# The North Star/Chapter 47

XLVII THE BREAKING OF EINAR’S BOW
Through the day, while they feasted, Olaf and Sigvalde went back and forth on their respective ships. They had planned to move homeward on the following day, Olaf under Earl Sigvalde’s guidance. The warm-hearted king was rejoiced at the return to friendship of the Earl of the Jomsvikings.
That night, after all on board the two fleets had retired, Olaf stood at watch on the elevated loftingen deck, outside his sleeping-room. It was a soft spring night and the earth, dimly seen on the shore, and the sky dazzling with astral light, and the sea silvered with stars, all seemed marvellously beautiful to the brave-souled king, steering so unconsciously to the dismal doom of defeat.
The sound of muffled oars came to Olaf’s ear. He walked over to the side of the ship. In a small boat, sat two oarsmen and two women, closely cloaked and veiled.
“My King! My King!” pleadingly called the voice of the taller woman. Olaf leaned over and the voice went on: “It is I—thy kinswoman, Aastrid. O my kinsman! my King! for the sake of thy dead mother ​and for the sake of our bond of blood, beware! beware! lest thou be ensnared.”
The other woman rose. “O great King!”—the sweet, pleading voice came in a whisper,—“my Lord Thorgills, thy friend and thy faithful scald, who loves thee better than his own life, has bid me warn thee of thy danger. He will be with thee to-morrow, but, O my King! he doth bid me say there is treachery near thee.”
Aastrid spoke even lower. “There is one I must not name who would guide thee to destruction. O Olaf, my King! beware of thy false friend, false to thee now, as false to thee in the past.”
“Dear Lady Aastrid, and thou, my Thorgills’ honored lady, have too deeply thought on this matter. Women true and devoted are prone to be ever fearful of danger. There is no one false to me now, for I have won back my lost friend.”
Lady Aastrid wrung her hands despairingly, and Maidoch clasped her hands in pleading. “Beware! my King!” they murmured. “Trust not too far! Beware!” Then at a sign the rowers turned the boat, and it was lost in the darkness.
Next morning the entire fleet of King Olaf, sixty ships and sixty transports, and the fleet of Earl Sigvalde, eleven ships, were making ready for the homeward journey. Olaf in person commanded the “Long Serpent.” Erling Skjalsson of Sole, the powerful young chieftain of South Hordaland who had married ​Olaf’s sister, Aastrid, was in command of the “Short Serpent,” while Thorkill Dyrdill, the most skilful helmsman in all Norway, was at the prow of the “Crane.” The latter ship led King Olaf’s fleet.
Messengers had been despatched by Earl Sigvalde to King Sweyn of Denmark, the husband of the revengeful Queen Sigrid, and to King Olaf of Sweden, her son, and to Earl Erik, the son of Earl Haakon, that Olaf Tryggevesson’s fleet would soon fall into their power. These three chiefs had gathered all their war-galleys behind a small island, called Svolder, which lies between the Island of Rugen and the province of Pomerania. Here for days they waited, until Sigvalde should advise them of the coming of Olaf.
Never doubting the false earl, after his proffer of friendship, King Olaf implicitly followed Sigvalde’s suggestion that a part of the king’s fleet go in advance, leaving but the “Long Serpent,” the “Short Serpent,” and the “Crane,” with about eight transports, to follow. Within her cabin, with a few attendants, Queen Thyra saw the greater part of the fleet depart, and like her husband had no intimation of what an ominous act it was. Sigvalde pointed out to the king the sure danger of navigation with so many ships in the narrow straits around Pomerania.
Forced by that fate which compels us to its own ends, Olaf hearkened to the treacherous advice, and saw the greater part of his noble fleet pass out of sight, ​leaving him almost alone at the mercy of a false friend. Song and story of that memorable day beside the Island of Svolder tell us that sun and sky and wave were pictures of springtide beauty.
Upon the island the three chiefs with their crews were straining their gaze for a sight of King Olaf’s fleet. At last they found the noble ships just under the far horizon, and they hastened to their own ships to prepare a warlike reception.
The “Short Serpent” came into view; and from its fine proportions King Sweyn believed it to be Olaf’s own ship, and asked: “Where is his dragon head? They said it would rear so high. Afraid is Olaf Tryggevesson to-day and will not lift the dragon’s head.”
