“You must see her,” said Unna. “Perhaps you can convince her not to die.”
“How?” Solvi asked bitterly. “Life is bitter enough to me that I cannot convince someone else of its sweetness.”
“Yes,” said Unna, “I know it is bitter for you, but she is young and beautiful. And strong—otherwise the mushrooms would have already killed her. She can live if she wills it.”
Solvi went inside, full of trepidation. At first his eyes refused to adjust to the dimness, to see the small, flat form of his daughter lying in her pallet, her skin gray, as though she were already dead. Her eyelids fluttered when he limped across the floor to sit on the stool next to her.
“Daughter,” he said, his voice thick. “Unna tells me you have tried to flee from life.”
Tears leaked between her eyes and she turned her face toward the wall.
“I have sent that young man away,” Solvi said. “He will not trouble you again. I want you to live. I have had little joy since your mother and I parted. I too have not thought much of life.” In the songs warriors who had outlived their abilities often sought death rather than die of old age. Solvi had clung to his life, though—he had fought too hard for it as a child to throw it away now. He took a ragged breath. “With your coming it has begun to look sweet to me again. Do not take that from me.”
He hated that Unna must see him like this, tears spilling from his eyes that he did not trouble to wipe away. He reached under the covers for Freydis’s hand and held it in his own. It was light and cool. “Unna tells me your child wants to live also. Whatever you want for your child, I will help both of you. But please live. If not for me, then for her.”
“Her?” Freydis asked weakly. She turned back toward him, her lips curving into the slightest of smiles. “Do you think it will be a girl?”
He had spoken to Hallbjorn as if she bore a son, but looking at her, he hoped for a daughter, a girl like her. If a line of such women could be his legacy, he would be well pleased. Solvi looked at Unna, who shrugged. “It is hard to know,” she said.
“Do you, Father?” Freydis asked. “Do you think it will be a girl?”
“Yes,” said Solvi. “I do.”
16
Einar spent the night of Harald’s wedding wandering the path that led to where his bower with Gyda had been, near the wooded shore of Oslo Fjord. He had gone briefly to the wedding feast but found he had stomach for neither food nor drink. He tried to imagine himself as the legendary Diarmuid, torn between love and duty, but by morning he felt dull and grubby, daylight stealing the beauty from his tragedy. If their father had discovered Ivar having an affair with Gyda, would he too have been ordered away from battle?
The tides meant that Harald’s force could not leave Vestfold until midafternoon the following day. Einar looked for Ivar to bid him good-bye and found him outside the bathhouse, where a servant was trimming his dark beard close to his chin. Nearby, other warriors waited their turn—no one wanted a long beard in a battle.
Einar waited until he was done, and then told him the part of their father’s edict that was no secret: he must remain to protect Vestfold. Ivar’s eyes went wide with concern. “He must have a good reason for it,” he said.
“Yes,” said Einar. “I suppose he must.” The betrayal of Rolli to a life of outlawry. Einar’s habit of protecting his father’s secrets was too strong to share that even with Ivar.
“You might come in one of the other ships,” Ivar suggested. “He cannot have his eyes everywhere.”
“But should I disobey him? Or disobey my oath to you?” Einar asked. “We have never fought separately.”
Ivar looked troubled for a moment longer, and then smiled slightly. “Perhaps Father doesn’t mean for me to fight.”
“Perhaps,” said Einar.
“Perhaps—it was foolish to hope that we would always fight side by side like something out of a song,” said Ivar gently. “Who can do that, in truth?”
Einar shook his head. “Our father and Oddi did for six years,” he said.
“That is longer than we have had,” said Ivar. “I will ask him.”
Later, when Einar went to find some porridge—he might be able to stomach that—Ivar met him again outside the kitchen, looking unhappy. “He told me he wants to give you your own command, that I should not stand in the way of your elevation.”
Einar almost laughed at his father’s cleverness. Ivar would do nothing to prevent his brother’s rise, any more than Einar would. “I don’t want to be elevated if it means separation from you,” said Einar. “I swore to be your retainer and remain by your side for the whole of my life.”
