After this victory, Norway was unable to resist the conqueror. The

reguli, and jarls, and native chiefs, who refused to submit, were driven

into exile. Some, preferring liberty, or rather an unbridled licence, to

an established government, voluntarily exiled themselves. From this year

may be dated the colonisation, by Norwegian settlers, of the Orkneys,

the Hebrides, the Shetlands, the Feroes, Iceland; the depredations on

the coasts of Great Britain, and Ireland, and Spain; the invasion of

Russia and Normandy by successful hordes of pirates. So great an

emigration might, one would suppose, greatly weaken the physical

resources of Harald; but this does not appear to have been the fact: on

the contrary, he spared numerous families to people the wilds of Jamta,

Helsingia, and other regions more to the north, which, prior to his

time, are said to have been wholly or partially desert. But if Norway

was thus his, he had no idle life. The pirates whom he had banished

infested his coasts, until he, in person, must dislodge them from their

strong holds in the islands of the western ocean. To _their_ and _his_

maritime transactions we shall advert on a future occasion.—Harald,

being now the monarch of Norway, says the Saga, remembered that he had

accomplished his vow, and that his hair might be cut and combed. It was

surely high time, if, as we are told, he had resembled, previously, a

wild beast rather than a man, and had been called Harald _Lufa_, or

“Harald with the Horrid Hair.” When this deformity was removed,—when the

shears and the bath had done their work,—he obtained the epithet of

Harfager, or Fair-hair. And he now remembered the saying of the maiden

who had excited him to all his successes. Sending for her, he made her

the partner of his throne; and by her had a daughter and four sons.—All

this is fabulous, but unequal to what follows, which appears to have

occurred some years before this marriage. One winter, the king hastened

to the uplands to hold the festivities of Yule; and he ordered the

banquet to be prepared in the villa of Thopte. The evening before the

opening of the feast, as he sat at table, a domestic advanced to say

that a Finn, waiting at the door, wished to see him. At this bold

message the anger of the king and the surprise of all present may be

conceived, and an indignant answer was returned. But Swaso was resolute:

he bade Harald be informed that he was the Finn whose hut was on the

other side of the mountain, and whom he had promised to visit. The

monarch went to the door, and immediately said that he would accompany

him to the hut. On their entrance, the daughter of Swaso—a wondrous

beauty—arose, and presented a horn of mead to the royal visitor. It was

a magic drink, designed to make the king amorous, and it had its effect.

He wished to take her as his mistress; but she had too much art for

this; she would be the affianced bride, or nothing. That ceremony was

promptly and easily performed, and the royal wish was gratified. So much

was he captivated with the beautiful Snæfrida, that for years, though he

visited, he forgot his country, capital, his subjects, his throne, his

very existence. Four sons were the issue of this connection,—Sigurd,

Halfdan, Gudred, Rognevald. She then died; but her corpse preserved the

same spotless white as when living. Corruption could not take hold of

it. During three whole years he sat by the corpse, thinking that every

moment life would revisit it; and his subjects deeply bewailed his

infatuation. To dissolve the spell was the work of Thorleif the Wise,

one of his jarls. The corpse was removed from the bed on which it lay,

when suddenly the most offensive odour was emitted by it. It was hastily

borne to the funeral pile: serpents, and lizards, and toads, and every

species of venomous reptile continued to issue from it; yet the king did

not regain his sound mind until the corpse was consumed. Ashamed of his

weakness, he resumed his royal duties, and at once became the pride of

his people. Magic drinks, we need scarcely observe, are of perpetual

occurrence in the annals of the ancient north. Saxo alludes to many; but

none surely was ever so potent as this,—none before or since, in the

wildest dreams of fancy, could preserve the empire of love for three

years after the death of its object.[178]

This fable has been noticed that the reader may be prepared for the

dissensions which soon took place among the sons of Harald. The four

whom Snæfrida had borne him he learned to detest, through hatred of the

mother; and at length he dismissed them from his palace, with the

resolution to see them no more. After some time, however, one of them,

Gudred, went to Hiodulf, the jarl, who was in great power, and besought

him to procure him an interview with the king. Both proceeded to the

royal palace, which they reached late in the evening, and they sat on

the benches outside the doors unknown to everybody. Harald happened to

be walking on the pavement in the court-yard—probably to enjoy the

nightly breeze—and his eyes carelessly wandered over the seats. But the

two strangers attracted his notice, and he asked the elder what had

brought him there? Uncovering his head, Hiodulf was immediately

recognised and welcomed. The veteran now pleaded for the exiled sons. He

observed that if the mother’s race was bad, the father’s was not; and

that the excellency of the one might more than counter-balance the evil

of the other. The king was persuaded; Gudred was received into the

palace; the three brothers were sent into the provinces and occupied in

military exercises, in which they excelled other men.[179]

[Sidenote: 869 to 900.]

The sons of Gyda and Snæfrida were not the only ones born to Harald. By

his numerous wives—and he is said to have had nine at the same time—he

had a numerous progeny, who were destined to trouble his declining

years. By Gyda, as we have before related, he had one daughter, Alofa,

and four sons, Sigtrug, Ruric, Frode, and Thorgils. By Ragnilda, a

princess of Jutland, he had Harald Blodöxe. By Swanhilda, the daughter

of a Norwegian jarl, he had three sons, Olaf, Biorn, and Ragnar. By

Alfhilda, daughter of the jarl of Ringarik, he had three sons and one

daughter, Dag, Ring, Gudred, and Ingigerda. By the Finnish witch he had

the four sons we have just enumerated. By Asa, the first of his

mistresses, the daughter of jarl Hako, he had Guthrum, Halfdan the

Black, Halfdan the White, and Sigfred. That he had other children by his

numerous wives is undoubted. Of these, was Rognevald, and another that

must be particularly mentioned,—Hako the Good, whom, in his old age, a

Norwegian lady, named Thora, bore to him, and who eventually sat on the

throne of Norway. All these, in conformity with the manners of the

times, were educated by their maternal relatives. Few of these children

survived the father. Their ambition was great, their crimes greater; and

as the king descended into the vale of years, he lost all authority over

them. The deaths of many were deservedly tragical. The four sons of the

Finn excelled the rest in wickedness. Incensed that they were not

admitted to a participation in the government, and hating the

experienced jarls, whose advice was so useful to their father, they

burnt Rognevald, the most obnoxious of all, in his own house, together

with sixty of his followers. After this hellish deed—a deed, however, so

common in northern history, as to excite little surprise—Halfdan fled to

the Orkneys, but Gudred remained. The only chastisement which Harald

inflicted on the latter, was to send him into Agder, probably to fill

some honourable post; but Thorer, a son of Rognevald, was raised to the

vacant dignity of jarl of Moria. Soon afterwards, Halfdan, who had

usurped the government of the Orkneys, was taken and put to death by

Einar, the lawful jarl; Harald, at the instigation of Halfdan’s

brothers, sailed to revenge the death of his son; but on reaching these

islands, he accepted a pecuniary mulct, and left Einar in possession of

the government. Guthrum, the eldest of Harald’s sons by Asa, was the

next victim; he was slain in Gothia by the Swedish governor. Halfdan the

White, while absent on a piratical expedition on the eastern coast of

the Baltic, was killed by the inhabitants. But the worst evil that the

king dreaded was their wars with one another. To avert this calamity, on

reaching his fiftieth year, he divided his provinces among them, giving

to each the regal title, yet reserving to himself the supreme title of

monarch. Thus, to Olaf, Biorn, Sigtrug, Frode, and Thorgils, he ceded

Vingulmark, Raumarik, Westfold, and Thelamark; to Dag, Ring, and Ragnar

he resigned Hedmark and Gudbransdal; to the sons of Snæfrida he gave

Ringarik, Hadaland, Thotnia, and the adjacent districts; Ruric and

Godred had extensive domains in the central provinces, and were

generally resident at the court of Harald; Eric had Halogaland,

Nordmore, and Ramsdal; over Drontheim were Halfdan the Black and Sigurd,

and the same dignity had been shared by Halfdan the White. To Thorgils

and Frode he gave a certain number of vessels, with permission to raise

kingdoms for themselves, if they could, in the British islands. They are

said to have conquered Dublin; but both perished fatally,—Frode by

poison, Thorgils by the hands of the natives. Nor did he forget the

offspring of his daughters. While the eldest children of his sons were

for ever to enjoy the regal title, those of his daughters were to

possess the dignity of jarl, and their seat in the assemblies of the

state to be just one step below that of the male descendants.[180]

[Sidenote: 920.]

In the preceding paragraph, we have seen the tragical deaths of five

among the sons of Harald. These were Halfdan, Haleg, Guthrum, Halfdan

the White, Frode, and Thorgils. Others were to be soon added to the

number. Rognevald being accused of magic,—a science which, ever since

his adventure with Snæfrida, Harald held in the utmost abomination,—Eric

Blodöxe, the favourite son of the monarch, was sent into Hadaland, where

Rognevald was then residing. Finding, or, perhaps, pretending to find,

the prince surrounded by eighty wizards,—poor wizards they, not to

foresee their fate!—Eric set fire to the house, and consumed all within.

This deed, which in our days would not be considered a merit, was held

to be a great one in his. But another deed of his was not beheld with

equal favour. Biorn, one of his brothers, who, as king of Westfold,

generally resided at Tunsberg, was equally attached to piracy and

commerce. By his frequent expeditions, he had amassed great riches; and

his liberality, no less than his judicious administration, had won him

the respect of his subjects. On these Eric cast a longing eye; nor was

he less jealous of a brother, who, when his father should be no more,

might dispute his claim to the monarchy,—a claim which he always

advanced, and which his father had sanctioned. With the view of

enveloping the merchant king in his toils, Eric demanded the tribute

which was due to Harald for the kingdom of Westfold. Biorn replied that

he had always delivered it into the hands of his sovereign, either

personally, or through his agents; and that he should not, on this

occasion, deviate from the custom. A dispute arose, and Eric, in great

anger, left Tunsberg. At nightfall Biorn also left it for a marine

residence not far from the city. With a chosen band Eric followed his

steps, and assailed the house as the king sat at table. With all the

domestics whom he could muster, the latter issued from the house, and a

combat followed, which was fatal to many of his attendants, and to

himself. A rich prey was the reward of this fratricide; and Eric,

exulting, returned to his northern kingdom. Seeing the odium in which

the author of this deed, notwithstanding his influence over the now weak

mind of Harald, was held by most of the Norwegians, Halfdan the Black

made an attempt to assassinate the murderer, by setting fire to the

country house in which he slept; but the dormitory was separated from

the main building, and Eric escaped. To revenge this outrage on his

darling son, Harald collected his troops, and marched against Halfdan;

but the intervention of an aged jarl effected a reconciliation. That

reconciliation, however, was not sincere, so far, at least, as Halfdan

and Eric were concerned.[181]

[Sidenote: 910 to 913.]

