She smiled at him. Hair and beard were quite gray, the square face furrowed, but the burly, roughly clad frame unbowed. “Welcome back,” she said. “How went it with you?”
“We had no fights, Queen.” His voice shivered a bit. “But down at the landing we found another karfi, and the watchmen there said it had brought news from the high North. The crew didn’t tell them what it was, for the skipper thought you should have it first.”
“Rightly so.” Gunnhild waved a hand at the man benched next to her. “Here he is, Valgard Hjörvardarson.”
Arinbjörn nodded. “We know each other from aforetime in the king’s troop. Good day to you, Valgard. What is your tale?”
Gunnhild laughed. “Oh, sit down first. Here in the high seat beside me. Let your men bench themselves. Drink, every one of you, for thirsty must you be.”
Arinbjörn obeyed. “It seems the news is good.”
“Well, it could be worse. Much worse.”
Valgard gave it afresh. Arinbjörn listened narrowly, sometimes cupping an ear because he had grown a little deaf.
Northbound, the Eirikssons learned from their scouts that Haakon Jarl had mustered the Thraands and gathered his warships. But upon finding out what their strength was, he did not go to meet them but steered along both the Moerrs and Raumsdalr, plundering, burning, killing. His foes would get few fighters or foodstocks in those parts. Thence he sent most of the Thraands home and sailed on with a smaller fleet full of warriors.
“That was the last we heard of him,” said Valgard. “When I left, the kings were at Sygnafylki, waiting for the wind to shift. Though foul for them, it was fair for a messenger like me.”
Arinbjörn gusted a sigh. “Sygnafylki. Is all well with it?”
“Yes. As I’ve told, Haakon never came near them, and by then they didn’t look for him to. He must have put far out to sea.”
“That’s no easy fox to trap,” said Gunnhild, “but we will. His evildoing shouldn’t hinder the kings too much. By now they’re likely on their way again, with Thraandheim lying open to them.”
She looked at Arinbjörn. “Tell us about your doings.”
The tidings had not made him gleeful. “I think we’d better speak of it between ourselves, Queen,” he answered slowly. “No offense to anyone. However, my guess is you’d rather the tale doesn’t spread.”
Wildfire in a dry woodland, she thought with sudden starkness. “As you wish. Come to my house in the forenoon.” She wrapped cheer around herself like a cloak. “Today we’ll feast, and drink to victory for the sons of Eirik.”
With him to be headman at the party, she could go to bed early without dampening things. Though his years were more, it seemed that hers weighed the heavier. Well, they had been fuller, love, loss, gladness, grief, yearnings, seekings, strangeness past any ken of his. Nonetheless she lay long awake.
Wind in the morning hurled rainshowers. It whistled over sparsely begrown croplands and kine gaunt at their grazing. She had had her dwelling made as snug and bright a nest for him as it had been for her sons.
“My croft,” she sometimes named it to herself, wryly when she thought how in it or in the one at the Byfjord she sowed what seed she could and how often she was the Norse kingship.
Arinbjörn entered. She seated them at a drinking-board, with goblets and mead before them, and sent the staff out. “Speak freely,” she bade.
The slanted blue eyes locked with hers. “You remember how I went off on my own, Queen, with a handful of men and them picked for having family hereabouts.”
She nodded. “And you remember I didn’t quite like that, as restless as the lowborn are.” She had not forbidden him, though. He was closer to the yeomanry, knew them better than she even wanted to.
“Browbeating them would make it worse, I thought.”
“But if they’d taken to their weapons—” Gunnhild let her voice trail off.
“I reckoned that unlikely, Queen, the more so when I had men of their own shire, some of them kinfolk of theirs, with me. Besides, I can’t have much of a span left me, whatever I do. My wife’s dead and I’m not after getting another; my living children are wedded, my grandchildren grown or well along toward it. Not a bad age for a man to make his farewell.”
“But it would be,” said Gunnhild softly, “right now when we need you.”
A corner of his mouth lifted slightly before he went on. “Anyhow, I got to Sotaness, asked around, and dug out what was behind those snatches your, um, your lookouts had caught. I quieted the business down.”
Flames hissed. “Tell me all of it,” Gunnhild ordered.
