Chapter 4

And he answered: "What's the use Of this bragging up and down, When three women and one goose Make a market in your town!" Every Scald Satires scrawled On poor Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

Something worse they did than that; And what vexed him most of all Was a figure in shovel hat, Drawn in charcoal on the wall; With words that go Sprawling below, "This is Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest."

Hardly knowing what he did, Then he smote them might and main, Thorvald Veile and Veterlid Lay there in the alehouse slain. "To-day we are gold, To-morrow mould!" Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

Much in fear of axe and rope, Back to Norway sailed he then. "O, King Olaf! little hope Is there of these Iceland men!" Meekly said, With bending head, Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

X.

RAUD THE STRONG.

"All the old gods are dead, All the wild warlocks fled; But the White Christ lives and reigns, And throughout my wide domains His Gospel shall be spread!" On the Evangelists Thus swore King Olaf.

But still in dreams of the night Beheld he the crimson light, And heard the voice that defied Him who was crucified, And challenged him to the fight. To Sigurd the Bishop King Olaf confessed it.

And Sigurd the Bishop said, "The old gods are not dead, For the great Thor still reigns, And among the Jarls and Thanes The old witchcraft still is spread." Thus to King Olaf Said Sigurd the Bishop.

"Far north in the Salten Fiord, By rapine, fire, and sword, Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong; All the Godoe Isles belong To him and his heathen horde." Thus went on speaking Sigurd the Bishop.

"A warlock, a wizard is he, And lord of the wind and the sea; And whichever way he sails, He has ever favoring gales, By his craft in sorcery." Here the sign of the cross made Devoutly King Olaf.

"With rites that we both abhor, He worships Odin and Thor; So it cannot yet be said, That all the old gods are dead, And the warlocks are no more," Flushing with anger Said Sigurd the Bishop.

Then King Olaf cried aloud: "I will talk with this mighty Raud, And along the Salten Fiord Preach the Gospel with my sword, Or be brought back in my shroud!" So northward from Drontheim Sailed King Olaf!

XI.

BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD.

Loud the angry wind was wailing As King Olaf's ships came sailing Northward out of Drontheim haven To the mouth of Salten Fiord.

Though the flying sea-spray drenches Fore and aft the rowers' benches, Not a single heart is craven Of the champions there on board.

All without the Fiord was quiet, But within it storm and riot, Such as on his Viking cruises Raud the Strong was wont to ride.

And the sea through all its tide-ways Swept the reeling vessels sideways, As the leaves are swept through sluices, When the flood-gates open wide.

"'Tis the warlock! 'tis the demon Raud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen; "But the Lord is not affrighted By the witchcraft of his foes."

To the ship's bow he ascended, By his choristers attended, Round him were the tapers lighted, And the sacred incense rose.

On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, In his robes, as one transfigured, And the Crucifix he planted High amid the rain and mist.

Then with holy water sprinkled All the ship; the mass-bells tinkled; Loud the monks around him chanted, Loud he read the Evangelist.

As into the Fiord they darted, On each side the water parted; Down a path like silver molten Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships;

Steadily burned all night the tapers, And the White Christ through the vapors Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten, As through John's Apocalypse,--

Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling On the little isle of Gelling; Not a guard was at the doorway, Not a glimmer of light was seen.

But at anchor, carved and gilded, Lay the dragon-ship he builded; 'Twas the grandest ship in Norway, With its crest and scales of green.

Up the stairway, softly creeping, To the loft where Raud was sleeping, With their fists they burst asunder Bolt and bar that held the door.

Drunken with sleep and ale they found him, Dragged him from his bed and bound him, While he stared with stupid wonder, At the look and garb they wore.

Then King Olaf said: "O Sea-King! Little time have we for speaking, Choose between the good and evil; Be baptized, or thou shalt die!"

But in scorn the heathen scoffer Answered: "I disdain thine offer; Neither fear I God nor Devil; Thee and thy Gospel I defy!"

Then between his jaws distended, When his frantic struggles ended, Through King Olaf's horn an adder, Touched by fire, they forced to glide.

