“M-m, maybe,” said Olaf the Peacock.
She caught his hands. “Let’s not speak of trouble. Not now. We’ve so little time left us.”
He nodded. “Yes, I’ll soon be gone.” She heard how he strove to sound merely down-to-earth, and how eagerness trembled in him like a newly leafed young birch in the spring wind. Reaching up to take him around the neck, his hair like thick silk, she drew his head downward for a kiss.
His was not the only gaze turned seaward. Every week there was more riding back and forth, caulking and pitching of ships, war-talk. With Vikin laid under the Gunnhildssons, Harald Grayfell wanted to make a faring north to Bjarmaland, as his father had done—and on the way back met his mother. Riches were to be gotten yonder, as well as renown. Although they now took the whole scot of Vikin, the brothers were still straitened for means.
Gunnhild’s Haakon returned with his band, muddied and wearied. He brought no child along. They had ransacked the home of Aastrid’s father but found nothing of her or those who had lodged with her. The chieftain told them bluntly how friends of his had spied them yesterday, guessed what they were after, and sped to warn him. That same night he sent her off with guides and the rede that she make for Svithjod, where another friend of his was a mighty man. But he had not wanted to know what way his daughter took.
Haakon’s warriors cast about. The spoor was faint and unsure, soon washed out by rain. During the next few days they asked widely around. They learned how a yeoman opened his door to the wayfarers, but when he heard from a man they had met on the road who they were, he woke them and sent them away. However, he must have given them food and lent them a worker of his who knew the woods well, for they were once more lost to all ken. Haakon angrily bade the yeoman lead them. He did, but Haakon thought he knowingly took the wrong path, for their search left them empty-handed. At length Haakon rode back to King’s Crag.
Gunnhild held down her wrath. Upbraiding him when he had tried his best could only embitter him, and she had few enough who were true to her. “You did well, in such a mire of betrayal,” she said quietly. “We may have better luck another time.” She gave him a fine cloak, and money to his followers.
Nor would she take revenge on Aastrid’s father and his neighbors. They had not outright broken any law or flouted the king’s will. Norway smoldered. Unwise would it be to kick those coals without strong cause.
Aastrid could not hide forever, and Gunnhild knew where she was bound. The queen sent word forth over her web. Trappers, woodcutters, charcoal burners, homeless wanderers could speedily pass news across the mountains of the Keel.
Meanwhile, Olaf the Peacock was going home.
He had asked the king for leave, as he must. “I’d rather you stayed here with us, and had whatever standing you choose,” answered Harald Grayfell.
Olaf thanked him for this, as well as for the honor already shown him, but said that nevertheless his wish was for Iceland, if the king was willing. “That shall not touch our friendship, Olaf,” said Harald. “Yes, you may sail come summer, for I see how you yearn. Nor shall you have any trouble about making ready. I’ll take care of everything.”
And he had a knarr outfitted and loaded with timber. “This ship is yours, Olaf,” he said. “You shall not leave Norway in a hired vessel.”
Olaf gave many well-spoken thanks. Later, alone with Gunnhild, he said low, “The king has been very kind to me, but I think I owe still more to you, my lady.”
“Whatever I may have done has gladdened me,” she whispered. “You came to me like a clean wind off the sea.”
Eirik had been a storm, she thought. Brihtnoth was a warm breeze that murmured of the Southlands. Hrut was a gust that happened by. She did not then understand that, and so she wronged him. Olaf should not suffer for having known her.
As before, King Harald and Queen Gunnhild went down to the docks with him. The king uttered hearty good wishes. The queen could not say much other than “Fare you well. Fare you ever well.”
How merrily he sprang aboard.
It was a day of blue sky and white clouds. Waves danced, glittered, chuckled. The bright-striped sail drew taut, the masthead pennon fluttered like a wing, and the ship stood out to sea, bearing away Gunnhild’s last breath of youth.
She had not wept for the deaths of her lord, her brothers, or her sons. Not where anyone could see. She would not for this. There was work to do.
