“It is but one choice,” said Harald reluctantly. “The other is for young Rolli to accept seven years’ outlawry, and Aldi to accept the generous wergild payment that your wife offered. This is my gift to you, in compensation for the divorce of your sister.”
Hilda turned to look at Svanhild. Her face blanched white, but she met the eyes of each person who dared to stare at her until they looked away first. She and Ragnvald shared a glance, one that Hilda could not read. Had Svanhild known? No wonder Ragnvald had spoken so harshly to Harald. He must be closer to breaking with his king than he had ever been before. A part of her leaped with hope. If Ragnvald defected from Harald, then his justice could not touch their son.
Harald held up a hand to still the chatter. “Do you accept this?”
“No wergild,” said Ragnvald tightly. “Then I will accept.”
“What of a wergild and no outlawry?” Hilda cried. She wished to speak the words she had said to Einar the night before, but anger stirred her differently. “Why do you think, in your anger, to send my son away like a mad wolf?”
She pitched her voice lower, so she could make it loud without sounding shrill. She commanded Tafjord’s army of servants, and was obeyed without question. When they chattered and fought, it was her voice that sent them back to their tasks. For a moment she understood how Svanhild commanded the men of her ship, how Harald had risen to become king of all Norway—reins of power sometimes lay ready to be claimed by one bold enough to do so.
“You banish my father’s namesake from me,” she said. “Your cruelty to a mother who might die before seeing her best beloved son again heaps cruelty upon cruelty for our family.” She glanced at Svanhild, to include the injustice against her in her complaint.
Murmuring from the crowd made Hilda feel a wash of fear. She had their attention, she who had never before sought it, and she must do something worthy with it. “You have been as wolflike as my son, and no punishment for it. Now you make my son a deer, to be hunted by every wolf that wants a man-pelt.”
Some of Rolli’s warriors applauded, and Ragnvald’s too. A rift was opening, Hilda felt. Skalds made songs about such women.
“Well spoken,” Harald said finally. “Your father could not have argued better. You are a fierce mother to a fierce brood of sons, sons who should make you feel proud, even if they must face punishment as well. I wish that I could do what you ask, but I cannot. My kingdom’s peace is balanced on decisions like these. Seven years will pass quickly and your son will return, still a very young man, fully forgiven.”
“This is not justice,” said Aldi.
“I will marry your living son to one of my daughters and your daughter to one of my sons,” said Harald. “You may be the grandfather of kings. Be satisfied with this.”
Aldi bowed his head, but Hilda, still feeling the heightened awareness she had when speaking to Harald, thought that he had not bowed quickly enough, and that the expression on his face still promised revenge.
22
Svanhild met the eyes of Harald’s followers without truly seeing them, nor could she hear the words that Harald said following his announcement of their divorce. She had never before known anger like this, a heavy bowl sitting on her chest, keeping her motionless, for any movement would spill it. Even turning to meet the eyes of those who wished to enjoy her discomfort seemed dangerous. She met Ragnvald’s last and saw helplessness in them.
She stood still, rooted to the ground while Harald finished Rolli’s trial. Hilda wept, Rolli hung his head. Ragnvald looked angry and Harald empty. A wolf-king, hunting man-pelts, Hilda had called him. Svanhild saw a weak king, no match for the strength of her anger. The crowd flowed around her as she stood like a rock in a stream until Ragnvald came over to her.
He touched her shoulder hesitantly. “So much is happening at once—I did not want you to find out like that. Harald is divorcing all his wives, to pay for the lives of his sons.” He tried again to get her to look at him. “And mine.”
Svanhild did not move. The bowl of water on her chest felt heavier still. If she let herself speak, she would scream like an evil spirit, and Ragnvald would deserve her curses, but a small part of her, the part not wild with anger, nor pressed down by it, knew that she held some power here, even now, and would have only one chance to use it.
“We spent the last fourteen years building Harald’s Norway,” she said, holding her voice as steady as she could. “Our Norway. That was what you said when Harald stopped treating me as his wife. When he stopped being king. You told me it didn’t matter because we were building a kingdom. We were its rulers.” Her voice choked, which made her angrier still. “Svanhild Sea Queen.” Angry tears spilled over her cheeks. “That’s how you convinced me to remain married to him—you said we were ruling for him.”
“And we can continue,” said Ragnvald. “Very little will change.”
“Everything will change,” Svanhild cried. “I tied my life to this, to him, and my reward is humiliation heaped on humiliation.”
Ragnvald squeezed her shoulder. How many times in the past had he comforted her when her husband would not? She accepted his touch for a moment and then shook him off.
He spread his hands helplessly. “Svanhild, he will take you back, don’t you see? Just as soon as he has made an heir with Erik’s daughter.”
“Back to what? Ignored and humiliated—his wife when it suits him and only when it suits him. Were he not the king I would have grounds to divorce him ten times over, but now he has done it for me.” She laughed, and the sound did not seem like her own. “You should have broken with him over this, as everyone thought you would. If you took Harald’s place, everyone would follow you. Or if you prefer not to rule yourself, make Halfdan into your ruler for you.”
