The sun shone for the wedding, splitting through the high banks of clouds. In the distance, a curtain of rain drew across Sogn Fjord, and Ragnvald saw a rainbow emerging from the gray. Svanhild deserved no less for her wedding day. Harald stood resplendent, hair like golden wheat. Svanhild looked like a tiny jewel next to him, draped in gold and silk of deepest red. Ragnvald glanced at Oddi during the ceremony—he looked peaceful enough. He and Svanhild had not shared a bed for some time, and if Oddi felt any hurt at this, he hid it well.
After she had made her promises, Harald said, “My sea queen, Svanhild Eysteinsdatter, sister of my beloved friend, I promise to make a good husband, to provide for our children together and make them equal in inheritance with all my others.” He looked up at Ragnvald. “Because of the love I bear your brother, I will provide your dowry myself, in hopes that Ragnvald will again consent to fight by my side.”
Ragnvald smiled at Harald, trying to cover his displeasure. “I have already promised to come to your side when you need me,” he said.
“Heming guards Maer well, and can continue to do so with his brother Oddi. Atli Mjove has continued to enhance Sogn’s prosperity. I miss my favorite captain. I will winter in Vestfold. Defend Maer for the summer and then come to me in Vestfold in the fall.”
In front of so many witnesses, Ragnvald could not do anything other than agree. “My king does me too much honor,” he said. “Of course, I will fight at your side.”
Harald looked delighted, Svanhild less so, whether because Harald’s request left Ragnvald king of nothing again, or because Harald had taken attention from her at this moment, Ragnvald did not know. Ragnvald pronounced the words that sealed their union before the gods and the laws of the land. At least now she could not return to Solvi.
And Harald was bound to him further. Now when Ragnvald’s push sent Hakon tumbling from his high seat, Harald would have as much reason to stand with Ragnvald as with Hakon. Even better if Svanhild gave Harald a son, and quickly—Hakon’s daughter had already given him three sons—but at least Ragnvald’s claim to Harald’s loyalty was as strong now.
31
Solvi celebrated another midsummer at the Swedish court in Uppsala in a grim humor. Many of his allies and followers who had scattered over the previous year came for the celebrations, and to see if it was time to bring war to Harald. Rain marked the day, turning into a sticky mist in the evening. Through the mannered court ceremonies, performed in an alien dialect, Solvi’s thoughts lingered on past years, celebrated on beaches with Svanhild, when they welcomed the summer together smelling of sea and sweat, when his men who did not have slaves found pleasure with each other, for his ships were a world in themselves, and needed nothing from beyond them. The memories would not leave him be, not when he had drunk his fill of sweet summer mead and watched the touches between the men and women of King Eirik’s court grow bolder.
He took Tova to bed in a curtained corner, wishing for complete darkness, so she could not see him, nor him her, that he could drown himself in sensations and memories, and wake blank and cleansed. He succeeded in losing himself in long and drunken sleep, and woke with a sore head, next to a woman he did not want and kept only because she said she did not like being without a protector in Eirik’s court. She must have some master or another, and she stayed by him to remind him that he still owed her—a rich husband, or riches in her own right.
When Solvi’s headache subsided enough that he could stand, he splashed some water on his face and found Thorstein hanging about the kitchen door, flirting with one of the maids. Thorstein had gone to Rane in Vermaland, and returned when the Vermaland folk accepted Rane as jarl there, though if Eirik did not decide to send more forces soon, Rane would lose it as easily as he had won it.
Solvi pried him away from the girl, and took out a small skiff with him into the fjord. Thorstein would make a good captain one day soon, for he had the confidence and bravery required to lead a ship, and the ability to make even his mistakes seem well chosen. Solvi blindfolded him, steered the ship to a point among the islands that surrounded the approach to Uppsala, and then set him the challenge of navigating back. The town lay within a warren of narrow passages that made it maddening to find for anyone who did not already know the route.
Thorstein made a turn that took the boat around an island they had already passed, and he cursed. Solvi looked up from where he lay sprawled across the boat’s benches, cushioned by the cloak that he had put off in the warm weather. It did not matter to him if Thorstein brought them home tonight. His drinking left him with little appetite, and a hungry night would give Thorstein more incentive to find Uppsala again.
