44.
44.
Former Parakoimomenos, now a monk.
Perhaps because he had undergone such a dramatic change in status, more time passed after I met Damian, whose head was shaved clean near the crown.
Indeed, whether the Khazars and the Eastern Roman Empire—specifically Strategos Petronas, the master of Cherson—were on intimate terms or not, the Khazar raider party that Haskuldr and Djur had predicted did not so much as cast a shadow on Kiyiu.
While Damian remained at my side and the man he dispatched headed for Cherson, we truly had nothing in particular to do. We slightly expanded the temporary encampment we had built and further improved the drainage ditches.
We made various decorations with timber materials brought by the villagers, who had grown notably friendlier since we ate and drank together, reinforced the flimsy tents...
Before I knew it, we were building another small village right beside the one situated on the great hill, but was that not a case of good being good? Moreover, since I could not take all eight hundred warriors with me to Constantinople, the thought occurred to me that I might as well have my warriors winter here in Kiyiu.
Incidentally protecting the waterway as well, and guarding against any potential raiding by western tribesmen or the Horse Riders.
Regarding Árpád of the Magyars in particular, I had given Haskuldr special instructions: since we had already received furs as tribute, this winter would likely be quiet, but should he come again, I told Haskuldr to leave word that the king of the Rus wished to see him once.
For after all, telling him the king of the Northmen from Árós would mean little—he would not even know where that was, nor would he care much. So would naming the people settled right next to him not pique his interest somewhat?
Thus having roughly put out the most urgent fires, and while intermittently receiving news of Árós from the merchants who came and went one by one along the Dnieper River, overnight snow had fallen, and beyond the fields turned pure white, Petronas of Cherson at last responded.
He said the road to Constantinople was open.
*****
Rurik and Mirosław, each needing to rule Novgorod and Polotsk, expressed to me no small amount of regret before departing with the warriors they had brought.
Unlike when I first set foot on this land, they seemed to have resolved some of the old ill feelings between them to a degree, and now they even jested with each other as they departed Kiyiu.
Of course, a cold wall still seemed to stand between Rurik and Oleg, and between Haskuldr and Djur. But in any case, the distance between Kiyiu and Novgorod was considerable.
As long as they all remained under my banner, there would be no cause for them to clash openly, at least.
Thus, my retinue heading for Cherson was as follows:
Damian, my guest and sole source of information, a sort of guest advisor.
Stórolf, Refil, Oleg, Djur. And one hundred and twenty Warriors of Árós, along with ten merchant ships.
The merchants, their heads full of plans to sell the many furs and amber we had loaded from Árós when we reached Cherson, insisted on following behind me despite the winter wind.
Of course, it was not that I dared to belittle great nature, but the winter wind here was, honestly... compared to the homelands of us Norsemen, with a little exaggeration, not really that cold.
Having lived in such harsh places, one develops a strange sort of pride in it. A pride like, 'My land is harder to live in!'
I had never even noticed the cold much while living in Árós, but now that I had come down to the Black Sea, I could definitely feel it, I suppose one could say.
In any case, having thus completed the formation of our party, we set sail on the very next day after the messenger from Cherson arrived, riding the dawn breeze.
Thirteen ships launched in a line upon the great Dnieper River.
My flagship was slightly larger than the other longships, so it could comfortably seat about five extra men.
Thus, riding the gentle(?) winter wind and pleasantly descending the Dnieper, we soon passed the mouth of the river, rounded the western coast of the Crimean peninsula, and were able to enter Cherson.
'Oh—'
I remembered when I had first landed at Kent, at Dover on the island of Britain. The time I had been moved by seeing a stone building for the first time in my life.
Now, beholding the walls and the well-organized docks of Cherson, I felt even greater gladness and wonder than I had then.
'If what I saw in Britain were the remnants of Rome, this place is Rome still alive.'
Exactly as I had mused, raw and living Rome stood before my eyes.
High, broad ramparts and stone walls. Beyond them, buildings and quaysides made entirely of pure white stone. And red roofs.
Ships unlike our own, ceaselessly coming and going through every section of the docks, which were crafted to exacting measurements down to the last corner.
People who looked different. Romans.
