32.
32.
The royal progress through Vernika, in the north of Northumbria, stretched westward from Bebbanburg to the city of Edinburgh.
Unlike Bebbanburg with its mix of stone and timber, Edinburgh impressed with its warmly familiar wooden castle, steeped in a scent of tradition that was wholly intact.
However, the two key strongpoints in the north were similar in one respect — they both perched their nests atop large hills.
The difference, perhaps, was the composition of the inhabitants here. I saw Scots and Picts, and Angles and Saxons too — I could tell them apart because they spoke different languages. As if they had lived this way not merely for a year or two, they accepted my rule without any resistance whatsoever.
Even the religious practices that had taken root here were much the same.
Indigenous beliefs seemed to linger, and the influence of the cross was visible as well... it confirmed for me once more that staking one's life on religion was the domain of the ruling class.
The people beneath them were busy eking out a day-to-day existence, and the faith of peasants and the faith of nobles were as far apart as their birthrights.
That said, I did not see any hope of the Norse faith squeezing itself into that gap. But I had a belief that time was on my side.
'I don't need long. Just give me ten years.'
After witnessing the miracle of abundance with their own eyes, many would change their thinking.
"Helgi Konungr, word has come that Jarl Björn and Ivar have finished all preparations to depart."
Swish—
With the pleasant late-summer—autumn—wind at my back, having finished my goodwill tour of the northern lords and subjects, the youngest of the new Garmr Brotherhood and Björn's second son, my adjutant Refil, handed me a wooden board carved with runic script as I rode southward.
[Ship. Sea. Goes out. We. You. Njord.]
"I see."
What I was looking at now was runic script.
Njord was the god of the sea. And this runic script was in principle a phonetic script like an alphabet — that is, letters derived from sound. But at the same time, it was also an ideographic script like the hieroglyphs of Egypt.
What did that mean?
It meant that to understand this writing, you had to grasp the full circumstances surrounding the person who wrote it.
A truly beautiful script.
Usually, this runic script was carved by knife into wooden boards or sticks, but I, with my more refined tastes, always instructed merchants who traveled far to the east to order high-quality parchment, pens, and ink from the Eastern Roman Empire.
Surely paper existed somewhere in this world, but it had never yet come within my sight.
I had never learned how to make paper in the standard curriculum of my previous life, so I used parchment in a case of taking the lesser evil, but others still preferred the traditional ways.
Such as these wooden boards, or branches, or the bare ground and flat stones.
"Then shall we hurry a little? We cannot keep the brothers waiting!"
"Understood, Konungr. All of you, pick up speed!"
"Pick up speed!"
Refil, who had taken the post of adjutant, raised his voice, and Seutorolpeu, who held the position of standard-bearer, bellowed out the order.
Hrolf, left behind in Jorvik, would be diligently attending to the king's proxy duties.
I felt a palpable sense of generational shift among the vassals under my command.
"Now, let us ride! My warriors!"
[Prrrruuk— pryuk—]
The elite warriors, both Norsemen and Northumbrians, with whom I had deepened bonds of camaraderie during our royal progress through the north — hunting together, camping in the rain together — all quickened their pace at my word in unison.
Seeing how one and all were growing ever more skilled at handling the horses they rode filled me with deep satisfaction.
'Right now it's only a hundred, but if they give me ten years...'
I would forge an invincible cavalry, and I meant it.
Of course, the horses we rode were a little smaller than I expected. But had horses always been such small animals?
[Prrrruuk— pryuk!]
I scratched the neck of my black horse, who gave a vigorous whinny as if in high spirits, and our modest cavalry troop headed for Jorvik.
*****
Having raced along in high spirits and entered the wide-open stronghold of Jorvik, I quickly unpacked my travel gear and appeased my hunger.
Today's menu was well-grilled fish, bread, and a few fresh vegetables.
It was a most satisfactory meal by this standard. With mead airlifted from Árós alongside it, it was a taste so sublime it rivaled the heavens.
Even in my previous life, I had not been fond of cola, hamburgers, or the taste of pungent spices, so as long as I had decent meat, I could eat anything gladly.
Then, a good cleaning of the teeth with a strip of linen cloth, a rinse of the mouth with clean water, and that concluded the brushing.
Sometimes I would hold in my mouth water infused with sweet-smelling herbs and flowers, but with no time for that now, I skipped it all and received my two elder brothers, who bore every trace of having rested thoroughly for days.