For the doting attachment of Harald to the most bloody of his sons, no

good reason has been or can be assigned. He was not the oldest son, nor

was his mother, Ragnilda, the most beloved of the royal wives. Yet this

paternal fondness did not screen the royal youth from the dangers of his

profession. As early as his twelfth year, he is said to have become a

piratical chief, and, with the five vessels which he had received from

his father, to have ravaged all the maritime coasts of Europe from

Russia to Ireland. On that of Finland he had, says the legend, a

marvellous adventure, which, as it has been made the foundation of some

tales popular in the middle ages, we shall abridge. While he and his

companions were in the remotest part of that magic region, on the very

borders of the still more wondrous Biarmia, they one day reached a

cottage the mistress of which was a supernatural beauty. She told them

that they were in great danger; that she had two lovers, the most able

magicians of the country, who were also her instructors; that they could

hunt the footsteps of man on snow or ice, with as much instinct as the

blood-hound; that their arrows never missed aim; that they put all

strangers to death; that, when angry, every living thing died beneath

their glance, and the earth itself was affected. As they came daily to

the hut, there seemed no hope of escape until she promised to conceal

them, and to aid them in the destruction of her odious suitors. Having

concealed them, she took a linen bag full of what they conceived to be

ashes, and scattered the contents around the hut, both within and

without. The Finns soon entered, and inquired what strangers had

arrived; and on her replying that she had seen nobody, they expressed no

little surprise: they had traced footsteps in the snow to the very door.

However, they lighted a fire, cooked their provisions, and when

satiated, Gunhilda prepared her own bed. There she lay down, but they

would not. As they were rivals, both passionately in love, and each

afraid that, while he slept, the other might obtain some advantage over

the lady, they resolved to remain awake. During three successive nights

this sleeping on her part, and watching on theirs, continued, until

nature was exhausted. Gunhilda saw her time; she invited both to lie

beside her; they joyfully obeyed her, and she put one arm around the

neck of each. The effect—that of magic (for she had been trained in a

good school), was instantaneous; both fell into a deep sleep, from which

it was impossible to awake them. There she fettered them, and called on

Eric and his companions to despatch them. The deed was easily

perpetrated, and the corpses were cast outside of the hut: but it was

followed by incessant thunder, which, during a whole night, prevented

them from leaving the place. When serenity was restored, all left,

Gunhilda with the rest; and before the day closed, the magic beauty

became the bride of Eric.[182]

[Sidenote: 930 to 934.]

Fate had not yet done its worst on the offspring of the Norwegian

monarch. His son Gudred perished at sea. And when he resigned his

imperial dignity in favour of his beloved Eric, other tragedies might

have been foreseen—if not in his lifetime, immediately after his death.

The elevation of Eric was opposed, among others, by Halfdan the Black,

who, also, assumed the title of monarch. Olaf, brother of the murdered

Biorn, who had succeeded that prince in the government of Westfold, did

the same. In two years Halfdan was removed by poison,—the deed, as was

commonly reported, of Gunhilda. Harald was little moved by these

atrocities. So long as his favourite son enjoyed life and empire, he

cared little for the rest. But his own days were hastening to an end.

When he resigned his sceptre to his son Eric, he was eighty years of

age. In two or three years after that event,—in the year 934, or,

according to others, 936—he paid the debt of nature. The place of his

interment was one of his manors in Drontheim. Near the spot, a

magnificent heathen temple was erected, which was standing in the days

of Snorro.[183]

To dwell on the character of this monarch, after the ample relation

which we have given of his deeds, would be useless. With the exception

of his martial prowess, of his enterprising spirit, of his unwearied

activity, we see little to praise in him. His numerous adulteries—his

feebleness soon after he had passed the meridian of life—his blind

policy—have not often been exceeded. Much praise has been lavished on

him for his extirpation of piracy; but he is entitled to little. So long

as his own shores were not visited by the marauders, he cared not what

depredations were committed on others. His chiefs, his very sons,

followed piracy as a profession, not merely with his sanction, but at

his express command. He has been called the friend of the peasants, or

rather of the humble allodial proprietors; but did not policy make him

so? If they were plundered by those in authority, could they furnish the

new contributions which, as the first of Norway’s feudal sovereigns, he

exacted from them? Then, as to his boasted administration of the laws,

nothing is more certain than their perpetual neglect: after he had

passed his fortieth year, they were inoperative,—despised by his own

sons, evaded by the jarls. Nor, however brilliant his conquests, can he

be called the founder of the Norwegian monarchy. If he destroyed many

tyrants, he replaced them by greater: if he united many independent

states into one empire, by his own deliberate act he broke that empire

into fragments, and restored the anarchy which he had laboured to

destroy. Widely different is his character before and after he had

attained the meridian of life. It seemed as if he were led by some evil

spirit to undo, in the latter period, all that he had done in the

former. But he had no comprehensive views, no sound policy: during the

first half of his life he fought for ambition; during the latter, he was

the tool of his wives, his sons, and his other favourites. On the whole,

we are disposed to consider him as inferior to his father, Halfdan the

Black.

[Sidenote: 934 to 936.]

Scarcely was _Eric_, who, from his sanguinary actions, was surnamed the

Bloody Axe (Blodöxe), the nominal sovereign of Norway, when he called on

his brothers to recognise his title, and pay him the tributes which they

had paid to his father. Instead of complying, Olaf and Sigurd exacted

the usual tributes in their respective kingdoms,—an undoubted act of

sovereignty. To chastise their presumption, the indignant Eric equipped

an armament, and hastened to Tunsberg, the seat of their domination: he

was met by the two kings on the declivity of a hill near the city; but,

his forces being much superior in number, they were defeated and slain.

The same fate would have befallen Trygve, the son of Olaf, and Godred

the son of the murdered Biorn,—both nephews of Eric,—had they not

consulted their safety by repairing to the inaccessible fastnesses of

the uplands. The tyrant was now hated more intensely than before, and a

majority of the people began to look for a deliverer of the race of the

Ynglings. But where could one be found, seeing that all Eric’s brothers

had either paid the debt of nature, or perished untimely? There was one

exception to this fate: Hako, the last of Harald’s sons, was still

alive, and in England. From our own historians, no less than from

Snorro, it is evident that friendly relations had always subsisted

between Athelstane of England and Harald, and that presents had passed

between them. One of them was a magnificent sword, which Athelstane sent

to Harald; and Harald, in return, sent a magnificent ship, with his

infant son Hako to be educated in the polite court of the Saxon. This

simple narrative has been much embellished by Snorro. He informs us that

when the ambassador delivered the splendid sword to Harald, and the

monarch had seized the handle, the ambassador exclaimed, “Now art thou

the liege man of our lord the king, in that thou hast received his

sword!”—alluding to the most ordinary symbol of investiture. The proud

Norwegian was exasperated; but, on reflection, he retaliated in a manner

equally ingenious. Causing a magnificent ship to be prepared, he

despatched in it his son Hako, under the care of a trusty chief. On

reaching the court of Athelstane, he entered the palace, and laying the

young child—then about seven years of age—on the knees of the king,

said, “King Harald commands thee to educate his bastard!” The facts are

as we have represented them on the authority of English contemporary

writers,—facts which an ancient chronicler of Norway, Theodric, also

admits. The writers of both countries agree that Athelstane nobly

discharged the duty which he had undertaken. Hako was educated well, was

of course baptized, and taught the truths of Christianity; and in the

English king he found a counsellor, a friend, a father. He was about

fourteen when he heard of Harald’s death, and of his brother Eric’s

accession. The following year brought him so many reports of Eric’s

cruelty, and of the desire of many Norwegians to rid themselves of the

tyrant, that he began to regard the throne as his future inheritance. He

had ambition; but in a virtuous mind, ambition, like every other

feeling, may become an instrument of good. Hako longed to be a king,—not

merely from the desire of power, but from a wish to benefit his

countrymen, especially by diffusing among them the blessings of

Christianity. When, therefore, many emissaries from Norway arrived at

the English court, and besought him to rescue the country from the yoke,

he readily obeyed the call. Being supplied with ships, men, money, by

his generous friend, about two years after his father’s death, he sailed

towards Norway.[184]

[Sidenote: 937 to 946.]

Hako landed at Drontheim, and the inhabitants here assembled in a

_Thing_, or general meeting, when every free-born head of a family, who

had land, was permitted to vote, or at least to sanction, by outward

expressions of applause, the opinions of the chiefs. Though most of them

were friendly to the royal youth, they dreaded the vindictive character

of Eric. But in that meeting the cause of Hako was eloquently advocated

by Sigurd, one of the most powerful jarls. And when Hako himself arose,

so like his father was he, that a murmur of applause ran through the

multitude. When he spoke, all were attentive; when he promised, on the

condition of their making him king, to abolish the oppressive

obligations of feudality, and restore the lands to their ancient

allodial tenure, one universal shout proclaimed him king of Norway. The

report spread through the kingdom that Harald was restored in his son,

but that the son had not the worst quality of his father,—that of

oppressing the people by feudal exactions. The joyful news that the

allodial tenure was to be restored, spread, quick as lightning, over the

country. From Drontheim, Hako proceeded into the uplands, where a Thing

was assembled, and he was received in the same manner. Here he was

joined by many chiefs; among others, by Drygve and Sigurd, on whom he

conferred the regal title, with the government of Westfold to the

latter, and Raumarik with Vingulmark to the former. This condition

accompanied the investiture,—that half of their revenues should be paid

into the treasury of Hako, the other half be retained by themselves.

