“Have you more in mind?”
“We’ll see. Today I’m taking my ease and getting to know folk. May they become my friends.”
“I think you will always have friends here.”
Hadding laughed. “For a beginning, would you like to sit with me?”
She hung back for a heartbeat or two, then nodded and joinded him in the seat. Like most such, it was big enough for two. They could talk together beneath the hubbub, softly if they wished. Though both might be men, a woman did a guest honor if she gave him this kind of fellowship.
Wooers glared. Hadding heeded them not at all. Benched among them, his battle-hardened warriors were enough to keep anyone from saying anything untoward. Haakon and his wife were clearly pleased, while striving to show everybody due respect.
Hadding and Ragnhild sat eagerly talking. He spoke less About himself than he asked about her, but she learned how witchy a life his had been. Hitherto only snatches of the tale had reached this far north. He saw that it did not frighten her, and found that her doings with the jotun had given her few nightmares afterward. When she tried to find out what he had been about in Norway, he said again that it had been a thing or two, then shifted to another ground. She could not well ask him outright. More than once he saw her fleetingly frown and bite her lip. Yet she was glad of his nearness, and often they laughed at something funny.
The sun lowered. More and more men arrived, cleansed and well clad for the evening. Ragnhild told Hadding she must go help her stepmother. But it was her father to whom she went and spoke low.
Fires sprang down the length of the hall. What smoke did not escape through the roofholes drifted, sweetened by juniper boughs. Though summer daylight lingered, shadows deepened, as if to bring weightiness; but the fire-flicker made them unrestful.
A hush fell when the queen led the other high-born women in to give out filled drinking horns. To King Haakon she handed the horn of a great aurochs, banded with gold and graven with runes. He lifted and said, “We drink the cup of Freyr.”
This was olden wont here, with which a feast began. Whoever wanted to make a vow would then get up and cry it aloud. None did, so now the servants brought in the trestle tables and heaped them with food. Men ate and drank and made merry. Guesting this many every day heightened the king’s renown, but he would not be sorry to see an end of the outlay.
Dusk had fallen when the tables were cleared away. Then Ragnhild trod forth to stand before the high seat and raise a horn of her own. Firelight went like sea waves over her. She seemed to glow against the gloom behind. Breath and a mumble flew around the hall. This was unheard of for a woman. Yet they knew that she was not like other women and that the Norns had sung no lowly weird over her cradle.
“Freyr and Freyja hear me, and all high gods,” she called. “It is not right that when men come asking for my hand we keep them waiting long. You know my father lets me choose among them. Hard is that to do, when each is mighty and well thought of. Yet I must plight myself to one and one only. This eventide I will do so.”
A surf of voices rumbled along the benches. She let it die down before she went on: “How I do this will strike you as odd. But on the Troll’s Hood I learned what sign it is I am to seek. You are wise men, who will understand that what is at work here is more than human.
“Sit where you are. I will go among you and feel of your legs.” A few startled laughs sounded. “Your legs upbear you on earth and bring you wherever you fare. Even on horse back, even in wain or ship, your legs are your strength. I tell you, this is knowledge I have from beyond the world of men.”
Some shivered at that, and everyone grew quiet. King Haakon spoke soothing words. The wooers sat tight strung.
From each to each did Ragnhild pass. Bending low, she felt a man’s calves up and down. He might well quiver as that touch pressed breeks against skin. But he held his mouth. Her face she kept unstirring.
To Hadding she came last. A sigh went through the hall when she stopped and stooped before him. He had said nothing about seeking her. Yet they two had been much together this day. He waited stiffly, not altogether sure what she meant.
Ragnhild’s fingers searched over his calves. They found a spot, a small lump beneath a scar over the hard flesh. They roved and thrust.
She straightened. Her hands clasped his. Her voice rang. “Here is my man, he who slew the jotun! I laid a ring in his wound, that I might know him again, and now it has come back to me. Hadding, Dane-king, I will be yours.”
After that he could not do otherwise than say how glad he was, laugh at how she had outfoxed him, and promise gifts to those who drank his betrothal ale. In truth he was happy, though things had moved faster than he looked for. In his life they often did.
XXI
Overawed, the wooers spoke no word against him, but sought instead for his goodwill. King Haakon sent far and wide, bidding more come to the wedding feast. It took place as soon as might be, lasted for days, and was remembered for lifetimes. Foremost among the torchbearers who lighted the bridal pair to bed on the first night were Ivar and Thorfinn.
Hadding and Ragnhild bided through that winter in Nidaros. He wanted to talk at length with King Haakon and other high-standing men. They made plans, swore oaths, and bound themselves strongly to each other against any common
