# The North Star/Chapter 29

XXIX “YOU ARE ABLE TO STRANGLE MY SOUL IN THE MESH OF YOUR GOLD-COLORED HAIR”
The lesson of patience that the Lady Aastrid had counselled was a very difficult one to Thorgills. Maidoch’s terror and hasty flight from his impetuous sympathy and hasty wooing greatly discouraged him. He could not understand the fear and heart-sickness that possessed the gently reared and accomplished maiden, fresh from her quiet convent and home, in that land of warring, boisterous, half-savage men. In spite of her resolve, she would turn desperately to the hope of returning to Ireland. Maidoch was not blind to the feeble condition of her father, and very pathetic was her distress at the prospect of a future in Norway, unrelieved by his protecting care and love. Then Thorgills’ wish to marry her, and his persistent wooing, added a deeper note to the terror that surrounded her. To live always in that wild land by the side of a Northern lord! At this thought Maidoch would cover her face with her hands, and ask some heavenly deliverance from such a fate. She was deeply grateful to Thorgills for his kindness, and she was dutiful to the Lady Aastrid, who showed very plainly her own desire that Maidoch should wed ​the scald, The thought of marriage in that strange land sent a chill to the girl’s heart. So she grew more silent, paler and more retiring. Even her father seemed to wish her to think of the scald as her lord, for he had spoken gravely to her of Thorgills’ kindness, of his true Christian worth, and of the king’s friendship for him,—adding significantly, “I would thou didst have such a protector, kind and wise and a true Christian, when I am gone.” Maidoch was silent, but through her silence lived the firm hope of a return to Ireland.
So Thorgills had need of great patience, for the maid seemed to be moving even farther away than ever from him. Her place too was often vacant now, beside Lady Aastrid; for she devised some excuse to be absent when Thorgills came to sing, although she had loved to listen to his harp and voice. Her own lute had hung in silence for many a day, for her father was too feeble to be cheered even by her dear voice and her exquisite touch upon the instrument, and her heart was too heavy to wake its strains for her own delight.
Thorgills had gone with Father Meilge, who was preaching in the shires around Nidaros. One evening the bard walked out towards Rimul. Father Meilge had stopped to speak to a group of peasants and Thorgills wandered on. He was depressed and discouraged at the slowness of his wooing, and well-nigh willing to give up all hope of winning Maidoch.
​As he walked moodily along, he was aroused by the sound of a musical voice. He looked up and saw a very beautiful woman standing before him. “Thou art in a black trouble, art thou not?” she said. “Thou dost seem to have sunk all the sunlight in thy gloom.” Thorgills stared at the speaker in amazement. Truly she was very beautiful, tall, graceful, with merry blue eyes and such coils and tendrils of golden red hair piled upon her well-poised head. She was robed in a silken gown of violet, and her hair was twined with many jewels. Thorgills doffed his cap, in reverence at the lady, but while he found her very fair to look upon, his poet’s searching eye told him that there was that in her face that spoke of evil in her life. Her eyes, bright and clear blue, shone like a leopard’s when about to spring.
“It is as thou dost say, fair lady, I am gloomy. I have had some dark thoughts; but the light of thy beauty would drive away gloom.”
The lady smiled in evident pleasure. “Thou hast a right pretty courtesy. I know thee who thou art,—the scald of King Olaf, the Lord Thorgills.”
“It is even so, fair lady; and what name is so honored as to be borne by thee?”
The woman laughed softly. “I am Thora of Rimul.”
“She whom my brother scalds call ‘the fairest of women?’ I too should have so called thee if my eyes had ever before been gladdened by thy beauty.”
​Then the lady laughed merrily. “Thou canst make me pretty speeches, Lord Thorgills, and all the while thou art mooning in grief because of a poor little Irish maid who will not smile upon thee.”
Thorgills flushed uncomfortably. Again the woman laughed; this time with some scorn. ‘Why should my Lord Thorgills go grieving for a maid that was but a slave of the Danes? Oh! I have heard of thy viking with King Olaf, and of his ransom of the maid from the pirate Ulf. So that is the woman that the scald of King Olaf grieves over? Olaf Tryggevesson, with his White Christ on the Cross, hath surely stolen the spirit of the Norsemen, when such things can be. Ye vikings were wont to be masterful with your women; now ye are but a poor craven crowd, afraid of a maiden’s frown. My Lord Haakon was a man; but thou—” she laughed harshly, contemptuously, “art only fit to sing to the Lady Aastrid—she that doth look upon me with such black glances; thou art only fit to sing and sigh after a poor, spiritless girl. Why dost thou not come to my merry home at Rimul? Such merry days we have, feasting and full pleasure! But thou must not leave Olaf Tryggevesson. Thou art the king’s hired hind; and thou art house-thrall to the Lady Aastrid, and bond-servant to the Irish maid.”
