The ships that beached on this island, Hoy, had plain sails, much patched. Freydis heard names she recognized from among the men. Melbrid Tooth, short, but thick with muscle, showing his famous tooth whenever he smiled. Ketil Flatnose, with his nose smashed flat in a long-ago battle. He had been at Thordis’s naming, Freydis recalled, and nodded to her when he saw her with her child. Here was Ogmund Gudbrandsson, long an ally of Solvi’s and enemy of Harald’s. Others came from Sweden and the Danish kingdoms, from Frisia and the Baltic territories. Some had accents she could not understand. A few had women with them, some as rough and fierce as the men themselves, others cowed and beaten.
As more gathered, they crowded the small turf hall, making it stink of earth, sweat, and wet wool. Some had to camp outside in the wet weather of early spring. At least Hallbjorn had arrived here early enough to secure a place for her inside. He shared her bed at night, and always wished for her touch. She begged off accepting his advances in return, but each time, she worried that he would not accept her excuses, and indeed, the soreness faded every day; she feared that soon she would let him, to keep the peace.
A few days after they arrived, some of the men killed a cow, and set the women to roasting it for a feast. Freydis worked all day and was covered with grease by the evening. She served with the other women, wearing Thordis on her back when she was wakeful, and setting her to sleep in a warm corner of the kitchen when she could.
After the men had eaten their fill and toasted one another’s past glories, Ketil stood and said, “I am pleased to see so many of you, but we must still be cautious. Harald has brought many ships here, and while they are likely not captained by sailors as skilled as we, they still match or even better our numbers. And worse, Thorstein has betrayed us. We must accept that he has shared the secrets of Orkney’s currents and hidden bays, and so we cannot use those against him.”
“What do you propose?” asked Ogmund Gudbrandsson. “We did not come here to slink away. Harald and that loathsome snake Ragnvald Half-Drowned compassed the deaths of my father, and brother, and took our land. We have all come here for revenge.”
Other voices warred with one another until Ketil held up a hand for silence. “We are, all of us, here for the same reason,” he said. His voice was loud, but nasal, forced through his smashed nose. “Harald Halfdansson, Ragnvald Eysteinsson, Oddi Hakonsson, these men have all done us wrong, but now they have done us a good turn: coming here to die.”
Freydis glanced at Geirbjorn Hakonsson, to see if he would object to his brother being named among his enemies. His eyes were still flat and unreadable.
“But Harald will not be defeated on land,” Ketil continued. “We must lure them out on their ships, and pick them off that way. It will take time, but it is the only way to win.”
The men talked deep into the night about how best to carry out Ketil’s suggestions, until they all grew so drunk they fell asleep on the benches or lying in dirty rushes on the floor.
The next morning, most of the men departed in their ships. Freydis asked the kitchen women if there was a bathhouse she could use, and when she went out to start a fire, she saw a hunched figure in black coming toward her. As the old crone drew closer Freydis was only mildly surprised to see the face of Runa, the old woman who had offered her escape before.
“Freydis Solvisdatter,” said Runa, “you have returned.”
“Yes,” said Freydis, crossing her arms. “What does it matter?”
“The islands do not like so many warriors upon them, eating up their bounty, burning turf they have not cut. They will rebel,” she said.
“Is that a warning?” Freydis asked.
“No,” said Runa. She stepped in close so Freydis could smell her sour scent of age and sweat, peat and herbs. “It is a promise, daughter. Do not lose hope.”
She walked by Freydis and had performed her disappearing trick by the time Freydis turned to look for her. Freydis continued walking to the bathhouse, feeling the hope Runa had promised mixed with exasperation. No wonder her mother had no patience for prophecy and superstition. Still, Alfrith would tell her not to discount this. She must continue to look for an opportunity to escape.
The warriors did not return until Freydis was ready to go to bed. They trooped in, loud, smelly, and hungry, and she and the other women had to serve them a late dinner. The next day they went out again and again returned late, so Freydis tried to nap during the following day at the same time as Thordis, so she would not feel quite so drained.