"Helgi Konungr."
"Konungr Helgi Ragnarsson."
We had barely gripped forearms in greeting when Ivar, the intent to tease me written all over his body, sat down and spoke.
"When you first crossed this sea, you were Jarl of Árós. When you crossed it a second time, Konungr of all Norsemen. So when you cross the sea a third time, what you will be... I am greatly curious, Konungr Helgi!"
"Ha—"
A hollow laugh escaped me at that smooth-tongued expression.
At the same time, a worry that had been lurking in one corner of my heart eased a little. It felt as though the two who had struggled most with our father's funeral had returned fully to their old selves.
"Enough, Ivar. I am called Konungr now. That is above Jarl, you know."
"Oh— forgive my impertinence! Great Konungr!"
"Damn it..."
If Sigurdeu was a pure-hearted clown, Ivar was a fox — a fox who played with people.
Björn, who had been watching the little farce with an amused face, spoke up.
"The fleet has finished its preparations."
This rigid Norseman insisted I must grow accustomed to it, and even in a private gathering like this, he was treating me with the formal deference due to a Konungr — even though I told him there was truly no need.
"Then let us rest a day and depart immediately. The men who moved with me must be given a little time to rest."
"It shall be so."
Only warships had come on the way here, but on the way back, a great many merchant ships were to follow behind. Now that the two lands facing the North Sea had fallen under my flag, trade between them would bloom into full flower.
"Then I must move today."
Ivar, who had been listening quietly, interjected with a composed expression.
Our fleet composition at present was fifty ships to return together with Björn and Halfdan, and fifty ships to head to Dublin with Ivar; the whole force lay at anchor in a long line along the banks of the River Ouse that ran through Jorvik.
If we all pulled out at once, it would probably take half a day just to clear the river mouth.
So Ivar's words were supremely rational and correct, yet for some reason I felt a sense of wistful regret. I had grown quite attached in the time we had shared.
"Dublin... I've heard the island across the way is a complicated situation too. If trouble should arise, don't hesitate—you must call on Jorvik for aid."
"I'll bear it in mind, Helgi. But you needn't worry overmuch. Olaf and I may not be warriors of your caliber, but we're not men to be taken lightly either."
Ivar's grin was as refreshingly frank as the first time I'd ever seen it, though it had picked up a few creases here and there.
"Well, even so—I shall bear it in mind, my Konungr!"
To see Ivar off as he rose and brushed himself down, still smiling, Björn and I moved together to the wharf situated inside the walls of Jorvik.
Off in the distance by the water's edge, I could see Hrolf and Halfdan in heated debate with some merchants. And Ecgberht making a fuss right alongside them.
Sigurdeu had stayed behind in Bebbanburg. By his own account, he wished to be of use to me, but the way I saw it, he seemed to have taken an interest in Ælla's daughter who was at Bebbanburg keep.
Uhtred would handle it well enough, I imagined.
Ubba, whom I'd stationed beside Hrolf to learn the work, was probably off somewhere diligently sorting out the loading issues too. Being the sharp-minded brother, I'd heard he was picking the work up fast.
"I've summoned my son as well, Helgi. He should be crossing the sea about now."
Ivar's son could only mean Baldr, a year younger than Refil—that is, the same age as me. A wretched sickness had kept him from joining this campaign, but it seemed his condition had improved somewhat, which was a relief.
"Then I'll take my leave here."
[Thump—]
We clasped each other's forearms firmly and lifted up the names of many gods, wishing one another fortune in battle.
After exchanging farewells with Björn in the same fashion, Ivar climbed aboard his ship and gave the signal to depart.
[Puuu-uuu-uuuung—]
The resounding blast of the horn trumpet echoed powerfully across the riverbank. Amidst the warriors rowing hard to pull the moored ships free, Ivar stood tall and waved his arm toward us.
"Until we meet again, Helgi! Björn! Halfdan! Ubba!"
"Brother! Mind the winds and the waterways!"
"Until next time, Ivar!"
With Ivar's ship at the head, the warriors slipped out of the riverbank one by one.
Among them were adventure-hungry warriors from Árós, the guard who had spent their whole lives alongside Ivar, and Anglian warriors of Jorvik.
The words 'a new chance' were, after all, always enough to make the heart race.
Suddenly, I recalled Björn's words—that the reason Ivar wandered ever outward was because there was a hollow hole bored through his heart.
