Svanhild sat back down, heavily.
“What will you do?” Hilda asked.
“Get her back, whatever it takes,” said Svanhild. “I will go myself or”—she laughed, high and mirthless—“Harald has always wanted to take war to Solvi and now he will get his chance.”
20
The twenty warriors left behind with Ragnvald ate around only one campfire. Sigurd did most of the cooking, a skill he had acquired sailing with Ragnvald these many years. By now the shorebirds had learned to fear them, so tonight’s meal was dried fish stewed and pounded into edibility, made even saltier by the brackish water, which was all they could find near the shore. Ragnvald slaked his thirst with more ale than he ought to drink, taking the king’s share, now that Harald was gone.
“The Skanians have my son also,” Sigurd said. He had been a constant presence at Ragnvald’s side since the battle of Hafrsfjord. And if he was less of a comfort than Oddi had been, at least Ragnvald need not fear that Sigurd would grow to hate him. If killing Sigurd’s father had not done that, nothing would.
“I’m sure Svanhild will not forget him in the negotiations, don’t worry,” said Ragnvald, feeling guilty he had not remembered the boy himself.
“Why did Harald bring a force against them if he only means to negotiate?” Sigurd asked.
“He needs to show that if the Skanians harm their hostages, we can destroy them,” said Ragnvald. “It is a stronger negotiating position, and he can protect himself from being made hostage.”
“Of course,” said Sigurd happily, and Ragnvald wished he could be so easily comforted.
If Harald did not return in a week, then he would need to muster all of Norway’s warriors for a battle in Skane. But would Harald’s jarls and kings come, or would districts that had governed themselves for centuries without Harald’s rulership become separate again? Denmark’s districts had given fealty to old King Gorm only to fall apart again under his sons.
Every day dawned the same, with low clouds on the horizon and a mist over the sea. At midday high cirri formed overhead, driven by strong winds, good for sailing, but wasted with Ragnvald stranded here. In the evening, the clouds blew away, leaving a broad, open sky that faded from pale blue to orange, and then back to deeper blue in the evening.
Ragnvald could not believe that Harald would not return—his own vision and Ronhild’s said that Harald would live a long, charmed life, and never lose a single battle. Ronhild had also prophesied that Ragnvald would give his life for Harald. Perhaps here was where he would fulfill that wyrd, marching into this trackless land after Harald. Perhaps a monster lurked there, a relic from the time of the gods that killed all who entered the wood. It would explain this strange and empty land.
As the week neared its end, Ragnvald felt too shadowed by doom to sleep. He was trying to plan his journey gathering forces from Norway’s districts when Thorir, with his sharp eyesight, saw a figure walking toward the shore across the waving field of grass. Sigurd led a small band of warriors out to capture him, and returned escorting a young man with a patchy mustache and a self-important air.
“King Ragnvald of Norway,” he said, with a bow of greeting, “King Erik of Jutland begs that you, the true king of Norway, come to negotiate for the exchange of hostages and the end of hostilities.”
“Erik!” said Ragnvald. That explained much. The Skanians on their own might capture a small band of warriors, but not the bulk of Harald’s forces. “What is your name?”
“Sverri,” said the young man.
“Did King Erik make sure that King Harald heard him give you that message?” Ragnvald asked.
Sverri nodded, looking scared. His fingers flew to his sparse mustache.
“And who are you? Who is your father?” Ragnvald asked.
“I have no father,” Sverri said quietly.
Disposable then, not worth using as a hostage.
“King Erik told me to tell you whatever you wanted to know,” said Sverri. When he dropped his hand away from his face, his upper lip quivered. Ragnvald smiled slightly. This boy could not be older than Thorir. And no matter what, Ragnvald had no stomach for torture, nor did he trust what was learned from it. A man would say anything, as he knew too well. His fingers grew tight at the memory. He flexed them as he began to question the boy.
He learned that Harald’s force had marched into the Skanian camp, taken captives, and surrounded the Skanians, trapping them in their winter cave. They were, as Ragnvald suspected, fewer than Harald’s forces, but had enough men, with Erik’s infusion of warriors, to hold their hostages and keep Harald’s forces at bay.
