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Rh They landed at Nidaros. Not a vassal of Jarl Haakon could Thore see, nor was there any message from him as had been arranged before he started for Dublin. A strange rumor was on the air of peasants angry and aggressive. They had gathered at the mouth of the river Nid, near the town of Nidaros.

Throngs of Norwegians lined the shore. They had been coming down from their dwellings, since the tidings went forth that Olaf Tryggevesson—the “North Star” whose coming they had awaited through the darkness of wars and revolutions—had shone upon their waters and its course was straight towards the crescent shores of Nidaros, by the mountains of the sea. All along the north shires flew the tidings of Olaf’s coming. The great uprising of the peasants that promised a terrible civil war of extermination for Earl Haakon’s vassals, developed into an enthusiastic reception of King Olaf. The earl-folk, the chieftains and the peasants, gathered their vassals and thralls and hinds around them, at Nidaros. At their head stood a tall, white-haired man, Earl Sigvalde. The Jomsvikings were gathered around their leader ready to avenge their defeat by Earl Haakon at Hjornungavaag.

“Thane Sigvalde, my beloved kinsman!” cried Olaf, as he sprang upon the shore. Shout after shout went up as the king landed. “All hail to our true king! Welcome to the son of Trygge Olafsson!”

Thane and peasant crowded around him. They