“His stepfather is dead,” said Oddi dismissively.
“Your father is dead, and yet you want to make a break with Ragnvald to appease him.”
“That is different.” Oddi looked away.
“It is not at all different. At least Ragnvald’s endless struggle with Olaf makes him brave. Yours with your father makes you stupid.”
“I thought you came here to seduce me for your ship.” Oddi had a note of petulance in his voice.
“I am pregnant,” said Svanhild.
“I did not mind last time,” said Oddi. He gave her a strained leer that faded when Svanhild scowled at him.
“You don’t have enough good pilots,” said Svanhild. “I was listening to the discussions. You can put your mediocre ones on the ships lashed together to make the fighting platform—they will have to do little after the ships are tied up. But you will need ships on the outside that are not tied down and can harry the platform. Only the best can steer a ship well enough for that.”
“And you are the best,” said Oddi doubtfully.
“I sailed with Solvi Hunthiofsson for six years. I have traveled farther than you have ever dreamed, and been in my share of sea battles. How many sea battles have you been in?”
“A few,” said Oddi. “Harald prefers to fight on land. But seeing is not the same—”
“Ask Harald’s pilot Falki if I am a better sailor than him. Then give me a ship to lead. Tell your men it was Harald’s idea, if you prefer, and if Harald questions you, blame me.”
That seemed to make him willing to consider Svanhild’s offer. “If I do this, no one will know?” he asked.
“I will say that I told you it was Harald’s command.”
“And what do I get?”
“A grateful queen who owes you a favor,” said Svanhild. And she would bring Ragnvald back so they could patch up their friendship. Oddi would owe her more for that than she would him.
37
The day of battle dawned clear and hot. Svanhild stood at her ship’s steering oar, waiting for the signal that Solvi had taken the bait, and it was time to close the trap upon him. Falki had helped Oddi to assemble a crew for her ship that would accept her: his friends and men who had seen her steer before. The crew still looked at her suspiciously when she came on board, but seemed to like her better when she began talking to them, finding out what tasks each man excelled at, and telling them what commands she was likely to call out during the battle. The more swiftly they put out or brought in oars, and turned the sail, the more maneuverable the ship would be.
It was a small ship, small enough to be crewed by ten men easily, and five if necessary. She had twenty. Perfect for quick attacks. She wanted the sail reefed in and secured by fewer lines than usual because, in close quarters, fast maneuvers and tight turns would make them most effective. The men murmured appreciatively when Oddi said that Svanhild had been trained by Solvi Hunthiofsson himself. The glory that would accrue to all of them if they fought for a woman captain, and beat the great sea king Solvi, would never be forgotten.
Harald had sent off his decoy ships midmorning, and now, at noon, the signal—a red banner—waved from the bank at the entrance to the bay, telling Svanhild it was time. The breezes were fitful enough that rowing was necessary. Still, she kept the sail up to catch what wind there was, and steered carefully. If she could spare some of her men’s energy for the battle ahead, she would.
The ship in front of her turned and entered the bay, scraping along the shallows in the narrow entrance. As it exited the channel, Svanhild saw that it listed to the right. Beyond the ship, half hidden by the sail, other ships joined the fighting, turning Solvi’s trap into a true sea battle. From this far away, they looked to her like toy ships on a pond, and the splashes from men falling into the water hardly seemed real. The ships of Solvi and his allies had surrounded Harald’s decoys. Somewhere among them was Solvi himself. Svanhild was certain he would keep Ragnvald close by as a hostage to save his life as a last resort. She could not let herself believe otherwise.
She gave the command to enter the channel. The water flowed faster to the left, so she aimed for that side. This narrow entrance would hardly be deeper than the height of a man, and a ship must navigate carefully to thread that needle.
She saw the sharpened spikes in the water, and steered hard right, calling out, “Only rowers on the left, only on the left!” A moment later and the spikes would have torn out the bottom of her ship. Steer too far right, and she would catch on the shallower ground there. Too close and her ship would sink.
