Olaf the Glorious | Page 5

the harbour.
Then Sigurd came ashore and went about the town on the king's
business, and he thought no more of the yellow haired slave boy until
the evening time.
It chanced then that he was again beside the sea.
Down there on the shore he stood alone, idly watching the white
winged seabirds--some floating in their own reflections on the calm
pools of water left by the outgoing tide, others seeking food amid the
green and crimson weeds that lay in bright patches on the rocks--and
often he turned his eyes in the direction of the setting sun, where, in the
mid sea, Jarl Klerkon's dragonship moved slowly outward, with her wet
oars glistening in the rosy light.
Suddenly from behind him there came a merry childish laugh, and he
turned quickly round, and saw very near to him the white clothed slave
boy of the gangplank. The lad was standing at the brink of a deep pool
of seawater, and had, as it seemed, started a fleet of empty mussel
shells to float upon the calm surface. He was dropping pebbles from his
full hand into the water, to give movement to the tiny boats.
Sigurd stepped quietly behind him, and then said:
"Why do you thus set these shells to sail?"
The boy looked up in surprise, and his blue eyes rested for a long time
upon the tall strange man. Then he answered:
"Because, hersir, they are my warships, setting out upon a viking
cruise."
At this Sigurd smiled.
"It may be, my boy," said he, "that you will yourself command great
ships of war in time to come."
"That is what I should wish," said the boy, "for then I might take blood
vengeance upon my enemies."
"Not often do I hear one so young thus speak of enemies," said Sigurd.
"What is your age?"

"Ten winters."
"And your name?"
The boy looked up once more into the stranger's face, and at his large
crested helmet of bronze and gold. He glanced, too, at the man's great
sword and his cloak of rich blue cloth, and guessed rightly that he was
of noble rank. There was a smile upon his lips, and his eyes were tender
and kindly, winning confidence.
"My name is Olaf," answered the boy.
"Whose son?" asked Sigurd.
At this question Olaf turned aside, threw his pebbles away into the
water, and wiped his wet hands on his coarse kirtle. Then stepping
nearer to the stranger he stood upright and said, almost in a whisper, as
though fearing that even the seagulls might overhear him:
"I am King Triggvi's son."
Sigurd drew back with a little start.
"King Triggvi's son!" he echoed in surprise. And then he looked yet
more keenly into the boy's face, as if to seek some likeness there.
"Even so," returned Olaf. "And what of that? Little good can it do me
to be a king's son if I am also a slave, made to work hard for my daily
portion of black bread and tough horse flesh. Triggvi is in Valhalla,
with Harald Fairhair and the rest of them, and he cannot help me now.
But Odin be thanked, he died not like a cow upon a bed of straw, but
with sword in hand like a brave good man."
"A brave good man in truth he was," said Sigurd. "But tell me, boy,
what token have you to prove that you are indeed the child of Triggvi
Olafson? You are but ten winters old, you say; and yet, as I reckon it,
Triggvi was slain full ten winters back. How can I know the truth of
what you tell?"
"No token have I but my bare words," answered Olaf proudly.
Sigurd caught him by the hand and led him up the beach to a ledge of
rock, and sat him down before him, bidding him tell how it came about
that he was here in bondage in a foreign land.
So Olaf answered him thus:
"I came into the world an orphan," said he, "and never heard my
father's voice. But my mother bade me ever remember that I was a
king's son, and to make myself worthy. Astrid was the name of my
mother. She was the daughter of Erik Biodaskalli, who dwelt at

Ofrestead, in the Uplands, a mighty man. Now, after the slaying of
Triggvi, Queen Astrid was forced to fly from the realm of Viken, lest
she too should fall into the hands of Gunnhild and her wicked sons and
be slain. And she travelled as a fugitive through many lands. In her
company was her foster father, Thoralf Loosebeard by name. He never
departed from her, but always helped her and defended her
wheresoever she went. There were many other trusty men in