He was long of returning to Braal, and solaced himself by ravaging Heligoland and plundering several of its towns, the sites of which have long since been covered by the encroaching sea. He then visited Shetland, carrying havoc and dismay wherever he appeared, and returning by Orkney, committed a crowning act of impiety at Kirkwall. There was preserved there a silver bowl, in which St. Magnus had baptized the earliest Christians of the Orcades. It was of great size, curiously carved, and was carefully preserved in the cathedral.* * "It so far exceeds other bowls in size," says Buchanan, in his "History of Scotland," "that it seems to be a relic of the feasts of the Lapithæ." Accompanied by his two inseparable comrades and mentors to mischief, he entered that stately Gothic church, which is one of the finest in Scotland, seized the great bowl, and filled it with wine, which he solemnly consecrated to Odin. Then, ascending the steps of the High Altar, he quaffed it to the dregs, after exclaiming,-- "I worship thee, Odin, and I am a heathen! A heathen will I die, if thou givest me but a son to heir my lands, my isles, and to send down my name to the days of other years." For these proceedings they were all excommunicated by the Bishop of Caithness, and while they laughed to scorn the prelate and his solemn anathema, they swore by the blades of their swords and the shoulders of their horses (the old oath of the northern pagans) to have a terrible revenge upon him. With this intention, after six years' absence, they returned home, and again the great war-galley, with all its purple sails spread, was seen to stand round the rocky bluff named the Clett, and come to anchor in Scrabster Roads, on the western side of Thurso Bay. On landing, the earl repaired straight to the episcopal palace, with all his followers, "to punish," as he said, "the bishop with the serpent's tongue." On seeing them approach, the old man came forth to meet them; and on beholding his serene and reverend aspect, John of Harpidale, Thorolf Starkadder, and other grim outlaws, were somewhat abashed and appalled, and leaned irresolutely on their drawn swords. "After a six years' absence, come you here, Lord Harold, instead of visiting your lady at Braal?" asked the bishop, with an air of surprise that was not unmingled with alarm. "The countess?--you speak not of my daughters." "Alas! they are here no longer," said the bishop, evasively. "Dead?" asked the earl, with a cold smile. "To you and all of us." "'Tis well," said Harold, grinding his teeth; "but I came not hither to speak of them!" "Of what then?" asked Bishop Adam, with anxiety. "Of thyself, who hast dared to pour empty anathemas on me, for merely drinking a bowl of wine in my own town of Kirkwall." "Silence, thou blasphemous lord, who desecrated the altar of God by the praises of a heathen idol! I think of the coming time when thou shalt die!"