Islands in the Fog (6 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Hardar pinched his chin, tugging the hairs of his gray streaked beard as he thought. He stood outside his tent, a fresh sea wind bringing its cleansing scent to his nose. He drew it in and held it. The assembled jarls and their hirdmen milled about the fields outside Nye Grenner, forming jovial clusters that broke apart and reformed like clumps of sleet on an iron plate. Hardar snorted out his breath.

"They're having such a fine time for themselves. Damn them." Hardar muttered, one of his own hirdmen looking expectantly at him. Hardar dismissed him with a frown, then entered his tent. It was the largest of the visitors' tents, brilliant white with red stripes. It had served him well in his younger days when he raided overseas in Northumbria and Frankia. Despite fifteen years of storage, it remained in fine condition.

The inside of the tent glowed with diffuse light. Ingrid sat on a stool, hands patiently folded on her lap. Dana, a slave girl from Ireland, combed Ingrid's platinum hair. He gestured her out with a flick of his hand.

"Where's Halla?"

"I sent her with an escort to tour the land. All of these games and arguments bored her."

Hardar stared at Ingrid. She had been a rare beauty in her day, and was still better than the toothless hags most men endured for their wives. But she was older now. Lines creased her eyes and brows. Her hair had thinned. Her eyes were still stunningly clear, cheeks still full. But she could not compare to a young woman, not like Ulfrik's wife.

"Just as well she be gone. I am in a foul mood." He looked expectantly at Ingrid, who simply cocked an eyebrow. He waited, but only distant laughter and the snap of the tent in the wind made any sound. He shrugged and turned away, dropping his sword on his fur bedding. "And I see you are in a foul mood, as well."

"After what you put me through last night? I was humiliated." She kept her tone even, and her gaze on an indistinct point of the tent.

"You should have left with me. I am the one humiliated."

"As you say."

Hardar lowered himself to the bedding. Ulfrik's beating had left him sore. His face was puffy and his eye still wept. But nothing bothered him as much as Ingrid's pat response. He wanted to roar in her face that it is as he says, and will ever be that way. If this were his own hall, he would. But here, even in his tent, he was in public. He had a reputation for calm and generosity. Blaring into his wife's face would damage that reputation, especially considering his actions of the prior night. So he pinched his chin again and closed his eyes until the urge passed.

"Tell me what was said after I left. What did the others think?"

"I cannot claim to know their thoughts. Some appeared shocked."

"But others agreed with me, am I right? They must see what Ulfrik is doing here?"

"No one agreed, but for your friends who left with you. No one dwelt on your words once you had left. In fact, your exit was like a wind that disperses a foul smell."

Hardar's eyes snapped open, and Ingrid remained perched upon her stool. But now she fixed her eyes on his, anger bobbing up in two hazel pools. Ingrid rarely came into such anger, and Hardar had learned caution when she was vexed. But like every misstep he had taken during this festival, he felt helpless to do otherwise.

"You would do well to mind that wicked tongue of yours, woman, or ...,"

"Or? Are you going to put my head on a spear? Throw me from a cliff? I'm interested in knowing what you will do, husband. We've not had such a discussion before."

Hardar felt his temples throbbing, the heat emanating from his face. He kept his voice low, mindful that only plain cloth separated him from the people outside. "Then maybe it's time we did. You are supposed to be my beautiful wife, supporting and ever at my side. But you're cowering in here with a slave girl, doing your hair. And for what? If you're not seen with me, what good is finely dressed hair? People need to see us united and happy. But you did not follow me when I left. You did not go with me to the sacrifices. You sent my daughter away on a tour. People could mistake this to mean you don't agree with me."

"Maybe I don't agree with you."

His limit reached, he sprung to his feet. Hardar was a barrel of a man, thick and rough, but he moved with the speed of a young deer. Ingrid's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, apologies tumbling out like broken teeth. He seized a hank of Ingrid's fine hair and jerked her head back. He thrust his face into hers as he hissed.

"You better fucking agree with me from now until the end of time. You better show your pretty face at my side whenever I'm in public, and fucking smile. You think because you're away from home that I won't teach you a lesson?"

