Legends Never Die: Forgotten Until Needed (ch. 105)

I felt a bit bad about the Emperor's death. I wasn’t too familiar with the boy, but I was aware of him. How excitable he was at the chariot races. How he perked up at hearing stories. How, despite his crown, he was largely a normal boy. One who had the misfortune to have Irene as his mother, as it turned out.

Constantine was never going to be more than his mother’s puppet. I suspected that since the beginning. Irene was too ambitious. She coveted power, influence, and control. And, in large part, I had delivered these things to her. As in the populace's eyes, it was under her regency that the Abbasids were defeated. They conquered Bulgaria. Greece was brought back into the fold alongside Crete. That iconoclasm was repealed with the rebels soundly defeated in the aftermath.

Slowly, she had been less subtle about her bid for power. Minting coins in her image. Holding ceremonies in the place of her son. Issuing laws and repealing others. All powers that belonged to the Emperor. I saw it. Others saw it. There was some muttering about it, but in the end, Irene had enough successes under her belt that people looked the other way.

And now Emperor Constantine was dead. Reportedly from falling ill with a sudden bout of fever. One day he was hale and healthy, then the next, he was sick, and by the third, he was dead.

There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in my mind that Irene had killed him. I didn’t have any evidence to support the claim, but I didn’t believe that he had suddenly fallen ill in the slightest. I couldn’t, not when I knew the woman. I hadn’t thought she would -- in the end, Constantine was still her son. If there wasn’t any maternal love in her heart, then he was her puppet. The reason why she possessed the power that she did. Stepping out of the shadows was a dangerous thing for her, especially taking such drastic action.

“Were there any rumors of a conflict between them?” I asked, casting a glance at Morrigan, all of us in the spinning room.

“Nothing more than one would expect from a child becoming an adolescent,” Morrigan answered, a certain tightness in her expression. She didn’t doubt that Irene had killed her son either. “Petty demands for chariot races and dancing elephants. Wanting certain foods at all hours of the day. The kind of things that a parent might take a hand to their child over, not murder them.”

Thorkell sat on one of the lounge chairs, cracking open a walnut with his hands and tossing the contents up into the air to let them drop into his mouth. “But it is the kind of thing you’d kill a puppet over. Irene felt like she was losing control over him. In a couple more years, he’d reach his majority and wouldn’t need a regent. With her popularity being at its height, I’m betting she thought it was better to do it sooner than later.”

Astrid looked ill, “To murder your own son…” I couldn’t imagine it any more than she could. I couldn’t imagine myself ever slaying Ragnar. Or Magnus. Or Scáthach or Aífe. Much less to satisfy my own ambitions. I’d rather die. Jill reached out and squeezed Astrid’s hand reassuringly. Jasmine was silent, watching the conversation take place as her dark eyes flickered from person to person as they spoke.

It reminded me what she did when I spoke to her brother about her marriage. She watched but never engaged with the conversation.

Hoffer picked up after Astrid. “It’s disgusting, but the real question is… how does this affect us? Irene is our… tentative ally, yes?”

I hummed, my lips thinning. “We have been convenient to her,” I corrected. “She used us to deflect ire that would have been directed at her. However, as far as she is aware, we are leaving now. She doesn’t stand to benefit from being connected to us any longer. And given the targets she has painted on us for her own reputation and her populist policies…” She very well could try to chase us off merely for the sake of saying that she did.

My lips thinned, “It’s nothing unexpected, but it is inconvenient. I had counted on being able to use the Denipier River to sail back to Denmark. If Irene is hostile to us come spring, then we will have to use the Gibraltar Strait instead. We’d be forced to sail by Hispania, as well as Francia, before we reached our lands. That would mean at least a month of sailing if we’re lucky.”

It would be an inconvenient journey but perhaps a useful one. I might not get a chance to Map the coastline of Francia again. At least, not anytime soon.

All of my commanders were looking at me. As were my wives. All waiting for a decision to be made, but I wasn’t sure that there was a decision to make. I didn’t want to force Irene’s hand and make things more complicated than they needed to be. Likewise, I didn’t want to react to whatever actions she might take.