Thorgills stood in dumb anger. Shame, too, came over him that this beautiful woman should so scorn ​him for his weakness. He turned to her fiercely. “I am no man’s hired hind, and I am no woman’s bond-servant and thrall! Thou liest! I am the scald and the trusted friend of King Olaf; and I would be the lord of the little Irish maid who dwells with the Lady Aastrid!”
“Her lord indeed! Then why dost thou not take her? The Norsemen are masters of their women, not their thralls. The girl is but a slave, bought from the Danes with the gold of Olaf Tryggevesson. And forsooth, my Lady Aastrid, who scorns me so greatly, must keep this maid in her household as she were a princess. And thou, the best singer of Norway, must be dumb and mooning around, because the girl will not come to thee. Bah! it doth surely weary me to see such craven, milk-hearted Norsemen. If thou dost want the girl, why dost thou not take her with a strong hand, and she will know thee for her master?”
Anger and shame were strong upon the scald. So he cried out impetuously: “As soon would I drive my own knife into my own heart as I would take the maiden against her will.”
“Oh! these Norsemen over-nice! Hath Olaf and his Irish priests taught thee thus? Ye are but wenches in the clothing of men! My Lord Haakon was no such puny viking.” Then Thora smiled graciously. “But wilt thou not come to my home in Rimul? The hall is full of light, and the feasters will ​be glad of thy music. Thou shalt sit by my side at the feast.” Thorgills looked up into her smiling, beautiful face and hesitated. Why indeed should he be lonely and sad, longing for a silent, indifferent maiden, when Thora and her merry company of fair women—for he had heard of the feastings at Rimul—were waiting to give him laughter and light and song?
As Thorgills hesitated, he glanced up the road and saw Father Meilge approaching.
“Wilt thou not come? Thou shalt sit by my side at the feast.” Thora’s voice was as sweet as a dulcet harp-string, her face like a rose in bloom, and her golden hair like skeins of strength to draw the gaze from the sunshine.
Thorgills was unwilling that Father Meilge should find him in such company, for, like King Olaf, the scald was greatly attached to the priest. He turned in haste to the smiling woman. “After a space, I will come back to thee and to thy feasting. Now I must go, but in a short hour thou shalt see me.”
Thorgills did not turn to look at Thora as he was leaving; and as he hastened away, her face was dark with anger.
“It is yon priest he fears. He will not return. If I could but conquer Thorgills, I might come close to the king. Who knows? I ruled one overlord of Norway; but this king, with his Christian manners, would be another matter.”
​Father Meilge’s penetrating eyes had noted the quick parting of Thorgills from Thora. It boded no good for the scald to be in such company, and Father Meilge’s voice was full of gentle earnestness.
“My son, was not yon woman Thora of Rimul?”
“It was, my father.” Then looking straight in the priest’s anxious face, Thorgills answered the question in the clear, dark eyes. “It was but a chance I met her. I was walking alone and she came up to speak to me. I have never met her before this day.”
“And thou wilt never meet her again, of thy own will, my son?” Thorgills was silent, thinking of his promise to Thora. Father Meilge laid his hand on the scald’s shoulder. “My son, I had thought—nay I had hoped—that thou wouldst reach up to take the fair white blossom that bloomed first in my own land, and shield it from blight on thy strong, true heart.”
Thorgills looked up eagerly. “Nay, my father, the white flower was far beyond my reach. I strove for it, but it would never bend down that I might take it.”
“Thou must strive again;” and Father Meilge gave him a rare smile that seemed to illumine his face, which was full of loving care of this soul, struggling in the snare set by the woman of Rimul. “See now, Thorgills, my son. Thou wouldst reach up for the white flower, and because it is high above thee and must be striven for, thou must not lose heart and stoop down to pick up the poisoned weed, flung upon ​the highway, lest thy whole life feel the sting of the poison. My son, a man’s life is sweet and clear, or foul and overcast, according as his heart is lifted up to the heights where hang the white flowers, or is sunk down in the mire where lie the noisome weeds. If thy white blossom dropped too quickly, it might be crushed, but now thou must reach up again and take it in thy own hand and wear it tenderly upon thy heart.”
Thorgills’ face was full of eager hope, that came in his quick words, “My father, thou dost mean—thou dost think I may yet win—that the little Irish maid—?”
“My son,” said Father Meilge, thankful in his heart that the thought of Maidoch had been as a magnet to draw Thorgills out of the snare Thora had spread, “thou and I must hasten back to Nidaros. Earl Fiachtna is ill unto death, and I believe he would die more content if he knew that he was leaving his little maid in the care of a faithful Christian husband.”