139.
139.
It rained a little, stopped for a while, then rained again.
As the damp weather persisted all day, the victors headed for Aberdeen to claim their rightful spoils of war.
A place brimming with potential to develop into one of the most important cities along the eastern coast of the island of Britain.
A blessed harbor with an inland-reaching geography that could shelter ships from fierce waves and wind.
Given time to grow, it could become as large as Jórvík or Lincoln or Bëodricesweorth down south, but...
At present, it was a rather shabby-looking city.
"Foreigner Rígr! The people of this land are fishers and deer hunters...! We farm as well, but the yield is small, and we fear we have nothing to give you..."
The people of Aberdeen, their eyes filled with a light of resignation bordering on insanity after hearing that their king of kings had died with head parted from body, had all knelt before me.
To the old priest who was politely circling around a plea not to be killed, I gave a firm answer.
"It is not that I disregard or am haughty toward you. Without exaggeration, in a week I could reap a year's profit from this city. I came here with no intent to plunder you. So, brave priest and people of Aberdeen, lift your heads. I shall do you no harm."
On this point, in truth, the warriors of the Suðreyjar petty kingdom and Dyflinn had not understood at first.
In the first place, the purpose of all expeditions and battles was trade and plunder, so naturally the thing to do was to exercise the rights of the victor, loot the trembling poor farmsteads of Aberdeen, load horses or goats or sheep onto the ships, snatch a few slaves for labor, take some gold from the place where their god was said to dwell...
In any case, battle and war were precisely the plundering of women and gold, amidst countless tears and bloodshed!
Because this notion still lingered, they seemed not to fully comprehend my strict command forbidding all plunder.
But if they felt it was unjust, they could simply challenge me. If they had complaints, they could try charging at me.
Of course, there were no men who were that eager for death, so no particular unrest arose.
Instead, I made a promise to the warriors of the Suðreyjar and Dyflinn who had fought risking their lives, and who would now become my warriors.
"How much do you usually earn from plunder?"
"Ah— normally, if we're lucky, one head of livestock, or a little food and a few silver pieces! Konungr!"
"I see. And on a very lucky day, you might also take a woman?"
"Hehehe— that is so."
"Marriage!" "The women of the North are too proud!" "We want to marry too!"
Warriors clamoring from all sides.
"You must think that my forbidding plunder has robbed you of your rightful rights."
"...Absolutely not! How dare we...!"
I could hear the sound of eyeballs rolling wildly. Had I been even a little weaker, I would have faced an immediate mutiny of the warriors.
This is why a man must be strong.
But I was not merely strong...!
"All you get by risking your lives and plundering amounts to a few crumbs of bread, one head of livestock, a few silver pieces, and if you're lucky, a few slaves?
I will give you much more. I will show you a far greater world. To begin with silver, I shall bestow upon all warriors who took part in this battle silver equivalent to a year's worth of provisions."
"Ah— yes...?"
"Furthermore, if you continue to serve as soldiers under me, I will pay you a regular monthly wage in silver and ensure that at the very least, you need not worry about starving to death. What say you? Can this somewhat compensate for the right of plunder I have taken from you?"
"Plunder is what savages do, Konungr. We shall be Konungr's swords. In life, in death."
What could they do, what could they eat to live, in places like the Suðreyjar where there was nothing to eat but fish, or Dyflinn, which was surrounded by harsh neighboring kings and forced to serve as mercenaries for life?
I had not simply given them food; I had shown them a path. I had told them to join the greater world I was sketching.
And the result, as I witnessed now, was warriors with fire in their eyes, striving to maintain the city's peace.
"In the end, there is no such thing as innate malice or goodness. Everything changes according to the circumstances one is placed in..."
"Hm? What are you suddenly on about, Helgi?"
I was leaning against a pillar in the first-floor hall of the tall three-story building Cawsantin had used, with all the doors wide open, gazing out at the steadily falling rain. By now, Cawsantin had likely reached the gates of heaven.
Ivar interjected, his expression asking if I'd eaten something strange, upon hearing my mutterings.
A warrior who had spoken of retirement and whatnot, yet looked livelier than anyone else here.
Behind my brother, who moved about as though he'd never heard of the aftereffects of battle, were my nephews a year older than me, Baldr and Óláfr, along with Óláfr's son, Tostain.
"It's nothing. I'm sorry to have called you here when you must all be weary from the fight."
"All I did was simply hold out, Konungr! In truth, was it not you, Konungr, who cut off Cawsantin's head and kicked the enemy in the arse! I rested a full day and feel refreshed! So please, do set aside such words!"
Hahaha—!
As I had sensed when I first saw him in the snow of East Anglia, Konungr Óláfr— no, Jarl Óláfr, truly possessed the magnanimity of the old warriors. A warrior of the classic heroic mold from oral legends.
It was as if a warmth spread through this vast space, which had been filled with the sound of rain, at the sound of his resounding laughter.
"Thank you for saying so, Óláfr. Please, sit."
As I guided the old warrior, whose name had been known since my father's active days, to his seat, I went and sat at the head of the long table.
Storolfr, Thorbjörn, and Thorgnýr, who had already taken their morning meal with me, rose from their seats to greet them, and in the bustling atmosphere filled with people for the first time in a while, the servants of the stronghold hurried about.
The servants' eyes held the fear of herbivores before predators, but we were already sated predators.
Though contrary to any emotional satiation, it was just about lunchtime and hunger was making itself felt, so, as always, the gathering of Norsemen began with drink and food.