Those revenues, it was manifest, would be much less than they had been

while every estate was a fief belonging to the crown: allodial property

has always been lightly taxed. Hako now returned to Drontheim, to raise

troops and prepare ships for a contest with his brother Eric, who was

then in the province of Vikia. The case of the latter was evidently

hopeless; though he called the people to his aid, few obeyed him; and

the men who were with him at the time of Hako’s embarkation, left him,

one by one, to swell the ranks of his rival. He had no hope of security,

but in flight; and he repaired to the Orkneys. There collecting all the

ships and all the men he could, he proceeded to the south, ravaging the

Scottish coast as he passed along, until he arrived in Northumbria. This

province had never been well affected to the Anglo-Saxon yoke, which,

indeed, was a very recent one. It had been held for some time by Danish

chiefs; half its population was Danish or Norwegian; and it had been the

prey of the sea kings from the eighth to the tenth century. Athelstane

thought that if Eric would become his vassal, embrace Christianity, and

defend Northumbria against the pirates of the north, he would be a far

more useful subject than any of the Saxon thanes. A messenger from the

English king met the exiled monarch: the proposals of the former were

eagerly embraced; Eric and his whole family were baptized; homage was

done for the province; and York was chosen as the seat of the new

government. But on the part of Athelstane this was an impolitic step.

From common report he must surely have known something of Eric’s

character,—that neither peace nor obedience could be expected from a

turbulent, ambitious, cruel, and ungrateful man. During the reign of

Athelstane, indeed, he committed no depredations on the English coast,

but he ravaged those of Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, without

intermission. The fame which he acquired in these expeditions brought

many Norwegians, many Swedes, many Danes to his standard. During the

reign of Edmund the Elder, he appears to have been absent from

Northumbria; and so he was during the first year of Edred’s reign. He

then returned, and laid waste the English coast. Edred marched against

him, and compelled the Northumbrians to do homage to him instead of

Eric. The latter collected new forces, and again contended for the

kingdom; but he contended in vain; he was signally defeated, and, if

Snorro be correct, slain on the battle field. But Matthew of Westminster

asserts that, after his defeat, he was betrayed by one of his chiefs,

and slain in the wilds of Yorkshire. However this be, from this time

Northumbria became an English province: Eric, as the chronicler of

Mailros observes, was its last king. The widow and sons of this exile

being driven from Northumbria, took refuge in the Orkneys and Shetlands,

where the latter resumed their piratical depredations wherever prey was

to be found. Subsequently, as we shall perceive, they were entertained

at the court of the Danish king. The character of Eric of the Bloody Axe

needs no comment. He was a favourite with all pirates, and, for this

very reason, with Odin himself.[185]

[Sidenote: 939 to 940.]

By the departure of Eric, _Hako_ was the sole monarch of Norway, though,

as we have before related, he imprudently left the regal title to two

princes of his family. His first hostilities were against the Danes, who

infested his dominions, but whom he pursued into Jutland, and defeated a

second time. But they came from Zealand and other islands of Denmark;

and in Zealand he sought and extirpated them. Those of Gothland were

next chastised by him. Harald Blaatand, the Danish king, offended with

the presumption of Hako in thus entering his bays and destroying the

vessels of his people, threatened revenge. To annoy his brother

sovereign and fellow Christian, he received, with much ceremony,

Gunhilda, the widow of Eric Blodöxe, and her children, and furnished

them with ample means of support. The sons of Eric had been taught the

profession of piracy; and on their settlement in Denmark, they built

vessels, and committed frequent depredations on Vikia, one of the

southern provinces of Norway. In return, the chiefs of Hako, especially

king Trygve, desolated the coasts of Denmark. The Norwegian monarch was

no less a warrior than his pagan ancestors; but though he thus violated

the spirit, he was not insensible to the forms, of Christianity. One of

his objects, as we have before observed, in striving for the Norwegian

throne, was the diffusion of the Christian religion. He did not,

however, for some years, openly interfere with that of his subjects. He

had need of their aid; and he had no wish to estrange them by an

ostentatious display of his own worship. For some years, therefore, he

worshipped in silence. By degrees he drew his friends, his courtiers, to

embrace the new faith. He next extended his favour to all who consented

to be baptized. The number of converts increasing, he thought that he

might now act more openly: he accordingly sent to England for a bishop

and priests to become the harbingers of the new faith throughout Norway.

On their arrival, he destroyed some of the heathen temples in Drontheim

and the neighbouring districts. Many of the pagans showed a

philosophical indifference to both religions: some, south of Drontheim,

would do what the people of that city should do themselves; the majority

were anxious to be guided by the decrees of a Thing. An assembly was

therefore convoked in Drontheim; but the members being alarmed at the

magnitude of the change proposed by the king, devolved the decision on a

more general one, which should be convoked at Froste. It was evident

that the zeal of Hako was impelling him too rapidly in the career of

reformation.[186]

Amidst these transactions, Snorro gives us some interesting facts

respecting the religious customs of the Northmen. When the public

sacrifices were to be offered,—which, as we have before related, was

obligatory three times in the year[187],—the whole of the neighbouring

population hastened to the nearest temple, bearing provisions and mead.

On these occasions, cattle of all kinds, and numerous horses, were

sacrificed. The blood of the victims was called _klot_; the basins in

which the blood was received, _klot-bollar_; and _klotteinar_ were the

names of the instruments with which the blood was sprinkled over the

altars, the pedestals, the walls of the temple within and without, the

assembled multitude, and the provisions which were about to be eaten. In

the centre of the temple was an open space where the fires were burning;

and over them were suspended the cauldrons and pots destined to cook the

sacrificial meats. The entertainment which followed was under the care

of the sovereign; and it was his duty to consecrate the meats and cups

before they were used by the people. The first cup was emptied to Odin

for victory and prosperity in war; the second, to Niord and Freyr, for

an abundant season and for peace; and when these were drunk, it was

customary, in many places, to pour a libation from an overflowing horn,

in memory of deceased heroes and kings. Then horns were emptied in

memory of inferior personages,—of relatives and friends,—and these were

called the _minne_, or smaller cups. To these sacrifices, and to the

pagan rites in general, jarl Sigurd, who had done so much to procure the

election of Hako, was much addicted. He was as zealous, says the

historian, as Harald Harfager had ever been. And he was exceedingly

liberal: in the absence of the king, when it was his duty to consecrate

the food and drink, he often bore the whole of the expense,—no slight

one, where so many hundreds of cattle had to be sacrificed, and so many

thousands of people entertained. Hence his fame was much diffused; and

as he was Hako’s uncle by the mother’s side, he had considerable weight

in the royal councils.[188]

[Sidenote: 941.]

On the day appointed, the national Thing was assembled; and Hako, after

proposing a body of laws which were readily adopted, and to which we

shall advert in a future chapter[189], openly adverted to the

all-important subject. He besought the whole multitude, rich and poor,

noble and serf, young and old, the happy and the wretched, to embrace

Christianity,—to acknowledge one only God, and Jesus, the son of Mary,

as his son and equal. He implored them to abandon the rites of

heathenism,—to refrain from labour every seventh day, and observe it as

a festival,—and to fast another day in the seven. At these words a

murmur went through the multitude,—all freemen, be it remembered, all

proprietors of slaves, all landowners. Were two days out of the seven to

be thus lost?—for who could work on a _fast_-day? If this novelty were

adopted, assuredly the ground could not be cultivated, nor could there

be a sufficiency of food for the people. A rich and popular landowner of

Gaulandal, the oracle of the assembled multitude, then arose. “When

thou, O king, wast first elected by us in the public assembly of

Drontheim, and didst restore to us the lands of our forefathers, we all

thought that the highest happiness was to be our lot. But now we are in

the greatest uncertainty whether thou hast really made us free, or art

preparing for us a new slavery, by this strange proposal that we should

abandon the religion of all our fathers—men far more excellent than we—a

religion which has always been advantageous to Norway. Through the great

love which we bore thee, we conferred on thee the privilege of

introducing new laws. The code of laws which thou hast this day

proposed, and which we have promised to maintain, we shall all of us

inviolably maintain. All of us will follow thee as our leader, and

honour thee as our king,—while any one of us shall live,—so that thou

wilt proceed moderately, and ask not from our love what we cannot

lawfully grant. But if, as now seems to be the case, thou not only

requirest this change from us, but art preparing to force our

inclinations to it, know that we have all determined to abandon thee,

and to choose another king, under whose sway we may be permitted to

observe a religion so dear to our hearts.” The good sense of this reply

might have been despised by Hako; but the menace was to be regarded,

when it was received with applause by the assembled multitude. This was

a critical moment, and Sigurd, whose authority, alike from his dignity

and character, was so great, now came forward. As soon as the tumult had

subsided, he assured them that the king wished what they wished, and

that the good understanding between them would never be destroyed. The

people replied,—“Then let king Hako do as his father did,—offer

sacrifices to the gods for abundance and peace!” When the assembly was

dissolved, Sigurd besought the king to reserve his intention of

proselyting for more suitable times, and, above all, not to incense

nobles and people by refusing some show of compliance with what all had

demanded.[190]

[Sidenote: 942 to 956.]

The proceedings which we are now relating doubtless occupied many years,

though, by most historians, they have been crowded into three or four.

We are told that the above assembly, in which the laws of Hako were

passed, was held in 941; and we know that, in 956, he was still

labouring for the introduction of the new faith. Hako, though he saw the

prudence of complying with Sigurd’s advice, was loth to follow it;

probably he hoped to discover some way of evading even the slightest

homage to the old faith. At the sacrificial time, however, he was

compelled to go to the temple; nor could he avoid sitting on the throne,

as president of the ceremonies. The office of high-priest was performed

by Sigurd, who, after filling the cup, delivered it to the king for

consecration to Odin. As Hako received it, he drew upon it the sign of

the cross,—a thing never seen before, and highly disagreeable to all

present. “How is this?” cried a chief; “does the king refuse to

consecrate, and sacrifice to the gods?” A tumult arose; but it was

allayed by the philosophic Sigurd, who observed that Hako had

consecrated to Thor, by making on the cup the sign of that deity’s

mallet. The following day he was present at the festival. The people

insisted that he should taste of the horse-flesh,—he refused; that he

should drink from the consecrated cup,—still he refused; that, at least,

he should taste the gravy which flowed from the roasted meats,—he

hesitated. The temple was in an uproar; and violent hands were about to

be laid on him, when Sigurd interfered, and said that the king would do

what was amply sufficient to satisfy the gods,—he would hold his head

over the caldron, the handle of which he would touch with his lips, and

inhale the fumes arising from it. Accordingly, the monarch approached

the caldron, and was observed to cover the handle with linen before the

application of his lips; he then inhaled the odour, and returned to his

seat gloomy and discontented, but not more so than many of the

spectators. The following year, when the yule festival, the most

important of all, was to be celebrated, and the people of Drontheim were

assembled together, with eight of the princely pontiffs, Hako could not

avoid attending. These had agreed, not only that they would pluck up by

the roots what little Christianity had yet been planted in Norway, but

that they would force the monarch to sacrifice with them. In conformity

with this resolution, they had destroyed three Christian churches, and

killed three priests. On the first day of the sacrifices, which were

celebrated in the great temple of Moria, Hako was peremptorily required

to join in the rites. By the authority of Sigurd, the demand was so far

modified that, if he would eat of the horse-flesh, and consecrate all

the horns presented to him, he would satisfy the audience. He did so;

nor did he, as before, make the hated sign of the cross, in offering the

mead to the gods. This was guilty condescension, and he felt it: he

felt, too, that he had done wrong to be present; and his anger was

excited against both Sigurd and the whole pagan population of Drontheim.

