She met the look. “He’ll strike back in spring,” she said.
“So will Haakon,” Arinbjörn answered. “And the land everywhere is seething.”
He stood for a while, shoulders hunched. Darkness waxed in the windows. Then he sighed. “Well, Queen, I’ve been weighing this, and I believe I should leave soon, with what following I can muster, and go to King Eirik. You know, don’t you, he’s down in Rogaland,” at the hall where Harald Fairhair died. “Such a showing ought to hearten others, make them likelier to stay true to him. And he’ll be that much further ahead in busking for war.”
Gunnhild rose. A bleak eagerness shivered. “I’ve been hoping for this.”
“I awaited you’d say so,” he told her in his steady way. “He’d be glad of your skills—of your knowledge and wisdom, I mean. But for the sake of your unborn and yourself, you’d best go by sea. A slow, rough, cold faring this time of year, not overly safe.”
“Shall I fear to do what Haakon’s slut-mother did?” Gunnhild flung back.
“Think on it, my lady. To deem by what I’ve heard about him, King Haakon would not willingly let you suffer harm. We have days yet. Think on it.”
“Do you believe I haven’t already?”
“No,” said Arinbjörn softly. “You would have.”
“I felt a doom in Haakon from the first,” Gunnhild nearly snarled. “We should have gotten him slain in his crib.”
Arinbjörn scowled at that, but said merely, “King Harald would never have allowed it.”
“Oh, yes, Harald Fairhair begot many a wolf.”
The hersir held back from putting Eirik among them.
“Also—” Gunnhild drew breath. “You’ve been good to me, Arinbjörn, you’ve kept your word, but how I’ve longed to get away from here. I could never be happy under a roof that’s sheltered Egil Skallagrimsson.”
He stood stubborn, neither defending the friendship nor asking forgiveness for it.
Spite spat. “Egil! He who murdered my son and cast a black spell against my men and me. What else has brought this woe on us?”
She did not tell what she had tried against Haakon, if anything. Had his White Christ fended her off? Who knew?
“There are those who might say that King Eirik’s overbearingness had something to do with it,” Arinbjörn answered slowly. He did not add, “And you yourself.”
She gasped. “You dare—”
Looming over her, he smiled grimly as he raised a hand for peace. “Oh, I’d never say that to anyone else, Queen, nor ever let him say it to me.” He lowered the hand. “But here, we two alone— My lady, you are a wisewoman. You can think. Not many folk can. We sorely need thinking now, open speech and cool thought.”
Her stance eased a bit. “Yes. You are right about that.”
She had better not get angry with him. The abidingly faithful could become few. It was not enough to hope for victory. She must learn beforehand how to deal with the worst of outcomes, for her sons, her daughter, the blood that ran in them.
IV
In spring the kings called up their hosts, Haakon in Thraandheim, Eirik in the midlands and Southwest. But Haakon’s was much the bigger; and the Vikin men, up in arms, were set to fight for him, as were the Uplanders; and no few leading men in Eirik’s shires brought their followings not to meet him but to meet Haakon. He had misliked it when Gunnhild pressed him to send spokesmen abroad who would ask about help were it needed, but in the end he yielded. Ships with bold crews crossed the winter sea more than once. Now he must agree that she had been right. Thorfinn Jarl of Orkney would take him in. There was no other hope.
Those willing to go along gathered at the Byfjord. The ships that would bear them and, for some, their families, made a fleet. Day after day passed in waiting for more to arrive. To Gunnhild it felt like a mockery by the gods that it was here. In this town, beside these strands, among these hills and woods, she had dwelt, seen her son Erling begin to walk, felt herself growing close to her daughter Ragnhild, wrought the death of King Haalfdan the Black, and welcomed Eirik home from the war that gave him the whole of Norway—for how short a span!
“We have not yet been overcome,” she said to the stars. “We shall never be.”
But scouts told how Haakon was moving south, his strength swelling along the way. The time they could linger shortened as fast. The day soon came when Eirik, with his wonted battle-ax quickness, ordered they go.
