266. Crescent Moon, Cross, and Pure White Bones (4).
266. Crescent Moon, Cross, and Pure White Bones (4).
"Heh heh. I wonder, mayhap the two of you have mistook the season. Winter is nigh upon us, is it not...?"
We had been having a deeply moving and damp-haired moment, damn it all!
At Hrolf's oblivious and punctually arrived words, Ivar hastily wiped at the corners of his eyes and launched into a string of false coughs, while I gazed out the long window far off into the distance above and below, blinking for no particular reason.
"Ah, seems I've got some dust in my eye. Come in, come in! Hrolf."
"It might not be dust, but severed locks of hair that have gotten in, Fylkir. I know not what wind has possessed you two sons of Ragnar, but I have no mind to surrender my own hair even if Odin's raven himself came calling."
[swish-]
Hrolf's expression as he drew a brown comb from within his clothes and swept back his greying locks was sheer grim resolve itself.
Just what do you imagine I would use your hair for, that you adopt such a defensive posture... truth be told, I felt a touch of regret. I wish Hrolf could feel this coolness together with us.
"Rest easy, for no such thing shall happen. More importantly, have you broken your fast?"
"Of course, Fylkir. When grain was scarce, we worried about eating to survive; now that grain is overabundant, we must worry about eating it all up. Each time I take breakfast, I cannot help but think how absurd it is."
Shaking his head and briefly showing a faint smile, Hrolf shifted his steps and seated himself across the long table from where Ivar and I sat.
Taking the chance to briefly sort out my stray thoughts: the truth was, in times of plenty, the North Sea people ate two meals a day, and in leaner times, they lived giving thanks for a single daily meal.
Back in the 21st century, a lack of morning time meant eating two meals a day or boarding the express train straight to obesity with late-night snacks without a second thought. Here, they ate one or two meals simply because there was purely nothing to eat.
Perhaps human instinct held a premonition for essential nutrients, for when the harsh midwinter—when it was hard even to set foot outside—drew near, they would suck out and eat the marrow and such they had prepared beforehand. This was a truly vital foodstuff and ritual, not just for Uppsala, but for people living at far higher latitudes.
Though, as Hrolf's expression now told, all those desperate modes of survival had already become sorrowful, hungry, but beautiful old memories lost to the past.
While the population was clearly ever increasing, they could not possibly dispose of the surplus produce, and so they built a number of great granaries and waged a fierce war against the mouse demon king's horde.
Victory and defeat ever wavered back and forth upon the battlefield, so that at times the grain was gnawed upon and left to rot, and at times the entire rat horde was exterminated, bringing a festival of flame.
The farmers of the vast land stretching from Árós to the northern mountain ranges thus lived profoundly dynamic lives.
The trouble was precisely that the surplus produce, which they had expected to dwindle naturally with the continued population rise, had rather begun to steadily increase as the arable land expanded.
So when the surplus that had gradually passed its usable date was tearfully cast into the sea, this time the already over-dense fish stocks that had been desperately attempting escape over the fishermen's boats grew even more numerous.
And so, before anyone knew it, this Árós was becoming not a place where men lived, but a veritable paradise for wild beasts.
The shepherds, unable to handle the swelling numbers, were already in a situation of endlessly selling off sheep to other regions, and far off, whole clans of the northern Sámi people and the Finns across the sea were increasingly coming after hearing the rumors.
Of course, even so, it can scarcely compare to that insane population density I saw in Constantinople of Eastern Rome, yet seeing the constantly inflowing migrants and the newborn birth rate swelling in squared form, I felt a premonition that the birth of the ultra-mega-city metropolitan sphere Leon had spoken to me of was drawing ever closer.
"Jarl Hrolf."
While thoughts of present and future twisted and danced about within my formidable mind, Ivar, having somewhat composed himself, extended a greeting to Hrolf.
Save for Konungrs Halfdan, Olaf, and Bagsecg, who were all gradually going silver-haired together in camaraderie, to the man closest to my father, Hrolf, Björn and Ivar showed the courtesy due to an honored elder.
