CHAPTER V. YARL'S ERIK and SVEN YARL ERIK, resplendent with this victory, not to speak of that over the Jamsburgers with his father long ago, was now made Governor of Norway, Governor, or quasi-sovereign, with his brother, Yarl Sven, as a partner, who, however, took but little hand in governing, and under the patronage of Sven Doublebeard and the then Swedish King, Olof, his name, sigred the proud his mother's, administered it, they say, with skill and prudence for above fourteen years. Trigvison's death is understood and laborsly computed to have happened in the year one thousand, but there is no exact chronology in these things, but a continual, uncertain guessing after such, so that one eye in history as regards them as if put out. Neither, indeed, have I yet had the luck to find any decipherable and intelligent map of Norway, so that the other eye of history is much blinded with all, and her path through these wild regions and effects is an extremely dim and chaotic one. An evil that much demands remedying, and especially wants some first attempt at remedying, by inquirers into English history, the whole period from Egbert, the first Saxon King of England, on to Edward the Confessor, the last being everywhere completely interwoven with that of their mysterious, continually invasive Danes, as they call them, and inextricably unintelligible till these also get to be a little understood, and cease to be utterly dark, hideous, and mythical to us as they now are. King Olof Trigvison is the first Norseman who is expressly mentioned to have been in England by our English history-boots, new or old, and of him it is merely said that he had an interview with King Ethelred II at Andover, of a Pacific and friendly nature, though it is absurdly added that the noble Olof was conferred to Christianity by that extremely stupid royal person. Greater contrast in an interview than this at Andover between heroic Olof Trigvison and Ethelred the forever unready was not perhaps seen in the terrestrial planet that day. Olof, or Olas, or Anlof, or Anlof, as they name him, did engage in oath to Ethelred not to invade England any more, and kept his promise, they farther say. Essentially a truth, as we already know, though the circumstances were all different, and the promise was to a devout high priest not to a crowned blockhead and cowardly do nothing. One other Olias I found mentioned in our books, two or three centuries before, at a time when there existed no such individual, not to speak of several Anlofs, who sometimes seemed to mean Olof and still often are to mean nobody possible, which occasions not a little obscurity in our early history says the learned seldom. A thing remediable, too, in which, if any Englishman of due genius or even capacity for standing labor, who understood the Icelandic and Anglo-Saxon languages would engage in it, he might do a great deal of good, and bring the matter to a comparatively lucid state. Vane aspirations, or perhaps not altogether vane. At the time of Olof Trigvison's death, and indeed long before, King's Fen double-beard had always for chief enterprise the conquest of England, and followed it by fits with extreme violence and impetus, often advancing largely towards a successful conclusion, but never for thirteen years yet getting it concluded. He possessed long since all England north of Watling Street. That is to say, Northumberland, East Anglia, naturally full of Danish settlers by this time, were fixedly his. Mercia, his oftener than not. Wessex excelled, with all the coasts he was free to visit, and to burn and rob in at discretion. There or elsewhere, Ethelworthy Unready had no battle in him whatever, and for a forty years after the beginning of his reign, England excelled in anarchic stupidity, murderous devastation, utter misery, platitude and sluggish contemptibility. All the countries one has read of. Apparently, a very opulent country, too, a ready skill in such arts and fine arts as there were. Sven's very ships, they say, had their gold dragons, top-mast penins, and other metallic splendors generally wrought for them in England. Unexampled prosperity in the manufacture way was not unknown there, it would seem. But coexisting with such spiritual bankruptcy as was also unexampled, one would hope. Reed Lupus, Wolfstain, Archbishop of York's amazing sermon on the subject, addressed to contemporary audiences, setting forth such a state of things, sons selling their fathers, mothers and sisters as slaves to the Danish robber, themselves living in debauchery, blusterous gluttony and depravity, the details of which are well nigh incredible, though clearly stated as things generally known. The humor of these poor wretches sunk to a state of what we may call greasy desperation.  The manner in which they treated their own English nuns, if young, good-looking and captive to the Danes, buying them on a kind of brutish or subter brutish, greatest happiness principle for the moment, and by a joint stock arrangement far transcends all human speech or imagination, and awakens in one the momentary red-hot thought, the Danes served you right, ye accursed. The so-called soldiers one finds, made not the least fight anywhere, could make none, led and guided as they were, and the generals were often enough traitors, always ignorant and blockheads, were in the habit when expressly commanded to fight of taking physics and declaring that nature was incapable of castor oil and battle both at once. This ought to be explained a little to the modern English and their war secretaries, who undertake the conduct of armies. The undeniable fact is, defeat on defeat was the constant fate of the English, during these forty years not one battle in which they were not beaten, no gleam of victory or real resistance till the noble Edmund Ironside, whom it is always strange to me how such an Ethelrod could produce for a son, made his appearance and ran his brief course, like a great and far-seen meteor soon extinguished without no remedy for England in that base time, but yearly, asking the victorious, plundering, burning and murdering Danes, how much money will you take to go away? Thirty thousand pounds in silver, which the annual Danegilt soon rose to, continued to be about the average yearly sum, though generally on the increasing hand, in the last year I think it had risen to seventy-two thousand pounds in silver, raised yearly by a tax, income tax of its kind, rudely levied, the worst of all remedies, good for the day only. Nay, there was one remedy still worse, which the miserable Ethelrod once tried, that of massacring all the Danes settled in England, practically of a few thousand or hundreds of them, by treachery in a kind of Sicilian Vespers, which issued, as such things usually do, in terrible menachin to you not to try the like again, issued namely in redoubled fury on the Danish part, new fiercer invasion by Sfen's Yarl Thorkle, then by Sfen himself, which latter drove the miserable Ethelrod, with wife and family, into Normandy, to wife's brother, the then Duke there, and ended that miserable struggle by Sfen's becoming King of England himself. Of this disgraceful measure, which it would appear has been immensely exaggerated in the English books, we can happily give the exact date, A.D. 1002, and also of Sfen's victorious accession, A.D. 1013, pretty much the only benefit one gets out of contemplating such a set of objects. King Sfen's first act was to levy a terribly increased income tax for the payment of his army. Sfen was levying it with a strong-handed diligence, but had not yet done levying it when at Gainesboro one night he suddenly died, once used to be said by St. Edmund, the murdered King of the East Angles, who could not bear to see his shrine in monastery of St. Edmundsbury plundered by the tyrant's tax collectors, as they were on the point of being. In all ways impossible, however, Edmund's own death did not occur till two years after Sfen's. Sfen's death, by whatever cause, befell 1014, his fleet then lying in the Humber, and only Canute, his eldest son, hardly yet 18, count some, charge of it, who, on short counsel, arrangement about this questionable kingdom of his, lifted anchor, made for sandwich, a safer station at the moment, cut off the feet and noses, won shutters and hopes not, there being some discrepancy about it, of his numerous hostages that had been delivered to King Sfen, set them ashore, and made for Denmark, his natural storehouse and stronghold, as the hopefulest first thing he could do. Canute soon returned from Denmark, with increase of force sufficient for the English problem, which latter he now ended in a victorious, and essentially for himself in chaotic England, beneficial manner. Became widely known by and by, there and elsewhere, as Canute the Great, and is thought by judges of our day to have really merited that title. A most nimble, sharp striking, clear thinking, prudent and effective man, who regulated this dismembered and distracted England in its church matters, in its state matters, like a real king. Had a standing army, housed Carls, who were well-paid, well-drilled and disciplined, capable of instantly quenching insurrection or breakage of the peace, and piously endeavored, with a signal earnestness, and even devoutness, if we look well, to do justice to all men, and to make all men rest satisfied with justice. In a word he successfully strapped up, by every true method and regulation, this miserable, dislocated and dissevered mass of bleeding anarchy into something worthy to be called in England again, only that he died too soon, and a second conqueror of Assal, still weightier of structure and under improved auspices, became possible, and was needed here. To appearance, Canute himself was capable of being a Charlemagne of England and the North, as has been already said or quoted, had he only lived twice as long as he did. But his whole sum of years seems not to have exceeded forty. His father's fenn of the fork-beard is reckoned to have been fifty or sixty when St. Edmund finished him at Gainesboro. We now return to Norway, ashamed of this long circuit which has been a truancy, more or less. CHAPTER IX King Olaf the Thick Set's Viking Days King Harold Granske, who, with another from Russia accidentally lodging beside him, got burned to death in Sweden, courting that unspeakable Sigrid the Proud, was third cousin or so to Trigve, father of our heroic Olaf. Accurately counted he is great-grandson of Bjorn the Chapman, first of Hagfager's sons, whom Eric Bloodaxe made away with. His little kingdom, as he called it, was a district named the Greenland—Grainland—he himself was one of those little Harfager kinglets whom Hakonyarl, much more Olaf Trigvesen, was content to leave reigning, since they would keep the peace with him. Harold had a loving wife of his own, Asta, the name of her, soon expecting the birth of her and his pretty babe, named Olaf, at the time he went on that deplorable Swedish adventure, the foolish, faded creature, and ended self and kingdom altogether. Asta was greatly shocked. Composed herself, however, married a new husband, Sigr Sir, a kinglet, and a great-grandson of Harold Fairhair, a man of great wealth, prudence, and influence in those countries, in whose house, as favorite and well-beloved stepson, little Olaf was wholesomely and skillfully brought up. In Sigrid's house he had, with all a special tutor entertained for him, one Reign, known as Reign the Far-traveled, by whom he could be trained from the earliest basis in Norse accomplishments and arts. New children came, one or two, but Olaf, from his mother, seems always to have known that he was the distinguished and royal article there. One day his foster-father, hurrying to leave home on business, hastily bade Olaf, no other being by, saddle his horse for him. Olaf went out with the saddle, chose the biggest he-goat about, saddled that, and brought it to the door by way of a horse. Old Sigrid, a most grave man, grinned