Part 11

He saw the bottom of the sea covered with wreckage. He saw heavy anchors, thick ropes twined about like snakes, ships with their sides riven asunder; golden dragon-heads from the bows of ships stared at him with red, threatening eyes.

'I should like to know who has fought a battle here and left all this as a prey to destruction,' thought the dreamer.

Everywhere he saw dead men. They were hanging on the ships' sides, or had sunk into the green seaweed. But he did not give himself time to look at them, for his eyes were obliged to follow the woman, who continued to walk onwards.

At last the King saw her stop at the side of a dead man. He was clothed in a red mantle, had a bright helmet on his head, a shield on his arm, and a naked sword in his hand.

The woman bent over him and whispered to him, as if awaking someone sleeping:

'King Olaf! King Olaf!'

Then he who was dreaming saw that the man at the bottom of the sea was himself. He could distinctly see that he was the dead man.

As the dead did not move, the woman knelt by his side and whispered into his ear:

'Now Storräde hath sent her fleet against thee and avenged herself. Dost thou repent what thou hast done, King Olaf?'

And again she asked:

'Now thou sufferest the bitterness of death because thou hast chosen me instead of Storräde. Dost thou repent? dost thou repent?'

Then at last the dead opened his eyes, and the woman helped him to rise. He leant upon her shoulder, and she walked slowly away with him.

Again King Olaf saw her wander and wander, through night and day, over sea and land. At last it seemed to him that they had gone further than the clouds and higher than the stars. Now they entered a garden, where the earth shone as light and the flowers were clear as dewdrops.

The King saw that when the woman entered the garden she raised her head, and her step grew lighter. When they had gone a little further into the garden her garments began to shine. He saw that they became, as of themselves, bordered with golden braid, and coloured with the hues of the rainbow. He saw also that a halo surrounded her head that cast a light over her countenance.

But the slain man who leant upon her shoulder raised his head, and asked:

'Who art thou?'

'Dost thou not know, King Olaf?' she answered; and an infinite majesty and glory encompassed her.

But in the dream King Olaf was filled with a great joy because he had chosen to serve the gentle Queen of Heaven. It was a joy so great that he had never before felt the like of it, and it was so strong that it awoke him.

* * * * *

When King Olaf awoke his face was bathed in tears, and he lay with his hands folded in prayer.

ASTRID

I

In the midst of the low buildings forming the old Castle of the Kings at Upsala towered the Ladies' Bower. It was built on poles, like a dovecote. The staircase leading up to it was as steep as a ladder, and one entered it by a very low door. The walls inside were covered with runes, signifying love and longing; the sills of the small loopholes were worn by the maidens leaning on their elbows and looking down into the courtyard.

Old Hjalte, the bard, had been a guest at the King's Castle for some time, and he went up every day to the Ladies' Bower to see Princess Ingegerd, and talk with her about Olaf Haraldsson, the King of Norway, and every time Hjalte came Ingegerd's bondwoman Astrid sat and listened to his words with as much pleasure as the Princess. And whilst Hjalte talked, both the maidens listened so eagerly that they let their hands fall in their laps and their work rest.

Anyone seeing them would not think much spinning or weaving could be done in the Ladies' Bower. No one would have thought that they gathered all Hjalte's words as if they were silken threads, and that each of his listeners made from them her own picture of King Olaf. No one could know that in their thoughts they wove the Bard's words each into her own radiant picture.

But so it was. And the Princess's picture was so beautiful that every time she saw it before her she felt as if she must fall on her knees and worship it. For she saw the King sitting on his throne, crowned and great; she saw a red, gold-embroidered mantle hanging from his shoulders to his feet. She saw no sword in his hand, but holy writings; and she also saw that his throne was supported by a chained troll. His face shone for her, white like wax, surrounded by long, soft locks, and his eyes beamed with piety and peace. Oh, she became nearly afraid when she saw the almost superhuman strength that shone from that pale face. She understood that King Olaf was not only a King, she saw that he was a saint, and the equal of the angels.

