Smiling at this, the King replied, Either by Saga-man or Scald." Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. The Bishop said, "Late hours we keep ! Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. They found the doors securely barred, King Olaf crossed himself and said: Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. VII. IRON-BEARD OLAF the King, one summer morn, Blew a blast on his bugle-horn, Sending his signal through the land of Drontheim. And to the Hus-Ting held at Mere Gathered the farmers far and near, Ploughing under the morning star, Old Iron-Beard in Yriar Heard the summons, chuckling with a low laugh. He wiped the sweat-drops from his brow, Unharnessed his horses from the plough, And clattering came on horseback to King Olaf. He was the churliest of the churls; Bitter as home-brewed ale were his foaming passions. Hodden-gray was the garb he wore, But he loved the freedom of his farm, His ale at night, by the fireside warm, Gudrun his daughter, with her flaxen tresses. He loved his horses and his herds, The smell of the earth, and the song of birds, His well-filled barns, his brook with its water cresses. Huge and cumbersome was his frame; So at the Hus-Ting he appeared, The farmer of Yriar, Iron-Beard, On horseback, in an attitude defiant. And to King Olaf he cried aloud, That tossed about him like a stormy ocean: "Such sacrifices shalt thou bring; As other kings have done in their devotion!" King Olaf answered: "I command This land to be a Christian land; Here is my Bishop who the folk baptizes! "But if you ask me to restore Your sacrifices, stained with gore, Then will I offer human sacrifices! "Not slaves and peasants shall they be, Such men as Orm of Lyra and Kar of Gryting!" Then to their Temple strode he in, And loud behind him heard the din Of his men-at-arms and the peasants fiercely fighting. There in the Temple, carved in wood, The image of great Odin stood, And other gods, with Thor supreme among them. King Olaf smote them with the blade Of his huge war-axe, gold inlaid, And downward shattered to the pavement flung them. At the same moment rose without, A mingled sound of triumph and of wailing. And there upon the trampled plain The farmer Iron-Beard lay slain, Midway between the assailed and the assailing. King Olaf from the doorway spoke : 66 Choose ye between two things, my folk, To be baptized or given up to slaughter!" And seeing their leader stark and dead, “O King, baptize us with thy holy water"; So all the Drontheim land became A Christian land in name and fame, And as a blood-atonement, soon King Olaf wed the fair Gudrun; And thus in peace ended the Drontheim Hus-Ting! VIII. GUDRUN ON King Olaf's bridal night At the fatal midnight hour, |