But the fleeting thought crossed my mind that perhaps Ivar simply loved the sailing, the battle, the adventure itself.
"Well then, it would be best if we meet again tomorrow. I think I shall have a bath with my son for the first time in a long while."
Björn shrugged his shoulders as he gestured toward Refil, and Refil smiled too.
"Let's do that, brother. I'll head in first, so I'll see you tomorrow. Refil, I'll see you tomorrow as well."
"I shall do so, Helgi Konungr."
"Go in peace."
After giving Refil the order to follow his father at once, I left behind the wharf bustling with people seeing off the departing ships and returned to the tallest building in this city—my office.
The business of a brother was finished; now it was time once more for the business of a king.
'If I want to avoid getting an earful from Hrolf, I should at the very least finalize the southern defense plan.'
Thanks to my tireless stamina and brain, the lamp in my office had no thought of going out.
*****
866 AD. The fifth month of summer. Sunnudagr. Northumbria, Jorvik.
Traveling on circuit through the north and south of Northumbria, I was able to meet all the ealdormen of this new land.
It was not as if I possessed mind-reading, nor could I see status windows floating above people's heads, but among them I saw none who seemed likely to rise against me at once.
Uhtred of Bebbanburg was certainly a very capable lord, provided he could be trusted—though he had even converted, was not a king's position said to be one of suspicion? I ought to watch him longer—and the people of Jorvik, for some reason, were exceedingly fond of me, so I could leave Ubba at Ecgberht's side without worry.
Thus, having concentrated the political and economic center of southern Dair in Jorvik and northern Vernika in Bebbanburg, I boarded a ship bound for home for the first time in nearly a year.
"The sea is calm and the wind is cool—it shall be a most pleasant voyage."
Hrolf—that dutiful ox who wore his displeasure on his face but carried out every task splendidly—wore a broad grin at this rare excursion.
"Truly so, Hrolf."
Come to think of it, I had never once experienced the sort of thing people so often fear when putting out to sea—a storm, or a wave suddenly surging up.
Of course, my career as a viking was short, but I entertained the rational suspicion that some other something might be at work.
"Sigebryht of Beodericsworth and Rendlesham was positively feverish with excitement. It was the Konungr who caught and slaughtered Ælla and Osberht, yet that man seemed the happiest of all."
Hrolf smiled faintly, recalling the message from Sigebryht, my vassal in East Anglia, which had arrived via a merchant a few days prior.
Now that I thought about it, the Anglian who had wagered his entire fortune on our victory was not only Ecgberht waving fervently at me from the wharf in Jorvik, far behind me now. Rather, before him, there had been Sigebryht of East Anglia.
Standing beside Ecgberht, who looked ready to shed tears, I had already exchanged farewells with Ubba, who raised his arm in greeting toward me.
And tucked safely in my breast rested the letter Ubba had entrusted to me for the two mothers.
Sigurdeu, meanwhile... had his eyes stolen away by a woman and seemed to have little interest in whether I was coming or going. What, was she not the daughter of our enemy? And to that daughter, we would be the enemy. Some sort of Romeo and Juliet? What was he thinking about Roskilde? At times I could not understand Sigurdeu.
In any case, Sigebryht of East Anglia was the one who, in a sense, had wagered everything he possessed on our victory. It was a fortunate thing we had won; had this war dragged on even a little or ended in failure, he would have found himself in a profoundly awkward situation.
Of course, such hypotheticals were now completely useless, given that I had thoroughly subjugated Northumbria.
"Sigebryht will be pleased, but I wonder about Edmund Cyning."
"That one may well be weeping somewhere by now. Do you intend to let him live?"
Though he spoke as if in peace, Hrolf's eyes, as he discussed the life or death of Edmund, were utterly cold.
"Let us watch him a little longer, Hrolf. Haste always loses the hare."
"As you will, my Konungr."
No doubt my own eyes had been little different.
The placid sea that held us in its bosom was so gentle it was almost soporific.
Soon enough, by the grace of the gods of sea and wind, the coast of our homeland drew near without so much as a single pirate attack, and the warriors raised a cheer.
"Ō-ō-ō-ō—!"
"Ō-ō-ō-ō—!"
"Land dead ahead!"
Yet, having been away for a year from this harbor that was transforming so busily, the sheer amount of cargo coming and going was astonishing.
"Is that cargo arriving from across the strait?"
"Yes! Konungr! They're merchants from the east bringing furs!"
But something was a little off.