He vowed to be revenged,—to fall on the inhabitants with an armed force,

as soon as spring appeared.[191]

[Sidenote: 956 to 958.]

When Hako was preparing to put his menace into execution, intelligence

reached him that the sons of his brother Eric had descended on the coast

of Vikia, defeated king Trygve, and were laying waste the whole

province, which they were likely to subdue. To oppose the common enemy

was now his object, and that of his chiefs. Even the eight pontiffs, who

had been so deeply offended with his contempt of their religion, joined

him: they preferred the yoke of a mild Christian to that of cruel

pagans, as the sons of Eric were known to be. All hastened to the

southern coast, disembarked, and joined in the battle. It was hardly

contested; but, in the end, victory declared for Hako: with Guthrum, the

eldest of those princes, he fought hand to hand, and killed his

antagonist. Many fell; the rest hastened to their ships, and took refuge

in Denmark, where they were sure of a favourable reception from Harald

Blaatand. They were pursued, indeed, by the victor; but they had the

advantage in celerity. In consequence of this invasion, which would,

probably, be repeated, Hako revived an ancient law for the protection of

his coasts,—a law once general in the north, and adopted by our Saxon

kings. It divided the kingdom into maritime districts, each extending

from the sea-shore as far as the rivers could boast of salmon; and each

compelled to furnish a certain number of vessels and men in proportion

to its extent. In each district, these ships were always to be so far

ready, that, when an enemy appeared within sight, they should, before he

could reach the coast, be prepared to receive him. That the alarm might

be communicated from one district to another, huge trunks of trees were

placed on the summits of the mountains, and formed into piles, so as to

be converted into huge watch-fires whenever the occasion demanded. They

extended from the extreme angle of the south, to the remotest elevation

of the north. Yet these wise precautions were of no avail when the sons

of Eric, at the head of a powerful Danish armament, and of such

piratical vessels as they had been able to engage, next appeared off the

southern coast. The watch-fires were not lighted; and the progress of

the hostile fleet was unknown to the king until it was near at hand. The

cause of this negligence is very imperfectly explained. Snorro says that

the signal fires were always to begin in the east,—as if pirates could

not land in the west or north!—and run in a line to the extreme south,

then northwards, to the extremity of Norway. He adds that, as the

watchmen who should give a false alarm would be severely punished, they

were loth to light these beacons until they were sure of an enemy’s

presence. Probably the ships stood out too far from the coast to be

descried by the naked eye; perhaps some of the pagan sentinels were more

inclined to the restoration of Eric’s sons than to the sway of a

Christian prince; perhaps, too, there was bribery. Great was the

astonishment, greater still the dread, of king and people, when the

armament anchored in Ulfasund. Both were unprepared; and the first idea

of Hako was to retire into the north until he could be joined by vessels

and men sufficient to resist the invaders: but one of his officers, who

had often fought with king Harald, dissuaded him from this prudent step.

The king’s father, he observed, had never considered the number of the

enemy; he had fought with many and with few, yet, on all occasions, had

won the battle. This was imprudent advice; for though, in the present

case, Hako, being unexpectedly joined by a considerable force, defeated

the enemy, and slew one of Eric’s sons, the adventure was a rash one,

was purchased with much loss, and might have ended fatally. That similar

negligence did lead to a fatal result, will soon be apparent to the

reader.[192]

[Sidenote: 958 to 963.]

That, on two successive occasions, the same negligence should be shown

by the watchmen, and the same imprudent advice followed by the king, may

induce, in the reader’s mind, a suspicion that Snorro has confounded the

two. Hako was quietly seated at table, in one of his manor houses in the

little island of Stord, off the coast of Hardaland, when a domestic

entered to say that many vessels, which had a suspicious look, were in

sight. The king and his guests, rushing out of the house, were satisfied

that a hostile armament was actually approaching. It was led by Harald,

who, since the death of his brother, was the eldest of Eric’s surviving

sons. Hako, and the chiefs who happened to be with him, hastily

collected all the men in the neighbourhood and advanced to repel the

invaders. The battle engaged, and was, as before, desperately disputed.

Hako performed his duty nobly: two champions of the enemy were soon laid

at his feet; and the pirates were again put to flight, but not until

Hako had received a mortal wound. He was carried on board a vessel,

because he wished to be taken to one of his manors in the north; but the

blood, which no art could stop, flowed so plentifully, that his cure was

not expected. On reaching the manor he loved,—that in which he had been

born,—he called his friends around him, and acquainted them with his

last wishes. As he had only a daughter, Thora, he declared the sons of

Eric his heirs; and despatched a messenger, both to acquaint them with

this news, and to request that they would be merciful to his

adherents,—to all, especially, who were bound to him by the ties of

consanguinity. “Should my life be spared,” he added, “I will leave my

throne and country, embrace the monastic life, and endeavour to atone

for my numerous offences against God. If, as I feel, I shall die among

pagans, bury me in whatever manner you please.” Soon afterwards, he

breathed his last.[193]

From the tranquillity which Hako enjoyed in regard to his subjects

during the last years of his life, we may infer that he had abandoned

the hope of converting his people. It has been affirmed that he became

at least half a pagan. This statement is abundantly confirmed by his

dying words; by the fact that he was buried according to heathen rites;

and by the universal belief that his soul ascended to the hall of Odin.

On this subject we have the confirmation of a pagan bard, who describes

the joy of the warrior god and his chiefs at the arrival of the

Norwegian monarch.[194] It was, probably, as much for his religious

indifference in the last years of his life, as from any other reason,

that he was thus honoured. Yet all Norway bewailed him; whatever his

faith, his virtues could not be mistaken; and the epithet which he so

well deserved—that of Hako the Good—rendered his memory dear to his

country. During his reign it enjoyed extraordinary abundance; robberies

and violence were suppressed; the laws which he found in use he caused

to be administered with vigour; and the new ones which he promulgated,

and to which we shall advert in the proper place,[195] show that he was

far superior to his predecessors in his care of the internal

tranquillity.[196]

[Sidenote: 963 to 969.]

_Harald_, surnamed _Graefeld_ or Grey-mantle, the eldest son of Eric and

Gunhilda, was now declared monarch of Norway. But the title had in it

more of pomp than of real power. In the first place, his two brothers

had also the regal title, and were placed over the central provinces of

Norway. Then the eastern provinces were subject to the kings whom Hako

the Good had placed over them; namely, Trygve, the son of Olaf; and

Gudred, the son of Biorn. Nor was this all; for so popular was jarl

Sigurd with the inhabitants of Drontheim, that they awarded him the

privileges, though not the title, of king. Here, then, were five chiefs

invested with the regal functions, and independent of one another; and,

with the exception of occasional tributes, of Harald himself. This

division of power could not be pleasing to Harald, who hoped one day to

unite the scattered fragments of the monarchy; but for some time he was

compelled to act with great caution. He acknowledged the authority of

the three kings who were not his brothers, on the condition of their

holding from him as they had formerly held from Hako the Good. But if

even he had been sincere in these steps, the ambition of his mother, who

shared in the councils of all her sons, would have led him to retrace

it. She often represented to them that they had the title but not the

power of kings; that if Trygve and Olaf enjoyed their kingdoms by

hereditary claim, surely Sigurd, who was only a jarl, had none, and that

to remove him would be an act of good policy. Harald replied that to

remove so popular a chief “was not quite so easy as to kill a calf or a

kid.” There were other ways, she rejoined, of effecting this object,

than by open force. Sigurd had a brother who had not been raised to

either wealth or consideration,—probably because he was unworthy of

either,—and he was easily induced, by the promises of the king and of

Gunhilda, to enter into a plot against the life of Sigurd. To throw the

intended victim off his guard, extraordinary professions of friendship

and splendid presents were transmitted to him by Harald. His motions

were closely watched; and one night, while at one of his rural manors,

with fewer attendants than ordinary, he perished in the flames of his

own house. But the royal assassins reaped no advantage from this crime;

for the inhabitants of Drontheim elected Hako, son of the deceased jarl,

to the vacant dignity; and Harald, himself, was compelled to sanction

the election. To fortify himself against the vengeance of the reigning

family, Hako entered into a secret alliance with the two kings of the

south, Trygve and Gudred. It did not escape the penetration of Gunhilda,

who again entered into a secret conclave with her sons. The result was

soon apparent. The royal brothers proclaimed their intention of

undertaking a piratical cruise in the Baltic; and for this purpose,

hastening towards the southern boundary of Norway, one of them invited

king Trygve to join him. The latter accepted the proposal; but in

hastening to an interview appointed by one of the brothers, he and

twelve of his companions fell beneath the hands of a much superior band.

While this deed was perpetrating, Harald, himself, disembarked; and

hearing that Gudred was holding a feast at a house not far from the

city, he hastened thither, surrounded the house, and destroyed both

Gudred and his companions. The fruit of both deeds was the annexation of

these provinces to the domains of the sons of Eric. But their vengeance

was not complete; for Harald, surnamed Grenske, the son of Gudred,

escaped first to the uplands, and when his life was not safe there, into

Sweden, where he became a famous pirate.[197]

[Sidenote: 969 to 977.]

