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Anno Domini 826, December -14
We finally returned home loaded to the brim with Bulgarian silver and Byzantine gold. After selling 1,500 Bulgarians into slavery, it felt damn good. I managed to get the slave dealers of Adrianople to pay me ten gold coins per head for the entire lot.
War is extremely profitable when you don't have to shoulder the full burden of logistics. It's a marvel not to be the one responsible for finding supplies and sending them to the front, and instead live off the land by taking the bread straight out of the Bulgarians' mouths. That Bulgarian minister was most likely enriching himself by forcing raids against the Empire, taking advantage of how weak the frontier still was—but if his personal reserves were stored in that town, then too bad for him, because that ton of silver now bears my name.
Between the gold and silver Hakon brought me, the gold from the slaves, and the silver ingots, I had around 45,000 nomismata—an enormous sum for a single person, though it was roughly what the Empire spent in a year just to maintain part of the state tagmata.
But even so, it was mine. All that gold was mine to spend however I pleased, and no one could tell me otherwise. And I don't even want to think how much I might be paid for those prisoners—at least in land—if it pleases the emperor.
When I arrived home, I distributed some of the leftover coins among the other mercenaries so it wouldn't look like a punishment to stay behind. I simply needed to keep people here; you never know when the pirates might strike again, and even though the kentarchos of Ainos is highly competent, a large-scale pirate attack could still put us in a very bad position.
That said, despite all my efforts to equip my men with the best armor I could mass-produce, a few idiots still got themselves killed because they grew careless during the looting. They removed parts of their armor to move more easily and carry less weight—and what happened? They took a knife to an exposed spot.
Men died who hadn't fallen in battle against the Bulgarians, because in direct combat the Bulgarians could do little or nothing—unless they began adopting anti-armor weapons en masse, like maces, hammers, or crossbows. But for the moment, Bulgarian culture was still deeply tied to horses and its nomadic roots, so we weren't likely to see that shift anytime soon.
Even so, I had to pay out a few pensions. I wanted to return from a glorious campaign without losses, and yet six men still died because they found it tedious to loot while wearing all that steel.
I planned to spend around twenty thousand nomismata on ships, since hiring crews and captains afterward would be the most expensive part.
Before that, however, I focused on giving more work to the architect so he could build additional housing. His work crews stopped working on my manor and redirected their efforts to those houses, since I could easily continue sleeping in a tent at the training camp.
That was necessary because there were two hundred new recruits Lysandros managed to hire in the city of Mosynopolis. He had great success with a centralized recruitment effort that focused mainly on orphans. I don't know if he appealed to their hearts or something like that—but if they died, I'd save on pensions. From a purely practical standpoint, monasteries were excellent recruitment centers: young men under the Church's care, a donation for their service, and recruits whose deaths no one would weep over.
So, with the harvest secured, months of peace, my taxes paid, rents collected from the families leasing my fields, and the steady income from my forge, I was earning several hundred gold coins a month—while still paying the wages of a thousand mercenaries and nearly five hundred sailors in my private fleet. I could safely say my company had reached a respectable size.
It also allowed me certain luxuries, like continuing to import spices from the markets of Constantinople so I could cook food that felt familiar to me. On several occasions, when I cooked at the camp, my father would show up and drag me back to his house to eat with the family.
There, I'd receive endless lectures about how I should finally get married, since rumors were circulating that I was incapable of finding a wife and was therefore forced to cook for myself.
To me, that was completely ridiculous. Knowing how to cook was a survival skill—turning garbage into something edible—so I simply ignored their sermons and enjoyed the quiet moments when I sometimes found myself thinking about my mother… or the other woman I once called mother. I hope she's doing well.
By the time December arrived and the cold began to bite harder, I received word that a large fleet of ships was approaching Ainos. But I knew exactly who they were—the kentarchos' men recognized the Varangian ships immediately. They saw them almost every day now, since the Varangians had become the largest suppliers of fish to the local market, much to the annoyance of the old fishermen. Their fishing vessels were far larger than the personal boats of the locals; the Varangians fished in groups, and it showed when they cast their nets.
I had to intervene a bit. I offered to build saltworks along the city's shore—nothing more than seawater in shallow pools left to evaporate under the sun. Simple, effective, and it produced salt that could be used to preserve the Varangians' fish. I gave all that work to the affected locals, offering slightly higher wages. I didn't want people complaining about the Varangians; they had proven to be an excellent source of extremely loyal soldiers.
So there I was at the harbor, accompanied by a large group of my men, just in case they turned out to be raiders—but they clearly weren't. I recognized many of the ships from their previous arrival… though it was fair to say there were many more people this time.
This time there were more drakkar ships than last time.
"Hakon," I said, looking at the leader of the group.
"Basil," Hakon replied as he disembarked as soon as he could.
"How many did you bring?" I asked, a little nervous as I looked at the number of Varangians this time.
"About twelve hundred… things are going well—very well, honestly. Do you have any idea how many second sons, third sons, or anyone who isn't the firstborn—men without land—would be willing to make this journey? I ran out of ships. If I'd had more, I would've brought massive numbers of men, all young and eager to fight," Hakon said.
