womanizing tendencies he surprisingly possessed, in public matters, Stórolf followed my words blindly, without preference or complaint.
'In fact, it's not just Stórolf who is like that...'
Wasn't it a cliché across all cultures, East and West, that when a king gave an order to a general, the general would agonize and the king would grow suspicious?
I had never once experienced such a thing.
Was it because the kingdom was still small? Or was it because I was a 21st-century-style monarch who did not much care?
Oh, you want to betray me? ~ Fine, I'll just let you be independent and that'll be the end of it. ~ Was it because I fundamentally approached it with that mindset?
In any case, as my kingdom slowly grew larger, the abilities and vision of my subordinates, who saw and heard and felt so many things alongside me, seemed to grow as well, and that was reassuring.
It gave me a sense of relief that I was not walking this path alone.
[dugu- dugu- dugu-]
Moving in synchrony with the rhythm of their leader, Camembert, the column of mounted riders glided over the earth and soon crossed the road managed by Lincoln, entering the borders of Jorvik, where only a small number of guards were now stationed.
"Konungr Helgi!"
"My Konungr!"
[cheok! cheok!]
"You have worked hard."
[dugu- dugu-]
Passing by the guards who hurriedly rendered their salutes to me, the moment I entered the road maintained by Jorvik, I immediately sensed the change.
In the span of merely one year, the roads that had been broken here and there were neatly repaired. The overgrown grasses and trees that had been encroaching upon the road had all been cleared away, so that a single, cleanly connected path stretched forth beneath the cool northern sunlight.
Under Jorvik's stewardship, the old road—of which only traces had remained—was newly revived, as if summoning its past glory back into the present age.
'Ubba has done a proper job of it.'
My loyal sycophant, Ecgberht, was, in truth, exceptionally talented at making money through trade and embezzling secret funds, but he lacked the ability to manage all of Deira—the southern part of Northumbria—on this scale.
The war in the North was now heading toward its climax, yet my heart was already looking beyond the war.
*****
Jorvik, the central city of southern Northumbria.
It had been scarcely two years since it had gone by the name Eoforwic.
Yet now, when I returned to my direct holding in Northumbria, the only trace of its old appearance was the still-stubbornly-standing walls.
"My Konungr! Jorvik and all beneath it are yours! I, Ecgberht, upon word of my Konungr's coming, have prepared fine-quality mead and boar meat!"
"I thank you, Ecgberht. It is good to see you growing healthier by the day."
"All is thanks to the grace of my Konungr and the great Goddess Hel...!"
"..."
As expected of Ecgberht. A sycophant I had recognized at first glance.
A true sycophant never crossed the line excessively. He merely made preparations suited to the tastes of the master he served.
Seeing this, I could not help but think that not all sycophants were bad... yet what exactly was the difference between a loyal subject and a sycophant?
Was it that he padded his own pockets a bit more? That he committed all manner of evil deeds under the king's name?
It was a question worth pondering once. Just how many generals existed who truly threw their entire selves into the cause of country, people, and king, like Admiral Yi Sun-sin?
And was there even any guarantee that such a figure was the correct model? Should not the king, rather, take it upon himself to look after such a man?
It was absolutely not the quality honey wine that softened my mood.
Anyway, as long as I, the Konungr, kept myself well-centered, even these treacherous sorts were useful in their own way.
Ecgberht, who had a peculiar knack for making money, had borrowed my name to jump into the beekeeping business and the foreign trade plying between Árós and Kiyiu.
He was surely earning far more wealth than he ever had during his tenure as Ealdorman of Jorvik.
Of course, all that money was likely being poured right back into the redevelopment of Jorvik and Dair, but judging by the plump, well-fed look on Ecgberht's face, he was clearly taking good care of his own salary.
"The Konungr's warriors have completed their march preparations at the garrison north of the city. Jarl Halfdan awaits at the temple of the Goddess Hel near the garrison."
"Is that so. Thank you, Ecgberht."
"It is my joy."
The temple of the Goddess Hel. The first shrine built in this place by Haldis, the priestess who oversaw the faith of Hel in Britain, under my mother's command.
That place was where the remains of my father and his warriors slept.
Amidst a feeling that the Goddess Hel's necklace hanging around my neck had grown just a little heavier—
I took in the changing scenery of the city.
Jorvik was built with the River Ouse at its center, its two sides fortified and connected by a great bridge.
Given its nature as a critical strategic point of old Rome, the fortress on the river's northern bank was striking for its squared, orderly shape, while the southern one, having once housed various support facilities, was enclosed by relatively more free-form walls.
