He Sweeps Up The
Shavings He Had Made, Sets Fire To Them, And Lets Them
Burn On His Naked Hand; "Showing Thereby That He Would
Hold Fast By God's Law, And Not Trespass Without
Punishment."
But whatever human weaknesses may have mingled with the
pure ore of this noble character, whatever barbarities
may have stained his career, they are forgotten in the
pathetic close of his martial story.
His subjects, - alienated by the sternness with which he
administers his own severely religious laws, or corrupted
by the bribes of Canute, king of Denmark and England,
are fallen from their allegiance. The brave, single-hearted
monarch is marching against the rebellious Bonders, at
the head of a handful of foreign troops, and such as
remained faithful among his own people. On the eve of
that last battle, on which he stakes throne and life, he
intrusts a large sum of money to a Bonder, to be laid
out "on churches, priests, and alms-men, as gifts for
the souls of such as may fall in battle AGAINST
HIMSELF," - strong in the conviction of the righteousness
of his cause, and the assured salvation of such as upheld
it.
He makes a glorious end. Forsaken by many whom he had
loved and served, - yet forgiving and excusing them;
rejecting the aid of all who denied that holy Faith which
had become the absorbing interest of his life, - but
surrounded by a faithful few, who share his fate; "in
the lost battle, borne down by the flying" - he falls,
transpierced by many wounds, and the last words on his
fervent lips are prayer to God. [Footnote: The exact date
of the battle of Sticklestad is known: an eclipse of the
sun occurred while it was going on.]
Surely there was a gallant saint and soldier. Yet he was
not the only one who bore himself nobly on that day.
Here is another episode of that same fatal fight.
A certain Thormod is one of the Scalds (or Poets) in King
Olaf's army. The night before the battle he sings a
spirited song at the King's request, who gives him a gold
ring from his finger in token of his approval. Thormod
thanks him for the gift, and says, "It is my prayer,
Sire, that we shall never part, either in life or death."
When the King receives his death-wound Thormod is near
him, - but, wounded himself, and so weak and weary that
in a desperate onslaught by the King's men, - nicknamed
"Dag's storm," - HE ONLY STOOD BY HIS COMRADE IN THE
RANKS, ALTHOUGH HE COULD DO NOTHING.
The noise of the battle has ceased; the King is lying
dead where he fell. The very man who had dealt him his
death-wound has laid the body straight out on the ground,
and spread a cloak over it. "And when he wiped the blood
from the face it was very beautiful, and there was red
in the cheeks, as if he only slept."
Thormod, who had received a second wound as he stood in
the ranks - (an arrow in his side, which he breaks off at
the shaft), - wanders away towards a large barn, where
other wounded men have taken refuge.
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