46.
46.
Now, what were the bad things about being a king?
The more I thought about the future that was soon to come, the more it felt like walking on thin ice, and when I saw my subordinates groaning from the previous night's overdrinking and excessive physical exertion... the demon sleeping inside me felt ready to awaken.
So, what were the good things about being a king?
I could freely put to work those who, having not slept and having done who-knows-what, were nodding off.
"Steinólfr, are you very drowsy?"
"No, sir!"
"Then are you tired?"
"No, sir!"
"Then why do you look so listless? Take the warriors and run one lap around the garden at once."
"Understood! Garmr Brotherhood, form up!"
Form up—! Form up—! Move at the double! Don't dawdle—! Run—!
[chak! chak! chak! chak!]
'Maintaining discipline was the hardest thing, as they say...'
The goodwill (?) of Strategos Petronas was so generous that all 120 warriors of Árós who had followed me all the way to this distant place had enjoyed a luxurious supper. Yet professionalism meant doing what you had to do that day, come rain or snow...! They were all professional warriors, so it was essential for them to maintain conditioning to respond to the enemy anywhere, anytime...!
Moreover, no matter how favorably inclined the strategos here was toward me, the affairs of men could always take an unexpected turn, could they not? Even if it was a little harsh on those suffering from hangovers, it was good to let them lightly run the wide garden and awaken their minds and bodies.
It certainly wasn't because I couldn't stand the sight of them lazing about comfortably.
In any case, where we stood now was none other than Rome itself.
A place where it was said that if you let your guard down and got stabbed, it was the one who got stabbed who was at fault.
"Ho-ho— Helgi Konungr, your warriors are truly elite. I thought they were merely stout of build, but within them seems to dwell the solid spirit of the old imperial legions."
As I silently watched the warriors, who had already passed one lap and were running their second, form ranks and run on, Damian's gentle voice came from beside me.
"You flatter me. I and my warriors still have much to learn."
"That is exactly what makes you fearsome. A Konungr who knows no satisfaction, and warriors who chase after him... Rome will not be at enmity with you, Konungr. That is, of course, so long as reason still remains."
"Perhaps it's the morning wind, but your tongue seems to have grown sharper, Damian. Your words are pleasant to hear, but they are also the kind one must be most wary of."
"Haha— dear me, it didn't work, did it? It is true that I have spent my life serving noble persons, living like a tongue inside a mouth, but what I have just said held not a single grain of other intent, Helgi Konungr. Those men are truly strong warriors. And you yourself are stronger still."
"Oh my, you seem to have reached the level of using even sincerity as a tool now. That is enough. I am embarrassed."
"Hahaha!"
I had thought that after seizing hold of Refil, Oleg, and Djur last night and merrily draining wine, they would be utterly drunk and flat out... but to have such a remarkable capacity for drink. Or else, did he possess some exceptional after-party skill? Perhaps tilting his cup subtly and letting the wine spill down his sleeve...
Well, it wasn't important.
Refil, who took after his father and was liquid courage incarnate, had truly risen with perfect composure, checked my safety before anyone else, and gone to ready the ships according to my command. Oleg and Djur, on the other hand, had drunk like dogs and perished like dogs, and were still lying in bed.
Recalling them made my warriors now on their third lap of the garden seem all the more admirable... indeed, everything was relative, wasn't it?
"Steinólfr! That is enough! I had you run to loosen your bodies, not to run yourselves to the point of vomiting!"
"I thank you, but the warriors of Árós are not weak, Konungr! Are we not, brothers!"
"We are not! Konungr! Look well!"
"Uraaaaaa!"
"Actually, I kind of want to stop... urp! blegh—"
You bastards, I said stop running.
Their charge at last came to an end only after they had filled out ten laps.
*****
866 AD. The second month of winter. Ylir. Odin's month. Odin's day.
The day of departure.
The hospitality of Cherson continued for three more days, and by the time the townsfolk had also grown accustomed to our presence and were now haggling with each other's goods and silver coins, permission from Constantinople had finally arrived. To be precise, a personal letter bearing Emperor Michael's permission had reached us.
Just how much money did they have that it was sealed with a golden stamp? The letter, sealed with a golden impression, arrived before me, but there was none of that grand ceremony I had watched in old historical dramas, the "Receive His Imperial Majesty's decree—! How dare you not kneel—!" kind. The Strategos of Cherson merely recited some formal greetings and praised the emperor with a few proverbs and Bible-like verses, then handed it to me. That was all.
The title of 'a king of a foreign land who has sought Rome longing for it, though not a citizen of Rome' was being treated with considerable indulgence.
The letter's content was exactly that as well.
Half of it consisted of dignified Latin rhetoric with beautiful content and praises for God and the emperor appointed by God. The substantive part was very short, graciously welcoming the foreign king and solemnly inviting me to the chariot races and Christmas festival celebrating the birth of the co-emperor's child.
'Chariot races...? Christmas festival...? Ah. Now that I think of it... it's almost Christmas, isn't it? Huh—'
Christmas, was it?
In my previous life, I hadn't been a Catholic or a Protestant, but I knew Christmas. Wasn't it a public holiday, a day off? Like Buddha's Birthday, but the day Jesus came, rendered in English.
Was that Christmas a public holiday in this age as well? For some reason, a strong nostalgia for the 21st century welled up, but I did not let myself be buried in sentiment.
"A son, they say."
I did not know whether the letter was in the emperor's own hand or had been drafted by a secretary, but as I unconsciously stroked the outer wrapper of the letter, whose golden seal was so impressive, Petronas approached the terrace where I sat and spoke.
A son?
"You mean the child born to the co-emperor's wife, Eudokia Ingerina?"
