Chapter 5: The highest form of cowardice
8 September 899, Jorvik
I did not expect the first battle of this war to occur on our own soil. With my finest warriors and most experienced commanders still fighting in Ireland, slowly making their way to home, I am forced to rely upon the elderly and the neophyte to fight against the English.
Every day, I look at the waraxe that hangs on the wall behind my throne. I have not lifted it for years, probably could not lift it if I wanted to. Am I not more valuable than a warrior? Should I feel so guilty that I hide behind my walls while they bleed for my glory?
I can only assuage my inquietude by praying for victory. If we ever experienced a significant defeat…
19 September 899, Jorvik
Thankfully, the All-Father has seen fit to give us the victory.
8 May 900, Warwick
Today is a great day for the Hvitserks. I have created two new Jarldoms, one in Connacht (which I awarded to Suni, in gratitude to his long and faithful service), and one called Mercia, composed of the lands we took from the English.
I tentatively called a moot, to see to whom this new Jarldom should be awarded. I, personally, wanted to give it to my son Frodi, the heir to the throne, but the other Thanes and Jarls considered this distressing, a clear attempt to centralize power in my own hands. I settled for naming him my new Steward.
The actual grant was, for the first time since we came to these English shores, made to a woman – Kraka of Dunholm.
She is distantly related to our house – I know not precisely how – but she seems a good woman, and I have few other relatives I can trust to manage what will certainly be volatile lands.
At her suggestion, we will soon declare war on Worcester, which keeps her lands separate.
21 September 900, Jorvik
My latest concubine, an Irishwoman named Affraic nic Aed, has given me a son, who I have named Baldr. I have sent my now six year old son Oddr to his brother Frodi for instruction and training in the ways of the warrior. I find myself having little enthusiasm to take over these tasks myself, as I once did.
Sadly, Kraka will not add the Thanedom of Worcester to her lands; rather than be absorbed into the Kingdom of Irland, Worcester has made peace with its nominal liege in the town of Leicester. A tragedy, but unavoidable.
24 January 901, Jorvik
I do not wish to be deprived of the company of Yrsa. Yet, at the same time, I cannot deny her a husband. I sent an envoy to the King of Hungary, to propose a match between his youngest son and Yrsa, in which the children would be of House Hvitserk; he turned us down. So, instead, I betrothed her to a Pecheneg prince; if I break the betrothal, it should cause no real harm. The Pechenegs are on the other side of the world!
28 May 901, Jorvik
The loss of my beloved Grima may be something I can never recover from. I have chosen a new wife – Potekay, some Finnish woman – but she is there specifically to keep up appearances.
13 October 901, Jorvik
If we are to someday break the stranglehold my cousins have over Skotland, and absorb them into our lands, we must destabilize them.
The Jarl of Lothian is one of the more powerful and respectable vassals of the King of Skotland. Fortunately, he has a vulnerability in his court.
I hope Holmfrid remembers who her father is.
11 November 901, Ossory
I am visiting the island of Irland in response to a massive uprising in the Thanedom of Connacht; 2199 warriors have risen up under a peasant of some name or another. I have called up the local levies to put it down, but I believe my presence here may prevent a future uprising.
5 December 901, Jorvik
My trip to Irland has been rudely interrupted. Holmfrid assured me the bowmen were the finest in Europe!
The only place I can now feel safe is behind the solid stone of my home.
18 April 902, Connor
My old friend and seer Muzaffaraddin has, sadly, gone to Valhalla. He is but 49 summers – fewer than I – and I fear that, perhaps, I am not prepared to make the trip. It has been so many years since I have campaigned; will I even be welcomed in the feasting halls? Will I see my father and grandfather again?
28 March 905, Jorvik
It has been almost three summers since I last wrote here. I am so very tired. I leave more and more of my duties to Frodi. We absorbed the Thanedom of Northampton and I barely did anything but sign the order to do so.
Now, this latest bit of news: my concubine, who provided me with a son, wants me dead.
I wonder if there is any point in preventing this plot. I… simply don’t care anymore.
29 March 905, Jorvik
I had an odd dream that I ran screaming through the castle, naked, demanding the blood of the concubine.
30 March 905, Jorvik
It seems I was not dreaming.
6 December 906, Jorvik
I can barely see the parchment as I scribble. Does any of this even make any sense to anyone? Will anybody read it? Do I care if they do?
I will not survive the night. I have begged my Seer to give me peace, to help me understand if I will be welcomed in Valhalla when I die, or if I will be left outside the mead hall. He asked me to consider the greatness of my reign, that men call me Sigfrid the Wise, that I was the first King of Irland. All of that is true… but I die, not of an enemy’s blade, but of the ravages of time. Am I to experience Hel?
I leave this tome to my son Frodi, who will be King in a matter of hours. I hope he continues it, that the Book of Kings will be, as years go by, the manual on how a King should comport himself, how he should rule wisely. Even if I am condemned to the lifelessness of Hel, never to hear my ancestors again, I would give something to future generations, that they might remember me kindly.