sardonically at the sight. Ha! I see thou hast no mind to take commands from me, thou art of too high a humor to take commands. To which, says Snorro, boy Olaf answered little except by laughing, till Sigrid saddled for himself and rode away. His mother, Osta, appears to have been a thoughtful prudent woman, though always with fierce royalism at the bottom of her memory, and a secret implacability on that head. At the age of twelve, Olaf went to sea, furnished with a little fleet and skillful sea-counselor, expert old Reign, by his foster-father, and set out to push his fortune in the world. Reign was a steersman and counselor in those insipid times, but the crew always called Olaf king, though at first Snorro thinks, except it were in the hour of battle, he merely pulled an oar. He cruised and fought in this capacity on many seasons shores, past several years, perhaps till the age of nineteen or twenty, in this wild element and way of life, fighting always in a glorious and most distinguished manner. In the hour of battle diligent enough to amass property, as the Vikings termed it, and in the long days and nights of sailing given over, it is likely to his own thoughts and the unfathomable dialogue with the ever-moaning sea not the worst high school a man could have, and indeed infinitely preferable to most that are going on even now, for a high and deep young soul. His first distinguished expedition was to Sweden, natural to go thither first, to avenge his poor father's death, were it nothing more. Which he did, the Scalds say, in a distinguished manner, making victorious and handsome battle for himself in entering Merrell Lake, and in getting out of it again, after being frozen there all winter, showing still more surprising, almost miraculous contrivance and dexterity. This was the first of his glorious victories, of which the Scalds reckon up some fourteen or thirteen very glorious indeed, mostly in the western and southern countries, most of all in England, till the name of Olaf Heraldson became quite famous in the Viking and strategic world. He seems really to have learned the secrets of his trade, and to have been then and afterwards for vigilance, contrivance, valor, and promptitude of execution a superior fighter. Several exploits recorded of him betoken in simple forms what may be called military genius. The principal, and to us the alone interesting of his exploits, seemed to have lain in England, and what is further notable, always on the anti-Span side. English books do not mention him at all that I can find, but it is fairly creditable that, as the North Records report, in the end of Ethelred's reign he was the ally or higher general of Ethelred, and did a great deal of sea-fighting, watching, sailing, and sieging for this miserable king and Edmund Ironside his son. Snorro says expressively, London, the impregnable city, had to be besieged again for Ethelred's behoof, in the interval between Sven's death and young Knutts getting back from Denmark, and that our Olaf Heraldson was the great engineer and victorious captor of London on that singular occasion. London captured for the first time. The bridge, as usual, Snorro says, offered almost insuperable obstacles. But the engineering genius of Olaf contrived huge platforms of wainscotting, old walls of wooden houses, in fact, bound together by widths. These carried steadily aloft above the ships. Will, thinks Olaf, considerably secure them and us from the destructive missiles, big boulder stones, and other, mischief profusely shower down on us, till we get under the bridge with axes and cables, and do some good upon it. Olaf's plan was tried. Most of the other ships, in spite of their wainscotting and widths, recoiled on reaching the bridge, so destructive were the boulder and other missile showers. But Olaf's ships and self got actually under the bridge, fixed all manner of cables there, and then, with the river current in their favour, and the frightened ships rallying to help in this safer part of the enterprise, tore out the important piles and props, and fairly broke the poor bridge, wholly or partly, down into the river, and its Danish defenders into immediate surrender. That is Snorro's account. On a previous occasion, Olaf had been deep in a hopeful combination with Ethelred's two younger sons, Alfred and Edward, afterwards King Edward the Confessor, that they should sally out from Normandy in strong force, unite with Olaf in Ditto, and landing on the Thames do something effectual for themselves. But impediments, bad weather or the like, disheartened the poor princes, and it came to nothing. Olaf was much in Normandy, what they then called Wolland, a man held in honour by those Norman dukes. What amount of property he had amassed I do not know, but could prove, were it necessary, that he had acquired some tactical or even strategic faculty and real talent for war. At Limfjord in Jutland, but some years after this, A.D. 1027, he had a sea battle with the great Knut himself, ships combined with floodgates, with roaring artificial deluges, right well managed by King Olaf, which were within a hair's breadth of destroying Knut, now become a king and great, and did in effect send him instantly running. But of this more particularly by and by. What still surprises me is the mystery, where Olaf, in this wandering, fighting, sea roving life, acquired his deeply religious feeling, his intense adherence to the Christian faith. I suppose it had been in England, where many pious persons, priestly and other, were still to be met with, that Olaf had gathered these doctrines, and that in those his unfathomable dialogues with the ever-moaning ocean, they had struck root downwards in the soul of him, and borne fruit upwards to the degree so conspicuous afterwards. It is certain he became a deeply pious man during these long Viking cruises, and directed all his strength, when strength and authority were lent him, to establish the Christian religion in his country, and suppressing and abolishing Vikingism there, both of which objects, and their respective worth and unworth, he must himself have long known so well. It was in AD 1016 that Knut gained his last victory, at Ashton in Essex, where the earth pyramids in antique church, nearby, still testified the thankful piety of Knut, or, at Lowest, his joy at having won instead of lost and perished, as he was near doing there. And it was still this same year, when the noble Edmund Ironside, after forced partition treaty in the Isle of Olney, got scandalously murdered, and Knut became indisputable sole king of England, and decisively settled himself to his work of governing there. In the year before either of which events, while all still hung uncertain for Knut, and even Eric, Yarl of Norway, had to be summoned in eight of him, in that year 1015, as one might naturally guess, and as all Icelandic hints and indications lead us to date the thing, Olaf had decided to give up Vikingism in all its forms, to return to Norway, and try whether he could not assert the place and career that belonged to him there. Yarl Eric had vanished with all his war forces towards England, leaving only a boy, Hakkon, as successor, and Sven, his own brother, a quiet man who had always avoided war. Olaf landed in Norway without obstacle, but decided to be quiet till he had himself examined and consulted friends. His reception by his mother Osta was of the kindest and proudest, and is lovingly described by Snorro. A pretty idyllic or epic piece of Norse Homeric type, how Osta, hearing of her son's advent, set all her maids and menials to work at the top of their speed, dispatched a runner to the harvest field, where her husband Sigurd was, to warn him to come home and dress. How Sigurd was standing among his harvest folk, reapers and binders, and what he had on, broad slouch hat, with veil against the midges, blue curdle, hose of I forget what color, with laced boots, and in his hand a stick with a silver head and ditto-ring upon it, a personable old gentleman of the eleventh century in those parts. Sigurd was cautious, prudently conchatory, though heartily friendly in his counsel to Olaf as to the king-question. Osta had a spartan tone in her wild maternal heart, and assures Olaf that she, with a half reproachful glance at Sigurd, will stand by him to the death in this his just and noble enterprise. Sigurd promises to consult farther in his neighborhood and to correspond by messages. The result is, Olaf resolutely pushing forward himself, resolves to call a thing and openly claim his kingship there. The thing itself was willing enough. Opposition parties do here and there besture themselves, but Olaf is always swifter than day. Five kinglets somewhere in the uplands, all descendants of Harfager, but averse to break the peace, which Jarl Errik and Hakan Jarl, both have always willingly allowed to peaceable people, seem to be the main opposition party. These five take the field against Olaf with what force they have. Olaf, one night, by beautiful celerity and strategic practice which a Friedrich or a Turin might have approved, surrounds these five, and when morning breaks there is nothing for them but either death or else instant surrender and swearing of fealty to King Olaf. Which latter branch of the alternative they gladly accept, the whole five of them and go home again. This was a beautiful bit of war practice by King Olaf on land. By another stroke still more compendious at sea, he had already settled poor young Hakan and made him peaceable for a long while. Olaf, by diligent quest and spy messaging, had ascertained that Hakan, just returning from Denmark in farewell to Papa and Kanud, both now under way for England, was coasting north towards Trondheim and intended on or about such a day to land in such and such a fjord towards the end of this Trondheim voyage. Olaf at once, man's two big ships, steers it through the narrow mouth of the said fjord, moors one ship on the north shore, another on the south, fixes a strong cable, well sunk under water, to the capstans of these two, and in all quietness waits for Hakan. Before many hours Hakan's royal or quasi-royal barge steers gaily into this fjord, is a little surprised perhaps to see within the jaws of it two big ships at anchor, but steers gallantly along, nothing doubting. Olaf, with a signal of all hands, works his two capstans, has this cable up high enough at the right moment, catches with it the keel of poor Hakan's barge, upsets it, empties it wholly into the sea. Holy into the sea, saves Hakan, however, and his people from drowning, and brings them on board. His dialogue with poor young Hakan, especially poor young Hakan's responses, is very pretty. Shall I give it out of Snoro and let the reader take it for as authentic as he can? It is at least the true image of it in authentic Snoro's head, little more than two centuries later. Yarl Hakan was led up to the king's ship. He was the handsomest man that could be seen. He had long hair as fine as silk, bound about his head with a gold ornament. When he sat down in the forehold the king said to him, King, it is not false what is said of your family, that ye are handsome people to look at, but now your luck has deserted you. Hakan, it has always been the case that success is changeable, and there is no luck in the matter. It has gone with your family, as with mine, to have by turns the better lot. I am little beyond childhood in years, and at any rate we could not have defended ourselves, as we did not expect any attack on the way. It may turn out better with us another time. King, dost thou not apprehend that thou art in such a condition that hereafter there can be neither victory nor defeat for the Hakan? That is what only thou canst determined, King, according to thy pleasure. King, what wilt thou give me, Yarl, if for this time I let thee go, whole and unhurt? Hakan, what wilt thou take, King? King, nothing except thou shalt leave the country, give up thy kingdom, and take an oath