No sooner were these crimes perpetrated, than the sons of Eric proceeded

towards the north, with the avowed purpose of destroying Hako. Knowing

the inferiority of his numbers, he betook himself to the piratical life,

but not until he had devastated the central provinces subject to the

sons of Eric. After his departure Drontheim submitted to them; but small

was the advantage which they derived from this event. The next summer

Hako returned; and though he was frequently absent on piratical

expeditions into the Baltic, in winter he always commanded at Drontheim.

Many were his conflicts with the forces of Harald; and, though sometimes

defeated, he had always a sure resource either in the support of the

inhabitants of Drontheim, or in his own ships. The sons of Eric were not

popular: one of them, soon after the departure of Hako, dishonoured the

bed of a noble chief, and was killed for the crime. Throughout the

annals of this bloody period, we perceive the hand of retributive

justice: the man who had exercised violence became its victim. Thus the

treacherous brother of Sigurd, the man who had betrayed that respected

chief into the hands of his murderers, was slain in battle by the hands

of Hako his nephew. Thus died Erling, another of Eric’s sons. He was

followed by his lustful brother: the inhabitants of Drontheim, which

during one of the frequent expeditions of Hako he had seized, being

unable to support his rapacity, rose against him, and sacrificed him to

their just resentment. The fate of Harald, himself, was not distant.

Though, by the destruction of two kings, the expulsion of Hako, and the

death of most of his brothers, he was, nominally, monarch of Norway, he

was unpopular. Nor was the absent Hako negligent in creating him many

troubles from without. On Norway, ever since the days of Ragnar Lodbrog,

the Danish kings had cast a longing eye; they considered it, no less

than Sweden, as a portion of their vast inheritance; and Hako had little

difficulty in persuading Harald Blaatand to aspire to the throne of that

kingdom. As the equipment of a naval force would be expensive, and might

be useless, it was resolved to entice Harald of Norway into Jutland,

under the pretext of doing homage to Blaatand for the fiefs which he had

formerly possessed in Denmark, and which were now to be restored to him.

Harald, credulous enough to believe the invitation sincere, repaired to

Jutland, and was soon compelled to fight with the superior numbers of a

chief who had been secretly instigated to assail him. In that battle he

fell, fifteen years after the death of Hako the Good, and thirteen from

that of jarl Sigurd.[198]

[Sidenote: 977 to 978.]

After this event, Hako and the Danish king, who knew the advantages

which they expected could be gained only by celerity, sailed with a

powerful armament for Norway. Many were the exiles who accompanied them,

and whom the cruelty of Gunhilda and her sons had forced to abandon

their homes. Among them was Harald Grenske, the son of king Gudred who

had been so treacherously slain by the Norwegian brothers. On reaching

Tunsberg, the Danish king was joined by multitudes of the inhabitants,

of whom all were dissatisfied with the sons of Eric. The first care of

Harald was to reward his counsellor and friend, Hako, whom he placed

over seven provinces in the west and centre of the kingdom, all to be

held feudally, as they had been held by the jarls of Harald Harfager.

There was, however, this distinction in favour of Hako, that if the

necessities of the public service should require it,—if, for instance,

the territory should be invaded by an enemy,—he was at liberty to employ

all its revenues for its defence. Harald Grenske, being of the royal

blood of Norway, then eighteen years of age, received the title of king,

and with it Westfold, Vingulmark, and part of Ayder. The rest of the

kingdom was confided to Sweyn, son of the Danish monarch, as the viceroy

of his father, who was hailed as the lord paramount of the whole.

Gunhilda, with her two surviving sons, fled to the Orkneys, and Harald

of Denmark retired to his own capital.[199]

[Sidenote: 978 to 988.]

In his very dreams Hako could scarcely have anticipated the prosperity

which was now his lot. His father had been only the jarl of Drontheim;

his own life had been perpetually hunted by the sons of Eric; he had

been an exile for many years; yet he was now the ruler of seven

provinces, not removeable at the pleasure of the Danish monarch, except

by open force. But he was not, says the historian, happy. His nights

were often sleepless; and when he did sleep, his dreams were disturbed.

It was not remorse which thus rendered him anxious; it was ambition.

That he aspired to the sovereignty of all Norway, may, from the time of

Harald’s departure, be inferred from every action. But many were his

opponents or rivals, whom he hoped time or chance, intrigue or

revolution, would remove. The first who troubled him in his government

was Ragenfrid, one of the surviving sons of Eric. From the Orkneys, this

chief, with a considerable fleet, sailed for Norway. Hearing that Hako

was at Drontheim, he landed in the southern provinces, and spread his

devastations on every side. On the approach of the jarl he hastened to

his ships; in a naval action he was victorious; but as he was unable to

contend with Hako on land, he proceeded to ravage the coast wherever it

was inadequately defended; and in a short time he seized Sogne,

Hardaland, Fiord, and some other districts. The following spring, jarl

Hako, having collected troops on every side, renewed the war. This time

fortune did not desert him: he vanquished Ragenfrid, whom he also

expelled from Norway. His next wish was to remove Harald Grenske; but he

was wily enough to wait for time and circumstances. The same time and

circumstances, he trusted, would release him from all dependence on the

Danish court. At first he forwarded the stipulated revenues to Harald;

but he soon sent a portion only, or withheld them entirely, on the plea

that the defence of the country required them all. But he had no wish

prematurely to offend that monarch; and when required to assist in the

war against the emperor Otho, he served personally in the war. The issue

was not prosperous: Harald, as we have before related, was compelled to

receive baptism, and Hako to follow the example. But he was still a

pagan; and he resolved that the missionaries, with whom he was to return

into Norway, should never see that country. He therefore landed them on

the Swedish coast, and after wasting Gothbed with fire and sword,

proceeded to his favourite Drontheim. There, and wherever he had the

power, he restored paganism to its ancient splendour; nor would he

tolerate Christianity. This conduct was offensive to Harald; but that

monarch had other wrongs to avenge. The jarl not only refused the

accustomed tribute and proclaimed his independence, but ravaged the

coasts of Jutland. Harald retaliated on those of Norway. His purpose was

to subdue Iceland, with the sarcastic poets of which he was offended;

but he had more solid reasons for the conquest than those assigned by

the chronicler. That island, like the Orkneys, was the resort of pirates

whenever they were defeated in Scandinavia. His desire to explore the

state of Iceland before he invaded it has given rise to a legend which

may be mentioned for its novelty. He persuaded a wizard—no doubt a

Finn—to change his form, and repair to that island. No form seemed so

judicious as that of a large fish; and under it the magician made the

voyage, without the incumbrance of ships or men. But his ingenuity

availed him little. On attempting to land at the first bay, a huge

dragon forced him to seek the deep. At another, a large bird equally

opposed his landing. If the east and north of the island were thus

guarded, surely the west coast, which was then, as now, wholly

unfrequented, would be more accessible. The hope was vain; a fierce bull

advanced into the water to meet him. Nor was the southern coast more

hospitable: as he attempted to land he perceived a huge giant, whose

head was higher than the hills, and whose hand was graced with a

ponderous bar of iron. To attempt the conquest of a region guarded by

local deities, or by extraordinary magic, was hopeless; and the baffled

Finn returned to Denmark.[200]

[Sidenote: 900 to 993.]

So long as Harald lived, Hako appears to have remained undisturbed; but,

after the accession of Sweyn, a powerful fleet sailed from Denmark to

chastise his rebellion. Yet it entirely failed; patriotism roused the

Norwegians to unite, and repel the invaders. As yet, too, Hako had shown

few proofs of that unbridled licence which distinguished him in the

following years. He had many great qualities; he was active,

enterprising, brave in a degree seldom equalled, even in an age of

heroes. Great was his triumph over the formidable Sweyn; and he had no

longer a rival, except in Harald Grenske: nor did this king long thwart

his views. The way in which Grenske met his fate has in it much of

romance, yet is in no respect contrary to probability, or inconsistent

with the manners of the times. In a piratical expedition to the Baltic,

he landed on the Swedish coast, of which kingdom Olaf, son of Eric the

Victorious, was the head. In his youth Harald had been reared in Sweden;

and his foster-sister was Sigfrida, mother of the king. Hearing that

Harald was on the coast, not far from her manor, she sent him an

invitation to visit her, and he readily accepted it. Never was

hospitality more open or more agreeable. The widowed queen, who sat on a

throne to honour Harald and his chiefs, presided over a sumptuous

entertainment; and, after it, she encouraged the circulation of the

horn, not merely by her invitation, but by her example. “All drank

manfully,” says the historian, which means deeply enough. But neither

the lady nor Harald indulged so much as the rest; and when the latter

was laid in the magnificent bed which had been prepared for him, the

queen entered his apartment, horn in hand, and challenged him to drink

more. At length both were intoxicated, until Harald was overpowered by

sleep, when Sigfrida went to her own couch. The next day the

entertainment was renewed; but this time both hostess and guest were

moderate. Love had entered the heart of Harald, but he durst not declare

it; and after some time he took his leave, and returned to Norway. But

he could not rest; and when spring came, he revisited the Baltic.

Affection had made him timid; he durst not, unbidden, go to the house of

Sigfrida, and he requested an interview on the sea-coast. She rode to

the place, and Harald, dismissing his attendants, mentioned his passion.

It found no response in her heart. He had, she observed, a good wife

already. The king rejoined, that Asta, his queen, was no fit match for

him; that she was much inferior in birth. “That may be true,” replied

Sigfrida, who was believed to possess some knowledge of futurity; “but

at this very moment she is pregnant of a son, who will be a great honour

to you both.” She then departed as she had arrived, on horseback,

leaving Harald in much despondency. Unable to desist from his hopeless

suit, he again repaired to her palace, and found another royal suitor.

As before, the entertainment was good; but, in the ensuing night, both

kings were destroyed by their hostess. The fleet returned to Asta

without its leader. She immediately repaired to her father’s house in

the uplands, and gave birth to a son, whom she named Olaf, destined to

become the sainted king of Norway.[201]

[Sidenote: 993 to 995.]

Hako, now the sole ruler of all Norway, was, like many other princes,

unable to resist prosperity. The love which his people—at least, the

inhabitants of Drontheim—had long borne him, had changed into hatred, by

the licentiousness of his conduct in his declining years. The daughters

of his noblest chiefs he forcibly brought to his palace, and, after a

few days, returned them to their families. Murmurs arose; but they were

disregarded by the hoary idolater, who thought his power too well

established to be shaken. But he was at length roused from this dream of

security, by the report that there was a descendant of fair-haired

Harald, unequalled for valour, who probably aspired to the throne of his

ancestors. This was Olaf, the son of Trygve, whose adventures are the

most romantic in the history of the North.[202]

[Sidenote: 969 to 970.]

