213. Blood Is Thicker Than Water (3).
213. Blood Is Thicker Than Water (3).
"Yaaa!"
"Yiyaa!"
[Chang!]
The swords that they simultaneously brought down toward each other's heads, fitting their pure purpose, met midway and let out a pleasant metallic sound.
"Hyup!"
"Hup!"
This time, they twisted their wrists from the same downward angle, aiming a diagonal rising slash. The two swords that met midway again let out a horrible scraping noise as they became the fulcrum where the two men pitted their strength.
[Ssreung- sseureureung- kkigeuk- kkigeuk-]
With a chilling sound, the two warriors glared at each other's eyes from a distance so close that their noses might touch.
The one who first thrust with his left shield was Robert.
[Kung!]
"Ugh!"
[Hwoong! Chang!]
After striking the opponent's chest with the shield's edge, a downward slash. Though it was the most basic of basics that any warrior who handled sword and shield should be able to perform, when executed by a master's hand, it became a technique that was hard to block even if you knew it was coming.
But Hásteinn was a man who had lived his whole life earning his bread with sword and axe.
Instead of blocking Robert's sword with his own shield, he tilted Örn's sword upward just enough to catch Robert's sword, then hurled the shield from his left hand to the ground.
"Uryaaaaah!"
Then, grabbing Robert's Örn-hand with both hands and lifting it, he shoved forward, forcing Robert to reel backward.
[Gguk-!]
"Uwaaaaaaagh!"
[Hwik-]
Hásteinn's brutal elbow on his Örn side naturally crushed Robert's face, and a long scar over his thick features split open, sending red blood streaming down along with his scream.
In that instant when Robert's resistance weakened, Hásteinn casually hooked his leg and tripped Robert.
Finally, Robert found himself subdued with both arms pinned and lying beneath Hásteinn.
"Uwaaaaaah-!"
[Kung!]
"Guugh-"
The terrible pain, the suffocating sensation of his arms being bound, and on top of that, the fury that another rival, Hásteinn, was looking down on him when he had not yet killed Salomon—
Utterly howling like a beast,
Baring his pure white teeth in his flushed red face, he tried to bite into Hásteinn's neck, but Hásteinn, glaring down coldly with his green eyes flashing from behind his characteristically Norse face-guard, immediately headbutted Robert's forehead.
"Guuh- uh- uwaaaaaaaa!!!"
[Kung!]
Once more, it was Robert, reawakened by pain, clinging to his fading consciousness to bite his enemy, while Hásteinn's helmet hammered down on Robert's forehead like a hammer on an anvil.
[Kung!]
"Ugh!"
[Kung!]
"Geureuk-"
[Kung!]
"..."
After a few tussles, Robert's consciousness finally flew away to the other side, and what remained of his senses, thin as a thread, let his last effort escape his lips through his dimming vision and fog-filled mind.
"O... O..."
"I understand, Robert. I will send it to your son Odo."
How Hásteinn himself had understood that faint sound, like a fish moving underwater, he did not quite know.
It might have been thanks to his extremely heightened senses, or perhaps some sort of communion with the old foe before him.
But all of that was now over. Quickly finishing him would be the proper courtesy for a warrior like Robert.
[Seuk- Puk!]
Without hesitation, Hásteinn drew the dagger hung on his Örn side and thrust it into Robert's neck and pulled it out.
"Heuuuu-"
Unable to form proper words, or perhaps even to feel the pain anymore, Robert slowly released a breath heavy with the metallic taste of blood as the light faded from his eyes.
Watching that sight, Hásteinn, amid the desperate battle where Neustrian warriors howled and charged from all sides while Norsemen struggled to hold them back with all their might, calmly reached out his hand and closed Robert's vacant eyes.
"Robert. Do you hear the Valkyrie's call? I hope you deliver your message well to your God."
Ignoring the throbbing pain in his ribs where Robert's shield had struck him, Hásteinn gathered the sword that Robert still clutched in his hand and folded his arms together over it.
'A proper funeral will be his son's responsibility. Wait here for a little while, Robert.'
For I would soon send companions for your journey.
Grasping the discarded sword and shield, Hásteinn rose to his feet and then silently stepped toward the howls filled with grief, rage, terror, and pain.
