|1017.|
The proposals for peace originated with Olaf of Norway; but they were long destined to have no effect: the wrath of the Swedish Olaf was too great to be allayed by ordinary negotiations. In 1016, an ambassador departed on this mission; but so unfavourable were the accounts which he received of the Swedish monarch’s disposition, that he proceeded no farther than the house of Rognevald, one of the most peaceful of the jarls, or provincial governors of the kingdom. But he had an Icelander with him, Hialt by name, who offered to undertake the embassy, and to brave the wrath of the Swede. Hialt was a poet, and his profession was esteemed at every court of the north. Accompanied by another poet, and also, like himself, a wit, he hastened to the Swedish capital. By Olaf they were well received, because he knew not the object of their journey. Their love of the cup was so tempered by discretion, that, while they were the boon companions of royalty,—in those days every poet was,—they never lost sight of the respect which it always exacts. After some days, such was his familiarity with the king that Hialt alluded to the subject,—not as one that he had undertaken, but as one in which the interests of Sweden were deeply involved. A peremptory command to be silent afforded little hope of success: he was told that the name of Olaf the Fat (such was the epithet of the Norwegian monarch) was not even whispered at the Swedish court. But Hialt persevered. Knowing that a matrimonial alliance with the royal family of Sweden was the highest ambition of the Norwegian Olaf, he solicited the interest of Ingigerda, daughter of the Swede. The princess readily accepted both the proffered hand of Olaf and the delicate task of turning her father’s mind to the subject of peace. One day, when Olaf was in high spirits,—which, to do him justice, was frequent,—she alluded to the policy of leaving Norway to its own kings. The people were an obstinate people, much attached to their own regal line, and if the conquest were effected, it would not be enduring; while on the opposite coast of Finland were regions which had formerly belonged to Sweden, and which might be easily subdued. The lady was rendered eloquent by the hope of a husband; but she was immediately silenced by the king. “So, Ingigerda, thou wouldst see me lose Norway that thou mightest become the bride of this Olaf the Fat? That day will never arrive; I will conquer Norway.” Not daring to renew the subject, she retired to acquaint Hialt with the ill success of her interference. They could only await the course of events, in the hope that the states of the kingdom which had no private resentments to gratify would require the king to make peace with his rival. Rognevald, at the suit of Ingigerda, and from his attachment to Norway, where most of his kindred abode, undertook to mention the subject in the approaching assembly at Upsal; and he had the address to interest in his behalf the venerable Thorgnyr, the oracle of the law, the most influential of the Swedish chiefs. After the assembly had been legally opened, and some ordinary business transacted, the Norwegian ambassador rose, and besought the attention of king and states while he laid before them the mission with which he had been intrusted by his royal master. But before he could explain it, the angry monarch arose, and sternly commanded him to be silent. The free-born nobles of Sweden were not thus to lose their privilege of consulting on the affairs of the monarchy. Rognevald arose, and dwelt at large on the present state of their relations with Norway. So long as the frontier was disputed, West Gothland would be exposed to depredations; so long as the two kingdoms were thus hostile, there could be no prosperity for Sweden. Olaf the Fat was desirous of peace; he had sent ambassadors for that purpose; and, in proof of his sincerity, besought the hand of the princess Ingigerda. At the close of his speech, the monarch arose, and sharply upbraided Rognevald for his advocacy of the interests of an enemy. “To this,” observed the king, “he has been instigated by his wife, a Norwegian lady, and of the same family as Olaf the Fat. Rognevald, as the friend, perhaps the ally, of Sweden’s enemy, was a traitor, and ought to suffer the punishment of one,—to be deprived alike of his dignity and possessions, and banished the realm.” The irritated monarch then resumed his seat, but only to hear what would displease him the more. The venerable Thorgnyr, whose beard descended to his knees, whose wisdom was celebrated throughout the north, and whose presence was so majestic as to inspire every one with reverence, was the next speaker. The assembly were hushed as he rose; and such is the ascendancy of wisdom, when associated with virtue and rank, that every one felt that his opinion would decide the controversy. They rose at the same time,—an unconscious tribute of respect to this Nestor. His speech, illustrative as it is of the times, and of Swedish freedom, we give entire. “The kings of the Swedes are not what they once were. My grandfather could remember Eric the son of Emund, when in the vigour of manhood. That king, each summer, undertook some warlike expedition, adding to his empire Finland, Carelia, Esthonia, Courland, and other regions,—exploits of which the lofty mounds visible at this day are triumphant