On the death of Trygve, Astridda, his widow, who was then pregnant,

fearing the vengeance of Gunhilda and her sons, fled to an island in the

solitary lake of the uplands, where, in 969, she brought forth a son,

whom she named Olaf, after his grandfather of that name. There she

remained the whole summer, accompanied only by her foster-father, and

two or three domestics. But when the days began to shorten, the cold

breezes from the lake were too much for Astridda and her child; and,

accompanied by the same faithful domestics, she left her island home. To

escape observation, she never came within sight of human habitation; and

when, after many days, she approached her father’s habitation, she was

too cautious to enter. A messenger acquainted him with her arrival; and

he met her at a solitary hut in the forest, where every domestic comfort

was supplied her. Two maid servants only, with her foster-father, his

child, and her infant son, formed her whole establishment. It was

fortunate for her that, during this winter, Gunhilda and her sons were

too closely occupied by Hako, the jarl, to have leisure for pursuing

her. But that ambitious woman had heard of Olaf’s birth; and when spring

arrived, she sent her spies to inquire into the truth of the report, and

where both mother and child might be found. Their inquiries were

successful; and a chief, with thirty horsemen, was despatched to bring

the infant to the court of Gunhilda. Eric, however, the father of

Astridda, was told their purpose when they were only a few miles distant

from the house. It was nightfall; and he led his daughter, with her

precious charge and a few domestics, into the forest, where he

acquainted her with her danger, with his inability to protect her, and

with the necessity of her hastening, in the most secret manner, to the

house of an aged friend in Sweden. No sooner had she departed, than he

returned to his own house, to await the arrival of the horsemen.

Fortunately, both for him and his daughter, they did not immediately

call upon him, but passed the night at a neighbouring house. The

following morning, when he was asked where his daughter and grandson

were, he denied that they were with him; and, on their refusing to

believe him, he allowed them to search every corner of his habitation.

But the leader of the band was at length informed of their route, and,

causing his men to mount, he pursued it. Darkness overtaking them, they

passed the night with a rich landowner, whom they carelessly asked

whether he had seen a woman with a child pass that way. He replied, that

a woman and child, in very mean attire, with other persons equally

humble, had besought his hospitality, and that he had refused to lodge

them,—for, like worthies of recent times, he had a great dislike to

beggars,—but he believed they were at some cottage in the neighbourhood.

And so they were;—at the cottage of an honest farmer, and less distant

than was suspected. But Providence watched over the safety of mother and

son. While this conversation was passing, a peasant in the employment of

that farmer accidentally called at the rich man’s house, on his return

from the forest to his master’s. He heard all that had passed; and,

ignorant of Astridda’s arrival, communicated it to his master. The

Norwegian, as prudent as he was humane, perceiving that the third part

of the night was already past, went to his guests, who were fast asleep,

and told them, in an angry voice, to rise and leave his house. They

tremblingly obeyed; but no sooner were they beyond the inclosure, than

he acquainted them with the cause of his seeming harshness. He sent them

to a solitary lake, on which was an island covered with reeds, and bade

them remain concealed until they saw him again. As the water of the lake

was shallow, they easily waded to the island, and concealed themselves,

while Thorsteim (his name shall not be buried in oblivion) returned to

his own house. As he had foreseen, on the following morning the chief of

the horsemen, after inquiring at many houses, called at his, and

inquired after the fugitives. “They have been here,” was the reply;

“but, before the break of day, they both left me, and went into the

wood.” Nor was he unprepared for the next question,—whether he would be

their guide in searching for the mother. He readily consented; and, as

may easily be conceived, led them in a direction exactly contrary to

that which they had pursued. Nor was this all. On the pretext that they

should probably be more successful if they separately continued the

search, he left them, but only to delude them by new expedients. The day

was thus wasted, and the horsemen returned to Gunhilda. That evening

Thorsteim went to the island, provided the fugitives with a store of

provisions, and, what was much better, with a faithful guide. Astridda

pursued her journey, and, without any further interruption, reached the

house of Hako the Old, by whom she and her infant were affectionately

received, and with whom they remained about three years.[203]

[Sidenote: 964 to 966.]

But the fortunes of Olaf and of his mother were still to be singular.

They had not long enjoyed the hospitality of Hako, when Gunhilda sent an

embassy to Eric, king of Sweden, to obtain possession of the young

prince. Under the specious promise of amply providing for one whose

fortunes she pitied, and the fate of whose father she had long bewailed,

her messenger easily prevailed on Eric to send an escort to the house of

Hako for the prince. But, at the court of Eric, Hako had a son, who was

present when the affair was mentioned to the king; and he gave his

father timely warning of the Norwegian’s approach. The Swedish noble was

therefore prepared for his visitor. After the display of much

ceremonious politeness, the ambassador mentioned the anxiety of Gunhilda

to educate young Olaf in a manner becoming his birth; and begged that

the royal child might be confided to his care,—a request in which the

Swedish king joined. “Astridda,” replied the wary Hako, “is the mistress

of her own actions, and if she consents to thy proposal, I can have no

objection to it.” On the refusal of Astridda, the disappointed

ambassador returned to Eric’s court, and obtained a stronger force, with

the intention of removing the child by violence, should entreaties be

unavailing. As before, Hako was prepared, and he was less complaisant

than on the former occasion. “Astridda,” was the substance of his reply

to the renewed proposal, “has no great reason to confide in the promises

of Gunhilda; she knows her wiles, her deceit; she is still averse from

thy proposal; and the boy cannot go without the mother’s consent, nor

shall I allow her inclination to be forced, so long as she continues

under my protection.” High words arose; the ambassador threatened to

employ force; Hako replied, that men more powerful than he would fail in

such an attempt. The dispute reached the ears of a cowherd of Hako’s—a

huge herculean man—who, seizing a pitchfork, hastened to the scene, and

said, “Is it thou who darest to insult my princely master in his own

house? Choose one of these two things,—either speedily retire from this

neighbourhood, or prepare for thy death by this pitchfork, which will be

equally fatal to thy companions!” The ambassador and his suite hastily

retreated, and on their return to Norway acquainted the disappointed

Gunhilda with the ill success of his journey.[204]

[Sidenote: 976 to 984.]

Whether through fear lest king Eric should, in the end, force her son

from her, or through the desire of seeing her brother Sigurd, who was

then in high favour with Waldemar, a king of Gardarik[205], Astridda

left the hospitable roof of Hako. By him she was confided to the care of

some merchants who traded with Gardarik, and supplied with everything

necessary for her voyage. In the Gulf of Finland they were taken by

Esthonian pirates, separated, and sold. Olaf, Thorolf, and the son of

Thorolf, became the property of one who, seeing the old man past

service, put him to death; the two boys were afterwards sold to

different masters, and Astridda sent nobody knew where. Subsequently,

the same master purchased Thorgils, the foster-brother of Olaf, and

employed him in the meanest drudgery. But the prince was not thus

treated; he was soon beloved by the old pagan, and beheld in the light

of a son. It happened, one day, that Sigurd, the uncle of Olaf, came to

the master’s house, and saw the boy, then about ten years old, playing

with others of his age. He saluted Sigurd; the latter returned the

courtesy, and was immediately struck with the foreign countenance of the

boy. In answer to his questions, the boy told him his name, and the

names of his parents. Sigurd at once recognised his nephew, whom he

redeemed; but the boy would not go with him unless he was accompanied by

Thorgils, who was redeemed at a lower price. To the honour of the pagan

master of Olaf, it must be added, that he would not have sold the boy,

unless Sigurd had given a pledge that he should never be resold, and

that he should be treated as well as he had been under his own roof.

Both children were taken to the court of Sigurd’s master, who reigned in

the vicinity of Novgorod. The attachment which Olaf bore to his friends

was equalled by his hatred to his enemies, and to the enemies of his

friends. One day, as he stood in the public market, he perceived the

merchant who had killed Thorolf: approaching with much deliberation, he

drew his little sword, inflicted a mortal wound in the head of the

merchant, and immediately ran to acquaint his uncle with the deed which

he had performed. Apprehensive of the consequences, Sigurd led his

nephew into the presence of the queen, and besought her protection; and

through her influence, a pecuniary compensation was received by the

relations of the deceased. He soon became a favourite at court; the

king, learning his royal birth, placed him among his nobles; and nine

years passed away with rapidity. Every accomplishment becoming his

descent and his future prospects was acquired by him. Among these was

piracy, to which, from his twelfth year, he was habituated. In it he

acquired considerable reputation during the following years; and was

most useful to the king by destroying other piratical vessels which

disturbed the peace of Gardarik, and by the rich treasures which he

brought from his frequent expeditions. But his favour with the king had

the ordinary effect,—it created rivals and enemies; and he left the

court to do what so many of his ancestors had done before him,—to pursue

his fortunes on the deep.[206]

[Sidenote: 985 to 994.]

On the shores of the Baltic the young chief obtained much celebrity,

alike for his valour and success. He was consequently joined by many

piratical vassals, until he had a considerable fleet under his command.