Earl Erik came up. “That ship with the striped sails,” said he, “is not the king’s; it belongs to Olaf’s brother-in-law, Erling Skjalsson of Sole. Let Erling pass, for it serves us not well to-day to meet his strong fighters from Hordaland.”
When the “Short Serpent” and the other fine craft of the Norse chieftains had passed before the wondering gaze of the watchers, out of sight, the fleet of Earl Sigvalde came into view. From his station on the deck the earl received and answered the signals of the three watchers. Then suddenly Earl Sigvalde gave command to his ships, and they turned the course of the fleet around to the back of the island. Thorkill Dyrdill came just in the wake of Earl Sigvalde’s ​galleys. The watchers were eager for the fight, although Earl Erik cautioned them to be prudent.
As the men were hurrying on board the ships, King Sweyn said tauntingly to the hesitating Erik:
“I did not know thee for so slow a fighter when I joined thee in this enterprise. The desire alone to avenge thy father Haakon should stir up thy failing courage.”
Earl Erik flushed hotly and angrily answered:
“Before the sun hath set, King Sweyn, it may be proven that my Norsemen and I are better fighters than the Danes and the Swedes.”
Thorkill Dyrdill drew down the sails of the “Crane” and waited till Erling and King Olaf joined him.
As the “Short Serpent” came into view King Sweyn exclaimed: “Loftily shall the ‘Serpent’ bear me to-night, and I shall steer her.”
Earl Erik looked scornfully at the Dane as he made answer: “Even if Olaf Tryggevesson had no larger ship than this, thou and all thy Danes would never win it from him.”
Then came the “Long Serpent” dazzling in the sun, with its glittering dragon high in the air, its thick-set row of shining shields, its stacks of swords and spears, its richly wrought canopies and banners, and its throng of warriors in their bright war-coats.
Fear smote the watchers for a space at the sight of such a magnificent ship, the like of which they had never even dreamt of.
​High upon the loftingen, or poop royal, stood the majestic figure of the Norwegian king. He was clad in a full suit of armor, linked gold and steel, with a gilded helmet and shield. The tunic over his armor was of bright scarlet silk embroidered in gold. Even his waiting enemies could not but exclaim at the beauty of this vessel and the majesty of its commander.
“This glorious ship,” declared Earl Erik, “is but fitting for such a king as Olaf Tryggevesson, for it is truly said of him that he is distinguished above all other kings as the ‘Long Serpent’ above all other ships.”
In spite of the counsel of his high chieftains, who measured the terrible advantage of the enemy, and in spite of the pleadings of Thorgills, who in full armor stood beside his beloved master, King Olaf, after ordering the ships of his small fleet to be bound together for battle, began to prepare for an attack.
His voice rang as a trumpet over the waves: “Down with the sails! Never have I fled from battle! God rules over my life! Never will I fly, for he is no king who flies for fear of his foes.”
All the war-ships and the galleys of the three combatants began pouring out from behind the Island of Svolder, nearly a hundred craft that swarmed all over the water.
Olaf questioned Thorgills as one after another the war-ships came.
“What chieftain is that in front of us?”
​“That is Sweyn, my King, with his horde of Danes.”
“I have no fear of them, Thorgills. Never yet did Danes beat Norsemen, and I will conquer them to-day. But to what chief belongs the standard there on our right hand?”
“To Olaf of Sweden, my King.”
“The heathen Swedes would find it better, Thorgills, to stay at home and eat their horseflesh and lick the bowls of sacrifice than to meet our arms to-day on the ‘Long Serpent.’ We have no need to fear these horse-eaters. But whose are those large ships on the left hand of the Danes?”
“That is the fleet of Jarl Erik, the son of Jarl Haakon,” answered Thorgills.
“From them we may expect a hard battle,” said the king. “Earl Erik hath much reason for giving me hard blows, and his fighters will strike hard, for they are Norsemen like ourselves.”
Queen Thyra was listening in her cabin to the voice of the king and the answers of Thorgills. She was terrified as she heard the names of the different fleets, and a great regret came over her that she had placed her lord in such peril. She went up to the deck and stood beside the king. She looked in dismay at the terrible line of the enemy’s ships and at her husband’s sadly reduced fleet. Thyra wrung her hands in anguish, and the tears she shed were not the tears of petulance, but the outbursting of a heart filled with deep sorrow and deeper remorse.
