141.
141.
Jylland.
The land of the Jutes.
Now facing the old Saxon lands, subjugated under East Frankia.
Aarhus sat at the northernmost edge of that crucial terrain, with Roskilde across the water within spitting distance.
Strictly speaking, the Jutland mainland—Aarhus, Ribe, and Hedeby—was the inheritance of Halfdan, Bagsecg Konungr's son-in-law, while the island of Zealand beyond was Sigurd's share.
But since Sigurd had at some point settled down with his stepmother Áslaug right here in Árós, my home base, it seemed Bagsecg was managing Roskilde on Zealand as well.
Managing it meant little more than setting the volume of trade with Árós and assessing how short the food supplies were... but still, the Things of each city were finding their own ways to survive.
Preparing for the changing times ahead...
As one could feel from the name Aarhus, the city's original name was actually Árós.
The word Árós itself meant river mouth, and so there were truly countless places named Árós across Scandinavia... but it was gradually becoming a proper noun designating my domain.
If I had to describe the feeling, it was something like 'that city.'
That was why variant names like Arus and Aarhus had been attached to places here and there, diverging from the original word.
This newly built, god-forsaken village wore its direction so blatantly on its sleeve that I could only look at Bagsecg, who stood beside me, grinning away.
"Konungr Bagsecg. I would like to say that the defenses to the south, west, and north are truly perfect, but why have you left the waterway to the east practically wide open?"
Just as I said, the inland approaches had deep moats dug and, though they gave off something of a desolate air, the groundwork and palisades laid with expansion in mind were impressive—yet the seaside defenses, which should be fundamental to any Norseman's stronghold, were far too soft.
Low stone walls, nearly left wide open, and a broad wharf built for ships to dock.
"Well, is that not where you dwell, Konungr Helgi? It is unwise thinking to build a wall against one who stands above you, Konungr Helgi! ...Ah, I hear Halfdan of Kaupang has raised a high wall in the direction facing Árós! Tsk, tsk!"
"...Is that not what a stronghold is, by its very nature? Árós, too, is raising tall stone ramparts on all four sides."
"Oh, is that so! My thinking was short indeed. Hahaha!"
The affability suited his full gray beard and generous laugh.
Behind that benign, laughing image of a divine being lurked a viper's tongue. The sheer shamelessness was so brazen it drew laughter.
Perhaps it was because I kept confronting figures of high renown, but truly, there was not a single ordinary one among them.
Yet, as Bagsecg said, it was true that the reports I heard here of Kaupang's actions were troubling.
To think that the people of Jutland, far away in terms of sheer straight-line distance, felt far warmer than the people of Kaupang, their near neighbor.
'Of course, if we consider only the sea routes, this place is closer...'
Perhaps because the Jutes already knew of my relationship with Halfdan, Bagsecg's son-in-law and heir, they seemed to think of themselves as outright part of my kingdom...
Honestly, my frank feeling was, can't you people just go independent and live? Just block those German bastards down there a bit for me, and I'll help you if you need it... just live in peace, damn it...!
Whether he knew my heart and acted thus, Bagsecg was whistling outright, looking highly pleased.
"I have truly chosen my son-in-law well, Konungr! You saw how he ran to my daughter the moment he arrived, did you not? A rare virtue indeed. A warrior faithful to his wife! It seems the world is changing."
The place where Bagsecg and I stood was the building where a Konungr or Jarl would lodge—a great longhouse.
To speak plainly, it was a village built to curry my favor and drive a more direct straw into Árós, and so it borrowed heavily from my homeland's architectural style, but here and there I could also see Leon's hand.
An arched gateway not easily built without Roman knowledge, or pillars raising the space to a third floor.
I'd heard he was roaming around saying he had found copper and would now seek marble, and because of that, Hrólfr had reportedly grown busy in tandem.
My gut instinct told me that Leon, worn down by all manner of tasks, was just running away, but that level of diversion was rather something I encouraged. Was it not a sort of vacation?
