It may not be a false saying, my Jarl. Look thou now. How hast thou stirred up all Norway over two witches of women! How fair will they seem to thee, when Olaf is on thy throne? And that other sorceress—an old withered witch she is—Jarl Sigvalde’s wife, that is kin to Olaf’s mother and hath her name? This Aastrid has kept up such a memory of her kinsman, Olaf, that every maid in Norway spins to the sagas of that viking. The scalds call him the ‘North Star,’ that is to rise over the darkness of Norway.”
Earl Haakon groaned. “Cease, Kark,” he pleaded. “It is enough. Be faithful to me in my present plight, and I will greatly reward thee. It is not the first danger we have triumphed over. Come on.”
They rode into the icy river and their horses stood still from the shock and chill. But they spurred them on, and reached the opposite shore. Then Earl Haakon dismounted.
“What wouldst thou, my Jarl?”
Without a word the earl unfastened his heavy blue cloak, rich with golden embroidery. He flung it upon the icy water, and removing the golden helmet from his head, he laid it upon the floating cloak. The setting sun poured a dazzling flood of light upon the helmet, and like the orb of day upon a sky of azure, it drifted down upon the glittering river.
“There lies Jarl Haakon, if the angry peasants come this way to seek me,” he told Kark.