The ship that preceded her heeled over even farther to the right as it filled with water from the holes the spikes had made in the hull. Svanhild had heard of this tactic before for protecting a settlement when no other means were available, but a ship was so precious, representing a fortune in labor, timber, and the knowledge of master craftsmen, that only a desperate foe would attempt this. Solvi was that.
In the battle platform created by Harald’s decoys and Solvi’s allies, some ships rode much lower than others. At least half of Harald’s ships would sink before the day was over. This sea battle already dwarfed any she had seen before, a maze of ships locked together in combat. At this scale, the number and fierceness of warriors and the placement of ships mattered more than wind or quick steering. At best, Svanhild’s men could pick away at the outside, help the odds, and try to avoid becoming entangled with the fighting platform.
As Svanhild’s ship exited the narrow channel, she yelled back at the ship behind her, “Spikes in the water! Stay to the left! Tell the others.” The forecastle man in the prow was too far away for Svanhild to tell if he was shocked to be given instructions by a woman, and Svanhild could not glance back to see if her instructions had been heeded. She must trust, and continue.
The wind moved unpredictably in this sheltered bay, making shadows on the water that tempted Svanhild to chase them, to catch a breeze and spare her men’s energy, but she knew she could not. She must reach the battle.
She sailed around the fighting platform, while her men threw lines to those who had fallen into the water but still lived. Svanhild chose one of Solvi’s ships at random. Her men threw two grappling hooks to draw them close, and leaped across to kill those waiting at the rear of the fighting. As soon as her men had done their work and returned to her ship, they cut the lines, and she pulled away and found another ship to attack. She kept watch for any ships that might try to do the same to hers, but her oarsmen obeyed her well, switching between rowing and attack, and the small breezes seemed designed to allow her to attack swiftly and pull away again.
She always forgot, until she was in a sea battle again, how slowly they seemed to move, through long lulls while she maneuvered her ship into position, followed by short spasms of violence. She knew too how easy it was to get distracted trying to see the whole battle, or fearing for the safety of her warriors, and in those moments of distraction, battles were won and lost. Svanhild put Oddi, Ragnvald, and Harald out of her mind and concentrated on what she could do: move her warriors to where they could kill Solvi’s men, and save Harald’s.
A ship that had come loose from the fighting platform began to sink. Svanhild brought her ship around to rescue its crew, taking on fifty men who crowded her decks—among them Sigurd. She had worn her boy’s garb, and he did not notice her until she gave some instructions to her rowers. He gave her a surprised grin but otherwise kept his head enough to do as she commanded, and took his men to board one of Solvi’s ships as soon as Svanhild brought them close enough to the fighting platform again. She could continue doing this all afternoon, and be an important part of the battle. She might not win the glory that her men wanted, but her presence and success would be sung of, and she would make sure the skalds knew the names of all of her men. She would have to learn them herself, when the battle was over. Still, she wanted to be the one to confront Solvi, not Harald, not Sigurd, and not Hakon’s sons. He must know what he had given up in h
er, and know that she was the cause of his failure today.
When the sun descended close to the treetops, the tide of battle began to turn against Solvi and his allies, even with ten of Harald’s ships taking on water and sinking. Harald simply had too many warriors, and Solvi had not expected to be fighting a force that equaled or bettered his. He had been closed in his own trap, again.
Svanhild could not tell his ship from any of the others until she saw one small ship dart out from behind the fighting platform and begin heading for the channel, riding a wind that had come up as if summoned by the gods. That could only be Solvi, making his escape. His allies would never forgive him, and perhaps he did not mean for them to, but if he had Ragnvald with him—and Svanhild was sure that he did—no matter how many men Harald killed, this battle would be a loss.
“Reverse course!” Svanhild ordered her men. They helped her take in the steering oar on this end of the ship, and let down one at the other end. She ran down the length of the ship, leaping over and between the men who stood and turned so they could change the direction of her rowing.