That was on a chilly morning, after a rainfall that left grass soaked underfoot and made treetops shine on the heights. A few clouds scudded white. Untellably many gulls wheeled and shrieked. Ships rocked in the chop. But the tide had turned outward and the wind stood fair for Orkney.
Eirik bade her farewell at the wharf. He would sail in a dragon, she in a big knarr better fitted to her needs. “We’ll meet again yonder” was all he said. “Your ship’s not so swift, you know, but you should pass no more than two or three nights at sea, four at most. I’ll have good lodging ready for you and the young ones.”
Nor could she, amidst eyes and ears, say much else to him than, “You will have begun work on our vengeance too. We have your kingdom to win back for them.”
He gave her the least grin. The wind ruffled hair whose gold was fading toward steel-gray. The years had plowed the lean face and cut creases at eyes whose blue, always pale, seemed bleached by weather and the sharp glints off waves. Yet he stood as straight and moved almost as limberly as when first she saw him, while his sternness had become flinty. “That’s my Gunnhild,” he said.
After he went off to board his craft, Arinbjörn came to her. He took her hand. “Fare luckily, my lady,” he said. “You have our tomorrows with you.” Then he too was gone.
A bit later her brother Aalf reached her. Time had somewhat stoutened his big frame and worn down his handsomeness, but his mane was still yellow under a hat and his breast broad enough to strain his shirt and give a glimpse of pelt. “Our ship lies ready now,” he told her. “Come.” Warriors made way and fell quiet as their band passed. The townsfolk crowded nearby, gaping.
Aalf went down the gangplank first. Once in the hull, he lifted a hand to help Gunnhild board. She gave it no heed, caught her skirts, and took the steep slant by herself. He half smiled. “You’ve not lost your sea legs, sister,” he said. The smile died. “I said to you, though, when I was taking you to Finnmörk, it would not be well for a woman to spend much of her life in ships.”
She remembered. How long ago that was. “We don’t know what our weird will be till it’s done with us,” she answered. An unspoken uprising stirred within her. Was everything indeed foredoomed? The shamans had taught otherwise—that man can lay his will upon the world, if he knows how, if he dares, and if he never falters.
She turned about to greet her children.
The sons embarked according to their ages. Gamli came alone. He had a few carls with him, but they would go in another craft, and his foster father was among those who had chosen to stay in Norway. Gunnhild’s heart sprang. Too seldom since he was taken from her had she seen her firstborn. With fifteen winters behind him, he had shot up tall, slender but already strong, more growth ahead of him. Flaxen hair blew around a face becoming quite like his father’s. The young beard was well along. He said merely half a score words to her, though seemly, before he moved off to join the seamen who stood in the bows. The sword at his shoulder swayed to the springiness of his walk.
Guthorm, at fourteen, had begun to remind her of his grandfather Özur. She could see that, as yet lanky and awkward, he would be thickset, with arms like a blacksmith’s. Only a black fuzz grew on cheeks still soft, but she thought that already a shrewdness lurked behind the small eyes.
Harald, eleven, foreshadowed the swift-moving bulk, the rugged good looks and spear-sharp blue gaze that had been Harald Fairhair’s, the king who named him after himself. His locks streamed as richly bright. He too was leaving a foster home. But whatever he believed, Gunnhild thought, he’d have want of a g
rown, sound man to take after, for the next few years; and Eirik was too little forbearing. Why not Arinbjörn?
Ragnfrod, at nine, was red-haired and freckled. He looked around him, spoke hastily to her, and dashed off with a brashness that was also like her brother Eyvind, away in Denmark.
Erling’s five years had steadied the stumpy gait she fondly remembered. It seemed to her that he bore himself a bit too haughtily for a child. She set the uneasiness aside. Belike the man would be lordly.
A woman led Gudröd by the hand, for he was only three, chubby, dark-haired, his brown eyes darting right and left in amazement. She recalled King Gudröd the man, whom she had sought to make dead and who had drowned; she recalled King Gudröd the youth, who now sat in Vestfold as underling to Haakon Aethelstan’s-foster—but the name was old in the kindred. Might her lad redeem it.
