The Half-Drowned King, page 44
Grim was more pleasant to Ragnvald than he had been on the way to Hordaland last summer, though he looked the same, like the first man Odin carved from an ash tree. “This is a clever plan of yours,” he said when Ragnvald came to check on him where he sat at the steering oar.
Ragnvald ran the words over in his head, looking for any sarcasm. Hearing none, he nodded. “How is our speed?”
“Good,” said Grim. “The sail is cold and damp in this weather, so it will not fill as easily, and that hampers our speed, but we have a good wind.”
Ragnvald thanked him and turned to walk toward the front of the ship again. There was nothing he could do to bring Solvi’s ships into view except wait and trust in Grim’s skill, and whatever gods would direct the winds, then trust in Grim’s skill further to keep them close enough to Solvi’s ships without being seen.
The first night they camped on a beach where Ragnvald had rested a few times before. He knew the sand would cache pools of rainwater for fresh drinking and stewing some dried meat into something more digestible.
“See here, my lords,” said Grim, when they discussed their plans for the next day’s sailing. He scraped a rough map into the coarse sand. “Solvi will keep to the inner passage here, among the barrier islands, to protect his ships.”
“Won’t he want to avoid being seen?” Ragnvald asked. “Wouldn’t he keep to open ocean?”
“No,” said Grim with surety. “It is far too early in the year to trust the weather in the open ocean, and there are many more beaches to camp on. We will brave the open ocean and catch him here”—he pointed to a spot among his scratchings where Solvi’s ships would have to emerge—“and follow him to Vestfold from there.”
Ragnvald gave his approval, and Oddi and Heming seconded it. But on the next day, when the wind whipped spray around them, and none could hear them if they spoke quietly, Ragnvald questioned Grim further.
“I trust you and your knowledge of the sea,” he began, “but I want to understand your thinking better.”
Grim gave him a sardonic look. “You credit Solvi Hunthiofsson with supernatural powers as a pilot and a commander, but I know him and his father too. He is more cautious than you think. The reason his men trust him to lead them into danger is because he rarely does it when he’s not sure of victory.”
Ragnvald thought back on his time with Solvi, and it struck him as a true assessment. He gave Grim a measuring look. Hakon had a treasure here in Grim. Ragnvald wondered if he knew it. He glanced back at Oddi’s ship, a gray apparition in the thin sea mist to the north. The other ships behind them could as easily be wisps of cloud, not formed of solid planks, full of armed men. Ragnvald shook his head to dispel the vision. It was nearing time to give Oddi another signal and look for a response, to make sure that they stayed within sight of one another.
“If the rumors from the winter are true, he may have gathered enough allies to him defeat Harald three times over,” Ragnvald said.
“And if sea witches enchant our ships, we could fly there,” said Grim, with his old sarcasm. “Hear this: if he departed Tafjord when you said, we should sail through the night once, to catch up with him. You must prepare them for night sailing.”
The gods were with them, Ragnvald reminded himself. Otherwise he would never trust the weather this early in the year, in an open ship, overnight. At least the moon was bright, but it set quickly this time of year, and then there would be hours upon the ocean with only the stars and the dark, dark water for company.
“If this works, you will be richly rewarded,” said Ragnvald to Grim.
“I imagine we all will be,” said Grim. “Especially you, Ragnvald Half-Drowned.”
Ragnvald shuddered at the ill-starred byname. He had been trying not to think of the spoils, the honors that might accrue to him, for fear of tempting the gods to punish him. “Thank you for your counsel,” he said. “I value it greatly.”
“I know you do, my lord.” Grim peered ahead and made a slight adjustment to the steering board. They did have a good wind, filling the sail, pushing them almost straight ahead. Ragnvald went to the stern of the ship to light the signal for Oddi. After a few minutes, Oddi signaled back, and Ragnvald breathed a sigh of relief. If they lost one another out on the open ocean, they might never find each other again.
* * *
He thought the men would rest better without the worry, so he waited until the next morning, before they set out, to give the news of the overnight sail. He let the steadiest men nap during the day, for they would be needed at night. Ragnvald could not sleep, and he knew he was keeping others from sleep, so he stationed himself at the stern until sunset.
