No steersman among the foe could point that close. Twice, those who tried almost swamped their vessels, which then rolled sluggishly till the crews got them bailed out. Once the Danes were past the spot where the strangers had aimed to meet them, they drew ever farther away. They whooped for glee.
Hadding sailed thus until well after the foe had dropped from sight. He said he wanted to make sure of not being overtaken, should the wind fail. Ragnhild smiled. “I think you’re having too much fun to stop,” she told him. Something flickered across her face. She looked elsewhere. “Yes,” she whispered, “there’s more joy for you in this than I can give you, or any woman.”
Still, she went gladly with him into his home and set about making it hers.
A while afterward she was brought to bed. As wont was, nobody stayed with her in the women’s bower but the midwife. Hadding feasted in the hall with his housecarles and guests. Noise, fire, and merriment helped frighten evil beings off.
The midwife came in at last. “It went hard, lord,” she told him. “The queen is slim in the hips. But she rests now. Behold your son.”
She stooped down, unrolled the blanket in which she had swaddled the bairn, and laid him on it at the king’s feet. Hadding waved other men back and looked close. Small, red, the newborn kicked and cried lustily. The father took him up onto his knees. So did he acknowledge that the child was sound and would be kept alive. Cheers thundered.
The midwife returned the bairn to his mother. Hadding followed. Ragnhild lay white and haggard, but she cast him a fighter’s grin. “You did well,” he said.
Back in the hall, he told them there that the queen was wearied and had lost much blood, but ought to regain strength in time. Now let them be as happy as he was.
“I will,” murmured Gyda. “For this little time! have you.”
Great was the naming feast a few days later. Hadding poured water on the babe’s head and dubbed him Frodi. That surprised some. He had already honored his forebears by naming his offspring by other women for them, but men had not thought he would call his queen-born son “wise.” When Eirik Jarl asked why, the father smiled. “I’m doing what I can to help him grow up wise,” he said. “The warlikeness he can make for himself.”
He waited until Ragnhild was healed before he made his rounds of the kingdom. She kept the hall at Haven for him, nursed Frodi, and ran things with a stern hand. When his faring was done, she greeted him lovingly, but her womb was slow to open again. So did that year pass in Denmark.
It was otherwise in Svithjod. Word drifted in from Norway of how Hadding had slain the giant, wedded King Haakon’s daughter, and sworn fellowship with the Nidering and neighboring lords. Later came hearsay less clear, about one who had sought him out from beyond the world of men. All this made ever more folk think there must be something wonderful about him. The offering to Freyr that he had founded spread north from Scania to the holy shaw at Uppsala itself. Yeomen muttered that it would be madness to fight him. Their chieftains began to say it aloud.
“Best we make terms,” urged King Uffi’s younger brother, Hunding. “Denmark is rich and mighty. We ought to gain as much from friendship as we give, or more.”
“Never while I live and that hound befouls the earth,” snarled Uffi. “Our father would groan in his howe.”
“I think not. It’s no shame to make peace with a worthy foe. Surely it’s better than for him to overrun us. He may well seek to do that, once he’s rebuilt what he lost. Yet I have a feeling that if we give him no grounds to strike at us, he would rather not.”
“What thrall-blood sneaked into ours, that you speak well of such a one?” rasped Uffi, and stormed from the room where they were.
But he understood that outright war would be rash and might be wreckful. Through the long nights of winter he brooded. His hatred stewed in him like the brew in a witch’s kettle. Slowly he thought out what could be done.
He had a daughter, Arnborg, a maiden of fourteen years, already very fair. Toward spring Uffi made known that whoever slew Hadding should get her to wife, along with great gifts, broad acres, and high standing in the kingdom.
Word buzzed about. Some bold seamen took ship for Norway to waylay the Dane-king, but he outsailed them. Later on, Uffi heard that Hadding had been told of his offer, and had laughed. Uffi took an ax, went to his stables, killed a horse with one blow, and hacked it to shreds.
Next year Thuning the Finnfarer came to him. This was a Norseman from the Westfjord, up beyond the land of the Niderings. Though a chieftain with holdings in the Lofoten Islands and the nearby mainland, in those bleak parts he had few folk under him, mostly fishers. He had taken to trade, sailing north around the end of Finnmark and onward. From there he freighted walrus leather, ivory, furs, and thralls to marts in southerly shires. When he must fight, he handily won. Otherwise he worked shrewdly and learned deeply.
To Uffi he said, “I can take King Hadding out of his days if you will lend me what I need.”
“What is that?” asked Uffi.
“A fleet of ships for hundreds of men, with crews and outfits for a long voyage. If any Swedish warriors would like to come along, they’ll be welcome, but mainly I’ll raise my own host. I’ll bring you Hadding’s head, or at least news of his downfall. I’ll bring plunder as well, reaved in Denmark when he is no more. And you will give me your Arnborg.”
Uffi looked at him. Thuning was
