The North Star/Chapter 35
XXXV
A VIKING’S WOOING
“So thou dost think, Father Reachta, it were not well for a man to wed his enemy’s daughter? I know not. Gudrun’s dark beauty hath ensnared me, and her sturdy spirit hath aroused all the zeal of conquest within me. Thou hast spoken of the Lady Freda, Jarl Gormo’s fair daughter. She is a gentle, true maid, but to win her were like gathering the white lilies in the still waters, to a man who loves the screaming of the sea-gulls on the high tides. While thou art giving me such words of counsel, I think only of how I can conquer the proud, dark Gudrun.”
Father Reachta’s venerable face was full of thought, as he listened to Olaf’s impetuous words. They were seated in the council chamber of the Nidaros palace. Father Sergius and the other Greek priests had returned to Constantinople. Bishop Sigurd, with Father Breasal, was laboring in the northern shires, Father Reachta had become the king’s closest adviser, and Father Tuathal had taken up the missionary labors so dear to the heart of his martyred comrade.
Seeing that Olaf awaited his reply, Father Reachta said very deliberately: “But see thou, my King. Thou art a warrior, and not a lover of court dames, and so this same strong maiden may conquer thee. Hast never heard the saying of the ancient Greeks, that the greater a hero, so surely his wife or his maiden held him in bondage? See now! The strong man uses his strength only in war and in the matters of state; and little by little the woman weaves a chain for him he has never seen, until it is too well knit to be broken. It were well, indeed, if marriage with thy enemy’s daughter would make thy throne more sure, but if, instead of getting rid of thy enemies, thou shouldst bring their hatred to thy own hearth, it were a dangerous matter, my King.”
“Thou wouldst say, Father Reachta,” Olaf’s voice began to ring, “that if I wedded this maid, I could not conquer her hate? Why, priest! the sight of my viking ships at sea hath scattered every fleet of the Northland. And tellest me that a little maid that I could crush out of life with a blow, can be stronger than I? It were a poor day for Olaf Tryggevesson when Ironbeard’s little maid can defy and conquer him. Not that I would be harsh with the maid,” he added in a gentler tone, “but it angers me that all say the same words. It makes me grow merry to see the women, and the warriors even, afraid of a poor little wench.”
“Not afraid of the maid, my King,” Father Reachta said quietly, “but they fear the blood that she cannot help from being traitorous, seeing it comes down to her from many false forefathers. The warrior does not dread the sword or the arrow upon the field or the sea at morn; but it is the crawling sting of death, the stealthy cup, the silent dagger in the dark, that will chill the best courage, even thine, bravest of Norsemen, my King!”
Father Reachta rose to leave.
“Stay!” shouted Olaf; “dost thon mean—thou wouldst say—”
The priest paused. “My King, I may only counsel and not command thee in this matter; but I say to thee,—beware of the dark maiden of the dark brood of Ironbeard!”
“So say I too,” cried an eager voice, as the curtains parted and Thorgills came forth. “On that word of warning, Father Reachta, I join my hand to thine.”
Olaf threw back his head and laughed aloud, a deep, sonorous laugh. “One would think, my faithful Thorgills, that thou and Father Reachta were treating of some mighty plot against me, and not speaking of a poor little maid that hath no plot to hide. She hath shown her hate so clearly, it hath made me desire her for her very honesty.”
“Well, my King,” said the bard, a keen note of disappointment in his voice, “we men argue not skilfully such points. The Lady Aastrid doth say—”
“The Lady Aastrid!” Olaf laughed again. “Why, my noble kinswoman seems as if she would make the sign of the cross every time poor Gudrun comes near. It were a shame for the warriors, and the women even, to join against an honest maid who cannot help being of the blood she is, and cannot help showing what manner of teaching she hath received.”
The priest and the scald were silent. Olaf, nettled at their evident disapproval, said haughtily: “After all the warnings, I am king of Norway, and any maiden I place upon my throne will be worthy of all homage, being my choice.”
Father Reachta gathered up his books and withdrew. As he was leaving the room, Earl Sigvalde, Lady Aastrid, and Earl Gormo entered.
Olaf turned with a feeling of relief to the newcomers.
“Ah! my noble cousin and my thanes, I give ye welcome. Sigvalde, my wisest in council, and thou, my faithful Gormo.” Turning to the latter, he added cordially, “Why hath thy face been so rare a sight in the palace? I would it were seen more often. But, my Jarl, thou dost seem of a heavy mood. Hath aught unwelcome come to thee?”
Earl Gormo answered sadly: “Aye, of a truth, my King. My maiden, my Freda, is ill of some malady we cannot conquer. She is fast fading, and my good wife Helda and I can do naught to save our one sweet blossom. I am even now beseeching the noble Lady Aastrid to bear me company to my home, where Freda so strongly desires her.”
“Aye, Jarl Gormo,”—Olaf’s voice had softened perceptibly,—“I wot the Lady Aastrid will gladly go. Out of her great skill in healing she may devise some aid to the Lady Helda in saving the sweet blossom of your hearth. It were, in truth, too fair a flower to perish so swiftly. This day will I send to thy maiden my own physician Egil, the wisest leech in all Norway, so it is said; though truth to tell, my many days upon the strong sea have left me little need to test his skill.”
“I thank thee, my King,” Earl Gormo replied, “and now, with thy leave, I will go to my dark home.”
“I would stay thee a moment, Jarl Gormo. I have that to tell my thanes it were not well to delay, and I reckon thee among my best and truest.”
“As well thou mayest, my King,” Earl Gormo assented. In the silent pause that followed, the Lady Aastrid, sadly looking at the king, was thinking within herself, “These men! these men! How little they know! Well may Olaf send Egil now, with all his skill, to my poor little Freda. I wot no medicine of the leech can heal the wounds that his master’s kind words and his goodly looks and viking fame have left in the maiden’s heart.”
Aastrid’s self-communing was checked by the sound of Olaf’s voice, full and defiant.
“My thanes, ye have counselled me often of late to wed, to let in the light upon the darkness that came to me when the eyes of my Irish princess were closed. Ye have said it were well for me to place a wife beside me on my throne, and in the days of my strength to see the race of Harold Fairhaired ready to stand in my place when I, too, shall close my eyes. I will take the counsel ye have given. In one month will I wed the Lady Gudrun, the daughter of Jarl Ironbeard. She is the maiden of my choice. Moreover, it is her right that I should wed her and pay her the blood atonement, since my vassals did slay her father.”
In the deep silence that met his words, Thorgills grasped the king’s tunic with a pleading gesture; but Olaf waved him away.
“What, my thanes, no word to greet such tidings from your king?”
“Thou must know, my King,” said Earl Sigvalde, more tactful than the rest of the unreconciled group, “thy thanes can only wish thee well in wedlock or in war.”
“And thou, my kinswoman—thou of my own blood?” pleaded Olaf, turning to the Lady Aastrid. “What blessing, what well-wishing hast thou for me on my betrothal to the maiden dearest to me in all Norway? Never yet did Olaf set forth on a venture without thy prayers; and surely wedlock were as perilous a voyage as ever I have made in my vikings, and hast thou no word to speed me?”
Lady Aastrid looked sadly up to the strong, earnest face, and her words came slowly as if it were a sore task to utter them.
“Thou art my kinsman, and there is ever the blood bond between us. But thou art the king, and whenever thou hast chosen thy wife or thy warfare—I pray they come not together—it is only for thy poor old kinswoman to say: ‘God speed thee ever.’”
Scant in warmth as were these congratulations that Olaf had wrung from his friends, he was fain to be satisfied with them.