When Olaf reached the coast of Agder, he learned that the inhabitants of Drontheim were conspiring against the authority of Hako. This news was a thunderbolt to Thorer, who, from the gratitude which the Norwegians had evinced towards the jarl, for his recent victory over the Jomsberg pirates, had regarded his dynasty as secure. The present discontent, however, might pass away; and he determined to assassinate Olaf: but the men whom he had hired for that purpose betrayed him to the prince, and he fell the victim of his own wiles. Olaf, whose name had not yet been mentioned to the people, now hastened towards Drontheim, where every moment added to the critical situation of his enemy. Nothing can so well describe the character of Hako as his conduct just before and at this period. Though he knew that the inhabitants of that province were only waiting for an opportunity of banishing or destroying him, he persevered in his lustful course. Wives, daughters, sisters, widows, virgins,—all on whom he cast his eyes, were, however nobly allied, forcibly taken to his residence. But the following incident had happened before the arrival of Olaf:—Brinjolf, a noble of Ganlardal, had a beautiful and accomplished wife; one night, while both were in bed, the myrmidons of Hako arrived at his villa, and unceremoniously informed him that his wife was wanted by the jarl, and that she must accompany them. On his indignant refusal to suffer her departure, they returned for more assistants, and bore her away to the palace of Hako. The following day Brinjolf put on his armour, rode into the neighbouring country, assembled his connections and friends, laid before them the indignity which he had received, and prevailed on them to unite in his cause. They did not, however, break out into open insurrection, but they entered into a conspiracy to assist one another when the convenient moment should arrive. This event was no warning to Hako. Soon afterwards, smitten with the charms of a married lady, Godruna, who from her beauty was surnamed the “Sun of Lunden,” he sent his emissaries to her husband’s house to bring her to him. Under the pretext of inviting them to supper, Orm, the husband, detained them until his servants had collected a force sufficient to set them at defiance. The lady herself then told the messengers, in a tone of insult, that she should not accompany them unless Thora, the favourite mistress of the jarl, sent for her. Threatening vengeance on the whole family, the men departed; and Orm lost no time in sending out the arrow, the symbol of war, to his kinsmen and dependents.[[213]] The well-known token was rapidly conveyed; the gathering commenced; and in a short time a formidable band was assembled, eager to destroy the tyrannical jarl.[[214]]
|995.|
The motives of this rustic force were soon known to Hako. His first object was to conceal himself until he had collected troops enough to crush the insurrection. What follows is exceedingly romantic; and we give it as we find it in the authorities before us, leaving the reader to exercise his own judgment in what he may reject or admit. We may, however, observe that, if some of the incidents have been too strongly coloured by posterity, the substance of the relation is true.—Accompanied by his domestics, Hako fled from his villa into a deep valley, which has ever since borne his name. As it was supposed that he would hasten to his ships, which were at some distance along the coast, and were under the guidance of his son Erleng, the paths which led to the coast were more narrowly watched than those in the neighbourhood of the valley. At nightfall, he despatched some of his men to the station where his vessels lay, commanding his son to meet him off a more southern portion of the coast; the rest he sent to their own homes, keeping one serf only, Thermod Kark, who had been his companion from infancy. Feeling that his present retreat was not secure, he plunged further into the solitudes. On reaching the banks of a lake, which was frozen over, he dismounted, made a hole in the ice, thrust his horse into the aperture, and left his mantle beside it, so as to make his pursuers believe that he had perished in the waters. He then crossed the ice, and, with his slave, found refuge in a solitary cave in the mountains. Both being much fatigued, they soon fell asleep; but the slave started, and awoke his master to acquaint him with an awful dream which he had just experienced. He had seen a man of a dark, dreadful countenance, approach the cave, stand for a moment before it, and, after exclaiming, “One is dead!” ascend the hill. This mysterious denunciation was thought by Hako to allude to Erleng; for, after a moment’s reflection, he said, “Thy dream appears to indicate the death of my son!” The interpretation, say the sagas, was a true one. Olaf had just arrived off the coast; Erleng, with three vessels only, could not make head against the superior fleet which he rightly judged to be that of an enemy; and, to escape captivity, he and a few of his companions, after approaching the shore as near as they could, quietly descended into the water, and began to swim. In this state they were overtaken by the vessel in which Olaf was. According to Snorro, it was Olaf himself who, with an oar, broke the head of the young jarl as he was buffeting the waters; according to Gunlaug, it was one of his mariners. Both agree that Erleng perished within a few yards of the coast; that many of his companions perished with him; that the vessels became the prize of Olaf, who learned, for the first time, the flight of Hako, and the insurrection of the rustics.[[215]]
|995.|
