She recognized the first man off the ship before her mind could supply his name, and she rushed forward. “Sigurd, brother,” she cried, when her tongue caught up with her feet. The only remnant of his boyhood was the hesitant expression on his face. She could not have told why she was so pleased to see him now, grown up into a warrior’s shape.
“Svanhild!” he cried. “Is Harald here? I heard you married him. I have—there is too much. I must tell you and Harald what has happened. Ragnvald has been captured. By Solvi, I think!”
Svanhild’s stomach twisted on hearing of Ragnvald’s capture, and then her heart leaped when Sigurd spoke Solvi’s name, even though he was her enemy now, her husband’s enemy, and Ragnvald’s enemy. He had promised her he would not kill Ragnvald if it was in his power to prevent it.
“He is not here, but you must tell me and—his uncle Guthorm is here,” she said. “He is Harald’s chief adviser. You must tell us what has happened.”
Sigurd was not good at telling a straightforward story, or picking the most important facts to impart, but after Guthorm had made him repeat everything a few times, from his leaving Sogn with Egil, to Ragnvald failing to return from scouting at this bay, Kvernevik at Haversfjord, Svanhild had formed a picture of what had happened.
“I sent one of Ragnvald’s ships as a messenger to Oddi and Heming. But I don’t know how many allies Solvi has,” said Sigurd. “He said he had many in Uppsala: Sulke of Rogaland and his brother Sote, Kjotve the Rich of Adger and his son Thor Haklang . . .” Svanhild remembered meeting some of them at Solvi’s side. “But he did not name them all, and—” Sigurd turned to Svanhild, a pleading look on his face that she recognized as the same one he wore when they were children and he wanted her to cover up some wrongdoing. She nodded encouragingly. Sigurd need not worry; he had done well.
“I don’t know either,” she said in a low voice. She remembered when Ragnvald had been angry with her for holding back what she knew before the battle of Solskel and tried to remember more. They had visited so many lands, and in each one Solvi might have collected an ally. Or he might not. The Moors in Spain would probably not stir from their hot lands, even for Solvi. “Gudbrand and his sons. Nokkve. Rorik of Dorestad. I don’t think he could pry Imar out of Dublin. Still, best imagine that every king Harald has ever expelled from Norway will want to fight by his side now.”
“And Ragnvald wants us to sail into this trap,” said Guthorm. “That is foolishness.”
“Ragnvald said this is the chance to defeat them all,” said Sigurd breathlessly. “No more little battles, no more little betrayals. Hakon is dead, so they have fewer allies than they were expecting, if they expected all of his men and his sons.”
“And Ragnvald believes that Heming will bring those forces to fight for Harald,” said Guthorm. “I do not. I would never advise Harald to do this.”
“Perhaps that is why he left you here,” said Svanhild imperiously. “You would rather let your allies sail into Solvi’s trap to be defeated? Harald will be far weaker then. And how will he keep his allies if he does not come to their aid?”
“They are not his allies, they are his subjects,” said Guthorm.
“Even more reason to go, then,” Svanhild retorted. “He has told me a king’s duty is to protect his subjects.”
Sigurd swayed on his feet, stumbled, and caught himself. Svanhild looked at him more closely; she had noticed his strength, the way he held himself, a man now, grown into his height, and failed to see the salt dried into the creases of his eyes from long sea travel, the energy that came from nervousness, and covered fatigue.
“You should sleep, brother,” she said. Sigurd gave her a little smile in return for the word, which warmed her. She had not realized how lonely she had been since leaving Naustdal until she saw a friendly face, not someone new, or half an enemy, as Guthorm seemed to her. “We should discuss this more in the morning. I have been a poor hostess.”
She found a private bed for Sigurd, in a quiet corner, separated from the rest of the hall by heavy hangings. She brought him a ewer of water and a cup in case he became thirsty in the night, and sat down next to him, on the bench where the mattress was laid.
“I do not think Guthorm will send a message to Harald,” she said. “Or send the forces we have here at Tonsberg.”