A small sigh escaped me, “We wait. The Roman empire was going to be our enemy regardless, but I would prefer to control the timing in which they become our enemy. Giving ourselves away before we’re ready would only complicate our journey as we wouldn’t be able to go home for months anyway.”

Astrid looked to me, “And what of Irene?” She wanted something done, I knew. There was an indigent fiery anger in her that demanded justice.

I didn’t want to disappoint her, but I would. “Whatever consequences Irene faces for the murder of her son, in this life or the next, will have nothing to do with us,” I stated firmly. In the end, as sad as it was, the death of Constantine was not our problem to solve. We were strangers in this land, and I suspect we were guests who were wearing out our welcome. Getting involved with the succession was trouble that we didn’t need.

Astrid scowled, but it was Jill who spoke, “And what if she asks? If we came to this conclusion, there would be others who did as well. The Empire could face unrest that she would wish for us to quell.”

I could admit that that was a very valid question. “As per our contract, we shall fight. But, I doubt that it will come to that. As we are leaving, Irene can no longer afford to rely solely on us. No, it would be more accurate to say that she would want nothing to do with us. As far as she is concerned, we are a problem that will depart in a few months. It’s in her best interest to let us.”

Why create a problem when there didn’t need to be one during what I’m guessing would be a difficult transition of power? Irene could have tried to chase us out, but that carried significant risk. Why do so when she could have waited for us to leave and then said that she kicked us out? Irene was as ruthless as she was ambitious, but that didn’t mean she was foolish.

“So, we do nothing,” Astrid muttered unhappily. She didn’t like it, but I knew she understood. The thought of it was just striking too close to home.

“Aye. We wait and, provided she does nothing foolish, do nothing,” I agreed.

…

The days following were tense. As we predicted, there was sweeping unrest throughout the empire, and rumors came alive. People were quick to assume that the Emperor was poisoned, but they couldn’t seem to agree on who. The culprits ranged from the Bulgarians to the Abbasids, to Iconoclasts, to the Franks, to the Jews, to the myself.

True to form, almost as soon as the word of the Emperor’s death, the Christian citizens began attacking the Jews en mass. And, interestingly, I noticed that there was a harsh uptick in the number of Jewish migrants that moved to Norland. I could only guess what this city’s reputation was amongst their people, but they seemed to view it as a safe haven.

However, interestingly, Irene herself was rarely accused, and those few who did make the accusation often found themselves violently attacked for the vicious slander. I couldn’t respect how she did it, but I could acknowledge that Irene had executed her plan well. To the average person, it was unthinkable she’d go so far to secure the throne for herself.

Likewise, in the days and weeks following, Irene’s ascension to the throne was… tolerated. She had her supporters in place. Her detractors were quick to protest, but protesting was all they seemed to be doing. Perhaps there were slow moving intrigues in the court, but I wouldn’t know.

As I expected, we were left completely out of it. Morrigan and her spy network of merchants checked the pulse on the situation to make sure we weren’t going to become a target, but while a number of people were shaking a fist in our direction, that’s all they were doing. There was no action taken. We, as we continuously pulled out of the Rome, went ignored.

To the point that I didn’t receive an invitation to Irene’s coronation as Empress of Rome. That, more than anything else, told me Irene’s attitude towards us. We were useful when she needed us, but now she didn’t. Now we were a problem that she was quietly hoping would go away come spring.

That suited me just fine. Better than fine, it was perfect. I had less than zero interest getting bogged down in Roman politics just as I was leaving. To that end, Spring couldn’t come fast enough for us to finally leave. Not to mention, it was hardly like I was lacking in things to do.

“Is this really the best use of your time?” Morrigan asked me as I was in the library, one of the more private rooms. She stood at the doorway, watching as I slowly shaved away a brightly colored pigment over a… I’m not entirely sure what it was, to be honest. It was pretty to look at, though -- interwoven geometrical shapes, a wide array of colors that were layered excellently. All of it formed with shavings from colored chalks.

The only other person in the room was the monk Gyatso. A monk that was sent to me by Caliph Harun.

A monk that I haven’t been able to speak to, leaving me incapable of learning whatever wisdom he might have.

