175. A Season of Pure White and Hearts That Are Not.
175. A Season of Pure White and Hearts That Are Not.
"Follow the Seine upstream and you will soon reach Paris."
Just because the people living on the lands above the cold, rough North Sea prepared for winter like bears does not mean they actually sank into hibernation like bears.
They filled their bellies with stockpiled grain, ale, salted meat, and smoked meat, and occasionally took cold-water baths while kindling fires and gathering around to chat warmly, sing songs, and sleep.
The children would still run across the fields, and the shepherds would come down from the hills to spend the winter visiting the broad pastures. They took up the swords and shields, spears, bows and arrows they had laid aside while farming, and set out to hunt or to hone their rusted skills once more.
The merchants gauged the weather and sucked their fingers, and when the day seemed fair enough, they bravely grasped the oars and set out on adventure.
Winter was a harsh season for the elderly, and the temples of Hel, which primarily took in and raised orphans, would grow busy giving rest to the dead embarking on their final journey.
And the Konungrs and Jarls, myself included, prepared for the coming war.
"The Seine and Paris. Names that stir old memories."
"Yes, that is correct. Just as we remember them, the Franks will remember the name of Ragnar Loðbrók as well."
When winter arrived—something utterly impossible to resist with mere human strength—people naturally gathered around the one they felt was safest, the one who could protect them from external threats.
We Norsemen had developed in our own way that tradition which human ancestors had cultivated since the days of hunting and gathering in caves, and we sublimated the image of huddling together around a cave campfire into the Hall.
Under Leon's tenacity, which had begun quarrying marble in earnest, my manor on the hill of Fylkir was soon to undergo remodeling.
Returning to the old house on the Konungr's hill west of Árós, where my mother's residence was located—for the sake of my wife Inga's childbirth and peace of mind—my own heart seemed to have regressed as well, back to the days three years ago when I was called Jarl Helgi.
"Ragnar shattered the forces of Charles and laid siege to Paris with 120 ships and 4,800 warriors. I heard the weight of the gold coins he received then could have filled the sea before Uppsala."
"I still remember it vividly. The sight of Ragnar passing through Kaupang with the warriors under his command. Seeing how few remain now who remember that scene, it seems time has indeed flowed on."
And I was not the only one retracing the past.
Among the Konungrs and Jarls who had answered my summons—all save Ubba of Mercia, and Sigebriht and Guthrum of East Anglia, who could not move freely because of Æthelred of Wessex's sudden death.
Especially the four venerable elders—Konungr Halfdan, Konungr Olaf, Bagsecg, and Hrørekr of Dorestad—raised their voices with such vigorous spirit it was as though they had returned to those days when they personally sailed ships and swung swords.
"Come, come, let us all raise our cups! To the great warriors who have departed! Valhalla!"
"Ragnar is more than worthy of having my cup raised! Ragnar!"
"Ragnar!"
When Olaf, who had swept back his pure white hair in dashing fashion, rose from his seat and lifted his cup, everyone raised their cups in unison.
Each cup held drink suited to its owner's taste, from thick ale to ale near-water, wine, mead, and more. But the heart poured into those cups was all the same.
I also emptied my cup in one draught, giving a slight nod of thanks to Konungr Olaf for honoring my father. As expected, mead was the finest to my palate.
A refreshing taste gliding smoothly down the throat. A flavor that made the eyes snap open and something surge with heat!
Should I say that brewing techniques had advanced considerably due to the overflowing demand? The old methods could no longer meet the soaring demand, and so every field across the North Sea was gradually evolving in a direction that pursued efficiency.
Apiculture, brewing, the fetching of stream water as a sort of labor. A primitive division of labor was appearing everywhere.
"The wise Konungrs' words are true. The Seine is no stranger to us, and the reason Konungr Ragnar aimed for Paris was because it is the strategic point where all the people and silver of the Seine region gather. However, there is one more place that must be taken before that."
Hrólfr, one of the most fervent supporters of trade with Rome and my old friend, neatly emptied a cup of his favorite wine and raised his voice.
From my perspective, Hrólfr was a capable man who disliked work—no, rather, he was my teacher and comrade in arms. In truth, Hrólfr was the very warrior who had personally roamed the Seine region on his own two feet under my father.