Ivar clasped his arm. “I think our father wants more for you than that.” He smiled. “And you should too. You think I don’t see how capable you are? Perhaps there is a kingdom in your future.”
The words were so like the witch’s words that Einar’s skin went cold. At his look, Ivar said, “What do you want, truly?”
Einar never let himself think of that for very long, to imagine glory for himself. “What do you want?” Einar asked, trying to distract him.
“My name remembered by my sons and their line, forever,” said Ivar. “I want sons—the sooner the better. I wish Father hadn’t made me give up Signy.”
“Don’t you want to be king?” Einar asked.
“It’s better than not being king,” said Ivar. “I will be king—I know that. But if I were not born to it . . . I would not have given what our father did for a throne.” He looked at Einar shrewdly. “And I think you would.”
Einar shook his head vehemently. If the witch spoke true, that way lay Ivar’s death. “I only want to come with you,” he said. “I never want us to be separated.”
“Don’t you want your own kingdom, and sons to pass it to?” Ivar asked. At Einar’s troubled expression, he added, “It’s what any man would want.”
“I am not—” Einar began.
“You are not allowed to,” said Ivar.
Einar looked at him, surprised.
“You think I don’t see?” Ivar asked. He put his hand on Einar’s shoulder. “When I have my own sons, I will make no difference between them, no matter who their mothers are. And I would not make any difference between our sons either.”
“Perhaps Father is right to keep me here,” said Einar, embarrassed by Ivar’s generosity. “But I still don’t want you to fight without me.”
“I’ll be back soon, brother. Don’t you trust my sword arm?” With this Ivar made a ridiculous whirl and parry, thrusting at Einar with a phantom sword. Einar responded halfheartedly, until Ivar tripped him and Einar had to yield, laughing.
Still, as soon as he left Ivar’s company, his fear returned. His father was right: Einar had betrayed his brother by going to Gyda’s bed, and then keeping it secret. He must accept his punishment.
* * *
When the sun reached its zenith, Harald made his blessings over the assembled forces and asked the gods for an easy crossing and an easy victory. He called for all of the women of Vestfold to bless the departing men, and a wave of women stepped forward. This pomp and ceremony made Einar feel easier about the upcoming battle, though seeing Harald bid Gyda good-bye with a kiss that she returned warmly turned his stomach.
Einar watched Harald’s vessels sail down the fjord, growing smaller in the distance, set apart even in the crowd of watchers. He found himself avoiding Gyda’s eyes when she tried to catch his attention. That night and every one that followed, he slept in Harald’s hall, surrounded by warriors, so she could not come and draw him away. The coward’s way of ending it, his conscience reminded him while the snores of men around him kept him from sleep.
A few days later, scouts reported that they had seen a small vessel, too far away for them to identify, rowing slowly toward Vestfold. It did not have many oars out and the morning breeze was against it.
At breakfast Hilda served Einar a bowl of porridge glistening with butter. “I know this ship,” sh
e said. “It is Rolli. It is my son.”
Einar was not sure—the ship did look like Rolli’s, but it could be anyone’s. It could have even been Svanhild’s. If it was her then Einar could send a messenger to Skane and recall that force, and his brother to his side again. But as it drew closer, he saw the huge frame of his half-brother standing in the prow. His face was serious in repose, but when he saw Einar he laughed and waved, calling out, “Greetings, brother!” and transforming into the charming, good-natured giant that Einar had left behind in Tafjord earlier in the year.
“Welcome,” Einar yelled in return, though with less enthusiasm. It seemed impossible that he must convince Rolli to accept a life of outlawry and murder.
Rolli’s smile faltered when he saw the grim faces of his mother and brother. “I suppose you heard,” he said.
“Indeed,” Einar replied. “Did you bring—is Hallbjorn with you? Is Svanhild’s daughter?”
Hilda went to embrace her son, laying her head against his shoulder. Rolli patted her, in no hurry to let go, and answered Einar over her head. “No, they—Hallbjorn judged it better to press on to Iceland.”
“Iceland!” Hilda exclaimed. “How far have you gone?”
