Or perhaps she could change his decision over a few days at sea. She had made up her mind to be his wife, and given her word, and then revoked it when it became hard to keep. And the moment she chose had been the moment that would hurt him most. If he left her here until next spring, she would have to pass those long months, dwelling with her mistakes, and no way to rectify them.
If he wanted to divorce her, and she could do nothing to change that, she would rather pass the year with strangers at Yrjar than here.
She found Solvi in his ship, supervising the refitting of the oarlocks.
“Husband,” she called out to him, her voice going high. He turned, wearing an annoyed expression, and she took an involuntary step back. Without his affection to protect her, he frightened her.
“Yes?” he said impatiently.
“May I speak with you?” she asked. He walked toward her. He was ungainly on land, but he walked beautifully on board the ship, as if the slight pitching in the lapping of the water at the fjord’s end made his steps into a dance.
“Yes,” he said, now close enough that no one else could hear their words. She looked up at his face, hoping he would look friendly and hopeful, perhaps even teasing as he had yesterday in the bathhouse, but he gave her nothing.
“Take me to my brother at Yrjar. You do not want me here, and I do not want to be here.”
“And you will come to the Sogn ting for a divorce?”
“Why can we not do it sooner?” Svanhild asked. Solvi’s jaw tightened.
“Some time will make the rumors sting less,” he said. “For both of us.” Even that gave Svanhild some hope—they were still in this together, in a small way she might spin into more.
“Then take me to Yrjar. Time will pass easier there.”
“For you, dear Svanhild. My time is my own. And your word is suspect now.”
Svanhild drew her chin up, ready with a sharp retort about what kind of husband he had been to her, what kind of wooing he had done, but that would lead where they had already been.
“I have given you enough,” said Solvi. “You will wait until spring and then we will have our divorce, and in the meanwhile, I will be away at sea, and we will not have to see each other. That is what you get from me.”
Svanhild burst into tears, not caring who saw. She wondered, as her sobs subsided, if this would move Solvi, or if she had truly killed any goodwill he had toward her. She had hurt him, and seeing that hurt made her angry with herself.
“If I begged you to forgive me,” she began, the words thick in her throat. She hid her face when her voice failed her entirely. She must look ugly and twisted with tears. “If I begged, would you? What do you want from me? Should I go down on my knees here? Before all your men?”
He took her arm and marched her off the ship. “I don’t think my men need to know how it stands with us.”
“How things stand with us is that you are my husband, and I want you to be my husband.”
“Until you change your mind again. I have had enough of that.” Solvi looked at her sadly. “I have been honest with you, Svanhild. You have been dishonest with me.”
“I have tried, my lord,” she said. She wanted to throw his dishonesty about Ragnvald in his face, but it would not serve her well now.
“No. You have been changeable, and you have lied. You swore in front of the gods. Go to them for forgiveness.”
“Please,” said Svanhild. She had gone this far; if she was truly his wife for a time and it did not work between them, then there could be a divorce. To divorce now was to give up, to compound her every wrong step since the ting.
“I will not lie to you anymore. I wanted you when we first met,” she said. “Then I knew who you were and hated myself for it. My brother will hate that I have married you, and he is my only family now, and—” Here she choked on her words. She could not bear Ragnvald being ashamed of her. “Can you not see this is difficult?”
Expressions she could not read flickered across his face. “I think”—he shook his head—“you are too much, Svanhild. I had thought—but no. As you will. I will send you away now, not wait for spring.”
“Yes,” she said. “Take me on your ship with you. I have not yet had enough of sailing.”
He grabbed her shoulder. “It is not for your pleasure, wife. Pack your things. Be ready before noon. I will happily leave without you.”
*
They set out on the afternoon’s tide. Svanhild could not guess what Solvi had told his father, or Geirny. He seemed to come and go with the wind.
He gave Svanhild back her place on the ship’s small, raised deck, above the rowers’ seats, in a tent, alone, and commanded her to stay there. She kept her body inside on the first day, but poked her head out and watched the beauty of Geiranger Fjord as they sailed down its length. There was no end to its marvels. She had been blind to them on the way here, and in any case they had been hidden by sheets of rain. Now the sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds, making rock the color of weathered wood shine like gold where it touched. At every turn, more waterfalls tumbled over the cliffs.
They moored up on a small landing the first night. Half of Solvi’s men slept on board his ship, and those on the other two ships, captained by Snorri and Tryggulf, found other places to sleep. Snorri, Tryggulf, and Ulfarr were Solvi’s closest friends, and Svanhild tried to see what bound them together, now that she had resolved to stay with Solvi.
Tryggulf had a thin hard look, pale skin, pale eyes, and pale hair. He looked like some icy wight, but he was a gifted storyteller, whose otherworldly face turned animated and friendly when he spun out a tale. His stories revealed he was many years older than Solvi, having fought in battles that occurred before Solvi’s birth.
Snorri was even more troubling to look upon. His face had been caved in by an ax many years earlier, ruining his mouth and nose. His speech was indistinct now, for his jaw had never healed right, and to eat he had to cut up his meat into small pieces that he could swallow whole. When he did speak, everyone stopped to listen.
Ulfarr she had noted at the wedding feast. He was handsome and cruel, and she saw far too much of him on board the ship, for he was Solvi’s forecastle man, his bravest, his first to leap into battle. She withdrew into her shelter when he looked upon her.
That night Solvi set up a tent for her on the hard stone, and she slept there, listening to the water lap at the dock. The next day, she did not retreat inside when they sailed, but found a place at the bow, as she had in Solmund’s ship. At midday they passed by a deep gorge in the cliff’s face. Most of the waterfalls skimmed over the cliff’s surfaces, and changed daily depending on how much rain had fallen. This one was cut so deeply that the water was only visible in glimpses. The sailors made signs of benediction, touching talismans sacred to the gods.
“What is that place?” she asked the sailors around her when they passed. They looked at her, at one another, and then at Solvi. “Will no one answer me?”
Solvi came over to her. “I have ordered them not to talk to you,” he said in a low voice. “And I ordered you to your tent. Why can I command my men but not you?”