16.
16.
How old was the history of fighting? Probably from the moment this earth existed. Or perhaps before that.
Then how old was the history of siege warfare? It likely began from the moment humans first conceived of a home.
A sunny hill or a cave, perhaps. Doing something to defend it, and something to break through it...
And so, perhaps it grew ever more creative.
Anyway, at a time that was a good few centuries early, we created a few toys derived from the very knowledge that had been handed down from Rome, in order to oppose the essence of civilization the Romans had built on this land.
"Thankfully there were plenty of good trees around. Why don't the Angles build ships with these trees? I truly can't understand. They must have forgotten all of their ancestors' wisdom."
While I established the camp's perimeter, inspected all the drainage facilities meticulously, and supervised the overall running of the encampment, Ivar and Sigurd led the carpenters and craftsmen in felling the surrounding trees and eagerly constructing all manner of siege engines.
In fact, Vikings—that is, us Norsemen—and siege engines didn't quite go together.
Because I too once had the notion that to Norsemen, a siege engine was nothing more than a single long axe for smashing through a farm's wooden door. But surprisingly, we were quite proficient with siege engines and their operation.
In the past, seeing things like the circular clearing made for a fort, or the catapults (!!) stationed inside Árós's walls—these incongruously advanced elements—I had even suspected the existence of aliens... but the truth was that all this was knowledge we had learned while serving as mercenaries under the Roman Empire, and it had survived to this day.
And what was even more surprising? We were still working as mercenaries for the Eastern Rome, not the fallen West.
'In that sense, perhaps we were the true heirs of the Western Empire.'
What was the basic motto of the Roman Empire? Guardians of civilization? Wrong. Plunder, swindling, and ruthless trade wars—wasn't that the very identity of Rome? And polytheism and slavery on top of that!
Therefore, the kingdom of the Norsemen, the spiritual successor (?) of old Rome, was the Third Rome, and their holy city of Uppsala was unquestionably Nova-Nova Roma, following Miklagard (Constantinople). Refute that and you're kebab-Slav.
"How is it, Helgi? Quite impressive for something built in two weeks, isn't it?"
Sigurd's voice, boasting about the freshly built siege engines as if they were his own children, brimmed with pride.
"Really splendid, Sigurd. At this rate, Edmund would be trembling and surrendering."
"Haha! I wish that were true, but that hot-blooded king won't surrender so easily."
In this familiar scenery, I had already spent about two weeks in this encampment.
With the addition of the 25 ships and 1,000 warriors Sigurd had brought, roughly 1,600 men stayed in this encampment (the remainder were carrying out their assigned roles at Dover and Reculver). On top of that, Sigebryht of Reculver had persuaded the major lords to the east, bringing another 400 men, so a sizable force of 2,000 was camped outside the city.
'It was a ridiculously small number for a siege, but...'
The reason we could bully a city surrounded by sturdy walls with this number was simple. The city was smaller than I'd thought, and the walls were low. And besides, hadn't we already crushed the enemy in open battle?
If we concentrated well on one side, it really seemed like we could scale that middling wall.
'I knew that in East Asia at this time, basic units of troops were measured in the tens of thousands...'
Well, anyway, what mattered now was shattering Edmund and that wall's will to resist. By now, Northeast Asia had the Tang Dynasty and Unified Silla, but no matter how many hundreds of thousands or millions they could field, without the capacity to send an expedition all the way here, those numbers were meaningless.
And in my opinion, two thousand was enough here.
"Edmund will never open the gate and come out. But we can't lay siege to this fortress forever. There's a chance others might come running from around to save that loud-mouthed Cyning."
Ivar, who approached me as I intently watched the roofed battering ram while Sigurd gently stroked the catapult with a tender expression like it was his own child, reminded us of the plan one last time.
"We'll hurl some stone fragments we've gathered, toss a few dead cows to break their morale, then smash the gate and scale the walls. Of course, we'll have to fill in that moat beforehand. Fortunately, we have shovels and our two hands, so it won't be a problem."
'He's saying it so lightly because he's not the one doing the digging.'
Still, it was fortunate that the ground around here wasn't too hard and the shovel blades would sink in easily...
"Now, is there anything else I don't know?"
Sigurd, I, and the assembled subordinate commanders all shook our heads that there was nothing, and Ivar, nodding, finally gave the order to attack.
"Then let's begin."
"Yes! Jarl Ivar!"
"Understood!"
The men scattered to their assigned positions in perfect order.
Amid that systematic movement, I walked toward the warriors of Árós formed up as reserves, and soon I heard Sigurd's shout from among the siege engines that were craning their necks toward the wall.
"Fire!"
"Pull the ropes!"
[Chak! Kung! ... Fweee- Kwoong!]
The sight of five stone chunks shooting into the sky in unison at Sigurd's signal and slamming into the gate was, at a glance, surreal.
"Reload!"
"Turn the pulley. Stretch out the sling again. Hey, tidy up the ropes! The ropes! ... Now lifting the stone, everyone clear out!"
"Alright, one- two- heave!"
"Heave!"
[Deolkkeong!]
"Ready!"
"Then fire!"
"I said get clear!"
"Pull the ropes!"
[Chak! Kung! ... Fweeee- Kukwoong!]
"Good heavens, if I were up on that wall, I would have prayed to Odin. I would have begged to be killed by the enemy's spear and sword. Dying like that is truly horrifying."
Seeing this for the first time, the super rookie Storolfr opened his eyes wide and gripped his shield and spear tightly, as if he were on that wall himself.
"Then it's fortunate, Storolfr. Since you're on this side of the wall."
"Truly so, Jarl Helgi."
[Fweeee— Bang!]