Towards the close, he caused his vessels to anchor in a bay on the coast

of Pomerania, which was then governed by a princess, the daughter of

duke Borislaf, whose husband was lately deceased. The fame of his

exploits, of his accomplishments, of his personal comeliness, reached

her ears, and through her minister she sent him an invitation to pass

the winter in her capital. It was readily accepted; and the natural

consequence followed,—her marriage with the pirate chief. Invested by

this union with the military government of the state, Olaf defended the

rights of his consort much more eagerly than those of her subjects. Some

territories and fortresses which had been dismembered from the duchy, he

restored to it. But in one of these warlike expeditions, he was nearly a

victim to the bad faith of the barbarians. Leading his troops against a

fortified town which had thrown off its allegiance to the princess, he

pressed the inhabitants so closely that they offered to submit to his

discretion, and opened their gates to receive them. No sooner, however,

had a few of his men entered with him, than the ponderous barricades

were closed, and he was assailed by a multitude. But a sea king never

lost his presence of mind. Commanding his followers to imitate his

example, he repaired to the walls, fighting as he retreated; and on

reaching them, he leaped to the ground outside the fortifications. The

place was now assailed with the vigour which exasperation always gives;

it was soon carried by storm; the garrison were put to the sword, and

the walls levelled with the earth.—But this humble sphere was too narrow

for his ambition, which the events then passing in Norway served to

inflame. In about a year after his marriage, he sailed with a small

number of vessels to the coast of Sweden, ravaged Scania and Gothland,

took one or two prizes, assisted the emperor Otho in the invasion of

Denmark, and in the victory which the temporal head of Christendom

obtained over the pagan Dane, and was present at the deliberations which

preceded the restoration of peace.[207] That he was half a Christian—at

least in disposition—is evident from the relation of his biographer; but

where he had acquired the little knowledge he possessed of Christianity

is not so clear. His biographer affirms that he had often heard of the

Christian doctrines,—which may be true enough; but we cannot subscribe

to the next assertion, that one reason of his esteem for the new faith

was, a miracle which he had seen archbishop Poppo work in presence of

Otho and Harald of Denmark. However this be, he had a great aversion to

idolatry; and, even at the court of the pagan king in Gardarik, he had

always refused to sacrifice to the gods. In the army of Otho he met with

his father-in-law, duke Borislaf; and after the successful termination

of the war, he returned into Pomerania. But his restless disposition

would not long permit him to remain with his bride; and he led another

expedition to various shores of the Baltic. After the death of his

consort, which happened in three years after his marriage, he would no

longer remain in Pomerania. Probably the event disposed him to humility,

to reflection. However this be, he was now better instructed in the

principles of Christianity,—whether in Greece, as his biographer assures

us, or in some Slavonian province where Greek missionaries were

labouring, is of little moment. But the baptismal rite was not

administered to him for some years afterwards,—until he visited a hermit

in the west. He is said to have been instrumental in the conversion,

also, of his master, the king of Holmgard, and of the queen. Whatever

his zeal might be at this period of life, at a subsequent one, as we

shall soon perceive, it was great enough. But his religion was, like

that of the period, a strange one: it did not deter him from ravaging

the coasts of Christian countries, from burning the huts of the poor,

and sacrificing the inmates. Years after his pretended change of belief,

he was occupied in this dreadful profession, from the coasts of Russia

to those of Brittany and Ireland. In Ireland or in England,—probably in

the latter,—he is said to have married an Irish princess, named Gyda;

but before the ceremony could take place, he was compelled to fight with

a rival, whom he soon vanquished. After this event, he was sometimes in

England, sometimes in Ireland, but every where his fame as a warrior

extended. The sea kings of this period were accustomed to fight as much

for others as for themselves, by hiring their services to any native

prince who had need of them; nor did it unfrequently happen that the

northmen were, at the same time, in opposite ranks. For such services

the wages were always abundant; sometimes in land, more frequently in

gold and rich merchandise. Nor must we forget that, when on the coast of

a friendly power, the pirates exercised the profession of merchants, and

traded from one port or one kingdom to another, with more regularity

than we generally suppose. But this pursuit was much too quiet for the

sea king, and he followed it from necessity only: his delight was in

scenes of excitement—in those of danger and carnage. Whether in peace or

war, no scruple was felt in stealing cattle from any coast. While in

Ireland, an adventure befell Olaf which illustrates both this statement

and his own character. He and his men had disembarked on a certain part

of the coast, seized a multitude of cattle, and were driving them

towards their ships, when a poor farmer ran after them, and begged the

chief to restore the animals which had been stolen from _him_. “Thou

mayst have them,” replied Olaf, “if, without impeding our march, thou

canst distinguish them from such a multitude.” The man had a dog, which

singled out the animals, one by one, to the great amazement of the

chief. “Wilt thou part with this dog?” demanded Olaf. “Readily!” was the

answer; and Olaf, not satisfied with restoring the man’s cattle, made

him some valuable presents.[208]

[Sidenote: 967 to 993.]

In all his voyages, Olaf never despaired of being one day able to

procure the rights of his birth in Norway, and his eyes were frequently

turned to that country. Nor was he without anxiety as to the fate of his

mother, of whom he had heard nothing since the day on which, while yet

an infant, he had been separated from her. Her adventures may, for a

moment, occupy the reader’s attention. After remaining a slave for some

time, she was seen in Pomerania by a Norwegian pirate of noble birth: at

first he did not recognise her; where health and cheerfulness and beauty

had once been, he observed paleness and melancholy; but there was, alike

in her appearance and manner, something that inspired him with respect.

A closer examination convinced him that he saw Astridda, the queen of

Trygve, before him; he entered into conversation with her, and learned

that she was now on sale. She besought him to ransom her, and return her

to her friends; and he promised to do so on one condition,—that she

would become his bride. Her situation was not one that admitted of

either scruple or hesitation; she became his wife, and the mother of

several children. Year after year rolled away, and the mother heard not

of the son, or the son of the mother. The fame of his exploits, indeed,

had reached Norway; but he had assumed another name,—that of Olo, a

native of Gardarik, and by it he was known to all the princes of his

time, from the imperial Otho to the humblest piratical chief. But Hako,

the usurper of Norway, knew the truth; and as his favour with the

people, from his new vices, was now departing[209], he began to look

with much anxiety towards Ireland, where Olaf had for some time been. To

remove this aspiring rival was necessary to his safety; and he

immediately devised the means of carrying his design into

execution.[210]

[Sidenote: 995 to 996.]

Intimately connected with Hako was a piratical chief, Thorer by name, a

man of enterprise, who had acquired reputation on the deep, and who

would not hesitate to execute any commission with which he might be

entrusted. This man was the fittest instrument for alluring Olaf into

the power of Hako. By open force, no chief could hope to succeed; for

Olaf was followed by some of the most noted heroes of his time, and was

at the head of some ships. He must therefore, if possible, be brought to

Norway; or, as a last resource, assassinated. As the deceitful

representations which Thorer was enjoined to make might not have their

due effect on Olaf, two of his kinsmen, whom he had never seen—the

brothers of his mother—were to be associated with him, and, if need

were, to confirm his statement.[211] They revolted, we are told, at this

meditated treachery, and refused to share in it until menaced with the

loss of their own lives. However this be, Thorer hastened to Dublin to

put his design into execution. To lull suspicion, he was provided with

abundant merchandise, which he was to barter in Dublin, a port then

flourishing for its commerce. He had little difficulty in discovering

the abode of Olo of Gardarik, the only name by which Olaf was known. By

degrees, he cultivated the acquaintance of Olaf; and, as he was a man of

great observation, eloquent, and specious, he was a welcome visitor. As

usual, Olaf, without naming himself, inquired after his family

connections;—how many were living, what their condition in life, what

their influence with the public. When satisfied on these points, he

inquired into the character, the power, the reputation of Hako. “The

jarl,” replied Thorer, “is a great prince, absolute in everything, and

no man dare contradict him; but, if I must speak confidentially, he is

tolerated only because of old Harold’s race no scion remains whom the

people might choose in lieu of him. Many are the nobles, the chiefs, the

warriors, the people, who would rush to the standard of such a rival, if

one were to appear in Norway. But why talk thus vainly? no prince of

that house survives.” Such was the manner in which Thorer fulfilled his

commission; and we cannot be surprised that, after a few interviews,

Olaf opened his heart to the traitor. He was not, by birth, Olo of

Gardarik,—he was Olaf, the son of king Trygve; and might he, indeed,

hope that the Norwegians would accept him, in preference to Hako? Thorer

solemnly affirmed that, if he but showed himself to the people, the

reign of Hako would be at an end. He did more; he professed the warmest

interest in the fate of his new friend, whom he exhorted to sail,

without delay, to his native country. With five ships only—for why

engage many where none would be needed—the prince, accompanied by

Thorer, left Dublin, passed the Hebrides, and at length reached the

Orkneys. The jarl of these islands was Sigurd, who welcomed the

strangers: but in Olaf he found a master. The prince, already assuming

the rights of sovereignty, commanded the jarl to receive baptism, and,

on his hesitation, threatened him with death if he refused. The choice

was not difficult, and the Christian church had one hypocrite more.

Homage, too, was done to the new king; and, as a pledge of fidelity,

Whelp, the son of Sigurd, accompanied Olaf to Norway.[212]

[Sidenote: 995 to 996.]

When Olaf reached the coast of Agder, he learned that the inhabitants of

Drontheim were conspiring against the authority of Hako. This news was a

thunderbolt to Thorer, who, from the gratitude which the Norwegians had

evinced towards the jarl, for his recent victory over the Jomsberg

pirates, had regarded his dynasty as secure. The present discontent,

however, might pass away; and he determined to assassinate Olaf: but the

men whom he had hired for that purpose betrayed him to the prince, and

he fell the victim of his own wiles. Olaf, whose name had not yet been

mentioned to the people, now hastened towards Drontheim, where every

moment added to the critical situation of his enemy. Nothing can so well

describe the character of Hako as his conduct just before and at this

period. Though he knew that the inhabitants of that province were only

waiting for an opportunity of banishing or destroying him, he persevered

in his lustful course. Wives, daughters, sisters, widows, virgins,—all

on whom he cast his eyes, were, however nobly allied, forcibly taken to

his residence. But the following incident had happened before the

arrival of Olaf:—Brinjolf, a noble of Ganlardal, had a beautiful and

accomplished wife; one night, while both were in bed, the myrmidons of

Hako arrived at his villa, and unceremoniously informed him that his

wife was wanted by the jarl, and that she must accompany them. On his

indignant refusal to suffer her departure, they returned for more

assistants, and bore her away to the palace of Hako. The following day

Brinjolf put on his armour, rode into the neighbouring country,

assembled his connections and friends, laid before them the indignity

which he had received, and prevailed on them to unite in his cause. They

did not, however, break out into open insurrection, but they entered

into a conspiracy to assist one another when the convenient moment

should arrive. This event was no warning to Hako. Soon afterwards,

smitten with the charms of a married lady, Godruna, who from her beauty

was surnamed the “Sun of Lunden,” he sent his emissaries to her

husband’s house to bring her to him. Under the pretext of inviting them

to supper, Orm, the husband, detained them until his servants had

collected a force sufficient to set them at defiance. The lady herself

then told the messengers, in a tone of insult, that she should not

accompany them unless Thora, the favourite mistress of the jarl, sent

for her. Threatening vengeance on the whole family, the men departed;

and Orm lost no time in sending out the arrow, the symbol of war, to his

kinsmen and dependents.[213] The well-known token was rapidly conveyed;

the gathering commenced; and in a short time a formidable band was

assembled, eager to destroy the tyrannical jarl.[214]

[Sidenote: 995.]

