The North Star/Chapter 42
XLII
“THAT INSULT SHALL BE THY RUIN”
After his discouraging experience with Gudrun, King Olaf turned a deaf ear to the hints of his earls as to the advisability of his marrying. Rumors, however, began to spread of the great power and wealth of Queen Sigrid, the widow of the Swedish king, Erik the victorious. The young king of Sweden, who was also called Olaf, was Sigrid’s son. Thorgills, thinking of his own fair, gentle, young wife, could not welcome the prospect of his handsome, youthful sovereign wedded to the middle-aged, arrogant Swedish queen. One day the earl-folk were eagerly advising in favor of the alliance.
“It is as thou dost say, my dear Thanes,” Olaf assented; “my own place would be more secure if my brother King of Sweden were indeed my brother.”
“Thy son, thou dost mean, my King,” protested Thorgills. “Now if Queen Sigrid had a daughter—”
“Thou wouldst say, Thorgills,” King Olaf interrupted, “that Sigrid’s daughter might be a more fitting mate for me. So she might be, but she hath no daughter, and if I ally myself to Sweden it must be through Erik’s widow.”
Thorgills was silent, and after a pause Olaf continued: “Thou dost think, my true scald, because thy young Irish wife is fair and gentle and faithful, that these qualities belong to all maidens. See how the maid Gudrun did use me, and but for my quick arm, I had been dead from her hands. It is pleasing to think of youth and beauty and fair faith, but now my care for my kingdom seems to point to this Swedish woman, who may help to make it stronger. Thou must go, my Thanes.”
After they had left, Olaf turned to his harper. “Queen Sigrid hath told my messengers that she is not unwilling to have me come to Konghelle, and in a few days I will set out with some attendants to journey to the border of Sweden where I may meet this queen. Konghelle is not many days’ journey, and is on the border of Queen Sigrid’s own land. Before I go, Thorgills, I would that thou shouldst go and give to the queen this golden ring. I have worn if upon my finger since I broke the statue of Thor at Hlade. The ring was upon the idol when it fell, so I will send it to Sigrid as a pledge of my faith to her and to show her how the old gods have fallen. She is yet a heathen, but she will join me in my Christian faith when we are wed.”
Thorgills took the ring in his hand. “My King,” he said musingly, “a woman hath often strange fancies and the years of her life do but bring her more, when a man parts with his fancies for wisdom. See, now! A young maid would take this ring and think not of its worth in gold, but rather of how thou didst look, or how thou wouldst look, or of what thou didst think, or of what thou art going to think, or a hundred other pleasing fancies; but I wot, when one has travelled as far on the road as Queen Sigrid, she will first think of how much gold went to the making of this ring, and how many pounds went to the purchasing.”
“A peace upon thee, Thorgills! with all thy poet’s ravings. I like thy harp and thy song when I am at meat and when I am at leisure, but this is a matter of my kingdom and I have not time for considering the fancies of woman. No man can ever fathom their fancies.”
“But, my King,” the scald said thoughtfully, “the fancies of women, their whims even, have sometimes cost kingdoms and crowns.”
“Still must I say I will not stop to consider them. Go thou with all courtesy to Queen Sigrid,—she is the widow of a great king,—and give her the ring and say I wait upon her pleasure to come and urge the matter of our marriage. I know, Thorgills,” the king said affectionately, “this marriage is not greatly to thy liking. Thou wilt not forget all due reverence to the lady, seeing she burned up a hall full of suitors who were not to her liking.”
Thorgills’ mission was so successful that he returned to the king with a gracious message from Queen Sigrid that she would receive Olaf at Konghelle whenever the royal suitor came.
After Thorgills’ departure, Queen Sigrid sent for the goldsmith to order some trinkets that she might wear when King Olaf came to his wooing. The ring that Thorgills had brought lay upon the table. The goldsmith, knowing nothing of its history, took the ring in his hand and threw it down contemptuously.
“It is not fitting for thy royal hand, Queen Sigrid,” he said.
“Why so?” asked the dark, haughty woman. “Why is not the ring fitting for me to wear?”
“Nothing but the purest gold should touch the hand of the royal lady of Sweden. This ring is but copper, with a thin covering of gold. If any dishonest tradesman sold thee the ring, give it back to him, or let one of thy thrall maidens place it upon her finger.” Queen Sigrid did not answer, and the man bowing respectfully took his departure.
