The Golden Wolf

by Linnea Hartsuyker

  “I will never be well until my son Rolli is back at my side,” she said. “But I have been healthy. Have you heard anything of Rolli in Halogaland?”

  Einar shook his head. “News does not cross the North Sea in the winter,” he said. “But I am sure he is strong and able, blessed by the gods, and fated for greatness.”

  Hilda pressed her hand to her heart. “It does me good to hear that, though it is hard to make myself believe. Now, I think your mother wants you.”

  “Since when have you wanted to give her what she wants?” Einar asked.

  Hilda gave him a wry smile. “We have a little more in common than I have always thought.”

  Einar fled to greet Vigdis rather than hear Hilda say that what they shared was their antipathy for his father. Vigdis sat with Guthorm and some other older warriors. In that circle also sat Halfdan, who had left Halogaland a few days earlier than Einar.

  Einar embraced Vigdis, inhaling the sweet and expensive scent of her amber perfume.

  “Do they not feed you well in Yrjar?” Vigdis asked. “The winter is for fattening.”

  “Asa Hakonsdatter is an excellent housekeeper,” said Einar. One day, at Ivar’s side, he would be important enough that none would comment on his skinniness. “Her table is always full.”

  “Are you ready to fight for Harald, my boy?” Guthorm asked.

  “Always,” said Einar. “Is the rest of Norway?”

  “Yes,” said Halfdan grimly. “My father is mighty, and all will fight for him.”

  Einar could not keep a small smile from his face. “I am glad to hear it.”

  “I am to be given Orkney after we succeed,” Halfdan announced.

  “That is excellent,” said Einar. “You have sailed so much, you will be a good island king.”

  Halfdan’s eyes narrowed at that, and Einar shrugged. He had meant no insult. Einar saw his father’s hand in this—a bribe for Halfdan’s loyalty, and responsibility far from home. This must be why his father did not want him to try to kill Halfdan. With him in Orkney, there should be no need.

  * * *

  More than twenty ships set out for the Orkney Islands a few weeks later, sailing past the barrier islands, now clear of snow, and into the trackless sea. Each carried at least fifty men, Harald’s followers and his allies—such a force that even Einar, steeped in his father’s pessimism, could not easily imagine them being defeated.

  Ivar whistled a melody that Einar found himself humming. The wind made the lines sing a tuneless counterpoint. The weather on this journey had been blessed, even five days away from land. Doubly blessed for so early in the warring season, when storms came up quickly, and a fleet of this size could not easily avoid them.

  “Is this day not fine?” Ivar asked. “Look how many we are! No force can stand us.”

  “Likely not,” said Einar.

  “Not at all,” Ivar insisted. “Do not tempt the fates by conjuring a tale of defeat.”

  “So long as you do not tempt the fates by declaring our victory already,” Einar countered.

  “All right,” Ivar agreed. “I will trust to my sword arm, not the fates.” He began whistling again, and Einar humming. The weather was fine. This was an adventure, a cap on a year of adventure, his first year of majority, a year that would guarantee peace on Norway’s shores.

  Until Harald’s sons began fighting again, a small voice reminded him—his father’s voice. No one was safe except in the grave—and not even then, since draugrs sometimes walked out of their burial mounds to eat human flesh. Let Ivar be cheery, and Einar would do the work of guiding him. The last year had tamped down Einar’s ambitions to rule on his own. With the fates’ favor, he might be able to take a wife and raise a son of his own one day, perhaps a son who could protect and advise Ivar’s sons, as he did for Ivar. He wished he had been able, during the winter, to ask someone about the witch’s prophecy, and how to avoid it, but Ronhild or Alfrith would probably tell his father, and Einar had regained his good opinion over the winter and could not bear to lose it again.

  Ivar’s whistling reached the song’s chorus. Einar sang a few of the words out loud, and then stopped himself. The tune had carried many tales over the years, but the most famous was of his aunt Svanhild’s courtship with Solvi Hunthiofsson. Solvi had come upon her near Geiranger Fjord, intending to kidnap her, and Svanhild had used no more than the power of her words and her beauty to turn Solvi’s swords from the necks of the merchants with whom she had been traveling. Later she had tricked all of Harald’s forces by putting on trousers and pretending to be Solvi at the helm of his ship. Ivar whistled on, oblivious.