“I am tired, Svanhild,” he said. “Sister.” She smiled fondly at him. Most of her memories of their childhood were of fights between them, of injustices that she had cried about to Ragnvald, at least until Ragnvald had grown up too much to pay attention to her. But Sigurd was familiar, and seemed as pleased to see her as she was to see him. If Solvi killed Ragnvald, Sigurd would be the only true family she had left.
She leaned over and kissed Sigurd’s forehead. “Guthorm does not like Ragnvald much. Perhaps he will try to let him fail to spite him. I do not know. You and I can find a better strategy without him.”
“I thought you hated me when we were growing up,” he said.
“I did sometimes,” she said. “But we were children, and never did each other lasting damage.”
Sigurd yawned again. “You were so much brighter and faster. My father taunted me that a girl was better than me at everything. ”
“I think you made me stronger,” said Svanhild. Sigurd smiled again, and closed his eyes to sleep.
* * *
Harald had ordered Svanhild to obey Guthorm in all things when he was gone. It had been his final instruction when they stood on the shore saying their good-byes.
“What do you fear I will do?” she had asked.
He touched her face. “I do not want to give you ideas,” he replied. “Only—he will keep you safer than you seem willing to keep yourself. I know the tales. You are brave, Svanhild, braver than half my men. But you are not a man, you are a woman who carries my son. A son as bold as you could be the heir to all of Norway.”
She knew he meant this to capture her imagination, fill her with the dream that she might one day be like Ronhild, mother of a mighty king, a woman’s highest ambition. The mother of a king could wield his power as no one else could.
“You have older sons,” said Svanhild. The tide was starting to turn. Harald must leave soon if he did not want his men to spend a hard day rowing.
“My fittest son will be the one who rules my kingdom,” Harald replied. Svanhild had a vision of small boys fighting one another, daggers bared, fighting with the animal cruelty of childhood. “We will speak on it more when I return. For now, obey my uncle.”
“Do you have minders for all of your wives?” Svanhild asked.
“I have never had a wife before that needed such instruction,” he said. He glanced behind him.
“Not even Gyda?”
“She is not my wife yet,” said Harald. “I swore to marry her when I had put all of Norway under my rule.”
“I hope that is soon,” said Svanhild. “You should have more than one wife who does not obey.”
“Are you telling me you will not obey my uncle?” Harald asked. He still clasped her forearms and had been stroking them. Now his grip tightened painfully, and she tried to pull away.
“I will obey your uncle if his instructions seem good to me,” Svanhild had said. “Let us leave it at that.”
She did not ask Guthorm for leave to depart with Sigurd in the morning; she had decided over the night that he would never give it to her, and this way she would not be disobeying Harald. The sea breeze blew her hair back, making her feel cleaner, more purely herself, than she had in a long time, perhaps since walking around her patch of land with Unna and Eystein. She smiled at Sigurd. None would expect them to leave so early, before the sun crested the horizon, when the winds were gentle, and blew in the wrong direction. Sigurd’s pilot was competent enough, but chosen more for his knowledge of the Norse coast than for his sailing ability. He did not know how to do what she did now and use a combination of rowing and steering to allow the sail to make the most of the breezes carrying them out of v
iew of Tonsberg before the sun reached its zenith.
With a good wind, it was only a short day’s journey to Harald’s hall at Vestfold. As she sailed up Oslo Fjord, Svanhild saw the signs of war on the land, burned fields standing next to fields that should have been harvested, rye bowed down by its heavy grains so that soon it would fall and, in the best case, seed the next spring’s crop, and in the worst, rot and make all who ate it sick and mad.
At Vestfold, Svanhild counted twenty ships, fifteen with Harald’s colors, and five she did not know. The battle was over. Rane could only have hoped to hold Vermaland if Harald ignored him, or if he led Harald into his trap. Rane was dead, though. Svanhild recognized his body as she passed it, huge even in death, his chest three times as high as that of any other body lying on the ground.
