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Queens at KungahÄlla

On the Site of the Great KungahÄlla

Should a stranger who had heard about the old city of KungahÄlla ever visit the site on the northern river where it once lay, he would assuredly be much surprised. He would ask himself whether churches and fortifications could melt away like snow, or if the earth had opened and swallowed them up. He stands on a spot where formerly there was a mighty city, and he cannot find a street or a landing-stage. He sees neither ruins nor traces of devastating fires; he only sees a country seat, surrounded by green trees and red outbuildings. He sees nothing but broad meadows and fields, where the plough does its work year after year without being hindered either by brick foundations or old pavements.

He would probably first of all go down to the river. He would not expect to see anything of the great ships that went to the Baltic ports or to distant Spain, but he would in all likelihood think that he might find traces of the old ship-yards, of the large boat-houses and landing-stages. He presumes that he will find some of the old kilns where they used to refine salt; he will see the worn-out pavement on the main street that led to the harbour. He will inquire about the German pier and the Swedish pier; he would like to see the Weeping Bridge where the women of KungahÄlla took leave of their husbands and sons when they went to distant lands, but when he comes down to the river's edge he sees nothing but a forest of waving reeds. He sees a road full of holes leading down to the ferry; he sees a couple of common barges and a little flat-bottomed ferryboat that is taking a peasant cart over to Hisingen, but no big ships come gliding up the river. He does not even see any dark hulls lying and rotting at the bottom of the river.

As he does not find anything remarkable down at the harbour, he will probably begin to look for the celebrated Convent Hill. He expects to see traces of the palisading and ramparts which in olden days surrounded it. He is hoping to see the ruins of the high walls and the long cloisters. He says to himself that anyhow there must be ruins of that magnificent church where the cross was kept—that miracle-working cross which had been brought from Jerusalem. He thinks of the number of monuments covering the holy hills which rise over other ancient cities, and his heart begins to beat with glad expectation. But when he comes to the old Convent Hill which rises above the fields, he finds nothing but clusters of murmuring trees; he finds neither walls, nor towers, nor gables perforated with pointed arched windows. Garden seats and benches he will find under the shadow of the trees, but no cloisters decorated with pillars, no hewn gravestones.

Well, if he has not found anything here, he will in any case try to find the old King's Hall. He thinks about the large halls from which KungahÄlla is supposed to have derived its name. It might be that there was something left of the timber—a yard thick—that formed the walls, or of the deep cellars under the great hall where the Norwegian kings celebrated their banquets. He thinks of the smooth green courtyard of the King's Hall, where the kings used to ride their silver-shod chargers, and where the queens used to milk the golden-horned cows. He thinks of the lofty ladies' bower; of the brewing-room, with its large boilers; of the huge kitchen, where half an ox at a time was placed in the pot, and where a whole hog was roasted on the spit. He thinks of the serfs' house, of the falcon's cages, of the great pantries—house by house all round the courtyard, moss-grown with age, decorated with dragons' heads. Of such a number of buildings there must be some traces left, he thinks.

But should he then inquire for the old King's Hall, he will be taken to a modern country-house, with glass veranda and conservatories. The King's seat has vanished, and with it all the drinking-horns, inlaid with silver, and the shields, covered with skin. One cannot even show him the well-kept courtyard, with its short, close grass, and with narrow paths of black earth. He sees strawberry-beds and hedges of rose-trees; he sees happy children and young girls dancing under apple and pear trees. But he does not see strong men wrestling, or knights playing at ball.

Perhaps he asks about the great oak on the Market Place, beneath which the Kings sat in judgment, and where the twelve stones of judgment were set up. Or about the long street, which was said to be seven miles long! Or about the rich merchants' houses, separated by dark lanes, each having its own landing-stage and boathouse down by the river. Or about the Marie Church in the Market Place, where the seamen brought their offerings of small, full-rigged ships, and the sorrowful, small silver hearts.

But there is nothing left to show him of all these things. Cows and sheep graze where the long street used to be. Rye and barley grow on the Market Place, and stables and barns stand where people used to flock round the tempting market-stalls.

How can he help feeling disappointed? Is there not a single thing to be found, he says, not a single relic left? And he thinks perhaps that they have been deceiving him. The great KungahÄlla can never have stood here, he says. It must have stood in some other place.

Then they take him down to the riverside, and show him a roughly-hewn stone block, and they scrape away the silver-gray lichen, so that he can see there are some figures hewn in the stone. He will not be able to understand what they represent; they will be as incomprehensible to him as the spots in the moon. But they will assure him that they represent a ship and an elk, and that they were cut in the stone in the olden days to commemorate the foundation of the city.

And should he still not be able to understand, they will tell him what is the meaning of the inscription on the stone.

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The Forest Queen

Marcus Antonius Poppius was a Roman merchant of high standing. He traded with distant lands; and from the harbour at Ostia he sent well-equipped triremas to Spain, to Britain, and even to the north coast of Germany. Fortune favoured him, and he amassed immense riches, which he hoped to leave as an inheritance to his only son. Unfortunately, this only son had not inherited his father's ability. This happens, unfortunately, all the world over. A rich man's only son. Need one say more? It is, and always will be, the same story.

One would almost think that the gods give rich men these incorrigible idlers, these dull, pale, languid fools of sons, to show man what unutterable folly it is to amass riches. When will the eyes of mankind be opened? When will men listen to the warning voice of the gods?

Young Silvius Antonius Poppius, at the age of twenty, had already tried all the pleasures of life. He was also fond of letting people see that he was tired of them; but in spite of that, one did not notice any diminution in the eagerness with which he sought them. On the contrary, he was quite in despair when a singularly persistent ill-luck began to pursue him, and to interfere with all his pleasures. His Numidian horses fell lame the day before the great chariot race of the year; his illicit love affairs were found out; his cleverest cook died from malaria. This was more than enough to crush a man whose strength had not been hardened by exertion and toil. Young Poppius felt so unhappy that he made up his mind to take his own life. He seemed to think that this was the only way in which he could cheat the God of Misfortune who pursued him and made his life a burden.

One can understand that an unhappy creature commits suicide in order to escape the persecution of man; but only a fool like Silvius Antonius could think of adopting such means to flee from the gods. One recalls involuntarily the story of the man who, to escape from the lion, sprang right into its open jaws.

Young Silvius was much too effeminate to choose a bloody death. Neither had he any inclination to die from a painful poison. After careful consideration, he resolved to die the gentle death of the waves.

But when he went down to the Tiber to drown himself he could not make up his mind to give his body to the dirty, sluggish water of the river. For a long time he stood undecided, staring into the stream. Then he was seized by the magic charm which lies dreamily over a river. He felt that great, holy longing which fills these never-resting wanderers of nature; he would see the sea.

'I will die in the clear blue sea, through which the sun's rays penetrate right to the bottom,' said Silvius Antonius. 'My body shall rest upon a couch of pink coral. The foamy waves which I set in motion when I sink into the deep shall be snow-white and fresh; they shall not be like the sooty froth which lies quivering at the river-side.'

He immediately hurried home, had his horses harnessed and drove to Ostia. He knew that one of his father's ships was lying in the harbour ready to sail. Young Poppius drove his horses at a furious pace, and he succeeded in getting on board just as the anchor was being weighed. Of course he did not think it necessary to take any baggage with him. He did not even trouble to ask the skipper for what place the craft was bound. To the sea they were going, in any case—that was enough for him.

Nor was it very long before the young suicide reached the goal of his desire. The trirema passed the mouth of the Tiber, and the Mediterranean lay before Silvius Antonius, its sparkling waves bathed in sun. Its beauty made Silvius Antonius believe in the poet's assertion that the swelling ocean is but a thin veil which covers the most beautiful world. He felt bound to believe that he who boldly makes his way through this cover will immediately reach the sea-god's palace of pearls. The young man congratulated himself that he had chosen this manner of death. And one could scarcely call it that; it was impossible to believe that this beautiful water could kill. It was only the shortest road to a land where pleasure is not a delusion, leaving nothing but distaste and loathing. He could only with difficulty suppress his eagerness. But the whole deck was full of sailors. Even Silvius could understand that if he now sprang into the sea the consequence would simply be that one of his father's sailors would quickly spring overboard and fish him out.

As soon as the sails were set and the oarsmen were well in swing, the skipper came up to him and saluted him with the greatest politeness.

'You intend, then, to go with me to Germany, my Silvius?' he said. 'You do me great honour.'

Young Poppius suddenly remembered that this man used never to return from a voyage without bringing him some curious thing or other from the barbarous countries he had visited. Sometimes it was a couple of pieces of wood with which the savages made fire; sometimes it was the black horn of an ox, which they used as a drinking-vessel; sometimes a necklace of bear's teeth, which had been a great chief's mark of distinction.

The good man beamed with joy at having his master's son on board his ship. He saw in it a new proof of the wisdom of old Poppius, in sending his son to distant lands, instead of letting him waste more time amongst the effeminate young Roman idlers.

Young Poppius did not wish to undeceive him. He was afraid that if he disclosed his intention the skipper would at once turn back with him.

'Verily, Galenus,' he said, 'I would gladly accompany you on this voyage, but I fear I must ask you to put me ashore at BajÆ. I made up my mind too late. I have neither clothes nor money.'

But Galenus assured him that that need was soon remedied. Was he not upon his father's well-appointed vessel? He should not want for anything—neither warm fur tunic when the weather was cold, or light Syrian clothing of the kind that seamen wear when they cruise in fair weather in the friendly seas between the islands.

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Three months after their departure from Ostia, Galenus's trirema rowed in amongst a cluster of rocky islands. Neither the skipper nor any of his crew were quite clear as to where they really were, but they were glad to take shelter for a time from the storms that raged on the open sea.

One could almost think that Silvius Antonius was right in his belief that some deity persecuted him. No one on the ship had ever before experienced such a voyage. The luckless sailors said to each other that they had not had fair weather for two days since they left Ostia. The one storm had followed upon the other. They had undergone the most terrible sufferings. They had suffered hunger and thirst, whilst they, day and night, exhausted and almost fainting from want of sleep, had had to manage sails and oars. The fact of the seamen being unable to trade had added to their despondency. How could they approach the coast and display their wares on the shore to effect an exchange in such weather? On the contrary, every time they saw the coast appear through the obstinate heavy mist that surrounded them, they had been compelled to put out to sea again for fear of the foam-decked rocks. One night, when they struck on a rock, they had been obliged to throw the half of their cargo into the sea. And as for the other half, they dared not think about it, as they feared it was completely spoiled by the breakers which had rolled over the ship.

Certain it was that Silvius Antonius had proved himself not to be lucky at sea either. Silvius Antonius was still living; he had not drowned himself. It is difficult to say why he prolonged an existence which could not be of any more pleasure to him now than when he first made up his mind to cut it short. Perhaps he had hoped that the sea would have taken possession of him without he himself doing anything to bring it about. Perhaps his love for the sea had passed away during its bursts of anger; perhaps he had resolved to die in the opal-green perfumed water of his bath.

But had Galenus and his men known why the young man had come on board, they would assuredly have bitterly complained that he had not carried out his intention, for they were all convinced that it was his presence which had called forth their misfortunes. Many a dark night Galenus had feared that the sailors would throw him into the sea. More than one of them related that in the terrible stormy nights he had seen dark hands stretching out of the water, grasping after the ship. And they did not think it was necessary to cast lots to find out who it was that these hands wanted to draw down into the deep. Both the skipper and the crew did Silvius Antonius the special honour to think that it was for his sake these storms rent the air and scourged the sea.

If Silvius during this time had behaved like a man, if he had taken his share of their work and anxiety, then perhaps some of his companions might have had pity upon him as a being who had brought upon himself the wrath of the gods. But the young man had not understood how to win their sympathy. He had only thought of seeking shelter for himself from the wind, and of sending them to fetch furs and rugs from the stores for his protection from the cold.

