and passed it to Erling. “Drink with me, my friend and son of my father’s friend, and we will pledge our faith to one another.”
Won by a strange sweetness in the king’s manner, Erling drank from the horn. Then he again passed the bowl of the heathen sacrificial rite to the king. Olaf’s keen blue eyes flashed like swords swiftly drawn. A hot flush of anger passed over his face.
He threw out his hand and dashed the bowl to the ground, where it lay in many fragments. A terrible uproar began. The earl-folk rose to their feet and daggers were unsheathed. Erling’s own knife lay open upon the table. He stooped and took it up. Olaf turned to him with that winning smile all Norse tradition says was almost beyond resistance.
“Thou hast owned me as king. We have drunk from the same horn. Thou hast pledged thy faith to me!”
Erling’s knife went back into his belt. Olaf never flinched nor showed the least emotion of fear in face of the threats and anger around him. He turned to the chiefs who sat with drawn knives, and scowling brows. “My faithful vassals, ye bring me the meat of a sacrifice to the gods who are dead. Jarl Haakon trusted in the old gods, and he slew his own son, and he stole the faithful wives of your peasants. Ye have honored me as your king, but I would have ye honor a far greater King.”
