“Then here is your answer,” said Ragnvald, angered. “I believe I can convince Harald to make Heming one of his captains, his companions, if you free me from my oath and let me swear to him.”
“Is that how you would sell yourself?” Hakon asked. “Since I will not send men out to die on the sea for your sister? Why should Harald count you so much higher than my son? I come to him with ships and wealth beyond counting, and you come to him penniless and poor, dour company. What do you have besides your knack for always being right? Kings do not like men who are always right.”
“How well I know that,” said Ragnvald hotly. “It is one of my curses. But Harald values it. As you did once. As for your sons—” He cut himself off. He had spoken to Hakon of his sons before, but always carefully, never in anger.
“What of my sons?” Hakon’s voice was dangerous.
“I only know Heming. He is a brave man, but jealous and foolish. He wishes for your good opinion above all, and you hold him too close to let him earn it. He wants to think of himself as a man. You tie him to you so tightly he can hardly breathe. Harald can see that Heming has no use besides what you give him, for he has earned nothing for himself.”
Hakon’s face went red with anger. He stepped forward and slapped Ragnvald across the face, as though Ragnvald were a mere boy. “I have killed men for talking to me this way.”
And Ragnvald had grounds for a duel with that slap. He was glad no one was here to see it, so he need not confront a king. “Kill a man who speaks the truth, and you will only be surrounded by liars. I am your sworn man, until you release me. I am no oath-breaker. Do what you will.” He turned and left.
*
“I have heard that you want this Ragnvald for your own?” Hakon said to Harald at dinner that night, while waiting for thralls to bring out trenchers. “Is not my daughter enough for you?”
Ragnvald flushed angrily as men laughed. It was a joke that cut very close to insult.
“Yes,” said Harald.
Hakon paused, waiting for an explanation or defense. When none came, he smiled. “My warriors are yours. This Ragnvald is of an old ruling family, an equal with mine or yours.” Ragnvald sat up, surprised. He had not thought to win praise from Hakon now. “He is not mine to hand over. His vow to me will be at its end when I send him with men to kill his usurper stepfather.”
“That is well,” said Harald. “Then Ragnvald can swear to me before we go warring in the spring.”
“Tell me, though, will you help him regain his sister?” Hakon grinned unpleasantly. “I refused him, so he wishes to find another master. I told him he should not sell himself so cheaply.” Ragnvald stood, ready to fight. It was no more than he should do for Svanhild, yet Hakon painted him as a whore for it.
“Is that so?” Harald asked.
Ragnvald glanced from Hakon to Harald. Hakon looked amused, waiting to see how the drama he set in motion would play out. Harald appeared ready to be offended.
“Solvi has many enemies,” said Ragnvald, still standing. If Hakon wanted to see a drama enacted, he would have it. He smiled slightly. “And many of them are here tonight. I know that all of you will help bring my sister back to me, soon or late.”
“Yes,” said Harald. “Solvi will winter over somewhere, and we will hear of it. Then we will send ships and men there to fight him. But I am not trading your sister’s honor for your loyalty. I ask for oaths for life. A new nation cannot be built on less.”
Ragnvald nodded; Harald had used those words before when telling Ragnvald of his plans, his vision. “That is not why I wish to swear to you,” he said. Men had turned from all over the hall to watch him where he stood. He looked down the long fire, at the faces of the warriors. An anticipatory murmur wended through the crowd. There was precedent for this: a man standing to praise his lord, to give an example all men would follow.
“You all see this scar on my cheek?” Ragnvald asked. Harald nodded. “Solvi Hunthiofsson gave me this, and he gave me something else as well.” He looked at Oddi. “No, not a nephew, Oddi. Stop grinning at me.” Though it pained him to make a joke at Svanhild’s expense, Harald and Hakon’s men laughed appreciatively. Hakon looked bemused. He must not have expected Ragnvald to make a speech, to craft his story into a weapon. It was not one of the skills Ragnvald had honed, but he had heard skalds speak, and he had been saving this one tale until it could do him the most good.
“When Solvi threw me in the water, I began to sink. The cold arms of Ran’s handmaidens were pulling me down, and as I sank, I had a vision.” He described it then, the hall hung with gold that shone green under the water, the fire that gave off no warmth. “And into that hall came a wolf, with fur of gold that shone in parts and was matted in parts. Some of the men who touched him burned, like King Gandalf, King Frode, King Hogne. Some grew brighter, like King Eirik.” Ragnvald swallowed. “King Hakon Grjotgardsson.”
Ragnvald paced the floor once more, drawing out the tale. “Then I touched his fur. I could not stop myself, whether I burned or no.” He paused again. “Where I touched, the matted fur burnished, the dirt became bright. And I did not burn. Since that dream, I have been looking for that golden wolf. I thought . . .” He faltered; he could not say that Hakon or his sons had failed him—“I thought it might be the search of a lifetime, but it has come to me swiftly. King Harald is the golden wolf that I saw. With him, the men of Norway will shine, or they will burn, but they will not be able to resist him. I will swear to King Harald, as should every man of this peninsula. He is my king.”
“I am well pleased,” said Harald. “Ragnvald is a sorcerer as well as a warrior.” He spoke quietly, but in the hush, his voice still carried to the farthest reaches of the hall. “You have even predicted that I would not cut or comb my hair. I will grow matted indeed!”
Ragnvald let out a breath. Men started to speak in low voices, until Harald held up his hand. Into the silence, his mother spoke—Ronhild the sorceress, wise in prophecy.
“Ragnvald dreams true,” she said. “I had a dream at Harald’s birth, which you all know, and I have dreamed of a brother to stand by his side.”
“I have many brothers,” said Harald. “The gods bring them to me.”
“And all of them will make you shine, my son,” she said. “Because you choose them well.”
Harald stood and drew Ragnvald into a hearty embrace. “Ragnvald will be the first of my sworn captains in the spring. Now we spend our winter making ourselves strong for war.”
Ragnvald sat down, dazed. Then the cheers began, chants of Harald’s name, and a few of Ragnvald’s, while other men called for their own captains, men already sworn to Harald. All raised their glasses to toast, all except Hakon and his trueborn sons.