Sigurd suckled the wet nurse who carried him, unknowing of his namesake, the Thraandish jarl turned into her death-foe. A weariness flitted through Gunnhild. She was not old, she told herself, she had milk of her own for this ninth—oh, Rognvald, Rognvald, whom Egil killed and left for the gulls!—but that was to help keep this one her last. There were bounds to what inborn strength and earthborn spellcraft could do. She could ill afford, least of all right now, to become weak or a hag.
She tightened. These were enough, if she saw to it that they lived and got back their birthright.
Ragnhild came aboard and the grief fell away. Her seven-year-old daughter went straight to her and, fearless of stares everywhere around, hugged her. “Mother, Mother! We’re b-bound for greatness. Aren’t we?” Ruddy-brown hair tumbled down the slight shape, shining under the morning sun. Gray eyes lifted to her, the lashes blinking back tears. A smile quivered. But there was no dearth of heart behind it—yes, and self-will and trickiness, Gunnhild thought a little wryly. She gave the girl a few warm breaths in her arms before sending her aft.
Some other folk followed. Aalf shouted his bidding. The gangplank was withdrawn, the moorings slipped. Oarsmen at bow and stern thrust free; blades threshed to take the knarr from the shallows. Her yardarm rattled aloft. Her sail bellied. Town and hills dropped behind. She cleared the fjord, stood out to sea, and made for the Westlands.
V
Late in the year King Haakon trekked north overland. It went slowly, less because of shortening days and worsening weather than because he stopped as often as might be to talk with men, both high and low, hear them out, and judge between them if they asked. Yuletide was nigh when he reached Thraandheim.
Sigurd Jarl rode forth to bid him welcome. He would stay at Hladi rather than on the rebuilt kingly garth at Sölvi, which was far offside and much smaller. Here was where the meaningful gathering would be. Nonetheless, as messengers who went ahead had bidden, early next morning, when most of the guests were still asleep, Sigurd led Haakon to a house some ways beyond the hall. The falconer and his family who lived there had been lodged elsewhere and the inside fitted with tapestries, glass and silver beakers, and whatever else was fitting. It would readily hold Haakon, the half-dozen more he had picked, and servants to wait on them. The rest of his men were bedded around the garth as was wonted.
King and jarl walked across ground lately thawed and then overnight lightly frozen. It creaked underfoot. Cloud hung low and gloomy. Breath smoked into raw, windless air. The fjord was like tarnished silver. Hearthfires and candles made the house cheerier. Haakon told his chosen men to settle in. He and Sigurd hung up their coats and sat down in chairs with backs and cushions, brought from the hall. Baulks under the feet of the king’s raised it a few inches above the other. A woman brought them mead. It was better than most, dry and cunningly herbed.
Haakon looked around, sniffed the sweetness of burning pine, and smiled. “This will do well,” he said.
“It’s not worthy of you,” Sigurd answered rather flatly. “Nor of me, that I shall not guest the king under my own roof.”
Haakon went earnest. He flushed. “Any other time, yes.”
“Many are coming here. They’ll wonder why the king takes no share in honoring the gods.”
“They know why!”
“I think most do not, my lord. Not yet.”
“Then I’ll tell them myself, if you won’t,” snapped Haakon. “They’ll be bloodstained from the offerings. The hall itself will be. They’ll drink to heathendom and eat unclean food.”
Sigurd sighed. “Well, King, you are a Christian. Let every man abide by his own gods.” A skew smile stirred the grizzling darkness of his beard. “I’ve seen some strange ones here and there.”
“Only one is the true God.” Haakon leaned forward. His voice shook. “Oh, my friend, my friend, could I but bring you to him!”
“Best we leave that aside for now, King. We’ve other things to talk about.” The jarl peered over the rim of his goblet, into the youthful face. “We’ll be swamped with talkers.”
Yuletide meant a great meeting at Hladi, the more so as Sigurd bore the whole cost himself. That lifted his standing in these shires even higher than his shrewd leadership did, and, he believed, kept him in the goodwill of the gods.
“After the three feast days are over, I think some leading men will stay for a while,” he went on. “I hope you can then sit amidst them.”
