XI. BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD. LOUD the angry wind was wailing To the mouth of Salten Fiord. Though the flying sea-spray drenches Fore and aft the rowers' benches, Not a single heart is craven Of the champions there on board. All without the Fiord was quiet, But within it storm and riot, Such as on his Viking cruises Raud the Strong was wont to ride. And the sea through all its tide-ways ""T is the warlock! 't is the demon Raud!" cried Sigurd to the seamen ; "But the Lord is not affrighted By the witchcraft of his foes." To the ship's bow he ascended, Round him were the tapers lighted, On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, High amid the rain and mist. Then with holy water sprinkled All the ship; the mass-bells tinkled; As into the Fiord they darted, On each side the water parted; Down a path like silver molten Steadily rowed King Olaf's ships; Steadily burned all night the tapers, As through John's Apocalypse, Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling On the little isle of Gelling; Not a guard was at the doorway, Not a glimmer of light was seen. But at anchor, carved and gilded, Up the stairway, softly creeping, Bolt and bar that held the door. Drunken with sleep and ale they found him, Dragged him from his bed and bound him, While he stared with stupid wonder, At the look and garb they wore. Then King Olaf said: "O Sea-King! Be baptized, or thou shalt die ! But in scorn the heathen scoffer Answered: "I disdain thine offer; Thee and thy Gospel I defy!" Then between his jaws distended, Through King Olaf's horn an adder, Touched by fire, they forced to glide. Sharp his tooth was as an arrow, As he gnawed through bone and marrow; But without a groan or shudder, Raud the Strong blaspheming died. Then baptized they all that region, Up the streams of Salten Fiord. |