Chapter I: Denmark (6)

In his very dreams Hako could scarcely have anticipated the prosperity which was now his lot. His father had been only the jarl of Drontheim; his own life had been perpetually hunted by the sons of Eric; he had been an exile for many years; yet he was now the ruler of seven provinces, not removeable at the pleasure of the Danish monarch, except by open force. But he was not, says the historian, happy. His nights were often sleepless; and when he did sleep, his dreams were disturbed. It was not remorse which thus rendered him anxious; it was ambition. That he aspired to the sovereignty of all Norway, may, from the time of Harald’s departure, be inferred from every action. But many were his opponents or rivals, whom he hoped time or chance, intrigue or revolution, would remove. The first who troubled him in his government was Ragenfrid, one of the surviving sons of Eric. From the Orkneys, this chief, with a considerable fleet, sailed for Norway. Hearing that Hako was at Drontheim, he landed in the southern provinces, and spread his devastations on every side. On the approach of the jarl he hastened to his ships; in a naval action he was victorious; but as he was unable to contend with Hako on land, he proceeded to ravage the coast wherever it was inadequately defended; and in a short time he seized Sogne, Hardaland, Fiord, and some other districts. The following spring, jarl Hako, having collected troops on every side, renewed the war. This time fortune did not desert him: he vanquished Ragenfrid, whom he also expelled from Norway. His next wish was to remove Harald Grenske; but he was wily enough to wait for time and circumstances. The same time and circumstances, he trusted, would release him from all dependence on the Danish court. At first he forwarded the stipulated revenues to Harald; but he soon sent a portion only, or withheld them entirely, on the plea that the defence of the country required them all. But he had no wish prematurely to offend that monarch; and when required to assist in the war against the emperor Otho, he served personally in the war. The issue was not prosperous: Harald, as we have before related, was compelled to receive baptism, and Hako to follow the example. But he was still a pagan; and he resolved that the missionaries, with whom he was to return into Norway, should never see that country. He therefore landed them on the Swedish coast, and after wasting Gothbed with fire and sword, proceeded to his favourite Drontheim. There, and wherever he had the power, he restored paganism to its ancient splendour; nor would he tolerate Christianity. This conduct was offensive to Harald; but that monarch had other wrongs to avenge. The jarl not only refused the accustomed tribute and proclaimed his independence, but ravaged the coasts of Jutland. Harald retaliated on those of Norway. His purpose was to subdue Iceland, with the sarcastic poets of which he was offended; but he had more solid reasons for the conquest than those assigned by the chronicler. That island, like the Orkneys, was the resort of pirates whenever they were defeated in Scandinavia. His desire to explore the state of Iceland before he invaded it has given rise to a legend which may be mentioned for its novelty. He persuaded a wizard—no doubt a Finn—to change his form, and repair to that island. No form seemed so judicious as that of a large fish; and under it the magician made the voyage, without the incumbrance of ships or men. But his ingenuity availed him little. On attempting to land at the first bay, a huge dragon forced him to seek the deep. At another, a large bird equally opposed his landing. If the east and north of the island were thus guarded, surely the west coast, which was then, as now, wholly unfrequented, would be more accessible. The hope was vain; a fierce bull advanced into the water to meet him. Nor was the southern coast more hospitable: as he attempted to land he perceived a huge giant, whose head was higher than the hills, and whose hand was graced with a ponderous bar of iron. To attempt the conquest of a region guarded by local deities, or by extraordinary magic, was hopeless; and the baffled Finn returned to Denmark.[200]

[Sidenote: 900 to 993.]

So long as Harald lived, Hako appears to have remained undisturbed; but, after the accession of Sweyn, a powerful fleet sailed from Denmark to chastise his rebellion. Yet it entirely failed; patriotism roused the Norwegians to unite, and repel the invaders. As yet, too, Hako had shown few proofs of that unbridled licence which distinguished him in the following years. He had many great qualities; he was active, enterprising, brave in a degree seldom equalled, even in an age of heroes. Great was his triumph over the formidable Sweyn; and he had no longer a rival, except in Harald Grenske: nor did this king long thwart his views. The way in which Grenske met his fate has in it much of romance, yet is in no respect contrary to probability, or inconsistent with the manners of the times. In a piratical expedition to the Baltic, he landed on the Swedish coast, of which kingdom Olaf, son of Eric the Victorious, was the head. In his youth Harald had been reared in Sweden; and his foster-sister was Sigfrida, mother of the king. Hearing that Harald was on the coast, not far from her manor, she sent him an invitation to visit her, and he readily accepted it. Never was hospitality more open or more agreeable. The widowed queen, who sat on a throne to honour Harald and his chiefs, presided over a sumptuous entertainment; and, after it, she encouraged the circulation of the horn, not merely by her invitation, but by her example. “All drank manfully,” says the historian, which means deeply enough. But neither the lady nor Harald indulged so much as the rest; and when the latter was laid in the magnificent bed which had been prepared for him, the queen entered his apartment, horn in hand, and challenged him to drink more. At length both were intoxicated, until Harald was overpowered by sleep, when Sigfrida went to her own couch. The next day the entertainment was renewed; but this time both hostess and guest were moderate. Love had entered the heart of Harald, but he durst not declare it; and after some time he took his leave, and returned to Norway. But he could not rest; and when spring came, he revisited the Baltic. Affection had made him timid; he durst not, unbidden, go to the house of Sigfrida, and he requested an interview on the sea-coast. She rode to the place, and Harald, dismissing his attendants, mentioned his passion. It found no response in her heart. He had, she observed, a good wife already. The king rejoined, that Asta, his queen, was no fit match for him; that she was much inferior in birth. “That may be true,” replied Sigfrida, who was believed to possess some knowledge of futurity; “but at this very moment she is pregnant of a son, who will be a great honour to you both.” She then departed as she had arrived, on horseback, leaving Harald in much despondency. Unable to desist from his hopeless suit, he again repaired to her palace, and found another royal suitor. As before, the entertainment was good; but, in the ensuing night, both kings were destroyed by their hostess. The fleet returned to Asta without its leader. She immediately repaired to her father’s house in the uplands, and gave birth to a son, whom she named Olaf, destined to become the sainted king of Norway.[201]