that thou wilt never go into battle against me. Yarl Hakan accepted the generous terms, went to England and King Canut, and kept his bargain for a good few years, though he was at last driven, by pressure of King Canut to violate it, little to his profit, as we shall see. One victorious naval battle with Yarl Svein, and his adherents, who fled to Sweden after his beating, battle not difficult to a skillful, hard-hitting King, was pretty much all the actual fighting Olaf had to do in this enterprise. He various times met angry bounders and refractory things with arms in their hand, but by skillful firm management, perfectly patient but also perfectly ready to be active, he mostly managed without coming to strokes, and was universally recognized by Norway as its real King. A promising young man, and fit to be a King, thinks Noro. Only of middle stature, almost rather shortish, but firm standing and stout build, so that they got to call him Olaf the Thick, meaning Olaf the Thick set or stout build, though his final epithet among them was infinitely higher. For the rest, a comely, earnest, prepossessing look, beautiful yellow hair in quantity, broad honest face of a complexion purest snow and rose, and finally, or firstly, the brightest eyes in the world, such that in his anger no man could stand them. He had a heavy task ahead, and needed all his qualities and fine gifts to get it done. THE LATE TWO JAROLS, NOW GONE ABOUT THEIR BUSINESS, HAD BOTH BEEN BAPTIZED AND CALLED THEMSELVES CHRISTIANS. But during their government they did nothing in the conversion way, left every man to choose his own god or gods, so that some had actually too, the Christian god by land, and at sea, Thor, whom they considered safer in that element. And in effect the mass of the people had fallen back into a sluggish hedonism or health hedonism, the life-labour of Olof Trigveson lying ruinous or almost quite overset. The new Olof, son of Harald, set himself with all his strength to mend such a state of matters, and stood by his enterprise to the end, as the one highest interest, including all others, for his people and him. His method was by no means soft, on the contrary, it was hard, rapid, severe, somewhat on the model Olof Trigveson's, though with more of bishuffing and preaching, so parodied. Yet still there was a great deal of mauling, vigorous punishing, and entire intolerance of these two things, hedonism and syrobery, at least of syrobery in the old style, whether in the style we modern still practice, and call privateering, I do not quite know. But viking is proper head to seas in Norway, still more hedonism, under penalties too severe to he borne, death, modulation of limb, not to mention for future, and less rigorous coercion. Olof was inexorable against violation of the law. Too severe, cried many, to whom one answers. Perhaps in part, yes, perhaps also in great part, no. Depends all together on the previous question. How far the law was the internal one of God almighty in the universe? How far the law merrily of Olof, destitute of right inspiration, left to his own passions and whims? Many were the jangles Olof had with the refractory heathen things, and iron beards of a new generation. Very curious to see. Scarsely ever did it come to fighting between king and thing, though often enough, near it. But the thing discerning, as it usually did in time, that the king was stronger and men, seemed to say unanimously to itself. We have lost, then. Baptize us, we must burn our gold gods and confirm. One new feature we do slightly discern, here and there, a touch of theological argument on the heathen side. At one wild thing, far up in the dowry field, of a very heathen temper, there was much of that, not to be quenched by king Olof at the moment, so that it had to be adjourned till the morrow, and again till the next day. Here are some traits of it, much abridged from Snorro, who gives a highly punctual account, which vividly represent Olof's posture and manner of proceeding in such intricacies. The chief iron beard, on this occasion, was one good-brand, a very rugged peasant, who, says Snorro, was like a king in that district. Some days before king Olof intending a religious thing in those deeply heathen parts, with alternative of Christianity or conflagration, is reported on looking down into the valley and the beautiful village of Lore standing there, to have said wistfully.  Olof sent out his message talking all the same, however, admet good-brand and an immense assemblage, whose humor towards him was uncompliant to a high degree indeed. Judge by this preliminary speech of good-brand to his think-people, while Olof was not yet arrived, but only advancing, hardly got to breeden on the other side of the hill. A man has come to Lore, who is called Olof, said good-brand, and will force upon us another face that we had before, and will break in pieces all our gods. He says he has a much greater and more powerful god, and it is wonderful that the earth does not burst asunder under him, or that our gods let him go about and punished, when he dares to talk such things. I know this for certain, that if we carry Thor, who has always stood by us, out of our temple, that is standing upon this farm, Olof's god will melt away, and he and his men be made nothing as soon as Thor looks upon them. Were upon the bonders all shouted as one man? Yeah. Which tremendous message they even forwarded to Olof by God-brand's younger son, the head of seven hundred armed men, but did not terrify Olof with it, who, on the contrary, drew up his troops, rode himself at the head of them, and began a speech to the bonders, in which he invited them to adapt Christianity, as the one true face for mortals. Far from consenting to this, the bonders raised a general shout, smitting at the same time their shields with their weapons.  Go home now, to thy father, and tell him I mean to be with him soon. The son goes accordingly, and advises his father not to face Olof, but God-brand angrily replies, Ha! covered! I see, though, two are taken by the follies that man is going about with, and is resolved to fight. That night, however, God-brand has the most remarkable dream or vision, a man surrounded by light, bringing great terror with him, who warns God-brand against doing battle with Olof. If thou dost, though and all thy people will fall, wolves will drag away zee and zine, ravens will tear zee in stripes. And lo, in telling this to Tord, Potbelly, a sturdy neighbor of his, and henchmen in the thing, it is found that to Tord also has come the self-same terrible apparition. Better propose truce to Olof, who seems to have these dreadful ghostly powers in his side, and the holding of a thing to discuss matters between us. Thing assembles on a day of heavy rain. Being all seated, uprises King Olof, and informs them. The people of Lesso, Lord and Vag, have accepted Christianity, and broken down their idle houses. They believe now in the true God, who has made heaven and earth and knows all things, and sits down again without more words. Good-brand replies, we know nothing about him of whom thou speakest. Does thou call him God, whom neither thou nor anyone else can see? But we have a God who can be seen every day, although he is not out today, because the weather is wet, and he will appear to be terrible and very grand. And I expect that fear will mix with thy very blood, when he comes into the thing. But since thou sayest thy God is so great, let him make it, so that tomorrow we have a cloudy day, but without rain, and then let us meet again. The King accordingly returned home to his lodging, taking Good-brand's son as a hostage. But he gave them a man as hostage in exchange. In the evening the King asked God-brand's son what their God was like. He replied that he bore the likeness of Thor, had a hammer in his hand, was of great size, but hollow within, and had a high stand upon which he stood when he was out. Neither gold nor silver are wanting about him, and every day he received four cakes of bread besides meat. They then went to bed, but the King watched all night in prayer. One day down the King went to mass, then to table, and from thence to the thing. The weather was such as God-brand desired. Now the bishop stood up in his coy robes, with bishop's cough in his head, and bishop's cross ear in his hand. He spoke to the wonders of the true face, told the many wonderful acts of God, and concluded his speech well. Zord potbilly replies, Many things we are told of by this learned man, with the stuff in his hand, crooked at the top like a ram's horn. But since you say, comrades, that your God is so powerful and can do so many wonders, tell him to make it clear sunshine tomorrow, for noon, and then we shall meet here again, and do one of two things, either agree with you about this business or fight you. And they separated for the day. Overnight the King instructed Colbine the strong, an immense fellow, the same who killed Gunfield's two brothers, that he, Colbine, must stand next to him tomorrow. People must go down to wear the ships of the Bondar Slay, and functionally bore holes in every one of them. Eton to the farms where their horses wore, and punctually unhulted the whole of them, and let them loose, all which was done. Snorrow continues, Now the King was in prayer all night, beseeching God of his goodness and mercy to release him from evil. When mass was ended, and mourning was gray, the King went to the thing. When he came thither, some Bondars had already arrived, and they saw a great crown coming along, and bearing among them a huge man's image, glancing with gold and silver. When the Bondars who were at the thing saw it, they started up, and bowed themselves down before the ugly idol. Thereupon it was set down upon the thing field, and on the one side of it sat the Bondars, and on the other the King and his people. Then Dale Goodbrand stood up and said, Where now King is thy God, I think he will now carry his head lower, and neither zoo nor the man, with the horn, sitting beside thee there, whom thou callest Bishop, are so bold today as on the former days.  Throw away now all your opposition, and believe in the God who has your faith holy in his hands. The King now whispers to Colbert in the strong, without the Bondars perceiving it. If it comes so in the course of my speech, that the Bondars look another way, than towards their idol, strike him as hard as the Kent's with thy club. The King then stood up and spoke. My chast zoo talketh to us this morning, and greatly hast zoo wondered, that the Kent's not see our God, but we expect that he will soon come to us. So would threaten us with thy God, who is both blind and deaf, and cannot even move about without being carried. But now I expect it will be but a short time before he meets his faith. For turn your eyes towards the east, behold our God advancing in great light. The sun was rising, and all turned to look. At that moment Colbert gave their God a stroke, so that he quite burst asunder, and there ran out of him mice as big almost as cats and reptiles and adders. The Bondars were so terrified that some fled to their ships, but when they sprang out upon them the ships filled with water and could not get away. Others ran to their horses, but could not find them. The King then ordered the Bondars to be caught together, saying he wanted to speak with them, on which the Bondars came back, and the thing was again seated. The King rose up and said, I do not understand what your noise and running mean. You yourselves see what your God can do, the idol you adorn with gold and silver, and brought meat and provisions too. You see now that the protecting powers who used and got good of all that, were the mice and adders, the reptiles and lizards, and surely they do ill who trust to such, and will not abandon this folly. Take now your gold and ornaments that are lying strove on the grass and give them to your wives and daughters, but never hang them hereafter upon stocks