Harald sat with his captains around a fire, while under the sound of crackling wood, and the low voices of men talking, Svanhild heard the unmistakable noises of a sick tent filled with the wounded and dying.
“Svanhild, what are you doing here?” Harald asked when he saw her.
Svanhild presented Sigurd, and told him what they knew. “Jarl Rane was supposed to lead you into a trap, but now I see he has not lived to do so.”
“You disobeyed me,” said Harald.
“I did not ask your uncle’s permission,” said Svanhild. “He would have let your allies fight on your behalf without the help they should have from you. If you go, you can defeat all of your enemies at once, with all of your allies by your side.”
“You disobeyed me.”
“I did,” said Svanhild. “Divorce me for it if you wish, but go.”
* * *
Guthorm sat with Harald at their outdoor table at Tonsberg while Svanhild paced around them. Her pregnancy sickness troubled her less if she paced, and it gave vent to her impatience, which would have them already sailing to defeat Solvi.
“I know the spot,” said Guthorm slowly. “It is a good place for a trap.” She had returned to Tonsberg with Harald and all his forces. He had been almost too angry to speak with her at first, though after talking with Sigurd at length, he was forced to agree that he could not let Ragnvald and Hakon’s loyal sons sail into a trap meant for him without going to their defense.
Svanhild used every bit of charm and persuasion she had learned from Vigdis, and then later in Solvi’s bed, to soothe Harald’s anger with her. It seemed to her, after observing him for a time, that he would have forgiven her more quickly had he not agreed with her urgings. Then she might apologize for being wrong, and he could forgive her that.
On the trip back to Tonsberg, Harald told her what he had learned fighting the Swedish forces. He and King Eirik had tried to make a truce at the home of a wealthy farmer named Ake, who showed his loyalty to Harald by putting him in his newer hall, and sending his young and handsome servants to attend on him, while housing King Eirik in the older hall, and sending his oldest servants. The requirements of hospitality had been satisfied, treating both kings equally, while Ake demonstrated his clear favor for Harald.
In the middle of the night, King Eirik and his troops departed with no alliance agreed upon, while Rane led Harald in a chase back to Vestfold.
“He meant to lure you to Haversfjord, I think,” said Svanhild. Harald had frowned but saw the truth of it.
“You will stay here, uncle,” said Harald, after they had made plans to sail in the morning. “I do not want Tonsberg to go undefended.”
“What about your wife?” Guthorm asked.
“What about her?” asked Harald in return. “I asked you to watch over her, not ignore her counsel.”
“She disobeyed me, and she disobeyed you,” said Guthorm. “That is grounds for divorce. As soon as the child is born, you should acknowledge it, and divorce her.”
“Her brother is my best adviser,” said Harald. “I value his counsel above all, and I will not insult him by rejecting his sister.”
Those words struck Guthorm deeply, Svanhild saw from his sudden pallor. He had been demoted, fully and finally. She wanted to hear the answer to Harald’s question, if he would take her with him into battle as she had gone often with Solvi, or whether he would leave her with Guthorm. She thought of suggesting that if Harald took her with him, she might serve as a hostage of last resort. Solvi would take her in trade again, she knew that, perhaps to save Ragnvald, perhaps to save Harald himself.
“What are you going to do?” she asked when they lay together in bed. His anger at his uncle had finally purged most of his anger against her.
“I have erred in setting my uncle’s judgment above yours, I see,” he replied. “Once I trusted him more than anyone. Now I must trust you more, and your brother the most.” He laughed to himself. “A man whose judgment I trust more than yours must be wise indeed—so I need your brother back by my side. I trust my inspirations while other men think of strategies.”
Though grudgingly given, Svanhild still felt a pleasant warmth at the compliment. “Ragnvald is Solvi’s captive,” she said. “I want to go with you and do what I can to free him.”
“What if he does not want to be freed?” he said, jesting, though she felt his tension through where her back rested against his chest. “I recall that you did not want to be freed from Solvi, when he gave you that same choice.”