But for the moment all complaints over his presence had ceased. As soon as the storm had succeeded in driving the trirema into the quiet waters between the islands, its rage was spent. It behaved like a sheep-dog that becomes silent and keeps quiet as soon as it sees the sheep on the right way to the fold. The heavy clouds disappeared from the sky; the sun shone. For the first time during the voyage the sailors felt the joys of summer spreading over Nature.

Upon these storm-beaten men the sunshine and the warmth had almost an intoxicating effect. Instead of longing for rest and sleep, they became as merry as happy children in the morning. They expected they would find a large continent behind all these rocks and boulders. They hoped to find people, and—who could tell?—on this foreign coast, which had probably never before been visited by a Roman ship, their wares would no doubt find a ready sale. In that case they might after all do some good business, and bring back with them skins of bear and elk, and large quantities of white wax and golden amber.

Whilst the trirema slowly made its way between the rocks, which grew higher and higher and richer with verdure and trees, the crew made haste to decorate it so that it could attract the attention of the barbarians. The ship, which, even without any decoration, was a beautiful specimen of human handiwork, soon rivalled in splendour the most gorgeous bird. Recently tossed about by storms and ravaged by tempests, it now bore on its topmast a golden sceptre and sails striped with purple. In the bows a resplendent figure of Neptune was raised, and in the stern a tent of many-coloured silken carpets. And do not think the sailors neglected to hang the sides of the ship with rugs, the fringes of which trailed in the water, or to wind the long oars of the ship with golden ribbons. Neither did the crew of the ship wear the clothes they had worn during the voyage, and which the sea and the storm had done their best to destroy. They arrayed themselves in white garments, wound purple scarves round their waists, and placed glittering bands in their hair.

Even Silvius Antonius roused himself from his apathy. It was as if he was glad of having at last found something to do which he thoroughly understood. He was shaved, had his hair trimmed, and his whole person rubbed over with fragrant scents. Then he put on a flowing robe, hung a mantle over his shoulders, and chose from the large casket of jewels which Galenus opened for him rings and bracelets, necklaces, and a golden belt. When he was ready he flung aside the purple curtains of the silken tent, and laid himself on a couch in the opening of the tent in order to be seen by the people on the shore.

During these preparations the sea became narrower and narrower, and the sailors discovered that they were entering the mouth of a river. The water was fresh, and there was land on both sides. The trirema glided slowly onwards up the sparkling river. The weather was brilliant, and the whole of nature was gloriously peaceful. And how the magnificent merchantman enlivened the great solitude!

On both sides of the river primeval forests, high and thick, met their view. Pine-trees grew right to the water's edge. The river in its eternal course had washed away the earth from the roots, and the hearts of the seamen were moved with solemn awe at the sight, not only of these venerable trees, but even more by that of the naked roots, which resembled the mighty limbs of a giant. 'Here,' they thought, 'man will never succeed in planting corn; here the ground will never be cleared for the building of a city, or even a farmstead. For miles round the earth is woven through with this network of roots, hard as steel. This alone is sufficient to make the dominion of the forest everlasting and unchangeable.'

Along the river the trees grew so close, and their branches were so entangled, that they formed firm, impenetrable walls. These walls of prickly firs were so strong and high that no fortified city need wish for stronger defences. But here and there there was, all the same, an opening in this wall of firs. It was the paths the wild beasts had made on their way to the river to drink. Through these openings the strangers could obtain a glimpse of the interior of the forest. They had never seen anything like it. In sunless twilight there grew trees with trunks of greater circumference than the gate-towers on the walls of Rome. There was a multitude of trees, fighting with each other for light and air. Trees strove and struggled, trees were crippled and weighed down by other trees. Trees took root in the branches of other trees. Trees strove and fought as if they had been human beings.

But if man or beast moved in this world of trees they must have other modes of making their way than those which the Romans knew, for from the ground right up to the top of the forest was a network of stiff bare branches. From these branches fluttered long tangles of gray lichen, transforming the trees into weird beings with hair and beard. And beneath them the ground was covered with rotten and rotting trunks, and one's feet would have sunk into the decayed wood as into melting snow.

The forest sent forth a fragrance which had a drowsy effect upon the men on board the ship. It was the strong odour of resin and wild honey that blended with the sickly smell from the decayed wood, and from innumerable gigantic red and yellow mushrooms.

There was no doubt something awe-inspiring in all this, but it was also elevating to see nature in all its power before man had yet interfered with its dominion. It was not long before one of the sailors began to sing a hymn to the God of the Forest, and involuntarily the whole crew joined in. They had quite given up all thought of meeting human beings in this forest-world. Their hearts were filled with pious thoughts; they thought of the forest god and his nymphs. They said to themselves that when Pan was driven from the woods of Hellas he must have taken refuge here in the far north. With pious songs they entered his kingdom.

Every time there was a pause in the song they heard a gentle music from the forest. The tops of the fir-trees, vibrating in the noonday heat, sang and played. The sailors often discontinued their song in order to listen, if Pan was not playing upon his flute.

The oarsmen rowed slower and slower. The sailors gazed searchingly into the golden-green and black-violet water flowing under the fir-trees. They peered between the tall reeds which quivered and rustled in the wash of the ship. They were in such a state of expectation that they started at the sight of the white water-lilies that shone in the dark water between the reeds.

And again they sang the song, 'Pan, thou ruler of the forest!' They had given up all thoughts of trading. They felt that they stood at the entrance to the dwelling of the gods. All earthly cares had left them. Then, all of a sudden, at the outlet of one of the tracks, there stood an elk, a royal deer with broad forehead and a forest of antlers on its horns.

There was a breathless silence on the trirema. They stemmed the oars to slacken speed. Silvius Antonius arose from his purple couch.

All eyes were fixed upon the elk. They thought they could discern that it carried something on its back, but the darkness of the forest and the drooping branches made it impossible to see distinctly.

The huge animal stood for a long time and scented the air, with its muzzle turned towards the trirema. At last it seemed to understand that there was no danger. It made a step towards the water. Behind the broad horns one could now discern more distinctly something light and white. They wondered if the elk carried on its back a harvest of wild roses.

The crew gently plied their oars. The trirema drew nearer to the animal, which gradually moved towards the edge of the reeds.

The elk strode slowly into the water, put down its feet carefully, so as not to be caught by the roots at the bottom. Behind the horns one could now distinctly see the face of a maiden, surrounded by fair hair. The elk carried on its back one of those nymphs whom they had been expectantly awaiting, and whom they felt sure would be found in this primeval world.

A holy enthusiasm filled the men on the trirema. One of them, who hailed from Sicily, remembered a song which he had heard in his youth, when he played on the flowery plains around Syracuse. He began to sing softly:

And when the weather-beaten men understood the words, they tried to subdue the storm-like roar in their voices in order to sing:

They steered the ship nearer and nearer the reeds. They did not heed that it had already once or twice touched the bottom.

But the young forest maiden sat and played hide-and-seek between the horns. One moment she hid herself, the next she peeped out. She did not stop the elk; she drove it further into the river.

When the elk had gone some little distance, she stroked it to make it stop. Then she bent down and gathered two or three water-lilies. The men on the ship looked a little foolishly at each other. The nymph had, then, come solely for the purpose of plucking the white water-lilies that rocked on the waters of the river. She had not come for the sake of the Roman seamen.

Then Silvius Antonius drew a ring from off his finger, sent up a shout that made the nymph look up, and threw her the ring. She stretched out her hand and caught it. Her eyes sparkled. She stretched out her hands for more. Silvius Antonius again threw a ring.

Then she flung the water-lilies back into the river and drove the elk further into the water. Now and again she stopped, but then a ring came flying from Silvius Antonius, and enticed her further.

All at once she overcame her hesitation. The colour rose in her cheeks. She came nearer to the ship without it being necessary to tempt her. The water was already up to the shoulders of the elk. She came right under the side of the vessel.

The sailors hung over the gunwales to help the beautiful nymph, should she wish to go on board the trirema.

But she saw only Silvius Antonius, as he stood there, decked with pearls and rings, and fair as the sunrise. And when the young Roman saw that the eyes of the nymph were fastened upon him, he leant over even further than the others. They cried to him that he should take care, lest he should lose his balance and fall into the sea. But this warning came too late. It is not known whether the nymph, with a quick movement, drew Silvius Antonius to her, or how it really happened, but before anyone thought of grasping him, he was overboard.

All the same, there was no danger of Silvius Antonius drowning. The nymph stretched forth her lovely arms and caught him in them. He hardly touched the surface of the water. At the same moment her steed turned, rushed through the water, and disappeared in the forest. And loudly rang the laugh of the wild rider as she carried off Silvius Antonius.

Galenus and his men stood for a moment horror-stricken. Then some of the men involuntarily threw off their clothes to swim to the shore; but Galenus stopped them.

'Without doubt this is the will of the gods,' he said. 'Now we see the reason why they have brought Silvius Antonius Poppius through a thousand storms to this unknown land. Let us be glad that we have been an instrument in their hands; and let us not seek to hinder their will.'

The seamen obediently took their oars and rowed down the river, softly singing to their even stroke the song of Arethusa's flight.

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When one has finished this story, surely the stranger must be able to understand the inscription on the old stone. He must be able to see both the elk with its many-antlered horns, and the trirema with its long oars. One does not expect that he shall be able to see Silvius Antonius Poppius and the beautiful queen of the primeval forest, for in order to see them he must have the eyes of the relaters of fairy-tales of bygone days. He will understand that the inscription hales from the young Roman himself, and that this also applies to the whole of the old story. Silvius Antonius has handed it down to his descendants word for word. He knew that it would gladden their hearts to know that they sprang from the world-famed Romans.

But the stranger, of course, need not believe that any of Pan's nymphs have wandered here by the river's side. He understands quite well that a tribe of wild men have wandered about in the primeval forest, and that the rider of the elk was the daughter of the King who ruled over these people; and that the maiden who carried off Silvius Antonius would only rob him of his jewels, and that she did not at all think of Silvius Antonius himself, scarcely knew, perhaps, that he was a human being like herself. And the stranger can also understand that the name of Silvius Antonius would have been forgotten long ago in this country had he remained the fool he was. He will hear how misfortune and want roused the young Roman, so that from being the despised slave of the wild men he became their King. It was he who attacked the forest with fire and steel. He erected the first firmly-timbered house. He built vessels and planted corn. He laid the foundation of the power and glory of great KungahÄlla.

And when the stranger hears this, he looks around the country with a more contented glance than before. For even if the site of the city has been turned into fields and meadows, and even if the river no longer boasts of busy craft, still, this is the ground that has enabled him to breathe the air of the land of dreams, and shown him visions of bygone days.

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Sigrid StorrÄde

Once upon a time there was an exceedingly beautiful spring. It was the very spring that the Swedish Queen Sigrid StorrÄde summoned the Norwegian King Olaf Trygveson to meet her at KungahÄlla in order to settle about their marriage.

It was strange that King Olaf would marry Queen Sigrid; for although she was fair and well-gifted, she was a wicked heathen, whilst King Olaf was a Christian, who thought of nothing but building churches and compelling the people to be baptized. But maybe the King thought that God the Almighty would convert her.

But it was even more strange that when StorrÄde had announced to King Olaf's messenger that she would set out for KungahÄlla as soon as the sea was no longer ice-bound, spring should come almost immediately. Cold and snow disappeared at the time when winter is usually at its height. And when StorrÄde made known that she would begin to equip her ships, the ice vanished from the fjords, the meadows became green, and although it was yet a long time to Lady-day, the cattle could already be put out to grass.