"Oh… that's good… but… well, I'll speak with Skleros. I don't think he'll mind having warriors willing to kill Bulgarians or Saracens," I said with a smile.
"Yes… and look, these are my children: my firstborn, Hjalmar, and these are Ásmundr, Ketill, Gautr, Rǫrikr, Ívarr, Styrbjǫrn, and Eiríkr. And this is my wife, Inga, and my daughters Helga, Yrsa, and Ragnhildr," Hakon said, showing me an enormous family. Some of his sons already had children of their own, and it looked as though the entire drakkar was filled with Hakon's relatives.
"You certainly have a family, Sigurd," I said, looking at my bodyguard.
"Some of them are troublesome," Sigurd replied, raising his arm to show his gold arm-ring.
"No… I can't believe it…" Hakon said as he stepped forward and looked closely at his son's forearm. "Did he earn it properly?" he asked, clearly delighted.
"More than anyone. He killed many Bulgarians and protected me in battle, so I think he deserves it—along with the generous monetary reward I gave him for his service," I replied.
"I knew you'd make me proud. Look—Sigurd is a true warrior now," Hakon said, leading Sigurd over to the rest of his family.
After that, I watched as many young Varangians disembarked. Most of them were very young. I began distributing land around the lake that defined the settlement, because what mattered most to the Varangians was seeing land. As soon as the plots were assigned, they quickly set up their personal tents made of animal hide and immediately began preparing furrows. Even though it was winter, they wanted everything ready for the next harvest.
Out of the twelve hundred, nearly a thousand were of fighting age. A literal shipment of Varangian warriors ready for service had just fallen into my lap. This would soon cause problems if I didn't secure permission for them, since the Church could become quite upset at having so many pagans. But as long as I could sell the idea that they were here to protect against Bulgarians and Muslims, they might accept it. At the very least, the Byzantine Empire isn't blind—if someone helps defend the frontier, they don't usually object to having them on imperial land.
My settlement was already approaching eight thousand people. In fact, we had surpassed the city of Ainos in size some time ago, even though we lacked civil administrators, since all of this was technically my property. The lands now being used by the Varangians and the recently freed Greek slaves would soon be registered under my name, once Skleros spoke with the emperor—though he was taking his time. Byzantine politics can be painfully tedious.
I visited Hakon at his property and, since it was still early, had lunch with them. It consisted of a kind of bread with fish and meat from animals they had hunted and preserved in salt. I now understood why Hakon had built such a large house, considering the sheer number of people inside—his concubines, captured slaves, and family all under one roof.
Hakon handed over the proceeds from the sale of swords and spears in Svearike, and I gave him the list for the next shipment he needed to send, since he would soon depart on his return journey. According to him, there was an enormous number of Varangians who wanted to come, so it was urgent that I speak with Skleros to inform him and request some support with the Church if necessary—or ask whether a large donation might persuade them to look the other way.
After that, we went to train. I had recruits who needed to be shaped up, while allowing the new Varangians time to settle before assigning them to military service.
"Come on… I want to see those arms move. If it doesn't burn, it's not working," I said as I watched the young recruits swing their heavy wooden swords, striking the training dummies again and again. All that could be heard was labored breathing as they struggled to catch their breath.
"Don't lower those swords or I'll make you run laps around the lake," I said as I walked among them, watching them fight against bodies that were already giving out.
I continued observing until the recruits began to collapse from exhaustion, their arms barely able to move.
"Sigurd, want to train a bit?" I asked, looking at the Varangian giant. He nodded.
"Good. You—you were the first to lower your arms. Congratulations, you've earned a personal training session with my hird," I said, pointing at Sigurd, who picked up one of the wooden swords.
The sound that came from the recruit's throat as he swallowed was loud enough for me to hear, even from a distance.
"Go easy. There's no point if he doesn't learn," I told Sigurd, who began rolling the wooden sword through his fingers, spinning it casually as he waited for the recruit to stand.
Sigurd kicked the sword back toward the recruit, and the young man, his arms shaking, stood to face him.
As I watched the recruit try to thrust and swing his wooden sword, while Sigurd effortlessly deflected and blocked every move, I noticed a rider arriving from Ainos.
"Kapetanios… I have orders from Strategos Leon regarding you," the rider said, handing me a letter.
"Give it to me," I said, standing up from where I'd been watching.
I took the letter and began to read. "To Constantinople? To the palace? And why is that?" I asked, looking at the messenger.
"I don't know. I wasn't told the contents, kapetanios. But the order is urgent—you should depart for the capital today," the messenger replied.
"Damn… I wanted to spend the winter in peace," I said irritably. "Well, no choice. Prepare a ship for Constantinople. I needed to buy ships anyway."
"The letter bears the imperial seal, so you should be allowed to dock at any port in the city," the messenger added.
"Good. Thank you," I said. When I turned, I saw the recruit already on the ground, blood streaming from his nose after Sigurd disarmed him and struck his face.
"Sigurd, we're leaving. We have to go to Constantinople—no need to keep practicing," I said, glancing at the other recruits, who clearly feared being next.
Sigurd nodded, and we began preparing for the journey.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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