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Legends Never Die: Confession (ch. 88)
🕑 Added 2024-07-24 15:01:34 +0000 UTCA meeting with the acting Empress wasn't something that could be demanded on a whim, even with the favor that I enjoyed. A letter of introduction had to be sent, Irene had to read it, and set a date for the meeting itself. It was a way to project power, I recognized. To those that she did not want to meet, she would set the meeting back months, or even years I had heard in some cases. The diplomats would be confined into small quarters so bare that a prisoner would take pity on them, with their every move watched by jailers in all but name.
For me, I could likely expect to see a prompt reply. If only because Irene knew the Abbasids were courting me and royal attention was a hard thing to beat. However, given the nature of my request, I expected the reply to take longer. She would wish to confer with her own priests and prepare for such an envoy.
And given the roundabout nature of the meeting… I'm guessing that all of this was being done under the table. Testing the waters, and when they developed a plan, they would announce it to the world to hear. What that plan was, or even the goal of the meetings, was a fair bit beyond me and I was thoroughly uninterested in the religious squabbles of Christians.
“You have a gift, Siegfried,” Otto said, watching as the raven sculpture was fitted over the doorway to the library. It was not yet complete, but after six months of tireless work, the construction was all but done. The finishing touches were all that was left. From there, the library would be filled with the texts that I had in storage and I could make a concentrated effort on producing copies of everything. Another month. Maybe less. Then I could turn my attention to other projects.
“Given by the gods,” I confessed. “I was jealous of the finery I found myself surrounded with and sought to replicate it.”
“I'd say you surpassed it,” Otto said and the praise was genuine. I was rather proud of the marble raven that sat perched above the large double doors. “If you colored it black, I would believe that it was a creature of flesh and blood! How long did it take you to craft such a sculpture.”
“Four months,” I said, and he wasn't the first to say as much. The feathers had taken the longest out of everything and it had been tedious to shape and layer the feathers to give the impression of depth. When the library was complete, the raven would be colored with soot and oils to give the raven a life-like appearance. Though, it was ten times the size of a normal raven. “It would have been closer to three months, but I find myself with little time for art.”
Otto seemed disappointed to hear that, “Your hands were made to create, my friend. If not sculptures then this town. These buildings. I feel like I am watching Rome being built around me.”
That caught my attention, “Have you been to Rome?” I asked and Otto nodded, watching as the raven was settled into place where it would hopefully rest for many, many, many years.
“Twice -- first when I was confirmed to be a bishop, and again when I received this mission. I sailed from its port,” he replied. “It is a wonderful city. But one that has suffered from neglect. There are echoes there of a once great civilization -- the Colosseum, the Basilica, and more. But much of the city is empty, and there are a great many destitute people.” He explained sadly and that was unfortunate to hear.
I frowned at that -- I had hoped for more from Rome. It was the previous capital of the Roman Empire- it was why it was even now called the Roman Empire. However, Otto already answered my unspoken question. “Rome is the heart of the Christian faith. It is a holy place and many make pilgrimage to it to be blessed by His Holiness or to gaze upon one of the many sacred relics collected by the Church. I myself saw a thorn that had been part of the crown placed on Jesus' head before his crucifixion.”
He beamed for a moment, overjoyed with the mere memory. “Alas, those that are destitute see the pilgrims as a means of survival. It is pious to give alms and many use this as a means to collect their daily bread,” Otto continued. To that, I grunted. That was shameful. There was nothing wrong with accepting aid when you needed it, but to become reliant on it was inexcusable. “Not all of them, of course. I found myself in great company on my travels there -- I met beggars wiser than any learned man, prostitutes as kind and generous as the Mother Mary, and lepers who knew more of faith than I could ever hope to.”
“Strange company for a Christian priest,” I noted and Otto merely looked amused.
“I'm certain I taught you of Jesus’ companions. If thieves, beggars, and prostitutes were worthy companions of our Savior then I would be quite arrogant in assuming that they are beneath me, of all people.” The remark was well earned -- he had taught me that much. Jesus was still a strange figure to me, and even after a war and years of exposure I couldn't decide where I fell on the dead god.
At first, I disrespected him. He was weak and allowed himself to be killed. Then I learned more about the world and the more I did the more I could respect his sacrifice, even if I did find the entire thing a bit foolish and convoluted. Now, I was ambivalent. For the most part. The worst thing about Christianity were the Christians -- both for trying to convert me, and for the headaches they had caused while I built the town.
“Is that what you've been doing these past years? King Charlemagne mentioned you when we met -- he said that you were his family priest?” I asked and Otto nodded, a small smile on his face.
