Svein’s Vision and Anna’s Ultimatum

“So, do you understand, Noren?” Svein voiced his conjecture.

Noren counted on her fingers, one, two, three: “First: we lure Sithis with his greed, using the noble title to incite conflict among the Norsemen.

“Second: we weaken the Duke’s power, seizing the opportunity to claim the city of Hradec for ourselves.

“Third: Bohemia does not acknowledge female heirs, so I cannot act against my own brother’s interests.”

Svein nodded with satisfaction; this was the kind of heir he valued. “Frey has no great ambitions, his mind is dull, he’s unattractive, and he lacks strength. He won’t compete with you for power or gain.

“Your future will never be confined to being a mere Baron of Ostrava. When you acquire numerous fiefdoms, you will undoubtedly need someone to help manage them. At that time, you can simply grant Frey one or two small plots of land to settle down.”

The young woman cast a skeptical glance. “Father, I’m not even a knight yet, and you’re already predicting I’ll become a great noble?

“Even if that happens, after I become a great noble and grant Frey a fief, will he even be able to govern it well?”

Svein waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t ask if it will happen, just tell me if you’ll do it!”

“Uh-huh,” Noren mumbled, feigning disinterest as she picked at her ear. “Fine, fine, I’ll protect my brother well, ensure he comes to no harm, act in his best interest, and even share any conquered territories with him.

“Satisfied?”

Svein understood his daughter’s displeasure, yet the unity of their family was paramount.

In Greece, he had witnessed countless conspiracies and assassinations. Men and women who embraced passionately one moment would turn their blades on each other the next.

Innumerable Greek officials and nobles had fallen victim to plots and assassinations. Historically, countless emperors had died by assassination, with almost none living to enjoy a peaceful old age, save for the great Basil II.

During his decade and a half in Greece, Svein had seen countless Norsemen and Rus caught inextricably in webs of intrigue. Violence proved utterly inadequate when confronted with cunning strategy.

He had heard that Harald Hardrada, the “Ruthless” King of Norway, had died last year at the hands of King Harold of England.

Alas! That Norwegian king had also been a legendary figure, once serving as a captain in the Varangian Guard, leading them through campaigns across the south and north, always obedient to the Emperor’s commands.

Regrettably, he had become too deeply entangled in the affairs of the court!

With the old emperor dead and a new one installed, it was an inevitable outcome for this beloved general of the former ruler to be arrested and imprisoned. The charges against him were so numerous and varied that Svein could no longer recall them all.

Barring any unforeseen circumstances, it seemed that only death awaited Harald Hardrada, “the Ruthless.”

To die in a prison cell, hah! How utterly absurd!

Yet, an unexpected turn of events occurred.

Michael V, arrogant and headstrong, had actually sent Empress Zoe to a monastery?

Had he gone mad, or had the world? This was one of only two royal women who shared the bloodline of Basil II!

A mad emperor—this was the final impression the Byzantine Empire left on Svein.

Disillusioned, he decided it was time to return home with his wife.

Before departing, he casually freed the future King of Norway. Then, amidst the city’s turmoil and citizen riots, he seized a merchant ship.

He departed with a dozen comrades from the Varangian Guard, a dozen Danish heavy cavalrymen—among them his sister Anna—and Tolruk and his hundred-odd mercenaries, who had been making a living in Constantinople. They journeyed by sea, eventually reaching Sicily.

The subsequent journey was fraught with too many twists and turns, an eight-year odyssey that could not be recounted in a few simple words. Svein refrained from speaking of it, finding it too taxing to explain.

Finally, Noren was born, crying her first cries in Opava, which compelled Svein to settle down.

Curiously enough, Svein and his wife Dís enjoyed a normal marital life. However, his wife gave birth to their first child quite late, at the age of thirty, and their second child four years later. Svein considered himself an industrious farmer.

He had sown countless seeds in fertile soil, yet they simply refused to sprout!

