XVIII
“THE CHAMPION OF THE CROSS”
The late spring in the far North is full of a wonderful beauty, that seems more bewitching because eager eyes have watched through the long, white wintry hours for its gracious coming. The spring morning in the year 995, when the “Alruna” landed on Moster Island, in the Hordaland, Olaf Tryggevesson thought no earthly country could be so fair as Norway. The white mists like soft, filmy veils floated away from the face of rock and fen and blue-waved fiord. The tender verdure made inviting the harsh outline of the shore, while the fleecy clouds glided over the silky sails that fluttered in the strong breeze. The ships landed at the Island, and Thore Klakka went ashore to prepare the king’s tent. Olaf did not desire to tarry long upon the Island after Bishop Sigurd had said mass.
As the king stood at the side of the vessel, his heart beat high. He had reached Norway, his own! His own, at last! Moving backwards and forwards busy and important, treacherous Thore could not fathom the deep emotion that filled the great soul of the king. Olaf saw before him his home, his