Then, as planned, the ships drew closer, to keep view of each other during the night. A mild breeze continued, bringing in clouds overhead. They needed it not to fall off, for this to work. Ragnvald went to the bow to keep watch through the night. Men shared small portions of dried meat and fish with one another and drank cups of ale for their nighttime meal. None spoke above a whisper.
The hours passed slowly. A dim light came from all around, the shining of moon through the clouds, perhaps, though it seemed to come up from the sea itself. Ragnvald took up the task he had set himself to pass the time: working fat into the ship’s seal-hide ropes, a task that was never finished, for sun and salt stole their suppleness daily. It was too easy to see outlines of his fears and fancies in the murky shapes of wave and cloud: the golden wolf, Ran’s dark hall.
Ragnvald grew more and more tense as the night wore on. Over the trackless sea to the west, clouds gathered, denser. A storm. He looked at the surface of the water, to see how it shivered with the wind. The breeze that carried them along grew stronger. He remembered falling from Solvi’s ship. The cold pulled at the scar on his face. Fear, his own and his men’s, made him tug his cloak tighter around his shoulders.
If any sorceress had sent this storm, it was the sea goddess, trying to call Ragnvald back to her. He had almost been hers; she might not let her claim go so willingly. She wanted something, a price for seeing them through this night alive, not scattered, to bring them up on Solvi’s flank without him noticing.
Ragnvald kept his favorite treasures at his belt, including the golden arm ring that he had gotten from Solvi as his insult price. He weighed the pieces of gold in his hands, one heavier than the other. One had been meant to pay for insulting Olaf, but Olaf had rendered that moot, and now he was dead, his ashes fertilizing Ardal’s land better than he ever had as an indifferent farmer. Ragnvald stood up. He would rather have this be a private moment between him and the goddess who had half claimed him, half drowned him, but he knew that the men would like to see it.
He did not have to say anything to draw the men’s attention. All who remained awake quivered with watchfulness, attentive to any movement. They turned to look at him. Even Grim’s deep-set eyes settled on Ragnvald, stealing only occasional glances at the dark line of the horizon.
“We are in Ran’s hands tonight,” Ragnvald said, not above his usual speaking voice. The still-calm sea, the heavy air, would carry his words well enough. “I know her of old.” His lip curled in what he wanted to be a self-deprecating smile, but he knew it was something much less comforting. “She wants a sacrifice to keep us safe, and so I offer this.” He held up the two halves of the ring.
“I won this gold from you, in a way,” he said to Ran. “And to you should it return. And I promise much more gold to you for a safe passage through your dark ocean.” He lifted the pieces high overhead and then flung them out, into the water. They only glinted for a moment in the air before disappearing.
An hour later the storm was upon them.
35
The most alert men tied up the sail, and the six strongest went to their oar ports. They might lose the oars tonight, but without the sail, they would be needed to provide power to turn the ship into the swells.
Grim ordered everything tied down, skins lashed over anything that could be covered. He stationed men with buckets to bail at the center of the ship. Ragnvald put himself near Grim to help shout his orders if needed. Then the storm struck with all its fury, lightning crashing around them, soaking rain driving against the ship, forcing water through oiled leather jackets, through the lapped seams of the ship itself. Ragnvald could hardly see the other ships, which was a mercy; they must keep far enough away to avoid crashing into one another in the chaos. And this night, at least, they had a place to meet: the headland that Grim had indicated.
Ragnvald bailed until his arms felt boneless, then handed off his bucket to another man. He almost dozed, clinging to the gunwale so he would not be washed overboard—the noise of waves and rain combined to isolate him in a sort of silence—until someone shook his shoulder and handed him the bucket again.
He did not know how many times he repeated that cycle before dawn came, gray and dreary, with a lessening of wind and shrinking of swells. He felt numb and wrung out. The men around him had blue lips, and those who were not shivering wore a dullness in their eyes that said they had passed through shivering to the dangerous shores beyond. This ship had survived, but Ragnvald did not know if the others had.
