152. The North Sea Wants to Run (2).
152. The North Sea Wants to Run (2).
When I entered the inner chamber, the two cats and the dog welcomed us.
Because I'm not one to let animals into my bedroom (with the notable exception of myself), these creatures' main territory was right here, in this inner chamber connected to the great hall.
The cozy inner chamber was kept warm by servants who faithfully tended the hearth for a silver coin each month, so the animals reaped the benefit far more than Inga or I ever did.
Perhaps it was something about this era, or perhaps something about Arus, but the names of these fellows—who were far bigger and fluffier than any ordinary cat or dog—were Skoll, Hati, and Fluffy.
Skoll and Hati were the names that appeared in the tales grandmothers told to children who couldn't fall asleep on cold winter nights—stories of the terrifying wolves, offspring of Garm, brother of the goddess Hel.
But I hadn't really been thinking of any of that; I simply gave them the names Treachery and Hatred because their eyes looked so fierce. Now I felt a little sorry, because they turned out to be much gentler than expected.
When I took them to the bath to be washed, they even stayed perfectly still, didn't they?
Fluffy, on the other hand, was an enormous troublemaker, though fortunately this time he'd eaten his fill and fallen asleep.
"Come in, please."
"Thank you, Fylkir."
"I am ashamed..."
Neither Rurik nor Miroslav was a fool; they knew perfectly well why I had summoned the two of them alone.
Fortunately, they'd laughed it off, but still—two men of high standing grabbing each other by the collar and throwing punches.
'Good grief.'
A wry laugh escaped me before I could help it, and as I reached for the wine set out on the small table, both Rurik and Miroslav flinched.
Why did they act like that? It made me feel like I was tormenting them. Wasn't I supposed to be something like a teacher to them?
[Joreureuk-]
[Hetchi!]
Reacting to the sound of the wine being poured, Fluffy flared his nostrils and sneezed.
He must have reacted to the scent of the wine, but Fluffy, already stuffed to the point his belly bulged, didn't wake up.
Beside him, Skoll and Hati sat roundly, glaring at the two unfamiliar humans, as if protecting Fluffy.
"Here, take this. I'm told the Basileus (the Eastern Roman Emperor) sent this wine himself. Damianos stressed the point so excessively... Come, let's taste it together."
"Oh—from the Eastern Romans! It must be from Bithynia. I've heard that the finest grapes in the empire grow there! Thank you, Fylkir!"
"Thank you, Fylkir."
Miroslav, a former slave trader—and not just any slave trader, but a major power who once dominated Eastern Europe, now a merchant of logistics—beamed all over his face at the news that this cup held a renowned wine.
Expectation also crept onto the face of Rurik, the famous warrior from Eastern Europe as well.
[Beolkeokbeolkeok-]
[Hororok-]
"Kya—!"
"Hmm—"
"..."
Miroslav and Rurik emptied their cups in a single gulp.
I stood there blinking for a moment at their hearty display, then proceeded to down my own cup in one go as well, and refilled both lords' cups—and my own—to the brim with that precious wine.
'Who cares if they lack refinement. They're my subordinates.'
In the end, drinking wine like this with refinement didn't change the fact that it was nothing more than fruit wine.
'Still, it's wine of a sort—aren't they being a little too wild about it?'
The sight was so comical that a laugh escaped me, and seeing that my mood had softened a little, the tension gradually began to ease from the two lords' faces as well.
'Before I knew it, I'd become a person one can't meet without feeling tension.'
I didn't even have friends, and now it felt like the number of people I could share my heart with was dwindling as well.
Was this what loneliness felt like?
When I sipped the wine slowly this time, its taste was a little bitter.
I gave my head a slight shake to dispel both the aroma and the useless thoughts, then once again raised my voice to the two lords, who were downing their wine as heartily as ever.
"You two, Konungr and Jarl, must make an oath before me. An oath that you will never again seize each other by the collar and swing your fists."
"Of course, Fylkir! I shall never again quarrel with that bast—with Konungr Rurik!"
One black eye for Miroslav.
"...Once again, I am ashamed, Fylkir. Failing to master my anger—is that not a disqualification as a warrior? Such a thing will never happen again."
