270. Faith (4).
270. Faith (4).
When first-born Sigmarr came to Inga and me. The emotion I felt then was not something that could be explained.
They said humans were sensory animals, so to try to explain through touch—it was like soft whipped cream with a little cinnamon and chocolate chips, gazing at it and feeling your brain melt away because it was too precious to eat.
Look at this. I could not convey it properly.
And then second-born Randulfr came to Inga, Sigmarr, and me.
[Hupyu— Hupyu—]
[Ssaek— ssaek— pi-Hugh-u— pi-Hugh— ssaek—]
The sight of the two children lying there, each occupying one of Inga's sides.
This was truly like being in a room filled with whipped cream and cotton candy, laughing and rolling around like a child, and then hearing my mother's voice crying out from afar, "Helgi! Time to eat!" and whining that I wanted to stay just a little longer.
I could not convey this properly either.
I had no choice but to simply say I was happy.
I sat dazed at the edge of the bed as if shot in the head with a tranquilizer dart, gazing at that sight, when Inga slowly opened her eyes, looked at me, and smiled softly, and I returned that smile with another smile.
Then I slowly rose from the bed so as not to shake it, kept my steps quiet, and sat down in a chair a short distance away.
Sunlight flickered beyond the wooden window frame closed against the cold wind, and I picked up a few sheets of parchment placed on the small desk and broke their seals.
One was sent by the valiant explorer Flóki, another sent by Oleg, and yet another sent by Emperor Lothar of Lotharingia.
Hrolf had passed on to me only those problems too burdensome for him to resolve on his own. In truth, I had already examined these letters some time ago, but I had still not reached a decision in my mind.
My number one explorer Flóki's letter contained word that he intended to spend his first winter in Iceland—no, in the theme park of ice and fire now called Fylkirland (...).
I had instructed Jarl Rognvald of Orkney, who was gradually being recognized among the Norsemen as the Adventure King (Konungr), to provide all the support he could.
The vanguard commander of that Adventure King, the valiant Flóki—Karl Flóki, for whom several songs had already been composed under the name Flóki the Raven—had already stably completed four round-trip voyages to Fylkirland, and as he circled the western coast of the new land, he was now speculating that the land might perhaps be an island.
I, of course, knew the correct answer... but I merely offered encouragement and support from afar, partly out of the question of whether this world might differ in some way from the world of my previous life, and partly with the intention of having an outstanding explorer like Flóki record all the problems he faced and their solutions, thereby elevating the North Sea's own capacity for exploration.
What had been Iceland's famous industries or national enterprises? This was the blind spot of the future knowledge I possessed. An exceptional brain could delve into the realm of the unconscious, vividly recalling even scenes that had merely passed by once in life, but it could not tell me things I had never seen or heard of, like some Wikipedia.
And I could not even be certain whether what I had seen and heard was based on fact or on all manner of headcanon and bait posts. I had no choice but to be cautious.
So I took up my quill and wrote the following.
[Jarl Hrafn-Flóki. I send these words in hope that you are in good health both upon sea and land. You have already reached that land many times and know the sea route and the new land better than anyone in this world, yet the winter there shall surely be harsh. Before winter and snow and waves, the victory of man is far too feeble. I pray you, take care—]
[Saggak— saggak— tak.]
Honestly. Whom was I worrying about here? Would a man who staked his life on a single ship and crossed the sea not know such dangers? So I took out a fresh sheet of parchment and wrote simply.
[Njord's foremost Hrafn, Karl Flóki. I do not doubt that you, who have even vanquished the fierce waves, shall be in good health. Do all that you wish to do. That land, which has taken my title as its name with honor, was found by you, Flóki, and your valiant warriors. Rightly, all the glory to be won there belongs to you and your warriors. So do as you wish. I and the North Sea shall quietly cheer you on from behind. Should you require anything, do not hesitate but let me know.]
[Saggak— saggak— tak.]
I had lately been reading the Alexander Chronicle, which had arrived from the Eastern Roman Empire. He and I were different in many ways, but we had been confronted with similar problems.
That my body was one, while the vast empire had now begun to advance on its own and come up against all manner of challenges.
Alexander had been forced to personally suppress the countless revolts that arose within Persia before he could occupy Persia and depart for India. Because he was the strongest. Because once he moved, he brought victory.
If there was a difference between him and me, it was that the North Sea Empire that had come beneath my shadow had already virtually completed the assimilation of conquered regions, and was instead actively pushing out those who would not assimilate.
