Legends Never Die: Uncomfortable Expectations (ch. 91) (Patreon)

This was a problem for a lot of reasons and I was struggling to figure out which was the most pressing. Ten thousand people wasn't a small number. That was a migration. Norland was already in a state of expansion and development, so the massive influx in numbers wasn't impossible to handle but up until this point I had enjoyed a steady trickle of migrants to Norland. A significant portion would have to go out to populate and establish villages.

There were things with the Roman Empire to consider. I enjoyed Irene’s favor because I was a temporary problem. I was a convenient shield for any ire she drew with her increasingly reaching grasps for power. Any influence I amassed, any position and tilts I gathered -- all of it would last a few short years then as far as she was concerned, I was going to sail to the other end of the world. I wouldn't be her problem.

Two thousand warriors raised some eyebrows and some reasonable concerns from the nobility. I could admit that much. I would have concerns too if a relative unknown entered my kingdom with an army with only a promise that they wouldn't use it on me. Ten thousand people, two hundred ships? That was far more than I expected. That was going to get a reaction out of Irene because she would have to give one. Even if only a fraction of them were warriors, answers would be demanded about the influx of people.

Then there was the grand debate that was going to be happening in a few short months. The debate that would see some of the most important Christian leaders arrive in my town to have their debate about matters I didn't even bother trying to understand at this point. In a town that would be similarly filled with my people -- Pagans. Norland was already a simmering pot with me and my army acting as the lid. I wasn't sure what would happen exactly when my people arrived, but experience taught me to expect nothing good.

“This is a problem,” I noted, speaking to Ragnar, who bounced on my knee as I tapped my foot against marble flooring in my Longhouse. He was content to chew on one of the toys I made for him, giggling as he bounced with my hand on his back to make sure he didn't fall. The words were directed to Ragnar, but I didn't expect an answer. “This outstripped my expectations significantly.”

That was a good thing, when you looked at it alone and not focused on all of the problems that arose because of it. I sent Gerald and Hoffer to drain Horrik of his strength and manpower. I was uncertain how many people resided in Denmark, but with the war over the crown, the warriors sent to Francia, and now this -- I was sapping Horrik of his ability to defend himself. Of manpower. I hoped to drain Denmark of its veteran warriors and green boys alike.

The families that came were welcome. My time in Crete taught me how fragile the intricate web of villages and towns really were. A mass migration of labors, even unskilled ones, was a massive disruption in the supply network of goods and Horrik would be left scrambling… likely right up until I returned. This, as inconvenient as it might be, was a large blow to Horrik. The kind that he likely wouldn't recover from. That alone almost made all the trouble that was coming my way worth it.

My foot stopped bouncing and Ragnar was immediately annoyed, waving his toy around until I picked him up to approach the model of Crete that I had been working on for more than a year now. That caught his interest and it held mine. “The debate is the immediate problem. I need it to go well because it would otherwise reflect poorly upon me. Maybe this could be enough for a change in location, but I won't hold out hope for that.”

The model had been continuously worked on since our arrival. It wasn't done yet either. Accurate measurements were shockingly difficult to achieve consistently. I didn't need perfection, but I wanted it because I hoped to one day make a model for Denmark. Where the villages were, where villages should be developed, where fertile ground was marked, and where advantageous battlefields were located. It was very convenient when you could visualize your realm.

On Crete was Norland and I had sculpted small models that represented important things within the city. Most of the town was located in the space between the hills that we had claimed, though the space on the hills and cliffs was finding itself filled as time went by. “We have some time to prepare for their arrival,” I continued as Ragnar lunged for the building that represented my library before making Astolfo and my library fight by crashing them together. In the meantime, I looked to the location I had already been eyeing.

Two hundred ships was more than just a fleet. Discounting the ships I stole from the Abbasids, I would command three hundred longships. That was… an honestly alarming number. Troublesome too. “We'll have to expand right here,” I told Ragnar, pointing to the model. It was where I was thinking of opening another dock to help alleviate the pressure on our harbor. The issue was that it was in the opposite direction of our current planned development.

Ragnar didn't seem particularly interested, now chewing on my library as if he were a great monster. All the same, I continued. “It could be a district for our people. Because… for Irene, we have just become a long term problem,” I admitted.

It was one thing to leave behind a couple hundred people. Them, I expected, would be assimilated into the general population with little difficulty. Several thousand, however? That was a very different story. The pagans of Crete would be a known quantity and it would be a black mark against Irene's name because she allowed us to settle here in the first place. Meaning, she would take action. She'd have to.

And it was my duty to safeguard my people, even if they chose to stay behind in a hostile land.

