“Yes. It’s none too soon to start laying groundwork. Hadding is old. Who knows when something will take him off? A fall from his horse, a boar or bear he’s been hunting, a sudden storm as he crosses the Sound or sails among the islands, a sickness, an elfshot—who knows? For the sake of Denmark as well as ourselves and our sons, we should be taking forethought and quietly talking with men of weight.”

“They’d look on such thoughts as faithlessness.”

“I can tell you which of them will not, if you pick your words carefully. I’ve always kept my eyes and ears open.”

Another year passed before she said to him, “It’s not as if Hadding himself were a good king.”

They were walking alone at the end of a winter’s day. Thin snow crunched beneath their feet. A streak of cloud smoldered sullen where the sun had newly gone down, otherwise dusk deepened fast. Trees stood bare and black; the garth was a huddle of murk in the offing; closer loomed the grave-mound. Breath smoked white. A belated flight of crows cawed afar.

“What do you mean?” burst from Gudorm. “He leads us, he wards us!”

“Yes, as you lead and ward your kine. But I am thinking beyond that. Remember his life. He grew up among jotuns. He was the lover of his own foster mother. He dealt with witches, wizards, monsters, and who can say what other beings? Who can say he does not yet, to this very night? He slew a godling and fell under a curse for it. Has that ever really been lifted, or does it bide its time? He went down among the dead. He sails closer to the wind than any rightful skipper can. How much of him is human, how much is something else? Woe falls on a land whose king is wicked. Worse must befall a land whose king is a warlock or a troll.”

“He’s your father,” Gudorm whispered.

“I hate him.” Ulfhild’s voice shook. She stared straight before her into the gathering dark. “When he limps oft on hell-road, I will laugh aloud.”

“What wrong has he done you?”

“That I will never tell.” Nor did she ever. She left the words in his head like an adder’s egg.

Meanwhile she fed his fears as she fed his dreams. In the fourth year he began riding widely around the kingdom. He needed no more than two or three followers, mainly for helpers. There were no robbers left. He gave out that he wanted to talk with men elsewhere about some undertakings he had in mind. Those he called on were those Ulfhild had named to him, and he spoke to them according to her redes.

“Yes, as nearly as I can tell, if Hadding dies while Frodi is abroad, they’ll stand by me,” he said to her upon coming home from the last of these farings.