Naturally, all the gathered Konungrs and Jarls, knowing this fact, ceased their spirited chanting of my father's name as if it were some invocation and lent their ears to Hrólfr's words.
"There is a place called Rouen. To us, it is like Uppsala, situated on the approach to Árós. If this place is not firmly seized, any attack on Paris will fail without exception."
No one raised an objection to Hrólfr's assertion. For this was something my father and Hrólfr had experienced firsthand.
The Árós army's characteristic emphasis on supply was, of course, shaped by my influence as well, but it was also steeped in Hrólfr's experiences like this.
One can never win a war by local supply and plunder alone. Unless, of course, the objective was purely plunder.
"Is there not a river beside the Seine? (The Somme.) What of that place?"
Pointing at the maps of West Frankia and East Frankia drawn from hazy memories and merchants' intelligence, Olaf's son, Tosteinn the Red, asked. This Jarl, as passionate as the color of his own hair, was a reckless man who had concluded a peace treaty with the great tribes of Picts hiding in the highlands and answered my summons leading only five ships.
"The Somme region has little worth plundering, and it is a place guarded by Baudouin, who is a close friend of mine, Jarl Tosteinn. Even if we were to occupy it, Charles of West Frankia would never stir."
"Is that so. Then it must be the Seine after all."
Come to think of it, Hrørekr of Dorestad, who was conveying local intelligence now, was acquainted with Baudouin of Flanders. He had said he personally hid Baudouin when he eloped with Charles's daughter, had he not?
'Could we not make use of this?'
"Konungr Hrørekr."
"Speak, Fylkir."
I had spoken quietly after sitting still and watching the lords seated beneath me—watching as wheels turned within wheels and plans were devised—yet in an instant, the Valkyrie of silence descended upon this vast Hall.
'I want to develop a somewhat more flexible organizational culture, but there is a long road ahead.'
"The Margrave of Flanders, Baudouin, I mean. No matter how I think on it, Charles of West Frankia sent him to a place meant to die. Would he not harbor a certain resentment, along with his wife Judith?"
Just look at the position of Flanders. It was situated in a place where it alone had to tank the plundering of the fierce Norsemen and the Breez positioned right beside them.
The Baudouin I had seen in Britain, though unable to speak Latin, had not been a man lacking in perception.
'Is there no good way to coax him?'
"Hmm. I understand well what the Fylkir desires. But it will be difficult."
Hrørekr, who had furrowed his brow for a moment, shook his head.
"I heard word that Charles of West Frankia met personally with the Margrave of Flanders and his wife before this winter. I do not know precisely what words passed between them, but I cannot easily picture Baudouin betraying Charles with the mind I possess."
"Is that so?"
'A pity.'
[Kiiiik—]
Rising from a wooden chair that seemed twice the size of anyone else's, I set my cup aside and approached the table where two large maps were spread out.
One was West Frankia. One was East Frankia.
"Let us settle on ascending the Seine for West Frankia. Konungr Hrørekr and Jarl Hrólfr, I ask that you give the specific plans further thought."
"Yes, Fylkir."
"I shall do so."
As the enemy's scale and defensive state had to be assessed in advance, cooperation with Dorestad and Lotharingia beyond was unavoidable. Hrørekr and Hrólfr would serve as proxies for Lothar and myself and nimbly share intelligence.
"Jarl Björn, convey a message to Jarl Hásteinn of Nantes. Ask if Salomon, Dux of the Breez, intends to become a Righ."
"I understand clearly, Fylkir."
Likewise, Björn and Hásteinn would serve as proxies for Salomon and myself respectively and exchange views.
The overt objective was to bring down Paris by following the Seine. The substantive objective was to occupy the Rouen region and secure the mouth of the Seine.
And, if possible, to slaughter every last one of Charles's reinforcements.
"Jarl Tosteinn, Uhtred, and Egbert, each of you should ascertain in your domains the number of warriors who can move after next year's sowing season."
""Yes, Fylkir!""
"Jarl Harald will remember the conversation we shared previously. Proceed with the plan to send the warriors of Kaupang to Miklagard as is, and separately, determine the number of warriors who can be moved."