“We expand our current plans,” I said, drawing where the district would be built. “Secondary markets, bathhouses, and so on. More importantly, it'll be a walled district. Because, one day, those that we leave behind will be attacked.” I said, my voice even as I patted Ragnar on the belly. “It most likely won't be enough, but it'll give them a chance to fight back. To escape. Wiping them out will be a large undertaking -- they'll need to assault the walls and blockade the harbor. And such a thing won't likely be missed.”

It was another massive undertaking, I knew. But, when I picked up one of the carved temples I had made in anticipation of building a temple for the gods, I smiled when I placed it in the heart of the district. Where it would be protected and my people could worship freely.

If nothing else, it was a nice idea. It was just a matter of putting it into practice.

…

As predicted, Irene was less than happy to learn that ten thousand Pagans were sailing towards Crete. She hid her reaction well when I informed her through a letter, but I could almost feel a cooling in relations between us based on her frigid response. Without intent, I burnt through a significant portion of whatever goodwill she had for me. Yet, at the same time, I was too important to recklessly offend, ironically through her own favor and the courtship of the abbasids, who smelled the growing rift.

It was going to be a problem, but it was one for another day.

For now, I had more immediate issues. Such as making sure the two hundred ships arrived at Crete with no issue. To that end, I sent Thorkell to Kiev with instructions to start ushering them to Norland. All the while my laborers worked day and night to prepare the town for their arrival. We had a little time, but it was only a week later did the first of the ships start to arrive.

Astrid was visibly excited when she saw her brother's flagship trailing behind Thorkells. They, in turn, led twenty longships to our port. Morrigan was nowhere to be seen, but two ravens flew through the air and told me she was watching their arrival closely. Jill stood on the opposite side of Astrid, her hand in mine while Ragnar was in Astrid's arms. We were waiting for them at the end of the dock.

Hoffer proved his worth as a ship captain. He swung the ship wide before turning into a hard pivot. Then, carried by the momentum, his longship carried forward until it lightly bounced into the dock. Hoffer was the first one off the ship, and he seemed as hail as I last saw him, telling me that he personally didn't experience much hardship in the past year.

His face brightened immeasurably when his gaze landed on Astrid and Ragnar. With a wide smile he approached, “I'm an uncle once more! Do I see another Hoffer?” He asked, approaching and bending down so he could get a better look at my son. He held out a finger and Ragnar seemed to take great offense to it because he grabbed it and did his best to rip it off with his meager strength.

“Ragnar,” Astrid answered. “Named for Siegfried’s eldest brother.”

It was then that Hoffer looked at me, inckinging his head, “A good name! A strong name for a strong son!” He said, clapping me on the shoulder with a grin. I was relieved that he wasn't going to be insistent on the name. It might be a tradition in every male in Astrid's family be named Hoffer, but I imagined that would get rather confusing rather quickly.

“My thanks. It's good to see you once more, Hoffer. We grew worried about the delay,” I said and, to that, Hoffer grimaced.

“Aye. That's a tale twice over,” he admitted. And I imagined it would be given the sheer number of people he was bringing with him.

“Come. I would have you tell it by a hearth and a horn of ale,” I offered and he nodded with gratitude. While his ships began the disembarking process, we made our way back to the Longhouse.

Hoffer himself seemed almost alarmed by the changes that had taken root since his departure. “If you and Astrid weren't here to greet me, Wolfkissed, I'd be convinced I set sail to the wrong island. Last time I was here… you turned wood and mud into stone,” he praised, looking at everything from the concrete road to the marble buildings.”

“We've enjoyed Regent Irene's favor,” I admitted as much. Odds were, I wouldn't get to enjoy seeing Norland completed. But I would have the pleasure of developing it.

Hoffer made a noise of acknowledgment as we continued on, his gaze drawn to the Library that peaked in the distance. As well as the forum that was under rapid construction. The rest of the journey was brief and Hoffer helped himself to a seat and drank deeply from a horn of ale that was pressed into his hand almost as soon as he sat. A long sigh escaped him and I realized I might have been too hasty in my judgment that it hadn't been a difficult journey.

“Before I begin,” He said, reaching into a satchel and passed me bundle of letters written on what felt like boiled parchment. Likely taken from a Bible. “They're from your family. They are all well,” he was quick to inform and I felt a knot of tension in my gut that I was only barely aware of release at the reassurance. “Your brothers and sisters have been wed and you're an uncle twice over -- Haldur has a son named Harald while Solveig has a daughter named Erika.”

I was an uncle. It was a strange thought, though a welcome one. It was more strange to think of my brothers and sisters as parents, but I suppose that same thought would apply to me. We were separated by half a world, it felt like, but I still wished to see them. My niece and nephew.

Jill reached out and squeezed my hand, “Your clan is recovering.” She said and I breathed a little easier. I expected more of a reaction from Hoffer by the action, but he only drank from his horn of ale.