"Whoa~ that one was a clean hit, wasn't it?"
I whistled as I tracked the trajectory of another launched boulder. Since there were many abandoned houses around (they had likely all fled), and after dismantling a few of them they made for quite excellent ammunition—at least for half a day, the catapults alone would be hard at work, I supposed.
The warriors handled the catapult with immense caution, fearing the tightly wound ropes might snap or unravel, and as their movements grew increasingly proficient, time also flew, and the bombardment that had begun after breakfast finally ended only when it came time for supper.
As our rear base, Rendlesham and the surrounding villages which could be called our base camp, submitted to our forces one after another (Sigebryht had very actively persuaded the local lords), our army, which received smooth supply without any looting, maintained a solemn discipline.
On the other hand, the walls that had been thoroughly pounded for half a day, and the Angles atop them, did not look to be in good spirits even from this distance.
'And Edmund was nowhere to be seen either.'
When he rambled, he had shouted as if he'd rented the whole world, but now that the fighting had truly begun, hiding himself was... truly a wise act as a king, yet at the same time an act that lost our respect.
If one asked what good respect from the enemy did, there was nothing to say. My point was that it was a loss of face. And this thing called face was immensely important in a warrior society.
"Whoa— whoa— come on, you beast."
[Whinny! Clip-clop, clip-clop—]
I rode slowly on horseback, with Seutorolpeu and a few guards behind me, to the front of our army's ranks lined up in a long row before the encampment where the day's bombardment had concluded.
I held the reins, and Seutorolpeu held the rope binding one of Edmund's bodyguards captured in the last battle.
This prisoner, trudging along bound up tightly with a somewhat weary look, was the Anglian warrior who had charged at me without giving up until the very end. He had fallen after being struck in the head by my shield, but fortunately had not died.
I wanted to use this fellow as a prelude to speak with Edmund once more.
If I gave him an occasion to look back upon the cracked walls and the faces of those seized by terror, perhaps Edmund would come to his senses. Even if not, it would be fine. All of this process was part of the siege. We had to keep gnawing away at their will.
'Hoo— then.'
I took a deep breath and shouted loudly toward the visibly tense Beodericsworth.
"Edmund! I am Helgi Ragnarsson! Here is your loyal warrior! If you agree to speak with me, I shall release him!"
Though there were surely many people beyond those walls, my shout, which rang out clearly, occupied the space without meeting any resistance. Fortunately, unlike the humiliation suffered at Canterbury, no mishap of having to block arrows occurred.
'Good. If even one more arrow had flown, I would have gritted my teeth and spent what remained of the evening hurling dead livestock.'
"Jarl Helgi! Please wait a moment! The Cyning shall answer shortly!"
"Understood, brave Angle! Let your Cyning know that I am ready to speak at any time!"
I felt as though I was becoming fond of conversing with the people beyond the walls.
"It's surprising that Edmund still has the courage to face the Jarl. I'm worried he might piss himself!"
At Seutorolpeu's scathing mockery, the Anglian prisoner bound up tightly looked even more disheartened.
"Seutorolpeu."
I called the name of Super Rookie, who had the nasty hobby of mocking captured foes and their lord, and after sending a glance that said not to, I gently scratched the neck of the brown horse shaking its head to ward off flies.
[Whinny, whicker—]
Soon a few new heads appeared atop the quiet wall, and at last the now-familiar brown hair of Edmund popped out.
"Are you Jarl Helgi standing there?"
At that moment, in a space where even the wind and blades of grass seemed to hold their breath, Edmund's low voice reached my ears clearly.
"I am Helgi indeed, Edmund Cyning (Cyning, King)."
"I see, so you are Helgi Ragnarsson."
Fortunately for him, the wound from my spear in the previous battle seemed to have missed his vital organs, showing no great hindrance in movement, but seeing his poor complexion and slow movements like an old man, he did not seem to be in normal health.
'...He shouted at the top of his lungs all day in that condition? He possessed remarkable mental strength.'
"Hunta! Lord, thank you! You were alive!"
"My Cyning...!"
As soon as they locked eyes, Edmund, recognizing the bound prisoner beside me, cried out as if screaming, and now the prisoner, whom I'd learned was named Hunta, showed emotion as if about to shed tears.
As I watched that display somewhat disapprovingly (it made me look like the villain, didn't it—we both risked our lives fighting equally), Seutorolpeu, reading my mood, jabbed the prisoner in the side.
"You cur! You barbarian! Unbeliever! Respect the honor of my warrior! Jarl Helgi, you are a hero who could easily face a hundred warriors! Please show mercy befitting that! I beg you thus...!"
'...Where had the one who gleefully insulted us when we first arrived here gone? And now he sought honor and mercy like that.'
Did being pounded by a few catapult shots behind the wall bring him to his senses? No, more than that, how could he care so much for his warrior, yet neglect the safety of the people who must be trembling behind the walls...
"Calm yourself, Edmund Cyning. I shall now send back your warrior. Please accept my small gift kindly. Seutorolpeu?"
At my command, Seutorolpeu untied the tightly bound ropes. And Hunta, as if disbelieving the situation, moved carefully toward the gate despite my gesture to quickly go to his lord.
'Stop looking back and just go inside already.'
What use would I have for capturing you again?
Edmund, who had watched that series of farcical scenes with a tense expression, finally seemed to realize I genuinely intended to talk, and asked in a slightly more relaxed voice.
"I thank you for your mercy, truly honorable heathen. So what have you to tell me? Let me say first, regardless of your goodwill, I shall never kneel to an unbeliever."
To Edmund, who had spat out his piece first in a rapid chatter, the only thing I had to say was this.
"Do you not wish to live? Edmund Cyning."