The Golden Wolf Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Map

  Places and Characters

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Linnea Hartsuyker

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Map

  Places and Characters

  Places

  Norway

  Maer—a district in western Norway, where Ragnvald rules, formerly ruled by Solvi’s line

  Tafjord—Ragnvald’s seat of power, at the end of Geiranger Fjord

  Geiranger Fjord—the fjord in Maer

  Sogn—a district in western Norway, south of Maer, claimed by Ragnvald, ruled by Aldi Atlisson

  Trondelag—a district in northwest Norway

  Trondheim Fjord—the fjord in Trondelag

  Nidaros—King Harald’s northwest capital, modern-day Trondheim

  Halogaland—a district in northwest Norway, ruled by King Heming

  Yrjar—King Heming’s seat of power in Halogaland

  Vestfold—a district in southeastern Norway, ruled by King Harald

  Tonsberg—a market town in Vestfold

  Denmark

  Jutland—Denmark’s peninsula, ruled by King Erik

  Ribe—a market town and Jutland’s capital

  Roskilde—the seat of power for rulers of the rest of Denmark

  Sweden

  Skane—a lawless coastal area on the southern tip of what is now Sweden

  Various Islands

  The Orkney Islands—islands north of Scotland, claimed by Thorstein the Red

  Grimbister—Orkney’s main settlement

  Hoy—one of the other Orkney islands

  The Faroe Islands—islands between Iceland and Norway

  The Shetland Islands—islands north of the Orkneys

  The Hebrides—Scottish islands populated by vikings

  Iceland—a large island north and east of the Faroe Islands, populated by many who fled Harald’s conquest

  Reykjavik—Iceland’s primary settlement

  Characters

  Ragnvald Eysteinsson, king of Sogn

  Vigdis Audbjornsdatter, Ragnvald’s stepmother and former concubine, now Guthorm’s concubine

  Hallbjorn Olafsson, Vigdis’s son with Olaf, who was Ragnvald’s stepfather

  Einar Ragnvaldsson, Ragnvald’s son with Vigdis

  Ragnhilda (Hilda) Hrolfsdatter, Ragnvald’s wife

  Ivar Ragnvaldsson, Ragnvald’s son with Hilda

  Thorir Ragnvaldsson, Ragnvald’s son with Hilda

  Hrolf (Rolli) Ragnvaldsson, Ragnvald’s son with Hilda

  Alfrith, Ragnvald’s concubine

  Hallad Ragnvaldsson, Ragnvald’s son with Alfrith

  Laugi Ragnvaldsson, Ragnvald’s son with Alfrith

  Sigurd Olafsson, Ragnvald’s stepbrother

  Olaf Sigurdsson, Sigurd’s son

  Svanhild Eysteinsdatter, Ragnvald’s sister

  Eystein Solvisson, Svanhild’s son by Solvi, now deceased

  Freydis Solvisdatter, Svanhild’s daughter by Solvi

  Bjorn Haraldsson, Svanhild’s son by Harald

  Ragnar Haraldsson, Svanhild’s son by Harald

  Solvi Hunthiofsson, Svanhild’s former husband

  Snorri, Solvi’s man-at-arms

  Brusi, Solvi’s man-at-arms

  Tova, Solvi’s concubine

  Harald Halfdansson, king of Norway

  Guthorm, Harald’s uncle and adviser

  Vigdis Hallbjornsdatter, Guthorm’s concubine

  Asa Hakonsdatter, Harald’s wife, King Hakon’s daughter

  Halfdan Haraldsson, Harald’s son with Asa

  Snaefrid, Harald’s Finnish wife

  Dagfinn Haraldsson, Harald’s son by another wife

  Gyda Eiriksdatter, Harald’s betrothed, queen of Hordaland

  Gudrod Haraldsson, Gyda’s nephew and adopted son

  Signy Haraldsdatter, Gyda’s niece and adopted daughter

  Aldulf (Aldi) Atlisson, steward of Sogn

  Kolbrand Aldulfsson, Aldi’s son

  Dota Aldulfsdatter, Aldi’s daughter

  Erik, king of Jutland, Denmark

  Ragnhilda (Ranka) Eriksdatter, King Erik of Jutland’s daughter

  Thorstein the Red, a viking, formerly a companion of Solvi, now lives in the Orkney Islands

