119.
119.
"Halfdan!"
"Helgi! My brother Konungr!"
"...Just call me brother."
Grabbing each other's forearms in greeting, the faces of the two brothers were filled with smiles.
Laughing and chatting like this in front of our father's and warriors' graves might have been uncomfortable for some, but this was the Norseman's way of life.
Death was not separate from life.
We would all eventually draw our last breath anyway, and then we would meet again in the domain of Odin, or Freyr, or Hel.
"How is Father?"
"He is well. Together with our warriors. Being here feels almost like being in another world. Calm, and quiet."
"The gods watch over him."
"The gods? Did you not say they are all dead?"
"Their domains still remain, I hear."
"...Very well, what could I say to you, who has even shattered rock? But I still don't quite grasp the difference."
Halfdan was clearly confused.
Truthfully, that was about the right amount of involvement for the gods. They could be a source of will in hard times, but could not grip and shake one's life.
Had I not shamelessly borrowed Nietzsche's famous words, 'God is dead!', precisely to stop acts like hanging innocent people or livestock on trees as sacrifices and sprinkling their blood on the fields?
As long as they did not use the gods' names to commit such insane acts, I had neither the will nor the power to intervene further.
'Father. Mother, our brothers, and the grandchildren are all doing well. How is Valhalla? Are the drink and food to your taste? Are Grandfather and Grandmother well? If Odin is also there, please give him my regards. Please also tell him that with a little more time, the old faith and the old gods will only grow stronger.'
Especially gods like Thor and Tyr, who were still immensely popular, had a high probability of becoming even more popular than before.
Gods who were good at fighting and friendly to the people were always in high demand.
The moment Sigurdeu and the godi, the bards, finished compiling the old sagas in Árós, a Norse bible would spread across all my lands.
A new religion based on Goddess Hel would be born anew, drawing power from the many sagas.
"So, Helgi. My brother Konungr. We should leave the matters of the gods to the gods now, and tend to our own work, should we not? The messenger sent to Ivar has returned. He says they are fighting fiercely, blood spilling everywhere."
A messenger from Ivar. First, I needed to know how the war was unfolding in the northern part of the Kingdom of Scotland.
"Let us go to the camp."
As Halfdan had said, it was time to do the Konungr's work again.
*****
The camp was filled with the scent of freshly cut wood.
Just as the sea smells of seawater and leaves smell of grass, each wood had its own distinct fragrance. Especially when building a camp, the smell of sap oozing from the cut surfaces was overwhelming.
Naturally, there were plenty of bugs, and the smell of living people—particularly males—became pervasive, but as always, everyone grew accustomed to it after a while.
The camp resembled a small-scale version of Roman walls like those at Jorvik, usually laid out in a square with a palisade, divided broadly into sections for logistics, sleeping quarters, and the command tent.
The most important of these, in my opinion, was not the command tent but the place where military supplies were stored and distributed.
This would not be an unfamiliar concept to those with some expertise in war, but the beginning and end of war truly did lie in logistics.
Carrying food, cooking and feeding. Finding places to sleep and pitching tents, then striking those tents when moving. Distributing and repairing supplies, and so on.
As this was the alpha and omega of war, I always made sure to carve out time to visit the supply tents.
When I, the highest of the high, appeared, discipline would materialize from thin air. I felt sorry for the frontline logistics officers, but their extra suffering was the shortcut to victory.
All I could give them was certain reward.
But today, I encountered an unexpected and welcome face here.
"You there. Your face looks familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before?"
As I stopped by the supply tent to check the condition as usual, a face that was somehow familiar caught my eye.
"Yes! Konungr! I saw you during the defense of Jorvik!"
"The defense of Jorvik... Ah-"
I remembered the siege I had fought unexpectedly, with no plan, thanks to Ecgberht's sudden surrender when we faced Ælla of Northumbria. I had suspected it was Ecgberht's scheme at the time, and I vividly recalled how difficult that first defensive battle had been.
I had sent down a certain kid on the wall at that moment, seized by a sudden rush of pity. His name was probably...
"Stān. Was it Stān?"
"That's right! Konungr!"
Stān. As seen in the name Stanford, it was an Anglo-Saxon word meaning stone. For reference, in our Norse tongue, it was Steinn.
Looking at this, one could see how we Norsemen and the Angles and Saxons could haltingly communicate. We were basically neighbors from a distant past, people from the same root, so we were not strangers to one another.
Anyway, it seemed only a year or two had passed, but this fellow had really shot up.
"Haha. Yes, Stān! The friend who only reached my thigh has now grown to my waist! By the next time I see you, you'll be up to my chest. Have you been serving in the Jorvik army ever since?"
"Yes! Konungr! The supply officer looked favorably upon me, so I have been able to stay on until now!"
The youth who had been fifteen was now sixteen or seventeen? He was still far too young by my standards, but in the world of 867, he was a full-fledged adult. Was the fuzz-like beard on his face not proof? His long brown hair was grown out and swept back, but his completely exposed forehead made him look even younger.
"Good, since you are at it. Strive even harder and try to become the best in the logistics field. I was glad to see you again. Stān of Northumbria."
"It is an honor! Helgi Konungr!"
Stān's crisp, disciplined bearing pleased me so much that I sought out the supply officer, his superior. This middle-aged Northumbrian was even more frozen stiff than Stān.
Whenever I asked if there were any particular difficulties or if supplies were coming in well, he just broke out in a cold sweat and screeched, "Yes! There is nothing wrong, sir!" "Everything is entirely thanks to the Konungr, sir!", making normal communication impossible...
If Halfdan, unable to bear it any longer, hadn't dragged me away saying we should go into the command tent now, the hearing of most Jarls present with me would have been damaged.