proofs; yet Eric was not too proud to be advised; nor did he refuse to hear every one that addressed him. My father was long the companion and friend of Biorn, whose character he thoroughly understood, whose reign was uninterruptedly flourishing,—no part of the kingdom escaping his salutary care; yet Biorn was indulgent to his friends, easy of access, and always inclined to good advice. And I remember Eric the Victorious, whose companion I was in so many expeditions; he enlarged the bounds of the kingdom, and nobly defended what he had thus acquired; yet he was always ready to follow good counsels. Now we have a king whose negligence has occasioned the loss of some tributary regions; yet he would leave to no one the freedom of speaking any other thing than what he is pleased to hear; and to check the honest use of the tongue is his constant aim. More ambitious than his valiant predecessors, he really aspires to the conquest of all Norway, and thus disturbs the public tranquillity. King Olaf! it is the wish of the country that thou shouldst make peace with Olaf the Fat, and give him thy daughter Ingigerda. If it be thy wish to recover the possessions which thine ancestors once held in the east, we are all ready to accompany thee in the expedition. If, on the other hand, in regard to Norway, thou art unwilling to follow the advice we have given thee, know that we will no longer tolerate thy frequent violations of the public tranquillity, and of the constitutional laws; with our swords we will fall upon thee, and give thee to destruction. Such was the custom of our forefathers, who were greater than we. In the assembly of Mula, did they not cast five kings into the deep pit, because those princes were, as thou art to us, insultingly proud to their people? Choose, therefore, and instantly choose, whether thou wilt follow our counsel!” This bold speech—so characteristic of the Swedish nobles in their best days—was received with tumultuous applause by the assembled multitude; sword and shield rang together, and every man was ready to follow the bidding of the venerable asserter of his rights. The humbled monarch rose; his will was that of his people; his predecessors had always left matters of grave import to their decision; and the present business should be left entirely to them. In a moment the tumult was hushed; the chiefs of the assembly, with the sanction of the rest, decreed peace with Norway, named the ambassadors who were to be sent, and declared that Ingigerda should be the wife of Olaf the Fat. Rognevald was intrusted with the care of betrothing; and the princess sent many gifts, as pledges of her affection, to her intended husband.[[240]]
|1013.|
Omnipotent as was the authority of the states over the king of Sweden, when they were dissolved he was again supreme. He resolved to evade the performance of his pledge; and, instead of proceeding with his daughter to the confines of the two kingdoms, to deliver her into the arms of Olaf, he forebore even to mention the journey, nor would he allow others to mention it in his presence. He was, above all, indignant with the jarl Rognevald, to whom he attributed his humiliation at the recent meeting of the states,—for Thorgnyr was above his vengeance. At length the anxiety of Ingigerda could not be suppressed; and she resolved, whatever the cost, to learn from her father when he intended to commence his journey. One day, as he was returning from his favourite sport of hawking, and, from unusual success, was in high spirits, she advanced to meet him, and congratulated him. “Didst thou ever know a monarch,” demanded he, “whom so much good fortune attended in so short a time?” “Truly,” replied the maiden, “this morning’s sport has been successful; thou hast taken five birds: but was not Olaf of Norway the better sportsman, seeing that, in one morning also, he took five kings, and annexed their possessions to his own?”[[241]] The father dismounted, then looking at her, said, “Listen, Ingigerda! Whatever thy affection for this fat king of Norway, he will never be mate of thine!”—In vain did Olaf advance to the frontiers to receive his bride; neither of her nor of her father could he obtain the least tidings; and, in great mortification, he returned to Drontheim. Rognevald, whom Ingigerda acquainted with the disposition of the Swede, laid her communication before the king of Norway, whose rage was equal to his disappointment. His first impulse was to lay waste the Gothlands; but from this step he was dissuaded by his counsellors, who justly observed, that this kind of vengeance was unworthy of a monarch; that he should wait for the assembly of his states, demand forces equal to the enterprise, and then march into Sweden to obtain satisfaction for his wrongs. When he heard that the princess had been promised by Olaf to Jarislaf, duke of Holmgard, he would assuredly have instantly marched, had not another consideration detained him. Olaf had another daughter, Astridda by name, who was then on a visit to the princely Rognevald. In his anxiety to preserve harmony between kings with whom he was so closely connected, the jarl one day asked a favourite poet and emissary of Olaf whether his master would be willing to receive the hand of that princess, in the place of Ingigerda. If he would, there was the lady, and the marriage might be celebrated without