and stones. Here are two conditions between us to choose upon, either accept Christianity or fight this very day, and the victory be to them to whom the God we worship gives it. Then Dale Goodbrand stood up and said, We have sustained great damage upon our God, but since he will not help us, we will believe in the God whom Zul believes in. Then all received Christianity. The bishop baptized Goodbrand and his son. King Olaf and Bishop Sigurd left behind them teachers, and they who met as enemies parted as friends, and afterwards Goodbrand built a church in the valley. Olaf was by now means an unmerciful man, much the reverse where he saw good cause. There was a wicked old King Raiarik, for example, one of those five kinglets whom, with their bits of armaments, Olaf by stratagem had surrounded one night, and at once begged and subjected with morning rows, all of them consenting, all of them except this Raiarik, whom Olaf, as the radius to your course, took home with him, blinded, and kept in his own house, finding there was no alternative but that or death. To the obstinate old dog, who was a kind of distant cousin Vizal, and could not conscientiously be killed, stone blind old Raiarik was not always in murderous humor. Indeed, for most part, he wore a placid, conciliatory aspect, and said rude amusing things, but had thrice overtried with amazing cunning of contravence. So stone blind to thrust a dagger into Olaf, and the last time had all but succeeded. So that, as Olaf still refused to have him killed, it had become a problem what was to be done with him. Olaf's good humor, as well as his quiet, ready sense and practicality, are manifested in his final settlement of this Raiarik problem. Olaf's love, I can perceive, was not so loud as triguesons but equally hearty, coming from the bright mind of him.  But a fore-traveled, rudely observant, loyal-minded, and good-humored person, whom Olaf liked to talk with. Remarkably ugly, says Snorro, especially in his hands and feet, which were large and ill-shaped to a degree. One morning, Tzorarin, who, with other trusted ones, slept in Olaf's apartment, was lazily dosing and yawning, and had stretched one of his feet out of the bed before the king awoke. The food was still there when Olaf did open his bright eyes, which instantly lighted on this food. Well, here is a food, says Olaf Gaeli, which one sodom sees the match of. I thirst venture there is not another so ugly in this city of Nidaros. Ha, king, said Tzorarin, there are few things one cannot match if one seek long and take pains. I would bet with thy permission, king, to find an uglier. Done, cried Olaf, upon which Tzorarin stretched out the other food. A still uglier cried he, for it has lost a little toll. Ho-ho, said Olaf, but it is I who have gained the bet.  Loyal Tzorarin is respectfully submitted. What is to be my penalty, then? The king it is that must decide. To take me that wicked old Ryrik to Lave Ericsson in Greenland. Which the Aslander did, leaving two vacant seats hands the force at Olaf's table. Lave Ericsson, son of Errik, discoverer of America, quietly managed Ryrik and the force, sent him to Iceland, I think to father Errik himself, certainly to some safe hands there, in whose house, or in some still quieter neighboring lodging.  Olaf's struggles in the matter of religion had actually settled that question in Norway. But these rough methods of his, whatever we may think of them, hisonism had got itself smashed dead, and was no more heard of in that country. Olaf himself was evidently a highly devolved and pious man, who so ever is born with Olaf's temper now, who will still find, as Olaf did, knew an infinite fiat for it. Christianity in Norway had the like fertility as in other countries, or even rose to a higher, and what Dalman thinks, exuberant pitch, in the course of the two centuries which followed that of Olaf. Him all testimony represents to us as the most righteous, no less than most religious king. Continually vigilant, just and rigorous was Olaf's administration of the laws, repression of robbery, punishment of injustice, stern repayment of evil doers, wherever he could lay hold of them. Amongst the bonder, or appollant class, and indeed everywhere, for the poor too can be sinners and need punishment, Olaf had, by this course of conduct, naturally made enemies. His severity so visible to all, and the justice and infinite beneficence, of it so invisible except to a very few. But at any rate, his reign for the first ten years was victorious, and might have been so to the end, had it not been intersected and interfered with, by King Knutt in his far bigger orbit and current of affairs and interests. Knutt's English affairs and Danish being all settled to his mind, he seems, especially after that year of pilgrimage to Rome, and casers of the world on that occasion, to have turned his more particular attention upon Norway, and the claims he himself had there. Jarl Hakan, too, sister's son of Knutt, and always well seen by him, had long been busy in this direction, much forgetful of that oath to Olaf, when his barge got canted over by the cable of two cupstons, and his life was given him, not without conditions out together. About the year 1026 there arrived two splendid persons out of England, bearing King Knutt's the great letter and seal with a message, lightly enough to be far from welcome to Olaf. For some days Olaf refused to see them or their letter, surely guessing what the purpose would be. Which indeed was coached in mild language, but of sharp meaning, enough. I noticed to King Olaf, namely, that Norway was properly, by just heritage, Knutt the greats, and that Olaf must become the great Knutt's leagueman, and pay tribute to him, or wars would follow. King Olaf listening to these two splendid persons and their letter, in indignant silence, till they quite ended, made answer. I have heard say, by all the accounts there are, that King Gorm of Denmark, Bluetooth's father, Knutt's great grandfather, was considered but a small king, having Denmark only and few people's rule over. But the kings who succeeded him, so it's that insufficient for them, and it has since come so far, that King Knutt rules over both Denmark and England, and has conquered for himself a part of Scotland. And now he claims, also my parental bit of heritage, cannot be contented without that too. Does he wish to rule over all the countries of the North? Can he eat up all the kale in England itself, this Knutt the great? He shall do that, and reduce his England to a desert before I lay my head in his hands, or show him any other kind of wastelage. And so I bid you tell him, these my words, I will defend Norway with battle acts and sword as long as life is given me, and will pay tax to no man for my kingdom. Wards which naturally irritated Knutt to a high degree. Next year accordingly, year 1027, tens or eleventh year of Olaf's reign, there came bad rumors out of England, that Knutt was equipping an immense army. Land army, and such a fleet as had never sailed before. Knutt's own ship in it, a gold dragon, with no furs and sixty benches of wars. Olaf an honoured king of Sweden, whose sister he had married, well-guessed with her, this armament was bound. They were friends with Al, they recognized their common peril in this imminence, and had, in repeated consultations, taken measures the best at their united skill, which I find was mainly Olaf's, but loyally accepted by the other, could suggest. It was in this year that Olaf, with his Swedish king assisting, did his grand feat upon Knutt in Lumpfjord of Jutland, which was already spoken of. The special circumstances of which were these. Knutt's big armament arriving on the Jutish coasts, too late in the season, and the coast country lying all plundered into temporary wreck by the two north kings, who shrank away on the side of Knutt, there was nothing could be done upon them by Knutt this year. Or if anything, what? Knutt's ships ran into Lumpfjord, the safe sheltered frist, or intricate long straggle of frist and strates, which almost cut Jutland in two in that region, and lay safe, idly rocking on the waters there, and certain what to do for them. At last he steered in his big ship and some others, deeper into the interior of Lumpfjord, deeper and deeper onwards to the mouth of a big river, called the Helgea, the holy river, not discoverable in my poor maps, but certainly enough still existing and still flowing somewhere among those intricate straits and frist. Towards the bottom of which held liverlay, in some safe nook the small combined Swedish and Norse fleet, under the charge of Onon the Swedish king, while at the top or source, which is a bigish mountain lake, King Olof had been doing considerable engineering works, well suited to such an occasion, and was now ready at the moment's notice. Knutt's fleet, having idly taken station here, noticed from the Swedish king that's instantly sent. Instantly Olof's well engineered floodgates were thrown open. From the swollen lake a huge deluge of water was let loose. Olof himself, with all his people hastening down to join his Swedish friend, and get on board in time. Helge river, all the while alongside of him, was ever increasing roar, and wider spreading deluge, hastening town, the steeps, and the night vaches. So that, along with Olof or some way ahead of him, came a measurable roaring west of waters upon Knutt's negligent fleet, shattered, broke, and stranded many of his ships, and was within a trifle of destroying the golden dragon herself, with Knutt on board. Olof and Onond, we need not say, were promptly there in person, doing their very best, the railings of the golden dragon, however, were too high for their little ships. And Jarl Olof, husband of Knutt's sister, at the top of his speed, courageously intervening spoiled their stratagem, and saved Knutt from this very dangerous pass. Knutt did nothing more this winter. The two north kings quite unequal to attack such an armament, except by ambush and engineering, sailed away, again plundering at discretion on the Danish coast, carrying into Sweden great booties and many prisoners, but obliged to lie fixed all winter, and indeed to leave their fleets there for a series of winters. Knutt's fleet posted at Elsinor on both sides of the sound, rendering all agressed from the boutique impossible, except at his pleasure. Olof's apportionate deliverance of his royal brother-in-law did not much bested poor Olof himself. He had been in disfavor before, pardoned with difficulty, by Queen Emma's intercession, and ambitious, officious, pashing, steering, and, both in England and Denmark, almost dangerous man. And this conspicuous accidental merit only awoke new jealousy in Knutt. Knutt, finding nothing past the sound, was much blockading, went ashore, and the day before Michalmas, said Snorrow, rode with the great regi Newt Royce Godet. Snorrow continues his tragic narrative of what befell there. There Knutt's brother-in-law, Jarl Olof, had prepared a great feast for him. The Jarl was the most agreeable host, but the king was silent and soon. The Jarl talked to him in every way to make him cheerful, and brought forward everything he could think of to amuse him. But the king remained stern, and speaking little. At last the Jarl proposed a game of chess, which he agreed to. A chess board was produced, and they played together. Jarl Olof was hasty in temper, stiff, and in nothing yielding. But everything he managed went on well in his hands. And he was a great warrior, about whom there are many stories. He was the most powerful man in Denmark next to the king. Jarl Olof's sister, Güda, was married to Jarl Gudin, Godwin, Ulfna's son, and their sons were Harald King of England and Jarl Tosti, Jarl Valdhjolf, Jarl Mordokare, and Jarl Svein. Güda was the name of their daughter, who was married to the English king Edward the Good, whom we call the Confessor. When they had played a while, the king made a false move, on which the Jarl took a night from him. But the king set the piece on the board again, and told the Jarl to make another move. But the Jarl flew angry, tumbled the chess board over Rose, and went away. The king said, Run thy ways, Ulf the Fearful. The Jarl turned round at the door, and said, The woods have run farther at Helge River, had Zubin left to battle there. So did Zubin not call me, Ulf the Fearful, when I hastened to thy help, while the Swedes were beating thee like a dog. The Jarl then went out, and went to bed. The following morning, while the king was putting on his clothes, he said to his food boy, Go through to Jarl Ulf and kill him. The lad went, was away awhile, and then came back. The king said, Has Zubin killed the Jarl? I did not kill him, for he was gone to St. Lucius Church. There was a man called Ivar the White, a Norwegian by birth, who was the king's courtman and chamberlain.  