5.
5.
"Jarl Helgi! Jarl Sigurd!"
A desperate voice flowed in along the rapidly chilling wind.
"What is it?"
We rose from where we sat and hurried toward the messenger who was shouting Sigurd's and my names at the top of his lungs from far away, our escorts falling in behind us.
"Urgent news from Uppsala has arrived...!"
It was not merely breathlessness from riding hard; the messenger's whole face was pale as someone terribly frightened, and he nearly tumbled from his horse, beside himself.
"I am bid by Jarl Björn to gather you at once to the hall in Uppsala!"
"Björn? Stop being so vague and speak plainly. What exactly has happened?"
The messenger looked as though he did not know how to deliver news too dreadful to even speak aloud—so Sigurd frowned and pressed him.
"King Ragnar has..."
Bravery and forthrightness were great virtues among the Norsemen, yet no one in our party blamed the messenger for trailing off at the end.
"Father...?"
Sigurd's deeply furrowed brow gradually slackened, and as all manner of emotions began to surface on his face, I seized his forearm hard and dragged his mind back to reality.
Getting to Uppsala had to come first.
"Brother. Right now, before anything else, this is a time to move. Let us put off everything until after we have met Björn."
"Yes, you are right."
Sigurd appeared to have collected himself somewhat, but the snake-in-the-eye that glinted among his golden hair, whipped by the ever-stronger wind, was chillingly grim.
"Let us move at once, Helgi."
"Yes."
I gave a brief nod and, watching Sigurd hurry off to fetch the horses that had been idly grazing, spoke to Hrólfr, my guard captain, who was staring at me with eyes grown as wide as his wrinkled lids would allow, his face filled with shock.
"Hrólfr. Things have turned out this way, so we must move in haste. Sigurd and I will depart first. You, inform my mother of this and bring her safely to Uppsala."
"Understood, Jarl Helgi. Then what shall I do about your escort?"
"The situation is urgent, so I will go with Sigurd alone."
"Understood."
Hrólfr gave a brief nod and swiftly moved off.
As I watched our suddenly bustling party, all manner of feelings tried to creep up from my chest, but I soothed myself.
'Not yet.'
"Helgi! Hurry up!"
At Sigurd's shout, clearly suppressing his own emotions as well, I moved my body swiftly.
*****
865 AD. The second month of summer, Odin's day. Uppsala.
With black clouds suddenly sweeping in, a cold wind and fierce rain unworthy of summer fell. Uppsala, the largest city of the Norsemen who called themselves Svíar, fell silent beneath the grey sky.
[Puhihihing- pururuk-]
Though the distance was not long, and they had had to run breathlessly because of the goading of the humans seated on their backs for an unscheduled journey, these faithful animals uttered not one word of complaint; with rough, laboured breaths they announced that we had arrived at our destination.
"Who goes there!"
The palisade gate, which should have stood wide open, was firmly shut, and the usual lively traffic of people coming and going was absent. The guard's voice, cutting through the dreary rain, was thick with tension.
"I am Sigurd Ragnarsson, and beside me is Helgi Ragnarsson."
Sigurd, whose breathing was as ragged as his horse's, spoke no useless words. After all, the guard was merely carrying out his duty.
"Wait a moment, Jarl Sigurd!"
Upon hearing Sigurd's and my names, the guard wore a flustered expression as if he had committed some great offense and hurriedly shouted down from the rampart, "Open the gate at once!" Immediately, the sound of iron hinges meshing rang out, and the heavy wooden gate slowly swung open.
[Kiiiik-]
Unlike the frantic rush that had carried us this far, Sigurd, when he finally saw the gate of Uppsala open, could not easily urge his horse forward. It was as if a dread and future too terrible to face lay waiting beyond this threshold.
So I drove my horse through the gate first.
"Jarl Helgi."
All around me, people hastily bowed their heads as I passed slowly by. Like deer before a wolf. They were wary of my feelings and afraid. And that could mean only one thing.
Something had truly happened to Father, Ragnar Sigurdsson.
'Foolish Father. What more did you mean to prove?'
Björn had returned from the west, Ivar from the east, each with staggering wealth and treasures. Although they were his sons, the shrewd father might have felt his authority sway just a little. And so, with a mere ten ships and only four hundred warriors, he had set out onto the perilous sea.
'What in the world befell you, Father?'
As the rain sheeted down, my body grew hotter while my head grew colder, and I turned over the events of the past few days in my mind. Then, into my vision, came Björn's face. And beside him, the expression of my stepmother Áslaug, which looked ready to crumble, and the face of Ubba, supporting her.
"Helgi."
"Björn."
Björn pulled me into a tight embrace as I dismounted; he was still solid, yet there was a crack somewhere within him. Like a rock that had at last split under the ceaseless downpour.
'Father went to Valhalla, didn't he? When, where, how, by whom?'
Questions like that never left my lips.
"Björn."
"Sigurd."
Björn, having embraced Sigurd too as he followed behind me, turned first and trudged away.
"Helgi."
"Mother."
My father's first wife, my stepmother Áslaug, could barely hold herself together for grief. Yet even so, she forced a smile and greeted me first—even though Sigurd, her own flesh and blood, stood right behind me.
