138.
138.
"Block, block them! Stop them!"
The enemy commander, looking flustered, bellowed at the top of his lungs.
[Pururuk- puhihihing! puhihing!]
"Wh-whoa—"
"Let's go! Yah!"
Beasts were quicker to sense danger than men. And this place was Scotland, the northernmost part of the isle of Britain.
The Celts, ancestors of the Gaels, were famed as cavalry, but that was a distant past.
The Picts' horses, having lost their function as warhorses, were terrified of the kinsmen charging madly toward them and the men riding them. They fiercely rejected the commands of the humans who normally gave them food and warm shelter.
As the enemy horses spun in place or broke ranks entirely, I and my riders already galloped down the slope and closed the distance in a breath.
Such was the difference in the sense of distance between infantry and cavalry.
'Is that one their captain?'
Could it be Causantín?
[Dugudugudugu-]
"Y-you—! Damn—!"
[Hwoong-!]
If it was Causantín, it would be regrettable; if not, it would be fortunate. But on the battlefield, one could not show mercy for the enemy's circumstances.
Right now, Ívarr's army looked to be holding well, but they were being pushed back in the end. The cavalry I had led had exploited the surprise and seized the enemy's rear, but they numbered only 200.
In this situation, the best thing was to strike the serpent's head.
"—eul!"
[Seogeok! Chwahak-]
Because I charged with my sword raised as if to thrust at the enemy's front, the enemy captain could not grasp the length of my greatsword. The moment he thrust his spear, my greatsword, slashed down at an angle, severed both the man's neck and the spear's shaft in one blow.
"Aaagh! O Rí!"
"No!"
[Heung- hwoong seogeok! Chwahak!]
"Aagh—!"
As I cut down the guards behind him one after another, who screamed, I swallowed the bitter taste of saliva.
'Damn...! Was it really Causantín! What the hell was a king doing in a place like this?! That's why he died...!'
I had killed the King of the Picts. It was an honourable feat of war, but even if we won the battle, the war was bound to drag on now.
The Picts in this place would not be all the Picts of this land.
If the highland Picts began a guerrilla campaign, I would taste a different flavour from the skirmishes I had experienced at Alt Clut.
Would the warlike Picts all kneel because their king was dead?
'Give up the highlands.'
In that short span, I cut down two more dazed enemies and made a simple decision.
'Secure only the coast and defend. For now, the battle first...!'
[Dugudugudugu- hwoong- seogeok!]
"Keok!"
Not a soul could withstand that simple downward stroke. We cut down the enemy king and his guards without any difficulty and immediately spurred our horses down toward the lower ground of the hilly terrain.
Stórolf blew the horn, and Thorbjörn and Rún, along with all who followed behind me, shouted at the top of their voices.
[Buuuwoom- buuuwoong-!]
"Causantín is dead! Causantín is dead!"
"Helgi Ragnarsson has slain Causantín!"
"Those who wish to live, throw down your weapons!"
My heart rate endlessly climbed. The power coursing through my whole body as I rode wakened every sense.
From the breathing of my riders and myself as we spurred across the soft ground, to the expressions of the enemy who noticed the upheaval in their rear and fell into confusion.
My brain, trying to analyse every piece of information coming through my eyes, whirled fiercely and soon showed me the path I must take.
"Follow me! We shall split the enemy!"
'Let's go, Camembert!'
[Kkuk-]
The natural strength of my legs was enough; I had not bothered to wear the spurs meant for prodding a horse's flank on my shoes.
When I pulled the reins and gave Camembert the signal, my black horse snorted roughly, as if to pour out all the strength it had been saving.
[Pururuk- pururuk- pururuk- dagak- dagak- dagak-!]
The beat of the hooves grew faster and faster. My riders, clearly giving their all to gallop, receded behind me, and the enemies, who had looked like little toys, drew near in an instant.
"Shi-shields! Raise spears! We must avenge the Rí!"
"The enemy! The enemy is at our rear!"
"Causantín Rí is dead! Causantín Rí is dead!"
My judgement to cut down the enemy commander had been valid. Even if the armour and weapons of those who stood to block my path were of fine quality, little different from what I had seen in Mercia—
The pupils of the warriors who had to wield them were already violently shaking.
"I said stop that bastard! Everyone, spears—!"
[Dugudugudugu- seogeok!]
"—eul!"