Ivar went to the church, and in at the core, and thrust his sword through the Jarl, who died on the spot.  The king said, Has Zubin killed the Jarl? I have killed him, said he. Zubin has done well, answered the king. End of Section 6 of Early Kings of Norway, Chapter 10, Part 1. Section 7 of Early Kings of Norway. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Christine. Early Kings of Norway, by Thomas Carlisle. Section 7, Chapter 10, Reign of King Olaf the Saint, Part 2. From a man who built so many churches, one on each battlefield where he had fought, to say nothing of the others, and who had in him such depths of real devotion and other fine cosmic quality, sisters seem rather strong. But it is characteristic, with all, of the man, and perhaps of the time still more. In any case, it is an event forced now noting, the slain Jarl, and his connections being of importance in the history of Denmark and of England also. Olaf's wife was Astrid, sister of Knut, and their only child was Svein, styled afterward Svein Astrid's son, when he became noted in the world. At this time, a beardless youth, who, on the back of this tragedy fled hastily to Sweden, where were friends of Ulf. After some ten years' eclipse there, Knut and Bowsky's sons being now dead, Svein reappeared in Denmark, under a new and eminent figure, Jarl of Denmark, highest leech man, to the then sovereign there. Broke his oath to said sovereign declared himself Svein Astrid's son to be real king of Denmark, and, after much preliminary trouble and many beatings and disastrous flights to and fro, became in effect such, to the wonder of mankind, for he had not had one victory to cheer him on, or any good luck or merits that one sees, except that of surviving longer than some others. Nevertheless, he came to be the restorer, so-called of Danish independence, sole remaining representative of Knut, or Knut's sister, of workbeard, lootus, and odd gorm, and ancestor of all the subsequent kings of Denmark for some four hundred years, himself coming, as we see, only by the distaf side, all of the sword or male side having died so soon. Early death it has been observed was the great Knut's allotment, and all his posterity as well. Fatal limit had there been no others which we seen there where, to his becoming Charlemagne of the North, in any considerable degree. Jarl Ulf, as we have seen, had a sister, Gudda by name, wife to Earl Godwin, Guddin Ulfnetsson, a snorro calls him, a very memorable Englishman, whose son and hers king Harald, Harald in English books, as a memorableist of all. These things ought to be better known to English antiquaries, and will perhaps be alluded to again. This pretty little victory or affront gained over Knut in Lumpjord was among the last successes of Ulf against that mighty man. Ulf, the skillful captain he was, need not have despair to defend his Norway against Knut and all the world. But he learned hence a force, month by month, ever more tragically, that his own people, seeing softer prospects under Knut, and in particular the chiefs of them, industriously bribed by Knut for years past, had fallen away from him, and that his means of defense were gone. Next summer Knut's grand fleet sailed unopposed along the coast of Norway, Knut summoning a thing every here and there, and in all of them meeting nothing but sky-high acclamation and acceptance. Ulf with some twelve little ships, all he now had, lay quiet in some safe fjord near Lindeneis, what we now call the nays, behind some little solitary isles on the south-east of Norway there, till Triumphant Knut had streamed home again. Home to England again, souring of Norway now, with Nephew Haken appointed Charles and Vice-Regent under him. This was the news Ulf met on venturing out, and that his worst anticipations were not beyond the sad truth all, or almost all, the chief ponderers and men of weight in Norway had declared against him, and stood with Triumphant Knut. Ulf with his twelve poor ships steered vigorously along the coast to collect money and force, if such could now and ever be had. He himself was resolute to hold out and try. Sailing swiftly with a fair wind mourning cloudy with some showers, he passed the coast of Gendarin, which was Erling Skelksson's country. When he got sure notice of an endless multitude of ships, warships, armed merchant ships, all kinds of shipping craft, down to fisherman's boats, just getting underway against him, under the command of Erling Skelksson, the powerfulest of his subjects, once much a friend of Ulf's, but now gone against him to this length, thanks to Ulf's severity of justice, and Knut's abundance in gold and promises for years back. To that complexion had it come with Erling, sailing with this immense assemblage of the naval people and populace of Norway, to seize King Ulf and bring him to the great Knut, dead or alive. Erling had a grand new ship of his own, which far out sailed the general miscellany of rebel ships, and was visibly fast gaining distance on all of himself, who well understood what Erling's puzzle was, between the tale of his game, the miscellany of rebel ships, namely, that could not come up, and the head or general prize of the game, which was crowning all sail to get away, and Ulf took advantage of the same. Lower your sails, said Ulf to his men, though we must go slower. Ho, you, we have lost sight of them, said Erling to his, and put on all his speed. Ulf going soon after this altogether invisible, behind a little island that he knew of, went into a certain fjord or bay, bay of fungen on the maps, which he thought would suit him. Halt here, and get out your arms, said Ulf, and had not to wait long till Erling came bounding in, past the rocky promontory, and this astonishment beheld Ulf's fleet, oft fell with their battle axes, and their grappling irons all in perfect readiness. These fell on him, the unready Erling simultaneous like a cluster of angry bees, and in a few minutes cleared his ship of men altogether except Erling himself. Nobody asked his life nor probably would have got if he had. Only Erling still stood erect on a high place on the poop, fiercely defensive and very difficult to get at. Could not be reached at all, said Snorro, except by spears or arrows, and these he warded off with untying dexterity. No man in Norway, it was said, had ever defended himself so long alone against many. An almost invincible Erling, had his cause been good. All of himself noticed Erling's behaviour, and said to him, from the foredeck below, though has turned against me today, Erling. The eagles fight breast to breast, answered he. This was a speech of the kings to Erling once long ago, while they stood fighting, not as now but side by side. The king, with some transient thought of possibility going through his head, rejoins. Will too surrender Erling? That will I, answered he, took the helmet off his head, lay down sword and shield, and went forward to the forecastle-deck. The king pricked, I think not very harshly, into Erling's chin or beard with the point of his battle-axe, saying, I must mark thee a traitor to thy sovereign so. Whereupon one of the bystanders, Aslak Fitiaskalle, stupidly and fiercely burst up, smote Erling on the head with his axe, so that it struck fast in his brain, and thus instantly the death of Erling. Ill luck attend thee for that stroke, though has struck Norway out of my hand by it, cried the king to Aslak, but forgave the poor fellow, who had done it meaning well. The insurrectionary bonder fleet, arriving soon after, as if for certain victory, was struck with astonishment at this Erling catastrophe, and being now without any leader of authority, made not the least attempt of battle, but full of discouragement and consternation, thankfully allowed Olaf to sail away on his northward voyage at discretion, and themselves went off lamenting with Erling's dead body. This small victory was the last that Olaf had over his many enemies at present. He sailed along still northward day after day. Several important people joined him, but the news from Landward grew daily more ominous. Bonders busily arming to rear of him, and ahead, Hakan still more busily atroned him, now nearby, and he will end thy days king, if he have strength enough. Olaf paused, sent scouts to a hilltop. Hakan's armament visible enough, and underway his reward about the Isle of Bjarno yonder. Soon after, Olaf himself saw the bonder armament of twenty-five ships, from the southward sail past in the distance to join that of Hakan, and worse still, his own ships, one and another, seven and all, were slipping off on a like errand. He made for the fjord of Fodra, mouth of the rugged strass called Valdal, which I think still knows Olaf, and has now an Olaf's highway, where, nine centuries ago it scarcely had a path. Olaf entered this fjord, had his land tent set up, and a cross beside it, on the small level green behind the promontory there. Finding that his twelve poor ships were now reduced to five, against a world all risen upon him. He could not but see and admit to himself, that there was no chance left, and that he must withdraw across the mountains and wait for a better time. His journey through that wild country, in these forlorn and straightened circumstances, has a mournful dignity and homely pathos, as described by Snorro.  