Being a Viking Isn’t Fun – Chapter 42

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Shio
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Polotsk (Palteskja). Like many villages by rivers, it was named after the Polota River that flowed past it.

Long ago, after the great migration of Germanic peoples swept through Europe and the Huns and Germans had moved on, Finns from the far north, Goths from the south, a few remaining Germanic tribes, and others from the east quietly gathered here.

They began to live together in this place.

That was the beginning of the Rus and the surrounding tribes with their diverse names.

Their history was one of blending.

Just a few days ago, their Knyaz had left the gates proudly, only to return no longer as a Knyaz but with a foreign Konungr as his superior.

Yet, the people of Polotsk didn’t seem greatly disturbed.

It wasn’t the first time, nor the second, that the people of this region had encountered us Norsemen. They were a bit surprised that a familiar face had suddenly become Knyaz, but they accepted it easily enough—perhaps after seeing my physique.

I wasn’t sure what the connection was between being a Kynaz and having a large physique though…

Was it good to be sturdy? I guess my large body could be useful in this way too.

Polotsk was smaller than Novgorod, so we had to create separate resting places for the troops who had moved with me and Rurik.

The villagers, in turn, were busily moving about in a flurry of activity.

The old folks worried that their winter provisions might run out.

The women’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, while the men, wary of outsiders, watched us build a large encampment next to their village.

And the children looked on with innocent expressions.

I had already instructed Novgorod to move the ships we had arrived on, so not long after we began digging and hammering, with the help of merchants who brought various supplies, we quickly set up a rather impressive encampment.

Seeing it come together was deeply satisfying.

They’ve reflected well on the feedback from the last expedition. I was proud of myself.

The memory of sleeping rough in East Anglia was so shocking that I prepared thoroughly for this expedition—especially since we might have to spend the winter in a foreign land.

We packed extra cloth, prepared essential iron tools like nails and hammers in advance, and ensured that every warrior had at least minimal cold-weather gear.

Since wood was plentiful, it took less than two days to set up simple palisades, tents, and fire pits. From now on, my warriors must master digging—war and expeditions were fought with shovels as much as swords.

Moreover, now that we’d gained Polotsk, the winter supply route shouldn’t freeze over.

Of course, if a record-breaking cold wave hit, it would all be for naught. We had already entered the first month of winter, but with weather like this, it was likely this year would be mild, like the last.

The waterway near Lake Ladoga, further north, could freeze over at any moment, but the river next to Polotsk wouldn’t freeze unless the cold was extreme.

It was a bit narrow, but it’s great to have something usable in winter.

I should tell them to bring plenty of food since the people of Polotsk need to eat too.

Having dealt with most of the urgent matters before departing, Bjorn, whom I seated as the proxy lord of Aros and Uppsala, should have some leisure. I should be able to ask this much of him.

“Konungr Helgi, it’s ready!”

As I was sorting out the situation in Rus, which had unfolded more smoothly than expected, Storolf’s voice called from outside my tent.

“Ah—Is it already that time? I’ll come out right away.”

“Yes, Konungr!”

It was still the month of Blot (festival), so shouldn’t the warriors on expedition have something to laugh and enjoy?

I’d love to throw a big party like the wild victory celebration feast in Uppsala last time, but with limited supplies and people, that wasn’t possible.

So, instead, I prepared an athletic competition. It wasn’t as grand as the Olympics, but it was certainly inspired by them.

“Konungr Helgi, you’ve arrived!”

“Konungr Helgi!”

“Welcome!”

“I’m a bit late.”

Polotsk, situated on a high hill, and our army’s encampment on the low hill beside it—together, with a village of about seven or eight thousand people and an encampment of 1,600 warriors (800 from Aros, 800 from Novgorod), it looked just like one city.

“Well, what do we start with?”

“We start with javelin throwing and stone throwing! Then comes fist fighting!”

Of course, this was the 9th century—far removed from 21st-century sensibilities. Sports here were anything but ordinary.

“This is exciting!”

On the wide, flat ground in front of the encampment, long ropes had been stretched to mark out spaces, and countless people surrounded these areas, all shouting in unison.

“Go! Crush them! Show those bastards the power of Rus!”

“Don’t even think about walking back if you lose!”

“Aros! Aros! Aros!”

“Novgorod! Novgorod! Novgorod!”

“This is our home turf, you idiots! Polotsk! Polotsk! The! Stron! Gest! Victory or death!”

Perhaps because rumors had leaked through merchants that ships loaded with grain from Aros would soon arrive, people were already quite drunk before the main event had even started.

This could turn into a fight if we’re not careful.

Rurik, Miroslaw, and I sat on a raised platform overlooking the scene.

Soon, Refil and Oleg, who could be considered the working staff, were running around with dark circles under their eyes, gesturing frantically to conduct the competition.

Poor souls. I should give them a bonus.

Did I mention before? The best thing about being a Konungr or Jarl was having many people to order around. I had no doubt that all this would become blood and flesh for Refil and Oleg.

[Flutter-! Flutter-!]

Since there wasn’t time to dye it, Refil waved a white flag to signal they were ready. Storolf, all excited, relayed the message to me.

“Konungr! The warriors have finished preparing! By drawing lots, Polotsk will throw first, then Novgorod, and Aros last!”

“Is that so? Then let’s begin.”

“Yes, Konungr!”

[Buuuuung- Uuuuung-]

The Knyazes, more excited than the participants, were drinking heavily next to me with flushed faces.

Storolf, even more excited than the frenzied crowd, blew the horn trumpet with all his might.

“First warrior! Vadim of Polotsk!”

“Yeeeeaaah-!”

“Wooooo-!”

“Polotsk! Polotsk!”

