246. Fools Think They Will Live Forever (4).
246. Fools Think They Will Live Forever (4).
As with most of the world in 868, our turban-wearing friends were enduring a period of upheaval comparable to a teenager's adolescence.
About a hundred years earlier, after the dynasty's name changed from Umayyad to Abbas and a brilliant golden age followed, that golden age was melting away in real time amidst blazing internal chaos. The turban-wearing friends in Egypt and Syria, and even in North Africa and al-Andalus, were growing sick of Abbas's turmoil and were beginning to entertain other thoughts.
The problem of slaves—a source of cheap labor and cheap, high-quality soldiers—was a deeply important issue for the turban-wearing friends. Muslims from Egypt, North Africa, and Syria sailed mainly aiming for the sweet coasts of the Eastern Roman Empire or southern Italy, while the Muslims around al-Andalus (Iberia) plundered the tempting southern shores of West Frankia or casually joined their neighboring Muslims' exciting raids on Italy.
That vast and profound history and world of piracy naturally bore the deep seal of the Emirs, the Muslim lords. For Muhammad I, the legitimate heir and fugitive of the Umayyad dynasty, the Emir of al-Andalus who was ever-watchfully plotting complete independence, stabbing the Franks in the backside was a matter of great consequence.
Charlemagne, that fake Roman scum's most vicious ruler, had received the imperial crown under the pretense of protecting the Roman Curia and immediately turned his blade upon the nearest Muslims, al-Andalus. And the result? He suffered a great setback in the region of Barcelona and retreated, but from then on, the Frankish emperors openly planted their influence along the northern coasts of al-Andalus and became a thorn in their side.
By now, nearly a hundred years had passed since the Umayyad dynasty, once masters of the entire Islamic world, had settled in this backwater al-Andalus.
The Catholic kingdom on the fringe (Asturias) was slowly expanding the strength it had patiently nurtured over a generation along the western Iberian coast (modern Portugal), while the damned local lords, with foreign enemies right in front of their eyes, thought only of stabbing one another for a single gold coin or a single silver coin and raising rebellions.
Thus, the news that West Frankia had suffered a crushing defeat in the north trickled into the ears of the ambitious Emir Muhammad I of Córdoba like a sweet nectar. The Muslim lord, who had previously been rather passive in raiding the southern coasts of France, now supported more active piracy to dig deeper into the wounds of the Umayyad's great foe, the Franks—
But, as chance would have it, a few warriors of the fervent Áli sailed farther out to sea while pursuing a few Frankish fishing boats. They charged at beings who looked a little different from Franks but were at least humans with similar eyes, noses, and mouths, and who were riding a rather shiny vessel that looked like it had seen quite a bit of silver. Charging at them was surely something that had not been in Muhammad I's plan.
"Allah!!!"
"Allahu Akbar!"
"Allah! Allah!!!"
[Sswaaaa- sswaaaa-]
The Muslim pirates, already thinking of binding those pale bastards tightly with ropes and presenting them to the descendant of the Prophet, the rightful ruler of the Muslims, and above all, their most important financial patron, poured strength into their oars while shrieking all sorts of bizarre sounds. Staring at the target drawing ever closer, they began to think something was wrong.
"What are those?"
"I don't know. They seem to be shouting 'Allah.' Is it someone's name?"
"Hey, put the horn down. They look like they're confident in a fight—just let them come."
[Seuk- Seueuk-]
"Allah!"
"Allah—hmm? Captain! Don't those bastards look strange?"
In this far-off sea where nothing could be seen but waves and sky all around, normally when weak fishermen saw a Muslim warship bearing down on them like mad in such a remote place, they would panic and somehow try to flee.
Why were those bastards just standing there blankly?
Man is a rational animal, and upon seeing something that defies reason, he will naturally pause to seek its cause.
But man is also an emotional animal, and the captain of the thirty-some Muslim pirates, already blinded by the prospect of plunder, bellowed at the subordinate who had dared to question the holy battle blessed by Allah.
"Ahmed! You weakling! Don't talk like a coward! If you've got strength to spare, put it into your oar! Allah is great! We go to claim the promised victory!"
"Yiaaaa!"
"Seize them all! We'll take their ship too!"
[Sswaaaa- cheolssak! Sswaaaa- cheolssak!]