The well-nigh precipitous slopes that led across, never without miraculous aid from heaven, and all of good baggage wagons have ascended that path. In short, have he fared along, best set by difficulties and the mournfulness thoughts, but patiently persisted, steadfastly trusted in God, and was fixed to return, and by God's help tried again. Unevidently very pious and devout man, a good man struggling with adversity, such as the goods, we may still imagine with the ancients do look down upon as their noblest sight. He got to Sweden to the court of his brother-in-law, kindly and nobly enough received there, so gradually perhaps ill-seen by the no-authorities of Norway. So that, before long, who acquitted Sweden, left his queen there with her only daughter, his and hers, their only child they had, he himself had an only son, by a bond-woman, magmus by name, who came to create things afterwards, of whom, and of which, by and by. With this bright little boy and a selected escort of attendance, he moved away to Russia, to King Jaroslav, where he might wait secure against all risk of hurting kind friends by his presence. He seems to have been an exile altogether some two years, such as one's vague notion, for there is no chronology in Snorough or his sagas, and one is reduced of guessing and inferring. He had reigned over Norway, reckoning from the first days of his lending there, to those last of his leaving it across the Dovrifjöd, about fifteen years, ten of them shiningly victorious. The news from Norway were naturally agitating to King Olaf, and, in the fluctuation of events there, his purposes and prospects varied much. He sometimes thought of pilgriming to Jerusalem, and a henceforth exclusively religious life, but for most part, his pious thoughts themselves gravitated towards Norway, and a stroke for his odd place and task there, which he steadily considered to have been committed to him by God. Norway, by the rumors, was evidently not at rest. Jarro Hocken, under the high patternage of his uncle, had lasted there but a little while. I know not that his government was especially unpopular, nor whether he himself much remembered his broken oath. It appears, however, he had left in England a beautiful bride, and considering further that in England only could bridle ornaments and other wedding outfit of a sufficiently royal kind be found, he set sail scissor to fetch her and them himself. One evening of wildish-looking feather he was seen about the north-east corner of the pentland frist. The night rose to be tempestous. Hocken or any timber of his fleet was never seen more. Had all gone down, broken oaths, bridle hopes and all else, mouths and men, into the roaring waters. There was no further opposition line, the like of which had lasted ever since odd years in Hocken Jarro. Down to this his grandson Hocken's thinness in the pentland frist. With this Hocken's disappearance it now disappeared. Indeed Knut himself, though of an empire suddenly so great, was but a temporary phenomenon. Fate had decided that the grand and wise Knut was to be short-lived, and to leave nothing as successors but an ineffectual youth harrowed hair-foot, who soon perished, and a still-stupider fiercely drinking hardock-knut, who rushed down of Apoplexy, here in London City as I guess, with the goblet at his mouth, drinking health and happiness at a wedding feast also before long. Hocken having vanished in this dark way, there ensued a pause both on Knut's part and on Norway's. Pause or interregnum of some months till it became certain first, whether Hocken were actually dead, secondly till Norway, and especially till King Knut himself, could decide what to do. Knut, to the deep disappointment which had to keep itself silent, of three or four chief Norway men, named none of the three, or four Jarro of Norway, but besought him of a certain Svein, a bastard son of his own, who, and almost still more his English mother, much desired a career in the world fitter for him, thought they indignantly, than that of Captain over Jomsborg, where alone the father had been able to provide for him his arseal. Svein was sent to Norway as king, or vice-king, for father Knut, and along with him his fond and vehement mother, neither of whom gained any favor from the North people by the kind of management they ultimately came to show. Olaf on news of this change, and such uncertainty, prevailing everywhere in Norway as to the future course of things, whether Svein would come, as was rumored of at last, and be able to maintain himself if he did, thought there might be something on it of a chance for himself and his rights. And, after lengthened hesitation, much prayer, pious invocation and consideration, decided to go and try it. The final crane, that had turned the balance it appears, was a whole waking morning dream, or almost ocular vision he had of his glorious cousin, Olaf Trugvesan, who severely admonished, exhorted, and encouraged him, and disappeared grandly, just in the instant of Olaf's awakening, so that Olaf almost fancied he had seen the very figure of him as it melted into air. Let us on, let us on, thought Olaf always after that. He left his son, not in Russia, but in Sweden with the Queen, who proved very good and carefully helpful in wise ways to him. In Russia Olaf had now nothing more to do but give his grateful adieu's and get ready. He marched towards Sweden and from that towards Norway, and the passes of the mountains, down Borodal towards Styxelstad, and the crisis that awaited is beautifully depicted by Snorrel. It has, all of it, the description, and we see clearly the fact itself had, a kind of pathetic grandeur, simplicity, and rude nobleness, something epic or Homeric, without the meter or the singing of Homer, but with all the sincerity rugged truth to nature, and much more of piety, devoutness, reverence, for what is forever high in this universe, than meets us in those old Greek ballad mongers. Singularly visual, all of it, too, brought home in every particular to one's imagination, so that it stands out almost as a thing one actually saw. Olaf had about three thousand men with him, gathered mostly as he fared along through Norway. Four hundred raised by one dag, a kinsman whom he had found in Sweden and persuaded to come with him, marched usually in a separate body, and where, or might have been, rather an important element. Learning that the bonders were all arming, especially in Trondheim country, Olaf streamed down towards them in the closest order he could. By no means very close, subsistence even for three thousand being difficult in such a country. His speech was almost always free and cheerful, though his thoughts always naturally were of a high and earnest, almost sacred tone, devout above all. Stickelstad, a small poor hamlet still standing where the volley ends, was seen by Olaf, and tacitly by the bonders as well, to be the natural place for offering battle. There Olaf eschewed out from the hills one morning, drove himself up according to the best rules of Norse tactics, rules of little complexity, but perspicuously true to the facts. I think he had a clear open ground still rather raised above the plain in front. He could see how the bonder army had not yet quite arrived, but was pouring forward in spontaneous rows or groups, copiously by every path. This was so to be the biggest army that ever met in Norway. Certainly not much fewer than a hundred times a hundred men, according to Snorrol. Great bonders, several of them, small bonders very many, all of willing mind animated with a hot sense of intolerable injuries. King Olaf had punished great and small with equal rigor, says Snorrol, which appeared to be the chief people of the country too severe, and animosity rose to the highest when they were lost relatives by the king's just sentence, although they were in reality guilty. He again would rather renounce his dignity than Omed Wright's judgment. The accusation against him of being stingy with his money was not just, for he was a most generous man towards his friends. But that alone was the cause of the discontent erased against him that he appeared hard and severe in his retribution. Besides, King Knutt offered large sums of money, and the great chiefs were corrupted by this, and by his offerings and greater dignities than they had possessed before. On these grounds against the intolerable men, great and small, were now pouring along by every path. Olaf perceived it would still be some time before the bonder army was in rank. His own dog of Sweden, too, was not yet come up. He was to have the right banner, King Olaf's own being the middle or grand one, some other person the third or left banner, all which being perfectly ranked and settled according to his best rules and waiting only the arrival of Dag. Olaf bathed his men's seat down and freshened themselves with a little rest. There were religious services gone through, a matins' worship such as there have been few, sternly earnest to the heart of it, and deep of death and eternity, at least on Olaf's own part. For the rest Dormund sang a stave on the fiercest scotic poetry that was in him. All the armies tried to asceng it in chorus with fury mind. The bonder of the nearest farm came up to tell Olaf that he also wished to fight for him. Thanks to thee, but don't, said Olaf, stay at home, rather, that the wounded may have some shelter. To this bonder Olaf delivered all the money he had, with solemn order to lay out the whole of it in masses and prayers for the souls of such of his enemies as fell. Such of thy enemies, king. Yeah, surely, said Olaf, my friends will all either conquer or go with their also am going. At last the bonder army too was got ranked three commanders, one of them with a kind of loose chief command, having settled to take charge of it, and began to shake itself towards actual advance. Olaf, in the meanwhile, had laid his head on the knees of Finn Arneson, his trusty man, and fallen fast asleep. Finn's brother, Calf Arneson, once a warm friend of Olaf, was chief of the three commanders on the opposite side. Finn and he addressed angry speech to one another from the opposite ranks, when they came near enough. Finn, seeing the enemy fairly approach, stirred Olaf from his sleep. Oh, why hast thou vacant me from such a dream? said Olaf in a deeply solemn tone. What dream was it, said, asked Finn. I dreamed that there rose a ladder here reaching up to very heaven, said Olaf. I had climbed and climbed, and got to the very last step, and should have entered there, had so given me another moment. King, I doubt thou are fair, but I do not quite like, said dream. The actual fight began about one of the clock in the most bright last day of July, and was very fierce and hot, especially on the part of Olaf's men, who shook the others back a little, though fierce enough they too, and had dug been on the ground, which he wasn't yet. It was thought victory might have been won. Soon after battle joined, the sky grew of a ghastly brass or copper color, darker and darker, till thick night involved all things, and did not clear away again till battle was near ending. Dag, with his 400, arrived in the darkness and made a furious charge, what was afterwards in the speech of the people, called Dagstorm, which had nearly prevailed but could not quite, victory again inclining to the so vastly larger party. It is uncertain still how the matter would have gone, for Olaf himself was now fighting with his own hand, and doing deadly execution on his busiest enemies to right and to left. But one of these chief rebels, Thorar Hund, though to have learned magic from the Laplanders, whom he long traded with and made money by, mysteriously would not fall from Olaf's best strokes. Best strokes brought only dust from the enchanted deerskin coat of the fellow to Olaf's surprise. When another of the rebel chiefs rushed forward, struck Olaf with his battle axe, a wild sloshing wound, and miserably broke his thigh, so that he staggered or was supported back to the nearest stone, and there sat down, lamentably calling on God to help him in this bad hour. Another rebel of note, the name of him long memorable in Norway, slashed or stabbed Olaf a second time, as did then a third, upon which the noble Olaf sank dead and forever quitted this dog-hole of a world, little worthy of such men as Olaf once sometimes sinks. But that too is a mistake, and even an important one should be persisting it. With Olaf's death the sky cleared again, battle near done, ended with complete victory to the rebels, and next to no pursuit or result except the death of Olaf everybody hastening home, as soon as the big duel had decided itself. Olaf's body was secretly carried after dark to some outhouse on the farm near the spot, with there a poor blind beggar, creeping in for shelter that very evening, was miraculously restored to sight. And truly with a notable almost miraculous speed the feelings of all Norway for King Olaf changed themselves, and were turned upside down within a year, or almost within a day. Superlative example of Extinctus Amabituridum. Not all of the sick set any longer, but all of the blessed or saved, now clearly in heaven, such the name and character of him from that time to this. Two churches dedicated to him, out of four that once stood, stand in London at this moment. And the miracles that have been done there, not to speak of Norway and Christendom elsewhere, in his name, were numerous and great for long centuries afterwards. Visibly ascent Olaf ever since, and indeed in Bolandos or elsewhere, I have seldom met with better staff to make a saint of, or a true world hero, in all good senses. Speaking of the London Olaf churches I should have added that from one of these the thrice-famous Tully Street gets its name. Where those three tailors, addressing parliament and the universe, sublimely stride themselves. We the people of England. Saint Olaf Street, Saint Olly Street, Tully Street, Tully Street, such are the metaphor forces of human fame in the world. The Battle Day of Stickelstad, King Olaf's death day, is generally believed to have been Wednesday, July the 31st, 1033. But on investigation it turns out that there was no total eclipse of the sun visible in Norway that year. Though three years before there was one, but on the 29th instead of the 31st. So that the exact date still remains uncertain. Dalman, the latest critic, inflining for 1030, and its indisputable eclipse. End of Section 7, Early Kings of Norway, Chapter 10. Section 8 of Early Kings of Norway. