She let his heart beat a while before she said, “Oh, I do not hate you. I only hate this lowliness. I want you to rise above it, to make yourself worthy of yourself.”

“The king says he’ll raise me to jarl.”

“When? He has as many now as he needs. They’d not take kindly to another, nor would you be of any use. In these dreary times of peace, none is likely to die soon and get out of the way. The king, though, he is old. And Frodi, who is to come after him, has slight liking for you and none for me.”

“What, then?” rasped Gudorm. “Shall I go in viking? I might maybe find enough gold to glut your greed.”

“No.” She rolled over to lie close against him. Her arms went across his breast. ‘I said I don’t want to lose you. I want the best for you, for us both and for our children. Think about it.”

Soon, though, she had him setting thought aside for that night.

She did not stop there. It was not that she nagged him. Rather, she worked slowly, a little at a time, month by month, year by year. She planted one seed in his mind, gave it sunshine and warmth by kindnesses toward him, watered it with thunderstorms of wrath, fended off the worms and crows of his doubts, let him harvest the fruit himself, and sowed two new seeds where it had been.

“Even as Eyjolf ‘s fosterling, I wore silk on the high days,” she recalled. “Here it’s linen at best.” She made light of her furs and fine-spun wool.

“We will plod through the same flat rounds till they bring us to our graves,” she said. “That’s if we are lucky. Come a blight, a murrain, an untimely hailstorm, and we’ll hunger. I’d bleed to hear our children cry for food we could not give them.”

“We call ourselves strong,” she said. “But what do we rule over? A few thralls and hirelings, some head of livestock. We call ourselves free. But we are bound as fast as any of them.”

“A great man sees beyond the rim of eyesight,” she said. “He makes of his life and his world what he will. In the minds of his men he stands higher, more beloved than their own fathers. Wealth flows into his hand, and he bestows it freely, so that all know his heart is as mighty as his arm. They flock to him from afar, with their gifts and tales and ventures. Skalds chant his praise. His name will live undying after him and his sons be thankful to him for what he wrought. You have the makings of a great man in you, Gudorm. I felt it when first I saw you. Let it not wither away!”