140.
140.
If Constantinople lay in the East, what lay in the West?
Charlemagne's great-grandson and Lothair I's son, the Augustus Emperor (Imperator Augustus) Louis II?
Or Charles of West Frankia? Lothair II, settled in Lothair's land? Louis the German of East Frankia?
No, none of them.
Those Frankish 'Emperors' inherited not one whit of their ancestors' valor and faith, only their boundless ambition, so they thought only of stabbing each other in the back.
The Pope.
Nicholas gazed quietly at his own hands, growing ever thinner.
'Regarding faith and conscience, sovereignty over good Christians belonged to the Pope, even if they were royal.'
The great Pope's duty was to defend the faith, to fight the enemies of the faith.
Enemies included, for instance, the Muslims who had pushed down into the lower Italian peninsula, the impious horsemen across the Adriatic, and, though it pained him, also that deranged madman of the Eastern Roman Empire who rejected the authority of the Holy See, the 'Patriarch' Photios.
Now well beyond old age, Nicholas's eyes, as he slowly faced death, were fixed on the letter lying beyond his own hands.
'The dragon of the north... a new god of the Norsemen and their king...'
The two letters had each come from the distant island of Britain.
One from the God-fearing Archbishop of Canterbury; the other from a renowned priest of the famous Lindisfarne (a holy island to the north in Britain, beside Bamburgh).
The contents of the two letters were quite different in tone, but they confirmed one single fact for the Pope: that the movements in the north were unusual.
'Ah, Lord. O Popes who came before me. I have failed. Forgive this sinner...'
How much blood had been shed to bring Britain and the Ireland beside it into the bosom of the Catholic faith.
Yet in the reality that he could take no immediate action, the Pope wanted to weep tears of blood, but he could not break down.
It seemed the world's destruction was drawing nearer by the moment, and was he not the only one carrying the lamp in the darkness?
Thus the problem of Britain would have to be resolved someday, but for now he had to deal with the matter facing this holy Rome.
The Pope murmured a prayer in a low voice and touched his own hands, withered by time.
In his mind rose the man who had arrived in Rome not long ago: the king of a fallen kingdom.
'Edmund, was it...'
A man who seemed somehow unburdened. The faith and renown he had built were so great that hundreds of East Anglians had followed him into exile to this distant place.
The Pope was ready to do anything for the faith.
A new card would be useful, if only to check the Augustus Emperor, who was gradually trying to slip from his grasp.
The pious Nicholas's thoughts turned to Bari, a key southern Italian city seized by the Muslims.
*****
'A new order.'
This was Jorvik, my direct domain in Northumbria.
Compared to a year ago, the scale had changed so much that the city was evolving into a sort of mega-city, and my commanders from various regions had gathered here for a victory feast.
Ivar and Olaf, Thorgny, Baldur and Tostein, who had moved together from Aberdeen, as well as Halfdan, Refil, Oleg and Dir, Guthrum, who had arrived while slowly occupying Scotland's eastern coastline.
And Uhtred, who had been defending the border at the rear with supplies and even coordinating with Void of the gorge kingdom.
Gathered like this, I could see that my subordinate commanders now boasted a roster that would not pale against any, but here the commanders from southern Britain also joined.
Ubba, who in truth had been overseeing the southern British front from Lincoln and Tamworth; Leofric, whose smile never left him because he had gained Grantabridge as promised; and Sigebriht, who had focused on coordinating with Árós and Breis.
With jarls from across the land, whose names were slowly rising, all gathered in one place, Jorvik naturally buzzed and a great festival ensued.
A great festival where drink and food flowed without end, and music and laughter never left.
Occasionally warriors who were too drunk or excited caused a ruckus here and there, but since there was word that no one had yet died, they must have been enjoying themselves reasonably.
That was a matter for Egbert of Jorvik, who was busy building ties with the jarls likely to become influential figures in various regions and with my direct subordinates, so I decided to turn a blind eye.
From what I saw, he was matchmaking between Norse jarls and jarls of native ealdorman origin, drawing them into trade and binding them with money. With him even conducting such assimilation work, I was even grateful from my standpoint.
Of course, Egbert's ulterior motive was to solidify his position as 'the administrator of Jorvik' and 'the Konungr's deputy' and somehow earn more money, but...
In my head, the story Olaf had brought up days before kept swirling.
Come to think of it, wasn't it true?
A new order was already unfolding before my eyes.
The brothers and jarls at this long table laughed, chattered, and played like children.
They seemed a bit lacking somewhere, but that was only in front of me. They were all formidable warriors and lords.
I planned to reorganize the north of Britain around Uhtred and Tostein, and the south around Ubba and Sigebriht, so it would not be wrong to say that two kingdoms were actually rising under me.
Kingdoms with a character different from any that had ever existed in this North Sea.
Since they had boarded the great flow of money stretching from Árós to the Eastern Roman Empire, their bond would only grow stronger with time.
'No matter how unpredictable human affairs may be... my body did not seem likely to accept death easily...'
If at least seventy or eighty years were guaranteed.
Later, even if someone tried to change it, it would be difficult. For the power of money, then, now, and even into the future, was sometimes stronger than human will.
