for the first time, as he sat to receive Einar's messenger in the
great hall that Sigurd had built and which we had dwelt in. Then I
thought that never before could have been one more like a king.
Hereafter, when sagamen will sing of a king in some fancied story,
they will surely make him like King Harald of Norway. I myself have
little skill to say what he was like beyond this--that never had I
seen a more handsome man, nor bigger, nor stronger. King-like he
was in all ways, and his face was bright and pleasant, though it
was plain that it would be terrible if he was angry, or with the
light of battle upon it.

The hair, whence he had his name, was golden bright and shining,
and beard and eyebrows were of the same colour. But his eyes were
neither grey nor blue altogether, most piercing, seeming to look
straight into a man's heart, so that none dared lie to him.

I think that it is saying much for King Harald that, though his
arms and dress were wonderfully rich and splendid, one cared only
to look on his face; and that though many men of worth were on the
high place with him, there seemed to be none but he present.

When the scald told the king who I was, and what was my errand,
with all ceremony, he looked fixedly at me, so that I was ashamed,
and grew red under his gaze. Then he smiled pleasantly, and spoke
to me. His voice was as I thought to hear it--clear and steady, and
yet deep.

"So, Ranald Vemundsson, you are worthy of your father. It may be
that you bear me ill will on his account, but I would have you
forget the deeds done that Norway might be one, and the happier