One black eye for Rurik.
True to their word, the two men admitted their fault, swore an oath before me, and then clasped each other's arms with all their strength.
It seemed a little emotion still lingered between them, but at this point they could surely brush it aside. I decided to trust their oath.
"I shall be your witness, so let your oath not become a hollow one."
"Yes, Fylkir!"
"Understood!"
[Cheok!]
The two lords answered vigorously and saluted.
At the force of their energy, Skoll and Hati let out a low, displeased growl, but when I sent them a look that said it was all right, they soon relaxed their bodies.
"The reason I summoned you both here was, in fact, to ask about Karelia."
I set aside the already empty wine vessel below the table, tilted a fresh one, and brought up the main subject.
In an instant, the atmosphere around Miroslav and Rurik shifted. Before my eyes once more sat a ruthless merchant and a fearsome warrior.
"I heard it beforehand from Jarl Hrólfr, Fylkir. It already seemed odd when Jarl Leon and Storolfr suddenly began asking about the northern route around Lake Ladoga."
"I'd heard that precious stone the Fylkir requires could be found in that area, so I'd been curious."
The two men's approaches to the problem differed as much as their natures: Rurik's eyes looked ready to move warriors into action at any moment, while Miroslav seemed to be thinking of ways to squeeze them even further.
What was the word for that again... imperialism?
It was far from any good-cop bad-cop routine; the two lords were both casting wholly wicked looks. I spoke to them in a low voice.
"It is true. That place yields a stone called marmaros. With it, Jarl Leon and the people who came from Rome can do quite a lot. They can build larger structures—aqueducts, sculptures, roads. In short, they can do everything you can do with stone, only better."
For one thing, the speed of construction would certainly quicken, and larger-scale buildings would rise. Even if the great undertaking of digging underground and laying conduits beneath the earth remained excessive for now, at least above-ground water conduits could be arranged.
Populations were increasingly concentrating around the major cities anyway, so even that much would be a tremendous help. Moreover, if I built bathhouses here and there and only managed the water quality well, wouldn't that raise the standard of living and help with disease control to some degree?
Wherever people gathered, markets and bathhouses would serve as hubs for all sorts of new enterprises.
Having marble was an unequivocal good.
"The greatest obstacle to an invasion of Karelia is the terrain itself, Fylkir."
Novgorod was situated south of Lake Ladoga, so Rurik naturally knew the Karelian region well.
According to Rurik, who rattled off the surrounding conditions as if he'd been waiting for the question, Karelia's terrain was a patchwork of boggy ground and wetlands filled with lakes.
The nightmare of the Gorge Kingdom came flooding back to me, and Rurik added an even more dismal detail: a landscape of lakes and swamps large and small, which when winter set in turned into a deeper morass that made it impossible for either horse or man to maneuver.
'Damn it.'
"So, unless you are in a hurry, it is best to move the army in the middle of summer, Fylkir. Or else striking in the middle of winter, when all the water is frozen, may be the only feasible option. Of course, you would have to end the war as quickly as possible with a small force.
The Finns' land is vast and scattered, so even if you secure the Karelia region, you will likely have to endure constant attacks."
Not invading at all was the best course.
That was my conclusion. The Gorge Kingdom, at least, had been blocked off by the sea.
Listening to Rurik, I gathered that subjugating the Karelian Finns meant swallowing all that wide territory—and first of all, I didn't have the capacity for that, and more than anything, there was nothing I needed from that land.
In other words, Rurik was telling me that I wouldn't easily get what I wanted through military means.
I wasn't enough of a fool to miss his meaning.
"Konungr Rurik has fought against the many Finn tribes scattered from Lake Ladoga all the way to the White Sea, so he will know well how fierce they are."
Miroslav, who had been silently listening to Rurik with me, now wet his throat as if it were his turn and resumed the conversation in a low voice.
"However, ultimately they too are human, and what seems to have been overlooked is that humans ultimately move for the sake of desire. What do you think is the reason that those who live on land frozen for half the year keep raiding south, east, and west?"