Sharp his tooth was as an arrow, As he gnawed through bone and marrow; But without a groan or shudder, Raud the Strong blaspheming died.

Then baptized they all that region, Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian, Far as swims the salmon, leaping, Up the streams of Salten Fiord.

In their temples Thor and Odin Lay in dust and ashes trodden, As King Olaf, onward sweeping, Preached the Gospel with his sword.

Then he took the carved and gilded Dragon-ship that Raud had builded, And the tiller single-handed, Grasping, steered into the main.

Southward sailed the sea-gulls o'er him, Southward sailed the ship that bore him, Till at Drontheim haven landed Olaf and his crew again.

XII.

KING OLAF'S CHRISTMAS.

At Drontheim, Olaf the King Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring, As he sat in his banquet-hall, Drinking the nut-brown ale, With his bearded Berserks hale And tall.

Three days his Yule-tide feasts He held with Bishops and Priests, And his horn filled up to the brim; But the ale was never too strong, Nor the Saga-man's tale too long, For him.

O'er his drinking-horn, the sign He made of the cross divine, As he drank, and muttered his prayers; But the Berserks evermore Made the sign of the Hammer of Thor Over theirs.

The gleams of the fire-light dance Upon helmet and hauberk and lance, And laugh in the eyes of the King; And he cries to Halfred the Scald, Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald, "Sing!"

"Sing me a song divine, With a sword in every line, And this shall be thy reward." And he loosened the belt at his waist, And in front of the singer placed His sword.

"Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, Wherewith at a stroke he hewed The millstone through and through, And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong, Were neither so broad nor so long, Nor so true."

Then the Scald took his harp and sang, And loud through the music rang The sound of that shining word; And the harp-strings a clangor made, As if they were struck with the blade Of a sword.

And the Berserks round about Broke forth into a shout That made the rafters ring: They smote with their fists on the board, And shouted, "Long live the Sword, And the King!"

But the King said, "O my son, I miss the bright word in one Of thy measures and thy rhymes." And Halfred the Scald replied, "In another 'twas multiplied Three times."

Then King Olaf raised the hilt Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt, And said, "Do not refuse; Count well the gain and the loss, Thor's hammer or Christ's cross: Choose!"

And Halfred the Scald said, "This In the name of the Lord I kiss, Who on it was crucified!" And a shout went round the board, "In the name of Christ the Lord, Who died!"

Then over the waste of snows The noonday sun uprose, Through the driving mists revealed, Like the lifting of the Host, By incense-clouds almost Concealed.

On the shining wall a vast And shadowy cross was cast From the hilt of the lifted sword, And in foaming cups of ale The Berserks drank "Was-hael! To the Lord!"

XIII.

THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SERPENT.

Thorberg Skafting, master-builder, In his ship-yard by the sea, Whistled, saying, "'Twould bewilder Any man but Thorberg Skafting, Any man but me!"

Near him lay the Dragon stranded, Built of old by Raud the Strong, And King Olaf had commanded He should build another Dragon, Twice as large and long.

Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting, As he sat with half-closed eyes, And his head turned sideways, drafting That new vessel for King Olaf Twice the Dragon's size.

Round him busily hewed and hammered Mallet huge and heavy axe; Workmen laughed and sang and clamored; Whirred the wheels, that into rigging Spun the shining flax!

All this tumult heard the master,-- It was music to his ear; Fancy whispered all the faster, "Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting For a hundred year!"

Workmen sweating at the forges Fashioned iron bolt and bar, Like a warlock's midnight orgies Smoked and bubbled the black caldron With the boiling tar.

Did the warlocks mingle in it, Thorberg Skafting, any curse? Could you not be gone a minute But some mischief must be doing, Turning bad to worse?

'Twas an ill wind that came wafting, From his homestead words of woe; To his farm went Thorberg Skafting, Oft repeating to his workmen, Build ye thus and so.

After long delays returning Came the master back by night; To his ship-yard longing, yearning, Hurried he, and did not leave it Till the morning's light.

