158. Festival and Sacrifice (4).
158. Festival and Sacrifice (4).
The reason the people of Scandinavia placed such importance on adventure, honor (plunder), and courage (arson) was surely because, in this frozen land, one never knew when death might come.
The uncertainty of life sometimes spat out flashes of genius, but more often it silently annihilated human beings.
In that sense, the sight of Norsemen filling massive granaries and drawing a future—preparing hope—was the most symbolic display that their lives had changed.
'We'll have plenty left over this winter too...'
Whether all these miracles were merely thanks to the traits I had crammed in before finishing my previous life, or whether they came from the divinity of the goddess Hel, which I had experienced firsthand in Britain—I could never know for sure, because no matter how loudly I shouted "S.t.a.t.u.s. W.i.n.d.o.w!" no transparent hologram ever appeared.
By now, the origin of this power no longer mattered.
Of course, when considering my lineage, it was actually something that mattered, but here the 21st-century perspective and the 9th-century one collided.
In a stable future world, one could devise long-term plans or ten-year retirement schemes, but in the unstable Europe of the late 9th century, even a one-year plan rarely proceeded smoothly.
So one had to live in the present. Because no one knew what the next year's harvest would bring, we prepared for it; because a sudden mad cold could crash down, we prepared for that as well.
Since whatever humans prepared could vanish overnight once nature made up its mind, we Norsemen lived with death always etched into one corner of our hearts.
Perhaps that was why we accepted the goddess Hel, who rules over death, without any particular resistance?
At any rate.
Having created the extraordinary event of the previous day—the 'Swimming Contest Calamity'—I was pleased to have won, but the gazes of people who looked at me as if I were some alien being weighed on me, so I had set out to inspect the granaries established on the outskirts of the city.
Of course, Inga, who had witnessed my legendary victory firsthand, had been unable to calm her excitement last night as if a switch had been flipped, and she approached me aggressively.
Contrary to the common misconception that I was merely physically strong, my control was nothing to envy even Greg Maddux (the legendary pitcher famed for his control, not yet born), and I made love gently, like an unceasing wave.
My satisfied wife fell into a deep sleep, and I—an unstoppable biological robot—left the house in the early dawn.
'Did I put too much power into that swimming contest... Damn Sigurd and Halfdan. They provoked me for nothing.'
In truth, I had drawn out my full power half out of a desire to impress Inga and half out of a wish to reassure her, but I shifted the blame onto my brothers, who had been an easy meal.
The two brothers, who had been chanting about the Konungr of the sea, were unable to overcome the shock wave I unleashed at the very start that shattered the starting blocks, and simply gurgled and sank—[gurgle-] submersion.
Just like the other contestants, they had been spellbound by my dazzling swimming skill and were disqualified.
Thus, I became the sole victor in a contest in which around twenty had taken part, and I created an unprecedented record in which only first place existed.
As long as this contest continued, it would surely remain an immortal record never to be broken...!
After that, the city—which had briefly fallen into shock—awakened and plunged all at once into a state of frenzy, with people here and there shedding tears or stretching out both hands and shouting the names of gods and my own name, as if they had come to a rock star's concert.
The lights of Árós did not go out until this morning's dawn, and the voices of people who played and drank without a care embroidered the dark night.
Whether Konungr, Jarl, or Karl (a freeman; there was a slave class below, but under my rule there have been no slaves in Árós)... it was a day when everyone went mad and rampaged.
Naturally, the final schedule of the contest was postponed, and while the contest officials and the city watch heaved sighs of relief, saying that they had gained time to catch their breath.
As I finished inspecting the city's facilities during the interlude, Hrólfr approached me with a calm expression.
"Fylkir. Jarl Eret has sent a messenger."
My teacher and protector who had watched over me since childhood. Hrólfr seemed to pay no mind whatsoever, no matter what kind of torpedo show I had displayed at the swimming contest.
Likewise, I could not even imagine Hrólfr being surprised by something of this magnitude (?), so as I climbed the hill of the same name—not far from the East Gate—I asked him.