After this dream, proceeds the Saga, the slave had another, which frightened him so much that he made a distressing noise, like one afflicted with the nightmare. Being awoke by his master, he said that he had seen the same dark man approach the cave, stop at the entrance as before, and say, “Tell thy master that all the passages to the sea-coast, and the coast itself, are blocked up!” The jarl thought his days were numbered; but he said nothing. He would, however, no longer remain in the cave; and both proceeded towards the villa inhabited by Thora. When at a distance from it, he despatched Kark with a request that she would secretly meet him in the forest. She obeyed the summons, and showed, by her affectionate behaviour, that whatever are the crimes of men, women can be faithful to the last. Hako asked her if she could furnish him with some hiding place for a few nights. “That will be difficult,” replied Thora; “my house will soon be searched; not a corner of it will escape scrutiny, for all people know I shall save thee if I can. Yet there is one place where nobody would expect to find a prince like thee—it is under the pig-sty.” They went to the place; the slave enlarged the cave; provisions, lights, and other necessaries were brought; and Hako, accompanied by Kark, descended into the cavern. The earth which had been recently dug up was removed; wooden rafters were laid over the hole; over them straw and dung were spread, and the swine were turned in to tread down the covering, so as to confound the recent marks. In addition, the entrance to the sty was blocked up by a large stone. Having taken these precautions, Thora returned to the house, none of her domestics being aware that she had seen the jarl. The prisoners were, therefore, left to themselves; but how they were to breathe in such a place, we are not informed.—The enemies of Hako, with Olaf at their head, soon arrived. They had found the mantle on the ice of the lake, and had been induced to return, until suspicion of the stratagem arose, and induced them to continue the pursuit. On reaching the house of Thora, they broke open the doors, examined every part within and without, and desisted only when search was manifestly vain. If any faith is to be placed in either of the authorities before us, Olaf, on issuing from the house, sat on the very stone which blocked up the entrance to the sty, and stimulated his followers to search in other districts, by offering splendid rewards to any one that should take or kill the jarl. His loud voice penetrated to the cave where Hako and his slave sat; and, as the former looked at the latter, he saw his countenance change. “What means that look?” demanded the master; “dost thou wish to betray me?”—“No,” replied the other, “but I tremble at that voice; it is the one I heard in my dream.”—“Both of us,” rejoined Hako, who was very superstitious, and had often consulted the oracles of the country, “were born on the same day, and the same day will close the life of both!” Towards nightfall Olaf departed, and the master and slave were left to their own reflections, or what was still worse, to their conversation. Hako durst not sleep, lest his slave should assassinate him; nor Kark, lest the same advantage should be taken by his master. At length, however, the slave closed his eyes, and dreamed that he and his master were in the same ship, of which he was the helmsman. This required no interpretation; as Hako observed, they were, indeed, in the same vessel, and the fate of both was in the hands of the slave. Again the latter dreamed: he was now at the court of Olaf, who fastened a golden chain around his neck. “That chain,” observed Hako, “will be a bloody one to thee, if ever thou comest into the presence of Olaf; it portends thy doom: yet be faithful to me, and all will be well!” At length nature was too much for both, and they slept; but, towards the break of day, the slave was awoke by the horrid noise made by his master, who seemed as if in a cruel nightmare, as if struggling with some nightly demon, or with his own evil genius. Kark arose, drew a knife from his belt, and cut the throat of Hako. The head he then separated from the body, and hastened with it to Olaf, who was now proclaimed king. “What led thee to this deed?” was the demand of the prince. “Chiefly,” replied the slave, “the great reward which I heard thee offer, and partly the confusion of my senses at the condition of Hako.”—“Thou shalt have the reward,” rejoined the king; “but thou shalt also die. If Hako was a bad man, he was still thy master, and a benefactor to thee; and thy fate must be a warning to thy fellows, not to lift their hands against those whom they ought to defend.” The slave was then beheaded; and the prophecy, that he and Hako should die within a day of each other, was literally fulfilled.[[216]]
Thus perished the son of Sigurd,—a man of great talents, great enterprise, and, until the last few years of his life, of great public utility. Previous to that period, his enemies could not deny him noble birth, great valour, consummate prudence in the art of government, and success in war. He was, besides, liberal to his dependents, and magnificent to his friends. His chief defects were dissimulation, treachery, falsehood; a superstitious regard for the pagan religion, and a hatred of Christianity. Formerly, he had been called Hako the Good; he was henceforth to be called Hako the Bad. He died in his fifty-eighth year, thirty-three of which he had exercised the sovereign power under the title of jarl.[[217]]
|996.|