"Jarl Ivar."
Likewise, Hrolf's gaze upon Björn and Ivar was a little different from how he looked upon the rest of the Ragnarsson brothers—it was akin to the look one gave the neighborhood brats watched over through long years. A look of fond pride, respect, and wishing them well.
"My Fylkir. Here is the report containing the stagecoach and road expansion plans you spoke of."
Judging by his gaze upon Ivar, it was not that Hrolf lacked the capacity to respect a person. Why then was it that he cast those specifically weary eyes upon me, an irreverent look as though observing a child left by the water's edge?
[sheepskin transmission]
Thou must respect the Fylkir. The Fylkir is the ruler of the North Sea Empire, the Bretwalda of Britain, the demigod of Hel... (see more)
Must I receive such a sheepskin bomb as this for you to show me more respect, Hrolf? If you keep this up, I too shall transfer (on a campaign) to Arabia!
"Oh, my thanks. Shall I take a look?"
Of course, my discontent aside, I was in no position to say anything to Hrolf. What could a figurehead say to the second-in-command of the empire who was practically steering the vast administration? For the record, I shall say it once more: the true first-in-command of this empire is my mother. I am but an obedient, well-behaved son.
[sreuk-]
Carefully unrolling the tightly furled sheepskin, I beheld a simplified sketch map of Árós upon which the future plan was drawn. The annotations stuck here and there were in Leon's handwriting. I could feel the palpable resentment of Leon, who had become a god of task-tossing and, meeting Hrolf, had struck a spike filled with fury.
Truly, does man's work efficiency rise when angered? Leon had quite plausibly fleshed out the concept of the village bus I had dimly suggested on the sketch map.
"This is better than I thought."
Árós, which had broadly split into the Old Town and the New Town, was naturally dividing into districts as it expanded once more. Due to its geography with the entire southern face touching the sea, the whole south was transforming into an enormous marketplace-cum-quayside, and moving upward from there, residential quarters, entertainment quarters, and lodging quarters were taking shape.
At the gates and walls, the guardhouses were positioned; on the western side of the city, the administrative office commanded by Hrolf and Baldr sat upon Konungr's Hill, which had been my old home. On the eastern side of the city, my palace—which handled the North Sea's weightiest administrative, diplomatic, and military affairs—was situated upon Fylkir's Hill.
The idea was to formally designate these implicit boundaries and install a circular village bus (carriage) management office in the center of the city, making it the hub of transportation. Should this village bus meet with the people's approval, something similar would be trialed in Uppsala and expanded into city buses; and if the reception were good again, over the long term, passenger ship lines and bus (carriage) routes would be linked, giving birth to intercity buses that could reach any place in the North Sea Empire!
I, the source of the idea, was excited about this vast potential, yet it seemed Hrolf and the officials beneath me were approaching this task with the mindset that they were merely doing it because the Fylkir commanded it.
Foolish folk. Whether your indifference is right or my passion is right, all shall be decided... (see more)
"Let us proceed with the trial. We shall first seek coachmen volunteers from those retired from the cavalry, and if there are too few volunteers, there is no choice but to forcibly draft them from the cavalry."
Silver coins shall be given generously. Become my bus drivers, my riders.
"I shall do so. Next is a matter concerning the Marmaros Council (the favored merchant group). Oh! How timely that the head of the Marmaros Council should be seated here."
"Good grief. Jarl Hrolf, did you not bring up that agenda item precisely because I am here?"
"How could that be? It is naught but a staggering coincidence."
Hrolf's expression of feigned surprise was so brazen that a beholder could not help but burst into laughter, and Ivar and I both let out involuntary hollow laughs at once.
"The Marmaros-loving merchants of the North Sea have been adding to their fortunes well enough on their own even without me, so I wager this is not about silver coin. Indeed, Sir Hrolf must be intending to speak of matters of intelligence."
"Precisely, Jarl Ivar."
