13.
13.
AD 865. The third month of summer. Friday. The island of Britain, East Anglia.
Unbelievable as it was, rain had fallen in the night. Without any omen at all.
'Soaked right through, I see.'
The only things we carried on us at that moment were a few pieces of smoked meat for emergency rations, a drink better described as fermented grain than liquor, plus weapons, armor, shields, helms, and the all-purpose shovel. Which meant there was nothing at all to shield us from the night's rain. A cloak we wore, at best?
Naturally I felt deeply uncomfortable, but at least the rain stopped toward dawn and we could light a fire straight away to warm ourselves a little.
"Sniff— Sniff—"
"...Seutorolpeu, are you all right?"
"Sniff— No problem! Jarl Helgi! Sniff— It's just a bit of cold air that got into me!"
As for me, well, I possessed a body beyond the bounds of a normal human, so I'd never caught even a common cold in my life, but the warriors of the scouting party, who were merely ordinary men(?), were all sniffling or sneezing. Being a Norseman hardy against the cold doesn't mean you can't catch a cold.
"Come a little closer to the fire."
"Understood! Jarl Helgi!"
[Hwarreuk-! Tadak- tadak!]
"...Not quite that close."
After the battle the day before, the warriors of the scouting party had started to show blind loyalty to my words. They'd given me sufficiently respectful looks before too, but this had crossed some new threshold.
In any case, I stepped away from the Árós warriors huddled together in their cloaks around the fires, and moved toward Ivar's campfire at the heart of the encampment, which had turned into something like a communal campfire grounds.
Every step squelched over sodden grass... was this even grass? Anyway, the feeling of nameless weeds and the mud beneath them plastering themselves to my shoes was deeply unpleasant. And when the warriors confirmed my face and came to greet me, every one of them had a red nose, which soured my mood even more.
It was clear that winning battles doesn't mean winning wars. Rome, you were right all along. An army truly does need to start with digging.
"Ah, Helgi. You've come."
Fortunately, Ivar seemed largely unaffected by the night's rain and the cool dawn breeze.
"Your face is full of worry, Jarl Helgi. Was your bed uncomfortable last night?"
Beside Ivar, who sat next to the large fire drying his whole body and carefully combing his hair, Hrolf had appeared at some point and was drinking some unknown beverage from a leather pouch. Probably some sort of fermented-grain drink with a bit of alcohol in it. Knowing the taste of soju and beer, I simply couldn't bring myself to call that stuff liquor. If it were mead, maybe...
"The sleeping arrangements were no problem at all, Hrolf. It's just that the night's rain seems to have caught us by the ankles, and that bothers me."
"Ah—"
Hrolf smiled as if he understood my meaning. He nodded, seemingly relieved as well to have confirmed nothing was wrong with my body.
"What the sky does cannot be helped, Jarl Helgi. If anything, it has worked out well. This rain may have given Edmund of East Anglia time to catch his breath, but advancing any further would have been a burden for us as well."
As Hrolf said that, he handed the leather pouch to me, and I took it, tipped it into my mouth, and tasted bitterness, a nutty flavor, and the faint aftertaste of alcohol.
"Edmund, having been dealt one severe blow, can no longer move freely. The initiative has passed to us, so to speak. If we advance further from here, we could pursue Edmund and press him, but we are far too short on numbers to pick a fight with a large city."
At the words of Hrolf, a veteran warrior who had served under my father, Ivar and I both nodded. Because there wasn't a single thing wrong with what he'd said.
"In the end, we must wait for Sigurd."
From the moment Edmund was shattered, the scouting party had already achieved more than double the role assigned to it. We could certainly hold our own in the open field, but with our strength now reduced from the original 800 to 700, overcoming stone-built walls was difficult.
"Good. Hrolf is right. The time has come for us to catch our breath as well. A horse that keeps running will inevitably collapse."
When Ivar dusted off his palms, which he'd been holding near the warm flames, and rose from his seat, the guards seated around him rose as one. Hrolf, his hair and beard greying, did look rather worn as he made an "aigo—" sound... but I supposed that once this campaign was over, I'd have to advise my old retainer to retire from field duty.
"Leave the warriors who are not in good condition to rest a bit more comfortably, and split those who can move soundly into two groups. Guthrum, you will lead half and keep watch around the encampment. Nothing will likely happen, but you never know when some foolish bandits might rush at us from somewhere."
"Understood, Jarl Ivar!"
Ivar's capable deputy, Guthrum, answered forcefully.
"Helgi, you and I shall take the remaining half. I'm told there is a large village a little way up the road from here; we ought to take it."
"I shall prepare at once."
"Good. Another busy day today, then. A good thing!"
With Ivar leading the way, clapping me on the shoulder after I had respectfully received his orders, we all dispersed at once in every direction.
*****
The merciless weather of the island of Britain stayed overcast all day. But with the air growing warmer as summer approached, it was a true blessing that nobody was so gravely ill they'd lost their senses.
The warriors' spirit was astonishing; when we chose those who would stay behind at the encampment to rest and recover, every last one claimed he had no problem at all and was ready to fight the enemy at any time, so we forcibly left behind those who had red noses, were streaming snot, or sneezing.
After we'd left the camp watchmen behind as well, the number following Ivar and me toward the village was roughly 200. That was far too few to wage a proper battle, but perfectly suited to waging a traditional European plundering raid. Roughly the complement of five war-ships.
Seeing us like that, Earl Sigebryht of Rendlesham pleaded for mercy.
"Norsemen, I am the Earl of this humble village, Sigebryht. We have no further heart to fight you, so I earnestly hope that no blood need be seen."