"I shall do so. Will the warriors of Kaupang also take part in the Seine campaign?"
Perhaps because this was the first large-scale expedition since his accession, Harald's handsome face was thoroughly flushed with excitement.
"No. The warriors of Kaupang, Ribe, Hedeby, Roskilde, Novgorod, and Polotsk have something else to do."
It seemed the ears of not only the lords of the regions I named but of everyone present suddenly pricked up.
'If the light in people's eyes possessed tangible force, there would already be dozens of holes bored through it.'
Touching the right side of the parchment, I pressed my finger on the place marked Elbe and Hamburg.
"When the warriors of Scandinavia bite down on Hamburg along the Elbe and hold fast, the warriors of Novgorod and Polotsk will sweep away the lands to the east."
My finger left Hamburg and touched an empty space not drawn on the map.
Though neither picture nor line was drawn there, every Jarl and Konungr in this place understood well what awaited at that spot.
"The Obotrites..."
In particular, the voice of Konungr Bagsecg, who had fiercely fought them face to face, already seemed thick with the smell of blood.
Likewise, the eyes of the Jute heir silently draining his cup, my brother Halfdan, blazed blue.
"The Saxons of old were defeated by the mighty Charles of Francia not only because Charles was exceptional, but because they could not withstand this two-pronged attack by the Obotrites. So we shall cut them off first."
"All the Saxon descendants who fled to our lands will rise up as one. Much blood will flow."
'Their blood, that is.'
Bagsecg had swallowed the words that followed, but there was no one in this place who failed to grasp the meaning.
"All of this is still only possibility. If you have a better idea, do not hesitate and speak it. Next spring, at the request of the true Imperator of Francia, we shall aid him. Let us prepare for a great battle."
""Yes, Fylkir!""
[Cheok—!]
Amid the lords bowing their heads in unison, I could see Leon's disciples diligently recording something.
'How will this event be recorded in posterity? The Divorce War? A great invasion by lawless Vikings?'
Either way, I had absolutely no intention of losing.
*****
Britain. Dorset in Wessex. The church at Wimborne.
Not far from the place where the funeral of Æthelred Cyning had concluded, Alfred, the new Cyning of Wessex, was meeting with someone.
In this season when rain streaks turned to snowflakes, it perhaps suited the city preparing for Christmas in a somewhat somber mood. Beneath a deeply pulled hood, striking green eyes that even gave off a bewitching air were striking.
"For you to come to me like this—I am merely grateful that you have shown such great courage."
A voice that was courteous but never obsequious. Yet Alfred's voice was full of tension.
"I am merely doing what must naturally be done. Rather, it is I who should give thanks. The late Cyning was truly a wise man."
Ubba Ragnarsson. The new ruler of Mercia met with the new ruler of Wessex under one roof.
☆☆☆☆☆Reference Materials☆☆☆☆☆
Paul Passy (Chamois rouge), completion Ulamm, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
This is a map of the Seine basin...!
The waterways branching off from the Seine flow like that...! But what we must keep our eyes on are the two cities along the Seine, starting from the English Channel: Rouen and Paris...!
Looking at this, you understand in an instant why West Frankia, Lotharingia, and East Frankia practically gave up on the northern coastline... There are way, way too many waterways here...!
NordNordWest, revision/adaption by Ulamm (talk) 01:00, 27 March 2016 (UTC), CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
The Elbe basin. The meaning of Elbe itself is 'river,' but... it became a proper noun...! Just like Árós...!
This place is no less than the Seine either lol Honestly, it's only because I highlighted it... generally, most of Europe is like this! You can understand why Rome never coveted the lands beyond the Rhine...
What you want to keep an eye on here is Hamburg, situated at the very entrance of the Elbe coming straight in from the North Sea! The fortress personally built by Charlemagne. The purpose was, of course, to serve as a defensive strongpoint against the North, but practically speaking,
it was to keep the Slavs to the east in check!
de:Benutzer:Marcel Rogge und de:Benutzer:Zweedorf22, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
The territory of the Obotrites.
A loose monarchy and tribal confederation—the Obotrites!
This is also the true objective Helgi seeks in this war! That region is a place where Danes, Saxons, Franks, and Slavs are all entangled!