He begged a slice of bread with cheese and honey from the kitchen, and went outside. The last of Harald’s warriors were emerging from their tents. Their eyes seemed to slide off him when they looked in his direction. No one wanted to be too close to the son that Ragnvald the Mighty had rejected.
Just around the curve of the building Einar heard his father, Sigurd, and King Harald arguing.
“You gave these islands to me,” said Ragnvald. “Now they are mine to do with what I wish.”
“I gave them to you,” said Harald. “And you threw the gift in my face.”
“Giving their rulership and income to my loyal brother is throwing them away?” Ragnvald asked. He sounded reckless in a way Einar had never heard before, not even on the beach in Skane when Svanhild left, and Harald took Sogn from him. He did not seem to care what damage he did to himself or others.
“No,” said Harald, after a long pause. “I did give these islands to you, to do with what you wish.”
“Good,” said Ragnvald, a sneer in his voice. “You are a just king, who would never take back a gift.”
Einar remembered his mother’s words, heard them almost as if she had spoken them again in his ear. “Your father’s fate is coming for him,” she had said. “I will not need to compass his death.” Ragnvald would not live long beyond the death of his friendship with Harald. If he could not see that, then he had never deserved the byname “Wise.”
Harald’s captains called him away, wanting to plan their attack on Scotland. Some of their prisoners had given up the locations of Melbrid’s favorite camps in return for their lives.
Einar turned to leave when Harald did. He did not want to see his father. But Sigurd caught up to him on his blind side and startled him, saying, “Einar, nephew, I wanted to see you.”
“And I to see you,” said Einar dryly. He hated how unbalanced his altered field of vision made him feel. “Or the half of you I can still see.”
Sigurd laughed at the joke. “What do you mean to do?” he asked.
“You mean now that my father has disowned me?” Einar asked. “I am a man with no family and only half my sight. I do not know if I will be able to fight, and without that, I have no use.”
“Your father did not mean—” Sigurd began.
“Oh, but he did,” said Einar.
“I wanted to ask you to stay here, in Orkney, with me,” said Sigurd.
Something loosened in Einar’s chest that had felt constricted since Ivar’s death. “Did my father tell you to do this?” he asked.
For a moment, Sigurd looked as though he wanted to be able to answer his hope, but then bit his lip and shook his head. “No, it was Oddi’s idea, and I thought it wise. I am a simple man, and I need someone clever by my side. You are as wise as my brother—wiser now, perhaps, than he is being. You will see trouble before it comes.”
“Even with only one eye?” Einar asked.
Sigurd gave him a pleading, hesitant smile. “Stay,” he said. “You will have a place here.”
The Hordaland witch had been wrong predicting that Einar’s prospects would grow with Ivar’s death. Before Ivar’s death he had been best friend and adviser to the next king of Sogn. Now he would be nephew and adviser to the Orkney jarl. But he would have a place, a place better than a farm in Iceland, better than he deserved for breaking his oath to Ivar.
“What will my father think?” Einar asked, his voice breaking.
“I do not think Ragnvald is thinking or planning anything right now,” said Sigurd. “I am not sure if he knows what he does. Perhaps I should give the islands back to Halfdan—he was promised them. But then I think that would anger him more.”
So a slave might speak of a capricious master—was that what they were, slaves to his father’s moods and whims? Einar had never thought of his father as a tyrant before, only a just ruler and father, hard but fair.
“Will you do it?” Sigurd asked. “Will you stay here?”
He could travel with Harald’s army to Scotland and see if he could find a way to die on a Scottish viking’s sword. He could make his way back to Vestfold—his mother would surely push Guthorm to give him a place among his warriors. But Sigurd needed him. And perhaps here he could make a home for himself and Freydis.
“I will think on it,” said Einar. It did feel good to be asked, just as Freydis’s declaration had felt good. He had been used to admiration and feared that the knife that cut open his face had sliced away everything praiseworthy about him.