After a few days of this, the raiders began to grow irritable. None of Harald’s ships could be lured into battle. They stuck close to the settlement at Grimbister, where the Orkney currents could not trouble them.
Hallbjorn crawled in next to Freydis at night and wrapped his arms around her, pressing the length of his body against her side. Freydis sighed and moved to satisfy him, but he touched her cheek instead, and then kissed her searchingly.
“Have you heard?” Hallbjorn asked. “This is pointless.”
“Yes, I heard,” said Freydis, resisting the urge to wipe Hallbjorn’s kisses from her mouth. Sometimes she thought she could stand this, pretending to be his wife, and other times his touch was abhorrent to her.
“What do you think?” he asked. “You are the daughter of Svanhild Sea Queen and Solvi Hunthiofsson. Do you think that we will win this way?”
“I am no seer,” said Freydis. But she had heard the stories of Harald’s battles, told every winter in Tafjord to pass the long, dark days. Ketil had been right—Harald did fight better on land. Most of his successes had been in shield-wall battles. King Ragnvald had helped him win his sea battles, and even then, they had lured men onto land when they could.
“But . . . what do you fear?” she asked.
“I fear they will stay in Thorstein’s hall and refuse to chase our ships, and another summer will pass before I get my revenge,” said Hallbjorn. “King Ragnvald killed my father and dishonored my mother, and I have had to smile in his face for far too long.”
She had never heard him sound so venomous. He must have prompted Rolli to attack Aldi’s ships for his revenge. Freydis felt a chill, even with the warm length of Hallbjorn’s body pressed up against her. Runa had told her that the islands did not want him here, and Freydis could help them.
“You are right,” she said evenly. “You must find a way to bring the attack to them. Do not hesitate to fight on land.” That strange coldness prompted her further. “King Ragnvald’s hands have never been the same since Solvi had them broken. If you fight a land battle and face him, you will surely win. Do not hesitate. He fears to be thought a coward, and so will be in the hottest part of the fighting, though he is too old for it. Find him there and kill him.”
Hallbjorn looked at her wonderingly. “You sound as though you hate him as much as I,” he said.
“He betrayed my mother,” said Freydis. “He is her brother, and she is soft-hearted about him, but I see that he is a tyrant, as much as Harald is.”
“Oh, wife,” said Hallbjorn. “I do wish I could take you now.”
“So do I,” Freydis whispered. This new coldness let her lie without shame. She was talking to a dead man. “But I am still torn from Thordis’s birth. Come back from this battle successful, and I will find new ways to please you.” She touched him, wondering if he would feel the chill in her fingertips, but he still moaned with pleasure against her, and kissed her without hesitation. She did not sleep that night, instead staring up all night at the dirt of the ceiling, and feeling a foreign, dangerous energy, as though she moved the threads of the fates with her words.
The next morning, Freydis kissed Hallbjorn good-bye before he left in his ship, a deep kiss that she joined as passionately as he, for she knew in her bones that it was the last warmth he would ever have from her.
31
Harald’s forces passed a long, rainy week in Grimbister, trying to find the enemy. Thorstein’s hall could only sleep a hundred of Harald’s warri
ors and seemed able to feed even fewer. They ran through the food they brought quickly, and Ragnvald saw some of the men looking longingly at cows that should not be slaughtered out of season.
Some scouting missions had encountered enemy ships, but Harald’s men feared to follow them far enough to find their hiding place, and for good reason. Thorstein was no help—he said that the Orkney Islands contained so many hidden bays and beaches that the enemy forces could be hiding anywhere.
After five inconclusive days, Harald called a meeting with Ragnvald and his captains to share his frustration. “If we can’t pry them out, we should take war to Scotland,” he said. “I am told that is where many of our enemies make their homes.”
“We will have to raid their mainland to keep Thorstein from starving over the winter anyway,” said Ragnvald.
Harald waved that off. “I’ve paid him.”
