“Are you sure?” Gunnhild asked. “It’s been how many winters since you’ve been here?”
Eirik lowered his hands and gave her a look that was part incredulous, part exasperated. “Last time I was here, I killed my brother the king, sacked his hall, and looted the market. So yes, I’m sure.”
“Well, excuse me,” Gunnhild said, folding her arms.
He ignored her. “With no supplies and just over half my hird, it would be foolish to get any closer to Olaf than I am right now. If he finds out I’m here, he’ll take it as provocation.”
“But we need supplies,” Svein said as he hopped off the ship, tossing a piece of soggy, half-eaten stockfish on the ground before him.
“Right.” Eirik sighed. “Halldor, take a few men and go to Tunsberg, and bring back as much food and ale as you can carry. Svein, take a few more and work on patching the hole in the hull. Tell the rest of them to start setting up camp. Keep it light. Sleep as many to a tent as can fit. Gods willing, we won’t be here long.”
Svein nodded and leapt to his task.
But Halldor hesitated. “I don’t think it’s wise for me to go.”
“Why not?” Eirik asked. “You know the way, and I take it you know the market, too. You’re the best person for the job. This was your home.”
“Exactly.” Halldor looked uneasy. “If I’m recognized . . .”
Oddny realized at once what he was worried about—the danger he could be in if the wrong person remembered his face or, worse, called him by the name his father had given him, which Oddny didn’t know and would never ask—but it took an extra moment for Eirik to come to the same realization.
“Then keep your hood up,” Eirik said simply. “You’re one of the best fighters I’ve ever met. If anyone were to remember you from—before—what’s the worst they could do to you?”
Halldor opened his mouth, but Eirik clapped him on the shoulder, signaling the end of the conversation.
“I’ll come, too,” Oddny said, adjusting the bag slung over her shoulders. “It never hurts to have extra healing supplies.”
“It’s a long walk,” Halldor warned her, glancing at the midday sun. “If we leave now, we won’t be back until dusk.”
Oddny shrugged, and Gunnhild said, “I’ll come, too.”
“No,” said Eirik. “Once the tents are set up, you’re resting.”
“I’ve been resting all day,” Gunnhild shot back.
As their conversation dissolved into bickering, Halldor and Oddny grabbed four more men and used the opportunity to slip away into the woods.
* * *
—
IT WAS SIMPLE ENOUGH to find what they needed at the market. Oddny had never been to such a place before and was overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of merchants and artisans hawking their wares and arguing with customers. And in the chaos, it was easy to go undetected, though she could see the massive hall of Saeheim nearby, making her feel as though she were being watched.
Oddny traded some silver she’d earned from her healing services over the winter to buy the herbs she needed. Halldor, after sending the other men off to gather the rest of the supplies, stuck close to her, carrying a sack of barley he’d bought from a farmer’s wagon, the hood of his mantle pulled up to hide his face.
They were waiting for the other hirdsmen at the designated meeting place when Oddny caught a young man staring at them.
She surreptitiously tugged on Halldor’s sleeve. “Don’t look, but to our left—”
Halldor looked. His eyes went wide.
The man moved toward them. Oddny’s heart leapt up to her throat. “Halldor. Should we run?”
“No. He won’t harm us,” Halldor said quietly as he lowered the barley to the ground, straightening as the stranger came to stand in front of them: He was a stocky man of roughly the same age and height as Halldor, with pale blue eyes and thick curly hair, and he was looking at Halldor as though Halldor had just risen from the dead.
“It can’t be,” the stranger whispered.
Halldor looked around, grabbed him by the arm, and tugged him between two market stalls. Oddny stayed in the aisle, straining to listen to their conversation as the crowd moved around her. When she turned to look at the two men out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the stranger was embracing Halldor.
“I thought you were dead,” he said as he pulled away. “All this time, I thought—”
“Not here,” Halldor said. “Meet me at the mound tonight. I’ll tell you everything.”
The man seemed to be about to argue, but then a look of panic crossed his face as he looked over Halldor’s shoulder and into the market. “I’ll see you there. You must go—Tryggvi is coming this way.”
Halldor ducked his head and, in one swift movement, snatched up the sack of barley and threw it over his shoulder, then grabbed Oddny’s arm and started moving her through the throng, not sparing a backward glance. Oddny knew better than to ask questions; now was not the time. They ran into the other hirdsmen, who were on their way to the meeting place, and regrouped, then left the market before any of them could ask why they were walking so quickly.
They were nearly halfway back to the camp before Halldor allowed them to slow their pace. By then, everyone needed a moment to rest, so they paused briefly to put down their goods and catch their breath.
“Who was that?” Oddny asked Halldor.
“Someone from my past,” he said. The other men were within earshot, and Oddny figured that was all he was going to say in front of them. She’d get the rest out of him later—she’d already decided that she was going to accompany him to his clandestine meeting tonight.
* * *
—
WHEN THEY RETURNED, IT was nightfall, and the camp was in a poor mood. Oddny soon gathered that it was not due just to the circumstances but also to the fact that Eirik and Gunnhild had not stopped quarreling for a single moment since they’d left.
Svein came straight up to Oddny as they approached. “Separate them. Now. Please.”
So Oddny and Gunnhild ate together at the edge of the camp, Gunnhild glowering and mashing her undercooked barley with a spoon like a petulant child.
“If he thinks he can control me, he can think again,” she grumbled. Then she sighed and hung her head. “This is my fault. If I’d been stronger—”
“He’s only looking out for you. You’re his wife.”
“Whose side are you on, Oddny Coal-brow?” Gunnhild gagged suddenly and put a fist to her mouth, grimacing. “Gods. I wish this would stop.”
“Are you certain you’re not with child?” Oddny said, her healer’s mind scrambling once again for a solution. “When’s the last time your blood came?”
“My charm has held up. And my blood never came regularly anyway, so what does it matter? I dealt with this for a week before we even left. I thought the worst of it had passed.”
“If you were feeling ill before we left, you should’ve told me.”
“Right, and then you would’ve told Eirik and you two would’ve left me behind.”
“And if you would’ve been left behind, the rest of us would be exactly where we are now, and you’d be resting in bed. Your stubbornness is only going to make you sicker.”