last, when the vain search was abandoned, Olaf rose to speak to his followers. He stood upon the stone at the head of the ditch. The pigs ran and huddled into a corner of the sty. Earl Haakon and Kark almost feared to breathe as they heard Olaf’s words.
“We have come to find the false overlord of Norway and we have found him not. Jarl Haakon’s son, Erlend, has been slain in the Trondelag.” A groan escaped the hidden father, and Kark placed his hand over his master’s mouth. In the dim light the earl could see the glare of the thrall’s eyes. Olaf’s voice sounded again.
“I will crush out the whole nest of vipers. Full gold will I give to any vassal, jarl or hind or thrall, who will find the false overlord, Jarl Haakon of Hlade.”
A groan from the cowering earl was drowned this time in the great wave of sound that swept over them. “A wassail to Olaf Tryggevesson, our true king! Death to the false overlord of Hlade!”
Thora, standing in the doorway, almost fell down in fright. “The end hath come for us,” she muttered. “It is he—the North Star—Olaf Tryggevesson.”
The king came to Thora and bade her prepare a supper for his men. As Olaf passed into the large hall where the women had been gathered, the spinner in the dim corner sprang forward. Throwing aside her veil, she knelt at the king’s feet. “Pity! pity! my lord King!” she pleaded. “I am the wretched wife of Brynjulf, thy faithful vassal. The false jarl