"Come and see my ship, my darling!" On the morrow said the King; "Finished now from keel to carling; Never yet was seen in Norway Such a wondrous thing!"

In the ship-yard, idly talking, At the ship the workmen stared: Some one, all their labor balking, Down her sides had cut deep gashes, Not a plank was spared!

"Death be to the evil-doer!" With an oath King Olaf spoke; "But rewards to his pursuer!" And with wrath his face grew redder Than his scarlet cloak.

Straight the master-builder, smiling, Answered thus the angry King: "Cease blaspheming and reviling, Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting Who has done this thing!"

Then he chipped and smoothed the planking, Till the King, delighted, swore, With much lauding and much thanking, "Handsomer is now my Dragon Than she was before!"

Seventy ells and four extended On the grass the vessel's keel; High above it, gilt and splendid, Rose the figure-head ferocious With its crest of steel.

Then they launched her from the tressels, In the ship-yard by the sea; She was the grandest of all vessels, Never ship was built in Norway Half so fine as she!

The Long Serpent was she christened, 'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer! They who to the Saga listened Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting For a hundred year!

XIV.

THE CREW OF THE LONG SERPENT.

Safe at anchor in Drontheim bay King Olaf's fleet assembled lay, And, striped with white and blue, Downward fluttered sail and banner, As alights the screaming lanner; Lustily cheered, in their wild manner, The Long Serpent's crew.

Her forecastle man was Ulf the Red; Like a wolf's was his shaggy head, His teeth as large and white; His beard, of gray and russet blended, Round as a swallow's nest descended; As standard-bearer he defended Olaf's flag in the fight.

Near him Kolbiorn had his place, Like the King in garb and face, So gallant and so hale; Every cabin-boy and varlet Wondered at his cloak of scarlet; Like a river, frozen and star-lit, Gleamed his coat of mail.

By the bulkhead, tall and dark, Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark, A figure gaunt and grand; On his hairy arm imprinted Was an anchor, azure-tinted; Like Thor's hammer, huge and dinted Was his brawny hand.

Einar Tamberskelver, bare To the winds his golden hair, By the mainmast stood; Graceful was his form, and slender, And his eyes were deep and tender As a woman's, in the splendor Of her maidenhood.

In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork Watched the sailors at their work: Heavens! how they swore! Thirty men they each commanded, Iron-sinewed, horny-handed, Shoulders broad, and chests expanded, Tugging at the oar.

These, and many more like these, With King Olaf sailed the seas, Till the waters vast Filled them with a vague devotion, With the freedom and the motion, With the roll and roar of ocean And the sounding blast.

When they landed from the fleet, How they roared through Drontheim's street, Boisterous as the gale! How they laughed and stamped and pounded, Till the tavern roof resounded, And the host looked on astounded As they drank the ale!

Never saw the wild North Sea Such a gallant company Sail its billows blue! Never, while they cruised and quarrelled, Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald, Owned a ship so well apparelled, Boasted such a crew!

XV.

A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR.

A little bird in the air Is singing of Thyri the fair, The sister of Svend the Dane; And the song of the garrulous bird In the streets of the town is heard, And repeated again and again. Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other.

To King Burislaf, it is said, Was the beautiful Thyri wed, And a sorrowful bride went she; And after a week and a day, She has fled away and away, From his town by the stormy sea. Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other.

They say, that through heat and through cold, Through weald, they say, and through wold, By day and by night, they say, She has fled; and the gossips report She has come to King Olaf's court, And the town is all in dismay. Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other.

It is whispered King Olaf has seen, Has talked with the beautiful Queen; And they wonder how it will end; For surely, if here she remain, It is war with King Svend the Dane, And King Burislaf the Vend! Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other.

O, greatest wonder of all! It is published in hamlet and hall, It roars like a flame that is fanned! The King--yes, Olaf the King-- Has wedded her with his ring, And Thyri is Queen in the land! Hoist up your sails of silk, And flee away from each other.

XVI.

QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA STALKS.

Northward over Drontheim, Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, Sang the lark and linnet From the meadows green;

Weeping in her chamber, Lonely and unhappy, Sat the Drottning Thyri, Sat King Olaf's Queen.

