50.
50.
I accepted the proposal.
The Emperor's proposal to join him in war.
Come to think of it, there was no loss to me.
I did not know exactly what scale of rebellion Symbatios had raised, but frankly, it did not seem likely that the latent power of Constantinople would fall short against him, and above all, I simply could not envision a scenario where I would be defeated on any field I stood upon.
Furthermore.
The Varangians were the Emperor's personal guard anyway. Frankly, unless Michael did something insane like leading a frontal charge himself, it was obvious we would stand somewhere around the third rank of the formation and then return to the city. Of course, that was just my own thinking. As with most things, such predictions about battle were rarely much help in reality.
Michael, who learned of my participation through Jarl Yngvar as he repeatedly expressed his thanks to me, led me around various parts of the city bustling with war preparations from that moment on, drinking wine all the while.
"Helgi Konungr! Now that you have seen all the forums our Rome boasts of, let us go and meet this city's most precious treasure!"
"Most precious treasure...?"
For a moment, the words 'Is he talking about Leon, whom Eudokia Ingerina just bore?' rose to the tip of my tongue, but I managed to barely swallow them back. Fortunately, Michael did not notice my hesitation at all and hurried his steps, quite worked up.
Though since his legs were far shorter than mine, his pace was similar to my slow walk anyway.
"Indeed! Helgi Konungr! It is the place where you can feel the power of our empire most intensely! Let us hurry!"
Just in case, I had wondered, but it wasn't Leon after all.
I passed a building that I had heard was once a large bath honoring the god Zeus but was mostly destroyed during a massive riot roughly 200 years ago in the era of Emperor Justinian the Great, which now served as a military supply depot, prison, and silk factory, when a magnificent structure filled my sight.
"The Hippodrome...! They say across the sea, in the Rome ruled by the Pope, they have the old Colosseum. But even that Colosseum cannot compare to this great building, Helgi Konungr. What do you think? This breathtaking majesty? Please, take a good look at this...!"
It was said the Emperor liked two things: drink and chariot racing. The Emperor's two eyes, anticipating my reaction, shone brighter than ever before.
'This is the glint of a true hardcore fanatic's eyes...'
In my experience, attempting logical conversation with someone deeply obsessed with something was a foolish act.
For instance, posing questions like: was it proper for him to act as a foreign king's tour guide when a rebellion had just broken out and all his officials were working themselves to the bone?
Or asking whether it was right for an Emperor, with war right before his eyes, to come to a chariot racing stadium in the first place?
Such things were highly likely to backfire, so at times like these, as an outsider, the correct approach was the strategy of actively sympathizing. The so-called 'generous reaction,' as it were.
"Indeed, I spent last night alone leaning on the terrace of the Bucoleon, pondering where exactly the power of an empire spanning both East and West came from, but it was a foolish thing to do.
This massive and lengthy beauty is a sight Your Majesty could well boast of with pride. Just imagining the chariots racing madly inside and the countless citizens watching them makes my soul rejoice!"
"Oh-"
In truth, some sincerity was mixed in. It was not merely flattery to improve the Emperor's mood; I genuinely felt that way.
Do you remember the small athletic meet I held with the Rus in Polotsk? At best, we were doing spear-throwing, stone-throwing, swimming, and boxing.
These people had built such a massive structure and were enjoying a sport that made all the city's citizens go wild.
I heard there were the Green, Blue, White, and Red Factions... among them, it was said the Greens and Blues enjoyed a rivalry and popularity akin to Real Madrid and Barcelona respectively.
The supporter groups of these chariot racing teams were already a massive power in themselves... and naturally, many figures from the imperial family were entangled in them.
The Emperor, for the record, was a die-hard fan of the Green Faction.
"Helgi Konungr...! I knew it from the moment you spoke Latin, but you truly understand refined culture...! I am ashamed. Many of this city's citizens, even some of my own subordinates, fail to grasp this greatness! Ah- at last I have met a friend who fully understands my heart...!"
Now the Emperor, Michael, was looking at me with eyes glistening with shock. To drive the nail home, I extended my large eagle arm to Michael.
"There are many in the world who, even with such splendid things before them, fail to recognize them, as if blind. But is it not because cultured men like us exist that such beautiful cultures can endure?"
[Pat!]
"Those words are so true...!"
Michael, who grasped my arm in return, was smiling brightly.
"Now, then, I shall show you the interior! There are stairs leading directly from the Bucoleon to the imperial box, but I personally think the main gate of this great stadium is more beautiful...! Did you see the countless sculptures adorning the walls of this arena? Each and every one of them would put most—"
At this point, I should call him the very incarnation of someone who has turned his obsession into his profession...
Actually, seen another way, Michael was a peerless sage king to the city's citizens.
He might seem lax, but he had employed his uncle Bardas to effectively expel the Abbasid Muslims in the east beyond Armenia, and with chariot races held almost daily without any annual schedule, from the citizens' perspective, every day was no different from a peaceful reign.
Perhaps that was why Michael clung even more to chariot racing. As if he instinctively knew where his life depended.
'If only Basil could restrain his greed, this co-emperor thing might actually run smoothly, unexpectedly.'
I entertained a hopeful thought for a moment, but there was no way that would happen. Could two tigers ever live well on a single mountain?
Anyway, I was faithfully achieving my objective. For now, the Emperor had begun to consider me a friend, so all that remained was to wrap up the war well, maintain a good impression, and make off with the engineering books from the library.
I followed behind the Emperor, who now walked twice as fast and spoke three times as quickly as before with his thoroughly excited steps, and I strolled under the magnificent arches of the Hippodrome.
*****
Rome's ceremony of marching out to war was grander than the obelisk standing at the center of the Hippodrome.
