4.
4.
Viking. Vikingr.
I wasn't actually a historian, just a history novice who'd picked up the game Europa Kings hoping to develop some interest in the subject, so I didn't know much about Vikings or the various histories of Europe.
At best, I had enough knowledge to earn a Level 1 certification in Korean History, and even that was the history of the Korean Peninsula, not the European history of the land I now lived in.
From what I'd experienced living in this era (whether this was Earth-Original or Earth-237, I couldn't quite tell), the word "Viking" itself had indeed been coined by people of later ages.
That went for me as well—everyone around me called themselves Danes, Svear, Norsemen.
'Swift and lethal, favoring hit-and-run tactics on sleek ships, mainly along seas and rivers—the 9th-century European wakō. In truth, not so much wakō as spectacularly successful pirates.'
That was probably the common image people had of Vikings.
It wasn't exactly wrong, but it wasn't really right either.
The first thing that had to be addressed was that every single country in this era of Europe (though even the concept of a "country" from a 21st-century perspective didn't yet exist—but let's set that aside) was, without exception, made up of plunderers and slaughterers.
When there were no human rights, how could war crimes possibly exist?
So while this might only serve to defend the Norse society I now belonged to and lived within, in this age raiding and trading were not separate things, and what Sigurdeu was trying to tell me now was precisely that—the Viking.
"Björn crossed the western sea and plundered the Franks and the Muslims beyond them, even Rome beyond that."
"To be precise, it wasn't Rome but Luna, the town above Pisa."
"Haha! I later heard from Björn that Hásteinn persuaded him to become the Konungr of some Rome or other, but they'd gotten the wrong town!"
Uha-haha!
Even that iron-willed Björn must have been flustered. "Was this not Rome?" "I've no idea either!" The thoroughly methodical yet occasionally utterly chaotic duo of Hásteinn and Björn. It had already been six winters since those two had set out on their great expedition. (859 AD)
"Ah—! What a shame! My brother Björn! You could have become the Konungr of Rome and claimed the second seat in Valhalla!"
'Konungr of Rome...'
It had a strangely apocalyptic ring to it. From the Romans' perspective, it might as well have been the day of Earth's destruction...
"But look, Helgi. Do you not remember? The treasures that filled Munsö Island, all those objects of gold and silver..."
Munsö Island was the island just below Uppsala, the land Björn's father had prepared for him the day he came of age.
Though a small island, it was like the sea-gate into Uppsala and had once been very prosperous, but with Árós's growth it now remained only as a strategic chokepoint.
"Yet my most beloved brother, all those glittering things are nothing compared to the greatest wealth Björn and Hásteinn earned."
Within Sigurdeu's gleaming eyes, serpents seemed to writhe as if alive.
"Honor. Honor so vast that even the great gods would marvel and envy it! Even if it was false, the very honor of having conquered Rome...!"
As if outright breathing fire, Sigurdeu's words came out fiercely, his eyes laden with deep emotion.
"Of course—"
Perhaps it was an artistic trait, but the emotional Sigurdeu sometimes unconsciously revealed the sense of burden he felt when beholding his eldest brother's achievements like that. At times like these, the best course was to lighten the mood with some idle talk.
"—we shouldn't forget how thoroughly the western Muslims trounced them on their way back."
"Haha! They say they lost half the ships they'd brought. That day, the souls of countless warriors must have entered the embrace of Odin and Lord Frey."
I'd heard that Björn himself and Hásteinn had nearly died as well, and that the Muslims' Konungr had blockaded the narrow strait. In truth, I found the combat prowess of these Norsemen who had somehow broken through that defensive line even more astonishing...
"Besides, I once heard Björn say when he was drunk that he would absolutely find those treasures sunken beneath the sea. He claims he can't sleep for how much it eats at him."
"What? Uwahahaha! A man who can barely swim is going to go find them? Hahahaha!"
What he'd actually said was "I'll make the western Muslims' Konungr pay dearly for sinking half my fleet!"... but good stories always needed a bit of embellishment.
Sigurdeu's long bout of laughter lifted my own mood along with it. Even the guards clustered a little way off, whispering among themselves while stealing glances our way, seemed put at ease by the hearty laughter.
"Yes. I still remember. When we welcomed Björn and Hásteinn at the hall in Uppsala together with Father, Hásteinn trembling with rage as he swore he would never again set foot in the land of the western Muslims... that was six winters ago already."
"Back then, we were just little brats."
"What? I was a grown man! You..."
Turning his head to look at me, Sigurdeu's eyes filled with embarrassment. Doubtless, he was picturing me in my childhood.
Wasn't I cute in my own way? Mother sometimes said she missed my younger days. Wondered how I'd grown up so fast.
"You... were a great bear. Now you've become an even greater bear. I'm deeply curious what form you'll take after just three more winters pass here."
Shaking his head from side to side, he tossed out a murmur—"When Hásteinn first saw you, he thought Father had hired a new Huskarl and offered you a drink"—which I simply ignored. In my memories, my childhood was definitely that of a brooding, beautiful boy.
"In any case, Björn crossed beyond the western Muslims and reached Rome, and Ivar rode the eastern rivers and forged trade with Miklagard, and the eastern Muslims beyond it."
Björn and Ivar. There was an age gap between me and these two older brothers. Looking at it very simply, the 840s were our father Ragnar's prime, and the 850s were the prime of Björn and Ivar, these two older brothers, which meant the following 860s would be my and Sigurdeu's prime.
