Produced by Martin Robb
OLAF THE GLORIOUS A STORY OF THE VIKING AGE
BY ROBERT LEIGHTON
PREFACE
The following narrative is not so much a story as a biography. My hero
is not an imaginary one; he was a real flesh and blood man who reigned
as King of Norway just nine centuries ago. The main facts of his
adventurous career--his boyhood of slavery in Esthonia, his life at the
court of King Valdemar, his wanderings as a viking, the many battles he
fought, his conversion to Christianity in England, and his ultimate
return to his native land--are set forth in the various Icelandic sagas
dealing with the period in which he lived. I have made free use of
these old time records, and have added only such probable incidents as
were necessary to give a continuous thread of interest to the
narrative. These sagas, like the epics of Homer, were handed down from
generation to generation by word of mouth, and they were not committed
to writing until a long time after Olaf Triggvison's death, so that it
is not easy to discriminate between the actual facts as they occurred
and the mere exaggerated traditions which must surely have been added
to the story of his life as it was told by the old saga men at their
winter firesides. But in most instances the records corroborate each
other very exactly, and it may be taken that the leading incidents of
the story are historically true.
The Icelandic sagas have very little to say concerning Olaf
Triggvison's unsuccessful invasion of England, and for this part of the
story I have gone for my facts to the English chronicles of the time,
wherein frequent allusion to him is made under such names as Anlaf,
Olave, and Olaff. The original treaty of peace drawn up between King
Ethelred the Second and Olaf still exists to fix the date of the
invasion, while the famous battle of Maldon, in which the Norse
adventurer gained a victory over the East Anglians, is described at
length by a nameless contemporary poet, whose "Death of Brihtnoth"
remains as one of the finest of early English narrative poems, full of
noble patriotism and primitive simplicity.
I have given no dates throughout these pages, but for the convenience
of readers who may wish for greater exactness it may be as well to
state here that Olaf was born A.D. 963, that he started on his
wanderings as a viking in the year 981, that the sea fight between the
vikings of Jomsburg and the Norwegians took place in 986, and the
battle of Maldon in the year 991. Olaf reigned only five years as King
of Norway, being crowned in 995, and ending his reign with his death in
the glorious defeat at Svold in the year 1000.
ROBERT LEIGHTON.
CHAPTER I: THE FINDING OF OLAF
It happened in the beginning of the summer that Sigurd Erikson
journeyed north into Esthonia to gather the king's taxes and tribute.
His business in due course brought him into a certain seaport that
stood upon the shores of the great Gulf of Finland.
He was a very handsome man, tall and strong, with long fair hair and
clear blue eyes. There were many armed servants in his following, for
he was a person of great consequence, and was held in high honour
throughout the land.
He rode across the marketplace and there alighted from his horse, and
turned his eyes towards the sea. Before him stretched the rippling,
sunlit bay with its wooded holms. A fleet of fishing boats was putting
out with the flood tide, and some merchant vessels lay at anchor under
shelter of the green headland.
Nearer to the strand a long dragonship, with a tall gilded prow rising
high above the deck tent, was moored against a bank of hewn rock that
served as a wharf. At sight of the array of white shields along this
vessel's bulwarks his eyes brightened, for he knew that she was a
viking ship from his own birth land in distant Norway, and he was glad.
Not often did it chance that he could hold speech with the bold
warriors of the fiords.
Close by the ship there was a noisy crowd of men and boys. He strode
nearer to them, and heard the hoarse voices of the vikings calling out
in loud praise of a feat that had been performed by someone in their
midst. Sigurd joined the crowd, and saw a boy step out upon the
vessel's narrow gangplank, and there, standing between the ship and the
shore, begin to throw a knife high up into the sunny air, catching it
as it fell.
It seemed that the lad was of good station, for his clothing was of
finely woven cloth, and there was a gold neckband to his kirtle, and
his long black hair was well combed and curled. Thrice he threw up his
glittering knife high above his head and deftly caught it again. But
soon, thinking perhaps to excel those who had gone before him, he took
a second knife from his belt, and juggled with them both with such
skill that the shipmen watching him from under the awning swore by the
hammer of Thor that the feat could never be surpassed.
"Well done, well done!" they shouted. And the boys on the bank cried
out, "Well done, Rekoni!"
At this the youth put fuller strength into his arms and flung the
knives yet higher into the air. But his ambition for the praise of the
warriors was greater than his caution, for, in reaching forward to
catch one of the weapons, he lost his balance and fell headlong into
the deep green water beneath. And as he swam to shore the vikings
laughed aloud, and some who had thought of giving him a reward put back
their gold into their wallets and turned away.