I cut down the one who seemed the bravest among them in a passing stroke.
As the galloping momentum of the horse added itself to the blade, the head that flew into the air scattered blood over the heads of the enemies who watched blankly for a long moment.
[Chwahak-!]
[Hwoong- hwoong- peok! Chwahak!]
"Aagh!"
"Keok!"
No one could block Camembert's path as he continued to run.
My greatsword danced, alternating between my right and left hands, and every time it swung, someone's neck, arm, or shoulder fell to the ground and a scream followed.
"Ah-ro-seu—!"
"Hel—!"
[Dugudugudugu- kwang! Peogeok! Hihihihihing-! Dugudugu-]
Right after, Stórolf, Thorbjörn, Rún, and the rest of the mounted troop drove in all at once through the path I had opened.
Those who had grown fairly accustomed to mounted charges thrust their long spears with skill, piercing the enemy. Those still clumsy in mounted combat but whose spirits were stolen by my breakthrough simply shoved enemies aside with the horses' bodies.
"Aaaagh!"
"Dodge!"
"Flee!"
The Pictish warriors, who until now had known fighting only as something done with two feet planted on the ground, finally broke down before the brutish violence displayed by me and my riders.
Like a blocked embankment bursting open all at once, the movements of the Picts turning their backs one after another became a current and then a wave, surging toward the hill we had just passed.
Were they going to seek their king?
[Dageudak- dageudak-]
Before the shield-wall of the Norsemen, still tightly packed.
The Pictish warriors, unable to budge due to the extreme congestion, kept wailing, and the Norse warriors standing against them let out beast-like war cries just the same.
Camembert, which had been charging in high spirits, also came to a halt with no more space to run. Gently patting the neck of the black beast as it snorted out a huff, I shouted loudly.
"Your Rí has fallen by my hand! Those who wish to live, throw down your weapons!"
[Cheok!]
I dismounted in one breath and strode forward.
At that defenceless sight, the enemies who had already lost their reason rushed in wildly.
"Yaaaa—!"
"Die! Heathen—!"
[Shuuuuk- shiiiik- hwoong-!]
[Peoseok! Seogeok!]
Though I was the one who had stretched out my hand first, it was the heads of their gods that had risen into the sky instead.
The Pictish warriors, unable to close their wide-open eyes as if they could not comprehend it even in their dying moments.
"Yaaa—!"
[Seogeok!]
"Aaaak!"
[Chwahak—]
I advanced by cleaving left and right through the madmen who could no longer be reached by words, and as Camembert followed behind with light, brisk steps, the riders who had been pursuing me all dismounted at last.
Seizing their trembling legs, my warriors carried out the charge once more.
"Follow the Konungr! Kill them all!"
"Long live Helgi!"
"Long live Árós!"
[Iyaaaaa!]
The roar of battle cries and the great crash of collision resounded from behind.
The enemies, at last dragged down from the world of frenzy into reality, recovered their senses and soon took the actions of men whose reason had fled.
"R-run away!"
"We are defeated...! Throw down your weapons!"
"Move! Move, I said!"
Not daring to flee in my direction, the enemies split into two streams like the Red Sea parting and either fled senselessly or knelt down on the spot.
At last, I stopped the sword I had been swinging and went against the tide of people passing on either side of me.
I went and stood before my brother, who was looking at me with a bright smile.
"Ivar."
"Helgi."
Upon his face, smeared with blood here and there, a mischievous smile still hung, and his characteristic air of composure seemed even deeper on the battlefield.
The blue eyes that gleamed through the face-guard of his helmet were flashing.
My own face must have been smiling like that too, I thought.
"I wasn't too late, was I?"
[Seuk—]
"You hurried too much. I could have held out three more days or so."
[Teop!]
Ivar clasped my outstretched right arm firmly, threw off his helmet, and laughed aloud.
Uha-hahahahah!
The laughter spread around us at once, and all the Norsemen warriors shouted and threw off their helmets.
Soon, Olaf, his snow-white beard stained crimson and his entire face reddened with excitement, pointed at me and shouted loudly.
"Long live Helgi Konungr—! Long live Helgi Ragnarsson!"
"Helgi Ragnarsson—! Helgi the Strong!"
[Iyaaaaa!]
The dismounted cavalry joined the warriors shouting my name and howling like wolves, and amidst the scene of fervor where Stórolf blew his horn once more, I felt that this expedition had come to an end.
