188. Hooves and Horns (2).
188. Hooves and Horns (2).
"Hu-hoo~? Take a look at this? These bastards truly don't know a thing, do they?"
Dorestad of Frisia.
The City's Master, whose appointed role was to guide the Norsemen coming down from the north toward West Frankia or East Frankia, or to reach a suitable agreement and send them back, read the parchment laid before him with a most intrigued expression.
Though he went by the utterly ridiculous name of Hrorekus, in the end Hrorek was a Norseman.
The Frankish kings, who displayed an astonishing rejection of anything outside their own culture and religion, always regarded Hrorek as little more than a 'Norse beast with a bit of sense.'
Since that wasn't exactly wrong, Hrorek now perused without much resistance the Latin letter, written in the simplest words possible, along with the tiny Norse translation appended below like fine print.
"Uncle. What does it say?"
Beside him, Hrodulf, the co-ruler of Dorestad and Frisia and Hrorek's nephew, tilted his head in curiosity over his uncle's reaction, but Hrorek, deep in thought, had no leisure to answer.
'Ludovicus of East Frankia seems to have sensed something, but it doesn't look like he knows exactly what is happening. Now, isn't this an opportunity?'
Through this war, the North Sea would gain much, and Lothar would obtain the divorce he so desperately desired.
The wicked Franks would be punished, and the good(?) Norsemen would receive gifts. Shouldn't Hrorek and Hrodulf of Dorestad also secure something for themselves?
"Uncle...?"
Perhaps worried about Hrorek, whose face had been distorted this way and that by a greedy smile, Hrodulf's voice trembled slightly as he quietly inquired.
Having returned to the real world, Hrorek looked at his beloved nephew with that same wicked expression.
"Hrodulf! How much do you know about the Weser River and the waterways beyond it!?"
"Huh? Why, I know them like the lines carved into my palm. How many times have Uncle and I roamed those very lands together?"
"That's exactly it! The moment the attack on Hamburg begins, those Frankish bastards in Saxony won't be able to gather their wits! If we show up then, pretending to be reinforcements? No, if we lie in wait beforehand and strike Verden in step with the North Sea's movements?"
At Hrorek's suddenly excited words, Hrodulf furrowed his brow for a moment, ran some calculations, and then replied in a calm tone.
"Hmm— one of two things. Either the Franks marching to relieve Hamburg will turn around and come to catch us, or they'll leave us be for now and head to Hamburg."
"They will never leave Verden alone. My nephew. They'll have no choice but to divide their forces."
Hrorek's assertion was so brimming with confidence it was almost unfamiliar, so Hrodulf could only suppress his doubts and send back a questioning look that asked, 'Why?'
"Nephew. What is Verden? The place where the Saxons were massacred. To the Franks, it is nothing short of a symbol of victory. Moreover, Verden and Hamburg are positions that guard each other's backs. If one falls, the other is easily toppled."
"And if things go wrong, we simply withdraw for a while, yes?"
"Exactly."
"I'm already growing curious about the faces of old Ludovicus and young Ludovicus."
Now Hrodulf, too, wore a wicked smile, following his uncle's example.
"I don't know for certain, but it will be a sight to see. This shiver— it's the first I've felt since the days Ragnar sailed up the Seine."
Beyond the rulers of Frisia, who were lost in excitement and anticipation, the warriors could be seen busily moving armor, helmets, swords, spears, and shields.
Upon their longships, which they were loading with cargo, there was carved a symbol that seemed to appear in this land for the first time, alongside the Norsemen's distinctive dragon heads.
The Goddess of Death smiled brightly and bestowed her blessing.
*****
When the Magyars were already riding hard and Frisia was stirring.
The North Sea, having finalized all its plans based on the intelligence Lothar continued to supply, at last began to move.
The targets: Rouen in West Frankia. Hamburg in East Frankia. And the entire territory of the Obotrites.
After achieving the first objectives, they would apply additional pressure to instill a sense of crisis in the Frankish lords, compelling them to plead for help from Lotharingia in ever more desperate tones.
From that point onward, everything would hinge solely on Lothar's abilities.
Lothar, too, had surely already more or less finished making his own calculations for profit by moving Frisia and his personal holdings.
Before we knew it, time had passed the fourth month of winter and entered the fifth month. (The end of February in the solar calendar.)
When the farmers in Åros were getting into full swing with sowing, the warriors finished their preparations to board the ships.
