73.
73.
"Helgi, have the gods truly died?"
"... To tell the truth, the real answer is closer to 'I don't know,' Ivar."
Ivar had arrived.
The wedding was now only a week away. Although they had said they would prepare hastily, a single month proved insufficient to satisfy the hearts of both mothers, so it looked like the timeline would be extended a bit further.
Anyway, the guests had begun arriving one by one, so stretching the preparation period a little was fine. No matter how many guests flooded in and how many mouths there were to feed, the granary legions of Árós were invincible.
Regardless, Ivar, who had stopped by Uppsala last night and come into Árós this morning, immediately grabbed me and laid out those words.
"Right? Yes, it seems you don't really know either. How on earth could a human hand shatter a boulder the size of a house, I ask you. The biggest problem with your claim is you yourself, little brother. You tool of the gods, you."
Hehehe—
Ivar's cynical laugh hadn't changed one bit from last winter. He was still hearty and full of mischief. I was truly very glad to see him, but...
Just that, Ivar's last words lingered in my mind, making my inner thoughts a bit more complicated.
'It was a fist thrown to prove the gods' absence, yet who knew it would become a curse instead.'
I had succeeded to some extent in rooting out various absurdities that even the countless priests themselves weren't certain of and had no idea why they were doing, but thanks to that, I had been forced into the role of a man marked by the gods.
Still, having already moved from frustration and anger into the stage of acceptance in my heart, I could just shrug it off and move on.
It wasn't like I could control everyone's mind, and ultimately, people were beings who believed whatever they pleased.
If I could just get rid of that damn freezing human sacrifice ritual and ultimately weaken slavery somewhat, I would be satisfied.
What did it matter to me if, simply by achieving that much, people regarded me as a demigod or the hidden son of a god.
'I... will become a god...! I shall rise to the heavens...!'
To me, half-resigned and letting out a hollow laugh, Ivar clapped me on the shoulder with a playful gesture and said,
"Your fame as the 'Rock Slayer' has now reached Dublin, surpassing even the 'Strong One.' Every merchant coming and going brings up the tale of the 'Proof of Helgi' in Uppsala, so everyone from Árós to Dublin knows your story. Did you know Sigurd has composed at least four songs from that story alone? Frankly, the music is nothing special, but the lyrics are good, so they're hugely popular! In my view, it's ghostwriting! The fellow's musical talent is atrocious!"
'That bastard Sigurd...'
Wasn't this how the many heroes of ancient Greece had been made?
You caught a few lions or strangled a wild boar, people made songs about it, and more and more flesh was added to the bone until it reached myth.
Amidst all this, I could hardly dare imagine how my own story would be distorted, and the fact that one of the prime culprits was my brother was deeply, bitterly painful. I turned my head to look for Sigurd, but...
Soon, my dislike turned to pity.
Sigurd's seat, desolately empty with only his harp left behind all by itself.
"Now that I think of it, Sigurd is nowhere to be seen? And where are both our mothers?"
Björn had long since vacated his seat, saying he would go see Erik and Refil.
Ubba had headed off to see the new library, and Halfdan was loitering around Botilda, who was having some 'women's time.'
That I, who was originally supposed to be loitering beside Inga, was the one to greet Ivar was partly because my second brother had come a long way to celebrate the wedding, but the bigger reason was that I was the master of this place and Ivar's king, the Konungr.
'No matter how I look at it, it seems Björn just dodged his duty...'
Had I known it would be like this, I wouldn't have taken on the role of king.
... But the atmosphere back then made it utterly impossible to refuse the Sword of Courage.
Putting belated regrets aside, I answered Ivar's question.
"It was a most fitting arrival for a fine commander, Ivar. Mother Áslaug has been hounding Sigurd like catching a rat for days now."
"What? Mother? Aah—"
His face had looked puzzled before he burst into laughter in an instant. The nearby guards, roughly knowing the context, also let out low chuckles.
"Heh heh heh. I knew that rascal would get his someday. He went around saying he'd meet one woman per song, my ass. I knew that if anyone among us brothers was going to cause trouble, it would surely be Sigurd, but when mother catches him so cleanly like this, there's nothing even she can do. Uhahaha!"
But still, he is a man—!
With Ivar clapping me on the back and bursting into laughter fit to bring the whole house down, a smile crept onto my lips as well.
"But Baldr didn't come with you? Is he doing well?"
Ivar's son, Baldr.
My nephew, a year older than Leon and Erik. Unlike Björn's rather cool-headed and calculating sons, he was a warrior who was the very epitome of hot-bloodedness.
"Ah, the lad will be on the islands east of Dublin with Olaf's son Thorstein. The Scots and the Strathclyde bastards launched a massive attack as soon as the weather thawed. We had a rough time holding them back. Things would have been dangerous without timely support from Vernika."
"Hmm."
So only Northumbria was stable, and everywhere else was sheer chaos.
"Speaking of which, Olaf sent another gift as a token of congratulations. This time too he was trying to send slaves, but I talked him out of it. It doesn't suit your taste, right?"
"That's right."
If the population were lacking, that would be one thing, but since it was growing as if being dug out of a field, there was no need for separate labor supply. Knowing that, Ivar had dissuaded Olaf, who was caught up in an old-fashioned (?) worldview.
"So I told him to send something a bit more unique. To you, who already has plenty of money and food, those sorts of things are meaningless."
'Not true, I like money.'
"So I brought along a few skilled bards and some rare jewels. If you give them to your future wife later, she'll be pleased."
'Oh—'
That was Ivar for you.
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Women may pretend otherwise, but they go crazy for shiny things, so learn that well, little brother. Eheh—"
"I'll keep it in mind, old brother."
