Being a Viking Isn’t Fun – Chapter 44

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Shio
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Of course, just because I wanted to meet Árpád didn’t mean I could find him quickly.

We traveled by ship, and while we only camped on long voyages, those men lived a life of constant camping, didn’t they?

They wandered the endless plains beneath the starlight, stopping wherever the grass was plentiful, letting their sheep and
horses graze to their hearts’ content.

Then they would grab a few of the weaker or sickly animals, using their hides for clothing, their meat for sustenance, even making cheese…

…It might have seemed like nomad prejudice, but wasn’t this pretty much the truth?

So, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t have a conversation with the Magyar prince right away.

The same had applied to the Khazars. Those nomadic friends, based far to the east in Itil—although to me they had seemed more
like semi-nomadic pastoralists—wouldn’t suddenly have popped up just because I wished to see them. In the end, all I could
do was wait.

However, this time, time had not been on my side. Because a man had arrived, bearing Eudokia’s third message.

“Greetings, illustrious Knyaz of the Rus. My name is Damian. I have come to see you at the behest of Eudokia, Basilissa of Symbasileis
Basileios.”

The old man had bowed in a way I had never seen before. His head had been tonsured, like those I had seen in Britain.

The hairstyle of a clergyman.

First of all, I hadn’t quite understood why he had addressed me as the Knyaz of the Rus, but I figured I would find out through
conversation.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Damian. I am Helgi Ragnarsson, Konungr of the Danes and Svear, and leader of the Rus of Novgorod, Polotsk, and Kyiv.”

“Oh—”

Perhaps surprised by my introduction, which had included a few extra titles, Damian’s eyes had flashed with astonishment.

“I apologize for my rudeness, Konungr. This foolish man, ignorant of affairs beyond these lands, has made a mistake. Please forgive me
with your generous heart.”

His pronunciation of ‘Konungr’ had been off, but I had decided to let it slide. More importantly, judging by his speech and gestures,
this man had been no stranger to court life. He had given off a similar vibe to Hrolf—a more politically savvy Hrolf, perhaps.

It seemed like we would communicate well.

“What is there to forgive, Damian? If you’re not trying to make me out to be petty, please rise from your seat and join me for a
drink.”

“Your compassion, Konungr Helgi, is most honorable. I thank you.”

Slowly, he had risen and carefully taken the seat I had offered.

Jarl Haskuldr and Djur had already sworn allegiance to me, and while Rurik, their former comrade and lord, had been an awkward
traveling companion, time would have resolved that. They had all been under my wings now.

As I had carefully observed Damian’s face, I had noticed a distinct difference in his features. He looked like a mix between an
Italian and an Arab from my past life. A Greek. A Roman.

“I had no idea you were so proficient in the Roman tongue, Konungr.”

Damian’s words had flowed effortlessly, and only then had I realized I had been conversing with a Roman, in the Roman language,
without any effort on my part.

“Huh—”

Why hadn’t I noticed this in Britain? If I could read a book written in unfamiliar characters, shouldn’t I have been able to speak the language too? Remembering how my brothers had treated me like some kind of sorcerer, I naturally responded.

“Even though the Western Empire has fallen, Rome still stands. Since I send my warriors as mercenaries there, shouldn’t I at least
speak the language?”

“Indeed, you are absolutely right. Such wise words, Konungr Helgi.”

“Come, let’s talk comfortably while we eat.”

“Yes, Konungr.”

The old man had been exceptional at adjusting his speech. He had subtly shifted his tone and gestures, constantly gauging my
reactions.

“I should reintroduce myself. I was the Parakoimomenos who had served the great Basileus Michael of Rome and his father, Theophilos.”

“Parakoimomenos, Parakoimomenos?”

“The one who assists the Basileus in all things—his court ceremonies, attire, meals, sleeping quarters.. even his confidential
matters.”

So, this man had been a eunuch. No wonder he didn’t have a beard. An eunuch and a monk? And a former Parakoimomenos at that?

The politics of Rome were truly beyond understanding.

“But now you seem to be a monk,” I had remarked, glancing at Damian’s tonsured head. He had let out a bitter laugh. A very, very
bitter laugh.

“Those who stand close to the powerful always have many enemies.”

“I understand. You’ve been through much.”