A person's will and vital energy are ultimately like consumable fuel, and sufficient rest is never an option.
[Fuiii- fuiii-]
Bagsecg had been letting his whistle drift away as he faced the cool breeze blowing down from my homeland.
The seasoned chieftain of the Jute tribe, who had been giving forth a pleasant tune, suddenly revealed the reason he had sought a private meeting with me after the grand welcoming feast.
Without any forewarning.
"Konungr Helgi. What you are witnessing now is but a portion. I understand that Rurik, beyond the eastern sea, has been asking day after day where the second athletic meet will be held... and every land where the Svear, the Jutes, and the Gutes dwell, every person, desires confirmation.
They wish for the security of knowing they are under Konungr Helgi's banner."
How do you know that?
I had already come too far to ask such a question.
Were not the second class of the Árós training camp—no, the boot camp—who were now returning to Árós with me, all petty Jarls who had volunteered from across Scandinavia and the warriors under their command?
In truth, it was now difficult to see Árós as merely a port town downstream on a river, and difficult to see me as merely a Konungr.
As Halfdan of Kaupang had once said, in what age does a Konungr place another Konungr beneath himself as a subordinate?
I was not such a fool as to avert my eyes from what was already happening.
"I heard Kaupang is split in two."
"That is so."
At last, having steadied my heart, I asked, and Bagsecg answered gravely.
The scene was less a conversation between two kings than between a king and his vassal, yet no one found it strange.
Not Bagsecg. Not Refil, not Stórolf. Not even Bagsecg's Jutish guards.
The only thing blocking the path of change had been my own hesitation.
"Who stands opposite the Black King?"
For an instant, what flickered across Bagsecg's lips at my question was not a triumphant laugh but a bitter smile.
"His son, Harald. Konungr."
Pity for his old rival clung to Bagsecg's voice.
*****
What were the feelings of a son raising his hand against his father?
And what was the heart of a father watching such a son?
Leon had watched this tragedy—not common, but one often found in the long history of humanity—with fascination.
'Is betraying a parent's expectations the inevitable fate of every child in this world?'
When it came down to it, Leon himself had betrayed his father's expectation that he would become an ordinary farmer. It was fortunate that the late Bardas had provided much support to the imperial university.
Had that not been the case, he would probably still be lingering in the western districts of Constantinople, living a life of menial labor.
If he had, he would never have encountered this new world, these new people, this new king.
'Should I now call him The Emperor?'
"Konungr Halfdan's words were just. We have things we must protect, he said! Have you all forgotten the history of our wars against the people of Uppsala and Ribe? Just because they are strong now does not mean their descendants shall be strong as well!"
From the Roman Leon's perspective, these Norsemen's 'Thing (assembly)' was most intriguing.
In a way, was it not a primitive form of republic? They said a figure called the Law-Speaker presided over the Thing, and all free men could freely voice their opinions.
But it was clear at a glance that they had long since split into two factions.
Half of the semicircular space stood with Konungr Halfdan, and the other half with Jarl Harald.
The root cause of this dispute was, ultimately, money.
'Those who sided with Jarl Harald were all the merchants who had boarded the trade network of Åros, while those under Konungr Halfdan's protection were all the landholders of the Kaupang area.'
The matter at hand was so vast and sensitive that both sides, fearing an escalation of the conflict, had requested an observer from Åros.
Jarl Björn, who governed Åros as the Konungr's deputy, had dispatched Leon, who had been wandering the hills in search of marble, to be that observer...
Yet for some reason, Leon's mind kept drifting back to the old image of the Empire.
'After all, what was the reason the Republic collapsed and the Empire rose in its place? The greatest issue was that the Empire had grown too large to be maintained by a republic any longer. And even then, was it not far from perfect, suffering through civil war after civil war?
It may be a simplistic and crude thought, but the situation of these Norsemen was not so different.'
Moreover, the Norsemen had one absolute figure whom none could dispute.
'A Caesar not struck by the blade of Brutus... and the hero's age was, after all, only nineteen.'
