38.
38.
"To be honest, I never imagined you, Konungr, would head for Novgorod yourself."
866 AD. Winter.
In the first month of winter, when a fairly cold wind was blowing, 25 warships and 10 merchant vessels were moving slowly along the waterways that had not yet frozen.
"What do you mean by that, Oleg? It was you who invited me."
"Haha—. I did, Konungr. That's true."
Our party had set out aboard new ships that the carpenters of Árós had poured their souls into building the previous summer, in case the war against Ælla of Northumbria dragged on. Seeing the brand-new drakkar, still seeming to ooze tree sap, everyone was as delighted as children.
And I rode together with Oleg on the one said to be the sturdiest and fastest of them. Seutorolpeu led the fleet, Refil brought up the rear. I was in the center with the merchant ships.
I had half-expected some reckless pirates might appear, but not a single village along the cold coasts of the East Sea showed any hostile intent toward us.
Well, our numbers were not exactly small.
Combined with Oleg's party, the fighting men alone already numbered a thousand. On top of that, there were four hundred more merchants (and part-time warriors) always ready to fight. Not many brave souls were willing to throw away their lives for the furs, amber, provisions, and drink loaded onto the cargo ships.
"It's a bit embarrassing to say this now, but I cannot hide it from you, Konungr.
The truth is, my brother and I did not think you, Konungr, would move personally. How could you? The realm you rule and the realm of Novgorod cannot even be compared... And besides, winter is practically here, is it not?"
Still looking like he couldn't quite believe it, Oleg shook his head slowly, a smile rising to his face.
"So I intended to beg you for as much support as I could possibly get, if you could not come to Novgorod yourself."
"Beg? A warrior like Jarl Oleg?"
A hollow laugh escaped me at his playful smile and choice of word.
"Oh, absolutely. Begging from you, Konungr, is no shame at all. Above all, are you not the strongest one (Sterk) among us?"
In the Norseman's pronunciation, the stress falls on the 'R,' so it could almost be misheard as 'Suterheurk,' and at the word, the warriors who had been slowly rowing all responded at once.
"Sterk! Konungr Sterk!"
"The strong one! The strongest one in this world!"
"Whoop—! Whee-eeek—! Sterk! Whoop—! Whoop—!"
After I stopped the warriors, who in their excitement had even pulled out their horn trumpets, and quieted Oleg, who was similarly whistling, I continued speaking.
"I am grateful for your words, but I don't really know if I am the strongest man in the world myself. More importantly, you said you needed help... what is happening in Garðaríki?"
"Mm. This also seems likely to be a long story. Will that be alright?"
"We have nothing to do but hold our oars anyway. What is there to worry about? We have plenty of time, so let us hear it."
Once, when we first crossed the western sea toward Britain, under the strict discipline of Hrolf, who had suffered terribly(?) under my rowing, I had no choice but to sit still on the ship, even though my heart was rowing vigorously alongside the warriors.
I was absolutely not lazing about idly.
"That is true as well, Konungr. Then I shall speak."
Oleg, who had been sitting in the center like me and keeping me company in conversation, took out a leather pouch from his side to wet his throat properly, then launched into a long account of Garðaríki's circumstances.
'Huh, never mind Miklagard, the situation in Novgorod might be more complicated than I thought...?'
The more I listened to Oleg's story, the more that thought filled my head.
The constant provocations from the Magyars and the Khazar Khaganate settled to the south, the other Varangians in Kyiv who were not cooperative at all, and the other tribes from the west who raided at every opportunity.
Those were roughly the external problems.
Going into the internal problems now, first was the dwindling footsteps of Scandinavian warriors, which decreased as Árós grew rapidly.
This in turn meant the support base of the brothers Rurik and Oleg was weakening, and a Knyaz—that is, a man who called himself Konungr—had appeared in a major settlement like Polotsk (Polotesk, Palteskja), threatening the southern trade route that was Novgorod's lifeline.
I would have to go and see the details for myself, but this made me think that I must steel my resolve once more, as my heart had set out feeling somewhat light.
The land of the Rus, afflicted by troubles both at home and abroad...
I had heard that the Rus people grew exhausted fighting among themselves and finally invited warriors from across the sea to make them their king. So that tale was no jest.
"—And so, it is no exaggeration to say that among the lands of the Rus and its surroundings, the only place where the voice of my brother, Hrørekr, carries any weight is Novgorod."
As Oleg sat on the ship cutting through the current and moving straight ahead, describing the fine scenery, his expression grew darker and darker.
"From the time my brother was first raised as their Konungr until now, there have always been internal threats. Those he had managed to suppress through force began to erupt as the number of warriors coming from across the sea decreased."
And the fact that tensions with the Magyar and Khazar Khaganates were rising meant that villages near the border were being plundered.
'Well, this is something.'
Oleg, and Rurik. These impudent foxes.
They had known of my usual keen interest in Eastern Roman goods and had lured me out by fluttering Eudokia Ingerina's letter. When their real intent was to solve the problems of Novgorod...
No, hadn't Oleg confessed everything honestly? That he had actually been aiming for Northmen warriors, not me. Damn, somehow I was the one who got hooked. I bit the bait of my own accord.
"That is the broad situation in Novgorod. However, as we are hosting you merely as a guest, we will absolutely ensure you feel no discomfort whatsoever."
Looking as if he were setting out to meet a mortal enemy, Oleg made a stern, determined vow, his eyes blazing. I waved a hand at him.
"I am thankful for the sentiment, but do not worry yourself too much, Jarl Oleg. I too have something to gain down in Eastern Rome, which is why I am traveling like this."