“We are,” I agreed quietly. I lost many brothers and while nephews and nieces could never take their places, it was a welcome relief that my family was once more growing instead of shrinking.

“The letters will probably go into more detail, but fortune has smiled on your family even before we arrived home. Haldur has been recognized as a Jarl while Halfdan has joined the Hird of my father as a Hurskarl. Likewise, the husband's of your sisters have both risen to prominence in Norway.” That was a fortunate turn of events. To be chased out of Denmark as skalgamores to be raised up at Jarls in Norway.

Hoffer then looked to Astrid, “The old man has spent the last year conquering the rest of Norway. Might be a few years more before he manages to conquer all of it, but the momentum is on his side.” He said and that brought a wide smile to Astrids lips. Then Hoffer glanced at me, “The alliance you brokered with the Saxon king helped a fair bit. The land of Norway has always been poor for farming, but trade with the Saxons has made the cost of conquering the independent jarls much more affordable.”

I inclined my head, accepting the praise. I was more curious about what the letters said as what Hoffer told me wasn't really a surprise. I expected Jarl Hoffer to continue conquering Norway, and Otto already told me of the alliance with King Widukind.

Haldur was a jarl. I wasn't surprised but I hadn't really anticipated that turn of events. It was good for him. And, perhaps, he would feel like he was stepping out of my shadow. He had a wife. He had a son. I couldn't tell what the future held, only the Norns could boast such a thing, but I imagine Haldur would use his position to inflict what damage he could on Horrik.

I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not because it could very well spark a war between Norway and Denmark. A war that would start and finish before I ever heard word of it half a world away.

It shouldn't matter which of my kin fulfilled the blood debt and took vengeance on Horrik. But, I would be a liar if I said that the thought of Haldur fulfilling the blood debt while I was in Rome was a welcomed thought. I wanted to be the one that took Horrik’s life with my own hands. No matter my doubts about the nature of vengeance, that fact had never changed.

Hoffer finished the horn of ale with a content sigh. “As for our story… it's a bothersome one. The first thing you should know is Horrik has been slandering you to everyone that has an ear to listen -- he's named you a coward, a nithing, a false god, and every other curse you can imagine. According to him, you are the greatest of all villains.”

I grunted, accepting the news for what it was. “Given how many people have come with you, I take it that the tales didn't take root.”

Hoffer grunted in agreement, “Less so than Horrik would want, but more so than you would like. By the time we arrived, Denmark was halfway embroiled in a civil war. Not quite one outright, but for every story Horrik said of you, there was another from Norway or Saxony describing your deeds. As far as Denmark is concerned, you're the child of a Thor or you're the blackest hearted villain. There wasn't much in-between.”

I was starting to see where this was going and Hoffer all but confirmed it. “Things came to ahead when we arrived. I returned home to commission the ships to requested and spread word of your deeds. Gerald went to Denmark to do the same, so I can't say for certain what exactly happened there, but…” Hoffer trailed off as he scratched his cheek.

“The Franks have been sending missionaries to speak of their dead god to Denmark for the past year,” he informed and I went still. “They're a general annoyance who usually get themselves killed by disrespecting the gods, but a few managed to preach a bit. Spread the word of Jesus, God, and so on. The important bit here… is… well… the Christian Promised Land.”

I felt a headache coming.

Astrid gwaffed, perfectly happy to laugh at my misfortune and the implications. “Wait. No. Don't tell me that…”

“People started getting the stories mixed up a bit, I think. And I don't think Gerald helped things by proclaiming you to be a god,” Hoffer continued and I buried my face into my hands. “It all kinda mixed together a bit until the story became… well… you being a god, or a son of a god, offering salvation and guidance to a promised land. Here, in Crete.”

Hence the migration. I would need to interrogate Gerald when he arrived, but I could more or less guess the sequence of events. The Christian missionaries spread word of a promised land, which primed the people to be receptive to Gerald when he arrived with treasures and tales of a far off land.

“That's when things started to get messy,” Hoffer began and I looked up from my hands.

“Started to?” I echoed, the headache hitting me full force.

Hoffer winced, somewhat apologetic. “Aye, started to,” he confirmed. “King Horrik, naturally, wasn't too keen on the story being told. He sent out hunting parties to silence Gerald and started to clamp down fiercely on any word of you. And the harder he clamped, the more people resisted. Gerald himself found favor with a handful of jarls, some of which sailed down with us, who protected him from the hunts.”

He paused, “It took time to build the ships, even with a dedicated force constructing them. Enough time for stories to twist in on themselves. With Gerald going village to village spreading word of your deeds, and Horrik’s increasingly extreme measures to snuff out any word… it all came to ahead roughly when the first ships were done. Because Horrik assumed that the ships were going to be used on him.”

