176. A Season of Pure White and Hearts That Are Not (2).
176. A Season of Pure White and Hearts That Are Not (2).
The meetings were held mostly in my old longhouse or in the jarls' residences, rotating between them.
Since there was no shortage of food and drink, the winter's cold could be overcome if one only had the will. Wasn't adaptability and flexibility in the face of one's environment humanity's greatest strength, after all?
Moreover, we were people forged by winter.
"Hh-etschoo!"
...Or were we not?
"Sigurd, you've gone soft."
"No, I just haven't been sleeping—ah-choo!"
Anyone could see Sigurd had caught a cold.
My stepmother and my own mother, who had been guarding my newborn son, grandson Hardaknut, like iron walls, had finally managed to pry Sigurd away from his side after he had been glued there all day long.
"Crunch- crunch- I have been pushing myself lately. That little Hardaknut, you wouldn't believe how much he wails at dawn."
Sigurd was chewing cabbage leaves as a folk remedy for his cold. Wrapped head to toe in thick furs, the sight of him with the tip of his nose bright red was pitiful.
"Sigurd. Even if I had been Hardaknut, I would have cried. Waking up to your face right in front of my eyes—how could anyone not cry?"
Halfdan placed a warm beer (...) in front of Sigurd with a fed-up expression, and Sigurd diligently sipped the porridge-like beer, blowing on it—"hoo-hoo."
Given that the two mothers had immediately isolated Sigurd, they apparently knew that sick people were not good to have around small children.
Since I knew more precisely about the existence of germs, I ought to lend a hand as well.
"Sigurd. Someone with a cold should avoid contact with others as much as possible. Especially don't even turn your head toward Aethelthryth, who has just given birth, or your child, or any pregnant women, the elderly, and the weak. Just park yourself at home."
"Crunch- crunch- sniffle- ugh- slurp- ah- crunch-"
Sigurd, truly presenting an astonishing variety of sounds, displayed the wondrous feat of inhaling cabbage and beer while simultaneously eating his own snot.
Seeing such a robust appetite, it seemed he would recover soon enough.
In any case, Sigurd nodded at my words, agreeing he should do so, and then, having dragged his sick body to find me, he got to the real point.
"Still, I did hear everything. The lands of the Franks are calling to us, aren't they? Another wish of mine is being fulfilled! I have always wanted to cross the Danevirke together with Halfdan, Helgi, and the rest of my brothers of the same age."
Even though he was sniffling, his pronunciation was precise, so there was no problem understanding what he said.
The flames in the hearth, stoked a little higher for Sigurd, were driving away the cold and the dark as well.
Listening to that nasal voice so characteristic of a cold patient, I suddenly recalled the day long ago when Sigurd and I first faced the death of our father.
The look in Sigurd's eyes as he proposed we challenge the great feats of Björn and Ivar together. The story he said he had already finished discussing with Halfdan.
"Yes, many things have changed. But in the end, it turned out that way."
"It must be fate. If the Saxon was an obstacle to Karl of the Franks, then to Helgi of the North Sea, the Franks are pretty much his fated enemy."
Kek- cough-!
Sigurd, who had seen many things and was speaking words as profound as some godly official, collapsed into a fit of coughing. Halfdan, watching this pitiful sight, stroked his beard and casually threw a remark my way.
"Fine, fate or whatever, but Helgi. Can we trust this man, Lothar? Konungr Hrørekr, in the end, is someone who will side with whoever is stronger. Ultimately, I suspect what matters is Lothar's intention, isn't it?"
As expected, Halfdan was a mix of half romanticist Sigurd and half extreme rationalist Ubbe. A sharp insight that greatly satisfied me.
"Trust? As if such a thing could exist between Lothar and me."
I took out a comb from my bosom and swept back my hair, which had grown long from not being cut for a while.
[Shuk- shuk-]
"In the worst-case scenario, West Frankia, East Frankia, and us. It's possible he'll betray and cast off all those whose power has weakened."
"In that case...?"
"That's why it's crucial that this war stops at an appropriate line. We'll seize the coast of northern Francia, and negotiate separately with West and East Frankia. That's the plan as I see it."
I had prepared one more card each for the negotiations. The Bretons and the Magyars. Cards that we could do without, but ones that made things more advantageous if we had them.
"West Frankia and East Frankia. If they fall into crisis, won't the other Frankish kingdom to the south come running? Lothar himself may have divorce and succession at stake, but the Frankish imperatores below him are still of the same blood, aren't they?"