The proud woman took up the ring and placed it in the palm of her hand. A bitter, disdainful smile was on her lips, a flash of anger in her dark eyes. “So, King Olaf, thou dost send me a ring of base metal—to me, the widow of as great a king as thou art and the mother of one who shall be greater—aye, greater than Olaf Tryggevesson.” She laid the ring aside and there was a bitterness and suspicion in her mind; and with a sense of grievance from what she supposed was an intentional slight, she prepared to meet the Norwegian king.
It was a very stately hall at Konghelle, where Queen Sigrid had gathered her attendants to welcome her royal suitor. As King Olaf rode up to the door, all the household was impressed with his majestic appearance. After greeting him, Queen Sigrid led the way to the banquet hall where the feast was spread. Courtesy required that the matter on which he had journeyed should not be at once introduced; and Olaf inwardly chafed that he must wait another day before beginning his negotiations for Queen Sigrid’s hand.
“Not much like a suitor doth he seem,” decided the lady, as she noted Olaf’s independence of manner. Not a great deference did the viking pay the lady; and her attendants, accustomed to her haughty rule, wondered how their proud mistress would brook the Norwegian lack of condescension.
The morning after his arrival, King Olaf, fretting at the delay, strode into the room where Queen Sigrid sat with her maids. The king’s ring was worn conspicuously on her right hand. Close behind Olaf came Thorgills.
“Wilt thou, noble lady,” the king said, bowing courteously, “out of thy kindness, give a little heed to some poor words of mine?”
Queen Sigrid bent her head in assent. Her heart softened at the words and the grace of the king. Truly was Olaf of a most kingly bearing. Then her eyes rested on the ring—the base offering he had sent, and her heart grew hard again.
“It is well known, gracious lady,” continued the royal suitor, accepting her permission to speak, “what attraction has brought me to the very end of my own land and. to the very edge of Sweden. I would be thy lord if so thou wilt let me take thee for my queen.”
Sigrid stood looking at the king. Thorgills noted the fire in her eyes and liked not the meaning of her face.
Slowly she spoke: “Thou didst send me a ring, King Olaf, as a pledge of thy truth. Are thy promises as true as the metal of this ring, as thy own token?”
Olaf was plainly puzzled at the question. He had never examined the ring and believed it to be genuine gold.
“Queen Sigrid,” he said, with straightforward earnestness, “gold is esteemed the best and truest of all metals; and as true as the ring upon thy hand, so true will I be to thee. I am a Christian, and I would be thy faithful lord, as every true Christian man should be to his lady.”
Sigrid laughed aloud in scorn. “Ye are all true, ye Christians! Ye swear by the gold that is false and ye call yourselves true men.”
“And so we are!” Olaf’s brow was growing dark in anger.
Thorgills was thinking within himself: “I would that I had lost the ring. It is false metal and she hath found it so; and the false ring hath made a liar of my master. Nothing but a woman’s whim could turn Olaf Tryggevesson into a liar.”
King Olaf’s brow cleared and he turned gently to the scornful queen. “Thou too, my noble lady, wilt be a true Christian before we are wed.”
“What? I? Sigrid of Sweden? A worshipper of Christ,—the dead Nazarene on a gibbet? My fathers were warriors and heroes, and they worshipped the brave old war-gods,—no pale, dying Christ.”
“But thou must accept the Christ and be baptized ere we are wed; for my queen cannot be a heathen beside me on the throne of Norway.”
Queen Sigrid drew herself up haughtily. “Thou dost say ‘must’ tome? Thou commandest the Queen of Sweden, great Erik’s widow, even as thou wouldst a thrall wench?”
“Nay! I did not command thee. I did but say that my wife must be a Christian. Thou wilt think further of it, Queen Sigrid, and later when thou hast well considered it, I will return to ask thee again to wed me.”
King Olaf moved towards the door. In anger Sigrid called out to him: “Thou shalt never ask me again to wed thee. Even as I am now, shall I ever be. If I am not fitting to be thy queen, in my old Asa faith, I shall never sit beside thee on thy throne, for a Christian I shall never be.”
“And a heathen I shall never wed,” shouted King Olaf, his anger rising to meet the queen's.
“Thou shalt take me heathen or not at all!” insisted Sigrid, her eyes flashing and her lips quivering.
She drew her robe around her and walked scornfully past the king. Her contempt was more than the viking could endure, and he drew off his gauntlet and struck Queen Sigrid full in the face with the glove. “What should I want with thee, thou old heathen jade?” he roared in her ear.
Sigrid stood quite still a moment after the blow. Her cheeks burned and her eyes were blazing. Almost choking with passion, she cried out to the raging man: “King Olaf, that insult shall be thy ruin!”