Yet in the end, in that everywhere across the empire they wished for my movement, I too could be said to have received the same questionnaire as Alexander.
[Seueuk—]
I turned my head to look at the two other parchment letters resting on the desk. Lothar's letter, written in antique Latin—composed with all the devotion he could muster, though still riddled with crooked characters here and there. And Oleg's letter, scrawled in Rune script.
West Frankia had its eyes on al-Andalus. Lotharingia and Italy sought to push back the Saracens of southern Italy and Sicily. And the Eastern Roman Empire and the Khazars intended to attack the great Muslim power in the east.
Curiously, all of them had resolved to sound the trumpet of attack once this winter had passed—far too coincidental for coincidence.
Just how successful could their offensives be?
It was I who was the strange one, having succeeded in expedition after expedition. The truth was that in all of long history, there were but few recorded instances of a great expedition setting out and achieving a proper victory.
The al-Andalus front would likely become hell the moment they crossed the Pyrenees. And the eastern expedition that the Khazars and the Eastern Roman Empire were so ambitiously preparing reeked strongly of a smokescreen, no matter how I looked at it. Both the Khazars and the Eastern Roman Empire—their true aims seemed to lie elsewhere.
Moreover, although it was said to be divided, when I considered the counsel of Ivar, who was well-versed in the affairs of that region, the Abbasid dynasty was unlikely to crumble easily before their attacks.
In the end, as I saw it, the only places where any odds of victory were in sight were the region of southern Italy, where the dear-named Edmund was stationed. And the island of Sicily.
The contents of Oleg's crooked letter were 50% praise of me, and another 30% praise of Sigmarr and the soon-to-be-born second child (Randulfr had not yet been born at the time Oleg wrote the letter). The remaining 20% held his true feelings, which, in summary, was that he was bored because of the Plains people (Poland), who were clinging to him with an aggressive affection offensive in their desire to be friends.
My sensibilities, delicate and gentle, born of the 21st century, could not comprehend this ferocity of Oleg's, but the warrior-revering spirit of the North Sea's people was blending with their own history, their faith, their loyalty to Hel and the Fylkir, becoming something terrible to those who faced them.
A battlefield was needed to relieve their thirst for adventure and aggression.
No matter how good the living grew, those who loved adventure would always appear. To those who wished to be the head of a snake rather than the tail of a dragon, I would open the way.
[My sword. Conqueror of many castles. Jarl Oleg, who gloriously shares my name, thanks to your concern, my wife and children and I are all in good health. Liubice and your warriors are all healthy—]
Now that I thought about it, Oleg still didn't marry. Should I find a good match for him? I'd heard that local folk who'd been holding their breath were gradually flocking to the newly captured lands of Liubice. I'd have to tell Sigurdeu in nearby Hamburg to give him some good support.
sagak- sagak-
I finished the letter to Oleg, and the next was a letter to be delivered to Lothar.
[Imperator Lothar. Sage of the Frankish Empire, friend of the North Sea and me. I understand the concern you showed to this unworthy one. I pray that peace always dwells with your noble child, Hugh, and your wife, and I offer my clumsy thoughts. The Saracens of Al-Andalus were overwhelmed at sea by our North Sea warriors, but that is because the sea is our North Sea domain. In my opinion, entering their domain—]
To storm into Al-Andalus right now, we knew far too little about the land. West Frankia's Imperator Thor may hold influence south of the Pyrenees, but a political-diplomatic approach and moving troops directly were as different as heaven and earth.
That was why, even on Björn's question sent through Erik asking whether the North Sea would cooperate directly, I had given instructions that we would not move for the time being.
If West Frankia succeeded in the Al-Andalus expedition and tore off a great chunk of land? Then we could simply applaud. If the expedition failed miserably and collapsed, we could console them from beside and study their expedition records.
On the other hand, though southern Italy was in chaos with petty Catholic-Lombard (Germanic) lords jostling and Saracen pirates (regular troops in pirate's guise) running rampant, Damian's latest intelligence said cities like Syracuse and Reggio, still loyal to the Eastern Roman Emperor, remained, and above all, Edmund's brave struggle was dazzling.
With a bomb collar around my neck, if I had to bet on one of Al-Andalus, southern Italy, or the Middle East, without a second thought I had to put it on southern Italy.
Here I could also properly ingratiate myself with my allied emperors, Michael of Rome and Lothar of Lotharingia, who had asked for aid. The path for Oleg and the North Sea warriors, those men full of ambition seeking new battlefields, was thus decided.