“It has been”—Rolli counted on his fingers—“six weeks since we left Tafjord. And we had good sailing to the Orkney Islands and back here, although it was harder with less crew. Some of them went with Hallbjorn.”
“Why did you want to leave Norway, my son?” Hilda asked, as though that were his biggest crime.
“What happened, brother?” Einar asked. “Or, wait.” He glanced at Vigdis, who had come running as well, and drew up short when she saw that her older son was not among Rolli’s crew. He spoke in a low voice to Rolli. “Tell me in private. We can decide best how to proceed.”
Rolli ducked his head. “Yes. But I’m hungry. Can I eat first?”
Hilda took his arm and tucked herself next to him as the three of them moved toward the hall. She bustled about, preparing a huge trencher piled with leftover food from dinner the night before, as well as a bowl of porridge. Einar watched, oddly fascinated, as Rolli ate it all, methodically, without speaking. Hilda sat by his side, gazing at him and spooning more food onto his trencher whenever it started to empty. Not until Rolli finished eating did the worry lines between her eyebrows reappear.
“Tell us,” said Einar. “Our father has left me in charge while he is gone. Harald is gone too, and Aldi, whose son you killed. There is none here to give justice now, so we have time to plan.”
Rolli picked something out of his teeth, stalling for time, while Einar tried to be patient. “We saw Father’s ship, with another in pursuit, and thought it was raiders,” Rolli said finally. “So we attacked, and Aldi’s son was killed in the fighting.”
“How could you mistake our father’s ships for raiders?” Einar asked.
“It was an honest mistake,” said Rolli. He jutted his chin forward. “They should have identified themselves.”
“Was it a mistake, or did you see what you wanted to see—you were looking for adventure and hadn’t found it yet?” Einar asked.
Hilda gave Einar an injured look. “Death by mischance is a cheaper wergild, as I recall,” she said. She looked to Einar for confirmation. He nodded. “What did you do next, my son?”
“We took some of his men as slaves to buy our way if we needed to,” said Rolli.
“Why did you return, then?” Einar asked. He did not think there was a penalty for selling someone’s free men into slavery. Once a man consented to be a slave, he lost his honor, and it was as if he had always been a slave.
“He should exile himself for a mistake?” Hilda asked.
Rolli looked concerned. “Thorstein the Red, in the Orkneys, thought I should come back and make peace,” he said. He explained that they had first planned to go raiding and earn enough to pay for the damage they caused, but when Rolli had learned of the threat to Harald, he returned.
Hilda laid a hand on his forearm. “It is good you did,” she said. “I have a plan to prevent your outlawry.”
“Giving away Sogn?” Einar asked. At Hilda’s surprise, he added, “It is not as secret as you think, my lady. You would trade Ivar’s inheritance for Rolli here.”
“What if I would?” Hilda asked. “Ivar will have Maer. And Rolli will be safe.”
Rolli looked uncomfortable, and he put his hand over his mother’s. “My father would not want that. Nor I. I want to be a great sea king—a sea king can face a few years’ outlawry.”
“Father and Harald have gone to Skane with our brothers, Harald’s sons, and many warriors,” Einar told him.
“Without you?” Rolli asked.
“I disobeyed our father in Hordaland,” Einar said, turning truth into a lie. “I left Ivar alone while I went to negotiate with the princess. He said I had broken my oath.”
“That is bad,” said Rolli, wonderingly. “You are never apart.”
“I thought he would be in danger if he came with me in Hordaland,” said Einar. The pain he let into his voice was no lie. “Now we are separated in truth.”
“Skane—I heard tell of Skane in Orkney,” said Rolli excitedly. “We have to go there.” He told them what Thorstein had said, that there was an alliance among the Scottish vikings with Halfdan Haraldsson and Erik of Jutland. “We have to tell them this force is coming, and they must flee.”
“You should stay here, son,” said Hilda. “Aldi is in Skane too and he will be tempted to take his revenge in that lawless land.”
“Let him try,” said Rolli. “I’m a match for him.”