  “Good thing Harald isn’t here,” Einar said. “He would not like your song.” His father thought that Svanhild would bring Solvi to lead the force against Harald in the Orkneys.

  Ivar laughed. “She is no less a heroine because Harald divorced her,” he said. “I will sing what I want.”

  Einar grinned—yes, Ragnvald’s sons would sing of their aunt if they wanted to. This ship only contained men loyal to Ragnvald: warriors from Maer and Sogn, as well as Oddi and Sigurd. Ragnvald even seemed as happy as he ever allowed himself to be, taking a turn at the steering oar, telling tales of his first raiding trip with Solvi Hunthiofsson, long ago.

  The weather stayed fair until the Orkney Islands came into view, black blots on the horizon wrapped in a shroud of mist that seemed to approach the ships faster than the ships approached the islands.

  Harald’s captain had visited the Orkney Islands many times, so the convoy followed the blue and crimson sail of Harald’s largest ship between the islands and into the bay at Grimbister. Einar kept his eyes on the cliffs above and his shield in his hand. They could not approach without being seen, and even a middling archer could land his arrows on one of the ships below with so many targets to choose from.

  Thorstein’s hall was halfway up the slope that rose from the water. The harbor contained only two ships, and a few small fishing boats. Harald’s convoy sailed as close to one another as they could manage with the gusty winds and swift-flowing currents between the islands, planning to beach at the same time and be ready to mount the slope and attack the hall in force.

  Einar thought it suspicious that no one came to the beach to greet them. A few curious children peered out from small turf huts as Harald’s force, save a hundred men to guard the ships, marched up the hill, holding their shields at the ready.

  A curl of smoke rose up from the kitchen end of the hall, and disappeared quickly against the relentless gray of the sky. It was not entirely untenanted.

  “He will have gone into hiding,” said Harald. “He must have scouts to mark our approach, and taken most of his ships to one of those little islands.”

  “Perhaps,” said Ragnvald. He had told Einar that with Melbrid Tooth and Svanhild both fled across the sea, all would know Harald planned to attack here.

  No one stopped them as they approached the hall. Harald went to bang on the great doors that stood at the southern end, positioned to let the hall catch the sunlight in the summer. He only had to knock once before the door opened and Harald almost stumbled in. A tall, strongly built man with a bright red beard stood in the doorway, unarmed. This must be Thorstein the Red.

  “Welcome, King Harald of Norway,” he said. “Welcome, King Ragnvald of Maer. I can only offer you simple fare, but my hospitality is yours as long as the food holds out.”

  Harald looked surprised and peered about, searching for an ambush.

  “You look at me very fierce, King Ragnvald,” said Thorstein. “I hope you have not come to do me harm.” Einar glanced at Ivar, and they both jostled forward, hands on their swords. Thorstein had been the one who captured their father, and brought him to Solvi to be tortured.

  “I will do you no harm if you give us hospitality,” said Ragnvald.

  “I cannot put all of your warriors in my hall,” Thorstein said. “But perhaps you can choose a hundred to shelter here tonight, and let the others
camp where they find flat ground.”

  “Let us have a welcome cup first,” said Ragnvald.

  Einar relaxed his grip on his sword. If Thorstein was willing to seal his offer of hospitality by sharing a drink dedicated to the gods, then he likely did not mean them harm.

  “I will not dissemble,” Ragnvald continued. “You have been named to us as an enemy who means to rebel against Harald. You have been a follower of Solvi Hunthiofsson. Now we have reason to think that Solvi is massing a force in the Orkneys to kill Harald and take back his land. What do you say to that?”

  “That old song,” said Thorstein. “I wonder if you will go on believing it when Solvi is dead.”

  “Is he?” Ragnvald asked hopefully. “Dead?”

  Einar exchanged another look with Ivar. If Solvi was dead, would Aunt Svanhild return to Harald?

  “No,” said Thorstein. “But he might as well be. I promise you, he is not leading any forces here. He was once a mighty sea king, but now he is an old cripple. He has not fought a sea battle in more than a decade. You have nothing to fear from him.”

