The Axe by Sigrid Undset Page A

that have befallen this night, for He is a righteous God and it is His will that a man shall hold his wife in honour and protect the good name of women. But I am weary now, good friends, and now we will go to bed, I and my wife—and you must forgive me that I say no more—but I am weary, and I have gotten a small scratch too. But Grim and Dalla will have good care of you, and now ye may drink as long as ye list, and play and be merry as is fitting on a joyful day such as this—but now we go to rest, Ingebjörg and I—and so you must forgive us that we leave you now—”
    Toward the close his speech had become thick and halting; he swayed slightly on his feet, and Ingebjörg had to support him as they went out of the hall.
    Some of the house-carls had raised a cheer, hammering on the tables with their knives and drinking-cups. But the noise died away of itself, and the men stood aside in silence. Not a few of them guessed that Steinfinn’s wound might be worse than he would have it thought.
    All followed them out—stood in silent groups watching the tall and handsome couple as they went together to the loft-roomin the rain-drenched summer evening. Most of them marked how Steinfinn stood still and seemed to speak hastily to his wife. It looked as though she opposed him and tried to hold his hand; but he tore off the bandage that bound his wounded arm to his breast and flung it impatiently from him. They heard Steinfinn laugh as he went on.
    The house-folk were still quiet when they came in again, though Grim and Dalla had more drink brought in and fresh wood thrown on the fire. The table and benches were cleared out of the way. But most of the men were tired and seemed most inclined for sleep. Yet some went out into the yard to dance, but came in again at once; the shower was just overhead and the grass was too wet.
    Ingunn still sat between Arnvid and Olav, and Olav had laid his hand in her lap. “Silk,” he said, stroking her knee; “silk is fine,” he went on saying again and again.
    “You are bemused and know not what you say,” said Arnvid with vexation. “You’re half-asleep already—go to bed!”
    But Olav shook his head and laughed softly to himself: “I’ll go when I please.”
    Meanwhile some of the men had taken their swords and stood up for dancing. Haftor Kolbeinsson came up to Arnvid and would have him sing for them. But Arnvid declined—he was too tired, he said. Nor would Olav and Ingunn take part in the dance; they said they did not know that lay—the
Kraaka-maal
.
    Einar headed the chain of dancers with his drawn sword in his right hand. Tora held his left and had placed her other hand on the next man’s shoulder. Thus they stood in a row, a man with drawn sword and then a woman, all down the hall. It was a fine sight with all the blades held high. Einar began the singing:
    “Swiftly went the sword-play—”
    The chain moved three paces to the right. Then the men stepped to the left, while the women had to take one place to the rear, so that the men stood on a line before them; and then they crossed swords in pairs and marked time with their feet, as the women ran under their weapons and re-formed the chain. Einar sang on:
    “Swiftly went the sword-play-

Young was I when east in

Ö
resound I scattered

Food to greedy grey-legs—”
    There was none among the dancers who was quite sure of the steps, it was seen. When the women were to leap forward under the swords, they made a poor shift to keep time with the men’s tramping. The place was too narrow and constrained, between the long hearth and the row of posts that held up the roof and divided the sleeping-places from the hall.
    The three on the dais at the end had risen to have a better view. And when the game threatened to break up even in the second verse, people shouted again for Arnvid and bade him come in. They knew that he could sing the whole dance, and he had the finest of voices.
    So when he took his sword, drew it, and