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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: FusionX
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“Iyaaaaaaaaaaah-!”
“Hee- hee- Hoo- Hoo-!”
In the twilight hour, as dusk painted the Hippodrome’s field in hues of red, two men ran.
“Rooooome Inviiiictaaa-!”
“Hel- la-! A- ro- s-!”
The emperor and the Konungr.
A strange pairing indeed, but the Scholae, the imperial guard, watching from the sidelines, showed no reaction.
The emperor’s face, flushed from exertion, was crimson. Beside him, the Konungr, a mountain of a man in motion, ran with an easy grace, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Huff-! Huff…! I… I will not… lose…!”
“Good! Good! That’s the spirit, Your Majesty! Run faster! A-ro-s Thun-der-!”
[Tat, tat, tat, tat!]
[Thud!]
Unlike the enthusiastic Konungr, the emperor, despite his words, collapsed.
Michael sprawled ungracefully on the dirt track. I retraced my steps and crouched beside him.
“Huff-! Huff-! Ugh! Cough! Wretch-”
“Hoo- Hee- Hoo- Hoo-… Is this the extent of your stamina? Eudokia Ingrina… or should I say, the former co-emperor’s wife? The current traitor’s wife? In any case, even she moves with more vigor after giving birth. You must do better, Your Majesty.”
“Huff… Huff… Hoo- Hoo- You… you knew about… Eudokia…?”
The emperor, sprawled on the ground in his expensive silk robes, covered his face with his hands.
The twilight wasn’t bright enough to hurt his eyes… was he embarrassed?
‘Did he honestly believe their affair was a secret…?’
Astonishing.
“Of course, Your Majesty. It was hardly a secret.”
“Hoo- Hoo- No one… no one said anything…”
His breathing had calmed, but his expression was troubled.
My own thoughts were equally troubled. Did he really think no one knew…?
Love made people blind, but this was excessive.
‘Well, the Patriarch, Damian… those sycophants wouldn’t have the courage or the reason to tell the emperor the truth.’
Perhaps the emperor had been willfully ignorant. It didn’t matter now.
“I was so afraid, Konungr Helgi.”
Finally overcoming his shame, the emperor lowered his hands and stared blankly at the sky.
Several guards in the distance started towards the fallen emperor, but Basiliskianos stopped them.
“I was afraid of my mother, afraid of my uncle. And now, even Basileios, who swore lifelong loyalty to me, has turned against me… I am afraid of everything.”
The emperor’s face, his eyes squeezed shut, held not fear, but exhaustion. Not physical exhaustion, but a deeper, more profound weariness of the spirit.
As dusk faded, the sky darkening, I rose to my feet.
“Come now, we must complete a lap of this stadium before the sun sets completely. Get up.”
“…Konungr, is this a new form of assassination? If so, congratulations. You will soon succeed.”
“Don’t be absurd. Get up. Is this all the emperor of Rome is capable of? Where is the man who charged so bravely into the rebel lines?”
“Leave me be- Oof!”
“Heave-ho!”
I grabbed the emperor’s shoulder, forcing him up. He seemed determined to become one with the dirt of the Hippodrome.
He cried out as he was lifted, surprised by my strength, which had hoisted him as easily as flipping a page. I didn’t give him time to think.
“Come, let’s run! The night sky is chasing us!”
“But I have no strength left…!”
“Just two more sets!”
“Sets? What are sets…?”
“Just run!”
“Uwaaaah!”
Of course, a sudden change of heart wouldn’t magically transform the emperor into a hero from a coming-of-age story.
Years of heavy drinking took their toll. He hadn’t exercised much either. The result was predictable.
Poor stamina.
“Wretch- Ugh-! Wretch- Heave- Cough!”
Still, the emperor gave it his all. He ran half the length of the massive stadium. Not bad for a man who had spent his life drowning in wine.
“Ugh…”
“Here, here.”
I patted the emperor’s back as he retched, then, when he seemed to have recovered, hoisted him onto my back in a fireman’s carry, like Brock Lesnar’s F-5 or John Cena’s FU.
“Let’s go, Your Majesty.”
“Huff- Huff-”
Completing the remaining half lap was easy. The emperor was light, and while the air was cold for the locals, it felt like a refreshing spring breeze to us Northmen.
“Hee- hee- Hoo-hoo-! Hee-hee-”
We passed the Serpent Column, a massive obelisk, and a towering pillar depicting Emperor Justinian. The finish line was in sight.
“Alright, let’s get you down.”
[Whoosh-]
Resisting the urge to slam him down, I gently placed the emperor’s feet on the ground. He stumbled.