The harbor had been expanded so much that it dwarfed the old wharf I remembered.
'Hrolf... is this really all from my own jarldom?'
I looked at him with a face that seemed to ask just that, and Hrolf nodded with a bland expression, as if to say this was nothing.
As expected, our Hrolf was a terrifying man. Even having kept up with the reports, seeing it with my own eyes was stunning.
"It seems my return home has been delayed, Hrolf."
"It would be seemly for you to make a brief appearance, at least. Lunbras and an envoy from the Danelagen city council have also come to see your face, my Konungr."
The smile that had spread across his face was somewhere between that of an orderly bureaucrat and a devil with an expense ledger. Hrolf really was a man who lived up to his ruthless reputation.
'...Is that a smile welcoming the returned Konungr, or the leer of a boss looking to pile work onto a subordinate who's been lazing about.'
The latter, I suspected. Most certainly the latter.
So I returned.
*****
866 AD. Winter Solstice. Capital Árós, Fylkir's Hall.
The King of Northumbria. The name of that vast land, which the high king of the Angles also bore, was at first glance nothing special.
But from the moment I defeated two kings within it and rose anew as its master, the weight of the title 'King of Northumbria' grew considerable. Especially among the Angles, the Saxons, and the Jutes.
My brother Halfdan, younger in age but older in this path, could call himself Konungr of Jorvik and King of Northumbria.
And I, I was no longer the simple 'Jarl of Jutland.'
'To the Christians, I'm nothing more than a heathen who talks to huldras and trolls and serves Odin, but even so.'
The respect given to a powerful monarch still remained, and as that fact propagated far and wide, the face of the Fylkir—Helgi—grew more and more famous. So too did the prestige of the entire Danelagen and the North Sea Empire.
"It is the verdict of the council members and the nine jarls that construction of a new Fylkir's Hall, befitting your growing prestige, is now in order. The location would be directly adjacent to the Great Sal—the present Jarl's Hall, that is."
For the law was the law, and though the Fylkir was the supreme ruler, there were still boundaries he could not cross—so said the master of the Thing who had come up from the south.
The custom in the North Sea Empire was that even the Fylkir was not a despot who could do whatever he pleased but a constitutional monarch constrained by law and institutions. And this was actually something I had encouraged and systemized, so it felt a little curious to be bound by my own established order.
Anyway, the proposal was to publicly construct a palace and administrative offices suitable for the highest sovereign.
The funding would come from the tributes of the jarls and the coffers of the central government. The labor force would be hired from among the freedmen of Árós.
The name they'd already decided on was the 'Hof of the Gods'—a name that seemed intent on calling clergymen from every corner of Europe to condemn me as the infamous Antichrist, but since it hadn't been finalized yet, I decided to let the matter go for now. It could always be renamed during construction.
"Very well. Whether temple, hall, or palace, let the finest craftsmen in the empire be gathered. Also, send word to Francia, Rome, and Rum as well."
"Are you saying you will invite craftsmen from abroad?"
"Is it not more efficient to have them build Roman-style bathhouses and underfloor heating than to make our own men study it from scratch?"
At my words, the officials—who had been agonizing over how to secure the latest technology—bowed their heads as if in admiration.
"And summon the architects who built Uppsala. Their spirits may differ, but the foundation will be a temple to our gods—so if the original form is not properly reflected, what meaning is there?"
"Wisely spoken, Konungr."
"Then proceed immediately."
"Yes, my Konungr!"
After sending off the various officials, I let out a hollow laugh.
'Still, at least I'm not so poor a monarch as to live in squalor like the Eastern Roman Emperor cowering behind the Theodosian Walls.'
The title 'Emperor' was still a far-off dream, but by the standards of these Northern lands, this was more than enough. The scale of it might even surpass the palace of the Frankish king in Aachen.
'And what of the name 'Hof of the Gods?' That's practically the same as Valhalla, isn't it?'
If I did build it, I would have to pay special attention to the feast hall and the feast dishes.
"Ah, and there is one more report, Konungr."
"Go on."
"It concerns the people from the flint lands. Shortly before your return, a shipment of arms headed for them was intercepted."
I signaled with my eyes for him to continue, and the official laid out the details without omission.
The facts were these: the goods were shipped from Jorvik, destined for a people called the Kanien'kehá:ka via the settlements of the Four Tribes, but a group of sea raiders had seized the convoy.