When the Queen rowed between the rocks of East Gothland into the Baltic, she heard the cuckoo's song, although it was so early in the year that one could scarcely expect to hear the lark.

And great joy prevailed everywhere when StorrÄde proceeded on her way. All the trolls who had been obliged to flee from Norway during King Olaf's reign because they could not bear the sound of the church bells came on the rocks when they saw StorrÄde sailing past. They pulled up young birch-trees by the roots and waved them to the Queen, and then they went back to their rocky dwellings, where their wives were sitting, full of longing and anxiety, and said:

'Woman, thou shalt not be cast down any longer. StorrÄde is now sailing to King Olaf. Now we shall soon return to Norway.'

When the Queen sailed past Kullen, the Kulla troll came out of his cave, and he made the black mountain open, so that she saw the gold and silver veins which twisted through it, and it made the Queen happy to see his riches.

When StorrÄde went past the Holland rivers, the Nixie came down from his waterfall, swam right out to the mouth of the river, and played upon his harp, so that the ship danced upon the waves.

When she sailed past the Nidinge rocks, the mermen lay there and blew upon their seashell horns, and made the water splash in frothy pillars. And when the wind was against them, the most loathsome trolls came out of the deep to help StorrÄde's ship over the waves. Some lay at the stern and pushed, others took ropes of seaweed in their mouth and harnessed themselves before the ship like horses.

The wild heathen, whom King Olaf would not allow to remain in the country on account of their great wickedness, came rowing towards the Queen's ship, with sails furled, and with their pole-axes raised as if for attack. But when they recognised the Queen, they allowed her to pass unhurt, and shouted after her:

'We empty a beaker to thy wedding, StorrÄde.'

All the heathen who lived along the coast laid firewood upon their stone altars, and sacrificed both sheep and goats to the old gods, in order that they should aid StorrÄde in her expedition to the Norwegian King.

When the Queen sailed up the northern river, a mermaid swam alongside the ship, stretched her white arm out of the water, and gave her a large clear pearl.

'Wear this, StorrÄde,' she said; 'then King Olaf will be so bewitched by thy beauty that he will never be able to forget thee.'

When the Queen had sailed a short distance up the river, she heard such a roar and such a rushing noise that she expected to find a waterfall. The further she proceeded, the louder grew the noise. But when she rowed past the Golden Isle, and passed into a broad bay, she saw at the riverside the great KungahÄlla.

The town was so large, that as far as she could see up the river there was house after house, all imposing and well timbered, with many outhouses. Narrow lanes between the gray wooden walls led down to the river; there were large courtyards before the dwelling-houses, well-laid pathways went from each house down to its boathouse and landing-stage.

StorrÄde commanded her men to row quite slowly. She herself stood on the poop of the ship and looked towards the shore.

'Never before have I seen the like of this,' she said.

She now understood that the roar she had heard was nothing but the noise of the work which went on at KungahÄlla in the spring, when the ships were being made ready for their long cruises. She heard the smiths hammering with huge sledge-hammers, the baker's shovel clattered in the ovens; beams were hoisted on to heavy lighters with much crashing noise; young men planed oars and stripped the bark from the trees which were to be used for masts.

She saw green courtyards, where handmaidens were twining ropes for the seafaring men, and where old men sat mending the gray wadmal sails. She saw the boat-builders tarring the new boats. Enormous nails were driven into strong oaken planks. The hulls of the ships were hauled out of the boathouses to be tightened; old ships were done up with freshly-painted dragon-heads; goods were stowed away; people took a hurried leave of each other; heavily-filled ships' chests were carried on board. Ships that were ready to sail left the shore. StorrÄde saw that the vessels rowing up the river were heavily laden with herrings and salt, but those making for the open sea were laden high up the masts with costly oak timber, hides, and skins.

When the Queen saw all this she laughed with joy. She thought that she would willingly marry King Olaf in order to rule over such a city. StorrÄde rowed up to the King's Landing-Stage. There King Olaf stood ready to receive her, and when she advanced to meet him he thought that she was the fairest woman he had ever seen.

They then proceeded to the King's Hall, and there was great harmony and friendship between them. When they went to table StorrÄde laughed and talked the whole time the Bishop was saying grace, and the King laughed and talked also, because he saw that it pleased StorrÄde. When the meal was finished, and they all folded their hands to listen to the Bishop's prayer, StorrÄde began to tell the King about her riches. She continued doing this as long as the prayer lasted, and the King listened to StorrÄde, and not to the Bishop.

The King placed StorrÄde in the seat of honour, whilst he sat at her feet; and StorrÄde told him how she had caused two minor kings to be burnt to death for having had the presumption to woo her. The King was glad at hearing this, and thought that all minor kings who had the audacity to woo a woman like StorrÄde should share the same fate.

When the bells rang for Evensong, the King rose to go to the Marie Church to pray, as was his wont. But then StorrÄde called for her bard, and he sang the lay of Brynhild Budles-dotter, who caused Sigurd Fofnersbane to be slain; and King Olaf did not go to church, but instead sat and looked into StorrÄde's radiant eyes, under the thick, black, arched eyebrows; and he understood that StorrÄde was Brynhild, and that she would kill him if ever he forsook her. He also thought that she was no doubt a woman who would be willing to burn on the pile with him. And whilst the priests were saying Mass and praying in the Marie Church at KungahÄlla, King Olaf sat thinking that he would ride to Valhalla with Sigrid StorrÄde before him on the horse.

That night the ferryman who conveyed people over the GÖta River was busier than he had ever been before. Time after time he was called to the other side, but when he crossed over there was never anybody to be seen. But all the same he heard steps around him, and the boat was so full that it was nearly sinking. He rowed the whole night backwards and forwards, and did not know what it could all mean. But in the morning the whole shore was full of small footprints, and in the footprints the ferryman found small withered leaves, which on closer examination proved to be pure gold, and he understood they were the Brownies and Dwarfs who had fled from Norway when it became a Christian country, and who had now come back again. And the giant who lived in the Fortin mountain right to the east of KungahÄlla threw one big stone after the other at the Marie Church the whole night through; and had not the giant been so strong that all the stones went too far and fell down at Hisingen, on the other side of the river, a great disaster would assuredly have happened.

Every morning King Olaf was in the habit of going to Mass, but the day StorrÄde was at KungahÄlla he thought he had not the time. As soon as he arose, he at once wanted to go down to the harbour, where her ship lay, in order to ask her if she would drink the wedding-cup with him before eventide.

The Bishop had caused the bells to be rung the whole morning, and when the King left the King's Hall, and went across the Market Place, the church doors were thrown open, and beautiful singing was heard from within. But the King went on as if he had not heard anything. The Bishop ordered the bells to be stopped, the singing ceased, and the candles were extinguished.

It all happened so suddenly that the King involuntarily stopped and looked towards the church, and it seemed to him that the church was more insignificant than he had ever before thought. It was smaller than the houses in the town; the peat roof hung heavily over its low walls without windows; the door was low, with a small projecting roof covered with fir-bark.

Whilst the King stood thinking, a slender young woman came out of the dark church door. She wore a red robe and a blue mantle, and she bore in her arms a child with fair locks. Her dress was poor, and yet it seemed to the King that he had never before seen a more noble-looking woman. She was tall, dignified, and fair of face.

The King saw with emotion that the young woman pressed the child close to her, and carried it with such care, that one could see it was the most precious thing she possessed in the world.

As the woman stood in the doorway she turned her gentle face round and looked back, looked into the poor, dark little church with great longing in look and mien. When she again turned round towards the Market Place there were tears in her eyes. But just as she was about to step over the threshold into the Market Place her courage failed her. She leant against the doorposts and looked at the child with a troubled glance, as if to say:

'Where in all the wide world shall we find a roof over our heads?'

The King stood immovable, and looked at the homeless woman. What touched him the most was to see the child, who lay in her arms free from sorrow, stretch out his hand with a flower towards her, as if to win a smile from her. And then he saw she tried to drive away the sorrow from her face and smile at her son.

'Who can that woman be?' thought the King. 'It seems to me that I have seen her before. She is undoubtedly a high-born woman who is in trouble.'

However great a hurry the King was in to go to StorrÄde, he could not take his eyes away from the woman. It seemed to him that he had seen these tender eyes and this gentle face before, but where, he could not call to mind. The woman still stood in the church door, as if she could not tear herself away. Then the King went up to her and asked:

'Why art thou so sorrowful?'

'I am turned out of my home,' answered the woman, pointing to the little dark church.

The King thought she meant that she had taken refuge in the church because she had no other place to go to. He again asked:

'Who hath turned thee out?'

She looked at him with an unutterably sorrowful glance.

'Dost thou not know?' she asked.

But then the King turned away from her. He had no time to stand guessing riddles, he thought. It appeared as if the woman meant that it was he who had turned her out. He did not understand what she could mean.

The King went on quickly. He went down to the King's Landing-Stage, where StorrÄde's ship was lying. At the harbour the Queen's servants met the King. Their clothes were braided with gold, and they wore silver helmets on their heads.

StorrÄde stood on her ship looking towards KungahÄlla, rejoicing in its power and wealth. She looked at the city as if she already regarded herself as its Queen. But when the King saw StorrÄde, he thought at once of the gentle woman who, poor and sorrowful, had been turned out of the church.

'What is this?' he thought. 'It seems to me as if she were fairer than StorrÄde.'

When StorrÄde greeted him with smiles, he thought of the tears that sparkled in the eyes of the other woman. The face of the strange woman was so clear to King Olaf that he could not help comparing it, feature for feature, with StorrÄde's. And when he did that all StorrÄde's beauty vanished. He saw that StorrÄde's eyes were cruel and her mouth sensual. In each of her features he saw a sin. He could still see she was beautiful, but he no longer took pleasure in her countenance. He began to loathe her as if she were a beautiful poisonous snake.

When the Queen saw the King come a victorious smile passed over her lips.

'I did not expect thee so early, King Olaf,' she said. 'I thought thou wast at Mass.'

The King felt an irresistible inclination to contradict StorrÄde, and do everything she did not want.

'Mass has not yet begun,' he said. 'I have come to ask thee to go with me to the house of my God.'

When the King said this he saw an angry look in StorrÄde's eyes, but she continued to smile.

'Rather come to me on my ship,' she said, 'and I will show thee the presents I have brought for thee.'

She took up a sword inlaid with gold, as if to tempt him; but the King thought all the time that he could see the other woman at her side, and it appeared to him that StorrÄde stood amongst her treasures like a foul dragon.

'Answer me first,' said the King, 'if thou wilt go with me to church.'

'What have I to do in thy church?' she asked mockingly.

Then she saw that the King's brow darkened, and she perceived that he was not of the same mind as the day before. She immediately changed her manner, and became gentle and submissive.

'Go thou to church as much as thou likest, even if I do not go. There shall be no discord between us on that account.'

The Queen came down from the ship and went up to the King. She held in her hand a sword and a mantle trimmed with fur which she would give him. But in the same moment the King happened to look towards the harbour. At some distance he saw the other woman; her head was bowed, and she walked with weary steps, but she still bore the child in her arms.

'What art thou looking so eagerly after, King Olaf?' StorrÄde asked.

Then the other woman turned round and looked at the King, and as she looked at him it appeared to him as if a ring of golden light surrounded her head and that of the child, more beautiful than the crown of any King or Queen. Then she immediately turned round and walked again towards the town, and he saw her no more.

'What art thou looking so eagerly after?' again asked StorrÄde.

But when King Olaf now turned to the Queen she appeared to him old and ugly, and full of the world's sin and wickedness, and he was terrified at the thought that he might have fallen into her snares.

He had taken off his glove to give her his hand; but he now took the glove and threw it in her face instead.

'I will not own thee, foul woman and heathen dog that thou art!' he said.

