Eric in his ship. "Shoot me that man," said Jarl Eric to a bowman
near him; and, just as Tamberskelver was drawing his bow the third
time, an arrow hit it in the middle and broke it in two. "What is
this that has broken?" asked King Olaf. "Norway from thy hand, king,"
answered Tamberskelver. Tryggveson's men, he observed with surprise,
were striking violently on Eric's; but to no purpose: nobody fell.
"How is this?" asked Tryggveson. "Our swords are notched and
blunted, king; they do not cut." Olaf stept down to his arm-chest;
delivered out new swords; and it was observed as he did it, blood ran
trickling from his wrist; but none knew where the wound was. Eric
boarded a third time. Olaf, left with hardly more than one man,
sprang overboard (one sees that red coat of his still glancing in the
evening sun), and sank in the deep waters to his long rest.

Rumor ran among his people that he still was not dead; grounding on
some movement by the ships of that traitorous Sigwald, they fancied
Olaf had dived beneath the keels of his enemies, and got away with
Sigwald, as Sigwald himself evidently did. "Much was hoped, supposed,
spoken," says one old mourning Skald; "but the truth was, Olaf
Tryggveson was never seen in Norseland more." Strangely he remains
still a shining figure to us; the wildly beautifulest man, in body and
in soul, that one has ever heard of in the North.



CHAPTER VIII.

JARLS ERIC AND SVEIN.

Jarl Eric, splendent with this victory, not to speak of that over the