Hadding and Gangleri stood near the hacked, reeking lichs of the warlocks. Thuning’s was among them. “You saved us, lord,” said the king. “How can I ever repay you?”
The old one leaned on his spear. “There is no need,” he answered. “This was my will.”
“But we must at least give you your honor at Haakon’s hall and afterward at mine.”
“That shall not be. I am bound elsewhere.”
“What? How can you get off this island, unless in a ship of ours?”
“I have my ways.” Gangleri was silent a while. Two ravens swung low, croaked, and flew off. “You shall see me no more in this life,” he then told Hadding. “Remember what I have taught you.”
“I shall.” And indeed the wedge of men lived on throughout Northern lands. It caine to be known as the swine array, for it ripped through an unready host like the tusks of a wild boar.
“But—this life?” Hadding dared ask.
“Yours will not end at anyone’s hand but your own,” Gangleri said.
After another span in which only wind, sea, and hovering fowl spoke, he went on: “This do I rede you. Squander not your years on small quarrels, but seek such wars as are worth fighting. Wage them abroad rather than close to home. The work of a king is to ward his folk.
“Farewell.”
He turned and strode off toward the wood. His tallness was quickly gone into its shadows.
XXIV
That midwinter Queen Ragnhild was again brought to bed with child. Her fight was still harder than before. Sometimes a moan slipped out between her teeth. The blankets were so bloodied they must be burned afterward. It took months for her to get back her strength. Yet the bairn, a girl, was healthy. She came into the world shrieking as though in wrath, and at the breast she bit painfully hard. It seemed right to her father that they name her Ulfhild, Wolf Battle.
In spring a ship arrived from Svithjod bearing high-born men who sought out King Hadding. They brought word from King Uffi. He was sick of a war that gained him naught. Surely it cost the Danes, too, more than it was worth. Let them make peace.
Hadding sent back a stiff answer. His folk had much to avenge. However, he was willing to think about taking a weregild, and meanwhile would stay his hand if the Swedes behaved themselves.
Messengers went to and fro during the summer. Uffi did not want to pay, as much because that would be knuckling under as because of the gold. Nor had Hadding awaited it. He merely did not wish to seem overly eager. He lowered the award but said that oaths must be sworn that Danish traders would have entry to Geatish and Swedish marts, free of hindrance and scot. And thus the dickering went between those two.
Toward fall they seemed near agreement. Uffi’s last sending was almost friendly. Let Hadding come to Uppsala, where they could speak man to man. If they reached understanding, they would plight fellowship in the grove of offerings, the holiest spot in all the Northern lands. Did the meeting fail, the Danes would go home unharmed, loaded with gifts. But Uffi felt sure it would not. He had said that whoever got Hadding slain should have his lovely daughter Arnborg. Now he took that back. Once peace was made, Hadding himself should have her, to bind their houses together for aye.
“There’s a bid that beckons!” laughed the Dane-king.
Ragnhild bit her lip but said nothing until that night in their shutbed. Then she spoke harshly. “No other woman shall be queen in Denmark while I am here. If you give her such honors, I will go back to my mountains.”
“It’s only kingcraft,” he told her.
She stiffened at his side. “Do you reckon her blood better than mine?”
He thought for a while before he said, “No, surely not. Nor would I throw your father’s friendship away for the sake of a girl. It’s stood me in good stead. But there needs to be some kind of tie between Skjoldungs and Ynglings, or war can too easily break out again, as bootless as ever. She can dwell in Scania, you in these islands, if you feel so strongly about it.’
“I do. Your lemans at least do not have the name of queen. Nonetheless I worry that some by-blow of yours will someday seek to snatch the kingship from my son.”
“From our son.”
“If you will not think ahead, I must.”
“You don’t think much of him who saved you from the giant, do you?” he snapped.
“I will think as well of him as he does of me.”
His mood softened. “That is well indeed.” He laid his arm around her and drew her toward him. She was warm in the dark. Her hair smelled of summer days, the summer that was waning.
“Then do not go.” Her voice shivered. “Only ill can come of it. How can a man set aside a hatred as deep as Uffi’s for you?”
His anger woke afresh. “Am I to show myself afraid of him?”
“No, but neither should you show yourself heedless.”
“I’ll be the deemer of that,” he growled. “Enough, wife.”
Again she stiffened. He took her. She suffered it silently.
In the time that followed she stayed cold to him. He gave it scant thought, being busied with making ready.
Yet on the eve of his leavetaking, Ragnhild got him aside, the two of them alone, and said low, holding both his hands and looking up into his eyes, “Whatever you do yonder, come back. The days and nights here will be hollow until then.”
His heart glowed. He smiled at