But quite different was the picture which Astrid had made of the King. The fair-haired bondwoman, who had experienced both hunger and cold and suffered much hardship, but who all the same was the one who filled the Ladies' Bower with merriment and laughter, had in her mind an entirely different picture of the King. She could not help that every time she heard him spoken about she saw before her the wood-cutter's son who at eventide came out of the wood with the axe over his shoulder.

'I can see thee--I can see thee so well,' Astrid said to the picture, as if it were a living being. 'Tall thou art not, but broad of shoulders and light and agile, and because thou hast walked about in the dark forest the whole long summer day thou takest the last few steps in one spring, and laughest when thou reachest the road. Then thy white teeth shine, and thy hair flies about, and that I love to see. I can see thee; thou hast a fair, ruddy face and freckles on thy nose, and thou hast blue eyes, which become dark and stern in the deep forest; but when thou comest so far that thou seest the valley and thy home, they become light and gentle. As soon as thou seest thine own hut down in the valley, thou raisest thy cap for a greeting, and then I see thy forehead. Is not that forehead befitting a King? Should not that broad forehead be able to wear both crown and helmet?'

But however different these two pictures were, one thing is certain: just as much as the Princess loved the holy picture she had conjured forth, so did the poor bondwoman love the bold swain whom she saw coming from the depths of the forest to meet her.

And had Hjalte the Bard been able to see these pictures he would have assuredly praised them both. He would assuredly have said that they both were like the King. For that is King Olaf's good fortune, he would have been sure to say, that he is a fresh and merry swain at the same time that he is God's holy warrior. For old Hjalte loved King Olaf, and although he had wandered from court to court he had never been able to find his equal.

'Where can I find anyone to make me forget Olaf Haraldsson?' he was wont to say. 'Where shall I find a greater hero?'

Hjalte the Bard was a rough old man and severe of countenance. Old as he was, his hair was still black, he was dark of complexion, and his eyes were keen, and his song had always tallied with his appearance. His tongue never uttered other words than those of strife; he had never made other lays than songs of war.

Old Hjalte's heart had hitherto been like the stony waste outside the wood-cutter's hut; it had been like a rocky plain, where only poor ferns and dry mugworts could grow. But now Hjalte's roving life had brought him to the Court at Upsala, and he had seen the Princess Ingegerd. He had seen that she was the noblest of all the women he had met in his life--in truth, the Princess was just as much fairer than all other women as King Olaf was greater than all other men.

Then the thought suddenly arose within Hjalte that he would try to awaken love between the Swedish Princess and the Norwegian King. He asked himself why she, who was the best amongst women, should not be able to love King Olaf, the most glorious amongst men? And after that thought had taken root in Hjalte's heart he gave up making his stern war-songs. He gave up trying to win praise and honour from the rough warriors at the Court of Upsala, and sat for many hours with the women in the Ladies' Bower, and one would never have thought that it was Hjalte who spoke. One would never have believed that he possessed such soft and fair and gentle words which he now used in speaking about King Olaf.

No one would have known Hjalte again; he was entirely transformed ever since the thought of the marriage had arisen within him. When the beautiful thought took root in Hjalte's soul, it was as if a blushing rose, with soft and fragrant petals, had sprung up in the midst of a wilderness.

* * * * *

One day Hjalte sat with the Princess in the Ladies' Bower. All the maidens were absent except Astrid. Hjalte thought that now he had spoken long enough about Olaf Haraldsson. He had said all the fair words he could about him, but had it been of any avail? What did the Princess think of the King? Then he began to lay snares for the Princess to find out what she thought of King Olaf.

'I can see from a look or a blush,' he thought.

But the Princess was a high-born lady; she knew how to conceal her thoughts. She neither blushed nor smiled, neither did her eyes betray her. She would not let Hjalte divine what she thought.

When the Bard looked into her noble face he was ashamed of himself.

'She is too good for anyone to take her by stealth,' he said; 'one must meet her in open warfare.' So Hjalte said straight out: 'Daughter of a King, if Olaf Haraldsson asked thee in marriage of thy father, what wouldst thou answer?'