Hardar wound his grip tighter into her hair, down to the roots, and twisted. Ingrid's face contorted with the pain. But she did not cry out. He pulled again, a stifled squeal escaping Ingrid's gnashed teeth. Then he released her with a shove, dumping her from the stool to the grass. He hovered over her, his hands flexing, itching to strike her for her insolence.

"I will suffer no more humiliation on this trip. Stop sniffling and straighten up again. I'll come back for you when I'm ready."

Ingrid's defiance had vanished and she cowered meekly on the floor. Hardar smiled, satisfied that his woman had returned to her proper spot. He wagged Ingrid's hairs out of his hand, then turned to leave. But she apparently had not finished.

"You are so possessed with glory and status. But you forget your roots. Until you married me, until you took my family's gifts, you had nothing. My father made you rich."

Hardar paused, turned back to face Ingrid. "That was half a lifetime ago. You know that wealth didn't last until today."

Ingrid coughed out a laugh. "No, but you managed to get all of it, didn't you? And my father went to his grave thinking he hadn't given you enough. You're the greatest jarl in all the islands now, Hardar. What a disgrace for all of us."

In one bound he was upon her, his hand striking out. Ingrid's head snapped back with a meaty crack and she sprawled sideways. She didn't scream, having braced herself. She lay with her face in the grass, convulsing with sobs. Hardar had endured her complaint often enough, and had beaten her for it every time. Yet the fool woman never learned. He regretted striking her now; the blow would leave a mark and others would judge what he had done. It angered him even more. Ingrid was normally obedient after a beating, and this obstinate display was both confusing and a surprise. He knelt beside her, but only so she could hear his whispers.

"This place has even turned you against me. I swear this land is cursed. Ulfrik must have a witch in his company, weaving spells on the minds of his guests. Only I see clearly. I will forgive you this time. But don't dishonor your father's memory with careless words. And don't dishonor me for what I achieved with your father's gifts. I made us a great name in these lands."

Ingrid continued to tremble with her stifled crying. Hardar reached to stroke her shoulder, but his hand stalled and withdrew. He lumbered to his feet and exited the tent. Ingrid would understand her place once she had time alone to think.

"That roasting meat smells delicious. I could eat one of 'em all for myself!" Dag the Sword-Bender patted his stomach and smiled.

"Go fall into the fire pit!" Hardar shot back. He had wearied of the praise for Nye Grenner. His own hirdman now even seemed taken with Ulfrik and his lands.

Dag dropped his head, folding his chin into his thickly braided beard. "Forgive me, lord."

"Be useful and find my daughter. Jarl Vermund and I need privacy."

Dag nodded, his creased and broad face eager to please his lord. He trotted off across the grass. Hardar watched him go. The lines of beige tents soon hid him. Beyond the tents, the sky was marbled with clouds that tumbled down to the horizon. He turned away and sneered at the smoke rising from the field behind Nye Grenner's new buildings. The shoulders of the mountains rose tall and purple in the distance.

"This place is cursed, Vermund. A witch hides here and weaves a spell over the minds of the guests. Even my wife is not immune. There is nothing great about this place, and Lord Ulfrik is a whelp who has overstepped his station."

The wind whipped around them, filling Hardar's ears with noise. He and Vermund observed the guests, most of them already drunk and falling over each other. Two men had started a wrestling match, which attracted a crowd that gambled on the outcome. A mass of children suddenly broke into a run, squealing and laughing and waving wooden swords overhead. The guests of his festivals had never shown as much camaraderie.

"How many drunken brawls have I had to end?" He waited for Vermund's answer, but his companion only gave a quizzical look. "I mean during the festivals. Gods, every year a new feud is kindled. But this year, nothing but peace! The whelp Ulfrik doesn't even understand what this festival means. He's not one of us, truly. He's a foreigner."

Vermund shifted uneasily. Hardar gave him a sideways look, judging his old friend to be of a different opinion. "What? Not you too, Vermund!"

"Not at all." Vermund's voice was shark-skin rough. Of an age with Hardar, Vermund wore the years just as heavily, showing not only in his voice but in the falling lines of his face and the gray streaks of his tightly braided hair.

