125.
125.
The man of Clan Erskine, who had introduced himself as Boid of Kilmarnock, possessed a ringing voice.
"Of course, these are not all. Helgi Rí (King)! Those who came with me are merely an escort to prepare against a possible attack from Alt Clut, and the rest of the boats are all waiting at the rally point across the river."
An escort to prepare against an attack from Alt Clut?
'A half-truth.'
The hidden half of the truth was surely that he had been afraid to come alone to meet a Norseman Rí of unknown identity, and that was entirely understandable.
Our reputation was not the sort to be anything less than bloody. He would have needed insurance.
"You continue to amaze me, Boid. How can I repay this favor?"
My manner of speaking, which hated dragging things out, had a somewhat direct edge to it, but fortunately this method seemed to work well on men with red hair and pale skin.
"Indeed! As befitting one who bears the bearing of a hero, you are magnanimous! Then I, too, shall speak plainly, Helgi Rí! I and Clan Erskine do not desire the land here that you, Rí, will take. For our domain lies upon the lower reaches of the River Clyde."
"Is that so?"
An answer slightly different from what I had expected. Secretly, I had hoped they would take charge of this place...
"Of course, Rí. To a Rí who is an honorable and mighty warrior, our actions might appear somewhat faithless, but the relationship between Alt Clut and our Clan Erskine is not like the relationship between master and servant familiar to you, Rí, and the Angles and Saxons of the east. We were... a sort of cooperative relationship, once. Though not anymore."
Boid's words trailed off. The smile that rose upon his pale skin, so suited to the dreary weather, was exceedingly cool.
"And so, I say once more that we have no mind to claim any right to whatever you, Rí, shall take. What we desire is trade and intercourse with the domain you shall rule. We humbly request a firm promise, guaranteed by you, Rí, yourself."
"Trade and intercourse. And my promise?"
"Yes, Rí. Let our merchants buy and sell in the Rí's land, and let the Rí's merchants be able to visit our land. That is all."
Was this not far too simple?
If they knew news of Northumbria, Mercia, and East Anglia, I had to assume they possessed a certain amount of information about me, but this was a picture where I profited too greatly.
So I asked.
"Look here, Boid. Do you mean to make a thief of me? Is this not a treaty where you gain far too little?"
"It is not, Rí."
"It is not?"
Still keeping his head bowed, Boid lightly shook his head from side to side and soon explained their reasoning.
"Pardon my rudeness, but, Rí... do you know hunger?"
A gloomy aura cast over his brilliant blue eyes. Memories of pain and hunger. A terror of winter.
It was an absurd thing to say, but those Norsemen of my own generation, born and raised in the land of winter and most familiar with it, were far removed from such suffering.
Though Boid's following words were calm, the deep scars of great pain remained within them.
"We have known the rumors concerning you, Rí, far longer than you think. As I said, unlike Arthgal of Alt Clut there, we always live with our ears open to the affairs of the east. 'In the land of Helgi Konungr, there are none who starve.' What magical words were these? I thought it some fanciful tale like that of Cú Chulainn, or an exaggeration."
As I had learned from my talks with Fergus, Cú Chulainn was a legendarily important hero in the Gaelic culture of this place. To us, he held a place like Sigurd the dragon slayer, a staple of the skalds' songs. Similar to a figure like Heracles if one were to speak of the Greeks.
"But then, you, Rí, took Northumbria, and soon a harsh winter came. Our clan, as we always did, exerted every effort to face the winter... but in the end, we froze to death, starved to death, and having nothing to eat, we had no choice but to raid others. You may have heard of cattle raiding; that is our way of living, Rí. It does not suit Catholic values, but the priests have no other solution, you see.
But your land was different."
The Gaelic man's voice, which had been speaking of despair, began to slowly fill with the light of hope, and Boid and the pale-skinned men standing behind him were all looking upon me.
"We still do not know. The priests of our holy city of Kilmarnock, built in the name of Saint Marnock, could not explain it either. How could we, who know naught but rowing, running, sowing and reaping, and spear-throwing, ever understand? Only, we wish to taste the miracle you summoned to Northumbria. We wish to live. Helgi Rí."
With those words finished, only the sound of flowing water and the creaking of the boats drawn up onto the shore lingered for a time.
In my head, calculations of this and that danced, but I shoved them all into the farthest corner.
"I never simply abandon those who offer me aid. Boid of Kilmarnock. When the war in this place is ended, I shall make a river of gold flow between the Clyde and your city of Kilmarnock. I swear it before my god and your gods."
Before my composed declaration, the men of Kilmarnock all bowed their heads deeply.
It was the moment Kilmarnock formally joined the expedition against Alt Clut.
*****
Even hauling boats up onto the riverbank had its limit.
The people of Kilmarnock, led by Boid, began to build a makeshift dock.
Because their boats were fundamentally small and nimble, a grand harbor was unnecessary, and thus it was a moment where the wisdom of those who had lived their whole lives in this area shone.
These were the sorts of advantages only the locals could possess, which outsiders could not easily know.
Where those small-looking boats had kept such things, they produced stakes and wooden planks and hammered and nailed them together, and in the blink of an eye, a small anchorage was created.
Boid had brought twenty boats, and it was said each could carry eight men, including the oarsmen.
