Читать книгу History of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway (Vol. 1&2) - S. A. Dunham - Страница 9

|935 to 964.|

Harald II. surnamed Blaatand, or Blue-tooth, seems, during the last six years of his father’s life, to have been either associated in the government with that king, or to have ruled as his deputy. In 941, however, on the death of Gorm, he was the undisputed heir of the monarchy. The early part of his reign was most brilliant; the latter disastrous. Soon after his accession, his aid was implored by his countrymen in Normandy. Most readers are aware that, in the latter half of the preceding century, Rollo, assisted by perpetual reinforcements from the north, had wrested that province from the kings of France, and, in 912, on his baptism, had been declared the lawful duke of his new conquest. In 927, the veteran warrior, exhausted by age and fatigue, had resigned the dignity to his son William Longsword. In 943, this duke was assassinated, and his son Richard, a child, was left exposed to the hostilities of Louis d’Outremer, who naturally wished to recover that fine province, and confide the government to a French, not to a Norman, vassal. Louis led an army into Normandy, defeated the troops which the regency opposed to him, and obtained possession of the young duke’s person. In this emergency the Normans applied for aid to Harald, whose warlike actions were well known to them. In 944, that is, in a year after duke William’s assassination, the Danish king appeared off Cherburg, with a considerable armament. Alarmed at the danger, Louis had recourse to negotiation; and at the personal interview which followed, the dispute would, in all probability, have been amicably arranged, had not some chiefs of both armies begun to quarrel. This quarrel led to a general engagement, in which Louis was vanquished, and made prisoner. To obtain his liberty, he was compelled to release the young duke, whose right to the fief he also recognised. This was a proud day for Harald, who returned to Denmark with a reputation unrivalled in the north. His next exploit was similar—to place on the throne of Norway (now a monarchy) the sons of Eric, whom Hako, the reigning king, had driven into exile. His arms were successful; and he restored to Harald Grafeld the sceptre of the father. Twelve years afterwards, this prince being assassinated (an event of very usual occurrence in the history of the north), the Danish king went a second time into Norway, subdued the country, and divided it into three kingdoms. One portion he confided, under the ordinary feudal obligations, to Harald Grenshi, a prince of the family; a second, subject to the same homage and service, was bestowed on jarl Hako; the third, which was the lion’s share, was reserved to the Danish crown; and from all a large annual tribute was exacted. This policy was injurious enough to Norway, however useful it might be to Denmark. And it was scarcely less hurtful to England, since it augmented the power of the Danish kings, so as to render them formidable enemies to this island. In his next expedition, which was against no less a personage than the emperor Otho I., he was less happy. Embracing the cause of a rebel whom Otho had placed under the ban of the empire, and learning that the monarch was absent in Italy, he made a fierce irruption into Saxony, and, we are told, put to death the ambassadors of Otho. He had little difficulty in driving the imperial garrison from Sleswic, and in destroying that important fortress. On the return of Otho, however, who lost no time in avenging the indignity offered to the empire, Holstein was speedily overrun, and he driven into the north of Jutland. He was compelled to treat with the victor; and his states were left him on the condition of his baptism, and that of his son Sweyn, and of helping, instead of impeding, the progress of Christianity in his dominions. That on this occasion he did homage for them to the emperor, is asserted by the German, and denied by most native, historians. The subject may occupy our attention for a few moments.^[96]