“Tell me who the hostages are,” said Ragnvald. Perhaps they did not know that Sigurd’s son, Olaf, would be worth anything in ransom or trade. That might help the boy survive if things went badly.
“Ivar Ragnvaldsson, Dagfinn Haraldsson, Gudrod Haraldsson, and assorted warriors who look useful—that’s what King Erik said.”
“What about Svanhild Eysteinsdatter?” Ragnvald asked, feeling cold.
“King Erik told me to make sure you knew that she had gone.”
Ragnvald sighed, relieved and annoyed. They need not have come at all. If Ragnvald truly had designs on Norway’s throne, as Erik had insisted, Erik might think he was offering Ragnvald the chance to begin his rebellion. He queried Sverri further to learn the exact layout of Harald’s forces, and this too the messenger told him, sketching out their positions in the wet sand of the beach. Ragnvald gathered fifteen of his warriors to him, leaving Sigurd behind with Thorir and three other men on the beach. The Skanians had done what Ragnvald feared, dividing their force down to nothing. Skane was like porous sandstone; it could absorb all of them and leave no sign.
Ragnvald’s party followed Sverri on a track through the woods. After walking for the better part of a day, they emerged into what had once been a clearing. Saplings, clothed in the bright leaves of summer, filled the space with dappled green light.
Ragnvald had just put his hand to his sword when Aldi and some of his men came crashing out of the underbrush, with their swords drawn, and Oddi following behind. Ragnvald drew his, while his men arrayed themselves around him.
“We’re more than you,” Aldi growled.
“Yes,” said Ragnvald.
“Yes,” Oddi echoed him. “And I told you Ragnvald would not attack King Harald. If he had wanted to usurp Harald’s place, he could have done it much more easily, anytime in the past few years.”
Ragnvald frowned and sheathed his sword. “I came because I was asked to come,” he said.
“You may mean Harald no ill, but what about me?” Aldi asked, his sword still out.
Ragnvald sighed. “If I meant you ill, would I have given you my land, and let you grow rich there for all these years?” he asked wearily. “If I could have kept my son’s ship from attacking yours, I would have.”
“But you won’t admit he killed my son?” Aldi cried.
“That is a matter for trial,” said Harald in a booming voice. He had come to stand on the outside of the crowd of men, towering over them. “And we have more pressing concerns.” He gave Ragnvald a measuring look. “My friend, let us speak in private.”
Ragnvald looked behind Harald, to see how Harald and his men had surrounded the Skanians in their camp. A ring of his warriors stood ready to attack should any of the Skanians try to escape. Harald looked tired, as did his men. They must be sleeping little to maintain this vigilance.
Harald walked a short way into the woods to a point where they could see the border between the two factions, but were out of earshot.
“How many more are inside the cave?” Ragnvald asked.
“Who can say?” Harald replied. “Not enough to resist us, but they have my sons, so what does it matter?”
“My son too,” said Ragnvald. “But not Svanhild, I hear.”
“No, she was too crafty for them, it seems,” said Harald. He frowned at Ragnvald. “Tell me, why will this Erik deal only with
you? Why will he not negotiate with me?”
“He means to stir discontent between us,” said Ragnvald. “And I see it is working.”
“He has been telling me that you are king of Norway in truth and I am a mere figurehead. Is that what you told him too, when you went to arrange a marriage?”
“No,” said Ragnvald. “It was the excuse he used to refuse the marriage. I wanted your Gudrod married to his daughter.”
“And you agree? That I have been a mere figurehead?” Harald asked.
“A figurehead needs to be seen,” Ragnvald muttered.
“So I have been less than a figurehead?” Harald’s voice rose.
Ragnvald cursed his exhaustion—usually he guarded his words better than that. Harald had valued his honesty in the past, but it was always a difficult tack, to give a king honesty without offense. “My king, you have been absent,” he said. “You said so yourself. In your absence I have tried to strengthen your kingdom. There have been times when some have assumed . . . what King Erik claims. There have been times when I have not corrected them, since it seemed to serve your interests more for kings and jarls to think me powerful. There have been times, as with King Erik, that I have spoken the truth, and denied such claims—why would he marry Gudrod to his daughter if he is the son of a powerless king? This is the argument he made to me, and that I tried in vain to refute.”
