Botolf.—­I have now learned how strong your desire for peace is, Kolbein.

Helga.—­Remember, my lord, that Kolbein thought it a matter of necessity that you should be his guest for a few days.  I have treated you as well, sir, as my work would permit me and you would accept.

Botolf.—­And yet they say that you more than any other were cause of the state of war that now exists, and that your flattering of me is but dissimulation.

Helga.—­They are my enemies who tell you that, sir bishop! (HELGA leaves her seat.  ASBJORN, who has been speaking with a man, approaches her.  They converse together in subdued voice in the foreground.)

Asbjorn.—­Shall I tell Kolbein that Brand Kolbeinsson is riding to Flugumyr with eleven followers?

Helga.—­No!  Remember Helgi Skaftason, should he come with Brand.

Asbjorn.—­Come he will if he is fated to death.

Helga.—­Is Broddi along?

Asbjorn.—­He is likely to be at Holar in the fort.

Helga (goes to her seat.  Raises her voice).  There is no cheer here to-night.  Haf!  Have you no song to recite or some tale to tell?

Haf (advancing to middle of floor).—­I have put together a little song about the present feud.

Helga.—­Let men hear it, Haf!

Haf.—­Hither I see the ravens winging,
    They steer their flight to Holar’s steeple
  On their errand bent death bringing;
  Hard the bishop’s bells are ringing: 
    Longest peals great Likabong:[A]
  ‘The Peace of God shall save the people.’

[Footnote A:  ‘Lyke-knell,’ name of the great bell of the Holar Cathedral.]

  Heroes head their warlike forces,
    Mailed fists ’gainst shields are clashing,
  Over Herad’s water-courses
  Thunder thousand hoofs of horses,
    Over fords and bridges dashing. 
  Long afar moans Likabong.

  Death foretells the cock’s dawn-greeting: 
    Many a fey man’s fair limbs mangles
  Soon the sword and spear in meeting. 
  Hot the Northland blood is beating! 
  Low and dull weeps Likabong. 
    The shiv’ring Southron sea-cod angles.

Helga.—­Excellent!  That’s aimed at Hjalti, the son of the bishop,—­the cod-biter!

Haf.—­Peace,—­how many a foe will crave her! 
    In Woden’s spoor the sward is bloody—­
  Many a head the swords dissever;
  Be our host victorious ever! 
  Silent lastly Likabong—­
    Women weep for men once ruddy.

Botolf.—­Little your skald’s song contributes to the honor of the Church as it seems to me, Lady Helga.

Helga (lifts the drinking-horn to her lips; the bishop responds in silence).—­To your health, sir bishop!  When at Oddi I listened to the opinions of Snorri Sturluson and of Saemund, my father, about poetics, but I doubt whether they would have thought that Haf had said ought derogatory to the Holy Church, in particularly mentioning in the burthen what Likabong does.