Now, very close to where Sigurd Erikson was there stood two boys, whose
close cropped hair and dress of coarse white vadmal showed them to be
slaves. One of them was a tall, gaunt youth, with pale thin cheeks and
large sad eyes. He was fair of skin, and by this Sigurd knew that he
was not an Esthonian. His companion seemed about twelve winters old,
sturdy and broad backed, with very fair hair. His neck and bare strong
arms were burnt by the sun to a ruddy brown. Sigurd could not see his
face, and might not have noticed him had not the elder lad urged him
forward, bidding him step upon the plank and show his skill.
"Not I," said the younger, with an impatient toss of his cropped head.
And he thrust his thumbs into his belt and drew back. "Too much have I
already done in bidding Rekoni try the feat. Well is it for me that he
is not hurt by his fall into the sea, else would his father's whip be
about my back. Even as the matter stands, my master will surely stop my
food for having left his sheep to stray upon the hills."
"I had but wished to see you succeed where your master's son has
failed," sighed the elder lad. And at this the boy turned round and
said more softly:
"Well, Thorgils, for your pleasure will I do it, and not for the
vikings' praise. Lend me your dirk."
So he took the knife from Thorgils' belt, and, leaving the crowd,
walked boldly to the end of the gangplank. Here he rubbed the soles of
his bare feet in the dust and then stepped to the middle of the narrow
board.
"Now what thinks this child that he can do?" cried one of the vikings.
The boy turned sharply and looked at the man who had spoken. He was a
tall, red bearded man, whose nose was flat against his scarred, bronzed
face. At sight of him the boy drew back a pace as if in fear.
"Ay. What thinks the babe that he can do?" echoed another of the
warriors. But those who were nearer made no answer, for they saw that
the boy was very agile and strong beyond his years.
Sigurd watched him as he took his stand on the plank. The sunlight
shone upon his fair young face. His clear blue eyes flashed like stars
under his knitted brows. He ran his fingers over his short yellow hair,
and then, turning with his back to the sun, flung one of his knives
high up into the air. As it turned in its descent he flung a second
knife, then caught the first and again threw it high--higher even than
the vane on the ship's tall mast. He stood with his bare feet firmly
gripping the plank, and his head thrown back, and his lithe, well
balanced body swaying in regular movement with his arms. Then as the
two gleaming weapons were well in play, rising and falling in quick
succession, one of his hands went to his belt, and he drew yet a third
knife and plied it in turn with the other two.
At this there was a murmur of praise from both ship and shore, and the
vikings declared that never before had they seen one so young display
such skill. And all the while Sigurd Erikson kept his eyes upon the
lad's glowing, upturned face.
"Who is this child?" he asked of the tall youth at his side. But the
sad eyed Thorgils paid no heed to the question, but only crept nearer
to the end of the gangboard, and stood there earnestly watching. As he
looked at the ship's bulwarks he caught sight of the man with the red
beard and broken nose--the chief of the vikings,--and he cried out to
his companion:
"Enough, Ole, enough!"
Then the boy caught his knives and thrust them one by one into his
belt, and, turning shoreward, strode quickly down the plank and made
his way through the cheering crowd, followed by Thorgils. Many of the
vikings called him back with offers of reward, and Sigurd Erikson tried
to arrest him as he passed. But the young slave only gave a careless
laugh and ran swiftly away.
Now it seemed that Sigurd had a mind to go after him. But as he was
leaving the crowd he met a certain rich merchant of the town, and he
said:
"Tell me, Biorn, who is this yellow haired lad that has just proved
himself so skilful at the knife feat? And whence came he into Esthonia?"
The merchant shook his head and said:
"He is a wild and wilful loon, hersir, and of no account to any man. As
to his feat with the knives, had I my will I'd have it instant death to
any thrall who should so much as touch a sharpened weapon."
"By his looks I would judge him to be Norway born," said Sigurd.
"That may well be," returned the merchant, "for it is true that he came
with the west wind. It was I who bought him from the vikings, with
another of his kind--one Thorgils, who is to this day my bond slave. I
bought them in exchange for a good he goat from Klerkon Flatface. Very
soon I found the younger lad was worthless. There was little that I
could do with him; so I sold him to a dalesman named Reas, who gave me
a very fine rain cloak for him; nor do I rue my bargain, for the cloak
is still in use and the lad is scarcely of the value of his food and
shelter."