[Sidenote: 993 to 995.]

Hako, now the sole ruler of all Norway, was, like many other princes, unable to resist prosperity. The love which his people—at least, the inhabitants of Drontheim—had long borne him, had changed into hatred, by the licentiousness of his conduct in his declining years. The daughters of his noblest chiefs he forcibly brought to his palace, and, after a few days, returned them to their families. Murmurs arose; but they were disregarded by the hoary idolater, who thought his power too well established to be shaken. But he was at length roused from this dream of security, by the report that there was a descendant of fair-haired Harald, unequalled for valour, who probably aspired to the throne of his ancestors. This was Olaf, the son of Trygve, whose adventures are the most romantic in the history of the North.[202]

[Sidenote: 969 to 970.]

On the death of Trygve, Astridda, his widow, who was then pregnant, fearing the vengeance of Gunhilda and her sons, fled to an island in the solitary lake of the uplands, where, in 969, she brought forth a son, whom she named Olaf, after his grandfather of that name. There she remained the whole summer, accompanied only by her foster-father, and two or three domestics. But when the days began to shorten, the cold breezes from the lake were too much for Astridda and her child; and, accompanied by the same faithful domestics, she left her island home. To escape observation, she never came within sight of human habitation; and when, after many days, she approached her father’s habitation, she was too cautious to enter. A messenger acquainted him with her arrival; and he met her at a solitary hut in the forest, where every domestic comfort was supplied her. Two maid servants only, with her foster-father, his child, and her infant son, formed her whole establishment. It was fortunate for her that, during this winter, Gunhilda and her sons were too closely occupied by Hako, the jarl, to have leisure for pursuing her. But that ambitious woman had heard of Olaf’s birth; and when spring arrived, she sent her spies to inquire into the truth of the report, and where both mother and child might be found. Their inquiries were successful; and a chief, with thirty horsemen, was despatched to bring the infant to the court of Gunhilda. Eric, however, the father of Astridda, was told their purpose when they were only a few miles distant from the house. It was nightfall; and he led his daughter, with her precious charge and a few domestics, into the forest, where he acquainted her with her danger, with his inability to protect her, and with the necessity of her hastening, in the most secret manner, to the house of an aged friend in Sweden. No sooner had she departed, than he returned to his own house, to await the arrival of the horsemen. Fortunately, both for him and his daughter, they did not immediately call upon him, but passed the night at a neighbouring house. The following morning, when he was asked where his daughter and grandson were, he denied that they were with him; and, on their refusing to believe him, he allowed them to search every corner of his habitation. But the leader of the band was at length informed of their route, and, causing his men to mount, he pursued it. Darkness overtaking them, they passed the night with a rich landowner, whom they carelessly asked whether he had seen a woman with a child pass that way. He replied, that a woman and child, in very mean attire, with other persons equally humble, had besought his hospitality, and that he had refused to lodge them,—for, like worthies of recent times, he had a great dislike to beggars,—but he believed they were at some cottage in the neighbourhood. And so they were;—at the cottage of an honest farmer, and less distant than was suspected. But Providence watched over the safety of mother and son. While this conversation was passing, a peasant in the employment of that farmer accidentally called at the rich man’s house, on his return from the forest to his master’s. He heard all that had passed; and, ignorant of Astridda’s arrival, communicated it to his master. The Norwegian, as prudent as he was humane, perceiving that the third part of the night was already past, went to his guests, who were fast asleep, and told them, in an angry voice, to rise and leave his house. They tremblingly obeyed; but no sooner were they beyond the inclosure, than he acquainted them with the cause of his seeming harshness. He sent them to a solitary lake, on which was an island covered with reeds, and bade them remain concealed until they saw him again. As the water of the lake was shallow, they easily waded to the island, and concealed themselves, while Thorsteim (his name shall not be buried in oblivion) returned to his own house. As he had foreseen, on the following morning the chief of the horsemen, after inquiring at many houses, called at his, and inquired after the fugitives. “They have been here,” was the reply; “but, before the break of day, they both left me, and went into the wood.” Nor was he unprepared for the next question,—whether he would be their guide in searching for the mother. He readily consented; and, as may easily be conceived, led them in a direction exactly contrary to that which they had pursued. Nor was this all. On the pretext that they should probably be more successful if they separately continued the search, he left them, but only to delude them by new expedients. The day was thus wasted, and the horsemen returned to Gunhilda. That evening Thorsteim went to the island, provided the fugitives with a store of provisions, and, what was much better, with a faithful guide. Astridda pursued her journey, and, without any further interruption, reached the house of Hako the Old, by whom she and her infant were affectionately received, and with whom they remained about three years.[203]

[Sidenote: 964 to 966.]

