41.
41.
Polotsk. As was common for riverside settlements, it took its name from the Polota River that flowed past it.
Long before, when the great migration of the Germanic peoples swept across Europe, after the Huns and the Germanic tribes had departed, the Finns from the north, the Goths from the south, the few remaining Germanic tribes, and many other named tribes from the east had quietly gathered and begun living together.
That was the starting point of this Rus' and the surrounding tribes with all manner of names.
Their history was one of mixing.
A few days ago, their Knyaz, who had once strode out the gates with such dignity, had returned no longer a Knyaz but serving some foreign Konungr as his lord, yet the people of Polotsk did not seem greatly disturbed.
Indeed, the locals here had encountered us Northmen more than once or twice... a familiar face had unexpectedly returned as their king, so they were a bit surprised, but once they saw my build (?), they accepted it readily.
'I didn't know what connection there was between a king and his build, but...'
'Was sturdiness really such a good thing? My large body did have its uses sometimes.'
Polotsk was a small town compared to Novgorod, so the troops that followed Rurik and me had to build a separate resting place, and as a result, the townsfolk bustled about diligently.
The old folk looked worried that their winter stores might run out; the women's eyes sparkled with curiosity; the men with a decent growth of hair watched with perfectly natural wariness toward outsiders; the children, with innocent expressions, watched the people building a great encampment next to their village.
I had sent word to Novgorod in advance, ordering them to move the ships we had come on, so not long after we started digging and hammering, with the help of merchants who had brought various supplies—watching them quickly construct a decent encampment filled me with deep emotion.
'The feedback from the last expedition had been well incorporated. I was proud of myself.'
The memory of bivouacking in East Anglia had been so traumatic that I prepared thoroughly for this expedition. All the more so because we might have to winter in foreign lands...!
I made sure to pack extra cloth, prepared essential metal goods like nails and hammers in advance, ensured every warrior had at least minimal cold-weather gear...
Wood was plentiful everywhere, so simple palisades, tents, and fire-making no longer took even two days. From now on, the warriors under me would have to master digging no matter what. War and expeditions were a matter of shovels.
'And since we had gained Polotsk as well, the winter supply route wouldn't freeze over.'
If a record-breaking cold wave struck, that would be the end of it, but we had already entered the first month of winter, and with this kind of weather, it was highly likely that this year would be a mild winter like the last.
The water route near Lake Ladoga was north of here and could easily freeze over, but the river running beside Polotsk, they said, would not freeze unless truly extreme cold set in.
It was a little narrow, but where else could one find a usable route in winter?
'The people of Polotsk had to eat too, so I would have to tell them to load up plenty of food and bring it.'
Since I had already dealt with most urgent matters before departing, Björn, whom I had left as regent in Árós and Uppsala, would be at leisure. I could ask him to handle something like this.
"Helgi Konungr, it is ready!"
Just as I was settling the affairs of Rus', which had gone more smoothly (?) than expected, I heard Seutorolpeu's voice outside my tent.
"Ah, is it already that time? I'll come out right away."
"Yes, Konungr!"
Still, it was the month of Blot, so shouldn't the warriors on campaign have something to laugh and enjoy? If it were up to me, I would have thrown a grand celebration like the frenzied victory festival that had erupted in Uppsala last time, but...
In a situation with limited supplies and men, that was impossible.
So what I had prepared was a sports competition. It was not a huge event like the Olympics, but I had certainly drawn inspiration from it.
"Helgi Konungr, you've come!"
"Konungr Helgi!"
"Welcome!"
"I'm a bit late."
Polotsk, perched on a high hill, and our army's encampment settled on a low hill beside it. With a town of roughly 7-8,000 people and an encampment holding 1,600 warriors (800 from Árós, 800 from Novgorod) standing side by side, it looked just like a city.
"So, what are we starting with?"
"We begin with spear-throwing and stone-throwing! After that, fistfighting!"
