“Solvi tried to kill—”
“I said listen,” said Vigdis. “Grudges are for men to hold. Think what you could do for your brother as Solvi’s bride. And bring them ale. Let your hair fall on Solvi’s shoulder. Do not be over bold, but stay close when you serve him and”—she paused and smiled—“go. You have already done well. You don’t need my advice.”
Svanhild felt like a block of wood as she took the few steps toward Olaf’s tent. She had no intention of flirting with Solvi any further. Her face flamed as she thought of how much of that she had already done. And if Solvi asked for her—she shuddered at the thought—Ragnvald would never forgive her if she consented.
“Your agreement was with my father, not me,” Solvi was saying when Svanhild entered with the ale. He sounded disdainful, and Olaf’s face looked like a thundercloud, which made her want to cower. Olaf’s rages ruled Ardal. Solvi looked unconcerned.
“It was your error that brought us here,” said Olaf, ignoring the ale Svanhild set in front of him. “If you’d done what you were supposed to, that upstart wouldn’t be bringing suit against us.”
Svanhild’s hand shook when she put Solvi’s cup down in front of him. He caught it before it spilled, his hand over hers, which she plucked away as if his touch burned her. He raised his brows, mischief in his eyes, then turned to Olaf again.
“As I said, your agreement was with my father, not me. Ragnvald was a good warrior, but if he brings suit, he has nothing but words. No one will bring swords to defend him. No one will stand witness for him. And when he’s done, he will have falsely accused a king’s son.”
“He is still alive,” said Olaf.
Did Olaf really not care that Svanhild could hear this? Did he think her as much a coward as he was? Or did he imagine that his rages would keep her from telling Ragnvald what she had heard? She stayed still, holding the cask of ale in case they should call for more, but neither had drunk more than a sip.
“That is as I meant it,” said Solvi, looking up at her.
“You cannot be that stupid,” said Svanhild, “or think I am.”
“Say the gods stayed my hand, then,” he said, still to her. She could believe that, though it changed nothing.
“Did they?” Olaf asked, looking concerned. “How am I supposed to govern Ardal with that troublemaker still around?”
“That is not my concern. I have no interest in your little farm’s business,” Solvi said scornfully. Then he glanced at Svanhild. “Except this—give me this swan girl as a concubine, and I’ll lend you men to defend your land. I’ve heard you need it.”
Svanhild gasped. This must be why Olaf had allowed her to hear him. He might do it, even with the insult of Solvi asking for her as a concubine—warriors would make Olaf an important man again, more so than his cousin Thorkell. “I would never,” she cried. “I’ve heard what you said. I’ll—I’ll tell Ragnvald. I’ll testify against you.”
Solvi laughed. “A girl’s testimony? And what would that be worth?” he asked her, and then, not expecting an answer, got to his feet and said to Olaf, “She’s a wild one. My offer stands. Send the girl to me if you agree.”
“Never,” said Svanhild.
As soon as he left, Olaf grabbed her arm in a bruising grip. “You worthless girl,” he said, shoving her forward. “I ought to beat you black and blue.”
“You wouldn’t want to damage me before you sell me to someone,” she said, shakily.
“If you testify against me, I’ll make you worthless even as a concubine. No man will want to look at you when I’m done.” He dragged her from the tent and brought her to Vigdis in the kitchen tent. Vigdis looked mildly shocked to see them like that, Svanhild kicking, Olaf holding her up by the arm.
“Keep her tied up,” he said to Vigdis. “I don’t want anyone but you to see her until after the trials are done.” He flung Svanhild against a sack of grain, knocking the wind out of her. Her scream was muffled by the sacks as Olaf turned her over and Vigdis tied her hands behind her back. Olaf yanked her wimple forward and tied it around her mouth so she couldn’t cry out again. He turned her over onto her back again. “Don’t try anything,” he warned. “Things can go much worse for you.”
The child Hallbjorn watched this with big, round eyes and then began to cry. Vigdis scooped him up and held him on her hip, bouncing him until he stopped, though he still watched Svanhild warily.
“She’ll be a chore to take care of,” said Vigdis to Olaf before he left.
“I’ll give you a new brooch,” said Olaf. Vigdis nodded. Olaf left, and Vigdis knelt next to her.
“You are a foolish child,” said Vigdis, almost kindly. “You’ve angered all of the men who would help you.” Svanhild glared at her. “Ragnvald—I suppose he would, but he can’t, can he? And he will hear of your ride with Solvi, and wonder if he has any friends left in the world.”
With that she carried Hallbjorn outside and bid Sigurd watch him for the afternoon. When she returned, Svanhild kicked and cursed at her from behind the gag until she grew too exhausted to move.
She slept, and when she woke, Vigdis was gone. She fingered the knots behind her back. She could not gain purchase on them, and could barely move her wrists. She struggled a bit more, then flopped against the grain sacks, saving her strength. Everyone would be gone during tonight’s feasting; perhaps she could make her escape then.
9
The morning after the sacrifices, word spread around the camp that Solvi had come. Ragnvald’s nerves were stretched thin during his archery contest with Egil. On the sidelines, Solvi laid bets and talked loudly. Ragnvald could think of little but his upcoming trial, and his arrows hit the ground more often than they struck the target.
At least his anger at Solvi’s presence spurred him to win a footrace later in the afternoon. Ragnvald looked to see if Solvi had noticed this triumph, so similar to the race on the oars, but he was lost in the crowd of taller men.
Ragnvald had heard that Hunthiof had not come with his son. As he walked off the exertion from the race, he tried to think of what that king’s absence might mean for him—at the least, Solvi would have fewer men to help him intimidate the trial’s jurors.
After the footrace, grizzled old warriors competed in ax-throwing contests. King Hakon himself took the prize there. A troupe of wanderers arrived at midday with a tame bear, which did tricks, turning somersaults and balancing an inflated pig’s bladder on its nose. Hakon gifted each of them with a handful of hacksilver. Ragnvald wondered that Svanhild had not come to see the troupe. She loved dancing bears.