“I know that,” said Hakon. “But there is no need to worry. You are still the hero my men believe you to be. If you tell them this, they will think it false modesty. Your stepfather did not do well to lead you to question every move you make. It will make you look weak when you are stronger than you think.”
Ragnvald thanked him for that. Though he could not see the heroism in it, he liked Hakon for saying so, even as he mistrusted his craving for praise. It must have been this hunger that led his father to earn the name “Noisy” and men’s mockery for his boasting.
Though Hakon advised him not to, Ragnvald still told Oddi the truth about the draugr, for he could not bear the strange looks Oddi gave him, as if Ragnvald were more than mortal. Oddi said much the same thing as Hakon.
“You still fought it. I feared to.” He did not look Ragnvald in the face. “I feared to.”
“You would have done it, though,” said Ragnvald. He admired Oddi, his prickly humor, the fine line he walked between his brothers. He wanted Oddi for the friend Oddi had named him, before this new constraint.
“You told my father this?” Oddi asked. Ragnvald nodded. “And he said—”
“The same thing you did,” Ragnvald replied brusquely. He wanted nothing more to do with this conversation.
“He values you now—now is the time. Ask him for men to take back your father’s land. You need not come to war with us, not when you have done him such a service.”
“I have done him no service. Had I known—it was no harder than killing a child, and no more honor either.”
“You insult my father,” said Oddi. “You do not need to ask him for a gift, but do not throw his words in his face.”
Ragnvald was taken aback. He bowed his head. “Thank you,” he said. “I value your advice.” Oddi looked at him curiously. Ragnvald could not read the expression, but at least that strange touch of awe was gone now.
“Do you always make things so difficult for yourself?” Oddi asked. Ragnvald shrugged. He did not like this kind of attention. “Well,” said Oddi, “part of me is glad you will not ask him, for I would miss your company on our journey.”
“You shall have it,” said Ragnvald. “I would not miss the excitement.”
They feasted that night, in celebration of Ragnvald’s victory. They would sail to Yrjar on the morning tide. Hakon bade Ragnvald sit next to him, and share his fine Frankish wine.
Soon Ragnvald had toasted enough times with him so that he did not worry at Rathi’s glares or his own lingering sadness at the deaths of the sorceress, or healer, and her son. The skald who traveled with Hakon sat down by Ragnvald’s side to hear him tell the tale again, so he could make it over into poetry. Ragnvald told it as best he could, with his head swimming from exhaustion and drink. He kept to himself what Alfrith had told him, that perhaps a spell held the young man in life, but he was no draugr, just a man whose wits had been riven from him with an ax. He told of his fear instead, of the wind that rippled the grass, how the draugr came, and how it felt no pain, how its breath stank, how its blood burned. The skald seemed well satisfied.
When he found his bed, he dreamed that he slew the creature again, and it spoke to him, words that Ragnvald could not recall on waking. He lay on his bench, looking up at the earthen ceiling, and wondered if Odin collected those slain as the draugr was, doubly slain in battle. Perhaps that was a riddle the hanged god would like.
*
The weather turned fine as Hakon’s ship approached Yrjar, home of Hakon’s fort. Hakon’s younger sons, Herlaug and Geirbjorn, sought Ragnvald out to share watches with him, and asked him to judge who reached the bow first when they ran along the gunwales. The flotilla sailed into Yrjar in late afternoon five days after they departed Smola, to find the small harbor swelled with ships.
“Is it not too many ships for raiding?” Geirbjorn asked his father. He leaned forward over the gunwale next to his father.
“How many ships did you go to Ireland with?” Hakon asked Ragnvald.
“Ten,” said Ragnvald shortly. He was beginning to see how Jarl Runolf had run afoul of Hakon’s sons, for Hakon liked to set Ragnvald against them in conversation, putting up Ragnvald as an example that his sons should follow. No wonder they had grown to hate Runolf, if Hakon had used him thus.
“And was that too many?” Hakon asked.
“Sometimes yes, sometimes no,” said Ragnvald. “Some harbors were too small, and it was hard to feed so many men. But when we sacked the monastery, they could not resist us.” A few monks had wielded axes. Most had died without ever raising a hand to defend themselves. The berserks who accompanied them had made sport of the ones who lived in ways that Ragnvald did not wish to remember.
“We will divide our forces when necessary,” said Hakon. “You will see. But more is”—he spread his hands—“more. We go to war now. Everything will be different.”
He pulled Ragnvald in for a private conference near the bow. “You have pleased me,” he said.
Ragnvald bowed his head, and said his thanks. He had been pleased with Hakon as well, although that would matter to Hakon less.
“I wish my sons were more like you, and I wish to keep you close as an example to them.” Ragnvald had imagined what it might be like to be one of Hakon’s sons. Perhaps he would be as proud and boastful as them if he had not his father’s memory to compare himself to, and a living stepfather who had been ever harsh and critical.
“I think you will go far,” Hakon continued. “I would have you swear to me, at the welcome feast.” A king’s sworn man—it was an honor, even if Oddi was right, and Hakon owed this to him after the killing of the draugr. He would give Ragnvald gold rings, and a share of their plunder, and in return Ragnvald must praise his king’s name and fight for him. If he failed in his loyalty, he would be known as an oath-breaker, and no other man would trust him.
“I thank you,” said Ragnvald. “I will swear.”
*
Yrjar was a masterpiece of earthwork. A moat skirted the sloping walls of turf that surrounded the hall and outbuildings, enclosing enough space to hold many families and their livestock. Four entrances cut through the earthworks—choke points for any attack.