“We offer vassalage to the king of all Norway,” said Harald. “It is what I offer to all kings, and they come to see the value of it.” He spoke as though he had already conquered many lands.
“This is a wonderful idea.” Princess Gyda had a clear voice, like the striking of a bell. “That one man should claim rulership of all Norway. I should like to see it happen.”
Harald grinned. “Would you like to be the queen of Norway?”
She looked at him steadily. Other men might quail under such a direct, frank gaze, or seek to punish the woman. Harald looked entranced.
“I would,” she said.
“Excellent,” said Guthorm. “The two of them shall be married this night, and then you will be Harald’s sworn king, collect his land tax, enforce his laws, and win the benefits of his friendship.”
“I said I should like to be queen of Norway,” said Gyda. “But I cannot do that without a king of Norway to marry.” She turned to her father. “Won’t you find me a true king, Father?”
Eirik smiled, smug. “You have your answer, my lords. She will only marry the king of Norway, and I see nothing but an injured, ambitious boy before me.”
“You would follow the foolish words of a girl?” Guthorm asked. “When we can kill every man, woman, and child in your fort as easily as we walk across this field. It shames this fort to be held by such a man.”
“I obey wise counsel,” said King Eirik, “whether it comes from a girl or from the rushing wind. Come back when you are king of Norway.” He and his daughter turned and walked with stately leisure to their fort, never turning to look back.
“What impudence,” said Guthorm, as soon as they were out of earshot.
“She is right,” said Harald. “I am not yet king of Norway.” Ragnvald glanced at him. His eyes danced with delight, as though he thought this a game. Ragnvald’s shoulders slumped. He had walked too far today, still weakened by his fever.
“We should take the land by force, and make the girl into your concubine,” said Guthorm. “This land, this king, is nothing to us, only high fields and farmers, no strategic value, a great fort that guards nothing.”
“Farmers are not nothing,” said Ragnvald.
“Close enough,” said Guthorm.
Ragnvald flushed angrily. “An army marches on food,” he said, trying to find a justification for his words besides his own ill temper at his weakness. “Hordaland is not far from Vestfold, and has more arable land. If you control these fields, with a willing king, your army will never go hungry.”
Harald looked at Ragnvald and then at his uncle. Guthorm nodded slowly. “This is true,” he said after a moment. “So we must defeat this Eirik.”
“Or make him and his daughter so happy that he will deny us nothing,” said Ragnvald. He remembered what Guthorm had said earlier about Eirik’s fort. “This fort was the seat of power in Hordaland in the early days, was it not? All Hordaland kings owe duty to Eirik by ancestral right, or would, if he chose to enforce it.”
“That was centuries past,” said Guthorm. “Now all is splintered and confused, as you can see, and needs a king to unite it. Harald.”
“Make this Eirik king of all Hordaland,” said Ragnvald. “If the other kings don’t like it, they can die. They swore unwillingly anyway. Eirik will owe much to you, and he will do much for you.”
“What of his proud daughter?” said Thorbrand.
“She will not mind being married to my nephew then.” Guthorm smiled at Harald.
“No,” said Harald. “She wished to be married to the king of Norway, and him alone, and so she shall. I will swear before her not to cut my hair or shave my beard until I am king of all Norway, and she consents to be my bride.”
“She is too proud,” said Guthorm. “You must humble her.”
“No,” said Harald. “My wives must be she-wolves to be the mothers of wolves. Like my mother and this Gyda. She should not be humbled; she should be praised. My skalds will make songs of her beauty, and my oath.”
It was a youth’s idea, Ragnvald thought, feeling decades older than Harald. He might have liked the idea himself, before too many betrayals had made the old songs seem foolish.
“So it shall be,” said Guthorm. “We will send an envoy to King Eirik in the morning. My boy, between Ragnvald’s cunning and your showmanship, you will not need me for long.”
*
The next day Harald and Guthorm went to parlay with King Eirik again. He agreed to their offer with haste. Unless he enjoyed betrayal for its own sake, Ragnvald predicted he would remain Harald’s ally. Guthorm and Harald had set him high for no other reason than a bold daughter, a fine fort, and the fact that Harald had given every other king in Hordaland even more reason to dislike him.
King Eirik invited all of Harald’s men into the fort for the betrothal feast, which made Ragnvald trust him the more. He meant to show off his wealth now, not attempt murder. Indeed, he had so few men that he could not murder a company even a quarter the size of Harald’s, not without sorcery to put them to sleep.
While ale was poured around all the tables, Eirik spoke the words of betrothal, and formed oaths for Harald and Gyda to take. When Harald made his oath, he swore that he would not cut his hair, nor return to claim Gyda as his bride, until he had put all Norway under his rule. She smiled at that, looking as pleased as a cat loose in a dairy house. Skalds would sing songs of her beauty beyond the borders of Norway now. She and Harald exchanged only a few words as they sat displaying themselves together on the dais. She would not bed Harald tonight, or any man. Ragnvald wondered if she was one of those women who feared the marriage bed, and had found a clever way to keep herself from it, perhaps forever.
Gyda’s younger sister made eyes at Harald from under her lashes. She had darker hair and was plumper, warm where Gyda’s beauty was cool, with a pouting lower lip that any man might like to kiss. If she had not trained all her wiles on Harald, Ragnvald might have tried to flirt with her himself. Something about her reminded him of Vigdis, though this girl seemed far more eager to please a man, not merely torment him.