But the fortunes of Olaf and of his mother were still to be singular. They had not long enjoyed the hospitality of Hako, when Gunhilda sent an embassy to Eric, king of Sweden, to obtain possession of the young prince. Under the specious promise of amply providing for one whose fortunes she pitied, and the fate of whose father she had long bewailed, her messenger easily prevailed on Eric to send an escort to the house of Hako for the prince. But, at the court of Eric, Hako had a son, who was present when the affair was mentioned to the king; and he gave his father timely warning of the Norwegian’s approach. The Swedish noble was therefore prepared for his visitor. After the display of much ceremonious politeness, the ambassador mentioned the anxiety of Gunhilda to educate young Olaf in a manner becoming his birth; and begged that the royal child might be confided to his care,—a request in which the Swedish king joined. “Astridda,” replied the wary Hako, “is the mistress of her own actions, and if she consents to thy proposal, I can have no objection to it.” On the refusal of Astridda, the disappointed ambassador returned to Eric’s court, and obtained a stronger force, with the intention of removing the child by violence, should entreaties be unavailing. As before, Hako was prepared, and he was less complaisant than on the former occasion. “Astridda,” was the substance of his reply to the renewed proposal, “has no great reason to confide in the promises of Gunhilda; she knows her wiles, her deceit; she is still averse from thy proposal; and the boy cannot go without the mother’s consent, nor shall I allow her inclination to be forced, so long as she continues under my protection.” High words arose; the ambassador threatened to employ force; Hako replied, that men more powerful than he would fail in such an attempt. The dispute reached the ears of a cowherd of Hako’s—a huge herculean man—who, seizing a pitchfork, hastened to the scene, and said, “Is it thou who darest to insult my princely master in his own house? Choose one of these two things,—either speedily retire from this neighbourhood, or prepare for thy death by this pitchfork, which will be equally fatal to thy companions!” The ambassador and his suite hastily retreated, and on their return to Norway acquainted the disappointed Gunhilda with the ill success of his journey.[204]

[Sidenote: 976 to 984.]

Whether through fear lest king Eric should, in the end, force her son from her, or through the desire of seeing her brother Sigurd, who was then in high favour with Waldemar, a king of Gardarik[205], Astridda left the hospitable roof of Hako. By him she was confided to the care of some merchants who traded with Gardarik, and supplied with everything necessary for her voyage. In the Gulf of Finland they were taken by Esthonian pirates, separated, and sold. Olaf, Thorolf, and the son of Thorolf, became the property of one who, seeing the old man past service, put him to death; the two boys were afterwards sold to different masters, and Astridda sent nobody knew where. Subsequently, the same master purchased Thorgils, the foster-brother of Olaf, and employed him in the meanest drudgery. But the prince was not thus treated; he was soon beloved by the old pagan, and beheld in the light of a son. It happened, one day, that Sigurd, the uncle of Olaf, came to the master’s house, and saw the boy, then about ten years old, playing with others of his age. He saluted Sigurd; the latter returned the courtesy, and was immediately struck with the foreign countenance of the boy. In answer to his questions, the boy told him his name, and the names of his parents. Sigurd at once recognised his nephew, whom he redeemed; but the boy would not go with him unless he was accompanied by Thorgils, who was redeemed at a lower price. To the honour of the pagan master of Olaf, it must be added, that he would not have sold the boy, unless Sigurd had given a pledge that he should never be resold, and that he should be treated as well as he had been under his own roof. Both children were taken to the court of Sigurd’s master, who reigned in the vicinity of Novgorod. The attachment which Olaf bore to his friends was equalled by his hatred to his enemies, and to the enemies of his friends. One day, as he stood in the public market, he perceived the merchant who had killed Thorolf: approaching with much deliberation, he drew his little sword, inflicted a mortal wound in the head of the merchant, and immediately ran to acquaint his uncle with the deed which he had performed. Apprehensive of the consequences, Sigurd led his nephew into the presence of the queen, and besought her protection; and through her influence, a pecuniary compensation was received by the relations of the deceased. He soon became a favourite at court; the king, learning his royal birth, placed him among his nobles; and nine years passed away with rapidity. Every accomplishment becoming his descent and his future prospects was acquired by him. Among these was piracy, to which, from his twelfth year, he was habituated. In it he acquired considerable reputation during the following years; and was most useful to the king by destroying other piratical vessels which disturbed the peace of Gardarik, and by the rich treasures which he brought from his frequent expeditions. But his favour with the king had the ordinary effect,—it created rivals and enemies; and he left the court to do what so many of his ancestors had done before him,—to pursue his fortunes on the deep.[206]

[Sidenote: 985 to 994.]