Through half-closed eyes he saw a long dragon ship pass over Thorstein’s shoulder, as if sailing out of a dream of better days. He sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. The dragon ship’s figurehead was stowed, and its oars out—it came in peace. Another followed behind it, and another still, all with sails striped in blue and white, the colors of King Hakon Grjotgardsson. If he came to offer alliance with Eirik on Harald’s behalf, Eirik would have a reason to let yet another summer pass through indecision. Solvi thought sometimes that he never meant to do anything at all.
If Hakon came with his ships, Solvi would take up his own cause with more energy, and leave off drinking and pitying himself. It had been Hakon who made Solvi and his father, Hunthiof, into Harald’s enemies. Solvi could not let Hakon turn Eirik into Harald’s ally.
“You could follow them,” said Solvi to Thorstein. “They look like they know where they’re going.” Rumors had reached Uppsala that one or more of Hakon’s sons stood at odds with Harald. Solvi had not heard the whole story, but it was known that Harald had tried to have Heming killed at one time, and now threatened to outlaw two of Hakon’s other sons. These ships might bear those young men, in rebellion against their father. No matter if they brought warriors, Solvi still might refuse to ally with them. Even Eirik, who wanted to tear Norway apart more than he wanted his allies to regain their lands, must see that a man who betrayed his father in anger could easily return to him when that anger cooled.
The last ship in the convoy flew different banners, and Solvi recognized it as Rane’s, from when it had failed to turn the tide of the Solskel battle in his favor. When Solvi arrived with Rane just before Yule of the previous year, he found a warm welcome from King Eirik, who had ruled all the coastal lands of southern Sweden for near on fifty years. Eirik was old now, and felt it, surrounding himself with young warriors and adventurers, spurning the friends of his youth whose wrinkled faces reminded him that death comes even for kings. Rane had done his duty, painting Solvi as the best general of sea battles living or dead and taking responsibility for his own mistakes at the battle of Solskel. Solvi, grudgingly, allowed that the weather had been difficult for a novice sailor. Eirik had sent Rane out to retake Vermaland, and not return without good news or more allies, ideally both. Rane had been gone for more than a year.
All through the winter, Solvi had felt as though his spirit were made of stone. He had made a place for himself in Eirik’s court as an adventurer, an explorer, quick to tell a tale so wild it might not be true. He spoke of cities that stretched as far as the eye could see, where a man could grow as lost as a child in a forest. He spoke of the vast sands of Northern Africa, where no plants grew. He spoke of men with skin as black as night who, among them, had warriors as fierce and explorers as brave as any in the Norse lands.
He had passed other winters this way, as a pleasing guest for wealthy men, buying food and shelter with his wit, but never before without Svanhild. Each night he drank deeply of Eirik’s ale, trying to reach the numbed state where he would not miss her so much. When he had told his stories before, he always rested his gaze upon her. Sometimes she listened to him, and then it was as if he relived their adventures together. Sometimes she was busy talking with other women, and then he made the stories as outrageous as he dared, waiting for her to turn and give him a look of fond exasperation
. She even stood from time to time and said something like, “My lord husband is seeing what foolishness he can sell you. I promise, the world serpent only has one head, not two.”
Now he altered all of his stories so she played a smaller role. If he must mention her, he only called her “my woman.” He grinned at the ladies in his audience, inviting them to see themselves adventuring by his side.
The heeling of the little skiff brought Solvi back to the present. Thorstein, never one to discard an advantage, had drafted in the wake of the larger ships, and then pulled the boat into the harbor at Uppsala just after the last ship docked.
“What did you think of their approach?” Solvi asked Thorstein.
“They sailed before the wind,” Thorstein answered promptly. “It takes no great skill. Some of the ships were not laden well”—he pointed to one of the trailing ships still rocking in its berth—“that one needs more ballast. And that one has more weight on the port side than the starboard.”
“Good, that’s right,” said Solvi.
