The North Star/Chapter 28
XXVIII
“LOVE IS A VIRTUE FOR HEROES, AS WHITE AS THE SNOW ON HIGH HILLS”
King Olaf’s resolve to dwell in Nidaros filled Thorgills with happiness, for in that city was the home of the Lady Aastrid, the wife of Earl Sigvalde, and at her side sat the little maiden, Maidoch. Scarce a word could Thorgills ever draw from Maidoch. She sat spinning or weaving her gossamer laces, and hardly ever glanced at him. Thorgills came often to sing for the Lady Aastrid and her maidens, as they spun. Sometimes if the saga were full of feeling, the girl’s deep blue eyes would be lifted; but when Thorgills’ met hers, her glance fell to the work in her hands. In such brief space the scald noted how wistful, how full of longing was her glance.
One day, Thorgills found the Lady Aastrid alone. “Will I sing thee a saga?” he asked, and she answered graciously, “As thou wilt, but if I may choose I would bid thee talk to me of the king. How fares he with our stubborn heathens? What evil hath the wicked Jarl Ironbeard, and his wicked sorceress of a wife, devised?”
“And if I might choose, my lady,” the scald said, encouraged by Aastrid’s kindly tone, “I would speak to thee of the little Irish maid. Scarce a word can I get from her lips, scarce a look from her blue eyes. When I come near, she draws her veil around her and she seems as far away from me as if she stood upon some high mountain in her own land, instead of a few feet from me in thy home.”
Lady Aastrid laughed gently at Thorgills’ distressed face. “Thou art a Norseman, and they were ever bold in their wooing. Thou hast followed the bravest viking that ever ventured on the high tides. Thou art Olaf Tryggevesson’s closest friend, and thou art frighted by a little maid. It were well for thee, my friend. When a maiden hath such power over thee, it were worth much striving to gain her. Thou wouldst ask me how to woo the maid. Remember thou art venturing into a province where none hath trodden before. Thou wouldst wake up a woman’s soul in a child. It may be that thou canst; and then thy life song will be sweeter than any saga thou hast ever sung. But listen, Thorgills. The child’s soul now is full of love for her father and of longing for her Irish home. The father hath not many days in this world; and her home she will never see again. See now! In the darkness to come, it may be thy voice, thy hand, thy tender thought for her, will bring another sunlight. But thou must be very patient and ever very gentle. This little flower was so harshly transplanted, so rudely torn from the green land where her heart still lives, to our stern Northland.”
Thorgills rose to go. His eyes shone and his whole face was radiant. “Dear Lady Aastrid,” he said, bending down his handsome blond head, and kissing the hand she held out at parting, “thou hast filled me with happy hope. I will be patient. I will be gentle. Through the favor of Christ and the Virgin, I will yet wear upon my heart this sweet, white blossom.”
That night as Thorgills sat before the king, and tuned his harp for Olaf’s pleasure, he sang a new saga that had rung all day through his silence and through his speech. And King Olaf said musingly, when the song was done: “As thou didst sing, Thorgills, I thought me of Gyda, and yet again of the little maid I ransomed from the Danes.”
The white sea bird is calling
Thy whiter wings away:
The clear sea foam is falling
On thy clearer spirit’s spray,
Blue-eyed and beautiful.
O strength of clinging weakness!
Such potency is thine,
O majesty of meekness!
Thy courage masters mine,
Strong-souled and beautiful.
O like sea blossom bending!
O’er sea crag harsh and lone,
Thy sun sweet life is blending
With mine—with mine alone,
Feal-heart and beautiful.
A few days later Thorgills went to the house of Lady Aastrid. “The scald of King Olaf waits in the anteroom,” the house-thrall told her mistress, as the lady sat in the bower-room. Aastrid glanced around, holding her spinning-wheel at rest.
“Maidoch,” she said, smiling at the girl, who sat weaving her cobweb lace, “go thou and bring some ale and bread to Thorgills. I wot he is thirsty and hungry, and I would finish this skein before I lay aside the spinning-wheel. Tell Thorgills I will join him presently. He brings a message of courtesy from the king.”
Lady Aastrid turned to her spinning, and feigned not to see the pleading look in Maidoch’s eyes, and the low words, “My lady, I would ask—” were drowned in the whir of the wheel.
The girl went obediently to prepare the refreshment and to fill the drinking-horn. Then she repaired to the waiting-room. Thorgills was sitting listlessly expecting the thrall to return with the Lady Aastrid’s message. Maidoch came in so softly that he did not hear her. Her eyes were bent upon the floor as she entered, and she timidly raised them as she placed the food upon the table. Then she held out the long bronze horn. “The Lady Aastrid bids thee refresh thyself.” At the first sound of her voice Thorgills turned and started. Maidoch! It was indeed the little maid. At last! at last! he could speak to her, he might plead with her. As the girl placed the food upon the table, she moved towards the door. Thorgills started forward. “I thank thy gracious lady, and thy own courtesy, sweet maid,” he said, hurriedly. “Wilt thou not join me at meat, until the Lady Aastrid comes?”