*****
At the western gate of Rouen. A field a little away from the stench-filled moat.
I was waiting with my brothers, Refil, Stórolf, Guthrum, and Leofric, for the Emperor of West Frankia.
Djur, who was busily organizing a port village half a day west of here on the lower Seine, had summarized for me the news that was breaking all across Europe:
The front at Hamburg and beyond was interesting, and the movements of Árpád—who had been harassing Southwestern Bavaria in East Frankia and then abruptly declared a northern advance—were hard to predict.
'In fact, that was even better. Eight thousand nomadic cavalry who didn't know where they might strike next were practically a natural disaster.'
Wasn't this why initiative on the battlefield was so important? If one had the capability, one could always move a step ahead of the enemy's main force and inflict one-sided damage.
And Árpád seemed to have ample capability for it.
Next, I had heard the news some time ago that Rurik and Oleg of Novgorod had launched their ships, but no word had yet arrived that they had reached their destination of Lübeck.
Had some problem occurred? I had heard they had launched one hundred new-type longships that could carry fifty men without difficulty and, with a bit of clever Tetris-like cargo arrangement, could even transport a horse with ease—what could be the problem? Had they perhaps met with a sudden storm?
The seas of the North Sea were famous for their roughness, so I couldn't help but be worried.
But no matter how much I worried here, I could not offer any help while facing the army of West Frankia, which, though it had suffered heavy losses, was still thriving.
I had no choice but to swallow my unease and trust in Rurik and Oleg. It was just that they were overshadowed by me; those two were not the sort to wander lost or get beaten up anywhere (?) either.
In any case, the situation in East Frankia was set to become even more interesting with the emergence of the Magyar and Frisian variables, and the Obotrite tribal confederation next door to Hamburg was scheduled to be attacked by Novgorod's flying column.
To the Imperator-Thors of West Frankia and East Frankia, this would be a dreadful tale, but it did not end there.
Did the rulers of Italy and the Eastern Roman Empire have some debt of loyalty to repay to West Frankia and East Frankia, or any such noble obligation?
Nominally, the Emperor Ludovicus of Italy, who was the Augustus Imperator of all Frankish lands, would of course recognize and support Lothar's divorce and his legitimate(?) military action, and so would the Eastern Emperor Michael of Rome.
Behind that, there were undoubtedly all sorts of political, social, economic, and religious implications. But they were none of my business to know in detail.
What mattered to me was that, in the end, Lotharingia would move.
Whether or not the word "bastard" was to be attached before the name of Hugh, Lothar's son. That was apparently a far weightier issue than I had thought.
"Fylkir. Look, the Imperator of West Frankia comes."
Beside me, sunk deep in thought, Refil's quiet voice roused my mind.
Björn and Ivar, who had likewise been pondering something intently, gazed at the line of cavalry approaching from afar with crosses fluttering. Suthorolf and Guthrum, who had been distracted chasing bugs, and Leofric all straightened their postures as well.
"He comes at last. He ought to know that one more battle would fill the moat before Rouen to the brim."
At Ivar's cynical remark, I and the rest of our company all let out hollow laughs.
True to Ivar's words, the moat before Rouen no longer held even a trace of the oppressive pressure we had first felt. The current of the flowing water had slowed, and its depth seemed to have lowered—no doubt because the Frankish warriors slumbering beneath it could not bear to leave Rouen's fortress.
'They sank in wearing heavy armor, so I suppose that's only natural.'
Along with the thought that we would have to bury the moat outright to deal with that, the faces of the individual cavalrymen approaching at last from the distant north came clearly into my eyes.
Of course, the names of West Frankia's nobles were no concern of mine, so even seeing their faces, I could not tell who was who. But merely by observing their expressions, I could roughly guess in which direction today's conference would flow.
'Their hearts are not yet broken. Still, seeing how their faces are uniformly cautious and tense, it is clear they find us an awkward foe to face.'
[Dugu- dug- duguk- dagak- Dagadak- Dagadak-]
The West Frankian cavalry halted at a distance close enough that a hand-axe could well fly and reach them. At their head, mounted on a pure white horse and wearing a helmet engraved with a laurel wreath, was Carolus.
