“Why name thee, Hiartuar, whom Skulde hath filled with guilty purpose, and hath suffered thus to harden in sin?  Why sing of thee, villain, who hast caused our peril, betrayer of a noble king?  Furious lust of sway hath driven thee to attempt an abomination, and, stung with frenzy, to screen thyself behind thy wife’s everlasting guilt.  What error hath made thee to hurt the Danes and thy lord, and hurled thee into such foul crime as this?  Whence entered thy heart the treason framed with such careful guile?

“Why do I linger?  Now we have swallowed our last morsel.  Our king perishes, and utter doom overtakes our hapless city.  Our last dawn has risen, unless perchance there be one here so soft that he fears to offer himself to the blows, or so unwarlike that he dares not avenge his lord, and disowns all honours worthy of his valour.

“Thou, Ruta, rise and put forth thy snow-white head, come forth from thy hiding into the battle.  The carnage that is being done without calls thee.  By now the council-chamber is shaken with warfare, and the gates creak with the dreadful fray.  Steel rends the mail-coats, the woven mesh is torn apart, and the midriff gives under the rain of spears.  By now the huge axes have hacked small the shield of the king; by now the long swords clash, and the battle-axe clatters its blows upon the shoulders of men, and cleaves their breasts.  Why are your hearts afraid?  Why is your sword faint and blunted?  The gate is cleared of our people, and is filled with the press of the strangers.”

And when Hjalte had wrought very great carnage and stained the battle with blood, he stumbled for the third time on Bjarke’s berth, and thinking he desired to keep quiet because he was afraid, made trial of him with such taunts at his cowardice as these: 

“Bjarke, why art thou absent?  Doth deep sleep hold thee?  I prithee, what makes thee tarry?  Come out, or the fire will overcome thee.  Ho!  Choose the better way, charge with me!  Bears may be kept off with fire; let us spread fire in the recesses, and let the blaze attack the door-posts first.  Let the firebrand fall upon the bedchamber, let the falling roof offer fuel for the flames and serve to feed the fire.  It is right to scatter conflagration on the doomed gates.  But let us who honour our king with better loyalty form the firm battle-wedges, and, having measured the phalanx in safe rows, go forth in the way the king taught us:  our king, who laid low Rorik, the son of Bok the covetous, and wrapped the coward in death.  He was rich in wealth, but in enjoyment poor, stronger in gain than bravery; and thinking gold better than warfare, he set lucre above all things, and ingloriously accumulated piles of treasure, scorning the service of noble friends.  And when he was attacked by the navy of Rolf, he bade his servants take the gold from the chests and spread it out in front of the city gates, making ready bribes rather than battle, because he knew not the soldier,