93.
93.
"... Why am I alive...?"
In the midst of a head-splitting pain, Edmund instead felt life.
Unsettled memories. Sorrow and anger. Resignation and hope.
Pushing aside the whirlwind of his many inner turmoils, his nerves focused solely on the familiar voice that reached his ears.
"The Konungr is merciful. Edmund Cyning."
Sigebryht...!
The unforgettable voice of the traitor Judas.
At the same time, the last hope that he could have chosen death.
That, since he had once been a vassal, he might at least look after my family.
But looking at his eyes now, it seemed he had been gravely mistaken.
Wasn't it laughable? A vassal who had once been quite close was trying to kill him, while the Konungr of the Northmen, who had appeared out of nowhere, was actually keeping him alive.
The will of God was thus incomprehensible.
"Yes, so it is..."
An honorable man. A fearsome man. An incomprehensible man.
Now, whatever epithet one attached, it was hard to find a more fitting descriptor for this man.
'The victor. Helgi Ragnarsson.'
Was there a man in Britain who could defeat that man?
No.
Then what of the great Frankish Kunings beyond Britain?
Who knew.
One who had not faced him directly could never know. How much power a single human could possess.
'But now... is it not a matter that no longer concerns me?'
When he tried to move his body, his chest ached as if it were being torn apart.
He hadn't noticed when he came to, but with Sigebryht's cold eyes right in front of him, his body's senses seemed to quickly return.
'What's this?'
When he lowered his head, he saw that his chest wasn't just painfully aching for no reason; it was truly cut. Probably Konungr Helgi's handiwork. To leave such a thin wound with that massive sword... A remarkable swordsman.
"Ugh-."
With the pain causing cold sweat to bead, a groan escaped him, and Sigebryht, looking at him with sunken eyes, slowly lifted a cup and handed it to him.
"... What is this?"
"It is not poisoned, so be at ease. If I meant to kill you, I would have done so already. By the Konungr's strict command, you shall live. Edmund."
'You no longer call me Cyning, Sigebryht.'
How had you and I become so estranged? But that too was probably no longer relevant.
Glug, glug—
He tilted the cup; it was lukewarm water.
While the liquid passing down his throat made the wound sting, Edmund paradoxically felt alive once again.
He was alive.
How vast a gift and blessing this was... Why hadn't he realized it sooner?
"What becomes of me now?"
Having once resolved to die and knocked on death's door, now that he had returned, the thought of dying again did not occur to him. On the contrary, he felt an even stronger desire to live.
It was laughable, but that was his honest feeling.
And from Sigebryht's mouth came words he had not expected at all.
"Leave. There is no longer a seat for a Cyning in East Anglia. Anywhere but this land will do."
Could the executioner's axe blade be heavier than this?
He had thought he had cast off all lingering attachments, but the ambition that remained unbeknownst to him was finally beheaded and flew away.
"Is that so."
So it was.
Edmund had no choice but to accept.
It was not because of Sigebryht's cold gaze filled with the intent to kill him.
Simply, in all honesty, Edmund was exhausted, and he could by no means bring himself to think he could win against that northern dragon.
When he finally nodded, Edmund's face was rather lighter.
Thus, for a long while, the former king and the vassal sat together in silence.
*****
"Konungr. May I ask you just one thing?"
"Hm? What is it?"
On the road to Huntadun. Leon, who was riding beside me, inquired cautiously.
This Roman seemed never to tire; whenever he came into my sight, he was always writing something down, which was something I was very grateful for.
Through those records, we would be able to more easily grasp the things we needed to fix and the things we needed to learn from the enemy later.
So I gladly accepted this brave and clever Roman's question.
"Edmund Cyning... he is no longer a Cyning, of course. I cannot understand with my mind why you spared Edmund of East Anglia. Was he not Konungr's greatest enemy? Since ancient times, there has been no custom of keeping the enemy chieftain alive. His family might be a different matter, though."
"... Hm."
As expected of a Roman. His basic reasoning process was brutally pragmatic.
However, this perspective was also very refreshing. Since all my other followers only nodded their heads at my words... sometimes I needed feedback like this.
"Why did I spare Edmund..."
Using Leon's question as an opportunity, I reflected on my own choice for a moment.