​“My lord! my King!” she pleaded, grasping Olaf’s hand in both of her own, “what deadly danger have I brought thee? What madness for thee to venture against so strong an enemy. My King, my noble and true of heart, thy traitor friend and thy weak wife have brought thee to thy ruin.”
Olaf bent over her tenderly and spoke—how lovingly made in after days the wound that cut off the thread of life.
“Nay! nay! dear wife! Now thou shouldst weep no more. I have already gained thee what was due to thee in Wendland. To-day will I combat with thy brother Sweyn, for the tooth-gift thou hast so often craved of me,—for all thy lands in Denmark.”
“My King! my Olaf! my lord!” Thyra’s voice rang sharply in its keen tone of suffering, “I want not any lands. What will my estates be when thou art gone? Thou, so noble, so patient, for my weak complaining, must be lost to thy Norway and to thy wife.”
Thorgills standing in silence heard in his own soul the echo of the poor queen’s sorrow. “My King! my King!” he groaned under his breath, “thy great heart and thy great truth, that stoop not to see the false faith around thee, have led thee to thy doom.”
Olaf swept his glance over the enemy’s line, and noting their swift preparations for battle, he took Thyra’s hand and led her to her cabin. As he started to ascend the deck, Thyra sprang after him. She ​caught his hand and held it to her face, resting her tear-wet cheek upon the broad palm.
“Nay! nay! dearest, thou must now be brave.” Olaf’s voice was full of soothing gentleness. “The fight is not yet lost.” He released his hand from her grasp and placing her upon the cushions went up to the deck to take command of the combat. Thyra sank down in silent despair. Tears failed her now in this great crisis. The prophetic voice that sounds in every woman’s soul when danger approaches her loved ones rose clear to Thyra in that moment; and its tone revealed the final note, the last sad end of her lord’s love and noble patience.
When Olaf reached the deck Danes and Swedes had begun to attack the “Long Serpent.” Ten to one were the enemies of the Norsemen and King Olaf’s men could give themselves no respite. The marvellous bravery and skill of the Norsemen almost overcame the advantage the Danes and Swedes possessed in the greater number of their ships and men.
Not until Earl Erik came up with his huge “Iron Ram” did the “Long Serpent” begin to waver; but Earl Erik’s men were Norsemen too, and they routed King Olaf’s men with great slaughter. Every one of King Olaf’s ships had been cut adrift, and the “Iron Ram,” making a violent onslaught on the beautiful “Long Serpent,” had almost shivered the famous ship in the terrible blow.
As the ships met in the strong force of the compact, ​Einar, the archer, recognized Earl Erik. The earl was hiding behind a pile of wooden shields, which his men had placed in front of him.
Olaf’s tall archer sent an arrow that just grazed Earl Erik’s head, then another that passed between the earl’s arm and his body. Erik called to his archer:
“Aim thy arrow at yon tall man on the forward deck of the ‘Long Serpent.’”
The archer sent his arrow, just as Einar was bending his bow, and the arrow struck the bended bow with such force that the bow broke, with a crashing noise.
King Olaf turned quickly around. “What was it broke, Einar?” he asked.
The tall archer took up the pieces of his broken bow; and his voice seemed almost a sob, as he gave the sadly prophetic answer to Olaf’s hastily repeated question, “What was it broke, Einar?” “Norway from thy hands, my King.”
“So great was not the break, I hope,” protested Olaf. “Here, take my bow and shoot.”
Einar took the king’s bow and bent it until it was nearly double. Then he flung it away despairingly. “Too weak is thy bow, my King.”
Olaf’s men were now fighting desperately, but the numbers against them were so great that the conflict began to grow hopeless. The king was hurling his spears two at a time and urging on his men.
​“Do ye wield your swords with so little strength,” he demanded, “that they bite so poorly?”
“No! no! my King!” the tall chieftain Kolbjorn answered, “but our swords are dull and broken.”
“That must not be,” cried Olaf eagerly, and ran down himself to the chest-room. As he bent over the chest, the king noticed the blood trickling from the wounds he had not felt in the exultation of the combat. Gathering up huge bundles of fresh swords, Olaf went up and down from the deck to the chestroom. But there were no hands to hold the swords, for the men on the “Long Serpent” were only the dead and the dying.
Earl Erik pressed forward with his strong force of warriors on Olaf’s exhausted crew. Kolbjorn, the brave chieftain who so closely resembled the king, had stood beside Olaf throughout the combat. Many arrows and spears had come from the “Iron Ram” aimed at Kolbjorn, for Earl Erik’s men believed him to be the king.