The languid atmosphere vanished as swiftly as a candle being snuffed, and Hrolf's pale blue gaze and Ivar's green gaze flashed brilliantly, leaving a trail like rising smoke.
"Both of you are well aware how crucial it is to foretell the enemy's movements. The Marmaros Council was originally established with the purpose of transporting Karelian marble here to Árós, but by now it is effectively transforming into a great group spanning the entire realm of the North Sea.
So long as the Fylkir permits it, the power of the Marmaros Council—able to avail itself of the Dnieper river trade route to the east, the Eire trade route to the west, and the trade routes to the south passing through the Rouen Fortress, Hamburg, and Frisia—shall become greater still.
It is my belief that there is no reason not to put this to use."
I know not well of other countries in this age, but in the North Sea at least, such a system had taken root. Naturally, our North Sea merchants entered the lands of countries where I had either opened channels by befriending (Eastern Rome), conquering (Britain), or thoroughly beating into submission (Frankia), and the merchants of the opposing lands came in turn.
Among these, the largest in scale could not help but be the great state-sanctioned trade moving under my permission.
At first it was a few lords with a keen head for trade, best represented by Mirosław of Polotsk, who petitioned me and were given leave, but now it had become a network in which every lord of the North Sea, from Britain to Kiyiu, had a foot in the door.
"Where coin flows, scoundrels with other designs will always inevitably appear. It is about time for an internal crackdown anyway, so the timing seems apt. Shall we then counterfeit our Huskarls as merchants and penetrate their ranks?"
In truth, ever since the days of being Norsemen, the North Sea people had roamed all across Europe, and as folk well versed in trade and plunder, they keenly knew the importance of knowing the intelligence of the villages they dealt with.
Naturally, they had also operated spies, and at times had not hesitated to send assassins against one another. So it would scarcely be an unfamiliar tale.
Yet Hrolf's thinking was a little different, for he shook his head softly.
"It is indeed true that internal enforcement is important. But for the time being, there is no need. Whatever the Fylkir chooses to accept of his own accord is now of no further relevance. Already from Dublin to Kiyiu, the people follow the Demigod of the North Sea. Though you may not know the details, Jarl Ivar, would you believe it if I said the wealth amassed by the temples of Hel rivals that amassed by the Marmaros Council?"
"Ah—"
For a moment, Ivar's movements halted like a broken mirror ball.
'There is no way the scion of a Konungr who gets swindled by Khazar merchants into paying through the nose would know.'
That I named my mother Asta the first-in-command of this empire is, of course, brimming with respect, but truth be told, it also is not far from the truth. One might say it feels like a hidden string-puller holding the purse.
"Therefore, should there be a lord inclined to start some foolishness, I would rather wish to watch and see. I am truly curious. Whatever might come to pass. What I wish to speak of now are the external foes."
"By Hel, good heavens. Come to think of it, great temples of Hel had been erected in both Novgorod and Kiyiu where I stopped on this campaign. It dawns on me anew that I am fortunate you are my younger brother, Helgi."
To the astonished Ivar I maintained an expressionless face, but in truth, no one was more astonished than I. Was the influence of the Hel faith that great? Our Rus friends were raising temples? What of Perun?
"So these enemies you speak of, then, ultimately refer to the Muslims to the west and the east?"
The Umayyads in the west. The Abbasids in the east.
Hrolf nodded but added more words.
"To that, add West Frankia, East Frankia, Lotharingia, and Italy. And even Eastern Rome—all are targets of our intelligence gathering. In my experience, in this world there has never been an eternal friend, nor an eternal foe. Hence, all save ourselves are ultimately potential enemies."
In the old warrior's gaze—a man who had crossed countless fields of carnage—there was something that sickened the one facing him. If one had to name it, a vicious sense of distrust. A boundless suspicion.
The absurd thing was that Ivar, Nanna, and all the rest of us had sympathized with Hrolf's words. The three of us nodded and soon began to discuss the establishment of an intelligence organization.