278. The Turning Point (4).
The Dnieper River that I had mainly favored was a fierce river. Compared to it, the Volga River had to be considered quite gentle.
In truth, though I had wandered all over 9th-century Europe, setting foot on a steppe in the true sense was a first. Was that why? Even though a situation where I would have to raise my shield to block arrows and hurl a spear as tall as a man could descend at any moment, my heart was as calm as if I had come on a pleasure cruise.
The waterway flowed calmly before me, and the birds in the sky screeched at the countless humans on the river, flaunting their presence. If the North Sea Empire that could be represented by Árós was gradually departing from nature and growing accustomed to civilization, then this steppe was a place where nature's victory over human civilization was obvious.
The feeling that the endless grasslands stretching in all directions gave was a special sensation that could not be felt unless confirmed with one's own eyes.
For several days, as many tribal chieftains from the Volga, Oka, and Kama river basins came out to the riverside, I dissuaded them from offering tribute or prostrating themselves before my overwhelming North Sea army and my fearsome physique, and moved on silently.
We were able to anchor without any trouble at the city of the Bulgars, the head of this local tribal union, not three days after launching our boats on the Volga River.
"Welcome! Great Khagan of the Sea! Emperor of the Waterways! I am Shelki, Khan of the Bulgar people."
This man. His title had changed in the meantime. The envoys he sent me last winter had called him Elteber, a title akin to a regional administrator of the Khazar Khaganate. Now he called himself Khan—a chieftain.
"Thank you for welcoming us like this, Shelki Khan. I am Fylkir Helgi Ragnarsson of the North Sea."
"My warriors told me, but you truly speak our language, don't you?"
Shelki Khan's eyes widened at my speaking Bulgar so fluently, as if I had lived next door. Looking at him now, his appearance was certainly different from ours.
"Fylkir, you are truly one sent by Tengri and... Hhela." (He had mispronounced Hel.) "I, unworthy as I am, have prepared a feast for the Fylkir, but I fear it may not please you."
This nomadic chieftain maintained a very humble posture at the sight of my army or my huge frame, and I did not treat the leader of an allied country carelessly like Khazar's Khagan Zachariah had.
"A feast hosted by steppe warriors, you say? I once had a feast with Gyula Árpád of the Magyars, but it wasn't a proper steppe feast and I remember being disappointed. Today I can finally sample genuine mare's milk liquor and steppe food. My mouth is already watering. Hahaha!"
"Since the Fylkir says so, we cannot delay any longer! Please, come inside! Hahahaha!"
As the leaders of both forces established a friendly atmosphere, naturally those below them also laughed and stepped forward.
Those moving with me were Ivar, brought along as something like a chief of staff; Stórolf, the vanguard commander; Djur, the operations officer well-versed in this region's power dynamics; and the chiliarchs under them.
Though we had anchored, the North Sea army's power and system had grown so strong that managing the boats roughly pulled up on the riverbank and setting up a simple encampment no longer required direction from chiliarch-level commanders.
The heavily armored Norse legionaries who shot well. The Eastern Roman men Damian and Leon had evaluated the elites of Norrland like that.
My warriors had now shed the tradition of berserkers who charged with a cry of 'Uraa!' while using the Boar's Snout Formation, and had transformed into a regular army skilled not only in battle but in war itself.
"This way, Fylkir! It is modest, but I hope you will freely enjoy the food and drink my people and I have prepared."
Unlike our square North Sea houses or tents, the Bulgars' feast hall was round. Was it called a yurt or a ger? Apart from the large door and the smoke hole in the ceiling, it was entirely enclosed with tough, sturdy cloth, giving it a cozy feeling.
Perhaps because it was the tent of a tribal chieftain, there were expensive candles, carpets, low drinking tables, and various foods laid out.
"Even our ancestors in Valhalla would be envious of this! Today, my warriors and I will eat and drink to our heart's content, so, Khan, you'd be at ease if you brought out all the liquor you have in advance."
"Hawhawhaw! For a welcome guest, would I feel regret even if we ran out of liquor? Fylkir, you are the biggest and strongest man this Shelki has ever seen, but our Bulgar people's drinking capacity is known by none on this steppe! I've prepared quarters for the guests in advance, so you can collapse after drinking your fill, it will be fine."
