280. The Trumpet of Jericho (2).
What would they think, looking down at us from up there?
The sight of similarly large figures holding long shields raised high and low, painted with all manner of skull imagery, would not be a pleasant one. They surely would never want to face us as an enemy.
But war had already broken out, and there was now no way to turn it all back.
They really built those walls well.
Though I could not know the thoughts of those up on the walls, the walls themselves, viewed from below, were enough to draw my admiration. Should I call it Roman and Arab engineering, after all? The latent strength of the Khazar Khaganate, which had long served as the great slave market between two mighty empires. It felt like catching a glimpse of the steppe's power.
Taking and using anything that helps, yet at its core, sheer ferocity. That way of thinking felt familiar. Were these men not simply unlucky Norsemen who rode horses instead of longships?
And here I was, in the middle of a battlefield, letting such idle thoughts drift into my mind. Helgi Ragnarsson, had I grown arrogant?
No, that was not it. It was closer to saying I had only now precisely grasped the power I held.
[Chik! Chik! Chik! Chik! Kung!]
The warriors who had been moving in step with my stride came to a halt the moment I stopped in place, planting their shields into the earth in perfect unison. The effect that this unhuman discipline stirred in the enemy was, as visible, evoking outright terror on the faces of those who faced us.
Every person had a kind of sense, and men especially had an instinct to gauge the strength of whoever they faced. This instinct grew even fiercer when it escalated from a matter of individuals to a matter between groups. They must have realized it clearly now. Without their walls and gates, facing us was the fastest path to death.
"Men of Atil! I am Helgi Ragnarsson of the North Sea!"
Men of-! Men of- of- -sson! -sson! -sson!
The voice I hurled out like a vicious strike became a battle cry that seemed to shake and resound across the entire vast plain, and the banners hung above the walls suddenly fluttered fiercely. It was likely a trick of the wind that happened to blow at that moment, but the people struck by my voice did not seem to think so.
"The Fylkir... the Fylkir of the North Sea..."
"Helgi Ragnarsson. A demigod walking this world alive."
"Quiet! Quiet! Everyone, stay calm!"
Among those up on the walls, some were dressed as warriors, but there were also merchants whose armaments were hardly worth noting. They were people who spoke my title and name, which had by now become quite famous, looking down at me with fear-filled eyes.
A man who had been trying somehow to steady their fear, palpable even from afar, let out a low sigh, shook his head, and shouted as loudly as he could in answer to me.
"Lord of the Distant Sea! I am Hanukkah, the tudun and tarkhan appointed by his majesty Sagarya Khagan, who rules this steppe with the mercy of Yahweh and the majesty of Tengri!"
So, the one who courageously stepped forward was indeed a man in whom Sagarya Khagan placed considerable trust.
"Though I am but a lowly man, I dare to ask of one so exalted! Why has the Lord of the Distant Sea come down to this steppe to torment the good sons of Yahweh and Tengri! Even if you are called a demigod who walks alive! We too are the children of gods! Therefore, would it not be well for the Lord of the Sea to calm your heart and clear the misunderstandings between you and our Khagan!"
As courageous as he was, he was also a glib-tongued bastard. To steady the wavering walls and the hearts of the city people, he had swiftly framed me as the invader and dressed them up as the good and persecuted ones.
In truth, their Khagan had invaded first, but such facts were not so important in a war of words...
More than that, I liked that Hanukkah fellow's nerve. Did he dare to look down at me from atop the wall and spit out such words? I found myself curious.
Since that man had spoken only his piece, I would speak only mine.
"Tudun Hanukkah of Atil! And people of Atil! I will give you a single day! Those who surrender will live! Those who resist will die! I have no interest in taking your lives! Tomorrow, your walls will crumble! If you wish to live, bolt your doors and do not step outside your homes!"
-side! -side! -side!
As the echo leaving a vast trace passed, only a heavy silence remained between the walls and the North Sea army. Having fixed my eyes for the last time upon the beautiful walls and gate of Atil, and the people upon them, I turned my body without regret and withdrew toward the encampment with my warriors.
