He paced for a moment. He could think of nothing but the ting trial, and how the law speaker must call witnesses, how the verdict and decision must at least appear fair for all to accept it. He walked over to the fire and took up a poker of thick, twisted iron that hung nearby.
“This will be our speaking stick,” he said, “if none object.” None did. “I do not believe that anyone doubts the facts of what happened,” Ragnvald continued, “but since Hakon was not there, let them be restated.”
Again, no one objected. Ragnvald related what he had seen. He called witnesses who had seen them set up the duel, who had heard both Heming and Thorbrand threaten any man who ran to tell Harald or Hakon. All of the witnesses said that both men had been bent on the duel.
Next Ragnvald called Heming to give his own version of events. His story did not deviate much from what the witnesses reported. “Thorbrand sent his man to me to propose a duel,” Heming said. “We arranged it through those men.” He gave Ragnvald a beseeching look. “Do not punish them. They only did what we asked.”
“That will be decided after,” said Harald. Ragnvald shot him a quelling look.
“I did not mean to kill Thorbrand,” Heming said finally. A duel to first blood could always go to death, with a lucky strike, but Heming said that had not been his intention. He swore it on every god he knew.
He hung his head. He looked much the worse for spending a week tied up in Harald’s hall. His hair hung down lankly, and his mouth was smeared with bits of food. Ragnvald had seen that he was untied often enough not to suffer injury from it, but Harald’s men had still found ways to abuse him.
“What did you mean to do?” Ragnvald asked.
“I meant to give him a terrible scar.” Heming gave Ragnvald the smallest of smiles. “Like yours, but far worse.” He looked around at everyone, the men gathered to judge him, at least in their minds. “If I could change this fate, I would. I do not want to die, but I will accept outlawry—”
“No,” cried Hakon.
“No,” Ragnvald repeated, more calmly. “We do not speak of punishment yet.” He raised the poker again and said, “King Harald and King Hakon, the two most powerful men in the Norse peninsula. When a jury gives a verdict, the men of the district swear to uphold the decision. Here, none can make you abide by a decision except your own will, and the gods’. I do not plan to decide for you. I only hope for you to agree, and swear out your agreement.”
Neither Harald nor Hakon said a word. “King Harald,” Ragnvald continued. “Hakon’s son Heming killed your captain, Thorbrand, by error. You have demanded his death. Is there any other payment or punishment that would satisfy you?”
He handed the poker to Harald. Harald looked uncertain. He glanced at Guthorm, and his shoulders slumped. “Heming must go into exile and never return to Norway,” he said. “King Hakon must turn over rulership and taxes from all Norse lands other than Halogaland and Stjordal. I will install kings of my choosing to rule Hordaland and Maer, when we take it. Finally, Hakon must pay Thorbrand’s wergild: his weight in gold.”
Hakon had been growing angrier as Harald spoke, and when he finished, Hakon put his hand to his sword. “Never,” said Hakon. “My sons must have land.” He pushed Ragnvald aside and stood chest to chest with Harald. “You will never rule western Norway. You will not even leave here alive.”
Harald had handed the poker off to Ragnvald, who banged it on the stone floor. “This is a negotiation,” Ragnvald yelled. He continued in a calmer voice. “King Hakon must make a counteroffer.” He held out the poker to Hakon.
Hakon swiped it out of Ragnvald’s hand, and spoke to Harald. “You will take the common payment for a man of Thorbrand’s stature, and leave my son with me, and I will forget the insult you have done me by taking him captive. If you have the strength for it, you can share rule of Norway with my sons.”
Ragnvald held out his hand for the poker. “You will not offer a more generous payment to King Harald for the loss of his captain and friend?” he asked, starting to feel desperate. At least Harald no longer wanted Heming killed, but Ragnvald cared more about this alliance than about Heming’s life.
“That I do not kill him where he stands for his treatment of my son is payment enough.”
“King Harald, will you allow King Hakon to expand his territory if he pays you your land taxes?” Ragnvald asked.
“I thought you might try to be fair,” said Hakon to Ragnvald, before Harald could answer. “You are sworn to me.”
“Fair to you?” Harald said. “Heming should die for what he did.”
The anger that Ragnvald had been trying to tamp down needed an outlet. “You should have guided your son better,” he said to Hakon. He turned to face Harald. “And you should have been satisfied with a wergild.” With everyone looking at him, Ragnvald smiled mirthlessly. “A king must think of more than his personal pain. Would you rather hurt each other than rule Norway?”
For a moment Harald looked shamed, but Hakon rushed at Ragnvald, and stood within spitting distance of him. “How dare you speak to me this way? You swore to me. You swore to me.”
“He was never yours,” said Harald. “But he shows me no loyalty either.”
“I swore to uphold your interests,” said Ragnvald to Hakon. Then, to Harald: “You are my king. You need Hakon, and you may have lost him forever.”
“Get out of my sight,” said Harald. “I swear, I will kill Heming tonight.”
“Then you are a fool,” said Ragnvald coolly. He dropped the poker. He had passed beyond the heat of anger into some barren place where he felt no emotion. He was grateful for it—he could be angry and sorrowful later. “Do I have your leave to go, my king?”
“Go,” said Harald. “Go and do not come back.”
Ragnvald left.
32
Given the crowded conditions of Harald’s hall, Ragnvald had kept his belongings few and well packed, to occupy as little space as possible. He now owned a few more sets of clothing than he had set out with, and many handfuls of silver. Silver enough to hire men at Dorestad or Kaupanger to help him retake Ardal, perhaps. It would not take many men. Once he had Ardal, then he could think of Svanhild and Solvi.
Some fishing boats still plied the waters of Oslo Fjord. They came and sold their fish to the Vestfold halls. Merchants, too, came and sold their wares to bored warriors and their wives. Ragnvald found a man named Frosti who had sold all his goods and wanted to leave now, before the wars resumed. He had a small crew, and was content to ferry Ragnvald wherever he wished. The tide even favored leaving this night.
Ragnvald was helping Frosti move some packages into the boat when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, and saw Oddi on the dock.
“You are leaving us?” Oddi asked. “That was ill done.”
“I did what I could,” said Ragnvald curtly.
“I meant my father and Harald. I’ve no mind to follow either of them right now.”
“I cannot help you. I leave on the next tide.”
“All alone? To retake your Ardal? Why do that, when men here would follow you?” He looked away. “When I would follow you?”