On the shores of the Baltic the young chief obtained much celebrity, alike for his valour and success. He was consequently joined by many piratical vassals, until he had a considerable fleet under his command. Towards the close, he caused his vessels to anchor in a bay on the coast of Pomerania, which was then governed by a princess, the daughter of duke Borislaf, whose husband was lately deceased. The fame of his exploits, of his accomplishments, of his personal comeliness, reached her ears, and through her minister she sent him an invitation to pass the winter in her capital. It was readily accepted; and the natural consequence followed,—her marriage with the pirate chief. Invested by this union with the military government of the state, Olaf defended the rights of his consort much more eagerly than those of her subjects. Some territories and fortresses which had been dismembered from the duchy, he restored to it. But in one of these warlike expeditions, he was nearly a victim to the bad faith of the barbarians. Leading his troops against a fortified town which had thrown off its allegiance to the princess, he pressed the inhabitants so closely that they offered to submit to his discretion, and opened their gates to receive them. No sooner, however, had a few of his men entered with him, than the ponderous barricades were closed, and he was assailed by a multitude. But a sea king never lost his presence of mind. Commanding his followers to imitate his example, he repaired to the walls, fighting as he retreated; and on reaching them, he leaped to the ground outside the fortifications. The place was now assailed with the vigour which exasperation always gives; it was soon carried by storm; the garrison were put to the sword, and the walls levelled with the earth.—But this humble sphere was too narrow for his ambition, which the events then passing in Norway served to inflame. In about a year after his marriage, he sailed with a small number of vessels to the coast of Sweden, ravaged Scania and Gothland, took one or two prizes, assisted the emperor Otho in the invasion of Denmark, and in the victory which the temporal head of Christendom obtained over the pagan Dane, and was present at the deliberations which preceded the restoration of peace.[207] That he was half a Christian—at least in disposition—is evident from the relation of his biographer; but where he had acquired the little knowledge he possessed of Christianity is not so clear. His biographer affirms that he had often heard of the Christian doctrines,—which may be true enough; but we cannot subscribe to the next assertion, that one reason of his esteem for the new faith was, a miracle which he had seen archbishop Poppo work in presence of Otho and Harald of Denmark. However this be, he had a great aversion to idolatry; and, even at the court of the pagan king in Gardarik, he had always refused to sacrifice to the gods. In the army of Otho he met with his father-in-law, duke Borislaf; and after the successful termination of the war, he returned into Pomerania. But his restless disposition would not long permit him to remain with his bride; and he led another expedition to various shores of the Baltic. After the death of his consort, which happened in three years after his marriage, he would no longer remain in Pomerania. Probably the event disposed him to humility, to reflection. However this be, he was now better instructed in the principles of Christianity,—whether in Greece, as his biographer assures us, or in some Slavonian province where Greek missionaries were labouring, is of little moment. But the baptismal rite was not administered to him for some years afterwards,—until he visited a hermit in the west. He is said to have been instrumental in the conversion, also, of his master, the king of Holmgard, and of the queen. Whatever his zeal might be at this period of life, at a subsequent one, as we shall soon perceive, it was great enough. But his religion was, like that of the period, a strange one: it did not deter him from ravaging the coasts of Christian countries, from burning the huts of the poor, and sacrificing the inmates. Years after his pretended change of belief, he was occupied in this dreadful profession, from the coasts of Russia to those of Brittany and Ireland. In Ireland or in England,—probably in the latter,—he is said to have married an Irish princess, named Gyda; but before the ceremony could take place, he was compelled to fight with a rival, whom he soon vanquished. After this event, he was sometimes in England, sometimes in Ireland, but every where his fame as a warrior extended. The sea kings of this period were accustomed to fight as much for others as for themselves, by hiring their services to any native prince who had need of them; nor did it unfrequently happen that the northmen were, at the same time, in opposite ranks. For such services the wages were always abundant; sometimes in land, more frequently in gold and rich merchandise. Nor must we forget that, when on the coast of a friendly power, the pirates exercised the profession of merchants, and traded from one port or one kingdom to another, with more regularity than we generally suppose. But this pursuit was much too quiet for the sea king, and he followed it from necessity only: his delight was in scenes of excitement—in those of danger and carnage. Whether in peace or war, no scruple was felt in stealing cattle from any coast. While in Ireland, an adventure befell Olaf which illustrates both this statement and his own character. He and his men had disembarked on a certain part of the coast, seized a multitude of cattle, and were driving them towards their ships, when a poor farmer ran after them, and begged the chief to restore the animals which had been stolen from _him_. “Thou mayst have them,” replied Olaf, “if, without impeding our march, thou canst distinguish them from such a multitude.” The man had a dog, which singled out the animals, one by one, to the great amazement of the chief. “Wilt thou part with this dog?” demanded Olaf. “Readily!” was the answer; and Olaf, not satisfied with restoring the man’s cattle, made him some valuable presents.[208]

[Sidenote: 967 to 993.]