He was right in a roundabout way. Those ships would eventually arrive on Denmark's shores, but only years from now. The reaction was understandable, even if I was reluctant to admit as such.

“Horrik's reign is too new for the kind of measures that he took. He might be king, but half the Jarls that served under Godfrey resent him for one reason or another. It came to a breaking point, of sorts. Gerald was recruiting for your army, but Horrik just saw it as an army that was going to be used on him. With the crack down, the missionaries, and the ships…” He trailed off like he wasn't sure how to explain it and that deeply worried me.

“Horrik summoned his own army to crush Gerald and the recruits. They attacked a Jarl, and there was a slaughter there,” he continued, taking a sip from the horn when a servant offered to fill it. “He claimed that he was putting down a rebellion, and… well, he was half right if we're being honest. But the other Jarls saw it as an attack on them. That begun something of a real rebellion, but Horrik is cunning. One of the jarls was a turncloak so when it came to an actual battle…”

What in the name of the gods had I set in motion? I was truly starting to wonder as I heard the tale. My gambit to bleed Horrik of his strength worked beyond my expectations, but this sounded like a real mess.

Hoffer huffed, “There was another slaughter. Wasn't there for myself, but I heard about it and it sounded like a real bloodletting. I only saw the aftermath of it, truth be told. Which was me on my way to meet up with Gerald with the recruits he gathered in Saxony, only to find a few jarls and their households in exile.”

At that, Jill stilled, “Then the army that is coming…”

“Is no true army, I'm afraid,” Hoffer admitted with some reluctance. “I'd call it a thousand fighting men. Perhaps a thousand five hundred, if we're being generous. Most of the herd are young boys hoping for glory, disgraced nobility, and true believers who think this is a promised land.”

A thousand men? That was too few. That was far too few. When I learned how many people were coming, I let my hopes rise -- perhaps five thousand warriors. Perhaps six thousand. Maybe all ten thousand of them were warriors ready to swear to my banner. But a thousand was less than my initial hopes.

I would have to compensate, I realized. The boys could be taught, but that would take time. My other alternative was to recruit from Rome and the Abbasids. Risky. And there was the issue that I would be leaving the Mediterranean eventually, and it would be a tall ask for them to leave their temperate home to join me up north.

Not to mention the issue of these people believing that Norland was a promised land of some sort. I imagine they'd be less than pleased to learn that I would be returning to Denmark in a few years.

“That's what took you so long?” Astrid questioned, playing with Ragnar while Hoffer nodded.

“Aye. Supplies were a real issue, so we had to hunt and raid to make up for what we lacked,” Hoffer explained. So they would be hungry. “We ended up overrunning Kiev when they barred us entry since they knew we were coming. I saw that coming beforehand, so I had an advance guard make their way into the city and when we did arrive, they managed to get the gates open for us.”

My headache got worse. “You took Kiev?” I asked for clarification and I got a small nod in response. Hoffer was expecting praise for that. And it was a bit of clever thinking that solved his problem. The issue was that it gave me one on an already overfilled plate.

“We did. No choice about it, really. They would have sent us on our way if we hadn't,” Hoffer started to defend himself but I waved away his concerns.

“No, you did well,” I reassured him, mulling over the revelation. For better or worse, my people had occupied Kiev. An isolated town that the artery to my people flowed through. The issue was, I very much doubt that the owner would be content to leave it in our hands. Worse, when they did, I doubt they would be so willing to let us sail by when it was time to return home.

The Khazars could be bribed to allow us passage, but I was reluctant to pay such a price. Especially for what they would ask for since Kiev would have been essentially sacked. That wasn't something that could be waived off with an apology.

A plan started to form in the back of my mind to deal with the issue, but I would need more information first. “I would need to speak with Gerald. I may have a task for him,” I started, only to see Hoffer winced. I paused, narrowing my eyes, “... Dare I ask where he is?”

Hoffer didn't want to answer and I almost suspected that he was dead. And that I didn't want the answer to that question. But, all the same, Hoffer confessed the truth.

“He's still in Denmark, lord Wolf-Kissed. He's fighting against King Horrik,” Hoffer answered and I frowned, something not adding up.

“With who?” If the recruits were barely a thousand men strong, then who was Gerald fighting with.

“Christians. Of a sort, I suppose,” Hoffer amended and my confusion only grew.

“Do I even want to know?” I genuinely asked because I wasn't sure I did. Gerald was a zealot who named me one of his gods. How he managed to find common cause with Christians beggared belief.

Hoffer seemed like he was considering shaking his head. But he thought better of it and in a rush, he explained. “Like I said, with the missionaries… things got mixed up a bit. Or a lot.”

No.

“As far as the Christians are aware, they're fighting in the name of God. Who you happen to be… either a prophet for or the son of, depending on who you ask.”

I see.

I was right.

I didn't want to know.