“Pull harder!” she yelled. She wanted to bring the ship into position to catch the wind Solvi was using.
“Why do we flee?” asked one of the men nearest her.
Svanhild scarcely had breath to answer, but she knew how quickly her hold over these men could break—she led them because of Oddi’s and Falki’s word, and the fact that she had directed them well in battle. They must continue to believe that she knew best, or they would mutiny.
“We are not fleeing,” she said. “That ship carries Solvi Hunthiofsson and King Ragnvald. I will stake an arm ring for each of you on it.” She was too winded to make her voice heard to all of them. “Pass word along.”
Her men increased the strength of their rowing as the news swept down the length of the ship. Her sail caught the wind in the same moment that Solvi lined his ship up to exit through the channel.
“Keep rowing,” she called out. She needed every bit of speed. She lined up for the channel well in advance and aimed for the deeper side. The spikes that had done so much damage to ships entering pointed the wrong way to harm hers on the way out. Their ends, now splintered and shattered, only scraped harmlessly along the hull. Svanhild gained on Solvi’s ship, forcing it over to the shallower side of the channel, where its keel scraped along the ground and brought it to a halt.
“Grappling hooks,” Svanhild commanded. She had her breath back now, and excitement made her blood sparkle. She sang out her commands and her men obeyed her, throwing across hooks of wood with metal tips, and hauling on them until her ship drew closer to Solvi’s, freeing both of them from the channel and sending them spinning, locked together, out into the sea between the barrier islands.
Svanhild called out for attack. Her men leaped across the breach. She had not let them fight enough today, and though they had just finished rowing as though possessed by gods, they still attacked with a fury that drove Solvi’s men back along the far gunwale and into the water.
“Stop, stop,” she heard Solvi’s voice call out. “I have a prisoner to trade.” Svanhild craned her neck, but she could not see his head, hidden behind the shoulders of taller warriors.
“Do not kill them all,” Svanhild commanded her men. “Make prisoners of the rest.”
Svanhild let one of her men help her across the gap between gunwales that separated her ship from Solvi’s. She stepped slowly, feeling truly like a sea queen, both fragile woman and powerful goddess, as she had felt when she first stepped onto Solvi’s ship outside Geiranger Fjord, and made his men into her allies to save her merchant friends. This was even better. She had all the power here.
Her men stepped aside so she could walk between them, toward Solvi, where he stood, looking at her with longing, his red-gold hair lit by the afternoon sun. Something in her chest softened—she had missed him so much: her beloved, the man who had been nearly as close to her as the child in her womb, who she had known better than she knew herself. For a moment, his betrayal and all his cruel words seemed like a storm long past.
She was not here for him, though, except to defeat him. She was here for Ragnvald, who stood at Solvi’s side, a rope binding his wrists before him. He looked half dead. Some of the fingers on his hands were broken, twisted and purple. Angry, livid bruises swelled on his forehead and cheekbone. One of his ears was crusted with blood. And it was his eyes, downcast, then alight with fear and desperate hope when they found Svanhild’s, that made her throat grow tight. She supposed Solvi would want her to be grateful that he had left Ragnvald alive, but he had hurt and humiliated him. Ragnvald would rather be dead than endure such shame.
Solvi too looked as thin and worn as bare winter branches. Svanhild clenched her jaw. He had done this to himself, had pushed her from his side, blamed her for Eystein’s death, and caused much of the death she had seen today. Harald would never hurt her as he had, because he could not. She did not love him enough.
“Svanhild,” said Solvi softly, “it’s you.” He had so much hope in his voice that her tears for Ragnvald began to spill over. “I have saved Ragnvald for you. I told you I would never kill him. Come with me.”
“I am here for my brother Ragnvald, not for you,” she said. “You are Harald’s prisoner.” She looked at Solvi’s right hand, which he flexed near his dagger. She should order her men to take him prisoner as well, before he could threaten Ragnvald.