Arinbjörn straightened on his bench. “As the queen wants. It wasn’t sweet. The farmers and fishers and suchlike had met from a wide neighborhood to offer at King Tryggvi’s howe.”
Gunnhild kept herself sitting still. Tryggvi Olafsson, whom her Gudröd had lured to his death there—and she had failed to lay hold of Olaf Tryggvason, who would have this to avenge if he lived to be a man. She waited.
Arinbjörn plodded ahead. “They say—I don’t, Queen, but they do, or did—they say King Tryggvi didn’t die in honest battle, he was foully murdered. They say it’s doings like that, and the wrecking of halidoms, they say that’s what’s brought hunger on the land. They lived well under good King Haakon, they say. Also, they say the new kings are stripping them to the bone and scorning their rights as freemen. Those at the howe slaughtered livestock they could ill spare, hoping he inside might somehow better their lot for them. There, I’ve said it outright, Queen, not as it ought to’ve been but as it was.”
“I’m not amazed, nor angry at you.” Gunnhild meant it. “What did you do about this?”
“I sent word to their foremost men—men of mine knew who they should be—to come talk with me.”
“You quelled them?”
The blocky head shook. “No, Queen. My old lord and yours, King Eirik Blood-ax, would’ve, true. But aside from my having so few along, I reckoned that threats or slayings would only set others astir. Nor would it be right, Queen,” he said stubbornly. “They’re suffering. If my household got as poor as theirs, if I felt so trampled on, well—” He cleared his throat. “I warned them what’ll happen if this kind of thing goes on. I said if they’d lay off it, I’d see whether something could be done to help them.”
Now Gunnhild stiffened. “There you went beyond yourself, Arinbjörn. Far beyond.”
“Queen,” he said, his stolidness unshaken, “I was King Eirik’s man while he lived. I am your son King Harald’s man while he lives, may that be long. For his sake, I’ve told you the truth. My rede is that the king go easier on the folk. But that lies with him—” He stopped while a flame snapped. “—and you.”
She made herself lean back and shape a smile, although she felt how tight it was. “I understand. I’ll say forth in the hall that you did well, and reward you.”
But not by letting a skald make him a poem. He had one already, from Egil Skallagrimsson.
She’d better forget that and be glad Arinbjörn stayed among the faithful. They were all too few.
Late in the summer, Harald Grayfell came again to King’s Crag. He and his brothers had won Thraandheim with scant warfare. Thence they went around the shires of the whole Thraandlaw, taking scot and duties, and laying heavy fines on the yeomen who had defied them. At last Harald, Erling, and Ragnfrod returned with most of their men, leaving Gudröd and Sigurd behind to keep a grip.
High flew the happiness. Yet the feasting was less than it should have been. Here too, larders were getting low.
III
Then as fall gloomed away toward winter, a storm-beaten ship lurched over the water with a freight of tidings from the North. Haakon Jarl was back at Hladi.
While the dark months wore on, the tale of what happened reached Gunnhild word by word, wayfarer by wayfarer. Haakon had led his fleet south, well beyond any sight of land, till he could swing east and make for the Skagerrak.
That was no small fea
t of seamanship, Harald said grudgingly. Passing into the Kattegat, they lay to in Denmark, refitting and restocking. Whether or not the Dane-king had met with the jarl, he let them rest until, soon, they went on through the strait and across the Baltic to cruise as vikings. When fall set in they sailed west to Svithjod, where they found haven at Helsingland. There Haakon left his ships in care of a chieftain he knew and took his crews on horseback and afoot onward through Jamtland, fields, meadows, trackless wildernesses, up into the mountains of the Keel and over to the Thraandlaw.
The news of his coming went before him as though on the wings of ravens. Every shire rose in arms. On every fjord and island, ships were unmoored or rolled out of their winter houses. Men flocked to him, bawling welcome, flashing steel aloft, thundering on shields.
Gudröd and Sigurd could only embark their followings and withdraw. They settled in Moerr, where life was lean but folk were at least on their side after what Haakon had done.