|964.|

That Harald did homage to Otho for the whole of Denmark—that country being subdued and rendered tributary by the latter—is expressly asserted by Sweyn Aggesen, a Danish writer of the twelfth century.^[97] It is equally affirmed by Adam of Bremen, who wrote within half a century of Harald’s death, and who is better acquainted with the transactions of Holstein and Jutland than all the writers of his age.^[98] And it is inferred, from a privilege granted by Otho to the church of Hamburg, exempting the lands of three bishoprics just created in Denmark—Aarhuus, Sleswic, Rypen—from all contributions to the state, from all dependence on the secular government; and extending the same privilege to all the lands which those churches might hereafter possess throughout Denmark. To weaken the effect of these testimonies has been the object of native writers. But what are their reasons? Too feeble to have any weight out of Denmark. They insist that Sweyn was misled by the authority of Adam of Bremen; that Adam, himself, was an ignorant ecclesiastic, who readily assented to whatever Otho assumed; and that the privilege in question, of which the authenticity cannot be denied, is of no weight—a pure formula of the imperial chancellor, dictated, indeed, by an ambitious, all-grasping court, but founded on no real conquest, much less vassalage. To answer such objections would be an insult to the reader’s understanding. There can be no doubt of the emperor’s feudal supremacy over Denmark, any more than over Bohemia, or Poland, or Lombardy. It has, indeed, been contended that if Otho had a spiritual, he had no temporal jurisdiction; that he might be the protector, the superintendent, the head of the rising church, without having the least authority over the state. But this allegation is at variance with all reason and with all history. Would a sovereign have the insane effrontery to say what lands shall, and what shall not, pay taxes, unless he had some authority over them? Would he exempt them from contributing towards the support of the crown, unless that crown were in some degree dependent on him? And where is there any example of such unlicensed interference? But we all know that vassalitic obligations were of various kinds, some oppressive enough, others little more than nominal; and we may admit that though Harald was compelled to do homage, and even to pay a yearly tribute, he remained independent so far as his internal administration was concerned. It was the policy of Otho to christianise the kingdom—to transform restless barbarians into civilised creatures—to humanise the fiercest of pagans by the influence of a mild and powerful religion. Without such a change, he saw no security for his northern frontier. But in striving to attain this object, great moderation was necessary: he did not wish to exasperate, where his interest was so obviously to induce the most friendly relations; still less would he, by severe exactions—exactions, however, which his position as conqueror might have enabled him to enforce—indispose the minds of a high-spirited prince and a warlike people, against the faith which he wished them to embrace.^[99]

|964.|

But miracles were no longer wrought in the time of the Othos. If Harald and some of his people outwardly conformed to the religion of Christ, they were still influenced by that of Odin. Besides, to both the national independence was dear; and we cannot be surprised at the hostile feeling with which the Danes regarded the Germans. During the life of the first Otho, indeed, there was outward harmony; but in about a year after the accession of the second (974), he joined the party of Henry duke of Bavaria, then a rebel, and made several irruptions into Saxony. On the defeat of that powerful vassal, Otho penetrated into Jutland, and advanced as far as the Sound which bears his name. With the result of this war we are not acquainted; but probably Harald submitted. The events, however, of both wars, which have been frequently confounded into one, are very doubtful. A more certain fact is, that the good fortune of Harald now forsook him. He failed in an expedition against Norway, which had thrown off its vassalage. Nor was this the worst: his son Sweyn, who had been baptized with him, rebelled against him. The motives which led the prince in this undutiful conduct are unknown. Probably the chief was the desire of power; and as his nature was ferocious, he scrupled not to bear arms against his father. There is also some reason to believe that he was the instrument of a great party—the old pagans, who could not behold with much pleasure the gradual progress of the new faith, and the consequent decline of their own. His conversion was not, like his father’s, very sincere; or, perhaps, he cared not for either religion, so that his ambition was gratified. As the pagans were still the more numerous subjects of the state, he became at once their patron and their tool. The war was short, and Harald was compelled to flee. He sought a refuge in Normandy, and by duke Richard, we are told, was restored to at least a portion of his dominions. How far this relation is true, we cannot, in the absence of contemporary authority, decide. A more certain fact is, that, in 991, he was assassinated by the procurement of his own son. He was walking on the skirts of a wood, when an arrow from the bow of a Jomsberg pirate belonging to a band in the pay of Sweyn, laid him in the dust.^[100]

Such was the fate of a monarch whose memory was dear to the early Christians of Denmark. He was the first monarch that openly professed the new religion; and the constancy with which he adhered to it affords indisputable proof of his sincerity. From Ledra, the ancient seat of the Odinic superstition, he removed his court to Roskild, where he erected a cathedral to the most holy Trinity. This was a politic step; connected with the new capital were no ancient recollections to remind the idolater of the faith of his fathers. The foundation of three other bishoprics attested his zeal. The reverence in which this monarch was held in the centuries immediately following his death, and a passage, of which the application was mistaken, in the History of Adam of Bremen, nearly led to his canonisation.^[101]