“It’s something I had to accept. Still, I’m fortunate to have come out of it with all my limbs intact. But now is not the time for my own sorrows. May I continue?”

“Please do, wise Damian.”

“Thank you. As Parakoimomenos, I had seen and heard things I would rather not have. This matter concerning Eudokia…it could be
considered a scandal of the current Basileus, but it’s also something everyone in Constantinople whispers about.”

What the old monk had said next had shaken me to the core.

“Eudokia, wife of Symbasileis Basileios, is the paramour of Basileus Michael. And she is carrying his child—Michael’s child.”

What kind of absurd daytime drama was this?

As Damian had continued, his eyes had closed, as if he had been the one in the fable, shouting, “The king has donkey ears!” He had
seemed incredibly relieved, like I had been the first person he’d ever told this to.

I had felt a strange sympathy for him, but at the same time, all my romanticized visions of Eastern Rome had crumbled away…

To summarize: The current emperor, Michael, had had a lover he had been fond of since he was twelve. That lover had been Eudokia
Ingvarrdottir, daughter of the Varangian captain—Ingerna, as the Romans had called her.

The problem? Theodora, the regent and Michael’s mother, had loathed Eudokia Ingerna because she had been an iconoclast (It’d be better
if we ignored religious matters for now).

So, on Michael’s fifteenth birthday, Theodora had staged a ‘bride selection’ and picked a daughter-in-law to her own liking. That
woman had been Eudokia Dekapolitissa.

I didn’t know if this had been some cruel joke, forcing him to marry a woman with nearly the same name as his lover, but Michael
hadn’t been the type to simply obey.

Naturally, he had gone through with the marriage, but their relationship had been worse than rock bottom—a mere formality. Meanwhile,
Michael had continued his affair with Eudokia Ingerna, his childhood sweetheart.

Then, unexpectedly, she became pregnant.
Having already eliminated his uncle Bardas that autumn, Michael hadn’t wanted to bear the political and religious burden of divorce.

So he had devised an ingenious solution…He married Eudokia off to his close friend and political ally, Basileios, and made him co-emperor.

As Michael, living up to his reputation as a drunkard, had once again drowned himself in wine, Eudokia had grown uneasy.

After Basileios had lost a political struggle, she had turned to Damian for help—because Damian had watched over Michael for so long.

“Eudokia choosing me had been wise,” Damian had said, his voice steady now. “But sending a letter to the Knyaz of Novgorod? That had been futile. How could distant kinsmen stop the daggers and poison swirling beneath the surface?”

I had been considering my options when I received word from Petronas Kamateros, Strategos of Cherson. He had said something
interesting had been happening on the Dnieper River, north of the Crimean Peninsula.

I had started to lose track of all the players in this game. Has entering a library really been this exhausting? If I hadn’t been
careful, I might have gotten dragged into the court politics of Eastern Rome, a veritable Sodom and Gomorrah.

No—had I already been caught in it? This growing sense of foreboding felt like the shadow of a looming civil war.
Suppressing a sigh that threatened to escape, I calmed my racing thoughts and asked Damian, who looked just as troubled:

“This ‘interesting’ event—had it been the foreign Konungr who had suddenly appeared, farther away than even Novgorod? So, what had the Strategos of Cherson gained from this?”

“Petronas Kamateros had been appointed by the previous Basileus, just like me,” Damian had replied, his tone weary as he had recalled
the past. “He had been close to the Khazar rulers. He had even built a city for them, called Sarkil, at the behest of the previous
Basileus.”

“Rome’s power had been truly formidable.”

“Thank you, Konungr Helgi.”

To build a city as a gift… This was Rome.

“He knows more about this region and cares for it more than anyone. He wishes to secure one promise in exchange for guaranteeing your safety, Konungr Helgi, and providing you with passage.”

Of course.

“And what is that?”

“He asks that, regardless of the outcome in Constantinople, once the immediate crisis has been resolved, you would check the Magyars to the west. As Knyaz of the Rus.”

“Huh-”

Did all human empires think alike, regardless of time and place? This sounded like a classic case of ‘using barbarians to control barbarians’…

“I understand. I shall do so.”

“A wise decision, Konungr.”

He had asked me to ‘check’ them, not to fight them. I could decide more concretely after meeting Árpád.

For now, I would play along, Petronas of Cherson.

Until our interests diverged.

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[Shio here~!

College is cooking me.]