Maidoch shook her head and took a few more steps to the door. Thorgills was in deep apprehension. Was she indeed a spirit, whom he could never hold? What could he say to detain her? How might he keep her even for a moment beside him? Then he remembered the strongest chord of her affection. “If thou wilt not join me at meat, wilt thou not sit a space that I may ask thee of thy father?”
Maidoch stood quite still. Her father had so strong a friendship for the scald, that now it would be gravely discourteous to refuse to speak of him to his friend. She lifted her eyes gratefully to Thorgills’ face, and as the scald sat down, she too seated herself. Her voice was full of feeling as she spoke. “If thou wilt refresh thyself, Lord Thorgills, I will speak to thee of my father. Thou hast been our friend, and my heart grows sad to see him so ailing.”
Thorgills spoke softly. “Thy noble father is failing fast. It were not true kindness, gentle maid, to tell thee otherwise. Hast ever thought how it may be with thee when he hath left thee? I would I could forbear to speak such words, but, dear lady, I would fain make less cruel the blow when it shall fall.”
Maidoch looked at him in silence. Then Thorgills asked: “Is there aught I can do for thy father?”
“The king’s own physician doth daily visit him,” Maidoch answered, “and the Lady Aastrid hath every healthful food prepared. But oh! my Lord Thorgills, he is old and hath seen many sorrows, but thou surely dost not think—Christ is too merciful to take him from me in this strange land. I should die without him. He is all—all I have, and I should perish of loneliness without him.”
Maidoch’s voice fell in a whispered sob. Thorgills jumped up from the table. He stooped over Maidoch and caught her hand in his strong grasp. “Nay! nay! thou shalt not be alone! I will cherish thee as thy true lord if thou wilt but turn to me.” Maidoch had risen in terror. She drew her hand away and moved swiftly towards the door. As she went blindly into the hall, she fell sobbing into the arms of the gentle Lady Aastrid.
“What is it, child?” the older woman asked. “Hath some one grieved thee? Surely not Thorgills!”
“Nay! nay! dear lady,” Maidoch answered between her sobs; “he is my father’s friend and he hath been most kind, but I would crave leave to go back to my weaving.”
“Go, then, if thou wilt;” and Maidoch went swiftly down the hall. Before she returned to her weaving, she went to her sleeping-room. She closed the door. Then she knelt down, beside the casement, and thinking of the interview with Thorgills, she hid her burning face in her hands. “What shall I do? What shall I do? He says my father must leave me soon, and I will be all alone in this wild, strange land. He would be my lord, but O dear Christ! I want no lord, no home, in this strange land. If Thou dost call my father to Thee, in pity call me too, since I can never see my own fair land.”
Lady Aastrid found Thorgills standing as Maidoch had left him. “The little bird flew out so swiftly, I wot thou hast frighted her.”
“Nay, dear lady, I would not have willingly frighted her, but she spoke of her father with so great tenderness and sorrow that my heart could not be still, and in my strong need of comforting her I have but driven her away with my rough wooing.”
“Patience! patience! my friend,” the lady answered. “Now tell me of our Olaf.”
“The king is greatly disturbed by the boldness of Ironbeard. In spite of all the labors of Bishop Sigurd and his priests, the earl still holds the Tronders to their heathen faith. Then Thore Klakka, the steward who served Jarl Haakon so long, and of whom Olaf will believe no evil, for he holds that Thore brought him to his kingdom,—this Thore hath joined the Thane Ironbeard, and ever incites the Tronders to hatred of the Christian priests.”
“How fares Olaf with the Greek priests, Sergius and his brethren?”
“The king would send them back to Constantinople. They are too harsh with our heathen, and Sergius hath councilled the king to many things that Olaf in his eagerness to convert all Norway unwisely accomplished. Then Bishop Sigurd tells the king there are differences between Rome and Constantinople, and that the Greeks of the Eastern Church do not keep faith with Bruno, the German pope, who is called Gregory.”
“It were a happy thought for the faith in Norway that Olaf hath brought Bishop Sigurd and the Irish priests to our aid,” Lady Aastrid said. Then she rose in token of dismissal. Holding out her hand, she said graciously, “My duty and reverence to thy lord, the king.” Then as she turned to go back to her bower women, she smiled kindly at the scald. “I will not let thy timid bird fly too far from thee, my friend.”