Then StorrÄde drew backwards. But she soon regained the command over herself, and answered:

'That blow may prove thy destruction, King Olaf Trygveson.'

And she was white as HÉl when she turned away from him and went on board her ship.

---

Next night King Olaf had a strange dream. What he saw in his dream was not the earth, but the bottom of the sea. It was a grayish-green field, over which there were many fathoms of water. He saw fish swimming after their prey; he saw ships gliding past on the surface of the water, like dark clouds; and he saw the disc of the sun, dull as a pale moon.

Then he saw the woman he had seen at the church-door wandering along the bottom of the sea. She had the same stooping gait and the same worn garments as when he first saw her, and her face was still sorrowful. But as she wandered along the bottom of the sea the water divided before her. He saw that it rose into pillars, as if in deep reverence, forming itself into arches, so that she walked in the most glorious temple.

Suddenly the King saw that the water which surrounded the woman began to change colour. The pillars and the arches first became pale pink; but they soon assumed a darker colour. The whole sea around was also red, as if it had been changed into blood.

At the bottom of the sea, where the woman walked, the King saw broken swords and arrows, and bows and spears in pieces. At first there were not many, but the longer she walked in the red water the more closely they were heaped together.

The King saw with emotion that the woman went to one side in order not to tread upon a dead man who lay stretched upon the bed of green seaweed. The man, who had a deep cut in his head, wore a coat of mail, and had a sword in his hand. It seemed to the King that the woman closed her eyes so as not to see the dead man. She moved towards a fixed goal without hesitation or doubt. But he who dreamt could not turn his eyes away.

He saw the bottom of the sea covered with wreckage. He saw heavy anchors, thick ropes twined about like snakes, ships with their sides riven asunder; golden dragon-heads from the bows of ships stared at him with red, threatening eyes.

'I should like to know who has fought a battle here and left all this as a prey to destruction,' thought the dreamer.

Everywhere he saw dead men. They were hanging on the ships' sides, or had sunk into the green seaweed. But he did not give himself time to look at them, for his eyes were obliged to follow the woman, who continued to walk onwards.

At last the King saw her stop at the side of a dead man. He was clothed in a red mantle, had a bright helmet on his head, a shield on his arm, and a naked sword in his hand.

The woman bent over him and whispered to him, as if awaking someone sleeping:

'King Olaf! King Olaf!'

Then he who was dreaming saw that the man at the bottom of the sea was himself. He could distinctly see that he was the dead man.

As the dead did not move, the woman knelt by his side and whispered into his ear:

'Now StorrÄde hath sent her fleet against thee and avenged herself. Dost thou repent what thou hast done, King Olaf?'

And again she asked:

'Now thou sufferest the bitterness of death because thou hast chosen me instead of StorrÄde. Dost thou repent? dost thou repent?'

Then at last the dead opened his eyes, and the woman helped him to rise. He leant upon her shoulder, and she walked slowly away with him.

Again King Olaf saw her wander and wander, through night and day, over sea and land. At last it seemed to him that they had gone further than the clouds and higher than the stars. Now they entered a garden, where the earth shone as light and the flowers were clear as dewdrops.

The King saw that when the woman entered the garden she raised her head, and her step grew lighter. When they had gone a little further into the garden her garments began to shine. He saw that they became, as of themselves, bordered with golden braid, and coloured with the hues of the rainbow. He saw also that a halo surrounded her head that cast a light over her countenance.

But the slain man who leant upon her shoulder raised his head, and asked:

'Who art thou?'

'Dost thou not know, King Olaf?' she answered; and an infinite majesty and glory encompassed her.

But in the dream King Olaf was filled with a great joy because he had chosen to serve the gentle Queen of Heaven. It was a joy so great that he had never before felt the like of it, and it was so strong that it awoke him.

---

When King Olaf awoke his face was bathed in tears, and he lay with his hands folded in prayer.

---

Astrid

I

In the midst of the low buildings forming the old Castle of the Kings at Upsala towered the Ladies' Bower. It was built on poles, like a dovecote. The staircase leading up to it was as steep as a ladder, and one entered it by a very low door. The walls inside were covered with runes, signifying love and longing; the sills of the small loopholes were worn by the maidens leaning on their elbows and looking down into the courtyard.

Old Hjalte, the bard, had been a guest at the King's Castle for some time, and he went up every day to the Ladies' Bower to see Princess Ingegerd, and talk with her about Olaf Haraldsson, the King of Norway, and every time Hjalte came Ingegerd's bondwoman Astrid sat and listened to his words with as much pleasure as the Princess. And whilst Hjalte talked, both the maidens listened so eagerly that they let their hands fall in their laps and their work rest.

Anyone seeing them would not think much spinning or weaving could be done in the Ladies' Bower. No one would have thought that they gathered all Hjalte's words as if they were silken threads, and that each of his listeners made from them her own picture of King Olaf. No one could know that in their thoughts they wove the Bard's words each into her own radiant picture.

But so it was. And the Princess's picture was so beautiful that every time she saw it before her she felt as if she must fall on her knees and worship it. For she saw the King sitting on his throne, crowned and great; she saw a red, gold-embroidered mantle hanging from his shoulders to his feet. She saw no sword in his hand, but holy writings; and she also saw that his throne was supported by a chained troll. His face shone for her, white like wax, surrounded by long, soft locks, and his eyes beamed with piety and peace. Oh, she became nearly afraid when she saw the almost superhuman strength that shone from that pale face. She understood that King Olaf was not only a King, she saw that he was a saint, and the equal of the angels.

But quite different was the picture which Astrid had made of the King. The fair-haired bondwoman, who had experienced both hunger and cold and suffered much hardship, but who all the same was the one who filled the Ladies' Bower with merriment and laughter, had in her mind an entirely different picture of the King. She could not help that every time she heard him spoken about she saw before her the wood-cutter's son who at eventide came out of the wood with the axe over his shoulder.

'I can see thee—I can see thee so well,' Astrid said to the picture, as if it were a living being. 'Tall thou art not, but broad of shoulders and light and agile, and because thou hast walked about in the dark forest the whole long summer day thou takest the last few steps in one spring, and laughest when thou reachest the road. Then thy white teeth shine, and thy hair flies about, and that I love to see. I can see thee; thou hast a fair, ruddy face and freckles on thy nose, and thou hast blue eyes, which become dark and stern in the deep forest; but when thou comest so far that thou seest the valley and thy home, they become light and gentle. As soon as thou seest thine own hut down in the valley, thou raisest thy cap for a greeting, and then I see thy forehead. Is not that forehead befitting a King? Should not that broad forehead be able to wear both crown and helmet?'

But however different these two pictures were, one thing is certain: just as much as the Princess loved the holy picture she had conjured forth, so did the poor bondwoman love the bold swain whom she saw coming from the depths of the forest to meet her.

And had Hjalte the Bard been able to see these pictures he would have assuredly praised them both. He would assuredly have said that they both were like the King. For that is King Olaf's good fortune, he would have been sure to say, that he is a fresh and merry swain at the same time that he is God's holy warrior. For old Hjalte loved King Olaf, and although he had wandered from court to court he had never been able to find his equal.

'Where can I find anyone to make me forget Olaf Haraldsson?' he was wont to say. 'Where shall I find a greater hero?'

Hjalte the Bard was a rough old man and severe of countenance. Old as he was, his hair was still black, he was dark of complexion, and his eyes were keen, and his song had always tallied with his appearance. His tongue never uttered other words than those of strife; he had never made other lays than songs of war.

Old Hjalte's heart had hitherto been like the stony waste outside the wood-cutter's hut; it had been like a rocky plain, where only poor ferns and dry mugworts could grow. But now Hjalte's roving life had brought him to the Court at Upsala, and he had seen the Princess Ingegerd. He had seen that she was the noblest of all the women he had met in his life—in truth, the Princess was just as much fairer than all other women as King Olaf was greater than all other men.

Then the thought suddenly arose within Hjalte that he would try to awaken love between the Swedish Princess and the Norwegian King. He asked himself why she, who was the best amongst women, should not be able to love King Olaf, the most glorious amongst men? And after that thought had taken root in Hjalte's heart he gave up making his stern war-songs. He gave up trying to win praise and honour from the rough warriors at the Court of Upsala, and sat for many hours with the women in the Ladies' Bower, and one would never have thought that it was Hjalte who spoke. One would never have believed that he possessed such soft and fair and gentle words which he now used in speaking about King Olaf.

No one would have known Hjalte again; he was entirely transformed ever since the thought of the marriage had arisen within him. When the beautiful thought took root in Hjalte's soul, it was as if a blushing rose, with soft and fragrant petals, had sprung up in the midst of a wilderness.

---

One day Hjalte sat with the Princess in the Ladies' Bower. All the maidens were absent except Astrid. Hjalte thought that now he had spoken long enough about Olaf Haraldsson. He had said all the fair words he could about him, but had it been of any avail? What did the Princess think of the King? Then he began to lay snares for the Princess to find out what she thought of King Olaf.

'I can see from a look or a blush,' he thought.

But the Princess was a high-born lady; she knew how to conceal her thoughts. She neither blushed nor smiled, neither did her eyes betray her. She would not let Hjalte divine what she thought.

When the Bard looked into her noble face he was ashamed of himself.

'She is too good for anyone to take her by stealth,' he said; 'one must meet her in open warfare.' So Hjalte said straight out: 'Daughter of a King, if Olaf Haraldsson asked thee in marriage of thy father, what wouldst thou answer?'

Then the young Princess's face lit up, as does the face of a man when he reaches the mountain-top and discovers the ocean. Without hesitation she replied at once:

'If he be such a King and such a Christian as thou sayest, Hjalte, then I consider it would be a great happiness.'

But scarcely had she said this before the light faded from her eyes. It was as if a cloud rose between her and the beautiful far-off vision.

'Oh, Hjalte,' she said, 'thou forgettest one thing. King Olaf is our enemy. It is war and not wooing we may expect from him.'

'Do not let that trouble thee,' said Hjalte. 'If thou only wilt, all is well. I know King Olaf's mind in this matter.'

The Bard was so glad that he laughed when he said this; but the Princess grew more and more sorrowful.

'No,' she said, 'neither upon me nor King Olaf does it depend, but upon my father, Oluf SkÖtkonung, and you know that he hates Olaf Haraldsson, and cannot bear that anyone should even mention his name. Never will he let me leave my father's house with an enemy; never will he give his daughter to Olaf Haraldsson.'

When the Princess had said this, she laid aside all her pride and began to lament her fate.

'Of what good is it that I have now learnt to know Olaf Haraldsson,' she said, 'that I dream of him every night, and long for him every day? Would it not have been better if thou hadst never come hither and told me about him?'

When the Princess had spoken these words, her eyes filled with tears; but when Hjalte saw her tears, he lifted his hand fervent and eager.

'God wills it,' he cried. 'Ye belong to one another. Strife must exchange its red mantle for the white robe of peace, that your happiness may give joy unto the earth.'

When Hjalte had said this, the Princess bowed her head before God's holy name, and when she raised it, it was with a newly awakened hope.

---

When old Hjalte stepped through the low door of the Ladies' Bower, and went down the narrow open corridor, Astrid followed him.

'Hjalte,' she cried, 'why dost thou not ask me what I would answer if Olaf Haraldsson asked for my hand?'

It was the first time Astrid had spoken to Hjalte; but Hjalte only cast a hurried glance at the fair bondwoman, whose golden hair curled on her temples and neck, who had the broadest bracelets and the heaviest ear-rings, whose dress was fastened with silken cords, and whose bodice was so embroidered with pearls that it was as stiff as armour, and went on without answering.

