Solvi’s allies had scattered by the time Ragnvald returned to the hall at Vestfold. Harald had not given chase. His men were too busy killing those who would not surrender, and disarming those who had.
As soon as Ragnvald was freed from these tasks, he found where Ronhild had taken Svanhild, to a quiet corner of a woman’s room, full of batts of carded wool, which made the space look as though it were stuffed with clouds. Svanhild was visibly pregnant now, though Ragnvald was not sure how far along she was. It sickened him to see her swell with Solvi’s child and seem pleased at it, her hands resting on her belly, an inward and contented look on her face.
“How could—I should have kept you with me.” He sank down on his knees. He had thought he would be harsh with her, she who had arranged Solvi’s escape, but it was Svanhild. He could not. “I should have made Hakon take you to Yrjar with us. Hrolf Nefia will pay for this, I promise. Solvi will pay for this.”
“No,” she said. “Solvi is my husband.”
“Svanhild, it does not matter that you are”—he swallowed—“pregnant. Many fine men have offered for you.”
“And my child?” Svanhild asked. There was a strange smoothness in her speech that reminded him of Vigdis. Her face showed none of what Ragnvald felt at seeing her again. This storm of anger and regret was his alone.
“Whatever you want, sister. You can raise the child. I can take him back to Ardal—we can both go back to Ardal. Olaf is dead. I am master there.”
“Will your master let you do that?” Svanhild plucked at some of the wool and rubbed it between her fingers
“What master?”
“What master, indeed,” Svanhild said. “For I have heard that you serve Hakon and Harald, or neither.”
“It does not matter,” said Ragnvald. “Why are you arguing with me? Svanhild, don’t you see that we have won?”
“Almost,” said Svanhild. “We will have won when you have made Harald into Solvi’s ally.”
“He stole you,” said Ragnvald, wishing he had better words to convince her.
“Solvi is a good husband. He is my husband.” She eased herself down to sit on one of the wool bundles.
Ragnvald frowned at her. “A good husband would not drag his pregnant wife into the middle of a battle.”
“I would not let him leave without me,” she said. “I must be by his side.”
“I will not hear this,” said Ragnvald. “You did not have a choice before, but you do now.”
“Do not—,” she began.
“They sing songs of your courage in Harald’s court,” said Ragnvald. “King Harald thinks you brave and would make you his wife.” He looked at her until she smiled ruefully. Yes, she did like that. “You are not disgraced by this—” He gestured at her growing belly. “You can still marry well.”
“No, I am not disgraced. I am proud to bear the son of Solvi Hunthiofsson, mighty sea king.”
“A man with no honor,” said Ragnvald. “A man who tried to kill your brother.”
“He said he was sorry,” said Svanhild. “He paid you.” Now she sounded like a child again.
Ragnvald turned to go. She would not hear reason yet, but she would eventually, or he could keep her long enough that she would have no choice. “Svanhild, think on this. Solvi’s followers are fled. He will have no home. Your child will have no home.”
“We will have enough of a home for me.” She crossed her arms. “You can keep me prisoner, but it will not make me less his wife. My home is with him.”
*
The next day Ragnvald walked with Harald and Guthorm, to take stock of who had survived the battle and who had died. Ragnvald had slept like one of those unburied dead the night before.
Svanhild would speak little more to him. She insisted that she would be sent back to Solvi, and nothing would dissuade her, except time.
“We should not have won,” said Ragnvald to Harald as they surveyed the damage in the harbor. Several ships still floated free. Harald would need to send men out to row them in and beach them. His luck was so good that he now had more ships than he had begun this battle with.
Someone had found the body of King Hunthiof, washing in the water at the shore. King Gudbrand, it was said, had perished too, though his body lay at the bottom of the fjord. Women thralls washed Hunthiof’s corpse and laid him out in the barn, to bury or trade for the bodies of their slain. For no one knew if Heming was among the dead or one of Solvi’s hostages. The mood in Vestfold was full of exultation, and Ragnvald wanted to celebrate with his men, but Oddi could not be calmed. Hakon would come soon, and Oddi had lost his father’s most precious son. He feared Hakon’s anger, which would find him an easy target.
“They expected an easy fight,” said Guthorm. “You made sure they could not get it. Expectations are dangerous. Remember that.” It seemed good wisdom, but Ragnvald could not think of lessons now. He had Svanhild, but he had lost her. Harald had almost been defeated, and did not seem to realize how close his dreams had come to dying.
*
Hakon arrived that evening. He did not wait for his men to assemble a guard around him before striding across the grounds, stepping over the bodies that still lay in the mud and trampled hay.
Harald, Guthorm, Ragnvald, and Oddi all walked out to the harbor to greet him. Hakon looked as angry as Ragnvald had ever seen him, his face red with rage before he spoke a word.
“I am here to carry a message from Solvi Hunthiofsson, who let me through only on the condition that I would deliver these words,” he said. “He has my son Heming, and will return him to me if his wife is returned to him. He let me see Heming. He has a wound that is festering.” Hakon’s voice faltered. He set his jaw. “Why was my son captured?”
Harald’s guards closed in around Hakon. He was still an enemy, even if his sons had become Harald’s allies. Oddi clasped his arms over his chest, as if to give himself comfort. He walked forward, his chin low, and told Hakon what had happened, of Ragnvald persuading him and Heming to abandon their planned attack on Tafjord and return to Vestfold.
“Heming wanted this?” Hakon asked. “How convenient for you, that you have an excuse.”
“He did want this,” said Oddi. “Ragnvald—Heming wanted his name to be remembered for this battle, against Solvi, and repair the alliance he broke.”
“Ragnvald convinced him, of course,” Hakon guessed. He looked at Ragnvald. “I curse the day I took you into my band of warriors. You have brought me nothing but ill luck.” That was unfair, yet true enough, Ragnvald supposed, at least through Hakon’s eyes. “Still, you have the girl? At least she can be useful.”
“Solvi stole her,” said Ragnvald. “I cannot allow her to be forced to go to him. You know where Solvi is. We must lead a force to fight him.”
“Solvi has my son,” said Hakon wearily. “He has blockaded Vestfold while you have been too foolish to notice. I did not come here to fight or to make peace. I came to get my sons out of trouble, and so I shall.”