“Vadim! Vadim!”

There were three participants from each city. With little time for preliminaries, they were selected based on word of mouth, rumors, hearsay, appearance, and physique.

The first warrior from Polotsk, who stepped forward, seemed to have a bit of an exhibitionist streak.

Amidst the chaos of shouting, excitement, and jeering, he roared toward the audience, drawing their response.

“For the victory of Polotsk-!”

“Waaaaaah-!”

Finally, after basking in the attention, the warrior selected a javelin of suitable size, gauged the distance, and with all his might, rushed forward and launched it skyward, putting his whole body into the throw.

[Whoosh-! … Thud!]

“Waaaaaah-!”

“This is over! That’s definitely first place!”

“Judges! Run faster! Damn, where are those bastards from!? Are they deliberately going slow!?”

The judges, selected equally from each city for fairness, seemed to have built a bond working under Refil and Oleg.

They didn’t flinch at the angry spectators’ urging, silently doing their job.

The distance was marked by blue cloth stuck in the ground.

“Oh, the Polotsk warrior’s skill is impressive, Knyaz Miroslaw.”

“Thank you, Konungr Helgi! I’ll say this now: Polotsk warriors are quite strong! Stronger than Novgorod’s! Uahahahaha!”

Miroslaw, while downing the alcohol poured by the slave beside him, thanked me while naturally dissing Novgorod.

At this, veins popped out on Rurik’s forehead as he too continued drinking the alcohol poured by his slave.

[Grind-]

“It’s too early to rejoice, Knyaz Miroslaw. Novgorod’s warrior hasn’t even competed yet.”

“Oh my, you’ll break your teeth like that, Knyaz Rurik. Be careful…! Hey, bring something for the Knyaz of Novgorod to chew on!”

“Yes, Knyaz.”

[Gnash-]

Hmm.

While those below seemed to get along despite hurling insults and laughing together, it felt like the emotional gap between us was deepening.

Well, should I say it was fortunate that they were venting their emotions like this? I’d have to make them drink a lot at the after-party, make them cry their eyes out, and then steer them toward reconciliation.

In the next round, when the Novgorod warrior’s javelin landed just beyond the blue flag, Rurik was so happy he forgot his dignity and jumped up and down below the platform.

Seeing this, Miroslaw’s face turned tomato-red as he encouraged the dejected Polotsk warriors.

Of course, the winner of the javelin throw was the warrior from Aros.

I wasn’t sure how he did it, but he threw the javelin so far it almost reached the riverbank.

The two Knyazes showered me with admiration and praise, but their faces looked somewhat disappointed.

The competition continued with fist-fighting, then Glima (similar to wrestling), and finally, the much-anticipated short and long-distance swimming contests.

When Aros warriors won all of these events, I had to console the two Knyazes, who now looked downright gloomy, with all sorts of empty praises.

Of course, I couldn’t help one corner of my mouth from turning up.

Victory will be yours, Aros. Today and tomorrow.

As the people of the three cities, who had become much more familiar with each other after laughing, shouting, and jostling, were feeling the afterglow of the competition, I stepped to the center of the platform to focus everyone’s attention.

“Warriors of Aros, Novgorod, and Polotsk! You all did well! Let’s eat and drink today, filled with both disappointment and joy! There will be prizes for both winners and losers, so look forward to the next competition! Long live Aros! Long live Novgorod! Long live Polotsk!”

“Long live! Long live Konungr Helgi!”

“Remember the names of the warriors! Tell the poets!”

“Long live the three cities! Long live their wise Konungr!”

Amidst the excited crowd, I saw Refil and Oleg, happier than anyone else, raising both arms high and shouting hurrah.

I’d have to give them a big bonus…

Come to think of it, this sports competition was great for integration.

Although, the next one had to be better organized and operate on a much larger scale.

I believe in you, Refil and Oleg!

“Hurrah! The work is done! Hurrah!”

“Long live the Konungr! Hurrah!”

The two men, unaware of my dark inner thoughts, shouted hurrah until their throats were raw.

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After finishing the unity competition, where body and mind became one, the two Knyazes finally grabbed each other’s collars and hurled abuse at the top of their lungs, only to end up completely drunk, shedding tears while reminiscing about their beautiful past.

It wasn’t particularly pleasant, but wasn’t it fortunate that things turned out well in the end?

Even the people of Polotsk, who had initially looked at us with wary eyes, now accepted us.

Especially the warriors who participated in the competition had their reputations enhanced, becoming recognized stars wherever they went.

Of course, this had nothing to do with me.

More important matters than the scandals of our small and precious athletic competition winners with village maidens A, B, and C came to find me.

Hmm.

Because we had headed to Polotsk, the letter that had missed us finally reached us through merchants who continued to come and go.

It was the second letter from Eudokia, wife of the co-emperor Basil of Rome and daughter of the Varangian captain.

Whatever she was trying to hide, the letter contained a disorderly list of words like [Freyr, fast, good, fear, enemy], and even these were deliberately distorted in shape, seemingly in an attempt to maintain extreme caution.

“Well, I had intended to take more time with this, but we’ll have to move quickly, Knyazes.”

“Yes, Konungr!”

“Just give the order.”

“Select people who will accompany us down to Kiev. Let’s move with three ships each. Is that alright with you?”

“Understood, Konungr Helgi!”

“It shall be done!”

Haskuldr and Djur, was it? They were originally Rurik’s oath-takers.

But as distance grows and other powerful figures appear nearby, even firm oaths can waver.

We’d have to go and ask them directly.

Whether they would stand with us or not.

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[Shio here~!

Helgi’s actually a born slave driver. I fear for Oleg and Refil.]