Had the thing happened to anyone else, he might there after have been shunned. Enough eeriness was already bound to the name of Hadding that this raised no fear of him. However, it was seldom talked about. One would rather keep on thinking of him as a hero who was also a likeable human, and get back to everyday matters—which was his own heartiest wish.

By spring Ragnhild was great with child. Nevertheless she went eagerly aboard Fired rake when her husband left for home. First he rigged a small tent that could be raised when she and her one tirewoman needed freedom from men’s, eyes. Other times she was in the open with him.

Heads thumped somewhat after the farewell feast King Haakon gave. Sea breezes cleared them, and Hadding’s warriors brought their lord south toward Denmark.

Wind blew strongly, waves rushed high and green under flights of ragged clouds, on a day when they were passing the steep cliffs of Sogn. Out from a fjord glided three longships. Iron flashed aboard them. Today was no weather for rowing on open waters. Their crews drew oars in and bent sail to masts already raised. Swiftly they plunged to cut off Hadding’s lone craft.

“I hardly think they’re friendly,” growled Gunnar as he peered against the sea-blink. “They’ve lain in wait for prey to come by.”

Hadding shook his head. “It’s early in the season,” he said. “No traders are yet out along these shores. Nor would vikings likely go after a ship of war like ours. I wonder if King Uffi has not sent them to lurk for me.”

“Well, we’d better busk ourselves. We’ll win. None of their hulls is like to ours for size, and they’ll find that none of them are like to us for battle.”

Again Hadding shook his head. “I’ll not risk my wife and unborn child unless I must.” He called on the most skilled seamen to stand by at the sheets and sail-pole. The strongest he told to man oars if need be. The rest were to take weapons and mail but then keep out of the way. Himself he went aft to the helm.

From beneath Ragnhild’s kerchief, stray locks fluttered in the wind like flame. She gripped a bow and had slung a quiverful of arrows on her back. “Let them draw nigh and they’ll learn what the upland deer learned!” she cried.

Hadding laughed. “Let’s see if we can spare them,” he said.

Thereafter he steered. Gauging wind and seas, shouting orders, working the tiller with the strength of a wisent and the cunning of a wolf, he became the soul of the ship.