“He cannot eat silver,” Ragnvald replied. He stretched and turned himself so the fire heated his other side. The dampness in his clothes turned into steam that made his skin clammy. “Our enemies may have heard that Thorstein has abandoned them,” he added. “If they don’t come in force, we may never root them out. Who has enough knowledge of the Scottish islands for us to attack there?”
“Thorstein, of course,” said Harald.
“He will help us here, a little, but will he take battle to his former allies?” Ragnvald asked.
“If he will not, then he can be killed,” said Harald.
Ragnvald blinked—in the past few years of diplomacy and deal-making on Harald’s behalf, but not at his side, he had forgotten Harald’s impatience with anything but immediate capitulation. He did not like to hear this talk while they warmed themselves under Thorstein’s roof. The laws of the gods required that they leave first, thus ending Thorstein’s hospitality, if they wanted to kill him.
Thorstein had been out taxing fishermen, and he returned to report that his scouts had sighted more ships coming from the Scottish mainland. With the tides and currents, they could land by the afternoon.
Harald, Ragnvald, Thorstein, and their sons and captains gathered to discuss their plans. “They are a divided force,” said Thorstein of the enemy. “Too many captains, no leader.”
“What of Solvi Hunthiofsson?” Ragnvald asked.
Thorstein shrugged. “He is not the man he once was. Forget him. Your enemy is here, and it is not him.”
Ragnvald looked at him suspiciously—Thorstein might be concealing the location of his old mentor. “We should hide all the ships out of the harbor to trick them into thinking we have left. Sail some elsewhere and pull others up onshore to hide,” he suggested. “Harald has always had better luck on land.”
“I have good luck everywhere,” said Harald.
“Ragnvald is right,” said Thorstein. “Luck favors those who do not risk the currents here. I have been raiding from Orkney for fifteen years and only last year lost a ship upon these rocks.”
Harald’s forces did as Ragnvald said. Harald himself used his massive strength to help drag some of the ships up and behind hillocks that hid them. Ragnvald helped as well, and spent the following day with his hands so weak and painful he could hardly hold his dagger for eating.
He passed a fretful day while enemy ships sailed around Grimbister like crows circling a dying animal. Harald deployed scouts to all corners of the island to keep watch, and each time they reported back to say that the ships had not beached nor put off any warriors in boats. They must know their advantage lay in navigating Orkney’s currents rather than in coming ashore.
Word came the next morning that over the night, attackers had burned some of Harald’s ships left in other harbors and killed their guards. The mood at breakfast was sour. Only Halfdan ate with much enjoyment. Ivar attempted halfhearted jokes with some of Harald’s sons, while Einar ate his porridge methodically. The rain had departed, taking with it the pain in Ragnvald’s hands, but the wind blew so hard that even within Thorstein’s hall, the rushing noise nearly drowned out the voices of Harald’s warriors.
Harald pushed his porridge away only partially eaten, and sighed. “I am ready to go home and have you finally cut my hair, but not without at least one battle.” He turned toward Ragnvald. “What is your new plan to draw them out?” he asked. “You used to have so many—you were never without a trick for how to defeat our enemies. Now you are silent.”
True, he had nothing to offer here in this island kingdom. The tactics that might work for a fjord battle, with predictable winds and currents, and only two directions to sail, could not be used in the chaotic stretches of water between the islands. Ships captained by men who knew this place could hide, while Harald’s forces would be as disadvantaged as a blind man fighting a sighted one. And, as he watched Harald stretch out his long limbs, unconcerned as a cat, Ragnvald realized he did not want Harald to be too successful here. Harald had conquered Norway and taken Sogn from Ragnvald, from his sons, from his sons’ sons. He had given Harald enough.
He raised his head and saw Einar watching him, and then looking away after he met Ragnvald’s eyes. “What do you think, Einar?” he called out. “You look as though you have something in mind.”
“Nothing sure,” said Einar. His frown made lines between his brows. For a moment, Ragnvald saw his son in old age, with a longer beard, one eye shadowed like Odin Alfather. He shook his head to dispel the vision.
“Join us,” said Ragnvald. “My sons,” he added, nodding to Ivar.