"How do men name the lad?" inquired Sigurd. "And whose son is he?"
"Whose son he may be is no concern of mine," answered the merchant.
"Some viking's brat, it may be; for he has the viking spirit in him,
and the salt of the sea is in his veins. No landman can tame him. As to
his name, if ever he had one, 'tis certain he has none now, and is only
known as Reasthrall, for he is the thrall of Reas the bonder."
"If it be that Reas will sell his thrall," said Sigurd, "then I would
willingly buy the lad, and take him back with me into Holmgard as an
offering to the Queen Allogia."
"Think twice ere you act so unkindly towards the queen," said the
merchant. "A goodlier gift for Allogia would surely be the jewelled
brooch that I showed you yesternight; and you shall have it very cheap.
The price is but twelve gold marks."
But before Sigurd could reply a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder,
and a gruff voice called out his name. He turned and saw at his side
the tall red bearded viking chief, whose broken nose and coarse scarred
face were now shielded from the sun's rays by a wide hat made of dry
reeds.
"Well met, Hersir Sigurd!" said the warrior. "And what lordly business
brings you north to the coast? 'Tis long since last we met--not since
the yuletide feast at Holmgard, two winters back, when we had the horse
fight. How fares the Flanders mare that won such glory at that time?"
"A sickness killed her," answered Sigurd. "But I have a foal in
training that will soon beat any horse in Holmgard; ay, even in Norway.
So if you have a mind to see a good horse fight, come when you will
with the best horses you can find. I wager you that mine will beat them
all."
"If I meet not my death before the end of the cruising season," said
the viking, "then will I engage to bring you the best horse in all the
Norseland to fight against." He looked among the crowd of boys that
still loitered near the ship, and added--"Where has the youngster gone
who stood just now upon the plank? He has in him the makings of a good
war man. Such lads as he are scarce, and I would buy him if he be for
sale."
And then the merchant spoke.
"Why," said he, addressing the viking, "'tis but six summers since that
you sold that self same boy, here on this marketplace. 'Twas I who
bought him from you, Klerkon. Have you forgotten the white haired he
goat that you got from me?"
"Life is too full for me to keep mind of such small events," answered
Klerkon. "But since the lad is yours, what price do you now put upon
him?"
"Nay, he is no chattel of mine," said the merchant. "He is the thrall
of goodman Reas, over in Rathsdale--a morning's walk from here. If you
would deal with him a guide will soon be got to take you over the hill."
"Young flesh will keep," returned the warrior. "I will buy the lad next
time we come to Esthonia."
Sigurd said: "It may be that ere that time he will already be sold,
Jarl Klerkon; for it chances that I also have taken a fancy to him."
"In that case," said the viking, "we may make him the stake to be
fought for in our coming horse fight. And if my horse overcomes yours,
then the lad shall be my prize, and I will make a viking of him."
"And how if the victory be mine and not yours?" asked Sigurd.
"You shall have value equal to the boy, be assured of that, hersir."
"Agreed," said Sigurd. "And now, what news have you from west over sea?"
"Ill news and good. There has fallen a great famine in Norway. In
Thrandheim the folk are dying for lack of corn and fish, and in
Halogaland the snow has lain over the valleys nigh until midsummer, so
that all the livestock have been bound in stall and fed upon birch
buds. Men lay the famine to the account of Gunnhild's sons, who are
over greedy of money and deal hardly with the husbandmen. There is
little peace in the land, for the kings are for ever quarrelling over
their jointures; but it seems that Harald Greyfell is having the upper
hand over his brothers. Little joy is there in ruling over a realm
these days. I had rather be as I am, an honest sea rover."
"Doubtless the viking life is, after all, the most joyful that a man
can live," said Sigurd. "How fare our friends at Jomsburg?"
"Right well, as always," answered Klerkon. "Sigvaldi has built himself
a fine new dragonship of five and twenty seats, and the Jomsvikings now
number in all seven times ten hundred men. They speak of making a sally
across the sea to Angle land, where there is corn and ale in plenty,
with fine clothes, good arms, and vessels of silver and gold to be won;
for these Christian folk are very rich, and there is abundance of
treasure in their churches, with many a golden bowl and well wrought
drinking horn as booty for those who are bold enough to make the
adventure."
"But these Angles are good fighting men, I hear," said Sigurd. "And
they have many well built ships."