After Harald’s fleet went off—a fierce, brave sight—she felt she had better shift her lodging. The hall here was in need of cleaning and airing. Aside from servants and a few guards, it would stand empty till he got back. Her house, smaller and never filled, stayed sweet; but few men of mark would come while the king was away.
True, any of his brothers would make her welcome. But they were seldom at one spot for long. Having to feed their troops and workers, and lacking the inflow of cargoes that reached Harald, they moved about the shires that were theirs, battening on lendmen and hersirs. She was too old for such a life. Besides, it would be hard to keep folk awed.
She sailed to Körmt. Ragnfröd was at the great hall there when she arrived, but soon left. Now she sat nearer the middle of the kingdom.
A fast boat bore word that Haakon Jarl was on his way down. She made the household ready to receive him—also her guards, however unlikely an attack was. What could he gain by that? A few days later he came with two ships. The crews were fully armed, but figureheads were lowered and white shields hung at the mastheads.
“When I heard you were here, Queen, I thought it would be well to speak with you,” he said. Teeth glistened in the dark beard, a quick smile. “Not that I’d slight your sons. Never! But you will know I mean no harm, and can tell them.”
Oh, he did mean harm if ever he saw an opening, she thought. Although he had gotten wergild and costly gifts, his father was unavenged. Nor could he believe that her sons did not lust for his Thraandlaw. And he was quite right.
She smiled back. “That you seek me out in itself shows your goodness of heart, Jarl,” she purred.
“What I hope to do is this,” he said. “You must know—surely the kings do—that I’ve told the Thraands to stand by their weapons, and my warcraft are clear to sail anytime I bid them. I want the kings and you, Queen Mother, to know that this is not in any way aimed at them. My dearest wish is to keep the peace unbroken between us.”
“May I ask, Jarl, why you then have, shall we say, half mustered your strength?”
“Let me be frank, Queen. I know full well your sons are honest. But grudges linger in many of the Thraands. When King Harald gathers his might and sails north, they wonder. They stir and mutter. It wouldn’t take much to touch off a clash. Bad could lead to worse. By keeping my folk wary, I lower their fears. And so the peace abides.”
And so he warned her and hers, Gunnhild thought. Or was this the start of a busking for war?
“I see,” she said. “We’ll talk at length about it. But first we’ll feast. Forgive an old woman if she goes to bed early. Let it not dampen the glee.”
In the next few days they did get together now and then under four eyes. Their business did not go much further than ways to make either side feel safer. Thus, Gunnhild told Haakon how she had counseled Harald Grayfell not to put in anywhere at the Thraandlaw and the king agreed. Haakon undertook to allow no viking cruises of more than three ships before Harald came home. Back and forth they went, two wildcats each taking the measure of the other.
But they strayed elsewhere too. “Sometimes I wish we had some men who could write like the learned among the Christians,” he said once. She forbore to recall aloud that she was baptized. “Runes aren’t good for much but memorials and spells.” He gave her a glance. “I’ve seen Westland books, taken by raiders. It’s been gladsome meeting you again, my lady. But if we had the leaves, the letters, the ink, word could pass between us far faster, easier, and oftener.” He sighed. “And then, all the tales, all the truths in those books.”
&nb
sp; She had felt the same. “First we’d have to gain the skill,” she said wryly. “Or, at least, keep men on hand who have it. Priests? Some of them do.” Brihtnoth passed through her mind, a wistful ghost.
He stiffened. “No more Christian priests in the Thraandlaw while I’m jarl at Hladi.” Though he had not burned the church raised by King Haakon the Good, he was starving it. He eased. “But let’s not speak of unlucky things. Let’s take up what’s happened to us, and what we’ve heard from the outside world.”
Gunnhild was very willing, within bounds. She listened; she told; she bandied words and thoughts. For this while she half forgot to miss Olaf the Peacock.
But as she watched Haakon’s ships slide away northward, she felt anew how thin the friendship was. Even so did the heroes in Valhall share mirth before they went out to fight each other.