“Father wanted me to convince you to leave Norway,” said Einar, “go back to Iceland or wherever you wish. In time, you can earn his forgiveness.”
“His forgiveness!” said Hilda. “He should pray for my forgiveness, if that is his plan.”
“I thought—everyone told me Father would help me,” said Rolli. “He is the most important man in Norway.” His face crumpled, and Einar wished he could say something to comfort him.
“No,” said Einar. “He serves the most important man in Norway. He knows the difference, and you should too.”
“I can’t see why Father doesn’t just make it right,” said Rolli. “Harald owes him many favors. Everyone says so.”
“He won’t,” said Einar. “He wants you to leave Norway.”
“Harald will, for Sogn,” Hilda insisted. “Vigdis said Guthorm talked to him.”
“Hallbjorn told me the only way to make it right would be to do King Harald a great service,” said Rolli.
Einar needed to speak with Rolli in private, immediately. Rolli could do a great service, but only if he left.
“I’ll go to him—in Skane,” Rolli was saying. “I’ll tell him about the alliance against him. He’ll want to know that.”
“Father knows more about alliances than you can possibly understand,” said Einar. “I can go with you—back to Iceland. Father said that if it would help you accept your exile, I should go too.”
“You would do that, brother?” Rolli asked.
Better that than face his father’s anger if he failed. “Yes, I would. Neither of us can inherit now. Staying we can only make trouble for our brothers.”
“No!” said Hilda. To Einar she said, “Your father does not want your exile.” Then to Rolli, “And I do not want yours. Stay and Ivar will still have Maer. It is a bigger and richer district, and Aldi does have a claim to Sogn. Stay here and wait for Harald’s decision.”
“No,” said Rolli. “I am going to Skane. Harald values boldness. He will reward me.”
Einar and Hilda both argued with him for a while longer, but Rolli would not change his mind, and eventually Hilda stood up to fetch more food. Einar drew Rolli away, behind one of the horse barns, where they could talk privately.
“Father wants you to leave,” Einar told him. “He has kept this secret for fear it would make Harald look weak to have his son Halfdan in rebellion. Harald
will not punish Halfdan, so our family must. Father said that the only way he would forgive you is if you go away, accept outlawry, and are ready to kill Halfdan when the time comes.”
Rolli’s face showed a welter of emotions, from disbelief to sorrow, settling into stubbornness when Einar had finished speaking. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “If I kill Halfdan, I will be outlawed for life, not a few years. I won’t do it. I would be a murderer. Of the king’s eldest son.”
Einar had always envied Rolli’s ability to shrug off their father’s wishes, when they lay like chains upon him. “Perhaps you are right,” he said in a low voice. “Perhaps I should be the one to kill Halfdan.”
“No,” said Rolli. “You shouldn’t do it either. It will get you killed, and then Ivar will get himself killed avenging you. Father is wrong.”
“He’s not,” said Einar. “Who else can do this?”
Rolli threw his hands up. “I don’t know—maybe one of Harald’s other sons, or maybe Father should do it himself if he thinks it’s such a good plan. All I know is I won’t, and you shouldn’t either. I’m going to Skane—Harald will be glad to learn my news, and he will forgive me. And Father can go suck corpses.”
* * *
Since Ragnvald and Harald left, Einar had been avoiding Vigdis, but now he had no one else he could ask for advice. He found her in Guthorm’s hall sitting with him near the fire. Einar remembered him as an imposing and vigorous man who could best warriors half his age on the Nidaros practice grounds, but he looked very old now, far too old for the still-beautiful Vigdis, who rose to greet him when he entered.
Einar related most of what Rolli had said, and what he planned. “What should I do?” he asked her. “Should I imprison Rolli to keep him from disobeying my father?”
“How many did he bring with him?” Guthorm asked.
“Ten,” said Einar. “I can’t imprison all of them. I should—what—set guards? And would my father forgive me that? And who would do it? Sogn and Maer men who imagine they might one day call Rolli their king?”
“Let him go to Skane,” said Vigdis. “What care do you have for any of it? If he is disgraced, it can only be good for you.”
The Golden Wolf Page 18