146.
146.
A pebble.
For an ivory tower brimming with knowledge and learning—this place I called 'Árós University' in my heart though no one else yet called it that—for a place this God-like, wasn't the discovery a bit underwhelming after all that excited rushing in?
So I asked again.
"A pebble, you say—calm yourself. Did Leon and Hrólfr say nothing else?"
Only then did the messenger swallow his ragged breaths, realize how flustered he had been, and snap a smart salute.
[Chak!]
"Forgive me, Philkir! Jarl Leon was so excited when he spoke...! He definitely said you would be most pleased! He told me to tell you they had found a smooth, even stone, a shining stone (μάρμαρος, marmaros)!"
A smooth, even stone, he said.
A shining stone. Marmaros.
They had found marble.
"It is indeed good news! Where are the two of them now?"
"They said they were heading straight for Árós God, so they must have entered the city by now!"
"Good. You have done well. I must go at once. Rest here and then return. Sigurd—!"
[Ding! Dingdingding—dididing! Diririring—!]
From Sigurd's laboratory, which he had just opened the door to, came some kind of passionate melody, and judging by that, if I disturbed him now I had no idea what sort of hysterics that sensitive (fake) artist might throw.
"You. What is your name?"
Since I was in a hurry, I grabbed a passerby to ask where the person I had appointed as second-in-command here was.
"Yes, yes! Great Philkir! I am called Fadlan ibn Khaldun...!"
A hook-nosed man in a turban, a sight not unfamiliar here. Fadlan, who had likely come here as someone's slave, had gained his freedom under me (though he would have to remain a researcher for life instead, God), and like most freed slaves, he seemed to regard me as some sort of Shahanshah.
...Not that he was wrong.
"Fadlan! I am in a great hurry—do you perhaps know where Kyrillos (Cyril) is?"
Kyrillos (Κύριλλος). His original name was Constantinos.
The great scholar sent to me personally by Photios, the Patriarch of Rome and a leading intellect of the age.
This genius from Thessalonica, God, feared Phil his homeland Macedonia would be branded a city of traitors after being caught up in Basilios's conspiracy, and he personally sought God his mentor Photios and asked Arthur for help.
Photios, whom I felt was more a businessman than a clergyman, promptly dispatched this linguistic genius who had mastered Latin, Arabic, Slavic, and even Khazar to my side.
I had heard he had an older brother named Methodios (Μεθόδιος), who was also a genius and was currently dispatched to Moravia as an envoy and bishop...
This was sheer providence for me.
Because I had gained a man I could trust with our Northern language system.
"Ah, I know! Philkir! I shall fetch him at once Jang Mo!"
The hierarchy among scholars was surprisingly rigid, based on learning and seniority, so Kyrillos, who was overwhelming in ability and experience, had naturally become second-in-command of this God University.
The first-in-command here, surprisingly, was Sigurd.
[Ding— dingdididingdiding—!]
Indeed, in this age, the sword was mightier than the pen.
[Tat-tat-tat!]
From afar came the sound of leather God soles scuffing the floor. I had said it was urgent, so he must be running.
I wasn't sure whether to call this a wooden floor—Leon had experimentally laid timber, claiming he was using local materials—but if the discovery of marble was real, I could indulge in the luxury of smooth marble tiles in the 9th century.
"I heard you were looking for me, Philkir!"
In truth, Mikhail seemed not to care much about God, but this great scholar, who had worked tirelessly to restore his homeland's fallen honor, was full of energy.
The deep eyes of a man who had cultivated his mind through long years of reading, and the full beard that flowed beneath them.
True to the Norsemen's surprisingly strong emphasis on appearance, Kyrillos had earned our people's respect the moment he set foot here, and this Roman, who was treated roughly as an elder law-speaker (lögmaðr) or a goði (God priest), had arrived not long ago yet already spoke the rough, blunt Norse tongue.
"You have worked very hard to fulfill my unreasonable request. Cyril."