In at all the windows Streamed the pleasant sunshine, On the roof above her Softly cooed the dove;

But the sound she heard not, Nor the sunshine heeded, For the thoughts of Thyri Were not thoughts of love.

Then King Olaf entered, Beautiful as morning, Like the sun at Easter Shone his happy face;

In his hand he carried Angelicas uprooted, With delicious fragrance Filling all the place.

Like a rainy midnight Sat the Drottning Thyri, Even the smile of Olaf Could not cheer her gloom;

Nor the stalks he gave her With a gracious gesture, And with words as pleasant As their own perfume.

In her hands he placed them, And her jewelled fingers Through the green leaves glistened Like the dews of morn;

But she cast them from her, Haughty and indignant, On the floor she threw them With a look of scorn.

"Richer presents," said she, "Gave King Harald Gormson To the Queen, my mother, Than such worthless weeds;

"When he ravaged Norway, Laying waste the kingdom, Seizing scatt and treasure For her royal needs.

"But thou darest not venture Through the Sound to Vendland, My domains to rescue From King Burislaf;

"Lest King Svend of Denmark, Forked Beard, my brother, Scatter all thy vessels As the wind the chaff."

Then up sprang King Olaf, Like a reindeer bounding, With an oath he answered Thus the luckless Queen:

"Never yet did Olaf Fear King Svend of Denmark; This right hand shall hale him By his forked chin!"

Then he left the chamber, Thundering through the doorway, Loud his steps resounded Down the outer stair.

Smarting with the insult, Through the streets of Drontheim Strode he red and wrathful, With his stately air.

All his ships he gathered, Summoned all his forces, Making his war levy In the region round;

Down the coast of Norway, Like a flock of sea-gulls, Sailed the fleet of Olaf Through the Danish Sound.

With his own hand fearless, Steered he the Long Serpent, Strained the creaking cordage, Bent each boom and gaff;

Till in Vendland landing, The domains of Thyri He redeemed and rescued From King Burislaf.

Then said Olaf, laughing, "Not ten yoke of oxen Have the power to draw us Like a woman's hair!

"Now will I confess it, Better things are jewels Than angelica stalks are For a Queen to wear."

XVII.

KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEARD.

Loudly the sailors cheered Svend of the Forked Beard, As with his fleet he steered Southward to Vendland; Where with their courses hauled All were together called, Under the Isle of Svald Near to the mainland.

After Queen Gunhild's death, So the old Saga saith, Plighted King Svend his faith To Sigrid the Haughty; And to avenge his bride, Soothing her wounded pride, Over the waters wide King Olaf sought he.

Still on her scornful face, Blushing with deep disgrace, Bore she the crimson trace Of Olaf's gauntlet; Like a malignant star, Blazing in heaven afar, Red shone the angry scar Under her frontlet.

Oft to King Svend she spake, "For thine own honor's sake Shalt thou swift vengeance take On the vile coward!" Until the King at last, Gusty and overcast, Like a tempestuous blast Threatened and lowered.

Soon as the Spring appeared, Svend of the Forked Beard High his red standard reared, Eager for battle; While every warlike Dane, Seizing his arms again, Left all unsown the grain, Unhoused the cattle.

Likewise the Swedish King Summoned in haste a Thing, Weapons and men to bring In aid of Denmark; Eric the Norseman, too, As the war-tidings flew, Sailed with a chosen crew From Lapland and Finmark.

So upon Easter day Sailed the three kings away, Out of the sheltered bay, In the bright season; With them Earl Sigvald came, Eager for spoil and fame; Pity that such a name Stooped to such treason!

Safe under Svald at last, Now were their anchors cast, Safe from the sea and blast, Plotted the three kings; While, with a base intent, Southward Earl Sigvald went, On a foul errand bent, Unto the Sea-kings.

Thence to hold on his course, Unto King Olaf's force, Lying within the hoarse Mouths of Stet-haven; Him to ensnare and bring, Unto the Danish king, Who his dead corse would fling Forth to the raven!