Olaf turned to Kolbjorn. “It were but madness to fight longer.”
“Aye, my King, but nine of us are here to help thee. We will die with thee, if thou dost stay until the end.”
“Nay, nay, my faithful Kolbjorn. It were but to waste thy valiant life and the lives of these true vassals; so leap thou into the water and I will follow thee. ​Then will these others trust their lives to the sea, which surely will give us more mercy than Jarl Erik’s horde.”
Kolbjorn sprang into the water and Olaf followed quickly. Seeing the first figure that leaped over, and not noting the second, the crew of the “Iron Ram” cried out, “Olaf Tryggevesson hath gone into the sea!” and they sent the rowboats to capture the swimmer. Kolbjorn, exhausted from the fight, swam for a space and then, overcome with loss of blood and weakness, sank under the waves.
As the rowers of Earl Erik noted the disappearance of the tall form under the water, they cried out to their chief, “Olaf Tryggevesson hath been lost in the sea! We have seen him drowned.”
Earl Erik replied, “Then indeed is my father Haakon avenged! Olaf Tryggevesson is dead in the sea, and I am overlord of Norway.”
Olaf and his few faithful men followed Kolbjorn into the water. The king dived far under the waves and reappeared some distance away. He swam rapidly towards a small black object that he knew was the Lady Aastrid’s galley. As he came nearer, the crew rowed forward to meet him. He was taken on board and tenderly nursed by his kinswoman and Maidoch. Then the galley put out to sea, and by the king’s desire, and pledged by him to silence, he was landed on the south coast.
Here the great king went ashore and travelled out ​of his own land, and here he passed forever from the sight of Norway.
The Lady Aastrid and Maidoch had returned to Nidaros. Neither of these faithful women knew at first what had befallen their lords. Unas, the guard of the palace at Nidaros, had told the bower women of Lady Aastrid, that he had seen the Jarl Sigvalde brought down by an arrow from the “Long Serpent,” but that the Lord Thorgills, who had stayed with the king to the last moment, had escaped to the shore.
Maidoch listened with deep thankfulness to the tidings of Unas, and she gently checked the gossip of the women, when they rejoiced at Jarl Sigvalde’s punishment for his treachery. “Let not the Lady Aastrid hear thy harsh words. Jarl Sigvalde was her lord, and even if we do believe he died in his traitor’s plot, my dear lady in this hour will but remember his past good deeds.”
Then clasping her hands, she said unto herself: “My dear lord is spared to me. I will serve him so faithfully. I will grieve no more, but I will be thankful for the love and the protection of my dear lord.”
“And the poor queen, Unas?” asked Maidoch of the guard.
The man shook his head. “When Jarl Erik captured the ‘Long Serpent,’ he found Queen Thyra in her cabin. Of a truth the jarl was most courteous ​to the queen and promised her a home and a shelter in Nidaros as long as he should be overlord. But the poor lady gave little heed to his courtesy. All day she sat and moaned of the death of her lord, and the day that the ‘Long Serpent’ came into Nidaros, they found the lady dead in her cabin. Jarl Erik had her funeral with all due honor, as a noble lady and the widow of the great king.”
“Poor Thyra!” said Maidoch, “I pray I may not ever try my dear lord with my grieving as the poor queen did try the patience of our noble Olaf. My dear lord! I shall see him again! And not a sigh nor a tear, but the most cheerful service will I give him.”
One evening at twilight Maidoch sat weaving. Into the soft cloth she wove many tender thoughts; for it would be fashioned into a cloak for Thorgills. As she was weaving and singing to herself, she heard a strong step at the portals. She started in fear, for the Lady Aastrid had warned her of the many wild jarls who had entered Nidaros with Erik’s conquest. The steps came nearer and Maidoch looked hastily up. She sprang from her seat and would have gone forward to meet the new-comer, but something in the stern, set face, the gloomy brows and the compressed lips restrained her. For the words of joy that rushed to her lips at the sight of the familiar face, she substituted the quiet greeting: “My lord, thou art most welcome to thy home.”
​Thorgills bowed his head in silent assent and sat down. Maidoch stood in bewilderment. Then conquering her timidity of this stern man, so unlike her dear lord, she asked gently: “Can I not bring thee food and drink? Is there aught I can do for thee?”
