7.
7.
War was a long and terrible thing.
In a movie, there would be a departure scene, an arrival scene, a scene where they shared stories, and then right into the ching-ching-ching! of sword fighting—but in reality, it was a fight against logistics.
From the moment men were gathered, you had to prepare the food to feed them until departure. For those who came with nothing but a dagger and a broken shield that their late father had used, you had to provide proper blades.
Since the fall of the old Western Roman Empire, a true expedition of any scale had rarely occurred in these lands of Europe.
And that very thing—a true expedition—was what we were attempting now.
The second month of summer, when the weather was at its finest. You could not pull many men away from the fields, so the second, third, and fourth sons had to be gathered from every region, taught the basics of combat, issued with spears and shields...
The estimated time for all that was impossible to measure.
This was not the age of computers, so nothing could be done until the men were gathered. What could be done right now was to stockpile Árós's overflowing supplies at the muster point of Uppsala. Meanwhile, I would cross over to Britain first with Ivar and the experienced warriors who had returned not long ago from the eastern expedition.
Once across, everything was at the discretion of the commander, Ivar, but the basic objective was to find a landing site for the main force and secure winter quarters.
And so, at last, thanks to the ardent participation of the Norsemen who displayed their unquenchable fury, the vanguard was able to slip out of Uppsala's harbor with truly lightning speed—barely seven days after I received the news of Father's death.
"Helgi, if you're bored, why don't you give that oar you're holding a stroke?"
Do you know the advantage of a Viking longship—commonly called a dragon ship here? Remarkably, it could move in reverse. Of course, that might not be surprising news to you, but to a total ship-ignoramus like me, the shock of witnessing that for the first time could not be put into words. "A ship can go backwards!?"
It was only natural, since they were rowed by men and the bow and stern were shaped identically...
Anyway, the sight of twenty ships anchored at Uppsala reversing one by one and gradually slipping out into the open sea was something I would never forget for the rest of my life. Nor that my ship was right in the middle of that formation.
"Now? The wind is good and the waves are calm."
With a few exceptions, a typical longship had sixteen pairs of oars and carried forty warriors. Ivar's warriors filled nineteen ships, and my forty Huskarls from Árós took another. Twenty ships in total, eight hundred warriors.
Ivar, who had stubbornly insisted on boarding my ship among all those vessels, climbed aboard in the end. Throughout the passage of the Skagerrak and Kattegat straits between the lands of the Danes and the Svear, he sat beside me and held what he called "brother time."
"Oh-ho. Helgi. Though I am your pitiful brother, weaker in strength and lesser in battle, I at least know this sea far better. As I see it, our ship is sticking out a bit from the line, so if you give an oar-stroke, it should slip right into place. What do you think, Hrólfr!"
It seemed the main purpose of this "brother time" was not to increase brotherly affection but to tease the younger sibling, though.
"Ah—yes, Jarl Ivar! If we go on like this, we might end up lost at sea all alone! Jarl Helgi, you must hurry!"
"Hahaha—!"
The atmosphere of the ship, which had been quite gloomy for a while, felt as if it were easing slightly. Like a bowstring drawn taut returning to its place.
'Was that intentional?'
Looking at Ivar's grinning face as he gestured for me to row, I could not read the slightest hint of such an intention. Who knew the inner thoughts of this seasoned Jarl who already had children growing up at home? I had no choice but to do as he said.
"All right, all right. Well then..."
[swish-]
I gripped the long, sturdy oar firmly with both hands. [creak-] The wood, already dead, let out a pleasant groan, and using my braced legs and waist as support, I stroked the oar with force.
With the spirit of rousing the silent waters asleep beneath the waves in a single stroke.
'Hup-!'
[Whoosh-!]
It was not about fighting against the water, but borrowing a path from it. Without haste, extending the breath long—
"Whoa! The ship is spinning!"
"The opposite side! Row the opposite side quickly! Jarl Helgi! Stop! Enough!"
[Splash!]
"Stórolf has fallen into the water!"
'Hm? What!?'
Had I used too much strength? No, did it even make sense for a ship to spin just from a bit of force? Wasn't this badly made?
I had simply rowed with all my might from a state of blank concentration, feeling no resistance at all. Unable to withstand that force, the light vessel spun sharply on the spot and flung the unfortunate Stórolf overboard.
"Pffwah-!"
"Oh dear! Helgi! Stroke once more on the opposite side! Quickly!"
Caught off guard, I let go of the oar in panic, but Ivar, who stood at the bow, urged me to row again, scolding me as if he were wielding a whip. And just as one plus one equals two, I thought, 'If it spun once to the left, wouldn't spinning it the other way fix it?' So I seized the oar I had released and pushed the ship hard in the opposite direction.
[Whoooosh-!]
"Aaaah—!"
"Watch out—!"
[Splash! Splash!]
I heard the sounds of a few more men falling in, but since I had turned the ship back in the right direction, it could be said that no great harm had been done.
'Hugh—what a relief.'
I let out an inward sigh and stood up on the light, springy ship to assess the situation. Roughly five men had been flung off by the recent commotion, and thankfully the supplies remained intact.
"Pwah-!"
"Phahp!"
The warriors who had fallen in began sticking their heads out one by one. Stórolf, the first to fall, grunted as he climbed back aboard. The last to surface was Hrólfr's head, rising from the water.
"Pffhhp!"
"Hahahaha—!"
