17.
17.
It was my fault for expecting anything from barbarians.
Edmund, whose expression had shifted to just that, asked me once more, just in case.
"See here, Jarl Helgi. What on earth do you mean? Do you not wish to live? Are you threatening me now?!"
Edmund seemed to have a temper that flared rather easily. Or perhaps he was a man of immense pride.
The moment he heard something he didn't like, his face, which had been pale, instantly flushed red. The King of East Anglia looked ready to jab a finger at me had there been any onlookers around.
"Look around you, Edmund Cyning. I assure you, from the deepest part of my heart, I do not doubt that you will fight honorably against us to the end. But I urge you to look around."
Urging my horse a little further forward, I left my left hand holding the reins and stretched out my right hand, gesturing once from the left end of the wall spread out before me to the right end.
"Look at these people, Edmund. It is a fact you know, as do I, that those catapults cannot smash your walls. However, until the moment what we hurl ceases to fall, these good people of Beodericsworth will have to worry day and night about what flies over their heads...! And if they are unlucky, they will die!"
In truth, that was a wrong statement. To somewhat commit the error of hasty generalization, there were no good people in 800s Europe. Given the chance, everyone would turn into a plunderer. And we didn't have that much ammunition to hurl anyway. It's not like there was a quarry nearby...
"But the situation will only grow more dire as time goes on! For the moment we finally decide to scale the walls and break down the gate, the majority of those beyond these walls will surely perish! And that will include your name as well, Edmund!"
Like a judge delivering a verdict, my definitive pronouncement was immediately met with a rebuttal from Edmund, but his voice was somehow devoid of force, having lost its previous vigor.
"...Yet those who follow the Lord do not yield to all manner of trials, Jarl Helgi."
"Then I shall not ask you to kneel. I will send you and all those who follow you on your way. As you know, what I, my brothers, and the army of the Northmen desire is to capture and kill Ælla, the Cyning of Northumbria! So leave this place with me and go anywhere. And when the day comes that our vengeance is complete, let us speak of this land again."
This was the matter Ivar, Sigurdeu, and Sigebryht had discussed together. To negotiate, for a start. Because we couldn't swallow all of East Anglia with just two thousand or twenty-five hundred men.
So, let us buy time, for now. Until the main force arrives.
In the calm air that settled once more after I finished speaking, Edmund turned his head and slowly looked upon the people standing on the wall. From left to right. The eyes looking only at him.
Then, shutting his eyes tightly, he spoke in a weary voice, as if it were a great effort.
"Jarl Helgi. I need some time to think. Can you grant me that time?"
"Of course. When dawn breaks tomorrow, I will stand in this place again. Seutorolpeu, we return."
"Yes! Jarl Helgi!"
As I turned my horse's head without hesitation and advanced toward the Northmen who were staring at this place, lined up in a row beneath the crimson-dyed sunset, countless possibilities arose in my mind.
'The moment they met us in the field with a hastily assembled force, the fate of East Anglia was as good as sealed. Where will you go, Edmund? Mercia to the west? Wessex? The moment you do, even the last remaining people of East Anglia will curse your name. If not, the marshlands of Norfolk? Dereham? Elmham?'
It didn't matter where. The Eorls of the eastern coast had already turned to us, and it wouldn't take long for the other regions to follow suit. All that remained for Edmund were a few strong towns with monasteries.
East Anglia was effectively finished.
'Choose, Edmund. For I have given you a chance.'
To die gloriously, or to live quietly.
*****
That evening, I drank plenty of ale—no, something fermented from grain. Once again, aside from mead, I couldn't consider it proper drink.
In any case, saying I had toiled for my diplomatic efforts(?), Ivar and Sigurdeu kept pressing the fermented grain drink on me, claiming they were looking after their younger brother. The result was that I filled my belly only with water.
Still, the evening, which confirmed the bond between brothers, passed pleasantly. As promised, the next day around dawn, I once again took Seutorolpeu and a few guards and rode my horse beneath the grey walls of Beodericsworth.
[Chirp chirp— Chirp chirp—]
When we had first bustled about building a camp around here, every beast in the area had held its breath. But now, perhaps the creatures had become quite accustomed to human activity, they went about their business without a care. Like the nameless bird singing diligently somewhere in the woods behind me.
'Beautiful.'
Beodericsworth at dawn held a strange beauty. A rectangular wall seated upon a low hill in a field that seemed like a perfect blend of wilderness and grassland.
The artificial structure, colored like dark clouds, blended surprisingly well with the surrounding landscape, standing as if it had been there from the very beginning.
But such appreciation and leisure were truly only for the likes of the high and mighty Jarls, Eorls, Konungrs, and Cyninges. Right behind me, Seutorolpeu and the guards, their eyes glaring fiercely in all directions as they matched the horse's unhurried pace, were filled to the brim with tension.
'To think such idle thoughts on a battlefield... I really have changed.'
I had already felt somewhat distant from my old self since the time I started butchering people like meat in a slaughterhouse, but now, the 21st century truly felt so faint and far away. Ah, beautiful memories! The memories of slaying minions in a PC bang!
"Jarl Helgi."
"Edmund Cyning."
Once again standing before the familiar gate, I exchanged a brief greeting with Edmund, who looked down at me just as he had yesterday. Beside him stood Hunta, the former prisoner who had returned to his lord's side after a touching reunion, but the expressions on both Edmund and Hunta's faces were far from good.