Looked at this way, was he not Alexander rather than Caesar?
What if Alexander had lived a little longer?
The more he pondered it, the more fascinating the subject became, but Leon's gaze drifted back to the handsome man sitting still in his seat: Harald Halfdansson.
With golden hair that seemed to glow as if molten gold itself, broad shoulders, and deep blue eyes that were calm yet piercing, he was a man who could have swept fortunes as a charioteer debuting at the Hippodrome this very day.
He was a man of such mettle that, from the moment this Thing began, he had led his supporters to stand on the opposite side from his father.
Konungr Halfdan, who had been sitting opposite him with his eyes quietly shut, opened his mouth at a moment when the uproar had grown so loud that even the Law-Speaker's restraints were useless.
"Harald."
At the sound of that low voice, the men who had been hurling hot emotions at each other fell silent, nudging each other in the ribs.
Such was the influence of the Konungr who had sat upon the throne of Kaupang for long years.
"Harald."
Again, the voice seeking his son.
It was utterly devoid of emotion, which made it all the more chilling, but Harald, still in his original posture, remained unshaken.
"Look now upon these warriors of Kaupang. They are already split in two, pointing fingers as though they would kill one another. What battle could they fight like this? What work could they do?"
He spoke to Harald, but his words addressed everyone present.
The bodies of those who, just moments ago, had been condemning one another as if spitting flames drew in further upon themselves.
"So now, instead of talk of tradition, or practicality, such smoke-like things, let us speak of something certain as an axe-blade."
The same deep blue eyes as Harald's. But these eyes, tinged with more of the stain of years, fixed themselves on the eyes so like his own.
"If the opponent had been Ragnar Sigurdsson, I would have readily submitted to him. Though my heart would have burned black inside. As you know, Ragnar and I, and Bagsecg, do not hold only goodwill toward one another."
As he coolly revealed the secret history of old kings, not a speck of dust could be heard in the hall, yet Harald still betrayed no tremor.
"Even if the opponent had been Konungr Sigurd, whom I personally consider greater than that Ragnar, I would have willingly submitted to him. My father would disagree, but Konungr Sigurd of Uppsala was a truly colossal man. It would have been no shame.
But. Konungr Helgi is different."
It was only when the name Helgi Ragnarsson was finally spoken that Harald drew a deep breath.
"He is a man who shatters boulders with his bare hands and has dragged down all the gods. A man who, in a single stroke, conquered the lands beyond the savage sea that no one else had ever managed. All of this happened before three winters had even passed.
He is more dangerous than any man I have seen or heard of in all my days. I am afraid of him, Harald. With the other Konungrs, time would pass, their strength would wane, and someday we might reach a position where we could extend a hand to them.
But if we submit to that man, I have a foreboding that we will never escape his shadow."
At Halfdan's words, so nakedly revealing his innermost thoughts, it was Leon, seated as the observer, who felt his own breath catch.
Was this the difference between a Roman and a Norseman?
As if no one but his son entered his sight any longer, Halfdan continued to speak.
"That is what Bagsecg meant by Fylkir. Can you bear it? I know that the ambition seated in your heart is no smaller than my own—can you be content with it? If you are not going to flail about later and get all the men of Kaupang, all the men of the Geats, killed, is it not better to stand alone from the start?"
With those words, Halfdan waited for an answer, and Harald closed his eyes for a moment.
Far from a republic, indeed—Kaupang was unmistakably a kingdom, and the prince of that kingdom opened his eyes again after but a brief pause.
Harald's eyes were clearer than before, showing not a sliver of wavering.
"Father. Did you not see it with your own eyes? Do not look at the man's outward appearance but examine his surroundings. That is what you always told me. Look at Åros and here at Kaupang. Look at those around Konungr Helgi. Björn, Ivar, Hrólfr, Bagsecg, Hrorek.
Not one of them is lesser than I am. I could not read ambition in their eyes. We too must join them. If we do not, we will only fall further behind."
Before that resolute answer, Konungr Halfdan shut his eyes once more.