When the fifty boats waiting across the river joined them, a force of roughly five hundred men could be moved at a time.
Which meant Halfdan's four thousand soldiers could cross the river in less than half a day.
I commanded Guthrum to hold the encampment and commanded Stórolf to guard the area between the camp and this makeshift dock. A few scouts from Glasgow poked their heads about in the distance, but no serious movement was seen.
Indeed, they would have no other method either, for the moment they opened the fortress gates and came out, it would instantly turn into an open field battle. Would they have the courage to make such a choice against us?
In the end, while the scouts of both sides merely craned their necks like meerkats and looked at each other, the final work on the encampment and the dock was completed smoothly.
The forces of Halfdan and Refil arrived one after another around the time the sun was setting.
"Those damned bastards!"
It was a commanders' meeting, gathered after guiding the armies of Refil and Halfdan to the ground that had been scouted beforehand and confirming they had pitched their tents with the materials each had brought.
Having already been acquainted with Fergus, and having exchanged greetings with the newly joined people of Kilmarnock through my introduction as a top-tier interpreter, Halfdan lost his temper straight away.
And then, Halfdan gulped down the water before him in great drafts.
The stream Fergus had found was clear, and fortunately, the enemy had played no tricks, so we were able to secure drinking water.
Surely the reason Halfdan was angry was because of the persistent attacks by the enemy light infantry.
"I've never seen such persistent bastards in my life! These mosquito-like bastards!"
At the sight of Halfdan uttering deeply insulting words and shaking his head as if utterly sick of it all, Boid and Fergus—who could not speak the language but vaguely deduced the situation from his expression and tone—gave wry smiles, and even the ever-composed Refil nodded his head.
"They tormented us before we arrived here where the Konungr is. Several warriors who could not bear it and rushed out were harmed. After the last major skirmish, they headed north."
Whenever I hear word that warriors under my command have died or been injured, the fuses in my head blow one by one. It felt as if the shackles binding down some suppressed emotion were coming undone.
I locked the rage that wanted to surge backward deep within my chest, into that reservoir of patience every man possesses, and calmly drank my water.
"They headed north...?"
"If north, they have likely moved to take a crossing point."
Fergus, who through speaking with me had learned basic vocabulary such as east, west, south, north; enemy, ally; Norseman, Gael; and the precise pronunciation of Konungr, spoke to me.
"A crossing point?"
"Yes, Konungr. The River Clyde itself cannot be crossed without a bridge or a boat, but its tributaries invariably have shallow places. There are also things like stepping stones laid down by people long ago. They will certainly be moving using a crossing known only to the people of this land."
"Then we must catch them."
"Yes, Konungr. If we can only seize that path, Jarl Refil's forces can also move."
Refil, noticing his name being mentioned in the conversation conducted in Gaelic, sensed something.
Glasgow and Govan flanked the River Clyde on either side. Because they had layered many great iron chains between the two fortresses to prevent any boat from passing, an attack or troop transport via the waterway could not even be dreamed of.
Thus, the attack on Peartoc, the other strategic point to the left of Glasgow, had seemed to fall through, but... if there was a crossing that an enemy light infantry force estimated at three or four thousand could cross, did that not mean we could cross it as well?
"Fergus. Can you do it? If you succeed, I shall bestow a great reward upon you and your men."
"Konungr. It is work we have done our whole lives. We shall set out at once."
With a confident answer, Fergus bowed his head to me and immediately left the tent, disappearing into the gray mist.
As we all rose together and wished good fortune upon the Avengers of Dull Blann hurrying on their way, my thoughts continued to spin their thread.
'We have wrested from them their only advantage: their knowledge of this place's geography and environment. The decline in mobility that had become our weakness has also vanished with Kilmarnock's joining. Now the troops will move as planned, and the attacks on Glasgow, Govan, and Peartoc will be carried out.'
Originally, when one's own forces are strong, the proper method is a frontal assault.
Stratagems and artifice are for overturning an inferior force.
Surely, there was a reason the frontal assault was the standard.
'Now that the enemy's advantage and our weakness have been removed, this war is already over. All that remains is how swiftly and surely we achieve victory. We shall bring down the three fortresses and seize the upper and middle reaches of the Clyde.'
Then nothing would remain but Alt Clut itself.
"Boid. When can we move?"
"If a sudden great rain does not fall, you may move as soon as tomorrow dawn. Helgi Rí."
Good.
"Halfdan. The state of the army? Do they have strength left to cross that river at dawn tomorrow?"
At my question, Halfdan's lips curled back like a snarling wolf. Was that not a truly vicious smile.
"My brother Konungr. The warriors of myself and Dir are waiting only for your command."
Very good.
"At dawn tomorrow, Halfdan's 2nd Army will cross the river. Jarl Dir shall prepare an attack alongside Halfdan, and Jarl Stórolf and Jarl Guthrum will maneuver to the front of Glasgow fortress and draw the enemy's eyes. They must move as loudly as possible."
"Yes! Konungr!"
"Well understood!"
"Jarl Refil's 3rd Army will stand by in the rear. They are to prevent any possible enemy flanking maneuver and must carefully watch for Fergus's signal."
"Yes! Konungr."
The voices of the jarls answered vigorously.
Within the still-fog-choked air, the scent of iron and blood seemed to rise.