Then the young Princess's face lit up, as does the face of a man when he reaches the mountain-top and discovers the ocean. Without hesitation she replied at once:

'If he be such a King and such a Christian as thou sayest, Hjalte, then I consider it would be a great happiness.'

But scarcely had she said this before the light faded from her eyes. It was as if a cloud rose between her and the beautiful far-off vision.

'Oh, Hjalte,' she said, 'thou forgettest one thing. King Olaf is our enemy. It is war and not wooing we may expect from him.'

'Do not let that trouble thee,' said Hjalte. 'If thou only wilt, all is well. I know King Olaf's mind in this matter.'

The Bard was so glad that he laughed when he said this; but the Princess grew more and more sorrowful.

'No,' she said, 'neither upon me nor King Olaf does it depend, but upon my father, Oluf Skötkonung, and you know that he hates Olaf Haraldsson, and cannot bear that anyone should even mention his name. Never will he let me leave my father's house with an enemy; never will he give his daughter to Olaf Haraldsson.'

When the Princess had said this, she laid aside all her pride and began to lament her fate.

'Of what good is it that I have now learnt to know Olaf Haraldsson,' she said, 'that I dream of him every night, and long for him every day? Would it not have been better if thou hadst never come hither and told me about him?'

When the Princess had spoken these words, her eyes filled with tears; but when Hjalte saw her tears, he lifted his hand fervent and eager.

'God wills it,' he cried. 'Ye belong to one another. Strife must exchange its red mantle for the white robe of peace, that your happiness may give joy unto the earth.'

When Hjalte had said this, the Princess bowed her head before God's holy name, and when she raised it, it was with a newly awakened hope.

* * * * *

When old Hjalte stepped through the low door of the Ladies' Bower, and went down the narrow open corridor, Astrid followed him.

'Hjalte,' she cried, 'why dost thou not ask me what I would answer if Olaf Haraldsson asked for my hand?'

It was the first time Astrid had spoken to Hjalte; but Hjalte only cast a hurried glance at the fair bondwoman, whose golden hair curled on her temples and neck, who had the broadest bracelets and the heaviest ear-rings, whose dress was fastened with silken cords, and whose bodice was so embroidered with pearls that it was as stiff as armour, and went on without answering.

'Why dost thou only ask Princess Ingegerd?' continued Astrid. 'Why dost thou not also ask me? Dost thou not know that I, too, am the Svea-King's daughter? Dost thou not know,' she continued, when Hjalte did not answer, 'that although my mother was a bondwoman, she was the bride of the King's youth? Dost thou not know that whilst she lived no one dared to remind her of her birth? Oh, Hjalte, dost thou not know that it was only after she was dead, when the King had taken to himself a Queen, that everyone remembered that she was a bondwoman? It was first after I had a stepmother that the King began to think I was not of free birth. But am I not a King's daughter, Hjalte, even if my father counts me for so little, that he has allowed me to fall into bondage? Am I not a King's daughter, even if my stepmother allowed me to go in rags, whilst my sister went in cloth of gold? Am I not a King's daughter, even if my stepmother has allowed me to tend the geese and taste the whip of the slave? And if I am a King's daughter, why dost thou not ask me whether I will wed Olaf Haraldsson? See, I have golden hair that shines round my head like the sun. See, I have sparkling eyes; I have roses in my cheeks. Why should not King Olaf woo me?'

She followed Hjalte across the courtyard all the way to the King's Hall; but Hjalte took no more heed of her words than a warrior clad in armour heeds a boy throwing stones. He took no more notice of her words than if she had been a chattering magpie in the top of a tree.

* * * * *

No one must think that Hjalte contented himself with having won Ingegerd for his King. The next day the old Icelander summoned up his courage and spoke to Oluf Skötkonung about Olaf Haraldsson. But he hardly had time to say a word; the King interrupted him as soon as he mentioned the name of his foe. Hjalte saw that the Princess was right. He thought he had never before seen such bitter hatred.