consulting her father. The poet immediately repaired to Olaf, praised the beauty, the wit, the accomplishments of Astridda, who was in no respect inferior to her sister, and informed him that the princess would be ready to marry him without the consent of her father. Olaf accepted the proposal; but his motive was the vexation he should cause the Swedish king, rather than attachment to the princess. The poet was sent for her; and in a short time, accompanied by Rognevald, she passed into Norway. The sponsal ceremony was immediately performed; and, in a few days, it was followed by their nuptials. This proceeding of Rognevald would have brought ruin on his head, had not circumstances befriended him. Olaf, anxious that his daughter Ingigerda should marry Jaroslaf, endeavoured to obtain her consent. As she had lost all hope of the Norwegian, now her brother-in-law, and was offended at the manner in which he had treated her, she no longer resisted, provided she might select, as her companion and friend, any Swedish chief she wished to reside with her at the court of Holmgard. The promise was given, and she selected Rognevald. Olaf was indignant, but he could not revoke his pledge; and he only added that, if the odious jarl did not appear in his sight, and embarked without his knowledge, he would not forbid the appointment. Thus Ingigerda sailed to Gardarik, and became the wife of Jaroslaf. Hitherto she had not seen Olaf of Norway; but they were destined to meet many years after this event.[[242]]
|1018.|
The conduct of the Swedish Olaf was resented by the states in their next assembly. He had not given his daughter to the Norwegian; he had not made peace with Norway; and, notwithstanding the recent marriage of Olaf with the Swedish princess, West Gothland was in hourly danger of war. In the next diet, the proceedings were stormy. A powerful body raised to the throne Jacob Omund or rather Emund, the son of Olaf, a child scarcely twelve years of age. In great consternation, the Swedish king proposed to meet his rival, and to make peace on a double basis. The two kings did meet; and the Swede, who had been taught a lesson, was not merely affable, but kind. To set at rest the dispute between them, in regard to the boundary, they agreed to leave it to the chance of the dice; and the Norwegian was the winner in the game. From this day to the death of Olaf, there was no war between the two kingdoms. The Swedish Olaf was too anxious to gratify his subjects to oppose their interests or wishes. They allowed him to retain the sceptre, but a portion of his kingdom was placed under the administration of his son.[[243]]
On his part, Olaf of Norway was no less desirous of peace. The internal state of his kingdom was far from satisfactory. Many of his subjects, however they might outwardly conform to Christianity, were still pagans, and practised their rites in secret. In a tour through the uplands, in the summer of 1018, he discovered many whom the severity of his predecessor and his own had rendered apostates;—many who had been forced to receive baptism, but who, on the departure of their tyrant, had insensibly relapsed to their ancient faith. Great was his wrath at the discovery, and he evinced it in a manner worthy of the age. Some of the delinquents—those, probably, who had any substance to fill his coffers—he banished for ever; the hands and feet of some he mutilated; others he blinded; some he beheaded; others he suspended from lofty gibbets. In short, says the historian, “he did not spare one that refused to serve God.” These enormities were not to be borne. Even those who had conscientiously embraced Christianity revolted at them; and, as many had relations and friends whom no argument could induce to forsake their hereditary errors, a spirit of discontent, a smothered cry for vengeance, was soon heard in the lonely defiles of the mountains. Five upland kings,—for the royal title had been left to them by Olaf, and, we may infer, so also had their religion,—Ruric of Raumarik, Gudred of the Dales, Ring of Hedmark, with the kings of Hadaland and Ringarik, entered into a secret conspiracy against his authority and life. They had not been injured by him; but their friends and kindred had been his victims: and who could say how long they should be spared? It was, at length, agreed to fall upon him in his passage through Hedmark. Sending spies to watch his motions, they hastened to a point on the road through which he had to pass, and named its vicinity as the place where their own followers should join them. However safe this secret might have been, so long as it was confined to the kings alone, when communicated to the inferior chiefs, whose co-operation was necessary, it could scarcely remain undivulged. Ketil, one of the chiefs whom Olaf had befriended, proceeded to meet the king, and acquaint him with the danger before him. At a solitary house near the lake Miors, in the higher regions of Raumarik, Olaf was acquainted with the meditated deed. With about 400 men, he instantly departed for the villa where the five kings were, and arrived there long before their followers. Approaching it at midnight, he caused it to be surrounded by his little band, so as to prevent ingress or egress; and, at the early dawn, all were in his power. Ruric, the soul of the conspiracy, was doomed to the loss of both eyes; Gudred, to the loss of his tongue; the remaining three were exiled, on their promise never to revisit Norway. The inferior actors did not escape punishment; some being mutilated, others exiled; but the majority, who had only acted in obedience to their chiefs, were pardoned. The domains which all had held since the days of Olaf Trygveson, were next invaded, and annexed to the crown. If this was a cruel, it was a politic step; it rendered Olaf not merely the nominal, but the only, king of Norway.[[244]]