'How strange. I first set foot on this land together with Ivar, and now the end of this expedition is also with Ivar.'
[Buuuuung—! Buuuuuuung—! Buuuuuuuuung—]
"Long live the strongest one! Long live his goddess!"
"Victory! We have won! We have won, I tell you! You filthy bastards!"
"Val—hal—la—!"
*****
It was something I always said, but.
When it was only fighting, it was rather better. If you fought senselessly, at its end you would eventually either die or survive.
With battle, the beginning and the end were what was truly harder.
Naturally, some five thousand fairy-tale wives were not going to appear from somewhere to clean up the battlefield; all this work had to be done by the three thousand men of the combined army of Dublin and the Kingdom of the Isles, whose numbers had by now been considerably reduced.
They gathered the fallen enemies and the bodies of our allies separately, collected all usable equipment, and piled it in one place.
As they were warriors of the Kingdom of the Isles and Dublin, military groups of a more primal form that my hand had not yet touched, they marched and fought in the traditional way.
Which was to say, they lacked the art of forming encampments that I had systematized (the practical work mainly handled by Björn and Hrólfr).
All the ships we had brought were left further north at a place called Moray, so there was no tent material or anything of the sort, and all the jarls, including myself, sat with their rumps planted on a low hill.
Someone was sharpening a weapon on a whetstone, someone was dozing as they sat, someone realized they had emptied their leather waterskin and clicked their tongue in regret.
Whether it should be called the aftermath of battle or not—upon the hill that fell into a brief silence, the warriors below were busily moving about, putting the battlefield in order.
'The wars I know are all about shoveling. And yet there's not a shovel in our field supplies.'
Even having such easygoing thoughts was because we had won.
Had Causantín, who died by my sword, reached heaven?
Though we had no prior acquaintance, I hoped that he had entered heaven.
The retreating enemies had taken the body, so I could not secure it, but I felt little regret.
Because so many enemies had fled alive, this region would remain in a state of tension for the time being, but we had won nonetheless, and the fruits of victory would be sweet.
Dublin, the Kingdom of the Isles, Moray, Aberdeen.
The completion of a trade belt encircling the north of the island of Britain in a ring.
Now we would be in the position of guarding the major strongholds, but I had faith.
"Helgi. Thank you. In truth, it would not have been strange if we had collapsed at any moment. I thought for certain this day I would go to Valhalla, but thanks to you, I lived."
Hm?
Wondering if I had misheard, I turned my head. Ivar, a few strands of light blond hair fluttering in the wind, was murmuring in a low voice with a willow leaf he had procured from somewhere held between his lips.
"What's this? You said you could hold out three more days?"
For Ivar, whose notion was that his own self was supreme even in the face of death, this demeanor was a little unfamiliar.
"Keu-keu— it was that hard a fight. Truth be told, I even thought of a complete rout. If not for the news that you were coming up, I would have fought to the bitter end and died with honor. But since you were on your way, I thought I had to buy more time somehow. But now I know for sure, Helgi.
This is as far as I go."
"What does that mean?"
He spoke as he always did, but the content was not the Ivar of ordinary times.
"I spent my entire life on the sea and in strange lands, but now, thinking I will soon die, I began to miss home. I thought of my wife who went before me, bearing Baldur. I thought of Björn too. I thought of my father... not much, but I thought of my mother as well."
Ivar's voice, intoning calmly, was still full of vigor, but somewhere Björn's image overlapped with it.
The figure of someone who, over the lifetime of a single man that could be called long or short, had experienced and fought through things an ordinary person could never undergo.
"Is that so...? I see."
As I looked upon that figure, it felt as though someone had wiped my mind clean with an eraser, and I had no choice but to let my words trail off, no particular reply coming to mind.
"But not yet! There remains a matter to be settled."
Ivar changed the subject at the sound of my voice laden with regret.
Where the eyebrow of this second brother, the very picture of a snake, arched, there sat a warrior of the white Norsemen, dozing where he sat.
Olaf the White. The White One.
The former Konungr of Dublin, an old warrior who called himself a Jarl after submitting to me (I had never approved it).
And, the man who stood in rivalry with Halfdan, the Konungr of Kaupang.
Just as the long war had seemed to be ending at last, it was the beginning of yet another matter.
I, too, could only follow Ivar and laugh.