Tales of a Wayside Inn Part 7

He was quarrelsome and loud, And impatient of control, Boisterous in the market crowd, Boisterous at the wa.s.sail-bowl, Everywhere Would drink and swear, Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

In his house this malecontent Could the King no longer bear, So to Iceland he was sent To convert the heathen there, And away One summer day Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

There in Iceland, o'er their books Pored the people day and night, But he did not like their looks, Nor the songs they used to write.

"All this rhyme Is waste of time!"

Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

To the alehouse, where he sat, Came the Scalds and Saga-men; Is it to be wondered at, That they quarrelled now and then, When o'er his beer Began to leer Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest?

All the folk in Altafiord Boasted of their island grand; Saying in a single word, "Iceland is the finest land That the sun Doth shine upon!"

Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

And he answered: "What's the use Of this bragging up and down, When three women and one goose Make a market in your town!"

Every Scald Satires scrawled On poor Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

Something worse they did than that; And what vexed him most of all Was a figure in shovel hat, Drawn in charcoal on the wall; With words that go Sprawling below, "This is Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest."

Hardly knowing what he did, Then he smote them might and main, Thorvald Veile and Veterlid Lay there in the alehouse slain.

"To-day we are gold, To-morrow mould!"

Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

Much in fear of axe and rope, Back to Norway sailed he then.

"O, King Olaf! little hope Is there of these Iceland men!"

Meekly said, With bending head, Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest.

X.

RAUD THE STRONG.

"All the old G.o.ds are dead, All the wild warlocks fled; But the White Christ lives and reigns, And throughout my wide domains His Gospel shall be spread!"

On the Evangelists Thus swore King Olaf.

But still in dreams of the night Beheld he the crimson light, And heard the voice that defied Him who was crucified, And challenged him to the fight.

To Sigurd the Bishop King Olaf confessed it.

And Sigurd the Bishop said, "The old G.o.ds are not dead, For the great Thor still reigns, And among the Jarls and Thanes The old witchcraft still is spread."

Thus to King Olaf Said Sigurd the Bishop.

"Far north in the Salten Fiord, By rapine, fire, and sword, Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong; All the G.o.doe Isles belong To him and his heathen horde."

Thus went on speaking Sigurd the Bishop.

"A warlock, a wizard is he, And lord of the wind and the sea; And whichever way he sails, He has ever favoring gales, By his craft in sorcery."

Here the sign of the cross made Devoutly King Olaf.

"With rites that we both abhor, He worships Odin and Thor; So it cannot yet be said, That all the old G.o.ds are dead, And the warlocks are no more,"

Flushing with anger Said Sigurd the Bishop.

Then King Olaf cried aloud: "I will talk with this mighty Raud, And along the Salten Fiord Preach the Gospel with my sword, Or be brought back in my shroud!"

So northward from Drontheim Sailed King Olaf!

XI.

BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD.

Loud the angry wind was wailing As King Olaf's ships came sailing Northward out of Drontheim haven To the mouth of Salten Fiord.

Though the flying sea-spray drenches Fore and aft the rowers' benches, Not a single heart is craven Of the champions there on board.

All without the Fiord was quiet, But within it storm and riot, Such as on his Viking cruises Raud the Strong was wont to ride.

And the sea through all its tide-ways Swept the reeling vessels sideways, As the leaves are swept through sluices, When the flood-gates open wide.

"'Tis the warlock! 'tis the demon Raud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen; "But the Lord is not affrighted By the witchcraft of his foes."

To the ship's bow he ascended, By his choristers attended, Round him were the tapers lighted, And the sacred incense rose.

On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, In his robes, as one transfigured, And the Crucifix he planted High amid the rain and mist.

Then with holy water sprinkled All the ship; the ma.s.s-bells tinkled; Loud the monks around him chanted, Loud he read the Evangelist.

As into the Fiord they darted, On each side the water parted; Down a path like silver molten Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships;

Steadily burned all night the tapers, And the White Christ through the vapors Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten, As through John's Apocalypse,--

Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling On the little isle of Gelling; Not a guard was at the doorway, Not a glimmer of light was seen.

But at anchor, carved and gilded, Lay the dragon-ship he builded; 'Twas the grandest ship in Norway, With its crest and scales of green.

Up the stairway, softly creeping, To the loft where Raud was sleeping, With their fists they burst asunder Bolt and bar that held the door.

Drunken with sleep and ale they found him, Dragged him from his bed and bound him, While he stared with stupid wonder, At the look and garb they wore.

Then King Olaf said: "O Sea-King!

Little time have we for speaking, Choose between the good and evil; Be baptized, or thou shalt die!"

But in scorn the heathen scoffer Answered: "I disdain thine offer; Neither fear I G.o.d nor Devil; Thee and thy Gospel I defy!"

Then between his jaws distended, When his frantic struggles ended, Through King Olaf's horn an adder, Touched by fire, they forced to glide.

Sharp his tooth was as an arrow, As he gnawed through bone and marrow; But without a groan or shudder, Raud the Strong blaspheming died.

Then baptized they all that region, Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian, Far as swims the salmon, leaping, Up the streams of Salten Fiord.

In their temples Thor and Odin Lay in dust and ashes trodden, As King Olaf, onward sweeping, Preached the Gospel with his sword.

Then he took the carved and gilded Dragon-ship that Raud had builded, And the tiller single-handed, Grasping, steered into the main.