Could it be that “pure-bloods” genuinely only have one or two offspring in their lifetime, just as the sorcerer had claimed?

Furthermore, a “pure-blood” could only produce one “pure-blood” successor. Considering the current circumstances, the sorcerer’s words seemed to hold true.

Svein vigorously shook his head, pulling himself out of his reverie. He knew that an older man was prone to overthinking.

He looked at Noren, his daughter’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him as if he were an ailing, doddering old man.

“Ahem, well, as long as you understand. Go on, go on, off to your training!” Svein’s old face flushed, though his thick beard fortunately concealed it. Nevertheless, his embarrassment remained undiminished.

Noren did not notice the older man’s awkwardness; she simply thought he was exhibiting signs of senility. “Father, are you alright? You seemed lost in thought for quite a while.”

Svein genuinely felt his mind was not as sharp as it once was, resembling a rusted factory machine groaning and creaking. Yet, if his mind was no longer nimble, then so be it! Even if he became a fool, Noren would still be there to care for him in his old age.

He waved his withered arms. “It’s nothing, nothing at all. Just getting old.”

“Is that so…” Noren clicked her tongue. Didn’t people say old folks usually resisted admitting their age? So why was Svein mentioning “old” in eight out of ten sentences?

Time for training. She was off.

With her glutes tensing, Noren sprang from the stool. A light flick of her heel sent the wooden seat smoothly back to its original spot.

****

Hradec, Mayor’s Manor, Mayor’s Bedroom

A man and a woman lay entwined on the bed, Anna pressed close against her husband’s chest, feeling his fervent warmth.

The next moment, Anna swiftly straddled him.

Had her ample hips not cushioned the impact, that sudden movement might well have fractured Sithis’s pelvis.

“Ooh-ho-hoh!” Sithis let out a cry that blended pleasure with pain, experiencing both agony and ecstasy.

In response to his wife’s passionate fervor, Sithis lifted one of her hips with both hands, unable to manage with just one.

“I hear Jaromir intends to grant my elder brother a title?” Anna pressed her hands against her husband’s chest, feeling as though a little more force could collapse his sternum and ribs.

“Yes.”

“Then why would he send this document to Hradec first, and insist that you review it?”

“…………”

“Sithis, how many years have we been married?”

“Sixteen years.”

“How many children have we had?”

“Five.”

“And what became of them all?”

“Three were deformed, one died young, and the last, Knutr, is still alive today; he is now six years old.”

Anna cupped her husband’s face. “Then tell me the truth: what exactly are you thinking?”

Sithis turned his face away, refusing to meet her gaze. “…………”

The golden-haired beauty flared with indignation. “Are you still pining for your eldest son, then!”

“No!” Sithis retorted stubbornly.

The golden-haired beauty’s slender, delicate finger tapped her husband’s forehead, poking him forcefully. “Let me tell you, even if my elder brother were murdered by your schemes, and Frey were to mysteriously drown in a lake, the only one with the right to inherit the baronial title would still be Knutr!

“Your eldest son can forget about it entirely!!!”

“No!!!” Sithis erupted with immense strength, throwing off the voluptuous beauty who had been pressing down on him.

Anna’s look of indignation dissipated, replaced by a touch of sorrow once her composure returned.

She wiped away the tears that had yet to fall from the corners of her eyes. “I’m leaving. I’m going to Ostrava. If you’re so capable, then kill me too.”

Anna got out of bed, rustled into her clothes, and walked out of the room without a backward glance, the door slamming shut with a resounding ‘bang.’

Just as a sliver of peace returned to the night, the wooden door creaked open once more.

Anna had returned, but only to deliver a final remark.

“See to your own fate.”

With that, she left without another look.

Deep night descended in silence, the cicadas chirped incessantly, and night owls hooted. Time trickled by, and the night grew ever deeper.

No further sound emanated from outside the door. It seemed she had truly departed.