What she had been told about the Christian afterlife flitted through her. She shuddered a little. Whatever might lie beyond the world, she and Haakon would never arise to feast afresh, nor stride out side by side to the last fight of all.
Beneath everything, Haakon Jarl, who stood for the old gods and the old laws, was her foe.
Shortly afterward, another ship docked, with wares and news from Iceland. Olaf the Peacock had landed safely and been made happily welcome. Hrut’s wife Unn had left him. Helped by her father, she declared herself sundered from her husband; with Mörd she rode to the Althing and on the Hill of Laws made the divorce known. The shameful grounds for it did not long stay hidden. Gunnhild foresaw that wounded feelings would lead to strife and bloodshed.
Well, she had not wished anything like that on Olaf. She had fully known beforehand that she could not keep him.
Her wedding was forever to the house of Eirik.
Word came from over the mountains. Aastrid had reached Svithjod, to find housing and kindness with her father’s friend Haakon the Old. Gunnhild sent her own Haakon—too many Haakons, she thought with a stiff grin—at the head of a score. He was to bring her offer to foster Olaf Tryggvason before the Swede-king. What with the Danes and the Wends to watch out for, that overlord would be loath to offend his Norse kindred.
The sun wheeled downward. The birches turned yellow. Gunnhild shifted back to King’s Crag. She was there when Harald Grayfell steered into the bay. He had fought mightily in Bjarmaland; dead lay heaped along the River Dvina; hulls were stuffed with booty. It would hold them for a while, she thought—gifts to friends and guests, furs and thralls to sell for food—but only a while.
Late in the year, her man Haakon returned to her. He had tried with the Swede-king, then with the chieftain Haakon the Old. His words were soft. He told how good it would be for the boy. Aastrid said no, and Haakon the Old stood by her. Haakon the messenger rode back to the Swede-king and borrowed some troopers. He led them to Aastrid and spoke more sternly. Again she said no. Before he could begin on threats, a thrall of Haakon the Old, a hulking doglike man, ran forward and growled at him to begone. The thrall waved a heavy staff that could strike swords aside and break necks. Other thralls and field hands, gathered in a herd, now likewise rumbled and crowded at his heels. It seemed Haakon the Old had always treated them well. Haakon the messenger saw nothing to do but withdraw before his band took a beating. Back in Uppsala, the Swede-king told him it wasn’t worthwhile pushing this business further. Gunnhild’s Haakon could only turn homeward.
So be it, she thought; for now, at least. But this was a bitter ending to a year that had begun so gladly.
Winter laid its darkness on the land. Gunnhild abided.
She and Harald often talked about things. Among them were Haakon Jarl and the Thraands.
The sun swung upward, days lengthened, ice melted, land greened, ships plowed the seas again. One Icelandic skipper told in the king’s hall how Olaf Höskuldarson had wedded Thorgerd Egilsdottir. It was reckoned a fine match on both sides.
Olaf the Peacock had wedded a daughter of Egil Skallagrimsson.
Gunnhild said nothing aloud. She sat frozen.
BOOK SIX
HAAKON JARL
I
The wind that roared in the trees was too cold for this time in spring. It foreboded another bad harvest.
Sunlight between hasty clouds flickered dimly through the gut across two windows. A hearthfire crackled under the racket outside and spilled some warmth into the room. Whenever a bit of wood, burnt free of a log, fell into the coals, sparks showered upward.
The big men seated around a drinking-board did not give much heed to their ale horns. Mostly their eyes were on the woman at the right hand of her eldest son.
Harald Grayfell took the first word when they began to talk in earnest. “Here, where we’re alone, I’ll not hide that it’s been our mother who had me bring us together again.”
Ragnfröd tossed his red head. “That was never well hidden,” he laughed.
Harald frowned. Gudröd hastened to put in, “Well do we know she’s deep-minded. However, the will to call us was yours.”
“And the will to come was ours,” snapped Erling.
“As shall be the deeds we do,” Sigurd blustered. He lifted his horn and gulped.
Harald had eased. “You’ve likely guessed what this is about.”