Einar was still thinking of Freydis as he walked down toward the water. On the shore below, figures were loading a small ship. One had bright bleached hair and was larger than the others—Rolli. Freydis stood next to her father, who was as short as the legends said, but with a keen intelligence in his face that drew the eye.
Freydis had her daughter tied across her chest, the weight tilting her hips forward. She was watching sailors pack the ship, her own bag sitting next to her on a rock. Einar willed her to turn her gaze to him, and she did, meeting his eye for a moment, until her pale skin became tinged with pink, and she bowed her head down toward her daughter instead.
Einar descended to the beach, where Svanhild greeted him. “How much longer must you wear that bandage?” she asked.
Einar looked at Freydis for an answer.
“It is healing well,” she said. “I think the poultice of honey and herbs is keeping it from becoming infected. A few more days at most.”
“Solvi and I cannot remain here much longer,” said Svanhild. “We will leave on the next tide.”
Einar turned to Freydis. “Are you going with them?” he asked.
Freydis nodded.
“Was it a lie then, the other night?” he asked crossly. “To keep me from the cliff?”
“What if it was?” Freydis replied. Her face went red, but she held Einar’s gaze. “It would have been a good lie, since it worked.”
“I should have known,” said Einar. “What could you want with a man with no future?”
“You did not answer me,” she cried.
Her hurt made him feel protective. “I did not,” said Einar, more gently. Her words had kept him from a shameful death. “I can offer you little, but . . .”
“Are you offering marriage to my daughter?” Solvi asked, looking stern.
“Yes,” he said, before he could think of all the reasons not to. “She has been kind to me, and I want to be the father to my half-brother’s daughter, since he cannot. There is no one to ask for her hand but me—my father will not do it, nor will he care.”
Solvi gave Einar a challenging smile, though it turned fond when his gaze touched Freydis. “I am a simple farmer now,” he said. “I can do nothing for your prospects.”
“Sigurd Olafsson, jarl of Orkney, has offered me a place here,” said Einar. “I will not be wealthy, but a wife of mine will not starve. I am told it is not hard to cut turf and make a house here.”
Solvi nodded. “I have sworn that Freydis shall follow the path she wishes,” he said. “Daughter, do you want to stay with this man? To follow him into battle when his lord requires it, or to live in turf with him here?”
“Yes,” said Freydis. She gave Einar a look that made him feel shy and afraid. She cared for him, more than he deserved, and while he liked her comfort and valued her healing, he feared that she would find ashes where she wanted affection. Still, he did not want to watch her sail away, never to see her again or feel the touch of her cool fingers on his heated skin.
“We must still leave on the next tide,” said Svanhild.
“They can marry now,” said Solvi. “I know the words, and we can spare some ale to make the toasts. Rolli may be a little thirsty on the voyage, but he will live.”
Rolli glanced up the hill. “If you wish, I will go and bring Father,” he said.
Einar met his eyes with some difficulty. “Who I marry is no longer his concern.”
So they were married there on the shore. Svanhild held Thordis wh
ile Solvi made the blessings. Freydis was taller than her parents, and though not as beautiful as Gyda, she had similar coloring, and a similar sharpness to her features. And she seemed to desire him as a husband, perhaps even love him, which Gyda never had.
“I don’t know what is to come,” said Einar after Svanhild’s sailors toasted them. “But you will not starve. I promise that I will starve before you do.”
“No one knows what is to come,” said Freydis. “We are in the hands of the fates.”
* * *
Svanhild stood next to Solvi as they watched Einar and Freydis climb back up toward the Grimbister hall. Einar climbed slowly, still weak from his wound, and Freydis turned toward him every few steps. Svanhild feared for her daughter, still so young, and wed to a man who had been so wounded inside and out. But Freydis was stronger and wiser than Svanhild had any right to expect.
Solvi put his arm around her waist. “Where do we go, then?” he asked. “You have given away our land.”