Roasted pork, ale, cabbage, fish, and even some fairly soft bread.
This was a veritable feast.
"Baldr, it's been a while."
"Helgi Konungr. I hadn't yet properly expressed my gratitude. I lived thanks to you. Thank you."
"..."
As with Refill, my nephews a year older than me tended to be rather daunted by me.
Of course, I had been treated as half a god from a young age, going through countless duels... but in Baldr's eyes, similar to Refill, I sensed a stronger fealty of a vassal looking upon his liege-lord than the warmth of family.
It was the same for Thorgnýr, who sat beside him and looked at me. He was Halfdan's bosom friend, but to me, he was a vassal who had willingly offered his submission.
I understood their reactions, but sometimes I wondered if this was the greatest drawback of the position of Konungr.
After a few generations like this, one would eventually grow distant from one's own kin and become a fool trapped in a palace.
'Perhaps a thought gone too far.'
Thinking I would try to find a solution for that kind of problem, I casually remarked to the two jarls who were raising their voices arguing over who had fought better.
"Ivar, Jarl Óláfr."
In truth, their pretend quarrel was closer to a jest, and these two wily old politicians, who had been stealing glances at me, brightened their eyes as if they had been waiting.
"I'm thinking of heading home soon. Kaupangr happens to be on the way. How about we stop by there together?"
At my heavy, fastball right down the middle, not only Ivar and Óláfr but also Thorgnýr, Tostain, and Baldr, who roughly knew the full situation, glanced at each other.
Of course, Storolfr and Thorbjörn, who knew nothing of the situation, were utterly absorbed in inhaling the food before them.
'In a way, Storolfr and Thorbjörn's demeanor might most accurately represent the problem of Kaupangr. To those who are involved, it is more important than anything, but to those who are not, it means less than a mere mug of ale.'
[Gulp—]
As I smoothly swallowed the ale, which was not a crude brew but a more liquid one made with care, I pondered over Kaupangr.
The site where the glacier had melted, the largest port city in western Scandinavia, situated on a fjord.
Its scale was vast enough to rival old Uppsala, but like Uppsala, it was a city gradually losing its light to the mad growth of Árós.
Árós was quite literally a black hole, drawing in resources from Jótland (land of the Jótar) ruled by Konungr Ragnarr, from Novgorod beyond the eastern sea, and even from the capacity of this island of Britain.
The strife occurring there was, in fact, all too obvious.
A conflict I had already resolved back when I held the position of Jarl of Árós.
In short, it would be the gradual surfacing of the conflict between the newly risen merchant faction and the established local magnates.
Typically, the resolution of such conflicts would, in the end, result in the victory of the powerful established faction...
But due to my existence, this problem had become far more complex.
'It's all because of that damn Fylkir business.'
The word Konungr Ragnarr had blurted out in a snit at the provocation of Konungr 'The Black' Halfdan.
The one who represents an unprecedentedly grand assembly where nearly all the jarls of all Scandinavia gather in one place.
In effect, the king of kings. Fylkir. The leader of the group project.
In more familiar terms, because The Emperor had been brought up, this matter was no longer simply Kaupangr's problem.
"Konungr. If I may dare to offer my thoughts—"
Unlike his playful voice up until then, Jarl Óláfr's voice was filled with gravity.
"Kaupangr, Ribe, Hedeby, Uppsala... the era of such places has already set. Those who handle money will know best, but the capacity of Árós, which Konungr himself raised, already surpasses all of those combined. What is even more fearsome is that this is not the limit of Árós."
My eyebrows twitched at his words, more calculating than I had expected. He was certainly not moving without thought, then.
"I feel likewise, but there is a time when old things must step aside. Kaupangr, my homeland, no longer has need of a Konungr."
Óláfr's hair had gone white, but his speech, continuing in a resolute tone, still bore eyes as sharp as a bird of prey's.
"Kaupangr, Ribe, Hedeby... and all other places Konungr Helgi shall rule, there is no longer need for a Konungr. We now need the Fylkir, a new order."
*****
[Swaaa— Chalseok!]
A sea gentler than expected, and a wind far gentler still.
It was her first time heading to the North, so she had firmly prepared not only with furs bought in Kiev but also in Novgorod.
Yet the climate here in Árós was, to put it somewhat exaggeratedly, just like Constantinople.
"This place, Árós."
The place where her son was.
So much so that the city of Uppsala, which she had passed on the way, felt far colder. Strangely, everything around Árós here was calm and tranquil, as if she had entered the very center of the world.
'The center of the world...? The center of the world, he says...'
Perhaps it could be so. For her son was everything in her world. Was the place where Constantine was not the center of Maria's world?
Beyond the bustling, burly men and their incomprehensible language, she spotted the Strategos Damianos deftly directing people.
The man who was like the very heart of the Emperor.
She did not know what his ulterior motives were, but Maria prayed they would not be anything harmful to herself and her son.
However, all of this flutter of excitement, the tension, the thrill of having come to a new place, vanished, reduced to a handful of ash.
Beyond the bustling world, beneath the embrace of a woman as beautiful and tall as a goddess.
There was a face she could not forget even in her dreams.
A face that was half-mixed with the visage of the man she loved and her own, her entire body reacting with a surge as if recalling the moment of birth.
Before she knew it, Maria was running mindlessly, and the son who had grown so much in the year they were apart was running hard toward her as well.
Behind him, Maria briefly entertained the impious thought that the golden-haired woman smiling brightly might truly be a goddess.
Along with the subtle sense that the goddess's belly was slightly swollen.