30.
30.
866 AD. The fourth month of summer. Alt Clut of Strathclyde.
Two enormous rocks stood shoulder to shoulder.
In the middle of this island, shaped like the two humps of a Bactrian camel, at the gorge where the two rocks met, a man-made structure blocked the waterway and stood with a majestic presence.
"This time too they broke through, they broke through. These stubborn bastards."
Strathclyde. The kingdom of the Clyde valley.
Or Alt Clut, the kingdom named after those massive rocks. Its people were like their relatives and neighbors in the Kingdom of Alba — tough, stubborn, and utterly ignorant of surrender.
And that was,
'Much like us.'
Because it resembled the temperament of the Norsemen, they deserved respect as warriors.
Standing in the middle of a summer that was already more than half gone, the famed raider Olaf hinn Hvíti thought to himself.
'Not yet? Ælla and Osberht of Northumbria broke far too early. I expected them to hold out for at least another year...'
According to plan, they should have burned and plundered all of Strathclyde after its forces had been drawn away... but their return had been far too swift.
The tidings that followed from Northumbria were all nothing short of astonishing.
A dragon had appeared in the sky. Ragnar Sigurdsson's remains were found by his sons. And Helgi Ragnarsson, acclaimed as 'King of all Norsemen.'
'King of all Norsemen...?'
Ordinarily, he would have laughed it off, thinking yet another reckless whelp had set an ill-fitting crown upon his own head...
'I shall have to bring a gift for the king.'
This time, the situation was different.
If the rumors were true, then all of Ragnar's sons had gathered beneath one man's banner. Was such a thing truly possible? A complete inheritance of power?
It was an astounding and fearsome thing, but already in the North Sea there was none who could stand against this new king of the Norsemen.
"Thorstein! Turn the bow! Let those bastards holed up in the rock go free."
"Understood! Father! All ships, turn about!"
After all, they had already taken a satisfying number of slaves along the Clyde's waters. They would pick out the finest goods to offer as a gift, and sell the rest to the greedy kings above and below Dublin.
'I shall return soon. Alt Clut. And...'
Causantín mac Cináeda, the king who ruled over both the Scots and the Picts.
He would plunder that man's entire land. He would burn it. And upon its ashes, he would raise the kingdom of Olaf hinn Hvíti.
Already, the tireless old warrior's ears seemed to ring with the screams of wailing women.
*****
The rise of a new king, one who spanned both Scandinavia and the isle of Britain, sent an enormous ripple through the waters of the world. A ripple that could scarcely be felt in far-off places yet, but which had unmistakably altered the currents of history.
Of course, in places like Rome or Constantinople, where their own troubles were immediate, the news had not even arrived yet—nor, in truth, would they have paid it much mind.
But every person connected to the old gods and their lands paid closer attention to this news than anyone else.
The Konungr of Novgorod, whose tensions with the Khazar Khaganate were mounting.
The Norse lords who had settled as mercenaries along the Frankish northern coast in Frisia.
The monster of Nantes.
And even the one who sought to dominate the western coast of Scandinavia, along with the minor lords who opposed him.
For ambition, for hope, for survival—all of them had begun to move.
*****
Becoming king did not immediately change anything at all.
Sigurdeu still tormented my ears and my mind. Ubba still pestered me, bringing all manner of books wrung out of that poor bishop. Ivar was still busy preparing a new expedition. Björn and Halfdan were still getting ready to return home.
Looking at it this way, I had a strong feeling that the most troublesome seat had simply been passed on to the youngest... but I did not want to tarnish the majestic memory of that moment when they had bade me take up the sword, so I left my doubts as merely doubts.
In any case, let me say it again. Becoming king did not greatly change anything.
The only difference was that the stature of those who sought an audience with me rose by one rung, and the number of people affected by my decisions grew a little larger.
It was only natural that more things demanded my attention, but I did not embrace that fearsome notion of shouldering all the heavy burdens alone.
The advantage of a high position—Konungr, Jarl, lord—was that one had many people below to put to work.
Hrolf, who was slowly beginning to show signs of wanting to retire. Stórolf, who was starting to make a name for himself through valor. Even my brothers Sigurdeu and Ubba, who seemed to have little to do.
Capable, idle, or simply too irritating to watch loaf about.
I seized upon all these people and set them to various tasks.
Sigurdeu was put in charge of preparing the feast to welcome the lords coming down from Vernika in the north of Northumbria; I placed Uhtred at his side and tasked him with gathering intelligence on Vernika's major domains and lords.
Ubba was sent to do the same thing regarding Dair in the south of Northumbria, together with Ecgberht, the Ealdorman (puppet) of the city renamed Jórvík.
I had thought they would hate me for piling work onto them, but seeing the four of them actually pleased about it felt strange. Still, I decided to simply let a good thing be good.
The rest of the administrative drudgery fell to Hrolf.
Repairing the districts that had suffered the worst damage in the last battle; classifying and distributing the iron and silver gained after the fight, the treasures of the old kings that Uhtred had brought forth, and the ceaseless stream of tribute and gifts from all around.
Hrolf was visibly and thoroughly miserable about it, but he had little choice in the matter. Because I had no intention of granting his resignation. Hrolf, I am sorry, but you are going with me to the very end.
Then what on earth did I do?
In the terms of the 21st century's Apple, I was like that legendary man, Steve Jobs.
The conductor of the orchestra. The overseer of all things. A strategic weapon. The face of the enterprise, and so on.
If anyone watched from the side, it could easily look as though I were idling and living off others' labor. But that was absolutely not the truth.
"Helgi Konungr. Someone has come from Árós."
Inside the Jórvík workroom, bustling once more with the sounds of a city reviving after that harrowing battle, a voice came from beyond the door, disturbing the quiet contemplation I had been enjoying.