In all his voyages, Olaf never despaired of being one day able to procure the rights of his birth in Norway, and his eyes were frequently turned to that country. Nor was he without anxiety as to the fate of his mother, of whom he had heard nothing since the day on which, while yet an infant, he had been separated from her. Her adventures may, for a moment, occupy the reader’s attention. After remaining a slave for some time, she was seen in Pomerania by a Norwegian pirate of noble birth: at first he did not recognise her; where health and cheerfulness and beauty had once been, he observed paleness and melancholy; but there was, alike in her appearance and manner, something that inspired him with respect. A closer examination convinced him that he saw Astridda, the queen of Trygve, before him; he entered into conversation with her, and learned that she was now on sale. She besought him to ransom her, and return her to her friends; and he promised to do so on one condition,—that she would become his bride. Her situation was not one that admitted of either scruple or hesitation; she became his wife, and the mother of several children. Year after year rolled away, and the mother heard not of the son, or the son of the mother. The fame of his exploits, indeed, had reached Norway; but he had assumed another name,—that of Olo, a native of Gardarik, and by it he was known to all the princes of his time, from the imperial Otho to the humblest piratical chief. But Hako, the usurper of Norway, knew the truth; and as his favour with the people, from his new vices, was now departing[209], he began to look with much anxiety towards Ireland, where Olaf had for some time been. To remove this aspiring rival was necessary to his safety; and he immediately devised the means of carrying his design into execution.[210]

[Sidenote: 995 to 996.]

Intimately connected with Hako was a piratical chief, Thorer by name, a man of enterprise, who had acquired reputation on the deep, and who would not hesitate to execute any commission with which he might be entrusted. This man was the fittest instrument for alluring Olaf into the power of Hako. By open force, no chief could hope to succeed; for Olaf was followed by some of the most noted heroes of his time, and was at the head of some ships. He must therefore, if possible, be brought to Norway; or, as a last resource, assassinated. As the deceitful representations which Thorer was enjoined to make might not have their due effect on Olaf, two of his kinsmen, whom he had never seen—the brothers of his mother—were to be associated with him, and, if need were, to confirm his statement.[211] They revolted, we are told, at this meditated treachery, and refused to share in it until menaced with the loss of their own lives. However this be, Thorer hastened to Dublin to put his design into execution. To lull suspicion, he was provided with abundant merchandise, which he was to barter in Dublin, a port then flourishing for its commerce. He had little difficulty in discovering the abode of Olo of Gardarik, the only name by which Olaf was known. By degrees, he cultivated the acquaintance of Olaf; and, as he was a man of great observation, eloquent, and specious, he was a welcome visitor. As usual, Olaf, without naming himself, inquired after his family connections;—how many were living, what their condition in life, what their influence with the public. When satisfied on these points, he inquired into the character, the power, the reputation of Hako. “The jarl,” replied Thorer, “is a great prince, absolute in everything, and no man dare contradict him; but, if I must speak confidentially, he is tolerated only because of old Harold’s race no scion remains whom the people might choose in lieu of him. Many are the nobles, the chiefs, the warriors, the people, who would rush to the standard of such a rival, if one were to appear in Norway. But why talk thus vainly? no prince of that house survives.” Such was the manner in which Thorer fulfilled his commission; and we cannot be surprised that, after a few interviews, Olaf opened his heart to the traitor. He was not, by birth, Olo of Gardarik,—he was Olaf, the son of king Trygve; and might he, indeed, hope that the Norwegians would accept him, in preference to Hako? Thorer solemnly affirmed that, if he but showed himself to the people, the reign of Hako would be at an end. He did more; he professed the warmest interest in the fate of his new friend, whom he exhorted to sail, without delay, to his native country. With five ships only—for why engage many where none would be needed—the prince, accompanied by Thorer, left Dublin, passed the Hebrides, and at length reached the Orkneys. The jarl of these islands was Sigurd, who welcomed the strangers: but in Olaf he found a master. The prince, already assuming the rights of sovereignty, commanded the jarl to receive baptism, and, on his hesitation, threatened him with death if he refused. The choice was not difficult, and the Christian church had one hypocrite more. Homage, too, was done to the new king; and, as a pledge of fidelity, Whelp, the son of Sigurd, accompanied Olaf to Norway.[212]

[Sidenote: 995 to 996.]

When Olaf reached the coast of Agder, he learned that the inhabitants of Drontheim were conspiring against the authority of Hako. This news was a thunderbolt to Thorer, who, from the gratitude which the Norwegians had evinced towards the jarl, for his recent victory over the Jomsberg pirates, had regarded his dynasty as secure. The present discontent, however, might pass away; and he determined to assassinate Olaf: but the men whom he had hired for that purpose betrayed him to the prince, and he fell the victim of his own wiles. Olaf, whose name had not yet been mentioned to the people, now hastened towards Drontheim, where every moment added to the critical situation of his enemy. Nothing can so well describe the character of Hako as his conduct just before and at this period. Though he knew that the inhabitants of that province were only waiting for an opportunity of banishing or destroying him, he persevered in his lustful course. Wives, daughters, sisters, widows, virgins,—all on whom he cast his eyes, were, however nobly allied, forcibly taken to his residence. But the following incident had happened before the arrival of Olaf:—Brinjolf, a noble of Ganlardal, had a beautiful and accomplished wife; one night, while both were in bed, the myrmidons of Hako arrived at his villa, and unceremoniously informed him that his wife was wanted by the jarl, and that she must accompany them. On his indignant refusal to suffer her departure, they returned for more assistants, and bore her away to the palace of Hako. The following day Brinjolf put on his armour, rode into the neighbouring country, assembled his connections and friends, laid before them the indignity which he had received, and prevailed on them to unite in his cause. They did not, however, break out into open insurrection, but they entered into a conspiracy to assist one another when the convenient moment should arrive. This event was no warning to Hako. Soon afterwards, smitten with the charms of a married lady, Godruna, who from her beauty was surnamed the “Sun of Lunden,” he sent his emissaries to her husband’s house to bring her to him. Under the pretext of inviting them to supper, Orm, the husband, detained them until his servants had collected a force sufficient to set them at defiance. The lady herself then told the messengers, in a tone of insult, that she should not accompany them unless Thora, the favourite mistress of the jarl, sent for her. Threatening vengeance on the whole family, the men departed; and Orm lost no time in sending out the arrow, the symbol of war, to his kinsmen and dependents.[213] The well-known token was rapidly conveyed; the gathering commenced; and in a short time a formidable band was assembled, eager to destroy the tyrannical jarl.[214]

