The North Star/Chapter 9
IX
“MY MOTHER’S NAME. IT IS A GOOD OMEN”
After the festivities of the betrothal, Olaf was further instructed in the doctrines of Christianity, and was baptized. During his residence in Greece he had only been “primsigned,”—that is, simply having the sign of the cross in holy water upon his brow to mark him as one preparing for entrance into Christianity. With all his strong nature he embraced the new faith, and his greatest desire was to return to convert Norway.
The marble hall of Tara was filled with light and music at the great nuptial banquet. Chiefs of every province thronged at King Kavaran’s invitation to do honor to the Princess Gyda and the royal exile she had chosen to wed.
The years that followed his marriage brought only happiness to Olaf. There seemed no reason why he should not accept King Kavaran’s offer to remain in Ireland, and after that monarch’s death to reign with Gyda, as Kavaran’s son might have done, if heaven had granted him one.
No one but Gyda and the bard Thorgills knew how longingly Olaf’s thoughts were turned to his own North kingdom. Every viking ship that landed on the Irish coast was visited by the captain of the “Alruna.” Danes, nor Swedes, not even Norwegians, at first could guess who he was, until at last it began to be rumored about. Then Olaf would go disguised, or send Thorgills to gather any tidings he could from his own land. After these visits Olaf would grow restless, and Gyda’s bright face would be paled at the thought that the separation from her own Island was at hand.
The years of her marriage had been happy ones for the beautiful princess, yet day by day, she grew paler, and an unearthly whiteness drifted over the once blooming face. Hogan O’Niall’s figure of the robin red-breast on the snow was no longer appropriate, for the color of the bright bird had flown, leaving only the pallor of the snow.
Not long after his disappointment, Eogan had, according to his father’s wishes, married a noble lady of his own province, and had found full solace in the gentle ministrations of his beautiful wife, and the promise of his two sturdy sons. The old vehement sentiment for the princess was dead; but she ever remained an ideal for his chivalrous fancy. All sting of disappointment had been removed by the happiness that pervaded Hogan’s home; and by his father’s pride and pleasure in the two young heirs who had gladdened the old chief’s heart with the prospect of sending down his honored name, long after he slept in Cormac’s Chapel, in his beloved Cashel.
Of all his friends in the land of the Celts, Olaf knew that he could rely upon none more surely than upon the faith and fidelity of the young chief of the Clan O’Niall.
“Dost thou think she dreads thy taking her from her own Isle, that it drives the bloom from her cheek?” Eogan was asking the Norseman, as they walked together one day beside the Liffey, under the shadow of the gray stone dwellings,
“I know not. Thy own physician, Connaire, in whom thou dost place such faith, as do so many, tells me that my princess is fading away with some subtle disease. I have thought that I would spread the sails of the ‘Alruna’ and take her over the sea. Mayhaps the breath from the strong salt waves will coax back the glow to her cheek, and the light to her eyes.”
Eogan was silent, and Olaf continued: “She could take a bevy of her maidens to bear her company, and I have even hoped that thou and thy lady might honor my viking ship with your presence.”
“It would give me great joy to go with thee over the sea, my friend. We might even catch a glimpse of the shore of thy far North kingdom. But my father ages fast. My last lad is too young to trust to the perils of the sea, and is too new in this world to take his mother’s eyes away from him, even for a little space. Who knows but thou might strive to carry us off to thy North kingdom, and we would say farewell to Erne forever.”
“Ah! my friend, thou must trust me better.” Olaf spoke eagerly, for the longing for Norway, hidden so deep in his own heart, made him sensitive to even a jest about his probable return. “If I could take thee, my Eogan, to my own North kingdom, as a king’s most honored guest, and if my Gyda—the same blooming princess we saw on that first day we met—if she could, from her own throne give thee the hundred thousand welcomes that thy land has given me.”
As Olaf ceased speaking, a rapidly moving figure passed.
“Ah, Thorgills! Why so fast? Thou dost look as if all the winds of Norway were driving thee. What is it? Thou hast tidings, I see. Speak!”
The bard looked at Eogan, and Olaf added impatiently: “No need for caution when friends are as true as Eogan of the Red Shield. Pardon him, Sir Chief,”—Olaf gave his winning smile,—“Thorgills is so faithful that he thinks none but ourselves should hear the tidings of our own land. Speak, Thorgills!”
“There stands a ship in the Liffey, my King, from Norway, and the name of the ship is the ‘Aastrid.’”
“What!” cried Olaf, “my mother’s name? It is a good omen.”
“The master of the ‘Aastrid,’ one Thore Klakka, was seeking the ‘Alruna.’”
“Go on! Go on!”
“He sent some of the crew ashore. One of them knew me for thy scald, and told me the captain had messages for thee from the Thane Sigvalde, thy kinsman in Norway.”
“A message for me from Norway? It is the word of my welcome to my own land.”
“The sailor would give me no tidings save that the captain desired to see thee, for he had sworn to the thane, that no other than thyself should be the first to hear his words. He would know when he can meet thee.”
“Now! now!” cried Olaf, “this very hour!” He took a step forward, then turned back to Eogan. “Come with me, truest and best of friends. Thou hast been so true in these hours of waiting that I crave to have thee in my hour of triumph, and I feel that it is at hand. Hasten with me, my friend, and share with me these tidings.”
But Eogan drew back. “If it is indeed the message of thy return, thy faithful Norsemen will not welcome a stranger among the first to hear their tidings.”
“Nay, not a stranger. They have but to know how true a friend thou hast been, to give thee a Norseman’s welcome. Moreover, my Eogan, we of the South North kingdom claim close kindred with the Celts, seeing that many of the Cymrics of the Chersonese passed over the short Skager Rack, from Jutland to Norway. Right in my own city of Nidaros, where I hope to sit upon my father’s throne, are many sons of these Cymrics, who may claim as near kindred to thee, surely as the Welsh.”
“True! true!” assented Eogan, “I have many times heard my father tell of these far northern Celts; and since thou hast come among us we have loved thee as we love not other Norsemen. The bards have said it is the voice of kindred blood, calling down through many centuries from the day when one race ruled from the Baltic to the Mediterranean. Lurgha sings to me of the voice of mingled blood till I think of thee as my brother, for the sake of those by-gone Cymrics, who held thy land before the Goths. But for all that, my friend, I may not go with thee now. Forgive me, that I delay thee and forget the needs of the hour. Thy faithful Norsemen may not remember the old Cymric tie as thou dost, and I think it not fitting that any but thy own Norsemen should be with thee now. But Olaf, my friend, if the hour of thy triumph has come, no hand will give thee heartier ‘God-speed,’ nor a stronger grasp of sorrow if thy hour is yet to come. Remember I am always thy friend. It is Norseman to Norseman to-day. I pray that thou goest to thy people as their king.”
As Eogan turned back, Olaf grasped his hand. “Then, my Eogan, while I hasten to learn what tidings these Norsemen bear, thou canst make lighter for me a heavy duty. Pass by the palace, and if the princess my wife be not too ill to speak with thee awhile, tell her gently of the coming of the ‘Aastrid’ and what it portends, that her quick spirit may give entrance, step by step, to the thought I would not have harshly intruded upon her.”
Eogan clasped Olaf’s hand, and turning walked towards the palace, while the Norsemen hurried down the widening Liffey.