"Thank you...! Helgi Konungr...!"
I left Oleg, who looked on the verge of pounding his head onto the ship's floor from sheer emotion, and went over my calculations internally.
'First, I should observe the mood in Novgorod a little, and then lie as low as a dead mouse. Hrørekr is the master of that place anyway, not me. More than that, there must be a way to contact Eudokia... Who was it that delivered her letter?'
Riding a gentle breeze that made it hard to believe we were about to enter the full swing of winter, our small fleet moved swiftly eastward. Guided by Oleg, who could be called a local(?), we were able to enter Lake Ladoga.
*****
Sailing the East Sea (Baltic Sea), I had my suspicions from the occasional glimpses of the landscape, but now I understood clearly. Why the Norsemen had dominated this region.
Fundamentally, this place was not much different from home.
No, it was simply Uppsala, Roskilde, and Kaupang. Árós was a slightly special case, so I excluded it.
The way the forests grew, land all clammy and swampy, filled with marshes and wetlands everywhere, even the shapes of the waterways looking like some huge boulder had come sliding down...
This place resembled southern Scandinavia to an astonishing degree. The climate, the topography, the forms of the mountains and the sea... The only thing different was the people living upon this land. These people, who had begun calling themselves Rus, definitely had a different language and a different culture from us.
The first month of winter. Gormánuður, in other words, the month of slaughter.
Living in the Northern Hemisphere means, in other words, enduring the winter. When the first month of winter begins, the weather is still mild, but the daylight hours shorten noticeably. So this is when they slaughter plenty of livestock, salt it, smoke it... preparing to last through the winter.
Especially in Uppsala, the religious holy site, and Árós, which has now become the political and economic center, huge festivals are held. Usually, they are held to thank Frey for the abundant harvest, but since my rise to prominence, it has transformed into a festival honoring the goddess Hel alongside Frey.
Of course, I could not attend the festival in Árós this year, but instead, I ended up sharing a modest celebration with my friends in Novgorod.
"To the great warrior, Konungr Helgi!"
"O, Perun! I offer this cup to you! Watch over our Konungr and the foreign Konungr...!"
The people of Novgorod fervently prayed for my fortune and Rurik's fortune. I had the idle thought, 'Come to think of it, wasn't Rurik also a king who came from a foreign land?' but I did not bother to voice it.
From the vast Lake Ladoga, a sight that made the word 'sea' seem more fitting, our party arrived at Novgorod by following the Volkhov River stretching southward.
Like any other town or city, Novgorod was a city seated atop a high hill by the riverside.
The veterans of long standing under my command called this city Holmgardr, but the word itself simply meant 'castle, town.'
It certainly seemed to be the most prosperous city in this region.
It paled in comparison to Árós, but it was a trading port located directly below the city where there was a lake named Ilmen, securing ample space to anchor 25 ships since it was surrounded by water on all sides.
Truly a city fit to dominate this region. When the renowned king from the west visited in person, the people of Novgorod threw a great festival despite the recent unrest.
On one hand, I found small comfort in the fact that the warriors who had followed me, unable to enjoy the festival with friends, siblings, and family back in the homeland, could at least celebrate in a foreign place. On the other hand, the situation was unfolding slightly differently from the plan I had originally laid out, and it was gradually giving me a headache.
"Does the drink suit you, Konungr Helgi? Shall I order them to bring out more meat? The pork hindquarter is roasted to sheer perfection! Or, if that's not to your liking, shall I have a woman brought out?"
No, if you're going to say such things, at least lower your voice. It's embarrassing...!
To my surprise, the name of the man stuck right beside me saying these things was Hrørekr. He was Knyaz Rurik, as they called him here.
A man of similar age to Hrolf, with a lush growth of dark brown hair and beard, he had a somewhat slender impression compared to his younger brother Oleg. Yet from the scars and calluses covering both hands that offered me drink, one could tell at once that this man had not lived an easy life.
"No, no. I am fine, Knyaz Hrørekr. The drinks and food of Novgorod suit my taste perfectly. I am grateful for this great hospitality."
"What are you saying...!"
Rurik, startled by my simple acknowledgement, could not hide his flustered expression.
"I am utterly ashamed...! That the great Konungr who personally shattered the spines of the lawless ones beyond the western sea has come, and all we have to serve you is this mere ale and meat...!
Next spring, the moment the ice melts, I shall surely plunder the merchants of Miklagard and the covered ones (Muslims) down to their very skins! And present you with all manner of rare treasures...!"
"No... no. There is absolutely no need for that. I am truly pleased. A festival this magnificent, my shoulders are practically dancing on their own."
To show him my good mood, I emptied the cup in one go. A bitter-spicy aroma lingered at the tip of my nose before descending. It was still far too bland an ale for my palate, but more than enough to wet my throat, which felt like it was cracking in this awkward situation.
Perhaps moved by my magnanimous(?) demeanor, Rurik shouted for more drink to be brought, and the Rus people in the feast hall and my men all became one, roaring with cheers.
'Wait, aren't the lower-ranked folks(?) supposed to be the ones more uncomfortable at a company dinner? I'm the highest-ranking one here, so why am I the most uncomfortable one?'
If I felt uncomfortable, I should shift my posture, but the seat I happened to occupy was the place of honor, so even that was not easy. If I crossed my legs right now, wouldn't Rurik make a fuss again?
Right, that was the problem. The very situation of sitting in the highest seat.
'How did things come to this...'
Regardless of my inner torment, the grand feast where Norsemen and Rus became one was growing more heated by the minute.