"Jarl Eret? Have the chieftains of the Suomi and the Sámi already arrived?"
I knew well enough that as people akin to nomadic herders, their concept of distance and time differed from ours, but had they even shattered physical limitations?
"That is not the case. No matter how swift their reindeer sleds and horses, they cannot move that quickly."
Hrólfr, who had given a throaty laugh at my question, caught his breath. A gentle, sloping path like this is good for the health, so I should summon him home every day. I am a lord who looks after his vassals' health in this manner.
"Jarl Landi came driving a wagon himself. Jarl Leon and his retinue have also returned together."
Leon had been summoned as something of a Marmarospractic expert, and Jarl Landi was the finest blacksmith in the northern hemisphere, the one who had forged my sword.
It seemed the ordered goods were all complete.
"That is indeed welcome news."
"It seems there is also news of various sorts besides the items you spoke of, Fylkir, so it would be good for you to hear it directly."
"Let us do that."
Hrólfr kept pace well with my quickened steps. Together with my teacher, who groaned every day but was still spry, I strode briskly toward home.
*****
The great banquet hall on the first floor, filled with traces of having feasted and reveled merrily, was in the midst of a thorough cleaning, with servants busily sweeping, wiping, and replacing furniture.
Not wanting to be a petty king who shouted "Everyone, withdraw!" at that commotion, I headed straight for the front yard of my house, where Landi had said he had parked his wagon.
Likewise, Skoll and Hati, the hatred-and-resentment cat brothers, who disliked noisy indoor human activity, were out on the green meadow along with Bokshil, and beyond the three beasts fighting the gently swaying grass, a welcome face appeared.
"Landi! Leon!"
At the sound of my resonant voice, Bokshil's ears perked up and the creature ran forward with its tongue lolling, while the two cats were lying on their backs with expressions of 'Oh, you're here?' as they stared vacantly.
[Heokheok-]
I lightly scooped up Bokshil—who was on the way to becoming a furred pig from overeating—with one arm, and advanced, feeling the soft sensation of the grass, while Landi and Leon both saluted me at once.
[Cheok-]
"Fylkir Helgi!"
"Most great Fylkir."
With his burly muscles and a snow-white beard that seemed about to cover his entire upper body, Landi looked like a seasoned warrior, while Leon simply... looked like a Roman. Close-cropped hair and a clean-shaven face.
Both had been eating and living well, it seemed, for they had put on a little weight. Riding in a wagon naturally makes one gain weight.
"Fylkir, that— the creature you have on your arm..."
Having offered a crisp salute, Landi looked at Bokshil, who was cradled quietly in my left arm, with his eyes sparkling as though beholding something marvelous, and soon he furrowed his eyebrows, which were as lush as his beard.
"Haha. Now that I think of it, this is the first time you see it? This fellow is a puppy I am raising. An extremely sturdy fellow!"
"No matter how I look at it, it does not seem to be a dog..."
Bokshil bounded around Landi as he murmured softly, hopping about in a display of its own brand of friendliness.
Alas, Landi, who lacked animal sensibilities, regarded that Bokshil with a dubious eye.
"It must be because the fellow has grown so large. At any rate, are the items I commissioned contained here?"
"They are. O Fylkir."
I dodged the hopping Bokshil this way and that and moved to the back of the large wagon, where I saw objects neatly covered with leather.
When I casually reached out and removed the leather, the sword hilts, finished so cleanly that admiration arose of its own accord, revealed themselves beneath.
"May I draw one?"
"It would be an honor, Fylkir."
A smile brimming with the confidence that only a master could possess.
Beneath Landi's smile, more certain than any certified cheque, I carefully pulled out a single sword.
It was a sword distinct to the Norsemen, seeming slightly heavier than the weight of the iron that went into it. The weight was evenly distributed over the entire blade, making it suited to hewing enemies.
[Seureureureung-]
Perhaps because it had been a while since I gripped a one-handed sword, the short grip and the blade felt slightly unfamiliar, but the green glow that shone faintly after receiving the sun's power unmistakably revealed that the mineral's identity had fallen from the sky.