Of course, like a Zlatan in his forties past his peak but still going strong, Father was still vigorously active. My own stance on this [Viking] business was somewhat different from the rest of the family's.
"In that case, where should you and I, and Halfdan, turn our sights?"
"What about Ubba?"
"Ubba is..."
Caught off guard by the name suddenly thrust into the conversation, Sigurdeu momentarily faltered. If I was the monster of our household, then Ubba could be called the oddball of our household.
A brother who'd bellowed "I've no need for any of that rubbish!" at the mention of honor and wealth, and who was more curious about things like how farmers used horses to plow fields and the look of the silver coins they got from the eastern Muslim kingdoms in exchange for slaves and furs.
"...That fellow probably won't go."
He was a brother with whom I shared much common ground, especially in our devoted care for our mother.
We understood each other well, and lately I'd heard he was helping Björn at the Uppsala hall alongside Halfdan. Word was that he'd been filling the void left by our father Ragnar's sudden departure on an expedition without much effort.
"Father's gone westward again, Helgi."
"Hm."
Brothers understood each other—it seemed Sigurdeu's thoughts had also reached our father.
"West, east. We always knew only the two sides. But I think a little differently. The tales drifting in from beyond the southern wall are deeply fascinating."
"Beyond the wall?"
"Many may have forgotten by now, but there are many descendants of the Saxon people in our lands as well."
"I trust you're not simply heading south because east and west were already taken, Sigurdeu."
I asked with a note of concern, wondering if this emotional and romanticist brother of mine had made yet another impulsive decision, but Sigurdeu answered with more conviction than I'd ever seen.
"Oh—no, Helgi. Absolutely not."
Seeing him shake his head firmly quelled my doubts a little.
"In the first place, you must know that the very reason the wall was strengthened and expanded was because of that cruel Konungr of the Franks, Karl?"
The cruel King of the Franks, Karl—he meant the emperor commonly known as Charlemagne.
At Verden, the land of the Saxons, he had mercilessly slaughtered countless Saxons and burned their sacred tree.
Afterward, a great multitude of Saxons had fled northward and eastward, and as a result, the name of the Frankish King Karl had become a great terror that still lingered in the surrounding lands.
"I remember hearing stories from Father—Grandfather used to frequently plunder the coasts of that haughty Franks Konungr, didn't he?"
"Because they aren't as fast as us on the sea."
Giving a satisfied smile at my knowledge, Sigurdeu continued speaking.
"But the name of Karl, like our grandfather's name, has now become a name of the past, Helgi. The land of the Franks is now a complete mess. No matter where you prick them, they can't properly respond."
The chronic ailment of empires: inheritance and internal strife.
"What I'm saying now isn't simply that we should plunder those fools, Helgi."
Thrusting his face forward so suddenly that I instinctively edged back, Sigurdeu's face was flushed with excitement.
"We take the Saxons' land. Us."
What?
"So you mean, not just bringing back gold or horses, but outright seizing the land?"
"What reason could there be that we cannot do what Karl of the Franks did?"
"Well, I'm not so sure, Sigurdeu."
Of course, there were cases like Hásteinn, who had gone and settled down in the land of Nantes at the far northwestern edge of Frankish territory, but what Sigurdeu was proposing now was a more full-scale invasion.
"Alone, or even with Halfdan, I could never have dreamed of such an immense adventure, but with you? I feel certain we could accomplish something truly great."
The green eyes shining fervently at me were a bit overwhelming, but for me, who'd already lived seventeen winters as the idol of the Norsemen, a gaze of this intensity was nothing. It was just the substance of what he said that made me a little nervous.
'A conquest enterprise?'
Let's say we managed to occupy the land—could we handle the Christian wave that would come crashing down afterward? Was this really such a good idea?
"Sigurdeu. Let's not act rashly. This is a matter to spend time pondering."
"Haha—"
Apparently finding the sight of me with my brow deeply furrowed amusing, Sigurdeu let out a light laugh and shrugged as if to tell me not to worry.
"—I'm not saying we march in right now, Helgi. Of course we must take our time. I merely came to tell you that we have a chance. The Franks' land is in a far more complicated state than you think."
"I see."
Was it at least a relief that this emotional man showed no sign of impulsively launching into action? But the fact that Halfdan's name came from the lips of Sigurdeu—who, despite his easygoing manner, surprisingly valued secrecy and oaths—suggested the two of them had already discussed it quite thoroughly between themselves.
'I'll need to speak with Father.'
Of course, given that Father himself had set out to sea yet again to prove he was still in his prime, he might very well end up egging on the adventurous spirit of his hot-blooded sons rather than discouraging it...
"So, you too, think about what I've said—"
Beyond Sigurdeu's voice, earnestly promoting his proposal to me with the smile of a salesman, I could see a messenger with a desperate expression riding hard toward us, the sound of hoofbeats growing nearer.
News without prior notice was usually bad news.
I fixed my gaze on the sight as an inexplicable anxiety crept over me, and Sigurdeu, who'd been chattering excitedly, caught my look and followed my eyes to the pair of man and horse drawing steadily closer.
"A messenger? What's happened?"
In the far corner of the sky stretching out behind the messenger's back, an ominous bank of dark clouds had gathered.