Wondering greatly, they galloped up to the city and entered. To their amazement, the shops were all closed, and the whole city wore an air of mourning. Sigurd, without stopping to ask questions, left Thangbrand and hurried to the great hall.
It was empty, save for Olaf, who sat in the high-seat, his head bowed in his hands. Sigurd advanced and held out the letters.
"Here, my lord, is the reply of King Brian Boroimhe. Why is the black standard on the castle, and why are all the shops shut?"
Olaf raised his head and gazed at Sigurd with heavy eyes.
"Welcome back, Jarl, in an evil hour. Queen Gyda died last night."
As Sigurd stared at the King, the latter rose slowly, descended from the high-seat, and taking Sigurd's arm in his, exclaimed:
"Sigurd, come and talk to me. I am lonely, and the most wretched of all men."
They walked up and down the hall, and Olaf told Sigurd how the night before the Queen had been seized with a fatal illness. Good Bishop Sigurd, the English prelate who had come to Ireland with Olaf, had done his best, for he was a skillful leech, but to no avail.
"Why should this evil come upon me now?" cried the King, bitterly. Sigurd said little, allowing the King's pent-up grief to find utterance, then he said, softly:
"It is the will of God, Olaf, and perhaps he has done it for the best. May it not be that he means you to give your whole life to the spreading of his Word in heathen Norway, and has sent you a touch of adversity to try you?"