172. The Kings' Hearth Fire (2).
172. The Kings' Hearth Fire (2).
"Einn tveir þrír!"
[Tak! Tak! Tak!]
'One, two, three!' The sound of wooden swords clashed crisply in time with the command.
"That's not my rhythm! Faster! Einn tveir þrír!"
[Tak! Tak! Tak!]
Today, Hrolf, who had brought Rolo along, seemed intent on releasing all his work stress, unleashing heavy sword strikes on the poor boy under the guise of training.
"Agh! Agh! Agh! Agh! Agh! Agh!"
Rolo was blocking his father's attacks with all his might, his face crumpled in distress, and despite his young age, his footwork was already far from ordinary.
"You block this? Einn tveir þrír! ... fjórir!"
[Tak! Tak! Tak! ... Tak-!]
"Agh! Agh! Agh! ... Ugh!"
Hrolf finally put a variation on it and struck Rolo on the crown of the head, only then smiling with satisfaction.
"See? You still have a long way to go, son. If you can't even parry this wooden sword, how can you be called a warrior of Norrland or a proper warrior? You must strive harder."
"No, that's really unfair—!"
Rolo clutched his head and rolled on the grass. It must have stung. Mistaking this for an invitation to play, Bokshiri rushed over, and the two reindeer—normally docile but always getting excited when Bokshiri was around—also came up snorting.
As I watched the foolish father laughing heartily, I offered Hrolf a cup of water and casually spoke.
"It reminds me of the old days. I used to train like that too."
[Thump-]
"The Fylkir? What do you mean? The image of you sending my sword flying with a single stroke is still vivid before my eyes."
"That was the first time in my whole life I had such an experience. My wrist nearly snapped, I tell you."
Hrolf let the rest of his words trail off as he gulped down the cup. There was no way this old fox with graying hair had brought Rolo along for nothing.
He probably had a feeling that today's conversation wouldn't be all that pleasant. But just as one cannot escape winter and snowflakes, there were things that had to be faced.
"Hrolf. Are the guests well?"
"Indeed. King Hrørekr and Jarl Hroldulfr must be feeling the Fylkir's hospitality. They will likely sleep until late afternoon, as they are weary from the long journey."
"I see. Then what do you think of King Hrørekr's proposal from yesterday?"
"Hm—."
The subject was clearly not an easy one for Hrolf. He couldn't answer as smoothly as before.
For a while, the old teacher and the disciple who had surpassed him from the very first day of training sat quietly in their chairs, watching Bokshiri torment Rolo with wet tongue licks.
"Rolo! Why don't you go into the hall and get some breakfast? Training is good if you want to become a great warrior, but you must eat well!"
[Heh-heh-heh-]
"Hey, get off— Yes! Fylkir! Understood!"
In a sorry state, Rolo quickly got up, saluted as my warriors did, and hurried into the hall.
Watching that cute sight somehow brought to mind my brothers of old, and even Constantine, who was much younger than Rolo, also came to mind.
And my child inside Inga's belly too.
"My Fylkir. Since you ask my opinion, I will say that King Hrørekr's proposal could be a great opportunity for the North Sea Empire and for the Fylkir."
Just as my thoughts reached the child who had taken the sun as his byname, Hrolf's voice cut in, not missing the exquisite timing.
'An opportunity.'
"This North Sea Empire that the Fylkir has built with his own hands is vast and strong. But if you look closely, it's too long. Following the North Sea Empire all the way to the lands of Britain, Scandinavia, and Rus. When times are good, it's endlessly good, but when times are bad, it will become infinitely difficult."
"We all know it deep down, don't we? That this North Sea Empire cannot last forever. Even if it splits apart later, as long as the memories of our time together remain, we could well remain cooperative. I would consider that alone a great success."
In truth, I expected a rebellion to break out on the island of Britain. It was still too quiet for now. The concept of nation was surprisingly weak, but the religious differences were so severe that I thought it might happen at some point.
The same went for the eastern lands of Rus. Novgorod and Polotsk, which were closer than I thought, might be one thing, but Kyiv was truly a place of exceptional potential, so it would be no surprise if it became independent at any time.
Fragmentation might come in my generation, and beyond that I saw it as almost inevitable.
Rather than trying to glue the torn pieces together somehow, wouldn't it be better to split in the best possible shape? That might even be more beneficial for my successors.
But Hrolf seemed to think a little differently.
"That would be a safe choice. The kind of choice an old, sick little boat would make, letting the waves have its way. The kind of choice I, or King Halfdan, Olaf, or Bagsecg might make."
His tone was self-deprecating, but the gaze within it was quite stern.
"My Fylkir. The reason I tell Rolo that he is still far from it is to teach him fear. A fearless warrior is a fearsome presence in battle, but just as easily goes to Valhalla. Just look at the Fylkir's father, in whom you couldn't find a trace of fear no matter how hard you looked. What Konungr in this world would set out on an expedition with only five ships? He was brave and honorable, but fearlessness is not always a good thing."
This was a story only Hrolf, my father's trusted warrior and my teacher and guardian, could tell.
"That is why the Fylkir is the Fylkir. Stronger than anyone, yet you carry fear in your heart. You banned plunder, banned slavery, and instead filled those voids with your own silver coins and honor, planting pride into the rough, wave-like Northmen warriors. Something no one else could have done, something no one else could do."
"Hrolf—"
"My Fylkir."
Startled by Hrolf's rare exalted state, I called his name to calm my old vassal, but Hrolf's words did not end.