“I was angry,” said Svanhild. “As well I might have been. You should have come. If you blame me for leaving you, when I went after our daughter . . .”
“Of course not,” he said. “I do not. I blame myself for not going with you. It took Unna and young Rolli to force my hand. Even now I am ashamed that my pride kept me away.”
Rolli shifted from one foot to the other. “It is well he waited,” he said. “If he hadn’t, I could not have come. But then . . .”
Svanhild held out her hand to Rolli. “Your father has many faults—” she began.
“Harald is the one who outlawed me again,” said Rolli. “But my father . . . he is not who I thought.”
Svanhild gave Rolli a sympathetic look. Ragnvald had not disowned Rolli, but he had abandoned him almost as cruelly.
“You are better away from Norway,” Solvi said.
“We were going to Iceland for Freydis’s sake,” Svanhild said slowly to Solvi. “I will not leave you again. If it is your wish that we return to Iceland, and farm there, then I will follow you and stay by your side. Tova and Falki will probably let us stay. But . . .”
Solvi smiled. “Rolli has much to learn before he can call himself a sea king,” he said.
“I would value your guidance,” said Rolli. “Yours and my aunt Svanhild’s.”
“There are still courts that would be glad of our visit,” said Solvi, “and seas that I long to sail again. I cannot fight, but I can sail better than I can walk.”
“And I can fight,” said Rolli. He grinned. “And carry you, when you need it.”
“And I have lived too long on a ship to be happy anywhere else,” said Svanhild.
She glanced up the hill, to where Ivar’s mound lay, tears gathering in her eyes. She had lost her son, not far from here, on a voyage many years ago. Now her brother stood in danger of losing three sons when he need only lose one.
“Husband,” she said. “I must—I need to speak with him again. My brother. I cannot leave him again, forever, without saying something.”
“Harald still means you ill,” said Solvi.
Svanhild glanced at Falki, but it was Rolli who stepped forward. “I will guard you,” he said. “My father will not harm me further, and I too would bid him farewell.” Falki looked relieved.
Svanhild climbed back up toward the hall, with Rolli following. She found Ragnvald sitting on a damp stone near Ivar’s mound. The slanting sunlight picked out every line on his face, every streak of gray in his hair. So might he look when he was laid out for his own burial.
Rolli hung back as Svanhild approached. Ragnvald’s eyes flickered at her, but otherwise he did not respond to her arrival, even when she sat down next to him.
“Your Einar has wed my daughter, Freydis. Cousins marrying . . .” She trailed off with a little laugh. “But I think they will be good for one another.”
“Without my permission,” said Ragnvald.
“You cannot have it both ways, brother,” said Svanhild, more harshly. “Either you disowned him, and he may make his own choices, or he is still your son. He would rather still be your son. So would Rolli, though I will give him a place if you do not.”
“It’s better if you do.” Ragnvald’s voice was hardly above a whisper. “Look what I do to my sons.” He made a sound, a sob cut in half. “Look what Harald does to them.”
“I”—she swallowed—“want to offer you the chance to come with me again,” she said. She picked up his hand and held it between hers. “How foolish is that?”
“Very foolish, Svanhild,” he said. “You cannot stand between me and my fate. Though this is not . . . not what I would have chosen.”
“If you must die for Harald, at least forgive Einar before you do,” said Svanhild. “He deserves better from you.”
“I cannot.” Ragnvald pulled his hand away.
“Will you not bid good-bye to Rolli, at least?” Svanhild asked.
Ragnvald nodded tightly, and Svanhild beckoned Rolli over. She gave them a moment alone, and when Rolli came back to her, he was wiping tears from his cheeks. “I will not see him again,” he said.
Svanhild returned to Ragnvald’s side, and he stood and embraced her. “Go now,” he said. “And farewell.”
Svanhild stood on her toes to kiss him on his cheek, which was cold from the wind. “Farewell, King Ragnvald,” she said. “I will see you in the halls of the gods.”