'He must have agonized all night.'
Hunta had probably conveyed to his master many facts he had learned while living as a captive among the Northmen.
That we were a group composed solely of trained warriors, information regarding the brothers who led them... And the more he learned, the more it would have only confirmed the fact that they could not win if they fought us now.
And that we fully intended to cross those walls.
'Above all, the fact that Sigebryht and the Eorls of the eastern coast have turned must sting more than anything.'
The heartless 9th century. There were few men who would keep an oath of fealty with a blade held to their throat.
"You seemed to have sufficient time. Have you reached a conclusion?"
Since we had already crossed blades with each other, did we really need to draw out long inquiries about each other's well-being? With that thought, I thrust the question directly at him.
"... Though you are a heathen, how could I possibly refuse the proposal of one who truly understands honor. However, my foolish heart cannot shake off its concern for the safety of the people of Beodericsworth and their property, so I wish to receive your promise once more."
"I swear upon my father's name, and upon Odin's name, and further upon my own name and the names of Ivar and Sigurdeu. Edmund Cyning, no harm shall come to you and the people of Beodericsworth, nor shall any property be touched. However..."
"However?"
Still, our warriors had been wounded and killed. I couldn't just end things after receiving only one city, could I? Let me be a little greedy.
"I shall not touch the people, and will allow you to depart with goods that can be loaded onto ten carts. So, confirm for me that all the horses in this area are our property."
We can't live as foot-sloggers forever. Let's try raising some cavalry of our own.
"... So be it."
'With their lives in my grasp, all I want is horses?' That thought seemed to surface on Edmund's face. He probably thought I would demand something more humiliating...
At the very least, my sincere wish was to conclude this conflict peacefully. I had no hobby of insulting others, nor did I feel any satisfaction in forcing someone to their knees. How wonderful would it be if we could solve problems while smiling at each other?
"Then I shall trust that all aggressive actions will cease from this point on."
"From this moment, we will unstring our drawn bows and lay down our spears. You may trust in that."
"Waaaaah—!"
"Lord! Thank you! Thank you!"
The moment the representatives of the two factions reached a peace agreement, a resounding cheer erupted from beyond the walls.
And yet, my face and Edmund's did not change in the slightest. We simply stared calmly into each other's eyes.
'Those eyes are not the eyes of a man who has given up.'
I sincerely hoped Edmund would not make a foolish decision. But if we were to meet again on the battlefield next time, I would not let him live.
...And it was clear that Edmund was having a similar thought about me. Because this was the business of those who 'lead people,' something only they could understand.
*****
The interior of Beodericsworth was even more beautiful than the exterior.
These Angles, though converted to Christianity, had left traces of their old gods everywhere. Some strangely familiar geometric patterns, the appearance of houses and buildings, the large tree planted squarely in the center of the village.
They were no different from Northmen who had merely changed their skin.
Perhaps because some sense of cultural affinity(?) still remained, there were surprisingly few people who chose to follow Edmund and leave.
For one, as Sigebryht had said with a cynical voice, Edmund's dynasty, which had submitted to Wessex and Mercia, was not particularly popular.
And it also helped that the warriors, their need for plunder and arson lessened thanks to the presence of a patron generously providing for them with Árós's astonishing resources and wealth, were increasingly transforming into something closer to the image of the 'disciplined army' I remembered.
Thus, the people of Beodericsworth returned to their homes amid the unease (regrettably, some of them would be distraught over their missing houses, but they would have to be satisfied with having saved their lives). The Northmen warriors separated the men who would stay inside the fortress from those who would stay outside, assessed the interior of the fortress,
and, being mindful of one another, entered a kind of social assimilation process.
Naturally, everyone was busy. The camp had to be reorganized, the horses had to be rounded up, and the situation—that the master ruling this place had changed—had to be explained to the farmers in remote areas who couldn't comprehend what was happening.
Who was going to do all this?
Thanks to this, Ivar, Sigurdeu, myself, and beneath us Guthrum, Hrolf, Sigurdeu's commanders—every single one of us was racking our brains.
"By Odin, good heavens, ruling with sword and axe is far easier on the head than this."
"There is a Thing here as well, but... since we've occupied it, it's now meaningless. We'll have to fill it with men suited to our taste. I'll have to summon Sigebryht."
In any case, such administrative work would only stretch on endlessly if we tried to grasp it all. Dealing with it was something that someone below me, not me, could do gradually. What was truly important right now was the complete stabilization of the supply route connecting this place to Rendlesham.
For this supply route would, after the winter, become the lifeline for the great army Björn would lead here.
'Come to think of it, half of the fourth month of summer has already passed.'
Thinking back, this summer seemed to have passed in a truly hectic blur. In Árós and Uppsala, were they now busy preparing for the festival wishing for a bountiful harvest? This year, we would have to offer a cow to Freyr.
Now that I thought about it, the cows here looked slightly different from the Korean cattle of the 21st century. Their bodies and horns were much larger, and they looked terribly fierce, but were actually very gentle creatures. (Aurochs)
'I wonder how Mother is doing.'
Thinking of Árós and Uppsala only made me more curious for no good reason. It wasn't exactly an age with a postal service, so news would probably only reach me when merchants traveled by sea.
'She must be well. She is a far stronger person than I am. I just need to do my job well.'
Soon, the leaves would turn, the pure white snow would fall, and then new buds would sprout again.
And with the spring wind, Ælla of Northumbria would surely die.