"They are ill matched against the vikings, with all their ships,"
returned Klerkon. "And I am told that their king is a man of peace;
Edgar the Peaceable, they name him. And talking of kings, how fares
King Valdemar?"
"As sunny as a summer's noon," answered Sigurd.
"Come, then, on board my ship, and let us pledge to him in a full horn
of mead," said the viking. And he drew Sigurd with him across the
gangplank, and they went below and sat drinking until one of the
shipmen standing on the vessel's lypting, or poop deck, sounded a
shrill horn as a sign that the ship was about to leave the harbour.
Then Sigurd came ashore and went about the town on the king's business,
and he thought no more of the yellow haired slave boy until the evening
time.
It chanced then that he was again beside the sea.
Down there on the shore he stood alone, idly watching the white winged
seabirds--some floating in their own reflections on the calm pools of
water left by the outgoing tide, others seeking food amid the green and
crimson weeds that lay in bright patches on the rocks--and often he
turned his eyes in the direction of the setting sun, where, in the mid
sea, Jarl Klerkon's dragonship moved slowly outward, with her wet oars
glistening in the rosy light.
Suddenly from behind him there came a merry childish laugh, and he
turned quickly round, and saw very near to him the white clothed slave
boy of the gangplank. The lad was standing at the brink of a deep pool
of seawater, and had, as it seemed, started a fleet of empty mussel
shells to float upon the calm surface. He was dropping pebbles from his
full hand into the water, to give movement to the tiny boats.
Sigurd stepped quietly behind him, and then said:
"Why do you thus set these shells to sail?"
The boy looked up in surprise, and his blue eyes rested for a long time
upon the tall strange man. Then he answered:
"Because, hersir, they are my warships, setting out upon a viking
cruise."
At this Sigurd smiled.
"It may be, my boy," said he, "that you will yourself command great
ships of war in time to come."
"That is what I should wish," said the boy, "for then I might take
blood vengeance upon my enemies."
"Not often do I hear one so young thus speak of enemies," said Sigurd.
"What is your age?"
"Ten winters."
"And your name?"
The boy looked up once more into the stranger's face, and at his large
crested helmet of bronze and gold. He glanced, too, at the man's great
sword and his cloak of rich blue cloth, and guessed rightly that he was
of noble rank. There was a smile upon his lips, and his eyes were
tender and kindly, winning confidence.
"My name is Olaf," answered the boy.
"Whose son?" asked Sigurd.
At this question Olaf turned aside, threw his pebbles away into the
water, and wiped his wet hands on his coarse kirtle. Then stepping
nearer to the stranger he stood upright and said, almost in a whisper,
as though fearing that even the seagulls might overhear him:
"I am King Triggvi's son."
Sigurd drew back with a little start.
"King Triggvi's son!" he echoed in surprise. And then he looked yet
more keenly into the boy's face, as if to seek some likeness there.
"Even so," returned Olaf. "And what of that? Little good can it do me
to be a king's son if I am also a slave, made to work hard for my daily
portion of black bread and tough horse flesh. Triggvi is in Valhalla,
with Harald Fairhair and the rest of them, and he cannot help me now.
But Odin be thanked, he died not like a cow upon a bed of straw, but
with sword in hand like a brave good man."
"A brave good man in truth he was," said Sigurd. "But tell me, boy,
what token have you to prove that you are indeed the child of Triggvi
Olafson? You are but ten winters old, you say; and yet, as I reckon it,
Triggvi was slain full ten winters back. How can I know the truth of
what you tell?"
"No token have I but my bare words," answered Olaf proudly.
Sigurd caught him by the hand and led him up the beach to a ledge of
rock, and sat him down before him, bidding him tell how it came about
that he was here in bondage in a foreign land.
So Olaf answered him thus:
"I came into the world an orphan," said he, "and never heard my
father's voice. But my mother bade me ever remember that I was a king's
son, and to make myself worthy. Astrid was the name of my mother. She
was the daughter of Erik Biodaskalli, who dwelt at Ofrestead, in the
Uplands, a mighty man. Now, after the slaying of Triggvi, Queen Astrid
was forced to fly from the realm of Viken, lest she too should fall
into the hands of Gunnhild and her wicked sons and be slain. And she
travelled as a fugitive through many lands. In her company was her
foster father, Thoralf Loosebeard by name. He never departed from her,
but always helped her and defended her wheresoever she went. There were
many other trusty men in her train, so no harm came to her. And at last
she took refuge on a certain islet in the middle of Rand's fiord, and
lay hidden there for many days. On that islet I was born, and I am told
that they sprinkled me with water and named me Olaf, after my father's
father. There, through the summer tide she stayed in safety. But when
the days grew short and the nights weary and long, and when the wintry
weather came upon us, then she left her hiding place and set forth with
her folk into the Uplands, travelling under the shelter of night. And
after many hardships and dangers she came to Ofrestead, her father's
dwelling, and there we abode through the winter.