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kristine. Early Kings of Norway by Thomas Carlisle. Section 8, Chapter 11. Magnus the Good and others. St. Olaf is the highest of these Norway kings, and is the last that much attracts us. For this reason, if a reason were not superfluous, we might here end our poor reminiscences of those dim sovereigns. But we will nevertheless, for the sake of their connection with bits of English history, still hastily mention the dames of one or two who follow, and who throw a momentary gleam of life and illumination, on events and epochs, that have fallen so extinct among ourselves at present, though once there were so momentous and memorable. The new king, Svein from Jomsborg, Knut natural son, had no success in Norway, nor seems to have deserved any. His English mother and he were found to be grasping oppressive persons, and awoke almost from the instant that Olaf was suppressed and crushed away from Norway into heaven. Universal audio more and more in that country. Well deservedly it still appears, for their taxings and extortions of malt, of herring, of meal, smithwork and every article taxable in Norway were extreme, and their service to the country otherwise nearly imperceptible. In brief their one basis there was the power of Knut the Great, and that, like all earthly things, was liable to sudden collapse, and it suffered much in notable degree. King Knut, hardly yet of middle age, and the greatest king in the Zen world, died at Shavtesbury in 1035, as Dalman thinks, leaving two legitimate sons and a busy, intriguing widow, Norman Emma, widow of Etelred the Unready. Mother of the younger of these two, neither of whom proved to have any talent or any continuance. In spite of Emma's utmost efforts, Harold, the elder son of Knut, not hers, got England for his kingdom. Emma and her hard-to-knut had to be content with Denmark and go with them much against their will. Harold in England, light-going little figure like his father before him, got the name of Harrefoot here, and might have done good work among his now orderly and settled people, but he died almost within year and day, and has left no trace among us, except that of Harrefoot, from his swift mood of walking. Emma and her hard-to-knut now returned joyfully to England, but the violent, idle and drunken hard-to-knut did no good there, and happily for England and him soon suddenly ended by a stroke of apoplexy at a marriage festival, as mentioned above. In Denmark he had done still less good, and indeed, under him, in a year or two the Grand Imperial Edifice, laboriously built by Knut's valor and wisdom, had already tumbled out to the ground in a most unexpected and remarkable way, as we are now to indicate with all brevity. Svain's tyrannies in Norway had wrought such fruit that, within the four years after Olaf's death, the two men in Norway, the very slayers of King Olaf, Kalf Arneson at the head of them, met secretly once or twice, and unanimously agreed that Kalf Arneson must go to Sweden or to Russia itself, seek young Magnus, son of Olaf Holm. Excellent Magnus to be king over all Norway and them, instead of this intolerable Svain. Which was at once done, Magnus brought Holm in a kind of triumph, all Norway waiting for him. Intolerable Svain had already been rebelled against. Some years before this, a certain young Trigve out of Ireland, authentic son of Olaf Trigveson, and of that fine Irish princess, who chose him in his low habiliments and low estate, and took him over to her own green island. This royal young Trigve-Oliveson had invaded the other Persuane in a fierce, valiant and determined manner, and though with too small a party showed excellent fight for some time, till Svain, zealously bestiring himself, managed to get him beaten and killed. But that was a couple of years ago. The party is still too small, not including one and all as now. Svain, without stroke of thwarts this time, moved off towards Denmark, never showing face in Norway again. His drunken brother, Hardak Knut, received him brotherlike, even gave him some territory to rule over and subsist upon. But he lived only a short while, was gone before Hardak Knut himself, and we will mention him no more. Magnus was a fine Brightian fellow, and proved a valiant, wise and successful king, known among his people as Magnus the Good. He was only natural son of King Olaf, but that made little difference in those times and there. His strange-looking and expected Latin name he got in this way. Alf held his mother a slave through ill luck of war, though nobly born was seen to be in hopeful way, and it was known in the king's house how intimately Olaf was connected with that occurrence and how much he loved this king's serving maid, as she was commonly designated. Alf held was brought to bed late at night, and all the world, especially King Olaf, was asleep. Olaf's strict rules and unalways being, don't awaken me. Seemingly a man sensitive about his sleep. The child was a boy of rather weakly aspect, no important person present except Sigvad, the king's Icelandic scald, who happened to be still awake, and the bishop of Norway, who I suppose had been sent for in hurry. What is to be done, said the bishop. Here is an infant impressing need of baptism, and we know not what the name is. Go, Sigvad, awaken the king and ask. I dare not for my life, answered Sigvad. King's orders are rigorous at that point.  I will myself give him a name, said Sigvad, with the desperate concentration of all his faculties. He shall be namesake of the greatest of mankind, Imperial Carolus Magnus. Let us call the infant Magnus. King Olaf on the morrow asked rather sharply how Sigvad had dared take such a liberty, but excused Sigvad, seeing what the perilous alternative was. And Magnus by such accident this boy was called, and he, not another, is the prime origin and introducer of that name Magnus, which occurs rather frequently, not among the Norman kings only, but by and by among the Danish and Swedish, and among the Scandinavian populations appears to be rather frequent to this day. Magnus, a youth of great spirit, whose own, and standing at his back, all Norway now was, immediately smote home on Denmark, deserious naturally of vengeance for what it had done to Norway, and the sacred kindred of Magnus. Denmark its great-knut gun, and nothing but a drunken hard-knut fugitive swain and co, there in his stead, was become a weak dislocated country, and Magnus plundered in it, burned it, beat it, as often as he pleased. Hard-knut struggling what he could to make resistance over appraisals, but never once getting any victory over Magnus. Magnus, I perceive, was, like his father, a skillful, as well as valiant fighter by sea and land. Magnus was good by talents, and probably backed by immediate alliance with heaven and Saint Olaf, as was then the general belief or surmise about him, could not easily be beaten. And the truth is, he never was, by hard-knut or any other. Hard-knut's last transaction with him was, to make a firm peace and even family sanctioned by all the grandees of both countries, who did indeed mainly themselves make it, their two kings assenting. That there should be perpetual peace and no thought of war more between Denmark and Norway, and that, if either of the kings died childless while the other was reigning, the other should succeed him in both kingdoms. A magnificent arrangement, such as has several times been made in the world's history, but which, in this instance, was very singular, took actual effect, drunk on hard-knut dying so speedily, and Magnus being the man he was. One would like to give the date of this remarkable treaty, but cannot with precision. Guess somewhere about 1040. Actual theoretician of it came to Magnus beyond question in 1042, when hard-knut drank that vessel Baal at the wedding in Lombas and fell down dead, which in the Saxon Chronicle is dated 3 June of that year. Magnus at once went to Denmark on hearing this event, was joyfully received by the headmen there, who indeed, with their fellows in Norway, had been main contrivers of the treaty, both countries longing for mutual peace, and the end of such incessant broils. Magnus was triumphantly received as king in Denmark. The only unfortunate thing was that Svein, Estri's son, the exiled son of Ulf, Knut's brother-in-law, whom Knut, as we saw, had summarily killed 12 years before, emerged from Exile in Sweden in a flattering form, and proposed that Magnus should make him Jarl of Denmark, a general administrator there, in his own stead. To which the sanguine Magnus, in spite of advice to the contrary, insisted on exceeding. Too powerful a Jarl, said Einar Thambersthelver, the same Einar whose Baal was heard to break in Olof Triggvison's last battle. Norway breaking from thy hand, king, who had now become Magnus's chief man, and had long been among the highest chiefs in Norway. Too powerful a Jarl, said Einar earnestly. But Magnus disregarded it, and the travel-son experience had to teach him that it was true. In about a year, crafty Svein, bringing ends to meet, got himself declared king of Denmark for his own behoove, instead of Jarl of others, and had to be beaten and driven out by Magnus. Beaten every year, but almost always returned next year, for a new beating. And most so not all together, having at length got one dreadful smashing down, and half killing, which held him quiet for a while, so long as Magnus lived. Nay in the end he made good his point, as if by mere patience in being beaten, and it became king himself, and progenitor of all the kings that followed. King Svein Estriksson, so-called from Astrid or Estris, his mother, the great Knud's sister, daughter of Svein Forkbeard, by that amazing Sigrid the Proud, who burnt those two ineligible suitors of hers both at once, and got to switch on the face from Olaf Driversson, which proved the death of that high man. But all this fine fortune of the often-beaten Estriksson was posterior to Magnus' death, who never would have suffered it had he been alive. Magnus was a mighty fighter, a fiery man, very proud and positive, among other qualities, and had such luck as was never seen before. Luck, environmentally good, said everybody, never once was beaten, which proves, continued everybody, said his father Olaf, and the miraculous power of heaven, were with him always. Magnus, I believe, did put down a great deal of energy in those countries. One of his earliest enterprises was to abolish Jomsborg, and trample out that nest of pirates, which he managed so completely that Jomsborg remained a mere reminiscence thenceforth, and its place is not now known to any mortal. One perverse thing did at last turn up in the course of Magnus, a new claimant for the Crown of Norway, and he a formidable person with all. This was Harald, half-brother of the late Saint Olaf, uncle or half-uncle Zeriford, of Magnus himself, indisputable son of the Saint's mother by Saint Olaf's stepfather, who was himself descent and striked from Harald Harfark. This new Harald was already much heard of in the world. As an ardent boy of fifteen he had fought at King Olaf's side at Stickelstad, would not be admonished by the saint