"Because the Gap has finally melted through. Trasamund's traveled beyond the Glacier." Hamnet Thyssen usually had as little to say to Gudrid's new husband as he could. Maybe the mead was what loosened his tongue enough to make him say, "So you believe in the Golden Shrine, do you, Earl Eyvind? Why is that?"
As Gudrid had a moment earlier, he got more than he bargained for. Eyvind Torfinn didn't just believe in the Golden Shrine. He knew more in the way of lore than Hamnet thought there was to know. His talk went spinning back through the centuries, back to the days before Nidaros was even a hunting camp, back to empires far older than the Raumsdalian, back to other retreats of the Glacier—though he didn't know of any others where the Gap actually opened.
By the way Gudrid listened to him, he might have been talking about a mistress he'd kept secret from her. Maybe she thought he was, and maybe she was right; knowledge was like that for some men. Hamnet Thyssen hadn't known Eyvind was one of them. Plainly, his former wife hadn't, either. After a couple of exaggerated yawns didn't make Eyvind Torfinn dry up, she flounced off, hips working in the clinging maroon wool knit dress she wore.
Her husband never noticed. He was comparing and contrasting modern ideas about the Golden Shrine with those from bygone days. He knew more about ideas from bygone days than Hamnet Thyssen had thought any living man could. "And so you see," Eyvind Torfinn said with an enthusiast's zeal, "there is more than a little consistency about these notions through time. Not perfect consistency, mind you, but more than a little. Enough to persuade me something real lies behind all the guesswork and the legends."
What Hamnet saw was Gudrid doing everything but painting herself against Trasamund. She all but purred when the Bizogot stroked her. If her gap wouldn't open for him, Hamnet would have been very much surprised.
But that was not his worry now, for which—some of him—thanked God. He set a scarred and callused hand on Eyvind Torfinn's shoulder. "Your Splendor," he said, "his Majesty was talking about recruiting a scholar to accompany us on the journey north. I think you are the man we need."
"I?" Eyvind Torfinn said in mild astonishment.
"Certainly. You know so much about the Golden Shrine. Wouldn't you like to put what you know to use? Wouldn't you like to see the Temple with your own eyes?" If it's there to see, Hamnet Thyssen added, but only to himself.
Eyvind stared at him. "I would like that very much," he said. "Whether I can make such a journey may be another question. Beyond the Glacier! I was not sure there was such a thing as beyond the Glacier. For all I knew, for all anyone knew, it went on forever."
"I had the same thought when I learned the Gap has melted through," Count Hamnet said. "But Trasamund speaks of white bears and strange buffalo and other marvels he's seen with his own eyes."
"Does he?" Eyvind Torfinn looked toward the tall Bizogot. By then Gudrid, with a sure instinct for self-preservation, no longer clung to him, even if she did hover close by. Seeing her set her present husband down a different thought-road. He swung back toward Hamnet. "Can you stand to make a journey with me, your Grace? I would not be grateful—I fear I would not even be long ungrateful—if you set on me the moment we passed the Empire's borders, or perhaps even before we passed them."
"By God, your Splendor, by God and by my honor, I will do nothing of the sort," Hamnet Thyssen said. "You have my oath, the strongest oath I can give. If it is not enough to satisfy you ... If it is not enough to satisfy you, sir, then be damned to you. I don't know what else to say."
"If we meet danger, I am more likely to prove a liability than an asset," Earl Eyvind said. "I am not young. I am not strong. I am not swift or graceful. I have not even practiced with a sword for many years, let alone unsheathed one in anger."
"You know things," Hamnet said. "You know things I did not think anyone could know. Speak to Trasamund." Though not of your wife—she's not mine now. "Speak to the Emperor. Knowledge is always an asset."
"Is it?" Eyvind Torfinn raised a bushy gray eyebrow. "Are you glad knowing . . . what you know about the lady who was once your wife?"
"Am I glad? No," Count Hamnet answered steadily. "Would I rather know the truth than live in a fool's paradise? Yes, and she played me for a fool." And she'll play you the same way, if she hasn't done it already, and you may prove yourself a fool if you don't know that.
"The Golden Shrine," Eyvind murmured. "Well, maybe, if you don't think I would slow you up too much."
"Persuade Trasamund. I have no trouble with riding a little slower than I might have ridden otherwise, but I'm no hot-blooded, impatient Bizogot." And you have put horns on me, and Trasamund—I doubt not—will put horns on you, and if I should meet Trasamund's wife, if he has a wife... What a jolly gathering we would be then.
"Well! The Golden Shrine!" Eyvind Torfinn said, and he waddled off toward the Bizogot jarl.
Sigvat II was delighted that Earl Eyvind wanted to fare north, and delighted and amazed to discover him a scholar of the Golden Shrine. Trasamund was willing to bring him along, although amazed and less than delighted to discover him the husband of Gudrid. Hamnet Thyssen was . . . resigned. He would have had some strong opinions if he thought Gudrid was coming along, but she seemed furious that Eyvind Torfinn could find the Golden Shrine more interesting, more attractive, than she.
"She will spend my money while I am gone," Eyvind said to Count Ham-net when they met two days after the reception to plan what they could. On a journey into the unknown, they couldn't plan nearly as much as Hamnet would have liked.
"No doubt you are right, your Splendor," Hamnet replied. She will spend your reputation while you're gone, too, he thought with mournful certainty.
"I hope I have some left by the time I get home," Eyvind Torfinn said.
"Maybe your chief of affairs should oversee your funds," Hamnet said. And who would oversee Gudrid's affairs? Hamnet Thyssen almost laughed at himself. No doubt Gudrid would take care of those on her own.
Hamnet glanced over toward Trasamund. Did the Bizogot jarl speak fluent enough Raumsdalian to make that joke, or one like it, for himself? By the smirk on his ruddy, weathered face, he did.
Earl Eyvind was either blind to what Gudrid was or resigned to it. Hamnet hadn't made up his mind which. He wouldn't have wanted to be either one, though he'd stayed blind for too long when she was his wife. Maybe he hadn't wanted to see. Considering all the strife that sprang up when he finally couldn't help it... He shook his head. He didn't want to consider that.
"We still need a sorcerer," Eyvind Torfinn said. He was looking ahead again to the lands beyond the ice, not to what Gudrid would do while he wasn't here to watch her. "His Majesty was wise to suggest one."
"I suggested one," Trasamund said in a voice like distant thunder.
"Did you indeed, your Ferocity?" For the first time, Earl Eyvind eyed the Bizogot as something more than a dangerous and dubiously tame animal. Eyvind didn't seem to have imagined a brain might lurk under that handsome, well-muscled exterior. He blinked once or twice, revising his opinion.
"I did." Trasamund proudly drew himself up straight. All Bizogots were full of ungodly gobs of pride—so it seemed to Raumsdalians, anyhow. A Bizogot jarl was apt to be proud even by the standards of his people. Having known quite a few clan chiefs among the mammoth-herders, Hamnet Thyssen had seen that for himself. And Trasamund was proud even for a Bizogot jarl.
"Well, good for you, then." Eyvind Torfinn kept his voice mild. Even if Trasamund wanted to act irascible, that mildness left him not the smallest excuse. Eyvind's gaze swung back to Count Hamnet. "And where will we come by the wizard?"