"What? Why, you—"
Whenever I was beside Björn and Ivar, I felt as if I became a mere child. No matter how strong my strength or how high my status, an older brother was indeed something akin to a half-father.
Feeling my heart grow at ease as I kept up the banter with Ivar, Stórolf, whose eyes had been growing sharper lately due to the security for the VIPs continuously arriving, approached us.
"Konungr Helgi, Jarl Ivar. Word from the West Gate. Jarl Harald of Kaupang has just arrived."
"Harald? Huh, he seems to have hurried. Bring him in at once."
"Yes! Konungr Helgi!"
[Chak!]
Perhaps because they had found it dashing when the imperial standing army, the Tagmata, had saluted in Constantinople, from some point onward, more and more had taken to acknowledging my orders by placing an Örn fist to their chests.
Ivar watched Stórolf turn away with a measured posture with eyes full of interest.
Though he should have been weary from the long journey, a languid voice flowed from the lips of my brother, who was leaning back in an armchair I had personally commissioned by driving the craftsmen hard.
"Now that I think of it, I was going to tell you this later, but since the son of Halfdan, the master of the fjord, is coming, I suppose I'd better speak up now. Olaf of Dublin, that friend of ours, has finally begun to seriously consider retirement."
"Jarl Olaf? Huh. That's surprising. I had thought he'd be hale and hearty for at least ten more years."
The sight of him still striding vigorously into the hall of Beodericsworth in East Anglia with his snow-white beard and hair flying was vivid before my eyes, so retirement?
"It seems Björn's retirement had a great influence. He may have pretended otherwise, but he was deeply conscious of it, for to our generation, Björn was that kind of existence. Anyway... hmm."
[Choreureuk— Beolkeok!]
Ivar stretched out an arm, poured himself a little drink, downed the cup in one go, and continued in a more comfortable voice.
"It's certain he'll retire before long. Olaf's son Thorstein is also doing well, and above all, he must be thinking of his homeland a bit now."
Olaf's homeland, was it? But why was this talk coming up now?
Seeing my puzzled expression, Ivar spoke to me in a voice uncharacteristically grave.
"Olaf also holds a stake in that kingdom of the fjord to the west. Helgi, do you think Konungr Halfdan of Kaupang, of the generation above us, will last forever? I'm saying that his son Harald and Konungr Halfdan might just have to face Olaf's challenge."
'What is he talking about now?'
Who retired in such a way?
Seeing my confused expression, Ivar merely grinned. He told me no more.
*****
Harald Halfdansson was only the beginning.
No, it would be more accurate to say he poked a hole in a firmly blocked levee.
A massive joint wedding for Ragnar's three sons: Konungr Helgi, Jarl Sigurd, and Jarl Halfdan Ragnarsson.
Thanks to the skill of both mothers and Hrolf, who had sent word to every place a courier or merchant could reach, guests had truly begun to flood in.
And surprisingly, those countless guests were divided into two categories: those who had already seen Uppsala's split boulder, the 'Proof of Helgi,' with their own two eyes, and those who were now on their way to see it.
Harald of Kaupang, the first guest to arrive, belonged to the latter group heading off to see the rock. Half-heartedly giving me his congratulations with a 'let's talk after I return,' he had promptly departed, and my dumbfounded mind then had to receive a ceaseless stream of guests crashing in.
Ivar's meaningful remarks and my plans for dates with Inga were all evacuated from my head as I settled into the mechanical reception of guests.
The guests' main repertoire was: "Congratulations on your marriage, Konungr Helgi! I am So-and-so, sent by Jarl ○○○...!", "Most powerful one, he who wears majesty upon his person! I am Jarl □□□ of △△△...! To be able to meet you like this—!"
And so on.
My corresponding repertoire was as follows:
"To come all this way to celebrate the weddings of my brothers and myself, I am truly moved. You have my gratitude, wise Jarl Something Somethingsson...! I shall not forget this thanks."
For the first five or so, I still greeted them with genuine care, but there was simply no way I could endure once the number passed ten.
The astonishing thing was, upon hearing my mechanical reply, the jarls would look immensely satisfied, shower me with praises, and then enter the large hall across the way newly prepared for guests. Were they satisfied just to have gotten their face stamped, so to speak...?
A building into which Leon's innovative architectural style had been mixed a little, where single-person chairs replaced the traditional long tables and benches, and rooms for honored guests were prepared on both sides of the great hall as if spreading wings.
Frankly, its durability was doubtful due to the hasty construction, but it was adequate—no, even luxurious—for a few days' stay.
At its entrance stood a round beast, crudely carved from granite, betraying the Roman blood he could not abandon. Seeing it, the jarls and their representatives immediately began badgering their attending servants to record it or commit it to memory at once.
If this was cultural dissemination, then it was dissemination...
I could tell anew that the local jarls' purses had filled to the point of affording some luxury. Indeed, though it was called the blessing of Árós, the surrounding areas would have been affected to some degree as well.
This was why a metropolis was important; it could drive the commercial power of an entire region along with it. Though over-concentration would become a problem in the far distant future, for now, it had to be concentrated even if it meant scraping the bottom of the barrel. After all, there was still space left to fill and overflow.
Anyway, setting aside the fact that upon rising to the position of Konungr, I had immediately gone off on expeditions, and unlike other kings, I had left most matters below me to trustworthy vassals, thus living a relatively leisurely life.
In diplomatic affairs, I could appoint no proxy, so while I was working hard enough to make my eyes ache, I soon received news that would make my optic nerves ache beyond my eyeballs...
I did not know the exact cause, but word came that a fight had broken out between jarls at my boulder in Uppsala, the Proof of Helgi.
And sitting blatantly at the very top of the list of names was the name 'Hásteinn of Nantes.'