But he quickly regained his balance and stared blankly at the path he had traveled, then looked down at the finish line. There wasn’t a marked line, but it was there nonetheless.
“To reach the finish line only by clinging to your back, unable to complete even half a lap… it seems I’ve lost this wager, Konungr Helgi.”
The emperor, having expelled both sweat and stomach contents, seemed strangely refreshed, his despair lifting slightly.
“Even carried, you still reached the finish line. What matters is whether you have the will to cross it.”
My words were nonsensical, but the emperor understood.
“Cross this line…? And then? How will I run the next lap…? And the one after that? I don’t know, Konungr Helgi. I am not Basileios, nor my uncle, nor my mother…”
Tears welled up in Michael’s eyes, searching for the fading twilight.
“Can I… can I do it?”
This question wasn’t directed at me, or anyone else, but at himself.
I could only offer encouragement. The decision was his.
“Their power stemmed from you, Michael Basileus. And… before, failure meant only your death. But now, it is different. Michael, the time has come for you to move forward.”
“Move forward… Eudokia… Leon… Leon… Leon.”
The emperor’s tears stopped as he spoke the name of his beloved, then the name of his son.
Could people change?
I didn’t know. Could an emperor who had spent his life in a drunken stupor truly change?
I had neither the desire nor the ability to defend him, to protect the precarious throne of Eastern Rome.
I had my own problems to deal with.
Instead, I would do all I could, out of loyalty to a comrade who had fought alongside me.
I had done all I could in Rome.
‘The bargain is fulfilled, Constantinople.’
The same spiritual breeze I had felt on the terrace of Boukoleon now swept through the Hippodrome. As the emperor, his feet planted firmly on the tear-stained ground, took a heavy step forward,
a faint cry, like that of an eagle, echoed through the sky.
It was time for me to go home.
Strategos Peganes and Damian had been efficient. But I was truly impressed by the tactical prowess of Grand Admiral Niketas Ooryphas.
He swiftly blockaded the ports of Macedonia, dispatched fleets to the neighboring thema to deter any rash actions, and effectively isolated Basileios.
Knyaz Michael of Bulgaria honored his pledge. The emperor, abstaining from alcohol for two weeks, led the central army and the troops of the Thema of Thrace, descending upon Adrianople, the capital of the Thema of Macedonia.
Adrianople, a city that had long served as the western bulwark of Constantinople, was now a rebel stronghold, shrouded in the shadow of death, pressured by both Bulgaria and Rome.
The siege lasted over a week. 866 AD, the third month of winter, December 30th by the Julian calendar.
The mild winter, allowing for unimpeded military operations, was a curse for Basileios and a blessing for Michael. But in my eyes, it merely hastened the inevitable. Basileios’s downfall was a foregone conclusion.
The prolonged civil war had angered those forced to fight in the depths of winter. Even the Patriarch, furious that Christmas had been disrupted, seethed.
The gates of Adrianople opened. A white flag was raised, and envoys traveled between the two camps.
Surprisingly, Basileios specifically requested me as a negotiator.
“Helgi Ragnarsson.”
“Basileios Bardasson.”
He addressed me in the Northern manner, so I returned the favor. Basileios stared at me, momentarily stunned, then burst into laughter.
Uwa-hahahahahaha!
A boisterous laugh, unexpected from a man facing imminent defeat.
“Indeed, my father’s name was Bardas! Uwahahaha! You Northmen are a straightforward lot! Hahahaha!”
Facing death, Basileios seemed to have reverted to his younger days, a carefree warrior riding across the plains. His face, though filled with a sense of relief, held a touch of melancholy.
“Had it not been for you, my plan would have succeeded. I would be emperor. I should never have brought you to Constantinople… Petronas outsmarted me.”
He spoke calmly, like a chess player reviewing his moves after a match. I simply nodded.
“Perhaps if you had used a stronger poison… who knows what might have happened, Basileios.”
“Haha. Poison is not so easily acquired, Helgi. That was the best I could do at the time, but you were stronger. That’s all there is to it. This race for power… it’s either kill or be killed…”
Basileios, still wearing the emperor’s crown, removed it and let the wind ruffle his hair.
His face, freed from the crown, seemed lighter, but a lingering regret remained. Something he couldn’t let go of.
“I have taken many lives, so how could I hope for Heaven? But… I thought I had made my peace, yet one lingering regret remains, and that is why I called for you.”
“What is it?”
Basileios, his eyes closed before me, the man who had brought about his downfall, spoke a single name, his voice filled with longing and regret.
“Constantinos…”
A name spoken with tenderness, a stark contrast to his previous detachment.
“My son, Constantinos… I wish to ask you, Helgi, to spare his life.”
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