[Sidenote: 995.]

The motives of this rustic force were soon known to Hako. His first object was to conceal himself until he had collected troops enough to crush the insurrection. What follows is exceedingly romantic; and we give it as we find it in the authorities before us, leaving the reader to exercise his own judgment in what he may reject or admit. We may, however, observe that, if some of the incidents have been too strongly coloured by posterity, the substance of the relation is true.—Accompanied by his domestics, Hako fled from his villa into a deep valley, which has ever since borne his name. As it was supposed that he would hasten to his ships, which were at some distance along the coast, and were under the guidance of his son Erleng, the paths which led to the coast were more narrowly watched than those in the neighbourhood of the valley. At nightfall, he despatched some of his men to the station where his vessels lay, commanding his son to meet him off a more southern portion of the coast; the rest he sent to their own homes, keeping one serf only, Thermod Kark, who had been his companion from infancy. Feeling that his present retreat was not secure, he plunged further into the solitudes. On reaching the banks of a lake, which was frozen over, he dismounted, made a hole in the ice, thrust his horse into the aperture, and left his mantle beside it, so as to make his pursuers believe that he had perished in the waters. He then crossed the ice, and, with his slave, found refuge in a solitary cave in the mountains. Both being much fatigued, they soon fell asleep; but the slave started, and awoke his master to acquaint him with an awful dream which he had just experienced. He had seen a man of a dark, dreadful countenance, approach the cave, stand for a moment before it, and, after exclaiming, “One is dead!” ascend the hill. This mysterious denunciation was thought by Hako to allude to Erleng; for, after a moment’s reflection, he said, “Thy dream appears to indicate the death of my son!” The interpretation, say the sagas, was a true one. Olaf had just arrived off the coast; Erleng, with three vessels only, could not make head against the superior fleet which he rightly judged to be that of an enemy; and, to escape captivity, he and a few of his companions, after approaching the shore as near as they could, quietly descended into the water, and began to swim. In this state they were overtaken by the vessel in which Olaf was. According to Snorro, it was Olaf himself who, with an oar, broke the head of the young jarl as he was buffeting the waters; according to Gunlaug, it was one of his mariners. Both agree that Erleng perished within a few yards of the coast; that many of his companions perished with him; that the vessels became the prize of Olaf, who learned, for the first time, the flight of Hako, and the insurrection of the rustics.[215]

[Sidenote: 995.]