'Why dost thou only ask Princess Ingegerd?' continued Astrid. 'Why dost thou not also ask me? Dost thou not know that I, too, am the Svea-King's daughter? Dost thou not know,' she continued, when Hjalte did not answer, 'that although my mother was a bondwoman, she was the bride of the King's youth? Dost thou not know that whilst she lived no one dared to remind her of her birth? Oh, Hjalte, dost thou not know that it was only after she was dead, when the King had taken to himself a Queen, that everyone remembered that she was a bondwoman? It was first after I had a stepmother that the King began to think I was not of free birth. But am I not a King's daughter, Hjalte, even if my father counts me for so little, that he has allowed me to fall into bondage? Am I not a King's daughter, even if my stepmother allowed me to go in rags, whilst my sister went in cloth of gold? Am I not a King's daughter, even if my stepmother has allowed me to tend the geese and taste the whip of the slave? And if I am a King's daughter, why dost thou not ask me whether I will wed Olaf Haraldsson? See, I have golden hair that shines round my head like the sun. See, I have sparkling eyes; I have roses in my cheeks. Why should not King Olaf woo me?'

She followed Hjalte across the courtyard all the way to the King's Hall; but Hjalte took no more heed of her words than a warrior clad in armour heeds a boy throwing stones. He took no more notice of her words than if she had been a chattering magpie in the top of a tree.

---

No one must think that Hjalte contented himself with having won Ingegerd for his King. The next day the old Icelander summoned up his courage and spoke to Oluf SkÖtkonung about Olaf Haraldsson. But he hardly had time to say a word; the King interrupted him as soon as he mentioned the name of his foe. Hjalte saw that the Princess was right. He thought he had never before seen such bitter hatred.

'But that marriage will take place all the same,' said Hjalte. 'It is the will of God—the will of God.'

And it really seemed as if Hjalte were right. Two or three days later a messenger came from King Olaf of Norway to make peace with the Swedes. Hjalte sought the messenger, and told him that peace between the two countries could be most firmly established by a marriage taking place between Princess Ingegerd and Olaf Haraldsson.

The King's messenger hardly thought that old Hjalte was the man to incline a young maiden's heart to a stranger; but he thought, all the same, that the plan was a good one; and he promised Hjalte that he would lay the proposal of the marriage before King Oluf SkÖtkonung at the great Winter Ting.

Immediately afterwards Hjalte left Upsala. He went from farm to farm on the great plain; he went far into the forests; he went even to the borders of the sea. He never met either man or woman without speaking to them about Olaf Haraldsson and Princess Ingegerd. 'Hast thou ever heard of a greater man or of a fairer woman?' he said. 'It is assuredly the will of God that they shall wander through life together.'

Hjalte came upon old Vikings, who wintered at the seashore, and who had formerly carried off women from every coast. He talked to them about the beautiful Princess until they sprang up and promised him, with their hand on the hilt of their sword, that they would do what they could to help her to happiness.

Hjalte went to stubborn old peasants who had never listened to the prayers of their own daughters, but had given them in marriage as shrewdness, family honour, and advantage required, and he spoke to them so wisely about the peace between the two countries and the marriage that they swore they would rather deprive the King of his kingdom than that this marriage should not come to pass.

But to the young women Hjalte spoke so many good words about Olaf Haraldsson that they vowed they would never look with kindly eyes at the swain who did not stand by the Norwegian King's messenger at the Ting and help to break down the King's opposition.

Thus Hjalte went about talking to people until the Winter Ting should assemble, and all the people, along snow-covered roads, proceeded to the great Ting Hills at Upsala.

When the Ting was opened, the eagerness of the people was so great that it seemed as if the stars would fall down from the sky were this marriage not decided upon. And although the King twice roughly said 'No' both to the peace and to the wooing, it was of no avail. It was of no avail that he would not hear the name of King Olaf mentioned. The people only shouted: 'We will not have war with Norway. We will that these two, who by all are accounted the greatest, shall wander through life together.'

What could old Oluf SkÖtkonung do when the people rose against him with threats, strong words, and clashing of shields? What was he to do when he saw nothing but swords lifted and angry men before him? Was he not compelled to promise his daughter away if he would keep his life and his crown? Must he not swear to send the Princess to KungahÄlla next summer to meet King Olaf there?

In this way the whole people helped to further Ingegerd's love. But no one helped Astrid to the attainment of her happiness; no one asked her about her love. And yet it lived—it lived like the child of the poor fisherman's widow, in want and need; but all the same it grew, happily and hopefully. It grew and thrived, for in Astrid's soul there were, as at the sea, fresh air and light and breezy waves.

II

In the rich city of KungahÄlla, far away at the border, was the old castle of the kings. It was surrounded by green ramparts. Huge stones stood as sentinels outside the gates, and in the courtyard grew an oak large enough to shelter under its branches all the King's henchmen.

The whole space inside the ramparts was covered with long, low wooden houses. They were so old that grass grew on the ridges of the roofs. The beams in the walls were made from the thickest trees of the forest, silver-white with age.

In the beginning of the summer Olaf Haraldsson came to KungahÄlla, and he gathered together in the castle everything necessary for the celebration of his marriage. For several weeks peasants came crowding up the long street, bringing gifts: butter in tubs, cheese in sacks, hops and salt, roots and flour.

After the gifts had been brought to the castle, there was a continual procession of wedding guests through the street. There were great men and women on side-saddles, with a numerous retinue of servants and serfs. Then came hosts of players and singers, and the reciters of the Sagas. Merchants came all the way from Venderland and Gardarike, to tempt the King with bridal gifts.

When these processions for two whole weeks had filled the town with noise and bustle they only awaited the last procession, the bride's.

But the bridal procession was long in coming. Every day they expected that she would come ashore at the King's Landing-Stage, and from there, headed by drum and fife, and followed by merry swains and serious priests, proceed up the street to the King's Castle. But the bride's procession came not.

When the bride was so long in coming, everybody looked at King Olaf to see if he were uneasy. But the King always showed an undisturbed face.

'If it be the will of God,' the King said, 'that I shall possess this fair woman, she will assuredly come.'

And the King waited, whilst the grass fell for the scythe, and the cornflowers blossomed in the rye. The King still waited when the flax was pulled up, and the hops ripened on the poles. He was still waiting, when the bramble blackened on the mountain-side, and the nip reddened on the naked branch of the hawthorn.

---

Hjalte had spent the whole summer at KungahÄlla waiting for the marriage. No one awaited the arrival of the Princess more eagerly than he did. He assuredly awaited her with greater longing and anxiety than even King Olaf himself.

Hjalte no longer felt at his ease with the warriors in the King's Hall. But lower down the river there was a landing-stage where the women of KungahÄlla were wont to assemble to see the last of their husbands and sons, when they sailed for distant lands. Here they were also in the habit of gathering during the summer, to watch for the vessels coming up the river, and to weep over those who had departed. To that bridge Hjalte wended his way every day. He liked best to be amongst those who longed and sorrowed.

Never had any of the women who sat waiting at Weeping Bridge gazed down the river with more anxious look than did Hjalte the Bard. No one looked more eagerly at every approaching sail. Sometimes Hjalte stole away to the Marie Church. He never prayed for anything for himself. He only came to remind the Saints about this marriage, which must come to pass, which God Himself had willed.

Most of all Hjalte liked to speak with King Olaf Haraldsson alone. It was his greatest happiness to sit and tell him of every word that had fallen from the lips of the King's daughter. He described her every feature.

'King Olaf,' he said to him, 'pray to God that she may come to thee. Every day I see thee warring against ancient heathendom which hides like an owl in the darkness of the forest, and in the mountain-clefts. But the falcon, King Olaf, will never be able to overcome the owl. Only a dove can do that, only a dove.'

The Bard asked the King whether it was not his desire to vanquish all his enemies. Was it not his intention to be alone master in the land? But in that he would never succeed. He would never succeed until he had won the crown which Hjalte had chosen for him, a crown so resplendent with brightness and glory that everyone must bow before him who owned it.

And last of all he asked the King if he were desirous of gaining the mastery over himself. But he would never succeed in overcoming the wilfulness of his own heart if he did not win a shield which Hjalte had seen in the Ladies' Bower at the King's Castle at Upsala. It was a shield from which shone the purity of heaven. It was a shield which protected from all sin and the lusts of the flesh.

---

But harvest came and they were still waiting for the Princess. One after the other the great men who had come to KungahÄlla for the marriage festivities were obliged to depart. The last to take his leave was old Hjalte the Bard. It was with a heavy heart he set sail, but he was obliged to return to his home in distant Iceland before Christmas came.

Old Hjalte had not gone further than the rocky islands outside the mouth of the northern river before he met a galley. He immediately ordered his men to stop rowing. At the first glance he recognised the dragon-headed ship belonging to Princess Ingegerd. Without hesitation Hjalte told his men to row him to the galley. He gave up his place at the rudder to another, and placed himself with joyous face at the prow of the boat.

'It will make me happy to behold the fair maiden once more,' the Bard said. 'It gladdens my heart that her gentle face will be the last I shall see before sailing for Iceland.'

All the wrinkles had disappeared from Hjalte's face when he went on board the dragon-ship. He greeted the brave lads who plied the oars as friendlily as if they were his comrades, and he handed a golden ring to the maiden, who, with much deference, conducted him to the women's tent in the stern of the ship. Hjalte's hand trembled when he lifted the hangings that covered the entrance to the tent. He thought this was the most beautiful moment of his life.

'Never have I fought for a greater cause,' he said. 'Never have I longed so eagerly for anything as this marriage.'

But when Hjalte entered the tent, he drew back a step in great consternation. His face expressed the utmost confusion. He saw a tall, beautiful woman. She advanced to meet him with outstretched hand. But the woman was not Ingegerd.

Hjalte's eyes looked searchingly round the narrow tent to find the Princess. He certainly saw that the woman who stood before him was a King's daughter. Only the daughter of a King could look at him with such a proud glance, and greet him with such dignity. And she wore the band of royalty on her forehead, and was attired like a Queen. But why was she not Ingegerd? Hjalte angrily asked the strange woman:

'Who art thou?'

'Dost thou not know me, Hjalte? I am the King's daughter, to whom thou hast spoken about Olaf Haraldsson.'

'I have spoken with a King's daughter about Olaf Haraldsson, but her name was Ingegerd.'

'Ingegerd is also my name.'

'Thy name can be what thou likest, but thou art not the Princess. What is the meaning of all this? Will the Svea-King deceive King Olaf?'

'He will not by any means deceive him. He sends him his daughter as he has promised.'

Hjalte was not far from drawing his sword to slay the strange woman. He had his hand already on the hilt, but he bethought himself it was not befitting a warrior to take the life of a woman. But he would not waste more words over this impostor. He turned round to go.

The stranger with gentle voice called him back.

'Where art thou going, Hjalte? Dost thou intend to go to KungahÄlla to report this to Olaf Haraldsson?'

'That is my intention,' answered Hjalte, without looking at her.

'Why, then, dost thou leave me, Hjalte? Why dost thou not remain with me? I, too, am going to KungahÄlla.'

Hjalte now turned round and looked at her.

'Hast thou, then, no pity for an old man?' he said. 'I tell thee that my whole mind is set upon this marriage. Let me hear the full measure of my misfortune. Is Princess Ingegerd not coming?'

Then the Princess gave over fooling Hjalte.

'Come into my tent and sit down,' she said, 'and I will tell thee all that thou wouldest know. I see it is of no use to hide the truth from thee.'

Then she began to tell him everything:

'The summer was already drawing to a close. The blackcock's lively young ones had already strong feathers in their cloven tails and firmness in their rounded wings; they had already begun to flutter about amongst the close branches of the pine-forest with quick, noisy strokes.