Of course, this was the 9th century, which defied 21st-century common sense. There was no way sports would be ordinary.
"This is truly something to look forward to!"
On the wide, flat ground in front of the encampment, they had stretched a long rope to mark off a space, and a crowd surrounded it, all shouting at once.
"Go~! Smash them! Show those bastards the might of Rus'!"
"If you lose, don't even think of walking back in!"
"Árós! Árós! Árós!"
"Novgorod! Novgorod! Novgorod!"
"This is our home! You morons! Polotsk! Polotsk! The! Strong! Est! Pol! Otsk! Victory or deeeeath!"
Perhaps a rumor had leaked through the merchants that ships loaded with Árós grain would soon arrive, for the people were already heavily drunk before the main event had even begun.
'This was going to turn into a fight if we weren't careful.'
Rurik, Mirosław, and I sat on a raised dais, looking down on the scene at a glance, while Refil and Oleg, who could be called the working staff, were running the contest with dark circles under their eyes, gesticulating here and there.
'Poor souls. I'd have to give them a bonus.'
Had I said it before? That kings and lords had it good because they had many people beneath them to order around. I believed without a doubt that all of this would prove to be a valuable experience for Refil and Oleg.
[peolleok-! peolleok-!]
Since there had been no time to dye it, Refil waved a white flag and shouted that they were ready, and soon Seutorolpeu, greatly excited, relayed the message to me.
"Konungr! They say the warriors have finished preparations! By drawing lots, Polotsk throws first, then Novgorod, and finally Árós!"
"Is that so? Then let us begin at once."
"Yes, Konungr!"
[buuuung- uuuung-]
More excited than the participants themselves, the Knyazes beside me downed their drinks, their faces flushed red. And Seutorolpeu, looking more thrilled than the people cheering in frenzy, blew the horn with all his might.
"The first warrior! Vadim of Polotsk!"
"Yaaaahh-!"
"Uuuu-!"
"Polotsk! Polotsk!"
"Vadim! Vadim!"
There were three participants per city. With such short preparation time, there had been no preliminary rounds. They were simply selected based on word of mouth, rumors, hearsay, appearance, and physique.
The first warrior from Polotsk, apparently a show-off by nature, amid the chaos of everyone shouting, cheering, and jeering—rather than being fazed, he roared toward the crowd and drew a response.
"For the victory of Polotsk-!"
"Waaaaah-!"
After enjoying himself to the fullest, the show-off warrior examined a spear of a size just right for throwing, gauged the distance, then charged forward with all his strength, put his entire body weight into it, and launched the spear magnificently into the sky.
[Huuuung-! ... Puk!]
"Waaaaah-!"
"This is over! That's got to be the winner!"
"Judges-! Run faster-! Damn it, where are those bastards from!? Are they going slow on purpose!?"
The judges, evenly selected from each city for the sake of fairness(?), appeared to have bonded through their harsh work under Refil and Oleg. They didn't so much as blink at the angry crowd's urging and silently went about their business.
The distance was marked by a bright blue cloth planted in the ground.
"Oh- the Polotsk warrior's skill is remarkable, Knyaz Mirosław."
"Thank you! Konungr Helgi. Though I say so now, the warriors of Polotsk are quite strong! More so than the warriors of Novgorod! Uahaha!"
Slugging back the drink poured nonstop by the slave beside him, Mirosław pretended to express gratitude to me while naturally dissing Novgorod.
At that, veins bulged on both temples of Rurik, who was likewise downing drink after drink poured by a slave.
[Adeudeuk-]
"The Novgorod warrior hasn't even competed yet, so it is too early to rejoice, Knyaz Mirosław."
"Ah, at this rate you'll break your teeth, Knyaz Rurik. You should be careful...! You there, bring something for the Knyaz of Novgorod to chew on!"
"Yes, Knyaz."
[Badeudeuk-]
Hmm.