“Likely not,” I agreed with her, working with Gyatso. I had taken to doing it over the months as I found that my lack of need for sleep helped free up a lot of time for me. The man had been with me for two years now, but it was difficult to have a conversation when you didn’t share a language. I was starting to suspect that I was the subject of a prank because Gyatso didn’t speak Arabic. He didn’t speak Greek or Latin. He didn’t speak Egyptian or Persian. I even tried Germanic, Frankish, and Slavic. And he sure didn’t speak Norse.

I thought he might just be mute, so I had taken to learning how to read and write several of the languages in an attempt to communicate with the monk. He never reacted, so I wasn’t even sure if he could read.

At some point, I half-given up and decided to finish the art project before sending a letter to Harun explaining how exactly I was supposed to communicate with the man. Because he hardly even acknowledged my existence. If he didn’t sometimes correct the colors that I picked, I’d go as far as to say the man was outright ignoring me.

“Unless you have a better use for my time?” I asked her, diligently working alongside the monk. We were almost done. The outline was already marked, so I just helped fill it in.

Morrigan shook her head, “No. Not likely. I do come bearing more news, however,” she said, and I perked up. It couldn’t be urgent; otherwise, she would have to bother with the preamble. “The fighting has stilled in Hispania, for now at least. The Abbasids are consolidating control over the lower half while Charlemagne has laid claim to the upper half. The Umayyad Caliph has been raiding them both and inspiring rebellions where he can.”

I hummed, “Then Charlemagne took the majority of the silver mines. It's not ideal, but it works. Hoffer will be able to pillage the area quite easily,” I mused. Just as I wanted, the war would be a long protracted one. The fighting would flare up and die down almost yearly given Charlemagne’s habit of invading Hispania.

Especially when he learned the hard way to be cautious of Hadi -- the rumors were mostly right as Hadi had slain two Paladins with a third losing an arm. Who it was changed every time the tale was told, so it was impossible to tell who the three were. Regardless, they were peerless warriors, as well as quite a blow to Charlemagne.

The fact that Abd al-Rahman was still active making the situation worse just enhanced what I wanted Hispania to be -- a quagmire for Charlemagne to sink countless resources into.

“Something for him to look forward to,” Morrigan agreed. Hoffer had taken to focusing on building up his presence on Sardinia and the Balearic islands, getting ready for a rapidly approaching future. “A pity he won't take Charlemagne’s head while he's at it.”

Charlemagne’s wife had perished in childbirth some months ago, along with the child. He was my enemy, but I did feel some pity for his loss. “I'd be a bit disappointed if he did,” I admitted, the last shavings falling into place. Standing up, I let out a small sigh as I looked down at the design.

Morrigan chuckled, “You don't do well with idleness. T’is a commendable trait, but one that'll likely drive you mad.”

“Hm. There never seemed to be enough hours in the day until there were suddenly too many,” I agreed. I had completed my Grand Quests. I had no immediate goals. I still had my personal art projects, such as this one, but… I was used to always doing something. Struggling to accomplish everything I wanted in a given day. Now, I found I had eight extra hours most days with nothing to spend them on.

So, I looked down at the piece of art for a good long minute alongside Gyatso. The man clapped his hand together, silently offering a small prayer.

Then, with zero hesitation, he lifted the slate the design was on and tilted it, making the loose shavings slide right off. I went still, watching him casually destroy our work that had taken the better part of thirty hours. Setting the skate back down, he clasped his hands once more with a serene smile.

“A mandala is to be destroyed upon completion, as all things are temporary,” Gyatso uttered in accented Norse.

I stared at him for a moment. “You speak Norse?” I wasn't even sure what I was feeling. Somewhere between bewildered disbelief, indignant fury, and genuine confusion.

“I learned your tongue, yes,” Gyatso answered, a smile in his voice. “Around a year ago, I believe.”

“Then… why…” I didn't even know what to say.

To that, Gyatso’s smile widened, “You did not ask.” He bowed his head to me before he promptly left the room, as if sensing my incoming reaction.

I don't think anyone had managed to infuriate me in so little time with so few words.

Morrigan’s laughter certainly didn't help.

…

Not all of the projects that I worked on in the months leading up to our departure were so light hearted nor without consequence. I found myself on a longship, watching as two ships faced one another. One was completely empty, while the other had a small crew operating it. Five men as they double and triple checked everything.