"Inga, Sigmarr. Shall we set off now?"
Facing the wind thick with the scent of spring, I— the Fylkir of the North Sea, the head of one household— was bidding farewell to my lovely wife and to the son so precious I could put him in my eye and feel no pain (...).
"Helgi. Don't worry about us. We'll be getting along well with the two mothers. My father, too, has decided to stay here until winter comes, so we'll truly be fine. Isn't that right, Sigmarr?"
"Bu- bue- bu-"
Astoundingly, it had already been well over two full months since the little fellow was born. My son, a super-great child and a super-genius from birth, naturally drew the expectations and attention of everyone around him.
Remembering the lesson from my past life that excessive expectations ruin a child, I had been worried, but Sigmarr began to surpass those expectations instead, as if to say to me, 'Father! Do not worry! Your child is a super-genius!'
He began to speak, recognized people, distinguished voices, out of nowhere started rolling his body over, and now he was even gradually crawling after Bok-sil.
My birth mother was utterly delighted, saying it was like seeing my own childhood again, but seeing the reactions of the other nursemaids or my stepmother Áslaug, it was clearly far from normal.
But well, so what?
He's my son.
There was no way the son of Helgi Ragnarsson could be ordinary.
In truth, having to some extent given up on an ordinary life, I was simply thankful that this little one would grow up healthy and upright. Now, as if he understood I had to go somewhere far away and for a long time, this adorable child was forcing himself to hold back his tears, and I smiled as I stroked his cheek.
"Sigmarr. The fellow with the softest cheeks in this world. You must eat well and take care until I return, understand?"
"Bu- ah- aah- oo-"
In his childish language, he earnestly said something to me and stretched out his short, plump arms— chak!
With a bright smile, I took Sigmarr from Inga, who had bravely masked her worries, and, with him pressed close to me, slowly walked toward the sea.
"Captains of each longship, report! Captains, report—!"
"Captain Eiríkr! They're calling for reports!"
"Wait! Just let me finish this one bit!"
"Check the knots one more time, and finish preparations to depart at any moment—"
As I descended the low, gentle slope toward the quayside, the great longships filled Åros' docks, replacing the ceaseless stream of merchant vessels that normally came and went.
Their size had now increased a little, allowing them to carry more cargo and people, but even so, sixty men was still the limit. For a vessel that must go up and down rivers, the beam had widened only enough to maintain stability, while the length fore and aft had grown a bit more.
Yet even that was enough to make a man's heart swell, and it was plainly visible to the eye that not only little Sigmarr but even the warriors were giddy with excitement.
In particular, my own longship had not been built with direct entry into rivers in mind from the start, so it truly flaunted a monstrous frame and boasted an overwhelming capacity of one hundred souls.
Since it was the ship I rode, it was sturdy and high. Moreover, León had interfered in the design, going so far as to wage a froth-spitting war of words with the stubborn masters of the shipyard, and because he had added a ram-headed dragon prow, boarding ladders, and even a scorpion ballista up top, in this era it could probably be regarded as having the performance of a space battleship.
Anyway, we had also applied the proper organization we had imported along with various odds and ends from the Eastern Roman Empire to our army.
Fundamentally, our North Sea army, which used a single longship as its basic unit, organized a band of forty as one squad. A captain commanding three squads, one hundred and twenty men, was called a Karl, and those commanding one thousand two hundred men were called a Jarl.
Something like adding a dash of innovation to existing titles? It looked like no great matter, but surprisingly, field men like Rafn and Stórolf were already full of praise, saying the efficacy of the organization was tremendous.
"Fylkir Helgi."
"Rafn, you've worked hard."
"Fylkir Helgi!"
"Stórolf, I'm counting on you this time as well."
Stórolf, who was bustling about shouting here and there with overflowing energy, and Rafn, who was growing more and more like Björn with each passing year, greeted me in a composed voice.
[Chak!]
I stood before my guard, who all saluted me in unison, and with my gaze fixed on Sigmarr, I slowly turned my body so that Inga's figure entered my field of view, overlapping.
"Sigmarr."
I knew well that telepathy was, in truth, nonsense, but I believed there was something that connected me to my son. That a single moment of eye contact could share emotions deeper and greater than a lengthy note of 7,500 characters.
Was it merely my own delusion?
"Inga."
Sigmarr slowly left my arms and was held in his mother's embrace.
His brave, little eyes were brimming with tears, and his tiny, delicate lips were pressed tight, furrowing his fine brow.