  “Or you?” Ragnvald asked.

  “No,” said Thorstein. “Some of your enemies may come here, but you should not count me among them.”

  “Do you style yourself jarl of this place?” Harald asked him.

  “You seek to trap me. I am nothing more than a raider. I know that Halogaland kings have long claimed the Orkney Islands.”

  “Once,” said Harald, “but not anymore. Now I claim them. Will you swear fealty to me, to pay my taxes and fight on my behalf?”

  “No,” said Thorstein. “I long ago swore never to have a king, to live a free man until my death.” He smiled thinly. “To let no wolf-king make of me a man-pelt. But I will fight at your side while you are here. Today, I do not find it useful to quarrel with the king of Norway. Let that be enough for you.”

  29

  The birth of Freydis’s daughter had been in the earliest days of spring, during a warm spell that ended with a freezing gale and locked all of Svanhild’s visitors inside Solvi’s house for a few days.

  Falki looked underfed after his winter travels, so Tova cooked up the rations she had been saving in case of a late planting. Svanhild wanted a chance to hear all the news, but she could not bring herself to interfere with Tova and Falki’s reunion, though at night when she heard them together in Tova’s bed, she wished she had. Solvi had been willing to accept her advances, but listening to Tova and Falki’s whispers and sounds of pleasure reminded her that she and Solvi were no longer in the flush of first love, and might never recover that intensity.

  Tova had told Svanhild earlier, one day in winter when she had found Svanhild crying in the byre, that the same fear that had gripped him in battle also found him sometimes in a woman’s embrace. No wonder he was so passive. Svanhild loved him still, but she wished sometimes for a good reason to leave, now that Freydis was safe and had survived childbirth. Perhaps she could find a way to spend only the winters here.

  One day, she and Falki braved the freezing rain and went outside to check on the sheep that had just been released to their pastures for forage.

  “Tell me, my captain, what did you find in Scotland?” Svanhild asked. Falki had only spoken a little of his travels, the rude halls where he had spent his winter, full of bad food and ugly, unkempt men, but kept the real news to himself.

  He grinned at her, looking happier than Svanhild had ever seen him. “I like it better here. You said you would find me some farmland,” he said. “I don’t need your help to find a wife!”

  Svanhild smiled back, wishing she did not feel Falki’s happiness as a loss. His return should have made her into Svanhild Sea Queen again, but he did not want that from her anymore, no more than Solvi did. “Of course,” she said. “I am very happy for you.”

  “She is with child, so we’ll wed at the alting meeting,” he said, his voice full of pride.

  “Wonderful,” said Svanhild. “You have my blessing. Now, what did you find in Scotland?”

  “Many raiders, who sail to Orkney because of your message. Ketil Flatnose you saw at your granddaughter’s naming—he came here to see if Solvi would return to battle with him. Melbrid Tooth is already on his way. Thorstein the Red, Geirbjorn Hakonsson, and many without famous names will join as well,” he said.

  “Then I suppose we will see Ketil again when the weather clears,” said Svanhild.

  * * *

  The day after the rain stopped, Rolli turned over the garden beds with a shovel, while Svanhild and Tova decided what to plant. Tova kept one eye on Falki the whole time, and Svanhild watched the path that led up from the settlement. Now that Svanhild knew Tova was pregnant, she could see the signs easily, in her morning queasiness and evening appetite. She supposed she had not paid attention before because Tova’s beauty made her nervous, even though she had never shown jealousy toward Svanhild.

  Tova liked spring onions enough that foraging for them would not give them enough, so she and Svanhild agreed to plant a full row of them. Better to keep them out of the pastures so they would not flavor the sheep’s milk.

  “If you are living on another farm when they bloom, I will bring some to you,” said Svanhild to Tova, who smiled gratefully. Svanhild had done ill to think of this beautiful woman as another Vigdis.

  She looked up and saw Unna riding along the path on a small horse. When she drew closer, Svanhild thought she looked ten years older than when Svanhild had seen her a week ago at Thordis’s naming, and Svanhild realized she had never seen Unna discomposed before, not truly. Her hair was messy, and with every breath she seemed to be grasping for threads of self-control.

