8.
8.
865 AD. The third month of summer. The edge of the island of Britain, Dover.
What greeted us as we crossed the sea under the cover of dawn's twilight was the clamorous ringing of a bell.
[Deng- Deng- Deng- Deng-]
A stone tower from which sound emanated, ringing regularly and waking the dawn sea.
Yes, a proper building made of stone. The first stone structure I had encountered in this lifetime.
'Could I cut that thing down and take it with me?'
"Danes-! It's the Danes!"
"Egenwulf! Alpha! Get inside the house right now! Hurry!"
The villagers who saw the twenty longships appearing silently on the shore like fog responded systematically in their own way. The frail elderly, women, and children evacuated to the largest, sturdiest building, while the remaining able-bodied men hurriedly seized the high ground and placed their wooden shields at the front.
It was quite an impressive defense, enough to make any ordinary raiding party reconsider and head for another village.
However, the unfortunate thing for them was that we were not a small band of vikings come to plunder some monastery.
"Still a people full of fighting spirit, I see."
Standing at the bow of the longship slowly approaching the shore, Ivar looked down at the resolute defensive wall before him with a gentle 'Heh heh', like an adult out for a neighborhood stroll.
"It's a curious place. What they call Kent. Heave-ho..."
[Zabun! Charak!]
Since we could not ram our precious ships into the pebble-strewn beach, we slowly anchored them at a depth suitable for wading. Following Ivar, who had jumped in first, we set foot on the soil of Britain one by one.
[Charak!]
The Dover Strait was indeed very short, and the wind pushed at our fleet's back. Thus, the warriors who had donned chainmail (worn by me and the Árós warriors), lamellar (worn by Ivar and his direct guards, acquired from the Eastern expedition), and gambeson (armor made of multiple layers of cloth, the most common) disembarked without any trouble and formed up. Upon seeing this, the people of Dover who had built the defensive wall to stop us visibly wavered.
"Well then, shall we go and introduce ourselves?"
Placing one hand on his single-edged curved sword—which he had purchased directly from the far-off Khazar Khaganate in the East for the price of one hundred twenty rams (1.2 kg of silver)—Ivar walked forward step by step, his helmet tucked under his arm.
'...? Where is he going right now? Doesn't he see the hedgehog of people bristling right in front of him?'
"Hurry and follow, Helgi!"
'Damn it...'
"Hrolf, follow me."
"Understood!"
I quickly gave the order to Hrolf and hurried to catch up with Ivar, but Ivar's adjutant, left conspicuously behind, caught my steps with an urgent tone.
"Jarl Helgi, what should we do?"
"Ah, your name is—"
Guthrum, was it?
"—Guthrum. Set aside the forces to guard the ships and prepare to attack immediately."
"Understood, Jarl Helgi!"
Guthrum, whose light brown beard stuck out from under his helmet's face guard that left only his eyes visible, nodded lightly and hurriedly headed to the rear. Hrolf and I likewise moved our feet quickly, leading my guard and following behind Ivar.
"Long descendants of Jutes! Men of Kent! We have no intention of fighting you!"
Like stray cats with their fur on end, the villagers, who were aiming their protruding spears from behind the shield wall and rolling their eyes, seemed to fall into confusion upon seeing Ivar shouting at the top of his lungs before them. The villagers exchanged urgent whispers with one another behind the shield wall.
To my ears, that murmuring sounded like a murder conspiracy: "Should we spear that bastard to death?" "Wouldn't the barbarians behind him charge us immediately then?" So I hurried over to Ivar's side and stood firm.
"You're late, Helgi."
"Ivar, what on earth are you doing?"
This easygoing man. I was an idiot to respect him as a veteran of battle (raiding). What if a javelin or an arrow had flown at me suddenly and hit me somewhere unfortunate.
"Haha. I appreciate your concern, brother, but calm down and look at them."
Following the endlessly composed—even cheerful-looking—Ivar's gesture, I looked at the squirming shield wall. The rolling eyes were all trembling, the hands holding the shields were shaking, and the spears thrust forward could not stand straight and kept pointing toward the ground.
'These people are not warriors.'
Of course, a standing army in this era was like a sweet dream, a privilege held only by the rulers of a few great empires and kingdoms... But even so, the people before my eyes were, as a warrior, very disappointing enemies.
"Look over there! An even bigger one appeared!"
"Is that even a person? It's like a bear!"
"Oh, God, good heavens. We're all going to die."
"Quiet! Quiet! Everyone get a hold of yourselves!"
They hadn't done anything in particular, but just stood there. The villagers' morale plummeted upon seeing my threatening appearance, and their minds already seemed to be seeking a route to abandon their shields and flee. Just as the tips of the spears, which had been bristling so fiercely they seemed about to be rammed into the ground, and the eyes, noses, and mouths of the people began to show through the gradually lowering shields, an old man's voice bellowed out.
"You there, Norseman! By your gods, I swear, is it true you have no intention of fighting us!"
The old man who pushed aside the round shields and stepped forward with his gaunt body had hair that had turned stark white and a bushy beard, but a strong will could be felt in his tightly shut mouth and glaring eyes.
'That man appears to be the village chief.'
"It is true! Brave old man! I am Ivar Ragnarsson, and beside me is Helgi Ragnarsson! By my Odin, I swear we have no intention of harming you. Are you willing to lay down your weapons!"
