94.
94.
"What are you asking me to do right now?"
The season was gradually shifting toward a stronger sun.
It was fortunate that the wind blew often—otherwise, it was the kind of weather where sweat dripped and trickled unless you sought the cool shade beneath a tree.
Inside the command barracks set against a vast forest, the air was thick with the scent of phytoncides, birdsong clamored noisily from every direction, and the voice of the man trembling before me quavered ceaselessly, as though piped through a vibrating tube.
"Uh— well— that is—"
Goodness, it seemed his brain had short-circuited when I frowned slightly.
The proposal was so utterly unexpected that I had been taken aback without realizing it, and it must have shown on my face.
"Now, now. Let us calm ourselves and have a measured conversation, Earl Leofric."
"Yes, yes! Konungr Helgi! I shall do so!"
"Good. Seutorolpeu! Bring Earl Leofric something to drink and a chair to sit on."
"Aye! Konungr!"
[Chak chak chak! Swoosh—! Thud!]
"Ah— thank you, Konungr!"
[Gulk gulk gulk—! Cough! Hack! Gack!]
Seutorolpeu's thick hands, moving with the angular precision of an automaton, handed over the drink contained in a leather pouch and brought a chair carved by skilled warriors.
Leofric carefully seated himself, mirroring my posture as I sat upon my own.
Hastily gulping down the ale with trembling hands, he soon choked on it.
"Cough! Ahem— hack! Hm—!"
"...Are you all right?"
"Hm. Of course, Konungr! The ale tastes absolutely superb! As expected, even the drink from Aras is on another level! Heh heh!"
It was Árós, not Aras.
And that ale, for that matter, was brought from Beodericsworth...
"You have my thanks. The forests of Huntadun are also wonderfully cool and pleasant. Well then, may we continue with our discussion?"
I casually glossed over the discourtesies—mispronouncing the name of the place, half-spitting out the drink bestowed by a Konungr—and returned to the main topic.
"Of course! Konungr!"
"Then let us sort this out once more. Earl Leofric and the people of Huntadun merely need to put on a show of honor. They have no mind to oppose me. Is this true?"
"It is true beyond the slightest doubt!"
"And for that reason, you and the people of Huntadun wish to 'pretend' to fight us for a suitable time and then open the gates. Is this also true?"
"It is, Konungr! How could this small village possibly stand against Konungr's might? Yet to be branded as a coward who surrendered without ever striking a blow—that is the greatest dishonor for us fen folk, the Gyrwas, and it would make our lives terribly difficult going forward...! I beseech you, merciful Konungr, to take pity on us in this...!"
"Hoho. Well now."
Good heavens.
I truly had seen all manner of strange sights.
Truth be told, I could guess at what these simple folk were thinking, to some degree.
When whales fight, it is the shrimps whose backs are broken; naturally, they wanted to walk the tightrope between Burgred and me.
But this was not necessarily something I had to view in a negative light... for it meant that Burgred's credit had lost its hold over this region, and that my own power had emerged as the alternative.
'At this rate, the whole of eastern Mercia might fall into my grasp far more easily than I thought.'
I had even kept open the option of launching a sudden thrust into Mercia should an opening present itself while we were ostensibly bogged down in a siege. But now, it seemed best to annex eastern Mercia according to the original plan.
"Very well, then. Earl Leofric. What manner of fighting, exactly, would make all Britain hear that we fought well?"
"I have devised a method for that very purpose...! Konungr!"
"Oh, have you? Then let us hear it."
"Yes! You see, one section of the wall is actually very old timber, so—"
And so the rough framework of a formal battle was stitched together, out of Earl Leofric's mouth and my nodding head.
*****
"Jarl Oleg! The order is to charge!"
What in the world is all this...
Jarl Oleg—whose name was read as Helgi in the tongue of the North, but who called himself Oleg out of respect for the Konungr—scratched the back of his head roughly and donned his helmet.
"You all heard him! We advance slowly, then!"
"Aye, Jarl Oleg! Advance!"
"Advance!"
The ranks surged forward in unison to the clatter of armor.
In his entire life, he had seen such a sight only under Konungr Helgi.
'An invincible army.'
Did he and Rurik truly lack ambition? The mysterious allure of Konungr Helgi had played a large part when they handed over the lands of the east intact, but the ultimate cause was that he was simply the strongest.
