Ragnvald joined Hrolf’s family for dinner that night. It was a small gathering, only a few other families besides Hrolf’s own, which was mostly daughters who stayed away from the feasting men. Before he entered the tent, Ragnvald threw a glance at Olaf’s booth. His family’s booth. Its emptiness—still dark in the twilight, as half the booths were, this early in the ting gathering—had been nagging at him like a stone in his shoe all day.
“Ragnvald,” said Hrolf, when Ragnvald entered his tent. “Welcome.” He closed the distance between them with one great stride. He was tall, taller than Ragnvald, to have made a daughter so tall. Yet after a season warring at sea, Ragnvald could mark the difference between a farmer and a warrior. Hrolf had a farmer’s sloping shoulders, and he moved heavily. The lines on his face came from worrying over harvests, not outfacing enemies or the waves on an open ocean. Ragnvald stood up straighter before he bowed, a fit greeting for his kin-to-be.
“I see you have not been so vain as my son,” said Hrolf. “You have left your hair unbleached.” Ragnvald touched his dark hair. Many warriors bleached their hair with lye, to further put fear into the hearts of their adversaries. Ragnvald had tried coloring a lock, and cut it off when it turned a bright, foolish red.
“How did you come to survive this attack?” Hrolf asked.
Ragnvald glanced at Egil.
“Egil told us little,” said Hrolf.
Ragnvald told the story again, watching to see how Egil reacted. He had not thought to doubt that Egil would stand witness for him once he learned Ragnvald lived, until they met on the field this afternoon. Now he felt foolish for not wondering further. Egil would not want to anger Solvi. Still, Egil was his friend. Surely, he would stand witness for Ragnvald. He only needed his father’s say-so.
Hrolf heard him out, stroking his beard. Ragnvald waited when he was finished speaking, thinking Hrolf would have some advice for him, perhaps praise for his bravery even, in surviving the cold fjord.
But Hrolf said nothing. After a moment, his wife brought them cups of ale. “Now, let us drink to your safe return,” Hrolf said, “yours and my son’s.”
Ragnvald drank Hrolf’s excellent ale, and enjoyed Hilda’s bending down close to him to refill his cup. The women brought platters of food and served the men before retreating to their own tent, leaving behind barrels so the men could refill their cups themselves.
After all had eaten their fill, Ragnvald stood and addressed Egil formally.
“Egil Hrolfsson, you were my brother and stood by my side when we fought in Ireland and won treasure together. Will you stand by my side at the trial, when I fight to win what is rightfully mine?”
Egil took a hasty swig of ale, and began choking on it.
“This is a difficult thing you have given me to think on,” said Hrolf.
Ragnvald looked up at Hrolf. “I was asking Egil.”
“He is my son, and will obey me, I think,” said Hrolf.
“Obey you in what?” Ragnvald asked. “He was there, and he owes me his testimony.”
“He owes you?” Hrolf asked. “You think yourself very fine.”
“I think that I deserve a friend’s loyalty and a fair trial, as all men do,” said Ragnvald hotly. “You are a law speaker.”
“And you came to many trials when you were a boy,” said Hrolf. “You know that Solvi will buy whatever testimony he needs that he cannot threaten.”
“I know that Egil is not the only one who saw Solvi attack me,” said Ragnvald. “My wounds bear witness too, and with them and your son, other witnesses must follow.”
“Must they?” Hrolf asked. “What cause did you give Solvi to harm you?”
Ragnvald heard a woman’s inward breath, and turned to see Hilda behind him, half hiding in the tent’s folds.
“He didn’t—,” she began.
“None,” said Ragnvald, interrupting her. She had to know that her defending him would only make him look weaker. “I gave him no cause.”
“You stir trouble in many pots,” said Hrolf.
“I do not,” said Ragnvald, darting another look at Hilda. She looked concerned. “Solvi owes me my share of the plunder and payment for this insult wound.”
Hrolf stroked his mustache. “Some men’s thread does not run smoothly, it is true,” he said after a moment. “But it does not matter. Egil saw nothing, and he will not testify.”
“If he saw nothing, it is because Solvi’s men held him back—he could testify to that at least,” Ragnvald said. More bitterly he added, “He owes me the truth.”
“Do not speak of what my son owes you—you who would make him into Solvi’s enemy. It is bad enough that you are.” Hrolf stepped forward, now looming over Ragnvald.
“I need to sue for my treasure if I am to pay for”—Ragnvald glanced at Hilda—“your daughter’s hand.” He turned to where Egil still sat. “Egil, brother, we fought together. Your honor—”
“Kings and jarls must concern themselves with honor,” said Hrolf. “My son should not throw his life away for it.”
“Your daughter will be the mother of jarls,” said Ragnvald.
“Your father lost his lands and his life.” Hrolf stepped back. “You are no jarl.”
Ragnvald clenched his teeth. Hrolf spoke only truth. Ragnvald could not change Hrolf’s mind now, and any more speech would make him sound like a begging child. Ragnvald’s father had lost his kingdom and then his life. Ragnvald had only good memories of him before his death, and only shame of him after. Olaf might not like Ragnvald, but at least he could not shame him.
“I will be again when I take back my birthright,” he said.
“You may call a farm a kingdom, but that does not make it so.” Hrolf’s eyes blazed. “No. My daughter will not marry with a man who rushes headlong into trouble, and my son will not stand up for you.”
“You will not say that when I rule Sogn.”
“You might be king of all Sogn and Maer too, and I would not give you my daughter,” said Hrolf. “You will bring grief and bloodshed to her door.”
“I will not,” said Ragnvald. A vision of Adisa’s farm, the silence of the dead, made him wonder if Hrolf was right, if he had carried death with him from the fjord’s waters, if it ran before him. “But I will not argue with you further.”
He left as soon as Hrolf gestured to dismiss him.
Across the grounds, Olaf’s space was still dark. Ragnvald turned when he heard steps behind him, and saw Hilda running, her hair streaming out behind her. Her cheeks were red when she stopped.
“Why do you follow?” he asked, stepping back from her. “Haven’t you seen enough?” She opened her mouth to protest. “It’s not my fault that Solvi attacked me—tell your father that. And I am not my father, to leave my family unprotected. You can tell him that too.” He began to walk away from her. She ran a few more steps to stop him with a hand on his arm.