"If anyone else were in that place, I would agree with the Fylkir's opinion. Because whether it's an ordinary man, a fearless warrior, or a seasoned Konungr, this North Sea Empire is an empire that no one could bear. It is too vast, too long, too many enemies to face. But for Helgi Ragnarsson, it is rather too narrow."
How could he hold such conviction?
"Do not pre-judge your own abilities. Do not set limits on the power of the North Sea. Take Frisia, move Hásteinn of Brace. Move Rurik of Novgorod and Mirosław of Polotsk. What Karl of the Franks accomplished, why do you think the Fylkir of the North Sea cannot? You are stronger. Stronger than anyone, yet your awareness of fear makes you superior. Command us to follow. If you lead, the North Sea will move as one."
He had always shown me only a faltering demeanor. This old fox. He had been hiding a blazing furnace seething in his chest. His two fiercely burning eyes struck the beholder with something beyond strong conviction, something that felt almost like a prophecy.
"The lands of the Franks are crisscrossed by waterways as dense as ours or Britain's. If we use those broad rivers as boundaries to swallow them piece by piece, we have a chance, Fylkir. If you achieve a great feat scarcely imaginable to men, there is no law that says this vast realm you have forged cannot continue to endure."
Adventure and challenge, the virtues of the bold Northmen.
Before Hrolf, who was laying bare the true nature of a Norseman, I could only say that 'I need time to think.'
For the hot flames Hrolf had spat out left a small spark within my own heart.
Should I not wait and watch it carefully, without haste?
After all, winter in the North Sea is long.
*****
The land of the Svear. The North Sea's brightest jewel. Árós.
The buildings on the east side of Árós, completed in haste to host the unprecedented, largest-scale North Sea Sports Festival ever held.
In that newly constructed building, originally prepared for honored guests, the current ruler of Dorestad and his heir apparent were together.
"Hróðulfr. How did it feel, meeting the strongest?"
"I have never met such a man. The Frankish emperors carried immense pressure too, but the Fylkir was somewhat different. It did not come from the weight of his name or the bearing and scale of his guards... rather, it felt like standing naked before a massive bear."
"Yes, I was not mistaken. I felt the same."
Filling his cup to the brim with expensive wine, Hrørekr carefully retraced his meeting with the Fylkir, searching for any misstep on his part.
'How is he so huge?'
His first impression.
'Why is the air so heavy?'
What he felt when uttering his first syllable.
'So a man can truly die from a gaze alone!'
The atmosphere in the hall, shifting in an instant when the Fylkir began laying out his own plans.
Recalling the presence he had felt from the Frankish emperors, Fylkir Helgi Ragnarsson possessed some incomprehensible power.
'They say he shattered rock with his fist. I thought it was an exaggerated rumor, but I shall have to go see it for myself.'
They called him the son of a god. Could Ragnar have actually been a god? No, I knew Ragnar well. Then perhaps the High Priestess of Hel...?
Hrørekr, who had survived amidst the cracks of Frankia all his life, displaying dizzying tightrope skills through his cool-headed reason and superhuman emotional control.
Seeing a seasoned Konungr like himself start grasping for gods when it came to matters concerning Helgi Ragnarsson, the thought 'Has my time come at last?' muddled Hrørekr's mind.
'Ragnar is gone, and the Black King and Bagsecg have practically retired. My time has indeed come.'
Yet, upon reflection, it was not exactly wrong. Disbelieving how time had flown so, he worried for Hroldulfr, who was downing wine beside him.
He trusted him to do well, but the world rarely rewarded mere capability.
And so Hrørekr could not let go of this new hope called the Fylkir.
"Konungr! Jarl Hrolf has come seeking you."
Before his worries for the future and his nephew could completely fill his head, the voice of a guard called out from beyond the door.
Hrørekr hastily shouted to invite him in and cleared a spot.
"Hrørekr Konungr, Jarl Hroldulfr."
"Jarl Hrolf."
"Jarl Hrolf."
He had greeted him with a tired face yesterday morning, and today Hrolf looked far more weary still. Seeing him now, who would recall the fierce warrior who once rampaged under Ragnar's command?
Would his young nephew know? That this grizzled man before him was the warrior who once cut down two or three Frankish fighters in a single stroke. The days when Ragnar set the Seine ablaze were a time when all Northmen were seized by fury.
"Hrolf. You have grown old."
"What? Is the Konungr saying this to me now?"
"Hahaha!"
Though his eyebrows and hair had thinned and turned white, the core remained unchanged.
"It was a jest, a jest! Your temper is as fierce as ever."
"I cling to that alone to keep me going."
Ragnar and Hrørekr, who had indeed roamed the Frankish coasts relentlessly. Naturally, the two Konungrs knew each other well, and Hrørekr could not be ignorant of Hrolf's name, the most outstanding warrior under Ragnar.
"Well, I doubt you came to share boring old tales with this old man. Did the Fylkir give his answer?"
"It is no small decision, is it? It was not a proposal to go raiding—and having just concluded a great war this summer, to start another war next summer straight away. Naturally, the Fylkir needs a little more time."
Considering they had just fought a great war, this land seemed to overflow with strength.
Barely swallowing the words that nearly leaped from his mouth, Hrørekr handed a cup to Hrolf and downed his own share of wine.
'In my day, it was always thick ale. Wine in this barren land. The world does change.'
"I met the Fylkir for the first time yesterday, but he bears Ragnar's eyes. However long it takes, he will agree in the end."
Hrolf stared at the calmly speaking Hrørekr with an odd look. As if his eyes were asking, 'How could you know that?', Hrørekr let out a hearty laugh and continued.
"No matter how strong a man is, blood will not be deceived. Besides, are Björn and Ivar not here as well? Those fellows will not sit idle."