In personal prowess, and in the strength of his following alike.
The world of the cross-worshipping Franks and the horse-riding folk still seemed to know little of him, but Oleg could tell.
That if only some single opportunity arose, a colossal wave would rise and sweep everything away in an instant.
'Fylkir, was it? A seat above Konungr. A position that could truly bind all Northmen beneath a single banner.'
Franks and Angles, Saxons, Magyars, Khazars, even Romans. They all simply called them 'Northmen,' but in truth even they were divided into countless tribes.
Just as the homeland differed from the east, and as this west—now about to be absorbed into Konungr Helgi's domain—differed from them both, so too did vast differences exist among the people living in those lands.
And yet, to bind them all into one?
'Was that not a thing to make the heart race...? Had there ever been a mortal of the North who undertook a greater work than this? A god, even?'
Hence he had to cling all the more tightly.
The Konungr was only now nineteen.
So unbelievable that he repeated it to himself. Nineteen...! At that age, had not Oleg himself spent every day drinking with his brother Rurik and chasing after women...!
And considering the Konungr's physique, which seemed to transcend the human altogether, he would likely live to be at least a hundred.
To survive, one had to bow one's head, and if one must bow one's head, it had to be done faster and more decisively than anyone else.
Better still to be incorporated outright into the household.
'He is married now, so children will soon be born. I must not fall behind, no matter what...!'
Everyone kept silent about it, but as if there were only one or two who had their eyes on the Konungr's future children?
The Konungr's own brothers went without saying, and then there was that wily Djur and Haskuldr, Sigebryht with the chill about his eyes, and Uhtred of the north whom he had never met but whose abilities the Konungr himself had praised...
And even the Emperor of Rome.
'The slave market can no longer remain in the eastern lands. It must be moved elsewhere, or done away with entirely. The Konungr dislikes it—a mark against me. He is fond of horses, so I must build a large stable, and...'
In a different sense, Oleg was racking his brains furiously for the survival of his house.
Before him, where he stood staring blankly, there were people fighting furiously—truly, in the most literal sense, for survival, or rather 'pretending' to.
"Now! On the count of three, we push! One— two— three!"
"Heave-ho, heave-ho!"
"Heave!"
[Thud! Thud-thud!]
The marshmen rushed the shield-wall the Norsemen had formed and shoved against it with all their might.
They were smaller in build than the Norsemen, so from a distance it looked like children fooling around against grown men.
Still, they were a good-natured lot, and the atmosphere stayed warm as they bantered: "It really won't budge one bit! If this had been a real fight we'd all be dead!" "Hey, you big fellows! You truly are strong!"
Yet to Oleg, who had lived his long years as a warrior, a sight like this remained beyond comprehension.
[Clip-clop- clip-clop-]
"... And thus the warriors of the marsh resolved to accept the outcome through a light contest of strength, rather than opposing the Norsemen and their great Konungr, Helgi Ragnarsson. I shall therefore call this a war as light as a feather ..."
[Scribble- scribble-]
'Hm? That fellow is...'
Leon, was it? That mad Roman Konungr Helgi had brought from Miklagard.
He had heard the man dragged poor old Hrolf around chasing mountains all day long, and he must be deeper in the Konungr's favor than expected, for he always stuck close to his side.
The man always carried a long wooden board with him. Oleg remembered once seeing him pull a long face because the board, filled with wax, had frozen solid.
Now that the weather had thawed, he seemed able to use it again. Behind him, servants lugged bags stuffed with more wooden boards and paper—a sight so unfamiliar that everyone nearby cast glances their way.
[Dagr-dak- Dagr-dak-]
"Jarl Oleg! The Konungr has issued a new command! He now orders you to storm the palisade!"
"Jarl Stórolf! I hear you!"
"Thank you! Now! Giddy-up!"
[Dagr-dak! Dagr-dak!]
'Jarl Stórolf... the Konungr's captain of the guard. After Jarl Refil, the man who can be called the Konungr's left hand. A person with whom I must absolutely maintain good relations...!'
His father was a man named Oreum, renowned among the older generation as a champion of immense strength. He had also been a sworn man of the Konungr's father, the legendary Konungr Ragnar.
Now the son was distinguishing himself as a famed warrior in his own right, and his renown had already surpassed his father's.