"Your skill has grown even greater, Landi. This is a sword that cannot be bought with a thousand times its weight in gold nor ten thousand times its weight in silver."
Landi bowed his head deeply at my unembellished, plain praise.
"Your words are far too generous."
The sword-smith's voice, who had created these magnificent swords solely with the sensation of his fingertips, overflowed with pride and confidence, and that sight delighted me all the more.
"You are the finest craftsman, Landi. If you cannot believe in yourself, then believe in these swords. No longer will Konungar and Jarls seek the name of Ulfberht. They will raise their cups solely to toast that a sword crafted by Landi is the best."
"Since the Fylkir has already acknowledged me, of what use are the words of others? I have already given my sword to the greatest warrior. There is nothing left for me to achieve, nor to desire."
I did not doubt that the sentiment contained in those words was sincere, but seeing the huge smile hanging on his lips, he was in good spirits all the same.
[Seureureung- tak!]
As I carefully returned the sword to its sheath and placed it back in its original spot, I spoke toward Hrólfr, who was watching with satisfaction from behind.
"Once the contest ends and the awards ceremony is finished, I will arrange a great banquet with the Konungar and Jarls. I intend to present these swords there, so please prepare well."
"Of course, Fylkir."
"Furthermore, I plan to give one sword to the Emperor of Rome, so it would be good to speak with Damian about it."
"I will dispatch a messenger."
Landi's divine swords would become a kind of sacred object—scheduled to serve as a sort of certificate to be passed down through generations to those charged with each region.
Given the medieval custom of hereditary succession, there was a high probability they would become family swords, but for the time being, I intended to convey my will by specifying them as 'the sword of such-and-such region's Konungr or Jarl' rather than by a person's name.
Capable vassals must be unstintingly supported, but naturally, it was good to think of countermeasures in advance. And to accumulate some justification as well...
Someone might ask if this was not too cold-hearted toward the comrades-in-arms with whom I had fought back to back, but in fact, it was better for me to draw the line clearly.
"Right, what other tidings are there besides this glad news? According to Hrólfr, the chieftains of the Sámi and the Suomi have not headed this way. Just what is happening in the north?"
This was the surprise event upon which my attention was focused, more than the athletic contest itself.
The great upheaval of the Finns ignited by a single piece of marble.
Something... something was indeed occurring, but here in Árós I could not grasp it at all, and that was only frustrating.
"Jarl Hrólfr explained it well, Fylkir. Not only the Sámi people of the north, but even the Suomi people across the sea are hoping for the Fylkir's mercy. I heard that a sudden cold wind suddenly befell them and ruined their harvest. As for the Sámi, they are people who live by hunting anyway, so it makes little difference to them..."
Bokshil, who had been sitting quietly beside Landi as he combed through his beard, cocked its head.
Of course, Landi, who had little interest in things other than iron, steel, and meteoric iron, brushed off the comb once and continued speaking.
"When winter approaches, the price of grain becomes more expensive than iron of the same volume, that is the situation in the far north and across the sea. I heard that they will offer all the hides they possess."
Even if they did not offer hides, I could always distribute relief grain. Let me keep listening for now.
"Originally, they intended to head straight here to see the Fylkir in person, but it seems there will be a delay because the Karelian Finns moved first. Several villages bordering Karelia were raided, and word is that contact with them has been lost."
In truth, up to this point it could be called ordinary daily life in the northern hemisphere, but there was something that had changed from before.
"And so these... chieftains seem to have grown truly angry, Fylkir. Their pride was thoroughly wounded, so they asked me to convey that they will certainly come to see the Fylkir bearing even better gifts."
The Finns, who had been scattered in countless dots large and small, were uniting for a single purpose.
What kind of butterfly effect would this set off...
"It seems we cannot simply remain idle. We do not know what deeds the angry chieftains might commit... Hrólfr. I must summon Rurik."
"Yes, O Fylkir."
I resolved to intervene more actively.