XVIII.

KING OLAF AND EARL SIGVALD.

On the gray sea-sands King Olaf stands, Northward and seaward He points with his hands.

With eddy and whirl The sea-tides curl, Washing the sandals Of Sigvald the Earl.

The mariners shout, The ships swing about, The yards are all hoisted, The sails flutter out.

The war-horns are played, The anchors are weighed, Like moths in the distance The sails flit and fade.

The sea is like lead, The harbor lies dead, As a corse on the sea-shore, Whose spirit has fled!

On that fatal day, The histories say, Seventy vessels Sailed out of the bay.

But soon scattered wide O'er the billows they ride, While Sigvald and Olaf Sail side by side.

Cried the Earl: "Follow me! I your pilot will be, For I know all the channels Where flows the deep sea!"

So into the strait Where his foes lie in wait, Gallant King Olaf Sails to his fate!

Then the sea-fog veils The ships and their sails; Queen Sigrid the Haughty, Thy vengeance prevails!

XIX.

KING OLAF'S WAR-HORNS.

"Strike the sails!" King Olaf said; "Never shall men of mine take flight; Never away from battle I fled, Never away from my foes! Let God dispose Of my life in the fight!"

"Sound the horns!" said Olaf the King; And suddenly through the drifting brume The blare of the horns began to ring, Like the terrible trumpet shock Of Regnarock, On the Day of Doom!

Louder and louder the war-horns sang Over the level floor of the flood; All the sails came down with a clang, And there in the mist overhead The sun hung red As a drop of blood.

Drifting down on the Danish fleet Three together the ships were lashed, So that neither should turn and retreat; In the midst, but in front of the rest The burnished crest Of the Serpent flashed.

King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck, With bow of ash and arrows of oak, His gilded shield was without a fleck, His helmet inlaid with gold, And in many a fold Hung his crimson cloak.

On the forecastle Ulf the Red Watched the lashing of the ships; "If the Serpent lie so far ahead, We shall have hard work of it here," Said he with a sneer On his bearded lips.

King Olaf laid an arrow on string, "Have I a coward on board?" said he. "Shoot it another way, O King!" Sullenly answered Ulf, The old sea-wolf; "You have need of me!"

In front came Svend, the King of the Danes, Sweeping down with his fifty rowers; To the right, the Swedish king with his thanes; And on board of the Iron Beard Earl Eric steered On the left with his oars.

"These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King, "At home with their wives had better stay, Than come within reach of my Serpent's sting: But where Eric the Norseman leads Heroic deeds Will be done to-day!"

Then as together the vessels crashed, Eric severed the cables of hide, With which King Olaf's ships were lashed, And left them to drive and drift With the currents swift Of the outward tide.

Louder the war-horns growl and snarl, Sharper the dragons bite and sting! Eric the son of Hakon Jarl A death-drink salt as the sea Pledges to thee, Olaf the King!

XX.

EINAR TAMBERSKELVER.

It was Einar Tamberskelver Stood beside the mast; From his yew-bow, tipped with silver, Flew the arrows fast; Aimed at Eric unavailing, As he sat concealed, Half behind the quarter-railing, Half behind his shield.

First an arrow struck the tiller, Just above his head; "Sing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller," Then Earl Eric said. "Sing the song of Hakon dying, Sing his funeral wail!" And another arrow flying Grazed his coat of mail.

Turning to a Lapland yeoman, As the arrow passed, Said Earl Eric, "Shoot that bowman Standing by the mast." Sooner than the word was spoken Flew the yeoman's shaft; Einar's bow in twain was broken, Einar only laughed.

"What was that?" said Olaf, standing On the quarter-deck. "Something heard I like the stranding Of a shattered wreck." Einar then, the arrow taking From the loosened string, Answered, "That was Norway breaking From thy hand, O king!"

"Thou art but a poor diviner," Straightway Olaf said; "Take my bow, and swifter, Einar, Let thy shafts be sped." Of his bows the fairest choosing, Reached he from above; Einar saw the blood-drops oozing Through his iron glove.