  Melbrid Tooth, a viking from the Hebrides

  Ketil Flatnose, a viking, formerly a companion of Solvi, now lives in the Hebrides

  Unna, a woman in Iceland

  Donall, her man

  Hakon Grjotgaardsson, former king of Halogaland, deceased

  Heming Hakonsson, Hakon’s oldest son, king of Halogaland

  Asa Hakonsdatter, Hakon’s daughter, married to King Harald

  Oddi Hakonsson, Hakon’s baseborn son

  Geirbjorn Hakonsson, Hakon’s son, outlawed

  Herlaug Hakonsson, Hakon’s son, deceased

  1

  Freydis Solvisdatter sat on a rowing bench near the ship’s stern, with the warp of her weaving tied to her belt, and the other end tied around a broken oar. She had chosen a simple pattern to work while sailing—the pitching of the ship and the yelling of the sailors were too distracting for anything more complicated.

  Her companion distracted her too. Dota was the daughter of Aldi Atlisson, the steward of Sogn, close in age to Freydis’s fourteen years, but far different in temperament.

  “Is the pilot not handsome?” Dota asked Freydis, and when Freydis did not answer, she continued, “He is young to be a pilot—usually they are grizzled old men. But you must be used to far handsomer men in Tafjord. They say that King Ragnvald’s sons are even better looking than Harald’s sons, though I find that hard to believe. Gudrod Haraldsson visited Sogn last summer, and he is as pretty as a woman. What do you think? Which is the handsomest?”

  Freydis saw a mistake in her weaving and had to take out a few lines of weft. “King Ragnvald’s son Einar,” she said quietly. He was the eldest of King Ragnvald’s sons, a warrior and poet, with a severe kind of beauty that Freydis could hardly look upon without blushing. He was said to prefer boys and ignored most of Tafjord’s girls, but he had always been kind to Freydis, and she often wished she could be more like him, strong and untouchable.

  “What of Ivar?” Dota asked. “King Ragnvald promised that Ivar would marry me one day, so that my sons can be kings of Sogn.”

  “Ivar is handsome too,” said Freydis.

  “I’ve never seen him—does he look like King Ragnvald? Tall and grim-faced?”

  “No,” said Freydis. “He is much more handsome. Kind and friendly too. All who meet him admire him.” And Freydis liked him too, for he treated her like a younger sister, teasing and protecting her, but he did not draw her gaze the way Einar did.

  “Kind and friendly—he sounds dull,” said Dota. �
�But at least he is wealthy. Are you not excited to go to Vestfold? I have never traveled so far.”

  Neither had Freydis. She had been born in Sogn but had lived her whole life in Tafjord’s halls, until a year ago. She knew every stone, every living creature, and all the little spirits of Tafjord’s glens and valleys. Then Hilda and Alfrith had sent her off to Sogn, saying she would be happy there, and now she was sent to Vestfold, like a sack of grain with no will of her own.

  “Well?” Dota asked again. “Are you? There will be more young men in Vestfold. All of Harald’s sons and Harald himself. And I’ve heard that Princess Gyda is the most beautiful woman in Norway, though she must be growing old now. Still, it is a wonderful story, is it not? Harald conquered all of Norway for her.”

  The wind fell off and the ship began to wallow in the troughs between swells. Freydis’s stomach shifted uncomfortably. She untied her weaving, wrapped it around her hand, and focused her eyes on the horizon. Her cousin Rolli, one of King Ragnvald’s younger sons, had taught her to avoid sea sickness that way. On the two days’ journey that had taken her from Tafjord to Sogn last summer, she had spent the whole time vomiting, angering her mother, who wanted a daughter who loved the sea as she did.

  “Who do you think you will wed, Freydis?” Dota asked. “You are pretty enough, and you’re King Harald’s stepdaughter. That should help.”