“Yes, of course.” Haakon shivered with his wish for fellowship. “I, I’ll move straight back—as soon as the hall’s been cleansed— Mostly, though, always, I want to speak with you. I’ve so much to ask you about—you who called me to Norway, who showed me what to do and gave me every help—”
Sigurd’s smile softened. “I’m glad I did, my lord. Whatever I can do for you, you’ve but to ask.”
Haakon sat still for a while. The fire crackled; sparks danced, wisps of smoke drifted gray. He gulped deep, set the goblet on his knee, and let out: “I’ve been thinking—trying to think—while Eirik Blood-ax lives, can we look for any lasting peace?”
Sigurd was as suddenly stark. “I doubt it. And surely we’ll have the Danes to cope with.”
Haakon reined himself in. “Yes. You told me early on, I should mostly keep in the South and midlands to watch for them.”
Sigurd nodded. “While I hold the North for you.”
“I’ll make this known while I’m here, give you full sway over these lands, Moerr, Thraandheim, and northward, as my sworn man. Will you tell me how to do it aright?”
Again Sigurd nodded, but with more eagerness than most ever saw in him. Oftenest he kept his thoughts to himself till he was ready to move—though, quick-witted as he was, that might not be any long time. “So you want to learn our laws and abide by them,” he said. “Yes, I am glad of what I did.”
They spoke together.
At last the jarl said, “We’ve done good work, King.” He stretched his back and arms. “Now let’s go back to the hall to eat and drink while daylight lasts.” Yuletide was a day hence.
Haakon rose, which allowed his host to rise too. He shook his head. “I thank you, but not this evening.”
Sigurd showed no surprise. He hardly ever did. “Why, King?”
“If I’ve not lost track, today is Friday. Didn’t you mark how I took only a piece of bread? These men and I will keep the fast as best we can,” they from those of his band who were Christian.
During the past months, about three score Norsemen had taken baptism, together with their households. He had truly won some of them over. Others merely wanted to please him, feeling the new gods could well be strong. A priest from England who had stayed in Norway sprinkled them. Otherwise there had been scant time to tell anybody much about the Faith. Haakon must needs bear with the heathen, many of them in his own following. He tried to treat all with the same fairness. Sometimes, out of their hearing, he prayed that their eyes be opened before it was too late for them.
“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten,” the jarl said. “Well, there’s both salt and smoked fish in the larder as you wished, together with better stuff for the morning and afterwar
d.” His gaze was seldom as mild as now. “But I hate to think of you here alone while we make merry.”
“I’ll have cheer enough with my Christian men.”
“Men.” Sigurd grinned. “What about a wench or two or three to warm your bed? Easily done.”
The blood left Haakon’s cheeks. “No!” he cried.
“Hey? That’s not forbidden you, is it? Have you tumbled none along the way?”
Haakon stood stiff.
Sigurd’s look hooded itself. “I see. You’ve had a great deal to do. Though I never heard how any other son of Harald Fairhair let that hold him back. Anyway, things have gotten less hasty than hitherto.”
Haakon shook his head so the honey-hued locks swung to and fro. “No. I—No. Forgive me, I thank you for your kindness, but—but she’d be heathen, wouldn’t she, and—” His voice trailed off.
Sigurd shrugged the least bit. “As you will, King.” He lowered his own voice, for the others were back in the room, although keeping away from the mighty ones who quite plainly did not want their nearness. “Of course, we do need sons of yours to uphold the right of your house after you’re gone. The sooner the better, King.”
“I—a queen—a Christian woman— Later, later. First, everything else there is—”
Sigurd put helm over and steered clear of the business. “No lack of it, my lord.” He let the young man ease off. That took only a few heartbeats. Haakon had already shown himself to be nimble-minded. “But about such things. Lord, you’ve seen how my wife Bergljot walks big with child. Her time will come on her very soon, maybe even during Yule.”
“May all go well,” said Haakon in honest friendship. “I’ll pray for her. And for the child.”
“You can do more, King, if you will.”
“What?”
“If the child be a boy, and lives, will you give him your name, as I gave you my father’s on the strand-rocks at Stord?”
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