"From Árós? Let them enter."
"Understood. Konungr."
That "Konungr" sound was something I still hadn't gotten used to.
'Come to think of it, should I unify the titles too?'
The lords of Northumbria were Ealdormen, while the lords of the Danes and Svear were Jarls.
If things continued like this, it would amount to nothing more than separate kingdoms serving the same monarch. I wanted to unite the people, but was there any way? Time would eventually resolve it to some extent, but...
"Helgi Konungr. I hope you have been in peace. Haldis, a faithful servant of Hel, greets you."
A delicate voice, utterly out of place in this testosterone-filled space, rang out low.
'Hm?'
At that unfamiliar sound, I abruptly raised my head to find a priestess wearing the symbol of Hel around her neck, her head bowed as she awaited me.
"A priestess of Hel. Come, sit over here."
"Thank you, Konungr."
As befitting a priest raised under my mother, who strictly disciplined a clergy typically made up of orphans or the youngest children of modest families, this priestess bore a peculiar restraint in every action. She walked over and seated herself in the place I had indicated.
"So, my mother sent you? I trust nothing is amiss?"
At my voice tinged with worry, the priestess smiled slightly and shook her head.
"It is nothing of the sort, so you need not worry. Helgi Konungr."
"Then what is the matter?"
[Jororok-]
Feeling somewhat self-conscious about offering ale or mead to a priestess, I poured a little of the wine Ecgberht had brought and placed it before her. The priestess, making a show of taking a sip in thanks, replied.
"Asta sent word that it would be best if you could come to Árós at the earliest possible moment. Renowned figures have sent gifts, or their own sons and daughters..."
"...And?"
As the priestess trailed off, gauging my reaction, I pressed her for an answer.
"And she said that the matter of marriage must be resolved."
'Damnation.'
It had arrived.
I shut my eyes tight.
*****
'Marriage... marriage...'
After telling the priestess, who had come a long way, to rest comfortably, I had seated Sigurdeu, Ubba, Uhtred, and Ecgberht in my office—and promptly lost myself in other thoughts.
"...So before going to Bamburgh, I saw a long, a very long wall, and the people there said it was built by demons— Helgi, Helgi! Are you listening to me?"
It seemed the immature Sigurdeu, whom I had sent off with Uhtred to work diligently, had returned having done nothing but sightsee. He was going on about the fine drink and spectacles offered by the various lords with their many names as they traveled up the old Roman roads. How was I supposed to concentrate?
"Of course, I heard everything. A wall that holds back demons, was it?"
"No, I was just telling you about a wall built by demons. You seem strange today, brother. Is something the matter?"
Seeing Sigurdeu, who looked at me with a surprisingly sincere expression of concern, unlike his usual self, my muddled head felt a little clearer.
"No, it's nothing. My mother spoke of arranging my marriage."
"What!? Marriage!?"
As if he had stepped on a sharp tack, Sigurdeu leaped up from his seat, making a terrible fuss.
"By the gods! How many winters have you passed now? Seventeen? No, eighteen!"
"!? Jarl Sigurd, Helgi Cyning... you mean to say the Konungr is only 18 years old!?"
"Oh, Lord..."
"That's right, my dear Ealdormen! My brother, at an age that has barely passed that, is already fated to walk into the great evil embrace of marriage...! Oh, what a pity! Helgi!"
'....'
Should I just kick him?
And what are you two, stunned by my age? Do I really look like an old face?
"Anyway, that's how it is, so we must hurry. The lords of the north and south have clearly declared their positions, yes?"
Ignoring Sigurdeu, who had risen to his feet and was striking a tragic pose with exaggerated motions, I asked the two Ealdormen about the situation in Northumbria.
"Certainly. Helgi Konungr. With the deaths of the tyrant and the false king, the lords of Bernicia have already lost all will and capacity to resist."
"The same is true for the lords of southern Dair! Konungr! The moment the southern hegemon Jorvík and I, this Ecgberht, were the first to pledge our loyalty, there was no other chance for them, of course!"
The coldly factual Uhtred, and Ecgberht, who was somehow trying to catch my eye. Ecgberht was, in another sense, a consistent man.
"However..."
Beside Ecgberht, who was rubbing his hands together busily with a bright smile on his pudgy face, Uhtred continued in a cautious tone.
"However?"
"A few bishops and the villages under them are refusing to cooperate. If you will grant me a little time, I will certainly persuade them."
"Hmm. Bishoprics."
Bishoprics. In this era, an archbishop appointed by the Pope would appoint bishops in each region, who then acquired or leased land rights from the local king to establish themselves. Then they would build monasteries, churches, or even grand cathedrals, taking in the younger sons of local nobility or clever boys from impoverished families, training them as monks and priests. They farmed alongside the peasants, transcribed books, made wine(?), and spread the Lord's teachings.
Was it somewhat akin to the Confucian academies and local schools of Joseon? It was a rough comparison, admittedly, but that was the vague image that flitted through my mind.
Even if I had been a Christian monarch, it was something I would eventually have had to settle. And since I followed the gods of the Norsemen... I couldn't just leave them be.
'Nothing is ever easy.'
"I'll have to think on that matter a bit more. Ubba, Sigurdeu. Summon the Huskarls. It seems I'll have to set foot in the northern lands myself."
"It shall be done as you command. Konungr."
"Understood."
When I shifted the atmosphere and issued my command, Sigurdeu accepted it with the perfect posture of a Jarl, while Ubba acknowledged the order while still lost in deep thought over something. I then instructed the two Ealdormen to select the men who would accompany us, before pressing my fingers to my temples and leaning back against my chair.
The work of a king was endless, so I had to rest when I could.