“That is many words for Ragnvald the Wise to speak at once,” said Harald. “They do not entirely have the ring of truth. I know the sound of a man trying to justify himself.”
“Then believe what Oddi said,” said Ragnvald. He rubbed at the old scar on his cheek, a habit he had never been entirely able to break.
“What was that?” Harald asked.
“That if I had ambitions like that, I would have found a better time to realize them than now.”
Harald laughed shortly. “I suppose you must negotiate with Erik, since he will only speak with you. But hear this: if this negotiation benefits you too much I will have reason to believe my suspicions, and he will have another hostage.”
Ragnvald swallowed down his unease. He could not predict what Erik wanted. Perhaps if Erik understood that Harald’s warriors would not back Ragnvald in any rebellion, he would cease this willful misunderstanding.
* * *
Ragnvald negotiated an exchange of hostages to put himself in Erik’s hands: himself for Harald’s son Dagfinn, who had been annoying the Skanians with his never-ending stories. The Skanians’ camp was full of dirty men, and a few cowed-looking women. Ragnvald insisted on seeing the hostages first. He walked toward the group of men, who sat in a circle on fallen logs, wearing only shirtsleeves, cloaks cast off in the warmth of the day.
There was Gudrod, slim and handsome, and Halfdan, big and blond. And next to them, dark-haired and laughing louder than any of them, sat Ivar. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and shook some dice in his hand. He blew on them, cast his eyes up to the gods, murmured a prayer for luck, and then threw them on the ground.
Another cheer followed by some groans sounded. Ivar cupped his hand, and the other men put bits of hack-silver and, in one case, a short jeweled dagger into them.
“Son, you live,” said Ragnvald.
Ivar stood and laughed. “Of course, Father. We are only hostages. I’m glad you’ve come.”
For a moment, Ragnvald could not tell what caused the heat in his face and pain in his stomach, until he realized it was shame, shame on Ivar’s behalf, shame that Ivar had failed to feel for himself. Had it been Einar trapped here, he would have found a way to escape already, as Svanhild had. He would not have been so foolish as to get himself captured in the first place.
Finally Ragnvald swallowed and nodded. “Good, you are all well,” he said. “I will negotiate your release.”
He followed King Erik back into the fresher air outside the cave. Halfdan rose and followed them, looming over Ragnvald, blocking the light from the camp’s torches. Melbrid joined them as well, his famous tooth making it look as though he had a growth on his upper lip.
Ragnvald spoke first. “King Erik of Jutland, you are making trouble for me with my king. Let us negotiate and put an end to this.”
Erik shook his head. “It was a grave mistake to allow your son to fall into our hands,” he said with mock sympathy. “Had he not, you could have let me take care of Harald and a few of his sons, leaving Norway for yourself.”
“What can I do to convince you that usurping Harald was never my aim?” Ragnvald asked.
“Nothing,” said Erik. “No man who has risen as far or as fast as you could be willing to put a limit on his ambition. In the old days, the strongest, ablest man was voted king, and you would win that vote.”
“Those days are not past,” said Melbrid, his voice dangerous. Erik smiled again, and Ragnvald curled his hands into fists. He had been too flattered by Erik’s words in Jutland. He should have allied with the Roskilde Danes against Erik as soon as he refused alliance with Harald.
“No they are not,” Ragnvald said. “The Norse kings and jarls acclaim Harald their king, and I would not gainsay them, nor plunge Norway into war by trying to change what the gods have decreed. Harald has promised my death if this negotiation favors me more than him.”
Erik shrugged. “I have enough men to join with your Harald, and defeat Melbrid and Halfdan,” he said. “Most of the warriors you see here are mine. Some are Melbrid’s and very few are Halfdan’s. They all wait for my command.”
Melbrid and Halfdan both wore twin expressions of disbelief and anger, but before their hands could find their swords, Erik’s warriors descended upon them and disarmed them.