37
Each day that Ragnvald remained in Orkney, he climbed up to sit by Ivar’s mound. He told Ivar that Einar had married Freydis, and grew angry again that Ivar would never wed, never father children. Ivar had wanted to be a father soon—he had told Ragnvald that last winter, when Ragnvald called him away from playing with some of the hall’s younger children. Ivar had hardly grown beyond childhood himself, and Ragnvald had always thought that a part of him never would. He had been able to protect Ivar as he and Svanhild had not been protected, and had enlisted Einar in protecting him after Ragnvald could not. But now he would never grow older, and must lie in a burial mound, far from Sogn. Perhaps he had died because Ragnvald could not hold on to his birthright for him.
Harald found him there on the day before his forces were to leave for Scotland. “Ragnvald, my friend, tell me what I may do for you. You are not yourself,” he said.
Ragnvald had joined every council, and given his advice when requested, while his spirit remained here, next to the mound of cracked turf that covered Ivar’s body. “How would you know?” he asked. “It has been many years since we warred together. I have changed.”
“Not like this,” said Harald. “It was not meant to be like this.”
“Did your mother make a prediction?” Ragnvald asked.
“No,” said Harald. “No new predictions, but she has always promised success for me.”
“You did have success,” said Ragnvald. He thought of Hilda when she grew angry, how she lay in bed for days with her face turned to the wall. He would do that now if he could.
“With such losses as you have suffered, how could I count it a success?” Harald had tears in his eyes that Ragnvald both hated and envied.
“I am sorry, my king,” said Ragnvald. “All your sons are living. You cannot know.”
“I would give anything to bring your son back,” said Harald. Ragnvald did believe him, but no god would come out of the dark ocean to offer to take that bargain, to take Harald’s crown, or one of his sons, to redeem Ivar from death.
“Sons,” said Ragnvald. “I have lost more than one son.”
“Is that what you want? Rolli restored? I would give that to you.”
Ragnvald had told Rolli to stay far away from him and from Norway—that he was a curse to his sons. Better for Rolli to be a son of the sea, a son of Svanhild and Solvi.
“I don’t care,” he said to Harald. “Do as you like.”
From near the hall below, Oddi waved to Ragnvald. He would be leaving soon. Ragnvald bowed to Harald and went to say good-bye to Oddi.
&
nbsp; Oddi embraced him as he had not since they had ended their friendship many years earlier. “Ragnvald, how are you faring?” he asked.
“I am dying,” said Ragnvald. It did not feel like an exaggeration—dying must be like this, just one more step away into the fog that now separated him from the living.
“You are not,” said Oddi. “You are grieving.”
“I have grieved before,” said Ragnvald. “I lost my father, my mother. My sister, more than once. I grieved the loss of you as a friend.” That admission made his voice catch, but he pressed it away, back into the fog. “I know what grieving feels like, and this is not that.”
“It is, though,” said Oddi. He raised an eyebrow. “And maybe some guilt for how terribly you treated your son.”
“Rolli?” Ragnvald asked. “Harald has offered to lift his outlawry. But he will be better off away from Norway, where Harald and his sons are wolves, biting off pieces of my land.”
Oddi stared at him incredulously. “No, not Rolli. Einar,” he said.
“He is no longer my son,” said Ragnvald.
Oddi shook his head. “And I had thought we might be friends again.”
The fog seemed to lift slightly. When he and Oddi had fought side by side, he never needed to fear that his black thoughts would consume him. “Had thought?” Ragnvald asked.
“I cannot forgive your cruelty to Einar,” said Oddi. “I fear for him.”
“You think he will kill himself?” Ragnvald asked.
“He has already come close, I think,” said Oddi.
No, he had not wanted that. “Did he?” Ragnvald asked.
“Yes,” said Oddi implacably. “Do you truly blame him for his brother’s death? You know what battle can be.”
The Golden Wolf Page 39