“And mine,” said Harald. “This needs many heads.”
The gaggle of young men joined them near the fire, with Einar at their vanguard. “What was your thought?” Ragnvald asked Einar.
“I was remembering the battle of Solskel, in Geiranger Fjord,” said Einar. “What the skalds sing of it, and what you’ve told me of it. Stavanger too. You used a few ships to draw other ships into a trap. Thorstein, is there a bay we could use as a trap?”
“What is wrong with this bay?” Thorstein asked.
“We can hardly get them to chase us where we are best armed,” said Einar. “If that was going to work it would have already.”
“This settlement is on a narrow neck,” said Thorstein. “On the other side is the Bay of Scapa—it is better protected than this one, but tricky sailing to get there. It might serve.” He looked intrigued despite himself.
“That sounds good,” said Einar. “Then we could send some ships out, under cover of darkness, to be ready at dawn to let themselves be chased into the Bay of Scapa. They can beach and lead their attackers up to our waiting forces.”
Harald laughed. “Your son is as wise as you once were,” he said to Ragnvald. “I am surprised you did not think of it.”
“There are a hundred reasons why it may not work,” said Ragnvald. He flexed his hands, which were still stiff even though the weather aches had passed. Seeing Einar’s disappointment, Ragnvald added, “And a hundred reasons why my plan might not have worked at Solskel. But it did, and we do not have a better idea. If we do nothing, these raiders will continue attacking by stealth, picking off our ships and scouts while we wait. What do you think, my king?”
“I like it,” said Harald. “Who will be in those ships?”
“Only the bravest and most foolish, as usual,” said Ragnvald.
“It was my idea,” said Einar. “I should go.”
“Einar goes nowhere without me,” said Ivar. “We swore an oath, and I will not violate it a second time.”
Ragnvald swallowed. He did not want Ivar there. The bait ships would face the most peril. Einar should captain one, since it was his idea—Ragnvald had always faced the most peril in his riskiest plans—but he would not separate his sons again, or gainsay Ivar in front of everyone.
Harald’s sons all clamored to be in the ships, putting forth the reasons they should be chosen.
“Halfdan, I do not hear you volunteering for this,” said Harald. “Do you think it is a good plan?”
“It is good enou
gh,” said Halfdan. “It may draw in some ships or it may not. But I have seen that not all of these ships are fighting in concert. That is to their advantage in this terrain, where we are not fighting big battles and communication is difficult. We may draw some, but not others.”
“What would you suggest instead?” Harald asked.
Halfdan looked uncomfortable. “As I said, Einar’s plan is good enough—and as he has said, this sort of thing has worked for you before.”
“Then you should not object to captaining one of the ships,” said Harald, with a challenging smile. “You are as able a pilot as any of my sons, and better than many of them.”
“Of course, if you wish me to,” said Halfdan grudgingly.
The meeting broke soon after, as men went to prepare for battle, sharpening swords, making sure that their armor was in good repair, trading with one another for bits they lacked.
Ragnvald went to check the status of his own arms, a habit he had developed to keep himself from growing too nervous. Halfdan followed him to the pallet where he had been sleeping and storing his gear.
“You have to keep me from the bait ships,” said Halfdan in a low whisper.
“Why should I do that?” Ragnvald asked, continuing to pull out his supplies. “Do you think this battle may turn against Harald? Are your allies here?”
“Just keep me out of those ships,” said Halfdan.
“That is where your father wants you,” said Ragnvald. “I will not gainsay him.”
“You can survive my becoming king, or perish even before my father,” said Halfdan. “It is your choice.”
“I follow my king,” said Ragnvald. “As I have always told you.” Halfdan shoved his shoulder, but Ragnvald refused to react. Halfdan wanted an opportunity to duel with him and kill him. Ragnvald feared for his sons sailing with Halfdan, but if Halfdan did not want to be in the bait ships, that was probably the safest place for him to be. Better there than at Harald’s side in battle, where he could kill his father in the chaos.
The Golden Wolf Page 33