The Half-Drowned King: A Novel by Hartsuyker Linnea

Author:Hartsuyker, Linnea [Hartsuyker, Linnea]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

20

Gerta woke early the next morning, seeming none the worse for her drinking. She must drink that deeply every night. Svanhild followed behind her, with her bags over her shoulder, as Gerta led her toward the beach. Svanhild’s head ached a bit from the two glasses of ale she had consumed.

Gerta carried herself ramrod straight. She took no provisions, though she had pressed a few rounds of bread and hunks of cheese on Svanhild. Svanhild took that to mean that Gerta would not be traveling with her. She thought of Gerta’s desire to go to Yrjar, and also of her offering Svanhild a place with her. Gerta had carved out a life of independence and respect here in Kaupanger, but it looked lonely.

They walked among the ships pulled up on the beach. Gerta lifted her skirts as she stepped over slimy piles of seaweed. She gave each of the vessels a careful look, and then walked on to the next one. Svanhild could see little difference between the ships—most were wide and deep, without oar ports—knarrs, for merchants. They could not outrun an enemy, or leave a harbor quickly, but they could carry far more cargo than a dragon ship, from what Svanhild could see. Ragnvald had said they also required less skill and fewer men to sail than a narrow warship.

At length, Gerta stopped in front of a well-maintained merchant’s vessel. On the deck, a stoutly built man near Gerta’s age directed two younger men loading heavy chests. He had white hair, kept short and neatly brushed, a short beard, and small, dark eyes, but he looked youthful for all that, with a restless energy to all of his movements. Gerta waved the older man over, and they had a low conversation. Then she motioned Svanhild to come closer.

“This is my friend Solmund,” said Gerta.

Svanhild made her greeting with a curtsy, and introduced herself, glancing at Gerta before giving her real name.

“How does the fancywork business?” Solmund asked. “My wife treasures the counterpane you gave her.”

Gerta nodded at the compliment. “Well enough,” she said. “When next you go to Birka, perhaps I will accompany you.”

Solmund smiled. “You always say that, Gerta.”

Gerta nodded again. It seemed she would not smile this morning—the only evidence of her night spent drinking. “I wish you a speedy journey,” she said to Svanhild.

“Thank you for your help,” said Svanhild. “The gods smile on your hospitality.” Svanhild would have liked to hug Gerta, but Gerta’s straight back seemed to forbid it. She watched Gerta leave, feeling bereft. Here she was, handed off yet again.

Svanhild bowed to Solmund again when Gerta receded from view. “Can I help with anything?” she asked.

“You can see if my wife needs anything,” said Solmund absently, waving in the direction of the ship. Svanhild was happy to learn that there would be another woman on board, although she had resolved not to doubt Gerta’s trust of Solmund. As she descended the stairs into the ship’s hold, she made a prayer to Freya in thanks for her good luck.

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