The Half-Drowned King, page 38
“I miss your silences,” said Solvi sardonically. “My men follow me because I lead them to treasure, in and out of danger. They follow me because they trust my judgment. It is the only reason any man should follow another. This Harald is young and stupid if he thinks the oath of a king with a sword to his neck means anything.” He gave Svanhild a piercing look. All she knew of the world beyond her farm, and the journey she had taken that put her in Solvi’s hands, was what she had learned from songs. Her mixture of innocence and ruthlessness was charming, and he could never decide whether he wanted her to keep her pretty pictures of the world, or learn his own cruel lessons. “What would you do, Svanhild, I wonder, to save your life? To save the life of your child?”
Another woman might have bent then, acknowledged that he knew of things she could not. Svanhild lifted her chin and said, “I don’t think you know what mothers must do, have done, to save their children’s lives. My mother”—she shook her head—“my mother sacrificed her spirit, I think sometimes, so that Ragnvald’s land could be protected until he grew up. I wonder if it was worth the cost, her marriage with Olaf.”
“It was her fate.” Solvi did not want her to think of marriages and their costs. He touched her on the cheek before returning to his work.
* * *
Solvi took his ships around the outer islands, into the sheltered embrace of Hardanger Fjord. He stopped and talked to whichever shore folk they found, listening to the stories of raiders. Those who carried knowledge traded it like coin, and so he gathered a picture of what had passed during the fall.
“We make for Gudbrand’s hall in the morning,” Solvi announced to his men. “He is the strongest remaining king, and he hates this upstart Harald.” Harald had killed seven kings, or so went the tale, and Gudbrand had not been among them. Indeed, Harald had fought Gudbrand twice, and never killed him. This might be the king to defeat Harald.
Solvi’s men were loyal to him, but they still talked over the other story, of the upland King Eirik, his mighty fort, his haughty daughter. Svanhild told him what she had learned about Harald’s oath for Gyda as they settled in to sleep. The wind rippled the walls of the tent.
“Harald will marry every woman in the Norse lands, if it helps him rule,” said Solvi.
“It is the story, not the betrothal,” said Svanhild. “It will win men to him. Don’t forget how you won me.”
“Yes,” said Solvi. “My men did like you for that.”
“You did too,” she said, snuggling up to him. He kissed the top of her head in answer, and told her more about King Gudbrand. They had met a time or two. Gudbrand had sent his sons raiding with Solvi in years past, and those sons had settled in Iceland, where they would have more land.
“He may call them back now,” Solvi added. “He has more land to give them, with so many kings dead.”
“So Harald has done him a favor,” said Svanhild.
“And humiliated him. I hope he feels that more keenly.”
“Is that how you will win him to your side?”
“Yes,” he said. “And offer him the wealth of Vestfold. He trusts me to know more of the world than he does. I can tell him that Harald is young and not truly tested, and Vestfold will fall easily if we gather enough allies.”
“Is that true?” Svanhild asked. Solvi shrugged. Svanhild pulled the blanket over them. She pressed her legs gently against his, warming the scars that made them grow easily cold.
“It is believable enough,” he said. “His victories are not as notable as the tales make them seem. Harald has always had far more men on his side than his adversaries could muster in time, and the advantage of surprise. If we sail against him, in force, too early in the spring for him to gather men who will have gone home during the winter, then we can defeat him where he lives.”
“Force against force,” said Svanhild. “I suppose it is more honorable than a sneak attack.”
“It has nothing to do with honor,” said Solvi. “It is a trick that will only work once, now, before he gains too much power. If we lose, then raiding will be all we have left.” He yawned. “When we win, I will take you to Dublin and drape you in Irish jewels.”
“I don’t care as much for jewels, and I would rather not see you fight.” Because then he would fight Ragnvald, Solvi supposed. As long as she thought of Ragnvald first, she would never truly be his.