During the winter, bands of king’s men and Thraands raided back and forth, off and on, but the harm wreaked was only in the marches. Haakon Jarl sat where he was, wielding his power, offering to his heathen gods, in peace. Though springtime awoke anew, last year the Gunnhildssons had drawn so deeply on the stocks of their own lands and the willingness of the dwellers therein that there could be no question of faring again against him.
Not yet. Once more she must wait, and watch, and weave her webs.
IV
As gutted as they were, Moerr and Raumsdalr could not feed a kingly household for long. Anything gained in forays to Thraandheim was offset by what the Thraands bore away when they raided. Already before the days grew longer than the nights, Gudröd land Sigurd must needs pull back to their holdings in the South.
Haakon Jarl kept ships and warriors standing by. Many more could swiftly be rallied. The years had been much less bad there for both farmers and fishers than elsewhere in Norway, so men had no dearth of provisions for war. The Eirikssons did not risk going any farther north than Sogn. So firm was Haakon’s hold that during the summer he went off with a troop, back through Svithjod to his fleet in Helsingland, and spent weeks in west-viking. Gunnhild believed he meant this for a mockery of his foes, to lessen the awe of them.
Heeding his mother as well as his own head, Harald Grayfell worked to keep it high. Yes, he said, the kingship had been wounded, but not to death. It would get back its strength. He and his brothers must show they were undaunted, as able and stern as ever, with trusty warriors at their beck. An uprising was most unlikely. After all, who else was left in Norway of the kingly blood? Only those sluggards in Hringariki, sprung from Harald Fairhair’s unlucky match with Snaefrid, who had never wanted more than to be scot-paying shire-kings and farmers. Gunnhild’s sons were otherwise. They would reap fresh wealth abroad and, if need be, spend some of it on grain shipped in from yonder. The time would come when they could raise the same might against Haakon as before; and then they would make sure of him and his Thraands.
The rest said he was doubtless right; but they were seldom blithe anymore. Sigurd took the setback worst, drinking enough for three and earning the nickname Loudmouth anew.
One day, making his rounds in Hördaland, he came to the dwelling of the hersir Klypp Thordarson. For this while, the weather had turned lovely. Light flooded from an utterly blue sky. Breezes drifted warm, laden with smells of the greenwood that decked the hills around. Though grain stood sparse in the fields, a lark sang above them and everywhere else wildfowl flew by or called from among the trees. The steading spread big around its yard, the house reared handsome. Klypp was a man of mark.
Cobblestones rang underhoof as Sigurd and his warriors rode in. A messenger had gone ahead, and cookfires smoked for a feast to which no few of the neighborhood had come. They went out to meet and greet him. At their head was a young woman. “Be welcome, King,” she hailed. “Unhappily, Klypp is away for a few days, but I, his wife Aalof Aasbjarnardottir, offer you all that is ours to give.”
Although they had not hitherto met, Sigurd knew that she, like her husband, had high-standing kinfolk. His gaze swept over her, then clung and crept. She was tall, full-bosomed, fair to behold; the locks of hair that showed below her headcloth were like amber. “All?” he murmured. He made his leer into a smile and thanked her.
Once in the high seat, he began to swill well-nigh as fast as the maids could fill his horn. He did speak with men about what had been happening hereabouts, what was awry that they hoped he would set aright, what they meant to bring up at their next Thing—but more and more curtly, broken by hiccoughs and belches. Ever his eyes tracked Aalof. When the boards and food were set forth, he slapped the seat and shouted to her, “Come; you shall sit by me.”
She flushed. “Is that fitting, lord? I’ll sit across from you, of course.”
“No, no, you’ll be here with me and we’ll drink together. I’ll say what’s fitting. Am I not the king?”
Men stared. Some whispered to each other. There was nothing they could do, however, with the guards amidst them and more posted outside. They did not eat as merrily as they had awaited.
Sigurd pressed Aalof to match him, horn for horn. She hung back, and had small answers for whatever else he said to her. Mainly, loudly, he boasted of his warlike deeds and those he was going to do; oh, Haakon Jarl and the Thraands would rue their own births! Nothing but heathen witchcraft and their troll-gods lent them strength. It would not last. Sigurd would cast Thor down too, and drink in Hladi. He would be glad to guest Aalof there. He wanted to repay her kindness today and show her he liked her as much as she did him.