"Salve! Helgi Konungr. Welcome. A caelo usque ad centrum, on behalf of the Basileus of Rome who rules all, Petronas of Cherson greets you."
Contrary to my expectation that the high-nosed Romans would to some extent look down upon us, the one standing at the very head of the crowd—which looked to have brought out all the city's chief officials to greet us—addressed me with courtesy.
"Well met, Petronas. I am Helgi Ragnarsson, Konungr of the Norsemen and the Rus."
[Teop-]
I extended my arm to the Roman who had politely bowed his head, and after a moment's hesitation, he clasped my forearm in return. A handshake that grasped the wrist, not the forearm. A subtle difference in detail, but an expression of goodwill is universal. For it means, 'I hold no blade in my hand.'
"Cherson welcomes the Konungr. You must be weary from the long journey, so would it be acceptable if my subordinates guide the Konungr and his warriors to a place of rest?"
"Of course. Petronas of Cherson. It is rather I who would ask this of you."
"I merely do what must be done."
The faint smile at the corner of the Roman's lips and his hand gestures were unfamiliar.
Having lived jostling among rather rough and direct people, facing politicians like Damian and Petronas was not easy.
[Jjakjjak—!]
"What are you all doing? Escort the guests."
He pulled up the sleeves of his splendid clothes, made of fabric I had never seen before, and clapped. At that, the maidservants who had been waiting nearby all moved at once, guiding my warriors to their respective quarters. My party, now consisting only of those who remained—Damian, Refil, Oleg, Djur, and Stórolf—had Petronas himself volunteer as our guide.
"Helgi Konungr, I will escort you this way."
"My thanks for this extravagant hospitality, Petronas."
"It is my pleasure."
The road was paved with flat, dressed stones arranged to a standard, making it comfortable and stable for people to tread upon.
Even at a glance, the population of Cherson was diverse in composition; among them were people who looked like us Norsemen, people who looked like Arabs, and others ambiguously somewhere in between.
All of them stared at us—tall and heavily armed as we were—with wonder, but the atmosphere was free of worry once they spotted Petronas at the fore.
This atmosphere, slightly detached from the chaos of the Rus and the surrounding circumstances, was deeply striking.
It must have signified that Rome's power was still alive.
Walking without pause, we reached the end of a road where not a speck of filth could be seen and soon stood before a great brick building that looked somehow familiar.
"This place is modest, but it is where I usually reside, Helgi Konungr. I have spoken to my subordinates and had water and clothes prepared for you to wash. Rest as long as you wish, and if you would then inform a subordinate, I will soon prepare a banquet."
I realized where I had seen such a building before—the administrative office in Jorvik, in Britain, was built in exactly this fashion.
A building shaped as if one had cut a rectangle from a notebook and laid it out long and vertical. Though it was striking that the buildings of Cherson had roofs of a round, domed form.
I had never seen those round roofs in Britain...
"I am grateful for your words, Petronas. Then, if I may be so bold as to ask without shame, may I expect an equally warm welcome for those who came with me?"
"Of course. Rome does not scorn its guests, Helgi Konungr."
Petronas spoke in a tone of mock hurt as he bowed his head. At his feigned innocence, I could not help but laugh.
Returning a silent bow to Petronas in kind, I set the maid assigned to guide me before me and stepped through the smoothly opened door.
I was no great expert on Roman history, but why would Romans treat barbarians living beyond their borders, who could not speak Latin, with any generosity? A case like mine must have been an unforeseen variable for them as well. Normally, I would not be able to receive such hospitality.
They would likely have just opened a few markets near the border and told us to trade...
In that respect, we are a people of great warmth. Enough to remind me of my homeland in my previous life.
We Norsemen, once a guest arrives, bring out everything we have, whether we possess it or not, and tell them to eat their fill—drink included, of course.
It is mostly because we do not have much, but such is the simple folk's belief that if you fail to entertain a guest so, Odin himself, who roams the world in the second month of winter, will sternly rebuke you.
Surely not.
Surely our descendants will not forget this beautiful tradition and bring about a day when a son's friend who comes visiting is not even offered a meal? Tsk, really. What thoughts I have.