"That is right. Konungr. A very sturdy son, I am told. They say the whole city is abuzz, asking just whose child it is."
"Well, at the tail end of the year, there's no better morsel for a drinking snack, is there?"
"My point exactly. A morsel—what an apt expression. I can already see the patriarch's anguished face."
Petronas' laughing face as he guffawed resembled that of an enlightened high monk. I recalled he also had a young wife and children... though I hadn't asked for details about his family.
"The moment you cross the gate of Constantinople, you must trust no one. Helgi Konungr. At times, you must even doubt your own self."
The carefree laughter vanished, and in an instant, the mood shifted as Petronas offered a grave piece of advice.
"Not only the two emperors, but the Empress Eudokia, the clergy, the soldiers, the senators—all of them, if it is for their own gain, can alter even a word spoken under God's name without batting an eye. Since everyone already knows that Konungr has stayed with me, many will surely approach you. In any case, I am a strategos directly appointed by the previous emperor, and though it shames me to say it, my influence is not small."
"I see, I thank you for telling me this in advance, Petronas. What, then, is it that you yourself desire? The downfall of Basil?"
"Oh— what I desire is only one thing. The stability of the empire. To speak more frankly, it is the stability of the Black Sea and of Cherson here. The current Emperor Michael has long been greatly interested in the Black Sea, Anatolia, and the enemies beyond. This was, of course, the achievement and influence of the late Caesar Bardas... but in any case, they were victories gained under the emperor's sanction."
Petronas' eyes, as he stroked his chin beard, looked toward a place farther away.
"Yet at such a time, if the co-emperor Basil harbors different thoughts, and if—one chance in a thousand, one in ten thousand—he should succeed, then he who newly ascends to the throne, unpopular with the officials but popular with the citizens, would have no choice but to seek an achievement to contrast himself with our drunkard His Majesty Michael. I mean the far side of Anatolia and the Black Sea."
"You speak of Italy and the Adriatic Sea?"
"That is correct, noble Helgi Konungr. The Konungr's wisdom sometimes startles me."
"You have already laid out the whole explanation, so it would be stranger not to know."
"Many people fail to grasp it even when it is explained this plainly, Konungr."
Tsk-tsk-tsk—clicking his tongue and smiling lightly, Petronas raised the hand that had been touching his chin beard and swept it over his head. Between his neatly trimmed hair, the gray patches here and there were striking.
"However, these are merely my own thoughts. All things must be judged by Konungr himself. I, having been the first to meet and attend Konungr, have only offered the words I am able to give."
So this was what they meant by fair words coming from fair deeds. This was why diplomatic rhetoric mattered. Look, even now, had not a part of my heart been stirred by Petronas' words, which upheld my dignity and remained so cautious to the very end? It was high diplomacy.
What was regrettable for him was that my mind was as hard as steel. With the matter of the Magyars, I was no longer indebted to Petronas. My next move would be decided once I entered that city.
"Of course, Strategos Petronas. I am a man who keeps his accounts straight, and I shall not forget your hospitality."
"Those words alone have already set my mind at ease. Helgi Konungr."
"Well then, I have received all that was to be received, and made ready all that needed to be readied. It is time I set out."
"I will see you to the docks."
"Thank you."
With 120 warriors, ten merchant ships that had completed very satisfactory trade under Petronas' goodwill, and the Chersonite merchants who were following us now seemingly finishing their departure preparations, Petronas and I rose from our seats and stepped out of the building.
Clad from head to toe in silk whose texture had by now grown familiar, and feeling the pleasant weight of the sword at my hip as I moved forward, after a short while my vigorous strides at last brought me to the dockside, thick with the beloved smell of the sea. There, I was greeted by Damian, who had been conversing with the Chersonite merchants.
"Helgi Konungr. Day by day, your noble figure shines more brightly. When I saw you walking from afar, I took you for the legendary Heracles returned."
"Your praise truly never grows tiresome, Damian. Thank you."
"It is my joy, Konungr."
The old man with the shaved white tonsure bent his head as if bowing and took a step closer to me, and I likewise bowed my head slightly in return.
"Once you reach Constantinople, seek out Rentakios. Though, of course, he will reach you first."
Rentakios, then. Rentakios.
"Understood."
In that brief moment, an important name was exchanged, and the two of us, having straightened our backs again as if nothing had happened, exchanged our final farewells.
And then at last, having also bid a last farewell to Petronas, I boarded the longship. Facing the wind that to the people here might have felt somewhat cold but to us Norsemen felt merely cool, I pushed against the current.
"May God's protection be with you all—!"
One by one, the people of Cherson stood on the docks, shouting toward the departing ships, and those who had waved their hands toward the receding city also sat down one by one to enjoy the gentle rocking.
Compared to the East Sea (the Baltic), it was a sea so calm it made you wonder if this was really allowed. Moving along the coastline at a speed as though gliding across the surface of a lake, we met the imperial officials at the river mouth of the Danubius (the Danube), the river where the Roman officers were stationed, and informed them that I was a king of the Rus seeking to go to Constantinople as the emperor's guest.
Leaving the frantically busy bureaucrats behind us, we took our rest without hurry.
And then, at last, we shook off the snow that had piled up softly through the night.
Thanks to the officials, who moved like lightning beneath the emperor's seal and handled all manner of procedures for us, we continued southward along the coastline without any trouble, and at last, after passing through the narrowest of straits, we were able to reach the enormous city.
"Helgi Konungr! Over there, that very place is 'the City' (εἰς τὴν Πόλιν, is tim ˈbolin, Istanbul)!"
Beneath the brightly risen sun, a great city that jutted into the sea like a golden horn, like the spear-point of a sun god.
The Queen of all Cities, in her lofty dignity, welcomed the longships of the North.