"Little do I remember of these matters, which befell while yet I was a
babe in arms. This that I tell you was taught to me by Thorgils, my
foster brother, who is the thrall of Biorn the merchant; and he can
tell you more than I know, for he is older than I, and the son of our
faithful Thoralf. Thorgils has said that when Gunnhild got tidings that
I had come into the world she sent forth many armed messengers, and
bade them fare into the Uplands in search of this son of King Triggvi,
that they might prevent my growing up to manhood and claiming my
father's realm. But in good time the friends of Erik were aware of the
messengers; so Erik arrayed Astrid for departure, and gave her good
guides, and sent her east--away into the Swede realm to one Hakon
Gamle, a friend of his and a man of might, with whom we abode in all
welcome for a long while."
"And what then?" urged Sigurd. For the boy had paused, and had pulled a
tangle of brown seaweed from the rock where he was sitting, and was
cracking the little air bladders between his fingers.
"Now it chanced," continued Olaf, "that even again Queen Gunnhild
secretly learned our hiding place. So she sent a goodly company east to
the Swede king with good gifts and fair words, asking that he might
send Olaf Triggvison back with them into Norway, where Gunnhild would
foster me, and bring me up as became a king's son. And the king sent to
Ofrestead. But my mother Astrid knew that there was treachery in
this--for in like manner had Gunnhild beguiled my father,--and she
would by no means let me go into the care' of my father's murderers,
and so Gunnhild's messengers went back empty handed.
"By this time I was full three winters old and strong of limb, and my
mother took me on board a trading ship that was eastward bound for
Gardarike; for in that land her brother was a great man, and she knew
that he would gladly succour us until I should be of an age to avenge
my father's death and claim my rightful heritage."
At these words Sigurd grew very grave, and he put his hand gently on
Olaf's arm, and asked to know what ill had befallen Queen Astrid, and
whether she had reached her journey's end.
"Alas!" answered Olaf. "You ask me what I cannot tell. Would that I
knew her to be still living! But never once have I seen her or heard
tidings of her since the dread day when we were brought into this land
and sold into bondage."
As he spoke the lad looked sadly over the sea to where the viking ship
was slowly drifting into the shadow of the holms. Sigurd's eyes dwelt
upon him with curious intentness.
"We set sail across the Eastern Sea," Olaf went on "and there were many
merchants on our ship with great store of money and rich merchandise.
And, as always, Thoralf and his son Thorgils were with us. Now,
scarcely was our vessel beyond the sight of land when we were met by a
great viking ship, that bore down quickly upon us, and attacked our
seamen, first with arrows and stones, and then with spear and sword,
and there was great fighting. So the vikings killed many of our people,
and took our ship and all that was in it. When we had been made
captives the rovers took and shared us among themselves as their bond
slaves, and it befell that my mother and I were parted. An Esthonian
named Klerkon Flatface got me as his portion, along with Thoralf and
Thorgils. Klerkon deemed Thoralf over old for a thrall, and could not
see any work in him, so he cruelly slew him before our eyes and cast
his body into the sea. But he had us two lads away with him, and he
sold us here in the marketplace in exchange for a white goat. Then,
being companions in our misfortune, Thorgils and I swore foster
brotherhood, and we took an oath in handshaking that when we grew
strong enough we would go out upon the sea and take vengeance upon the
man who had slain old faithful Thoralf."
Sigurd pointed outward to the ship that was afar off upon the dim
horizon.
"Jarl Klerkon, of whom you speak," said he, "is now upon yonder ship."
"And well do I know it," returned Olaf. "Today when I stood upon the
vessel's gangplank I saw him standing on the lypting; and I knew him by
the token that his nose was flat against his face. I had a mind to
throw one of my knives at him, but there were over many of his men
around, who would soon have overpowered me had I been so rash. And
now," the boy added, as he glanced up at the darkening sky, "it is time
that I go back to the hills to gather my master's sheep into the fold,
for the night will be dark, and wolves will be about. Too long already
have I tarried here."
And before Sigurd could put out his hand to detain him Olaf had bounded
up the rocks, and was soon lost to sight.