XLI
THE BEST BOW IN ALL NORWAY
A tall young archer stood one day before King Olaf. “Ah! is it thou, Einar Thambsbarkelver (Twanger of Thamb)? How goes the world with thee, surest and best of archers? And how is Thamb? Still the best bow in Norway? Still able to speed an arrow straighter than the wind may drive?”
“Aye, my King,” the archer replied, touching the string of the bow in his hands affectionately, as a minstrel fingering the sweetest chords of his harp. “I can still twang as fine music from Thamb as ever Thorgills drew from his harp. But, my King, the whistling music of Thamb’s arrows has been silent a long time.”
The archer looked significantly at Olaf, who flushed at the implied rebuke at his long abstinence from viking. Einar went on: “Thamb and I have been idle so long that my hand will forget its skill, and Thamb will lose his straight, whistling notes.”
“Nay! nay! Einar. Such skill as thine is not easily forgotten, and such songs as Thamb can sing are not soon lost. Ah! how I remember our last fight with the Danes! Dost remember it, Einar?
