The Story of Norway

by Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen

"Only this trifle," he said, "that there are now two kings in Norway."

"Only one is the right king," she answered gravely, "and that one are you."

It had been Skule's first plan to surprise Haakon in Bergen, and capture him. But he soon learned that the king had heard of his exploits, and was prepared to receive him. He then sent out bands of warriors to different parts of the country to kill the royal prefects and all prominent friends of the king. A great many excellent men, who were utterly unprepared for hostilities, were thus foully murdered; churches were violated, and many atrocities committed. The duke, in the meanwhile, remained quietly in Nidaros where he occupied himself in writing letters to foreign princes and potentates, informing them of the step he had taken, and endeavoring to stir up difficulties for Haakon by unscrupulous misrepresentations. When, however, he learned that the king was coming with a large force to attack him, he started (Feb., 1240) with six hundred men across the mountains to the Oplands. Here he was met by his son-in-law, Squire Knut, who had been appointed earl in his place, and defeated him and the able commander, Arnbjörn Jonsson, at Laaka. It was now high time for the king to appear upon the scene, if he were to prevent the rebellion from assuming such proportion, as to be beyond his power to quell it. The danger suddenly developed in him a decision and promptness of action, which went far to raise the sinking courage of his men. He declined the archbishop's offer to open negotiations once more; arrived, after a voyage of unprecedented rapidity, in Viken, and rowed, under cover of a fog, up the Folden Fjord to Oslo. In view of the possibility of his death, he had made all preparations for the succession, but he was resolved to sell his life dearly. The Varbelgs, who had not the faintest suspicion that he was near, were sleeping soundly after a night's carouse, when suddenly the war-horn resounded, and the storm-bell rang. The prows of the royal fleet were then seen emerging from the fog and making for the piers. The duke, as soon as the alarm was given, tumbled out of bed and flung on his clothes. The dawn was just reddening in the east, and the fog was lifting. The ships were now at the piers, and the troops were disembarking. The Varbelgs supposed, at first, that it was Earl Knut, who had come to revenge his defeat at Laaka. But they were soon undeceived. When they caught sight of the royal banner they knew that King Haakon was not far away. Strangely enough, though they saw him storming forward, every moment exposing himself to danger, nay, even rushing on ahead of his men, they were not eager to kill him. They feared that the duke's cause was lost, and though they fought bravely, they had no hope of victory. The duke fled and was pursued by the Birchlegs; but they did not succeed in overtaking him. Many men fell in that fight, but many more sought refuge in the churches and were pardoned.

It was, indeed, the duke himself, as we have seen, who was the originator as well as the leader of the rebellion. He was not the expression and embodiment of a disloyal feeling among the people, as many previous pretenders had been, but the rebellion was solely due to his own personal ambition. As long as he was alive, therefore, the brands of civil war might at any moment be rekindled. It was this reflection which prompted the king, in this instance, to smother all natural feeling for his father-in-law and not to shrink from punishing him as he had deserved. Seven days after the battle of Oslo he sent fifteen well-manned ships to Nidaros, whither the duke had fled, under the command of Aasulf of Austraat, a resolute man and one of Skule's bitterest enemies.

On his arrival in Nidaros, Skule fled to the woods, roaming about for two days and nights with a few friends who would not desert him. At last the friars of the monastery of Elgeseter took pity on him, provided him and his followers with cowls, and hid them in a tower. The tidings soon reached Aasulf that some strange-looking monks had been seen to enter the cloister, and he immediately set out with his men and demanded their surrender. When the friars refused, some of the Birchlegs set fire to the monastery. Others endeavored to put out the fire, but their efforts were futile. The smoke and the heat now compelled the duke and his companions to descend from the tower. As he stepped out of the gate he held his shield above his head, saying: "Hew me not in the face; for it is not meet thus to treat chieftains." Instantly the Birchlegs fell upon him and slew him (1240).

The death of Skule ended the rebellion. There was now no man in Norway who was strong enough to contest the power of the king; probably no one who had the desire. It is a remarkable fact, considering the duration of the civil war, since the death of Sigurd the Crusader, that the country apparently recovered so soon from its effects. The period of stagnation and decline did not occur until nearly a century later, and may then have been in part attributable to other and more immediate causes. The seed, however, of destruction had been sown during this disastrous epoch, even though it required a century to sprout.

The return of peace left the king free to further an ambition which he had long had at heart. In a half unacknowledged way, he regarded his illegitimate birth as a blot upon his 'scutcheon which he was anxious to have removed. For this purpose he desired to be crowned. He had made an effort to gain the Pope's consent to such a ceremony during Skule's lifetime, but his ever-active enemy had frustrated his plan. Gregory IX. was now dead, as was also his successor, Celestin IV., and St. Peter's chair was occupied by Innocent IV., who had no prejudice against Haakon. The bishops, as usual, endeavored to exact fresh privileges, in return for their good offices in this matter, proposing that the king, on assuming the crown, should swear the same oath as Magnus Erlingsson had sworn, acknowledging himself the vassal of the Church, and taking the crown in fief from St. Olaf. But here they were met by a firm refusal.

"If I should swear such an oath as King Magnus swore," Haakon replied, "then methinks my honor in being crowned would be diminished, instead of increased. For King Magnus did not care what he did in order to attain that to which he had no right. But by God's help I shall not need to buy of you what God has rightly chosen me to be, after my father and my ancestors."

When the Pope's consent was obtained, Cardinal William of Sabina was sent to Norway to set the crown upon the king's head. But on arriving, he, too, incited by the native prelates, was disposed to exact conditions. Haakon, however, secure in his right, maintained his attitude with firmness and dignity, and in the end the cardinal had to accept his terms. The coronation took place with great pomp on St. Olaf's Day, July 29, 1247, in Christ's Church in Bergen. The guests at the banquet which followed the ceremony were so numerous that the royal mansion could not hold them, and it became necessary to fit out a huge boat-house as a temporary banqueting hall. The feast continued for three days, and outdid in magnificence any thing that had hitherto been seen in the North. Then followed a five days' fête in honor of the cardinal and the other dignitaries. When the festivities were at an end, a meeting was called at which affairs of state were discussed, and the king voluntarily made several concessions to the clergy. The right of the Church to choose its own servants was confirmed, as also its right of separate jurisdiction. Ordeals were solemnly abolished, because, as the cardinal expressed it, it was not seemly for Christian men to challenge God to give his verdict in human affairs.

At his departure from Norway, the cardinal received a present of 15,000 marks sterling, or about half a million francs, for his master the Pope, besides a munificent compensation for his own services.