*****
"I know it too! I have gone to Árós of the North Sea and seen with my own eyes! How prosperous they were, how fierce and strong their warriors are! I too know well how powerful their Fylkir is!"
"Not a man, I tell you! Hanukkah! You must have seen the broken rock as well? I am telling you, the Lord of the Distant Sea is not a man like us!"
Beyond the beautiful walls of Atil stood the far more beautiful palace of Atil. A cultural feature shared by the Eastern Roman and Abbasid empires: a massive domed roof tracing an elegant circle. And on the walls of the palace, all manner of colored glass and carvings, the floor laid with Caspian tiger skins and carpets brought from Samarkand in the far east.
Here, in the dwelling place of Sagarya Khagan that seemed not of this world's beauty, the administrators of Atil whom the Khagan had trusted were shouting over one another.
"Then what are you proposing!? Manasseh! I know you are a merchant who has the Khagan's trust, but remember that your words and actions are extremely dangerous right now!"
"Tarkhan Hanukkah! I too am a man who has entrusted my tribe, my family, and my life to the Khagan! Naturally, I know well that there is no one on this steppe who can stand against him! But is war not a matter won by faith and will alone? At this very moment, all of our trade routes heading south beyond Derbent are completely blocked! Those Alan mountain beasts have cut off our only path for supplies, I tell you!"
Manasseh the Jewish merchant had traveled to the North Sea's Árós several times on the Khagan's orders. More than anyone else in the Khazar Khaganate, Manasseh knew the true strength of the North Sea well.
By Manasseh's calculations, this war had already ended the moment the Khagan failed to cross the Dnieper River at Kiev. All that remained was how good the terms of surrender could be.
But since the prideful Khagan would rather die than accept this fact, Manasseh had to do what he could for the Khaganate, his tribe, his family, and his wealth.
"How many warriors are within these walls? Three thousand!? Four thousand!?"
"...The walls of Atil are high and strong. If everyone within these walls joins hearts and fights, the Khagan will soon return, and then—"
And then? Even if, by some extravagant care of Yahweh, they won a field battle against that perilous Fylkir, what of the second and third waves of Northmen that would come after? How would they block those? Were the men in Kiev and Novgorod in the west going to sit there with arms crossed and merely watch their Fylkir fight? When they could not even handle the Alan bastards suddenly rampaging in the south!?
But Manasseh could not bring himself to voice such thoughts. Tarkhan Hanukkah, too, was no fool, so he could not go on speaking and just closed his eyes with a somber expression.
"Tarkhan Hanukkah. My tribe and I cannot abandon this city. But we cannot fight that Fylkir either. You are a Khazar noble, but are not my people and I just Jews living east of the Volga River in the end?... We will all bar our doors and lock them."
Manasseh spoke while prepared for his own death, but Hanukkah, who had squeezed his eyes shut, slowly raised his eyelids again and shook his head.
"Who would see the army outside that fortress and still feel like fighting? You take care of your own clan."
Hanukkah's words, full of weariness, were both surprising and it was pitiful that he could not readily lend a helping hand. But Manasseh, who calculated profit and loss down to the marrow of his bones, soon suppressed the conscience and courage writhing deep in his heart and hurried away.
Hanukkah, left alone, felt his mind cleared rather. After all, was it not the life of a man of the steppes to be blown about by the cold wind? It was rather good. The unreliable ones inside the fortress would be reined in by Manasseh on his own, so he would hold out with those loyal to the Khagan. He would buy time!
Thus, amid unease and resolve, the sun of Atil set and the moon rose.
The city, always bustling, was filled only with silence, and a short distance away, the encampment of the North Sea army, which had quickly built a decent village, was bright with torches and lanterns burning generously.
And when the full, risen moon had passed and the dark violet light that filled the sky grew fainter, the North Sea moved.
*****
[Buuuuuung---!!]
I made all the chicken friends that started crowing far earlier than expected into boiled chicken (samgyetang) and ate them, and we left the encampment at a reasonably early hour.
Of course, we left behind the minimum number of men to guard the supplies and fend off any thieves (there are insane thieves who would risk their lives to come to a battlefield) and took roughly fifteen thousand men from fifteen thousand-man units.
