placed himself at the head of the row of dancers, the game at once took better shape. Olav and Ingunn stepped in just below him. Arnvid led as surely and gracefully as anyone could look for who saw his high-shouldered, stooping figure. He took up the song in his full, clear voice, while the women swayed in and out under the play of the swords.
“Swiftly went the sword-play—
Hild’s game we helped in
When to halls of Odin
Helsing-host we banished
.
Keenly did the sword bite
When we lay in Iva—”
Then all was confusion, for there was no woman between Olav and Einar. The dancers had to stop and Einar declared that Olav must stand out; they quarreled over this, until one of the older house-carls said that he had as lief go out. Then Arnvid set the game going again:
“Swiftly went the sword-play—
• • • • • •
Cutting-iron in battle
Bit at Skarpa-skerry—”
But all the time the ranks were in confusion. And as they came farther on in the lay, there was none but Arnvid who knew the words—some had a scrap of one verse, some of another. Olav and Einar were bickering the whole time; and there were all too few who sang the tune. Arnvid was tired, and he had got some scratches that began to smart, he said, as soon as he stirred himself.
So the chain broke up. Some went and threw themselves on their sleeping-benches—some stood chatting and would have more to drink—or they still wished to dance, but to one of these new ballads the steps of which were much easier.
Olav stood in the shadow under the roof-posts; he and Ingunn still held each other’s hands. Olav thrust his sword into the scabbard: “Come, we will go up to your loft and talk together,” he whispered.
Hand in hand they ran through the rain over the dark and empty yard, dashed up the stair, and stopped inside the door, panting with excitement, as though they had done something unlawful. Then they flung their arms about each other.
Ingunn bent the boy’s head against her bosom and sniffed at his hair. “There is a smell of burning on you,” she murmured. “Oh no, oh no,” she begged in fear; he was pressing her against the doorpost.
“No—no—I am going now,” he whispered: “I am going now,” he kept repeating.
“Yes—” but she clung to him closely, dazed and quivering, afraid he would do as he said and go. She knew they had lost their senses, both of them—but all thoughts of past and present seemed swept away on the stream of the last wild, ungoverned hours—and they two had been flung ashore in this dark loft. Why should they leave each other?—they had but each other.
She felt her gilt circlet pushed up on her crown—Olav was rumpling her loosened hair. The garland fell off, jingling on the floor, and the lad took fistfuls of her hair and pressed them to his face, buried his chin in her shoulder.
Then they heard Reidunn—the serving-maid who slept with Ingunn—calling to someone from the yard below.
They started apart, trembling with guilty conscience. And quick as lightning Olav shot out his arm, pulled the door to, and bolted it.
Reidunn came up into the balcony, knocked, and called to Ingunn. The two children stood in pitch-darkness, shaken by the beating of their hearts.
The maid knocked awhile—thundered on the door. Then she must have thought Ingunn had fallen asleep and soundly. They heard the stairs creak under her heavy tread. Out in the yard she called to another maid—they guessed she had gone off to sleep in another house. And Olav and Ingunn flew to each other’s arms, as though they had escaped a great danger.
9 The reader will find this old lay, with a literal translation, in Vigfusson and Powell:
Corpus Poeticum Boreale
, Vol. II, p. 339. The song is supposed to be sung by the famous Ragnar Lodbrok (Shaggy-breeks) after he had been thrown into the snake pit by Ælla, King of Northumberland. The editors remark:
“Swiftly went the sword-play—
Hild’s game we helped in
When to halls of Odin
Helsing-host we banished
.
Keenly did the sword bite
When we lay in Iva—”
Then all was confusion, for there was no woman between Olav and Einar. The dancers had to stop and Einar declared that Olav must stand out; they quarreled over this, until one of the older house-carls said that he had as lief go out. Then Arnvid set the game going again:
“Swiftly went the sword-play—
• • • • • •
Cutting-iron in battle
Bit at Skarpa-skerry—”
But all the time the ranks were in confusion. And as they came farther on in the lay, there was none but Arnvid who knew the words—some had a scrap of one verse, some of another. Olav and Einar were bickering the whole time; and there were all too few who sang the tune. Arnvid was tired, and he had got some scratches that began to smart, he said, as soon as he stirred himself.
So the chain broke up. Some went and threw themselves on their sleeping-benches—some stood chatting and would have more to drink—or they still wished to dance, but to one of these new ballads the steps of which were much easier.
Olav stood in the shadow under the roof-posts; he and Ingunn still held each other’s hands. Olav thrust his sword into the scabbard: “Come, we will go up to your loft and talk together,” he whispered.
Hand in hand they ran through the rain over the dark and empty yard, dashed up the stair, and stopped inside the door, panting with excitement, as though they had done something unlawful. Then they flung their arms about each other.
Ingunn bent the boy’s head against her bosom and sniffed at his hair. “There is a smell of burning on you,” she murmured. “Oh no, oh no,” she begged in fear; he was pressing her against the doorpost.
“No—no—I am going now,” he whispered: “I am going now,” he kept repeating.
“Yes—” but she clung to him closely, dazed and quivering, afraid he would do as he said and go. She knew they had lost their senses, both of them—but all thoughts of past and present seemed swept away on the stream of the last wild, ungoverned hours—and they two had been flung ashore in this dark loft. Why should they leave each other?—they had but each other.
She felt her gilt circlet pushed up on her crown—Olav was rumpling her loosened hair. The garland fell off, jingling on the floor, and the lad took fistfuls of her hair and pressed them to his face, buried his chin in her shoulder.
Then they heard Reidunn—the serving-maid who slept with Ingunn—calling to someone from the yard below.
They started apart, trembling with guilty conscience. And quick as lightning Olav shot out his arm, pulled the door to, and bolted it.
Reidunn came up into the balcony, knocked, and called to Ingunn. The two children stood in pitch-darkness, shaken by the beating of their hearts.
The maid knocked awhile—thundered on the door. Then she must have thought Ingunn had fallen asleep and soundly. They heard the stairs creak under her heavy tread. Out in the yard she called to another maid—they guessed she had gone off to sleep in another house. And Olav and Ingunn flew to each other’s arms, as though they had escaped a great danger.
9 The reader will find this old lay, with a literal translation, in Vigfusson and Powell:
Corpus Poeticum Boreale
, Vol. II, p. 339. The song is supposed to be sung by the famous Ragnar Lodbrok (Shaggy-breeks) after he had been thrown into the snake pit by Ælla, King of Northumberland. The editors remark:
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