|991.|

On the tragical death of Harald, the sceptre devolved to the unnatural Sweyn. As the majority of the people were still pagans, the accession of this prince was beheld with satisfaction; for though, perhaps, he did not openly apostatise, he encouraged the old religion, and rebuilt many of the temples which had been destroyed. And he was the ally of the Jomsburg pirates, the leader of whom shot the arrow which had proved fatal to Harald. Yet Harald was the founder of that city—one of the most famous in the annals of the world. It was situated near the great lake of Pomerania, on the site of the modern Wollin. It was avowedly built for a piratical fortress; yet the founders could not anticipate the greatness which it afterwards retained. Its first governor, who was also its legislator, was a pirate chief, Palnatoko, whose skill as an archer was never equalled in the north. He decreed that no man who had ever shown the slightest fear, even in the greatest dangers, should be a member of the new community. No Christian was admitted, because Christianity was supposed to enfeeble the mind; but people of all other religions and of all countries were received; and each of the great European nations had a street of its own. It was the last place of the north which was humanised by the religion of Christ; and probably it would longer have defied the general influence of that faith, had not its riches enervated the vigour of its inhabitants, and intestine dissensions still further weakened it, so as to render it a prey to its enemies. Palnatoko, the assassin of Harald, had been long resident at the Danish court, and had been the tutor of Sweyn; and to that barbarous deed he was, we are told, excited by a personal injury. His skill in archery was the quality on which he most prided himself, and he was accustomed to boast that he could hit an apple, however small, on the top of a pole. This boast, which was regarded as an arrogant display, made him some enemies. It reached Harald, who insisted that the archer’s own child should supply the place of the pole; and threatened, that if the first arrow missed its aim, his own head should bear the penalty. As there was no hope of changing the royal determination, Palnatoko warned his child to be steady—not to flinch hand or foot—not to move a muscle of his body, when the arrow approached. On the day appointed, the dreaded experiment was tried; and the apple was cloven, while the child remained uninjured. But the archer had three arrows, and being asked what he had intended to do with the remaining two, he replied, that had he been the death of innocence, the guilty contriver of the experiment should not have escaped.—Such is the story which Saxo has preserved. That it has given rise to the fabulous one of William Tell, must be apparent to the reader; for the Danish historian wrote a full century before the Swiss patriot flourished. Nor do we think that Saxo’s account is the original one: the circumstance probably took place centuries before the reign of Harald Blaatand, and became a portion of the “legendary lore” the origin of which is so mysterious. Whether this incident be true or false in regard to Harald and this archer, the latter joined Sweyn, and, as we have already related, caused the death of the former.^[102]

|991.|

In the early part of this monarch’s reign we meet with much obscurity, much contradiction. We are told that in return for his rebellion against his father, and for his restoration of paganism, he was doomed to great bitterness of suffering; that he was thrice a prisoner among the pirates, and thrice redeemed by his people. For the last act of redemption he is said to have been indebted to Danish ladies, who, seeing that the money of the state was wholly exhausted by the preceding ransoms, contributed their choicest ornaments for that purpose. For this generosity, adds Saxo, the grateful Sweyn passed a law, that, in future, females should, like males, succeed, by inheritance, to a portion of their father’s property. Such a law certainly existed, and it may possibly be referred to Sweyn; but in regard to the circumstances which gave rise to it, there is room for scepticism. That a powerful monarch—for such Sweyn always was—should be thrice captured by pirates—the pirates, too, of Jomsberg—is surely unparalleled in the history of the world. Yet the relation alike of Saxo and Sweyn Aggesen must have had some foundation in truth. The probability is, that the king, prior to his accession, was once a captive, and that the monastic writers of the following age mistook the time and multiplied the circumstances.^[103] Those venerable fathers, struck with horror at the filial no less than the religious impiety of this king, were ready to adopt, without examination, the most unfavourable reports concerning him. Another statement, that Sweyn was expelled from his kingdom by Eric of Sweden, and that he remained almost fifteen years in exile, fourteen of which he spent in Scotland, is entitled to just the same credit. His father, we are told, died in 991; yet in 994 he was powerful enough to begin the conquest of England; and from that year to the period of his death, in 1014, he was always in this country, or in Denmark. Where, then, are these sixteen years to be inserted? Assuredly no chasm can be found for them between 991 and 1014. Other circumstances demonstrate the falsehood of the relation—a relation, however, adopted by the most recent historians. On his expulsion, we are told, he applied for the common rights of hospitality to Olaf Trygveson of Norway, but was spurned by that prince. This conduct of Olaf, says Saxo, was the less justifiable, as Sweyn had assisted him to regain the throne of Norway. Let us for a moment attend to dates. Sweyn’s restoration to his country, after his fifteen years of exile, is placed in the year 994; and as Olaf was the first monarch to whom he applied, this application must have been made about 979. But Olaf did not return to Norway before 996. How much earlier than this year must he have been assisted by Sweyn? Yet for this, as for the preceding relation, there was probably some basis. If Sweyn ever was in exile—and there is some reason to infer that he was, during his hostility with his father—that exile was before the death of Harald, and consequently before his accession to the monarchy. It may possibly be that he was at one time prior to that event king of some portion of the monarchy—perhaps of Scania; and this conjecture would at once account for the facility with which Eric expelled him. However this be, there can be no doubt that if this banishment be a fact, it must be referred to a period long prior to 991. What confirms this conjecture is, the statement of Saxo, that the monarch to whom Sweyn next applied was Edward king of England. This was evidently Edward the Martyr, who ascended the throne in 975, and was assassinated in 978—a period which will exactly agree with the duration assigned to his exile.^[104]

