But the woman held to her purpose, seeing that even so she could not win the old man to convivial mirth.  Continuing with yet more lavish courtesy her efforts to soothe him, and to heap more honours on the guest, she bade a piper strike up, and started music to melt his unbending rage.  For she wanted to unnerve his stubborn nature by means of cunning sounds.  But the cajolery of pipe or string was just as powerless to enfeeble that dogged warrior.  When he heard it, he felt that the respect paid him savoured more of pretence than of love.  Hence the crestfallen performer seemed to be playing to a statue rather than a man, and learnt that it is vain for buffoons to assail with, their tricks a settled and weighty sternness, and that a mighty mass cannot be shaken with the idle puffing of the lips.  For Starkad had set his face so firmly in his stubborn wrath, that he seemed not a whit easier to move than ever.  For the inflexibility which he owed his vows was not softened either by the strain of the lute or the enticements of the palate; and he thought that more respect should be paid to his strenuous and manly purpose than to the tickling of the ears or the lures of the feast.  Accordingly he flung the bone, which he had stripped in eating the meat, in the face of the harlequin, and drove the wind violently out of his puffed cheeks, so that they collapsed.  By this he showed how his austerity loathed the clatter of the stage; for his ears were stopped with anger and open to no influence of delight.  This reward, befitting an actor, punished an unseemly performance with a shameful wage.  For Starkad excellently judged the man’s deserts, and bestowed a shankbone for the piper to pipe on, requiting his soft service with a hard fee.  None could say whether the actor piped or wept the louder; he showed by his bitter flood of tears how little place bravery has in the breasts of the dissolute.  For the fellow was a mere minion of pleasure, and had never learnt to bear the assaults of calamity.  This man’s hurt was ominous of the carnage that was to follow at the feast.  Right well did Starkad’s spirit, heedful of sternness, hold with stubborn gravity to steadfast revenge; for he was as much disgusted at the lute as others were delighted, and repaid the unwelcome service by insultingly flinging a bone; thus avowing that he owed a greater debt to the glorious dust of his mighty friend than to his shameless and infamous ward.

But when Starkad saw that the slayers of Frode were in high favour with the king, his stern glances expressed the mighty wrath which he harboured, and his face betrayed what he felt.  The visible fury of his gaze betokened the secret tempest in his heart.  At last, when Ingild tried to appease him with royal fare, he spurned the dainty.  Satisfied with cheap and common food, he utterly spurned outlandish delicacies; he was used to plain diet, and would not pamper his palate with any delightful flavour.  When he was asked why he had refused the generous attention of