to go away. God smitten down there, not killed, was smuggled away that night from the field by friendly help, good-cured of his wounds, forwarded to Russia, where he grew to man's estate under bright auspices and successes. Fell in love with the Russian princess, but could not get her to wife. Went off there upon to Constantinople as Wiringer, life-guardsman of the Greek caser. Became chief captain of the Wiringers, invincible champion of the poor casers that then were, and filled all the east with the shine and noise of his exploits. An authentic wearing or bearing, such a surname we now have derived from those people, who were an important institution in those Greek countries for several ages. Wiringer lifeguard, consisting of Norsemen, was sometimes a few English among them. Harald had innumerable adventures. Nearly always successful, think the scouts, gained a great deal of wealth, gold ornaments and gold coin, had even Queen Zoya, so their thing, so falsely, enamored of him at one time, and was himself a scout of eminence, some of whose verses, by no means the worst of their kind, remain to this day. This character of boring, much disquenquishes, Harald to me, the only Wiringer of whom I could ever get the least biography, true or half-true. It seems the Greek history books, but indifferently, correspond with these sacro-records, and scholars say there could have been no considerable romance between Zoya and him, Zoya at that date being sixty years of age. Haralds only say nothing of any Zoya, but are still full of launching for his Russian princes far away. At last what with Zoya's, what with Greek perversities and perfidies, and troubles that could not fail, he determined on quitting Greece, packed up his eminencies of wealth in second shape, and actually returned to Russia, where new owners and favours awaited him from old friends, and especially, if I mistake not, the hand of that adorable princess, crowned of all his wishes for the time being. Before long, however, he decided further to look after his Norway royal heritages, and for that purpose sailed in force to the jarl of quasi-king of Denmark, the often-beaten Svein, who was now in Sweden on his usual winter exile after beating. Svein and he had evidently interest in common. Svein was charmed to see him, so one like glorious and renowned a man, with masses of money about him too. Svein did by and by become treacherous, and even attempted one night to assassinate Harald in his bed on board ship, but Harald, vigilant of Svein and a man of quick and sure insight, had providently gone to sleep elsewhere, leaving a log instead of himself among the blankets. In which log, next morning, treacherous Svein's battle axe was found deeply sticking, and could not be removed without difficulty. But this was after Harald and King Magnus himself bad began trading, with the fairest prospects, which this of the Svein battle axe naturally tended to forward, as it altogether ended the other copartinary. Magnus, on first hearing of Byringer Harald and his intentions, made instant equipment and determination to fight his uttermost against the same. But wise persons of influence round him, as did the like sort round Byringer Harald, earnestly advised compromise and peaceable agreement, which soon after that of Svein's nocturnal battle axe was the course adopted, and to the joy of all parties did prove a successful solution. Magnus agreed to part his kingdom with Uncle Harald, Uncle parting his treacherous, or uniting them with Magnus' poverty. Each was to be an independent king, but they were to govern in common, Magnus rather presiding. He, to sit, for example, in the high seat alone, King Harald opposite him in a seat not quite so high, though, if a stranger king came on a visit, both the Norse kings were to sit in the high seat. With various other punctilious regulations, which the fiery Magnus was extremely strict with, rendering the mutual relation a very dangerous one, had not both the kings been honest men, and Harald a much more prudent and tolerant one than Magnus. They on the wall never had any weighty quarrel, thanks now and then rather to Harald than to Magnus. Magnus too was very noble, and Harald was his wide experience in greater lengths of years, carefully held his heat of temper well covered in. Prior to Uncle Harald's coming, Magnus had distinguished himself as a law giver. His code of laws for the Trondheim province was considered a pretty piece of legislation, and in some sequent times got the name of Grey Goose, Gragas, one of the wonderfulest names ever given to a wise book. Some say it came from the grey colour of the parchment, some give other incredible origins. The last guess I have heard is that the name merely denotes antiquity, the witty name in Norway for a man growing old having been in those times, that he was now becoming a Grey Goose. Very fantastic indeed, certain have ever that Grey Goose is the name of that venerable law book. Nay, there is another still more famous belonging to Iceland and not far from a century younger, the Iceland Grey Goose. The Norway one is perhaps of date about 1037, the other of about 1118. Peace be with them both. Or if anybody is inclined to such matters let him go to Dalman for the amplest information and such minuteness of detail as might almost enable him to be an advocate, was still gown in any court depending on these Grey Goose. Magnus did not live long. He had a dream one night of his father Olaf's coming to him in shining presence and announcing that a magnificent fortune and world-great renown was now possible for him, but that perhaps it was his duty to refuse it, in which case his earthly life would be short. Which way will thou do then? said the shining presence. Thou shalt decide for me, father, though not I, until his uncle Harold, on the moral, adding that he thought he should now soon die, which proved to be the fact. The magnificent fortune, so questionable otherwise, has reference, no doubt, that the conquest of England, to which country Magnus, as rightful an actual king of Denmark, as well as undisputed here, the drunken harddock noot, by treaty long ago, had now some evident claim.  Svein Estresson, always beaten during Magnus' life, by and by got an agreement from the prudent Harold to be king of Denmark, then, and end these verisome and ineffectual brebbles, Harold having other work to do. But in the outing of 1066, Chostey, a younger son of our English Earl Godwin, came to Svein's court with the most important announcement, namely, that King Edward the Confessor, so-called, was dead, and that Harold, as the English write it, his eldest brother would give him, Chostey, no sufficient share in the kingship. Which state of matters, if Svein would go ahead with him to ratify it, would be greatly to the advantage of Svein? Svein, taught by many beatings, was too wise for this proposal, refused Chostey, who indignantly stepped over into Norway and proposed it to King Harold there. Svein really had acquired considerable teaching, I should guess, from his much beating and hard experience in the world. One finds him afterwards a esteemed friend of the famous historian Adam of Bremen, who reports various wise humanities and pleasant discoursing with Svein Estresson. As for Harold's heart-threat, Harold's heart, or severe, as he was now called, Chostey's proposal awakened in him all his old wiring-er-ambitious encapitities into blazing vehemence. He zealously consented, and at once, with his whole strength embarked in the adventure. Fitted out two hundred ships, and the biggest army he could carry in them, and sailed with Chostey towards the dangerous promised land. Got into the tomb and took booty, got into the humble, then into the oath, easily subdued any opposition the official people of the or their populations could make. Victoriously scattered these, victoriously took the city of York in a day, and even got himself homage there, king of Norsemberland, as per Covenant. Chostey proving honorable, Chostey and he going with faithful strict co-partnery, and all things looking prosperous and glorious. Except only, an important exception, that they learned for certain, English Harold was advancing with all his strength, and in a measurable space of hours, unless care was taken, would be in York himself. Harold and Chostey hastened off to see the post of Stamford Bridge on Derwent River, six or seven miles east of York City, and there bar this dangerous advent. Their own ships landed far off in Oath River, in case of the worst. The battle that ensued the next day, September the 20th, 1066, is forever memorable in English history. Snorrow gives vividly enough his view of it from the Icelandic side. A ring of stalwart Norsemen clothed ranked with their steel tools in hand. English Harold's army, mostly cavalry, prancing and pricking all around, trying to find or make some opening in that ring. For a long time trying in vain, till at length, getting them enticed to burst out somewhere in pursuit, they quickly turned round and quickly made an end of that matter. Snorrow represents English Harold with the first party of these horse coming up, and with preliminary salutations, asking if Tostey were there, and if Harold were there, making generous proposals to Tostey, but in regard to Harold and what share of England was to be his, answering Tostey with the words, Seven feet of English earth, or more if he required, for a grave. Upon which Tostey, like an honorable man and co-partner, said, No, never, let us fight you rather till we all die. Who is this that spoke to you, inquired Harold, when the Cavaliers had withdrawn? My brother Harold answers Tostey, which looks rather like a saga, but maybe historical after all. Snorrow's history of the battle is intelligible, only after you have premised to it, what he never hints at, that this teen was on the east side of the bridge, and of the Derwent, the great struggle for the bridge, one at last finds, was after the fall of Harold, and to the English chronicles said struggle, which was abundantly severe is all they know of the battle. Enraged at that breaking loose of his steel ring of infantry, Norse Harold blazed up into true Norse fury, all the old wire ringer and berserker rage awakening in him, sprang forth into the front of the fight, and mauled and cut and smashed down, on both hands of him everything he met, irresistible by any horse or man, to an arrow cut him through the windpipe, and laid him low forever. That was the end of King Harold and of his workings in this world, the circumstance that he was a warring or barring, and had smitten to pieces so many, oriental cohorts or crowds, and had made love verses, kind of iron madrigals, to his Russian princes, unquote the fancy of questionable Greek queens, and had amazed such heaps of money, while poor nephew Magnus had only one gold ring, which had been his father's and even his father's mother's, as Uncle Harold noticed, and nothing more whatever of that precious metal to combine with Harold's treasures. All this is new to me, naturally no hint of it in any English book, and lends some gleam of romantic splendor to that dim business of Stamford Bridge, now fallen so dull and torpid to most English minds, transcendently important as it once was to all Englishmen. Adam of Bremen says, The English got as much gold plunder from Harold's people as was a heavy burden for twelve men, a thing evidently impossible which nobody need try to believe. Young Olaf, Harold's son, aged about sixteen, steering down the oaths at the top of his speed, escaped home to Norway with all his ships, and subsequently reigned there with Magnus, his brother. Harold's body did lie in English earth for about a year, but was then brought to Norway for burial. He needed more than seven feet of grave, says Sam, laying in their beatings nor those measurements makes Harold eight feet in statue. I do hope with some error in excess. End of section 8, early kings of Norway, chapter 11.