“So I see,” said Ragnvald, trying not to show his own fear. There was nothing to stop Erik from holding him hostage or killing him.
“You will agree then, that I have the advantage,” said Erik. “I have your son and Harald’s. I have a big enough force to do yours some damage, even if you were willing to give up your son’s life. And I have an agreement with King Bjorn of Sweden to control the Skaggerak Strait. Your Harald claims Vermaland, which has always been Sweden’s, and Bjorn would love nothing more than to take it back. I don’t see why I should not wait here for my allies to come and crush you between us.”
Ragnvald did not see either, but if this was Erik’s final offer, he would not have made his move against Halfdan and Melbrid now. “Harald’s offer of marrying his son Gudrod to your daughter, Ranka, still stands,” he said. “Norway is far more powerful than Sweden. They can only tax the Baltic vikings and merchants, while together we can control all of the traffic through the strait.”
“Gudrod,” Erik scoffed. “I have spent long enough with him to know he is nothing more than a spoiled boy. What if, instead, I give you your son, and with my forces, we kill Harald and anyone who follows him, and make you king of Norway?”
What indeed? Would he trade his son’s life for Harald’s? Was the true meaning of Ronhild’s prophecy that he would die a traitor? Ragnvald squeezed his eyes tight against the horror of that thought.
He heard Erik laughing and opened his eyes. “No, I don’t think I will offer that. You would be too strong a king, and I do not think our alliance would last for long. Try again—offer me something I want.”
Ragnvald’s voice did not feel like it would work. He saw Halfdan struggling against his captors between the trees. “Have your daughter wed Halfdan,” he said. “His father will forgive him, give him land in Norway, and he will give you strong grandsons who can sit on the thrones of Jutland and Norway.”
Erik stroked his beard. “I do want my grandsons to be kings, but Harald has so many sons. How can I be sure that the son I marry my daughter to will be the one who wins their coming battles? They will be at one another’s throats like hungry wolves.”
“Harald could swear to it,” said Ragnvald.
“No, I think it would be better if I marry my Ranka to Harald himself,” said Erik.
Ragnvald nodded, feeling desperate. “Yes, I believe I can convince Harald of the rightness of that. For that you will accept an alliance and give up your hostages?”
Erik paced back and forth before Ragnvald. “The problem remains—I want my grandsons to be kings, and your Harald has spread his seed all over Norway. Here is my offer: Harald will divorce all of his other wives before marrying with my daughter. Her sons will be his first heirs. Then we will make good on your plan to control the Skaggerak Strait. This will make us two kings rich and powerful.”
Ragnvald’s stomach sank. This was the very limit of what Harald might accept. The only bright spot was that if Harald divorced Svanhild, he would never accuse Ragnvald of engineering this for his own benefit.
“What of Melbrid and Halfdan?” Ragnvald asked to buy time.
“Melbrid claims to be king of the Skanians—perhaps an alliance with him will be of use,” said Erik. “As for Halfdan, his ambitions are limitless. Norway will never be safe until he is dead. I will kill him for you, to sweeten the deal.”
If only it were that easy—but Ragnvald knew he would be blamed if harm came to Halfdan. “I must think on this,” he said. “It is a bitter mouthful to swallow.”
“Do you have another offer?” Erik asked.
What could he offer? Erik held all the counters. If Harald attacked, many would die, including both of their sons. If Ragnvald rebelled in truth—no, he could not trace that through, not when he still reeled from Erik’s earlier suggestion. “If Harald divorces all of his other wives, he will throw Norway into chaos. It will be an insult that Norway’s district kings will not easily forgive. You forget, most of his wives are the sisters or daughters of the district kings.”
Erik grinned again. “I have not forgotten that,” he said.
“Do you not want a strong ally?” Ragnvald asked.
“Not too strong,” said Erik. “I feel certain that with all his wealth, and more to come from taxing the strait, your Harald can buy the goodwill of the districts.”
“I must speak with Harald,” said Ragnvald. “I cannot agree to this on his behalf.”
The Golden Wolf Page 22