Down below, they were trading insults yet laughing and seeming to bond, but up here the emotional rift only seemed to deepen.
Well, I suppose it was a relief they were venting their feelings somehow. I'd have to shift toward getting them drunk at the after-party, wringing out all their tears and snot, and then making them reconcile.
In the following turn, the Novgorod warrior's spear flew past the blue flag by a hair's breadth, and Rurik, too overjoyed to maintain his dignity, jumped down from the dais and bounced around.
Seeing that, Mirosław turned the face of a ripe tomato and encouraged the thoroughly deflated Polotsk warriors...
Of course, the winner of the spear-throwing was naturally the Árós warrior. I had no idea how he did it, but he hurled the spear so far it nearly reached the riverbank.
The two knyazes showered me with all manner of admiration and praise while wearing rather regretful faces, and so it went with the boxing, the Glima which was very much like ssireum, then the highly anticipated short-distance and long-distance swimming events.
When the Árós warriors won every single one, I had to shower empty pleasantries to soothe the two now thoroughly dejected knyazes.
Of course, I couldn't help the corner of my mouth lifting involuntarily...
We shall be victorious, Árós. Today, and tomorrow.
Still, while the people of the three cities, much more familiar with one another after all the laughing, shouting, and roughhousing(?), savored the lingering excitement of the now-ended sports meet, I stepped to the center of the dais and drew everyone's attention.
"Warriors of Árós, Novgorod, and Polotsk! You have all done well! Let us eat and drink today with both regret and joy! I shall give prizes to victors and vanquished alike, so look forward to the next sports meet! Long live Árós! Long live Novgorod! Long live Polotsk!"
"Hurrah-! Long live Konungr Helgi!"
"Remember the warriors' names! Pass them on to the poets!"
"Long live the three cities! Long live their wise Konungr!"
Amid the wildly excited crowd, Refil and Oleg, looking happier than anyone, caught my eye as they raised both arms high and cheered.
'I'll have to give them a hefty bonus...'
All things considered, these sports meets were truly excellent for integration.
Therefore, the next one could be organized better and held on a larger scale. I trusted Refil and Oleg.
"Hurrah-! The work is done! Hurrah-!"
"Konungr hurrah! Hurrah!"
The two men, unaware of my black ulterior motives, shouted themselves hoarse with cheers.
*****
After the unity sports meet where body and heart become one, the two knyazes, who had ended up grabbing each other by the collar and spewing curses at the after-party, finally got completely drunk and reminisced about the beautiful past, squeezing out tears...
It wasn't exactly pleasant, but wasn't it a relief that things turned out well, all the same?
The people of Polotsk, who at first had regarded us with guarded eyes, now accepted us, and all the warriors who had participated in the sports meet saw their names rise in value—wherever they went, people recognized them.
In other words, they had become stars.
Of course, it had nothing to do with me.
Because something far more important than a scandal between our small, precious sports meet champion and village maidens A, B, C had come calling.
"Hmm."
"Hmm."
Because we had headed to Polotsk, the letters that had missed us kept arriving through the merchants coming and going. The second letter from Eudokia, wife of the co-emperor Basileios of Rome and daughter of the Varangian captain.
Whatever she was trying to hide, the letter contained an incoherent list of words like [Freyr, fast, good, fear, enemy], and even those were deliberately distorted in shape, as if she were maintaining extreme caution.
"I had intended to take a bit more time, but I must move quickly, you two knyazes."
"Yes, Konungr!"
"Only give the order."
"Select for me those who will accompany us down to Kyiv. Three ships each, and we shall move together. Is that acceptable?"
"Understood! Konungr Helgi!"
"It shall be done!"
Haskuldr and Djur, were they called? Originally, they had been Rurik's oath-sworn men.
Yet as distance grew and other powerful figures appeared around, even the firmest oaths were bound to waver.
It was a matter I would simply go and ask about.
Whether this man would side with us—or not.