The Rise of Rurik

Chapter 1: Otto's return

Thirty dragonhead warships sailed in the Gulf of Finland during autumn. Each warship, boasting a proud dragonhead and towering sails, was being swept by the autumn northeast winds, heading westward. However, the warships, like overstuffed dragons, had their decks piled high with numerous tributes, their heavy burden slowing their progress considerably. Despite the rowers best efforts, they could not match their speed on the outward journey.

All the rowers were filled with hope for the future, just like in the spring, the Svear people had once again provided them with abundant tribute. This autumns journey was equally fruitful, and a middle-aged man with a beard a foot long stood on the deck platform, gazing into the distance. That direction was home, and with the successful tribute collection, his tribe would spend the winter in abundance.

This man was Otto, the chief of the rower tribe. Despite his long beard, he was only forty-five years old. A long career of sailing and fighting had given him a muscular build and a body covered in scars. He was a warrior of his tribe, always leading his people to victories against neighboring tribes and solidifying their power in central Scandinavia.

However, their homeland was a barren land with a cold climate and only brief warmth, allowing only limited crops. Fishing and hunting were crucial for survival, until they began emulating other tribes, navigating warships towards the mysterious south.

Thanks to their ancestors bravery, the tribe had found a route through the Neva River mouth into Svear territory. Otto vividly remembered his grandfather leading a thousand warriors on an expedition, quickly defeating the Svears counterattacks and forcing their submission.

Since then, every spring and autumn, tribute ships would acquire vast amounts of valuable goods from the Svear. Thinking of this, Otto turned his head with satisfaction, looking at the treasures on the deck wrapped in linen fine fabrics, furs, pottery filled with honey, fish, precious salt, and flour.

Moreover, Otto particularly valued a wooden box, even secured with a fine iron chain. This box, along with others, was not something the Svear, skilled in woodworking, could make; it was Roman-made, filled with Roman copper coins. Otto knew that far to the south lay a great nation called Rome, and the Svear maintained a trade route with them. Through fur trading, the Svear had amassed many copper coins, which were now valuable for trade with other tribes.

Now, all the copper coins, including the furs from the tribute, belonged to the tribe. The autumn campaigns wealth was entirely due to the tribes military might. With seven hundred warriors wearing metal helmets and chain mail, armed with axes and spears, and robust in stature, they were formidable. The largest Svear town, Novgorod, had only five thousand inhabitants.

The Svear, disunited with various family agendas, had no choice but to submit tributes to avoid disaster. At least for now, they dared not resist fiercely, or rather, they had once resisted and failed, forcing them to bow to the stronger force.

Brother, will we spend the night ashore or stay at sea tonight? Ottos brother asked.

Ashore. Well stay one night and continue sailing in the morning, Otto instructed his brother Oggel. As the war drums sounded, the fleet began to turn. Like other tribes, they were skilled rowers, known as the best rowers in their language, Rus. They were the Rus tribe.

The warriors rowed vigorously, and the ships rushed to the beach. They jumped off and tied the ships to trees and rocks to secure them. Soon, a bonfire was lit, and the aroma of grilled fish filled the air. Only then did Otto remove his helmet, sitting by the fire, eating the herring his brother had grilled for him.

Brother, tomorrow well pass through the land of the Goths. We might encounter their fishermen or even face their attacks, Oggel warned.

Dont worry about them. We are many, and no force dares attack us, Otto replied confidently while eating his fish.

But I have an inexplicable worry.

Why?

Were carrying a lot of treasures. They might covet our wealth.

Otto shook his head: Are you worried about those Goths because of this?

Theyve raided us before! Oggel reminded.

Yes, they have. But look at our seven hundred brothers; theyre no match for us.

Still, I fear losses. Were like slow-moving turtles.

No matter! Otto reassured, patting his brothers shoulder. Let them come. Well fight at sea and utterly defeat them.

Oggel, like most in the clan, was obedient to the chief. Since Otto became chief of the Rus tribe, they had never faced defeat. Hoping his fears were misplaced, Oggel ate his fish, set up a tent, and lay on the beach in armor until dawn.

A new journey began! Tribe chief Otto remained confident, backed by two thousand warriors. His small tribe of eight thousand on Scandinavian land was a force to be reckoned with. Otto was confident about the Goths, knowing many had moved south, leaving only a few on the islands mere fishermen.

Should he worry about an attack by armed fishermen? Otto thanked his brothers concern but remained proud. Todays passage through Gotland would be smooth. However, since his brother had raised the point, perhaps other warriors also had concerns. A little caution was a good thing.

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