Soon the family would rise to become a house that directly counseled the Konungr. It would be good if I could become friendly with him beforehand...
"Did everyone hear that! We move to the walls now! All warriors of Huntadun are to move to the walls! Or fall back behind us!"
"Push— ah, is it over already? Can't we go a bit longer, lord! I feel like a little more and they'd actually budge!"
"My friend, stop talking nonsense...! Be off with you, please! Brave warriors! The oldest timber of the palisade is over that way!"
"Now— advance again!"
"Advance!"
What is this, some athletic meet...
A scene that reminded him of the athletic games the Konungr had first held when he gathered the people of Polotsk and Novgorod.
The people of Huntadun laughed, chattered, and even clapped their hands while being conquered.
Is this... really war...?
But whatever his personal confusion, the Konungr's command was absolute.
Shaking his head vigorously to thrust the stray thoughts aside, Oleg once more ordered the advance, and soon earned the honor of personally splitting the oldest timber of Huntadun's palisade with his axe.
On that day, according to the official records of the Konungr's chronicler Leon and the monks of Huntadun, the casualties of Huntadun numbered roughly 200. The Norsemen's casualties numbered roughly 300.
After a brief but fierce clash, ownership of the fortress passed from one side to the other—a result that could be deemed satisfactory to both.
Of course, contrary to the official record and announcement, in Leon's secret chronicle this battle was named the 'Feather Battle.'
*****
At the same moment, at the northernmost tip of the island of Britain. The heart of the Kingdom of the Isles, Haerri.
The advance of Olaf the White, who had entered the service of Konungr Helgi Ragnarsson, was unstoppable.
Having secured the support of the Jarls along the western coast of mainland Scandinavia, he now wished to wrap up the last campaign of his life—the battle for the north of Britain—in a clean manner and earn the recognition of the new Konungr he had sworn to serve. And through that recognition, he wished to pressure Halfdan the Black King in Kaupang.
Not bound by blood, but a brother in all but name, Ivar Ragnarsson was with him. Landing together on the Kingdom of the Isles, they soon joined forces with Ketil Flatnose, lord of all the islands between Britain and Eire.
"Olaf! It has been too long!"
"Ketil! It has been too long!"
Olaf's second marriage to Ketil's daughter Aud had bound Dublin and the Kingdom of the Isles in great closeness. Thus, Ketil, who had resolved at Olaf's urging to swear fealty to Helgi Ragnarsson—the mightiest Konungr to rise in this age—greeted Olaf with a beaming face.
"Jarl Ivar! Come, come! I cannot say what a great honor it is to welcome a warrior as great as you into my hall!"
"Jarl Ketil. My thanks for your hospitality."
At least within this place, there was not a single soul who did not know the name of Ivar the Boneless.
"Father! Jarl Ivar! You have come!"
"Father. Jarl Olaf."
And Thorstein. Olaf's son and Ketil's grandson.
Baldr. Ivar's son, a warrior of extreme composure, unlike his smooth-tongued father.
With the voices of Thorstein the Red and Baldr, the Norseman war-lords finished their greetings and promptly took their appointed seats.
It was after the great wedding at Árós.
A new culture had spread, known and unknown, among all Norse lords. Among those now seated in individual chairs, Ivar, who was in effect Konungr Helgi's deputy and supreme commander of the Eire and Isles coalition, spoke in a low voice.
"The intelligence sent by Jarl Uhtred of Vernika has been cross-checked with that of Jarl Torgenvald of Orkney. The forces of the Kingdom of Strathclyde and the Kingdom of Scotland are divided. An opportunity has thus presented itself to us."
While the other lords in the hall all brightened at this, Ivar's murky green eyes sank gloomily instead. He resembled a snake poised before the hunt.
"Let us go and see how well the warriors of the Kingdom of Scotland can fight."
☆☆☆☆☆References☆☆☆☆☆
From Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository CC-BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/
-Wikipedia
This is the Hebrides archipelago.
It's the Kingdom of the Isles in the story~ Along with Dublin in Ireland, it was a longstanding Viking stronghold in western Britain.
Richard Webb, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
Basically it's this kind of terrain... so finding your way in is pretty tricky lol
Eileen Henderson, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
And this is the terrain of Haerri, i.e. Harris.
You could call it grassland, hilly terrain, and islands. It'd be tough to feed a large population, but it's plenty usable as a port of call...!