"Then what? Ulfrik and these people of his, they're crawling over our lands like ants on a bone. Every year more come from Norway, settling here and taking what they will. It's disgusting."

"Several have settled in my lands. They've been good people."

"Well that's just it! You guide them and show them how to cooperate! You make them one of us. But here I see warships and mail and weapons. And an arrogant boy gloating over me like he rules these lands."

"But he does rule these lands. That is, these lands were free lands to be settled."

Hardar grumbled in his chest, folded his arms and returned to scanning the crowds. He had this final day to endure before he returned home. He spotted Ulfrik, now changed out of his robes. He stood at the center of a large group, apparently entertaining them with some wild, made-up story. Hardar felt his eye throbbing, as if just looking upon him injured it again.

"Vermund, this trip has given me much to consider. When this festival is done, I need to know who my friends are. Look at this upstart, taking this festival that I allowed him to host as an opportunity to build alliances. For what? He has the largest fleet, the most warriors, the greatest fucking people in the whole fucking circle of the world!"

Hardar stopped, realizing he had started yelling. Nearby people glanced in his direction. Vermund remained silent, squinting as the sun poked from behind a cloud. Hardar nervously smoothed his beard and smiled again. "This place is getting to me."

Vermund nodded and started to walk off. Hardar followed, hands clasped behind his back. They headed nowhere, just to leave the scene of Hardar's outburst. Once out of sight from others, he renewed their conversation.

"If Ulfrik is smart in building his alliances, he could cause me trouble. Ragnvald is nearly in bed with Ulfrik, if you can't see that yourself."

"I see it. You haven't said a thing I've not thought of myself. I don't like the whelp either, or his rat-eyed companions. The one called Toki is a spoiled child. As far as I'm concerned, you have my support if it comes to removing Ulfrik. All these weapons and men so close can't be any good for us. A true danger, it is."

"Good to count you as a friend. With all this foolishness," Hardar swiped a hand across backdrop of Nye Grenner, "I can't know who has been duped."

They walked further, headed toward the rocks of the shore where the visiting ships were beached. He gazed out along the sparkling water. Gray green cliffs across the fjord spread like a stripe on the horizon. North beyond those cliffs his home awaited. He started to think on his own hall, so dark and empty compared to Ulfrik's. But before his mood could blacken further, Vermund broke into his thoughts.

"Hardar, I have a matter to discuss with you. I've been meaning to ask since arriving here. There hasn't been a moment until now."

Hardar felt a smile growing on his face, and his mood lifted. "Go on, old friend. I believe I know your question. But I'll hear it from you."

He turned and regarded Vermund. He stood lean and proud, a strong jarl of the old families of the islands. His hairline had crawled back, and his eyes were now ringed with dark circles. Time's wretched hand clawed all men. But Hardar could still see the strong war leader of decades ago. Vermund straightened himself, a faint smile on his wide mouth.

"I have long been alone since the terrible events that left me as an heirless widower. This past winter was cold and lonely. I took a woman to my bed, but she is nothing to me. Not a woman for starting a new life. Your daughter is unwed, a lucky thing for me. I would ask your permission to court her."

Vermund asked with all the confidence of a man who already knew the answer. He smiled, and Hardar mirrored it. He could hardly consider a better match, tying his family ever closer to the old families with their connections across the islands. Vermund was also wealthy, and maintained a core of fighting men. Hardar's smile continued to stretch across his face.

"I would grant that permission, and wish you much luck."

"Thank you, old friend. She is a charming woman, as beautiful as her mother."

"But more spirited. Be warned there."

Vermund chuckled. "I know it well. I remember when you tried to marry her to Erp."

"I thought she would kill me, and she was only twelve! Now she's a woman and twice as headstrong. But you will be a good match for her, Vermund."

Both men laughed and turned back toward the celebration. Hardar only had to endure one more feast before escaping Nye Grenner and start plotting its downfall.

The jarls, their families, and their men assembled along the rocks at the shore, standing in dark clumps before their ships. Their murmuring voices mingled with the gentle rumble of the waves and the call of seabirds. The sun hung fat and yellow in the west, throwing half their bodies into the sharp shadow of the ridgeline. Ulfrik stood up the slope from them, his own shadow a deep triangular blot that stretched before him.