After this dream, proceeds the Saga, the slave had another, which frightened him so much that he made a distressing noise, like one afflicted with the nightmare. Being awoke by his master, he said that he had seen the same dark man approach the cave, stop at the entrance as before, and say, “Tell thy master that all the passages to the sea-coast, and the coast itself, are blocked up!” The jarl thought his days were numbered; but he said nothing. He would, however, no longer remain in the cave; and both proceeded towards the villa inhabited by Thora. When at a distance from it, he despatched Kark with a request that she would secretly meet him in the forest. She obeyed the summons, and showed, by her affectionate behaviour, that whatever are the crimes of men, women can be faithful to the last. Hako asked her if she could furnish him with some hiding place for a few nights. “That will be difficult,” replied Thora; “my house will soon be searched; not a corner of it will escape scrutiny, for all people know I shall save thee if I can. Yet there is one place where nobody would expect to find a prince like thee—it is under the pig-sty.” They went to the place; the slave enlarged the cave; provisions, lights, and other necessaries were brought; and Hako, accompanied by Kark, descended into the cavern. The earth which had been recently dug up was removed; wooden rafters were laid over the hole; over them straw and dung were spread, and the swine were turned in to tread down the covering, so as to confound the recent marks. In addition, the entrance to the sty was blocked up by a large stone. Having taken these precautions, Thora returned to the house, none of her domestics being aware that she had seen the jarl. The prisoners were, therefore, left to themselves; but how they were to breathe in such a place, we are not informed.—The enemies of Hako, with Olaf at their head, soon arrived. They had found the mantle on the ice of the lake, and had been induced to return, until suspicion of the stratagem arose, and induced them to continue the pursuit. On reaching the house of Thora, they broke open the doors, examined every part within and without, and desisted only when search was manifestly vain. If any faith is to be placed in either of the authorities before us, Olaf, on issuing from the house, sat on the very stone which blocked up the entrance to the sty, and stimulated his followers to search in other districts, by offering splendid rewards to any one that should take or kill the jarl. His loud voice penetrated to the cave where Hako and his slave sat; and, as the former looked at the latter, he saw his countenance change. “What means that look?” demanded the master; “dost thou wish to betray me?”—“No,” replied the other, “but I tremble at that voice; it is the one I heard in my dream.”—“Both of us,” rejoined Hako, who was very superstitious, and had often consulted the oracles of the country, “were born on the same day, and the same day will close the life of both!” Towards nightfall Olaf departed, and the master and slave were left to their own reflections, or what was still worse, to their conversation. Hako durst not sleep, lest his slave should assassinate him; nor Kark, lest the same advantage should be taken by his master. At length, however, the slave closed his eyes, and dreamed that he and his master were in the same ship, of which he was the helmsman. This required no interpretation; as Hako observed, they were, indeed, in the same vessel, and the fate of both was in the hands of the slave. Again the latter dreamed: he was now at the court of Olaf, who fastened a golden chain around his neck. “That chain,” observed Hako, “will be a bloody one to thee, if ever thou comest into the presence of Olaf; it portends thy doom: yet be faithful to me, and all will be well!” At length nature was too much for both, and they slept; but, towards the break of day, the slave was awoke by the horrid noise made by his master, who seemed as if in a cruel nightmare, as if struggling with some nightly demon, or with his own evil genius. Kark arose, drew a knife from his belt, and cut the throat of Hako. The head he then separated from the body, and hastened with it to Olaf, who was now proclaimed king. “What led thee to this deed?” was the demand of the prince. “Chiefly,” replied the slave, “the great reward which I heard thee offer, and partly the confusion of my senses at the condition of Hako.”—“Thou shalt have the reward,” rejoined the king; “but thou shalt also die. If Hako was a bad man, he was still thy master, and a benefactor to thee; and thy fate must be a warning to thy fellows, not to lift their hands against those whom they ought to defend.” The slave was then beheaded; and the prophecy, that he and Hako should die within a day of each other, was literally fulfilled.[216]

Thus perished the son of Sigurd,—a man of great talents, great enterprise, and, until the last few years of his life, of great public utility. Previous to that period, his enemies could not deny him noble birth, great valour, consummate prudence in the art of government, and success in war. He was, besides, liberal to his dependents, and magnificent to his friends. His chief defects were dissimulation, treachery, falsehood; a superstitious regard for the pagan religion, and a hatred of Christianity. Formerly, he had been called Hako the Good; he was henceforth to be called Hako the Bad. He died in his fifty-eighth year, thirty-three of which he had exercised the sovereign power under the title of jarl.[217]

[Sidenote: 996.]

The death of Hako enabled _Olaf Trygveson_ to take possession of the whole kingdom, as fully as had ever been done by fair-haired Harald. The people, indeed, would hear of no other king. One of his first objects was to introduce Christianity; and he commenced with Vikia, the province where his mother (the wife of Lodin) and all his family connections lived, and where he knew he should find the least resistance to his efforts. To his friends he expressed his resolution, either to convert the whole kingdom, or to perish in the attempt. Having first prevailed on his numerous family connections to embrace Christianity, and to promise a cordial co-operation in his designs, he called an assembly of the province, and, like most royal missionaries, intimated his command, rather than his request, that all should receive the baptismal rite. The chiefs, whom he had previously secured, immediately signified their assent, and their example constrained the multitude. Here, as everywhere else, if any refused to forsake their old faith, he would not condescend to argue with them; some he exiled, some he mutilated, others he put to death. This was a sure method of producing outward obedience to the new religion; and, in one year, the whole of Vikia was—not christianised, but baptized. Accompanied by a strong force, the royal missionary next transferred his labours to Agder and Hardaland. Here, the same alternative was proposed,—conversion or death; and the smaller evil was naturally chosen. Rogaland was the next province to benefit by his apostolic efforts, and they had the usual success. It appears, however, that the inhabitants were less inclined to the novelty than their countrymen of Vikia; and three of the leading chiefs were besought to answer the monarch in full assembly. But who would venture to resist the king, especially when he denounced the severest vengeance on all who should refuse to obey him? One of the speakers was suddenly seized by a cough; another began to stammer; the third had conveniently a sore throat; so that no answer being returned to the most gracious message from the throne, silence was taken for consent, and all present were within a few days hurried to the baptismal font. In one province the assembled chiefs, who were all kinsmen, promised to embrace the new religion on this condition,—that one of their number should receive the hand of Astridda, sister of the monarch. At first the princess, who had forgotten the humble fortunes which had lately been the lot of all her family, refused the match, as beneath her dignity; she wanted a prince. Olaf adorned her own hawk in magnificent plumes, and sent it to her, with an intimation that it was no less easy for him to ennoble the humblest peasant in Norway. The ambitious lady then consented; the province became Christian; and Erling, the brother-in-law of Olaf, became a powerful jarl. Proceeding northwards, the royal apostle assembled the inhabitants of the Fiords and of Raumdal. On this occasion, a whole army was with him; doubtless because he apprehended more opposition than he had yet encountered. But his mode of argument was too convincing to be resisted;—“Receive baptism, or fight me!” and the easier alternative was selected. From this meeting he repaired to Laden, where there was a magnificent temple of the gods: the idols he despoiled, threw them to the ground, and consumed the building by fire.[218]

[Sidenote: 997 to 999.]

