29.
29.
Ælla and Osberht of Northumbria were dead.
'So that was how it ended, in the end.'
In the hands of Ceolnoth, Archbishop of Canterbury, there was a letter that looked as though it had been caught in the rain, damp to the touch. A missive sent by Wulfhere, Bishop of Eoforwīc.
Within it, there were also accounts written that were somewhat difficult to believe.
"The heavens quaked, and a dragon appeared. Its name was Helgi Ragnarsson."
Helgi Ragnarsson. A name he remembered.
The memory of having looked into those eyes from beyond the city wall remained vivid. In Rome, in the lands of the Franks, and here in Britain too. A colossal presence the likes of which he had never once felt before.
Why, when he looked upon him, had he thought of the great Emperor Karl?
He had anticipated that Northumbria would be in great peril, but he had not known it would collapse so swiftly. Now, within the aging Archbishop's mind, amidst countless worries, it felt as though the thick stench of approaching bloodshed was wafting right past the tip of his nose.
'My Father, Lord. Grant me courage, bestow upon me wisdom...'
Wessex had to prepare. All who served God had to prepare.
'I must convey the situation here to His Holiness the Pope.'
Though he thought that Rome, too, was surely mired in a tangle of problems on all sides at present, he still had to do his duty as Archbishop.
'I pray...'
That all of this would pass over well, that they might overcome it. Ceolnoth prayed.
*****
Sherborne Abbey, Dorset. Wessex.
Æthelred brushed his hand over the stone coffin where his brother lay sleeping.
Over the two coffins where his two brothers, Æthelbald and Æthelberht, slept side by side.
"Among us brothers, now, only you and I remain. Alfred."
Unlike his own feeble self, the youngest brother who was the spitting image of their strong eldest brother. Alfred.
'If our brother Æthelstan were still alive, he would have looked just like that.'
"Æthelred. You must not go quickly to the Lord's side, like the other brothers did."
As befitted the child their father had loved most, his intelligent eyes and handsome face lingered in the sight.
"Haha. Do not worry. Where would I go? I have so much work yet to do..."
But contrary to the words that left his mouth, the area near his chest felt uncomfortable. Had it been so since the time Æthelberht had passed away, this pain that felt like something was pricking him?
But he did not let it show. His younger brother was still young, and he himself had much work to do.
The tidings coming from the north were, without exception, grave.
"If."
Removing his hand from the cold stone coffin, Æthelred asked Alfred.
"If those Northmen come down, if Mercia asks for help, what should we do?"
This was both instruction for his clever younger brother and, at the same time, a way of seeking counsel for himself. In truth, he had already discussed this matter with his most trusted Ealdorman, Odda of Devon, but he was also curious about his brother's thoughts.
A king must always listen to the opinions of many.
"Hmm..."
For Alfred, who was deep in contemplation for a while, Æthelred waited with patience. Between the two brothers, each lost in his own thoughts, the light entering through the cathedral window was obscured by a cloud and then revealed again, by which time Alfred opened his mouth.
"We must wait, until they are divided. If Mercia asks for help... thinking of our sister, I would want to help at once, but thinking of the kingdom, we must wait."
A firm resolve settled upon his beautiful face.
'Alfred. Blood will tell, I see. To think you also possessed such a cold, level-headed side.'
He had only ever thought of him as a child who was always affectionate and full of laughter, but had he grown this much already?
'No, was he not the one who followed Father all the way to Rome and back? Perhaps, among us brothers, he may be the most outstanding.'
As he quietly tucked away the unease welling up in a corner of his heart, Æthelred nodded. For it did not deviate in the slightest from what he had discussed with Odda.
"Yes, I suppose it must be so..."
Into Æthelred's mind, as he spoke with a bitter trailing voice, came the thought of the Queen of Mercia, his sister.
'Æthelswith, my sister...'
A king is one who makes decisions.
Feeling a stinging in his chest, Æthelred closed his eyes.
*****
We gathered our father's remains and composed our emotions.
With faces that were a wreck, the brothers who had collected our father's remains with their own hands prepared a wooden coffin and laid our father to rest within it.
The time spent clearing the battlefield and tending to the wounded alone was already one week.
In that interval, I told Earl Uhtred, who had sworn loyalty to me, to gather the lords of the north, of Vernika, and come; and likewise, I told Earl Ecgberht of Eoforwīc, who had sworn eternal loyalty, to gather the lords of the south, of Dair, and come.
Why?
To consolidate our dominion over Northumbria.
Having come this far, we could not simply turn back as if nothing had happened, could we?
But in truth, all those political problems were, for the moment at hand, nothing more than secondary. We had to hurry and hold our father's funeral, for his body had lain beneath the damp earth for a long while and decomposition was well underway. We gathered gold and silver that glittered from here and there, and placed them around the funeral ship where our father's coffin lay.
We laid down fragrant flowers and placed an abundance of drink for him.
A sword and shield modeled after those he favored in life. A helm handsomely adorned with a dragon's head. A ring pulled from Ælla's finger, abandoned on the field. Two silver coins bearing the face of the enemy. And various other odds and ends to which we assigned meaning...
The rain, which had been falling for a full five days, ceased, and we gathered together those who had perished on the battlefield and buried them. For those who followed the Cross, we erected crosses where the Angles were buried; for the Norsemen's graves, we carved runes upon great stones, praying for the protection of Odin and Hel.
Now, it was time for even the last remaining fragments of flesh to bid farewell to this world.
"Last night, Father appeared in my dream."
Under the sky that had cleared after the rain, we brothers gathered together and stood here to witness our father's final voyage.
"Did he?"
Halfdan responded to Sigurdeu's abruptly spoken words.