"Let us go inside and talk, my son. Men have been sent to Ivar and Halfdan, so they will all come here soon."
Led by my mother, who caught my arm with a face so like Ubba's as he supported her from the other side, I climbed the stairs slowly. The stairs that led to the king's house on Uppsala's low hill.
Though this place held few memories, for some reason each step I climbed seemed to dredge up one of the scant few memories I had of Father.
'Only after Father's death would all the brothers gather in one place, it seems.'
The rainwater that kept running down the bridge of my nose and trying to enter my mouth tasted faintly bitter, somehow.
*****
The wait did not last long.
The rain, which I had thought was only a passing shower, persisted all through the evening, and the people seeking the king's hall showed no sign of thinning out either.
Beginning with Hrólfr, who had escorted my mother Asta, Ivar and Halfdan, who had been away on business nearby, arrived one after another; after them, warriors from near and far who had heard of the King's death flocked toward Uppsala.
Old comrades who had once plundered the Frankish lands alongside Father, along with their sons. Warriors who had admired Father's renown. Ambitious men who scented another opportunity.
The atmosphere of Uppsala, which had felt as though it had been entombed alongside Father, came alive in an instant with the throngs of people surging in from every direction. Death meant a new beginning. That sight was like a great power, which had only been awaiting a signal, at last ending its long wait and slowly rousing its body.
"So. What was the name of that bastard who brought Father to his death?"
"Ella. King of Northumbria."
In my memory, Father's hall had always been full of laughter, but now only a cool silence hung in the air.
"I heard he went about boasting in great detail how he killed Father. So much so that word reached even my friends in Orkney."
Amidst all the brightly coloured clothing around him, Halfdan, alone in pure white, spoke with difficulty, as if chewing over every single letter.
"Ella of Northumbria..."
Opposite Halfdan, who sat across the long table from him, a man of lean impression that contrasted with the sturdy build of Björn, who occupied the highest seat as the eldest, recited the enemy's name in a low voice.
Excluding myself, the one famous for fighting the most fiercely among Father's sons, Ivar the Boneless. My second eldest brother.
First, Björn "Ironside, the strong one."
Second, Ivar "the Boneless, the boneless one."
Third, Halfdan "Hvitserk, white shirt."
Fourth, Sigurd "Ormr í auga, snake-in-the-eye."
Fifth, Ubba.
Sixth, Helgi "Sterkr, the Strong."
All were exceptional sons of Ragnar.
Björn, Ivar, and Halfdan were already proven warriors in many battles, big and small, and Sigurd was waiting for his chance.
Ubba was a somewhat special brother: he cared little for battle or Valhalla and took a more practical interest in the world around him. He was clever, knew a great deal about many things, and picked up other languages well; in my opinion, he had the best mind for study among the brothers. He ought to have become a judge, a prosecutor...
However, unlike Sigurd, he lacked a serpent in his eye, so he still had no nickname, though he himself seemed to think such nicknames childish.
And I was different from all those brothers above. From childhood, I stood at the pinnacle of all warriors. The walking witness of the gods, Hel's great warrior.
Above all, the only son, not of Áslaug, but of Asta.
"For Father's soul to reach Valhalla, we must catch and kill that bastard Ella."
Sigurd's sunken eyes glinted in the firelight that flickered from the hearth.
"One who dies bitten by snakes cannot reach Valhalla. That cur Ella surely knew this, and meant it as an insult to Father."
The low voice he spat out was brimming with such murder and venom that it seemed to raise the skin of anyone listening.
"At the same time—"
Seated at the head of the table, Björn, who had been listening to his brothers' talk as silently as a boulder, caught Sigurd's words in a heavy voice.
"—it was an insult to us all."
'My father, who while he lived praised Valhalla and Odin so fervently. Why did you not look after him, Odin?'
Though I was the very person who had experienced the unreal phenomenon of reincarnation firsthand, my reason, still close to that of an atheist, sent a sneer toward the gods Father had admired so. Not that it could bring Father back to life, but the human heart is forever hunting for something to blame.
"Blood has been shed, and vengeance must be fulfilled."
At Björn's words, which sounded like a judgment, sparks flew from every brother's eyes.
"We cannot raise a great army right away. I shall cross over first and scout the situation."
This place was the North Germanic tribes of the mid-800s. The wartime mobilization system was so rudimentary that this was not an age where troops popped out at the press of a button. Furthermore, this invasion would be a large-scale amphibious landing. We could not simply charge in blindly.
The hunter never rushes. That was what Ivar was saying now.
"That is sound. There will surely be jarls shaken by Father's death, as well."
Björn nodded faintly, but the muscles between his brows were tensed so hard that a deep vertical crease was carved there.
"It would be best to secure a bridgehead before we settle matters internally and muster the army. Ivar, how many men do you need?"
"Men?"
Just as I was thinking, 'The longships vary in size, but on average about forty men board each ship, so wouldn't we need at least twenty ships for the vanguard?' Ivar, who had been tilting his head to the side as if pondering something, suddenly stared at me and said:
"Whether I take ten ships or a hundred, I need only take Helgi with me."
"Hm."
One after another, my brothers nodded.
I, too, nodded without hesitation.