'But that marriage will take place all the same,' said Hjalte. 'It is the will of God--the will of God.'

And it really seemed as if Hjalte were right. Two or three days later a messenger came from King Olaf of Norway to make peace with the Swedes. Hjalte sought the messenger, and told him that peace between the two countries could be most firmly established by a marriage taking place between Princess Ingegerd and Olaf Haraldsson.

The King's messenger hardly thought that old Hjalte was the man to incline a young maiden's heart to a stranger; but he thought, all the same, that the plan was a good one; and he promised Hjalte that he would lay the proposal of the marriage before King Oluf Skötkonung at the great Winter Ting.

Immediately afterwards Hjalte left Upsala. He went from farm to farm on the great plain; he went far into the forests; he went even to the borders of the sea. He never met either man or woman without speaking to them about Olaf Haraldsson and Princess Ingegerd. 'Hast thou ever heard of a greater man or of a fairer woman?' he said. 'It is assuredly the will of God that they shall wander through life together.'

Hjalte came upon old Vikings, who wintered at the seashore, and who had formerly carried off women from every coast. He talked to them about the beautiful Princess until they sprang up and promised him, with their hand on the hilt of their sword, that they would do what they could to help her to happiness.

Hjalte went to stubborn old peasants who had never listened to the prayers of their own daughters, but had given them in marriage as shrewdness, family honour, and advantage required, and he spoke to them so wisely about the peace between the two countries and the marriage that they swore they would rather deprive the King of his kingdom than that this marriage should not come to pass.

But to the young women Hjalte spoke so many good words about Olaf Haraldsson that they vowed they would never look with kindly eyes at the swain who did not stand by the Norwegian King's messenger at the Ting and help to break down the King's opposition.

Thus Hjalte went about talking to people until the Winter Ting should assemble, and all the people, along snow-covered roads, proceeded to the great Ting Hills at Upsala.

When the Ting was opened, the eagerness of the people was so great that it seemed as if the stars would fall down from the sky were this marriage not decided upon. And although the King twice roughly said 'No' both to the peace and to the wooing, it was of no avail. It was of no avail that he would not hear the name of King Olaf mentioned. The people only shouted: 'We will not have war with Norway. We will that these two, who by all are accounted the greatest, shall wander through life together.'

What could old Oluf Skötkonung do when the people rose against him with threats, strong words, and clashing of shields? What was he to do when he saw nothing but swords lifted and angry men before him? Was he not compelled to promise his daughter away if he would keep his life and his crown? Must he not swear to send the Princess to Kungahälla next summer to meet King Olaf there?

In this way the whole people helped to further Ingegerd's love. But no one helped Astrid to the attainment of her happiness; no one asked her about her love. And yet it lived--it lived like the child of the poor fisherman's widow, in want and need; but all the same it grew, happily and hopefully. It grew and thrived, for in Astrid's soul there were, as at the sea, fresh air and light and breezy waves.

II

In the rich city of Kungahälla, far away at the border, was the old castle of the kings. It was surrounded by green ramparts. Huge stones stood as sentinels outside the gates, and in the courtyard grew an oak large enough to shelter under its branches all the King's henchmen.

The whole space inside the ramparts was covered with long, low wooden houses. They were so old that grass grew on the ridges of the roofs. The beams in the walls were made from the thickest trees of the forest, silver-white with age.

In the beginning of the summer Olaf Haraldsson came to Kungahälla, and he gathered together in the castle everything necessary for the celebration of his marriage. For several weeks peasants came crowding up the long street, bringing gifts: butter in tubs, cheese in sacks, hops and salt, roots and flour.

After the gifts had been brought to the castle, there was a continual procession of wedding guests through the street. There were great men and women on side-saddles, with a numerous retinue of servants and serfs. Then came hosts of players and singers, and the reciters of the Sagas. Merchants came all the way from Venderland and Gardarike, to tempt the King with bridal gifts.

When these processions for two whole weeks had filled the town with noise and bustle they only awaited the last procession, the bride's.