He would not learn that until that afternoon, when Grim sighted the headland. Sometime after the sun passed its zenith, the clouds lifted, and streams of light poured forth underneath them. Ragnvald turned to see a line of Hakon’s ships, Heming’s ships, his ships, stretched out behind them. He nearly cried with relief. He said another blessing to Ran. She deserved that chest of gold, animals, human lives, everything she wanted. But not his own life, not yet.
* * *
The ships beached in a hidden cove near Grim’s headland in the afternoon. Some men napped or rested during the day. Ragnvald set those who were still wakeful that night to hide the ships as best they could, covering them with grasses or hauling them up inlets, in aimless tidal rivers between higher hills. Grim ordered the masts stepped down.
Ragnvald sent runners to the watch points to keep a lookout. He followed Arnfast over the crest of the headland, through scrubby brush and low trees, to the place where they should see Solvi’s ships coming. If they came. Ragnvald had already resolved to wait no more than a full day and night. If Solvi was not spotted, they had missed him, and would be too late. He planned to push Heming onto Vestfold no matter what, if he could, but Heming might recover his good sense and push back.
Arnfast was nineteen—older, Ragnvald reminded himself, than his king Harald, and only a year younger than Ragnvald himself. He looked a teenage boy still, though, skinny and ungainly, with nothing to recommend himself except a fleet step and eagle eyes. He waited for Ragnvald to catch up with him at the best vantage point of the crest, overlooking one of the inner channels. Ice clung to the high places here, above the smooth running water. From this spot he could even see a further channel inland, in case Solvi’s ships emerged from there.
Arnfast crouched on his heels for a few minutes, watching with Ragnvald, then stood up again. He was too restless to remain still. “I must see . . .”
Ragnvald did not know where he meant to go, but they might as well watch from different vantages. He nodded his permission, and sat to wait. Here on the crest of the hill, the wind blew fierce, a wet spring gale that chilled as quickly as a winter storm. He rubbed his hands together, then walked aimlessly around the flat top here, stamping his feet.
To pass the time, he began climbing down the steep slope on the inner passage. He might get a better view up the channel, and concentrating on his footing made it easier to forget how cold he was, how much was riding on the slim chance that they had overtaken Solvi’s men and might continue to follow them without being observed.
Solvi’s fleet was too big for stealth. Ragnvald’s breath caught in his throat when they came around the bend. He had added more allies since Agi saw him leaving Tafjord. Here were more than twenty ships. Their multicolored sails shone bright against the gray of cliff and sky. Ragnvald wanted to leap up and run back to his camp, to tell them the news.
He ran for a few steps before it occurred to him that his lead ship must follow Solvi’s rearmost one, and he would have to know which one that was. He had not discussed this with Grim, yet it must be so. So he sat to wait while the endless stream of ships passed single file through the channel. Was Svanhild among them, or had Solvi left her behind, somewhere safe and well guarded? He worried that Solvi might have divided his force. The last ship could be a day or more behind. Ragnvald meant to spring a trap, and might be closed in it instead.
At length, after his hands and feet had grown numb from standing still with his arms hugged tight around his ribs, a gap opened up between ships. The last ship was narrow, a dragon ship that earned the name, with a vast sail, nearly as wide as the ship was long. It was striped blue and yellow, with dyes so costly Ragnvald could hardly imagine spending them on a sail’s colors. The rearguard must be an important man. He would not likely be followed by a lesser ship, with a plain-dyed sail. Solvi had gathered wealthy allies. After Ragnvald watched for a few more minutes to assure himself he was right about that, he finally retraced his steps back to the camp.
He still feared that Solvi would come around to find a place to camp and stumble into his force. He told Oddi, Grim, and Heming what he had seen, which ship he thought to be the last.
“No fires tonight,” he ordered. “If men are cold, they should share sleeping bags, or stay awake.” The men grumbled, but quietly.
“They will do it,” said Oddi. “All have heard of how you placated Ran.”
Ragnvald waved his hand. “I fear she will have me someday,” he said. “But not until I am a wealthier catch.”