In truth, I had many concerns. Even in that split second when I struck down with my sword.
If I spared this man? Being human, any gratitude would be fleeting. Wouldn't he harbor resentment against me? Even though Edmund had no offspring so far, what if he bore a son? Wouldn't that become a lingering source of trouble?
These were political questions.
But around the time my greatsword touched Edmund's shield, the thought suddenly occurred to me: was that really such a big problem?
Though it's a sorry thing to say to Edmund and his yet unborn offspring, even if Edmund, like King Fuchai of Wu or King Goujian of Yue, licked gall bladders at night and crawled like a dog, vowing revenge...
I did not feel he would become a threat to me.
By what means could he possibly oppose me?
Through military force? If he did, I'd be grateful. If he would personally weed out the disloyal elements of East Anglia, which would now be my land, I'd welcome it with open arms.
Although I didn't know how much support he would muster, given that all the monks of the northern marshlands of East Anglia had decided to follow him.
Or through diplomacy? Surely not through economics?
First of all, as a follower of Goddess Hel, friendly relations with the Catholics had long since gone to hell.
If not for the infighting among the Pope, the Frankish emperor and kings, and their battles against the Muslims in southern Italy, they'd have nothing to say even if I launched a crusade right now.
Economic sanctions? By what method would Edmund block the waterways of Eastern Europe? With his own body? With faith?
Of course, human affairs are unpredictable... but ultimately, what moved my heart was Edmund's heart.
The heart that would throw away his own life to save those who followed him.
Edmund, though his power was feeble, was a man worthy of being called a hero.
It is said that forgiveness and tolerance are the privileges of the strong. I had given him a chance to live again. The outcome of this choice would now be solely on Edmund and myself.
Even if he issued a new challenge, I was fully prepared to handle it.
So I spared him.
"I simply wanted to."
"... Pardon?"
"The goddess of fortune smiles upon the brave..."
Leon's gaze narrowed further.
At that look that seemed to say 'Don't lie,' I could only burst into a hearty laugh.
"It's half true. I like honorable men. On the other hand, I didn't want to give the enemy a pretext."
"A pretext...?"
"I do not wish for Edmund to be revered as a martyr."
"Ah— I see."
With that single word, 'martyr,' Leon caught onto my design, and gave a quiet nod.
'For now, directly clashing with the powers beyond the sea offered little to gain and only losses.'
Not yet.
"Even so, the merciful heart you have shown, Konungr, is something rarely seen even in Constantinople. I shall certainly record it and pass it down."
Was there any mercy in Constantinople?
Leon's resolute vow was touching. And self-deprecating too.
"Thank you, Leon."
Leaving Leon, who was growing ever more adept at wielding a pen on horseback, I let my thoughts dwell on Edmund a little longer.
'I had seen to his family, and promised to send away all who followed him. There would be no discomfort.'
I would give him some property, and a few slaves.
Yet Edmund could no longer set foot in East Anglia, or even in Britain.
For in that moment, he would die.
I had arranged through Sigebryht for him to be able to go anywhere across the sea, and I suspected that a fervent Catholic like Edmund might well head for Rome.
Of course, the rest would all be his choice.
"Konungr! The castle you spoke of is ahead!"
Just as I was fretting that Sigebryht—who possessed a far colder edge than one might expect—might quietly dispose of Edmund, Stórolf shouted to me after receiving the scouts' report.
'Had we already arrived?'
Huntadun.
The hunter's hill.
A strategic point, certainly... but unexpectedly ill-fortified.
"Form ranks and rest the men. If they do not surrender, we will establish a camp."
"Understood! Sir!"
[Dagr-dak- Dagr-dak-]
It felt as though the horsemanship of the riders who had been with me since that historic cavalry battle was improving more and more.
Stórolf's skill, as he hurriedly spurred his horse toward the head of the column, also felt vastly grown compared to the beginning.
"Move quickly! At the double! Double time!"
"Keep the fast pace!"
"Anyone who loses supplies in the rush had better be prepared!"
A column that had felt like a leisurely outing suddenly bristled with tension, and amid the quicker pace, dust rose on all sides.
My army and I soon came face-to-face with the palisade atop the low hill named Huntadun.