  “I don’t know,” said Freydis. She dreamed of becoming a priestess of Freya, a woman who looked into the future and ensured the fertility of the land. They were sometimes the mistresses of kings, and chose when to bear their children. But King Harald and King Ragnvald both had too many sons and too few daughters. Freydis would make a marriage to cement an alliance one day, and she must be resigned to it.

  Freydis’s cat, a gray and brown tabby named Torfa, crawled out from under the rowing bench and pounced on the strands of the warp dangling from Freydis’s hand, then ran off with the weaving in her mouth. Freydis picked up her skirts and pursued her, but Torfa, dodging sailors’ feet, grew more and more frightened and then wedged herself under a bench.

  Freydis was crouched down, half under the bench herself, to coax Torfa out, when the ship made a hard turn and lost its wind. She stood up quickly, nearly hitting her head on the gunwale, and heard the pilot call out, “Raiders! From the north!”

  Freydis turned and saw the ship that gained on them. It was small and narrow, almost too small for a dragon ship, though it had the shields arrayed upon its sides and the snarling figurehead affixed to its prow that meant attack. It cut through the waves, sending up spray, and quickly closing the gap between the two ships. Ahead, Aldi’s other ship, the one that bore him and the bulk of his warriors, began to slow, preparing to turn and defend its weaker companion.

  Aldi’s son Kolbrand, standing next to Freydis, drew his sword. “Best pretend we have no women on board,” he said to her and his sister, Dota. “Get under the benches.” He grabbed Dota by the elbow, shoved her down, and threw a few empty sacks over them. Dota gripped Freydis’s hand. It grew hot in their hiding place while they waited. Dota gulped breathlessly, and Freydis squeezed her eyes shut to keep from following Dota into her panic.

  The attacking ship crashed against theirs and a voice called across, “Do not flee and we will be merciful.”

  Now that Freydis could not see the horizon, her sickness grew worse. She tried to view her discomfort from afar, the same way she did when sewing up a cut under the tutelage of her aunt Alfrith. The sight of blood and flesh churned her stomach, while her steady stitches pulled skin together and made it whole. She stroked Dota’s clammy hand. One ship against two. The odds were with Aldi and his men, not the raiders.

  Something heavy landed on the plank above Freydis’s head. She turned her head and felt the point of a grappling hook that had come through the bench scrape across her scalp. The ship rocked as the attackers pulled the ships together so they could board. Dota began to whimper, but quieted when Freydis squeezed her hand again.

  The ship rocked again as men’s boots thudded on the deck. Freydis could see little from her hiding place; feet moved into her field of vision, then disappeared again. She heard a man’s scream, and a body fell into the space between the benches, his dead eyes staring into hers, and a stream of blood flowed across the deck toward her.

  “We are King Harald’s men,” the pilot cried. “You must not attack us.”

  “That’s what raiders would say,” responded a young man with a familiar, musical voice. “We are King Harald’s men, and King Ragnvald’s.”

  “That was Aldi’s son Kolbrand your giant killed,” the pilot replied, his voice high and panicked. “You will all die for that.”

  Freydis tried to swallow around a knot of fear in her throat. Dota began her frightened whimper again. Freydis took a deep breath and stroked her hand again, trying to quiet her, but what comfort could she offer? Her brother Kolbrand was dead. He never had much time for Freydis, but he had been affectionate to his sister, and had a cheerful spirit. Dota’s quiet weeping was the only thing keeping Freydis from panic. Dota would need her to stay calm.

  The sounds of battle quieted, and Freydis raised the flap of cloth that hid them. The flash of a man’s ankle in bright wrappings made her draw back. She bit the inside of her cheek to try to stop her shaking. She must not give in to fear. She was the daughter of one of King Harald’s most powerful wives, and niece to the most powerful man in Norway next to the king himself. Dota was the daughter of Aldi, whom King Ragnvald had chosen to watch over his southern kingdom. They could expect no worse from these raiders than to be held for ransom.

  Freydis tried to compose herself, thinking over the words she would have to say: my mother, Svanhild, is King Harald’s wife. I am a valuable hostage. Alfrith had always told her that women’s words held the power to sway the fates, especially women trained in herbs and magic. She had been a simple wise-woman on the island of Smola before King Ragnvald saw her, and chose her to be his concubine and the mother of his younger sons. Perhaps Freydis would have to say no more. She hoped so; she always flushed and stammered when she had to speak with men.