“Though I hope you’ve kept it to yourselves,” Gunnhild said.
Erling’s sharp face tightened in a scowl. “How can it stay unknown to him?”
“Of course it can’t for long, once you begin openly making ready,” Gunnhild agreed. “But he’s let down the watchfulness he kept up while Harald was in Bjarmaland. Now let’s give him no more forewarning than we must.”
Sigurd’s thick body leaned forward. “Him—Haakon Jarl of Hladi—who else could it be?”
Gudröd cleared his throat. “I believed—Mother, I believed you were keeping him—well, not unfriendly to us.”
Harald smiled. “So she did, with skills to match his, buying us time. Today she and I think she’s bought enough.”
Ragnfrod sounded unwontedly unsure. “We didn’t get very far against him before.”
Bitterness rose anew in Gunnhild, as it had more than once since that news came from Iceland. It tasted like blood in her mouth. Her words went as coldly as the wind. “Yes, him and his high-bellied Thraands. If ever a folk wanted taming, there they are. True, we underrated them last time. We were only lately back in Norway. Our knowledge was slight. But we’ve learned.
“And now you hold Vikin, all the southern shires. They’re yours to take men from. Go north together, each bringing his own levies. Raise more along the way. Your strength should be overwhelming.”
“He’s kept the peace and paid his scot,” mumbled Ragnfrod.
“Biding his own time. I did not meet with him so often, sparring with his wits and sly tongue, for nothing. I tell you, he’ll break with us as soon as he can. Even meanwhile, by holding the great Thraandlaw like a king himself, he mocks your power and thereby undermines it.”
Erling flushed. “Also, he keeps the stronghold of heathendom. We won’t crush Thor till we’ve crushed Haakon.”
“And the Thraands!” cried Sigurd.
The talk went back and forth. Eagerness sprang higher and higher, like flames of a balefire.
“There is one thing,” said Harald at length, more calmly. “Mother, you want us five to fare north in the same fleet. But during those weeks, anything can happen at our backs.”
“I will be here,” Gunnhild answered.
Harald nodded. “None could be wiser or more knowing—or harder of heart when that’s called for. Still, Mother, you are a woman. Some men might believe they can get away with this or that. It’d be troublesome to punish them when I—we return. It’d make ill will for us among their friends.”
Gunnhild raised her brows. “I’ve thought on that.”
“Of course. You’ve told me. We should lay it out for my brothers.”
Yes, he had some wisdom of his own. If only the rest had as much. “Bid a strong, well-liked ma
n come down here to stay. Make known that he’ll speak for you and uphold you in every way.”
Gudröd grinned. “And you will—counsel him, shall we say?”
It stung her before she saw that this son, least of any, meant no gibe, merely that if the man was to be hull and sail for the day-by-day doings of the kingdom, the hand on the helm would be hers.
“Who have you in mind?” asked Ragnfrod.
“Arinbjörn Thorisson of Sygnafylki,” said Harald. “None is more steadfast.” He smiled. “True, he’ll be unhappy at first, left behind. We must make everybody understand we don’t reckon him weak, now in his later years, but, rather, mighty enough to give us this help.”
Gunnhild herself had named him. She and he could go on overlooking his friendship with Egil Skallagrimsson. Indeed, to work with him and through him would lift the mood that had fallen on her.
Let Egil—let Olaf the Peacock—sit yonder in their sour gray Iceland. It would be she who unloosed the spears.
II
A while after Arinbjörn arrived at King’s Crag, Gunnhild told him of a worrisome hearsay that had lately reached her. Those who brought it here had not seen much, but they had caught hints and mutterings. Something was going on among the yeomen and fisherfolk around Sotaness, not far to the north along the shore but seldom visited from outside. Gunnhild said Arinbjörn should send men to look into it. He answered that he would undertake this himself, and set off with a few of the guardsmen who had stayed. Short though the way was, they were gone for more than a week.
When he returned, it was soon before the main meal of the day. Gunnhild already sat in the high seat. Standing before her, he rumbled, “Greeting and honor to you, Queen.”
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