|991 to 993.|

All writers allow that Sweyn, soon after his accession, sent or led an armament against Hako, the usurper of Norway. Snorro assures us that this expedition was planned by the Jomsberg pirates, who were invited to celebrate the funeral solemnities of Harald (that is, to get drunk) at the court of Sweyn; and he adds that the same vow was taken in regard to England. The vows of drunken men are not usually remembered; but these pirates remembered theirs but too well. With sixty vessels, filled by the bravest heroes of the republic, they hastened to the Norwegian coast; there they separated, and were separately assailed by jarl Hako, his son, and other chiefs of the kingdom. But, desperate as was the valour of the pirates, their numbers were too few, in comparison with those of the enemy, to fulfil their oath of taking Harald alive, or expelling him from Norway. They were signally defeated, though not until prodigies of valour had been effected by them. The contempt in which they beheld death is horribly illustrated by Snorro. Thirty of them being captured, their feet were tied by a rope, and they were carried on shore. They were placed on benches, in a right line, each near to the other, awaiting their death. Thorkil, a Norwegian jarl, advanced with a huge sword, and anticipated much pleasure from the exercise of killing them in detail. Accosting the chief of them, he said, “So, Vagne, thou madest a vow to put me to death; but it seems more likely that I shall have the honour of sending thee with my apology.” The pirate looked at him with much contempt. Beginning at the end of the line, he struck off the heads of many in succession, who faithfully observed the condition of their order—never to exhibit the shadow of a fear. One desired the jarl to strike him in the forehead, and to look whether he should so much as blink his eyes. The next victim held in his hand the backbone of a fish. “I will wager thee,” he said to Thorkil, “that, after my head is off, I shall be able to plunge this bone into the ground!” But the boast was vain: when his head left his body, the bone fell from his hand. “Injure not my hair!”^[105] cried another, as he stretched out his neck to receive the blow. An attendant held the long tresses with both hands, while the executioner struck; but, at the moment, the pirate threw back his head, and the sword amputated the two hands of the courtier, without injuring the pirate. Great was the triumph of the latter; and Eric, the son of Hako, admiring his intrepidity, procured his pardon. Another, Vagne, one of the chiefs, was pushed against the executioner by his next fellow; Thorkil fell, and, in so doing, his sword cut the rope which bound the pirate, who, seizing the weapon, beheaded the Norwegian jarl. Eric, too, procured his pardon. Eighteen being in this manner slain, the visitors began to feel some admiration for the rest. “Wilt thou accept the offer of thy life?” was demanded of the next. “That,” replied the man, who would not receive even life from an ignoble hand, “depends on the dignity of the giver!” Jarl Eric, the son of Hako, was named, and the offer was accepted. “Wilt thou?” was addressed to another. “Not unless my companions are spared also!” was the reply; and they were spared.^[106]