"Look at those cowardly infidels! They stand still, not even thinking of running! Closer! Bring the ship closer! I'll cut them down with this sword myself! Allah—"
[Sswaee-aek-]
"—Ak!"
[Peok!! Kung!]
The captain of the Muslim pirates, whose eyes had turned bloodshot and who had been screaming at the top of his lungs. This deeply pious warrior who praised God to the end took a heavy javelin square in the center of his chest and slowly drew his last breath in the bosom of God, just as he had wished.
"Ghrk— ghk— cough! cough! hck! Hrrrr—"
[Sswaaaa- cheolssak!]
The seawater, which had sloshed over at just the right moment, washed away the blood welling up from the captain's mouth as he lay fallen.
His dimming eyes were filled far more with confusion at what had happened so instantaneously than with conviction in his god, but fortunately, the javelin that had flown with such uncanny accuracy swiftly cut short this warrior's pain.
And naturally, a body that loses its head in the blink of an eye will stiffen for a moment.
The Muslim pirates, who had been shouting the name of Allah with vigor and hungering for victory, stared blankly at the spectacle for a moment. If that was a mistake, then a mistake it was.
[Sswaee-aek- Sswaee-aaek- Peok! Peobeok! Peok!]
"Gah!"
"Urk!"
[Puk!]
This time, three javelins flew again. Two of them pierced the thigh of Ahmed, who had been rowing at the very front, and the throat of his comrade who had shared his hardships beside him.
"Aaaarrgh! Aaaaah!"
"Ghrk— eugh— ghk—"
Ahmed let out a scream, his hands trembling uncontrollably over his thigh, which burned as if seared with a searing brand, the agony jolting his senses wide awake. Beside him, a warrior whose eyes had already rolled back fell backward, clutching the javelin that had pierced his throat.
"For—forward! Row faster!"
"We'll kill those bastards! Avenge our brothers! Row!"
"Yaaaa!"
[Sswaee-aek- Sswaee-aaek! Peok!]
"Gak!"
"Iyaaa!"
[Sswaaaa- cheolssak! Sswaaaa-]
The two ships were now close enough to distinguish each other's faces.
When comparing the ships of these two different yet similar-looking civilizations, the Northmen's vessel was slimmer and lower, but thanks to the difference in stature of the men aboard, their eye levels were roughly the same.
"Aargh— aargh...!"
Every time the ship pitched, Ahmed felt as though Örn's thigh, into which the javelin was embedded, was being torn apart. Drenched in cold sweat and hovering near death, he took in the sight of the enemy with both eyes. Their number was roughly twenty. It was true they had come out to catch fish—nets and harpoons were visible on the boat—but for some reason, their hands held large square shields along with axes, hammers, and swords, and several even wore helmets with striking face guards.
'What in the world are those bastards...!'
What kind of fisherman in the world went out to catch fish carrying shields, weapons, and helmets!
These mad heathen bastards! The filthy bastards of Shayāṭīn (devils)!
The javelins that flew in immediately afterwards landed with precision on the ship, where there was absolutely no place to hide, and a few more brothers sank beneath the freezing seawater.
However, even though eight men, including the captain, were rendered incapable of fighting in an instant, there were still twenty-two seasoned warriors on this side. They were greater in number than the enemy, who appeared to be around twenty, and once they closed the distance, they would have the advantage, as their ship was much taller.
Clutching his thigh, Ahmed had such thoughts, his eyes and mind filled with resentment.
But the ensuing battle did not flow according to Ahmed's thoughts.
"Al-la-!!!"
"All of you, charge!!! Charge!!!!"
"Arrrrrrrrr-!"
The valiant warriors of Áli were the first to hurl themselves forward.
"Stinga (stab)!"
"Stinga!!"
[Puk! Pukpuk!]
"Keok!"
"Aak!"
"Draga (pull)!"
"Draga!!!"
[Chak!]
"Grruk-"
"Urk-"
"Yaaaaa!"
[Kung! Kukung kung!]
In a formation where they obliquely grazed past each other, the Muslims and Norsemen stood facing one another in a single line. The cowardly Norsemen hid their uselessly heavy bodies behind large shields, and naturally, the warriors of Áli, who hurled themselves forward swinging axes and swords above those shields, ended up skewered on spears in all their bravery, toppling over as blood streamed down, or sinking straight into the freezing sea.
"Push them back!"
"Purge all of these Shayāṭīn!"