|1019.|
Of the two kings who were thus retained in the country, Olaf feared Ruric only, whom he always took with him. Ruric had his servants, his regal apparel, and his high seat at the table. He was noted for his revengeful disposition, and for his taciturnity. His domestics were so ill-treated that they refused to remain with him, until Sweyn, one of his own kindred, and formerly his vassal, was placed near him. It was now his constant object to prevail on Sweyn to join him in the murder of Olaf, and the man at length consented. One evening, as the king was going to vespers, Sweyn took his station at the gate, with a sword concealed beneath his cloak. But he had not courage to strike; and his agitation was such as to attract the notice of his intended victim. “Why that troubled countenance, Sweyn? Hast thou a design on my life?” Throwing away his sword, and letting his cloak fall behind him, the domestic knelt, and could only say, “To God and thee, O king, I resign myself!” He was immediately fettered; but was soon released and exiled. The only punishment inflicted on Ruric was, that his chair was taken from the royal table, and placed in another apartment; that his bed was removed to a less honourable place, and two domestics ordered to attend him night and day. After this event, he grew moody and capricious: sometimes he talked with amazing volubility, and, what was more important (for his talents were great), with wit or judgment, as the humour predominated; at other times a sullen taciturnity for days together, rendered him as disagreeable as he had before been captivating. When in these moody fits, he was evidently devising the means of revenge, or at least of escape. One night, when Ruric had retired to rest, somewhat intoxicated, a man called the Little Finn, who had been his domestic in his prosperous days, entered the apartment, with a large vessel of mead. This he presented to all the domestics who slept in the same apartment as his master, and it was so potent that it immediately sent them to sleep,—the more easily as they were previously half drunk. In a short time, Ruric awoke his two guards, under the pretext that he wanted to go outside the house. Rubbing their eyes, and gaping, they accompanied him, but were immediately slain by twelve men whom the Little Finn had brought to the spot, and who hurried the king on board a vessel which lay near the shore. One of the royal party, having occasion to visit the court-yard, found the two corpses yet bleeding and warm. In great alarm, he awoke Thord, the bearer of the royal banner, and acquainted him with the tragedy which had just been perpetrated. Both wished to awake the king; but who durst presume to do so? It was at length agreed to ring the bells of the neighbouring chapel; and Olaf, thinking that the time of matins was come, suddenly rose, and was made acquainted with the disappearance of Ruric, and the murder of the two guards. The household was soon in motion, and the fugitives pursued. Accompanied by thirty men, one of Olaf’s captains leaped into a vessel, and stood out to sea. Dawn soon appeared, and the vessel which carried Ruric, and which was manned by an equal number of men, was descried. The pursuit was vigorously maintained; when an arrow from the bow of the Little Finn, the best marksman of his age, found its way to the leader’s heart. Still the pursuit was continued; until the companions of Ruric, apprehensive of being taken, drew close to the shore, and plunged into the neighbouring woods, leaving him to his fate. The blind chief was conveyed back to Tunsberg, and consigned to closer custody than before. But even now he indulged in the dream of revenge, and fortune seemed to furnish him with an opportunity of realising it. Easter was at hand, and Olaf, with his whole household, attended divine service in the church. His seat was in a kind of crypt at the north end of the choir. Here, such was his thoughtlessness, he was accompanied by Ruric, for whose conversion he was singularly anxious, and to whose crimes he was unusually indulgent. On the conclusion of the service, when the congregation were departing, Ruric drew a concealed dagger, and aimed it at the king. The blow entered his garments, but did not touch his skin. Leaping from his seat, a second blow was aimed at him, but without effect; and in another moment, the ferocious chief was taken and fettered, and led out of the church. Olaf was exhorted to put the rebel to death; but he refused, and substituted banishment into the dreary wastes of Iceland. There, in a few years, Ruric paid the debt of nature.—Strange that Olaf should pardon the murderer, yet execute the pagan! That he should deem the most horrible of crimes less heinous than conscientious, however mistaken, belief! But such has always been the policy of the Roman Catholic church.[[245]]
|1020 to 1021.|