from such a lover of sea fights, but Einar was eighteen, and Freda had been one of the fairest maidens of the Norseland.
“Aye, she was fair,”—Olaf’s tone was very gentle,—“and ever frail and white, like the foam on the crests of the waves, that the first breath of the north wind may scatter to naught. Frail and white, and she died even as the foam flashes away in the sunlight.”
The archer did not reply, and the king resumed the conversation upon the topic so congenial to both of them.
“Is aught doing in the shipyards, since the ship went to Ireland?”
“Nothing, my King. The hammers have been still a long time; and the oaks on the mountains that rise over against Sweden are falling with their own weight, seeing that there are none to hew them down into viking ships.”
“They shall not wait long to be hewn down,” Olaf replied with vigor. “Go thou down to the shipyards and bid the builders prepare to make a dozen ships. My own ship, in which I shall ride to meet this Raud, must be stronger and greater than any they have built. It must be greater than the ‘Alruna’ by many feet. I shall call it the ‘Crane.’ I have sent to Ireland for painters and carvers to finish the prows of my ships in most curious colors and cunning handiwork, for these Irish artists have great skill in carving