Anyway,
Should I call this a mansion? Or a villa... The moment I stepped into this building of the Romans, for some reason, a fragrant scent of grapes brushed the tip of my nose, and servants busily moving with water jugs could be seen here and there.
"Ehh-?"
"Ehhh-!"
"This is no good...!"
Refil, Oleg, Djur, and Stórolf, spouting such foolish words and feigning helplessness as they were beguiled by beautiful maidservants, cast me looks that said they had no choice before being led away(?).
'And these are supposed to be my bodyguards...'
Should they not at least consider resisting seduction? It was I who needed to protect them.
"The hospitality of the Rus was good, but the hospitality of Rome, if I dare say, is of a different class altogether. Though of course, the sagacious Konungr, who knows Latin, must already be aware."
As I looked upon my bodyguards being led away with utterly foolish grins of feigned helplessness, Damian subtly interjected from beside me.
This man, who had been exceedingly cautious when I first met him, seemed to have lowered his guard by one level the moment I brought out Latin.
To the old man, who unfailingly revealed a hint of Roman supremacism, I left the words, "I shall look forward to it," and asked the maidservant waiting composedly beside me to continue her guidance.
"Let us see each other a little later, Damian."
"Rest well, Helgi Konungr."
The sly old man sent a markedly curved gaze at my passing back. He probably thought I would not know, but there was no hidden intent that could be concealed before me.
"Konungr, this way..."
The maidservant, exceedingly careful in her gestures, demurely bowed her head and went on ahead.
In the center of the square-built structure lay a garden, so the layout was a square corridor encircling the garden.
I had wondered where the sweet scent of grapes came from; in the middle of the garden, work was in full swing, transferring wine from a great jar into smaller jars.
'Wine, is it...'
The last time had been when I looted and consumed what the bishop in Jorvik had stashed away, had it not? It had been delicious, so this was a fine turn of events.
"This is the place."
After climbing a few stairs while lost in thought, a large door at last greeted me. The antique door, painted a deep blue, had various reliefs carved upon it, which seemed to be mainly crosses and subject matter related to them.
"Konungr, I will assist you now in removing your armor and weapons."
Because she continued to speak with her head bowed, and due to my great height, a voice now rose from below where I could see little more than the back of her head.
"I can remove the armor and weapons myself. Instead, would you prepare me some washing water and a little simple food?"
"Please, speak comfortably, honored one. I shall do as you command."
The small back of her head withdrew slowly, then she exited the room, head still bowed.
'Hmm— pretty indeed.'
...
As I am neither impaired in my sexual function, nor lacking in it like Damian(!), was it not only natural that such a thought would occur to me? Business is business, and physiological phenomena are physiological phenomena.
It was simply that, thanks to this damned indomitable willpower, I was not ruled by instinct...
At times, even I wished to abandon this cold, near-frozen reason, but it simply would not obey my whims. Since this life is of my own design(?), it is not something I can blame on anyone else. What can I do? I must accept it.
Yet, in all things of the world, what one loses, one gains elsewhere.
Was it not fortunate that, thanks to this, the probability of being struck down by a blind blade or dying from a blow to the back of the head had become exceedingly low? It is said a man must beware of three tips, and of them, the tip of his cock most of all...
I am satisfied.
'When I return, I must truly consider marriage with the utmost seriousness.'
"Eut-cha."
[Kiiiik-]
Under the heavy weight suddenly imposed upon it, the frame of the soft bed screamed.
[Kiiik- kiiik-]
Still, it held, the work of a skilled craftsman, it must have been.
'Shall I soak my body in warm water first?'
Norse warriors particularly detest warm water. A symbol of weakness, or something... But since I am half a modern man, let me enjoy a hot bath for the first time in a while.
Sitting on the bed, I removed my chainmail and set aside my spear, shield, axe, and sword. Just about then, I heard the sound of people outside, along with the words that warm water had been brought.
Something fragrant of food and the scent of grapes reached me even more strongly, so I quickly bade them enter.
A beautiful woman, a silver tray, fragrant fruits, sweet wine.
The audacious thought occurred to me that, having never known luxury all my life, such things might not be so bad once in a while.