The Tagmata ton Varangon. The Varangian Guard.
This foreign unit, strongly pushed by Michael of Rome in the east, was composed entirely of North Sea men. Wasn't that laughable? It was also a blatantly political move. Combat machines who obey only the contract with the Emperor? Michael, who had been badly burned by someone he trusted, wanted an iron-walled imperial authority, and his role model seemed to be the North Sea and me.
Eudokia, who rose to become the official Empress of the Eastern Roman Empire, probably exerted strong influence in aggressively drawing in North Sea men. For in the corners of Eudokia Ingerdottir's eyes, who had only seemed pure and delicate, there had been ambition.
At any rate, for my ambitious, adventure-crazed warriors, it was a good thing. They could gain the glory they desired and take a generous share. If things went south, they'd die, but if things went well, they could return home and raise a fine runestone.
sagak- sagak-
[...therefore, I intend to send the jarls and warriors I trust through Frisia and your lands to join the southern Italian front. I will bear all the costs required, so I seek your aid.]
I'm going to strike the Saracens of southern Italy, so lend me a passage!
Having finished the letter with roughly such content, I lifted my head and looked back at the great bed.
My vision, shining bright even in the darkness, showed me Sigmarr wriggling beside his mother, Randulfr sleeping comfortably, and my wife, holding both sons in her arms, sleeping more blissfully than anything in the world.
It was only after I got Randulfr that I could realize more clearly what mattered most to me and to the North Sea Empire.
Sigmarr had been a different child from the moment he was born. As if he had inherited every one of the precious blessings bestowed upon me.
I came to understand that fact more clearly only after I saw Randulfr. Eating, sleeping, crying, and eating again like any ordinary child. Caring well for this precious, fragile life.
Right now, nothing was more important than this to me and my empire.
With that conviction, I carefully folded this moment and tucked it away, bit by bit, into the storage space of my eyes, my heart, and my soul.
*****
AD 869. Year of the Fylkir 3.
And.
AD 874. Year of the Fylkir 8.
A little time had passed.
While the earth itself remained as green as ever, the face of the human world had changed somewhat. The face of Árós had changed day by day, so much so that its small, precious old appearance had truly become something found only in the songs of skalds.
But what had changed the most were, after all, the people living within it.
"Hssshhh— fuuuu—"
'Make the exhale longer, until you can't even feel your fingertips. Don't tense up.'
Here and now, a boy so utterly changed, with pitch-black hair and strength brimming in his green eyes, was drawing a bowstring.
[pyung!]
☆☆☆☆☆Reference Material☆☆☆☆☆
Image courtesy Jacques Descloitres, MODIS Land Rapid Response Team at NASA GSFC, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
The locations of Árós and Uppsala.
Today, dear readers, I'd like to show you, at least briefly, how Árós and Uppsala, the core regions of the North Sea that only existed in my head, are developing...!
Image courtesy Jacques Descloitres, MODIS Land Rapid Response Team at NASA GSFC, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
The quality is a bit shoddy...! But as long as you get the idea...!
It's reached a level where in places where grass grows, just tossing seeds lets them sprout on their own. The longer Helgi has stayed, the longer the time under his rule, the more the soil's fertility—what you might call the land's power—grows stronger and stronger.
Against this kind of power, the jarls simply can't compete...!
Up north beyond the snow, that's now the land of herders and nomads...! Naturally, they're far more infatuated with Helgi than the warmer southern folks...! That devilishly charming man Helgi...! The further north you go, the more superstition lingers, and Helgi's name is gradually approaching that of a god...!
Leon's ambition is progressing steadily...!
Jan Augustsson / Riksantikvarieämbetet, CC BY 2.5 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5>, via Wikimedia Commons
This is what those entering Árós would see: the many islands of eastern Scandinavia...!
Now it's a lake, but back then Lake Mälaren was a bay connected to the sea...! There were many islands like that at the entrance...! Munsö Island, which is Björn's fief and gradually becoming the beacon of Árós, is just such an island...! Surprisingly flat...! Indeed, our country, the Republic of Korea, with its rock-strewn land, is something even Northern Europe can't dare to challenge! Hahaha!! I'm not sure if that's a good thing, but anyway, we win!
STF Saltoluokta Fjällstation, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
This is a beautiful landscape of eastern Scandinavia. It's this beautiful before it turns white...!