Thorgills had risen in his great joy. “My heart was well-nigh broken at my king’s defeat and thinking of him among the dead.”
The fact of King Olaf being numbered among the living was at first a cause of deep gratitude to Thorgills, but later became the source of constant unrest. If his master were alive, it was surely the duty of his faithful scald to go to him. Thorgills wandered aimlessly about his home or sat for weary hours beside the Nidaros Fiord. Maidoch had spoken to the Lady Aastrid of Thorgills’ restlessness, but the older woman hesitated to tell the young wife her belief that nothing would now satisfy the scald but to follow and to find his master.
The Lady Aastrid was living quietly in her handsome home, her days divided among the poor and the suffering. Since Olaf’s defeat, Norway had been parcelled out among the three chieftains who had overcome him, Sweyn of Denmark, Olaf of Sweden, and Earl Erik. While these new conditions were prevailing, Thorgills became moodier than ever. It seemed more than he could endure to witness the triumph of Olaf’s enemies and their occupation of his kingdom. He was so shrouded in gloomy thought that Maidoch longed to comfort him, but the silent, stern bard, seemed to have withdrawn from all sympathy, and the young wife feared to speak the words that so often came to her lips.
One evening, a few weeks after his return, Thorgills