"What do you mean? Being able to help in this way is my joy, Philkir."
The difficult request I had made was nothing less than the establishment of a writing system.
The existing runes lacked both universality and a set of rules; on the runestones scattered around the outskirts of old cities like Uppsala, each carving was different, and the writing serpentined like a dancing snake.
I had ordered him to organize it.
Of course, Cyril himself had a strong will and desire for it, and as it turned out, he had experience with similar work in Bulgaria and Moravia, so I trusted him with the task.
Still, the fact remained it was a heavy responsibility, so I felt a certain sense of debt toward Cyril.
...Some might call it crocodile tears.
But I had given him silver coins without stint and freed him from worry over food and drink, so I would be guiltless.
"It seems Leon has found marmaros (marble). He went digging about all over, and I actually didn't have much hope..."
At my matter-of-fact report, Kyrillos's eyes widened.
"This will be a truly great discovery, Philkir! I pray it is true!"
To someone who well understood its value, this would naturally be stunning news. I had tried to bring Roman materials but struggled for lack of resources. Marble could truly change so much.
"So I must be away. Please guide this messenger to food and a place to lie down. If Sigurd looks for me, just tell him I went to Árós."
"Of course, Philkir. I shall do as you command, God."
The sight of Kyrillos bowing his head politely was reliable. Indeed, the work of a diplomat, bishop, and scholar was not for just anyone.
I gave a firm nod, left the hall of knowledge where the mysterious music still played, and mounted Camembert.
The riders raced hard along the road, cutting through the wind.
*****
The city of greed, Árós.
Those who came here were greedy, of course, but the city itself was so filled with greed that it continually expanded its reach.
Passing through the east gate of my nest, I raced on and soon crossed the big, sturdy stone bridge toward my administrative longhouse.
In front of the spacious yard of the longhouse—Árós's first(?) high-rise(3-story) building—many people were already gathered, and at the center stood Hrólfr, who had complained of exhaustion from wandering all over, looking healthier and his face glossy with added weight.
'He'd truly perfected the art of slacking off.'
Next to him was Leif, so worked up that it seemed as if every drop of blood in his body had rushed to his face—he couldn't keep his hands still, as if stricken with a sudden attention deficit. I also saw the new faces of Season 3 and 4: Leif and Storolfr, who had taken over the 'Áros Training Camp' in place of the now-retired Björn, along with Oleg, Dir, and Baldr, who were managing the seven thousand warriors organized into a standing army.
'Seeing it like this... there's been a genuine generational shift.'
For me, still accustomed to Ivar and Björn leading the army, it was a somewhat bittersweet sight, yet it filled my chest with reassurance at the same time.
[Puhihing-! Pururuk!]
I soothed Camembert, who seemed full of energy perhaps because this was his homeland, and dismounted, stepping into the bustling scene.
"Fylkir...!"
"Fylkir Helgi!"
"Make way! The Fylkir has come!"
Because of my large frame, I was easy to spot, and the people standing in a circle hurriedly moved to pay their respects.
As I nodded to both sides, the faces I met were all sun-tanned but had put on some plump flesh.
"Fylkir! Oh— great Fylkir!"
As always, Leif was making a fuss with his 'disciples' in tow, holding a light gray stone in his hand.
'That, for one thing, is not granite.'
But it wasn't beach pebble, either. It seemed to carry a whiff of civilization...
"We found it! It was here! Marble! Fylkir!"
At Leif's declaration, a wide smile finally spread across my lips, and all the tension and anticipation that had filled my chest were replaced with happiness.
"Haha!"
At the refreshing sound of my laughter, everyone gathered around clapped and laughed as well.
Even passersby drawn by the commotion, and Erik, who had been working hard along with the warriors under him (since an administrative system had not yet been established, they had selected sharp-minded men from respected families among the warriors and were using them as civil servants), started clapping along, though they weren't quite sure why.
The whole scene was so delightful that I found myself laughing even louder.