[Shuk- shuk- tak]
Having combed back all my hair, I returned the pure white comb to my bosom.
This time Halfdan took out his own comb, and I stroked my long-grown beard.
"I don't think they'll come. There's a great mountain range on that side, so their movement would be slow, and Italy has its own circumstances. I've heard that they will be fighting a big battle next year against those turbaned ones in the south."
"The turbaned ones..."
And besides, would the weakening of West and East Frankia really be bad news for Ludovicus of Italy?
"Hh-etschoo! Sniff- Next spring is going to be quite busy."
Sigurd, pulling his furs even closer, set down his bowl, which he had scraped clean, and wore a satisfied smile, saying, 'Now I can finally live.'
"Hamburg... Hamburg."
Halfdan's hand was stroking his own hair, but his mind was far away, directed toward that southern stronghold.
We three brothers sat at the long table for a while, each organizing our thoughts, until Sigurd started to doze off, his head drooping repeatedly. We then brushed ourselves off and rose from our seats.
*****
"Fylkir. These two are called Hapala and Letto respectively. They are the greatest chieftains of the Sámi and Suomi."
My father-in-law had come personally for the sake of Inga, who had difficulty getting about.
"Well met, Fylkir! I am Jarl Hapala!"
"It is an honor, Fylkir! I am Letto!"
"Jarl Eret, Jarl Hapala, Jarl Letto. Welcome. Árós welcomes the warriors of the Sámi and Suomi."
Beside my beaming father-in-law stood the Sámi chieftain, a man who was roughly half-Norseman, with iron armor and furs handsomely mixed together, and the Suomi chieftain, who looked more like a hunter, standing side by side.
Even though my face was full of the warm, hospitable smile I put on for guests, they seemed somehow uncomfortable. It occurred to me that if the person who holds the livelihood of one's household and tribe is standing right before your eyes, that's a perfectly natural reaction, so I quickly ushered the esteemed guests inside.
"Let us go inside. I have prepared a banquet, and I hope it will be to the liking of both you Jarls. Hahaha."
"It is very much to my liking! This is truly a feast fit for the gods!"
"From the very moment I set foot here, I felt as though I had already entered the realm of the gods...! Truly, this must be the greatest and most beautiful city in the North!"
"..."
They hadn't even set foot in the banquet hall yet.
'Wait, this atmosphere... I've felt this somewhere before, sometime. Where was it?'
Feeling an indescribable sense of discomfort, I kept my 'brightly smiling mask' on, turned around first to guide the way, and the people of Árós, while gawking at the new guests, never ceased to show their respect toward me.
"Are they Sámi and Suomi friends? What brings them here?" "Isn't Drottning Inga of Sámi origin? Are those her family?" "So are we holding another festival, then!?" Leaving the people's conjectures and murmuring behind, we soon climbed the western hill and went straight into the longhouse.
I had already instructed the servants, so foods familiar to the Sámi and Suomi tribes—venison, fish, wheat bread, and beer—were prepared.
On one side of the table, I also placed a few exotic foods like olives and wine out of consideration for the handful of curious Sámi and Suomi escorts.
I figured I'd observe their reaction and, if it seemed alright, I'd sell those goods to them.
"Father!"
"Inga! Haha! My daughter!"
When we were about halfway up the low hill, Inga's figure came into view at the entrance of the longhouse, her belly noticeably rounded. The way she greeted her father, whom she hadn't seen in a long time, with a bright smile filled with joy, combined with her indigo dress, made her seem to glow radiantly.
My father-in-law, who had run over energetically, soon reached Inga, and they carefully embraced and exchanged all sorts of stories.
'I should have visited him sooner.'
Given my position, it felt like I had less and less time to pay attention to my surroundings.
Resolving that I would certainly visit my father-in-law's pasture once Inga had given birth and recovered somewhat, I did not intrude upon the affectionate moment between father and daughter and instead led the Jarls into the longhouse.
"Sniff- ooh-"
"Fylkir, my mouth is watering already!"
Due to the enclosed nature of the longhouse's architecture, the pleasant smell of food filled the olfactory sense with violent intensity, and the Sámi and Suomi guests could not maintain their composure.
"Hahaha! We cannot keep our guests waiting, so please, eat. We have prepared in abundance. Let the escorts in the back also partake of the food with me."
"Thank you, Fylkir!"
"Yess! Understood!"