|991 to 1001.|

If the expedition against Norway thus failed, very different was the issue of that directed against England. During the greater part of a century, this island had been unmolested by the pirates. Alfred, towards the close of his reign, had humbled them; Edward the elder had signally triumphed over them; and the name of Athelstane had been dreaded by all the rovers of the sea. There had been battles, indeed, with the Danish state of Northumberland, which, prior to Athelstane’s reign, had formed no part of the Saxon confederation; but the coasts of central and northern England had been undisturbed. On the accession of Ethelred, however, the scourge was resumed. In 991, a large force appeared before Ipswich, and marched to Malden, laying waste the country on every side. On this occasion Brithnoth, the Saxon governor of Essex, was slain; and his fate has been related in a poem, from which copious extracts may be found in a volume connected with the present.^[107] These formidable invaders, as every child knows, were bribed to leave England; and, as every child knows, they soon returned in greater numbers than before. Even when steel, instead of gold, was to be the tribute, a cowardly and treacherous commander, Alfric of Mercia, was intrusted with the defence of England. In the following years, every province was desolated. In 994, Sweyn himself appeared in the Thames with a formidable fleet. He had an ally, Olaf, the son of Trygve, who, since infancy, had never been in Norway, and whose piratical exploits had been celebrated from Russia to Ireland.^[108] His attack on London was repelled; but Essex, Kent, Sussex, and Hampshire suffered dreadfully from his depredations, and those of his ally. As before, though the number of pirates did not exceed 10,000, money was offered by the despicable Ethelred. Olaf, on receiving it, visited the court of the Saxon king, received the rite of confirmation (he had previously been baptized in one of the Scilly islands), and promised never again to molest the English coast. We hear no more of his depredations: but whether his forbearance was owing to his promise, or to his departure for Norway, the throne of which he ascended in little more than a year from this period, may well be doubted.^[109] But Sweyn had no such moderation. In about three years from the payment of the 16,000l., he appeared in the south-west counties, advanced into Sussex and Hampshire, laying waste everything in his passage, and wintered as securely as if he had been naturalised: no opposition was made to his progress. Kent was next ravaged; and the whole of England would, no doubt, have become Danish, had not Sweyn been recalled to contend with a more formidable enemy, Olaf of Norway. One year after the death of that monarch^[110], that is, in 1001, the Danes returned to a country where they had found no enemies, but abundance of prey. Another heavy ransom, and extensive estates in different parts of the kingdom, procured a temporary cessation of hostilities.^[111]

|1001 to 1003.|

If Ethelred could not oppose the enemy in the field, and if his coffers were exhausted, he had still one resource left—that of a general massacre. The day before the festival of St. Brice, the authorities of every city and town received secret letters from the court, commanding them and the people everywhere to rise at a certain hour, to fall on the unarmed, unsuspicious Danes, and not to spare one of them. The order was too well obeyed, and the English nation made itself equally guilty with its king. Many of the victims were naturalised; many had English husbands or wives; more were on terms of intimacy with the natives, and, at the moment this bloody mandate was executed, were sharing the hospitality of their huts. Nobody was spared: decrepit age and helpless infancy, youth and beauty, pleaded in vain. Even Gunhilda, sister of Sweyn, a convert to Christianity and the wife of an English earl, suffered with the rest; but not until she had seen her husband and son beheaded in her presence. This was not the mere act of the crown, nor that of a few courtiers, nor that of the municipal authorities: it was that of the English nation. Retribution, as Gunhilda had prophesied, was at hand; and every reader will rejoice that it was so. Sweyn no sooner heard of the massacre, than he swore never to rest until he had inflicted a terrible vengeance on the people. He no longer wished for booty, merely: he would also destroy. With a fleet of three hundred sail, he steered to the west of the island, landed in Cornwall, commenced his devastating career, reached Exeter, which he took by assault, set it on fire, and massacred the inhabitants. From thence he proceeded into Wiltshire, where fire and sword did their work, and passed by way of Salisbury to the sea coast, laden with plunder. No attempt was made to arrest his destructive progress: a Saxon force under Alfric had, indeed, assembled; but it would not fight, and it retired covered with the derision of the invaders.^[112]

|1003 to 1009.|

The winter of 1003 Sweyn passed in Denmark; in the following year he was again in England. His destructive career now commenced in the eastern counties; but this year they terminated sooner than could have been foreseen. A famine—the result of preceding depredations—afflicted the land; and as provisions in sufficient abundance could not be found, the pirates returned home for a season. The deplorable cowardice of the troops, the imbecility of the governors, from Ethelred down to the meanest thane, was never equalled in any other country. This condition is well described by Turketul in a letter to Sweyn:—“A country illustrious and powerful; a king asleep, caring only for women and wine, trembling at the very mention of war, hated by his own people, despised by foreigners; generals envious of one another; governors who fly at the first shout of battle.” This weak and vicious king had the felicity to convert his friends into enemies at the very time he most needed their assistance. In 1002 he married the princess Emma of Normandy; but his behaviour to her was so grossly offensive, so brutal, that her father, duke Richard I., joined in making him still more contemptible by imprisoning or killing his subjects who happened to pass through Normandy. The pirates of Sweyn soon returned to consummate their work. In 1006 a heavy sum was paid them; the following year they demanded an equal sum, and declared that, in future, it must be annually paid by way of tribute. Some feeble efforts were made to defend the country; but the leaders of the fleet which had been raised turned their arms against one another. Thus fell the hopes of the nation, which prepared its neck for the most galling yoke that had ever afflicted it.^[113]