But if this coercive mode of proselyting was, in many places, immediately effectual, it was not so in all. So enraged were the inhabitants of Raumdal at the destruction of the temple at Laden, that they sent forth the arrow, and an armed multitude rose at the summons. But Olaf proceeded to the south, where they could not follow him, and there he passed the winter. This opposition only rendered him the more ferocious against the pagans and all their superstitions. In the next assembly over which he presided, he denounced the magicians, and caused a decree of banishment to be pronounced against them: if they did not voluntarily leave the country, all were to be arrested, brought before him, and put to death. Eyvind Kella, a descendant of Harald Harfager, was at the head of a college of magicians. These the king invited to an entertainment, and set fire to the house in which they were assembled. Eyvind, however, was not there; but he was afterwards taken, with a considerable number of other proficients in the art, and were thrown from a high rock into the sea.—Olaf, like all the men of his time, was a believer in these pretended arts; and he was sure that, unless they were repressed, religion must suffer. His people were not less superstitious than he; and they doubted not that he had personally to contend with Odin himself. One evening, as he was holding a festival in the retired manor of Augvald, an old man, with a high cap like one of the Persian magi, and only one eye, was admitted to the table. So eloquent was his discourse, so varied his knowledge, that Olaf was delighted with his guest. Many were the abstruse questions which he put to him; equally wise and ready were the answers. Thus the night wore away. At length Olaf asked the stranger who was that Augvald to whom the house in which they were had once belonged, but who had long been dead. Augvald, replied the guest, had a cow, to which he paid divine honours, which always accompanied him, and supplied him with milk. At length he fell in battle, and in the neighbourhood of this house was buried, in one tomb, while the cow was buried in another.—Still the night wore away, and the stranger showed no desire to go: at length the king pulled off his clothes, and laid down on the bed, the mysterious guest being seated before him. But the bishop entered, to inform the king that it was time to sleep; and at the sight of him the guest departed. The rest of the monarch, however, was short; he could not sleep; and to pass away the time he sent for the stranger, who was nowhere to be found. The morning following, he inquired of his cooks and butler whether they had seen him. They replied that a man answering the description had appeared amongst them while they were preparing the feast; had asserted that the meat they were cooking was of the worst kind, and unfit for the royal table; and had presented them with two noble barons of beef, which he had assisted them to prepare. In great consternation Olaf ordered what remained to be thrown away; the stranger, he was sure, was no other than Odin, who had some deep purpose in view; but never would he be the victim or the instrument of his fiendish designs. The gravity with which such adventures are related by Snorro is the best illustration of the opinions and intellect of the times.[219]

[Sidenote: 998.]

But Olaf had seen more sturdy antagonists than wine-bibbing deities. Repairing to the north, he found that his attempts to convert the people were not always to be successful. To the states of Drontheim, which he had convoked at Froste, they repaired, all armed, and evidently intent on some important measure. After the assembly had been legally opened by Olaf, he commanded this people to embrace the Christian religion. A great clamour arose; and the people did what they had never yet dared—assert their superiority over him, command him to be silent, and threaten that, if he refused to obey, they would drive him from the kingdom. They had overpowered Hako, the godson of Athelstane, and they did not think Olaf in any respect superior to that monarch. The tone of Olaf was soon altered; he saw that the formidable body, who had been raised by the fatal arrow, could not be resisted on this occasion; and he expressed his wish to live on the best terms with all his people. In reply to their next demand, that he should join in the sacrifices, he promised to be present on the next great solemn festival, and then choose which religion he would follow. By this promise, and by his unusually placid manner, the wrath of the people was disarmed; and it was agreed that they should meet him at Laden, in the province of Moria. In the interval he prepared for the struggle. With a stronger force than he had yet brought to such assemblies, he proceeded to Laden. Before the business of the meeting was opened, he gave to the assembled people a magnificent entertainment, and all drank deeply, so as to become intoxicated,—the usual result of all northern feasts. The next morning, after the legal opening of the Thing, he arose, and thus addressed them:—“Countrymen! you well know what passed in the last assembly at Froste, and that we are here met to restore the pagan sacrifices which you so much desire. You also know with what contumely I have treated the gods,—how often I have thrown them to the earth, and burned their temples, and defied them to their faces. Now, according to your own creed, such deeds can be only forgiven by extraordinary oblations. If I must sacrifice, I will, as the chief pontiff, select such victims as I may approve. They shall be _human_ victims,—yea, and the noblest amongst you!” With much solemnity, and in a most emphatic manner, he then mentioned the names of twelve chiefs,—the noblest in Norway, who were all present,—that were to be immediately immolated; and he called on his followers to lead them into the temple. The result may be anticipated: the terrified chiefs who were thus doomed, and all who feared the same fate, left the matter of religion to the king—they would no longer oppose him: the multitude were constrained by their example; and both the high and the low, young and old, were led to the baptismal font.[220]

[Sidenote: 998.]