Ragnvald clenched his jaw. “Not you too,” he said. “Even if I had no honor, this thing you propose is foolishness. If I supported Halfdan against his father, who do you think he would kill as soon as he became king? He would find some pretext.”
“Wouldn’t he be grateful for your help?” Svanhild asked wildly.
“The help of a man who was loyal to his father for twenty years and then compassed his death? No, he would find a reason to have me killed as soon as possible.” Ragnvald rubbed his forehead. “Why won’t any of you understand that I am loyal to Harald? I do not want to be king in his place, I want him to be king.”
“Even as he divorces your sister.” Ragnvald had never chosen her over Harald, not once.
“I do not like that, but . . . Svanhild, I am the one who negotiated it. To save us all, to save our sons. He will divorce all of his wives and marry Erik’s daughter. Once she has borne him a son, he will remarry all of you. There will be no harm, no loss to your status. Your sons will be cared for. Harald will make great gifts to pay for what he has done.”
Svanhild swallowed. Ragnvald had been the one to do this to her as much as Harald. Suddenly her anger seemed to strengthen and lift her, fill her with a violent sort of happiness. She had not felt any emotion this intensely since the loss of her son, fifteen years ago.
“If there is no loss of status, then why the gifts?” she asked.
“Some may think it is, of course,” Ragnvald said. “Svanhild, you were missing—that is why we came.”
“So this is my fault?” she asked. “I escaped on my own. I did not need your help.”
“They had Harald’s sons and my own,” said Ragnvald, his voice pleading. “This price is high, but it is a storm that will blow over. We can weather it.”
“You can weather it, brother. You will weather anything for your Harald. See your son outlawed, your sister divorced, but I will not.” This buoyant anger gave her the certainty that she had been lacking all this time. He had kept his beloved Sogn in Rolli’s trial—he had been willing to give her up, but not his land.
“What will you do?” Ragnvald asked.
He had asked her that, or something like it, after his first battle for Harald, while she
waited at Vestfold to be traded to Solvi for some prisoners. She had made her choice then, and Ragnvald let her go.
“I have not yet decided,” she said quietly. “You have never held me back before, brother. Do not do it now.”
She walked away from him down the beach. She felt his gaze on her back, watching her go, as he had many times before. At her feet, the water washing the pebbles on the shoreline made them shine. If she took one out, it would dry dull and plain.
She heard footsteps overtaking her and then saw a long shadow, with the broad shoulders and wild hair of her husband. Her former husband. A stranger to her for many years, and never more than now.
“Svanhild,” Harald said, catching her wrist. “I did not mean for you to find out that way—it was only—it was the words I needed to speak to make your brother understand in that moment.”
“You have done what was needed,” she said. Still, her voice did not sound like her own but that of a wild stranger, wiser and more fearless than she.
His grip on her became gentler, and he stroked her skin with his thumb. “You understand,” he said. “I knew you would. Your brother promised me that I could depend on him, and I always do. He is my best and most precious friend. Do not fear that will change, or your sons be any less dear to me. Little will change, I promise you.”
“Ah,” she said with a laugh, “so you will be as much a husband to me as you have been these last ten years. No husband at all.”
Harald’s face twisted. “Most of my wives are happy to be freed to return to their families after they have borne me a son or two.”
“Am I much like your other wives?” Svanhild asked.
“You did not seem to mind.”
“Did you ask me?” She shook her head.
“I have paid your brother, to keep his loyalty. What must I pay you?” Harald asked. “I am taking this force to the Orkneys to root out the seeds of this rebellion, and after that, you shall have whatever you desire. A larger ship perhaps?” She must have shown something in her face, for his eyes lit up. “Silk sails, the finest ship for the finest sailor in Norway. I will do it for you gladly.”
Svanhild pictured the vessel she would request. She would involve herself in every aspect of its construction, and it would be a mighty dragon ship, but suited to a woman captain, with a steering oar she could turn even with her lesser strength. Silk sails would be lighter to raise than even the finest wool, and stronger.
“What will you do in Orkney?” she asked.
“I will root out the raiders that have made common cause against me, and put the Scottish isles under my control. And I do not trust Erik’s hold over Melbrid Tooth. No doubt Solvi is the cause of it, again. You should not have let him go after the battle of Hafrsfjord.”
Solvi had kept his oath, Svanhild was sure of it.
“I should have made an end to him years ago,” said Harald, “and now I will do it.”
The rising breeze made Svanhild shiver. No, she would not take Harald’s offered ship and allow him to buy his way out of this insult. He did not even consider that he had harmed her honor as much as Ragnvald’s.
“When do you leave?” she asked.
“Erik wants the marriage done first, and I will have to gather my allies, so not until next summer, I think.” He hesitated a moment. “I cannot understand you at all, Svanhild, my love. Will you accept my gift, and come back to me once I have paid off the terms by which I bought my sons’ lives? I would do no less for our sons.”
Her sons, raised by Guthorm and Vigdis more than herself. Charming boys who had never known a day’s hardship. They were better off in the care of others than in hers. She had brought Olaf Sigurdsson into danger, and condemned her first son to death through her wandering. “Will you swear it, before the gods? That you will do right by my sons, give them land and followers, no matter what happens?” she asked.