'It happened one morning that the Svea-King came riding across the plain; he was returning from a successful chase. There hung from the pommel of his saddle a shining blue-black blackcock, a tough old fellow, with red eyebrows, as well as four of his half-grown young ones, which on account of their youth were still garbed in many-coloured hues. And the King was very proud; he thought it was not every man's luck to make such a bag with falcon and hawk in one morning.

'But that morning Princess Ingegerd and her maidens stood at the gates of the castle waiting for the King. And amongst the maidens was one, Astrid by name; she was the daughter of the Svea-King just as much as Ingegerd, although her mother was not a free woman, and she was therefore treated as a bondmaiden. And this young maiden stood and showed her sister how the swallows gathered in the fields and chose the leaders for their long journey. She reminded her that the summer was soon over—the summer that should have witnessed the marriage of Ingegerd—and urged her to ask the King why she might not set out on her journey to King Olaf; for Astrid wished to accompany her sister on the journey. She thought that if she could but once see Olaf Haraldsson, she would have pleasure from it all her life.

'But when the Svea-King saw the Princess, he rode up to her.

'"Look, Ingegerd," he said, "here are five blackcocks hanging from my saddle. In one morning I have killed five blackcocks. Who dost thou think can boast of better luck? Have you ever heard of a King making a better capture?"

'But then the Princess was angered that he who barred the way for her happiness should come so proudly and praise his own good luck. And to make an end of the uncertainty that had tormented her for so many weeks, she replied:

'"Thou, father, hast with great honour killed five blackcocks, but I know of a King who in one morning captured five other Kings, and that was Olaf Haraldsson, the hero whom thou hast selected to be my husband."

'Then the Svea-King sprang off his horse in great fury, and advanced towards the Princess with clenched hands.

'"What troll hath bewitched thee?" he asked. "What herb hath poisoned thee? How hath thy mind been turned to this man?"

'Ingegerd did not answer; she drew back, frightened. Then the King became quieter.

'"Fair daughter," he said to her, "dost thou not know how dear thou art to me? How should I, then, give thee to one whom I cannot endure? I should like my best wishes to go with thee on thy journey. I should like to sit as guest in thy hall. I tell thee thou must turn thy mind to the Kings of other lands, for Norway's King shall never own thee."

'At these words the Princess became so confused that she could find no other words than these with which to answer the King:

'"I did not ask thee; it was the will of the people."

'The King then asked her if she thought that the Svea-King was a slave, who could not dispose of his own offspring, or if there were a master over him who had the right to give away his daughters.

'"Will the Svea-King be content to hear himself called a breaker of oaths?" asked the Princess.

'Then the Svea-King laughed aloud.

'"Do not let that trouble thee. No one shall call me that. Why dost thou question about this, thou who art a woman? There are still men in my Council; they will find a way out of it."

'Then the King turned towards his henchmen who had been with him to the chase.

'"My will is bound by this promise," he said to them. "How shall I be released from it?"

'But none of the King's men answered a word; no one knew how to counsel him.

'Then Oluf SkÖtkonung became very wrath; he became like a madman.

'"So much for your wisdom," he shouted again and again to his men. "I will be free. Why do people laud your wisdom?"

'Whilst the King raged and shouted, and no one knew how to answer him, the maiden Astrid stepped forward from amongst the other women and made a proposal.

'Hjalte must really believe her when she told him that it was only because she found it so amusing that she could not help saying it, and not in the least because she thought it could really be done.

'"Why dost thou not send me?" she had said. "I am also thy daughter. Why dost thou not send me to the Norwegian King?"

'But when Ingegerd heard Astrid say these words, she grew pale.

'"Be silent, and go thy way!" she said angrily. "Go thy way, thou tattler, thou deceitful, wicked thing, to propose such a shameful thing to my father!"

'But the King would not allow Astrid to go. On the contrary! on the contrary! He stretched out his arms and drew her to his breast. He both laughed and cried, and was as wild with joy as a child.

'"Oh," he shouted, "what an idea! What a heathenish trick! Let us call Astrid Ingegerd, and entrap the King of Norway into marrying her. And afterwards when the rumour gets abroad that she is born of a bondwoman, many will rejoice in their hearts, and Olaf Haraldsson will be held in scorn and derision."

'But then Ingegerd went up to the King, and prayed:

"Oh, father, father! do not do this thing. King Olaf is dear at heart to me. Surely thou wilt not grieve me by thus deceiving him."

'And she added that she would patiently do the bidding of her royal father, and give up all thought of marriage with Olaf Haraldsson, if he would only promise not to do him this injury.

'But the Svea-King would not listen to her prayers. He turned to Astrid and caressed her, just as if she were as beautiful as revenge itself.

'"Thou shalt go! thou shalt go soon—to-morrow!" he said. "All thy dowry, thy clothes, my dear daughter, and thy retinue, can all be collected in great haste. The Norwegian King will not think of such things; he is too taken up with joy at the thought of possessing the high-born daughter of the Svea-King."

'Then Ingegerd understood that she could hope for no mercy. And she went up to her sister, put her arm round her neck, and conducted her to the hall. Here she placed her in her own seat of honour, whilst she herself sat down on a low stool at her feet. And she said to Astrid that from henceforth she must sit there, in order to accustom herself to the place she should take as Queen. For Ingegerd did not wish that King Olaf should have any occasion to be ashamed of his Queen.

'Then the Princess sent her maidens to the wardrobes and the pantries to fetch the dowry she had chosen for herself. And she gave everything to her sister, so that Astrid should not come to Norway's King as a poor bondwoman. She had also settled which of the serfs and maidens should accompany Astrid, and at last she made her a present of her own splendid galley.

'"Thou shalt certainly have my galley," she said. "Thou knowest there are many good men at the oars. For it is my will that thou shalt come well dowered to Norway's King, so that he may feel honoured with his Queen."

'And afterwards the Princess had sat a long time with her sister, and spoken with her about King Olaf. But she had spoken of him as one speaks of the Saints of God, and not of kings, and Astrid had not understood many of her words. But this much she did understand—that the King's daughter wished to give Astrid all the good thoughts that dwelt in her own heart, in order that King Olaf might not be so disappointed as her father wished. And then Astrid, who was not so bad as people thought her, forgot how often she had suffered for her sister's sake, and she wished that she had been able to say, "I will not go!" She had also spoken to her sister about this wish, and they had cried together, and for the first time felt like sisters.

'But it was not Astrid's nature to allow herself to be weighed down by sorrow and scruples. By the time she was out at sea she had forgotten all her sorrow and fear. She travelled as a Princess, and was waited upon as a Princess. For the first time since her mother's death she was happy.'

When the King's beautiful daughter had told Hjalte all this she was silent for a moment, and looked at him. Hjalte had sat immovable whilst she was speaking, but the King's daughter grew pale when she saw the pain his face betrayed.

'Tell me what thou thinkest, Hjalte,' she exclaimed. 'Now, we are soon at KungahÄlla. How shall I fare there? Will the King slay me? Will he brand me with red-hot irons, and send me back again? Tell me the truth, Hjalte.'

But Hjalte did not answer. He sat and talked to himself without knowing it. Astrid heard him murmur that at KungahÄlla no one knew Ingegerd, and that he himself had but little inclination to turn back.

But now Hjalte's moody face fell upon Astrid, and he began to question her. She had wished, had she not, that she could have said 'No' to this journey. When she came to KungahÄlla, the choice lay before her. What did she, then, mean to do! Would she tell King Olaf who she was?

This question caused Astrid not a little embarrassment. She was silent for a long while, but then she began to beg Hjalte to go with her to KungahÄlla and tell the King the truth. She told Hjalte that her maidens and the men on board her ship had been bound to silence.

'And what I shall do myself I do not know,' she said. 'How can I know that? I have heard all thou hast told Ingegerd about Olaf Haraldsson.'

When Astrid said this she saw that Hjalte was again lost in thought. She heard him mutter to himself that he did not think she would confess how things were.

'But I must all the same tell her what awaits her,' he said.

Then Hjalte rose, and spoke to her with the utmost gravity.

'Let me tell thee yet another story, Astrid, about King Olaf, which I have not told thee before:

'It was at the time when King Olaf was a poor sea-king, when he only possessed a few good ships and some faithful warriors, but none of his forefathers' land. It was at the time when he fought with honour on distant seas, chastised vikings and protected merchants, and aided Christian princes with his sword.

'The King had a dream that one night an angel of God descended to his ship, set all the sails, and steered for the north. And it seemed to the King that they had not sailed for a longer time than it takes the dawn to extinguish a star before they came to a steep and rocky shore, cut up by narrow fjords and bordered with milk-white breakers. But when they reached the shore the angel stretched out his hand, and spoke in his silvery voice. It rang through the wind, which whistled in the sails, and through the waves surging round the keel.

'"Thou, King Olaf," were the angel's words, "shalt possess this land for all time."

'And when the angel had said this the dream was over.'

Hjalte now tried to explain to Astrid that like as the dawn tempers the transition from dark night to sunny day, so God had not willed that King Olaf should at once understand that the dream foretold him of superhuman honour. The King had not understood that it was the will of God that he from a heavenly throne should reign forever and ever over Norway's land, that kings should reign and kings should pass away, but holy King Olaf should continue to rule his kingdom for ever.

The King's humility did not let him see the heavenly message in its fulness of light, and he understood the words of the angel thus—that he and his seed should forever rule over the land the angel had shown him. And inasmuch as he thought he recognised in this land the kingdom of his forefathers, he steered his course for Norway, and, fortune helping him, he soon became King of that land.

'And thus it is still, Astrid. Although everything indicates that in King Olaf dwells a heavenly strength, he himself is still in doubt, and thinks that he is only called to be an earthly King. He does not yet stretch forth his hand for the crown of the saints. But now the time cannot be far distant when he must fully realize his mission. It cannot be far distant.'

And old Hjalte went on speaking, whilst the light of the seer shone in his soul and on his brow.

'Is there any other woman but Ingegerd who would not be rejected by Olaf Haraldsson and driven from his side when he fully understands the words of the angel, that he shall be Norway's King for all time? Is there anyone who can, then, follow him in his holy walk except Ingegerd?'

And again Hjalte turned to Astrid and asked with great severity:

'Answer me now and tell me whether thou wilt speak the truth to King Olaf?'

Astrid was now sore afraid. She answered humbly:

'Why wilt thou not go with me to KungahÄlla? Then I shall be compelled to tell everything. Canst thou not see, Hjalte, that I do not know myself what I shall do? If it were my intention to deceive the King, could I not promise thee all thou wishest? All that I needed was to persuade thee to go on thy way. But I am weak; I only asked thee to go with me.'

But hardly had she said this before she saw Hjalte's face glow with fierce wrath.

'Why should I help thee to escape the fate that awaits thee?' he asked.

And then he said that he did not think he had any cause to show her mercy. He hated her for having sinned against her sister. The man that she would steal, thief as she was, belonged to Ingegerd. Even a hardened warrior like Hjalte must groan with pain when he thought of how Ingegerd had suffered. But Astrid had felt nothing. In the midst of all that young maiden's sorrow she had come with wicked and cruel cunning, and had only sought her own happiness. Woe unto Astrid! woe unto her!

Hjalte had lowered his voice; it became heavy and dull; it sounded to Astrid as if he were murmuring an incantation.

'It is thou,' he said to her, 'who hast destroyed my most beautiful song.' For the most beautiful song Hjalte had made was the one in which he had joined the most pious of all women with the greatest of all men. 'But thou hast spoiled my song,' he said, 'and made a mockery of it; and I will punish thee, thou child of HÉl. I will punish thee; as the Lord punisheth the tempter who brought sin into His world, I will punish thee. But do not ask me,' he continued, 'to protect thee against thine own self. I remember the Princess, and how she must suffer through the trick thou playest on King Olaf. For her sake thou shalt be punished, just as much as for mine. I will not go with thee to betray thee. That is my revenge, Astrid. I will not betray thee. Go thou to KungahÄlla, Astrid; and if thou dost not speak of thine own accord, thou wilt become the King's bride. But then, thou serpent, punishment shall overtake thee! I know King Olaf, and I know thee. Thy life shall be such a burden that thou wilt wish for death every day that passes.'