“This test is unneeded, my lord’s word is as good as gold,” the messenger said, a man of the name of Hierocles as he had introduced himself.

“If that were true, then none of us would be here,” I pointed out, gesturing to the open ocean around us without a ship in sight. I held up the letter that Hierocles delivered as damning evidence, “Your lord is the type of cretin that would sell his own mother to slavery if he thought it would suit his ambitions.”

It had taken Tatzates years to uphold his end of the bargain, but at long last, he had. Upon the letter was step by step instructions on how to create Greek Fire, with Hierocles having helped steal the recipe. Which was why there was a second part of the letter written in Arabic that asked me to silence the man upon delivery. A danger of knowing too much, it would seem.

To that, Hierocles said nothing as the longship gave the signal that they were ready. Giving the nod to them, I leaned forward with Thorkell and Hoffer at my sides, watching the display intently.

Upon the longship was an added spigot, which was in turn connected to fuel. After lighting a torch at the end of the spigot, two men began to pump a bellows that saw a flame erupt from the spigot. Immediately, the heat of the flames washed over my face as the flames themselves washed over a derelict fishing boat.

It was as exactly as I remembered it. The flames clung to the boat, not merely burning them, but sticking to them as they burned. A thick viscous fluid is what allowed the flames to stick to a target, ensuring that they burned. The liquid floated on water, which turned the waves into a danger as even if the flames missed, a ship could sail through them in an attempt to flee.

I was surprised, honestly. “I thought he would have cheated me,” I admitted to Thorkell and Hoffer, with the latter looking at the flames hungrily. I fully expected him to give me a fake recipe.

“As I said, my lord is honorable,” Hierocles said, trying and failing to keep the relief out of his voice that Tazates had given me the real recipe for Greek Fire.

Holding up a hand, I gave the order for the display to come to an end. The men on the ship responded -- first, they threw heavy stones off the side of their ship, which had both ensured the fishing boat didn't drift too far, but tore off patches to the hull. Instantly, the fishing vessel started to take on water, drifting down beneath the waves and leaving only a rising puff of smoke to mark that it had been there at all.

The fireship then tossed the greek fire overboard, also weighted with heavy stones, removing all evidence that we had the substance in the first place.

“How did you get your hands on this? It is no small feat,” I said, looking at the man, deciding what I should do with him. I would kill him to keep this secret. It would stain my hands with murder, but I would do it as this secret was worth killing over.

“I… am an alchemist,” the reedy man answered, shifting where he stood. “I… he…”

I tilted my head, reconsidering him. “You didn't steal it,” my accusation was half a guess, but it was rewarded with a telling flinch. “Neither did Tazates. You recreated it.”

Hierocles offered a small nod, wringing his ink stained hands together as his gaze nervously flickered between the three of us. “The secrecy around Greek Fire is… insurmountable, my lord. As it must be. Only three men in the whole empire know its secrets, and none can name the others. The workers that produce it are all killed after every batch, and they only produce a batch in far off hidden locations. Lord Tazates learning even a few ingredients of the recipe was unexpected.”

Thorkell snorted, “So, he did try to cheat you.” It would seem his efforts to learn Greek had come a long way.

“No… not in so many words,” I said, tilting my head as I realized the scope of the deception. “I never witnessed true Greek Fire. That day against the pirates… that was your replica, wasn’t it?”

Hierocles seemed a bit surprised by my deduction and managed to nod swiftly, “It was, my lord. I have been developing a recipe to recreate Greek Fire for… twenty years now, beginning under Lord Tazates father.” I mulled the revelation over -- it wasn't a surprise that I wasn't the only one who saw incredible value in the weapon. The Romans guarded it so zealously for good reason. With but a few, we nearly drove off the Abbasid fleet.

It was only natural to covet it like I did. It was a catastrophic weapon like no other if used on an unsuspecting enemy.

However, one thing stood out to me.

“Then why such a delay in delivering the recipe to me?” I asked, suspicious.

“My lord didn't want to risk you using our creation against him,” Hierocles explained easily, and that did make a great deal of sense. I wouldn't want my enemies to have Greek Fire either. “But he sees your sincerity about your intentions to return to your homeland. As well as… my lord finds the venture… too risky to continue. Since your admission to Empress Irene, my lord has found himself under suspicion of stealing a cask of Greek Fire.”