Miroslav then picked up a piece of bread from the table, tore it in half, and stuffed it into his mouth.
"Put simply, it's because they have nothing to eat. Because they want more. Their tribes, scattered in tiny pieces, are always short on food, and the chieftains must show their strength to earn recognition and maintain their power.
And, as ever, the best way to show strength is to plunder a weak and complacent neighbor. A cruel calculation, but a simple one."
"Jarl Miroslav is correct, Fylkir. However, it is not that I have failed to extend a hand to them since I became Knyaz—Konungr—of Novgorod."
Shaking his head, Rurik pointedly snatched the bread from Miroslav's hand, popped it into his own mouth, and spoke while drinking his wine.
"They are like wolves, Fylkir. People who cannot be trusted. The moment you think they're cooperating, they draw a knife, and the moment you set out on a great punitive expedition, they extend their hands as if nothing ever happened. Worse still, nature itself protects them, so I've had no choice but to watch and keep my hands idle up to now."
At that response, which dripped with disgust, Miroslav smiled faintly and leaned toward me while I watched the two lords' exchange with interest.
The way he moved reminded me of a wolf that had spotted new prey.
"Fylkir. If everything could be solved with the sword, Polotsk and I would have knelt before Novgorod long ago. Leave this matter to me this once. A merchant must always manage his risks. I cannot dare give you a guarantee with no foundation, but neither will I cause you any loss.
The words were wrapped in humility, but they were brimming with self-confidence.
Could it be that he already had some kind of connection to those Finns of the north?
"Even if I do take a loss, it's fine. I cannot know how many Finns there are, but their mouths don't seem numerous enough to sweep away all my silver and grain... If you need anything, ask at any time, Jarl Miroslav."
"Thank you, Fylkir. Then, though I am greatly ashamed, I shall boldly make a request here and now. I've heard that the father of Drottning Inga cultivated a large deer farm. I would ask that you arrange an introduction."
My father-in-law? I'd set up a smithy for him, but he'd taken the meteorite iron and vanished straight away—he would be at the farm with the blacksmith Landi. Now that I thought about it, wasn't it said that he was part Finn?
'Seeing that he'd built up such a large holding in that harsh land, I did think he was no ordinary man...'
"Very well. I shall invite him myself."
"Thank you, Fylkir."
Miroslav's eyes gleamed at my consent, as though he were making calculations in his head, and Konungr Rurik, too, seemed to be painting some picture of his own.
"Konungr Rurik, look into the intelligence on the Lake Ladoga region for me. Whoever leads that place now, the surrounding tribes, this year's harvest for them—you can put any scrap of information to good use."
"Of course, Fylkir. I shall certainly do so. And just in case, I'll also survey the optimal routes for deploying troops in advance."
"Thank you."
Rurik bowed his head at my thanks.
As we talked, a fair amount of time had passed, so I rose from the seat, which was now steeped in the fragrance of wine.
Just then, Fluffy woke up, stuck out his tongue, and clung to my feet, while the two cats also brushed their tails softly and circled around my feet.
"Now, let us return to the feast hall."
"Yes, Fylkir."
"Understood."
[Wal!]
And so three people and three beasts stepped back into the space filled with the songs of bards and the laughter of men.
*****
"Those of you gathered here must keep this secret at all costs."
The feast, which had been adjourned early for the great assembly the next day, came to an end.
As people stumbled one by one into the designated building, suspicious shadows gathered together.
With only a single candle lit, people sat gathered around a long table.
Among them was Jarl Miroslav.
"Fylkir certainly desires the marmaros of Karelia."
"As expected!"
The voice that loudly responded was unmistakably Storolfr.
Beside him were Egbert of Jorvik, Sigebryht of Beodricsworth, Jarl Leon the Roman, and Halfdan and Ivar of Ribe.
At first glance, an incomprehensible combination, but on second glance, they were all men who each held a piece of the North Sea trade routes or who had a connection to Karelia.
In Ivar's case, he had joined this circle as a sort of advisor, owing to his abundant experience in the East.
"Then from this moment on, I hereby convene the First Marmaros Conference."
The eyes reflected in the candlelight all flickered in unison.