Ivar, sitting beside me, clutched the ship and laughed himself sick. Hrólfr, who had been staring at him and at my sheepish expression with coldly frosted eyes, soon threw his head back and laughed loudly as well.
"Hahaha!"
"Puhaha—!"
"...Hurry up and get back in. The water must be quite cold, no?"
"Haha! Jarl Helgi! Only cowards look for warm water! With water like this, we could stay in all day!"
Stórolf, wringing out his soaked clothes, laughed proudly as he spoke. After him, the warriors of Árós scrambled onto the ship one after another, bantering playfully with the comrades who hauled them up, and returned to their places.
"Jarl Helgi."
The last to climb aboard was Hrólfr. My long-time Huskarl, despite his considerable age, was still nimble.
"It would be best, my Jarl, if you kept your hands off the oar from now on. We simply cannot match that strength of yours."
"...Understood."
Even if I had a hundred mouths, I would have nothing to say.
"Oh, Helgi! Don't be too disheartened. If all else fails, we'll just make a longer oar so you can row both sides at once, right?"
'You're the real demon.'
Ivar patted my shoulder as if telling me to cheer up, a mischievous smile on his face. This was a Viking commander? Good lord. Somehow, dark clouds seemed to be gathering over our vanguard's future.
"Hurrah—! Jarl Helgi! Glory to Hel!"
"Jarl Helgi!"
All of a sudden, thunderous cheers burst out from all sides. Wondering what had happened, I hurriedly rose to my feet and looked around. The warriors in the long line stretching fore and aft were all looking at me and shouting.
Since the flagship in the middle of the column had just demonstrated a sudden 180-degree spin and a return to position, it was only natural for them to be astonished. And when they realized that this bizarre event had occurred through my strength, their amazement and admiration had fired up their spirits.
"Helgi. We'll have to make use of this from time to time. Nothing raises the warriors' morale quite like your strength."
Amid the absurdity and embarrassment, Ivar nodded seriously beside me, and his face could not have been more infuriating.
"Hrólfr. Let's advance again. Stórolf, sound the signal."
"Yes, my Jarl!"
Still, having honed a thick skin before the cheering crowds through the duels at Árós, I showed no outward sign. I stood in silence and made eye contact with each of the warriors who cheered for me.
"He looked at me!"
"No, he was looking at the clouds behind you!"
"Helgi! Helgi! Helgi!"
"Ragnar! Ragnar! Ragnar!"
[Wuuuuung-!]
Soon, the horn that Stórolf blew with all his might resounded majestically across the Kattegat sea, and the cheering warriors returned to their places and drove the ships forward with vigor.
The broad, bright sail swelled its chest proudly in the pleasantly blowing wind, and the warriors, with one heart, sang a song celebrating their father's deeds.
[thump-]
Ivar rested his hand on my shoulder as I gazed silently at the scene. My brother's eyes, smiling at me, held a deep trust. Only then did I feel the tension I had not even been aware of finally begin to ebb away.
"We will win, Helgi. And we will achieve our father's vengeance."
Ivar patted my shoulder once more, then sat down and hummed along with the warriors.
"Sigurd's son Ragnar wore hairy breeches (Loðbrók), to ward off the great serpent's venom—"
The twenty ships, carried on wind and song, glided across the waves as they advanced.
*****
865 AD. The land of the Franks. Calais.
Though it might sound like a jest, this land was peaceful. The land of the Franks, Calais. Its very form was a natural harbor, a place where Norsemen like us, who visited to engage in cultural and economic exchanges (?) with the Franks, always stopped—a kind of port of call.
Therefore, according to the common sense of this age, where it was only natural to trade goods stolen from Village One in Village Two, there must have been an implicit agreement as to why a place like Calais remained intact. An agreement along the lines of, "Since we'll need to keep using this place, let's not plunder it and get along well with the locals!" And this tendency was only going to grow stronger...
'Since we're going to use it as a waypoint for our vengeance on Northumbria.'
It was possible to go straight from the Scandinavian peninsula to Albion—Britain. With a favorable wind and calm waves, it was a distance of two to five days at most. However, our vanguard and the main force that would follow moved along the Frankish coast to reduce the uncertainty of the sea.
In an age with no compass, crossing the North Sea in a straight line was certainly possible, but where on the island of Britain you would land was utterly unpredictable. If the goal were simply to raid, you could just land anywhere roughly, wander about, and when a provoked local lord sent pursuit, board the ships again and sail blindly eastward. But for an invasion moving a large army, that could not be done.
Thus, we moved along the coast. Because the land was always the finest landmark, fixed in place. And above all, here in Calais, the island of Albion was visible to the naked eye.
"A white wall..."
With a body that was far from ordinary, how could my eyesight be commonplace? My vision, which had to rival that of birds of prey soaring in the sky, easily reached beyond the rolling waves to the pure white cliffs standing haughtily.
"Ah—the land of the Angles and Saxons. It's been a long, long time. The memory of first crossing that sea with our father is still vivid."
Today was the day that finally raised the curtain on the full-scale vengeance war. Having rested our travel weariness for a day in Calais and in light kit, we were ready to cross the strait four days after leaving Uppsala.
"Are you ready, Helgi?"
"Of course."
With the air of a casual "Did you eat?" the brothers' brief exchange ended, and we immediately boarded the fully prepared ship.
Over the procession of longships departing in a file, pushing the waves aside, a raven that had flown in from somewhere gave a long cry.