The motives of this rustic force were soon known to Hako. His first

object was to conceal himself until he had collected troops enough to

crush the insurrection. What follows is exceedingly romantic; and we

give it as we find it in the authorities before us, leaving the reader

to exercise his own judgment in what he may reject or admit. We may,

however, observe that, if some of the incidents have been too strongly

coloured by posterity, the substance of the relation is

true.—Accompanied by his domestics, Hako fled from his villa into a deep

valley, which has ever since borne his name. As it was supposed that he

would hasten to his ships, which were at some distance along the coast,

and were under the guidance of his son Erleng, the paths which led to

the coast were more narrowly watched than those in the neighbourhood of

the valley. At nightfall, he despatched some of his men to the station

where his vessels lay, commanding his son to meet him off a more

southern portion of the coast; the rest he sent to their own homes,

keeping one serf only, Thermod Kark, who had been his companion from

infancy. Feeling that his present retreat was not secure, he plunged

further into the solitudes. On reaching the banks of a lake, which was

frozen over, he dismounted, made a hole in the ice, thrust his horse

into the aperture, and left his mantle beside it, so as to make his

pursuers believe that he had perished in the waters. He then crossed the

ice, and, with his slave, found refuge in a solitary cave in the

mountains. Both being much fatigued, they soon fell asleep; but the

slave started, and awoke his master to acquaint him with an awful dream

which he had just experienced. He had seen a man of a dark, dreadful

countenance, approach the cave, stand for a moment before it, and, after

exclaiming, “One is dead!” ascend the hill. This mysterious denunciation

was thought by Hako to allude to Erleng; for, after a moment’s

reflection, he said, “Thy dream appears to indicate the death of my

son!” The interpretation, say the sagas, was a true one. Olaf had just

arrived off the coast; Erleng, with three vessels only, could not make

head against the superior fleet which he rightly judged to be that of an

enemy; and, to escape captivity, he and a few of his companions, after

approaching the shore as near as they could, quietly descended into the

water, and began to swim. In this state they were overtaken by the

vessel in which Olaf was. According to Snorro, it was Olaf himself who,

with an oar, broke the head of the young jarl as he was buffeting the

waters; according to Gunlaug, it was one of his mariners. Both agree

that Erleng perished within a few yards of the coast; that many of his

companions perished with him; that the vessels became the prize of Olaf,

who learned, for the first time, the flight of Hako, and the

insurrection of the rustics.[215]

[Sidenote: 995.]

After this dream, proceeds the Saga, the slave had another, which

frightened him so much that he made a distressing noise, like one

afflicted with the nightmare. Being awoke by his master, he said that he

had seen the same dark man approach the cave, stop at the entrance as

before, and say, “Tell thy master that all the passages to the

sea-coast, and the coast itself, are blocked up!” The jarl thought his

days were numbered; but he said nothing. He would, however, no longer

remain in the cave; and both proceeded towards the villa inhabited by

Thora. When at a distance from it, he despatched Kark with a request

that she would secretly meet him in the forest. She obeyed the summons,

and showed, by her affectionate behaviour, that whatever are the crimes

of men, women can be faithful to the last. Hako asked her if she could

furnish him with some hiding place for a few nights. “That will be

difficult,” replied Thora; “my house will soon be searched; not a corner

of it will escape scrutiny, for all people know I shall save thee if I

can. Yet there is one place where nobody would expect to find a prince

like thee—it is under the pig-sty.” They went to the place; the slave

enlarged the cave; provisions, lights, and other necessaries were

brought; and Hako, accompanied by Kark, descended into the cavern. The

earth which had been recently dug up was removed; wooden rafters were

laid over the hole; over them straw and dung were spread, and the swine

were turned in to tread down the covering, so as to confound the recent

marks. In addition, the entrance to the sty was blocked up by a large

stone. Having taken these precautions, Thora returned to the house, none

of her domestics being aware that she had seen the jarl. The prisoners

were, therefore, left to themselves; but how they were to breathe in

such a place, we are not informed.—The enemies of Hako, with Olaf at

their head, soon arrived. They had found the mantle on the ice of the

lake, and had been induced to return, until suspicion of the stratagem

arose, and induced them to continue the pursuit. On reaching the house

of Thora, they broke open the doors, examined every part within and

without, and desisted only when search was manifestly vain. If any faith

is to be placed in either of the authorities before us, Olaf, on issuing

from the house, sat on the very stone which blocked up the entrance to

the sty, and stimulated his followers to search in other districts, by

offering splendid rewards to any one that should take or kill the jarl.

His loud voice penetrated to the cave where Hako and his slave sat; and,

as the former looked at the latter, he saw his countenance change. “What

means that look?” demanded the master; “dost thou wish to betray

me?”—“No,” replied the other, “but I tremble at that voice; it is the

one I heard in my dream.”—“Both of us,” rejoined Hako, who was very

superstitious, and had often consulted the oracles of the country, “were

born on the same day, and the same day will close the life of both!”

Towards nightfall Olaf departed, and the master and slave were left to

their own reflections, or what was still worse, to their conversation.

Hako durst not sleep, lest his slave should assassinate him; nor Kark,

lest the same advantage should be taken by his master. At length,

however, the slave closed his eyes, and dreamed that he and his master

were in the same ship, of which he was the helmsman. This required no

interpretation; as Hako observed, they were, indeed, in the same vessel,

and the fate of both was in the hands of the slave. Again the latter

dreamed: he was now at the court of Olaf, who fastened a golden chain

around his neck. “That chain,” observed Hako, “will be a bloody one to

thee, if ever thou comest into the presence of Olaf; it portends thy

doom: yet be faithful to me, and all will be well!” At length nature was

too much for both, and they slept; but, towards the break of day, the

slave was awoke by the horrid noise made by his master, who seemed as if

in a cruel nightmare, as if struggling with some nightly demon, or with

his own evil genius. Kark arose, drew a knife from his belt, and cut the

throat of Hako. The head he then separated from the body, and hastened

with it to Olaf, who was now proclaimed king. “What led thee to this

deed?” was the demand of the prince. “Chiefly,” replied the slave, “the

great reward which I heard thee offer, and partly the confusion of my

senses at the condition of Hako.”—“Thou shalt have the reward,” rejoined

the king; “but thou shalt also die. If Hako was a bad man, he was still

thy master, and a benefactor to thee; and thy fate must be a warning to

thy fellows, not to lift their hands against those whom they ought to

defend.” The slave was then beheaded; and the prophecy, that he and Hako

should die within a day of each other, was literally fulfilled.[216]

Thus perished the son of Sigurd,—a man of great talents, great

enterprise, and, until the last few years of his life, of great public

utility. Previous to that period, his enemies could not deny him noble

birth, great valour, consummate prudence in the art of government, and

success in war. He was, besides, liberal to his dependents, and

magnificent to his friends. His chief defects were dissimulation,

treachery, falsehood; a superstitious regard for the pagan religion, and

a hatred of Christianity. Formerly, he had been called Hako the Good; he

was henceforth to be called Hako the Bad. He died in his fifty-eighth

year, thirty-three of which he had exercised the sovereign power under

the title of jarl.[217]

[Sidenote: 996.]

The death of Hako enabled _Olaf Trygveson_ to take possession of the

whole kingdom, as fully as had ever been done by fair-haired Harald. The

people, indeed, would hear of no other king. One of his first objects

was to introduce Christianity; and he commenced with Vikia, the province

where his mother (the wife of Lodin) and all his family connections

lived, and where he knew he should find the least resistance to his

efforts. To his friends he expressed his resolution, either to convert

the whole kingdom, or to perish in the attempt. Having first prevailed

on his numerous family connections to embrace Christianity, and to

promise a cordial co-operation in his designs, he called an assembly of

the province, and, like most royal missionaries, intimated his command,

rather than his request, that all should receive the baptismal rite. The

chiefs, whom he had previously secured, immediately signified their

assent, and their example constrained the multitude. Here, as everywhere

else, if any refused to forsake their old faith, he would not condescend

to argue with them; some he exiled, some he mutilated, others he put to

death. This was a sure method of producing outward obedience to the new

religion; and, in one year, the whole of Vikia was—not christianised,

but baptized. Accompanied by a strong force, the royal missionary next

transferred his labours to Agder and Hardaland. Here, the same

alternative was proposed,—conversion or death; and the smaller evil was

naturally chosen. Rogaland was the next province to benefit by his

apostolic efforts, and they had the usual success. It appears, however,

that the inhabitants were less inclined to the novelty than their

countrymen of Vikia; and three of the leading chiefs were besought to

answer the monarch in full assembly. But who would venture to resist the

king, especially when he denounced the severest vengeance on all who

should refuse to obey him? One of the speakers was suddenly seized by a

cough; another began to stammer; the third had conveniently a sore

throat; so that no answer being returned to the most gracious message

from the throne, silence was taken for consent, and all present were

within a few days hurried to the baptismal font. In one province the

assembled chiefs, who were all kinsmen, promised to embrace the new

religion on this condition,—that one of their number should receive the

hand of Astridda, sister of the monarch. At first the princess, who had

forgotten the humble fortunes which had lately been the lot of all her

family, refused the match, as beneath her dignity; she wanted a prince.

Olaf adorned her own hawk in magnificent plumes, and sent it to her,

with an intimation that it was no less easy for him to ennoble the

humblest peasant in Norway. The ambitious lady then consented; the

province became Christian; and Erling, the brother-in-law of Olaf,

became a powerful jarl. Proceeding northwards, the royal apostle

assembled the inhabitants of the Fiords and of Raumdal. On this

occasion, a whole army was with him; doubtless because he apprehended

more opposition than he had yet encountered. But his mode of argument

was too convincing to be resisted;—“Receive baptism, or fight me!” and

the easier alternative was selected. From this meeting he repaired to

Laden, where there was a magnificent temple of the gods: the idols he

despoiled, threw them to the ground, and consumed the building by

fire.[218]

[Sidenote: 997 to 999.]