"You see what has become of your god!" cried King Olaf. "What folly it is to believe in such things! One blow has shattered your Thor into fragments. Now I demand that you shall never again make images of wood or stone, nor worship any but the one true God. And I offer you two choices. Either you accept Christianity here on this spot, or you fight a battle with me today."
So the people, unwilling to take to arms and seeing that the king had a great host of warriors at his back, agreed to listen to the teachings of the bishop, and finally to have themselves baptized. Olaf left a priest among them to keep them steadfast in the faith, and to keep them from lapsing into paganism.
King Olaf stood north along the land, christening all folk wheresoever he came. But in the wintertime he went back into Trondelag. He built a town on the bank of the river Nid, and a great hall for himself up above Ship Creek. He called the town Nidaros, and it is to this day the capital of Norway, although its name has been changed to Trondhjem, or Drontheim.
Now on a certain winter's night the king had been feasting in his hall. His guests had been drinking deeply, and the gray haired scalds had been singing and reciting until a late hour. But at last Olaf was left alone beside the fire, with the doors locked. He sat in his oaken chair gazing into the glowing wood upon the hearth. Suddenly the door swung wide open, and a blast of cold night air came in. He looked round and saw upon the threshold a very old man whose cloak was sprinkled with snow. Olaf saw that the stranger had but one eye.
"Oh, pale and shivering graybeard!" cried the king. "Come, warm your vitals with this cup of spiced ale. Be not afraid. Sit here at my side in the light of the flames."
The aged guest obeyed, quaffed the foaming draught, and then stretched out his withered hands before the fire. Then he began to speak to the king and to tell him of things that had happened many hundreds of years before and of many lands whose very names were strange to the king. And it seemed that he would never bring his tale to an end.
At last Bishop Sigurd entered and reminded Olaf that the night was far spent and that it was time for him to go to sleep. But still the guest spoke on, and the king listened enthralled until sleep came over him and his head fell back. Yet even in his sleep he fancied that he still heard the old graybeard's voice telling him of the gods of Asgard and the glories of Valhalla.
When King Olaf awoke he was alone before the black hearth, and it was full morning. He asked after the guest and bade his men call him; but nowhere could the guest be found, nor had any man seen him. They found the doors securely locked, the watchdog was asleep in the yard, and the snow bore no trace of footprints. All declared that no such stranger had ever entered the hall, and that the king had but been dreaming.
Then Olaf called the bishop to his side and, crossing himself, said:
"It is no dream that I have had. I know that my guest will never return, and yet I know that he was here. The triumph of our faith is sure. Odin the Great is dead, for the one eyed stranger was his ghost!"