“I do swear it,” said Harald. “Who is to know the future? One of them might still be king after me.”
“Then I will take your gift,” said Svanhild. He would not make her swear—he did not believe the oath of a woman was binding. He would not know until it was too late, then, that he had left her free to lie.
* * *
Svanhild let Harald walk with her back to the camp. He gave her a kiss, which she accepted on a cheek that felt numb. As she walked toward her men’s hearth, Falki came running up to her.
“My lady,” he said. It was such a mild day, with a light breeze and blue skies overhead. On any other day she would be enjoying the gentle touch of the air, for these days came so rarely to Norse shores.
“Svanhild,” he said. He rarely spoke her name, preferring to call her “my lady” or even “queen” when he was particularly impressed by her. He was more of her husband than Harald had ever been, for all that they rarely touched. Svanhild had never trusted herself to keep casual touches from turning into lingering ones, ending in coupling and a moment’s pleasure that would violate her oath to Ragnvald and Harald. Oaths that they had now broken for her. She should let him take her here and now, with the birds and all of Harald’s men to see.
“What?” Svanhild asked.
“Are you—what do you mean to do?” he asked. Ordinarily he would wait for her to tell him, and never question her.
“You are a fine sailor,” she said with a bitter laugh. “I am certain that King Harald will give you a ship and let you ferry him around Norway again.”
“My lady,” he said helplessly.
“My brother says that Harald will remarry his wives after a few years. So I should wait. I have taken so many humiliations from him. You know—” She cut herself off. Falki did not know, none of them could know, except perhaps from rumors, that Harald had not shared her bed in years. The wound that this divorce had dealt her slashed at one far older, long-festering.
Falki looked at her expectantly.
“No,” she said. “I will not swallow another humiliation. If my brother and my husband have no care for my honor then I must care for it myself. I will—” She looked at Falki, trying to read his intentions. “I will leave Norway,” she said. “I will go alone if I must—”
“No!” said Falki. “This is an insult to all of us. You need not go alone. I will go with you, and I’m sure I will not be the only one.”
“Perhaps not,” said Svanhild. “Say nothing yet.”
He gave his promise, and Svanhild walked over to where Rolli was packing up his ship to leave. She had taught him how to sail, and he had been a good student, though only years would give him the experience he needed to be a truly great sailor.
“The king has given me until tomorrow to depart,” said Rolli in a choked voice. “What should I do, Aunt Svanhild?”
“Go raiding,” said Svanhild. “Never come back.” She had no time for his problems right now.
“I wish I could go to Solvi. He will know where Hallbjorn is, and then at least I will have one friend, if I am to be the deer to Harald’s wolves,” Rolli said plaintively.
“Where is he? Solvi—is he truly in Iceland?” Svanhild asked.
“That is what Thorstein said, and he had no reason to lie.”
“You should go to Iceland, then. Tell Solvi that I sent you. Help my daughter—you owe her that much.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t. King Harald goes to fight him. My father will never forgive me if I fight against him. Perhaps I should go to Orkney and help instead. Then I might be forgiven sooner.”
“For seven years your help will not be desired. Anyone may kill you on sight, without punishment,” Svanhild reminded him.
“My father would avenge me,” said Rolli.
“But you’ll still be dead.”
Rolli looked down at his feet. If he had been her son, she would have trained him out of that. “I do not know how to sail to Iceland or even the Orkneys,” he said. “We followed a merchant last time. It was your daughter’s idea.”
If she needed one last push, here it was. Her daughter
needed her in Iceland, and now her nephew needed her as well. In the tales she had loved as a child, women framed their entire lives around revenge, and chose husbands who would right their wrongs. She did not need to find a new husband who would right hers—she had left one behind, a man capable of the cruelty she needed. A man whom Harald and her brother would sail to kill next summer. A man whom she had never stopped missing, no matter how much she enjoyed being Harald’s envoy, Svanhild Sea Queen.
“I will take you,” she said. “We will convoy across the sea.”
“You know how to go to Iceland?” Rolli asked.
Yes, her spirit would guide her there if the stars and the currents failed her. She remembered Solvi as she had seen him last, on his ship, bereft of everything but the three men she had left him, his oldest friends and his apprentice, who now ruled the Orkney Islands. She had demanded an oath from him that she had never heard of him breaking. And he had asked her to promise that if Harald mistreated her, she would come to him.
“I know how to sail to Iceland,” she said. “I will not be deprived of my ship or my freedom for a feckless king or my disloyal brother.”
Rolli looked shocked to hear her speak of Ragnvald so. He swallowed. “I would follow you,” he said.
“Then let us leave on the next tide,” she replied. She looked toward the west and saw three ships approaching—King Erik’s ships.
Svanhild and Rolli went to join her men, who quieted, as if they had been speaking of her. She had chosen them for many reasons but chief among these was their sailing ability and their loyalty to her. Some were sons of farmers, others fishermen. Falki was the first of Harald’s captains to recognize her skills as a sailor, and others had followed. All were smaller than the usual mold of Norsemen, and would never be mighty swordsmen, but small men meant a fleet ship.
The Golden Wolf Page 24