“I was, for a brief period of time. In truth, I was more of a source of information about you and the Saxon army,” Otto admitted freely. “I'm uncertain what I did, but it is by King Charlemagne's recommendation that I was elevated to a bishop.” None of that surprised me. Given my lessons in Frankish and Latin, he was in close proximity to me and the other leaders of the rebellion. As for what Otto did…
“You underestimate your faith,” I told him. “King Charlemagne is a true believer, as you are. From what I've seen of other priests… many are second and third sons taking the cloth out of duty or lack of other options.”
I could tell Otto didn't disagree with me, even if he was too kind to say it out loud. He would know better than most now that he was rising in the Church. It was something that I understood well now that it wasn't a distant concern anymore -- inheritance. I was the youngest son of a large family, so I never thought I would receive anything from my father upon his death, beyond some money. The farm would go to Brandr, arms and armor would go to Tormond and Halfdan. But, for the youngest of us, we wouldn't expect anything.
Noble families had it worse. Lands could be partitioned only so much while noble titles could only be inherited by the heir. Second sons could hope to receive something, if only a position at court. For third sons and further, the pickings were slimmer and most turned to the Church as a means of providing for themselves.
“You honor me,” Otto replied instead. “What of you, my friend? I know the broad strokes from rumors at court, but I can only imagine how they have been exaggerated. Or twisted. Tell me, is it true that you forged a kingdom for the dowry of your wife? The rumors make it sound like a tale of love at first sight. Or that you had fallen prey to the charms of a demon,” He asked, raising an eyebrow and I chuckled.
“The first part is true,” I admitted. “Though it was not love at first sight. At least I don't think so. Astrid's first words to me, as we were being introduced, was ‘You're not ugly, I'll give you that.’” I chuckled at the memory. We'd come a long way since that initial meeting. It was strange to think we had a child together already. “Beyond that, conquering Norway was more of an accident than anything. Something to occupy my time before I came here.”
Otto nodded at that, watching as the raven was settled into place and secured. The doorway leading into the library was complete. Once the library was complete, the men that had learned from the Roman architects would be given their own projects -- bathhouses, hospices, and the like. All to test what they learned and what they needed to learn before they took students of their own. “We were surprised to hear that you came to the Roman Empire of all places. Many were certain that you would become King of Denmark.”
By that, he meant many feared it. Thinking of it, it would have been an alliance of four kings on Charlemagne's border. Myself, as the King of Denmark, Hoffer as the King of Norway, and King Widukind of Saxony and, in practice, Holland.
I shook my head, “I am not ready to take my vengeance. Or, rather, what would happen after I took it.” I admitted with a small frown. “I came here to learn how to do this -- in all of Denmark, Norway, or Saxony, there is no building like this one.”
Otto nodded in understanding, “I see.” He stated and I could feel the circumstances of our last parting bubble to the surface. It was after the massacre of Verdun, when the revenge killings against the Franks began. Otto had tried to stop them, protecting the Frankish thralls from being sacrificed to appease the spirits of the dead. They had nothing to do with the massacre, they had already been taken prisoner outside of Frankfurt or enthralled long before then, but they were Frankish and that had been enough.
I was the one that pulled Otto aside to allow the revenge killings to happen, even if I did send him away with what few thralls I could send with him.
“Revenge is a heavy burden, but it is one you seem to be carrying well. Better than you were, if I shall be honest,” Otto offered and I swallowed a sigh.
“Time has helped,” I admitted. The anger was still there. The rage. That part of me that wanted to march to Denmark and rip Horrik and his son limb from limb with my bare hands still lurked under the surface but time and distance make it easier to keep it there. “Revenge is…” I trailed off, before a sigh escaped me.
Otto favored me with a smile, “We may not share a God, but as a priest, I'm rather adept at listening.”
My lips thinned and I struggled to find the words for a growing feeling that had taken root since… since I killed Grimar. “I killed one of Horrik’s sons in a duel, and I did it for no other reason than he carried the blood of Horrik. But unlike his father, he was a good man. I think he could have been a great man in different circumstances. He was wiser than me, able to set aside our vendetta to focus on larger threats like King Charlemagne.”
Otto nodded slowly, letting me speak. So, I did. “Revenge killings are part of our way of life. They are just. And a way to prevent further killings because everyone knows that a son will avenge the death of their kin. In normal circumstances, I would be expected to kill Horrik and all his children. Then, one day, I would prepare for his grandchildren to attempt to kill me and mine.” I paused, my lips thinning further. “It is an expectation. If I don't avenge the deaths of my family, then I am honorless. Shameful. No one would respect me and no one would follow me.”
“You fear for the life of your child?” Otto ventured and I nodded after a moment of thought.
“In part. Horrik is a king. Our blood feud has consequences beyond the deaths of a clan. I shall become King of Denmark upon his death, as is our way. If you cannot protect something then you cannot claim something is yours.” Now, I grimaced. “I will be expected to eliminate all threats to my throne. It's safer not only for me, but for my children. Meaning that I have to extinguish Horrik’s bloodline.”