The descendants of the Danes and the Jutes, though separated for many years, could still haltingly communicate. In my case, perhaps because of my high learning (ability score), I automatically understood both languages without any difficulty.
The old man, frowning deeply, looked at Ivar, who had stepped forward boldly, at me standing behind him, and at the warriors beyond us who were stirring a fierce momentum. He then let out a small sigh.
"...May God watch over us. Of course! Ivar, son of Ragnar! Dover will not be hostile toward you! Everyone, lower your weapons."
As the people of Dover, unexpectedly confirmed that these fierce raiders had no intention of fighting immediately, quickly lowered their weapons, Ivar walked toward the old man still standing before the villagers, and I followed closely behind.
"Brave old man, what is your name?"
"My name is Eadbert."
"I see, Eadbert, are you the Jarl of this place?"
"...I am the Earl of this place."
"As I said, we have no intention of harming you. I am a man who keeps his word."
As the two conversed, creaking along but somehow proceeding smoothly (?), I let the conversation flow in one ear and took a moment to look around. A land with white patches here and there, a small village nestled on a gently sloping hill. The people, who were still making tense gestures and trying hard to meet my gaze, seemed well-fed, or at least not starving, with decent flesh on their bones.
"—So, we only have business in the land of the Angles. But I think you might need to open the way for us."
"Hm, Jarl Ivar. Opening the way is not difficult. But doubting your good faith aside, the Norsemen who might come after you have passed will not know of your promise to me, and they may loot our village, might they not?"
Deep fatigue settled in the corners of the old man's eyes, which were concerned not for his own life but for the survival of his villagers.
"Oh, you need not worry about that. Wise old man! Here."
Abruptly, Ivar took off a lustrous amber ring from his finger and handed it to the village chief. Unbelievable as it was, Arabic script was clearly etched upon that ring.
'Áli (الله)? Where on earth did he get that?'
Since I hadn't even managed to hold a proper funeral, I was in no state of mind to carefully examine the foreign object lodged between Ivar's fingers. I had just vaguely thought, 'Ah, so he wears a ring?' but I never expected it to have "Áli" written on it.
"This is a precious ring."
Laughing, Ivar forced the ring into the old man's hand, whose face betrayed the question, 'Why are you giving this to me?'
"It was obtained in a far eastern city, a long journey from here. Atil, have you heard of it?"
"I have never heard that name in all my life."
"It is a place where the endless grasslands are impressive. Of course, there is a waterway, but there is a kingdom a long way down from that city (the Abbasid Caliphate, but Ivar is not a man who cares about titles). The people there hold this ring dearly."
'He should mention that the ring has "Áli" written on it, which Christians love to see...'
Ivar, with a proud face, even patted the bewildered chief's hand as he clasped the ring tightly. It seemed I was the only one who felt the irony of this situation.
'If there's anyone who knows the Islamic language, the chief might be branded a heretic.'
In an era where religion is life itself, being branded a heretic could be a fate worse than death. However, it was hard to believe Ivar had given the chief this poison knowing all the background. In my opinion, it was more likely that Ivar himself didn't know what the letters on the ring meant. Or he just thought the pattern was rather pretty.
"...Thank you, Jarl Ivar. Dover will always be friendly to you."
"Haha! Thank you! Earl Eadbert!"
"...Eadbert."
Thus, the negotiation between the Danes and Kent was settled under the blessing of Áli, and we were able to create a friendly foothold called Dover on the island of Britain.
*****
"—And so, the kingdom above the Humber (Northumbria) is currently in a state of chaos."
Invited to the house of the Dover chief Eadbert, Ivar and I were gathering information from the chief while eating the bread, stew, and salt that the chief's wife, who seemed uneasy at the arrival of strangers, had carefully prepared for us. The rest of the soldiers were resting, having set up a small encampment beside the village (merely lying down roughly in a sunny spot) after hearing my threat not to cause trouble. Only the key adjutants had entered the village with us, yet the people of Dover were still anxious.
"Hmm-."
The chief's house was a wooden house slightly larger than the others around it. Of course, houses in Scandinavia were also made of wood, but while the Scandinavian houses were elongated like ships, these Kent houses were square, just like the ones we commonly picture. As if drawn by small children. The thatched roof and the sunlight streaming through the square window were very cozy, but Ivar, who seemed entirely uninterested in the interior, was busy mulling over the information the chief had provided.
"Ælle pulled Osberht down and sat upon the throne. And the two are even brothers? Huh, really."
"Yes, that was already two winters ago. (AD 863)"
"That bastard would have needed a sacrifice to establish his shaky authority, and just in time, father..."
I grabbed Ivar's shoulder, who was spouting a terrifying aura while trailing off, and the chief handed me a certain coin with a trembling hand.
"Here, these are the coins of the two men currently fighting for the Northumbrian throne."
Two coins, appearing to be made of silver and copper, each bore a face along with a simple inscription:
[King of Northumbria, Ælle.] [King of Northumbria, Osberht.]
"So these are the bastards."
"Ælle."
The faces of Ælle and Osberht, carved on the opposite side of the cross, seemed to be mocking us brothers. Conversely, Ivar's face contorted like a demon's, and my expression, with blood rushing to my head, would not have been much different.