Even if the Eastern Roman Empire collapsed utterly with more time, by then it would mean little.
The inertia already set would become tradition, and this powerful northern union would seek new markets.
In a way, the world might have to pray that the Eastern Roman Empire would not fall.
When those hungry northern beasts went off to find new markets, would they peacefully knock, and if the homeowner said, "No, I have no intention of trading. Your economic scale is too large," would they meekly reply, "Ah, I see. Excuse us," and turn back?
In the worst case, a true great age of piracy might dawn...!
It was something I had done, but it was a headache.
In times like this, tossing the responsibility was the best choice.
'That was work for descendants anyway... for now, let's think about the immediate matter.'
Flóki.
What on earth was I to do about this?
In truth, the overall mood of Norse society was already forcing a choice on me, but I still felt ill at ease.
Would I kill all those who opposed?
How on earth was I to persuade those who wanted to keep tradition (plunder) and custom (human sacrifice)?
'And more than anything, was I ready?'
Shaking my head, I raised my golden cup. The smooth passage of fine wine and its sweet scent replenished the sugar in my tangled mind.
With a little leisure, my brain could not stand the gap and thought of other things, and I suddenly recalled Edmund of East Anglia and Burgred of Mercia.
Those who were no longer kings.
I had heard they both headed for Rome; if they met, it would be quite a sight, wouldn't it?
'Human affairs were unknowable. If we meet again, I'll buy them a drink.'
Even knowing it could not be, I laughed for no reason and downed the wine again.
The bard's song filled the night sky, and the hall's firelight warmly shone on everyone.
It was the last day of the third month, as summer was slowly fading.
*****
"Ragnar wore furry breeches~! To ward off the dragon's flame! His steps were stout and bold! For the one he loved~!"
The victory feast had already gone on for three days.
On the seas of the North Sea, which were said to be rough, we were advancing very calmly.
Come to think of it, it was strange. I had never once in my life experienced those 'rough waves.'
But then, were there only one or two strange things about me? Now I just let it pass.
Of course, the looks around me had grown stranger... but my heart felt nothing now.
The next-generation ship I had specially ordered.
To put it simply, it was a huge ship built with more material and more manpower, and aboard I sat together with Ivar and Halfdan.
They could have each taken their own ship, but they stubbornly insisted on boarding mine, so I ended up taking them both.
Here, Halfdan's influence—he had delivered (?) my ship from Árós to Britain—played a part, but I decided to forgive the newlywed who had been dragged to war despite being a groom.
I didn't really know why, but seeing Halfdan's face darken a little at the news of returning, he must have been longing for his wife.
Thus I had hurried the departure all the more.
Uhtred, Tostein, and Thorgny in northern Britain would maintain a tense relationship with the Picts, who had been pushed into the highlands, and there might be sporadic skirmishes, but there would be no dangerous battles as before.
They had already lost their focal point, so it would be lucky if they didn't start a civil war among themselves.
The only enemy left in southern Britain was now Wessex, so Ubba and Sigebriht would keep them in check well.
Perhaps the key was the cooperation of the Cumbrian friends next to Mercia or the Cornwall friends next to Wessex? Having won this war too easily, they might have any number of mad ideas, so they were allies that had to be managed well.
Anyway, the reason I had embarked despite all these circumstances was partly to confirm the skills of Uhtred and Ubba on this occasion, and also my brother Halfdan was pitiable, but more fundamentally, it was to resolve the problem between Olaf, who followed in the rear, and the other Halfdan in Kaupang.
As with all civil wars, but a civil war among Norsemen had a certain bloody aspect... If I missed the timing, one side could end up completely slaughtered.
For me, wishing for stability after a great expedition, it was a wholly unwelcome situation.
Now, Flóki or whatever, the time had come to intervene in the power struggle in Kaupang.
As Olaf had said, Kaupang had also been under Árós's influence for quite a long time now.
Ahead of this complicated situation, Ivar was singing away madly as if it were none of his business, and it was quite vexing.
"Her name was Áslaug~! Of the high and great dragon-slayer's line~!"
"Ivar. Can't you sing a different song? How many times have you sung that one already?"
His natural voice was pleasant, unlike the infamous bard Sigurd, but Ivar's problem was that he was a bit of a picky eater.
Because he kept singing only the songs he liked, it made even the normally easygoing Halfdan say something.
"What!? Are you insulting Father's song now? Little brother! How can you...! Though Father was a man who roamed outside half the year, he was the one who danced merrily on the day you were born...!"
At Ivar's words, as if he had been waiting to pounce with accusations of filial impiety, Halfdan gave a hollow laugh as if dumbfounded.
"No—. Furry breeches this, dragon's flame that, this is a song you only use to put kids to sleep! And I'm hearing for the first time in my life that Mother's from a dragon-slayer line! Wasn't she from Visby!?"
Halfdan's reasonable protest was inevitably drowned by the illogical accusation of impiety, but it gave the warriors sitting around and me a great laugh.
Thus we moved on the cool wind for two days.
With the sails spread wide and riding the ceaselessly blowing wind, I and my fleet were able to enter the realm of Konungr Bagsecg.
The land of the Jutes.
They were a location not even a day away from Kaupang.