* * *
Once inside the embrace of Hardanger Fjord, the wind grew less and the temperature plummeted. Solvi sailed up a river to Gudbrand’s hall. When they finally found it, night was falling. The hall had been razed; only charred posts remained, sticking up out of a thin dusting of too-early snow. Early snow, easy winter, was the proverb, but no winter was truly easy.
“A hall burning,” said Solvi. He walked around the charred foundations. “But they did not burn it with people inside, see.”
Svanhild followed behind him without saying anything. He wished he had left her in Dorestad. She should not have to see this. She followed him to the sacred grove, which stood on a slope that was slippery with ice and fallen leaves. Runes were carved into the bark of the trees. Something crunched under Solvi’s foot, something that did not feel like wood. Solvi bent down and pull out a pale shard of bone. He wiped his hands on his trousers. Unburied bodies brought bad luck.
“If Harald’s force has already been here, does Gudbrand still live?” Solvi asked, more to himself than to his men, who followed behind.
They found a small camp at another clearing. Some tents had blown over in the wind, and no one had set them up again. Under the leather shrouds of the rotten tents lay the bodies of old women and children, only those too old or young to be useful as slaves. They had eaten small animals, to judge by the untanned skins and tiny bones discarded here, and then, horribly, begun to eat each other. These people had been waiting for rescue, for men who never came.
“This place is evil,” said Svanhild. Solvi was glad she spoke. As a woman, she could voice fears so his men need not. “We must leave.”
“Yes,” said Snorri through his ruined mouth. “These dead will walk.”
Solvi ordered his men to build a huge bonfire to consume the dead, with wood from the grove that had been poisoned by their terrible final days. When the fire burned out, close to dawn, he led his men back to the ships. Harald’s promise of safety should not have allowed him to leave families to starve, even if they were his enemies.
Farther inland, they found a few more abandoned farms. Near the end of the fjord a larger group had banded together, forming a collection of lean-tos and temporary buildings around the nucleus of a hall. The community was disorganized, composed of refugees, mostly women and children, and a few men too old and lame to fight.
Solvi did find one man of a warrior’s age who told them what had happened. “It was King Hakon’s men,” he said. “They come and raid. They ask for us to swear to Hakon as king, and if we say yes, they only take everything. If we say no, they kill and burn.”
“Not Harald?” Solvi asked.
“He said he conquered for Harald.”
“What did you say?” Svanhild asked. “When he asked you to swear?”
“I said no,” the man said, proudly.
“Yet you live,” she said. “This hall still stands.”
The man looked sullen. “He left us the hall to see us through the winter. Vekel, jarl who ruled here—he took his men and ships and went to his cousin in Rogaland. He said there was no fighting there yet.”
Solvi glared at the man. “If you said no, how did you live?”
He looked at his feet. “Vekel had me outlawed. Hakon said I could be jarl for him here. I didn’t want to die. We had a meeting. These people elected me. I will stand against Hakon if he comes again.” He put his hand on his sword.
Solvi shook his head. These people looked like they would elect anyone strong enough to lift a sword, even if he could not wield it. “There’s no help here,” he said in a low voice to Snorri.
He spoke with the new jarl, treating him as though he deserved that title, as though he would live through the winter to enjoy it, and heard from him a rumor that Gudbrand had gone to his island in Hardanger Fjord. Its location made it nearly impenetrable, protected by high rock walls and views in every direction. It was a good place to spend the winter. Staying there, Gudbrand would not need to see his starving people either, or count up what Hakon and Harald had cost him.
They slept in tents arranged in a ring around a fire that Solvi set one of his men to feeding all night. Even so, the cold from the ground stole into Solvi’s more injured leg. Even on the coldest night at sea, it never felt like this, stiff as though lifeless already.
“I do not like this,” Solvi whispered to Svanhild in the dark of the night. She might not even be awake to hear him—the best kind of confession.
“Like what?” she murmured.
“Alliances and kings. Vekel had many men, and now his halls are in ruins.”
“Hakon must have had more.”