Thorgills shook his head. “Thou nor any other can help me, now my dear master, my noble king is dead. Oh, would I had died with him!”
Maidoch looked in amazement. Then drawing near, she knelt down beside her husband. “Dost thou not know?” she whispered, remembering the vow of silence, save to Thorgills.
“Do I know,—what is it thou wouldst say?”
Maidoch’s voice fell still lower. “King Olaf is not dead! Dear Lady Aastrid rescued him in her galley, and my poor self did help her to nurse him from his wounds. As he desired, he was landed on the south coast. He will never come back to Norway. He did tell the Lady Aastrid in my hearing that he would make a pilgrimage to Rome, and with the blessing of the Pope he would devote his life to prayer and meditation in the Holy Land. He said thou shouldst be told and none other; and that we are to call him dead, for he will surely be dead to all that knew him from this hour.”
“My king still lives! Oh, the sweetness of that message! Nay! nay! he will never be dead to me, his faithful scald, while he breathes in any land upon the living earth.”
​Thorgills had risen in his great joy. “My heart was well-nigh broken at my king’s defeat and thinking of him among the dead.”
The fact of King Olaf being numbered among the living was at first a cause of deep gratitude to Thorgills, but later became the source of constant unrest. If his master were alive, it was surely the duty of his faithful scald to go to him. Thorgills wandered aimlessly about his home or sat for weary hours beside the Nidaros Fiord. Maidoch had spoken to the Lady Aastrid of Thorgills’ restlessness, but the older woman hesitated to tell the young wife her belief that nothing would now satisfy the scald but to follow and to find his master.
The Lady Aastrid was living quietly in her handsome home, her days divided among the poor and the suffering. Since Olaf’s defeat, Norway had been parcelled out among the three chieftains who had overcome him, Sweyn of Denmark, Olaf of Sweden, and Earl Erik. While these new conditions were prevailing, Thorgills became moodier than ever. It seemed more than he could endure to witness the triumph of Olaf’s enemies and their occupation of his kingdom. He was so shrouded in gloomy thought that Maidoch longed to comfort him, but the silent, stern bard, seemed to have withdrawn from all sympathy, and the young wife feared to speak the words that so often came to her lips.
One evening, a few weeks after his return, Thorgills ​came to the bower-room where Maidoch sat alone, spinning at her wheel. She rose to greet him, but he seemed scarcely to see her, as he said in a dull monotone:
“Thou and thy thrall maiden shall dwell with the Lady Aastrid, for a space. I must journey afar,—to Rome, to the Holy Land, aye, to the Great Desert, if need be. I must find my king.”
Maidoch could not speak, for the deadly pain that smote her heart at Thorgills’ words; and so firmly rooted in the scald’s mind was the conviction that his wife loved nothing but her own land, that he could not read aright the anguish in her eyes, and the pleading gesture of her hands. Then she bowed her head in token of submission; and Thorgills went on in a grave recital of the preparations he had made for her subsistence during his absence. One conviction was strong in Maidoch’s mind, and kept her lips closed. It was that her husband’s love for his king was too great for any thought of her desolation to detain him. She stood in silent acceptation of Thorgills’ plans, and walked beside him to the door of Lady Aastrid’s home. At the portals Thorgills stood a moment. He lifted Maidoch’s hand to his lips and said sadly and slowly: “My wife, I would I could give thee thy heart’s desire; but first, I must find my king; and if death find me, thou art free, and mayhap thou canst go back to thy own land. God keep thee safe until I return.”
​He was gone, and Maidoch entered the house. Lady Aastrid came hurriedly to meet her. “Why, child! thou dost surely seem ill. Thy face is as snow and thy hands are as ice.”
Maidoch rested her head upon Lady Aastrid’s shoulder and whispered: “He hath gone. My lord hath left me in thy care. He goes to seek King Olaf. Dear lady, he spoke of death and said I would be free; but oh! I will never be free in this world, be he living or dead, for my poor heart is bound up in his love. I did not know—I was sinful in my great longing for my own land—I did not know until he bade me farewell how desolate, how dark my life could be. Not Lord Thorgills himself, nor his life, nor his death can ever make me free again.”
“Dear, dear child,” said the Lady Aastrid, weeping softly. Then to herself: “Poor faithful Thorgills! He hath waked the woman’s soul in this child, and he hath not known the gift he hath rejected.”