  A pair of feet walked back and forth a few times in front of her, and then Freydis’s face grew cool as the sack that had been covering her and Dota was snatched away, pulling Freydis’s head scarf with it. She shrieked and lunged for it without thinking. Someone grabbed her by her braid, dragging her from her hiding place and tearing her scalp, before flinging her down against a bench that hit her stomach hard and made her retch.

  “I’ve found some women here—girls,” said the raider in that same familiar, resonant voice. “Rich clothes.”

  One of the men towed Dota away as she screamed. Freydis curled up on the deck around her bruised stomach. She saw her head scarf on the ground nearby, and reached for it, but her captor grabbed her arm, wrenching it back. She felt something snap and her shoulder exploded in pain.

  He let go of her hand and it fell at her side with a jolt. Broken or dislocated, she imagined Alfrith saying coolly, and gritted her teeth against the pain, cradling her arm with her other hand. Blood rushed in her ears, a tide of anger at her helplessness.

  “Freydis, is that you?” the man asked.

  She looked up and recognized Hallbjorn Olafsson, a half-brother to her cousin Einar, though the tangle of family lines meant that she shared no blood with him. He had the same red-gold hair as Einar, and the high cheekbones they had both inherited from their mother, Vigdis, though Hallbjorn was heavier in the face.

  Hallbjorn had come to Tafjord last summer and been part of the reason Freydis was sent away to Sogn—her aunts had thought that he paid her too much attention. Freydis had also heard that he wanted King Ragnvald dead for killing his father, Olaf, but he would never carry out his revenge, not against such a mighty king.

  “Freydis?” he said again.

  Freydis nodded, and said, “Yes,” in a voice that came out like a croak. She swallowed and then, looking at Hallbjorn�
��s feet, began to recite: “Daughter of Svanhild, who is wife of King Harald. I am a valuable hostage if I am unharmed. If I am killed or spoiled there will be revenge. Dota is Aldi’s daughter. The steward of Sogn, chosen and supported by King Ragnvald. She too is worth more as a hostage.”

  “Freydis, do not fear,” said Hallbjorn. He touched her chin gently and raised it so she had to look at him. He had brown eyes where Einar’s were blue, but the same sharp smile, and his touch embarrassed her. Freydis pulled free and cast her eyes down again.

  “Stay here,” he said, and she heard his footfalls receding from her.

  A moment later, she saw a much larger pair of feet and looked up to see her cousin Rolli Ragnvaldsson, a happy giant of a young man. Her mother, Svanhild, had given Rolli his ship last year, and he had been playing at viking with his friends ever since. Of course he would be wherever Hallbjorn was. Rolli had always been friendly to her, though. He would treat her well. She sagged forward with relief and then flinched when the movement jarred her shoulder.

  “Freydis, what are you doing with these raiders?” Rolli asked. He had a cheery, open face, and a broad forehead now furrowed with worry.

  “Raiders?” Freydis asked. Rolli bent down to listen to her. “I am not with any raiders.”

  “This ship—whose is it?” Rolli asked.

  “It is Aldi Atlisson’s—steward of Sogn,” said Freydis again.

  “This is my father’s ship—I would know it anywhere,” said Rolli, “and it was not his pilot who sailed it. Where is my father? Where is King Ragnvald?”

  “You should ask Aldi,” Freydis said, wishing he would talk to one of the men on board rather than her. “He’s on the other ship. We are sailing to Vestfold. What are you doing here, Rolli?”

  “We—I thought you were raiders,” he said. “I thought someone had captured my father’s ship.”

  Now Freydis understood: Rolli had seen this vessel and believed he was protecting the Norse coast. Aldi’s ships had been sailing far enough from shore to be suspicious, riding the strong winds outside the barrier islands in this fair weather.

  “That was foolish,” said Freydis, pain making her voice sharp. “Why didn’t you ask? You have killed Aldi’s son Kolbrand—it is a grave crime.”