After a brief standoff, the two groups, having sufficiently fought with their eyes, slowly approached until they came once more to a stop at a distance where a thrown shield could strike.
[Fururuk- furyuk-]
A space where the breath of the other side's horses could be heard, and even the sound of armor scraping was vivid.
I offered the greeting first.
"Imperator Karolus."
"Helgi Fylkir."
In the voices of the two leaders, there was no emotion such as contempt or hostility toward the other.
If my voice was one that calmly acknowledged the opponent, Carolus's voice was laced with a tone of admiration, as if seeing me anew.
Yet even such a trivial tone of voice would have been calculated by Carolus, so I attached no particular meaning to it.
"This man did not know well the strength of the North Sea and the Fylkir. Will you forgive my discourtesy, Fylkir Helgi?"
"Where is there any discourtesy? Matters have come to this, so we have merely contended with one another, that is all. The Frankish warriors fought honorably, so I shall grant you ample time to recover their bodies."
In truth, they had not fought honorably. They had been struck by catapults, struck again from the walls, and in the end, were caught by Thorstein and my cavalry's kiting, then drowned as they retreated.
But a word in season can settle a thousand debts. At my face-saving words, Carolus nodded, then turned his head and looked at Hincmar of Reims.
"Hincmar."
"Imperator...!"
Hincmar, the renowned bishop and powerful supporter of Carolus, could not lift his head under the Imperator's gaze full of concern. Guilt-ridden, he wore a somber expression.
Carolus, who had been silently watching that sight, briefly looked up at the brilliant blue sky and let out a low sigh.
Then, naturally lowering his head, he looked into my eyes and spoke in a grave tone.
"Fylkir Helgi. Of the two conditions you set forth, I cannot answer right now concerning the succession of Lothar."
Had he not been beaten enough yet?
The thought flashed through my mind, but in truth, he had indeed not been beaten enough yet, and it was also a thought that had no need to be voiced, so I silently focused on Carolus's continuing words.
"However, as for the matter of the fortress of Rouen, it seems we may be able to reach some point of agreement."
Carolus's gaze, leaving room open, briefly flicked toward Hincmar.
'An exchange of Hincmar and Rouen, is it.'
Of course, Carolus would have some other ulterior motive, but that was, as ever, none of my concern.
"The men of Reims and Hincmar, who rose up without a moment's hesitation in the face of danger to their brothers, were courageous souls rare even in our North Sea. I have admired their courage and the Imperator's magnanimity, so I shall hand over all the prisoners."
At my refreshingly straightforward answer, a light of relief settled upon Carolus's face.
"I thank you, Fylkir Helgi. I had originally meant to ask for a month's time to empty the fortress, but as the Fylkir seems to have no interest in haggling, I shall empty it for you within two weeks."
Two weeks.
"If you do so, no more blood will flow between West Frankia and the North Sea."
At the close of my words, the two rulers, wearing hospitable smiles, drew nearer and clasped each other's forearms.
[Teop-]
"Fylkir, in this world, most men are those who press their advantage and drive their opponent to the very end. But you have not done so. You can truly be called a terrifying man. To such a Fylkir, if I might offer one piece of presumptuous advice—how much do you trust Salomon of Brittany?"
For words delivered through a smile stretched full across his face, they were steeped in venom.
Yet I knew that Carolus's words were no mere crass scheme to sow internal discord. This man was genuinely offering me counsel.
Was he that satisfied with the outcome of the conference?
Nobles and royalty were peculiar beings, even among men who moved according to profit.
Were Salomon, Hásteinn, and Thorstein doing well at Le Mans? Could Salomon be satisfied with Le Mans? Were there no troubles within Brittany?
"I have heard that Robert of Le Mans fights alone and lonely. Should you not hasten to support him?"
I posed the question with a sense of gratitude to Carolus, who had given me new matters to worry over.
[Seuk-]
Releasing my clasped hand and tugging the reins, Carolus turned away, leaving a single word without a trace of expression.
"I will have to. Robert is a strong man. He will be able to hold out long enough."
'He means to use this opportunity to eliminate a powerful vassal.'
Of course, I did not voice this thought either. I merely gazed for a time at the receding back of Carolus as he spurred his white horse away.