When he got to telling what a great lover he was, she asked him low if he wanted a wench for the night. “What, a thrall?” he boomed. “Toad-ugly, stinking of the barnyard? No, no, a king should have better than that.”
He groped at her. She stood up. “Forgive me, my lord,” she said very steadily and clearly. “I am only a woman, only the wife of Klypp Hersir, and I grow weary. Best I go to my rest now, so I’ll be fresh to see you off with all due honor in the morning.” Before he could speak further, she had stepped from the dais and was striding away between the benches. Neighborhood men cast her stiff smiles as she passed.
Talk sputtered low. Sigurd chafed and drank. Night fell. When housemen brought more wood for the fires, he cried, “No, enough, we’ll to bed.” Everybody but his guards seemed happy with that. A few of those grinned.
Straw pallets were laid out for the higher-ranking to sleep on the benches, the lower on the floor. Meanwhile they went out and pissed. At the end of this main room was a smaller one, with a shut-bed on either side, the right for Klypp and his wife, its panel closed, the left for wellborn visitors.
The steward led King Sigurd thither, wished him goodnight, and closed the door. A lamp flickered dull yellow, to show where the pot was. Noises grumbled toward stillness.
Aalof woke from uneasy dreams when her panel slid aside. Black across the light, Sigurd hunched over her. The hairs on his unclad skin made a bristly fuzz around him. He reached down to cup a breast. “Be glad, my dear,” he said hoarsely. His breath reeked. “Tonight you’ll get a better gift of me than gold.”
She shrank back against the wall. Her hands batted at him, unheeded. “No, lord, no,” she gasped.
“Yes, lady, yes. You’ll have more fun than ever you knew could be. Tomorrow you’ll walk bowlegged.”
“I’ll send for a woman, a fair young woman—”
“Why, I have one here.” He crawled into the bed. The mattress rustled beneath his weight. “What, would you spurn your king?”
“I’ll scream—”
Fumbling, he slapped a hand over her mouth. “If you do, there’ll be dead men in this house, and I’ll have you anyway. Your darling Klypp may not live long either.”
He rolled her over, hauled up her nightgown, and pushed a knee between her thighs. “Aargh,” he growled, and thrust his way in.
She waited it out. When afterward he
asked, “There, wasn’t that like Frey himself?” she said nothing. When he took her the second time, she lay as if lifeless. “Cold bitch,” he mumbled, got off her, sagged down, and snored.
The thing could not go unknown. Folk heard a little, they saw more by daylight, and they understood. Bread was broken in a thick stillness. Aalof was the bleakest of everyone, the most shut into herself. The king said little; he had a headache. When he thanked her for the guesting and gave her a gold ring, she took it stonily. Nor did she call farewell as he rode off with his guards. But once he was gone, she wept.
Gunnhild did not hear about this for some while. She had so much else to deal with.
V
The Swedes and Goths gave scant trouble. Besides having their wealthy market towns, they mostly busied themselves eastward, trading and settling across the Baltic and far down the rivers of Gardariki. Indeed, the kingly house of Kiev stemmed from them.
But in Vikin her sons were close to Denmark. Uneasiness waxed on both sides. The herring runs through the Sound were still rich. More and more, fisher crews from the two kingdoms had been clashing, sometimes bloodily. Now and then Danish vikings plundered Norse chapmen bound through those waters. King Harald Bluetooth did nothing about any of it. Word seldom came from him. When it did, it was short and frosty.
“We need his friendship,” Gunnhild told Harald Grayfell. “Let’s try to make him understand he needs ours. I hear that his ties with the German Emperor Otto are growing strained.”
At her rede, Harald Grayfell sent three ships to the Dane-king, loaded with gifts. Highest of these would be a poem of praise from Harald’s foremost skald, Glum Geirason, who went along as chief spokesman. He was also to raise afresh a thought that seemed to have withered, of a match made between the houses—maybe even with Bluetooth’s daughter Thyra; surely some close lady-kin. “The time is overpast for you to take a true queen,” Gunnhild said. “We want power enough behind her that a son by her can keep yours after you are gone. Otherwise your by-blows will once again tear Norway asunder, fighting over it. When we’ve done this, we’ll see about your brothers.”
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