And that explained why Tazates wanted him dead. “I see. You have been forthright with me, so I shall return the favor -- Tazates has instructed me to kill you,” I said, making the man pale. However, he didn't seem too shocked. He must have suspected it on some level. “Despite what you must have heard about me and my people, I am no murderer. So, I shall offer you this choice -- we can give you a dignified death, or… you apply your talents as an alchemist for me and my people.”

Hierocles, to his credit, didn't hesitate. “I would like to live, my lord…”

The man struck me as a cowardly one. One that would do whatever it took to survive. I couldn't trust him, I decided in that moment.

But I didn't need to trust him to use him.

“Good. As far as Tazates shall be aware, you died here and your body was released into the sea. Naturally, this will mean you must remain hidden while we remain in Rome. Is that understood?” I asked, earning a small jerked nod. Then, looking at Thorkell, I spoke in Norse, “Watch him carefully. He will try to run at least once.”

Thorkell nodded as I sounded off the order to return to Norland. As we set sail, Hoffer continued to look at where the ship was destroyed, at the traces of flame that still lingered on the water. “It is a powerful weapon,” I remarked to him. “But a dangerous one. The more you use it, the greater the chance your enemy steals it from you. The more people know the secret, the greater the chance it shall spill to unwelcome ears. The Romans understand this.”

Hoffer understood my meaning, even as his jaw tightened.

This wasn't a weapon I could give him. The risks were simply too great. Greek Fire was a weapon to use when you had to, not when it was convenient.

He blew out a sigh, “You are right. I'm letting my greed get the best of me,” he said, but his heart wasn't really in it as he watched the last flames fade away, leaving behind only the waves of the sea.

Hoffer was a bit sullen on the trip back, but the rest of us were in high spirits. It wasn't true Greek Fire, but it was still a powerful weapon. Exceptionally deadly if used correctly. We sailed into Norland, returning under the guise of patrolling, with no one the wiser that we now possessed such a dangerous weapon.

Thorkell took Hierocles, hiding him away. There was a lingering tension that the secret caused, but as days passed, it bled away as nothing happened.

Life returned to normal once more as I busied myself with preparations of all kinds -- some big, some small -- such as tallying who would be leaving with us. I had a very rough idea of the number, but for such a journey, we needed specifics. Especially if we were to leave through the Gibraltar Strait as the amount of supplies we would need would drastically increase.

In the months leading up to our departure, a census of sorts was conducted throughout Norland, the Balearic islands, and gauging general interest in Rome and the Abbasid Caliphate. We had people asking the citizens if they would like to return to Denmark with us, and if they did, who or what would they bring with them? We possessed hundreds of longships and a myriad of other sea vessels, so it was not as if we were short on space.

That was my thinking until I received the report about who desired to return with us.

“Forty thousand people?” I echoed, feeling… stunned as I stood on a stool with a tailor finalizing the article of clothing that was draped around me. It was of the Abbasid style -- the base of the robe was a dark red with black and gold silk thread creating elaborate patterns across its entirety. The robe went over a tunic, which was colored black, as were the trousers that I wore. A bright red sash held the outfit together that looped around my waist, in which Gram was sheathed.

I was growing fond of the Abbasid clothing, but I found that I couldn’t even pay attention to the rich clothing as Jill and Jasmine delivered the news.

“Marriage is the most guilty culprit,” Jill said, seated on a lounging chair. “Men of our people have taken wives here. They’ve had children. With their families, at the very least, we will be returning with ten thousand people. Of that ten thousand, there are four thousand wives or husbands, with the remainder being children.”

I was aware of that. Throkell wasn’t the only one who appreciated the local men and women. Over the past few years, many warriors had taken wives, some through romance and others through conquest. After all, every single one of my warriors was considered wealthy, and pagans or not, that made them suitable husbands or wives to many. They had children, some of who were older than Ragnar. That wasn’t really surprising and I had prepared for that much.

“And the other thirty thousand?” I stressed, my lips thinning as I immediately ran into logistical issues. That wasn’t a small number of people. Counting the ten thousand warriors, I would be returning to Denmark with fifty thousand people.