Anyway, leaving the pleasant reunion behind, a heartwarming sight greeted me as I entered the large circular tent.
A long table and chairs, wooden boards and maps drawn on parchment spread upon it. A few extinguished candles.
The eyes of the Jarls taking their seats around me, who sat at the very center, were confident, as if they had already arrived before me and devised a plan.
'Come to think of it, I need to overhaul the military organization as well.'
A sudden memory of Stān calling his superior "supply officer" made a dry chuckle escape my lips.
It also brought a bit of self-reproach, thinking it was remarkable how well things ran on such a haphazard basis.
Just as I was mentally adding another task to the notebook in my head, Halfdan's voice reached my ears.
"The messenger sent by Ivar is waiting outside, Konungr. Please listen to the messenger's words first. Afterward, I will present the rough plan we have in mind."
"Do so."
Guthrum, who had been listening to our exchange, relayed the order to the guard standing at the tent's entrance. A moment later, a Norseman warrior walked in through the wide-open tent flap.
"I see the Konungr!"
[Tchak!]
The salute that had become the basic formality of my corps.
After I acknowledged him with a nod, the messenger reported on the war situation in the northern part of the Kingdom of Scotland.
First, Ivar, Olaf, and Jarl Ketil from the Petty Kingdom of the Isles were moving together, harassing the northwestern coast of the Kingdom of Scotland.
In northern Northumbria, Uhtred of Vernika had established a solid defensive line and succeeded in pushing back the forces of the Kingdom of Strathclyde and the Kingdom of Scotland that had driven deep into Vernika.
Uhtred was likely awaiting my northward march. He would move the Vernika army in coordination with my own movements.
'Having capable subordinates truly makes work easier.'
I had recognized it since we fought back and forth in Jorvik, but my Jarl of Vernika definitely knew how to fight.
Of course, my brother Ivar went without saying, and Olaf, who had lived the harsh life of a Norseman warrior—would the average lifespan even be thirty?—until his hair turned white, was a warrior among warriors, hard to compare to anyone.
The reason these men seemed to be checked on the northwestern coast of the Kingdom of Scotland and were relatively struggling was, firstly, because the forces of Dublin and the Petty Kingdom of the Isles were fundamentally not large.
And secondly, it was probably because Causantín of the Kingdom of Scotland was resisting more fiercely than expected.
'The king of Picts and Scots, is it. What I initially wanted from Ivar was simply to tie down the attention of the Kingdom of Scotland and the Kingdom of Strathclyde. But he did more than that. He truly created an opening.'
The first objective we had set when crossing over to the island of Britain was the occupation of the eastern coast.
As we waged war, their alliances, which were more fractured than we thought, and the Norsemen's strength, which was greater than we thought, led to the result of a shift in dominion over Mercia and East Anglia.
We still had strength to spare, so we had even prepared to fight Wessex and West Frankia beyond it, but since they took a step back, I had turned my gaze northward.
Ivar and Olaf, and Uhtred and Torgenvald of Orkney. My Jarls in northern Britain had prepared a great opportunity.
All that remained was to put a clean period on the sentence.
The moment the messenger's report ended, my fiercely churning brain also finished organizing its thoughts, and immediately afterward, Halfdan reported the strategy to me on behalf of the assembled Jarls.
"Konungr. As you heard, the situation in the north has changed rapidly. It has gone from defense to offense, and mutual raiding has broken out to the point where it is now difficult even to determine which land the people roaming those fields originally fled from."
Halfdan moved the wooden pieces around the somewhat crude but sufficiently detailed parchment map of northern Britain's coastline.
The piece representing Ivar was shaped like a snake, which undoubtedly reflected Halfdan's personal input.
"In fact, Causantín of Scotland cannot turn his gaze south. The path from Vernika into Scotland is blocked, and the rest is nothing but high mountains, so attacking them directly would be no easy fight."
The Kingdom of Scotland's greatest enemy, more than anything else, was its terrain. A succession of rugged mountains and highlands to rival the harsh ranges of our homeland.
There was a thought, 'Must we really strike this land with few resources or people?', but considering the damage Vernika had suffered, I could not leave them alone.
'An enemy who has provoked once is bound to provoke again. They must be rooted out entirely.'
"Therefore, the Jarls and I thought the best method would be to settle the Kingdom of Strathclyde first."
"Hm?"
I thought they were going to suggest bypassing the Kingdom of Scotland to strike it, but the Kingdom of Strathclyde, all of a sudden?
Reading my puzzled expression, Halfdan continued speaking with a bright, satisfied grin.
"Attacking the Kingdom of Scotland from below is far too difficult and arduous, but smashing into its flank is a different story. Moreover, they are in a position where they can strike at our flank. So, they are foes we must cross swords with someday regardless."
"Better to deal with them now, while they are divided...?"
"Precisely. Now, while Ivar, Olaf, and Ketil are locked in a contest of strength with Causantín of Scotland, is the opportunity to finish the Kingdom of Strathclyde. Konungr."
The River Clyde, which separated the Kingdom of Scotland from Vernika.
The Kingdom of Strathclyde stretched out along this massive river.
These were the people who would someday threaten northern Northumbria if left alone, so Halfdan and the Jarls' thinking that we had to confront them eventually was not wrong at all.
If so, what was there to hesitate over?
"Good. I will follow the Jarls' counsel. We strike the Kingdom of Strathclyde."
"Yes! Konungr!"
"Understood!"
The Jarls bowed their heads in unison at my decision.
Halfdan, Guthrum, Refil, Stórolf, Oleg, Djur.
At the sight of their steadfast forms, confidence gradually swelled within my chest.