“He will have as many districts as he can get,” said Solvi bitterly. “There is no limit to his ambition. Between him in the north, and Harald in the south . . .” Before Svanhild, he might have voiced these fears to Tryggulf or Snorri, though he could not forget he commanded them, and they must trust his decisions. “Let us sail out of Hardanger Fjord to the open ocean, and continue sailing like you wanted.” He wrapped his arms around her.
“You wish me to remind you of honor, I think.” She nestled closer against him. “Is that what you would have me be, Solvi Hunthiofsson? The keeper of your honor?”
“Perhaps,” he said.
“I cannot. I see what war has brought to Hordaland. If you wish escape more than you wish to spare your father . . .”
He sat up and pushed the blankets off him. “I would rather you scold me than say it like that.”
She sat up as well. He expected her to reach out to him. He had grown used to her caresses in the last month, as though their early fights had never been. She hung her head down. In the darkness, all he could see was the curtain of her hair, blurring the outline of her shoulders.
“If you want us to sail away, I would,” he said. “At least I would consider it. I do not want this, and neither do you. It is only my father . . .” Could he face his father in the lands beyond death, having left Tafjord open to attack?
She remained silent.
“Where is your certainty now?” he whispered to her. “Now, when I need it?”
“I have no certainty for you, and none for myself. I have only this.” She hugged herself, in a gesture that seemed strangely familiar, though he had never seen her make it. Women in his father’s hall—his wife Geirny—had made the same gesture, though.
“Svanhild,” he said, reaching out toward her.
“I am with child,” she said. “I am sure now, though it is still early. So no, I do not scold you. I want this child safe. I do not want him born into war. I do not want his father to bring war to anyone else.” She shook her head. “At this moment, I wish you were a farmer that no one would think to bother, not a king’s son.”
He pulled her to him, but she remained stiff in his arms. “Svanhild. You think it is a son?”
“Yes. I do not want to tempt the gods by guessing, but yes. I had a dream about him.”
“But you have not been ill,” he said. This was too much blessing to accept.
“No,” she said. “And that worried me, but now I am sure. It must have caught early.”
He felt a twinge of disappointment that this child would have taken root from one of their first, rough couplings, rather than these recent days of honey. Still, that was only a small sour note.
“Our son will inherit Tafjord,” he said. “If I flee—no. My father may not value my help, but he”—he put his hand over her belly—“he needs it. I will give our son a kingdom to rule.” Her body stayed tense. “Svanhild, you would have me abandon my father, avoid this war?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do,” he said. “The Norse kings will hate Harald and Hakon for taking their land and calling their theft lawful. They will join together.”
“You are very certain now.” She shook her head, her hair flowing over his arms where he clasped her.
“You have given me certainty,” he said. How fragile Svanhild felt against him, her narrow shoulders, her fine, soft skin. She must shelter their child, and he must shelter her.
* * *
A cold fog gathered around Solvi’s ships as they reached Gudbrand’s hall on an island in the middle of Hardanger Fjord. They had sailed by it before, never knowing men lived here, for the hall was hidden in a grove high above the water. One of Solvi’s pilots knew where to dock to find the narrow path that led up the cliffs.
They passed by ships hidden among the trees while climbing a track that left them exposed to any attack from above. Solvi bade his men put space between them so no one sally could kill many of them. The rocks were slippery with ice, cracked gray and black, too steep for any life. If Gudbrand was truly here, and not rumor, he had dug in deep for the winter.
When Solvi reached the crest of the cliff, he saw faint lights through the trees, and what he thought was a plume of smoke that quickly became part of the low clouds. At least they could demand some sort of welcome by traveler’s right.
A sentry came out of the woods and met him, his sword bared.
“My men ask for hospitality,” said Solvi. “I claim King Gudbrand as a friend. Is he here?”
“If you are a friend, you will give me your sword.”
“I am Solvi Hunthiofsson,” said Solvi. “Go tell your master that, and see if he still requires I give up my sword.”