“The Great Raid has changed people's perception of you,” Jasmine answered. “To a degree. To Christians, you felled a great muslim nation. To Muslims, you destroyed the last holdout of a tyrannical regime.”

“It also helps that as far as anyone can tell, everyone who follows you becomes unimaginably rich,” Jill added, making Jasmine’s lips twitch beneath her veil.

“That certainly helps,” Jasmine agreed.

“The point is… being a pagan is less of a detractor than it once was,” Jill continued. “We can cut the number down a great deal by making conversions mandatory, but that has its own issues. Especially considering… well, the Jewish population is the second biggest offender. Eight thousand of them have requested to join us.” Meaning that there was still twenty-two thousand general migrants coming with us, and that alone was my original upper estimate.

Of that twenty-two thousand, there were perhaps five thousand that were the skilled craftsmen and learned men I had collected. Eighteen thousand would be the orphans and general people who saw us as a potential future, along with their families.

“Set up a meeting with their leader -- I need to learn what motivates them,” I decided, not wholly against the idea of them coming, but I could hardly allow what amounted to an army into what would be my kingdom so carelessly. To my knowledge, the jews were largely learned men, who leaned to financial lines of work as their religion had no laws against the lending of money, as the Christians and Muslims did.

I wasn’t sure how lending money made it unclean, or dirtied the one who lent it. That, I suspected, was just the frustration of men in debt, angered that they couldn’t pay those debts.

“For now, we shall act with the belief that we will take all forty thousand,” I continued. “I would rather overprepare than under in this case. No matter what, it shall be a long journey and I wish to be prepared for it. If nothing else, we need to rethink how we will return -- we lack enough ships for so many, unless we were to take some from Hoffer.” Settling forty thousand men and women, however, would be a challenge in itself. One that I had to prepare for well in advance because that was not a task that I could manage on a whim.

“I figured as much, and have prepared for both,” Jasmine said, smiling back at my grateful look. “I would recommend learning Hebrew before your meeting. Such a gesture would go a very long way.”

I nodded in agreement, deciding it would be the next language I tackled. I had already mastered Persian and Egyptian, and when I stopped being annoyed with Gyatso, I intended to learn a language called Mandarin, along with one of the Indian languages that Gyatso knew. “Aye, I shall do that,” I agreed before I paused for a moment. “Any word of Krum? If he comes, then I doubt he would do so alone.”

“He hasn’t made a decision yet, but Morrigan says that he is back in Bulgaria. I suspect he’ll only decide at the last minute what to do,” Jill ventured.

“It’s not an easy thing to do… leaving your home,” Jasmine agreed, a small sigh in her voice. Jill gave her a sad look, but Jasmine swiftly recovered. “But I think it will likely be that he will come with us. He has fought the Romans. He understands their strengths, and he now knows how strong he will have to be to liberate his people.”

“Well said,” I agreed. “In that case, we shall act with the assumption he will join and prepare accordingly.” With that decided, the tailor stepped away from me, allowing me to present myself to my second wife and betrothed. Jill nodded approvingly while Jasmine’s eyes shone with approval.

“The clothes of my people suit you,” Jasmine acknowledged.

“I’m rather fond of them,” I agreed. They were surprisingly warm, too, as I learned during my talks with Harun. The arid lands of the Abbasids had shockingly cold nights in harsh contrast to the heat during the day. “With a few adjustments, I think they could serve us well in Denmark.” The cloth would need to be thicker, and furs would likely be implemented, but that was hardly an issue. Mostly, I think it would be good for Jasmine to see little pieces of her home in her surroundings.

Jasmine did seem thankful, but before she could respond, a messenger knocked at the door. Baying them to enter, I saw a somewhat nervous-looking messenger step inside the spinning room. True Sight didn’t mark him as an enemy, so I could only hazard a guess what he was so nervous about.

“Lord Wolf-Kissed… a Roman ship carrying a message from Empress Irene has arrived for you,” he informed, dropping to a knee. “He shall be here shortly to deliver it.”

I swallowed a loud sigh as a knot of tension formed between my shoulders.

It would seem that the Roman Empress wanted to speak to me. And I had a sinking suspicion that I wouldn’t care for what the conversation was about.