At his playful remark, twitching his eyebrows, the smile on my face deepened.
He wanted to down me with alcohol? As expected of a backwater, the news is slow. Listen well, Shelki Khan. The thing I am most confident in is neither growing the empire's wealth nor wielding weapons.
What I am most confident in is my drinking capacity.
"I am very much looking forward to this. Hahahaha!"
"Fylkir and I have found kindred spirits; there is no greater joy. What are you all doing! Bring out plenty of liquor at once! Today we shall cement true brotherhood with our brothers of the sea! Hahahahahaha!"
The Bulgar warriors, who understood all my conversation with Shelki Khan, showed goodwill but also began to flaunt their drinking pride one by one; the North Sea Jarls, who had no way of knowing what Fylkir and the Khan were talking about, licked their lips at the sight of the large liquor jars soon brought in.
On this joyful day, until the moon passed and the sun rose again, the Northmen and Bulgars, who had started with mare's milk liquor and then brought out and drank all the wine and beer from the supply ships, all fell gloriously.
*****
[Hweee-]
The previous night's feast had heated the tranquil steppe night with hot laughter and spiritedness. Shelki Khan, who had boasted of his drinking capacity, slammed his head onto the low drinking table as the mare's milk liquor, wine, and beer mixed in his stomach; then, one by one, those who, though unable to communicate, had been merrily singing and chattering under the influence of alcohol, also collapsed.
In the end, I became the final victor.
[Sseuk- Gurgle gurgle gurgle- Tak. Sseuk- Gulp gulp- Keu- Tak.]
I poured mare's milk liquor into an opaque glass and drank it down; along with a distinctive fragrance that sharply divided opinions, a pungent and savory sensation went down, warming my throat and the organs beyond. But that feeling was only momentary.
This damn body, no matter how much alcohol I doused it with, would scoff and with one snort return it all to Mother Nature's embrace.
"The liquor tastes good."
[Sseuk- Gurgle gurgle- Sseuk- Gurgle gurgle-]
This time, I mixed wine and beer half and half and poured it into two opaque glasses.
One glass for you who have departed.
One glass for you and me, for our eternal love.
One glass for my already shabby self.
A poem by Jo Ji-hun that I saw in my previous life. It was a poem that a fishing boat captain recited in honor of a dream he couldn't Rune. It came to mind Örn. But these two glasses now were not poured for such sentimental and beautiful purposes.
"Shelki Khan. Now lift your head a little. You were already sober, weren't you?"
[Drrrk-]
"...Aigo, this is, the Fylkir of the North Sea and Khagan, your drinking skills are also not like an ordinary person. My head is still reeling, I feel like I'm going to die."
When I placed the opaque glass on the far end of his long drinking table and slid it to the center, Shelki Khan, who had been pressing his forehead down so long it was flushed, lifted his head with a feigned, weary grimace.
But my eyes were eyes that saw through all deceit and lies. I knew that Shelki Khan's drinking capacity was by no means comparable to my absolute capacity, but it was not to the point of burying his head on the table and passing out like a dead mouse.
"Khan who leads many tribes of the Volga, Kama, and Oka basins, why did you arrange this meeting, deceiving even your own followers?"
I, of course, did not thoughtlessly accept a stranger's glass. I had already experienced firsthand in Eastern Rome how a glass full of goodwill could turn into a cold blue dagger.
Seutorolpeu, who appeared to be singing mindlessly, eating and drinking like a pig, and collapsing like a dog, but who was snoring loudly, was actually awake. And Ivar, who had retired as quickly as his missing hair, also had steady breathing, showing he was perfectly sober.
Moreover, my personal guard, the direct escort to which only the most monstrous warriors among the North Sea's elite Norrland soldiers could be admitted. The son of Hrolf who held the chiliarch position.
I knew well that Jarl Hrolaugr was watching this banquet hall with eyes blazing.
"Ruler of the sea and the waterways. Fylkir of the frozen lands. Only today has this foolish one learned that all the rumors about you were false. That there exists someone greater than the rumors—I am now even afraid of you."
Facing my quietly sinking voice, Shelki Khan shed his disheveled appearance and his useless drunkard act. His kneeling posture was upright, and his brown eyes glinted in the firelight.