But the bridal procession was long in coming. Every day they expected that she would come ashore at the King's Landing-Stage, and from there, headed by drum and fife, and followed by merry swains and serious priests, proceed up the street to the King's Castle. But the bride's procession came not.

When the bride was so long in coming, everybody looked at King Olaf to see if he were uneasy. But the King always showed an undisturbed face.

'If it be the will of God,' the King said, 'that I shall possess this fair woman, she will assuredly come.'

And the King waited, whilst the grass fell for the scythe, and the cornflowers blossomed in the rye. The King still waited when the flax was pulled up, and the hops ripened on the poles. He was still waiting, when the bramble blackened on the mountain-side, and the nip reddened on the naked branch of the hawthorn.

* * * * *

Hjalte had spent the whole summer at Kungahälla waiting for the marriage. No one awaited the arrival of the Princess more eagerly than he did. He assuredly awaited her with greater longing and anxiety than even King Olaf himself.

Hjalte no longer felt at his ease with the warriors in the King's Hall. But lower down the river there was a landing-stage where the women of Kungahälla were wont to assemble to see the last of their husbands and sons, when they sailed for distant lands. Here they were also in the habit of gathering during the summer, to watch for the vessels coming up the river, and to weep over those who had departed. To that bridge Hjalte wended his way every day. He liked best to be amongst those who longed and sorrowed.

Never had any of the women who sat waiting at Weeping Bridge gazed down the river with more anxious look than did Hjalte the Bard. No one looked more eagerly at every approaching sail. Sometimes Hjalte stole away to the Marie Church. He never prayed for anything for himself. He only came to remind the Saints about this marriage, which must come to pass, which God Himself had willed.

Most of all Hjalte liked to speak with King Olaf Haraldsson alone. It was his greatest happiness to sit and tell him of every word that had fallen from the lips of the King's daughter. He described her every feature.

'King Olaf,' he said to him, 'pray to God that she may come to thee. Every day I see thee warring against ancient heathendom which hides like an owl in the darkness of the forest, and in the mountain-clefts. But the falcon, King Olaf, will never be able to overcome the owl. Only a dove can do that, only a dove.'

The Bard asked the King whether it was not his desire to vanquish all his enemies. Was it not his intention to be alone master in the land? But in that he would never succeed. He would never succeed until he had won the crown which Hjalte had chosen for him, a crown so resplendent with brightness and glory that everyone must bow before him who owned it.

And last of all he asked the King if he were desirous of gaining the mastery over himself. But he would never succeed in overcoming the wilfulness of his own heart if he did not win a shield which Hjalte had seen in the Ladies' Bower at the King's Castle at Upsala. It was a shield from which shone the purity of heaven. It was a shield which protected from all sin and the lusts of the flesh.

* * * * *

But harvest came and they were still waiting for the Princess. One after the other the great men who had come to Kungahälla for the marriage festivities were obliged to depart. The last to take his leave was old Hjalte the Bard. It was with a heavy heart he set sail, but he was obliged to return to his home in distant Iceland before Christmas came.

Old Hjalte had not gone further than the rocky islands outside the mouth of the northern river before he met a galley. He immediately ordered his men to stop rowing. At the first glance he recognised the dragon-headed ship belonging to Princess Ingegerd. Without hesitation Hjalte told his men to row him to the galley. He gave up his place at the rudder to another, and placed himself with joyous face at the prow of the boat.

'It will make me happy to behold the fair maiden once more,' the Bard said. 'It gladdens my heart that her gentle face will be the last I shall see before sailing for Iceland.'

All the wrinkles had disappeared from Hjalte's face when he went on board the dragon-ship. He greeted the brave lads who plied the oars as friendlily as if they were his comrades, and he handed a golden ring to the maiden, who, with much deference, conducted him to the women's tent in the stern of the ship. Hjalte's hand trembled when he lifted the hangings that covered the entrance to the tent. He thought this was the most beautiful moment of his life.

'Never have I fought for a greater cause,' he said. 'Never have I longed so eagerly for anything as this marriage.'