An older man disembarked first from the ship and led his warriors toward Uppsala’s receiving hall. He was stout in the stomach, and by his rich dress, could only be King Hakon himself, followed by the giant Rane. Could Rane have made peace with Harald? Solvi did not think it any more likely than Hakon breaking with Harald. Without Hakon, Harald might not have exiled so many kings and jarls from Norway, since Hakon had demanded kingdoms for his true-born adult sons—Heming, Herlaug, and Geirbjorn, with more coming into manhood soon.
Solvi had learned all the hidden ways into the complex at Uppsala, so while Hakon and his party made their entrance through the hall’s great doors, Solvi reached Eirik’s side before he had fully assembled his court. He placed himself among the group of Eirik’s advisers who flanked his outdoor throne in the courtyard where he received visitors on fine days. Hakon’s herald announced him, “King Hakon Grjotgardsson, King of Halogaland and North Trondelag.”
Hakon and his entourage bowed to Eirik. Solvi recognized Hakon’s younger sons, though he had only seen them at a distance since their boyhood. One had the same arrangement of features as Hakon, his youth giving him a raw-boned look that Hakon’s age had softened, and the other bore a disfiguring scar that distorted his right cheek so it seemed he could hardly move his jaw. Near the back of Hakon’s entourage stood Egil Hrolfsson, still struggling to grow a beard, and by his side a tall, blond man who looked familiar to Solvi, though he could not call to mind a name.
Hakon made eye contact with Solvi and gave him an ironic nod. He did not seem surprised to see him, so Rane must have told him who he joined. Hakon had come anyway.
Rane spoke next. “King Eirik of Sweden, I have brought a powerful ally. King Hakon of—”
“We heard the titles already, thank you, Rane,” said Eirik. “You have brought Harald’s most important ally into our court, to learn everything he can.” He spoke mildly, his voice quavering with age. Eirik was not given to rages or strong emotions, and men often underestimated him until the moment he ordered their exile or punishments. Solvi heard the danger in his voice, though, and by Rane’s expression, he did too.
“I have brought King Hakon to be our ally—he will rebel against Harald of Vestfold, and end Harald’s quest to be king of all Norway,” said Rane.
Hakon stepped forward, and made another bow. “Jarl Rane of Vermaland speaks truly. I can follow Harald no longer.”
“We have heard that he raised you up far higher than you could rise on your own,” said Eirik. “Why would you rebel against him?”
Hakon narrowed his eyes at the insult. “Harald does not apply his laws fairly. He makes different laws for his friends and enemies, and uses them to keep me down,” he said. “He sets the sons of peasants above the sons of kings.” He then told of how each of his three eldest sons had been threatened by Harald’s justice. When he saw that this did not convince Eirik, he went on to tell of Harald choosing which existing kings to honor, and which to deprive of their land on no more than a whim, no matter the desires of their people, or even their willingness to swear allegiance to Harald.
“Because of you!” Solvi burst out. “Harald would not have required my father to give up North Maer and Tafjord if you had not insisted that you wanted one of your sons installed in my seat.”
“Is this so?” Eirik asked.
Hakon shrugged, making the rings decorating his neck clink together. “Harald has not made good on his promises.”
“Does your son Heming not sit in my Tafjord hall even now?” Solvi asked. “Why is this oath breaker here? Tell me it is for justice, and then you can pronounce his sentence and take his head. That would leave much of Norway leaderless.”
“Hospitality forbids it,” said Eirik, with a wry quirk of his lips. “Still, I have come to know Solvi Hunthiofsson by his words and deeds, and it seems to me his questions have value.”
“I did swear to Harald,” said Hakon. “I thought it the quickest means to secure districts for all of my sons.”
“And now the bargain doesn’t look so good?” Solvi asked.
Hakon shrugged. “Do you know how many armies I can bring to your side? Send me away, and you have no chance. Agree to my terms, and Norway will split apart, for all of us to take the pieces.” He looked to Gudbrand, who sat with his remaining son. He had come from Frisia for the midsummer feast and to learn if Eirik might finally make a decision. “You know this is true—without me, you have no hope against Harald.”
Eirik shifted in his seat. “You discount my ships and armies.”