The Wabanaki, who were escorting the shipment, had apparently shouted to the raiders that this was freight belonging to the Fylkir of the North Sea, but the raiders had only retorted, "Fylkir? What the hell is a Fylkir?" before laughing and rowing away with the goods.
The Kanien'kehá:ka, outraged, had tried to strike back at once, but the Wabanaki—citing the principle that "this matter must be reported and dealt with"—had kept them restrained until my return.
"And we have identified the culprits?"
"Of course, Konungr. We captured a few who were careless and obtained testimony."
The testimony pointed to a certain tribe: a people who painted their faces with fierce colors before battle and, when the fighting was done, celebrated by consuming a portion of the enemies they had slain. Men who valued boldness and strength above all else. A tribe whose very name meant 'they who eat living flesh.'
"Hmm..."
"And so, Konungr—"
But the official's report could not continue.
[Kung-!]
Because the door of the Sal had burst open, and the warriors guarding the entrance had raised their voices.
"The chiefs of the flint people and the Wabanaki request an audience!"
The men who strode in wore their hair in a distinctive style—shaved into a strip down the center of the head, with feathers affixed to the back—and their faces and exposed skin were painted with vivid dyes.
All of them were clearly seething with fury.
'...Mohawk.'
It was the very tribe whose name meant 'they who eat living flesh.'
I felt I was beginning to understand why the Wabanaki had so readily bent the knee when I threatened to hurl the fire-spewing lava stones.
'They needed a powerful ally.'
The chief of the Mohawk, who had come himself to rage before the Fylkir, fixed me with eyes blazing like a ghost's and roared.
"The eaters of shellfish who violated your supplies and wounded our warriors!"
"They call themselves Mi'kmaq."
Everyone, not just the Mohawk, seemed to know that attaching the suffix 'aq' meant plural.
"We demand that you annihilate the Mi'kmaq and avenge us! We will place our weapons at your vanguard!"
Looking at the Mohawk warriors grinding their teeth and blazing with fury, I momentarily fell into thought.
'The Kanien'kehá:ka and the Mi'kmaq... both are peoples of the woodland east. And if I control the material supply line from the Kanien'kehá:ka lands...'
A vast plain unfolded in my mind's eye.
[Kung—]
The great doors of the Sal swung open once more. When I lifted my head, I saw the shaman of the Four Tribes, clad in a deep gray wolf pelt from head to toe, walking toward me with measured steps.
His two eyes, visible through the gaps in the pelt, shone with an eerie light.
"Fylkir. The spirits of the dead are crying out."
He halted.
"They say that if you cast out the tribe who dares devour the flesh of warriors, bring their lands under your dominion..."
The shaman's voice deepened.
"You may open the third door. For the shore opposite the flint lands is the vastest lake in this world, and beyond that lake spreads an even wider land. A land the people of this continent call 'Mesopótamos.'"
At that moment, a forgotten seal from the game seemed to flash before my eyes.
A lake so enormous it looked like a sea. A fertile ground of green forests and blue rivers.
'Right... Europa Kings did have an achievement called the 'Lord of All Lakes.''
My thought had been brief.
"This grievance shall be answered without fail."
When I rose and spoke, the Mohawk warriors shouted their war cry and raised their tomahawks high.
'Their numbers are few.'
A battle fought against the same woodland tribes would—
A battle that matched warriors born and raised in the same wilderness against one another.
'It will be fierce.'
My army couldn't be everywhere. And if things went wrong, they could even hurt one another. That was why I had supplied them with high-quality arms. But if the Mi'kmaq had taken up those arms and even attacked my supply lines, the calculations were neatly finished.
'It's far more efficient to let their mortal enemies, who know the terrain and lack nothing in warrior's pride, do the fighting.'
Thus I planned to let the Kanien'kehá:ka and their allied tribes, who hungered to taste enemy blood at once, do the work while preserving my forces as much as possible.
Of course, I intended to come in at the very end and claim all the credit myself.
"The warriors of Asgard shall join this expedition."
I would send an elite detachment of a few hundred to support them. The Fylkir's warriors, armed with steel blades, armor, and shields.
Even the proud Mohawk knew full well that the weapons of the Four Tribes had grown several times more fearsome than before, and they roared in delight.
On that day, in the Fylkir's Sal, loud shouts rang out for the victory and glory of the allied forces to come.
But there were none among us who knew.
That this first allied army of the new continent would, just three years later, become embroiled in a war between the two greatest powers of the eastern woodland.