String instruments made of brass resonated powerfully, and all sorts of flowers and paper, tossed by citizens, fluttered in the sky—where they had even procured them was a mystery.
The Emperor, it was said, had prayed for victory beforehand with the Empress—a show-window couple—at a small church prepared in the Bucoleon palace, watched by the Patriarch, and then bowed to show his reverence.
Since it was a space permitted only to the imperial family and their direct guards, the warriors of Árós and the Varangians waiting outside looked somewhat bored, but with me standing firmly before them, adorned in the armor and white cloak the Emperor had personally bestowed, no one showed such signs.
Presently, the imperial procession emerged from the Bucoleon and the Chalke Gate and, under the fervor of the populace, entered the Hagia Sophia to perform a rite signifying that God willed their victory. Immediately after, at the Forum of Constantine, before the generals of each legion, co-emperor Basil, and the Archbishop, a speech that cursed the rebels' insolence and declared that God had spoken of victory drew an ecstatic response.
The people cheered fiercely at the Emperor's words, but their eyes rolled about, seeking to see the king of those Northern heathens, the Konungr of the Rus, who 'admired Rome and personally stepped forth to aid Rome and its Emperor in their hour of crisis.'
And as a result, my figure clad in Rome's magnificent, visually striking armor and a pure white cloak proved to be a most pleasing sight to them, for the people shouted the Emperor's name even more fervently, and some among them even called out my name in clumsy pronunciation.
"Konungr Helgii-! Helgai-!"
"Rex Helgi-!"
At that reaction, not only the warriors of Árós but also Yngvar and the other Varangian Guards seemed to let strength fill their shoulders...
Strictly speaking, it made no sense for me, a mere short-term mercenary, to usurp the command of Yngvar, the leader of the long-term mercenaries, but no one, including Yngvar himself, seemed to find this strange.
Therefore, since we suddenly had to fight a war but no one in this Varangian mercenary group would move first, I had no choice but to act.
I sought out the commander of the palace guard, Basilikinos, who looked quite busy due to Michael's neglect of duty, and listened to a rough outline of the operation.
At the very least, shouldn't we know where we were going?
Symbatios was the strategos of a place called Thrakesion, located south across the strait opposite Constantinople. He had persuaded Peganes, the strategos of Opsikion—famous for Nicaea—which lay directly above Thrakesion, and together they had raised a rebellion.
The superficial reason was to condemn Basil's ascension as co-emperor and his vain ambitions,
but the practical reason was that, to the man who had rendered distinguished service in ousting his own father-in-law, Bardas, a mere strategos post in Thrakesion felt insufficient as a reward.
In short, simply put, it was a petty power struggle between Basil and Symbatios...
According to Basilikinos, Peganes, who rose in arms alongside him, was Symbatios' old friend and essentially his subordinate, so he likely had no choice but to join, but he also said the soldiers under their command probably would not be very enthusiastic about this rebellion, which lacked any real cause.
'If Basilikinos is right, this is a civil war that's already effectively over.'
Seen this way, Emperor Michael's relaxed attitude was, at first glance, understandable. After all, the central army now under the Emperor's command consisted of strong soldiers who had been tempered under the late Caesar, Bardas, and then refined once more through pitched battles against the Abbasids in the Middle East.
But even though everything was flowing so smoothly, why could I not shake this uneasy feeling?
"Well then, I must go now to finish the preparations for marching out, Helgi Konungr. Please lead the valiant Varangians and simply lend your ear to His Majesty's words."
"I hope I have not kept a busy man and asked pointless questions, Basilikinos. My sincere thanks."
"On the contrary, I should be giving thanks. I was worried because everyone seemed so overly excited for going to war, but with someone like you, Konungr, taking such interest, a weight has been lifted from my mind."
The Roman, who appeared both diligent and sharp-minded, said this, bowed silently to me, and then hurried off somewhere to fulfill his duties.
The pure white cloak fluttering behind his back seemed to shine brightly upon the promised victory ahead.
*****
Rome's latent power exceeded all imagination.
The number of troops directly under the Emperor, having crossed the strait from Constantinople, alone numbered 3,000.
This was a force gathered in just three days under the enraged Emperor's summons.
Their name: the Tagmata.
Every single man in the Tagmata was a heavy infantryman.
Did that make sense? Heavy infantrymen alone numbered 3,000.
Soon after, Basil, who had crossed the strait before Emperor Mikhaíl and personally mustered the forces of Optimatoi and Boukellariōn, joined up, and a great army that instantly swelled to 18,000 began advancing rapidly south along the wide, flat roads.
The objective was Adramyttion, known as the gateway to Thrakesion.
A strategic communication hub where those descending from above and those ascending from below could not help but clash.
There, 20,000 rebels from two Themes, led by Symbatios and Peganes, were already waiting for the imperial army.
"Whiyu- They've gathered quite a lot, Konungr. Looks like my sword won't be idle today!"
For the first time in a while, the Northmen, freed from the Romans to have their own time, were forming a reserve, positioned on the eagle flank of the Scholae, the most elite unit of the Tagmata guarding the Emperor.
With 120 warriors from Árós and the existing 1,000 Varangian Guards combined, 1,120 men stood in a square formation, and I felt as if there was truly nothing in the world to fear.
"I wonder if we'll even need to move at all, but loosen up your bodies well, Seutorolpeu. The other sub-commanders as well."
"Yes, Konungr!"
"Understood!"
'...'
Ordinarily, it would be Seutorolpeu on the eagle flank and Refil on the left, but today, for at least this day, Jarl Yngvar, standing to my left, received my order with a booming voice unbefitting his age.
Presently, as the 1,120 Varangians all moved in a leisurely manner according to my dispersed command, the skirmishers of the two camps, who it seemed had been locked in a mere staring contest forever, finally moved all at once.