It was a common practice. It was expected.
“I still believe in revenge. I will take Horrik and Thorfinn's heads. But… Grimar had saved my life… and vengeance demands that I kill his children,” I confessed, and that was where I struggled. “I will have to do it. For my children. Horrik prepared to become King of Denmark all of his life. He has a dozen children, and a score of grandchildren, all of them creating a web of alliances with important tribes. If I don't kill them, then I would leave a dagger at the backs of my own children and grandchildren.”
“But you do not have the heart nor the hate to murder children. Babies,” Otto said, summarizing my problem. It was a shameful thing to admit. A weakness. Not in the act itself but because…
“I have killed many. So many, I can't even remember when I stopped counting. I have brought devastation to foreign lands in search of wealth and power. The men that I killed likely had families -- wives, sisters, children… and there are likely many that suffered for their deaths. Who went hungry during winter. I'm certain that for everyone I've killed, I'm responsible for a score more deaths as a consequence.” I said, knowing that it was true.
And I accepted it. I was a warrior, and the world was shaped with violence and ambition. Death was as much a part of life as living was, and to those that stood across from me in the field of battle, who chose to take up arms against me for whatever reason they might have, they made the choice to fight. To kill. To die.
“But I am too weak to do the deed myself. I can accept it happening out of sight, where I don't know of it, but the thought of killing children with my own hands…” That was weakness. Softhearteness. If my people learned of it, I would be shamed. Mercy only extended so far. When someone was a threat to your kin, mercy… mercy was foolish and dangerous.
Otto listened in silence and I could see him thinking on what I said, a heavy look upon his face. I waited for him to speak, to give a reaction, even if it was rejection. But, when he started, his voice was low and kind. “We live in an imperfect world, Siegfried. For most of my life, I only paid lip service to God and His tenants. I believed, but I was always filled with doubts. Uncertainties. For, if God was all powerful and All Knowing… then how was it that a pagan barbarian could enter His home and attack His faithful?” He said, favoring me a small smile.
“I am no closer to an answer than I was back then, nor do I know how one can reconcile the Word of God with the circumstances we find ourselves faced with in life.” Otto admitted freely, his hands going to a small wooden cross that hung from his neck. “I have prayed, but God has never once spoken to me. Nor shall He, I suspect, unto I meet Him in heaven to be judged.”
That wasn't something I could imagine, I realized. The gods had always spoken to me. They had always made their will known when they wished to. I never had to doubt the path the gods wished me to walk, even if I didn't understand why.
“What do you do, then?” I asked him and I realized a simple truth. Otto's faith was stronger than mine. Because it had been tested and tried and he believed even more deeply because of it.
“I act how I believe He would wish me to act. No matter what. Because I cannot imagine standing before God and claiming that virtue was inconvenient at the time,” Otto said, reaching out and placing a hand on my shoulder. “I have no true advice I can give you, my friend. I wish that wasn't the case. But your gods are not mine. Your ways are not mine. All I can offer is this -- in cases such as this, do what you believe you can tell your gods of with your head held up high.”
It wasn’t a solution, but I didn’t expect one in all honesty. It was something that I would have to answer myself with my own choices. But, all the same, it was enough.
“Yooo! Sieg! Look at what I found!” I heard Astolfo call out, bringing my attention to her to see that she was waving Ragnar’s favorite chew toy -- the toy soldier. The heavy air around us vanished in a moment at her good cheer. “Take inspiration from anyone in particular?” She asked, a grin on her face as she held up the toy and she was right to see the resemblance. I had carved it from her memory.
“Did you steal that from my child?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at her and she grinned unrepentantly.
“He lobbed it at my head, so I think that counts as giving it to me. He’s got an arm, that’s for sure -- the apple didn’t fall far from the tree there, I think,” Astolfo replied, coming to a stop in front of us. “But I also come with news. Letter came for you from the Empress herself,” she said, presenting me with the letter in a rather casual manner.
I let out a small huff of amusement before taking it from her, glad for the distraction if nothing else. It kept me from dwelling about an issue that I wouldn’t have an answer to for some time. Likely not until I was back in Denmark. And maybe not even until the battles were already won. “What did it say?”
“You’re seriously asking one of King Charlmagne’s Paladins if he read your mail?” Astolfo made a token effort of being offended while I simply cocked an eyebrow as I broke the seal on the letter. Then she shrugged, “I took a peek, but it was in Latin. I think.” She confessed a second later, and she really didn’t bother with pretenses.
“Greek,” I corrected, looking over the letter. And, slowly, I began to frown and Astolfo looked worried.
“Something bad happen?” She prompted and my lips thinned before I glanced at Otto.
“Depends. How do you feel about a pagan and an Arabian princess joining you to mend this schism?”