"I have addressed you as Fylkir and as Khan, but until just a few days ago, I was the Elteber (regional administrator). Naturally, along this long Volga River, there are many who do not agree with the opinions of me and my tribe. I do not know the state of your North Sea Empire well, but on these steppes, it is difficult to keep secrets."
That meant the Bulgars had not yet completely seized the leadership of the tribal union. It meant that many tribes were still wavering between the Khazar Khaganate and the Volga-Bulgars, enough that the chieftain had to worry about his surroundings.
"They are foolish people who have lived their whole lives on the steppes, eating grass. Like sheep, they will decide their movements only after the Khagan of the Khazars and the Khagan of the North Sea have fought. Please, I beg the Fylkir to forgive them with a generous heart."
I told the bowing Shelki Khan that there was no problem and to lift his head, but Shelki Khan, with his head still bowed, began to rattle off the situation in the south that he knew.
The state of the Khazar Khaganate, split left and Örn across the Volga River.
On the west side of the Volga, the Khazars—the rulers of the Khazar Khaganate and laughably a minority—took the good pastureland, while on the east side of the Volga, those called Pechenegs wandered the wide, barren land, serving as mercenaries for the Khazar Khagan.
The currently confirmed military strength of Khazar Khagan Zachariah was around 20,000 to 25,000. In numbers alone, we easily surpassed them, but the problem was that they were all cavalry.
Seeing the numbers like this, I realized anew how powerful the nomads were. Even though we had sapped some of the Khazar Khagan's strength through preliminary operations last winter, they still fielded that many cavalry...
But it was no problem.
"My people and I have decided to follow the ruler of the waterways. Not nominally, but all the way to the death goddess Hula (a mispronunciation of Hel), we will follow with all our souls! Therefore, I beg the Fylkir to use us like horses!"
I felt like I had seen this scene somewhere before.
I could read sincerity in Shelki Khan's emotionally charged voice. But does the world run on sincerity alone? Shelki Khan might be sincere, but the people around him, and his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren could change their minds. So for now, I would accept this heart. Otherwise, who knew what this cunning steppe nomad might scheme.
First, let's crush Attila and the Khazar Khagan's 25,000 troops.
"Shelki Khan. We of the North Sea will advance straight down the Volga to Attila. Therefore, you and the Bulgar warriors must spread out across the left steppe of the Volga and continuously confirm the position of the returning Sagarya Khagan."
"Attila is a city built elaborately with the help of engineers from Eastern Rome. It has high walls and sits with the Volga on its Örn side, enough to repel attacks from the turbaned ones several times. Does the Fylkir intend to besiege it, call out Khagan Zachariah, and fight a great battle?"
Facing Shelki Khan's reasonable speculation, I simply smiled and answered.
"No, I intend to seize Attila in my grasp, Shelki Khan."
☆☆☆☆☆Reference☆☆☆☆☆
Kelvin Case, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
The Silk Road, the city of Bolgar of the Volga Bulgar people, and the location of Attila.
The Battle of Talas, where the Tang Dynasty and the Abbasid Caliphate clashed, took place about 100 years ago...!
It's usually said that paper-making technology entered through that battle, but in fact, paper-making technology had already reached Central Asia before then...!
By the current point, paper-making technology has spread not only to Central Asia and Baghdad but also to Egypt...!
From the perspective of a modern person, paper-making technology is of course the most important, but from the viewpoint of the North Sea people, a nation of both fresh and salt water, seizing that Volga trade route and the Caspian Sea holds tremendous value...!
From Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository. CC BY-SA 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en
Author unknown.
Spring 875. The situation around the Black Sea and the Khazar Khaganate...!
The back of Sagarya Khagan, who was idling in Kiyiu on the Dnieper River, has caught fire...!!!!
He has to cross yet another river, the Don River, to return, that's Sagarya Khagan for you lol.
The city of Sarkel on Sagarya Khagan's return route is a fortress city built with the patronage of the Eastern Roman Emperor, as I mentioned before...!
It's believed it was hastily built to block the western side of the capital once the Magyar secession got serious, but the real, greater threat is bearing down on the capital Attila from the north...!!