He walked weakly toward the rear of the hall, putting out his hand to rest against the tall posts from time to time. He could hear laughing and singing from within. It sounded as if they laughed at him, and already sang a song at Svanhild’s expense.
The moon had risen above the horizon, a pale ghost in the dark blue sky. Oddi fell into step next to him.
“How can the skald be sure? How could he know?” Ragnvald asked, though his stomach already knew it was truth. “We have been gone from Sogn a few months. She was safe with Hilda’s family, far from Solvi’s sea roads.”
Oddi kicked at a stone by his feet. It skittered off into the shadows. “You know how swiftly word travels, with so many ships crossing and recrossing.” He squinted at Ragnvald. “I asked, though. For you, I did not want to believe it.”
“And?”
“The skald told me how the news had come. A fisherman on an island where Solvi camped had it from one of Solvi’s men, a young man, who liked the tale. The fisherman passed on his tale to the next passing merchant. Harald meant to compliment you, I think. He did not think he was telling you something new.”
“Yes,” said Ragnvald tightly.
“I will go with you to avenge her,” said Oddi. “Heming would too, though for his own reasons.”
“I should have gone with Heming to Tafjord, and attacked,” said Ragnvald. “Your father might have forgiven us, if we won, and Solvi might be dead, and my—Svanhild spared this.”
“Or you might not have found him there, and you would have angered my father for nothing,” said Oddi. “Come now, you would never have done that.”
“Because I am not bold enough, you mean.” Ragnvald kicked a small rock on the path as Oddi had done and sent it careening into a nearby tent. The owner of the tent yelled and put his head out. Ragnvald ducked and hurried his steps.
“No,” said Oddi, “because you are not foolish.”
“I have been foolish,” said Ragnvald. “Many times.”
“Be foolish again, then. Ask Harald for men to chase down Solvi. Ask my brother to go with you now.” It was tempting, but Ragnvald knew Solvi, better than any of the men here who swore him an enemy. Solvi’s ships sailed so swiftly they might be carried by magic. He claimed welcome at hearths from Iceland to Brittany, had friends among the Baltic viking states, and might hide anywhere a ship could reach.
“If she is on the move with Solvi, they might be anywhere,” he told Oddi. “And your father would not thank me for doing exactly what he tried to keep Heming from doing.”
“I see you have already given it much thought,” said Oddi. “If it were my sister, I would take the nearest ship and do what I must.”
“What you must? Sail the North Sea until you drown? Tell me about the sisters that you would ride off to rescue. Would you do that for Hakon’s daughters, truly? You have never mentioned them before.”
“Fine,” said Oddi. “I have no true sisters. I am trying to give you sympathy. You speak of Svanhild as most men speak of their best beloved, or the friend of their heart. I am telling you, badly I fear, that I understand you would do anything for her.” He paused. “And I would help you.”
“Thank you,” said Ragnvald. “Truly. I would do anything, but I can do nothing, not at this moment. And now I am half sworn to that foolish boy, and sworn to your father, and Svanhild is lost to me.”
“You are right to call me a fool,” said Harald from behind him. “I have come to apologize. As I said, Solvi and his father are our enemies, so you may be sure that your sister will be avenged. And I spoke true: I would take her for one of my wives or concubines.”
“My sister is not meant for a lesser wife.” Ragnvald did not want Harald’s sympathy; he wanted Harald to take back his terrible story, to put Svanhild back where Ragnvald had left her, safe with his betrothed. Oddi put his hand on Ragnvald’s shoulder to try to calm him.
Harald pulled himself up straight. He towered over Ragnvald, this young giant. “None of my wives will be lesser,” he said. “Have a care. I will be the first man in Norway, and my wives its first women.”
“Will be, will be,” Ragnvald repeated back to him, mocking.
Harald put his hand on his sword. “You will accept my apology. It was done in error. I did not mean an insult, but if you challenge me, I will kill you.” Ragnvald took a step back. “No man may challenge me and live.”
“Yes,” Ragnvald said, grudgingly. “I accept your apology and”—he gritted his teeth—“I thank you for giving me this news. I hope we are still friends. I spoke in haste. Now I ask your leave not to return to your hearth tonight.”
“Of course,” said Harald, the frightening warrior hidden again beneath the face of the friendly boy. “This is a harsh blow. My hospitality is yours as long as you need it. When you are calmed, we must speak of how to get your sister from Solvi the Short. He does not deserve her.”
Ragnvald thanked him again, and Harald returned to the hall. Ragnvald walked to his ship to retrieve his skin sleeping bag and the tent that he and Oddi had shared while on shipboard. It was a fine night, a late summer night. Above, curtains of northern lights shimmered. A mild breeze came off the flat water of the fjord.
“I will stay with you,” said Oddi. “It will be no hardship to sleep out of doors tonight. The hall will reek with so much feasting and drinking.”
His words made Ragnvald gag again, and Oddi laughed, before turning it into a cough.
Ragnvald smiled sourly at him. “No more words of food, I ask you.” He began setting up the tent. “At least Solvi has made her a wife.”
“And a heroine,” said Oddi. “I wish I had paid her more mind at the ting, this Svanhild, the beloved of kings. You should let Harald make his song.”
“Svanhild would like that,” said Ragnvald. He sat down on the ground and put his head in his hands. He felt shaky. As he took a deep breath and sat up, his own odor came to his nose. He was covered with sour sweat from being ill, not to mention the dirt of a week at sea. “Let us find the bathhouse,” he said. “No one will be using it during a feast.”
28
Svanhild dozed, in and out of sleep, the next morning until Solvi put his arms around her. His movements were slow and sleepy, so she did not know if he had yet woken.
Eventually she got out of bed and looked down at him. A stab of sunlight from a gap near the roof lit his hair and close-cropped beard gold. In sleep, his mouth wore the ghost of a smile. He was handsome—she had thought that when she first saw him—and he had strong shoulders. Perhaps she should think of him as a sea creature, a merman, man above the waist and strange below.
He opened his eyes, and the smile faded from his face. “Why do you look at me like that?” he asked.
“I am thinking of our meeting.” She lowered her gaze.
“You liked me then,” said Solvi.
Svanhild smiled and nodded, fearing that if she said anything, she would have to lie to keep him happy. She would like him now, if he let her.