The sentry jerked his chin up. One of his fellows appeared out of the gray, only to disappear again, lost in the shadows in the grove.
Solvi’s feet grew cold from standing still. Men came over the cliff crest one at a time. He felt Svanhild’s warmth as she drew next to him. She was dressed in her trousers, and bundled in a coat and cloak, so this sentry would surely take her for a boy, not his wife.
At length the other guard returned. “Gudbrand bids you welcome,” he said.
“And my men?”
“Gudbrand is a generous ring giver,” said the guard. “Of course he will welcome your men as well.”
Solvi still feared a trap until he stood within the bright hall, full of living, cheerful men, and saw King Gudbrand sitting near a fire, dicing with one of his men. The king called for hot wine and a feast to heat their chilled bones.
* * *
“He is a young fool,” said King Gudbrand when Solvi raised the subject of Harald at dinner. Gudbrand told of fighting Harald, the overwhelming force, and how King Eirik had remained snug and protected in his fort while Gudbrand’s men died on Harald’s swords.
“Yet he beat you,” said Solvi.
“He never found me,” said Gudbrand, waving his hand. “And his uncle—he is not a fool. Harald had luck, and more men than I could muster in a short time.” Gudbrand had an ill-proportioned figure, too long in the arm, too big in the stomach, protruding teeth, and close-cropped gray hair over a long straggly beard. His uneven teeth were white and strong, though, and he seemed the sort of man who commanded through competence, not dazzling speeches or grand gestures. Solvi liked that about him.
“Yes, at least you have outrun him,” said Solvi. Gudbrand looked affronted. “No, it is better than losing a battle to him. You can live to fight again.”
“Yes,” said Gudbrand, banging his fist on the arm of his heavily inlaid chair. “Do you come to offer aid, Solvi Sea-King?”
“It is time,” said Solvi. “We must band together, or all of our lands will fall to Harald and his allies.”
“What do I care for your lands?”
“I will care for yours, if you will care for mine. And if you do not care for that, Vestfold is rich.”
“You mean to attack Vestfold itself?”
“Yes,” said Solvi. “We cannot help each other if we are defending our own lands, but if we take the fight to Harald—”
“Yes,” said Gudbrand. “We will teach this Harald a lesson.”
“Of course,” said Solvi, smoothly, as though he had expected Gudbrand’s quick capitulation all along.
“Do you mean to lead this force yourself?” Gudbrand asked.
“I am not power-mad as this Harald is. But if you can promise to ally with me, then Rorik of Dorestad will send men and swords as well.”
“Rich old Rorik is willing to leave his cozy nest for you? I would venture that men of Rogaland will join as well.” Gudbrand banged his fist on his chair again. “I went to that battle like a fool, and only left a day ahead of Harald’s force. My fellow kings did not believe the stories. Then this Harald sneaks up on me, while you move like quicksilver and wring promises from men like Rorik. You know Vestfold. You should lead us.”
“You do me too much honor,” said Solvi, perfunctorily. He was probably more suited to leading this force than Gudbrand, whom Harald had beaten once. Men would be more confident in him. But he hesitated. He might not be able to set down this responsibility again, if he took it up. “Can we tempt your sons here from Iceland as well?” he asked. “If Vestfold falls, the bounty must be shared.”
“Indeed we might.” Gudbrand looked very satisfied at the prospect. He called for more ale, a warming brew of summer fruits. “You’ll make a greater man than your father, if the gods are just. Let us drink and make our oaths, and then we can talk of who else will join us.”
* * *
Svanhild had not believed all the tales from her mother and the farm’s women, the way a woman might turn inward and think only of her child during pregnancy, but she found such tendencies in herself. She wanted Solvi by her, took more comfort than ever in his touch. And she could not try to dissuade Solvi from his course when it might mean wealth and security for their son. After concluding his business with Gudbrand, Solvi sent her with Tryggulf’s ship back to Tafjord.