The old appearance it had under the Angles, where only the skeleton of the fortifications remained, had met a new vitality under my rule.
Already, people clustered here for all manner of reasons had filled the inside of the walls and spilled beyond them to build their homes, and the land fanning out in concentric circles around the city had all been converted into farms and orchards.
Once I entered the fortress, I could see people bathing by the riverside and the bustling wharves, and even paved roads beginning to spread inside the city proper, much like Árós.
Leather, timber, food, and fish were visible everywhere, and above all, the expressions on people's faces were so bright you would never guess they belonged to a kingdom at war.
I was convinced of victory here.
'The smell was unavoidable... but I needed to hurry the sewer development.'
Wells sprang up here and there, yet there was only one path for the wastewater to flow out...
A great pit on the outskirts of the city alone would not be able to handle all the filth and sewage.
The people living here might be quite happy, as the sanitation was far cleaner than in most other cities of this era... but by my standards, it failed.
'Lead was absolutely out as a material for the water supply. Even the 21st century used lead for most water pipes... but we had no coating technology whatsoever. Leon had discovered a copper mine, so though I had no idea how much, we'd use copper for now.'
But could lead be used for the sewers? I would only know by trying... relying on fragmentary knowledge glimpsed in a documentary had its limits.
Still, what I possessed were the boundless resources of a vast land and time.
What could not be solved deductively could be solved inductively.
"Seeing Jorvik truly fills my heart with satisfaction. You have indeed worked hard, Jarl Ecgberht."
"Thank you...! Konungr!"
"Ecgberht. Build a fine house to live in, and eat and drink good food and wine. But you must see to it that the same happy smile on your face remains upon the faces of these people as well. For that to happen, the warriors must above all be strong, and support for them must never be neglected. You are a wise Jarl, so I will say no more. I look forward to your continued good work."
"...How could I possibly fail you...! Konungr! I shall treat this day's words as I would my own life...!"
Ecgberht bowed his head near to the withers of my horse, offering a military salute.
The symbol of Hel hanging from his neck shone beneath the warm sunlight.
"Good. So long as you carry on just as you are now, your storehouse will never know a dry day. The war is pressing, so dole out the meat you prepared among your subordinates to enjoy, and only put the drink into leather skins for me and my guards. We will hold the feast after wrapping up affairs in the north. What do you say?"
"It shall be so! Konungr!"
"Then I shall go to Halfdan at once. Jorvik will serve as the rear for this war, essentially handling the supply for our expeditionary force. You must be in constant contact with Ubba in Lincoln and Björn in Árós, seeing that the flow of materiel never halts."
"Our Northumbrian merchants do not rest even in the depths of winter, Konungr! If the silver coin calls, how could we shun a rough path?"
As expected, Ecgberht's identity as a merchant ran stronger than that of a lord. Within his genial smile lay the sharp glint of a great trader.
I wanted to introduce him face-to-face with Jarl Miroslav of Polotsk one day... what kind of synergy would result from a meeting between a former grand slave merchant and a grand treacherous retainer turned from a king?
Our kingdom's talent pool for intrigue was this reliable.
"Good. I am reassured, as always."
"You are too kind...!"
Very good.
*****
North of Jorvik, a half-day's ride by horse. The Dragon Forest, or the Forest of Midgardsormr.
It earned the name because, on that day amidst the sudden gale of thunder, lightning, and rain—
so many people saw the shape of a dragon churning in the sky above.
After the dragon's appearance and the discovery of my father's remains, not only the local people but countless others who heard the rumor came under the shadow of the Goddess Hel.
Before the burial mound where great stones were laid out in the shape of a longship, Halfdan stood.
"Odin, Hel. Look after my comrades and my father well. Until the day we meet again."
The sons of Ragnar were always cheerful and hearty (barring Ubba), but I knew there was a heavy stone resting in the heart of every one of the brothers.
Such was the death of a parent.
A hollow emptiness that vengeance could not sweep away.
Before the well-tended grave, Halfdan poured out the thick ale his father had loved from a leather flask, and as if making a vow to the father surely watching over them from Valhalla, he spoke.
"Father. Your sons are united as one under the name of the youngest, the mightiest man in this world. So watch well from up there. We, Konungr Helgi Ragnarsson, shall surpass even your name, and Grandfather's, and even the names of Thor and Odin."
He meant to make it so without fail.
Not a trace of the usual gentle laughter could be found in Halfdan Hvitserk's eyes.