"Sigmarr. You should say goodbye to Father, shouldn't you? Come now, 'have a safe trip~' Alright?"
That expression was so very like Inga. I found myself smiling without realizing it.
"Inga, Sigmarr. I'll be back before you know it."
[Sseuk-]
I held the two people who were now most precious to me in a tight embrace, and then without hesitation I climbed aboard the ship.
My guards followed behind me, and soon the sound of horns resounded all at once from here and there.
[Buuuung- Buuung-]
[Buuuuuu-]
"Þorbjörn, let us depart."
"Aye! Fylkir! We sail—! All hands to your positions!"
"All hands to your positions—!"
"Cast off those lines there and take the oars!"
"Take care the oars don't clash with the ships alongside!"
[Kkiiik- Swooosh- Kkiiik- Swooosh-]
"One! Two! One! Two!"
With the oars moving dynamically to Þorbjörn's vigorous cadence, my longship slowly backed its massive hull out.
Beyond the great dragon head, the sight of Åros gradually shrank, and the figures of my two mothers, Inga, and Sigmarr, standing atop a high hill watching us, lingered in my sight.
[Buuuuuuung—!]
A long-drawn horn blast left its trace, and my flagship, which had reversed in a gentle curve, now slowly parted the waves and moved forward.
"Njörðr be with us! Unfurl the sails!"
[Peolleok- Swooosh- Swooosh-]
After a few powerful strokes of the oars, the ship soon caught the wind and slowly began to pick up speed, and I kept my eyes fixed on Åros until the moment Inga and Sigmarr were no longer visible.
Right after, the column of longships that streamed out of Åros was sent off loudly by the long line of merchants and farmers stretching from Åros to the coast of Uppsala, and by my subordinates— Hrólfr, Erik, Baldr, and the rest— who would fulfill their roles on the home front.
"Helgi Ragnarsson! Helgi Helasson—!"
"May the protection of Týr and Thor be with you!"
"Farewell! Warriors!"
Halfdan and Sigurðr, along with Konungr Bagsecg, would have already crossed the Dane wall by now. The jarls of the east, including my brothers, would surely do their part.
I needed only to do my own part.
'Wait, Carolus.'
On this day, from Åros, one hundred ships and four thousand warriors moved as one, following me.
*****
East Frankia. Saxony. Hamburg.
The fortress that seized by the throat the Norsemen to the north and held the leash of the Obotrites to the east.
The brothers Bruno and Otto, the masters of that place, could not help but let their mouths fall open at the unfamiliar situation they were experiencing for the first time in their lives.
"Send word to Louis of Paderborn... that the Norsemen have come down, and that we need help."
Before the solid walls of Hamburg, a great host of Norsemen was pressing down along the narrow road.
What was even more dreadful was that to the left, a line of longships was descending in formation.
"Yes! Dux Bruno!"
Otto, Bruno's younger brother, stepped into the space left vacant by the adjutant who had hurriedly departed.
"Dux, the Imperator was right. Theirs is no army for mere plunder."
At the reliable voice of his younger brother, which did not tremble even in the face of fear, the tangled thoughts in Bruno's mind slowly began to clear.
"Indeed, Otto. It seems they desire this Hamburg for themselves."
It was a laughable matter.
Had they already forgotten? What had become of Saxony when it opposed the Franks?
"The sons of Liudolf cannot be broken by those barbarians. Is that not so, Otto?"
"Of course, brother."
Courage filled the brothers' voices, but in their eyes, which revealed their inner depths, a thread of fear flickered now and then.
☆☆☆☆☆Reference Material☆☆☆☆☆
Public domain, a replica of the Gokstad ship.
Bjørn Christian Tørrissen, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
http://www.gaia.no/, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Colgill, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
This is the largest surviving longship, the Gokstad ship!
Isn't the curve just so beautiful? I stared at it as if spellbound...! Length 23.8 meters, beam 5 meters.
It really does look like a dragon...!!!
And on top of that...
Carole Raddato from Frankfurt, Germany, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
The Eastern Roman Empire's main warship, the dromon.
With a spoonful of León's tinkering added lol
The idea was to take just the merits of both ships and combine them— skipping over it with a very simple explanation lol
unknown, 13th-century author, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Finally, a painting of the Eastern Roman navy repelling an attack by Rus' friends from the sea!
The Rus' friends giving up on everything and performing a naked dogeza? A naked dive (...) is quite striking.