“All the same, these men will do as you ask. That was well done,” said Oddi. Ragnvald was grateful for it, if this was the right path, and grateful too that Oddi had resigned himself to this path. Ragnvald feared too much had gone right, that the gods owed him some ill luck for all this good. He was working on Harald’s behalf, though. Harald was their beloved.
He passed a chilly night himself, under blankets with Oddi, sharing as they had done in Hordaland for warmth and companionship. He startled himself out of sleep every few minutes, worrying that he had overslept and Solvi’s force had passed too far ahead of them.
When he consulted with Grim the next morning, though, he realized that their biggest worry would be staying far enough behind Solvi. He was bound for Vestfold, and so were they.
* * *
If the days of trying to catch Solvi had been nerve-racking, they were nothing to the constant effort to stay far enough behind him to remain unseen, without losing his force entirely. Ragnvald peered into the distance until squinting at the horizon gave him a pounding headache. Even when he closed his eyes, the world remained divided into dark and bright.
At least the wind favored them. Only a day and a half after leaving the southern headland, Ragnvald’s ship entered Oslo Fjord toward Vestfold. Ragnvald ordered them to slow further. If Solvi’s force turned and engaged them before making Vestfold, they would be slaughtered to no good purpose. Ragnvald sat in the stern, watching and waiting.
Without the moderating effect of the ocean, the land of Vestfold was still snow-locked. A storm had come and delivered snow to knee height since Ragnvald left. At every bend in the fjord, Ragnvald feared they would come upon Solvi’s ships.
At the last turning, Ragnvald put Arnfast ashore.
“Vestfold is just over this hill, and then turn down into the valley.” He took a brooch that Harald had given him from his pouch and handed it to Arnfast. “Give this to Harald or his uncle Guthorm, and say it comes from me. Tell him that Solvi and his allies are coming, and that I follow with aid.” He gave the numbers of Heming’s forces, far too small for Ragnvald’s comfort, but help if they remained a surprise.
He made Arnfast repeat the message back to him several times before sending him off. Arnfast moved between trees like a silverfish in the water and was soon out of view in the forest.
“What should we do now?” Heming asked.
“Wait,” said Ragnvald. “We must wait until Solvi’s ships are lashed to Harald’s and he cannot easily turn and escape, and then we attack.”
Ragnvald did not know how long that might take. The fjord made another bend before it reached Vestfold, an hour’s row, and even less time still to sail. He wondered if he might hear something, and then, when some time had passed, whether the silence was due to a battle already fought and lost. He should have sent Arnfast with another runner, to come back with news. Yet how many different things could happen? Solvi’s men would attack Harald’s, either on land or at sea. Ragnvald thought Solvi might prefer a sea battle. Harald knew his own land and defenses, and Solvi did not walk quickly.
Ragnvald heard something that might be fighting. If his messenger had gotten through, if Harald listened to him, if Harald’s forces could move in time, they would be out on the water as well. Ragnvald ordered the ships to move. He could not tell what kind of battle it was, and the agony of the last few days of waiting, the weeks since he had left Harald, made it impossible to wait any longer. The ships raised their anchors, and men began rowing toward the noise, the clash of what sounded like ships’ flanks against one another, the yells of battle, the thud of swords on shields. Or that was what Ragnvald imagined. It was too easy to paint any number of pictures in his mind.
When his ship made the last turn, Ragnvald saw that Solvi’s ships had been able to beach, and his men streamed toward Harald’s hall, milling among the buildings. The roofs of several structures smoldered, but none were yet ablaze. At once Harald’s warriors burst from among the buildings to confront Solvi’s, a moment of surprise. But they were far too few to defeat Solvi’s forces, unless he had called his allies earlier than Ragnvald hoped.
Ragnvald saw banners from Frisia, Iceland, and Denmark, among the Norsemen: Solvi had gathered his forces from far and wide. Ragnvald could not think what to do. He had hoped for a ship-to-ship battle. Still, some of Solvi’s ships had not beached yet. Ragnvald ordered Grim to bring his ship near enough to attack one of Solvi’s or his allies’ that held the rear, and for the others to do the same.