|1010.|

In the year 1010 the Danes were in possession of sixteen English counties, and they exacted forty-eight thousand pounds for sparing the rest. But such moderation was not in their policy; and no sooner was the money theirs, than their atrocities recommenced. The condition of Kent—which was that of half England—is more graphically described by the biographer of St. Elphege, archbishop of Canterbury, than by all the chronicles of the period. When that city was first besieged, there was some prospect of a defence; the walls were strong, and there were many strong arms eager to defend their cathedral, their bishop, their wives and children. But a traitor (and England was full of them) set fire to about twenty different houses: to extinguish the flames many of the defenders left their posts; one of the gates was broken open, and the pirates rushed into the city, while the flames spread on every side. The men were cut down in the streets, or they were thrown into the devouring fire; women were violated and speared; children were tossed like balls from the points of the lances. As a last resource, St. Elphege and his clergy had taken refuge in the cathedral; but he could not hear of these excesses without endeavouring to stop them. Rushing from the sacred pile into the midst of the pirates, he exclaimed, “Spare the city! at least, if you are men, spare the helplessness of infancy! Turn your weapons against me, only, who have always condemned your crimes!” They gagged him, bound him, and led him to witness the fate of his church, to which thousands of the people had now resorted in the vain hope that its sanctity would impress even pagans. It was soon on fire; the smoke ascended in clouds; the flames spread; and as the unfortunate people, forced by the burning liquid lead, issued from the building, they were cut down by the ferocious pirates. Of eight thousand inhabitants, about a tenth of the number were spared, in the hope of ransom; and such as were unable or unwilling to pay it were put to a cruel death. Among them was St. Elphege, who might have raised the sum demanded for him—three thousand pieces of gold—had he signed an order to the churches of his diocese to pay the money from their treasuries. But he refused to allow that which had been raised for the poor to be expended on him: he would not, he said, purchase life on terms so disgraceful. He who, throughout life, had begged for the indigent, would not be the means of plundering them in his old age. After being detained for some time, kept in a loathsome dungeon, starved, tormented, beaten, in the view of subduing his inflexibility, he was martyred, his last ejaculations being for his flock, his country, his very enemies.^[114]

|1013 to 1014.|

In 1013 Sweyn arrived, with new reinforcements, to take possession of the whole island. On landing in the north, the earl of Northumberland and the whole province submitted. Proceeding to the south, Oxford, Winchester, Bath, with all the towns of the west, and all the great thanes, sent in their allegiance. For some time London held out, because Ethelred was in it; but that doughty hero, having ascertained that duke Richard of Normandy would receive him for the sake of his wife, precipitately fled to Rouen, leaving his capital and kingdom in the hands of the invaders. Sweyn was king of England; and he used the title, though, owing to the short residue of his life, he was not crowned. That he exercised all the rights of sovereignty, fully as the Saxon kings had ever done, is admitted by our own historians. His reign is said to have been one of severe exaction. He died at Gainsborough in one year after his elevation, under circumstances of suspicion. The northern annalists declare that he was killed by prince Edward, afterwards the Confessor; but no English authority confirms the report. This was not the work of Edward; but it might be that of Edmund Ironside.^[115]

Many years before his death Sweyn probably reverted to Christianity, and persevered in it unto his death. But whether pagan or Christian, he was a ferocious warrior and a stern king. With natural talents of a high order, with indomitable courage, with unwearied activity, he obtained advantages which none of his predecessors had enjoyed. We have already alluded to the diversion which his son, with Olaf Trygveson, king of Norway, created in favour of England. After the death of that hero (1000), he seized a portion of Norway, while the Swedish king seized another; and this augmentation of his power no doubt rendered him more able to conquer England.^[116]