Olaf. The triumph of the king was overshadowed, however, by his grief for the death of his mother, which occurred at this time.
The work that lay so close to Olaf Tryggevesson’s heart was progressing rapidly. Province after province accepted the Christian religion, and even from far-off Iceland came the gratifying intelligence of the success of Father Reachta and his young companion, Father Breasal. King Olaf was busy and full of plans for his kingdom; and his home would have been happy, had not his wife, Queen Thyra, developed a complaining spirit that was fatal to all domestic peace. Olaf would have been too much occupied to have given great heed to the queen’s endless repinings for the estates which her brother had taken from her, but for her taunts and reproaches that her penniless condition was due to Olaf’s indifference and fear of Sweyn.
One day Olaf had asked Thorgills to sing to the queen. The scald looked dubiously at the gloomy lady; and very deliberately arranged his harp-strings, communing with himself. “How may I sing to please the queen, when naught that the king doth contrive can cheer her?”
When Thorgills had finished his saga of ancient battles, Thyra burst into tears.
“Dear lady,” pleaded the scald, “I would be forever dumb, sooner than grieve thee with my unlucky song.”
