His sons were Inge, Sigurd Mund, and Eystein, who at first reigned conjointly. Inge was the last to be killed (1161), and the crown then went to Sigurd Markusfostre was a son of Sigurd Mund; he was proclaimed King in 1162; in the end he was executed. Sverre was the famous adventurer whose followers were known as Birchlegs (Birkebeinar), from the shifts they were put to for foot-gear and clothing. He won his way to the crown in spite of the fierce opposition of the Church. Skule was the brother of Inge Baardsson, at whose death he claimed the throne. The Birchlegs however supported Sverre’s grandson, Haakon Haakonsson, who was proclaimed king at the age of thirteen. Skule continually rebelled against Haakon, who finally defeated him at the Battle of Oslo; after this Skule was captured and slain by the Birchlegs 1240, and the civil wars came to an end.

2 The modern Bergen.

3 After being defeated at Largs in Ayrshire by Alexander III of Scotland (in 1263) King Haakon retired to Kirkwall (Kirkevaag) in Orkney, where he died in the Bishop’s palace, some remains of which are still to be seen close by the newly restored cathedral.

4 June 21.

5 The Cistercian monastery on Hovedö, the largest island in the fiord off the town of Oslo.

2

OLAV had inherited from his father a great battle-axe—with pointed barbs, steel edge, and inlays of gold on the cheeks; the shaft had bands of gilt copper. It had a name and was called Kin-fetch. It was a splendid weapon and the boy who owned this treasure thought its match was scarce to be found in Norway, as was like enough. But he had never said this to any but Ingunn, and she believed it and was as proud of the axe as he himself. Olav had always kept it hanging above his sleeping-place in the hall.

But one day this spring Olav saw that the edge was notched, and when he took it down, he found that the steel edge had parted from the iron blade and worked loose in the welding. Olav guessed that it would be vain to try to find out who had used his axe and spoiled it. So he said nothing to any but Ingunn. They took counsel what he should do and agreed that next time Steinfinn was from home Olav must ride to Hamar; there dwelt a famous armourer, and if he could not set it to rights, no man could. And one morning in the week before John’s Mass Ingunn came and told Olav that today her father was going north to Kolbein; so it might be a timely occasion for them to go to the town next day.

Olav had not thought to take her with him. It was many years since either of the children had been in the town, and Olav did not rightly know how far it was thither; but he had thought he might be home again to supper if he rode down early in the morning. But Ingunn had no horse of her own, and there was none in the place that he could take for her. If they were to take turns at riding his horse, Elk, they could not reach home again till far on in the night—and then it would be so that she must ride and he walk the whole time; that he knew well from the many times they had gone together to mass in their parish church, in the village below. And they would surely be very angry, Steinfinn and Ingebjörg, if they heard that he had taken Ingunn with him to Hamar. But Olav only made answer that they would have to go down to the shore and row to the town—they must set out betimes in the morning.

It was a good while before sunrise when he stole out of the hall next morning, but it was daylight outside, calm and chilly. The air was cold with dew—good as a bath after the dense fumes of man and dog within. The boy sucked it in as he stood on the threshold looking at the weather.

The wild cherry was white with a foam of blossom between the cornfields—spring had come even here in the hills. Far below, the lake lay glistening, a dead grey with dark stripes where the current ran: it gave promise of showers. The sky had a wan look, and dark shreds of cloud drifted low down—there had been rainstorms in the night. When Olav stepped out on the grass of the yard his high boots of yellow undyed leather were darkened with moisture—little reddish splashes appeared on his boot-legs. He sat down on the doorstone and pulled off his boots, tied the laces together, and slung them over his shoulder to carry them with his folded cloak and the axe.

Barefoot he went across the wet courtyard to the house where Ingunn had slept that night with two of the serving-maids, that she might be able to slip away without being seen. For the journey to town Olav had dressed himself in his best clothes—a long kirtle of light-blue English cloth and hose of the same stuff. But the dress was somewhat outgrown—the kirtle was tight across the chest and short at the wrists and it scarce reached to the middle of his calf. The hose too were very tight, and Ingebjörg had cut off the feet the autumn before; now they ended at the ankle. But the kirtle was fastened at the neck with a fine ring-brooch of gold, and round his waist he wore a belt set with silver roses and Saint Olav’s image on the buckle; his dagger bore gilt mounts on hilt and sheath.

Olav went up into the balcony and struck three light blows upon the door. Then he stood waiting.

A bird began trilling and piping—it burst forth like a fountain above the sleepy twittering from the thickets round about.