The man with dark brown hair and a bushy beard looked somewhere around thirty, but the deep worry settled at the corners of his eyes made him seem older still.
"No further? I believe this is our first meeting. Have you seen me before, Earl Sigebryht?"
Ivar asked if he knew him, and Sigebryht shook his head.
"Meeting face-to-face like this is the first time, Jarl Ivar."
"Oh, I never gave my name; how did you know me?"
As if genuinely amused, Ivar leaned back, tilted his chin up slightly and stroked his beard while looking down at Sigebryht. When he saw Ivar's other hand go to rest on his sword hilt, Sigebryht showed no particular agitation, merely shifted his gaze to me before meeting Ivar's eyes again.
"The tales of you and the giant standing beside you, Jarl Helgi, must already be spreading to everyone in this land, Jarl Ivar. And soon, the news that our Cyning, Edmund, has been defeated will be added as well."
In Sigebryht's calm recitation of his own king's name, I could find no reverence whatsoever. Instinctively, I sensed there was ill feeling between Sigebryht and Edmund.
"I tell you again, Rendlesham and the good folk here will show no hostility toward you. We shall provide everything you require, so please show great mercy."
"Mercy, mercy."
Shrugging his shoulders as though he'd heard an unexpected word, Ivar glanced back at me once, then set his expression hard and snarled in a threatening manner.
"Tell me, Earl Sigebryht. We have already smashed your Cyning and scattered his host. Now this land is no different from a herd of goats with no one to guard it. Why should we show mercy to you?"
The grim sentence that left Ivar's mouth seemed to sink the temperature all around. As the guards standing behind Ivar reacted by gathering their killing intent, the guards standing behind Sigebryht likewise raised their own spirit.
Even in an atmosphere where a single shallow needle dropping to the ground seemed enough to spatter blood everywhere, Sigebryht's unwavering eyes left a deep impression on me. Whatever his inner feelings, this man knew how to hide his emotions.
"Edmund, King of East Anglia, is a weakling. He has no strength, and all he possesses is a faith so foolish it is dull-witted. Indeed, the only ones who serve him in this land are the bishops and the soldiers of the bishoprics."
Those calmly delivered words neatly summarized the complicated political situation of East Anglia.
"In truth, it was Æthelberht of Wessex who ruled this land, but for roughly the past two years, rumors have been heard that his life has flickered on the verge of death. And indeed, from about that time, Wessex's influence waned. Now Kent, East Anglia, and Mercia have all begun to think differently."
Having spoken for a moment, Sigebryht raised an eyebrow toward Ivar as if asking permission to continue.
"Interesting. Go on."
"On top of that, the mighty Northumbria, the only kingdom that had escaped Wessex's sphere of influence, is caught in a civil war between Ælla and Osberht and hasn't the wits to turn its gaze elsewhere. It is under these circumstances that you have come, Jarl Ivar."
Sigebryht's eyes, which had been calmly subdued, began to burn brighter the more he spoke.
"In times of chaos, a weak king is a curse and a fetter. Since the line of the great Wuffingas was extinguished, the Cynings who have reigned over this East Anglia have always been forced to bow their heads to Mercia and Wessex... but the people beneath them are not. As I said, we will aid you, Jarl Ivar."
By this time, Ivar had lowered his raised chin and a smile slowly crept across his face.
"If you mean to plunder and kill us to the end, then in the end we will have no choice but to fight you. But if you have the mind to herd these goats... Rendlesham will aid whatever it is you intend to do."
This wasn't simply begging for mercy; it was an oath of allegiance. I'd agonized day and night over ways to divide the enemy to confront the mighty foes of Northumbria and Wessex, but as it turned out, the land was already divided.
Literally, it was no different from thrusting that great, tantalizing belly-skin straight toward wolves like us Norsemen.
"Earl Sigebryht."
With an easy stride, Ivar spread his arms and approached Sigebryht as though greeting a friend, offering his arm for a warrior's clasp.
"We are already friends; how could I have thought of harming you?"
[Teop-]
Sigebryht, who had been silently staring at Ivar's arm, clasped it without hesitation.
"Rendlesham welcomes you, Jarl Ivar."
"I and my brother thank you for your welcome, Earl Sigebryht."
At the words of the two men who firmly grasped each other's arms, the thick tension that had seemed to fill the wide space gradually faded.
"Then do come inside. Humble though it may be, I have prepared bread and salt, and I swear by God that I shall receive and treat you as guests."
"Good! Sleeping in the field last night left my stomach empty, so this is fine indeed! Haha! Let us go in!"
Laughing heartily as though he were the master of this village, Ivar threw his arm around Sigebryht's shoulders and strode into the village without the slightest hesitation, and I couldn't bring myself to stop him.
'What if it's a trap, what then?'
Did you have to be that fearless to survive as a viking in this age? Or had he simply survived because he'd been lucky so far?
"Sigh—"
"Hugh—"
Having let out a sigh at the same moment, Hrolf and I glanced awkwardly at each other for a second. The surrounding guards fortunately seemed to think the same as I did. If everyone were fools filled only with courage, that would be a problem...
"Let us go in as well."
Whether because he was aware of our concern, or because he thought it didn't matter either way, Sigebryht didn't tell us to disarm. In that case, there was nothing for it but to go inside.
'If things go wrong, we can just smash everything up.'
A hollow laugh escaped me at my own self, thinking barbarian thoughts so casually now, but I knew well that I'd already come too far to go back to the naive and innocent(?) man of the 21st century I used to be.
Accept it, Helgi Ragnarsson.