“I had heard they were busy fighting the Danish,” said Hakon.
Eirik had a truce with a young Danish king, though it could not last, not when they both wanted control of the entrance to the Baltic Sea. “I do not lack forces to send against Harald. Still, you are powerful, King Hakon. If you have abandoned Harald’s cause, that does help us.”
“He is an oath breaker.” Solvi felt the tide turning against him. He could see the sense in Hakon’s words and Eirik’s, but it went against his every instinct to throw in with Hakon. He would trust Hakon only as long as he had Hakon in full view, with Hakon’s hands empty and his mouth shut—and not very far even then.
“Many of us are oath breakers here,” said Hakon. “Did you not swear in front of the Sogn ting that you injured Ragnvald Eysteinsson of your own will and no one else’s?”
Solvi flushed with anger. He had broken other promises, many of them, but never before the gods so blatantly, and never since. At times he wondered if every bit of bad luck he suffered since then was punishment for that moment.
“I make no excuses,” said Hakon. “We are all men of action. My alliance with Harald has never served me as well as I’d like, and now it has ceased to be useful at all. I offer my armies and my ships, and I expect to be greatly rewarded for putting them in the service of this alliance.”
“And you will share the west coast with me?” Solvi asked. “Me, Solvi Hunthiofsson, whose father you warred with your entire youth? You will support me, my rule of Tafjord and Maer?”
Hakon gave him a thin smile. “Marry one of my daughters. If she gives you a son, let him inherit. Then it will be both of our blood on the throne of Maer, and I will be well satisfied.” Solvi looked at him for a long moment, and Hakon met his gaze. How could anyone believe Hakon’s word now? He had revealed, finally, what sort of man he was: a man who abandoned even the pretense of honor if it served his ambitions. Did he feel any loyalty except to himself and his monstrous sons?
“I do not know how you can trust this man,” Solvi said to Eirik. “I can think of no circumstances where I would trust him. You should put him in irons and hold him hostage against the good behavior of his followers. Send a messenger to King Harald, say that you have his oath-breaking ally here, and offer him in exchange for an alliance that favors you. Perhaps he will even give you Vestfold as a reward.”
“And will he give you Tafjord?” Hakon asked.
&nbs
p; “Probably not,” said Solvi. “But how can—?”
Eirik beckoned Solvi over so they stood close enough for private conversation. “You are usually craftier than this,” Eirik said, in a low voice. “You must truly hate this man.”
“I do not respect him,” said Solvi, loudly enough that Hakon would hear.
“And I respect the opinion of Solvi Hunthiofsson,” said Eirik to his court. “I do not know this Hakon.”
Solvi watched Hakon, looking for a sign of anger in his expression. Hakon’s face looked calm and impassive; he could have been a wooden statue but for the flint in his eyes when they met Solvi’s. The guest-right that protected Hakon also protected Solvi, and he was glad of it.
* * *
Solvi wrestled all night with the thought of allying with Hakon, whom he hated far more than Harald. Harald was like a storm—inevitable. Kings would always want more land, and they would see the Frankish emperors, the high kings in Sweden and Denmark, and want the same in the Norse peninsula. Others had come before him, and failed. Solvi might have come to an accommodation with Harald eventually, as long as his taxes were not too high. It was Hakon who had set in motion the events that took Solvi from Tafjord, and killed his father before his time. If his father had lived to pass on Tafjord to him, a home for Svanhild and his son, they might still be a family.
So many lived in the complex at Uppsala that the women served breakfast at long tables outside in the summer: a line of surly, squinting warriors spooning rye porridge into their mouths. Little conversation occurred until men were fed and watered in the morning.
Egil’s tall friend sat near Solvi at breakfast the next morning. Solvi called out to him, “You there, why do I know you?”
“I am Sigurd Olafsson,” the man replied. “Br—stepbrother of Ragnvald Eysteinsson and Svanhild Eysteinsdatter.” He gave Solvi a puzzled look and seemed to want to say more, but eventually chose not to. Solvi remembered him now, an awkward boy at the side of the sour Olaf, who had visited Tafjord at Yule sometimes.
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