Thorgills bowed his head in silent assent and sat down. Maidoch stood in bewilderment. Then conquering her timidity of this stern man, so unlike her dear lord, she asked gently: “Can I not bring thee food and drink? Is there aught I can do for thee?”
Thorgills shook his head. “Thou nor any other can help me, now my dear master, my noble king is dead. Oh, would I had died with him!”
Maidoch looked in amazement. Then drawing near, she knelt down beside her husband. “Dost thou not know?” she whispered, remembering the vow of silence, save to Thorgills.
“Do I know,—what is it thou wouldst say?”
Maidoch’s voice fell still lower. “King Olaf is not dead! Dear Lady Aastrid rescued him in her galley, and my poor self did help her to nurse him from his wounds. As he desired, he was landed on the south coast. He will never come back to Norway. He did tell the Lady Aastrid in my hearing that he would make a pilgrimage to Rome, and with the blessing of the Pope he would devote his life to prayer and meditation in the Holy Land. He said thou shouldst be told and none other; and that we are to call him dead, for he will surely be dead to all that knew him from this hour.”
“My king still lives! Oh, the sweetness of that message! Nay! nay! he will never be dead to me, his faithful scald, while he breathes in any land upon the living earth.”