"He was riding a winged, pure-white horse. In that same gallant appearance we knew in life. Above his head, a white gate was shining, and drums sounded endlessly from within it. Along with the faint sound of singing."
"Valhalla... he has gone on to eternal glory, after all."
"He was smiling at the end. As he flew away on his white horse. He smiled without a single regret."
"That is truly a relief. A relief."
We had already mourned enough for a week, so tears no longer flowed from the brothers' eyes. But the inescapable silence was something we could do nothing about.
Björn looked ten years older in that time, and even Ivar, who was always full of mischief, had lost his smile, his eyes hollow. Those two had far more memories with Father than the rest of us, so it couldn't be helped.
Still, someone had to do what needed to be done.
"Björn. It's time we sent him off."
The sun was already sinking beyond the horizon. We couldn't stand here forever. Only at my words did Björn finally move his heavy body and take up the torch.
"Odin— here goes my father, Ragnar Sigurdsson. Please receive this warrior well as he heads to your hall. Tell him this for me. That he should fare well, until the day we meet again. Farewell."
At last, Björn's arm slowly descended, setting fire to the prepared kindling, and the rest of the brothers dragged the ship together, moving it out to sea.
[Hwareureuk— deureuk— deureureuk—]
Along the short path, engulfed in gentle flames, the ship moved slowly forward under human hands, touching the water, and then at some point.
It sank forever beneath the waves and at last vanished from our sight.
"Just like our lives— engulfed in a pit of fire, we move forward, only to fall at last. Odin, look after my father well. Until we meet again..."
Ivar, who had been silent for a long while, came and stood beside me with a sigh, and following him, the brothers lined up one by one on either side of me.
"Helgi, I'll be going to Olaf soon. The white friend in Dublin, I mean. That old man says he wants to set foot on his homeland before he dies, and the situation there doesn't look easy."
Words I couldn't quite grasp spilled from Ivar's lips, stained red as he gazed at the sunset that had taken the place of Father's funeral pyre.
And then Halfdan took up the thread.
"Helgi, I've decided to marry the daughter of Bagsecg, Konungr of the Jutes. I may even inherit that land. Bagsecg has no heir."
'What does that have to do with me...?'
Whether my brow furrowed or not, the brothers seemed to have made up their minds, and Sigurdeu stepped forward next.
"I'm going to make our journey into a song and carve it on a great stone monument. Then Father's legend, then Grandfather's legend. For me, Roskilde is land enough."
"I'll settle down in Árós."
'And who decided that...?'
The moment Sigurdeu finished, Ubba chimed in, and just as I began to feel that something strange was in the air, Björn stepped forward before me last and spoke.
"I am old, Helgi. I lived my whole life longing for Odin and Valhalla, but watching you... my thoughts gradually changed."
Björn subtly revealed the silver ornament around his neck. On that ornament, astonishingly, gleamed the symbol of Hel, bearing the two faces of the living and the dead.
"Father and Mother, the Things of Uppsala and all the other cities, and our brothers except for you. Everyone already knew. That the one who can become the true Konungr is Helgi of Árós. That there is only one."
[Seureureung—]
Björn spoke calmly, then drew the sword he had held in his arms, supporting it with both hands as he offered it to me. He dropped to one knee as he did so.
[Seueuk—]
"Think about it, Helgi. What man could possibly dare to place beneath him and command a warrior who, by his strength alone, shatters the ranks of charging enemies? If we do not make the one whose mere rule causes starvation and death by foul disease to vanish our Konungr, then who on earth can rule this land, these wild people?"
As Björn's words continued, the knees of the countless warriors who had surrounded us and watched everything touched the ground, and they kept a silence as still as death.
"If you do not step forward, who else is there to place the sons of Ragnar beneath him? So I ask you this. Helgi Ragnarsson of Árós. Please, become our Konungr."
On Björn's bowed face, there was no more worry to be seen. What remained there was only an intense conviction.
Beyond the faces of my brothers, all bowed like Björn, I saw the countless warriors, not a single exception, their heads lowered, and an emotion I had never quite known before welled up.
'Can I do it?'
And then I suddenly saw the people of Northumbria and Eoforwīc.
Even with their heads bowed, I could see people who could not hide their anxious eyes, glancing this way over and over.
'The question was wrong.'
If I did not do it, nothing would change.
If nothing changed, these people would live on as history originally dictated, killing each other for countless ages to come. Simply because of the greed of kings and lords, because they were born that way, because the name of God was placed before the name of man. Because of countless other reasons.
A terrible age where even the life of a newborn couldn't be guaranteed.
Even if it was nothing more than shallow heroism, the shabby daydream of a half-baked future man, and the core of me was still just a poor orphan boy from 21st-century South Korea, sitting in front of a computer in a cramped room.
If I could do it.
'I will do it.'
I would most certainly change history.
[Cheok—]
I grasped the sword Björn offered me.
It was a one-handed sword unique to the Norsemen, lacking a guard to protect the hand. On one face of that sword was etched the word [Trait: Courage].
"Until the day you need me. I shall fulfill my duty as Konungr."
At my words, those who had held their breath for a while rose from their places one by one. A thousand emotions for a thousand people, ten thousand emotions for ten thousand people.
In this place where a whirlwind of every conceivable emotion swirled, Björn was the first to cry out, and the people's shouts followed behind.
"Long live Helgi Konungr, ruler of all Norsemen!"
"Give worship! Long live Helgi!"
"Long live the most noble goddess of Death! Long live her warrior, Helgi!"
"Long live Helgi Cyning!"
One summer's day, when shouts like 'Hail Helgi—!' and 'Hail Helgi Ragnarsson—!' echoed from every direction.
On the very spot where we had sent our father off, I became king, according to the will of my people and my own.