When Hjalte had said this he turned away from her and went his way.

Astrid sat a long time silent, thinking of what she had heard. But then a smile came over her face. He forgot, did old Hjalte, that she had suffered many trials, that she had learnt to laugh at pain. But happiness, happiness, that she had never tried.

And Astrid rose and went to the opening of the tent. She saw the angry Bard's ship. She thought that far, far away she could see Iceland, shrouded in mist, welcoming her much-travelled son with cold and darkness.

III

A sunny day late in the harvest, not a cloud in the sky; a day when one thinks the fair sun will give to the earth all the light she possesses! The fair sun is like a mother whose son is about to set out for a far-off land, and who, in the hour of the leave-taking, cannot take her eyes from the beloved.

In the long valley where KungahÄlla lies there is a row of small hills covered with beech-wood. And now at harvest-time the trees have garbed themselves in such splendid raiment that one's heart is gladdened. One would almost think that the trees were going a-wooing. It looks as if they had clothed themselves in gold and scarlet to win a rich bride by their splendour.

The large island of Hisingen, on the other side of the river, had also adorned itself. But Hisingen is covered with golden-white birch-trees. At Hisingen the trees are clad in light colours, as if they are little maidens in bridal attire.

But up the river, which comes rushing down towards the ocean as proudly and wildly as if the harvest rain had filled it with frothy wine, there passes the one ship after the other, rowing homewards. And when the ships approach KungahÄlla they hoist new white sails, instead of the old ones of gray wadmal; and one cannot help thinking of old fairy-tales of kings' sons who go out seeking adventures clothed in rags, but who throw them off when they again enter the King's lofty hall.

But all the people of KungahÄlla have assembled at the landing-stages. Old and young are busy unloading goods from the ships. They fill the storehouses with salt and train-oil, with costly weapons, and many-coloured rugs. They haul large and small vessels on to land, they question the returned seamen about their voyage. But suddenly all work ceases, and every eye is turned towards the river.

Right between the big merchant vessels a large galley is making its way, and people ask each other in astonishment who it can be that carries sails striped with purple and a golden device on the prow; they wonder what kind of ship it can be that comes flying over the waves like a bird. They praise the oarsmen, who handle the oars so evenly that they flash along the sides of the ship like an eagle's wings.

'It must be the Swedish Princess who is coming,' they say. 'It must be the beautiful Princess Ingegerd, for whom Olaf Haraldsson has been waiting the whole summer and harvest.'

And the women hasten down to the riverside to see the Princess when she rows past them on her way to the King's Landing-Stage. Men and boys run to the ships, or climb the roofs of the boathouses.

When the women see the Princess standing in gorgeous apparel, they begin to shout to her, and to greet her with words of welcome; and every man who sees her radiant face tears his cap from his head and swings it high in the air. But on the King's Landing-Stage stands King Olaf himself, and when he sees the Princess his face beams with gladness, and his eyes light up with tender love.

And as it is now so late in the year that all the flowers are faded, the young maidens pluck the golden-red autumnal leaves from the trees and strew them on the bridge and in the street; and they hasten to deck their houses with the bright berries of the mountain-ash and the dark-red leaves of the poplar.

The Princess, who stands high on the ship, sees the people waving and greeting her in welcome. She sees the golden-red leaves over which she shall walk, and foremost on the landing-stage she sees the King awaiting her with smiles. And the Princess forgets everything she would have said and confessed. She forgets that she is not Ingegerd, she forgets everything except the one thing, that she is to be the wife of Olaf Haraldsson.

---

One Sunday Olaf Haraldsson was seated at table, and his beautiful Queen sat by his side. He was talking eagerly with her, resting his elbow on the table, and turning towards her, so that he could see her face. But when Astrid spoke the King lowered his eyes in order not to think of anything but her lovely voice, and when she had been speaking for a long time he began to cut the table with his knife without thinking of what he was doing. All King Olaf's men knew that he would not have done this if he had remembered that it was Sunday; but they had far too great a respect for King Olaf to venture to remind him that he was committing a sin.

The longer Astrid talked, the more uneasy became his henchmen. The Queen saw that they exchanged troubled glances with each other, but she did not understand what was the matter.

All had finished eating, and the food had been removed, but King Olaf still sat and talked with Astrid and cut the top of the table. A whole little heap of chips lay in front of him. Then at last his friend BjÖrn, the son of Ogur from SelÖ, spoke.

'What day is it to-morrow, Eilif?' he asked, turning to one of the torch-bearers.

'To-morrow is Monday,' answered Eilif in a loud and clear voice.

Then the King lifted his head and looked up at Eilif.

'Dost thou say that to-morrow is Monday?' he asked thoughtfully.

Without saying another word, the King gathered up all the chips he had cut off the table into his hand, went to the fireplace, seized a burning coal, and laid it on the chips, which soon caught fire. The King stood quite still and let them burn to ashes in his hand. Then all the henchmen rejoiced, but the young Queen grew pale as death.

'What sentence will he pronounce over me when he one day finds out my sin,' she thought, 'he who punishes himself so hardly for so slight an offence?'

---

Agge from Gardarike lay sick on board his galley in KungahÄlla harbour. He was lying in the narrow hold awaiting death. He had been suffering for a long time from pains in his foot, and now there was an open sore, and in the course of the last few hours it had begun to turn black.

'Thou needest not die, Agge,' said Lodulf from KunghÄlla, who had come on board to see his sick friend. 'Dost thou not know that King Olaf is here in the town, and that God, on account of his piety and holiness, has given him power to heal the sick? Send a message to him and ask him to come and lay his hand upon thee, and thou wilt recover.'

'No, I cannot ask help from him,' answered Agge. 'Olaf Haraldsson hates me because I have slain his foster-brother, Reor the White. If he knew that my ship lay in the harbour, he would send his men to kill me.'

But when Lodulf had left Agge and gone into the town, he met the young Queen, who had been in the forest gathering nuts.

'Queen,' Lodulf cried to her, 'say this to King Olaf: "Agge from Gardarike, who has slain thy foster-brother, lies at the point of death on his ship in the harbour."'

The young Queen hastened home and went immediately up to King Olaf, who stood in the courtyard smoothing the mane of his horse.

'Rejoice, King Olaf!' she said. 'Agge from Gardarike, who slew thy foster-brother, lies sick on his ship in the harbour and is near death.'

Olaf Haraldsson at once led his horse into the stable; then he went out without sword or helmet. He went quickly down one of the narrow lanes between the houses until he reached the harbour. There he found the ship which belonged to Agge. The King was at the side of the sick man before Agge's men thought of stopping him.

'Agge,' said King Olaf, 'many a time I have pursued thee on the sea, and thou hast always escaped me. Now thou hast been struck down with sickness here in my city. This is a sign to me that God hath given thy life into my hands.'

Agge made no answer. He was utterly feeble, and death was very near. Olaf Haraldsson laid his hands upon his breast and prayed to God.

'Give me the life of this mine enemy,' he said.

But the Queen, who had seen the King hasten down to the harbour without helmet and sword, went into the hall, fetched his weapons and called for some of his men. Then she hurried after him down to the ship. But when she stood outside the narrow hold, she heard King Olaf praying for the sick man.

Astrid looked in and saw the King and Agge without betraying her presence. She saw that whilst the King's hands rested upon the forehead and breast of the dying man, the deathly pallor vanished from his face; he began to breathe lightly and quietly; he ceased moaning, and at last he fell into a sound sleep.

Astrid went softly back to the King's Castle. She dragged the King's sword after her along the road. Her face was paler than the dying man's had been. Her breathing was heavy, like that of a dying person.

---

It was the morning of All Saints' Day, and King Olaf was ready to go to Mass. He came out of the King's Hall and went across the courtyard towards the gateway. Several of the King's henchmen stood in the courtyard to accompany him to Mass. When the King came towards them, they drew up in two rows, and the King passed between them.

Astrid stood in the narrow corridor outside the Women's Room and looked down at the King. He wore a broad golden band round his head, and was attired in a long mantle of red velvet. He went very quietly, and there was a holy peace over his face. Astrid was terrified to see how much he resembled the Saints and Kings that were carved in wood over the altar in the Marie Church.

At the gateway stood a man in a broad-brimmed hat, and wearing a big mantle. When the King approached him he threw off his mantle, lifted a drawn sword, which he had hidden under it, and rushed at the King. But when he was quite close to him, the mild and gentle glance of the King fell upon him, and he suddenly stopped. He let his sword fall to the ground, and fell on his knees.

King Olaf stood still, and looked at the man with the same clear glance; the man tried to turn his eyes away from him, but he could not. At last he burst into tears and sobs.

'Oh, King Olaf! King Olaf!' he moaned. 'Thine enemies sent me hither to slay thee; but when I saw thy saintly face my sword fell from my hand. Thine eyes, King Olaf, have felled me to the ground.'

Astrid sank upon her knees where she stood.

'Oh God, have mercy upon me, a sinner!' she said. 'Woe unto me, because by lying and deceit I have become the wife of this man.'

IV

On the evening of All Saints' Day the moon shone bright and clear. The King had gone the round of the castle, had looked into stables and barns to see that all was well; he had even been to the house where the serfs dwelt to ascertain if they were well looked after. When he went back to the King's Hall, he saw a woman with a black kerchief over her head stealing towards the gateway. He thought he knew her, and therefore followed her. She went out of the gateway, over the Market Place, and stole down the narrow lanes to the river.

Olaf Haraldsson went after her as quietly as he could. He saw her go on to one of the landing-stages, stand still, and look down into the water. She stretched out her arms towards heaven, and, with a deep sigh, she went so near the edge that the King saw she meant to spring into the river.

The King approached her with the noiseless steps which a life full of danger had taught him. Twice the woman lifted her foot to make the spring, but she hesitated. Before she could make a new attempt, King Olaf had his arm round her waist and drew her back.

'Thou unhappy one!' he said. 'Thou wouldest do that which God hath prohibited.'

When the woman heard his voice she held her hands before her face as if to hide it. But King Olaf knew who she was. The rustle of her dress, the shape of her head, the golden rings on her arms had already told him that it was the Queen. The first moment Astrid had struggled to free herself, but she soon grew quiet, and tried to make the King believe that she had not intended to kill herself.

'King Olaf, why dost thou secretly come behind a poor woman who hath gone down to the river to see how she is mirrored in the water? What must I think of thee?'

Astrid's voice sounded composed and playful. The King stood silent.

'Thou hast frightened me so that I nearly fell into the river,' Astrid said. 'Didst thou think, perhaps, that I would drown myself?'

The King answered:

'I know not what to believe; God will enlighten me.'

Astrid laughed and kissed him.

'What woman would take her life who is as happy as I am? Doth one take one's life in Paradise?'

'I do not understand it,' said King Olaf, in his gentle manner. 'God will enlighten me. He will tell me if it be through any fault of mine that thou wouldest commit so great a sin.'

Astrid went up to him and stroked his cheek. The reverence she felt for King Olaf had hitherto deterred her from showing him the full tenderness of her love. Now she threw her arms passionately around him and kissed him countless times. Then she began to speak to him in gentle, bird-like tones.

'Wouldest thou know how truly my heart clings to thee?' she said.

She made the King sit down on an overturned boat. She knelt down at his feet.