The Sámi and Suomi warriors, all merriment and delight, sat down at the chairs simultaneously and eyed the meat first. Their freewheeling behavior drew a brief laugh from me, but I took it to mean that they trusted me and the North Sea that much.
And so, for a time, gathered around the large central hearth, we indulged in the soft venison, beer, bread, and a few glasses of wine without any ceremony.
Jarl Hapala, who had, befitting his large frame, polished off a huge hindquarter of deer in an instant, expressed his gratitude to me.
"Fylkir Helgi! Never in my life have I received so grand a welcome! I, along with all the tribespeople of the Sámi, am deeply grateful from the bottom of my heart for the goodwill you have shown us this winter, Fylkir!"
"What have I done? I merely shared what was surplus. I received valuable furs in return, so it is not something to thank me for."
This was not false modesty but the truth. It was something I hadn't quite grasped from a 21st-century perspective, but in this time and place, the value of furs was like that of water or bread.
Meaning that without it, a human being simply could not survive.
Though durable, fur was ultimately a consumable resource. For the people of the North Sea who had to prepare new furs every winter to endure the extreme cold of Northern Europe, the more furs the better.
Originally, I had taken the furs with an eye toward exporting them to the Eastern Romans or the Khazars, but to my surprise, they were immediately used up entirely in Árós, Novgorod, Beodricsworth in East Anglia, Lincoln in Mercia, and Jorvik in Northumbria.
However, as if he did not think so, Hapala shook his head vehemently and denied my modesty.
"That is not so, Fylkir. If you ask the people up north, 'Would you rather freeze to death or starve to death?', every single one would choose to freeze. That is how terrifying hunger is. Even knowing our circumstances well, you did not drive down the price but instead provided generously. Is this not the quality of a great chieftain—no, of a leader?"
"It is!"
At Hapala's subtly delivered words, Letto, having swallowed the mouthful of food he had been eating, immediately chimed in his agreement.
It was only then that I realized what the déjà vu that had been pricking at my senses was.
'This... feels just like when I first went to Novgorod.'
That was how Oleg and Rurik had led me around by the nose.
As if he perceived my silence as a positive sign, Hapala roughly wiped his greasy mouth with the fur of his sleeve and spoke to me with a resolute tone, bowing his head.
"Jarl Eret has long acted as an elder of our Sámi people and has devoted himself to trade with the Svear. Now that you have taken the daughter of such a man as your wife, the Sámi and the Svear can no longer be considered strangers! Please, accept us, Fylkir! The Sámi will do whatever you command!"
"Accept us as well! The Suomi feel the same!"
Following the two chieftains who had abruptly bowed their heads, the Sámi and Suomi warriors who had been enjoying the feast just moments before bowed their heads one by one like dominoes falling.
"Please accept us!"
'No—'
Was this a direct offer of subjugation? Surrender? A relinquishment of sovereignty? I didn't know what to name this display. Watching it, I suddenly felt my throat go dry.
*****
The Dnieper. Or the Dnipro River. The midway point between Novgorod and Cherson.
The front line of trade between the North Sea and the Eastern Romans, the North Sea city of Kyiv.
Jarl Haskuld, who had enshrined the sword the Fylkir had personally bestowed upon him on the highest wall of his longhouse, could not tell if the wine was going up his nose or into his ears.
Haskuld himself belonged to that category of people who clearly know their own strengths and limitations. In Haskuld's view, he himself had no extraordinary power like the Fylkir, no cold, sharp rationality like Dir, and no magnanimity or boldness like Rurik.
However, what he did possess was sociability.
The Jarl of Kyiv—a position where one simply needed to quietly lay the groundwork upon the grand design the Fylkir was unfolding.
In that position, building friendships with the leaders of the powerful forces that surrounded him on all sides was the greatest achievement of Haskuld's life.
But today, that achievement was in crisis.
"So, this is what Boris's son looks like."
"No matter that they are scoundrels who roll around in the steppe with horse dung, is this not utterly lacking in decorum?"
The two nomads, who for some reason were communicating haltingly in the Northern tongue, were called Árpád and Vladimir, respectively.
Heirs of the Magyars and Bulgarians.
They could surely understand each other's speech, yet the fact that they were using the Northern tongue so pointedly was clearly meant for Haskuld to hear.
The name value of the man grinning beside Haskuld, who was dripping with cold sweat, was even greater.
"Now, now. There is nothing more awkward for a host than his guests quarreling among themselves. You two heroes would do well to calm yourselves for a moment."
Basiliscuianos, the strategos of Cherson, was present in this place.