Then it seemed that Einar had been right, and that Harald would lay a fine on the islands for Halfdan’s slaying, and so give them back to Einar to hold for him.  The messenger was Thiodolf, Harald’s own scald, and he put the matter very plainly before the jarl, so that he thought well of the offer, but would nevertheless not trust himself in the king’s power before all was certain, and confirmed by oath.  Whereon Thiodolf said that one must see the king on the Jarl’s part, and so I seemed the right man to go, as the jarl’s foster son and next in command to him.

“Nevertheless,” said Thiodolf, “I would not advise you to sail in Halfdan’s ship, for that might wake angry thoughts, and trouble would come especially as Halfdan took her without leave when he was outlawed.”

So I took the Jarl’s cutter, manning her with enough men of my own crew; and Kolgrim came with me, and we sailed to Kirkwall in company with Thiodolf the scald.

Then when Thiodolf took me into his presence, I saw Harald Fairhair 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 therefor.”

“Had my father been slain in fair fight, lord king,” I said, “no ill will had been thought of.  It has not been in my mind that you bade Rognvald slay him as he did.  And that Jarl is dead, and the feud is done with therefore.  Jarl Einar is my foster father, moreover.”