  “Hallbjorn has come and taken Freydis,” said Unna. “Perhaps there is time to catch him.” She blinked a few times, and swayed on her feet. Svanhild rushed to catch her arm, and help her onto a bench.

  Solvi hobbled over and leaned on his spade. “What happened?” he asked.

  Unna told them of Hallbjorn’s arrival, her voice quavering at times, and Svanhild had to look away from her to avoid the lump in her throat turning into tears.

  “I will go,” Svanhild said. A fine drizzle had begun, the droplets made stinging by the wind. It might make Hallbjorn’s sail too sodden to leave the bay. “The tides favor their leaving immediately.”

  “How will you stop him?” Solvi asked.

  “We have allies—Ketil and his men are staying in Ingolfur’s hall,” Svanhild called over her shoulder.

  She had never felt the farm’s distance from the settlement more than as she rode Solvi’s pony over the broken ground toward the shore. The creature was agile but could not be pushed too fast, not without risking a broken leg. Svanhild welcomed the discomfort from the cold rain—it seemed just punishment for her hope that something would take her away from Iceland.

  She glimpsed the shore just in time to see a ship pushing off, a narrow dragon ship, and knew she was too late. Still, she rode to the water’s edge to make sure. Warriors milled about on the wet rocks, talking, and occasionally shoving one another. Ketil Flatnose was giving his men orders about how to load sacks and barrels of provisions into his ship.

  “Did you know of this?” Svanhild asked him. “Did you know that Hallbjorn would take my daughter? Do you know where he’s going?”

  “The Orkneys,” said Ketil. “Where you urged all of Harald’s enemies to go.”

  “And what is your part in this?” Svanhild asked.

  “Nothing. But why should I stop him—if Solvi Hunthiofsson no longer wants to fight, perhaps he will at least follow his daughter,” said Ketil.

  “After you came to her naming and gave your blessing?” Svanhild cried. Ketil had sailed at Solvi and Svanhild’s side, a companion during their years of fighting Harald. He had more reason to hate Harald than most Scottish raiders, his father having been one of the Rogaland kings whom Harald defeated early in his conquest.

  “He is the child’s father,” Ketil replied. “It
will be better for both of them. What will you do, Svanhild Sea Queen? I have been hearing of your sailing for years. Come to Orkney, and make your men rich. You can help us take the revenge on King Harald that Solvi will not.”

  “What of my daughter?” Svanhild asked. “She is not two weeks from childbirth.”

  “You can help make her husband rich as well,” said Ketil.

  Svanhild stared at him, anger making her mute. In his mind, Freydis and her daughter were Hallbjorn’s property, nothing more.

  “I want to defeat Harald,” he continued. “We need to be in place when Harald’s forces arrive, with a plan of attack. The Orkney currents favor strong sailors. Come with us. Fill your ship—there are warriors enough here who would like to see Harald brought low. Bring that giant of yours and Solvi too. You can deal with Hallbjorn later. He needs some lessoning, but he has done Solvi a good turn here.”

  Solvi could not walk without pain, or face battle without fear. She had seen the depths of his weakness over the winter. Still, no one was more clever in a sea battle than he—even she and Ragnvald had only ever beaten him with luck and numbers, never with guile. Perhaps Ketil was right, and this would pry him out of Iceland.

  In the distance, Hallbjorn’s ship, moving swiftly under the power of both oars and wind, exited the Reykjavik harbor and disappeared behind a point of land. Hallbjorn must know he would be pursued. His was a well-built ship, perhaps not quite as fast as hers, but slim, and with a good-size sail. If he had, or was, a competent pilot and had good weather, she would be hard-pressed to catch him on the next tide. And even if she did, what would she do? She could not fill her smaller ship with enough warriors to best his, and only a fool would engage in ship-to-ship battle out of sight of land. No, he and Ketil had played this round well, and Svanhild and Solvi would have to pursue him.

  * * *

  The drizzle had turned into a hard rain by the time Svanhild returned to the farm, but Solvi was still outside, kneeling in the garden dirt and stabbing his spade into the ground. Rolli stood next to him, dripping wet and shifting from one foot to the other.