"Forget capturing them! We kill all these enemies today!"
[Kung! Kung! Kung!]
Even on the precariously rocking ship, the sea bastards maintained their balance superbly as they entered a shoving match, and the longship gradually began to scream out under the weight of the Muslim warriors who threw themselves onto the Norsemen's unbelievably solid shield wall.
"Opinn (open)!"
"Opinn!!!"
"Yaa!"
"Tyr!"
[Kwang!]
With a sound of vigorous exertion, the Norsemen, who had kicked off the deck enough to make the ship lurch once as they shoved their shields outward in unison, thrust their spears as if moving as one body. The Muslims, skewered again like roasting meat, collapsed while letting out piercing screams.
"Get the hell off our ship!"
"What kind of bastards are you, anyway!"
"Tell Áli! Eoin of Dublin sent you!"
"Lokaðu hurðinni (close the door)!"
"Close the door!"
"Close it!"
[Cheok! Cheocheok!]
And then, without any lingering attachment, the Norsemen shoved the spear shafts that had been driven too deep or snapped off into the sea along with the bodies of the Muslim warriors, raising their shields again.
'These bastards are no ordinary fishermen! Those are trained men!'
Actually, he should have realized it the moment a javelin flew in with precision and pierced the center of the captain's chest. But the Muslim pirate band, which had achieved satisfying successes along the Frankish coasts, was, to put it nicely, riding a momentum, and to put it poorly, far too arrogant.
Was not piracy an occupation that inherently required meticulous calculation and caution?
"T-turn the ship around! It's a trap! This is a scheme of the Shayāṭīn!"
The sight of his comrades dying, speared like pigs in an instant, gave Ahmed a shock so great it made him forget his pain. Ahmed's voice, which cried out as if he had truly seen a demon, awakened the survival instincts of the Muslim pirates who were still alive.
"Run away! These Shayāṭīn are more than we can handle!"
"Oh Áli! Protect us! Save us from the clutches of these devils!"
"Turn the ship around!"
"Aaaagh! Save me! Don't leave me behind!"
Among the Muslim warriors who had so boldly thrown themselves forward, a couple of them who had the good fortune (?) to be speared in the lower abdomen or otherwise survived, clung to the ship of those Shayāṭīn and pitifully begged for help. But the world of pirates was governed by cold law.
The unwritten rule of the trade was that a straggler could not be taken along.
"All of you, lower shields!"
"Lower shields!"
[Cheok!]
Meanwhile, there was no way the warriors of 'Tostein the Red,' Jarl of the North Sea Empire and heir to the Kingdom of the Isles, would simply stand by and watch a Muslim pirate band that attacked as it pleased and then fled as it pleased.
"We pursue those bastards. We've thinned their numbers, so they couldn't have gotten far."
"We've properly planted spears into their backsides. A bleeding beast quickly tires and collapses."
"You all heard the Hundred-man leader! Take up the oars!"
"Damn, I thought we were done with fighting? We set out to catch fish, and now it's come to catching men."
The fishermen of Dublin, who had retired on the grounds that their joints were beginning to creak, were actually men who, until this very summer, had served on campaign under Jarl Thorstein. Before the arrival of the Fylkir, they had operated as the infamous pirates of the Kingdom of the Isles, venturing on expeditions from Éire to the lands of Frankia and Britain, and even as far as Al-Andalus.
Even as they grumbled, the way they gripped the oars with all their might looked as familiar as catching fish.
*****
"Ósnjallr maðr
hyggsk munu ey lifa,
ef hann við víg varask;
en elli gefr
hánum engi frið,
þótt hánum geirar gefi."
The North Sea Empire. Norrland. The base of the Empire's most elite forces, the Garmr Brotherhood.
Just as the University of Árós had formed a village a bit further away, this place, which I had originally planned as barracks for my standing army, had at some point begun to form a garrison city.
Where people gathered, money followed, and where a road opened up, that was the way of human habitation.
Standing in the middle of the enormous square, modeled after the Great Square of Árós, I slowly recited a very ancient poem of the Norsemen.
'The unwise man thinks he will live forever, so long as he keeps himself from battle. But old age gives him no peace, even though spears might grant it.'
The ancient verse taught the wisdom that he who desires peace should prepare for war. And with eyes burning bright, the souls of my warriors, who looked only at me, resonated alongside mine.