“That was many seasons ago,” said Svanhild. “Now I want my brother back, and I want to be by your side. If you prefer an obedient wife, divorce me, and marry someone else. I will make my brother understand.”
“I fear for you,” said Harald. “My other wives don’t rush headlong into danger, carrying my sons.”
“It is well I am not your only wife then,” she replied, satisfied that she would sail with him the next day.
“What if this is the end of fighting for Norway?” Harald asked as Svanhild began to drift to sleep. “What will I do then?”
“Build your towns, make your kingdoms rich,” Svanhild replied. She twined a length of his matted hair around her hand. Broken ends pricked her, and it quickly covered the whole length of her fingers. “Cut your hair.”
* * *
Svanhild sailed in Harald’s ship until his convoy reached the small bay Sigurd had described, so close to the entrance to Haversfjord that Svanhild feared Solvi and his allies would already have scouts watching them. Oddi, Heming, and another thirty ships were already there. Oddi said that they had captured some of Solvi’s scouts, tortured them into revealing their pass codes, and replaced them with men of their own. Solvi led too many warriors from too many allies for all of them to know each other.
Harald, Heming, Oddi, and Sigurd agreed on a plan the next morning. Harald had one of Rane’s ships, and this would sail into Haversfjord, with five of Harald’s ships in pursuit. Solvi’s allies should close in behind them then to trap Harald’s forces in the bay and slaughter them, and then the rest of Harald’s forces would pursue and better the odds.
“Even with all of Solvi’s allies and the forces that King Eirik sent, we have a third again as many men,” said Oddi. “It should be enough.” His voice had a new hardness to it that Svanhild had not heard before. He spoke with a self-assurance that Ragnvald might have had in his place, and Svanhild felt a touch of loss. She had not seen this in him before, when they were lovers.
After that, nothing remained but to feast and sleep. Men ate and drank as deeply as they could, for the next day would be long. They did not care if they ran through all of their ships’ stores, which would do them no good in the afterlife. Svanhild could not sleep either. She lay in a tent by herself, listening to the talk and movement of men. She had not brought a serving woman with her, desiring that no women should suffer for her decisions, but now she wished she had a companion to share her blankets and warmth.
She had come all this way, and now she must get close to the battle. She could spot Solvi’s ship among all the chaos. Even if her eyesight failed her in old age, she would always see him more clearly than she saw other men. And Solvi
’s ship was where she would find Ragnvald.
In the blue light before dawn, she went to Oddi. Harald would try to keep her from this battle, but she knew how to charm Oddi. He would give her a ship.
* * *
Oddi sat in the entrance of his tent with the door flap open, watching the night fade. With Ragnvald gone, the waiting and brooding fell to him. Svanhild made her plea.
“I’m not giving you a ship,” said Oddi.
“We can get him back,” said Svanhild. “You and me. If you find me a ship.”
“Who?” Oddi asked with studied indifference. “Who will we get back?”
“My brother.” Svanhild wanted to shake him.
“I don’t care about that,” said Oddi. She had heard about a rift between them but discounted it. Oddi had been Ragnvald’s faithful companion for many years, without, it seemed until now, a moment’s doubt.
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “You are sworn to him.”
“Oaths mean less than they used to, I think.” He gave her a small smile. “Just ask my father. But do not worry. I am here. I do not mean to betray him.”
“But you won’t help me get him back?”
“Sigurd told me how he was captured,” said Oddi, running his hand through his hair. “If he didn’t always insist on proving himself the best, the bravest, the first into danger, and the last to give up his watchfulness . . . then he might leave room for other people to have their moments of glory.”
“You think that is why he does it? Because he will not share his glory?” Svanhild put her hands on her hips. She had considered flirting with Oddi to see if that would convince him to do what she asked, but she had always approached Oddi forthrightly before, even when she invited him to her bed.
“Why else?” Oddi asked.
“Because he fears if he does not always risk everything, dare the most, then our stepfather will be right. He will be a worthless coward. He will be less than his father, Eystein, a boaster, with more good tales than good deeds. You are his dearest friend, surely you know this.”
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