'King Olaf,' she said, 'I will no longer be Queen. She who loves as greatly as I love thee cannot be a Queen. I wish thou wouldest go far into the forest, and let me be thy bondwoman. Then I should have leave to serve thee every day. Then I would prepare thy food, make thy bed, and watch over thy house whilst thou slept. None other should have leave to serve thee, except I. When thou returnest from the chase in the evening, I would go to meet thee, and kneel before thee on the road and say: "King Olaf, my life is thine." And thou wouldest laugh, and lower thy spear against my breast, and say: "Yes, thy life is mine. Thou hast neither father nor mother; thou art mine, and thy life is mine."'

As Astrid said this, she drew, as if in play, King Olaf's sword out of its sheath. She laid the hilt in the King's hand, but the point she directed towards her own heart.

'Say these words to me, King Olaf,' she said, 'as if we were alone in the forest, and I were thy bondwoman. Say: "Thy life is mine."'

'Thy life is God's,' said the King.

Astrid laughed lightly.

'My life is thine,' she repeated, in the tenderest voice, and the same moment King Olaf felt that she pressed the point of the sword against her breast.

But the King held the sword with a firm hand, even when in play. He drew it to him before Astrid had time to do herself any harm. And he sprang up. For the first time in his life he trembled from fear. The Queen would die at his hand, and she had not been far from attaining her wish. At the same moment he had an inspiration, and he understood what was the cause of her despair.

'She has committed a sin,' he thought. 'She has a sin upon her conscience.'

He bent down over Astrid.

'Tell me in what manner thou hast sinned,' he said.

Astrid had thrown herself down on the rough planks of the bridge, crying in utter despair.

'No one free from guilt would weep like this,' thought the King. 'But how can the honourable daughter of the King have brought such a heavy burden upon her?' he asked himself. 'How can the noble Ingegerd have a crime upon her conscience?'

'Ingegerd, tell me how thou hast sinned,' he asked again.

But Astrid was sobbing so violently that she could not answer, but instead she drew off her golden arm and finger rings, and handed them to the King with averted face. The King thought how unlike this was to the gentle King's daughter of whom Hjalte had spoken.

'Is this Hjalte's Ingegerd that lies sobbing at my feet?' he thought.

He bent down and seized Astrid by the shoulder.

'Who are thou? who art thou?' he said, shaking her arm. 'I see that thou canst not be Ingegerd. Who art thou?'

Astrid was still sobbing so violently that she could not speak. But in order to give the King the answer he asked for, she let down her long hair, twisted a lock of it round her arms, and held them towards the King, and sat thus bowed and with drooping head. The King thought:

'She wishes me to understand that she belongs to those who wear chains. She confesses that she is a bondwoman.'

A thought again struck the King; he now understood everything.

'Has not the Svea-King a daughter who is the child of a bondwoman?' he asked suddenly.

He received no answer to this question either, but he heard Astrid shudder as if from cold. King Olaf asked still one more question.

'Thou whom I have made my wife,' he said, 'hast thou so low a mind that thou wouldest allow thyself to be used as a means of spoiling a man's honour? Is thy mind so mean that thou rejoicest when his enemies laugh at his discomfiture?'

Astrid could hear from the King's voice how bitterly he suffered under the insult that had been offered him. She forgot her own sufferings, and wept no more.

'Take my life,' she said.

A great temptation came upon King Olaf.

'Slay this wicked bondwoman,' the old Adam said within him. 'Show the Svea-King what it costs to make a fool of the King of Norway.'

At that moment Olaf Haraldsson felt no love for Astrid. He hated her for having been the means of his humiliation. He knew everybody would think it right when he returned evil for evil, and if he did not avenge this insult, he would be held in derision by the Bards, and his enemies would no longer fear him. He had but one wish: to slay Astrid, to take her life. His anger was so violent that it craved for blood. If a fool had dared to put his fool's cap upon his head, would he not have torn it off, torn it to pieces, thrown it on the ground, trampled upon it? If he now laid Astrid a bloody corpse upon her ship, and sent her back to her father, people would say of King Olaf that he was a worthy descendant of Harald Haarfager.

But King Olaf still held his sword in his hand, and under his fingers he felt the hilt, upon which he had once had inscribed: 'Blessed are the peacemakers,' 'Blessed are the meek,' 'Blessed are the merciful.' And every time he, in this hour of anguish, grasped his sword firmly in order to slay Astrid, he felt these words under his hand. He thought he could feel every letter. He remembered the day when he had first heard these words.

'This I will write in letters of gold on the hilt of my sword,' he had said, 'so that the words may burn in my hand every time I would swing my sword in fury, or for an unjust cause.'

He felt that the hilt of the sword now burnt in his hand. King Olaf said aloud to himself:

'Formerly thou wert the slave of many lusts; now thou hast but one master, and that is God.'

With these words he put back the sword into its sheath, and began to walk to and fro on the bridge. Astrid remained lying in the same position. King Olaf saw that she crouched in fear of death every time he went past her.

'I will not slay thee,' he said; but his voice sounded hard from hatred.

King Olaf continued for awhile to walk backwards and forwards on the bridge; then he went up to Astrid, and asked her in the same hard voice what her real name was, and that she was able to answer him. He looked at this woman whom he had so highly treasured, and who now lay at his feet like a wounded deer—he looked down upon her as a dead man's soul looks with pity at the poor body which was once its dwelling.

'Oh, thou my soul,' said King Olaf, 'it was there thou dwelt in love, and now thou art as homeless as a beggar.' He drew nearer to Astrid, and spoke as if she were no longer living or could hear what he said. 'It was told me that there was a King's daughter whose heart was so pure and holy that she endued with peace all who came near her. They told me of her gentleness, that he who saw her felt as safe as a helpless child does with its mother, and when the beautiful woman who now lies here came to me, I thought that she was Ingegerd, and she became exceeding dear to me. She was so beautiful and glad, and she made my own heavy thoughts light. And did she sometimes act otherwise than I expected the proud Ingegerd to do, she was too dear to me to doubt her; she stole into my heart with her joyousness and beauty.'

He was silent for a time, and thought how dear Astrid had been to him and how happiness had with her come to his house.

'I could forgive her,' he said aloud. 'I could again make her my Queen, I could in love take her in my arms; but I dare not, for my soul would still be homeless. Ah, thou fair woman,' he said, 'why dost lying dwell within thee? With thee there is no security, no rest.'

The King went on bemoaning himself, but now Astrid stood up.

'King Olaf, do not speak thus to me,' she said; 'I will rather die. Understand, I am in earnest.'

Then she tried to say a few words to excuse herself. She told him that she had gone to KungahÄlla not with the intention of deceiving him, but in order to be a Princess for a few weeks, to be waited upon like a Queen, to sail on the sea. But she had intended to confess who she was as soon as she came to KungahÄlla. There she expected to find Hjalte and the other great men who knew Ingegerd. She had never thought of deceiving him when she came, but an evil spirit had sent all those away who knew Ingegerd, and then the temptation had come to her.

'When I saw thee, King Olaf,' she said, 'I forgot everything to become thine, and I thought I would gladly suffer death at thine hand had I but for one day been thy wife.'

King Olaf answered her:

'I see that what was deadly earnest to me was but a pastime to thee. Never hast thou thought upon what it was to come and say to a man: "I am she whom thou most fervently desirest; I am that high-born maiden whom it is the greatest honour to win." And then thou art not that woman; thou art but a lying bondwoman.'

'I have loved thee from the first moment I heard thy name,' Astrid said softly.

The King clenched his hand in anger against her.

'Know, Astrid, that I have longed for Ingegerd as no man has ever longed for woman. I would have clung to her as the soul of the dead clings to the angel bearing him upwards. I thought she was so pure that she could have helped me to lead a sinless life.'

And he broke out into wild longings, and said that he longed for the power of the holy ones of God, but that he was too weak and sinful to attain to perfection.

'But the King's daughter could have helped me,' he said; 'she the saintly and gentle one would have helped me. Oh, my God,' he said, 'whichever way I turn I see sinners, wherever I go I meet those who would entice me to sin. Why didst Thou not send me the King's daughter, who had not a single evil thought in her heart? Her gentle eye would have found the right path for my foot. Whenever I strayed from it her gentle hand would have led me back.'

A feeling of utter helplessness and the weariness of despair fell upon Olaf Haraldsson.

'It was this upon which I had set my hopes,' he said—'to have a good woman at my side, not to wander alone amongst wickedness and sin forever. Now I feel that I must succumb; I am unable to fight any longer. Have I not asked God,' he exclaimed, 'what place I shall have before His face? To what hast Thou chosen me, Thou Lord of souls? Is it appointed unto me to become the equal of apostles and martyrs? But now, Astrid, I need ask no longer; God hath not been willing to give me that woman who should have assisted me in my wandering. Now I know that I shall never win the crown of the Saints.'

The King was silent in inconsolable despair; then Astrid drew nearer to him.

'King Olaf,' she said, 'what thou now sayest both Hjalte and Ingegerd have told me long ago, but I would not believe that thou wert more than a good and brave knight and noble King. It is only now that I have lived under thy roof that my soul has begun to fear thee. I have felt that it was worse than death to appear before thee with a lie upon my lips. Never have I been so terrified,' Astrid continued, 'as when I understood that thou wast a Saint. When I saw thee burn the chips in thine hand, when I saw sickness flee at thy bidding, and the sword fall out of thine enemy's hand when he met thee, I was terrified unto death when I saw that thou wast a Saint, and I resolved to die before thou knewest that I had deceived thee.'

King Olaf did not answer. Astrid looked up at him; she saw that his eyes were turned towards heaven. She did not know if he had heard her.

'Ah,' she said, 'this moment have I feared every day and every hour since I came hither. I would have died rather than live through it.'

Olaf Haraldsson was still silent.

'King Olaf,' she said, 'I would gladly give my life for thee; I would gladly throw myself into the gray river so that thou shouldst not live with a lying woman at thy side. The more I saw of thy holiness the better I understood that I must go from thee. A Saint of God cannot have a lying bondwoman at his side.'

The King was still silent, but now Astrid raised her eyes to his face; then she cried out, terror-stricken:

'King Olaf, thy face shines.'

Whilst Astrid spoke, God had shown King Olaf a vision. He saw all the stars of heaven leave their appointed places, and fly like swarming bees about the universe. But suddenly they all gathered above his head and formed a radiant crown.

'Astrid,' said he, with trembling voice, 'God hath spoken to me. It is true what thou sayest. I shall become a Saint of God.'

His voice trembled from emotion, and his face shone in the night. But when Astrid saw the light that surrounded his head, she arose. For her the last hope had faded.

'Now I will go,' she said. 'Now thou knowest whom thou art. Thou canst never more bear me at thy side. But think gently of me. Without joy or happiness have I lived all my life. In rags have I gone; blows have I endured. Forgive me when I am gone. My love has done thee no harm.'

When Astrid in silent despair crossed over the bridge, Olaf Haraldsson awoke from his ecstasy. He hastened after her.

'Why wilt thou go?' he said. 'Why wilt thou go?'

'Must I not go from thee when thou art a Saint?' she whispered scarcely audibly.

'Thou shalt not go. Now thou canst remain,' said King Olaf. 'Before, I was a lowly man and must fear all sin; a poor earthly King was I, too poor to bestow on thee my grace; but now all the glory of Heaven has been given to me. Art thou weak? I am the Lord's knight. Dost thou fall? I can lift thee up. God hath chosen me, Astrid. Thou canst not harm me, but I can help thee. Ah! what am I saying? In this hour God hath so wholly and fully shed the riches of His love in my heart that I cannot even see thou hast done wrong.'

Gently and tenderly he lifted up the trembling form, and whilst lovingly supporting her, who was still sobbing and who could hardly stand upright, he and Astrid went back to the King's Castle.

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