I split them broadly into three groups: the left wing under Stórolf, the right wing under Hrolager, and the center under the close command of my brother Ivar.
[Cheok! Cheok! Cheok! Cheok!]
However, at the commanders' meeting the previous evening, right before a short rest, not only the various thousand-man commanders but even Ivar and Stórolf did not understand the operation I had pushed through. Hrolager, who still had the smell of a new recruit, only shouted textbook responses like "Yes! I will do as you say!" and "It shall be as the Fylkir wishes!" no matter what I said, so he was of little help at the war council.
In truth, there was not much of an operation to speak of. Nevertheless, the commanders, still dubious at my stubbornness, nodded their heads in unison and advanced unhesitatingly toward the walls, stopping the ranks at a distance where the enemy's arrows could just about reach them.
[Cheok! Cheok! Cheok! Kung!]
[Dung! Dung! Dung! Dung!]
The moment they halted, drums beat in a steady rhythm at Ivar's command.
'Well, shall we get going?'
Soon after, I stepped to the front of the formation, raised my shield, and the warriors began to follow behind me.
[Cheok! Cheok! Cheok! Cheok!]
"What are they doing now?"
"Uh- shoot for now! Stop their approach!"
"Surely they are not trying to climb the walls with their bare hands!?"
"They might have hidden ladders or siege engines! Do not relax your vigilance!"
Arrows fell and lodged on the shields of the North Sea army advancing mindlessly on my orders.
[Swaeeaek- Swaeek- Pababak! Pabak! Hooduduk! Hooduduk!]
But even if an arrow luckily pierced the large shields that covered their whole bodies, it could not inflict meaningful damage on the men crouched underneath. The moment the enemy's arrow volleys began, the North Sea army's advance in tightly packed hundred-man units sent a chill through those watching and shooting from the walls.
"Fylkir! Now I understand! You intend to exhaust all their arrows!"
"Oh! Khazars without arrows are not frightening! As expected, you had a plan all along!!"
"Glory to the Fylkir who possesses the wisdom of Odin!"
[Hooduduk! Hooduduk!]
"Haha! These bastards! They only shoot little bows! Their arrows are light as feathers! We will take as many as you like!"
"Just wait a little! When our turn comes, I will personally shoot a big one right into your face!"
"You had better be careful! His thing is enormous!"
"Euhahahaha! Is this all you have got!"
[Hooduduk! Pababak!]
Though shields were pierced here and there by sharp arrowheads, no screams of North Sea warriors reached my ears yet. The veteran hundred-man warriors of my personal guard, who had sealed off my surroundings like an iron fortress, were even cracking jokes and enjoying the situation.
But contrary to what these loyal warriors thought, I had not advanced the entire army in a crude imitation of Zhuge Liang stealing Cao Cao's arrows at the Battle of Red Cliffs.
Yesterday, as I surveyed Atil's fortress gates, I had sensed it. The aftermath of the bitter winter had left the moat of this beautiful fortress completely dried up, and no repair work had been done. And it was not just the moat that had dried up—surely their fortress gates, made of large, sturdy timber, were in perfect condition to smash, were they not?
[Hooduduk! Hooduk!]
I held my breath for a moment and gauged the timing of the arrows coming down regularly.
[Tatat!]
"E-eek! Fylkir!"
"Hundred-man unit! Forward-!"
"Forward!"
Blocking the arrows that luckily came my way with my shield, I ran to their fortress gate.
[Tatatat- Hoo- Seuup- Hoo- Seueu-]
Finally, when the gate was about five steps away, right before my nose, I threw aside the shield I had raised above my head and breathed into my right fist—the hardest thing in this world.
Six years ago. Or was it now seven years ago? The great boulder I had split in two while slaying the gods with the single will that there would be no more human sacrifice for my people. Back then, I had only thought it a miracle aided by Hel and the old gods of the North Sea, but recently I had come to realize that it had all been a self-imposed restraint.
[Hooooong-!!]
I was Helgi Ragnarsson and Helgi Helason.
I was the demigod of the North Sea.
[Kwaaaang-!!! Kugung-!]