He pushed himself up on his elbows and grimaced. “Rorik had firewater from Ireland,” he said. He let his head fall back, and frowned again. “Ugh, no better. Send for some ale and a bucket.”
Svanhild did so, and though Solvi looked green for the first hour after sitting up, he did not need the bucket. He bade Svanhild sit next to him in their bed. Svanhild felt suddenly shy. They did not talk much when they were alone together. In private, Solvi had use of her body. In public, she strove to be his adventuress wife, and enjoyed playing the part.
“I know you are half my enemy still,” he said, playing the ends of her hair through his fingers. Sitting this way, they touched, and Svanhild did not have to look at him. She made a noise of denial. “I don’t know what game you are playing,” he continued. “I’m not sure you do either. But Rorik likes you, and you must stand with me here.”
Svanhild worried her lower lip with her teeth. Stand with him—he did not mean like this, in private; he had some political aim. Ragnvald was with Harald, and Solvi opposed Harald. Perhaps the rumors they heard were nothing, and Ragnvald only followed Harald because Hakon did. Ragnvald would return to Ardal, and with Hunthiof—and one day Solvi—his neighboring king, he might one day value Solvi as an ally.
“I will,” she said. “If you tell me more, perhaps I can even help you.”
His fingers tightened in her hair, pulling it somewhat. “No, you will fight me.”
“I won’t,” she protested. She had held her tongue so many times over these weeks of travel when she wished to say something harsh to him. She wondered if he knew how hard she worked.
“You will, or you will want to. I have no stomach for fighting you now. Continue pretending you are my faithful wife. I am enjoying that.”
Svanhild took his hand and unwrapped the strands of her hair from it. “I will continue what I have been doing,” she said. “Now drink your ale.”
*
Rorik talked of Harald again that night, and with great admiration. Svanhild watched Solvi to see how he reacted as Rorik told of how Harald’s mother had visions of his putting all of Norway under his power.
“And now we hear tell that he has promised not to cut his hair or shave until he has done so,” Rorik added.
“He must look a fright,” said Svanhild. “At least you comb your beard.” She laughed and caught Solvi’s eye. He nodded at her, so he must not mind this flirting.
“That I do, for I know maidens like a neat appearance.” Rorik leered at her. “But they say Harald looks like a god nonetheless, and it doesn’t matter if he combs his hair or not. He is taller than me, and any woman would swoon to be in his arms.”
“I am sure I would not,” said Svanhild haughtily. “I don’t like tall men.” This she directed at Solvi, who smirked at the compliment, but when Rorik made an expression of mock affront, she touched his shoulder and said, “Except you.”
“If he admires Harald so much,” said Solvi in bed later that night, as they lay warm together in the dark, “I wonder that he hasn’t declared for him.”
“Must he declare for anyone? He is free here in Dorestad. Why would anyone follow a king if he could be one himself?” All of the kings who followed Harald must disagree with her though. Ragnvald had sworn to Hakon and now, it seemed, was following Harald, tying himself into a hierarchy of obedience from which Solvi and Rorik stood apart.
“Why indeed,” said Solvi. “I would not, will not.”
“But Harald is coming to take your land, you told me. And Hakon—he means to follow Harald as well.”
“Hakon will only follow himself,” said Solvi with some disdain. He traced Svanhild’s shoulder. “Do you think Rorik would support me—perhaps loan me some ships to defend Tafjord?”
Svanhild could feel the tension in Solvi’s body. So this was what he had meant when he wanted Svanhild to stand with him. “Do you think Harald will return to Tafjord, or was it empty boasting?” she asked. “He has only conquered Vestfold and Ringerike, to hear Rorik tell it.”
“He said he would,” said Solvi. “But I don’t think he would, except that bounder Hakon has gone to him. Hakon will tell him that Tafjord is ripe to fall.”
Svanhild did not answer, for she had heard the same at the ting. She could offer no comfort. Perhaps there was hope, though. Many men flocked to Solvi’s banners when he went raiding. Hunthiof seemed as wealthy as Hakon, though he disdained to show it in any other way than heaps of treasure. Hakon had flaunted his fortune at the ting by living higher than anyone else, making his whole presence into a demonstration of wealth and elegance. That was not the style of the sea kings who hailed from Tafjord, who valued gold and a small, loyal band of raiders over a large court.
“My father was once a great king,” said Solvi. “I heard the stories, always. From Tryggulf, and from his skalds. But he has not done much to keep happy the farmers of Maer. If Harald comes to Maer, I do not know who will rally to my father and who to Harald.” He moved his hands, rough and scarred from the years at sea, over Svanhild’s skin. She shivered.
“What would you—if you did not need to please your father, if you did not need to please anyone except yourself, what would you do?” she asked, in a low voice.
“I would take three ships,” he said. “I would plunder and raid, and spend my coin all winter, and then raid again the next year. I would die in a sea battle, and let fish eat my bones. I am no farmer, to own land and be buried in it. I am only—” He cut himself off abruptly. Svanhild did not need to ask what he would say next. He was a king at sea, while at home he was only his father’s disappointing son. On land, he walked crooked and crabbed. On land, he could not climb a mast to be taller than everyone else. On land he could not flee.
“I cannot, though,” he said, his voice rough. “Harald and his uncle came to insult my father, to tell him that he might as well leave without a fight. That cannot go unanswered.”
“So it is a matter of honor.” Svanhild could understand that, even if it set him against Ragnvald.
“I owe duty to my father and his father and his father’s father, to hold Tafjord.” Unspoken, though Svanhild could hear it: a wish for a son to rule Tafjord and Maer after him, to carry that duty forward. Svanhild touched her belly, taut and hard from the hardships of the last month. She had missed her courses once—too early to tell anything. Would she be the one to give Solvi what he wanted too much even to name?
*
A storm blew in the next day, keeping the men indoors. Some dozed and drank, others gambled, still others made free with Rorik’s female thralls. Solvi diced with Rorik that night and lost a few throws, using what Svanhild knew were weighted dice.
“I have heard that Harald means to keep Norway’s shores free from raiders, and tax any trade that leaves the country,” he said to Rorik, with little preamble. Svanhild tensed. Rorik must know that Solvi was leading him somewhere.
“How do you know this?” Rorik asked.
“It is what he and his uncle said when they came to threaten us.”