# The North Star/Chapter 14

XIV MAIDOCH
When the young men had passed over into the Norsemen’s ship, the old man and the little maid prepared to follow them. Ulf pushed them roughly back, and turned to King Olaf.
“Thou hast no need for such thralls as these. The man is old and the girl but a care.”
But there was no suggestion of age in the swift spring that brought the old man and the clinging girl to the deck of the “Alruna.” They fell at the feet of the king. Thorgills, at the words of Ulf, had rushed to the side of Olaf. The scald had drawn his sword, and the flash of his eye was far other than the mild light of the poet’s inspiration.
“My King! my King!” he cried. “Hear not yon dog of a Dane. He would keep the little maid, but thou, by the love thou hast for the Christ, and for thy reverence for His Mother Mary, let not the pirate have his will.”
Olaf turned to the kneeling captives, and then in his bewilderment to Thorgills. “Did I not pledge for all the captives?”
“And so didst thou, my King, but yon pirate hound, Ulf, would keep the old man and the maid.”
​The Dane muttered sullenly: “I but said, King Olaf, they could not be of service to thee. Surely the girl will be a burden.”
Olaf looked down scornfully at Ulf. “Count thou thy gold, and I will take all the burden.” Then he turned to the kneeling captives. Something in the picture of helpless age and helpless young maidenhood stirred the heart of the great viking.
“Nay! nay!” he said, with a wonderful note of gentleness in his strong tone, “ye must not fear me. I am a friend!”
The old man started and looked up. His sad glance caught sight of the golden chain about King Olaf’s neck, and the jewelled crucifix at its end. A light came into his eyes.
“As thou art a Christian, O King! and as thou dost hope for God’s mercy on thy soul, take pity upon me, and upon this poor little maid, that I may live to protect her.”
King Olaf gave his hand to the kneeling man. “Rise! I give thee the word of Olaf Tryggevesson, and that is the strongest word among men to-day, that thou and the little maid shall suffer no harm.” He turned and pointed to the stern of the vessel. “Thore, keep that portion of the deck for this old man and his maid, and see that none molest them.”
Thorgills, however, was ahead of Thore, and had already spread out the cushions for the new-comers to rest upon. He led the old man to a seat. The tired ​eyes looked gratefully into the scald’s face. “What name shall I call thee, kind friend?”
“I am Thorgills, the bard of King Olaf. And how art thou known in thy own land?”
“I am Fiachtna, an earl of Leinster, and this is Maidoch, my daughter.”
The old man looked earnestly at the harper. “I have seen thee in Dublin. My home was near the city. Ulf and his Danes landed on the coast and they burned and pillaged my castle. Those whom they did not kill they made captives. My beautiful home was in ruins, and they burned the holy abbey where I studied in my youth with the monks of St. Senanus. They bound us, the little maid and me, and brought us to the ship. It is a sad, sad plight, but my heart grows full of hope when I look upon yon noble Christian king.”
As her father spoke, Maidoch timidly lifted her eyes and glanced at King Olaf. Thorgills drew his breath quickly. One swift look he gave the maiden. Then he turned aside his head. “How beautiful she is!” he thought. “I have loved my king full well, but now even more, since he has snatched this snow-white lamb from the fangs of the Danish wolves.”
Thorgills began to speak to Fiachtna, and every little space he would glance at Maidoch.
“King Olaf dwelt a space in your Irish land, and I was at his side. Now we go back to our own land, and the king to his throne.”
​Maidoch was listening intently. Then this great king could send them back to Ireland, even as he had rescued them. Her eyes grew misty as she thought of her native land, and she clung closer to her father as she glanced around at the strange, stern faces of the Norsemen. When, however, her glance rested upon the king her heart grew braver. He was so noble, so warlike, and he had pledged his strong, unbroken word for their safety.
“Might I not bring thee food and drink? It is but simple fare we carry, but it may sustain thee.” Thorgills’ words were addressed to Fiachtna, but he gave a quick glance to Maidoch. The girl looked anxiously at her father.
“If thou, kind sir, could fetch him some food,” she said, and the scald thought the voice sweeter than the murmur of the Nidaros Fiord at twilight. They were the first words she had spoken, and in her solicitude for her father she had forgotten her shyness and had looked full in Thorgills’ face. How deep blue were her eyes, veiled with the dark fringe of lashes, and overarched with the jetty curves of the brows. Masses of rich dark hair framed the beautiful face, the loose strands lying on the full white throat and the firm young shoulders. The eagerness of her tone to the scald, and his steady look into her eyes, had brought the rich color to her cheeks, that had been pallid from terror.
“It is as she would say, good friend,” Fiachtna ​added. “We feared to eat the food of the Danes, and more we feared to drink their ale.”
The old man sank back upon the cushions, while Thorgills went forward to procure them refreshment. Maidoch sat down beside her father. “Thou dost think we are in safety?” she asked.
“Aye, truly,” answered Fiachtna. “Yon youth seems of a kind heart, and the great king—didst thou not mark how powerful a warrior he is, and a true Christian?”
Thorgills returned with the food, dried fish and brown. bread, with some ale. The old man drank from the bronze horn, and Maidoch tasted the ale at her father’s suggestion. Then they ate of the food, and she listened in silence, as her father and Thorgills spoke of King Olaf’s sojourn in Ireland.