*****
Earl Leofric of Huntadun did not wish to die.
"They've truly come...!"
"We are all going to die now...!"
"The sword of the Lord—not even Edmund could stop that evil dragon, so how can we...?"
When he was young, this palisade had always felt sturdy and snug, protecting them from savage beasts and the relentless wind and rain.
But today, at least, it had never looked so fragile.
"Earl Leofric...! What shall we do...!"
Even to his own untrained eye, the Northmen did not look like an ordinary army; they stood in orderly ranks, staring toward them. Conversely, the defense of Huntadun, populated solely by folk whose idea of a fight was drinking and throwing punches, or boasting of great prowess after bagging a couple of rabbits on a hunt, was simply hopeless.
"... We are men of the marshlands. We cannot hand over our land without a single fight...!"
"... Pardon?"
In that desperate situation, Leofric replied to the people who quivered with anxiety in a calm tone. The peasants, hunters, and even the clergymen—simple yet sharper than anyone—all stared at Leofric as if he had lost his mind.
Did Leofric himself have any wish to die?
Feeling that unless he explained in greater detail he might be killed by these people right then and there, Leofric laid out his plan in a lowered voice.
"... Suppose we surrendered without a fight and those Northmen were later defeated? Then Burgred would want to slaughter every last one of us...! That's why I'm saying, let's put on a bit of a show of a fight!"
"Ah—! Indeed. How wise, Earl Leofric!"
"May the Lord watch over us...! Forgive us...!"
"First, let's convert and do penance!"
As a collective sigh of relief burst from the crowd, the clergyman alone—sweat streaming down his gleaming pate—traced the sign of the cross in a voice full of lament...
Leofric, recalling the looks that had been thrown at him as if ready to kill him, gnashed his teeth inwardly, but there was nothing he could do.
"But how do we explain our circumstances to those Northmen? Rumor says they are demons born and raised on the battlefield, without blood or tears..."
"I've heard that too! They say their Cyning shattered a boulder with his bare fist!"
"... Does that make any sense? That's nonsense!"
"I'm only saying that's what I heard! I'm not saying I believe it!"
"They say he breathes fire!"
Given the marsh-folk's nature of chattering all day once more than five gathered, the scene instantly turned into a marketplace, and Leofric's head throbbed again—but someone had to do the work.
To survive. To save his rabbit-like children and his fox-like wife, Leofric had no choice but to step forward.
That was what an Ealdorman was meant to do.
"... I will go."
"Oooh—! Earl Leofric...! A brave man! May the Lord watch over you!"
"Earl Leofric! Earl Leofric!"
"You never forgot to pay your tithes, so the Lord will surely watch over you!"
Praises poured out at once, as though they had only been waiting for those words.
'Honestly, he had missed plenty of days...'
Amid applause from people who seemed particularly insufferable today, Leofric thought he ought to check whether he could pay all his missed tithes in one lump sum.
Since any straw to grasp would be welcome in this situation.
☆☆☆☆☆Reference Material☆☆☆☆☆
Teppich von Bayeux, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
???: Is the seed of kings and ministers born separately...! Someday I, too, shall certainly...!
???: Hey, Kim! Hurry up and dig the earth!
Workers diligently digging earth and piling up a hill. It is a depiction of the construction of Hastings Castle. Recorded on the Bayeux Tapestry, commissioned by Odo, Bishop of Bayeux in Normandy and half-brother of William the Bastard.
Sir Basil Mott (1859-1938), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Roughly like this, piling up earth and stones to make a hill,
wy, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
and then building a palisade castle, which was used everywhere in pan-Germanic cultures where wood was not scarce,
Myrabella, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
it blocks the enemy in this shape lol.
In the story, several powerful stone castles of Britain appeared.
Canterbury, Beodericsworth, Jorvik, Bamburgh, Constantinople (???? that's a bit of a stretch, but it's made of stone so it is a stone castle!!! lol)
And Lincoln (Lindum), London (Londinium), Stanford, etc...
These places were the exceptions... In truth, most towns and castles were protected by palisades. Because they were cheap, easy to obtain, and sturdy!
This trend began to change from around this period.
They kept the motte-and-bailey (hill-building) format but started building stone castles on top of it without exception, lol.