Thus passed a brief, impromptu recreation interlude.
Once I had calmed down somewhat, I called Leif and Hrólfr over and asked about the full details of the matter...
I had thought they found it somewhere in the vast mountain range to the north of Áros, but the answer I heard was a bit different from what I expected.
"So, you're saying this was beyond the eastern sea?"
"That's right! Fylkir! There is a place north of Novgorod, just above Lake Ladoga, that is full of this marble, so we must hurry there at once!"
Leif, whose temperament matched the typical image of an eccentric scholar—once he latched onto something, he had to see it through to the end—was ready to set out immediately, but if it was north of Novgorod, that was no simple matter.
That was where the Karelian tribe (Korjela, Karelia)—a branch of the Finns to which my father-in-law also belonged—lived.
Hrólfr and I, who naturally knew this, exchanged glances and quirked our eyebrows at each other, while Leif, who seemed to think Karelia was some kind of bread, was already enthusiastically extolling the virtues of marble.
"Can you imagine, Fylkir! The sight of this city becoming the Constantinople of the Northern Hemisphere...! No, no...! No, I tell you—!
This Leif, today I have finally realized the mission for which I was born on this earth.
Here, under the name of the great and exalted Fylkir, I shall build a city that surpasses even the finest treasure of Constantine the Great...! A jewel of the sea where day and night are indistinguishable and ships forever come and go...! The jewel of the North Sea—!"
I felt sorry for Leif, whose eyes had rolled back at a dangerous angle, but I had to snap him back to reality quickly.
"If warriors have Valhalla to go to when they die, surely artists like myself have a place to go as well! If I cannot reach Heaven for the sin of daring to aspire to surpass Constantinople, so be it...!
In the hall of artists, I shall share wine with Daedalus, Pheidias, and Vitruvius—!"
"Look, Leif."
"Yes! Fylkir!"
"I will always support and encourage you and your architecture. But the place where this marble comes from, north of Lake Ladoga, has a problem."
"...What is it! My Fylkir!"
This time, I forced myself to meet his eyes, which had rolled back at a chilling angle, and explained about Karelia to the mad Roman.
"The people who live there are, by nature, fierce Finns. They have a harsher side than we did in our former days. You know well that the farther north you go in this land, the harder it is for people to live, but to survive in harsh places, one has no choice but to become harsh.
Fortunately, the days when blood flowed between them and us are past, but us digging up this stone at will in their lands—wouldn't that be another matter entirely?"
In fact, if you went back further than my grandfather's generation, they fought with the Finns beyond the eastern sea, as well as the Livonians (Liv, līvlizt, Livonia) and the Estonians (Eesti, Estonia) below them. I heard that at worst, Uppsala itself had been in danger.
Of course, Leif, who had little interest in such bloody history and was solely fixated on marble, seemed greatly angered at the insolent barbarians who dared to monopolize (?) his precious marble.
"Ha! This is far too precious a resource for those who don't even know how to use it properly...!
My Fylkir! Great one! Show them your might! Trade benefits everyone, and for the ignorant who do not know this, stern lessons are sometimes necessary!"
"..."
'Figures, coming from a Roman. Just look at the bloodthirsty tone in his voice.'
I shifted my gaze away from his eyes, which were filled not with passion but near-madness, and looked at Hrólfr, but his shrug seemed to say, 'He's not exactly wrong, is he?'
Just a few hours ago, I had been in the ivory tower, the hall of reason and rationality... yet reality was still barbaric.
I had no choice but to screw my eyes shut.
☆☆☆☆☆Reference☆☆☆☆☆
User:Jniemenmaa, CC BY-SA 3.0 <http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/>, via Wikimedia Commons
The place where Karelian marble comes from is above Lake Ladoga, marked as Ladoga Karelia :)
Novgorod is below Lake Ladoga, so the distance is actually not that far...!
To find marble here...!
Aleksander Kaasik, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
This is Ruskeala! The marble lake! There's a quarry too!