The Trial of Fire brought Christianity to Scandinavia.
“The Trial of Fire”
Court of King Harald Bluetooth, Denmark – Year of our Lord 970
Smoke hung low over the timbered hall, thick with the scent of pine tar and the faint metallic tang of blood. Warriors sat shoulder to shoulder on long benches, their eyes reflecting the flicker of firelight. Shields lined the walls, their painted faces seeming to watch the proceedings like silent judges. At the head of the hall, upon a carved high seat, sat King Harald Bluetooth—his beard braided, his eyes like ice over still water.
It was a day unlike others, for in the heart of this pagan court, the gods of Asgard were being called into question.
“Let the gods speak,” Harald had declared days before, raising his voice above the murmurs of his jarls. “Let it be seen—whether it is Thor who guards us, or this Christ the priest speaks of.”
The man he spoke of was Bishop Poppo, a missionary from the German lands, clad in a rough wool robe, a silver cross hanging from his neck. He had stood quietly at the king’s words, neither flinching nor smiling.
“I submit myself,” he had said calmly, “to the judgment of God.”
And so the trial was set: the Ordeal of Iron.
They came to the square at dawn. The second bronze would later capture this moment—iron glowing red-hot above roaring flames, held aloft by blacksmiths whose eyes darted uneasily between the weapon and the sky.
Poppo stood barefoot on the frozen earth, murmuring a prayer in Latin as the rod was placed in his hands. The crowd watched in breathless silence as he walked forward, step by step, the skin of his palms hissing with the heat of the metal. He dropped it only when the count was met, his face serene even as the flesh of his hands smoked.
Then came the gloves—thick and linen-wrapped, like oven mitts. They bound them over his hands, sealing the wound away from the world.
“For four nights he will wait,” Harald announced to the hushed court. “And then we will see which god has heard his prayer.”
On the fourth day, the king himself called for Poppo. The people pressed close as the bishop knelt, silent. Harald stepped forward with rough hands and unwrapped the cloth.
A hush fell over the court.
The skin beneath was whole. Clean. Untouched by burn or rot.
Even Harald’s stern face wavered with disbelief.
“Is this your sorcery?” a priest of Odin snarled. But no one spoke in agreement.
“I walked through the fire,” Poppo said softly, “and the Lord walked with me.”
In the final bronze, carved centuries later, Harald stands waist-deep in a barrel of water, stripped of the old gods as the bishop pours water over his head. It is a solemn act, but the moment ripples like thunder across the lands of the north.
Though many still clung to Thor’s hammer and Odin’s wisdom, the king’s baptism marked a beginning.
Not an end—but a turning.
Christianity had come to Scandinavia, not with armies, but with fire.
And the gods had watched it all in silence.
“I submit myself,” he had said calmly, “to the judgment of God.”
And so the trial was set: the Ordeal of Iron.