Solvi let go of the rope he held, gave Ragnvald a shove. He stumbled toward Svanhild, and then found his feet and moved gingerly to stand next to her. Solvi reached out toward Svanhild. “Come with me,” he said again. “Send Ragnvald back to his king and come with me. We will leave Norway. We still have the whole world besides.”
If he had spoken to her like this after Eystein’s death, if he had crossed the gap between them rather than widening it, if he had once looked at her like this after Eystein grew sick, they would be together now. Where, Svanhild did not know. In Tafjord’s hall, under siege by Harald, or in another foreign court, eating exotic food, lying long abed. It would not have mattered. She would have been by his side.
“I am pregnant with Harald’s child. His son,” said Svanhild.
Hatred twisted Solvi’s features for a moment before his lips curved into a smile. She knew this smile—it contained mischief and cruelty as much as love. “I would raise his son as my own,” he said.
“I will not go with you,” said Svanhild.
Solvi sneered. “Because Ragnvald will not allow it?”
Ragnvald spoke for the first time, his voice cracked and broken. “Svanhild has earned the right to do what she pleases.”
Svanhild crossed a hand over her womb, where Harald’s son grew. Would Solvi raise Harald’s son as his own? Harald’s son would be strong enough to survive their travels, and hard enough to be Solvi’s heir.
“Forgive me, Ragnvald,” she said.
“Svanhild, don’t,” he said.
Svanhild ignored him and stepped close to Solvi. She touched his cheek, and that smile faded into a raw expression of longing. “I will let you go,” she said, “if you swear by Ran and Njord and all of the nameless gods of wind and sea that you will never seek to reclaim your land or any other land in Norway.”
“You will believe my oath?” Solvi asked. The corner of his mouth went up, an ironic smile that tugged at her chest. “Will you come to me, if Harald mistreats you?”
“I will do what seems right,” said Svanhild. “That is all.”
Svanhild gave Solvi a cup of ale for swearing, and he said the words, meeting her eyes the whole time. He swore by wind and rain, by ships and gods, by his own luck, and by his love for her that he would never seek to reclaim Tafjord or make war on Norway again. “I will have no home until you come to me,” he said.
Later, she could hardly remember his words, only the vivid blue of his eyes, and the high color of his cheeks. The smile that held neither joy nor happiness, which he wore like a mask
. She took the cup from him and left him with Snorri, Tryggulf, and Thorstein to crew his ship, taking all his other men as prisoners. If a gale came up they would have to cut the lines, for four was far too few to lower the sail. Solvi could find more followers, though. He would survive.
She unbound Ragnvald’s hands and ordered her men to help him back into her ship.
“Will Harald be angry with me for letting him go?” Svanhild asked him as Solvi’s ship grew smaller behind them. She looked at the men who had obeyed her orders without questioning. They could have stopped her as well, but they had not.
“He might,” said Ragnvald. “But as I said, you have earned the right. Do you want me to say it was my doing?”
“No,” said Svanhild. “If he cannot forgive me—”
“I will make him forgive you,” said Ragnvald. “I do not want you tempted to go back to . . . Solvi. I do not claim to understand it, but I know you—you will never be entirely free of him.”
“No,” said Svanhild, and now her tears spilled over. “No, I will not.”
* * *
Ragnvald staggered over the benches in Svanhild’s ship, trying to lean on her arm without appearing to. After a few steps, he had to sit on one bench to swing himself over to the next, and was breathing heavily by the time he reached the steering oar where she sat, and eased himself down to sit on the ship’s floor next to her. Even with his pain and exhaustion, he felt almost euphoric. She had come; Heming, Oddi, and Harald had all come to fight this battle when he needed them most. He rested his hands gently in his lap.
“He may not survive without a real crew,” said Ragnvald while he caught his breath.
“He will,” said Svanhild grimly. “But he will not attack Norway again.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“He never wanted to,” said Svanhild. “He only . . .” She shook her head. “He will miss the dead—he loved Ulfarr. But he will be happier this way.”
The Sea Queen Page 47