Ch 11: The Chase

After landing, Rurik identified himself as a merchant to the harbormaster, paid a bribe as custom, and received the necessary documents.

“Departure is two mornings from now. Don’t delay because of drunkenness.”

After Rurik finished speaking, the caravan members dispersed. Vig casually toured the settlement. The local streets were laid out in a grid pattern, houses were mainly built of brick and stone. Passing a construction site, he found artisans mixing concrete.

Interesting.

Vig took out an Anglo-Saxon silver coin from his bosom, gestured for a long time, and requested permission from the artisan to watch.

“What’s a Northern European barbarian doing learning this?”

The artisan was puzzled, but didn’t chase him away for the sake of the silver coin, and continued mixing concrete with his apprentice.

The process wasn’t complicated: mix quicklime with water, then add gravel and river sand, and a type of gray material he couldn’t name.

Vig guessed for a moment, thinking it was volcanic ash. He silently memorized the concrete recipe and stretched, leaving the construction site.

Arriving at the city center, the most striking building was the church, possessing the characteristic pendentive dome of the Eastern Roman Empire. Finding that the monks didn’t intend to drive him away, Vig entered with interest. The church interior was luxuriously decorated; the walls were covered with colorful mosaics, mainly in gold tones, which, combined with the sunlight, created a sacred and solemn atmosphere.

“Such exquisite craftsmanship, truly worthy of a civilization with a thousand-year legacy.”

Going outside, he strolled through the nearby marketplace. Suddenly, he heard a shout from the east side, sounding like Ivar’s voice, “Borg, stop!”

Lord Borg?

The next moment, a white horse passed him by, its horseshoes striking sparks on the flagstones, neighing as it knocked over a spice stall; a strong, pungent aroma filled the air.

While dodging, Vig saw the rider’s face—Lord Borg, whom his party had been pursuing. He subconsciously followed.

The trouble was, the chaos of the marketplace severely hampered the pursuit. Seeing the white horse about to disappear around the corner, he casually picked up a gray cloth, wrapped it around himself, sprinted, and climbed onto a nearby small house, continuing the pursuit from the roof.

The wind whistled past his ears. The wet tiles groaned under his boot soles. As Vig leaped across the alley from rooftop to rooftop, two tiles cracked, the debris falling to the ground, causing a passing woman to gasp and cover her mouth.

“Whose circus performer is this?”

Unaffected by the exclamations below, Vig ran and leaped across the rooftops. At that moment, it was as if everything in the world disappeared; he only saw the back of the rider on the white horse.

Soon, the white horse knocked over a fishmonger’s handcart at an intersection. A mass of silvery fish wriggled frantically on the cobblestones, causing the horse to rear. Seizing the opportunity, he leaped down from the roof behind, and rolled several times on the wet ground with his target.

“Don’t kill me!”

Ignoring the pleas, Vig twisted the man’s neck. A “crack” was heard, and the body slumped to the ground.

After traveling thousands of miles, it was finally over.

Before the guards arrived, Vig quickly ran into an alley, tore off the gray cloth, whistled, and swaggered into the crowd on another street.

Dong!

Dong!

It was noon. The distant church bells rang solemnly and peacefully. A flock of white seagulls took flight, circling in the clear blue sky. The hot sun shone down, seeming to dispel all the sins of the world.

Returning to the tavern at the docks, Vig chose a corner seat and drank alone. As time passed, the caravan members arrived one by one.

Confirming the enemy’s death, Ivar and Bjorn expressed regret, complaining that Vig hadn’t given them the opportunity.

Raising his goblet, Ivar was listless, “I was planning to torture him, smash his bones, or make him into a blood eagle. This death is too easy for him.”

“Hey, this is someone else’s territory, what are you thinking?” Rurik complained in a low voice. “Luckily, Vig had his face covered, and the deceased was just a Northern European barbarian. Otherwise, the magistrate would search the entire city, and the whole caravan would be in trouble!”

After this incident, Rurik didn’t want to stay long. After purchasing enough food and supplies, he left the port the next morning, sailing south along the west bank of the Black Sea, arriving at the Bosporus Strait after half a month.

Passing through the strait from north to south, the three merchant ships attempted to turn right and enter the Golden Horn to dock.

Looking out, the south side of the Golden Horn was the Constantinople city district, and the north side was a fortress named Galata. Between them stretched a huge iron chain barrier across the bay. Merchant ships from all over the world needed to pass inspection before entering.

After waiting for two hours in the Sea of Marmara, Ivar couldn’t help but shout loudly, “Damn it, why isn’t it our turn yet!”

Rurik hushed him, “Keep quiet, a merchant ship preparing to leave port was found carrying contraband, something called Greek Fire.”

During the wait, Vig remained silent, his heart filled with mixed emotions. He gazed at the Hagia Sophia standing on the hill, and further south, the gilded roof of the Imperial Palace shimmered in the sunlight, while nearby, the hippodrome resounded with frenzied shouts.

Constantinople—the city the world yearned for. I had toured here in the 21st century and left reluctantly. To meet it again, a thousand years in the past!

“The shadows of the clouds on the quiet pool stretch long, time and seasons change again and again. Fate is capricious. Truly, fate is capricious.”

After another half hour, the Eastern Roman customs resumed inspections. One by one, cargo ships flying different banners passed through the channel in the middle of the iron chain. When it was Rurik’s turn, he said in broken Greek, “Furs, amber, the two ships behind are also mine.”

The harbormaster, slightly disdainful, boarded the poorly-maintained longship. After inspecting the goods, he pointed southwest, “Ships from Northern Europe dock at piers three to six. Remember to pay your tariffs when you land.”

The fleet docked. A customs official with four laborers of dark complexion came to inspect, weighed the goods using standard weights, and levied a 10% tariff based on the value of the goods.

Rurik gestured, “No, no money, can I pay with goods?”

“Yes.”

Accepting a bright yellow piece of amber as a bribe, the official nodded and sealed the goods of the three ships, proving their legal clearance.

“Whew, the Greeks have so many rules.” Rurik rented a courtyard near the docks to store his goods and as a temporary lodging.

To prevent theft, he arranged for guards to stand watch in shifts. The remaining members were free to move about. He himself went to the nearby marketplace to gather information, preparing to sell the goods at the best possible price.