The death of Hako enabled Olaf Trygveson to take possession of the whole kingdom, as fully as had ever been done by fair-haired Harald. The people, indeed, would hear of no other king. One of his first objects was to introduce Christianity; and he commenced with Vikia, the province where his mother (the wife of Lodin) and all his family connections lived, and where he knew he should find the least resistance to his efforts. To his friends he expressed his resolution, either to convert the whole kingdom, or to perish in the attempt. Having first prevailed on his numerous family connections to embrace Christianity, and to promise a cordial co-operation in his designs, he called an assembly of the province, and, like most royal missionaries, intimated his command, rather than his request, that all should receive the baptismal rite. The chiefs, whom he had previously secured, immediately signified their assent, and their example constrained the multitude. Here, as everywhere else, if any refused to forsake their old faith, he would not condescend to argue with them; some he exiled, some he mutilated, others he put to death. This was a sure method of producing outward obedience to the new religion; and, in one year, the whole of Vikia was—not christianised, but baptized. Accompanied by a strong force, the royal missionary next transferred his labours to Agder and Hardaland. Here, the same alternative was proposed,—conversion or death; and the smaller evil was naturally chosen. Rogaland was the next province to benefit by his apostolic efforts, and they had the usual success. It appears, however, that the inhabitants were less inclined to the novelty than their countrymen of Vikia; and three of the leading chiefs were besought to answer the monarch in full assembly. But who would venture to resist the king, especially when he denounced the severest vengeance on all who should refuse to obey him? One of the speakers was suddenly seized by a cough; another began to stammer; the third had conveniently a sore throat; so that no answer being returned to the most gracious message from the throne, silence was taken for consent, and all present were within a few days hurried to the baptismal font. In one province the assembled chiefs, who were all kinsmen, promised to embrace the new religion on this condition,—that one of their number should receive the hand of Astridda, sister of the monarch. At first the princess, who had forgotten the humble fortunes which had lately been the lot of all her family, refused the match, as beneath her dignity; she wanted a prince. Olaf adorned her own hawk in magnificent plumes, and sent it to her, with an intimation that it was no less easy for him to ennoble the humblest peasant in Norway. The ambitious lady then consented; the province became Christian; and Erling, the brother-in-law of Olaf, became a powerful jarl. Proceeding northwards, the royal apostle assembled the inhabitants of the Fiords and of Raumdal. On this occasion, a whole army was with him; doubtless because he apprehended more opposition than he had yet encountered. But his mode of argument was too convincing to be resisted;—“Receive baptism, or fight me!” and the easier alternative was selected. From this meeting he repaired to Laden, where there was a magnificent temple of the gods: the idols he despoiled, threw them to the ground, and consumed the building by fire.[[218]]
|997 to 999.|
But if this coercive mode of proselyting was, in many places, immediately effectual, it was not so in all. So enraged were the inhabitants of Raumdal at the destruction of the temple at Laden, that they sent forth the arrow, and an armed multitude rose at the summons. But Olaf proceeded to the south, where they could not follow him, and there he passed the winter. This opposition only rendered him the more ferocious against the pagans and all their superstitions. In the next assembly over which he presided, he denounced the magicians, and caused a decree of banishment to be pronounced against them: if they did not voluntarily leave the country, all were to be arrested, brought before him, and put to death. Eyvind Kella, a descendant of Harald Harfager, was at the head of a college of magicians. These the king invited to an entertainment, and set fire to the house in which they were assembled. Eyvind, however, was not there; but he was afterwards taken, with a considerable number of other proficients in the art, and were thrown from a high rock into the sea.—Olaf, like all the men of his time, was a believer in these pretended arts; and he was sure that, unless they were repressed, religion must suffer. His people were not less superstitious than he; and they doubted not that he had personally to contend with Odin himself. One evening, as he was holding a festival in the retired manor of Augvald, an old man, with a high cap like one of the Persian magi, and only one eye, was admitted to the table. So eloquent was his discourse, so varied his knowledge, that Olaf was delighted with his guest. Many were the abstruse questions which he put to him; equally wise and ready were the answers. Thus the night wore away. At length Olaf asked the stranger who was that Augvald to whom the house in which they were had once belonged, but who had long been dead. Augvald, replied the guest, had a cow, to which he paid divine honours, which always accompanied him, and supplied him with milk. At length he fell in battle, and in the neighbourhood of this house was buried, in one tomb, while the cow was buried in another.—Still the night wore away, and the stranger showed no desire to go: at length the king pulled off his clothes, and laid down on the bed, the mysterious guest being seated before him. But the bishop entered, to inform the king that it was time to sleep; and at the sight of him the guest departed. The rest of the monarch, however, was short; he could not sleep; and to pass away the time he sent for the stranger, who was nowhere to be found. The morning following, he inquired of his cooks and butler whether they had seen him. They replied that a man answering the description had appeared amongst them while they were preparing the feast; had asserted that the meat they were cooking was of the worst kind, and unfit for the royal table; and had presented them with two noble barons of beef, which he had assisted them to prepare. In great consternation Olaf ordered what remained to be thrown away; the stranger, he was sure, was no other than Odin, who had some deep purpose in view; but never would he be the victim or the instrument of his fiendish designs. The gravity with which such adventures are related by Snorro is the best illustration of the opinions and intellect of the times.[[219]]