“Go as one of the caravan guards,” Guthorm told him. “And ask for a position in Harald’s standing army. Here, this will show him my approval.” He handed Grim a piece of elk antler with his mark on it.
Grim thanked Guthorm until he was ejected from the hall. Then he put his hand on the amulet, and sighed. Trondheim was high up the northwest coast, too far for Ulfrik to travel alone. The gods had not abandoned him after all.
Twenty-eight
Runa watched from the woodshed as the women were ushered out of the hall and Frodi’s hirdmen filled it. For all of Frodi’s grand posturing, his household was in disarray, fumbling like apprentice jugglers trying to deal with Vandrad’s arrival. Runa relished that. Hirdmen who should have been present had to be summoned. Bard and Frodi were away and runners had to be dispatched to fetch them. And Svala had to deal with Vandrad and his men, who needed to be disarmed. They handed over their weapons willingly, but only the two scouts remained with them as guards. No one even came for their horses.
Outside, the group of women idled in the cold until Svala led her slave girls away to find work in another building. Runa hung back in the woodshed, forgotten. After a long wait, during which Vandrad and his men grew obviously anxious, Frodi and Bard trotted up the road. Dressed in plain winter clothing, they looked significantly less grand than usual. Runa giggled, knowing it would be an affront to Frodi’s ego.
Everyone filed inside and a single guard remained at the door. Runa chose that moment to leave the shed, dragging the fresh firewood behind. At the door, the guard stopped her. “No one goes inside.”
“Nonsense,” Runa snapped. “I was sent to get firewood and attend Frodi. Do you want to go ask him if I can enter?”
The guard’s face slackened. “Well, no. I don’t think I have to do that, do I?”
Runa shook her head and took up the cart’s rope. “Of course you don’t.”
The guard even held the door and helped her drag the firewood-laden cart into the front room. “Thank you,” Runa said. “You better not leave your post. I’m used to hauling the wood alone.”
The guard closed the door behind him and Runa left the firewood beside it and slipped into the main room. No one noticed her pressed against the back wall and she wore the shadows like a cloak, hardly even daring to breathe. Frodi, Bard, and several important-looking men sat at the high table. Vandrad and his ten bodyguards stood before them, maintaining a stony silence. Frodi’s hirdmen, dressed variously in winter cloaks and lighter clothing, lined the walls and muttered. Much less imposing without mail and leathers to bulk them up, Runa thought.
At last, Frodi addressed his guests. “So you come to my hall now under the sign of peace. Only months ago you came under the banner of war. I should take you prisoner and execute your men.”
“What you should do and what you will do are two different matters.” Vandrad, his hair and beard combed and oiled, gold armbands glittering beneath a fine woolen cape, looked more like a jarl than Frodi.
“Bold words from a man who ran for his life.” Frodi’s men laughed, and Vandrad even smiled.
“That was not a good day for me, I freely admit. But I think Fate has better plans for us. That is why I am here today, and why you are listening to me rather than killing my men and binding my hands. Am I right?”
Frodi’s face crumpled into a scowl, but he didn’t answer. Vandrad did not wait on the silence for long. “Let us come to the point. I traveled here because our personal agents have arranged this. I’m surprised you were unprepared for my arrival.”
“Notice of it would have demonstrated some courtesy. Or is courtesy another dead tradition under the High King’s rule?”
Vandrad dropped his head in mock disappointment. “You are every bit as ill-tempered as men claim. Let me begin anew. I am here to conclude in person what we have started through intermediaries. As High King Harald’s representative in these lands, I am here to take your oath of loyalty.”
The room exploded into shouts. Runa’s suppressed gasp passed unheard in the riot of protests. She looked at Bard, whose face remained impassive and uninterested. He’s known all along, she thought. But even his father’s closest men are shocked.
Frodi stood and slammed on the table, demanding silence and attention. He got it only after he had banged his hand red. “Silence! We have to be realistic. Times are changing and we can’t be on the wrong side. I’ve considered this all winter, and I don’t see another way.”
“Fighting is another way,” countered one of the hirdmen at the table. Runa recognized him as Rolf Roundhead, from when she had first arrived here. “Why surrender to a beaten foe?”
Nods and cheers met the Rolf’s words, but Vandrad waved his hands dismissively. “That was a different army, one I cared little for. I came to test your strength and found it lacking.”
More men roared and Rolf stood to the insult. Frodi shoved him down as Vandrad fought to be heard over the din. “Grim Ormsson is banished from Grenner; any traitors were hung and their families enslaved. Grenner is now fully under Vestfold’s power and, as Frodi knows, veteran troops now garrison those lands-troops that claimed Vingulmark, Varmland, and even now pummel Ranrike into submission.”
The hall fell silent and Vandrad let his words simmer in the minds of his audience. Runa peered at Bard, who shifted uncomfortably. She thought he glanced at her, and she fought the reflex to jerk away, but his eyes glided past and settled on Vandrad, who resumed his speech.
“I like the lay of this land, the position of this hall. I like Frodi and his leadership. High King Harald asks only that you accept him as your lord. He has no desire to fight where words will suffice. That has been my mission since I arrived here.”
“You made sure all the heirs of Grenner were dead or scattered.” Frodi’s words lacked their usual iron. Bard stirred at his father’s comments, finally taking an interest in the ongoing drama.
“Expediency was all,” Vandrad said with a shrug. “They are a stubborn lot, and less sensible than you. But that is of no account, the place once known as Grenner no longer exists.”
The silence resumed and men studied their feet or the ceiling. Eventually, Frodi made his decision. “We will make formal oaths to the High King. Anyone not willing to follow me in this will be an oath-breaker.”
Runa saw the men sharing glances, some amazed, most searching for support. Her heart fluttered at the news. Ulfrik, if he really were sheltering in Agder with Thor Haklang, would want to know this. Surely, Thor, that bear of a man, would never bend a knee to Harald. War would spark at the borders, and Ulfrik might be on the other side.
The men continued to talk, but Runa turned and slipped out of the hall. The guard at the door asked what was happening inside.
“I don’t know,” she said, and meant it.
***
By spring, Runa had grown large with child. Svala had shown no mercy for her, always assigning the hardest tasks, and Runa dared not cross her. She bore every hardship in silence, smart enough to know when to bend and when to hold firm. Better to appear beaten until it comes time to reveal otherwise, she thought.
Life was no different, despite the land now being a holding of King Harald’s. Frodi’s lands had at least been spared war and destruction, which rumor said was the fate of any jarl who resisted. Runa’s main concern was the arrival of new troops from far away. A unit of twenty-five warriors had arrived only weeks ago. These men frightened Runa. Their faces were scarred by battle, and they were closed and distant. It was clear they would think no more of killing a person than of killing a squirrel.
Where winter once barred her escape with snow, spring’s burden was the increasing weight of her baby, which made running difficult. In spite of that, Runa knew she must do it. Soon, war would come; the new troops could be here for no other purpose. All she needed was the chance of a headstart.